by Paul Chafe
Through the whole process Contradictory kept one eye on his databoard, slaved from the cockpit with updated intercept scenarios. Krowl battle control in one of the orbital fortresses kept them updated on the progress of the kz’zeerkti fleet. The news wasn’t good. The human scoutships had been followed by a wave of cruisers, falling in from the edge of the singularity and then, once the cruisers were established in attack orbits, the heavy battle units had emerged from hyperspace. The pattern was clear by now, repeated in system after system. The humans would arrive without warning and in overwhelming force. The scouts would identify the defenses and the cruiser screen behind them would deal with minor outposts in the system and any kzinti ships attempting to escape. The battleships would close with the planet and engage its orbital defenses to allow the carriers to get into low orbit to launch their transatmospheric fighters and bombers. By then the battleships would be engaging the ground defenses, and under fighter cover the bombers would get in through the weak spots, usually far from the main bases, get low to protect themselves beneath the horizon and then, at the last moment, pop up to launch salvos of conversion warheads. The warheads would streak in, hugging the terrain, sequenced so that the detonation of the first would degrade sensors and defenses to clear the way for the next. By the time the last had gone off the bombers would already be out of the atmosphere, redocking with their carrier after a single orbit.
And that was what was starting to happen at Ktzaa’Whrloo. In none of their other attacks had the humans attempted to assault ships or secure the planet. They got in, destroyed everything and got out before the Patriarchy could react. Night Pilot thought that dishonorable. Contradictory thought it irrelevant, and concerned itself with the cruiser screen. It was tightening already, and with the scoutships far in advance of the cruisers in the screen would have plenty of time to change their velocity vectors to intercept anything the scouts picked up trying to escape.
Refueling in orbit presented a sudden problem. Priority went to warcraft boosting to meet the humans high up in the gravity well, and Sklar-Overseer lacked the strakh to get them advanced in the priority sequence, or at least he lacked the willingness to use his strakh to do it. The human scouts were braking hard now, already into the inner system, and there had been skirmishes between kzinti and human craft. Time was running out, and the seriousness of the situation was apparent. Krowl Pride didn’t have the forces to resist the humans. The battle station was in chaos, warriors with nerves on edge making impossible demands on panicked slaves. Service Master, in charge of the fueling bays, was short and to the point. “You will be fueled when the combat ships have been fueled, not before.” Night Pilot, frustrated to the edge of his temper, bared his fangs and resisted the urge to scream and leap. There was nothing to be gained by it, and it might even delay them further.
“We are being attempting to be rectifying of the delay.” Contradictory was wearing slave livery, necessary protective camouflage in the Patriarchy. It set out, while Night Pilot took advantage of the time and the atmosphere in the fueling bay to work on the balky landing gear retractor. The problem turned out to be a broken piston sealing ring. He was able to get a replacement from the station’s stores, but actually installing it was a delicate, finicky task better suited to Contradictory’s fine manipulation skills. He settled down to a repair session that mixed frustration and obscenity in equal measure, trying to get piston, sleeve and sealing ring to stay together long enough for him to finish the assembly with only two hands to do the job with.
For the eighth time the assembly fell apart as he tried to slide the sleeve into place. He resisted the urge to hurl it across the bay and looked up to find Contradictory, back already. “We are being fueling immediately.”
“Hrrr.” Night Pilot growled, relieved that the problem was solved, annoyed that his partner had succeeded where he had failed. “How did you arrange this?”
“Techslave Fueling Controller is being Jotoki, we are negotiating with them directly. We are being having in addition to being first fueling priority the guarantee of tanks being capacity filled.”
“Excellent.”
“We are being indebted to the Fueling Controller, who is therefore to being embarked.”
Night Pilot’s ears stiffened. “Slave theft is beneath our honor.” His voice held an edge.
“It is being irrelevant. Service Master is being now dead in a challenge duel. It is being also unlikely he is being predeceasing of this battle station of significant time length.”
“Hrrr. I still don’t like it.”
“It is being our function in this partnership to being performed of necessary tasks which you are being finding difficult. We are now being saving of your life at Ktzaa’Whrloo. We are being asking that you are remembering of this at similar circumstances.”
Night Pilot waved a paw. “Yes, yes. Help me get this piston assembled.”
Contradictory did it on the first try. Night Pilot growled to himself in annoyance and considered eating their new passenger when it arrived. He hadn’t had fresh meat in a long time, but mostly he enjoyed the thought because it would upset Contradictory.
Contradictory, oblivious, was already directing Whrloo techslaves to connect the fueling hoses. Night Pilot lashed his tail and went aboard Black Saber to plot their boost course. They would launch on a retrograde orbit. That would cost them power overall, but because the human ships were all trying to match velocities with the planet it would give them some additional closing speed, reducing the human’s engagement times and giving them a distinct lead in a running fight. With full tanks they could afford to use the tactic.
The tactical situation update from battle command was not encouraging. The human cruisers were intercepting any ship that tried to make it out of the system. The situation on the battle station was hardly better. He growled and started plotting alternate escape routes, in case they got surprised on their planned course. He was interrupted by Contradictory who catapulted himself into the cockpit and began strapping in.
“We are now being ready to leave. Docking control is being giving clearance for bay door release.”
“Our tanks are not full.”
“Fueling lines are being disconnected. Our tanks are being as filled as they are being filled.” It clicked keys and Night Pilot felt his ears pop. “Loading ramp is being closed, cabin is being pressurized.”
“What about our passenger?”
“Techslave Fueling Controller is being killed. Veefrawi-Captain of heavy cruiser Pride of Conquest is being objecting to his ship being fueled subsequent to us. Veefrawi-Captain is being arriving at shortly to being discussing this with yourself. We are being fortunately warned by newly appointed Fueling Controller.” Contradictory clicked keys and indicators flashed as the Whrloo ground crew cleared the fuel lines and vacated the bay.
Night Pilot opened his mouth, closed it. “We are boosting. Now.”
Contradictory clicked keys. “I am being agreeing with you.”
“Hrrrr. There is always a first time.”
“I am being requesting docking control departure clearance at now.” Contradictory keyed his com and snarled into it. Night Pilot unconsciously furled his ears, betraying his worry. If Veefrawi-Captain thought to go to docking control first they might not get it. There was a short, tense wait before docking control authorized their departure. Then they had to wait again while the fueling bay was pumped down to vacuum. He watched the external pressure, alert for it to stop dropping. That would be a very bad sign.
Finally the immense bay doors began to swing open. He rotated thrusters and nudged the throttles forward. Black Saber rose and glided forward, accelerating as Night Pilot dialed in more thrust. They were through the doors before they were halfway open. Did he imagine an outraged face in the fueling bay observation window? It no longer matters. Once they hit space, he shoved the throttles to their limits. The deck surged as he spun their acceleration vector to bring them into their retrograde escape orbit. Sati
sfied they were within parameters, he turned the precomputed boost profile over to the AI. He looked over to his copilot, who was busily running through the post-launch checklist with the computer.
“We are done.” He breathed out, his ears relaxing at last.
Contradictory spun on its undermouth, swiveling eyes at Night Pilot in sequence. “We are being one more time saving of your life.”
“Hrrr. You have more blood debt from me than I have blood.”
If the Jotok was pleased with the answer it gave no sign. Black Saber was well away from Ktzaa’Whrloo and boosting hard for the singularity’s edge when they picked up the scoutship, a couple of light-seconds away and closing at nearly two five-hundred-and-twelfths of lightspeed. The scoutship was decelerating to slingshot past the planet, and as soon as they detected it, Night Pilot changed their thrust vector perpendicular to the scout. It would make a missile shot harder, and it would serve to determine if the scout had detected them as well.
A minute later they had an answer. The scoutship changed its vector to intersect theirs. Evidently it had decided Black Saber was easy enough game to take on without diverting a cruiser to intercept. Night Pilot cursed as the icon moved in his plot display. He punched up the intercept planes and course funnels for each ship. The results were not encouraging. They couldn’t evade completely. They would have to fight.
The big kzin spun the navigation plot. “Compute intercept course and fire dusters.”
Contradictory swung the targeting cursor and set up a protective screen pattern. Scoutships didn’t usually mount combat lasers, but dusters were cheap and there was no need to take chances. A series of tremors shook the ship as the turrets traversed and fired. “Dusters are being launched. Missiles?”
“Hrrr. No. Missiles are expensive. We will live or die, and the scoutship will be past and unable to attack again. If we die we gain nothing by killing it. If we live we might need our missiles later.”
Contradictory clicked keys. “You are being unthinking like a kzin.”
Night Pilot growled. “I have been sharing life support with you for too long.”
“Being also locked with predictive targeting are interceptors.”
“Excellent. Now we wait.”
But there was no wait. A horn sounded and a new icon appeared in the plot display. Contradictory tapped firing commands. “Missile detected. Interceptors are being launched.” The countermissiles streaked away and the transpax dimmed to cut the actinic blue light of their unshielded fusion cores. It brightened again as the missiles vanished to points of light, fast moving stars that twinkled and vanished. “Firing screeners.” Long moments later the transpax dimmed again as one of the interceptors detonated. On the plot board the incoming missile icon vanished.
And then they were past. Somewhere in the blackness there might be more missiles, or clouds of screener balls that might shred Black Saber so fast they wouldn’t even know they were dying until they were already dead. What tricks the enemy had already played they couldn’t know, but now nothing could catch them. Night Pilot rotated their thrust vector to make their course less predictable, eyes fixed on the plot display for the sudden blink of a warning icon. None appeared. After a time they both relaxed. They weren’t out of the system yet, but the higher they got in the gravity well the less chance they had of being intercepted again, and with their retrograde orbit the closing velocities would only increase, making it that much harder for the humans to achieve kills.
Of course the next human ship they were likely to meet would be a cruiser armed with heavy lasers. Time would tell.
Eventually Contradictory unstrapped. Combat was over, for now at least, and Black Saber’s systems needed the mate’s attention. It pivoted on its undermouth while Night Pilot recorrected their course to compensate for the violent maneuvering they’d done. Night Pilot returned his attention to his instruments, keeping an eye on the combat display just in case there were any more surprises. The long com crackled with traffic, reporting brief, savage engagements as the kz’zeerkti scouts swept in and past Ktzaa’Whrloo. At first the reports were short, calm and concise, painting a picture of a well organized defense, but as the main human force closed and engaged they became fragmented and tense, occasionally desperate and all too frequently cut off in mid-transmission. He picked up reports from Pride of Conquest as the heavy cruiser set course for the main human battle fleet at maximum thrust and cut her way through the enemy destroyer screen behind an almost solid wall of missiles and laser fire, destroying five kz’zeerkti in the process. It was a heroic achievement, but it earned nothing but the right to take on the human battleships, whose huge spinal mount lasers gutted her before she could get into range. Night Pilot heard Veefrawi-Captain himself at the end. His ship was crippled, every compartment spaced. He was setting course to ram one of the enemy battleships. Whether he succeeded or not was unknowable; there were no more transmissions from Pride of Conquest.
At first it was mostly ships involved in the fight. Then the orbital defenses came up, sending targeting messages and damage reports that told a story of overwhelming enemy firepower. Contradictory’s prediction of the lifespan of the orbital fortress they’d refueled at proved correct. Service Master and Fueling Controller had lost little in dying before the battle. Ground defenses came up, reporting contacts, and then, in voices ranging from shock to outrage, conversion weapon strikes. Inevitably they too fell silent. Night Pilot felt ill as he scanned through the channels for a signal. For a long time there was nothing, and then finally a faint voice, badly garbled by its passage through an ionosphere roiled by the energies of total mass conversion. It was a secondary command base, badly damaged but still functioning. Cha’at-Commander’s surviving forces were deployed to defend against ground attack when it came, ready to fight to the death. So far they had seen no landers.
Night Pilot zoomed his combat display all the way out. The ship’s AI had identified human units by their own transmissions, unreadably scrambled but usable for triangulation, and now arrogantly frequent in victory. The in-falling fleet had converged on Ktzaa’Whrloo and was on its way outsystem again. The scoutships had simply used the planet as a gravitational slingshot as they sped past to pick targets for the heavy units, but even the battleships had gone no lower than semi-synchronous orbit. Only the carriers had grazed the atmosphere and now, their attack craft recovered, they too were boosting for the system’s edge. Cha’at-Commander would see no landers. The kz’zeerkti had not come to conquer, only to destroy.
Night Pilot shuddered involuntarily. He had heard of the human tactics but it was another thing to watch them carried out. Cha’at-Commander didn’t understand he was waiting in vain for an honorable enemy to close for the finish fight. Perhaps he refused to understand, but Night Pilot did, only too clearly now. They are v’pren. The thought was chilling. They are v’pren in the feeding swarm, and the Fanged God help any who fall into their path.
Contradictory came in, swiveling eyes. “Ship systems are being secure. We are being undamaged.”
“Good. We were fortunate.”
“Where are we being going now?”
“Hrrr. Kzinhome, for now. We still have a cargo to deliver. If the Tskombe-kz’zeerkti has found its mate it will return with us to human space, and it may prove wise both to have kz’zeerkti passengers and to find our way to human space again. If the kz’zeerkti hasn’t found its mate, Kzinhome is probably the safest place to wait, and we can leave with full tanks if we can strike a contract with Far Hunter.”
Contradictory popped open an access panel to check the cockpit coolant levels. “I am being agreeing. This war is not being good for trade. We are not being desiring of being getting caught at the middle again.”
Night Pilot watched him work for a minute, pleased with himself. Any decision Contradictory didn’t argue with was probably a good one.
Stiffen your resolve, ready your sword and let battle be joined, with victory to the swift and strong. It is not bra
very which drives us now but fealty, for we avenge our fallen fathers who died to save our lives. I will not have you follow me if you fear the enemy, I will not have you follow me if you are unwilling to make that selfsame sacrifice. I will only lead those who know in their blood that our cause is just, and with the Fanged God’s judgment behind us, know that we will prevail, that we will conquer, that we will take back what is ours.
—Skrullai-Weeow before the Battle of the High Pass
It was warm in the inner chamber of Ztrak Pride’s western den, and Pouncer inhaled deeply to calm himself. The air smelled faintly of the scentwood paneling cut from the high forest far overhead. That aroma was overlaid with other scents, the odor of kzinti bodies, tuskvor flesh from the just completed Midwinter Bloodfeast, the earthy smell of the ancient rock itself. The Pride-Patriarchs gathered there had gorged heavy after the travails of another migration and the further journey to Ztrak Pride. They had come early from the jungle for this meeting, taking the first tuskvor and leaving their prides behind to travel with the main migration. Ztrak Pride itself was still split, the young and nursing mothers who had gone back to the jungle for the wet season not yet returned. But C’mell is here. He was glad of that; her presence gave him strength, even as he worried over her continued participation in raids against the Tzaatz. At least that worry is gone, for awhile at least. She was too busy with the kits now to raid, though she still went out to hunt. His kits would have her spirit, and that too was a good thing.
