Then he slept.

Aftershocks and

Second Thoughts

The tribe of Jilan was one of the more traditional. Among them, when some momentous event turned out poorly, the gosthodar would consult with his ranking advisors or officers, then take a strong sedative and sleep on what he'd learned. When he awoke, he'd eat a light breakfast, including a mild stimulant, then go alone to a place beneath the sky, to ponder. Preferably some high place, and always by day rather than by night. At night, Wyzhnyny were susceptible to dark moods. And at any rate it was necessary to sleep on the debrief, allowing the mind and spirit to sort things out, often in dreams.

Gosthodar Jilchuk left his new field headquarters in the limestone caves, and climbed to the ridgetop. The ridge was not particularly high-some two hundred feet local elevation-nor especially steep, but he arrived sweating, breathing hard, his haunches severely fatigued. His original home was not a heavyworld, and he was middle-aged, and disinclined to keep himself fit. At the top, he walked along the crest till he came to a promontory overlooking the countryside. A place where he could sit beneath the sky while the forest behind him kept the sun off his back. There his orderly inflated the gosthodar's field mattress-high-ranking persons were not expected to sit or lie on the hard ground-and arranged it in the shade. Then watched dutifully while his ruler adjusted it slightly.

"Can I be of further service, your lordship?" he asked.

"No, Ethkars. Depart. I'll call if I need you."

Ethkars left, picking his joyless way down through the forest, paying no heed to the esthetics around him. He had an infant in the nursery, and while parents were less given to worry than the nanny gender, it was his firstborn. And given the gravity on this world, the pregnancy had been difficult. He was glad his mate would carry the next one. Meanwhile the tribe was isolated on this world, and yesterday's slaughter had depressed morale.

On his promontory, Jilchuk gazed across a landscape of broad fields-croplands and domesticated pastures. Still surrounded by forest, but his people were making progress. Or had been before the enemy bombards visited.

Until his people had applied their civilizing touch, the settled districts had consisted of small fields and primitive dwellings, mingled with woodlands. What kind of history, what kind of culture must these humans have had to prefer such an arrangement? Clearly they were socially fragmented. Until the day before, he would not have expected such unity of action from them in battle, nor such hard-bitten dedication. Apparently this was a warrior gender he faced. His previous evaluation had been in error.

It was not a painful conclusion. Jilchuk's stoic, practical personality was well-suited to military command. And mistakes were easily made when dealing with unfamiliar life-forms. The point was not to repeat them. It had been an error-natural but an error-to depend so heavily on his warrior brigade. The first attack should have told him that. But it had so nearly succeeded! Surely the next charge…

Until he'd lost more than half his warriors: killed, missing, and disabled.

I should have used my reserves in the first attacks-let the humans expend their air and armor on them-and then sent my warriors. The humans could never have withstood them then. We'd have chewed them up. Like most two-leggers, the humans had mobility problems. Break them-make them run-and they were doomed. They simply couldn't run fast enough.

Fortunately, they too had lost more of their aircraft and armor than they could afford. They'd fought off that last attack with infantry. Best not to take too much for granted though, he told himself. They had plenty of air strength earlier. It's a good thing you moved most of your armor into caves before their bombards arrived.

In the second phase, the humans' heavy ground-support fighters had almost surely been aerospace craft. While those used later appeared to have been simply aircraft. Had the human space force pulled out already, leaving their ground forces on their own? It seemed unlikely, but… He thumbed the mike on his harness. Intelligence would know if the space force was still in the system.

Vice Admiral Carmen Apraxin-DaCosta didn't have a hilltop, nor at the moment the luxury of solitude. She sat on a chair beside her bottled savant, Melody Boo'tsa, who lay in trance. According to the records, Melody was fifteen years old, with a mental age of four. Just now she was in receiving mode, channeling the deputy chief of space operations, Admiral Kaidu Ghazan. Her vocator provided an excellent copy of Ghazan's strong baritone, his delivery, and the modest accent Apraxin had always supposed came from a childhood in a traditional community.

"Carmen," he was saying, "I appreciate your concern. But you need to leave the Jerrie system no later than Terran 31.08.15, at 2400 hours. That gives you approximately twenty-nine hours. You need to rendezvous with Soong in the fringe of Dinebikeyah at system coordinates 2700/1700/00, no later than Terran 31.11.28. He'll need you."

Apraxin considered. "The Wyzhnyny planetary defense flotilla here still hasn't poked its head out of warpspace to show us what it has in the way of firepower. And it may include remnants of the system defense force. I'd like to leave Ver Hoeven's battle group, just in case."

"What evidence do you have that it's actually needed there? That it would be more than just a source of comfort?" Before she could respond, he went on. "Judging from your brief observations of their original planetary guard force, it looks as if Kereenyaga can handle it without Ver Hoeven's help. So. How many functional remnants of their system defense force do you think might show up?"

She hesitated. "The maximum and the minimum," he added.

"The maximum would be all five of them: two cruisers and three corvettes. The minimum would be none, zero."

It took him four seconds to respond. "You may leave three cruisers and four corvettes of Admiral Ver Hoeven's group."

"Thank you, sir." She pushed on quickly. "What about the marine mother ship? In case the Jerries on the ground need the squadrons. They're short squadrons now, and anyway they'd be of no use to Soong."

This time there was a long pause. When finally Ghazan spoke again, he sounded like someone who'd about reached his limit. "Admiral," he said, "I have checked with Marshal Kulikov. He says you can leave the mother ship on one condition: her squadrons are to be used only if the troops on the ground are faced with extermination. The Jerries' primary purpose is to find out for us how the Wyzhnyny fight on the ground: weapons, tactics, psychology… all of it. And the force size Pak was given is the baseline in the study. It's not to be fooled with. If he scrubs the Wyzhnyny, great. The government may even name a Day for him. But… "

"But his people are expendable," Apraxin said matter-of-factly. "I understand."

Ghazan didn't reply immediately. You needn't have put it so bluntly, she chided herself. Finally he spoke. "That's right, Carmen. That's how it is. That's how it will be at Shakti, too. And at Terra, if it comes to that. Resources can't be wasted. Invested but not wasted."

Old Hard Head Kaidu. But he called you Carmen to soften the message. "Right, Admiral," she said. "I understand."

"Fine. Anything else, Admiral?"

"No, sir. I'll be at Dinebikeyah on time and ready."