Chaining the Lady (30 page)

Now he approached. “Then you are not chained!” he said as their auras confirmed each other. “I was concerned.”

“How did you stop the magnet?”

“We have long experience with lesser creatures of our type,” Mnuhl said. “He is not damaged; I merely depleted his power temporarily.”

Indeed, Slammer was now recovering.

“We are very short of officers,” Melody said. “Our crew-Solarians won't do for command posts, as they are untrained. So am I. Will you be able to help us?”

“We are drawing replacements for our own losses from Segment Knyfh via transfer,” Mnuhl replied. “But we are very short of hosts. Will some of your Solarians serve?”

Melody hadn't thought of that. “Knyfh officers in Solarian hosts! I will verify in a moment.” She activated the crew circuit. Her experience aboard Mnuhl's ship had facilitated her competence here. “Require six volunteers for alien host duty,” she said. “Security of ship depends on it.
volunteers
, not assignments.”

“Sergeant Jones of Personnel here, sir,” a male Solarian replied. That “sir” startled her, as it always did. She was also surprised by the immediate and routine answer, and had to remind herself that as far as the crew was concerned, nothing unusual had happened. They didn't know about the savage battle in the officer's section, or the loss of all but one of their regular officers, or even about the Andromedan threat. In a way she envied them. “Will there be a performance bonus?”

Melody looked at Skot for advice. She was not familiar with this sort of thing. Skot nodded affirmatively. “Any reasonable requirement will be met,” Melody said crisply. “Use your discretion, Sergeant.”

“Six volunteers on the way,” Jones said.

Just like that! Melody hardly trusted the “volunteer” status, suspecting coercive assignment, but she would make sure before she used them. “We expect to have six suitable hosts,” she told Captain Mnuhl. “Does it matter which gender they are?”

“Immaterial. We are genderless in your sense, and can utilize whatever is offered.

That had to be true, for the Polarian host he was now using was female.

“Then we shall be ready shortly,” she said.

“Excellent. Bring your ship into proximity so that we can use laser radio in case of emergency. Inform us when you're ready.” He rolled away, returning to the transfer unit. Skot followed.

Melody decided to take a chance. “Llume, I propose to use you as you used my host. I shall set the discipline box on you and ask you to guide this ship toward the
Ace of Atoms
. Do you object?”

“No,” Llume said. She went to the propulsion console while Melody tuned the box. The ship began to move.

Melody watched the viewglobe. Already the fleet was fissioning into two clusters. About twice as many were moving toward the Andromedan nucleus. How were they going to overcome a fleet that was twice their number? Her efforts had only been token; perhaps half a dozen additional ships salvaged.

The truce held. By the time the
Ace of Swords
joined he loyalist nucleus, Melody had six human volunteers, and had verified that they were indeed voluntary. The promise of a bonus and special privileges had made them eager, and they were quite curious about the ship's maneuvering and what was going on in officer country. They were also motivated by a genuine patriotism for their sphere, segment, and galaxy, once they understood the nature of the threat. They were, in short, good men.

Captain Mnuhl transferred six Knyfh officers into these willing hosts, and suddenly there was a sufficient and highly competent complement. They introduced themselves formally and moved efficiently to the key stations. It was evident from the outset that they were expert. Melody had no further concern about the technical operation of the ship, although she was a bit awed by the evidence that aliens had such a thorough working knowledge of the Solarian ship. They could not have drawn the information from the minds of their human hosts, because the humans knew next to nothing of these jobs. The Andromedans were quite right to view Segment Knyfh as their greatest obstacle to victory.

Her concern about the coming space battle was another matter. The ratio was holding: two hostage ships to each loyal one. Those four hundred hostages had really done their job. Soon the final tally was in: sixty-six hostage, thirty three loyal. The hundredth ship had been blown up in the preliminary action.

The original cluster fleet was one hundred ships, like the hundred cards of the Cluster Tarot deck. Probably only a partial coincidence. Had there been Trump ships along with the Suit ships—but that would have been stretching it too far. This ostentatious display of useless power, this show of segment unity that was the fleet—now it threatened the very existence of Imperial Outworld. What irony that this vanity of space was now to be used exactly for what it had been designed: destruction.

Two to one. How were they going to prevail against that force?

There was a Solarian game in Yael's mind, an ancient system of shaped pieces on a checkered board, called chess. Here there were five types of pieces disposed to protect their king, each with its unique mode of operation. In the game of chess, position and strategy were more important than the individual value of the pieces; was that also true in space?

The net spoke: “Hammer of Quadpoint.”

“I have expected your call, Hammer,” Mnuhl replied.

“We appear to have a decisive advantage. Your ships are outnumbered and underpersonelled. No help can come to you in time to reverse this. We cannot allow you to return under arms to your segment capital. We shall proceed there ourselves, to place Outworld under siege and force capitulation of the segment government. We can accomplish this with half our present force. Indeed, we can accomplish it with a single ship. You therefore can gain nothing by forcing an engagement. We do not wish to destroy good ships unnecessarily, or to indulge in pointless hostilities. We therefore proffer you amicable terms in exchange for your surrender. The demolition of this section of the galaxy will not proceed immediately; you will be permitted to retire for the duration of your lives in planetary comfort, unmolested.”

“We must consult,” Mnuhl replied.

“I await your return call. Truce.”

Truce. Melody was reminded of Yael's poem, “Four swords.” But that had signified dissolution of whatever relationship had existed between the parties, a refusal to fit scripts. Now there was fleet truce between the grotesquely animated Swords and Atoms and Disks and Cups and Scepters. She wondered briefly how the ships of the fleet were numbered, as there were some twenty-seven Disks spread across three spheres: Polaris, Nath, and Sador. There had to be some duplication. That broke down the analogy some more, and was perhaps a hopeful sign.

The Polarian host rolled in again. “You are the ranking Kirlian among us,” Mnuhl said to Melody. “Do you wish to assume fleet command?”

Melody was amazed. “
I
? Captain, I know nothing of command and less of space tactics!”

“The chain of command has little to do with space tactics. I myself am not even of your segment. I acted because I believed I was the only entity in a position to act, but I can not retain command here more than briefly. My first priority was to ascertain the appropriate admiral and invest that entity with authority over the loyal fleet. I would not have presumed to meddle in the affairs of an alien segment even to this extent were it not for the preemptive need of our galaxy.”

“But I haven't the least idea how to direct a fleet or to conduct a battle. I'd walk into the first simple tactical trap the hostages set. I have already made many mistakes, and survived only by chance.”

Mnuhl's Polarian voice resembled that of a patient instructor. Melody fancied she could hear the firmly remonstrative chords behind the frontal tune, though the Knyfh's voice was actually filtered through his Polarian ball. “The years of direct commandorial supervision of battle are long over. What is required is a figure of unquestionable authority, who will designate deputies to handle the technical details.”

Melody began to understand. “Details—such as the conduct of the battle?”

“Correct. As admiral, you would maintain liaison with the enemy admiral, clarifying the rules of the situation, negotiating specific complications. The present truce is the result of the procedure developed in prior commands.”

It really was a functional system. Millennia of inter-species contacts had perfected such conventions on an intergalactic scale. Andromeda honored the same general set of rules. This brought a certain order out of what would otherwise be chaos. “Then—I could appoint
you
to handle the battle,” she said.

“Correct. It would not be presumptuous of me to act as your delegate. I have met you; I know you. There is no Kirlian entity to match you in my segment, and certainly not within this fleet. You are the natural commander, for you alone are unquestionably loyal; you cannot be rendered hostage. I urge you to assume the position of admiral—for the good of our galaxy.”

It was hard to decline a plea like that. Still, Melody hesitated. “Captain, I am not young and strong and bold, regardless the way this host appears.” But suddenly she was conscious of the fact that the host was bruised and disheveled, with a bandage on the leg. “I am old, very near the termination of my natural life span. My judgment may be suspect. What will you do if I decline?”

“I will retain command, as I cannot be sure of the identity of other captains of this fleet. Given time I could locate one suitable, but the enemy will not permit us that time.”

Would the Drone of the
Deuce of Scepters
be suitable? Melody kept that thought in abeyance for now. “I mean, what would you do about Hammer of ::'s offer?”

“I see no alternative except to yield or fight. Since by conventional wisdom our situation is untenable, we must yield.”

This from the representative of a leading segment of the galaxy! Would the Drone see it the same way? “We
can't
yield! It could mean the end of our galaxy! We have no idea how things are turning out in the other segments; we may be the only–”

“I have had reports via my incoming transfer officers. Segments Qaval and Weew are holding, while Segments Bhyo and Thousandstar are in deep–”

“I don't want to hear it!” Melody screamed. “
We
can't give up!” Was it that she could not bear to hear of the fall of wonderful Thousandstar, her budding fancy?

“The result may be the same if we fight. It would be best to reduce the destruction, trusting the Andromedans to grant us longer life than we should have otherwise. An entity like Hammer of :: would not have been granted high status among his kind had he not honor. If I command, I must do what seems reasonable to me. Perhaps your wisdom is other than conventional.”

“You bet your sweet notes it is!” But Melody still hesitated. She knew herself to be incompetent to run a ship, let alone a fleet, but she could not stand by and watch her galaxy go under. She had already faced that sort of compromise, and her reaction had not changed. “I'd rather gamble and lose,” she said, “than lose without gambling. I will assume command.”

“I will support you completely, though I may not privately agree with all your policies,” Mnuhl replied gravely. She could almost see his handsome face smiling—which was strange, because of course he had no face, either in this host or in his natural state. He did, however, have a handsome aura.

“Are you competent to handle the battle, despite your objection to it?” she asked him, knowing the answer.

“I am competent to handle a conventional battle. But we shall surely lose it. Unless you have some innovative strategy.”

“Yes. Very well; let's reply to Admiral Hammer.”

Mnuhl transferred back to his own ship, and activated the net. “I regret the delay of consultation,” he said.

“Quite all right,” Hammer of :: replied with almost Solarian gruffness. “What is your decision.”

“I have yielded command of the loyalist forces to Melody of Etamin, who will answer you.”

Even through the computer mockup, the startled reaction was apparent. “Melody of Mintaka survives?”

“I survive,” Melody said. “As ranking Kirlian entity, I have assumed command of the Etamin fleet. I decline to accept your offer of amicable terms in exchange for surrender. Instead I offer you similar terms for
your
surrender.”

There was a snort of incredulous mirth—from Skot of Kade. It was exactly the sort of answer he would have made.

Hammer was too sophisticated to react emotionally. “Your response is noted; your offer is declined. This terminates our state of truce, subject to the standard period of grace. Do you agree to abide by the Intergalactic Conventions of Warfare?”

“I must consult,” Melody said. She turned off the net and spoke to Skot. “What's this?”

“An assemblage of practical conventions,” he replied. “Individual ships are allowed to surrender when disabled beyond combat capability; equitable treatment for prisoners without unreasonable terms for release; sharing of hospital facilities in neutral zones; surrendered captains permitted to retain their commands on their own recognizance as noncombatants; no attacks made on the fleet command ships—that sort of thing.”

“The ancient code of chivalry!” Melody exclaimed “You have it all worked out so neatly, like a polite game.”

“Courtesy and accommodation are inherent in military space,” he agreed.

“Discordance!” Melody swore. “That's not courtesy; that's pusillanimity! The admirals don't fire at each other, the ships quit when they get nicked. Certainly it cuts losses, but it also rules out unorthodox methods. We can't win that way.”

Skot smiled wolfishly. “That's right!”

Melody wondered whether Mnuhl would concur. She would soon find out. She reactivated the net. “Hammer, I decline to honor the Intergalactic Conventions of Warfare. Anything goes.”