The Good That Men Do - Andy Mangels [169]
“There are wounds,” Valdore said, “and there are wounds. I myself have recovered from many injuries that others had declared mortal. In a century or so, the Coridanites could well experience just such a healing themselves.”
The centurion seemed taken aback by Valdore’s reaction. “They lost more than half a billion people in the initial attack alone, Admiral. Along with fully half of their planetary dilithium reserves.”
“Which leaves them with a remaining population of upwards of two billion. As well as around half of their planetary dilithium reserves.”
“May I point out, Admiral, that Coridan Prime has withdrawn from the Earth alliance?” Terix said. “The so-called Coalition of Planets has been more than correspondingly weakened, not only by Coridan’s departure, but also by the sudden and precipitous diminishment of locally available dilithium.”
Valdore nodded. “Indeed. But our incomplete destruction of Coridan seems to have made the worlds that have opted to remain within that alliance more steadfast about maintaining it.”
The centurion’s face was flushing a florid, coppery green. “Permission to speak freely, sir?” he said.
“I fear no man’s perception of the truth, Centurion. Speak.”
“Forgive me, Admiral, but if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were determined to wrest defeat from the bhath of victory.”
Valdore chuckled at that. “I am merely attempting to see the likely consequences of the Coridan attack through the same lens through which First Consul T’Leikha is likely to view them. And likewise, the Praetor. You may do well to think of such exercises as a survival skill.” As he made this last comment, he bared his even, white teeth in a manner that could never be confused with a smile. And while his teeth bore scant resemblance to the curved, serrated bhath of the mountain-dwelling, fiercely predatory hnoiyikar to which the centurion had referred, Valdore could see that the younger man had taken his meaning instantly.
Terix swallowed hard as he offered the traditional elbow-against-the-heart military salute. “Of course, Admiral. I beg forgiveness.”
“Dismissed.”
After the young officer had turned on his heel and exited, Valdore remained alone in his office, staring silently at the image of a devastated Coridan that the centurion had neglected to deactivate.
Despite its superficial resemblance to a military victory, the sight brought him no joy. Indeed, the suicide mission had been planned by First Consul T’Leikha and the interim military commanders who had been in charge of the Romulan Star Empire’s defense and war making during the time of Valdore’s recent imprisonment following the unfortunate drone-ship affair.
In fact, Valdore’s direct involvement in Coridan’s devastation had extended only to giving the plan’s final “execute” order, lest he balk and face the wrath of both T’Leikha and the Praetor, and end up either executed himself, or find himself dwelling again in a dim, dank cell like the one the former Senator Vrax now occupied. Valdore had seen no alternative to authorizing the attack, though he felt confident that he never would have conceived such a plan had all the decisions been left up to him.
But these facts did little to expiate the guilt Valdore felt as he watched the image of Coridan’s wreckage continue in its slow, stately rotation through the glare of its virtual sun. Was this really a mission for a military man? he thought. Or was it simply the slaughter of innocent women and children and elders in their beds?
Though he was far too loyal a soldier to speak his misgivings aloud, the part of him that had decades earlier served as a senator alongside Vrax couldn’t help but wonder if the Coridan attack was truly worthy of the un-sheathing of even a single fighter’s Honor Blade.
And the guilt he carried was exacerbated by the realization that the destruction he’d sanctioned had failed to achieve its intended political effect: the abortion of the signing of the official Earth alliance agreement, which was to have crippled the so-called Coalition’s ability