No Plan Survives

by L. D. Robinson

  “No, I don’t. I think you have options.”

  “Options? What are you talking about?”

  “You want us to leave the other planets alone, don’t you?”

  Fmedg leaned forward. “You’ve already completely dis-inhabited P-7650.”

  “Oh, yes. That was a sad case, wasn’t it? A real tragedy.”

  Fmedg frowned. “You think it was a tragedy?”

  “Of course,” Zolbon said. “An entire planet with such a small population that it only lasted us ten measly years. Ten years! That’s just... just a waste. Now this other planet... what do you call it?”

  “P4417.”

  “Of course. The creatures who live there call it ‘Earth,’ right?”

  “Right,” Mehta said.

  “You’ve been doing your research,” Fmedg added.

  “Indeed, I have. And I learned that Earth has seven or eight billion Dakh Hhargashian equivalents. Billions! It amazes me. I mean, we only recently coined a word for such a number. And how do they feed so many? Just amazing.”

  “They are resourceful,” Mehta said.

  “They are. But the numbers... the numbers have another meaning, and this is what I think you’ll like,” Zolbon said, leaning forward, his finger pointed upward like a drunk man giving a lecture. “With so many, we can harvest all we need, and they can easily replenish the supply. We would never run out. That would be good for the Protectorate, don’t you think? You would never have to defend a single other planet from us.”

  Mehta stared at him, chills skimming over her arms.

  “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “No,” Mehta said. “We would like you to leave.”

  “She’s right,” Fmedg said. “We cannot allow you to do this thing you call harvesting. You may not approach Earth.”

  Zolbon let out a loud, theatrical sigh. “I was hoping you would listen to reason.”

  Mehta had had enough of this bozo. “Weapons, target their engines. Let’s see how they’d like being the ones who require assistance.”

  “Because I know you’ve contacted them,” Zolbon said. “By the rules, that makes them no longer protected, am I right?”

  Mehta’s gut twisted into a knot. If the news was out about contact with Earth, they were vulnerable now. But she couldn’t admit it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Zolbon shook his finger at her. “You listen here, you little piece of worm dung, I know what’s been happening. You want an alliance, but you won’t give them what they want.”

  “How do they know that?” Aahliss whispered.

  Mehta took in a quick breath. Did they have a spy on board? Was someone feeding information to the Dakh Hhargash?

  “Well,” Zolbon said, a haughty smile on his face, “we’re thinking of offering Earth what you’re refusing: space flight technology.”

  Mehta forced herself into a mocking laugh. “For what? So you can ravage their planet? They wouldn’t accept that kind of offer.”

  “The people you’re dealing with wouldn’t,” Zolbon said, “but I plan to go to the Russians.”

  Mehta slammed her lips closed so she couldn’t blurt out the expletive that exploded in her mouth.

  “Whatever you have planned,” Fmedg said, “I can assure you it’s irrelevant. We shall not let you near the planet. So leave, now.”

  Zolbon frowned. “Fine. I’ll leave. But you’re going to have to be extra watchful on this planet, because we’ll get through some day. And once we have our alliance, you won’t have the right to chase us away.” The picture of Zolbon disappeared, replaced by an image of his hulking ship.

  Then the Dakh Hhargashian vessel vanished into Netherspace.

  “The Russians,” Mehta whispered, her heart thudding in her ears. Her own private belief was that the leader of that country was a psychopath. If she was right, he would have no problem sending millions to their deaths.

  “We won’t let the Dakh Hhargash contact them,” Aahliss said in a tone obviously meant to reassure.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  But they hadn’t stopped the Nabbers from attacking before, or from killing thousands of soldiers. How could the Mralans claim they could stop them from contacting the Russians?

  Well, it was the thought that counted, right?

  “But now I need to warn my government.”

  

  Still too many things to learn.

  After she told Freeman about the new Dakh Hhargashian threat, Mehta went to engineering with Trel. Here, Rbemfel began a long list of facts about ship operation that he thought she should know. He started with the gravitational compensation controls, which were positioned prominently on the front wall of the main engineering room. A large purple light, the Mralan equivalent of green, shown above the panel.

  “Now, over here are the shield controls,” Rbemfel continued.

  She nodded. “What do I need to know about shields? You turn them on and off, right?”

  Trel made a groaning sound.

  What now? Was that a stupid question?

  “No, you’re okay,” he said, hand up to reassure. “That wasn’t anything about you.”

  She decided to accept the statement as true, and move on, even though her instincts said otherwise. But she had way too much to learn to spend time worrying about what Trel thought of her.

  Rbemfel cleared his throat. “There are 37 different shield generators, and together they will create shields that will completely protect the ship.”

  “What happens if one goes out?”

  “The others can expand their shields, which makes them a little weaker, but they can fill in most of the gap. Only a small portion would be left unprotected.”

  “The enemy can use that, then?”

  “If they have really good sensors to spot the hole, and excellent aim to hit the hole. I think it would be hard.”

  Mehta didn’t agree, but she wasn’t going to argue. Rbemfel could probably sense her doubts, and that was all she would give him. She didn’t want him to become uncooperative. “Very well, then. What else?”

  Trel let out a loud breath and walked away from her. Then, he stopped in front of the gravitational control panel and ran his fingers through his hair.

  She tried to ignore Trel, let him work through whatever was bothering him. But now she was getting concerned. Something was definitely wrong, and it wasn’t her stupid questions.

  “What else?” Rbemfel said. “You can’t use shields while you’re in Netherspace.”

  “Can’t?”

  “They don’t work there.”

  “Then what do you use?”

  “If someone’s going to fire at you, your only defense will be to drop into normal space.”

  Trel started pacing.

  She leaned toward Rbemfel. “Can you tell what’s wrong with him?”

  Rbemfel shook his head. “Just very dark feelings.”

  She nodded. “Excuse me for a moment.” She walked over to Trel and put her hand on his elbow. “What’s wrong?”

  He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. “I don’t know. I have a really bad feeling about something.” He rubbed his brow again. “Go back to your discussion. I’ll be all right.”

  He didn’t look all right. He looked sick, weak, afraid. She didn’t want to leave him like this, didn’t want to see him struggle or feel misery. But what could she do? She couldn’t pester him to tell her more, and she certainly couldn’t make things better if she didn’t know what was wrong. Worse, things could be so bad there would be nothing she could do anyway.

  “Just let me know if you need anything.”

  “Sure.”

  She went back over to Rbemfel and gave him a reassuring smile, then realized how futile that was. He could sense her worry.

  “How about the seams between the individual shields?”

  “They’re a little weaker than the rest, but not by much.”

  “Ok
ay. Anything else I need to know about shields?”

  “Not that I can think of. So, let’s move on to sensors.”

  She followed him a few feet to another set of controls. “We have two kinds of sensors, active and passive. Active will give you a lot more information, but it will also enable an enemy ship to spot you from a lot farther away.”

  “What kinds of inputs do you get on passive?”

  “A number of things. We get a spectral analysis of whatever—”

  Something buzzed on the panel, and Rbemfel gave her an apologetic shrug. “Sorry. This’ll only take a second.” He punched his finger on a control. “Engineering.”

  “Hey,” the other voice said, “is Trel down there? He’s got a call.”

  Trel hurried over, his face white, muscles tense. “I’ll take it.”

  Mehta took a step backward. “Would you like us to give you some privacy?”

  He looked at Rbemfel and nodded, and the engineer quickly left the room. Then he turned to Mehta. “I think I’d like you to stay.”

  “Sure.” His willingness to share with her, his desire for her to be there, warmed her heart. Now, she just hoped the call didn’t deliver any bad news.

  Trel tapped the controls. “Trel here.”

  “I’m putting it through.”

  A second later, a screen just above the controls lit up, and there she saw the image of… Trel?

  A very solemn looking Trel.

  What was this, a parallel universe?

  “I see you can tell something’s up,” the man in the screen said. He sounded a lot like Trel, but with just a slight variation in the timbre of his voice. And the lock of hair that insisted on curling over Trel’s forehead laid back with the rest of the coif on the alternate Trel.

  “Has something happened to mother?” Trel said.

  “She’s well,” the other said. “I just gave her some bad news.”

  Okay, sounded like they were brothers. But dang, that was some family resemblance.

  “And now you’re going to tell me.”

  Mehta wrapped her hands around Trel’s forearm, the only thing she could do to comfort him without becoming inappropriate.

  The Trel doppelganger looked at her, the first time she realized her image was being projected in the other direction. “And this is the… uh… friend?”

  “This is Colonel Mehta from Earth. She’s helping us prepare for whenever we meet Species X.”

  “Nice disguise.”

  “Thanks.”

  Trel smiled. “This is my twin brother, Trin.”

  “Good to meet you, Trin,” she said.

  “I hope I get to meet you in person some time,” Trin said.

  “I’d like that.”

  Trel’s smile softened. “We’ll arrange it.”

  “But first,” Trin said.

  Trel stiffened. “Just blurt it out. Gradual isn’t going to work here.”

  “I figured,” Trin said. “But even so… it’s hard to say.”

  “Then close your eyes.”

  Trin nodded, closed his eyes, then said, “The ship I’m on has just been assigned to Sector 523.”

  “Visions,” Trel whispered. “When?”

  “In three days.”

  “Spirits help us.”

  Trin smiled, or at least he tried to. “There’s still a chance we’ll come back. Not every ship that gets sent into the X-zone gets destroyed.”

  “If we figure out a better tactic…” Trel looked at Mehta.

  “We’ll definitely pass it on to Trin’s ship. And all the ships. That’s why I’m here.” She sounded so confident, so much like she would save them all, and yet right now she felt woefully inadequate for the task. Did Trel feel her doubts? Was he going to pass that on to Trin?

  Trin’s eyelids fluttered for a moment, and his eyes filled with moisture. “We’ll appreciate anything you can give us.”

  The brothers spoke for another few minutes, and then the conversation ended. Trel sighed deeply.

  “So, twins, huh?”

  “We’re SP twins.”

  “SP?”

  “Single placenta.”

  Mehta’s smile grew larger. “Identical.”

  “Sounds right.” He looked away, rubbing his index fingers with his thumbs. “But even dual placenta twins…” He stopped, swallowed hard.

  “What?”

  “We have a link with each other, a psychic link. We feel what the other’s experiencing, even from great distances. The only other Mralans who have such a link are mated couples.”

  “Then, if something happens to Trin…”

  “It’ll be tears on the moon.”

  Mehta blinked.

  “It’ll be devastating.”

  “Then we can’t let anything happen to him. We have to get back to work.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Major Wendy Hiranaka knocked on the door, then snatched her fist away from the portal as though it had stung her. Mehta was going to take such a large bite out of her ass that she would have no pelvis left.

  “Come,” the steely voice said. The door opened.

  Holding her breath, she forced herself to step in. Mehta sat at her desk, back as straight as a rocket, eyes hard as titanium. “Have a seat.”

  “Thank you,” Hiranaka squeezed out.

  Colonel Mehta pointed to the side of the room, where the Mralan who’d originally been paired with colonel Davis sat, hands folded in her lap. “You remember Opash? She’s going to be our Mralan executive officer. She’s sitting here to observe how I run things.”

  Great. She had a witness, and an empathic one at that. This was going to be harder than ever.

  Only an hour ago they’d had their first staff meeting since arriving, and Mehta had stressed how quickly they needed to come up with something workable. Then she’d told Hiranaka that she was to oversee the plans section.

  That was, Hiranaka quickly realized, about the biggest, most important job in this whole effort. It was the process of coming up with new ideas for how to defeat Species X.

  “What is it you need?” Mehta said.

  “I, um, I need to tell you…” Her face heated up, burning especially hot at the peaks of her cheeks, little pinpoints of smoldering flesh.

  “Major, I don’t have all day.”

  “I can’t do what you’ve assigned to me.” Hiranaka stiffened, prepared for a blast of fury.

  Mehta looked down, then rubbed her eyeballs with her fingers. “What’s the problem?”

  “I just… I’m a pilot. That’s what I do.”

  “I’ve talked to pilots, both Army and Air Force, and I know they do other jobs in their units.”

  “Yes. I was the supply officer. Nothing like this… this planning of tactical stuff.”

  Now, Mehta threw her back against her chair and looked at the ceiling. “Really? Then why the hell did you get picked?”

  “I think it was because, after I bailed out, the flight surgeon wanted me to take a short break before I started flying again, and so I didn’t have that much else to do.”

  “Oh, Jeez, tell me this isn’t true.”

  Hiranaka swallowed. She knew that wasn’t the reason. It was all about her ability to check into the technology, and that wasn’t going to help her develop any clever tactics.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry doesn’t get me any plans.” Mehta huffed, then ran a hand over her face. “You’re a pilot, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you know how to do dog-fights. Start from there.”

  Hiranaka nodded, but she knew that wasn’t going to work. Flying in the air was an entirely different experience than space. In the air, you had to worry about lift and drag and thrust, but in space, inertia was the problem, and sometimes the solution.

  Maybe she could start with that.

  “I guess I do have some thoughts about it.”

  “Good. Then get with Lieutenant Colonel Davis and ask him to give you the chapter ab
out the military decision-making process. That’ll tell you all the steps you need to take.”

  Oh, good. Some guidance, some instructions. “Thank you.”

  “And while we’re at it, one of the big elements of plans is knowing about the enemy. So why don’t you just sit over there with Opash while Ramirez briefs me on what he’s come up with for PIR?”

  “Certainly.” She moved to the chair on the side of the office, now a fly on the wall. It was going to be interesting watching how Ramirez would deal with Mehta.

  “And,” Mehta added, “if you think of anything he missed, you have my permission to chime in.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Like that was actually going to happen.

  A moment later, Ramirez made his grand entrance, looking extra cocky, head held high, shoving the paper onto Mehta’s desk with an almost insolent thrust. “Here’s your recommended PIR.”

  “Thank you,” Mehta said.

  Ramirez turned to go.

  “Stay here,” Mehta said. And she didn’t offer him a seat, either. She just ran her eyes over the paper. “How fast does a Species X ship go? How maneuverable is it? How strong are a Species X ship shields? How strong are their weapons?” She stopped reading aloud, just mouthing words as she skimmed the rest of the page. “These are very good.”

  Ramirez lifted one side of his mouth in a lopsided smile. “Thank you.”

  “Yup. They’re great information requirements.”

  “Thank—say, what?”

  Mehta took a pen and drew a large circle around them. “They will all go under my first PIR: what are the capabilities and weaknesses of a Species X ship?” She lifted the sheet and handed it to Ramirez. “Now you need to come up with some others.”

  “Okay,” he said, not taking the paper. “Like, where will the next attack be?”

  “Excellent. That will go under: what are Species X operational plans?”

  Ramirez’s skin turned a shade darker. “Anything else?”

  Mehta looked at him sharply, like she’d noticed he didn’t say ‘ma’am.’ “Well, let’s see what else we can come up with.” She let the paper fall into the front of her desk, then grabbed another piece. “What is Species X’s strategic thinking? Under that, you’d have things like what are their goals, when will they consider that they’ve accomplished what they set out to do? When will they stop attacking? And what is their center of gravity, their source of power and sustainment that if we took it away, they wouldn’t be able to fight anymore?”