“I haven’t got anything, either,” Chien-Chu confessed glumly. “Nor would I expect to at this early date.”
There was more conversation, all of which was trivial, until Jakov and Wilmot arrived twenty minutes later. Rather than offer some sort of pro forma apology, as Booly expected he would, the vice president simply took a seat. And if the politician was feeling the weight of the additional responsibilities that had been thrust upon him, there was no sign of it on his freshly shaven face. “So,” Jakov began blandly, “what have you got for us?”
Wilmot, who made it a habit to monitor Jakov’s words for indictors of where she stood, heard the word “us” and felt an immediate surge of pleasure. By including her in the sentence, the vice president had elevated her to a status higher than that of the other beings in the room! Even Triad Doma-Sa, who qualifi?ed as a visiting head of state!
Clearly her offi?cial, as well as unoffi?cial, efforts to keep Jakov happy were working, including the rather rigorous bout of sex that had delayed them.
“So,” Xanith concluded, as she fi?nished her report, “we don’t know where they are.”
Jakov nodded soberly. “That’s regrettable—but understandable. I’m sure you’ll keep me informed. By the way, I’d like to hold these meetings on a regular basis. . . . Although I don’t see any need for all of you to attend. I know Triad Doma-Sa, Admiral Chien-Chu, and Professor Osavi are all very busy. With that in mind I will designate members of my personal staff to fi?ll in for them. Then we can convene the larger group when circumstances warrant. Perhaps Assistant Undersecretary Wilmot would be so kind as to make the necessary arrangements.”
Chien-Chu, who had once been president himself, couldn’t help but feel a sense of grudging admiration for the skillful manner in which he and the other Nankool loyalists had been removed from the inner circle to make room for some of the vice president’s political protégés. And there wasn’t a damned thing any of them could do about it.
“So, unless there’s something else, I’d better get back to work,” Jakov announced lightly. “It seems that the Prithians are upset over the way Thraki freighters have started to appear in the small, out-of-the-way systems that they have traditionally served. Even though such routes couldn’t possibly be profi?table for our diminutive friends. And that raises the question of why? Both sides are waiting in my offi?ce.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Booly acknowledged. “But I would appreciate it if you could fi?nd time to take a look at the rescue plan that my staff and I hammered out.”
“Later perhaps,” Jakov said dismissively as he came to his feet. “It saddens me to say it, but there isn’t much point in working on a rescue plan until we know where the POWs are. Even then, the realities of war, combined with other priorities, may make it diffi?cult to implement such a plan. So keep it handy, but let’s focus on our most important objective, which is winning the war.” And with that, both Jakov and Wilmot departed.
A long silence followed the moment when the door closed. “Damn,” Xanith said fi?nally. “He doesn’t want to fi?nd the POWs.”
“No, I think it’s President Nankool that he doesn’t want to fi?nd,” Doma-Sa said cynically. “A strategy I can easily understand since it’s the sort of thing that my people are known for!”
All of those present knew how dangerous Hudathan politics could be, so no one chose to debate the point. “I fear you are correct old friend,” Chien-Chu said grimly.
“But I’d like to be wrong.”
“Well,” Booly replied thoughtfully, “let’s continue to refi?ne the rescue plan. Then, once we know where the POWs are, it will be ready to go.”
“And if Jakov refuses to authorize a rescue mission?”
Chien-Chu wanted to know.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” the offi?cer answered stolidly.
“Any attempt to send a rescue party without the vice president’s approval could be interpreted as treason,”
Xanith warned.
“And failure to try and rescue them could be regarded as treason as well,” the general replied grimly. “So let’s hope that we’re never forced to choose.”
3.
Any offi?cer or trooper who surrenders will be executed.
—Ramanthian Fleet Admiral Niko Himbu
Standard year 2846
ABOARD THE RAMANTHIAN FREIGHTER ABUNDANT HARVEST,IN HYPERSPACE
More than a thousand prisoners stood at the bottom of the long, narrow hull and stared up through the metal grating located a few feet above their heads. They could see lights, and the soles of their tormentor’s feet, but very little else. Christine Vanderveen was among them and, like all the rest, was extremely thirsty. Although the diplomat had been forced to surrender her watch back on the Gladiator, she fi?gured that the POWs had been aboard the freighter for about three miserable days. And like those around her, Vanderveen’s body was so conditioned to the daily schedule that it somehow knew when the rain was about to fall. That’s what the prisoners called the water, in spite of the fact that the substance that gushed out of the Ramanthian hoses had already been swallowed, processed, and pissed many times before.
Even so, the brackish stuff tasted good, real good, to people who were desperately thirsty. Which was why Vanderveen, Nankool, and all the rest of the POWs stood with their heads thrown back and their mouths wide open.
Many, Vanderveen included, were naked. Having willingly traded their modesty for the opportunity to take a shower. And, even though the diplomat’s body was well worth staring at, such was the condition of their dry, cottony mouths, that none of the neighboring men were looking at the diplomat lest their heads be in the wrong position when the precious liquid started to fall. All of which stemmed from the fact that the Ramanthian command structure hadn’t expected to take prisoners in the Nebor system—and had been forced to put the animals on an H
class freighter. A ship so inadequate that even the most benefi?cent of captors would have been hard-pressed to treat the POWs well, never mind Captain Dorlu Vomin, who regarded empathy as a sign of weakness.
But Vomin was resourceful. So, rather than sit around and complain about the burden he’d been given, the veteran freighter captain employed both his recalcitrant crew and the prisoners themselves to shift all of the cargo from Hull 2, through the connecting cross section to Hull 1, thereby making half of the H-shaped ship available to house the mostly human cargo. Then, rather than attempt to rig some sort of temporary plumbing for the undeserving POWs, Vomin came up with a more effi?cient plan. By turning hoses on the animals twice each day, the crew could not only provide the prisoners with an opportunity to drink but fl?ush their waste products into the bilges at the same time! Then, having been pumped out and purifi?ed, the water could be used again. The only problem was that the freighter’s recycling equipment was working overtime and might eventually fail under the strain. The sound of footsteps echoed between the metal bulkheads as Vomin began to pace back and forth. The Ramanthian was toying with them, and the prisoners knew it, because they’d been through the routine before. It was tempting to lower their heads until the coming diatribe ended, but they knew better than to do so. Because the wily Ramanthian had been known to start the rain halfway through one of his harangues. And once the water began to fl?ow, there would be only fi?fteen seconds in which to take advantage of it. So as Vomin began to talk, the prisoners kept their eyes focused on the grating above.
“Good morning,” the freighter captain began evenly. “I see that you stare up at me, like fl?owers following the sun, knowing that I am the source of all life.”