by David Weber
"I expect to see a written summary of all complaints from the Septentrion's field crews on my desk no later than eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Or an apology to this Board and Isseth-Liada Corporation, whichever you prefer. Is that understood?"
"Oh, yes. Thoroughly understood, sir."
Anzeti's eyes blazed, and Limana had little doubt that the Arpathian's memo would be extremely enlightening. He'd heard enough grapevine rumbles to have him itching to open a formal investigation of Isseth-Liada's practices, but no one to date had found the courage to make a formal complaint. He also knew why the Septentrion had remained silent. Of all Sharona's cultures, the Septs were—by choice—the least technologically sophisticated, which made them the brunt of unpleasant jokes, on one hand, and victims of outright prejudice, on the other.
Unfortunately, all too many septmen had learned that justice sometimes went to the party with the most money and political clout. Limana found that situation intolerable, which was why he'd insisted—forcefully—that a new directorship be established to represent the Septentrion. He wished a bit bitterly that Anzeti had trusted him enough to come forward before this, but at least the man had spoken up at last, which meant Limana could finally act.
Isseth-Liada's corporate officials weren't going to thank Breasal for the outburst of spleen which had provoked Anzeti, and that was another source of considerable pleasure for Orem Limana. Of course, he knew very well that those same corporate officials did nothing without the express permission of Isseth's rulers. That made the whole ball of nails political, as well, and he expected the looming conflict to be a nasty one. But he had, by all the gods, had enough. He was more than ready to tackle Isseth-Liada and its political masters.
"Very well," he said in a more normal tone. "If we're quite finished with that subject, I'll be happy to explain precisely how the Chalgyn Consortium has located so many portals in such a short span of time."
Across the room, Halidar Kinshe sat back with a smile. He, too, had been itching to take Breasal down a peg, if not three or four, and now he watched with great satisfaction as Limana produced charts and maps showing transit routes to the portals Chalgyn had stumbled across. The First Director also produced projected schedules to move the enormous amounts of materials and manpower necessary to build portal forts to properly cover that many portals. Fortunately, the Trans-Temporal Express's rail lines and shipping lanes had already been fully established as far as Salym. In fact, the railhead was most of the way to Fort Salby, in Traisum, by now. That was going to be a huge help with the logistics, but the sheer scale of the project was still daunting. It was going to be the biggest single surge of expansion in the Authority's entire history, and the scramble to pay for it was going to be . . . challenging.
Chalgyn's stockholders didn't know it yet, he thought cheerfully, but they were poised to become fabulously wealthy over the next few years from portal transit fees alone. Everybody was going to want a piece of that cluster. After so many years of picking up other teams' scattered crumbs, Chalgyn had hit the most spectacular paydirt anyone had struck since the very first portal.
Kinshe wasn't financially involved in the consortium, but Chalgyn was a Shurkhali company, which left a warm glow in his heart as he contemplated its achievements. It was like watching the child of his heart and spirit finally prove his worth. Chalgyn had just shot to the very pinnacle of a business dominated by Ternathians and Uromathians from the outset, and the consortium had outmaneuvered companies with far more capital and experience to do it. After centuries in Ternathia's shadow, Shurkhal was finally shining in her own light again, and it was a glorious feeling.
Limana was just getting to the estimated support costs to finance this unexpected surge in construction and staffing needs—expenses that would be repaid through portal use fees until the loans were retired in full—when the boardroom's door opened and Limana's junior assistant beckoned urgently to Chathee Haimas. The junior assistant's face was ashen as she whispered a message, and Haimas turned white. She asked a single question, and the younger woman shook her head, clearly hanging on the ragged edge of bursting into tears.
Haimas closed her eyes for just an instant. Then she turned and crossed directly to Orem Limana.
"First Director, I beg your pardon," she said calmly. "There's an urgent message for you. It's come in from the Voice network." She glanced directly at Kinshe and added, "I believe Director Kinshe should be present when you take the message, sir."
Kinshe's worry turned to ice; Limana merely nodded.
"I'll ask the Board to be patient for a few minutes," he said smoothly. "Perhaps the directors could begin drawing up preliminary plans to meet our projected staffing needs for the new forts. Director Kinshe, if you'll join me in my office?"
"Certainly."
They had no sooner reached the corridor and seen the boardroom door closed behind them than Limana's junior assistant did burst into tears.
"I'm sorry, sir," she choked out. "I wouldn't let the Head Voice interrupt the Board meeting until he told me why, and it's—it's just dreadful. Hurry, please. He's waiting."
Limana's office wasn't very far from the boardroom, so Kinshe didn't have to worry in ignorance for long. The Head Voice was waiting for them, and Kinshe went cold to the bone after one glance at Yaf Umani's face. Umani had been the Portal Authority's senior Voice for just short of forty years, and he was a tough, no-nonsense executive, with one of the strongest telepathic Talents on Sharona. His range had been phenomenal when he was still in the field, and his personnel decisions were legendary, displaying a second Talent, for he invariably chose exactly the right person to fill each job, from the Portal Authority public relations office to field Voices. He tolerated no excuses, he backed down from no one, and he'd been known to terrify sovereign heads of state whose opinions differed from his regarding the proper operation of the inter-universal Voice network.
Which made the fact that Yaf Umani was trembling one of the most frightening things Halidar Kinshe had ever seen.
"What in Kefkin's unholy name has happened?" Limana asked, dashing a liberal amount of whiskey into a tumbler and thrusting it into Umani's unsteady hands.
The Head Voice gulped the liquor in two swallows. His eyes were shocked, haunted by something so dreadful Kinshe knew he didn't want to hear it.
"I'm sorry, sir," Umani said in a voice that was thready and hoarse. "It's—oh, gods . . ." Tears hovered just behind his eyes, and his lips quivered. "I can't—I don't even know how to—"
He stopped, closed his eyes, took several deep breaths. Then he met Limana's gaze almost steadily.
"First Director, I beg leave to report that we're at war, sir."
For just an instant, the office was totally silent. Then—
"What?" Limana actually seized Umani by the shoulders, while Kinshe sucked down a hissing breath. The First Director stared at the Head Voice, shock warring with disbelief, until he abruptly realized he was gripping the older man tightly enough to bruise. He closed his own eyes for a moment, then let go, stepped back, and drew a deep breath as he visibly struggled for control.
"One of our survey crews has been attacked." Umani's words wavered about the edges. "By foreigners. People, I mean, but not like us. Soldiers. Not Sharonian. What they did to our crew—"
His voice choked off, and Kinshe, focused on that last incomplete phrase, found himself speaking through clenched teeth.
"Which crew?"
The Head Voice flinched, and it was Kinshe's turn to seize his shoulder.
"Which crew?"
"Hers." The one-word answer was a whisper.
"How—" Kinshe's voice stumbled on the word, full of rust. Then he forced out the rest of the question. "How badly were they hit? Is Shaylar still alive?"
Umani, already ashen, went so deathly grey that Limana steered him hastily into the nearest chair. When the Head Voice could speak again, he did so flat-voiced, with his eyes closed, as though trying to shut out something too terrible
to look at again even as he relayed what he had Seen through Shaylar's eyes.
"They ran for the portal. They didn't make it—not even close. The soldiers—" He stumbled over the word, drew a ragged breath. "The attackers were back in the trees. Hard to see. Our people took shelter. Ghartoun chan Hagrahyl tried . . ." Umani swallowed. "He tried to talk to them. Stood up without a weapon in his hands—and they shot him. Murdered him in cold blood."
Umani's flattened voice was brittle as glass.
"Our team shot back in self-defense, and they—" He shuddered. "They opened fire with artillery, or something like it. Flame throwers. Huge balls of flame, three or four yards wide and hotter than any Arpathian hell. Crisped—incinerated—everything they touched. Mother Marthea, everything. And something else—something that hurled lightning. Jathmar Nargra—" Umani's voice broke again. "He was burned, horribly burned, right in front of her eyes. He can't have survived. Then something hit Shaylar. I don't know what. I don't know if it just knocked her unconscious, or if it killed her, but we can't get through. We can't. Darcel's tried and tried. . . . "
Tears trickled unheeded down gullies in the man's cheeks which hadn't been there when Kinshe had seen him in the corridor this morning, less than half an hour ago. Kinshe had never seen any Voice so shaken, not even in the midst of the most violent natural disasters.
"She stayed linked," Umani was whispering. "Right to the end. I can't even imagine how she did it. How she stayed linked with Darcel Kinlafia when her entire crew—her own husband—was being blown apart, burned alive, around her. She even burned all her maps, the portal charts leading back to Sharona. That poor, brave child, determined to get the warning out, to protect us at all costs . . .
"I'll have to tell her parents." Kinshe heard his own voice, distantly shocked that it seemed to be speaking without his conscious control, and Limana and Umani turned to stare at him.
"Don't you understand?" he groaned. "We can't let a total stranger tell them. It's my fault she was out there. I'm the one who pushed for it, and—"
"I approved it, Hal," Limana said, cutting him off brusquely. "Don't take the blame for this on yourself. I'm the one who had the final say-so, and it's on my head, if it's on anyone's."
The First Director shook his head, then inhaled sharply.
"We'll come back to Shaylar's parents in a moment, Hal—I promise," he said. "But painful as it is to set that aside, there's far more urgent business in front of us."
Kinshe looked up into Limana's worried gaze, feeling dazed and shaken, and the First Director gripped his shoulder.
"I don't know how bad this is going to turn out to be, Hal. First reports are always the most terrifying ones, but this—" Limana shook his head. "I don't see how this one is going to get any better, especially if—forgive me—especially if it turns out Shaylar is dead."
Kinshe jerked as if he'd been struck, but Limana continued unflinchingly.
"We have to hope it was all some hideous mistake. Gods know there've been enough catastrophic border incidents no one wanted in Sharona's history! If this was a mistake, then maybe—just maybe—we can keep it from spinning completely out of control. But it's happening almost a full week's Voice range from here. We don't have any idea what's happened in the meantime, what local military commanders—on both sides—may have done by now. For all we know, it's already spun out of control, and that means we have to take a worst-case approach."
He held Kinshe's shoulder a moment longer, gazing into his old friend's eyes until the Shurkhali director nodded. Then Limana gave one last, gentle squeeze, folded his hands behind him, and began to pace.
"If Yaf is right—if we are at war—it's a job the Authority isn't designed to handle. We've got portal forts out there, thank all the gods, but they're designed for peacekeeping, not to resist attackers with heavy weapons. Not even attackers with Sharonian heavy weapons, much less whatever these people may have! And the only thing we know about the other side right this minute is that they apparently showed no mercy to our survey crew. Our civilian survey crew."
He looked up from his pacing long enough to see Kinshe nod again, then turned back to the Head Voice.
"I assume the Voices in the transmission chain have put a security lock on this, Yaf?" Umani nodded in confirmation, and Limana grunted. "Good! We can't afford to go public with it, not yet. Not until the families have been told, at least. We . . . might have to make a general announcement, because something this big will get leaked if we don't act fast. We could do the 'Names will be withheld until next of kin have been notified,' standard disaster spiel, but we can't do even that until we've notified the heads of state."
He stopped pacing to lean on his desk, hands splayed flat, spine rigid. Then he nodded in sharp, crisp decision.
"We have to call a Conclave. Now. This afternoon."
"Conclave?" Kinshe's head spun. "The Conclave? No one's called for a Conclave since the Authority was formed!"
"Do you have a better idea?" Limana demanded, raking a hand through his hair, and Kinshe thought about it. He thought hard, then swore under his breath.
"Now that you mention it, no."
"I thought you wouldn't." Limana actually managed a taut parody of a smile. Then his nostrils flared. "We won't have time to assemble the heads of state from every sovereign nation for a face-to-face meeting. It'll have to be over the Emergency Voice Network."
"That's going to leak, First Director," Haimas warned him. "You can't activate the EVN without popping warning flags all over the news media."
"Can't be helped," Limana said, and turned his attention back to Umani. "Head Voice, I'm formally invoking a Conclave. Please activate the EVN to inform all heads of state. Use government-bonded Voices only. First meeting to take place via the Voicenet in—"
He thought rapidly, making mental calculations about time zones, reactions to the message, and the slow grinding of bureaucratic wheels. Then he gave a mental shrug.
"The First meeting will take place in four hours," he said crisply. The other people in the office looked at him, and he snorted. "Yes, I said four hours—three-thirty, our time. Let 'em piss and scream all they want; it'll get their attention, and that's what I want. Their full, undivided attention."
Yaf Umani drew a deep breath.
"Very well. I'll see to it immediately, sir."
Limana watched him go, then looked up and met Kinshe's gaze.
"That's begun, at least," he said softly. "In the meantime, we need to take some immediate steps of our own. We'll have to put all our portal forts on maximum alert and move PAAF troops toward the contact zone, and we have to get it done as quickly as possible. I can order all of that on my authority as First Director, then let the Conclave worry about what to do next."
Kinshe nodded, and Limana inhaled deeply.
"We won't be able to sit on this for long, Halidar. It's going to go public—quickly. But you can reach Shaylar's family by nightfall if you use the ETS. I'll authorize the transfer."
"Yes." Kinshe nodded, still fighting the feeling of stunned disbelief, compounded now by the shock of being given access to the ETS. "Yes, of course that's the fastest solution. I should have thought of it." He managed a wan smile. "It never even occurred to me. Probably because I've never been high enough on anyone's priority list to get clearance to use it."
The Emergency Transportation System was normally reserved for the use of heads of state and diplomats on time-critical missions. The ETS consisted of an interlocked matrix of teleportation platforms, located in the capitals of most of Sharona's nation states. The platforms themselves were restricted to a size of not more than eight square feet, and a maximum load no more than six or seven hundred pounds, and the telekinetic Talent required to power the system was rare. It could also lead to potentially fatal health consequences for those who possessed it, if it was overstrained, so the system was used only very sparingly.
And I was never important enough to use it . . . until now, Kinshe thought
grimly, wishing with all his heart that the opportunity to experience it had never come his way. He dragged both hands through his hair, just trying to face it. Mother Marthea, how did a man tell loving parents something like this about their child?
"I'll red-flag your priority," Limana continued, and glanced at Haimas. "Chathee, I need you to take charge of this. As soon as Yaf's alerted the EVN, have him contact King Fyysel's personal Voice directly. Tell him Halidar's going to need a special locomotive and car. And tell him why—Fyysel may want to send someone with him."
Knowing his king, Kinshe could guarantee that there would be someone accompanying him. Several someones. King Fyysel was given to flamboyance, even when the occasion was trivial, which this one certainly wasn't. At least the railway lines ran all the way from the capital to the Cetacean Institute. They wouldn't have to drive overland by carriage—or worse, by dune-treader.
"Also tell King Fyysel's voice I strongly recommend that he order the lines cleared the whole damned way from the capital to the Institute," Limana continued to his assistant. "I can keep a lid on this only so long, and the clock's already ticking. And ask Yaf to choose a senior Voice to go with Halidar, so he can join the Conclave en route."