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Chapter 42

 

Conflict

Runacres, in full battle armor, scanned a simulation of the fleet defenses, gaming his alternatives. He glanced at the main situation plot as the last corvette to reach station glided into position. A signal illuminated on his panel.

"Yes, group leader?" Runacres responded, clearing his screen.

"Screen commander reports all corvettes on station, Admiral," the corvette commander announced. "Countermeasures plan Beta Two implemented. Enemy engagements imminent."

"Very well," Runacres said stonily, cinching his harness. "All units cleared to fire, Franklin."

"Aye, Admiral. Weapons free," Wells replied. The operations officer punched an interlock release and warning lights flashed.

"All 'vettes report maximum readiness," the group leader said. "No exceptions."

"Very well," Runacres snapped, switching circuits to screen tactical. Transmission density was high, but radio discipline was sound; terse position and target commands flashed from ship to ship. Runacres watched and listened with grim pride as the disposition of picket units changed dynamically, flowing subtly to counteract the movement of the approaching foe.

The spearhead of the attack dove directly for the heart of the corvette screen. The initial engagement was like the first drop of rain hitting a metal roof. Eagle One, the flagship's lead corvette, called "weapons away," and the tactical status board depicted a spread of kinetic energy weapons being fired at the leading alien units. A kill was indicated. Runacres heard dim cheers echoing beyond the Legion transmitters, but exultation was brief; the onslaught—the downpour—pounded on their metal roof. Fierce engagements cluttered the radio as confusion and anxiety replaced order and control.

Directed energy weapons sparkled in the immensity of space; laser pulses arced at the speed of light to collide with oncoming warheads; missiles exploded in tremendous fireballs; yet the explosions and laser blasts were but faint blooms and razor-thin coruscations in the overwhelming vastness of the lightless vacuum. The widely dispersed corvettes, arrayed in a three-dimensional stack, slashed and parried, striving desperately to keep the flood of targets from passing, but the stream of enemy rockets approached too rapidly and across too wide a front. Runacres watched with approval as the screen commander initiated a large sag vector, but the defenses could not handle the rate of engagement or the enemy's speed advantage. It was over quickly; the incoming attack swept through the screen at time-distorting speeds.

"Attack has penetrated. Thirty enemy destroyed," the tactical officer reported. "Screen units in pursuit. Now thirty-three enemy destroyed. Now thirty-four."

Electronic icons representing more than sixty surviving enemy attackers streaked across the main situation display. Targeting computers designated each blip with codes: symbols for range and arrival times, velocity and size, probable destination target, and defensive responsibilities. Tasmania, lead ship in the column, was being tagged heavily as a primary target. Eire, second ship in the column, the flagship, was also lighting up.

"Tasmania's on the bull's-eye," Runacres said. "Order her back to half interval. Direct Baffin and Novaya to hammerhead the column. Close up the gaps."

"Aye, aye, Admiral," Wells replied, keying his console.

"Forty-two enemy destroyed, Admiral," the tactical officer reported. "Screen units have closed to main battery range and are disengaging."

"Tasmania's opening fire, Admiral," Wells said.

Motherships having clear fields of fire engaged the enemy interceptors with main batteries, their ordnance employment indicators flashing cheerfully on the status panels, but radio transmissions on the tactical circuits were deadly serious. Fifty-eight alien interceptors made it through the corvette screen. All but one were destroyed before reaching lethal weapons range.

Tasmania, in the van of the formation, was engaged by the highest density of incoming missiles. Her defensive systems saturated. One last enemy drone, mindless, yet with a singularity of purpose, breached the gauntlet of fusion beams and kinetic needles—a meteor streaking malevolently close aboard Tasmania, where it finally dropped from radar. Tactical plot signaled enemy ordnance detonation.

Runacres stared belligerently at the status panels. With the explosive destruction of the last drone, all enemy missiles and decoys had been accounted for. The first wave of attacks was over.

"Sir, Tasmania has taken a hit," the tactical officer said. "Damage control reports are coming in. Radiation levels have been contained within radtox critical, but she's been hurt. Overpressure shields were penetrated, and hyperlight generators are seriously damaged. She's drifting."

"Captain Wells, bring Tasmania down the line," Runacres ordered. "Keep her in the grid and maintain HLA links. Order Eire to take the guide."

* * *

Planetary Defense Council convened, decreeing all global disputes suspended.

"Our first wave has engaged the enemy fleet," reported the Planetary Defense Force briefer, a senior officer with a pronounced southern hemisphere accent.

A rumble of excitement arose from the audience representing the thirty-three nations of Kon. Emperor-General Gorruk and the ten northern hemispheric governors, all under Gorruk' s imperial hegemony, reclined in prominent front row lounges to the left of the center aisle, their staffs and retinues filling in behind. Chief Scientist Samamkook, silent and brooding, sat behind Gorruk. On the right side of the briefing center sat the southern hemispheric leaders. The southerners had squabbled over seniority and protocol, causing Gorruk to grind his teeth in frustration. How could his armies have been defeated by such rabble? The presence of Marshall Et Barbluis, his battlefield nemesis, as a member of the southern delegation particularly rankled.

The Planetary Defense Force command staff, including Gorruk' s appointed legation, occupied seats around a semicircular table beneath the briefer's podium. Heavily armed PDF troopers guarded the entrances to the auditorium. Gorruk chaffed at the necessity to submit to the decisions of the Defense Council, yet he took solace in having controlled the meeting site selection. The Planetary Defense Council was convened in Gorruk's new command bunker, a magnificent edifice. Gorruk's reign was still young, but he had thrown every resource into completing his seat of government, and befitting its military character, the buildings were heavily fortified and secure. Gorruk laughed at the presence of Planetary Defense troopers. Ten thousand of his battle-hardened soldiers were mere seconds away. There could have been ten times that number, but Gorruk had been forced to deploy the bulk of his remaining forces to maintain control over the dispersed militia troops.

Of course, the members of the southern delegations and the Defense Council had objected to the venue, but Gorruk exercised his prerogative as leader of the largest populations, and as a general officer in the PDF. The Council had no legal alternative. The need for common defense outweighed the fear and distrust all of Kon held for the leader of the northern hemisphere.

Gorruk returned his attention to the briefing. Displayed on the immense luminous wall screen behind the briefer was a planform depiction of the planetary system. The scale was set to optimize the orbits of Kon and Genellan, both planets represented by points of white light. The planets, orbitally opposed, were separated by the full width of the display. The sun-star in the display's center was a three-dimensional orange globe.

"One missile penetrated the enemy defenses," continued the briefer. "We have no damage reports yet, but it appears that, at a minimum, we have disrupted their picket screen." The briefer pushed buttons on the lectern; the display zoomed rapidly into the region of conflict, giving the viewer a sensation of tremendous acceleration. Planets and stars disappeared, and a schematic representation of the alien fleet filled the screen.

"Composite radar returns received from our attacking missiles reveal the disposition of the alien fleet at the time of attack. Eight interstellars are confirmed, and at least thirty smaller ships— pickets, or scouts. Updates from the second and third waves are beginning to arrive. As you can see, their picket array has lost its organization. It will cost them fuel and time to regain position. Each subsequent attack will further degrade these defenses."

The wall presentation zoomed away from the alien fleet to reveal multiple brilliant red arrows. Relative to the great distances of the planetary system, the arrows were already near the battle zone.

"Our second wave—twenty piloted interceptors and eighty drone missiles—will engage by this time tomorrow. Third and fourth waves, the same mix, will arrive simultaneously less than four hours later. Preparations for additional attacks, if necessary, are underway." The audience stirred as the briefer paused to review his notes.

Unbidden, Emperor-General Gorruk stood and turned to face the assembly. "We will saturate their defenses and overwhelm the alien fleet," he bellowed. "The invaders will be destroyed or repelled, and once again we will have satisfied our vows." The audience turned to stare, and a low shoveling of impudent hissing could be heard emitting from the southerners.

"Thank you, most excellent Emperor-General," said Defense Commanding General Talsali, quelling the disturbance with his gavel. "Perhaps it would be prudent to advise caution until the outcome of the battle is better defined." General Talsali, a nonaligned northerner, was the officer in command of the Planetary Defense Force. He was quite advanced in years, having survived several regimes, but his voice was clear, his tone giving no indication of emotion or judgment. General Talsali was renowned for his diplomacy, a necessary survival skill.

Gorruk glowered at the Planetary Defense Commander, searching for a hint of sarcasm or disrespect, any excuse to initiate a rebuke, but none was apparent. Gorruk reclined in his lounge, and Talsali recognized a member of a southern delegation. The delegate rose to his hinds and turned in Gorruk' s direction.

"Emperor-General Gorruk," said the southern official, a wizened noblekone. "We find it disturbing that aliens have been in our system all this time and only your government has been aware of that fact."

Gorruk had been forced to confirm the presence of aliens on Genellan in the face of persistent and pointed inquiries by the Planetary Defense Command—no doubt the work of the elusive Et Avian and Et Kalass. Exasperated, Gorruk bolted back to his hinds and faced his accuser.

"You speak from ignorance!" he responded. "I answer not for what transpired under my predecessor. The presence of aliens was only recently made known to me, and I assure you, had I known sooner, I would have done everything in my power to eliminate them—sooner."

"That is not my point, most excellent General," the southern official replied, ignoring the insult. "Should we not make an effort to communicate with the aliens?"

"As I have reported," Gorruk snapped, "it has been attempted, and the aliens reacted aggressively. One of our most capable scientists was killed while in their hands. They are hostile." The delegates looked at each other, some skeptically, but most shook their heads in fearful condolence. Xenophobia ran deep.

"The fact remains," Gorruk continued, "another fleet of alien interstellar ships has penetrated deep within our system. What other explanation for their persistence than aggression? Remember our vows. We have sworn to repel invaders from space." The vast majority of delegates nodded and rumbled their acknowledgment. The vows were sacred rituals of their history. Gorruk sensed the groundswell of support. "The mission is clear. We must destroy the perfidious enemy! You will appreciate my vigilance and decisiveness before this is over!"

The crowd rumbled in support of Gorruk' s position. The inquisitor sat down and turned to discuss the issue with his neighbors.

"Your vigilance and decisiveness are beyond reproach, Emperor-General," Talsali interjected, turning to the audience. "The obligations of the vows are compelling. We must not let our planet be attacked again. Aliens have arrived in our system, and their intentions must be assumed hostile. We press the attack."

* * *

The second wave of interceptors bore down on the ragged screen. Two divisions of corvettes had been assigned new coordinates to compensate for the weakening of defenses caused by Tasmania's engineering casualty. Carmichael piloted Peregrine One in a mad, fuel-consuming dash to its new assignment.

"On station, Commander," his copilot announced. "Retro checklist complete. Weapons are up, and all stations are ready. Fuel state twenty-two point three!"

"Roger, report in to screen commander." Carmichael set the tactical display at maximum range and noted the advancing progress of the first few enemy missiles. Fuel was now his biggest concern. Fortunately, the first wave of enemy missiles had all been target-locked—the missiles had not maneuvered—and fire control solutions required little expenditure of fuel. Peregrine One had taken out two attackers. Regardless, Carmichael would have to conserve fuel. He hit the maneuvering alarm and punched the ignition control button for retrograde burn. The "backward" flying corvette accelerated to zero velocity relative to the screen's reference datum.

"Eire has taken the point. Coordinates are updating," the second officer announced. "Tasmania's still drifting to sector two, and her drift rate has increased. They've been unable to get her to link."

"Can she return fire?" Carmichael asked.

"Only partially," the second officer replied. "Two of her primary batteries are disabled, and she can't maneuver. She has coverage gaps, and she's masking defensive fire from motherships in that sector."

"Bad news—" the copilot started to say.

"Osprey's engaging!" the second officer interrupted, his voice pitching higher. "She's reporting maneuvering targets!" "Picnic's over, kids," Carmichael said quietly.

* * *

Sarah Merriwether stared at the flagship's tactical display. Her stomach churned bitterly. She watched Tasmania drift inexorably out of the grid.

"We are at station limits, Captain," advised the Officer-of-thedeck, his voice hinting of anxiety.

"Maintain station on Tasmania," Merriwether said calmly. "Establish and hold grid link. We are the guide. Admiral Runacres will keep everyone together. Order all nonoperational crew to their lifeboat stations and notify weapons they are cleared to fire."

"Aye, sir," said the Officer-of-the-deck, turning to his console.

* * *

"What is Merriwether doing?" Runacres demanded, peering down at the flagship's command bridge. "She's taking Eire off the guide bearing!"

"Captain Merriwether is keeping Tasmania in grid contact," Wells reported. "Eire still shows a partial link."

"She can't do it alone. Direct Baffin and Novaya to support Eire's movements," Runacres ordered angrily. "Swing TDF a half span to sector two."

Merriwether was going to have some explaining to do. She was causing the fleet defensive positions to collapse to one side. The enemy could exploit the maneuver and concentrate its attack. Runacres scanned the situation plot and noted with grim satisfaction his motherships moving smartly along the new defensive axis defined by Tasmania's excursion. It would take two hours to complete the realignment. Too late to make a difference in the fleet defenses, but it was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do.

* * *

"Engaging alien screens, flight leader," the konish copilot said.

"Very well," the interceptor pilot replied. The noblekone scanned his tactical display, checking the disposition of his squadron. The other interceptors were in position. His mission was to trail two flights of drones through the picket screen. While the first flight disrupted the screen defenses, his flight was to follow the subsequent brace of drones through the gap.

Everything was proceeding to plan. His tactical display depicted engagements in progress. The alien energy beams were powerful; two of the leading drone warheads had already been destroyed. He wiggled his broad shoulders and stretched his neck, trying to loosen the tightness. He scanned the limitless blackness of space before him, the enemy ships invisible in the distance.

Brilliant light ahead! A flowering incandescence provided a reference point in the infinite distances, and his rocket streaked past white and pink wisps of brightness as if they had never been there. A missile ahead of them had exploded, probably hit by an alien picket's beam of destruction. His flight was in the battle zone.

"Enemy ship closing from sector three," the copilot reported.

The pilot checked the tactical display and saw the symbol for an alien approaching. Another enemy symbol popped onto the screen—this one directly "overhead"—also closing on his track. But neither of the enemy ships carried enough speed; their vectorswere inadequate to intercept. His ships were through the screen! The konish flight leader shifted his attention to the radar returns of the distant starships.

* * *

"We can't catch them!" Carmichael cursed. He watched in vain as the enemy flight eluded them, moving too fast for an intercept from his position. Another flight of enemy missiles appeared on screen, and Carmichael horsed Peregrine One to a new vector, accelerating abruptly, using precious fuel. He would not allow another flight to penetrate his sector. "Uplink the enemy positions back to fleet ops, and pass the alert. That first group looks like trouble."

"Aye, aye, Commander," the second officer shouted.

"Our fuel situation stinks, Commander," the copilot reported. "I know! I know!" Carmichael replied in exasperation. "We'll make a pass at these targets, and then we have no choice but to bingo. Set up a lead pursuit. You got the ship."

Carmichael pushed back from the controls, flexing his hands. They had knocked out two more enemy missiles, one of which had been piloted, but how much longer could they keep it up? The screen ships were scattered over a wide area, most in pursuit, some destroyed or disabled by action, and some—like Peregrine One— too low on fuel to pursue at high power. How much longer would they be able to keep up their end of the defensive load? The motherships could not handle everything.

* * *

Tasmania drifted helplessly, spewing lifeboats into the darkness. Only skeleton crews manned battle stations. The lifeboats, infinitesimal motes, each with a cargo of frightened human beings, floated away on assigned vectors, their tiny strobes flickering nervously against the never-ending blackness of deep space.

Belligerent konish spaceships maneuvered to attack; Tasmania was their focus. Tasmania's skipper noted with helpless resignation the flagship maneuvering from the battle axis to support his ship's precarious situation. He could ill afford to dwell on those thoughts; a flight of two alien interceptors approached his weapons perimeter, another flight of four followed closely behind, and four more were behind those. They were coming to destroy his ship.

"Main batteries are recharged. Weapons has good lock, Captain," his officer-of-the-deck reported. "All targets are acquired."

"Very well," the captain replied. "Commence firing at range limit."

The first two aliens disintegrated just after entering Tasmania's firing range, the mothership's lethal directed energy batteries lashing out with massive power and accuracy. The next flight of four missiles poured through the same gap. The aliens had deduced the Legion lasers needed charging time, and the safest place to attack was through the "craters" made by previous discharges.

A second pair of Tasmania's energy batteries deflected hard over to cover the vulnerable sector, locking on the approaching flight. The battery director confirmed acquisition and target lock. She depressed the trigger button, and the great engine of power embedded in the operations core of the mothership hummed its deadly tune. The firing aperture flicked open and the glassy eyeball of destruction flared for a full tenth of second, darting a pulse of pure energy instantaneously across the great gulf of space. Nearly instantaneously!

In that fraction of time three of the interceptors jinked outwards leaving the lead ship to be vaporized as the huge, hot beam raced through its molecules. The surviving ships weaved and darted, but their tracks were unerringly defined by their common objective—the Tasmania.

That Legion mothership unleashed another laser blast of energy and only two interceptors remained.

* * *

"Tasmania's fire control has been overwhelmed, Captain!" reported Eire's weapons control officer. "She's receiving fire!"

Sarah Merriwether' s flagship was also fully engaged; the big ship's energy batteries, located twenty-eight levels below the bridge, were firing beyond rated capacity. Seven enemy missiles had been annihilated. More were inbound. Merriwether switched her helmet circuit to pick up bridge-to-bridge communications. She monitored the excited intership gabble. Tasmania reported two more hits to her operations core.

"Can you help her?" Merriwether demanded over the command circuit.

"It'll be a tough shot, Captain. The enemy's between us and Tasmania. We may hit our own ships or the lifeboats."

"If you get a shot, take it!" Merriwether ordered.

"Aye, Captain."

Within seconds the weapons control officer came back up. "Sir, Tasmania's clean, but she'll need a new coat of paint. We picked the last two bogies right off her back."

Merriwether acknowledged and switched her attention to her own ship. Three interceptors were closing on widely separated tracks. One of them disappeared from the screen—a kill. Moments later a second one was destroyed. The third enemy ship pressed closer and closer through the most active quadrant, taking advantage of the recharging batteries. Merriwether wondered if her weapons people had spent too much time worrying about Tasmania. The bogey streaked within lethal firing range. The collision alarm sounded, and Merriwether felt the hollow crunch of explosive impact somewhere deep within her ship. The enemy interceptor had thrust its knife.

* * *

The konish pilot swept past the looming shape of the alien ship, maneuvering desperately to avoid the sure death of energy beams. With grim satisfaction, he watched his laser ripple across the thin metal skin of the starship. His missiles had already struck home. Every second of survival this close to the enemy was a victory, his radar images flashing back to Kon, sending vital intelligence data to Defense Command. The information would increase the success of subsequent intercepts, and his death would not be in vain, for he knew he would surely die.

The energy beam struck with merciful instantaneity, and the pilot's atoms joined those of his ship and became one with the universe.

* * *

"Damage control, I need reports, now!" Merriwether demanded. The second wave had been destroyed.

"All operations stations are functioning," the officer-of-thedeck reported. "We took missile hits in the core, Level 30, frame 123, above the 'vette bays. Overpressure shield is intact, but battle armor in bay one is penetrated. Damage control reports numerous residual fires. Habitability ring was holed by laser blasts in two places. Preliminary casualty report is four dead, ten injured and eight missing—probably overboard."

Merriwether second-guessed herself—she should have launched lifeboats.

"The fleet? How's the fleet?" she asked her operations officer. "Three corvettes lost, Captain," the operations officer responded. "Including Eagle One."

"How's Tasmania?" Merriwether asked, shaking her head— Eagle One was one of Eire's corvettes—one of hers.

"She's in bad shape, but she's asking us if we need any help." Merriwether smiled grimly.

"Peregrine One is requesting a tug assist for a no-fuel approach, Captain," reported the officer-of-the-deck. "She's completely out of fuel and Tasmania can't take her aboard."

"Bring her in. Can she make it on her own?"

"Negative," said the officer-of-the-deck. "She's bone dry and coasting. We have tugs collecting lifeboats in position to intercept." "Have a tug bring her in," Merriwether ordered.

* * *

The officers of the Planetary Defense Senior Command filed into the amphitheater and took their usual seats at the semicircular table beneath the briefing stage. Gorruk was irritated by the briefing delay. He was too busy to be sitting idle, waiting for others to be on time; the responsibilities of running half the world were pressing. And rumors of strange militia movements were filtering in. Gorruk sat and fumed, his gaze wandering about the auditorium. His scan stopped suddenly. Chief Scientist Samamkook was fraternizing with newly arrived noblekones, immersed in deep discussions, on the other side of the center aisle—the enemy side. Gorruk's anger flowered explosively. General Talsali addressed the room, but Gorruk was not listening. Why would Samamkook be consorting with southerners? Gorruk studied the noblekones in Samamkook' s company. They were familiar but Gorruk could not place them. The cluster of noblekones and Samamkook turned to stare directly at him, their eyes unwavering.

"—General Gorruk!" Talsali said loudly, summoning Gorruk' s attention.

Gorruk levered his steely glance from Samamkook and turned to face the podium. "Excuse me, General. Were you addressing me?"

"Yes, most excellent General," Talsali replied sternly, in a decidedly undiplomatic tone. "We have received a petition to suspend the intercepts. It has been presented to and approved by all legal authorities of the southern hemisphere. I have been asked to seek concurrence of the northern governments."

"Suspend the intercepts? Absurd! We are under attack!" An angry murmur swelled.

"What are the results of our second wave?" he demanded.

"The intercepts go well, most excellent Emperor-General," Talsali replied, polite in form only. "Our preliminary assessment is that two alien starships have been disabled, one of them severely. Their defensive array has broken down and the screening ships have suffered losses. Our next two waves are in position to severely damage the enemy fleet. Perhaps to destroy it."

"And you want to stop?" Gorruk was dumbfounded.

"It is not solely my decision, most excellent General," responded the defense commander. "New information has become available indicating the aliens have come in peace. I seek permission to suspend our attacks while this evidence is presented and corroborated."

Gorruk shot Samamkook a glance. The old kone crawled toward the podium.

"Who presents this evidence?" Gorruk demanded.

"It is your own science advisor, most excellent General, the renowned astronomer, Chief Scientist Samamkook," Talsali said, his voice seeded with sweet irony.

Gorruk stood erect. "Madness! Scientist Samamkook! Return to your seat! The governments of the northern hemisphere do not support this insanity. I demand the interception of the alien fleet continue with full fury and commitment."

Samamkook labored up the ramp to the briefer's stage. Gorruk' s face blackened with rage; the tendons in his monstrous neck pulled the skin tight. Talsali prudently took several retreating steps, falling back on all fours. Two of Gorruk' s generals galloped toward the exits. Planetary Defense troopers hesitated but let them through.

"You have forgotten where you are!" Gorruk screamed, spittle flying from his gaping mouth. "This is my realm! You are here at my pleasure!"

"Not your realm, General," Samamkook said, his brittle old voice amplified by the sound system. He stood erect at the briefer's lectern, stretching his twisted and withered form into a regal posture. "You stole it from a thief. We recover it in the name of the ancient rightful rulers." The audience gasped.

Gorruk could not believe his senses.

"What authority—by what power do you make this pronouncement, Scientist?" Gorruk inquired with a wolfish snarl. A commotion could be heard in the hallway—no doubt his soldiers. He would soon put an end to this ancient upstart.

"As steward for the Regent of Ollant!" the tottering scientist announced. "As steward for the Regent of House Ollant, I command that our attacking forces be recalled immediately. I speak for all northern kones, noble and common. The aliens are not our enemy. Our enemy is here, in our midst! Gorruk be damned!"

Gorruk looked up, astounded. The old kone had gone insane.

"You old fool!" Gorruk growled, regaining his composure. Imperial army soldiers and their officers appeared at the entryway. The PDF troopers fell back. Gorruk turned to face Talsali. "This is a joke. Order your troopers to eject the senile old fool from the briefing room. The attacks will continue! The aliens must be destroyed! If you cannot do your duty, I will have it done for you, General Talsali."

"I am afraid it is not that simple, General," came a familiar voice. Gorruk turned to confront the intruder. It was Et Kalass, throwing back the hood of his white robe as he made his way to the front of the room. General Et Barbluis and other noblekones followed in his wake.

"General Gorruk," Et Kalass announced with nervous gravity. "You have been deposed. In the name of the—"

"Deposed?" Gorruk snarled. "You are all dead!" He turned to his generals and barked orders, but a low, thunderous rumbling far in the distance—artillery fire—captured his attention. Gorruk stood straighter and sniffed the air.

"General Gorruk!" Et Kalass shouted, his voice shaking. "It is useless to resist! Your army cannot help you. For once in your life, resist combat! Do not cause more death."

Gorruk' s generals, roaring orders, rushed for the exits.

"I will see you die at my own hands," Gorruk menaced, advancing on the noblekones. Et Kalass bravely held his ground, but his fear smell added strongly to the growing symphony of odors.

Detonations shook the structure's foundation. Armored windows high overhead vibrated like timpani; air pressure in the bunker fluctuated violently with the passing shock waves. Gorruk stared upwards. Another explosion, massive and perilously close aboard, reverberated through the building, shattering windows and knocking kones to the ground. Gorruk recovered his balance, shot a glare at the noblekone, and trotted toward the exit. Revenge could wait.

A loud commotion stirred at the main entrance, and the assembled kones turned as one to see what was upon them. Smaller explosions sounded, and the singing of laser blasters resounded in the near distance. The odor of burnt air wafted into the auditorium, and council members started flowing to the exits; a tight panic ensued. On one side of the building, a dozen imperial soldiers, their faces blackened and bloodied, retreated inwards, blocking the side exits. Gorruk pushed his way through the shouting crowd, but as he reached the main entryway the thick inner doors burst open, and militia soldiers poured onto the floor, laser blasters ready to fire. A squad of Gorruk's soldiers rushed bravely forward and was annihilated. Other soldiers threw down their weapons and lay prone, arms empty and extended.

Gorruk did not flinch. He rose upon his hinds and faced the enemy, his face flushed with anger and contempt. Et Avian, dressed in combat uniform and surrounded by elite militia guards waving their weapons, stepped through the press of soldiers and halted before Gorruk. At least twenty laser blasters focused on the ruler's hulking form.

"General Gorruk! Do you submit?" Et Avian demanded, his voice strained with emotion. Endless explosions continued in the distance. The very ground heaved.

* * *

Hundreds of angry red barbs, symbols for enemy ships, hurtled toward the blue and white icons representing his fleet. The pilots of the alien vessels were heedless of their own safety—totally committed to destroying his ships. His corvette screen was nonexistent; eight of the valiant craft had been destroyed, and the others were low on fuel and scattered across the vastness of space. Eire was operational, but Tasmania was reduced to space garbage and was jettisoning the balance of its crew. Lifeboat beacons dotted the tactical plot. The next engagement was less than an hour away.

"Commodore Wells, bring the fleet to grid stations!" Runacres commanded, wrenching his eyes from the tactical display. "Prepare for emergency hyperlight entry. On my command!"

"But, Admiral, Tasmania's link is down. Her lifeboats!" Wells. Remonstrated "Admiral, the corvettes!" exclaimed the group leader. "Obey the order, Franklin," Runacres said sternly.

"Aye, aye, Admiral," Wells said. The fleet commander officer initiated a command sequence on his control console. Warning Klaxons resounded throughout the fleet. Runacres pushed off from his command chair and floated to the end of his station tethers. He pounded gloved hands together in frustration. More deaths on his hands. Meaningless deaths.

He looked up to see Cassy Quinn standing quietly at the back of the flag bridge and vaguely remembered that Peregrine One had diverted to Eire. She was staring at him. Runacres signaled for her to approach. Quinn pushed off from the bulkhead and glided to his command station.

"We're leaving, Commander. I'm sorry."

"You did everything possible, Admiral," Quinn replied. "You have nothing to be sorry—" The brave officer choked in her welling grief.

"Admiral! Admiral!" the tactical officer shouted. "We have established radio contact with the aliens! They are speaking Legion, Admiral! Very good Legion."

"Wha-a—?"Runacres turned from Quinn.

"We have radio contact! From a broadcast source on R-K Three. Transmission delay is five seconds," the tactical officer shouted. "They want to talk to our leader—to you, sir! Linking to command frequency."

"Notify ship captains to monitor," Runacres ordered. He tried to analyze the confusing inputd=s. Why would they be trying to talk now? Their attacking forces had routed his fleet. It had to be a trick!

"Patch in Commander Quinn," he ordered, turning to face the planet survey officer. "I may need your help, Cassy.""I'm ready, sir," she replied, her eyes welling with tears.

"Keep everyone alert and ready to jump, Franklin," Runacres commanded. "Order out all tugs and recover the lifeboats still in the grid. How much time until the next engagement?"

"Five minutes before the corvettes are engaged, Admiral," the group leader reported. "All are low on fuel and ordnance. They're hung out to dry—"

"All motherships except Tasmania can jump on command," Wells interjected.

"Very well," Runacres answered thickly. "Let's hear what our.. .hosts have to say." He looked over to Quinn. She nodded back, her jaw firm. He selected the command frequency, and a deep, rumbling accent could be heard speaking.

"...urgent that-ah I talk-ah your leader. Please connect-ah me with your commanding general." Silence cut with static.

Runacres looked around the flag bridge and inhaled deeply.

"Fleet Admiral Runacres of the Tellurian Legion Space Force," Runacres broadcast. "Identify yourself and by whose authority you speak." The circuit was silent for long seconds as the radio signals flew across the wide distances.

"Fleee Ad-ah...miral Run...aakerrs," the voice returned, hesitantly. "I am Mistress Kateos, speaking for Et Avian, Prince of House Ollant, and-ah the konish people." More silence, as if the speaker was intimidated by her own responsibility.

"We have come in peace," Runacres said, initiating the conversation. "Why have you made unprovoked attacks upon us? Over." Seconds dragged by.

"The answer to your question is not-ah simple. It-ah take time to explain, and-ah the explanation can be saved for a more better time," replied Kateos, her voice firmer. "We have stopped our attack. Do not-ah continue your attack on us. Please respond-ah."

"We have not attacked you. We are defending ourselves. Over."

"Over? Ah, yes. That means it-ah is my turn to speak. It-ah is sometime difficult to tell the difference between attacking and defending, Ad-ah...miral. I ask that-ah you demonstrate your peaceful intent-ah by halting forward progress. Not-ah all of my people are convinced you come in peace. Cooperation will serve to illustrate your peaceful intent. Please respond-ah, ah . . . over."

Everyone on the bridge looked about with amazement.

"We will cooperate, but you must have your ships turn back immediately, or we will be forced to open fire. Over," Runacres replied.

"The recall command has been sent-ah to the interceptors. You will see them terminating attack momentarily," Kateos replied. "...over."

Runacres looked at Wells, certain that it was a trick—a trick to hold the fleet in subspace long enough for their interceptors to close.

"Tracks show a slight deflection, Admiral," responded the harried tactical officer.

Runacres stared bullets at the situation plot.

"Course changes are increasing, Admiral. They are reducing forward speed and swinging away!" the tactical officer reported.

Runacres watched hypnotically. He could detect the course changes, evident even on the larger-scale situation plot. Runacres forced out a lungful of metallic-tasting air.

"How do we know this is not a trick, and how did you learn our language?" he asked. "Over." More time than usual passed.

"We do not-ah deserve your trust-ah, Ad-ah.. .miral," Kateos finally replied. "I hope that-ah we will demonstrate a more peaceful behavior in the future...so that-ah you will grow to trust-ah us. You are wise to be cautious. The leadership of my planet is experiencing grave challenge. It-ah is our intention to conduct-ah diplomatic communications with you as soon as we stabilize our governmentah. It-ah will take many days. I have been told to inform you that-ah you should not-ah perceive our apparent confusion as a weakness. More interceptors are being prepared. That-ah is what I was told to tell you.

"As far as learning your language," the alien's voice became enthusiastic, "I have had-ah excellent teachers, Nashooa Hudsawn and Sharl B-Bru...B-Buu...shar...B-Bruusharry. It is difficult for us to say. Lieutenant Sharl is the leader of humans on this planet.. .Over."

Runacres recognized the names of the corvette officers and looked worriedly at Cassy Quinn. Buccari in command meant in all likelihood that Jack Quinn was dead. The distraught officer stared at her feet, a constellation of tears floating about her face. She straightened and dispersed the water globules with the back of her hand. She looked at Runacres and smiled bravely.

"Those names are important to us," Runacres continued. "We are anxious to recover our missing crew. What can you tell us of their condition? Are they safe? Over."

"Their condition is unknown, although we have reason to be concerned-ah." The alien's voice became serious. "A military party is attempting to capture them. That party is led by an officer swearing allegiance to the same leaders that-ah conducted the attacks against-ah your fleet. It-ah is likely they are in danger. Over."

"What can be done to help them? Over."

"Very little," Kateos responded. "We are sending numerous messages to the soldiers, but they refuse to acknowledge receipt of orders."

Runacres stared at the situation plot. The enemy tracks were clearly reversing.

"Scientist Kateos, please notify your government of our gratitude for halting hostilities. I look forward to establishing peaceful relations with your race. But I would also ask your government to permit us to send ships to the third planet, so that I may provide assistance to our people. You have indicated they may be in danger. I cannot sit here and not help them. Over."

Static-filled seconds crept by.

"I will relay these concerns to my government-ah," Kateos finally replied. "However, I cannot authorize the request. Please wait. Over."

"We wait for your next transmission. Please hurry. And thank you." Runacres turned to look at his bridge crew.

"Group leader, get all corvettes back on board! Let's get this fleet in shape. We have time to get everyone in the grid. And I want three corvettes ready to go back to that planet. Commander Quinn, you're in charge of the landing party."

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Framed