Victory Conditions by Elizabeth Moon Page A

broadcast somewhere else,” Hugh said. “Have to say, I’m glad you decided to leave, though. Just in case.”
    “Let’s look at the rest of what we pulled off the ansible,” Ky said. “I’m sure the others are.”
    The first, time-stamped only shortly after Turek’s broadcast, were simply comments on it, but down the stack came more disturbing reports. One of Sallyon’s two manned ansible stations had been blown—apparently by local terrorists—with the loss of all its personnel. A second message from Turek made it clear that this was because they had “harbored” ships from Bissonet’s militia, and that he would do worse to anyone who supported an allied force opposing him.
    “They deserve it,” Martin said. “After the way he treated you.”
    “Nobody deserves it,” Ky said, “even when it makes a tidy picture.”
    “Notice this is the second time he’s mentioned an allied force,” Douglas said. “I think he’s realized that potential because you’ve bested his people twice now. If he has agents on Slotter Key—and it would be smart to assume he does—he may know Slotter Key privateers have been ordered to Cascadia. Or agents at intermediate stops or on Cascadia may see a buildup.”
    Cascadia Station
    Despite his conviction that Cascadia Station was safe, Toby had no intention of making Stella angry enough to forbid his going out at all. He told his escort where he was going, and did not object when they fell in behind him. Everyone knew the O’Keefe Ice Cream Palace. Everyone knew it was the place lots of students met in the evenings, just as they knew that ice cream had multiple meanings, not all related to frozen treats. He had been there before, many times.
    Zori would be there at 1945, she’d said. He slid into a booth and ordered his usual, five variations on the theme of chocolate. She didn’t expect him to wait for her; she’d order her own when she arrived. His two escorts watched the chaos with obvious disdain as he ate. He could imagine what they were thinking: kids, noise, silliness, stupidity, possible infractions of the code of courtesy. Gales of laughter from the other side of the room underlined that. Toby craned his neck, trying to see what it was.
    “Not your crowd,” one of his escort said. “Older kids.” His voice carried the same message: Stupid idiots making a disturbance.
    “Zori won’t want to stay here if it’s this noisy,” Toby said. “Her security—” Her parents insisted she have an escort in the evenings, though by day they let her travel alone.
    Something crashed to the floor, just out of sight, sounds of metallic and glass breakage mingling with hoots of laughter and squeals of alarm. One of Toby’s escorts stepped nearer to him; the other looked toward the entrance. One of the employees, an older man, bustled toward Toby.
    “Excuse me—can you help, please? I’ve put in a call for help, but these ruffians—” Another crash, this time with less laughter and more sounds of alarm.
    “We’re on duty,” one of the escorts said. They glanced at each other, then at Toby.
    “I’ll stay here,” Toby said. “Promise.”
    “Do that,” one escort said. “Do not leave this booth…” And they were off, wading into the thickening crowd. The noise level rose.
    “A complimentary drink,” a voice said. “With our thanks—”
    Toby glanced up, started to say “Thanks, but—” and a fine spray tingled on his face. Down a lengthening dark tunnel he saw, very clearly, the tiny face of the man who had sprayed him.
     
    Zori and her escort got to the O’Keefe Ice Cream Palace a few minutes late, thanks to the squad of station peacekeepers blocking the short route there. Zori led the way around, through a narrow passage, and emerged in the wider service passage as the back door opened and three men in white carried someone out on a litter.
    Someone with Toby’s hair, Toby’s face—pale, but—
    “Toby!” Zori said. The men glanced at her,