“We cannot do this alone.” Heris put into that all the command voice she’d ever had. Cecelia merely looked exasperated.
“We’ve been over that. I don’t want to bother Bunny.”
“Lady Cecelia.” The formality got through; Cecelia actually focussed on her. “Do you remember why I lost my commission?”
“Yes, but what’s that—”
“This is exactly the same thing. If we go off, the two of us—you with no military experience whatever—with no proper intelligence, no backup, no plan—that is exactly as stupid, in the same way, as what Lepescu proposed. It is frankly suicidal, and I will not cooperate.”
Cecelia stared at her. “I thought we settled it; I thought you agreed.”
“In anger, yes. At the thought of getting Lepescu’s neck between my hands, yes. But I have no right to risk you and your nephew and the others to serve my vengeance. We don’t know what we’re facing; we don’t know what shape they’re in; we won’t have backup or medical assistance—and if we get killed, what about the youngsters?”
For a moment, Heris thought Cecelia would explode; she turned red, then pale, then stood rigidly still. And finally shook herself slightly and let out a sharp huff of air. “I suppose you’re right. That’s why I came to you; you have the military background. So—you want me to tell Bunny?”
“I think we should both go. He may want confirmation from Sirkin up in Sweet Delight—and besides, I still want to be part of the row.”
“Fine.” With no more argument, Cecelia called Michaels over. “Michaels, Captain Serrano feels that we should not go alone on this.” Heris noticed that Michaels relaxed slightly; he had had more sense than either of them, but not the courage to say so.
“Yes, milady?”
“I’m going to tell Lord Thornbuckle; this will mean telling him that you knew Bubbles took the flitter.” Heris had not thought about that—how much trouble would he be in? Not much, she hoped.
“I don’t think you should tell anyone else about this,” Lady Cecelia went on, as if Michaels were a child to be lectured. “I’m sure you’ll be hearing from his lordship very shortly.”
“Yes, milady.”
“All right,” Cecelia said. “Now we have to find Bunny before that damned hunt starts. We’re lucky Stone Lodge is at this end of the settlement.”
The others were mounted, ready to set out, the hounds swirling around the horses’ legs. Heris was sure that only Cecelia could have gotten Bunny off his horse and into the hall of Stone Lodge so quietly and quickly.
“What is it?” he asked, the moment the door had shut out the sound of milling hooves and human chatter. Cecelia explained, giving as clear an account as Heris herself could have done: her discovery that the young people were missing, Michaels’s report of where they had gone, and the beacon data and data from Sweet Delight which indicated that they were on an island near Bandon. Then she mentioned the uninvited guests, the intruders that Heris suspected might be hunting illegally. Lord Thornbuckle looked at Heris.
“You know this person?” Heris thought she had not heard anyone pronounce “person” with that intonation before; just so did seniors at the Academy refer to incoming cadets.
“Yes, I do,” she said. “He cost me my commission; he has a bad reputation—but the relevant point is that he is here without your invitation.”
“Yes . . . I see that. Just a moment.” He went out the door, leaving Heris and Cecelia staring at one another. In moments, he was back inside. “I told Clem to take over the hunt today; no sense in having them hounding us, as it were. Buttons has already ridden out with the blue hunt; I’ll have him brought back—” As he spoke, his fingers tapped on his personal comunit. Heris had seen him only at the hunt, or at leisure after dinner; he had always seemed friendly enough, but not particularly decisive except when some fool rode too close to the hounds. The nickname Bunny had fit him well enough, the long slightly foolish face, the quick movements of his head at dinner, on the lookout for unpleasantness. Now, though, she saw someone used to command responding to an emergency, someone for whom a title made more sense than a nickname.
“Sir, the other thing—” She interrupted him cautiously; he raised an eyebrow but nodded for her to speak. “There must be someone in this household working with them—whoever they are. Someone to give warning if you’re headed that way, at least.”
He nodded. “And it can’t be Michaels, because he knew about Bubbles and whoever was there didn’t.”
“We hope.” Lady Cecelia looked grim. “They haven’t called in; their flitter’s not at a regular field—”
“Which island?” Lord Thornbuckle asked. “Could your ship make that out?” He called up a map which displayed on the hall wall as thin green lines.
“That one,” Heris said, pointing.
“Bubbles’s favorite,” he said. “The children camped there many summers; she knows every meter of that island. I wonder if she’s just camping and hiding out.”
“If it weren’t for the unauthorized shuttle, and the fact that Lepescu is on Bandon—” Cecelia began.
“We hope on Bandon, and not on this island,” Heris put in, tapping the map again.
“Yes. We must assume he is, and that he’s up to no good.” His focus shifted to her, completely. “You were formerly an officer in the Regular Space Service, isn’t that right, Captain Serrano?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then please give me the advantage of your professional assessment. What are we facing here, and what is your recommendation?”
Heris felt like a junior officer caught out at an admiralty briefing. “We are presently lacking important information,” she began. “We know, or rather strongly suspect, that Admiral Lepescu is on Bandon. The shuttlecraft that landed him could have held as many as fifty individuals, but since it came from a chartered yacht, it is reasonable to suppose that it did not. That it was configured for luxury work, with a maximum of perhaps ten. We do not know how many such shuttle flights have been made to and from Bandon, or the number of people on each. However, it’s reasonable to assume that an actual invasion force is unlikely.”
“Why, Captain?”
“Both practical reasons and the character of Admiral Lepescu, sir. Practically, invading an inhabited planet is difficult, and one like this would require complicity of too many of your employees. You have four orbiting Stations, additional navigation and communications satellites, and a high-tech population scattered around the planet. An invader would have to gain control of communications to prevent an alarm being sent. Your own militia would have to be suborned or defeated in battle, and from what I’ve heard of your militia, they’re loyal and tough, and very well equipped. Right now, you have thousands of legitimate guests, and their crews and servants—and it might be easier to sneak onplanet in the confusion, but it certainly would not be easier to deal with so many . . .” She struggled for a word that expressed what she meant without rudeness.
“Difficult individuals?” suggested Lord Thornbuckle, with a smile.
“Yes, sir. And as well as practicality there’s the matter of Lepescu. He’s not a man to involve himself in something that blatant; his tastes run otherwise.”
“Ummm. You said he cost you your commission?”
“Yes, he did.” When Lord Thornbuckle’s expression did not change, Heris realized she was going to have to say more. Anger roughened her voice.
“He considers war a noble sport, sir. He considers that putting troops in impossible situations is sporting; his expression is ‘see what they’re made of.’ Until recently, the only way he could do this was by risking his own ship, but two years ago he attained flag rank and was given command of a battle group. You are no doubt aware of the Cavinatto action. In that conflict, he ordered my ship, and the ground forces under my command, to make a frontal attack on a strongly defended lunar complex. The defense could have been breached another way—in fact, several other ways, which I and other captains presented as alternatives. But he insisted that it must be done the one way likely to fail—even the battlecomps said so—and certain to cost the most lives.”