Extremis (18 page)

Diane blinked. “You mean—leverage to turn him? No, sir, not Sandro. Not even with his girl and child under their thumb. He’d never do that.”

Van Felsen nodded. “Agreed. I fear he’d do the opposite—that he’d lose control, do anything to get at the monsters who’ve taken the ones he loves. They don’t just call him Tank because he’s big, you know. He tends to go straight at a problem—or through it.”

“And that’s bad?”

Van Felsen sighed. “It is if the Baldies can use his actions to track back to any of us, or our operations, or our organization.”

“Yeah,” Diane admitted, “I can see how that could happen.” She looked up. “So, how can I help you?”

“Diane, I brought most of my command team here because the Baldies’ removal of twenty-three of Melantho’s artists is an act of considerable significance. They’ve shown little enough interest in assessing—or controlling—our intelligence and insurgency capabilities, which are the lifeblood of any resistance movement. But then they decide to grab a bunch of artists? Diane, the Baldies are not proceeding according to any military or occupation playbook we’ve ever heard of, so we decided to come have a look for ourselves. In particular, we wanted to conduct a close professional survey of Jennifer’s art, style, inspirations, surroundings, associates. The Baldies saw something in that demographic matrix that made them believe she was an important piece of some puzzle they’re trying to solve. If we can figure out why that piece is important to them, we might be able to infer the shape of the rest of the puzzle and start understanding what they were up to here.”

“Do you have a hypothesis on why they’re behaving so oddly?” Diane asked.

Van Felsen looked at Joe, and then over to Ved. “We have
more
than one hypothesis. As usual.” She smiled.

Joe Adams leaned forward. “I’ll take that as a signal to launch.”

Van Felsen’s smile broadened. “By all means. Fire away, Joe.”

He leaned back. “By any military standard we understand, Baldy occupation is outrageously ineffective. Other than our primary data nets and our personal communication services, they left everything else pretty much intact—even the computers at our universities and research centers. They haven’t clamped down on businesses and other markets that deal in large-scale provisioning—meaning we have already accumulated immense reserves of most consumables, except high-tech military ordnance and ammunition for advanced weapon systems. And they’ve left most of this planet unpatrolled. If they’ve put any widespread monitoring in place, then it’s a marvel of unobtrusiveness, because we haven’t been able to detect it after months of trying.”

Falco shifted. “So, what does that all mean, Joe? That they’ve got lousy leaders and low skill in military science and counterinsurgency?”

“It could—but we’re talking such no-brain factors here that I think it goes beyond military incompetence. I think it means they are not really a military force.”

“Uh, Joe, maybe you haven’t noticed the immense fleet overhead right now?”

“Oh, I noticed it, Ved—and I also noticed that actually, given its size, it underperformed against our fleet. Massively underperformed. So much so that I’d say the only reason the Baldies could do so poorly is that they’re not rigged for combat—not primarily.”

Falco frowned. “Meaning what, Joe?”

“Meaning that we’ve looked at their actions and assumed that reveals their identity. They invaded, so they must be invaders. But what if they’re not?”

Ved shook his head. “Joe, judging from their occupation of this planet and their apparent campaign farther into Rim space, I think it’s pretty obvious that they
are
invaders.”

“Is it? They are willing to fight, yes. But if any of the intelligent races
we
know of decided to assemble a slower-than-light fleet to conquer another star system, they’d think long and hard about the
best
military options for that campaign. Wouldn’t we expect their invasion fleet to be tailor-made for such an operation? But we have evidence before us that the Baldy fleet wasn’t designed that way. Their ships’ firepower-to-weight ratio is piss-poor. Their equipment for ground action is pitiful. Their counterinsurgency measures are either amateurish or nonexistent. So I ask you: Does it make sense that a species capable of building those immense pinhole drives—which each keep a micro–black hole on a leash—would be so lacking in both common sense and practical military experience that they couldn’t plan a better invasion than
this
?”

Van Felsen folded her arms. “Okay—but what does that have to do with abducting the artists?”

“Everything—if their intent in taking the artists was to attempt to find a better way to understand us.”

Ved tilted his head skeptically. “Joe, I have to say that a group of aliens who demonstrate absolutely no respect for life don’t seem like they’d really be interested in sitting down together over coffee for a good heart-to-heart. They slaughter our civilians—kids included—upon detecting the slightest hint of resistance.”

Joe nodded. “There’s no arguing that they clearly put a different value on life than we do. But let’s remember that this is true not only where our lives are concerned, but theirs as well.”

“So what?” Ved spread his hands. “Look, maybe their preferred alternative to cutting-edge military technology is a combination of overwhelming us in both material and biological production. Maybe they reproduce as quickly as rats—or faster. And, judging from their corresponding industrial-production efficiency, overwhelming us with sheer, easily produced numbers might be just the right strategy for them.”

Joe leaned forward into the debate. “Okay, Ved, so if we presume that they are master strategists—albeit working from a very different set of strengths—then how do you explain their ineptitude in counterinsurgency? If their fleet
is
an invasion fleet, and if its design is the best for their strategy, then it makes their failure as an occupying force all the harder to explain. They excel in all areas
except
counterinsurgency? And they can’t fix it or do better?”

“Do they really
need
to do better, Joe? They seem to have the planet well in hand—and with a minimum of bloodshed and effort.”

“Yeah—largely because we haven’t done anything yet. But their lack of skill is already evident in their inability to adjust their responses to our offensive variations. They only have two speeds in their counterinsurgency gearbox: neutral or double-torque overdrive. They either do nothing—or they launch one of their insane overkill reprisals. Resist them too strongly in an area? They cede the area…and then raze it and blast anything that tries to exit.”

Ved frowned and cocked his head. “Maybe that’s not a weakness. Maybe they’ve studied the challenges of occupation—particularly in a cross-species scenario such as this—and have decided their current methodology
is
the most effective and economical approach. It sure is a lot simpler.
They have one simple rule: immediate, absolute, and dispassionate counterstrikes into any contested area. And we’ve learned to respect that quickly enough, regardless of any other communications impasse that might exist between our species. So, did they arrive here unprepared to deal with insurgents? Or have they reasoned through the tactical problems of counterinsurgency more completely—and more ruthlessly—than we have?”

Falco held up both his hands. “Okay. After hearing your two different hypotheses, it’s clear that we still can’t conclusively determine if the Baldy occupation strategies and tactics indicate insufficient, or ruthlessly effective, planning. However, whichever it is, grabbing a bunch of artists makes no sense from a military standpoint.”

Ved put up a finger. “With respect, it makes no sense from an immediate
tactical
standpoint. But if it’s an attempt to understand us better, it’s a long overdue strategic intelligence move. Whether they mean to use their increased understanding to communicate with us or simply control us more effectively remains unclear.”

Joe leaned back. “Perhaps not—not when we add in some other data that might indirectly shed additional light on why they came here.”

“Which is?” Van Felsen’s eyes were focused on Joe.

“My theory is that their military efforts seem so amateurish because they were not at all fixated on combat when they started out on their interstellar journey. Consider their so-called military organization. It follows the same structural lines as all their other social collectives. Their units are really more like semiautonomous work groups. And their vehicles, weapons, and other equipment lack the appearance or performance of purpose-built military machinery. The same is true of their ships.”

Falco frowned. “So if they weren’t geared up to arrive here as invaders, then what did they have in mind?”

Diane surprised herself by speaking. “Maybe they were thinking of themselves as explorers or settlers.”

Van Felsen nodded encouragingly, but her voice held a note of reserve. “Maybe—but this Baldy fleet represents a lot of investment just for an exploratory jaunt, or even for a settlement initiative. All those immense ships… Damn, seems to me like they left home because they wanted new turf.”

Joe smiled. “Or because they
needed
new turf. Which would explain the extraordinary investment they made in this fleet.”

Falco frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Look. I had Toshi Springer and her team track back along the Baldies’ approach vector. Nothing interesting for a few hundred light-years, then you hit fairly obstructive nebulae, but right beyond that, you find two novae. Very close to each other. The first, a blue-white giant, looks like it triggered the other one. And probably not more than one or two thousand years ago.”

Van Felsen sat straight. “And so you think…?”

Joe nodded. “The Baldies didn’t set out on a campaign of conquest. This was a desperate exodus. They are not ravagers on a rampage. They are race of refugees
in extremis
.”

Ved smiled. “Maybe. Or maybe not. You’ve spent so much time thinking about the Baldies that you’ve become their pal, have succumbed to the Stockholm syndrome.”

“Maybe,” responded Joe with a matching smile. “Or maybe not.”

* * *

Jennifer heard Zander throwing his arms around in his crib, lively and happy, but that was just a precursor to his impending discovery that—once again—he was hungry. She tried to refocus on Ankaht, who was evidently trying to ask a question about human relationships or life or experience or…something. It wasn’t clear: the mind-emotion pulses were not precise enough, and the words that sprayed across the smart-screens were like a random selection of terms from the same page in a thesaurus: all related, but it was impossible to discern the intent. She knew it was a question, because the Baldies had learned the word “interrogative,” and they always led with that on its own, and then followed with the vocabulary mishmash. But the cascade of terms—
life death birth end more again life mate pair life again more
—never made sense, no matter how the Baldies rearranged it. Jennifer watched, almost in pity, as Ankaht became increasingly expressive. Her greater animation was somewhat evident in her face, but more markedly in her clusters’ tentacles, which swayed and writhed and stabbed in some fitful attempt to push the words and her mind-speaking into some meaning that Jennifer could understand. Jennifer reflected that it was like trying to communicate with a person who was wearing a mask, and who could only speak a foreign language: she got emphasis and gestures, but the actual content was, at best, uncertain. Sometimes it was just plain noise.

Jennifer lowered her eyes, put her hands up, and said, “Stop.”

Peripherally, she saw Ankaht’s motions cease. With a sigh she rose—and got to Zander’s crib just in time to hear his coos take on a tinge of insistence: time for the next feeding.

She turned and considered the seat next to Ankaht, then the baby in her arms—and thought:
Oh, why the hell shouldn’t I bring Zander closer to Ankaht? They could have already killed or tortured us in any way they want, a dozen times over, if that was their intent.

She reapproached Ankaht, carefully settling Zander at her breast even as she settled herself into the seat. Comfortable and pleased by Zander’s determined and successful nuzzling, Jennifer leaned back, very relaxed, waiting to see what Ankaht would do next.…

* * *

Ankaht had just about decided to give up for the day. After some initial progress on purely primal concepts and emotions, she had tried to push open the
selnarmic
link. She stuck to the simplest of terms and used every gesture of her race, and those she could recall of Jennifer’s, to forge a further communicative bond, but to no avail.

When Jennifer rose to tend to her newborn male, Ankaht feared that the day’s efforts were now over, but happily that was not the case. Jennifer came back, more slowly, preparing to provide the Youngling nourishment from her own body, much as did Arduan females for their young. And then the new mother sat, settled in, relaxed—

—And a door opened in Jennifer’s rudimentary
selnarm
. As if looking through a tiny porthole in the side of a vast ship, Ankaht could nonetheless perceive some small part of the interior of Jennifer Peitchkov without significant obstruction. She sent a
selnarmic
tendril through that aperture. “Jennifer Peitchkov, I celebrate your mother-joy. I, too, am a female.”

Jennifer looked up, her two mid-sized eyes wide—but not afraid. A wave of (surprise) came back at Ankaht—surprise at the sudden clarity of the message she had received. She has already deduced Ankaht’s gender long ago.

Ankaht quickly trumpeted (joy!) at the human. “Yes, Jennifer: hear me!” Ankaht’s
selnarmic
roar would have been suitable in one of the ancient parodies, where the Fool was invariably associated with very crude and histrionic
selnarmic
emissions. Embarrassed before her peers, Ankaht doggedly pressed on. “Is it proximity to your progeny that has opened this channel between us?”

From the other side of the porthole, as weak and hollow as a diffident
selnarmic
shrug from the other side of the planet, came the reply. “Maybe. baby. helps. me. do. this. know. not.”