"Eudoxus expects to manipulate me. Poor Horace Bury," Bury said thickly, "he’ll risk anything to master the wealth of Motie technology."
"She knows now, Horace. She saw Kevin twitch when she mentioned Watchmakers. It may have been a mistake to leave the visuals on. Horace, I wonder just how much the Moties know about your Arab nationalist sentiments? Anyway, what shall we do?"
"An ambassador. Gandhi! Ludicrous."
"We don't have to blow the Motie ship up, though. Do we?"
"Perhaps if we could destroy all seven . . . but we can't do that, Kevin. Consider: what if one of the seven was a decoy, say a token ship mounted on a small comet head? Poof, gone. Evaporated. We would only find six, never the seventh. And three have instructions to hide. With a whole system to hide in. A system we have not explored any better than they have. Who knows what resources are here? And you may be sure that those ships have fertile Masters, probably pregnant."
"Yeah."
Joyce Trujillo said, "But in that case, if we could find six— Oh."
Kevin noticed the look of annoyance Chris Blaine cast on Joyce Trujilio. But why . . . ?
No time to worry about that. Kevin said, "Yeah. Six ships, and what if there's no iceball? Talk or fight, and we can't start shooting until or unless we find them all, and we've lost at least one already. So talk, and they want us to go with them to the Mote. That may be a good idea. The question is, can we leave them here? All of the Mote ships, with Agamemnon on guard, until more ships from the blockade squadron come through from the Eye?"
"Can we not? Consider further," Bury said. "These ships are unarmed. There has been no hint of a threat, but if one of these does not report back . . ."
"The threat is certainly implied, sir," Chris Blaine said. "Look at the record. The first couple of ships the Crazy Eddie Squadron dealt with were probably unarmed. The rest had any weapon you can think of. Excellency, she knew you'd see the threat. With strangers she would have been more explicit."
Renner said, "We have to let Eudoxus report back, and we learn more if we go with her." He got a confirming nod from Bury. "All right, whether or not Agamemnon is enough, she's all we have, because I don't fancy taking Sinbad into the Mote system without a reliable way to send a message out. That means we take Atropos along. Chris, you agree?"
"Yes, sir. If anyone can get a message out, they can, either Atropos herself or the longboat."
Bury asked, "Dr. Buckman, how big are the Motie ships? Tiny, are they not? Too small to fight Agamemnon, even all together. Yes, and thus unarmed. So, Kevin, what are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking Eudoxus could tell us more about what waits for us on the other side. Then . . . we can maybe rendezvous with Agamemnon, leave you and Joyce—"
"Hold up, Commodore Renner—"
"My ship, curse your hull-metal-thick hide."
"Okay, okay. Do we want to put the servants off?"
Bury said, "Each lady so lovely, though all in their forties. Did you ever wonder why, Kevin? I test them in lesser positions. I send the weak and timid to other duties. With such companions near me I need never fear my own people. New Levantines would never suspect my harem."
"Good. They can fight? I was always a little afraid of Cynthia."
"With reason."
"We still can't leave. I still can't leave," Renner said. "Not till we know who's where. Not till things settle down." But Bury was shaking his head. "What, Horace? Eudoxus didn't seem to be in any hurry."
"Kevin, in negotiations only a loser reveals that he is under a deadline. Even so, I think Eudoxus flinched when you cut her off. It's hard to tell, of course. But do consider what may next emerge from the I-point if we do not allow Eudoxus to report back."
"Yeah. Well, we'll wait for her to tell us. Now I need a link to Atropos. Dr. Buckman, I hereby appoint you communications officer."
Buckman chuckled. "Navy personality always comes through, doesn't it? All right, Commodore, I'll try. Incidentally, they're nine light-seconds away."
"Commander Rawlins here. Balasingham tells me I'm under your orders, Captain Renner."
"Such is life. What's your status?"
"We're chasing down the largest of the Motie ships."
"How many can you see?"
"Five. One we're chasing. One is quite openly headed for the New Cal exit point at top speed, but Agamemnon will be there first. One's parked near you. Two more are headed off in opposite directions, and we'll lose at least one of those before we catch up to the one we're chasing."
"So we've lost two now. How long until you catch that Motie ship?"
"I'll be in gunnery range in ten minutes or less. Do I fire?"
Renner looked to the others on Sinbad's bridge. "Blaine?"
"Warning shots, sir?"
Renner activated the mike. "Put a low-power laser dot on them and see what they do. If they won't stop, blow 'em up."
"And if they stop?"
"Stand by," Renner said. "Damnation. Horace, of course they'll stop. And talk, and talk, and delay."
"We have already lost track of two. By Commander Rawlins's own estimation, no matter what he does with the one he chases, he will not be able to intercept all that will remain. Three will have escaped, Kevin. Three."
"Only into this system. That big cruiser can stop their getting out," Joyce said. "Can't it?"
"I remind you, what may come through next could be enough to destroy Sinbad. Then Atropos. Perhaps Agamemnon."
"They'll have plenty of time to recover from Jump shock before engaging," Blaine said. "We've seen ships come through the Crazy Eddie point that could have slagged Agamemnon in single-ship engagement."
"Sinbad, this is Atropos. We are closing in range to Motie ship. We have a beam on her."
"They'll stop," Blaine said.
"I am certain you are correct."
"Eudoxus is signaling," Buckman said genially.
"Everything happens at once!" Joyce said.
"Sinbad, this is Atropos. As soon as we demonstrated that we could hit the Motie ship, it turned off its drive and is now hailing us in Anglic. “We come in peace. This is the Motie ship King Peter's Gift. We come in peace. Do you have instructions?' Sir, do we have instructions?"
"God's navel."
"Suggestion," Blaine said.
"Talk to me!"
"Have Atropos put a prize crew on that ship and send it to rendezvous with Agamemnon. Then he can see if he can chase down anything else."
"Yeah. Rawlins, put a crew with a bomb onto that Motie ship and send it to Agamemnon. Then see what you can do about the other Motie ships."
"Eudoxus is signaling," Buckman said cheerfully.
"Of course Eudoxus is signaling. Let her wait. Rawlins, I'm wondering about landings. I'll send you design specs for Sinbad. Horace, I'm sorry, but he's got to have those. Rawlins, Sinbad can land on a habitable planet, but we'd have to find fuel to get off. Does Atropos have landers?"
"Three. Two cutters and a longboat. All functional, but one cutter needs work. I'll send you specs. The longboat could carry enough fuel for a cutter to regain orbit from Mote Prime, but can't get back up without refueling. Atropos can scoopdive a gas giant planet for fuel."
What have I forgotten? Oh, I'll get it later. "Buckman,
put Eudoxus on . . . Hello, Eudoxus, sorry I had to cut you off, but your ships have been keeping us fairly busy."
"I was glad of the nap time, Kevin. Have you given further thought to our invitation?"
Glad of the nap time, hnpf hnpf hnpf! "Further thought, sure. Nap time sounds wonderful. We've got to wait anyway. So. Are you short of anything? Air, food, water? We can lob you a package."
"Kevin . . . no, we have enough to last us."
"Okay. Tell me anything about what we can expect to meet us on the other side of the Jump point."
"Ye-ess. My Keeper is part of the chain of command of—the name would not translate, of course, so I will call us the Medina Traders. We are the largest trading company in
our region. We're involved in dominance games with several other groups, all under truce of one depth or another. We expect to meet you in space and lead you to our territory, all in perfect safety. Nevertheless, surprise by a rival becomes more likely the longer we delay."
Bury broke in. "Dominance games. War?"
Renner looked for hesitation, and he saw it. "Nothing so large, Excellency, but Warriors do become involved from time to time."
"Battles, then. For what prize? Ourselves?"
"For resources, thus far. Your existence we have kept to ourselves."
"So. We might have to fight. What would be your status if you returned alone?"
Shrug. "I would have failed. My Keeper and her—superior—would make decisions on that basis, and so would other clans."
Renner said, "I'm putting you on hold."
The picture remained. Buckman said, "We've cut the signal. So?"
"Keepers?" Joyce asked. "Where have I heard that term?"
"Keepers are sterile male Masters," Blaine said. "Possessive but not aggressively expansive. Joyce, the group we dealt with on Mote Prime was headed by a Master calling itself King Peter—you'll recall one of these ships they've sent us is called King Peter's Gift?—and the Moties he sent us included a Keeper ambassador called Ivan . . . Captain? It feels funny."
"What?" Renner prompted.
"King Peter's Gift. It's too bald and not too accurate. That damn ship isn't a gift, it's a threat. Eudoxus speaks of different factions, different clans. She spoke of Warriors, but was that really a clever ploy? Sir, we have to suspect that they really don't know what all the expedition learned, and may not be part of King Peter's clan at all."
"Interesting," Bury said. "Of course they know everything I was told. Or think they do."
"Decision time," Renner said. "One of the Mote ships has to go back, but does it have to be Phidippides? Or has Eudoxus learned too much by watching us? Blaine?"
"No, sir, trust me on this. She's starting from too far back. She hasn't been able to interpret anything pointed; she's still correcting egregious assumptions. At worst she might finally know what destroyed MacArthur. Is there a strong reason why they shouldn't know that?"
"I don't know. Let's just say we'll keep all our secrets until we have a reason to give them up."
"Sounds right, sir. And of course we confirmed that we know about the Warrior class. Pity, but at least there won't be any more of the 'harmless Moties' game they played on my father."
"Yeah. Warriors. Horace, if there's anything I don't know about Sinbad's defenses, tell me privately, before we jump."
"Yes. Eudoxus is becoming nervous, Kevin."
"Yeah. So she's worried that things are coming unraveled at the other end. That's probably not good for us. It means we can ask for concessions, though, because she won't have time to dicker. What do we want from Eudoxus?"
Bury's eyes half-closed. "Yes. If we knew—"
"Atropos calling," Buckman said. "They've got a second ship. Middie going aboard with a bomb. The first prize crew reports that an Engineer reworked the air system to give them air to breathe. All very cooperative. Rawtins has a third ship at the edge of detection range, but it's deep in the asteroids and decelerating. He's sure it's already too late."
"Tell him to leave it alone. Ladies and gentlemen, do we go? Yeah, Joyce, I know. Blaine?"
"Go."
"Horace?"
"Go, of course, but something must be done first."
"Name it."
"We need trade goods. Specifically the magic worm that we presume Glenda Ruth Blaine is bringing."
"Bury, we can't wait for that!" Renner said.
"I do not propose to. I do say that you must order the Navy not to hinder Miss Blaine when she arrives in this system. If she thinks it best to come to the Mote system— and she will, will she not, after your message to her, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, of course."
"Then the Navy must not prevent her."
"They're going to think it odd," Renner said. "A lord's daughter going into a combat zone. Okay, I can leave those orders. Anything else? . . . All right. Buckman, do we go?"
"Certainly. I can get a second view of a protostar in process of collapse! Maybe they'll let me leave instruments."
Kevin Renner nibbled his forefingers for a moment. "It'd be nice to refuel first . . . ah, well. Put Atropos through."
". . . Sir?"
"Rawlins, we're going through to Mote system. You're going first. How much fuel have you burned up?"
"I've got half a tank. Enough to get anywhere if we don't have to fight. Sir."
"We're expecting to be met by friends, but it's not certain at all. Battle stations. Prepare your ship, full sleep period included and I am dead serious, and then call me. Sinbad out." With his eyes closed Renner said, "Somebody check on dinner."
* * *
Will Rawlins turned to his executive officer. "General Quarters, Hank."
"Aye, aye." Horns sounded through Atropos. "What do you think we'll find?"
"God knows. Get me Balasingham, please. Maybe he'll have an idea."
"Not likely," Henry Parthenio said. "But what the hell. Here he is."
Balasingham was under three gravities and looked it. "Go ahead, Will."
"Sir, Captain Renner wants me to accompany him into the Mote system."
"Yeah. Have fun."
"You think it's a good idea, sir?"
"I haven't the faintest flipping notion of whether it's a good idea," Balasingham said. His voice came from deep in his chest as he fought the strain of high gravity. "What I do know is that he's the boss now."
"Yes, sir—a Reservist, pilot to an Imperial Trader . . ." Rawlins's tone said it all: the Navy did not like Traders and never had, and—
"Will, Captain Renner has been to the Mote. A long time ago, but he's been there, and that's more than I can say for anyone else we know. Now switch off your recorder and make sure we're secure. Got it? . . . Okay. Bury and Renner have been Navy Intelligence for a long time, and Bury comes to this system with the personal recommendation of Lord Roderick Blaine. Will, they're the best people we've got for this job."
"We-ell, all right, sir. Okay, I'm sending two Motie ships with prize crews to rendezvous with you at the exit point. They're under way now, so there's nothing keeping me. I'll take formation with Sinbad and the Motie ship Phidippides, and I reckon we'll be going through when I've done that. God knows when I'll be back."
"Right. Remember your first duty is to get the Word out. Godspeed."
"Thank you, sir. Sir, can we stop them?"
"God knows, Commander. You've seen some of the ships they've sent out of the Mote, and from all we know they've had decades to prepare for this. They could have a whole fleet of dreadnoughts just waiting for orders."
"Ugh. Yeah. Okay, here we go." Rawlins turned to his bridge crew. "Let's do it. Hank, get us into place to enter
Mote system. Phidippides, then Atropos, then Sinbad."
5
The Battle of Crazy Eddie's Sister
To delight in war is a merit in the soldier, a dangerous quality in the captain, and a positive crime in the statesman.
—George Santayana
A brown blur swept past his eyes, too close; came wobbling back, taking on definition. Arm, fingers; fingers searching, closing on his shoulder, a nose nearly touching his. "Kevin. Captain. We." Joyce Trujillo blinking, trying to work her mouth. "We're being shot. At."
Cameras had been pulled inside for the Jump. Through the viewport Kevin saw murky red light where he should have seen black. Enemy lasers must be bathing Sinbad's Langston Field. No hot spots.
"Yeah. Okay. Field's holding. You . . . recover quick . . . Joyce." Renner looked around. His head wanted to swivel too far. Buckman was cursing as he tried to get his fingers working, to poke a camera through the Field. Blaine's arms jerked as he tried to bring them to his instruments. Horace Bury was contemplating nirvana with vacant eyes and a trace of a smile
.
His doctors had finally got through to him. Stroke, heart failure, ulcers, ruined digestion, and you won't be through it a moment sooner. Don't fight Jump shock!
"Got prr. Probe," Buckman said. A picture appeared in Renner's monitor, and wobbled, and hunted, and found a green glare. "There. One ship using lasers only. Who's gunnery officer?"
"Me." Renner couldn't trust Blaine to kill. Navy trained, but raised by Mediators. Blaine wasn't functional anyway, not even as much as Trujillo. And Sinbad didn't have much for guns: a signaling laser that was several thousand times more powerful than it needed to be, good enough to keep armed merchantmen at bay, nowhere near enough power to be useful against real warships.
How hardened a target was the enemy ship? Would it be worth firing back? And where was Atropos? Sinbad had gone through last. It should be Rawlins's job to protect Sinbad.
The green glare wavered. Lost focus. Now it was a green point ringed in red, a yellow-white halo, glare green and expanding, an inflating violet sphere, poof, gone in seconds.
And with that enemy gone, the sky cleared.
It was a birthday-party sky, a black starfield full of colored balloons linked by bright strings. Sinbad had fallen into a battle. Ships must number in the hundreds. No telling how many sides, or who was who. But Sinbad's Field was murky red and darkening, shedding stored energy and no longer under attack.
"Buckman, get an antenna through that!"
"Done. We've got ships in all directions . . not so many toward the Mote . . . I think I see Atropos."
An orange blob, close, cooling . . . darkening to red, but not contracting. Definitely Atropos. The Moties' expanding Langston Field had revolutionized Empire warfare; but Atropos had been built for duty at the Eye, where an expanding Field only meant more surface area to absorb heat from the star.
"I have Atropos on the line."
The Gripping Hand Page 21
