The hostage seemed unperturbed. She wished she could see his face, though she didn’t even know what type of host he occupied; it might have no face. “As you prefer. Your ships shall be destroyed without quarter until such time as you yourself yield the remainder of your fleet.”
“Uh, wait,” Melody said. This Andromedan was one tough negotiator! She did not want to condemn all the loyal entities of her fleet to violent extinction. “Will you consider an alternate mode of settlement?”
“Identify it.”
“Single combat of champions.” That was straight out of the legends of Thousandstar! “One ship from each fleet.”
There was a pause. Good. At least Hammer’s mind was not a complete calculator! “Melody of Mintaka, your mind intrigues me. However, I must point out that a one-to-one ratio would not reflect the relative strengths of our fleets. I would consider a contest of two of our champions against one of yours.”
“The :: is right,” Melody muttered. “The contest has to reflect the fleets. I suppose that’s better than having dozens of ships and thousands of lives destroyed, though. If one of ours can’t take two of theirs, how can thirty-three of ours expect to take sixty-six of theirs?”
“Except we’re all sunk if our one ship loses,” Yael said. “And if they lose, how do we know they’ll honor it? They’re playing by the rules only because they’re winning.”
“There is that,” Melody agreed. “They talk of Intergalactic Conventions, but look at the way they took over their ships! Precious little honor in that! Any way we look at it, we’re in serious trouble.”
“Maybe one at a time…” Yael said.
“That’s it!” Aloud, Melody said: “Hammer, suppose we pit one of our ships against two of yours—in turn? If yours wins either match—”
“I personally am inclined to agree,” Hammer said. “I am extremely curious about the merits of individual types of fighting ships, as these are similar to ours of Andromeda. But I am constrained to point out two things: First, I do not believe I have authority to surrender a superior fleet, in the event your single ship had the fortune to prevail twice; my next-in-command might well have me deposed for treason to my galaxy. Second, individual combat does not necessarily reflect group-combat potential; the ship that wins singly might lose in a mass-action. I therefore must qualify this matter. I will send ships singly against yours in a line match, but will not permit my fleet to be bound by the result. The victor of each contest will meet the next ship from the other side. After a ship has won twice, it may retire from the field if it chooses, since limitations of fuel and ammunition prevent indefinite continuation. Each encounter will affect the strength of the fleets, however, and this might lead to renegotiation of terms after several actions. Should the first twenty victories be yours, your position would be considerably strengthened both on the field and in negotiations. But chance still gives us an advantage commensurate with our total force.”
“A remarkably cogent analysis,” Melody agreed. This entity was no dummy, unfortunately! “I shall honor the prior truce until the individual encounters desist.”
Privately, she discussed the matter with Skot. “Are you able to select a champion? I don’t know how the types of ships rate against each other.”
“No one knows how they rate against each other,” Skot replied. “Similar types exist in many segments. When one type demonstrates superiority, refinements are made in the others to counter it. There has been very little inter-Sphere conflict in the past few centuries. This would seem to be a unique opportunity to test the merits of design in the field, and the Andromedans are probably just as curious about it as we are. I would guess, however, that the competence of individual captains and crews is the decisive factor.”
“I wonder if a natural captain should do better than a hostage captain.”
He shrugged. “That, too, remains to be tested.”
“Then it’s up to my neuter intuition. Let’s survey what we have, first.”
The totals were not encouraging. There were six Solarian Swords including the flagship in the loyalist fleet, while the hostages had fourteen. Melody had seven Canopian Scepters to the hostages’ thirteen; the enemy also had two Wands of Mirzam and two Rods of Bellatrix. She had five Spican Cups to fourteen of the enemy’s, buttressed by three Chalices from Antares. There were ten loyalist Polarian Disks and nine Andromedan but three of the five Nath Disks were hostage, and both Coins of Sador. She fared best with the Atoms of Knyfh, having three of the four, but both Mintakan Atoms were hostage, a special indignity. No matter what type of ship was deemed best, she had no advantage.
“Let’s start with a Scepter,” she decided.
“The Canopians are certainly excellent craftscreatures,” Skot said. “They have inflexible will and responsive crews.”
“Because their crews are Slaves, accustomed for millennia to taking orders from insectoid Masters,” Melody said. But she remembered the Drone of the Deuce of Scepters, and relented. “We’ll send out the Deuce.”
She contacted the Drone on the net. “Yes,” he said, as if it were the only possible choice for such a mission.
The Scepter moved out of the fleet cluster, into the vacant space between the two forces. It was a rod with a ball on one end, like a cross between the handle of a Sword and the body of a small Disk. It traveled sidewise, maintaining its orientation to the sun. There was something so graceful, so elegant about that smooth progress that Melody hummed a chord of admiration, as well as her human vocal apparatus permitted. “Now if only it can fight!” she murmured fervently.
From the hostage fleet floated a Cup. It, too, maintained its attitude, the deep indentation toward the sun. It, too, was pretty as it spun. And surely it, too, could fight.
Suddenly her idea about the matching of champions seemed ludicrous. “I have to come up with something better than this!” Melody muttered. “Something. Anything!”
But her eyes remained on the globe. This horrible encounter was so important!
Melody had a general notion of the propulsion and weapons systems of segment spaceships, but that was all. She knew that most ships used mixed chemical and electric or “ion” drive, not atomic. Strict inter-Sphere conventions regulated the discharge of contaminants into navigable space, and radioactive substances were inevitably associated with atomics. Even the Atom ships were not atomic, ironically. So these ships were both “clean,” depending on chemical drive for emergency maneuvers, and on electric for steady acceleration.
Several needle scouts and satellite ships were accompanying each champion, but they hardly showed in the globe at this range. No fleet ship operated alone; the skilled use of extensible eyes and expendable defenses was crucial. The scouts zoomed close to the enemy, pinpointing its position and enabling the mother ship to home in its weaponry. A ship without its scouts was virtually blind. The very globe she peered into was a function of the Ace of Sword’s own satellites. But one tended to forget about the needles and shuttles, and to see the whole thing in terms of the single central ship.
“Skot,” Melody said. “My comprehension is imperfect. Will you stand by me and explain the match?” What she really wanted was the reassurance of his presence; she was afraid she had bargained the loyalist fleet into deeper trouble than before.
“Yes, Admiral,” Skot said. That startled her, but of course, though Llume had turned over the ship to him, Melody herself had assumed command of the entire fleet, so now ranked him.