would be possible to communicate with each vessel in real time from any point in space. Of course it would be a while before the big clunky contraptions could be miniaturized and massproduced—but battleships like the Gladiator already had them. Which was why the ship’s commanding offi?cer had been able to notify Algeron of the Ramanthian trap, the loss of her entire battle group, and the resulting surrender. The vice president was reading the message for the second time when Booly arrived in the dimly lit com center. A single glance at the miserable faces all around him was suffi?cient to confi?rm the offi?cer’s worst fears. “Here, General,” the grim-faced duty offi?cer said, as he gave Booly a copy of the decoded text. “This arrived about fi?fteen minutes ago.”
Booly read the short, matter-of-fact sentences, saw Captain Flerko’s long angular face in his mind’s eye, and swore softly. She was good, very good, so it was unlikely that the loss of the battleship and its escorts had been the result of human error. No, it looked like the Ramanthians had come up with a new strategy, and it was one that Confederacy military forces would have to fi?nd a way to counter. In the meantime there was the last part of the message to consider. One that left the offi?cer feeling sick to his stomach. “Have no choice but to surrender . . . The president is alive and will blend with the other prisoners. Do not, repeat do not, announce his capture. Pray for us. . . . Captain Marina Flerko.”
Booly wasn’t the only one who was moved, because when he looked up, it was to see Vice President Jakov comforting a com tech. “There, there,” the offi?cial said, as the woman sobbed on his shoulder. “It’s a tough break, but we’ll get the bastards.”
Many, perhaps most, onlookers would have been impressed by the vice president’s composure and his willingness to provide comfort to a lowly technician. But there was something about the scene that troubled Booly. Was it the look of barely contained avarice in Jakov’s eyes? The cold, somewhat calculating look on Assistant Undersecretary Wilmot’s face? Or a combination of both?
But there was no opportunity to consider the matter, as everyone followed Vice President Jakov into the adjoining conference room, and the group that Nankool liked to refer to as his “brain trust” took their seats. Six people were present besides Jakov and herself, and while Wilmot didn’t know any of the group intimately, she was familiar with their reputations. First there was General Booly, who, had it not been for the fact that he was married to the formidable Maylo Chien-Chu, would have been worth a roll in the hay. He was part Naa, and if the rumors were true, had a strip of fur that ran down his spine.
Also present, and looming large in one of the enormous chairs provided for his kind, was Triad Hiween Doma- Sa, who functioned as both his race’s representative to the Senate and head of state. Which made the craggy hard-eyed alien a very important person indeed. And one that Wilmot wasn’t all that fond of given the manner in which the Hudathan had recently gone around her to form a backchannel relationship with a low-level subordinate named Christine Vanderveen. Still, if Nankool was sitting in a Ramanthian prisoner-of-war camp, then so was Vanderveen!
A bonus if there ever was one.
Not to be taken so lightly, however, was the woman generally referred to in high-level government circles as Madame X. Her real name was Margaret Xanith. She had a head of carefully styled salt-and-pepper hair and a surprisingly youthful face, which wore a seemingly perpetual frown. Perhaps that was a refl?ection of her personality, or the fact that as the head of Confed Intelligence she knew about all of the things that were going wrong and rarely had much to smile about. She whispered something to one of her aides, who nodded, and left the room. Seated next to Xanith was an extremely powerful man who though no longer president of the Confederacy, or head of the huge company that still bore his name, continued to hold the rank of reserve navy admiral and was Maylo Chien-Chu’s uncle. A cyborg who, in spite of the fact that he looked to be about twenty-fi?ve years old, was actually more than a hundred.
The fi?nal participant was a relative newcomer to Nankool’s inner circle. A female Dweller named Yuro Osavi. Her frail sticklike body was protected by a formfi?tting cage controlled by a microcomputer that was connected to the alien’s nervous system through a neural interface. The academic had been living on a Ramanthian planet and studying their culture until the war forced her to fl?ee. Osavi had been drafted by Nankool to provide the president with what he called “. . . an enemy’s-eye view of the confl?ict.” Just one of the many reasons why the wily politician had weathered so many storms and remained in the Confederacy’s top job for so long.
“Okay,” Jakov said somberly, “I suppose we could be on the receiving end of even worse news, but it’s damned hard to think what that would be. And, like you, I am absolutely devastated by the tragic loss of an entire battle group plus thousands of lives. That having been said, you can be sure that our absence will be noted, and unless we return to the ball soon, all sorts of rumors will begin to fl?y. So, unless there are immediate steps we can take to strike back, or free our personnel, I suggest we adjourn until 0900 hours tomorrow morning. By that time I’m sure that Margaret, Bill, and Yuro will have prepared some options for us.” At that point Jakov scanned the faces all around him, and having heard no objections, rose from the table. Wilmot hurried to do likewise. “All right,” the vice president said cheerfully, “I’ll see you in the morning.” And with that he was gone.
There was a long moment of silence once Jakov and his companion had left the room. The people still at the table stared at each other in utter disbelief. Because although rumor control was important, surely the vice president could have remained long enough to hammer out some sort of initial plan. Unless the politician wasn’t interested in a speedy response that is? A possibility all of them had considered—but only Doma-Sa was willing to give voice to. “So Jakov wants to be president,” the triad rumbled cynically. “This reminds me of home.”
Hudathan politics had been extremely bloody until very recently, so the others understood the reference, even if some were reluctant to agree. “It does seem as if we could go around the table,” Booly agreed. “How ’bout you Margaret? Assuming our people are still alive, where would the bugs take them?”
“We’re working on that,” the intelligence chief replied gravely. “Although we’re pretty sure they wouldn’t be taken to Hive.”
“I agree,” Osavi put in. “The Ramanthian home world serves as the residence of the Queen and is therefore sacred. To land aliens on the surface of Hive would be unthinkable.”
“Well, they’d better get used to the idea because it’s going to happen,” Doma-Sa responded grimly. “And when it does, a whole lot of bugs are going to die.”
“Sounds good to me,” Booly replied. “But it’s going to be a while before we can penetrate their home system, much less drop troops onto Hive. In the meantime, let’s put every intelligence asset we have on fi?nding out where our people are. Margaret’s staff is working on it, but maybe there’s something more we can do. How about Chien- Chu Enterprises, Admiral? Can your people give us a hand?”
The possibility had already occurred to Sergi Chien-Chu. The family business was a huge enterprise, with operations on dozens of planets, some of which were no longer accessible due to the war. But the vast fl?eet of spaceships that belonged to Chien-Chu Enterprises had access to those that were—and there was always the chance that one or more of his employees would see or hear something. The problem was time, because while all of his vessels would eventually have hypercoms, none was equipped with the new technology as yet. “Maylo and I will put out the word,” the businessman promised. “And report anything we hear.”
“Thank you,” Booly replied gratefully. “In the meantime I will tell the public affairs people to work up a release
