“We may have to hold the ships in the sector long enough to complete the evacuation,” Kat said. It wasn’t a good solution, but it would have to do. “And, if we can’t find anywhere else for the refugees to go, we’ll ship them back here. There are a few islands that would provide living space, for the moment.”
Kitty looked doubtful. Kat understood, all too well. A semipermanent enclave of refugees on Ahura Mazda would require semipermanent protection, if they weren’t armed to the teeth. But there weren’t many other options. Dorland’s farmers simply weren’t suited to life on a space habitat, even though it would have been the easy place to put them. Putting them on an asteroid colony might well be nothing more than a death sentence.
They might have to learn, she thought. Is there anyone in this wretched sector that isn’t looking out for number one?
She dismissed Kitty, then turned and strode over to the window. Smoke was rising in the distance, signifying yet another bombing. The local insurgents had been coming out of the woodwork over the last few weeks when they’d heard that there was a Theocratic fleet running around the sector. They seemed to believe that Ahura Mazda would be liberated at any moment. Kat’s lips twitched. Perhaps she should encourage the rumors. Insurgents who came into the open generally ended up dead. And the marines were already using the bodies to trace their families and break open insurgent cell after insurgent cell.
We might even win this, if we could just keep them popping up, she thought. At the very least, we’d get some breathing space.
She turned back to the starchart, silently wondering which target would be hit next. So far, the Theocrats had managed to avoid systems with StarComs . . . frustrating, but unsurprising. A StarCom could be detected from light-years away. But that would have to change, sooner or later. The enemy fleet would run out of targets that would do nothing more than spread misery across the galaxy. And besides, she had a nasty feeling that the people back home were growing inured to the horrors emanating from the Theocratic Sector. The daily atrocities were a very long way away.
Of course not, she thought. They’re more interested in arguing about the Royal Wedding than considering something important.
She’d done her best to follow the local news, although it was sometimes hard to understand what was going on. Everyone seemed to be hellishly partisan, pushing their own side’s arguments while slandering the other side, while media talking heads seemed to swap sides with monotonous regularity. Perhaps they simply forgot which side they were supposed to be on. She wouldn’t have been surprised. The media had always been slanted towards one side or the other, but now . . . now it seemed to have exploded. The narrative changed every day.
Her terminal bleeped. “Admiral, we have a priority-one StarCom call for you,” Lieutenant Cloud said. “It’s keyed to your personal code.”
Kat felt a flicker of excitement as she sat down at her desk. The king? They’d talked fairly regularly before the crisis started. Or . . . she lifted her eyebrows as she read the details on the display. The call, which was heavily encrypted, was coming straight from Falcone Mansion. And that meant . . .
“Peter,” she said, as her brother’s face appeared in front of her. He looked to have aged twenty years since the last time she’d seen him. “What can I do for you?”
“You can start by assuring me that you’re alone,” Peter said. “Where are you?”
“My office,” Kat said, puzzled and alarmed. Peter was normally polite—achingly polite. He affected an old-time formality that had annoyed her as a child and amused her as a grown woman. “And yes, I am alone.”
Peter looked relieved. “And this call is secure?”
Kat frowned. “It’s as secure as reasonably possible,” she said. Peter was using a family encryption program as well as the StarCom Network’s standard coding. It wouldn’t be completely impossible to decipher, given the nature of the transmission, but even the most powerful computers would take years to unravel the transmission. “This room is alpha-blue secure too.”
“That’s good to hear,” Peter said. “Kat . . . have you been following political developments on Tyre?”
“A little,” Kat said. She’d spent most of her childhood trying to stay away from politics, at least partly because it was her elder siblings’ meat and drink. “I understand that there are problems.”
“You could say that,” Peter said. He made an odd sound. It took Kat several seconds to realize it was meant to be a laugh. “I wish, I really wish, that you’d declined the chance to become a privy councilor. Or that you’d consulted with me first.”
“It was my choice,” Kat said. She hadn’t been used to thinking of Peter as Duke Falcone. Even now, it wasn’t easy to draw a line between the stuffy older brother and the duke. “Father was on the Privy Council.”
“Yes, he was,” Peter agreed. “But no one doubted where his loyalties lay. Where do yours lie?”
Kat felt a hot flash of irritation. “With the Kingdom and Commonwealth of Tyre,” she said, allowing ice to creep into her voice. She was no longer the little sister who’d been bossed around by her adult brother. “Peter, I am a very busy person. I have work to do. Can I ask you to get to the point?”
Peter’s lips quirked, although Kat didn’t see the funny side. “There are things we need to discuss,” he said. “Kat . . . the king and Parliament are deadlocked. They simply can’t make any progress. And there’s no chance of that changing.”
“. . . Crap,” Kat said.
“The Opposition may just force a vote on withdrawing forces from the Theocratic Sector,” Peter added. “The king’s men have been stalling, but they’re running out of procedural tricks to delay matters. We might be voting as soon as tomorrow.”
Kat’s blood ran cold. “Peter . . . I need those ships.”
Peter looked pained. “Why?”
“I don’t care about the Royal Wedding,” Kat said.
