Waves rushed to the shore, receding with a hiss. Peter lay in the warm, soft sand; comfortable, relaxed, enjoying a blissful lassitude. Slowly he became aware. But he resisted, lying still when his body urged him to move. The sound of the waves slowly changed from a gentle susuration to a soft chime. Raeder turned his head lazily to look at the chiming waves. He wondered idly why they were doing that.
BBBRRRAAANNNGGG!
Raeder rolled out of his bunk and onto his feet still expecting to brush off sand. He patted his hands down his body and found himself still dressed except for his shoes.
He groaned aloud. I bet Captain Knott never groaned when he got out of bed, he scolded himself. He was glad the crew couldn't see him now. I doubt it would do much for their faith in my leadership.
Peter staggered the two steps to his desk and flopped down. He checked the time. We should be in jumpspace for eight hours yet. Of course, that was Ashly's best estimate. And few estimates come out right on the numbers.
He keyed up the bridge and Ms. Lurhman's face appeared. She looked embarrassed.
"Report," he said, managing to sound crisp and alert. He'd been afraid it was going to come out something like, "Unnhh?"
"Sir, we're coming up on the jump point. I estimate thirty minutes."
"On my way," he said, before she could say anything else. There's coffee on the bridge, he reminded himself by way of a bribe.
He rubbed his face vigorously, glad for antibeard enzyme. Wish I had time for a shower. He got up and left his quarters, making a brief stop to wash his face and brush his teeth. Maybe that will convince my body I'm officially awake whether it likes it or not. Usually he woke up right away. This lurching through molasses feeling was very strange. Peter made himself walk to the bridge, hoping the exercise would wake him up. No point in getting there in a hurry if I'm a zombie when I arrive.
Truon Le put a cup of coffee in Raeder's hand as he stepped off the elevator.
"God bless you, Mr. Truon." Raeder sipped cautiously at the steaming brew. "Report," he said.
"Ms. Lurhman found us an exit point much sooner than she'd expected. She says it's possible that it was hidden by some other ship preparing to exit. That's what the energy readings seemed to indicate."
"How long ago was that?" the commander asked, seating himself in the captain's chair.
"Six hours, sir."
Raeder cocked an eyebrow at him.
"We woke you and told you, sir, as soon as Ms. Lurhman made her discovery and you said to carry on."
"I did?" Wow, I haven't done that since I was at the Academy, Peter thought. Of course, when that happened at the Academy his eyelashes had also fallen out from sleep deprivation. Moving on. Do we go through here, or keep on? He tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair.
"Bad news now, or bad news later," he said aloud. "We'll go through here and take a look. Ms. Lurhman, Mr. Goldberg, take us through."
"Aye, sir," they said in unison.
Raeder scrolled swiftly through the log to see how the hours he'd been resting had passed. His exact words to the XO had been, "Thank you, Mr. Truon. Carry on." Jeeze, I sounded so . . . so . . . conscious, there.
He felt the transfer from jump begin and changed his screen to external view.
"No enemy ships," Gunderson said, his voice showing his astonishment. "There's your basic traffic buoy, evidence of considerable traffic, nothing overtly hostile going on, sir. It's really a buoy this time, not an orbital fort masquerading as one."
Raeder switched screens and looked at the neutrino tracks the computer sketched out. All very straightforward; no skulking, no lurking, no recognizable patrol patterns.
"Don't these folks know there's a war on?" Truon asked quietly from over Raeder's shoulder.
"Maybe we're so far behind the lines that we've hit civilian territory," Peter said.
"Even so, sir, with all the military craft we've been seeing, why wouldn't they spare a picket for what looks, going by the traffic, like a major commercial center?"
"Good question," Peter said. "Let's get a little ways from here," he said to Goldberg. "See if we can get lost. Because the guys coming in after us know very well there's a war on." And they're looking to bring it on home to us.
"Moving out, aye, sir," the helmsman answered.
He moved them forward, looking for the heaviest patch of neutrino signatures he could find.
"I'm seeing some activity, Commander," Gunderson said. "There's a squadron of ships headed our way. They're broadcasting a message."
"Send a recording to Mr. Ticknor with my compliments," Peter said. "Tell him I need a translation ASAP."
"Aye, sir."
Raeder tapped his fingers and considered their situation. If these were peaceable non-Fibian folk the Invincible roaring into their territory with weapons hot couldn't look good. On the other hand, if they were blood-sucking Fibiansand Fibians literally suckedthen who cared? What was the likelihood of finding two space-faring sentient species in the same war? Conversely, these could be some peaceful breed of Fibian. . . .
By the same token, there's no evidence whatsoever that Fibians understand the meaning of the word peaceable.
"Sir," Rivera, the com-tech said, "Mr. Ticknor would like a word with you."
"Put him through." Raeder nodded to the linguist when his image came on the screen, pleased that Ticknor had taken his warning seriously. "You have something for me?" he said.
"Yes, Commander. They're asking us to identify ourselves. Specifically they want to know what clan we are."
Clan? "Can you make me up a message that tells them we are being pursued by hostiles?" Raeder asked.
"Yes . . . but what about this question about clans?" Ticknor looked anxiously out of the screen at him. "That could be important."
"I have no doubt that it is, Mr. Ticknor. But we have to survive to find out more. Get me that message so that we can broadcast it. If we don't they'll fire on us, Mr. Ticknor. And that would be bad."
Especially since I think that's two battlecruisers and their destroyer screen, or Fibian equivalent. The Invincible could outrun most things it couldn't fight. It couldn't outrun a battlecruiser for long, not with the state their engines were in, nor fight two of them. Or even one, with the carrier's depleted Speed squadrons.
"Yes, it would," Sirgay answered through clenched teeth. "Should I ask them not to shoot, or perhaps ask them for help?"
"Asking them not to shoot sounds good," the commander said. "Asking for help could get us into trouble further down the line."
Ticknor turned to his console and carefully spoke the words they'd agreed on.
"I'll just run this by my associate," he said.
Peter's brows shot up. "Who?"
"It was one of those serendipitous things," the linguist said. He waved a hand. "It's complicated. But he's willing to work with me on this translation stuff." Sirgay turned away for a moment, then came back. "He says it's fine if we send it out blind, by which he means audio only. There are complex gestures that should go along with the message, but if they can't see you they'll read them as given."
"I have the message at com, sir," Rivera called out.
"Thank you, Mr. Ticknor." Raeder took a real look at him for the first time since they'd started talking. The circles under his eyes were so deep the man looked like a raccoon. "I'm probably going to be calling on you a great deal in the next few hours. Are you going to be all right?"
Ticknor grimaced. "I guess I should have slept some while we were in jump," he said. "But the work had to get done . . . and I was feeling sort of, not exactly nauseated . . ." Half a dozen people nodded unconsciously. He shrugged. "I'll do my best, Commander."
"Thank you, Mr. Ticknor. But at the first opportunity I think you'd better get some rest."
"That's very kind of you, sir. But, I'm"
"I want to keep a line open with you, Mr. Ticknor, in case we get any further messages. So I'm going to hand you over to Tech Rivera. Raeder out." I hated to do that, Peter thought, but he'd go on for hours if I let him. "Send out that message," he said to Rivera. "But give a little static to make it seem our com has been damaged. Keep us on this course, Mr. Goldberg."
"Maintain heading, aye, sir."
Raeder's screen split. Part of it showed the oncoming Fibian patrol, mere computer-generated dots at this distance. The other half showed the jump point behind them. His mind was split, too. Part of him wondered if Skinner and his people were taking advantage of this downtime to fit a new baffle onto transit engine eight. He wondered when the oncoming Fibs were going to question the Invincible keeping her weapons hot. He wondered when their pursuers would break through into real-space. He wondered if continuing to run forward was going to be a huge mistake.
"Sir," Gunderson said, "estimate that the advancing Fibians will reach us in three minutes."
"Sir," Rivera said. "A new message from the Fibians. I've relayed it to Mr. Ticknor."
Raeder tapped a key, "Ticknor," he said, "what have you got for me?"
"Damp your weapons, or we will be forced to assume you are hostile," Ticknor said. There was sweat on his brow and his dark eyes were anxious.
"Thank you, Mr. Ticknor, Raeder out." He switched the linguist back to Rivera.
Now what? If we don't shut down our weapons the Fibs in front will fire on us. If we do we might be sitting ducks for the Fibs coming in behind who I know damn well will fire on us. He was about to make a decision about a civilization which he knew absolutely nothing about. On the third hand it wouldn't be good to have both sides firing on them.
"Mr. Gunderson, stand down on weapons, but remain on high alert, keep our ECM ready."
"Stand down on weapons, aye, sir, maintain high alert and ECM. Here they come," Gunderson said.
Their pursuers came out of jump so fast they seemed to appear by magic. The oncoming Fibs increased their speed and raced through the Invincible's neighborhood as though she wasn't there. Firing commenced almost immediately from both sides, with those that had been pursuing the Invincible trying desperately to get around the new aggressors and at her.
The crew on the bridge broke into relieved cheers, pumping their fists and slapping each other on the back.
"Wow," Peter said. Is that "Hey, that's my pork chop!" or "Get off my turf!" we're watching? He tapped a key. "Mr. Ticknor, the home team is attacking our pursuers. Can your . . . associate give us a reason why?"
Without saying a word Ticknor turned away from the screen and spoke. Raeder could hear muted sounds, like conversation, but in an unknown language. In fact, it sounded a lot like gargling, mixed with hissing and popping sounds. Finally the linguist turned back.
"Sna-Fe tells me that if we've blundered into another clan's territory then they will attack the more aggressive ships, particularly if they are Fibians of another clan. No out-clan Fibian ship may enter the territory of another without permission or it will be assumed that they are raiders."
Really! Peter thought. "If we survive the next hour or so I can see we're going to have a whole bunch of interesting questions for your little buddy, Mr. Ticknor. I'll let you go now, but please stand by."
The commander watched the two Fibian squadrons duke it out. They were much too close to the jump point for the Invincible to slip by unnoticed.
From the way they're behaving it looks like our old friends would really like to blow us out of the sky. A definite change in attitude; he'd gotten the distinct impression before that they wanted to cripple the Commonwealth raider for capture. And who's to say that our new friends wouldn't take umbrage at our attempting to leave the party so soon. In fact, he'd be willing to bet that they would. I need more information.
"Mr. Ticknor," Raeder said. "What can you tell me about this clan structure thing?"
"I'll see what I can find out, Commander." Ticknor turned from the screen and spoke for some time. Finally he turned back to the screen, looking a bit embarrassed. "He says that he can't give us any information that might betray his people. He doesn't want to talk about anything classified."
"This isn't classified," Peter said. "He's known about it all his life, hasn't he?"
Ticknor gave a nod and turned to the Fibian. After a moment he came back.
"He says you're right. He has known about this all of his life, and soon you'll know about it too."
Raeder waited, then when nothing was forthcoming he spread his hands and said, "So?"
Ticknor blinked, then held up one finger. "Uh, I'll ask."
After a moment Ticknor said, "Sna-Fe says he is of Clan Snargx, the red clan. The clans are distinguished on first sight by color. There should have been something about their ships that indicated this."
Raeder turned to Truon. "Could you look into that for me, please, Mr. Truon?"
A moment later the XO's image popped up on a square of Raeder's screen.
"The ships' markings were predominantly blue, sir."
Raeder relayed that to Ticknor, who came back with, "The blue clan is Clan Nrgun, their queen is Tewsee; an older queen with a passion for learning."
"Too-see?" Raeder said. There's a nice old-fashioned-sounding name. I've always had a way with old ladies myself. . . . What am I thinking of, we're talking about a gigantic carnivorous bug here.
"Close enough, Commander," the linguist said. "The translator will remove any mispronunciation."
"How many of those things do you have available?" Peter asked.
"Four." Ticknor looked a little nervous. "I haven't programmed them all yet."
"I'd like to have one of them on the bridge, if you have one ready. I'll send someone down to pick it up," Raeder told him, his tone of voice making it clear that this wasn't a request.
The linguist looked downright alarmed, and made little plucking gestures as he spoke. "Commander, I can't stress enough that a lot of the subtleties of meaning in the Fibian language are conveyed with body language. In other words, the full message will not be audible." He looked at Raeder for a moment. "Do you understand?"
Raeder rubbed his upper lip.
"Do the blues know about humanity?" he asked Ticknor.
Ticknor blinked, then asked Sna-Fe.
"He says he doesn't know." Ticknor looked worried; he shrugged. "He says he's just a . . . I think that shift of the legs mimics someone carrying a heavy load."
A grunt, Raeder thought. Well, maybe some things are universal. At least universal among species with hierarchies.
"Ah . . . lower-status unit. How would he know what a queen knows?"
"Good point," Raeder agreed. "Are they likely to be hostile to us? That he might know."
"Sna-Fe says they're an old, established clan, confident, but careful. And he says that given their queen's proclivities they might welcome you as a source of new knowledge."
That could be good, that could be bad. "Knowledge" could be acquired through "vivisection," for example. Or it could be culinary knowledge. Fibian behavior to date wasn't encouraging; on the other claw, it was now clear they had their own divisions, just as humanity did. Raeder glanced at the soundless explosions growing and fading in the space between the ships of the two Fibian clans. I think that until we've spoken for a little bit I'm not going to let them see us. It seemed safer that way.
"Thank you, Mr. Ticknor. Please stand by."
He sent out the signal for a video conference and his screen soon filled with the faces of his senior officers. One square of the screen still held the ongoing battle, and Raeder kept a weather eye on it. Briefly he outlined their situation.
"I must admit," he finished, "I'm not too sanguine about becoming an object of study for this new clan of Fibians. I'm interested in your opinions."
"I think this critter is tryin' to pull the wool over your eyes," Booth said. "Red is probably the color for warriors, blue most likely just means civilians."
"Then why are they fighting, Mr. Booth?" Ashly Lurhman asked, her voice carefully neutral.
"Sir," Truon Le said, "I think we should go with the blue Fibians and see how that turns out." His eyes strayed to his screen. "Assuming they win. It could be a priceless opportunity to study them and perhaps to gain allies. That was one of the purposes of this deep-penetration raid, to find out how the Fibian species is organized."
I.e., we're losing the war and ready to try any desperate, crazy idea, Raeder translated mentally.
Skinner said, "Set charges throughout the ship, something low-tech and undetectable. If things look bad we can blow 'em."
The rest of the officers nodded agreement. The rest save for Booth.
"What is this, a class trip?" he demanded angrily. "You're talking about learning from them? Hey, people, the Fibians are the Commonwealth's enemies! They eat people for God's sake! Here we are with a God-given opportunity to hit 'em where they live and you want to set charges and just blow the Invincible up? What's wrong with you guys? This is a quantum opportunity to trash a lightly defended Fibian system and grab some antihydrogen. Without which we are dead ducks, people."
Raeder was proud of his fellow officers; not one of them rolled their eyes.
"At the moment, Mr. Booth, the blues are kicking the tar out of the reds. I sincerely doubt they'd be doing that if they were in league with them. It would be too expensive, and it would be stupid. They've eliminated two destroyers and they're keeping the reds from reaching us. Which the reds are giving every indication of really wanting to do. Why would they do that? What could they possibly gain by fooling us like that?"
Booth held up a hand. "A look at Commonwealth technology." He bent back one finger. "An understanding of Star Command tactics and capabilities." He bent back another. "A possible Trojan horse." He bent back a third. "And a large number of experimental subjects." He looked out of the screen belligerently. "I say we hit 'em now, hit 'em hard while they're preoccupied and"
"Get our butts fried, no questions asked," Raeder said, cutting him off. "Haven't you ever heard the expression `the enemy of my enemy is my friend,' Mr. Booth?" From the confused look on his face Peter guessed not. I bet he still hasn't figured out "that man's father is my father's son." "I'd rather risk making the Commonwealth a new ally than a new enemy."
"In that case, Commander," Sarah James said, "I'd like to suggest that the squadron go to the aid of the Blues."
"What!" Booth shouted. "Are you crazy?"
Raeder leaned back in his chair and considered Sarah's proposal. On the one hand it might put them in good standing with the Blues. Lending them a hand would also make the Invincible less beholden to them. It would give his fighters the chance to strike back at the Reds. They'd been denied a chance at them so far and were chafing at the bit. The more I think about it the better I like it. I really don't appreciate being chased . . . especially when I suspect the chaser has a saltshaker in one hand and a fork in the other.
Also, there didn't seem to be an other hand.
The commander interrupted Booth's tirade to say, "Get the squadron together, Lieutenant Commander. I'll get on to our tame linguist to see if he can come up with something that will allow us to warn the Blues that we're coming in on their side."
"No!" Booth pounded on his desk until his hair flew. "Commander, no!" he insisted.
"Yes, Mr. Booth. The decision is made. Pending any objection from Mr. Ticknor regarding Fibian courtesy in these matters. I'll be in touch, Ms. James. Thank you all, Raeder out."
Next time I call a general meeting maybe I'll just leave Booth out of it. It would be a deadly insult, but it might keep the man from either giving himself a stroke or destroying his career completely. It really wasn't good form to shout "NO! NO!" at a superior officer, even given the looser attitudes of wartime.
Besides, matters like these don't really relate to his field of expertise.
They should, but this was Booth.
"Mr. Ticknor," Raeder said, when the linguist's exhausted face appeared on his screen. "We'd like to send the squadron out to help the Blues help us. Could you find a way to ask your friend how to do that without causing either alarm or offense?"
"He's really not my anything, Commander," Ticknor said, sounding aggrieved. "And he specifically said that he wouldn't help us against his own crew members."
"Are you refusing to help us, Mr. Ticknor?" Raeder said, so calmly menacing that Truon turned around to look at him.
"No, no, I'll help. But I can't compromise Sna-Fe. It wouldn't be right."
"Do you want the Invincible and all who are on her to be considered booty to be taken by the winner of this battle that we are watching?"
"No, Commander, of course not, but . . ."
"Would you like to be a lab specimen, with a Fibian leaning over you, drooling acid and warming up a laser scalpel?"
A complex shudder.
"Then find out, Mr. Ticknor. But before you do, make up a message to the effect that we are sending out fighters to help them defeat our enemy. Then send it to me and Tech Rivera. Thank you, Mr. Ticknor."
Why am I wasting my time explaining things to this guy? Peter wondered. He was supposed to be making the commander's life easier, not throwing ethics class jargon at him. Probably it's because I can see that he's working incredibly hard and I do have to maintain some sort of working relationship with the man. And partly it was because Peter kept having to be rude to Ticknor and Raeder's beloved mother had gifted him with an automatic guilt response.
"Paddy, Lieutenant Robbins," Sarah said as she strode up to them. "Get ready, the commander might be giving the order to scramble any minute."
The two blinked once, looked at one another, then with broadening grins they began issuing orders.
Sarah watched the spread of those orders by the movement of techs across Main Deck. With a grin she turned to the com.
"All pilots report to briefing," she said, then repeated it.
Soon they'd be rushing from their bunks, their Speeds, their simulators. I'd better get there before them. Sarah rushed from Main Deck to the small theater used for debriefings and called up images of the Blues rushing to the Invincible's defense. She was highlighting the blue designs on their ships as the first pilots began to filter in.
When every seat was filled she looked up, then slowly let an almost feral smile spread across her face. In the audience every face matched hers.
"I'm sure you've guessed by now that I haven't called you hear for a revival meeting," the lieutenant commander said. "Heavy as your souls undoubtedly are with sin."
The pilots chuckled at that; they'd seen the activity on Main Deck and knew exactly what it meant.
"I've got some vital information for you, though."
Sarah struck a few keys, then turned to the large screen behind her. For the first time the pilots watched Fibians fighting Fibians in defense of human beings. There could be no mistaking that crablike configuration, any more than they could fail to distinguish the Commonwealth's preferred double-hammerhead shape. Jaws dropped around the room.
Sarah tapped a few more keys and one of the craft was frozen by the computer, then drawn forward for a close up view. The lieutenant commander highlighted some markings on the front and sides of the craft.
"You will note that these markings are blue," she said. "These are the identifying symbols of Clan Nrgun. They are also known as blue clan, hence the blue identifying marks. These," Sarah tapped a key and another craft came into sharp focus, "are red clan ships. Note the red markings. They are of Clan Snargx."
The pilots liked that and she could hear a soft chorus of snar . . . snr . . . gx throughout the theater. Suppressing a smile she tapped on her console and they quieted.
"The Reds have gone near kamikaze on us out there. They now seem dedicated to getting to us, with, I'm sure, no friendly intent. We also have seen no reinforcements coming to aid the blue squadron fighting on our behalf. So the commander"
"Lieutenant Commander?" It was Raeder's voice.
"Here, sir," James said eagerly.
"The Blues have accepted our offer of assistance. Please deploy your Speeds."
"Yes, sir," Sarah said. Her face wore a determined smile.
"Good luck people," Raeder said.
The pilots leaped up cheering. Sarah allowed it for a moment, then tapped her console again. It took a moment but they were soon seated again, bright eyes focused on her like a pack of wolves on a tray of raw meat.
"Thank you, Commander," she said.
"You're welcome, Lieutenant Commander. Raeder out."
Sarah held up her hand when they would have become airborne again, and the pilots settled down. She let them stay that way for a long minute while she looked them over.
"All right," she said. "We will keep discipline. I want each one of you mindful of the markings I've shown to you. Do not fire on any target if you cannot see these markings. Take no chances that you might be firing on a friendly. I want these Blues to be so impressed by our flying and our shooting that they come away with the idea that they don't know squat about either of those things." Sarah gave them another long look. "Am I understood?"
"Yes, sir!" the squadron shouted.
"Then let's get moving ladies and gentlemen, we've got a battle to fight."
"I hardly know what I shall report to our lady," Sum-sef admitted. He clicked his mandibles uncertainly, while his body took a position that denoted astonished awe. "Never have I seen fiercer fighters."
"They did terrible damage to the Red clan ships," Feh-soo agreed. His own posture indicated that he wished permission to speak more freely.
With a slashing, inviting gesture his huntmaster gave it.
"What are these beings?" His pedipalps indicated burgeoning fear. "Why was the clan Snargx in pursuit of them? Is it possible that we have aided criminals?"
"No to your last question," Sum-sef said with a gesture of polite rejection. "I say this because not once did Snargx attempt to justify their pursuit of this ship. Instead they fought their way towards the aliens as though to keep them from telling us anything of the matter."
His second positioned his pedipalps in the first degree of tentative agreement.
"As to your other questions," Sum-sef said, "we will know the answers in time. And I am sure that they will be to Snargx's detriment."
Feh-soo snapped his tailwhip in agreement.
After a moment's thought the huntmaster said, "We shall invite them to accompany us to Nrgun."
His second froze in a neutral stance until Sum-sef indicated that he desired his officer's opinion.
"What will we tell our lady?" he asked, still neutral.
"We will tell her that we bring her the greatest mystery of this or any other age, and its solution. We bring her knowledge in the form of an unknown and intelligent species."
"But Huntmaster, what if this is some Snargx plot to penetrate our defenses? That ship could be filled with assassins, or plagues. I would put nothing past the Reds; they have no consciencewarm-blooded."
Sum-sef looked thoughtful upon hearing his second's thoughts on the matter. After a moment he said, "We will invite them to follow us. We will make it clear that if their weapons show active on our screens we will assume they intend to use them against us and will react accordingly." He looked directly at his second. "And so we will."
"What if they choose not to accept this invitation?" Feh-soo asked.
"Then we must let them go." He made a gesture like a shrug. "They are intelligent creatures, they have shown us no hostilityquite the contrarywe must respect their choice. But," here he made a pinching gesture with his pedipalp and his chelicerae showed amusement, "where would they go?"
"Back where they came from, Huntmaster."
"To do so they must go through Snargx territory. And the Reds do not seem too friendly towards these aliens. To go forward is to find themselves in the territory of Clan Lince, and subject to an unknown welcome." Sum-sef lifted his pedipalps in an expansive gesture. "So why not come with us?"
"As you say, Huntmaster." Feh-soo looked uneasily around the command center, at the techs busy at their machines. "But everything will change now, won't it?"
"Yes," Sum-sef said, and settled himself lower in his couch. "It will."