by B. V. Larson
Unfortunately, Kraxor wasn’t coming along. He’d apologetically explained that Vuxana had commanded him to stay and oversee the rebuilding of Ruxin military forces. He’d also hinted about other reasons—the need for stability, the possibility of a political counter-coup by disgruntled females who could no longer exploit the people under the Mutuality’s yoke. In his place he’d sent his best lieutenant, War Male Dexon, to command the Ruxin warriors and neuters in the fleet.
Fortunately, Indy decided to accompany them. Straker was less interested in the AI herself, as she wouldn’t fight, and more concerned that Zaxby was aboard Gryphon and didn’t want to leave his new machine buddy. The grumpy old octopoid was annoying as hell sometimes, but Straker realized he missed him—and his brainiac abilities. Tixban was competent, but he was no Zaxby.
Not yet, anyway.
When the last ship except Gryphon had transited—Indy’d stuck around in case of any technical problems with the battleship—Indomitable’s sections began to follow. One by one they disappeared, from number 16 down to 2, and then it was the number 1 command section’s turn.
“Go ahead,” said Engels.
“Transition to sidespace… completed,” said the helmsman. Chief Gurung gave a thumbs-up from his damage control station, indicating all systems running in the green. Efficiencies weren’t as high as when Indy ran the ship, but they were within acceptable ranges—though it had taken a crew of two thousand per section to do it.
Straker sighed. With that many aboard—more, actually, as there were twenty thousand non-crew passengers, such as troops and shadow-government officials, spread among all the sections—he knew there still must be spies and traitors among them. Engels had told him about Karst’s betrayal, and that had hurt Straker the most. He’d thought the kid was solid. He’d fought with him in a mechsuit, after all. DeChang denied all direct knowledge of Karst’s actions, of course.
Tachina and the Lazarus had also disappeared. A faked transfer order had gotten the Inquisitor out of his cell during the confusion, and from the description it had been the well-known and trusted Karst that picked him up, so the guards had no reason to be suspicious. Exactly who he was working for and why he’d chosen the Lazarus wasn’t clear—and were the three working together, or was it mere coincidence?
Well, good riddance, Straker thought. It was a big galaxy and he couldn’t control every variable. If they turned up later, they would be dealt with.
“I’m going to take a stroll,” said Straker. Staring at the nothingness of sidespace didn’t interest him, nor did routine bridge operations. He had almost two weeks before emergence to review and refine his battle plans.
With his now-mandatory bodyguards in tow, he headed for the Section 1 flight deck. Alongside the shuttles, gigs and pinnaces stood four mechsuits—three Foehammers and the Sledgehammer. The three well-used ’suits had been thoroughly repaired back at the nebula at the same time Indomitable was undergoing her original refurbishment, and a spare Foehammer had been assembled from factory parts.
The mechsuits reminded him of something. He stuck his comlink in his ear. “Tell Murdock to report to the flight deck.”
When the unkempt brainiac arrived, Straker said, “We have two weeks more to work on it, so let’s see what we can do about improving my brainlink synch.”
“I bet Indy could have helped,” said Murdock.
“Let some alien AI in my brain? No thanks. I trust you, not her. You can do it.”
Murdock perked up. “Thanks, Derek. I’ll do my best.”
***
“That is an impressive piece of machinery,” said War Male Dexon four days later, when Straker stepped out of his open mechsuit after the latest operational tests. “I hear Grand Marshal Kraxor has requested development of a Ruxin version.”
Straker placed an affectionate hand on the mechsuit’s knee. “That’ll likely take a while, given that the Mutuality tech level is barely up to a prototype. We wouldn’t have these if we hadn’t stolen an entire factory from the Hundred Worlds.”
“That is true, but we Ruxins are an ingenious species. We shall catch up.”
Straker held back an eyeroll. “What, no declaration of racial superiority?”
“There is no need to beat a dead squid on that subject.”
“You might pass that along to your people. It gets annoying after a while.” He wiped his hands on a rag. “You’re pretty good with Earthan. Even idioms and sayings.”
“To learn the language has become all the rage among my people, and your idioms and sayings are trendy—suitably modified, of course.”
“Of course.” Straker conferred briefly with Murdock, who sat at the diagnostic console he’d set up near the mechsuits. They’d made progress on the brainlink synch, but it still wasn’t one hundred percent. Loco was working on his too, as his duties allowed.
“Listen, Dexon, is there something you needed, or are you just watching?”
“I thought to invite you to train with my warriors. They have heard of your personal prowess from Kraxor, but have had little opportunity to witness it for themselves.”
Straker’s eyes narrowed. “They have their doubts?”
“With apologies, they do.”
“And you?”
“I would not presume to question the witness of the Grand Marshal.”
“But you’d like to see for yourself if your human commander is worthy of leading you.”
Dexon writhed uncomfortably. “I myself was a junior Archerfish officer under Kraxor before eighty years of cryo-sleep. I have seen war against your kind, so I am not without respect for your fighting abilities, but the other warrior males are newly converted from status as neuters. They are full of untempered enthusiasm and hormones, and they over-value physical skills. They are not yet aware that command is primarily of the mind, not the body.”
Straker grinned. “I think we can accommodate them, and lay all their fears to rest. Might even give them a surprise or two. It’ll be fun. Let me finish up here and I’ll meet you in the gymnasium in an hour.”
“As you command, War Male Straker.”
“And Dexon?”
“Yes, Admiral?”
“Have your medics standing by.”
Once he’d wrapped up with Murdock, Straker took a detour to put on his imposing War Male suit. When he arrived at the gym, a spacious hall fifty meters on a side filled with physical training machines, he saw a formation of about sixty Ruxin warriors. Each carried some token melee weapon—a club, a knife, a spear—though held casually, as a man might hold a tool or a beer as he worked on his favorite groundcar.
He’d considered and discarded a conventional approach to this encounter. Dexon and the rest probably expected him to address them, and then perform hand-to-hand demonstrations, maybe a little sparring.
But these were Ruxin warrior males. They outweighed him by at least a hundred kilos, they had eight arms, and they were full of their version of testosterone, like a bunch of teenage boys with too much aggression and confidence in their veins. They also would heal fast, even regenerate, any damage he might do.
And, as he’d ordered, Ruxin neuters with medical markings on their suits stood respectfully along the wall, out of the way.
So instead of a mere demonstration, Straker intended to give them a story to tell, a tale that would grow in the telling. Like his voluntary flogging, he hoped that one painful lesson would minimize the need for further ones, and grow his legend.
Dexon saluted him as he approached. “War Male Straker, we are ready for—”
“Defend yourselves,” Straker barked, ignoring the salute. He strode past Dexon to the corner of the four-row formation and seized the startled warrior there, stripped the bone club from one tentacle and gripped another to launch the creature sprawling across the deck.
Without pause, he smashed the club into another warrior, then another, knocking them down mercilessly. The fourth warrior had the presence of mind to raise his spear to block, but
the bone club proved the stronger weapon, backed by Straker’s powerful musculature and uncanny speed. The spear shattered and the knob end of the club sank deep into the warrior’s body. He collapsed.
The formation dissolved into chaos, and Straker concentrated on striking and throwing, using his club, his other hand, and his feet. Had he been fighting an equal number of humans, he would have no doubt killed several of them with hammer blows to their heads, but Ruxins were heavy, rubbery and slippery.
If he’d genuinely wanted to kill, he would have taken a knife from one of them and begun slashing, for the boneless creatures were particularly vulnerable to the sharp edge of a blade—at least temporarily, until they regenerated. But his intention was to humiliate them. Just like with basic military training among humans, he needed to knock down their foolish pride so they might return to duty more wary of the unexpected, and respectful of potential enemies.
If they’d have all turned on him at once and dog-piled him, they’d probably have beaten him with their many arms and their mass. However, like any inexperienced creatures with an instinct for self-preservation, they fought disjointedly, trying to minimize their exposure, and so Straker was able to keep attacking them by ones and twos.
One minute later, he stood among three dozen bruised and battered octopoids, who lay groaning on the deck. Some were bleeding from pressure cuts, some were unconscious, and several had lost the delicate clusters of subtentacles at the tips of their arms. The rest, those who had backed away, now formed a large circle, staying out of reach.
Dexon had wisely remained aloof. He’d have fared no better than his warriors, and he appeared to know it.
Straker pointedly examined his bone club for a moment, and then tossed it toward its owner. He placed his hands on his hips and swiveled his head back and forth to take in the Ruxins. “You have embarrassed yourselves today. I am not impressed with the supposed Ruxin superiority over humans. It takes more than being made male to be a warrior.” He paused. “Train harder. Do better. Make me and War Male Dexon proud. If you cannot, I am sure technician positions among the neuters can be found. Now go. You are dismissed.”
Dexon saluted, and Straker returned the courtesy. While Straker was no expert at reading Ruxin expressions, he thought he saw something new in the octopoid’s eyes. Real respect, perhaps? There was something ineffable that made any combat troop willing to follow a leader into battle. Straker hoped he’d provided some of it today.
The Ruxins shambled off, defeated and carrying their wounded, while Dexon harangued them in their own tongue. Straker hoped the War Male capitalized on this psychological shock and motivated them to train well. In any case, no doubt the story was already spreading among the personnel aboard, as the demonstration had been very, very public. Nothing moved faster than scuttlebutt on a ship in sidespace.
***
As Indomitable’s Section 1 counted down below a day to transit into the Unison system, Straker called a final session with his staff, running simulations and exercises for the assault. War Minister Benota provided invaluable information on the disposition of enemy forces, but no matter how many times they ran the projections, they couldn’t be sure of what would happen.
“Again I want to caution you against complacency,” said Benota as they sat in conference, looking at the holo-sims projected above the table. “Unison is the most heavily defended system in the Mutuality. The Committee has always been paranoid with the fear that the Huns would send a deep strike straight for the heart of our—I mean, their—territory. With the Home Fleet in place, I’d have said Unison was invulnerable, even to Indomitable. Without the Home Fleet on their side, we have a good chance—but there are still dangers.”
“That’s why we have two ways to win,” said Straker. “Conventionally, and our simultaneous covert strike. The trick is going to be getting our troops there.”
“I still say we should take things one at a time,” said Engels, scratching at her itching leg. “We may not have an edge in pure firepower, but we have all the mobility and they have very little. The loss of their Home Fleet removed a critical piece from their strategy—and fixed defenses always fall to a properly employed attack.”
“Fall in time, you mean,” said DeChang. “We can’t give them time to bring all their forces home. I know the Committee. They’ll abandon the war with the Huns and lose half their systems if that’s what it takes to save themselves. No doubt word of the battle for Ruxin is already spreading by automated spy drone from star to star. Within days of our arrival, hundreds of ships from all across the Mutuality will converge on Unison. If we haven’t won by then, we’ll be swarmed and have to run away.”
Straker stabbed his index finger in the air. “That’s why we need to move fast, despite Commodore Engel’s misgivings. We’ll wait as long as we can, both to get as close as possible before we launch the assault, and to see if we can open a hole with our fleet. However, at some point we’ll have to commit to taking the capital and seizing the government. That’s the only way this bureaucratic empire will recognize its own fate—if we conquer its heart, but preserve its functions as the New Earthan Republic. Otherwise, as Director DeChang has so often pointed out, it will collapse and die like a headless dinosaur. If that happens, the Hundred Worlds will devour as much as they can digest—maybe everything.”
“What’s so bad about that, sir?” asked Sergeant Major Heiser. “I mean, lots of us grew up in the Hun-Worlds. It wasn’t so bad. We were the good guys.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Meanin’ no disrespect, sir, but think about it. A couple years ago, all we wanted was to beat the Hok, which turned out to mean beatin’ the Mutuality. We’re about to do that. We could come home as heroes, and everybody’d be better off than they were before. Nothin’s ever gonna be perfect.”
Straker put his hands on his hips and paced slowly. “That’s true, Spear. The Hundred Worlds is better than the Mutuality.”
Benota coughed, and then waved a forefending hand when Straker glanced sharply at him. “Sorry. Swallowed some spit.”
Straker went on, “No matter what happens, we’ve already improved humanity’s fate—and the Ruxins’, too. But I’m not settling for second or third best. Millions will die and billions will be thrown into misery if the Mutuality collapses. The bureaucracy is corrupt, but it’s the only thing keeping the machinery running. We have to try to make the transition to freedom as smooth as possible, and that means we need to seize the capital intact. And that means a bigger gamble, for a bigger payoff, a New Earthan Republic. If we fail,” he threw up his hands, “then we fail. As you said, we’ll still have done great good.”
Straker’s staff exchanged skeptical glances. He knew they were getting tired of his big gambles and were worried that one day the dice would come up craps—and they’d pay the price. Yet, he felt in his gut that this was the right play, the only way to win the game.
“Tixban, what does the sim say again?” Straker asked.
“In what respect, sir?”
“Percentage chance of achieving our objectives. Rounded to the nearest whole number.”
Tixban brought up charts and graphs. “Given the plan you propose, as follows: gaining external system dominance, ninety-seven percent. Defeating the defenses and conquering the system with less than fifty percent friendly losses within three days as specified, sixty-one percent, rising to nearly one hundred percent given more time and no enemy reinforcements. A successful covert assault during those three days, forty-four percent.”
“Forty-four percent, Admiral,” said Engels sharply. “Less than fifty-fifty. It’s a double-or-nothing gamble, just to minimize disruption to your New Earthan Republic.”
DeChang spoke up. “Commodore, what you so blithely call ‘disruption’ would mean the death of millions, possibly billions. Trade and transport would break down. Planets might not starve, but thousands of moons, specialized habs and orbital facilities would. Industry would run out of fuel and flows of goods would fall to a fraction of
their current levels. You wanted liberation, but what you’ll get is armed revolt—against us if we can’t provide stability. Maybe even localized civil wars. For centuries, the Mutuality has been a system, not a mere collection of parts. The New Earthan Republic will be no different.”
“So you want Straker to take this gamble?” said Engels.
“It makes sense, for the payoff,” replied DeChang.
“And you probably know he’ll be going personally, leading the troops.”
“I’d heard that,” said DeChang. “In a mechsuit, no less. He should be safe enough, gods willing.”
Engels leaned forward to stare pointedly at DeChang. “If he doesn’t come back, I’ll be the new Liberator, and you can bet I’ll be in an unforgiving mood, so if this is some kind of hope—or ploy—to rid yourself of a rival, you’d better reconsider. You’re still guilty until proven innocent in my book.”
“Carla—” said Straker.
“If something happens to the covert assault, it won’t be my doing,” retorted DeChang. “This organization leaks like a sieve, which is all the more reason to either cancel the covert assault entirely, or launch it early. The longer we wait, the more likely someone will send a coded message to the Committee. If they disperse and you don’t scoop them all up, your victory will remain in doubt.”
“It leaks like a sieve because of people like Karst and Ramirez—your people,” Engels snarled, rising from her seat. “We’ve had nothing but trouble from you Unmutuals since we met you!”
“Your favorite Ellen Gray is in charge of our ships, and here I sit, in your power,” said DeChang, throwing up his hands. “I’m acting in good faith. What more do you want from me?”
“Everybody calm down and quit pointing fingers,” said Straker, his voice rising. He noticed Benota sitting relaxed, watching the byplay. “This is how great things fall apart—people turning on each other like dogs. I trust all of you, even Director DeChang, until I have a solid reason not to.”
“I don’t,” muttered Engels.
