An elderly reptilian face, haughty and proud, whitescaled, appeared on the big screen over the commboard.
"His munificence," began the official herald, "the Baron Riidi WW, Ruler of Torsee Provinces, Executor of ..."
"Spare me the titles this once," Ashvenarya broke in, "and put your commander on."
The face froze. "Proper diplomatic courtesy demands that ..." The admonition was interrupted by a strong offscreen voice. It hissed surprisingly little for an AAnn.
"Never mind, herald." There was a brief flicker and another reptilian face appeared on the screen. It was sharp-featured, almost handsome, proud. The gaze was piercing. "Whom have I the pleasure of addressing?"
"Admiral Ashvenarya, Fourth Sector Commandant, Humanx Commonwealth, operating under United Church charter and I'll skip a few titles of my own. A little out of your regular bailiwick aren't you, Baron?"
"And you too are here with so many ships for rest and relaxation on the pleasure-world below, Admiral?" The tone was mildly reproachful. "It remains that a threat to the entire galaxy lies on the planet below us."
"Would you be referring to a certain amorphous black monstrosity of unknown origins and, from what I am told, rather considerable powers?"
"Unless you know of another. As I guessed, our purpose here appears to be the same, then."
"Not quite, Baron. That's a humanx colony orbiting below us, and my presence here is perfectly natural. Yours, I fear, remains open to certain questions."
The Baron affected an air of outrage. "No action of any sort was contemplated without the prior concurrence of the local authorities."
"I'd like to believe that, Baron. Indeed, I'd like to believe that. For many reasons."
"Not the least of which, Admiral, is that we are of no use to our respective races if we battle among ourselves, fya? If you will merely contact your commandant below -a Major of the Church name of Orvenalix, I believe- I've no doubt he will agree to the course of action I have in mind. I offer a joint council of war, not a declaration of one."
"I think we might struggle along without your help," the thranx admiral replied.
"Sir, the commander of the Imperial Enclave on Repler had the opportunity to observe this creature's strength at closer claw than was desired. This as his own station was being pulled down around his oculars. He would not agree with you. I myself inspected the ruins of his command. I do not agree with you. Were you to have seen the same I venture to say you would not agree with you. In fact, I would hope that between the two of us we may be able to control the monster."
Ashvenarya considered. Briefly.
"Perhaps. Very well, I trust you- from microsecond to microsecond."
"My own extends no longer."
"Our ships will move into orbits confluent with yours. While I determine upon a course of action you will take no action on your own. This must be understood."
"Understood," replied the Baron placidly. "Only, please not to take overlong, Admiral, or our agreement will become strained ... by time."
"It might prove that a joint action of some sort is required much as the thought distresses me."
"I have little love for your kind, either, Admiral." Teeth flashed. "Under normal circumstances... "
"Which these are definitely, conclusively, not." Ashvenarya waved and the contact was broken.
Despite the violent attack levied by a new and completely unexpected opponent, the Vom found cause to rejoice. A second fleet! More strength to complement its own! It could now travel from planet to planet in almost respectable fashion.
For possibly the ten thousandth time it tried to analyze this new power arrayed against it. About the Guardian's mental attitude it had no qualms. The Guardian-Machine had been and would be an implacable opponent until one of the two ancient enemies was destroyed.
But what of this new factor? Could it mayhap be persuaded into a realignment of forces for mutual benefit? With a galaxy at stake, the Vom was willing to share. Or could it at least be convinced to withdraw from an ancient and private conflict, leaving the way clear for the Vom's victory?
The Vom reached out again and made contact. What it encountered on a non-combatant level was surprising. This second opponent had not even fully matured, had not mastered its own power! In its probing the Vora must take care not to stir latent abilities, hidden secrets, not to upset the balance of internal power. The potential here was frightening.
In fear the Vora nearly backed off. But after determining that the being could not read the sub-surface layers of Vom-thought, it returned to the contact, expanded it.
(curiously: dialogue on a Different plane)
WHO ARE YOU?
(picture contact nee verbal/concept sub-vocalization)
A TRANSPARENT ORCHID : SUNSPOTS ON LEAVES: STAMEN AND PETAL: SLOW FUSION
(rejoinder)
AND YOU, MONSTER?
(arrow-straight conceptualization)
GREAT VOID: VOIDNESS? : ANGRY VACUUM
DARK EFFLUVIA : MALIGNANT MIASMA : CANCER MUSING : OLEAGINOUS OLLAPODRIDA
(pause)
WHY DO YOU FIGHT ME?
YOU ARE EVIL
(confusion/introspection/analysis)
EVIL? THERE IS NO EVIL
IT MAY BE SO. BUT THERE IS WHAT IS COMMONLY RATIONALIZED AS GOOD. YOU ARE CLEARLY NOT-GOOD. A GOOD-NEGATIVE. YOU TRY TO RATIONALIZE EVIL. CHAOS!
(cousideration/thought/tacking)
FIGHT ME NO MORE AND I WILL MAKE YOU MASTER OF HALF THE GALAXY.
THE GALAXY HAS TOO MANY MASTERS ALREADY. NO.
"WHAT CAN I OFFER YOU?
YOUR DEATH.
(anger/arrogance/disbelief)
COMPLAISANT COMPLIANCE? SURRENDER? ACQUIESCE? INTRODUCE NEGATIVES INTO A SUPREME FUNCTIONARY NEGATIVITY? NEVER!
SEE? YOU MUST DIE (strange voice)
I CANNOT DIE : I WILL NOT DIE: I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO DIE
THEN I MUST HELP YOU TO LEARN
The Vom terminated contact. With all its shadings and half-tones the entire conversation had taken perhaps a few seconds.
The strange opponent possessed a self-confidence that conflicted with its lack of self-knowledge. Maybe, the Vom considered, it was fighting on too personal a level. Possibly an exterior demonstration would have some moral effect.
Using its fully matured mind for the first time beyond the battle, the Vom reached out ...
On board the humanx flagship Zimbabwe, instruments died with suddenness and finality. The eerie blue-green of the local emergency fighting flickered on a moment later.
There was little panic in the nexus. After all, this was the nerve-center of the fleet. The personnel were the class of each rating. So there was no hysteria.
Things went otherwise on some other ships.
"Communications, all ships report status. Hold position, hold fire. Commodore, damage report. All hands to battle stations."
The replies came thick and fast.
"Communications, sir. All intership comet units, including storage and backup facil ..."
" ... no visible damage or shorting, Barge! It's crazy ... !"
"... ities on all ship channels inoperable. Emergency backup systematization totally inoperative, Admiral."
"That's impos ... ! Status report!" Ashvenarya accepted the situation and changed in mid-sentence.
Again, quick reply.
"All communicators down to hand-units inoperable. Engineering reports central KK drive unit shut down for sub-light as well as supra-light capability at 0954.4 shiptime." The communicator's tone changed to one less officious. "That means the whole ship is in free-fall status, sir."
"Going to play havoc with the housekeeping. What else?"
An engineer was bent over a heavily instrumented console. He was checking dials and meters against a computer readout. A muscle twitched nervously in his neck.
"All exterior and numerous interior systematizations report dead, underpowered or inoperative, sir. Computer indicates conjunctive causation. With
the exception of basic life support and non-offensively oriented interior emergency functions, the ship is effectively immobilized."
"Dead, you mean. Kyash!" Ashvenarya swiveled his basket to face the human Commodore. The Zimbabwe was, after all, his command.
"Do you think the shuttles and lifeboats will operate, Moorea?"
"They're all self-contained, of course, sir. But even assuming that whatever has affected the ship has spared them, the bay doors and release mechanisms are shippowered, so ..." Moorea shrugged helplessly. "We can utilize abandonment methods, true, but...."
"No, I'm not ready for that yet either, Commodore. I want no precipitous action here. KK storage cells don't just go stale like honeyfrye, nor do emergency battle power-backup systems for communications and weapons complexes die while their life-support counterparts continue to operate. We are the subjects of a selective attack procedure of unknown power and undeniable effectiveness! ... Lieutenant Hanover!"
"Sir?"
"There ought to be several ways of contacting the other ships of the fleet. We're orbiting tight and close. Try mirrors, wave handkerchiefs. I'm not particular about how you do it. I've got to know if ours is an isolated case-it's not inconceivable that we are the victims of some local spatial phenomena-or if, as I suspect, everyone else has been hit the same."
"Aye, sir." Hanover left his basket and commenced pulling himself via hand and claw holds to the nearest lock. Since the gravity for the ship was supplied by KK storage power when the vessel was not in supralight space, the ship was in full free-fall. The lock had no purpose now.
"Oh, and Hanover!"
"Admiral?" Hanover exerted pressure on a bar near the lock, floated steady.
"See if you can help the dispensary personnel, Doctor Furman and Surgeon Lee and the others, get organized. They may need some extra help. Authorize whatever they need. Going from .31 gee to no-weight as abruptly as the rest of the ship probably did, there'll be a lot of men who lost more than just breakfast."
"Yes sir." The Lieutenant turned and pushed off, disappearing like a feather down the lock-tube.
"Well, Moorea?" The Admiral's antennae twined in frustration. "No crystals of wisdom to offer?"
"I didn't think the AAnn had anything like this, Ash."
"Don't bet that they do, Pat, don't bet that they do. I dearly hope that, if it's not a natural occurrence, the AAnn are responsible for this. The alternative scares the sugar out of me. And I haven't been that frightened, Pat, in a long, long time."
On board the heavy cruiser Sanderling not too many hundreds of kilometers away, his munificence Baron Riidi WW was expressing similar sentiments, in which Admiral Ashvenarya figured prominently.
Mal's head cleared with surprising speed soon after he opened his eyes. He stared upwards and was confronted with the badly bent roof of the hoveraft. Pushing against the hard pecces behind him, he struggled to a kneeling position. By leaning on the outcropping for support he managed to inch his way to his feet. He stood there, holding on until most of the dizziness had passed. At about that time he became aware that pecces was not a normal fixture in Replerian hoverafts.
Encrusted with shells and barnacle-like organisms, the sharp spine of the reef projected a good meter and a half through the floor.
There was a moan forward. It was followed by some weak, if highly imaginative, cursing in feminine tones.
"You all right?" he queried.
Kitten tried to swivel the pilot's chair,- failed. The pivot ring was jammed against the supporting metal. She unstrapped herself, moving with slow, pained gestures, and staggered towards the foreport. It had shattered on impact. Cool seawater lapped gently against the bottom of the sprung doorway. A small crustacean was already inspecting this new addition to the reef.
Except for a slight list to the back and right, the raft was fairly level. Mal took a step forward, nearly toppled. He put out an arm to grab a bar projecting from the near wall and noticed idly that it was stained red in places. Looking down at himself he was surprised to discover that the red came from a broad but shallow gash across the right side of his chest. He'd lost a lot of skin but not much blood. He ripped material from his left sleeve to bind the wound. Fortunately, the bleeding had nearly stopped.
"See anything?"
"We're on a reef," she replied. "Rose's waveskimmer is jammed up in front of us. Part of it seems to be under our bow. Probably what's causing our listing. What's left of the skimmer, anyway. It's in much worse shape than we are-not that this is seaworthy, either. Looks like he took the brunt of the blow. Bottom's been ripped out."
"Any sign of the monster?"
"Looks like it's lying just under the surface of the water. Right about where the reef ends, which isn't far enough away for my liking. Funny how peaceful this all is. The reef . runs out about another twelve meters past the skimmer and then seems to drop off sharply. From there on as far as I can see the water's black as ink, like you could walk on it."
She left the port and moved back to the doorway. Mal moved up behind her as she stepped gingerly from the raft. Bracing a hand against each side of the doorway, he saw that the pecces itself lay barely ankle deep, even protruding above the water in several places. The Vom claimed his attention almost immediately.
Mal felt as though he were standing in front of an armed SCCAM shell. "It may be intelligent enough, but it sure doesn't seem to notice us."
"We don't know how it perceives things," said Kitten as she picked her way over the uneven, slippery footing. "For all we can tell it might be paying all its attention to us. Waiting to see what the lab animals try next, I guess. Since it could have killed us at will before I don't think it intends to. Yet." She turned. "You're higher than I am. Any sign of the old bastard?"
Mal leaned out, hooking an arm around the doorway. A brief spell of nausea, then the sea air cleared his head completely. Peering around the front of the uptilted raft, he could see the top of the waveskimmer easily. The bottom of the bigger ship had been shaved off as neatly as though with a laser. It lay tail up, park of its curved bow just under the nose of the hoveraft.
A recognizably human figure was strapped motionless in the foredeck pilot's seat.
"Looks like he wasn't thrown free. Seems to be lightout, though."
"Any sign of the case?"
"Sure is. It's still chained to his right wrist. Appears to be locked firm. All the jerking and wrenching around didn't tear it loose."
"Is he alive?"
"Can't tell. He's sure not preparing violent resistance."
"He'd better be alive. Otherwise it's liable to take us days to figure out how to open that thing. You can bet it's armed or full of acid or something. We haven't got days. What are you doing?"
Mal had carefully edged out around the edge of the doorway. It wasn't a long fall but the surface was sharp and inhospitable. The air cushion around the base of the raft was thoroughly shredded. There was, however, a ridge of metal running the circumference of the ship. The smooth sides of the craft made walking on the centimeters-wide strip difficult, but the captain's bulk belied his agility. He started edging towards the bow, pressed flat against the side of the craft.
From the bow it was only a short hop to the canted deck of the skimmer. He walked over to the motionless dragger, felt the thin wrist. The pulse was strong.
"He's alive, anyway! Can't say I'm as glad as you seem to be."
He moved to the side of the ship. Leaning down, he extended a hand the size of a battle helmet. Kitten paused, then walked over.
"Deck is slippery up here, too," he said. "That little walk was tricky, but faster than trying to improvise a ladder or rope. This is quicker yet."
He enclosed her right hand in his while her left grasped his wrist. She practically flew onto the deck.
"'You're as physically complete as you look," she murmured.
"Apelike, you mean?"
"Let's not, now, hmmm?" She walked over to Rose and spent a couple of minutes examinin
g him while Mal looked on. After a bit she flipped open a small compartment in the side of a belt and selected from a small packet one of several tiny ampules. It was no bigger than the nail of her little finger, but she handled it carefully.
There was a bare spot where the trousers had been ripped away. Gray hairs showed on the tanned leg. She jammed the ampule hard into the middle of the quadriceps.
"What did you shoot him with?" Mal asked.
"Dexatrinahuline. Emergency dosage. He'll come around and be hyperactive fm about an hour, after which he'll sleep for another fifteen and then wake up good as new-unfortunately. It works fast."
"Sure does," said the drugger, sitting up. He glanced rapidly about the waveskimmer, then down at the wrecked hoveraft, finally out to sea. His eyes settled on the black reef that was the Vom.
"Nothing expansive," he said. "Just a little tap to inconvenience us. Maybe we ..." He reached down and rubbed his thigh. "That was quite a jolt of whatever it was you gave me. Don't recognize it offhand but I've probably sold it."
"It wasn't done out of concern for your health," Kitten said grimly. "Now, how does one open that case of yours-without getting poisoned, burned, shattered, or otherwise `inconvenienced'?"
"Now, why would you want to know that?"
Mal reached down and grabbed Rose's right shoulder. He could feel the bones and wiry muscles under the cloth. A slight pressure, so, and Rose winced.
"Okay, okay! No need- to get tough. There's a solid gas-air pattern charge 'onside the shell that blows the case apart but doesn't affect the contents. You arm it by pressing this lock button, here ..." he indicated a slot for a magnetic key, ". . . and then grip the handle. There's a trigger built into the handle underside. Once the keytab has been pressed and the trigger cocked, when pressure is removed ... wham!"
"How long?" asked Kitten.
"When you press the keytab down, you turn your thumb to the right as far as the tab will go before letting up. That'll give you up to sixty seconds before the blast. More time than that wouldn't be practical."
"Not much time to get away," said Mal.
"It wasn't designed to be anything but a last-resort type threat. Planning a little blackmail with it yourselves, mebbee?"