"Sir!"
Marston swiveled his chair around to face the comm officer. The young woman's face had gone pale and pasty. Her voice trembled as she told him, "They don't believe me, sir. They say they've got false alarms going off all over the planet."
Marston sat stunned for a moment. He could feel the chill
creep into his heart. "Get me the Praetor, before we're all dead."
On the screen, the deadly dots of light had begun to fan out, changing vector in a deadly dance of offensive tactics.
Division Commander Dimeter Anaxoulos wove anxious fingers into his thinning white hair and tugged until it hurt. Never had he faced such a rat's nest of computer malfunctions. The entire security and defense net had gone schizophrenic. For the last one hundred and fifty-six years, he'd pursued his career as a military commander, and he'd never seen a system go so batty. Each of the monitors in the control room of his orbital platform winked on and off while communications lines scrambled, cleared, and scrambled again.
"What the hell are they doing down there?" he demanded as he stalked back and forth. "Don't the thrice-Rotted fools know we're on alert?"
"Sir?" the comm tech called.
"Damn it, not now. I've got more important things—"
"Sir! I've got the Praetor on priority laser link from the flagship Pylos. He demands to speak to you now."
Anaxoulos caught himself and nodded. He glanced up at the monitor in time to see the Praetor's withered face form. "Praetor, thank the Blessed Gods, we've got a—"
"Shut up, Dimeter. We're under attack. Isolate your systems from the planet and prepare to defend Myklene. Check your monitors, and coordinate your fire. The security malfunction is a diversion. I've got a means at my disposal to buy some time." The Praetor's expression twisted sourly. "Provided I can reach Staffa in time Meanwhile, destroy them. Kill them all Commander."
The screen went blank.
"You heard him!" Anaxoulos shouted. "Delink, and turn our…"
He never finished. Even as he spoke, the monitors cleared and he could see the closing vessels. "Weapons control! fire. Charge all batteries, tie into the system, and fire!"
For long seconds Dimeter Anaxoulos waited, then the complicated targeting computers sorted out vectors, and the
lights dimmed as energy bolts lashed out from the giant orbiting platform. Mass detectors quavered from the aftereffects while the sensors fuzzed from the radiation of the discharges, but one by one, the incoming dots reestablished on the screen, unscathed, closing the distance incrementally.
"I don't. " Anaxoulos gripped the console edge to brace himself. "Shoot! By the Blessed Gods, target and shoot!"
The weapons officer grimly applied himself to the task. Seconds passed as bolt after bolt flashed toward the stars at the speed of light; and with each one, it became apparent that something had gone terribly wrong, for the shots played randomly through the vacuum.
Anaxoulos hunched as if kicked in the stomach. "What. How. "
"The master computers," the weapons tech told him in a dead man's voice. "They did something to the master computers. Somehow, some way, they sabotaged the system."
Dimeter Anaxoulos screamed his rage, bowling the weapons officer out of the way as he clawed at the control console, sending shot after shot harmlessly into space. Finally, in defeat, he cried. He was still crying when the first enemy strike blasted his orbital platform.
"I've got a message from the commander of the Pylos, Lord Commander."
Staffa kar Therma swiveled in his command chair. The three-sixty screens surrounding him reproduced every angle of the battle that raged around Myklene. Each of his ships darted through Myklenian space, streaks of light marking their bombardment of the ravaged defenders. One by one, his assault ships dropped low over the planet, dispersing ground assault teams. Smoke rose in rolling columns over Myklenian urban centers.
He could remember each of those cities. He needed only to peel back the curtain of memory to see them as they'd been in his youth. A pang speared his heart. This had been home once before theyd turned on him and his talents. And had Chrysla been left for him, she might have talked
him out of crushing thi final link with his past. Perhaps he would have felt pity for the people who had once been his. Now, as he watched the planet burn, only an emptiness filled his breast. A shattering of dreams.
Praetor, today you reap what you have sown. Your son has returned — and broken your bac.
"Lord Commander?"
Staffa glanced at his comm officer. "Yes?"
"The commander of the Pylos, sir. Do you wish to speak to him?"
Staffa nodded, and a face formed in the main monitor on his command chair. The bridge behind Theophilos Marston had gone dead — power shorted. Smoke wreathed the air and emergency sirens wailed in the background. Marston looked stricken as he grabbed a console to steady himself. He wore a space suit in anticipation of decompression.
"Lord Commander, I am Theophilos Marston of the flagship Pylos. I beg of you Lord Commander, stop your assault! We're helpless. The lives of millions hang—"
"I'm well aware of your situation, Captain." Staffa said coldly and leaned forward, savoring the moment. "I also remember the lessons you once gave me on strategy and tactics. I believe your exact words were, he purpose of war is to render the enemy incapable of resistance by whatever means are possible. He must be crushed physically, mentally, and spiritually. Only then can the vanquished be subjected to the yoke of a new political authority.' "
Marston winced, a pained expression on his face. "Yes
•. yes, I remember those words. But, Lord Commander, don't you have any pity left for your people? For the innocents? Surely you have some family on Myklene. Surely there is space in your heart for the millions of innocents you are killing. What of the children, the elder—"
"What of them?" Staffa raised an eyebrow and steepled his fingers. "My profession is not compassion, but conquest."
"But I also taught ethics, Lord Commander. Surely you remember—"
"I have no interest in ethics Captain. Only results."
Marston reached out, imploring. "Stop the slaughter, Lord Commander. We are beaten! We can't resist further!"
"Are you finished?"
Marston gaped, unable to comprehend. He shook his head. "No. The Praetor is on board. He would like to speak with you. Please, hold the channel open and I'll—"
"I have no wish to speak with him Captain. Good day— and good-bye." Staffa killed the connection, tension rising in his gut. The Praetor, on Pylos. / can't face him. Not even after all these years.
Staffa overrode the target acquisition computer, refining the image resolution until Pylos filled the monitor. Atmosphere leaked from wicked rents in the hull. Flashes of lights indicated explosions as more of the hull ruptured. She lay dead in space, no further threat. Except for the man inside your cursed hull.
Staffa thumbed the main battery, watching the violet beams home in. Pylos burst apart like a rotten melon under his guns. One by one, Staffa targeted the escape pods that jettisoned from the wreckage, and blew them into plasma.
Chapter 2
Special Tactics Officer Ryman Ark waited with the cool efficiency of a professional. He had placed the rest of his team throughout the hospital building, but this critical corridor he'd taken for his own. Around him, his men and women lay prone behind shimmering energy barriers capable of deflecting pulse as well as particle fire. No one moved, no one made a sound.
Why are we here? Why did the Lord Commander put his best Special Tactics Unit here. to guard one crippled old man? Who is he?
Ark shifted his gaze from the gleaming white corridor and checked the status displays projected by his sophisticated battle helmet. At his mental command varicolored holos appeared, providing him with information beyond the capabilities of his human senses. He focused the helmet's scanning receptors on the end of the long hallway and dialed up the sensitivity. The corridor looked like any other: White walls reflected soft fluorescent light from square ceiling panels; the polished floor tiles gleamed; steel doors had been placed at fifteen meter intervals. The auditory sensors amplified only the hum of the air conditioning.