James Hogan - Giant's Star

"There must have been a malfunction in JEVEX," the Supreme Commander of the Thurien task force pleaded, cringing as Broghuiio advanced menacingly toward him. "Everything has been premature. There was no time to test the transfer system thoroughly."

"It’s true," a white-faced Wylott said from behind. "There wasn’t enough time. An interplanetary operation could not be organized on such a schedule. It was impossible."

Broghuilio whirled around and pointed a finger at a screen showing the latest details of the Terran order of battle. "WELL THEY’VE DONE IT!" he raged. "Every bicycle and bedpan factory on the planet is making weapons." He turned to appeal to the whole room. "And what do my experts tell me? Two years to complete the quadriflexor program! Twelve months to bring the extra generators on line! ‘But we have the overwhelming technical superiority, Excellency,’ I’m told." He turned purple and raised his clenched fists over his head. "WELL WHERE IS IT? Do I have all the imbeciles in the Galaxy on my side? Give me a dozen of those Earthmen and I’d conquer the Universe." He wheeled upon Estordu. "Get them back here. Even if you have to exit them here in the middle of the planetary system, get them back here today."

"It. . . . seems that it isn’t quite that simple," Estordu mumbled bleakly. "JEVEX is reporting difficulties in controlling the transfer system."

"JEVEX, what is this oaf babbling about?" Broghuilio snapped.

"The central beam synchronization system is not responding, Excellency," JEVEX answered. "I am confused. I have not been able to interpret the diagnostic reports."

Broghuilio closed his eyes for a moment and fought to keep control of himself. "Then do it without JEVEX," he said to Estordu. "Use the standby transfer facility at Uttan."

Estordu swallowed. "The Uttan system is not general purpose," he pointed out. "It was only set up to handle supply transfers to Jevlen. The fleet is scattered across fifteen different stars. Uttan would have to recalibrate for every one. It would take weeks."

Broghuilio turned away in exasperation and began pacing furiously back and forth across the floor. He halted suddenly in front of the commanding general of the local defense system. "They’ve got their attack planned all the way down to who will dig the latrines after they’ve wiped out the last imbecile in your army. You have a direct line into their communications network, and you can decode their signals. You know their intentions. Where is your defense plan?"

"What? I. . ." the general faltered helplessly. "How do you-"

"YOUR PLAN OF DEFENSE. WHERE IS IT?"

"But. . . we have no weapons."

"You have no reserves? What kind of a general are you?"

"A few robot destroyers only, all controlled by JEVEX. Can they be relied upon? The reserves were sent to Thurien." That had been at Broghuilio’s insistence, but nobody chose to remind him of the fact.

A deathly silence enveloped the Jevlenese War Room. At last Wylott said firmly, "A truce. There is no alternative. We must sue for a truce."

"What?" Broghuilio looked toward him. "The Protectorate has barely been declared, and already you are saying we should crawl to primitives? What kind of talk is this?"

"For time," Wylott urged. "Until Uttan is in full production and the stockpiles are built up. Give the army time to be brought up to strength and trained. Earth has been geared to war for centuries. We have not, and there is the difference. The break from Thurien was forced too soon."

"It looks as if it may be the only chance we have, Excellency," Estordu said.

"JEVEX has reopened a channel," VISAR announced. "Broghuilio wishes a private audience with Calazar." Calazar had been expecting the call and was sitting alone on one side of the room in the Government Center waiting for it, while Caldwell, Danchekker, Heller, and the Thuriens watched from the far side.

A head-and-shoulders image of Broghuilio appeared in a frame before Calazar. Broghuilio looked surprised and uncertain. "Why are we talking like this? I asked to come to Thurien."

"I do not feel that the intimacy of proximity would be appropriate," Calazar replied. "What did you wish to discuss?"

Broghuilio swallowed and forced his words with a visible effort. "I have had an opportunity to consider the recent. . . developments. On reflection, it seems that perhaps we were disoriented by the arrogance of the Terrans. Our reactions were, perhaps, a little hasty. I would like to propose a debate to reconsider the relationship between our races."

"That is no longer an affair that concerns me," Calazar told him. "I have agreed with the Terrans to leave the matter to be settled between yourselves. They have given you their terms. Do you accept them?"

"Their terms are outrageous," Broghuilio protested. "We have to negotiate."

"Negotiate with the Terrans."

Alarm showed on Broghuilio’s face. "But they are barbarians, savages. Have you forgotten what leaving them to settle things their way will mean?"

"I choose not to. Have you forgotten the Shapieron? "

Broghuilio paled. "That was an inexcusable error. Those responsible will be punished. But this. . . this is different. You are Ganymeans. We stood beside you for millennia. You can’t stand aside and abandon us now."

"You deceived us for millennia," Calazar replied coldly. "We wanted to keep Lunarian violence from spreading into the Galaxy, but it is loose in the Galaxy already. Our attempts to change you have failed. If the only solution left lies with the Terrans, then so be it. The Ganymeans can do no more."

"We must discuss this, Calazar. You can’t allow this."

"Will you accept the Terran terms?"

"They cannot be serious. There must be room for negotiation."

"Then negotiate with the Terrans. I have nothing more to say. Excuse me now, please." The image of Broghuilio vanished.

Calazar turned to confront the approving faces across the room. "How did I do?" he asked.

"Terrific," Karen Heller told him. "You should apply for a seat in the UN."

"How does it feel to be hard-nosed, Terran-style," Showm asked curiously.

Calazar stood up, drew himself up to his full height, and filled his lungs with air while he considered the question. "Do you know, I find it rather. . . . invigorating," he confessed.

Caldwell turned his head toward an image showing the observers on Earth. "It’s not looking so bad," he said. "They can’t get their ships back, and they don’t seem to have a lot else. We could pull the rug out now. What do you think?"

Hunt was looking dubious. "Broghuilio’s shaky, but he hasn’t cracked yet," he replied. "He might have enough there to turn nasty with, especially if only unarmed Thurien ships show up. I’d like to see him a bit more unhinged first."

"So would we," Garuth said from the Shapieron. His tone left no room for doubt about the matter.

Caldwell thought for a second, then nodded. "I’ll go along with that." He stroked his chin and cocked an eye at Hunt. "And VISAR has done a helluva job preparing all this material. It’d be a shame to waste it, wouldn’t it?"

"A terrible shame," Hunt agreed solemnly.

The scene being presented inside the Jevlenese War Room was a view of the combined Terran battle fleet forming up as it moved from Earth. In the foreground a formation of destroyers, sleek, gray, and menacing, was moving into position to become part of an unfolding armada that extended away as far as the eye could see. As the first shrank into the distance to merge into the array, more formations slid majestically inward from the sides of the view and were absorbed in turn into the growing panorama. The first groups carried the Red Star of the Soviet Union, the next ones the Stars and Stripes of the U.S.A., and after those came the emblems of U.S. Europe, Canada, Australia, and the Republic of China. Farther away, moving slowly behind the vessels maneuvering and turning in the foreground, were lines of immense warships, their stark, solid contours broken by sinister weapon housings and ominous clusters of externally mounted missile pods. And behind them were the task groups and supply convoys-carriers, bombardment platforms, battle cruisers, interceptor mother ships, ground-suppression orbiters, shuttle launchers, troop and armor carriers, transports, all attended by swarms of support and escort craft-diminishing away to become pinpoints that seemed to be hardly moving at all against the stars. But appearances were deceiving. The whole awesome constellation was speeding silently and relentlessly away from Earth-toward the Ganymean transfer ports.