For Love and Glory

XXV

The ship took station. Maintaining it was a delicate, intricate balancing act, when the ambient gravitational field constantly changed as the two masses hurtled inward. Those ever-shifting linear accelerations gave no weight that flesh and blood noticed, but sometimes you felt it a bit when the hull rotated.

Oddly enough, or perhaps not, her people worked on in almost normal fashion. Esker spoke softly and avoided Lissa’s eyes on the rare occasions when they met in a corridor. An assistant fetched food and drink for him to take among his instruments. Those three persons likewise were seldom away from the laboratory, never for long. What they did, what unfolded before them, was all-absorbing, overwhelming. She blessed it.

Mostly she, Valen, and Orichalc watched the drama roll onward. Dagmar supplied not only exterior views, modified as desired, but graphics and commentary to the rec screens, adapted from the ongoing analysis of the computers. Lissa was soon wholly caught up. Valen continued generally silent. But what can you say in the presence of inhuman might and majesty? She saw his tension lessen, until at last he smiled once in a while or his fingers responded when she caught his hand.

She had taken an opportunity to draw Orichalc aside. “How is he doing?” she asked, and trembled.

“He approaches calm,” the Susaian said. “The shock was savage, like a half-healed physical wound torn open. However, he is not shattered. Given peace, inner peace, he should regain his sense of worth. It may be the stronger for this.” The long body flowed through the air and curled lightly around her. “Until then, his strength comes from you.”

She hugged him and laid her cheek against the dry, cablelike suppleness. “Thank you,” she whispered.

With detectors and optics she found the scientific vessel occupying the fluctuant point that Esker had desired. Valen beamed a greeting—“out of curiosity,” he said. How wonderful that he began again taking some interest in things. The craft turned out to be Ironbright’s Amethyst. Amusing coincidence. No, not unduly improbable. The Susaians couldn’t have dispatched a large fleet if they wanted to preserve secrecy. Traders, diplomats, outsiders of every kind would inevitably have noticed something afoot and started inquiring. Besides, if each vessel had half Dagmar’s capabilities, ten or fifteen should be ample. They must be that many, however, to contain the large scientific teams—twenty to fifty individuals per hull, she guessed—that made up for the relatively primitive robotics and automation.

If only we’d come with more of our own, Lissa thought. Well, we’ll bring home enough knowledge that the Confederacy never will spring a surprise on the galaxy.… She grimaced. “We” in that context meant Esker. She must admit it. She need not like it.

Amethyst had a partner, or guardian, or both. Moonhorn’s flagship, whose name Dagmar rendered Supremacy, maintained at a few kilometers from her. Probably specialists aboard conducted experiments of their own. Certainly she was where she was, after a rapid reshuffle of plans, to make sure that the humans observed the terms of the truce. Alone, she couldn’t stop them, but by harassment she could make a breach pointless.

All vessels hovered isolated. Because it would interfere with various delicate instruments, transmission through hyperspace was stopped; and what did anybody have to say over the lasers? Paradoxically, the muteness made Lissa feel closer to yonder beings. Her folk would keep their promises. So would the Susaians. As the judgment instant neared, you forgot your merely mortal quarrels.