Conquerors' Legacy

19

The battle lines were drawn. And the Conquerors were on their way.

"Looks like they're about ready out there," Daschka commented over his shoulder. "Are we?"

"As ready as we can be," Cho Ming said. "Power output is at minimum, sensor-stealthing is fully operational, and I've got all sensors and recorders running."

"Conquerors' ETA?"

"Anytime now," Cho Ming said. "We'll get about ten seconds' warning when they start their mesh-in, but that's about it. A ship this size just hasn't got enough hull for a wake-trail detector that'll work on close-in targets."

The flight deck fell silent again. Seated in the copilot seat where he would have a better view of the approaching battle, Aric gazed out the canopy, listening to his heart pounding in his ears. There was a gentle thud against the side of the ship, and he jerked violently against his restraints before realizing that the Happenstance had merely brushed against one of the slowly rotating asteroid fragments they were nestled up against.

"Take it easy, Cavanagh," Daschka said quietly from beside him. "You don't want to burn out all that tension before things even get started."

"Sorry." Aric exhaled, the breath vibrating through his mouth. "I was hoping to be a little calmer than this."

"A little calmer might be nice," Daschka agreed. "But don't overdo it. A certain amount of tension's normal in combat situations. It's good for you—keeps your senses and reflexes sharp."

"Okay—here we go," Cho Ming spoke up. "Mesh-in in ten seconds."

"Double-check the recorders," Daschka ordered, flexing his fingers once and resting them in ready position on his control board. "What about that big unidentified ship?"

"It's still coming," Cho Ming said. "And still unidentified. Two, one—"

And suddenly they were there, meshing in in rapid succession: the conglomerations of thick milky-white hexagons that were the unique design of Conqueror warships.

"I make the count six," Daschka said, peering out the canopy and adjusting its magnification. "Regrouping into probably a battle formation. Where are the rest?"

"They meshed in a hair too soon," Cho Ming said. "I make five ships about fifteen thousand klicks back."

Daschka grunted. "Backup."

Aric grimaced. As if they really needed more than six ships against the Yycromae.

The Conqueror ships finished their maneuvering, and for a long moment nothing happened. Almost as if, Aric thought, both sides were sizing up their opponents. Then, abruptly, drive trails blazed as a dozen Yycroman freighters surged toward the enemy.

"Yycromae ships engaging," Cho Ming reported tightly. "Looks like they're firing shredder-burst guns."

"They're old Celadonese models," Aric said. "I saw a lot of them in the conversion hangar."

"Probably the easiest things they could get their hands on," Daschka said. "Not much use against Zhirrzh hulls, though."

From one of the Conqueror ships a laser beam lanced out, its path dimly marked by ionized upper-atmosphere atoms and vaporized shredder-burst projectiles. One of the Yycroman freighters flashed brilliantly, its drive trail suddenly waggling like the tail feathers of a wounded bird. Two more lasers fired from different hexagons of the same ship, and with two more flashes the drive trail flicked out.

As if that were the signal everyone had been waiting for, the other Conqueror ships opened fire, and for a handful of agonizing heartbeats the black of space flared as the Yycroman freighters flamed into instant death pyres for their crews. Another dozen drive trails appeared as a second group of ships joined the battle, and then another group, and then another. The Conquerors' lasers flashed in response, systematically tracking and destroying the defenders.

And then, as quickly as it had begun, the last of the drive trails was cut off, and it was over.

Supreme Commander Prm-jevev flicked his tongue in perplexity, gazing at each of the displays in turn. "You're absolutely certain?" he demanded again of the cloud of Elders hovering around him.

"There's no doubt at all, Supreme Commander," one of them said again. "Within range of our anchorlines, that's all that's out there."

Another Elder appeared, joining the group. " 'What's going on?' " he demanded. " 'Supreme Commander Prm-jevev, report.' "

Prm-jevev flicked his tongue in annoyance. He'd forgotten what it was like to be at this end of the battle-communication pathway, taking valuable time to describe what was happening to the rest of Warrior Command. "We've just repulsed an attack by a group of small spacecraft," he said. "Extremely small, with virtually no weaponry at all. There are many others in the area, with equally weak weaponry."

The Elder nodded and vanished. "Check the area again," Prm-jevev ordered, looking up at the other Elders. "Order the other warships to spread out a little. This makes no sense at all."

The Elder reappeared. "Speaker Cvv-panav: 'What are you waiting for? Destroy them and launch your ground attack.' "

Prm-jevev flicked his tongue in contempt. That was the Speaker for Dhaa'rr, all right, his slash-tongue attitude blazingly obvious even without the Elder's identification. "I'm waiting, Speaker, because these are clearly not the Human-Conqueror warships we were led to expect," he said tartly. "I have no interest in laying a world waste just for the exercise of it."

The Elder nodded and was gone. "Supreme Commander?" one of the warriors called across the command/monitor room. "Messages are coming in via direct link from the other warships. Their commanders want to know when we will attack."

"When I give the order," Prm-jevev growled. "Until then they are to fire only in defense of themselves."

The Elder was back. "Speaker Cvv-panav: 'Your principles are admirable, Supreme Commander. But they have no place in warfare. If the Human-Conquerors plan a trap, you are merely playing into their snare.' "

A second Elder flicked in. "The Overclan Prime: 'Have you determined there are no warships waiting on the surface or hidden behind the planet itself?' "

"There's nothing on the surface our telescopes can detect," Prm-jevev said, deciding that Speaker Cvv-panav's comment wasn't worth a reply. "As to the horizon, the answer is also no. I dropped part of my force a distance behind me, in a position where they could see the parts of the planetary far side, which we cannot."

The Elder vanished. "More incoming spacecraft, Supreme Commander," a warrior called.

Prm-jevev nodded. "Repulse their attack," he ordered.

"I obey."

The warriors and Elders set about their work... and the Supreme Commander settled down to watch. And to try to figure out what exactly was going on here.

With an effort Aric forced moisture into his mouth. His hands, he noticed suddenly, were gripped rigidly around his restraint straps. "They haven't got a chance," he whispered. "Not a chance."

"It's not looking good," Daschka admitted. "Were shredder-bursts all they had?"

Aric took a deep breath. The Conqueror ships were just sitting there, waiting with arrogant patience for the Yycromae to decide which of them would be next to sacrifice themselves. "No," he said, forcing his mind to unfreeze from the horror he'd just witnessed. "No, they also had some Nadezhdan space-to-space missiles—Deathknell XIIs, I think they were—and some NorCoord 110 mm cannon. They had some weapons of their own design, too."

"They were using some pretty good stuff back when we first ran into them," Daschka said. "Let's hope they've still—there they go."

A new group of drive trails had appeared, perhaps fifty of them this time, driving with suicidal directness toward the Conqueror ships. "Opening up with the 110 mm cannon," Cho Ming reported. "Looks like... well, I'll be damned."

"What?" Daschka asked.

"That first assault wave wasn't as useless as I thought," Cho Ming said, sounding impressed. "This group's doing some bull's-eye targeting on the laser ports that fired on the last group."

Aric stared out the canopy as the Conqueror ships belatedly began returning fire. "They sacrificed themselves just to pinpoint the laser ports?"

"Looks that way," Daschka agreed. "I told you this would be a battle worth recording."

The exchange this time lasted a little longer. But only a little, and in the end the Yycroman offensive was once again quashed with little trouble. "Any damage to the Conquerors?" Daschka asked.

"Hard to tell," Cho Ming said. "But it looks like they had ten or fifteen of their lasers put out of commission."

The words were barely out of his mouth when another group of Yycroman drive trails blazed to life. "Third wave away," Cho Ming announced. "Directing more cannon fire against the laser ports." The Conqueror lasers fired in reply, and once again the night was lit by vaporized Yycroman freighters—

"Fourth wave!" Cho Ming barked. "Cutting in behind the third. I'm getting missile-arming signals... there they go."

Aric squinted out the canopy. The drive trails themselves were almost lost in the sputtering flashes; but he could occasionally catch glimpses of faint secondary trails as the Deathknell missiles shot outward from the Yycroman defenders. The lasers shifted direction toward this new threat, and smaller flashes began to appear where they found their targets. Aric gripped his restraints....

And suddenly a flash of acrid blue-white light blossomed on the side of one of the Conqueror ships.

"Got one!" Aric blurted, slamming his fist down on the edge of the control board, the recoil bouncing him up against his restraints.

"Steady," Daschka advised him. "Let's see if it did any damage before you break out the champagne. Cho Ming?"

"Can't tell yet," the other said. "Too much after-scintillation. It's sure as hell gotten them riled up, though."

Aric nodded silently, his elation of a few seconds earlier crushed back down to reality. The Conqueror ships were blazing with laser fire now, the Yycroman defenders flashing to plasma and shrapnel all around them. In the midst of the slaughter two more of the Deathknells got through, and two more blue-white fireballs briefly silhouetted the sharp hexagonal edges of the Conqueror ships. But if the blasts caused any damage, it wasn't obvious from where Aric sat.

Or even from where Cho Ming sat. "I don't read any damage from the Deathknell blasts," the Intelligence man reported with a sigh. "If there is any, it must be negligible."

"So much for the missiles," Daschka said. "So much for the Yycromae, too. You got any more good news?"

"Plenty," Cho Ming said. "Those five ships we thought might be hanging back? They've kicked into gear and are on their way."

Aric shook his head in horrified disbelief. "How many ships do they think they need to take this place?"

"Maybe they're not planning to take it," Daschka suggested darkly. "Maybe Phormbi's going to be a special sort of object lesson."

Aric gazed out at the laser flashes, a cold chill running through him. That other incoming ship, with a wake-trail like nothing Cho Ming had ever seen... "You suppose that's what that unidentified ship is for?" he asked. "Something to—I don't know—burn off the planet, maybe?"

"I still say it's Yycroman," Daschka insisted. But the stubbornness had an edge of uncertainty to it now.

"We'll find out soon enough," Cho Ming said grimly. "ETA's something around fifteen minutes."

"About the same time those other five warships will get here?" Daschka asked.

"Just about."

And at the rate these first six ships were going, Aric knew, fifteen minutes would be all they would need to eliminate the rest of the Yycroman defenders, leaving the planet wide-open before them. "Are we still going to stay?" he asked, though he knew what the answer would be.

"As long as we can." Daschka threw him a gruffly sympathetic glance. "There's no reason you have to watch this, though. If it gets too bad, you can go back to your cabin. Cho Ming, what's this going on now?"

With an effort Aric focused his attention back on the carnage of the battle zone. Amid the flashing lasers the current wave of Yycroman ships was rapidly dwindling, but now another fifty or so drive trails had appeared behind them. Again he could half imagine he saw missile trails lancing out ahead of them—

"Cho Ming?" Daschka repeated.

"You got me," the other said, sounding puzzled. "They're firing something, all right, but I can't get anything on it. Almost reads like some kind of stealthed missiles—"

"There!" Aric snapped, pointing out the canopy. On one of the Conqueror ships a splash of white light had appeared.

He paused, frowning, finger still pointed. The white flash wasn't expanding as an explosion ought to. Or fading away, either, for that matter. "What is that?"

"Whatever it is, they've landed six more of them," Daschka said, frowning. "Four more on the port hexagon of that ship, and one each on the two ships to starboard. Come on, Cho Ming, look alive."

"I'm working on it, I'm working on it," Cho Ming growled. "The albedo's incredibly high—maybe they're some kind of targeting markers. Let me try this..."

His voice trailed off into the soft clicking of keys. Aric gazed out the canopy, catching sight of three more white explosions as they appeared against the lead ship and froze in place. If they were targeting markers, there ought to be missiles firing in right behind them. But so far, nothing.

And then, from behind him, came a sound that sounded suspiciously like a strangled-off laugh. "I don't believe it," Cho Ming said. "Daschka, get this: it's paint."

"It's what?"

"Good old-fashioned white paint," Cho Ming said. "Well, not that old-fashioned—it's pretty high-tech stuff, really. Quick-dry, adhesion coefficient right off the scale, and an albedo of just a hair below one. And every one of those paintballs is dead center on top of a Conqueror laser port."

Daschka turned back around, shaking his head slowly. "I'll be damned."

"I don't get it," Aric said. "Are they trying to seal over the laser ports?"

"Basically," Cho Ming said. "But they've added a nice touch. Albedo measures reflectivity, on a scale of zero to one, which means that paint is a nearly perfect light reflector. If the Zhirrzh fire that particular laser—you see?"

"Got it," Aric nodded, finally understanding. "The beam reflects straight back into the mechanism."

"Which probably won't hurt it any," Cho Ming said. "But it should keep it out of the fight for a while."

Another blue-white flash erupted against one of the Conqueror ships, followed immediately by two more. "More Deathknells?" Daschka asked.

"Some of them are," Cho Ming said. "Others are more of those stealthed missiles—pretty potent warhead on those things. Looks like they're concentrating on the connecting edge between the first two hexagons."

"Any damage?" Daschka asked.

"Hard to tell," Cho Ming said. "And getting harder. There's a lot of debris between us and them."

The remnants of the Yycroman ships, and of the Yycromae who had flown them. "Have you seen any escape pods or suits?" Aric asked.

"I haven't noticed anything," Cho Ming said. "Doesn't mean they're not out there. Okay, I'm starting to get something from that last salvo of Deathknells... looks like we've got a few pieces of Zhirrzh hull floating around. They're small, but they're there."

"Which may not mean anything," Daschka grunted. "The ships that took out the Jutland had a few pieces cracked off of them too without—"

"He's pulling back," Aric interrupted excitedly, pointing at one of the Conqueror ships. "Look—he's pulling back."

"He's pulling around, anyway," Daschka agreed cautiously. "Whether he's actually pulling out, we'll have to—"

He broke off as the ship, with a flicker from its aft surfaces, abruptly meshed out.

"One down," Cho Ming announced, a note of grim satisfaction in his voice.

Aric looked out at the five remaining Conqueror ships, their lasers still methodically blasting the Yycroman freighters into fiery dust. In the distance behind them he could see the faint drive trails of the other five enemy ships as they hurried to join the battle. "It's not going to work," he murmured. "They just don't have the firepower."

"No, they don't," Daschka said quietly. "Strange, isn't it? I've spent really my entire career working to make sure the Yycromae never became a military threat to the Commonwealth. Almost wish now we hadn't done such a good job."

Aric grimaced. The Klyveress ci Yyatoor and her people had worked so hard in this crash-defense program of theirs. Aric had seen that effort up close; had met and actually started to get to know a few of them. It had been an eye-opening experience, severely eroding the unflattering stereotype of Yycromae that he'd grown up believing.

And all of it for nothing. Very soon now Klyveress and all the rest would probably be dead.

"Here it comes," Cho Ming snapped. "The big ship's starting its mesh-in. Five seconds."

Aric peered out of the canopy, hands clenched helplessly around his restraints, hoping but no longer really believing it was a Yycroman warship come to help. The seconds counted down—

And then suddenly there it was, appearing above and behind the Conqueror battle force.

And from beside him he heard Daschka's stunned curse.

"All right, Omicron Four," the voice of Fighter Commander Schweighofer came in Quinn's ear. "Cut in behind Kappa Two: Pattern Charlie."

"Acknowledged," Clipper's voice replied. There was a soft click as he keyed back to the group's private frequency—"Paladin, take point; Maestro, you're on high cover," he ordered. "Let's go."

Quinn drew the Corvine back up slightly, letting the rest of the squadron shoot past beneath him as they moved into backup behind Samurai's group, the flare of their kickthrusters bright against the dark bulk of the planet beneath them.

From the seat behind Quinn came an obviously disgusted grunt. "Too slow," Bokamba muttered. "Much too slow."

"Probably the wind sheer," Quinn said. He twitched his lip three times—left, right, left—and the Corvine's vector map appeared superimposed across his vision. Smack in the middle was a narrow stream of high-speed wind slicing through the upper atmosphere directly across the Copperheads' approach path. "Schweighofer's got us cutting straight through the jet stream."

"That's only because he couldn't find a hurricane or thunderstorm to run you through," Bokamba retorted. "Or were you expecting the Zhirrzh to be thoughtful enough to provide good weather for our attack?"

"I'm not complaining or excusing," Quinn said mildly. "Just explaining."

Bokamba grunted again. "I know."

Quinn twitched his lip again and the display vanished. "Considering we've been running these tests for three days straight, I think they're handling it pretty well," he said. "Especially Samurai and Dreamer."

"Yes," Bokamba murmured. "Dreamer and Con Lady make a good team. Remarkably good Copperheads."

"For women, you mean?"

There was the faint squeak of leatherene from behind him, and Quinn could imagine Bokamba shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I make no apologies for my cultural views of women in combat," the older man said gruffly. "Though were the full truth known, I imagine it would be you of NorCoord who would be in the true minority on this subject."

Quinn thought back to all the people over the years with whom he'd had discussions about the philosophy of warfare. "You could be right," he conceded. "I think the NorCoord nations have always seen this as a matter of individual rights and responsibilities."

"You've also always had a tendency to elevate personal rights over what is best for society as a whole," Bokamba pointed out.

There was a brief moment of turbulence as Quinn guided the Corvine through the jet stream. "Can't argue that one, either," he agreed. "Though we wouldn't be the first culture to overshoot that direction."

"True," Bokamba said. "I think what disturbs me the most is the cynicism with which NorCoord's leaders exploit such cultural differences for their own ends."

Quinn grimaced. Here it came again: Bokamba's obsession with what he considered to be NorCoord's manipulative domination of the rest of the Commonwealth. The two of them had been around this same track dozens of times back when Bokamba had been his wing commander. "You have any particular examples in mind?"

"They're flying in front of you right now," Bokamba said. "Dreamer and Con Lady, along with Hawk and his female tail, Adept. You know as well as I do that female Copperheads are extremely rare—rare enough to be highly visible. Yet we have three of them aboard an expeditionary force that will soon be heading into enemy territory. Haven't you wondered why?"

A thick cloud bank loomed ahead, swallowing up the rest of the attack force. Quinn squinted, enhancing the Corvine's sensor-penetration settings, and dived in after them. "I assumed we just needed them to make up a full complement."

"What, they couldn't trade two Corvines from Earth-defense duty?" Bokamba scoffed. "You know better than that. The women were specifically and deliberately assigned to the Trafalgar. They had to be."

"Clipper, I've got a make on Target Three," the voice of Paladin's tail, Dazzler, came in Quinn's ear. "Tally three buildings and twelve aircraft defenders."

An echo feed of Paladin's view came over Quinn's Mindlink, superimposed on the skyscape outside the Corvine's canopy. "Tally that," Clipper acknowledged. "Let's go in, Copperheads."

The group swerved toward the target zone. Keying for extended long-range scan, Quinn gave the area around him a quick search. No enemy bogies were visible as yet, but he didn't doubt Schweighofer had something devious waiting for them. Fighter commanders didn't achieve that lofty position without learning how to spin the low inside curve. "So what's your theory as to why they were assigned here?" he asked Bokamba.

"Understand, this is just my personal feeling," the other cautioned. "I have no proof of any sort. But I believe that Peacekeeper Command has decided to make them into martyrs. That they've decided having women sacrifice their lives in battle over a Zhirrzh world will create outrage and guilt among the nations and states of the Commonwealth, thus stiffening their resolve to resist the invasion."

An oddly queasy sensation settled in Quinn's stomach. "That seems rather cold-blooded," he said carefully.

"It's extremely cold-blooded," Bokamba said. "But war is a cold-blooded business. You've been involved with politics recently, working for Lord Stewart Cavanagh. Do you deny the NorCoord Parliament might do something like that?"

Quinn chewed at his lip. "Well..."

"All Copperheads, this is Schweighofer," the fighter commander's voice cut in suddenly. "The exercise is aborted; repeat, the exercise is aborted. All fighters will return to the Pelican immediately."

"Acknowledged," Samurai's voice said. "All Copperheads, come around on your own, then re-form into units. Flash it."

Quinn swung the Corvine up into a steep climb, throwing in the kickthrusters and driving hard for the sky. Behind him, he sensed the click as Bokamba shifted them to the overcommand frequency. "Commander Schweighofer, this is Bokamba. Is this part of the exercise?"

"Negative, Bokamba," Schweighofer said tightly. "Just get your people up here. Fast."

The Pelican was an Arcturus-class fuel carrier that Schweighofer and his team had been using as their operational base during the past three days of combat exercises. Quinn docked the Corvine at his assigned external connector alongside the rest of Clipper's Copperheads, and three minutes later they were all on the Pelicans bridge. Samurai and the rest of Kappa Two were already gathered around Schweighofer, floating in front of the command chair, with Dreamer and her unit just arriving. Captain Irdani, the Pelicans commander, was at the sensor station, talking with quiet intensity with the officer manning the post.

"We've got enemy contact, Copperheads," Schweighofer announced without preamble. "It's pretty far out—right on the edge of our wake-trail detectors—but there doesn't seem to be any doubt that it's them. Best guess is that we're looking at eleven Zhirrzh ships; the vector indicates their target is Phormbi."

A faint murmur rippled briefly through the room. "What in blazes would they want with Phormbi?" Clipper asked.

"Maybe they're tired of tangling with Peacekeepers," Con Lady said dryly. "Could be they're looking for someone who doesn't fight back as well."

"Or perhaps they're looking for someone to make an alliance with," Samurai suggested, his voice dark. "The Yycromae have been waiting for years for just this sort of chance at us."

"You could be right," Schweighofer agreed. "Last I heard all the Pacification forces had been withdrawn from Yycroman space. It'd be a perfect time for a backroom deal."

"Have you sent word to Commodore Montgomery yet?" Bokamba asked.

Schweighofer shook his head. "The fleet's already on its way. Apparently still trying to shake the wrinkles out of the Wolf Pack. Should be here anytime."

"Commander Schweighofer?" Irdani called, pushing off the wall and floating back toward his command chair. "Wolf Pack's about to mesh in."

"Yes, sir," Schweighofer said, moving out of the captain's way.

"Put it on main," Irdani ordered as he maneuvered himself into the seat.

The view shifted, pointing now toward the spot in space where the sensor officer was predicting the Wolf Pack would mesh in. There was a movement to Quinn's right, and he turned to see Dreamer float up beside him. "I don't know about you, Maestro," she said quietly, gazing at the display, "but this Wolf Pack thing has got to be the loopiest idea Command's ever come up with."

"It's a perfectly reasonable solution to the ship-dispersal problem," Bokamba disagreed from Quinn's other side. "You can't launch a successful blitz attack when microsecond differences in mesh-in time and vector scatter your fleet across thousands of square kilometers of space."

"Oh, I agree that's a problem," Dreamer said. "I just think the Wolf Pack is a loopy way to solve it."

And with a flicker of light, there it was. "The Wolf Pack," someone murmured, "has landed."

Quinn gazed at the display. At the multikilometer-long, multikilometer-wide framework of metal and composite and empty space, looking more like a collection of giant window frames welded together than like anything that had any business being part of a war fleet.

And at the other fourteen warships of the Trafalgar fleet, each nestled snugly inside one of the frames. Like one big, close-knit family, all set to mesh together.

Dreamer thought it was loopy. Bokamba thought it was brilliant. Personally, Quinn thought they were both right.

"Signal the Trafalgar," Irdani ordered his comm officer. "Do not disengage fleet from Wolf Pack; repeat, do not disengage fleet from Wolf Pack."

Quinn gazed at the monstrosity filling the display, wondering if the message would get to Montgomery before the ships started snapping their tether lines and breaking out above and beneath the framework. So far the disengagement procedure had been mired in a tangle of minor problems, which was why Montgomery still had the fleet flying back and forth practicing it. He hoped this wouldn't be the time they finally got it right....

"Pelican, this is Montgomery," the commodore's voice boomed irritably from the bridge speaker. "Schweighofer?"

"Here, Commodore," Schweighofer said. "Captain Irdani's people have just picked up the wake-trail of what appears to be a Zhirrzh fleet."

There was a long pause. "Confirmed," Montgomery's voice acknowledged, the irritation gone. "We read Phormbi as their probable target."

"That was our projection, too, sir," Schweighofer said. "I thought you'd want to know about this before you disengaged the fleet from the Wolf Pack. In case you wanted to check it out."

"I would, and we will," Montgomery rumbled. "Captain Irdani?"

"Sir?"

"How fast can you get the Pelican to its slot in the Wolf Pack?" Montgomery asked. "No—belay that; it'll take too long. Schweighofer, get your Copperheads back in their fighters and flash it back over here. You and your command team can borrow one of the Pelicans shuttles. We're meshing out in fifteen minutes."

"Yes, sir," Schweighofer said, pushing off the command chair toward the door. "You heard the man, Copperheads. Flash it."

Quinn had the Corvine secured in his Trafalgar fighter bay in twelve and a half minutes. Exactly two and a half minutes later he felt the lurch as the Trafalgar and, presumably, the entire Wolf Pack meshed out.

Five minutes after that, as he and Bokamba were heading down the furrow toward the dayroom, the call came for him to report to the bridge.

The other fighter commanders were there already, both those from the Axehead and Adamant attack fighter wings as well as the three commanders of the Trafalgar's Copperhead contingent, gathered together in the command ring around Montgomery, Schweighofer, and Fleet Exec Germaine. Germaine looked over as Quinn arrived, motioned him to stay back. Quinn nodded and waited where he was, watching the bridge crew as they went through the procedure for securing from mesh-out and wondering what Montgomery wanted with him.

The meeting broke up a few minutes later, and as the fighter commanders headed back across the bridge, Germaine motioned him to approach. "Lieutenant Quinn," Montgomery said gravely as he reached the command ring. "Good of you to join us. I have a question for you, and I'd like a straight answer."

"Of course, sir," Quinn said.

"I mean a straight answer," Montgomery repeated, his eyes boring into Quinn's face. "I don't care what anyone else has told you to say or not to say. I don't care whether they've invoked the Official Secrets Regulations, your own personal honor, or God Himself. I want the truth."

The other two senior officers were also staring unblinkingly at him. Not with any obvious animosity, but not with any friendliness, either. "I understand, sir," Quinn said.

"All right." Montgomery paused. "You've been working closely with Lord Stewart Cavanagh for several years now, ever since you resigned the Peacekeepers to become his head of security. Question: is he still involved in NorCoord politics? Specifically, has he recently been authorized by the NorCoord Parliament or Peacekeeper Command to act in any sort of diplomatic capacity?"

It was about the last subject Quinn would ever have guessed this summons was going to be about. "I don't know, sir," he said. "As far as I know, Lord Cavanagh's a completely private citizen now."

"I see." Montgomery gazed hard at him. "You're absolutely sure he has no links to the NorCoord government?"

"No, sir, I can't be absolutely sure about that," Quinn said, beginning to sweat a little. What was all this about? "Lord Cavanagh doesn't confide all of his activities to me."

"Yet he chose you to lead the rescue mission for his son," Montgomery persisted.

"Actually, sir, I volunteered," Quinn said. "May I ask what this has to do with me?"

"It has nothing specific to do with you, Lieutenant," Montgomery said. "It has to do with this unscheduled detour we're taking from our assigned mission, and how we're going to deal with the Yycromae when we mesh in at Phormbi. Whether we treat them as victims, potential enemies"—his lip twitched—"or allies."

Allies? The Yycromae? "I'm afraid you've lost me, sir," Quinn said.

Germaine stirred. "Perhaps, Commodore, we should go ahead and show him the communiqué."

"I suppose we'll have to," Montgomery said reluctantly, reaching over to his command chair and pulling a plate emblazoned with the Peacekeeper insignia from a slot in one of the armrests. "You understand, Lieutenant, that this is strictly confidential."

"Yes, sir."

"All right." Montgomery keyed up a page on the plate and handed it to him.

It was a Secret-One message, routed through Edo ten days previously, and addressed to all senior Peacekeeper officers and all command-rank officers with forces stationed within thirty light-years of Yycroman space.

Describing a rearmament agreement between Peacekeeper Command and the Yycromae.

"As you see," Montgomery said, "Lord Cavanagh's name is mentioned as being on both the guarantee of Yycroman intent and the statement of Peacekeeper understanding. The question boils down to whether these are properly authorized documents, or whether they're something else entirely."

"Such as part of some private business scheme of Lord Cavanagh's," Germaine put in. "Or even something the Yycromae might have obtained under duress."

Quinn looked back down at the plate. "According to this a senior NorCoord Military Intelligence officer also signed the documents," he pointed out.

"Unfortunately, the officer isn't identified," Montgomery growled. "I understand there are security considerations involved; but, unfortunately, it also leaves me accepting this sudden de facto alliance with the Yycromae on blind faith. I don't like that."

For a brief moment it occurred to Quinn to remind the commodore that that was exactly how he and the rest of the lower ranks usually had to accept their orders. But he resisted the temptation. "Were copies of the actual documents included with this?" he asked instead.

"Yes," Montgomery said. "With the Intelligence officer's name blanked out, of course."

"May I see them?"

Montgomery's forehead creased slightly. "Why?"

"I may at least be able to tell you whether Lord Cavanagh's signature was obtained under duress."

The commodore glanced at Germaine, and Quinn caught the fleet exec's microscopic shrug. "It's a rather severe violation of military protocol," Montgomery commented, taking the plate back from Quinn. "But having come this far already, I suppose that hardly matters." He keyed the plate to a new position and handed it back.

It took Quinn nearly five minutes to wade through the three pages of thick legal wordage. But when he was done, he was convinced. "Lord Cavanagh was not coerced into signing either document, Commodore," he told Montgomery, handing him back the plate. "Furthermore, if there was any fraud or deceit on the part of the Yycromae, he was unaware of it. To the best of his knowledge both documents were written and signed in good faith."

"Amazing," Germaine murmured. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," Quinn assured him. "There are special ways Lord Cavanagh will write a contract or document to indicate whether or not he's in full voluntary agreement. Particular phrasings, key words—that sort of thing." He nodded toward the plate. "All the proper cues are there."

"I see," Montgomery said. He gazed at the plate another few seconds; then—reluctantly, Quinn thought—he closed it and returned it to its slot in the armrest. "Then I suppose that's settled. We go in as allies, until and unless matters indicate otherwise. Thank you, Lieutenant: dismissed." He turned to Germaine—

"One other matter, Commodore, if I may," Quinn spoke up. "The last I heard, my new tail man still hadn't arrived."

Montgomery looked at Schweighofer, lifted his eyebrows. "That's correct, sir," the fighter commander confirmed. "He was promised for two days ago, but he hasn't shown up yet. I don't know what's happened to him."

"Some snarled order somewhere," Montgomery nodded. "I suppose that means you'll be sitting this one out, Lieutenant."

Quinn grimaced. "With all due respect, Commodore, I'd rather not. Not to seem immodest, but against eleven Zhirrzh warships, you're going to need me."

"We're going to need the Eighth Fleet, too," Montgomery countered dryly. "We'll just have to make do without them."

"You know the regulations, Lieutenant," Schweighofer put in. "We haven't got any spare Copperheads, and you can't fly combat without a tail. No exceptions."

"I understand the regulations, sir," Quinn said. "But in this case—"

"You've been dismissed, Lieutenant," Germaine cut him off sharply. "Return to your quarters."

Quinn didn't move. "You're going to need every resource you've got, Commodore," he said firmly. "Furthermore, you do have a spare Copperhead aboard."

Germaine lifted a half-beckoning hand toward the Marine guards at the door. "If I have to have you physically removed—"

"At ease, Tom," Montgomery said mildly. "I presume, Lieutenant, that you're referring to Tac Coordinator Bokamba."

"Reserve Wing Commander Bokamba, sir, yes," Quinn said. "He could fly tail for me."

"Bokamba's been retired from active duty for five years," Schweighofer reminded him. "Retired for good and proper reasons, I might add. Furthermore, he was a pilot, not a tail man."

"He can handle the job," Quinn insisted. "And I think he'd like to get back in the cockpit."

"That's not the point," Montgomery said. "Using resources is one thing. Wasting those resources is quite another."

"You won't be wasting them, sir," Quinn assured him. He hesitated— "Please."

For a moment Montgomery just gazed at him. Then, with a sigh, he shook his head. "Commander Schweighofer, you'll inform Tac Coordinator Bokamba that he's been reassigned as Lieutenant Quinn's tail man."

Schweighofer cleared his throat. "Sir, if I may remind you of the reason why Bokamba was retired from active duty—"

"I'm aware of the reason, Commander," Montgomery said. "I'm also aware of Lieutenant Quinn's reputation as a pilot. And he's right: we can't afford to let him sit this one out. Tac Coordinator Bokamba is to be reassigned as ordered, effective immediately."

He looked at Quinn. "And you, Lieutenant Quinn, will get off my bridge. Now."

"Yes, sir," Quinn said, straightening to full attention. "Thank you, Commodore."