Her second-in-command was good friends with a couple of other commanders, relationships that preceded her posting, and if he expressed his discontent more widely, planted the seed of doubt in their minds, she would be at a distinct disadvantage. She was banking on the rigidity of Perlim military training, the perception of Central Control as the ultimate in military authority and her perceived cosiness with Kodnell, to carry the initial part of the plan through. What happened after that, when boots actually hit the battleground, was another matter.

She held her breath, watching him as he thought. He fidgeted and exhaled sharply. Once, he looked at her with such loathing, she felt almost at home. After long drawn-out minutes, he conceded.

"Kodnell has a stellar reputation within Central Control. He is an exemplary tactician."

She decided to throw him a bone. "It's a unique situation, Koul." She softened her voice. "We're not just dealing with the Menon problem any longer, and we can't afford to linger on this forsaken planet."

Which was true, but not for the reasons he thought. As Kodnell briefed the officers on the state of the empire that last afternoon, it was as if the Fusion had sent Cheloi a message written in the cl.u.s.ters of stars on the projected stellar maps.

The Empire is on the edge of toppling. It is poverty-stricken and overextending its reach.

The harrying of the Fusion at the border of imperial s.p.a.ce was a directive to her. Even the underground gossip nets that Kodnell mentioned were probably another facet of Fusion infiltration.

We're here, we're distracting them. Move in and shut down the Nineteen.

"If we have to take an unconventional approach to win this war, then I'll do it." She glanced at her adjutant. "There's still the Fusion border waiting for us. I'm sure that will be the next campaign. And, before that, I think we all want to go home. For myself, it would be nice to see the stars clearly again."

Koul didn't agree. Cheloi could see that clearly. He loved it in the thick of war, wielding his authority as if it were a bludgeoning sword. She wondered what it was that motivated him to such excess. An imbalance in his brain chemistry? A traumatic childhood? She wished she knew. Whatever it was, he loved it on Menon, where a planetside conflict offered more visceral pleasures than a silent s.p.a.ce battle.

Despite his feelings, Koul knew what was expected of him. "Of course. Home." His voice was deadpan.

Looking to the other side of the table, she saw the exhaustion in Rumis's eyes and knew the keenness with which he missed his family. She had to end this, not only for the Fusion, but also for the Perlim p.a.w.ns who deserved better. People like Rumis, whose only crime was to be born on the wrong side of the galactic divide.

"The change in the command chain will only be temporary, and it will only be for a week. That will give the regular commanders enough time to absorb Vanqill's lessons, then take over and execute them across the territory."

Koul had good instincts. Cheloi could see in his changing expressions that he knew there was something wrong with the plan. But his mentor and champion, Kodnell, had signed off on it so that must mean everything was okay. In the Fusion, such doubts would have led to open discussions, but this was the Perlim Empire. Not even the Emperor expressed doubts. And if the Emperor didn't do it, then his mere subjects didn't do it either.

Cheloi knew enough about the textures of silence to know the moment when Koul segued from disagreement to resignation. She turned her attention to her adjutant. "Rumis, is everything prepared?"

He nodded. "The orders have been drawn up and sealed. Couriers are standing by to deliver them this evening."

"Three weeks," she said, looking from one man to the other. "That's all it will take to determine whether we succeed or fail in this endeavour. And I personally think I will succeed."

The use of the personal p.r.o.noun didn't escape Koul and the edge of one lip curled. She had meant it as a small, privately grim joke. He took it as yet another sign of her rampant egotism.

"There's just one more thing, Senior Colonel."

"Yes, Koul?"

"You're moving our local battalions out as well."

"Yes."

Rumis spoke up, his handsome face creased with worry. "If Colonel Grakal-Ski is thinking what I think he is, then I agree with him on this point, Colonel. Leaving our base undefended isn't a wise move."

"Vanqill already a.n.a.lysed and cleared the immediate vicinity, as you know." What they didn't know was the background discussion. Her cajoling of Vanqill. Her twisting of him, drawing on every gram of loyalty he had toward her, every drop of grat.i.tude, until he agreed that HQ was one small patch of the Nineteen that needn't be crawling with as many Perlim as standard protocol warranted. "Central Control wants a clear victory without supplying further soldiers. The only logical choice is to deploy what we can spare."

"But can we spare our own battalions?" Rumis pursued.

"It's a single explosive offensive," she explained. "Kodnell made that very clear. Besides, you've been overseeing the armament upgrades along the rim, haven't you Rumis?"

Her adjutant nodded.

"We have top-line tracking and missile defenses," he added. "And our HQ-wide mute shield is impervious."

"If the rebels decide to attack anyway," Koul began.

"If the rebels attack, they'll be throwing themselves against a wall of ballistic defence." Cheloi made her voice crisp. "And that's even if they can pinpoint our exact location. If they survive the initial onslaught, they'll need interstellar-grade munitions to blow a hole in the shield. They don't have it. If they break through, they need numbers to even begin matching our remnant. They don't have those either. Although," she paused, "I concede you may have legitimate concerns regarding our defence grid. Why don't the both of you tour the circ.u.mference this afternoon? If you find a weakness, report it immediately and I'll rescind orders to mobilise the base's troops."

Koul's eyes narrowed. "Rescind completely?"

She smiled confidently, knowing she had out-thought his potential reservations months ago. He just didn't know it. "Completely, Koul. You have my word. Our battalions will remain here. I'll even hold back all the couriers until I hear from the both of you."

It was done. The defence systems had been deemed adequate by her two reluctant officers. The couriers had been despatched. The offensive would begin at dawn. Vanqill had already received his orders via secured comms that afternoon and, effusively grateful yet more than a little arrogant, had divided his subordinate officers by sector and sent them off to their various a.s.signments all over the Nineteen. The other Colonels would be puzzled by the strange influx of Green Sector officers until they received their orders. By then, it would be too late. Vanqill's men were already there, the orders were clear, and the offensive was scheduled to begin within half a day. If she survived the action as a Perlim officer, then she knew the way she executed the strategy would result in an extremely uncomfortable military inquiry somewhere down the line. But she had no intention of still being on Menon in three weeks' time.

Cheloi rested against the rock in the mute bubble halfway up the inner slope of the mountain and watched the fuzzy globes of stars jiggle through the field's interference.

There should have been blood pounding through her veins, sending tingles of excited antic.i.p.ation to the ends of her fingers, spinning her head with the momentary rush of it all. There was a vestige of intellectual satisfaction, the feeling of pride from a plan slowly executing as it should, but it was swamped by a soft cloak of sadness she had never felt before.

It was Rumis.

He had stopped before exiting the briefing room that morning.

"I haven't seen Lith for a couple of days," he said, puzzled.

"She had a family emergency," Cheloi answered. "She asked me not to tell anyone about it, but her mother's dying."

Rumis' eyes darkened with sympathy and Cheloi could have happily killed herself in that moment for being able to lie so well, so consummately, to the person she valued above all else.

"This b.l.o.o.d.y war," he said, with feeling, and she knew he was thinking about his sister's wedding and the betrothed that he had not had time to vet. "Do you think she'll make it home in time?"

"I don't know. Rep Kodnell was kind enough to smooth pa.s.sage for her once I told him her situation. I don't think a driver is a critical resource for me right now."

"No, of course not," Rumis answered, but he was distracted. Lith had treated him with respect and affection and Cheloi knew he was eager to pursue a deeper relationship with her driver. She saw the wheels turning in his head as he wondered how he could track her and when she would be returning.

Too late, Rumis. I got there before you.

He finally nodded briskly. "Well, I'm sure she'll be back soon."

"Yes," she agreed. "I'm sure she will."

It was Koul.

The problem with Koul was that he had potential. She could have matched him hate for hate, viciousness for viciousness but she knew his type too well. In a perverse way, she had a strange affection for him. He had come closer to killing her than anybody else had across dozens of worlds. And if it hadn't been for a miscalculation on his part regarding Lith, he would have succeeded. He was intelligent and fiercely loyal and she could even ruminate on what it would be like to work with him rather than against him all the time. What a shame that he was such a loyal cog in the Perlim Empire's set of decaying wheels, twisted into a psychopath by a governing structure that didn't deserve to exist.

If Koul had been born in the Fusion, what would he be now? If that fire, steadfastness and ambition had been channelled in a different, healthier and more open environment, who would he be now?

It was Vanqill.

Cheloi had used him like a pair of boots and was about to discard him just as easily. She had taken his energy and enthusiasm and twisted it to suit her own ends. Would any future historian understand that she had targeted Vanqill almost from the moment she arrived in the Nineteen? She had closely observed him, quizzing him at meetings, inviting him for command presentations, soliciting his opinion, so she'd have a better idea of the material she had to work with and how she could deform it to her will.

He looked to her as a mentor and a commander, singularly unashamed to put such trust in a woman. That one fact, especially within the Empire, was a rare and precious gift. And she was using it to betray, not only him and his soldiers, but the entire Perlim effort.

It was Lith.

A few years ago, she might have discarded Lith's sensibilities as a sign of weakness. Ignored them. But now, she wasn't sure. It was as if, along with her enticing scent, some of Lith's own ethics had rubbed against her, irritating her with p.r.i.c.kly and uncomfortable thoughts. Her time with Lith had turned the faint doubts about her job into something more concrete and distasteful at a time when she could least afford such qualms.

When she finished this, if she lived, she was finally getting out, like she and Eys once promised they would do. Maybe it was twelve years late, but it was better than nothing.

Until that time came, however, there were still one or two more distasteful things she had to do.

Chapter Nineteen.

Day 1,574 of the War: The rout had begun.

Cheloi gazed at the three-sided holographic map projected into the middle of the tactical room and pointed out areas of concern. Communications officers took her clipped orders and forwarded directives to the appropriate commanders. In some sectors, things were going to plan. The sudden blitz of troops and artillery had driven back known rebel positions in several areas. In others, the situation had stalled. Black sector was one case in point. Rather than putting Wakor under Vanqill's command, Cheloi had deliberately put him under that of Vanqill's subordinate and the results were predictable. There was open mutiny going on and reports coming in of shots being fired within the vicinity of Black HQ.

Koul stared at the map directly in front of him, and the stream of information that sped across the top edge, with barely suppressed fury.

"What is he doing? He'll undermine the entire strategy!"

Cheloi looked over at him, unwillingly impressed. Despite his long friendship with Wakor and their unspoken alliance against her, Koul was berating his friend's actions because he was disobeying orders. There were only a few people at such a senior level who would put their orders ahead of their friendships and she felt a twinge of regret for what might have been. Ignoring it, she signalled Rumis with a quick movement of two fingers.

"Rumis, contact Black sector. Ask them what the f.u.c.k they think they're doing."

"Yes Colonel."

"I should do that," Koul cut in. "Wakor will listen to me."

Which was exactly what she didn't want. "You're too worked up Koul and I need you here. Rumis, use the appropriate language. Tell Wakor to follow orders. Go."

With a quick salute, Rumis left.

"We're doing quite well in the other sectors," Cheloi commented, but Koul only snarled silently, his gaze glued to the displays. "Rep Kodnell was right. In less than a day, we've achieved more than in the previous three months."

But Koul was focused on the Black sector, shifting his head to watch the pinpoints of light as the projection rotated. Dots blinked on and off as individual teams advanced, retreated, engaged with the enemy or died.

"If only we could call in our heavy strikers," Koul muttered. "We'd get the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds then."

Cheloi mentally disagreed. The use of heavy military power may have led to a quick victory but not a lasting one. She could see why the Fusion had focused their undermining efforts on Menon. The planet was the ultimate test case of whether they'd get more deeply involved in the whole Perlim affair. The ma.s.sive brutal force that normally worked in the Empire's favour was thwarted by the planet's eccentric atmosphere. What would the Perlim do? Obviously, they continued with the invasion. But when things dragged on, instead of rethinking their strategy, they stubbornly continued with an arrogant belief in their superiority. The Perlim had the same problem with the rest of their empire as they had with Menon IV, if they had the clear sight to see it.

"Unfortunately the strikers are out," she answered. "The storms play havoc with every type of shielding we've tried. Maybe we could have developed an alternative, but it looks like the Emperor has other problems at the moment."

The only thing that held the Perlim Empire together was their military superiority. Where they couldn't depend on that, they were doomed to failure. Cheloi was on Menon IV to make sure that the failure came sooner rather than later.

"They wait until we're distracted before they attack the border, the Fusion cowards."

Cheloi didn't want to think that the Fusion's entire plan revolved around her, but it was hard to come to any other conclusion. The hara.s.sment along the Perlim border that Kodnell mentioned was brilliantly timed, giving her the perfect opportunity to initiate the end-game and bring this whole sorry mess to a conclusion. Sapping Perlim energy helped her enormously and while she knew the war would continue to drag on for many more months, this was a decisive moment she could point to and say, "There, that's when it started. And I helped start it."

"Take a look at the other sectors, Koul. I want you monitoring Green and Yellow for me. Rumis will take care of Wakor."

But as she and Rumis walked the perimeter that night, using the time to stretch their legs and clear their minds, it was obvious that Wakor was out of control.

Cheloi breathed in the cooling dusty air and let it out slowly. She was savouring the sensations of her stroll and Rumis's warm presence beside her, because she could already see through to the end. To a time when she would be somewhere else, far away from the deserts of Menon IV and the heartbreaking beauty of its treacherous storms.

"He's not listening to anyone," Rumis told her in a quiet voice. "In the end, even Colonel Grakal-Ski spoke to him but he seems beyond reason."

And of course he would be. A senior veteran of multiple campaigns. Resigned, if not happy, with his lot as a Colonel. Forced to take orders, not from his hated and more flamboyant peer, Vanqill, but from one of Vanqill's inexperienced upstart Majors. Oh yes, Cheloi could see how that would bite, and hard.

"Maybe I should send you to Black sector to talk some sense into him," she said abruptly.

"Colonel?" She heard the surprise in his voice even if she couldn't see it. And suddenly, as it was with Lith, she wanted Rumis as far away from HQ as she could send him.

"I'll compile a report," she continued briskly. "You can go to Black, add your observations, and take them to Central Control's base at the Five."

"What about the offensive? Who will help coordinate our efforts here?"

"I have Koul. He is clever and efficient." There was a thread of dry humour running through her voice.

Rumis was having none of it. He stopped, forcing Cheloi to stop as well.

"Colonel, has my performance as your adjutant disappointed you in any way?"

He was mostly a silhouette against the sky but Cheloi knew him well enough to know the expression on his face. The frown on his wide forehead pulling down straight dark eyebrows. Brown eyes filled with a puzzled hurt.

"Why would you say that, Rumis?"

"If there was any moment during my a.s.signment that my services were needed most, I believe it's this one. I believe we're at a critical point in the war and if you're sending me away on a courier errand," his tone of voice indicated what he thought of that task, "then I can only conclude that I have somehow failed in my duties."

Cheloi was silent for a moment. "I told you in the past that an able commander must be prepared to do whatever is necessary, didn't I?"

"Yes, Colonel."

"Patch injuries as well as order advances, help cook the evening meal as well as oversee the territory's budget."

"Yes, Colonel."

"Can't you see this as just another facet of that? Travelling to Black sector is not a picnic, Rumis. It's a dangerous journey, especially now that we've stuck a giant stick in the rebels' nest. And even you admit we need to do something about Wakor."

"I do Colonel but, with respect, wouldn't Colonel Grakal-Ski be the better choice? I believe that if Colonel Wakor listened to anybody, it would be him. And a face-to-face confrontation between them might achieve what distance communications have not. I, on the other hand, don't have the same kind of relationship with Colonel Wakor. It would, in my opinion, be a futile errand."