“Excuse me,” Sandy said. “Go ahead with your briefing. I’ll try not to interrupt again.”
“Once the male population was taken out of the genetic competition by either physical or chemical castration or another form of contraception, the occupiers gained complete control over the female breeding population. There was no chance for any conceptions that they themselves did not control. It does not take a high level of technology to create your own zygotes and insert them into any and all available wombs.”
The room froze. If someone took a breath, it would have thundered like an avalanche.
Sandy was a mother. Yes, her daughter had been conceived and grown in a uterine replicator. Still, she had loved her husband. Together, they had expressed his sperm donation in bed one loving night. The very thought that she might be forced to carry a pregnancy that was not one she shared with Alan was repugnant.
Sandy found part of her breakfast back in her mouth. She swallowed the bile, and reached for a glass of water to clear the taste from her mouth.
She was not alone in needing water.
“I wonder how many of the women committed suicide rather than carry such a forced pregnancy to term?” Amanda said softly. “The despair must have been overwhelming.”
“We can only imagine the hopelessness of the situation,” the young scientist said. “But even if we were to assume that half the population committed suicide, the occupiers would still have billions of slaves. Within two or three generations, the entire population of the planet would have been replaced with subservient slaves formed from the DNA they modified toward their own ends. A slave force that could not even conceive of being anything but submissive. After that, the overlords could go back to letting the slaves reproduce in the old fashioned way, knowing that the resulting children would be just as obedient as the parent.”
“Good God!” Sandy muttered. “After ten thousand years of that, no wonder those that broke their chains would want not only their overlords dead, but their entire planet ripped out down to the bedrock, unable to maintain life even at the virus level.”
That level of hatred sent a deadly chill through Sandy. That level of hatred was now aimed at the human race. How much had it cooled in the last hundred thousand years? To date, there was no evidence that it was any less intense now than it had been then.
“It kind of makes you want to get a good look at the next planet over,” Sandy said. “If that planet isn’t the actual home planet of the overlords, then I sure would like to find the other one. Did they demolish it as well? Or is it out there somewhere still? Is that one of the reasons the raiders are so intent on destroying populated planets?”
“Several of us have talked about the need for a thorough survey of the next planet over from the raider home world,” Penny said. “Our problem is one of security. What type of a survey do we conduct and how do we make sure that whatever teams we send to conduct it don’t get caught and massacred by raiders?”
Sandy glanced at Penny with raised eyebrows. She’d just led a force out to explore the aliens’ home world, and space raiders had done their best to cut her off and cut her to pieces. She’d lost ships fighting her way out of that trap. Was the study of a barren wreck of a planet worth a ship or one human life?
At the moment, the exploration of this end of the galaxy was on hold. Yes, they had visited the planetary systems around the planets that humans were defending: Alwa, and the cat world. Beyond that, knowledge was limited to the systems that convoys dropped into on the way from human space to here and back again. It would be nice to conduct a broad-reaching mapping and exploration program, but few people were willing to volunteer to go jaunting about space in a small exploration vehicle that might very well run into an alien raider cruiser.
There were so many questions Sandy wanted answered, but there were even fewer that she was willing to send people out to die for.
“There is one thing that you might want to look into personally,” Jacques said. “You haven’t yet visited the alien raider children that we’ve got in school down on Alwa. About twenty of them are from the aliens we destroyed in the cat system. None of them have the alien rebel marker in their DNA. Their teachers tell us they are model students. They do their work diligently and can memorize entire stories, as well as data. When it comes to creative problem-solving, however, they tend to work best in groups with human children who provide the ideas that they then make real. Two kids from the hunter-gatherers have the rebel marker. They are giving their colonial playmates a run for their money when it comes to ideas and surprises.”
“That doesn’t bode well for us fighting them,” Sandy grumbled.
“I don’t know,” Jacques said, with a chuckle. “It could be argued that our rambunctious kids are being a bad influence on those two from the home world.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Penny said, “I was there when we rescued a shame-faced Marine gunny. They walked right into the middle of that tribe. It takes a pretty savvy bunch with stone-tipped spears to ambush a Marine patrol.”
The room fell silent as Sandy mulled this picture. There was not a lot to like. “So let me see if I’ve got this straight. We are extremely confident that this planet we studied was indeed the home planet of that huge force of alien raiders that do not want to say one word to us, but only wipe us out and all the other intelligent life in the galaxy.”
Sandy paused to look around the table. Everyone met her eyes. Many nodded. None objected.
Sandy went on. “There is a strong likelihood that the population of that planet was subjugated in a very brutal way, most likely by the inhabitants of the system that can be reached by one jump. During this subjugation, the entire population of the planet was replaced by genetically modified beings that were specifically bred to be subservient slaves.”
Again, Sandy looked around the room. There were fewer scientists nodding. Still, no one objected to her conclusion.
Sandy went on. “The enslaved population rose up and destroyed those who enslaved them. They took off on a mission to sanitize the galaxy of all intelligent life. At the moment, they appear to be divided into two groups. The much larger group are very much like the subservient slaves from the occupation. They do what they’re told to do. A smaller group, however, have mutated somehow. They are more like us cantankerous humans. They may even be subject to things like ambition and the urge to have a long line of beautiful women waiting to jump into their beds.”
That grew a chuckle from both the men and women around the table.
“Not that it is necessarily a totally reprehensible objective, from a human standpoint,” Sandy said, and got a full-fledged laugh from most. That seemed to clear some of the poison from the atmosphere.
Sandy shook her head, ruefully. “If only we could take a few of the Enlightened Ones out for a drink and let them know we aren’t that much different. You know, bond while we get drunk,” the admiral said with a sarcastic snort.
“We’d likely need to add ourselves a strip club on the station,” Penny said, “if we really wanted to try for that kind of diplomacy, Admiral.”
That drew frowns and scowls from most of those there. Penny was only a captain. She didn’t have the rank to get dutiful laughs, and she knew it.
“Getting back to the serious matter at hand,” Sandy said, “there is the question of how we can exploit this weakness to somehow destroy their command and control. Any suggestions?”
“That’s something we’ll have to work on,” Penny said. “Psychological warfare against your fellow human has been part of human warfare for thousands of years. Still, those are human-on-human interactions. Trying to figure out the psychology of aliens who command fleets of obedient slaves is something else entirely.”
“No question about that,” Sandy said. “Have you got anything else for me?”
“We’ve got lots of information for you Admiral,” Jacques said. “There’s a lot of people sitting at this table who would really love to bend your e
ar. Problem is, I’m not sure that you really need to know what’s down in the weeds underneath what we’ve been talking about.”
“Have I got written reports from all of you with good executive summaries?” Sandy asked those around the table.
There are quite a few nods. Put that way, no one wanted to admit that they had not prepared a good and full report.
“Let me peruse those for a couple of days, Jacques,” Sandy said. “Maybe we could have a dinner or cocktail party once I know what you have, and those of you who really feel a need to bend my ear can do it while I have a nice drink in my hand.”
That grew a chuckle from everyone present.
Everything done for the moment, Sandy stood. So did everyone else in the room.
“Admiral, if you don’t mind us tying up your wardroom for a bit longer,” Jacques said, “I’d like to hear more about what some of my folks have to say. I think Penny would find it informative as well.”
“That’s fine, Jacques, I’ve got several small fires I need to put out before they become larger ones. You continue this meeting, then drop in to tell me if anything new has come up.”
That said, Sandy headed back to her desk to see what the gremlins had done while she was busy elsewhere.
3
Santiago returned to her day quarters; her desk had a stack of readers on it. She settled herself down in a comfortable chair her computer generated and got ready to ‘enjoy’ the rest of the morning. She quickly skimmed the executive summary of several of the reports. None of them raised any questions in her mind that hadn’t been answered during the meeting.
Sandy dove down into a couple of reports that looked intelligible. None of them added anything more than she’d gotten from the summaries. Apparently, scientists would be pleased with the granularity at that level; Sandy was just bored.
The entire time she read, her mind was only half paying attention to what she had in front of her. The short conversation she’d had with Amber about the Alwa Defense sector had not satisfied her.
“Computer, raise Admiral Kitano.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
“I’ve been sitting on my butt in meetings all morning. Would you care to accompany me on a walk?”
“Of course, Admiral.”
“I’ll be at your flag in a few minutes,” Sandy said and punched off. She passed quickly from her quarters to the Victory’s quarterdeck, to the pier, then up to A Deck of the station.
An electric station truck silently rolled past her, towing three trailers full of frozen food. Whether it was bound for a ship or a restaurant, there was no way to tell. Around her, people strode purposefully in singles, pairs, or groups. Similar groups ambled along, taking time to window shop at many of the stores and eateries along the A Deck Promenade.
A couple; one Navy, one civilian, studied the window of a jewelry store, then hugged and hurried inside.
The smell of food, lubricants, and ozone tickled her nose, with a hint of trash and garbage underlying the more pleasant scents.
It looked like any other day in a busy downtown, except here some of the people were humans, some Ostriches, some Roosters, and there were a few cats. All that was missing were a few Iteeche to make for a complete mix of humanity’s interstellar relationships.
Amber must have posted a lookout at the top of the Princess Royal’s pier; the admiral was standing there as Sandy approached. The two exchanged salutes and the four-star admiral fell in step with the five-star as they proceeded briskly down A Deck.
“Did I really have all of the SOBs nipping at my jump gates at the alien home planet? Did you really have a quiet time here?” Sandy asked.
“I said the BEMs didn’t cause us much trouble. I didn’t say we had a quiet time.”
“I thought there might be more lurking behind your brief this morning. You’ve got my undivided attention.”
“The bug-eyed monsters only popped one of our jump warning buoys. As per our practice, we replaced it and added another layer,” the commander of Sandy’s Battle Force said. “My problem was more with our allies than our enemies.”
Sandy allowed herself a groan. “I was kind of expecting that. What’s happening besides the fight between Rita Nuu-Longknife and her son, Alex?”
Amber paused and the two admirals faced each other. “The two fortresses guarding the jump points are turning out to be a bitch to crew,” Amber said.
“I assigned a task fleet of thirty-two battlecruisers to each of the two fortresses. That would be a quick reaction force to any surprises we might get along the edge of our perimeter outposts. The single time we dispatched them, the little nuisance was long gone and it turned out to be just a ‘march up the hill and then march down again,’ drill. The wear and tear on the ships was minor. The wear and tear on the crews was another matter.”
“Our crews?” Sandy echoed.
“All the ships tied up at Canopus and Portsmouth Stations have just under half their crews aboard. The rest are dirtside on their week off. One week on ship. One week dirtside on their farm, ranch, hunting lodge, golf course, whatever. Then switch. We do the same for the yard workers.”
“I know. You’re slipping colonials, birds, and cats into the workforce to cover for the folks on leave below. Is there a problem with that?”
“Between these ships and down below, no problem. Between those on the two jump point fortresses and the ships assigned to them, not so much. Two, four, maybe six hours at the most, and anyone here can be down there. It’s a two- or three-day passage to the jump fortress.”
“Volunteers?” Sandy asked.
“We initially tried filling the ships with couples that volunteered for say, two months out there, then seven weeks dirtside with one week of travel. I know people have pulled worse duty before, but we’re putting a whole lot of people out there and the facilities on the fortresses haven’t developed as well as we would have liked. Recreation is still what you make of it. Maybe in time it will get better, but it’s still pretty primitive for both the fortress troops and the fleet personnel.
“We might have been able to work all this out, but a lot of the birds and some of the cats proved to have serious problems being cooped up for two months that far from dirt. We had to ship quite a few of the first watch back home under sedation. Even the cats that stayed out there are grumbling that they aren’t learning a whole heck of a lot staring out of the fortress waiting for something that may or may not happen. Right now, we’re having to cover the forts mostly with Navy and colonials. That straps the rest of us.”
“Do you think the cats back home found out about this and its part of the reason they’re playing hard to recruit?”
Amber shrugged. “We are sending mail back and forth between here and Sasquan. No way to tell if this is coordinated or they’re just cats being cats and being overly picky. You ever have a cat, Admiral?”
Sandy shook her head.
“Feed them their favorite food today, and they eat it. Tomorrow, they turn up their nose at it. I never could understand the cat my sister adopted. Or who adopted her. The more I see of these cats, the more they remind me of Goddess.”
“Can we do anything to help the cats learn what they want to?”
“Most of the cats are here on a one year worker training program. They spend one week working in the shipyards or the lunar fabrication plants and the next week standing watch on one of the ships we’ve got here on the pier. They love a day of exercise and, so long as we give them light duty for a weekend, they’re ready to go back to work on the moon.”
“But that only works if we’ve got a yard or fab within a few hours sailing time,” Sandy said.
“Yes, ma’am. We considered putting the ships at the station on a heavy training cycle and let the cats spend two months getting thoroughly drilled up Navy, but that means driving the Navy and colonials just as hard, and that’s hard to do for two months at a Spartan base.”
“What can we do about that Spartan base matter?” San
dy asked.
“I’ve talked to most of the best cooks on the station restaurants. I’ve even gone dirtside and talked to several places around Haven. No joy. No one wants to be a long cruise from dirtside.”
“So, the fortress is a great idea for defending our jumps, but not so good when no one is under the threat of total annihilation, right?”
“Right. I’ve cut the number of ships at each fortress in half. There are only sixteen now. We’ve discussed among the sailors the idea of switching out the ships’ crews every two months, but no one wants to be rotated through a ship that’s not their own. Besides, who takes care of their ships while they’re out there?”
“Have you looked at rotating ships and crews every two months?”
“That’s about all that’s left,” Amber said. “Still, no matter how we cut the cards, that’s going to be a hardship post. We may be only crewing the ships at 75% of wartime levels, but it’s still a major drain on morale to have everyone knowing they’ll be spending two months out there at least once a year.”
“Are the cats still the most able seamen among the aliens?” Sandy asked.
“Yes, ma’am. They grasp the concepts of what we’re doing. I think a lot of them have at least some idea of how lasers work. You don’t have to field strip a 24-incher too often to figure out the working parts. Of course, there’s no way they can manufacture what gives the laser it’s kick, but they have the concept down, now.”
“In six months or so, we’ll be releasing the first bunch of cats back to their home world knowing there’s something there and we are hell-bent on discovering it,” Sandy said, shaking her head.
“Yeah. I can’t throw any stones. I’ve gotten too much good work out of these cats to complain about what we did, but I think there may be some really wicked unintended consequences in what we’re doing.”
Kris Longknife's Successor Page 3