troops were sleeping as men did after a hard day's work, glad enough of a hot meal and solid dry ground with room to stretch out. The camp had already taken on the universal smell of an army on the move: sweat and dogshit and greased iron and woodsmoke. Both moons were out and full, low on the horizon, silvering the sea and giving enough light to read by even without the coal-oil lantern hanging from the roof behind him. He took a long drag on the tobacco, holding it until it bit the lungs in a peculiar pleasure-pain, then blew it out at the moons.
The Canonical Handbook said that the True Earth had only one moon, smaller than either Miniluna or Maxiluna. . there were whole schools of theology which debated whether that was literal, revealed Truth or mere allegory, like the Personal Computer that was supposed to watch over every soul, or the wars in heaven between the angels of the Apple of Knowledge and the Ibemmeraphim. Or whether this had once been the True Earth and so had only one moon, later split into two at the Fall, although that was dangerously close to the Spirit of This Earth heresy.
'I know,' he murmured, taking another mouthful of the plum brandy. It burned, like white fire along his gullet, and he exhaled with a hard
'Sir?' The guard officer was a figure in shadow.
'Nothing, son. As you were.'
exercise more care, Center said coldly in the back of his mind.
Faintly he heard the sound of a challenge and response from the main gate, and the squeal as the spike- studded logs were pulled aside. The muffled thumping of paws sounded down the deserted alleyways; another challenge came from a roving internal patrol, close enough to be separated into words.
'Who goes?'
'Escort party a' th' 7th Descott, returnin',' he heard.
'Advance and be recognized. . Pass, friend.'
But there were too few, far less than the company that had gone out. Eight men, a squad, and a ninth on a big shambling Chow. Administrator Mihwel Berg, sliding off with a sulky look on his face as he stalked into the puddle of yellow lamplight outside Raj's tent. His own was nearby, here in officer country.
'Messer Berg,' Raj said. 'Where are the others?'
Berg's thin face looked as if he had bitten into a lemon, and bloodshot eyes blinked behind his glasses. 'Back there. With
'Do?' Raj said. 'Finish this bottle. Come on in, half drunk is only half done.'
* * *
The remaining hundred and fifteen men of the escort company came into camp an hour after the dawn service. Most of the troops were at drill or fatigues, but there were enough left in the 7th's billet area to groan and whistle their envy at the escorts. The men were riding their usual dogs, mostly Descotter farmbreds, but each was leading two or three others on checkreins. The led dogs were Ridgebacks, a short-muzzled, long-legged breed easily distinguished by the odd upright curl of hair along the spine that gave the breed its name. These were pedigree animals, clean-limbed, bitches and geldings of two or three years and broken to the saddle; the breed was famous for its endurance in hot weather, and each animal was worth a year's pay for a cavalry trooper, possibly more. Their pack-saddles held coils of sausage, flagons of wine and boxes of cigarettes, sacks of Zanjian kave beans and cured hams from the Stalwart territories.
Gruder, M'lewis, and the company commander, Tejan M'brust, had extra dogs as well. They were also each accompanied by a woman on a palfrey-dog. The girls-none of them looked over seventeen-wore the collars that Brigade law required of slaves, but theirs were of thin chased silver. They carried light parasols to shade their complexions, necessary since two were blondes and one a redhead, and any of them would have fetched five hundred gold FedCreds in East Residence; not to mention their clothes and jewelry, and the twin suitcases each had on a packdog.
The officers reined in in front of the command tent and saluted; all of them were stone-faced, and Gruder did not meet Raj's eyes.
'Sir!' he barked. 'Returning as ordered. Permission to report to my command, sir?'
'Nothing to report, Major?' Raj asked.
'No, sir.'
'Dismissed.'
He heeled his dog around with unnecessary violence; the slave-girl squeaked and clutched at the pommel of her saddle as her mount followed his. Suzette dismounted and handed Harbie's reins to a groom.
'What, no presents for me?' Raj said softly, with a stark grin.
There were spots of red on her cheeks, but her eyes met his steadily as she offered a sheaf of paper. Raj took it and looked down at the first page. Then he grunted as if belly-punched.
* * *
'Fellow soldiers,' Raj began.
A long slow roar built up through the crowd, a huge semicircle of blue jackets and brown faces, spotted with the green-and-gold of Poplanich's Own, the gorgets of the 17th Hemmar Valley Cuirassiers, and the multicolored blaze of the barbarian mercenaries. A corner of the berm and the gentle slope leading up to it gave seating sufficient that most of the army could see him and the Companions seated on the improvised dais. The officers of the force were down in front where they could hear him; many of the men could too, and there was a rippling murmur as his words were relayed back to the rear ranks. Only the officers could see the map on the easel behind him, but that was not much of a drawback.
The cheer had started with the men who'd served under him in the east, then spread to the others. Da Cruz had told him-with an innocent expression-that the story of the hardtack had gotten out.
Spirit damn it, shut up, he thought. I may be leading you all to death, for Spirit's sake.
'Fellow soldiers,' he continued, when the noise had died down. 'You all know that we're embarked on a dangerous mission. Well, I'm glad to say I have some good news for you; it's still dangerous, but it's not suicide. The Squadrones-I have this on the best of authorities-the Squadron still has its head tucked up its behind-they don't know we're coming!'
This time the cheer was a roar.
'The Squadron's Admiral thinks everything he's heard about us is just smoke and mirrors, rumors like the ones that come up every couple of years since the last expedition failed.' Raj leaned forward, grinning like a sauroid and tapping one fist into a palm. 'Isn't he going to be surprised?'
The soldiers howled laughter. 'In fact, the pick of the Squadron levy, ten thousand men, sailed three weeks ago for Sadler Island, to put down a revolt.' His swagger-stick traced the course, from Port Murchison away around the western coast of the north-pointing peninsula. 'Under Commodore Curds Auburn, the Admiral's brother and his best general. With all their fleet, every war-galley they have in commission. The biggest threat to this force was being intercepted at sea-and now it's gone. The Spirit has put its protecting hands over us.'
He spread his hands for silence. 'Wait! Cheer when we've won, not before!' More grimly. 'This means we've got a better chance, not a walkover. There'll be hard fighting yet.
'Now, here are the general orders. We'll take the shortest sea route from here'-he tapped their position on Stern Island-'to here.' The stick traced a line directly south, landing on the indented coast south and east of Port Murchison. 'We'll land and concentrate in this bay and establish a base.
'Nobody,' he went on, tapping the stick into his palm, 'is to leave the landing site without orders; nobody under
He paused. 'Any questions?'
Gharderini shot to his feet. 'You say there won't be any interception at sea,' he said furiously. 'How can you be so sure? Did the Admiral send word, or the Spirit of Man of the Stars inform you personally?'
Raj stood and let his hand fall on Suzette's shoulder. 'The information,' he said slowly, 'is from a source I trust absolutely.'
