(Back in 2014, one of the writers on the “Swarm Cycle” email list gave us the beginning of a short story. It was not clear whether HCB wrote it or was merely passing it on to the list. I ‘finished’ it for my own entertainment, but it was his story. I think. Still, it’s been ten years. If HCB objects, I’ll pull it back. If anyone else can find this already posted by the real author somewhere else, I’ll apologize and pull it back. I didn’t write the beginning and it’s not mine. -ZM)

Horde-Driver Arem stalked his bridge. The stench of fear from his subordinates was rich and satisfying. He looked at his chief of information.

“They are nine armed ships, honored master,” said that worthy, his ears held straight out to the sides, “but they are not in an attack pattern. They seem to be holding position right by the wormhole, waiting to see what their welcome will be like. We are requiring of the Galian prisoners what they know about this race.

It seems that they have met and have learned to speak to one another, to an extent. They tell us the ships are armed but we knew that. Power signatures are the same for all modern weapons and shields. Otherwise, all we have now is a ship list. We will have much more information soon.”

“Soon,” roared Abema, “is not soon enough.” His rage filled the air with musk. “We detected this new threat twelve minutes ago. Yet you still have four living Galians. You must have some data to give me. Do we abandon this star-system, treat with them and seek advantage later or do we attack? To make that decision, I must have information. What do you know NOW?” His glare brought the other officer’s ears down.

“We can see that their ships are about the size of ours and that we have them slightly outnumbered. They are near the wormhole but they are not moving toward it and we have enough velocity built up toward them that they could not simply flee the system.” his subordinate replied. “Other than that, their ships are named after geographical features. Rivers, plains and cities.”

The Horde-Driver relaxed, his large noble ears swinging happily. “That is enough information. It might not be enough for you but this tells me that those people are not warriors. I will send the Long Spear on ahead. I will keep my flag on the Deathmaker and stay in the center. The rest of the Horde will spread as a fish-net. The enemy must not escape. And you must prepare to learn what you can about our next set of victims that they might be readily tamed.”

On the other flagship, Rear Admiral Hamman took her morning coffee while looking at view screens and readouts from her little fleet. Her flag captain was with her on the bridge. They heard the duty sensor officer say, “They’ve put up their shields and powered their weapons arrays. They are forming up to attack.”

Captain Little said, “I guess they don’t want to talk.”

Admiral Hamman nodded regretful agreement and gave her orders. Captain Little reacted to them and punched in his own.

They watched the main tactical screen as nine lights slid down the screen: Thermopylae, Hattin, Antietam Creek, Rorke’s Drift, River Somme, Tobruk, Stalingrad, Chosin Reservoir and Dien Bien Phu.

Geographical features, one and all.

My uncle Jacques was a senior sensor tech on Rorke’s Drift. His stories of exploring the universe and meeting aliens had been part of the reason I had gone to the Academy. The last time I saw him I was a Commander, the skipper of a destroyer. Since then I’d been promoted to Captain, commanding a whole destroyer squadron. I liked to talk with him whenever we crossed paths, but he couldn’t serve on one of my ships. We’d have too much trouble.

We’d been talking to the Galians for some time. They understood our Anglic well enough to tell the Horde what our ship-names meant. However, since the Galians weren’t warlike they did NOT understand our culture well enough to recognize the common thread.