“Is there somewhere we can speak in private and discuss options?” he asked. “My operations officer”—he gestured to Connor—“has spent some time going over the data that Catalan sent us, and we may have some options we hadn’t realized before.”
“I have had a space prepared,” Sleeps-In-Sunlight said calmly. She clearly had been expecting something along these lines. “Come.”
Isaac and Connor fell in behind the alien empress—and he wondered if she realized that the reason they had options they hadn’t realized before was because Isaac Lestroud had every intention of exceeding the tech transfer he was authorized to give them.
Being married to the President covered many sins. Being right would hopefully cover the rest of them.
The last thing Isaac was expecting when he walked into a Vistan conference room was a holoprojector. A floating projected globe hung in the middle of the room, with icons representing everything from the planet’s diminutive moon to the four ships of his newly arrived task force.
Odd sounds accompanied it, a very specific series of echo-like chirps—what Catalan had said the locals called the datasong. The two Vistans in the room couldn’t see the hologram at all, but those chirps gave their echolocation the same illusion of its presence.
“I’m impressed by the hardware,” he told Sings and Sleeps. “Did you borrow one of our holoprojectors, or is this all home-built?”
“We realized we needed to be certain that both we and our allies were viewing the same data,” Sings-Over-Darkened-Waters explained. “We worked with your Lieutenant Commander Africano quite closely, but we built this ourselves.”
“I am amazed,” Isaac replied. “From no hologram technology to building a dual-output system in less than five months? If you had done nothing else since we met, First-Among-Singers, your people would amaze me.
“As it is, I’m not certain there are words. We never could have saved you on our own,” he reminded them. “Your people are saving themselves, Sings-Over-Darkened-Waters.”
“Perhaps, Admiral,” the Great High Mother cut in smoothly. “But remember that all of our efforts would have sufficed to evacuate perhaps a third of the people in orbit to habitats…and no one to safety beyond this system.
“We are at our strongest when we work together.”
Isaac nodded. That was his hope, as well. A billion extra hands could make a huge difference in the survival of both races.
“I agree. That was what I needed to talk to you about,” he told them. “There are many ways I can assist you, technology and systems I can provide you with schematics of that Catalan could not, but I need to know what you can do as a base.”
“We have begun the production of six more guardships,” Sleeps-Under-Sunlight said instantly, “and recommenced the mass production of the X-ray laser cartridges. With our current engines, it will be months before the target asteroids reach Vistan orbit, so workers have set up on them to begin drilling out the deep habitats.”
Vistan guardships were impressive, if crude. The partially hollowed-out asteroids suffered in the face of Matrix weaponry, but they were resilient ships nonetheless.
“We should be able to provide you with schematics of engines and acceleration-compensator systems that will accelerate that process,” he told her. “We also have systems that should make drilling out the spaces easier—it’s a modified version of our pulse guns.
“We will also provide you with schematics for the pulse guns. Surface batteries of those on the new guardships will dramatically augment your firepower and antimissile defenses.”
“They would, yes.”
If his two companions had been human, Isaac figured they would have been exchanging aside glances. As Vistans, he could hear just the edge of a very carefully projected conversation he couldn’t understand.
“There is a limit to how much industry we can put towards military hardware,” Sleeps-In-Sunlight finally told him. “And with everything your people have offered us, I begin to fear the price in the long term.”
“I understand,” Isaac said quietly. He was not, unlike many of the black crew and officers in his fleet, a descendant of African-Americans, the slaves hauled away to serve in plantations. He was the descendant of the people left behind, who had watched chiefs and warlords trade those slaves for guns and other technology.
That left scars on a culture, even as it moved out to a colony world like New Soweto, and no child of New Soweto wanted to be the colonizer in that story.
“I believe Catalan told you our reasons for rescuing you,” he continued. “Some of it is that we could not stand by and watch your people die. That’s probably the majority of it, truth be told, but it’s not what you fear. You fear that reason masks something else.”
He shook his head.
“And it does,” he confessed. “But even what it covers is straightforward, I think: we need an ally. We are four million souls tossed to the far end of beyond, two lifetimes’ journey from home with our fastest ships.
“We need your hands, yes, but we need the minds who built this”—he gestured to the combined holographic and audio projector—“and the courage of the people who stood against the Matrices with chemical rockets and bomb-pumped lasers! We need allies and friends, and yes, we need allies and friends who can stand shoulder-to-shoulder with us in the line of battle. So, it is in our interest to upgrade your technology, and it is in our interest to buy your goodwill, and it is in our interest to save your people.”
He swallowed, realizing he’d got a bit carried away as he glanced at Connor, who was very carefully saying nothing as his superior ranted.
“And goddammit, we are not willing to watch a billion people die and think, ‘Maybe we could have saved them, but it wasn’t worth it.’”
43
Connor waited until they were halfway back to Vigil aboard the shuttle before he raised the question Isaac had been waiting for.
“Sir,” he said carefully, clearly not sure how to phrase it. “Do we have the authority to give them that much?”
The real question was “Do you,” Isaac knew, but the attempt to spread the responsibility was appreciated.
“Catalan did,” Isaac finally said. “He had a blank check to do whatever was necessary to save the Vistans. Of course, he succeeded, and the intentional limiter on how much he could hand over was what they could quickly produce.”
“You promised them manufacturing technology,” Connor pointed out.
“Which we originally presumed that they couldn’t manufacture in time,” Isaac agreed. “You’re my operations officer. You saw the brief on what I wasn’t supposed to give them.”
He smiled.
“How badly do you think I broke it?”
The shuttle compartment was quiet for a good minute.
“We weren’t supposed to offer them autofabrication tech,” Connor said slowly. “I’m pretty sure grasers were off the list, and we were supposed to provide last-generation pulse guns. I know the particle cannons weren’t supposed to be on list.”
“That one is at least limited by exotic-matter production,” Isaac told his operations officer. “A lot of what we’re giving them is, and we’re only giving them the particle-accelerator production system.
“But yes, I am exceeding my brief and my authority. Going to turn me in to my wife?”
“No, but I’m worried about the long-term consequences,” Connor admitted. “Everything we’re handing them…we’re bringing them up to being able to build real warships, sir. All of that tech is going to go to Refuge with them.”
“I’m counting on it,” Isaac agreed. “I need them to back us up when we fight the Matrices here in Hearthfire, and when we start trying to clear safe zones around our worlds, we’re going to need Vistan-crewed ships backing us up.
“We’re not going to get those crews and those ships by treating them like beggars or children. We’re going to get them by bringing them up to our level without demanding their service. We hav
e a choice, Aloysius.
“We can help these people now, give them a helping hand and ask only for their friendship—and in so doing, gain allies who will stand with us to the gates of hell—or we can force them to sell their future to us to survive, turning them into thralls from whom we demand payment in bodies and blood.”
Isaac looked at his pale, redheaded subordinate and shook his head as he considered how differently New Soweto’s schools taught history compared to most of the Confederacy.
“I will not turn an entire race into slaves,” he said quietly. “Most of the Cabinet wouldn’t either. They’re not thinking in those terms—they’re thinking of protecting Exilium. And there are things I’m holding back, advantages they won’t have…but we need these people to be our friends, not our slaves.”
“I can see that, sir,” Connor agreed slowly. “I guess the question then becomes When do we admit what we’re doing to the Cabinet?”
Isaac chuckled.
“The moment they ask, Commander,” he told Connor. “We hide nothing…but we don’t tell them until they ask.
“And if they don’t ask until after the Vistans commission their first warp-capable cruisers?” Isaac shrugged. “My wife will forgive me…and much as I like the rest of them, the only other person who will care is the next President.”
And if that turned out to be Emilia Nyong’o, well, she’d understand completely.
“For now, though, we’ll want to make sure we have everything coordinated with their production and ours,” he continued. “We’re not going to have the new guardships ready to even receive engines for weeks, but we can start mounting pulse guns on the remaining pair as soon as we have a design for the installation.”
That was the advantage of the fact that the guardships were basically asteroids with facilities either dug into the core or mounted on the exterior. If they designed a self-contained facility with a fusion plant and a set of pulse guns, they could install it on the existing guardships as soon as they built it.
They’d need the advantage. The Rogue Matrices were coming back, and while Isaac fully agreed with the effort to contact the Creator ship, he didn’t trust the Creators. Not yet.
Cameron Alstairs was waiting for Isaac when he disembarked onto Vigil, the battlecruiser’s Captain impeccably turned out in his black uniform. He saluted as the Admiral approached.
“Sir. I have the report you asked for,” he told Isaac.
“Which one is that?” the older man asked his subordinate. “I seem to recall a list of reports.”
“The one on our allies’ strength, mostly,” Alstairs replied calmly as he fell into step beside the Admiral.
“Summarize,” Isaac ordered. His next meeting could be held from anywhere, so he was heading to his office. It wasn’t like talking face-to-face with a Matrix remote changed anything, after all.
“There are two Vistan guardships left,” the Captain told him. “They’ve got munitions stockpiles for days, but with only eighty launchers, there’s only so much they can do.” He shrugged. “Their effective range is somewhat shorter than ours, but those bomb-pumped lasers stack up well against even the LPCs. They’re inferior to the spinal particle guns or the grasers, but they’re still worth deploying.”
“That’s good,” Isaac said. He’d known most of that, but it was valuable to know his flag Captain agreed with him. “We’re going to be helping them upgrade those two guardships and get six more online ASAP—adding pulse-gun batteries and engines based on our tech to them. I was relying on their main weapons being useful still.”
“If we’re upgrading their engines, we might get more bang for our buck with their bombers,” Alstairs said after a moment. “They’re up to just over two hundred and fifty of them, another fifteen hundred X-ray lasers for one round, but they can’t keep up with us.”
Isaac thought about it for a moment. He hadn’t even thought about the tiny bombers the Vistans had rolled out to increase their firepower.
“I’d ignored them,” he admitted. “I’m guessing I shouldn’t have?”
“They can’t contribute to a fight long-term, and even their crews think they’re suicide boats, but they can be more,” Alstairs told him. “We can refit all of them with gravity plates and our engines for the effort to upgrade one guardship, and with our engines, they might have the maneuverability to get out of the way after they fire.”
“Get the engineering teams on it,” Isaac ordered. “I’m not turning down any advantage, but I was focusing on getting more capital ships in the line for what’s coming. Speaking of, the Matrices?”
“Three combat platforms, four recon and security ships, twenty recon nodes,” the Captain reeled off. “Right now, their real use seems to be as blockers. Each of them can take a Rogue Matrix out of the fight, at least temporarily.”
“That’s been succeeding for longer than I expected it to,” Isaac replied. “Unless our robotic friends work out how to fire their guns at our robotic enemies, I think we need to count them out.”
“Given the projections I’m seeing on Matrix strength, we may need them to do something,” Alstairs pointed out. “Sixteen combat platforms?”
“Everything else is small change after that, isn’t it?” Isaac agreed softly, stopping at his office door. “The good news is that combat platforms seem to be consistent. We haven’t run into any that are more powerful than expected yet. They have no idea what we’ve brought to Hearthfire, and we have a pretty good concept of their entire line of battle.”
“What happens when they roll out something new?” his flag Captain asked.
Isaac grimaced.
“We kill that, too,” he said. “Whatever it takes. And you’re right—that will happen. I don’t know if one of the big regional computers can manage to do true research and development, but just building a bigger ship? I’m pretty sure they’ll manage that.”
Isaac got as far as opening the door to his office before the alarm cut through the corridor, a strobing red light and a harsh klaxon turning on as one. He and Alstairs looked down at their left arms simultaneously as their tattoo-comps buzzed a simultaneous alert.
“Multiple tachyon contacts,” Alstairs read aloud. “CIC is making it thirty-six ships.”
Their gazes met a second later as both of them finished reading the final note.
At least one unit significantly larger than known Rogue combat platforms.
“I hate being right,” the Captain finally said.
44
They weren’t ready.
Sings-Over-Darkened-Waters knew that they never would have been ready. There would always be more ships to upgrade or build, more people to evacuate, more work to do.
But her conversation with Captain Catalan’s Admiral had given her hope. They’d made plans, however tentative, to vastly upgrade her fleet to help make sure her people were safe. She could see a future time where they might have seen this fleet and felt that they could fight it.
Instead, she had two hundred–odd bombers and two guardships that couldn’t keep up with her allies and could barely contribute to the fight to come regardless.
“Order the Star-Choirs to battle readiness,” she said calmly as she strode into her command pool. “Get a shuttle ready to deliver the Great High Mother…”
“To where?” Sleeps-In-Sunlight asked as she entered the pool herself. “The surface is their primary objective. They will want to make sure there are no obstacles when they attempt to ‘Construct’ our world again.”
The Great High Mother’s chirps were the slow and steady metronome of a perfectly calm Vistan. Sings knew her own breathing wasn’t as calm, despite her skill at controlling her emotions.
Sleeps was half her age, but she’d been raised to rule. Some skills apparently came with that.
“Some of the habitats might be safe,” Sleeps-In-Sunlight continued when her words were unchallenged. “Some fraction of our people might survive. But it is fitting, I think, for me to stand here with you
, First-Among-Singers. I will share my people’s fate.”
“This ship must place itself between our people and the enemy,” Sings told her monarch. “We take the risk first, not alongside. If you die here, you may die for nothing.”
“Perhaps,” Sleeps conceded calmly. “But nonetheless, First-Among-Singers, this is my place today. We both know the weight of this battle will fall on the humans. We are observers in our own home.”
She gestured toward where the datasong told them there was an illusion of a world and its surrounding ships.
“There is nowhere better left to watch this than here, and I have my own suggestions—if you will hear them?”
Sings-Over-Darkened-Waters sighed and bowed her head.
“You are my Great Mother,” she told Sleeps. “If that is your wish. What are these suggestions?”
She did not wholly discount the other Vistan’s ideas, either. Sleeps-In-Sunlight had been born to be a politician, but that didn’t mean she was unintelligent.
“When Scorpion went to meet the Matrices, she took our bombers with her to deploy the laser cartridges,” Sleeps said. “Why, if the humans need our lasers, do they need the bombers?
“Wouldn’t, say, a tow cable of a dozen of the bomb cartridges be as easily towed as a bomber?” The monarch paused. “And isn’t that their storage state before we load them onto our guardships?”
Sings considered the younger Vistan’s suggestion for only moments before she turned to her Voice-Of-Choirs.
“Swimmer-Under-Sunlit-Skies,” she snapped. “How many cartridges do we have in a ready-to-load state for the guardships?”
The advantage to having lost most of the fleet was that what had once been a single full reload for eight gunships was four full reloads for two. They’d used up a good chunk of the extra munitions they’d held on hand, but the prepackaged sets had gone mostly untouched.
One of Sings-Over-Darkened-Waters’s guardships carried a full load of eight hundred X-ray laser cartridges. They’d kept them fully armed and had a full reload on standby. Even with the sets they’d used to reload after the last few battles, there were over three thousand cartridges already organized into neat chains of twenty.
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