by David Weber
"Who?" Kavilkan demanded, then answered his own question. "Gortho Sandrick," he said, naming the man Perthis had already chosen, and switched his forceful gaze back to Bolsh. "He's in your division, isn't he, Tarlin? Wasn't Gortho a survey crew chief before he joined SUNN?"
"For twelve years," Bolsh agreed with a nod. "Before he broke both legs so badly in that landslide and had to retire."
Kavilkan grunted in acknowledgment, his eyes scanning Perthis' copy.
"Yes," he muttered under his breath. "Good job, Davir." He handed back the sheet. "Put Grandma Sholli on to conduct the interview with Gortho. This story needs a woman's touch, and Sholli brings out the best in human interest elements. She's everyone's favorite grandmother. And use Nithan Dursh to anchor the main voicecast. He's got the physical presence it takes to keep people calm."
"As calm as we can keep people, with news like that to report," Bolsh growled, and Kavilkan swore.
"The last thing Sharona needs is a bunch of damned fools running around in a state of total terror. We've got to minimize panic as best we can, and Nithan's our best bet." He ran a hand through iron-gray hair. "Gods and thunders, who the fuck did we run into out there? Well, don't stand there trying to answer a question nobody can answer yet. Move it! And Davir?"
"Sir?"
"Damned good work. Tarlin, I'll want banner headlines on every newspaper SUNN prints. Go ahead and start setting that up now?we're not going to be able to get a special edition out before three, anyway, so we might as well get to it now. But tell everyone, down to the typesetters, that if anyone leaks a single word of this before I personally say to, he?or she?will never work in this business again."
"Understood," Bolsh said. And, like everyone else, he knew Jali Kavilkan wasn't given to hyperbole when it came to things like this.
"Drag as much information as we can out of the Authority. Use smart speculation on what they don't have?or won't give us?but make damned sure we distinguish clearly between official information and speculation. And, while you're doing that?"
Perthis didn't stay to hear the rest of Kavilkan's instructions to Bolsh. His job was the Voicenet well, not newsprint, and he had one hell of a job on his hands.
He rushed across the dumbfounded secretary's office without so much as glancing at her. He'd spent forty-three years in the news business. In that time, nothing?not even the Juhali eruption?had even approached this one in sheer magnitude. He was already spinning out follow-up voicecast ideas as he ran through SUNN's hallowed corridors, planning which SUNN Voices to put at the disposal of reporters in imperial and national capitals to cover the political repercussions this was bound to have.
Under other circumstances, Perthis would have felt euphoric over the scoop they were about to grab. Instead, his mind ran in frantic circles, wondering?as Kavilkan had?just what it was they'd run into "out there." Not to mention how nasty the other side intended to get. Perthis wasn't accustomed to the hollow feeling in his stomach, a disquieting sensation that he finally identified as fear. Stark, raw, ugly fear. Fear of the unknown, of a human civilization that shouldn't even exist. He wasn't used to feeling fear, and he didn't like it. In fact, he hated it.
He vastly preferred the outrage simmering around the edges of that fear. Outrage that anyone would dare to attack Sharonians. Fury that marauding soldiers had slaughtered Sharonian civilians without a shred of pity or human decency. Such monstrously uncivilized behavior deserved nothing but the most hardfisted military response. Sharona needed to throw their violence right back into their teeth. He bared his own teeth, and his eyes were hard. Rage was an ugly emotion, but it was far better than fear or terror. People needed to demand justice and reprisals, not to cower in stunned panic like a pack of quaking rabbits.
He grimaced at the thought. He knew politicians. Knew them well enough to predict political disaster. He couldn't believe the governments of the world would voluntarily set aside their squabbles and do what had to be done. The Portal Authority's First Director was determined enough, but the Authority couldn't handle a crisis of this magnitude. It didn't have the authority it would need to commandeer men and supplies from every corner of the globe, every universe they currently possessed.
Sharona needed a world government?a strong world government. One headed by someone with the experience to run a massive group of diverse people. Someone with a tradition of strong military leadership, yet with an equally strong and unshakable tradition of justice. There was only one name on Davir Perthis' short mental list of people qualified for that job. But there were two names topping his list of people who would want that job?and one of them couldn't be trusted with a child's milk money, let alone the reins of world power.
They'll be coming to Tajvana, he told himself. They'll hash it out amongst themselves, what to do with the crisis, what to do about who makes the decisions when decisions have to be made fast.
Tajvana was the logical location for such a meeting. Almost all the international?and interdimensional?organizations were headquartered there, not to mention the Portal Authority itself, and Tajvana had the infrastructure to handle a gathering of that size. And it carried the enormous weight of precedence, as well. What other city had ever been the capital of an empire that had covered or colonized two-thirds of the world?
And when they came to Tajvana, they would give Davir Perthis his golden opportunity.
It was time to rouse the public to action, to hit the world's leaders with a deluge of demands for prompt, forceful action and strong, unimpeachably honest world leadership, and a cold smile touched his mouth, displacing the grim set of his lips. As a SUNN division chief, he had the power to make the public issue those demands, without people even realizing he'd done it. Savvy SUNN executives had used that power time and again over the decades. Perthis fully intended to use it, as well?and for a far greater and far better cause than it had ever been used before.
Then he turned the final corner and he was back in his own domain, bellowing for his staff. People scurried like ants, and he flung himself into the comfortable chair behind his own desk and started jotting down hasty, time-critical notes while other people came running toward his office.
His pen moved with furious speed as he focused his mind totally on the project in hand … and very carefully didn't think about his sister's only son, who was on a survey crew somewhere "out there."
Traveling by ETS was unnerving.
One moment, Halidar Kinshe was looking at the console where the ETS Porter sat, eyes closed in fierce concentration as she prepared to teleport them from Tajvana to the ETS station in Sethdona, fourteen hundred-odd miles away. And then there was a moment of overwhelming dizziness, wrenching nausea, and an indescribable sensation?as if he'd slipped between the empty spaces between one thought and the next.
And then he was swaying, dizzy and shaken, on another platform, blinking into the eyes of a totally different person.
"No, don't try to take a step just yet," the young man said as he balanced Kinshe carefully on his unsteady feet. "Wait until your equilibrium returns. Your inner ear still thinks it's in Tajvana."
Kinshe didn't feel quite so bad when he saw Samari Wilkon. The big, strapping Faltharian Voice was almost a foot taller than Kinshe, and he looked decidedly grey-faced as he leaned heavily on another attendant's shoulder.
"That was, ah, very odd," Kinshe managed as he finally began to regain his balance and his breath, and the attendant propping him up smiled.
"That's what most of them say, sir," the young man assured him.
"And the ones who don't?"
"Are usually on their knees, too busy throwing up and cursing to say anything." The attendant's smile turned into a grin, and Kinshe surprised himself with a genuine chuckle.
"Ready to try a few steps now?" the younger man asked, and he nodded. The attendant guided him carefully off the platform and down to the floor. His knees felt rubbery, but they still worked. By the time they'd reached the other side of the room, he felt almost
normal again, and Wilkon was right behind him, looking sheepish.
"Your wife is waiting in the lobby, Mr. Kinshe, and there's a carriage waiting for you, as well, just outside," the young man said, finally letting go of him to see if he really could take a few steps on his own. He could. In fact, by the time he reached the door, he was actually convinced he could walk out of the ETS station unaided.
"Thank you very much," he said, gripping the attendant's hand in thanks. "I wish I could tell you why it was so urgent."
"These teleports usually are, sir," the young man said with a smile.
Kinshe nodded, but his answering smile was more than a little forced. This pleasant youngster would be finding out soon enough, he thought grimly, and when he did, he would no longer be smiling, either.
"Ready, Samari?" he asked, turning to see if the Voice had recovered.
"Yes, sir," the towering Faltharian nodded. "Let's get this over with, sir. We may have time to get there first, yet."
Kinshe nodded, opened the door, and strode briskly through it into the station lobby. His wife, Alimar, was waiting for him there, her expression anxious. Alimar had decided not to accompany him to Tajvana this trip because her caseload was always so heavy this time of year. With the schools in session, Healers?even relatively minor Talents like his wife?were in high demand.
Alimar wasn't as skilled or powerful, in a purely physical sense, as some of the truly outstanding telepathic Healers. But she had an adept way with the normal bumps and scrapes that school children managed to acquire a playground, and her sensitivity to emotional nuances made her exceptionally valuable working with children, who were seldom able to fully articulate their feelings. He'd sent word ahead by Voice, asking her to accompany him today, and warning her that her particular ability to soothe and comfort would be needed before this day was over.
She just didn't know how desperately it would be needed … or why.
He pulled her close and held her for a long moment, and his embrace tightened as images of destruction and devastation flickered through his mind. The thought of some rapacious horde of barbarians rushing through the portal in Tathawir and the spreading out across the face the world in a ravening mass, killing and maiming everyone within reach, filled him with a sudden, icy fear that was all too real?and personal?as he felt his wife in his arms.
"What is it, Hal?" she asked in a frightened voice as she tasted his emotions, if not their cause, through her Talent.
"Not here, love," he murmured. "Only when we're alone."
She bit her lip, but nodded. She'd long since been forced to accept that his work in both the Portal Authority and the Shurkhali Parliament meant there would be things to which he was privy that he literally could not share with her. Not without violating his responsibilities to Shurkhal's independence.
But that, too, was about to change, Kinshe thought grimly. Unless he very much missed his guess, Shurkhal would no longer be an independent nation, once the dust settled and their world got down to the serious business of meeting this threat. But he couldn't say that, either, so he guided his wife across the lobby?and faltered to a halt.
Crown Prince Danith Fyysel was standing beside the door.
"Your Highness?" Kinshe said in surprise.
"My father felt it appropriate that I go with you, sir," Danith said, and Kinshe drew a deep breath, then nodded.
"Thank you, Your Highness." He managed to smile. "I was afraid your father would insist on sending a whole retinue us."
The Crown Prince's smile was fleeting?not surprisingly, given the grim business which had brought them both here?but it warmed his eyes for a moment.
"I talked him out of it," he said. "The Ambassador will be distressed enough, as it is, without having to cope with a whole roomful of royal retainers fluttering uselessly about."
"Thank you," Kinshe repeated with another nod, then inhaled deeply. "I'm told there's a carriage waiting?"
"Indeed. And an express train, as well, at Fyysel Station."
Alimar Kinshe's eyes had widened in deep surprise at sight of the Crown Prince, and they'd grown still wider while Danith and her husband spoke.
"What is??" she began, then closed her lips again, blushing painfully. "Sorry. I won't ask again."
"Let's get into that carriage," Kinshe said. "Once we're on the train, I'll fill you in. Both of you."
The Crown Prince inclined his head gravely and led the way outside. There was, indeed a carriage?one of the royal coaches, no less, with a section of ten Household Cavalry waiting as escort.
"I've arranged to bring it with us on a special car," he told Kinshe as they approached it, then paused as a footman opened the door. "No, Mrs. Kinshe. After you," he said as Alimar hesitated, waiting for the prince to enter first, as custom decreed. "I insist."
"Thank you," she murmured, and Kinshe handed her up.
The prince entered the coach next, then Kinshe climbed in, and Wilkon followed last. The moment the footman had closed the door, the coachman clucked to the horses. The beautifully matched team of four grays responded instantly, and the footman scrambled up onto the boot as they sprang into motion, accompanied by the cavalry escort.
The Sethdona ETS station was logically located, in the heart of the capital city between the Royal Palace and the Parliament building. That placed it relatively close to the train station, as well, and traffic was thankfully light at this time of day. The journey was a short one, and when they reached the station, the carriage turned down a special drive reserved for conveyances that were to be shipped overland.
The commander of the mounted escort had obviously been briefed ahead of time, and they proceeded directly to the correct track, where the carriage paused alongside a private passenger car which bore the royal coat of arms on both sides. Three more cars were coupled behind it. One was the special car for the carriage Danith had referred to, while the other two were standard-looking passenger cars. The first of them was obviously for the use of the Crown Prince's security escort, and Kinshe suspected that the other contained a hastily assembled support staff.
The footman opened the carriage door, and Kinshe led the way out at the prince's gesture. He assisted Alimar down the steps, then stood waiting until Danith had joined them. As the Crown Prince led the way towards the royal passenger car, Kinshe found himself gazing at the quietly panting locomotive in something very like awe.
"It's one of the TTE's new Paladins," Crown Prince Danith said quietly. Kinshe glanced back at him, and the young man gave him a true aficionado's smile.
"I'm afraid I'm not as well informed about locomotives as you, Your Highness," Kinshe admitted. "First Director Limana is a huge fan, but I've been more involved with personnel administration than the Authority's freight divisions."
"Actually, the Paladin's a bit too much engine for our purposes, but it was the best compromise available in a short time frame."
"Too much engine, Your Highness?"
"For four cars?" Danith chuckled, and waved one graceful hand at the maroon-and-black painted, steam-breathing behemoth. "This is a 4-10-4, Halidar. Eighty-inch drivers and something like six thousand horsepower. On reasonably flat ground?which describes a lot of Shurkhal, when you think about it?a Paladin is capable of sustained speeds well above a hundred miles an hour with complete passenger trains! Assuming, of course, that the rails are up to it."
Kinshe blinked. That did sound a tad excessive for a mere four cars.
"Father told the line supervisors speed was of the utmost importance," the Crown Prince continued more soberly. "There's not a locomotive on Sharona that will get us there more rapidly than this one."
Kinshe's jaw muscles knotted at the reminder of why they were here, and he nodded. Then they were climbing up into the plushest train car he'd ever seen. Attentive rail stewards showed them to their seats and offered refreshment while the carriage and team, along with the escort's horses, were rapidly loaded. Within ten minutes, the mighty Paladin gave a deep-throated "chu
ff" of steam, and the special train began to move.
They maintained a decorous speed through the city, but they began to speed up as soon as they reached the open desert. The acceleration was smooth, yet as he watched the eastbound rails and ties of the double-track blur beside them, Kinshe realized that the Crown Prince's speed estimate had been completely serious.
It was an astonishing and exhilarating sensation to move at such speed, and he was reluctant to pull his attention back to the business at hand. Partly, he knew, that was a form of cowardice. He didn't want to think about it, but Alimar needed to know why they were racing through the desert at such enormous speed.
So he told her.
"They did what?" His wife, normally a gentle and loving soul, stared at him with eyes of naked fury. "They butchered an innocent girl? What kind of monsters are these people? They must be punished! Tracked down like jackals and punished!"
"Yes." Kinshe nodded, his expression grim. "They must be?and they will. In fact, they may very well already have been. Don't forget, our information is a week old. A column has already been dispatched to confirm what happened and rescue any of our people who may have survived, and I imagine they've made contact with the other side by now … one way or another. But you have my word, Alimar; the people who could perpetrate this kind of atrocity won't escape justice."
As he spoke, he met Crown Prince Danith's eyes. The heir to the throne had not yet married, but he had sisters. The look that passed between them was a vow made in Shurkhal the blood-debt honor: not another Shurkhali woman would die. Not one.
Kinshe couldn't help wondering what King Fyysel's ultimate vote in Conclave was going to be. The parliamentary representative knew the Crown Prince shared many of his own political convictions, but if Sharona ended up voting in a world government, Danith Fyysel would lose his opportunity to wear a crown.
