A Deepness in the Sky

"In one case, ma'am." One fairly serious problem that Belga was sure she would have pounced on herself inside of another ten days. Around the table, Underville could see that most of the others were simply surprised by the complaint. Two nodded faintly in her direction—she already knew about them. Thract tapped an angry tattoo on the table; he seemed about to jump into the fray. It was no surprise that he had been targeted by the chief's nepotistic crew, butplease God, grant him the cleverness to keep hismaw shut. Thract was already in such poor standing that his support would be about as much help as a steel anvil to a racing-climber.

The chief inclined her head, waited a polite moment for anyone else to comment. Then, "Colonel Underville, I understand that this can hurt your people's morale. But we are entering very critical times, far deadlier than a declared war. I need special assistants, ones who can act very quickly and who I understand completely. The Lighthill team acts directly for me. Please tell me if you feel their behavior is out of line—but I ask you to respect their delegated authority." Her tone seemed sincerely regretful, but the words were uncompromising; Smith was changing policy of decades' standing. Belga had the sinking feeling that the chief knew all her cobblies' depredations.

The Finance Minister had looked almost bored so far. Nizhnimor was a war hero; she had walked through the Dark with Sherkaner Underhill. You might forget that when you saw her; Amberdon Nizhnimor had spent all the decades of this generation climbing up the Other Side of the royal service, as a court politician and arbitrator. She dressed and moved like an old coot; Nizhnimor was a cartoon caricature of a Finance Minister. Big, lank, frail. Now she leaned forward. Her wheezy voice sounded as harmless as she looked. "I fear this is all a bit outside my realm. But I do have some advice. Though we can't have a Plebiscite, we are very much at war. Internal to the government, we are moving to a war footing. Normal chains of appeal and review are in suspension. Given this extraordinary situation, it's important for you to realize that both I and—more importantly—the King have complete faith in General Smith's leadership. You all know that the chief of Intelligence has special prerogatives. This is not outmoded tradition, ladies and gentleman. This is considered, royal policy, and you must all accept it."

Wow. So much for "frail" finance ministers. There were sober nods from all around the table and no one had anything more to say, least of all Belga Underville. In a strange way, Belga felt better for getting so definitively squashed. Things might be on a road straight to Hell, but she didn't have to worry about who was on the driver's perch.

After a moment, General Smith returned to her agenda. "...We have one item left. It is also the most critical problem we're up against. Colonel Thract, will you tell us about the Southland situation?" Her tone was courteous, almost sympathetic. Nevertheless, poor Thract was in for it.

But Thract showed some hardshell. He bounced off his perch and walked briskly to the podium. "Minister. Ma'am." He nodded at Nizhnimor and the chief. "We believe the situation has stabilized somewhat in the last fifteen hours." He poked up the recon pictures that Belga had seen him studying before the meeting. Much of Southland was shrouded in a swirl of storm, but the launch sites were high in the Dry Mountains and mostly visible. Thract tapped away at his pictures, analyzing the supply situation. "The long-range Southlander rockets are liquid fueled, very fragile things. Their parliament has seemed insanely bellicose these last few days—their ‘Ultimatum for Cooperative Survival,' for instance—but in fact, we don't think that more than a tenth of their rockets are launch-ready. It will take three or four days for them to get all the tanks topped off."

Belga: "That seems awfully stupid on their part."

Thract nodded. "But remember, their parliamentary system makes them less decisive than either us or the Kindred. These people have been tricked into thinking that they must either fight a war now, or be murdered in their sleep. The Ultimatum may have been a mistake in timing, but it was also an attempt by some in Parliament to make the prospect of war so frightening that their colleagues would back down."

The Director of Air Defense: "So you figure things will stay peaceful until they complete fueling?"

"Yes. The crunch will be the Parliament meeting at Southmost in four days. That's where they review our response—if we've made one—to the Ultimatum."

The wimp from Public Relations asked, "Why not just accede to their demands? They aren't asking for territory. We are so strong that giving in would scarcely be a loss of prestige."