Action stations, p.10
Action Stations, page 10
part #5 of Wing Commander Series
"Continue."
"Well, as I was saying. You'll trigger a primal reaction in us. For you, the hunter, the mere sight of us, the fact that we exist, triggers the desire to hunt us to death."
He fell silent staring straight at Jukaga, who wondered if the human was even now coming to new realizations.
"As for us, the springing from the dark will trigger certain reactions as well. There will be terror, yes, I'll admit to that. Damn, I struggle with that even now, sitting across from you, your talons half bared."
Jukaga looked down at his hands and realized that the razor-sharp talons were indeed exposed, and to his own surprise he retracted them.
"You see, there are fears worse than death for us humans. Fear that loved ones, especially our children, might be harmed."
"We share that," Jukaga interrupted, a bit annoyed that what he thought was an interesting insight had become banal. Any creature of intelligence, even the dumbest of prey, protect their young.
"No, there's something more though. We fear almost beyond all other things being devoured," Abram said quietly. "To not just be killed but to be eaten alive, to have talons, fangs, tearing into us. Ask a human to sit quietly and contemplate such a death and they are filled with dread. Now let me ask you, do you devour those whom you defeat?"
Jukaga did not answer.
Abram forced a smile.
"Even if you didn't do all that your form implies, your thinking, your manners, your rituals, the way you fight speaks of the carnivore, the devourer of flesh. Now, why do you practice Jak-tu ?"
"What?"
"In the hunt, why do you practice Jak-tu?"
"To overpower a prey with a single blow."
Abram shook his head.
"No. It is more. For if you do not overpower your prey with the first strike, if you don't break its neck or back to render it defenseless, it will thrash about. Even as it dies it will flay at you out of sheer terror. It then becomes dangerous, perhaps even killing you.
"There is the core of what I'm speaking of," Abram said softly. "You think us weak. Yes, we as individuals are weak when compared to you. Perhaps even militarily we're weak, but we will fight with the terror of despair. I don't think the Varni had that in them. From what I've heard they had maybe ten or twenty million more years of evolution behind them and it was gone. You see, it wasn't that long ago when all we held in our hands was a club or rock against cats that were a damn sight bigger than you. You haven't run into prey like us before and I tell you, when it's done your Empire will be dead."
The casual way in which the human spoke sent a chill down Jukaga's spine.
"Your father learned this," Harga interjected. "He wanted you to learn it too before you go to fight."
"Your father, his blood flows well?" Abram asked.
"His blood is thick," Jukaga automatically replied and then was startled that the human knew the standard ceremonial question regarding the health of a friend.
Abram chuckled. "I rather liked him. Hell. I guess we'd all be dead here if it wasn't for him. Unusual character for your race, thinks with this—" and he pointed towards his head, and then back to his heart, "—rather than with this."
Abram finished off his drink and, taking the pot off the brazier, he motioned towards Tukaga's cup and Harga's, refilling both of them and then his own.
"So it will be war then." Abram asked quietly.
"Yes."
"I heard something about the Confederation moving to declare war as well."
Jukaga looked at him in surprise.
"No reason not to talk," Harga replied. "Your father's kept me appraised of the intelligence reports coming in from our listening stations."
Jukaga stirred uncomfortably and looked back over at the human.
"There were bound to be incidents," Abram said. "Your Emperor's decision to not establish any formal connection with the Confederation after the first accidental contacts might be logical to you but would be confusing to our side. It was an indicator of belligerence.
"Beyond that, our nonmilitary communications are wide open and you're listening to them all the time. You cracked our language code by taking my ship and all its computer files, listening in is no problem for you now."
"There are reports of their launching a limited attack," Jukaga said.
Abram laughed. "Just like us. Again, a major difference between us. They figure if we bloody your nose a bit, let you know we aren't to be pushed around too much, that will settle it. Damn stupid bastards." Abram never raised his head as he delivered his conclusion.
Jukaga was surprised by the casual utterance of the foulest of oaths in regards to the leaders of the Confederation. Such blasphemy towards the Imperial line was cause for immediate execution.
"They think that what they call a limited action will dissuade you and that peace can then be made if too much damage has been avoided. Bizarre."
Jukaga nodded.
Harga sighed and there was a moment of eye contact between him and Abram. The human stood up. "I'd like you and Jukaga to talk some more. He only has a few days here before returning."
"As you wish," Abram replied.
"You might find him interesting. I think he'd enjoy reading your Sun Tzu, or Machiavelli."
"Ah, two masters. Though discussing them with someone who might one day be a leader in your war effort may be a compromise I'd prefer not to make."
Harga smiled. "We've been over that before, my friend. It was all in your ship's computers anyhow, though I dare say no one in the Imperial family gives a good damn about it. But Jukaga, here, might make a difference someday."
"A difference in defeating us?" Abram asked. "Know your friends, but know your enemies better."
"Maybe knowing your enemy might one day result in saving him and you."
"I'll think about that," Abram replied, and without any ceremonial bow the human turned and walked away.
"He troubles me," Jukaga said.
"He should. Your father is rather fond of him. No, that's the wrong word. Rather, he admires him."
"A slave?"
"No," Harga said forcefully. "A foe worthy of respect, an intellect as good as our own. That's always been the problem for us. We don't admire intellect, only brute strength and courage. We let our slaves do the thinking when it comes to the making and running of our machines. Abram told me there's been more than one clan in the history of humans who were like that. Do you know what happened to them?"
"They were destroyed?" Jukaga asked nervously.
Harga nodded and, reaching over to the young heir's cup, he poured another drink then settled back, fixing Jukaga with his gaze.
"Your father and I are friends of blood. He saved my life at the Battle of Turing in the Varni War. I remember the day you were born, the joy and triumph he felt. I once taught you and saw in you an intelligence even beyond your father's. I never had young of my own, so, young Jukaga, in some ways I pin my dreams on you."
Jukaga lowered his gaze, unable to reply.
"Thus I ask that you listen to me. I pray that the Gods will that I am wrong, and that the day after our own attack begins you will simply remember my words as the ramblings of a foolish old one."
"You do not believe we will win?" Jukaga asked.
"I believe this war will be a disaster. I know your father told the Emperor and the Crown Prince this but they will not listen."
"The Varni were but ten worlds and the fight they put up was a dangerous and surprising one, even though we had total surprise. This Confederation is hundreds, thousands of systems. The simple mathematics make it evident that we can not strike all places at once."
"The plan of the Crown Prince is brilliant," Jukaga replied.
Harga chuckled. "Come now, remember the fourth maxim of Xag?"
"No attack plan ever survives first contact with the enemy," Jukaga replied, reciting from rote the fourth of the eight maxims of the legendary warrior who had established the First Empire.
"There is one most important element the Crown Prince has ignored and I beg you, Jukaga, to remember this."
The use of the word beg was startling to the young warrior since it implied a desperate plea from an inferior to a superior.
"The humans have kaga, the warrior spirit. Their history and tradition is replete with it.
"Someday, Jukaga, it might fall upon you to shape the events of this war. I beg you, study these humans well. Learn their literature, hear their music, examine their history. It might shape how you feel. Do so at first with the intent of thus deciphering who they are in order to gain victory. Perhaps then you shall learn something more. Perhaps you might even grow to like them, frightening though that concept must now seem to one like you who is eager for blood."
Harga looked back towards the fields where the humans labored. Abram had rejoined them, several of the humans gathering around him looking curiously back towards the pavilion under the tree.
"You know I have orders from the Imperial Court to kill all of them," Harga said quietly.
Jukaga felt a sudden mix of emotions. An hour ago it would not have troubled him in the slightest, but now? He had spoken with one of them, shared drink, been challenged to think.
"This is our fiefdom," Jukaga replied. "The Imperial edicts do not directly apply here."
"This world is to be converted into a military base once the war begins. The jump points here might be of strategic value, therefore the Emperor has laid claim to this planet in exchange for another world in another sector."
"And will you?"
Harga smiled sadly.
"The Emperor speaks…" and his voice trailed off.
"A curious human. A good friend. We shall see. I guess he suspects it as well. After all, he tells me he has been on borrowed time since the day we discovered them here. As he puts it, he lives now mainly out of intellectual curiosity to see what happens. Many a night we've sat up till dawn, telling each other our histories, sharing thoughts. Funny, how similar we are, but how different. He's why your father sent you here. Spend what time you have with him. He might be the only human you'll ever really know, especially after the war begins; for when it does we will slaughter each other on sight."
Harga closed his eyes and Jukaga realized just how old his father's friend really was. His mane had gone nearly to white, the ripples of muscle on his limbs were melting away into nothingness.
Harga opened his eyes and looked back at Jukaga and his voice suddenly sounded distant and old, as if already whispering from the beyond.
"I fear that all that the Crown Prince shall succeed in doing is awakening the sleeping giant."
CHAPTER SIX
EARTH—HEADQUARTERS
CICCONFEDFLT
CONFEDERATION DATE 2634.181
"Senator More, a pleasure to see you."
Skip Banbridge forced a smile as the senator, with an imperial air, strolled into the admiral's office as if it was More's personal domain.
Skip sat down and took a sip from his mug of coffee, making it a point not to offer More a cup.
"Your comment to the press yesterday about my political motivations for blocking the upgrade facilities for the Wildcat fighters was way out of line," More began, without even the pretense of exchanging a few pleasantries before launching straight into the attack.
"All I said was that it is time to put political considerations aside. We are heading for a crisis and we need the upgrades now."
"My district or nothing, Admiral. Do you read me?"
"Senator. Your district is two jump points from what could be the front line."
"Front line with what?"
"The Kilrathi, sir," Skip replied coldly. "We are moving towards a declaration of war, sir."
"A move which you, rather surprisingly, are against," More snapped back.
"Sir. We are taking a swing into the dark. All we know is that they are out there and that they're xenophobic as all hell. Beyond that we know nothing."
"Are you afraid, is that it?" More asked tauntingly. "I thought you fleet boys would love a chance for a little shoot-up."
Skip struggled to control his anger.
"Sir, the good Lord willing, this limited war will get the message across, but we are dealing with an unknown here. We know nothing concrete about them. We don't even know where the hell the jump points are once we're into their territory. It'll take survey teams months, years to track them down. All I'm saying is I don't like the gamble."
"So you want to run off? Just what the hell are we spending trillions on? Toys for you to fly around in and nothing else?"
Skip leaned forward, coming half out of his chair.
"Good kids will die even in this limited operation. A hell of a lot more might die if the message is read the wrong way, either as a sign of weakness or of belligerence."
"So we do nothing about their raids?"
Skip wearily shook his head and collapsed back into his chair. The same man who was doing so much to hamstring the fleet was now pushing it out into aggressive actions it had no real business making. He knew it was an irrational prejudice but he had never really liked a political leader who had not put some time into the service, or at the very least had spent some time studying the history of it. The worst kind were the ones who cried about funding, wrung their hands over inane causes, and then were more than willing to send kids out to die for their pet cause of the moment.
The Kilrathi had to be addressed. Everything in his gut was telling him that a war, not just a limited declaration but an all-out, total war unlike anything the Confederation had ever faced was looming on the horizon. And if it came he knew More would maneuver himself into the appropriate political stance.
"The appropriations, Admiral," More said quietly, focusing the topic back on the reason for his visit. "I want the facility in my district or nothing."
"We need depth to protect our manufacturing. That means the inner worlds, not out on the edge. For heaven's sake, man, can't you see that? We are talking survival here!"
More stood up and leaned over the desk, hands slamming down on Banbridge's desk.
"Always the inner worlds. You are in their pockets and I'll be damned if I buckle to that. And another thing, Admiral. Your ass is on the line and I want it. I've had it with your sniping. I'll tag so many damn investigations on you that you won't be able to breathe. You are finished unless you start playing ball with me right now."
Banbridge bristled and stood up, ready to explode.
"Damn it, just for once, just for once, Senator, can you stop thinking like a damnable ward politician and start thinking like a representative of all the Confederation? Tomorrow the Senate will declare war and I'm locked into Orange Five. If we're going to fight them, then, damn it, fight them and stop these half-assed measures."
"That's exactly what you people want," More snapped back. "Full-scale war. Well, times have changed, Banbridge. Our actions will be surgical and balanced, appropriate to the level of threat. We don't need a sledgehammer, we need a surgeon's scalpel to solve this problem with the Cats. Take some of their ships, push them back and that will be the end of it. You military types only see as far as the end of a gun. You should listen more to the people over at the State Department, they have a handle on this. Once the Cats see we'll fight, we've won their respect and they'll back off. Do it your way and it will lead us into a full-scale conflict that means disaster."
"The Cats are ready and we are not, and when it hits they'll roll right over us, thanks to all that you've done."
"You are insubordinate, Mr. Banbridge, and I'll have your stars for this!"
Skip struggled with his rage, wishing that Winston was by his side. The old prof always had a way of smoothing a situation out. He knew he should play kiss ass with More, but it was beyond that now.
"Senator. When they start shipping home the body bags, I pray to God you're forced to look into the eyes of every mother whose son or daughter you've killed, because the good Lord knows I'll most certainly have to face some of them."
"You're finished, Banbridge. I expect support for the building of the facilities on my world. It's all or nothing now."
More stepped back from the desk as Skip bristled with rage. For the first time in years the admiral found himself filled with a desire to physically choke the life out of someone. He knew that if the crisis did come. More would be a survivor. Ones like him always were. They'd dance and shift the blame and come out clean. And what was even more enraging was the clear knowledge that the bastard would not even think twice about the thousands of youngsters who would die because of his arrogance. In fact, any concept of personal guilt for the tragedies he created was beyond him. All that mattered was power.
"Get out of my office," Skip snarled. "Get the hell out of my office right now, damn you."
More smiled malevolently. "I was hoping you'd respond like this. I don't need your brown-nosing me to survive. In fact, I want your hide pinned to my wall."
Without another word More stalked out of the office. On the other side of the door Banbridge saw the ever-hovering staff of lackeys waiting, circling in around him like drones circling a queen bee. The door slid shut and, cursing a stream of his best lower-deck invections, Skip stalked around his office. The coffee cup wound up smashed against the wall and he felt a moment of embarrassment as one of his staffers popped the door open and peeked in to make sure he was all right.
"Just get the hell out," Skip yelled and then felt guilty at the wide-eyed look he got from the young lieutenant.
"Sir, want me to clean that up?" he asked, and nodded towards the coffee slowly dribbling down the wall.
Skip took a deep breath. "No, son, just leave me alone."
Going into his private washroom Skip took a couple of towels, got down on his knees and started to wipe the mess up. He had always loathed officers who would leave a mess and then disdainfully walk away with the knowledge that some enlisted man or woman would be there to straighten things out. Picking up the fragments of the cup he tossed them in the trash and dumped the towels in the bathroom hamper.
