“Enemy fleet discovered! Point twelve light seconds away. Direction one-oh-five, oh-one-oh. Relative velocity: two hundred seventeen Wesdarj per second. About twenty ships total.”
Concentrating on his Frokaj, Cufadiss sensed the planet Clasbul. A group of Resii from the Jadbyr Usem Futune loomed on its perimeter.
The enemy ship group was behind the Futune, apparently heading for Sord Sufagnaum.
“Enemy ship model comparison complete. Looks like twelve large Isath, one Resii, and six Gel,” described the gunnery staff officer (Kasalia Torashot). “The probability of victory is, in my opinion, ninety-eight point seven percent.”
“Perhaps we should advise them to surrender?” sought Cufadiss.
“Not necessary,” said Lesheik Roifrode Spoor. “If they were going to throw in the towel, they would have done it already. Instead, prepare for Dadjocs. Get everyone into close formation number five.”
Saluting, Cufadiss did as he was told.
The enemy ships did not deviate from their course, but continued cruising toward the Sord.
“Incoming signal from the enemy, Lesheik,” said the Kasalia Drokia. “Holograph message with a twenty-three second time lag.”
“Let’s see it.”
The image appeared on the Gahorl Grawl.
Surprisingly, the man who appeared in the holograph was Abh! He was filthy, and he wore no Alpha, but the Frosh, blue hair, and unearthly good looks were unmistakable.
“I didn’t know you were the Lesheik, Niif Letopan.” He smiled weakly. “What a coincidence.”
“It’s been a long time, Loebe Sufagnaum,” Spoor hailed him. “I didn’t expect to see your face coming at us from the enemy ship. What’s happened?”
“I’m a prisoner of war. They threatened to kill my children in front of my eyes unless I give you a message.”
“Very well.” Spoor’s face hardened. “Let’s hear it.”
“There are twenty-one Abh on this fleet: my family, my Gosuk, and the Lodairl from the Byr Drokeil. If you value our lives, please hold off your attack, and let this fleet pass safely through Fath.”
Spoor shook her head. “Even if we agreed to that, what would become of you?”
“We’d probably be sent to a concentration camp, Niif.” He grew quieter. “They must know the battle odds, to even think about trying something like this.”
“Fascinating.”
“Yes.” The marquis nodded. “Niif Letopan, this is goodbye. I trust you’ll do your duty. Take care.”
“You too, Loebe.”
The hologram blipped away.
Spoor chewed on the joint of her little finger. Finally, she rose from her lavish seat and asked the Kasalia Drokia to prepare to send a voice-only message. The communications officer told her to dictate whenever she was ready.
“Greetings, this is Jadbyr Usem Futune’s Lesheik, Roifrode Spoor,” she began. “The Labule is generous; I’m giving you one more chance to surrender. You have until a relative distance of point zero eight light seconds.
“It goes without saying that you are not to harm any of our citizens. If you make a foolish decision, we will be generous enough to let you die alongside Abh nobility. We will disintegrate each of your bodies into elementary particles that will spend an eternity swirling through the vacuum of space.”
The speech caused quite a commotion on the Gahorl. “Go ahead and send it to all the ships under their command. Broadcast it to the whole universe, if you must.” “Roger.”
“They’ve been warned. If they don’t surrender before we reach a relative distance of point eight light seconds…” she paused dramatically, “… attack. From that point on, accept no Aga Leigakot; destroy them completely. Even if they’re Weiko. And if anyone questions this action, I’ll take full responsibility.”
“But, Commander,” Cufadiss began, walking to the command seat.
“Yes, Aim Kasalia?” Spoor shot back. “It would bring great shame to the Labule and the Frybar to kill an enemy who attempted to surrender.”
Roifrode Spoor’s reddish eyes glowed with a particularly burning intensity.
Resolute, Cufadiss wouldn’t back down. “I know it’s not my place to say so, but there would forever be a stain on the Ajh of Gatharss.”
This seemed to strike a chord with Spoor, who sat somewhat dejectedly on the Lesheikibash, mulling it over.
After a moment, she looked up at Cufadiss, smiling dubiously. “You’re right, Aim Kasalia. We must accept surrender, at any time.”
“Thank you for listening to reason, Lonyu,” said Cufadiss earnestly.
“Remember, though, that it’s up to me how we transport any captives.”
“Right.” So what? he added mentally. “How many are aboard the enemy ships?” “In twelve large Isath? Probably twenty-five thousand, if they’re full.”
“All captives will be transported in one Talth-class Isath.”
“But, Commander…”
A Talth-class Isath was one of the smaller models of transport ship used in the reconnaissance half fleet. Sometimes used as a troop transport ship (Reivath), its capacity was just fifteen hundred people. Sometimes, when they filled every room, even the cold storage rooms, with people, they could cram ten thousand in there. Cufadiss thought they might have to fold a few people in half to get twenty-five thousand in there.
“Do some math for me. How long would it take to transport twenty-five thousand people on a Talth-class Isath through Dath to the Arosh Lakfakalle? Don’t worry about factoring in deceleration — it’s okay if it uses up all the fuel on acceleration, which should be set at two Daemon.”
“Not through Fath?” Cufadiss clarified.
“Right. Crunch those numbers.”
He began the complex calculations: factoring in the acceleration and final velocity, the rotational velocity of the galaxy, the distance to the Arosh, and other such factors.
“Distance from the enemy: point one light seconds,” somebody announced.
“Fifty-eight thousand, three hundred years …”
“Yes,” Spoor said, “they won’t like that at all, will they? Okay, let’s shorten the time. Take away the Flasatia and the Roilaga. We won’t put any Souk on board, and we’ll leave off the Wameria. That’s got to lighten the load some.”
She looked over his shoulder. “Hmm. Still heavy. Did you include food and water in the calculation?”
“One year’s worth, plus the minimum possible water and agricultural facilities to sustain — “
“They don’t need agricultural facilities. Go ahead and drop those.”
“So, just provisional food and drinking water. Should I also cut out the atmosphere purification equipment?”
“We don’t want them to die, you savage! What does it come out to now?”
He punched the new numbers into his complex formulas.
“Forty-nine thousand one hundred years.”
“How about that! We shaved off almost ten thousand years!”
“Yes, but…”
“Kasalia Drokia!” Spoor pointed him out with her Greu. “Tell all ships: we will respect the enemy’s surrender whenever it comes. Additionally, those who surrender after the battle starts will be transported according to my designs. Please inform our opponents what that means.”
“Please, Lonyu.”
“Shut up, Aim Kasalia.” And that was that. “My mind is made up. Further outbursts will be held against you.”
“Loj Labyrna…” began Cufadiss.
“Oh ho!” Spoor laughed. “My favorite Traiga!”
Cufadiss fell silent.
“Distance from the enemy: point zero nine light seconds.”
Switching his focus to his Frokaj, Cufadiss pitied the enemy ships. Suddenly, though, the enemy ships stopped accelerating; only the Futune’s ships advanced.
“Aga Leigakot,” clarified the Kasalia Drokia, sounding slightly relieved. “They’re requesting civil treatment.”
“Of course,” Spoor sounded annoyed. “When have I ever been uncivil?”
If that was her idea of civility, I don’t want to get on her bad side, reasoned Cufadiss.
“Set their minds at ease. We’ll send them through Fath, at a reasonable speed. If they play nicely, they’ll probably even see the soil of their homeworlds again.”
“Good. I’ll let them know,” said the communications staff officer. He began clacking away at his Kuro.
She directed Cufadiss to coordinate the inspection of enemy ships and the transfer of personnel.
“Good. Now you understand why I had to be so strict, right?” She waited for him to nod. “Good. But I don’t like being interrupted — especially while giving orders.”