That the historical record implied — Citizens’ feeble efforts at secrecy notwithstanding — Concordance meddling in the affairs of humans and Kzinti and perhaps other species besides.
Pragmatic cowards, Cd’o whispered into the meld, along with fleeting images of predators in a preserve.
That cowardice did not preclude violence, only channeled violence into subtlety.
That by their dominance of the Fleet and their taming of the Citizens, they kept the Concordance from continuing its practiced, selfish aggression.
That their choices now came down to two. They could just leave, the Citizens deserving everything that was rushing toward them. Or they could fight, because every warship destroyed here was a warship that would never endanger Jm’ho, or Kl’mo, or the newer colonies they had yet to know in person.
Imagine the marvels to be beheld on new worlds, Cd’o tempted.
Ol’t’ro again swatted the insolent unit into silence.
That they had almost four five-squared days until the Kzinti could arrive. That they had easily twice as long if — as, supposedly, the New Terrans reported — the Kzinti intended to invade. To land, Kzinti ships would need time to match normal-space velocity with the Fleet.
That for as long as they ruled, the full resources of the Ministry of Science remained their personal instrument.
That they themselves could evacuate this world in a day, should they so choose.
That to preserve their options, they would do well to expand Proteus as fully as possible.
That they could tolerate Achilles’ smug satisfaction with their decision.
That they suffered fools like Horatius and Achilles expressly to preserve their own time for projects of greater interest.
And so — the news from Amity passed on, their decision regarding Proteus delivered — they turned their full attention to fine points of multiverse mathematics.…
“THIS IS SPACE TRAFFIC CONTROL.”
In Achilles’ tactical display, queues of transponder codes, each code denoting a ship, streamed to and from Hearth. He sang, “This is Poseidon, inbound from Nature Preserve One.”
“Acknowledged,” the controller reported, adding the parameters of a midaltitude staging orbit. “Confirm.”
Achilles waited silently. His hearts pounded, for this course of action was insane. Stepping away from the herd, whether to scout or to guide, was the very definition of insanity.
And for the herd to survive, there must be crazies.
“Poseidon, do you confirm?”
Achilles flipped off his transponder, removing Poseidon from the Space Traffic Control system. Seconds later, his instruments reported radar pings. But Poseidon was in stealth mode; it would produce no echoes.
“Poseidon, are you there?”
Achilles altered course and speed, then altered them again.
New voices came: stronger, firmer, with stern harmonics designed to command instant obedience. Proteus. “This is Hearth Planetary Defense. Poseidon, or whoever you are, we are tracking you with optical sensors. Break away or you will be destroyed. This is your only warning. In ten. Nine. Eight…”
In Achilles’ tactical display, nearby grain ships scattered.
Between seven and six, his console reported a low-intensity laser beam. Target lock, or a lucky hit? He zigged, this time putting the ship into a spin.
Jaws ached to release the flight controls. Legs trembled with the urge to run. Feel the mania, he told himself. Embrace the madness.
His jaws remained clenched on the controls. There would be time later to collapse.
The laser beam stayed locked.
A second laser beam impaled his ship. Now the tactical display showed infrared sources in three tiers streaking toward him. Kinetic-kill drones.
“Four. Three.”
Achilles pulled away from Hearth. With his other mouth he flipped the STC transponder back ON.
“Two.”
“This is Poseidon, Minister Achilles speaking.” The lasers stayed locked on, but the nearest rank of the inward-streaking drones veered off. “This was an unannounced test of planetary defenses.”
“Identity challenge,” the stern voices commanded. They transmitted a random-sounding sequence of numbers.
A console computer generated the corresponding response and Achilles tapped SEND.
“Confirmed,” Proteus sang. “Traffic Control, you may resume.”
“This is Minister Achilles requesting prioritized clearance to Harmonious Field.”
“Very well,” the controller sang tremulously. “You are cleared for immediate landing.”
Achilles landed Poseidon. Moments after the ship grounded, Citizens emerged, quavering, from stepping discs embedded in the tarmac. He stepped from his ship to appear among his greeters. Sashes and coveralls identified them as spaceport workers.
One stepped forward. “Welcome, Minister. We hope your test went satisfactorily.”
“Very well, thank you,” Achilles sang.
They lowered their heads subserviently and waited.
“Very well,” he repeated. Because while Proteus performed as expected, even one ship deviating from routine sufficed to panic you. “If you will excuse me, official matters require my attention.”
A tongueprint and wriggle of lip nodes retrieved a protected address from his transport controller. He stepped from the tarmac directly to the security foyer of the private residence of the Hindmost.
GUARDS ESCORTED ACHILLES through the residence to Horatius’ private office. Achilles knew the room well — and disdained these bland and minimalist furnishings. Scattered cushions and one massive oval desk did not suffice. Not for a Hindmost’s office.
“Leave us,” Horatius sang.
“Yes, Hindmost,” the senior guard responded. The squad retreated, shutting the door behind them.
“I asked you here to see me, not set off a panic,” Horatius began without preamble. Displeasure did nothing to shorten his would-be portentous pauses.
“Our defenses require realistic testing,” Achilles sang.
“Chiron would likely agree with you.” Horatius settled onto a mound of pillows. “He proposes a significant expansion, to be implemented within the next hundred days.”
Proposes. It was all Achilles could do not to look himself in the eyes. This was the sort of suggestion no Hindmost dare ignore. “Why did you invite me?”
“To oversee the changes to Proteus, as you doubtless realize.” Annoying pause. “Why do you bother to pretend otherwise?”
As a reminder, Horatius, that you need me. That Ol’t’ro needs me. “By your very welcome, this proposal is sound. You sang that with a single ship, I caused a panic. What would have been the response to an entire Kzinti fleet?”
His necks trembling, Horatius managed not to pluck at his unimaginatively braided mane. “We would surrender, of course. Any sane ruler would.”
“Only Ol’t’ro will not allow surrender, will they?”
“That is why you are here,” Horatius admitted.
Remember that. “To expand our defenses will entail significant resources.”
“You will have them,” Horatius sang.
“And there will be more unannounced tests like you saw today, some involving more than one ship. Respectfully” — that chord was a twisted, ironic lie — “can you govern in those circumstances?”