Han heard the door close with gratitude, for her reactions both shamed and frightened her. How could she exercise command over others if she could no longer command herself.

 

 

But then the door opened again and someone cleared his throat. Her head snapped back over, and Captain Llewellyn looked down at her, his cherub's face incongruously stern.

 

 

"I suppose, Commodore, that we could call this 'conduct unbecoming an officerHis--but I'm old-fashioned. Let's just call it childish." "I know," she husked and turned her head away addain. "I'm sorry. Just--just go away.

 

 

I-I'll be all right... His "Will you, now?" His voice was sternly compassionate.

 

 

"I thiea.k not. Not, at least, until you accept that you're merely human and entitled as such to moments of weakness." "It's not that," she protested, scrubbing her eyes with balled fists like a child. "I... to mean..

 

 

." "Yes, it is," he said gently. "I've checked your record, Commodore. Sword of honor. Youngest captain in Battle Fleet.

 

 

Stellar Cross. Headed for the War College, but for the current... unpleasantness. And that's only the official record. There's also your crew." "My--crew?" It popped out involuntarfiy, and she bit her tongue, cursing her crumbling self-control.

 

 

"The survivors have had our visitors" desk under siege ever since your arrival. If I hadn't put my foot down, you'd've been buried under well-wishers---wh, since I don't want you plain buried, I'm not about to permit! But' my point is simple: amassing that record and winning that loyalty says a lot about your personality," His voice grew suddenly gentle. "You're not used to being helpless, are you?" Hah turned away, horribly embarrassed, but his ques- tion demanded an answer. And she owed him one for keeaenceeaqeaong,, her alive, she supposed fretfully. she said shortly.

 

 

"I thought not. Which explains exactly why you're react- ing this way," he said simply, and Han turned back towards

 

 

"Perhaps," she said levelly, "hut it loesn't help that you haven't told me everything, either, Doctor." Llewellyn's face stilled at the accusation, and his eyes narrowed.

 

 

"Why do you think that, Commodore?" he asked finally, his tone neutral.

 

 

"I don't know," she confessed bitterly, "but you haven't, have you?" "No." His simple response surprised her, for she'd expected him to waffle. But she'd done the little Corporate Worlder an injustice; he was as utterly incapable of evading a direct question as she herself.

 

 

"And what haven't you told me?" "I think you know already," he said quietly. "You just haven't let yourself face it. I'd hoped you wouldn't for a while, but you're more bloody-minded than I thought," he added, and a door opened in her mind-- a door she had been holding shut with all her strength even as she hammered against it.

 

 

He was right, she thought distantly. She did know.

 

 

Her hand crept over the blankets across her belly, and he nodded.

 

 

"Yes," he said gently, and her teeth drew blood from her lip.

 

 

"How bad is it?" she asked finally, her hoarse voice level.

 

 

"Not good," he said honestly. "A high percentage of your ova are sterile; others are badly damaged. On the other hand, some are perfectly,, normal, Commodore. You can still bear healthy children.

 

 

"At what odds?" she asked bitterly.

 

 

"Not good ones," he met her eyes squarely, his voice unflinching, "but you know about the problem. It wouldn't be difficult to check the embryos and abort defectives at a very early stage." "I see." She looked away, and Llewellyn started to reach out, then stopped as he recognized the nature of her withdrawal. She wasn't dropping deeper into depression; she was merely digesting what she had been told.

 

 

He stared down at her helplessly, tasting her anguish and longing with all his heart to comfort her. Yet he sensed something more than anguish under her sick, weakened strrface, something pure and almost childlike in its innocent strength, like spring steel at her core.

 

 

This was a woman who knew herself, however imperfect her self-knowledge seemed to her.

 

 

He sank into a chair, knowing she would turn back to him shortly, that his departure would shame her, watching the taut, bony shoulders relax. And as he watched the wasted body unknot, he felt himself in the presence of a great peacefulness, as if she were but the last to ink in an endless chain, able to draw on the strength of all who had gone before her. He'd already recognized the years of self-discipline behind her serenity, yet now his empathy went deeper, sensing the gift of freedom her parents had given her so long before, and he wished desperately that more of his patients could be so.

 

 

Her head moved finally, the delicate skull under the fine, dark fuzz shifting on the pillow, and she spoke quietly.

 

 

"Thnk you, Doctor. I wish vou'd told me sooner--but maybe you were right. Maybe i needed to wait for a litfie while." "No, I was wrong," he said humbly.

 

 

"Perhaps. At any rate, now I know, don't I? I'll have to think about it." "Yes." He rose unwillingly, shocked to realize that he wanted to stay within the orbit of her strength, then shook himself and smiled faintly. "Should I send Lieutenant Tinnamou back in? I think she's a bit concerned you might have, er, exhausted your strength." "Is she?" Han's weary face dimpled. "I hadn't realized I knew so much profanity, but I'd rather be alone for a bit, Doctor. Would you give her my apologies? I'll apologize in person later." "If you like," he said, relieved to see her smile at last, "but we kindly healers know sick people aren't at their best, Commodore." "Please, call me Han," she said, touching his wrist with skeletal fingers. "And I will apologize to her. But not just now.

 

 

"Certainly. I'll tell her--Ham" He twinkled sadly at her and touched his nameplate. "And my name is Daffyd." "Thank you, Daft.vd." She smiled again and closed her eyes. He left.

 

 

It took hours to truly accept it. The actual fact was not surprising--not intellectually. Somehow Han had assumed it wouldn't happen to her, but she'd always known it could. It was unfair, but then so was biology.

 

 

She felt tears on her cheeks, and this time felt no shame. Her life had been so orderly. She'd faced her need to excel in her chosen field, known that pride required proof of her competence. And, as a woman, the pressure for early achievement had been great, for she was not just a Fringer; she was Hangchowese, born to a culture which thought as much in generations as individuals. So her schedule had been set; she would achieve her rank, and then take time for the children she wanted.

 

 

She rolled her head on the pillow, agonized by a loss even more poignant because she had never possessed what had been lost. The pain was terrible, but the awful moment of realization was past. All she must do now was face it. All she had to do was cope with the unbearable.

 

 

It would have been different ff she were an Innerworgg'der, she thought sadly, for the crowded Innerworlds restricted access to longevity treatments.

 

 

But Han had been born on a Fringe World blessed with adequate medical technology, one where the antigerone therapies were generally available. At thirty-nine, she looked-and was-the Inner-world equivalent of perhaps twenty, and the differential would grow as time passed. She had expected another fifty years of fertility... fifty years which had been snatched away. For a moment, she almost envied the Innerwodders" shorter spans. They would have had fewer lonely years, she thought in a surge of self-pity.

 

 

She frowned sadly. Llewellyn was a good man, despite his homeworld, but his every word of comfort only underscored their differences. There were too few people in the Fringe. Alien gravities and environments inhibited fertility -comx took generations for the biological processes to readjust fully, and no woman of Hangchow would even consider conceiving a chfid with a potentially lethal genetic heritage.

 

 

For them, babies were unutterably precious, the guarantee of the future, not burdens on a crowded world's resources. Intellectually, Han could accept Llewellyn's words; emotionally they were.intolerable.

 

 

ISV-AACTO

 

 

She. shook her head slowly, feeling the pain recede as she faced the decision. There was only one she could make and be true to herself and her culture, she thought, and knowing that defeated the pain.

 

 

But nothing would ever dispel her sorrow.

 

 

Time passed slowly "in a hospital. Seeing days slip past without activity to fill them was a new experience for Han, and she felt events leaving her behind. Her battlegroup was disbanded as Bayonet and Sawfly, the last surviving units, were repaired and transferred to other squadrons, and even her surviving staff was on the binnacle list. Tsing Chang would be returning to duty only shortly before Han herself, and Esther Kane had never cleared Longbow. Robert Tomanaga would live, but he would be busy learn-lng to walk with one robotic leg for months to come.

 

 

Only --avid Reznick had survived unhurt. He was the sole viseatot she was allowed for two weeks, and meeting him again was perhaps the saddest of her few duties, for if he was physically unscathed, his coltish adolescence was gone. He'd been forced to mature in a particularly nasty fashion, and she was only grateful it had not embittered him. Indeed, she felt a certain subtle strength within him, the strength of a man who has been so afraid that he will never be that frightened again. She hoped she was right, that it was strength and not the final, fragile ice over a glaring weakness. She was in poor shape when he called on her, and the visit was so brief she could scarcely recall it later, yet she felt her judgment was sound.

 

 

But her staffs losses reflected her people's casualties as a whole, and she grieved for them.

 

 

There were over four hundred dead from Longbow alone, and it had taken all her will to remind herself that almost five hundred of her people had escaped.

 

 

Yet no one at all snrvived from Bardiche or Yellow-jacket, and only twelve from Falchion.

 

 

She supposed historians would call the operation a brilliant success, but twenty-eight hundred of her people had died, and it was hard to feel triumphant as she brooded over her dead in the long, lonely hours.

 

 

Yet endless though the days seemed, she was improving, and she received concrete proof of that in her third week of convalescence. A chime sounded, her door opened, and her thin face blossomed in an involuntary smile as she looked up from her bookviewer and saw Commodore Magda Petrovna.

 

 

"Hah!" Magda reached out to grip her hand, and her concerned eyes surveyed the ravages of Han's illness. But they were also calm, and Hah recognized a kindred soul in the lack of effusive, meaningless pleasantries.

 

 

"Come to view the nearly departed, Magda?" "Exactly. Mind?" "Of course not. Sit down and tell me what's happening. It's like pulling teeth to get them to tell me anything in this place!" Magda scaled her cap onto an empty table and brushed back her hair. The white streaks flashed in the window's sunlight like true silver, and for just a moment Hah was bitterly envious of her healthy vitality.

 

 

"Not too surprising," Magda grinned. "It's a Rump hospital, and they wouldn't like to talk about a lot of what's happening." "I think you're doing Captain Llewellyn an injustice," Hah said gently from her pillows. "I don't think he worries about his patients' uniforms. He certainly couldn't have been kinder to me." "Then he's an exception," Magda said tartly. "Most of "em look like they smell something bad when we walk into a room. Hard to blame them, really. Their defense wasn't anything to be particularly proud of." "No?" Han's mouth turned down. "They did well enough against me, Magda. They destroyed my entire battlegroup." "No they didn't, Han. Oh, they hurt you, I don't deny that, but Bayonet and Sawfly came through practically untouched. And my God, what you did to them! All my group had to do was clean up the wreckage, Hah--you and your people won the battle." Hah shook her head stubbornly and said nothing.

 

 

"You did," Magda insisted. "The poor Rump pilots were so green they never stood a chance once Kellerman got his fighters launched, and the local population was with us. Some of the planetary garrison tried to hold out, but the ground fighting took less than a day. Thay never had a chance without Fleet support. But ff you and your people II-QSURRECTION 203 hadn't smashed those forts up before they came fully on line---was She shivered elaborately.

 

 

They did well enough against me," Han repeated with quiet bitterness.

 

 

"No argument. But they were the only vets @.kywatch had, and their only Fleet units--one battle-cruiser and a half-dozen tincans--hauled ass as soon as they realized we were in force." She grinned suddenly, her humor so bubbling it reached through even Han's depression. "You should hear what old Pritzcowitski'has to say about them! They'd better pray he never writes an efficiency report on them!" "I can imagine," klan agreed, and amazed herself by laughing for the first time since the battle. It felt so good she tried it again, feeling Magda's approving eyes upon her. "You're good for me, Magda." "Fair's fir," Magda said, shaking her head.

 

 

"If you hadn't doric your job, I wouldn't be here. They went" for Snphaunce with everything they had as soon as they saw her--fortunately, you hadn't left them much." "Tm glad." "So was I. Oh, by the way, I checked on your Captain Tsing on the way up here. He's madder than hell the doctors won't let him come see you, but he's doing fine. In fact, he even kept some hair." "Thank God!" Han said quietly. "And Lieutenant Kan?" A little worse than Tsing, but he'll be fine, Han." "Thank you for telling me." "Well, I hope someone Would tell ne if the position were reversed[" "@.o the rest of the Fleet got off light," Han mused. "Yep. In fact, Admiral Ashigara's already headed for Zephrain, and Kellerman's carriers are off to join our monitors and move on Gastenhowe." "Then why aren't you gone?" Hah asked.

 

 

"I, my dear, am senior officer commanding Cimmaronat least for now. They added a cruiser and light carrier group to my battle-cruisers, then uncrated those fighters... and most of @.kywatch surrendered intact when they saw you did to one detachment." see." Hah pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Not bad for a lowly commodore, Magda. I'm glad for you."

 

 

"You are?" Magda smiled warmly. 'l'hanks- -comb I'm only left-brace tour deputy.

 

 

You're still senior, so as soon as you're up, the command is yours. So get yourself well and relieve me, Commodore!" "I'd say the job was in good hands," Han said.

 

 

"Thanks, but I'll be glad to turn it over to someone else, believe me. And in the meantime, if you don't mind too much, there's someone out in the hall who'd like to see you. My chief of staff." "Then invite him in! I haven't been allowed any visitors, Magda, and I still haven't thanked him properly for saving mv ship at Bigelow." 'Magda smiled and stepped back out into the corridor to collect Captain Windrider. Han watched his gaze move over her hairless skull and wasted face and wondered ff her appearance shocked him, but he only smiled.

 

 

"Good morning, Commodore. You're looking better than I'd expected." "Better?" Han shook her head. "Were you expecting a corpse, Captain?" "No, just someone who'd come a little closer to being one.

 

 

"Well, I suppose I came close enough, at that," Han agreed, and patted her bed. "There's only one chair, so one of you has to sit here." She half-expected an awkward pause as Windrider took the chair and Magda perched on the bed, but these were fellow professionals thev knew the risks, and they could speak of them unselfcon'sciously. But more than that, she realized, she was profiting from how comfortable they were with one another. She knew they'd never met before Windrider became Magda's chief of staff, yet they seemed far closer than the mere professionalism of a smooth command team could account for. It was a personal sort of closeness, one that carried them over any bumps in their conversation without a pause.

 

 

The more she listened to them, the more aware she became of the almost telepathic nature of their communication.

 

 

They used a sort of shorthand, with single words replacing entire sentences, vet seemed totally unaware of it. But they reached out t her, as well, and she found herself opehing up to others as she never had before. She wondered later ff physical weakness had somehow eroded her normal reserve, but she suspected the answer was far simpler than that: Magda Petrovna.

 

 

Hah watched Magda, feeling the way she drew both Windrider and herself towards her. Not since she'd been a little girl in the presence of her own mother had Han felt such an aura of peace, and at this moment in her life, she could feel only gratitude, for she well knew how desperately she needed it. She allowed herself to relax completely -coms completely that she barely noticed when the conversation turned to her injuries.

 

 

She never could recall the exact words in which the information slipped out, but she never forgot Magda's expression. The brown eyes were soft, but they were also warm and supportive. Few people have the gift of offering complete sympathy without undermining the ability to deal wi pain. Magda, Hah realized, did.

 

 

"It's c'onfirmed?" Magda asked gently.

 

 

"Yes." Han felt her mouth twist and straightened it, drawing her serenity about her once more.

 

 

Magda's support offered her strength, and she nodded. "I have about one chance in sixty of conceiving a normal child." "Shit." Windrider's single, bitter word might have undercut her self control, but she saw the anger in his dark, lean face and eyes. Anger over her loss, utterly unencumbered by self-consciousness.

 

 

In that moment, he became her brother.

 

 

"Have you decided what to do?" Magda's face was serene, and Hah felt she would have reached down to smooth her hair, had she still had hair, as she asked the question.

 

 

"I've arranged to have my tubes tied." She shook her head wryly. "Daffyd took it worse than I did, though he tried to hide it." "I imagine," Magda patted Han's sound thigh gently. "Funny how irrational we Fringers are, isn't it?" She smiled and patted her again, then glanced at her watch and rose. "Damn, look at the time! Your "kindly healer"--was Han grinned at Llewellyn's favorite phrase his-commuttered something about firing squads ff we wore you out. And you're looking a little peaked to me, so we'd better clear out. But we'll be back, won't we, Jason?" "Sure thing, Boss." Windrider patted one thin hand, squeezing it as he rose. "Don't worry, Ham We'll mind the store until you come back." "I'm sure you will." She watched them head for the door and then raised her voice slightly.

 

 

"Thank you for coming. And--was she found the words surprisingly comfort- able for one normally so reserved his-comthank you for being you. It... helped. It helped a lot." "Tubewash!" Magda chuckled, tucking her edp under her arm as Windrider opened the door. "Just an excuse to get dirtside, Hah!" She sketched a casual salute and stepped through the door, followed by Windrider. It elosed behind them, and Hah stared at it thoughtfully. Then she let herself settle back into her pillows as the familiar drowsi- ness returned.

 

 

"I'm sure it was, Magda," she whispered softly, lips curving in a smile. "I'm sure it was." "Courage above all things is the first quality of a warrior." General Karl yon Clausewitz, On War DRUMBEAT Zephrain, as humans rendered the name bestowed by its Orion discoverers, was a distant binary system.

 

 

Component Beaeaan orange K8 star, swung ponderously around its yellow G5 companion in an orbit of over fifty percent eccentricity, coming as close as three light-hours at perias-tron.

 

 

Both stars had small families of planets, and extensive asteroidal rubble marked the hypothetical orbits of stillborn gas giants which would have formed but for the gravitational havoc wrought by each star on the other's planetary system.

 

 

Zephrain A-II was Earthlike a small, dense world with abundant liquid water and free oxygen. Named Xanadu by a humorously inclined Terran-Survey ocer, A-II was home to a thriving human population, but Zephrain RDS was on Gehenna, Planet A-III--A lifeless, nearly airless ball of sand not much better than Old Terra's neighbor Marsprecisely because the station must inevitably be the primary target in the system. Since Howard Anderson's day, the TFN had believed that hiscombat should be kept out in space where it belongs", or, if not in space, at least on worthless planets no one would miss when the planetbusters arrived.

 

 

And that, thought Vice Admiral Ian Trevayne, was a very fine policy against aliens who would lose no sleep over the incidental genocide of whole human colonies. But in a war between humans, there were arguments for placing targets like Zephrain RDS next to a city or two. Or

 

 

would that have given the Terran Republic pause, after all? Certainly the murderous bastards had already shown their willingness to inflict noncombatant casualties, he thought bitterly.

 

 

The Terran Republic! Trevayne recalled a cynical query concerning Old Terra's Holy Roman Empire: in what respect was it holy, Roman, or an empire? He almost voiced the thought to the older man beside him, but he knew he would have gotten a look of incomprehension and polite disinterest. Vice Admiral Sergei Ortega was no history buff.

 

 

At any rate, there were more urgent matters at hand. Like persuading Ortega to stay aboard this ship.

 

 

They stood on the flag bridge of the monitor Zoroff, Trevayne's flagship. Accompanying her in orbit around Xanadu were the other ships of the battlegroup he'd brought through the chaos of insurrection to Zephrain. He still couldn't contemplate the journey without a feeling of awe that he had actually gotten away with it.

 

 

Battlegroup Thirty-Two had been stunned when news of the first mutinies arrived from the Innerworlds, but Trevayne had foreseen the storm and taken precautions. His personnel, even the Fringers, knew and trusted him, and his captains had been loyal to a man (or woman, as the ease might be). The few outbreaks had been quelled with a minimum of bloodshed.

 

 

Only then had there been time to come to terms with the other news the light cruiser Blackfoot had brought.

 

 

News of the bloody raid on Galloway's World, BG 32's home port, which had gutted the Federation's largest shipyards and destroyed, among other incidental items, Admiral's Row, where Natalya, with seventeen-year-old Courtenay and thirteen-year-old Ludmilla, had awaited his return.

 

 

Doctor Yuan, Zoroffs chief medical officer, had explained the "denial phase," when tragedy remains merely unacceptable. Luckily for BG 32, Trevayne had still been in that state when a rebel fleet followed Blackfoot through the same warp point.

 

 

His orders had come with a methodical precision as ship after ship emerged from warp. There were too many to fight--but none had been monitors, and nothing lighter IN-SUAAEC'NO than a monitor really wanted to catch a monitor. That natural hesitancy to invite self-immolation had given him the chance to disengage and run, but there were few places to run as the Fringe went mad. He remembered the weary progression of systems: Juarez, Iphigena, Lysander, Baldur where he'd hoped to break back to the Innerworlds only to meet a rebel carrier group which cost him both scouting cruisers. Baldur had been bad. It was at Baldur that he'd realized he was completely cut off from the Innerworlds, his only choice to stand and fight or head into Orion space.

 

 

The Orion commander at Sulzan had been a fool, and Trevayne was grateful for it.

 

 

The Khan's official policy of neutrality should have meant internment for any TFN refugee, but Small Claw Diharnoud'frilathka had dithered long enough for Trevayne to warp out for the district capital at lhfrak. The District Governor was no fool, but he, too, had turned a blind eye as BG 32 passed through. Probably, Trevayne suspected, because of the Khan's vested interest in an Innerworld victory... though BG 32's firepower might have been a factor, as well.

 

 

Whatever the reasoning, the governor had allowed him to leave via the one warp point he'd really wanted: the one to Zephrain.

 

 

Zephrain, gateway to the region known as the Rim. Zephrain, the largest naval base humanity had ever built. Zephrain, where--to his relieved surprise--comthe Federation's writ still ran.

 

 

The people of Xanadu shared the same political and economic grievances as other Fringe Worlds, and they contemplated the proposed Federation-Khanate amalgamation with equal revulsion. But militant loyalty was bred into them, for their system had borne the brunt of the Fourth Interstellar War. Every man, woman, and child in the Zephrain System had been an expendable frontline soldier against an enemy who saw humans as culinary novelties.

 

 

Between them and the Arachnids there had been only one shield: the Federation's ships. The Federation was nearly a religion to these people, and they had not been prepared to entertain a schism.

 

 

Isolated by rebellion from the rest of the broken Federation, they'd formed a loyalist provisional government. Since Admiral Ortega, commanding the Frontier Fleet elements at Zephrain, had found himself equally isolated from his superiors, he had placed his forces at the disposal of the provisional government. He was neither brilliant nor imaginative, but his integrity was absolute and he had the seniority.

 

 

Trevayne had placed himself under his command.

 

 

But once the desperate race was won, what had happened came crowding back like a slow, dreary drumbeat to which the rest of his life was mere counterpoint. The realization that only Colin was left to him. Colin... whom he had last seen as an angrily retreating back.

 

 

He remembered the quarrel with merciless clarity.

 

 

Colin had declared his sympathy for the Fringers, and Trevayne reacted with fury. And that, he thought, was because his son had blurted out things he himself felt but could not say, so that he'd been reduced to sputtering like an idiot about "Your oath..." "My oath," Colin had shot back, glaring at him with Natalya's blue eyes, "is to the Federation, not a bunch of greasy Corporate World political hacks! Can't you see, Dad? The Federation you and I swore our oaths to died with Fionna MacTaggart?" 'aat's enough!" Trevayne had roared. "D'you think I don't know the Fringe Worlds have grievances?

 

 

But neither those grievances nor anything else can justify shattering over four centuries of human tlnity!" So it had gone: the sterile repetition of incompatible positions and the final, angry parting.

 

 

Now the only anger Trevayne had left was reserved for the fate which had kept him in deep space as a junior officer for most of Colin's boyhood. Only later, with more time in port, had he found that which is given to a parent but once: to rediscover the universe while first watching a chfid discover it. And he'd found it with Courtenay.

 

 

Trevayne made one last try as he and Ortega left the flag bridge.

 

 

"Damn it, Sergei, Zoroffs command facilities are far better than Krait's, and incomparably better protected. It doesn't make sense to keep fleet command in something as fragile as a battleship--and you bloody well know it!" Ortega smiled wearily. He followed Trevayne's advice on most things, but on this he had his heels dug in and there was no moving him.

 

 

"Ian, Krait's been my flagship ever since I've been out here. Most of my people are left-brace rom the Rim, and we've gotten to know one another, they and I. But ff I transfer to Zoroff, no matter why, they'fl think I don't trust them anymore... and they won't trust me. Things are chaotic enough; let's disturb routine as little as possible." He paused for a moment, then resumed as if reluctantly. "And don't start again on my agg'legedgg'ity indispensable personal acquaintance with the key people in the provisional government.

 

 

We both ('less-than now the Rim is still pretty volatile and that we'll probably have to proceed under martial ('aw in one form or another." "Now to stou** underestimating these people," Trevane demurred. "They know better than most what war is about, and theg put together the provisional government because they're loyal. So you are important because of your connections with it. Why, your daughter's one of its founders! There's no need to b.vpass it. Let's just give it a chief executive who represents the Federation and has extraordinary powers for the emergency. My legal officer and I have come up with a precedent: a captain who assumed emergency powers as temporary military governor of the Danzig System during the Theban War and was upheld afterward.

 

 

We'll declare you--oh, say Governor-General of the Rim for the duration." He held up a hand against the objections that were halfway out of Ortega's mouth.

 

 

"If the Assembly doesn't like it, they can say so when contact is reestablished. But for all we know, Sergei, the Rim is all the Federation that's to eft. Old Terra could have fallen into a black hole last month, and we'd have no way of knowing it.

 

 

We're on our own out here, and we'd better start acting accordingly. That's why you're so bloody important... because you're one of these people's own, at least by adoption!" Ortega opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally he shook his head.

 

 

"For God's sake, Ian, you're moving too fast for me again! Let's at least defer this until the immediate threat is past. His The "immediate threat" was, of course, the rebel attack that must come, sooner rather than later. Hot because of the mammoth building and refitting facilities, blot even because Zephrain held the "Gateway," the warp point which was the Rim's only practicable link with the rest of the Federation. What made Zephrain unique was the RandD Station, where two generations of brilliant minds had happily turned out the blueprints for a whole new order of military technology. They'd been cheerfully oblivious to the fact that none of it was being produced. (who wanted a new arms race with the Khanate of Orion?) But what they'd never seemed to notice was that their quest for a heavier, longer-ranged missile had brought them innocently to the threshold of a gravitic engineering revolution that would transform more than just warfare. The memory banks of Zephrain RDS were a womb wherein a whole new era gestated and Trevayne would unflinchingly perform a thermonuclear abortion ff he saw the station about to fall into rebel hands.

 

 

Zephrain RDS was the key to the Rim. If enough of the new weapons could be put into production--and the Zephrain Fleet base was one of the two or three places in the' Federation where it might be done--then the Rim would survive. And, knowing that, Trevayne and Ortega had to assume the rebels also knew it and would act to prevent it.

 

 

The intraship car reached Zoroffs boatbay, and the two admirals emerged, a study in physical contrast. Ortega was short and slightly overweight, his stocky frame and broad, high-cheekboned face reflecting his Slavic and Mesoamerican ancestry. Trevayne was tall, lean, and very dark, an Englishman with more than a trace of the "eoloured" genes that the departing empire had bequeathed to the island's population in the late twentieth century. His hair was beginning to thin on top, but unlike some (including Ortega) he'd made a good job of growing the short, neat beard currently in vogue among male TFN officers. The latter caused him more satisfaction (and the former more annoyance) than he eared to admit.

 

 

"After I get back from the exercises, let's beth visit Xanadu for a few days," Ortega said. "You've been ship-bound too long, Ian-- getting a touch of bulkhead fever, I'd say." He grinned toothily. "Besides, I want to introduce you to some of the people in the provisional government INSURRECFION 2.15 especially "Miriam." His tace took on the expression it usually wore when he spoke of his daughter: a mixture of pride and bewilderment. "She's been wanting to meet you.

 

 

"I'd be delighted," said Trevavne, not sonnding pa'ticu- lady delighted. Ortega noticed (he lack of enthusiasm and smiled again.

 

 

"You may as well resign yourself, lan. She's like you-- she tends t get her way. It's ahnost unnatural how much like her mother she is." They proceeded towards Ortega's cutter, and Ortega paused as the Marine honor guard clicked to attention.

 

 

"'Governor-General"!" he snorted. Then, with a sudden twinkle, "Well, at least it got your mind off trving to keep me aboard Zorofjq." His His The next day found Trevayne in the small staff briefing room adjacent to Zoroffs flag bridge with his chief of staff, Captain Sonja Desai, while his operations officer, Commander Genii Yoshinaka, described the exercises planned for the next few days. Captain Sean F. X.

 

 

Remko, Zoroffs CO, attended via corn screen from his cxunmand bridge. Part of Trevavne's brain listened to the briefing, hut another part eofisidered his three subordinates.

 

 

Desai listened to Yoshinaka with her usual thin-lipped lack of expression. Looking at her dark, immobile face, a blend of Europe and India, Trevavne knew she would never he a charismatic leader, but her brilliance was acknowledged even by those--and they were many--whicho disliked her.

 

 

Remko's rnddy, brown-bearded face nodded in the corn screen as he followed Yoshinaka's cmments. Trevavne could easilv visualize the workings of the hurlv flag tap-rain's miner. Remko was a battle-cruiser man h), temperament, hut he performed his present duties with'aggressive cxggmpetence. He was a fighter, a man whose sheer guts and ability had carried him from a childhood in the Hell-broth, this worst slum on New Detroita planet noted ibr its slumsto his present rank despite the prejudice bis buzz-saw accent engendered.

 

 

Yoshinaka was gesturing at the clustered display lights that represented all of Ortega's Frontier Fleet strength, except those units keeping watch over potential trouble spots throughout the Rim, as they floated near the Gateway and its fortresses in preparation for exercises with Zephrain Skywatch. Like Trevayne, the ops officer was that rarity in the TFN, a native Old Terran, and this had always formed a bond between them. It was an unspoken bond-- not much ever had to be spelled out for Yoshinaka. He was a deft, subtle man who stayed in the background. No one but Trevayne fully recognized the unobtrusive ops officer's importance to what Yoshinaka himself called BG 32's wa, a word inadequately translated into Standard English as "group harmony." Remkostsuddenly turned a scowling face to someone outside the screen's pickup. He listened a moment, his scowl fading into tense understanding, then broke in on Yoshinaka.

 

 

"Priority signal from Skywatch, Admiral!

 

 

Missile pods are beginning to transit the Gateway! The minefields are taking some out--but not many!" Trevayne looked quickly at the display unit.

 

 

Clearly Ortega had gotten the same message.

 

 

Some of the yellow and orange lights in the tank-- his faster cruisers and destroyers--were already accelerating away from the red lights of his capital ships.

 

 

"Captain," Trevayne clipped as he rose from his chair, "sound general quarters, Comm. odore D?sa diswe're leav?ong orbit immediately and proceeding to the ,ateway uniter maximum drive." He strode onto the flag bridge, Desai and *oshinaka on his heels, as a eom rating looked up with a signal from Krait that confirmed the orders he had anticipated.

 

 

Beneath his decisiveness, Trevayne was amazed that the rebels (he would not call them "the Terran Republic") had managed to organize their at?ck so soon; Bddut trheaenresa the intelligence center's prefiminary anaJyss ox me l,. emerging from the Gateway even as the surviving pods launched their dusters of homing missiles to seek out the orbital forts. They were in less strength than he would have anticipated, particularly in carriers. Perhaps they were attacking before they were quite ready. And perhaps they didn't realize BG 32 had arrived? His lips curved wolfishly at the thought.

 

 

The fortresses were taking a terrible heating, but their batteries of primaries were doing their intended job and pulling a lot of the attackers' teeth. Ortega's battleships were launching long-ranged strategic bombardment missiles and would soon be receiving a reply in kind. A high percentage of those missiles were targeting the respective flagships, for both side's fire control could pick out targets on a "first name" basis. It would disn, Trevavne thought sourly, be a healthy war for the top brass.

 

 

BG 32 was still beyond scanner range of the Gateway. In some commands, the fact that the only hostile warp point into the system was beyond scanner range might have led to a certain laxness in the scan ratings: not in BG 32. Trevayne expected maximum scanner capability whenever the ships were at general quarters, and his captains had learned that his standing orders were best taken seriously. Thus it was that Sonja Desai, her usually immobile hatchet, face animated bv excitement, exclaimed: "Adriral, we've picled up a trio of cloaked assault carriers! Now that we've isolated them, we should be able to catch any escorts.... Yes, they'e coming in now: two fleet carriers and a light cruiser. The cruiser must be a scout, since she's carrying third-generation ECM. Distance just over eighteen light-seconds, heading..." She rattled off the figures, then her head jerked up to dart a startled look her admiral. at "Admiral, they're on a course about seventy, degrees from ours, converging rapidly, and they seem to be coming from somewhere around Zephrain But Trevayne's mind had already gone to full emergency overload as he assimilated the data and its implications. There was only one possible answer: a defense planner's worst nightmare--a "closed" warp point. The only way to locate a closed warp point was to come through it from the normal warp point at the far end. Obviously the rebels had done just that, undoubtedly with cloaked survey probes, and now that they had the defenders' attention riveted by their great, noisy frontal attack, they'd sent this lot in through the back door neither he nor Ortega had suspected existed.

 

 

Yes, it made sense whether they knew about BG 32 or not. Carriers to get up close undetected and launch a massive fighter attack from the rear, and a scout cruiser's scanners to provide "eyes" without using easily detected recon fighters. And the buggers should have gotten away with it. The chance of long-range scanners picking up a cloaked ship at this distance were minute.

 

 

Yet they had been caught... but long-range scanners were passive.., it'd be some seconds before they tumbled to the fact that they had.

 

 

An unholy glee pushed the dull drumbeat from his con- sciousness. The sods had their ECM set for cloak, and it took time to shift ECM modes. As far as fire confusion was concerned, those ships were mother-naked! Now that they'd been spotted at all, they might as well not even have ECM! But they didn't know that vet! If he attacked now-- before they realized and launchet... to The stream of thoughts and conclusions ripped through his mind in so small a fraction of a second that his stream of orders never even hesitated.

 

 

"q'he battlegroup will alter course to intercept the car- tier force. Commence firing with SBM'S--NOTOW." They were still outside normal missile range--but not SBM range.

 

 

"Implement anti-fighter procedures." BG 32 reoriented itself. The four Brobdingnagian moni- tors lumbered into a tight, diamond-shaped formation with their two escort destroyers positioned to cover their blind zones. The attached recon group (a light carrier with two escort destroyers) took up position astern and launched all three of its fighter squadrons. AFHAWK missiles slid into their shipboard launchers. And before the maneuver was even completed, the monitors twitched and shuddered, expelling a cloud of lethal strategic bombardment missiles from their external racks. The deadly swarm of missiles flashed away, closing on the rebel ships.

 

 

"We're getting some individual ID'S, Admiral," Desai reported as her screen flickered with sudden data. "The C-WA'S are Gilgamesh, Leminkanien, and Basilisk, sir. CV'S Mastiff and Whippet, and..." She sucked in her breath sharply and stopped dead.

 

 

Trevayne heard the hiss and turned toward her in con- cern. Her face was even more frozen than usual, and her eyes were haunted as she looked up at him over the terminal.

 

 

"What is it, Sonja?" "Admiral," she said, very quietly, "the scout cruiser is Ashanti." Every officer on the flag bridge either personally knew or had heard of Trevayne and his family-- and that Lieutenant Commander Colin Trevayne was executive officer of TFNS Ashanti. Heads turned and eyes looked at the admiral.

 

 

""rhank you, Commodore," Trevayne said levelly. "Carry on, please." Yoshinaka glanced quickly aUs tle command bridge corn screen, seeing the pain in Remko's dark eyes. Years before, struggling upward through the tight, almost hereditary ranks of the peacetime TFN, the flag captain had encountered Innerworld senior officers who'd barely troubled to conceal their snobbery, and others who'd displayed their enlightened social attitudes with forced, patronizing toleranc And then Lieutenant Commander Sean Remko had found himself serving a flag officer who quite simply didn't give a damn about where Sean Remko had been born or how he talked.

 

 

And now, watching Remko stare from the corn screen at that same officer, Yoshinaka understood the inarticulate flag captain's need to offer Trevayne something. "Sir, the carriers are what matters. A scout doesn't have enough armament to hurt us much... and the missiles are still under shipboard control... it ought to be possible to..." Trevayne also understood, but he turned to the screen and calmly cut Remko's stammering short.

 

 

"Fight your ship, Captain," he said.

 

 

Then he settled back in the comfortable admiral's chair. The drumbeat was back, but he ignored it.

 

 

There were decisions to be made in the next few minutes, and there was no time for anything else. No time to examine the new sensation of being utterly alone in the cosmos but for the cold companions Duty and Self-Discipline. No time for grief, or self-hatred, or nausea. Plenty of time for all of that, later.

 

 

ALLIANCE Xanadu averaged slightly warmer than Old Terra, and its axial tilt was less than fifteen degrees, giving it short and mild seasons.

 

 

Prescott City, on the seaboard of the continent of Kublai, lay just inside the northern temperate zone and was enjoying a distypical winter as lan Trevayne stepped from his shuttle. The day was blustery but only mildly cool; the chill was in his soul.

 

 

He spent a moment acclimating himself. (weather of any sort was always a little startling to a man diswho spent most of his working life in artificial environments, and the 0.93 G gravitation was perceptibly different from the TFN'S statutory one G.) Then he crossed the ceramacrete to greet Genji Yoshinaka. The dapper ops officer saluted and fell in beside him.

 

 

"Good afternoon, Admiral. Your schedule's been arranged for the evening. In the meantime, your skimmer is waiting. The pilot is a Prescott City native; he says Ms. Ortega's address is a good kilometer from the nearest public landing platform, so l've laid on a ground ear to take you the rest of the way." Trevayne looked around him. Low clouds scudded "rapidly across a sky of deep blue crystal. For the first time in months, he made a completely impulsive decision. "Cancel the ground ear, Genii. I11 walk." Yoshinaka, struggling to keep pace with his long-legged boss, was startled. In the week since the engagement people were beginning to call the Battle of the Gateway,

 

 

Trevaye's days had been regimented almost to the see-ond. It was inevitable, of course, especially given the new responsibilities which had fallen to him when Sergei Ortega had died with his flagship. But Yoshinaka understood why the admiral had attacked his work with such furious energy. There were too many ghosts, and Trevayne sought to hold them at bay in the only way he knew. Knowledge made his impulsiveness, his willingness to waste time, all the more startling. But, then, Yoshinaka reflected, the admiral had never been a predictable man.

 

 

Trevayne had visited Xanadu before, but only for brief conferences at the base itself. Now, for the first time, he looked down from the skimmer and saw the planet's chief city not as an abstraction to be defended, but as a bustling urban sprawl. He couldn't recall what Prescott City had been failed when it was founded during the Fourth Interstellar War--probably something else outre from Coleridge. The old name didn't much matter anyway, for it had soon been renamed in honor of Commodore Andrew Prescott, whose statue and column dominated the lawn before Government House. It was a fitting tribute to the survey officer who had provided the Terran/orion alliance with the information it needed to win that war--and who'd died doing it. Trevayne's mouth twisted with the wry. grimace that now served him for a smile. He hoped Winston Churchill had been wrong about the bad luck that attends nations which change the names of their cities.

 

 

It was hard to quarrel with Xanadu's choice of the name, though. Time after time, the war had brought large-scale space combat to this system. At the touch of the destructive energies those battles released, a living planet would wither like a leaf in a flame. Thanks to Andrew Prescott, the people of Xanadu had finally awakened one morning and known they could live and bear children without that fear.

 

 

Until now, Trevayne thought, and the bile rose in his throat. Now the fear was back, but this time it was fear of the rebellious ships of the TFN itself, the TFN which for centuries had stood between all the worlds of Man and that horror! As Sergei had stood.

 

 

His controlled face tightened as his vivid imagination pictured the loathsome mushroom clouds once more.

 

 

Only the consuming demands of responsibility had kept him functioning under the shocks of the mutinies and the deaths of his wife and daughters. And then Colin.... His mind shied away from the thought like a wounded, skittish horse. In the aftermath of battle Trevayne had deliberately filled the little free time he might have had with a hectic round of self-imposed duties. Such as this one: a call on Sergefs daughter to express his condolences. It ought to fill the time between now and tonight's round of appointments and paperwork. And the time wouldn't be totally wasted. She was, after all, politically influential.

 

 

The wind gusted as he turned into Miriam Ortega's street, and he cursed as he nearly lost his cap. Then the gust died and he straightened his cap, glancing around at his surroundings.

 

 

The street skirted the broad estuary of the Alph, running down to a seawall and the azure, white-capped harbor. This was one of Prescott City's oldest residential districts, and the houses were on the small side but wellbuilt, mostly of stone and wood, as first-wave houses tended to be. High-rises and fused cermacrete came later, as did the premium on space which would have doomed the large old native trees surrounding the houses. The ast'chi-tecture was vaguely neo-Tudor, and he suspected it had developed locally; it certainly fit the materials and the setting.

 

 

He drew a deep, lung-filling breath of the salt-tinged air and decided he'd been right to take the time to walk. Sensory deprivation was an ever-present danger in space; it had probably begun to catch up with him. In the midst of artificiality,, the mind tended to turn inward on itself. His native Old Terra might be out of reach, but here he could at least touch the soil of a world humans had made their own.

 

 

A few children were at play, and at the sight of them a shadow chilled his mind just as the low-flying clouds periodically blocked out the warmth of Zephrain A.

 

 

A small boy looked up and smiled at him.

 

 

Trevaeavne hurried on.

 

 

Miriam Ortega's house wasn't far from the seawall. He stepped through the old-fashioned gate in the low, stone wall along the street, noticing the faint rim of salt clinging to the seaward stones. He climbed the steps and rang for admittance, and the door swung open.

 

 

The woman in the doorway was in her middle to late thirties, he decided. She was of medium height and rather sturdy build, with thick black hair pulled back in a severe style which accentuated her high cheekbones. Those cheekbones reminded Trevayne of Sergei, but the rest of her features, including the strongly curved nose, seemed to owe more to Sergefs late wife. Ruth Ortega had been from New Sinai, and her genetic heritage was strong in her daughter's face.

 

 

Miriam Ortega, he thought, was no beauty.

 

 

"Ms. Ortega?" "Yes. You must be Admiral Trevayne. Your yeoman called earlier today. Won't you come in?" Her voice was husky but firm. Though she seemed somber, there was no quaver.

 

 

She led him down a short hallway to a siting room whose large, many-paned window overlooked the street. Though not messy, the room looked very lived-in. It was lined with old-style bookshelves, and an easel with paints and brushes stood near the window. A desk sat to one side, built around a functional data terminal and utilitarian tape and data chip racks.

 

 

"Do you paint, Ms. Ortega?" He gestured briefly at the easel.

 

 

"Only as an off-and-on hobby. No real talent, I'm afraid." They sat down and she lit a cigarette. "I'm going to give it up this summer--smoking, that is, not painting. Right now, though, I seem to need ali the bad habits I've got to see me through." Trevayne was uncomfortably reminded of his reason for coming. He cleared his throat.

 

 

"Ms. Ortega, the last time I talked to your father, he spoke of you. He said he wanted me to meet you. I deeply regret that we're finally meeting under these circumstances. But please accept my condolences for your loss. Believe me, I share it. Your father was, in many ways, one of the finest officers I've ever served under." God, he thought. I didn't intend to sound so formal; it's almost stilted. But what can one say? I've never been at my best dealing with human tragedy.

 

 

Including my own.

 

 

Miriam Ortega inhaled smoke and let it trickle out. "You know, Admiral, I think Dad was a bit disappointed to have produced possibly the most unmilitary offspring in the Federation, but I managed to soak up enough of his attitudes to understand him. However easygoing he sometimes seemed, he felt very strongly about certain things. One of them was the Federation, and another was his concept of what TFN service meant. He used to quote some ancient saying about placing your body in harm's way, between the horror of war and those you're sworn to protect.

 

 

He could imagine no higher calling." Her face had worn an inward look, but now she looked up at Trevayne and he could almost feel the unconquerable vitality she radiated. When she spoke again, her voice was still controlled, but the words were vibrant.

 

 

"Dad died the way he would have wanted to. I can't deny I'm grieving for him, but at the risk of seeming callous, I can't honestly say I feel sorrow. Sorrow isn't big enough... there's no room for pride in it!" Trevayne was startled by how closely she'd paralleled his own earlier thoughts. But beyond that, he suddenly wondered how he could have thought this woman unexcep-tional-looking even for a moment. She wasn't conventionally pretty, no; but her face was a strikingly vivid and expressive one, uniquely her own. She was like no one else.

 

 

For an instant he wanted to reach out to her and tell her of his own loss. She was the sort of person who inspired confidences. But no, he had no right to burden her with his problems. And he wasn't sure he was ready to expose his own wounds.

 

 

"I know you were close to your father," he said. "I recall him mentioning that you moved out here when he was first posted to Zephrain." "I suppose my closeness to him was a form of overcom-pensation. I didn't see much of him when I was young--he was in space a lot, and Mother played a much bigger role in raising me. Whenever he was around, he did his best to turn me into a tomboy." Her mobile features formed a rueful smile.

 

 

"Some would say it took. Anyway, you're fight about" my coming out here. It was just after my divorce. I was in the mood for a change of scenery, and Mother had died just before he was out-posted; he was still taking it pretty hard." She broke off for a moment, drawing on her cigarette. Her face was briefly thoughtful before she shrugged and looked up again.

 

 

"I had a law degree from New Athens and reasonably good references, so I was able to etablish myself here on Xanadu. I found I liked it here.

 

 

What started as a "stay close to Dad" sort of thing turned into something else entirely, in a sense.

 

 

I landed a position with one of the better firms-- Bernbach, de Parma, and Leong--and suddenly I was one of the old hands. That doesn't take long here in the Rim, you know. And our firm's always been heavily into local polities, which is how I ended up involved in lhe formation of the provisional government." Trevayne nodded, though he suspected that wasn't the half of it. Suddenly she looked self-deprecating and waved her cigarette dismissively.

 

 

"Here I am running off at the mouth about myself when I've got the most famous man in the Rim sitting in my living room! Just bringing your battlegroup all the way out here made you a hero to these people, you know. Since the battle, you've become even more of one, ff that's possible! I'm probably boring you stiff..." "No, no," Trevayne denied. "Far from it.

 

 

In fact, you were just coming to something I need to know more about.

 

 

I'm stfil not toe clear about the origins of your provisional government." "No?" She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment.

 

 

"How much do you know about Xanadu's history, Admiral?" "Only the bare-bones outline from the handbook, I'm afraid. His "Then you know Xanadu was setfied during the Fourth Interstellar War when the Navy built the Fleet base. What you may not realize is just what that meant for the makeup of our population. There was a tremendous amount of military construction going on sixty years ago, and that required a large labor force. People came from all over the Federation, and today's population is about as racially mixed as you'll find anywhere. Which--was a sudden smfie his-comis probably one reason I fit in so well! Anyway, the point is that this isn't one of the planets settled by closeknit ethnic or national groups. To govern themselves, this polyglot crew needed a simple pyramidal structure to interact on. Xanadu is divided into prefectures, which are grouped inff.tricts, above which are provinces. Each prefecture elects a representative to the district assembly. The district assemblies each select one representative to the provincial assemblies, which each send one member to the Planetary Council.

 

 

There's also a popularly elected president, who appoints the judiciary. There's a lot more to it, of course, but that's the basic idea." As democratic systems went, Trevayne reflected, it owed more to the French than to the American model.

 

 

"Actually, it's worked pretty well," she said.

 

 

'rhe planet has taken on a sort of uniformity in diversity. The Xandies are probably on the way to developing what the anthropologists call a 'planetary ethnicity."" Seeing his puzzled look, she elaborated. "People from Xanadu are called "Xandies." It's not a slur," she added quickly. "We call ourselves that." He noted the shift from third to first person.

 

 

"Anyway," she continued, "the pro-rebel party here was extremely small and--partly as a result of being so alienated from the Xandy mainstream, I supposc extremely militant. Right after word of the mutinies arrived, a gang of fanatics tossed a bomb which killed the president and several high-ranking members of the government... not to mention a good number of innocent bystanders." She grimaced. "rhe chief conspirators fled off-planet and got as far as Aotearoa. I was a member of the delegation sent to arrange their extradition, and, in the course of the discussions, it became clear that we needed some sort of inter-system authority to deal with any further terrorist acts locally, since we were completely isolated from Old Terra. The result was the provisional government, which includes Zephrain and several of the nearer systems--the most populous and highly-developed ones in the Rim. Brilliant improvisation!" She beamed at him in mock self-satisfaction.

 

 

"Dad's support gave it some teeth, but it's still pretty chaotic." "Yes. Your father and I talked about this.

 

 

As I see it, the problem is that the Rim is on its own indefinitely. We need a Rim-wide provisional government, if only to perform the kind of day-to-day functions that the Federation always provided.

 

 

But it isn't only day-to-day matters... we've handed the rebels a setback, but we haven't heard the last of them. And it's only a matter of time before the Tangri Corsairs take advantage of this civil war to start raiding again." He rose and began pacing as he went on. "I said to your father that we may as well be all the Federation that's left.., and I wasn't just being dramatic.

 

 

We're isolated to an extent that no one in the government has ever dreamed of, much less planned for! Thank God we've got a loyalist provisional government to work with." He stopped suddenly in the middle of the room and looked at her and realized that she'd been watching him intently.

 

 

"Ms. Ortega, a while back you said something about not wishing to seem callous. Well, neither do I. But I must tell you that what I said earlier about sharing your loss was meant not just on a personal level. The fact is, I'd planned to have your father, as TFN senior officer, declared emergency governor-general of the Rim systems. It's legally defensible, but without support from local leaders, it would probably do more harm than good. With the contacts he'd built up in his years out here.... " His voice trailed off.

 

 

"Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to get carried away. And it's all a matter of might-have-been now that he's dead." Miriam Ortega's expression had become even more intent. Now her eyes flashed.

 

 

"No! It still makes sensebeautiful sense, politically as well as militarily. Your idea of a "governor-general" is per-feet. He'd represent the Federation, so he'd provide a focus for loyalist sentiment. And he'd give the provisional government exactly what it lacks: a strong executive. And @u.. we ve got the perfect man for the position." Trevayne looked at her levelly. "Me," he said, slightly more as a statement than a question.

 

 

"It's got to be you," she said emphatically.

 

 

"As the ranking TFN officer in the Rim, you're the only possible choice. And remember what I said earlier; your prestige to i couldn't be higher."" Neither of them had really noticed the courtesy call turning into a political conference, but that, Trevayne realized, was exactly what it had become. He'd already reached the same conclusions, but he'd needed to hash out the problems and objections with someone. And in the loneliness of supreme command, there had been no one.

 

 

"I can't do it alone," he began. "I don't know these people..." "But I do,"" the woman said flatly.

 

 

Two pairs of dark-brown eyes met, and they were allies. "I can't just make the proclamation out of the blue, though." He resumed his pacing. 'Fhat would defeat the whole purposccence of involving the Rim leadership. I need to meet the key people in this provisional government and arrange for a statement of solidarity from them to follow the announcement. And we need to set up an interim legislative assembly to handle inter-systemic statutory matters. Just the inflation that's bound to overtake a wartime economy will require a mass of bread-and-butter amendments to practically all Federation statutes that specify monetary amounts.

 

 

"Good point," Miriam interjected. She cocked her head to one side and looked at him. "I must say, for a professional military man you seem to have quite a good grasp of these things." "I've read a little history." He gave a deprecatory half-smile. "But as I was saying, I need to meet with the loyal leadership unofficially, so it probably wouldn't be a good idea to do it at Government House his "Why not here?" she asked.

 

 

Trevayne stopped in midpace. "Why not, indeed? Can you contact the people I need to talk to?" She nodded. "As to when... my schedule isn't too flexible. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to stay dirtside." No more than a few days, he thought. Maybe after the trip to Gehenna.

 

 

"How about the day after tomorrow, at 1000 hours?" "Day after tomorrow?" he echoed faintly, staring at her. "Weffful," she said reasonably, "these people are scattered all around the planet. I may not be able to get them all together by tomorrow." He nodded slowly. It was a new sensation for him to find himself caught in someone else's slipstream.

 

 

"We stvon't have time to bring in anybody from off-planet," she was saying, "but at least Bryan MacFarland--he's an Aotearoan--is already in Prescott City. And, of course, Barry de Parma he's a senior partner in my firm and he's got a finger in every political pie on the planet.

 

 

And..." "Make a list. I'll need a briefing on each of them. It shouldn't take too long to..

 

 

." His voice trailed off as he looked at the clock. "Bloody Goddamned hell!" he ploded. "Er... excuse me." She choked down a laugh as he adjusted his wrist communicator. "Genji?" "Admiral? I was trying to decide whether or not to call you." "Genii, I'm going to be at Ms. Ortega's a bit longer than I expected. You'd better postpone tonight's appointments. And don't schedule anything for day after tomorrow, at least not i the morning or early afternoon." Two days later, they were once again alone in her sitting room, this time among a litter of scattered chairs and heaped ashtrays. He waved a hand vaguely before his face, as if to brush away the canopy of tobacco smoke. Aside from the chairs and ashtrays, the room was much as before, except for the cloth that covered the easel.

 

 

"Well," Miriam said, "I think you've done it." "You had as much to do with it as I did," Trevayne demurred.

 

 

"No, it was you. You didn't just win them over to the idea, you overwhelmed them with it. When you announce the Rim Provisional Government, they'll come through right on schedule-and they'll do it because they know you're right.

 

 

We'll reconvene the current provisional government as a sort of committee of the whole to organize the Rim Legislative Assembly, then invite all the Rim systems to send representatives." "Good. In fact, I'd like you to move ahead on setting that up right now, but the public announcement is going to have to wait a week or so." "A week?" She cocked her head to one side thoughtfully. "No problem. I'll go ahead and get the messages out--they're going to take a month or so to reach some of the more distant systems--comb why wait that long for the initial announcement? The provisional government can be ready to go in two or three days." "I know. But for now I have to go to the RandD Station, which means a flight to Gehenna, of course.

 

 

My chief of staff is organizing a project out there one that's at least as important to the survival of the Rim as what we've started at this end." "Oh? Ready to start producing new weapons?" "How the devil did you know that?" Trevayne stared at her, reminding himself once more never to underestimate this woman.

 

 

"What else would you be doing on that dust ball?" she asked dryly. Then she shook her head at him.

 

 

"Don't worry--I won't mention a word to anyone. But every Xandy knows what Zephrain RDS has been up to for the last forty years or so, you know.

 

 

Not that it matters too much, I suppose; it's hardly likely to get into the rebel news channels, now is it?" "I suppose not," he admitted with a reluctant smfie. "On the other hand, good security is as much a set of mind as anything else, so I'd rather not discuss it just now. And I'd appreciate your keeping mum about it." "Don't worry, I will," she assured him.

 

 

"Thanks." He glanced at the clock and stood, picking up his cap. "I've got to go--my shuttle's waiting at Abu'sd--but I'll be in touch directly I get back. I'll want your help on the finishing touches to the proclamation." "Try and keep me away from it!" She also rose, facing him. "You know, I really believe we're going to pull this Off." "So do I. It's not easy to feel pessimistic around you! Besides, I was impressed by your colleagues. I thought I hit it off particularly well with the MacFarland chap." "Yes, I was sure you'd like him. He even sounds like you.

 

 

Trevayne almost choked. That God-awful Anzac twang?! Then he threw back his head and laughed for the first time in far too long. She blinked at him in momentary startle-ment, then burst out laughing, too. And then his elbow brushed the easel, and the cloth slipped off.

 

 

"Oh, shit," Miriam said quietly.

 

 

Trevayne gazed at the charcoal sketch for a long moment, his taueahter dying, his face turning thoughtful. Then he eyed her quizzically.

 

 

"Do I really look that grim?" "Yup," she replied, not quite her usual brassy self, but standing her ground. He took a closer look.

 

 

"I suppose I've never thought of myself as looking that... harsh." "'Harsh" isn't the word I'd use. "Tough" comes closer. You've got the sort of face that shows absolutely no vulnerability.. And--was her voice was suddenly both gentle and bold his-comt's a pity, because I think you're a very vulnerable man in a lot of ways. One who's been hurt." She stopped abruptly, as if she had surprised herself.

 

 

Trevayne looked at the sketch a moment longer, absorbing the closed-off expression her charcoal stick had captured and feeling her words sink under the edge of his armor. The' he turned to face her.

 

 

"Yes, I have..." he began, then stopped.

 

 

Once more, he wanted to speak of how badly he'd been hurt. But he had to leave. Besides, he knew now that he would tell her everything when he saw her again... and, he realized with dawning surprise, that was enough. What really mattered was knowing there was someone he could talk freely to after so long.

 

 

"Ms. Ortega..." "Miriam." "Miriam. As I said, I'll be in contact when I return. And @u.. I'll look forward to talking again." "So will I, Admiral Trevayne." "Ian." "lan." She smiled her vivid smile. They shook hands. He left and walked up the street.

 

 

There was a brisk wind off the harbor once more, but the day was cloudless. Some of the same children were playing along the street, and the same small boy smiled at him.

 

 

He smiled back.

 

 

SEPARATION OF POWERS Genii Yoshinaka had never seen Sonja Desai so angry. To be honest, he couldn't swear he'd ever seen her display so much of any emotion.

 

 

"The Admiral must be out of his mind!" she muttered through clenched teeth. "No," she continued, answering herself before Yoshinaka could get a word in, "of course he's not. But we all know what a strain he's been under.... his "Now, Sonja," Yoshinaka interrupted, all diplomacy, "you know the political rationale for what the Admiral is doing. We've discussed it often enough since arriving in the Rim. And if you feel so strongly about it, why didn't you voice your objections to him when he was on Gehenna?" "Oh, yes, I've heard all the political arguments, and I'm only to happy to defer to the Admiral's judgment on that sort of thing." Her voice held an infinity of exasperation with politics and the other incomprehensible interactions of her fellow humans. "But," she continued, suddenly almost venomous, "I always assumed we were talking about some ceremonial parliamentary talkfest that would give the local political gasbags an outlet for their self-importance while we get on with the important work. I never dreamed that we were going to be expected to take the farce seriously!"" She glared across the room at the duster of civilians... and, it seemed to Yoshinaka, at one of them in particular.

 

 

The room she glared across was deep in the heavily-

 

 

shielded core of Government House in Prescott City. The shielding--like the architecture, which was what public buildings had looked like in the days of the Fourth Interstellar War-- reflected the structure's origins. Its security aspects had been largely habit, given an enemy from whom nuclear warheads were more to be expected than espionage, but they'd made this particular conference room the natural site for Trevayne's first joint meeting with both his military staff and the leaders of the newly-inaugurated Rim Provisional Government. Both groups now stood awaiting him.., and, as if by gravitational attraction, had clumped themselves into opposite corners of the large chamber. The thought of security got Desai off: to a fresh start. "Damn it, Genii," she said, low-voiced and intense, "I don't really mind the idea of setting up a civilian government for the Rim; I suppose I wouldn't even want us to have to arry the whole burden of administration, which we would under martial law. But I simply can't believe that the Admiral really plans to grant security clearances to the members of this "Grand Council" who're directly connected with the war effort. Is that even legal?" "Matter of opinion," Yoshinaka opined.

 

 

"He's doing it while wearing his Governor-General's hat, which puts it in what might tactfully be called an ill-defined area of the law. As he's fond of saying, the Cabinet can tell him if they don't like it after contact is reestablished." Desai waved a hand impatiently. "That's not really the point anyway. You haven't been out to Gehenna, but you know what's at stake here.

 

 

We're not talking about some kind of minor engineering refinements! We're talking about a whole new order of technology!" She paused and took a breath. "I've got to make him see that we don't dare compromise security on this thing... not after what's happened on Gehenna." Yoshinaka nodded soberly. He could understand her feelings, after what she'd been through mere days before. But, as always, he found her intensity, oppressive. She had no lightness in her. And this vehemence wasn't like her at all.

 

 

"I've got to make him see[" she repeated.

 

 

"Surely it must be clear now that he can't trust these.., colonials!" Yoshinaka was shocked. Abrasive Desai might be, but he'd never heard a remark even remotely like that from her. It didn't even make sense; her own ancestors hadn't exactly evolved from the primordial ooze of Nova Terra! And Sonja Desai never talked nonsense. What was her problem?

 

 

He drew himself up slightly. (he still had to look ward at her, as he did at most people.) "I think," he began, in his best conversation-closing voice, "that the Admiral is committed to the course he's taken, @ddonja. And I think you missed your chance to talk him out of it when you had him to yourself on Gehenna. And I definsttest think that, in spite of what's happened since then, it would do far more harm than good to raise the point at this time, in this company. I strongly advise against it." Desai's rejoinder was lost forever as an old-fashioned double door swung open and an usher intoned "rhe Governor-General!" Trevayne was wearing an expensively-tailored civilian suit, making dear which of his figurative "hats" he was wearing. The point was not lost on the officers and politicians as they took their places on opposite sides of the large conference table. The glance he shared with Miriam Ortega, on the other hand, went unnoticed by almost everyone.

 

 

"Please be seated, ladies and gentlemen," Trevayne invited, all affability. They did so, military crispness opposite civilian casualness, and Miriam absently lit a cigarette.

 

 

"Filthy habit," Desai muttered to Yoshinaka, just below the threshold of public audibility. Miriam, almost directly across the table from her, raised a single eloquent eyebrow and blandly put out the cigarette.

 

 

Introductions and other preliminaries completed, Trevayne turned to specifics.

 

 

"We all know what's occasioned this meeting," he began, "and I know everyone shares my relief that Captain Desai is able to be with us." A murmur of agreement ran around the table. Trevayne resumed, addressing Desai. "Sonja, I apologize for having to bring you here from Gehenna on such short notice, particularly straight from sickbay." He indicated her left arm, still immobilized even though the wound was, by the standards of modern medi- INSUBBECTION cine, minor. "But we need your input, as you were closer to the incident than anyone... closer than you wou left-brace d have liked, I daresay left-brace his Desai didn't share in the genera left-brace chuckle. "lhank you for your concern, Admiral," she replied. "But there is one preliminary point which I feel it is my duty to raise before the discussion enters areas of sensitive military information. I refer to the matter of security... especially in light of what has just happened on Gehenna." Yoshinaka groaned silently.

 

 

Everyone at the table everyone in the Zephrain system, for that matter--knew what had happened, only hours mCter Trevayne had left Gehenna to return to Xanadu and announce the pounds rmation of the Provisional Ceaoernment. The security advantages of an uninhabitable planet were part of the reason Zephrain RDS was located on Gehenna. But, inevitably, a city had grown up, under domes and burrowed beneath Gehenna's reddish sands, in response to the presence of the Station and a fair number of miners @u.

 

 

. a city whose lower levels had sheltered a surprisingly wel left-brace comorganized rebel underground with carefully-developed plans to sabotage the Station.

 

 

Still, the rebels had moved before they were quite ready, unable to resist the temptation of bagging Trevayne during his inspection tour. Desai's media disinformation concerning his departure schedule had preveail that, at least. He'd been in space when the rebels had struck, heavily armed and using access codes obtained by blackmail of certain key personnel.

 

 

Of course, they hadn't expected a walkover.

 

 

The vicious, utterly unexpected boarding actions of the Theban War had cured the TFN of its habit of relegating small armsand training in their use to the Dark Ages and to such present-day Dark-Ages types as Marines. Side arms were now part of the service uniform.., but they were laser side arms, ideal for space but subject to many inherent limitations on the ground, which was why hand-held laser weapons had never entirely supplanted slugthrowers. The rebel attackers had used slugthrowers... and anti-laser aerosol grenades. Surprise had been nearly total, and the Station's upper levels had, for a time, resembled a scene from Hell. Desai herself had been caught in a surrounded office block, where she'd had good use for the personal combat training she had detested and never expected to use. But Marine quick-response teams had been on standing alert for Trevayne's visit and hadn't quite had time to stand down. Reinforcements had arrivedin combat zoots--before any crucial data or equipment had been destroyed, and no attackers were believed to have escaped. Damage had been extensive, however... especially to Desai's temper.

 

 

"And so," she concluded her description of the attack, "our schedules have been set back by weeks. I think this incident reveals a very serious security problem involving @u.. certain elements of the Rim populations." The civilian side of the table was utterly quiet@u "I wonder," Desai finished, looking straight at Miriam, "ff the Grand Councilor for Internal Security would perhaps care to comment on the fact that this conspiracy arose among the civilian population of Gehenna... without being detected@u" At the head of the table, Trevayne frowned.

 

 

Sonja was obviously in one of her moods... but he'd thought she had understood the necessity of tact in dealing with the Provisional Government. And she was being utterly unfair; Miriam hadn't even held the internal security portfolio at the time the attack took place, much less while it was being prepared. There hadn't been a Rim Provisional Government to hold it in!

 

 

But he couldn't dress Desai down publicly, for any of a number of reasons: not the least of which was that Miriam had to handle this on her own ff she was to command any sort of respect from the military people@u So he held his tongue and let her respond@u "First," she said, slowly and deliberately, to the room at large, "let me say that I share the Governor-General's relief that Captain Desai escaped serious injury, and that I deeply regret the casualties that occurred... casualties that might have been avoided ff our people had been given a free hand to investigate certain early leads which were duly passed on to Navy security on Gehenna. Correct me ff I'm wrong, Captain Desai, but I believe that this information was what led you to take the very sensible precaution of leaking a false itinerary for the Governor- INSURRECHON Geneallyalcs tour." Taking Desafs tight-lipped silence as confirmation, Miriam continued. "Jurisdiction over the civilian population of Gehenna has always been unclear. The Navy considers the entire planet a military reservation, and regards civilian law-enforcement officials as being there more or less in an advisory capacity. This is unfortunate, as local people with an intimate knowledge of local conditions would have access to sources of information beyond the normal compass of Navy security. They would be in a better position to ferret out 'the small lunatic fringe that I can't deny exists, and whose very powerlessness (as I've mentioned to the Governor-General) makes it more apt to reckless acts of violence. The solution is to give my new organization, representing the loyal mainstream of the Rim, foil authority to police our own few renegades." A confident rumble arose from the civilian side of the table. iriam sat back and, after a moment's hesitation, lit a cigarette. She didn't--quite- -comblow the smoke in Desafs direction.

 

 

"Well," Trevayne said, stepping in to fill the gap before Desai could speak, "I think Ms.

 

 

Ortega has raised some valid points. At the very least, we need to address the jurisdictional question posed by the civilian habitats on Gehenna. which, of course, didn't exist when the RDS was founded. Comments, anyone?" Discussion proceeded without anything provocative from Desai. Trevayne, relieved, exchanged a quick smile with Miriam. No one but Yoshinaka noticed that Desai grew even stiffer than was her wont.

 

 

"I don't think your Captain Desai likes me very much." Trevayne waved a negligent hand as he and Miriam walked together down the corridor after the meeting had broken up.

 

 

"Oh, don't feel singled out," he said airily. "I'm afraid Sonja's like that with everyone. It's just the way she is. Don't give it another thought." "Maybe," Miriam replied dubiously.

 

 

HONOR "Begin," the judge said, and Lieutenant Mazarak unleashed a short, straight lunge in sixte.

 

 

Han's wrist flicked, brushing the blade to the outside, arm extending in a quick riposte in the same line. But he shortened to parry and fell back, and she followed, her mind almost blank as hand and eye and reflex carried the weight of her actions.

 

 

Back and forth, blades grating and slipping, dreamy thought coming in a curiously fleeting pattern.. Few Hangchowese bothered with the ancient dueling sword, especially in its Western forms, and Han had never considered it herself until she'd been wounded. Yet it seemed she possessed a natural aptitude, and the elegant converse of steel suited her.

 

 

She disengaged and Mazarak pursued, pressing her cautiously, yet Han felt he was more defensive-minded, and she believed she had a better sense of point. She feinted above his hand, dropping her point to go in under his drawn guard, but he parried like lightning and riposted in octave. She put his point aside--butarely--with a counter-parry, and he tried a quick double disengage in sixte. But she was ready, seizing his blade and carrying it low and outside in a quick bind that flashed instantly into a fieche. Her epee snaked home as she passed to his left, and the scoring light lit.

 

 

"Touchg"," the judge intoned, and they drew apart, breath- "rI" Issuan.coation ing just a bi[ more heavily and saluting as they prepared to reengage for the next point.

 

 

Han emerged from the salle, mask in hand and under her arm, shaking her sweat-damp hair. She hadn't had it back all that long, and she rather enjoyed the feeling.

 

 

"Hah," Magda Petrovna said, "that's the silliest sport ever invented." "Come now, Magda! Its origins were anything but silly." "Maybe." Magda tucked a proprietary arm through Jason Windrider's. "But I'll settle my quarrels decently... with pistols at twenty meters, thank youI" "Russians have so little soul," Han mourned.

 

 

"It's fun, Magda. Not like judo, but I had to get back in shape somehow, and I thought I'd try something new." She shrugged. "I like it." "Well, certainly seems to've gotten you back on your feet, Admiral, sir," Jason Windrider teased.

 

 

"It does, does it, Commodore?" Han asked dfiatingly. Windrider stroked his new insignia and grinned. "Just trying to keep up, Admiral. And you and Magda haven't had your stars all that long." "No, we haven't," Han said more somberly, glancing at the heavy braid on Magda's cuff.

 

 

When she was in uniform, her own sleeves matched Magda's and it made her uneasy. She'd been confident enough when they made her a commodore--but that was before Gimmaron.

 

 

Yet the Republic had no choice. It had paid heavily in ships and personnel for its string of victories, and disproportionately so in the flag officers aboard their easily iden-tiffed command ships.

 

 

Nor had all of them died victorious. There were still no formal avenues of communication between the Republic and the Rim Systems, but Vice Admiral Trevayne (and what a shock to discover he was not only alive but in Zephrain!) had supplied a casualty list, and there were few Republican survivors. Neither Analiese Ashigara nor Colin Trevayne was among them, and Hah wondered how Trevayne could live with what he'd done. The question held a dread fascination, for he, at least, had demonstrated just how far duty and honor could carry a person.

 

 

But the Republic's heavy butcher's bills explained the rapid promotions. Han had been a commodore for less than eighteen months, and ten of them had been spent as Daffyd Llewellyn's patient. What he'd been pleased to call a "fractured" femur had required massive surgical reconstruction, and the antigerone therapies had their disadvantages. To stretch the life span, they slowed the biological clock--including healing speeds. The quick-heal drugs which were part of the doomwhale's pharmaceutical cornucopia could offset that, but not after such rad poisoning as Han had survived, which had made her a semi-permanent fixture at the hospital, though she'd bullied Llewellyn into ou-patient status the moment she began therapy.

 

 

Magda had been only too glad to turn over the Cimmaron command. And, having experienced the restrictions of a dirtside appointment for the last eleven months, Han didn't blame her at all.

 

 

"At least you look healthy enough jumping around with that ridiculous thing." Magda's teasing voice pulled Han back from her thoughts.

 

 

"Thanks. BuPers thinks so, too--comI got confirmation of my new status yesterday, and I'm back in space next month! I'm going to miss Chang, though." "I imagine so," Magda agreed, and Hah hid a smile as her friends exchanged glances. She knew they both resented the fact that Windrider's promotion made him too senior to remain Magda's chief of staffeven while it delighted them both as proof of his professional reputation and future. "Who's replacing him?" Magda asked after a moment.

 

 

"Bob Tomanaga. He's cleared for active duty again, too." "Tomanaga?" Magda repeated.

 

 

"I know he worried me once, but I was wrong.

 

 

It's just the way Bob is. He can't seem to be discouraged or even detached no matter what." Hah shook her head. "I don't know why he's so round-eyed." "Certainly not," Windrider agreed, grinning disrespectfully.

 

 

"Well," Han paused by her waiting skimmer, "back to the salt mines. You two will join me for supper, won't you?" "I will," Magda agreed with a slight pout, "and Jason may. His group's spacing out with Kellerman, you know." "I'd forgotten." Hah frowned, rummaging through her orderly memory. Kellerman was slated to carry out another probe of the rear approaches to the Rim Systems. The lifeless warp lines there were ill-suited to sustained operations, and neither Har--comnor anyone else, it seemed--expected much to come of the probes. But there'd be enough skirmishing to satisfy the newsies, and the Fleet was stretched thin at the moment. The Rim had been demoted to secondary status while the frontline systems were stabilized and the new shipyards got into production.

 

 

"It's all right, Magda," she said finally.

 

 

"Anton and the dockyard are squabbling over Unicorn's repairs. He's not going anywhere without his flagship, and the yard won't turn her loose for at least another forty hours. You'll both have time for supper." "And for @. little something else, God willing," Windrider murmured as he opened the hatch for Han. His eyes twinkled wickedly, and Magda actually blushed. "But we will be there for supper, Admiral. Won't we, Admiral?" "Unless I brig you for disrespect," Magda growled, and tossed Hah a salute. "Bye, Hah. See you this evening." And the skimmer swept away.

 

 

"Well, Chang, I guess this is goodbye." "Yes, sir." The bulky captain faced her over her desk, cap under one arm, unreadable as ever, and Han studied him carefully. They liked and respected one another, but there was an inner core to him which she had never cracked. Not that it mattered, she thought with sudden affection. However he ticked, he was the most utterly reliable subordinate a woman could want.

 

 

No, not subordinate. Assistant. Better yet, colleague. "Chang, I won't embarrass you by saying how much Ill miss you," she said slowly, "but I wistl say that Direhound couldn't find a better skipper. And---was she looked into his eyes" that no one ever had a better chief of staff." "'hank you, sir," he said. "It's been a pleasure, Admiral. Ig" He broke off suddenly, and gave a tiny shrug.

 

 

Hah nodded, surprised less that he'd stopped than that he'd spoken in the first place. It was like him, she thought. So very like him.

 

 

"Very well, Captain." She held out her hand with the traditional blessing. "Good fortune and good hunting, Chang." "Thank you, sir," he said gruffly, gripping her hand hard.

 

 

She squeezed once, then stepped back as Tsing turned to leave. But he halted at the door of her office and placed his cap very carefully on his head, then turned and threw her an Academy-sharp salute.

 

 

Han was startled. Navy regs prohibited headgear doors dirtside, and it was officially impossible to salute without it. But her own hand rose equally sharply, and Tsing turned on his heel and vanished.

 

 

Good bye, Tsing Chang, she thought wistfully.

 

 

You never doubted me during the mutiny. You fought with me at Cimmaron. You saved my life. I suppose that's all I really need to know about you, isn't it... my friend?

 

 

"Well, Admiral," Robert Tomanaga crossed Han's office without even a limp to betray his prosthetic leg, "it's a new staff, but it looks good." "Not entirely new. We've got you and David from the old team. That's a pretty good survival rate, considering." "I suppose so, sir," he agreed, but his tone was a clear rejection of her implied self-criticism, and she shook her head mentally.

 

 

Bob Tomanaga's voice and face were as communicative as a printed message and it felt strange to always know precisely what he was thinking, but right now he meant what everyone meant whenever she let her guard down. No one else seemed to think the casualties might have been lighter... if only she'd been more clever.

 

 

She put the thought aside and leaned back in her chair, considering her new staff. Aside from Reznick, now a lieutenant senior grade, whom she'd been determined to have, she hardly knew any of them, but Bob was right: they looked good.

 

 

Her new ops officer, Commander Stravos Kollentai was small, slight, and arrogant--the perfect fighter jock--but his efficiency reports were excellent and he radiated an aura of almost oppressive energy and competence. Her astrogator, Lieutenant Commander Richard Heuss, was a [NSURRECTION quiet firstffltJw with fair hair and eyes like gray shutters. He said little, but his navigation was beautiful to see. And finally there was the new staff slot filled by Lieutenant Irene Jorgensen: battlegroup intelligence officer.

 

 

Fleet had decided to remove the intelligence function from the ops officer's jurisdiction, which made sense, Han supposed, given the type of war they were fighting, but it felt strange to have the spooks speaking for themselves on the staff. On the other hand, the tall, scrawny lieutenant hid a lurking humor behind her muddy brown eyes and appeared to have a computer memory bank concealed somewhere about her unprepossessing anatomy.

 

 

"Have the official orders come through yet, Admiral?" Tomanaga asked, breaking her train of thought.

 

 

"Yes. Admiral Iskan will relieve me tomorrow and we'll move out to da Silva." Thank God.

 

 

She'd been half-afraid the Admifralty would leave her here now that Cimmaron had been upgraded into what was clearly an admiral's billet even for the admiral-starved Republic.

 

 

"I see." Tomanaga frowned. "Any word on our destination, sir?" "Not officially. But Fleet Ops whispered something about Rigel." "Rigel, sir?" Tomanaga blinked.

 

 

"I think Fleet wants to keep an eye on Admiral Trevayne," Han said slowly, swinging her chair gently. "We're still not sure what happened, you know. I think someone's running a little scared over Zephrain RDS." "Stupid of them, sir, ff you'll forgive me," Tomanaga said.

 

 

"Oh? And on what do you base that pronouncement, Commander?" "I don't think any 'mystery weapon" did in Admiral Ashigara, sir. The ops plan relied too much on surprise and ECM, and they screwed up when they tried a pincer. Alt it gave them was lousy coordination. That's why the diversion got chewed up when the main attack went wrong." "And how did it go wrong?" "I'm not certain," Tomanaga admitted, "but the survivors all agree BG 32 wasn't involved in the Gateway fighting till close to the end--so Trevayne mst've been busy destroying the carriers. But carriers are faster than monitors, and Admiral Ashigara's fighters had more firepower than BG 32, which means that somehow or other he spotted them despite their ECM and clobbered them before they launched. It's the only answer I can think of, sir." "So it was bad luck?" "Maybe," Tomanaga said, "but it was compounded by bad planning. They should've concentrated in Bonaparte and taken everything in through the new warp point to pin the defenders against the Gateway. Then we'd'ye had tactical command exercised in one place over only one force that could've withdrawn down a single wa line. As it was, both CO'S were out of contact and neither could cut and run as long as that might leave the other unsupporteda classic example of defeat in detail, triggerebleda by bad luck, but not caused by it." "You could be right," Hah admitted, for she'd pondered much the same thoughts herself. "But why not new weapons, as well?" "The time factor, sir. I don't care ff Trevayne is a special emissary from God Himself, it takes time to turn research into hardware.

 

 

That's why we should hit them again nov0 immediately.

 

 

Forget the border. We've got the Rump on the run; keep them there with feints and go. for Zephrain now, before they really do get new hardware on line." "I'm inclined to agree, Bob. Unhappily, grand strategy is the First Space Lord's job. And whether you're right or not, it makes sense to picket the old Rigelian and Arachnid systems, whatever the Rim is or isn't up to." "Agreed, sir, but a monitor battlegroup with carrier support is hardly a "picket." It's a vest-pocket task force, and one cut for a mighty big vest. We'd be better employed striking directly at Zephrain rather than worrying about what they may do to us." Tomanaga sounded unwontedly serious, even worried. "If we don't hit them pretty quick, we may find ourselves up against exactly what we're afraid of right now.

 

 

Give Trevayne time to get the new systems on line, and..." He shrugged eloquently.

 

 

"Consider your point made," Hah said softly.

 

 

"Write up a staff appreciation and we'll sit on it long enough to see where they send us. If we wind up out near Rigel and we still agre you know what you're talking about, we'll up- date it and fire it off. Fair enough?" "Yes, sir." "Good. Meanwhile, tidy up here and we'll transfer out to Bernardo da Silva." "Yes, sir." Tomanaga leiSo, and Han frowned pensively down at the desk she would delightedly turn over to ('ack Iskan in two days, wishing she disagreed with her chief of staff.

 

 

"Another day with nothing to report, sir." Tomanaga sounded disgusted. "I don't see why they're so damned mesmerized by the need to picket the Rim. Go in now and smash "em up fastmtake some casualties if we have to, but get it over with--and we won't need to scatter a quarter of our available strength out over the damned approaqhes." Hah tried and failed to imagine Tsing Chang unburdening himself with equal frankness. It was strange how well she got along with someone so different from Tsing. lust as strange as to remember that she'd once distrusted Tomanaga's enthusiasm.

 

 

"Well, Bob, we've sent off your appreciation," she said calmly. "In fact, we've done everything we can short of taking it upon ourselves to attack single-handedly." suppose so, sir," Tomanaga agreed sourly, "but the are beginning to go stale." "I know." Battlegroup 24 had maintained its long, slow of the old Rigelian warp lines, with an occasional into dead Arachnid space, for almost five months without a sign of the enemy. They'd encountered a single Tangri battle-cruiser, but the horseheads had shown admirable restraint and declined to match themselves against monitors, two fleet carriers, two light carriers, and escort destroyers.

 

 

Yet that very boredom had been a godsend for Hah, and she would have been the first to admit it.

 

 

Patrol duty wasn't glamorous, but at least it let someone a bit skittish over reassuming a space command ease back into x. Her had faded as she grappled with her new responsibilities, and she could look in her mirror now and recognize herself again.

 

 

"Well," she said finally, "let's find something to occupy them, then." She swiveled her chair down and frowned--comher equivalent of raging consternation--and tapped her terminal. "You've seen this from Shokaku?" "That freighter, sir?" The light carrier's recon fighters had found the remains of a freighter drifting erratically around the star Orpheus.

 

 

"Yes. Does anything about it strike you as odd?" "You mean aside from what she was doing there to begin with?" "Exactly. There haven't been any inhabited planets in the Orpheus System since the Alliance dusted the Arachnids out eighty years ago. I suppose her skipper might'ye taken a short cut, but it's hard to believe anyone would try it unescorted this close to Tangri space." "But she's here, sir, and she was looted." "True," Han nodded. "But did you examine the passen- ger list Shokaku pulled out of her computers?" "Well, no, sir. Why?" "Yhey recovered the bodies of all twenty-five crewmen," Han said.

 

 

"So? The horseheads don't take prisoners, sir." 'allyrue. But the passenger and crew sections were undamaged. Whoever attacked raked the drive and command sections with primaries and needle beams, then looted the holds and finished off the crew in the process." "Yes, sir. Typical Tangri work." Tomanaga was puzzled. Clearly his admiral had noticed something he had missed.

 

 

"Except this, Bob. According to the passenger manifest, there were fourteen young women aboard that ship. So where are their bodies?" "What?" Tomanaga rose and moved to her desk. "May I, sir?" he asked, laying his hand on the swiveled terminal. "Certainly." He turned the screen and peered at it thoughtfully, mind racing.

 

 

"It doesn't make sense," he muttered.

 

 

"Only the women are missing." "Exactly. And the Tangri have never shown any particu-lax interest in kidnaping young, female Terrans." "Yes, sir. So it had to be someone with a use for them.... What about ransom? were any of them wealthy?"

 

 

'Ofi a tramp freighter?" Hah shook her head. "Navy nurses and doctors from Zephrain." "So whoever hit her didn't hail from the Rim, either." Tomanaga frowned. "I don't like it." "Neither do I. Nor, I suppose, did those passengers and crewmen." "Sorry, sir. I meant I don't like the implications. Whoever did it isn't based at Orpheus--we swept the place with a fine-toothed comb. That means inter-system raiding. And that, sir, means there's a joker in the deck. If we spot anyone, we can't know whether it's the Rim or these pirates." "Perhaps." Han cleared her screen and a warp chart flickered to life. She tapped it with a stylus.

 

 

"Here's our patrol area. Here's Orpheus." She touched a light dot to one side of their patrol area. "Now, everything Rimward of (pheus belongs to the Rim, and whoever it is can't operate from there, because both sides watch those warp points like hawks. And he can't operate from here---was her arcing stylus indicated their patrol area his--comor we'd've spotted him. But that leaves this warp network over here, see?" She tapped the screen. "It connects with Orpheus from the back.., and it also extends all the way to here his "My God! Right into our rear areas!" "Precisely. I don't know who they are or where they came from, but someone is raiding civilian traffic from a base somewhere along this warp network.

 

 

There's nothing much out here but outposts and mining colonies--noto heavy traffic, sparse populations, slow communications. They could be almost anywhere. Take over a mining colony and the nav beacons and you control all communications with the system.

 

 

Who's to know you've done it?" "Then we'd better get a drone off immediately, sir." "Agreed. But what then? It'll take two months just to reach Cimmaron. Then two more months for Admiral Iskan to reply or relay it four months, minimum, for whoever it is to go on doing whatever they're doing. No, we have to deal with it ourselves." "But, sir, this area--was he indicated the suspect warp lines his-comis outside our patrol area. It'd take uswhat, five weeks?

 

 

-comj to get there, and it'd mean abandoning the picket.

 

 

I don't think the Admiralty would like that."

 

 

"he Admiralty isn't out here, Bob: we are. We won't take the entire battlegroup, anyway. We'll take one other monitor, Shokaku, and two of the cans and leave the rest here under Commodore Cruett. I suppose I could detach Cruett, but it's my responsibility ff decisions have to be made." "Yes, sir. But--was "Bob, we're going. We're supposed to prevent things like this, war or no war. Understood?" "Yes, sir." "Good. Then get together with Stravos and rough out a set of orders for Cruett. And ask Dick to lay out the best search pattern for us. I don't want to be gone any longer than we have to be." "Aye, aye, sir." He left and Hah cocked her chair back once more, studying the star map and disliking her thoughts.

 

 

TRNS Bernardo da Silva plowed slowly through space, accompanied by her sister monitor Franklin P. Eisenhower and the light carrier Shokaku. Two escort destroyers watched the rear while Shokaku's recon fighters swept the detachment's projected track and flanks, and Rear Admiral Li Hah sat on her palatial flag bridge, fingers steepled under her clean jaw line, contemplating her empty plot.

 

 

A month of cruising the suspect warp lines, and hoth-+. Was she on the wrong track? Had she made a major error--one that validated her earlier fears over her judgment? Her face was calm as she silently reviewed her discussions with Tomanaga, her endless perusal of dry facts with Irene Jorgensen. The data was there, she decided once more; only her response to it was suspect.

 

 

A bell chimed, and she roused, cocking an eyebrow at the eom section as David Reznick bent over the battle code printer. He tore off the message flimsy and turned to her.

 

 

"Signal from Shokaku, sir. One of the fighters is onto something." "I see." Han scanned the message. "Doesn't say much, does she?" "No, sir. But her fighter's going in for a closer look. Shall I sound action stations, sir?" "Not yet, Lieutenant. We're a good three hours behind IsswEcnos those fighters-e'll have time. Excuse me a moment." Han summoned up the eom image of Samuel Schwerin, her flag captain.

 

 

"Good morning, Sam," she greeted him.

 

 

"Shokaku's fighters have picked up something--noto telling what yet--on our line of advance. They're going in for a closer look, but it'll take us about three hours to catch up with them, so I thought we might advance lunch to get it out of the way ff we have to go to action stations." "Certainly, sir. I'll see to it immediately." "Thank you, Sam." Reznick's printer chimed again as Han signed off, and she waited patiently. If using coded whisker lasers delayed communications, it also eliminated the chance of message interception and greatly reduced the likelihood of long-range detection. Then Reznick handed her the message, and her face tigi[tened almost imperceptibly as she read it. She turned to Lieutenant Jorgensen.

 

 

"Irene," she said quietly, "punch up your shipping logs and double-check for me, please. According to Shokaku, this is what's left of a Postarsts-class liner.

 

 

I'm afraid it may be Argosy Polaris." "Yes, sir," the lieutenant was punching keys, watching the data come up. "Argosy Polaris, sir.

 

 

Two hundred passengers and a priority medical cargo. Reported overdue at Kariphos ten months ago." "Damn," Han said softly.

 

 

"It's the Polaris, sir," Commander Tomanaga confirmed grimly, studying the drifting hulk on his screen. "Somebody ripped hell out of her, too.

 

 

Mst've been quick and dirty to keep her from even getting a drone away. Look at that." His finger indicated the relatively small punctures riddling the command section of the big liner.

 

 

"Primaries and needles," Han said flatly.

 

 

"They knew she was armed--comn that her popguns would've helped much. So they closed in, tractored her, and blew her command and corn sections before she could yell for help." "But how did they get close enough? And what's she doing way out here? We're six transits off the Stendahl-Kariphos route."

 

 

"I don't know how they fooled her master," Hun said, "but getting her here wouldn't be hard.