Extremis (5 page)

“They don’t take surrenders in the field,” countered Mackintosh. “And they kill our wounded on sight.”

“True. But, oddly, they seem to eliminate their own wounded as well, and they ignore disabled ships, or those which pose no threat. No, they are not the Bugs—but they’re sure not us, either.”

Mackintosh had recovered most of her color. “So, if they don’t talk much, how do they communicate?”

“That’s just what I was wondering, Sam.”

“Light? Pheromone emissions?” offered Witeski.

“Could be, but there’s nothing in any of their command-and-control technology that has any interface for those media. But what if—” And Krishmahnta stopped herself, wondering how to proceed without reinvoking the memory of the Bugs. “What if they do have some kind of mind-to-mind contact?
That
could travel at light speed, couldn’t it?”

Mackintosh frowned. “For all we know, and given the myriad of ways in which quantum entanglement produces phenomena which seem to exceed the cee limit—”

“Warp point is hot, Admiral,” announced Velasquez tightly.

Postures straightened. Eyes became intent on screens, on the holoplot, or both.

A red blip popped out of the purple hoop, edged forward a bit—and was then gone. Another two of the cyan-lattice minefield icons disappeared with it. There were plenty more, but—

“
Balu Bay
is relaying data. A mother lode of it, Admiral.”

Krishmahnta leaned back. Fair exchange. Maybe better than that. “Commander La Mar, signal to
Balu Bay
. ‘Well done. Choose a new vantage point, this time at four light-seconds’ range, your discretion regarding position. Passive sensors only.’ ”

Thirty seconds later, the green delta of the
Balu Bay
lost her silver mast and began to move.

Ten seconds after that, three red motes—smaller—tore out of the purple hoop, headed toward the
Balu Bay
’s old position—and promptly disappeared from the plot the moment they paused as if pondering the unexpected emptiness before them.

“RFNS
Anzio
reports three Baldy SBMHAWKs destroyed, Admiral.”

Of course. And they did just what I would have done—because if I hadn’t repositioned
Balu Bay
…
“Where’s that data on their minesweeper, Mr. La Mar?”

Velasquez, the head of Engineering, answered. “I’m integrating it, Admiral. First imaging coming through now.”

A fragmentary 3-D graphic popped into existence above the holotank’s tactical display. The gridwork outline of the Baldy’s mystery ship rotated slowly: its main hull was shaped rather like a rugby ball. However, that surface was completely hex-celled, like a beehive. A drive cluster protruded from one end.

Watanabe straightened up. “What the hell is that?”

“A cluster of one-shot missile launchers, hooked up to a rudimentary reactionless drive,” declared Samantha Mackintosh as she studied her own console. “A surprisingly simple device, really—an outfacing layer of light, one-shot launch tubes, that apparently discharge short-range HBMs with gigaton-level warheads. The overlapping blasts make a clean sweep of anything close.”

“But still no hint as to how they get that damn thing to reorient and trigger so quickly?”

“No, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“Not to worry—we’ll keep working at it. And when I say ‘we,’ I of course mean ‘you,’ Sam.”

“Of course, sir.”

Krishmahnta leaned back. “But in the meantime, what do we call that thing?”

“It’s not an AMBAMM,” maintained Witeski.

Erica made a mental note:
watch Witeski for tunnel vision during a crisis.

Looking over her shoulder, the unflappable Marian Nduku commented, “Looks like a flying beehive to me.”

“A beehive on a stick,” amended Velasquez.

Mackintosh looked up with a frown. “The flying beehive on a stick? That sounds a bit…cumbersome for a ship classification, don’t you think?”

By the time the fifth of the self-immolating minesweepers had come through and blasted deeper into Krishmahnta’s minefields, the alien ship had acquired a permanent, sawed-off version of its longer moniker. It was now simply a s
tickhive
.

Arduan SDH
Shem’pter’ai
, First Fleet of the
Anaht’doh Kainat
, Beaumont System

Staring at a miniature holographic replica of the planet that the enemy called Beaumont, Admiral Narrok saw that the brown and blue orb swam not only at the center of the tacplot but at the center of a surprisingly wide array of enemy ship icons.
There are too many of the human ships,
he thought, but did not allow this observation to enter the stream of fellow-feeling and telepathy—or
selnarm
—that was the reciprocal communicative medium linking him to the other persons on the bridge. Then he allowed a carefully emended version of his strategic deduction to bleed into the communal mental link. “There are more
griarfeksh
ships than we expected,
Holodah’kri
. Many more.”

Urkhot, the visiting high priest—or
holodah’kri
—radiated a
selnarmic
wave of (dismay) at the mention of the size of the enemy fleet. But he also emitted a brief pulse of (satisfaction, relief) when Narrok referred to the humans as
griarfeksh
—a particularly unsavory, hairless carrion eater of their homeworld. However, the last
griarfeksh
had vanished long ago—along with their homeworld, Ardu, and its sun, all destroyed when the nearby blue giant Sekamahnt went nova. Narrok felt that the accepted term for humans—
griarfeksh
—was unsuitable and even dangerously misleading, but he had resolved to use it reflexively when he was sharing his
selnarm
with xenophobic militants such as the high priest.

Urkhot—tall and golden-skinned, his third and central eye unblinking—stared at the holographic representation of the clashing fleets as if he could read the whorls of changing icons and data well enough to assess the accuracy of Narrok’s strategic deduction. Which he indirectly contested by observing, “
We
seem to outnumber
them
. Vastly.”

“And so we do,
Holodah’kri
. But the odds of our success here in Beaumont are not the cause of my concern.”

“Ahh…” And Urkhot made the wheezing grunt that was the vocal amplification of a modest
selnarmic
(realization). “Now I understand. You are concerned that the
griarfeksh
have not drawn strength from this fleet in order to defend against the simultaneous attack Second Admiral Sarhan is making upon the system they call…eh…”

“Raiden,” supplied Narrok. “No, if anything, the hu—
griarfeksh
commander in Raiden has sent further reinforcements
here
. They are wise.”

“They are the whetstone upon which Illudor sharpens our edge.” Urkhot projected (resolve, pride).

“Most assuredly.” Narrok returned a pulse of (calm agreement).

“So let us attack quickly, before they react.”

“
Holodah’kri
, their lack of reaction is not due to surprise. Our immense preparations—with both the
Urret-fah’ah
minesweepers and the SBMHAWK wave attacks—announced our arrival quite clearly. And well beforehand.”

“Then why do they not move? Has our preliminary bombardment stunned them, inflicted so many losses that they are paralyzed?”

Narrok kept from coiling his lesser tentacles in dismay. He suppressed his first reaction:
Can you truly be such an imbecile?
Instead, he sent a quick flash of (regret). “It seems unlikely. There is little wreckage, other than that of the mines we destroyed, and of our own
Urret-fah’ah
hulls.”

“How could this be? Did you not assure Senior Admiral Torhok and me, and thereby the Council of Twenty, that a massive preliminary bombardment was essential? And that acquiring the capacity to do so by installing the…the external-ordnance racks…on our older ships would
assure
us of victory?”

“I believe I asserted that it was a prudent if expensive step in the
attempt
to secure victory,
Holodah’kri
. Nothing can
assure
victory. Other than the will of Illudor, of course.”

“Which, of course, we are carrying out by expunging these pestilential aliens from the universe.”

Narrok sent (calm, agreement). “But as you say, if Illudor sets these
griarfeksh
as our whetstone, then surely we cannot expect an immediate and easy victory. One cannot sharpen a blade without resistance, without friction.”

Urkhot’s eyes shifted sideways to glance at Narrok. (Areement, vindication.) “That is well-observed, Admiral. But I still do not understand. Why did our SBMHAWKs not do more damage to them?”

“It may have done more damage than we know. But I suspect a different possibility.”

“Which is?”

“That they found a new use for their AMBAMMs—their anti-mine ballistic antimatter missiles.”

Urkhot did not even try to feign comprehension. “Please explain what you mean.”

“I suspect that the
griarfeksh
used their AMBAMMs to sweep away our SBMHAWKs as they came through the warp point.”

Urkhot’s larger, central eye blinked. “This would be an effective tactic?”

“Most effective,
Holodah’kri
. If we are to believe their own records and periodicals—”

“Which we may not.”

(Soothing.) “Of course—but
if
we were so misguided as to do so, they reveal that the yield of the enemy AMBAMMs is sufficient to completely destroy the largest SBMHAWK salvo we could fire.”

“But then what of the smaller flights of missiles we sent through? Surely they did not have enough AMBAMMs to use against them as well.”

“I suspect those smaller flights of missiles were eliminated by mines emplaced beyond the range of our
Urret-fah’ah
minesweepers, and by the defensive fire of ships waiting even farther back than that. I believe the
griarfeksh
commander realized that there would be little need for the customary use of AMBAMMs. After all, the enemy is unable to advance against us, and therefore minesweeping devices are of no use to them. Besides, they have surely observed that we are not carrying many static defenses forward with us, since our operations are consistently offensive in nature—”

“As well they should be.”

Narrok expressed (accord) but secretly:
if anything defeats us, it will be that “always-attack” reflex.
“So, by this deductive process, the
griarfeksh
would reason their AMBAMMs to be useless, unless—”

“—unless they reconceived of them as massive area-denial and intercept weapons.” Narrok’s Intelligence Prime and Fleet Second, Mretlak, had joined them from behind, having left his command pod. “Unquestionably, when they detected one of our SBMHAWK surges, they sent one of their AMBAMMs forward. All our missiles would surely be consumed in its conflagration.”

The
Holodah’kri
turned slowly toward the Second. (Surprise, disbelief, outrage.) “Are you in the habit of interrupting your admiral, Prime?”

The priest’s refusal to address Mretlak by his most senor title—Fleet Second—had clearly stunned Narrok’s trusted assistant and protégé. “I-I—”

Narrok intervened. (Reassurance.) “Fleet Second Mretlak and I have worked so closely together these past several months that titles were inefficient. They slowed the speed of our exchange.”

Urkhot narrowed his central eye. (Disdain.) “I see. You may continue,
Prime
Mretlak.”

Narrok intervened again. “Actually, Fleet Second Mretlak is overdue assembling the report you requested for Senior Admiral Torhok,
Holodah’kri
. He was delayed, seeing to the final details of our attack.”

“Very well.” And Urkhot turned way in a manner, and with a sudden retraction of his
selnarm
link, that left Mretlak—and anyone else on the bridge—with little doubt that the fleet second had just been dismissed like a truant Firstborn. Mretlak withdrew quietly, his own
selnarm
screened.

When he had departed, Urkhot observed, “Your first blade might learn more deference. He is young for his position. Perhaps you advanced him too quickly.”

Narrok projected (open-mindedness) and thought,
not only does this meddling priest question my judgment as an admiral, but he is trying to push us back toward the archaic rank terminology of our barbarous past. He styles Mretlak as my
first blade,
not
fleet second. Not surprising. Torhok—senior admiral and most influential voice in the Council—had been encouraging the resurgence of the primordial forms and ethos of the
Destoshaz
, or warrior caste. He and Urkhot called it “rediscovering the caste’s race-duty”; Narrok suspected it was a means of political manipulation as much as it was a genuine outpouring of xenophobic militarism.

Narrok allowed his uncertainty over how to respond to Urkhot to extend into silence: the priest had asked no question, made no request.
Let’s see what he does if I do not respond.

Urkhot simply backtracked…and rather awkwardly. “Admiral, while we are on the topic of how the effectiveness of our SBMHAWKs was degraded, I must also express surprise at how few of our regular missiles hit when we drove back the cluster of enemy ships around the warp point.
Our missiles are rated for much higher levels of accuracy.”

(Appreciation for perspicacity)—even as Narrok wondered if it was also true on human ships that, the less an important visitor knew about naval matters, the more determined the visitor was to criticize and find fault. “This is true,
Holodah’kri
, but the data you cite measure the missiles’ accuracy against targets which are not employing a reactionless drive.”

“The reactionless drive makes enemy ships too fast to hit?”

“No. A ship traveling under a reactionless drive is a somewhat diaphanous object. It is almost impossible for our sensors to secure an absolutely firm targeting lock. I will point out that the same is true for our adversaries when they fire upon us.”

(Puzzlement.) “Then why do our other weapons—force beams, lasers—not suffer this difficulty?”