The Dragon Never Sleeps

— 120 —

Delicate Harmony let go its last hold on station. Station reciprocated. The mixed bridge gang backed off on steering jets, turned, sought the beacon range. Comm chattered with station, with two ships already in the range, with four that would come out behind Delicate Harmony.

Turtle's flag squadron was off to war.

Despite his circumstances, he was content. The restless warrior had sword in hand and a perspective too narrow to worry about anything but the dance toward battle with the dragon.

The wizard was not asleep. It rode observer, sardonically amused. This flagship was so bizarrely crewed. Turtle had his own followers, Ku and soldiers of four other species. He had six methane breathers in a sealed and pressurized environment at the heart of the ship. He had two hundred twelve Outsider humans, half of whom would have little to do unless he launched his two riders and four fighters. He had Blessed, Midnight, the Valerena, Provik and his woman, none of whom could contribute much but were, at least, where he had some chance to shape their destinies.

He'd had no trouble keeping them. The decision-makers over there believed their compliment could control him and his twenty-four soldiers. They did not count the hostages as anything else.

Turtle was counting on them heavily.

His Outsiders laid the ship into the range the way they did everything, with humorless precision, keeping exact station on the ship ahead, a twin of Delicate Harmony. All the squadron were identical, drawn from a litter of thirty reserved for a debut during the operation.

Turtle looked at those Outsiders. They and the Guardship people would feel at home with each other. But for their ideals they were much alike.

His command. His first since the Dire Radiant. No fantasy now. Was he up to the task? Had everyone made too much of the legend?

His command. And every Outsider on three hundred ships would jump if he barked—so long as his methane breathers remained satisfied.

He went to his combat command center, which abutted the pressure hull of methane country. He scanned a display revealing last known dispositions of forces friendly and otherwise. The display was static now, several days behind realtime. Locations for the Guardships were guesswork. But that would change.

From the viewpoint of the Godspeakers, that simulated starscape had to be disheartening. There were just twelve worlds left where their kind held on. The number of subject worlds had begun to dwindle, too, as Guardships searched for forces they believed ought to be resisting them. At Turtle's suggestion those worlds were not defending themselves. Their mobile strength had been drawn off for his ever more complex operation.

Let them surrender, become a burden upon the enemy, and wait till they could be reclaimed.

The communication personas of the Godspeakers were susceptible to persuasion. Like their human aides, they believed what they wanted to be true.

The Outsiders were possessed of more strength than Turtle had expected. More than the Guardships suspected. So the grand plan had been expanded, his aims growing with his confidence in his power to manipulate those who wanted him to be their redeemer.

He would launch blows at both heads of the dragon. Capitola Primagenia would sustain the first strike.

Everyone went to stations as Delicate Harmony approached the tag end. In moments the Web would rattle with instructions for and communications from units throughout the Outsider empire and Canon. In moments the clock of the grand design would begin to run.