“The line is civilian,” the young man said.
“Not secure, in other words.”
Sondaw saw the problem in its simplest terms. “Two people can discuss quite a lot, if they know and accept that limitation. If neither of you mentions troop displacements or timetables, of course.”
The little office was crowded with uniforms. Every high-ranking soldier made approving noise about the lieutenant’s assessment.
She cut off discussion with a slash of her hand.
When every eye was fixed on her, she said, “You don’t understand. List is not our priority. Our priority is to make ready for what comes next.”
Seeing her opportunity, another officer stepped forward. “Madam Archon. You wanted our resources and dispersals.”
“Show me.”
The young woman offered a thin stack of papers. Most of the Corona fleet was hiding in the nearby forest. “The District mobilization is complete,” she said. “Including ships lost in the attacks and the reservists who are presumed to have died before, we’re short eighteen percent of our total forces.”
“And we have our allies,” Prima said. “From other Districts, but not counting the behemoths inside the Hole.”
A second, far smaller stack was laid on top of the first.
The Archon nodded while reading. Two friendly Archons had sent important airships, particularly the neighboring District of Mists. The other five outliers had handed over control of certain commercial freighters. The Coronas had their own commercial fleet, plus the corona hunters, and those were just the easiest ways to milk promise out of these numbers and impressive names.
The audience stood at attention, but focuses were wavering.
She ignored them. The rest of the world had to vanish, nothing existing but an army of calculations battling for dominance.
The still leaf suddenly wasn’t quite still; her right hand began to tremble.
Noticing, Sondaw said, “Madam.”
“I need air,” she said. “I want to walk.”
People emptied into the narrow hallway. Critical orders had been promised, but the Archon was still not relinquishing details, much less goals.
Did she have any plans yet?
Prima walked beside the woman officer. “We sent two fletches after Merit,” she began.
“Yes, madam?”
“Not enough. Send another pair.”
In one fashion or another, every face was concerned.
Only one general was onboard, and he willingly rose to the bait. “I can’t help but notice, madam. You’re playing a very active role in these matters.”
“I am,” she said.
He said, “We are here to help you, Madam Archon.”
“And I’m not shy about asking for advice.” A massive locked door led into the Panoply’s belly. Looking back at her audience, she used a flat stern voice to ask, “Have we declared war?”
“No, madam,” the general allowed.
“Have the papio declared?”
The man sighed. “No.”
“Peacetime means that civilian leaders hold the first and last word in matters of defense. This is a good smart policy, perhaps. Or it’s a lousy, clumsy tradition that makes us slow and stupid. Either way, this is what every District does. Ours and List’s too, judging by my colleague’s prominent status in his fleet.”
Nobody spoke.
Looking at the woman officer, she said, “Send two more fletches from our ranks. And there’s a fast freighter, courtesy of the Bluetear District. It carries oversized fuel tanks, am I right? Load it up and send it too, as support for the mission.”
“Yes, madam,” the woman said.
“We need to find our friends,” she said.
“Of course, madam.”
“And we will find them, yes, madam,” the general muttered by instinct.
Once again, Prima looked at the papers in her hand. She knew every ship by its name and designation, its manpower and munitions, and that was a surprise. The fatigue that she expected hadn’t arrived. Yet the calm leaf didn’t want to read another word. That’s why she handed the papers to Sondaw. Then to no one in particular, she said, “We can’t allow Diamond to be delivered to the papio. Not much is certain, but that is. They don’t get the boy. And no cost is too great.”
People nodded, trying to agree with her foggy platitude.
“Come with me,” she told Sondaw. “The rest of you, make the fleet ready to embark. Soon.”
“To meet up with Archon List and the main fleet,” the general guessed, concerned but hopeful.
“One way or another, of course.”
She struck the steel door. A soldier on the other side looked through the tiny window, slowly twisting the locks.
Prima and her lieutenant entered, and the door was locked again as they walked downstairs. Every interrogation room was occupied, but the quality of prisoners was generally poor. Two papio pilots wore chains strong enough to restrain giants. Neither had offered anything but curses and the desire to rescue one helpless boy. Several office workers had always lived beyond their means. They were now sharing the same cell, but besides selling a few harmless secrets to the enemies, they seemed to be blind little nothings living inside moldy wood. Merit was right about one bitter fact: this nightmare wasn’t about the papio government or papio intrigues. The reef-humans didn’t want to fling Diamond back to where he came from, and they certainly wouldn’t bring down trees and lives, risking total war to make their point.
A different beast had killed the trees. Criminals from both species working together seemed most likely. They seemed like a deep wicked enemy, evil beyond measure, and that’s why a handful of foresters and occasional smugglers had been shoved inside the biggest cell. These were the people who could carry the fuel and explosives from the reef to Rail and to Marduk and the rest of their targets. But more credible suspects had vanished, including an explosives expert and the bodyguard dispatcher who placed Bits where he needed to be yesterday morning. Were they dead innocents or enemies in hiding? And how many papio knew, condoning or at least ignoring the plot’s horrible progress?
Time and patience would normally wring out clues. But time and patience were luxuries. Worse still, the Ivory Station had burned, destroying all kinds of records. From birth, Prima was taught to believe in good ends waiting after the greatest tragedies. She couldn’t stop imagining sanity and stability, both kinds of humanity sitting at the traditional Table of Accord: polished coral and polished wood in equal measure. One day, perhaps in her lifetime, the scope of this wicked conspiracy would become apparent. Maybe not the full details and not every guilty name, but the Creation was built on true principles, and nothing as horrific as yesterday could fully vanish.
She could only do what she could imagine doing, today and tomorrow and no farther than that.
Protecting her species was what mattered. Saving the world was the only priority, and that’s why she came down to this place. Prima wanted the room behind the final wire door. A hard stool was standing in the hallway outside, and sitting on the stool was a specialist who was talking to the prisoner. A powerfully built man of no particular age, the interrogator was bland in appearance and manners. As the Archon approached, he stood up. His right hand was scraped. Someone else’s blood gave his white trousers their color. Reading her face, he stepped back from his post, saying, “I could stand a break, if you’d like to keep watch for me.”
“Thank you, we will,” said Prima.
He left, and she touched the wire door. Sondaw was standing on her right. Both looked into the little room. A steel cot once stood in the back, but that indulgence had been wrenched loose and stolen away. There was a tiny bucket for shit and an electric light that was too powerful for the overhead fixture. The prisoner had no place to sit but the floor, but heating coils had been woven inside the bone tiles, keeping the surface too hot for exposed skin. The man’s left arm was hanging at an unnatural angle. He had two bare feet and nothing for clothes except oversized underwear, intentionally filthy, and he stood on one foot for a long moment before rocking to the other, and after the pain built too much, he returned to the first foot.