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“. . . after that, N’Keeea left without another word. That’s all I can tell you about this end,” Brooks concluded. “The T’H’Tul are an old and distinguished Hev clan, but apparently that doesn’t mean much to the others outside of lip service.”
The figure before him towered almost a foot taller than he was. Even for a Nolem Sepht she was large.
Commodore Siilon grimaced, the serrated beak hidden behind her lips looking only a little less intimidating, even after all these years.
She was not actually present; if anyone else had been in Brooks’s study, they’d not even have seen her. But she appeared as she did in life, projected into the world via augmented reality.
Their communication was one of the most difficult and expensive variety; real-time across many light-years, opening the tiniest of ripples through surface space to send a tight-beam through zerospace.
“No, based on our information,” she replied. “It means very little to the Red Hev clans. And the P’G’Maig are very well-known opportunists, even falling on their allies if they see a good opportunity.”
“Are they due for a factionalization?” he asked. Many Red Hev clans tended to grow, then split into factions as parts grew too distant, culturally dissimalar, or resources grew scarce. Or just because they felt like it; a culture of violence usually created major internal strife.
“Unlikely. Certainly not soon enough to help us – we’ve dubbed this faction Maig Three, as they appear to be the third most powerful within the clan. The Overlord of this faction is called Ks’Kull, and he is genetically related to the leaders of four other clans, including the two stronger than his faction. Their coup against the prior leadership was apparently years in the making, but was achieved relatively recently, and they have solidified their positions. For this reason, we believe they are in a period of relative stability – the pickings haven’t gotten slim enough, nor their situation dire enough, to cause infighting.”
Brooks took a deep breath and sighed. “So much for that. Why do they have such a seemingly personal vendetta against the Tul Clan?”
“That we don’t know,” Siilon replied, her tentacles slipping back in a gesture of annoyance, before returning to their normal disarray. Many Sepht were fastidious about their head tentacles to the point of vanity, preferring them to stay thin and lithe and lacking muscle, but Siilon was in a sharp contrast – hers were as thick as his wrist at their base, and strong enough together to break bones if they got around something.
“What is the strength of Ks’Kull’s forces in the system? Do they have strategic reserves?”
“Reserves, yes, but we do not know the strength. The reports gathered by the Dessei Republic Fleet and Sepht Knowledge Service have seen fleets leaving and new ones cycling in, likely for refit.”
“Any repeated fleets? Bringing one out, then back in?” Brooks asked hopefully. It would indicate a potential limit to their reserves.
“Unfortunately no. Within the system their forces are already quite formidable. There are sixteen different Fronts, each commanded by a Warlord. Each Front is estimated to contain around 6,000 battleships, a total fleet strength of nearly 150,000 combat vessels, though several are depleted, bringing their total fleet strength to just over two million in the Mopu system. All told we expect them to number around forty billion within the system.”
The number was staggering, but not unexpected for the gargantuan task of taking an occupied system. And they were only the third largest within the overall P’G’Maig clan.
“We’re going to be a little outnumbered,” he noted dryly.
“Well, it could be a bit less,” Siilon admitted, the absurdity not escaping her. “A lot of those ships might have skeleton crews.”
It was a common enough tactic for Red Hev; the majority of their populations slaved away endlessly producing ships, food, and munitions, their societies being little more than roving fleets, colonizing or conquering wherever they went. It made appearing strong to be of vital importance to them, and ships often survived even if crew didn’t, meaning that a lot of their ships would be running quite lean on personnel. Especially after a war of attrition.
Things such as commodities or improving the overall conditions of their people were alien to them. Quite a difference from many of the Blue or Yellow Clans, who had more balanced societies.
“Equipment quality?”
“Very low, for the most part. The Maig rely on brute force with expendable ships and crews, having only a very low portion of more elite forces. Those of higher quality still typically are quite behind our tech – though we’ve gotten some reports of them fielding things that are first-class. We’re not quite sure how they might have been acquired.”
Shaking her head, Siilon gestured to him. “I’ve sent you all the specifics, and reviewed them myself – let me just give you my assessment.”
“I’d certainly appreciate your view on it. It is more your forte than mine.”
She made a doubting wriggle of her tentacles. “You could be a Commodore yourself if your leaders realize that they should treasure one who can lose so much and be stronger for it. As the old human saying goes ‘what does not kill you makes you stronger’, yes?”
“Perhaps,” Brooks agreed. “But I wouldn’t like the extra paperwork.”
Siilon barked a laugh. “I use aides for all that. I haven’t looked at a form in years!”
She turned more serious. “But my view is that this is not a fight to be taken. Ks’Kull loves bloodshed, even if he is a coward at heart. While their forces have low morale and commonly retreat, they regroup just as quickly and re-engage with overwhelming numbers.
“As for the Tul clan – Ks’Kull will not stop or be dissuaded from destroying them, I think. The most you can hope for is that he may allow some of the civilian Tul population to leave – enough that they might continue to exist.”
“If they do they’ll lose their T’ title, and probably become known as J’ – remnant cowards,” Brooks said, frowning.
Siilon looked surprised at his knowledge. “That is true. It would be a stain on their clan they will likely not outlive. But if they choose death, there is not much we can do,” she said. “As much as I hate that. I understand the feeling of dishonor, but to sacrifice their people for it . . .”
“Alien minds,” Brooks said wryly.
Siilon laughed again. Her neutral color of a pale blue mottled a darker shade with amusement. A metal patch covered her right eye, with an ugly scar rising from it. The trophy of combat with a pirate fleet on the edges of Sepht space.
She could have gotten the scar repaired, and her eye replaced. But she hadn’t, instead just fusing a sensor plate to the orbit.
He’d asked her why in the past;
“Because I want everyone to know I don’t care,” she had told him.
Letting the memory slip away, he focused on the moment. “I agree, though,” he said to her. “I’ve got a bad taste in my mouth and we haven’t even gotten there yet.” He hesitated. “Has your mission been a success?”
“Aye,” she replied. “Through our trade contacts, we have been able to contact the Maig Clan, and received their assurances that you will receive an audience. I have made some notes of the best Fleet Fronts to consider approaching from, as their attrition extends even to leadership – one way to keep potential upstarts in check. So many of their command staff are rather green.”
The tentacles that covered her head twisted in a way that indicated her disgust. “It isn’t much. The Maig are treacherous. But at least they won’t just shoot you down in surprise when you arrive.”
“Now they’ll just have their guns pre-aimed,” Brooks said. Half-jokingly.
“If they do, you know I’ll come for them,” she said. “And more importantly, they know that. We don’t want war with them – by the depths, who truly wants war? But should they attack one of our vessels, under a banner of truce, then the Sapient Union will retaliate.”
The question was just how much the Maig would care, Brooks thought.
“But I do not trust them any more than you,” Siilon admitted. “So I have sent a scout ship to the edge of the system- just to check things out and make sure there’s no obvious traps set up. She’s one of my fastest and should arrive only a few hours before you to look for such signs.”
“Thank you,” Brooks said. “But that’s a big risk. If they are attacked, you’ll be held responsible.”
“I trust you to keep them safe.”
She put it on him, but he knew that Siilon had her own contingencies in mind. He could guess what, but it was a large risk even for her . . .
“I sure wish I had your flotilla here,” he said, wondering if she’d volunteer more.
“I would love to be there, but for now my government is taking a hands-off approach. We rejected the T’H’Tul ambassador, after all, and working as go-between for your government and the Maig seems to be all the politicians feel they owe you.”
She was disgusted again, but he knew that she had always hated political games, even if she was good at playing them.
“You should see our newest Artillery Ship, Chilled Blade that Cuts from Afar,” Siilon said. “Her slugs can reach 12% higher velocities than any comparable ship in the combined fleets.”
“I hope I never have to see her in action,” Brooks replied with a smile.
Siilon’s expression went more solemn.
“Best of skill to you, Brooks. Next time I get the drinks, eh?”
The call was ended, the augmented reality image of his friend disappearing.
Other Terrestrial 