"Five months." She shook her head. "Magda, it isn't possible. He doesn't have enough hulls to mount a sustained offensivc not a decisive one now that we know what he's got and the panic factor's been eliminated, and there's no point in his taking losses for anything indecisive. Besides, those monsters of his take a long time to build they mass over a half million tonnes each, Magda! He won't risk them without a decisive objective in view." "Correct." Magda tipped back her chair and a half-smile lurked in her eyes.
"But that's crazy, too," Han protested quietly. "rhere's no way they could coordinate.
I never figured out how they get messages back and forth, but it seems pretty clumsy, however they do it." "Right again," Magda nodded, "but let me show you something." She rose, and Han's eyes widened in amazement.
"Damn! I keep forgetting to allow for that." Magda stood back from her desk and patted her stomach with a wry frown. Her new figure, Han thought with a helpless chuckle, was definitelt non-reg.
"What's so funny?" Magda demanded, then touched her stomach again and laughed. "This isn't what I wanted to show you." "You thought I wouldn't notice?" "No, you silly slanteye, I just forgot you didn't know. It's all over the Fleet by now--and that cad in the comer is making insufferably proud noises over every bar on Bonaparte." "I see." Han managed to stop chuckling, but her voice was a little unsteady. "And you don't think your timing was a bit off?." "Hell," Magda laughed, "this little stranger is one reason I got this job. Everyone knows pregnant women are barred from combat. Ergo, I'm barred from combat, which makes my disappearance for planning purposes that much easier to explain. And as for my 'timing"--was she met Han's eyes, suddenly serious his-comy're one reason for that." Only Magda cot/id have said that without opening her own wounds, Han thought affectionately.
"I don't want what happened to you happening to me now that I've found Jason," Magda sail quietly. She reached out a hand, and Windrider was there in an instant to take it. "So I'm having at least one child before I go out to be shot at again. Besides," she smiled gently, and for the first time her voice was hesitant, "this disch is for you, too, Han." "Me?" Hah was deeply touched as she took Magda's other hand.
"Yes. We'd like--like it very nueh--to name her Hah." Han's grip tightened, and a seemingly endless silence stretched.
"If you can't think of a better name," she said finally, "I'd be prokd. Very proud." "Done!" Jason's brusque cheerfulness broke the spell, and Hah was grateful. She drew a deep breath and blinked twice.
"But I think you were going to show me something besides my future namesake?" "So I was," Magda said, tncking an arm through Han's and leading her over to a wall panel. She punched buttons busily, and a huge hologram filled the darkened room. Hah stared at it raptly; she hadn't seen a warp map quite that large since the Academy.
Magda picked up a luminous pointer and moved to the center of the map.
"This helps with visualization, Han," she said, turning brown eyes spangled with tiny stars to her friend. "Our warp lines are green. The Rump's are red; the Rim's amber. Notice anything?" "Besides the lack of any red-amber connections?" "That's certainly the salient point, but I'm thinking about something else: distances. At closest, they're at least a dozen transits apart--comover six weeks for a battle-cruiser at max. So whatever they do, they're facing a long, drawn- out campaign before they gel back inffcctact, right?" "I'd think so, yes." "So did we. We have, however, certain intelligence assets in the Rump. Not in the Rim, I'm sorry to say, and our very best conduit didn't give us a word of warning about it, but computer analysis of what we do have has picked up on something very interesting.
"Second," she went on, "despite their desperate need for ships, they're holding them baek. We didn't notice that immediately, but our raids, recon probes, and captured or otherwise compromised Rump deployment orders all indicate it. Why?
"Third, they haven't been massing them opposite Cimmaron, as we might expect. They could cut off this whole quarter of the Republic from there," she gestured at a glowing snake's nest of green warp lines "or go straight for Novaya Rodina. But where the analysis teams finally found them is over here, at a totally new Fleet base at Avalon--a system we've never even threatened.
"Fourth, and finally, we know how the Rim gets its messages. They come through Orion space, via Rehfrak." Magda waved a hand at Han's sharp glance.
"I know, vei-y un-neutral of them. However, we haven't objected because we wanted to see who goes where along that warp line, and it turns out the errand boy is none other than one Kevin Sanders. Does that ring any bells?" ""The Fox,"" Han said softly.
"Exactly. The best chief of ONI in two centuries, and currently a cabinet minister without portfolio. Obviously they need a top man for a hot potato like this, but they're sending Sanders-- probably the one person in the Galaxy who knows where athe Federation's bodies are buried--through Orion space whenever he goes to Zephrain. And the Orions only permit him to go as far as Rehfrak; the Governor-General comes to him." "I'm sure all of this is headed somewhere?" "It is indeed. Six months ago, Sanders was in Avalon. Then they rushed him back to Old Terra so fast they burned out a destroyer's main drive converters. Why?
Because he's already gone again, making another trip.
.. and this time he's going all the way to Xanadu--and staying." "What?" Hah stood straighter and frowned.
"Exactly. It took a lot of work--and luck -comffpiece his itinerary together, but it's solid. Now why would the Rump separate itself from its foremost spook?
Unless, of course, the separation isn't permanent?" "I see your point," Han mused.
"I thought you would," Magda said grimly.
"They're sending him because they need someone with his authority, brains, and experience to coordinate their plan to hit us before we can react to the new weaponry. If they can hammer a bridge between the Rump and Rim--ff the Rump's industrial plant gets the data and working models it needs-- we're in deep, deep trouble." "I see," Han murmured once more, searching the red and amber warp mes with her eyes. "They're assembling the Rump pincer at Avalon, so they're not going for any finesse beyond their hope for surprise." "That's what we think," Magda encouraged her.
"I'here's their route, Magda Avalon to Lomax to Hyerdahl to Thor to Thule to Osterman's Star to Thybold to Juarez to Iphigena to Zapata to Sagebrush to Purdah.
From there they might go Rousseau to Ney to Bonaparte to Zephrain, or New India to Zvoboda to Zephrain. I'd bet on the New India Route--not even Ian Trevayne wants to tangle with the defenses here." "What makes you so certain?" Magda asked, not chal- lengingly but as ff she merely wanted confirmation of her own thoughts.
"Only a fool tries to be clever when he can't completely orchestrate a complex operation, Magda. We learned that watching the Orions in the first two interstellar wars... and relearned it at First Zephrain. So if you can't be fancy, you be direct as possible, and that route--was she nodded at the one she'd traced out his-comis the shortest distance between two points: Avalon and Zephrain." "I think you're right," Magda acknowledged, "and you might like to know that it took the Strategy Board a month to reach your conclusions." She smiled. "But there's still a billion-credit question, Hah. We don't have the Fleet units to oppose both forces at once.
We have to stop one of them, then turn to deal with the other in detail, using our advantage of the interior position. So which do we oppose?" Han blinked at her.