Of course the generals had to promise their Archon that the bloodwood forest was secure. Scouts and assorted fortifications saw no evidence of intrusions, much less sabotage, and no full-scale attacks were in the offing. What happened in the distant Corona District could never happen here.
“Besides, our trees are stronger,” said Father.
“And far less flammable,” said the general of generals, rocking slightly as his legs weakened. “Blackwoods and fire like each other far too well.”
His colleagues said nothing, nodding in ways that might mean anything.
“What did our allies do wrong?” Father asked.
Possibilities were offered, and they came too quickly. Quickness signaled reflexes at work, which was different from level, rational thought. These military creatures knew what was expected, and their speculations chased the premise that the Corona District was ruled by incompetents and possibly worse.
“You think they have traitors in their ranks,” said Father, speaking from behind his large bloodwood desk.
The three generals were in sad agreement; that awful possibility was very much in play.
“Traitors who want Diamond dead,” said Father, glancing at King. “Or at least they’d like to put him out of our reach again, I suppose.”
“But the boy has survived,” one general reminded everyone.
“And so the Creators have blessed us again.” Father nodded. “Now I have another foolish question. Blackwood burns, you say. That seems like a critical detail.”
Three faces nodded agreeably.
“But I know those trees. I’ve seen Marduk for myself. It isn’t a bloodwood . . . it wasn’t . . . but that trunk was massive, a proven survivor. Yet you seem to claim that an ordinary fire can tear a pillar of wood out of the world’s ceiling.”
“This was no natural fire,” said the youngest general. “That kind of blaze requires special explosives, very powerful, with almost supernatural heat.”
The general of generals nodded enthusiastically, happy to finally say the words everyone was thinking: “The papio are certainly involved.”
Father shrugged. “I don’t know much about bombs. My apologies.”
The ranking officer was happy to teach. “Our enemy has stockpiled many kinds of weapons, and destroying our trees would be one of their immediate goals.”
“And we have nothing like this?”
The generals hesitated.
“If I recall, there are some enormous, coral-shattering weapons in our armories,” said Father, flashing a proud smile. “You showed me those stockpiles once, right after I won this office. I remember rockets as long as this room, and you explained how those corona-bone tips would let them burrow deep inside the reef before detonating.”
The other humans exchanged glances, deciding who would reply.
Finally, the youngest old man said, “Coral-splitters, yes. But they wouldn’t be any use in tearing down a forest.”
“What would be?”
“We don’t make a habit of discussing the issue, but our District does maintain a small number of bombs designed to cut wood, not coral. They can demolish any tree trunk, and we keep them in case an outlying area has troubles.”
The human was describing civil war.
Father put on a satisfied expression. “But you’re sure that our great enemy, the papio, attacked us. Yes?”
The generals were happy with that conjecture.
“The papio in conjunction with traitors,” Father said. “They must have infiltrated the Corona District with allies.”
Each man relaxed his arms, in one way or another saying, “Yes.”
“But we don’t have any traitors.”
The middle general blinked. “We?”
“The District of Districts,” Father said. “None of our citizens want that young boy dropped into oblivion.”
“There are probably a few wicked sorts,” his superior said. “But not many, and nobody of consequence, I would think.”
“Why would you think that?” Father asked.
Again, the responses came too quickly—stated and then followed by more clinical evidence that looked sewn onto the reflexive mess. Basically, the men inhabiting those silk uniforms were convinced that they knew everybody of worth and had measured each of their souls without error.
King hadn’t moved since before this meeting began. He was supposed to keep his distance, pulling lessons from this slow, polite interrogation. But then the Archon of Archons now gave him the quickest glance possible followed by a subtle nod, which was his signal to step forward—a tall armored creature with fierce green eyes and two determined mouths.
Generals preferred the company of generals. They tolerated civilian leaders but preferred not to notice the leader’s child. Standing at attention, they faced List while explaining what they knew that was certain and what they could surmise without too much imagination. Conspirators inside the Corona District had used the papio, unless the treachery flew the other way. Terrible weapons had been smuggled into the highest portion of the forest, and while evidence would be uncovered quite a lot might be learned in future days, the generals thought it vital to warn the civilian at his desk that the whole story might never be known.
“Oh, I agree with that,” Father said.
Faces grinned, not relaxed but not scared either. These were creatures with long careers, honors earned without once fighting a serious battle. These were masters in the realms of public speaking and sure, solid words delivered with authority, particularly during practiced meetings. Father would end their careers today. He had explained his plan to King before the men were let into his office. With his voice high and sharp, he had confided, “These are not the men to lead the fleet tomorrow.”
“Where are we going tomorrow?” King had asked.
“Indeed,” his father had replied cryptically. “That’s my point exactly.”
Now King approached the four humans, stopping only when the generals nervously glanced his way.
Father pretended to be irritated by the boy’s presence. He pretended to look at a stack of useless papers. Then he focused on the doomed soldiers, saying, “Perhaps you should explain this papio bomb to me. Exactly how big is it, able to drop all of those trees?”
Tired backs needed adjustments.
“I assumed it was a single weapon. Am I wrong?”
The generals had a lesson to deliver. The youngest said, “There weren’t any reports of papio aircraft. So more likely, our enemies would use a series of demolition charges. Materials could be smuggled through the wilderness in small quantities, presumably over many days and nights.”
“I suppose that is more reasonable,” said Father.
Again, the generals glanced at the peculiar creature standing still as a statue near his tiny parent.
With a sigh, Father said, “Well, at least the Diamond boy survives.”
Everybody but King nodded happily, that lone bit of good news worth repeating again and again.
“So,” Father began.
Nobody spoke.
“Some secretive group planted explosives inside several trees—explosives brewed by our eternal enemies—and then the trees came down, killing tens of thousands of citizens.”
The men said nothing, perhaps hoping silence would help their circumstances.
“Early reports are sketchy,” Father continued. “But I was speaking to Prima just before you arrived. She claims that one of Diamond’s bodyguards tried to trap him on Marduk, assuring his death.”
“Well, a huge plot like this,” the middle general began.
Then he hesitated.
Father called to him by name, not rank.
The man swallowed. “The Corona District is utterly incompetent when it comes to security. As I have said more than once . . . ”
“They are not incompetent,” Father said.
The general of generals scoffed at that statement.
“Shut up,” Father said, leaning across his desk, one stick-like finger stabbing the air. “For the last four hundred days, my office and my good people have worked hard to place agents inside Prima’s security apparatus, and the results have been lousy, more often than not.”