said in an icy voice.
Peter glared. “If this really is a revolt—and if you had been more diligent, Mr. Chairman—perhaps we could have sent out a cautionary advisory! The first incident occurred more than a day ago! With telink we could have sent a warning in seconds.”
“I am no longer in contact with Admiral Stromo’s Manta. Their green priest has been murdered,” Nahton pointed out. “I believe most other crewmen aboard are dead as well.” He didn’t even look at the Chairman. “Now the crews aboard all EDF ships are under attack.”
“And we could have prepared them,” Peter said.
Seizing his chance, he turned up his voice amplifier to drown out any words the Chairman might speak. He could not let Basil use this for his political purposes, nor could he let the Chairman cover it up the way he had tried to brush aside all previous concerns about the reliability of the Soldier compies. He took no satisfaction in learning that his fears had been justified all along.
Peter glared daggers at Basil as he said for all to hear, “We missed our chance a long time ago! Everyone will recall that I expressed my suspicions about using Klikiss programming in our Soldier compies. I tried to shut down the manufacturing facilities as a precaution, but they were reopened against my better judgment.” He looked directly at the Chairman. “That was a poor decision, based on extremely bad advice.”
Basil was already making his way toward the podium, his face a storm of emotions. Peter knew how the Chairman hated to admit errors, knew Basil would try to deal with this disaster quietly, minimize its seriousness. He wouldn’t mind if more people died, just so the Hansa could save face.
But Peter had the full attention of the media cameras, and the audience was listening. A King had to do what needed to be done, and no one could openly countermand him during such an emergency.
His face turned hot as he thought of all those Soldier compies with built-in triggers that activated at the same time. Peter acted on impulse. “If this rogue streak is intrinsic to their programming, then every recently manufactured Soldier compy is a time bomb ready to explode—and our factory is still producing them.” He addressed the royal guards in a tone of unmistakable command: “Shut the compy factory down immediately. Alert all local defense forces to contain the Soldier compies, should they react. Bring in the silver berets. We can’t take chances.”
The royal guards hesitated while Basil fought his way toward the podium amidst the turmoil. Peter didn’t wait. “Captain McCammon! You have your orders.” The media imagers turned toward the balking guards.
Dr. Anselm Frick stood and flashed his new service medal, as if it gave him some sort of military rank, and started shouting. “You heard him, man! It’s treason against the King, this is. Do as you’re ordered!”
“What are you waiting for?” someone else yelled, appalled at the guards’ hesitation. Other audience members began to demand action.
Standing firm, Peter said, “Captain, do your duty or be relieved of it.”
Finally, his words seemed to sink in. McCammon snapped orders, and the royal guards hurried from the room, calling on their comms to organize an operation around the Palace District’s huge Soldier compy factory.
Peter knew he was far overstepping his authority, but he had to show his strength. The people would admire him for it, though he shuddered to think how Basil would retaliate as soon as the crisis abated.
If
it abated.
18
JESS TAMBLYN
L ike a bullet made of water and pearl, Jess’s vessel shot through energy-laced storm clouds alive with wental essence. The sea was a churning froth the color of molten lead. In this primordial planet’s sterile ocean, he’d begun his long, strange quest to bring the elemental beings back to life. His volunteers had named the planet Charybdis after the deadly whirlpool encountered by Odysseus.
Here,
Peter glared. “If this really is a revolt—and if you had been more diligent, Mr. Chairman—perhaps we could have sent out a cautionary advisory! The first incident occurred more than a day ago! With telink we could have sent a warning in seconds.”
“I am no longer in contact with Admiral Stromo’s Manta. Their green priest has been murdered,” Nahton pointed out. “I believe most other crewmen aboard are dead as well.” He didn’t even look at the Chairman. “Now the crews aboard all EDF ships are under attack.”
“And we could have prepared them,” Peter said.
Seizing his chance, he turned up his voice amplifier to drown out any words the Chairman might speak. He could not let Basil use this for his political purposes, nor could he let the Chairman cover it up the way he had tried to brush aside all previous concerns about the reliability of the Soldier compies. He took no satisfaction in learning that his fears had been justified all along.
Peter glared daggers at Basil as he said for all to hear, “We missed our chance a long time ago! Everyone will recall that I expressed my suspicions about using Klikiss programming in our Soldier compies. I tried to shut down the manufacturing facilities as a precaution, but they were reopened against my better judgment.” He looked directly at the Chairman. “That was a poor decision, based on extremely bad advice.”
Basil was already making his way toward the podium, his face a storm of emotions. Peter knew how the Chairman hated to admit errors, knew Basil would try to deal with this disaster quietly, minimize its seriousness. He wouldn’t mind if more people died, just so the Hansa could save face.
But Peter had the full attention of the media cameras, and the audience was listening. A King had to do what needed to be done, and no one could openly countermand him during such an emergency.
His face turned hot as he thought of all those Soldier compies with built-in triggers that activated at the same time. Peter acted on impulse. “If this rogue streak is intrinsic to their programming, then every recently manufactured Soldier compy is a time bomb ready to explode—and our factory is still producing them.” He addressed the royal guards in a tone of unmistakable command: “Shut the compy factory down immediately. Alert all local defense forces to contain the Soldier compies, should they react. Bring in the silver berets. We can’t take chances.”
The royal guards hesitated while Basil fought his way toward the podium amidst the turmoil. Peter didn’t wait. “Captain McCammon! You have your orders.” The media imagers turned toward the balking guards.
Dr. Anselm Frick stood and flashed his new service medal, as if it gave him some sort of military rank, and started shouting. “You heard him, man! It’s treason against the King, this is. Do as you’re ordered!”
“What are you waiting for?” someone else yelled, appalled at the guards’ hesitation. Other audience members began to demand action.
Standing firm, Peter said, “Captain, do your duty or be relieved of it.”
Finally, his words seemed to sink in. McCammon snapped orders, and the royal guards hurried from the room, calling on their comms to organize an operation around the Palace District’s huge Soldier compy factory.
Peter knew he was far overstepping his authority, but he had to show his strength. The people would admire him for it, though he shuddered to think how Basil would retaliate as soon as the crisis abated.
If
it abated.
18
JESS TAMBLYN
L ike a bullet made of water and pearl, Jess’s vessel shot through energy-laced storm clouds alive with wental essence. The sea was a churning froth the color of molten lead. In this primordial planet’s sterile ocean, he’d begun his long, strange quest to bring the elemental beings back to life. His volunteers had named the planet Charybdis after the deadly whirlpool encountered by Odysseus.
Here,
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