The image of the Brasil was blurred. That had the effect of making the picture more real to those watching. This was real data from a vessel accompanying the starliner, not a computer simulation.
“Tblisi received a communications torpedo with the news,” Ran said. “From Nevasa, it must be. Lin must be really serious about ending the war if he’s sent direct messages to colonies this distant.”
“It’s Nevasa, that’s for sure,” Wanda said. “Look at the sky.”
The Nevasan atmosphere fluoresced in dazzling sheets to swaddle the plunging starliner. The lenses recording the scene couldn’t penetrate the fog of light, except to record the yellow-white glow of the .Brass’s dense hull.
“Casualty figures are still being assembled,” the newsreader said in the tones of someone who can’t really believe what he’s seeing, “but it appears that damage to Nevasa City and the region around it has been extensive.”
“Christ!” said Ran Colville. “If she hit Nevasa City at orbital velocity, there isn’t any fucking Nevasa City any more!”
“Grantholm hijacked the Brazil and used her as a missile,” Wanda said. She gripped her companion’s left hand and squeezed till blood started from where her fingernails cut into the skin. “Ran, they killed—tens of thousands of people. Hundreds of thousands of people!”
“No,” Ran whispered. “Grantholm didn’t do that.”
The newsreader vanished. The image from Nevasa expanded to fill the display. The starliner’s track was a cone of roiling pastels reaching toward the ground until it merged with the distance-softened sprawl of Nevasa City.
“If Grantholm had taken the Brasil,” Ran continued, “the Nevasans would never have let her get into planetary orbit. She had to be in Nevasan hands when she—dropped.”
The hologram image shuddered from atmospheric distortion. The display flashed indigo verging on ultraviolet, then white, and finally all colors as a lightning-shot bubble swelled across the surface of the planet. The impact of hundreds of thousands of tonnes hitting Nevasa at astronomical speed converted the contact surfaces to plasma and a huge additional volume to gas.
“They were bringing the Brasil to Nevasa to be converted into a troopship,” Ran said. He lifted Wanda’s hand to his lips and kissed it gently to remind her of her grip on him. “As they would have done the Empress, if we hadn’t dumped the hijack team—the Nevasan team—on Tellichery.”
“They lost control?” Wanda said. The bubble continued to swell on the display. Its rim was picked out by black specks, fragments weighing hundreds of tonnes splashing out of the impact zone. Many of them would reach escape velocity.
“Yes,” said Ran. “And I think I know how.” He swallowed. “I want to get back to the Empress,” he added.
Wanda kissed the back of Ran’s hand. Her tongue tasted his blood. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Yes, let’s
go-”
“The war’s over!” the local man beside them repeated gleefully.
* * *
The walls of Commander Kneale’s suite were set to show holographic scenes of Nevasa. The ceiling was a view (downward, disconcertingly) of the Empress of Earth descending onto Con Ron Landing, haloed by her squadron of tugs and the fluorescing atmosphere.
The city nestled into the hills about the spaceport Large swatches of green interspersed the built-up areas.
“Sit down, Ran,” the commander offered from behind his big desk. He looked weary but composed.
“No, I don’t think I’ll do that,” Ran said harshly. “I heard what happened on Nevasa. To Nevasa.”
“Yes,” Kneale said, “so did I.”
He stretched. “Do you have any suggestions about who could fill a rating’s slot on my watch? One of my people—Blavatsky—she’s leaving the company here to marry a passenger.”
He grimaced and shook his head.
“Do you know how many people died down there, Commander?” Ran shouted, pointing up toward the image of Nevasa City. “How many died?”
“Fewer than would have died if the war had gone on another ten years,” Kneale said calmly, “as it might have done. But that’s none of my business.”
Ran twisted his eyes away from the commander’s face. On the right-hand bulkhead, images of Nevasan children gamboled on the floor of a narrow gorge while their parents watched indulgently. The whip-trunked native trees grew up both walls of the gorge and wove together at the top, filtering the sunlight to soft green without glare or shadows.