"Get out of my sight!" she told him, but her eyes twinkled as he backed off the porch. "And don't forget to bring home some new dress material!" she admonished in a parting shot as he climbed into Kosygin's chopper and it chirruped aloft.
Alarms whooped as the ships emerged from transit, and Magda watched her display in silence. At least they'd been able to mount proper instrumentation out there: no helpless miners to be vaporized this time! But the story her scanners told was heartbreaking. Ship after ship slid out of the Redwing warp point; three battlecruisers, two heavy cruisers, five light cruisers, and fifteen destroyers. God, it was an armada, she thought wearily, and tuned her communicator to Tsuchevsky's priority channel.
"Yes, Magda?" His eyes were puffy. She'd waked him up, she thought. Waked him from a sound sleep to face a nightmare.
"They're coming, Pieter," she said sadly.
"How bad is it?"
"If I order a shot fired, it will be as good as executing every man and woman in my fleet."
"All right, Magda," he said softly. "I understand. Patch me through to their commander, if you can. I'll handle it from here."
"I'm sorry, Pieter Petrovich," she said very quietly
"You did your best, Magda. Time was against us, that's all."
"I know," she said heavily, and turned to her com officer.
Pieter Tsuchevsky stared into the screen at Admiral Jason Waldeck, TFN. The admiral's cheek muscles were bunched, and Pieter shivered as he realized the man had wanted a fight.
"Admiral, I am Pieter Petrovich Tsuchevsky of the Provisional Gov-"
"You, sir," Waldeck cut in coldly, "are a traitor, and that is all you are!" Pieter fell silent, staring at him, and the admiral went on implacably. "I understand the purpose of this communication is to arrange your surrender. Very well. All ships in space will land immediately at Novaya Petersburg Spaceport. Any armed vessel incapable of atmospheric flight will lower its shields and await boarding by one of my prize crews. The same applies to what's left of Skywatch. Is that clear?"
"Yes." It took all of Pieter's strength to get out the strangled word, and Waldeck made no effort to hide his own savage satisfaction.
"As for your so-called 'Provisional Government,' " he sneered, "you will surrender yourselves to me as soon as my ships planet. There will be no exceptions. Anyone who resists will be shot. Is that clear?"
"Yes," Pieter managed once more.
"It had better be. I will see you aboard my flagship in three hours." Waldeck cut communications curtly, and Pieter stared at the blank screen for long seconds as he tasted the ashes of defeat.
"Look at that!" Fedor Kazin gasped as the chopper swooped past the spaceport after a ten-hour flight. The others turned and looked-and looked again. Novaya Petersburg Spaceport had never seen such a concentration of shipping. Fedor's index finger moved slowly from ship to ship as he counted.
". . . twenty-three . . . twenty-four . . . twenty-five . . . Twenty-five! And those big ones-are they battlecruisers, Georgi?"
"Yes." Georgi Zelinsky grunted. "My God, it's all over! There wouldn't be any grounded battlecruisers if it weren't. They're about the biggest warship that can enter atmosphere at all, and they have to take it mighty easy when they do. No commander lands them any place he might have to get out of in a hurry."
"Look!" Fedor said excitedly. "All the hatches are open-see? And over there! Look at all the people!"
"Yeah," Vlad said, squinting into his teleview. "All in uniform, too. Looks like they must've stripped the crews off the ships."
"They wouldn't do that," Georgi disagreed. "Not all of them. There has to be a power room watch on board."
"Yeah? Well look at 'em! They didn't leave many on board."
"You're right there." Georgi tapped his teeth, his mind going back over the decades to his own five-year hitch in the Navy. "Looks like they've mustered all hands for some reason. And over there-what's that?"
"That" was a long snake of civilians winding its way out from the city. Vlad swooped low over their heads. There were thousands of them.
"What do you think is going on?" he asked.
"Damned if I know," Fedor said slowly, "but I think better we should land and find out, no?"
"I think yes," Vlad agreed.
The helicopter landed quickly, and as the three farmers hurried over to the edge of the crowd something nibbled at Fedor's awareness. They were already merging into the front ranks of the long snake when he realized what it was.
"Look-no guns!" he whispered.
"Of course not," Georgi said after a minute. "They must've declared martial law while we were in the air. Martial law means no civilian guns."
"Well what about us?" Vlad whispered, tapping the heavy magnum automatic at his hip. It was a clumsy weapon, but Vlad was old-fashioned; he preferred a big noisy gun that relied on mass and relatively low velocities.
"I recommend," Georgi said, unbuttoning his coat and shoving his laser pistol inside, "that we get them out of sight-fast!"
Fedor tucked his own pistol (a three-millimeter Ruger needler with a ninety-round magazine) under his coat, then turned to the nearest townsman.
"What's happening, tovarich?" he asked softly.
"You don't know?" the townie looked at him with shock-hazed eyes.
"I just landed, tovarich. Came all the way from Novaya Siberia to talk to this Provisional Government."
"Shhhhh! Want to get yourself arrested, you fool?!"
"Arrested? For talking to someone?" Fedor blinked in astonishment.
"The whole bunch of 'em are under arrest," the city man said heavily. "We're occupied."
"Well, what're you all doing out here, then?"
"Orders," the townie shrugged. "I don't know. They landed two hours ago and went on the city data channels. Somebody named Waldeck-he says he's the new military governor. He ordered the head of every household in the city to be out here by seventeen hundred . . . he didn't say why."
"Every head of household?" Fedor blinked again at the thought.
"Right. So here we are."
Fedor looked up as the long column shuffled to a halt and began to spread. Anxious-faced Marines in undress uniform, armed with autorifles and laser carbines, dressed the crowd, but something was wrong here. Those men looked worried, almost frightened-but they'd won!
"Hsst! Look at those shoulder flashes!" It was Georgi, whispering right in his ear. "Not a Fringer among 'em!"
There was a great sigh from the crowd, almost a groan, and he looked to one side. More Marines were herding a group of fifty or sixty men and women into an open space between two of the battlecruisers. The newcomers were manacled, and when he looked more closely he recognized Magda Petrovna and Semyon Jakov among them.
"The Provisional Government!" someone whispered. "All of them-and the defense force officers!"
Fedor shook his head, trying to understand, and wiggled his way into the very front rank, staring over at the prisoners. He knew Magda well-he'd danced at her parents' wedding, too many years ago-and it angered him to see her chained like an animal. All right, so she'd broken the law! But she'd been provoked. It might have been wrong of her, but she'd only been doing what she believed she must!
There was another stir as the Marines drew back from the prisoners and formed a line between them and the crowd. They faced the prisoners vigilantly while the Navy personnel formed two huge blocks, separated by about ten meters, and a party of officers strode briskly down the open lane.
Fedor was no military man, but even he could figure out the tall man with all the sleeve braid was an admiral. But he wondered who the other officer-the black one arguing with the admiral-was? Whoever it was, they were going at it hammer and tongs. Finally the admiral gave a curt headshake and said something loud and angry, but Fedor was too far away to hear. . . .