Center of Gravity (33 page)

“All of which other beings do as well, both sentient and nonsentient. But for the H’rulka, I wonder if their definition of H’rulka-hood isn’t
cooperation
, working together to sustain life and civilization in a hostile environment.”

“A distinct probability, Admiral,” Wilkerson said. “You know… the H’rulka term for us translates into something like ‘vermin.’ And for them, vermin are insignificantly tiny organisms that attack the whole.”

Buchanan chuckled. “Mean little critters that feed on the body, eh?”

“Something like that. Parasites that interfere with the sound functioning and internal cooperation of the body.”

“Then maybe we can prove to them that we’re not vermin,” Koenig said. “I’ve been running numbers. A Marine carrier can function deep enough in Alchameth’s gravitational field that they could lower tethers to the platform.”

“Anchor it from space, you mean,” Buchanan said. “That could be damned tricky. That platform is moving with the local winds.”

“The carrier’s AI could balance the forces involved easily enough, I think,” Koenig replied. “Damn it, we have to
try
.”

“How long would we have to hold the thing up?”

“We’re still working on understanding H’rulka concepts of time,” Wilkerson said. “But it may just be a matter of hours… no more than a day or so. They need to complete repairs on their ship, which they’ll dispatch to one of their systems, another H’rulka colony. And they’ll either send back rescue ships to pick up the colonists on Alchameth, or they’ll send the ships necessary for building a new platform.”

“Can we allow that?” Buchanan asked. He sounded shocked. “What if they return with reinforcements?”

“By that time, I think,” Koenig said, “we’ll be long gone. And just maybe we’ll have given the H’rulka something to think about.” He hesitated, then nodded. “We’re going to do this.”

From the other end of CIC, a ragged cheer broke out. The Marines had just reported that Arcturus Station was secure.

Chapter Seventeen

1 February 2405

CIC, TC/USNA CVS
America

Arcturus System

0745 hours, TFT

Two days later, the Star Carrier
America
prepared to depart from the Arcturus System.

“
Nassau
and
Vera Cruise
both report they have cast off from Gathering, Admiral. The H’rulka platform is stable and holding its own. Our engineers and… uh… shore parties are on their way out.”

“Very well. Have the carriers return to Jasper orbit as soon as they’ve retrieved their fighters.”

The Marine fighters had been swarming around the two light assault carriers for the entire time, even dipping down into Alchameth’s atmosphere in order to circle Golden Cloud Gathering at visual ranges. The Marines of MSU–17 were not trusting souls, at least not when it came to their assault carriers. The constant fighter patrols had been a guarantee against an ambush or a double-cross.

But there’d been no double-cross. The
Vera Cruz
and the
Nassau
had parked themselves in the planet’s atmosphere above the gathering and generated ten-thousand-kilometer Bucky-weave cables, growing them from carbon brought into their machine bays by scavenger shuttles. Drones had carried the ends of the cables down to the platform, where they’d been used to secure the torn and twisted part of the structure.

After that, shuttles had gone down and landed on the platform, disgorging a small army of combat engineers and agrav techs. Dr. Wilkerson and his staff had gone down as well, in order to talk with the H’rulka directly. They’d used an array of spare War Eagle singularity projectors, mounting them on the damaged portion of the platform. With power from a couple of portable generators tuning the grav drives to a low, carefully balanced purr, they’d managed to stabilize the H’rulka platform.

Throughout the operation, Wilkerson had said, the H’rulka came and went, drifting above the platform like huge, errant balloons. It was clear that they didn’t need the platform, not when they could drift above it, or out across the dizzying drop into the cloud-walled abyss below with no concern for having someplace to stand. Manufacturing, however, required solid ground.

“So… how did they bootstrap themselves out of their homeworld’s atmosphere in the first place?” Koenig asked Wilkerson. “They would have needed something like this platform to build their first ships… and it’s hard to imagine them being able to get the raw materials from a planet’s atmosphere.”

“Right,” Wilkerson said. “They
are
superb chemists, and apparently they could extract carbon from atmospheric methane, carbon tetrachloride, and the free-floating organic compounds they use for food. But they had no real reason to leave their world at all until somebody called the Starborn showed up.”

“ ‘Starborn.’ Is that the Sh’daar?”

“We don’t know. Not enough to go on yet. If they weren’t the Sh’daar, though, they were another Sh’daar client race. But these Starborn apparently helped them expand their carbon-mining from their atmosphere… and apparently they taught them how to build antigravity thrusters. After a while, they were making jaunts out to their homeworld’s moon system to mine heavy metals. You were right, by the way, Admiral.”

“I’m glad to hear it. About what?”

“About cooperation being how these folks define
people
. The Starborn helped them achieve spaceflight and large-structure fabrication. And now we’ve demonstrated the same willingness to help. Abyssal Wind isn’t sure what to make of that.”

“You told him that there was no need for humans and H’rulka to fight? That this war is something the Sh’daar started?”

“I tried. Some of the concepts are… difficult. But they—Abyssal Wind is a
they
, remember—promised to talk about it with other H’rulka when they get back in touch with them.”

“Good. How long before they launch their ship?”

“I don’t know, Admiral. We’re also having some trouble translating basic concepts of time. But Abyssal Wind seemed confident that they would be able to complete preparations and launch soon.”

Koenig wondered if they should stand by until the H’rulka ship was away. There seemed little point in that, however, unless the CBG planned to stay put until the H’rulka rescue fleet arrived… and Koenig was not willing to trust the alien floaters
that
far, not yet.

Trust had to be earned.

By any set of expectations, the Second Battle of Arcturus had been a spectacular victory for the Confederation. The defending fleet had been destroyed and the survivors scattered, Arcturus Station had been taken back and the human prisoners held there freed. But it was possible that the most important aspect of that victory would turn out to be direct contact with the H’rulka. If the events of the past couple of days led to diplomatic contact with them, so much the better.

So little was known about the Sh’daar, and about the alliance humans referred to carelessly as the “Sh’daar Empire.”

A true galactic empire in the classical sense, with emperor and central ruling world, was ludicrous in Koenig’s opinion. The galaxy was so large, composed of so many suns and worlds and so many unfathomably diverse forms of life and mind. No emperor, no one ruling race could possibly keep track of everything taking place within such a realm. No conquering army could hold billions of worlds in thrall. No imperial decree could have the same meaning for hundreds of millions of different sentient species. Human xenosophontologists couldn’t even yet agree on what the word
intelligence
meant, much less figure out how to relate to them all.

Whatever form or philosophy of rule the near mythical Sh’daar had imposed on a large portion of the galaxy, it must be fairly loosely structured in order to encompass beings as mutually alien as H’rulka, Turusch, Jivad Rallam, and Agletsch. And that meant that, just possibly, some of those species could be pried away from their alliance.

For his part, Koenig was not completely convinced that there were such beings as Sh’daar. The Turusch and the Agletsch certainly thought there were, but no member of either species had ever admitted to actually seeing one. In Koenig’s opinion, it seemed likely that the term “Sh’daar” referred to an
idea
rather than a physical group of beings. Maybe “Sh’daar” was a word for “union” or “alliance” that had taken on a life of its own uncounted generations ago.

But then again, humans had only just begun venturing out into the interstellar sea. First Contact with the Agletsch had occurred less than a century ago. The Agletsch claimed to have been starfaring for millennia—even they didn’t seem to be sure just how long.

It might be, though, that the
America
CBG had discovered the first small crack in the monolithic façade of whatever the Sh’daar Empire actually might be.

And now was the time to exploit that.

“Admiral Koenig?” Lieutenant Ramirez said. “The Sleipnir reports she’s ready for boost.”

Koenig nodded. “Very well. Tell her Godspeed.”

On one of the CIC bulkhead display screens, a black, egg-shaped ship turned slowly, orange sun-glint sliding across its curved and mirrored surface. The ships of the CBG carried a number of HAMP–20 Sleipnir-class packets, the only way the fleet would be able to stay in even tenuous contact with Earth. They were piloted by AIs copied from
America
’s CIC artificial intelligence; they could carry human pilots, of course, but Koenig was concerned about what might happen to them when they reported to Fleet HQ. They couldn’t toss an AI into the brig.

“You’re being paranoid again, dear,” the voice of Karyn Mendelson whispered in his mind. “If they throw anyone in the brig, it will be you.”

“True,” he thought back. “But if they can’t get me for a court-martial, they might take it out on whoever is handy. I’m not going to risk someone else’s career.”

“Admiral Carruthers will cover you.”

“Until he gets fired. Or quits.”

Koenig had examined the distress message from Osiris for long hours. By now, three weeks after the news of the enemy capture of 70 Ophiuchi II reached Sol, the Confederation Senate must be frantic, expecting another enemy attack on Sol at any moment. He’d half expected to find a Sleipnir here at Arcturus waiting for him, with orders for him to return with his fleet immediately to protect Earth. He suspected Admiral Carruthers’ hand in that. Carruthers knew how important Crown Arrow was… and he pulled a lot of mass with the Senate and with Regis DuPont. Koenig hadn’t disobeyed orders yet, since he hadn’t yet received orders to return the CBG to Sol.

But he knew those orders were coming, and by boosting out of the Sol System before they could have reached him, he was violating the spirit of the law, if not the letter.

Sooner or later, those orders would catch up with the CBG, and then he would face a truly difficult decision… .

“Why so gloomy?” his personal assistant asked.

“You’re dead,” he told her in his mind. “You’re dead and I’m talking to an electronic ghost. It’s not the same as having… as having you here.”

God, but he missed her.

On the bulkhead display, the Sleipnir packet had rotated to face a relatively empty patch of sky—the unremarkable constellation Cetus. Even this far from the Sol, the constellations still held their familiar shapes, with a few minor distortions.

From Arcturus, Sol appeared in Cetus, a seventh-magnitude star invisible to the naked eye.

Aligned with that unseen star, the packet began accelerating, vanishing within a handful of seconds into star-strewn emptiness. She carried a complete record of the battle. That, at least, would be welcome news to the Senate and to the Confederation at large. She also carried a list of the personnel rescued from Arcturus Station, and the news that they would be arriving on the AFS
Mars
after a three-week voyage.

The packet should reach Sol in one week.

Mess Hall 2, TC/USNA CVS
America

Arcturus System

0812 hours, TFT

America
had no fewer than three separate mess halls, one in each arm of the rotating hab-module cluster behind the carrier’s forward shield. With more than five thousand people on board, the mess halls still had to work in shifts.

Gray had come in to grab a late third-shift breakfast. Shay Ryan was already there, seated at one of the tables. “Morning.”

She looked up. “Good morning. Here to take in the view?”

Like other common areas on board
America
, the mess hall bulkheads and overheads could project live hemispherical panoramas. During the visually dull weeks when the ship was under Alcubierre Drive, wrapped up in its own, tight little bubble of spacetime, those images were generally from an extensive library of land- and seascapes, both from Earth and from other worlds Humankind had visited.

When in planetary orbit, however, the views usually were from external camera feeds, showing surrounding space with a resolution high enough that it was easy to forget that there were walls. Although the mess halls were in the rotating outer hab modules, with a half G of artificial gravity, the panorama was from a non-rotating perspective. Having the sky swing around the ship for a complete turn every thirty seconds had turned out to be a bad idea where people were eating.

Much of the panorama at the moment was dominated by Jasper, swirls and flecks of orange-gold clouds above red oceans and ocher continents. On the opposite bulkhead, Alchameth was a slender crescent pierced by the thread-slender silver streak of its rings. Arcturus shone brilliant beyond the crescent’s bow, the orange-hued daylight casting shadows across tables and deck.

But Gray grinned and winked at Ryan. “You
do
look lovely this morning.”

“
That
view,” she said, pointing up. “Not me!”

“You take in your view,” Gray said with a shrug, “and I’ll take in mine. How are you feeling?”

“Clean bill of health,” she said. She’d been suffering from hypothermia by the time the SAR tug had reached them. Her fighter’s power systems had been down, and her life support throttled back to a battery-powered minimum. She’d also picked up a few rads from the thermonuclear blast that had disabled her ship and from Alchameth’s radiation belts, so Ryan had spent all of yesterday in
America
’s sick bay.

“Good to hear it.”

“I… didn’t get the chance to thank you, Trevor,” she said.

He picked up a plastic cup of fruit juice—grapefruit juice, it was supposed to be—and took a cautious sip. All food on the ships of the fleet was nanoconstituted from the CHON lockers—supplies of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen, the basic compounds of life, with the necessary trace elements added in. The food assemblers were pretty good, but the output tended to be a bit on the bland side… and sometimes it was tough to distinguish what a given item of food or drink was supposed to be.