Star Fortress ds-6 Page 22

  Soon, Hawthorne spoke earnestly with Blackstone and Mandela. They met in the wardroom, at a low table with bulbs of steaming coffee resting in slot-holders. Mandela had been grumbling and upset, until he did a double-take upon seeing Hawthorne.

  Mandela now sat at the table. He was a tall black man with curly-white hair, large eyes and a badly rumpled uniform. That had always been his trademark: a sloppy dresser but a hard-charger. His Fifth Fleet was the strongest one left to Social Unity.

  “You have to believe me, sir,” Mandela was saying. “The Highborn won’t listen to us. They never have and aren’t going to change their habits now.”

  Hawthorne wore a crisp uniform and during the journey out, he’d regained some of his former presence. His nose might have been longer or maybe his face was thinner than it used to be. It gave him a hawkish look. He had been doing a lot of reading lately and even more thinking.

  “The Highborn listen to strength,” Hawthorne said, who watched Mandela closely. “They are never swayed by sentiment. Appealing to their better nature is useless.”

  “That’s just it, sir,” Mandela said, leaning forward, taking his bulb of coffee and sipping from it. “They can destroy our warships any time they want. I doubt we could destroy any of theirs before we were vaporized. It means we lack bargaining power.”

  Hawthorne took his time answering. He didn’t like the wheedling tone, the obvious fear of the Highborn. Mandela had done his duty two years ago. He’d aged since then and his nerves…

  “You’re looking at it from the wrong perspective,” Hawthorne said.

  Mandela shook his head, and it seemed he might take another sip of coffee. Then he thrust the bulb into the table-slot and spoke without looking up. “Sir, what matters is how the Highborn will view the situation. They control the Doom Stars.”

  Hawthorne glanced sidelong at Blackstone.

  The Commodore stirred uneasily. Maybe he sensed the scrutiny. First clearing his throat, Blackstone said, “The Vice-Admiral has a point.”

  They’re both tired, just as I was tired. They haven’t had a rest and both have served in deep space for too long. He couldn’t sack both flag officers, however. It would hurt morale too much, especially after his strange behavior these past months. The crews might lose faith in him.

  Hawthorne decided his lesson needed a short preamble. “Before I reached flag command and then the supreme office, I was a historian. It’s given me perspective. I have long studied the conquerors of the past, the Great Captains of history. Later, I studied the Highborn. Gentlemen, I have studied them and learned much. One critical thing I’ve discovered is that it’s a mistake to take the arrogance, the loud voices and bullying tactics at face value. The Highborn are cold-bloodedly ruthless and quite able to make lightning-quick calculations despite their bluster.”

  “Meaning what?” asked Mandela, puzzled.

  “They can reason with great objectivity.”

  “I still fail to grasp your point, sir,” Mandela said.

  “If a normal man acted like a Highborn,” Hawthorne said, “we would think him unhinged, unreasonable and prone to rash behavior.”

  “In other words,” Mandela said, “he would be acting like a Highborn.”

  Hawthorne frowned, not liking Mandela’s manner. Did the Vice-Admiral think him powerless? Hawthorne paused in his thoughts, considering the idea. He was alone on the warship, without bodyguards or bionic soldiers. He couldn’t change that at the moment. But after the meeting, he would speak with the security chiefs and reassess their loyalty.

  “Highborn arrogance is a front,” Hawthorne said. “Don’t get me wrong. They are arrogant. But it also hides their razor-sharp rationality. In a sense, they are hyper-rational, which to most men seems like arrogance.”

  “I won’t argue with you about it, sir,” Mandela said. “I suppose it could be as you say.”

  Hawthorne stiffened. No, he didn’t like Mandela’s manner at all.

  “My point is that the minute you appear on the screen,” Mandela said, “they will demand your life. If you defy them, they will probably destroy the weakest of our ships. They might even destroy several.”

  “You are completely wrong,” Hawthorne said.

  Mandela looked up sharply. “I’ve worked with them more closely than either of you two has.”

  Hawthorne stared at the Vice-Admiral.

  “Sir,” Mandela added.

  Blackstone coughed slightly. They both turned to him. “I’m curious, sir,” he told Hawthorne. “Why didn’t you feel that way earlier?”

  “Can you be more specific?” Hawthorne asked.

  “I mean seven months ago after you killed the Grand Admiral,” Blackstone said.

  “Ah,” Hawthorne said. “The answer is simple. At Earth, they could have demanded my head and probably gotten it. There might have been an uproar, but in the end, the chiefs and directors would have realized they needed to work with the Highborn in order to keep mankind alive. The same SU warships would have joined the fleet. Now, however, the Alliance has what we have and that is all we’re going to have in the Neptune System. Despite their bluster, the Highborn need our warships. That is our position of strength. They cannot afford to weaken the Alliance Fleet just because we refuse to meet one of their demands.”

  “What about afterward?” Blackstone asked.

  “Can you be more specific?” Hawthorne asked.

  “If we defeat the cyborgs, what happens next?”

  “The strategy is obvious,” Hawthorne said. “The Alliance Fleet must attack Uranus or Saturn. Since Uranus is presently on the other side of the Sun, I suspect Saturn will be the next target. We must clean out the cyborgs system by system.”

  “Do you think the Saturn-based cyborgs are building up their defenses?” Mandela asked.

  “I’m not worried about that now,” Hawthorne said. “I accept the Highborn assessment that Saturn and Uranus used their strategic strength constructing the various planet-wreckers. The present battle is everything.”

  “Not if we lose everything,” Blackstone said.

  Hawthorne straightened in his chair. “It’s time for me to speak with the Highborn.”

  Mandela shook his head as lines creased his face. “I don’t agree, sir. You will be risking too much by showing yourself to the Highborn. You’re risking humanity, and for what?”

  Steel entered Hawthorne’s voice as he said, “I’m glad you feel free to speak your mind, Vice-Admiral.”

  A look of fear crept over Mandela.

  “No, no,” Hawthorne said. “I mean what I’m saying. There is no hidden barb in my words.”

  Commodore Blackstone was nodding. “I do agree with you, sir. The Vice-Admiral’s reaction shows me he sees the old James Hawthorne. You’ve held the Highborn at bay for more years than anyone would have thought possible. You’ve pulled plenty of surprises out of your hat. If anyone knows the supermen, it’s you. I think it’s time to let them know James Hawthorne is back in the saddle. I think it’s also time to beam the information to Earth.”

  “No,” Hawthorne said. “We’ll keep the information to ourselves for a time.”

  “Why?” asked Blackstone. “It will stop the civil war.”

  “I doubt it will now,” Hawthorne said. “Director Backus has tasted power and so has Cone. Neither will freely give it up. Besides, I don’t want endless communications with Earth as people ask for my advice. Every ounce of my intellect will be devoted to winning the battle at Neptune.”

  Mandela and Blackstone traded glances.

  Hawthorne noticed, and he realized he might have sounded arrogant. It used to happen in his youth, before he learned to hide his superior reasoning abilities.

  He stood, and the two officers stood. “I’ll need your wardroom, Joseph.”

  “Yes, sir,” Blackstone said.

  “Should I head back to my battleship before you make your broadcast?” Mandela asked.

  “No,” Hawthorne said. “I want you to wait
until I’m done.”

  Vice-Admiral Mandela saluted, although the worried look returned. He had been a brilliant commander once. Maybe he had seen or heard something subtle in Hawthorne that caused him to doubt the Supreme Commander.

  “Commodore,” Hawthorne said. “Would you remain behind a moment?”

  “Yes, sir,” Blackstone said.

  Hawthorne needed to make certain Blackstone kept Mandela occupied and away from the hangers. If Mandela was worried about his position, he had a reason to be.

  He would keep the Vice-Admiral here for now. He needed more time to decide if the man still had the stomach for battle.

  * * *

  Hawthorne greeted the Highborn admirals on a split-screen. None of them showed surprise, although Cato’s taciturn stare became increasingly difficult to bear.

  “You live,” Cato said coldly.

  “No thanks to the Grand Admiral,” Hawthorne said. Attempting to dodge the issue would be useless with these soldiers. He would face it head-on.

  “You murdered him,” Cato said.

  “Cassius attacked me as we met alone and I killed him in retaliation,” Hawthorne said. Let them chew on that.

  Cato shook his head with its steel-colored hair. His eyes were like electric pits, sparking with energy. “Your story is false on the face of it.”

  “I’m curious,” Hawthorne said. “Were you there?”

  “Do not seek to query me, preman,” Cato said sternly. “I remember one of the stipulations of your meeting. You both went unarmed. I now see you before me. Therefore, you ambushed the Grand Admiral, murdering him for some nefarious goal.”

  “You’re reasoning is sound except for one flaw,” Hawthorne said. “Your implication is that a preman cannot best a Highborn. The stalemate on Earth proves you’re wrong.”

  “Stalemate?” Scipio asked. “We hold more of the Inner Planets than you do.”

  “As in most things,” Hawthorne said, “the initiative belongs to the one who first attacks. That initiative brings results for a while, as it has done for the Highborn. Now, however—after we’ve taken your measure—the war has stalemated.”

  Cato turned his head, likely regarding his fellow admirals. “The preman deliberately attempts to antagonize us. I take this to mean the murder has puffed-up his sense of importance.”

  “You owe me a debt,” Hawthorne told the admiral. “In truth, you owe me several debts. The first is that I aided the Highborn. I slew the Grand Admiral and therefore proved his weakness, in that sense strengthening your race. Secondly, you have achieved higher rank through Cassius’s death. Therefore, you hold your new position because of my action. I would expect more gratitude from you instead of this flood of surly words.”

  Silently, Cato stared at Hawthorne. Finally, he said, “You obviously feel secure in your battleship.”

  “I am secure,” Hawthorne told him.

  “For now,” Cato said, as a grim smile stretched his lips. “I will remember your words on the day I tear out your heart.”

  “Excellent!” Hawthorne said, as he scanned the three admirals. It caused a stir among them.

  “Why are you speaking to us like this?” Scipio asked.

  “Because I want to know if you understand the strategic need of my fleet,” Hawthorne said.

  “The need is obvious,” Scipio said. “We approach the cyborg concentration of strength and their military power is unknown. Therefore, each additional ship we possess—no matter how weak—could prove critical to us.”

  “True,” Hawthorne said. “But I needed to know if Highborn rage would rob you of that knowledge. To set you at ease, I’ll tell you why Cassius lost. I came to the meeting with a surgically-attached prosthetic finger loaded with projectiles.”

  “Why would you do that except to assassinate the Grand Admiral?” Scipio asked.

  “I did it because I feared him. I would be speaking alone with the Highborn I had thwarted for years. He acted predictably at the meeting and therefore I shot him in self-defense.”

  “You play a dangerous game with us,” Sulla said.

  “No more than you have played with me,” Hawthorne said. He’d been wondering when Sulla would speak up. Did the admiral fear he would give away his part in Cassius’s death? No, Highborn seldom feared, but Sulla might be uneasy.

  “Do not think you can bait me as you have Admiral Cato,” Sulla said, his voice coiled with tension.

  How far can I push them? Hawthorne glanced at each of the Highborn in turn. Only Admiral Scipio appeared calm.

  “The purpose of this verbal exchange is to show you that I refuse to fear your power,” Hawthorne said.

  “You speak mindlessly like an animal,” Sulla said.

  A faint smile spread across Hawthorne’s lips.

  “He mocks us!” Cato said.

  “It is part of his purpose,” Scipio said. “He is driving home the point that we need his ships. He believes that our need gives him immunity, at least temporarily.”

  “The cyborgs have dug-in at the Saturn and Uranus Systems,” Hawthorne said. “They will soon have gone to ground in the Jupiter System. You would be wise to desire SU warships in those coming battles just as you desire them in this one.”

  “As I said,” Scipio replied, “you have temporary immunity from our wrath. Yet I am surprised you are willing to take it so far. I wonder at your underlying motive.”

  “Must we accept his impudence?” Cato asked the others.

  “Yes,” Scipio said, as he watched Hawthorne.

  “For now,” added Sulla.

  “Good,” Hawthorne said. “We’ve cleared the air and can now speak freely. Therefore, it’s time to discuss strategy and tactics. First, who will have overall coordinating authority during the assault?”

  “We have a triad of authority,” Sulla said.

  “I believe he means: who will give him orders,” Scipio said.

  “No,” Hawthorne said. “If each of you is acting independently, then I shall as well.”

  “He basks in his impudence!” Cato cried, striking the armrest of his command chair. “It is insulting. We must teach this preman a lesson.”

  “Call it what you will,” Hawthorne said. “The point is I control five ships and each of you only controls one.”

  “Each of us controls a Doom Star,” Sulla said. “One Doom Star vastly exceeds the power of your five vessels.”

  How true is that? Could five of us at close range destroy a Doom Star? When the time comes, we will have to attack them separately. Hawthorne folded his hands on the desk, and asked, “What is our present strategy?”

  The Highborn traded glances. Finally, Admiral Sulla spoke up.

  “We shall implement a massive deceleration in four days,” Sulla said. “We will crawl into the system, using the superiority of our lasers to outrange the enemy and obliterate local concentrations of strength. That will surely cause the cyborgs to launch their fleet at us. Again, we will outrange and annihilate them. Since the essence of our strategy and fleet is the Doom Stars, your warships will lead the attack. Their primary duty will be to absorb the enemy’s attacks with your particle-shielding. Your secondary duty will be to destroy whatever incoming missiles or ships you can.”

  “An interesting plan with many facets to recommend it,” Hawthorne said. “I agree with the heavy application of your ultra-lasers. The only flaw I detect is your use of the SU ships. Especially with collapsium shielding, the Doom Stars possess the superior defenses. Therefore, they should lead the assault, absorbing the initial punishment with minimal damage.”

  “This is outrageous!” Cato shouted. “We are the Highborn. He will accept our decisions or face punishments!”

  “We can threaten him, of course,” Scipio said, “and we can also destroy his warships. We both know we need the ships to help achieve victory over a superior enemy. Therefore, let us vent our anger against him later.”

  “I do not understand his manner,” Cato said, seething. “He knows
we will make his ending brutal.”

  “I am familiar with their psychology,” Scipio said. “It is clear he hopes the cyborgs will destroy us. Therefore, he does not fear your retaliation. Either that or he is a wonderful actor and hides his fear well.”

  Cato glared at Hawthorne.

  “Listen to me, Supreme Commander,” Sulla said. “You spoke about minimal damage to the Doom Stars. We have four systems of cyborgs to dig out, to use your terminology. Each amount of ‘minimal damage’ received early lessens our odds of victory later. We must protect the critical vessels at the cost of the ineffective ones.”

  “The lessons of history say otherwise,” Hawthorne said.

  “He attempts to speak like Cassius,” Cato said. “I find that another strike of offensiveness against him.”

  Hawthorne raised his eyebrows. This was interesting. “Did the Grand Admiral also employ historical examples?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Sulla said. “We are a triad.” He raised a hand, as if he could stave off Hawthorne’s objections. “To save time, I will grant you a vote. Let us say in this instance that your five warships equal a Doom Star. It isn’t so, but I suspect in your pride that you believe it. Very well. Our three votes outweigh your objections.”

  Hawthorne forced himself to chuckle. It brought a heightened reaction from the Highborn. “I’m afraid a committee fleet doesn’t operate on the principle of votes. It is a matter of persuasion. Remember, I hold the last concentration of SU warships. They are not beholden to you or under your command. They are under my command. You must persuade me to your course. Otherwise, I will do as I deem wisest.”

  “The preman is insufferable,” Cato snarled.

  Sulla’s eyes had narrowed. “I have stomached your vain talk until this moment. Now you will have to contend with me, as I formally announce to you that I will remember your arrogance.”

  “I’m unconcerned with your memory,” Hawthorne said. “I want you to clearly understand how my fleet operates.”

  “You have made your point concerning your independence and our need of your ships,” Scipio said. “To attempt further baiting is both unnecessary and harmful to our unity.”