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Ah, Nijil thought. The praetor’s recent renewed preoccupation with Haakona, his father’s folly. What a waste.

Valdore continued, polishing his Honor Blade with a cloth as he spoke. “There are times when we are not permitted to have the fleet that we might find ‘optimal.’ During those times, we must make do with the resources available, and seize victory regardless of any dearth of resources.” He lifted his gaze from the gleaming blade he held, and used it to pin Nijil where he stood. “Do we understand each other, Chief Technologist?”

“I believe we do, Admiral,” Nijil said, hoping he was reading his cues correctly, and that Valdore was about to dismiss him, rather than succumb to an apparent urge to leap across the desk and use his blade for emphasis.

Valdore shook his head, scowling. “No. No, I’m not at all certain that you really do. The Andorsu had detected our attack early enough to repel it, if only barely. That cost the lives of one of my most accomplished field commanders and his entire crew.”

Nijil supposed this specific point was the source of much of the admiral’s anger and frustration. Commander T’Voras, the hero of D’caernu’mneani, was a dynamic young officer whom Valdore himself had groomed as one of his possible replacements; now he was dead, incinerated along with all hands aboard the Bird-of-Prey Dhivael.

“And the real tragedy,’” Valdore continued, “is that the Andorsu operation could have succeeded, just as it was.”

It occurred to Nijil that the failure at Andorsu had occurred for tactical reasons as much as technological ones. The former was the admiral’s province, however, and that fact made it less than prudent for Nijil to stray too far from the latter.

“Had fortune favored us, Admiral, perhaps,” Nijil said noncommittally. “But the resources—”

“Were adequate, if sparse,” Valdore said, interrupting. “Having more ships on hand would not necessarily have prevented the Andorsu from detecting the attack as early as they did.”

While Nijil did not wish to provoke Valdore by arguing further with him, he hoped to improve his mood by trying to focus on whatever bright side the Andorsu debacle might present. Still, he noted with some relief that the admiral had released his death grip on his Honor Blade.

“According to the long-range observation vessels,” Nijil said cautiously, “one of the assault craft nearly made it all the way down to the Andorsu homeworld.”

Valdore shook his head. “And nevertheless missed the opportunity to obliterate the two most important Andorsu cities, if only by the width of one of their antennae. Unfortunately, such margins can determine entire outcomes in warfare, Nijil. There is no ‘almost victorious.’”

“Of course not, Admiral. But we stand to learn a great deal from the telemetry collected during the operation.”

“I certainly hope so, for your sake. For instance, have you learned yet how the Earth ships have managed to harden their systems against our arrenhe’hwiua telecapture device?”

“The hevam do not yet appear to be capable of resisting telecapture completely,” Nijil said, feeling defensive. “They are not invulnerable.”

“Not yet. But they now appear significantly less vulnerable than the ships of the other Coalition races. The telemetry data do not lie, Nijil. The Earthers have obviously devised at least a partial countermeasure.”

“We will redouble our efforts to overcome it, Admiral,” Nijil said.

With a curt nod of acknowledgment, the admiral stood, grasped the pommel of his sword and raised it before him. He approached Nijil and leveled the blade at his throat.

“See that you do,” Valdore said. “It would be inconvenient to have to seek a new chief technologist during times such as these. I really don’t want to have to find yet another new leader for the avaihh lli vastam project now that the prototype is so close to completion at the Atlai’fehill Stelai complex.”

His façade of calm now all but demolished