"Lori tells me you have an idea for how we can take the Invidious"Grayson said. He was wearing a cold weather jacket over his Guards uniform, but he kept his hands tucked into its pockets. Grayson had no gloves, and the air temperature was low enough to freeze his fingers. 'Tell me about it."
Tor crossed his arms and looked down at the sand. "It's possible, but it won't be easy."
"I was sure of that, too. I got a good look at the spaceport coming up."
"The problem is, we can't just fight our way through the 'Mechs they have lined up on the port tarmac. Once we get aboard the DropShip, it's going to take two standard days to reach the jump point."
"You're saying they would warn the Invidiousbefore the DropShip got there."
Tor nodded. "As soon as the DropShip lifts off with our people aboard, someone in Duke Ricol's forces is going to radio the Invidiousand let the stationkeepers up there know that we're coming. They'd have two days to prepare for us, or they could simply jump to some other system."
"What if the Invidiousis still crewed by Hendrik's pirates?"
"We can't count on that. Hell, we don't even know whether Ricol came in at the zenith or nadir jump points, but I doubt that he'd leave a potentially hostile starship just floating there, undisturbed."
Grayson paced the wet sand with Tor, thinking. Every star system had two jump points, the zenith point above the star's north pole, the nadir point below the south. The distance of the point from the star depended on the star's mass. For a class M2 red dwarf like Trell, the jump points were located about seven-tenths of an astronomical unit out — a hair over 100 million kilometers. A DropShip travelling from Trellwan to the jump point at a 1G acceleration would make the trip in two-and-a-half days.
"Where is the Invidious,Tor?"
"Nadir point"
"And your crew?"
Tor sounded less certain. "Most of them should still be aboard. At least, there weren't that many ship handlers among the bunch of Hendrik's people who came aboard, so they'd need my people for stationkeeping, if nothing else."
"So, Duke Ricol could have put his own people aboard, but your crew is probably still there."
"Unless he spaced 'em." There was bitterness in his voice.
"They won't have had reason to do that. Not yet, anyway." Grayson decided to change the subject "It looked like they were loading people and cargo aboard your DropShip at the port. Any idea what that might have been?"
Tor shrugged. "No idea at all. They could be loading food and loot from their raids on Sarghad. Or maybe Ricol plans to ship Hendrik's people back to Oberon." He spread his hands, exasperation pulling at his long face. "There's just no way to tell from up here!"
"Hmm, yes. But I think I know how we can work it so that we can find out what's going on, and pick up a ship for ourselves in the bargain."
Grayson and Tor continued their hike along the shores of the black lake, absorbed in plans and calculations. In the cavern, the meltwater dripped ever faster from the ceiling, the spray reflected in the firelight like falling stars.
BOOK III
26
Local dawn was only hours away. High, cold streaming clouds already reflected Trell's bloody light from below the eastern horizon, and the spaceport was emerging into faint visibility after days of gray predawn light,
Grayson Death Carlyle confronted his command. There were 59 combat troops now, and 28 in the technical support company, all the men who had managed to escape from Sarghad. They'd brought with them stories of riot of green-coats burning homes and shooting Militiamen, or Militia forces fighting back and being dispersed by the arrival of Kurita 'Mechs. They watched Grayson now with expressions ranging from hope to despair. Behind them the Waspand the Stingercrouched in silent deactivation The Locust,with Lori at the con, patrolled beyond the mouth of the Rift, standing sentry.
"I'll say it again!" Grayson raised his voice and caught the faint echo from the rock walls behind the assembly "Our one hope is to get off this planet, and the only way we can do that is to take that DropShip!"
There were mutters and grumbled conversation, but most returned Grayson's direct stare with stunned and uncomprehending looks.
"Lieutenant..."
"Speak up!"
A private in a grease-stained Militia uniform edged to the front of the crowd. "Lieutenant, Trellwan is our home For most of us, that is, we CAN'T leave!"
There was muttered assent, and someone called out "That's right!" There were hostile looks on many of the faces in front of him, confusion or worry on many others.
Preoccupied with his own schemes and desires, Grayson had not really foreseen resistance from his men. "Do all of you feel that way?" he asked.
The response was more muttering, the shuffling of feet, and downcast eyes.
"The situation in Sarghad is not good," Grayson said. "Our scouts who came in last period say the whole place is under martial law. The Green Coats are in total control of everything, and Militiamen are being rounded up and shot."
A disbelieving voice rang out. "All of them?"
"No, not all. Most of the Militia are confined to their barracks now, and I gather General Varney is being held prisoner in the Palace. But the Militia people who are protesting the new orders — they're disappearing. And the Duke's men are helping the Green Coats. Their troops are at the Palace, the hospital, and at the Visor broadcast stations..."
"Lieutenant, lots of us have family down there. We can't just abandon them!"
Grayson felt his control, his authority slipping. These men and women, most of them, had borne with him through the hardships of training and organization, and had followed him into both victory and defeat. He had been thinking of this new Lance as his family, and had assumed that they all felt as he did. Obviously, he had miscalculated.
Kai had once lectured Grayson on why men fight. "A man fights for many reasons," he'd said. "Most of all, he fights for his buddies on either side of him on the firing line, and that's where his loyalty lies when the heat is on.
"But it's home and family that puts him there on the firing line in the first place."
Grayson could tell by the atmosphere, by the dark murmuring and darker looks, that these people were not his to the point that they would abandon home and family to follow him offplanet. He'd imagined the entire Lance getting offworld, of warning the Commonwealth of the dagger unsheathed at its back, of finding whatever was left of Carlyle's Commandos and rejoining them. Failing that, he and his men would perhaps form'a mercenary unit to continue the fight against the dark coils of Draconis.
But for most of those he led, there was nothing to fight for offworld, no promise there but the very slender one of safety from Stannic's pogroms and the Red Duke's 'Mechs. And so, Grayson would just have to change his strategy.
"I won't ask you to leave your homes," he said, "but if we could get offplanet, if we could capture the JumpShip, we might be able to find help, to come back with a stronger force and kick the Kuritists back to where they came from."
A single voice broke the uncomfortable silence. "And if you get your ship, how do we know you'll come back for us?"
Another Militiaman stepped in front of the crowd, half turning to face them. "The Lieutenant's always done right by us, hasn't he? If he says he'll come back, I believe him!"