“You know that,” he continued. “You’ve been here. You’ve seen what they’ve done. Can’t you understand that-” Abruptly he stopped himself. The expression on her face finally made him hear what he was saying.
Slowly he lowered his hands to his side. “I’m sorry, Clarest. I didn’t mean to fly off at you like that.” He reached out, and she placed her hand in his. “It’s my frustration talking – the three years of frustration that brought us to this dilemma sometimes it all just overwhelms me.”
“I understand,” she said softly. “I only want to make sure that you’ve considered all the options.”
“Of course. I know that. And no one understands the options better than you do.” He released her hand and sat back down. “Let’s start over again. Give me all your ideas and all your reservations.”
She sat across the desk from him and leaned back, rotating her head to loosen her neck muscles. “Your plan might work, sir. It certainly would be the last maneuver Sondak might expect from us. But then again, it might not work. And if it doesn’t, you haven’t left yourself any way out. In effect what you’re saying is this: if the attack on Nordeen doesn’t succeed, the war will be conceded to the Saks. That’s what bothers me.”
“But we would continue to fight,” he said vehemently.
“A losing battle. Even if we totally destroyed Nordeen, the Saks wouldn’t quit fighting. They would only be at a severe disadvantage. The same for us, but how long could we hold out against them? Years? Decades? Decades of what? Irregular warfare?” She paused and took a long breath as she shook her head.
“Then what?” she continued. “Would we fight a guerrilla war until we couldn’t beg, borrow, steal, or capture any more fuel, food, and ammunition – not to mention spacecraft? I think we would better serve the U.C.S. by throwing up our defenses here at Gensha than taking a chance on losing everything.”
He understood her logic, but he couldn’t agree with her.
His mind was made up. “No. The best defensive strategy is to mount a strong offensive. We can’t give up now. We have to bend like a triggerpault spring, and then crush them from behind. Let them win at Yakusan and Hiifi-ii – but while they’re doing that, strike at their heart and they’ll be hurt and confused, and their conservatives will slow them down – maybe even stop them.”
Again she shook her head. “Sounds like you’re asking for a terrible sacrifice with little promise of reward at the end,” Melliman said with a sigh. “How can we possibly let Yakusan and Hiifi-ii and maybe even Gensha fall to the Saks?”
Only his determination not to kept Frye from cursing. Melliman was beginning to sound like Marsha had after the battle of Matthews system. But he knew that unlike Marsha, Melliman would support him once the decision had been made. Are those all your reservations?” he asked finally.
Her response was slow in coming. “Yes, sir, I believe they are. There’s nothing more I can add to what I’ve said.”
Frye heard something else in her voice, the barest hint of a whine that sounded like pain and weakness. He quickly chose to ignore it – for the time being. “Very well, AOCO, we will begin ordering the withdrawal of ships to Alexvieux and preparing a battle plan for an attack on Nordeen.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Henley picked up the handful of messages that had accumulated for him over the past few days and filed his latest story for the Flag Report in the Menard’s communications center. He hoped they would publish it before the war was over, because it told about the bravery and courage of the troops in the Three-Seventy-First Legion.
The first message angered him. It was a demand from Headquarters, Fleet Military Guard, ordering him to report to the ranking M.G. officer aboard and provide that officer with all the possible locations he knew about where to find one Krystal R. Kinderman. He’d already told Lieutenant Conlaura everything he knew about Kryki. What more did they want from him?
Reluctantly, he went straight down to the lower decks and knocked on the door of Conlaura’s tiny cabin-office.
“What took you so long?” Conlaura asked with a friendly smile as they exchanged salutes.
“Just picked up my messages, Lieutenant. But I’m afraid I’m not going to be much help to you or your headquarters. I told you everything we knew the last time we did this.”
I’m sure you did, Chief,” Conlaura said, waving him to the bunk hat served as a seat across from her desk. “However, I’d like to go over it with you one more time – just for the sake of the formalities, you understand. Who knows, it might jar something loose that you didn’t remember last time.
Henley smiled at her. “I doubt it, but it can’t hurt to try. As I told you before, if Kryki got off Nordeen, there are hundreds of places he could have gone where he would have been safe. He’s a hero on Biery and a celebrity on Patros and-“
“He hasn’t left Nordeen,” Conlaura said. “H.Q. told me to tell you that. They have evidence that he is still on Nordeen, being hidden by one of the antiwar groups, possibly the Last Signalcrew Society.”
“‘And you don’t need a signalcrew to hear the screaming voices of the people as they’re killed by the ones who made the choices.’”
“Pardon?” Conlaura asked.
“That’s where the society got its name – from one of Kryki’s most famous antiwar poems.” Henley smiled. “You mean you’ve never heard it?”
“Can’t say that I have, Chief.”
“Doesn’t matter. So, your people think he’s still on Nordeen, and you think I might have missed something when we last talked about all this?”
“Correct. Let’s begin by reviewing what you said . . .”
Henley listened as Conlaura read the transcript of their previous conversation, but his attention kept straying back to the Kryki of years before. Henley had always admired Kryki for his willingness to stand straight up for his beliefs, but Henley had to admit that he had never really understood Kryki or felt comfortable close to Kryki’s fanatic obsession with intergalactic brotherhood. Now Henley felt as if they were talking about someone he had never really known at all.
“Excuse me, Lieutenant,” Henley said, suddenly interrupting Conlaura’s recitation, “but if your people think the Last Signalcrew is hiding Kinderman, why don’t they just haul all those people into jail and find out from them where he is?”
Conlaura looked startled for a moment, then laughed. “I wish we could, and I’m sure my superiors wish they could, also, but I guess you haven’t heard about the new legislation.”
“I don’t follow you. What new legislation?”
“The Tri-Cameral and the Combined Committees passed a new series of laws several standard months ago called the Evidentiary Statutes, or Evis Laws, as the public calls them. It is now illegal to arrest anyone without substantial claims of evidence verified by a judge.”
“That’s insane.”
“It’s worse than that. The heart of the Evis Laws reverses the concept of guilty until proven innocent. Now all arrestees must be treated as innocent until proven guilty.”
Henley let out a low whistle. “And the Service is going along with this anarchy?”
“For the time being it is – mainly because the laws do not apply to the Service itself.”
“I should hope not. It’s frightening to imagine the trouble that will cause,” Henley said, yet even as he spoke, he felt a certain attraction to this revolutionary idea. It might be good for Sondak, and it certainly would reduce the suffering of those who would otherwise spend years in jail before finally being declared innocent. Still, his fear of the idea was stronger than his radical attraction to it. He wondered if Ruffendamal had-
“Chief? Are you all right?”
“Yes, of course,” Henley said quickly. “Did we talk about Ruffendamal last time?”
Conlaura leafed quickly through the transcript and held up a single page. “No. He’s not on the list.”
“It’s not a person. Ruffendamal is a place, a private, secret retrea
t for artists and writers and actors and lots of other creative people – and it’s on Nordeen.”
“I never heard of it.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. It’s built around an oasis in the middle of the Musgrav Desert. Tell your headquarters that if Kryki’s not there, he’s probably left Nordeen.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I don’t know, but I am. He’s secretly funneled money into Ruffendamal for years, and that’s where he always went for what he called his rejuvenation periods.”
“I’ll certainly pass the information on, Chief. Now if we can resume the review of your-”
“Not now, Conlaura. I just told you the most important thing I know. You relay that information as fast as you can. Then if your people come up dry, you and I can talk again.”
“Begging your pardon, Chief, but regulations say that-”
“Damn the regulations,” Henley said, rising to his feet “and pass on the information.”
Conlaura rose hesitantly. “You’re sure chief?”
“Do it,” Henley said, giving her a quick salute as he opened the door.
As his junior in rank, she had no choice but to return it. “Very well, Chief, but I hope that doesn’t put both of us in a sling of trouble.”
“It won’t. Just do it.” He left without waiting for her reply. For some reason that wasn’t clear to him yet he felt angry and agitated – and a little guilty – as he began climbing the ladders up toward his cabin.
Why had he been so eager to help the M.G.s find Kryki? Wasn’t that a betrayal of friendship and trust? No, he decided He and Kryki had never been friends. They had only been acquaintances who had admired each other’s work. Kryki had violated whatever trust was involved when he had blown his way out of prison and killed innocent people in the process.
On sudden impulse Henley headed for the troop bays of the Three-Seventy-First Legion where he knew he would find Ingrivia and Denoro. He wanted his mind filled with honorable troopering, not politics and fanaticism.
Denoro greeted him at the door of Delta Company’s bay. “You come to join us for the invasion of Yakusan?” she asked with a grim smile.
His mind was so cluttered it took Henley a moment to react. “I thought the fleet was going to soften them up for a while?”
“So did we, but the colonel just got new orders. The Ukes are breakin’ up, and we’re going in.”
“How soon?”
“Eighty hours till mothership departure. You comin’?”
“Yes,” Henley said without hesitation. “If you’ve got room for me, I’m wouldn’t miss it for anything.” A cold chill snaked along his spine, and he knew he was going to hate it again when the fighting started, but he couldn’t imagine himself anyplace else.
◊ ◊ ◊
Season after season Leri had asked the Confidante to explain what it knew about the Verfen, and to tell her why she should go into space and leave her beloved Cloise behind. Season after season her Confidante had answered her questions with questions of its own that only made her angry. When Weecs came again to ask for her response, she chased him away with unexpected fury.
She returned to the Confidante, but finally Leri’s anger boiled away the last of her patience. “You said you had answers!” she screamed. “Why won’t you tell me? Why?”
“Do you need answers for your well-being?” the Confidante asked.
“I need them for my sanity.”
“Will you listen with an open heart to all I have to say before you respond?”
“Yes, of course I will listen. I always listen to you. It’s you who doesn’t listen to me.”
“Will you open your heart, daughter of Cloise, to what I have to say? Can you accept the truth when it will be strange to you? Can you believe that soon all will be well when you and I journey to greet those who are called the Verfen?”’
“Yes – uh, us? Together? You and me?” Leri was as startled as she was confused.
“Can you understand that those who come, who are called the Verfen, are flesh of my flesh and shell of my shell?”
Leri opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The Confidante a Verfen? Her Confidante? Is that how it knew-? Is that what it meant by-? Even the questions wouldn’t form properly in her mind. What was happening to her?
“Do you doubt that I asked for you to accompany me, Leri Gish Geril? Are you disturbed by this information? Would you deny me? Would you deprive me of my need for you in this joyous hour?
Leri swallowed twice, three times, before she could force the words out of her mouth. “I do not understand and I am afraid,” she said slowly. “Are we to go together to join your sister Verfen? Is that what you ask of me?”
“Did you not ask to live with me for the rest of your life?”
“I did.”
”Would you deny my need for you?”
“I did not know – do not understand your need.”
Do not you and your people need the Isthians as they need you? Why, then, can you not understand my need?”
Leri sighed deeply. “There is much about you I do not understand,” she said, “but I accept your need.”
“Then if you and I and two Isthians journey to join those who have come for me, can we not be four in person but one in commitment for the rest of our lives?”
It was all too overwhelming. “Yes,” she said in a shaky voice. Leri had no way of knowing what might happen to her but as she spoke she suddenly felt warm and secure.
Then the vision returned and filled her mind, the terrifying vision of yawning jaws waiting to swallow her whole. Her eyes saw nothing else. Her heart pounded in fear. She wanted to scream, to beg, to plead for release, but the vision overcame her, and she fell headlong into darkness.
◊ ◊ ◊
Quarter-Admiral Hew Rochmon sat dejectedly outside the Joint Chiefs’ meeting room. From a military point of view he should have been one of the happiest people in the Service. With the Ukes’s Q-3 Code broken, his Cryptography staff was providing the Joint Chiefs and the tactical commanders in space with a steady stream of useful information. In addition he had implemented his plan for sending false information to confuse the Ukes, and it was working brilliantly, almost as though Charltos were gone and they were facing some lesser commander.
Now the Joint Chiefs were about to award him the Medal of Legions, an honor almost always reserved for combat commanders. But Hew Rochmon was anything but happy. He was tired in body and spirit and depressed by his personal life.
Why? he wondered. Why had Mica so unequivocally rejected his proposal? Was it because of Stanmorton? Or was it because she truly found him unworthy of her love?
That had to be the answer. She knew about him. She knew how limited he was, how reluctant to totally commit his emotions. She knew, but she didn’t understand. How could she? Even he didn’t understand what made him this way.
All he wanted was for her to love him. To love him so that he could recapture his own ability to love. Was that too much to ask of her? Was that so wrong? Did she think she would find something stronger than that, something more romantic? He shrugged his shoulders. It didn’t matter. Not now. He had already decided that he would leave the Service as soon as the war was over. He had some credits saved – enough to leave Nordeen and set up a new life somewhere else. There were other women out there who would welcome his attentions, who would give him the kind of-
Shouts and scuffling interrupted his thoughts. He looked up in time to see a strange bearded man wearing a purple and-red striped long coat running down the hall toward him pursued by several M.G.s. Behind them there were many other people fighting in the hall.
Without thinking, Rochmon jumped out of his chair and ran toward the man. Something rang loudly in his ears and slammed against his chest.
“Stop!” he shouted as he spun and fell backward. “Stop,” he gurgled again as the man leaped over him.
Rochmon rolled to his right and tried to stand. Dark waves of pain t
ore through his chest and his mind as he reached his knees. He looked up as the madman burst through the double doors into the Joint Chiefs’ meeting room.
“For peace and brotherhood!” the man shouted.
Seconds later an explosion blew the doors back and threw Rochmon to the floor. Chunks of debris rained down upon him. Dust clogged his nose and throat. He fought to breathe, then to move. Screams and shouts filled the air.
Another explosion rumbled in the distance. The floor underneath him vibrated violently. His mind threatened to close down, but Rochmon fought for consciousness.
Close by he heard groans of pain. Again he tried to get himself up on his knees. His arms and legs trembled. His chest screamed out in pain. He ended up sitting dazedly on the floor, staring into the shattered remains of the meeting room.
He saw bodies and gore and a strange piece of purple-and red striped material draped over a pair of unattached legs. For a moment he didn’t understand what it meant. Then he remembered the madman and slumped into unconsciousness.
Rochmon awoke to the sight of a medic and a Guard Officer who immediately began questioning him about what had happened. He didn’t stay awake long, but every time he awoke, someone was there to question him, forcing Rochmon to remember bits and pieces of the events.
That’s how he got his information, in bits and pieces. Stonefield was dead. Avitor Hilldill was dead. They wouldn’t tell him about Admiral Eresser for a few days until they finally said she was recovering. General McLaughlin and Admiral Lindshaw had been out of the room when the bomb went off, and both were uninjured.
The bomber had been some famous poet named Kickerman, or something like that. No one seemed to know why Kickerman did it, and Rochmon didn’t care.
The doctors said it would take several months for Rochmon’s wounds to heal, and that was just fine with him. Someone else could collect his medal and finish the war in his place. The only thing Hew Rochmon wanted was sleep without dreams and some peace within himself.
Double Spiral War Trilogy Page 80