The Sea is Full of Stars

Ochoan Embassy, Three Days Later

“There is your answer,” core told them, pointing to the computer screen. The Baron and Nakitti stared at it and their jaws opened almost in unison in surprise. They had been unnerved that the creature had learned their language well enough to be understood in about a day and a half, while working on the problem.

The screen showed a photograph of a huge creature, sleek, glossy black, with a proboscis and two enormous, padded forward eyes on a small, rounded head that receded to form a near perfect triangular shape.

“What in all the Hells is that?” the Baron asked him.

“It is called a zi’iaphod. It is a native of a hex called Hovath, and is not sentient in the sense of being a dominant race. It is, in fact, domesticated. The nontech hex uses them to fly people and freight all over. You cannot get scale here, but one could certainly place a four hundred kilogram supply container on them plus, oh, fifteen or twenty armed creatures the size of the Baron here with full packs. That is a very light but incredibly tough exoskeleton; my data suggests that while cannons would get them in direct hits, gunpowder-based rifle and machine-gun fire would mostly bounce off it. The eyes are a weak spot, as is the center of the proboscis, and a very small spot in the rear, but the likelihood of hitting those before the creatures were down and their passengers and cargo disgorged is slim, and they certainly have some kind of armor rigged to make that even harder. The zi’iaphods’ range is close to two hundred kilometers if the winds are right, and that would certainly be sufficient to carry them from ships’ decks to the Ochoan center. Indications are that the Chalidangers have essentially rented them and their drivers for the duration and much promised wealth to come, and that they have or will soon have—let me see—close to two hundred aboard specially adapted ships. They will eat most anything, so provisions for four or five days is not nearly as much a problem as simply transporting them.”

“They’ve got those things? And they can transport a couple of thousand soldiers with added supplies?” The Baron was aghast.

“I believe it is at least that,” Core agreed. “I also believe they know that some will be killed and in fact are counting on it. They win either way. Once dead, they have a tendency to sort of crack open. Pressure internally, perhaps. The fragments of exoskeleton will make excellent armor for temporary fortifications, and if the invaders are Quacksans and Jerminians, as seems likely, the insides of one of these alone could feed a thousand for a few days. They are almost the perfect aerial assault device for this sort of operation.”

“It sounds like you’re saying they’re an invention, not a creature,” Nakitti noted.

“They basically are. They were bred for this sort of thing, and variations are bred for all sorts of other things in their home hex. What they were like originally, only a study of fossil DNA of their ancestors would give us a clue. Still, there it is. Thousands of airborne troops dropping around and near the Zone Gate. Those that are not killed take off and bring in more. The first waves will be experienced and fanatical specialists, the very best soldiers they have. Wager on the second wave to land in other areas and on other islands, generally above your forts. They will secure your food and force you to attack them or keep you from sending reinforcements to the center. If you pull back, they will attack from above and the coastal ships will come in. This is very efficient, and these are commanders who do not care how many they lose if they attain an objective. And they are not above accepting a surrender and then eating the prisoners.”

“By all the gods! What can we possibly do against such creatures?” the Baron wailed, his despair all too evident.

“We wipe them out, of course,” Core replied. “The advantage of knowing their entire plan cannot be overstated. I am not saying that you will not take heavy losses, but I can assure you that you can break and wipe out this center force. If you do, the mountaintop forces will be militarily irrelevant and can be mopped up if they do not withdraw at will. Without the center, he has no siege. Without the land-based force pinning you down, he runs out of supplies for his ships, food for all those logistical and support personnel and the rest of the invading army, most of which will be land-based creatures. Then your position will put you in control. They will withdraw. One defeat of this force and it will galvanize others here who so far refuse any real aid or cooperation. The same ones who would embrace Chalidang as inevitable winners will tell you that they were really on your side all along.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Nakitti commented. “What’s the plan?”

“Come. I will describe it to you in detail. Then you will take it to your people. In the meantime, keep getting all the ammunition, guns, anything you can from here. See if you can get hold of some ultra-high-pressure gas canisters and possibly some good rockets. There is also a useful weapon involving jellied petroleum. I will give you the specifications and sources. Remember, you are still fighting in your homeland. They, on the other hand, have a very long supply line and cannot easily nor quickly replace what they lose. It is a gamble on their part that Ochoa will be ill-prepared, ill-equipped, ill-led, and will be totally surprised.”

Nakitti sighed. “Well, two out of three…”

Both the Baron and Nakitti stayed on an extra day and a half getting things set up. If Core was looking for redemption, which Nakitti doubted, it certainly was doing some good things so far. The plans, the assessments, were brilliant.

If, of course, the Baron and his concubine were correct that Ochoa was the target. If not, the Baron’s future was very bleak indeed in the social hierarchy he was bucking, which Nakitti knew would mean that her own future would be even less comfortable than his.

With the support of the High Commissioner, and with some carefully applied paranoia to both the King and the Premier, the Baron was getting his way and his budget, but his neck was all the way out.

The last day of the conference, however, helped him considerably. The Cromlin ambassador rose to speak in the concurrent session that was maintained for the water breathers. They watched from the embassy on the video feeds as a creature that looked like a nasty cross between a clawed lobster and a giant scorpion faced the delegations and the cameras and launched into a more than two-hour diatribe of viciousness, hatred, and arrogance against the conference and all who took it seriously.

“One true incarnate god, one true family!” it concluded, giving the slogan of what it had called the “Movement to Restore the World.”

“This has been ordained from the start, that the children of this world would return from the stars to reassume their legacy and lead all who would have the intelligence and devotion to recognize truth and power to cleanse this world of its parasites and establish a new order, first throughout the world, then back to the stars, this time as the associates of the gods themselves! You are the weak, the decadent, who have forgotten how to struggle, have forgotten the glories of power that is taken, not accepted. Soon you will see the length of our claws and know that only by joining with us shall you attain eternal glory!”

“Lays it on thick, doesn’t he?” the Baron commented, unmoved.

“Well, he’s a half brother,” Nakitti noted. “You won’t find him in the first wave showing us the length of his claws.”

A buzzer sounded on a device in the main office, then began to print out a series of pages, very fast, written in the commercial language of the Well World. When it stopped, the Baron beat the clerk to it, read it, and seemed to gain strength and stature. “Ha!” he cried. “The idiots have saved me!” He rushed back into the quarters and wrapped his wings around Nakitti, then stepped back, almost dancing. She’d never seen him like this.

“What is it, Highness?” she pressed.

He pulled the papers from his belt and waved them in his right claw. “This message. It’s from our friend, there, the Cromlin ‘policy adviser,’ as he calls himself. He has given us seven days to join his glorious alliance or he will order the total genocide of the Ochoan race.”

She was appalled. In spite of the fact that she’d predicted it, to have the evidence right there made her sad and nervous. It meant war. “And this brings you joy?”

“Of course!” he responded, carefully putting the papers back. “I go immediately to the Council and to His Majesty with this. We’ve been getting our way, but grudgingly, up until now. This—This is absolute confirmation. The gall of this—this—creature! With this it is I who will be able to replace the worst of them, and it is I who will ensure that a lot of corrupt and stupid cousins are in the front lines when the invasion comes! This is not bad news! This is salvation!”