An explosion rattled his teeth. Motor dead, the flitter crashed three meters down, onto the conning tower.
After a minute, Flandry was back to consciousness. He went on hands and knees across the buckled, tilted fuselage, took a quick peek, and dropped to the bridge deck. A body, still smoking, was in his path. He shoved it aside and looked over the bulwark. The dozen Tigeries who remained active had taken the forward gun and were using it for cover. They had stalled the second gang beneath Flandry. But reinforcements were boiling from the after hatch.
Flandry set his blaster to wide beam and shot.
Again. Again. The crew must be small. He’d dropped—how many?—whoops, don’t forget the hatch in the tower itself, up to this place he commanded! No, his flitter blocked the way …
Silence thundered upon him. Only the wind and the slap-slap of water broke it, that and a steady sobbing from one Merseian who lay with his leg blasted off, bleeding to death. Satan on Saturn, they’d done it. They’d actually done it. Flandry stared at his free hand, thinking in a remote fashion how wonderful a machine it was, look, he could flex the fingers.
Not much time to spare. He rose. A bullet whanged from the bows. “Hold off there, you tubehead! Me! Dragoika, are you alive?”
“Yes.” She trod triumphant from behind the gun. “What next?”
“Some of you get astern. Shoot anybody who shows himself.”
Dragoika drew her sword. “We’ll go after them.”
“You’ll do no such idiot thing,” Flandry stormed. “You’ll have trouble enough keeping them bottled.”
“And you … now,” she breathed ecstatically, “you can turn these guns on the vaz-Siravo.”
“Not that either,” Flandry said. God, he was tired! “First, I can’t man something so heavy alone and you don’t know how to help. Second, we don’t want any heroic bastards who may be left below to get the idea they can best serve the cause by dunking the lot of us.”
He tuned his communicator. Call the Navy team to come get him and his people off. If they were too scared of violating policy to flush out this boat with anesthetic gas and take her for a prize, he’d arrange her sinking personally. But no doubt the situation would be accepted. Successes don’t bring courts-martial and policy is the excuse you make up as you go along, if you have any sense. Call the Sisterhood, too. Have them peal the battle command. Once organized, the Kursovikian ships could drive off the Seatroll armada, if it didn’t simply quit after its ace had been trumped.
And then—and then—Flandry didn’t know what. By choice, a week abed, followed by a medal and assignment to making propaganda tapes about himself back on Terra. Wasn’t going to work that way, however. Merseia had ratcheted the war another step upward. Terra had to respond or get out. He glanced down at Dragoika as she disposed her followers on guard. She saw him and flashed back a grin. He decided he didn’t really want out after all.
7
Runei the Wanderer leaned forward until black-clad shoulders and gaunt green visage seemed to enter the office room of the suite. “My lord,” he said, “you know the juridical position of my government. The sea people are sovereign over the Starkadian high seas. At most, landfolk ships may be conceded a limited right of transit—provided the sea people agree. Likewise, outworld craft fly above entirely on their sufferance. You accuse us of escalation? Frankly, I think I showed remarkable forbearance in not ordering my air fleet into action after your attack on a Merseian submarine.”
Hauksberg managed a smile. “If I may speak rather frankly in return, Commandant,” he said, “the fact that Terra’s airborne forces would then have joined the fight may have stayed your hand. Eh?”
Runei shrugged. “In such case, who would have been escalating?”
“By usin’ a purely Merseian unit against a, ah, Toborkan city, you’ve directly involved your planet in the war.”
“Retaliation, my lord, and not by Merseia; by the Six-point of Zletovar, using foreign volunteers temporarily detached from duty with their regular units. It is Terra which has long promulgated the doctrine that limited retaliation is not a casus belli.”
Hauksberg scowled. Speaking for the Empire, he could not utter his full disapproval of that principle. “Goes far back into our hist’ry, to the era of international wars. We use it these days so our people in remote parts of space’ll have some freedom of action when trouble develops, ’stead of havin’ to send couriers home askin’ for orders. Unfortunate. P’rhaps its abolition can be arranged, at least as between your government and mine. But we’ll want guarantees in exchange, y’ know.”
“You are the diplomat, not I,” Runei said. “As of now, I chiefly want back any prisoners you hold.”
“Don’t know if there were any survivors,” Hauksberg said. He knew quite well there were some, and that Abrams wouldn’t release them till they’d been interrogated at length, probably hypnoprobed; and he suspected Runei knew he knew. Most embarrassing. “I’ll inquire, if you wish, and urge—”
“Thank you,” Runei said dryly. After a minute: “Not to ask for military secrets, but what will the next move be of your, khraich, allies?”
“Not allies. The Terran Empire is not a belligerent.”
“Spare me,” Runei snorted. “I warn you, as I have warned Admiral Enriques, that Merseia won’t stand idle if the aggressors try to destroy what Merseia has helped create to ameliorate the lot of the sea people.”
An opening! “Point o’ fact,” Hauksberg said, as casually as he was able, “with the assault on Ujanka repelled, we’re tryin’ to restrain the Kursovikians. They’re hollerin’ for vengeance and all that sort o’ thing, but we’ve persuaded ’em to attempt negotiations.”
A muscle jumped in Runei’s jaw, the ebony eyes widened a millimeter, and he sat motionless for half a minute. “Indeed?” he said, flat-toned.
“Indeed.” Hauksberg pursued the initiative he had gained. “A fleet’ll depart very soon. We couldn’t keep that secret from you, nor conceal the fact of our makin’ contact with the Siravoans. So you’ll be told officially, and I may’s well tell you today, the fleet won’t fight except in self-defense. I trust none o’ those Merseian volunteers participate in any violence. If so, Terran forces would natur’lly have to intervene. But we hope to send envoys underwater, to discuss a truce with the idea of makin’ permanent peace.”
“So.” Runei drummed his desktop.
“Our xenological information is limited,” Hauksberg said. “And o’ course we won’t exactly get childlike trust at first. Be most helpful if you’d urge the, ah, Sixpoint to receive our delegation and listen to ’em.”
“A joint commission, Terran and Merseian—”
“Not yet, Commandant. Please, not yet. These’ll be nothin’ but informal preliminary talks.”
“What you mean,” Runei said, “is that Admiral Enriques won’t lend men to any dealings that involve Merseians.”
Correct.
“No, no. Nothin’ so ungracious. Nothin’ but a desire to avoid complications. No reason why the sea people shouldn’t keep you posted as to what goes on, eh? But we have to know where we stand with ’em; in fact, we have to know ’em much better before we can make sensible suggestions; and you, regrettably, decline to share your data.”
“I am under orders,” Runei said.
“Quite. Policy’ll need to be modified on both sides before we can cooperate worth mentionin’, let alone think about joint commissions. That sort o’ problem is why I’m goin’ on to Merseia.”