"There must have been a malfunction in jevex," the Supreme Commander of the Jevlenese task force pleaded, cringing as Broghuilio 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.
jevex's comments came through on audio. "The first wave, moving out from its forming-up area near Luna. Measured acceleration is consistent with the arrival time that the Terrans have indicated."
Broghuilio turned a shade paler. "First wave?" he gasped. "There's more?"
In response the scene changed to show a view looking down on what appeared to be a huge base of some kind, enclosed by a perimeter fence and surrounded by desolate, sandy terrain. Lines of dots along one side expanded rapidly as the view enlarged, and resolved themselves into rows of surface shuttles in the process of being loaded. The area in front of them was packed with lines of tanks, artillery, personnel carriers, and thousands of troops waiting in neat, geometric groupings. "Chinese regular divisions embarking to be ferried up for the second wave now assembling in orbit," jevex announced.
The view changed again to show a similar scene, but this time set among thickly forested hills. "Conventional low-level supersonic bombers and high-altitude interceptors being loaded in Siberia."
And another view. "Missile batteries and antitank laser units embarking in the western U.S.A. There're more coming in from all over. Contingency plans are being drawn up for a third wave."
Perspiration was showing on Broghuilio's face. He closed his eyes, and his lips moved soundlessly as he struggled to remain calm. "Might I suggest, Excellency, that—" Wylott began, but Broghuilio cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand.
"Quiet. I need time to think." Broghuilio brought his hand up to his chin and began tugging at his beard nervously. He clenched his other fist behind his back and paced to the far end of the War Room. Then he turned to face back again. "jevex."
"Excellency?"
"visar must have a link into the Terran communications net through the Thurien facility there. Get me a channel into it through visar. I want to talk to the President of the United States of America, the Soviet Premier, or anybody else in high authority that visar can get hold of. Do it immediately."
"How do you want me to play it?" visar asked in the Government Center at Thurios.
"We can't let the plan bog down," Caldwell said. "Unconditional surrender has to be his only way out. Fix it so that he thinks he's cut off from everybody except Verikoff."
Anxious and impatient, Broghuilio had started pacing again. Then jevex announced, "visar is denying the request. It has been directed to conform to Thurien policy, which is to dissociate itself from Terran-Jevlenese affairs."
Broghuilio's legs almost buckled beneath him. "The Thuriens are transferring those warships here to wipe us out!" he shouted. "What kind of dissociation policy is that? Tell visar I insist."
"visar has instructed me to advise you, with respect, Excellency, to go to hell."
Broghuilio was too numbed with shock to react violently. "Then tell visar to connect me to Calazar again," he choked.
"visar refuses."
"Then connect visar through to me."
"visar has severed all connections. I am unable to obtain further responses."
Broghuilio had begun trembling with a mixture of rage and fear. He spun his head wildly from side to side, his eyes white and staring. "Verikoff is your only choice," Wylott said. "You have to accept the ultimatum."
"
Never!
" Broghuilio shouted. "I'll never surrender my force intact. We still have two days. We can evacuate the entire officer corps, our scientists, our best engineers, and consolidate at Uttan. We will make our stand there. Uttan has permanent defenses that the Terrans will find themselves hard put to match. They will still have some surprises in store for them if they try to follow us there." He looked at Wylott. "Work out a schedule with jevex to evacuate the maximum of value from Jevlen in two days. Begin at once. Ignore all other tasks."
"I think we ought to try the switch," Hunt said, watching. "They're just about ready."
"Are you really going to try that?" Shilohin asked from the
Shapieron.
She sounded skeptical. "It's too illogical, surely."
"What do you think, Chris?" Caldwell asked, glancing over his shoulder.
"They have been conditioned to accept contradictions now," Danchekker said. "At this moment there is a good chance that they will be incapable of thinking sufficiently clearly to question it."
"And they are close to panic," Sobroskin observed from beside Hunt. "Panic and logic are impossible companions."
"I'm still not sure I understand this phenomenon you call panic," Eesyan said from the
Shapieron.
"Let's see if we can show you," Caldwell said, and gave an instruction to visar.
"Pardon, Excellency," jevex queried. "But your figure of two days appears irrelevant."
"What?" Broghuilio stopped dead in his tracks. "What do you mean, irrelevant?"
"I don't understand why you have specified two days," jevex answered.
Broghuilio shook his head, nonplussed. "It's obvious, isn't it? The Terran attack will begin two days from now, will it not?"
"I don't follow, Excellency."
Broghuilio sent a puzzled frown around the room. His aides stared back at him equally bemused. "The attack is due in two days, is it not?" he said again.
"There has been no postponement, Excellency. The attack is still expected today, twelve hours from now."
Nothing happened for a few seconds.
Then Broghuilio brought his hand up to his face and beat it slowly and deliberately several times against his brow. "jevex," he said. His voice was quiet as his effort to control himself overcompensated. "You have just told us that the first wave is only now in the process of leaving Earth."