"Many are colony ships, supply ships, factory ships," Qonits went on. "It is necessary that our colonies set up manufacturing industries, with different tribes having different industries.
"And therein lies a greater problem." He paused again to sip. "Agricultural tribes are landed first, to establish food production and a planetary database. And when shipsmind decides we have occupied as large a sector of space as we can administer, the tribes not yet landed are assigned by shipsmind to worlds already occupied. On the basis of planetary environments, tribal affinities, and an integrated, practical industrial program.
"Usually there is no technologically potent empire to destroy. And when there has been, it has never been too large to swallow. Until now."
He took another swallow himself, then fixed his bleak gaze on David again. "We never imagined an empire so large as yours. Not a hundredth as large. We were already badly overextended when we fought the first human fleet. We would not have enough tribes. And our industries would be so widely dispersed, they would not constitute a viable system."
"Then why… "
Qonits fist slammed the table top, making David jump. "Because we dared not stop! Not within the bounds of a technologically advanced empire! We would have been mortally exposed!"
He paused, staring ruefully at his fist. "I am sorry, David. I should not have committed violence, even against a table. The scholar gender does not tolerate ethanol well. And you are my friend. My only friend in this galaxy."
"In this galaxy," David echoed. "You've said that before, and I've assumed it was a figure of speech. Don't tell me the Wyzhnyny are from another galaxy."
"We are." Qonits began to rock, forward and back. "We are," he repeated. Then he finished his drink and sat quietly.
Contemplating only the All-Soul knows what, David thought. "But surely you hadn't filled up your own galaxy. And how could you have gotten here from so far away?"
He'd never before heard Qonits laugh, but it seemed to him that's what this sound was. Probably an ironic laugh. The chief scholar refilled his glass himself, and drank. "We do not know," he said, then briefly described the experience. "Nor do we know which other one we came from. Not that it makes any difference. The nearest would be too far."
Briefly they sipped without speaking. Then David, groping for a change of subject, asked what Qonits' home world was like. They spent the next hour exchanging reminiscences of childhood and youth. And drinking. Finally Qonits slumped onto his side and closed his eyes.
"You're drunk, old buddy," David said. And laughed. "And so am I. How about that! We need to get ol' Pollywog or whatever his name is to get drunk with the president. What is his name? Pollywog."
Qonits eyes opened. He giggled. That's what it is, David thought. Giggling. "I don' remember," Qonits said. "Tooley Rooley." He frowned, trying to get it right. "Toolarog. Thass it."
His eyes closed again. David wobbled to his bed and flopped down on it. It promptly began to rotate on its axis. He knew it was the alcohol, not the bed, but nonetheless tried physically to hold it still until the sensation stopped. Then he nested his cheek in his pillow. "David," he mumbled, "you juss did something no human ever did before. You know that? You got drunk with an alien."
It was the last thing he thought before sleeping.
Marine Lance Corporal Artemis Shaughnessy looked at the two sleepers. What a story to tell his children and grandchildren, when he had some. Surely the security restrictions would be off by then.
It seemed to him he knew more about the aliens now than even the president did.
He didn't, of course. The suite was bugged, and the two leaders had all of it on cube. Including David waking later from a dream of Yukiko, to soak his pillow with tears.
It was the last time he would grieve for her. It was done.
Chapter 62
The Battle of Epsilon Eridani
Abruptly, Alvaro Soong's command screen registered 221 radio sources, twittering code. He'd been expecting them: a corvette herding 220 spook drones, newly arrived in the Eridani System from Sol. They'd emerged sufficiently nearby that their emergence waves preceded their electromagnetic signature by only a few seconds. The corvette's captain, a lieutenant, had done an excellent job of delivering his herd.
A similar herd had arrived from the Indi System four days earlier and six days late, badly scattered, sixteen spooks short-and on the wrong side of the system. Far enough that the guide ship's signal lag was more then thirteen hours! What a mess. Gathering the spooks had been slow and frustrating, and the fifty-seven hours wasted would be time lost later from steel drills. As for the sixteen spooks lost in hyperspace-an admiral hates losing even unmanned ships.
The Indi guide ship had been a long-range scout, and her commander a mere ensign! Policy required a board of review, which took less than four hours to absolve the young officer of malfeasance. He'd had only introductory training in hyperspace radio-not nearly enough to reliably monitor and control the drones in hyperspace. As for gathering them for the closing jump-that accounted for most of the six-day delay.
The review board concluded he'd done well to lose so few.
Soong savanted a strongly worded message to War House, criticizing Indi Command for appointing someone so unqualified. It was Admiralty Chief Fedor Tischendorf himself who replied, very mildly. Ensign Fahzi had been at the head of his class when Indi Command had pulled him out of training, bestowed a premature commission, and with Kunming's blessing had given him the job. On Indi Prime, everyone of certified competence-short of Command and training staff-had already been sent with the 1st Indi Battle Wing. All they had left were midshipmen.
"Consider yourself well served, Alvaro," Tischendorf had finished. "Ensign Fahzi was the best available, and whatever spooks arrived are ships you wouldn't otherwise have. If he'd lost half of them, you'd still be better off than if they hadn't been sent. And if they hadn't been sent, they'd be meaningless. Because if you don't severely blunt the Wyzhnyny advance at Eridani-and I stress severely-we're lost. All of us."
Soong had listened with chagrin. He'd popped his cork-rare for him-and the indignation that sprayed out had turned to rue. He didn't counter that Indi Command should have held back a qualified officer from the 1st Indi Battle Wing, then transferred him back to it on arrival. Fahzi had done the job. And historically, war was notorious for erroneous planning assumptions, pressure situations, decisions made under severe stress, and the need to use unqualified personnel. In fact, Soong told himself, a perspective review of this war would probably discover fewer and less critical foul-ups than in most historical wars. Because regardless of its other shortages, War House was rich in resourceful ingenuity. Not to mention long centuries of contingency planning and simulation testing.
And no one in War House had joined the military for prestige or benefits.
Now Soong's fleet was fully gathered. Since Shakti, it hadn't grown much in manned fighting ships: his losses had been made up, but he had only a single new battle wing. War House had decided to concentrate on drone production; he had nearly twice as many maces as before.
And now spooks, drones of quite another type. With the 220 from Sol, he totalled 404. Named "Ball Spooks" (for a fabled 21st century gamer and writer), they carried opaque-image generators which could disguise them as battleships, maces or cruisers. Spooks had long been part of science-fiction gaming, and a War House budget proposal for their development had been rejected by the government centuries earlier. Then the Wyzhnyny had come, and industrial and research resources became the limiting factors, with maces and improved shield generators the Admiralty's top development priorities.