Exultant (7 page)

Nilis went on in detail to analyze Dans’s use of the “Brun maneuver”—he described it as “the ingenious use of a closed timelike curve in a computing algorithm”—which he considered the crux of Pirius’s innovatory tactic. “Thanks to these two brave pilots, Pirius and Dans, at last we have a way, at least in principle, of overcoming the Xeelee’s single biggest advantage over us: their computing resource. This will need further investigation, of course, but surely you see that that alone is an achievement far beyond the dreams of most warriors in this endless war. And then, on top of that,
Pirius brought home a Xeelee,
a captive nightfighter! The information we will acquire may—no,
will—
transform our prospects in this conflict.” He paused, breathing hard.

Pirius had never heard a speech like this. Nobody talked about victory—not victory anytime soon, anyhow. The war wasn’t to be won, it was to be
endured.
Victory would come, but it was for future generations. The brass on the bench weren’t impressed by Nilis’s grandiose declarations either.

And Nilis proceeded to make things a thousand times worse.

“Sirs, once again I urge you to
think.
Rise above yourselves! Rise above your petty rivalries! Isn’t it true that soldiers of the Green Army habitually resent Strike Arm for the perceived luxury of their bases? Isn’t it true that Navy officers traditionally imagine that the Commission knows nothing of the pressures on warriors, even though the Commission plays such a significant role in running the war? And as for we of the Commission, are the Doctrines really so fragile that we fear their breaking even in such an extraordinary case—even in a case where a brave officer is simply overriding a pointless order for the sake of prosecuting his duty more effectively?”

And so on. By the time Nilis was done insulting everybody, Pirius knew that any chance of the case going his way, if there had ever been one, was lost.

The panel’s deliberation was brief. The president of the court took only a few seconds to announce its verdict.

For his gross violation of orders, Pirius Blue was to be demoted, and transferred to a penal unit at the Front. Pirius Red knew, everybody knew, that such a posting was tantamount to a death penalty. It was scarcely more of a shock when the court announced that Pirius’s crew, Cohl and Tuta, would be transferred along with him for their “complicity” in his “crimes.”

And, in an almost causal afterthought, the president announced that Pirius Red, the pilot’s younger version, would likewise be transferred to a penal Rock. There were reassignments, lesser punishments, for the younger versions of Cohl, Tuta, and Dans.

By now Pirius understood the theory of temporal-paradox law. But he found this impossible to take in.

Once the president was done speaking, Nilis was immediately on his feet again. He announced his intention to appeal the verdict. And he requested that in the interim he have both Pirius Red and Pirius Blue assigned to his personal retinue. He would act as guarantor of their behavior, and he would seek to make best use of their services in the betterment of mankind’s greater goals.

The panel conferred again. It seemed some bargain was done. The judges did not dispute Nilis’s right to appeal. They would not allow Pirius Blue, as prime perpetrator of this anti-Doctrinal lapse, to escape the sentence passed down, but as a gesture of leniency they placed Pirius Red, the younger copy, in Nilis’s care.

Nilis got up one more time, to make a final, angry denunciation of the court. “For the record let me say that this shameful charade is in microcosm a demonstration of why we will
never
win this war. I refer not only to your sclerotic decision-making processes, and the lethality of your interagency rivalry, but also to the simple truth of this case: that a man who defeated a Xeelee is not lauded as a hero but prosecuted and brought down. . . .”

It was stirring stuff. But the automated monitor was the only witness; the court was already emptying.

Pirius stood, bewildered. He saw faces turned to him, Torec, Captain Seath, even Pirius Blue, his older self, but they seemed remote, unreadable, as if they were blurred. So that was that, it seemed, Pirius’s life trashed and taken away from him in a summary judgment, for a “crime” he hadn’t even had the chance to commit.

He shouted down at Pirius Blue, “This is all your fault.”

Pirius Blue looked up from his lower tier and laughed bleakly. “Well, maybe so. But how do you think I feel? Do you know what’s the worst thing of all? That mission, my mission, is
never even going to happen.
”

Then he was led away. Pirius Red didn’t expect to see him again.

Here was the broad, crumpled face of Nilis, like a moon hovering before him. “Ensign? Are you all right?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t seem real. Sir, I don’t want to be placed under your supervision. I only want to do my duty.”

Nilis’s expression softened. “And you think that if I pull you back from the Front, that pit of endless death, I’ll be stopping you from doing that? You think your duty is only to die, as so many others have before you?” The old man’s eyes were watery, as if he was about to cry. “Believe me,” Nilis said, “with me you
will
fulfill your duty—not by dying, but by living. And by helping me fulfill my vision. For I, alone of all the fools and stuffed shirts in this room,
I
have a dream.”

“A dream?”

Nilis bent close and whispered. “A dream of how this war may be won.” He smiled. “We leave tomorrow, Ensign; be ready at reveille.”

“Leave? Sir—where are we going?”

Nilis seemed surprised at the question. “Earth, of course!” And he walked away, his soiled black robe flapping at his heels.

Chapter
6

Nilis’s corvette was a sleek arrow shape nuzzled against a port, one of a dozen strung along this busy Officer Country gangway.

Captain Seath herself escorted Pirius Red to the corvette. They were the first to get here; they had to wait for Nilis.

Pirius wasn’t sure why Seath had brought him here herself. It wasn’t as if he had any personal effects to be carried; he had been issued a fancy new uniform for the trip, and anything else he needed would be provided by the corvette’s systems, and it would never have occurred to him to take such a thing as a souvenir. Officially, she said, Seath was here to make sure Pirius “didn’t screw up again.” Pirius thought he detected something else, though, something softer under Seath’s scarred gruffness. Pity, perhaps? Or maybe regret; maybe Seath, as his commander, thought she could have done more to protect him from this fate.

Whatever. Seath wasn’t a woman you discussed emotions with.

He studied the corvette. It was a Navy ship, and it bore the tetrahedral sigil of free mankind, the most ancient symbol of the Expansion. He said, “Sir—a Navy ship? But I’m in the charge of Commissary Nilis now.”

She laughed humorlessly. “The Commission doesn’t run starships, Ensign. You think the Navy is about to give its most ancient foe access to FTL technology?”

“The Xeelee are the foe.”

“Oh, the Navy and Commission were at war long before anybody heard of the Xeelee.” It was disturbing to hear a straight-up-and-down officer like Seath talk like this.

There was a reluctant footstep behind them. To Pirius’s surprise, here came Torec. She was as empty-handed as Pirius was but, like him, she wore a smart new uniform. A complex expression closed up her face, and her full lips were pushed forward into a pout that looked childish, Pirius thought.

“You’re late,” Seath snapped.

“Sorry, sir.”

Pirius said, “Come to say good-bye?” He felt touched but he wasn’t about to show it.

“No.”

“Pirius, she’s going with you,” Seath said.

“What?”

Torec spat, “Not my idea, dork-face.”

Commissary Nilis came bustling along the corridor. Unlike the two ensigns he did bring some luggage, a couple of trunks and two antique-looking bots which floated after him. “Late, late; here I am about to cross the Galaxy and I’m late for the very first step. . . .” He slowed, panting. “Captain Seath. Thank you for hosting me, thank you for everything.” He beamed at Pirius. “Ready for your new adventure, Ensign?” Then Nilis noticed Torec. “Who’s this? A friend to wave you off?”

“Not exactly,” Seath said. “This is Ensign Torec. Same cadre as Pirius, same generation. Not as bright, though.”

Torec raised her eyebrows, and Pirius looked away.

“And why is she here?”

“Commissary, I’ve assigned her to you.”

Nilis blustered, “Why, I’ve no desire to take another of your child soldiers. The corvette isn’t provisioned for an extra mouth—”

“I’ve seen to that.”

“Captain, I’ve no use for this girl.”

“She’s not for you. She’s for Pirius.”

“Pirius?”

Seath’s face was hard, disrespectful. “Commissary, take my advice. You’re taking this ensign out of here, away from everything he knows, dragging him across the Galaxy to a place he can’t possibly even imagine.” She spoke as if Pirius wasn’t there.

Nilis’s mouth assumed a round
O
of shock, an expression that was becoming familiar to Pirius. “I see what you mean. But this base is so”—he gestured—“inhuman. Cold. Lifeless. The only green to be seen anywhere is the paintwork of warships!”

“And so you imagined our soldiers to be inhuman, too.”

“Perhaps I did.”

Seath said, “We’re fighting a war; we can’t
afford
comfort. But these children need warmth, humanity. And they turn to each other to find it.”

Pirius’s cheeks were burning. “So you knew about me and Torec the whole time, sir.”

Seath didn’t respond; she kept her eyes on the Commissary.

Nilis seemed embarrassed too. “I bow to your wisdom, Captain.” He turned his avuncular gaze on Torec. “A friend of Pirius is a friend of mine. And I’m sure we’ll find you something gainful to do.”

Torec stared back at him. For the ensigns, this was an utterly alien way to be spoken to. Torec turned to Seath. “Captain—”

“I know,” Seath said. “You spent your whole life trying to get to officer training. You made it, and now
this.
Well, the Commissary here assures me that by going with him, Pirius will fulfill his duty in a manner that might even change the course of the war. Though I can’t imagine how,” she added coldly. “But if that’s true,
your
duty is clear, Ensign Torec.”

“Sir?”

“To keep Pirius sane. No discussion,” Seath added with soft menace.

“Yes,
sir.
”

Nilis bustled forward, hands fluttering. “Well, if that’s settled—come, come, we must get on.” He led the way through the open port into the ship.

Captain Seath stared at the ensigns for one last second, then turned away.

Pirius and Torec followed Nilis aboard the corvette. Sullenly, they avoided each other’s eyes.

They had both been aboard Navy vessels before, of course—transports, ships of the line—for training purposes. But they had never been aboard a ship as plush as this before. And it was clean. It even
smelled
clean.

In the corridor that ran along the ship’s elegant spine, there was carpet on the floor. A two-person crew worked in the tip of the needle hull, beyond a closed bulkhead. In the central habitable section, the outer hull was transparent, and if you looked into the sections beyond the rear bulkhead you could see the misty shapes of engines. But two compartments were enclosed by opaque walls.

Nilis ushered his hovering cases into one of these cabins. He looked uncertainly at the ensigns, then opened the door of the other opaqued compartment. “This cabin was for you, Pirius. I suppose it will have to do for the two of you.” There was only one bed. “Well,” he said gruffly. “I’ll leave you to sort it out.” And, absurdly embarrassed, he bustled into his own cabin and shut the door.

In the cabin there was more carpet on the floor. The room was dominated by the bed, at least twice as wide as the bunks they had been used to. Pirius glimpsed uniforms in a wardrobe, and bowls of some kind of food, brightly colored, sat on a small table.

They faced each other.

“I didn’t ask to be here,” said Torec. She sounded furious.

“I didn’t ask for you.”

“I’ve better things to do than to be your squeeze.”

Pirius snapped, “I’d rather squeeze that fat old Commissary.”

“Maybe that’s what he wants.”

They held each other’s gazes for a second. Then, together, they burst out laughing.

Torec crammed a handful of the food into her mouth. “Mm-m. These are
sweet.
”

“I bet the bed’s soft.”

Still laughing, they ran at each other and began to tear off their clothes. Their new uniforms were not like the rough coveralls they had been used to on Arches; officer-class, the uniforms crawled off the floor where they had been carelessly dropped, slithered into the wardrobe, and began a silent process of self-cleaning and repair.

The room had everything they needed: food, water, clean-cloths, even a lavatory artfully concealed behind paneling. “Evidently officers and Commissaries don’t like to admit they shit,” Torec said dryly when they discovered this.

For hours they just stayed in the room, under the covers or on top of them, eating and drinking as much as they could. They knew they had to make the most of this. Soon enough, somebody would come for them and take all this stuff away; somebody always did.

But nobody did come.

“How long do you think it will take to get there?”

Pirius was cradling her head on his arm, and eating tiny purple sweets from her bare belly. “Where?”

“Earth.”

He thought about that. Even now, more than twenty millennia since humanity’s first interstellar jaunt, a trip across the face of the Galaxy was not a trivial undertaking. “Earth is twenty-eight thousand light-years from the center.” Everybody knew that. “FTL can hit two hundred light-years an hour. So . . .”

Torec had always been fast at arithmetic. “About six days?”

“But we can’t get so far without resupply, not a ship this size. Double the time for stops?”