John Dalmas - Soldiers

Beside Soong's chair stood a small stand with several non-fattening hors d'oeuvres. No more goose-liver paste. Knowingly or not, Kennah was cooperating with his efforts to lose weight. Had she read his mind? With her that wasn't inconceivable, but more probably the command officers' chef had talked to her. He sampled one, washed it down with carbonated punch, then swiveled his seat slightly to face the life-support module and its occupant. "Good morning, Charley," the admiral said.

A tiny light-play danced briefly over Charley's sensorium, perhaps equivalent to an embodied human switching off a music or video cube, and swiveling his seat to face a visitor. "Ah, Admiral!" Charley said. "Since I completed our new battlecomp package, we seldom meet. What may I do for you?"

"I've called twice lately," Soong answered. "Each time, Kennah told me you were studying." Actually she'd said he was "studying deeply," whatever that meant. "And that unless it was urgent, she'd rather not waken you. But today when I called, she said you were listening to music, and suggested it was a good time to visit." He lifted an eyebrow. "And by now, of course, I'm curious about your studies."

"Ah." Charley paused as if considering how to put it. "I have been exploring another facet of my potentials, one I dabbled in occasionally when I was younger, without realizing I was merely dabbling. Actually I was being appropriately cautious. But now Ophelia acts as my security officer, an anchor to prevent my being… swept away. And though some risk remained, it seemed something I needed to do at this time. You see."

Risk? There was a pause of several seconds. He'd been jarred by Charley taking a needless risk, when his ability to function at a high level was so vitally important. "No, Charley," he said softly, "I don't see. You'll have to enlighten me."

Charley did, and he didn't. "I have," he said, "been visiting the Wyzhnyny grand admiral. At the… soul level you might say. It is not a matter of telepathy, but of… call it integration. At the level of souls, that is. Something the grand admiral is not aware of at the physical or personality level. Though his essence is."

Soong stared. Uncertainties stirred in his belly like a nest of snakes wakening from hibernation. "Do you know his thoughts?" he asked.

"His thoughts belong to his personality, not his essence. My level of merging is not so strong that I sense them explicitly. But in a general sense I am aware of his fears, his hopes, his desires. Call it empathy in the fullest sense. The admiral is, of course, a product of his people-his culture and class-and I now understand him, and them, much more deeply than before. In fact, through him I have attained a degree of empathy with them as well."

Charley's answer did not assure the admiral. "Well then-" Soong found himself reluctant to ask the question, but reluctance seldom ruled him in matters of duty. "Can you influence him?"

"I have, Admiral, I have. Not to do some particular act, or assume some particular point of view. At the essence level, that is impossible. But he is influenced by the contact, and to an extent enabled by it."

"Enabled." Soong spoke the word cautiously. "Will he be more dangerous then?"

"Not dangerous. But he may break free of old acculturation and self-protective mechanisms. And do things he previously could not."

Soong looked troubled. After a moment Charley added, "Perhaps more to the point, I have a better sense of our joint vectors."

"Ah!" With relief. "So what you've done is beneficial to our cause. Our defense."

"Definitely, Admiral; definitely beneficial. This will be a costly battle, as you well know, but the vectors appear… not unpropitious."

Not unpropitious. From Charley, Soong would have preferred something more positive. "Good," he replied. "We need all the advantages we can have."

For a minute or so then, they spoke of trivia, until Soong was walking to the door. Then Charley added: "And, Alvaro. Do not worry if I seem changed. During my studies, I have changed. For the better. I discovered and dropped certain features of my personality that I am better off without."

As the admiral walked back to his quarters, his discomfort persisted. And not just because of possible troubles growing out of Charley's "integration" with the Wyzhnyny admiral. If it was real. Soong wondered if Charley might be less than sane, perhaps deluded by some experience in trance.

Meanwhile, he realized what the change had been in Charley's personality. Previously it had included a subtle sense of ingratiation that Soong assumed grew out of living under constant threats since infancy. Threats of equipment failure, a moment's carelessness by a caregiver… even gossip or rumor. Being bottled, Charley's very existence had been illegal. And if the Institute had been shut down, what would have become of him? His only defense had lain in being liked and thought harmless. Yet today that ingratiation had been entirely absent. Remarkable, after so many years of conditioning by fear.

He'd talk about it with Kennah someday, he decided.

Meanwhile, there was one thing he did not doubt: Without Charley Gordon, the coming battle could not end well.

Admiral Axel Tisza had spoken with Soong previously since his arrival, their exchanges strictly business. Before supper, he called again.

"I was impressed with your battle master," said the Ax. "God! A damned tragedy he hasn't been cloned. One damned salvo of torpedos and he could be-gone! There might never be another like him."

The comment annoyed Soong. Cloning humans had become common in the 21st century, and again in the 23rd. More than enough to establish that much of what made a human valuable-beyond athletics and potential intelligence-the members of a clone were more or less different. Sometimes very different.

"Cloned?" he said. "You don't know what sort of body he had, or what he went through while he wore it."

Tisza examined his old roommate, and nodded. "I suppose. My savant reminds me of a frog. But he's worth his weight in anything you'd care to name, even if he's not a Charley Gordon." He shrugged. "Did Fedor appoint me your backup? Or did you?"

"Fedor. Conditionally."

"What condition?"

"That I agreed." What the hell good is a conversation like this? Soong thought. He was too old now to play power games.

"If he'd given you your choice, who would you have selected?"

"You. We were always neck and neck. You were always more hair-triggered than I was, and more abrasive when you felt the urge." Or charming if you wanted to be. He wished he had some of Tisza's charm. "But if the Altai gets cooked, or blown apart, and there's no more Charley Gordon and no more Alvaro Soong, this fleet might still have a chance, with you in command."

Tisza nodded slowly, thoughtful now. "I'd thought you might have chosen Carmen. She's had battle experience."

"I probably would have, if you were still at a desk in Kunming." He paused. "Ax, I've got some things to take care of before we generate hyperspace. Is there anything else we need to talk about?"

He'd put just a little emphasis on need.

"No, there isn't." It was Tisza's turn to pause. "Thanks, Spanish. But I do want to say I think Fedor appointed the right fleet admiral when he gave you the job. And it's assuring to know you approved me as your backup. Fedor thinks a lot of you. And while you may not know it, I do too. Always did. Ever since we were plebes."

And with that he disconnected, leaving Soong staring at his screen, wondering if he'd been petty.

Tisza too sat with his eyes on the now-blue screen. Alvaro should have transfered his flag to one of the new battleships, with their two-layered shields, he thought. For the sake of Charley Gordon, if nothing else. But it was late for that. And it might affect morale poorly, to trade the more vulnerable Altai, with its single-layer shield, for one of the better-protected new ships.