Soldiers

by John Dalmas

  Quanshuk's mind elaborated what his eyes could not: glowing red hull-metal puddling where a beam was locked, flowing and spattering away from the contact. Breached hulls, exploding, imploding. Torpedo salvos bursting on shields, disrupting some, blowing their generators. Where this happened, beams might find the hull for a coup de grace. Then he was at his command station, jabbing keys, eyes snatching data from the thirty-inch station monitor. A diagram popped on, summarizing the firefight as it proceeded. Seemingly the attackers had not been picked up at once, for even as the sequence began, they'd reached substantial speeds from the standstill of warpspace emergence, and already had shields up.

  The Grand Fleet's shipsminds were entirely in charge, coordinated so far as possible by the command shipsmind aboard Meadowlands. Once alerted, its response had been instantaneous, a reflex. The bridge watch could only try to catch up. Quanshuk's fingers stabbed keys, slid magnification tabs, his mind clearer and sharper than it had been for years, free of fear, anxiety and blame, watching patterns unfold in the action. Enemy fire control and coordination was superb. Almost solely they targeted fighting ships, the beams from several converging not only on one, but on the same part of its shield. Each battle group moved and fought as a vee through and out of its own sector of armada space, leaving a corridor of destruction.

  A few of the ships destroyed or left derelict were attackers, but his battle formations were too incomplete for successful fire coordination. At twenty-eight seconds a few enemy shields thinned, then more in quick succession, to disappear before their ships blinked out of sight into warpspace. And somehow in their moment of vulnerability, few were found by beams. Then there was peace, marred by glowing broken hulls.

  Quanshuk's brief battle high dissolved into shock. With an almost insolent dispassion, shipsmind informed him that the encounter had lasted thirty-four seconds, and presented him with a fleet losses report. Four battleships and eleven cruisers… Enemy losses, one battleship and three cruisers… The admiral stared blankly.

  Then the next wave hit, as unexpectedly as the first. Alarm horns squalled. The Meadowlands was jarred by another salvo of torpedos. Again the lights flickered, and for a moment the bridge was lit only by the monitors, before the lights came back at half strength. This new wave accelerated impossibly, in randomized zigzags despite their momentum, while their bright war beams reached far forward. The admiral and bridge crew could do little but watch the monitors. Again the attackers' fire coordination was excellent. And far ahead, what seemed to be the first wave had emerged again from warpspace, sweeping through the still-mustering Fourth Battle Wing.

  The second wave disappeared more quickly than the first. Then the reemerged first wave winked out again. Quanshuk sat dazed but upright, waiting for shipsmind to report losses. Even as the numbers appeared, shipsvoice reported new incursions, elsewhere within the armada. The admiral hardly reacted, leaving the battle to shipsmind.

  ***

  Ophelia Kennah guided Charley Gordon off the bridge and into the corridor, Alvaro Soong following. With F-space and the Wyzhnyny left behind, shipsmind, along with Soong's operations officer and the ship's captain, could tend shop very nicely. Soong would stay with Charley until the savant had settled down. Then, if Charley was in shape to channel, he'd report to War House.

  In the corridor, Charley couldn't restrain himself. "Oh, Admiral," he said, "it was… marvelous! I am absolutely wired! Wired!" He paused just a second. "You do know the term, sir? It dates from the first drug era, before the Troubles, and means intensely exhilarated. I have never felt like this before!" He laughed. "Did you hear that, Admiral? Laughter from a bottle! I'm like Ebenezer Scrooge, after awakening on Christmas morning! Like a drunken man! Isn't that remarkable? Even though I was just instrumental in destroying the biological housings of thousands of souls, sending them back to central casting, so to speak. And feel no guilt! No guilt at all! Isn't that remarkable? Oh! I'm even repeating myself! I don't usually do that. Do I, dear Ophelia? I don't think I do.

  "And, Admiral, do you know why I feel no guilt? Because it is part of the great dance. Part of the great learning. And because… We may have just saved the human species! The vectors are distinctly encouraging now!" His voice lowered conspiratorially. "They are. We have not won yet, but we have crossed a watershed, believe me."

  Charley fell silent then, and it seemed to Soong he should reply, at least acknowledge Charley's words. "I believe you, Charley," he found himself saying. "You did marvelously well."

  They were at Charley's door before the savant spoke again. He was no longer wired. "How many enemy ships did we destroy, Admiral?" he asked.

  "I don't recall. A lot more than we lost." Soong opened the door for Kennah, who guided Charley into their suite.

  "Admiral, I am suddenly very tired," Charley said. "I'm not sure I can channel just now."

  "That's fine, Charley. Take a nap. As long as you'd like. War House knows in general how the fighting went. I'll have one of the point ships let them know that you were the battle master, and that you need to rest now. I'll debrief to them later."

  "Thank you, sir." Charley almost slurred the words. "Ophelia, dear, I think two hours will do. Two hours."

  "Fine, Charley. Two hours."

  Charley's sensor lights dimmed out.

  "He's asleep now, Admiral," she said quietly. "I'll call you. Or if there is a need, you call me."

  She paused, tipping her head to one side, then added: "I would not worry, Admiral, about Charley's stamina. I have never seen him unable to continue channeling. It is after he finishes that he-sometimes sags. I believe he could have conducted the battle as long as necessary, but once he disconnects, he must rest."

  Soong nodded. "Thank you, Kennah," he said, then left. She'd looked and sounded tired herself. I wonder, he thought, if she doesn't somehow lend energy to Charley when he needs it.

  ***

  Afterward, Alvaro Soong himself felt emotionally drained, and lay down intending to nap. But found himself reviewing, instead, sorting material for his debrief. His Provos' losses had been heaviest during the brief moments of shield decay, before strange-space could be generated. All told he'd lost five battleships out of twenty-five, twelve cruisers out of seventy-five, nine corvettes out of fifty. And only eleven maces out of sixty, despite high-risk assignments; they were hard to hit, and those with layered shields, hard to kill. War House would make something of that.

  He also had good figures on Wyzhnyny losses, give or take a very few. Fourteen battleships, forty-two ships seemingly equivalent to cruisers, and thirty-seven others he'd lumped in his mind as miscellaneous. Proportionately his own losses had been far heavier than the Wyzhnyny's. But by the time he reached rendezvous, in the fringe of the Dinebikeyah System, the new battle units waiting to join him would more than make up his losses. Much more.

  The Wyzhnyny, by contrast, would get no replacements. Well, in a sense they would, because most of their warfleet hadn't actually been engaged in this fight. Call them on-site reserves; not potential future reinforcements like his own.

  At any rate, his Provos, including Charley, had carried out their mission: they'd learned a lot about the Wyzhnyny and done "substantive damage." The flip side of that being, the Wyzhnyny had learned a lot about his Provos. He'd hardly catch them so unprepared again.

  Tomorrow he and Charley would start work on how Charley might control a fleet several times as large as he'd managed today. With a sigh, Soong sat up. He really should nap on the battle experience, before debriefing to War House. Which meant stilling the thoughts that swirled in his consciousness. Buzzing sickbay, he arranged for a potent sleeping pill, then buzzed Ophelia Kennah. Let Charley sleep as long as he needed, he told her. A few extra hours shouldn't seriously dislocate War House.

  Chapter 46

  Wyzhnyny Addendum

  Grand Admiral Quanshuk had gathered himself sufficiently to lead Rear Admiral Tualurog and Chief Scholar Qonits to his quarters. As always, his orderly
had made the bed, cleared and washed the counter, put things away… Only his desk was as it had been, the orderly being forbidden to touch it.

  The three high-ranking Wyzhnyny stepped inside. Quanshuk closed the door behind them, then went to his desk and triggered the recording system, before stepping to his small bar. "Admiral Tualurog, what is your pleasure?"

  The rear admiral named it, a product unadorned with flavorings. A fighting man's taste. Quanshuk poured two of them, the second for himself, then looked at Qonits. "The usual?"

  "If you please, Grand Admiral."

  Quanshuk poured him a non-alcoholic beverage. "We have finally met resistance," he said, "and I did not much care for it. They stung us sorely. But we have learned from it." He drummed clawed fingertips on the bartop.

  Tualurog grunted. "The humans are cowards, afraid to stand and fight."

  "It served them well," Qonits said offhandedly. "In ancient times our ancestors used hit-and-run attacks. It enabled them to survive, and eventually prevail."

  Tualurog scowled. In his opinion, Quanshuk greatly overrated his chief scholar. Qonits is high aristocracy, he told himself, and Quanshuk, being a snob, gives his words too much weight. Back in the empire, scholars were listened to for their knowledge, not their advice. But here the empire was beyond reach, and they were in the process of establishing a new empire. Which needed to maintain the integrity and honor that had made the old one great. In time it might prove necessary to take steps.

  Quanshuk sipped, then sipped again. "What have we learned today, Tualurog?" he asked.

  "One, that we must take nothing for granted. The enemy may strike when least expected. Two, in the future we must emerge and muster well out in the cometary cloud. At a distance from which our emergence waves will be too attenuated to read from the planets. Allowing us to form battle formations without disturbance. And three, we must take and hold the initiative whenever we detect the enemy."

  Quanshuk nodded. "The first is self-evident. The second will slow our progress severely, but I will keep it in mind. As for the third-prepare a list of specific measures to be taken. In doing so, assume we will continue to re-form in the inner fringe. And let me know of any troublesome aspects that arise."

  He turned to Qonits. "What do you have to say, Chief Scholar?"

  Qonits bowed, bending forelegs and torso. "Grand Admiral, we need to review and revise our tactics in general. In past wars, fleets have tended to meet in close combat, sometimes no more than a mile apart, to pour war beams and torpedos at each other until one breaks. But it seems the humans do not fight that way."

  Quanshuk's lids half closed, hooding his yellow eyes. "That is not necessarily so," he said. "This time we met only a small force. Their version of skirmishers perhaps, sent to test us. When we meet their main force, its situation and tactics may be different."

  He paused, sipping again, not voicing the rest of his thought: that when they met next, the humans might have the advantage of numbers. So vast an empire! Then it would be to the humans' advantage to stand and slug.

  "Nonetheless," he continued, "you are right. We must review our tactics, and be prepared to counter such hit-and-run attacks. Or use them if we are ever at a numerical disadvantage."

  He looked at Tualurog. "Admiral, I leave it to you, to you and shipsmind, to review our tactics and recommend changes. I also want procedures for reorganizing formations more quickly after emergence. We need to provide a better-coordinated response." He turned back to Qonits then. "Chief Scholar, I want you to rethink everything we do. And have shipsmind make a complete analysis of human psychology, in the light of their language, and of their tactics to date."

  A sigh hissed from the grand admiral's lipless mouth. "And now," he said, "you are both dismissed."

  ***

  The two Wyzhnyny nobles ignored each other as they left. Analyze human psychology! Tualurog thought. What idiocy! We need to kill them, not analyze them.

  Analyze them, thought Qonits. I should have done that earlier. In fact, he realized, he had analyzed them to a degree, in conjunction with improving the translation program. But today had made it much more urgent.

  ***

  David and Yukiko had been anticipating Qonits' arrival-his or someone's. Earlier they'd jumped half out of their skins at the battle alarm, and twice swallowed their hearts when the Wyzhnyny flagship had been jarred by torpedo strikes. Meanwhile, the apparent firefight might have changed their situation. They might not be as well treated after this.

  But Qonits knocked and identified himself as usual. "Come in!" they called, almost in unison.

  Had Qonits been better able to read the nuances in human voices, he might have recognized relief. He entered, his bodyguards with blasters at port arms. So far, so good, David thought. To his eyes, Qonits seemed normal.

  "Good day, humans," said the chief scholar. It had become his usual greeting. "I am sure you noticed the-uproar? The uproar earlier."

  "It would have been impossible not to," David answered. "What happened?"

  "Can you not guess?"

  "There must have been a fight. Between your fleet and some of our warships. It was to be expected." Actually, only when it happened had he and Yukiko realized how little they'd expected it.

  "What do you know about your people's warships?" Qonits asked.

  This time Yukiko answered. "Very little. We are not of the soldier or spacer classes. Perhaps captives from one of them could tell you something."

  "But you know about ships."

  "Not warships," David said. "Not weapon systems."

  Probably, Qonits told himself, they actually are poorly informed on warfare. They'd have some general knowledge of it, but clearly they were not of the warrior gender. Or "class" as they called it. He could not imagine people like these carrying out so daring and fierce an attack. I may know more about their warships and tactics than they do.

  "You didn't tell us whether we were right," Yukiko put in. "Was it a small fight? It didn't seem long enough to be a full-scale battle."

  "Quite small. Your people fought well, but there were far too few of them."

  "Ah." David nodded thoughtfully. "A scout group, feeling you out."

  "Feeling out? What is feeling out?" Qonits thought he understood, but preferred not to make assumptions.

  "To feel out is to test. See how you respond; how easy you'll be, or how difficult."

  Yukiko nodded. "If they learned enough this time, maybe next time they'll launch a fleet attack."

  David looked around nervously. "Maybe it will come soon. Maybe the main fleet is nearby."

  "Or perhaps… " Yukiko began, then stopped.

  "Continue."

  "Perhaps they plan to contest your conquest of this system. I suppose you were in F-space during the fight. So you must have been in some star system."

  "Yes, we were, we are, in F-space. But your ships have fled away. Those not destroyed."

  "Perhaps the next system then," David suggested absently.

  Qonits frowned. "Your rulers-" he said thoughtfully. "Are they elected by all the nobles? Or only by the high nobles?"

  Yukiko actually laughed. "Neither," she said. "They're elected by all adults."

  Loosely speaking, it was true.

  ***

  Qonits didn't stay long, and left thoughtfully.

  Chapter 47

  Battlefield Proxies

  Paddy Davies' corner office was too small for a quorum meeting of the Peace Council. So the utility room, used for coffee breaks, all-hands briefings, etc., had been cleaned up. Thermal coffee mugs had been set at twelve places, while cookies and assorted raw veggies occupied trays and bowls.

  The council members were from several continents, and usually convened via the Ether. But not this time. Gunther Genovesi, the Peace Front's attorney, treasury secretary, and sometime emergency financier, had called for this meeting, insisting it be live. And the entire suite boasted effective anti-snooping equipment. So the complete council w
as there except for Francesca Yoshinori, currently being held without bond on weapons charges, in Concepcion, in the Chilean Autonomy. Her proxy on the council was Yolanda Guzman.

  Jaromir Horvath rapped the gavel plate. "Gunther asked for this meeting," Horvath said, "so I'll turn it over to him." He paused, then added drily, "He didn't confide in me, beyond telling me it has to do with membership and finances." Laying the gavel down, he turned to the heavy, Levantine-looking man to his left, the one council member who was truly wealthy. "The chair is yours, Gunther."

  Genovesi stood, and got down to business without acknowledging Horvath's comments. "I asked for this meeting for three reasons. First, you're aware that over the past eleven months, our membership has declined by eighteen percent. The reduction in income is troublesome, but even more troublesome is the weakening of leverage caused by our decline. Not that we've publicized it, but none of you is naive enough to suppose the government doesn't know.

  "Second, and much more important, we've had no significant effect on the war plans of this government. We need to discuss changes in strategy. New ideas.

  "And third-" Finally he looked at Horvath. "Third, we need a change of leadership. Yaro, you are the chairman and cofounder of the Peace Front, and more to the point, you've been our chief theorist and strategist. But when an organization needs to grow-in size, influence and results-and instead shrinks… " Genovesi shrugged. "It's time to change leaders."

  He scanned the men and women sitting around the long table. No one shook their head, not even Horvath, who hadn't changed expression. "I will not," Genovesi continued, "propose someone for the chairmanship yet. But keep the matter in mind while we discuss this lamentable decline. This failure."