Orphan's Triumph (Jason Wander) Read Online Free PDF Page B

look like peewee football, was predicated on the assumption that they would return. I cocked my head at Howard. “But why Weichsel? Why a sideshow, and the same place where they feinted last time?”
    Howard leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling, and I leaned forward in my chair. The reason the army and the Congress and the UN put up with Howard and funded his clandestine programs was that his intuition about the Slugs had proven right so often over thirty years of off-and-on war. He said, “The Pseudocephalopod knows we reacted to the first feint at Weichsel only by stationing cruisers there and fighting it to a draw, out in space. It infers—correctly—that we don’t value Weichsel highly and that we defend it lightly.”
    “So?”
    “So the Pseudocephalopod reasoned that it could slip in and plant a small force on Weichsel easily.”
    I turned my palms toward Howard. “Again. Why?”
    “So we’ll mount a counterattack from here in the Mousetrap and drive it off Weichsel.”
    “Another feint. To draw away our rapid-response forces, so the Slugs can attack us elsewhere.” I nodded.
    Howard said, “Not a feint. Feints are intended to mislead. The Pseudocephalopod is direct in its tactics.”
    “But we won’t take the bait.”
    “Oh, yes, we will. Because it’s excellent bait.”
    I stiffened. “Huh?”
    Howard waved on a hologen in his compartment’s corner, and it flickered as he scrolled to an overhead, visible-light image of a flat snow-and-rock landscape. I could tell it was Weichsel because a half-dozen rust-orange mammoths ambled at the image’s far edge. At the image’s center, snow drifted against one side of a bulbous Slug-metal blue disk. Based on the size of the mammoths, the disk was ninety feet in diameter and twenty feet high. Six snow-covered ridges stretched away from the disk like wheel spokes.
    I leaned toward the image. “We’ve never seen a Slug instrumentality that small, except for individual Warrior weapons and those booby-trap footballs they leave around. What do you think it is?”
    Howard nodded. “Our collective hunch is that you’re looking at a hard-shell facility housing a control Ganglion, armored and with enough cognitive capacity to control operations on a planetary scale. A remote brain, if you will.”
    “There’s no Troll?” Normally when the Slugs set up housekeeping on a planet, they dug in a transport ship as big as a small mountain, a “Troll” by United Nations phonetic designator. Trolls were purpose-built to incubate Slug Warriors by the millions.
    Howard shook his head. “We’ve identified four Fire-witches orbiting Weichsel, and a force of fifty thousand Warriors, deployed in defensive positions around the Ganglion.”
    I shook my head. “When the war started—hell, anytime up until the last two years—that was scary. But the war fighting balance has shifted. Four Firewitches? Today one Scorpion squadron will eat them alive. Then we can stand off and brilliant bomb the maggots and their brain from orbit.”
    “But if we could capture the brain intact, we might be able to locate the Pseudocephalopod homeworld.”
    I raised my eyebrows. We had captured a few Slug ships over the years, but the little maggots were regular kamikazes. The thinking parts always self-destructed before we could examine them. I pointed at the snow-covered-disk image. “What makes you think we could take this brain alive?”
    “Two reasons. First, you can devise and execute a plan that will achieve tactical surprise. Second, the Pseudocephalopod fully expects that you will take the brain alive, as you put it.”
    “So it’s a trap. By now, we’ve learned not to walk into Slug traps.”
    Howard pulled his chessboard back between us, then moved a white pawn, undefended, into a center square. “It’s not a trap, it’s a gambit. A sacrifice of valuable material offered to gain time and space.” He slid a black bishop onto the center square and captured