Truce. Melody was reminded of Yael’s poem, “Four Swords.” But that had signified dissolution of whatever relationship had existed between the parties, a refusal to fit scripts. Now there was fleet truce between the grotesquely animated Swords and Atoms and Disks and Cups and Scepters. She wondered briefly how the ships of the fleet were numbered, as there were some twenty-seven Disks spread across three Spheres, Polaris, Nath, and Sador. There had to be some duplications. That broke down the analogy some more, and was perhaps a hopeful sign.
The Polarian host rolled in again. “You are the ranking Kirlian among us,” Mnuhl said to Melody. “Do you wish to assume fleet command?”
Melody was amazed. “I? Captain, I know nothing of command and less of space tactics!”
“The chain of command has little to do with space tactics. I myself am not even of your segment. I acted because I believed I was the only entity in a position to act, but I can not retain command here more than briefly. My first priority is to ascertain the appropriate admiral and invest that entity with authority over the loyal fleet. I would not have presumed to meddle in the affairs of an alien segment even to this extent were it not for the preemptive need of our galaxy.”
“But I haven’t the least idea how to direct a fleet or to conduct a battle. I’d walk into the first simple tactical trap the hostages set. I have already made many mistakes, and survived only by chance.”
Mnuhl’s Polarian voice resembled that of a patient instructor. Melody fancied she could hear the firmly remonstrative chords behind the frontal tune, though the Knyfh’s voice was actually filtered through his Polarian ball. “The years of direct commandorial supervision of battle are long over. What is required is a figure of unquestionable authority, who will designate deputies to handle the technical details.”
Melody began to understand. “Details—such as the conduct of the battle!”
“Correct. As admiral, you would maintain liaison with the enemy admiral, clarifying the rules of the situation, negotiating specific complications. The present truce is the result of the procedure developed in prior commands.”
It really was a functional system. Millennia of inter-species contacts had perfected such conventions on an intergalactic scale. Andromeda honored the same general set of rules. This brought a certain order out of what would otherwise be chaos. “Then—I could appoint you to handle the battle,” she said.
“Correct. It would not be presumptuous of me to act as your delegate. I have met you; I know you. There is no Kirlian entity to match you in my segment, and certainly not within this fleet. You are the natural commander, for you alone are unquestionably loyal; you alone cannot be rendered hostage. I urge you to assume the position of admiral—for the good of our galaxy.”
It was hard to decline a plea like that! Still, Melody hesitated. “Captain, I am not young and strong and bold, regardless of the way this host appears.” But suddenly she was conscious of the fact that the host was bruised and disheveled, with a bandage on the leg. “I am old, very near the termination of my natural life span. My judgment may be suspect. What will you do if I decline?”
“I will retain command, as I cannot be sure of the identity of other captains of this fleet. Given time I could locate one suitable, but the enemy will not permit us that time.”
Would the Drone of the Deuce of Scepters be suitable? Melody kept that thought in abeyance for now. “I mean, what would you do about Hammer of ::’s offer?”
“I see no alternatives except to yield or fight. Since by conventional wisdom our situation is untenable, we must yield.”
This, from the representative of a leading segment of the galaxy! Would the Drone see it the same way? “We can’t yield! It could mean the end of our galaxy! We have no idea how things are turning out in the other segments; we may be the only—”
“I have had reports via my incoming transfer officers. Segments Qaval and Weew are holding, while Segments Bhyo and Thousandstar are in deep—”
“I don’t want to hear it!” Melody screamed. “We can’t give up!” Was it that she could not bear to hear of the fall of wonderful Thousandstar, her budding fancy?
“The result may be the same if we fight. It would be best to reduce the destruction, trusting the Andromedans to grant us longer life than we should have otherwise. An entity like Hammer of :: would not have been granted high status among his kind had he not honor. If I command, I must do what seems reasonable to me. Perhaps your wisdom is other than conventional.”
“You bet your sweet notes it is!” But Melody still hesitated. She knew herself to be incompetent to run a ship, let alone a fleet, but she could not stand by and watch her galaxy go under. She had already faced that sort of compromise, and her reaction had not changed. “I’d rather gamble and lose,” she said, “than lose without gambling. I will assume command.”
“I will support you completely, though I may not privately agree with all your policies,” Mnuhl replied gravely. She could almost see his handsome face smiling —which was strange, because of course he had no face, either in this host or in his natural state. He did, however, have a handsome aura.
“Are you competent to handle the battle, despite your objection to it?” she asked him.
“I am competent to handle a conventional battle. But we shall surely lose it. Unless you have some innovative strategy.”
“Yes. Very well; let’s reply to Admiral Hammer.” Mnuhl transferred back to his own ship, and activated the net. “I regret the delay of consultation,” he said.
“Quite all right,” Hammer of :: replied with almost Solarian gruffness. “What is your decision?”
“I have yielded command of the loyalist forces to Melody of Etamin, who will answer you.”
Even through the computer mockup, the startled reaction was apparent. “Melody of Mintaka survives?”
“I survive,” Melody said. “As ranking Kirlian entity, I have assumed command of the Etamin fleet. I decline to accept your offer of amicable terms in exchange for surrender. Instead I offer you similar terms for your surrender.”
There was a snort of incredulous mirth—from Skot of Kade. It was exactly the sort of answer he would have made.
Hammer was too sophisticated to react emotionally. “Your response is noted; your offer is declined. This terminates our state of truce, subject to the standard period of grace. Do you agree to abide by the Intergalactic Conventions of Warfare?”
“I must consult,” Melody said. She turned off the net and spoke to Skot. “What’s this?”
“An assemblage of practical conventions,” he replied. “Individual ships are allowed to surrender when disabled beyond combat capability; equitable treatment for prisoners without unreasonable terms for release; sharing of hospital facilities in neutral zones; surrendered captains permitted to retain their commands on their own recognizance as noncombatants; no attacks made on fleet command ships—that sort of thing.”
“The ancient code of chivalry!” Melody exclaimed. “You have it all worked out so neatly, like a polite game.”
“Courtesy and accommodation are inherent in military space,” he agreed.
“Discordance!” Melody swore. “That’s not courtesy; that’s pusillanimity! The admirals don’t fire at each other, the ships quit when they get nicked. Certainly it cuts losses, but it also rules out unorthodox methods. We can’t win that way!”
Skot smiled wolfishly. “That’s right!”
Melody wondered whether Mnuhl would concur. She would soon find out! She reactivated the net. “Hammer, I decline to honor the Intergalactic Conventions of Warfare. Anything goes.”