Singularity

“Of course. And this is the place for it.”

Fleet tugs were already jockeying iceteroids in so that the ships of CBG-18 could drink their fill. The Kuiper Belt of any star was the storage freezer for leftovers from that star system’s creation. Asteroids, comet nuclei, icy Kuiper objects like Pluto and Eris back in the home solar system … they drifted out here in centuries-long orbits and at temperatures a few degrees above zero absolute, with the local sun merely the brightest star in a sky filled with stars. Chunks of ice were nuzzled in close to resupply ships, which injected them with self-replicating nanodisassemblers. These, in turn, broke the ice down into fragments a few microns across, separated out the frozen methane, ammonia, and other contaminants, and transported pure water into the shield-cap tanks of the waiting ships. As quickly as one hundred-meter iceteroid had dwindled away, another was moved in to take its place; a quarter of CBG-18’s ships had already been topped off, and the rest would be refueled within four more days.

“As soon as the European contingent has been watered,” Koenig continued, “you can take them back to Sol. It’s a fifty-four-day flight under Alcubierre Drive back to Sol, so you’ll be home by early June. I’ve already spoken with the commanding officers of the other ships. The USNA flotilla will be joining me.”

“And the Chinese?”

Koenig smiled. “They’re still considering the question. Their orders were to support your operations against me … but I suspect they also have orders to keep an eye on what we’re doing out here.”

Beijing, Koenig thought, might well be interested in a separate peace with the Sh’daar, and if so, they needed to keep track of what Koenig’s expeditionary force was doing. The nine-ship Eastern Dawn Hegemon fleet might still decide to accompany the America battlegroup.

How well he could trust them when they did encounter Sh’daar forces was another matter, and one he would address when it came up. The Zheng He and her fighters would be welcome additions to the fleet, however, the next time they met the enemy.

“And where will you be going?” Giraurd asked. “If you’re willing to tell me, of course.”

Koenig considered the question. He didn’t want the politicians on Earth to be too up to date on his plans. He didn’t want CBG-18 to emerge at a target star system and find a Confederation fleet—one larger, better prepared, and more determined than Giraurd’s squadron—waiting for him there.

On the other hand, the next stop on his agenda, taken from the Turusch Directory, was a star called Texaghu Resch, located 133 light years ahead, and some 210 light years from Sol. Even if Giraurd shot the news of Koenig’s planned destination back to Sol on a Sleipnir packet, it would be eighteen days for that leg of the trip, and another 116 days for a fleet to get to Texaghu Resch, not counting the time it would take to assemble such a fleet if the Confederation Senate decided to send one. It would be more than four and a half months before Earth could reach Koenig’s next destination.

CBG-18, on the other hand, would be at Texaghu Resch in another seventy-four days. Whatever they found there, it would be another two months at least before the Confederation Military Directorate could catch up with them.

And by that time, Koenig expected that they would be long, long gone.

“Would the information, do you think, be of help to you personally when you face the Directorate?” Koenig asked.

Giraurd’s eyes widened. “Why should you care?”

“Because I know what it’s like to face losing it all, while doing what I think is my duty.”

Giraurd nodded slowly. “It would help, yes. I wouldn’t be going back … empty-handed.”

“We’re heading for Texaghu Resch. The Agletsch know of it … and it’s listed in the Turusch Directory.”

“Texaghu Resch? Strange name …”

“It’s a G-class star that’s not even visible from Earth, which is why the alien name. According to the Directory, there’s something there the Agletsch call a ‘Sh’daar Node,’ and it appears to have something to do with the Sh’daar communications and control net across the galaxy.”

“Interesting. Is it inhabited?”

“Not according to the Agletsch. Not anymore.”

The two Agletsch guides on board the star carrier America had translated the name Texaghu Resch as something like “the Eye of Resch,” Resch being the name of a mythological being in the folklore of a race called the Chelk.

Nothing was known about the Chelk now, save that, like humans, they’d once voyaged among the stars, and like humans, they’d seen pictures of their deities and heroes in the night skies of their homeworld. Exactly who or what Resch had been—god, demigod, hero, or sky monster—was unknown. Its image had been seen in the night sky of the Chelk, who’d held a modest interstellar empire in this region of the galaxy perhaps twelve thousand years earlier.

According to the Agletsch, the Chelk had refused to yield to the Sh’daar demands that they freeze all technological development.

The Chelk were now extinct.

“And after that?” Giraurd asked. “Where will you go after Texaghu Resch?”

Koenig grinned. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you. You know that. But I can tell you truthfully, Admiral, I just don’t know. It’ll depend entirely on what happens at the Sh’daar Node, and what we learn there.”

“I understand.”

“I will suggest that Earth send a follow-up, though. If we can, we’ll leave word of where we’re going next. They can keep track of us that way.”

“Yes … months too late to do any good.”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘good.’ I don’t intend to let them stop us, if that’s what you mean. But at the same time, we’re learning a lot out here about the Sh’daar, about who and what they are, about their client races, about how they see the universe. Geneva will need to know this stuff, no matter what they decide to do back there … negotiations, or a military offensive.”

Giraurd studied Koenig carefully for a moment. “You really believe that what you’re doing is for the good of Earth, don’t you?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t be out here if I didn’t.”

Giraurd shook his head. “I truly hope you know what you’re doing. I hope—”

“What?”

“I actually hope you are right, Admiral, and that the Confederation Senate and Military Directorate are wrong.”

“So do I, Admiral.”

“Because if you’re wrong, Admiral Koenig, God help us all.”

Officers Mess

TC/USNA CVS America

Kuiper Belt, HD 157950

98 light years from Earth

1215 hours, TFT

“Hey, Sandy. Mind if I join you?”

Trevor Gray looked up from his food, startled. Only a few of his friends called him that—Sandy Gray, a memento of the tactic he’d suggested at the Defense of Earth. It was a hell of a lot better than the hated nickname “Prim.”

“Schiffie! Please! Grab a seat.”

Lieutenant Rissa Schiff set her tray down and sat, smiling. “I’d grab yours if I could, Trev. But I think you’ve been avoiding me.”

“Just busy, Schiffie. You know how it is.”

He wondered if the young woman was going to be a problem.

Nine months ago, Gray and Schiff had had a little something going between them—nothing physical, quite. They’d dated, they’d flirted, and they’d talked about taking things further—she’d been a cute and enthusiastic little armful, and Gray had been trying out the idea of casual sexual relationships after a lifetime of monogie self-control. When his wife had divorced him, he’d had no one. For two years afterward, he’d had little interest in filling that aching emptiness Angela had left in him, but then he’d met Rissa, and she was cute and sweet and fun, and she’d indicated a willingness to play.