With regret, he realized that this meant she was hardly likely to beg his forgiveness.
Eventually Tork gave up the pursuit. He ordered the entire Fleet to decelerate prior to a slingshot around Vandrith that would put them in a wide orbit around Zanshaa’s sun, then broadcast a general message to all flag officers and captains.
Tork’s flesh was a more sickly gray even than usual. Strips of skin hung from his brow and chin. He clearly hadn’t been holding up well under acceleration.
“My lords,” he declared, “the primary mission of the Righteous and Orthodox Fleet of Vengeance has been completed. We have driven the Naxid rebels from Zanshaa. Unfortunately we have been unable to bring their fleet to battle—that inevitable triumph will have to wait for another day.
“Certain officers have suggested that we pursue the Naxids until we can engage them.”
Martinez raised an eyebrow—hehadn’t been one of those officers. He preferred to delay any pursuit, and hope in the meantime that Tork would drop dead or be replaced.
“The Naxids are retreating onto their supports,” Tork continued, “just as we did when we withdrew from Zanshaa. The farther the Naxids retreat into rebel-controlled space, the greater the number of reinforcements will be able to join them. I do not wish to commit this fleet to a pursuit deep into enemy territory, to an engagement where, at an unknown location, against an unknown number of enemy, our own reinforcements will be unable to locate us and in the meantime to leave the capital without defenders.”
A tone of finality came into Tork’s voice. He knew perfectly well that he was speaking for history as well as to his officers, and his voice rang like bells tolling down the long line of generations. Martinez could only admire the effect.
“Legitimate government will be restored to the capital,” Tork went on, “and the rebel leadership punished. The Orthodox Fleet will be reinforced to even greater numbers, and then will advance on the enemy. Our victory is assured.The truth of the Praxis will prevail! ”
Depressed rather than inspired by the Supreme Commander’s words, Martinez climbed out of his vac suit and dragged himself to his cabin for a cup of coffee and a quick meal. The crew, he thought, would not be pleased—they had been ready for the final battle, had steeled themselves for victory or death, and now would discover that both triumph and annihilation had been indefinitely postponed and that they would have to stay in orbit around another damned star, going in dreary circles for months while waiting for the war to start again…
He knew he wouldn’t enjoy it either. His son would be born on distant Laredo beforeIllustrious would leave Zanshaa, and might well have spoken his first words before he ever laid eyes on the child that had been named for him.
Plus there would be bruising decelerations for the next few days, as the Orthodox Fleet prepared to swing around Vandrith for the defense of the system.
No one was listening to his advice.
It seemed like Sula was having all the fun.
After sending her first message to the arriving loyalist Fleet, Sula shouldered PJ’s rifle and left the Commandery for the Ministry of Wisdom. It would be hours before the new arrivals received her message, and hours again before a reply would arrive, and there were many things she needed to do.
And she knew sheneeded to occupy herself. The more things that occupied her, the less time she would have to think of Casimir lying bloodless on the cold tile floor of the morgue.
As she crossed the boulevard to her headquarters, she could smell the dust of the New Destiny Hotel that covered every surface and formed little drifts in the gutters. She heard the snap of fire, and over it the sound of turbines. She looked up. A coleopter was floating over the High City, moving very slowly from east to west.
So far as she knew, the Naxids didn’t have any flying warcraft—since no one had fought a terrestrial battle in thousands of years, there had been no need to build any—but improvisations were possible, and at least one person on the Naxid side was thinking in the right direction.
Contemplating antiaircraft defense, she hopped up the steps of the ministry and passed beneath an ornate bronze portal into her headquarters. As she entered her improvised command center—she’d taken a large meeting room, with onyx walls and a brilliant mirrored ceiling—Macnamara and Sidney leaped to their feet and braced. Others stared at them, then at Sula. She looked back expectantly. Eventually they shambled into something resembling a proper salute.
“As you were,” she said finally. “Try to remember you’re in an army.”
“My lady,” Macnamara said, “may I introduce the staff.”
Macnamara seemed to have chosen well. The majority were communications techs, and many were very familiar with the High City. Sidney had called some people he knew, people who ran businesses and understood how to organize small groups, and set about molding all the newcomers into something resembling a proper staff.
Sula’s first priority was to announce to the world at large that the loyalist fleet had arrived and would shortly be demolishing the Naxid ships on which the rebels relied for their protection. The announcement, she hoped, might serve to moderate any Naxid response.
Her next task was to assemble an order of battle and to locate the parts of her army that had disappeared. To that end, she sent people out into the city to find units and tell them to report in.
The next task was to make certain that all possible avenues into the city were covered, including all possible routes by which an enemy could climb the cliffs. The coleopter was scouting the city for a reason, and Sula was determined that it would find no unguarded area.
She placed units as well as she could, working with her maps, but knew she would have to make a personal inspection later. She looked down at her map, at the Gates of the Exalted, where the turrets of the antimatter guns were marked on the map in pencil.
“I want to get the antimatter guns out of those turrets,” she told Macnamara. “The rebels must have other antimatter guns, and the turrets are just targets waiting to be blown up.”
“You want me to do that now?”
“Yes.”
“I could put other guns in the turrets. Some of the machine guns we captured.”
“Good idea. Do that.”
Her comm chimed with a report from Julien. The Naxids were charging up the funicular again, and being wiped out again.
She knew they must have been reinforced substantially, because this time they came in greater numbers and with greater determination. This didn’t get them any farther, however, it just left them with larger piles of corpses.
As the assault faded away in blood and failure, Sula looked up to find a young Lai-own in the brown uniform of the civil service knocking politely at the door.
“Yes?”
The Lai-own came in and braced. “Enda Far-eyn, my lady,” she said. “I work in the Office of the Censor. I have a report to make.”
Sula looked up at the Lai-own and wondered why the guards passed a censor to see her. “Go ahead,” she said.
“At the Office of the Censor we receive a copy of every electronic transmission made on nonmilitary channels, my lady,” Far-eyn said. “Including those made by the Naxids.”
“Ah. Hah.” Sula cursed herself for an idiot. “I can use that.”
Indeed she could. Naxid officials on the High City had been calling for help ever since the battle began, and since most of them were at home or in a hotel when the action started, few if any had access to dedicated, encrypted military communications systems. They were calling on the regular state comm system, and the censor’s office had not only logged all the calls, but with the press of a few touch screens was usually able to pinpoint the comm unit from which the message had been sent.