By force of arms lotd-4

by William C. Dietz

  Grand Admiral Hooloo Andragna was more frightened than he cared to admit—not only by the size and power of the two fleets that opposed him—but by the extent to which the entire dynamic had changed. Rather than attack, as he had supposed that they would, the Sheen had agreed to negotiate. Or had they? What about the human who claimed to speak for them? Did he have any actual authority? And what did he want?

  Of equal or even more concern was the manner in which the Confederacy had responded to the situation. He had hoped, no assumed, that they would out and out capitulate, or failing that, waffle back and forth. Instead they evidenced vision, courage, and ironclad determination. Not a very good sign. The naval officer sighed and released his harness. Another more elaborate uniform waited in his quarters. He hated the damn thing and wondered who had been responsible for it. A Runner? Or a Facer? It made no difference. Now, with thousands of ships waiting to attack, neither philosophy seemed especially valid. Andragna thought about his wife, gave thanks that she was on Zynig47, and left the control room. The command crew watched him go.

  President Marcott Nankool, Governor Sergi ChienChu, Maylo ChienChu. Ambassador Hiween DomaSa, Ambassador Tula Nogo Mypop, Senator Samuel Ishimoto Six, and a clutch of advisors stood at the center of the Friendship’s bridge. Admiral Chang was present, as was Captain Boone. Everyone stared at the battle screens arrayed above their heads. “So,” Nankool said gravely, “is that it? Is that all of them?”

  “Maybe,” Chang answered. “The number matches the information gathered by the Ninja off Transit Point NS690193. So, unless the goddamned machines have some reserves they haven’t shown us yet, we’re up against a force of six thousand vessels.”

  “More like nine thousand if we have to fight both fleets,” DomaSa growled. True,” Chang conceded, “which is why I hope President Nankool is one helluva good negotiator.” She grinned, but no one joined her.

  “Which brings us to the upcoming talks,” ChienChu said quietly. “What do we have on this Jepp person?”

  Boone shrugged. “He was a prospector based on Long Jump. Had a ship, but it was mortgaged to the hilt. He disappeared and was given up for dead. When the Sheen arrived, so did he. An army of robots landed, took to the streets, and spouted a lot of religious nonsense. It appeared he was in charge. Then, for reasons we’re not sure of, the machines attacked.”

  “So, he really does have some clout,” Senator Mypop put in.

  “Maybe,” Boone allowed, “but Admiral Tyspin has her doubts. She spent some time with the man and thinks that whatever influence he has is extremely limited. Take those messages for example . . . both of them were computer generated. Jepp was surprised to see his face on the screen. The Hegemony spent quite a lot of time talking to the Thraki. They claim the real power lies with an artificial intelligence known as the Hoon.”

  “Which raises an interesting question,” Senator Alway Omo said, almost forgotten toward the rear of the crowd. “Why send false messages—followed by a meaningless emissary?”

  “To buy time,” DomaSa said simply, his eyes boring through the Ramanthian’s head. “The oldest trick in the universe.”

  The Ramanthian felt a sudden stab of fear. Did the Hudathan know? Had word of the tercentennial birthing leaked somehow? No, the Hudathan lacked subtlety, and would broach the matter head on.

  “That would explain Jepp,” Nankool observed, “and the Hoon, but how ‘bout the Thraki? What are they up to? And why, after hundreds of years, are they ready for a showdown?”

  “I think I know the answer,” a new voice said, “and you aren’t going to like it.”

  The group turned. The Gladiator had dropped insystem in time to witness Nankool’s most recent broadcast. General William Booly caught a glimpse of Maylo ChienChu, felt a fist squeeze his heart, and tried to ignore it. “They have a secret weapon, two of them, either of which could destroy the Sheen fleet.”

  There was silence for a moment. Chang was the first to speak. She was cynical, but Booly was head of the Joint Chiefs. That made him her commanding officer. “Sir, you’re sure of that?”

  Booly nodded. “Yes, Admiral, I am.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yes,” Booty agreed dryly. ‘Those are my sentiments exactly.”

  Chapter 17

  Yield to all, and you will soon have nothing to yield.

  Aesop

  “The Man and His Two Wives” (fable)

  Standard year circa 600 B.C.

  Planet Arballa, the Confederacy of Sentient Beings

  Grand Admiral Hooloo Andragna had been aboard the Friendship before, during the period when the clones and their allies had sought to form an alliance. Seeing the vessel triggered a feeling of reluctant respect. Not awe, since the arks that his people had constructed were larger, not fear, since the Thraki fleet outnumbered the Confederate navy almost two to one, but respect. It was amazing that such disparate races had come together and stayed together, especially in light of how divided his own species was. Something to remember during the upcoming talks.

  Andragna, who was seated above and behind the pilots, watched the view screen as the Friendship’s weapons pods, missile launchers, cooling stacks, antenna housings, and other less obvious installations slid by. He spotted the point where a shaft of light shot out into space and felt the shuttle bank to the left. The launch bay yawned before him. The shuttle entered.

  The blast doors, which rarely closed while the ship was in orbit, started to do so. Andragna and his staff would be spared the necessity of donning space armor to reach the inner access lock—a signal honor indeed since it meant that the Friendship would be unable to launch or recover spacecraft so long as the hatch was closed.

  The shuttle swept low across the deck, fired retros, and, supported by its repellors, settled onto the blastscarred deck. Rows of neatly parked ships marched into the distance. The pilot heaved a sigh of relief. His job was momentarily over.

  The doors met, atmosphere was pumped into the bay, and a reception party gathered by the shuttle. A technical triggered the hatch, and Andragna stepped out onto rollup stairs. He recognized some familiar odors: The harsh smell of ozone, the sickly sweet stench of fuel, and the reek of overheated metal. The Thraki scanned the group below, saw some familiar faces, and nodded accordingly. He displayed some teeth, wondered how such an expression could possibly be interpreted as friendly, and descended the stairs. His staff followed. “President Nankool, Ambassador DomaSa, Governor ChienChu, it’s nice to see you again.”

  Andragna’s form boosted the volume to overcome the sudden chatter from a power wrench, made the necessary translation, and started to record. Each and every word would be captured for subsequent review and analysis.

  There were reciprocal greetings, several rounds of introductions, and pro forma expressions of goodwill that no one took seriously.

  Once the formalities had been concluded, the Thraki were escorted across the deck. through the lock, and into a maze of mostly empty corridors. The majority of the ship’s crew were at battle stations, nonessential civilian personnel had been restricted to their quarters, and even robots were few and far between.

  Eventually, after what seemed like a long hike, Andragna and his staff were ushered into a large conference room. The space was equipped with a twenty-foot-long oval table, wall screens, and soft overhead lighting. A heavily laden side table supported food and a variety of non-intoxicating drinks. Great care had been taken to provide items the Thraki would like.

  There was a certain amount of milling around as everyone sought seats appropriate to their particular status, and it was then that Andragna was reintroduced to General William Booly. Their top-ranking officer if the admiral remembered correctly—and a person to be reckoned with. Nankool stood. He waited for everyone to take their seats, cleared his throat, and met Andragna’s eyes. Though offensive to some sentients, it happened that Thraki reacted to direct eye contact in much the same manner humans did. They viewed it as a sign of sincerity and
mental engagement. The President, who had already rehearsed the gesture in his mind, glanced at his wrist term. “I hope you’ll forgive me if I come straight to the point. .. The Sheen emissary is due to arrive in less than an hour—and we have something of considerable importance to discuss prior to his arrival.”

  Andragna felt a sudden sense of excitement. Could this be what he had been hoping for? Was the Confederacy prepared to form an alliance? Nothing would please him more. The officer nodded but kept a tight rein on his body language. The humans were clever and might have educated themselves regarding the nonverbal aspects of Thraki communication.

  ‘The issue,” Nankool continued, “centers around certain weapons included in your inventory. I’m not sure what the technical name for such devices would be—but you and your priests commonly refer to them as ‘the twins.’ “

  Andragna felt his ears go back, knew the fur along the back of his neck stood straight up, and was powerless to stop it. How did they know? And if the Confederation knew about the twins, what else did they have? Or was this some sort of trick? A stratagem designed to draw him out?

  None of the admiral’s aides had been briefed regarding the twins, but they could see how upset he was and stirred uneasily. The conference room felt suddenly small and confining. Andragna decided to play it safe. ‘Twins? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Nankool raised an eyebrow. “Really? Well, perhaps this will refresh your memory.”

  A holo blossomed at the center of the conference room table. The footage had been captured by Major McGowan on Veca IV. Content made up for what it lacked in technique. The assemblage watched Booly examine the Tomes of Truth, looked over the officer’s shoulder as he stared at a beautifully wrought illustration, and spoke with Sister Torputus.

  With the exception of Sector 27, who belonged to the priesthood, the picture of two cylinders meant nothing to the rest of the delegation. He had never seen the twins with his own eyes but was aware of rumors. No wonder Andragna was upset! The Confederacy had stumbled across something very important indeed. He wanted to help but was forced to watch while the admiral struggled to maintain his composure.

  Andragna listened to the thin reedy voice, saw the female’s obvious sincerity, and sensed that what she claimed was potentially true. Once detonated, the twins might inflict some damage on his fleet. Still, they were the only equalizer he had, and well worth hanging on to. Besides, now that the twins were out in the open, he had a new bargaining chip, one that he should retain for as long as possible. The Thraki mustered all the dignity he could. “Though well intentioned—Sister Torputus had no right to reveal such information. That being said, I suppose it would be pointless to issue further denials. However, while it’s true that we possess two rather unique energy weapons, the rest is pure conjecture. I have complete faith in our technical experts who assure me that while powerful—both weapons can be successfully deployed.”

  The last statement was an outright falsehood—but no one knew that except for Andragna. Nankool experienced an almost overwhelming sense of anger. His hands made fists. The Thraki position was arrogant and foolhardy. More than that, it could result in millions of unnecessary deaths. He glanced at his wrist term, saw that his hands had started to shake, and clasped both behind his back.

  “Very little time remains ... In the interest of your people, as well as ours, the Confederacy requests, no, implores you to forgo use of such weapons, at least until such time as you and your fleet are well clear of our systems.”

  “That’s it?” Andragna inquired sarcastically. “You ask that we sacrifice the very weapons that mean victory for our people? In return for what? Your heartfelt prayers?”

  “No,” Nankool replied coldly. “Forswear use of the twins, and we will fight at your side—not as sacrificial pawns, but as equals.”

  There it was, evidence that the Confederacy understood the nature of Andragna’s intent, but was willing to overlook it. For a price. But which was more valuable, the naval officer wondered. The twins? And all their latent energy? Or the Confederacy? With a small but still powerful fleet?

  Andragna wanted to believe Nankool, wanted to trust me Confederacy, but found that difficult to do. The Thraki were a self-reliant people, unfettered by the compromises that bound the multi-species government together, and therefore stronger. His voice seemed unnaturally loud. “No While the Thraki people would otherwise welcome such an alliance, the price is too high.”

  Nankool felt a profound sense of disappointment. He looked around the room, scanned each face, and came to Andragna’s. “I’m sorry to hear that. Admiral—sorry for your people as well as ours. This meeting is over—may the deities protect us.”

  The Sheen shuttle made no attempt to obtain a clearance from the Friendship’s traffic control computer. It simply followed the shortest possible route in, slid the length of the battleship’s starboard side, and approached the launch bay as if entitled to do so. It was a dangerous thing to do under normal circumstances but with the battleship at the highest state of alert it verged on suicidal. Captain Boone’s command chair whined as he swiveled to the left. More than two dozen cameras covered the launch bay. He checked number sixteen. It showed the hatch through which the shuttle would soon enter, “All batteries will hold their fire ... The Sheen will receive the same courtesies extended to the Thralki.”

  The naval officer sensed a presence and turned to find Admiral Chang at his side. She offered a fresh mug of coffee. “So, are we having fun yet?”

  He accepted the cup. “No, ma’am. The Sheen are crazy.”

  “Machines,” the senior officer replied cheerfully. “You can’t live with ‘em—and you can’t live without

  ‘cm.”

  Meanwhile, oblivious to what the humans thought, the Hoon commanded its fleet, flew the Sheen shuttle, and controlled the onboard security units. Everything and everyone with the exception of Jepp, Veera, and Sam.

  The Hoon executed a sharp left-hand turn and entered the battleship’s bay. It was far less automated than the AI considered to be appropriate. After all, why rely on biologicals when machines were available? All of which served to confirm the conclusion already arrived at: Negotiations were a waste of time, and the fleet should attack. The conclusion was logical, eminently so, but the Hoon took no action. A very un-Hoonlike thing to do. Had the computer intelligence been capable of greater introspection it might have wondered why and sought to understand. But it wasn’t, couldn’t, and didn’t. Programming is programming, and where computers are concerned, as immutable as DNA. Careless of what the Hoon thought, Jepp was on a high. Veera, to whom a lot of his babbling was directed, ignored most of his commentary. The occasional “yes” or “no” was sufficient to keep him happy. In spite of the fact that the Prithian might have been able to remain aboard the Ninja, she had decided to come, and observe what took place.

  Though inconclusive thus far, her research regarding the Sheen had proved quite interesting, as had her evaluation of Thraki society. “Markets derive from economic principles,” her father liked to say, “but are influenced by culture. That’s why you must understand each in order to profit.”

  The merchant was gone now. but his lessons lived on.

  The shuttle touched down, the blast doors closed, and air flooded the bay. Jepp was eager to address the senate. He bounced off the small uncomfortable seat. “This is it, Veera! The moment we’ve been waiting for. Once they hear God’s plan, once they embrace the silvery host, the new order will unfold. Think of it! The entire Confederacy governed by a single religion! Historians will write about this day—and your name will appear for all to see.”

  Veera realized that Jepp was more concerned with his name—but knew better than to say so. The hatch opened, the delegation descended a flight of self-propelled stairs, and were met by a carefully chosen reception committee. Nankoot was there, per Jepp’s request, but so was Maylo, who, unbeknownst to her, had been chosen for reasons other than her politica
l acumen. Admiral Tyspin had provided the government with every bit of information that she could, including the fact that Jepp had a definite interest in women.

  Knowing that, Nankool couldn’t help but smile when the exprospector saw Maylo, and his face lit up. The party formed a column of twos, wound its way between some navy transports, and headed toward the main lock. A metal archway had been established in front of the portal. Anyone who approached had no choice but to pass through. The humans went first followed by the robots. Booly and a pair of technicians were sequestered in a compartment not far away. A row of jury-rigged monitors was racked in front of them. The essence of Tyspin’s theory was that Jepp amounted to little more than a noisy decoy and that the Hoon, or part of the Hoon, controlled one or more of the so-called security units. If that was true, there would be a link back to the fleet and that would validate Tyspin’s thesis.

  “Okay, sir, here goes,” Corn Tech Rutaza said. “Assuming the chip heads are linked with each other and//or one of their ships, the computer will provide me with a visual profile.”

  Booly watched the first security unit pass through the arch. The monitors, lime green the moment before, shivered as an image appeared. It looked nothing like the real thing. The protective force field from which the Sheen took their name appeared as a yellow-white aura. A complex tracery of blue lines described the robot’s electronic nervous system. They rippled in synch with the machine’s alloy body. A lake of red-orange heat confirmed the location of the droid’s power plant while lesser ponds, pools, and streams were associated with online weapon systems, sensor relays, and good old friction. The weapons were worrisome but allowed. There wasn’t a senator onboard who didn’t have their own security.

  Rutaza frowned as the first unit exited screen left. “No linkage, sir.”

  Booly nodded. “Keep looking.”