The Lotus Eaters

UEPF Spirit of Brotherhood, orbiting Terra Nova

Frowning at the distraction, John Battaglia, Duke of Pksoi, initialed the electronic tablet showing the daily intelligence report without really reading it. This was understandable; printed, the thing would have run to several hundred pages. What was less understandable was that he barely glanced over even the much shorter summary. If he had, he might have noticed that the intelligence office was unconvinced that—even though a Federates States airship had downed the skimmer from Harmony—that it had been the FSC behind the attacks on Santander. He might also have noticed that the Balboan submarine program had apparently launched another boat.

Then again, Battaglia might not have noticed. Those things were trivial and he was already completely taken up with the coming return of the new High Admiral and his own somewhat precarious political position.

If that twat, Wallenstein, hadn't taken the admiral's staff with her, there would be people to handle this sort of trivia for me. Irresponsible bitch! More philosophically, he thought, Then again, if she were here with the admiral's staff I wouldn't have to worry about it at all.

Pushing the report aside, Battaglia raised his eyes and asked his aide, "What's on the schedule for today?"

"Sir," the aide de camp answered, "a shuttle is laid on to visit the Kofi Annan and the Mitterand. If there's time, the Margot Tebaf is also standing by for a morale raising visit."

The aide managed to keep her tone neutral through all that. It didn't pay, generally speaking, for Class Two's to question the wisdom of morale visits by Class Ones.

Unlike Battaglia, the aide had read the intelligence report in its entirety. And, while she had noted that the wretched little "Republic" of Balboa, below, had moved a new submarine from the factory to the sea, she knew—having looked at the specs of the thing—that there was no way it could pose any threat to her own fleet. It never even crossed her mind, no more than it would have Battaglia's, that one tiny little submarine, stuck down below, could matter in the slightest.