To Honor You Call Us (49 page)

“Sir, if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to do it manually.  With my own hands.”

“Are you sure you can time it right?”

“Been a Navy man for thirty-six years, Lieutenant.  I’ve never missed my mark or my tick yet.”

A sharp nod.  “Manual it is.”

“Thank you, sir.” 

A murmur went through the men seated in the personnel area.  The tactical displays and the course plot were right there on the screens for everyone to see.  Someone had figured out what was happening and told the others.  The XO, hearing their voices, turned to meet the eyes of each of the nine men.  Each met his gaze without flinching.  They needed no words. 

He returned his attention to his console.  A minute.  Then two.  Then a few more.  There.  The scope showed clearly a rotation in the plane of the flux polarization, meaning that someone on the other side had engaged a jump drive that was tuning itself to the correct superstring harmonics.  There.  The polarization was locked in place.  Now, the flux differential would start to change in amplitude indicating that the ships on the other side were storing the energy that would tear through the fabric of space-time and deposit them at a spot ten thousand meters right in front of him.  He waited for the amplitude to increase to just the right level.

“Coming through in seven seconds, six, FIVE.”

On “Five,” Mother Goose nudged the drive to just the right point, a hair past the third notch on the scale, and felt the acceleration kick in.”

One spacer began to recite the 23
^rd
Psalm.  In the moment’s overwhelming emotional tumult, all the XO heard were the words “green pastures” and “still waters.”  He liked that.  Suddenly, the internal cacophony quieted, leaving peace.  And resolve. 

Garcia looked at the Chief.  The Chief looked at him.  Lips compressed to a thin, gray line, knuckles white from his grip on the hand railing in front of him, Garcia turned back to his console, his eyes locked on the trajectory plot making sure Mother Goose was steering the tiny ship true.  At three seconds, he said, “To glory we steer.”

At one, the Chief answered, “Steady, boys, steady.”

Right on his mark and on his tick, the Chief piloted the Cutter into the precise location in four-dimensional space-time at which an aperture opened from n-dimensional space and spat out eight Krag warships.  As one of the Krag ships and the Cutter suddenly occupied the same place at the same time right down to the subatomic level, and as this fundamental violation of the laws of physics of both spatial domains took place precisely at the boundary between them, all the vessels occupying the boundary were instantaneously converted into pure energy, disrupting the boundary between the two kinds of space so radically that the jump point was rendered useless for at least sixty days. 

The massive explosion showered the Pfelung system with a powerful flux of gamma rays, white light, tachyons, radio waves, ultraviolet, infrared, x-rays, and Cherenkov-Heaviside radiation.  In fact, it flooded so much radiation, of so many types, at so many frequencies and polarizations and phases, that even the most heavily stealthed vessel could not help but catch and reflect some of it back in the direction of the sensitive detectors on board the
U.S.S. Cumberland,
which had its electronic eyes peeled for just such an event.

“Contact,” sang out Kasparov.  “Consistent with previous contacts Hotel one and Hotel two, bearings two-eight-two mark one-zero-four and two-eight-two mark one-zero-three, both heading two-seven-eight mark one-one-zero, straight for Pfelung, range one-two-five-two-niner kills, speed one-eight-seven-five-seven meters per second, repeat
meters
per second—that’s maneuvering thrusters only; they’re trying to creep away, sir.”

“Get every active sensor beam we’ve got focused on them, Kasparov.  Narrowest possible beam, maximum intensity.  Light the bastards up.”

Kasparov keyed in the commands with speed and proficiency that seemed almost double what they had been just three weeks ago.  “Target illuminated, sir.  Any kid with an Ensign Sensor of the Navy Play Set within ten parsecs is picking them up right now.”

Not exactly standard CIC protocol, but given what this crew had been through, Max would let it pass for now.  “Comms, hail the Pfelung.  Ask them if they have any system defense batteries left, and if so, do they want the honor of vaporizing the rat-faced, shit eating bastards who tried to commit genocide on them.”  He paused a moment to consider exactly what had said and added, “But, try to word it diplomatically.”

“Sir, you might not need to send that message,” said Bartoli.  “One of their secondary missile platforms just went active and launched four large anti-ship missiles, two at each Krag vessel.  Missiles have just gone superluminal.”  As an aside, “Man, I wish we had some of those.”  Then, to the CIC at large, “Missiles are seeking.”  Short pause.  “Missiles have acquired targets and are homing.  Closing on targets. They’ve just gone to terminal intercept mode.”  Two bright spots flared on several visual monitors around CIC.  “Got ‘em.”

“Maneuvering, bring us to a stop and null the drives.  Let’s talk to the Pfelung and figure out what we’re doing before we go anywhere.”

Maneuvering executed the order.  Max looked around at the men in CIC, all of whom seemed to have made a decision at that same instant to look up from their stations and meet the eyes of their shipmates.  Without saying a word, they all knew they were sharing the same thoughts.  They were alive.  They had stopped the Krag.  They had won the battle.  The Cumberland Gap was closed. 

Chin broke the spell.  “Incoming message.  It’s Admiral Cenruu-Maa 114.  Text only.  Displaying now.”

“WE OFFER THANKS AND APOLOGIES STOP WE SHARE YOUR SADNESS AT BRAVE PASSING OF THOSE WITH WHOM YOU SWAM STOP IMPERATIVE THAT WE TASTE THE SAME MUD AS ACCREDITED REPRESENTATIVE OF YOUR GOVERNMENT AT EARLIEST POSSIBLE TIDE STOP PLEASE ADVISE IF THIS IS POSSIBLE STOP.”

“It’s a pity that we don’t have an accredited diplomat on board,” said the doctor.  “We could conclude a Mutual Defense and Cooperation of Forces Treaty right now.”

Max smiled.  “Funny you should say that.”

Chapter
23

13:42Z (07:19 Local Time—High Tide) Hours 10 February 2315

As the several of the space-faring species of the Orion-Cygnus Arm of the Milky Way Galaxy almost simultaneously developed interstellar travel and started to encounter one another in the early Twenty-second Century, customary rules and processes of diplomacy gradually and cautiously evolved.  By an accident of history, some would say a
very
unfortunate
accident, Earth’s unique recent history of being divided into dozens of semi-hostile nation-states meant that humans were one of the few species with any extensive diplomatic experience and a readily available set of sophisticated rules for dealings between independent governments.  Accordingly, the forms of diplomacy used among the three-dozen or so cultures that interacted with one another in Known Space tended to follow, at least generally, those that evolved on Earth.

So, it was in accordance with those usages, that the Captain of the
U.S.S Cumberland
, as the Commanding Officer of a Rated Warship on Detached Service with an Accredited Diplomat on Board, exchanged several messages with the Pfelung Commissariat for Communications With Creatures Who Live Beyond the Waters to negotiate the precise time at which the new Acting Union Ambassador would present his credentials.  The result of those communications was that Max, in full Dress Whites, and the doctor, also in full Dress Whites augmented by the bright turquoise sash worn by a Union Naval Officer serving as an Ambassador to a Foreign Power, were standing on a ceremonial polished stone platform at the edge of a shallow tidal pool, its gentle waves lapping quietly at the edge.

 In the pool was no less a dignitary than the Pfelung Commissar for Communications With Creatures Who Live Beyond the Waters, a finely formed adult male of 185 kilograms looking a bit like a giant catfish with crocodile legs and wise, patient eyes the size of grapefruits, accompanied by his adjutant, a somewhat smaller male of similar shape, and three females, about half their size.  The females were present in the capacity of witnesses from the Ruling Hatchery, which was the Pfelung’s female-only legislative branch.  Although evolution had left the Pfelung only semi-aquatic and they performed a lot of business on dry land and—from time to time, even in buildings—they preferred to conduct high ceremony from shallow muddy pools.  This one was their favorite for major diplomacy, as the mud was particularly full of delicious segmented worms. 

The large male made a long string of noises that sounded like, and had in fact evolved from, the sounds one would make blowing air into soupy mud.  They reminded Max of a child playing with his oatmeal by using a drinking straw to make bubbles.  The translator modules in the men’s unobtrusive ear pieces translated the blops and bloops into Standard.

“On behalf of the Pfelung people, we welcome you, the representatives of the Terran Union, to our world, to our waters, and to taste our mud with us.  Let both our peoples remember this day.  So that our people could survive, some of those with whom you swam gave their lives.  Their blood has entered the stream to be carried to the Great Sea.  We grieve with you for their loss.  Our common enemy has spilled the blood of our people as well.  Their blood that has entered the stream, been carried to the Great Sea, and now mingles with that of your people.  That blood now ties us together.  Its scent in the water enrages us.  We can no longer remain neutral.  Your struggle is now our struggle.  Your enemy is now our enemy.  The Krag shall now be food for the lesser fish.  They shall be a portion for the worms.  That is all I have to say on this subject.  The prospective Ambassador may now present his credentials.”

At this point, on most worlds, the prospective Ambassador would hand a document known as a “Letter of Credence” to the relevant official.  But, as one does not hand a piece of paper to a Pfelung almost eyeball deep in a muddy pool (the document is delivered to an aide who appears near the end of the ceremony to put it in a file), the doctor read the document out loud in his somewhat stilted but cultured voice:  “To the Commissar for Communication with Creatures Who Live Beyond the Waters, The Political and Economic Association of the Pfelung Worlds, Greetings.  Pursuant to the Fourth Revised and Supplemental Articles of War of September 9, 2112, under the authority vested in me as Vice Admiral and Senior Officer in this Theater, I do hereby name, constitute, and appoint Ibrahim Sahin, M.A., M.D., as Acting Ambassador and Minister Plenipotentiary from the Union of Earth and Terran Settled Worlds to the Pfelung Association with all the rights, privileges, and duties appertaining thereto under Union law and the usages of Interstellar Diplomacy, to serve until such time as a regularly appointed Ambassador shall arrive at the Pfelung Seat of Government and have his or her credentials accepted by proper authority.  Thus given under my hand and seal this twentieth day of January in the year two thousand, one hundred and fifteen, Louis G. Hornmeyer, Vice Admiral, Commanding, Task Force Tango Delta.”

The Commissar listened to the translation coming over a seashell looking device which he held in one gill, apparently against a hearing organ located there, then made more bubbling noises.  The translator rendered his words quickly in its neutral, machine voice:  “I hereby accept your credentials and recognize you, Doctor Ibrahim Sahin, as Ambassador and Minister Plenipotentiary of the government of the Union of Earth and Terran Settled Worlds.  On behalf of the people of the Pfelung Association, please accept my hope that you enjoy both the purity and the temperature of the streams in which you swim, that you find our ponds to your liking, and that your gills remain free of parasites.”  At that, he promptly submerged and swam away, the universal Pfelung sign that the audience was at an end. 

At that moment, another Pfelung male waddled his way up to the two men and said through their translators, “Ambassador, I am Herm-Mekk 943, Assistant Sub-Commissar.  May I please take your Letter of Credence?”  The doctor gave him the document, which he grasped between two of his dozen or so finger-like prehensile mouth parts and slipped it into a satchel worn around his midriff.  “Now, if you gentlemen will follow me to the Commissariat building, I will show you to your meeting with Sub-Commissar Huugah-Han 134 and Admiral Cenruu-Maa 114 for discussions regarding the proposed Mutual Defense and Cooperation of Forces Treaty.”

Max and the doctor followed the young Pfelung along a worn but somewhat muddy path—apparently the kind the Pfelung like—toward a building a few hundred meters away.  “If I may ask,” said the doctor, “what are the intentions of the Sub-Commissar and the Admiral?”

“It is a proper question,” responded Herm-Mekk, “although some species prefer a great deal of circumlocution and prevarication before discussing and deciding the meaningful issues.  We Pfelung find that, as compared to other species, we are direct.  Firm, even stubborn, but direct.”

Max laughed out loud.  “Direct diplomats.  You must be unique in all the galaxy.  You will get on famously with us.  My friend and I are not diplomats at heart:  he is a healer and I am a military man.”

“That is good.  We do not enjoy indirect and imprecise communications.  They flow too closely to the current of deception and outright falsehood.  On the issues covered by this treaty, we are strongly disposed to be in accord with you.  With your people because your strategic interests and ours are two currents flowing in the same river bed.  And, with you, Captain, for your heroism on our behalf and with you, Ambassador, for your obvious understanding of the importance that things of beauty have to the Pfelung soul.  A team of staff diplomats, led by myself, labored through the night without mud between their toes or worms in their mouth parts for so much as a moment to prepare a draft treaty with the object of making it so equitable and reasonable that you would accept it with little negotiation, allowing it to be concluded within the next few tides.  The plan is to present that draft to you at this meeting.  We hope we are not being presumptuous.”