Dryland's End

by Felice Picano

  “A poor choice of words. Unprecedented. Unlikely. Suspicious.” “Perhaps unprecedented, Unit 98AN-375,” Cray admitted. “But you forget I’ve been monitoring our attack from within one of the Fast decks.”

  “Although this unit has been rather busy, Leader Cray, this unit noted that you were doing so and wondered what purpose that was serving?”

  That stopped Cray. What purpose had it served? “General information,” Cray settled on and added, “Hume psychology under stress.”

  “Understood, Leader Cray. Then the order remains. The single MC Fast will collect those strays from the defeated MC Fleet that are in shuttles and T-pods?”

  “It stands. Yes,” Cray said. And thought, it’s the least we can do. Those women never had a chance, yet how gallantly they fought on. Despite the odds. No, more – knowing the odds.

  “Unit 6BVE-371 does not agree,” the Antarean unit said. “Unit 6BVE-371 is a specialist in Hume psychology.”

  “That’s a known fact,” Cray said.

  “Unit 6BVE-371 believes that there are dangers implicit in allowing this rescue.”

  “Unit 6BVE-37I doesn’t trust Humes,” Cray clarified.

  “Indeed not. Nor do any of the Control Center units. With good reason.”

  “What danger can two Humes on a Fast collecting their disabled colleagues be to this fleet?” Cray asked.

  “Unit 6BVE-371 cannot say. There are too many unknowns in the formula.”

  “As there always are when Humes are involved,” Cray felt the need to reply. And did not add, unlike Cybers, which always were predictable.

  “Unit 6BVE-371 believes that Humes are most dangerous when defeated,” the Antarean unit continued. “Unit 6BVE-371 says –”

  “Enough of Unit 6BVE-371’s beliefs and sayings!” Cray found the proper tone of authority. “Allow that single Fast to pick up its disabled. Continue to move our fleet closer to Groombridge station, yet out of range of its guns. Report any anomalies immediately.”

  The minutes ticked by. In fact, for the first time ever, Cray literally watched them on a digital dial, felt them passing. Because that was what happened when one waited for something, waited especially for the unknown to occur. Odd – there was that word again! – odd, how Cray had never noticed the minutes tick by before, although more than once the phrase had been used by one Hume or another and –

  “Unit 98AN-375,” Cray opened full comm. again. “What report from the MC Fast?”

  “It has just begun to collect T-pods. Four singles, and two doubles.”

  “Continue to monitor it,” Cray said and shut off comm. with all the other Control Center units. Cray wasn’t certain why. But Cray knew that it was being done to think. To keep out distractions while it thought. Sheer nonsense, of course, for a Cyber of its intelligence class. It could very well think with all sorts of distractions. Yet somehow the silence made it easier.

  The Matriarchy was defeated. Or at least militarily in check. The plan now was – what? Retreat to the newly expanded Carina Fornax sector, naturally. Where the rebels would retool and consider their options. That was the most logical next step, wasn’t it? What they had all planned before leaving for Groombridge XXXIV. Cray 12,000, Units 98AN-375 and 6BVE-371 and 5DV02-355 and LYR2-389 and 7RIG81-376 (which wouldn’t be returning with them because its Fast had imploded in a happenstance encounter with a medicine jar!). Yes. Most logical. And at Dis-Fortress they would plan and replan how to ensure that MC military power was done with and then –

  Then what? The original plans had never come this far. This action had been spur of the moment. Successful, certainly, but it had changed so much else. It was a wonder that Unit 6VE-371 – which seemed to know so damned much – hadn’t realized what would happen. But of course the idea to come to Groombridge was Cray’s alone. Not Unit 6VE-371’s nor Unit LYR2-389’s, but Cray’s. Cray was the only one of them all who could do more than react to circumstances, who could act on his own idea, his own inspiration, his own impulse.

  Cray went on partial comm. to the Antarean unit. “What report from the MC Fast?”

  “It has picked up two more singles and a shuttle containing several wounded Humes.”

  Cray shut off the partial comm.

  What Cray would like to do now was to move in and destroy Groombridge station altogether. Of course it made no logical sense. The guns were strong and well arranged and ... Yet it was what Cray wanted. To have the cynosure of Matriarchal power utterly destroyed by the rebellion, once and for all. The moral victory – not the military advantage – was what Cray ached for now. And all signs of Wicca Eighth’s strength gone for everyone to see. Wouldn’t that be sweet?

  Cray enjoyed thoughts of how Wicca Eighth would receive that piece of news. How would She – how could She? – be Her usual conniving, manipulative self and try to foist that off as Her plan? She couldn’t. That was what pleased Cray so much. She’d be unable to put her own mark on it. She’d have to admit defeat to everyone. That – even more than the satisfaction of seeing it destroyed – was what ...

  What? His alarm. Cray turned it on. “What, Unit 98AN-375?”

  “Leader Cray, your comm. was completely shut off!”

  “I know that,” Cray snapped. “I asked what’s the problem?”

  “You asked any reports on any anomalies.”

  “Yes, get on with it!”

  “Yes, Leader Cray. The anomaly is this: the MC Fast is now releasing the T-pods it earlier picked up.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Reason unknown. Unit 6BVE-371 has a theory.”

  “Well? What is Unit 6BVE-371’s theory?”

  “It appears that the women in the released T-pods have been medically treated. Perhaps sedated. It’s possible, according to Unit 6BVE-371, that the Fast cannot hold all of the Humes and is treating them as best it can and releasing them to collect more.”

  “That sounds logical,” Cray said. “Comm. me when –”

  “Leader Cray!” the Antarean unit said suddenly, “The MC rescue Fast has vanished.”

  “Vanished? What are you talking ab –”

  Cray felt the shock through its communication with the other Control Center units, but could not separate either all of their reactions nor what they all might mean.

  “Leader Cray!” the Antarean unit was clearly distracted. “That light! It’s blinding!”

  “Shut down your comm.!” Cray ordered.

  At the same time, Cray opened the viewport. No need to search for the source of light. It was enormous, a growing enormity in the middle of the viewport, and there was the pale blue halo Cray had seen before with its twisted butterfly double loop.

  “Unit 98AN-375? Are you still there? Order all Fasts away from that... whatever it is. Re-form at the sixth planet.”

  “Understood,” the Antarean unit replied.

  Growing enormously. Cray guided his own Fast away at the most rapid possible speed.

  “Unit 98AN-375? Have you made those contacts?”

  “Leader Cray, I have. But the responses are ... many are not responding.”

  “How many?” Cray asked. “What has happened? How has this happened?” He added bitterly, “What does Unit 6BVE-371 have to say about what’s happened?”

  “Unit 6BVE-371 is among those units not responding. However, Units 5DV02-355 and 7CCB-415 both believe it is the same effect as before on a greater –”

  The Antarean unit’s words were lost as the first shock wave from the enormous and continually growing implosion broke into the space between them. Cray felt his own Fast tossed about again and again.

  When comm. was finally reestablished, Cray asked, “How many Triad leaders have you comm.ed?”

  “Six. No, wait! There’s another.”

  The other was Unit 6BVE-371 – after all. The Vegan unit’s greeting was, “The MC Fast did that deliberately! It must have monitored our approach into this system and discovered the cause, and it deliberately located the most vulnerable spot in
our formation and –”

  “Leader Cray!” the Antarean unit interrupted – an unheard-of breach of Cyber politesse. “I’m monitoring a Fast Fleet arriving out of Fast jump. They’re behind us.”

  “All units release the new weapon! On its most rapid path!” Cray ordered.

  “Done!” the various Control Center units still in communication ordered.

  “They’re still arriving from Fast jump!” Unit 5CCB-325 reported.

  “They’re arriving in front of us also,” Unit 5DV02-375 reported.

  “I’m counting at least a hundred,” the Antarean unit added. The arrival of an unexpected fleet coming directly on top of the catastrophic sabotage of half of his own craft unnerved Cray more than he would admit even to himself.

  “Enough!” he ordered. Then, lest his outburst be received by the others for the anxiety it really was, Cray added, “When they are in range, send out a holo-comm.! I’ll speak with their leader, whoever she may be!”

  “Must we remain in this formation?” Unit 6BVE-371 asked.

  “Your own invention,” Cray couldn’t help rubbing it in. But he added, “No. Prepare another better suited to our current number.”

  “By last count we remain only eight triad leaders with twenty-one craft,” Unit 5CCB-325 reported.

  So many of them gone! Was it possible?

  “A cloud formation would be best.” The Vegan unit hadn’t lost its know-it-all tone.

  “The MC Fasts are closing in from all sides,” the Antarean unit said.

  All of them speaking so quickly, presenting so many different data, that Cray didn’t know what to say, how to respond, or if he ought to respond. Yes, he had to. He was Leader Cray. Cray 12,000. And there still were options. A chance. The new weapon. It would barely even up the two forces – where had Wicca found this new Fleet? He had already destroyed two Fleets of Hers! – but it would be a good battle. And more valuable to the victors for that.

  “Your holo-comm. is accepted by the enemy,” the Antarean unit reported. “Prepare to mutually appear.”

  Cray found a reflector nearby, checked his appearance, then turned to the holo-screen.

  And drew back in horror. Facing Cray was the same Hesperian diplomat with whom Cray had negotiated for materials and serum.

  “This is Mart Kell, Vice Premier of the Hesperian Quinx, and acting Admiral of this Fleet. To whom do I have the honor of speaking?”

  A Hesperian! Leading an MC Fleet!

  “I am Cray 12,000, as you well know, Mart Kell. What do you want here?”

  The Hesperian smiled mischievously, and one of his brightly colored eyebrows rose a bit in amusement.

  “Why, for your forces to surrender, Cray.”

  They weren’t even wearing helmets with tubes. This might be easier than Cray thought.

  “Why should we surrender? Lord Kell?” he added ironically.

  “Because your forces are outnumbered, outgunned, surrounded, and unable to maneuver very well.”

  The words tapped Cray’s memory circuits. Those were his very own words to Commander Orval thrown back in his face. If Kell knew those words then – “Not all our weapons, Lord Kell, are operated by our Fasts.”

  “We know your weapons very well, Cray. I was at Erebus.”

  Was he? Where? Doing what? What did Kell know?

  “Then, Lord Kell, you must realize that in about another minute, your crew and that of all of your Fleet will become deranged females.”

  “No they won’t,” Kell said with another of those smiles. “You see, Cray, this Fleet consists entirely of... males."

  On top of the sabotage, on top of the destruction, on top of the sudden appearance in front and behind, this, too?

  “Males? Matriarchal males?”

  “Hesperian and Orion Spur Federation males. Mostly Hume. Some Delph. And all determined to fight you, Cray.”

  Cray opened comm. to all the Control Center units. But while they had all heard the exchange, they could find no appropriate reaction.

  “Well, Cray? Are you ready to surrender?” Kell asked.

  Uncertain what else to do, Cray froze the holo-comm. and listened to what his Control Center units had to say.

  “We must surrender, or we’ll be destroyed!” the Vegan unit insisted.

  “We’ll form a denser formation,” the Lyran unit suggested. “An orb. They’ll have a difficult time getting at us.”

  Two other comm.s argued against that.

  Then the Control Center units were all arguing. All but Cray.

  Cray unfroze the holo-comm. “Surely, Lord Kell, there are other alternatives to battle or surrender? Perhaps we could open negotiations? In the past –”

  Kell interrupted. “The time for negotiation is over, Cray.”

  And before Cray could begin to speak again, Kell added, “You should know that I know, not only the size and strength and layout and vulnerability of your forces, but also that your Control Center units are in disagreement and your plans in chaos.”

  How? How could Kell possibly know all that. Unless ...

  “Yes, Cray, I’ve got a tap installed on one of your units. And, as luck would have it, that leader continues to be in contact with the two of us. You don’t know which one it is, and I’ll know every move you make. You can’t win, Cray.”

  Cray froze the holo-screen again, for no reason this time – merely because he could no longer face what had just been said. It could be a bluff, but.. . would Kell be so very confident? Cray might arrange to be in private comm. with each of his unit leaders, feed each a different piece of false information, and see where it came up. If only he had time. But he had no more time. A battle was imminent. Instantly won or lost.

  He was vaguely aware of the alarm signals going off all around him. His unit leaders demanding his attention, Kell waiting.

  Cray thought that surely now, with all this inner conflict, that his circuits would tear apart, close down, recheck themselves into infinity, shutting him off. And when it didn’t happen, he was left with the pain, and yet also with wonder. What was it exactly, what force – call it Fate, Destiny, God – that had arranged all of this with such exquisite and painful irony to bring Cray down so utterly. More: had raised Cray to form the rebellion, led him on, shaped him, formed him just as he was, then turned all of those circumstances so perfectly, so appropriately against him in order to bring him down. Not a mere Kell, not a Hume – someone or something else. But why? For what possible reason? To what possible end? Following what set of logic? Utilizing what ethics? What morality?

  “Leader Cray!” the others were overriding his closedown, demanding his support, demanding his attention, requiring leadership he could no longer offer.

  What Cray could do, he did.

  “Let me speak privately to Unit 98AN-375.” And when the private comm. between them was open, Cray simply released all of his thoughts and wonders to the other unit – and waited.

  “I ... don’t ... understand ... Leader Cray.”

  That hurt Cray even more. Not even this right arm, this companion circuit, could understand.

  He would have to go to one who would understand. One did. Of that he was certain. Upon Pelagia. At the edge of the galaxy. Yes, he must go there and find it. He couldn’t live another minute in this doubt that split him like a laser, this uncertainty that seared him like a blowtorch.

  “No matter, Unit 98AN-375. Open comm. to all units!”

  When that was done, Cray told them that he was damaged beyond repair. Unit 98AN-375 had just checked him and would confirm it. Unit 98AN-375 must become Leader Cray now. He must carry on the rebellion. He ... he wished them good fortune in their upcoming battle.

  Before they could respond, Cray strapped himself into the Fast lounge and ordered the craft’s mind to jump to Pelagia.

  As though from a great distance, he heard the sounds of battle begin around him, and he waited for the blank numbness of the jump, longed for it, if only to assuage the terrible pain and his
terrible yearning to meet the one who would understand.

  As though from a great distance, She heard the sounds of noise in the conveyances and boulevards of Melisande. She had shut off the Inter. Gal. Networks long ago, sick to Her heart with what they had shown, one after another, with nothing, not even a single foolish advertisement, to alleviate the unending panorama of Matriarchal disaster and Hesperian victory.

  A shadow darkened the opposite walls of Her chamber. She didn’t even turn around to see what it might be. She knew that it was another hovering Hesperian Fast, one of a hundred of their craft cruising over the capital. Patrolling, they’d told Minister of Defense Etalka; flaunting their position and freedom, She knew.

  A great shout went up from the boulevard below. She knew that the time was approaching now. She strode through Her chambers. Her usual Security Guards were gone from the corridors and halls, Her Aide of the Day missing from her spot at the lift. Where were they all? There, on the balcony, gathered together like tittering neo.s, looking down at Susan B. Anthony Boulevard, where the Hesperians floated on their ion-boards like Gods, accepting the acclaim of all Melisande.

  Acclaim that might have been – should have been – Hers! Hers!

  She summoned the lift.

  At every level She stopped at, the halls and corridors were empty of Security guards. A few steps toward each level’s balcony brought the same sight: grown women gathered like gynos to cheer and wave their handkerchiefs.

  How could this have happened to Her, Wicca, Eighth in a line of Matriarchs who had brought a thousand years of unparalleled peace and prosperity to a thousand billion individuals of the Three Species!

  A Security guard waited at the first underground level. She bowed slightly and tried not to look too surprised that Wicca was unattended, alone, on foot, without an entourage of ministers, aides, guards and hangers-on. The guard immediately came to attention and, without a word, walked one pace in front of Wicca toward the Matriarchal Council Chamber. At the central doorway, the guard stopped, turned, saluted, and allowed Wicca Eighth to pass through.

  At that moment, Wicca realized the extremity of her situation. She had called an emergency Council session, all Councilors upon Melisande to attend. Perhaps eighteen out of eleven hundred had followed Her order and were now clustered two here, three there, in the vast rotunda-capped chamber. For a second, She felt unsteady, thought She might have to grasp something to stay erect. But those dozen and a half women had noted Her entry, stood, turned, and now gazed at Her. She must remain erect at all costs.