by Colin Kapp
At Wanderplas spaceport on Sette, a fast, tracked vehicle was waiting for Liam by the landing pads. In the driving seat Jon Rakel himself, since the last pogrom almost the sole commander of Sette Combined Resistance Forces, greeted Liam thankfully. The two men had enjoyed many years of mutual respect.
"I was afraid you wouldn't get through, Liam."
"Heh! They may have more ships and more guns, but Liam Liam has his own secret weapon, you understand? He bores them into submission."
They both laughed, and Rakel put the vehicle swiftly through the approach roads of the spaceport complex; but Rakel's laughter was taut, and stress and weariness lined his face. Presumably for reasons of future convenience, the Ten-an anti-insurgent strikes had left the spaceport undisturbed, but once they reached the surrounding township the substantial damage caused by selective space bombing was brutally obvious. Under the pretext of eliminating `terrorist cells' the population of Sette was being shown the terrible price they must pay for attempting to break the ties with the mother planet. Here the sad stories of Rigon, Zino, and Ames' World were being repeated over again.
As they headed into open country, now bitterly desolate from the poisonous dusting which permitted only the hardiest grasses to survive, Liam recovered from the depression which the scene had induced, and brought his mind back to the problems ahead.
"You'd better bring me up to date, Jon. The messages I received weren't specific."
"Frankly, I think we're seeing what they saw on Rigon just before the end. We built some virtually impregnable command-points on Sette, emplacements that the Terrans couldn't crack by any conventional means. They were the basis of our war plans; we thought the Terrans would have had to withdraw because of the length of their supply lines. But instead they've brought in a special unit which can crack a command-point as easily as you or I can crack a nut."
"What's special about tactical nukes?"
"No, not nuclear: our command-points are hardened, I tell you; commando."
"Commando?" Liam was surprised. "Surely . . ."
Rakel cut in swiftly. "These are special€”very special. I don't like to think about who they are or how they operate, but they're a hundred percent effective. If they continue their present pattern, there won't be any effective resistance on Sette inside six months."
Liam whistled with surprise. "Well, if there's a way to beat the bastards, we'll find it."
"Listen to me, Liam! If there was an easy answer, we'd already have found it. There isn't. Strictly between ourselves, Sette is already finished. I wish to God I could say otherwise. I asked you here to analyse this thing that they're using against us, and to take that knowledge back to the rest of the Hub. Then our sacrifice won't have been quite in vain. With luck perhaps you'll have time enough to prepare against it before the next planet's turn comes."
"If anyone else except Jon Rakel had said that to me, I'd have said his nerve was going."
"It's not a question of nerve. With strong command-points, even if we couldn't win at least we couldn't entirely lose. Against all reprisals we always had the psychological assurance that some of us would survive and that we could hold the planet. Now the Terrans can take any command-point as and when they choose, and the weight of reprisals must be viewed against reality. It's the choice between retaining some indigenous population€”albeit as slaves€”or none at all ."
"You mean capitulation?" Liam handled the word as though it was newly minted and of doubtful origin.
"Rigon and Zino fought to the last. Both were sterilized with neutron bombs, and Ames' World is scarcely better off. Currently Sette has a population of around five hundred million. In the present situation, how many of them am I justified in losing before I admit I'm unable to defend the rest?"
"That's the sort of dilemma no man should face alone, you understand? Show me what you want, Jon. Then let my counsel weigh in your decision."
"That's why I asked for you to come personally, Liam. I know how to gauge the strength of the things you say. In the name of Humanity, whatever decision's made, it mustn't be the wrong one."
CHAPTER III
After leaving Tetri, Dam went first to his home near the Water Forest to don his uniform and to pick-up a few personal belongings. Then he set off for the Space Army landing pads, with one last regretful look at the forest fountains now misted and subdued and reflecting his own heaviness of heart. Soon he was back on the river, fighting to control the bucking sled in the strong swell, and for the very first time hating the sight of the tall spacecraft standing beside the river's mouth, half mist-shrouded and half reaching for the stars.
The ship assigned to the tithe-loan mission was the Starspite, one of the newest and best equipped cruisers the Castalian Space Army possessed. Dam achieved his goal of reporting for duty well before Colonel Dimede came aboard; though he had been a privileged guest at Dimede's house, the colonel was now his commanding officer, and all such privilege belonged to a time that had passed. The first hours were busy with flight preparation, and by the time of the colonel's arrival all the final checks and parades had been readied. Dimede returned Dam's salute with a commendation on his efficiency, but never a trace of recognition passed between their eyes.
It was a trip of thirty thousand light-years from the Hub to the star called Sol. This immense distance was to be covered in ten leaps into and out of tachyon space, three thousand light-years at a stride. Time in T-space, combined with the building up of entry-velocities and the essential real-space navigation periods between the jumps, gave a projected journey time of thirty-five days, and this schedule Dam was determined to keep. Perhaps in compensation for his lack of enthusiasm for the object of the trip, he threw himself into his work with a single-minded intensity that permitted him little relaxation. What spare time he did have he spent in the libary and the viewing theater, absorbing every scrap of information he could find about Terra. Colonel Dimede noted his absolute dedication unhappily, but didn't comment.
For the major part of the journey they had space to themselves, and navigational chores consisted merely of position fixing and course calculations for the next tachyon jump. Nine thousand light years from Sol, however, they began to encounter Terran ship-chains, which policed an unbelievably large radius around the Terran sun and very ably intercepted the passage of the line cruiser speeding in from the Hub. A pattern of challenges and enforced waiting for clearance, coupled with having to re-cast course calculation to take the ship through 'permitted' movement channels, completely destroyed Dam's journey schedule. It also gave him the impression that the mother planet must be suffering from a galaxy-sized persecution mania.
In particular, the directing of the Starspite through limited-movement channels, when Dam knew perfectly well there were light-years between them and the nearest other vessel, irked him considerably. He spent many off-duty hours at the star maps before he began to suspect that the real purpose of such diversions was to keep the Starspite away from several large sectors of space, each of which he found to contain at least one world which could not be expected to suffer Terran dominance gladly. Whether the Starspite was being kept out of regions where punitive reprisals were taking place, or whether rebellious forces were sweeping these sectors, he could only speculate; but he silently rejoiced that the Terrans apparently had something concrete to be nervous about.
Their eventual entry into the Solar system brought a massive surprise. Never before had Dam even imagined a concentration of spacecraft such as that which thronged this closed area of space. The complications of the traffic regulations were such that they were forced to take on a pilot to assist navigation through the orbital transfer routines made even more wretched with rules and penalties and dogma beyond belief. Dam shadowed the pilot every instant and copied every instruction into the computer banks for future reference. Dam was one of the most highly qualified officers in the Castalian spaceforce and bitterly resented the imposition of the ridiculous disciplines which overrode his ex
pertise and took his powers of discretion away from him.
When the Starspite finally achieved parking orbit around Terra Colonel Dimede was ferried down to meet his new commander, leaving Dam as duty officer in charge of the ship. Dam accepted the post sourly, wondering how he was going to be able to contain his anger and frustration through a whole year of enforced tithe service. The crew sensed his mood and adopted it also, and Dam reigned in temporary command of one of the unhappiest ships in Castalia's entire Space Army.
He was not left long to brood, however. The colonel could scarcely have made planetfall before a pinnace arrived with official Terran visitors aboard.
"Port Marshal Segger." The tall officer who emerged through the space-lock introduced himself.
This was Dam's first contact with a Terran officer in the flesh. He was unpleasantly surprised by the sallowness of the man's complexion and the hideous pock-marks in his flesh. The uniform, too, with its grim authoritarian greyness, spoke of a joyless dedication.
"Major Stormdragon, officer-commanding in the absence of Colonel Dimede," said Dam, making a clumsy attempt to return the awkward Terran salute. "Did you not receive word that Colonel Dimede had already made planetfall?"
"I'm well aware of the colonel's whereabouts," Segger replied with a thin-lipped smile. "But there are formalities which can be concluded in his absence. I'm here for the purpose of vetting your security. Shall we go to your office, Major."
Biting his lip, Dam led the way, and the port marshal and his two aides followed hawkishly. Dam found them seats at the chart table, and called for refreshments to be sent.
"You must explain to me what you mean by security," he said to Seggar. "I'd have thought there were few things more secure than a space-cruiser in parking orbit."
"I wasn't referring to external security. I was speaking of security within the ship€”perhaps even within the minds of the officers and crew themselves ."
"Then that's easily settled. The entire craft is manned by Castalian Space Army regulars. Their loyalty is subject to no doubt."
"Loyalty to whom?" asked Segger. "That's the key question."
Dam found it hard to control his annoyance. "They're loyal to their service, and their service demands part of their duty be performed through transfer of allegiance to Terra. Inboard security is my responsibility, and I am happy with the situation as it stands."
"But I am not," said Segger crisply. "At least, not until I've satisfied myself on the point. I want all your personnel records, including your own and Colonel Dimede's."
"Even if I agreed, I've no authority to make them available to you."
"But I have the authority to require you to surrender them, Major." Segger laid a piece of paper on the table. "That's a Command Order, which you may not refuse. Now produce the records, and leave us alone with them until we send for you."
Seething with a scarcely concealable anger, Dam turned on the communicator, placed the paper on the scanning pad, and picked up the handset. "Connect with Lieutenant Corda, immediately."
The screen lit up with the face of Soo Corda, the ship's legal officer. She smiled drowsily as though she had been awakened from a deep sleep.
"What's on your mind, Dam?"
"I've been presented with a Terran Command Order requiring me to release our confidential personnel records for inspection. Need I comply?"
She looked at the image transmitted from the scanning pad for a few moments, with an increasing frown coming across her brow. "I'm afraid you must, Dam. This has a legal status conferred by our own government under Space Convention agreements. For us it has the force of law."
"That's what I was afraid of," said Dam. "Thanks anyway."
He cut the connection and turned back to Segger. "You win, Marshal!"
"I always do," said Segger flatly, without a trace of triumph in his voice.
Dam arranged for the necessary records to be obtained, then went to the flight-bridge, which was relatively inactive while the Starspite was parked. Here he busied himself with cleaning up the computer information for the orbital transfers into and out of the Solar system. He had come to Terra hating the whole concept of tithe-service; nothing so far had modified his views, and to his original misgivings had now been added a growing detestation of the Terrans themselves. He was beginning to fear that the coming year would change him even more than Tetri had suggested.
Four hours later that he was summoned back to his office. The records had been sorted into orderly piles, and pads of notes, apparently culled from them, were stacked high in front of the aids. Only one record remained in front of the port marshal, and that was Dam's own.
"Sit down, Major. You'll be pleased to know we are satisfied with what we find. So satisfied that I suspect Hub Intelligence has been more than usually diligent in anticipating our thoughts on the matter. I've only a few questions to ask, and these concern yourself."
"Me?" Dam was genuinely surprised.
"Your father was in the Vilion campaign, was he not?"
"So I believe. I remember him speaking of it."
"Did he ever discuss the politics behind the Vilion insurrection?"
"If he did," said Dam, "it's beyond my recollection. I was only eleven when he died."
"I see." Segger wrote something on a pad. "And how well do you know Senator Anrouse?"
"I've spoken to him once only€”over a glass of wine. Otherwise we've never met. Where the hell is all this leading?"
"Do you always answer questions so belligerently?"
"Only when they're stupid ones. What is the possible relevance between a cocktail chat and my security arrangements for this ship?"
The port marshal studied him carefully for a few seconds. "Possibly none. For the moment I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." He glanced at his aides. "Well, gentlemen, I think that concludes our examination. If anything further comes to light we'll communicate with Colonel Dimede through the usual channels. And Major . . ."
"Marshal?" Dam looked up, struck by the sudden ice in the man's tone.
"Am I to take it that you object to Terran service?"
"I know very little about Terran service. I've only just arrived. But I tend to take things as I find them. So far I've encountered nothing but frustration and unwarranted suspicion. Perhaps tomorrow will be different."
"A circumspect answer, and one you'll do well to remember. Believe me, Stormdragon, you certainly live up to your reputation for outspokenness. It's a habit you would be advised to curb while on the Rim."
CHAPTER IV
In a field depot roughly camouflaged beneath an edge of sickly trees, Jon Rakel had a flier waiting. Liam was impressed by the toughness and efficiency of the crew manning the depot and their obvious respect for the man who now bore sole command responsibility: but they were war-weary men, and every eye was haunted by the specter of defeat.
Watching his chronometer anxiously, Rakel waited until the last vestiges of light had faded from the sky before he nosed the craft out from its precarious hangar and set off into the night sky. Once airborne, he switched to a pre-set instrumented course and relaxed back in the seat.
"Where are we headed?" asked Liam.
"One of our command-points, Base 22. It has deep shelters which can withstand nuclear attack, more firepower than a regiment, and a Benedict force-field straight off a class-ten space dreadnought. We expect to lose Base 22 tonight."
"A fatalistic prediction."
"No, a realistic prediction. Such situations aren't new to us."
"Why tonight?"
"The Terrans aren't at all subtle about how they plan their attacks: they started with the most northerly of our command-points and they've been working their way systematically down the map at four day intervals. Tonight it's Base 22's turn. I think they're trying to make the point that even though we know where and when the next blow will fall, there's nothing we can do about it."
"That is what bothers me," said Liam. "If you know when and where an
attack will come, why can't you mount a defense against it?"
"You won't understand until you've seen it with your own eyes." Rakel's voice sounded hollow against the background of the engine's song. "How do you mount a defense against ghosts?"
"Ghosts?"
"Something akin to. Whatever they are, they're certainly not substantial."
"Yet they can fight?"
"With radiation weapons always. Lasers, electron rifles, heat-projectors--all that class of stuff. And nothing stops them. They'll walk straight through any sort of weaponfire we can throw at them. They're uncanny€”and very deadly."
"How many of these 'ghosts' are there?"
"One ship, about a dozen ghosts."
"This is incredible, you understand? Are you telling me you're likely to lose Sette because of a dozen ghosts?"
"I'm not telling you anything, Liam. I simply want you to see for yourself. If you can give us any ideas that might offer a shred of hope, we'll try them. We've exhausted every approach we know."
Once in the high stratosphere the flier hit mach three and stayed there for nearly an hour before suddenly cutting velocity to follow a gentle descent path, the later stage of which was controlled from the ground. The complexity and precision of the data exchange was sufficient to assure Liam that the defenders still retained a high level of technical competence despite the near totality of their 'war.' That made it all the more difficult to understand Rakel's acceptance of the idea that a dozen ghosts of whatever caliber could decide the fate of Sette. He reserved his judgment, however, having known Jon long enough to understand that a problem which baffled him was a problem indeed.
A short distance above the ground Rakel switched to hover mode and passed Liam a night-scope. With this the agent was able to peer down on what seemed to be the ruins of a city sprawled over the dome of a low hill.
