"Can wait. Give me a little time."
The suite was still empty when he returned. He drank more wine and studied the details he had sent to Branchard. The face was younger than it would be now, but the physical details would never change. If Salek had ever received medical treatment on this world, or had fallen into the hands of the police, even if he had ever volunteered to give blood, he would be recorded. And there were other checks; the captain would know them all.
The phone rang. A man's face, smooth, bland. "The Lady Zenya?"
"She is not available. Who are you? What do you want?"
"Zerm Trish, my lord. A creative photographer. I am attached to the house of Jarl, the most exclusive fashion establishment on Chard. I wondered if your lady would condescend to pose for me in a variety of creations, which, of course, would remain her property."
Dumarest said harshly, "The wife of a lord of Samalle does not cheapen herself. Do not call again."
From behind him Zenya said, "A pity, Earl. They have some wonderful gowns, and all terribly expensive." She had entered the suite while he had been on the phone.
Quickly she added, "But of course, the suggestion was unthinkable. At home he would never have dared to make it."
"Where have you been?"
"Shopping." She spun, blue fabric rising like a sapphire mist, sparkles of brilliant crystal accentuating the hue. "Do you like it, darling? Susal Paran guided me. The colonel's wife. She is really a most charming woman, and terribly worried about her husband. She kept asking me what it was like to be the wife of a warrior. How I felt when you were away, that kind of thing." She smiled. "I think she wanted to ask more intimate details but was too restrained. You know, how we acted after a long absence, how we felt when together again."
"And you told her?"
"That it is hell to be apart, and heaven to be together. The truth, Earl. Why should I lie?"
Colonel Paran saved the necessity of an answer. On the screen his face was drawn, anxious.
"I'm at a meeting of the Council, Earl. They need your decision before deciding on a course of action. I hope that you agree to accept the commission, because I don't like the alternative. The vote is to ask the Cyclan for help if you refuse. The feeling is that a cyber could advise us of what needs to be done."
"You object?"
"Yes, and I'll tell you why. A cyber predicts; he tells you what is the most likely outcome of any action, but he doesn't tell you what action to take. That means wasted time, and I've the feeling that we haven't any to waste. What we need is a man skilled in the art of war, someone who can train men and use what force we have to best advantage. I liked what you said at the conference-you knew what you were talking about. The choice is yours, of course, but I hope you agree. If not, the Cyclan will be asked to help."
Dumarest said, "I agree."
Chapter Seven
Inspection was at dawn. A sleepy guard snapped to belated attention as Dumarest, accompanied by Captain Louk, approached the operations room. Inside, Colonel Paran, red-eyed from fatigue, stood before a table littered with maps. A scatter of lesser officers stood beside charts, communications equipment, a large contour map dotted with colored pins. From time to time one of them made adjustments, bringing the field of operations up to date.
"Earl!" Paran reached for coffee, which an aide was distributing. "Want some?"
Dumarest shook his head. "Trouble?"
"We got hit again last night Sonel, a small village far to the west. The usual thing-we received a garbled message, and by the time we got there, it was all over. A shambles." Turning, he called to an officer. "Any fresh news on Sonel?"
"No, colonel. The team found nothing they hadn't reported. A complete wipe-out." The officer was young, his tone bitter. "Sir, I'd like to request a transfer to active duty in the field."
Paran hesitated. "We need you here, Fran."
"Even so, sir-"
"Later."
For a moment it seemed as if the young man would argue; then, scowling, he returned to his duties. Dumarest studied him; the facial resemblance was unmistakable. He said, "Your son?"
"My only child. Susal couldn't…" Paran broke off, rubbing at his eyes. "That doesn't matter. Every young man is eager to get into the field and face the enemy, but someone has to handle operations. Fran is good at his job. Moving him would mean a double set of training-him for the field and another to take his place."
And here in operations, he was as safe as any soldier could hope to be in time of war. A natural assumption, which others would make, but Dumarest doubted if the colonel had even thought of it. His wife, perhaps, but he was too dedicated to seek personal advantage from his rank and position.
"The attack," said Dumarest. "How many of the Ayutha were killed?"
"None."
"None at all?" Dumarest frowned. "Don't you think that is strange?"
"I should have said that none were found," corrected Paran. "If any were killed, they must have been removed before we got there." He gestured toward the table. "Let me show you how we are handling the situation. The green dots are mobile rafts; the yellow, field detachments; the red, places which have been attacked. We didn't have much time to organize, but I don't think we've done too badly. Working on the assumption that all attacks emanate from the hills, we have thrown a line of observers and mobile forces in an arc reaching from here to here." His finger tapped at portions of the map. "What do you think about it?"
Before Dumarest could lean over the table, a civilian entered the room and came toward him. Deftly he took a series of measurements, departing as quietly as he came. "For your uniform," explained Paran. "Your rank will be that of marshal, your pay equal to my own, two years' pay as initial bonus-it has already been placed to your credit. Your suite, of course, will be provided by the state, and all other expenses similarly met."
"My powers?"
"Advisory as regards operations. Almost unlimited in the field. We need to end this thing, and quickly. Do that, and no one will argue about what steps you may take."
Dumarest studied the map spread on the table. The rafts were strung in a thin line, and the field detachments were based, as far as he could see, more on a precise mathematical pattern than on the varying needs of the terrain.
"Your basic assumption is at fault," he commented. "Sonel does not lie within easy attacking distance from the hills; therefore, we must assume that an attack can come at any time from any direction. I would suggest that half the rafts be fitted with infrared detectors in order to spot the advance of any large body of men. They should ride high and maintain constant observation. The field detachments are of little use based as they are. They would be of more use placed in the actual villages. A strong body of well-armed men will maintain the morale of the farmers and provide a defensive force against any attack."
"True," admitted Paran. "But then how to protect the crops?"
"You can't, so forget it."
"But-"
"The lofios is important to you," said Dumarest patiently. "I haven't forgotten that. But to protect the crop would mean a fantastic number of men, and even then you would have no assurance of success. Let me clarify. In any war it is essential to determine the objective; once that is done, the next step is to decide the tolerable cost in both men and material. A defensive war is always a long one. In this case, the equation consists of three variables at least; to protect the crops, to protect the villages, to remove the threat posed by the attacks. You cant do them all."
"No," admitted Paran. "I realize that."
"Remove the threat, and you will have no need to worry about the rest," said Dumarest. "That can only be done by making contact with the enemy."
"Destroying them? But-"
"Contacting them," interrupted Dumarest. "I am aware of the situation. That means an expeditionary force must be sent into the hills."
"We tried that," said Paran grimly. "Twice. The second force didn't come back."
"Which means the next must be better trained. I shall need volunteers."
"Sir!" Fran Paran had been listening. He stepped forward, his salute crisp. "With respect, sir, I would like to accompany you."