Doomsday minus 245 Earth days.
Drew had waited for the Liberty to depart before calling the all-hands meeting in the caf. Dedrick was right. Since Earth was not likely to come to their rescue, the residents of Daisy Hub needed an escape plan.
He scanned the room, noting the presence of Odysseus, Karlov, Walt, and Madeline among the crowd. That was good. Time was growing short, and everyone would have a role to play in ensuring the survival of House Daisy Hub.
It wasn’t the station, Holchuk had once told him, it was the people who associated themselves with the House. And it was the tseritsa — the living symbol of each House that had to be protected no matter the cost. Daisy Hub had two tseritsao to safeguard, its own and that of House Trokerk, but Townsend was pretty sure Earth wouldn’t understand or care about either one. The military attitude had already been made painfully clear to him by the captain of the Priam. A rat? Space it. A stick of wood? Swing it as a weapon.
An alien? Shoot it dead.
Slowly, Townsend got to his feet to address his assembled crew and allies.
“If you’ve been following the news feed that Mr. O’Malley was able to set up for us, then you know how bad things are on Earth right now. I won’t go into detail — it will just depress you — but I will say this: stay in touch with your family members for as long as you can. Maintaining those lines of communication will be O’Malley’s top priority assignment from now until the end, whatever form the end takes.”
“You’ve got it, boss,” the ratkeeper called out from the back corner of the room.
Drew continued. “Since Earth will be the Corvou’s primary target—”
“If we let them get that far,” Jason Smith broke in.
“And we won’t!” Hagman roared, raising a beefy fist and prompting a chorus of cheers and applause.
Townsend waited for the noise to subside, then told them, “My point is, the High Council are focusing their efforts on moving as many Humans off-world as possible to colonies and hubs. Once there, they are considered by Earth’s government to be evacuated and therefore out of danger. Unfortunately, against all logic, that appears to include Daisy Hub.”
As his meaning sank in, the room went deathly quiet.
“I may be reading the situation wrong, but that’s not what my gut is telling me. So here’s what we’re going to do: while hoping for the best, we’re going to plan for the worst.”
Murmurs were bubbling up now, effervescing the air and forcing Drew to raise his voice in order to be heard.
“At some point, the Fleet and all our alien allies are going to be converging on these coordinates. They’re going to have battle plans drawn up, and I’ll bet you anything that none of them will take us into account. Before they arrive, we’re going to have to draw up a plan of our own, for the defense of the Hub and the survival of its residents, individually and in groups.
“In two days, I want to have another meeting. Between now and then, your assignment will be to think about how we can protect ourselves in the middle of a combat zone. Look at all the resources available to us and come with a list of ideas to share.
“We’ve got twenty-two intervals to figure this out. Let’s make them count.”
—— «» ——
Doomsday minus 242 Earth days.
“How can anyone be that self-centered?” Lydia remarked abruptly. “I mean, honestly!”
She’d been scrolling through the news feed. Drawn by the impatience in her voice, Townsend leaned over her shoulder and read the item on her screen.
A musical group calling themselves The Angry Ones had apparently been booked to perform on Vegas Hub but had been detoured elsewhere by the evacuation. As a result, they had missed their opening night. Stuck on a colony world and unable to charter a vessel to carry them back to the transfer point, they were now threatening to sue the High Council for lost revenue.
“Talk about a temper tantrum,” she fumed. “The Relocation Authority could have split them up and sent them to five different locations. At a time like this, they should be grateful just to be together in one place.”
From her seat at the main console, Ruby piped up, “You never know with these new-wave bands. Maybe being together is what makes them angry, and channeling that anger on stage is what gives their show its … energy. Maybe hating each other is what makes The Angry Ones such a hot ticket.”
“That’s a strange recipe for success,” Lydia commented.
Ruby chuckled. “Not as strange as you may think.”
“Well, if you’re right and performing music is their safety valve,” said Drew, “the colonists on…” He glanced back at the screen, doing a double take. “…Middle Earth? Really?”
Ruby’s shoulders were shaking. All at once, he understood.
“You planted an item in the news feed?”
“We needed something to break the tension around here,” Lydia explained. “And it worked.”
“Gotcha, Chief!” declared Ruby.
In spite of himself, Drew grinned back at her. “Was O’Malley in on this?”
“Nope,” Lydia replied. “Ruby and I came up with the idea, and Walt made it happen. His programming skills are just as good as O’Malley’s. Maybe better.”
“I’d say definitely better,” Ruby opined. “He’s probably a very creative hacker, too, although he doesn’t brag about it, the way O’Malley does.” She looked about to say more, but had to turn and respond to the flashing light on her comm panel.
When she turned back, her expression was sober. “The Nannssi is on her way here. ETA is about fifteen hours. Chief Officer Agnosk is asking for a private audience with Daisy Hub’s Hak’kor.”
No welcoming ceremony? That sounded serious.
Drew considered for a moment. “Our meeting should be over by then. Transmit docking instructions, and tell him I’ll meet him on Deck A.”
—— «» ——
Townsend entered the Daisy Hub caf at 1600 hours and took his place in front of a roomful of very excited people.
Before he could get a word out, Jason Smith jumped to his feet and demanded, “Is it true that we’re under martial law right now?”
Drew swallowed a sigh. Of course, they’d all been following the news feed.
“Earth is under martial law, not the colonies or the hubs,” he clarified. “Planetary Security has taken command of all the District and Regional personnel and they’ve been deployed strategically throughout the five political unions. They’re not interfering with the evacuation. In fact, their job is to keep a lid on things while the process is ongoing. So, a curfew has been imposed, groups can’t be larger than three people, and anyone caught looting or inciting violence—”
“—or doing anything that could be remotely construed as resisting arrest?” Smith interrupted sharply.
Townsend paused, recalling that the other man had parents and a younger brother still living on Earth. “That too, unfortunately,” he said. “I think you all get the picture. And that just underscores the importance of what I told you earlier. Stay in contact with your family members. Life isn’t easy back there right now. As much as we need them to give us something to fight for, they need us to give them something to hope for.
“There’s nothing we can do about what’s happening on Earth, so let’s focus on what we can do here. We’re going to put our pieces together and see if we can turn them into a workable plan. Who wants to go first?”
Lucas Soaring Hawk got up from his chair. “I’ve been thinking about explosives.”
“What a surprise!” hooted one of the techs.
“Exactly right,” Hawk went on. “The element of surprise. Seems to me that our best fighting chance lies in doing things the enemy won’t be expecting, while not doing things that they will be expecting. Such as repurposing the escape pods to deliver an explosive charge.”
“Escape pods and explosives? I think I know where you’re going with this,” said Drew, “and I like it. We know Bascomb’s mines can be detonated from a distance. Can the pods themselves be remotely controlled?”
“I can make them that way, and I can smarten them up, giving them more fuel capacity and better maneuvering abilities. But they’ll have to be hack-proofed so that no one can hijack them and turn them against our own forces.”
“Let me help with that.” Walt Garfield stood up, his right arm raised. “Remote control is just another form of communication, and communication tech is my specialty.”
“Can you also reprogram the detonators we removed from those mines on Zulu?” Hawk asked him.
“Maybe. I’ll have to take a look at them. Worst case, I’ll build you some new ones.”
“Excellent,” said Drew. “Once you’ve prepared the pods, Rodrigues will no doubt be relieved to send over the explosives. Who’s next?”
As Hawk and Walt sank back onto their chairs, Gouryas and Singh rose from theirs.
“We’ve been testing the expansion limits of our field generator,” Singh announced to the room, “and we’ve learned two things about the invisibility shield. First, if we want to include Zulu inside the shield, we’ll have to shorten its distance from us by more than half.”
“You did mention that earlier,” Drew reminded him.
“Yes,” replied Gouryas, “but what we didn’t know then was how much power this shield draws from our solar batteries. Lydia created a sim for us, to see how long we could maintain the field at two settings: Daisy Hub only, and the Hub plus Zulu. With everything else running at normal levels, we can protect the Hub alone for four hours without red-lining the batteries. Including Zulu cuts that to three hours.”
“What if we’re not running at normal levels?” asked Drew.
“Shutting down everything but basic life support and communications gives us an additional three hours,” Singh said. “That’s seven hours in total for the Hub alone, but just under five if we include Zulu. And at the end of that time, if the station happens to be on the dark side of Helena, we may not have enough left in the batteries to maintain life support until the next recharging period.”
“So, we have two related problems,” Gouryas summed up. “First, if we’re going to stay on the station during the battle and we want the field generator to last long enough to affect its outcome, the generator will need its own power supply. We have a couple of extra batteries installed on L Deck that would serve the purpose. They were put there to capture overflow from the main batteries during the recharging cycle. However, with the Hub operating at full capacity, our current energy use is high enough that there’s been no overflow quite literally for years.
“And that’s the second problem: charging the overflow batteries without increasing the surface area of the photovoltaic film on the hull. I wish we had more of it, but we don’t, and I seriously doubt whether we can count on Earth to send us additional supplies of any kind right now.”
“Have you done the math to see whether we could reduce our power consumption for the next twenty-two intervals?” asked a man Drew recognized from Tannis Walker’s detail.
“That was the first thing we thought of,” Singh told him. “Unfortunately, that solution isn’t available to us. Out in space, we can’t just turn down the thermostat and walk around in overcoats. There are parts of this station that we don’t dare starve for energy, not without risking our own survival, and certainly not for nearly half a standard year. The hydroponics deck, for example.”
“Thank you!” Ajda Gray called out with audible relief.
“Mr. Townsend,” said Karlov, “did you ask the Hak’kor for a favor at ssalssit essendi?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Then perhaps this problem can be solved with a couple of Nandrian power cells and a conversion unit. Nandrian ships carry extras, so you might even be able to trade for these items with the crew of the next one that stops by.”
“Good idea. Thank you, Mr. Karlov.”
“I have a question, Townsend-Human.” Odysseus’s manufactured voice penetrated the murmuring in the room and snagged Drew’s attention. “About the Corvou ship here. You have plans?”
“Not at the moment. Do you have suggestions?”
“Flying an enemy ship when war begins is dangerous. Friends can shoot at it. But weapons should not be wasted. Corvou only know what can destroy Corvou ships, so they make such kind of weapons.”
“Sure to be effective, even if our own weapons aren’t. That’s brilliant,” declared Jason Smith.
“Not so fast,” Hawk warned him. “How are we supposed to deploy them if we can’t fly the ship into the combat zone?”
“Mr. Gouryas, Mr. Singh,” said Townsend, “I believe this will be your next problem to solve. Clearly, we now have the means to defend ourselves. Getting you all off the station alive is a separate issue, something for me to work on between now and our next meeting. If there’s nothing else to discuss…?” Silence. “Then we’re done here.”
—— «» ——
Agnosk lumbered through the docking portal onto A Deck and halted at a respectful distance from where Townsend was standing.
“Hak’kor, I am honored that you deemed my request worthy of being granted,” said the big alien, dipping his head without breaking eye contact.
“Well, our last private meeting was so instructive that I wanted to find out what more you could tell me,” Drew replied.
“I bring a question from our warmaster, who also begs a favor.”
“What is his question?”
“Earth’s military leader has asked to join us in something called ‘war games’. Is this the Human name for tekl’hananni?”
For just a second, Drew felt light-headed. The Fleet engaged in tekl’hananni? They wouldn’t survive the first round.
“No, it’s not,” he hastened to reply. “Human war games are training exercises, using dummy ammunition. Their purpose is to improve the fighting skills of participants. No one is supposed to be killed, and no ships are supposed to be destroyed.”
“Ah! It is make-believe.”
“It’s learning and practicing real battle tactics,” Drew corrected him.
“By pretending to make war, like children.” Agnosk emitted the snorting, wheezing sound that was Nandrian laughter.
He had a point, Townsend was forced to admit. Still, the snickering stung a little.
“Is the warmaster willing to grant the spirit of Earth’s request and help the Fleet prepare for the coming battle?” Drew asked.
“He is willing to teach, if they are willing to be led.”
“In the war games, you mean? Or in the war?”
“Yes.”
Great. Drew had no patience for riddles right now. He exercised the Hak’kor’s right to change the topic.
“You said the warmaster wanted a favor from me?”
“Yes. The warmaster of House Trokerk begs that you appoint him warmaster of House Daisy Hub as well, since your First Shield is small and does not contain one capable of managing such a large conflict.”
Townsend had been so preoccupied with defense that the idea of having a say in the running of the war had never even entered his mind. Clearly, however, Trokerk considered it a priority.
“Does every House have a warmaster who is a member of the First Shield?”
“So it has been on Nandor for centuries. The First Shield of each House is a blood-related clan. Its oldest member is the Hak’kor. The next oldest is the Kalufah. The wisest becomes the high speaker. And the cleverest and most experienced warrior is the warmaster. All Chief Officers of the House report to him, and all battle strategy is handed down by him, to be carried out by those engaged in the combat.”
“And when all the Houses unite against a common enemy…?”
“The warmaster of the House that summoned them together gives orders to the others.”
“That would be Trokerk,” Drew pointed out. “So this request is a formality.”
“A necessary formality. With respect, Hak’kor, since your House has no warmaster to receive his orders and relay them to your fleet, the warmaster of Trokerk needs to command the Human ships directly. Without your authority, he cannot do that.”
“Then honor me by conveying my thanks to your warmaster for his offer, and tell him I accept it.”
Hearing himself speak those last three words, Townsend was reminded of a time in his childhood when he’d lost his balance at the end of a diving board. There had been a moment of pure panic, as he felt gravity take hold of him and he realized he was powerless to do anything but fall into the water. He had made the right choice today — the only choice, under the circumstances. Still, that same short-lived wave of helpless dread had swept through him, curdling any sense of satisfaction he might have felt.
Possessing no legal right whatsoever to speak for Humanity or command Earth’s military forces, he had nonetheless just handed over control of the Fleet to an alien, on the word of another alien.
Townsend was an experienced con artist, used to taking risks and feeling uncertainty, but the current situation was setting record highs, even for him. The ground beneath his feet had never shaken so hard.
He knew there would be repercussions when the big hats at Fleet Command found out what he’d done. And then…
And then maybe he could disencumber himself of some of the secrets he’d been lugging around. Shed his skin, like a snake. That would be nice.
—— «» ——
Doomsday minus 211 Earth days.
“Drew, we’re about to get busy,” Lydia announced. “Zulu’s scanners just picked up about ten large Earth ships, all headed our way. And we’ve received a commburst from Agnosk. The Nannssi is carrying our warmaster, and it’s leading a dozen of Trokerk’s heavy cruisers toward us as well. Their ETA is about thirteen hours.”
“How long until the Earth ships get here?”
“Zulu says ten hours, give or take.”
“Is everything ready?”
“All details have reported in. We’re as ready as we’ll ever be.”
“All right, then. Send out a general hail, welcoming everyone to the Daisy Hub war games. Then tell them that the Hak’kor is aboard the station and wishes to meet with the three highest-ranked officers in Earth’s battle fleet, in the station manager’s office, in eleven and a half hours. They’ll probably launch shuttles and arrive early. Assign them portals, but keep the doors sealed until all three ships have docked.”
“We can get six into a tube car. I’ll have Hagman and his Security team escort them down here as a group from A Deck.”
“Nice touch. Lets them know that they’re equal to one another, but not to me. I want everyone rehearsed and in their places a good half-hour ahead of time. And no one from an Earth ship is allowed onto the landing deck, period.”
—— «» ——
The three dress-uniformed Humans who stepped off the tube car on AdComm looked pretty much as Townsend had imagined they would.
General George Bascomb, the one who had sent Axelrod to plant mines on the Hub earlier, wore the dark blue of Planetary Security. He had granitic features and a full head of white hair. The other two were in Fleet black with gold trim and introduced themselves as Admiral Harlan Tang, Commander of Fleet Control, and Vice-Admiral Kendra Nelligan, Fleet Operations Supervisor. Tang appeared to be somewhere in his fifties, with a dark complexion and a haircut that looked as though someone had put a bowl on his head and shaved off whatever stuck out of it. Nelligan was fair and petite, with everything neatly buttoned down and carefully neutral.
Despite their physical differences, Drew noted, all three had two things in common: they exuded an air of command, and they stood ramrod-straight with their shoulders thrown far enough back to suggest that the clothes hangers might have been left inside their uniform jackets.
“Where is the Hak’kor?” asked Tang.
“You’re looking at him,” Townsend replied mildly. “I am the Hak’kor of House Daisy Hub. Allow me to present my Kalufah, Assistant Manager Ruby McNeil, and my third in command, Chief Cargo Inspector Gavin Holchuk. Holchuk is also a member of the Fifth Shield of House Trokerk, and he is our liaison with the Nandrians.”
“What kind of sick joke is this?” Bascomb sputtered.
“It’s no joke, General,” Drew told him, purposely putting an edge on his voice. “Shortly after I arrived to take over as station manager, we were able to do a favor for the Nandrians. We helped preserve the honor of House Trokerk, and their Hak’kor was impressed enough to induct Holchuk into one of their Shield clans and to press for a formal alliance with us. Since we’re all exiles, declared dead by an Earth that clearly doesn’t give a damn about us, I took the Nandrians up on their offer. As far as they’re concerned, Daisy Hub is a House, with a Hak’kor and a Kalufah and twelve Shield clans. And even though our numbers are small, we’ve completed the alliance ritual and are considered to be equal in importance to any House of their own.”
“What are you saying?” demanded Nelligan. “That Daisy Hub has seceded from Earth? That the Nandrians now control this station?”
“No, and no. Please, have a seat while Mr. Holchuk spells this out for you,” said Townsend, stepping behind his desk and indicating the guest chairs arranged in front of it. Nobody was moving, so he repeated the order a little more forcefully. “Sit, please!”
Not until Hagman and his team took a stride toward them did the officers finally comply.
“Townsend, I am placing you under arrest for treason,” Bascomb hissed between clenched teeth.
“Planetary Security has no jurisdiction on this station, General,” Townsend pointed out, “and technically, neither does the Fleet. That’s why you couldn’t declare martial law on the colonies or the hubs.”
At Drew’s signal, Holchuk began: “The Nandrians are the most feared warriors in the galaxy, for good reason. They follow a strict code of honor and will not hesitate to kill anyone, Nandrian or otherwise, who breaches it. They constantly maintain battle readiness by engaging in a sport they call tekl’hananni. This is their war game, with Houses squaring off against each other in deep space, using live ammunition and doing their damnedest to spill actual blood. The score after each match is a body count.”
Townsend heard a gulp. Tang’s complexion had visibly paled.
“So when we invited them to join us in war games…?” said Nelligan unsteadily.
“They knew Humans couldn’t survive a tekl’hananni match, so they asked me what you meant. I explained to them how Humans conduct war games.”
“And?” prompted Tang, frowning.
“When they’d finished laughing, they put me in charge. These are Daisy Hub’s war games now.”
“You’re a cocky bastard, aren’t you?” growled Bascomb.
“I’ve chosen a Nandrian warmaster to run them,” Drew continued. “He’s the highest ranked warrior of House Trokerk, the equivalent of a field marshal. The Nandrians who will be joining your fleet in a couple of hours are here to help him teach Earth’s forces deep space combat strategies.”
“This is nonsense!” blurted Bascomb. “Are we supposed to take this traitor’s word for anything?”
“I thought you might feel that way, so I’ve asked Ms. Garfield to prepare a little video demonstration. The Nandrians throw victory celebrations here following tekl’hananni matches. She’s going to show you a couple that she recorded.”
“On your screen, Drew,” she called from across the deck.
He spun the monitor toward his guests, then sat back and watched their faces, Bascomb’s in particular. This man had some sort of leverage with the High Council. It was the only way Planetary Security could have been cleared to blow up Daisy Hub.
Lydia had chosen two contrasting files. One was a typical rowdy party, with toxed Trokerk warriors boisterously reenacting battles in the caf. The other was House Drellith’s visit, during which Sillurv had tried to sabotage Daisy Hub’s alliance with Trokerk by asking Drew to join them in a toast to Drellith’s fallen. As Townsend had expected, the two Fleet officers on the other side of his desk were exchanging wide-eyed stares, most likely wondering what they had gotten themselves into. Meanwhile, the general’s expression never altered.
Definitely, Bascomb was trouble. He had an agenda, and he had connections, and he was way out of his jurisdiction right now. Townsend could kick him off the station, but not order him back to Earth. That would have to be the decision of someone higher up in Fleet Command than the officers here present. However, Drew could give the process a nudge in the right direction.
When the vid had finished playing, he turned his monitor back around and got to his feet. “For the Nandrians, there are no gray areas between right and wrong. Honor and dishonor are the underpinning principles of their society, and promises are especially sacred to them. Breaking one brings dishonor, and dishonor must be punished, harshly and without hesitation. At our alliance ceremony, the Hak’kor of Trokerk swore before witnesses that his House would protect Daisy Hub, or, if prevented, that Trokerk would avenge its destruction. That’s why I never told them about your attempt to plant explosives on the Hub, General. They would have seen it as a betrayal by our own people, who were also sworn to protect Daisy Hub and were breaking that promise.”
Tang and Nelligan turned accusing eyes on Bascomb.
Tang’s jaw muscles were working. “You were planning to blow up the station, George?” he remarked, his voice dangerously soft.
“I was doing you a favor,” Bascomb replied. “By turning this piece of space junk into a decoy mine, I was clearing the battlefield.”
“On Earth, maybe,” Nelligan muttered.
Ruby had been fidgeting on her chair, her expression progressively darkening. Now, staring daggers at him, she leaned forward and hissed, “This space junk, as you call it, just happens to be our home.”
Unfazed, the general demanded, “What have you done with my explosives, Townsend?”
Drew threw his shoulders back and responded, “That’s Hak’kor to you, General. And don’t worry, we’re putting them to good use, defending Humanity against the Corvou.”
Grudgingly, Bascomb subsided into silence. Beside Townsend, Ruby did the same.
Holchuk stepped to the side of Drew’s desk and continued the briefing. “The warmaster’s name is Vixor ban Jorisam, but you can address him by his title, as Warmaster. He’s the best and most experienced military leader of the top-ranked House at tekl’hananni. Whatever he teaches your people will have been tested and proven successful in actual battle conditions. He’s earned the right to demand total respect and obedience. Anything less might be taken as a slur on his honor, and we know from experience that the Nandrians don’t tolerate insults. So, you’ll want to instruct all your pilots about that. No wisecracking.”
“Tell them it’s practice for when the Corvou arrive,” Townsend put in, “and the Nandrian warmaster is running our side of the war.”
“What?” Bascomb shot to attention in his chair. The other two stiffened as well. “What idiot made that decision?”
Drew leaned across his desk. “The Nandrians did. They want Humanity to have the best chance of surviving the coming attack, so every fleet actively involved in our defense, including Earth’s, will need to be under a single unified command: the warmaster.”
“And all the alien fleets have agreed to this?” Nelligan asked.
“They have,” Drew replied. “They all recognize the Nandrians’ superior qualifications to fight a war against the Corvou and are prepared to follow the warmaster’s lead.”
“Well, I’ve never heard of this Vixen Junior or whatever he’s called,” declared Bascomb, “and I don’t care what a bunch of aliens think. What do you say to that, Hak’kor?” He sneered the final word.
Drew kept his expression benign. “Why don’t you watch and see how the war games go? Then you can decide what you think. And by the way, General, you’re fortunate that there are no Nandrians present, because insulting the warmaster is the quickest way to get yourself disemboweled.”
“Chief Admiral McPherson is the only one with the authority to place Earth’s Fleet under alien command,” said Admiral Tang.
“Of course,” Townsend agreed. “And he is welcome to fly out here and discuss the matter with the warmaster face to face. Sending a subordinate to such an important meeting would be considered by the Nandrians to be an insult. However, in the Nandrian hierarchy, a Hak’kor is superior to a warmaster. Since I am the Hak’kor of House Daisy Hub, that means I can safely deliver the chief admiral’s decision for him, and I will gladly do so once the war games are over and you’ve briefed him regarding his options.”
Beside him, Ruby was struggling not to smile.
“This is outrageous!” sputtered Bascomb.
Meanwhile, Tang and Nelligan were realizing they’d been outmaneuvered.
“Get down off your high horse, George,” Tang told him, his patience visibly waning. “Thank you for the briefing, Mr. Townsend. We’ll return to our ships and await the arrival of the warmaster.”
Casting venomous glances around the deck, Bascomb got to his feet and followed Tang to the tube car door. Nelligan stood up as well, but hung back until the door had closed behind them.
“Mr. Townsend, a word?” she said.
He glanced at Holchuk and Ruby, who took their cue to depart. When Holchuk was inside a tube car and Ruby was across the deck at her station, Drew stepped around his desk and gazed a question at Nelligan.
“You’ve talked all around this point, but I just need it clarified. The Nandrians aren’t in this to save Earth, are they? If the first battle weren’t being fought around Daisy Hub, would they even be involved?”
“That’s hard to say. The Nandrians seem to have a soft spot for Humanity, but I suspect it’s because all those victory parties gave them a chance to get to know us, and because Mr. Holchuk spent so much time and effort learning to understand their culture.”
Her expression firmed up. “That’s what I thought. I trust Daisy Hub has put defenses in place?”
“We have. Come back later without the general and I’ll give you a tour of the station.”
“Let me tell you something about George Bascomb,” she said. “It wasn’t our idea to bring him here. He put in a request that got us ordered to do it. Bascomb has a long memory and a much longer reach than he ought to have, thanks to some influential friends on Earth. And you made an enemy of him today. A wise Hak’kor would be watching his back from now on.” She wheeled and headed for the tube car, adding over her shoulder, “However, I will definitely make time for that tour.”
His thoughts churning, Townsend returned to his chair. He’d never considered for a second that Bascomb could be an ally. Kendra Nelligan, on the other hand, presented interesting possibilities. The lady had skills. Toughness without bluster. She hadn’t said much during the meeting, but her face and posture had spoken volumes. And she knew how to wield a friendly demeanor, to her own advantage. This one, he decided, would bear watching.