Franorl glanced at Harald. "Well, we knew that would be the one they'd go for," he whispered.
Duras finished, "Of course the question remains: what must be done in the meantime?"
Julian stood up abruptly. "Combine cannot be allowed to retain control of their defence platforms," he insisted. "Though you may doubt the evidence, we in Fleet are absolutely certain of their complicity with the Brumallians."
"Do you suppose Combine might use those platforms to fire on Sudoria?" asked Duras.
"That is not out of the question," Julian replied.
"Why would they attack our home planet if their aim is to displace Fleet?"
"That is the assumption we make, but it may not be correct. It is our primary duty, has always been our duty and one we have fulfilled well, to protect Sudoria. We cannot allow such an obvious threat to this planet's citizens to go unchallenged."
Duras nodded slowly. "Then this issue must now, without further debate, be put to the vote."
Harald abruptly leant forward, something tightening in his stomach. "He knows something," he hissed.
"Why do you say that?" asked Franorl.
"He's been delaying that vote all morning, deliberately circumventing Julian every time he's called for it." He glanced at Franorl. "We might lose this."
"But Duras himself served in Fleet."
"Yes, he did, but I suspect that subsequent contact with the Polity has changed many of his opinions." Harald sat back. He felt suddenly hot—a stickiness of sweat forming under his foamite uniform. In this one small thing it seemed he had miscalculated.
"Those in favour of handing over the defence platforms to Fleet, vote now," instructed Duras.
Harald checked the figures at the bottom of the screen.
"Those in favour of Orbital Combine retaining control of the defence platforms vote now."
More figures.
"That doesn't add up," said Franorl.
"Some of our own delegates voted against us," said Harald bitterly.
Duras stood up to close the debate. "Combine will retain control of their orbital defence platforms. But let me remind Parliament that Combine have requested teams of planetary wardens to board each platform. May I suggest that Fleet Security teams also be—"
Standing up, Julian interrupted, "Having earlier received instructions from Admiral Harald Strone, I now have something to say." He paused and gazed about the room.
Duras used the pause to interject, "Might that be something to do with the alarming news that the entire fleet is now on its way here from Carmel?"
Julian ignored him. "Under our restored wartime prerogatives, we cannot accept the result of this vote" — other Fleet delegates were by now also standing—"and must now withdraw from Parliament."
Chairman Duras abruptly sat down, suddenly looking very old and tired.
"Franorl," said Harald, "it's time you returned to your ship. As of now we are on full alert. I will broadcast the attack plan and general orders directly."
Franorl grinned. Harald just stared impassively at the screen.
Orduval
This was the fourth delay on the maglev—it just settled down on its lift plates, with no explanation forthcoming from the tram service, but someone back at Central Control put up on the carriage screen the feed coming from one of the news services.
"… refused access to wardens and threatened to open fire if they attempted to enter Fleet property. GDS forces consequently placed a cordon around the base. It has not yet been confirmed that the missile was fired from within that cordon."
The image showed a badly wrecked street, with the remains of what looked like a landing craft strewn down it. As the camera focused in on the logo displayed on one piece of smoking cowling, Orduval felt a sudden tired disgust. The downed craft belonged to Orbital Combine. It had started.
As the news story continued he began to get the gist. After Fleet's refusal to acknowledge the parliamentary vote, with the subsequent walk-out of its delegates, those members left behind decided action must be taken. There were many Fleet bases located on Sudoria and, it seeming likely that Fleet intended some kind of attack, GDS wardens had rapidly moved in to take control of whatever arms caches the Fleet bases still contained. Working in conjunction with the warden force, a Combine surveillance craft overflew the particular base this report was about, and was blown out of the sky. Now more disturbing images: rioting, gunfire, an overhead shot of the city showing a massive explosion and fires burning here and there. It seemed those factions supporting Fleet were already fighting those supporting Combine, while GDS wardens were trying to restore order.
Orduval sat back disgusted. This could all rapidly run out of control. Fleet sympathisers, though outnumbered on the surface, were usually of a military bent, therefore very well armed, trained and organised. Those opposed to Fleet tended to be less aggressive, yet there were lunatics amidst them—like the group causing the nuclear blast on Brumal that destroyed a base there. If they now began attacking Fleet ground bases, there would soon be many more deaths and much more damage, and quite probably the rioting would spread as other groups joined in, but ultimately everything would be decided beyond the confines of Sudoria.
The maglev tram continued on to the next station, where most of the passengers got out and moved across to the other platform—most of them obviously deciding that a trip into the city was not such a great idea today. Perhaps he should join them in that? He thought not. Most of GDS's warden forces would have been deployed in the city, so that was the place he wanted to be.
To the rumble of a distant explosion the tram finally pulled into the city station, where Orduval was now the only one to disembark. While walking up to the exit barrier, he removed his control baton from his pocket, along with a bank disk Tigger had brought to him some years back. Pushing the small disk into the side slot of his baton, he finally connected a large bank account to his own identity. An irrevocable move. Standing before the barrier, he waited while the station computer logged his ID—which had also been logged when he stepped onto the tram. The price came up on a screen, with below it a small map indicating where he had boarded and his subsequent route. He confirmed this and pushed his baton into the slot—this was the first time he had used that particular bank account to pay for anything. The machine returned his baton and the barrier opened—no security alerts, no attempt to detain him. He supposed that apprehending him to ask some pointed questions about where he had obtained information about The Outstretched Hand was not high on the agenda of Groundside Defence and Security right at the moment. But his presence here would be logged, and sooner or later someone would come looking.
Outside the station a city bus lay sideways across the street, ablaze. Beyond it he could see rioters hurling rocks at two armoured cars advancing towards the bus, ahead of one of the modern floating fire tenders. Why the saucer-shaped vehicle remained at ground level he did not find out until later. The missile bringing down the Combine craft had not been fired from the nearest Fleet base, but from the city itself, and a second missile had also brought down a tender similar to this one. Orduval turned and started walking in the other direction.
Gunfire sounded from along a sidestreet. In another street a group of youths was busy dragging sand scooters out of an emporium, over the wreckage of its doors. Everywhere lay a litter of rocks, broken glass and the empty shells of stink gourds. A balloon-wheeled ambulance—normally used only for desert work—sped past and then, as if in pursuit of it, came two people, one staggering while holding a cloth to his face, blood spattered down his front and on his shoes. Orduval stared at them, recognising the tough canvas overalls they both wore, with tie-straps and sewn-in metal links, as institutional garb made for the easier handling of patients. But clothing like this was worn only by the more dangerous residents. Orduval just hoped these two were the only escapees, and that the asylum they fled remained locked down. During his own time in asylums he had encountered some seriously dangerous lunatics, and the prospect of the likes of them running free was not a pleasant one.