by Steve White
That had only been yesterday, but it felt like a year ago. The Home Fleet was now operating in comparatively constrained space, having less running room as it fell back closer and closer to the Federation’s capitol, Xanadu. And this morning, the Arduans’ foremost echelons had begun an evolution into a new formation, akin to an elongated wedge.
“What are they doing?” Sensor Ops wondered aloud.
“I don’t know,” Watanabe commented, “but they didn’t want to show us this trick until now.” Not until they had chased us right up against Xanadu itself.
In the plot, enemy ships began clustering into a dense cone at the head of the wedge, but even as they did, their contact-icons became erratic, intermittent.
“Sensor Ops, what’s happening with our arrays? Why are we losing clear location on the bogeys?”
“Our arrays are fine, Admiral. They’re, uh, cloaking sir.”
Watanabe felt momentarily disoriented. “At this range? They’ve got to know their cloaking won’t work when they’re this close. Hell, we’ll have lock again before—”
A red gush of tiny enemy icons came jetting out the nozzlelike end of the approaching cone of Arduan ships.
“Admiral, missile launch—hundreds! Thousands! No—”
“Understood, Sensor. Tactical—”
“All batteries engaged for PDF and firing, sir.”
Nice to have my mind read, Watanabe observed silently, but also conceded that on this bridge, over the past five days, they had come to know each other’s in-combat habits extraordinarily well. Indeed, the first crew had become quite adept at finishing each others’ sentences.
On the screen, and in space, it appeared as though a wide, thin disk of supernovas had flared into existence between the receding and approaching fleets like an immense plate of white fire, creeping closer to Watanabe’s fleet as the mean range of intercept diminished. A few enemy missiles were even getting through, but mostly, the problem seemed to be—
“Mean range at intercept is dropping too sharply, Tactics. I want more distance from those warheads, Mister.”
“Trying, sir. Their volume is higher than our intercept capacity, ever since we lost another of the devastators two days ago. We’re still getting all the missiles, but with less time to spare.”
“So their warheads are going to inch closer until they get right on top of us.”
“Looks like it, sir—unless we give ground faster.”
Damn, that’s just what I can’t do, anymore. And Amunsit knows it. “Tell me, can you get a lock on any of the enemy ships?”
“No, sir. I can’t see anything through that rolling blast pattern. And sir—”
Watanabe saw it before Tactics or Sensor Ops could call out the alert. The missile detonations, while somewhat less intense, became individually expansive, almost whiting out the whole screen. The enemy was firing Anti Mine Ballistic AntiMatter Missiles—AMBAMMs. Immense warheads for clearing minefields—and a weapon system that the Arduans had never used until now. And, with a sudden plummet of his stomach, Yoshi was fairly sure he knew why they had waited until today to unveil it…
“Sensor, fix targeting arrays on the near edge of the detonations.”
“Wha—what, sir?”
“The near edge of the line of detonations: target arrays are to be preranged to that limit. Expect bogeys. Just do it, damn it. Tactics, prepare to launch fighters and to shift to—”
With the AMBAMMs having approached to within one half of a light-second, there was a sudden drop in the resulting free-energy spike—
Sensor Ops’ shout was not panicked, but loud as she tried to keep up with all the slightly larger contacts that were suddenly appearing—on the viewscreen and in the holoplot—from where the concentrated high-energy interference had been creeping closer just a moment before. “Bogeys, small ones, bearing 05 by 344, 10 by 271, 358 by 02…!”
“Tactics,” shouted Watanabe, “dedicate all energy torpedo batteries are to close-range fighter intercept. All missile tubes are to fire on the enemy capital ships that will be right behind them. Salvo until we’re out of danger or dry.”
“Yes, sir. Salvoing missiles and firing batteries. Carriers report double-time launch ops underway.”
In the viewscreen, Arduan fighters approached like a glittering cloud of glinting needle-tips. In retrospect, Amunsit’s tactic was plain: she had moved her carriers forward, first counting on the interference thrown up by the cloaked heavies to obscure that positional change. And then, once the sensor disruption from the massive wave of missile detonations had both reached its peak and made its closest approach to Watanabe’s fleet, she had launched her fighters. And with almost every encountered Arduan ship carrying at least one flight wing, the numbers of inbound bogeys went beyond hundreds, or even thousands. It was in the tens of thousands. And there was no way to shoot them all down before they got close enough to—
Watanabe did not miss the irony of his ethnic origins as he gave the order: “Tactics, reserve five percent of energy torpedo batteries for counteracting kamikaze attacks.”
That was the moment that the first of the small, fast Arduan fighters angled straight for his bridge.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Miriam Ortega removed the ear bud that she used for secure communications and put it down slowly, was conscious that her head was bowed. At the upper edge of her vision, she could still see Hildy Silverman’s sandaled feet. Usually perpetually in motion, those almost dainty feet were now utterly still. “Our fleet?” Hildy’s voice asked after a long moment.
“Yes, it’s been defeated.” Miriam was mindful that she had about an hour of normal existence remaining. Then, there would be invaders landing on the planet she had inhabited for—well, no use counting years at this stage of the game.
“And Admiral Watanabe? Is he—?”
Miriam sighed. “He is dead.”
When Hildy began her next question, there was the hint of a quaver in her voice. “And the other sensitives and officers that I—?”
“Hildy.” Miriam looked up. “They are dead. All of them.”
Hildy’s voice was suddenly very small. “All of them?”
“All,” repeated Miriam. “Every ship, every escape pod, every drifting spacesuited survivor: all killed.” She looked up, stared out the window at the quaint architecture of Prescott City. “It’s a miracle they agreed to a parley under a flag of truce, in Government House.” She jerked her head at the window behind her, where the capitol dome was located.
“I guess they were only interested in killing combatants. That’s how they were during most of the first war.”
“Hmm. Yes,” Miriam responded, allowing her genuine distraction mask the subtler tone of dubiety. Nothing with these Arduans—who referred to themselves as “Kaituni,” in their terse communiqués—was similar to the last war. Not their equipment, not their tactics, not their apparent demographics: nothing. So was it good news—a reprise of their prior disinterest in noncombatants—that they were willing to parley in about an hour’s time? Or did they have other, unfathomable motivations?
“And maybe we hurt them badly enough that they need to try to establish a truce.”
Miriam nodded, but considered the situation from additional angles. Yes, Yoshi had certainly fought as hard, as well, and as long as anyone could have expected or hoped. He had been outnumbered by more than six-to-one in tonnage, and far more than that in the sheer number of hulls. Even so, he had used his selnarm communications specialists to assure that his fleet had reaction times almost as quick as those of Amunsit’s armada. Using that communication speed in conjunction with his own tactical innovations, Watanabe had managed to kill almost thirty percent of the invader’s tonnage—which was to say, for every ton he had lost, he had destroyed two.
But ultimately, starting with yesterday’s mass fighter attack, his tonnage had been reduced to zero, every ship a victim to the incessant pounding of Arduan fighters, missiles, het lasers, and force beams
. In exchange, hidden sensor arrays indicated that the Zarzuela fleet was operationally intact but very badly attritted. With only seventy percent of its hulls surviving, and almost a quarter of the survivors inoperative until receiving extensive repairs, it was clear that Amunsit now had little choice but to settle into a defensive war. With disproportionate losses in its heavy assault monitors and fighter wings, it would have been unable to break through Bellerophon’s imposing defenses, many of which were Arduan-built and in place from the last war. Six years ago, Bellerophon and its home defense fleet had not, ultimately, been attacked from without, leaving its vast structure of forts and immense system defense ships intact. Bellerophon was, as Ian Trevayne had once commented, “the Gibraltar of the Federation.” Miriam smiled to remember how his staffers had nodded approvingly, vigorously—and then gone bobbing off to consult their history books to find out just what “Gibraltar” was.
Still, all that did not mean that the Kaituni had, in any way, experienced any change of heart since entering the Zephrain system. Meaning that the parley was probably not an opportunity for the government of Xanadu to dicker, but simply to get a measure of their new, and infamously intolerant, masters. And to hope for their benign disinterest.
The door chimes, favorites of Miriam’s, sounded altogether too cheery and banal today. “Come in,” she said.
The doors parted slightly, revealing Senior Councilor Amunherh’peshef. Alone. Wearing his vocoder. “I have come, as you asked. Unattended and unannounced.”
“Excellent, and thank you. Allow me to introduce Hildy Silverman, one of the best sensitives we have. I suspect we may be working together today.”
Amunherh’peshef fluttered congenial tendrils at Hildy. “A pleasure, Ms. Silverman. Tell me, Madam Consul, are we going to the meeting with the Kaituni delegation?”
“Very possibly,” Miriam answered. Although I think it’s equally possible that we’re just a small enough group that we could make it out of here on the lam, if we have to. “I’m just waiting for a call from—”
The computer’s communication software activated and toned twice. Miriam spoke aloud. “Answer call.” Then: “Hello?”
“Miriam?”
“Yes, Darrell. It’s me.”
“Good. Are you alone?”
Miriam looked meaningfully at Hildy and then Amunherh’peshef before she answered, “Yes, I’m alone.”
“So why no video link, Miriam?”
“Something I learned from Ian Trevayne about situations like this: minimize anything you narrowcast or broadcast. We should presume security is compromised. The enemy may, after all, have agents either among us presently. Or earlier, giving them the opportunity to emplace sleeper bugs that the invaders are just now awakening with coded broadcasts.”
Darrell Schweitzer, vice-president of the Federation High Council, paused. He was a capable man, and charming, but had no wartime experience, like most inhabitants of Xanadu. The last war with the Arduans had been bottled up beyond the warp point that led from the Astria system into Bellerophon. But if given the chance, he was sure to adapt quickly. “Okay, Miriam. You’re the seasoned pro here, so you call the shots on communication protocols. Look: the leader of these fleets, Amunsit, has agreed to come to Government House in forty minutes to discuss the terms of the occupation.”
“Did she say that, specifically that?”
Schweitzer paused. “No, but words to that effect.”
Yeah, I’ll bet. “I’ll get over there right away, but first, I think we should—”
“No,” Darrell interrupted. “No, Miriam. Don’t come here.”
“Why not?”
“Because”—Schweitzer sounded uncomfortable and embarrassed—“because the Kaituni specifically asked that you not be at the meeting.”
For the first time in a very long time, Miriam Ortega was completely taken off guard. “They excluded me from the gathering? Me, specifically?”
“Yes, Miriam. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not. But I’m puzzled: did they say why?”
Darrell sighed. “They explained that this is not going to be a negotiation and they do not want to contend with requests or questions from traitors.”
“How am I a traitor? I’m not one of them,”
“No, they don’t mean you are the traitor, but they do point out that, as our Liaison to the Arduan Consulate, you are likely to be an advocate for their interests. And they are dead set against having any such disputation at their meeting with us. Amunsit is bringing her own representatives who have experience communicating with humans, and assure us that a standard vocoder will be good enough for both sides. Although we’ll need more than one vocoder.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, with government’s full complement gathering here, we can hardly—”
“What? All the members of government?”
“Yes. You were told about that an hour ago, weren’t you?”
“Well, I was told that it would be a ‘full house’…but I didn’t know that was literally going to be the case.”
“Yep, everyone who’s in town right now. So just sit tight, Miriam. We’ll want you watching and commenting on the proceedings from where you are, with the Arduan Consul. Look, I’ve got to go. We’re going to have to come to order soon, get consensus on a few issues.”
“Is consensus going to matter, if Amunsit has said there’s not going to be any negotiation?”
“Damned if I know, but legislators need to feel like they’re, well, legislating. My attitude is, if it calms them down enough to sit through what is likely to be a pretty grim list of occupation ultimatums, then the honored representatives can all frolic in Government House’s fountain and have a sing-along, for all I care.”
Miriam smiled. Irreverent comments like that were exactly why she had always liked Schweitzer. “I see your point.” She lowered her voice. “Are you going to be sending live feed of the meeting with Amunsit to me here, in my office?”
“Yes.”
“To our secure surveillance facility, also?”
“No, we don’t see any reason to disrupt the standard overwatch protocols on your own office, Miriam. We can leave the personnel keeping an eye on you in place. We’ll have enough recorders and live feeds on the meeting with Amunsit, as it is. I’ve got to sign off now.”
“Go herd legislators, Darrell—and be careful.”
“Ahh, legislators might growl a lot, but they’re not really dangerous.”
No, Darrell, but Amunsit might be. “Let me know if you need anything from my end.”
“Will do, Miriam. See you.”
Miriam murmured her own farewell and closed the comm application. She thought for a moment, looked up at Amunherh’peshef. “Senior Councilor, I haven’t wanted to bring this up because, officially, I’m not supposed to know about it, but I believe your people have been conducting research into the likelihood that your long journey across space not only shifted the bulk of your race’s demographic into being members of the Destoshaz caste, but that they have been trending towards a recidivistic form. Evolutionarily reverting to a more primitive, less—well, let us say less ‘civilized’—genotype.” Miriam stopped, stared at Amunherh’peshef.
Who blinked all three eyes. Rapidly. Three times. “That…that is somewhat accurate,” he reported through the vocoder.
“Senior Councilor, please. We don’t have time to pick our way through the delicate minefield of secrets we know about each other but shouldn’t. We are confronted by an unprecedented situation which threatens both of us and we need to be frank and forthcoming with each other.”
Amunherh’peshef’s eyelids closed and opened slowly: in Arduans, it signified considered, yet profound, consent. “It is as you say. How may I help?”
Miriam crossed her arms. “I need a ten-minute review of what you’ve found out regarding the fundamental reasons, and ways in which, these later-Dispersate Destoshaz might think and act differently than those of
the First Dispersate. And why. ‘Why’ is a very important piece of the puzzle, for me.”
“Very well—but in ten minutes?”
“Maybe fifteen, Senior Councilor—but that gives us just about enough time to turn on the live feed from the capitol, pull up our chairs, wish we had some popcorn, and watch the opening ceremonies of the conquest and oppression of Xanadu.”
“I see.” Amunherh’peshef’s voice became more firm, then. “Perhaps we had best get started, then.”
“Perhaps so.”
The ten-minute presentation took almost twenty minutes. But the results were fairly clear—and worrisome. “I can see why you did not want to share these statistics,” Miriam commented as the last graphs and pie-charts vanished from the far wall’s half-holo display.
Amunherh’peshef’s tendrils wilted slightly and recovered: the Arduan equivalent of a mild shrug. “Who would wish to advertise that their race was becoming monstrous? The trend we discovered in our own—the First Dispersate’s—Destoshaz was onerous enough. But what little we have learned of Amunsit’s Second Dispersate suggests that the recidivistic trend increases asymptotically. I now wonder if the last Dispersate departed just before the day when Sekahmant finally novaed and destroyed Ardu, or rather, much earlier.”
“Why earlier?”
“Because it may well have been that the changed population of Ardu had so regressed into violence and discord that, long before the final doom was upon them, it ceased to be capable of the coordinated work necessary to launch another Dispersate. Unlike you, we had no Dark Ages in any of our cultures, and now we may see why we were so different from you in that regard. Among humans, it is society that devolves, but, being uncasted, your demography remains unchanged by that decline. Your potential for learning, for higher achievements, may lie dormant, but it remains, awaiting the hints of organization and growth that will nurture its return.
