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Authors: Stephen Ames Berry
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the admiral. Not that he expected to get it—Line had its own very narrow priorities.
"She's heading for space," said A'Wal. "Batteries opening fire now."
"Excuse me, Admiral," said a soft voice.
I'Tal turned. Councilor D'Assan stood behind him, flanked by the council observers.
"Please do not engage that vessel," he said softly. "I speak for the Council."
"Why in the seven hells not?" whispered the admiral. "She's ours. She's stolen. She can wipe a planet, conquer a system."
"We've shaken public confidence enough this evening, Admiral," said D'Assan serenely. "To add to the Tower fire a massive shoot-out between Prime Base and that ship, debris raining down, civilian casualties, the vidchannels feeding ..." He shook his head. "No. Please—have your gunners stand down. You can take her in space."
A'Wal watched as I'Tal thought about it. Up on the screen, the target image was directly over the Base's main defenses.
"Very well," said the admiral, turning to A'Wal. "Batteries to stand down, please, Commodore. Advise Commodore G'Tur that it's all his now."
"They're not firing," said A'Tir, leaning over K'Lal's shoulder.
"Not everyone's a butcher, A'Tir," said N'Trol, coming onto the bridge, a corsair trailing him.
She turned. "Engines and jump drive?" she said.
"Satisfactory." The two faced each other in front of the empty captain's chair. "You can jump—if you make it to jump point."
"I think we can handle the pickets," said
A'Tir, turning to the big board and its tacscan of the inner system. "We'll be well away before they can intercept."
"I wasn't thinking so much of the picket ships," said the engineer as the corsair commander faced him again.
"What, then?"
"Line challenges," called K'Lal. "That," said N'Trol.
"Shall we consult, Admiral?" said Line.
"As prescribed," said L'Guan as he and D'Trelna entered the combat center.
Combat center was in the heart of Line's command asteroid. Seeing it for the first time, D'Trelna thought it looked more like the office of a top Combine executive than part of a military installation: a spacious, high-ceilinged room, with a desk made in the image of a classically simple-yet-elegant t'ata table; two long, off-white sofas along the wall, a pair of low beverage tables in front of them; a small scattering of armchairs around the desk. The wall behind the desk was a diorama of snowcapped peaks ringing a crystal-blue lake. Imperial Survey tapes, noted D'Trelna. Contemporary techniques weren't as sharp.
"Situation?" said L'Guan, sitting on a sofa, facing the diorama. D'Trelna sank into the other sofa.
"A combined crew of corsairs, under former Commander A'Tir, and Implacablites, under Commander N'Trol, have seized Implacable and are approaching my inner sector. FleetOps request that we stop them. They do not specify the method."
"Who's this N'Trol, Commodore?" asked L'Guan, turning to D'Trelna.
Gods, thought D'Trelna. N'Trol? A corsair? Absurd.
"He's Implacable's engineer, Admiral," said D'Trelna. "Highly competent, irreverent, irascible, no lover of authority . . ."
"Would he have turned corsair?"
"No, sir," said D'Trelna firmly. "He hates military structure, he's impatient with anyone slower than himself—mostly everyone—but a corsair? Never. N'Trol fought K'Tran with us off Terra Two—even briefly commanded K'Tran's captured ship, with K'Tran and A'Tir in attendance. He's had far better opportunities than this to betray us. I suspect he's made concessions, hoping to keep his crew alive until they can retake the ship."
"What about Prime Base defenses?" said L'Guan.
"They did not fire, out of political and humanitarian concerns," said Line.
"Mostly the former, I suppose."
"Councilor D'Assan was visiting FleetOps when the decision was made."
"And the pickets?" said L'Guan.
"Fleet units are attempting to intercept, but they have nothing substantial enough between here and jump point to stop a heavy cruiser."
"Will you stop them?" said L'Guan.
"No, Admiral,"
"She's heading for space," said A'Wal. "Batteries opening fire now."
"Excuse me, Admiral," said a soft voice.
I'Tal turned. Councilor D'Assan stood behind him, flanked by the council observers.
"Please do not engage that vessel," he said softly. "I speak for the Council."
"Why in the seven hells not?" whispered the admiral. "She's ours. She's stolen. She can wipe a planet, conquer a system."
"We've shaken public confidence enough this evening, Admiral," said D'Assan serenely. "To add to the Tower fire a massive shoot-out between Prime Base and that ship, debris raining down, civilian casualties, the vidchannels feeding ..." He shook his head. "No. Please—have your gunners stand down. You can take her in space."
A'Wal watched as I'Tal thought about it. Up on the screen, the target image was directly over the Base's main defenses.
"Very well," said the admiral, turning to A'Wal. "Batteries to stand down, please, Commodore. Advise Commodore G'Tur that it's all his now."
"They're not firing," said A'Tir, leaning over K'Lal's shoulder.
"Not everyone's a butcher, A'Tir," said N'Trol, coming onto the bridge, a corsair trailing him.
She turned. "Engines and jump drive?" she said.
"Satisfactory." The two faced each other in front of the empty captain's chair. "You can jump—if you make it to jump point."
"I think we can handle the pickets," said
A'Tir, turning to the big board and its tacscan of the inner system. "We'll be well away before they can intercept."
"I wasn't thinking so much of the picket ships," said the engineer as the corsair commander faced him again.
"What, then?"
"Line challenges," called K'Lal. "That," said N'Trol.
"Shall we consult, Admiral?" said Line.
"As prescribed," said L'Guan as he and D'Trelna entered the combat center.
Combat center was in the heart of Line's command asteroid. Seeing it for the first time, D'Trelna thought it looked more like the office of a top Combine executive than part of a military installation: a spacious, high-ceilinged room, with a desk made in the image of a classically simple-yet-elegant t'ata table; two long, off-white sofas along the wall, a pair of low beverage tables in front of them; a small scattering of armchairs around the desk. The wall behind the desk was a diorama of snowcapped peaks ringing a crystal-blue lake. Imperial Survey tapes, noted D'Trelna. Contemporary techniques weren't as sharp.
"Situation?" said L'Guan, sitting on a sofa, facing the diorama. D'Trelna sank into the other sofa.
"A combined crew of corsairs, under former Commander A'Tir, and Implacablites, under Commander N'Trol, have seized Implacable and are approaching my inner sector. FleetOps request that we stop them. They do not specify the method."
"Who's this N'Trol, Commodore?" asked L'Guan, turning to D'Trelna.
Gods, thought D'Trelna. N'Trol? A corsair? Absurd.
"He's Implacable's engineer, Admiral," said D'Trelna. "Highly competent, irreverent, irascible, no lover of authority . . ."
"Would he have turned corsair?"
"No, sir," said D'Trelna firmly. "He hates military structure, he's impatient with anyone slower than himself—mostly everyone—but a corsair? Never. N'Trol fought K'Tran with us off Terra Two—even briefly commanded K'Tran's captured ship, with K'Tran and A'Tir in attendance. He's had far better opportunities than this to betray us. I suspect he's made concessions, hoping to keep his crew alive until they can retake the ship."
"What about Prime Base defenses?" said L'Guan.
"They did not fire, out of political and humanitarian concerns," said Line.
"Mostly the former, I suppose."
"Councilor D'Assan was visiting FleetOps when the decision was made."
"And the pickets?" said L'Guan.
"Fleet units are attempting to intercept, but they have nothing substantial enough between here and jump point to stop a heavy cruiser."
"Will you stop them?" said L'Guan.
"No, Admiral,"
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