Alarm of War

quite…nettlesome.”

Hudis snorted in derision. “How many battleships do they have? How many cruisers?”

The Cape Breton admiral had been listening. “Oh, The Light has a military force, all right, but their entire doctrine is defensive, not aggressive. They have enough forts and ships to make invading The Light like wrestling with a porcupine; you can win, but you might regret it later.”

“And your fleet building?” asked the Tilleke admiral. “Is the Dominion on schedule?”

“Our fleet will be twice as large as the Vickies think it is by the time we launch the attack,” Hudis said, unable to keep a note of smugness out of his voice. “When we give you the signal, we will be ready to attack Victoria from two fronts, while the Tilleke Empire deals with the Vickie fleet that goes to rescue the Arcadians.”

“And don’t forget our force,” said the Cape Breton admiral. “It won’t be as large as yours, Citizen Secretary, but it will give the attack a formidable edge.” This was overt posturing, of course. Cape Breton would supply access to the worm hole into Victorian space and some supply ships, but its navy was small and antiquated.

The meeting broke up. One by one, Hudis shook the hands of the foreign admirals, except for the Tilleke admiral, who would have been repulsed by the idea of touching a commoner. “This is our moment,” he told them. “Our time to strike against the Vickie oppressors, to take our rightful place. All of us our depending on you. Don’t fail us.” And then they were gone, leaving only Hudis and Admiral Mello, leader of the Dominion Space Fleet. Admiral Mello shared the brusqueness of his soldiers.

“Pretty words, Citizen Secretary,” he said. His rolling vowels gave away his upbringing in the streets of Cape Town, a coal mining region in Timor. “But it doesn’t change the fact that if the Vickies have one fucking whiff of what we’re up to, it will be us who’s walking into a trap, not them.”

Hudis shrugged. “Security is good, Admiral. Less than fifty people in three nations know about this. And no one else will know until the operation begins.”

The admiral was not placated. “It also doesn’t change the fact that even if the plan works, our force will still be smaller than the Vickies’.

Hudis said: “Well, Admiral, when you are small force attacking a larger adversary, it is always important to remember the first rule of military strategy.”

The admiral looked puzzled.

Hudis smiled humorlessly. “The first and most important rule, admiral: If you take on a bigger adversary, you’d better win.”

• • • • •

When Hudis returned to his suite, he was not surprised to find Colonel Inger from the Dominion Security Directorate waiting for him. Hudis knew what he was there for and looked sourly at him.

“How many this time, Colonel?”

Colonel Inger made a show of looking at his notes. “Three, Citizen Secretary. Perhaps four.”

“Who?” Hudis demanded.

“Two drivers who have seen the Cape Breton people. And the waiter.”

Hudis had a fleeting image of the thin waiter with thick glasses and receding hair who had hovered over the tables. “Well, which is it, have we been infiltrated or are you going to murder three people because you think they might be spies?”

Inger eyed him with barely restrained distaste. “If you put it that way, Citizen Secretary, yes, I am going to murder three people because I think they might be spies.”

“Do you have any evidence they are spies?” Hudis pressed.

Colonel Inger steepled his fingers in front of him. “I have no evidence they are not, Citizen Secretary. Do you?”

“And the fourth?” Hudis asked testily. “You said there were four?”

“The fourth is a soldier in the Dominion military. He was assigned to escort our admiral and his staff. He knows that they were here. He may not know who the Cape Bretons are, but he will certainly know that there was someone from Tilleke here.”

“One of ours, then!” Hudis said sharply. “We don’t kill our own people!” Colonel Inger stared at him expressionlessly. How can a man with this much power be so naive? Inger wondered.

“No,” ordered Hudis. “Send him back to Timor, under guard if you must.”

“And the others, Citizen Director?”

“Take care of them as you see fit,” Hudis snapped irritably. There was never really any question about it. Nothing could be allowed to risk Family Reunion.

Colonel Inger bowed and left. Hudis poured himself a small cognac and stood by the window. After several minutes of watching the ocean and sipping the smooth liquor, he felt his shoulders loosen and his mind slow its ceaseless darting about. War has a way of letting the Colonel Ingers of the world reach a prominence and stature they could never achieve in peacetime, he mused. In peacetime, we keep our predators restrained, hobbled. But the chaos of strife nurtures them, exhilarates them. Makes them…ambitious. He turned away from the window and poured a second cognac.

How ambitious? We’ll need the good Colonel Inger for some time, Hudis thought to himself. But afterwards?

Chapter 13

P.D. 951

The Spy

On Darwin

The waiter with the thick glasses waited stoically until his shift ended. Soon now, very soon, they would come to kill him. Or not. But if they did, he could not run, could not try to escape. The Abbott was clear on that point. “You must live long enough to drop your package, Reuven, and then you must wait,” the Abbot had instructed all those months ago. “This is the terrible risk, I know, but if you suddenly disappear then they will know that they have been discovered and all will be undone.”

But the shift ended without incident. He changed into street clothes and walked several blocks to the harbor, to a bar he drank at two or three times a week. It catered to locals, not tourists. It was dark and noisy. One or two of the regulars waived at him. The bar tender nodded in silent recognition and passed over his usual beer without a word. He took it and sat at his usual corner table. In the middle of the table was bowl of peanuts and dried fruit. And a small, flickering candle.

This is why he chose this bar. If he were ever caught with a candle in his room, questions might be asked. Someone might take note and wonder. But here every table had a candle; it was the owner’s attempt at creating an illusion of intimacy. And so he sat, beer in hand, staring at the dancing flame. And in his mind he recalled the Three Doctrines:

The First: God beckons. Our task is to seek the Light.

The Second: There are many paths to the Light. All are difficult. A man must strive.

The Final Doctrine: Death in search of the Light is not death.

His name was Reuvin. He was a Devote from the planet Canaan, sent to Darwin years earlier to spy on the Dominion agents there. For four years he had watched, listened and reported things of little consequence. Then several months ago there had been a meeting with a man The Light knew was a prince of the Tilleke Royal Family. The others were unknown, but clearly from different nations. Security at the meeting had been very tight, preventing Reuven from learning its purpose. He waited. Eventually he learned there would be another meeting. New instructions had come from the Church. Urgent instructions. And now here he was, about to make his final drop.

He stood and walked to the bathroom at the back of the bar. No one else was there. Moving quickly, he went