by Spoor,Ryk E
DuQuesne grunted. “No, not now that we’ve established that we’re no pushovers, anyway. They’ve seen us fight, so they’ll know it has nothing to do with trying to pacify the scary Molothos.”
“We can continue the discussion later,” Ariane said. “Right now, we start S&R; it will take a while for Relgof to get back with a fleet to help search, so for now, every ship in condition to do so, begin rescue operations!”
“Begin near our Sphere and work outwards towards the direction of battle,” Simon said, even as he allowed his perceptions to rise past the level of mere mortality. “Objects approaching closer than a certain distance to our Sphere, as you know, will be affected by its gravity. Some survivors have already entered that zone; many have parachutes or similar survival gear, but some do not; I am transmitting vectors and locations now.” He was vaguely conscious of a grimace. “Some survivors are already down on the Sphere—and some are Molothos. We will need to be cautious on rounding those up, as it is not at all certain they will be aware that their fleet suffered an unexpected reversal.”
“We’ll take those,” DuQuesne said. “Feed us the data, Simon; the other ships concentrate on the people still in the air.”
“If there are thousands of Molothos survivors,” Fitzhugh said, even as he directed Andraste to begin a near-Sphere search pattern, “where are we going to put them? I’d rather they were all in one place so we can have comprehensive security.”
“We just need to house them until we can jump over to Nexus Arena, right?” Oasis asked.
“I would think so,” Ariane replied.
“Then get Nodwick to do it; I think she’s in the Harbor right now.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Simon exclaimed, remembering the giant transport that had been designed to ship large amounts of materials of all kinds from the realspace solar system to the Arenaspace Sphere. “Nodwick will have plenty of room to hold them for a short time and the cargo areas are separated from the crew and control areas.”
“For transport, that’s a fine idea,” came General Esterhauer’s voice, “but not possible right now.”
“Why not?” asked Ariane.
“Because that assault on the ground-based cannons didn’t just destroy them, it brought wreckage—thousands and thousands of tons of it—down atop the Outer Gateway. It’s sealed and so are the Straits. There’s no way to get any word into our Sphere until we either clear all that wreckage off and someone gets the Gateway open, or someone goes back to Nexus Arena and Transitions back to our Sphere to break the news.”
“Then we’ll just have to set up a camp until we can get Nodwick out for transport,” DuQuesne said. “Esterhauer, can we clear out the area around the old crash site for Blessing of Fire and drop ’em there?”
There was a pause. “You like ironic taunts, don’t you, DuQuesne? Yes, we can put them there. We can set up temporary security perimeters and such—good enough for a little while, anyway.”
“Then do it,” Ariane decided. “Easy enough to keep an eye on the camp from above, too. They’re not stupid, they’ll know we can take them out if we have to.”
Simon found the next hours blurring into each other, as he located survivors—human, Molothos, and two dozen other species that had been on board the Analytic’s vessels—directed ships to their locations, warned of any potentially dangerous situations, and then moved to the next group. Spread across so huge a volume of living air, there were almost limitless opportunities for potential disaster: fragments of Molothos vessels with still-active armaments and survivors who did not realize they had lost the battle, a group of Analytic castaways drifting helplessly directly towards the Luminaire, a school of zikki circling the remnants of Nayanazgeni’s crew, hundreds of survivors of all types caught in the fringes of the Sphere’s gravity and plummeting straight down, past the Sphere, to be ejected into the immeasurable void if not found.
And Simon knew he was almost the only hope for these people, for in the environment of the Arena, radar, sonar, and radio beacons were terribly limited. The ships could find some few stranded, but they would miss many, even most, of those who needed rescue. So despite Oasis’ increasingly worried entreaties, he stayed at his post on Andraste, searching the skies and relaying what he saw with a throat going raw from constant narration.
One other event stood out from the fog of envisioned desperation and relayed horrors; at some point, Ariane had asked him if they were sure the Molothos had followed through on the surrender and departed, or merely moved a short distance, to observe and perhaps strike again. Her tone showed she didn’t think it was a terrible concern …but it was a question a wise leader had to ask.
“I will look,” he said, and brought up the Arena-sight again. Suddenly he was like a cosmic giant, standing and gazing down at all the space surrounding Humanity’s Sphere as though it were spread out on a table before him, tiny, trivially easy to visualize and understand.
Immediately, he focused his attention on the Molothos fleet, and directly into the command deck of Claws of Vengeance.
To his surprise, Dajzail was no longer on the command deck; his second, who had been visible during the brief parley (the name Alztanza came instantly to mind, without so much as the smallest of efforts) was clearly in command. Alztanza raised his insectoid head and gazed at the screen, and Simon realized he could even read the Molothos’ gaze and posture. He has taken them far already, very far; they move swiftly.
Another omniscient glance and he understood the vastly greater speed at which the fleet was traveling. A trail of radio beacons, buoys leading them home, likely telling them the conditions near each buoy so that they know if any obstacles lie ahead. As they pass, one of their number slows, retrieves the beacon, then rejoins the fleet. He smiled faintly. Of course. There is no requirement they make it easy for us to travel to our new Sphere, even if we do know roughly where it lies. More importantly, they continue on their course. He is angry, yet relieved. But what of their true Leader?
Instantly he found himself gazing down upon Dajzail, in his private quarters …and saw the powerful alien squatting on the deck, legs pulled in so far that they were curled completely beneath him, and the two great bladed fighting claws were arched above and around the head, a gesture that Simon did not need the god-sight to interpret; it was no different than a man in despair covering his head with his arms.
Despite all that he knew about the Molothos—and this pitiless and genocidal monster in particular—Simon felt a sudden flash of pity. What must it be like to be the leader of a species that believes itself superior, that has lost no significant engagement in untold centuries, and then find oneself defeated, driven off, and forced to a peace by events you cannot even understand?
The sensation did not linger long; Simon was all too aware that the Molothos were unchanged. But it is an important reminder to me that even the worst of our adversaries are not purely evil, do not lie beyond our ability to understand …or even emulate. Similar monsters have worn human faces.
He allowed his sight to make a quick survey of the rest of the fleet. All were following and showed no sign of hesitating or changing course. There were no trailing scouts, no remaining monitors.
“They have left for certain, Ariane,” he said. “And at a speed that will bring them home in weeks, not months.”
She nodded. “Then it is over. Thanks, Simon. Let’s get back to the important part—”
“—saving lives. Yes.”
The grinding, desperate near-routine took over again, and even in his half-deific vision he found himself appalled by the immensity of the task. Thousands of survivors scattered throughout trillions of cubic kilometers of space, and all of them in danger …all in need of rescue …and he, Simon Sakuraba Sandrisson, the only person who could find them all in time.
At one point he became aware of a new fleet of ships materializing from Gate Two, the Analytic come to the rescue—new ships to be directed, but also vast new resources to rescue the lost fa
ster.
Even with all he could do, it was not enough; he saw crewmen plunge screaming into the sea or forest of the Sphere, having fallen too far, too fast, for anyone to catch, watched helpless as zikki and other scavengers ripped Molothos and Analytic survivors to pieces, even witnessed the tragedy of small, fierce battles when stranded Molothos refused to believe they had been beaten and rejected surrender or rescue. But he forced himself to look away, to search for the living rather than let the dead haunt him.
At last he cast his vision out …and found no survivors waiting, no lonesome castaways adrift in the endless sky of the Arena. “That …that’s all,” he grated out, and found himself collapsing.
Oasis caught him. “Simon!”
“I’m …fine…” he tried to say. It came out more as a croak, a voice he could barely recognize as his own.
“The hell you are.” She picked him up as though he were a child, despite the fact that he was fifteen centimeters taller than he was. “You need something to drink, something to eat, and sleep.”
He wanted to protest that he could at least walk on his own, but he was suddenly aware of the utter exhaustion permeating every millimeter of his body—bone-dryness in his mouth, despite vaguely-recalled cups of coffee drunk in distraction, strained muscles from tension, the whiff of old sweat and a phantasmal yet very real feeling of being …stretched, having pushed himself to limits he did not even understand.
So instead of protesting, Simon let himself relax against the smaller yet incredibly strong figure. “As you wish,” he said, and smiled.
Chapter 52
“Is Simon all right?” Ariane asked, trying to keep any excess concern from her voice.
“He’ll be fine,” Oasis assured her from a secured channel. “I know you were running about as long as he was, but you could take breaks, at least; he couldn’t, and he was doing that …see-everything trick for most of it. He’s wiped. Probably won’t be up and at ’em for at least a few more hours; I got enough food and water into him and then stuck him in bed, then caught some Z’s myself when the whole S&R thing was finished.”
“We all got some rest then, finally. Thanks for looking after him.” She shook her head. “Simon will drive himself, I’ve already seen that.”
The redheaded Hyperion gave a brilliantly sunny smile. “Hey, I’ll look after him anytime! But you’re welcome. And yeah, he’s got that ‘with great power comes great responsibility’ schtick going for him now, so he’ll be pushing himself even harder. Someone has to keep an eye on him.”
“We’ll be heading back to Nexus Arena shortly. Can you take one of the Sandrisson-capable shuttles and meet us back there?”
“Well, sure, but why can’t we just drop down to the surface and use the Outer Gateway, then just pop straight to Nexus Arena? Oh, wait,” Oasis bopped herself on her forehead, “that’s right, we can’t; the Outer Gateway’s buried.”
“And won’t be un-buried for a while, either,” DuQuesne confirmed from behind Ariane’s shoulder, making her jump. “We still need a bunch of manpower dedicated to watching our not-very-friendly prisoners of war, and we don’t have equipment left intact for clearing the stuff anyway.”
“Gotcha. Okay, then we’ll bring Yeager over once Simon’s ready to leave.” She looked at DuQuesne. “And Marc …I don’t want to speak over a channel that’s not secure, but we have a …real problem back home to talk about.”
She saw DuQuesne stiffen. He can probably read more from her posture than I can. “Is the problem …immediate?”
“I don’t think so. But watch your back, Marc, until we can debrief you.” She turned back to Ariane. “We’ll make the best time we can. Get to the Embassy and stay there until we get there to debrief you, okay, Captain?”
“Understood, Oasis.” She was not stupid enough to ignore obvious Hyperion advice. “See you there. Austin out.”
She broke contact. “What was that about?”
“Don’t know for sure, honestly. Obviously something Hyperion-related, and it’s got her spooked. But no point in chasing our tails over it, we’ll find out soon enough.”
Ariane nodded and stretched. “God, even after a night’s sleep, a shower, and getting dressed before that call, I still feel like I’ve been, how’d you put it, dragged through a knothole?”
“I know the feeling,” DuQuesne said. “Probably Wu does, too. That shield trick was no picnic.”
“You can say that again.” She gave DuQuesne a quick kiss, still amused by the fact that she had to stretch up to kiss him; very few men ever managed that. “Well, back to the bridge; we’ve got to get ready to head back.”
Wu was waiting outside their cabin as the two stepped out. “Wu, did you get any sleep?”
He grinned, showing his fangs. “Of course I did, Captain! I just sensed your ki strengthen when you awakened, so I prepared myself and came to guard you.”
Now that he’s …himself, I suppose I’d better get used to him acting on senses that don’t exist for the rest of us. “That’s fine, Wu, but just a reminder—you and the rest having your special abilities is still a secret for most people, so don’t show off. Got it?”
“Yes, Ma’am!”
Arriving on the bridge, they saw Orphan already in his seat. “Ahh, Captain Austin, I was wondering if I should awaken you. Most of the Analytic vessels have already departed, and your ground-based people would very, very much like you to get Nodwick released to pick up the Molothos refugees as soon as possible.” His voice was filled with his usual dry humor. “Based on the comments from Dyaratamzin, the apparent spokesbeing for the Molothos, they are equally eager to depart this place and, perhaps, never speak of it again.”
“Understood,” she said with an involuntary grin. “We’ll do the best we can to accommodate that wish. Is Andraste still here?”
“It is. Do you wish to speak with Captain Fitzhugh?”
“To him and General Esterhauer, if she’s awake. I know both of them were up as long as we were.”
A few short inquiries later, both Fitzhugh and Esterhauer appeared on the main viewport. “Captain Austin, Doctor DuQuesne, you both still look a bit tired,” Fitzhugh said.
“No more than both of you,” Ariane said, and it was true; Fitzhugh had noticeable circles under his eyes, visible even against his dark tan skin, as did Esterhauer. They both lost people they knew in this battle; I just had to put up with a hell of a physical strain, not watch people I knew personally die in front of me. “You both did an extraordinary job defending our Sphere, and as Leader of the Faction of Humanity I will make sure your efforts are remembered by those at home. I do have one more …difficult request to make of both of you.”
“Go ahead, Faction Leader,” General Esterhauer said, as did Fitzhugh.
“I need you to go over the battle carefully and in addition to producing a complete list of our losses, determine who among the fallen …and the survivors …should receive particular recognition.”
“Understood, Faction Leader Austin. For the survivors, am I to presume you wish to perform presentations yourself?”
“You should, yes. And I will personally read the commendations for all those lost.”
“Yes, Ma’am. We will do our best to get that to you quickly.”
“Thank you, General, Captain.”
Not looking forward to that litany of losses, she thought as the viewport returned to simple clarity. “All right, Orphan—take us home!”
Orphan gestured to the pilot’s position. “Captain Austin, with all due respect, this is my vessel, so I do not believe you can give me orders so blithely. But I do give you permission to take us home yourself!”
She heard her own laugh echo around the command deck of Zounin-Ginjou as she slid into the seat—which Orphan had thoughtfully modified to accommodate human and Liberated. “Aye-aye, Leader Orphan!”
The massive flagship of the Liberated turned easily and headed towards the center of the Gate Station. In a relatively few minutes, Zounin-Gi
njou reached the Sky Gate and, in a flash of light, found itself far above the titanic cylindrical bulk of Nexus Arena. “All security protocols active,” DuQuesne said from one side. “No immediate sign of detection. Here, Ariane, I’m feeding you the course to follow. You in a hurry?”
“Sort of,” she said. “I want to get back and let everyone know the outcome of the battle, debrief Laila, Carl, and the others, and send a runner to get the Sphere and the home system updated—as well as get Nodwick released to do refugee shuttle duty. And from her remarks, I think we need to have a talk with Oasis and Simon in a more secure location.”
“You’re right about reporting the outcome,” DuQuesne said. “Relgof wouldn’t have let anyone know what was up when he came back, given the circumstances, and with the Outer Gateway down no one inside will know; they’re sure as hell not going to open the Straits without knowing it’s safe outside, and that’s the only other way they’d be able to find out.”
“Which is why I’m in a hurry. Can you imagine how they must feel, wondering if the battle is finished or not, and how it was finished?”
Wu Kung grunted. “I would be running in circles.”
“You do that all the time anyway,” said DuQuesne.
Ariane restrained a snort of laughter as she continued to guide Zounin-Ginjou towards its ultimate destination.
It took several more hours before they finally docked. I’m exhausted already, Ariane realized, but there was something of a strain to carefully adhering to a given course and wondering if you were successfully fooling any watchers. Someone will eventually locate our Nexus Arena gateway; I can’t imagine that secret will hold much longer. But we’re already a lot stronger and more secure than we were. It’s not going to matter that much pretty soon.
“Orphan, are you—”
“I have my own Faction—small though it is—to attend to, so I will bid you farewell for now,” Orphan said, already shutting the flagship down. “Go, ease your people’s minds. They have waited long enough.”
