Ily gasped, trying to sit up in panic, stopped by the medical unit.
Tyklat continued, "I've already instituted Imperial proceedings against the slave, Kaylla. I put a death warrant on her head. I thought I'd better await your approval before I instituted any further action." He gave her a studied look. "Ily, what's going on here? I'm not asking for all of the details, but you must give me enough to create plausible cover for you and your operation. The Ministry of Defense is making inquiries Economics is screaming. Everyone wants to know what happened here."
"Is my battle cruiser still up there?" she asked, mind racing. "Where's my ID badge?" God, to have lost that token of unlimited power The consequences would be unthinkable! What next? How do I cover for this damage? How did everything go so wrong so fast?
"I have taken the liberty to order your cruiser readied;
it's at your disposal." Tyklat handed her the escutcheon emblazoned with the jessant-de-lis. The leopard glared angrily at her, its visage discolored from being touched by the wrong fingers, as if she had disappointed it through her failure. Iron resolve tightened in her breast.
What now? Where would Staffa have gone? What do I do?
She organized her thoughts. "We must get a message to the Emperor and tell him Staffa kar Therma is — and has been — in the pay of the Sassan Empire since he took Myklene. Perhaps, if we play this right, we can still shortcut that bastard!" She gritted her teeth. "By the Rotted Gods, get an LC down here and transfer me up to that cruiser!
Have the First Officer get a fix on their plasma trail." She frowned at the wall, hearing Tyklat's steps and a door closing.
She brooded for a moment, her pale brow creasing with rage. "I'll get you,
Staffa kar Therma. I'll get you if I have to plunge all of Free Space into war."
Chapter 20
"It's coy!" Gretta told him, straight nose wrinkled, fn in her gulf-blue eyes. Below their balcony, the city of Vespa spread in the morning sun. Beyond the city he could see the verdant hills rising against the azure morning horizon. The sun spiUed over their little breakfast table. He could smell the freshness in the air along with a slight tang of city. The buildings seemed to gleam and the pale streets reflected as people and aircars passed his checkpoints below.
"Why?" Sinklar demanded. "It's a very old ritual that goes back over a thousand—"
"What difference will it make?" A reproving curve of her lips accented her dimples. "It's just a way of keeping the administration of property simple, isn't it? What happens if you throw me over for some other woman down the line? Then you'll have all those legal entanglements."
He shook his head, rolling his eyes up toward the fluffy clouds that filled the morning sky. Slowly, with measured tones he said, "It's a commitment. That's all, just a commitment."
Her gae lingered on his for a long moment. "All right, Sink. I'll do it." The twinkle came back to her eyes. "Still won't change anything. Won't make me any sexier. Won't make me any more docile or submissive. We're not having babies any time soon either."
"No," he admitted, "but you will be the only Divisional Second married to a First."
She frowned suddenly as she stared over the flat-topped roofs of Vespa. "Ever thought of the confusion that would result if we ever had a bad fight? I'm not sure it's a good idea to have the two of us so close to each other at the top of the command structure."
"Got a better idea?" he asked dryly, tapping his fingers
on the plasti-foam tabletop. "There's only one other Division on the planet. I don't think Mykroft is about to let you have it."
"No. No better ideas."
"If you wanted, I could put MacRuder in as Second. You could take a well deserved rest."
"You're sweet Sink. A little impractical. but sweet." She threw up her hands, shifting in her chair as she looked over the city. "If something happened to you, who do you think would take over? Mac?" Her eyes danced with mischief.
"I don't think you've been whispering plans into his ear at night like you have mine."
"No, lovely Gretta, I haven't."
"Good, keep your Rotten God-chewed ass in one piece. We'll sort out the odds and ends when we get to Rega."
"Rega," Sinklar said through an aspirated sigh. "Rega's a long way away."
"The Rebels have to talk soon Sink. We've got Vespa and all the land to the mountains under patrol. We're recruiting Targan citizens by the drove." She frowned. "I think you've got enough to form a new Division if you could get the supplies."
"Division and a Section," Sinklar mused. "All of them trained in my tactics."
"And completely loyal Sink. They love you. You've made too many promises, you know. God help us if you can't get a deal hammered out between the Rebels and the Minister of Defense."
He felt that shiver of fear that always got him when he thought of the odds. "I know." He fingered the smooth surface of the table. "I honestly hope the Minister of Defense takes the settlement. That way, we get the credit for stopping the war and live like lords on our pension and bonus."
"It's the other way that's scary."
"Hey. I can do anything! I just talked you into marrying e!" He joined her laughter before adding soberly, "I have time. There's still no Staffa in the skies overhead."
"Suppose he went Sassan?"
Sinklar grunted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Then Tybalt is going to need me more than anyone he's ever needed in all his life."
They sat silently for long minutes as the morning warmed. Finally Gretta leaned forward, expression tense. "Sink, do you ever wonder if greater powers are at play? I mean we already know that your appointment was part of a larger game… but what about this whole revolution? Targa wasn't really in that bad a shape. Sure, she was stretched to pay off the war debt to the Star Butcher. But no one was starving. They worked long hours for poor pay, but places like Terguz and Sylene would be better spots for revolution than here."
His mouth puckered and he nodded agreement. "You're right, of course. But there's more to it. Have you noticed anything missing from Vespa-and even Kaspa for that matter?" He felt across the table for her hand.
She thought for a second before she shrugged and said, "Etarian Priestesses? Myklenian wine? Street festivals? What?"
"Seddi priests," Sinklar told her flatly. "The temple in Kaspa was vacant, not a soul there. Abandoned. The temple here in Vespa was empty when we rolled in. I had Mac check it out. He says the place looks like it's been vacant for months-but no longer than that."
"Since the war began."
"Like they might be afraid the whole blame would be pitched in their lap again." He tightened his hold on her fingers. "You know. There hasn't been a name bandied about by the Rebels, no leader of the movement whose praises are shouted in the streets. Odd for a revolution, don't you think?"
She glanced at him suspiciously. "I… well, you're the scholar. I never studied revolutions."
"Generally, a revolt has a leader, a figurehead the people can identify with, someone to rally around who is concrete and represents their ideals. That person, too, is missing from this revolt." Sinklar shook his head. "Yet they fight very well; you can't help but get the feeling they're organized all over the planet."
"Which is where you think the Seddi priests come in?" She arched an eyebrow. "Makes sense. They have a network of communication and resupply over the whole planet. How do they get around?"
"Each of the temples is underground." Sinklar steepled
his fingers. "We don't know much about the layout of the volcanic vents that underlie Targa."
"A system of tunnels?" She thought about that as she flipped brown hair over