“’Delighted’ isn’t strong enough but it will suffice,” Osullivan said. “I’m certain that Captain Quacho will concur. I assume,” and he hesitated, “that the KTTS will release the missiles to us.”
“The KTTS will insist on taking part as well, Captain. Their honor needs some restoration.”
“Shall we confer with Captain Quacho?”
“Of course,” said the Rowan, and Osullivan turned to his console to key in the signal.
* * *
Afra joined them sometime after the Rowan, having obtained Quacho’s enthusiastic cooperation and Mrtgrts’s agreement, had relayed the proposal to her husband, who put the matter before the two Alliance commanders. Captain Osullivan had ordered dinner and when Afra appeared, asked for service. First he poured Afra a glass of wine.
“My own special favorite, Mr. Lyon,” the captain said, hoping by his courtesy he managed to convey what he could not express to the Aurigaean T-2.
Afra tasted the wine with due solemnity and a little smile of appreciation.
“Rojer is all right?” the captain asked.
“He’s asleep,” Afra replied, “with Flk and Trp to ease him with good dreams.”
“May I say how heavily this despicable incident rests on my mind?”
“You have in many ways, Captain,” Afra said solemnly, “and we have been aware of each, even if we have not properly thanked you for the depth of your concern. Rojer will recover. He certainly bears you no rancor. Ah,” he said, changing the subject as stewards entered with steaming dishes, redolent with delectable aromas. “I hadn’t realized how hungry I am.”
“You were very considerate to bring in those supplies or, I can assure you, my cook would have been hard put to present you a decent meal.”
“This is a feast,” the Rowan said, holding up her glass for more wine. “Where does this vintage come from?”
“You can’t guess?” Afra asked in polite surprise.
“Then it has to be Capellan,” she said with a mild grimace. “It has always amused me that such a methody planet produces such fine vintages.”
* * *
The next morning Afra and Rojer left for Deneb where Rojer would undergo such ministrations as his great-grandmother, Isthia Raven, thought advisable to ease his mind. The large carrier also left with the ’Dini pairs needing hibernation and the four crew members whom the morale officer had ordered to take furloughs. The Rowan remained aboard the Genesee. She had not discussed the punitive proposal with Afra although she supposed he had picked up references to it from the captain—who was full of the prospect of some action—or any of the elated officers and crew. He said nothing beyond telling her that he would inform Rojer if he felt the knowledge would be therapeutic.
The Rowan also awaited the decision of the High Council, though she had some assurance from Jeff that there was little doubt the proposal would be accepted. It would salve the conservatives that the planet would be left unharmed and placate the militants that all space capability was destroyed.
The decision was affirmative but she would have to await the arrival of Thian Lyon as FT&T replacement and an additional T-1 to assist in the seizure of the refugee ship. Even the Rowan had to admit that the sphere ship had too much mass for her to move, even with the assistance of more gestalt power than Callisto Station ordinarily provided.
If it makes you feel any better, my dear, her husband informed her, the T-2s replacing your good self at Callisto are working their balls off and desperately awaiting your return.
Do ’em good, the Rowan replied smugly.
Does you good, too, m’darling, to find that you cannot, after all, move mountains all by yourself, Jeff teased her.
Ha! Who are you sending?
Let that be a surprise. It’ll cheer you up, I know.
He gave her a phantom hug and an enthusiastic kiss and a figurative pat on the head for the work she had cut out for herself but he didn’t budge on the identity of the third T-1.
I suppose it’s as well that Thian wasn’t here when Prtglm had its brainstorm, she said, knowing she couldn’t tease the information out of him.
Prtglm would have gotten no more help from Thian than he did from Rojer. Less. Thian would have seen the missiles and immediately ’ported out of danger. Possibly even despatched Prtglm back to Clarf with a blistering note about exceeding orders.
He’d’ve been exceeding his if he did, the Rowan replied tartly.
Honey love, you can’t have it both ways.
I can try!
* * *
Until Thian on Squadron A’s ’Dini KLTS had reached a point where he could be ’ported to the Genesee, the Rowan busied herself reviewing the fascinating tapes Rojer had gathered by probe. Before, the Hivers had been featureless creatures in a death-dealing sphere; now they were still featureless—as humans reckoned such matters—but the work ethos, the discipline, the minutiae of daily life in some of the orders of Hiver creatures, were depicted, and at least one of the worlds the Hivers had chosen to populate. The Rowan spent more time than she intended on such records. Then, resolutely, she planned how to destroy the planet’s space-faring capability. The two half-finished ships would be easy to demolish, but the third ship was tightly sealed. Commander Yngocelen pointed out that the weapon ports would do nicely: there were sufficient of them to allow the Talents to penetrate into the ship and then a simple matter to ’port in sufficient explosives to disintegrate it.
Several conferences on the disposition of the refugee sphere decided that dispersing the lethal gas was not an urgent matter. Rojer had suffered no harm in his escape pod and another would handily accommodate the Rowan, Thian and the third T-1 while they surreptitiously eased the refugee ship out of its holding orbit and beyond the range of the ground batteries.
Permission was also given to destroy any pursuit vessels that the Hiver world might launch. The biggest they would have, according to all information the ’Dinis had amassed, would be surface-to-orbit shuttles. The scout vessels might be stored on the closed sphere and blown up along with the ship, but if they were available as deep space pursuit, the Squadron received permission to destroy them, too.
Assuming that there was, indeed, no intercolony communication, this Hiver world could not call for reinforcements which might follow the Squadron’s ion trail. By the time a suitable deep-space vessel could be constructed on this world, any traces would have dissipated.
With plans and material in place, Thian’s arrival was keenly awaited. His grandmother thought he looked a trifle gaunt but she caught a remarkable energy exuding from him, once he recovered from a stunned surprise at finding her on board the Genesee.
“Where’s Rojer then?” he asked, glancing about him, having looked forward to a reunion with his brother. His ’Dinis, Mur and Dip, were also looking about for they had been eager to see Gil and Kat. He was perplexed by the minute shock he read from his grandmother. An indefinable sadness darkened her eyes.
Then, with a nod of greeting to the ’Dinis, the Rowan unexpectedly hooked her arm in her tall grandson’s and walked him from the cargo bay, Thian’s Dinis following discreetly. As they moved slowly in the direction of the captain’s ready room, she told him what had happened. She managed to time her report so that they were within the ready room by the time she had to relate the sacrifice Gil and Kat had made to protect Rojer from Prtglm. She soothed Thian with what mental easing she could while he held his grieving ’Dinis tightly against him. When they had regained some composure, she explained what action was now proposed. Thian had no reservations about what he obviously considered necessary destruction, only determination and an eagerness to assist her in any way possible. She was well pleased with a mental attitude that did not emanate any vengefulness or malicious delight; feelings which she had sensed in some officers and many crew members. She preferred to think of their coming actions as deterrent rather than vindictive.
Know that your father is not of a militant disposition, the Rowan sa
id, honor requiring her to mention the fact.
Dad won’t find me a hardened militant for all my months on board a ’Dini ship but that would not be why I find this course of action justifiable, Grandmother. Until we can communicate with the Hive species…
That we’ll never be able to do, the Rowan said flatly. I know!
But I understood that the captive queen…
Is understood at only a very basic level and on the one or two occasions when a Human has been in her presence, the visitor has been totally ignored, as if the Human didn’t exist. I’m beginning to think that they don’t recognize any species but their own.
Thian gave a wry grin. You sure do hate ’em, don’t you, Grandmother.
No, Thian, I wouldn’t waste such a powerful emotion on them. At the same time, I will not tolerate any depredations when I can prevent them. That’s the distinction which I don’t think your father is willing to appreciate. No matter. By the way, did your grandfather mention the identity of the third Prime?
No, and Thian grinned down at his diminutive grandmother, looking more like a slender young girl in the lavender shipsuit she was wearing. He likes his little surprises, doesn’t he? When he can pull them on you.
The Rowan scowled and then had to break into a laugh because Thian was enough like his father to ignore what Afra had always called her fits and starts.
“Rowan, ma’am,” the ship’s com system began, “please return to the cargo bay for an incoming personnel carrier.”
“Damn,” the Rowan said, spinning on her heel to retrace her steps, “he could have warned me.”
“I’d say he wanted to give you time to brief me, Grandmother,” Thian said, not at all put out.
“Do you have to stick up for him?” she asked irritably.
“As grandfather or Prime?” Thian asked, but he had a sense of eager anticipation. His grandfather was subtly providing a diversion from what had been a large dollop of bad news.
“Never mind,” she said and walked all the faster back to the cargo bay.
They had reached the facility just as the generators lifted briefly and then a shiny new single carrier landed smoothly on the cradle. The ensign on duty shot a glance at the Rowan and Thian, but she nodded for him to lift the hatch.
Oh, am I late, Callisto Prime? was the quick concern of a feminine mind, touching them both.
Thian narrowed his eyes down at his grandmother, who was genuinely surprised. He’d mentioned her to me several times but certainly not for this, the Rowan added before stepping forward to greet the girl nimbly leaving the capsule. She smiled graciously at Ensign Tollert who had offered her assistance.
“T-1 Flavia of Altair requests permission to board.”
“Permission granted,” Tollert replied, grinning broadly.
“A pleasure to meet you, Flavia,” the Rowan said, stepping forward in turn to touch fingers briefly with the girl. Don’t gawk, Thian, she added tightly.
He took two long strides forward as if he had merely given his grandmother precedence. In fact, he had been nearly as stunned as Tollert. Flavia wasn’t beautiful in a classical way, not as Laria or some of his cousins were, but she had large and startlingly vivid green eyes and long straight blonde hair which she wore simply pulled back by green combs from her oval face. Standing next to the too-slender Rowan, she appeared well-fleshed and her pale green shipsuit emphasized a very womanly body.
“Thian of Aurigae,” he said, exerting control not to touch her fingers longer than Talent protocol dictated. Mint/green/rose was her touch.
“I believe Jeff said you are the grandchild of Bastian and Maharanjani,” the Rowan said. “I worked with them, Thian, in the Tower on Altair.”
Flavia nodded briefly with a becomingly reserved smile.
“The duty has been explained to you?”
She nodded again. “It is an honor to work with Callisto Prime for any reason.”
“Humph,” the Rowan said.
Tollert cleared his throat loudly. “Ma’am, the conference is waiting on the Primes.”
“You have a carisak, Flavia?” the Rowan asked and when the girl nodded, Tollert cleared his throat again.
“I’ll take care of that, ma’am. Prime Flavia’s quarters are next to yours.”
“Hmm, that’s as well,” the Rowan remarked obliquely. “We shouldn’t keep this conference waiting any longer than necessary.” We’ll ’port once we reach the corridor, she added and led the way.
“How are your ’Dinis called, Prime Thian?”
“I’m just Thian,” he laughed, disclaiming any title, “and these are Mur and Dip.”
“FLV TRUSTS THAT YOUR DREAMS HAVE BEEN GOOD,” she said in excellent ’Dini.
Score one for the child, the Rowan said privately to her grandson.
And Granddad, Thian said with a sparkle in his eyes as he opened the hatch for the women.
“Do your ’Dinis mind ’portations, Thian?” the Rowan asked.
“Not any more,” he said and closed the hatch behind him.
He clasped Mur and Dip against his legs, nodding to the Rowan that he was ready to ’port. They all did, arriving in the corridor outside the Genesee’s conference room. The Rowan tapped the panel for admittance and a yeowoman smartly opened the door. All within stood at her entry and throughout her introductions of her grandson and Flavia Bastianmajani of Altair.
Thian kept his expression bland as mixed comments reverberated from minds keyed up in anticipation of action. “He’s bigger than Rojer.” “That young slip of a girl’s a Prime?” “Quite a family resemblance to Rojer with that same white lock of hair.” “Wouldn’t mind Priming with her.” “Carries himself well.” “She’s a bit young for this sort of operation, isn’t she?” “So this is the fellow who spent over a year on a ’Dini ship alone! That took guts.” “Why on earth did he bother to save Hive larvae? Sometimes I don’t understand these Talented people.” “Two women and one male barely into manhood to move that mass?” “I wonder will Rojer turn out as well.”
And Thian identified the thinker of that remark as the pretty dark-haired astrogation officer, Anis Langio. There was nothing subtle in his grandfather’s seconding of Flavia to this mission, and she was certainly a lovely young woman, but Thian was not going to settle quite so quickly into the family pattern of an early marriage.
Captain Osullivan formally made Flavia, Thian and his ’Dini companions welcome. Then, with the Rowan on his right side, and Flavia on his left with Thian seated beside her, he opened the official final planning conference. The captain was certainly not in on any of his grandfather’s machinations, but Thian was extremely conscious of Flavia’s proximity, aware of the delicate scent she wore, of the pulse of her very finely tuned and attentive mind. After a year on the KLTS, he had mastered the art of concentration.
“This is, as I’m sure you’re all aware, the first time the Alliance has taken action against a Hive world. You have all seen tapes of the ground-to-air missile attack on the refugee ship but we also know the extent of its range. However, we must not be for a moment lax in vigilance against any unsuspected retaliatory strikes.”
Mrtgrts nodded in verification of that caution.
“As you also know, the Rowan has already ’ported explosives into the assigned positions to destroy the orbiting ships. Heat-seeking missiles are ready in each ship of the Squadron for use in destroying any shuttle craft lifting through the mess they leave in orbit around their planet. Operation Snatch,” and Osullivan grinned, his gaze ending on Flavia’s attentive face, “can begin as soon as our Primes are in position. Once the refugee sphere is out of range of surface missiles, the other ships will be blown. We will then seed additional space mines in case the Hive do still have scout ship capability that has not been detected by Rojer Lyon’s intensive probing.” He nodded briefly at Thian for his brother’s accomplishment. “Are there any questions?”
After a brief pause, Thian raised his hand. “Grandmother, Flavia, may I escort
you to our vehicle so we can get this show on the road?”
“You may be mixing metaphors, Isthian, but if Commander Metrios’s engines are ready to support gestalt…” She turned to Mrtgrts and Captain Quacho. “Are you ready to return to your own ships?”
“Ready indeed, ma’am,” the engineer said, but his last word was spoken to empty air for all five had gone. “I wish they wouldn’t do that!” he murmured, giving a shake.
“Stations, everyone,” Captain Osullivan said, rising. “Red alert!”
* * *
“This must be the captain’s own,” Thian said as the three T-1s made themselves comfortable in the escape pod. “It’s a lot roomier than the last one I was in.”
“For three, yes, it’s roomy enough,” the Rowan said. “Shall we?” and she nodded at both young people.
“Of course,” Flavia said and Thian murmured consent. This would be a brief rehearsal for the longer, harder merge they would have to make.
He’d never worked with his grandmother but he was accustomed to merging with his parents and was very pleased when Flavia deftly slipped in behind him as if she had similar hours of practice.
The Rowan-Thian-Flavia merge did not need to touch the power available to it from the linked generators of the three ships of Squadron B in this initial push. The cargo area to which they were ’porting could have held a hundred escape pods. Merely the slightest bump gave them notice that the pod had settled on its broad base in the Hive ship exactly as planned: close against the hull, facing the direction in which it was to go. They were immediately assailed by the most intense sting-pzzt that emanated from Hive metals, a sensation peculiarly limited to the Talented.
Flavia gave a visible shudder, looking about her, a grimace marring her features. “What is that?”
“I do beg your pardon, Flavia, we should have thought to warn you,” the Rowan said, casting an accusatory glance at Thian. “Talent is susceptible to a resonance from Hive metals.”
Flavia worked her mouth, producing saliva, and shuddered again.
“Unpleasant taste in your mouth, too?” Thian asked helpfully.
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