Sherman sat in his office in the virtuality. It was a spare place, but had an extremely high ceiling and an original window by Serge Coneho, the famous virtuality artist of the last century who had been known for his “black body” works. Sherman’s was a study for a piece that hung in the Milo, the great gallery on the merci.
He studied the infinitely regressing black objects out his window for a moment. Somehow, without using colors, Coneho had got them to radiate a kind of seething vitality.
Then Sherman sat at his desk and read the terms of surrender once more through.
Fremden Force Commander on Triton:
Please stand down within six hours or I will cause the Mill on Neptune to be destroyed. You will be treated fairly.
Amés, Director
Sherman couldn’t help admiring the economy of it. It was something he might have written, if he had been in Amés’s place.
Would Amés do it? That was the question. Sherman considered what he knew about the man. There was much mystery in Amés’s background before the Conjubilation of ’93. The Director had had the records altered or destroyed. But after that, his record was in the public domain. In most matters, he was known to be harsh, but fair, invariably rewarding success and punishing failure. But there was also a sadistic streak running through the Director. The threat to destroy the Mill might be a bluff, or it might not.
On balance, Sherman thought it probably was. The reason for this was the other quality Amés possessed: a feel for musical interplay. Not harmony, exactly. His own music was never about that. But intricacy, order—even in the midst of driving feeling. Sherman didn’t particularly like Amés’s musical creations, but he had to admit they were always well-composed pieces. The destruction of the Mill would serve no purpose in a well-composed war, as far as Sherman could see.
But he had better check in with the mayor, Sherman thought. Sherman had felt duty-bound to pass the surrender request along to the Meet. He called Chen up on the merci.
“Well, Mr. Mayor, what is your thinking on the matter before us?” Sherman asked the man. Chen, too, was in a bunker, but on the opposite side of town. Sherman had thought it best not to put all local authority in one place, and ripe for the assassination grist that he knew was still roaming about in places.
In the virtuality, Chen appeared to be standing across from Sherman in the office. The short man paced about, and talked as he walked.
“I’ve met in executive session with the officers and major party officials. We’ve considered what you gave us, Colonel. Since it is past time for that horrible thing, that rip tether, to have returned if it were going to, we have to believe that it’s true, that your soldiers actually disabled it.”
“I told you that we did it.”
“And now we have proof.”
“Yes,” Sherman said. “Fair enough.”
“I have to tell you that there was some dissent, particularly from the representatives from the Motoserra Club,” Chen continued. “But in the end, we reached a consensus. I even got old Shelet Den to go along with it. Seems he lost two of his sons when that tether came through the first time. He has conceived a hatred for the Met that I didn’t think the old harridan was capable of. I think he’s going to swing the club our way.”
“And what way is that?”
“Why, to put our lives into your hands, Colonel Sherman,” said Chen. He stopped pacing and looked Sherman in the eyes. “And to back you to the fullest extent we are capable of.”
Sherman blinked, then was quiet for a moment. I ought to be feeling a swell of emotion, he thought. But I’m too damned busy for it.
“Very well,” he said. “It is my advice, and now my decision, that we do not surrender. I do not believe Amés will destroy the Mill. But even if he does so, I believe we should go on fighting. I will cause this to be communicated to him.”
Chen gulped, smiled nervously, then resumed his pacing. Sherman knew that the mayor was feeling particularly affected by the merci damming, and was cut off from much of his own outriding personas. Under the circumstances, Chen was doing a remarkable job of pulling what was left of himself together and performing his job.
“I will tell the others what you have said, Colonel,” Chen replied. He nodded to Sherman, then exited the office, observing old-fashioned virtuality courtesy by not merely disappearing.
Sherman composed his reply.
Dear Commander of the Directorate Forces:
We are now at war. War is destruction. Do your worst if you will. We will strive to do the same. I do not surrender.
Cordially,
Colonel Roger Sherman, Commander, Third Sky and Light Brigade, Federal Army of the Planets, Triton
“Theory,” he said. “Send this out and cc it to the Meet, then get me a progress report on our antiship task group.”
“Yes, Colonel,” said the walls of the office. “We’ll give them hell.”
“Hell,” Sherman said. “Maybe you and I can take a vacation there after this is over.”