by John Dalmas
Soong had. The two battle groups had been keeping pace. He saw the torpedos flash against the Pyrenees' shield, which seemed to expand, then disappear, the instant almost too brief to register. Jabbing he locked a monitor on her. Almost simultaneously, another window showed one of the Altai's three attackers lose her own overstressed shield, and her beam, as Tisza's first salvo struck; her generator, if not her matric tap, had blown. A second lost her shield a moment later, to torpedoes from the Altai's cruiser escorts. The third, seeing the Pyrenees shieldless, turned its beams on her. Sprays of molten hull metal scintillated where the beams had locked. Then the final blow struck-two salvos, from two Wyzhnyny cruisers-and the Pyrenees ripped apart.
For perhaps two seconds Soong stared, then he snapped out of it. He'd seen-at the Academy they'd all seen-just such episodes in virtuality many times, preparing for a moment like this. Which helped. But seeing it in reality, and knowing who commanded, the moment stabbed him deeply.
***
The Commo battle wings passed through the enemy ring, many of the Commo battleships with Wyzhnyny target locks still attached. Then the maces returned. In self-defense the Wyzhnyny turned their guns and torpedoes on them; the Commo wings dropped shields and escaped, most of them, into warpspace before the outer ring of Wyzhnyny could engage them.
This time the maces continued outward, engaging the outer Wyzhnyny ring, striking selected wings and ignoring others. And scarcely had they passed through the outer ring when the Commo battle groups reappeared in F-space at a distance, re-forming formations for their next assault-in which they would change tactics on the Wyzhnyny, keep them guessing and off balance.
***
When the confusion had peaked again, the human formations, superbly synchronized, disappeared into strange-space. Quanshuk stared after them. The bridge of the Meadowlands stank with musk and sweat. Almost at once, status reports began to scroll. Watching them, Quanshuk's guts shriveled.
After several minutes it seemed apparent the humans would not return. But the grand admiral did not at once leave the bridge. It would amount to abandoning the watch in a time of trauma. Besides, who could be sure? The humans might suddenly reappear.
***
This time, when the battle was over, Charley Gordon wasn't jubilant. Instead he "sagged" in sudden exhaustion. With the Commo escape into warpspace-that's what it had been, an escape-the battle master's bridge orderly wheeled him to his quarters, where Ophelia Kennah took charge. Ophelia: Charley's nurse, confidante, and best friend.
Alvaro Soong wasn't jubilant either, nor about to take his fleet back into that maelstrom. Reports were incomplete, of course. A host of data had been recorded by the Altai's sensors, and more had been forwarded automatically in real time from his hundreds of other ships. All to be processed-compiled, analyzed and summarized. Only shipsmind could manage it, organizing and prioritizing, then scrolling at a rate his staff could deal with.
But what he did know was he'd lost about a third of his battleships and personnel, including the Pyrenees and Axel Tisza. The Altai herself had twice been in serious trouble, and been bailed out.
Inevitably his maces had taken the heaviest losses. About half were gone, despite their evasiveness and layered shields. They'd fought the most, where the risks were greatest. Without them, Charley could not have maintained battle contact with the Wyzhnyny for nearly as long, nor done nearly the damage.
In numbers, Wyzhnyny losses had been much greater, especially of crews. But again, in terms of percentages, Soong's Commos had gotten the worst of it. As expected.
Nonetheless, given the relative numbers and firepower, Charley had performed another miracle. Soong wondered what the Wyzhnyny commander made of it. Was he shocked? Enraged? Dismayed? Or possibly pleased?
After ordering hot tea and honey for the bridge watch, he went to his channeling savant, to send a preliminary report to War House. A full debrief could wait. He'd emerge in F-space in the cometary cloud; F-space was a necessary intermediate between strange-spaces. Then, after pulsing updated orders to his fleet, he'd generate hyperspace, and debrief to Kunming. And tomorrow-next shipsday-they'd reemerge for a fleet review and memorial service.
***
Finally Soong retired to his stateroom. He'd just closed the door, the lock engaging behind him, when it hit-the nervous exhaustion, the loss, the shock-all at once. He sank shaking onto a chair, put his face in his hands, and for the first time since he'd learned of his mother's death, he wept. All those men. All those men.
It lasted perhaps thirty seconds. After another minute he stripped and showered, then poured himself a brandy, read for a few minutes from Innocent XV's Soul and Body, and went to bed. Where his last thought was of Ax. I wish, he told himself, there'd been time to get drunk together again, after so many years. Then he fixed his attention on his old roommate and rival, and sent a thought. "Maybe next time," he murmured aloud. The prayer of a skeptic. He wondered if there was anyone, or anything, "out there" to hear it.
Chapter 58
Envoy
The grand admiral had recovered somewhat. The master gender, after all, were genetically warriors, who'd received cardinal nurture from birth to weaning, affecting the postnatal growth of the endocrine system, while setting up gender-unique memes.
He'd retired to his quarters before ordering his XO and chief scholar to meet there with him. This had given him time for a drink; an empty glass was the evidence. After pouring drinks for Tualurog and Qonits, he refilled his own. Masters typically held their liquor well, an interaction of the warrior gene and cardinal nurture.
Unfortunately for Qonits, liquor combined with the sage gene brought impulsiveness and poor judgement. Thus Qonits hadn't drunk alcohol since the evening he'd almost gotten himself expelled from the university. A disgrace for which, in his clan, atonement would have provided only limited rehabilitation.
"Well, Admiral," Quanshuk said to Tualurog, "it didn't work as we'd hoped."
The XO scowled sourly. He hated to be wrong, and hated more to have it known. "Their AI technology was better than we'd realized," he answered.
Quanshuk wasn't about to let him off the hook. "Enumerate for me, please, the things that went wrong."
Grimly, Tualurog listed them. There weren't so many, but they'd been costly. Qonits, who was less than fond of the XO, nonetheless sympathized-until Tualurog glanced at him and added: "Your chief scholar served you poorly."
"As did Operations and Planning," Quanshuk replied. "Surprises are to be expected when dealing with alien life-forms. And unfortunately, these humans are remarkably clever, as well as technically advanced."
He paused, smelling his XO's upset. "Meanwhile, my thanks, Admiral. You summarized the difficulties nicely. You may leave now. Please prepare a detailed review for me, with your recommendations." For all the good they'll do. I have dug us a very deep hole.
The two friends watched the XO leave, closing the door behind himself with icy control. "He is a surly fellow," Quanshuk said tiredly. "But competent."
Also jealous, spiteful, and self-justifying, Qonits added silently. Aloud he said, "All his life he's resented his clan's loss of status."
Quanshuk ignored the comment. "What do you think of our situation? Knowing what you know now."
"We are in serious trouble."
"Elaborate, Chief Scholar."
You already know my views, Qonits thought. They are much the same as yours. "Your lordship, easy gains enticed us down a flowered path, never imagining it led to such-unprecedented danger."
The admiral's close-cropped claws drummed on his small bar. "Self-evident, Chief Scholar. But what might I do now to-extricate us from that danger?"
Qonits met his gaze. It was not a time for easing into things, he decided. "Lord Admiral, I suggest we look at the possibility of negotiations with the humans. We have a working knowledge of the language, and a decent translation program. And a fleet powerful enough to provide leverage. We hold many of… "
Quanshuk raised a heavy hand, stilling him. "How can you say our translation program is decent? For me it is a confusion generator."
The grand admiral was avoiding the issue, but to Qonits his reply was encouraging; the idea had not been slapped down. "It is neither perfect nor complete," Qonits answered carefully, "but it has become quite functional."
The grand admiral's jaw jutted in thought. His gaze was on his richly patterned carpet, no doubt without seeing it. "As for negotiation," he said, "it has no precedent; the fleet would never accept it. To propose it would court rebellion. A coup."
Again Qonits answered carefully. "It might accept it, your lordship. One wonders sometimes if the human empire might not extend forever. Already the problems it presents seem overwhelming. We all go to bed worried, those of us who admit what we see."
But there were also those, Qonits reminded himself, who would roar with indignation at such a proposal, Tualurog the loudest. And might undertake rebellion; might even succeed in it. He thought of asking which was worse: the risk of a coup, or destruction by the humans. But all he could bring himself to say was, "It is Kruts who is master of this ship. Tualurog can order him only in your name, as your proxy, and Kruts doesn't like him. Many don't; he is abrasive. And I have seen the worry in Kruts's eyes. After today's battle, I believe many-possibly even enough-would support you."
He paused. "And there are precedents of a sort. Tribes negotiate with tribes, clans with clans, merchants with merchants. There are many examples of successful negotiations between groups unfriendly, even hostile to each other. It's a matter of incentive. And our prisoners have shown themselves logical and reasonable. They have deported themselves well." A sample of two. Who knows what their rulers are like? "I would be honored to serve as your negotiator."
Quanshuk did not raise his eyes, but his voice, when he replied, was contemplative. "Even aside from your proficiency with human speech," he said, "you are the only one I would consider sending."
Qonits peered carefully at him. The admiral had neglected his drink; now he downed it, poured himself another-and suddenly his chief scholar hardly dared breathe.
"If such a thing were to be done," Quanshuk continued slowly, "I would begin it covertly, then announce it after you were beyond recall, in hyperspace. To speak earlier would surely invite a coup, and our detention. At best.
"Meanwhile I will make a production of crushing the humans in this system. To strengthen both my image and fleet morale."
He said, I will, Qonits realized, and felt the resolve growing in his admiral's mind.
"I will hold the human mother and child hostage to ensure the reliability of the father," Quanshuk went on, and a rare glint of humor shone in his eyes. "Do you suppose he'll suddenly know how to find his way to their crown world after all?"
Qonits answered gravely. "If necessary, we will stop at some human-inhabited world, for guidance."
***
The next shipsday, Quanshuk sent scouts insystem, while the armada lay in the near fringe. The most recently-found human worlds tended to have extensive settled areas, more and larger towns, and relatively advanced industrial development. And much evacuation. On this one, the scouting report suggested an initial population in the hundreds of millions, judging by the extent and nature of settlement. How many had been evacuated was unclear, but at the edge of forest areas were thousands of abandoned vehicles. There was also evidence of many fugitive camps among the trees.
Quanshuk ordered all his bombards there, with three of his fleet's ground support wings assigned to follow up. Their job was to destroy the towns, the factories-everything that supported the human population there except for a few convenient reservoirs-then scathe the fugitives.
When the job was done, he would send down two tribes. The extensive farmlands would support a score of tribes, and there'd be more fugitives than usual to hunt down, but two tribes would have to do.
***
It was late shipsnight, and the corridors were dim and quiet. The bombards had started insystem to Shakti a few hours earlier. Now a crewman guided an AG sled down a portside corridor, followed by a larger Wyzhnyny wearing a lieutenant commander's insignia. From that and his color, he was obviously of the master gender. His head was bandaged, presumably injured during the battle, probably when a torpedo salvo had jolted the Meadowlands severely.
The AG sled's cargo was covered by a tarp.
Shortly they stopped at the entrance to a scout hanger. The crewman opened it but remained in the corridor. It was the bandaged officer who guided the sled inside. Then the crewman closed the hatch and returned quietly down the corridor.
While shipsmind dogged the hatch firmly shut, the officer unloaded the sled by himself. It wasn't much work, and there was no injury beneath the bandage. Besides, the largest item unloaded itself.
Chapter 59
Hearing Board
Within the Wyzhnyny Admiralty, it had been customary, over the centuries, to convene a fitness board following a major command failure. Often these cleared the accused of malfeasance, but sometimes they uncovered previously unrecognized malfeasance, and found other contributive or ameliorative factors. Sometimes procedural changes were recommended.
But never before had so drastic a failure been addressed.
On the stand, Grand Admiral Quanshuk wore his finest red velvet military vest, with every Imperial decoration he owned. Most prestigious were the High Emperor's Medal of Service, the Medal of Military Accomplishment, and two Outstanding Cadet Medals. None were for valor in combat; there had been no combat for more than three centuries. Nor the rare Kochasska, which protected the bearer from legal actions of any sort, civil or military. None of those had been awarded for nearly two millennia.
The presiding officer was Captain Kruts. As the ship's captain it was his job. The inquisitor was Rear Admiral Tualurog. The fitness board consisted of six admirals, senior wing commanders. There were also the grand admiral's counselor and several officers of the court. The witnesses numbered eleven, including senior and junior officers, enlisted personnel, and two humans. The remaining seats were occupied by other senior officers, as mandatory spectators.
Just now, Tualurog was walking back and forth in front of the grand admiral, trying to upset him. It wasn't working. Instead of following the inquisitor's pacing, Quanshuk gazed calmly at the fitness board.
"Tell me, Grand Admiral," Tualurog said, "how many ships did you lose in the recent confrontation with the humans?"
"Objection, Lord President!" Quanshuk's counsel was a commander, a member of Quanshuk's own clan. "The inquisitor is implying that the grand admiral was responsible for the losses. Responsibility is for the hearing to decide."
"Sustained. Rephrase your question in a neutral manner, Inquisitor."
"Of course, Your Honor. I apologize to the court." He looked around. "Grand Admiral Quanshuk, how many ships were lost in the recent battle with the humans?"
"You know the number as well as I do, Lord Tualurog."
"I am asking you, Lord Admiral."
Quanshuk listed them by classes.
"Wouldn't you say that is a shockingly large number?"
"I would use the term sobering, Lord Tualurog."
"You weren't shocked by it?"
"Your Honor!" counsel cried.
"Inquisitor, restrict your questions to matters of evidence."
"I stand admonished, Your Honor. Grand Admiral Quanshuk, who was responsible for the decisions made in this war?"
"They have been my decisions."
"And the battle strategies?"
"In conjunction with shipsmind, I was."
" `In conjunction with shipsmind.' But shipsmind is an artificial intelligence. Are artificial intelligences responsible, legally or otherwise, for decisions?"
"Artificial intelligences bear no responsibility for anything, Inquisitor. They are a tool. As you well know."
Tualurog looked at Kruts, expecting him to admonish Quanshuk for his adde
d comment. Kruts, however, gazed coldly back at him, saying nothing. I will remember that, Captain, Tualurog thought, when I rule the armada.
"A tool indeed, Grand Admiral," Tualurog said, "a tool indeed. And what do you propose we do next, to destroy these humans?"
"Objection, Your Honor!"
"Sustained. Admiral Tualurog, I am aware that you have never before acted as inquisitor. But let me make this clear: If you do not restrict your questions to inquisitorial protocol, I will have to replace you. Understood?"
Tualurog avoided eye contact with Kruts. He could easily blow up at the miserable gut picker, and ruin this whole case. "Indeed, Your Honor. I appreciate your forbearance." He delivered the line smoothly. "Let me try to rephrase my question, because… Your Honor, it opens up another, very important part of the investigation."
He looked again at Quanshuk. Having put it as he had, Kruts was obliged to give him greater leeway in questioning, at least so long as he was making apparent progress. "Grand Admiral," Tualurog said, "please give this hearing your best estimate of the volume of space occupied by the human empire when we first encountered it."
Quanshuk knew exactly what Tualurog was getting at. His answer was an estimate made by shipsmind on the day before, expressed as a probability range.
"And what percentage of that space have we swept?"
Quanshuk's estimate was relatively precise, but it was the sheer vastness of the first answer that made the spectators' hearts sink. They'd all known of course, in a general sense, but to have it laid before them like this…