Out of the Dark (38 page)

“In light of Ground Force Commander Thairys’ losses, Squadron Commander, what can you tell us about the status of the industrial ships?”

“As you instructed me, Fleet Commander,” Jainfar replied, “I instructed the ship commanders of
Imperial Sword
and
Stellar Dawn
to begin deployment last month. Our progress has been somewhat hampered by the overriding priority of providing enough maintenance techs to our ground forces, which has somewhat reduced the personnel available to me. We’ve modified our procedures, however, and I believe we’ve now effectively compensated for those diversions.

“Accordingly, I feel confident
Imperial Sword
can have our first industrial node operational within the next five standard months, which is one month sooner than doctrine and normal operational tempos would suggest. To do that, unfortunately, I’ll be forced to divert personnel from
Stellar Dawn,
which will probably push
her
complete activation back by at least two standard months.

“I’m afraid, however, that our initial mission planning never contemplated material losses on the scale we’ve experienced. As a consequence, none of our industrial modules were programmed or configured to replace, for example, GEVs. The assumption was that we would require a more generalized capability, and both the software and the modules themselves are configured for the initial creation and expansion of a basic industrial presence and infrastructure, not the construction of heavy-combat equipment. I have personnel now working on how best to reconfigure to meet our actual current needs. My best estimate, however, is that it will be a minimum of six standard months before we’ll be able to begin replacing Ground Force Commander Thairys’ vehicle losses. If we comply with the requests of some of his brigade and division commanders that we upgrade our equipment to match or exceed the capabilities of the humans’ combat vehicles, that delay will probably double. It might even be worse than that, which leads me to seriously question the wisdom of the effort, although I do have a team working on possible new design concepts in order to be as ready as we can if the ultimate decision is to upgrade.

“In addition, however, I fear that until
Stellar Dawn
and our full complement of resource-collection vessels come fully online and the solar furnaces can begin smelting resources from the local asteroids in adequate quantities, production levels will be limited. I believe it will be closer to nine standard months before we’re in a position to truly begin rebuilding his original table of organization and equipment, even using completely unmodified designs.”

Thikair managed not to wince, but only because he’d already known most of what Thairys and Jainfar were going to report. Six standard months would be fifteen human months—more than a full local year for the humans to continue whittling away at his dwindling forces. Thairys was right to focus on their losses in vehicles and shuttles, of course, but even infantry losses were several times the original expeditionary planners’ estimates, and
those
couldn’t be replaced even after the industrial ships came completely online. Only the fact that he’d been supplied with enough troopers to subdue—and then provide garrisons for—no less than three star systems had given them the depth to meet operational needs (and losses) to date, and Thikair had long since accepted that he’d have to write off the colonization of the other two systems. Indeed, he was beginning to wonder if he could continue to sustain present operational tempos long
enough to complete even KU-197-20’s conquest in the first place, far less occupy it properly afterward.

Oh, stop being so pessimistic!
he scolded himself.
What’s that phrase, that human phrase, Shairez shared with you the other day? The one about not getting discouraged just because things seem difficult? Darkest before the dawn, or something like that, wasn’t it? Well, if even
these
creatures recognize the need not to give up just because the job looks a little tougher than you expected in the beginning, then certainly a member of any
civilized
race should be able to keep the same thing in mind!

“Very well, Squadron Commander,” he said out loud. “I won’t pretend I’m delighted by your report, or by Ground Force Commander Thairys’, but all any officer can ask of his warriors is that they do the very best they can under the circumstances and then honestly report the truth of their progress to him, which is what I’m sure you both have done. Having said that, of course, I want to see the expansion of our industrial capacity pressed forward as rapidly as possible. If you or any of your junior officers should see any way in which the process can be accelerated, by all means do so. And if you should discover that any additional resources or personnel could assist you in that regard, inform me immediately and I’ll do my very best to get them for you.”

“Of course, Fleet Commander,” Jainfar replied, and Thikair turned to Shairez.

“And now for you, Ground Base Commander,” he said.

“I regret to admit it, Fleet Commander,” she began, “but I’ve been unable to meet the schedule you and I discussed prior to the landing. A great deal of that is due to the sheer mass of data we acquired from the humans’ Internet and have had to sift and evaluate, of course. That task is still not completed, but we’ve reached a point at which I can safely delegate it to my own subordinates, which will free up time for me to deal with my other responsibilities. I hope that will put me in a position to make up some of the lost time, but I can’t pretend I’m not considerably behind.

“In particular, I’ve been forced to defer my efforts to fully evaluate this species’ psychology. I’m afraid that’s one task I haven’t been able to delegate.”

Thikair very carefully kept his ears motionless, tending a smile.

“Haven’t been able to delegate,” indeed,
he thought.
Haven’t been willing to let anyone else play with that particular fascinating puzzle before
you
do, is what you mean, Ground Base Commander!

He knew that wasn’t completely fair to Shairez. She wasn’t the sort to let her personal desires interfere with the performance of her duties or the discharge of her responsibilities. At the same time, she undoubtedly
was
fascinated by the bizarre fashion in which these creatures’ brains apparently functioned.

And more to the point,
he reflected more soberly,
she’s probably the only senior officer I’ve got who’s capable of figuring
out
how their brains work. Assuming they actually
do
work, that is!

Not for the first time since arriving in this Cainharn of a star system, Thikair found himself wishing that at least a few more Shongairi had ever developed Shairez’s interest in xenopsychology. Unfortunately, they hadn’t.

“I intend to begin devoting the majority of my attention to that project as soon as possible,” Shairez continued. “Hopefully, within the next month or so, I should be able to provide at least a preliminary analysis of their psychology and to determine whether or not they are, indeed, educable via neural educator technology.”

Her own ears wiggled in a wry smile.

“Fortunately, my ground base’s zone of responsibility is nowhere near as . . . lively as some of the other ground base commanders’ zones. Most of the local human cities and towns have been abandoned, and no more than a twelfth-part of their populations have returned. I’m afraid there’s been quite a lot of starvation among the humans, and also an upsurge in disease, but the decision to concentrate our primary efforts on North America and our major secondary effort on the western portion of Europe has simplified my own ground force commanders’ tasks. In fact, I’ve been able to provide at least some degree of reinforcement to Base Commander Fursa’s, whose ZOR is considerably more . . . active than my own.”

“I’m happy to hear it’s having a positive effect for someone, Ground Base Commander,” Thairys said dryly.

“Well,” Thikair said with a bleak ear lift of his own, “at least I’m fairly confident your operations are having consequences for the humans which are even less pleasant than our own experiences, Ground Force Commander.”

“That’s the last of them, Longbow.”

As Major Torino turned his head and looked over his shoulder at the tall, bearded, dark-skinned man who’d just spoken, it struck him once again just how unlikely anyone once would have considered his choice of second-in-command.

Abu Bakr bin Muhammed el-Hiri was an American-born convert to Islam. Prior to the Shongair invasion, he’d been one of the most vocal—indeed, vociferous—critics of the ongoing American involvement in Iraq and Afghanistan. He’d been accused many times of going further than simple criticism, in fact, and the name he’d chosen when he converted—“Abu Bakr, son of Muhammed, the Wildcat”—hadn’t helped convince any of his accusers they were wrong. In fact, Torino was pretty sure they
hadn’t
been wrong.

Despite his choice of a military career, and despite his own tendency to lose patience with the people he considered ostriches, Torino had always accepted the legitimacy of debating American foreign policy. He’d thought that people who argued that if America would only leave Islam alone, Islamic extremists would leave America alone were wrong, but he was willing to admit he might be wrong about that. The possibility wasn’t going to keep him from doing everything he could to kick the shit out of anyone who messed with America, since he refused to allow himself to be paralyzed by “might have been,” but he admitted it existed. And whatever other people might have thought about the subject, he’d never simply lumped all Muslims together any more than he’d lumped all of his fellow Baptists (or, for that matter, Methodists, Episcopalians, Lutherans, Presbyterians, and Catholics) together. Personally, he’d considered extremists of any persuasion—especially those prepared to resort to bombings, assassination, kidnappings, arson, and/or armed insurrection against the laws of legally elected representative governments—lunatics, whatever the basis of
their own particular lunacies, and he’d been perfectly prepared to do whatever it took to protect the people and the Constitution of the United States of America against
any
of them. Whether or not he and Abu Bakr might have agreed politically, other people had every right to form their own opinions, however. More than that, it was the responsibility of the American military to protect and defend everyone, not just the portion of “everyone” whose views happened to coincide with those of one Major Daniel Torino, unless they stepped across the bounds of disagreement into actual violation of the law.

Nonetheless, he couldn’t escape the suspicion that Abu Bakr would not have found him a congenial dinner companion as recently as two or three months ago.

Of course, he thought grimly, things had changed.

“The Wildcat” might not have been a great admirer of American society or government, but he’d clearly decided the Shongairi were even worse. The fact that his entire family, aside from his younger brother Mu
ad, had been in Washington, DC, when it suddenly ceased to exist would probably have been enough to accomplish that all by itself. Yet over the two or three weeks since Abu Bakr had attached himself to Torino’s band of raiders, the major had realized it wouldn’t have taken that personal loss. Stereotypes had a tendency to disappear quickly in the crucible, and Torino had come to the realization that whatever Abu Bakr’s politics might have been, they’d grown out of a genuine sense of commitment, a true belief in his principles, and a burning desire to do what he believed was right.

Perhaps he had become “a traitor to his country” by going further than simple participation in peaceable debate and legal political activism. Torino didn’t know for sure about that, and he wasn’t going to ask, because it no longer mattered to him any more than the fact of his own uniform (when he could find one) and “Crusader” heritage mattered to Abu Bakr. What mattered at the moment was that Abu Bakr was smart, tough, determined, disciplined, capable as hell, and just as determined to kill Shongairi as Daniel Marcus Torino himself.

Assuming either one of them had been going to survive (which they damned well weren’t), they might well have found themselves in opposing positions once more. For the moment, however, both of them had other things to think about.

“How many made it?” Torino asked now.

“Not as many as we’d hoped,” Abu Bakr replied grimly. “Looks like
something must’ve happened to Hammond. There’s no sign of his van—or of Clifton or Breyer, either.”

Torino nodded, keeping his face expressionless. He’d had lots of practice at that since that eons-ago day he’d been ordered to Plattsburgh.