Action Stations w-6

by William R Fortchen

  "That's something right there," Joshua replied, "the fact that they haven't gone public. It means they want to keep this whole shadow war a secret as well. Look at it the other way. If we were innocent and kept nailing infiltration teams, don't you think we'd be screaming our heads off? So what do we do, Skip?"

  "You keep on it. I want three more teams sent out immediately and a step-up in searching for their recon units."

  "I can tell you right now it'll mean more good kids getting killed. Trying to slip over is nothing short of a suicide order."

  Skip nodded sadly. "It's what they signed on for," he finally said, as if trying to convince himself. "We're just going to have to play our cards very closely for right now. I can't give an increased readiness alert, that'd set the damn press off into a real howl. But I have passed the word privately to some key people to start juggling the books a bit, horde some of the training ammunition, speed up overhauls, cut back on leaves. What about more listening posts?"

  "Got six more going on-line, but remember we're talking a cool hundred million apiece for all that listening gear."

  "Spend it. Damn it all, we've got to get a better read on their signal traffic. I just wish we could sneak some units half a dozen jump points in, try and pick up stuff from closer to their home world."

  Speedwell shook his head.

  "And lose them like the others? The damn arrays are simply too big."

  Skip sighed. That had been one of his pet projects, to get the R and D money needed so that listening posts, capable of grabbing translight burst signals, could be reduced in size. Right now the antenna arrays were the size of a battlewagon and the best units available could probe only a few dozen light-years in.

  "What about this damn forward deployment of the fleet at McAuliffe?" Speedwell asked. "It gives us absolutely no reaction time."

  Skip mumbled a bitter curse. "That order still stands. It's part of Plan Orange Five, forward deployment to protect the outer worlds while punitive operations go on in Facin. If we pull the fleet out of McAuliffe and drop them back to the inner worlds, More would have another arrow in his quiver. Even if I tried to give the order the president would immediately block it, because it'd throw the election for sure. More would take that ball and run with it right into control of the government."

  "So when do you think they'll hit, Skip?"

  "If I was the Cats, I'd wait to right after the election. If the Peace Party wins, they could really lean on us, get us slashed even further to the bone, then simply close in and mop up. Wait a couple of years with those jerks in control and, hell, it wouldn't even be a fight."

  "Remember what I've said before, Skip. We've got to learn to think like Cats. The whole concept of an election is totally alien to them. The simple fact that we run the show that way is seen by them as weakness."

  Skip looked back at the calendar on his desk.

  "Right after the election, I'd make it."

  Joshua sat in silence for a moment.

  "Why not Confederation Day?" Joshua said slowly. "It'd be the logical time to really nail us. Half the crews will have the weekend off."

  "Maybe, but I wonder if the Cats would be that crazy. Do that and it'd really get our blood up. It'd be an act sure to arouse our rage. That's the biggest holiday of the year outside of Christmas."

  "Washington did it at the Battle of Trenton and turned the tide of the American Revolution. Sure, the British and Hessians screamed foul, but it brought victory. The Arab states did nearly the same thing in the Yom Kippur War of 1973, and the Mongols did it in their Chinese New Year strike of 2082."

  Skip let the thought settle in. Suppose Joshua was right? But were the Cats that subtle?

  "Could we cancel Confederation Day leaves, Skip?"

  "I can tell you right now the president will balk. You're talking seven days before elections. Again, More would scream war scare to panic voters."

  "For heaven's sake, at least try to keep readiness up on that day. All right?"

  Skip sighed. Ever since he had seen the report on the loss of the latest infiltration team he found himself wondering if he had sent his closest friend out on a suicide mission. A gut feeling was starting to take hold that he would most likely never see him again.

  "Joshua, I fear we might have to take the first blow on the chin."

  "If so, let's just hope we still have a head left the day after."

  Kilrah

  As his son strode into the room he sensed a subtle but significant change in the young cub. Perhaps it was simply that he was indeed maturing, but there also seemed to be a wariness on his part.

  "My blood warms at the sight of thee and I thank the Gods for your safe return," Vakka said as Jukaga came to stand before him.

  Jukaga remained silent.

  "Out with it then," Vakka said.

  "With what?"

  "If you are to learn to survive my son, learn to hide your feelings before both friend and foe. You are troubled by something, yet you hesitate to voice it."

  "Harga said something about you."

  "How is he?"

  "Troubled by the prospect of war. It is clear he does not believe in it."

  "And you think that it is traitorous not to fully submit to the will of the Emperor."

  Jukaga lowered his head. "He spoke against the war and then finished by saying 'go and ask your father. You will find his response to be interesting. I heard your arguments before the Pledging of Knives in support of the war. You threw your dagger into the circle as well. But are you now against what is to come?"

  "Sit down, Jukaga."

  Jukaga seemed reluctant but finally settled down on the floor next to his father.

  "What did you learn on your journey to Fawcett's World?"

  "These humans and their allies, it is hard to judge."

  Jukaga began. "When I stand close to them, I do not like them. They are weak. Their bare flesh looks repulsive, their scent is foul."

  Vakka chuckled. "But what else?"

  "Abram is, I'm not sure how to say it…" and his voice trailed off.

  "A friend?"

  Surprised, Jukaga shook his head. "I couldn't call him that. He is, after all, alien. But there was something there."

  "Intelligence, wisdom, honor," Vakka said quietly, and Jukaga nodded.

  "Then the time spent sending you there was well spent," Vakka announced. "You've learned something no one else seems to accept about our foes. The knowledge of it will come as a shock that will shake the Empire."

  "Before I departed, Harga gave me translations of some of their books to read on my return journey."

  "Did you read the human, Sun-Tzu?"

  "Yes. Strange, many of his maxims of war are nearly the same as the writings of Xag. Yet there is much of their writings I find odd. The poets of their first global war are filled with disdain for war and seem like the ravings of old widows But so much of their effort has in one way or another been war, either real or symbolic." He paused for a moment. "And yet they seem so weak, barely worth our notice except as prey."

  Vakka chuckled. "'Judge not thy enemy by the strength of his arm, but rather by the cunning of his brain'" so Xag once said. I think my old friend has opened a door for you and what you have seen on the other side troubles you deeply."

  "You mean Harga?"

  "No, Abram. I found, at times, when we sat in the darkness and he was downwind so that I could not detect his scent, that I felt as if I was talking with a clan elder."

  Vakka looked away, "… and so I saw him first, and killed him in his place."

  "What was that?"

  "Oh, one of the ravings of old human widows, as you called it."

  "Harga said they are to be killed."

  "And you are concerned? I thought you hated them, that they were prey."

  "Still, he might be useful," Jukaga said, as if searching for an excuse.

  "Things might be arranged."

  "Do you think we will win?"

  Vakka laugh
ed bitterly. "I glory in war, my son, all of the blood do. Remember the honors heaped upon me when we fought the Varni. I expect the same of you. It is in our blood to fight. For if we do not fight others, in the end we will turn back to fighting ourselves. If we should do that, when the darkness comes from the heart of galaxy we will have drained our own blood off and that darkness will drink what is left."

  "But this war? No, I do not want it. It is the wrong war, in the wrong place, at the wrong time. I wanted you to visit the human world we held so you might get your first taste of what this Confederation is because I believe that, when you are my age, you will still be fighting them. That is, if you survive… if our race survives."

  Jukaga started to open his mouth to say something, but then looked away.

  "I know you are ashamed of me. But remember this as well. This war is a clever plot of the Emperor's as well. Notice how the First Fleet will not engage, and that nearly all the personnel in this fight are from the other clans, except for the landing assault troops. It will be Imperial blood which shall place our banners upon other worlds, but only after the fleets have shed their blood. It will be our blood that is drained while the Emperor's clan takes the final glory."

  "But the Crown Prince and his own son lead the attack."

  "Do you think the Emperor truly cares if they live or die? There are other grandsons of other concubines. If there is victory he will embrace them, if they die he will immortalize them, if they lose he will denounce them and blame those who fought under them as well. This war will burn off our strength and yet leave his clan even stronger."

  "I cannot believe this," Jukaga gasped. "You speak of the Emperor."

  "It is time to grow up!" Vakka snarled. "It is time to put away your childish dreams of how the universe should be, and accept the truth behind it all. Everything is power, that is the goal. Glory is but a tool to trick others to give power to those who rule."

  "Once there was the glory of the hunt and those who returned with red talons were acknowledged and glorified for feeding the clans. But now? If you should fight in this attack and destroy a Confederation ship, what does it bring you?"

  Jukaga looked at him, unable to reply.

  "What is glory then? You destroy a ship, but it will be the Emperors power which grows, not yours. Oh, you will be praised, you will wear new baubles, concubines will come to you willingly. But as for power? We, the heads of the clans, will receive new worlds as our bribes and new wealth as payment. But when one owns entire worlds already, what is one more? Only the Emperor will grow stronger and chances are you will die for nothing in this fight."

  Vakka sighed and settled back on his pillow.

  "Judge later, my son. Not now, go to your fight, and if it should actually come to pass that there is a great victory, then see who has actually won."

  Vakka waved his hand in dismissal.

  Jukaga stood up and bowed. Vakka finally stirred.

  "May your talons be wet and, if fated not to return, may praise be sung of thy name."

  The ritual farewell having been said, Jukaga straightened up.

  "I am angered, father, that you had me removed from the fighter force. What good am I-" and he hesitated for a moment, " — what glory is there to stand behind Admiral Nargth and to run his errands?"

  "Continue to read the writings of these humans," Vakka replied. "A word of advice at the right moment has often turned the tide of battle. Do that, and you accomplish far more than simply charging to your death."

  "As you will it, father," Jukaga said bitterly and, turning on his heels, he stalked angrily out of the room.

  Vakka smiled as the door slammed shut. At least the cub would most likely survive now. He didn't give a damn about the shame to his own name for asking to have his son removed. It was evident that the Emperor wanted a good killing off of those who were the best of the young heirs to the control of the clans. Well, this one he would not get.

  He let his thoughts drift to the other thing he had been contemplating. It was a plan within a plan that both drew him and yet caused him to rebel against his most basic instincts. And yet, if it worked, perhaps this insanity could still be avoided. War might be inevitable with the Confederation but, if so, the enemy must be better known, his weakness in politics exploited, his will softened yet further. The Crown Prince only saw the humans as an opponent to charge when, with patience, they could be weakened from within. It was one thing the race had never truly learned, that war could be fought on many different levels.

  His plan took form and all that it implied both frightened and drew him closer to unleashing it.

  "Sire, we think we have located another Confederation spy team."

  Gilkarg looked at his aide with annoyance.

  "So why bother to worry me with this? If they've been found, take them out."

  "My lord, there're some interesting details to this. One of our agents just reported into the station at Jigada with the information."

  The Crown Prince stood up and was now most definitely interested. The Jigada system was the forward resupply point for the Sixth Fleet just before it went in to attack.

  "Apparently there is an unstable jump point into the next system over that we were not aware of. It was declared off limits since it leads into a black hole system."

  "Let me see the system on the holo, then we will decide how to handle it."

  There were considerations within considerations here. This one would have to be handled carefully.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Gar's Emporium.Confederation date 2634.218

  "We've been in this damn place for over a month," Vance growled. "Just how much longer is this crap gonna take?"

  Geoff stared blearily into his mug. He wasn't even sure what he was consuming any more. What was really troubling to him was that there was something about The Pit, as the locals called it, that was starting to grow on him. Maybe, after all the years of harsh discipline, there was something inside stirring to life in a place where he didn't have to take any orders. Turner had cut them loose after the first couple of days, and Geoff now found it amusing that Vance had actually clung to his side, though perhaps Vance might have seen it the other way around.

  "It's almost like the learning curve on a fighter," Vance had explained, as if he was a seasoned veteran of places like Gar's. "Get through your first three missions and your chances of survival skyrocket. The trick is, just getting through those first three."

  Their second day out on their own, the first bar fight had occurred, a Cat and a Jarma lizard deciding that Vance's wallet was worth lifting. The Cat was now minus a hand, thanks to Geoff's shooting. As for the lizard, well, there were rumors that Haggans found the Jarma to be a particular delicacy and neither Vance nor Geoff objected when a Haggan slithered up and offered them fifty credits for the body.

  Blowing the hand off the Cat just before it nailed Vance had secured a grudging friendship, though Vance kept claiming that once a reciprocal save had been pulled off things would get back to normal.

  Geoff continued to act as though he was staring into his drink as a Cat settled down on the stool next to him. He watched cautiously from the corner of his eye for, after all, Stumpie, as they now called him, might have friends willing to do a vengeance job. This one looked new, however. There was a slight bristling to the Cat's mane; the thing was nervous and hyperalert.

  The thing that was strange was that he and the Cat were, in the legal sense, enemies. Word of the declaration of war had reached The Pit and, for the first few hours, it had seemed as if fighting would break out. But then the master of The Pit had made a rare public announcement, pointing out that there was no sense in tearing each other apart when profit could be made. Now the war was viewed almost as a joke.

  Geoff eyed the Cat cautiously, then decided to venture an opening.

  "First time here?" Geoff asked casually, hoping the Cat understood the pidgin dialect of space, a mix of English standard and Imperial standard which was the la
nguage of trade on the frontier.

  The Cat snarled, a standard response when a human first spoke to them. Geoff already knew to give a toothy grin in response to show he was not afraid, but not to open his jaw, which was a signal for a fight.

  "Many times here," the Cat responded.

  Geoff could tell he was lying. The thing kept looking back and forth as if soaking it all in the for the first time.

  Geoff motioned for the barkeep to set up a drink for his new neighbor and the Cat looked over at him in surprise.

  "To the spilled blood of our enemies," Geoff announced, raising his mug in salute.

  "We might be speaking of your blood," the Cat replied as he took a tentative sip of the drink, grimaced, and then forced the rest of it down. Geoff motioned for a second.

  He didn't even want to think about how much money he had spent buying drinks. In fact, word seemed to have gotten around The Pit so that, whenever he walked in, there was always at least one pathetic drunk whining at him for 'a taste of juice.

  Turner's level of action was something he didn't even want to try. The old prof was often in the Lotus Holes and had even wandered into some of the brothels. He claimed to be playing it straight, but what he was doing in the name of the service was something Vance speculated on in loving detail.

  The question was, had they accomplished anything useful while spending thousands of what he assumed was Confed Intel money? There were individual pieces enough of something that didn't seem right. The number of ships slipping through from Cat territory had slowed to a trickle, creating a hell of a lot of tension in The Pit. With few Cats coming in, the price of their goods had skyrocketed, while there was now a glut on goods coming from within Confederation and frontier worlds. Turner pointed out that this information alone might have some significance, but the news that all commerce between the worlds of the Empire was almost at a standstill for lack of shipping was something that set off alarms for Turner. The problem, though, was that in and of itself there was still no direct documented evidence that they could take back to Banbridge.