To Challenge Heaven, page 23
“I am having difficulty seeing your reasoning. How exactly does allowing someone to sneak up on us maximize the herd’s potency?”
“Equipment that’s operating wears out and has to be replaced. That’s a net drain on resources. By not operating all the equipment, we save those resources, or find ourselves in a position to divert them to other beneficial ends, which maximizes our horkaraha.” She bobbed a shrug. “In the past, we always knew when someone had arrived because our outer surveillance systems detected the arriving ships’ phase-drive signatures. The phase-signature detectors couldn’t tell us anything about the ships which had made them, but it did warn us that someone was out there. When we received that notification, we had plenty of time to bring up our other, more sensitive systems to locate and, if necessary, deal with the intruders.”
“So what happened this time? Why didn’t we get the notification? Is the system broken?” Sherak’s coloration cooled from anger to the amber of frustration.
Lyralk swiveled an eye toward Segmar, who answered.
“No, First Minister, it isn’t broken; I checked.” His shading went to the maroon of confusion. “Nor do I know why we didn’t detect their arrival, since our phase-space sensors most definitely were up and online. I can only hypothesize that they’ve found some way to mask the energy-shedding effect of re-emergence into normal space.”
“And how is that possible?” the First Minister demanded.
“In that respect, Domynas, neither I nor any of my technicians can even begin to speculate.” Segmar’s hide was an odd mixture of maroon confusion, gray uneasiness, and embarrassed green. “Frankly, I find the ability to do that extraordinarily difficult to accept even as a purely intellectual possibility. Unfortunately, any conventional phase-drive signature would have been detected. Unless, of course, they dropped sublight at least half a standard light-year out. But then, at eighty percent of lightspeed, it would have taken them months to reach us. And—” he acknowledged less than happily “—we certainly should have detected the energy signatures their particle shields would have generated at that velocity.” He bobbed his torso in a gesture of perplexity. “Neither of those possibilities is anything I’d call remotely likely, First Minister. It’s just that my analysts can’t come up with any other workable hypotheses. Which means that however unlikely those explanations may be, one of them must be accurate.”
Sherak regarded him a bit balefully. And, little though she cared to admit it, a worm of worry gnawed deeper into the pit of her second belly as she contemplated what he’d just said. In the end, she decided, the second possibility—that the humans had simply made their phase-space translation beyond detection range and then crept in on Tairyon sublight—was by far the more likely. The phase-drive predated even the Hegemony. It had been a mature technology for almost 75,000 Standard Years! And these … “humans” were supposed to have come up with an entirely new version of it that no one else could even detect?
Ridiculous!
“That may explain how they got here,” she said out loud, “but it does nothing to explain how they’ve snuck up on us!”
“That also is something I have no answer for, but one thing I am sure of is that there are ways to get around whatever cloaking effect they’re using to hide their ship. Now that we’re aware of their presence, we can look for stars that are suddenly occluded, for example. No matter how good the cloaking, if they come between our sensors and another star—even another planet, here in Tairyon—it has to interrupt our observation of that star or planet. We’d see that if we were looking. Also, they must have some sort of electromagnetic and waste heat signatures that we can look for.”
“If we haven’t already seen it, what makes you think you can find it now?”
“Perhaps they’re directing it somewhere else,” Segmar said.
“How? And where?”
“Again, we don’t know the ‘how.’” Segmar obviously hated admitting that, but he did so without flinching. “It’s not something we’ve ever explored. And I think we have to bear in mind that we know nothing about this species. It’s entirely possible that they’ve managed to come up with a few tricks that simply haven’t occurred to us. In the end, though, the laws of physics are the laws of physics, Domynas. Whatever Kreptu fairy tales may say, there isn’t really any such thing as ‘magic.’ So I’m confident that, eventually, we will know how they’ve done it. In the meantime, my analysts and System Surveillance Commander Urdia’s technicians have been focused on the ‘where’ portion of your question.”
“And?” Sherak demanded.
“The greatest likelihood, at the moment, would appear to be that they’re somehow directing their emissions away from all of our near-space sensor platforms into the outer system. Our inner-system arrays face outward, and there was never any reason to build outer-system arrays that looked inward. Aside from active navigation and traffic control systems, all of our outer-system platforms are designed solely to detect phase-drive signatures from beyond the system periphery. Perhaps if we were to turn them toward the inner system, rework their software, we might catch a glimpse of the intruders.…
“Perhaps?” Sherak asked. “That’s the best you can do? There must be something else we can do to increase our chances of finding them.” She swiveled one eye each toward Segmar and Third Minister Lyralk.
Segmar and Lyralk looked at one another for a moment, then Segmar said, “Well, as I’ve said, Domynas, the arrays out there aren’t designed for this. Their design function is to detect the intense, concentrated energy signatures of a phase-drive emergence. Waste heat and electron leakage can be very powerful, especially in something the size of, say, one of our dreadnoughts, but compared to a phase-drive signature, they’re very weak. Probably too weak for the platforms we already have in place to resolve reliably. But if we could get some additional passive arrays out there—arrays that are designed to look for thermal signatures and neutrinos—”
“Yes.” Sherak bobbed her torso emphatically. “Augment the detection gear. There are a lot of places we can hide them in the out-system industrial platforms, especially the gas-mining platforms around Sembach and Corsalt. But do it quietly—I don’t want the humans to know what we’re up to. There are routine cargo shuttles that go to the outer system; use them.”
“Yes, Domynas.” Segmar covered his eyes. “It will be done. We will find the humans.”
“Is there anything else can we do, Navy Commander?” Third Minister Lyralk asked.
“I’ve already authorized the launch of a number of reconnaissance drones. We were able to fix a rough position from which the transmission you received must have originated through cross-plotting several lines of bearing. If we send up enough platforms, we should be able to find them in that volume.”
Sherak bobbed slightly.
“Whatever you were going to send, double it,” she said. “I want these humans found, and I want them found now!”
PUNS INEXORABLE,
TAIRYON SYSTEM,
419.9 LY FROM EARTH,
NOVEMBER 22, YEAR 42 TE.
“We’re ready when you are, Mister President,” Francisca Swenson said from Judson Howell’s display.
Inexorable was more than large enough for as many command and control centers as anyone could have wanted. At the moment, Swenson sat in her command chair, surrounded by her staff, while Howell was in Mission Control Central, also tucked away in the ship’s heavily armored core hull and a mere two kilometers aft of Flag Deck.
Three of the planet Tairys’s 25.4-hour days had passed since he’d transmitted his message to First Minister Sherak. And, he reflected with a nasty smile, made sure she received it in the middle of the night. Nothing like being awakened from a sound sleep to face a nightmare, he thought, and his smile vanished as he remembered the morning a governor of North Carolina had experienced just that.
But that had been then. This was now, and he’d let Sherak and her advisors stew in their own juices long enough. And given his own analysts time to observe the Liatus’ response to the way he’d just kicked over their amphibious little anthill. And kicked over their complacent confidence that they were masters of all they surveyed, right along with it. They might not have admitted that even to themselves yet, but deep inside, Sherak, at least, had to suspect it was coming.
Swenson’s highly stealthy remote platforms had kept the space around Tairys under close observation. They’d watched as the system’s defense forces, warships and orbital platforms alike, moved to a far higher state of readiness. Eventually, at least. It was informative that it had taken them over six hours just to bring their active sensor net completely online. If he’d chosen to announce his mission’s arrival with a missile salvo, none of those defenses would even have seen it coming before they died.
Although he’d been badly tempted to have Swenson insert still more drones into the planet’s atmosphere for his intelligence staff, he’d resisted the urge. He wasn’t sure how much of his temptation had stemmed from an actual desire for more information and how much of it had been the desire to underscore the PUN’s ability to do that at will, even if only to himself. Nor was he remotely certain they could do it without being detected, now that the Liatu knew the mission was here. Even though they obviously still hadn’t figured out exactly where “here” was, they were clearly watching near-planet space with every system they had, and it was probable they would spot any additional inbound platforms. Of course, there were some psywar arguments in favor of letting them see the humans spying on them, letting them know just how closely they were being observed. But it wasn’t as if Howell really needed any more air-breathing reconnaissance, and there were plenty of countervailing psychological reasons to avoid letting the Liatus spot any of the humans’ platforms or—especially—warships until he was good and ready to reveal them.
Swenson’s sensor teams, on the other hand, had detected and tracked scores of Liatu recon drones spreading out, searching for the human ships they knew had to be there somewhere. For the most part, they’d concentrated their search within no more than four or five light-minutes of the planet. Apparently, they’d managed to at least roughly backtrack his initial com transmission’s point of origin. Unfortunately, they had no way to know that Admiral Swenson had dispatched a stealthed communication relay to send it from relatively close proximity to the planet, which was why they were smothering the volume closer to the planet. Still, they had sent at least a handful of drones farther out-system. None of them had come within detection range—not even detection range for human remote platforms, let alone those of the Hegemony—of the cloaked starships lurking just above the asteroid belt, however.
Watching all that activity had been highly informative, both in terms of technical capabilities and the responses the Liatu had used those capabilities to generate. But now it was time, and Swenson had moved thirteen stealthy light-minutes farther in-system, to a point barely six light-minutes from Tairys.
“All right, Francisca,” he said now. “You can make your bow to the sensors whenever you like.”
“Executing Reveal now, Mister President.”
COUNCIL CHAMBER,
PALACE OF GOVERNMENT,
CITY OF ITHYRA,
PLANET TAIRYS,
TAIRYON SYSTEM,
419.9 LY FROM EARTH,
NOVEMBER 22, YEAR 42 TE.
“Well, that’s as useful as lye in a sleep wallow!” Fourth Minister Gortuni said, glaring across the low conference table at Third Minister Lyralk.
Gortuni was the minister responsible for managing the Tairyon System’s industrial base, and at a mere thirty-seven Standard Years, she was the next to youngest of First Minister Sherak’s ministers. She was also intelligent, hard-working, and an excellent administrator … who happened to be on mutually lucrative burrow-sharing terms with her good friend Korash. At the moment, both her eyes were trained on Lyralk. There was precious little approval in them, and her hide was an unpromising shade of yellow-tinged red.
“Would you prefer that my people make up fancy stories or lie to you?” Lyralk demanded.
“I’d prefer for them to do their jobs and find these … these creatures!” Gortuni shot back, her tone as disgusted as the color of her hide. “You’ve had three days to figure out where they are!”
“And we’ve searched for them with every resource we have!” Lyralk’s tone was as angry as Gortuni’s, and her hide was an even darker, oranger red.
“I don’t really give a cherjuk’s ass how hard you’ve looked,” Gortuni shot back. “I want to know what you’ve found, and the answer to that question seems to be not a damned thing!”
“Well, one thing I can tell you is that they aren’t within two light-silthals of Tairys!” Lyralk snapped. “If they were inside that zone, Segmar’s sensors and drones would have found them!”
The Navy Commander bobbed his torso in emphatic agreement with the Third Minister, but Gortuni swiveled one eye to each of them, her color skeptical.
“It would be nice if you could be remotely as positive about where they are as about where they aren’t,” she said tartly.
“Eliminating volumes in which they could be but aren’t narrows down the volumes in which they actually are, Minister,” Segmar pointed out. “At the same time, a star system is an enormous volume, and it’s obvious that they must have even better cloaking technology than System Surveillance Command initially assumed. It will probably take us a while to determine where they’re hiding. Once we have, my warriors will know how to deal with them!”
“Indeed? If that’s the case, then—”
The sudden clamor of an alarm chopped Gortuni off in midflight. A lurid light flashed across the smart surface of the conference table, and Segmar swallowed an oath of disbelief as the flashing light segued abruptly into a tactical display.
Four icons blinked the yellow of unidentified ships, and they were nowhere near two light-silthals from Tairys. In fact, they were barely more than one light-silthal from the planet!
“It must be a mistake!” he blurted, shoving his torso half up and off of his chair. “Or a trick of some sort! No one could get that close without—”
He broke off, listening to a voice over his aural implant, then sagged back down on the chair, and the other Liatus watched his hide turn the pasty white of shocked disbelief.
“What is it?” First Minister Sherak demanded.
“According—” Segmar had to pause, clear his throat. “According to System Surveillance Commander Urdia, those ships—” he jabbed a digit at the icons strobing from the table’s surface “—are over ten shrevjeshes long.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Gortuni snapped with the assurance of the minister responsible for every starship built in Tairyon. “No one could get something that size into phase-space!”
“Tell me something I don’t know!” Segmar shot back. “That’s five times the size of my biggest dreadnought!”
“Is it some sort of trick?” Fifth Minister Sordal asked. Sordal was a rarity, the sole male on Sherak’s council. He held that position because he was also its most astute political calculator and one of its more intelligent members. But at that moment, he sounded more like a child seeking reassurance than a senior minister and powerbroker, and his hide was tinged with ocher. It wasn’t a dark enough hue to be called panic, but it was headed that direction.
“That must be it!” Segmar bobbed his torso in enthusiastic endorsement. “We know they have excellent cloaking technology. If they can convince Urdia’s tactical crews their ships are so enormous, they obviously have equally good offensive electronic warfare capabilities!”
“I don’t—” Sherak began, then broke off as her own aural implant spoke to her. Her hide flushed amber with frustration and her breathing slits closed for a moment. Then they opened, and her eyes swiveled out and around the circle of her subordinates.
“We have another message from the humans,” she said. “It originated exactly where System Surveillance Commander Urdia detected those ships. And to get here now, it had to be transmitted well before her systems detected them.” She snapped her mouth in bitter amusement. “Apparently the humans timed the moment when they allowed us to see them with care.”
“Allowed us?” Segmar sounded profoundly offended, and Sherak glared at him.
“With all due respect, Navy Commander,” her tone didn’t sound especially respectful, “that’s clearly what just happened. Those ships—” it was her turn to indicate the icons on the tabletop “—aren’t moving. They aren’t decelerating; they’re parked. They’re motionless relative to this planet. Which means they didn’t just magically move into the range of System Surveillance Commander Urdia’s systems. They’ve been there, waiting for at least a silthal while their message was in transit, and Urdia’s sensor techs didn’t see fish shit.”
Segmar wilted under her fiery gaze.
“May we view their message, First Minister?” Second Minister Hyrak asked in a painfully neutral voice, and Sherak transferred her glare to her closest political ally. But only for a moment. Then its anger faded, and she bobbed in agreement.
“Display message,” she said to her senior aide, and the tactical display vanished from the tabletop.
A stir of uneasiness ran around the table as they saw the frozen image of one of the “humans” at last.
The biped before them had a flat face, with a pronounced nose (but nothing remotely like the muzzle of something like a Shongair), and the ridiculously long and skinny neck of a true biped. Its head was covered with a dark brown growth, almost like one of the nuisance animals’ pelts, although it was cut much shorter. Its small, repulsively deep-set eyes—as brown as its head growth—clearly lacked any decent range of motion, and when its narrow mouth moved, it showed the small white teeth of an omnivore.
