Starfishers Volume 3: Stars End (27 page)

Beckhart became thoughtful. “That isn’t all, Thomas. There’s always more. You just don’t know it. Is there a connection? Think about it. Stars’ End might be more than just a handy arsenal.”

Beckhart was talking to himself, not his audience, McClennon smiled. The Admiral was making the sort of random connections that, when they paid off, caused him to be so effective.

“Thomas, I want you and Amy to talk to Doctor Chancellor’s people. They came off the Lunar digs. There might be an angle.”

“They should get together with Amy’s friend, Consuela el-Sanga. She’s more knowledgeable than we are.”

“Fine. Fine. We’ll arrange that. Meantime, get your brains boiling. Open them up to unexpected possibilities . . . Tell you what. We’ll have another little get-together after dinner. With them included.
Marathon
brought me some new material. I’ll lay it out then.”

McClennon caught a bleak note. “Bad, eh?”

“Worse than you’ve seen.”

Beckhart used the evening session to present the report from the Ulantonid deep probe. Afterward, he asked, “Any speculations, people?”

The science people were guarded. They wanted more data. McClennon asked, “Did Luna Command run that through the big brain?”

“Yes. And it asked for more data too. I think it has a human bias built in. It wouldn’t accept the numbers. It suggested that Commander Russell be replaced by somebody less inclined to exaggerate.”

“Looks to me like there’s enough data to draw some first approximation inferences. Like, the Globular and war fleets represent an effort to destroy any present and potential sentience. It looks like an effort to eliminate competition and remodel the galaxy for the comfort of one race.”

A scientist protested, “You can’t draw those inferences. They’re anthropocentric. It could just as well be a religious crusade.”

“What?” Mouse snarled. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Easy, Mouse,” Beckhart said, “No idea is too bizarre right now. The truth is going to be something off the wall. Brainstorm, people. Come up with as many ideas as possible, then winnow them as we accumulate more data. We shouldn’t use the facts to build something acceptable. The truth may not be.”

The scientists were becoming restive. Beckhart continued, “One unpalatable fact that jumps right out is that they’re going to try to destroy us. Add to that their incredible numbers. Add to that the fact that the Globular is forty thousand years away. People, I think we’ve found us a war that will last forever.”

McClennon could not handle the numbers. Forty thousand years? Eight times as long as recorded history? That was one long-term operation.

The other side had been involved for the gods only knew how long already. Millions of years?

The oddities of the alien base on the moon’s dark side, the abandoned ships in Three Sky, and Stars’ End itself, seemed a little less strange when seen in that light. Presuming the mysterious builders had been enemies of the centerward race, their works might constitute a counter-operation of equally cosmic scale. He tried to tote up a picture based on known factors. It did not scan. There were too many questions. What was the role of the Sangaree? What had become of the builders?

Mouse leaned his way. “This is a little much for me, Tommy. I’m just a simple-minded soldier.”

McClennon grinned. “I’ll go along with the simple-minded.” He had spent the afternoon with a Psych team. They had performed wonders. He felt content and optimistic.

Mouse was out of sorts. He had come off The Broken Wings moody and uncommunicative. The definitive proof was that the science team boasted several attractive women. None had yet been honored by the swoop of the eagle. Amy had mentioned it in one of her friendlier moments. McClennon had not noticed it himself.

“You going to be in the mood for a game after this?” McClennon asked. Mouse had not shown much interest in chess lately, either.

“I don’t think so. What’s going on?” A petty officer was whispering to the Admiral.

Beckhart announced, “The Sangaree just left Stars’ End. They left the McGraws to the Starfishers.” He smiled. “Looks like the incidence of piracy may fall off.”

“What will they do?” McClennon asked.

“We don’t know. Let’s hope they give it a good think. I left Strehltsweiter with a message for her bosses. Maybe Homeworld will make them listen.”

“What kind of message?” Mouse demanded.

“I told them to change their ways. I said I’m not interested in wiping them out, but I will if they don’t shape up. I told them I could repeat the lesson at Osiris if they insist. I let her think we know where Osiris is, too.”

“Do you?” Thomas asked.

“No. I lie a lot.”

For the next week McClennon split his time between the Psych and scientific teams. The Psych sessions bled the pressure ofi his chaotic mind. Gradually one personality—McClennon—took hold. He suffered only one minor episode.

Marathon
dropped hyper off Three Sky. Signals from von Drachau’s
Lepanto
indicated that she and her escort had penetrated the Yards. There had been a few skirmishes, but nothing serious. The Starfishers were talking, but stalling.

The Admiral observed, “Gruber is trying to fox us. He’s sitting tight at Stars’ End. Know what he’s doing? Betting to an inside straight. He’s thinking, if he can pull some of those weapons out quick enough, he can turn the tables on us.”

Beckhart thereupon demonstrated his proconsular power. He contacted the Seiner leadership, told them the time. He designated it as launch minus twenty-five hours. He ordered the channel kept open and the countdown broadcast at five-minute intervals. Incoming traffic was to be recorded and otherwise ignored. Requests for delays and further negotiations consequently fell on deaf ears.

At launch minus two hours twelve minutes the Seiners of Three Sky surrendered unconditionally. Fleet Marines began occupying key installations immediately.

Beckhart summoned McClennon. “Thomas, we’ve finished twisting their arms here. Find your lady and ask her if she’s going or staying. We space for Stars’ End in one hour.”

“Yes sir. Sir, I just came through Communications. The Sangaree raidfleet is still headed for Homeworld.”

“Good. We’ll be able to release a few squadrons, then.” His eyes went glassy. “The big strike is getting closer. The Blues have picked their spot. We’re waiting till the other side walks into it. Find your lady.”

Amy was easily found. She would not leave her cabin unless dragged. He knocked. “It’s McClennon,” he said. “The Admiral sent me.”

She seldom talked to him unless under pretext of business.

“What does he want?”

“We’re spacing for Stars’ End. You want to stay here, or go along?”

“They gave up?”

“They didn’t have much choice.”

She sighed. “Moyshe, I try hard to understand what’s happening. But I can’t. Do you think he’ll keep his word?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. We’ll find out the hard way. He’ll leave people here to establish the new order. I wish I could find out what their instructions are. What are you going to do? You have to decide quick. We’re ready to leave.”

“I’m going to Stars’ End. Consuela is out there.. They made her head of the whole team.”

“Well, good for her.” He did not depart immediately. She refused the opportunity he offered.

It keeps right on hurting, he thought as he stalked along the passageway. She won’t even try to understand.

After relaying Amy’s decision, he went looking for his partner.

He found Mouse in the wardroom, staring mindlessly into a holovision cube. He sat, “What’s the matter, old buddy? Want to talk?”

Reluctantly, Mouse killed the holoshow. “Not yet, Tommy. I’m not ready.”

“All right. You noticed that little blonde Lieutenant from Weapons? Tanni Something.”

“From B Missiles? Primo stuff. Looks like she’d turn a man every way but loose. There’s something about the little ones . . . ”

“They say she’s a Scorpio.”

Mouse laughed. “You didn’t fix me up, did you?” Mouse had been known to opine that Scorpio women were the hottest in the known universe. McClennon could not get him to elucidate the workings of a geocentric astrology transferred to Outworlds skies.

“Not exactly. I asked a few questions. I figured the answers might pique your interest.”

“I’m interested. That little bomb is ready to go off. You can tell just by the way she moves. Blow in her ear and you’re liable to start something five guys couldn’t handle. But I’m also not interested. If you know what I mean.”

“No. I don’t. You’ve been celibate for a month. I thought I’d see entropy shift into reverse first.”

“I got things to work out, Tommy, Can we drop it?”

“If you want. We’re heading for Stars’ End.” As if to back him up, the ship’s hyper alarm sounded

“I heard they finally gave in.”

“Now all we’ve got to do is impress Gruber.”

“The Old Man will find a way.”

“He always does, doesn’t he?”

“Tommy, what do you think our chances are?”

“What?”

“Our chances of coming through this thing with these centerward creatures.”

“We’ll never know, Mouse. It’s going to go on for a long time. Our great-grandchildren’s great-grandchildren are going to be fighting this war. And it’s a sad thing.”

“Sad? How so?”

“It may destroy us. As a race. I don’t mean destroy like wipe us out. I mean put an end to what makes us what we are. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. You know how I get.”

“You think too much.” Mouse smiled.

“The human race is crazy, see. No two of us are alike. And when we form up in mobs, no two mobs are alike. We’re always flying off in a skillion different directions. Everybody doing their own thing. Every culture, too. And that’s a survival trait, I think. There’s almost a Darwinian thing with cultures. Some die out, and others come to life. There’re always some on the way out and some on the way in. The thing is, there’re always a lot of different ones around. When one goes down, there’s always another there to take its place.”

“I’m not following you,” Mouse said in a slightly amused tone. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Look, this centerward race . . . To fight it we’re going to have to pull together. Generation after generation. Like an anthill. We’re going to turn into a warfare race. Our whole focus will be the struggle. Kids will be born to a system that will turn them into the best soldiers possible. If they’re survivors, they’ll work their way up and get old in harness. They’ll have kids of their own, who will follow in their footsteps. After a few generations nobody will know there’s any other way of life. And then, in a way, we’ll be just like the things we’re fighting. The diversity will be gone. And we’ll be trapped in a dead end. Because every culture is a dead end eventually. I mean, what does a warfare society do after it polishes off its last enemy? Turn on itself?”

Mouse looked at him askance. “You do worry yourself about some strange things, my friend.”

“I think it’s a valid concern. I think we should start taking the long view now and try to retain all the diversity we can.”

“So write a report suggesting a study.”

“I think I will.”

“It won’t matter much when they wipe us out, Tommy. And from where I sit, that looks inevitable. All we can do is delay it. That’ll be like trying to keep the river from getting to the sea by bailing it with a teacup.”

“Maybe. Maybe.”

The ship shuddered. It seemed to twist away around them.
Marathon
was on her way to Stars’ End, that legendary, inviolable, virgin goddess of a fortress world that had intrigued a half dozen races for countless centuries.

Twenty-two: 3050 AD
The Main Sequence

Marathon
dropped hyper ten days after departing Three Sky. She cruised norm thirty hours before being joined by the heavy squadrons from The Broken Wings. Beckhart was afraid Gruber might still need convincing.

“There’re a hundred harvestships there,” Amy protested. “You know how big they are, Moyshe. Plus all the service ships. What makes anybody think a few dozen Navy ships could whip them? The whole Sangaree raidfleet couldn’t.”

“I hope you don’t have to find out.”

Mouse explained, “These ships were built for that kind of thing, Amy. All they can do is destroy. Especially the Empire Class. Other ships. Orbital fortresses. Cities on the ground. They were built to chew them up. What you Starfishers have is a bunch of ships built to do other things. Their guns were hung on them as an afterthought. Your harvestships were put together in jumbles, just growing, never designed for any special purpose.”

“I still think you’re all overconfident.”

Both Thomas and Mouse shrugged. McClennon said, “You could be right. We’re supposed to believe we’re invincible.” He glanced at Mouse. “Maybe that’s why this centerward thing is so oppressive. It shakes our faith.”

They were in
Marathon’s
wardroom. Most of the science team were there too. The countdown to hyper drop had declined past the ten-minute mark. People with no duty assignment had gathered to look at what McClennon called a thirty-first-century war god.

An untouchable world. A dead metal machine voice that shrieked against the big night, threatening anyone who came near. Stars’ End. The arsenal of yesterday, more securely defended than the virtue of any medieval virgin.

“You don’t need to worry,” McClennon said. “If there were any chance of trouble, we wouldn’t be sitting around here. We’d be on battle stations.”

“The Weapons people aren’t on alert,” Mouse said. He was staring at a small blonde woman wearing Weapons insignia over her Lieutenant’s stripes. “Watch how she moves, Tommy.”

McClennon smiled. “I think he’s coming around. The tomcat is coming through.”

Mouse reddened slightly.

“Jesus,” McClennon said softly. “You? Embarrassed?”

“I don’t know, Tommy. It seems like I’ve changed a little. I don’t understand myself.”

“One minute to hyper drop,” a remote voice announced. It drowned in the chatter of the wardroom.