by Ian Douglas
—Man and His Works
Dr. Karl Gunther Fielding
C.E. 2488
The measure passed, 351 to 148, with 19 abstaining.
Currently, there were within the orbiting Heraklean sky-el called the Rogue 518 delegates representing various Frontier colonies in the Confederation Congress. The majority were by now dedicated to independence from the Terran Hegemony and the empire of Dai Nihon and had demonstrated that dedication by signing Sinclair's Declaration of Reason; a minority, about two hundred or so, either remained undecided or still hoped to achieve an eventual reconciliation with Dai Nihon, perhaps within the framework of some sort of commonwealth of worlds. Those delegates who'd opposed any change at all in the Frontier worlds' colonial status had been left behind on New America when Congress had fled that world ahead of the Imperial invasion force. Whether or not they could still be considered to be delegates of the Confederation Congress, albeit nonvoting ones, was still a matter for frequent debate.
As currently interpreted, however, the rules for passing major, policy-level measures or legislation required a two-thirds majority of those delegates present, so Operation Farstar had needed 346 yes votes to be approved. Obviously, many of the delegates who did not yet agree on the need for a complete break with the Terran government had voted yes on Farstar. Dev wondered why they'd supported the measure.
"I'd have thought," Dev told Sinclair, "that they'd be afraid we'd really screw things up by getting involved in whatever's going on out at Alya A-VI."
They were in the conference room set up as part of CONMILCOM's Headquarters suite aboard the Rogue. There were no chairs present, but at the sky-el's half-G level that was little more than a minor annoyance, and it did allow more men and women to crowd in next to the round, central desk with its holographic projector and AI interface pads. The low, gray-surfaced egg shapes of link modules lined the compartment's bulkheads. Most were empty now, but a few were occupied by duty officers maintaining a communications watch with Argosport and with picket ships scattered across the Mu Herculis system.
Eighteen CONMILCOM staff officers were gathered in the room for the briefing, not counting Dev, Katya, and Sinclair himself. One civilian was present as well. Her name was Professor Brenda Ortiz, and she was a xenosophontologist, the closest thing to an expert on the DalRiss that the Confederation had. An attractive woman of perhaps forty-five standard years, she wore her dark hair long at the top and braided down her back but had shaved the sides of her head to give free access to the T-sockets behind her ears. Dev felt a sense of kinship with her; like him, she was from Earth.
"They are afraid of exactly that, Captain," Sinclair replied. "That we'll screw things up. But they're more afraid of doing nothing, which is what will happen if we can't break this deadlock of personnel, weapons, and supplies. Right now, Congress feels—and for once our intelligence sources tend to support the feeling—that we have five months, possibly six, before the Empire moves against our base here at Herakles. Our fleet is still no match for theirs, so if we first move against the Imperial forces at any of the other colony worlds we're going to get slapped down, hard. If we stay here and wait, sooner or later we get slapped once and for all."
"Damned if we move," a short, dark-skinned man with silver hair and a major general's rank tabs on his collar said, "and damned if we stay."
"That's about where we stand, General Chabra."
"Well, there's a problem then, sir," Dev pointed out. "The Alyan system is one hundred thirty light-years from Sol, so that's . . ." He consulted his personal RAM files, performing a quick calculation based on Mu Herculis's distance from Sol and the angular separation between Alya and Mu Here in Earth's skies. "Make it one hundred five lights from here to Alya," he said a second later, as the figure appeared in his mind. "That's a three-and-a-half–month trip, minimum. I don't care how glad the DalRiss are to see us, we're not going to be able to travel there, kick the Imperials out and get solid DalRissan help, then make the voyage back here before that five- or six-month deadline. It's impossible."
Sinclair nodded. "Actually, we've had a thought on that, but it's such a long shot we can't realistically count on it. But the one DalRiss starship we've seen in action demonstrated instantaneous travel, all the way from Alya A to Altair in literally no time at all. If you succeed in your mission, you may find your trip back to Mu Herculis takes less time than you imagine. In fact, the single most important reason for establishing close ties with these people is the possibility that we can learn how to duplicate that."
"Surely that's what the Japanese have had in mind all along, Travis," General Darwin Smith said. "They've had a presence at Alya A-VI since 2540, now, and they still haven't found out how the DalRiss manage that trick. How is our expeditionary force supposed to do in weeks or days what the best Imperial scientists haven't been able to accomplish in three years?"
Sinclair glanced across at the civilian. "Professor? You had some thoughts on that."
"Actually," Brenda Ortiz said, "we think the Imperials may be asking the DalRiss the wrong questions. They want to know how to duplicate DalRiss technology through machines, especially that remarkable space drive of theirs. The idea, of course, is to learn how to build our own version, to install it on our ships, though some of us doubt that it can be done that way. We know the DalRiss use a biologically tailored organism, something they call an Achiever, in order to bend space. The thing might not be possible at all unless we use DalRiss technologies."
"In other words, we'll have to grow our starships the way they do," a woman, a brigadier general, suggested, "and crew them with Achievers?"
"Exactly," Ortiz said. "We don't know how to do it yet, and it might take years to figure it out. But before we can even begin we have to be able to talk with the DalRiss. As long as the Imperials are there, we won't have that chance."
"I bring all of this up," Sinclair said, "to stress again the importance of Operation Farstar, to the Rebellion, to the future of the human species. We'll be dealing with a technic culture that has evolved—in its social systems, its logic, and its technology—along a completely different path than we did. No, Dev, you probably won't be able to zip home in the blink of an eye, but even the faintest possibility that you'll learn how makes the gamble worthwhile."
"It won't help if we make it back," Katya said, "and find out that the Imperium invaded Herakles the month before."
"We'd kind of like to know that we'll have a Confederation to come back to," Dev added.
"Of course." Sinclair nodded. "The truth is, we, the Confederation government, I mean, won't be able to stay here much longer in any case. As I said, intelligence thinks another five months or so before the blow lands. Me, I'll be surprised if it takes that long."
"They could have scouts snooping around the edge of the system now," one of Sinclair's aides pointed out. "If they dropped out of K-T space far enough out, then came in slow, low-powered, and in stealth mode, we'd never know they were there."
"My point exactly, Paul. For the time being they're being cautious, but they can't just let us squat here and thumb our noses at them. They'll be back, and with numbers enough to overwhelm even your rock-throwing trick, Dev."
Dev nodded. "They might also try coming in on the other side of the planet, where a rock thrower wouldn't see them and couldn't get at them. If they sent fighters in low and fast, coming in over the horizon . . ."
"Or they could bombard the surface from a distance," Sinclair said. "Or try to board the Rogue with marines while it was on the other side of Herakles from New Argos. One way or another, they'll get us. They must be devoting considerable AI program time right now to the problem of which way to try it."
"So what can we do?" Katya asked. "What will you do, I mean, since we're obviously not going to be here."
"Leave," Sinclair said. He gave Katya a hard glance, as though he expected her to say something. When she didn't, he went on. "Right now, the Confederation delegates who make up our Congres
s number some five hundred people from various Frontier worlds, and there are as many more staff personnel, aides, programming technicians, and the like. With some crowding, they could fit aboard the Transluxus and a few of our merchantmen, if they were converted to handle passengers. I intend to give the Confederation a migratory capital, one always on the move from system to system."
"Nomads," Ortiz said, surprised.
"Well, there's no law that says your capital has to stay in one place, is there? We'll avoid Imperial fleet concentrations, try to move to wherever they're not."
"Even the Imperium can't be everywhere at once," Dev said thoughtfully. He was impressed by this idea, a new twist to an old, old problem. "Not with seventy-some star systems scattered across a hundred–light-year volume of space."
"And in each system we visit," Sinclair continued, "we can counter Hegemony propaganda, recruit new personnel, arrange for maintenance for our ships, buy supplies . . . and in general let the people know what we're fighting for."
"Well, sooner or later you will run into the enemy," Katya pointed out. "The Imperials pose the most serious threat, but every system has Hegemony system defense craft, orbital monitors, that sort of thing. And sooner or later you're going to drop out of K-T space and find an Imperial Ryu there waiting for you."
"In which case," General Chabra said, "we drop back into K-T space as quickly as we can and go someplace else. As you say, they can't be everywhere."
Sinclair spread his hands. "I'm damned if I can see another way to manage this. We came to Herakles in the first place hoping we could find a place to set up shop that the Empire would overlook. Unfortunately, they found us despite our precautions, so they know we're here and they know we're a threat. They will come after us because they can't afford to let us grow strong, and they can't afford to have the Hegemony see them acting with weakness.
"If we stay put on any one world, whether it's Herakles or New America or some world far outside the Shichiju, the Empire's going to find us and they're going to squash us like a bug. If we stay on the move, well, we have a chance, at least, of staying ahead of the Empire, hidden by the sheer enormity of space . . . and we keep the Rebellion alive."
"I still wonder how you'll be able to carry on the business of running a government," Katya said. "I mean, how eager will a world be to see this migratory fleet suddenly appear on its doorstep. 'Hi, there. We need to tank up on slush hydrogen, and, by the way, how would your young men and women like to join the Confederation army?' I'd imagine the local populations would be reluctant to help us, especially if they know that helping the Confederation fleet is going to bring an Imperial squadron in to exact some kind of retribution. The Imperials will have observers everywhere, remember, taking notes."
"A very good point, and one we've given considerable thought to," Sinclair said. "For the most part, I doubt that we'll be that obvious about it. The fleet could take up a distant orbit, for example, out in the fringes of the star system and send ascraft and fuel shuttles in to the planet itself. Every world that has sent us delegates has a local Network, an anti-Imperial underground. We'll be able to make the necessary arrangements secretly, maybe set up a trade deal with the corporations for what we need, have them handle recruiting covertly. We could be in and out before the Empire knew we were there. In some systems—Liberty, for instance—we could be more open in our activities, simply because the Imperials seem to have given up trying to control the locals. We'll have to rely on those worlds for ship maintenance and overhauls, of course."
"Payment?" General Smith said.
"We could keep using the yen, like we have been. More likely, though, we'll end up forming an independent monetary standard before this is over. Maybe terbium, to get away from Tokyo's control of platinum stocks."
And that, Dev reflected, would lead to a whole, jam-packed cluster of problems he was glad he didn't have to deal with. Nearly all transactions were handled electronically, but some sort of standard was necessary to back the symbolic yen that held commerce throughout the Shichiju together. The Imperial yen was currently backed by platinum.
"You know," Dev said, "it occurs to me that we still have a problem so far as Farstar is concerned. When we get back, eight or ten months from now, where should we go? The government could be hiding out anywhere in the Frontier, and it might be kind of dangerous for us to keep jumping from system to system looking for you. Especially since the Imperials are likely to be a bit upset over what we were doing at Alya."
"We'll have to work out the details, of course," Sinclair said. "But that shouldn't pose any real difficulty. We'll arrange a communications protocol through each system's Network. We'll leave word at certain key systems, with code words or blind message drops so we don't leave clues to Imperial Intelligence."
"You'll need something of the sort just to operate on an interstellar scale," Dev said. "You'll need ways for delegates from member worlds to find you, ways for our agents to pass intelligence back to CONMILCOM in the shortest possible time, ways to agree on rendezvous points for our naval squadrons."
"Exactly. There'll be a certain vulnerability in the system, just because so many people will have to be trusted with the information, but we can keep a handle on things by moving often and by compartmentalizing our activities. The Networks already utilize the classic revolutionary cell structure, and we'll continue to build on that. Don't worry, Captain. We'll make sure there's a way for you to find us when you get back!
"In any case," Sinclair continued, "the important question's been settled now, and Farstar is a go. The only real problem remaining is how to actually carry it off."
Sinclair brought the palm of his left hand down on the interface screen in front of him. The desktop projector switched on in response, and a holograph glowed to life in the air just above it.
Dev studied the display with keen interest. It showed a base, a fairly standard one as Imperial bases went, with six small domes surrounding a single large structure like a truncated pyramid in the center. Communications towers rose from the main facility's corners, while ascraft rested on its flat upper surface, which was as broad as a football field and ringed by walkways, barricades, and the stubby turrets of high-power laser batteries. The entire facility was surrounded by a ten-meter electrified fence, complete with gate houses, guard stations, and overwatch towers. The base squatted on a circle of ground blasted of all plant life, then scraped level by constructor tracks and striders bearing shovel blades. Inside the fence, the ground had been covered over by RoPro ferrocrete, an artificial material nanotechnically grown in and spread by mobile vats.
"Professor Ortiz?" Sinclair prompted.
"This," the woman said, "is Dojinko. So far as we know, it's the only Imperial base on the surface of ShraRish. It's located on the largest of the three southern continents, directly adjacent to one of the biggest DalRiss cities. Some four months ago, according to the data from the Kasuga Maru's AI memory, the base was attacked, for reasons unknown. The Imperial records are unclear about the exact nature of the attack. . . ." She hesitated.
"Professor?" Sinclair said. "If I may?"
"Of course."
Sinclair's hand was still on the interface. He closed his eyes, concentrating, and a moment later a three-dimensional image of a Japanese officer appeared in the air next to the display of the base. He looked scared, and his face was blackened with smoke.
"They came through the perimeter fence twenty minutes ago!" he was shouting in panic-ragged Nihongo. "Our defenses killed hundreds of them, but they kept coming . . . they're still coming, and we can't stop them! We need immediate assistance! Hello . . . are you there? Does anyone—"
The image winked out.
"We think a laser communications tower was knocked over at that point," Ortiz said a moment later, speaking in the death-still silence of the briefing room. "Other fragments of communications we've found in the Kasuga Maru files talk about the city attacking the base. We don't really know what that means. The Da
lRiss have a fairly well-defined military structure. They were forced to create one when they were fighting the Naga. Are these communications saying the local civilians rioted and overran the base? Or that the military forces camped there launched an attack? Why did they attack? Was there some incident that angered the DalRiss, maybe a violation of some taboo or custom? We really don't know. From the sound of things, the Imperials don't know what happened either."
"Sounds like they don't know what hit them," an aide said.
Dev glanced at Ortiz. "Professor? You called the place . . . Dojinko?" Ko was the Japanese suffix that meant "port," but the only dojin he knew was a harsh, derogatory term.
"On Earth a few centuries ago," Ortiz explained, "on the Japanese island of Hokkaido, there was an aboriginal people called the Ainu. A couple of thousand years ago they occupied most of the home islands, but the Japanese emigrations from the mainland gradually wiped them out, pressing them farther and farther back into a corner of Hokkaido, forbidding them by law to hunt or fish or even use their native language. By, oh, I guess the middle of the twenty-first century, the Ainu were extinct as a culture, as a people."
"Genocide," Katya said. The word was hard and cold.
"I suppose it was, though I doubt that genocide was ever the conscious purpose of the Nihonjin. In any case, the ethnic Japanese called the Ainu Dojin. Later they applied the word to any primitive aborigines. It's . . . not a very nice word. The connotation is of something dirty, slow-witted, and morally repugnant. I'm not sure, but it may be related to the Nihongo word for a kind of mudfish. I gather they use the term now to describe the DalRiss."
"That figures," Dev said. "They have trouble with anyone who thinks too differently from the way they do."
"The Japanese aren't alone in that, Dev," Sinclair said. "I'd have to say that intolerance is a human trait."
"Some cultures incorporate it more than others," Katya said. "Just by seeing different as wrong."
