Shaka II

10.

As Tchaka was building his fleet, two of our colonies—one on Delta Pavonis, one on Cygni 2—came under attack. For weeks we didn’t know who was responsible for it. Then our experts discovered that they were a previously-unknown race from DX Cancri.

Earth mobilized, and soon assembled a fleet of some three thousand ships under the leadership of the brilliant American commander, Dolores Sanchez—and Tchaka announced that South Africa would join the fleet with an independent force of our own.

Word came back quickly. The military thanked Tchaka for his offer, but all ships would be under the command of Admiral Sanchez.

Tchaka’s response was direct and to the point:

I take orders from no one. Do you want us to fight your enemy or don’t you?

From Planetary Command:

These are your enemies too.

And from Tchaka:

They have not harmed South Africa or any of its possessions. We are an independent nation, beholden to no one, and we choose our own enemies. If you want our help, you know our terms.

There was no official reply.

“They want us,” said Tchaka. “They just don’t want to admit it.”

“How can you be so sure?” I asked.

“Because if they didn’t need us, they would reject my offer without hesitation.” He smiled. “It is good to know our enemy’s weaknesses.”

“Our enemy is out there,” I said, pointing to the stars.

He sighed and shook his head sadly. “You are so slow to learn, my brother.”

“Learn what?”

“They are all our enemies,” he replied.

“How can you say that?” I said.

“They are not Zulus,” he answered, as if that explained it all.

Over the next month we began testing our new ships and recruiting crews for them. We received no official communication from Earth’s united military command, but word reached us through unofficial channels that when we were ready, they would prefer us to concentrate on Delta Pavonis.

“Of course they would,” said Tchaka with a sardonic smile.

“Why do you say it like that?” asked an aide.

“It’s almost twice as far from Earth as Cygni 2,” he replied. “It will require twice as much fuel, if we run into trouble it will take reinforcements twice as long to come to our aid, and for all we know the main body of the enemy fleet is there. When they evaluate their forces, you may be sure that we are the most expendable.”

“So do we accommodate the military, or do we go to Cygni-2?” asked another aide.

“In either location there will be hundreds, perhaps thousands, of ships from Earth. I have no intention of being a cog in their war machine.” He paused. “Every army and navy must have a supply line. We’ll patrol the least likely route between DX Cancri and Delta Pavonis.”

“The least likely?” asked the aide, frowning in puzzlement.

“If I know the enemy requires supplies, don’t you think Commander Sanchez knows it too, and will patrol all the likely shipping lanes between the planets?”

“If we choose the wrong route, won’t she think we are trying to avoid the battle?”

Tchaka stared at him until he began shifting his weight nervously. “If even you now know that she will patrol the likeliest routes, surely the enemy knows it—and knowing it, will choose the least likely routes, where we will be waiting for them.” He paused. “The government will dispense with your services as of this minute. I will not have anyone demonstrably stupid offering me advice.”

“But—”

“You heard me.”

The aide turned and left.

“I hope there are no more like him,” Tchaka announced to the room. “I think I may kill the next one.”

Nobody laughed.