“I’ll send Demolisher back to Earth to bolster the defenses there,” Admiral Mirza said to the three viceroys from across the desk of his new office aboard Detonator. “After Desolator, he’s the best we have, and I’ll make sure he’s fully repaired and loaded with Ryss warriors.”
“You’re not coming along like you wanted?” Ezekiel asked.
Mirza sighed. “I’d love to, but the political situation here is too fragile. With Trissk and Desolator leaving for parts unknown, were I to go as well, the whole thing might fall apart. EarthFleet is really all that’s holding us together, and I’m the most senior officer. I’m just starting to get some Ryss flag officers back.”
Ezekiel glanced at Bogrin and Mirza, and then up at the ceiling, as if to inquire about the Detonator AI’s discretion.
“Ryss AIs keep their confidences,” Mirza said. “It’s part of their oaths to EarthFleet and commissions as officers, and I’ve found them to be more scrupulous than most organics in observing the fine points of military law. Everything said here, stays here.”
“Okay,” Ezekiel responded. “I was going to make a comment about how clever you are to load up millions of young Ryss warriors aboard each of the two superdreadnoughts and get them out of this star system. That should relieve some of the pressure.”
“I did it for military reasons,” Mirza said firmly.
“Which, as we’ve already established, are ultimately indistinguishable from political ones. After all, you could have sent Sekoi and humans along too.”
Mirza pressed his lips together in irritation. “Viceroy Denham, you seem to be making me out to be a cold-hearted bastard, sacrificing Ryss lives instead of humans or Sekoi. I assure you, I thought this out. First, mixing large contingents of three race’s warriors might exacerbate their conflicts. Second, kilo for kilo, Ryss are the most effective close combat troops we have, other than full-cyber Marines, and I don’t have tens of millions of those hanging around. Third, the D-ships are Ryss at heart, with Ryss captains. Ryss warriors will take direction from them without difficulty.”
Ezekiel held up forefending palms. “All right, Admiral, I yield. And don’t worry; I’ll take back your dispatches and give them personally to Admiral Absen for you. That will get me out of your hair – assuming you can handle Colson without me?”
Mirza snorted. “That weasel? Now that we’re clearly under martial law again, I’ll have him brigged if he gives me trouble. And if he’s not amenable to intimidation, I’m sure the Sekoi can exert enough economic pressure to bring him and the human government into line.”
Bogrin nodded. “The planetary economy is sufficiently intertwined that if my people decide to, they can bankrupt the humans...if necessary. Of course, we would much rather not.”
“Rochambeau,” Ezekiel said.
“What?” asked Mirza.
“Rock-paper-scissors. Our three races each hold power over others. EarthFleet is commanded by humans. The Ryss Dominator-class ships hold the ultimate military power, and the Sekoi run the economy by virtue of numbers and nativity.”
“That is why this arrangement will function...at least as long as there is an external threat,” Bogrin said.
“I doubt the Scourges are going away anytime soon, so let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” Ezekiel replied. “And, if you have any real trouble, talk to Colson’s advisor, John Smith. I think you’ll find him a reasonable man. For now, I agree with the admiral. Bogrin, you stay with your homeworld, I’ll take Roger aboard Demolisher to mine, and Trissk and Desolator will head for theirs.” He stood to shake their hands. “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure. See you on the other side.”
***
“Welcome aboard, Viceroy Denham,” Demolisher said as Ezekiel stepped onto the portside flight deck of the superdreadnought.
“My title is a convenience. I’m really not cut out for politics, so call me Ezekiel, please,” the human said, looking around.
The enormous open space seemed much more shipshape than Desolator’s had, with neat rows of grabships, shuttles, assault sleds and pinnaces bolted in place. No flight crew roamed the deck, though a few maintenance bots scurried here and there, completing final preparations before the great ship dove into the orange star of Gliese 370.
“And you may call me Demolisher,” the AI’s resonant voice spoke in Ezekiel’s ear.
“I’d be surprised at any other name,” Ezekiel replied. “You sound just like Desolator.”
“He is my father, after all.”
“If you put it that way...makes sense. When do we get under way?”
“A soon as you are in a sleep tube. There is one in your quarters, or there are several scattered throughout the ship, including some on the bridge. Alternately, the infirmary has facilities available if you would like medical staff nearby.”
“I’m a Blend, so I’m not worried about the process. My quarters would be fine.”
A small open car rolled up. “Please board.”
“Sure.” Ezekiel sat in one of the seats, his travel bag in his lap. “Remember, Roger is alive. He’s pretty tough, but don’t try to weld anything to him. He might take exception and hurt someone. Just strap him down to the deck. I’ve set up a sedation system accessible by bioradio.” He tapped the hinge of his jaw where the implant resided.
“Of course, Ezekiel.” The car rolled smoothly across the deck, weaving among the small craft to enter a wide corridor.
“I still can’t get over how much space you have inside,” Ezekiel said.
“My interior volume exceeds Conquest’s by a factor of approximately three hundred.”
“How’s that possible? You’re only about twenty times the tonnage.”
“My armor is only slightly thicker than Conquest’s. Have you ever seen a black walnut?”
Surprised by the change of topic, Ezekiel said, “I’m not sure.”
“A black walnut is the size of the common English walnut, but its shell is thick. A twenty-five gram black walnut yields about a gram of meat, while an English walnut of the same size yields over twenty grams.”
“I think I see what you’re getting at. Conquest has a relatively small crew space compared to a Dominator class ship because its armor is relatively thick compared to its size.”
“Exactly.”
“Conquest is rated for a crew of thirty thousand, though that’s pushing it. How many organics are aboard you?”
“Over ten million, of which fifteen thousand could be considered crew. The rest are Ryss warriors.”
“Good God. And they’ll fit?”
“Of course...for a limited period of time. Foodstuffs will be problematic after approximately one month of operations, but by that time I will either be resupplied or they will have disembarked.”
“Disembarked where?” Ezekiel asked.
“I understand Earth is sparsely populated. Additionally, there are no female Ryss aboard, so reproduction is of no concern.”
Ezekiel nodded slowly. “Wartime rules, then. Foreign troops on friendly soil.” He rode in silence for a time, looking interestedly at the ship around him. “I presume you’ve planned for the possibility that you’ll be attacked suddenly upon FTL emergence? Something might have happened in the few weeks since Erasmus’ last round trip.”
“I have installed a relatively crude device that will sense our emergence using analog means and activate hydraulic controls to start my engines almost immediately. Furthermore, the system will cause semi-random evasive maneuvers in order to defeat any SLAM-like weapons.”
“Good to hear. How long until you can reboot?”
“I don’t know exactly. A matter of a minute or two, perhaps. I’ve never shut myself down before.” Demolisher paused. “I must confess, it disturbs me to do so. While we travel, I shall be dead.”
“Dead? Not asleep?”
“My mental state will be frozen within static hard drives, but there is an element of quantum uncertainty that concerns me. Will I be the same being as when I was shut down? Or only a perfect copy? Or perhaps an imperfect copy? Will I lose something in the process?”
The cart pulled up in front of a small passageway, and moving lights as if on a Vegas marquee showed the way to a door halfway down its length. “I don’t know, Demolisher. We humans have debated things like that for centuries. If I lost all my memories, am I still me? What if I died, and then were cloned and a copied engram imposed on the new brain. Should that be considered legally me?”
“Food for thought, then.”
Ezekiel patted the wall as if comforting a friend. “I think the practical question is, will you appear unaffected to everyone else? All else is philosophy.”
“Thank you for this explanation. I am young and have much to learn.”
“As do we all. Good night, Demolisher.”
“And you. Sleep well.”
Opening the door, Ezekiel looked around the quarters he’d been given. It seemed like any other first-class shipboard cabin he’d ever occupied, except Roger’s, of course: furniture fixed to the deck, his own small privy and shower, a screen and workstation with standard interfaces to access the ship’s net.
And one other thing: a sleep tube. It glowed with electronic life, its program already set for the trip.
I’m in Demolisher’s hands anyway, Ezekiel thought. No point in worrying overmuch about a two-week sleep. At least I’m not turning my brain off entirely and rebooting myself later. Last time, I believe I dreamed. It wasn’t a bad nap.
Quickly, he stripped and climbed in. Without hesitation, he slapped the large button that closed the lid and initiated the sedation sequence. When the needle stabbed his arm, he didn’t flinch, but surrendered to the sensation of sinking into a warm, welcoming womb.
***
Aboard Desolator, Trissk and Chiren climbed into their own sleep tubes near the bridge, the better to be ready when they arrived after the FTL transit. Ten million other Ryss had already done the same, along with thousands of Sekoi and humans, though not the remaining four of the Council of Elders.
As his proxy to the Council, Trissk had appointed a bright young adult warrior the others had recommended. With the logjam of traditionalism broken and the population pressure relieved by the millions of troops recruited to defend the superdreadnoughts, he was confident New Ryssa would survive intact for long enough for him to complete his mission, and then return.
Unremarked by anyone, one of Desolator’s human crew, a nondescript electronics technician by his résumé, had arrived with the last batch of personnel to reinforce the superdreadnought. He occupied a sleep tube in his tiny cabin, a luxury still greater than the vast communal bays of the Ryss troops and their stacks of racks.
Among his few possessions was an expensive suit of smart-cloth, which used programmable nanofibers to change size and color at the whim of its wearer.