“I can’t, either.”
“I wasn’t ordered to stop thinking. And you know, I think this Starkad affair is a blind. They’ll develop the war here, get our whole attention on this sinkhole, then bang, they’ll hit someplace else.”
Flandry blew a smoke ring. “Maybe.” I wish I could tell you. You have no military right to know, but haven’t you a human right?
“What’s Starkad like, anyway? Our briefing didn’t say much.”
“Well—” Flandry hunted for words. They were bloodless things at best. You could describe, but you could not make reaclass="underline" dawn white over a running sea, slow heavy winds that roared on wooded mountainsides, an old and proud city, loveliness on a shadowy ocean floor, two brave races, billions of years since first the planet coalesced, the great globe itself … He was still trying when Dragoika returned. She sat down quietly and watched him.
“—and, uh, a very interesting paleolithic culture on an island they call Rayadan—”
Alarms hooted.
Karamzin was through the door first. Feet clattered, metal clanged, voices shouted, under the shrill woop-woop-woop that echoed from end to end of the long hull. Dragoika snatched the sword off her shoulder. “What’s happening?” she yelled.
“Battle stations.” Flandry realized he had spoken in Anglic. “An enemy has been … sighted.”
“Where is he?”
“Out there. Put away that steel. Strength and courage won’t help you now. Come.” Flandry led her into the corridor.
They wove among men who themselves pelted toward their posts. Near the navigation bridge was a planetary chartroom equipped for full audiovisual intercom. The exec had decided this would serve the vip and her keeper. Two spacesuits hung ready. One was modified for Starkadian use. Dragoika had gotten some drill with it en route to the squadron, but Flandry thought he’d better help her before armoring himself. “Here; this fastens so. Now hold your breath till we change helmets on you … Why did you come?”
“I would not let you fare alone on my behalf,” Dragoika said after her faceplate was closed.
Flandry left his own open, but heard her in his radio earplugs. The alarm penetrated them; and, presently, a voice:
“Now hear this. Now hear this. Captain to all officers and men. The New Brazil reports two hyperdrives activated as she approached destination. She is returning to us and the bogies are in pursuit. We shall proceed. Stand by for hyper-drive. Stand by for combat. Glory to the Emperor.”
Flandry worked the com dials. Tuning in on a bridge view-screen, he saw space on his own panel, black and star-strewn. Briefly, as the quantum field built up, the cosmos twisted. Compensators clicked in and the scene grew steady; but now Sabik outran light and kilometers reeled aft more swiftly than imagination could follow. The power throb was a leonine growl through every cell of his body.
“What does this mean?” Dragoika pressed close to him, seeking comfort.
Flandry switched to a view of the operations tank. Seven green dots of varying size moved against a stellar background. “See, those are our ships. The big one, that’s this.” Two red dots appeared. “Those are the enemy, as near as we can tell his positions. Um-m-m, look at their size. That’s because we detect very powerful engines. I’d say one is roughly equal to ours, though probably newer and better armed. The other seems to be a heavy destroyer.”
Her gauntlets clapped together. “But this is like magic!” she cried with glee.
“Not much use, actually, except to give a quick overall picture. What the captain uses is figures and calculations from our machines.”
Dragoika’s enthusiasm died. “Always machines,” she said in a troubled voice. “Glad I am not to live in your world, Dom-maneek.”
You’ll have to, I’m afraid, he thought. For a while, anyway. If we live.
He scanned the communications office. Men sat before banks of meters, as if hypnotized. Occasionally someone touched a control or spoke a few words to his neighbor. Electromagnetic radio was mute beyond the hull. But with hyperdrive going, a slight modulation could be imposed on the wake to carry messages. Sabik could transmit instantaneously, as well as receive.
As Flandry watched, a man stiffened in his seat. His hands shook a little when he ripped off a printout and gave it to his pacing superior. That officer strode to an intercom and called the command bridge. Flandry listened and nodded.
“Tell me,” Dragoika begged. “I feel so alone here.”
“Shhh!”
Announcement: “Now hear this. Now hear this. Captain to all officers and men. It is known that there are six Merseian warships in Saxo orbit. They have gone hyper and are seeking junction with the two bogies in pursuit of New Brazil. We detect scrambled communication between these various units. It is expected they will attack us. First contact is estimated in ten minutes. Stand by to open fire upon command. The composition of the hostiles is—”
Flandry showed Dragoika the tank. Half a dozen sparks drove outward from the luminous globelet which represented her sun. “They are one light cruiser, about like our Umbriel, and five destroyers. Then ahead, remember, we have a battleship and a quite heavy destroyer.”
“Eight against five of us.” Tendrils rose behind the faceplate, fur crackled, the lost child dropped out of her and she said low and resonant: “But we will catch those first two by themselves.”
“Right. I wonder … ” Flandry tried a different setting. It should have been blocked off, but someone had forgotten and he looked over Captain Einarsen’s shoulder.
Yes, a Merseian in the outercom screen! And a high-ranking one, too.
“—interdicted region,” he said in thickly accented Anglic. “Turn back at once.”
“His Majesty’s government does not recognize interdictions in unclaimed space,” Einarsen said. “You will interfere with us at your peril.”
“Where are you bound? What is your purpose?”
“That is of no concern to you, Fodaich. My command is bound on its lawful occasions. Do we pass peacefully or must we fight?”
Flandry translated for Dragoika as he listened. The Merseian paused, and she whispered: “He will say we can go on, surely. Thus he can join the others.”
Flandry wiped his brow. The room felt hot, and he stank with perspiration in his suit. “I wish you’d been born in our civilization,” he said. “You have a Navy mind.”
“Pass, then,” the Merseian said slowly. “Under protest, I let you by.”
Flandry leaned forward, gripping a table edge, struggling not to shout what Einarsen must do.
The Terran commander said, “Very good. But in view of the fact that other units are moving to link with yours, I am forced to require guarantees of good faith. You will immediately head due galactic north at full speed, without halt until I return to Saxo.”
“Outrageous! You have no right—”
“I have the right of my responsibility for this squadron. If your government wishes to protest to mine, let it do so. Unless you withdraw as requested, I shall consider your intentions hostile and take appropriate measures. My compliments to you, sir. Good day.” The screen was blanked.
Flandry switched away from Einarsen’s expressionless countenance and stood shaking. There trickled through the turmoil in him, I guess an old-line officer does have as much sense as a fresh-caught ensign.
When he brought Dragoika up to date, she said coolly, “Let us see that tank again.”
The Merseians ahead were not heeding the Terran order. They were, though, sheering off, one in either direction, obviously hoping to delay matters until help arrived. Einarsen didn’t cooperate. Like a wolf brought to bay, New Brazil turned on her lesser pursuer. Murdoch’s Land hurried to her aid. On the other side, Umbriel and Sabik herself accelerated toward the Merseian battlewagon. Antarctica continued as before, convoying the scoutboats.