For Texas and Zed

by Zach Hughes

  Meanwhile, two thousand young Texicans and three Empire renegades blinked and rested, cursed the close quarters, tried to keep life in aching, cramped muscles with isometric exercise. They fed on space rations, recycled water and air, rode fifty pounds of expand down the long star lanes, making random jumps into nowhere, but always returning to the line leading them toward Centaurus.

  For the rest of his life Lex would remember the thrill of pride he'd felt upon lifting from the sands, two thousand strong, in perfect formation, riding the tiny vehicles with their enlarged domes into the high air and then, on a signal, entering space with one long blink, power sizzling from tiny plants which generated the force which could throw many times the mass of an airors into the finite distance.

  Since they knew the fleet positions it was possible to escape detection by Texicans on the way out. Texas was not monitoring the planet itself for unauthorized movements, but was facing galaxy-ward. So the first long blink threw them beyond the main forces of Texas and a second blink, using the double-blink generator, removed them from odd scouts and advance guards in the big emptiness between the isolated star, Zed, and the beginnings of space matter on the rim of the galaxy.

  At first, they flew familiar routes, but chose not to enter the Empire through Cassiopeian space. They sat astride, able to relax only partially by leaning backward against the near side of the life dome. Legs, pointing downward, ached. Eyes strained, after the first few near sleepless day periods. And around them was a vastness which was intimidating enough when one had the security of the hull of a spacer around him and which was an awful, aching emptiness to a lone man riding astride a tiny vehicle meant primarily for sport and planetary transportation.

  Mere voice chatter was so lovingly slow that conversation was unrestricted among the groupings and that chatter helped pass the time. By the time broadcast talk traveled the distances between the fleet and the nearest Empire planet, even a stray ship beyond the limits of their local detectors, the fleet would have moved on to success or failure. Behind them at each blinkcharge point, the radio waves radiated outward, carrying with them the light, bantering talk of young men trying to pass the long wait with an oft-heard joke, a semi-witty remark or simply boylike rememberings of how it was to ride in the hist herding contest. Voices lived in the form of modulated waves, would live, perhaps, traveling through limitless space, after the flesh and blood vocal cords which had formed the sounds had decayed.

  During the trip inward, toward the goal, Lex had ample time to consider such morbid thoughts, to question his decision to take the battle to the Empire. But in dim history an honorary Texican had said, "I leave this rule for others when I'm dead, be sure you're right —then go ahead," and that old rhyme had surfaced from somewhere down in the depths of Lex's school memories and, as he blinked ahead of his group into Empire, he liked the simplicity of it. Be sure you're right. He had to be right. He'd seen the vast extent of the Empire. He'd spent two years in the Empire's service studying their power, their vastness, their arrogant disregard for the right of the individual, and he knew that the Empire would never leave Texas alone unless, in some way, Texas made things so hot, so costly, that the pragmatic policy makers back on the old Earth would decide that the price was too high to pay. And, while Empire would scarcely blink at the loss of a million men, being blessed or cursed with a surplus of people, the loss of two thousand ships of the line would cause no little concern. He did not delude himself into thinking that two thousand ships taken from the Empire's entire fleet would end the war, but it would serve two purposes. Most importantly, it would tell the Emperor's war planners that the action against Texas was not to be taken lightly, that Texas had the capacity to strike as well as defend. If his operation were successful, the Empire would be forced to guard the rear of the front with Texas, and that would scatter he massive fleet building on the periphery across the void of extra-galactic space between the planet and Empire territory. Thus, valuable time would be gained.

  There were times as the fleet of tiny vehicles crossed the long parsecs when Lex doubted. He limited his own talk with others to checking navigation with Arden Wal, leading the group on his right flank, and to checks with other group leaders. The isolation didn't particularly bother him. He'd spent his time in the big lonesome spaces of the Bojacks, herding winglings. And he had the thoughts of Riddent and his unborn son to comfort him.

  Actually, the trip in was uneventful. There were a few tense moments when Empire warships came to investigate the blink signals, but the incidents merely proved the theory that Empire detectors were set for masses too large to allow detection of widely scattered groupings of airorses. Mostly, the trip was unending tedium and it was with a sigh of relief that the fleet heard General Wal's announcement that the bright dot ahead, gleaming in the blackness after a short blink, was the goal, Centaurus.

  With the fleet on alert, Lex and Wal blinked ahead to scout.

  There, orbiting a lifeless planet, row on row, tier on tier, bank on bank, dead in space, gleaming in the glow of Centaurus, was the discarded debris of the long Empire war. Ships. The graveyard. Outdated Vandys, middleguards, Rearguards, supply ships, scouts, all used up and thrown away in a display of waste which awed Lex. He'd been amazed when he first read of the Empire's ships' graveyard, and now, seeing it close up, he was saddened. There were ships in the Texican fleet twice the age of the more recent discards there in the darkness of space.

  There were no guards. The Empire considered the junk fleet of so little value that no one watched. Nevertheless, guards were posted by the Texicans to avert chance discovery in case still another ship or group of ships was scheduled to be blinked out by space tugs to be abandoned.

  Now the careful practices in the desert of home began to pay off. In groups, the airorses began to seek specified hulls, to attach to the pitted metals with magnetic grapples installed in the alteration sheds. The selection was not random, but carefully charted by Arden Wal, who was familiar with the makeup of an Empire battle fleet. Each man had his assignment.

  The generators of the airorses were adequate for the job. Lex was grateful for the long tradition which had made the airors the most overpowered vehicle in creation. Souped-up toys became engines of war as the airorses mounted the huge hulks, Vandys, Middle-guards, Rearguards, supply and support vessels, and blinked to assigned points, there to jockey into rehearsed formation, the formation of an Empire battle fleet.

  When it was assembled, that dead fleet, manned by single Texicans sitting their airorses atop the dead hulks like biters on the neck of a farl, the formation was perfect. Detectors would have recorded the precise positioning as an Empire fleet, readied for blinking across long distances.

  Now the thought monitors were turned on. Orders were given. The power in the airorses blinked and the fleet moved, outward this time, leaping grandly and without attempt at concealment toward the aggregation of force threatening Texas. It would take close visual examination to reveal to an Empireite that dead and gutted ships were moving in battle formation.

  Arden Wal's advance time schedule was accurate to three standard hours. Three weeks to the day from lift-off on Texas, the fleet of dead ships emerged into normal space within range of the mass of the fleet in the periphery, choosing the headquarters body, a closely linked grouping of ten thousand ships with a deadly core of Rearguards inside the protecting Middleguards and Vandys.

  The approach, of course, had been monitored. Blinkstat contact had been made hours previously. It was another example of the stagnancy which had fallen over the Empire's military that communication codes and procedures had not been altered in the time since Lex and his Empire friends had taken to Texican space in the old T.E.S.Grus . Arden Wal's statement that he was officer in command of a battle group sent out as additional reinforcements was accepted. Empire did not expect attack from the rear. They were facing one thinly populated planet. Their confidence was based on the knowledge that behind them were a million worlds controlled by
Empire, millions of ships on duty.

  In voice contact, Lex heard Wal ask for position orders, heard the orders given. The Empire fleet was spread over millions of cubic miles of space, and the position assigned to them was not suitable, too far from the main headquarters group which was their target.

  Wal was equal to the occasion. "Request repeat of the previous message," he said, signaling for a short blink which put the Texican fleet within optical instrument reach of the Empire force.

  "You are far out of position," came the irritated answer. There followed coordinates for a blink, but the Texicans were moving at sub-light speeds, closing the gap.

  "You are entering guarded space," the voice of the Empire communication said. "Halt. Reverse your thrust. That is an order."

  "We have you on optics and will pass safely," Wal sent.

  There was a short pause and then a voice full of authority came onto the communicator, a voice with cold fury. "What do you think this is, Admiral, amateur night at the maneuvers?"

  Two thousand ships closed on ten thousand. The dangers of collision were small, but the movement of the Texican fleet was against all Empire regulations.

  "Perhaps our optics are malfunctioning," Wal said, in a cowed voice. "Sir, could you glow your ships for a visual check?"

  "I want to see you, sir, in my quarters when you're in position," the arrogant voice of command said, but ahead, near, pleasingly near, dots of light began to gleam as the headquarters fleet lit up to avert possible collision.

  "This is an order," came the voice. "You will reverse blink at once to a distance of one-tenth unit. Then we will send a guide, since you're incapable of finding your way."

  "Targets," Lex said, on the private communicator which linked his two thousand young Texicans. "Lock."

  "Yes, sir, at once," Wal said, but the fleet continued to close.

  "We are preparing to fire on you," the fleet commander said, his voice cold and full of fury.

  "Now," Lex sent, hitting his release button, disengaging smoothly from his Vandy hull, in the advance, hitting his sub-light speed control at the same time, shooting hisZelda out and away and seeing the blinks and glow of power as two thousand vehicles followed, darting toward the Empire fleet even as the Empireites realized, their instruments now reading dead ships and, astoundingly, live ships, unseen, over them, under them, around them, moving in like darting insects.

  Lances of fire came out from the ships on the near flank, lighting dark space. Behind Lex, the dead fleet, shieldless, glowed and burned, but he was boring in, dodging, twisting, avoiding the beams skillfully, finding that it was child's play compared to herding a spooked wingling.

  Now it was a matter of seconds and seconds were critical, for the Empire was mounting screens, the dim glow of power beginning to show on first one ship and then another.

  The flagship was his. At the center, he saw it, huge, a lovely target. He zoomed in and over and threw reverse power at the last instant, darting into the shield as it closed over him, his airors making contact with the hull aft of the main weapons turrets in a blind spot. He engaged the magnetic grapple and said, "Report."

  There was a wait of seconds before group leaders began to count down. It was a simple affirmative, agreed upon in the long sessions of training. Each individual reports to his leader, each leader reports to a group leader, ten group leaders say, "Got 'em, Lex; OK, boy; yes indeed, buddy."

  There was a frenzy in the fleet as weapons continued to sear and burn the remnants of the dead ships left behind, the Empire discards which had been the Texicans' passport through thickly patrolled Empire space. Then, in a silence, space lit only by the dim glow of the screens of the Empire fleet, Lex opened his communication to an Empire frequency and said, "Overfleet Lord Kal, in the name of Texas, I ask you for surrender."

  He waited. He felt a hint of the nausea of excitement. Now would come a test of Empire loyalty.

  "I am, sir, Captain Lexington Burns, Republic of Texas. I am in a position to destroy your ship, sir. It and all the ships in your fleet. However, I do not wish to cause wholesale death. Will you speak with me?"

  Again he waited. And there was, in his ear, the same voice of command, Overfleet Lord Kal, the Emperor's own choice, a noble from old Earth. "I will speak."

  "Read your hull, sir," Lex said. He activated and deactivated the grapple, causingZelda to bump up and down on the huge Rearguard's metal plates. "Do you hear a thumping aft of the main turrets?" He could imagine the reason for the long delay. Ahead of him, weapons swiveled, but he was below the angle of fire. Over him the screen flickered.

  "I am sitting on your plates, Lord Kal, with fifty pounds of expand. In case you are not familiar with Texican expand, it has, in fifty pounds, almost one kiloton of explosive power."

  He waited.

  "I am in a small, mobile vehicle which can penetrate your screen from the inside, as you must know. I can be off and away before detonation. I do not want to destroy you. I offer you terms, terms which are quite lenient. Surrender. Fly your ship to Texican space on my direction and you will be treated as a prisoner of war."

  "You, sir," said Lord Kal, "are a madman."

  "Must I kill to demonstrate that I am capable of destroying ten thousand of your ships?"

  "On the contrary," said Lord Kal, "I must kill you. Granted, you are in contact with my ship, but you are in the center of a million Empire ships. Even if you can destroy a limited number of my command, you cannot escape."

  "But you'll be dead," Lex said. "You and all the men in your headquarters fleet. Do you desire that?"

  Silence. Then, "I have alerted the fleet, Texican. Within minutes you will be surrounded by a million ships. Now I ask you to surrender."

  "Would you, then, like to choose which of your ships, those nearest you, will be the first to die?"

  "Lord Kal," Arden Wal's voice came, "I beg of you. Don't force us to kill. I am Arden Wal, former Fleet Captain in the Emperor's service, now in the service of Texas."

  "You are a traitor, then." No, a free man," Wal said, "with your thought monitor removed from my brain." Silence. Then Wal, on the Empire frequency, speaking passionately. "To each of you, each officer of

  rank in the Empire's fleet, I offer this. I am authorized to tell you that Texas offers you your freedom. From personal knowledge I can tell you that each of you is a slave to the Empire. You think, perhaps, that you have been trusted officers of the Emperor, while, all along, inside your brain is a device which reads your very thoughts, invades the most private of your personal feelings. You have been used. Now your commander is asking that you die for an Empire which values you less than it values one old Vandy. Surrender. Come with us to Texas and discover freedom."

  "This is your commander," Lord Kal broadcast. "If any ship moves, the guns of the fleet will be used on her." "General Wal," Lex said, "we have to do it." There was a sadness in his voice.

  "Yes," Wal answered. "Lord Kal," Lex sent, "train your instruments on the new Rearguard on your port quarter at an inclination of thirty-five degrees."

  He had established, during Wal's oration, that Blant Jakkes was locked onto that particular Rearguard. In a quick conversation on the Texican wavelength, he had prepared Jakkes, and he knew that it would be a severe test of the man. To kill a thousand men was not a simple matter.

  "Jak?" he asked. "Ready, Lex." "Well, we have to do it." He saw the blink as Jakkes left the Rearguard, then shielded his eyes, opening them only after the

  Rearguard had exploded into a small star of fire.

  Two thousand men. He felt his stomach go sour. But all of Texas would meet a similar fate at the hands of the Empire. There was no choice. Darwinism. The survival of the fittest. "LordKal," he said, his voice husky with emotion. "Don't force us to do it again." But it was necessary. Five ships died. Then and only then, after desperate attempts to send men onto the

  outer plates of his flagship to dislodge the intruder only to have them swept off the hull by the mou
nted weapon onZelda , did Lord Kal, the Emperor's choice, Overlord of the Empire fleet, surrender.

  "I will do as you ask," Lord Kal said in a broken voice. "Flagship-directed blink," Lex said, giving coordinates. "First, however, signal the remaining groups of the fleet that should they follow, all the ships of your groups will be destroyed."

  Lord Kal obeyed.

  The trip home was mercifully short. Short blinks were necessary until the scattered stars of the galaxy's edge were behind them, and then it was long blinks, the Empire fleet in perfect, tight formation, the airorses still in place on the hulls of two thousand of them, until, in the big emptiness, Lex signaled ahead.

  "For Texas and Zed. General Arden Wal's Expeditionary Force reports capture of ten thousand Empire

  ships of the line, asks sanctuary for officers and crew and requests escort to landing zones in the desert."

  It went smoothly. Ten thousand ships was a lot of ships, but the Texas desert was big enough to absorb ten billion ships. They landed in orderly ranks, crews stepped down to be taken into custody. Tired, bent young men lifted their airorses to the sands and breathed the air of Texas, their hearts laboring after a month of nul-gravity, receiving medical attention, trying to unbend twisted legs and arms, hunched like the apes of old Earth from their thirty days in the seat of an airors. There were, however, no deaths.

  Lex, trying to straighten his back, in pain, gasping at the pull of normal gravity, grinned at his father.

  "Zed's balls," Murichon growled, "every time you go off the planet you bring home more Empireites.

  What are you trying to do, repopulate Texas with aliens?"

  "I'm just trying to stay alive, Dad," Lex said, just before he collapsed into the sand.

  He woke in the San Ann hospital with Riddent looking down at him through happy tears.

  "I'm back," he said.

  "Yes."

  "You all right?"

  "Sure, you?"