Mission of Honor

system, or else at least run it out of ammunition. Frankly, it seems more likely that whoever it was had better intel on the Manties than we do and figured out a way to go after the remote platforms, which probably means the Manties' command net has just been shot full of holes. Even if they did it just by running them out of ammunition, though, it seems more than a little unlikely that the Manties will have been able to replace their expended missiles with their industrial structure so trashed. And even assuming that they've been able to replace their expenditures this time around, there's no way in hell they'll be able to take us out and be able to reload again before the next wave arrives.'

'I'm sure our ghosts will take great comfort from that fact,' Filareta said rather dryly, and Burrows snorted.

'I agree it would be a . . . suboptimal outcome, Sir,' he acknowledged. 'My point, though, was that the Manties have to be aware of the same facts. So when we turn up so unexpectedly, even if they have the physical capability to repel our attack, I actually think the Strategy Board's right about whether or not they'll have the intestinal fortitude to actually try doing it. And if we point out to them that the next wave's already in the pipeline, and is going to be even more powerful, I think it really is likely they'll recognize the writing on the wall and give it up.'

'Um.'

Filareta frowned, obviously pondering what his chief of staff had just said. He still looked a far cry from anything Burrows would have called cheerful, but his expression was at least a little lighter than it had been.

'I hope to hell you're right,' he said frankly at last. 'If you're not, then we're going to get reamed, even if we wind up taking them out in the end.'

He paused, as if inviting Burrows to respond, but the chief of staff only nodded. After all, Filareta was absolutely correct.

'All right,' the fleet admiral said finally. 'Go ahead and bring Bill and Yvonne inside on this.' Admiral William Daniels was the task force's operations officer, and Admiral Yvonne Uruguay was the staff astrogator. 'I want our movement planned by the time our reinforcements get here.' It was Filareta's turn to grimace. 'There's no way we're going to make our specified schedule, but let's see how close we can come.'

'Yes, Sir,' Burrows agreed. Frankly, he'd be surprised if they could hit within a T-week of the operations schedule included with their orders from Old Earth. On the other hand, allowances for that kind of slippage were built into any interstellar fleet movement orders. They had to be.

Filareta turned to look back at the smart wall again, contemplating it for several moments. Then he inhaled deeply and nodded to the distant solar furnace which dominated the view.

'All right, John,' he said again, never turning away from the wall. 'Go talk to Bill and Yvonne. I want their preliminary reactions in time for lunch. And go ahead and schedule a full dress staff meeting for tomorrow morning.'

* * *

The 'private yacht' was about the size of most navies' battlecruisers, and almost as heavily armed. Which didn't prevent it from being one of the most luxuriously appointed vessels in the galaxy . . . as well as one of the fastest. It had made the passage from the Mesa System forty percent more rapidly than anyone else's ship could have managed it.

Albrecht Detweiler reflected on exactly what that implied as he stood to one side on what would have been the flag deck aboard an actual warship and watched the enormous space station, gleaming in the reflected light of the F6 star called Darius, growing larger on the visual display as MANS Genesis approached it. The station—known officially as Darius Prime— orbited the planet Gamma, Darius' only habitable world, and at the moment, it was over Gamma's night side, just approaching the terminator. The planetary surface below it sparkled with lines and beads of light, and there were four other stations to keep it company, although none of them were remotely the same size as Manticor's' Hephaestus or Vulcan .

Or the size they had been, at any rate.

His eyes moved to the ships taking form in the shipyards Darius Prime supported. Eventually, those ships would become the first units of the Leonard Detweiler class, he knew, although it wouldn't happen anywhere near as soon as he wished. The much smaller units of the Shark class in parking orbit beyond Darius Prime were visible evidence of why he wished that. Most of the still far from complete Detweilers were already larger than the Sharks —in many cases, substantially larger. When they were completed, they would be far, far tougher—and far more dangerous—than their smaller predecessors, and he was going to need the capability they represented as quickly as he could get it. Unfortunately, wishing couldn't change anything.

His lips twitched briefly at the thought, and he turned his attention to the Sharks. Genesis had arrived almost three hours before her scheduled ETA, yet it was evident the fleet was already home and waiting for him. Well, that was fine with him. No doubt the Mesan Alignment Navy would someday acquire the taste for formal reviews of the fleet—and the punctillious timing which went them— which seemed to be a part of every other navy in space. So far, it hadn't, and given how little use he had for pomp, he'd prefer for that to take as long as possible.

Not that they don't deserve a formal review . His face hardened with mingled satisfaction and a degree of apprehension as he reflected upon the reports of Oyster Bay's effectiveness. I don't think anyone else in history ever managed to pull off this successful an operation. Certainly not against someone as good as the Manties!

The casualty count had been higher than projected, and part of him regretted that. He supposed that was foolish of him, given where all of this had to lead eventually, yet there it was. He couldn't quite avoid thinking about all the children who'd never even seen it coming. Funny how that bothered him when thinking about all of the other millions who were going to be killed eventually didn't. He wondered if that was because those other millions were still an abstraction for him, still only a potential, whereas the dead from the Manticoran space stations and in the city of Yawata Crossing weren't. He hoped that wasn't the reason. All of those additional deaths were coming—he couldn't have changed that at this point even if he'd tried—and he couldn't afford to brood over them this way when they finally arrived.

Well, you won't , he told himself. By the time they come along, you'll have enough emotional scar tissue to keep you from losing any sleep. And, be honest with yourself, Albrecht—you'll be damned glad you do .

'We'll be docking with the station in about thirty-five minutes, Sir,' Genesis ' captain told him.

'Thank you,' Detweiler replied, suppressing the urge to smile. Hayden Milne had been his yacht's skipper for over three T-years, during which time he'd been firmly trained to never—ever—refer to him by name. He'd been simply 'Sir' to every member of the crew for as long as anyone could remember, and Detweiler's temptation to smile faded as he thought about that. He was doomed to stay in the shadows for at least a while longer, after all.

At the same time, there was no point hiding from the men and women of the MAN. Every one of them knew Benjamin was their commander and that Albrecht stood behind Benjamin, although the fact that the two of the were Detweillers had been carefully concealed even from most of them. They knew Benjamin and Albrecht as their leaders, however. Which, after all, was the reason both he and those orbiting Sharks were in the same star system this afternoon.

'I suppose I should wander back to my quarters and tell my wife,' he continued out loud.

'Of course, Sir.'

Detweiler nodded to the captain, then turned and headed for the lift, followed even here by Heinrich Stabolis, his enhanced bodyguard.

They stepped into the lift car, and Stabolis pressed the proper destination code, then stood back with his hands folded behind him. Detwiler couldn't begin to count the number of times he'd seen Stabolis standing in exactly that posture over the years, and it was amazing how seeing that familiar sight always helped bolster his confidence.

'So far, so good, Heinrich,' he said.