Fearful Symmetry Part 1

Fearful Symmetry.

by Ann Wilson.

Chapter I

Deep s.p.a.ce, 2568 CE

For the first time in his century-long career, Fleet-Captain Arjen of Clan D'gameh disapproved of a mission he had been given. That his orders came straight from the Supreme made no difference to his feelings, nor did the First Speaker's a.s.surance that the Circle of Lords deemed it vital to the survival of the Traiti race.

It wasn't the goal of the mission that disturbed him, as much as the means. In the war between the Traiti and the Terran Empire, two things were, if not exactly sacred, proprieties that both sides respected.

One was hospital ships, and the other was the return of bodies to their kin. By extension, ships delivering wounded or picking up dead were also immune, a principle that neither side had violated . . . yet.

Arjen and his reinforced fleet were about to violate that unwritten taboo. The Fleet-Captain looked around his flagship's control central, conscious that n.o.body else aboard the Hermnaen knew of the planned deceit. He traced the honor-scars on his upper body through the cloth of his shirt, wishing he were elsewhere and free of the orders that seemed so dishonorable--then he told himself sternly to get on with it.

His mission was to deliver one of the Terran Empire's elite, one of the green-uniformed Rangers, safely to the Supreme and First Speaker on Homeworld. Although that sounded simple enough, it would take both firepower and trickery. Arjen's fleet, now with sixty ships instead of forty, had firepower enough to overwhelm even a Sovereign-cla.s.s Terran battle cruiser, the type of ship a Ranger normally used.

Fifty-nine of the Traiti warcraft were in positions that englobed a point in s.p.a.ce a quarter-million n'liu from a blue-and-white oxygen planet--over forty diameters out, nearly in the orbit of the planet's moon.

The Hermnaen was still at the center of the twenty-n'liu-diameter sphere of ships, its Ship-Captain and crew waiting for Arjen's orders.

Still reluctant to begin the trickery that was part of this operation, Arjen spoke anyway. "Release signal transmitter."

"Aye, Fleet-Captain." Battle discipline was strict, if fair; not even an action as apparently senseless as releasing a beacon in the center of a combat-ready fleet was questioned.

Then the Hermnaen took its own position in the sphere and Arjen ordered the beacon activated. The moment the distinctive paired triple-pings, used only for body-return containers, sounded on the ship's receivers, Arjen found himself the focus of fourteen pairs of eyes, from the ship's operators in their U of consoles facing him and the Master-Pilot and Ship-Captain Exvani, whose consoles flanked Arjen's at the opening of the U--but not even those senior officers spoke their questions aloud.

It wasn't necessary; Arjen knew they shared the shock and dismay he'd felt when he was given this mission, and he was sure similar feelings were spread throughout the Fleet. He sighed and displayed resignation by extending the claws on one hand. "Give me Fleet Communications."

"Aye, Fleet-Captain." The Communications operator's attention returned to his console, and within minutes Arjen was in communication with all his Ship-Captains.

Without preamble and without expression, Arjen briefed them on the mission and detailed his plans for its execution. "The Intelligence Service reports intercepting communications involving a Ranger named Esteban Tarlac, which indicate that he is in this sector. Given what we know of Rangers, he will have his own ship respond, and given the skill of those who pilot Rangers' vessels, it will out-transition from hypers.p.a.ce within ten n'liu of the beacon."

"Ten n'liu!" a newly-a.s.signed Ship-Captain exclaimed.

"They are quite competent," Arjen said drily, "and they will take time to be accurate. I think that estimate, if anything, is conservative.

You have seen little action against the Terrans?"

"None, Fleet-Captain." The officer sounded reluctant to admit that, but went on. "My ship and I are normally on colony patrol. This will be our first battle."

Arjen hid his brief amus.e.m.e.nt at the young Ship-Captain's obvious antic.i.p.ation; he had felt that way himself, early in the war. "Not if things go well. In this engagement, it is most desirable that Ranger Tarlac come willingly--or as willingly as possible under the circ.u.mstances. To simplify the decision for him, we are insuring that his ship will out-transition in the center of a battle-ready fleet.

All ships will therefore go onto secondary alert status immediately, and will maintain that status until the Terrans appear. It will probably be two or three tenth-days before that happens. When they do, you will go to primary alert status without waiting for my orders. I want all weapons ready to fire, but no one is to do so without my express orders. Are there any questions?"

There were none, so Arjen dismissed the captains and went to his cabin, regretting, not for the first time, that senior commanders had to have private quarters--but too-close personal contact with his subordinates would be bad for discipline.

Still, he thought as he unrolled his sleeping mat and settled down in an attempt to relax, at least he would get some personal benefit from this mission; whether it succeeded or failed, he was to deliver his report to the Supreme himself. That meant a short leave, which he could and would spend at D'gameh clanhome. Arjen closed his eyes with a smile, antic.i.p.ating the reunion with his clanmates, especially his two sons. Lazno, the elder, was due a leave, and Reja said Mahas was starting to talk. It would be good to see them all again, and Homeworld's still-peaceful countryside. There was the bed of star-shaped hermnaen flowers that gave his ship its name, in the clanhome's garden...

Arjen rested, satisfied for the moment with his life.

Ranger Esteban Tarlac was on the bridge of the Imperial Battle Cruiser Empress Lindner when the ultrawave body-retrieval signal came in. He looked up, abandoning his study of the Damage Control board, and went to stand beside Captain Jean Willis. In the few seconds that took him, Navigation Officer Mueller had reported to his Captain.

"Not too far off our course," Willis commented. "What about it, Ranger? Should we make the pickup?"

"Why not?" Tarlac agreed. "A few hours' delay won't matter, and as I recall, we're the closest ship."

"Right, sir." Willis turned her attention to her officers.

"Lieutenant Matthews, inform the Palace and Fleet HQ about the change in flight plan. Ask Fleet to have a morgue detail waiting when we get back to Luna Base. Ensign Olorun, bring us out of hypers.p.a.ce for the course change."

Communications and Helm officers answered as one: "Yes, sir."

Transitioning out of hypers.p.a.ce was simple, even in the middle of a programmed course; Ensign Olorun flipped a switch on his Helm console, puncturing the hyperfield and bringing them to rest relative to what little matter was present in interstellar norms.p.a.ce.

The Navigator didn't need orders; he began plotting a course to the signal source as soon as the Lindner made her out-transition. With the ship-comp's aid, the calculations took less than a minute.

"Coordinates ready, Captain," he reported.

Ensign Olorun was as efficient as his crewmate; as soon as Mueller gave him the final coordinates, he entered them into his own console and programmed the course. "All green, sir," he said.

Willis smiled. She, like the others aboard, had had to earn the privilege of serving on a Sovereign-cla.s.s cruiser, and having a Ranger aboard brought the crew to its maximum efficiency. "Execute transition."

"Aye, sir."

At Olorun's words, everyone aboard felt the oddly pleasant twisting sensation as the hyperfield built up. The stars flared, then the screens went blank as the ship transitioned into hypers.p.a.ce.

Tarlac still found it moderately amusing that hypers.p.a.ce transition, once generally imagined to be at least uncomfortable and very possibly disabling, had proven to be anything but--to be the exact opposite, in fact. As a boy, he'd enjoyed daydreaming that he himself might make a discovery as unsettling as that particular one of Nannstein's, but so far he hadn't, and it didn't seem at all likely he would. On the other hand, it was just the unlikeliness of such a discovery--one that completely reversed a commonly-held idea--that made it so unsettling.

He grinned fleetingly to himself at the thought of how unlikely hyperflight, or even the Empire itself, must have seemed to an ordinary Terran back when Armstrong and Aldrin had made the first landing on Luna, but then he dismissed those unproductive if interesting ramblings. He had work to finish before the ship got back to Luna Base and he went on to Terra.

Five hours later, Tarlac was back on the bridge. He had no real reason to be there, but he enjoyed watching the ch.o.r.eographic precision of a Naval bridge crew, especially this one. He called on the Lindner every time he needed something with the power of a battle cruiser, and he praised her highly in the mock-serious arguments Rangers had with each other about the merits of their chosen ships--even over the performance of such a simple maneuver as the retrieval of body-return containers.

Tarlac had often wondered about the puzzle those containers presented.

The Traiti had initiated the body exchanges, and n.o.body could even guess at the reason. There had been no communication, nothing except the sudden signal that led to cautious recovery of the first container.

It had been examined even more cautiously, but had proven as harmless as had all of the later pickups. There weren't many; s.p.a.ce battles left few recognizable bodies. Even ground battles left few, since hand-held blasters at full power or molecular disruptors literally vaporized unarmored targets, and if enough of them overloaded an armored target's screen generator, the resulting explosion had the same practical effect. Most of the recovered bodies were victims of accident or of the rare hand-to-hand combat.

The Ranger brought his attention back to the bridge as Olorun reported ten seconds until out-transition. "Five credits says we're within fifteen klicks," the young Helmsman added with a grin.

"You're on," Tarlac laughed. "Optimist!"

"We'll see, sir. Out-transitioning . . . now."

There was a moment of silence as the ship re-entered norms.p.a.ce and stars appeared on the viewscreen, followed by murmurs of dismay.

Captain Willis slapped the General Quarters alarm, swearing briefly but bitterly. "d.a.m.n! It was a trap!" The Traiti violation of something which had been sacrosanct was almost as shocking as the overwhelming number of the angular yet graceful Traiti ships.

"When they set up an ambush," Tarlac observed quietly, "it's a good one. There's enough firepower out there to vaporize us three times over."

"Yeah," Willis agreed, equally quiet. "Well, let's see how many of them we can take out with us." She raised her voice, addressing her Weapons Officer. "Lieutenant Dawes, concentrated primary fire on their flagship--"

"Hold it," Tarlac interrupted. "There's something peculiar here. If they'd wanted us dead, they could've opened fire as soon as we out-transitioned. Since they didn't, let's see if we can find out just what they do want."

"Yes, sir," Willis said. "Hold your fire, Lieutenant, but be ready."

"Aye, Captain." Dawes was poised, tense, his fingers hovering almost in contact with his firing studs.