by Chris Bunch
‘Worthy of consideration,’ Wolfe said. ‘Now, might you not wonder if our Fleets just happened to wander into these areas and were brought to battle because they were on the “approaches” to something very secret, something that perhaps even the forces assigned to defend them might not be informed of?’
‘Such as the planet of the Guardians?’ the Al’ar said. ‘You do not have enough data to make such an inference. ’
‘Here might be an additional piece of data. Can you find out what units were involved in any of these battles? ’
‘Perhaps.’ Taen’s fingers blurred once more. Time passed.
‘Unusual,’ he said finally. ‘I can find an order of battle for five of the earlier conflicts, but nothing on the later ones.’
‘I find it significant,’ Wolfe said, ‘that all records of units can be blanked from the files of a strategy computer. This is generally done only when a formation is involved in something most secret. Such as defending the Guardians.
‘Try to find out anything about any of those units, what we call the unit history, which is kept from day to day.’
‘Our military also had the custom. I shall try.’
Wolfe watched as Taen again manipulated the machine. Quite suddenly a diagonal bar slashed across the main screen, and Taen blanked away from his search.
‘The same cutout for security reasons as when we inquired about the Guardians?’ Wolfe asked.
‘Just so,’ Taen said.
‘Will you allow that as a second, possibly confirmatory bit of data?’
‘I shall.’
‘Might it not be interesting to return to our ship and make periodic jumps down that line, toward that point, to see what we might encounter?’
Taen turned from the ‘keyboard.’ His hood was fully flared. ‘You might have found the path, Joshua Wolfe. I hope your thinking bears fruit.’
‘Me, too. But let’s look up something else, as long as we’re up to our elbows in Al’ar secrets.’
‘I cannot believe your Command On High placed such a low secrecy value on this file.’
‘Why should they have?’ Taen said. ‘Now you are thinking like a Terran, not like an Al’ar.
‘This information needed no higher a classification than to prevent the casual reader from seeing it. Otherwise, it offered what our leaders thought was a valuable insight into the dishonorable nature of the enemy, something any battle commander might find valuable.’
‘I am sorry,’ Wolfe said. ‘I stand corrected. But this is in an older form of your language. I have trouble reading it. Would you give me its merits briefly?’
‘I shall. This is the summary of what occurred when a group of Terrans who called themselves Chitet secretly visited our civilization, about two hundred Earth-years ago.
‘They felt that they were predestined to rule the Universe and wished to form an alliance with the Al’ar to share this power with them.’
‘Did the Al’ar know the Chitet had attempted a coup against the Federation about a hundred years before that?’
‘They were informed of this by the leader of the expedition. They spent much time discussing the situation with the Chitet and were somewhat bewildered at just what secret powers my race was supposed to possess beyond the obvious, the known.
‘These Chitet were equally vague about just what they sought, but said that their projections of future history showed, once the unexpected appearance of the Al’ar was integrated, that nothing in their projection would be altered. Their role as Rulers-to-Be was still a given.’
‘What,’ Wolfe said in Terran, ‘was the response to that? Why didn’t your leaders accept their offer? They could always have double-crossed them later. The Al’ar,’ he said dryly, ‘weren’t exactly bound by human standards of fair play.’
‘The offer was not accepted, according to this file, for two reasons. The first was that our leaders had not finally determined that war between our races was inevitable. Perhaps that was foolish of them. The second reason is that all traitors are always unreliable. A blade that slips once in the hand and cuts its wielder will most likely turn once more.’
‘True. What happened then?’
‘The head of the Chitet expedition evinced the Terran emotion called anger, and said if the Al’ar did not change their minds, when the Chitet returned to the Federation they would announce they had discovered secret battle plans for the obliteration of humanity. It is sad, but of course no such plans existed at that time.’
‘Now that,’ Wolfe said, ‘was one of the dumbest-assed things I’ve ever heard of. Sit in the middle of the enemy and try blackmail. So that was why all seven of the ships were destroyed and their crews slotted. And these clowns call themselves the most logical folks who ever lived.’ He snorted amusement.
‘Of course,’ the Al’ar said. ‘I will make a side comment here. How can these Chitet be logical, if they, and I use your words, call themselves most logical?
‘Logic is a condition, an absolute. Can a Terran be a little bit alive? A little bit dead?’
‘You’ve never been to some of the bars I have on a Sunday night,’ Wolfe said in Terran. He switched back to Al’ar. ‘So all these years this must have been working at the Chitet. They valued the war, because they imagined that when it was won by the Terrans, they would be able to find this secret weapon, or whatever it was. And now they’re trying once more. What in the - what can they be seeking?’
‘Perhaps we should seek them out and ask them.’
‘Perhaps so.’ Wolfe looked thoughtful. ‘But we’ve got a line to follow first.’
EIGHT
The Grayle banked into the street and hovered as her port slid open. Taen and Wolfe doubled from the shelter of the subway entrance to the ramp and went up it, and the ship climbed away.
‘I was observed entering atmosphere,’ the ship reported. ‘A robot craft was launched to investigate, according to my sensors.’
‘Well, shame on you for getting sloppy. Will the bird, sorry, the craft come within observation range?’
‘Negative.’
‘Then don’t worry about it. Ship, when clear of atmosphere, assume the electronic characteristics of a Sorge-type vessel. I remember that as being in your repertoire. Let’s give the Federation patrollers some confusion if they pick us up.’
‘Understood. Request name.’
‘I guess it’d be subverting the purpose of a spyship to call yourself the Philby. Umm, you’re now the Harnack. I don’t think anyone will catch that.’
‘Understood.’
‘As soon as we’re able, blindjump us away from Sauros. You will be given the coordinates.’
‘Understood.’
Wolfe stretched hugely. ‘Taen, I want a shower, about two pounds of near-raw animal tissue, a decent glass of fermented grape juice, and ten straight hours of sleep. And I’ll kill anyone who gets between me and them.’
The ship answered: ‘My sensors report a ship within range. It has not yet detected us but will within seconds. I shall not be able to evade detection.’
‘I made a promise,’ Wolfe said. ‘I’ll keep it. Open all frequencies. Let’s see who I’m going to murder.’
Five minutes later the call came: ‘Unknown ship, unknown ship. Please cut your drive, and stand by for boarding and inspection.’
‘Son of a bitch,’ Wolfe swore. ‘The singer’s a little more polite, but I still don’t like the song.’
‘The Chitet,’ Taen said.
‘Yeah. I guess they’re running their own interdiction out here, as well as the Federation Navy. How many goddamned ships do they have, anyway? Ship, what are the characteristics of the craft?’
‘I would identify the ship in question as being a light corvette, Federation-built, Hamilton class. It has superior armament, but its performance capabilities when new were inferior to mine.’
‘Finally,’ Wolfe said. ‘Something we can just run away from.’
‘Perhaps,’ Taen said, ‘that may not
be the best idea?’
Wolfe looked skeptically at the Al’ar. ‘You will have to do some serious convincement to make me believe we should stand and fight a Hamilton-class corvette.’
‘I think we can devise a strategy for that.’
‘So what’s the purpose, besides general piss-off at being chased around so much?’
‘In battle,’ Taen said carefully, ‘sometimes a war leader can be distracted by the unexpected. Especially when it is aimed at himself and comes from nowhere.’
‘Hmm.’ Wolfe considered.
‘The corvette is broadcasting once more, with the same message,’ the Grayle said. ‘What should my reply be?’
‘Stand by,’ Wolfe said. ‘All right. Let’s start the ball rolling with your scheme. You can explain as we go.’
‘Unknown ship, unknown ship, cut your drive immediately. We are armed, and will launch missiles unless you obey our command instantly. This is your last warning.’
‘Now, this one I’m particularly proud of,’ Wolfe said. ‘Built her all by myself. Watch the third screen.’
He touched sensors, swung a mike down, touched other sensors. One screen showed the computer simulation of the approaching Chitet spacecraft.
The screen Wolfe had told Taen to watch cleared, and the image of a rather handsome woman appeared, wearing a Federation Naval uniform.
‘This is the Federation Monitor ship Harnack,’ Wolfe said, and the onscreen lips moved. ‘Who is attempting to contact this unit?’
Static blared, then:
‘This . . . this is the exploration ship Occam,’ the voice said, now sounding unsure of itself. ‘We are conducting an authorized control of the space around the planet Sauros. We request we be permitted to board and inspect your vessel.’
Wolfe touched sensors, and the woman onscreen frowned in anger.
‘I say again, this is the Federation naval vessel Harnack. How dare you order a Federation ship to do anything?’
‘Please stand by,’ the voice bleated. ‘I am summoning the captain.’
‘Occam, eh? Another goddamned logician.’ Wolfe grinned tightly, waited.
‘This is Captain Millet of the Occam. My watch officer reports that you are a Federation naval vessel. Is that correct?’
‘Affirm.’
‘Would you please transmit your recognition signal?’
‘We do not have such data,’ Taen said.
‘Neither do they. Spoofing people who want codes is easier than standing on your head in a zip-gee field. Ship, broadcast blue, green, blue-white colorbands.’
‘Understood. Transmission complete.’
There was dead air for a time, then:
‘Harnack, this is Occam. I do not understand your signal. That is not on the list of recognition signals we were provided. ’
‘Occam, this is Captain Dailey of the Harnack. I am thoroughly tired of this nonsense. By what right do you have to order any ship to stop anywhere at any time?’
‘I have my orders from my superiors.’ Now Millet’s voice was as uncertain as his subordinate’s. ‘It is my understanding that such a matter has already been arranged between our governments.’
‘This is Harnack.’ The woman appeared completely outraged. ‘Perhaps you are not aware of the function of a monitoring vessel. We operate directly under Federation High Command on matters of the most critical importance. I received no such information from my own superiors before undertaking my mission and doubt whether any such understanding exists.
‘Now, sir, I have orders for you. You will cut your drive and stand by. I have already sent a com reporting this absurd incident. I propose to board you and examine your papers. Any attempts to resist will be met with the appropriate response. Do you understand, sir?’
A long silence, then:
‘Message understood. We are obeying your instructions.’ Then, plaintively: ‘I am sure this matter will be settled to our mutual satisfaction.’
Again Wolfe smiled, a smile that was not at all humorous.
The watch officer waited nervously in the port. Beside him two other Chitet stood, hastily adjusting their best shipsuits.
He felt a hum of a shipdrive as the other ship closed with his, the clang as their ports met, sealed.
He stiffened to attention, determined to impress this martinet of a Federation captain before she could do his career any further damage.
The port opened, and utter horror burst out, impossibly thin and corpse-white, a nightmare that should no longer exist. The officer clawed for his pistol, fell dead with half his face blown away.
As the corpse fell, one of the other Chitet was killed where he stood; the second managed two steps and a gargling scream before he, too, died.
The Occam’s intercom chattered something as Wolfe cleared the lock. He wore a light Federation naval spacesuit, carried a pistol in one hand, a fighting knife in the other.
‘That way,’ he said, voice metallic through the suit’s external speaker. ‘To the bridge.’
A man looked around the port and ducked back as Wolfe fired, searing a hole in the bulkhead where he’d been. Joshua jumped to the passageway, sent three blaster bolts down it without looking, and ran in the direction he’d indicated.
There were five humans in quiet, plain-colored shipsuits on the bridge of the Occam. Four of them were still alive. The fifth lay sprawled across a nav table, blood from his slashed throat pooling on a starchart. The four had their hands in the air.
‘Come on, Millet,’ Wolfe shouted. ‘Tell them, or I blow the atmosphere unit.’
The captain hesitated, then keyed a mike. ‘All hands, all hands, this is the skipper. We have been attacked, and I have surrendered the ship. Do not offer any resistance. I repeat, do not offer any resistance.’
He looked at Wolfe, features invisible in the darkened faceplate. ‘What do I do next?’
‘All hands to Supply Hold Delta,’ Wolfe said. ‘Five minutes. If anybody shoots, we dump the air. Five minutes, we dump the air anyway.’
‘But - what does the Federation - why - how can -’ one of the other men on the bridge sputtered.
Wolfe sent a bolt shattering past his face in reply, and two screens on the control board fragmented. The man yelped and ducked.
‘No questions, no goddamn answers! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!’ Wolfe shouted, herding them toward the compartment hatchway.
They moved, stumbling, not looking where they were going, eyes returning again and again to the impossible form of the Al’ar, standing silent, gun ready.
‘So what did you do with the crew?’ Cormac asked.
‘We dumped them on . . . let’s say a certain world where they’ll be able to reach civilization in a week, maybe two. They had plenty of rations, two guns.’
‘You’re getting soft in your old age, Ghost Actual,’ Cormac said. ‘I can remember a time when -’
‘That’s what . . . someone else accused me of,’ Wolfe interrupted. ‘Guess that’s the price of being lovable. Besides, they saw - or think they saw - some things I’d like people to learn about in a while. I’m trying to complicate some lives with this one.’
Cormac snickered, turned serious. ‘Always wheels within wheels. Anyway, I can rig the ship the way you want it. I guess you’ll want me to do it myself, right?’
‘By preference. The only way three people can keep a secret is if two of them’re dead.’
‘All right,’ Cormac said. ‘You haven’t gotten that lovable. Just as a guesstimate, I suppose you want me to rig you up a deepspace HAHO rig as well?’
‘Just like the old days.’
‘Except with different enemies.’
Wolfe shrugged. ‘I never could tell the difference between folks who were trying to kill me. By the way. I need this stuff yesterday, and I mean yesterday.’
‘Of course. Like always. You know, I could drag things out,’ the shiprigger said. ‘Make sure you’re around for the wedding. I could use a best man.’
; ‘You’re getting married?’
‘Yeah.’ Cormac looked sheepish. ‘I’m old-fashioned.’
‘Not this time,’ Wolfe said, real regret in his voice. ‘I’m moving too fast to touch down.’
Cormac spread his hands. ‘I tried.’
The Grayle and the Occam, slaved together, lifted away from Malabar, reached their first jump point, disappeared.
‘Countdown to fifth jump,’ the ship announced.
Wolfe put the book down on his chest and waited.
Time, space moved around him, and the Grayle came out of N-space. His eyes returned to the book, read two paragraphs, then he tossed the volume, An Examination of the Relationship Among Ezra Pound, the Provençal Poets, and the Cygnus XII School of the Early 27th Century, in the general direction of the overflowing bookcase. It thudded down, the magnet in its spine holding it in place.
‘Now that,’ he said softly, ‘is easily the dullest goddamn book I’ve tried to read in ten years.’ He went down the passage and rapped at the door to Taen’s compartment.
‘Come on, you alien monster. Let’s see if you can break a few more of my bones.’
‘So now we are in the heart of the Federation. Probably farther than any other Al’ar not on a diplomatic mission ever achieved,’ Taen said.
‘We are. And you’ll be thrilled to note this section of space is wildly different, far more colorful and exciting than any other we have transited.’
‘Sarcasm once more.’
‘When I was a boy,’ Wolfe said, ‘I couldn’t wait until I made my first jump. Things were very glamorous in the romances, with ships hurtling past comets and planets and suns. I guess I thought it was like being on a bullet train at night, when you could look out and see the lights of the cities flash past. Then I found out that all you see is computer simulations unless you’re too damned close, and there’s nothing at all in N-space. More like the first time I rode the sea-train from Calais to New York, except there wasn’t even the ocean to stare at.’
