He counted ten seconds slowly, the turnaround time, then another endless minute. The UN would be getting the right person on the line. The display showed a face, gray haired and severe. “This is Admiral Mysolin. Who are you?”
Tskombe repeated himself, waited the ten seconds. The admiral looked offscreen for a second, said something with the audio cut off, then came back online.
“Colonel, I have no information on your mission. Can you verify who you are?”
“You'll have to check with New York.”
Ten seconds. Mysolin smirked. “Colonel, you and I both know that's not going to happen. I understand you're in an uncomfortable position planetside, but I've just fought my way across Known Space against fanatic resistance and paid my way into this system in blood.”
“We don't have time to argue. Admiral, I have important information for you. You have to stop your attack.”
Ten seconds. Mysolin was using the time, checking something on his screen while he waited for Quacy's signal to arrive. “I have your file here, Colonel.” His eyebrows went up. “You're a fugitive, according to this, and I'm in no mood to discuss the situation. I'm here with overwhelming firepower and a set of very specific orders from the Secretary General. You say you have information for me then give it to me, and then I'm going to finish what I've started here.”
Tskombe looked over at Pouncer. “Admiral, let me put this in the barest possible terms. The kzinti have launched a revenge strike with enough lightspeed impactors to reliquefy Earth's crust. I have here the only kzin who knows the launch coordinates and trajectory data, which represent the only chance we have of getting ahead of those rocks and carrying out an intercept. Press home your attack and your victory is going to be a moot point for twenty billion people.”
Ten seconds. Mysolin's face hardened. “I'm hope you don't expect me to respond to threats, Colonel.”
Tskombe felt his blood freeze. They aren't going to stop… “Sir… Sir, you have to believe me.”
Ten seconds. “I don't have to believe you, and I see no compelling reason that I should. You're a deserter, and from all outward appearances a traitor. You may be just a simulation on a kzinti computer. Whatever you are, you're on the wrong side of this war. I'm sorry about that, but that isn't going to change what's about to happen here.”
“Sir, I can understand your hesitation.” Tskombe tried to keep his growing desperation out of his voice. “I can verify that there's a ceasefire in effect. Take your fleet into a parking orbit and issue defensive orders. You'll be left alone.”
Ten seconds. Tskombe felt his heart pounding and tried to keep his breathing under control. Finally Mysolin spoke. “And give them time to set up for us?”
“Sir. You said it yourself, you've got overwhelming firepower. You might not be aware but there's a civil war down here, they're in no position to stop you. What have you got to lose?”
Ten seconds. “I have ships to lose, and lives. Now I'm done talking here. I'm sorry for your predicament, Colonel.” Mysolin made a chopping gesture and his image vanished.
Tskombe slumped. The UN would raze Kzinhome now. The Command Lair was well protected. It wasn't impossible that they might survive the attack, but civilization on the planet would be destroyed, and three humans were not likely to survive long in that environment. He looked across to Trina, who was looking worried. She's finally run out of luck.
Pouncer turned a paw over and moved to the primary battle console. “I am Patriarch now. I will direct the defense. We may yet prevail, Tskombe-kz'eerkti” His voice was level as he spoke, but his eyes were on the icon array of the human fleet, and Tskombe could tell he didn't favor their chances.
Nor do I, but we'll go down fighting. It occurred to him that with that thought he had finally crossed the line from deserter to traitor, not that it would make any difference soon. He looked across to Ayla. So I haven't saved her, but at least she knows I didn't abandon her. Battered as she was she still looked beautiful, and he knew he could have made no other choice.
The viscom flashed with an incoming signal, and a face appeared. Admiral Mysolin again. His expression was sour. “Colonel Tskombe, on the advice of my Senior Strategist, I'm going to put my fleet in parking orbit. We will not attack unless attacked. I want the trajectory information for those impactors. We're going to verify your story. Let me promise you this. I have your communications triangulated. If this turns out to be some kind of ruse, and we wind up taking this planet by force after all, you will not survive. Am I clear on that?”
“Sir. I'm on your side. I'm going to switch channels now and make sure the kzinti fleet knows the program. I'll be back on the air in three minutes with the information.”
The display split and another image appeared, with a long snout and a broad, toothy grin. Curvy. She whistled and chirped, and her translator spoke. “You have done well, Quacy Tskombe. I look forward to poker. You owe me many salmon.”
Mysolin looked annoyed at the interruption. “Three minutes. I'll be waiting.”
Tskombe nodded and then made room for Pouncer on the transmission dais. Pouncer strode up, confident in his command, the look Tskombe had first seen in his eyes when he came out of the mind-trance had deepened. He has mastered the sthondat extract, Tskombe realized. He is Zree-Rrit now in every way. He's going to make a formidable Patriarch. Pouncer made the gesture that ordered the AI to switch to the General Command channel and strode into position. “Heroes of Kzinhome, this is Zree-Rrit-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit, Patriarch of Kzin. A peace-with-honor has been negotiated. The kz'eerkti ships will adopt parking orbits and will not be intercepted while in those orbits. Fire weapons only in self-defense. End transmission.” He slashed a paw in the air, commanding the AI to terminate the link.
Tskombe raised an eyebrow. “Aren't you going to wait for acknowledgment?”
Zree-Rrit's lips twitched over his fangs. “I am Patriarch. They will obey.”
Tskombe nodded, slowly breathing out the accumulated tension in the room. “Right.”
He met Ayla's gaze. She had woken up and watched the final exchange. He went to her, felt the warmth of her presence, took her hand carefully so as not to hurt her, sat with her and Trina on the prrstet.
Ayla smiled up at him. “What happens now?”
“Now, Cherenkova-Captain.” Zree-Rrit answered before Tskombe could. He fanned his ears up, his tail relaxed, secure within the absolute authority of his command. “Now, we forge peace on the anvil of war.”
Peace cannot be kept by force; it can only be achieved by understanding.
