The lights came on. McClennon, Mouse, and Amy sat in silence.
The tapes had been grotesque. Storm finally squeaked,
“Admiral . . . That’s really what
we’re up against?”
McClennon peered at Amy. She met his gaze for an instant.
“Moyshe,” she whispered, “I think I’m going
to be sick.”
“It is,” Beckhart promised Mouse. “It’s
tough to swallow. Even when you’re there yourself. All that
ruthlessness, for no discernible purpose, only makes it more
frightening”
McClennon took Amy’s hand. It was cool. She was shaking.
“You need something?”
“I’ll be all right. Just give me a
minute.”
McClennon turned, “Admiral. I’ve seen that kind of
ship before.”
“What? Where? How?” Beckhart came toward McClennon
like a tiger stalking game. He seemed to have caught a sudden
fever. A haze appeared on his upper lip. “Where?” he
breathed.
“The Seiners have one at their xeno-archaeological
research facility. You remember, Amy? I asked if it had been built
by an intelligent slug? The one nobody wanted to work.”
“That’s right. You’re right, Moyshe, It was
exactly like the ships in the tape.”
“Tell me about it,” Beckhart said.
“There isn’t much to tell,” McClennon replied.
“The Seiners found it in the Nebula. They considered it
comparatively modern. They found it surrounded by ships left behind
by the people they think built Stars’ End. The same people
who, I think, built the base Darkside. They assumed the ship had
been attacked by accident during the Ulantonid War. I said its crew
might have been studying the ships belonging to the Stars’
End race. That’s all.”
Beckhart became thoughtful. “That isn’t all, Thomas.
There’s always more. You just don’t know it. Is there a
connection? Think about it. Stars’ End might be more than
just a handy arsenal.”
Beckhart was talking to himself, not his audience, McClennon
smiled. The Admiral was making the sort of random connections that,
when they paid off, caused him to be so effective.
“Thomas, I want you and Amy to talk to Doctor
Chancellor’s people. They came off the Lunar digs. There
might be an angle.”
“They should get together with Amy’s friend,
Consuela el-Sanga. She’s more knowledgeable than we
are.”
“Fine. Fine. We’ll arrange that. Meantime, get your
brains boiling. Open them up to unexpected
possibilities . . . Tell you what. We’ll
have another little get-together after dinner. With them included.
Marathon brought me some new material. I’ll lay it
out then.”
McClennon caught a bleak note. “Bad, eh?”
“Worse than you’ve seen.”
Beckhart used the evening session to present the report from the
Ulantonid deep probe. Afterward, he asked, “Any speculations,
people?”
The science people were guarded. They wanted more data.
McClennon asked, “Did Luna Command run that through the big
brain?”
“Yes. And it asked for more data too. I think it has a
human bias built in. It wouldn’t accept the numbers. It
suggested that Commander Russell be replaced by somebody less
inclined to exaggerate.”
“Looks to me like there’s enough data to draw some
first approximation inferences. Like, the Globular and war fleets
represent an effort to destroy any present and potential sentience.
It looks like an effort to eliminate competition and remodel the
galaxy for the comfort of one race.”
A scientist protested, “You can’t draw those
inferences. They’re anthropocentric. It could just as well be
a religious crusade.”
“What?” Mouse snarled. “Don’t be
ridiculous.”
“Easy, Mouse,” Beckhart said, “No idea is too
bizarre right now. The truth is going to be something off the wall.
Brainstorm, people. Come up with as many ideas as possible, then
winnow them as we accumulate more data. We shouldn’t use the
facts to build something acceptable. The truth may not
be.”
The scientists were becoming restive. Beckhart continued,
“One unpalatable fact that jumps right out is that
they’re going to try to destroy us. Add to that their
incredible numbers. Add to that the fact that the Globular is forty
thousand years away. People, I think we’ve found us a war
that will last forever.”
McClennon could not handle the numbers. Forty thousand years?
Eight times as long as recorded history? That was one long-term
operation.
The other side had been involved for the gods only knew how long
already. Millions of years?
The oddities of the alien base on the moon’s dark side,
the abandoned ships in Three Sky, and Stars’ End itself,
seemed a little less strange when seen in that light. Presuming the
mysterious builders had been enemies of the centerward race, their
works might constitute a counter-operation of equally cosmic scale.
He tried to tote up a picture based on known factors. It did not
scan. There were too many questions. What was the role of the
Sangaree? What had become of the builders?
Mouse leaned his way. “This is a little much for me,
Tommy. I’m just a simple-minded soldier.”
McClennon grinned. “I’ll go along with the
simple-minded.” He had spent the afternoon with a Psych
team.
They had performed wonders. He felt content and optimistic.
Mouse was out of sorts. He had come off The Broken Wings moody
and uncommunicative. The definitive proof was that the science team
boasted several attractive women. None had yet been honored by the
swoop of the eagle. Amy had mentioned it in one of her friendlier
moments. McClennon had not noticed it himself.
“You going to be in the mood for a game after this?”
McClennon asked. Mouse had not shown much interest in chess lately,
either.
“I don’t think so. What’s going on?” A
petty officer was whispering to the Admiral.
Beckhart announced, “The Sangaree just left Stars’
End. They left the McGraws to the Starfishers.” He smiled.
“Looks like the incidence of piracy may fall off.”
“What will they do?” McClennon asked.
“We don’t know. Let’s hope they give it a good
think. I left Strehltsweiter with a message for her bosses. Maybe
Homeworld will make them listen.”
“What kind of message?” Mouse demanded.
“I told them to change their ways. I said I’m not
interested in wiping them out, but I will if they don’t shape
up. I told them I could repeat the lesson at Osiris if they insist.
I let her think we know where Osiris is, too.”
“Do you?” Thomas asked.
“No. I lie a lot.”
For the next week McClennon split his time between the Psych and
scientific teams. The Psych sessions bled the pressure ofi his
chaotic mind. Gradually one personality—McClennon—took
hold. He suffered only one minor episode. Marathon dropped hyper off Three Sky. Signals from von
Drachau’s Lepanto indicated that she and her escort
had penetrated the Yards. There had been a few skirmishes, but
nothing serious. The Starfishers were talking, but stalling.
The Admiral observed, “Gruber is trying to fox us.
He’s sitting tight at Stars’ End. Know what he’s
doing? Betting to an inside straight. He’s thinking, if he
can pull some of those weapons out quick enough, he can turn the
tables on us.”
Beckhart thereupon demonstrated his proconsular power. He
contacted the Seiner leadership, told them the time. He designated
it as launch minus twenty-five hours. He ordered the channel kept
open and the countdown broadcast at five-minute intervals. Incoming
traffic was to be recorded and otherwise ignored. Requests for
delays and further negotiations consequently fell on deaf ears.
At launch minus two hours twelve minutes the Seiners of Three
Sky surrendered unconditionally. Fleet Marines began occupying key
installations immediately.
Beckhart summoned McClennon. “Thomas, we’ve finished
twisting their arms here. Find your lady and ask her if she’s
going or staying. We space for Stars’ End in one
hour.”
“Yes sir. Sir, I just came through Communications. The
Sangaree raidfleet is still headed for Homeworld.”
“Good. We’ll be able to release a few squadrons,
then.”
His eyes went glassy. “The big strike is getting closer.
The Blues have picked their spot. We’re waiting till the
other side walks into it. Find your lady.”
Amy was easily found. She would not leave her cabin unless
dragged. He knocked. “It’s McClennon,” he said.
“The Admiral sent me.”
She seldom talked to him unless under pretext of business.
“What does he want?”
“We’re spacing for Stars’ End. You want to
stay here, or go along?”
“They gave up?”
“They didn’t have much choice.”
She sighed. “Moyshe, I try hard to understand what’s
happening. But I can’t. Do you think he’ll keep his
word?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t. We’ll
find out the hard way. He’ll leave people here to establish
the new order. I wish I could find out what their instructions are.
What are you going to do? You have to decide quick. We’re
ready to leave.”
“I’m going to Stars’ End. Consuela is out
there.. They made her head of the whole team.”
“Well, good for her.” He did not depart immediately.
She refused the opportunity he offered.
It keeps right on hurting, he thought as he stalked along the
passageway. She won’t even try to understand.
After relaying Amy’s decision, he went looking for his
partner.
He found Mouse in the wardroom, staring mindlessly into a
holovision cube. He sat, “What’s the matter, old buddy?
Want to talk?”
Reluctantly, Mouse killed the holoshow. “Not yet, Tommy.
I’m not ready.”
“All right. You noticed that little blonde Lieutenant from
Weapons? Tanni Something.”
“From B Missiles? Primo stuff. Looks like she’d turn
a man every way but loose. There’s something about the little
ones . . . ”
“They say she’s a Scorpio.”
Mouse laughed. “You didn’t fix me up, did
you?” Mouse had been known to opine that Scorpio women were
the hottest in the known universe. McClennon could not get him to
elucidate the workings of a geocentric astrology transferred to
Outworlds skies.
“Not exactly. I asked a few questions. I figured the
answers might pique your interest.”
“I’m interested. That little bomb is ready to go
off. You can tell just by the way she moves. Blow in her ear and
you’re liable to start something five guys couldn’t
handle. But I’m also not interested. If you know what I
mean.”
“No. I don’t. You’ve been celibate for a
month. I thought I’d see entropy shift into reverse
first.”
“I got things to work out, Tommy, Can we drop
it?”
“If you want. We’re heading for Stars’
End.” As if to back him up, the ship’s hyper alarm
sounded
“I heard they finally gave in.”
“Now all we’ve got to do is impress
Gruber.”
“The Old Man will find a way.”
“He always does, doesn’t he?”
“Tommy, what do you think our chances are?”
“What?”
“Our chances of coming through this thing with these
centerward creatures.”
“We’ll never know, Mouse. It’s going to go on
for a long time. Our great-grandchildren’s
great-grandchildren are going to be fighting this war. And
it’s a sad thing.”
“Sad? How so?”
“It may destroy us. As a race. I don’t mean destroy
like wipe us out. I mean put an end to what makes us what we are.
I’ve been thinking about it a lot. You know how I
get.”
“You think too much.” Mouse smiled.
“The human race is crazy, see. No two of us are alike. And
when we form up in mobs, no two mobs are alike. We’re always
flying off in a skillion different directions. Everybody doing
their own thing. Every culture, too. And that’s a survival
trait, I think. There’s almost a Darwinian thing with
cultures. Some die out, and others come to life. There’re
always some on the way out and some on the way in. The thing is,
there’re always a lot of different ones around. When one goes
down, there’s always another there to take its
place.”
“I’m not following you,” Mouse said in a
slightly amused tone. “What’s that got to do with
anything?”
“Look, this centerward race . . . To
fight it we’re going to have to pull together. Generation
after generation. Like an anthill. We’re going to turn into a
warfare race. Our whole focus will be the struggle. Kids will be
born to a system that will turn them into the best soldiers possible. If they’re survivors, they’ll work their way up
and get old in harness. They’ll have kids of their own, who
will follow in their footsteps. After a few generations nobody will
know there’s any other way of life. And then, in a way,
we’ll be just like the things we’re fighting. The
diversity will be gone. And we’ll be trapped in a dead end.
Because every culture is a dead end eventually. I mean, what does a
warfare society do after it polishes off its last enemy? Turn on
itself?”
Mouse looked at him askance. “You do worry yourself about
some strange things, my friend.”
“I think it’s
a valid concern. I think we should start taking the long view now
and try to retain all the diversity we can.”
“So write a report suggesting a study.”
“I think I will.”
“It won’t matter much when they wipe us out, Tommy.
And from where I sit, that looks inevitable. All we can do is delay
it. That’ll be like trying to keep the river from getting to
the sea by bailing it with a teacup.”
“Maybe. Maybe.”
The ship shuddered. It seemed to twist away around them.
Marathon was on her way to Stars’ End, that
legendary, inviolable, virgin goddess of a fortress world that had
intrigued a half dozen races for countless centuries.
The lights came on. McClennon, Mouse, and Amy sat in silence.
The tapes had been grotesque. Storm finally squeaked,
“Admiral . . . That’s really what
we’re up against?”
McClennon peered at Amy. She met his gaze for an instant.
“Moyshe,” she whispered, “I think I’m going
to be sick.”
“It is,” Beckhart promised Mouse. “It’s
tough to swallow. Even when you’re there yourself. All that
ruthlessness, for no discernible purpose, only makes it more
frightening”
McClennon took Amy’s hand. It was cool. She was shaking.
“You need something?”
“I’ll be all right. Just give me a
minute.”
McClennon turned, “Admiral. I’ve seen that kind of
ship before.”
“What? Where? How?” Beckhart came toward McClennon
like a tiger stalking game. He seemed to have caught a sudden
fever. A haze appeared on his upper lip. “Where?” he
breathed.
“The Seiners have one at their xeno-archaeological
research facility. You remember, Amy? I asked if it had been built
by an intelligent slug? The one nobody wanted to work.”
“That’s right. You’re right, Moyshe, It was
exactly like the ships in the tape.”
“Tell me about it,” Beckhart said.
“There isn’t much to tell,” McClennon replied.
“The Seiners found it in the Nebula. They considered it
comparatively modern. They found it surrounded by ships left behind
by the people they think built Stars’ End. The same people
who, I think, built the base Darkside. They assumed the ship had
been attacked by accident during the Ulantonid War. I said its crew
might have been studying the ships belonging to the Stars’
End race. That’s all.”
Beckhart became thoughtful. “That isn’t all, Thomas.
There’s always more. You just don’t know it. Is there a
connection? Think about it. Stars’ End might be more than
just a handy arsenal.”
Beckhart was talking to himself, not his audience, McClennon
smiled. The Admiral was making the sort of random connections that,
when they paid off, caused him to be so effective.
“Thomas, I want you and Amy to talk to Doctor
Chancellor’s people. They came off the Lunar digs. There
might be an angle.”
“They should get together with Amy’s friend,
Consuela el-Sanga. She’s more knowledgeable than we
are.”
“Fine. Fine. We’ll arrange that. Meantime, get your
brains boiling. Open them up to unexpected
possibilities . . . Tell you what. We’ll
have another little get-together after dinner. With them included.
Marathon brought me some new material. I’ll lay it
out then.”
McClennon caught a bleak note. “Bad, eh?”
“Worse than you’ve seen.”
Beckhart used the evening session to present the report from the
Ulantonid deep probe. Afterward, he asked, “Any speculations,
people?”
The science people were guarded. They wanted more data.
McClennon asked, “Did Luna Command run that through the big
brain?”
“Yes. And it asked for more data too. I think it has a
human bias built in. It wouldn’t accept the numbers. It
suggested that Commander Russell be replaced by somebody less
inclined to exaggerate.”
“Looks to me like there’s enough data to draw some
first approximation inferences. Like, the Globular and war fleets
represent an effort to destroy any present and potential sentience.
It looks like an effort to eliminate competition and remodel the
galaxy for the comfort of one race.”
A scientist protested, “You can’t draw those
inferences. They’re anthropocentric. It could just as well be
a religious crusade.”
“What?” Mouse snarled. “Don’t be
ridiculous.”
“Easy, Mouse,” Beckhart said, “No idea is too
bizarre right now. The truth is going to be something off the wall.
Brainstorm, people. Come up with as many ideas as possible, then
winnow them as we accumulate more data. We shouldn’t use the
facts to build something acceptable. The truth may not
be.”
The scientists were becoming restive. Beckhart continued,
“One unpalatable fact that jumps right out is that
they’re going to try to destroy us. Add to that their
incredible numbers. Add to that the fact that the Globular is forty
thousand years away. People, I think we’ve found us a war
that will last forever.”
McClennon could not handle the numbers. Forty thousand years?
Eight times as long as recorded history? That was one long-term
operation.
The other side had been involved for the gods only knew how long
already. Millions of years?
The oddities of the alien base on the moon’s dark side,
the abandoned ships in Three Sky, and Stars’ End itself,
seemed a little less strange when seen in that light. Presuming the
mysterious builders had been enemies of the centerward race, their
works might constitute a counter-operation of equally cosmic scale.
He tried to tote up a picture based on known factors. It did not
scan. There were too many questions. What was the role of the
Sangaree? What had become of the builders?
Mouse leaned his way. “This is a little much for me,
Tommy. I’m just a simple-minded soldier.”
McClennon grinned. “I’ll go along with the
simple-minded.” He had spent the afternoon with a Psych
team.
They had performed wonders. He felt content and optimistic.
Mouse was out of sorts. He had come off The Broken Wings moody
and uncommunicative. The definitive proof was that the science team
boasted several attractive women. None had yet been honored by the
swoop of the eagle. Amy had mentioned it in one of her friendlier
moments. McClennon had not noticed it himself.
“You going to be in the mood for a game after this?”
McClennon asked. Mouse had not shown much interest in chess lately,
either.
“I don’t think so. What’s going on?” A
petty officer was whispering to the Admiral.
Beckhart announced, “The Sangaree just left Stars’
End. They left the McGraws to the Starfishers.” He smiled.
“Looks like the incidence of piracy may fall off.”
“What will they do?” McClennon asked.
“We don’t know. Let’s hope they give it a good
think. I left Strehltsweiter with a message for her bosses. Maybe
Homeworld will make them listen.”
“What kind of message?” Mouse demanded.
“I told them to change their ways. I said I’m not
interested in wiping them out, but I will if they don’t shape
up. I told them I could repeat the lesson at Osiris if they insist.
I let her think we know where Osiris is, too.”
“Do you?” Thomas asked.
“No. I lie a lot.”
For the next week McClennon split his time between the Psych and
scientific teams. The Psych sessions bled the pressure ofi his
chaotic mind. Gradually one personality—McClennon—took
hold. He suffered only one minor episode. Marathon dropped hyper off Three Sky. Signals from von
Drachau’s Lepanto indicated that she and her escort
had penetrated the Yards. There had been a few skirmishes, but
nothing serious. The Starfishers were talking, but stalling.
The Admiral observed, “Gruber is trying to fox us.
He’s sitting tight at Stars’ End. Know what he’s
doing? Betting to an inside straight. He’s thinking, if he
can pull some of those weapons out quick enough, he can turn the
tables on us.”
Beckhart thereupon demonstrated his proconsular power. He
contacted the Seiner leadership, told them the time. He designated
it as launch minus twenty-five hours. He ordered the channel kept
open and the countdown broadcast at five-minute intervals. Incoming
traffic was to be recorded and otherwise ignored. Requests for
delays and further negotiations consequently fell on deaf ears.
At launch minus two hours twelve minutes the Seiners of Three
Sky surrendered unconditionally. Fleet Marines began occupying key
installations immediately.
Beckhart summoned McClennon. “Thomas, we’ve finished
twisting their arms here. Find your lady and ask her if she’s
going or staying. We space for Stars’ End in one
hour.”
“Yes sir. Sir, I just came through Communications. The
Sangaree raidfleet is still headed for Homeworld.”
“Good. We’ll be able to release a few squadrons,
then.”
His eyes went glassy. “The big strike is getting closer.
The Blues have picked their spot. We’re waiting till the
other side walks into it. Find your lady.”
Amy was easily found. She would not leave her cabin unless
dragged. He knocked. “It’s McClennon,” he said.
“The Admiral sent me.”
She seldom talked to him unless under pretext of business.
“What does he want?”
“We’re spacing for Stars’ End. You want to
stay here, or go along?”
“They gave up?”
“They didn’t have much choice.”
She sighed. “Moyshe, I try hard to understand what’s
happening. But I can’t. Do you think he’ll keep his
word?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t. We’ll
find out the hard way. He’ll leave people here to establish
the new order. I wish I could find out what their instructions are.
What are you going to do? You have to decide quick. We’re
ready to leave.”
“I’m going to Stars’ End. Consuela is out
there.. They made her head of the whole team.”
“Well, good for her.” He did not depart immediately.
She refused the opportunity he offered.
It keeps right on hurting, he thought as he stalked along the
passageway. She won’t even try to understand.
After relaying Amy’s decision, he went looking for his
partner.
He found Mouse in the wardroom, staring mindlessly into a
holovision cube. He sat, “What’s the matter, old buddy?
Want to talk?”
Reluctantly, Mouse killed the holoshow. “Not yet, Tommy.
I’m not ready.”
“All right. You noticed that little blonde Lieutenant from
Weapons? Tanni Something.”
“From B Missiles? Primo stuff. Looks like she’d turn
a man every way but loose. There’s something about the little
ones . . . ”
“They say she’s a Scorpio.”
Mouse laughed. “You didn’t fix me up, did
you?” Mouse had been known to opine that Scorpio women were
the hottest in the known universe. McClennon could not get him to
elucidate the workings of a geocentric astrology transferred to
Outworlds skies.
“Not exactly. I asked a few questions. I figured the
answers might pique your interest.”
“I’m interested. That little bomb is ready to go
off. You can tell just by the way she moves. Blow in her ear and
you’re liable to start something five guys couldn’t
handle. But I’m also not interested. If you know what I
mean.”
“No. I don’t. You’ve been celibate for a
month. I thought I’d see entropy shift into reverse
first.”
“I got things to work out, Tommy, Can we drop
it?”
“If you want. We’re heading for Stars’
End.” As if to back him up, the ship’s hyper alarm
sounded
“I heard they finally gave in.”
“Now all we’ve got to do is impress
Gruber.”
“The Old Man will find a way.”
“He always does, doesn’t he?”
“Tommy, what do you think our chances are?”
“What?”
“Our chances of coming through this thing with these
centerward creatures.”
“We’ll never know, Mouse. It’s going to go on
for a long time. Our great-grandchildren’s
great-grandchildren are going to be fighting this war. And
it’s a sad thing.”
“Sad? How so?”
“It may destroy us. As a race. I don’t mean destroy
like wipe us out. I mean put an end to what makes us what we are.
I’ve been thinking about it a lot. You know how I
get.”
“You think too much.” Mouse smiled.
“The human race is crazy, see. No two of us are alike. And
when we form up in mobs, no two mobs are alike. We’re always
flying off in a skillion different directions. Everybody doing
their own thing. Every culture, too. And that’s a survival
trait, I think. There’s almost a Darwinian thing with
cultures. Some die out, and others come to life. There’re
always some on the way out and some on the way in. The thing is,
there’re always a lot of different ones around. When one goes
down, there’s always another there to take its
place.”
“I’m not following you,” Mouse said in a
slightly amused tone. “What’s that got to do with
anything?”
“Look, this centerward race . . . To
fight it we’re going to have to pull together. Generation
after generation. Like an anthill. We’re going to turn into a
warfare race. Our whole focus will be the struggle. Kids will be
born to a system that will turn them into the best soldiers possible. If they’re survivors, they’ll work their way up
and get old in harness. They’ll have kids of their own, who
will follow in their footsteps. After a few generations nobody will
know there’s any other way of life. And then, in a way,
we’ll be just like the things we’re fighting. The
diversity will be gone. And we’ll be trapped in a dead end.
Because every culture is a dead end eventually. I mean, what does a
warfare society do after it polishes off its last enemy? Turn on
itself?”
Mouse looked at him askance. “You do worry yourself about
some strange things, my friend.”
“I think it’s
a valid concern. I think we should start taking the long view now
and try to retain all the diversity we can.”
“So write a report suggesting a study.”
“I think I will.”
“It won’t matter much when they wipe us out, Tommy.
And from where I sit, that looks inevitable. All we can do is delay
it. That’ll be like trying to keep the river from getting to
the sea by bailing it with a teacup.”
“Maybe. Maybe.”
The ship shuddered. It seemed to twist away around them.
Marathon was on her way to Stars’ End, that
legendary, inviolable, virgin goddess of a fortress world that had
intrigued a half dozen races for countless centuries.