"The Great One would withdraw his support if we taught such a lie," Cristata went on. "Also, I do not see what good we could do by remaining within this city, within this place of regimentation and uniforms."
"You could stay alive," Sten offered.
"Life is given and taken away by the Great One. It matters little which is the gift."
More jaw clenching.
"Also, you have failed to understand the teachings of the Great One. Only those who live close to the earth, who have avoided false mammon-professions and have realized that the duty of us all is to feed and help others, could understand and give us shelter."
Sten, remembering a long-ago time when he and his Mantis Team had been chased cross-country for several days by some supposedly uninvolved peasants, did not respond.
"I had hopes, Horatio," Cristata finished sadly, "that you were understanding my message and would become one of us. You did not.
"But we can still pray that those who will take advantage of what the Great One has given us will find truth within their own hearts and, once they return to freedom, will preach the light."
The best that Sten could hope for as he excused himself was that Cristata and his three friends would be sufficiently obvious to take the heat off the real escapers and find an easy and clean death.
St. Clair waited until the door closed behind Sten before she looked at L'n. Even in the dimness, she could see L'n's "hands" twitching.
"But you must go," L'n started without preamble.
Yes, St. Clair thought. I must go. I'm starting to go mad here. This would be escape number twenty-two? Or was it twenty-four? She had set the previous attempts at twenty-one but really did not want to know if she had tried more and failed in more.
This one had to succeed.
Because otherwise St. Clair could see herself, quite coldly and calmly, doing a run at the wire during assembly and getting killed.
Thus far she had avoided forcing herself to play in a rigged game because it was the only one in town. But the odds on staying cold and waiting until the numbers were right were becoming more and more slender.
And L'n?
At least she would have Sten to fall back on. She would survive, St. Clair told herself.
Besides, she was not an orphan. She was the Eel. A lone survivor and gambler. She needed no one and nothing.
Didn't she?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The brilliance of Lady Atago was the same as that of the Tahn—and that of their failure.
In war, their plans were carefully worked out down to the last detail. If those plans went awry in midbattle, the Tahn were also geniuses at improvisation. They could—and did—cobble together units made up of the most disparate elements, pitch them into the front lines, and win.
The culturally programmed willingness of their warriors to die in place rather than yield did not hurt, of course. But what the Tahn lacked was the ability to modify a plan once the seal of approval was on it.
And so Lady Atago paced a battle chamber, her bootheels clicking against the emptiness.
She should have been busy briefing the twelve battlefleet commanders, giving final and full details for the attack on Durer, step by step. The battle chamber was fully equipped to show, on its hemispheric domed screen, any detail from the overall strategic advance to the disposition of the lowliest patrol craft.
Instead Atago had been informed, in the highest code, to postpone that meeting and stand by.
Further orders—eyes only—said that the head of the Tahn Council, Lord Fehrle, requested the privilege of conferring with the commander of the fleets at her convenience.
Atago did not bother sending anything other than a routine confirmation. Nor did she arrange to be waiting when Fehrle's battleship broke out of AM2 drive and warped alongside.
The side people and staff officers could provide the panoply. Atago was worried. Something was about to go very, very wrong.
She was very correct.
Fehrle entered the chamber, greeted Atago with all the formality her office required, and then dismissed his aides.
Lady Atago, maintaining propriety, asked if Lord Fehrle wished the honor of seeing her plans for the upcoming engagement.
"No," Fehrle said. "I am well aware, and certainly approve of them."
Then why are you here? Atago thought.
"The council has met, and is committed to the grand plan. In fact, they wish to increase its strategic impact."
Atago smelled a—no, several reeks. Reflexively she palmed a switch, and the projection of the attack against the Durer System sprang across the night galaxy simulation of the chamber above them. But neither Tahn looked at it.
"Perhaps I don't understand," Lady Atago said flatly.
"We have realized, through your brilliant planning and analysis," Fehrle went on, "that your attack should be implemented massively."
He turned to the screen and picked up the control.
"Here," he said. "Twelve battlefleets shall attack through emptiness toward the Durer System. Over here, the feint against the Al-Sufi System will engage the Imperial Forces in the cluster until far too late."
Atago did not even bother responding.
"The strike, as we have all agreed, is for the heart of the Empire. Therefore, after full analysis and discussion, we of the council have agreed that we should expand this plan, both because of its brilliance and because of its perfection to the Tahn ideal."
"Which means?"
"We feel that those fleets which have been kept in reserve could be better committed to the full battle. We shall not worry about our flanks but rather practice a policy of leapfrogging ahead. Any ship, unit, or fleet which becomes engaged shall drop out of the main thrust. Other units will drive through or around them, toward the main goal."
"The main goal, Lord," Atago said, "was to secure the Durer systems and use them as a springboard for the final assault."
"An easily achieved objective," Lord Fehrle said. "One which could conceivably require us to slow and regroup. The council has decided to leapfrog Durer and make the final assault."
Go for broke.
"Suppose," Atago said, looking at the display overhead, "that the Imperial Forces that will flank us, in and around Al-Sufi, succeed in breaking free? And then attacking the main thrust toward Prime World?"
"That will not happen," Fehrle said with a note of impatience. "We are confident that your plan of deception will make them defend the nongoal until far, far too late. Also—" He paused. "We have a further reinforcement of that deception."
"Go on."
"There is another reason," Fehrle said. "Lady Atago, this war has gone on far beyond our most pessimistic projections. We simply do not have the AM2 resources to luxuriate in any battle pause."
Lady Atago, at that moment in time, could conceivably have provided reasons why Fehrle's battle plan—she knew better than to think it was the creation of the council—was an ill-conceived one, a roll of the dice when the dice could very well be loaded toward the house.
But she was a Tahn—and kept silent.
"There are two other modifications to your plan," Fehrle said. "The diversion which you have cleverly created against Al-Sufi. There is only one thing lacking. That force must be commanded by someone that the Empire feels to be our absolute best. Our most feared strategist."
Lady Atago felt her cheeks redden, her hand move toward her personal weapon, and fought to keep herself under control.
"I am honored," she managed, and was surprised that her voice was not shaking. "But if I am to command the diversionary attack—who then will take charge of my twelve fleets—correction, my twelve, and those additional elements the council has decided to add to the attack?"