Captain Mnuhl transferred six Knyfh officers into these willing hosts, and suddenly there was a sufficient and highly competent complement. They introduced themselves formally and moved efficiently to the key stations. It was evident from the outset that they were expert. Melody had no further concern about the technical operation of the ship, although she was a bit awed by the evidence that aliens had such a thorough working knowledge of the Solarian ship. They could not have drawn the information from the minds of their human hosts, because the humans knew next to nothing of these jobs. The Andromedans were quite right to view Segment Knyfh as their greatest obstacle to victory!
Her concern about the coming space battle was another matter. The ratio was holding: two hostage ships to each loyal one. Those four hundred hostages had really done their job. Soon the final tally was in: sixty-six hostage, thirty-three loyal. The hundredth ship had been blown up in the preliminary action.
The original cluster fleet: one hundred ships—like the one hundred cards of the Cluster Tarot deck. Probably only a partial coincidence. Had there been Trump ships along with the Suit ships—but that would have been stretching it too far! This ostentatious display of useless power, this show of segment unity that was the fleet, now it threatened the very existence of Imperial Outworld. What irony that this vanity of space was now to be used exactly for what it had been designed: destruction.
Two to one; how were they going to prevail against that force?
There was a Solarian game in Yael's mind, an ancient system of shaped pieces on a checkered board, called chess. Here there were five types of pieces disposed to protect their King, each with its unique mode of operation. In the game of chess, position and strategy were more important than the individual value of the pieces; was that also true in space?
The net spoke: "Hammer of quadpoint."
"I have expected your call, Hammer," Mnuhl replied.
"We appear to have a decisive advantage. Your ships are outnumbered and underpersonnelled. No help can come to you in time to reverse this. We cannot allow you to return under arms to your segment capital. We shall proceed there ourselves, to place Outworld under siege and force capitulation of the segment government. We can accomplish this with half our present force. Indeed, we can accomplish it with a single ship. You therefore can gain nothing by forcing an engagement. We do not wish to destroy good ships unnecessarily, or to indulge in pointless hostilities. We therefore proffer you amicable terms in exchange for your surrender. The demolition of this section of the galaxy will not proceed immediately; you will be permitted to retire for the duration of your lives in planetary comfort, unmolested."
"We must consult," Mnuhl replied.
"I await your return call. Truce."
Truce. Melody was reminded of Yael's poem, "Four Swords." But that had signified dissolution of whatever relationship had existed between the parties, a refusal to fit scripts. Now there was fleet truce between the grotesquely animated Swords and Atoms and Disks and Cups and Scepters. She wondered briefly how the ships of the fleet were numbered, as there were some twenty-seven Disks spread across three Spheres, Polaris, Nath, and Sador. There had to be some duplications. That broke down the analogy some more, and was perhaps a hopeful sign.
The Polarian host rolled in again. "You are the ranking Kirlian among us," Mnuhl said to Melody. "Do you wish to assume fleet command?"
Melody was amazed. "I? Captain, I know nothing of command and less of space tactics!"
"The chain of command has little to do with space tactics. I myself am not even of your segment. I acted because I believed I was the only entity in a position to act, but I can not retain command here more than briefly. My first priority is to ascertain the appropriate admiral and invest that entity with authority over the loyal fleet. I would not have presumed to meddle in the affairs of an alien segment even to this extent were it not for the preemptive need of our galaxy."
"But I haven't the least idea how to direct a fleet or to conduct a battle. I'd walk into the first simple tactical trap the hostages set. I have already made many mistakes, and survived only by chance."
Mnuhl's Polarian voice resembled that of a patient instructor. Melody fancied she could hear the firmly remonstrative chords behind the frontal tune, though the Knyfh's voice was actually filtered through his Polarian ball. "The years of direct commandorial supervision of battle are long over. What is required is a figure of unquestionable authority, who will designate deputies to handle the technical details."
Melody began to understand. "Details—such as the conduct of the battle!"
"Correct. As admiral, you would maintain liaison with the enemy admiral, clarifying the rules of the situation, negotiating specific complications. The present truce is the result of the procedure developed in prior commands."
It really was a functional system. Millennia of inter-species contacts had perfected such conventions on an intergalactic scale. Andromeda honored the same general set of rules. This brought a certain order out of what would otherwise be chaos. "Then—I could appoint you to handle the battle," she said.
"Correct. It would not be presumptuous of me to act as your delegate. I have met you; I know you. There is no Kirlian entity to match you in my segment, and certainly not within this fleet. You are the natural commander, for you alone are unquestionably loyal; you alone cannot be rendered hostage. I urge you to assume the position of admiral—for the good of our galaxy."
It was hard to decline a plea like that! Still, Melody hesitated. "Captain, I am not young and strong and bold, regardless of the way this host appears." But suddenly she was conscious of the fact that the host was bruised and disheveled, with a bandage on the leg. "I am old, very near the termination of my natural life span. My judgment may be suspect. What will you do if I decline?"
"I will retain command, as I cannot be sure of the identity of other captains of this fleet. Given time I could locate one suitable, but the enemy will not permit us that time."
Would the Drone of the Deuce of Scepters be suitable? Melody kept that thought in abeyance for now. "I mean, what would you do about Hammer of ::'s offer?"
"I see no alternatives except to yield or fight. Since by conventional wisdom our situation is untenable, we must yield."
This, from the representative of a leading segment of the galaxy! Would the Drone see it the same way? "We can't yield! It could mean the end of our galaxy! We have no idea how things are turning out in the other segments; we may be the only—"
"I have had reports via my incoming transfer officers. Segments Qaval and Weew are holding, while Segments Bhyo and Thousandstar are in deep—"
"I don't want to hear it!" Melody screamed. "We can't give up!" Was it that she could not bear to hear of the fall of wonderful Thousandstar, her budding fancy?
"The result may be the same if we fight. It would be best to reduce the destruction, trusting the Andromedans to grant us longer life than we should have otherwise. An entity like Hammer of :: would not have been granted high status among his kind had he not honor. If I command, I must do what seems reasonable to me. Perhaps your wisdom is other than conventional."
"You bet your sweet notes it is!" But Melody still hesitated. She knew herself to be incompetent to run a ship, let alone a fleet, but she could not stand by and watch her galaxy go under. She had already faced that sort of compromise, and her reaction had not changed. "I'd rather gamble and lose," she said, "than lose without gambling. I will assume command."
"I will support you completely, though I may not privately agree with all your policies," Mnuhl replied gravely. She could almost see his handsome face smiling —which was strange, because of course he had no face, either in this host or in his natural state. He did, however, have a handsome aura.
"Are you competent to handle the battle, despite your objection to it?" she asked him.
"I am competent to handle a conventional battle. But we shall surely lose it. Unless you have some innovative strategy."
> "Yes. Very well; let's reply to Admiral Hammer." Mnuhl transferred back to his own ship, and activated the net. "I regret the delay of consultation," he said.
"Quite all right," Hammer of :: replied with almost Solarian gruffness. "What is your decision?"
"I have yielded command of the loyalist forces to Melody of Etamin, who will answer you."
Even through the computer mockup, the startled reaction was apparent. "Melody of Mintaka survives?"
"I survive," Melody said. "As ranking Kirlian entity, I have assumed command of the Etamin fleet. I decline to accept your offer of amicable terms in exchange for surrender. Instead I offer you similar terms for your surrender."
There was a snort of incredulous mirth—from Skot of Kade. It was exactly the sort of answer he would have made.
Hammer was too sophisticated to react emotionally. "Your response is noted; your offer is declined. This terminates our state of truce, subject to the standard period of grace. Do you agree to abide by the Intergalactic Conventions of Warfare?"
"I must consult," Melody said. She turned off the net and spoke to Skot. "What's this?"
"An assemblage of practical conventions," he replied. "Individual ships are allowed to surrender when disabled beyond combat capability; equitable treatment for prisoners without unreasonable terms for release; sharing of hospital facilities in neutral zones; surrendered captains permitted to retain their commands on their own recognizance as noncombatants; no attacks made on fleet command ships—that sort of thing."
"The ancient code of chivalry!" Melody exclaimed. "You have it all worked out so neatly, like a polite game."
"Courtesy and accommodation are inherent in military space," he agreed.
"Discordance!" Melody swore. "That's not courtesy; that's pusillanimity! The admirals don't fire at each other, the ships quit when they get nicked. Certainly it cuts losses, but it also rules out unorthodox methods. We can't win that way!"
Skot smiled wolfishly. "That's right!"
Melody wondered whether Mnuhl would concur. She would soon find out! She reactivated the net. "Hammer, I decline to honor the Intergalactic Conventions of Warfare. Anything goes."
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.
"I need to understand the capacities and limitations of each type of ship. I don't know whether I can come up with a winning strategy, but ignorance certainly won't get me there."
He did not comment. She watched the arena. The two ships moved together steadily, but not on a direct course; each followed a kind of curve. "Like two gunslingers walking down the street," Yael said.