The Reaches

'Yes,' said Piet. 'Venus has no lack of men ready to charge thirty-centimeter guns. My friend Mister Gregg, for example'-he nodded, smiling faintly-'and many others in this room, I'm sure. But the Lord gave us courage to be steadfast in His service, not to throw ourselves away.'

'If we wait till the Feds refill their tanks and repair their damage-and Heldensburg has a first-rate maintenance facility as I well know. .' said Willem Casson. The old man wore a mauve velvet suit and the jeweled awards three trading associations had given him for his explorations on their behalf. 'And refill their ammunition lockers too, I shouldn't wonder, if there's any shells down there of the right sizes-well, then, what do we do? Use up our air and reaction mass stooging around out of range, then hope we can break their fleet refitted when we couldn't do it before?'

Casson glared at Piet and added, 'Because some folk don't have the guts to carry the fight to the Feds!'

Sal stiffened. If Piet had taken more than a fraction of a second to reply, there would have been a brawl between his supporters and Casson's.

With his smile still broader, Piet said in a soothing voice, 'I didn't mean to impugn the courage or judgment of anyone in this room, Captain. Your point is well taken: we can't afford to permit the Feds to regroup at leisure. Though we can't force them up from Heldensburg with ordinary warships, I believe launching unmanned vessels into the port will send them flying in panic.'

'The heavy guns can destroy a ship as a ship,' Salomon put in, 'but it's still a couple hundred tonnes of hardware following a ballistic course. A thirty-centimeter bolt doesn't make a ship vanish.'

'You talked about suicide,' said Captain Montero. His fists were unconsciously pressed together in front of his chest. 'If a ship isn't controlled down to twenty klicks altitude, it's not going to come close enough to scare anybody but farmers in the next province, we all know that.'

He looked around challengingly. Montero wasn't a member of one clique or another, just an experienced captain stating a well-grounded opinion. 'Coming that close, especially in the sort of junker you'd throw into the ground that way, well, the port guns are going to smash it to bits before the crew can get out.'

'Not a ship with a modern navigational system,' Sal said loudly, perhaps louder than she'd intended. Men craned their necks to see who'd spoken. The room was full, and Sal was shorter than most of the others present.

Stephen turned his head in unspoken challenge. Men who met his eyes nodded, smiled stiffly, or simply looked away.

'I can program the Gallant Sallie to land itself from orbit,' Sal continued. She smiled tightly. There was sweat at her hairline, though her voice didn't sound nervous. 'It won't be a soft landing, but that's not what we need here. I volunteer my ship for the mission.'

'One ship won't do it,' said Salomon. 'It'll take half a dozen, and I'm not talking featherboats, either. At least a hundred tonnes.'

Everyone spoke at once, to the assembly or to a neighbor. Bruckshaw and Piet leaned their heads together for a whispered conversation.

Bruckshaw straightened and said, 'A moment!' interrupting the brief pandemonium. 'A moment, gentlemen and captains. I've discussed this possibility with Factor Ricimer. We agree that we'll need six ships of at least a hundred tonnes burden to be sure of success.'

Piet winced. Bruckshaw caught the expression and added, 'With the blessing of God, that is. The Free State of Venus will purchase the vessels involved at a price set after survey by a board of senior captains, chosen and presided over by Factor Ricimer. Let me say that no shipowner will be the loser financially from his patriotism.'

He smiled faintly and added, 'We appear to have most of the merchant fleet of Venus to pick from, after all.'

'Say, I've got a ship you can have!' Captain Groener said from Casson's side. 'Assuming the survey covers stores at listed value?'

'Captain Casson?' Piet called. 'Captain Salomon? I'd be honored if the two of you would serve with me on the survey board. Will those present who own ships they'd like to volunteer please join us now? We won't go outside this group unless we have to.'

There was a surge toward Piet. Most of the fleet's captains themselves owned one or more ships, part of the cloud of light vessels clogging the starscape about Heldensburg. With the survey done the way Bruckshaw implied it would be, this could be a very profitable way to sell a vessel that needed a total rebuild.

Sal shivered. She started to put her arm around Stephen for support but caught herself before the motion was complete. 'I should have asked you,' she said. 'I'm sorry.'

'You're the managing director,' Stephen said. 'And a very good business decision you've made. Go talk to Piet.'

He nodded Sal forward. 'I wouldn't argue with a choice you had a right to make,' Stephen added softly, 'any more than I'd expect one of my men to tell me who to kill next.'

ABOARD THE GALLANT SALLIE

October 3, Year 27

1027 hours, Venus time

'They're clear!' Brantling announced. He was in the cutter in the Gallant Sallie's hold, speaking over the hardwired intercom rigged for the mission.

On the display, Sal could see the barge pulling away with most of the Gallant Sallie's crew and personal effects. Tom Harrigan watched tensely from the attitude-control boards. He, Sal, and Brantling were all the personnel the old vessel had on her last voyage.

Ships didn't have souls; and even if they did, there were humans dying in this war also.

'All right, we're going in,' Sal said. She pushed the execute key to start the program. Even that simple movement felt awkward in a hard suit.

Harrigan wore the Gallant Sallie's general-purpose suit. He looked even more clumsy and uncomfortable than Sal felt. Stephen had offered to find armor for Brantling, but the sailor had refused. He waited at the cutter's controls in a helmet, a breathing mask, and a flexible bodysuit.

The attitude jets fired, then counterfired. The thrusters lit with a shudder, returning the vessel to an apparent 1 g of acceleration toward Heldensburg.

Words in white letters crawled across the bottom of the display. The message had been sent on the command channel, overriding the lock Sal had placed on the commo gear.

'Wrath sends, 'Our prayers go with you,'' Sal relayed to her fellows. The transmission was slugged 'Piet,' not 'Wrath,' but she would have felt awkward saying that.

Heldensburg was an ugly planet, yellow beneath the misty blue scattering of its atmosphere. Sal hadn't realized quite how ugly the place was on previous landings here. A turgid pimple, swelling on the display.

Two specks swung toward the Gallant Sallie. Sal highlighted and expanded the images.

'I see them! I see the Feds!' Brantling cried.

'Brantling, keep off the intercom!' Sal snapped.

Because the hatch remained open, Brantling had been able to glimpse either the featherboat or the armed barge trying desperately to match courses. The Feds had a number of light vessels in orbit to prevent what the Gallant Sallie was about to do.

The thrusters cut out momentarily. The AI used the attitude jets to rotate the Gallant Sallie, then fired the thrusters again at an initial 3 g's. They were coming in very hard and fast. A technical expert from the Wrath had reprogrammed the artificial intelligence to permit it to execute maneuvers well beyond safety parameters.

Sal checked their heading. The point of impact was drifting west, though for the moment it was still predicted to be within the port reservation. She adjusted the program. Execution was in the AI's electronic hands, but Sal felt the ship quiver minusculely as altitude jets burped moments after she'd entered the correction.

Heldensburg filled the display, as vapid as an ingenue's smile. The port was on the opposite side of the planet. Sal angrily hit keys preset to a series, then another set. A corner of the display-an eighth of the total-