“You have to give your men the same reason, don’t you?”
“Right. And they’ll accept it. In fact, they’d protest if I didn’t issue
such an order, Dennitza’s lived too many centuries by the abyss; this
time we nearly went over.”
Miyatovich tamped his pipe bowl needlessly hard. “I’ve gotten to know
you well enough, I believe, in this short while, that I can tell you the
whole truth,” he added. “You thought you were helping me smooth things
out with respect to the Empire. And you were, you were. But my main
reason for quick reconciliation is … to get the Imperials out of the
Zorian System while we still have our own full strength.”
“And you’ll strike back at Merseia,” Flandry said.
The Gospodar showed astonishment. “How did you guess?”
“I didn’t guess. I knew–Kossara. She told me a lot.”
Miyatovich gathered wind and wits. “Don’t think I’m crazy,” he urged.
“Rather, I’ll have to jump around like sodium in the rain, trying to
keep people and Skupshtina from demanding action too loudly before the
Terrans leave. But when the Terrans do–” His eyes, the color of hers,
grew leopard-intent. “We want more than revenge. In fact, only a few of
us like myself have suffered what would have brought on a blood feud in
the old days. But I told you we live on the edge. We have got to show we
aren’t safe for unfriends to touch. Otherwise, what’s next?”
“Nemo me impune lacessit,” Flandry murmured.
“Hm?”
“No matter. Ancient saying. Too damned ancient; does nothing ever change
at the heart?” Flandry shook his head. The chemical barriers were
growing thin. “I take it, then, in the absence of da Costa or some other
Imperial official–who’d surely maintain anything as atavistic as
response to aggression is against policy and must in all events be
referred to the appropriate authorities, in triplicate, for debate–in
the absence of that, as sector governor you’ll order the Dennitzan fleet
on a retaliatory strike.”
Miyatovich nodded. “Yes.”
“Have you considered the consequences?”
“I’ll have time to consider them further, before we commit. But … if
we choose the target right, I don’t expect Merseia will do more than
protest. The fact seems to be, at present they are not geared for war
with Terra. They were relying on a new civil war among us. If instead
they get hit, the shock ought to make them more careful about the whole
Empire.”
“What target have you in mind?”
Miyatovich frowned, spent a minute with a lighter getting his pipe
started, finally said, “I don’t yet know. The object is not to start a
war, but to punish behavior which could cause one. The Roidhunate
couldn’t write off a heavily populated planet. Nor would I lead a
genocidal mission. But, oh, something valuable, maybe an industrial
center on a barren metal-rich globe–I’ll have the War College study
it.”
“If you succeed,” Flandry warned, “you’ll be told you went far beyond
your powers.”
“That can be argued. Those powers aren’t too well defined, are they? I
like to imagine Hans Molitor will sympathize.” The Gospodar shrugged.
“If not, what becomes of me isn’t important. I’m thinking of the
children and grandchildren.”
“Uh-huh. Well, you’ve confirmed what–Hold on.” The phone buzzed.
Flandry reached to press accept. He had to try twice before he made it.
A countenance half as stark as his looked from the screen. “Lieutenant
Mitchell reporting, sir. Hypnoprobing of the prisoner Dominic Hazeltine
has been completed.”
“Results?” The question was plane-flat.
“You predicted aright, sir. The subject was deep-conditioned.” Mitchell
winced at a recollection unpleasant even in his line of work. “I’d never
seen or heard of so thorough a treatment. He went into shock almost at
once. In later stages, the stimuli necessary were–well, he hasn’t got a
forebrain left to speak of.”
“I want a transcript in full,” Flandry said. “Otherwise, you’re to seal
the record, classified Ultimate Secret, and your whole team will keep
silence. I’ll give you a written directive on that, authorized by
Governor Miyatovich.”
“Yes, sir.” Mitchell showed puzzlement. He must be wondering why the
emphasis. Intelligence didn’t make a habit of broadcasting what it
learned. Unless–“Sir, you realize, don’t you, this is still raw