Messiah by S. Andrew Swann Page A

at Tito was a white-haired retired general from Cynos who probably held the highest military rank of anyone here—though it was a rank in a military force that might not exist anymore. General Lafayette said, “I maintain that our forces will not join with a nation that attacked us without provocation.”
    “ We were under attack!” protested the lone Caliphate representative. “We defended ourselves from an unknown enemy.”
    “By attacking us?” The general shook his head. “That is unacceptable. We will not join with the Caliphate.”
    Mallory slammed his fist on the table and said, “The Caliphate no longer exists! ”
    Everyone turned to look at him. He kept his fist clenched to keep his hand from shaking. He stood up and leaned forward. “You’ve seen the transmission from Khamsin?”
    “Yes, but—”
    “By now that scenario has played out on Cynos as well. Do you realize that?”
    “You don’t know—”
    “And Occisis, and Earth,” he slammed the table again, “and eventually here .” He unwittingly found himself quoting Mosasa, “If anything trumps your narcissistic human political divisions, it’s this! ”
    Everyone at the table stared at him, and after a few moments of silence, the woman from the larger of the Indi groups said, “Perhaps it is wise to take a break for a couple of hours?” The general started to object, but an ally of his, from one of the smaller Indi groups, placed his hand on his shoulder and said, “I second that idea.”
    After a few more perfunctory comments, everyone nodded and began filing out of the conference room. Mallory was the last to leave.
    I need to hold myself together . . .
    He eased back into his seat and looked at the too-bright light. “God grant me the strength and wisdom to do your will,” he prayed, “however imperfect an instrument I might be.”
    He told himself that maybe, during the break, he could get some rest. He rubbed his eyes and swore that tonight he would force himself to get a good night’s sleep.
    He was the last to leave the room, and Toni met him. She opened her mouth, probably to tell him how bad he looked, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, she sighed and forced a smile.
    “Please tell me it’s good news.” He prayed that someone had rounded up Karl’s son. The young man had two missing people to his credit, and the fact that Mallory had brought the man to the Wisconsin had done a lot to poison what credibility he had outside his own group of Centauri ships. Mallory might have starred in a broadcast by the pope, but that had little sway with the Buddhists and Hindus making up the larger part of the Indi fleets that, just by dint of sheer numbers, were going to determine the course of Bakunin’s defense whether or not folks from Sirius, Centauri, or the Caliphate wanted to admit it.
    “I think it is,” Toni said. “Alexander Shane’s regained consciousness.”
    Mallory had a brief episode of disorientation. The reference to Shane was so distant from his here-and-now that he had to think for a moment even to remember who he was. Eventually his fatigued brain managed to pull the threads of Shane’s existence from the disorganized mess of his other thoughts. “He’s talking?”
    “I just had a contact from the hospital. He wants to talk to you.”
    He had allowed Parvi to take an expedition to the surface because of things Shane had said in a half-delirium. If Shane was awake, Mallory could question the man directly, and gain at least some idea of what he had been trying to tell everyone.
    “We have another two hours before this starts up again.” He shook his head. “And I’m not sure what I’m contributing at this point. Let’s go see him.”
     
    Going to the hospital required traveling to the Beta habitat, which meant taking one of the elevators up to the core and then taking another elevator back down. They passed by a number of armed security in Wisconsin blue, and in Mallory’s still-tense state he