"Here's my hand on it," Brenden said. And still holding Pat's hand in a firm clasp, he said, "I wantyou with Cory tomorrow."
"What's happening tomorrow?" Pat asked, a feeling of dread inside. Was it to be so soon?
"She hasn't given you the timetable." He laughed."Guess you two have been too busy to talk business. Well, here's the plan. Tomorrow we have asort of dress rehearsal. We'll split the fleet, and betargets for each other with uncharged weapons. That'll give the gunners some live onboard practice. Cory'll be in command of the second wing,me the first wing. You go with Cory. She's not too hot about being in command, and if you think youcan learn enough to cut it, we'll see. I need someone I can trust."
"You can't trust the men who've been with youall along?"
"Hell, boy, we've only had a fleet on Taratwo fora few years. Haven't had time to train good navymen. I got a few I can trust with my life, but notwith the command of a wing. They're good men,but they lack experience. And anyhow, my brother-in-law has to be a big part of it, doesn't he?"
"I appreciate it," Pat said.
"After the fleet exercise in space we'll have onemore of these parade shindigs. I like that. And it'll be good for the boys. Keep them alert and ready.Listen, these kids are the key to it, you know. Iguess you've dug up how sensitive and criticalthat damned weapon is."
"Yes, and that scares hell out of me," Pat said. "What if in the heat of battle one of the boys loses his nerve, or gets excited? Can you shut off theexcitation impulses generated by Murphy's Stone?"
Brenden shook his head negatively. "Once that big rock is at temperature it stays that way for a while."
He laughed.
"That's a chance we have to take, but nothing'sgoing to happen. These kids have been in trainingall their lives. I've run psychological tests on dozens of them. They don't get nervous looking oldman death right in the teeth, because they've beentold all their lives that they're going to that heaven on Zede when they die. They welcome death, but,on the other hand, they don't seek it."
"When do we sally for UP territory?" Pat asked.
"OK. I didn't finish, did I? The exercise tomorrow, then a day off except for the parade for theboys,
and one more final test run in space. Soon asthat's over we don't even come back down, we justlight out for Zede territory."
"Going to start with Zedeians, huh?"
Brenden grinned wolfishly. "You bet your ass. Iwanta hear those bastards beg for mercy."
"So three days from now the final exercise in space and then we're off?" Pat asked.
"That's it."
The last of the marching units were leaving theparade ground. Brenden went to his launch. Patfollowed the marching men, saw the last unit halt, come to attention, then he heard Gorben's voicedismissing them. The young men went off at therun for their villages, cheering and laughing. Gorbenwas walking toward Pat.
"Very impressive, Gorben," Pat said, when theywere face to face. "I suppose you're ready for the big exercise tomorrow?"
"Yes, Honored One."
"What is your battle station?"
"I have the honor to be gunner on the flagship,Honored One."
"So you're at the master control, then?"
"That is my honor, sir."
Pat was searching desperately for an idea. Ifonly he had some way of reaching Gorben, of convincing him that he had been misled. But Gorben and all the others were strong in their faith, a faith which had been built by a lifetime of indoctrination. No Dorchlunter would willingly disobey anorder, or go against the plan of the redhead whowas the leader of the angels of the gods who hadcome to lead Dorchlunt back to glory.
Pat was just one man against a fleet of over twothousand ships, each with a complement of Taratwomen
aboard, plus these impressive young warriors of Dorchlunt.
"I saw you in the reviewing stand today, Honored One," Gorben said. "I was pleased that youwere there."
"Thank you," Pat said. "Your respect for us honors us," Gorben said. "Iwould that all the others had the good fortune toknow
you and to speak with you as I have." A faint hope came to Pat, an impossible plan. "Well, we all serve the gods, Gorben." Gorben crossed himself devoutly. "And I serve one god in particular," Pat said. "Iserve the god whose name cannot be voiced." Gorben turned toward the temple, bowed hishead quickly once, twice, three times. When heturned his
eyes were wide. "I knew, Honored One,that you were of divine importance." Pat wasn't quite sure where he was headed, didn'thave it all worked out. All the odds were againsthim,
but there was a faint, glimmering hope, thathope reinforced by Gorben's devout reaction to the mention of the god of the priesthood, the Zedeianadmiral who had established the theocracy onDorchlunt. "Soon, my friend," he told Gorben, "we will allbe able to speak the sacred name." Gorben's eyes were wide."He will be with us?" Pat shrugged. "Who can fortell the will of thegods?"
ELEVEN
When Corinne admitted Pat to her apartment shewas dressed in the misty, flowing creation of aZedeian fashion designer. A priest served table asthey ate. The conversation at table was carried byCorinne, as she asked questions to delve into Pat'spast. She had to hear all about his youth onXanthos, teasingly demanding to know if he'd fallenin love with cute little girls in first school. Lovers' talk. She had a great need to knowall about him.She talked a little about herself, at Pat's insistence. There were a few things he hadn't been ableto put together, for example how it was possiblefor her to visit Taratwo as a guest holostar without people knowing she was the Brenden's sister. It was easily explained. As a young girl, she'd beenfarmed out as a half servant, half ward, to a well-to-do family. She'd attended school not as Corinne Brenden, but as Corinne Tower, and it had been as Corinne Tower that she rose to provincial stardom on Taratwo, and was "discovered" by a Zedeianfilmmaker. But all along she and her brother corresponded, visited when they could, and whenBrenden latched on to a right-wing movement,rose to leadership, and, eventually, accomplisheda swift coup which made him supreme power onTaratwo, she
had begun to act as his agent onZede II. Mostly, however, during that meal and afterward, when they danced, just the two of themalone in her apartment, she refused to talk aboutherself, or about coming events. "I want this to be our night, Pat," she whispered. "Something to remember, something which I will have
if anything should go wrong." "What could go wrong?" he asked. "You don't seriously think that we'll accomplish our goal without losses?" Now and then her greeneyes
could harden to a point where it seemed thatthey could cut glass. "I haven't allowed myself to think about it," hesaid. "You could remain here." She laughed. "No. My place is with my brother." "He says I'm to be with you," Pat said. "Thatmakes me feel as if I'm just extra baggage. I thinkI'd like to
have a ship, Corinne. At least I'd beperforming a useful function." "So you want to be useful? Then kiss me," shesaid. For a long time Pat did not think of the very real danger to the UP. Man's love for woman, and Pat's
need for this particular woman, must have been,he thought wryly, the original mind-dominancedrug, for
with his lips on hers nothing else mattered. She lay on her back on a large, soft couch. Heleaned over her, torso to torso, mouth to mouth.She trembled, clung, seemed to be trying to pressherself so closely to him that she became weldedto his body.
When she spoke, her voice was husky and unsteady. "I don't want to wait," she whispered. Neither did he. "It doesn't really matter, does it?" Her eyes were wide, and there was a touching look of desire, and
perhaps just a little innocent fear, on her face.Somewhere deep down in Pat a touch of his old cynicism surfaced. Either she was the most skillfulactress he'd ever known, or she was, as her brotherhad stated, totally inexperienced in love.
Within minutes, he realized, he would know moreaboutthat, for his need was great, and there wasthe chance thatsomething might happen, because even with an overwhelming weapon the Taratwofleet would not escape without losses. The sheernumber of UP ships assured that. Was she thinking the same thing? Did she want to seize whatthey had, rather than risk dying without havinganything?
"It matters to you," he told her, kissing her softlips with little pecking attacks. "It is you thatmatters." "Then make love to me, Pat." Her voice broke,and she closed her eyes. He wanted to make love to her. He let his hands begin to know the smooth curves of her, thoughtsmugly
that he, old Audrey Patricia Howe, loved and was loved by the most beautiful girl in thepopulated galaxy.
And he almost, almost, did. Giving up Corinne Tower was the hardest thing he'd ever done. The thought process, running as an undercurrent to the wildness of his need for her, was not a logical process from A to B to C. Histhoughts were chaotic. He remembered that firstnight aboardSkimmer when he saw her in theZede film, and the dream in which she'd come tohim, and he remembered how she'd looked so beautiful even while he was drinking the drugged liquor which put him through seven and a half daysof hell, and the love in her eyes even as she stabbedhis neck with a syringe.
But that woman wasn't Corinne Tower, thatwoman was Corinne Brenden. The two are the same. They're one. They're inseparable. She's the most desirable woman I've ever known. She has the political morality of a spider. She trusts you, Pat. She trusts you. She's willingto send those naive young Dorchlunt men off tokill
millions of people, but she trustsyou, and sheloves you. He went so far as to see that her breasts wereperfection. Her reaction to his kiss there was wide-eyed amazement and clinging.