Spinneret (17 page)

Hafner shrugged. “The spot where the M'zarch flyers lost their repulsers was nearly that far from the cone.”

“But at least a kilometer west of the Sea.”

“True. But unless the Spinners went to the trouble to put in a stage elevator in the middle of nowhere, the only convenient place to put an entrance is among the hills bordering the Sea.”

Across the desk, Andrews held his phone up and murmured something. Eyes and half his attention on his aide, Meredith said, “You have to understand, Doctor, that while I appreciate the need to learn more about this—ah, Spinneret, I also don't have the resources to spare for the kind of long, drawn-out search you're requesting. We've again lost every bit of metal fertilization and are going to have to either harvest prematurely or lay down more fertilizer. The latter would have to be done immediately and mostly by hand—” He broke off as Andrews looked back up. “Well?”

“Colonel, the
Pathfinder
reports two Rooshrike ships have left orbit and are moving to intercept the cable.”

Meredith nodded slowly, thinking. It was immediately obvious that he could either like it or lump it, that the chances of the
Pathfinder
interfering with the Rooshrike retrieval were essentially zero. Anyway, with the departure of the M'zarch ground troops still underway, it wouldn't be a good time to antagonize the cavalry who'd come to Astra's rescue. “Have Radford inform the Rooshrike that we're giving them the cable in return for their timely help and all that—he can figure out how to phrase it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Meredith turned back to Hafner, half expecting an argument. But the scientist nodded agreement. “Good idea. They'll see through it, of course, but it shows them we understand politics. Incidentally, did the first cable disappear when the leecher went on?”

“No, it didn't seem to be bothered.”

“Um. Well … Am I to take it, then, that I'm not getting any more men to help with my search?”

Meredith spread his hands. “We've got to do something about those crops immediately, as I said. After that's taken care of we're going to be building some giant plastic-lined window-box contraptions to see if those could be a possible long-term defense against the leecher. And all of that's on top of all of our other work. I can assign you a car and a
reasonable
amount of digging gear, but that's all. You can take it or leave it.”

Hafner shrugged. “I'll take it, of course. But I have to say, Colonel, that you seem pretty indifferent toward what is clearly an incredibly valuable find.”

“Then you haven't been paying attention,” Meredith said, some of his annoyance creeping into his voice. “If I didn't care about it you and your fellow scientists would have spent the last two months working in fields or on construction crews instead of poking around Olympus. I'm not stupid, Doctor; I understand what we've got here. But the survival of the people comes
first.
The
Aurora
will be here in a week or two, and Radford said it should be bringing all the extra supplies we asked for. If he's right—if the Hill's penny pinchers haven't cut out half of it—then things may loosen up a bit. But I'll believe it when I see it.”

“I understand.” Hafner got to his feet. “It occurs to me, though, that the problem with the crops might be most simply handled by finding the Spinneret's controls and turning the leecher
off.”

With that he left. Sighing, Meredith looked at Andrews. “I could get very sick of having scientists under my command,” he told the other, shaking his head. “Every one of them suffers from tunnel vision.”

Andrews shrugged. “Actually, that last didn't seem like such a bad idea to me, sir. Assuming we'd be able to turn the leecher back on again if we wanted to, of course.”

“Which is by no means guaranteed. But even if we find something as dead simple as an on-off switch …” Meredith grimaced. “No telling what kind of ground-monitoring equipment the Rooshrike have up there. Or the M'zarch, for that matter—and we don't
know
they'll be leaving as soon as their troops are all aboard.”

“And you think that when we find the entrance to the Spinneret,” Andrews said slowly, “they'll know about it, too. Is that what the delaying tactic is all about?”

“Mainly. We really
don't
have any extra manpower, but some of the projects could be put off without major trouble. But for the moment I think we'd do better to stall.”

There was a short pause. “I hope you're not expecting the Pentagon to rash lots of defensive weaponry to us,” Andrews said. “Even if Congress didn't debate the issues for six months, they'll practically have to invent the kind of material we'd need.”

“I know—space war weapons that do fine against spy satellites would be pretty useless against M'zarch cruisers. No, I'm counting on the people who already have the weapons.”

“The Rooshrike?”

“And the Poms and Orspham and Whissst,” Meredith said, nodding. “Tell me, what would you do as President if the Spinneret had been discovered in, say, Upper Volta and you heard that the Chinese had made a grab for it?”

“Send two squadrons of F-26's for their use and offer them anything else they wanted,” Andrews said promptly. “So you want to stall long enough for all the aliens in the area to hear about the M'zarch attack?”

“Bull's-eye. I suspect the Rooshrike may spread the word on their own; if not, we'll send a message to the Ctencri trading group at Earth and let
them
do it.”

Andrews nodded slowly. “Three weeks one-way for the
Pathfinder.
Any idea how fast Rooshrike ships are?”

“No, but we already know the Ctencri scrimped on the technology they sold us way back when. I'm going to guess—oh, a month at most for the other aliens to get ships here for close-range analysis of the situation. Until then we'll have to hope the Rooshrike can hold off any other bargain hunters.”

“And that the Rooshrike themselves don't get ideas.”

Meredith grimaced. “There's that, too.”

“A truly great joke,” the young Whist said, snapping his ripper claw with a gesture of extreme pleasure.

“A great joke, indeed,” the older Whist facing him on the viewscreen agreed. “Second only to the finding of the Spinneret itself.”

“True. And the M'zarch are normally such humorless people.”

“We should send a representative to Rooshrike space to see this thing.”

The young Whist pondered a moment. “But such an action will have no humor at all to it,” he said, touching a control with his leftmost antenna. Above his compatriot's face a map appeared, accompanied by a list of numbers. “The predictor calculates an eighty-nine fraction that the Whissst will take such an action.”

“I understand your reluctance, my scion. But you must learn the fact that not all one's actions may be humorous. In this case it is more profitable to have a representative available to observe than to extract a joke from the situation. Besides”—the older Whist twitched his antennae—“who knows what jokes the Spinneret has yet to offer?”

“True. I would rather take humorous action when dealing with offworlders, but I accept your logic. I will place my calls.”

“Good.” The screen blanked.

The young Whist wasted no time in keying the first number onto the screen, but even so the monitor informed him there would be a slight delay. Small wonder, with each of his same-year brothers trying to call their assigned less-year kin, each of whom would call five others … and likely other families had received the word and were engaged in similar operations. The pyramid was undoubtedly an efficient way to pass news, but there was no humor whatsoever in its practical application: the lines
always
jammed.

Still. … Gazing at the map, the young Whist brightened. Even if the Whissst
were
expected to go to Astra, the ships could trace a curve past Rooshrike space and come in from the same direction as the Orspham. A small joke, to be sure; but small was better than nothing.

The line cleared and the summons tone sounded. Settling his claws in the proper posture for greeting a less-year brother, he waited for the other to answer.

On the Pom home world the news went out as a rippling series of sonar waves, amplified at thousands of strategic points along their journey until they reached every reef and wavetop of the mighty ocean. To assemble the people took far longer, even with the speed and tirelessness Poms prided themselves on. The discussion could have been held more simply, of course, via either the sonic amplifiers or the emergency ELF radio equipment. But from time immemorial a Gathering had been the required form for dealing with major issues … and a threat to Pom borders definitely qualified as a major issue.

“It is
not
a threat to us,” the Prime Male insisted, swimming a convoluted path among the assembled Poms as he assessed popular agreement with his point of view. “We need not act. The Humans and their Spinneret are the object of interest. Pom territory is not threatened.”

“Is it not?” the Prime Female countered from her own path. “What of the possible violation of Pom space by aliens? Astra is approachable only through Rooshrike or Pom space, and the Rooshrike are well known as fierce and jealous warriors within their own borders. Will not invaders thus choose to travel Pom space instead?”

“Space is free,” the Prime Male insisted. “We have no indication Pom worlds or ships would be threatened.”

“See the opportunity for advancement,” the Second Female suggested, her path interweaving that of the Prime Female to indicate their basic agreement. “The Spinneret cable has many potential uses, as do the other technologies involved. To purchase from the Humans will undoubtedly prove easier than to purchase from a successful invader.”

“To strengthen our border defense thus serves our interests twice,” the Prime Female added.

“It is interstellar politics,” the Prime Male said. “No concern to Poms.”

The discussion lasted nearly a day, but at the end of it over half of the assembled Poms were swimming intertwining paths with the Prime Female. The voting finished, the Gathering was dispersed, and the Prime Male relayed their decision to the messenger ship circling high above the waves.

Within a few days the ships began to gather at the border, sealing off Pom space as had never before been done in peacetime.

From that direction, at least, the Spinneret would be safe from invasion.

For the Orspham there was no disagreement whatsoever. The M'zarch had tried to take Astra, and the Orspham would do all they could to make sure there would be no further attempts along such lines. A diplomatic mission would be sent immediately to the Humans' home world to offer defensive military assistance; a military force would wait just outside Rooshrike space for permission from both Humans and Rooshrike to proceed to Astra.

It wasn't simply the traditional rivalry that prompted such a response. Even the Orspham recognized the M'zarch nose for valuables; and if the M'zarch thought the Spinneret worth risking war with the Rooshrike over, it must be very valuable indeed. Until the Orspham had ascertained the full extent and particulars of this value, it was merely good sense to keep the planet out of M'zarch hands.

The Orspham might be slow, but they weren't stupid.

Of all the races in the area, it was the Ctencri who perhaps saw clearest the full implications of both the M'zarch attempt and its failure.

Mentally replaying the Rooshrike report, First Trader Sen held a
semarin
vial to his nostrils.
A technical act of war,
he thought miserably.
And repulsed by the Humans through direct use of the Spinneret technology. Military use, right from word one.

It wasn't exactly an unexpected development—all technology
could
be adapted to warfare, after all. But now the military applications would be uppermost in everyone's minds, and that would complicate sales efforts tremendously. Demand would certainly go up, as no one would want to be caught without weapons or defenses others already possessed. But balancing that would be the climate of tension the Ctencri would have to work in.

And, of course, there was always the uncomfortable possibility that a race with genuine interstellar capabilities would gain total control of the technology. For the Humans to be given adequate defenses without simultaneously providing them with offensive capabilities was going to be a sticky problem, particularly as the Humans couldn't be allowed to suspect they were being treated like rash cubs.

Well. The first thing that would be needed would be faster communication between Earth and her colony. It was strict policy to keep the more advanced star drives away from younger races, but with some maneuvering the plans could “accidentally” fall into Human hands. … No. No, it would be both faster and safer to simply provide them a pair of unarmed courier ships with sealed drives. As free gifts, the First Trader decided; a gesture of goodwill that would subtly put them into Ctencri debt.

The
semarin
vial was empty, the volatile perfume having apparently evaporated several minutes ago without Sen noticing. Tossing the vial toward the recycler opening, he hummed on the intercom and ordered Secretary-General Saleh to be contacted.

It was an odd feeling, a detached part of Saleh's mind noticed, to be at the same time greatly relieved and absolutely furious.
The M'zarch will pay for this,
he thought blackly.
By all that is holy, they will pay.

With a supreme effort, he choked down his rage, bleeding it off to a half-unconscious pool where it could simmer until the time for vengeance was ripe. He thought in silence for several minutes; then, picking up his phone, he punched President Allerton's secure number.

“I've just received a message from the Ctencri, Mr. President,” he said, dispensing entirely with the usual social pleasantries. “A force of M'zarch soldiers has tried to overrun Astra.”