Double Spiral War Trilogy

by Warren Norwood

  Commander Ely! He had to be sure to recommend to Tuuneo that Ely take Kuskuvyet’s place. Frye would have preferred Ely all along, but there had been no way to encourage that choice before. Now Judoff and Kuskuvyet had opened a huge way with their insanity, and Frye was glad he was prepared to make the best of it.

  But who would make the best out of what Fugisho had done to the Oinaise? That was worse insanity – far worse. It compromised not only everything the U.C.S. stood for, but also all their war efforts. The Oinaise only controlled four or five systems, but their influence as merchants was felt across both arms of the galaxy. An unjustified attack on them might unite all the neutrals against the U.C.S.

  That could mean disaster. There was no way the U.C.S. could win a war against the whole galaxy – no way at all.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  “How do I look?” Dawson asked, standing at attention in front of Pajandcan’s desk.

  “Like you’re wearing someone else’s uniform,” she answered with a smile. “But I think we can get someone to fix it.”

  “That bad, huh?” Dawson looked down at the dark green trousers with their red pinstripes, then flopped one arm in the solid green tunic. “It is a little baggy.”

  “Gives you growing room. Quarter Admirals have a habit of getting fat at their desks.”

  “Acting Quarter Admirals stay lean,” Dawson said with a tight-lipped smile. “Fear does that to them.”

  Pajandcan knew he was only half-joking. “You have to have faith,” she said. “Matthews is better prepared for defense than I ever imagined it could be. The battle group will be assembled in a few days, and Admiral Gilbert will be coming out to –“

  “Gilbert’s coming here?”

  “Not exactly.” Pajandcan was surprised by the intensity of his reaction. “Why, do you know him?”

  “That old bear was the one who negotiated the treaty when Gyle came to terms with Sondak.”

  She chuckled at his description of Gilbert. “He can be rather fierce when he wants to be, but underneath that exterior, there’s an extremely compassionate man.”

  “Sounds like you know him yourself.” Dawson said as he sat down opposite her.

  “I served under him.” And loved him, she thought.

  “But why is he coming here? I thought you were going to be in command of the battle group.”

  “I am. He’s going to coordinate assembly and dispersal and –“ She paused and looked at Dawson, wondering if he would understand what this meant. “– and command the reserve force.”

  “Reserves? How can you afford a reserve force? You told me Sondak was almost gutting the fleets to put this battle group together. What is this reserve going to be made of?”

  “A launchship. A cruiser. Two hundred short-range attack ships. It’s all in here,” she said, handing him a thin black folder. “Gilbert’s reserve will be on nonrevertor status. Do you know what that means?”

  Dawson looked puzzled. “No.”

  “It means his one launchship is barely spaceworthy. It is capable of putting almost two-hundred short-ranged fighters into space, but incapable of retrieving them.”

  “So what happens to them? Will you pick them up?”

  The grim idea did not sit well with her, but Pajandcan understood her old friend’s thinking as if it were her own. “If he has to launch them,” she said slowly, “that will mean that my battle group is in serious trouble. There probably won’t be anyone to pick them up.”

  “A suicide force? That’s crazy!”

  She waited a moment before responding, not wanting to give her feelings away. “Perhaps. Perhaps. But Admiral Gilbert believes we have to make our stand here and give ourselves every possible chance for victory. I think he’s right.”

  Dawson leaned forward. “Your words say you do…but I suspect you have your own reservations about this.”

  “It’s a big risk for high stakes. I’d be stupid not to have some reservations about it.”

  With a sudden laugh, Dawson relaxed in his chair. “I guess you would, Admiral. So who makes the decision about launching the reserve?”

  “I do.” A grim smile invaded her face. “If I can. If not, Gilbert will make the decision based on the battle reports.”

  “You’re going to tell your commanding officer when to launch his reserve? That seems like a strange chain of command.”

  “Gilbert told me once that war demands pragmatism, not rules of order. Seems to me that you of all people would agree with that idea. Didn’t you –“

  “Damned by my past,” Dawson said with a mock-sad shake of his head. “Look at me – an acting quarter admiral in my old enemy’s military, watching my own tactics in someone else’s plan. Sometimes I wonder how it all actually happened.”

  Pajandcan had decided that his negative humor was just Dawson’s way of dealing with the tension, but she was never quite sure how to respond to it. “You got too good at what you were doing. People who get that good tend to get caught in strange situations.”

  “That’s me,” he said with another shake of his head. “Too good for my own good. Any other surprises in this folder?”

  “You tell me,” she said, pulling an identical folder from her drawer. “I want to go over this with you section by section, point by point if necessary.”

  “Like reading the condemned man the menu for his last meal.”

  “At least the condemned man knows what he’s getting. You only get to read the appetizers.”

  Dawson laughed loudly. “One for you, Admiral. Maybe I’ll ask the Ukes for a description of the main course.”

  Pajandcan allowed herself a quiet chuckle, but it died in her throat. As she opened the folder she said, “Let’s start with the list of your key officers.”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Fire, ignited by the Isthians after Leri’s kidnapping, burned on the fringes of Cloise’s atmosphere.

  Oxygen freed from carbon dioxide fed the slowly growing flames. Heat and the Isthian catalysts freed more oxygen. The fire grew to a rippling sheet of orange that spouted dark yellow flares as impurities in the methane were oxidized.

  When the first crewman on one of the collectors saw it, he did a double take. Then he hit the alarm.

  All systems went on automatic. Emergency circuits closed. Spring-loaded vents slammed shut. Motors whined shrilly in protest as the collector shut itself off. The half-full tanker severed its connections to the collector with a violent shake and started drifting away.

  A flaring explosion of gas caught the second collector’s huge suction tube and blew it asunder. A tiny oxygen line fed the creeping line of flame that ate into the control module. A crewman panicked and uncoupled the module.

  Five crewmen died as the ruptured module fell like a slowly melting capsule into the flames of Cloise.

  Deep in her closed mind Leri dreamed of fire.

  The vision danced through shadow and light. Fire ate holes in the shadows. The holes grew and changed and became eyes – eyes that looked into an impossible future. The future burned.

  Hot fluids drenched her body. Searing hands rubbed her flesh. Bright nightmares of pain exploded in her brain.

  Voices screamed her name. “Leri! Leri! Leri!” they called in chorus.

  The pain mounted. The fierce, awful rubbing tore at her nerves. In her vision the fires remained, burning brighter and hotter, stripping away the protection from the soul until she screamed in agony. The scream echoed back from the walls of her mind, trapped with her shriveling thoughts.

  Cool shadows lifted her rigid form.

  “Leri,” a voice whispered. “Leri.”

  She knew that voice, had heard that tender whisper of love before. Desperately she clung to it, hoping, praying, begging that it would not go away.

  “Leri,” the voice whispered again.

  It was Weecs. This was no dream. Weecs had come for her. Somehow Weecs had come for her. But Leri could not respond. She could not penetrate the heat-encrusted barriers around her
mind and body.

  “Leri, I love you. I am taking you home.”

  Weecs, she thought simply. Weecs

  Pain peeled back her consciousness and exposed the raw darkness of her mind. Weecs, she cried inside. Weecs

  The fires dimmed as she slipped into the darkness with his name floating above her agony.

  No one aboard the collectors or the withdrawing tankers paid any attention to the Castorian ship until they received its emergency request for assistance. Then they were too busy to respond immediately and too involved with their own problems to be very concerned.

  As quickly and unexplainedly as the fire started and spread, it cooled and died. By the time someone remembered the alien’s request for help and passed it to the proper authorities, the Castorian ship was gone, and a tiny vessel was making its way unseen back to the surface of Cloise.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  “You sure about this?” Rochmon asked.

  “As sure as we are about anything,” Bock said.

  “And they transmitted it in the clear? Now what in blazes do you suppose that means?”

  “It means,” Bock said condescendingly, “that the Ukes have fouled up in the worst possible way.”

  “But Oina, for heaven’s sake. Why would they attack Oina? It doesn’t make any sense, Bock. They can’t be that stupid. Where did we pick this up?” Rochmon couldn’t believe that the Ukes would attack Oina – for any reason.

  “Two of the CENFLEET monitors picked it up almost simultaneously. It’s less than a day old, sir.”

  “You double-check them, Bock. I’ve got to tell Admiral Stonefield about this. But I want verification.”

  “As quick as we can.”

  Rochmon left her and went immediately to his office, his mind an agitation of improbabilities. When Stonefield’s aide came on the viewscreen, Rochmon said, “I have to see the admiral, immediately.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but the admiral cannot be disturbed for the rest of the day.”

  “Look, fleety, you tell the admiral I’m coming, and you make sure I get to see him, or you’ll be standing watch on a space tug for the rest of your career. You got that?”

  “But, sir –“

  “Don’t ‘but sir’ me. Just tell the admiral I’m coming and that this is top priority. Understood?”

  “Yessir,” the aide said sharply, “but I cannot guarantee the commander he’ll get his request.”

  “That’s all right, fleety. I’ll take care of the guarantees myself.” Rochmon cut the connection with an admiring smile. Stonefield’s aide was good. Have to mention that to the old man, he thought as he left Cryptography and headed for the J.C. Center.

  By the time he arrived, the aide had done his duty and immediately ushered him into Stonefield’s office. Rochmon was not surprised to find Admiral Gilbert and Avitor Hilldill there also. “Hate to bother you, sir,” Rochmon said without waiting for the amenities, “but I’ve got some information that I thought I’d better tell you in person.”

  “Go ahead, Commander.”

  Rochmon didn’t notice the cold look on Stonefield’s face. “According to two interceptions made by CENFLEET monitors within the last standard day, the Ukes have attacked Oina.”

  “Impossible!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No, and no,” Rochmon said, responding to Hilldill and Stonefield. “Not impossible, sir. Highly improbable, but certainly not impossible. As for being sure, Admiral, we’re trying to get verification now. But like I said, it was picked up by two separate monitors.”

  “And you are sure the code’s correct?” Stonefield asked.

  “It was broadcast in the clear.”

  “Then I believe it,” Admiral Gilbert said, speaking for the first time. “What exactly did the message say, Hew?”

  Rochmon pulled the small slip of paper from his pocket and read it. “Oina’s defenses stronger than anticipated. Forced to withdraw. Awaiting further instructions.” He handed it to Stonefield. “It’s signed by Commander Fugisho.”

  “Thank you, Commander,” Stonefield said. “Can you get verification?”

  “I think so, sir.”

  “Good. Do it. And now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a lot to do before Admiral Gilbert leaves.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rochmon said with a polite salute.

  He smiled at the aide as he left the office, but underneath the smile ran a swift current of concern. Somehow it didn’t seem like they had responded properly to the message. They should have been angry, or upset, or happy, or something. But surely they weren’t so caught up in the defense of Matthews that they failed to understand how important this was.

  Rochmon shrugged. Gathering the information was his job. Using it was theirs. The best thing he could do was to make sure they got verification. Then maybe their reaction would change.

  LUCKY SAT ON THE OVERSTUFFED BASEE with his feet barely touching the floor. His stomach and bowels were tight with too many courteous handsful of rich Oinaise food. His mind bloated with contentment.

  16

  Since he had landed the Oinaise had shuffled him around under the careful supervision of checkdroids from one official to another. None of the officials knew what to do with him, but each of them was gracious and hospitable to an extreme. Gradually he was lulled into an unnatural complacence – a careless acceptance of whatever happened. He had requested, and the officials had assured him that they would give him sufficient warning to get Graycloud into space if the Ukes returned. That was all Lucky cared about.

  If the Ukes came back, he was going to fly for freedom. Graycloud was programmed to take bearings on the Spider Nebula and warp toward its center. Lucky wasn’t going to worry about anything else until they exited the warp. Seemed like the only sane thing to do.

  With a quiet sigh he lay back, took one of the dark, sweet candies from the bowl beside him, popped it into his mouth, and traced the finely intricate patterns painted in subdued colors on the vaulted ceiling. He did not know exactly what the sweet candies were, but he had become rather fond of them during his four days of doing the bureaucratic shuffle, and the checkdroids had been more than pleased to keep him well supplied with them. As the creamy confection melted slowly on his tongue, he wondered why he was giving up.

  I’m not giving up, he thought in quick rebuttal, I’m just getting out of the way.

  Running away is more like it.

  Lucky sat up with an angry shake of his head. This same argument with himself had plagued him since he programmed Graycloud with the Spider Nebula coordinates. But now it was recurring more frequently, which didn’t make sense because he was not running away from anything.

  Except yourself and Marsha.

  This is stupid, Lucky thought. There is absolutely no reason why I should talk to myself like this.

  Yes, there is.

  “Stop it,” he said aloud. “Just stop it.” He reached for another piece of candy just as a hand swept the bowl away from him, “Hey! That’s mine!”

  “No more, Captain Teeman. They are bad for you.”

  “Bad, sad – give them to me,” he said. He stood up and faced the Oinaise, feeling rather foolish looking up into his huge face and demanding his candies. But he wanted them.

  “I am sorry, Captain,” Delightful Childe said as he put one hand on Lucky’s shoulder and gently pushed him back down to the basee. “You will go through a withdrawal period of two days or so, and then you will be fine. Gorlet rarely has any serious side effects.”

  “Withdrawal? Who are you talking about? Me?” Lucky shook his head and suddenly recognized – “Delightful Childe? What are you doing here? I mean, I thought you had cargos to haul and everything like that.” He tried to grab the bowl.

  Delightful Childe gently blocked Lucky’s arm then put the bowl of Gorlet on a high shelf, well out of Lucky’s reach. “The recent atrocity called me home. A more appropriate question might be, what are you doing here?”

  “If you’ll give me one of th
ose, I’ll tell you,” Lucky said, looking up at the shelf and feeling suddenly prankish.

  “I cannot, Captain. Humans are easily addicted to gorlet, never to any good end that I’ve noticed. Since I have been made responsible for you, you must resign yourself to no more of them.” Delightful Childe wondered what he had done to deserve this stupid human whose eyes kept flicking up the wall – and what he had done to deserve the checkdroids who must have been the ones giving Lucky the gorlet.

  “Then I won’t tell you.”

  “Fine, Captain. We will talk about it again in two or three days when you have recovered.”

  “Recovered what?” Lucky shook his head. None of this made sense. Why wouldn’t Delightful Childe give him the candy?

  “Recovered from your addiction.” Delightful Childe bared his teeth and clenched one hand firmly on Lucky’s shoulder. “Do you not want some now? Would you not force me to give it to you if you could?”

  “Yes!” Lucky shouted at that ugly face. He tried to throw himself sideways, but Delightful Childe’s grip tightened painfully on his shoulder and held him fast. “Let me go!”

  “Very well, Captain. Later you will beg for someone to hold you, anyone who can help you still the shaking your body will go through. I will be available then.”

  He released Lucky and plucked the bowl of gorlet off the shelf. Holding it high, away from Lucky’s grasp, he left the room and closed the sliding door behind him. Poor man, he thought. Poor stupid human. But our fault – totally our fault. Someone should have been paying more attention to the checkdroids.

  Lucky wasn’t sure what had happened or why. He felt slightly dizzy and lay down on the soft cushions of the basee, but almost immediately sat up again and started searching through the tucks and folds of material that covered it. Maybe one of the candies had fallen from the bowl.

  Nothing. “Nothing!” he said loudly. “He could have left me a couple of them. That wouldn’t have been so bad, would it?”

  No answer came from the silent walls. But one came from his head. You’re addicted to that stuff, he thought.

  “That’s crazy! Who ever heard of getting addicted to something like that?” Suddenly he knew the answer and was angry. “Why did they give it to me then?” he shouted.