For Texas and Zed

people, the loss of two thousand ships of the line would cause no little concern. He did not delude himself into thinking that two thousand ships taken from the Empire's entire fleet would end the war, but it would serve two purposes. Most importantly, it would tell the Emperor's war planners that the action against Texas was not to be taken lightly, that Texas had the capacity to strike as well as defend. If his operation were successful, the Empire would be forced to guard the rear of the front with Texas, and that would scatter he massive fleet building on the periphery across the void of extra-galactic space between the planet and Empire territory. Thus, valuable time would be gained.

There were times as the fleet of tiny vehicles crossed the long parsecs when Lex doubted. He limited his own talk with others to checking navigation with Arden Wal, leading the group on his right flank, and to checks with other group leaders. The isolation didn't particularly bother him. He'd spent his time in the big lonesome spaces of the Bojacks, herding winglings. And he had the thoughts of Riddent and his unborn son to comfort him.

Actually, the trip in was uneventful. There were a few tense moments when Empire warships came to investigate the blink signals, but the incidents merely proved the theory that Empire detectors were set for masses too large to allow detection of widely scattered groupings of airorses. Mostly, the trip was unending tedium and it was with a sigh of relief that the fleet heard General Wal's announcement that the bright dot ahead, gleaming in the blackness after a short blink, was the goal, Centaurus.

With the fleet on alert, Lex and Wal blinked ahead to scout.

There, orbiting a lifeless planet, row on row, tier on tier, bank on bank, dead in space, gleaming in the glow of Centaurus, was the discarded debris of the long Empire war. Ships. The graveyard. Outdated Vandys, middleguards, Rearguards, supply ships, scouts, all used up and thrown away in a display of waste which awed Lex. He'd been amazed when he first read of the Empire's ships' graveyard, and now, seeing it close up, he was saddened. There were ships in the Texican fleet twice the age of the more recent discards there in the darkness of space.

There were no guards. The Empire considered the junk fleet of so little value that no one watched. Nevertheless, guards were posted by the Texicans to avert chance discovery in case still another ship or group of ships was scheduled to be blinked out by space tugs to be abandoned.

Now the careful practices in the desert of home began to pay off. In groups, the airorses began to seek specified hulls, to attach to the pitted metals with magnetic grapples installed in the alteration sheds. The selection was not random, but carefully charted by Arden Wal, who was familiar with the makeup of an Empire battle fleet. Each man had his assignment.

The generators of the airorses were adequate for the job. Lex was grateful for the long tradition which had made the airors the most overpowered vehicle in creation. Souped-up toys became engines of war as the airorses mounted the huge hulks, Vandys, Middle-guards, Rearguards, supply and support vessels, and blinked to assigned points, there to jockey into rehearsed formation, the formation of an Empire battle fleet.

When it was assembled, that dead fleet, manned by single Texicans sitting their airorses atop the dead hulks like biters on the neck of a farl, the formation was perfect. Detectors would have recorded the precise positioning as an Empire fleet, readied for blinking across long distances.

Now the thought monitors were turned on. Orders were given. The power in the airorses blinked and the fleet moved, outward this time, leaping grandly and without attempt at concealment toward the aggregation of force threatening Texas. It would take close visual examination to reveal to an Empireite that dead and gutted ships were moving in battle formation.

Arden Wal's advance time schedule was accurate to three standard hours. Three weeks to the day from lift-off on Texas, the fleet of dead ships emerged into normal space within range of the mass of the fleet in the periphery, choosing the headquarters body, a closely linked grouping of ten thousand ships with a deadly core of Rearguards inside the protecting Middleguards and Vandys.

The approach, of course, had been monitored. Blinkstat contact had been made hours previously. It was another example of the stagnancy which had fallen over the Empire's military that communication codes and procedures had not been altered in the time since Lex and his Empire friends had taken to Texican space in the old T.E.S.Grus . Arden Wal's statement that he was officer in command of a battle group sent out as additional reinforcements was accepted. Empire did not expect attack from the rear. They were facing one thinly populated planet. Their confidence was based on the knowledge that behind them were a million worlds controlled by Empire, millions of ships on duty.

In voice contact, Lex heard Wal ask for position orders, heard the orders given. The Empire fleet was spread over millions of cubic miles of space, and the position assigned to them was not suitable, too far from the main headquarters group which was their target.

Wal was equal to the occasion. 'Request repeat of the previous message,' he said, signaling for a short blink which put the Texican fleet within optical instrument reach of the Empire force.

'You are far out of position,' came the irritated answer. There followed coordinates for a blink, but the Texicans were moving at sub-light speeds, closing the gap.

'You are entering guarded space,' the voice of the Empire communication said. 'Halt. Reverse your thrust. That is an order.'

'We have you on optics and will pass safely,' Wal sent.

There was a short pause and then a voice full of authority came onto the communicator, a voice with cold fury. 'What do you think this is, Admiral, amateur night at the maneuvers?'

Two thousand ships closed on ten thousand. The dangers of collision were small, but the movement of the Texican fleet was against all Empire regulations.

'Perhaps our optics are malfunctioning,' Wal said, in a cowed voice. 'Sir, could you glow your ships for a visual check?'

'I want to see you, sir, in my quarters when you're in position,' the arrogant voice of command said, but ahead, near, pleasingly near, dots of light began to gleam as the headquarters fleet lit up to avert possible collision.

'This is an order,' came the voice. 'You will reverse blink at once to a distance of one-tenth unit. Then we will send a guide, since you're incapable of finding your way.'

'Targets,' Lex said, on the private communicator which linked his two thousand young Texicans. 'Lock.'

'Yes, sir, at once,' Wal said, but the fleet continued to close.

'We are preparing to fire on you,' the fleet commander said, his voice cold and full of fury.

'Now,' Lex sent, hitting his release button, disengaging smoothly from his Vandy hull, in the advance, hitting his sub-light speed control at the same time, shooting hisZelda out and away and seeing the blinks and glow of power as two thousand vehicles followed, darting toward the Empire fleet even as the Empireites realized, their instruments now reading dead ships and, astoundingly, live ships, unseen, over them, under them, around them, moving in like darting insects.

Lances of fire came out from the ships on the near flank, lighting dark space. Behind Lex, the dead fleet, shieldless, glowed and burned, but he was boring in, dodging, twisting, avoiding the beams skillfully, finding that it was child's play compared to herding a spooked wingling.

Now it was a matter of seconds and seconds were critical, for the Empire was mounting screens, the dim glow of power beginning to show on first one ship and then another.

The flagship was his. At the center, he saw it, huge, a lovely target. He zoomed in and over and threw reverse power at the last instant, darting into the shield as it closed over him, his airors making contact with the hull aft of the main weapons turrets in a blind spot. He engaged the magnetic grapple and said, 'Report.'

There was a wait of seconds before group leaders began to count down. It was a simple affirmative, agreed upon in the long sessions of training. Each individual reports to his leader, each leader reports to a group leader, ten group leaders say, 'Got 'em, Lex; OK, boy; yes indeed, buddy.'

There was a frenzy in the fleet as weapons continued to sear and burn the remnants of the dead ships left behind, the Empire discards which had been the Texicans' passport through thickly patrolled Empire space. Then, in a silence, space lit only by the dim glow of the screens of the Empire fleet, Lex opened his communication to an Empire frequency and said, 'Overfleet Lord Kal, in the name of Texas, I ask you for surrender.'

He waited. He felt a hint of the nausea of excitement. Now would come a test of Empire loyalty.

'I am, sir, Captain Lexington Burns, Republic of Texas. I am in a position to destroy your ship, sir. It and all the ships in your fleet. However, I do not wish to cause wholesale death. Will you speak with me?'

Again he waited. And there was, in his ear, the same voice of command, Overfleet Lord Kal, the Emperor's own choice, a noble from old Earth. 'I will speak.'