The Fleet 01

by David Drake (ed)

  “Indeed you are, child. It is a wonderful opportunity for us. We had despaired of ever getting into contact with your people. But now there is a chance.”

  “Hey, look,” I said, “I’m not sure about all this. Am I supposed to go back there and tell them that I had a dream only it’s real?”

  “They will have to believe you. We have something planned.”

  “What is it?”

  “I can’t tell you yet. But you’ll know when it happens. And then you must speak to us again.”

  “I don’t want to do this!” I shouted at them. And then I woke up and I was back in the lab.

  “You dreamed, didn’t you?” Allan said. He turned on the recorder. “Tell me all about it.”

  I told him.

  “When is this something supposed to happen?”

  “Very soon, Allan. Maybe we’d better warn the Admiral.”

  “Warn him about what? We don’t know what they’re going to do. He’d just tell us we were crazy.”

  But he picked up the telephone anyhow and asked for an interview.

  XII.

  Admiral Esplendadore was sitting in his room having late morning coffee. Coffee for the Fleet had to travel a long way to get to Klaxon. It was one crop which had not taken well to alien environments. Esplendadore sipped his mocha java mixture and looked over the projection printouts which his engineers had given him. He was still behind deadline. It was annoying that things were going as slowly as they were. And there was still no indication of who had been sabotaging the base. Several of his men had theories, but theory wasn’t much good without good solid evidence to back it. What they had was all inference. He was especially annoyed at Bantry’s strange idea. Strange races existed in the galaxy, of course, you couldn’t discount them. At Bantry’s request he had had a thorough aerial survey made of Klaxon’s surface, including probes into its two freshwater oceans. They had turned up no signs of anything that could be called intelligent.

  It was going to get sticky if he didn’t sort this out soon. The top brass had their eyes on him. This was an important mission, one that, properly executed, could set the Weasels back for a good long time, and give the Alliance the decisive advantage it needed to stamp them out once and for all.

  He sipped again at the coffee, then noticed that there was a faint agitation on the surface of the brown liquid. A tremor. As though it were picking up some vibration that his own senses hadn’t yet been able to detect.

  He frowned, went to his desktop computer, punched up a status report. Everything seemed to be all right, although a few sectors gave inconclusive readings.

  Now he could feel the vibration. It seemed to be in the floor of his office. He wondered if someone were building something in one of the lower floors, or running some sort of equipment. He decided to check up on it.

  He picked up his phone. “Haskwell,” he said into it, “come in here. I’ve got some orders for you!’

  There was no answer. Esplendadore realized that the telephone was dead. He tapped it several times. Nothing. He went to the door and pressed the light-sensitive latch. There was no response. He banged on the door. That did nothing. He shouted at the door. “Haskwell, can you hear me? Open this door!”

  There was no response. The door was soundproof, of course. He calmed himself and walked back to his desk. He didn’t bother checking the windows. They were permanently sealed, with steel shutters welded over them for security. The door was the only way in or out, and it was malfunctioning. The telephone was his only means of communication with the outside. And it was dead.

  Except for his computer!

  He logged in and tried to call up another computer on the networking circuit. The machine didn’t respond. Instead, the screen flashed, “Please stand by. Priority message coming through.”

  There was nothing he could do but wait. As he waited, the tremor in the floor became more pronounced.

  Then, suddenly, Esplendadore’s suite went dark. The darkness was absolute, since he had no window on the outside. He could hear strange buzzing sounds in the walls—something to do with the wiring, no doubt. But the sound persisted. It was not like the crackle-pop of electrical cables. This sound was more like some kind of movement within the walls—rats, perhaps, or something equally obnoxious.

  Esplendadore made his way to his desk, fumbling in the darkness. He located his desk, found the top right-hand drawer, opened it and took out a late-model laser pistol. He adjusted the aperture to wide. Deeper in the drawer was another laser weapon, this one a hand-held lance, a devastating short-range weapon. With these he was ready to fight anything that came at him.

  He wished he knew what was happening to the rest of the base, however. He knew that Wintage, his second in command, was perfectly competent to handle anything routine. But this was far from routine. He just hoped Wintage didn’t panic. The last thing in the world Esplendadore wanted was someone to start sending off a CP to Fleet with some wild story about an invisible invasion. That sort of thing could make him a laughing stock. Of course, it was an invisible invasion. But that didn’t matter. It still sounded bad.

  Sooner or later they’d have to show themselves. Then whoever it was out there was going to get it.

  The Admiral of the Fleet, “Baby Blue” Esplendadore, was not amused.

  Presently he detected movement. His room seemed to be swaying. Then it lurched, and he had to grab the desk to keep from falling. His entire suite of rooms seemed to be moving. It was impossible, it was unlikely, but it seemed to be the case.

  It was an uncanny feeling, to be within a pitch-black room moving in an unknown direction. What Esplendadore feared was that Khalian agents were somehow effecting this. If that were the case, his career was sunk. It was typical of the man that he thought of his career before he thought of his life. No matter what the outcome, if the Khalia had been able to kidnap him in his own suite of rooms right out of the heart of a military base, he’d never live it down even if he managed to live through it. The room was perfectly soundproof. The only proof of movement he had was the swaying and lurching which the room underwent, and the feeling he had that somehow the whole thing had been lifted and was being born away. By whom? That remained to be seen.

  They would have to speak to him sooner or later. They were going to have to come through that door. He positioned himself behind the desk, securely wedged against any further movement, the laser lance and pistol both pointed toward the door. He was ready for them now. A little late, true, but who can guard against the totally unexpected?

  He couldn’t tell how long he had been in the darkness. The room was like a total immersion tank; all sense of time was lost.

  But he did realize when, after a while, the movements of the room stopped.

  They would be coming now.

  He squinted toward the door, hoping to protect his eyes against the sudden burst of light which would come forth when it was opened. His finger was ready on the trigger.

  Then the telephone rang.

  “Yes, who is this?” Esplendadore barked into the telephone.

  “Sir, I am Allan Bantry, Alien Psychologist for the Fleet.”

  “Bantry, I don’t know what the hell you are doing on the phone. Where’s Haskwell? Where’s Wintage? Where’s my Chief of Staff.”

  “Actually, sir, they’re off with the troops. They’re planning a commando action to rescue you.”

  “Damn good show,” Esplendadore said. “Tell them to get those men moving at once. Where the hell am I, by the way?”

  “Admiral, your suite of rooms has been cut loose from the main complex and carried a distance of almost half a mile from base perimeter. I’m working to have television reception restored to you. There it is, now you can see for yourself.”

  The TV monitors flashed into life. On three sides, Esplendadore was looking down into a pit slanting downward
into a deep chasm. On the fourth side, he saw a narrow tongue of land extended over the chasm. His suite of rooms seemed to be perched on that tongue of land.

  “The reason I want you to delay the commandos,” Bantry said, “is that I’m afraid too much movement could collapse the tongue of land your suite is perched on and send the whole thing into the pit.”

  “Well, hell, that’s no good,” Esplendadore said. “Tell them in my name to hold off, or to find some other way of hitting at the bastards who have kidnapped me. By the way, who did kidnap me?”

  Bantry hesitated. “Sir, you aren’t going to like the answer.”

  “What has that got to do with it? Just tell me!”

  “You aren’t going to like this at all, sir.”

  “Bantry, stop blabbering and tell me.”

  Bantry cleared his throat. “Admiral Esplendadore, what would you say if I told you that the connections attaching your suite to the rest of the building have been severed by the actions of several million hard-backed beetles each about the size of a one-credit coin?”

  “I’d say you were crazy, mister, and that you’re talking yourself straight into a court-martial.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” Bantry said.

  “I suppose these beetles picked me up on their backs and carried me here?”

  “I’m afraid that’s exactly what happened sir. Several million beetles can carry extremely large objects.”

  “I warn you,” the Admiral said, “an insanity plea is going to do you no good ... you’re sure this is what happened, Bantry?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is anyone there with you? Any responsible officer?”

  “Your batman, Captain Walters, is here.”

  “Put him on. Walters? What about all this?”

  “Nobody knows exactly what’s happening,” Walters said. “But what seems to be happening is, someone or something is directing these millions, maybe billions, of beetles. Something or someone with intelligence. Maybe it’s the Khalia, sir.”

  “You actually saw this happen?”

  “Yes sir. I watched the beetles take you away. We didn’t dare attack them with explosives or gas or fumicides for fear of killing you. So we haven’t been able to take action against them. But just say the word—”

  “Don’t be hasty,” Esplendadore said. “We owe it to science and to our own future security to talk with these creatures, find out what they want. Are they attacking my men?”

  “No, sir. An unofficial truce line seems to have been established. They stay on their side of it and we stay on ours. So far there have been no hostilities. Aside from your kidnapping, that is, sir.”

  “They are actual beetles?” Esplendadore asked.

  “As far as we can determine. We don’t have a trained entomologist or whatever those fellows are ‘called who study bugs. But one of our people from Agriculture says they look just like Japanese beetles, only with blue dots.”

  “What is known about Japanese beetles?”

  “Nobody here knows much about them. Shall I send a CP requesting information?”

  “No, don’t do a thing yet. Do you think by any chance you could get a move on and get me out of here?”

  “I’m trying, sir. But there are difficulties.”

  There were several reasons why Esplendadore wanted out—not least of which was that when the beetles had taken away his suite of rooms, they had neglected to take the bathroom along with them.

  “What difficulties?”

  “When we try to approach your suite, they threaten to chew away the land bridge and let you fall into the landfill. It’s a fall of several hundred feet, sir.”

  “Well, dammit, can’t you give them something that will lure them away? I have heard that beetles like rotted meat. Tell the cook to try out his latest ration of beef. Pour some honey over it. That ought to get them.”

  “I don’t think you understand, Admiral. These are not simple, old-fashioned beetles. I mean, they are not simpleminded in the way we have always known beetles to be. These beetles want to discuss something with you.”

  Esplendadore stared at the telephone. “I can just barely believe that a million beetles carted away my suite. But that a beetle told you he wanted to discuss something with me—well, that’s difficult, Walters.”

  “Beetles can’t talk, sir, you’re correct about that. Not to us, anyhow, although apparently they can with each other. No, sir, they communicated their demands through an intermediary. It seems that one of our civilian workers, a young lady from the planet Trinitus who works for Dr. Bantry of Alien Psychology, is telepathic. They communicate through her, sir.”

  Admiral Esplendadore was tired, and hungry, and his bladder was full, and he was in a ridiculous situation that threatened his career and probably his life.

  “Put this young lady on the telephone,” Esplendadore said.

  XIV.

  “Am I to understand, young lady, that you are in telepathic contact with the king or general or representative of these beetles?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, “and believe me, I’m just as surprised as you are about it. I always knew I had the second-sight, but I never knew it could get me into something like this. Communicating with an alien species I mean. But I suppose it’s Allan’s fault—Dr. Bantry’s, I mean—because he made me do the mind exercises that made this whole communication thing possible.”

  “Young lady,” the Admiral said, “a little less personal history, all right?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I was just trying to explain.”

  “Now then, these beetles. Who directs them?”

  “They direct themselves, sir. Under their President, I mean. She told me to tell you that.”

  “They have a President?”

  “Not an actual one, sir. An imaginary one.”

  “These beetles have an imaginary President?”

  “It’s a little hard to explain, sir. See, they have a single group mind, a mind that is made up of a part of all their minds. If I understand it correctly. I mean it’s almost as new to me as it is to you. So bear with me, sir. Sorry to keep on explaining, sir.”

  “And these beetles were able to plan my kidnapping, and taking me out here and threatening my life?”

  “Yes, sir. That is, they planned your kidnapping, but they aren’t really threatening your life. They just want to get your attention.”

  “Well, they’ve got it. What is it they want?”

  “They want you to leave Xanadu.”

  “But it’s the best spot on the planet!”

  “They feel that way, too, sir. In fact, it’s the only place on the planet where they can live. It was better in the old days, they say, but that’s how it is now. They also point out that they have lived here for a long time. They claim that you are invading them, and that this is contrary to the rules of the Great Charter of the Alliance as they have understood it through my explanations. Government was never my strongest subject, sir, but I did my best. We do say that planets are the sole property of their indigenous intelligent races, don’t we, sir?”

  “Yes, we certainly do.”

  “I just wanted to be sure I got that part right. They point out that you can spend a little more money and bring in soil and water and stuff from wherever it is you come from (that’s how they express it, sir) and make your own Xanadu. There’s plenty of room. They’d even be glad to give you samples of local seeds and stuff. But they say it’s not right that you should try to occupy the only spot on the planet where they can live.”

  “Wait just a minute,” the Admiral said. He put down the telephone, and, in a move carefully thought out beforehand, relieved himself in an empty coffee thermos jug. He capped it carefully and returned to the telephone.

  “I don’t understand their problem,” the Admiral said. “We’re not competi
ng with them. They can continue to do whatever it is beetles do in this valley. Why should they care if we build a few buildings?”

  “It’s not so much the buildings,” Lea said. “It’s the other stuff that’s burning them up.”

  “What ‘stuff’ are you referring to?”

  “Bringing in all those alien plants and trying to get them to grow here. They consider that a violation of fundamental ethics, and they are fighting both for themselves and for their vegetable allies.”

  “To hell with them,” Esplendadore said. “I won’t have anything to do with a race that accuses our plant life of acts of aggression.”

  XV.

  Several hours later, Admiral Esplendadore gave his word as an officer of the Fleet that he would set up his camp in a different region of Klaxon, at least one hundred miles from the Valley.

  The Admiral was no coward. He would have chosen death if he felt he was doing something disadvantageous to the Alliance and the Fleet. He agreed because the Ariji offered to send several million of their number along with the Fleet to the new base location, and there assist in the work to the extent of their abilities.

  Esplendadore could see at once how greatly this would speed things up. Although he was certain of his ability to wipe out every living thing in Xanadu any time he wanted to, that would gain nothing. What counted was getting the base built.

  Despite this, Esplendadore was reluctant to inform the Fleet that he had conducted a treaty with a race of beetles.

  It couldn’t be kept secret for long, of course. It was too big.

  And when it did break, it was going to mean great things for Allan Bantry, the alien psychologist who had made this discovery. He was probably going to have a whole new school of alien psychology named after him, and get a really good research lab.

  Allan was very nice to me after that, but he seemed nervous when I was around. When I asked him what the matter was, he just said he was in awe of me. I knew that that was a bad sign, romantically speaking. But I couldn’t help it, I was pretty awesome. Especially after they named me Senior Linguist to the Ariji, since I was the only one who could talk with them, and anyhow, Iris insisted. It was an important position, but a lonely one, until I met Armand Dunkirk, the very presentable young charge d’affaires who came out from Earth to establish the first Consulate for Alien Invertebrate Intelligences. But that is a different story.