The Starwolves s-1

by Thorarinn Gunnarsson

  "I see no reason why that would not be perfectly acceptable," she said in a surprisingly even voice. "Although I think that it would be something of a waste of her own abilities as a pack leader."

  "We had thought that it would only be temporary," Velmeran explained. "Once Keth's students are ready to fly, I thought that we might disassemble my pack to form two new ones, the other under Dveyella's leadership."

  "That sounds good to me," Valthyrra agreed, suppressing an uncharacteristic urge to giggle with hysterical relief. She glanced at the Commander.

  Mayelna shrugged. "Suits me."

  "So be it," Valthyrra declared with an air of finality. "You would be going out to hunt within the next few days."

  "We were the last to hunt," Velmeran cautiously pointed out. "Remember? We ended up the hunted."

  "With eight entire packs humbled, no one is going to complain," Valthyrra insisted. "And I want your children to make another run. Their confidence is high now, and I want them to hunt again before they lose that."

  "A good idea," Velmeran agreed. "By your leave, Dveyella and I would get down to serious business."

  "I would have thought that you had done that last night," Valthyrra remarked as the two young Starwolves left. Whether or not they heard her, Mayelna certainly did. She reached up to give the camera pod another swat.

  "I actually got my way," Valthyrra muttered after a long moment. "Just when I thought that I had screwed things up beyond any repair, I actually got my way."

  "Through no effort of your own," Mayelna added. She returned the monitor to hold and sat back wearily. "And I remind you that you have not had your way completely. I have not yet named him Commander-designate."

  "If you do not, I soon will." That was no threat, but a promise. "Why do you think Dveyella gave up special tactics to remain with him?"

  "To indulge her infatuation for my poor baby!" Mayelna replied hotiy.

  "She could have had him entirely to herself; he meant to go. He wanted to go," Valthyrra insisted. "This was her idea. She knows."

  "Whoever had the idea, I do approve of one aspect," Mayelna said. "At least Velmeran will live to see his first hundred years. And not come back crying because his beloved mate ran out of her own portion of luck."

  "Then we are actually in agreement?"

  "Well, partial agreement," she amended. "I do not approve of this business. Velmeran is simply too young. What is the point of love anyway. It can be among the worst of personal catastrophes, and yet people go looking for it like fools."

  "Command has turned you into the machine I never was. I would bet that you have never had a passionate thought in your entire life."

  "Oh?" Mayelna asked, glancing up. "Do you suppose that I got Velmeran out of ship's stores? Besides, he was not out looking for his fate. Love jumped him from behind."

  "It also seems to have done him a great deal of good, and I like the improvement."

  "Yes, I can tell the difference," Mayelna reluctantly admitted. "What do you suppose Consherra is doing?"

  "She is in her room crying."

  "I had always considered them a likely match," she mused, and turned to her monitor yet again. "It is Consherra's own fault. Actually, I do believe that I could like this Dveyella very well indeed."

  "Oh, indeed!" Valthyrra agreed.

  Mayelna frowned, realizing that she had quite forgotten what this report was even about, and quickly set it back to its beginning. Thirteen officers at their posts did their best to pretend that they lacked both good hearing and natural curiosity.

  "If it be love indeed, tell me how much," Valthyrra quoted softly. "There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd."

  Mayelna glanced up. "What?"

  "Shakespeare."

  Councilor Lake sat at his desk, bent over the long printout of some report, peering so closely at the print that his nose almost touched the page. Donalt Trace paused at the door, having seen that his uncle was not yet aware of him. He was suddenly impressed by just how old Jon Lake appeared after his return from the Union High Council. He was shrunken and frail, half-blind and more than half-deaf. Uncle Jon had not been a young man for as long as he could remember, and he was no longer all that young himself.

  Councilor Lake suddenly became aware of his presence and hastily put down the report, somewhat guilty for having been caught peering at it so closely. His vision had een artificially corrected as much as possible, and yet he stubbornly refused to wear his glasses.

  "Hello, Don! Do come in," he said jovially, indicating the chair in front of his desk. "I was just thinking about you. What brought you in?"

  "Oh, just sneaking around to see if you were asleep at your desk again," Trace teased.

  "Not this time," Lake said. "Have you been busy today?"

  "No, not really. You know how business is, waxing and waning like the three moons of Maldeken. In terms of that analogy, there are no moons tonight."

  "Maybe they just haven't risen yet," the Councilor said, pushing a report, still in its metal folder, across the table to him. "This should keep you busy. Your test ship arrived and is ready for fitting with bays for those new Tracer automatic fighters. They're sending her straight into airdock. Now what do you plan to do?"

  "What else can I do?" Trace asked. "We load these machines and send that freighter back out to run the lanes until someone takes the bait."

  Councilor Lake frowned. "I hate to think that our two young friends will be out there with those things."

  "So do I, but it can't be helped. The Rane Sector has been the Methryn's private hunting ground for a long time now. I want those missiles tested here, in this sector, where the two of us have absolute control over their use." He paused a moment, reading the report. "At least they have the launchers up to one hundred percent. Those things are too expensive to lose because they explode when launched in starflight."

  "When a twenty-two-ton missile converts its entire mass to energy, the term explosion is something of an understatement," Lake remarked dryly, then frowned as he glanced down at the papers that littered his desk. "I heard that you visited with our two young friends again this morning."

  Trace glanced up at him in surprise. He knew, better than anyone, that Jon Lake employed many spies, electronic and living, to watch the movements of his associates and underlings, but he had never suspected that he was a subject of such scrutiny.

  "What of it?" he asked casually.

  The elder Lake shrugged, as if it was an unimportant matter. "I can guess why you wanted to talk to them again, and I approve. Did I not invite them to dinner? But it did cause a bit of talk — not quite scandal — and Rik heard of both incidents. He thought it beneath our dignity to consort with Starwolves."

  "Oh? And what business is it of his?"

  "He will be the next High Councilor of this sector, and I will at least give him the courtesy of hearing his opinions before I tell him to shut up," Lake replied. "We're in this mess now because we spent too long pretending that our enemy didn't exist. Whether we win this war or lose, at least you and I have started something good."

  Trace glanced up at him, startled, "Lose? How can you even doubt?"

  "You may be right, but I still have hope," Councilor Lake teased, then stopped short, suddenly aware that his nephew took this all very seriously. Donalt Trace, so thoroughly trained — perhaps too well trained — in his belief in himself, his own kind and the rightness of his cause, could not even consider the possibility of his own failure.

  Or so he thought, although in truth Trace had been gnawing upon those same doubts since his final meeting with the two Starwolves hours before. He could admit to himself that Velmeran might be the better of the two. He even told himself that he could accept his defeats, so long as he could learn from them. There was room in his own mind for doubt, but it shattered his confidence entirely to hear his uncle express such doubts. He had never realized that so much of his own confidence depended upon his uncle's belief in him. Now he felt alone
, empty and afraid.

  Councilor Lake leaned back in his chair casually, his hands clasped behind his head. "Nothing has changed, really. You are still the only real hope we have of defeating Ihem, or I would not divert half the profits of Farstell Trade to building your weapons. But will it be enough? Don, you have to have the right weapons to defeat them, and the best that we can give you might not be enough. That has been our failing before, as much as bad leadership. You know the weapons you need, but can we make them for you?"

  "I can design weapons that you can build."

  "But you have no one to use them."

  Trace frowned. "I need Starwolves of my own. We can build fighters to match their own for speed and performance. But there is no mechanical brain that I can put inside the thing to make it fly as well as they can. To fight Starwolves, I need Starwolves. Fighting them would be easy enough on their level. But I work under such a handicap that I have to be ten times smarter than them to come out on top."

  "Which you cannot be every day. Lord, Don, if you could capture and keep a Starwolf like Velmeran or Dveyella, I would move worlds to see that a viable race is created from their genetic stock." The Councilor paused a moment to reflect, and shook his head sadly. "They just have too many advantages. Velmeran might be smarter than you are and beat you at chess a thousand different ways, but he was designed for that. But I sincerely doubt that anyone can be bred for wisdom and insight. That is where I hope you will prove superior."

  "And yet young Velmeran has more than his share of both wisdom and insight," Trace pointed out.

  "Yes, what is it about that boy that is so special? He surprised even me — and I thought I knew Starwolves better than to underestimate them. There was really nothing he said or did that impressed me so much as just that tremendous sense of presence he seems to radiate. I fear, Don, that you have met your match."

  "That remains to be seen," the Commander said coldly. "But I do know now just who my enemy is."

  "You did not fare so well against him last night," Lake reminded him.

  "I could have done no better against a computer, and I'm told that there is a portion of every Starwolf's brain that is very much like a computer in its functions. But real life is very different from a game of chess. For one thing, some of my best pieces are not on the board but hidden under the table where he can't see them. Surprise has always been our best weapon, and I know how to use it."

  "Just as long as you remember to play the game onl your terms and not on his. Unfortunately, someone like Velmeran is very likely to play the game by your rules and still win."

  "We will see," Trace said, rising swiftly to stand beside his chair. "I will take a look at that decoy ship."

  "You might wait a couple of hours yet. I told them to stay clear of the area until the Methryn leaves, which should be any time now."

  Trace shrugged. "Good enough. I have enough to do up at the station to keep me busy until they get in. I hope Rik sent me a decent ship."

  "One of his best. Medium bulk freighter, and only five years old."

  "Good! Send him my thanks."

  "All right. Stay out of trouble," Councilor Lake called after him.

  Trace smiled to himself as he paused for the door to open. Trouble was the very thing he had in mind.

  The Methryn was barely an hour out of the Vinthran system when a rumor ran through her many decks like the echo of a meteor strike reverberating within her armored hull. Or, rather, a series of related rumors, and all of it surprising. Velmeran, it seemed, was going to stay. Dveyella had disbanded her own pack to stay with him — an occurrence that had caused Consherra, the normally reserved and capable second in command, to abandon her post while on duty. And, strangest of all, they had dined, by private invitation, with personages of no less import than Councilor Lake and the Sector Commander.

  Valthyrra Methryn did not believe that she should be made to endure confusion or be forced to assemble what she could of the story from bits and pieces. She considered that an accounting of that evening with Councilor Lake was very much her business, and she sent a probe, the most formidable of her remotes, to Velmeran's cabin to demand, entice or beg an explanation. As it turned out, she had no need to worry. While Velmeran and Dveyella were not willing to discuss such matters with the rest of the crew, they were willing to tell her anything she wanted to know about the time they had spent with Councilor Lake and his nephew. And since they had each committed most of those two conversations to selective recall, they were able to report to the very words.

  For the most part, Velmeran related the story himself, since most of the two conversations had been directed at him. He sat, together with Dveyella, in the two large chairs in his cabin. Valthyrra's probe was perched precariously atop Velmeran's desk, so that its relatively short neck could place its camera pod on a level with the others. Velmeran was not entirely pleased to have her there, since the desk was of real wood, purchased on port leave months earlier, and the probe weighed over an eighth of a ton.

  The probe's camera pod looked thoughtful. "What I wonder is if this was something Lake has been calculating for some time or if it was just spur-of-the-moment, because he was so impressed with the two of you and, as Dveyella so eloquently phrases it, well into his cups."

  "Do you suppose that he might regret what he did and warn the Sector Commander?" Dveyella asked, then paused. "No, he cannot do that, can he?"

  Valthyrra laughed. "I do not see how he can possibly explain that he told all the Union's best secrets to Starwolves over dinner. For better or worse, he cannot change what he has done."

  "But do you think that he did tell us the truth?" Velmeran asked.

  "Yes, I believe that he was completely honest with you — as far as he knew," she answered thoughtfully. "As I indicated before, I think that he is mistaken on a few points. But after careful thought, I believe that I now understand his motives a little better."

  "How is that?"

  "Councilor Lake is interested in saving as much as he can of many things: his race, his civilization and the wealth and power of the sector families. Yes, they will fight only so far and sue for peace, making the best deal they can in the process. Dethroned emperors of worlds, they would at least live on as merchant princes."

  "Councilor Lake will not be there to negotiate that surrender," Dveyella pointed out.

  "True, but he has trained his replacement well. It is a shame that the younger Lake — Richart, I believe — could not have been there as well." Her camera pod made some ambiguous gesture that might have been anything from a symbolic appeal to fate to a helpless shrug. "You, Velmeran, will live to see an end to this war. Perhaps you will even win it for us."

  "What about the prophecy?" Dveyella asked suddenly.

  Valthyrra's camera pod regarded her with a decidedly wide-eyed stare. "In my experience, there is no such thing as prophecy. Just educated guesses, wild guesses and things that never come to pass."

  "And which do you suppose this to be?"

  "This is the case of an educated guess," she explained. "We want the Vardon's memory cell in the hope that it will show us the way to lost Terra. Have you ever wondered how that was supposed to win the war for us?"

  "How?"

  "Because Terra holds the original Home Base of the Kelvessan Fleet. Terra and her moon have the construction docks and support factories for the assembly of Starwolf carriers — ships so technically advanced that they make me look like an antiquated hulk. Can you not see how the possession of such ships could win this war for us?"

  "Yes, if there were crews for them," Velmeran said.

  "Our ships operate at only a fraction of their fighter capacity now."

  "Because that is all we have been able to use for some time now," Valthyrra said. "Five thousand years ago your race was in danger of dying out. At that time there were only eighteen thousand Kelvessan divided between twenty carriers and one freighter. Now there are sixty thousand divided between twenty-seven ships. And, as you sh
ip-born ones are inclined to forget, there are now five and a half million Kelvessan who do not call themselves Starwolves but live in our stations and on human worlds. We can recruit a few shiploads of pilots and crewmembers from their numbers. And the rest are surely ready for a world of their own."

  The idea obviously appealed to Velmeran, who smiled broadly. "Just imagine, the cradle of human civilization becoming the home world of the Kelvessan. But where would we live? There are few portions of the planet that we would find comfortable."

  "Yes, there is that," Dveyella agreed. "And I wonder if there is anything left. We have no idea what forced the evacuation of the planet."

  "Well, we will have to see," Valthyrra said. "We have to find it first. And for that, someone has to go after the Vardon's memory cell."

  Velmeran was so deep in his own thoughts that he did not notice both Valthyrra and Dveyella staring at him expectantly. Although his qualities as a leader were beginning to manifest themselves quickly, he was still very much a child in one respect. Although he could make decisions in a hurry in an emergency, he still waited for his elders to initiate any spontaneous action. Since he did not comment on this idea, there was no way to tell what he thought about it. Valthyrra realized that the time had not yet come.

  "I also wonder about these new weapons," Velmeran said after a long moment. "I wish that we did not have to just wait until those weapons are used against us."

  "If we had some idea of what those weapons are or where they are being built and tested, we could strike first," Valthyrra agreed. "Once we know what a weapon is, we are always able to neutralize it or guard against it. That is why all this talk of new, secret weapons does not worry me greatly. Those weapons tend to work well, if at all, only the first time they are used. Also the Union is in a constant cycle of forgetting and reinventing technology, so that they seldom come up with anything we have never seen before. You say that these are designs that Commander Trace himself worked out?"