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“How progresses your planning, Michael?”
Atkinson’s head shot up from the reports he was examining to find Phalkon leaning on his open hatch.
“Today is the day, is it not?” she asked.
“Yes, First, I mean, yes, Tal.”
Belatedly he stood and gestured for her to enter. She looked around and decided to perch on the least-cluttered corner of his desk.
“Sorry,” he said, futilely trying to clear a more traditional seat. “It’s been crazy around here and I don’t usually have people in my office.”
“Fine, fine,” she said with a smile. “But we move today?”
“We do. The three warrens we hit first were all successful, so we’re not doing a second round. We’re calculating the proper volume of BZ we need for the cubic in Tycho Under, based on the results.”
“How will you deliver it?”
“Same basic method. Attach the gas to their emergency supplies, then cut the network connection.”
“What will you do about the other connections?”
“Other connections, Tal?”
“The transport tubes, specifically. Those lead right back to Artemis City.”
“Ah. If we close the emergency airlocks between Tycho and Artemis, we should prevent any of the BZ from filtering back. We can also increase the pressure in the Artemis exchangers by a fraction of a PSI; not enough to do any damage, or particularly tax the system, but sufficient to provide overpressure. Any leakage from Tycho would then be pressed back into Tycho.”
“Along with fresh air, which will dilute the BZ.”
Atkinson frowned. “A valid point.”
“I don’t want to pretend I know your job better than you, Michael, but have you considered a more direct method?”
“How do you mean?”
Phalkon’s eyes lit with eagerness.
“Put the gas aboard a frigate, fly to Tycho under a flag of truce, claiming a desire to negotiate a settlement, then release the BZ into their system when the frigate connects to replenish.”
“The Federation will shoot it down.”
Phalkon shook her head. “Flag of truce. They’ll honor it; they’re stupid, or naïve, enough to do so.”
“And when we break the truce by gassing them?”
“What are they going to do, Michael?” Tal scoffed. “They have escalated as far as they dare. The concept of intentionally causing civilian deaths is abhorrent to them. They’ll protest, of course, but, wait.”
“What?”
She held up a restraining hand. “An idea.”
He waited while she processed.
“Michael. Call up the schematics for Tycho Under’s spaceport.”
He did, and asked, “What are you looking for?”
“Tycho’s spaceport is small, but busy, mostly with cargo. The cargo has to get to the surface somehow, and they’re not going to use passenger lifts.”
“No, there are larger lifts under each hangar.”
“And I’ll bet they were added after the ‘lifeboat’ concept was abandoned, so they won’t have the same sort of emergency bulkheads the older installations do.”
Atkinson called up more records. “You’re right, but I don’t see the point.”
“See if this makes any sense, then. We land, release the BZ, and the city dies. Then, after we’re sure they’re all dead, we detonate the frigate. Plant a bomb aboard, big enough to reach the cargo lift. The city depressurizes, since there’s nobody left alive to manually trigger the emergency measures, venting all the BZ and the evidence to space. We claim that the rebellion sabotages our ship and manages to kill Tycho.”
“So we put the blame for their deaths on them?”
“Exactly!”
“Rough on the crew of the frigate, though.”
Phalkon looked unconcerned. “Sacrifices must be made. But, if it bothers you, perhaps we can fly one remotely? Or allow the crew to depart on the surface before the bomb explodes.”
Atkinson was nodding. “It will cost us a ship, but it’s a small price. Um, Tal, there is one other issue.”
“What?”
“The Empress is expecting us to move against the rebels today. Tomorrow at the latest. This will take longer to arrange than we have time.”
“Don’t worry about it, Michael. I’ll tell her of your brilliant plan to deflect the blame for the destruction of Tycho onto the rebels, totally discrediting them, and she’ll be happy to give you the time you need.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Would I lie to you?”