And now she looked at the dark, menacingly bearded face across the desk and saw not a man whose family had died but the callous, murderous commander who had been willing to butcher her helpless crews.

 

 

"No, Admiral." Her voice rang in the still room. "I had no part in that heroic action!" She watched Ian Trevayne rise, his dark face expressionless despite the terrible fire that blazed suddenly in his eyes. She watched him walk around his desk, and the furious anger of his anguish came with him. She sensed the murder in his heart, but she held herself stiffly, her own eyes hard and hating as they burned into his, refusing to flinch.

 

 

He stopped, fisted hands clenched at his sides, and muscles trembled in his arms as he fought to keep them there--comfought to control the furious need to smash them into her suddenly hateful face.

 

 

And then he straightened, expelled a long breath, and was no longer a mere vessel of fury. He jabbed the button which summoned the Marine guards.

 

 

"Remove the prisoner," he told them, looking over her head. They did. And as they hustled her out of the door, she looked back, and in his face she seemed to see a reflection of herself, like a mirror of the soul. She couldn't explain the sudden surge of empathic understanding, for she herself had never felt what she saw in that face... except, possibly.

 

 

Comprehension came wrenchingly as she remembered Argosy Polaris and those child-bodies. And at that moment, she knew exactly how Ian Trevayne saw those to whom he'd almost done what she had done to Arthur Ruyard.

 

 

Their eyes met one more time, and for the barest instant the bond was back. But now their tenuous, shared understanding encompassed the unforgivable wrongs they'd done one another, the wrongs that were somehow a micrb-cosm of the whole, colossal tragedy in which they were caught up.

 

 

The understanding flared up between them, hideous with the deadly, conflicting tides of duty and desperation and hatred which could bring good and decent human beings to such a pass, but for only an instant... then it was cut off by the closing office doors.

 

 

Trevayne stared at the closed doors for a moment. Then he walked to his office's private washroom and stared into the mirror for a long, long time, as ff prolonging the hideous glimpse he'd gotten into his soul.

 

 

COUNTERSTRIKE The prisoners had departed and spring was turning into summer when the Orion courier craft emerged from the Zephrain-Rehfrak warp point. The commander of the picket stationed there gad explicit orders covering this rare occurrence, and a brief message was smoothly transferred before the Orions departed as quickly as they'd come. The message was beamed to TFNS Horatio Nelson in a high-speed squeal carried by a hair-thin laser, and Nelson's receiving dishes scooped it out of space and beamed it down to Government House with equal security, and Ian Trevayne called an emergency meeting of the Grand Council.

 

 

"The Orions are being even more uninformative than usual," he told them. "I'hev say only that an emissary will be arriving here from Rehrak in less than three standard weeks. Period." He shrugged.

 

 

"This w/il be the first time an Orion has come to Zephrain since the war began--more than that; as far as I'm aware, it will be the first time a highly-placed Orion official has paid an official call on any section of the Federation during that time. There's no hint as to the purpose of the visit, but I'll wager it's something big. Remember, the Orions don't prize prostix-ity the way we do. Among them, the more important an announcement is, the more terse it's likely to be." He hoped the implication wouldn't be lost on certain overly-verbal persons, but he suspected it would be. "So," he

 

 

concluded, "this emissary will probably be quite a high-ranking Orion. Possibly even Leornak himself." "Or someone even higher?" queried Barry de Parma. "There sts no one higher in this part of Orion space," Trevayne said flatly.

 

 

"Only five Orion mfiitary officers outrank Leornak'zilshisdrow, but that's only part of it.

 

 

Theoretically, the Khanate is an absolute monarchy, but the district governors are practically==== autonomous as long as they follow the Khan's policy guidelines. You might say Leornak has what we'd consider permanent emergency wartime powers, ff only because of the sheer distance between him and the Khan. No, anyone higher than he would have to come all the way from New Valkha itself; and ff we rate that kind of attention, God only knows what's afoot!

 

 

"At any rate, we have to decide on the nature of our welcome. I propose to greet the envoy aboard Nelson. It never hurts to impress the Orions--though, needless to say, I have no intention of inviting as knowledgeable an old cat as Leornak to examine our new weaponry!" They all nodded at that. "And I think we should have a high-powered political presence on board: Mister de Parma, Ms. Ortega, and Mister MacFarland." Again, there was no demurral. De Parma, as titular head of the Grand Council, was an obvious choice. So '" Bryan MacFadand, Grand Councilor for External Affairs. He'd always had little to do, inasmuch as the Provisional Government's only exchanges with other human polities had been restricted to nuclear warheads and the only nonhuman powers with whom the Rim had contact were the Orions (whose official policy was one of non-intercourse for the duration) and the Tangri (whose permanent policy was that humans were simply an exceptionally dangerous species of prey).

 

 

Now it seemed his hour might have arrived. Besides, Trevayne found him a refreshing personality. His world of Aotearoa, as its name suggested, had been settled initially by New Zealanders, but most of its subsequent immigrants had been from Australia.

 

 

Now the Aotearoans were more Aussie than the Aussies--just listening to MacFarland reminded Trevayne of his tour at the Navy's strikefighter pilot program at Brisbane on Old Terra.

 

 

There was ahother, unspoken reason for including him, though. So far, the pressure of the war effort had kept the other Rim Worlds from resenting the disproportionate role played by Xandies in the Provisional Government, but it was only a matter of time. Trevayne intended to forestall it by involving as many non-Xandies as possible in high-level functions. Miriam, though a Xandy by adoption, wholeheartedly approved. She herself had no obvious business aboard Nelson, but no one questioned his decision to include her.

 

 

It was odd, he thought. In most times and places, a relationship like their never-acknowledged but widely-known one would have damaged her politically.

 

 

But it hadn't done so here. Perhaps, he thought wryly, it was because no matter how tightly allied thev were, she never hesitated to disagree (sometimes violently) when she thought he was wrongp-and her disagreements weren't always announced in private. No one could ever think Miriam Ortega's politics belonged to anyone but herself, and it showed even more strongly against the virtually unbroken deference her fellow Grand Councilors extended towards his policies.

 

 

Miriam looked up and hid a smile as his musing glance slid past her. She knew what he was thinking, just as she knew his habitual blind spot kept him from seeing the answer. Part of her fellows" acceptance came from the fact that she refused to be awed by their governor-general, but at least as much stemmed from the unique status their relationship had couferred upon her. In the eyes of the Rim population, Trevayne's standing was such that he was, quite simply, above resentment, and she, by close association with him, shared in the mana. Yet he would never understand the way it worked, she thought. He was too intimately acquainted with what he considered his weaknesses to accept that the Rim could see him--or her -comin that light. And she'd be damned before she'd in any way suggest it to him.

 

 

The Orion cutter completed its docking sequence in Nelson's boatbay, where Trevayne stood before a group that included Vice Admiral Sonja Desai, Commodore Genii Yoshinaka, and Captain Lewis Mujabi of the Nelson in addition to the Grand Councilors. The officers (including Trevayne) wore full dress uniform for the occasion, and each left shoulder bore the distinctive patch which Trevayne had recently authorized for the Rim armed forces: a ring of stars (one for each Rim system) surrounding the planet-and-moon of the Federation. Miriam had suggested that the stars should encircle a human hand with the digitus impudicus upraised to express the true spirit of the Rim. Trevayne was privately convinced she was right, but he had--comreluctantly-- vetoed the suggestion.

 

 

The hatch opened, and the emissary emerged.

 

 

Trevayne said, simply, "No." "But yes!" Kevin Sanders beamed, stepping down the short gangway ramp with a spryness that longevity technology alone couldn't explain. He was, as usual, clearly enjoying himself.

 

 

Trevayne stepped forward and bent slightly so he could speak softly into Sanders' ear. "You old sod! How the hell did you talk the Orions into letting you through? No, wait, let me guess: I daresay you had your spies dredge up something in Leornak's sex life to hold over him!" "Admiral! I am cut to the quick! I'll have you know that I've never approved of blackmail. I much prefer bribery; greed is more dependable than fear. The fact is," San.ders grinned hugely, "I brought him a case of Jack Daniels. Been keeping him supplied since the war began." Then he became, if not serious, at least sincere. "It was necessary for a cabinet-level official to come here, Admiral, and I pulled every string in sight to be the one. May I say that's it's a pleasure to see you again? As a token of my esteem, I've brought you a case of Glen Grant." Trevayne's face was momentarily transfigured. Then he glared. "At least have the goodness to tell me what I'm being bribed to do." "All in good time, Admiral," Sanders said with another of his disarming chuckles. "For now, let's not keep the reception committee waiting." Trevayne introduced the Gray Eminence of Terran Intelligence to the officers and politicians. Sanders bowed over Miriam's hand with courtly grace, addressing her as "Madam Ortega" and, incredibly, leaving her almost flus- INSU-AECTION tered. The buger plays the gentleman of the old school to the hilt, Trevayne thought dourly.

 

 

Then they all moved towards Nelson's wardroom, where Captain Mujabi had prepared to extend his ship's hospitality. Trevayne contrived to maneuver himself and Sanders into an otherwise empty intraship car, intending to grill the unexpected visitor. But as soon as they were alone, Sanders turned to him with an expression that was half-amused and half-abashed.

 

 

"Ahem... Admiral, do you recall [he HV chips I gave you at Rehfrak?" "Yes," Trevayne replied, caught off balance. "They've unaccountably disappeared, I'm afraid." Please, God, he thought quickly.

 

 

Don't let the bastard have another set!

 

 

"I'd suspected that might happen. However, the series was such a resounding success that they've produced a sequel: Triurph at Zephrain.

 

 

I had intended to arrange direct distribution rather than troubling you with the matter... thus minimizing the possibility of the sort of accident which befell the original." He paused, gauging the visible effect of all this on Trevayne. Judging the risk of coronary arrest to be within acceptable limits, he rusumed.

 

 

"But I've changed my mind after meeting Ms.

 

 

Ortega. You see, she figures rather, ah, prominently in the sequel. And I can see now that the unknown actress who, for obscure reasons, was chosen to play her was badly miscast. She isn't endowed with the Grand Councilor's vivid personality and lively intelligence--comhowever well-endowed she may be in certain other respects. So, Admiral, I think I'll let you be the judge of the production's suitability for public display in the Rim systems. Or, for that matter, private viewing by Ms. Ortega." He smiled beatifically.

 

 

Trevayne forced himself to recall a bit of folk wisdom from Sanders' part of Old Terra: He may be a son-of-a bitch, but at least he's our son-of-a-bitch. Suddenly he grinned. He might as well, he decided, give over trying to resist the man. It was hopeless, anyway.

 

 

"Very handsome of you," he said. "Glen Grant, is it? For God's sake, call me "Ian," you sodding Yank!"

 

 

"All right. Talk." Trevayne and Sanders sat in the former's stateroom. Like all spacecraft living quarters, it was compact, but it was comfortable and laid out so efficiently its efficiency was barely noticeable.

 

 

Captain Mujabi, who hadn't been expecting an extra passenger for the return to Xanadu, had assigned Sanders a similar compartment Fortunately, the Nelson class was designed to house admirals and their staffs.

 

 

Trevayne watched Sanders' eyes twinkle. The evening's socializing (a nearby supernova would have been less of a novelty, than a visitor direct from Old Terra) had been so intense that he'd managed to pry Sanders loose only by leaving Miriam to fight a rearguard action. He more than suspected that Sanders had enjoyed every moment of his notoriety--he certainly hadn't made any effort to assist in separating himself from it!

 

 

"Talk," Trevayne repeated. "I'll not get a wink of sleep until you tell me the news." "Well, Ian," Sanders temporized, "there was more truth than poetry to the excuse you used to haul me out of the wardroom: I am a bit fatigued.

 

 

After all, I'm not as young as I once was.

 

 

"You'll bury us all," Trevayne said flatly. "Stop playing games, for once, and tell me exactly what you're doing out here. You may as well face the fact that you're not getting out of this stateroom until I know!" "V. well." Sanders sighed in mock resignation. "As you've no doubt gathered, your victory at Second Zephrain changed the entire complexion of the war. As I mentioned at Rehfrak, the rebels have been pressing us hard almost from the beginning, and to date, it's always been a matter of their taking choke points away from us, no matter what minor tactical successes we've had." He paused thoughtfully, face very intent. For just a moment, Trevayne realized, his mask was slipping.

 

 

"You know, lan," he said slowly, "I think the Innerworlds were even less well-prepared for this war than they've been thinking." "How the bloody hell do you 'prepare" for something like this?" Trevayne asked quietly. "It can't be done." "No, but there are... mindsets, call them, which can make or break your ability to cope when it comes," Sanders countered. "Look at it this way.

 

 

Anyone who could count knew that the Fringe, with thirty, percent of the people, provided sixty percent of the Fleet but no one really seemed to think about the attitudes which sent so many Fringers into uniform. And not just the sheer numbers of them, either; the composition of the Fringer military should have given us pause." "You mean all the female perso.nnel?" Trevayne asked softly.

 

 

"Exactly." Sanders eyes lit as he realized Trevayne understood precisely what he meant.

 

 

"Fringe Worlds are chary with the lives of their women, Ian. They have exactly the opposite problem from that of the Innerworlds; too few people and too much planet.

 

 

So every potential mother is desperately needed, and they've acquired a whole new, social status as a result. Fringer women tend to be protecd as their planets' investment in the future, yet over forty percent of all Fringer military personnel are women. That bespeaks a culture which places a high premium on military responsibility..

 

 

. a higher premium, I'm afraid, than Innerworlders do." "Fhe old 'rich democracies are soft" argument?" Trevayne could have sounded mocking, but he didn't.

 

 

"In a sense. Not so much soft, though, as inexperienced. There haven't been any real penetrations of lnnerwor bar do spacc cxcept for Timor and the Alpha Centauri raidin two centuries, Ian. Innerworlders have been insulated from the realities of warfare, and, frankly, they didn't have the initial personal commitment the Fringers had. Then they lost all those Fleet units and, as a result, all the early engagements. It shook them pretty badly. In fact, I'm afraid there was a lot of defeatism -comor, no, not defeatism so much as fatalism.

 

 

There was no fire in the Federation's belly, if you'll pardon the purple prose." He grinned, and the serious, analytical thinker vanished once more into the persona of the japester.

 

 

"But all that changed when First Zephrain convinced the Innerworlds we can win victories--and they don't even know about the new technology yet. So now the Corporate and Heart Worlds are feeling full of beans for the first time since this war began, and the rebels have been given a shock that puts them on the defensive for the first time. So..." The light above the stateroom door flashed in a series of blinks Sanders suspected wasn't as random as it seemed. Trevayne touched the admittance stud, and Miriam Ortega stepped through the door as it slid open.

 

 

"Sorry I took so long," she said to Trevayne. There were only two chairs, so she perched on the edge of the bunk. "Barry can be long-winded at times. Hope I haven't missed too much." Sanders cleared his throat and gave Trevayne a quizzical look, only to be answered with a bland smile.

 

 

"Ms. Ortega is cleared for "Most Secret,"" he said. His smile broadened slightly as he added. "By me, under my emergency powers. I call your attention to the documents you gave me at Rehfrak.... his "No problem with clearance, Ian," Sanders waved that point aside. "But while I don't wish to appear ungracious, Ms. Ortega, it's my duty to question your need to know." "Ms. Ortega is my closest ally in the Provisional Government. Whatever it is you expect out of the Rim Systems, she's going to be instrumental in mobilizing political support for it. She'll have to know sooner or later." Trevayne's face showed a trace of exasperation. "It's as I told you at Rehfrak.

 

 

D'you think the Rim puts out the'kind of effort that won Second Zephrain because I stand over them with a whip? Not bloody likely!" Sanders understood. He'd noted, without comment, the patch on Trevayne's left sleeve: hardly a standard TFN shoulder flash! Fleet flashes indicated individual planets, members of the Federation--not whole multi-system political units. He glanced over at Miriam, watching her busy herself lighting a cigarette as if to stand aside from the discussion. She felt his gaze and looked up with a flashing smile.

 

 

"Just think of me as part of the furniture, Mister Sanders. My application for a Beautiful Female Spy's license was turned down when I flunked the physical. And," she added, her smile turning into something suspiciously like a grin, "please call me Miriam." Sanders smiled back. He wanted to play no power games with these people. In theory, he spoke with the voice of the prime minister. But that, he acknowledged wryly, was bullshit. If Trevayne didn't happen to like an order, he had every legal right to demand confirmation from the cabinet--which was impossible. And then they'd be back at square one. So, he concluded happily, to hell with it.

 

 

"Believe me, Miriam," he said in his most winning voice, "you'll never be mistaken for part of the furniture. And I'm grateful to Ian for giving me an out for including you in the discussion. Now, where was I?

 

 

Oh, yes, the effect of Second Zephrain on the Innerworlds. You see, the rebels were already on the defensive, but the Innerworlds didn't really realize it. The insiders knew, of course; why should the rebels come to us anymore? They already had everything they wanted in Innerwodd space. So they reverted to a holding stance and turned their attention in your direction, and there wasn't a lot we could do about iSo, especially not now that the rebel yards appear to be keeping pace with their losses in everything but heavy battle-line units. Now, however, they've run slap into your new technologies, and it's clear the new developments give the Rim a tremendous combat advantage. But that advantage doesn't apply to the Innerworlds, because there's no way to send us the data through Orion space. Oh, our RandD efforts have been spurred, of course but so have the rebels', and, for that matter, the Orions'. In engineering matters, knowing for certain that a given thing can be done is half the battle. But even so, RandD takes time.

 

 

"So the cabinet and admiralty have decided to make the time lag in development an asset rather than a liability. They've decided on a coordinated attack to open up a corridor between the Rim and the rest of the Federation now, while only the Rim has the new weapons. The purposes, of course, are manifold, but one of the obvious ones is to hit the rebels before they have time to develop the same weapons and, simultaneously, to get actual samples of the technology into Innerwodd hands. Once we can apply Innerworld industrial capacity to turning out the new weapons you've already developed, we'll be able to put an end to this war.

 

 

"And that, to answer your question, is why I'm here: to coordinate this end of Operation Yellowbrick, the campaign to reunite the loyal segments of the Federation." "But..." Miriam paused. "Excuse me.

 

 

I may be a Navy brat, but I'm also about as unmilitary a person as you re ever likely to meet. Still, it occurs to me that there are a dozen rebel-held systems on the most direct warp line between Zephrain and the Innerwodds, aren't there?" "Thirteen, to be exact," Sanders replied.

 

 

"Yes, I know that sounds like a lot of systems to blast your way through. But if we attack from both ends simultaneously.., well, I've lost most of my initial skepticism now that I've seen this ship. I knew about her in a general way, but nothing I'd heard or read quite prepared me for the impact.

 

 

How many Nelsons do you have?" "Six. Four more in a month or so," Trevayne responded absently. He'd taken on a thoughtful, brooding look while the other man had been speaking. - Sanders' well-schooled features hid his astonishment. Ten of these leviathans, constructed and manned by a thinly-populated region like the Rim!

 

 

Trevayne was right: these people were... formidable.

 

 

The other two, he could tell, were deep in their thoughts. Treayne was at his most inscrutable.

 

 

Miriam puffed on her cigarette and looked worried.

 

 

Abruptly Trevayne looked up, and the introspective look was gone.

 

 

"Yes," he said. "I agree. It can be done.

 

 

And this damned deadlock is going to continue as long as the Federation is split into two parts, neither strong enough to scotch the rebellion. Every month of delay will only create a greater subliminal acceptance of the status quo by everyone involved. So when is our offensive scheduled to begin?" "The details are in my subconscious, to be retrieved under deep hypnosis by means of... a certain trigger word I'll tell you how to obtain later." Cautious habits die hard. "But it' about three standard months from now." "Three months! Bloody hell, man! D'you realize what's involved? Nobody in history's ever tried to mount a sustained offensive through this many warp connectionsl The supply problem alone... we'll have to commandeer half the bleeding freighters in the Rim just to haul ammunition! And I don't suppose you have detailed information on the defenses we'll encounter along the way, now do you? I INSVPECTIO certaingg'y.dofft] And no bloody way to get it, either--you can only send probes so far, you know." "Ah, but think of the incentive you have: getting rid of me]" Sanders beamed innocently at them. "Not wishing to belabor the obvious, I haven't mentioned that I'm your permanent guest until we fight our way back to the Innerworids. After all, it's out o pounds the question for me to go back through Orion space now that they know approximately what your new weapons can do. I may be a techni-cai near-figg'iterate, but I have seen sggme of what you've got at first hand. Leornak would hate it, but he'd have to arrange an "accident" and go back to drinking domestic Orion booze!" Trevayne laughed. Miriam smoked her cigarette and glanced back and forth between the two men, very thoughtfully.

 

 

There s little leisure for anyone after their arrival at Xanadu. The welter of details inundated them so completely that it was several days before Trevayne and Sanders could sit privately in Trevayne's office discussing his plans for a final fleet operational exercise.

 

 

"Are you sure you won't come along? I can promise you quite a show." "Thank you, Ian, but the trip out here was all the spacing I can handle for a while at my age." Trevayne snorted. If Sanders had been much younger he wouldn't have left him on the same planet with Miriam.

 

 

"No, seriously," Sanders insisted. "I've been chronically @u fatigued lately. I think I'm still having trouble with this twenty-nine-hour day. One loses one's adaptability in such things, you know. Still, I wouldn't have missed this for the Galaxy. I was getting bored with Old Terra and the cabi- net, not necessarily in that order." Trevayne was quiet for a moment, regarding his blotter with pursed lips as ff the mention of the cabinet had started a new train of thought. When he looked up, he spoke with some hesitancy.

 

 

"Kevin, if you don't mind my asking... how well do you know Prime Minister Dieter?" "Personally? Hardly at all. He's not an easy man to know. Why?"

 

 

"Oh, I was just wondering what you think of him." "Or," Sanders grinned, "put another way, how did the man responsible for the mess wind up as prime minister? Actually, it was pretty much a matter of elimination; every other Corporate World delegate was too discredited, and we're just damned lucky he was available. He's had to accept a pretty broad spectrum of ministers-- all the way from Amanda Sydon as Treasury.

 

 

Minister to Roger Hadad from Old Terra as Foreign Minister but he combined Defense with the premiership, and that gave him a leg up. By now, he's firmly in control and shaping up very nicely." Sanders shrugged.

 

 

"I'm relieved to hear you think so highly of him," Trevayne said slowly, "but I'm a bit concerned by this policy of what seems to be de facto recognition of the Terran Republic. Of course," he added, "this is all entirely off the record. Publicly, I've followed the government line to the letter. But privately... well, I can't help thinking that you've lost half the battle when you accept the other side's semantics. It was a mistake your ancestors and mine frequently made in the twentieth century." "It wasn't an easy decision," Sanders acknowledged. "But there are difficulties in fighting a war when you don't recognize your opponent's legal existence. Some of them are amazing. It reminds me of the American Civil War, six centuries ago. The government of the old 'United States" never officially recognized the secessionist confederation as a separate nation, but in practice it treated it as a belligerent in a number of ways. For example, it declared a blockade, which is by definition something you do to a foreign power. The legally consistent approach would'ye been to simply declare the seceding states' ports closed to foreign commerce, but the only effect of that would've been to make the United States government a laughingstock." "I know," Trevayne nodded, "but I never realized you were a history enthusiast, Kevin." "I leave that to people like yourself," Sanders grinned with an eloquent, seated half-bow. "But there's been a lot of research into the civil wars of Old Terra lately. We don't have much recent experience to go by, so Dieter's had the archives turned upside-down for precedents." He paused thoughtfully.

 

 

'lat's one" of' his great strengths, you know: he's a detail man. And his other strength is his ability to face new realities squarely... not an easy thing to do, but, then, he's had a lot of experience since the MaeTaggart assassination. Now that he's learned how, he's very much in the mainstream tradition of the Federation, of course. You know the Federation has never been a monolithic ideological state. Centralized, yes, but not monolithic; it couldn't have been, even when it was "restricted to the Solar System. The rebels recognized that when they opted for such a loose, federalized system, but realists have always known the Federation could only function as a template on which diverse cultures and interests could interact and reach compromise accommodations." He stopped rather abruptly, his mischievous look suddenly returning. "Anyway, whatever else can be said of Dieter, he's unquestionably a superb judge of character. After all, he brought me out of retirement, didn't he?" Sanders rose from his cluttered desk and stretched.

 

 

He was the last one left in his offices in Government House--not surprisingly, at this hour of the night. The staffTrevayne had assigned to him had all gone home, leaving him to cope with the effects of Xandau's damned, long day as best he could. Ever since he'd arrived, he'd felt as if he'd stayed up far too late. Which, he decided, he really had in this case. He switched off the light and started to leave, but stopped on seeing the figure silhouetted in the door to the still-lighted outer office.

 

 

"Good evening, Kevin," Miriam Ortega said.

 

 

"May I come in?" "Certainly." He turned on the desk lamp and waved at a chair, sitting back down himself. They sat on opposite sides of the bright pool of light, and Government House was quiet around them.

 

 

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, thinking this was the first he'd seen of her since Trevayne had departed for the Fleet exercise.

 

 

She got out a cigarette, and he automatically reached across with an antique desk lighter. The spill of light from the small flame glowed on her bold features as she puffed the tobacco alight.

 

 

Blue smoke spiraled through the island of light and vanished into the surrounding darkness.

 

 

"Well," she said around the cigarette, "I was wondering ff you were ready to tell me what you weren't telling us aboard the Nelson." Sanders almost dropped the lighter.

 

 

"Whatever do you mean?" he asked warily.

 

 

Miriam sat back and blew smoke in his direction with a gently malicious smile uncannily like that he sometimes saw in his mirror.

 

 

"When you and Ian discussed this offensive, I couldn't help noticing a slight discrepancy between what he said and what you said," she said. "He took it for granted that reopening contact with the Innerwodds was the first step in a final campaign to force the rebels back into the fold. And you never corrected him. But "she gave him the same smile once more his-comy never actually said that, did you? The closest you came was... oh, how did you phrase it... 'putting an end to this war." At the time, I thought it might just be the nit-picking lawyer in me, which was one reason I didn't mention it. But now I've gotten to know you better than that, Kevin. No matter how glib and charming you may be, you never say anythineaeaong--or leave anything out--without a damned disgd reason.

 

 

Sanders savored a number of unaccustomed sensations and stalled while he collected his thoughts.

 

 

"Why else have you waited so long to mention this?" "I've been waiting for a chance to talk to you alone.

 

 

I have a strong sense that, underneath all your game-playing, you wish Ian well. So I'm giving you a chance to explain. your reasons for letting him jump to a false conclusion. And," she finished pointedly, "you're stfil stalling." He capitulated. "You know, Miriam, I've see enough since I've been here to realize who the real power in the Provisional Government is. Now I begin to see why. Very well, I'll make a dean breast. What I said aboard Nelson was absolutely true, so far as it went. The offensive wl begin on schedule, and its objective sts to open up a warp connection between the Innerworlds and the Rim. But once that's done, Prime Minister Dieter plans to offer the rebels a peace settlement based on acceptance of the status quo. The comesult will be a Terran Republic consisting of all the Fringe Worlds-- except those we'll have seized to serve as the corridor we need--and a Federation shaped rather like a dumbbell." (he was speaking in terms of the layout of the warp network. If the Federation he described had been charted in actual three-dimensional space, it would have resembled a geometrician's opium dream. But she understood.) "And they'll accept it. What I said about the combined military potential of the two loyal segments of the Federation was also true." "How do you know all this?" "I don't--not officially. But I've worked closely enough with the PM to learn how his mind works.

 

 

Also," he added with his most impish grin, "I have my own sources. Deviousness, my dear, has its uses." "Of course," she observed drvlv.

 

 

She was a strng woman, he t'hggught.

 

 

Despite her suspicions, confirmation of exactly what he'd been holding baek must have been quite a shock, yet she was adapting nicely. He folded his hands neatly on his blotter and awaited her response with interest.

 

 

Miriam sat back to digest his words. As always with Sanders, it was wheels within wheels. She doubted that she could ever fully understand this sophisticated old man from a sophisticated old planet. But her instincts continued to tell her that he was fundamentally a friend to Ian, which made him at least an ally of hers.

 

 

She noticed that her cigarette had burned low and stubbed it out, selecting another one. She glared down at it for a moment. She really ought to cut back on the damned things.., to hell with it. She lit up.

 

 

"Kevin, you must know that lan and I are... close. What makes you think I won't tell him all this?" Sanders leaned forward into the pool of light. His blue eyes were disconcertingly sharp.

 

 

"You won't tell him for the same reasons I haven't. Our mutual friend is an idealist in the truest sense. He also thinks in straight lines, something I've forgotten how to do, if I ever knew how in the first place. He can imagine no conclusion to the war except the triumphant restoration of the Terran Federation, and the truth would be. unacceptable to him. It would, I think, be something even you would have to bring him around to seeing only slowly.

 

 

And we don't have time to do things slowly, Miriam; not ff we're going to strike before the rebels find an answer to his new weapons." His eyes grew even sharper. "Since we don't have that time, he's going to be risking his life in this campaign very shortly.

 

 

You have even better reason than I for not telling him anything that might impair his effectiveness!"" She glared at him. "Don't you ever get tired of manipulating people?" "Miriam, it would take a far bigger man than me to manipulate either you or Ian. The fact is that you know I'm right. You also knew Dieter is right.

 

 

The Federation simply won't work on any basis but a consensual one, and that's gone now, as far as the Fringe is concerned. Maybe they're even right to pull away before the hate that's built up curdles us all internally. The most we can hope for is an Innerworld/rim unity with the Corporate World arrogance knocked out of us." She puffed thoughtfully. "You may have a point. But unless Dieter is prepared to give up the whole idea of an Orion amalgamation, that issue is still going to be with us. I can tell yon the idea doesn't sit well with the Rim--and that's just one aspect of a broader issue. You've got to understand that people out here are passionately loyal to the stdea of the Federation. But they're also passionately attached to self-government, and they see no contradiction between the two." "Federation member planets have always had local self-government.... his "Maybe so, but it's beyond that, now. The Rim is no longer a gaggle of unrelated planets.

 

 

We've acquired a sense of identity--almost nationhood--comby successfully defending ourselves. And the provisional government Ian's organized has given us a Rim-wide forum. You've probably heard people out here use the phrase "the Rim Federation."" She paused thoughtfully.

 

 

"Ironic, isn't it?" she went on with an odd half-smile. "Nobody talks about the "Rim Federation" around Ian! The whole concept is anathema to him. As far as he's concerned, he's simply holding the Rim for the Federation--and he may be the only man in the Galaxy who could have IS-TRRECTION done it." She like'eaned forward, and her eyes glowed as they caught the light. "But in the process of doing what's necessary--militarily and politically--for that, he's fathered a new nation! The Federation's going to have to take account of the rights, interests, and, yes, prejudices of the Rim. Otherwise, Dieter's policy will fall fiat on its ass. And besides..

 

 

. I think we've earned it!" Her voice had become a harsh clang of pride. After its echoes died away, Sanders remember, 4# o breathe.

 

 

"I agree," he said quietly. "The postwar astrographical realities will necessitate some form of special autonomy for the Rim within the Federation. I tell vou quite frankly--I'm rapidly learning better than to try. to'bullshit you--that the Amalgamation will come.

 

 

There's been too much public commitment to it and too many Innerworld voters see it as a symbol of victory for Dieter to resist it even if he wanted to. But home ruife should shield the Rim from most of the thiugs people out here find repugnant about it. No doubt ff our friend were here he'd find all sorts of historical precedents for it from his own ancestors' commonwealth period, perhaps." His eyes took on a faraway look.

 

 

"You know, this may turn out for the best.

 

 

Amalgama- tion opens up fascinating possibilities for interspecies cultural interaction, which probably means it's the wave of the future. But at the same time, human-dominated societies will continue to have something to offer. And the Terran Republic is... immature. It may be that your owri "Rim Federation" will incorporate the best of both worlds, especially if it can avoid the mistakes of either." Miriam realized anew that she would never know quite where she stood with this man. There was something almost inhuman about that long a view. She wanted to ask him if he had any parochial loyalties, any passionate at- tachments, any fundamental beliefs of any kind. But that wasn't how the question came out.

 

 

"Kevin, were you ever young?" "Miriam," he suddenly flashed his toothiest grin and chuckled, "you wouldn't have believed me as a junior officer!"

 

 

"Attention on deck!" The men and women in Nelson's staff briefing room rose to attention as Trevayne strode in.

 

 

"Carry on, ladies and gentlemen," he said briskly, moving towards the head of the U-shaped table, and they immediately resumed their seats. He took his own place and came directly to the point. "I want to congratulate all of you on the results of the exercise. Even Commodore Yoshinaka could find little to criticize." A rueful chuckle went around the table. "I won't ask you to congratulate your personnel for me, because I plan to do so personally on the fieet-eide communication hookup at 2100 hours." He paused, his eyes sweeping his officers. They were a mixture of his handpicked people from BG 32 and Sergei Ortega's best subordinates, welded into a team in the fires of battle. He allowed himself to consider them one by one, as if in a final testing for weak links in the chain of command.

 

 

Sonja Desai, now a vice admiral, commanded his second supermonitor battlegroup.

 

 

(trevayne himself commanded the first, in addition to holding overall command, and Vice Admiral Frederick Shespar commanded the third.) Rear Admiral Remko, now commanding the battle-cruisers and their supporting craft, sat beside her. Ever since he'd received his new appointment, Trevayne thought with an inner smile, Scan had worn the look of a man who was once again in his element.

 

 

Genii Yoshinaka sat quietly at Trevayne's elbow, as he always did. Their link had grown even stronger since the Second Battle of Zephrain. Neither of them ever mentioned the incident which had caused it, but their shared understanding needed no statement. Trevayne had persuaded him to accept promotion to commodore by agreeing to let him stay on as chief of staff, though a captain might have filled the billet.

 

 

Vice Admiral Shespar sat at his other elbow, a dark-visaged, competent man with hard eyes who'd been Sergei's second in command before BG 32's arrival. Beyond him was Commander Joaquin Sandoval y Belhambre, another of Ortega's people, and one of the few actually born in the Rim. A fighter pilot who'd distinguished himself in the Battle of the Gateway and against the Tangri, he'd shown INSVB-AEON 329 an unexpected gift for operational planning as a carrier group ops oicer, in which position he'd caught Genjfs eye.

 

 

Sandoval had brought along his intelligence officer, Lieutenant Commander Lavrenti Kirilenko, who was widely regarded as a man to be watched. Though young, he had the kind of face which, Trevavne thought, lady novelists used to call "saturnine." He lso had a sardonic sense of humor, but there was a kind of puri about his approach to his profession: the amoral fascination of a chessmaster. Trevayne suspected that he had the potential to develop into another Kevin Sanders. If so, the great difference in their ages was just as well; one per century was enough.

 

 

Opposite Trevayne sat Flag Captain Lewis Mujabi, an even rarer bird than Sandoval in many respects--coma Fringer whose native, planet had seceded without him. In an era when more and more of the human race was blending into a nice, even shade of brown, Mt0abi was so black he was, in some lights, almost purple. His people, predominantly African to begin with, had settled Kashiji, a planet near the inner edge of the liquid-water zone of a class F2 sun.

 

 

Natural selection, abetted by some modest genetic engineering, had taken its inevitable course.

 

 

BG 32 itself was now commanded by Rear Admiral Maria Kim, originally one of its ship captains.

 

 

Another, Commodore Khalid Khan, led another battlegroup built around monitors captured at Second Zephrain (two of which had also been added to Shespar's BG 3 to round out its lower supermonitor strength). Rear Admiral Carl Stoner, who'd commanded Ortega's Frontier Fleet carriers, filled the same billet under Trevayne.

 

 

Looking around the crowded room at these officers and the others who comprised Fourth Fleet's brain, Trevayne could barely repress a thrill of pride. He abandoned himself to the reverie for just a moment longer before he cleared his throat and continued.

 

 

"Turning to the classified folders before you, I would ask you to open them now." There was a crackle of breaking seals. "Commander Sandoval will briefiv summarize." He had stressed the adverb slightly, ahd there were grins around the table (not least from Sandoval himselt), for the ops ocer had earned a reputation as a raconteur of hilarious but lengthy anecdotes.

 

 

"Yes, sir. I'll keep it brief, sir." There might have been just a suspicion of irony in his voice. It was hard to tell, but Genii Yoshinaka had recommended Sandoval for the job partly because he was a brilliant, irreverent soul who refused to be completely in awe of anyone or anything, including admirals. Now the dark, wiry commander, very young for his job, rose and switched on a holographic star display.

 

 

"First, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to point out that although the joint operation we are about to undertake is called "Operation Yellowbrick," we are concerned only with that portion of it called "Operation Reunion."" There was a chuckle at that, and Trevayne hid his own smile. Sanders had tended towards a sort of scandalized chagrin when Trevayne had announced the change in operational designations. Sandoval and he had stood to their guns, however. Trevayne had argued that there were innumerable precedents for renaming subsections of campaign plans and that the new name had more positive morale connotations. But what had really floored the Old Terran was Sandoval's irreverently point-blank refusal to lead men and women into battle under an operatiohal code name from a five-hundred-year-old children's story--and, no, Sandoval wasn't impressed by the fact that the story in question had always been one of Admiral Sanders' favorites.

 

 

"This operation is relatively straightforward," Sandoval went on, "although it may or may not be simple. Our only really difficult strategic decision was whether to make our breakout through the Gateway or the Back Door.

 

 

Either would take us to the Purdah System, meeting the bare-bones ops plan the Joint Chiefs sent us via Admiral Sanders, but the Gateway route does so in only three transits. The Back Door takes four, and would almost certainly meet stiffer resistance, since that route leads into the Bonaparte System"--a star blinked on the display -com?wh contains the major rebel base from which Second Zephrain was launched. Drone probes and raids have given us pretty good intelligence on our home warp points, and based on that data, we'deided on the Gateway. It'll be rough, but not as rough as Bonaparte.

 

 

"After the breakout, we hope to proceed rapidly. Our axis of advance will be through these systems." A net of warp lines lit in red as he touched a button.

 

 

"here are two main problems in an offensive like this. One, of course, is supplies, especially of depletable munitions. The fleet train is accordingly of the first importance, and guarding it is going to be essential. This will become especially true as we advance, because we'll open 'sally ports" on our flanks as we bypass warp points to other rebel-held systems. It's also possible, as we all know, for commerce raiders to operate for a time within a single system, even ff cut off from outside support. We consider the risk to the fleet train will not become critical, however, until we reach the Zapata System, the first major choke point on our planned route.

 

 

"And that brings us to the second major risk to our momentum: lack of intelligence. To be perfectly frank, we have no idea what system defenses we'll face after our initial breakout. Until we control more warp points, we can't even use probes, much less scouting squadrons, so we're going in blind. On the other hand, we know the rebels must have been committing the majority of their industrial capacity to shipbuilding, judging by what they used at Second Zephrain and the enemy deployment data Admiral Sanders brought us. Presumably, that means they can't have built a lot of fortifications out here, at least not behind the immediate "front line" systems. As for Fleet units --was he shrugged slightly his-comwe think they were badly hurt at Second Zephrain, and we've demonstrated the efficiency of our weapons. Unless they have a radically higher number of hulls than ONI estimates, they shouldn't be strong enough to stop both us and the forces attacking to meet us." He stopped and seated himself.

 

 

"Thank you, Commander," Trevayne said, rising.

 

 

"hat's about all that can be said at this stage--and it was admirably brief." He allowed himself a slight smile as his staff chuckled. "We'll meet again tomorrow, after you've had a chance to study the plan and formulate questions. In the meantime, remember the eom hook-up at 2100.

 

 

I want every man and woman in the Fleet to hear me." He strode out. The room seemed to get bigger, as rooms tended to when Trevayne left them.

 

 

Neither of them had planned it that way, yet they found themselves alone outside the elevator that would take Trevayne away.

 

 

Virtually everyone else who was to be aboard Nelson for Operation Reunion, including Sanders, had already left Xanadu. A floater waited on the roof of Government House to take Trevayne to Abu'sd Field and his cutter. It was a trip he'd made many times, but they both knew this time was different. This campaign would, one way or another, change their lives. Win or lose, it would never be the same again.

 

 

They'd said their farewells the previous night, and they'd both dreaded any last-minute awkwardness. But with the inevitability of gravity, they found themselves facing one another outside the private VIP elevator.

 

 

"Well," he said, "I'm off." Brilliant, his superego gibed; too bloody scintillating.

 

 

"Send word back whenever you can," she said. And within her: My, how terribly clever!

 

 

They stood in silence for a moment, and then gathered each other in. They kissed with utmost gentleness.

 

 

"Miriam, I'll be back. I promise I'll be back." She put her hands on his shoulders, holding him at arms" length and grinning wickedly.

 

 

"Well," she purred, letting her eyes travel suggestively downwards, "I know from experience that in your case talk is not cheap." He broke into a grin of his own. They hugged one another once more, hard. Then the light above the elevator door flashed. The door opened, and closed again, and he was gone.

 

 

Miriam sighed. As always, everything that mattered was left unspoken. She even understood why; as long as they were cracking wise, they were on safe ground.

 

 

She turned, eyes downcast, and walked away.

 

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the light flash again. She turned back, curious, as the doors slid open.

 

 

"Forget something?" she asked.

 

 

"Miriam," he stepped towards her, "I suddenly realized that.., well, that there were things I'd left unsaid. I..." She raised a hand, almost afraid, and pressed her fingers to his lips. "Hush, darling. We both know that. We've never needed to say much, have we?" He seized her wrist almost roughly and forced her hand aside. "No! It's different now, and I can't leave without saying.., that..." His throat seemed to constrict. And then, like a dam bursting, "Miriam, I need you! I love you!" And her own dam burst.

 

 

"Oh, God, Ian, I love you, too! I love you so much!" And all the restraint of the past was less than a memory. They kissed, and it was like the first time they'd ever kissed each other.

 

 

After a little while, as stars and planets measure time, she spoke.

 

 

"What do you suppose we were so afraid of, all this time?" He didn't answer. Another moment passed before he spoke again, almost lightly.

 

 

"You know, if we run down to the Judge Advocate General's office, we might just be able to find someone authorized to perform a marriage." She sputtered with laughter and looked up at him, eyes shining. "Ian, you're so full of shit your eyes are browner than usual! You know you've got to go. We'll talk about this when you get back. And for God's sake, let it keep till then! Right now, you need more things on your mind like Commodore Prescott needed more Arachnids!" He laughed, a joyful sound of final release. Then he sobered, gripping her shoulders firmly.

 

 

"Miriam, remember what I said: I... promise... I... will be... back]" Miriam Ortega was a Navy brat. She knew, better than most, what could happen when ship met ship in deep space combat. She had already lost a father to exactly that, and she knew no one could predict exactly where the warhead or the beam would strike. And yet, she also knew that Ian Laurens Trevayne always kept his promises.

 

 

"Yes, my precious love," she whispered.

 

 

"I know you will."

 

 

As the cutter left the pale-blue reaches of the upper atmosphere for the velvet-black reahn of space, Trevayne gazed out the port. For the first time in years--too many years, filled with columns of numbers on phosphor screens comhe really saw the universe in which he moved and worked. His gaze ranged further and further out, sweeping over the unwinking, jewel-hard stars strewn in their myriads down the roaring, mind-numbing reaches of infinity.

 

 

God, he thought. How beautiful it is.

 

 

THE SHORTEST DISTANCE Rear Admiral Li flinched as rolling drums assaulted her ears, then straightened her shoulders quickly. Other returning prisoners crowded the shuttle hatch behind her and not this most jaded of them could hide his reaction tg the scene.

 

 

The domed spaceport on Bonaparte's second moon was jammed with black and silver uniforms.

 

 

Thousands of them! Han stared out over the sea of faces through the crashing fanfare of Ad Astra, the ancient twenty-first century hymn chosen as the Republic's anthem, and she was stunned.

 

 

A rear admiral greeted her with a crisp salute, and only reflex action brought her own hand up in response as she recognized Jason Windrider. His dark eyes glowed, and as the last bar of the anthem crashed out and the music died, his hand came down in a flashing arc. Han's matched it.

 

 

"Welcome home, Admiral!" He gripped her hand tightly. "Thank you." Han swallowed, blinking burning eyes, and smiled. "Thank you, Admiral," she said more firmly. "It's good to be back." "We've been waiting for you," he said warmly, "and you may as well accept the inevitable." His smile was both wicked and warm. "We're proud of you, ma'am, and you're going to have to put up with us while we show it!" And then he was leading her down the flag-draped landing platform stair, and the roar of cheers split the bright, dome-filtered sunlight around her.

 

 

"Well!" Jason Windrider doffed his braided cap and waved at a chair. "Thank God that's over! Though I must say--was he cocked his head critically his-comthe Golden Lion looks good on you, Han. Sort of sets off your hair." "Thank you," she said dryly, trying to hide her own deep emotion as she sat. She touched the Golden Lion of Terra--the highest award for valor of Republic and Federation alike. "If this is what the loser gets, I'd like to see the winner's medals!" "You didn't lose, Hah," Windrider said decisively. "You and Bob were right. We should'ye gone in fast and nasty, before their new forts and beams and those Godawful missiles were on line." "Maybe," Hah said, "but I surrendered, so I'm the one who's going to face a Board over it--and maybe a full Court." "The Court already sat," Windrider said, suddenly grim, "on the admirals who ran out on you. I won't lie to you--some people were cashiered, but everyone knows you held the battle-line together in a hopeless situation and then had the good sense not to get thousands of people killed for nothing." He shrugged again.

 

 

"That's more or less what the Admiralty said, in fancier language, when it recommended you--unanimously--for the Golden-Lion." "I see." Hah drew a deep breath and felt the tension flow away at last.

 

 

"Do you, now?" Windrider grinned. "Actually, there's an even more tangible proof of their lordships" attitude." "Oh?" she eyed him suspiciously. "A blindfold and a last cigarette?" "You have an untrusting nature," Windrider said sorrowfully. Then he became more serious. "I'm afraid it's slightly non-reg, Hah, and Magda wanted to give you this, but she can't make it, so I have to deputize. Here." Han opened the small case and gasped as she saw the double stars nestled in the dark velvet.

 

 

She stood abruptly, left hand rising to the single star at her collar, and her eyes were shocked.

 

 

"Yes, sir," the rear admiral said.

 

 

"Congratulations, Vice Admiral Li!" He reached out and unpinned her rear admiral's star gently, fhen took a paired star from her and slid its pin through her collar.

 

 

"B-but I'm not ready!" Han wailed. "I was only a captain four years ago!" Yet she seemed unable to resist as he fastened the badge in place. "I just got back from surrendering an entire battle fleet!" "Han," Windrider said severely, "sit down and shut up.

 

 

She sat obediently, too shaken to notice how brashly a rear admiral was ordering a vice admiral about.

 

 

"Better," he said. "Now listen to me. Every senior officer in the Fleet knows you and Bob wanted to attack earlier, and most of 'em know the panic that really beat us at Zephrain wouldn't have happened if you'd been senior to the bastards who-- Never mind." He shook his head sharply.

 

 

"But there's not a one of them who questions giving you thatstar. None. And no doubts will be entertained from you, either, young lady!

 

 

"Besides, we need you. Admiral Ashigara is dead, and so are Kellerman, Matucek, Ryder, Nishin, Shukov, Hyde- White, Mombora "His voice trailed somberly off, and she stared at him.

 

 

"That many?" "And more," he confirmed. "Hah, we never did have many admirals, and those we had have taken a terrible pounding; we've got to promote. I was a eomeawander four years ago, for God's sake] If I can take my medicine and wear one star, you can damned well wear two--got it?" "Yes, sir," she said meekly, touching her collar badges and smiling at last. "I just hope it isn't a mistake." "Hah, will you please get it through your radiation-jellied Oriental brain that you've got those stars--and that medal because you're one of the best we've got?" She eyed him doubtfully, and he grinned.

 

 

"Besides, ff we don't give 'em to you, somebody might try to give 'em to me, God help us!" The skimmer swooped downwards, and Han peered out at the lights blazing against the night. They marked a sprawling mansion, one-time home of the Corporate World manager of Bonaparte's largest chesht plantation, taken." over by the Republican military when the focus of opera- tions shifted to Zephrain.

 

 

Windrider grounded the skimmer and popped the hatches, and Han climbed out, wrinkling her nose as the reek of over-ripe chesht mingled with the fresh smell of marshes. It amazed her that something whose flavor had supplanted chocolate and vanilla alike in Terran estimation could smell so horrible in its native habitat.

 

 

Strange voices shrilled and clicked in the night, and wings fluttered as Bonaparte's equivalent of a bat flitted past. She glanced upward, but the two larger moons had set and the third, Joseph, was little more than a low-albedo lump of captured asteroidal rock. Its wan illumination barely brought a glow to the mists and hinted at rather than revealed the artificially precise spacing of angular machinery.

 

 

Chesht-pickers rusting in idleness, she thought as the cool breeze off the marsh rustled the chesht pods.

 

 

Bonaparte's F1 primary was hot, but the planet was near the outer edge of the liquid-water belt.

 

 

Even high summer was cool, which suited Han well, for it produced a climate very like that of her homewodd.

 

 

Jason however, came from Topaz--a warm, dusty world with little axial tilt--and he preferred less chilly environs. He rubbed his hands briskly and tried to look patient as she sucked in the crisp air.

 

 

"All right, Jason," she smiled finally.

 

 

"Lead on." "Good!" he agreed quickly, and guided her through a doubleopaned door into what had been a palatial foyer before the Republican Navy took charge. A pair of Marine guards came sharply to attention as they stepped inside, and as Hah noted their unsealed holsters, she suddenly realized what those angular shapes in the marsh had been: not chesht-piekers, but heavy armored vehicles. And the thick glass entry doors weren't glass at all, but armorplast capable of resisting medium artillery fire!

 

 

"Good evening, Admiral Li. Admiral Windrider." A Marine major saluted them. "May I see some identification$7' He subjected their ID folios to the most rigorous cheek Hah lad seen since the war began. What in God's name was going on here?

 

 

"Thank you, sir." The major returned her ID and summoned an armed oi'derly. "Chief Yeoman Santander will escort you to the planning room." "Thank you, Major." Han returned his salute, then fol- lowed the silent yeoman into the house proper and down a corridor. He stopped and opened a door, raising his voice without entering,

 

 

"Admiral Li and Admiral Windrider, sir!" he said crisply, and stepped back as they passed him.

 

 

"Thank you, Chief Santander," a warm, easily-recognized voice said.

 

 

"Magda! Jason didn't say you were here!" "I know he didn't." Magda Petrovna smiled from behind her desk in the large, brightly lit room, and the paired stars on her collar mirrored Han's. "Very few people know I'm here, and they aren't talking." "But why all the secrecy?" "I'm about to Sell you, Han," Magda said with the chuckle Han remembered so well. "After which you'll disappear, too. Where's she off to, Jason?" Brown eyes rose to smile over Han's head at Windrider.

 

 

"Vice Admiral Li is returning to Novaya Rodina for debriefing," Windrider said smoothly. "In fact, I escorted her aboard ship myself." "You see?" Magda asked with a grin.

 

 

"No, I don't see at all!" "It's pretty simple, really. You and I, my dear, are the Republic's last great hope." Magda's voice was humorous; her eyes weren't.

 

 

"Meaning what?" Han demanded.

 

 

"Meaning that you and I--with the help of a few souls like Jason, Bob Tomanga, and Tsing Chang -comare now the Republic's answer to lan Trevayne." "We're going back to Zephrain?" Han was stunned by the recklessness of the idea. "Magda, I don't think you under- stand just what--was "No, Han," Magda said softly.

 

 

"rrevayne is coming to us.

 

 

He's staging a breakout sometime in the next five standard months." Han sat down heavily. It had all come at her too fast, she thought dazedly. The homecoming, her medal and promotion, all the secrecy and security--notow this. She , couldn't have understood correctly. to.....

 

 

"Five months." She shook her head.

 

 

"Magda, it isn't possible. He doesn't have enough hulls to mount a sustained offensivc not a decisive one now that we know what he's got and the panic factor's been eliminated, and there's no point in his taking losses for anything indecisive. Besides, those monsters of his take a long time to build they mass over a half million tonnes each, Magda! He won't risk them without a decisive objective in view." "Correct." Magda tipped back her chair and a half-smile lurked in her eyes.

 

 

"But he sts coming out. What could inspire him to do that?" "Nothing," Han said, but she sounded less certain. She thought furiously for a minute, then looked up again. "Are you saying they're planning a joint operation? A simultaneous attack by the Rump and the Rim?" "Give the lady the prize," Windrider said softly.

 

 

"But that's crazy, too," Han protested quietly. "rhere's no way they could coordinate.

 

 

I never figured out how they get messages back and forth, but it seems pretty clumsy, however they do it." "Right again," Magda nodded, "but let me show you something." She rose, and Han's eyes widened in amazement.

 

 

"Damn! I keep forgetting to allow for that." Magda stood back from her desk and patted her stomach with a wry frown. Her new figure, Han thought with a helpless chuckle, was definitelt non-reg.

 

 

"What's so funny?" Magda demanded, then touched her stomach again and laughed. "This isn't what I wanted to show you." "You thought I wouldn't notice?" "No, you silly slanteye, I just forgot you didn't know. It's all over the Fleet by now--and that cad in the comer is making insufferably proud noises over every bar on Bonaparte." "I see." Han managed to stop chuckling, but her voice was a little unsteady. "And you don't think your timing was a bit off?." "Hell," Magda laughed, "this little stranger is one reason I got this job. Everyone knows pregnant women are barred from combat. Ergo, I'm barred from combat, which makes my disappearance for planning purposes that much easier to explain. And as for my 'timing"--was she met Han's eyes, suddenly serious his-comy're one reason for that." Only Magda cot/id have said that without opening her own wounds, Han thought affectionately.

 

 

"I don't want what happened to you happening to me now that I've found Jason," Magda sail quietly. She reached out a hand, and Windrider was there in an instant to take it. "So I'm having at least one child before I go out to be shot at again. Besides," she smiled gently, and for the first time her voice was hesitant, "this disch is for you, too, Han." "Me?" Hah was deeply touched as she took Magda's other hand.

 

 

"Yes. We'd like--like it very nueh--to name her Hah." Han's grip tightened, and a seemingly endless silence stretched.

 

 

"If you can't think of a better name," she said finally, "I'd be prokd. Very proud." "Done!" Jason's brusque cheerfulness broke the spell, and Hah was grateful. She drew a deep breath and blinked twice.

 

 

"But I think you were going to show me something besides my future namesake?" "So I was," Magda said, tncking an arm through Han's and leading her over to a wall panel. She punched buttons busily, and a huge hologram filled the darkened room. Hah stared at it raptly; she hadn't seen a warp map quite that large since the Academy.

 

 

Magda picked up a luminous pointer and moved to the center of the map.

 

 

"This helps with visualization, Han," she said, turning brown eyes spangled with tiny stars to her friend.

 

 

"Our warp lines are green. The Rump's are red; the Rim's amber. Notice anything?" "Besides the lack of any red-amber connections?" "That's certainly the salient point, but I'm thinking about something else: distances. At closest, they're at least a dozen transits apart--comover six weeks for a battle-cruiser at max. So whatever they do, they're facing a long, drawn- out campaign before they gel back inffcctact, right?" "I'd think so, yes." "So did we. We have, however, certain intelligence assets in the Rump. Not in the Rim, I'm sorry to say, and our very best conduit didn't give us a word of warning about it, but computer analysis of what we do have has picked up on something very interesting.

 

 

"First," she tucked her pointer under her arm, for all the world like a pregnant schoolteacher in uniform as she ticked off points on her fingers, "Rump construction rates have been low, which confused as until we found out why. The Galloway's World Raid did more than take out a couple of yards, Han; it took out the entire archipelago. They've recovered now, but it explains why the Rump's been so sensitive to combat losses.

 

 

"Second," she went on, "despite their desperate need for ships, they're holding them baek. We didn't notice that immediately, but our raids, recon probes, and captured or otherwise compromised Rump deployment orders all indicate it. Why?

 

 

"Third, they haven't been massing them opposite Cimmaron, as we might expect. They could cut off this whole quarter of the Republic from there," she gestured at a glowing snake's nest of green warp lines "or go straight for Novaya Rodina. But where the analysis teams finally found them is over here, at a totally new Fleet base at Avalon--a system we've never even threatened.

 

 

"Fourth, and finally, we know how the Rim gets its messages. They come through Orion space, via Rehfrak." Magda waved a hand at Han's sharp glance.

 

 

"I know, vei-y un-neutral of them. However, we haven't objected because we wanted to see who goes where along that warp line, and it turns out the errand boy is none other than one Kevin Sanders. Does that ring any bells?" ""The Fox,"" Han said softly.

 

 

"Exactly. The best chief of ONI in two centuries, and currently a cabinet minister without portfolio. Obviously they need a top man for a hot potato like this, but they're sending Sanders-- probably the one person in the Galaxy who knows where athe Federation's bodies are buried--through Orion space whenever he goes to Zephrain. And the Orions only permit him to go as far as Rehfrak; the Governor-General comes to him." "I'm sure all of this is headed somewhere?" "It is indeed. Six months ago, Sanders was in Avalon. Then they rushed him back to Old Terra so fast they burned out a destroyer's main drive converters. Why?

 

 

Because he's already gone again, making another trip.

 

 

.. and this time he's going all the way to Xanadu--and staying." "What?" Hah stood straighter and frowned.

 

 

"Exactly. It took a lot of work--and luck -comffpiece his itinerary together, but it's solid. Now why would the Rump separate itself from its foremost spook?

 

 

Unless, of course, the separation isn't permanent?" "I see your point," Han mused.

 

 

"I thought you would," Magda said grimly.

 

 

"They're sending him because they need someone with his authority, brains, and experience to coordinate their plan to hit us before we can react to the new weaponry. If they can hammer a bridge between the Rump and Rim--ff the Rump's industrial plant gets the data and working models it needs-- we're in deep, deep trouble." "I see," Han murmured once more, searching the red and amber warp mes with her eyes. "They're assembling the Rump pincer at Avalon, so they're not going for any finesse beyond their hope for surprise." "That's what we think," Magda encouraged her.

 

 

"It's the only answer," Han muttered, frowning in thought. "From Avalon, hmmmmm... hiswas Her eyes narrowed suddenly and she nodded once, sharply.

 

 

"I'here's their route, Magda Avalon to Lomax to Hyerdahl to Thor to Thule to Osterman's Star to Thybold to Juarez to Iphigena to Zapata to Sagebrush to Purdah.

 

 

From there they might go Rousseau to Ney to Bonaparte to Zephrain, or New India to Zvoboda to Zephrain. I'd bet on the New India Route--not even Ian Trevayne wants to tangle with the defenses here." "What makes you so certain?" Magda asked, not chal- lengingly but as ff she merely wanted confirmation of her own thoughts.

 

 

"Only a fool tries to be clever when he can't completely orchestrate a complex operation, Magda. We learned that watching the Orions in the first two interstellar wars... and relearned it at First Zephrain. So if you can't be fancy, you be direct as possible, and that route--was she nodded at the one she'd traced out his-comis the shortest distance between two points: Avalon and Zephrain." "I think you're right," Magda acknowledged, "and you might like to know that it took the Strategy Board a month to reach your conclusions." She smiled. "But there's still a billion-credit question, Hah. We don't have the Fleet units to oppose both forces at once.

 

 

We have to stop one of them, then turn to deal with the other in detail, using our advantage of the interior position. So which do we oppose?" Han blinked at her.

 

 

"You're asking me? Magda, I've been out of circulation for a year!" "But you're also the senior commander who's really seen the Rim's weapons in action, so you can give us the best gut reaction on them, Should we worry more about quantity or quality? Because---was Magda grinned crookedly was for our sins, you and I are going to be the Fleet commanders who do the stopping. So who do we stop, Hah? The Rump or the Rim?" Hah dropped into a chair and thought long, hard and furiously.

 

 

"I'he Rump doesn't have any of the new technology? Just numbers?" Magda nodded.

 

 

"And have we come through with any of those 'wonder weapons" people were muttering about before Second Zephrain? Do we have any surprises of our own?" "A few," Windrider said.

 

 

"Then we have to block the Rump with secondary forces and go for the Rim with eve disrything we have," Hah said, suddenly decisive. "No matter how many hulls the Rump has, we can tangle them up in the frontier forts, mines, and local fighter bases.

 

 

We can slow them up, at least, but you've never seen an left-brace tthing like Trevayne's new battle-line. We have to stop him, and stop him hard.

 

 

If at all possible, we have to cut him up badly enough to move in and take Zephrain away from him.

 

 

Even if we lose a dozen systems--comor twice that many!--to the Rump, we've still got a good chance to win this war in the end stf we can keep them away from Zephrain." "And where do we stop them?" Magda asked tonelessly. "Zapata," Hah said crisply.

 

 

"It's a critical choke point, and we can move stuff in from Bonaparte for the big engagement. Use commerce raiders on the flanks as they advance..

 

 

. pick at them... get them off balance and force them to oerextend... then meet them head-on at Zapata and thank God building that monster battle-line's cut into theirthe carrier production! It's our only chance, Magda." "I see." Magda exchanged a nod with Jason, then turned back to Han. The tangled lights of the holo map gilded her silver-streaked brown hair with a crown of jewels, and her eyes glittered with stars. "That's another thing you and the Strate. gyeaeaBoard agree on, and I'm glad you see it so clearly @u.. sletter.

 

 

Something in her voice caught Han's attention, and she stared at her friend suspiciously. No! She couldn't mean... to ""Yhat's right, Hah," Magda said ahnost compassionately@u "One of the reasons I was ordered to have this little chat with you was to be certain you did understand the priorities. You got your second star while you were still a POW--THE sae day I got mine.

 

 

And that means you're still senior." She held out the luminous pointer.

 

 

"Welcome to supreme command of Operation Actium, Admiral Li." OPERATION REUNION Operation Reunion began with an irruption of SBMHAWK carrier pods into the Zvoboda System. One moment the Republican Navy's detection screens were blank: the next a multitude of unmanned pods warped into the teeth of the forts guarding this gateway to the Terran Republic. A few came to grief in the warp point minefields; a few more emerged in overlapping volumes of space and died with the violence the gods of physics reserve for phenomena which violate their laws. But most survived to fling their missiles at the forts, announcing the arrival of the Federation's warriors in fire and death.

 

 

Probes of the Zvoboda System had been limited to avoid alarming its defenders, but Ian Trevayne had a fairly good notion of what he would face. The Republic had erected a formidable shell of big Wpe four OWP'S around the Zephrain warp point and another around the warp point to New India, but Lavrenti Kirilenko was convinced there would be few mobile units. The forts were typical of the Republic's designs, each incorporating two squadrons of fighters; that fighter strength, coupled with the forts' own weapons, needed no support to decimate any conventional assault.

 

 

Trevayne and Genji Yoshinaka agreed with Kirilenko's assessments; hence the lavish SBMHAWK bombardment that preceded their ships through the warp point. Such a heavy employment of SBM'S would seriously deplete their stores for the next assault, but there was no point planning for the next battle ff they lost this one. Besides, everything 346 seemed to suggest that Zvoboda had been so heavily fortified that the Republic could have spared little for the defense of New India.

 

 

Missiles leapt from their carrier pods, but the Republican gunners hadn't been asleep. The Rim's decreased probe traffic hadn't lulled them; rather it had confirmed their suspicions, and they'd gone on round-the-clock alert. Still, no one could be a hundred percent alert at every instant, and ff point defense stopped a lot of missiles; nothing could have stopped them all.

 

 

Antimatter warheads flared against shields.

 

 

Tremendous fireballs wracked the space around them. Armor glowed, vaporized, flared away.

 

 

Atmosphere whuffed outward, water vapor sparkling, as the missiles savaged the forts. Yet for all their savagery, all their violence, they couldn't prevent the Republic from launching the majority of its fighter* But Trevayne had antipated that, and he had no inten-Uon of offering up his strictly limited carrier strength for target practice, even if The Book did call for fighters as the best defense against fighters. Instead, the ships that followed the carrier pods into Zvoboda used a tactic which was new, one so unorthodox it took the defenders totally by surprise, yet so simple they wondered why no one else had ever thought of it.

 

 

TFNS Nelson was the first ship out of the warp point, followed by the monitor da Silva. As soon as da Silva emerged, Nelson grabbed her with tractor beams and began to tow her astern.

 

 

Simultaneously, da Silva cut her own ropulsion, maintaining just sufficient drive field to interdict missile fire, and rolled on attitude control to place herself stern-to-stern with Nelson--an unheard of position. Then another supermonitorstmonitor pair emerged, and another.

 

 

All strikefighter pilots knew to attack battle-line units by maneuvering into the sternward "blind zone" created by the slow and clumsy ship's drive field, where its tracking systems were useless and its weapons could not be brought to bear. But the rebel pilots, racing to implement their fundamental tactical doctrine, were slaughtered by defensive fire from the supermonitors and monitors while searching for blind zones that were, in effect, not there!

 

 

They inflicted damage, of course--quite a lot, in fact. But monitors were designed to absorb and survive damage, and supermonitors even more so.

 

 

The fighters were cut down before their short-ranged weapons could take decisive effect, and the big ships lumbered towards the fortresses, contemptuous alike of the fighters and mines that sought to hinder them.

 

 

The fortress crews knew what their fighters' failure meant. They'd seen the reports on Second Zephrain, and they knew all about the improved force beams Trevayne's ships mounted, but they stood to their weapons, pouring in defensive fire against the oncoming ships. Damage control parties aboard the supermonitors and monitors found their services in high demand, but not critically so, and the capital ships riddled the forts with primary-mode fire and then reduced them to tangled wreckage with "wide-angled" fire even as Sean Remko's battle-cruisers savagely hunted down the few mobile rebel units.

 

 

Fourth Fleet reformed into a more conventional order of battle, complete with escort destroyers, and lumbered into a hyperbolic course across the system.

 

 

Ian Trevayne sat in his command chair, listening to the reports as his crews worked frenziedly on the damage. It wasn't quite as bad as he'd anticipated, he thought. Bad enough, certainly-- especially in terms of human life--comb no internal damage his repair crews couldn't put right in the seventy-eight hour trip across the system.

 

 

It was a case of slapdash repairs, of course, but aside frown the damage to his ships' armor, virtually full combat efficiency had been restored between the first engagement and the moment the New India warp point fortifications hove into range.

 

 

Not that he had any intention of exposing those repairs to fresh damage ff he could help it. And he could help it, for the Terran Republic still had no counterweight for the HBM.

 

 

The rebel commander knew it, too, and he launched his fighters before the supermonitors came into HBM range. That saved them from destruction in their bays but exposed them to extended-range AFHAWK fire from Trevayne's screen and interception by Carl Stoner's fighters. A few broke through both missiles and defending fighters, displaying the skill and determination which were the haffful- marks of Republican fighter pilots, but they were a spent force. The escort destroyers and capital ships blasted them apart in return for trifling damage, and shortly thereafter the HBM'S began to batter the fortresses.

 

 

The Republican commander had no more desire to die uselessly for a point of honor than Trevayne himself. As soon as he'd satisfied himself of all the facts (and fired courier drones out to New India with them), he surrendered.

 

 

His surrender was followed four hours later by another, rendered to the cruiser screen as Remko cleaned up the pieces. Occupation of the domed mining colony on the largest satellite of Zvoboda IV, a "brown dwarf' so massive as to be almost self-luminous, completed the conquest, and Trevayne called a halt. It was time to garrison the domes and send prisoners back to Zephrain, in addition to the usual post-battle chores.

 

 

He remained pn the bridge while his ships carried out the most urgent of thesethe replenishment of their magazines from the fleet train beginning to emerge from the warp point--and waited until the repair ships moved alongside to make good his most critical damage. Then he called a meeting of all ship captains aboard Nelson and finally left his flag bridge.

 

 

Trevayne couldn't help feeling amused by Yoshinaka's morose expression as they rode the intraship car toward the wardroom. The chief of staff was a natural worrier, ad he seemed to feel duty bound to compensate for everyone else's euphoria.

 

 

"Well," he grumbled, "at least you followed my advice to hold this skippers' meeting after the first battle." "Why, Genji-san, I always follow your advice," Trevayne said in the bantering tone he affected when Yoshinaka was in one of his moods. "Didn't I give the second Nelson the name you wanted?" Yoshinaka refused to be mollified.

 

 

"Right. You named her Togo... which," he added pointedly, "you would'ye had to do eventually anyway, having decided to name the class after wet-navy admirals. After all, he was the greatest fighting admiral in the entire history of Old Terr" He waited, but Trevayne declined to rise to the bait. "And you couldn't have ignored him for hmg, either--not after copping the first ship in the class bar bt your precious Nelson! Bnt then you named ships three and' four after Raymond Spruance and Yi Sun-Sin, both of whom made their reputations swabbing the decks with the Japanese! Has anvone ever told you you've got a strange sense of humor?" "The Grand Councilor for Internal Security has mentioned it once or twice," Trevavne admitted airily.

 

 

Yoshinaka's scowl dissolved into a grin.

 

 

Trevayne had been practically whistling as he was piped aboard Nelson on the eve of Operation Reunion, when many others had had an understandable case of dry-mouth. Yoshinaka had no idea what had passed between his admiral and Miriam Ortega, but he was grateful for it--and not just because Trevayne's cheerfulness in the face of a frontal assault through a fortified warp point had been a shot in the arm for everyone's morale.

 

 

The car hummed to a stop, and they emerged into a crowded wardroom filled with an uproar of shoptalk as the battle was refought. The monitor skippers-- already dubbed the "bass-akwards brigade" by their disrespectful fellows--were the butt of the occasion.

 

 

"Attention on deck!" Mujabfs basso profundo cut through the hubbub with ease, and all talk subsided as Trevayne and Yoshinaka mounted the improvised dais where Sandoval waited. Standing at the podium, Trevayne looked down at the army of faces, faces of every color and cast of features in which honw sapiecame. Outside himself and Yoshinaka, no one in the room wore the broad stripe; he wanted these men and women to be able to speak their minds freely and openly. His own deep baritone filled the room.

 

 

"As you were, ladies and gentlemen. First, congratulations are in order. Your performance in battle was exactly what I would have expected of you--and I can think of few higher compliments. In particular," he added with a slight emphasis, "the monitor commanders are to be congratulated for performing superbly under highly unorthodox conditions." That was true of everyone, he thought. Only a superbly trained and motivated fleet could have achieved the organizational flexibility these people had displayed:,.

 

 

"The reason for this captains" meeting," he went on, s that we've now seen at first hand what we're up against.

 

 

INSU-NBECTION

 

 

You're here becahse I want to directly answer any questions you may have, and because Commodore Yoshinaka, Commander Sandoval, and I need your feedback. So let's hear any questions or comments." Numerous hands went up, and Trevayne recognized what looked to have been the first of them.

 

 

"Captain Waldeck?" Sean Remko's flag captain rose. He had the Waldeck look burly, with a jowly, florid face bq. asting a big nose and massive chin oddly at variance with the small, pursed mouth.

 

 

"A comment, Admiral. If what we've encountered here is any indication, this operation should be a walkover. I refer specifically to the cowardice of the rebel commander. He surrendered when he still had the (mtggability to do us some damage or at least force us to expend a lot of our HBM'S on his fgreats.

 

 

I think the inference is clear: all the rebels ever had'going for them was the elan of their initial successes. Now that that's worn off, they're reverting to their natural star--rabble!" Mujabfs face got, ff possible, a bit darker, even though Waldeck had been careful to refer to "rebels" and not to "Fringers." His eyes flashed dangerously, but he was saved from the need to speak by an anonymous voice.

 

 

"Sure," it piped up from the back of the wardroom. "Just like the rabble on Novaya Rodinal" Waldeek flushed, and his massive jaw clenched as a sound swept the wardroom. It wasn't--quite--a chuckle, but rather an inarticulate amusement too great to be entirely suppressed. For a moment he seemed about to snarl a response, but thought better of it at the last moment.

 

 

Trevayne himself was torn by several conflicting emotions. The remark was well-taken (ff unkind), and he couldn't help sharing the assembled captains" amusement just a bit. Yet at the same time, the whole Novaya Rodina episode left a bad taste in his mouth.

 

 

But as far as Waldeck himself was concerned, Trevayne had tried to keep an open mind. He was born of the close-knit world of the TFN'S "dynasties," with few illusions about its inhabitants, and he'd never liked Captain Cyrus Waldeek. And that, he thought, was unfortunate in a way, because for all his abrasive arrogance and snobbery, i there was no question of Waldeck's competence. It was because of that competence that he'd assigned Waldeck to command the Arquebus, Remko's flagship. Yet he couldn't help chortling to himself just a bit whenever he thought of Waldeck, the embodiment of that clan of Corporate World magnates, directly under Sean Remko's command.

 

 

Could it be that Miriam and Genji were right about his sense of humor?

 

 

"Let's not get carried away by our own elan, Captain Waldeck," he said calmly. "It would be the height of recklessness to assume on the basis of one battle that the rebels have lost their edge--and I remind you that the first fortress commander we engaged most certainly hadn't lost hsts. That's an attitude we'll have to be particularly wary of in the next few weeks; now that we've broken the rebel frontier, we're likely to be passing through lightly defended systems until we reach Zapata. The rebels will have to offer battle there.

 

 

I don't want us to arrive for it in a mood of fatuous overconfidence." A murmur of agreement ran through the wardroom, and Waldeck, his face once more tightly controlled, sat down. Trevayne's voice had been as pleasant as ever, but his remarks stung all the more following that fathead hiding in the rear ranks.

 

 

Waldeck surveyed his fellow captains with hidden couldn-tempt. These people's attitude towards lan Trevayne ran the gamut from deep respect through awe all the way to idolatry., he thought. But, of course, he hadn't assigned them to be flag captain to a jumped-up prole from the slums of New Detroit--the cesspool of the Corporate Worlds!

 

 

He thought bitterly of Trevayne's reputation for being above social prejudice. For Waldeck's money, that only meant he didn't feel any more superior to Fringe Worlders than he did to everyone else!

 

 

And yet, he thought, listening to Trevayne responding to questions and comments, not even his resentment made him immune to the admiral's magnetism.

 

 

The man had the sort of sublime self-assurance that came from being perfectly suited to the role of leadership he'd been born to fill; people followed him because he expected to be followed, expected it with such certainty that he had no need for bombas). Well, Cyrus Waldeek would follow him, too, but with bitterness eating at his heart.

 

 

The assault shuttles were on their way once more, carrying garrison troops to the inhabited planet of the Purdah System, when Trevayne called another meeting aboard Nelson. It was a small gathering; Sanders, Yoshinaka, Sandoval, and Kirilenko were there, as was Ingrid Lundberg, the supply ofiqeer. Sonja Desai had come over from Togo, her flagship, but she couldn't "stay long, for she was in charge of organizing the temporary military government of this system@u Of Trevayne's closest allies, only Bemko was absent; he was busy deploying forces to screen the fleet train while it licked its wounds from the latest of the raids which had occasioned this meeting@u At Trevayne's request, Lundberg began with a summary of the suplly picture as the stewards poured coffee. (it was lateaence, by ships" clocks.) @u.. And that's about the size of it, Admiral." She ran fingers through her auburn hair. "We lost a lot of general stores when Falkenberg blew up, and I'm not happy about losing all those medical stores when they crippled ('ollt Merchant, but we've actually boen fairly lucky.., so far. The munition ships have avoided any serious losses--though I'm not too happy about the missile supply." She glanced at Sandoval from the corner of one eye.

 

 

"Some people seem to have the idea missiles come straight from God as needed; they don't. If we can't move colliers safely, I can't continue to meet the ammo demands of the Fleet." "I see." Trevayne nodded and glanced at Kirilenko. "Lavrenti, what do you have for us on these raiders?" "Less than I'd like, sir. They're using carriers and staying at extreme range. I suspect we're looking at escort carriers rather than light or fleet carriers--the attack patterns suggest small fighter groups--but whatever they are, we haven't been able to run any of them down. They obviously carry cloaking ECM, and they're as fast as anything we've got." He shrugged. "I'he best I can report right now is that they're losing fighters steadily, but that's not the way to stop determined commerce raiders." "Anything more on my pet hypothesis, Lavrenti?" Sanders asked.

 

 

"I've subjected it to computer analysis and lots of plain, old-fashioned human skepticism, sir," Kirilenko said, "and I'd say you're probably right. They've set up some sort of deep-space basing facilities out there.

 

 

Maybe just a couple of old freighters hiding somewhere, but something--and in more than one system too.

 

 

They're rearming somewhere, and I'd bet they've got replacement fighters stashed out there, too. Ali of which supports your theory: this was carefully planned.

 

 

It's no last-minute improvisation." Trevayne's officers and advisers exchanged looks and glanced covertly at the admiral, who leaned one elbow on the polished tabletop and thought@u Finally he leaned back and rapped the edge of the table with his light pencil, breaking the grip of the silence@u "Very well. Matters have gone pretty much as expected, in the sense that the rebels haven't committed major forces to defend either New India or this system. They've fought token holding actions, forcing us to expend munitions and inflicting maximum losses in a shot time before withdrawing.

 

 

"We also anticipated that our advance would expose the fleet train to flank attacks through warp points leading to rebel systems off our line of advance. Again, no surprises @u.. except possibly for the weight of the attacks and the fact that they're also using these deep-space bases Admiral Sanders and Commander Kirilenko have hypothesized to operate inside the systems we've reoccupied. And, of course, for the number of escort carriers-or whatever--they've committed." He paused and looked around the table. "Now, what do these facts, taken together, mean? I realize one school of thought holds that our rapid advance means the rebellion is collapsing like a house of cards.

 

 

That, I'm sure, is Captain Waldeck's view," he added with a crooked smile. "But I don't believe it. These raids show too much forethought, and they're being pressed too aggressively; we're clearly not fighting a beaten enemy. I still think the decisive battle will come at Zapata, whatever anyone else believes, but in the meantime we can expect more of the same at Sagebrush.

 

 

"Therefore," he continued, "we need to further reinforce the escort elements for the fleet train.

 

 

Commander Lundberg is quite correct about the state of our missile supply--we mst-both restrict our expenditures and safeguard our existing supplies. For this purpose, I intend to detach Admiral Stoner's light carriers." "Carl won't like it," Sonja Desai foretold.

 

 

"He'll ricochet offthe bulkheads," Sandoval added, earn- ing a glare from Desai.

 

 

"I know. I also know our carriers are already stretched thin, but it can't be helped. Supplies are our Achilles heel, and whoever's orchestrated the rebel strategy has grasped that fact very, well." Trevayne had a pretty definite idea who that person was, but he kept it to himself.

 

 

"We may as well face the fact that whenever the rebels finally decide to offer battle in earnest, they're going to greatly outnumber us in fighters. Our great strength is our battle-line." (the finest in the Galaxy, he thought, but silently; he didn't want to add to the general cockiness.) "It's more important to assurt ourselves of an abundant supply of missiles--especially HBM'S--FOR THE decisive battle than it is to hoard fighters that won't, after all, be able to go toe-to-toe with their opposite numbers on even terms." Heads nodded around the table. Then Yoshinaka spoke lip.

 

 

"Admiral, another concern is the relatively heavy losses among our scout cruisers. We're not exactly oversupplied with them to begin with." "True," Trevayne acknowledged. "Of course, you ex- peet high losses among them due to the nature of their missions." Deep within him an old pain stirred briefly. He sternly suppressed it.

 

 

"I'm thinking we ought to conserve them for now and rely on drone probes and recon fighters. In fact, we might make the two problems solve each other by temporarily detaching the scouts to help escort the fleet train." He held up a hand. "Yes, I know it's not what they're designed for, but with their missile armaments, they've got a lot of AFHAWK capability. Besides, I don't think the rebels are going to be expecting escorts with third-generation ECM! It could make things interesting the next time their 'vanishing carriers" pull one of their long-range raids ff a couple of light cruisers suddenly drop out of cloak into theirthe midst." Glances were exchanged around the table as people found, to their surprise, that they liked the idea.

 

 

"Yes, sir," Sandoval said. "Of course, the scout cruiser types won't like it at first.

 

 

They're a bunch of hot dogs... almost as bad as fighter jocks," the former fighter jock added. "But give them some rebel fighters to chew on, and maybe an escort carrier or two, and they'll come around." "Also, Ian," Sanders put in, "we don't need them for recon just now anyway. We've already probed Sagebrush, and I gather we shouldn't need scouts there." He looked to Sandovai and Yoshinaka for confirmation. "We should be able to go through that system rather easily and quieldy." Sandoval grinned from ear to ear. "Like beans through a Gringo, sir." Sanders spluttered into his coffee and nearly choked. Trevayne, pounding the older man on the back amid the general laughter, tried to give Sandoval the full-powered glare that had reduced strong men to jelly. He failed utterly. It was dicult to get mad at the irrepressible ops officer, and impossible to stay that way.

 

 

Impossible, that was, for most people. Sonja Desafs lips, always thin, became practically invisible, and they barely moved as she clipped out, "Admiral, ff you'll excuse me I think I'd better get back to Togo. The shuttles should have landed by now, and the reports will be coming i." She carefully did not glare at Sandoval.

 

 

"I think we've about finished anyway," Trevayne said, and turned to Yoshinaka as Desai rose. "I'll be on the flag bridge for a while, Genii. There are still a few loose ends to tie together before I can turn in." He smiled ruefully.

 

 

"Y'know, we can use robot probes for reconnaissance--don't you think someone would invent a robot admiral, too?" After he was gone, Sandoval grinned at Desafs retreating narrow back and muttered to Yoshinaka, "I think we've already got one, sir." "Fhat will do, Commander," Yoshinaka replied, pleasantly but with finality. Opposites, he reflected, don't always attract.

 

 

INFERNO The quiet buzzer seemed raucous in the darkened cabin, and the tiny woman in the bunk opened her eyes in- stantly, reaching fo, r her eom key.

 

 

"Yes?" "Message from Maovi, sir. Rim units are emerging from Sagebrush." "Thank you, Bob." Vice Admiral Li sat up and reached for her battle uniform. "Composition?" "They wasted a lot of SBMHAWK'S on the decoys, sir, then the battle-line came through. They're reforming now." "Good. Ask Admiral Tsing to meet us on Flag Bridge." "Yes, sir." Hah sealed her vac suit, and lifted her helmet from the bedside table. Her cabin door opened silently, and the Marine sentry snapped to attention. She nodded courteously as she passed him; her conscious mind never even noticed him.

 

 

Trevayne studied the big visual display unhappily. Zapata's G2 sun was a distant, unwinking flame, and the flotillas of Fourth Fleet glittered with its feeble reflected glow.

 

 

Why did the sight fill him with foreboding? Was it the unexpected lack of resistance?

 

 

His drone probes had reported two dozen type four OWP'S and extensive minefields covering the Sagebrush-Zapata warp nexus. That had been enough to draw the fire of almost all of his remaining SBMHAWK'S, but there had

 

 

been no shock of battle when the battle-line made transit, for the "fortresses" proved to be unmanned satellites armed only with sophisticated ECM gear to masquerade as forts in the eyes of his probes.

 

 

He brooded over the display, pondering the system spread out before him in miniature. This warp point lay nearly in the system's plane of the ecliptic, as did his destination--the Iphigena warp point. But they were almost diametrically opposite one another, and between them was the inner system: the local sun, the two small, airless innermost planets, the Earthlike third planet, and an extensive asteroid belt.

 

 

Having the sun directly between him and his destina- tion was annoying. That colossal gravity well made any sort of straight line route impossible, even in this day and age. He'd chosen his course long since: a hyperbola at right angles to the plane of the ecliptic, passing "over" the sun and its innermost children. He wanted to avoid the ecliptic anyway; it would distance him from any traps the opposition might consider springing.

 

 

But where was the opposition?

 

 

He knew he would encounter some fortresses, at least, at the Iphigena warp point; there'd been a couple there even before the rebellion, and the rebels must have reinforced them. After all, that warp point was far closer to the sun than most less than ten light-minutes beyond the asteroid belt, in fact. The rebels couldn't have failed to construct some asteroid fortresses, the cheapest and in many ways best kind.

 

 

But there had to be heavy mobile forces lurking beyond scanner range. He couldn't be that far wng about rebel strategy. The increasing ferocity of their eom-merce raiders had managed to suck off a dismayingly high proportion of his light carrierswhich had to be what they'd intended, assuming they meant to engage him here. Unless, of course, they'd followed the same line of reasoning and decided to do something else, just to be difficult.

 

 

He shook free of his useless speculations and walked a few paces to join Yoshinaka and Mujabi, who were hud-died in consultation.

 

 

"Problems, gentlemen?" "No, sir," Yoshinaka replied. "Admiral Remko reports the screen's deployment complete."

 

 

Trevayne nodded. Remko's screen massed twelve battle-cruisers and attendant destroyers. With Admiral Steinme-uller's fifteen heavy cruisers attached, he would precede the battle-line by fifteen minutes, sweeping the space before the ten supermonitors, ten monitors, eight super-dreadnoughts, and twelve battleships.

 

 

The battlegroups had the usual allotment of destroyer escorts, except for the supermonitors, which were flanked by the new escort cruisers designed and built in the Rim, and Trevayne had held back three destroyer battlegroups, built around Goeben-class command cruisers.

 

 

The battle-line was also accompanied by Carl Stoner's six fleet carriers and three remaining light carriers, with over two hundred fighters. The rebels could put far more fighters into space whenever they finally offered battle, but at least they could no longer count on the edge their pilots" experiencff normally gave them--Stoner's people had been blooded repeatedly against both rebels and Tangri.

 

 

"The fleet is ready to proceed," Yoshinaka continued. "No, we were discussing the lack of opposition. It's almost eerie. His "Yes. I suppose it's possible I've been wrong all along about where the rebels will make a stand, but I still don't think so. And yet... ff they do plan to put up a serious defense, letting us make transit unscathed shows a high degree of chutzpah." Mujabfs eyebrows arched in puzzlement, and Trevayne translated.

 

 

"Outrageous self-confi- "Oh." Mujabi nodded. "New one on me, sir." He eon-sidered for a moment.