“You look well,” it said, as we walked down the walkway. We both loved the walkway because of the winds the warm clear seawater created as it rushed by below.
I smiled. “I feel well.”
“When did you make it?”
“Over the last two suns,” I said.
“I’m glad,” it said. “You were beginning to fade.”
It held up an okuoko. “I was working with a yellow current to use in one of my classmate’s body tech,” it said.
“Oh,” I said, looking at its burned flesh.
We paused, looking down at the rushing waters. The relief I’d felt at the naturalness, the trueness of the otjize immediately started waning. This was the real test. I rubbed some otjize from my arm and them took Okwu’s okuoko in my hand. I applied the otjize and then let the okuoko drop as I held my breath. We walked back to my dorm. My otjize from Earth had healed Okwu and then the chief. It would heal many others. The otjize created by my people, mixed with my homeland. This was the foundation of the Meduse’s respect for me. Now all of it was gone. I was someone else. Not even fully Himba anymore. What would Okwu think of me now?
When we got to my dorm, we stopped.
“I know what you are thinking,” Okwu said.
“I know you Meduse,” I said. “You’re people of honor, but you’re firm and rigid. And traditional.” I felt sorrow wash over and I sobbed, covering my face with my hand. Feeling my otjize smear beneath it. “But you’ve become my friend,” I said. When I brought my hand away, my palm was red with otjize. “You are all I have here. I don’t know how it happened, but you are…”
“You will call your family and have them,” Okwu said.
I frowned and stepped away from Okwu. “So callous,” I whispered.
“Binti,” Okwu said. It plumed out gas, in what I knew was a laugh. “Whether you carry the substance that can heal and bring life back to my people or not, I am your friend. I am honored to know you.” It shook its okuoko, making one of them vibrate. I yelped when I felt the vibration in one of mine.
“What is that?” I shouted, holding up my hands.
“It means we are family through battle,” it said. “You are the first to join our family in this way in a long time. We do not like humans.”
I smiled.
He held up an okuoko. “Show it to me tomorrow,” I said, doubtfully.
“Tomorrow will be the same,” it said.
When I rubbed off the otjize the burn was gone.
* * *
I sat in the silence of my room looking at my edan as I sent out a signal to my family with my astrolabe. Outside was dark and I looked into the sky, at the stars, knowing the pink one was home. The first to answer was my mother.
CoDominum is a series of future history novels by Jerry Pournelle that began in 1973 with a A Spaceship For The King and includes collaborations with Larry Niven. Both authors are famous for their space opera, and our next story, from 1982, is the prequel to the collaborative novel The Mote In God’s Eye, which the two authors wrote together in 1974.
REFLEX
LARRY NIVEN AND JERRY POURNELLE
“Throughout the past thousand years of history it has been traditional to regard the Alderson Drive as an unmixed blessing. Without the faster than light travel Alderson’s discoveries made possible, humanity would have been trapped in the tiny prison of the Solar System when the Great Patriotic Wars destroyed the CoDominium on Earth. Instead, we had already settled more than two hundred worlds.
“A blessing, yes. We might now be extinct were it not for the Alderson Drive. But unmixed? Consider. The same tramline effect that colonized the stars, the same interstellar contacts that allowed the formation of the First Empire, allow interstellar war. The worlds wrecked in two hundred years of Secession Wars were both settled and destroyed by ships using the Alderson Drive.
“Because of the Alderson Drive we need never consider the space between the stars. Because we can shunt between stellar systems in zero time, our ships and ships’ drives need cover only interplanetary distances. We say that the Second Empire of Man rules two hundred worlds and all the space between, over fifteen million cubic parsecs…
“Consider the true picture. Think of myriads of tiny bubbles, very sparsely scattered, rising through a vast black sea. We rule some of the bubbles. Of the waters we know nothing…”
—from a speech delivered by Dr. Anthony Horvath at the Blaine Institute, AD 3029.
Any damn fool can die for his country.
—General George S. Patton.
3017 AD
The Union Republic War Cruiser Defiant lay nearly motionless in space a half billion kilometers from Beta Hortensi. She turned slowly about her long axis.
Stars flowed endlessly upward with the spin of the ship, as if Defiant were falling through the universe. Captain Herb Colvin saw them as a battle map, infinitely dangerous. Defiant hung above him in the viewport, its enormous mass ready to fall on him and crush him, but after years in space he hardly noticed.
Hastily constructed and thrown into space, armed as an interstellar cruiser but without the bulky Alderson Effect engines which could send her between the stars, Defiant had been assigned to guard the approaches to New Chicago from raids by the Empire. The Republic’s main fleet was on the other side of Beta Hortensi, awaiting an attack they were sure would come from that quarter. The path Defiant guarded sprang from a red dwarf star four-tenths of a light year distant. The tramline had never been plotted. Few within New Chicago’s government believed the Empire had the capability to find it, and fewer thought they would try.
Colvin strode across his cabin to the polished steel cupboard. A tall man, nearly two meters in height, he was thin and wiry, with an aristocratic nose that many Imperial lords would have envied. A shock of sandy hair never stayed combed, but he refused to cover it with a uniform cap unless he had to. A fringe of beard was beginning to take shape on his chin. Colvin had been clean-shaven when Defiant began its patrol twenty-four weeks ago. He had grown a beard, decided he didn’t like it and shaved it off, then started another. Now he was glad he hadn’t taken the annual depilation treatments. Growing a beard was one of the few amusements available to men on a long and dreary blockade.
He opened the cupboard, detached a glass and bottle from their clamps, and took them back to his desk. Colvin poured expertly despite the Coriolis effect that could send carelessly poured liquids sloshing to the carpets. He set the glass down and turned toward the viewport.
There was nothing to see out there, of course. Even the heart of it all, New Chicago—Union! In keeping with the patriotic spirit of the Committee of Public Safety, New Chicago was now called Union. Captain Herb Colvin had trouble remembering that, and Political Officer Gerry took enormous pleasure in correcting him every damned time. Union was the point of it all, the boredom and the endless low-level fear; but Union was invisible from here. The sun blocked it even from telescopes. Even the red dwarf, so close that it had robbed Beta Hortensi of its cometary halo, showed only as a dim red spark. The first sign of attack would be on the bridge screens long before his eyes could find the black-on-black point that might be an Imperial warship.
For six months Defiant had waited, and the question had likewise sat waiting in the back of Colvin’s head.
Was the Empire coming?
* * *
The Secession War that ended the first Empire of Man had split into a thousand little wars, and those had died into battles. Throughout human space there were planets with no civilization, and many more with too little to support space travel.
Even Sparta had been hurt. She had lost her fleets, but the dying ships had defended the Capital; and when Sparta began to recover, she recovered fast.
Across human space men had discovered the secrets of interstellar travel. The technology of the Langston Field was stored away in a score of Imperial libraries; and this was important because the Field was discovered in the first place through a series of impro
bable accidents to men in widely separated specialties. It would not have been developed again.
With Langston Field and Alderson Drive, the Second Empire rose from the ashes of the First. Every man in the new government knew that weakness in the First Empire had led to war—and that war must not happen again. This time all humanity must be united. There must be no worlds outside the Imperium, and none within it to challenge the power of Emperor and Senate. Mankind would have peace if worlds must die to bring it about.
The oath was sworn, and when other worlds built merchantmen, Sparta rebuilt the Fleet and sent it to space. Under the fanatical young men and women humanity would be united by force. The Empire spread around Crucis and once again reached behind the Coal Sack, persuading, cajoling, conquering, and destroying where needed.
New Chicago had been one of the first worlds reunited with the Empire of Man. The revolt must have come as a stunning surprise. Now Captain Herb Colvin of the United Republic waited on blockade patrol for the Empire’s retaliation. He knew it would come, and could only hope that Defiant would be ready.
He sat in the enormous leather chair behind his desk, swirling his drink and letting his gaze alternate between his wife’s picture and the viewport. The chair was a memento from the liberation of the Governor General’s palace on New Chicago. (On Union!) It was made of imported leathers, worth a fortune if he could find the right buyer. The Committee of Public Safety hadn’t realized its value.
Colvin looked from Grace’s picture to a pinkish star drifting upward past the viewport, and thought of the Empire’s warships. Would they come through here, when they came? Surely they were coming.
In principal Defiant was a better ship than she’d been when she left New Chicago. The engineers had automated all the routine spacekeeping tasks, and no United Republic spacer needed to do a job that a robot could perform. Like all of New Chicago’s ships, and like few of the Imperial Navy’s, Defiant was as automated as a merchantman.
Colvin wondered. Merchantmen do not fight battles. A merchant captain need not worry about random holes punched through his hull. He can ignore the risk that any given piece of equipment will be smashed at any instant. He will never have only minutes to keep his ship fighting or see her destroyed in an instant of blinding heat.
No robot could cope with the complexity of decisions damage control could generate, and if there were such a robot it might easily be the first item destroyed in battle. Colvin had been a merchant captain and had seen no reason to object to the Republic’s naval policies, but now that he had experience in warship command, he understood why the Imperials automated as little as possible and kept the crew in working routine tasks: washing down corridors and changing air filters, scrubbing pots and inspecting the hull. Imperial crews might grumble about the work, but they were never idle. After six months, Defiant was a better ship, but… she had lifted out from… Union with a crew of mission-oriented warriors. What were they now?
Colvin leaned back in his comfortable chair and looked around his cabin. It was too comfortable. Even the captain—especially the captain!—had little to do but putter with his personal surroundings, and Colvin had done all he could think of.
It was worse for the crew. They fought, distilled liquor in hidden places, gambled for stakes they couldn’t afford, and were bored. It showed in their discipline. There wasn’t any punishment duty either, nothing like cleaning heads or scrubbing pots, the duties an Imperial skipper might assign his crewmen. Aboard Defiant it would be make-work, and everyone would know it.
He was thinking about another drink when an alarm trilled.
“Captain here,” Colvin said.
The face on the viewscreen was flushed. “A ship, sir,” the Communications officer said. “Can’t tell the size yet, but definitely a ship from the red star.”
Colvin’s tongue dried up in an instant. He’d been right all along, through all these months of waiting, and the flavor of being right was not pleasant. “Right. Sound battle stations. We’ll intercept.” He paused a moment as Lieutenant Susack motioned to other crew on the bridge. Alarms sounded through Defiant. “Make a signal to the fleet, Lieutenant.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Horns were still blaring through the ship as Colvin left his cabin. Crewmen dove along the steel corridors, past grotesque shapes in combat armor. The ship was already losing her spin and orienting herself to give chase to the intruder. Gravity was peculiar and shifting. Colvin crawled along the handholds like a monkey.
The crew was waiting. “Captain’s on the bridge,” the duty NCO announced. Others helped him into armor and dogged down his helmet. He had only just strapped himself into his command seat when the ship’s speakers sounded.
“ALL SECURE FOR ACCELERATION. STAND BY FOR ACCELERATION.”
“Intercept,” Colvin ordered. The computer recognized his voice and obeyed. The joltmeter swung hard over and acceleration crushed him to his chair. The joltmeter swung back to zero, leaving a steady three gravities.
The bridge was crowded. Colvin’s comfortable acceleration couch dominated the spacious compartment. In front of him three helmsmen sat at inactive controls, ready to steer the ship if her main battle computer failed. They were flanked by two watch officers. Behind him were runners and talkers, ready to do the Captain’s will when he had orders for them.
There was one other.
Beside him was a man who wasn’t precisely under Colvin’s command. Defiant belonged to Captain Colvin. So did the crew—but he shared that territory with Political Officer Gerry. The Political Officer’s presence implied distrust in Colvin’s loyalty to the Republic. Gerry had denied this, and so had the Committee of Public Safety; but they hadn’t convinced Herb Colvin.
“Are we prepared to engage the enemy, Captain?” Gerry asked. His thin and usually smiling features were distorted by acceleration.
“Yes. We are doing so now,” Colvin said. What the hell else could they be doing? But of course Gerry was speaking for the recorders.
“What is the enemy ship?”
“The hyperspace wake’s just coming into detection range now, Mister Gerry.” Colvin studied the screens. Instead of space with the enemy ship black and invisible against the stars, they showed a series of curves and figures, probability estimates, tables whose entries changed even as he watched. “I believe it’s a cruiser, same class as ours,” Colvin said.
“Even match?”
“Not exactly,” Colvin said. “He’ll be carrying interstellar engines. That’ll take up room we use for hydrogen. He’ll have more mass for his engines to move, and we’ll have more fuel. He won’t have a lot better armament than we do, either.” He studied the probability curves and nodded. “Yeah, that looks about right. What they call a ‘Planet Class’ cruiser.”
“How soon before we fight?” Gerry gasped. The acceleration made each word an effort.
“Few minutes to an hour. He’s just getting under way after coming out of hyperdrive. Too damn bad he’s so far away, we’d have him right if we were a little closer.”
“Why weren’t we?” Gerry demanded.
“Because the tramline hasn’t been plotted,” Colvin said. And I’m speaking for the record. Better get it right, and get the sarcasm out of my voice. “I requested survey equipment, but none was available. We were therefore required to plot the Alderson entry point using optics alone. I would be much surprised if anyone could have made a better estimate using our equipment.”
“I see,” Gerry said. With an effort he touched the switch that gave him a general intercom circuit. “Spacers of the Republic, your comrades salute you! Freedom!”
“Freedom!” came the response. Colvin didn’t think more than half the crew had spoken, but it was difficult to tell.
“You all know the importance of this battle,” Gerry said. “We defend the back door of the Republic, and we are alone. Many believed we need not be here, that the Imperials would never find this path to our homes. That ship shows the wisdom of
the government.”
Had to get that in, didn’t you? Colvin chuckled to himself. Gerry expected to run for office, if he lived through the coming battles.
“The Imperials will never make us slaves! Our cause is just, for we seek only the freedom to be left alone. The Empire will not permit this. They wish to rule the entire universe, forever. Spacers, we fight for liberty!”
Colvin looked across the bridge to the watch officer and lifted an eyebrow. He got a shrug for an answer. Herb nodded. It was hard to tell the effect of a speech. Gerry was said to be good at speaking. He’d talked his way into a junior membership on the Committee of Public Safety that governed the Republic.
A tiny buzz sounded in Colvin’s ear. The Executive Officer’s station was aft, in an auxiliary control room, where he could take over the ship if something happened to the main bridge.
By Republic orders Gerry was to hear everything said by and to the captain during combat, but Gerry didn’t know much about ships. Commander Gregory Halleck, Colvin’s exec, had modified the intercom system. Now his voice came through, the flat nasal twang of New Chicago’s outback. “Skipper, why don’t he shut up and let us fight?”
“Speech was recorded, Greg,” Colvin said.
“Ah. He’ll play it for the city workers,” Halleck said. “Tell me, skipper, just what chance have we got?”
“In this battle? Pretty good.”
“Yeah. Wish I was so sure about the war.”
“Scared, Greg?”
“A little. How can we win?”
“We can’t beat the Empire,” Colvin said. “Not if they bring their whole fleet in here. But if we can win a couple of battles, the Empire’ll have to pull back. They can’t strip all their ships out of other areas. Too many enemies. Time’s on our side, if we can buy some.”
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