"You speak from ignorance!" he responded. "I answer not for what transpired under my predecessor. The presence of aliens was only recently made known to me, and I assure you, had I known sooner, I would have done everything in my power to eliminate them—sooner."
"That is not my point, most excellent General," the southern official replied, ignoring the insult. "Should we not make an effort to communicate with the aliens?"
"As I have reported," Gorruk snapped, "it has been attempted, and the aliens reacted aggressively. One of our most capable scientists was killed while in their hands. They are hostile." The delegates looked at each other, some skeptically, but most shook their heads in fearful condolence. Xenophobia ran deep.
"The fact remains," Gorruk continued, "another fleet of alien interstellar ships has penetrated deep within our system. What other explanation for their persistence than aggression? Remember our vows. We have sworn to repel invaders from space." The vast majority of delegates nodded and rumbled their acknowledgment. The vows were sacred rituals of their history. Gorruk sensed the groundswell of support. "The mission is clear. We must destroy the perfidious enemy! You will appreciate my vigilance and decisiveness before this is over!"
The crowd rumbled in support of Gorruk' s position. The inquisitor sat down and turned to discuss the issue with his neighbors.
"Your vigilance and decisiveness are beyond reproach, Emperor-General," Talsali interjected, turning to the audience. "The obligations of the vows are compelling. We must not let our planet be attacked again. Aliens have arrived in our system, and their intentions must be assumed hostile. We press the attack."
* * *
The second wave of interceptors bore down on the ragged screen. Two divisions of corvettes had been assigned new coordinates to compensate for the weakening of defenses caused by Tasmania's engineering casualty. Carmichael piloted Peregrine One in a mad, fuel-consuming dash to its new assignment.
"On station, Commander," his copilot announced. "Retro checklist complete. Weapons are up, and all stations are ready. Fuel state twenty-two point three!"
"Roger, report in to screen commander." Carmichael set the tactical display at maximum range and noted the advancing progress of the first few enemy missiles. Fuel was now his biggest concern. Fortunately, the first wave of enemy missiles had all been target-locked—the missiles had not maneuvered—and fire control solutions required little expenditure of fuel. Peregrine One had taken out two attackers. Regardless, Carmichael would have to conserve fuel. He hit the maneuvering alarm and punched the ignition control button for retrograde burn. The "backward" flying corvette accelerated to zero velocity relative to the screen's reference datum.
"Eire has taken the point. Coordinates are updating," the second officer announced. "Tasmania's still drifting to sector two, and her drift rate has increased. They've been unable to get her to link."
"Can she return fire?" Carmichael asked.
"Only partially," the second officer replied. "Two of her primary batteries are disabled, and she can't maneuver. She has coverage gaps, and she's masking defensive fire from motherships in that sector."
"Bad news—" the copilot started to say.
"Osprey's engaging!" the second officer interrupted, his voice pitching higher. "She's reporting maneuvering targets!" "Picnic's over, kids," Carmichael said quietly.
* * *
Sarah Merriwether stared at the flagship's tactical display. Her stomach churned bitterly. She watched Tasmania drift inexorably out of the grid.
"We are at station limits, Captain," advised the Officer-of-thedeck, his voice hinting of anxiety.
"Maintain station on Tasmania," Merriwether said calmly. "Establish and hold grid link. We are the guide. Admiral Runacres will keep everyone together. Order all nonoperational crew to their lifeboat stations and notify weapons they are cleared to fire."
"Aye, sir," said the Officer-of-the-deck, turning to his console.
* * *
"What is Merriwether doing?" Runacres demanded, peering down at the flagship's command bridge. "She's taking Eire off the guide bearing!"
"Captain Merriwether is keeping Tasmania in grid contact," Wells reported. "Eire still shows a partial link."
"She can't do it alone. Direct Baffin and Novaya to support Eire's movements," Runacres ordered angrily. "Swing TDF a half span to sector two."
Merriwether was going to have some explaining to do. She was causing the fleet defensive positions to collapse to one side. The enemy could exploit the maneuver and concentrate its attack. Runacres scanned the situation plot and noted with grim satisfaction his motherships moving smartly along the new defensive axis defined by Tasmania's excursion. It would take two hours to complete the realignment. Too late to make a difference in the fleet defenses, but it was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do.