There was silence for a moment, followed by a voice from the back of the room. The figure who rose wore a black pressure suit, which made him instantly recognizable. The senator from the Drac Axis seemed to grind the words out. ‘”Ships, many have we?”
Tyspin was barely able to recognize the syntax as a question. She didn’t trust the Drac, knew they were among the least dependable members of the Confederacy, but had very little choice. To conceal such information, or seem to conceal the information, could weaken the already flimsy alliance. She could feel Booly, Maylo, and others staring at her, wondering how she would respond.
“We are still in the process of assessing the extent of our assets—but current estimates run to about thirty-five hundred ships of various classes and sizes.”
“Plenty should be,” the Drac gurgled. “Ships too many get in each other’s way.”
“There’s some truth to what you say,” the naval officer conceded. “Large fleets require advanced command and control infrastructures and generate all manner of logistical problems. There is one additional factor, however. . . Besides the ships mentioned earlier, the Thraki possess a number of moon-sized arks—all of which are heavily armed. We on the other hand have nothing that even begins to compare with that sort of throw weight.”
The answer seemed to satisfy the Drac, or at least silence him, because he took his seat. Booly stood.
“Thank you. Admiral. Now, with that information in mind, lei’s examine the alternatives.”
The holo swirled and morphed into text. It dissolved from one language to another. “We have a number of choices,” Booly continued. “We could take no action whatsoever, hoping that the Sheen will ignore us, we can attempt an alliance with the Thraki, remembering their plans to use us, or we can pursue unilateral action. My staff and I recommend option three.”
Booly paused and, not hearing any objections, took the next important step. “So, assuming we opt for unilateral action—some additional choices open up. We could wait to see what the Sheen do and react accordingly . . .”
Senator Omo stood and gave himself permission to speak. “A reactive strategy is best—we fully endorse it.”
Ishimoto Six was well aware of the fact that his clone brother had been a member of the Ramanthian-sponsored cabal and felt the blood rush to his face. He came to his feet. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? You’d like to see the machines attack Thraki colonies—some of which are on Hegemony worlds!”
“Established with permission from your government,” the Ramanthian observed mildly. “Or had you forgotten?”
“That’s enough,” Booly said firmly. “We’re here to establish a strategy .. not debate the past. Senator Ishimoto Six is correct about one thing, however, the penalty for adopting a reaction-based strategy is that the Sheen may decide to attack some of our assets, leading to heavy casualties.”
Maylo, who paid close attention to the debate, felt sorry for Six. It wasn’t his fault that the Hegemony had made itself vulnerable.
Oblivious to what Maylo was thinking, the military officer continued. “All of which suggests a second alternative: Root the Thraki out of their bases so the Sheen have no reason to attack, realizing there are no guarantees—and that they may decide to come after us regardless of where the Thraki happen to be.”
DomaSa had been silent up till then—but couldn’t remain so any longer. He lurched to his feet. “With all due respect, General—why be so subtle? The Thraki took Zynig47 and are in the process of colonizing it. Let’s attack, take the planet back, and send them on their way. The chances are good that the Sheen will follow.”
Booty, who was well aware of the Hudathan’s military background, gave a slight bow. “The Intaka, or
‘blow of death,’ mentioned by Grand Marshal Hisep RulaKa in his book Analysis of the Legion, is a proven strategy. And, if it weren’t for the arks that orbit Zynig7, I’d be tempted.
“However. I believe it was none other than the esteemed warrior Mylo NurIonDa who said, ‘Lives are as arrows— fire no more than you can afford.’ “
DomaSa found himself not only neutralized, but honored, and possessed of new respect. Here was a human, one of the few, who deserved Hudathan troops. He cleared his throat. “Thank you, General. You have more than answered my question.”
“So,” Booly concluded. “Here is the strategy that my staff and I recommend. With your permission and support, we intend to attack the Thraki colonies and allow most of the inhabitants to escape.”
“Escape, allow them to?” the senator from Drac growled. “Mind, have you lost?”
“No,” Booly answered patiently. “Why kill more of them than necessary? Or more of our troops for that matter? Once dislodged, the colonists will run for Zynig47.”
“Providing the Sheen with a single target,” Ishimoto Six said gratefully, “and sparing our planets.”
Booly shrugged. “That’s the plan ... but plans can and do go awry. For example, we assume that the machines operate in a logical manner, and are primarily interested in the Thraki. We could be wrong.”
The meeting broke up shortly after that. Booly made eye contact with Maylo but was mobbed by back-patting, hand-shaking politicians. The businesswoman waited for a moment, realized it would take a long time for the room to clear, and made her way into the corridor. Ishimoto Six was waiting. They walked toward the lift. “So, what do you think?”
“About what?”
“About General Booly’s plan.”
Maylo shrugged. “I think it will be difficult, but if anyone can pull it off, he can.”
Six glanced sideways. Was the statement what it seemed? A straightforward endorsement of a competent general? Or something more? He decided to take the chance. “Maylo ...”
“Yes”
“There’s a dance tonight, in honor of the President’s birthday, and I wondered if you would come?”
Maylo noted the hesitancy in the clone’s voice and considered her response. The truth was that she would have been there anyway—everybody who was somebody would be—but this was something different. A date or something very similar. If she said “yes,” he would take her answer as permission to proceed, to take the relationship to the next level, and if she said “no,” he would be hurt and wouldn’t ask again.
So, what did she want? To open the door or close it? And what of Booly? Why couldn’t he pursue her with the same ardor that Six did? Because he was so desperately busy? Or just didn’t care? The words formed themselves. “That sounds like fun Samuel—thanks for asking.”
Ishimoto Six followed Maylo into the lift, knew the platform was falling, but felt his spirits soar. In spite of the fact that only the humans, dwellers and a few other races liked to dance, or even had a name for it, nearly everyone wanted to participate in President Nankool’s birthday celebration—some because they truly liked the chief executive, some because it pays to suck up, and some because there was nothing else to do.
That being the case, the corridors were overflowing with revelers, would-be revelers, or reveler watchers all heading for the Starlight Ballroom. They were dressed to the nines, or whatever the nines were in their particular cultures, which made for a nearly overwhelming assault on the senses. Booly stepped out of his sixth meeting of the day, felt the crowd pull him along, and was stunned by the bright shimmering reds, blues, and greens. Capes, gowns, and robes rustled, swished, and in once case chimed. The smell of perfume, incense and things the officer wasn’t quite sure of filled the air. Add the drone of multilingual conversation to the mix, and it made for a stunning combination. It was the sort of thing that the officer in Booty dismissed as a complete waste of time. Still, odds were that Maylo was somewhere about, raising the distinct possibility that he could talk to her. or better yet, convince her to leave early.