Zach Hughes - For Texas and Zed

The very strength of the blink signals led to a result predicted by Arden Wal. At first the power signal of simultaneous blinks by two thousand generators raised alarms. Then, reports filed properly, the Empire, involved as it was in assembling the largest fleet ever to be massed, while keeping a suitable force opposing the traditional enemy, discounted the signals as an unexplained phenomenon in the warp of space and assigned half a dozen scientists to investigate and advance a theory. Without leaving the comfort of the various laboratories in which they worked, the scientists postulated a minute bubble in the fabric of space and time, a moving bubble with random patterns zigzagging from the periphery into more dense portions of the galaxy in the general direction of Centaurus. Since the bubble avoided mass, skirting stars and black holes and planets, it was concluded that it would, in time, wear itself out without doing any damage. Had not a dozen investigations been made? Had not the finest detection instruments found nothingness in the area of the signals? The Emperor's fleet was equipped with the finest in instruments. Instruments don't lie. The space-time bubble theory was officially accepted at fleet headquarters and the attentions of the brass were returned, once more, toward the continuing buildup of force, a force which would, once and for all, establish the Emperor's power and teach those upstart Texicans a lesson.

Meanwhile, two thousand young Texicans and three Empire renegades blinked and rested, cursed the close quarters, tried to keep life in aching, cramped muscles with isometric exercise. They fed on space rations, recycled water and air, rode fifty pounds of expand down the long star lanes, making random jumps into nowhere, but always returning to the line leading them toward Centaurus.

For the rest of his life Lex would remember the thrill of pride he'd felt upon lifting from the sands, two thousand strong, in perfect formation, riding the tiny vehicles with their enlarged domes into the high air and then, on a signal, entering space with one long blink, power sizzling from tiny plants which generated the force which could throw many times the mass of an airors into the finite distance.

Since they knew the fleet positions it was possible to escape detection by Texicans on the way out. Texas was not monitoring the planet itself for unauthorized movements, but was facing galaxy-ward. So the first long blink threw them beyond the main forces of Texas and a second blink, using the double-blink generator, removed them from odd scouts and advance guards in the big emptiness between the isolated star, Zed, and the beginnings of space matter on the rim of the galaxy.

At first, they flew familiar routes, but chose not to enter the Empire through Cassiopeian space. They sat astride, able to relax only partially by leaning backward against the near side of the life dome. Legs, pointing downward, ached. Eyes strained, after the first few near sleepless day periods. And around them was a vastness which was intimidating enough when one had the security of the hull of a spacer around him and which was an awful, aching emptiness to a lone man riding astride a tiny vehicle meant primarily for sport and planetary transportation.

Mere voice chatter was so lovingly slow that conversation was unrestricted among the groupings and that chatter helped pass the time. By the time broadcast talk traveled the distances between the fleet and the nearest Empire planet, even a stray ship beyond the limits of their local detectors, the fleet would have moved on to success or failure. Behind them at each blinkcharge point, the radio waves radiated outward, carrying with them the light, bantering talk of young men trying to pass the long wait with an oft-heard joke, a semi-witty remark or simply boylike rememberings of how it was to ride in the hist herding contest. Voices lived in the form of modulated waves, would live, perhaps, traveling through limitless space, after the flesh and blood vocal cords which had formed the sounds had decayed.

During the trip inward, toward the goal, Lex had ample time to consider such morbid thoughts, to question his decision to take the battle to the Empire. But in dim history an honorary Texican had said, "I leave this rule for others when I'm dead, be sure you're right —then go ahead," and that old rhyme had surfaced from somewhere down in the depths of Lex's school memories and, as he blinked ahead of his group into Empire, he liked the simplicity of it. Be sure you're right. He had to be right. He'd seen the vast extent of the Empire. He'd spent two years in the Empire's service studying their power, their vastness, their arrogant disregard for the right of the individual, and he knew that the Empire would never leave Texas alone unless, in some way, Texas made things so hot, so costly, that the pragmatic policy makers back on the old Earth would decide that the price was too high to pay. And, while Empire would scarcely blink at the loss of a million men, being blessed or cursed with a surplus of people, the loss of two thousand ships of the line would cause no little concern. He did not delude himself into thinking that two thousand ships taken from the Empire's entire fleet would end the war, but it would serve two purposes. Most importantly, it would tell the Emperor's war planners that the action against Texas was not to be taken lightly, that Texas had the capacity to strike as well as defend. If his operation were successful, the Empire would be forced to guard the rear of the front with Texas, and that would scatter he massive fleet building on the periphery across the void of extra-galactic space between the planet and Empire territory. Thus, valuable time would be gained.

There were times as the fleet of tiny vehicles crossed the long parsecs when Lex doubted. He limited his own talk with others to checking navigation with Arden Wal, leading the group on his right flank, and to checks with other group leaders. The isolation didn't particularly bother him. He'd spent his time in the big lonesome spaces of the Bojacks, herding winglings. And he had the thoughts of Riddent and his unborn son to comfort him.

Actually, the trip in was uneventful. There were a few tense moments when Empire warships came to investigate the blink signals, but the incidents merely proved the theory that Empire detectors were set for masses too large to allow detection of widely scattered groupings of airorses. Mostly, the trip was unending tedium and it was with a sigh of relief that the fleet heard General Wal's announcement that the bright dot ahead, gleaming in the blackness after a short blink, was the goal, Centaurus.

With the fleet on alert, Lex and Wal blinked ahead to scout.

There, orbiting a lifeless planet, row on row, tier on tier, bank on bank, dead in space, gleaming in the glow of Centaurus, was the discarded debris of the long Empire war. Ships. The graveyard. Outdated Vandys, middleguards, Rearguards, supply ships, scouts, all used up and thrown away in a display of waste which awed Lex. He'd been amazed when he first read of the Empire's ships' graveyard, and now, seeing it close up, he was saddened. There were ships in the Texican fleet twice the age of the more recent discards there in the darkness of space.

There were no guards. The Empire considered the junk fleet of so little value that no one watched. Nevertheless, guards were posted by the Texicans to avert chance discovery in case still another ship or group of ships was scheduled to be blinked out by space tugs to be abandoned.

Now the careful practices in the desert of home began to pay off. In groups, the airorses began to seek specified hulls, to attach to the pitted metals with magnetic grapples installed in the alteration sheds. The selection was not random, but carefully charted by Arden Wal, who was familiar with the makeup of an Empire battle fleet. Each man had his assignment.