by J. N. Chaney
A pause. “Roger that.”
Dash watched, bemused and a little fascinated, as Wei-Ping maneuvered her ships as Sentinel had requested. Leira and the mechs accompanying her were now opening fire, taking on what remained of the flanking force the Deepers had detached to slow down Dash. But he kept his focus on the Stalwart.
As the escorts, a trio of Realm destroyers, moved to confront the Battle Princes, they again opened their formation. The Stalwart started wheeling about, suddenly venting a shimmering cloud of atmosphere. Dash’s heart skipped at what seemed to be a serious hull breach, but then he noted that all Wei-Ping had done was open the Stalwart’s flight deck without depressurizing it first. It made her look like a stricken ship desperately trying to flee her attackers.
“Dash, may I have control for a moment?” Sentinel asked.
“By all means, the mech is yours.”
Now a passenger, Dash just kept watching. Sentinel charged up the blast-cannon and targeted what seemed to be a random point in space. A moment later, the three destroyers screening the Stalwart spun around and burned hard, pulling away.
Once more, the Battle Princes zoomed together, coalescing back into a compact, powerful formation.
Right near the point Sentinel had targeted.
The blast-cannon fired at full yield, catching all of them in the detonation. Two were virtually obliterated outright, and the other three were instantly crippled.
“The mech is yours again, Dash,” Sentinel said, relinquishing control back to him.
Dash gaped a moment longer, then checked out the tactical display. With the arrival of Leira, Conover and Jexin, the Orions, and now a squadron of heavy cruisers led by the Sabertooth, the battle had turned. Dash backed off to oversee the action. More importantly, he wanted some explanation.
“So how long have you been able to see into the future?” he asked Sentinel.
“Well, I’m not, of course, but I get that some explanation is in order. Simply put, I became aware of a trend in the conduct of Deeper warfare following a review of their operations and tactics over the last several months. Their approach to battle has evolved recently, showing clear evidence of following a particular line of military thinking.”
“Okay. Pretend you’re talking to someone who still doesn’t get what you’re talking about.”
“Simply put, over the past several months, the Deepers have begun to fight in a way that mimics military commanders of the past. I happened upon the possibility, as I said, when I was reviewing the combat logs of every ship during every encounter with the Deepers over the past six months, from single-ship skirmishes to large battles.”
“Every ship in every battle, huh? What’d that take you, about two seconds?”
“Actually, compiling and extracting the relevant indicators, then aggregating them and testing every possible combination against the entirety of military history recorded in our archives, took considerably longer than that.”
“Four seconds?”
“Do you want me to explain this or—?”
“Yes, yes, sorry, Sentinel. Don’t mind me. Just go on.”
“Anyway, I finally found a significant positive correlation, one much stronger than could be explained by chance alone.”
“And?”
“And, starting approximately six months ago, the Deepers began to employ an operational and tactical approach to battle that was clearly influenced by the military philosophies of a particular faction of Old Earth.”
Dash’s buoyant humor in the wake of this most recent Deeper defeat drained away. “An Old Earth faction? Which one?”
“A nation-state known as Russia. There appear to be elements drawn from across several centuries of that faction’s history generally, but from the conduct of one period and one military leader and philosopher in particular. His name was Pyotr Bagration, a Russian general during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries of the Old Earth calendar. His aggressive and enlightened approach to warfare is credited with many Russian victories. This culminated at the Battle of Borodino, during which an invading army of another faction, the French, under Napoleon Bonaparte, was effectively defeated.”
“Napoleon. I’ve heard that name,” Dash said.
“He was an especially famous Old Earth military and political leader.”
“Yeah. But Bag—er, Bog—”
“Bagration.”
“Right. Him. I’ve never heard of him.” Dash looked at the tactical display for a moment. “Why the hell would the Deepers be basing their fighting on some obscure, Old Earth general? Even if he was a good one, and successful, it’s not like he rates interstellar fame. Does he?”
“Not particularly, no. Moreover, he was extremely competent and innovative but probably fell short of brilliant. He isn’t the only Russian general whose influence shows among the Deepers, either. I have identified elements that can be traced back to military leaders named Donskoy, Suvorov, Chuikov, and Zhukov. There are several others as well.”
“So, what? Have the Deepers somehow recruited a Russian guy to run their armies for them?”
“Yes.”
“Uh—what?”
“Do you recall the astronaut, Lavarovna, whom we discovered in deep space? She was Russian by ethnic descent. She crewed a ship named the Novgorod, named after a Russian city. And the commander of that ship, Pavel Hu was not only also ethnically Russian, he was, according to his public biography, a passionate student of military history—particularly Russian military history.”
Dash bit his lip. He believed Sentinel, despite how unbelievable what she was saying seemed. Somehow, the Novgorod, lost on her first translation flight, had ended up in the hands of the Deepers. Then, for some reason, the Deepers had then tapped into Pavel Hu’s knowledge of military history and tactics—
“Oh. Shit.”
“You’ve just concluded what I’ve concluded, haven’t you?” Sentinel asked.
Dash watched the last Deeper ships either fleeing or dying but wasn’t really seeing them. “Depends. What have you concluded?”
“That the Deepers’ approach to battle began to change not long before we first encountered the term Corruptor. And since we know that the Deepers incorporate biological life into their technology, as they did with Rishi, the League traitor—”
“They did the same thing with Hu,” Dash finished, his voice grim. “And now, Pavel Hu is the Corruptor. And he’s leading the war against us.”
22
Leira leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I don’t know, Dash. It seems a little—far-fetched, I guess.”
“I kind of have to agree,” Harolyn said. “The idea that an Old Earth ship could somehow leave the Sol System and end up in the hands of the Deepers, who incorporate one of the crew, who happens to be a Russian military history buff, who then somehow goes on to command their forces here, today.” She lifted her hands in a theatrical shrug.
Dash had convened this discussion in the War Room. He liked the more familiar and intimate atmosphere for discussions that weren’t strictly about planning or ops. He had almost all of the inner circle sitting around the table. Benzel and Wei-Ping sat in virtually, both being aboard their ships investigating yet more reports of Deeper patrols.
Viktor leaned forward and pointed at the graph Sentinel had put up in the holo-viewer. “The correlation is pretty clear, though. That line is pretty straight.”
“Well, sure, but Sentinel’s assigning numbers to something that isn’t, by nature, numeric,” Conover said. “All due respect to Sentinel, but her analysis is, at the end of the day, a pretty subjective one.”
Dash gestured at the graph and its remarkably straight line. “So you’re saying that’s not real?”
Conover curled his lip. “No, I’m just saying it’s not necessarily as strong a correlation as it seems.”
“But is it a correlation? If you avoid getting hung up on the numbers themselves, does Sentinel’s analysis still make sense?” Dash as
ked.
Conover curled his lip harder. “Yeah, I guess it still does.”
“It makes perfect sense,” Ragsdale put in, then he put down a data-pad and gestured at it. “I’ve been reading through Sentinel’s specific examples. Over the course of more than two dozen skirmishes and battles, the Deepers have done things that fit almost perfectly with things done, or written about, by Bagration and Zhukov and all the others.”
“There are even a few that don’t fit Russian leaders but do fit others Hu would be familiar with, like Frederick the Great, Napoleon Bonaparte, and Irwin Rommel,” Viktor said.
“That makes sense, though,” Jexin offered. “He’d have studied not just his own military legacy, but those of the people his ancestors fought, right?”
“Okay, so let’s assume this is all correct,” Leira said. “It means that if Hu’s still alive, in some way he’s been merged, or assimilated or whatever, into the Deepers for hundreds of years. How much of him is even left?”
“It might be just his knowledge, stored in Deeper archives,” Amy added, nodding. “Maybe they’re looking for any edge they can get in fighting us and this is their latest kick at it.”
Dash leaned back. “Yeah, except as Sentinel points out, these things start appearing prominently in Deeper military ops, and not long after that, we first hear about the Corruptor. Pavel Hu, or what’s left of him, is the Corruptor. I’m convinced of it.”
“Your gut?” Conover asked.
“I know, it’s not scientific,” Dash started, but Conover held up a hand.
“Wasn’t a criticism, Dash. If anything, Sentinel’s analysis combined with your gut pretty much convinces me.”
“Yeah, your intestines and such haven’t ever really failed us before,” Jexin said.
Amy giggled. “Ewww.”
Leira just lifted her eyebrows. “You’ve never been around him after a long night of drinking—”
“Okay, let’s just leave my intestines alone,” Dash shot back.
“Again, ewww,” Amy muttered, smirking.
“So, it seems that one of my old countrymen is the head guy,” Viktor said. “So what do we do about it?”
“Well, knowing what the Corruptor and the Deepers were up to told Sentinel pretty much exactly how and where to attack. Why don’t we run with that? Do more analysis, see if we can figure out what they’re likely to do in the next battle?” Harolyn asked.
Sentinel cut in. “Bagration promoted an approach to war fighting that was flexible, that could quickly adapt to your enemy’s actions. Based on that, it’s likely that Hu will suspect that we’ve discerned his influence and will now try to be more unpredictable.”
“That’s what worries me, right there,” Ragsdale said, his voice flat. Everyone turned to him, questioning looks on their faces.
“Our big advantage, both while fighting the Golden and the Deepers, has been our human tendencies to be innovative and unpredictable. It’s pretty much epitomized by the Messenger sitting over there. We joke about Dash’s gut, but the fact is, it’s really a thing. There’s even a military term for it, from another Old Earth language, called German. It’s fingerspitzengefühl.”
“Gesundheit,” Leira said.
“Also German,” Ragsdale shot back at her with a grin. “Anyway, it basically means a feel for battle. It’s art, not science. It’s taking in the situation and just knowing how to respond to it. When to attack. When to defend. When to commit your reserves. It’s the thing that separates great military commanders from merely good ones.”
“So you’re saying Dash has this finger-whatchamacallit, and that’s why he does so well in battle,” Benzel put in over the comm channel.
“Yeah, I am.”
“I believe it. I’ve fought with and against a lot of so-called military professionals over the years. Most of the time, they’re easy to deal with. Everything’s by the book, formula, put tab A in slot B types of people. But every once in a while, you’d run into someone who didn’t play by the rules and seemed to make it up on the spot. They were the scary ones.”
“They are. And Dash is one of them.”
“Please, my ears are burning,” Dash said but sighed. “If it’s a gift of some sort, I’m not sure it’s one I would have picked.”
“It’s done a pretty good job of, oh, helping to preserve sentient life in the galaxy, so there is that,” Leira replied.
“Anyway, that’s why Hu, the Corruptor, worries me more than just about anyone or anything else we’ve faced. He was a Colonel in the Russian Army, a veteran of battle, and a student of military history. His public records paint the picture of a guy who was well on his way to greatness himself, another Bagration in the making.”
Ragsdale leaned into the sudden silence.
“And that’s what we’re facing here, folks. An enemy with a gut of his own.”
Dash scowled, as much at himself as everyone else. Since their discussion in the War Room, the flavor of their planning sessions had changed. It had gone slightly sour.
Bold, sweeping suggestions used to be the order of the day. Grandiose plans, imaginative if improbable maneuvers, cunning deceptions, it had all become a normal part of their deliberations. Dash had often had to reign them in, even though he’d just as often been the instigator of them. But the results had been the bold, sometimes visionary, and mostly effective plans they’d executed to consistently good effect, and ultimately victory, over the Deepers.
But that had changed.
Now, a tentative note had crept into their sessions. The members of the Inner Circle had started to become cautious. Not only were the dramatic and audacious proposals fewer, but even relatively tame ones came under intense scrutiny. Everyone was worried about gaps, holes, and vulnerabilities, raising concerns and objections even before suggested courses of action were fully fleshed out.
They were starting to hold back and second-guess themselves. And Dash knew why. It was because they’d let their enemy get inside their head.
“Worse, they’ve given the enemy a name, an identity,” Sentinel suggested. “The Russians of Bagration’s time weren’t fighting the French, they were fighting Napoleon. The Old Earth British faction weren’t fighting the German faction in the geographic theatre known as North Africa, they were fighting the German General, Irwin Rommel.”
“Yeah. So now, instead of fighting the Deepers, we’re fighting Pavel Hu, the Corruptor.”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have raised this,” Sentinel said. “Oh, is this regret?”
“You wishing you hadn’t done something you did? Yeah, that’s regret, alright. Not doing something you wish you had fits, too. My condolences on becoming a little more human, Sentinel.” Dash sighed. “Anyway, don’t regret it. The more we know about our enemy, the better. We just have to figure out how to prevent knowing our enemy from being scared of our enemy. The distinction is critical.”
Dash wandered the Forge and the Kingsport for a while in thought. He tried to find some thoughtful solitude in Freya’s park, but despite it sprawling through the three massive cargo bays of the Forge, he couldn’t find anywhere among the trees and shrubs and flowers where he wasn’t near somebody.
He finally hit on the idea of trekking out to the Greenbelt. Given its critical nature, access to the farming ship was restricted to only a few personnel, him being one of them. Kai had said he found it a great place to be contemplative, so why not give it a try?
So Dash shuttled out to the Greenbelt and wandered among the orchards, enjoying some actual solitude. He saw only a few people, crewmembers who waved at him but went about their work, and the ubiquitous maintenance remotes. He settled himself under a pear tree, stretched out his legs, and let his mind drift. Instead of trying to tackle the problem of the timid second-guessing that had crept into their planning directly, he let his mind float around the problem, keeping it in sight without really looking at it. Hopefully, things would connect and click, and he’d come up with some sort of idea to reinvigorate t
he Realm’s leadership.
“Messenger, I thought I saw you wandering among the trees.”
Dash opened his eyes, blinking up at the speaker. Wow, he’d been drifting, alright. Drifting off to sleep.
It was Kai.
The monk raised a hand. “My apologies. Clearly you came here to be alone—”
“I did, but you know what? If you have a moment, Kai, I’d be really happy if you could sit down and talk.”
Kai smiled. “From the time I entered the Order of the Unseen as an initiate, I was taught that the Messenger, a divine figure, was to be revered. How could I refuse?”
“Easily. If you’re busy, just tell me to buzz off. And, please, I’m not divine. Far from it.”
“Oh, I know that,” Kai said, sitting cross-legged in the grass. “In some ways, meeting you was both more and less than I’d imagined it would be.”
Dash smirked. “Really.”
“Yes. More, not only because you were real, but because you were borne to our Order aboard the Archetype, the pinnacle of the Unseen’s achievement.”
“Okay, how about the less part?”
“For a figure of divine reverence, you were awfully sweaty.”
Dash laughed. So did Kai, but it quickly faded.
“Anyway, there was something you wanted to discuss with me, Mess—”
“Dash. Please, Kai, just call me Dash.”
“Very well, Dash.”
Dash went on to explain his worries about the subtle-but-profound change to the way the Inner Circle had started to view the Deepers. He particularly focused on how it was starting to hold them back, causing them to make decisions, then immediately start questioning them, or try to develop contingencies for things that just weren’t likely or even really that important.
“I’m afraid that we’ve let Hu start living inside our heads, and we’re not even charging him rent. Hell, he probably isn’t even aware of it, which is really galling,” Dash finished.
For a while, Kai said nothing. He just contemplated a point in the grass a few feet in front of him. Dash was content to wait. He knew Kai was a deep thinker, and deep thinking took time.