The Far Stars War

by David Drake

  “Why, sir, I didn’t like to let them proceed. But I have no authority to order around civilians.”

  “Is that a fact?” Van Dyne said, sarcasm dripping from his heavy-edged voice. “Do the articles of the Universal Emergency Declaration mean so little to you, then?”

  Darfur had to admit that he didn’t know the articles.

  He tried to add that he had been in space, keeping station, when the Declaration was made. But Van Dyne refused to let him off the hook.

  “You should have had a copy of them with you anyhow. Any man with a gram of sense knew they were sure to be adopted sooner or later. ‘ ,

  “I ... I heard it was a close vote in the council, sir,” Darfur said. “People said it could have gone either way.”

  Van Dyne glared at him until Darfur could feel his cheeks going crimson. The commander was embarrassed and furious, and he knew that he’d better watch what he said or he’d be in even worse trouble than this.

  “What should I have done, sir?” he asked, biting out the words. “When they refused to accompany me, I mean.”

  Van Dyne shook his head at the naïveté of this young commander. “Darfur, you should have brought them back at gunpoint if necessary. For three reasons. First, we are not allowing people of Earth stock to get away from us so easily. Second, losing a civilian Circus Ship, of all things, to the enemy is the worst possible propaganda on the home front. And third, why put a perfectly sound ship into the hands of the enemy?”

  “I understand, sir,” Darfur said. “I did not know my orders allowed me such latitude. It will not happen again.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Van Dyne said. “Get back there, Commander, and bring that damned ship in. I don’t care how. Bring it back or don’t come back yourself.”

  “Yes, sir!” Darfur stood to full attention and saluted.

  Despite the admiral’s harsh tone, he knew he was being given a second chance. He could still wipe this error off his record.

  When the admiral returned his salute, Darfur turned to leave.

  “I haven’t dismissed you, yet,” Van Dyne snapped.

  “Sorry, sir. I just thought that it would be best for me to get at this as quickly as possible. Given the situation with the Gerin, sir. So I wanted to put my crew on standby for immediate takeoff.”

  “You’re right about the need for speed,” Van Dyne said. “But you won’t need your cruiser for that. Temporarily I’m putting command of Cochise into the hands of your second officer. You can go by fighter. That way, if you flub it this time, we won’t lose a major ship of the line.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Dismissed.” The admiral turned back to his papers.

  When Darfur reached the door, Van Dyne looked up.

  “Oh, and by the way.”

  “Sir?” Darfur stopped.

  “Good luck, sailor.”

  “Thank you, sir!” And Darfur was running as soon as he was outside the admiral’s door. There was a lot to be done and he wanted to be underway in an hour.

  * * *

  The planet Rhea was a farming world populated by a lizard-evolved species who called themselves the Ingoteen. The tall, mild-mannered lizard farmers and fishermen had little in the way of hard cash. Nor did the Ingoteen have any background for understanding the Earth-based skits, the plays and dancing, the singing and miming, that were a part of the performance.

  As Blake had learned before, it didn’t matter. Entertainment on these isolated worlds was difficult to come by. Anyone, human or lizard, would drop what he was doing in order to watch a show and hear some music, even if the show was incomprehensible and the music jarring.

  So it was here. There had been no trouble getting landing privileges. The Ingoteen Director of Landings had been effusive where he welcomed the troupe.

  “Delighted to have you,” he radioed back to Blake. “Do you want a parking orbit?”

  “I’d like to bring the ship down,” Blake said. “That way we have all our stuff with us. There’s no mess and no fuss for anyone else. We’re so self-contained we even have our own stages and auditorium.”

  He didn’t mention that it was nice to have your own ship when dealing with a world whose psychology was unknown to you. It gave Blake and his people a controlled place from which to operate. He didn’t have to tell the Director of Landings any of that. The fellow probably understood it anyway.

  The ship came down slowly, majestically. A huge group of Ingoteen gathered to watch and cheer. It was the biggest event on the planet since a comet had almost clipped them ten years ago.

  Blake set up in the designated place, negotiated the amount of the profits the local government would siphon off, and set up his ticket booth.

  Inside the ship, the circus people went about their well-remembered tasks of preparing for the performance.

  Blake was relaxing in his office with a bottle of genuine Sargassian vodka when there was a tap on the door.

  “Come in.”

  Commander Darfur, in his dress whites, came through. “This is a not very pleasant surprise,” Blake said. “I told you to get lost. The circus folk will go where they please.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Darfur said. “I am under orders to bring you and your ship back to the fleet at Point Bravo.”

  “You can’t back up that order,” Blake said. “Not even with your cruiser.”

  “I didn’t bring the cruiser,” Darfur said. He took a small handgun out of his pocket. “Just me. And this.”

  Blake stared at the’ weapon, incredulous, then burst into loud laughter. “You’re threatening me, you pup? I’m going to take that thing out of your hand and make you eat it.”

  He advanced on Darfur, moving quickly for so large a man. Abruptly he recoiled and was slammed back hard against the wall.

  “I have it set for pressor beam,” Darfur said. “There are lethal settings, but I don’t think they’ll be necessary. If you won’t do as I request, I’ll leave the gun on presslock, keep you against the wall, and con this ship back to Point Bravo myself.”

  Blake struggled but couldn’t free himself from the grip of the beam.

  “I’m sorry I have to do this,” Darfur said. “But it’s for your own good. Believe me, you wouldn’t want to be around here when the Gerin get here.”

  “Release me at once,” Blake said, “or I’ll kill you when you turn this beam off.”

  Darfur ignored him and turned to the control panel.

  He was just sitting down to type in his first instructions when he felt something sharp press against his back. He turned. Silvestre Smoothfoot, the Clownmaster, had slipped into the room and was holding something against him. It felt very much like a needle beamer.

  “You can’t go pushing your weight around here like that,” Silvestre said. “Turn off your beam.”

  “I’m only trying to save your lives.”

  “I know you mean well,” Smoothfoot said. “But you can’t do it this way.”

  “I’m going to take this ship out of here,” Darfur said. “If you do, l ‘Il have to shoot,” Smoothfoot said.

  “I don’t think you’ll kill me,” Darfur said. “Too bad there isn’t a better way to do this.” Ignoring the needle beam, he examined the flight control panel. Some of it was a little unfamiliar to him, but Darfur had taken extra instruction in different panel setups, as well as armament arrays both humanoid and Gerin. He thought he could figure it out without much difficulty.

  He started to set controls. Smoothfoot bit his lip and his hand tensed on the needle beam.

  “Give it to him,” Blake said.

  It is hard to say what Smooth foot would have done then if he had not been interrupted by a man in a red-andwhite clown suit bursting into the room. He had the transparent features and watery eyes of one type of human mutation.

  “They’re here
!” he said. “The Gerin! They’re here!”

  * * *

  Darfur turned off his pressor beam. Blake stepped away from the wall and quickly flicked on the ship’s screens. They showed Gerin soldiery racing through the ship’s open hatches, moving quickly despite their bulky armor, weapons at the ready, moving in their familiar three-point formation, a warrior ahead, two squire slaves behind. The circus people had been taken completely by surprise.

  “They’ll be here any moment,” Blake said. He opened a closet, rummaged in it, and found some gaily-colored clothing. He threw an armload to Darfur.

  “Here, get into these.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “From what I’ve heard,” Blake said, “the Gerin kill human warriors on sight. You’re not a bad guy. Got guts, anyhow. Join the circus and save your life.”

  Darfur didn’t have to be asked twice.

  * * *

  Usq-Usq-Tweed, senior officer in charge of Gerin forces, settled back in the portable tub his aides had brought for him. When he had the final word that the inhabitants of Rhea were offering no resistance and that the circus people were secure, he knew that his coup had succeeded and he could take a well-deserved soak. His comrades faced outward as Usq-Usq-Tweed, minus his armor, lowered his eight-limbed body into the tub. His body glowed with a heavenly blue color of satisfaction. This Rhea could be a valuable little world. But what was even more interesting was the Earth-manufactured ship which contained the circus.

  The Gerin had no circuses, but they were familiar with the notion of entertainment. This often took the form of combats with them, but there were also musical contests featuring the resk, an instrument like an enormous pan pipe, with a bellows that could be manipulated by one tentacle. Usq-Usq-Tweed had read of circuses in the concise histories of Earth that were required reading for Gerin of the commanding class, and especially for those with a political leaning. You couldn’t hope to get ahead in the chain of command unless you knew something about the enemy whose planets you expected to take over.

  Usq-Usq-Tweed was familiar with Interlingua, the tongue in which the Circus Ship’s log was kept. He used that knowledge now as he read over the log of the Barnum.

  The last entry was of great interest.

  “We have been requested by the League of Free Planets authorities to return to Point Bravo and the protection of the fleet. We have refused. We are neutrals, so we have no reason to run.”

  “And so,” Usq-Usq-Tweed said aloud, “they refused to return. They thought they could deal with us. As neutrals.”

  Juu’quath, one of his squires, indicated by the lilac flushing of his foremost tentacles that he understood that his captain was proposing a fine irony.

  “We Gerin are not entirely merciless,” Usq-Usq-Tweed said. “We will send these poor fellows back where they came from. And we won’t harm a hair of their heads. “

  Juu’quath flushed purple, waiting for the punch line. “No, we won’t harm them,” Usq-Usq-Tweed said.

  “But we’ll do a little work on their ship before sending it back, eh?”

  Heliotrope and scarlet make a strong combination. Not all Gerin approve of it. But in their military, a tentacle showing those colors is saying, “That’s just beautiful.” That is what Juu’quath displayed now.

  “First, however, let’s find where the pilot of the League fighter has hidden himself.”

  “Do you think he could be among the circus people, sir?”

  “He’s probably gone out of town and is hiding in the hills. But if he’s among the circus people, we’ll soon find out. Send their head man to me.”

  The call went out: Blake waited in the commandant’s office.

  * * *

  “No, you’ve got it all wrong,” Silvestre Smoothfoot told Darfur. The old Clownmaster had been instructing Darfur for the past hour, and the fellow didn’t show the slightest aptitude. Not even for Form 4 clowning, one of the most direct and easy to learn.

  “Try for a sadder expression of the features,” Smoothfoot said. “You look merely angry, not forlorn.”

  “I am angry,” Darfur said, standing there in a white satin suit with red polka dots, with big flappy shoes three times as long as his real feet, with an orange fright wig, and suspenders that were supposed to let down so that he could drop his trousers with comic effect, but that refused to budge off the commander’s square shoulders.

  “Turn the corners of the mouth down!” Smoothfoot said. “But look comically miserable, not as if you wanted to kill me!”

  They were in the little dressing room off Stage One.

  They and all the rest had been told that they had one hour in which to mount a performance. Blake came in to check Darfur’s progress.

  “1 don’t think the Gerin figure you’re hiding out among us,” Blake said. “I told them that I’d known every man here for the better part of ten years and that you’re all skilled performers. So I’m for the high jump if they catch onto you. They’ll do for you, too, not that that will be too great a satisfaction to me.”

  “But I don’t know how to be a clown!” Darfur said.

  “Haven’t you something else I can do?”

  “Like what? Trapeze artist? Elephant dancer? Juggler? Musician? Tumbler? Acrobat? What are you suited for?”

  “Fighting the enemy with a ship,” Darfur said.

  “Circuses don’t use fighters. Either be a clown or die.”

  “I’ll be a clown,” Darfur said. But it was proving difficult.

  “Now, try that fall again!” Smoothfoot shouted. Darfur fell.

  “Too graceful!” Smoothfoot shouted. “Do it clumsily. Haven’t you any sense at all?”

  Darfur was trying, but he was finding it almost supernaturally difficult. He was a man in conflict. Of course he was frightened for his life. But that wasn’t his only concern. He was oppressed now by a sense of failure. It was bad enough being overtaken unawares by the Gerin and having to disguise himself as a clown. If he lived through this, the story would come out and he’d be the laughingstock of the officer’s mess. That was bad enough. But having to pretend to be a clown, at this moment of supreme disaster in his life—that was asking too much. The thought occurred to him that it might be better to die with dignity than to live on the basis of silly antics.

  One of the circus dancers stuck her head in the doorway. “Come, time for practice is over. They have commanded the performance to begin. ‘ ,

  “But he’s not ready yet!” Smoothfoot said in despair.

  “You’re not going to make anything of him in another ten minutes, no, nor ten days, either!”

  “This fool is going to be the death of us all,” Blake said. “What an idiot I was to put myself into jeopardy for an officer of the League of Free Planets! I’ll never make that mistake again!”

  No one pointed out that he would be unable to. They all looked at Darfur, standing tall and proud.

  Then Smoothfoot came forward. Perhaps he understood something of what the officer was feeling.

  The old Clownmaster said to him, “Darfur, please, for me, act the fool.”

  Darfur stared at him. His features contorted. Smoothfoot giggled. Then Blake took it up, then the others.

  Darfur said, “I can’t do it!”

  Smoothfoot said, “You’re doing it!”

  “They want us now!” the dancer said.

  * * *

  Even though for them it was an entirely alien performance, the Gerin enjoyed themselves very much. A circus is a universal thing. The Gerin were smart enough to see that the circus people were poking fun at themselves. They were making fun of humanoids. That was enough to put the Gerin in good spirits. They slapped their tentacles on the seats in front of them and made loud honking sounds with their beaked mouths.

  They were especially fond of one tall young humanoid clown in r
ed and white polka dots. The fellow never could seem to get his balance. Wherever he moved, some other clown was there to knock him down. He was really laughable, that skinny, silly-looking Earthman. The Gerins weren’t connoisseurs of this sort of thing, but it was apparent to them, and especially to their commander, that the tall fellow was the chief performer of the troupe.

  * * *

  The Gerin put work parties onto the Barnum the next day. The seats that had been set up in the bays were torn out. Heavy equipment was brought in. Torpedo tubes for the plasma torpedoes were mounted fore and aft. Gatling laser guns were sweated into position, set up on their special platforms. FTL coils were brought in to supplement those that were already aboard. Day and night there was a hammering and a hiss of escaping gases as welding went on, replacing the shielding, fortifying the most vulnerable points on the hull.

  There were a few regrettable incidents when circus people got too close to the Gerin working at the installations and were pushed back. Several circus people were killed, toppled off catwalks or smashed against steel doors, because the Gerin weren’t shy about using their strength. The rest of the circus people soon learned to stay out of the way.

  * * *

  In the quarters he had selected for himself, Usq-Usq-Tweed set in motion the final portion of his plan. By fast fighter courier he had established contact with the Gerin fleet in his sector. His scheme was weighed in high councils while the final work was being done aboard the Barnum. Finally, it was agreed to try it. This was a signal honor for Usq-Usq-Tweed, because he was only from an auxiliary branch of a noble family. By the complicated status rules of the Gerin, this would give him a chance to take his place among the high councilors of the race.

  Usq-Usq-Tweed was aware of this, but it was not his primary motive. What interested him most of all was this opportunity to smash one of the great fighting fleets of the League of Free Planets. If he could get Admiral Van Dyne’s force out of the way, a path lay open to the humanoid-colonized Inner Worlds. Success in this could mark the beginning of a decline in the League of Free Planets’ power, mark the moment when the League’s defeat was irreversible, and signal the beginning of Gerin hegemony throughout known space.