Shiva in Steel

by Fred Saberhagen

  After officially downgrading the original red alert through orange and all the way to yellow, in steps half an hour apart, Commander Normandy had turned over the watch to her adjutant and got in a much-needed six hours or so of slumber. After waking up and dealing with the routine chores she found awaiting her, she went looking for Harry.

  When both Harry's assigned room and his ship denied his presence, she was struck by another idea. She reached for a communicator, then changed her mind-she hadn't taken her daily walk as yet.

  Only gradually had the commander, once established at her battle-station console in the computer room, overcome her suspicions that the enemy's move in the direction of the civilian colony was simply a diversion, while the real blow would be aimed at Hyperborea.

  She had ordered a slight shifting in the deployment of the robotic pickets of the early warning array, so that the emphasis was more on defending the planetoid and its base.

  From the beginning to the end of the action, the Space Force people noted that the Home Guard ships of Good Intentions were dithering about ineffectually, neither attacking the enemy nor staying out of the enemy's sight. If the intruder was simply a berserker scout, as seemed to be the case, the defenders were behaving in the worst possible way-the enemy could tally up their numbers in perfect safety. Normandy changed her mind about making an all-out effort to mobilize the Home Guard as part of the new, improvised attack force.

  Commander Normandy hadn't had as much sleep as Harry following the skirmish, but she'd had a few hours. As a rule, that was about all she needed.

  She'd been vaguely hoping that today's scent in the corridors would be fresh pine again, but instead, the program had come up with oceanside salt air. One of these days, they were probably going to get a murmur of surf as background music.

  Somehow, she wasn't surprised, on reaching the lounge, to find the door already open and the music already playing. There was only one customer on hand at the moment. Guess who. The commander wondered whether to make an issue of his unauthorized tampering, then decided to let it pass. She probably ought to have canceled the alert entirely an hour ago. Raising her wrist communicator, she ordered Sadie to do so now.

  Standing erect beside his table, she announced: "I thought I might find you in here, Mr. Silver."

  "Call me Harry." He raised a half-empty glass in a deft salute. "Join me in a drink?"

  "Don't mind if I do." Claire turned to the waiter. "A nip of that pear brandy, if it's still available." As the machine glided away, she sat down opposite the civilian visitor. A quick look reassured her that he displayed no obvious signs of intoxication. No, she didn't think it was substance abuse that people had to worry about with Harry Silver. "Glad to have you aboard. I was hoping you'd volunteer. Drop in my office, and I'll have the paperwork ready to make it official."

  "Seemed like the thing to do. I suppose we have to fill out the paperwork?"

  "I'm afraid the Space Force insists."

  "No way I could possibly remain a civilian and still drive a ship for you?"

  The commander thought it over for ten seconds while turning around in her hand the small glass of pear brandy, clear as water, that had just arrived. "You'll be driving some kind of ship for Captain Marut, as part of his reconstituted task force. But I'll see what I can do, if you'll be happier that way. This qualifies as an emergency situation, and that gives me considerable latitude in how I do things. In your case, I think we can stretch a point. Captain Marut will have to have some input."

  "Thanks. You could make me a captain too, just to keep him out of my hair. Better yet, make me a commodore." Harry's face lit up suddenly, and he raised a finger for emphasis. "Best of all, bust him down to spacer third class!"

  "You're right, Mr. Silver, I could make you a captain. But I won't."

  "Oh well, it was worth a try. How is the conquering hero this morning?" Harry could see the destroyer out on the field, with a couple of maintenance robots fussing around it. "Is he happy with his victory?"

  "Certainly. Is there some reason why he shouldn't be?"

  "Not at all. A win is a win. I was just hoping it might make him feel a little less… suicidal in planning his next project."

  "You keep using that word, Mr. Silver, and I don't like it."

  "I don't either. In fact, it's one of my least-favorite words."

  In the aftermath of the skirmish, Normandy and Marut were both more firmly convinced than ever that a few key people were desperately needed to give their revised plan of ambushing Shiva any chance of success. In the time available, the only possible place to obtain such help was Good Intentions. Faced with this fact, Commander Normandy was having a difficult time deciding exactly what tone to take, what attitude, conciliatory or threatening, when next she appealed to the authorities and the people on that other world.

  She would have much preferred to manage with the people in her own command, or to get assistance from someplace other than Gee Eye. But neither of those choices was available.

  Harry, deadpan, said he didn't think he could be of much use to her in deciding matters of diplomacy, which had never been his strong point.

  Claire Normandy assured him that he didn't have to worry about being asked for his advice. She also took the opportunity to bring him up to date on the details of the successful extermination of a berserker scout.

  They were still in the middle of their discussion in the social room when Virtual Sadie's head popped up on a nearby stage, bringing Commander Normandy word that the mayor of Good Intentions, named Rosenkrantz-at least it sounded like that to Harry-was calling up to announce that he and his chief of public safety would shortly be arriving in low orbit around Hyperborea.

  "Sorry, Commander. But the mayor's very insistent this time. He says to tell you that he and Guildenstern are on their way for a short-range conference."

  The commander sighed. "What's he want, Sadie?"

  "He's bringing the volunteers who responded to your appeal. Says there are only six of them."

  "That's half a dozen more than I was afraid we'd get. Rosenkrantz is bringing them personally? Then he must want something else."

  "He's complaining again, ma'am."

  "Ye gods, what's he got to gripe about now? Pieces of berserker falling on his head?"

  "Did you say 'Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern'?" Harry interrupted, squinting.

  The commander shook her head at him, conveying the idea that he ought to keep his mouth shut for a minute. "Tell them to go away, Sadie… oh, hell, no, never mind. I'll take the call when they're ready." She shut Sadie off.

  Short-range conference'?" Harry asked. "With Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern? Did I hear right?"

  "You did. Their initials really are 'R' and 'G,' respectively. Their real names are almost unpronounceable for people of the most common linguistic backgrounds, and they realize this, and don't seem to care much what we call them. Up to a point, that is."

  "Do I take it that you don't get on with them all that well?"

  "If you take it that way, you won't be far wrong… as for the conference, we've done it a couple of times before. They park their ship in a low orbit, and we can chat without a time delay. But I don't have to accord them landing privileges, which would mean inspections and red tape. And as for getting along, R and G don't seem to get along with each other very well. In fact, I suspect the reason they're both here is because neither would trust the other to come alone."

  Soon an announcement came that the visitors were now in low orbit and had requested landing privileges. Commander Normandy coolly refused. "Unless you've come to volunteer. If you insist on landing, I'll assume you're here for that purpose and place you under military discipline."

  "You wouldn't dare!" The head of Mayor Rosenkrantz was bald on top, but sported a long, fierce black mustache.

  "In a limited sense, that's true, gentlemen. It wouldn't require any daring on my part at all."

  That gave them pause. "Your candor is refreshing," said Chi
ef Guildenstern at last. His broad face on holostage was choleric, almost matching the red shade of his close-cropped hair.

  "I'm glad you find it so. Now, what can I do for you?"

  When their dialogue with the commander got under way in earnest, it was soon obvious that the mayor and the chief of public safety of Gee Eye were united in demanding protection for their world against berserker attack. Both men held unshakably to the idea that the fundamental purpose of any Space Force installation must be to protect Galactic citizens in its immediate vicinity. Doubtless the pair had their political differences at home, but on this subject they sounded like identical twins.

  "We're not going home until we get some kind of guarantee of protection." That was the mayor speaking.

  "Then you'll be hanging in orbit for a long time. All I can guarantee is that I'll be doing my duty, and so will the people under my command."

  Now it was the chief's turn. "Well, what else could your duty be? I mean, no one here believes that story that you're just a weather station. Some of us think you've taken leave of your senses."

  "I don't see how that follows, Chief. We do have other assigned missions that we must accomplish."

  "And what are they?"

  "I can't discuss that now. In any case, the military situation is very complicated. Can we agree that I know that situation much better than you do? Can you agree to trust me?"

  "In what way?"

  "Let me borrow some of the ships of your Home Guard force."

  Both of Commander Normandy's interlocutors were already shaking their heads. On this point the pair needed no time at all to reach a consensus. The mayor said: "Sorry, Commander. All our ships are needed for home defense, and we can't see our way clear to sending any of them away. I don't think you would either, in our place."

  "And many of our crews would be reluctant to go."

  "I'm not asking any of your citizens to risk their lives aboard." Having been granted an opportunity to see the Gee Eye Home Guard in action, or at least trying to get itself into action, Normandy and Marut had already decided they didn't want them-but some of their ships would have been very welcome.

  Rosenkrantz could sound very statesmanlike. "The answer must be no. Our first priority is the defense of our own world. And for that, we need our own experienced people."

  "That's a disappointing decision, Mr. Mayor, and not a very wise one. Right now the most effective means you have of defending your home world is to give me all the help you can."

  "We're bringing you six volunteers, all of whom meet your stated qualifications." This was Guildenstern, with a faintly malicious smile. He put a little emphasis on the final words.

  "That's excellent, and we thank you. I've dispatched a shuttle to bring them down. Now, to return to the subject of my borrowing a couple of ships from your Home Guard-"

  "That's impossible!" Guildenstern had been getting redder and redder as the talk went on. But now he paused, and there were tones of mockery in his voice as he said: "But I've been given to understand that a large number of volunteers are actually on their way to your assistance, Commander."

  The commander was taken aback. "Really, Chief? From where?"

  "Why, from Good Intentions. They're even bringing their own fleet. In fact, I understand they've already dispatched a courier to you."

  That brought on a period of silence, during which Claire Normandy looked as puzzled as Harry, observing from slightly offstage, felt. Dispatched a courier? From a world distant by only an hour's travel in normal space? That conveyed a great sense of urgency, as it would mean saving only a very few minutes' time, at considerable expense. But no courier had yet arrived.

  Normandy asked: "Could you amplify that a little, please? You've brought me six volunteers on your ship-"

  "That's right."

  "But who are these others you just mentioned? You said that a fleet was coming?"

  "Well, that's what we hear. Probably their courier message will explain it all better than I possibly could."

  Mayor Rosenkrantz hadn't yet given up on his own agenda. Now his image on Commander Normandy's holostage pointed a finger at her. "These other missions you say you have to carry out, but refuse to talk about, are doubtless all very worthwhile. But-"

  "Yes, believe me, gentlemen, they are."

  "I hope you're not going to listen to that madman who calls himself an emperor."

  "Say again, please?" Claire seemed to have no idea what the man was talking about, though for Harry, a light had suddenly dawned.

  Guildenstern pressed on. "Commander, will you answer me one question?"

  "If I can."

  "What is the fundamental purpose of the Space Force?" No need for Claire to come up with an answer, he had one ready. "To protect the Galactic citizens who support it with their taxes, right?"

  "Mr. Mayor, we are an instrumentality of the Galactic Council. As such, I'm doing my best to protect all the settled worlds in-"

  Guildenstern was growing hoarse with anger. "The people here don't understand this call for volunteers, Commander. You are supposed to be protecting us. It's not up to us to fight for you."

  Normandy did her best to respond. Harry sat by, listening through all the futile arguments, sipping gently at his second drink, thinking that Claire doubtless needed it worse than he did. Of course, what the leaders from Gee Eye really wanted to hear from the Space Force was that they would be protected at all costs and had nothing at all to worry about, and no one with any concern for the truth could tell them that. Not even if Claire had had nothing else to do with all her people.

  The visitors' tone varied between threatening and pleading-they demanded to be told what was really going on. Had the enemy really been driven off? Yes. Was a bigger attack to be expected? No one knew.

  That Claire Normandy was simply telling them the truth did not seem to have occurred to them. That's right, she assured the Gee Eye leaders, this time it hadn't been a false alarm. If their own defense forces were trying to tell them that it was, it was time for them to have their military thoroughly overhauled. This intruder, or the force attacking Gee Eye, was assumed to have come from the berserker base at Summerland, for the simple reason that all other known enemy bases were much farther away.

  Normandy said: "I assume you'd like some help from me if and when the enemy does return?"

  There was a silence on the beam. Then the chief: "What are you saying, Commander? Are you saying that if we're attacked again, you'd withhold help?"

  "I'm saying that unless you give me all the help you can right now, I might not be here next time. This base might not be here. Don't bother asking me to explain that, because I won't. Just take my word for it."

  "I call that dirty blackmail!"

  "Call it what you like. But there it is. We. probably can't win the war by anything we do here or-or anywhere else-over the next couple of days. But we just might lose it if we fail."

  "Are you expecting another attack?"

  "I have just canceled our on-base alert. I have no specific information to suggest that a bigger attack is coming, and I can't guess any better than you can whether it really is."

  Guildenstern, with anger quivering in his voice, told her he hoped that she and the emperor would get along.

  "Can you explain that, please? I didn't understand. Who is this emperor you keep mentioning?"

  She had the distinct impression that both men at the other end of the beam were surprised at her ignorance. "Others can explain that better than we," said Mayor Rosenkrantz.

  As soon as the six volunteers had been transferred to a launch, the ship carrying Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern lifted out of orbit, their pilot announcing tersely that he was setting a course for home.

  "Thank you for coming, gentlemen," offered Commander Normandy politely. "We'll be in touch."

  "Good luck, Commander." Only the mayor voiced the wish; she got the impression that the chief of public safety was too angry at her to utter another word.


  When the heads of the people from Gee Eye had vanished from the holostage, Commander Normandy told Harry Silver:

  "It doesn't matter to them that we are not at all well equipped for planetary defense. Apart from our own little rock, that is."

  "Want me to talk to 'em next time?"

  "Thank you, no, Mr. Silver."

  "Call me Harry. Until I get my uniform on, at least."

  "We had better remain on business terms, Mr. Silver. Call me Commander Normandy. And speaking of your uniform, when are we going to take care of the paperwork?"

  Harry drew a deep breath, but before he was forced to answer that one, Adjutant Sadie's virtual head popped into existence on the stage.

  The words in which Sadie delivered her report were, as always, clear and concise, but this time they didn't seem to make much sense. A battered, obsolescent courier had just arrived within point-blank radio range of the base and had promptly transmitted a recorded clear-text message from an unknown man who said his name was Hector, claimed the rank of admiral, and declared himself to be speaking in the name of the emperor.

  "I hate to bother you with this right now, Commander, but-"

  "It's all right. Let me see the recording."

  When it came on, the commander began to watch it, with an eagerness that rapidly faded into bewilderment.

  The speaker on the recording appeared in a resplendent uniform and did indeed call himself Admiral Hector. The gist of what he had to say seemed to confirm what the leaders on Gee Eye had been saying, pledging what sounded like substantial support to the gallant people of the Space Force in their heroic mission.

  Nothing in the message gave any explanation of why the sender had considered it necessary to use a courier for in-system communication.

  A rumor sprang to life and spread through the base. Substantial help was soon going to arrive. Hope soared swiftly, at least among the more ingenuous. Ordinarily, the presence of an admiral could be taken as meaning that a real battle fleet was not far off.