“Possibly.”
“There, you see?” Praxedes regarded his fellow operatives. “There’s no problem here. How long a delay do you anticipate before you can comply with the request to move?”
“At this moment I cannot give a specific time frame. It will depend on the outcome.”
Iranaputra frowned. “The outcome? The outcome of what?”
“Why, the forthcoming battle, of course.”
“What battle?” Praxedes shifted uneasily. “What’s happening? Is one of the fleets approaching?”
“You are preparing to fight,” Iranaputra declared decisively. “That is why you cannot move now.”
“Affirmative. I am presently initiating a defensive posture. Defensive programming supersedes any and all peripheral directives.”
“Who’s attacking?” Bassan looked nervous. “Which league?”
“The approaching vessels from which I infer possible hostile intent are not nearby.” The deep turquoise blue of the Autothor was intense.
“Must be the Eeck.” Argolo picked at her shirt. “Or maybe the Victorians. It would make sense for a latecomer to try a direct assault in an attempt to compensate for tardiness and ignorance.”
“Doesn’t matter who it is.” Praxedes addressed the Autothor with a confidence he didn’t entirely feel. “You can handle them just like you did the Chakans, right?”
“I am not positive. Though I am sensible of my power, I am still only one ship against an armada.”
“How many ships in this hostile force?” Heath’s own curiosity had been aroused. “A hundred? Two?” That would represent the combined strength of the First Federals and the Keiretsu, he knew.
There was a pause, then, “I apprehend more than a thousand.”
Praxedes gaped at the turquoise ellipse, his companions, then the Autothor again. “No such fleet exists! There aren’t that many warships in existence.”
“Incorrect observation,” the Autothor responded tersely. “There is something else of interest. Though the range is extreme and precise analysis difficult, I estimate that this represents only an advance scouting force. There is a tachyspace disturbance farther out which hints at the presence of a much larger main body.”
“Scouting force.” Bassan was gazing dumbly at the drifting Blueness, all thoughts of interrogation forgotten. Under the weight of the Autothor’s words a great many things were forgotten.
Hawkins sprang to his feet, something he hadn’t done in years. “Where’re they from? Who can put out a thousand ships as a scouting force?”
“I’d think that intuitively obvious. What do you think I was built for?”
Admiral Sobran of the First Federal Federation was standing as he stared intently. “Where are they now?” Before him the warlo image displayed distant stars among which swarmed hundreds of points of light, like a hive of electric bees.
An analyst replied with figures, to which the admiral nodded slowly. The advancing formation was impressive for more than size. It hung together with almost mechanical precision.
“Any attempts at communication?”
Another officer responded. “Apparently there was a survey vessel run out from the Roosevelts that got close enough to take some visuals. The … aliens didn’t react. It’s assumed they were studying it as intently as it was studying them. They didn’t linger long in the vicinity.”
“Not surprising.”
“I’ve been analyzing the preliminary information, sir. These new intruders don’t look anything like the artifact presently in lunar orbit. Some of their ships are big, but the information indicates nothing approaching it in mass. They also differ greatly in appearance, both from the artifact and from human-built craft. According to the information provided by the survey vessel, they are constructed to dozens, maybe even hundreds, of different designs.” She swallowed. “Of course, there are a lot more of them.”
“More aliens. Different aliens.” Sobran wished fervently he was back at his desk instead of drifting ignorantly halfway between the Earth and its moon trying to deal with an alien visitation of inconceivable magnitude. “A few days ago we were convinced there were no such things. Now all of a sudden we find out that the neighborhood’s crowded.”
“They’re coming in fast, sir.” Another tech looked up from his station. “They’ve already passed a couple of independents.”
“Any reaction?”
“Didn’t stop to try and communicate, fight, or do anything at all. Didn’t even slow down. Unless they shift direction in tachy, they’re coming this way.”
Why am I not surprised? Sobran mused. “In light of any other information I think it reasonable to assume they’ve been drawn by that thing orbiting Luna. Whether to reinforce it or confront it we don’t know. I can’t imagine what it would need reinforcements for, and if there’s going to be a battle between alien ships, we might be better off evaluating the results from a more respectful distance.” This was Sobran’s way of formally announcing to any staff within range of his voice that he didn’t know what the hell was going on and wasn’t ashamed to admit it.
“One thing I’d bet on.” Everyone turned to one of the specialists. “The artifact’s departure from Earth set off an alarm somewhere, though whether among its friends or enemies we have no way of knowing.”
Sobran nodded. “We are the fleet of the FFF. Our responsibility lies with our own worlds.” He turned to his second-in-command. “Mr. Natwick, make preparations to return home.”
“Uh, Admiral?” one of the techs ventured. “What about Earth? What about the Homeworld? They have no ships to defend themselves with.”
Another tech spoke up. “Indications are that the multiple Keiretsu vessels are making preparations for tachyspace insertion.”
Sobran grunted. Hiroshigi was no fool either. “I’m an admiral of the First Federal Federation. That leaves me little opportunity to indulge in expensive nostalgia. Earth will have to take care of itself.” He settled back in his command chair, reasonably pleased with his hasty but very necessary rationalization.
On board the flagship of the Candomblean force there was similar apprehension. But having succeeded in placing operatives aboard the artifact, its commander was in a much more sensitive position. If he ordered a retreat, he risked losing the greatest technological prize since the invention of gunpowder.
“Both the Federal and Keiretsu fleets are shifting out into tachyspace, sir,” reported a specialist.
“Wonder if they know something we don’t?” murmured the scantily clad navigator next to him.
“They’re panicking.” The commander looked thoughtful. “There’s no perceived reason for flight.”
