"Fire when ready."

"Firing."

The s.h.i.+p shuddered in a slightly different manner as the stern tube fired. Again, the flight time was short, and the 150-kiloton warhead dispatched the Krag destroyer, its point defense systems not yet recovered from the jump.

"Maneuvering, another flapjack, close the remaining targets at flank. Weapons, bring pulse cannon to ready."

"Sir," Kasparov talked over the other men acknowledging their orders, "it's hard to read through the hash from the three nukes, but it appears that Hotel One and Hotel Two have their drives working and are clearing the datum. They also appear to be arming weapons. Signal strength is fading. Sir, I've lost Hotels One and Two. They've engaged their stealth systems and with the radiation and debris from the nukes, I can't get a fix on them. And sir, before I lost them, I think I got a hint of a gamma signature."

That meant that they were carrying more antimatter weapons. Could this day get any worse? "Tactical, what's the status on our friends' defense fleet?"

"Skipper, the group that was trying to interdict us is closing the jump point at flank, but since they are limited to subluminal velocities in-system they are well over an hour away. By the time they get here, the Krag will have jumped in enough heavies to cut them to pieces. As for the perimeter fleet, they were in four groups in a rough arc facing Krag s.p.a.ce about ninety AU out. They are burning back at high sublight, but the first ones won't be back here for nearly fifteen hours. That's enough time for the whole Krag navy to get jumped in. The Pfelung won't have a chance."

Yes, it could get worse. "Any other forces in system?"

"There are several system patrol vessels converging on this location, but none are close and none of them would last three minutes against that Krag destroyer." Tactical was back to a bad-news-only diet.

Max stood at his station, talking to CIC at large. "Okay, people, we need to find those two s.h.i.+ps. They are probably carrying antimatter warheads. That will be genocide for the Pfelung and the end of their fleet as a fighting force. Kasparov, active sensor sweeps and optimize for stealthed Krag vessels. Maneuvering, lay in a search pattern; cover the area between here and our friends' homeworld, because if the Krag have AM bombs, that's where they're going. Comms, see if any of the Pfelung will talk to us now. Fill them in on what is going on and see if they can activate their system defense sensor grid. Try to get them to blanket the system with sensor sweeps. Remember, people, stealth is never 100 percent effective. Hit a target with a high enough signal level and put a sensitive enough detector close enough to it, and you will pick it up."

The doctor was shaking his head as the skipper's orders were acknowledged. "Genocide? How? How can two small s.h.i.+ps with bombs, no matter how powerful, destroy a race, or even most of a race, and destroy their fleet as a fighting force? It is not as though they can actually destroy the planet, can they?"

"No, but they can basically destroy the species and wipe out their navy."

"I don't see how."

"Basic Pfelung biology, Doctor. You really should read your briefing materials. The capital s.h.i.+ps in the Pfelung navy are crewed entirely with s.e.xually mature, fully adult, already pair-mated, males-they are the only ones believed to be stable and mature enough. The adolescents are allowed only to fly the fighters. An adult pair-mated male must return to the river in which he first mated, and only that river, and couple with his mate, and only his mate, every thirty-one and three-quarter standard days-that's a Pfelung lunar month-or he dies.

"That's why every one of their s.h.i.+ps has two crews that swap out every four weeks, like the old Blue-Gold system for United States strategic missile submarines. Anyway, all the mating takes place in the fifteen or so suitable rivers. All the Krag have to do is blow up the critical portions of those rivers... h.e.l.l, they don't even have to do that. They just need to detonate the d.a.m.n warheads in the upper atmosphere, and the gamma rays will kill everything within the line of sight. With the plants and fish in the river killed, the water chemistry will change, and the Pfelungs' bodies won't know they're in the right river. The proper chemical receptors won't be triggered. Even if they know intellectually that they are in the right location, the females won't ovulate, and the males won't be able to inseminate the eggs. Practically every adult male on the planet and most of the males in their fleet, since most of their navy crews come from the homeworld, will die. Billions. Worst genocide in history. Makes. .h.i.tler, Stalin, and Xang Cho look like half-a.s.sed amateurs."

"Sir," Tactical interrupted, "but what about the jump point? The next wave of Krag will be coming through in about ten minutes. They'll put through the maximum number this time-eight s.h.i.+ps. If they adhere to their tactical doctrine, they'll be mostly heavies-battles.h.i.+ps, battlecruisers, and cruisers."

What about the jump point, indeed? d.a.m.n. Max was getting to that. It had never been far from his mind. Ever since last night, Max had been afraid he would have to give the order he was about to have to give.

"Comm, give me a secure voice link to the cutter. My headset only."

"Aye, sir."

Max put on his headset. "Channel open."

"Cutter, Garcia here."

"XO, this is the captain. I'm going to have to give you a difficult order."

The voice channel communicated a pause-ever so brief-an even briefer sigh, then a sharp intake of breath as Garcia made a decision. "No, sir. You aren't. I know what has to be done. I'll see it through."

"I knew I could count on you. Thank you."

"Good luck to you, Captain. We will meet again."

"Yes, we will, my friend. In that place where warriors go to take their rest." He closed the channel.

On the cutter, Garcia heard the destroyer's carrier signal cut off. He looked over at the ordinary s.p.a.cer second at Maneuvering, a truly brilliant auxiliary craft pilot, but barely seventeen years old. That would not do at all. He took off the headset, stood, and scanned the men in the bench seats that lined the sides of the vessel. His eyes settled on the craggy face of the oldest man present. "Mother Goose, front and center."

Chief Amborsky stood and went to where the XO was standing, near the cutter's one-man Maneuvering Station. "Yes, sir?"

"Chief, you think you remember how to pilot a cutter, or am I going to have to take away your Comet and use it as a Christmas tree ornament?" Officers had been threatening to use enlisted men's Comets as Christmas tree ornaments for well over a century.

"I expect that I can get her to go where you need her to go, sir."

The lieutenant lowered his voice. "Amborsky, I need you to execute a synchronous jump point infarction maneuver with the incoming Krag s.h.i.+ps. Can you do that?"

He started to repeat the order reflexively. "Execute a synchronous jump point infarction-" and then it hit him. He paled ever so slightly. "Sir? You want... you want me to rendezvous with the Texas?"

"Yes, Chief." Garcia allowed himself a rueful smile at the chief's poetic rephrasing of his technically couched order. "If we don't, the whole f.u.c.king Krag navy is going to come through that jump point in about eight minutes, with nothing between it and the Core Systems but the c.u.mberland and a couple of worn-out Reserve Battle Groups. So, Mother Goose, we are called upon to 'rendezvous with the Texas.' Can you do that?"

The older man's face saddened for a moment, then hardened into determination. He nodded slowly. "Yes, sir. I reckon I can do that."

"I thought so. Take Maneuvering."

"Aye, aye, sir." Amborsky stepped purposefully to the Maneuvering Station.

"I'm your relief, son," he said, placing his hand on the shoulder of the man at the controls. Not expecting to be relieved, the s.p.a.cer looked back at the XO, who nodded. He relinquished the controls to the chief, who settled into the seat and made a few small adjustments to the course, regaining the feel of controls he had not held in his hands for years, but that were still as familiar as old shoes.

The XO took the main sensor console, pulled up the data channel for the metas.p.a.cial flux at the jump point, and configured the system to read the flux polarization and flux differential, which would warn him of a s.h.i.+p on the other side of the jump point powering up its drive and preparing to jump.

"Maneuvering, bring us to within ten thousand meters of the jump point, and then go to station keeping. Program an acceleration profile to bring us through the point five seconds after my mark."

"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 s.h.i.+ps on the other side were storing the energy that would tear through the fabric of s.p.a.ce-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 s.p.a.cer began to recite the Twenty-Third 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 s.h.i.+p 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 s.p.a.ce-time at which an aperture opened from n-dimensional s.p.a.ce and spat out eight Krag wars.h.i.+ps. As one of the Krag s.h.i.+ps 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 s.p.a.ce so radically that the jump point was rendered useless for at least sixty days.

The ma.s.sive 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. 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 USS c.u.mberland, which had its electronic eyes peeled for just such an event.

"Contact," said 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 12,529 kills, speed 18,757 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.ds 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 from the Navy Play Set within ten pa.r.s.ecs is picking them up right now."

Not exactly standard CIC protocol, but given what this crew had been through, Max would let it pa.s.s 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, s.h.i.+t-eating b.a.s.t.a.r.ds who tried to commit genocide on them." He paused a moment to consider exactly what he 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 antis.h.i.+p missiles, two at each Krag vessel. Missiles have just gone superluminal." Almost inaudibly, he said, "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 s.h.i.+pmates. 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 c.u.mberland 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 Pa.s.sING 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 MESSAGE ENDS.".

"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 24.

13:42Z Hours (07:19 Local Time-High Tide), 10 February 2315 As several of the s.p.a.ce-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 s.p.a.ce tended to follow, at least generally, those that evolved on Earth.

So, it was in accordance with those usages, that the captain of the USS c.u.mberland, as the commanding officer of a Rated Wars.h.i.+p 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 amba.s.sador 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 amba.s.sador 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 semiaquatic, 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. The sounds reminded Max of a child playing with his oatmeal by using a drinking straw to make bubbles. The translator modules in the men's un.o.btrusive 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 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 amba.s.sador may now present his credentials."

At this point, on most worlds the prospective amba.s.sador would hand a doc.u.ment 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 doc.u.ment is delivered to an aide, who appears near the end of the ceremony to put it in a file), the doctor read the doc.u.ment 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 a.s.sociation of the Pfelung Worlds, greetings. Pursuant to the Fourth Revised and Supplemental Articles of War of 9 September 2312, under the authority vested in me as vice admiral and senior officer in this theater, I do hereby name, const.i.tute, and appoint Ibrahim Sahin, BA, BS, MA, MD, as Acting Amba.s.sador and Minister Plenipotentiary from the Union of Earth and Terran Settled Worlds, to the Pfelung a.s.sociation 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 amba.s.sador 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 2315, Louis G. Hornmeyer, Vice Admiral, Commanding, Task Force Tango Delta."

The commissar listened to the translation coming over a seash.e.l.l-looking device that 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, Dr. Ibrahim Sahin, as Amba.s.sador and Minister Plenipotentiary of the government of the Union of Earth and Terran Settled Worlds. On behalf of the people of the Pfelung a.s.sociation, 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, "Amba.s.sador, I am Herm-Mekk 943, a.s.sistant Subcommissar. May I please take your Letter of Credence?"

The doctor gave him the doc.u.ment, which he grasped between two of his dozen or so finger-like prehensile mouth parts, and he 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 Subcommissar 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 subcommissar and the admiral?"

"It is a proper question," responded Herm-Mekk, "although some species prefer a great deal of circ.u.mlocution 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. We are 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, Amba.s.sador, 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."

"Not at all," said the doctor, nearly overcome with relief that he would not be called upon to do any diplomatic heavy lifting. "We wish to conclude discussions as soon as possible so that our respective military establishments can begin to work out joint arrangements for the defense of this area. In particular, we need to work out with you how to protect the critical jump points in your system until you get those new battle stations constructed."

"Those new battle stations that will, we strongly hope, be protected from attack from all sides," Max added.

"Yes. That is certain. The Commissariat for the Design of Installations for the Repulsion of Those Who Would Disturb Our Hatcheries is already well along in that regard."

The draft treaty proved to be exceptionally reasonable. The doctor needed to propose only a few changes, one relating to exactly when the treaty became effective and one-suggested by Max-a minor amendment regarding the command structure to be employed in UnionPfelung joint operations. The text of the treaty, with the proposed amendments, was transmitted to the admiral's legal staff for review and approval (the matter being deemed too urgent to wait for the transmission delays involving a message to Earth), resulting in the approval of the lawyers and the blessings of the admiral.

The Pfelung speedily accepted both proposed amendments and, indeed, apologized for not including the requested language in the first draft, stating that they should have thought of those matters themselves.

In fact, the only wrinkle in the whole affair was a sudden insistence by the Ruling Hatchery (four members of which bustled into the meeting room unannounced and apparently in something of a lather) that no further business could be transacted until the Union delegation provided to the Pfelung holographic images, of a certain size and resolution, of Lieutenant Garcia, Chief Amborsky, and the nine other men who died on the cutter, as well as the nonconfidential portions of their service records. Max immediately contacted the s.h.i.+p on his percom, and the requisite data was transmitted on the prescribed channel within five minutes.