by Spoor,Ryk E
But as the screens adjusted, Dajzail heard a whistling buzz of shock from all about, including his own breathing tubes. “Mother of Worlds,” vibrated Orishikat from his Sailguide’s station, horror and disbelief echoing in his words.
The flagship of the Liberated soared from the apocalyptic fire, untouched, unmarred, and the next tremendous salvo spattered harmlessly from some immaterial, invisible barrier more than fifty meters away from Zounin-Ginjou’s hull. The mighty flagship of the Liberated turned, a motion majestic and slow, and those terrible, destroying lances of coruscating luminance pierced through and through, eradicating six more of Dajzail’s warships like toys thrown into a blast furnace. Now Zounin-Ginjou was headed directly for Claws of Vengeance.
Once more the screen lit without his direction. “Dajzail of the Molothos,” Ariane Austin said, and her translated voice was colder than the darkest Deeps, “I say again, surrender. You have seen that all of your weapons are useless against Zounin-Ginjou. If you persist in your attack, it will be my duty to hunt down, and destroy, each and every one of your vessels. And I will do this.”
Her small glittering eyes met his wraparound gaze, but he recognized the icy glare as one no less chilling than that of a Molothos. “Do not doubt that. Our remaining vessels can flee, and we can destroy yours one by one if we must. It will not be easy and it will not be quick, but we can do it, and we will, and I do not think you can stop me. Your people will then all die for no purpose.”
He glared at her, vibrating with such anger and fear that he could not speak.
She folded her arms. “Don’t be stupid, Dajzail! No one likes the Molothos, for plenty of reasons, and you don’t like anyone else. But one of your people, Maizas, once said to DuQuesne: ‘You care for your fellow creatures, one would hope; you may be animals and less than animals, but even such creatures care, even if with less delicacy and sympathy than we for our own.’ If you care at all about your people, then surrender.”
Dajzail found himself frozen with furious, terrified indecision. Nearly two million of us left in this force. Two million with this monster’s fighting-claws at their eyes. Such numbers cried out that she was bluffing, she had to be bluffing.
But Zounin-Ginjou had appeared from nowhere, without warning, and the fire of a hundred warships had made less than no impression upon her.
Alztanza suddenly leaned forward, bellowing into the Fleet Command panel. “No! Fireswarm, sheer off!”
Dajzail realized that Fireswarm—one of the largest Hiveships, carriers for fighters, ever constructed—was charging into a position between Zounin-Ginjou and Claws of Vengeance. But the desperation in Alztanza’s voice was even stronger than Dajzail would have expected—a desperation suddenly all too clear when Alztanza shouted again, “Ship-Master—Zintavalin, Zinta, stop, don’t do it—”
Even as he spoke, the immense Liberated warship rammed completely through Fireswarm, that invisible yet utterly impervious barrier plowing a hole six hundred meters wide in a formerly untouchable warship of the Molothos, a warship that then tore its remaining fragments to flinders as storage coils detonated. Zinta. Alztanza’s first matebond. Gone, in the flicker of a single strike.
With an effort so extreme that he felt his sight fading towards darkness, Dajzail finally forced himself to lower his claws. “What …What are your terms?”
He had not said he surrendered, yet, but all on the command deck gave a hissing whistle of pain and humiliation; Alztanza’s choked scream of anger and denial was like a claw to his heart.
Captain Austin straightened. “All of your ships of course cease combat immediately. Your vessels power down everything but life support and minimal stationkeeping. You will stay that way until all of our ships are gone, except Zounin-Ginjou.
“After that, you will return to the base from which you came. We know where it is, and what star that equates to in the normal universe. You will then return your ships and people to whatever of your colonies they would be at were they not currently on this mission.”
He could read enough expression on her face to know that her ‘smile’ was not one of happiness, but more of a threat. “And then, Dajzail of the Molothos, you will cede that Sphere and system to Humanity.”
“What insane demand is this? I will not, you …undercreature!”
“On second thought, you’re right, you won’t do that. You will cede that Sphere to us right this instant, although I allow you to retain control of it just long enough to go home.”
“This is no Challenge—”
“How do you know that?” she said, cutting him off again. “Seems to me that this could be a just dandy Type Two Challenge. Of course, we won’t know for sure unless and until the Arena pipes up, but it sure could be—and one Sphere would be a damn cheap payoff for winning it.”
Suddenly she sighed and her translated voice was that of weary resignation. “Dajzail, from our point of view, your people are monsters, and I wouldn’t get much push-back from anyone else if I just wiped you all out. Hell, I don’t think there is a single species in the Arena that would care. I don’t know if it’s possible to actually reach any sensible accord with your people.
“But I do know that I am not going to commit my own genocide when I have any other choice. So I am giving you this one—and last—chance to surrender, under my terms. If you do not accept them, then Zounin-Ginjou will erase your entire task force from existence.”
It was almost impossible to resist the urge to shriek an obscenity that the Arena couldn’t even translate at the screen and cut off all communication. But…
…but Maizas had been right, if Austin had quoted him correctly. His peoples’ lives mattered, all of them, and though the honor of the dead would wail in the Deeps forever, there was no honor in throwing away the lives of the living against an impossible, invincible ship. He had lost people; ‘Tanza had. With almost fifteen hundred ships in the fleet gone, almost everyone left had lost someone.
It was of course possible …even probable …that there was a limit to that invulnerability. Perhaps one or two or three more powerful salvos would find that limit. But there had already been three incomprehensible surprises in this battle; how many more of his people would die for the next of the Arena’s twisted jests—for he was sure, somehow, that the Arena itself had to be involved.
And there was Orphan’s inexplicable presence. He had not become The Survivor by being rash and taking chances he could avoid. If he had chosen to come here, to a battle of thousands against a handful, he knew something that tipped the balance of power in the entirely opposite direction.
Suddenly Dajzail remembered Ariane Austin’s victory over Amas-Garao, and felt his body contract inward with horrific realization. A Shadeweaver. That is the only sane explanation. Somehow she has mastered that power on her own and become a Shadeweaver.
He had no proof—and doubted that he would get any, unless in a very final fashion—but Dajzail was suddenly completely and utterly certain that that was the source of the inexplicable power and Captain Austin’s completely unshakeable confidence. Somehow she has unlocked the power sealed by both Faith and Shadeweaver, done so without pledging allegiance to either—or surely she would no longer be the Leader of her Faction—and now she is showing us the extent of that power.
And it was, in the end, too much. The odds have shifted. I have still vast numbers of ships …but I cannot weigh the chances against a Shadeweaver armed with such weapons.
A rattling sigh vented from him, and once more he felt his vision dimming with the effort. “All ships—break off combat and return to Sphere formation around Claws of Vengeance. Cease all attacks. Defensive action only.”
Alztanza stared at him, as did the rest of the bridge crew. He looked back at his old friend. “‘Tanza…”
With a tremendous, buzzing cough, Alztanza roused himself. “Of course, Daj. We …have no choice.” He relayed the orders.
There was reluctance and incredulity, of course, but the forces had
been well-drilled; grumbling or not, they returned to formation.
Ariane Austin was still on screen. “And …? ”
His mouth irised shut so tightly it took a few moments to force it to open again. So repelled was he by the thought of what he must do that his body thought he was trying to swallow poison.
But I am still the Leader of the Molothos. Humiliated or not, I must stop this …behaving like an undercreature!
He straightened, raising himself up high on all seven legs, and heard his voice suddenly stronger. “And as the Leader of the Molothos I cede to Humanity the System corresponding to the Sphere from which this assault force was launched, their control to begin once our forces have returned and used that system’s Sky Gates to transit to other locations.”
She tilted her head. “And—”
She is no fool. I will not waste our time further. “…and these forces will begin the trip immediately after concluding any additional discussion needed, and we will travel directly to said Sphere, and transition all forces to other locations as quickly as practically possible. Is that satisfactory, human?”
“Satisfactory, yes.”
“Are there further conditions you wish to impose?”
She again gave the teeth-baring expression that they called a smile, though he did not gain a pleasant impression of it. “Ones I wish to impose …yes. But only one more that I will impose.
“As you have surrendered, that you agree—and announce, upon your return to Nexus Arena—that there is now currently a state of peace between the Molothos and Humanity and our allies the Liberated and the Analytic, and that you mean it. Unless we do something to provoke you, you will not send any more forces against us or attempt to contest with us in any ways outside of the regular Challenges.”
And this, too, I must suffer. One day …but no, for the sake of my people, I must not even think that. “I …agree.”
Captain Austin nodded her head. “Then I will let it go at that, if you do not attempt to find some way around the spirit of these agreements.”
“But I’ve got one more piece of advice for you,” said a far deeper human voice.
DuQuesne stepped forward, and his smile was definitely not pleasant. “Before you ever think about attacking us again, Dajzail—and I know you people well enough to know you will, no matter what promises Ariane’s wrung out of you—I recommend you do one thing.”
“What is that?”
“Consider—very carefully—an iceberg. Its every aspect and feature.” The black-maned human smiled again, and the image was suddenly cut off.
Dajzail felt his legs trembling from reaction—from restraining himself, from anger, from fear, from elation, all through different phases of this now-futile battle. But he did not allow it to affect him yet. “Signal the fleet: return to base. Do not permit any questions of this order. We move as swiftly as we may.”
With all the control he could manage, Dajzail turned and left the command deck. Behind him was nothing but silence and defeat.
Chapter 51
Simon stood in awe and amazement as he watched the confrontation and Dajzail’s capitulation, capped by DuQuesne’s darkly enigmatic warning. My God. It’s over.
The screen flickered again and this time it was Ariane. “Captain Fitzhugh, Doctor Relgof, are you both still there?”
“We are,” Fitzhugh said, and Relgof echoed him. “I don’t know how the hell you pulled that off—any of it—but from the bottom of my heart, thanks.”
“No,” she said, and Simon knew that tone, the tone that was Ariane punishing herself for not doing enough. “Thank you. All of you, for somehow keeping this going long enough for us to get here.” She looked away from them; from the suppressed horror on her face, he was sure she was surveying the scans of the space around them. “How many did we lose?”
“Captain Austin,” Relgof said gently, “we would have lost everyone had you—”
“I am aware of that, Doctor,” she said. “And I am glad we did get here. And I thank you especially, the Analytic, for coming to our aid. But I still have to accept that a hell of a lot of people just died because we couldn’t get here a few hours sooner.” The smile she managed then made Simon wince; it was heartbreaking. “I’m not saying there’s nothing to celebrate, just …just that before I celebrate anything, I have to salute the people who will never make the celebration.”
“Of course,” Fitzhugh said. “You can …well, you can see what we have left. Just Andraste and Hachiman, plus forty-seven fighter craft—most of them will take a bit to get back to base—and four of our Gate fortresses. The ground batteries were taken out fairly early on, although most of the other ground forces are intact; they never got to the point of landings.”
“And of our vessels,” Relgof said slowly, “only seventy, plus a proportionate number of fighter craft, will return to their homes.”
Eighty percent losses, thought Simon, and saw DuQuesne bowing his head in the background, Wu Kung obviously offering a prayer, and Orphan in a pose that must be a salute to the dead. Ariane merely nodded, though he could see her rigid pose betraying the control she required. “My condolences to the Analytic for your losses; is there any preferred way to salute such a sacrifice for our people?”
Relgof tried a casual gesture, but it was clear he was also affected by the losses. “We …will discuss such things later. The important thing, Captain Austin of Humanity, is that they fought for something they believed in, for a future we hope to make, and their hope is still alive, for we saw victory when we thought we had no possibility of anything but utter defeat.” A spark of his usual ebullience resurfaced. “And I fear that the Analytic will have to wait long for the explanation of how you achieved that victory!”
Simon did chuckle at that.
“So,” Oasis said from next to him, “Captain, I guess you must’ve succeeded at your little side trip?”
“You could say that,” she said, and this smile was just a tiny bit less strained. “I’ll do a full debrief back at our Embassy. But we have a more pressing problem first.”
DuQuesne nodded. “Search and Rescue. There’s got to be survivors—people who bailed during the battle, left in the few ships that didn’t get mostly vaporized, what have you. And unlike regular space battles, they don’t need spacesuits to live, so they could still be okay, even if all they did was dive out an airlock at the last second.”
Orphan nodded. “I have been in that position. As has your friend Wu Kung.”
“But also not like your black empty space,” Wu said, “there will be things looking for easy meals. The jackals scent easy pickings, the sharks begin to circle, the vultures watch from high above.”
Kuso. Of course, in a place like the Arena, there will be just such scavengers, like the zikki, waiting for a battle to conclude. “I will assist in the search and rescue effort, Ariane. I can apply the same information source to locating stranded people.”
“What do we do about Molothos survivors?” Captain Fitzhugh asked.
“The same we do for human or Analytic ones, Captain. We are at peace now.”
Simon could see DuQuesne’s darkly cynical grin at that, and his gut agreed with the big Hyperion. “Peace” with the Molothos was going to be, at best, a fragile thing.
“The problem is we need more searchers,” Ariane said. “There are hardly enough—”
“If you pardon me for interrupting,” Relgof said, “that depends on how much you will trust the Analytic.”
Ariane raised an eyebrow. “How so, Doctor?”
“If you allow us to traverse the Sky Gate that leads to Nexus Arena directly, we can call upon immense numbers of Analytic vessels to assist. The war is over, these will not be warships, so the Arena’s restrictions on movement for warlike purposes will no longer apply.”
Simon saw a burst of relieved revelation on Ariane’s face. “Of course! Yes, Doctor Relgof, you’ve proven your right to be trusted—proven it at great cost. We would be greatly indebted
to you if you could call in these forces as swiftly as possible.”
Relgof’s filter-beard flip-flopped and they heard a translated laugh. “As Simon will tell you, this was a payment for a service. As there are far more of my people waiting to be rescued—and even more Molothos—this will not be a debt for you. But as you say, swiftness is called for. Which of your Sky Gates should we use?”
“The one designated as Gate Station Two during our battle,” Simon answered. “That emerges considerably to the azimuth of Nexus Arena. I know that it will be extremely difficult, but—”
Relgof gave an expansive gesture. “—but endeavor to keep the precise location of your particular Sky Gate as obscure as possible, yes. We shall do all in our power to confuse the issue. And,” he added, with a roguish tone to his voice, “the Analytic’s power in this area is considerable indeed.”
“Then go as quickly as you can,” Ariane said. “I have no idea how many people are stranded out there, but it must be many hundred, maybe many thousand.”
“Counting the Molothos?” Simon said. “Many thousands. At a rough guess the destroyed ships had on the close order of a million crew in total; if even one percent of those survived, that will be ten thousand of their people in need of rescue. I confess …I am rather surprised Dajzail did not insist on staying for search and rescue.”
“I’m not,” DuQuesne said bluntly. “He knew the answer would have to be ‘not a chance in Hell.’ No way we would allow a former belligerent, and still not trusted, force still outnumbering us by more than ten to one in the space surrounding our home Sphere. It’s a sucker bet that they wouldn’t allow it.”
“Which gives us a chance to live up to our word,” Ariane continued. “I’ve said we value even the lives of people like the Molothos; if we rescue their lost and deliver them home, safe and as sound as we can, this at least shows we mean what we say in both directions. I don’t know if it’s actually possible to get any goodwill from the Molothos, but it sure won’t hurt.”
