thinking.
Let’s do a little brainstorming, gentlemen. Along the lines
of turning our liabilities into assets.”
Jones suggested, “Regarding the Four slash Six paradox.
The right leak of the right info at the right time at the right
place might give Luna Command a public opinion base that would make
the kill a matter of popular demand. There are some real pros in
the Public Information
Office. They’ve done a hell of a job creating a climate of
trepidation with hints about trouble in the March. Suppose they let
a little truth wriggle out now? Just enough so people start asking
what kind of horror we’re covering up by giving our friends
from Ulant a bad press. There isn’t anything the public
won’t swallow quicker than a good conspiracy theory.
Especially a cover-up conspiracy.”
Beckhart chuckled. “What is this? Two brains working in
one room? At the same time? Gentlemen, that’s a first. So.
We’ve got a couple of things to work on. Will they let us
orchestrate the show?”
“Why don’t we just do it? It wouldn’t be the
first time.”
“But it could be the last. We’ve reached a
crossroads. We—and I mean everybody in Luna Command—are
going to have to fine-tune the Luna Command machine. It won’t
have the internal tolerance for playing games with each other. We
don’t have much time to get ready for this centerward race . . . That plan is simple. We’re going to hit them first, hit
them hard, and keep hitting them with everything we’ve
got.”
“The way Ulant did us?”
“Exactly. The Prime Defender’s General Staff is
doing the planning, based on their intelligence. She’ll
modify it daily, keeping as close to the realtime situation as she
can. We come up with something, it’ll be programed in. If the
centerward crowd do something unexpected, that’ll go in too.
They’ve sent out a whole fleet of self-destruct equipped,
instelled scout ships to keep track of what’s
happening.”
“Sir, that strategy didn’t work for Ulant
before.”
“It may not work this time, but it’s the best shot
we’ve got. Ulant’s intelligence analyses paint a pretty
grim picture. The numbers . . . You’ll
see the tapes. While you’re watching, remember that
you’re only seeing one battle fleet. Ulant has identified
another four. They just seem to skip from star to star behind a
swarm of scouts, coming out the Arm, scouring every inhabited world
of any sentient life.” The comm hummed. Beckhart stabbed it
with one finger. “Beckhart. Yes, sir.”
The sound was uni-directional, the picture flat-faced
television. The others could not hear, nor could they identify the
caller. After listening awhile, Beckhart said, “Very well,
sir,” in an unhappy tone. He punched out.
“That was the C.S.N.. They’ve decided to go with
Four slash Six. But they’re not going to let us run it. He
said they’ll use von Drachau, but R and D will have
operational control.”
“R and D? What the hell?”
“What have they got going over there? What don’t we
know?”
The comm hummed again. Beckhart answered, said,
“This one’s for you, Charlie.”
Jones sat on the edge of the vast desk, turned the comm his way.
“Go ahead.” In a few seconds his tall, lean, black
frame began quivering with excitement. “Good. All right.
Thank you.”
“Well?” Beckhart growled.
“One of my Electronic Intercept people. They just picked
up a message from the Starfisher Council to Confederation Senate.
Routine request for clearance to hold an ambergris auction. They
asked for The Broken Wings.
Usual rules and mutual obligations. The same request they send
whenever they hold auction on a Confederation world.”
“The Broken Wings is close to Stars’ End. Any other
reason to be excited?”
“Payne’s Fleet is going to sponsor.”
Beckhart stared at his hands for more than a minute. When he
looked up his expression had become beatific. “Gentlemen, the
gods love us after all. Cancel all leaves. Cancel
Let’s do a little brainstorming, gentlemen. Along the lines
of turning our liabilities into assets.”
Jones suggested, “Regarding the Four slash Six paradox.
The right leak of the right info at the right time at the right
place might give Luna Command a public opinion base that would make
the kill a matter of popular demand. There are some real pros in
the Public Information
Office. They’ve done a hell of a job creating a climate of
trepidation with hints about trouble in the March. Suppose they let
a little truth wriggle out now? Just enough so people start asking
what kind of horror we’re covering up by giving our friends
from Ulant a bad press. There isn’t anything the public
won’t swallow quicker than a good conspiracy theory.
Especially a cover-up conspiracy.”
Beckhart chuckled. “What is this? Two brains working in
one room? At the same time? Gentlemen, that’s a first. So.
We’ve got a couple of things to work on. Will they let us
orchestrate the show?”
“Why don’t we just do it? It wouldn’t be the
first time.”
“But it could be the last. We’ve reached a
crossroads. We—and I mean everybody in Luna Command—are
going to have to fine-tune the Luna Command machine. It won’t
have the internal tolerance for playing games with each other. We
don’t have much time to get ready for this centerward race . . . That plan is simple. We’re going to hit them first, hit
them hard, and keep hitting them with everything we’ve
got.”
“The way Ulant did us?”
“Exactly. The Prime Defender’s General Staff is
doing the planning, based on their intelligence. She’ll
modify it daily, keeping as close to the realtime situation as she
can. We come up with something, it’ll be programed in. If the
centerward crowd do something unexpected, that’ll go in too.
They’ve sent out a whole fleet of self-destruct equipped,
instelled scout ships to keep track of what’s
happening.”
“Sir, that strategy didn’t work for Ulant
before.”
“It may not work this time, but it’s the best shot
we’ve got. Ulant’s intelligence analyses paint a pretty
grim picture. The numbers . . . You’ll
see the tapes. While you’re watching, remember that
you’re only seeing one battle fleet. Ulant has identified
another four. They just seem to skip from star to star behind a
swarm of scouts, coming out the Arm, scouring every inhabited world
of any sentient life.” The comm hummed. Beckhart stabbed it
with one finger. “Beckhart. Yes, sir.”
The sound was uni-directional, the picture flat-faced
television. The others could not hear, nor could they identify the
caller. After listening awhile, Beckhart said, “Very well,
sir,” in an unhappy tone. He punched out.
“That was the C.S.N.. They’ve decided to go with
Four slash Six. But they’re not going to let us run it. He
said they’ll use von Drachau, but R and D will have
operational control.”
“R and D? What the hell?”
“What have they got going over there? What don’t we
know?”
The comm hummed again. Beckhart answered, said,
“This one’s for you, Charlie.”
Jones sat on the edge of the vast desk, turned the comm his way.
“Go ahead.” In a few seconds his tall, lean, black
frame began quivering with excitement. “Good. All right.
Thank you.”
“Well?” Beckhart growled.
“One of my Electronic Intercept people. They just picked
up a message from the Starfisher Council to Confederation Senate.
Routine request for clearance to hold an ambergris auction. They
asked for The Broken Wings.
Usual rules and mutual obligations. The same request they send
whenever they hold auction on a Confederation world.”
“The Broken Wings is close to Stars’ End. Any other
reason to be excited?”
“Payne’s Fleet is going to sponsor.”
Beckhart stared at his hands for more than a minute. When he
looked up his expression had become beatific. “Gentlemen, the
gods love us after all. Cancel all leaves. Cancel
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