“No I don’t,” she said, “and I am a Fleet officer.”
“Ah.” Greyjean munched toast, which caused more of his consonants to disappear than usual. “Well, I always thought so.” He gave a watery glance around his room. “Would you like to sit down, my lady?”
“Yes, thank you.”
She perched on the edge of an elderly, overstuffed chair; Greyjean sat on a small sofa. “I’m here to fight the Naxids, you see,” Sula said. He nodded. “So,” she continued, “the Naxids might well come looking for me.”
Greyjean nodded. “Well yes, that makes sense.”
“And if they do…” Sula handed him the newssheet, neatly folded into quarters. “Could you put this in your kitchen window, so that I could see it from the outside?”
Greyjean contemplated the thin plastic rectangle. “In the window, you say?”
“Yes. You could keep it by the window, you know, and then just prop it up if the Naxids come.”
Light colors were recommended for these sorts of signals: the white plastic sheet would stand out well against practically any background.
Greyjean rose from his sofa and shuffled toward the kitchen, his plate in one hand and the newssheet in the other. Sula followed. Greyjean put the sheet in the window, pinning it in place with a terra-cotta pot that held a ficus.
“Will this do, my lady?” he asked.
“Yes, but only if the Naxids come.”
“Of course, yes.” He took the white rectangle out of the window and placed it under the potted plant. “I’ll just keep it there,” he said.
“Thank you, Mr. Greyjean.”
Greyjean shrugged and took another bite of his toast. “My pleasure, my lady.”
Sula reached into her pocket, took out a twenty-zenith coin, and put it on his plate. His eyes widened.
“Twenty zeniths?” he said. “Are you sure, my lady?”
He might never have held twenty zeniths in his hand in his life.
“Of course,” Sula said. “You’re entitled. You’re working for the government now.” She winked. “The real government.”
For a long moment Greyjean considered the apparition on his plate, and then took the coin and slipped it into his pocket. “I always wanted government service,” he said, “but I never had the right schooling.”
Chenforce sped from Aspa Darla Wormhole 2 into Bai-do, the ships coming in hot, their radars pounding away as they began maneuvering the instant they passed the wormhole. Martinez had his eyes fixed on the displays, and in the radio spectrum found, as he suspected, a black, dead system, with the only radio sources being the system’s star and its single inhabited planet. He switched to optical and infrared censors, and found rather more. Large numbers of merchant ships burned at high accelerations for wormholes leading out of the system.
“Targets,” Martinez reported, and with a sweep of his fingers so categorized them on the tactical display.
“Assign targets to weapons officers within the squadron,” Michi said. “Tell them to launch missiles when ready.”
And in the meantime the familiar message had automatically been broadcast, and was being repeated every few minutes: “All ships docked at the ring station are to be abandoned and cast off so that they may be destroyed without damage to the ring. All repair docks and building yards will be opened to the environment and any ships inside will be cast off…”
The Naxids at Bai-do had known they were coming for days and had ordered everyone in the system to switch off their radars. It would be many hours before Martinez had a complete picture of the system. He had very little anxiety on that score, since they’d entered through a wormhole that was at a great distance from the system’s sun, and any warships guarding the system would be much closer in.
“…Any ship attempting to flee will be destroyed…”
For the first two days Bai-do seemed a repeat of Aspa Darla. No warships were discovered. Merchant ships in flight were destroyed, and most crews had enough warning to escape in lifeboats. No drunken Captain Hansen appeared on comm to object to the annihilation of his vessel. Large numbers of ships were cast off from Bai-do’s ring, and a pair of pinnaces were launched from Judge Arslan to inspect the ring and to make certain orders were carried out.
A modest round of dinners and parties continued, though under strict orders for superior officers to restrain the amount of drinking as long as the squadron was in enemy space. Martinez played host to a party of lieutenants and cadets aboard Daffodil, and Fletcher once more had Michi and her staff as guests for a formal supper.
“Your ring will be inspected to make certain that you have complied with these orders…”
The crew of Illustrious was reasonably light of heart when they strapped into their action stations for the two pinnaces’ closest approach to Bai-do. The pinnaces would pass no closer than a quarter of a light-second, but the powerful sensors on the small craft would be able to see perfectly well into the open hangar bays, yards, and docks, and relay the information to the flagship.
After supper at Fletcher’s table, Martinez felt heavy-lidded and drowsy in the warmth of his vac suit, and he adjusted the internal atmosphere to a more bracing temperature. The two signals lieutenants murmured in soft voices as the pinnaces, on their approach, began feeding Illustrious packets of intelligence from their communications lasers. Idly, Martinez moved the pinnaces’ feed onto his displays, and only then noticed the flashes in the corner of his tactical display.
“Missile flares!” Martinez said in perfect astonishment. “Missile flares from the station!”
His drowsiness was inundated by a wave of adrenaline that slammed into his bloodstream with the force of a tsunami engulfing a coral atoll. Martinez banished the pinnace feeds from his display and enlarged the tactical array. The accelerator ring had fired a pair of missiles, each clearly aimed at one of the approaching pinnaces.
“All ships!” Martinez said. “Defensive weaponry to target those missiles!”
It was an order he felt he could safely give without Michi’s approval. Michi herself was shouting to her signals officers.
“Message to Ring Command! You will disable those missiles immediately…”
Too late, Martinez thought. The display showed an event that had happened twenty-three minutes ago. By the time Michi’s message flashed the twenty-three light-minutes back to the ring station, the missiles and the two defenseless boats would have had their rendezvous.
It was barely possible that the squadron’s defensive lasers might knock down one or another of the missiles, but guessing where a jinking missile would be in twenty-three minutes was a task better suited for a fortune-teller than a weapons officer…
The voices of the Terran pinnace pilots crackled into life in Martinez’s headset, announcing in voices of surprising tranquillity the appearance of the missiles. They would attempt evasive accelerations, all the while continuing their automatic scan of the Bai-do ring with their sensor arrays.
Any evasion was pointless. In order to avoid the streaking missiles, the pinnaces would have to accelerate so heavily as to crush their passengers. The only hope for the pilots was that the missiles weren’t actually trying to kill them, but to create a screen between the pinnaces and the ring station in order to prevent observation.
After Michi’s message was sent to Ring Command, there was a sudden cold silence in the Flag Officer Station.
“…Failure to obey orders will mean the destruction of the ring…”
The remembered words burned through Martinez’s mind like fire.
The threat had been made. But a threat meant nothing unless there was the will to carry it out.
“Captain Martinez,” Michi said in a new, cold, inflectionless tone, “please plan an attack on the Bai-do ring.”
“Very good, my lady.”
The plan had been made ages ago when Chenforce was still circling Seizho’s sun, and Martinez needed only to update the tactical situation before presenting it to the squad
ron commander. Michi glanced at her tactical display only briefly. There was a new hardness in the set of her mouth.
“Convey the plan to the squadron, captain,” she said. “Prepare to execute on my command.”
“At once, my lady.” He could not make himself reply with the words, “very good.”
Martinez passed orders to each ship in the squadron. Michi leaned her head back on her couch support and closed her eyes. “The bastards are testing us,” she said in a nearly inaudible voice. “After Koel, the Naxid command has had time to issue orders to the Bai-do ring, and to others as well. They want to find out if we’ll actually carry out our threats.”
“After we destroyed the Zanshaa ring,” Martinez said, “why would they think we’d stick at Bai-do?”
Michi had no answer. Martinez, a sickness chewing at his belly, watched his display, saw the pinnaces standing on tails of flame in mad frenzies of acceleration as they tried to escape the fate that pursued them.
The heavy acceleration was a mercy in a way, because the pilots were almost certainly unconscious when the missiles found them.
Martinez looked for a long, terrible moment at the silent expanding plasma spheres at his display, and then raised his eyes to Michi. There was black anger in her eyes, as well as a horror at the order she was about to give.
“Captain Martinez,” she said. “Destroy the Bai-do ring.”
Martinez found that his lips formed an answer. “Yes, my lady.” He touched the transmit pad and gave the orders.
Missiles lanced out from the squadron. The ring was a big target and so the salvo did not need to be large. There were laser defenses on the station, not intended so much for military purposes as for destroying meteors or small out-of-control spacecraft that might threaten the ring, but these were not capable of coordinating the same sort of defense as a squadron flying in formation, and the ring’s destruction was assured.
Martinez was surprised to see more missile flares from the target, a salvo of a dozen aimed at the squadron. Another dozen followed a few minutes later, and then a third. All were destroyed en route, and he received a message of explanation from Lieutenant Kazakov, who had been analyzing the data sent by the pinnaces before they were destroyed.
“There are partly completed warships on the ring, lord captain,” she told him. “Three heavy cruisers and three frigates or light cruisers. Apparently one of the big cruisers has got a working missile battery.”
The Naxids were going to let the Bai-do ring die in order to defend half a squadron of half-built warships that were lost anyway. Martinez clenched his teeth in frustration and anger.
The enemy frigate fired several more salvos before the end. None of the Naxid missiles proved a threat to Chenforce, and all were destroyed without undue effort. Two-thirds of the loyalists’ missiles were also destroyed, but the plan allowed for that.
Illustrious was at its closest approach to Bai-do, three light-seconds, when the first missile impacted the ring. There were several more strikes after that, and each vaporized a section of the bright wheel that circled the planet.
A thing as huge as a planetary ring takes a long time to die. The upper level was still moving much faster than the lower, geostationary level, and each upper fragment separated from the lower ring and shot off on its own trajectory, each a curved airless sickle filled with corpses, brilliant in the sun, carried by its greater momentum into a higher orbit.
More horrifying, however, was the larger piece of the ring on the far side of the planet from Chenforce. This piece, nearly half of the ring, was still intact, and its upper ring never had time to completely separate from its lower before the whole mass began to oscillate and fall into the atmosphere. The cables were designed to burn up on reentry, but Bai-do was not so lucky as far as the rest of the structure was concerned. The upper ring contained hundreds of millions of tons of asteroid and lunar material used as radiation shielding. When the colossal structure broke up on contact with the atmosphere, all its great mass came raining down on Bai-do’s blue and green equator.
Martinez watched as Bai-do’s land mass flared from the impacts, as great shimmering golden waves rose from impact sites on the blue ocean. Smoke and dust and water vapor rose high into the atmosphere. Here and there were the distinctive sparkle of antimatter. Enough dust might be blasted into the upper atmosphere to shroud the planet in cold and darkness for years. There would be massive crop failure, and with the ring gone there would be no way to import food.
The ones who died now might well be the lucky ones.
“How many people are living down there?” The question, half-whispered, came from Lady Ida Lee.
Four point six billion. Martinez happened to know. He’d absorbed the fact when he’d planned the raid. And the population of the ring itself was in the tens of millions.
“Tell the crew to secure from action stations,” Michi said. She looked ten years older.
Martinez locked his displays above his head and rose from his couch. The scent of sour sweat and adrenaline rose from his suit. He felt older than Michi looked.
As he followed his commander from the room he felt a spasm of dread.
How many more times are we going to have to do this?
Sula took the train back to Riverside, carrying a bundle of clothing from the Grandview apartment, where she had emptied her closet and made certain other arrangements as well. She found Spence drowsing with the med injector in her hand. The video wall was repeating the same announcement over and over, and the announcer was a Naxid.
Lady Kushdai, the new governor, had taken up residence in the High City, and Zanshaa would now begin a new reign of peace and prosperity under the Committee to Save the Praxis. A group of anarchists and saboteurs had made an unsuccessful attack on the government’s forces that morning, but all had been killed or captured. Many civilian casualties had occurred as a result of the attackers’ vicious and unreasoned assault.
The next news item was a shock: five hundred and five hostages had been taken, a hundred and one from each species under the Naxid administration, any or all of whom might suffer death if incidents of anarchy and sabotage did not cease.
Sula stared at the video in thoughtful surprise. Five hundred and five. And from five species, when only Terrans had been involved in the ambush.
Peace. Prosperity. Hostages. She wondered if the Naxids realized the message they were sending.
The news hummed in her thoughts as Sula went out onto the street to purchase food from vendors. The people had got the news before she had, and they were furious. Everyone seemed to know that the hostages had been pulled in off the street, at random, and that none of them were anarchists or saboteurs.
The Naxids were not making friends.
For the next three days Macnamara arrived every morning after his rounds to report that no messages were found at either the primary or backup locations. Sula burned off nervous energy by tidying relentlessly and bathing frequently. She looked after Spence, watched the news, and spent a lot of time connected to the Records Office computer. She created new identities for everyone that she knew or suspected had survived the Axtattle Parkway ambush. She didn’t have their pictures, but used images taken from other IDs already in the system, images that resembled the people she had trained with.
A new administrator had been put in charge of the Records Office, someone fresh from Naxas. Everyone in the office, and the government generally, was made to swear allegiance to the Committee to Save the Praxis. Hotels and warehouses were requisitioned, including—as Sula had anticipated—the Great Destiny Hotel.
Contact was not made.
On the fourth morning Macnamara came with a message. “You didn’t pick it up yourself?” Sula asked, with a glance toward the window and the street below. If Macnamara had been followed…
“I did like you told me,” Macnamara said. “When I saw the signal that there was a message at the drop, I paid a vagrant to pick up the message for me. I told him to bring it
to the far end of an alley so that I could see if he was followed, and then I performed a series of evasions on the two-wheeler before returning here.”
“Did you see anyone at all?” Sula, nerves humming, still couldn’t resist a glance into the street.
“No. No one.”
Artemus has a new posting. The message was printed on the inexpensive thin plastic used for newssheets and other disposable forms of communication, and called for a meeting with Hong at the Grandview apartment the following morning at 11:01.
Hong had never called for a meeting at Sula’s apartment before—he had always preferred a meeting in a public place, usually outside a café, where it might be possible to spot any observers.
Sula touched the plastic sheet to her upper lip. It was perhaps unreasonable to think so, but neither the plastic nor the message smelled like Hong.
She gave Macnamara instructions concerning which piece of equipment he’d need for the next day. Sula’s own preparations had been made when she’d last visited the Grandview apartment. She left Riverside and took a taxi past Greyjean’s window, where the rectangle of white newssheet stood plain to see, confirming Sula’s suspicions that the Naxids had been to visit.
The next morning Spence remained in the Riverside apartment on the theory that a limping engineer would only make the team more conspicuous. Sula and Macnamara took cabs past the Grandview apartment separately on their way to a meeting three streets away. The white newssheet was still in the window. There were some large unmarked vehicles that looked innocent enough, but which might contain police.
Certainly Lord Octavius Hong was not observed lurking on a street corner, or arguing with the concierge.
Sula and Macnamara met at precisely 11:01, then walked toward the Grandview apartment on opposite sides of the street. They could see no light through the apartment windows, and no squads of Naxids in yellow-and-black uniforms lurked in alleyways.
Once the apartment was in sight, both hesitated. Sudden doubt swam in Sula’s mind. Her heart throbbed in her chest. She could be misjudging the whole situation.
The Sundering Page 43
