Sean Bates suddenly stood and glanced at those surrounding him. “P’raps now’s a good time ta adjourn ta the library, ta discuss the campaign that laies ahead,” he suggested. “As ye know, the Gov’ner-Emp’rer remains easely tired, an’ I s’pect many here could use a wee rest after yer long voyage.”
“Nonsense, Sean, we needn’t rush…” Gerald began, but Matt also stood.
“May as well. It’s been a long day, and we should crack the book and get everybody on the same page. Besides,” he added, “I’m anxious to get back to Walker and check on developments in the west.”
“Of course,” agreed Gerald, accepting the excuse. “By all means then, let us adjourn to the library.” He gestured around at the other tables. “They shan’t miss us. It’s good to see our… peoples… agreeing so well! We’ve much to accomplish together, and I’m glad we’ve had this opportunity to begin as friends!” He sobered, looking at the diners, Imperials and Lemurians, mixed together. “They must be friends,” he added, nodding significantly at Chack, acknowledging the crucial role he and his Marines had played toward that end. “Soon they’ll guard one another’s lives.”
The library was surprisingly quiet, considering the unabated noise outside. Matt had been in the room many times now, and the furnishings reflected their owner well. Gerald was like a cross between Jenks and Bradford, personalitywise. He had the bearing and reserve of his commodore and friend, combined with the eccentric curiosity and (suppressed) enthusiasm for science of the Australian. As plenipotentiary at large for the Alliance, Courtney had been in the room even more often than Matt, but he was immediately drawn to the bookshelves as the officers filed into the room. Matt had to tap his elbow and point to the great map dominating the room’s south wall.
“You don’t actually need me for this,” Courtney complained. “These military machinations are quite beyond me. If you insist I pay attention… I may well ask a question!” he warned.
“As long as you’re not asking where we all are a month from now when you suddenly notice we’re gone,” Matt countered.
Those who knew the Australian laughed. He was prone to a notable absentmindedness. That notwithstanding, he had a natural talent for analysis, and when he kept his thoughts on a single track long enough, he was very good at pointing out obvious flaws in plans that others had overlooked. Matt wanted him paying attention.
The officers and guests made themselves comfortable (a relative thing for Lemurians, since all the chairs were designed for people without tails) and Governor-Emperor McDonald allowed himself to be ushered to a divan, his legs propped up. Matt noticed with pleasure that Ruth McDonald didn’t excuse herself but chose a chair near her husband.
“There’s one… small thing we need to have understood before we begin,” announced Lord High Admiral McClain, glancing at Ruth. He looked around the room with a closed expression. “Who’s the authority here?”
“The Governor-Emperor, of course,” Matt replied patiently.
“I mean, the military authority,” McClain pressed.
“I am,” Matt said simply, “as we’ve discussed before. I remain ‘Commander in Chief of All Allied Forces, by acclamation.’ ”
“The Empire of the New Britain Isles did not ‘acclaim’ you, sir.”
“James!” Gerald scolded, and Commodore Jenks stirred angrily.
“With respect, Your Majesty, I speak only truth,” the admiral maintained.
“You speak out of place,” Gerald said more forcefully. “Captain Reddy was acclaimed by the other Allied powers long before we became one. You shall not forget that even before our alliance was made-before they had any ‘obligation’ to help us-they willingly spilled their blood to defend us from the despicable Dominion! We’ve joined them, and heartily! They didn’t join us.” He paused, gulping an angry breath. “We may know this region of the world better than they, Lord High Admiral, but largely due to your influence, that knowledge is sorely limited. We know next to nothing of the extent of the enemy realm, for example, but that part that borders the vast Pacific. How deep does it go? What lies beyond?”
“My apologies, Your Maj-”
“Let me finish, damn you, sir!” Gerald practically roared. He stopped, forcefully composing himself. “We must not start like this!” he continued quietly. “The time for petty, egoistic squabbles is past. We face a wicked, determined enemy here and in the west! Our allies stand poised to deliver a heavy blow to the Grik, but we’re still on the defensive here. The enemy holds a significant portion of our very homeland! We must throw him out! Captain Reddy and his strategies have been much more recently successful at that than any we can draw upon!”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Matt said, partially to cover Chief Gray’s muttered “puffed-up bugger” and the few ensuing chuckles. Admiral McClain reddened, and Jenks stood and moved toward Matt to add his support. “I’m glad you brought up those ‘strategies,’ because the first thing we need to get clear is, just like our war in the west, we can’t have limits to our ‘war aims’ here. We’re going to fight this war hard, ugly, and as fast as possible. There’re no rules except victory, and there’ll be no ‘negotiated peace.’ ” His green eyes flashed. “They picked this fight, but we’re going to finish it.” He sighed. “Maybe we won’t have to kill them all, as we’ll probably have to do to win in the west, but to accept anything short of complete surrender’ll only waste the blood already lost.”
There were a few sharp cheers, and the ’Cats stamped their feet in approval. Admiral McClain didn’t cheer, and even the Governor-Emperor seemed dubious.
“That will be… costly,” he said.
Matt nodded. “Yes, it will, but believe me when I say it’s the only way.” He recalled his interview with the Dominion “Blood Cardinal,” Don Hernan de Devina Dicha. “Those guys are absolutely nuts . Hell, you know that. We beat them now, knock ’em back on their heels, make ‘peace’-it’ll start all over again in a decade.” He looked at Gray’s grim face. “That’s how it works,” he said. “We know. The only way to end a war forever is if somebody wins and somebody loses. .. bad.” He watched Ruth’s face as she stared at her husband. She wouldn’t speak, not yet, but she’d already considered the implications of another, future war. Matt helped Gerald come to the same conclusion. “If you don’t get right with that, wrap it around you, and wade through the awful fact that for us to win, they have to lose, one of these days, maybe when your daughter, Rebecca, is in your place, there’ll be another war; and honestly, they’re liable to win that one because they have the depth, resources, and manpower. Right now, we have a technological edge, but in ten years? Twenty?” He shook his head.
“He’s right, Your Majesty,” Jenks said. “I’ve seen their war in the west, and it’s the most savage thing you can imagine, but little more so than the fighting we saw here, at the Dueling Grounds!” He was exaggerating, but only slightly. The Dominion forces that attacked, without warning, had done so with massed artillery against civilians. “The Grik are… animals, but men would never behave as the Dominion forces did. They, their leadership, this… perverted church they worship, must be erased from the world.”
“All right,” Gerald said softly, glancing at his wife. He wouldn’t leave this mess to be faced by the daughter they thought they’d lost. “How do we beat them this time… and forever?”
Matt nodded at Harvey Jenks, who stepped to the huge map, fingering his long, braided, sun-bleached mustaches. He paused and drew his sword; a most appropriate “pointer” under the circumstances. Matt had seen the blade many times, even faced it in “practice,” but he’d never really appreciated its workmanship before. It was heavier than his own well-battered Academy sword, with a subtle curve toward the tip. Despite all the use it had seen, there were few nicks, and the bright, almost-purple steel was unmarred by rust and lovingly tended. Jenks raised the sword against an island west of New Scotland.