The Phantom in the Deep (Rook's Song) (23 page)

Rook is betting the pawns will do whatever they can to protect their king.

“All right,” he says, pushing himself out of his chair, popping his neck and his knuckles, and beginning to pace back and forth.  “So now, I need retreating lines for each and every squadron.”  Rook considers it for a time, lobbing the idea from one side of his brain to the other.  Then, it hits him.  The idea’s simplicity almost makes him mistrust it.  He wonders if he’s deceiving himself.  “Can it be that simple?” he asks aloud.  There is no one to answer.  No one but us ghosts, and we cannot even be sure what he’s working on here.

Rook takes his
seat again, and uses the same principle-of-four algorithm he has taught the computer to use on the mother ship, and then asks it to apply it to all of the theoretical squadrons he tosses into the simulations.  The first one works; the computer predicts how the squadrons will move based on the asteroids’ movements at any given time, and in relation to the movements of the mother ship.

Lines start spreading out seamlessly from each of the fighters, showing convergences, or areas where they
are likely to regroup (to reform their four groups of four in order to buffer their defenses), while also showing their sixteen most likely lines of retreat with the four most likely of those lines prioritized.

The computer
does it all.  Rook just plugs in a random squadron of sixteen fighters, groups them in four groups of four, and lets the computer handle the rest.  Rook has done all the legwork in teaching the computer the concepts of his strategy, and now he leaves the computer to the colossal calculations needed to map out various other strategies.  If all goes well, he should be able to leave the Sidewinder on autopilot while in mid-battle, and trust it to maneuver according to those algorithms and changes to the battlefield.

Another chime.  The mother ship has cleared another cluttered region of th
e field.  It’s getting closer.  It’s heading is clear: it is coming for
Magnum Collectio
.  It is coming for him.

Crunch time
.

Rook takes the Sidewinder out for a spin, and spends the next four hours flying across the surface of King Henry VIII, setting up transmission relay stations, making sure they
pick up the radio frequencies perfectly.  Another two hours is spent on a brief trip over to Queen Anne, where he glides down into the massive hole where his caches are, and takes what supplies he can into his cargo hold, mainly food.  It’s a shame he can’t take more.  Just before he closes the cargo ramp, he turns to look at the Queen one last time, blows her a kiss, and takes off.

Another hour is spent with the warbot, making sure it understands its orders, and then deciding which of the Seven Dwarfs he
wants to offload the machine onto.  Once he makes his decision, Rook smiles.  It could be no other way. 
Grumpy
.  What is “grumpier” than a warbot?

He spends
another two hours sending orders over to the Seven Dwarfs with their hidden mid-space turrets, and the 107 Wild Cards with their tiny explosives. 
Have to set up the pieces
.  Each of the false asteroids responds well to his commands, flying over to different sectors, or to different
sections
of their sectors.

Rook looks at the mother ship’s current approach vector.  If his sensors are right, she’ll be coming from Sector 41.  He
moves Sneezy over to Sector 4 (exact coordinates
S4 – SQ128 – SB23 – D5 – P8 – H101
), and is glad to see that the computer recognizes what he is doing.  It operates on its presets, moving the rest of the Dwarfs to their most advantageous positions.  Dopey has the longest journey to make, moving from S8 all the way over to S2.

Once this is done, he has all Seven Dwarfs situated between the King and the Queen, though their positions aren’t in a line, rather they are scattered in order to
appear as nothing more than random asteroids.  The Wild Cards he spreads out even further, like dust across
Magnum Collectio
.

Rook makes a final return to camp.  He stands there for a while, looking around at it.  It will likely be the last time he sees it.  He spends the next three hours deflating the
habitat’s balloon and canopy, gathering up the air-exchangers and what computer systems he’s able to make room for in the cargo hold.  Breaking down camp like this…it almost hurts.

Like leaving home again
, he thinks, recalling his last day on the farm.

It comes back to him all at once.  Walking out that creaking front door, stepping down the steps
of the front porch (the top step was breaking, would need repairing soon), and his father waiting outside by the truck.  He tossed his satchel full of pictures, novels, old chess strategy books, toothpaste, toothbrush, clothes and other essentials to his father, who stowed them in the back while he turned back to his mother.  Teary-eyed, she held her arms out.  “It’s all right, Ma,” he told her, taking her in his arms.

“I used to hold you while you cried,” she said, sniffling.  “Now look how big you are, and
now I’m crying and
you’re
holding
me
.”  She laughed nervously.  He laughed with her, trying to ease the tension.  “It’s not supposed to be this way.  A mother holds her child, not the other way around.”

He patted his mother on the back, kissed her cheek, and pulled away.  “I told ya, it’s all right.  I got this.”

“You’re too much like your father.  He always says, ‘I got this.’  I know you boys can do it, I just…I just don’t want you being alone up there.”  She glanced up, indicating the infinite Deep that was beyond the blue sky, that perfect blue veil that kept all of humanity insulated in a bubble for thousands of years, trying to convince us that that’s all there was, only to fade at night to reveal the stars and suggest an ulterior motive to the universe.  “I wish I could go with you.”

“I know you do.  But some things, ya know, a person’s gotta do on their own.”

“You hush that talk!  You’re never alone.  Remember that.  You will, won’t you?  When you’re out there, and it all seems so…”  She trailed off.  “You’ll remember?”

“I’ll remember, Ma.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.  I’ll remember.
  I’m not alone.”

Ages ago.  And yet, it was yesterday.  Rook now looks at his hands.  They aren’t shaking anymore.  Maybe it’s faith restored in him through that memory.  Maybe it’s his madness, convincing him he’s doing something worthwhile.  Or maybe he’s just accepted death.

It takes another two hours to gather all the cables and the single backup generator from camp.  He is careful to store the mini-hydroponic greenhouse, as well as its meager crop.  Slowly but surely, he breaks down his habitat, which has been his sturdy home all these years, leaving only the tanks too large to take on board the Sidewinder.

By this time, the mother ship has gained another two hundred miles or so.  It will soon be right outside of his sectorboard.  Rook closes the cargo bay, flips on the landing lights for probably the last time, and lifts off.  He’s heard stories of people lost at sea who came across a tiny island, or had to remain on a small lifeboat for months at a time, and though they hated their tight confines, when they were finally rescued and had to say goodbye to it all, goodbye to that lifeline that had been there for them when they were so lost, they felt a deep sense of loss.

For a moment, Rook can’t turn his eyes away from the camp, his home.  Then, he pulls on the cyclic, and yaws the Sidewinder around.  He takes off through the tunnels, and leaves the darkness behind.  He thinks about the word
legacy
again.  On his way out, he taps a button on his control panel.  “Begin log,” he says.  “Call sign Rook.  This will likely be my last entry.  I am headed out for what will be my final confrontation—and therefore humanity’s final confrontation—against the Cerebrals.  What I have in mind…it will probably fail.  But in case any of it may help future civilizations battle them, I’m both recording this message and broadcasting it out to the stars, in the hopes that it may help someone else defeat them.  That’s my legacy,” he emphasizes.  “The legacy of Man.  I’m including all the data I’ve collected in my brief experiments and simulations.  I’m calling the two main sequences the ‘principle of four,’ and ‘Rook’s sacrifice play.’  I believe I have identified a blind spot in them.  A minor weakness that may be exploited.  Their psychology has an extreme predisposition for the number four, and they do not appreciate or find any value in deception or sacrifice.  If I make any headway at all with them, the data I’m transmitting may be valuable to you.”  Rook almost signs off, but quickly adds, “Godspeed to you all, whoever you may be.  End log.”

When he emerges from the King, Rook
is once more bathed in the light of Prime some two hundred fifty million miles away, and then pulls the Sidewinder about half a mile away from King Henry VIII’s eastern hemisphere, facing Sector 41.  He looks over at the King, and smiles. 
A rook and a king, side by side
.  He laughs.  “Look at us Henry, we’re castling.”

The humor is short-lived.  Rook’s mind suddenly casts another line back to the past, and suddenly remembers the man that taught him the rudiments of ship-to-ship combat.  He places the Sidewinder on autopilot and steps out of the cockpit, down the corridor, and into the rear hold.  He comes up to the stasis tube, peers inside at the old man.

“Rook!” Badger shouted on his first day out of the Academy.  “Do you know what a
double entendre
is?”

Rook was standing at attention in front of the statue of Neil Armstrong, in front of the Great Hall, sweat cascading down his neck. 
“Sir, yes sir!”

“What is it, then?”

“Sir, a double entendre is a double meaning, sir!  A figure of speech meant to be interpreted in either of two ways, sir!”

“You’re some hotshot, I hear.  A real
thinker
, they say.  Chess player.  One o’ those geeks in school who couldn’t put it away.  You’re slick, but do you think you’re clever enough to recognize a double entendre when ya hear it?”

“Sir, I think so, sir!”

“Well, guess again.  You think they gave you that call sign ’cause ya like to play
chess
?  I guess you
are
as stupid as I thought! 
I
passed that name on to you when I saw your first scores in flight school!  I call people that when I think they’re likely to remain a
rookie
for the rest o’ their careers.  Your squadmates just thought it was funny that you also can’t put a game o’ chess away long enough to enjoy a good brew with friends after a day o’ training, like any good squadmate should do to build rapport!  That’s called a
double entendre
!  How’d you miss it, pilot?”

“Sir, I don’t know, sir!”

“You gonna miss anything else when you’re up there flyin’ with me?”

“No, sir!”

“How do you know, when you didn’t even know you missed my clever frickin’ pun?”

“I…I…”

“A Sidewinder pilot has to use his noggin all the time,
Rook
.”  He said the name as an invective, and it was the first time Rook was ashamed to hear the name spoken.  “We’re saboteurs.  We’re the elite, got that?  We may be all that stands between humanity and total annihilation.  The Powers That Be believe this Sidewinder program might just be the answer, that we might be able to get on board one o’ these big ships, see how they tick, and take ’em apart from the inside.  But that requires stealth, subterfuge, knowledge of sabotage, and infiltration.  All o’ this while considering the massive calculations of space flight.  To do this, you can’t afford to miss anything up there, not even a
pun
!”

Rook was flushed with embarrassment, and behind him his squadmates had been fighting to hold back their snickers.  At the time, and for years after that day, Rook got angry at the memory.  But not anymore.  There was no one left to be humiliated by, and he missed that.

Presently, Rook taps the button that opens the tube.  Badger doesn’t move.  He looks dead already, his chest barely moving with each tiny breath.  The last of humanity is on life support, dwindling, failing, scarcely a ghost of its former self.

He reaches down to touch the old man’s hand, squeezes, and is surprised when he gets a
reassuring squeeze in return.  “Badge,” he whispers.  “Sir, I…I just need you to know I’ve done all I could do.  I’ve gone as long as I can, and I…”  He swallows.  “I hope…I hope I don’t let you down.  Maybe I am as stupid as you said, but maybe…I dunno, maybe…”  Rook gives the hand another squeeze, and the old man’s squeeze fails.  He lowers the hand back inside the tube.  “For what I’m about to do, I’m sorry, but…I think it’s the only way left for either one of us.”

Rook stands back from the tube, lets his back go straight, and gives a solemn salute.  He reaches for the button to close the tube.  Then, Badger
croaks out his final words, “Give…them…hell…”

This time, Rook hears it.  He smiles, and says, “Yes, sir.”  He closes the tube, and returns to the cockpit.  Another chime has gone off.  The mother ship is fast approaching.  It is closing in on his energy signatures. 
The Bose-Einstein condensate emitted from his exhaust ports’ cryogenic coolers can only conceal him for so long.  The mother ship will be here within the hour.