by Timothy Zahn
Aric peered out of the canopy, hands clenched helplessly around his restraints, hoping but no longer really believing it was a Yycroman warship come to help. The seconds counted down -
And then suddenly there it was, appearing above and behind the Conqueror battle force.
And from beside him he heard Daschka's stunned curse.
"All right, Omicron Four," the voice of Fighter Commander Schweighofer came in Quinn's ear. "Cut in behind Kappa Two: Pattern Charlie."
"Acknowledged," Clipper's voice replied. There was a soft click as he keyed back to the group's private frequency - "Paladin, take point; Maestro, you're on high cover," he ordered. "Let's go."
Quinn drew the Corvine back up slightly, letting the rest of the squadron shoot past beneath him as they moved into backup behind Samurai's group, the flare of their kickthrusters bright against the dark bulk of the planet beneath them.
From the seat behind Quinn came an obviously disgusted grunt. "Too slow," Bokamba muttered. "Much too slow."
"Probably the wind sheer," Quinn said. He twitched his lip three times - left, right, left - and the Corvine's vector map appeared superimposed across his vision. Smack in the middle was a narrow stream of high-speed wind slicing through the upper atmosphere directly across the Copperheads' approach path. "Schweighofer's got us cutting straight through the jet stream."
"That's only because he couldn't find a hurricane or thunderstorm to run you through," Bokamba retorted. "Or were you expecting the Zhirrzh to be thoughtful enough to provide good weather for our attack?"
"I'm not complaining or excusing," Quinn said mildly. "Just explaining."
Bokamba grunted again. "I know."
Quinn twitched his lip again and the display vanished. "Considering we've been running these tests for three days straight, I think they're handling it pretty well," he said. "Especially Samurai and Dreamer."
"Yes," Bokamba murmured. "Dreamer and Con Lady make a good team. Remarkably good Copperheads."
"For women, you mean?"
There was the faint squeak of leatherene from behind him, and Quinn could imagine Bokamba shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I make no apologies for my cultural views of women in combat," the older man said gruffly. "Though were the full truth known, I imagine it would be you of NorCoord who would be in the true minority on this subject."
Quinn thought back to all the people over the years with whom he'd had discussions about the philosophy of warfare. "You could be right," he conceded. "I think the NorCoord nations have always seen this as a matter of individual rights and responsibilities."
"You've also always had a tendency to elevate personal rights over what is best for society as a whole," Bokamba pointed out.
There was a brief moment of turbulence as Quinn guided the Corvine through the jet stream. "Can't argue that one, either," he agreed. "Though we wouldn't be the first culture to overshoot that direction."
"True," Bokamba said. "I think what disturbs me the most is the cynicism with which NorCoord's leaders exploit such cultural differences for their own ends."
Quinn grimaced. Here it came again: Bokamba's obsession with what he considered to be NorCoord's manipulative domination of the rest of the Commonwealth. The two of them had been around this same track dozens of times back when Bokamba had been his wing commander. "You have any particular examples in mind?"
"They're flying in front of you right now," Bokamba said. "Dreamer and Con Lady, along with Hawk and his female tail, Adept. You know as well as I do that female Copperheads are extremely rare - rare enough to be highly visible. Yet we have three of them aboard an expeditionary force that will soon be heading into enemy territory. Haven't you wondered why?"
A thick cloud bank loomed ahead, swallowing up the rest of the attack force. Quinn squinted, enhancing the Corvine's sensor-penetration settings, and dived in after them. "I assumed we just needed them to make up a full complement."
"What, they couldn't trade two Corvines from Earth-defense duty?" Bokamba scoffed. "You know better than that. The women were specifically and deliberately assigned to the Trafalgar. They had to be."
"Clipper, I've got a make on Target Three," the voice of Paladin's tail, Dazzler, came in Quinn's ear. "Tally three buildings and twelve aircraft defenders."
An echo feed of Paladin's view came over Quinn's Mindlink, superimposed on the skyscape outside the Corvine's canopy. "Tally that," Clipper acknowledged. "Let's go in, Copperheads."
The group swerved toward the target zone. Keying for extended long-range scan, Quinn gave the area around him a quick search. No enemy bogies were visible as yet, but he didn't doubt Schweighofer had something devious waiting for them. Fighter commanders didn't achieve that lofty position without learning how to spin the low inside curve. "So what's your theory as to why they were assigned here?" he asked Bokamba.
"Understand, this is just my personal feeling," the other cautioned. "I have no proof of any sort. But I believe that Peacekeeper Command has decided to make them into martyrs. That they've decided having women sacrifice their lives in battle over a Zhirrzh world will create outrage and guilt among the nations and states of the Commonwealth, thus stiffening their resolve to resist the invasion."
An oddly queasy sensation settled in Quinn's stomach. "That seems rather cold-blooded," he said carefully.
"It's extremely cold-blooded," Bokamba said. "But war is a cold-blooded business. You've been involved with politics recently, working for Lord Stewart Cavanagh. Do you deny the NorCoord Parliament might do something like that?"
Quinn chewed at his lip. "Well..."
"All Copperheads, this is Schweighofer," the fighter commander's voice cut in suddenly. "The exercise is aborted; repeat, the exercise is aborted. All fighters will return to the Pelican immediately."
"Acknowledged," Samurai's voice said. "All Copperheads, come around on your own, then re-form into units. Flash it."
Quinn swung the Corvine up into a steep climb, throwing in the kickthrusters and driving hard for the sky. Behind him, he sensed the click as Bokamba shifted them to the overcommand frequency. "Commander Schweighofer, this is Bokamba. Is this part of the exercise?"
"Negative, Bokamba," Schweighofer said tightly. "Just get your people up here. Fast."
The Pelican was an Arcturus-class fuel carrier that Schweighofer and his team had been using as their operational base during the past three days of combat exercises. Quinn docked the Corvine at his assigned external connector alongside the rest of Clipper's Copperheads, and three minutes later they were all on the Pelicans bridge. Samurai and the rest of Kappa Two were already gathered around Schweighofer, floating in front of the command chair, with Dreamer and her unit just arriving. Captain Irdani, the Pelicans commander, was at the sensor station, talking with quiet intensity with the officer manning the post.
"We've got enemy contact, Copperheads," Schweighofer announced without preamble. "It's pretty far out - right on the edge of our wake-trail detectors - but there doesn't seem to be any doubt that it's them. Best guess is that we're looking at eleven Zhirrzh ships; the vector indicates their target is Phormbi."
A faint murmur rippled briefly through the room. "What in blazes would they want with Phormbi?" Clipper asked.
"Maybe they're tired of tangling with Peacekeepers," Con Lady said dryly. "Could be they're looking for someone who doesn't fight back as well."
"Or perhaps they're looking for someone to make an alliance with," Samurai suggested, his voice dark. "The Yycromae have been waiting for years for just this sort of chance at us."
"You could be right," Schweighofer agreed. "Last I heard all the Pacification forces had been withdrawn from Yycroman space. It'd be a perfect time for a backroom deal."
"Have you sent word to Commodore Montgomery yet?" Bokamba asked.
Schweighofer shook his head. "The fleet's already on its way. Apparently still trying to shake the wrinkles out of the Wolf Pack. Should be here anytime."
"Commander Schwei
ghofer?" Irdani called, pushing off the wall and floating back toward his command chair. "Wolf Pack's about to mesh in."
"Yes, sir," Schweighofer said, moving out of the captain's way.
"Put it on main," Irdani ordered as he maneuvered himself into the seat.
The view shifted, pointing now toward the spot in space where the sensor officer was predicting the Wolf Pack would mesh in. There was a movement to Quinn's right, and he turned to see Dreamer float up beside him. "I don't know about you, Maestro," she said quietly, gazing at the display, "but this Wolf Pack thing has got to be the loopiest idea Command's ever come up with."
"It's a perfectly reasonable solution to the ship-dispersal problem," Bokamba disagreed from Quinn's other side. "You can't launch a successful blitz attack when microsecond differences in mesh-in time and vector scatter your fleet across thousands of square kilometers of space."
"Oh, I agree that's a problem," Dreamer said. "I just think the Wolf Pack is a loopy way to solve it."
And with a flicker of light, there it was. "The Wolf Pack," someone murmured, "has landed."
Quinn gazed at the display. At the multikilometer-long, multikilometer-wide framework of metal and composite and empty space, looking more like a collection of giant window frames welded together than like anything that had any business being part of a war fleet.
And at the other fourteen warships of the Trafalgar fleet, each nestled snugly inside one of the frames. Like one big, close-knit family, all set to mesh together.
Dreamer thought it was loopy. Bokamba thought it was brilliant. Personally, Quinn thought they were both right.
"Signal the Trafalgar," Irdani ordered his comm officer. "Do not disengage fleet from Wolf Pack; repeat, do not disengage fleet from Wolf Pack."
Quinn gazed at the monstrosity filling the display, wondering if the message would get to Montgomery before the ships started snapping their tether lines and breaking out above and beneath the framework. So far the disengagement procedure had been mired in a tangle of minor problems, which was why Montgomery still had the fleet flying back and forth practicing it. He hoped this wouldn't be the time they finally got it right....
"Pelican, this is Montgomery," the commodore's voice boomed irritably from the bridge speaker. "Schweighofer?"
"Here, Commodore," Schweighofer said. "Captain Irdani's people have just picked up the wake-trail of what appears to be a Zhirrzh fleet."
There was a long pause. "Confirmed," Montgomery's voice acknowledged, the irritation gone. "We read Phormbi as their probable target."
"That was our projection, too, sir," Schweighofer said. "I thought you'd want to know about this before you disengaged the fleet from the Wolf Pack. In case you wanted to check it out."
"I would, and we will," Montgomery rumbled. "Captain Irdani?"
"Sir?"
"How fast can you get the Pelican to its slot in the Wolf Pack?" Montgomery asked. "No - belay that; it'll take too long. Schweighofer, get your Copperheads back in their fighters and flash it back over here. You and your command team can borrow one of the Pelicans shuttles. We're meshing out in fifteen minutes."
"Yes, sir," Schweighofer said, pushing off the command chair toward the door. "You heard the man, Copperheads. Flash it."
Quinn had the Corvine secured in his Trafalgar fighter bay in twelve and a half minutes. Exactly two and a half minutes later he felt the lurch as the Trafalgar and, presumably, the entire Wolf Pack meshed out.
Five minutes after that, as he and Bokamba were heading down the furrow toward the dayroom, the call came for him to report to the bridge.
The other fighter commanders were there already, both those from the Axehead and Adamant attack fighter wings as well as the three commanders of the Trafalgar's Copperhead contingent, gathered together in the command ring around Montgomery, Schweighofer, and Fleet Exec Germaine. Germaine looked over as Quinn arrived, motioned him to stay back. Quinn nodded and waited where he was, watching the bridge crew as they went through the procedure for securing from mesh-out and wondering what Montgomery wanted with him.
The meeting broke up a few minutes later, and as the fighter commanders headed back across the bridge, Germaine motioned him to approach. "Lieutenant Quinn," Montgomery said gravely as he reached the command ring. "Good of you to join us. I have a question for you, and I'd like a straight answer."
"Of course, sir," Quinn said.
"I mean a straight answer," Montgomery repeated, his eyes boring into Quinn's face. "I don't care what anyone else has told you to say or not to say. I don't care whether they've invoked the Official Secrets Regulations, your own personal honor, or God Himself. I want the truth."
The other two senior officers were also staring unblinkingly at him. Not with any obvious animosity, but not with any friendliness, either. "I understand, sir," Quinn said.
"All right." Montgomery paused. "You've been working closely with Lord Stewart Cavanagh for several years now, ever since you resigned the Peacekeepers to become his head of security. Question: is he still involved in NorCoord politics? Specifically, has he recently been authorized by the NorCoord Parliament or Peacekeeper Command to act in any sort of diplomatic capacity?"
It was about the last subject Quinn would ever have guessed this summons was going to be about. "I don't know, sir," he said. "As far as I know, Lord Cavanagh's a completely private citizen now."
"I see." Montgomery gazed hard at him. "You're absolutely sure he has no links to the NorCoord government?"
"No, sir, I can't be absolutely sure about that," Quinn said, beginning to sweat a little. What was all this about? "Lord Cavanagh doesn't confide all of his activities to me."
"Yet he chose you to lead the rescue mission for his son," Montgomery persisted.
"Actually, sir, I volunteered," Quinn said. "May I ask what this has to do with me?"
"It has nothing specific to do with you, Lieutenant," Montgomery said. "It has to do with this unscheduled detour we're taking from our assigned mission, and how we're going to deal with the Yycromae when we mesh in at Phormbi. Whether we treat them as victims, potential enemies" - his lip twitched - "or allies."
Allies? The Yycromae? "I'm afraid you've lost me, sir," Quinn said.
Germaine stirred. "Perhaps, Commodore, we should go ahead and show him the communiqué."
"I suppose we'll have to," Montgomery said reluctantly, reaching over to his command chair and pulling a plate emblazoned with the Peacekeeper insignia from a slot in one of the armrests. "You understand, Lieutenant, that this is strictly confidential."
"Yes, sir."
"All right." Montgomery keyed up a page on the plate and handed it to him.
It was a Secret-One message, routed through Edo ten days previously, and addressed to all senior Peacekeeper officers and all command-rank officers with forces stationed within thirty light-years of Yycroman space.
Describing a rearmament agreement between Peacekeeper Command and the Yycromae.
"As you see," Montgomery said, "Lord Cavanagh's name is mentioned as being on both the guarantee of Yycroman intent and the statement of Peacekeeper understanding. The question boils down to whether these are properly authorized documents, or whether they're something else entirely."
"Such as part of some private business scheme of Lord Cavanagh's," Germaine put in. "Or even something the Yycromae might have obtained under duress."
Quinn looked back down at the plate. "According to this a senior NorCoord Military Intelligence officer also signed the documents," he pointed out.
"Unfortunately, the officer isn't identified," Montgomery growled. "I understand there are security considerations involved; but, unfortunately, it also leaves me accepting this sudden de facto alliance with the Yycromae on blind faith. I don't like that."
For a brief moment it occurred to Quinn to remind the commodore that that was exactly how he and the rest of the lower ranks usually had to accept their orders. But he resisted the temptation. "Were copies of the act
ual documents included with this?" he asked instead.
"Yes," Montgomery said. "With the Intelligence officer's name blanked out, of course."
"May I see them?"
Montgomery's forehead creased slightly. "Why?"
"I may at least be able to tell you whether Lord Cavanagh's signature was obtained under duress."
The commodore glanced at Germaine, and Quinn caught the fleet exec's microscopic shrug. "It's a rather severe violation of military protocol," Montgomery commented, taking the plate back from Quinn. "But having come this far already, I suppose that hardly matters." He keyed the plate to a new position and handed it back.
It took Quinn nearly five minutes to wade through the three pages of thick legal wordage. But when he was done, he was convinced. "Lord Cavanagh was not coerced into signing either document, Commodore," he told Montgomery, handing him back the plate. "Furthermore, if there was any fraud or deceit on the part of the Yycromae, he was unaware of it. To the best of his knowledge both documents were written and signed in good faith."
"Amazing," Germaine murmured. "Just like that?"
"Just like that," Quinn assured him. "There are special ways Lord Cavanagh will write a contract or document to indicate whether or not he's in full voluntary agreement. Particular phrasings, key words - that sort of thing." He nodded toward the plate. "All the proper cues are there."
"I see," Montgomery said. He gazed at the plate another few seconds; then - reluctantly, Quinn thought - he closed it and returned it to its slot in the armrest. "Then I suppose that's settled. We go in as allies, until and unless matters indicate otherwise. Thank you, Lieutenant: dismissed." He turned to Germaine -
"One other matter, Commodore, if I may," Quinn spoke up. "The last I heard, my new tail man still hadn't arrived."
Montgomery looked at Schweighofer, lifted his eyebrows. "That's correct, sir," the fighter commander confirmed. "He was promised for two days ago, but he hasn't shown up yet. I don't know what's happened to him."
"Some snarled order somewhere," Montgomery nodded. "I suppose that means you'll be sitting this one out, Lieutenant."