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.More like…a theory?” He laughs, and no amount of research can tell Bishop if Rook’s laugh is healthy or not, but he postulates it’s a bit of both, and we happen to know he’s right.“We’re the last, Bishop.You’ve seen how much they dogged just little ol’ me in that asteroid field.They’ve weeded us all out, taken no prisoners, made no exceptions, granted no reprieves.”Bishop tries to intercede, tries to inject hope where sees it dwindling.“There may be others—”“There isn’t.I can feel it.It’s just us.Just us.” He shakes his head.“But we’re not giving up.That would only prove to them that their ‘calculations’ were correct about us.That we were weak and not suited for ‘their’ galaxy of resources.But see, they think in terms of raw resources.That’s how they think.But I look at this—this destroyed, burnt husk—and I see somethin’ else.”“What do you see?”“A Turk.”“What is a Turk?”Rook doesn’t answer immediately.“Minds made for meddling.You know, that’s what we were told when we were taken into the Academy.We were the best pilots, the prodigies I guess you could say.They took us into the Sidewinder Program and told us that we were chosen because our psych profiles suggested we all had ‘minds made for meddling.’ A kind of loose, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants attitude with a ‘slight inclination towards subversion.’ That’s how they put it,” he laughs.“We were chosen because we were tinkerers, and because we liked to take things apart to see how things worked.We demonstrated the ‘bias for action’ that the military is always looking for in leaders and lone operatives.” He looks at the Ianeth.“You got a mind made for meddlin’, Bishop?”“What do you propose?” he asks, feeling himself as invigorated as he’s ever been when standing before one of his squad leaders.This aspect of Rook…well, he finds it most agreeable.“We make a stand.Here.Right here.They’re on our tails, and it won’t be too long before they find us.”“We don’t have sufficient weapons to suppress a Cereb luminal, much less a fleet if one shows.”“No,” Rook says, stepping beside the destroyed ship and patting the wounded hull.“But we got resources.”“I’m listening.”“Oh no.I’m not giving you the details until I know that I can absolutely trust you.”If Bishop could give a smile that was anywhere near complicitous, he would.Now here is a quality friend.Proven once before in a great battle, and now proven as a cunning and conniving friend.The Clan of the Hidden Door would find this human a promising initiate.“All right, then.But let me ask you this.Why here? Can you at least tell me that?”Rook nods.“Where else we gonna go? There’s just two of us, Bishop.We’re soldiers.If we were smithies I’d say we run and hide somewhere, dig ourselves in deep and try to, I dunno, build something for future races to remember us by, to warn them about the Cerebs.If we were sculptors, I’d says we carve some statues to commemorate our races and their legacies.But we’re soldiers, and so I can do something else to help future races.I discovered the principle of four on my own—no need for false modesty here.”Bishop cants his head to the side.“You’ve mentioned this ‘principle of four’ previously, but never explained.What is it?”“What? Oh.It was just an observation, a guess really.I actually had a chat with a Cerebral trooper, back in the asteroid field.He told me, ‘four is everywhere, in all things.’ It got me thinking about our opponents and how deeply the number four is rooted in their culture.”“How was this useful?”“Well, this wasn’t really my point, but you know how targeting computers work, right? I mean, what makes locking on to a target so difficult?”“There are many variables.All used chiefly in predicting the future position of the target.”“Right, exactly.So, on a hunch, I asked the Sidewinder’s computer to begin running simulations of my battles with Cerebral skirmishers.I had it calculate targeting trajectories based on only the four best retreating lines during engagements.And, well, after some tinkering, it plotted perfect firing solutions.”“This was how you beat them at Magnum Collectio?”Rook scratches his head, “Well, yes and no.It certainly helped.But that wasn’t my point.My point was that I did beat them.I did it on my own, and I gave them their first defeat, at least that we know of.Together, you and I escaped from their ship, and we’ve evaded them so far.”Bishop takes a step closer.“Go on.”“We’ve defeated them once, Bishop.We did.I destroyed their ship and we escaped together.But that’s just once.For them, it might not mean much.But twice?” He smiles.“Twice isn’t nothing.Two defeats matter.Two starts a pattern.And, hey, two is half of four,” he says suggestively.“And didn’t you say we needed to be ‘blooded’ together?”“I did, indeed,” Bishop says.Then, for a long while, nothing is said.Bishop mulls this over.Despite the fact that Rook’s new verve is heartening, the Ianeth does have a few reservations.To articulate these concerns, he explains, “I was a warrior-engineer among my people, built for combat and digging in before rebuilding, so my intentions are to fight, of course, but also to dig in and build, to restructure, to restore to proper working order.Making a stand like this…what makes you so confident it can work?”Rook’s lips turns up in a subtle smile.“A long time ago on my world, there was a group of warriors, called the Spartans.They conducted a famous battle at a place called Thermopylae, and for three days, three hundred of them held off an army of a million Persian invaders [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]