Lisa had those same fears for the Praxians, and other problems besides. Without the firing of a single shot, the Sentinels' war had been brought to a shuddering halt. The Praxians weren't likely to budge until they had some idea what had happened to their people, but at the same time, each hour used up by delay gave the enemy a chance to regroup and redeploy.
She couldn't afford to spend much time there if it would be to no advantage.
It was at such times that Lisa wished dearly that the Farrago's bridge was small, like the SDFs'. She longed to sit in the command chair she had installed, as Henry Gloval was wont to do on his bridge, perhaps with a uniform cap visor pulled down over her eyes, and try to mull her way out of her current fix.
But she didn't have that luxury, and every hour was a precious resource she couldn't replace.
The senior Sentinel leaders, Baldan and Veidt and the rest, wanted to confer about what to do next-even though Bela and most of the other Praxians refused to even leave the surface of their planet and return to the flagship.
Lisa exercised her authority as captain and, at this stage of things, de facto overall commander.
She got Vince Grant on the horn.
If the Praxians won't come to Mohammed…she thought.
"We're going to make one low pass with the flagship and drop the GMU; GMU will begin an intense study of the situation on Praxis and attempt to reach some logical conclusion while I convene a full meeting of the principal Sentinels. Give me a shopping list, Vince; what will you need?"
Most of what he needed was already aboard the Ground Mobile Unit; the rest of it was quickly transferred. It was also becoming obvious that there were no hostile forces or booby traps on Praxis; for that reason she began to fear for the flagship's safety. Lisa ordered that a minimal force of VTs and Hovertanks be assigned to ground duty, but that most surface security would be the job of a small detachment from the remaining Destroids. All but a few of the Skulls would be pulled back to protect Farrago.
She had a sudden thought as she was about to conclude the call, and said, "Vince, there's one more thing that might come in handy. Tell Jean to make sure she's got her Invid lie detector; I'm going to have Tesla transferred to the GMU."
The architecture of the Praxians seemed like a cross between classical Japanese and Dark Ages Nordic. They used mostly woods and rough-cut stone, and somehow there was the impression that they were used to structures catching fire or crashing down in a quake, and had come to accept it-didn't feel they had to build for posterity.
They also tended to fortify places, even though the last of their generations-long feud-wars-epic bloodbaths of tremendous strife and cruelty and valorous deeds-ended centuries before.
But the fortifications were at lower levels, and the higher stories of the amazons' structures could be opened to the air, with mosaic walls or panels of inlaid wood that moved aside or could be lifted.
The local castle at the GMU landing site was the summer palace of the planet's elected ruler.
Bela showed some hesitation, in the spacious throne room; then, as senior warrior of her people, she took her place by the foot of the throne. She did not sit down, however.
Other Sentinels had gathered there among the huge ancestral images and holy statuary. This high up, one could see the green, restless bay filling the vista to one side and gray mountains with blue-white caps of snow to the other.
According to Praxian custom, all the war mecha had been stilled, shut down, so that peace and quiet would reign. Even the GMU was powered down, its Protoculture engines inert.
Jack Baker, there as an observer and Wolff's aide, watched Bela falter as she called the meeting to order. She's really just a kind of ranger, a backwoods cop, he thought, thrust into the spotlight by events. For once, he figured, events had picked the right person.
Bela's confidence grew quickly, especially with Gnea and the other Praxian women there to back her up. Halidarre was standing to one side, stamping just a bit and snorting from time to time, acting more and more like a real animal with each day she served Bela.
Bela threw the first pitch without a windup. "I'm not as good at coming around sideways to things as are the diplomats," she allowed. "I know a lot of you want to go on to the next front in this war.
In some ways I don't blame you, because there are no enemies to fight here. But the women of Praxis aren't about to leave until we've tried our best to find out what happened to our people.
"If you can't wait for us, we wish you well. But something's happened on our planet that we have to puzzle out before we're ready to make our next move." She said it in a way that brooked no contradiction.
That left everybody silent and thoughtful, including the senior Sentinels. Karen grudgingly reflected that the Southern Cross Advanced Leadership Program could have learned a thing or two from Bela.
But it was Burak who stepped out of the crowd, out onto the richly polished red hardwood floor of the throne room. "My heart goes out to my sisters from Praxis," he said. "But the question is, Do theirs go out to the rest of us? It's time to make rational decisions.
"We sought mecha on Karbarra but came away from there with a grievous net loss. We sought new recruits on Praxis but find an untenanted world. When will the leaders of this campaign see the obvious? There are no fighters on Haydon, no war machines on Geruda! Peryton, Peryton is the key here! Let us bypass this and other worlds that cannot advance our cause, and free Peryton from its curse! Then we'll have legions!"
Rick, listening, wasn't sure what had changed in Burak, but something was giving him a new and more penetrating gaze, a ringing note to his voice, a larger-than-life aspect to his gestures. It was as if Burak had come into a sense of personal destiny. Rick had seen that sort of thing before, and the memories didn't make him feel comfortable.
Veidt somehow made a sound like the clearing of a throat, even though he had no mouth with which to speak. "Burak, I've already told you in private why I think it is essential to let Peryton wait until our forces have grown-why I think it is suicide for the Sentinels to try to address themselves to your planet now. The difficulties involved are-"
Burak interrupted, slashing the air with his horns. "I've heard that too often, and too easily, from you! And I say this to the Sentinels: you care so little for Peryton? So be it! The Farrago comes apart even more easily than she went together! And the module that is my ship is mine to do with as I please; that was our compact.
"So then, bid me farewell; for today, this very hour, Burak of Peryton leaves, to pursue his own quest and bring salvation to his world, whether you are with me and my people or not!"
There were mutterings, and a dozen voices were raised to try to mollify him, but Burak was having none of it. The few other Perytonians there, stone-faced, fell in behind him and trooped toward the exit.
Lisa jumped as her wrist communicator beeped piercingly for her attention. All over the throne room it was the same, distress calls reaching Sentinels in a variety of ways.
"Farrago under attack by large Invid force," was all most of them heard. Then the transmissions stopped.
It was his hour, the beginning of a new age; the Regent resolved to decree a new calendar with that sublime moment as its starting point.
He had stripped outposts and far-flung garrisons, put together a force even greater than the one he had assembled to send against his enemies on Optera.
And this time fortune was with him. His fleet emerged from superluminal at just the correct angle of attack, in good formation and proper deployment. Scouts and Pincers rocketed off, this time under competent veteran commanders, to join combat with the enemy mecha trying to protect their flagship.