Spinneret

Chapter 12

Dr. Simon Chang had a round face, an almost equally round body, and a naturally sunny countenance that had somehow managed to survive the boring three-week trip from Earth. He didn't look much like a materials scientist—at least not to Meredith—but the way he gazed at the Gordian knot tangle of cable spoke louder than even the credentials he'd brought with him. "Magnificent!" was his first comment.

Meredith had to agree. Though much of the cable had acquired a heavy layer of dust, a six-meter length near one end had wound up in a nearly vertical position, its own weight having since bent it into a shiny quarter-circle. At the very tip were the remnants of the cords that had once connected to a reentry parachute; arrayed along the length were various clamps and sensors, all held solidly in place by the cable's own glue. "I hope you and your people can hold on to that enthusiasm," he told Chang. "The cable is proving a very tough nut to crack."

"I don't doubt it." Chang tore his eyes away long enough to glance around the warehouse-sized shelter that had been erected around the landing site. "But we've brought a good deal of specialized equipment with us. What have you learned so far?"

Meredith beckoned to a harried-looking officer. "Captain Witzany, Corps of Engineers," the colonel introduced him. "His people are the closest thing to materials specialists we have. Captain, tell Dr. Chang what you've got."

"Very little, I'm afraid." Witzany gestured to something that looked like a giant vise. "We know now that its tensile strength beats that of a graphite-epoxy bar by at least a factor of three, but that was the limit of our jury-rig. The glue—or whatever— doesn't seem to bond appreciably to liquids or gasses, but it really does extend a few centimeters into any solid material that contacts it."

"Does the effect begin before contact is made?"

"No, sir. It's not like a magnet starting to attract iron, if that's what you mean."

Chang nodded thoughtfully. "Have you learned anything more about its electrical properties? The preliminary report was rather self-contradictory."

"That's the cable's fault, not ours," Witzany replied. "It's a very all-or-nothing sort of material: either insulates or superconducts, but nothing in between. Based on that, we're guessing that if we ever do break it, it'll snap without stretching first."

"When we break it," Chang corrected mildly. "Have you done any tests on the emission spectrum when you heat it? I know it becomes superconducting, but the heat has to come out somewhere."

"We did that, sir—it took three days of continuous heating to get it hot enough, but we managed it. The spectrum centers mainly in the red and infrared, of course."

"That should be good enough." Chang looked at Meredith. "From that we should be able to get some idea as to its composition."

"I wish you luck, Doctor," Meredith said. "I don't believe Captain Witzany's team has been able to match up any significant section of the spectrum with known elements or compounds."

Chang waved that aside. "I think my library will be adequate to the task. I'd like two clear copies of the spectrum and some computer time as soon as possible."

Something sour flickered for a moment in Witzany's eyes. "Yes, sir," he said. "I'll be happy to give you any assistance you need—"

"Won't be necessary, thanks," Chang told him. "My staff and I can handle things from now on. Just give us all the data you've got and then you'll be free to return to your other duties."

This time the look in Witzany's eyes lasted long enough for Meredith to identify it. After sweating over the cable for a month and a half it was suddenly and casually being taken away from him, and he didn't like that at all.

Neither, Meredith suddenly realized, did he. Astra was finally getting the official attention it deserved—but in a way, it served mainly to remind him of the lukewarm support they'd been given up until now.

Witzany nodded toward Meredith. "Colonel Meredith has classified all our reports. I'll need his written authorization before I can turn them over to you."

"Don't be absurd, Captain—I have both Congressional and Joint Chiefs clearance to examine anything on Astra I want to."

"Of course, Doctor," Meredith interjected. "It's just a formality, but a necessary one. It'll just take a few minutes."

"Colonel—"

Meredith cut off Chang's protest with an upraised hand as his phone buzzed.

"Excuse me," he said, and answered it.

It was Major Brown at Martello. "Colonel, we've got a Rooshrike spacecraft approaching. Says he's Beaeki mil Dies na—the one who visited right after we arrived—and that he wants to land and talk with you."

Meredith felt his eyes narrowing. "About what?"

"I don't know. But he's being very polite."

Meredith focused on Chang. "Can you put me through to the Pathfinder on a tight beam? I want Captain Radford."

"Just a minute, sir."

Chang took a step toward Meredith. "Is anything wrong?"

"I don't know yet," the colonel told him shortly.

There was a crackle and Radford's voice came from the phone. "Radford here.

What's up, Colonel?"

"Had anyone on Earth leaked news of our cable before you left?" Meredith asked.

"Specifically, had they leaked it to the Ctencri or the other aliens?"

"As far as I know, it was still a dead-dark secret," Radford said slowly. "Why would you think … the Rooshrike ship?"

"Yeah. I find the timing highly suspicious, given they've been ignoring Astra entirely for the past three months."

There was a short silence. "I thought the idea of bringing the cable down there was to keep anyone from trying to filch it."

"It was." Meredith let his breath out in a hiss, tapped a button on his phone.

"Brown?"

"Yes, Colonel?"

"I want you to patch me through to the Rooshrike. You and Captain Radford are to listen in and make recordings of the conversation. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Give me a second to set up the tamper-proof recorder," Radford added.

Meredith was suddenly aware that all activity and conversation in the cable shelter had ceased. Chang was looking slightly befuddled; but Witzany and his assistants had nothing of uncertainty in their expressions. They knew something was up.

The phone beeped. "You're through, Colonel; go ahead," Brown told him: Meredith brought the phone a bit closer to his mouth. "This is Colonel Lloyd Meredith. I'd like to speak to Beaeki nul Dies na."

"I am Beaeki nul Dies na," the response came immediately. "I speak for my people."

"Uh, yes—I also speak for my people. I'd like to know the purpose of your visit."

"I wish to discuss trade with you."

"I see. Trade for our sulfur, I presume?"

"You need not seek to deceive," Beaeki said. "I offer you free information as a sign of sincerity: we know of the advanced technology which you have discovered and of the cable it has produced. We wish to purchase a length of the cable for examination; depending upon its properties we may be interested in trading for usable quantities of it."

Meredith stared at the phone for two heartbeats, his thoughts racing. "How did you find out about the cable?" he asked, more to gain time than anything else.

"We obtained the information from the Ctencri, who intend to act as agents for Earth in future sales. My people feel a more mutually equitable arrangement may be possible by trading directly with you."

"I see." So Earth had made a deal with the Ctencri without even bothering to tell him … or had the Ctencri set up the whole thing unilaterally? Or, for that matter, were the Rooshrike making the Ctencri connection up in hopes of pushing Astra into a hasty and ill-considered contract? Meredith hesitated, knowing that to appear indecisive might be the worst thing he could do, and wishing like hell he had a little more information. "As far as selling you a piece of the cable, I'm afraid I cannot permit that at present. However, we will sell you the data we have collected, either now or in a few days when our new test equipment has been set up."

Beaeki's answer might have helped Meredith figure out what was going on; but as it happened, the Rooshrike was never given time to reply. "Colonel, we're picking up another ship," Brown cut into the conversation, his voice tense: "Just shifted into the system—we caught the flash. About one point four million kilometers and coming toward Astra."

"Colonel, we just picked up a second flash," Radford announced. "—Make that a second and third."

"Confirmed," Brown said.

"Are those yours, Beaeki?" Meredith asked sharply.

"No," the alien replied. "It is possible a trade delegation from another people—"

"I doubt that seriously," Radford cut him off. "Trade delegations aren't likely to arrive in flanking maneuvers."

Flanking maneuvers. Uh-oh. "If those aren't yours I suggest you get out of here fast," Meredith said.

The Rooshrike didn't answer; but suddenly the phone erupted with a low whistle.

"There he goes," Radford reported. "Like a bat with afterburners… there—he's shifted. Intruders still coming."

"Major? Try to raise them."

"Right." There was a long pause. "No answer. Either they ignore all the supposedly standard frequencies or else they haven't got a translator that handles English. Or they don't want to talk."

"I don't think there's any real doubt as to which it is," Meredith said quietly. "I think we'd better prepare for an invasion."

"Agreed," Radford said, his voice icily calm. "The Pathfinder's at your disposal, Colonel."

"Thanks, but I don't know what you can possibly do except get yourselves blown out of the sky. I suggest you pull back— way back—and wait to see what happens. If they threaten you directly, you'd better run for it."

"I unfortunately agree. All right. Pulling back now and going to communications silence. Good luck to you."

"Thanks. Brown?"

"Sir?"

"Red alert, all units. You might as well make it a general announcement; the civilians are in this with the rest of us and might as well have as much time as possible to prepare."

"Yes, sir. Announcement going to all centers now. Deployment orders?"

Meredith paused for thought, and as he did so noticed for the first time that the others in the room had quietly gathered into a semicircle behind Witzany and Chang. To a man, they all wore the same expression: scared and edgy, but with a spring-steel resolve beneath it all. He'd seen that expression only once before, on Egyptian villagers preparing to defend their village against the Libyan war machine rolling toward it. It was a shock; he hadn't realized that in just three months his men could start thinking of Astra as home.

Or, for that matter, that he himself could.

"Squad-level dispersal," he told Brown. "It doesn't make any sense to try and hold Martello or the admin buildings. We'll split into guerrilla-size groups and try hitand- run tactics once whoever-they-are have landed."

"Not much cover for that."

"I know, but if we stand and fight they can wipe us out from the sky. As many men as possible should head for the Kaf Mountains or the hills near Teardrop Lake. Someone should take the flyers into the Kafs, too."

"What about the cable, Colonel?" Witzany asked.

"Leave it," Meredith said. "If that's all they want, they can take it and go."

"What?" Chang exploded. "Colonel, that cable is priceless—"

"What's priceless is the machinery that made it," Meredith cut him off. "And I'm betting that's what they're really after."

"Colonel," Brown spoke up. "Orders are out, but we've got a glitch re the flyers—one of them is at Olympus with Hafner's group."

"Damn." Hafner's daily attempts to locate the cable-making machinery had become so routine that Meredith had clean forgotten them. "Better have them stay put."

"Right. Flyer One is heading for the mountains now."

Meredith mentally crossed his fingers—Flyer One hadn't been up since limping back to base from its encounter with that high-gee field—and then put the matter out of his mind. Valuable as the flyer was, it held just two lives in its grip—two out of the nearly ten thousand Meredith was responsible for.

"All right. I'm heading back to Unie; I'll pick up coordination from you when I get there."

He had just passed Wright and hit real road once again when the inevitable ultimatum came. "They won't identify themselves," Brown relayed tensely, "but they order us to halt all aircraft and ground vehicles and to assemble outside our buildings."

"Any 'or else' come with that?"

"Not explicitly, but it seems pretty self-evident."

"Yeah. How's the evacuation going?"

"Slowly. The civilians just aren't moving fast enough."

Meredith swore under his breath. "Are the invaders close enough to spot car traffic yet?"

"Depends mainly on whether they know where to look, I'd say. One of the ships is already below geosync; the others are hanging back. So far they're ignoring the Pathfinder."

"Um. All right. Tell the aliens that until we have their identity and full intentions your commander refuses to knuckle under. Use as much slang as you can—out-ofdate slang, if you know any. That plus having to run their messages through you may buy us a little more time."

"Right. Even so, I don't think we'll be able to get everyone out of the towns.

Permission to set up defensive positions?"

"I suppose we'd better. The admin buildings are probably your best bet—you can use fertilizer sacks in lieu of sandbags."

"Already thought of that. Do you want to set up deployment now or wait until you're back in Unie with secure lines?"

Meredith hesitated. He very much wanted to handle that personally, but he had few illusions as to how long they could stall the enemy. "You'd better do that yourself," he told Brown. "Give the local commanders autonomy, consistent with the goal of defensive holding action. Use the computer net as much as possible—they'll at least have to work hard to tap into that."

"Yes, sir. I'll funnel the final plans through to your office; I think we can keep them confused up there until then."

Meredith wasn't at all convinced of that; but whether through confusion or a simple desire to take a good, long look at the landscape, the invaders did hold off long enough for the colonel to reach Unie. He was in his office, skimming through Andrews's hastily prepared defensive setup, when Brown informed him the close-orbiting ship had launched two craft. Bare minutes later a low rumble became audible, growing quickly to a sonic-boom crash as one of the craft shot directly overhead, heading east. Through his window, Meredith watched it brake to a midair halt on its repulsers and settle to the ground somewhere between Unie and Crosse. He tensed, waiting for the sound of gunfire

… but for the moment, at least, there was just a watchful silence.

So here we go, Meredith thought, reseating himself at his desk. The Battle for Astra has begun. I wonder what our chances are.

But that line of thought was unprofitable. Flipping on his phone, he began checking to see which of his communications lines were still open.