The Chronicles of Riddick - Alan Dean Foster [51]
“Remember,” he said, turning to Scales, “whether one is mounting a defense or an attack, it is important to dictate the flow of battle, to keep control. Not only for strategic reasons, but to maintain morale among the converted. Every defense, every offense, has its blind spot. Finding and exploiting it is the key to victory, not the mass sacrifice of one’s own forces.” He gestured at the map one more time. “These Helions are no different. As with most, their blind spot . . .”
As the Lord Marshal declaimed on the merits of military subtlety, Vaako moved closer and closer. Was such a thing as complete surprise, after all, possible? Was he about to secure proof of what he had long wondered about? He was there, almost there, almost within an arm’s length.
The visage that turned toward him was vaporous, but clearly defined. It was the facial equivalent of the third arm that not long ago had ripped the soul from a defiant politician in the middle of Helion’s capitol building. It stared unblinkingly at the approaching Vaako, who halted sharply as the physical face caught up and merged with its astral predecessor.
“. . . is right behind them,” the Lord Marshal concluded without any change in tone.
To his credit, Vaako recovered quickly, betraying no sign of his purpose in approaching so stealthily. “We found a launch site and witnesses. There is no proof the sought-after subject was aboard, but the weight of evidence would seem to support such a conclusion. An intercept was attempted, but failed. However, orbital units were able to make a pick subsequent to the indicated craft’s supralight jump. That is only sufficient for an initial destination, of course, but having escaped the intercept, those on board should be full of confidence. Since they do not know we have the capability of making a course pick, it seems unlikely they would go to the expense and trouble of dropping out of supralight to make a course correction. In lieu of confirmation, all is supposition, of course.”
“If the subject has gone off world,” the Lord Marshal replied, without in any way alluding to Vaako’s unusually furtive entry, “then you should be off world, Vaako.”
The commander stiffened slightly. It was not a reprimand, but neither was it praise for good work already done. “I’ve already ordered a strike team to follow as far as needed. It is well prepared and well led. I have the greatest confidence in its ability to—”
The Lord Marshal interrupted him. “My confidence lies in those closest to me.” Was that a sly comment on his entrance? Vaako could not tell. “Wherever the Riddick has gone, it falls to you to lens him out and cleanse him. You. If I wished another officer to take charge of this matter, I would already have designated one.”
Vaako was more confused than angry. There was no glory to the cause in following and tracking down one lone malcontent, whatever his perceived abilities. The real action was here, in the Helion system, doing battle with sturdy planetary defenses and hordes of the unconverted.
“Forgive me, but—isn’t my place here? Participating in the planning and execution of the remainder of the Helion campaign? My training, my experience, has led me to the command of dozens of ships, thousand of converts. Surely it’s not necessary for me to be present at the takedown of one man? Isn’t this where I’m most—?”
The Lord Marshal spoke with disarming softness. “Are you questioning my judgment in this matter, Vaako?”
The expressions on the faces of the other senior officers in the room spoke volumes. Toal, for his part, actually moved a couple of steps away from Vaako. Scales favored his colleague with the kind of look one reserves for an acquaintance who has suddenly been diagnosed with a rare, incurable, and highly contagious disease.
“No, my Lord Marshal,” Vaako responded hastily.