All That Bedevils Us, page 7
“The Phobic ship has brought its matrix drive online,” the shipmind said, its calm voice at odds with the blaring alarm that was punctuated by a loud voice commanding one and all to take hold. “They are well outside the safe zone for doing so. I fear they mean to…”
The view was suddenly obliterated by a flare of bright light, which then vanished, leaving an empty data frame that winked out a moment later. Everything around Costa seemed to lurch and tilt and vibrate. His stomach clenched and he fought back a surge of nausea, all the while clinging to the edge of the desk, waiting for the worst that could happen. When it didn’t, when it was obvious the probeship was not going to be broken up by waves of distorted gravity, he started breathing again.
“My god…” he gasped.
“The Phobic ship detonated its matrix drive,” the shipmind announced.
“I know what that was, damn it! My god — damage report?”
“I am still assessing my situation. There is damage to our matrix drive due to harmonic vibrations. It will be repairable since our drive system was cold. Hull integrity is normal. There are systems malfunctions due to electromagnetic surges, but redundant units are coming on line.”
“Casualties?”
“Minor injuries due to falls, mostly caused by crew and residents responding too abruptly to the alert.”
“And outside?” Costa asked.
“I am currently blind,” the shipmind replied. “External sensors did not survive the distortions. Replacements will be several minutes coming online. Priority is for communications systems. Those will be restored momentarily.”
“Were any of our ships close enough to be damaged?” Costa barely resisted the urge to scream what the hell’s happening out there? He tried to force himself to breathe slowly, deliberately. Costa’s palms were suddenly damp and sweat trickled down the left side of his face. He was seized by a powerful urge to flee, to hide. His heart was pounding and nausea was on the edge of making itself a priority. There wasn’t enough air in his lungs. It was the shock of having space-time flutter around him. Knowing what was happening to him, knowing it was temporary, didn’t make him feel any better. He was impaired when he needed to be at one hundred percent.
“All of our escort ships will have suffered damage to their matrix drives, but I do not believe they were close enough to be in life-threatening situations. Sir, your heart rate, respiration, and body temperature indicate that you are…”
“I’ll be fine. Been through this before. Just need a moment.” His damp skin was suddenly chilled. “Let me know when we hear from anyone outside.”
Feckin hell… All the battles he’d fought, in two wars, hadn’t prepared him for this. The threat of violence between the Philics and Phobics had existed all along, but no one believed this mission would experience anything of the sort. Certainly not an act of terrorism. They’d been waiting for the Phobic delegation for the purpose of negotiation. The Phobics had come, instead, to start a civil war.
I’m getting too old for this shit!
“Comm from Rory Pike,” the shipmind announced.
“Accept it.”
“ Jayz, boss! What the hell?”
“The Phobic ship blew itself up,” Costa replied. “Used their matrix drive to do it. I take it you’re aboard the Herschel?”
“I am. Downstairs in the complex, working with a few of Takak’s associates to prepare for the talks.”
“The shipmind is deaf and blind for the moment. Do the T’lack have any contacts?”
“They’re working on that, but their systems were patched into the ship,” Rory replied. “Hold on — someone has a signal.”
“All systems have been restored,” said the Herschel. “My apologies for the delay. The systems designed to access the backups were damaged and needed to be reinstalled.”
“You’re doing fine,” Costa replied, as if talking to a frightened ensign, even though from the tension in his voice he was the only one who sounded alarmed. “Show me the situation out there, and display it for Rory and his crew as well.”
The room light dimmed as the projection reappeared. Costa knew Rory had a view of the same mess from the gasp of dismay that carried over the comm.
Where the Phobic embassy ship and its escort had been there was only a glowing cloud surrounded by outflung filaments of iridescent gas. ID tags popped into view beside the dozen other ships in the view, mostly T’lack and Rusalas designs, but also cruisers from the Republic and the Grand Concordance. The only ships near the Caroline Herschel that did not show a flashing amber distress beacon were those marked with an ominous red circle denoting loss of signal. Multiple T’lack ships were venting atmosphere, and as he watched, the drive system of a Rusalas ship blew up, spraying nearby ships, already compromised, with high velocity debris.
“Matrix blast,” he whispered. The only weapon he knew that was more destructive was a gamma ray burster. “God damn them!”
“The build-up to detonation was too quick to provide any real warning,” said the shipmind. “Apparently the T’lack are rather adept at detecting such things.”
“What do you mean?”
“Even as I detected the matrix bubble formation, the escort ship had already accelerated and turned to put itself between us and the Phobics,” the shipmind replied. “They launched missiles an instant too late.”
“We were the actual target.”
“It would seem so,” the shipmind replied. “Apparently their escort, having selected a flight path between this ship and that of the Phobics, prevented the Phobics from coming any closer. They detonated their engines when they were as close as they could get.”
Costa gusted a sigh and shook his head. “They did plenty of harm all the same.”
“The Captain has initiated rescue protocols,” the shipmind said. “A response is also being sent from the station.”
“What about the station?” Costa asked.
Rory answered. “Takak says they experienced damage but have not fully assessed their situation. They are employing stabilization thrusters, but he doesn’t believe the station is in danger.”
Costa nodded as he sat down, a strange feeling of disconnect giving him a jolt comparable to the realization that he couldn’t remember standing up. He was in charge of the mission. He was supposed to do something, wasn’t he? But this was a crisis for the ship to handle, and he was not a part of that command structure. What could be done was being done, handled swiftly and efficiently by those best able to cope. That process didn’t include him. Always before, in a tight spot, there’d been an action he could take, an order he could give to men and women he counted on. During the Faceless War, so often the decisions had been his. Command had been his. Here, he was an administrator, waiting for others to launch protocols already in place for handling emergencies. The wooden desk, a luxury anywhere in the Republic, seemed to mock him now. It had seemed a reward, when he’d first been given the office. As he looked across it to the data frame projection of the rapid rescue response, it became a barrier, representative of changes made that suddenly felt like restraints.
“Traffic at the node,” the shipmind announced.
The words were right there on the tip of Costa’s tongue, the orders to respond to the potential threat. He bit them back. Captain Norwin would be giving those orders. She knew her job. If Costa’s help or advice was needed, she knew where to find him. Seated behind an extravagant desk of solid wood that seemed to stretch forever between Jan Costa and things that needed doing.
“Friendly?” he asked as mildly as he could.
“Its beacon carries the Philic identification code,” the shipmind replied. “Neither the Captain nor the T’lack are taking that at face value.”
“Does seem a bit convenient,” Costa said. “Arriving just now.”
“Please stand by.” There was a brief pause. “We are receiving communication from the inbound ship. They were bringing a warning that the Phobic embassy was a ruse.”
“Tell us something we don’t already know,” said Rory, though he sounded angry and not sarcastic.
“Phobic fleets have attacked Philic territory at numerous locations,” said the shipmind.
“Civil war,” Rory said over the comm link. He appeared in projection, face pale and eyes wide. “God help us, boss. We’re too late!”
~6~
“This changes everything,” Dorgnas said. She looked around at the assembled administrative staff, her blue eyes hooded and narrowed toward her nose.
“One thing in particular,” said Captain Norwin. “Passage through Phobic space to the T’lack frontier, in the hope of peacefully facilitating that new contact, is now a moot point. Even with a fleet of warships around us, we’d be moving the Herschel straight into the line of fire. There’s no way I can authorize that.”
“Trust me, Captain,” Costa said. “That would never be requested of you.”
“You are safe here,” Takak agreed. “Especially now that you have moved well away from the node. No ships we are not sure of can come here now.”
“Of course, just sitting here, we can’t do a damned thing to stop this conflict, much less reach out to those Others,” Costa said. An image of his wide, wooden desk flashed in his mind.
“There is nothing you could do,” Takak replied, swiveling his head around and fixing his expressionless black eyes on Costa. “This fight has been many of your years in the making. The thought that your presence here might give the Phobics reason to reconsider their ways was always what you would call a long shot.”
“Which the T’lack have said all along,” Maladar acknowledged in a low voice, eyes on the dark table top before her. “The thought occurs that our arrival was the trigger.”
“It is, unfortunately, quite possible,” said Takak.
“That’s not a comfortable thought.” A rumble of displeasure emanated from the Hroom Fuumbral.
“This war would have come in any case,” Takak assured them. “The Phobics cling to the old ways of destroying what is uncomfortably different. They held back to see if we would take this step. There was never any doubt we would do so. That has been true since we accepted the Rusalas among our associations. The Phobics grow desperate. They are trapped between strangeness and strangeness. All the while the Philic population grows. Something in the change we accepted correlates with greater fertility. The connection is not fully understood.”
“What baffles me,” Sarah said, “is that region they occupy is large enough that they could get along for thousands of years and face no real constraints. Why are we not negotiating a border, never to be crossed by either side?”
“Remember our own history,” Maladar admonished. “Young Humans in the Republic found the Way of Leyra’an interesting. Attractive. So long as we were there, seeming to lure people away from long-accepted traditions, the old government of the Republic could not leave us in peace.”
“There is an unfortunate parallel,” said Takak. “Young T’lack often leave parental associations and travel. Curiosity is one of the traits all our species share, but it is most apparent in young T’lack who have not yet found their caste. Many have come to Philic space from the Phobic star systems seeking new experiences and clues to their places in T’lack society. A single merger with a Philic T’lack renders them Philic as well. Neither side has been fully successful in preventing this. The truth is we have no desire to prevent such conversions, since they add to our numbers. Taken together, these things make our existence a threat to the Phobic way of life.”
Unfortunate parallel… Costa grimaced at the reminder, aware that Takak was familiar with the history Maladar mentioned. His own military career had begun in the last years of the war between the Leyra’an and the Humans of the Republic. “The young T’lack have every right to ask questions and explore,” he said aloud. “You aren’t doing anything wrong in leaving that option open.”
“It is for everyone’s benefit, in the long run. Establishing relationships with those who are strange and different can lead to advances all around, as well as provide aid and support in troubled times.” Takak made an upward gesture with all four arms that looked remarkably like a shrug, and added, “The Faceless War taught us all that lesson.”
“It did indeed,” Admiral Burkhardt said quietly. “One of the things we have in common is that not everyone in the Republic has embraced that lesson.”
“And a difference,” said Takak, looking down at the Admiral. “Among your people of the Republic there is civil discord, but not civil war. They are not killing their own kind over those differences.”
Not this time. At least, not yet. But Costa kept that thought to himself.
“The T’lack of old,” Takak continued, “who are now Phobic, cannot think in other terms. They see a threat. To them it will always be a threat. They will eliminate it, if they can.”
“And they see Philics as a part of that threat,” said the Nesvama Banetisib.
“Yes.”
“Also the rest of us?” Maladar asked. “And those Others with whom they made brief contact?”
“Yes, but we are the greater threat,” Takak replied. “We are more immediate. We are a contagion. For we encourage the sharing of the experience of acceptance.”
At that word, Maladar looked up, eyes gleaming. “Acceptance is the heart of the Way,” she recited. It was the basis of all that was Leyra’an, the acceptance of life and what it offered, for good or ill.
It seemed so fatalistic to Costa, and yet he knew the Leyra’an were anything but. Someday I need to learn what that really means.
“The Leyra’an are the opposite of Phobic T’lack,” Dorgnas said.
“Dorgnas said these attacks change everything,” Costa said. “She has a gift for understatement. But we need to know exactly how things are changing, if we are to gain any control over the situation. God, I wish we had a way of knowing if the Others are aware of what’s going on here.”
“A safe assumption would be that they are monitoring what they can of Phobic activity, the Phobics having proven themselves dangerous neighbors,” Takak replied. “But we cannot know for certain. It seems likely that all is quiet in that sector, or the Phobics would not dare take action against us.”
“To their way of seeing things, they are trapped between enemies,” Fuumbral said. “They have decided which must be dealt with first.”
“Eliminate the perceived threat to their rear,” said Burkhardt. “Their population decline would be halted and they could later deal with the Others from a stronger position.”
“Are you strong enough to withstand them?” Norlil the Grahlin asked.
“That remains to be seen,” Takak said. “We were not caught unprepared. As I have said, we expected it would come to war in the end. But we are still far less than half of all T’lack, even though our numbers continue to grow. And grow more swiftly than the Phobics, as I have pointed out. The advantage at this time remains with the Phobics.”
“Call for aid,” said Burkhardt. “I’m not the only one who feels a debt of gratitude toward your people.”
“Will people agree to that, with the Faceless War such a recent memory?” Sarah asked.
“The Clans would answer,” Maladar replied.
“All would come,” Norlil said. “You are, after all, members of the Grand Concordance now. Your fight is our fight.”
The T’lack’s rounded head swiveled as he scanned the room. “This should have been expected. However, I am both surprised and pleased. We would prefer that it not come to such a need, but if it does, the offer will be remembered.”
“There’s been no shortage of traffic this past week, in spite of the danger,” Maladar said. “Have we learned much of what is happening elsewhere?”
“Enough to have a general understanding of Phobic strategy,” Takak replied. He reached down to the table with a lower arm and tapped a control set into its surface. A three-dimensional star chart swept into being over their heads. Labels and icons were strewn through it, small but sharp and clearly visible. Or so Costa assumed. He found himself squinting at some of the labels in order to read them. There along the bottom was the Rift, above which was a region of unclaimed star systems. The Rusalas had lived there before the Faceless had driven them to the brink of extinction, and the Republic had just begun to settle it, all unawares, when the Faceless War began. Below but not shown would be the Republic, and beyond that all of the Grand Concordance.
Above the lost Rusalas star systems, the region which Costa had known as the Trans-Rift and in which he had managed a star station named Varla II, were the star systems now jointly settled by Philic T’lack and the remnants of the Rusalas civilization, a region flushed with blue. Topping the display was a much larger, pale green area representing the Phobic T’lack. Flashing icons marking star systems in conflict were strewn liberally along the interface. The Philics had prevailed and repelled the invasion in only half the contested star systems.
“How recent is this assessment?” Costa asked.
“Please note the dates for each system status,” Takak replied. “The oldest entry is five days old, the newest from the start of this day.”
“Not exactly a disaster, then,” said Burkhardt. “At least, not yet. Your border region is pretty ragged. A bit early for an assessment, but I think we’re seeing the start of a campaign to draw a clearer line between the T’lack factions.”
“I agree,” said Costa. “It would make sense to do so before launching a direct offensive. Some of the star systems they’re attacking could give them a strategic advantage when they decide to make that move.”
Streamers of data flowed through the projection, providing among other things the locations and numbers of Philic military assets. Costa didn’t have a prayer of keeping track of it. The Nesvama and Grahlin in the room had no such limitation; they watched the streams avidly and, Costa knew, with immediate comprehension. Neither looked at all happy, if he was any judge of the body language of either species.
