Imperative - eARC

by Steve White

  Kiiraathra’ostakjo nodded.

  The flatscreen was suddenly filled with chaotic images of close, desperate combat. A widely dispersed phalanx of Orion superdreadnoughts, supported by a rear rank of carriers, approached their Kaituni opposites—which, magnification revealed, outnumbered the defenders by at least five to one. On both sides, ships flared and died. The Orion tactics seemed better, but were always executed a little too late, as if they were reacting two beats after the Kaituni had grabbed the maneuver initiative.

  The difference between a fleet with selnarmic relays, and one without, Ossian reflected. The Kaituni could overextend themselves and still have time to correct before paying too heavily. Similarly, whereas the Orion had a delay between when an opportunity presented itself and being able to see and thus exploit it, the Kaituni could make preemptive defensive corrections and minimize the consequences. In short, the Kaituni could afford to make mistakes whereas the Orions could not afford to make any. Unfortunately, the Kaituni were not making many mistakes—and there were five times as many of them.

  Several minutes into scenes depicting of one defensive regrouping of the Orion fleet after another, the camera view shifted to a spot quite close to one of the enemy carriers.

  “This image was captured by one of the inert microsensors we kept seeded throughout the system. Watch.”

  As if summoned to life by Rrurr’rao’s exhortation to “watch,” a dense flock of fighters launched from the Kaituni carrier—but as they did, they were joined by a second, more numerous cloud of slightly smaller vehicles. The two hordes interpenetrated, as if sorting themselves into a predetermined mixture of medium fighters and the lighter, spindly craft.

  “What are those smaller vehicles?” Ossian asked in English.

  “Watch more,” Rrurr’rao answered in a pained tone.

  The scene changed to standard Kaituni fighters pressing home an assault on an Orion cruiser, which was staying light on its heels to shield its aft “blind spot” from this first wave of attackers. But then the second, mixed wave of fighters arrived and the ship was immediately fighting desperately for its life. Where half a dozen fighters had been troubling the Orion cruiser before, there were now at least half a hundred of them, with two of the smaller vehicles following each of the standard fighters, usually in an offset delta formation.

  A flight of Orion fighters arrived to assist the ship, but each time one of them plunged after a standard enemy fighter, one of the smaller vehicles responded by harrying the would-be rescuer’s flank. Meanwhile, the second of the small vehicles escorting the Kaituni medium fighter quickly swept into the interposing space, forcing the Orion pilot to attack it lieu of its original target. The result: the small vehicle between the two fighters was severely hit by the Orion, but the latter was ultimately destroyed: the threat from its flank ultimately drove it into the sights of the main enemy fighter, which had now swung sharply around to launch a counterattack.

  The scene returned to the cruiser, where the tidal wave of enemy fighters had so overwhelmed its PDF defenses that significant hits were being scored against its hull. And when the first of the small vehicles finally got close enough to do so, it straightened its course and plunged straight into the ship’s bow.

  A cataclysmic explosion blanked the screen for a second. Through a minor miracle of terminal intercept counterfire and shields, the savaged cruiser still existed, its bow torn off and scorched. But before it could maneuver out of the line, the rest of the Kaituni fighters—both standard and small—were upon it, launching a fast flurry of missiles. The cruiser endured three or four hits before one reached—probably—the antimatter warheads in its ready rack: the battered Orion vessel became a star, taking along two of the closer Kaituni fighters before the glare receded and left empty space in its place.

  The rest of the footage was a montage of the same kinds of fighter attacks destroying one overwhelmed ship after another. Whether a mere destroyer or even one of the few devastators that the Orions had grudgingly adopted, the numbers of fighters involved changed, but the tactics and outcome were always the same. Inundate the target, overwhelm its defenses, and send the first one closest enough to do so on a ramming attack. Then, as the ship staggered beneath that blow, the remaining fighters swarmed it, like a cloud of hornets stinging a bear to death.

  In the last scene, the charred remains of the Orion fleet’s last line of defense floated just inside geosynchronous orbit, arrayed in a partial arc of shattered hulls. A considerable mass of Kaituni battlewagons gathered and moved through a gap in that hedge of debris, paused as if considering what to do next, and then unleashed a nonstop stream of high-velocity missiles.

  Streaking downward at five percent the speed of light, it looked like a planetary beam attack carried out by an electric arc welder: blinding shafts suddenly ran from the orbiting warcraft to the surface of Valkha. Ossian waited for the launches to stop, but after five seconds, realized what he was watching…and was horrified.

  He turned to Rrurr’rao. “They’re firing until they achieve a core breach.”

  Rrurr’rao only nodded and turned his eyes back to the screen.

  The onslaught of subrelativistic missiles, one after another, into the same few square miles of equatorial terrain on Valkha lasted about forty seconds. Then, like someone switching off the arc welder, the eye-imprinting bombardment was over—and at its base, a deep, glowing hell-pit was growing. The dark ground at its peripheries kept crumbling inward into a brightening molten well that seemed to be slowly gnawing away the walls of its own unthinkably deep shaft. Evidently, some of the Kaituni missiles had worked out from the target point, weakening the mantle at various points to facilitate its continued widening, lest debris choke it and the breach self-seal.

  And then with stately ease, Kaituni support craft began pushing the wrecks of the Orion fleet planetside: a multi-million-tonne rain of steel to impact on the surface and finish whatever might be left of Valkha’s already crippled biosphere if the core-breach failed to do the job.

  The screen went dark.

  Kiiraathra’ostakjo turned toward Rrurr’rao, spoke in English in a very tightly controlled voice. “These new fighters, the small ones, do you have any data on them?”

  The tall Orion nodded. “They are very simple machines, and are quite different from prior Ardua—hmmf, Kaituni remote systems.”

  “How so?”

  “It is our belief that they do not utilize selnarmic links, are not directly piloted by Kaituni. Rather, they are expert systems that are semi-autonomous, but can also receive conventional communications—and thus, instructions—through the standard, selnarmically-controlled fighter.”

  “So each regular fighter becomes the command-and-control nexus of a small flight wing, comprised of itself and two dedicated robot-fighters.”

  “Exactly. And we hypothesize that, since the robot fighters are so cheap and so fast, the Kaituni are completely unconcerned with losing them. Meanwhile, you saw what happens to our fighters when we attempt to engage them. A situation in which we were already outnumbered became untenable, uncontrollable. Our fighters simply could not get to the selnarmically-controlled craft—and of course, their pilots are safely out of harm’s way, back in the armored belly of whatever carrier—or even capital ship—they might be housed.”

  “It is strange that these new robot-fighters were not used in the Battle of Zephrain,” commented Kiiraathra’ostakjo.

  “Maybe not so strange,” offered Ossian.

  “How so, Senior Commodore?” Kiiraathra asked seriously, while Wethermere almost stuttered in surprise. Promoting me again? And hoping that our visitor doesn’t know that, in conversation among human service personnel, we don’t include the specific grade of a rank during personal address? But why go through this charade at all? So that Rrurr’rao understands he’s third in command? Small Claw of the Khan is about equal to a human commodore, so—yeah, that’s probably the reason.

  “Well, Least Fang,” Oss
ian replied, “there was always that chance that if it had been used at Zephrain, news of this new robot fighter might have reached Valkha before the invaders. In that event, the defenders might have—pursued a different course of action.” Ossian didn’t say “withdraw,” but could tell the Orions understood his implication—and had glumly decided not to raise a debate. “Instead, you had all confidence that your superb fighter wings would carry the day, particularly inside the Desai limit.”

  Rrurr’rao nodded. He turned to Kiiraathra’ostakjo, shifting to the Tongue of Tongues. “The human sees tactics quickly. He is reliable?”

  Ossian wondered if Kiiraathra had to suppress a momentary grin. “He is unconventional to the point of madness. He is also the most brilliant human I have ever met. We are lucky to have him with us.”

  Rrurr’rao growl-muttered, “Even so, in the future, loyalty to his own kind may make him…untrustworthy.”

  The Least Fang straightened again. His voice was stern. “This is twice you have impugned the humans. What have they done?”

  Rrurr’rao matched his superior’s imposing stare, but did not directly answer his question. “You must understand, Least Fang. We fled. We had no choice. We turned our backs on our last home, our littermates flying to every warp point they could reach. We headed toward V’vettyeao.”

  “Yes. Logical. The home to Unity Point Five, the one that was just recently forged to link us to the heart of human space. Very near their homeworld, Earth.”

  “Yes. That warp point. Except it no longer existed by the time we reached it.”

  Kiiraathra’ostakjo paused. “It had been destroyed?”

  “Evidently. I had heard fragmentary reports—rumors, actually—that the humans had begun to develop this warp-point-destroying technology at the behest of their great admiral, Trevayne. But I had not known this could be done, yet. And I never suspected that these humans, these chofaki, that these cowardly, threemish—”

  Kiiraathra’ostakjo stepped forward quickly. “You are injured, and you are my subordinate. It is unseemly that I should challenge you for offending the honor of my friends, for I count many of humanity as such. Similarly, we of the Zheeerlikou’valkhannaieee are in desperate need of all our excellent commanders and I am loath to lose another. But if you cannot control such bigotry, I will be forced to—take steps. Whatever those might happen to be.”

  Rrurr’rao’s one green eye glared balefully. But—his eye still on Kiiraathra —he bowed low. “I ask my commander’s forgiveness. My first reflex is to identify the enemies—or false friends—of our race. I had thought to do so. I am sorry that it gives offense.”

  Kiiraathra’ostakjo stared at the bowed head, evidently considering the apology that was not really an apology. “Do not think to remonstrate with me using slanted words, Small Claw, or they shall rebound upon you. Straighten. You are pardoned—this time—but forgiveness will be contingent upon your future actions. Specifically, you must put aside your bigotry. Which is, moreover, quite probably misplaced.”

  “Instruct me in this, please, Least Fang.”

  “I shall—and be sure your tone cannot be suspected of insolence or I will make challenge as soon as you are well enough to accept it.”

  Rrurr’rao evidently heard the aggressive buzz in Kiiraathra’s throat and saw the resolve in his eyes. “I—shall earn your forgiveness, Least Fang.”

  “Very well. Now, consider: have the Kaituni passed through the gate into human space?”

  “No, Least Fang.”

  “And we hold the majority of seats in the PSU, which has its offices of government on Earth, correct?”

  “It is as you say.”

  “Then do you suspect a coup? That our representatives did not approve this order, but rather, were overwhelmed and ousted by the humans?”

  “I think it—not impossible, Least Fang.”

  “That is hardly a statement of reasonable surety, Small Claw, and I recommend you reflect upon, and school yourself in the significance of, that difference.”

  “But how?”—and now, finally, Rrurr’rao’s eyes raised, desperate, along with a wounded-animal catch in his growl. “How would the representatives of the Khan himself shut this door in our faces, condemn their own people to death? Where are their loyalties, Least Fang?”

  “To their word and bond, Small Claw,” Kiiraathra’ostakjo said quietly, “and to the last surviving holders of those troths: the rest of the PSU. How can you have witnessed the destruction of Valkha, and not realize just what it is you really saw, there?”

  “And what is that, Least Fang?”

  “The decapitation and dismembering of our state, my distant-littermate.” Wethermere wondered if the thick tone in Kiiraathra’ostakjo’s voice was the sound that grieving Orions made: it was rarely heard among them, and was almost unknown to alien races. “They have annihilated all our fleets in our battles to defend both our homeworlds. They have destroyed—literally, physically destroyed—both of those worlds. The Khan was reported dead, along with his vizier and half of the Kimhakaa in the first attack. And now the rest of the Kimhakaa, probably along with the rest of the senior Fangs of the Khan, are presumed dead on or near Valkha —am I right?”

  “You are correct, Least Fang.”

  “Then tell, me, Rrurr’rao, 952nd Small Claw of the Khan: what was left to save? What succor could Earth have offered? Besides, they face an even greater threat from the fleets approaching their space from Alowan. Are you aware that six, possibly seven of the Dispersates have appeared there?”

  “So many more?” Rrurr’rao breathed. “I had heard of the landings, of course, but without any credible data on their numbers. And later, in the weeks leading up to the Battle of Valkha, no further reports reached us from behind the mass of the Kaituni who were approaching.”

  Kiiraathra’ostakjo nodded. “These are the numbers the humans must contend with. And when the Kaituni fleets are done with our industrial worlds—for surely they shall strike the production centers of the Khanate next—where do you suspect they might go? They certainly have shown no interest in occupation.”

  Rrurr’rao raised his head slightly. “They will join the other fleets, making for human space. First to destroy the core of their power, near Earth. Or some might move on to Franos and lay waste to the many races of the Star Union before it can add its weight to the defense of the PSU.”

  “It seems inevitable that they should do one or the other. Perhaps both. Either way, it is our job to do what we may to ensure that the remaining formations of the PSU prevail. Without their victory, the Kaituni will eventually exterminate all of us. Whether they first complete their project of xenocide in the Khanate or in human space is simply a matter of timing: it they are not defeated, we are all doomed to extinction.”

  Rrurr’rao was standing erect again, and if he felt any weight of pain in his wounds, it was not stronger than the sense of urgency that was now in his tall, heavy frame. “What is this mission you are on, Least Fang, that I may commit my ship to it? Or rather, may commit what is left of my ship.”

  Kiiraathra’ostakjo nodded slowly. “Well said, and your question about our mission shall be answered soon. But first, let us attend to the needs of your living crew—and consign the dead to space. For I see from the timecode on these data files that, since finding the Unity Point in V’vettyeao to be closed, you have been fleeing attackers. Without stopping.”

  “For six days, Least Fang.”

  “And in that time, how many hours have you slept?”

  “I-I am unsure, Least Fang. Some. Certainly enough.”

  “You are a poor liar, Small Claw.” He switched to English. “Come, let us share a dish of zeget together. There is much to discuss. And to plan.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  It was not the door chime that told Lentsul he had a visitor, but a casual touch of selnarm: Mretlak.

  “Please enter, Senior Cluster Leader,” Lentsul sent, rising.

  Mretlak did, preceded by
a selnarmic bow-wave of (greeting, amity, gratification). “Are you ready to depart for the flagship?”

  “Momentarily, Senior Cluster Leader. I am just finishing my report for Narrok on the status of our—”

  “Lentsul, you completed that report last night.”

  “Yes. But. Well, no report is ever so complete that it cannot benefit from—”

  “Lentsul,” Mretlak sent, along with (approval, assurance, confidence), “do not spend time repairing an unbroken urn. Your report is concise, accurate, and thorough. Do not alter it. It will probably not even be asked for today. It will take the better part of the day for the Bellerophon fleet to traverse the warp point, and its commanders will have much to do before they solicit reports on anything other than immediate security and deployment. However”—Mretlak approached with a data crystal—“I wanted to give you your next assignment before we depart, since it may come up at the meeting.”

  Lentsul sent (weariness, ennui). “Another of Ankaht’s sociological studies of the changing Arduan psyche and its potential impact upon loyalty in our own ranks?”

  “No. This is a combination of technical intelligence and cryptography.”

  Lentsul straightened. “Indeed? This is a pleasant change, Senior Cluster Leader! I shall have read the materials and prepared a preliminary precis for you by the end of the week.”

  Mretlak’s selnarm betrayed a thin tissue of amusement. “You shall not be presenting your report to me—any more than I should be the object of your gratitude.”

  Lentsul paused. “Indeed?”

  “Indeed. The assignment comes directly from Capta—well, now Commodore Wethermere. He requested that you, specifically, be given this assignment.”

  Lentsul was so surprised that he could only repeat, “Indeed?”

  “He was quite explicit, citing your expertise, excellent record, and impeccable security credentials.”

  Lentsul was briefly at a loss for words: instead of diminishing, his surprise continued to grow. “I-I am honored. I think. Tell me: what is the focus of this project?”