last, “what’d I tell you? You’re the best wingmate a fighter jock ever had!”
After a moment, Odie said, “I wonder if any of our people survived …”
“I’m sure some did. Come on, let’s get some sleep.”
They lay close together for a long while, not speaking, thinking instead about what might lie ahead of them. Just before he dropped off to sleep Erk turned to Odie. “Maybe we’re the only two left alive on this blasted rock, but we’re going to stay that way, right?”
“Absolutely,” Odie answered. She snuggled closer to Erk’s warmth.
7
B ut they weren’t alone—not quite.
“Just like those parsimonious fools,” Zozridor Slayke remarked to one of his officers. “The Republic Senate has always been foolish about defense spending. They leave a strategic place like this to be defended by only a small garrison. What do you expect the Separatists to do, eh? Sit on their hands?”
“The Republic forces are spread thin, sir,” the officer replied, shrugging. “Do we go in now?” He grinned at his commander and leaned forward expectantly. This was the moment he had been waiting for.
Zozridor Slayke grinned back. “And give them the surprise of their short lives? You bet. Assemble my commanders.”
The atmosphere was tense in the wardroom of
Plooriod Bodkin
, as it always was before going into battle—but there was no nervousness. The officers gathered around the battle charts were charged with the anticipation of action, like a group of Cyborrean battle dogs waiting to be released by their handlers.
Zozridor Slayke himself, however, was relaxed, as he always was. Standing a full head above his officers,a mixed group of humans and nonhuman sentients, he would never be mistaken for anything but the leader. It wasn’t just his unadorned, long-sleeved, military-style tunic with the high collar, the standard officer’s uniform in his army, it was also the body language of his officers—each leaning expectantly toward him, eagerly anticipating his words. Slayke projected the confidence of a man who knew he was in charge and knew what he was doing, and his officers—and every soldier in his fleet down to the lowest ratings—knew it, too.
“Mighty crowded out there—” Slayke gestured at the holographic chart of the space lanes around Praesitlyn and Sluis Van. This comment generated some laughs among his officers. “They outnumber us at least four to one.” He made the comment as if he were merely remarking on the brightness of the stars flickering on the chart. “Well, now that we’re here, does anyone have a plan?” He looked around expectantly.
“B-but, sir! We thought
you
did!” a man standing next to him blurted out, feigning horror. At this everyone burst into loud laughter. They all knew that Zozridor Slayke definitely had a plan. And they all knew him well enough that they did not need to be told the essence of that plan: attack, attack, attack.
Slayke let them enjoy the moment, then held up a hand for quiet. “Let’s see, at last report they had one hundred and twenty-six ships in a cordon around Sluis Van, am I right?” He nodded toward his intelligence chief, who confirmed the figure. “That’s bad,” he continued, “because the Sluissi will be occupied defending their own world. But the Separatist fleet will also be busy with its cordon. That’s good, because those shipswon’t be able to interfere with us. The enemy commander has divided his forces. That’s good, too. And the Separatists don’t know we’re here … yet—that’s even better.” The way Slayke emphasized the word
yet
, resulted in more good-natured laughter among his officers.
He pointed a finger at the display of the Sluis sector. “He has about two hundred ships in orbit around Praesitlyn, many of them capital ships. Now, that’s bad.” He stroked his short black beard thoughtfully, then rubbed a forefinger beneath his nose and pulled on his earlobe, as if not sure what to say
After a moment, Odie said, “I wonder if any of our people survived …”
“I’m sure some did. Come on, let’s get some sleep.”
They lay close together for a long while, not speaking, thinking instead about what might lie ahead of them. Just before he dropped off to sleep Erk turned to Odie. “Maybe we’re the only two left alive on this blasted rock, but we’re going to stay that way, right?”
“Absolutely,” Odie answered. She snuggled closer to Erk’s warmth.
7
B ut they weren’t alone—not quite.
“Just like those parsimonious fools,” Zozridor Slayke remarked to one of his officers. “The Republic Senate has always been foolish about defense spending. They leave a strategic place like this to be defended by only a small garrison. What do you expect the Separatists to do, eh? Sit on their hands?”
“The Republic forces are spread thin, sir,” the officer replied, shrugging. “Do we go in now?” He grinned at his commander and leaned forward expectantly. This was the moment he had been waiting for.
Zozridor Slayke grinned back. “And give them the surprise of their short lives? You bet. Assemble my commanders.”
The atmosphere was tense in the wardroom of
Plooriod Bodkin
, as it always was before going into battle—but there was no nervousness. The officers gathered around the battle charts were charged with the anticipation of action, like a group of Cyborrean battle dogs waiting to be released by their handlers.
Zozridor Slayke himself, however, was relaxed, as he always was. Standing a full head above his officers,a mixed group of humans and nonhuman sentients, he would never be mistaken for anything but the leader. It wasn’t just his unadorned, long-sleeved, military-style tunic with the high collar, the standard officer’s uniform in his army, it was also the body language of his officers—each leaning expectantly toward him, eagerly anticipating his words. Slayke projected the confidence of a man who knew he was in charge and knew what he was doing, and his officers—and every soldier in his fleet down to the lowest ratings—knew it, too.
“Mighty crowded out there—” Slayke gestured at the holographic chart of the space lanes around Praesitlyn and Sluis Van. This comment generated some laughs among his officers. “They outnumber us at least four to one.” He made the comment as if he were merely remarking on the brightness of the stars flickering on the chart. “Well, now that we’re here, does anyone have a plan?” He looked around expectantly.
“B-but, sir! We thought
you
did!” a man standing next to him blurted out, feigning horror. At this everyone burst into loud laughter. They all knew that Zozridor Slayke definitely had a plan. And they all knew him well enough that they did not need to be told the essence of that plan: attack, attack, attack.
Slayke let them enjoy the moment, then held up a hand for quiet. “Let’s see, at last report they had one hundred and twenty-six ships in a cordon around Sluis Van, am I right?” He nodded toward his intelligence chief, who confirmed the figure. “That’s bad,” he continued, “because the Sluissi will be occupied defending their own world. But the Separatist fleet will also be busy with its cordon. That’s good, because those shipswon’t be able to interfere with us. The enemy commander has divided his forces. That’s good, too. And the Separatists don’t know we’re here … yet—that’s even better.” The way Slayke emphasized the word
yet
, resulted in more good-natured laughter among his officers.
He pointed a finger at the display of the Sluis sector. “He has about two hundred ships in orbit around Praesitlyn, many of them capital ships. Now, that’s bad.” He stroked his short black beard thoughtfully, then rubbed a forefinger beneath his nose and pulled on his earlobe, as if not sure what to say
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