The Caphenon

  Her thoughts were interrupted by shouts of excitement from the warriors, and she lifted her head to see Helmor looking at her with a fierce grin on his face.

  “Lancer Tal figured out how to break their shielding,” he said.

  “She—how? What does that mean?”

  “It means our mission has changed. We’re not going to kill the next one. We’re going to use it.” He pulled his reader card out of its pouch and activated it. “Everyone sit down and rest for five. Lancer Tal is sending out instructions and images of the shield generator. We need to regroup and make a new plan.”

  Kylinn sank to the ground, only too happy to sit. Rafalon slumped next to her, looking twenty cycles older than when she’d met him four days ago.

  “We’re not going to kill any more?” he asked.

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Thank you, Fahla.” He rested his head against the side of the skimmer. “How does anyone live with this?”

  “I don’t know.” But given that she didn’t think she’d live to see sundown, it didn’t seem all that important. Still, she pitied Rafalon. After this third ground pounder, it was clear that he was the one whose projected terror had been so overwhelming that the target had turned homicidal. Kylinn emphatically did not want to know what Rafalon carried around inside of him that could do that. Somehow she suspected it wasn’t a childhood memory of stinging wasps.

  She would have been content to sit there all day, but it seemed like mere pipticks before Helmor was squatting in front of them.

  “All right, this is what we’re going to do,” he said. “Next time, don’t project fear. You only need to make them stop moving and stop firing. We want the Voloth alive and still able to function, so you can’t shatter their minds. Project regret instead, the sense that what they’re doing is wrong. Sorrow, grief, anything to make them think they can’t do this anymore.”

  “That should be easy,” said Rafalon. “Since that’s exactly how I feel right now.”

  “Then what happens?” Kylinn asked.

  “Then we take down their shielding, and you two are going to do a deep Sharing with them.”

  Kylinn sat up straight. “You’re joking. No, you’re not joking. I can’t Share with them! They’re barbarians. I hate them!”

  She had to hate them. She was killing them. They were trying to kill her. No way could she Share with that.

  “Why are we Sharing with them?” Rafalon asked.

  “Because you need to bind them to you, to do what we want. We’re going to use this next ground pounder to kill the others. We’ll be riding inside it, protected. You’ll be safe there. The Voloth will keep doing what they’re doing, except they’ll be working for us instead. They have the weapons that can take out the other ground pounders and the fighters that will be coming in the second wave.” He looked them over and softened his tone. “It’s the only way to save Whitemoon. It’s the only way to save Alsea. You have to Share with them, and make them feel that you’re the ones they need to protect.”

  Kylinn could hardly believe her ears, but Rafalon nodded. “I can do that. I’d rather do that than what we’ve been doing.”

  “Good,” Helmor said. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  They got lucky with the next ground pounder, which was moving alongside a stream. The high bank on one side gave them good cover and allowed them to get close without being seen. Kylinn and Rafalon crawled up the bank to its edge and barely lifted their eyes above the grass while they projected at the Voloth.

  Rafalon was right. All she had to do was project her own feelings: the exhaustion, the grief, the horror at what was happening to her world. It was all so…

  Wrong. It’s wrong, wrong, you have to stop, you can’t do it anymore, it’s wrong. Stop now.

  Even though they had to cover two minds each, it wasn’t as difficult as she’d thought it would be. Active, present emotions were stronger than memories, and on top of that, the Voloth had no defenses. They responded immediately, their regret and grief flowing back along the link, and the ground pounder came to a halt.

  “Perfect,” Helmor said. “Now hold them there. Don’t let them move. When I give you the signal, make them come out.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, and Kylinn couldn’t have given one if she’d wanted to. She was entirely occupied with holding the two minds in her grasp, going from one to the other and back again, in and out, sending and receiving, getting caught in the loop of grief and despair and shame. She hardly noticed when the warriors ran down the embankment, though she saw the flare of the shield a few ticks later. One of the minds in her grasp became fearful, but she soothed it and it calmed.

  She was so focused that she didn’t notice Helmor’s signal, or the first few times he called her name. Then she realized he was shouting at both her and Rafalon, and when she looked up, the five warriors were using the legs of the ground pounder for cover. The shield was down.

  She let go of the mind she was in, pulling back enough to skim both of her Voloth. Their horror and shame didn’t diminish with her absence, so it seemed that her projected emotions had taken a firm hold. She glanced at Rafalon, whose eyes were closed.

  “We have to get them out,” she said.

  “I know. But I don’t know how. Not without breaking them.”

  “Make them feel that it will all be over if they just come out. They’ll be safe outside.”

  He nodded, and together they pushed the Voloth out.

  In the end, it was easy. The Voloth came out quietly, their heads bowed with grief, and the warriors disarmed and bound them without a fight. Each was held in place by one of the Guards, while Helmor gave Kylinn and Rafalon some additional instructions that had come from Colonel Razine, the head of the Alsean Investigative Force.

  “She said that if you’re not experienced in a forced Sharing, the easiest way to get through and bind them to you is…er…” He scratched the back of his neck and looked down. “You have to use love.”

  “We what?”

  “Think of the people you love. Your children, your bondmates, whoever. Think of those people and push those feelings in. Colonel Razine said it will reset their loyalties.”

  “You want me to do a forced Sharing with that,” Kylinn pointed in distaste, “and treat him like my son?”

  “I think I get it,” Rafalon said. “It’s the other end of the spectrum. We made them so afraid that we broke their minds. They’re completely susceptible, so what happens if we make them feel loved instead? And make them think we’re the ones who love them? It will break their minds a different way. They’ll forget who they’re loyal to and transfer it to us. That must be what the colonel means by a reset.”

  “Great Mother.” Kylinn wasn’t sure she could do this.

  Rafalon stepped up to the Voloth nearest him. “This is for my bondmate,” he said.

  Kylinn felt him projecting assurance and calm, and the Voloth looked at him as a child would look at a trusted adult. Rafalon smiled at him—she had no idea how he managed that—then positioned his hands and pressed their foreheads together.

  It took some time, but when Rafalon finally pulled away, the Voloth sniffled, wiped away a tear, and smiled at him with a look of adoration.

  “It works,” Rafalon said. “It really does. But it drains you; it’s not like Sharing with an Alsean. And you have to push really hard to get past the existing loyalties. They’re very, very deep.”

  Helmor raised his eyebrows at Kylinn. “Well?”

  She hesitated. Then she realized how ridiculous it was that she would be more reluctant to Share love than to project terror. What did that say about her?

  “For your bondmate,” she told Rafalon. “And my family.”

  * * *

  Helmor looked down at the device in his hand. “It’s not one of ours. Kill it.”

  They were riding in the ground pounder, which was a lot smaller on the inside than she would have thought. The block on top looked
large, but most of it was taken up by equipment and weapon stores. The actual cabin space was relatively small, and there hadn’t been room for all of them. Three of the warriors had stayed behind, with only Helmor and one other Guard accompanying Kylinn and Rafalon. Helmor had apparently been expecting that, based on Lancer Tal’s instructions. Her instructions had also specified putting one of those little beacons on the outside of the ground pounder before moving out. Any ground pounder not broadcasting on that frequency was Voloth controlled.

  At this point in the battle, they were finding fewer and fewer of those. Most of the remaining ground pounders were already under Alsean control.

  Kylinn pointed at the vidcom, the only piece of equipment in this entire machine that she could recognize. “Yes,” she said, smiling and projecting her approval.

  The Voloth weapons officer smiled back and turned to his controls. Kylinn heard the now-familiar thump of a missile being launched, and the ground pounder that had been on the vidcom was replaced with an expanding ball of flame.

  It was amazing how easy it was to communicate with aliens when they loved you and would do anything they thought you wanted. All she and Rafalon had to do was point and either smile or frown. Even the slightest projection of approval or rebuke hit the Voloth like a freight hauler.

  The disturbing part was that these Voloth were happily blowing up their own people. Rafalon had been right when he’d said it would break their minds in a different way. They weren’t really Voloth anymore. Whoever they’d loved before, whoever was important to them—all of that was now submerged beneath the loyalty that she and Rafalon had pushed in by force. She didn’t know how they’d ever remove it. Did anybody? Would it even be merciful if they did? Then the Voloth would realize what they’d done, and how could they live with that?

  Rafalon’s weapons officer said something excitedly and pointed at a different screen. Helmor went over to look.

  “It’s got to be some sort of radar or lidar,” he said. “And it’s showing twenty blips at what I think is a high altitude. It’s the fighters.”

  The Voloth spoke again and looked at Rafalon for instructions. Rafalon looked at Helmor.

  “Hold on.” Helmor spoke into his wristcom. “Whitemoon Base, this is Lead Guard Helmor. Can you confirm twenty enemy fighters over Whitemoon?”

  “Confirmed,” said a woman’s voice. “It’s the second wave.”

  “I think our Voloth can take care of them. Stand by.”

  Rafalon pointed to the screen, then put his hands together. With a sudden movement, he threw his hands apart and made a noise like an explosion.

  The Voloth all conferred with each other and then settled into their stations. They waited, presumably until the fighters came in range. Kylinn’s weapons officer said something short and sharp, and Rafalon’s answered in a similar tone.

  Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

  One after another, they launched their missiles. Ten pipticks later, the blips began vanishing from the screen. Soon they were all gone.

  Rafalon looked over. “I think we just saved Whitemoon.”

  “I think we did, too.” Helmor lifted his wrist. “Whitemoon Base, you can rest easy.”

  “We can see that,” the voice said over what sounded like a lot of people cheering in the background. “Many thanks, Lead Guard. It’s all over now but the cleanup. Looks like there are six Voloth-controlled ground pounders still out there.”

  “That shouldn’t take too long.” Helmor grinned at them. “Let’s finish it.”

  Chapter 61

  Battle of Alsea: Ekatya II

  Ekatya knew they were in trouble when the second wave appeared on her display. The Voloth fighters were coming from the southwest.

  She’d been afraid of this. The orbital invaders had too much time to watch the battle below and assess the real danger. Their captains knew the Caphenon was here, and they knew she’d blown most of their ground pounders out of the sky long before they could cause any damage to Blacksun or its environs.

  So the fighters were flying directly toward the bow of her ship, where her armaments were the weakest. She’d had the Alseans turn the ship broadside to Blacksun, giving her the best chance of saving the city, but now she was stuck in this position. Soon the pilots would find that their controls were mostly frozen, at which point they’d realize they had only one shot at her ship. There was no doubt in her mind that she was facing a squadron of fifty suicide bombers.

  “Roris, get your team and take over the gamma-one weapons room. We have incoming Voloth fighters.”

  “It’ll take us fifteen minutes to get there, Captain.”

  “I know. Do it anyway.”

  She alerted the warriors in the bow weapons room, then tapped the control to divert the com to her own fighters. “Baldassar, Candini, we need you on support. We’ve got fifty Voloth fighters coming in from the southwest and targeting the bow of the Caphenon. How much flight time do you have left?”

  “I’m good for another twenty minutes,” Candini answered.

  “Twenty-five,” said Baldassar.

  “Then get out there and see how many you can take out before our defense grid has to do the rest.” The grid that for this battle would consist of one beat-up weapons room, which did not have functioning computer-assisted targeting.

  They acknowledged the order, and within half a minute two blue dots rose up onto her display and accelerated southwest, streaking toward an overwhelming enemy force.

  The plan had been for them to be in fresh fighters for this part of the battle. They’d used Alsean super cargo transports to lift out eight fighters and stage them around the western half of Blacksun Basin, allowing Candini and Baldassar to swap out their rides as soon as the hullskin damage began affecting flight controls. It had taken two days to complete those preparations, and Ekatya had been certain that four spares each would be plenty. But she had never expected or even imagined the sheer quantity of ground pounders the Voloth dropped on Blacksun. It was an unprecedented attack, and her pilots had needed every bit of their flight time to take care of ground pounders in outlying areas that the Alseans hadn’t been able to cover. Several villages between here and Blacksun owed their continuing existence to Candini and Baldassar.

  But they were on their last spares and had no time to return to the Caphenon to launch two more fighters.

  Fight with the weapons you have, her grandfather had always told her. Not the ones you wish you had.

  She had two pilots in fighters that were ticking off their last minutes of viable flight time, a weapons room full of inexperienced Alsean warriors operating the defense grid on manual control, and a crack weapons team that was crawling through brace shafts and over debris right now, racing the clock.

  Surely her grandfather would understand if she spent a few moments wishing with all her strength for thirty more fighters and a fully operational defense grid.

  She tapped her earcuff. “Lancer Tal, do you have any assets near the Caphenon? Or along the river southwest of here?”

  “No, Captain. There are ground pounders out there, but none of them are ours yet. We’re working on it.”

  “If you can’t turn one in the next ten ticks, then I suggest you evacuate anyone in the immediate vicinity of the Caphenon. The Voloth fighters are coming after us, not Blacksun.”

  There was a short pause.

  “I’m sending my fighters. Hold on.”

  “Negative, your fighters cannot assist. Don’t waste them.”

  “With all due respect, Captain Serrado, you do not give me orders.” Lancer Tal didn’t take the time to sign off before ending the call, and Ekatya silently cursed the woman’s intransigence.

  There was nothing to do now but wait and watch as two blue dots drew closer and closer to fifty red ones. The Alseans on the bridge were silent, calmly watching the display with her. For them, the most important part of the battle was already won. Blacksun was safe, or would be as soon as the Alsean forces could finish the mo
p-up. Their own fate was less of a concern.

  Candini and Baldassar engaged the Voloth well outside Blacksun Basin. Ekatya had hoped it would be a lopsided fight, but the blue dots immediately went into evasive maneuvers.

  “Shipper shit,” Candini cursed. “They’ve got missiles!”

  “They must have dropped later than some of the other fighters and learned from their experience,” Baldassar said.

  So they’d opened their missile launch tubes as soon as they’d cleared the upper atmosphere, Ekatya surmised. Great. The fighters might not have full maneuverability, but the missiles did.

  A red dot vanished, accompanied by a crow from Candini.

  “Gotcha! That’s what you get for—whoops.”

  One of the blue dots went straight up and over a pursuing red one, coming back down behind it. The red one blinked out.

  “Two for two. Oh, thank you for flying right into my crosshairs. That’s three,” Candini said as another red light blinked out. It was followed quickly by a fourth.

  “Get busy, Candini, or I’ll catch up,” Baldassar said.

  “Not likely.”

  Ekatya had never been so proud of those two as she was right now, listening to them banter back and forth as they dodged missiles and pursued the Voloth. But the distance was closing rapidly, and there were still too many fighters.

  “The Caphenon is opening up,” she warned them, and ordered the Alseans in gamma-one to start firing.

  Hitting a ground pounder as it descended was entirely different from hitting a fast-moving fighter flying straight down one’s throat. The Alsean warriors did their best, firing both laser cannons and missiles as they’d been instructed. But every cannon shot went wide, and the Voloth had working defenses, shooting down the missiles as they neared. Candini and Baldassar were making the only kills, and Ekatya was getting a bad feeling. They were running out of time.