Horizon Storms - Kevin J. Anderson [64]
“They were doing hydrogue surveillance, Mr. Chairman,” Stromo said, sounding apologetic. “No wonder they were destroyed. But if we turn that fact on its head, design these ships to be destroyed, we’ll take out the big pointy beachballs each time.”
“All right,” Basil said. “But do you expect the human skeleton crews to become kamikazes? Why should they sit on the bridge of these rammers and drive them smack into a warglobe?”
Lanyan and Stromo looked at each other as if the answer was obvious. “I’m sure we can find enough volunteers, Mr. Chairman—”
“But not necessary,” Cain interrupted in a quiet, reasonable voice. “We could modify the design so that the bridge crew ejects some sort of lifeboat at the last minute. It would give them a chance, at least.”
“If you like,” Lanyan said, frowning.
“All right. I authorize it—reallocate shipyard resources and get this into the production schedule. The people want to see us killing hydrogues. It might cost us dearly, but we’ve got to sting back.”
“We can have the first group of sixty ships completed in six months, Mr. Chairman,” Stromo said.
General Lanyan added, “This rammer fleet will allow us to pick and choose our targets, wipe out drogue infestations at our convenience. One planet at a time.”
“An excellent start,” the Chairman said.
An emergency message appeared on Cain’s deskstream. The deputy leaned forward, perplexed. Basil set down his coffee cup and waited in silence. When Cain looked up, Basil took hope from the fact that the deputy’s expression was more puzzled than horrified.
“The datapoints have been accumulating for days, Mr. Chairman. One of my assistants recognized a pattern and checked other reports. The result is clear, though I don’t understand what it means.”
Basil tried to control his impatience; by now everyone else in the room had fallen silent, waiting.
“It’s the ekti shipments from the Roamers. All of the regularly scheduled deliveries failed to arrive. Every single one. The clans have cut us off everywhere…with no explanation.”
Since normal hours meant nothing to the Chairman of the Terran Hanseatic League, Sarein came to him in his private rooms before dawn. She was one of a very few people who could slip through his guard, and he had allowed it for many years. Their long-standing relationship had grown surprisingly comfortable, and Basil tried not to pay much attention to it, taking her for granted. It would be a weakness to rely on her too much, but he enjoyed her company.
Basil had slept for four hours—more than usual—and the young Theron woman had clearly made up her mind to wake him pleasurably. Recently, after losing both of her brothers to the hydrogues, Sarein had seemed to need his companionship more and more, but instead of letting her get closer, Basil found himself drawing away. For the time being, however, her increased dependence on him hadn’t reached the point of being bothersome. Not yet.
Sarein had used her own passcode, a gift he’d presented to her many years before and one that she dared not abuse. She wore filmy cocoon-weaves and a scarf around her shoulders to signify her ambassadorial status. The clinging garments showed off the contours of her body to good effect. She stood at his doorway, smiling in the golden light that spilled through the transparent roof of his penthouse. “Good morning, Mr. Chairman.”
He sat up in bed, granting her a smile, which she took as encouragement. Sarein began a seductive peeling of her clothes, unwinding one exotic cloth after another. By now, he should have grown tired of looking at her, or at least accustomed to her body—but he still found considerable merit in watching Sarein.
Since the attack on Theroc, she and Queen Estarra had eagerly awaited any report from their world, and the two sisters had pored over all images and summaries delivered by EDF recon ships after the initial rescue mission. Sarein had asked Basil, as a personal favor, to send more aid to Theroc, but he had decided not to, since