Empery (6 page)

“I think you’ll be glad you came out,” Allianora said, looking past Sujata to the other side of the room. “Considering who’s chosen today to return to the fold, this might well be amusing.” She gave Sujata’s hands a squeeze, then continued on to her own alcove a quarter-turn around the upper level.

A more attentive survey of the chamber gave Allianora’s parting comment meaning. Sujata had taken part in fifteen Committee meetings since her appointment, and never before had all six seats on the Observer level been filled. Sujata was accustomed to seeing one, two, even three of the Observers’ alcoves empty.

But today, even Prince Denzell of Liam-Won and Elder Gayla Hollis of Rena-Kiri, the most frequent absentees, were present. Both had been known to complain that their presence there was meaningless and ceremonial and that their time was better spent trying to influence the servicrats directly.

The complaint was not without merit. Though each Observer was routinely allotted ten minutes for free commentary, that time came at the top of the agenda, often leaving them in the position of addressing decisions made during the last meeting rather than those at hand. And Sujata could not deny that more than one Director held that the real business of the Committee began after the last of the Observers had spoken.

Denzell had one other, more personal grievance. In line with the closed nature of Committee meetings, Erickson would not permit the use of facilitators in the Chamber—a significant ruling, since three women held seats in the arena. Though the stricture predated Denzell’s arrival (and despite the example of his world kin, Operations Director Anjean Vandekar, who had managed to adapt), Denzell maintained that the Chancellor was practicing “cultural terrorism” by forcing him to speak directly to her. Sujata had no sympathy for the Liamese Observer on that particular count.

As Sujata settled in her chair a small, hooded console opened clamshell-fashion and placed itself in reach of her right hand. On it was the hexagonal debate manager—a representation of the Chamber with a small light bar in the center and twelve request-to-speak lights arrayed around it. Like the Observers, each Director was budgeted a certain amount of time, usually thirty minutes. They controlled that time by means of the debate manager, holding or passing the token in whatever manner they desired.

She logged in absently, studying Denzell’s brooding eyes and deeply lined face and wondering what had brought him back. As was the customary practice of the Committee, no agenda had been circulated. But obviously there had been either leak or lobbying, though neither had reached Sujata.

Chancellor Erickson then appeared at the doorway, resplendent in a free-flowing Shinn remembrance gown. She smiled briefly at Comité Rieke and Ambassador Pawley Bree, who were standing by the door talking in hushed tones, then descended to her alcove. That started both a migration and an exodus, as the Observers and Directors moved toward their seats, their aides toward the door.

When all movement stopped, two alcoves on opposite sides of the arena remained vacant: Transport and Defense. Loughridge and Wells came in together, last but not late. The sandy-haired Loughridge laughed as though Wells had made a joke just before they entered, and then the two parted company and headed for their alcoves.

Erickson followed them to their seats with her eyes, then reached for her console. The double doors at her back slid shut, and the slender metal rod of the Committee secretary—not a person but a program—rose from the floor at the very center of the arena. Since the log the secretary compiled was actually made by means of sensors located in each individual alcove, the rod was more of a courtesy, a visual reminder that what transpired would become part of the Committee’s archives.

“Log begin,” the secretary announced. “A meeting of the Steering Committee of the Unified Space Service. Present: Chancellor Erickson, Observer Berberon—”

“Cancel. It’s obvious that everyone is here,” Erickson interrupted. “We will take the roll as read.”

“A pity,” Berberon said from his place on the upper level to Erickson’s right. “My disbelieving eyes would have welcomed confirmation that the elusive Prince Denzell has rejoined us at last.”

By dint of personality, position, and seniority, Berberon took it as his right to interject his thoughts at will. Despite the rigid rules on debate management under which the Committee operated, his wry comments and gentle barbs were usually well received. This was no exception: a ripple of laughter rolled through the room, leaving several smiles in its wake.

But Denzell did not share the others’ amusement. “I would remind Observer Berberon that his time begins when the light on his console begins glowing, not the far dimmer light in his head,” he said, glowering at Berberon.

“Observer Denzell has a point—if we might at least observe our own rules at the beginning?” Erickson said. “Observer Berberon, if you would like to continue on this or some more pertinent subject, you have the token.”

“Thank you, Chancellor,” Berberon said, rising from his chair. “As much as I would enjoy further colloquy with my friend the Prince, I am aware that we have much to do this morning. In the hopes of furthering us along that path and in full confidence that you will welcome hearing what he has to say, I cede my commentary time to Comité Wells.”

Sujata perked up; this was an unusual, though presumably permissible, departure from routine.

“I thank Observer Berberon for his courtesy,” Wells said as all eyes shifted their focus to him. “I can’t promise that all of you will welcome everything I have to say today, but we should at least be able to start out in agreement. As of this morning, the Planetary Defense Force has been declared fully operational—”

Applause interrupted Wells—it seemed to start with Loughridge, but several others who shared or understood the custom quickly joined in. Wells waited patiently until the noise waned, then he continued. “We took this step after conducting a final certification exercise in the Ba’ar Tell system earlier this week. With the Chancellor’s indulgence I would like to show you the results of that exercise.”

As the Chamber’s lights dimmed, a hexagonal section of the floor at the center of the arena rose slowly until the metre-tall screens on each of the six faces were fully exposed. The “exploding star” logo of the Defense Branch appeared in white on the black screen, then dissolved into a polar map of the twelve-planet system.

“The exercise involved a simulated attack on Ba’ar Tell by two Mizari intruders,” Wells narrated. “All elements of the Defender system were involved: the deep-space pickets, the C3 center on Ba’ar Tell, and the mobile weapons platform—in this case, the
Rampart—
”

Sujata studied the screen intently as Wells continued.

Preoccupied by the enormous task of gathering up the unraveling threads of the bloated and inefficient Resource branch, she had made a conscious decision to postpone the rest of her education. Since there was little Resource could do for Defense that Wells was not busily preparing his branch to provide for itself, Defense matters had gotten the shortest shrift. Consequently much of what she was seeing was new to her.

“The attack drones were given every reasonable capability—the supercee speed of a Sentinel, the firepower of a Defender, the detection gear of a Shield element,” Wells was saying. “The battle-management computers on board the drones were given free rein to attack any and all elements of the system when detected. However,
Rampart
’s drift mode deployment successfully concealed its position and enabled it to strike the first blow—”

It was an impressive display of carnage, even on the small screen. Most compelling were the screen-filling views of dissolving hulls and splintering bulkheads captured by the relays mounted on board the drones. Though it was merely one high-tech robot destroying another, it was nevertheless a level of violence to which Sujata had never been exposed. She found it as disquieting as it was fascinating.

At the height of the attack, she averted her eyes, and was startled to find Wells studying her with cold curiosity as he continued his narration.

She found herself unable to look away for a long moment. What do you want? she wondered, feeling invaded by the directness of his interest. Then the chamber lights began to brighten, and she looked away to see the now darkened screens retreat into the floor.

“We will, of course, continue testing and learning,” Wells was saying. “But from this point on, the goal will not be development but honing our operational readiness.”

Bree, the Journan Observer, spoke up. “Comité Wells, what is the status of Defender deployment?”

“Six of the eight Defenders that have been authorized are complete,” Wells told him. “The second Defender for Journa and the third for Earth are nearing completion under an accelerated construction schedule.”

“And are any further Defenders planned?” asked Denzell from across the Chamber. “No.”

“Then what use will be made of the shipbuilding capacity brought into being for this project?”

“As funds and facilities become available, new cargo carriers are being built for the Defense branch. I reviewed our plans in this area at a meeting several months ago.”

Denzell’s cheeks colored at the implied reproof, but he had nothing to say—or was given no opportunity to say it. Meanwhile Erickson had gained the floor. “Comity Wells, do you mean to say that you are fully confident the Defenders can blunt a Mizari attack?” she asked. “Or does this represent some lower level of confidence related to their mechanical readiness?”

“We are more capable and secure than we were. We are less capable and secure than we should be,” Wells said gravely. “I will have more to say about that when I control my own time. I’m afraid I have consumed all of Observer Berberon’s.”

Ambassador Ka’in spoke up then. “My time is next, and I will gladly forgo it so that we may pursue the Chancellor’s question. How much confidence should we place in the Defenders, Comité Wells? How much security do they represent?”

“I’ll warn you in advance that a complete answer to that will be time-consuming.”

“I will be happy to pass the token as well, if necessary,“said Elder Hollis..

“Thank you,” Wells said with an acknowledging nod. “I’ll be as concise as possible. We have to start by considering the tactical and strategic situations separately. The Defenders were built to fulfill a specific tactical need—protecting a heavily populated planet from attack. We think they’re now ready too that.

“The strategic situation is much more complex. Now we have to protect not one planet, but thirteen EC. worlds, the Cheia colony, and nineteen other systems where there’s a human presence—plus the hundreds of unarmed packets and sprints traveling between them.

“The goal of strategic planning is to prevent not just a given planetary assault, but
any
attack on any element of our community. And I’m obliged to tell you that the tactical competence of the Defenders has absolutely no impact on the strategic situation.

“Obviously, the Mizari can still attack any installation that lacks a Defender force. But even beyond that, they have nothing to lose in attacking Ba’ar Tell or Maranit or Earth, even if the attack initially fails. All that they risk are the forces directly involved. Defenders are effectively restricted to operations in and near a single star system—”

Sujata’s hand went to her console at that comment and logged a request-to-speak.

“—which means that the Mizari homeworlds are safe. They could, in fact, send one assault force after another against one of the Worlds until they wear down or puzzle out its defenses. At present, we couldn’t even reinforce the besieged World, much less carry the fight back to the Mizari.”

Sujata’s token began glowing, more quickly than she had expected. “Comité Wells, I regret the ignorance that underlies this question, but I’ll get no wiser if I stay silent. Why can’t a Defender attack a Mizari homeworld?”

Wells smiled. “That’s a good question, not a foolish one—in fact, you anticipate me. There are two answers. First, the Defenders lack supercee capability. Because of crew time, the practical limit to their operational range is a rather severe one—perhaps half a cee. That’s why they were built in the systems where they were deployed, even though that required creating shipbuilding capacity almost from scratch in more than one case.”

The token was still lit, so Sujata pursued the issue. “Then what I don’t understand is why they were designed that way.”

“Trade-offs,” Wells said. “I offer you as a counterexample the Sentinels, which are supercee-capable but comparatively lightly armed. Our ship designers are pushing against a technological ceiling. The S-series drive in the Defenders draws as much power from the spindle as we are able to channel and control. Without a breakthrough in materials science that would allow us to open the tap wider, we have to budget a fixed amount of energy among the competing demands.”

The token went black, and Wells looked away from Sujata to his larger audience. “But, for the sake of argument, let’s say that we acquire the technology to build a new class of vessel with the firepower of a Defender and the speed of a Sentinel. You might think that we’d then have a weapons system capable of attacking a Mizari homeworld.

“You’d be wrong, for—and this is the second answer to Comité Sujata’s question—it’s vastly more difficult to attack a planet than to defend one.

“I understand that to nonmilitary people this seems counterintuitive. But the truth is that planets are easy to hit, but hard to hurt. Planets are like the boxer who gives you his belly knowing he can take it long enough to zero in on your jaw. They have no weak points—no hollow shell to shatter, no finely tuned systems to scramble. Point weapons such as lances are virtually useless. Only a weapon of mass destruction could be effective. And there is no such weapon in our arsenal.

“We have the Sentinels and the Shield to monitor our frontier. We have the Defenders to secure our homeworlds,” Wells Said. “But we have no sword. We have no way to persuade our enemy not to pick a fight—or to punish him if he does. We can defend—but we lack the power to destroy.