It chilled him. This was the core of the navy that would have to repel the next kzinti attack. The hyperdrive performed some strange perversion on men’s minds. It gave them the illusion that they commanded space. Yankee remembered Vice Commander Yoni Marshall’s parable about the fleas who rode first class on Earth’s supersonic aircraft, thinking they were lords of every nook and cranny of the Earth—the same Marshall who had taught him three-dimensional attack strategy, the same Marshall who died with the attack forces trying to penetrate the defenses of Down.
“The UNSN patrols don’t even cover the top end of the Patriarchy!” Yankee exclaimed in frustration.
“They don’t have to,” said a confident rake eight years his senior.
While Yankee politely listened to the nonsense the man was using to justify his statement, he had his own thoughts. He had been further into kzinti space than any officer here. There were worlds out there. There was a rumored world called Warhead that the kzinti had controlled since about the time of Genghis Khan. The UNSN didn’t even know where it was and wouldn’t even know that it existed except for a quirky case history in one of Chuut-Riit’s volumes on military strategy.
Yet Warhead was the forward base in a subluminal war being conducted against the Pierin that was still going on as of this very moment. Who were the Pierin? The kzinti warriors fighting that battle probably hadn’t yet noticed a Man-Kzin war. The kzinti had been interstellar warriors since before man had beaten his first iron swords from red metal, since before bronze, since before Ur, since maybe before even beer. That was a lot of time in which to build a network of bases.
How many kzinti worlds were out there? How many kzinti armed rocks hidden in interstellar space? How many miserable little kzinti fortress worlds like Hssin? How many factory worlds? Hundreds? Thousands? No one knew.
These young men who had lost so many comrades could not even admit that they had been fought to a standstill. The hyperdrive was a great logistics and transport weapon. It had allowed the reintroduction of blitzkrieg warfare. The UNSN had been able to surround and isolate the main kzinti worlds. But the hyperspace singularity which enclosed every stellar mass in a “forbidden zone” was as good as any medieval wall at stopping a hypershunt-equipped invader.
In the wicked days before the ARM, horse cavalry might sweep across a thousand miles of Earth and lay siege to the mightiest cities of a domain—but the horses couldn’t walk through walls. A mechanized Wehrmacht might race across the steppes of Russia in tank and armored halftrack and truck and motorcycle—but it couldn’t take the streets of Stalingrad, where tank and armored car and truck were useless.
In thirteen years the human hyperdrive fleets had done brilliantly at smashing kzinti interstellar trade. That didn’t make much difference. The Patriarchy had long ago adjusted itself to supply lines that moved at 80 percent the speed of light. Send off to Kzin for a replacement part and it might arrive half a century later. As a consequence, even a kzinti minor outpost was a more-or-less self-sufficient manufacturing center. A kzinti attack force was a lumbering, ill-supplied adventure. But a kzinti-defended star under siege was almost invulnerable.
The gravitic acceleration of kzinti warcraft allowed them to outmaneuver anything the humans had been able to field, and almost every class of kzinti warcraft was superior to its human counterpart inside the singularity. Long range beam-weapon duels were ineffective; at subluminal beam velocities an ablative shielded kzinti vessel could dodge faster than the response time of the beam generator. Intelligent missiles were the best way to get through but they were very subluminal and could be picked off by alert defense crews.
The siege record was poor. Down and Hssin were the only clear victories.
The assault on Down had been a massive surprise attack on a world whose star was so small that its singularity extended only to eighteen AU, less than the distance to Uranus. It was an anomalous outpost, sitting well inside human space, farther from Kzin than any other known world of the Patriarchy, poorly supplied, lightly taxed, underdeveloped and underpopulated. Still the warriors there had destroyed a quarter of the human fleet sent against them before being exterminated.
Yankee listened patiently. An officer whose place was held by a charging armored battle-elephant of the finest carved ivory began reminiscing about his elite unit’s landing on Down while he neglected his plum chicken—but not his slivovitz. “I was caught in the tower with no way to get down and my best cover man was blown ass over head into the canal where he was stuck in his disabled armor. He couldn’t run so he just sat there popping off every ratcat as they jumped over the canal while I was shitting bricks because if they got him, I was dead meat. He swatted about a dozen of them, one by one, coming over the rise because they couldn’t see him.”
Yankee was reminded of the gambler who enthusiastically gave his audience a blow-by-blow account of how he won a hundred “big ones” early that morning—while forgetting to tell them about the thousand “big ones” he had just dropped at the tables. The kill ratio on the ground at Down had been three men for each kzin. Victors don’t remember details like that.
Down had been considered important because it was behind human lines. That was nonsense. It had zero strategic importance. Probably it had been a target of frustration. None of the bigger worlds were falling, so get the weakest one.
On the other hand, the conquest of Hssin in 2422 had been an absolute necessity. It was only two light years from Wunderland and 5.3 light years from Sol and had been the original staging area of the kzinti thrust at humanity’s heart. Theoretically it made an easy target. R’hshssira was a failed star with a singularity that extended out only eight AU, less than the distance to Saturn. Alpha Centauri was a mere week away by hypershunt, an optimal staging area from which to supply the assault. Yet fierce Hssin warriors managed to destroy a third of the UNSN fleet before the Wunderland marines were able to carve out their first beachhead.
Thirteen years on the offensive. Two victories. Thousands of kzinti starships destroyed in interstellar space. Hundreds of raids. Dozens of unsuccessful sieges. Stalemate. The MacDonald-Rishshi Peace Treaty had given both sides what they needed. The Patriarchy needed a breathing space. Humanity needed to stop beating its head against a stone wall. To call it a human victory was wishful thinking.
What humanity wasn’t doing was using the time that the Treaty gave them.
The dinner served its purpose. It reconvinced the hosts that they had won the war and were maintaining the peace. It convinced Major Clandeboye that he wasn’t going to get to Hssin by orthodox means. His hosts were gentlemen. Having been victorious over their guest verbally, they toasted him with Vurguuz. He raised his glass, too, wondering who these cardboard men were. They had no substance. He was never going to get to know them. It left him with a kind of desperate despair.
When men are desperate they wander alone, deep in thought. Yankee took the long way home. He was already outside his apartment door before he noticed that Chloe was waiting for him, huddled on the hallway’s red carpet, arms around her legs. “Chloe!” He stuck his thumb in the lock and it opened. “Hi,” she said. She followed him inside.
“It’s past your bedtime, young lady.”
“Good idea,” she replied demurely, “let’s go to bed.” With the tiniest of smiles she watched the shock hit his face. She waited just exactly the right amount of time. “Gotcha!” she triumphed. Then with a bob of her springy black hair she went to his console and called up the codes for a tinkly kind of beating music that he didn’t understand. “Cornucopia,” she said by way of explanation. He didn’t understand that either.
“Where’s Brobding?” was all he could think to ask.
“I never go out with a man again after he’s let me ‘tuck the George.’ How could I ever respect him?”
“Uh…what was that? I think I missed something.”
“What’s the flatlander word for it?” she asked in a tone that left him wondering if he was being teased o
r not.
“I think I should be taking you home.”
“You’re saying that through clenched jaws. I think you need a relaxing massage…all the way down your back to your bum.”
“Strangling a few people I know is the only thing that would relax me right now,” he growled. Since he was looking directly into her eyes she became momentarily frightened. That upset him to the point of hasty denial. “Not you!” He laughed at himself to put her at ease. “Actually you have a pretty neck. Breaking would ruin it. What I mean is: I don’t need a massage. What I need is to get you home before it is too late…before your curfew.”
“I just got here. You’re throwing me out already?”
“Yes.”
“No. I’m here to interview you for the school paper. You have to tell me about the mutiny. I’m writing you up.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Then could we take a shower together instead?”
“Young lady, I have to tell you something about myself. I don’t need any more trouble. I’m up to a giraffe’s eyeballs in zoo-doo already.”
“What’s a giraffe?”
“It’s just an expression. An extinct animal, I think.”
“I’m no trouble. I swear I’ve never ever gotten a man pregnant; cross my heart.”
“Your father is probably a chief petty officer with shoulders this wide. Petty officers enjoy making pulp out of me. They’re not supposed to hit majors, but with me they get away with it—and I get blamed. It looks terrible on my record.”
“That’s all very well and good but my father is not a petty officer. He’s a rear admiral.”
Yankee grabbed for her wrist “Young lady, you are going home right now!”
“No-I’m-not!”
“Yes you are.”
“Nope.”
“I may carry you every millimeter of the way.”
“In that case it’s a deal. But we have to take a long detour so you can buy me an ice cream. There isn’t any good ice cream place between here and home.”
“If that’s the best deal I can get.”
So he took her home and bought her ice cream. He asked her if her father ever worried about her. He was too busy, she replied. Well, didn’t her mother ever worry about her? No. Chloe was born on Tiamat just months before a mob liberated it from the kzinti during the Great Battle. Her mother was an axe-wielding member of the mob and had been killed. Chloe still wore her iron wedding ring on a chain about her neck.
“Ah, so you’re all of sixteen,” he said gently.
“No. I’m going-on-seventeen,” she replied stiffly.
Yankee was quite willing to drop her at her door and run but she dragged him inside to meet her father. “Daddy! I got him! Don’t blame me if it took all night! He wasn’t home!” In a quieter voice to Yankee she said, “Now you’ll have to tell me about the mutiny. Daddy’s going to wring it out of you.”
A bony but handsome Wunderlander appeared in a spidersilk bathrobe. He shook hands in the old flatlander custom. “I see you survived my little teufel. She was raving about you at breakfast this morning. The Clandeboye. I think it was a diversion so I wouldn’t question her about that no-good crashlander she’s taken a fancy to, but no matter. I decided it was time we met.”
“Make him tell us about the mutiny, Daddy.”
“All in good time.” He dismissed his daughter impatiently and refocused his attention on Yankee. “I’ve been hearing that you want to take a ship to Hssin? Is that true?”
“It’s an Intelligence matter.”
“I, too, want to take a ship to Hssin but lack the authority. I have the clearance to look at your orders if you wish to show them to me. It is possible that we might strike a deal.”
Puzzled, Yankee brought out his infocomp.
Rear Admiral Blumenhandler talked while he perused. “Well, well, well,” he smiled. “I have ships but no orders. You have orders but no ship.” He grumbled, continuing to read the fine print. “Now this is what I call an airtight order. If you commandeered one of my ships, I don’t see how I could refuse you. I might be upset; I might be enraged at the imposition, but I couldn’t refuse you.” His eyes twinkled. “Of course, I’ll want a favor in return, just a gentlemen’s agreement, mind you; nothing in writing.”
“And Jenkins?”
“Jenkins has made suggestions on this matter—but I don’t believe a suggestion has ever earned the same weight as an order, now has it? Let me be plain—off the record. Jenkins is a foreigner. I am of the Wundervolk; my family has served the Nineteen Families for centuries. Jenkins serves the ARM. I’ve sworn loyalty to the ARM—but my heart lies with the security of Wunderland. Let’s assume for my peace of mind that there is no higher contradiction between my sworn loyalties. Loyally to Wunderland, even loyalty to the ARM, doesn’t require me to kiss the seat of Jenkins’ power. Do we understand each other?”
“I’m sworn to carry out my naval duties. My orders are clear.” It was Yankee’s polite way of saying that he was not interested in exceeding his authority.
“Of course. Let me tell you where my interest lies. Hssin calls up a special dread in my heart. Many powerful Wundervolk feel as I do. Hssin, the ARM tells us, has been destroyed. I believe them because I was there. But has it been reinfested? Jenkins scoffs at the idea. Kzinti supply ships long en route to Hssin have been intercepted and destroyed. There have been flyby patrols. These quickie patrols have found nothing. What does that mean? There are thousands of places to hide on a planet. If you were given the assignment, could you hide yourself on Hssin?”
“I don’t think it would be difficult. I intend to find out.”
“What you intend to do on that planet does not interest me. It’s an Intelligence matter I don’t want to know about. The favor that I’m going to ask you does interest me and will ensure my full cooperation. I want a thorough study done of Hssin. When we left it in ’22 there was not a kzin left alive on that world. When you leave it I want to be sure that the same is true.”
“I’m bringing a kzin with me. I had to make a deal.”
“You’ll be bringing him out again. Right?”
“The deal is that if he comes with me, I’ll rubberstamp Markham’s repatriation release. He wants passage to Kzin.”
“And good riddance. I don’t expect you to find kzinti on Hssin. If you do I don’t care if you kill them or bring them out with you—so long as Hssin is dead when you leave it I’ll send ten Wunderland marines with you, experienced men, men who were there. If they give it a clean bill of health, I’ll believe you when you say you’ve done the job. This is a gentlemen’s agreement. No orders, no talk, no paperwork.”
Yankee did a quick scan for catches. He didn’t like to take on high risks without careful evaluation, but sometimes an immediate call was the only way. “It’s a deal.”
The admiral was smiling. “Not so fast. I don’t put one of my ships in the hands of a coward. You’ll have to tell me about your mutiny.”
“Yes,” said Chloe enthusiastically. “Adventure time!”
“What are you doing here?” Yankee groaned. “It’s your bedtime. Scram.”
“No. I made a deal with my father.”
Trapped. “It’s simple.” Yankee was angry now. “I disobeyed orders.”
The admiral paused. “There’s more to the story.” It was a command.
“We were horsing around in the kzinti backwoods where no man had dared go before. We didn’t know anything. We were looking around for signs of life. At 59 Virginis we found it. A major kzin world. Commander Shimmel planned a deep probing raid. Surprise was assumed. No electromagnetic message could have told them that they had a hyperspatial enemy. Shimmel went in. I held my wing back against orders. His twelve ships disappeared. The official story is that the kzin got him because I wasn’t there to cover him. What I think is that Shimmel rammed his ships into the singularity. I think his officers followed him against the wall out of blind loyalty. I didn’t. I told him
his math was suspect, he was cutting it too fine. He got mad and ordered me in. I dallied. When he disappeared I was pretty freaked and went in, on my own calculations, at my own entrance point, and tried to find him. I didn’t find anybody. The kzin found me and the wing had to fight its way out again.”
“Why didn’t you trust his calculations? He had standard UNSN computers and standard code. We all used the same code.”
“A commander has discretion about how fine he’s going to cut it. You trust the code. I don’t. For Finagle’s sake, nobody understands that stuff. It’s all ad hoc. It’s rules of thumb. The simplest rule of thumb is that the singularity is a sphere with radius, in AU, of thirty-six times the root of the mass of the star in solar masses. Would you bet your ship on that? Damn right you wouldn’t. The code takes a thousand things into consideration to come up with a better answer. Do you trust that answer? I don’t. I know it’s not based on a theoretical understanding of hyperspace. It’s based on experience and a bit of mumbo-jumbo distilled out of that incomprehensible manual the Outsiders sold us. When I was training at We Made It, one of the trainees walked his ship into the wall. He was using the then current code. What we found of him was a string of vapor three AUs long. The motor is probably still in hyperspace. Who knows? Scared me out of my mind. I studied singularities. Made up my own rules of thumb, and I’m damned if anybody will tell me not to use them. Yes, they are conservative rules but I’m still alive.”
“Your loyalty to yourself is greater than your loyalty to the navy?”
“Daddy! You promised to be diplomatic! It was part of our deal!”
Yankee couldn’t help himself. He rose to the bait “I’m more loyal to the navy than you can imagine, sir. If I had my way men like Jenkins and Buford Early would be composting the slat of the newest recruits. With shovels!”