"Any word from the fleet yet?" she asked, diverting his attention.
"Just the order that I relinquish command to Mykroft and submit myself for arrest." He grinned maliciously at her.
"And will you?"
"What? Let Mykroft undo all the good I've done? Rotted Gods in the temple, he'd have Targa burning within two days! No, I think I have a better bargaining position here, in charge of the Regan assault forces and my Targan irregulars." He looked out at the ragged mountain peaks they were passing over. "My position will be even better when I have the Seddi in my hands. The word is out. I want to meet with their leadership. I can end this once and for all."
"What is this obsession with the Seddi?"
He smiled absently. "It goes back to Rega and my. Nothing, never mind. The fact of the matter is that we've committed treason. Our only hope is to hand Tybalt this entire planet. The defense structure is going to want to hang us by the heels and bleed us to death drop by drop for having the audacity to win. We're a long way from being anywhere near safety." And it scares me to death.
She nodded, still staring thoughtfully as she wound her thick hair about her fingers.
The Vespa plain appeared below as the high steepled peaks dropped away into
an alluvial valley, now green with spring growth.
"Makarta," he mused. "What I'd give to be able to find it."
"Anything?" Gretta asked.
"Hmm?"
"You'd give anything to find Makarta?"
"I suppose." Sinklar pictured Targa in his mind. Where could the Seddi have hidden their major temple? Under one of the cities?
The LC swooped down, coming to a neat stop before the headquarters building. Sink stood, lost in his thoughts as he absently collected his gear. The ramp dropped with a hydraulic whine and he walked out into the warm sunshine. Beyond his command center, the rhythm and pulse of Targan life had reestablished itself. The mines were working— true, on reduced crews — but production could still be claimed to be a reality. Produce flowed into the cities and supplies and goods flowed back out. The dead were still being buried, but men and women could look about for a new beginning — though uncertain what it all meant.
"I'll be up in a bit," Gretta called, reaching over to give him a sound kiss on the lips. "If you need me for anything, call through the comm."
He nodded, her words already half-forgotten as he considered the Seddi. They remained the key to Targa. Why had they plunged their planet into such a bloodbath? What had they hoped to gain? With the resources available on Targa, they hadn't stood a chance. What fool reasoning could have filled Seddi heads to egg them headlong into certain defeat?
And how much of this growing preoccupation is rooted in your parents' death? They were Seddi assassins — just like Ana Fera. Had they been trained here? Had they, too, walked the streets of Vespa? Had they known the location of Makarta?
He climbed the stairs, mind on the problem, heedless of the salutes the guards threw him, oblivious to the awed
shine in their eyes, the extra care they took to look profes sional as he passed.
"I'm missing something," he muttered to himself. "There's a key element in their actions which I don't understand. A linchpin, which will make everything clear."
He paused, hand on the door to the ops room, head cocked. "Unless they're total zealots. Could they possibly have fought a war on faith? Believed in some mystical hocus-pocus? Supernatural intervention?"
He chewed his lip and frowned, shaking his head as he opened the door and passed into his penthouse ops room. Mhitshul and Shiksta were pouring over a pile of correspondence and marking notations on maps.
" 'Nuther call from fleet, sir," Mhitshul said, looking up from the pile. "Figured you'd be here soon enough, so I didn't patch it through." He marked his place, stood, and moved to the comm Gretta normally handled. Within seconds he patched through to an orbiting ship high overhead.
A block-faced woman, gray-haired and with a grizzled look, stared back at him through the comm monitor. She had flinty brown eyes. Her nose was crooked and age spots dotted her forehead. Her mahogany skin had lined with age. A sour tension was reflected in the set of her thin bloodless lips.
"Sergeant Sinklar Fist?" Her voice grated as if the vocal cords had been damaged.
"First Sinklar Fist of the First Targan Assault Division," he told her, emphasizing "First," seeing the hard glint filling her eyes. Not good, career military, this one — and a doubly seasoned veteran to boot. "And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"
"Commander Rysta Braktov of the Imperial Regan Assault Cruiser Gyton. You are hereby ordered to relinquish all military command to First Mykroft and place yourself under arrest. To fail to do so immediately will outlaw you as a criminal and you will be executed on sight."
Sinklar nodded, knowing Shiksta and Mhitshul had frozen. "I see. Commander, I am not in a position to relinquish my command at the present moment. I face a dilemma you can no doubt understand."
"And that is?"
"Were I to follow your recommendations, the planet
would rise in instant rebellion against Mykroft. The Targans hate him. In
fact, that is why I originally requested an LC from orbital to retrieve him from the planet. The Targans would give anything for his head."
Sink paced before the screen. "At the same time, both the First and Second Targan Divisions have reservations about their future treatment. We have been, shall we say, inconsistent in obedience to the Minister of Defense. The reasons, I'm sure you're familiar with. We didn't die when we were supposed to." His wry smile and raised eyebrow did nothing for her expression.
Shiksta was muttering under his breath.
"A military tribunal will consider each case separately," Braktov said. Those guilty of insubordination and violation of the Command Code according to the manual will be dealt with summarily."
Sinklar faced the monitor as he rubbed his hands together. "Yes, that is our point. You see, we all are — as you say — guilty." He paused. "Look at it from our position. Innovative measures were employed on Targa to subdue the rebellion. And Commander, the rebellion is over. Finished. The capital as well as the major cities have been retaken. Order is restored and my Groups are patrolling the streets. The final pockets of resistance in the mountains are currently being subdued — most often peacefully."
"Does this have a point Sergeant?" she groused, propping herself in her command chair, one shoulder raised.
"It does Commander. I've been worrying about this conversation ever since Mykroft appointed me to Division First." He settled himself on the table edge, crossing his arms tightly across his chest, one leg dangling and swinging. "You see, I am willing to offer the Emperor a peaceful Targa. Further, I will guarantee it will stay that way so long as I'm viceroy here. In return, those of the First and Second Divisions who wish may return to their homes without censure or disciplinary action taken against them — and with full veteran's honors."
"You WHAT?" Rysta bolted to her feet. "You bargain? With the Emperor?" She threw her head back and laughed, the sound a wicked cackle in the room.
Sinklar waited her out until she chuckled herself to a stop.
" do have the planet," he reminded calmly. "That's one
reason. The second reason is that both Divisions have suffered heavily while on duty on Targa. The result of such suffering is that my people have a certain amount of investment to go along with their pride and skill. Rega is poised, ready to invade Sassa at this very moment." The shock in her eyes proved it-to his immense delight. "My people, therefore, have a great deal to offer the Empire. The Emperor not only needs warriors of the highest caliber, he needs a productive Targa to help feed his war industry."