Offices of the Supreme Council for the Preservation of the Faith, McNair
“No! No, they can’t have,” Chief Councillor Polk croaked at last, his face ashen. “This cannot be. What …” His voice drained away to nothing; he sat paralyzed, staring wide-eyed at the black-uniformed man sitting opposite him.
“Sir, I’m afraid it’s true,” Fleet Admiral Jorge said. He paused to steady himself. “Sir,” he continued, his voice as firm as his jangling nerves allowed, “the Feds might have antimatter weapons, but they are not our equals, not after Comdur. Their offensive capability has been all but destroyed, their-”
“So you say, Admiral,” Polk hissed, his face twisted into a vicious sneer, “so you say.”
Fear had turned Jorge’s mouth dry as ashes. He knew Polk well enough to recognize when the man was about to lose all self-control. If Polk did, he was as good as dead. “What matters is how we win,” he said, keeping his voice quietly confident, “how we keep the Feds off balance, demoralized, ineffective, until we have secured our political objectives.”
“Yes, Admiral, that is what matters.” Polk said, bitter with disappointment. “We have to win this. If we don’t, there is no future for the Hammer Worlds. And,” he added, voice dripping with venom, “no future for you, Fleet Admiral Jorge.”
“No, sir, there’s not.” Nor for you, you psychopathic dirtbag, Jorge wanted to say; wisely, he did not. “So we need to strike and strike hard,” he continued. “Yes, the Feds can destroy us, but we can destroy them, too. So we won’t, and neither will they. Mutually assured destruction. We might not like it, but history shows it works.”
For an age, Polk stared thoughtfully at the man who controlled the Hammer’s enormous military. Jorge was relieved to see the man’s rage begin to subside, the angry red flush across both cheeks fading slowly. Polk’s silence gave Jorge his opening. He leaned forward. “If they destroy our home planets, we’ll destroy theirs, sir,” Jorge said, repeatedly stabbing a finger into the desk to emphasize the point. “And why would we do that, sir? Kraa! We’re not a bunch of suicidal fundamentalists.”
“No, Admiral, we’re not,” Polk said. “That much we can agree on. So let’s cut to the chase, shall we. What is it you want?”
Jorge steadied himself. “Well, sir. We cannot beat them at the negotiating table. We need to take the fight back to them. Beat them the hard way.”
“And we can do that? Even if they have antimatter weapons?” Polk’s face had tightened into a skeptical frown.
Jorge made sure he sounded convinced; his life depended on it. “After Comdur, we can,” he said. “Antimatter missiles are just another weapon. We need to keep our nerve. We have a plan to escalate offensive operations, and we need to stick to it. It’s the only way we can bring the Feds back to the negotiating table. We have the strategic advantage … we can force them back. We can and we will.”
It was a long time before Polk replied, and when he did, his voice was subdued. “Fine, Admiral. Call me a fool, but I’m going to trust you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jorge responded, trying not to sound too relieved that Polk did not want him shot out of hand, the fate all too often inflicted on the bearers of bad news.