Carnifex

'I've got a meeting set up with the President and the secretary of state. I will do what I can to convince them.'

'Convince them of what?' Rivers asked.

'Of the danger,' Malcolm answered. 'Of the need for mediation. Of the need to throw our weight against whoever fires the first shot.'

'Then you had best hurry, Mr. Secretary,' Rivers said. 'The Frogs'—Oh, how I love saying 'Frogs' to this puke who so loves the Frogs—'are flying in major numbers of troops and the Legion's regulars and reservists are falling in on assembly areas on both sides and both ends of the Transitway area. The news is full of enough accusations of violence, corruption and fraud in the election process that either side can claim to have 'won.' If nothing changes, I predict a blood bath starting by midnight.'

The Trapezoid, Executive Mansion, Hamilton, FD, Federated States of Columbia,

'Then why not just threaten the stinking mercenaries if trouble breaks out?' thundered the secretary of state, Mary Darkling, a woman short, shrill, and seriously overweight. 'We all know they're trying to steal the election down there. Wozniak is convinced of it. The global press insists upon it. Our allies, the Gauls, are certain of it. By taking the side of the mercenaries against our real allies we're undercutting the tradition and understanding of decades. It's absurd!'

Malcolm shook his head. Inside he felt precisely what Darkling openly insisted upon . . . but, 'I'm with you in this, morally, Mary. But the practicalities are such that we just can't let this thing spiral out of control. I adore Gaul as much as you do. I want to help them, to induce them to help us. I want to try to overcome the suspicion and hostility that built up under the previous administration. But . . .  we're dealing with a maniac here! The leader of the mercenaries is not susceptible to reason. He won't even take bribes at this point. I believe that, were he capable, he'd destroy the entire planet before backing down an inch. He's got an army and he's going to have a country . . . or he's going to fight to take one.'

Darkling shot an accusatory glare at the President. It's your fault for keeping us in that utterly illegal war in Pashtia.

Schumann, the President, understood the glare. He smiled and said, 'The one thing keeping us from losing the center again and being run out of office, Mary, my dear, is that we promised to win in Pashtia. For that, for reasons largely logistic, we need the mercenaries. For reasons entirely political, we need them to bleed rather than ourselves. When I asked you for a diplomatic solution to Pashtia you gave me a blank stare. I'm a Progressive, Mary; I'm not an idiot. We must win in Pashtia or we must lose here.'

Turning to Malcolm, Schumann said, 'We need to force a delay until Pashtia is won and we can dispense with the mercenaries. So . . . I want you ready a major expeditionary force to Balboa. Sail them, post haste.' He shifted his attention to Darkling and said, 'Here's what I want you to tell our ambassador . . . '

1/6/468 AC, Embassy of the Federated States, Ciudad Balboa

Had it not been for the position of the Legion within Balboa, Ambassador Thomas Wallis would have been most unlikely ever to see the lofty rank he held. Medium height, medium build, nonpatrician, he had none of the connections within the Federated States' diplomatic service that were normally an absolute requirement for admission to the inner circle.

He had had one greatly redeeming feature, as far as the previous, Federalist, administration had been concerned. Wallis had spent many years in the armed forces before retiring and entering the diplomatic corps. He was, thus, a natural for dealing with that part of Balboa most of interest to the Federated States, the Legion. He considered it only a matter of time, though, before the Progressives booted him. The fact that I'm ex-military is enough to make me suspect to the Progs.

Interesting, thought the ambassador, that Munoz-Infantes is sitting on the Balboan side of the conference table. Very interesting. I wonder what's going on there. Wallis looked at Janier. The Frog looks ready to shit himself.

Is that Castilian bastard trying to tell me something? wondered Janier, for the nonce without his imperial marshal's uniform or laurel wreath.

How far is the Castilian willing to go to support us? wondered Parilla.

'Gentlemen,' began the ambassador, softly and genially. With the utterance of the word he was immediately greeted by a storm of swears and accusation from both sides of the conference table. Conspicuously, Munoz-Infantes kept quiet.

Soft and genial won't cut it, I see.

Wallis injected steel into his voice. 'GENTLEMEN! Be quiet!'

Those present shut up, not always with good grace. Wallis continued, 'I am advised by the President, speaking through the secretary of state, to inform you that two carrier battle groups are en route here. Moreover, two reinforced regiments of Federated States Marines are, even as we speak, boarding ship to come here. One division of paratroopers is likewise being readied. Their orders are—consistent with Federated States policy with regard to the Transitway, and also consistent with our treaties—to engage whichever side shall first initiate hostilities in or around the Transitway area.'

The ambassador raised his nose at an underling. Immediately, a map of the Transitway appeared on a wall mounted plasma screen. On it could be seen two bright red lines, delineating boundaries. They corresponded closely enough to the old Federated States boundaries, with the exception that they also ran though Ciudad Balboa, chopping off the Old Cuirass district, wherein lay the presidential palace, from the rest of the city.

Understanding the implications, both Rocaberti's party and Parilla's once again burst into open argument. Janier's group of diplomats and officers, however, remained silent. The boundaries drawn would, for the time being, suit.

'Gentlemen, quiet!' the ambassador repeated. 'These are not subject to argument. This is where you will maintain your forces and your political control until some more amicable settlement can be reached.'

Infuriated, Rocaberti shouted, 'Your own ex- president has said those bastards stole the election!'

'He never met a governmental thief he didn't love,' retorted Parilla.

'None of that matters,' insisted the ambassador. 'What matters is that this is what we, the Federated States, have commanded. Gentlemen, in this 'our voice is imperial.' What matters is that two carrier battle groups and two regiments of Marines are on their way here to enforce our commands, and a division of paratroopers stands ready to reinforce them.'

'But you can't split the City like this,' Rocaberti pleaded. 'It's . . . obscene.'

The ambassador sighed. 'Mr. President you are missing the point. That point is that hostilities must not break out. The boundary as drawn separates out the Tauran Union forces from what we believe to be over twenty thousand Balboan reserve legionaries. Crossing over it will cause those legionaries to fight'—Goddamn right, thought Parilla. And it's closer to thirty-five thousand.—'and causing that will be taken as initiation of hostilities.'

'But you're putting them in control of three quarters of the population!'

'More like seven eighths. President Rocaberti. Let there be no bullshit between us,' the ambassador continued. 'There is good reason to believe that that is close to the true percentage of the areas where a majority of the voting populace went for Legate Parilla. Yes, quite despite ex-President Wozniak's claims. Be grateful, Mr. President, that we have left you with a safe enclave where President Parilla cannot prosecute you.'

2/6/468 AC, Nicobar Straits

There is no safe harbor except in silence, thought al Naquib, watching out over the polluted waters of the Straits and coughing from the smoky haze that dominated it. There is no safe harbor when the enemy can listen in on every word spoken on a phone or a radio, not when our ranks contain informers and spies.

The down side of silence, though, is coordination. Everything, everything, depends on getting the word at the proper time from a ship's