“They were seduced from the path of righteousness,” Moses informed him. “They thought they could find acceptance among the infidels . . .”
“Anything useful?” Admiral Zaskar cut him off, sharply. “Anything we might be able to use?”
“No,” Moses admitted. “But their stories do make wonderful cautionary tales.”
“Quite,” Admiral Zaskar said. They walked slowly down the corridor. “Make sure they have all the medical attention they need before going on duty. I don’t want them keeling over and dying while they’re on my ships.”
“Yes, Admiral.” Moses didn’t sound happy.
Admiral Zaskar kept his face impassive. Askew had brought them a great deal of medical supplies, as well as everything else. And yet the cleric would be reluctant to “waste” them on his victims. The Theocracy had had a shortage of both doctors and medical supplies, the latter caused by unreasonable production demands. It wasn’t uncommon for even serious wounds to go untreated because there were no supplies. Now . . .
We can’t have our engineers dying on the job, he thought coldly. And we don’t want them to think that they have no hope.
He rubbed his forehead in frustration. If only they had more engineers! It wouldn’t have been hard to train more, surely. Or . . . what had the Tabernacle been thinking?
“The remainder of the male recruits joined us eagerly,” Moses said. He sounded as though he was determined to change the subject. “It is a promising sign for the future, is it not?”
Admiral Zaskar shrugged. It was nice to think there were millions of Theocrats, held down by the occupiers, who would join them the moment the fleet captured the high orbitals. But he had his doubts. He was prepared to admit, in private, that the Theocracy hadn’t been the most . . . decent of occupying powers. Genuine recruits had been relatively rare. And, if there truly were millions of Theocrats on the liberated worlds, how long would it be before they were liquidated? The Commonwealth seemed to be oddly squeamish about such things—they had never retaliated in kind, even after Hebrides had been depopulated—but the local resistance forces had no such qualms. Admiral Zaskar doubted the Commonwealth would pretend to care if the refugees were simply slaughtered.
“Let us hope so,” he said finally. Moses might have become more and more certain that they were bound to win, but he had to keep a level head. The odds of ultimate victory were very low. “And the women?”
Moses coughed. “A quarter were the wives and daughters of our new recruits,” he said. “I’ve given orders to keep them isolated from everyone else. The remainder . . . they should be parceled out to the men.”
With one for you, no doubt, Admiral Zaskar thought coldly. But that will just make matters worse, won’t it?
“Award them as prizes for good work,” he said. “And make sure it stays honest.”
“As you command,” Moses said. “Do you wish one yourself?”
Admiral Zaskar shook his head, concealing his disquiet. His wife was somewhere on Ahura Mazda . . . if, of course, she was still alive. She’d been staying at her father-in-law’s compound. He hoped she was still alive, but he had no way to tell. If the unbelievers knew who she was, they’d have taken her by now. Or she might have simply been killed in the fighting. The battles for Ahura Mazda had been savage.
They stepped into an intership car, which whisked them back to the CIC. Admiral Zaskar glanced at the main display as soon as they left the car, just to make sure there was nothing hostile within the system. It looked empty, as always, but that was meaningless. If an enemy scout ship had found them, it would creep out as carefully as possible and whistle up a couple of superdreadnought squadrons. They’d have to spend the rest of their lives watching over their shoulders until the Commonwealth either withdrew or blew them out of space.
It has to be endured, he told himself firmly. There are no other choices.
Askew was sitting inside his office, drinking something that smelled like strong coffee. Admiral Zaskar felt a flicker of irritation, which he rapidly suppressed. It was annoying to have the younger man make himself at home without asking permission to enter, let alone sit down, but . . . they were dependent on Askew and his mysterious backers. Admiral Zaskar had pried as tactfully as possible, yet no matter what he said, Askew refused to name names. It was galling to depend on the kindness of strangers . . .
“I just got back,” Askew said, sitting up. He’d left the ship almost as soon as they’d reached their base. “I trust you had a pleasant few days.”
“There was work to be done,” Admiral Zaskar said dryly. Shore leave was an impossible dream. The asteroids simply didn’t have the facilities to give his crew a break. “And yourself?”
“I reported to my superiors,” Askew said. “They were quite pleased with your operation.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Admiral Zaskar said. “Did they have anything else to say?”
“Merely a suggestion that you should move to the next target as quickly as possible,” Askew said. “They would very much prefer you to keep the pressure on.”
“Duly noted,” Admiral Zaskar said.
He thought, fast. Askew hadn’t been gone for long. Four days . . . Assuming he’d spent less than two days in transit, each way, he couldn’t have gone very far. His tiny ship might be as fast as a courier boat, but still . . . there were only a limited number of possible destinations. And that meant . . . He sighed and gave up. There was no realistic hope of working out who was behind Askew with such limited data.
“That is our intention too,” Moses said. “God has smiled on us.”
“Quite,” Askew said. “Where do you intend to hit?”
Admiral Zaskar brought up a starchart, reminding himself, once again, that the tactical data was badly out of date. He no longer had access to the StarCom network or the small fleet of courier boats that had once carried data from one end of
