Collected Short Fiction, page 366
Navarre took three hesitant steps inward and the Polisarch drifted downward until his crossed feet were but three feet off the ground and his eyes level with Navarre’s. Rel Dominoor was a commanding sight, even in his extreme old age. His platterlike eyes had nothing fishlike about them; both were focussed sharply on Navarre. His skin looked paper-thin, paper-dry; tiny beads of spittle flecked his lipless mouth and the fleshy barbels that dangled from his chin. His bare pale feet were limp and tiny; Navarre stared involuntarily at the atrophied members.
“Yes,” the Polisarch said as if in answer. “The law compels me to remain aloft. I last walked on solid ground more than a century ago. You’re Navarre, Joroiran’s man?”
“I was. It’s two years since I last served the Overlord.”
The Polisarch nodded. “Many years ago I had an Earthman for an adviser—one Mirro Winstin. He served me well. But we grew tired of each other, and he moved on to Kariad. I think his daughter serves Marhaill now.”
“She did. She has recently left him.”
One of the Polisarch’s eyes swiveled disconcertingly upward. “You Earthmen exchange loyalties as you would exchange greetings. I suppose she now serves Joroiran, and you Marhaill? Or have you come to sell your services to me, Navarre? I stand in little need of new advisers now—though I’m always willing to receive information.”
The Polisarch’s jewel-studded hand swept idly across his chest, gently touching a control; he began to rise, moving upward some eight feet. Navarre craned his neck, squinted up at the ruler, and said, “I bring you information, but there’s a price for it.” Dominoor scowled expressively. “Earthmen haggle well. Let’s hear the price, first; the information may come after, if I care to have it.”
“Very well. The price is a fleet of Morankimar battleships: twelve of them, fully armed and manned, to be placed entirely under my command with no restrictions whatever as to their use.” Abruptly the Polisarch touched his controls again and dropped rapidly until he was at Navarre’s level once again. His expression was grave, almost fierce. “I had heard Earthmen were bold, but boldness carried too far becomes insolence.” There was no anger in his voice, merely a sort of didactic peevishness. “You will sell your information for a mere twelve battleships, eh? I could flay you and get it for a less dear outlay.”
Navarre met his gaze unflinchingly. “You could flay me. But then you’d be faced with solving the problem yourself. I offer a speedy and simply resolution. Your own spies will tell you what I have to tell you, soon enough—but that will hardly handle the situation adequately.”
Dominoor smiled slowly. “I could like you, Earthman. Twelve battleships, eh? All right. The terms are met. Now tell me what you came here to tell me, and see if you can save your skin from the hand of the flayer.”
“Very well,” Navarre said. “Briefly, it’s this: Jorus and Kariad plan to form an alliance. The balance of power in this cluster will be upset.” The Polisarch’s pale, almost white skin began to deepen in color, passing through several gradations of chartreuse and becoming finally an angry lemon-color that faded rapidly as the flood-tide of excitement receded. Navarre waited patiently ; he saw that his words had made their effect. Victory was almost in his grasp now.
Finally Dominoor said, “Do you have proof?”
“My word as an Earthman is all I can offer.”
“Hmm. Let that pass, then. Tell me: why is this alliance coming about?”
Navarre took a deep breath. It was useless to lie to the old Polisarch; Rel Dominoor was too wise, too keen-witted, to be fooled easily. Choosing his words with care, Navarre said, “There is a settlement on Earth. Ten thousand Earthmen live there.”
“I know.”
Navarre smiled. “Morank has its spies too, then.”
“We have sharp ears here,” said the Polisarch. “But continue.”
“These ten thousand of Earth desire nothing but peaceful existence. But Kausirn of Vega, the Overlord Joroiran’s adviser, fears them. He thinks Earth is much stronger than it actually is. He is afraid to send a Joran fleet against Earth unaided. Hence his pact with Marhaill; together Jorus and Kariad will dispatch fleets to crush ten thousand unarmed Earthmen.”
“I see the picture,” Dominoor said. “Mutual deception, leading to an alliance of cowards. Go on.”
“Naturally Earth will be destroyed by the fleet—but the link between Jorus and Kariad will have been forged. This Kausirn is unscrupulous. And Marhaill is a weak man. Before too many months have passed, you’ll see Jorus and Kariad under one rule.”
“This would violate a treaty even older than me,” Dominoor mused. “The three worlds are to remain separate and unallied, perpetually outstretched at the vertices of a triangle. This to insure safety in our galaxy. An alliance of this sort would collapse the triangle. It would break the treaty.”
“Treaties are scraps of paper, my lord.”
“So they are. But important scraps. We would have to go to war to protect our rights. It would be painful for all of us. Our cities might be destroyed.” The thick barbels at his chin had twined eerily about each other; Navarre stared, fascinated.
“War between Morank and the allied worlds could be avoided,” Navarre said.
“By giving you twelve of our ships?”
“Yes. My plan is this: your ships shall be unmarked, unidentified in every way. No one will know they originate on Morank. I’ll undertake to repel the Jorus-Kariad fleet that is converging on Earth, driving them off in such a way that they think Earth is incalculably powerful. With luck, it’ll smash the Jorus-Kariad axis. It’ll incidentally save Earth. But also Morank will be untouched by war.”
The Polisarch was smiling again.
“At worst, it would cost me twelve ships. Such a loss I could bear, if needful. At best, I avoid a war in this cluster.”
“You agree to the terms, then?”
“I think so,” the Polisarch said. “Subject to a certain degree of preliminary checking by my informants, of course. I don’t hand over twelve ships with quite this much ease, friend Earthman.”
“Naturally not.”
“And one further point seems to be being overlooked,” Dominoor added.
“Which is?”
“That Earth once again exists,” said the Polisarch. “You very speedily glossed over that fact.”
Navarre felt chilled. Had this all been some callous cat-and-mouse game on the part of the shrewd Morankimar ruler?
“There are but ten thousand on Earth,” Navarre said. “They are harmless.”
“They are harmless now,” Dominoor said crisply. “In ten generations, though—? This Kausirn is no fool. Pie knows the time to strike at Earth is now, before it is too late. Otherwise there will be no stopping them, when they number in the billions again.” Navarre moistened his lips. How, he asked himself, could I have expected Dominoor to fall for such a transparent offer as mine?
“We offer no threat to the galaxy’s peace, Your Grace,” Navarre said hesitantly.
“This is the first lie you’ve told since entering my chamber. You do threaten the galaxy. It’s a built-in consequence of allowing Earth to return to power. But,” he added mildly, “that will be in ten generations. Perhaps I will be dead by then. We do not live forever, even hovering in air as I do.”
Navarre blinked uncertainly. “Does the agreement still stand, then?”
“The agreement stands. The twelve ships are yours. Take them, Navarre—and use them well. Keep Jorus and Kariad apart. Keep war from touching Morank. Save your Earthmen from destruction. And, perhaps, thank an old man who has become a coward.”
Navarre flushed. “Your Grace—”
“Don’t contradict me. You see me humbled before you, Earthman. I give you the ships; play your little ruse. I want only to die in peace. Let those who follow after worry about checking the rising tide that will pour forth from Earth. I worry only about today; at my age, tomorrow is too distant.”
There was nothing Navarre could say. He had achieved his goal; at least, he had not deceived Dominoor. The old man knew perfectly well what the situation was.
The Polisarch drifted, feather-light, across the room and touched one gnarled finger to a protruding stud. Moments later, the Secretary of State appeared, looking questioningly at Navarre.
“Give this man a suite in the Palace,” Dominoor said. “He’ll stay here a while. When he’s settled down, come back: I have some special instructions for you. You might also summon Admiral Yeeg of the Grand Fleet; he enters into this as well.”
The Secretary of State nodded, obviously puzzled.
Navarre dropped to his knees gratefully. “Your Grace, your decision is a noble one, generous and good.”
“Another lie, Navarre. I acted out of the most petty self-interest, and you know it. But I appreciate your flattery, none the less; in a century’s time, one grows to tolerate courtier’s oil.” To the Secretary of State the Polisarch said, “Show him to his rooms.”
The last thing Navarre heard as he left the Polisarch’s chamber was a deep bitter sigh—the sigh of a weary ruler who knew he had sold his galaxy’s future to purchase a moment’s peace.
CHAPTER VI
THERE WERE fifty ships in the armada: fifty great golden-hulled vessels, sleek and powerful, advancing at a steady pace across the galaxy. The flagship was a mighty gleaming ship that led the pack, a shark among sharks, a giant battleship of the realm of Jorus. The armada radiated confidence. They seemed to be saying, Here we are, twenty-five ships of Jorus and twenty-five of Kariad, crossing the universe to wipe out once and for all the pestilence of Earthmen.
Hallam Navarre sat in his own flagship, a vessel that once had borne the name Pride of Kariad but now carried no designation whatever. He watched the steady advance of the monstrous alien armada.
Fifty ships, he thought. Against twenty-two.
But we know how many they have. They can’t measure our numbers.
He sat poised behind his viewscreens, biding his time, thinking, waiting. They were fifty thousand light-years from Earth, now, and he had no intention of letting Kausirn’s fleet come any closer than five thousand. Once even one ship eluded the inner line of defense and got through to Earth—
Helna appeared and slipped into the seat next to him. She had let her hair grow once again; it was only an inch or two long at its longest, but was a bright auburn in color, giving promise of greater loveliness to come.
She said, “It’ll all be decided now, won’t it? All the thousand of years of planning, ever since the Chalice was sealed and the sleepers left?”
Navarre nodded tightly. Thousands of years of planning had all devolved down on this one day, on these twenty-two ships, ultimately on the mind of one man. He stared at his unquivering hands. He was calm, now; so much was at stake that his mind failed to encompass it, and apprehension was impossible.
He jacked in the main communication line and studied the deployment of his twenty-two ships.
Four of them remained in close orbit around Earth, in contact with each other, ready to move rapidly when needed. He hoped they would not be needed; they were the last line of defense, the desperation blockaders, and it would be dark indeed if they were called into play.
The smaller colony on Procyon had two ships guarding it.
Ten more were deployed at the farthest edges of the sphere of conflict, forming a border for the coming battle. That was his second line of defense. And four of these were mere shells, rushed to completion on Earth.
Six ships formed a solid phalanx ten light-years across, turned outward toward the advancing combined armada. Navarre’s flagship was among this group. These would make the initial attack.
The twelve ships given him by the Polisarch had been carefully recoated; their hulls no longer glowed in Morankimar colors, but were an anonymous gray. Each of the ships had a complement of Earthmen aboard, aiding the Morankimar captain. The aliens knew only that they were to take orders from the Earthmen; the Polisarch had made that amply clear in his instructions to the Grand Admiral.
It might work, he thought. If not, well, it had been a game try—and perhaps there might be another Chalice on some other world. Earth was not that easily defeated, he told himself.
Time was drawing near. All the efforts, all the countless schemes, all Navarre’s many identities and many journeys, converged into one now.
He opened the all-fleet communicator and waited a moment until all twenty-one bulbs at the side of the central monitorboard had lit.
Then, in a quiet voice, he said, “Attention, Unit A—low-intensity defense screens are to be replaced with full screens immediately. Unit B—stand by until called into action as previously instructed. Unit C—remain at your posts in orbit round the planets, and under no circumstances leave formation. Unit D stand by for emergency use.
“The battle is about to begin.”
THERE WAS a moment of silence. Quickly Navarre reached up to shut off the all-fleet communicator; what he had to say now, was directed at the armada. He signalled for a wide-beam subspace hookup.
“All right,” he muttered. “Now it starts.”
He drew the microphone toward him and said, in a ringing voice, “Attention invaders! Attention invaders! This is Hallam Navarre, Admiral of the Grand Fleet of Earth. Come in, invader flagship!” He repeated the message three times each in Joran and Kariadi. Then he sat back, staring at the complex network of machinery that was the communicator panel, waiting for some reply.
Less than a thousand light-years separated the two fleets. The time-lag should have been virtually nil. But a minute went by, and another, with no response. Navarre grew cold; were they simply going to ignore him and move right on into their midst?
But after four minutes the speaker crackled into life. “This is Flagship calling Admiral Navarre.” The inflection was savagely sardonic. “Come in, Admiral Navarre. What do you want?”
Navarre’s heart leaped. He hadn’t expected him to be commanding the armada in person!
“Kausirn?”
“Indeed. What troubles you, Navarre?”
“You infringe on Terran domains, Kausirn. State the purpose of your invasion.”
“I don’t think we need to explain to you, Navarre. The Terran Empire passed out of existence thirty thousand years before; you have no claim to a domain as such. And we’re here to see that no ghosts walk the starways.”
“An invasion fleet?”
“Call it that, if you will.”
“Very well,” Navarre said sharply. “In that case, I call on you to surrender or be destroyed. The full might of the Grand Fleet of Earth is waiting to hurl you back to your own system.”
Kausirn laughed harshly. “The full might! Six stolen ships! Six against fifty! You deceived me once, Ambassador Domell—you won’t a second time!”
A moment later a bright energy flare licked out across space toward the Terran flagship. Navarre’s screens easily deflected the thrust.
“I warn you, Kausirn. Your fleet is outnumbered six to one. Terra’s resources are greater than you could have dreamed. Will you surrender?”
“Ridiculous!” But there seemed to be false bravado in Kausirn’s outburst; he sounded uncertain.
“We of Earth hate unnecessary bloodshed,” Navarre said. “I call upon the captains of the invading fleet to head their ships back to home. Kausirn is an alien; he hardly cares how many Joran or Kariadi lives he throws away for nothing.”
“Don’t listen!” came the Vegan’s shout over the phones. “He’s bluffing! He has to be bluffing!” It sounded a little panicky.
“All right,” Navarre said. “Here we come.”
HE GAVE the signal, and the battle that had been planned so long swung into existence. The six ships that comprised his fighting wedge moved forward, charging across hyperspace toward the evenly spaced invading fleet.
“You see!” Kausirn shouted triumphantly. “They have but six ships! We can crush them!”
Navarre’s ship shook as the first heavy barrage crashed into it; the screens deflected the energy and a bright blue nimbus sprang into being around the ship as the overload was dissipated.
Six ships against fifty—but six rebuilt ships, six ships so laden with defense screens that they were no faster than snails. They moved steadily into the heart of the armada, shaking off the alien barrage and counterattacking with thrusts of their own. They were unstoppable, those six ships—but difficult to maneuver, slow to return fire. In time, the alien fleet could wear down their screens by constant assault, and that would end the battle.
“Six outmoded crawlers,” Kausirn exulted. “And you ask us to surrender!”
“The offer still goes,” Navarre said, and gave the signal for the second third of the fleet to enter the fray.
They came down from six directions at once, their heavy-cycle guns spouting flame. They converged on the Joran-Kariadi fleet, six light Morankimar vessels equipped for massive offensive thrusts. The invaders were caught unawares; four Joran ships crumbled and died in the first shock of the unexpected attack.
Kausirn was silent. Navarre knew, or hoped he knew, what the Vegan was thinking: I had expected only six defending ships. If the Earthmen have six more, how many additional ones might they have?
The radar screen was crisscrossed with light. Navarre’s original six ploughed steadily forward, drawing the heaviest fire of the aliens and controling it easily, while the six new ships plunged and swerved in daring leaps, weaving in and out of the alien lines so fast they could not be counted.
Navarre gave another signal. And suddenly three of his offensive ships leaped from view, blanked out like extinguished candles, and reappeared at the far end of the battlefield. They drove downward from their new angle of attack, while the remaining trio likewise jumped out of warp and back in again. Navarre picked up curses coming from the harassed aliens.
Three more ships had perished. The odds were narrowing—forty-three against eighteen, now. And the aliens were definitely bewildered.
