by John Grant
In order to launch a counterattack from a warcruiser, you had to drop your defensive shield for a tiny fraction of a second. That tiny fraction could be just enough time for a ballistic or a beam to sneak through and reduce your vessel to smithereens. This had been impressed upon Strider by an earlier general communiqué Kortland had issued, and she in turn had impressed it upon Leander and the others.
"All cruisers will now place themselves in direct communication with the central puter aboard this flagship," the Helgiolath was saying. "This instruction does not apply to those craft that are carrying back-ups of the central puter. The basic instructions are as follows . . ."
Not fully understanding what she was doing, Leander found her fingers dancing across the keyboard directly beneath her at the front of the Pocket. She knew that she was just a sentient channel through which the Helgiolath was feeding codes to the keyboard: the codes, like many of the keys, made no sense at all to her. What she was doing was unnecessary—the Images must be picking up all this stuff direct—but she found herself unable to stop obeying.
A second ballistic impacted against the Santa Maria's defensive shields and exploded in a surge of fury and brilliance. Once again the craft itself was unaffected.
But there would have to come the time when the Santa Maria would be facing the might of the Autarchy head-on. A single ballistic penetrating through a momentarily dropped shield would rip the ship in half.
That time might not be long in coming.
#
Back on a hillside on F-14, when she had looked like nothing more than a naked savage as she and Segrill negotiated, Strider had had the beginnings of an idea. Later, after she'd established the Santa Maria in orbit, she'd explained it to him further.
Warcruisers are very large spacecraft—they have to be, because of all the weaponry they must carry, not to mention armored shuttles for making planetfall, when that is necessary, and of course the troopers who will be going down in those shuttles. The average Autarchy warcruiser was home to upwards of a thousand personnel, and some of those were from species whose individuals were very large indeed—although few matched the Bredai for size. Most were on roughly the same scale as human beings. Very few sentient species were as small as Segrill's, the Trok.
Although warcruisers occasionally deployed fighters in combat, more usually they did not. The fate of a fighter when it came up against a defensive shield was much the same as that of a ballistic, but ballistics were significantly easier—and cheaper—to manufacture. Also, ballistics were a lot smaller than fighters and could move and manoeuvre much more swiftly, and so they presented a far more difficult target for the enemy to track and destroy—even despite the fact that the presence of sentient creatures aboard fighters made their trajectories much more unpredictable. Most of the time, therefore, warcruisers in battle were engaged in direct combat with each other: they were accustomed, in other words, to be fighting with objects that were as big as themselves.
Even a ballistic was quite large by comparison with a Trok fighter.
Of course, a Trok fighter couldn't carry the same firepower as one designed for a species built to the scale of, say, human beings. But that didn't matter too much. Its computers were every bit as skilful and speedy, and any missiles it launched could travel as swiftly as something far larger. A bigger missile could carry a bigger payload, certainly—one that could blow a warcruiser to pieces most impressively. But that was hardly necessary: in the hostile environment of the vacuum, a crippled warcruiser was a dead warcruiser. Though only a few meters across, the Trok's fighters were each capable of transporting—and directing—at least a couple of missiles which, assuming they penetrated the enemy's defensive shield, bore charges sufficient to do significant damage to a warcruiser's outer hull. And that was all that was needed.
Ever since the Santa Maria had rejoined the Helgiolath fleet she had been surrounded by a swarm of over a hundred Trok fighters under the overall command of Segrill. By comparison with the thousands of warcruisers amassed in the armada, the number was as trifling as the size of the vessels themselves, but Strider and Segrill were convinced they could do a disproportionate amount of damage to the Autarchy's forces.
#
WE ARE PICKING UP A NEW COMMUNICATION, said Ten Per Cent Extra Free.
"What is it?" said Strider. "Put it on the communications Pocket."
THE RELEVANT INDIVIDUAL DOES NOT WISH INITIALLY TO SPEAK WITH YOURSELF, CAPTAIN LEONIE STRIDER. WE COULD INTERPRET THE COMMUNICATION DIRECTLY TO THE PERSON INVOLVED ABOARD THIS SHIP, BUT WE BELIEVED THAT WE SHOULD ASK YOUR APPROVAL FIRST.
"Who do they want to speak to?" said Strider. It was unusual for the Images to consult her about very much. This must be something unusual.
POLYAGGLE, Ten Per Cent Extra Free replied.
Strider thought for a moment. She was fairly certain in her own mind that the Spindrifter would do nothing to harm the Santa Maria, but she couldn't be a hundred per cent sure. Alien ways of thinking, as she kept telling herself, were radically different from human ones. Who could tell what was going on behind those impenetrably deep eyes?
"Can you ask Polyaggle to come to the command deck?" she said. "She can speak via Pocket. I want to be able to see what's going on."
WE CANNOT MONITOR THE POCKET AS SHE CONVERSES, said Ten Per Cent Extra Free reprovingly. IT WOULD BE AN INVASION OF PRIVACY.
Strider snorted. The Images had never been sticklers about her own privacy.
BESIDES, Ten Per Cent Extra Free added, BOTH BEINGS WOULD IMMEDIATELY RECOGNIZE OUR PRESENCE AND CEASE COMMUNICATION.
"Yeah," she said. "But I still want to be able at least to watch from outside the Pocket."
WE HAVE REQUESTED HER PRESENCE, said the Image a moment later, AND SHE IS ALREADY MAKING HER WAY HERE.
Another ballistic impacted against the defensive shield as Strider waited. The effect inside the Santa Maria was as if everyone aboard had been brushed by a moth's wing. In the Pocket in front of her she could see, graphically represented, the Autarchy's warcruisers beginning to peel out of their orbits around Qitanefermeartha. The display told her that there were over four thousand of them. They were outnumbered nearly two to one, but there were still enough of them to ensure that this was going to be no walkover—especially since the Autarchy could count on the use of its ground-based ballistics as well.
The Santa Maria, too, was shifting its position under the commands of Kortland's central puter. Strider felt disempowered—hell, she was disempowered—by being able to do no more than watch her ship being navigated by remote control. One virtue the Helgiolath very clearly lacked was the art of public relations: it was all very well telling the individual commanders what was going on at the moment, but what they needed to know was why it was going on and, if all went according to plan, what was intended to happen next. As it was, Strider felt a seriously less useful component of the Santa Maria than her busted Main Computer.
Ten Per Cent Extra Free clearly picked up her thoughts.
KORTLAND IS INTRODUCING AN IMBALANCE TO THE ATTACKING SHELL AROUND QITANEFERMEARTHA, he said. HE IS AMASSING A FAR GREATER CONCENTRATION OF CRUISERS IN ONE AREA TO FORM, IN EFFECT, A SEPARATE FLEET THAT IS ABOUT THE SAME SIZE AS THE AUTARCH'S. CERTAINLY IT IS TOO LARGE FOR THE AUTARCH'S GENERALS TO IGNORE: THEY WILL HAVE TO DIRECT THE BULK OF THEIR FORCES TOWARDS IT. THE REST OF THE SHELL WILL BE MORE SPARSELY POPULATED BY CRUISERS—FOR A WHILE.
Strider nodded. The reasoning seemed sound.
ONCE BATTLE HAS BEEN JOINED, THE REMAINING HELGIOLATH AND F-14 VESSELS WILL LIKEWISE COME TOGETHER, AND CONCENTRATE ON PIERCING STRAIGHT THROUGH THE RESIDUAL PLANETARY DEFENSES TO QITANEFERMEARTHA ITSELF.
"And in which bit of his armada has the mighty Kortland decided to put the Santa Maria?" said Strider, knowing the sarcasm would be picked up by Ten Per Cent Extra Free.
BECAUSE OF ITS ENTOURAGE OF TROK FIGHTERS, KORTLAND HAS DETERMINED THAT THE SANTA MARIA WILL BE PART OF THE FORCE THAT ATTACKS QITANEFERMEARTHA DIRECTL
Y.
"It would have been polite of him to mention it," she said. The Image didn't bother to reply.
She continued to gaze into the Pocket. A few Helgiolath vessels had been eliminated, but so far the situation between the opposing forces had really not changed at all. They were like two people high on ziprite who had picked a fight with each other but were still at the stage of making aggressive punches into empty air. Whenever one of those punches chanced to land it did very little damage. Soon, however, the fight would be joined in earnest. And it would be to the death.
She turned to Pinocchio. "Issue orders to everyone aboard—kids included—that they're to ensure they're properly kitted out with fully charged lazguns. Tell them to check their suits, but not to suit up yet." No need to get clumsy until you had to—and if the Santa Maria were badly damaged being in a spacesuit wasn't going to save anyone's life. "I want twenty volunteers in case we're sent down to the surface to fight—if you can't get twenty, conscript a few. O'Sondheim is not to volunteer: he is to take over command from me in the event of my death. Neither are you—he'll need you. Understood?"
"Anything else?" said the bot.
"Yup. All volunteers, except those from the command deck, are to gather themselves in four of the shuttle bays. Organize them into suitable parties, Pinocchio. I'll lead one, Nelson another, Leander a third—I've just volunteered them for duty. We three will stay here until the time comes. Appoint someone else to head the fourth party and to be in overall charge of the rest until—if—we go down."
The bot started working with his commline.
Behind Strider, the lock leading from the main part of the ship to the command deck soughed open. Polyaggle emerged, with Lan Yi following behind her. Strider scowled. She hadn't asked for the scientist to be here. Still, he would probably be of some use—especially if she and Leander and Nelson had to leave the deck under O'Sondheim's control.
"Pinocchio," she said, indicating the newcomers, "get some bot or other to fetch these two's suits."
Polyaggle was moving straight towards the left-hand communications Pocket, which was automatically adjusting its height to welcome her. Strider felt a small shock of annoyance—as if the Spindrifter should have asked her permission first.
"We're beginning to pick up speed, oh darling of my dreams," said Nelson.
He seemed to be a lot calmer than she was. His calmness was infectious.
"Keep your dreams to yourself!" she snapped, beginning to grin. "And keep me posted." She nodded towards Polyaggle, who had already immersed her face into the communications Pocket. "I have other observation to do."
Two ballistics hit the defensive shield almost simultaneously. Again the sensation of their explosions was hardly detectable aboard the Santa Maria.
Strider paced from side to side, her gaze fixed on Polyaggle's back. Reading the Spindrifter's face was impossible; reading her back was doubly so—or maybe it wasn't, because occasionally the wings would rise slightly from their sheaths.
She looked at Lan Yi. "You know her better than I do. Any idea what's going on?"
He turned his hands outward. "Those movements of the wings are friendly gestures," he said. "Other than that I can't tell."
Oh, shit! Most thoughts crossing Strider's mind weren't too great at the moment, but the one that had just done so was perhaps the worst of all. "Ten Per Cent Extra Free," she said urgently, "I know you can't eavesdrop on what Polyaggle's saying, but can you reassure me of one thing? That's not Kaantalech she's speaking to, is it?"
IT IS NOT KAANTALECH. HAD IT BEEN SO WE WOULD HAVE INFORMED YOU, DESPITE THE VIOLATION OF PROPRIETY.
Then who the hell was it? She was still convinced the Spindrifter wouldn't knowingly betray the Santa Maria, but . . .
"May I evaluate our situation?" said Lan Yi politely beside her.
"Choose your Pocket," she said, dredging up a smile from somewhere. It was nice to be looking at someone who wasn't bigger than her.
"Kortland's manoeuvre has been successful," said Leander. "The Autarch fleet seems to have decided it can pick the rest of us off later. A few warcruisers are still in Qitanefermeartha orbit, but the rest are heading towards the main fleet."
"How certain are you of that?" said Strider absent-mindedly, still concentrating on Polyaggle's back.
"The Pocket . . ."
"Yeah. OK." Maybe the Autarchy had technology capable of deceiving the Helgiolath's detectors; it was unlikely that they could delude the Pockets—or the Images. "Keep watching."
It was her enforced passivity that most rankled with Strider. Kortland was doing things. The Images were doing things. Polyaggle was doing things. All Strider and her personnel could do—at least for the while—was watch. Or, in Strider's case, watch and get angrier.
No, there was a bit more she could do.
"Pinocchio."
"Yes."
"Food. We need some food up here." In a few hours' time they were likely to be fighting it out on Qitanefermeartha: it made little sense for them to be famished. "And stuff to drink—it doesn't matter what. Get a bot on to it. Make sure the rest of the people in the shuttle parties get something to eat and drink as well."
Practicalities, practicalities, she reminded herself. Sentient species throughout The Wondervale and the Milky Way and assumedly the rest of the Universe could devise the most elaborate philosophies and technologies, but all the time they had to eat and shit. Maybe the Images didn't have to—but they weren't really in the Universe so they didn't count. When the two great fleets finally joined battle there were bound to be thousands on either side who were stuck in the john doing whatever was their species' equivalent of pulling up their trousers. It didn't speak too much for the glories of sentience.
But then neither, more importantly, did warfare. Or tyranny. Or the way that some species—and she did not entirely except the Spindrifters and certainly not the Helgiolath—seemed to consider themselves superior to others.
Polyaggle's wings had stayed motionless for over thirty seconds now. Strider didn't know if this was a good or a bad sign.
"We have twenty-eight volunteers," said Pinocchio quietly to her.
"Triage 'em down," she said. "I don't want any people going down on to Qitanefermeartha who aren't capable of handling a lazgun. If any of the kids have volunteered, tell them not to be foolish. Same goes for any of the elderly Reals who you don't think are up to it."
"I have already done these things, Leonie."
"Then just choose the best twenty." What the hell was the Spindrifter up to? "Be diplomatic, Pinocchio, like I would be."
The bot made a curious strangled noise.
"You know what I mean," she said.
At last Polyaggle eased her face out of the communications Pocket. Her wings were now moving agitatedly in and out of their sheaths. She looked directly towards Strider.
"I have been speaking with the Onurg of the Pridehouse," she said immediately.
"That doesn't mean anything to me."
"The Pridehouse are one of the ancient species of The Wondervale." Polyaggle tapped her claws together hard enough that Strider could hear the click. "One of the last things that Feefaar and Nerita did before our planet was disrupted was to send out a warning to all of the others of the ancient species."
Strider waited for Polyaggle to continue. Lan Yi had emerged from the fascinations of his Pocket and moved to the Spindrifter's side.
"The Pridehouse detected my presence here on this starship," said Polyaggle. "Though they have maintained their neutrality over the millennia, they were"—the Images seemed to be searching for an accurate translation of the Spindrift word that Polyaggle must have used—"they were distressed to hear of my species' demise. It may not be long before the Autarchy realizes that the ancient species still possess much of the technology they did before the secondary species arose, and then many more planets like Spindrift may be disintegrated."
There was a short pause while the Images caught up their interpre
tation of what Polyaggle was saying.
"The Pridehouse have asked my consent to their sending a fleet to join us." Again that click-clack of the claws. "I told the Onurg that the decision was not mine but yours."
Strider realized at once what a concession the Spindrifter had made. Humans were a raw species; the Spindrifters had been cruising the starways while Strider's ancestors had still been hunting in packs. When Polyaggle looked at the people aboard the Santa Maria she was looking down a staircase whose steps were billennia. Polyaggle was acknowledging the human species as equals. Strider had the embarrassing sensation that there was a tear forming at the corner of her eye.
"Kortland is the one who must settle this," she said sharply. "I'm just the captain of a vessel who isn't even allowed to make her own decisions any more."
She turned to Leander. "Raise Kortland in the other communications Pocket. Doubtless you'll have to struggle through about fifty thousand bureaucrats before you get to him, but make sure you do, OK?"
Leander nodded.
"It could give me no greater pride than to have the Pridehouse among us," said Strider, keeping her words measured. "I cannot imagine that Kortland will wish to turn them away . . . but you understand the protocols."
A click together of the talons. Maybe the clicks were all subtly different from each other. Strider made the assumption that this one indicated assent.
"The Pridehouse are not the only ones," added Polyaggle. "There are also the Lingk-kreatzai, the Wreeps, the Semblances of the Eternal, the Fionnoids, the Janae and the We Are."
Seven species willing to add their collective might to the forces of the rebels: it was an awesome thought.
"When can they be here?" she said.
"Not for some while." Polyaggle shifted her wings. "By the time they can resurrect their fleets the battle over Qitanefermeartha will long ago have been won and lost, whichever way it goes. I have something to add, Captain Leonie Strider."
"What?" So the intercession of the ancient races was, after all, just a sideshow, an irrelevance. There were going to be preconditions.