Michael McCollum - Antares 03 - Antares victory

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ANTARES VICTORY
(A Novel)
By
Michael McCollum
Copyright
ISBN 1-929381-09-3
?2002 by Michael McCollum
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United
States of America by Sci Fi - Arizona, a virtual science fiction bookstore, and writer’s workshop located on
the INTERNET at www.scifi-az.com.
Michael McCollum
Proprietor
Sci Fi - Arizona
1931 East Libra Drive
Suite 101
Tempe, AZ 85283
mccollum@scifi-az.com
Table of Contents
ANTARES AND SPICA FOLDSPACE CLUSTERS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
AUTHOR’S BIOGRAPHY
Antares and Spica Foldspace Clusters
Chapter 1
Admiral (First Rank) Richard Arthur Drake lay strapped in his acceleration couch aboard the orbit-to-orbit
shuttle and gazed at the glowing apparition that covered half the ebon sky before him. Here in the Napier
system, the Antares Nebula was a hundred times larger than it was in the night skies of home.
The nebula was a lustrous ball of gas and dust as beautiful as it was deadly. Its intricate network of
swirls was a gossamer spider web suspended inside the shell of a shimmering cosmic egg. Save for its
seemingly solid central core, the nebula’s delicate filaments were nearly transparent until they approached its
outer shell, where they again took on the hue of a fluorescent glow tube. The apparition was a reminder of the
enormous cruel joke that God… or Mother Nature, or Saint Murphy, or someone… had played on Drake, his
wife, humanity, and yes, even the Ryall.
Six years earlier, Antares had been the brightest star decorating the night sky of Drake’s home planet,
Alta. The baleful red spothad dominated the winter firmamentever since colonists first set foot
ontheblue-whiteworld that wasin many waysa virtualtwinto Mother Earth. For four hundred and thirty winters,
Antares had been the real-life version of the red stars with which Altan children decorated theirfala bushes at
Christmastime, an ochre beacon hoveringlow over the Colgate Mountain Rangeeach eveningafter
sunset. Then, at 17:30 hours on the night of Aquarius 16, 2637, the ruby starhad undergone a breathtaking
transformation. In a matter of minutes, the dying emberblossomedPhoenix-liketo become the brighteststar in
the galaxy.
To those who observed the newborn electric sparkhigh above the city of Homeport, there was no
mystery as to what hadhappened. The cause of the transformationwas obvious.
Antares had been well into its dotage long before human beings discovered startravel. For thousands of
years, the red supergiantstarhadprofligately consumedhydrogen, heedless of the day when that fuel must
inevitably run out. That day came in 2512(standard calendar). Withnothing left to burn, the fusion reaction
thathad longpoweredAntares’ inner engineflickered,anddied. With no internally generated heat to oppose the
pull of gravity, the core of the red giantcollapsed. Gigatons of star stuff gaveupitsenergy of position as it slid
down the gravity well, causing the surrounding temperature tojumpmore than a billion degreesin an
instant. The release of so much energy in so short a timetriggerednewfusion, whichgenerated yet
moreenergy. Therunaway reactioncould not be contained.
Antaresexploded intothe largestsupernovaever observed by human beings.
The universe is a very large place, especially when measured in terms of the veritable crawlthatis
lightspeed. The distance between Antares and Alta was such that it tookthenovawavefront125 years to cross
the gulf of space betweenthem. When thefirst photonsfrom the explosionfinally reached the colony world, they
burst forthin a phenomenonthatquickly became known as Antares dawnlight. However, as impressive as the
giant star’s funeral pyrewasduring those first few weeks,in one important respect,its appearancehad been
anticlimactic.
Scientists have long known that thecataclysmic flashthat marksasupernovais merely a minor side
effectofwhat isreally taking place. In addition to outshining allother starsin the galaxy, a supernova produces a
titanic storm of particles across the subatomic spectrum. Whiletheseandmanyothereffects are of interest only
to astronomers,Antares’ death had carried with itone consequencethat affected thelivesof everyoneon Alta . In
addition to vaporizing everything around it – including the hapless ships and crewsthen in transit across the
Antares system – thesupernovadisruptedstar travel throughout the region,cuttingAltaofffrom therest of human
space.
The invisiblepathways between the starsa re the result of longlines of folded space that emanate from
the gigantic black hole that inhabits the central core of the Milky Way Galaxy – and indeed, all spiral
galaxies. These “foldlines” weave intricate webs of folded space as they sweep outward along the spiral arms,
intersecting some stars while bypassing others. Where a foldline intersects a star, itis oftenfocused by the
star’s gravity well to produce a “weak spot” in the vacuum of space. Such weak spots are called “foldpoints,”
and within their planet-sized volumes, it is possible to produce a hole in space-time. A ship that positions
itself within a foldpoint and thengenerates aprecisely formedenergyfield will effectively drop out of the universe
and be flung instantly along the foldline to the next weak point, where it returns tonormal space without having
traversed the intervening distance.
For half a thousand years, humanity’s ships had used foldlinesto circumvent Einstein’s universal speed
limit. Foldlines were the superhighways to the stars, with most stars possessing at least twofoldpoints, and
sometimes as many as four. Antares, in the days before its fiery death,had been the champion foldpoint
producer in human space. It possessed six of the gateways, making itthe major interstellar transportation
hubin the sector that boreitsname.
Valeria, Alta’s star, possessed but a single foldpoint,a deficiency that made the Val System an
interstellar cul-de-sac. Of necessity, alltraffic to and from Valeria passedthrough the Napier System, from
which Altawasf irst colonized. That, at least, had been the situation before the AntaresS upernova. The titanic
explosion haddisrupted the foldline running through the Valsystem, causing Alta’s single foldpoint to vanish
without a trace.
The loss of its sole gateway to the stars had plunged the Altan colony into a century of isolation. Nor
had the Altan scientists any expectation that the sudden blossoming of the supernova in their skytwelve
decadeslater would change the situation. In this, theyproved less than prescient.
For when Valeria finally pricked the surface of the supernova’s expanding bubble of radiation,the
geometry offoldspace underwent adramatic transformation. Having passed beyond the Val system, the
supernova shockwave no longerintersected the foldline running between the two stars, allowing Alta’s
foldpointto formonce again highabovethe system’s yellow dwarf primary.The fact that Valeria was
oncemoreconnected to therest of human space might have gone unnoticed for several years had it not been
foran anomalous eventa few weeks after Antares flashed violet-white in Alta’s sky. While studying the newly
revealed supernova,anorbitingtelescope picked up amysterious ship materializingin the vicinity of the
system’s long-lost foldpoint. Asastronomers watched openmouthed with amazement,the unidentified
shipturned towarddeepspace and began thrusting as though the legions of hell were chasing it.
Drakehad been a captain in the Altan Space Navy at the time. He had commandedASNS Discovery ,
one of the three old interstellar cruisers thatwerest randed in the system when Antares exploded. Shortly
after the appearance of the mysterious ship,the Admiralty orderedDrake to intercept the interloper at
maximum boost.
The chase was a difficult one conducted at high gravs the entire way. When they finallyoverhauled the
intruder, they found a ghost ship. TSNS Conqueror, one of the terrestrial space navy’s mightiest
dreadnoughts,proved to be nothing more than an animated hulkmanned by a dead crew, with no indication of
what or who had killed them.
The discovery left the Altan government with a problem. On the one hand, the arrival ofConqueror
announced that the way to the stars was once again open. On the other, its condition was mute testimony to
dangerouscircumstances somewhere beyond their local sky. IfConqueror could have destroyed the whole of
the Altan Space Navy with little or no effort, yet had itself been battered to scrap metal by some unknown
enemy, what of those who had destroyed it? Were they Alta’s friends or were they its foes?
Having asked the question, the government decided to send Richard Drake to find the answer…
“Task Force coming into view, Admiral,” the pilot of the shuttle said from beside Drake.
Drake shook off the reverie into which he had fallen. It was a nasty habit of his whenever he
contemplated the Antares Nebula, brought on undoubtedly by the fact that his own life had been inextricably
linked to the nebula ever since it blazed bright in Alta’s night sky.
Alta was far away at the moment, as was his pregnant wife. He missed Bethany already, not that he’d
had more than a few months to be with her these past three years. Building the largest invasion fleet in the
history of interstellar war had monopolized his attention, giving him the opportunity for only a few brief visits
home, and one glorious vacation that had lasted an entire week. Still, Bethany had usually been within comm
range, and the two of them had spent many enjoyable hours talking face to face via comm screen into the
wee hours. Now more than a hundred light years of vacuum separated them, a distance that could only grow
as humankind launched its maximum effort to defeat an implacable alien foe.
#
Drake pulled himself aboard the Terrestrial BlastshipVictory . In the suiting cubicle just inside the main
ship lock, he found a Marine honor guard and a young man in the uniform of a commander in the Royal
Sandarian Navy. Victorywas in microgravityto ease the arrival of landing craft from the other ships in the
fleet. The Marines stood rigidly at attention with their boots locked into the floor grid to keep them from
floating away. The commander floated free, steadying himself with a guideline.
Drake paused just inside the inner airlock door as martial music emanated from the
ship’sbulkhead-mounted speakers . It was some tune that he had heard on Earth, but one that he could not
name. The unfamiliar musical style indicated that the march must have been written after Altawas cut off from
human space.
When the music ended, the saluting Marines all snapped their right hands down in unison. Drakepulled
himself along the guideline. He pulled towardthe officer , whom he recognized.
“Admiral Drake, it’s good to see you,” Phillip Walkirk exclaimed, extending his right hand while keeping
hold of the guideline with his left.
“Your Highness, good to see you again,” Drake replied as he grasped Walkirk’s hand. “I see you have
come up in the world. I rememberwhenyou were a lowly ensign.”
Walkirk smiled. “It could be that I have connections at court.”
That, Drake knew, was an understatement. Four years earlier, Philliphad been assigned aboard
Discovery as an exchange officer. Drake had objected to the assignment when hefirst heard about it, not that
he had anything personal against the young officer. The problem was that Phillipwas not just any member of
the Sandarian Navy. His father was John-Phillip Walkirk VI, hereditary king and ruler of Sandar, and Phillip
would one day follow him on the throne. The thought that the heir-apparent might be injured, or even killed,
while serving aboard an Altan cruiser hadbeen enough to give Drakeinsomnia.
Walkirkhad served well while aboardDiscovery , and had even led the Marine boarding party that
captured the Ryall freighterSpace Swimmer in what proved to be a pivotal action for the human war effort. He
had accompaniedDiscovery to Earth, where events had unfolded that led inevitably to this gathering of the
fleet.Phillip, he noted, had filled out in the last few years. He still had the jet-black hair, intense eyes, and the
prominent nose that marked the Walkirk clan. His shoulders were broader than they had been and his voice
lacked the youthful tremor that sometimes crept in when he was excited. His eyes had gained a few wrinkles
at their corners, as well; but then, whose had not?
Drake was significantly grayer than he had been when the two of them first met and he had to work
harder than ever at keeping his paunch under control. His green eyes tended to squint more, the result of
countless hours spent in front of a computer screen working out the myriad details required for the impending
invasion of Ryall space. He had not been alone in that task. Thousands of specialists across human space
had worked out the plan on which they were about to bet the human race. Drake had a proprietary
interest. The whole thing had originally been his idea.
At 41, he was getting to be an “old man” for a spacer, and the fact that he had been forced to leave his
expectant wife a mere month before the birth of their first son had done nothing to improve his mood.
“How many are onboard?”
“Everyone, Admiral. You are the last to arrive. I am here to guide you to the briefing.”
“Then guide away.”
The young prince reversed his position and pulled himself along the guideline toward the hatch leading
out of the hangar bay. Drake followed him. Soon the two of them were gliding through the corridors and
passageways of the big terrestrial blastship. Unlike Drake’s original command, which was a ring and cylinder
design,Victory was an oversize cylinder, the better to utilize interior volume while retaining the ability to spin
the ship for artificial gravity. It was an outrigger design, with many of its weapons and instruments in twin
pods held stationary while the central body rotated, not unlike Drake’s new flagship,Conqueror II . As he
trailed Phillip through endless corridors and passageways, he wondered how the prince could have
memorized the route in the short time he had been onboard.
Around them, serious-faced men and women moved with hurried purpose. If they recognized the insignia
on the two colonial officers’ shoulders, they made no sign. Besides, spacers maneuvering in micro gravity
had need of both hands for locomotion and none left over for saluting.
After it seemed they had traversed the entire length of the big ship, Phillip guided him to a large
compartment in which three hundred naval officers were crammed into every available cubic meter, placing a
heavy strain on the blastship’s environmental system. These were the captains and executive officers of the
ships that had gathered in the Napier system in preparation for entering the Antares nebula. They did not,
however, represent the whole of the invasion fleet, or even a majority of it. Task Force Spica would consist of
eight major components, of which only two were representedaboardVictory . The fleets that made up the rest
of the invasionforce were assembling in half a dozen star systems across human space. They would
rendezvous with the Altan and Sandarian fleets, and the sizeable Terrestrial Space Navy contingentthat had
been assigned to augment them, once allwereinside the nebula.
Most of those present had strapped themselves into seats bolted to the curved deck, while several
clumps of officers floated free to consult with one another. As Drake entered, acceleration alarms began to
hoot and a disembodied voice announced the imminent return of spin gravity. Drake quickly used the
“overhead” handholds to move to his position at the table that had been set up at the front of the
compartment.
There he joined Grand Admiral Georges Terence Belton, who was already strapped into his seat. The
admiral was reviewing his notes. AtDrake’s approach, he looked up and nodded gravely.
“Welcome,Drake. How was the trip from Alta?”
“Hurried, sir. I wish the lizards had given us another month to prepare.”
“Hell, why not ask for another year?”
“No sense tempting the fates, sir. A month would have been sufficient.”
Belton rubbed his chin, and then nodded. “You might be right. I know I would have been more prepared
for this coming fight. Still, while we are wishing, we might want to ask for another hundred orbital fortresses.”
“Just get us the ones we already have in time to do some good, sir.”
G.T. Belton was in overall command of the Spica Operation, andDrake’s boss, even though he would not
be going within a hundred light years of the fleet’s objective. Belton had done a brilliant job in bringing a billion
disparate elements together to mount the invasion. However, like General Groves of the fabled Manhattan
Project, Belton’s skills were that of an organizer more than a warrior. Now that the time had come to put his
planning into practice, he would continue in overall command – as much as a sop to the politicians of Earth
as for military necessity – but a younger, more vigorous commander would take over direct operational
responsibility for the invasion.
After a lengthy debate in which several of the better-known candidates had counterbalanced one another
out of the job, a little-known colonial officerhad been chosen for operational command of humanity's invasion
fleet. That officer wasRichard Drake, of the Altan Space Navy.
“Ready to give the lizards a swift kick in the tail?” Belton asked as he buckled in.
“Yes, sir,”Drakereplied. “And thank you for the trust you have shown in supporting me for this
command.”
“You may want to hold your appreciations until you have a few engagements under your belt. Being at
the sharp end of the spear can be a thankless job, especially when you have to deal with REMFs.”
“REMFs, sir?”
“Old terrestrial navy expression,Drake. Its roots are obscene. It refers to the assholes back at basewho
won’t give the man in combat what he needs unless he asks in triplicate. You can rest assured, by the way,
that so long as I am on the job, there will be a minimum of that sort of bullshit.”
“I know that, sir. I also know how many senior officers were passed over for this assignment,and how
much your opinion counted in the decision.”
Belton lowered his voice until onlyDrakecould hear him against the background noise. “Then you also
know, Admiral, that there will be a thousand pairs of eyes watching your every move, waiting for you to screw
up.” “Yes, sir.”
“Are you interested to know what tilted the decision in your favor?”
“If you would care to tell me, sir.”
“Because this invasion was your doing,Drake. You Altans arrived on Earth with a map of enemy
foldspace, something no one else had managed to obtain in more than a century of war. Yet, even though
you presented us with the key to victory on a silver platter, not one of us saw the implications until you forced
us to see them. That shows an independence of thought that will be sorely needed in the coming campaign.”
Belton spoke standard with an odd, but understandable, accent. He was a native of the legendary city
of Rome, a fabled place that Altan children studied in school, but one that no Altan (toDrake’s knowledge)
had ever seen with his own eyes. Their first brief visit to Earth had been too hectic to visit the Eternal City,
and his two trips sincewere consumed with planning for the invasion.
“I still appreciate the chance you are giving me, Admiral. I won’t let you down.”
“Appreciation noted,” Belton said gruffly before raising his voice to his normal subdued bellow. It was a
voice that projected an image at odds with Belton’s short stature and thinning hair. “Now then, AdmiralDrake,
are you ready to get on with the war?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let us give the engineers five minutes to put some spin on this old bucket and then we start the
briefing. I will keep my remarks short to give you more time for your spiel.”
“That will be fine, sir.”
WhileDrakeled the bulk of humanity’s offensive fleet into the heart of enemy space,Grand Admiral Belton
would establish the bases and infrastructure needed to keep the fleet supplied. As Bethany,Drake’s historian
wife,had remarked when he told her of his appointment to operational command, Belton was to be General
George C. Marshall toDrake’s George Patton. Richardknew who General Patton had been, of course. One of
the ships in the fleet was namedPatton .
He had never heard of George C. Marshall. #
“Officers of the Allied Forces of Humanity, welcome!” Admiral Belton roared when a few tenths-gee
returned to the ship. As he spoke, the terrestrial admiral let his gaze sweep over his audience. His listeners
worethe black-and-silveruniforms of the terrestrial navy, the ornate black-and-green of the Sandarians, the
subdued, slightly quaint uniforms worn by the Altans, and a dozen more.
“You have all been briefed extensively as to your jobs during the coming mission, so I won’t bore you by
being repetitive. Rather, AdmiralDrakeand I have invited you here today because this will be our last chance
to gather in person. We will not likely find ourselves within a few million kilometers of one another again any
time soon. Indeed, even if things go as well as we have planned them, many of us will not be returning to
human space for several years… and let us be honest, some of us will not be coming back at all. That is the
way of war, a necessity we warriors accept as the price of service to our race.
“Events will move very quickly once we enter the nebula and there will be little time for consultation.
Therefore, it is important that every fleet and subfleet commander, every ship captain, every first officer, every
ordinary spacer, understand our grand strategy. So, let me give it to you without the usual diplomatic
niceties.
“We will attack without warning, we will strike hard and swiftly, we will close with our enemy at every
opportunity, we will pummel them without pause and respite. If we are audacious, we will have the advantage
of surprise. Indeed, wemust have it, for without surprise, we will lose the coming campaign. You have all seen
the roster of ships taking part in this operation and must know what it has cost us to assemble this many
combat units so far from home. If we lose, the human race will be on the defensive for years to come while
our worlds rebuild what we will have lost.
“The stakes are high, ladies and gentleman, but the prize is worth it. After too many decades of fighting
holding actions, we are striking into the very heart of our enemies’ domain. There we will be outnumbered and
outgunned. We can give no quarter in the coming action, nor can we seek any. Our foes are xenophobes who
oppose the very idea that we exist. They cannot help it. The impulse is baked into their very genes. For that
reason, we cannot give them a break. If this is to be a war of extinction, it is our job to see that the other side
does most of the dying.
“As we go into danger, I would leave you with the following thought: We are not deploying this fleet
merely to gain a narrow tactical edge. We do not seek a long-term strategic advantage. This time our goal is
nothing less than total victory.”
The admiral paused a few seconds to give his words time to sink in. He was gratified that he detected no
false bravura or mindless smiles at the prospect of going into harm’s way. The mood of the gathered officers
seemed one of grim determination. He approved of their attitude. The coming days and weeks would be grim
indeed, and they would require all the determination the human race could muster. He finished his scan of the
audience with a nod towardDrake.
“I will now turn this briefing over to the man whose wild idea this operation originally was. Since no good
deed ever goes unpunished, he will be in operational command of those of you who will engage in the initial
assault.
“Ladies and gentlemen, AdmiralRichard Drake, of the Altan Space Navy.”
#
Drakeclimbed to his feet in the careful way people do in minimal gravity. Springing up too quickly would
merely have caused him to bounce a couple of meters into the air, possibly to hit his head on the maze of
bare piping that cluttered the overhead, most certainly to look foolish until he floated back down again. When
he had achieved an erect posture, he moved carefully to the podium, not so much walking as gliding his feet
like an ice skater across the deck plates.
He took a few moments to arrange his material and to check the order of his presentation, already
loaded intoVictory’ s main computer. Then he looked up at the expectant crowd, took a deep breath, and
launched into the plan that he and a few thousand others hadspent the lastthree years perfecting.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Task Force Spica. As you are well aware, the
Antares Supernova of 2512 really messed up this section of space.”
AsDrakespoke, the holocube flashed to show the exploding star in its depths. Around it, etched dimly in
glowing red paths that were not quite straight, were the foldlines of the Antares Foldspace Cluster. “When
Antares blew, it changed the focus of foldlines all over the cluster and caused a new foldpoint to appear here
in the Napier system. That foldpoint led directly into the heart of the Ryall Hegemony.
“You’ve all read books or seen holo-epics of that first encounter with the Ryall. You know how the Ryall
fleet came boiling through the foldpoint to rain nuclear fire down on New Providence without provocation, even
as its population was evacuating to escape the supernova’s radiation. That was how we humans first learned
of the Ryall, and of their xenophobia.
“It has been more than a century since that first clash, and for all of that time, humanity has been on the
defensive. Even though we seem well matched in terms of technology and weaponry, we have been steadily
losing this war for twelve decades now. Four years ago, we discovered the reason why.”
Drakepressed a control on the podium and a diagram appeared. On it, the dimly glowing paths from
Antares emanated like the strands of a spider web. One of these strands terminated in the Napier system,
where the war had begun. Another pathway originated inside the Antares Nebula and arched across the
screen to terminate in a star with the odd name of Eulysta.
It had been in the Eulysta system thatDrakeand the Altan-Sandarian military expedition had discovered
the Ryall mining colony on Corlis, an otherwise uninhabited planet. It was there they had capturedSpace
Swimmer with its astrogation computer intact. This, in turn, had given humankind its first good look at the
geometry of Ryall space. Beyond Eulysta lay Carratyl, home system to one of the Ryall agricultural
worlds. Beyond Carratyl lay Spica, the heart of the Ryall Hegemony.
“This is why the Ryall have been able to outfight us for a century. Spica is larger than Antares and
possesses eight foldpoints. Just as Antares was a major hub for our commerce before it exploded, Spica is a
major hub for Ryall interstellar commerce. In fact, it is theironly such hub.
“Human space is strung out along the spiral arm of the galaxy, but Ryall space is a compact ball of
stars, all of which are tied directly or indirectly to the central nexus at Spica. What this means is that no
Ryall world is more than three foldspace jumps from Spica, which is a considerable improvement over the
eight, ten, or even twelve jumps between the most widely separated human stars. Because of this
arrangement, the Ryall enjoy interior lines of communication and can better utilize their navy. With fewer
jumps between stars, they can always respond to our attacks more quickly than we can respond to theirs.
“If Spica is their strength, it is also their Achilles’heel. The ease with which they move goods from star to
star has caused their economy to become differentiated. The worlds of the Ryall Hegemony tend to
specialize. Some build weapons and ships, others build computers, still others grow the majority of their
food. This arrangement makes considerable sense in a foldspace cluster where the stars are only a few
jumps apart. However, it also makes them dependent on their interstellar commerce. Where our shipping
largely consists of luxury goods and machinery intended to make our colonies self sufficient, theirs carries
everyday necessities. Their worlds have become so specialized that the Ryall must trade to live.
“That, then, is where we are going to hit them. So long as the Ryall control Spica, they can coordinate
their attacks better than we can defend against them. Our defenses are too spread out, our reaction times
too sluggish. They, on the other hand, can bring their whole fleet to bear on a single objective in a matter of
weeks.
“If, however, we blockade Spica, we will have gotten an iron wrecking bar into the gears of their well-oiled
machine. With our ships in control of their primary transit system, it will be they who are hamstrung for a
change. Denying them transit of Spica will break the hegemony into foldspace strings of just two or three
stars each. They will not be able to communicate with one another, except by going the long way around the
few series of foldspace transitions that bypass Spica.
“Instead of the well-coordinated, massive assaults they have launched in the past, isolated systems will
be forced to launch uncoordinated attacks through foldpoints where we will be waiting to slaughter them as
soon as they materialize. For once, we will have the interior lines of communication and the luxury of nearby
support. Instead of facing the whole, massive Ryall fleet at once, we will defeat each uncoordinated attack in
detail.”
Drakelet his gaze scan the surrounding faces.
“Make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen. It is going to be a long war. Yet, if we can hold on long
enough, the Ryall economy will collapse from the disruptions caused by our blockade. It will be our job to
hold on until that happens.” #
Chapter 2
Varlan of the Scented Waters lay amid the unfamiliar green of alien plants, breathed the strange, but not
unpleasant odor of them, and let a sun that was not her own warm her gray-green flanks and tail. She was
physically comfortable, having pulled her six short legs up close to her body and stretched her long neck out
across the green carpet of tiny plants that so reminded her of thevisoleth fields of home. For some reason,
her captors favored keeping the small plants chopped off to a uniform height. The machine that did the
chopping was quietly at work in a distant section of the large green field and would not enter the section
around Varlan until its sensors detected her departure.
Her physical comfort on this warm, sun-drenched day was in sharp contrast to her psychic turmoil. She
lay amid the greenery with nictating membranes covering her eyes, and her long, mobile ears erect, as she
considered the strange turn her life hadtakensinceher capture by the two-legged-monsters.
She had been perfectly happy with her life as manager of the Corlis Raw Materials Extraction Facility,
where she had spent her waking periods in comfortable routine worrying about production goals, personnel
health, and equipment maintenance schedules. Her year had been governed not by Corlis’s seasons —
since the planet rode upright in its orbit, and thus lacked such — but by the semi-annual visits of the ore
freighters that transported refined metals back to the home stars.
Her comfortable routine had been shattered one day whenSpace Swimmer , the ore carrier then in orbit
about Corlis, reported the sudden appearance of strange ships in the interstellar gateway from the Evil
Star. The development had been as frightening as it was unexpected. Her species’ natural philosophers knew
that the second gateway in the Eulysta system led into the heart of a supernova remnant. In fact, had it led
anywhere useful, Corlis would have been colonized long since, rather than being the home of a single outlying
mineral extraction facility.
She realized immediately that if the enemies of her species had developed ships capable of safely
penetrating the Evil Star’s maelstrom of high-energy particles, whipping magnetic fields, and searing
radiations, then Those Who Rule must learn of it immediately. She dispatchedSpace Swimmer toward the
normal interstellar gate to spread the alarm and then turned her attention to transforming the tunnels of her
facility into a defensive fortress.
As he fled toward the gateway and the safety of home space, Ossfil,Space Swimmer ’s commander,
beamed thedata captured by his ship’s sensors back to Varlan on Corlis. Two alien ships quickly multiplied
to more than a dozen. Almost as quickly asSpace Swimmer spotted their arrival in the Eulysta system, the
monsters detected the fleeing ore carrier and dispatched high-acceleration craft to intercept it.
The rest of the alien fleet left the alternate gateway and began boosting for Corlis. Having done all she
could to warn Those Who Rule, Varlan settled down to making the coming assault on her facility as
expensive as possible.
Her defensive preparations were completed about the time the swift ships of the enemy overtookSpace
Swimmer . Three mornings after the ore carrier’s capture, armored bipeds attacked her facility. The fight had
been sharp and quick, and the enemy everywhere victorious. Not even the defensive redoubt she established
in Tunnel 3 held for very long. In the end, she and her surviving workers found themselves prisoners of an alien
enemy.
Imprisonment was not as she had expected. The monsters treated her and her workers well. There was
no torture or vivisections, nor were they deprived of food or a comfortable environment. However, the psychic
strain of captivity had been great, especially after she learned the Monsters had capturedSpace Swimmer ’s
astrogation computer. The race had long guarded the secret of their interstellar portals like a mother hovering
over a clutch of eggs. To lose such a database intact was a disaster beyond description.
It had only been much later that she learned just how great a disaster it was.
“Varlan, there you are!” the familiar voice called. She lifted her head and turned her supple neck until her
snout pointed directly back along the line in which her tail was pointed. There she saw Bethany, once of the
Lindquists, now of the Drakes, approaching across the green carpet.
Bethany was one of the most confusing aspects of Varlan’s captivity. She was a two-legged-monster,
true; yet, she considered herself Varlan’s friend. More surprisingly, despite her built-in horror at the thought of
a universe inhabited by two races of intelligent beings, Varlan could not help feeling kindly toward
Bethany. Not only did she find companionship with the two-legged female, she actually felt concern over
Bethany’s well being, especially now.
All of the two-legged monsters seemed odd to Varlan’s eyes, as though part of them was
missing. However, she could see intellectually that the seemingly unstable bipedal form had its own
functional elegance. When she had first met Bethany, the human had possessed a sleek form suitable for
slicing through water. Even the various swells and curves that Varlan had learned were associated with
Bethany’s gender had a certain alien gracefulness to them. No longer.
Over the past two cycles, the abdomen of Varlan’s companion-enemy-friend had become grossly
distended and her sense of balance, always precarious in Varlan’s eyes, had become even less reliable than
usual. Her walk, which had once been flowing as she teetered from one of the long stilts she used for legs to
the other, was now uncertain and hesitant. Her new walk showed a distinct unease, so much so that the
monsters even had a word for it, a word that Varlan had only recently learned. Bethany no longer walked, she
waddled .
“Hello, Bethany of the Drakes. I thought it a day to sun myself,” Varlan called when Bethany had
‘waddled’ to where she lay. “I hope you did not become concerned about my absence.”
“No, of course, not,” Bethany said as she towered over Varlan’s supine form. She looked uncomfortable,
but her current physical condition did not allow her to sink to the carpet to rest. Had she done so, she
probably could not have gotten up again.
“Are you uncomfortable?” Varlan asked.
“No more so than any other pregnant woman,” Bethany replied with a laugh, “which is to say ‘yes.’”
“It seems to me that laying eggs is more efficient,” Varlan answered seriously. That, at least, was the
way her species reproduced.
“You won’t get any argument from me. I am afraid that I will have to interrupt your leisure, however. We
have a delegation of xenologists from Earth who would like to meet you. I’m afraid there was some sort of
mix-up with the schedule. They are here now.”
Varlan did not groan. That was not the way her kind expressed exasperation. Instead, her ears went
momentarily flat against her elliptical skull and her snout pitched perceptibly down, both gestures that
Bethany had long since learned to read.
“I know. I would rather not go through another round of inane questions either. Just remember, that which
cannot be cured…”
“… must be endured,” Varlan finished the surprisingly Ryall-like thought. She hoisted herself to her feet
and stretched her tail out to its full length. “Let us go meet the gentle scientists from Earth.”
#
“Oh my, when is it due?” the white-haired woman who was the sole inhabitant of the conference room
asked as they entered. In addition to a long table with the chairs all on one side, the room contained a raised
dais on which a carpet of Altan river rusheshad been spread for Varlan’s use.
“Sometime between ‘any moment now’ to ‘three weeks from yesterday.’”
“I certainly hope we can complete our business before the ambulance hauls you away. Boy or girl?”
“A little boy. He has his father’s hair and my eyes and will be quite a little hellion if the geneticists have
any clue as to what they are talking about.”
“I had a little boy a long time ago,” the woman said, her voice catching a bit. “You will have your hands
full for a few years.”
“How old is your son now?” Bethany asked.
“He would have been 43 this month had he lived. He was killed at the Battle of Archernar.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“No need to be. It has been more than a decade since his ship took a Ryall torpedo, and I am far from
the only mother who has lost a son in this war. By the way, I am Doctor Olivia Southington, Department of
Xenology, University of Buenos Aires.”
Bethany took her extended hand. “I’m Bethany Drake, and this is Varlan of the Scented Waters.”
“Yes. Varlan is the first Ryall I have seen close up — alive. We have had a few corpses to study, of
course. Oh, pardon me. That comment must have seemed incredibly callous.”
Varlan, who had been studying the interchange between the monster females… the human women, she
automatically corrected herself… turned a curious eye toward this latest in a long line of interrogators.
“I do not understand, Doctor Southington,” she said in nearly flawless standard, save for the slight hiss
her vocal apparatus gave to the sibilants.
“I forgot that I was in the presence of one of your race, Varlan. It is impolite of me to speak so callously
of your dead.”
“My race does not put the same emphasis on the dead as does yours, Doctor,” Varlan replied. “We are
more interested in the living and especially the hatchlings.”
“Yes, I have read that. In fact, that is one of the reasons I have come all this way. I would like to
understand more about your species’ beliefs and customs, especially from the viewpoint of a member of your
managerial caste.”
“I will, of course, place myself at your service,” the Ryall responded smoothly. Since her capture, she
had learned to imitate human verbal customs, even if she did not always understand them.
“Don’t monopolize the poor beastie, Olivia,” a male voice said from behind them. Varlan turned to look. A
small, dark-haired man had entered the room, followed by a younger female — probably an administrative
assistant, to judge from her manner as she followed the newcomer into the room.
“Bethany Drake. Varlan of the Scented Waters. May I introduce Jorge Santiago, my colleague, and
Señorita Consuela Aragon, our assistant?”
“Santiago. Señorita Aragon,” Bethany replied as she presented her hand first to the man, who kissed it,
and then to the young woman, who shook it in the usual manner.
“Señor Santiago, Señorita Aragon,” Varlan parroted.
Santiago put his hands on his hips and stared frankly. “My, you are a polite one. How long since you
were captured?”
“Four of your years.”
“How do you like it here?”
“How would you like to be held captive by your species’ enemies?” Varlan responded smoothly.
“What…?” Santiago sputtered, then laughed. “Why, I don’t suppose I would like it at all.”
“Then we agree.”
“Excuse me,” Bethany said, “but what is it we can do for you Señor Santiago, Dr. Southington?”
“We have come to interrogate your prisoner.”
“Guest,” Bethany warned sharply.
“Fine, guest. We understand you have gotten farther with Varlan than any of the professional
interrogators have gotten with the warrior caste prisoners that they hold.”
“It depends on what you mean by ‘farther.’ Frankly, Varlan and I come closer to understanding one
another than most people thought was possible for intelligent beings of divergent species. Isn’t that right,
Varlan?”
“Yes, Bethany. We have an understanding that even I would not have thought possible before meeting
you.” Sensing Bethany’s irritation with the brusque Santiago, Varlan intentionally did not say ‘before I was
captured.’
“That is excellent,” Olivia Southington replied, also sensing the tension and stepping deftly in to
dissipate it. “Jorge and I have made it a point to study Ryall myths as a way to better understand them. I am
afraid that we have gotten as far as we can from merely reviewing interrogation reports. We need to talk to
someone who is intimately familiar with those myths, someone who actually believes them and knows their
cultural context. And since so many ships were coming this way to support the invasion, well we thought we
摘要：

ANTARESVICTORY (ANovel) By MichaelMcCollum     Copyright   ISBN1-929381-09-3?2002byMichaelMcCollum AllrightsreservedunderInternationalandPan-AmericanCopyrightConventions.PublishedintheUnitedStatesofAmericabySciFi-Arizona,avirtualsciencefictionbookstore,andwriter’sworkshoplocatedontheINTERNETatwww.sc...

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