Free A Darkling Sea by James Cambias Page B

twelve starships, each superior to anything the humans can build—but they have thirty that we know of.”
    “Then I fear I don’t understand what you mean to accomplish,” said Tizhos. “You fear intervention but support it at the same time.”
    “We must produce a report which supports Irona’s beliefs, but which won’t tip the consensus at home in favor of the Interventionist faction.”
    “That sounds difficult. Especially with aliens involved.”
    “Very difficult. But consider what it means for the future: Irona and the Interventionists will owe their prestige to us. That gives us a way to control them.”
    “Tell me if you would like some food,” Tizhos asked.
    “Please,” said Gishora.
    She operated the foodmaker, feeling herself settle into the role of a subordinate. A comfortable feeling—especially if she didn’t have to make the kind of terrifying decisions Gishora did.
    As they began the meal she asked one final question. “You wish to maintain a balance between factions—but so much depends on the actions of the humans. Tell me how you can predict the behavior of alien creatures.”
    Gishora popped a food ball into his mouth and stretched lazily. “The Terrans have an obsession with rules and pride themselves on behaving rationally. Predicting their behavior seems like analyzing a computer’s output—as long as you know the relevant rules and inputs, determining the result poses no difficulty. Of all the elements, I worry least of all about them. They seem entirely predictable.”
    STRONGPINCER learns of the attack when a bolt glances off his headshield, waking him from a sound sleep. He pings and is shocked to hear a throng of armed adults converging on the rocks where his followers are camped. Half the attackers are on the sea bottom, arranged in a crescent around the rocks and moving inward. The rest float above, ready to intercept anyone trying to escape. There must be two dozen in all.
    “Wake up!” Strongpincer thwacks Hardshell’s headshield and pings the others as loudly as he can. “Militia!”
    The militia must be from Three Domes; many of the adults there are merchants and don’t like bandits, even if they don’t prey on Three Domes convoys. For them to come out in force like this is a surprise, but not impossible. It’s just Strongpincer’s bad luck that they’re out looking for bandits here.
    Where is Tailcutter? Strongpincer remembers leaving him on watch. The coward is probably swimming away as fast as he can go. Of course, that isn’t a bad idea, but how to get away without being cut off and shot full of bolts?
    “Onefeeler!” Strongpincer calls out. “Take Headcracker and Hardshell—try to get free. We hold them here.”
    He’s lying, of course. In battle, sacrifices are sometimes necessary. As soon as Onefeeler’s group go half a cable, Strongpincer and the rest scatter, each swimming as hard as he can in a different direction. That makes poor Onefeeler and his companions the biggest target, and Strongpincer can hear them getting swarmed by militia.
    The squad hovering up above are launching bolts at the fleeing bandits, and a couple pass near Strongpincer as he zigzags desperately. Halftail gets snared in a net, struggling to free himself until half a dozen bolts send him sinking gently to the bottom.
    There’s one soldier moving to intercept Strongpincer. He knows that he can’t afford to get tied up fighting, so he tries to brush past and keep on going. It doesn’t work. The soldier jabs with a spear, and Strongpincer has to do a sudden roll to avoid getting an obsidian point in his head. He’s not called Strongpincer for nothing: he gets one pincer onto the shaft of the spear and snaps it.
    Now the soldier’s grappling with him, trying to hold one of his limbs and slow him down. Strongpincer gives the fellow a powerful blow to the head, deafening him for a moment. He loses his grip on Strongpincer’s leg. That’s all Strongpincer needs—he dives