Beside Belga, General Coldhaven said softly, “Good. That’s a positive identification. Ol’ Pedure herself…. She can’t very well act when her own head is on the line.”
Underville listened with half her attention. There was so much going on…. The General’s speech was even more a shock than seeing Pedure. When Smith made the hostage offer, several of the technicians looked from their work, their eating hands frozen in their maws. “God!” she heard Elno Coldhaven mutter.
“Yeah,” Belga whispered back. “But if they go for it, we might have a way out.”
“If they pick the King as hostage. But if they want General Smith—” If Smith had to stay down South, things would get very complicated, especially for Elno Coldhaven. Coldhaven couldn’t quite conceal his stark discomfort.So this is news to him, too.
“We can manage,” said Kred Dugway, the Director of Air Defense. Dugway was the only other general officer present. The AD director had been one of poor Thract’s biggest critics, and Elno Coldhaven’s former superior. And Dugway seemed to think he was still Elno’s boss.
In the video from Southland, General Smith had climbed down from the speaker’s perch. She handed her formal proposal to Tim Downing. The camera followed Smith offstage. “She’s headed for Pedure!”
Dugway chuckled. “Now,this will be interesting.”
“Damn.” The camera had turned back to watch Major Downing hand out copies of the General’s proposal.
“Can you give me anything on the chief? Does she still have audio?”
“Sorry, sir. No.”
Attention colors lit the Air Defense displays. The technician hunched down, hissed something over his voice link. Then, “Sir, I don’t understand quite what is happening, but—”
Dugway jabbed a hand at the composite situation map of Southland. “Those are launches!”
Yes. Even Belga recognized the coding. Crosses marked the estimated launch sites. “A launch of three.Not Southland-based; those are from ice subs. They could be—” They couldn’t be anything but Kindred. Accord and Kindred were the only nations with missile-launching ice-tunnelers.
And now the first target estimates had appeared on the display. The three circles were all near the south pole.
Coldhaven made a chopping gesture at the attack-management technicians. “Go to condition Most Bright.” On the main display, the news cameras were still panning around Parliament Hall, soaking up the reactions to General Smith’s speech.
One of the attack-management techs rose from her perch. “Sir! Those missiles are ours. They’re from the Seventh, theIcedug andCrawlunder !”
“Says what?” General Coldhaven’s voice cut through whatever his former boss had been about to say.
“Autologs from the ships themselves. I’m trying to get through to their captains right now, sir—we’re still bidding each other’s crypto.”
Dugway pounced on the report. “And until we talk to them direct, I don’t believe anything. I know those commanders. Something strange is going on here.”
“We have real launches and real targets, sir.” The technician tapped the crosses and circles.
Dugway: “You have nothing but pretty lights!”
“It’s across the secure net, sir, direct from our launch-detection satellites.”
Coldhaven motioned both of them to be quiet. “This seems a bit like the problems my predecessor ran into.”
Dugway glared at his former protege… and slowly the significance seemed to sink in. “Yes….”
Coldhaven grunted. “It’s not just us. There have been rumors going around on the unswitched analog radio.” There were still people who used such things; Underville had rural agents who resisted all upgrades. The surprise was that anyone at Lands Command would seriously listen to such comm. Coldhaven noticed Belga’s expression. “My wife works in the technical museum out front.” A smile flitted across his aspect. “She says her old-time radio friends aren’t cranks. And now we’re seeing the impossible, too. In the past we could blame the contradictions on someone else’s idiocy. Now…” The arrival time on the shrinking target circles was barely three minutes away. The targeting satellites all agreed on their destination now: Southmost.
Underville boggled for a moment. All Rachner’s paranoia—true? “So maybe the launch is a fake. Anything we see—”
“At least anything we see on the net—”
“—could be a lie.” It was a technophobe’s most extravagant nightmare.
The point was finally getting through to Dugway. A faith built over twenty years was being shattered. “But the encryption, the cross-checking… what can wedo, Elno?”
Coldhaven seemed to wilt. His theory was accepted, and that left them with disaster. “We—we can shut down. Disassociate command and comm from the net. I’ve seen it as a war-game option—onlythat was on the net, too!”
Belga put a hand on his shoulders. “I say do it. We can use analog radio from the museum. And I’ve got people, couriers. It will be slow—” Far too slow, but at least they would discover what they were up against.
There were others a moment away across the net—Nizhnimor, the King himself—and now nothing seemed trustable. Dugway was present, but Elno Coldhaven was the CCC commanding officer. Coldhaven hesitated, but didn’t defer to Dugway. He called to his chief sergeant. “Plan Network Corrupt. I want the notice hand-carried to the museum.”
“Yes, sir!” The tech had been following the conversation, and seemed not quite as dumbfounded as his seniors. The target circles showed two minutes to impact. On the video from Parliament Hall, stark chaos reigned. For an instant, Underville was caught by the horror of the scene. The poor cobbers. Before, war had been an ominous cloud on the horizon; now the Southland Elected found themselves at ground zero with less than two minutes to live. Some sat frozen, staring upward at where megatons would burst. Others were stampeding down the carpeted stairs, searching for some way out, some way downward. And somewhere beyond their view, General Smith was facing the same fate.
By some miracle, the senior sergeant had hardcopies of Plan Network Corrupt. He handed them to his techs and started the procedures for opening the CCC’s blast doors.
But the doors were already opening. Belga stiffened.Nothing was supposed to come in until the shift ended, or Coldhaven gave the release code. A CCC guard entered with a confused backwards gait, his rifle held at an uneasy port arms. “I saw your clearance, ma’am, but no one is allowed—”
An almost familiar voice followed him. “Nonsense. We have clearance, and you saw that the doors opened. Please stand aside.” A young lieutenant strode into the room. The plain black uniform, the slender, deadly build. It was as if Victory Smith had not only escaped from the South but had returned as young as the first time Underville had ever seen her. After the lieutenant came a huge corporal and a team of combateers. Most of the intruders carried stubby assault rifles.
General Dugway spouted indignant rage at the young lieutenant. Dugway was a fool. More than anything, this looked like a decapitating strike—but why weren’t they shooting? Elno Coldhaven edged back around his desk, his hands reaching for some unseen drawer. Belga stepped between him and the intruders and said, “You’re Smith’s daughter.”
The lieutenant snapped Underville a salute. “Yes ma’am. Victory Lighthill, and this is my team. We’re authorized by General Smith to make inspections per our best judgment. With all respect, ma’am, that’s what we’re here for now.”
Lighthill sidled past the frothing Director of Air Defense; old Dugway was angry beyond words. Behind Belga, and mostly shielded by her body, Elno Coldhaven was tapping out command codes.
Somehow Lighthill realized what was going on. “Please step away from your console, General Coldhaven.” Her big corporal waggled his assault rifle in Coldhaven’s direction. Now Underville recognized the corporal. Smith’s retarded son. Damn.
Elno Coldhaven stepped back from his desk, his hands raised slightly in the air, acknowledging that they were far beyond any “inspection.” The two techs nearest the door sprinted past the intruders. But these combateers werefast. They turned, pouncing on the techs, dragging them back into the CCC.
The blast doors swung slowly shut.
And Coldhaven made one more try, the most frail of all: “Lieutenant, there’s massive corruption in our
