IN normal times, Lilah was surely right; but these were not normal times. The first evidence of that was provided before they reached the control area. It came in the form of a sound, a deep humming that resonated in every bulkhead and floor and corridor of Confluence Center.
"What's that?" Jeff stopped dead. The vibration was so strong, the structures around him seemed ready to shake apart. "Emergency energy generation." Lilah didn't sound alarmed, but she moved faster. "They are pumping up the big storage rings. It's happened before when a big power draw was on the way, but I don't remember it ever being this strong."
"Why do we need emergency energy?" Jeff was hurrying along after her, entering the final corridor that led to the control room. "The jinners haven't added a drive, this place can't go anywhere."
"I guess that's another question we have to ask—we're getting quite a list. Mother!"
She had caught sight of Connie Cheever, hurrying along the corridor ahead of them. As her mother stopped and turned, Lilah called, "I'm glad to see you. We have all kinds of questions for—"
"Not now." Connie cut her off in midsentence. "Jeff, I'm glad to see you. I have a job for you."
"For me? What happened?"
"Treachery is what happened." Connie was shepherding Jeff and Lilah ahead of her into the control room. "The Dreadnought left half an hour ago."
"We know, Mother. We saw it leave."
"All the time they were here, we took our meetings with them seriously and did our best to be good hosts. We made it clear that we don't want trouble with Sol and we'll do anything we can to avoid it. Now I've had reports in from rakehells and harvesters at the other side of the Cloud, close to the node. The Space Navy fleet left there long ago, they're not sure when, but certainly well before the Dreadnought left here. All the ships are heading this way. It's obvious, no matter what we said, Duval would have found a reason why our promises were unacceptable. He was just trying to distract our attention from what they were planning. Thank God for Macafee. Simon knew. I don't know how, but he did. We'll have to scramble, but there's still a chance that we can be ready." She ushered Jeff forward to a seat in front of a big three-dimensional display. "Do you see that?"
"Of course." It was impossible to miss the image of the ship, hanging in black space apparently right in front of Jeff.
"Do you recognize it?"
"I recognize the type. It's a cruiser, Achernar class. We were briefed on all the Space Navy flotilla."
"Good. That's what I hoped. According to the reports I'm getting, that ship will be here in two days at the most. I want you to tell anything you know about it—weapons, power systems, drive, peculiar features, anything at all. Don't worry about repeating yourself, or the order that you say things. Everything will be recorded, and a Logan will put it all together. And don't be upset if you don't know something, either. We'll be merging your data with what we already have in our databases—not nearly enough, I'm afraid. It's not the sort of information we've worried about before."
"I'll do what I can."
"Have a break when you really need one, but don't stop. I need this information for every vessel heading our way, as soon as I can get it."
"How many are there?"
"At the last count, sixty-four. Those are the ones on the way here now. If anything else comes through the node, we'll worry about that later. Do your best, Jeff."
"I will."
"And you, Lilah, come with me. He can't afford to have distractions."
Something in her mother's voice told Lilah not to argue. Jeff hardly noticed them leaving. He was staring at the display, trying to use what he saw to provide an exact recall of the fleet data he had seen or heard.
"Cruiser, Achernar class. Net mass, forty-eight thousand tons. Average crew, seven. Drive, Mark Six Diabelli Omnivores, maximum burst acceleration, eleven Gs. Main weapons: vacuum energy tap, field resonance, computer decoherence."
Ominous thoughts accompanied his words. This was just one ship, but it, alone, had enough firepower to destroy Confluence Center. There were sixty-three more, many of them far more powerful. It was all very well for Connie Cheever to make plans for what to do when the Space Navy flotilla arrived, but those plans would be useless if the fleet decided to attack.
The people in the Cloud simply had no idea what forces were on the way.
He spoke again into the recorder.
"I don't know of any vulnerabilities possessed by vessels of the Achernar class. Next ship: battle fort and launch platform. Exeter class. Net mass, ninety-four thousand tons. Average crew, twenty-seven. Drive, Mark Seven Omnivores, maximum burst acceleration, sixteen Gs. Main weapons . . ."
Another depressing thought. He knew much of this without thinking. He had picked up masses of information from the navy briefing materials almost unconsciously, and on subjects of no interest to him. It would be nice to think that, for a change, that dreary catalog of weapons might have a use.
"Supercruiser, Monitor class. Net mass, sixty thousand tons. Average crew, five. Drive . . ."
But of what use was any listing of weapons, unless it persuaded the people of Confluence Center that their only hope was flight? Energy buildup in the storage rings, no matter how much it might give Connie Cheever the feeling of doing something, was a waste of time. Energy alone could not protect them from the weapons of the approaching fleet. In a day or so, the bearers of destruction that he was detailing so intently would be here. Flee, then, as far and as fast as possible. Surely no one still believed it was possible to negotiate with Mohammad Duval and the Space Navy leaders? Jeff didn't. But he had the personal memory of Myron's vengeful face to guide him.
"Space frigate, Mirage class. Net mass, fourteen thousand tons. Crew of two. Experimental isomer drive, burst acceleration twenty-two Gs in kamikaze mode. Weapons . . . ."
All the time, in the background, driving him along and encouraging him to stick at his task, he heard that deep organ tone of the emergency energy system. Whenever he took a short break he felt the vibration, beneath his feet, in the air around him, grating in his very bones.
How many more? He was avoiding looking at the counter—it might be too discouraging—but he had described what felt like hundreds of different vessels. Finally, though, he was getting repeats. Cruisers of the Alpheratz and Altair classes were different only in crew complement from the Achernar that he had started with, while the Ajax and Achilles battle forts were simply smaller versions of the Exeter. But one thing was certain: This was no fleet designed for a border skirmish. The most powerful vessels of Central Command were here. It was proof that more was involved than any negotiation. Myron had spoken in anger, but he had spoken truth. The plan was to plunder the technological assets of Confluence Center, starting with the Anadem field, and follow with total destruction.
Without warning, the image that he had been describing vanished from the display. Nothing replaced it. Jeff glanced to the vessel count. Sixty-four. He was done. At last.
He sighed, stretched, and realized that Lilah was sitting at his side. When had she arrived?
"What's wrong, Lilah?" She had said not a word, but he was learning. She was upset, and she was angry.
"Nothing you did, Jeff. It's Muv."
"She wouldn't tell you what Simon's card meant?"
"Not that. She took one look and said she had no idea. I'm sure she was telling the truth. But when I asked her where Simon Macafee and the jinners were, and what they were doing, she said she couldn't tell me. And she told me not to ask her again—she never does that."
"If it's some kind of military secret . . . ."
"No. She said she couldn't tell me because of you. That's when I got mad."
"I haven't done anything."
"It's not what you've done. It's what you might do. Muv says that no matter how we think of you, you're still an ensign in the Sol Space Navy. She has no idea what oaths and vows you may have taken. If she were to tell you important secrets, you might find yourself in a position of divided loyalty. That would put unfair pressures on you."
Jeff stared at the vacant display region. "It's a bit late to tell me that. I've just finished hours and hours of work, describing the capabilities of fleet vessels. Your mother wants it both ways. She uses me when it suits her, but she won't trust me."
"I told her that. She agreed, but she said this is one case where the end justifies the means. She wants to avoid killing, and the more we know about the Sol fleet, the better. But she wouldn't tell me any more than that."
"You could have promised not to tell me whatever she said."
"I tried that, too. She said that I could be trusted with most things, but not when it came to you. If I knew something that you wanted to know, you could talk me into telling you, no matter what. That's when I really lost it."
"Is it true?"
"I don't know." Lilah studied Jeff for a few seconds, and at last shook her head. "I told Muv that she was being ridiculous, but now I'm not so sure. She's right an awful lot of the time."
"So maybe she's right about me." Jeff wondered if he had done the right thing, describing the fleet ships in such detail. If he were asked to do it again, would he?
Probably. He trusted Connie Cheever, apparently a lot more than she trusted him. Either he was a great judge of character, or he was stupid. He would find out, soon enough.
"Twenty-four hours, at the most," Lilah said. Jeff wondered if she could read his thoughts, until she went on, "Then Muv promised she'd tell me. She asked you to wait, and give her the benefit of the doubt."
Twenty-four hours. Jeff again glanced to the vacant display region, but now his imagination saw it filled with every one of the ships that he had carefully described. He had never estimated their combined firepower, but it was overwhelming. In twenty-four hours or less they could all be here. And then . . . .
The deep diapason tone throbbed through Confluence Center, sounding more threatening than reassuring. Connie Cheever might feel that the spare stored energy helped, but Mohammad Duval would sneer at that idea.
The fleet captain had been here, he had toured the Center. He knew that the place had no defenses. In another day, if Duval felt so inclined, Confluence Center could be an expanding sphere of hot gases.
And then all explanations would become irrelevant.