“They’re afraid of the Starwolves,” she explained. “They don’t want to end the war because they’re afraid of what that many unemployed Starwolves would do.”
“Starwolves are not actively hostile,” Lake mused. “They only react to provocation. If I didn’t have Starwolves as enemies, I would trust them completely. So what do they believe so many unemployed Starwolves would do?”
“Go into business for themselves and be so good at it that mere mortals like ourselves could never compete.”
“I never would have thought of Starwolves as particularly mercantile.”
“I don’t believe that they would leave us begging, but I have recently come to think that Starwolves can do just about anything they want,” Tarrel said. “You might recall that they’ve largely financed their side of the war by stealing our ships and goods and selling it all back. That seems clever enough.”
“Damn, you’re right,” Lake agreed, and decided to pour himself an even larger drink. “You know, I wonder if I should tell the High Council all of this. The best way to convince them to extend, the truce indefinitely is for them to believe that the Republic is using the war for its own purposes.”
The Carthaginian dropped out of starflight and began an immediate scan of the system, clearing the way for the supply convoy that followed her two minutes behind. The military escort was largely a matter of tradition or old habit, a fearful response to the presence of old enemies seen and unseen, and an even deadlier enemy that might or might not return. Captain Tarrel settled back into her seat, enjoying the satisfaction that very little was likely to go wrong. Escort duty in peace time was almost like a vacation. And like all vacations, it would not last forever.
“Captain, I have detected a Starwolf carrier settled into orbit at our destination,” the surveillance officer reported.
The first excited response to that was entirely the result of old habits. In previous times, they would have warned away the convoy before it could leave starflight and then sit tight and hope that the carrier did not notice. But, under the terms of a treaty that had not yet been broken, the Starwolves were friends and allies, even a source of protection against other dangers. The members of the bridge crew calmed themselves after that first response, although the old, instinctive sense of threat and excitement remained just under the surface.
Tarrel nodded in acknowledgement. “Send the Starwolves our regards, and politely ask what ship.”
“The ship responds that she is the carrier Methryn,” the communications officer responded after a moment, sounding slightly confused. “She asks to speak directly to you.”
“Old friends indeed,” Tarrel remarked. “Bring the convoy down and direct them into orbit. And give me that channel at my own station.”
“Yes, Captain. You have your open channel.”
She settled her headset. “Valthyrra Methryn, have you plugged your first Union warship yet?”
“No, but I do keep hoping,” the carrier responded. “I see that they put you back to useful employment.”
“Then they gave you a patrol in the Rane Sector?”
“This used to be the Kerridayen’s patrol,” Valthyrra commented sadly. “Ah yes, I see that they put you to escort duty.” “What else is there to do these days? So, how is everyone?” “Doing well enough, in the sense that things are slow to change in the daily existence of Starwolves. Commander Gelrayen asks if you would like to come over for dinner. I can turn up the heat. The Starwolves are more indifferent to clothes than they used to be, and not just my own. We seem to have started an anti-fashion trend.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Of course, they always were rather indifferent to clothes. Will you be in-system very long?”
“A few days, at least.”
“Give us a call when you get everything settled into orbit.” Tarrel removed her headset and settled back into her seat, waiting out the final deceleration into orbit. Matching the convoy, they would be dropping down from threshold for the next five hours. That would give her plenty of time for reflection. She had always felt that she had unfinished business with the Kelvessan, but she had never expected that she might ever have the chance to run across the Methryn, and she did not know any of the other ships well enough for this matter. In a civilized universe that was generally not cleverly run, perhaps some things were fated after all.
Janus Tarrel felt obligated to stay on the bridge until every ship in her convoy was secured in orbit and the first freighter was taken away for unloading. Her own turn of duty ended by that time, and she put in a private call to the Methryn to arrange a time for dinner. As it happened, Starwolves were always hungry, and in this occasion the attire was semi-formal; both she and her first officer were expected. Under the circumstances, she thought that it was just as well. She could hardly imagine how young Chagin would react to dining with naked Starwolves. She was surprised enough that the offer to come abroad had been extended to anyone beyond herself. The crew of the Methryn seemed to like her well enough, but they had never been given any reason to trust her associates.
Entirely as a sentimental impulse, she retired to her cabin, removed a large trunk from storage, and dressed herself in the white Starwolf armor that she had been given during her stay aboard the Methryn. Chagin was surprised to see her when she joined him at the Carthaginian’s small docking bay, as was every other member of the crew she passed. Because she could not tell if Valthyrra had been serious about turning up her thermostats, Tarrel had warned Chagin to dress warmly.
“Captain, that’s certainly one hell of a souvenir,” he commented with droll humor. “How does a person get one of those?”
“The hard way.”
“I almost feel under-dressed. What will the Starwolves be wearing?”
“I hesitate to guess,” she admitted.
Whether as a considerate gesture, or one of precaution, Valthyrra had sent one of her own transports to take them to the Methryn. The trip over to the carrier was short enough, since she had moved herself in to within five kilometers of the station. Commander Gelrayen and his first officer Kayendel were there to meet them, both of them dressed in their simple command uniforms of white, the first officer’s tunic trimmed with black. Chagin was obviously surprised and fascinated; like most people, he had only seen Starwolves in their armor before, and they looked so much smaller and less threatening without it. Kayendel offered him a tour of the ship, and the two first officers went their own way. They were to join Captain Tarrel and Commander Gelrayen later on the bridge.
“How is everyone?” Tarrel asked as they took the lift from the transport bay to the bridge, a relatively short ride. “I admit that I’ve worried about the Kerridayen the entire six months since the Dreadnought was destroyed.”
Gelrayen looked unhappy. “We never did find any part of Trendaessa that was still intact, and the area of the bridge was completely gone. If fact, they finally had to abandon ainy plan of rebuilding the carrier. Every machine and major system in that ship was wrecked by power discharge, and her frame was damaged. She was the last of the old ships, and her memory units lacked the protection built into a newer ship like the Methryn.” “Have your losses left you short in your patrols?”
“No, the Karvand is back out again, and that leaves only the Destaen still under repair. We have moved three of our reserve carriers into the regular patrols. We know that the Union will begin intimidating the colonies any time now, and the truce will be broken.”
“Yes, they started rearming from the first,” Tarrel agreed. “I suppose it’s no secret to you that my convoy is moving supplies into the fringe to be ready to move against the colonies any time now. The trade companies will be appropriating ownership and control of agriculture and mining. I tried to convince them to keep the truce. We can’t be certain yet that we won’t be fighting a new war with the builders of the Dreadnought any time.”
“Perhaps, but it seems very unlikely,” Gelrayen told her.
“My interior scans of the Dreadnought, and the analysis of debris we collected, indicated that it was at least a quarter of a million years old. We were able to make sense of the few transmissions it made. It seems that it would have never attacked anyone except your people. It confused you with the enemy that it was designed to destroy, for the simple chance that the level of Union technology and ship design almost exactly matched, and your physical appearance was very much the same. When it tried to talk to the Starwolf carriers early on, it was simply telling us to mind our own business.”
“Oh, fine. I’m glad to know that it was all stupid and pointless in the first place,” Tarrel complained.
“Your superiors will be pleased to hear that.”
