She triggered the main drives and built Delta V for the jump, noting with satisfaction that she was eating most of the vanished CV's radiation. Excellent, that put her right on target.
And if I'd had a child? Yes, I'd be just as preoccupied as Staffa is.
"Getting to be a sentimental old bitch," she muttered under her breath, adding more thrust to the fusion reactor and tightening the bounce-back collar.
"Be ust like him, though, to be up to his neck in trouble by the time I get to Etaria. Probably have to call out the whole fleet to break him out of it." Where after Etaria? "Targa? That's what the Praetor told him. There are a lot of Seddi on Targa."
She shook a fist in victory. If passage could be arranged to Targa from anywhere, it would be from Rega or Etaria.
She vented an explosive sigh as she stared at the starfilled monitor and studied the ship's feedback as it rolled into her brain via the shiny worry-cap. Her agile mind stored and sorted ship's data, maintaining the delicate nav systems.
Simultaneously, a consuming curiosity ate at her. Just what sort of woman had Chrysla been? How had she man-
aged to put a lock on Staffa's hard heart? Had she met him with iron and defiance in her soul, or given him her love and soft compliance? What did it take to win Staffa kar Therma's love? Chrysla had been his perfect woman. How did he expect to replace her?
She mulled it over as she stared out into the star-gray heavens and suffered an increasing anxiety. He had only been gone from Itreata for somewhat more than twentyfour hours. How much trouble could he get into in that time?
"Oh, Staffa, I hope I'm not too late."
Ily Takka studied the scanner input, watching the small cruiser as it built for jump. "What do you think, Commander?"
"Three person cruiser Minister. Could be anybody." The commander pulled on his nose nervously, as always, afraid to meet her probing black eyes.
"How many credits would you make that craft to be worth on the open market Commander?" Ily asked, voice soft, eyes narrowing.
"From the style and the g's it's putting out, I'd say somewhere in the neighborhood of four hundred thousand ICs, Minister."
"Indeed, and I sincerely doubt that just any of Staffa's people can. But we don't know that, do we?" She tapped her chin with a stylus. "Official business, perhaps? Or the Wing Commander running to tell Staffa we've already made offers? You have the destination triangulated?"
"Etaira, Minister. No doubt about it." He paused, taking a quick look at the navigator who nodded vigorous agreement.
"Hmm, isn't her cruiser accelerating rather rapidly?" Ily frowned, wishing she were more familiar with such things.
"Weapons First?" the commander called, "Can you get a Doppler on that craft in the targeting comp?"
"Aye, sir!" The Weapons First bent over a monitor, fixing the targeting comp on the moving dot of light. "She's pulling almost sixty g's sir."
The commander frowned. "Good ship Minister. She's got some pretty powerful gravity compensating equipment in there. I raise my estimate. You might not buy that craft for less than six hundred thousand ICs."
"And how many g's can we pull?" Ily raised an eyebrow.
The commander swallowed. "My crew, ma'am, can take forty g's by straining our equipment. With you aboard, I wouldn't want to pull more than thirty to leave us a high enough safest margin percentage just in case—"
"We will accelerate at forty g's Commander." She nodded her satisfaction as she narrowed her eyes. "We can always slow on the other side, but I want us close when she comes out."
"Ma'am, do you understand what kind of energy we're talking about? Forty g's is like slamming your body—"
"I gave you an order."
"Yes, ma'am," the commander agreed with a heavy sigh. "But first, we'll need to get you into combat armor. This won't be much fun if you insist on—"
"I do Commander. Where's this combat armor. Show me what I have to do."
"Yes, ma'am."
As she walked off the bridge, a klaxon started wailing. "Prepare for high g acceleration! All hands, high g acceleration! Stow all loose objects and prepare for forty g's, ladies and gentlemen."
And Skyla, my dear, Ily thought, next time we meet wil be in the Regan Empire — and so many things can happen in my Empire!
Bruen thought Butla looked like a restful tiger. Tension pervaded the air, even here, in the chambers below Vespa. The rock walls of the chamber showed signs of the passing of ages. Scars marked on the stone where various changes had been made to the room. Places like this were old, very old, dating to the terraforming of the planet. No wonder they were tense. They had taken so much on themselves, all in a wild gamble orchestrated by the thrice-cursed Mag Comm.
Hyde coughed hoarsely in the silence. He sat on the
opposite side of the table from Bruen while Ret sat at the head.
Butla Ret twisted sideways in the chair, muscles dancing under his midnight flesh, eyes thoughtful as he looked down his long flat nose. He wore a Master's off-white robe that was loosely belted around his slim waist. "On the surface Kaspa appears to be completely in Regan control. They patrol in Groups, always ready to return fire. When we snipe at them, they retaliate by blowing away entire buildings — despite the civilians. Fear is becoming a way of life in the capital."
Bruen shifted his eyes to Hyde, chin propped on a creased palm. "Indeed. Wel, we expected this. So far so good. Fear feeds discontent, the desire to return to a state of normalcy."
Butla formed his fingers into a fist, watching the muscles ripple in his forearm. "So far, the Regans have acted predictably, Magister," his deep bass rumbled, "and pray to God they continue to."
"You still agree that we should let them have free reign for a while?" Hyde asked.
Butla lifted a slab of shoulder. "I can't see us making any headway while they maintain such vigilance. This new Division First of theirs, um, Atkin is his name, he's scared, worried about his career should the Regans suffer another disaster."
Bruen nodded. "And his worry in turn worries you?"
Butla Ret's dark eyes flashed, "You tell me such behavior isn't dangerous, then I just might believe it."
Bruen sniffed and eased his aching hip. "Of course not, Butla. The man is paranoid; as his unreasonable fear increases, so does the probability that he will react unpredictably. It's a vicious cycle this type of revolution engenders."
Ret stretched his thick legs, arms crossed. "And what would you suggest, Magister?"
"How tight is the security in the Regan military compounds?" Bruen leaned back, closing his eyes, tracing the possibilities. How would the Regans react? What countermoves would they make within the limited perceptual framework of the future they insisted on maintaining? His mind delighted itself with the permutations. In the range of
potential responses, none seemed to play against them. But which future observation
would become phase reality
"They allow no Targans past the checkpoints."
"But you could get inside?"
Butla's expression barely changed; however, his voice chided, "Master! These are Regans! They haven't the slightest hint of what the word 'security' means, let alone how to enforce it."
Bruen looked at Hyde. Can I take this gamble? From intelligence sources, Tybalt would most likely install a sycophant in Atkin's place. Even if a capable man were hired to replace him, it would take time to reorganize. In the meantime, we can operate to increase Regan imbalance. We must hold out until Staffa can be brought within our reach. If we can't, all is lost!
"Then you could remove Division First Atkin?" Bruen asked through the constriction in his throat.