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Things heat up in the Chartered Colony of Jericho as Alta makes preparations for defending her homeland and her past is revealed in more detail.

Hot on the heels of the crisis in the last chapter, the next segment explores Alta's past and the challenges of her present. In particular, how far is she willing to go to defend the moreau colony on Jericho? Why does it matter so much to them anyway?

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

Hatikvah, by Rob Baird -- Ch. 2, "Broke for the Land of Nod"

***

The Herd-bulls led 'em back again, An' Abel went an' said to Cain: -- "Oh, sell me water, my brother dear, Or there will be no beef this year." And Cain he answered -- "No!"

"Then draw your hatches, my brother true, An' let a little water through." But Cain he answered: -- "No!

"My dams are tight an' my ditches are sound, An' not a drop goes through or round Till she's done her duty by the Corn.

"I will not sell, an' I will not draw, An' if you breach, I'll have the Law, As sure as you are born!"

Then Abel took his best bull-goad, An' holed a dyke on the Eden road.

He opened her up with foot an' hand, An' let Euphrates loose on the land.

He spilled Euphrates out on the plain, So's all his cattle could drink again.

-- "Cain and Abel," Rudyard Kipling

***

Sedi Ha'chaga, western coast of Chartered Colonial Jericho 6/10/2535

"Contact, left! Incoming! Countermeas--"

Before the speaker could finish, his radio signal fell into abrupt, ominous silence. Alta's growl puffed out the side of the Ibizan's muzzle. "Did they make it?"

The lieutenant to her right side was a KMT moreau, a muskrat whose chubby profile made his report seem less than serious no matter what he was saying. "No, ma'am. They're quite dead. Direct penetrating hit on the top armor; no way it would be survivable."

"Who was it? Bravo company?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Captain Trivendra, the company's commander, was a veteran of the Colonial Defense Authority and had experience in CODA's armor and their tactics--theoretically. Most of his time had been spent in a data center. He had initiative, but it was consistently compromised by either poor instincts or worse luck.

Two thirds of the company had already been disabled, most of them to weapons no more survivable than the rocket that had just obliterated the man on the radio. Alta recovered from her growl, and didn't let the pessimism filter into her expression.

"We could switch again?" came a deep-voiced suggestion from a collie on the other side of the table. She hadn't needed to_look_ disappointed; the way the battle was unfolding, disappointment was only logical. Genakhot's troops had taken the brunt of its failure.

"I'm inclined to give them time, colonel. They're not reacting fast enough, no, but with new hardware and unfamiliar scenarios... who knows what might make the difference?"

Despite her outer calm, the Ibizan hound knew that they had to figure out_some_ kind of answer sooner rather than later. The Defense Committee's first shipment of 450s had come in two months ago; they were past the first part of the learning curve. Now it was time to figure out how to use them effectively.

"May I speak freely, ma'am?"

Chanatja, the white shepherd addressing her, had long been a civilian. Still, on his second visit to the Jericho colony, he continued to show the same ingrained deference despite her repeated assurance that he could speak whenever he damned well wanted. "Of course."

"You shouldn't sell yourself short, either. I'm impressed with what I've seen over the last couple of days, and it's even more dramatic looking over your records. A week ago, mean survival time in this scenario was only twenty minutes. Captain Trivendra came within a few minutes of achieving his objective... a bit of luck, and..."

Luck, Altalanuk felt, was a luxury, but she took the shepherd's assessment with a nod. They still had to do better--this she well knew--but it wasn't all that long ago that the shepherd had told her their best bet was abandoning the colony. If they were making progress... if they had enough time...

Major Kalasos took to the exercises with a gleeful, singleminded fascination that paid quick dividends. Two months of them gave the mutt a wealth of data to explain exactly how it was all going wrong, and when, and where. The latest training operation was one more bit of evidence; at the end of the day, over dinner, she had another update.

"More of the same," Altalanuk said. On a floating diorama, projected over a plate of shared bolognese, she saw a statistical model progressing one step at a time. A heat map showed precisely where their tanks had met untimely ends; another showed what had ended them.

"Yes." Kalasos changed the projection from a map to a schematic of a Model 450.

The tanks, complete with antiquated treads, looked to be as obsolescent as a cavalry horse. Certainly none of the mercenary corporations chartered by the Yucatan Alliance maintained anything so bizarre, not even the sector-level ones with minuscule budgets. Even they were equipped with the same walkers as the Colonial Defense Authority--just used ones, or older models.

Kalasos' statistics proved the theory of what Altalanuk had been taught. The tanks weren't as maneuverable as Yucatec walkers, or as fast as Sanganese hovercraft. But, with their heavy weight and low profile, they could mount far more powerful weapons, and carry armor that would've crippled a walker's limbs to bear.

"It hasn't helped," Altalanuk pointed out when Kalasos reminded her of this. "They can still be taken out with one good hit, especially from above." The Orion Soviet fielded a later variant of the 450 as their main armor unit--supported by a host of countermeasures and defensive vehicles that the Defense Committee had no way of affording or deploying.

"True, ma'am, though if you wanted some optimism I could say that we're being_very_ aggressive in guessing what the business council will deploy. They might not have Sabreteeth, and if they have them they might not have the Block 7 upgrades, and if they have those they can't have very many."

If. "A lot of 'ifs,' though. What I hear from you is that we should be finding more ways to increase their survivability. I don't know how many antitank missiles the humans have, but I do know there aren't very many of us."

"I know. We need more of the 450s. Looking at everything so far, we have enough capable crew, just not enough vehicles. That's my take."

"Anything else I should know about the results of our training?" Such modeling wasn't officially the major's responsibility--running the intelligence service was--but Kalasos had one of the sharpest analytical minds Alta had ever seen.

"Not much. We should move the exercises away from Sedi Hakh-al-Chaga to Corsini. The coast does a fair job of replicating the valleys north of the Arkadiensee, but not anything like Kurghen Corsini. Open plains are completely different."

"Visible from Terr Chanat, if they're not completely incompetent. We'd be tipping our hand."

"To the exercises? To our tanks? They already know, ma'am. Everyone already knows. They probably wouldn't even pretend to take offense."

For the moment, Alta wanted to avoid brazen provocation. They needed as much time to prepare as she could possibly obtain. Making the 450s more resilient, for example; it was a problem that they needed to solve. The Ibizan filed the idea of modifying what they had away and made a note to check with the machine shop they used to maintain the tanks; particularly given Kalasos's models, which told them the flaws they most needed to address. The exercises had given the Ibizan enough confidence to go back to administrator Kodja with a request for more.

"This is a thirty percent increase in your budget." The retriever looked, if anything, slightly ill. "On top of what you already asked for."

"That's the total cost. I'm asking you to match our contribution. The Defense Committee has some resources left over from last year's fundraising. This will consume it." Alta didn't expressly organize donations; sympathetic offworlders did, though, and when they earmarked money for the colony's defense it came to her.

"The colony budget would cover half of this figure?" Kodja's kept staring at the number. His friend Levin leaned over the desk, checked what the report said, and shook his head. "For..."

"Another forty Model 450s. At the moment we have thirty-four. We paid for twenty-six; my contact managed to arrange a discount. If he can manage that again, I'd hope that forty might become forty-five or fifty."

"'Arrange,' eh? He knows how to keep a good client," Levin said.

"I don't think so, sir. I think he's providing them to us at a loss. He believes in this colony, Levin. The same way I do. The same way you and Kodja do."

"A hundred tanks," Kodja muttered. "Yassuja, I never thought anybody would be saying we needed an army..."

"Eighty, sir," she corrected. "Six companies. I am asking that I be allowed to raise six companies to defend a colony of fifty-four thousand, seven hundred and eighteen souls."

Levin smiled, though it was cold, and distant. "It could be worse,inana Kodja." Softness didn't do a good job of hiding the melancholy in his voice.

"Could it, then? Yes, I suppose. The Defense Committee could be asking for long-range missiles, couldn't they? Or star cruisers, maybe?"

The Border Collie's smile didn't even flicker. "No. But if they asked our people directly, they'd have the money tomorrow morning. That, and more. This_is_ a compromise, after a fashion. And if it comes from us, we preserve at least the illusion of intent."

Kodja shut his eyes, and then buried his muzzle in his paws. "I know. You're right. Both of you are right. Halinchi was right, too, when she said that we can't really argue with the business council as long as they have the ability to destroy us. What's the gamble, Talla? What will it look like if this goes down?"

"Sir..."

"Talk. Go on. Don't look at Levin."

"Formally, sir, our defensive assessment is classified information. I... trust Levvich, but you asked me to discuss it only with you."

"Fine. Then I give you permission."

The Ibizan empathized with his frustration too much to take any offense from his sharp tone. "Alright. We operate under the unfortunate but reasonable assumption that congressional intervention will be technically neutral but their peacekeeping operations are highly likely to disproportionately benefit the human corporations."

"They do pay them more," Levin pointed out. "We're too busy spending our money on other things, it seems. No--no, I'm sorry. I'm tired,inanu Alta; it has nothing to do with that. We just don't have the clout of a major corporation."

"No, we don't. CODA probably won't open fire on us, but they also won't help us retake any lost territory. Technically, a Rapid-Reaction Task Force could deploy within forty-eight hours, but considering our relatively small size and importance, a Threat-Appropriate Containment Unit is more likely. That would take between one and a half and two weeks, depending on if they were expecting to use it_before_ it was called up."

"Two weeks. Plenty of time for the business council to do what they like, as well, right?"

She nodded to Kodja. "Yes. Estimates based on orbital traffic and radio monitoring suggest that the council can rely on a security force of at least eight thousand. It sounds like a lot, but remember that the Yucatec population on this continent is well over a million, and they_do_ have some interest in defending against third-party threats on their northwestern frontier."

"The Defense Committee is a thousand moreaus. They outnumber us eight to one?" Alta had always assumed that Kodja told his friend everything, but the disparity in numbers came as an obvious shock to the Border Collie. "Eight to one?"

"We have the reserve," Kodja said. Quietly; flatly. He wasn't looking at either of them. "It's not as bad as all that. Right, Alta?"

"The reserve roughly triples that number. But I have neither the weapons to arm three thousand soldiers nor the logistical capacity to sustain them for even two weeks. The Jericho Business Council will not be able to bring all eight thousand to bear; they must contend with crime and other mundane concerns that I don't have. Six thousand is likely. They have ten to twelve light vehicles suitable for repurposing as support aircraft, and about a hundred mechanized walkers--mostly Jackal 33s and 55s, which they use for long-range patrols."

"Their logistics can't be any better than ours, if they're designed for the same mission. Security, peacekeeping..."

Levin's budget-minded sensibilities served him well, Alta thought; it was only in his persistent and naive believe that they could indefinitely coexist with the humans that he lacked clear-headedness. "Correct. They also can't operate for more than two weeks, though because the JBC controls McKeever Spaceport it will be far easier for them to resupply their forces. In any case, our defensive contingency plan has us conceding Ikashta by either day one or day five, and Kurghen Corsini by either day two or day six. We will lose Davis within one to three weeks. We might survive until CODA shows up."

"That's quite a disparity..."

She did not want to speak to Kodja with Levin in the room, and knew that she didn't have a choice. Hopefully he could stay quiet. "Yes, administrator. The Defense Committee's primary contingency plan requires capturing Ha'solja Ridge, Stonewater Mill, and Terr Chanat in the first day of fighting. However, we anticipate that the administration will not authorize those operations until such time as we are unable to carry them out. This accounts for the range in our projections."

"All three of those locations are in human territory."

"Yes, Kodja."

"Outside our borders."

"Yes, Kodja."

"Do you even have the_ability_ to take that kind of initiative?"

"She might." Levin, giving a single mirthless chuckle, had realized it before Alta needed to speak. "With eighty tanks and a free hand."

Kodja flipped the computer with her report on it over, as though it had been written in obscenities. "Yassuja," he breathed, for the second time. "When she says we lose Corsini by the second day, she means Corsini and everything north. Everything. Levin..."

"It's unavoidable, Kodja."

Levin's calmness had given the words no particular judgment, no sense that he approved of them or despised the necessity of the admission. Kodja turned the computer back over, and looked from the screen to the Ibizan hound. "Alta... Talla, we've known each other for a long time."

"Yes." Long enough that she never begrudged him the diminutive_Talla_. "You were the first one I met here."

"I can't... I can't make this a question of a million obols here, or a million obols there. That's your responsibility. I need to trust you. I need to be_able_ to trust you... so I'll ask the other question. If I make this happen, if I... if I give you that authority. When the day comes--if the day comes--that we need to rely on you... you'll make this worthwhile?"

"Yes. Yes, sir. If that day comes, I will make every last bit of it count."

If. With the budget secured, Altalanuk made her way to the workshop halfway between Davis and Corsini, a bustling old factory that had been hard at work converting the civilian 450s into fighting machines. That was another advantage of using ancient technology: they were far simpler to build and maintain.

She didn't know that they'd be able to keep military-grade hoverdynes or the nuclear-powered Rooijakkals walkers running. Tanks, though, were easy enough for the colony's machine shops to handle. Ishun Chankani, the shop's owner, was a fellow Ibizan. Life had left him rather the worse for wear, and he seemed to notice none of it.

"Modify?" Ishun asked. His ears twitched; the top third of the right one had been lost many years before. "How?"

"If you had a sense of boredom and a massive R&D budget I'd want upgraded antimissile countermeasures. As it stands... here's the report from our analysts." Alta handed over the computer for his inspection; he grabbed it enthusiastically and started to read at once. "Detailed models of every 450 we've lost in simulations."

"Hmm." Ishun switched to English, the language he was most comfortable with--for twenty years after earning his freedom he'd continued to work in human-run machine shops. "I have a suggestion. And a suggestion for that suggestion. And one for that."

"Yes?"

"We can change the armor profile, to be sure. No cost. We can add more... that has a sort-of-cost. Sort of. Eh. But--I'm not much of an inventor. Some of the pups here, though--Chada, and Lasht Karali's factory... and Goren's... if we could work together--if this isn't too secret..."

"By all means. It's not something I'd appreciate you selling or shouting too loudly about, but we_have_ to work together. Find whatever resources you want. What did you mean by 'sort-of-cost'?"

"The heavier you make this, the worse it performs. You know that. But there's headroom, sure, sure. He can handle it.Khalitsa, he has a strong back and big muscles." Ishun thumped the 450 frame he was standing next, and his left paw slammed into it with the jarring ring of metal on metal.

She'd never asked him how he lost his arm; asking stories about Ishun's adventures would've given her no time for her work. Something else caught her attention. "Khalitsa? You call them that?"

"The pups do. And you know me, Alta dearest--I'm a pup at heart."

"Khalitsa." 'Club.' "I like that. Appropriate, isn't it? Heavy like one."

"Mean like one." Ishun followed his thump with a deliberate, hard slam--the sound caught the ear of everyone else in his shop. "See? Khalitsa is the only one in this whole shop who didn't notice. We can make it work, Alta. I won't let you down."

***

Colonial Administration Building Davis, Chartered Colonial Jericho 25/11/2535

Kodja had been sleeping more soundly, of late--it had been several months since the last crisis, at least, and the longer they went without it reemerging the more the retriever could tell himself that they'd weathered the storm.

He'd told that to Levin, after a lunch meeting with the minister of education.It was all so mundane_, brother. Minister Chadakh wanted to talk about cleaning up some of the old abandoned properties for extracurricular sports. And asking for volunteers to teach the students._

You say 'mundane,' the Border Collie had mused. But you don't sound very disappointed.

Kodja had laughed, and hugged his old friend tightly. It was nice to be back in the habit of simple affairs. Altalanuk caused no fewer problems than usual, but to her credit--and to Halinchi's--the human corporations seemed to have backed down.

When he suggested that to Halinchi, the badger shrugged. "It could be worse," she said. "It could also be better."

"You're learning from Alta, aren't you? Go on," he teased. "Tell me the bad news."

If he thought about it, that was a phrase he'd learned from Altalanuk herself. Nakath-Rukhat had its own word for 'bad news,' but the one Alta used--and the one he'd adopted--was a straight translation from English.

"Not," he clarified, "that there has to be bad news. But this is the third week in a row that you've told me there was nothing new to report."

Halinchi's paw wandered in a noncommittal wave. "I have been monitoring things, for the most part. I figured that you would want to know before they became serious, but you don't need to be concerned with_all_ the practical details... there are many."

"There are ones that_will_ become serious?" He pointed to the antique clock on the wall; they had fifty minutes left in their scheduled meeting. "You don't need to spare my feelings, Halinchi."

She nodded. "One of our businesses in Ikashta did some work for Rockwell last year. They're owed about a million obols for it, but Rockwell has declined to pay and the Jericho Business Council is stalling on pressuring them."

"They owe the money, though? Unquestionably?"

"Unquestionably. Rockwell had some issues with how the contract was negotiated--I conferred with a human lawyer who agrees that their objections are completely invalid. We haven't had much political capital to spend with the JBC, however, so I've let the matter drop. But we were petitioned again, and... well."

"It sets a bad precedent to let them get away with something like that."

"It does, yes, administrator. Now that we've gone three months without blowing anyone up, we might be able to push the issue. Or perhaps not. There are a few other similar topics we don't make much progress on. But who knows? We'll keep trying."

"And our agreement with the council is generally holding?"

"They haven't complained about our maintenance of the border crossings. Again, Kodja...eventually, perhaps, they'll push the issue, but as long as we're holding up our end of the bargain their hands are kind of tied." She stopped. "Although..."

"Yes?"

"I am reasonably certain that the business council is aware we've been buying weapons. Nobody has challenged me directly on this topic, but they'd have inspection logs from the freighters, at least, and they've made... hints. Offhand remarks about our commitment to peaceful coexistence. About our... our_teeth_."

"Everything we've done is completely legal."

The badger gave him a grim smile. "I wouldn't suggest otherwise. They're doing the same thing, Kodja, and none of it is above-board. We're not being open about it; they're not being open about it. I presume Altalanuk knows their strength better than I do. And I presume that's_why_ we're continuing to arm ourselves."

"That's an accurate assessment,inanu, yes. I know it's not doing much to reduce tension between our people, you don't have to tell me."

"Then I won't. But what_about_ the Defense Committee?"

Kodja tilted his head. "What about them?"

"You don't cover it in the official meetings, which I appreciate, but I would like to know where we stand. Altalanuk doesn't speak to me very often. Officially we have two hundred lightly armed policemen. Unofficially, the general commands... ten times that?"

"The Defense Committee is an independent body,inanu. I don't--"

Halinchi held up her paw. "Kodja, I'm not trying to chide you. You can spare me the plausible deniability."

"At last count, Alta told me she has between one thousand and eleven hundred active soldiers."

"Still four battalions, then? Still divided into four watches?"

"Yes, as far I'm aware--as far as I'm aware she's started putting the tanks she's been buying in Ikashta, Corsini and the South Bank. There are only a few dozen of them. I think it's more of a show of force."

"Is there truth to the rumors of anti-aircraft emplacements north of here?"

"Yes."

"Very well." Halinchi hadn't shown any sign of being bothered. "The more I feel secure, the more I can afford to press our hand, Kodja. Things are balanced delicately right now. Congress doesn't want trouble, not with the Sanganese recolonizing the northern part of the continent. I think that's probably why we've been left alone."

So far.

But it was better news than he'd expected to hear, and the day promised to hold more of that. Shenkiy, their Minister of Development, had asked him to come take a look at the satellite uplink he'd approved. The afternoon sun felt glorious on Kodja's back when he arrived at the site, which bustled with activity.

"Is it...finished? Almost done?"

The bearish, chocolate-furred mutt standing next to him nodded. "Everything I've been told says the initial tests have been positive. They might even be able to finish the project early."

Kodja didn't understand what he was looking at. He didn't need to, not to know how thrilling it was to watch the crew at work. Construction equipment still lay scattered along the road up to the summit, and the temporary scaffolding on the tower was obvious...

But it was_obvious_ that progress had been made. Obvious that in spite of everything else they were getting it done. And if Shenkiy said that they could finish ahead of schedule, Kodja had no reason to doubt him, even if the mutt wasn't an expert in satellite communications either.

Seeing the visitors, one of the workers headed over. Clad in a suit of protective powered armor, their species remained obscured until they were close enough to lift off their helmet and Kodja found himself looking at a badger like Halinchi--but younger, and in far better spirits.

"Brothers! Did you come to watch, or are you applying for a job?" She spoke Rukhat, unlike Halinchi, with a flawless Jericho accent. "I wouldn't blame you for getting bored in that tiny office."

"This is Jishir, the project lead," Shenkiy explained.

Jishir offered her paw, and when Kodja stuck his own out she gave him a firm handshake, backed by the artificial muscles of her suit. "Nice to meet you, administrator. I presume you_did_ come to watch. Isn't it a great view? From here you can see..." She looked to the horizon: five kilometers away to the east; nearly forty to the west. The hill was one of the highest points in the colony--but no sooner had she said that then she grinned, and turned her attention back to the transmitter. "All the way to Earth. Soon."

"Testing has gone well?"

"It has! We're mostly calibrated by now. Interference was much less than we thought it might be, and the terrain didn't"--she stomped her foot, and Kodja felt the hard shudder reverberate up his legs--"even require as much stabilizing as we planned. Your friend Levin came by with his pup two weeks ago, when we hadn't switched on yet. He told me it was our most significant project. And here we are!"

"Most significant?" Shenkiy asked.

Jishir turned, and called over her shoulder. Another suited figure joined them, crossing the distance in two twenty-meter bounds and skidding to a practiced halt. They were carrying what looked like a black metal box, which Jishir took and held up for their inspection. "One of the spare positioning motors. We, uh... well, it's not spare_now_, somebody accidentally put too much current through it."

She tossed it back to her companion; when they caught the device, Kodja saw from the way the suit tensed that it must've been heavy, although neither Jishir nor the other engineer showed any sign of noticing.

"It was made by a shop in Chadagh. Ninety-five percent of the components were built here, and a lot of the newer parts were_designed_ here, too."

"I figured it would be used parts, maybe," Kodja admitted. "I'm impressed."

"Rightly so, brother," the badger said. "This is something the colony can take credit for."

"And enough bandwidth for every_alenakosh_ to start their own data center."

"It might not be, not for long." Shenkiy chuckled at the way Kodja looked over at him. "The starship_Lise Meitner_ touched down at McKeever yesterday--a freighter that normally handles the outer Yucatec worlds. This was chartered, though... three hundred and seventeen immigrants."

The retriever blinked; surprise flattened his ears. "From where?"

"All over. About half are refugees from a closed corporate site on Kaltrig, but the rest are from a dozen different worlds. It's the largest manifest we've had in eight years."

"We have places for them?"

"Certainly, brother, just like we do for the eighty on the_Light Kenworthy_, touching down tomorrow. The director of onboarding is even in talks with another corporate site, a black arco--mostly KMT moreaus that the company doesn't want to retrain."

Kodja's ears had lifted again, and his tail began to wag. "What's going on?"

"We are. Word's getting out about what's been happening. They feel its pull.Alkosh kashkin, brother. Sooner or later we all hear it."

***

Encha border crossing, 25 kilometers north of Davis Chartered Colonial Jericho 3/11/2522

"Oh, did you hear that in the_Alkosh_?"

Alta gritted her teeth.Spare me. "The certificate isn't valid. I can't let you cross without a valid certificate."

Six months after landing in Jericho, the Ibizan had lost any sense of why, precisely, she was staying. It wasn't as pastoral as Dawa, thankfully. She had made friends, after a fashion. There were things to do.But.

There was a whole galaxy beyond the bland planet, circling idly in the Viking System light years from anything interesting. Humans still needed to be dealt with; her people still needed to be freed... and yet here she was.

"It's valid," the feline driver protested. "Mostly."

"The cargo inspection is dated sixteen days from now. So unless you've perfected time traveling..."

The cat sighed. In the silence that followed, a warm afternoon breeze ruffled the Ibizan's ears, carrying with it the smell of cornfields off to the west.What am I doing here? I don't care about corn. I don't care about this border crossing. I certainly don't care that a few crates of raspberries were certified by an agricultural inspector with a date two weeks in the future.

But the fates, such as she believed in them, had conspired to bring her there. Standing motionless next to the cockpit of a Tarvos hoverdyne headed for one of the human colonies on the other side of the border. The same sort of hoverdyne she'd driven before, back when she--

The driver sighed again. "Alright. I'll turn around. I'll see if I can get it recertified. I'm just a middleman, officer, you know."

"I didn't say you weren't."

"The humans like it when we give them forged inspection dates. It lets them sell it further in the future."

"Which doesn't mean you have to go along with it, though, does it?"

"I do if I want to ship anything. But I understand. You're doing your job, it's fine. It's only... frustrating." He read from her expression the exact same sentiment, and laughed softly. "Have a good day, officer."

Once he turned around and she was satisfied he wouldn't try something ridiculous--trying to bypass the gate, for instance--she let her shoulders relax and walked back to the guardhouse.

Her partner, a husky named Khalizai, was waiting. "He didn't argue?"

"Oh, he argued. We had a good conversation. A good use of everyone's time--interdicting six hundred kilograms of illegal raspberries. I'm glad I'm here."

"The CSO appreciates you. I'm sure they appreciate both of us."

Alta grunted. "Fuck the CSO." The Ibizan and her partner switched fluidly between Rukhat and English.

Six months previously, when she landed in Jericho, the colony's "director of onboarding" took her directly to a meeting with the deputy administrator. What had been described as a very important job turned out to be working in the Colonial Security Organization.

The only_real_ part of the CSO was the force of under a hundred policemen who kept order in the towns and watched the two border checkpoints separating the moreaus from human outposts in the east. From a purely technical standpoint, Jericho was not its own colony.

It's sort of a grey area, in the deputy administrator's words. We don't have an official colonial charter, we're just private landowners and no other colony can claim this land. It's a lot of work to maintain. We need good, reliable people for that.

Also from a purely technical standpoint, the CSO controlled an auxiliary force of six hundred moreaus--mostly dogs--who pretended to be some kind of militia. Their training was haphazard, their equipment was nonexistent, and their mandate was confusing to the point of incoherence.

Altalanuk understood that her job was fixing the auxiliary. She understood it so well, indeed, that the only reasonable answer was the one she'd given. Khalizai chuckled. "We have an important job, Talla. More than raspberries."

"Perhaps_you_ do, Kha'zai." It wasn't that she disliked the husky. She liked Khalizai a great deal--for that matter, she liked Alishat Hass-Kodja, the naively upbeat onboarding director--but the pair's focus on Jericho was equal parts frustrating and limiting.

"Where would you rather be?"

"Fighting. Here we are all happy and bureaucratic in Davis--and there are countless millions of our people out there. Suffering. Trapped. This is a prison--they have us exiled here."

"It's home, Talla. Our real home."

"Oh, don't_you_ start, too."

That line of reasoning had to be the worst part of it all. True believers--and Khalizai was one of them, even more than Kodja--were always going on about 'home.' The real home: alkashkin. And the song, alkosh kashkin, that moreaus supposedly heard. Altalanuk heard no songs, particularly not ones with a siren's lure to a second-rate planet.

As long as anyone claimed to, the colony was a quarantine championed by useful idiots. It gave them an excuse to not take the fight for moreau rights to the Yucatan Alliance itself. Why bother, when the sufficiently aggrieved could simply emigrate?

Delusion, it was all delusion. It clouded all of their thinking. The head of the CSO expected her to shape up the auxiliary forces into something regular and useful. She asked for proper weaponry and was denied. She asked for a budget and was denied. She asked for the volunteers to double the time they committed to the CSO and was denied.

This is enough, Altalanuk, she'd been patiently told. Kenir, the CSO's commander, appreciated her dedication but disputed its usefulness. We're not in need of an army. Just a more disciplined force to help with the borders. A pause. Emphasis on the discipline.

The Ibizan kept her calm through that meeting. As soon as she'd made it through the door of her apartment, the snarl escaped.Discipline! They hadn't been looking for someone to manage the auxiliary as a meaningful organization. They'd been looking for someone to keep their restlessness from spilling over.

"I'm through with it," she told Khalizai when, the next morning, she was clear-headed and just as convinced the Security Organization was a waste of time. "I'll resign the next time I speak to the director."

"What will you do?"

"Leave. Catch the next departing freighter. I can't fix this. They're so blind that they don't even know what they want. I'm not the only... vicious radical, you know. That's what they want me for... they want them controlled. They can't be, not the way the administration wants."

Khalizai let her finish; by the end of it the Ibizan had started growling her words. "Let's take a stroll, Alta," he said. She walked with him north, out of the CSO's headquarters, into the fields of Kurghen Corsini, the sloping plains around the small town of Corsini itself.

The husky stopped, leaning on a wooden fencepost and looking towards the forested horizon further west. The post was old, wobbling; whatever fence claimed it had been gone for decades. "Is this where you talk sense into me, Khalizai?"

"No, it's where I talk to you without anyone else around. 'Vicious radical,' eh? Do you see yourself that way? I guess, if you do, it explains why you're at odds with the happy family here."

"I don't see myself as someone content with this fantasy, if that's what you mean. Maybe 'vicious' is going too far, but 'radical' isn't."

Khalizai curled his claw, dragging it along the wood of the post. "You said there were others. I wouldn't argue... I know there are. Me, for a start. My name means 'club' in one of the rim dialects--I had a reputation, just like you."

"I have a reputation already?"

"It depends on who you ask and how you ask it, Kashina."

The Ibizan froze. Her first conscious movement was to flatten her ears. "Don't call me that."

"You're not ashamed of it, though, are you?"

She brought her ears up, cautiously, and just as cautiously considered her words. "My name is Altalanuk, Khalizai. I don't have to be ashamed of other names to know that they're dangerous ones."

By the time he glanced over to her, and briefly at that, she no longer looked quite so startled. He might not have cared; his attention was at once returned to the trees. "One of the myths of this colony is that it's a fresh start for anyone who wants it. Djanesh's word carries weight. When he said he trusted you, nobody looked any further. Your file says you arrived on a freighter from Phobos. The flight plan says--"

"What are you trying to do?"

"Hush. Djanesh is a friend of mine. I trust his word, too, but when I asked him he told me about Eridania. It was easy to connect the dots from that. I'm probably not the only one... Alishat Hass-Kodja would've seen the flight plan, too, if he was curious."

"I've left that behind," she told him sternly.

"Not really. You want to go back to it, apparently. Until they kill you."

"It's better than staying here. Did you just call me out into the middle of nowhere to threaten me?"

"I wanted to explain something, that's all. Do you remember your barracks name, Alta? You haven't blocked it out?"

She scowled in his direction, but the husky was still focused off on the distance. "It's hard to hear a slur every day for ten years and forget it. 417K-JUN, but I guess if you asked that you knew already."

"417K was a direct modification of the 412G line, and that came directly from 398E. You're of the same bloodline as 398E-SIM. Alrukhan--'the speaker.'"

Altalanuk knew the name 'Alrukhan,' though not her relation to the man. His rebellion against human owners had first created the Commonwealth of the Enlightened, at a campus on Jericho within a day's walk of where they now stood. But Alrukhan was dead, killed in that rebellion. Was that Khalizai's point? "You're saying my tendency for violent revolution is genetic?"

"Alta," he growled. Finally he tore himself from the trees, and turned a fierce stare on the Ibizan. "This place is home for us. It's why we belong here, Alta; it's why the colony matters, whatever it takes to keep it going. The Commonwealth was the beginning of_everything_."

"The Commonwealth moved to Dawa two years after the revolution, Khalizai. The soil was bad, the plants were all dead--you can find better pastures, if_home_ is what you're looking for. They gave this up."

"Not all of them. If our kind has a birthplace, it was--"

"In a laboratory on Earth half a millennia ago."

"No!" The heat in that word caught her off-guard. Khalizai's lip had curled, and his eyes blazed. "Earth is where we were_created_, Alta. This is where we were born. This is where our kind first took our destiny into our hands. Not just one individual finding a loophole to buy their way out of slavery--a community. A legacy. It was born here. Alrukhan died for it here. Yes, sure, fine--you can plow a field anywhere. Build a house anywhere. Sleep under any damned stars you want, but these are ours. The first moreaus who said that we as a people deserved to be free knew that right here. That's worth something, Alta. It is."

A handful of cynical objections came to her muzzle and left just as quickly. "Even if that's true, not everyone acts like it. Administrator Jadhalaja... Kenir... they don't act like..."

"Say it."

Her ears splayed. "I don't actually know what I'm trying to say, Khalizai."

The husky took her paw, and lifted it so that she was pointing in the direction of Terr Chanat--human territory, the site of the fiercest fighting in the battles on Jericho. "They don't act like_that_ happened, Alta. They act like it won't happen again."

"Yes." She worked herself free of his grip, and ran both her paws from the bridge of her muzzle back to her ears, which were slowly coming up again. "They probably agree with you about the importance of this place, but it's all... fuzzy for them. Maybe it's not for you."

"What do you mean?" he asked, as though he knew what she was going to say.

"Maybe you understand that if you believe in that story... belief isn't enough. You would say that we earned this place. Congress would probably say that they gave it to us. Those two will conflict. The administration thinks that faith is sufficient."

"Is it? No. Listen, Alta, I've heard you describe the need to fight for our rights--the rights of moreaus, all of us, as a culture. We're not just an idea, though. We're physical beings, flesh and blood--we_exist_. We need space. We need a home, or we're just... angry, howling animals in the void." He waited for her to disagree; she stayed quiet. "And if we need a home, why not this one? Name a better place."

"I can't."

"So it comes to this. Some day, the colony will need defending. It will need people to fight for it. If you care about our kind, you'll be there.We'll be there."

"They make it rather difficult."

"I know." Khalizai dropped the growl, though his expression stayed sharply angled with its sternness. "We'll have to work around them. We'll have to be there when they need us, even though they don't know it now. You said yourself you're not the only one. We can start.If you're serious. If you just want to fight your own useless battles sabotaging some factory in an asteroid belt with no name, then... I can't stop you. Find the next freighter headed starward. But I think..."

Altalanuk didn't know whether she laughed in defeat or determination; she would not know it for some time. "If it's my birthright, I suppose. I'll give it a chance. For now."

***

Khel-Darana District Davis, Chartered Colonial Jericho 15/12/2535

According to the shipper, the box of old paperback novels should've been delivered two days previously. Clearly they were not at her apartment, and Grey Palmer had received no notification of where they might be.

Nor was it as easy as the human wanted to investigate, because the books were a cover story. In truth she'd ordered ten liters of olive oil, direct from Earth--the best there was, and a bit of a guilty pleasure. Agriculture goods were supposed to be declared, but she had no intention of paying the exorbitant customs duties.

Besides which they'd meddle. They_always_ meddled. She'd have to go to Noel K. McKeever Spaceport, and to repeat the same tedious conversation with the agents there.

Where do you live again?

Talatek Street 35, Khel-Darana. Just north of Davis, in the Jericho colony.

With the animals?

Hence the cover story. She fired up a secured commlink and waited for the person on the other end to answer. According to her computer, it was 4 in the morning where Jo Kelter lived--but Jo was already dressed for work when she received the call. A consummate professional; one would never guess her affiliation with the Starlight Faction.

"Grey! It's good to see you! I've been expecting this."

Palmer frowned, suspecting the two statements to be at odds. "Really?"

"It's about your book order, right? I got a note saying the trans-shipment agency was returning it to our depot. Fortunately books will keep, right?"

Palmer didn't share her friend's smile. "Why are they returning it?"

"The captain got cold feet. McKeever's been stepping up their inspections, I guess. I didn't want to tell you to pay anybody off, so..."

"Those were good books, Jo!"

"I know, I know. I can get them back to you, it'll just take another step. A few more intermediaries. A little more, yeah, but..."

"Less than bribing a customs' agent?"

"It's a bit worse than that."

Jo Kelter worked as a lawyer for a deep-space mining firm; she was their Terran representative, but representing the spacebound put her in plenty of questionable company. Animals were the least of it.

She knew how to find the most receptive ear when something troublesome needed doing, but in this case Jo said that the customs officials had been replaced wholesale. None of the new crop were the weak-willed type.

Grey agreed to pay extra for the olive oil to go through a neutral port instead, even though it meant the added cost of a suborbital transport and the added time to wait for an amenable smuggler. That much was part of life on Jericho.

Sometimes McKeever could be difficult to work with; sometimes they felt like they were being cheated out of their fees and wanted to make a point about something. This, she felt, was merely one of those times.

And then her communicator lit up again.

On the other end of the line was Rich Tenney, who worked at a consulting firm on Jericho. They'd spoken before, unfruitfully. Rich refused to support the colony's plans for a satellite uplink station, and Grey refused to spy on the colony for the Jericho Business Council.

I thought I'd made it clear enough I didn't want to speak to you again. "Mr. Tenney, how can I help you?"

"With a point of curiosity," the other human said, his smile...oily. Oily is the word. I guess you miss that delivery more than you thought, huh? "You were expecting a shipment from Earth, I believe. Some books."

"How do you know that?"

"Because the Council has connections to the Spaceport, and we've taken an interest in what's bound for the occupied zone you live in. When they mentioned your name, I was naturally curious. What kind of books were you looking for, anyway? Maybe I can help."

"They're not local titles."

"Classic literature? I could lend you my Riverside. Ms. Palmer, I know you don't want to be_forthcoming_ with information on your friends, but I'm hoping you can help me a little. Just a little."

"With what?"

"Books aren't the only thing you've been importing. There's a lot of industrial machinery, which the JBC classifies as dual-use. I don't care about it, obviously, and neither does ETaN... your friends can do what they like with that country. If they need farming equipment, so be it."

"ETaN shouldn't care about it," she ventured. "And anyway the colony's agricultural plans aren't anything I'm even aware of. I can't help you there."

"What about the other thing you're growing?" He shook his head, disbelieving, at her blank look. "The_Mise Leitner_, the Kinneret, the André Gide, the Tsyacha Gero'ef Rodiny--just in the last month."

None of the names sounded familiar, except that the_André Gide_ was a passenger ship that occasionally made the rounds in the sector. "You might have the wrong idea, Rich. I'm a consultant on human affairs--I'm not a smuggler. Books aside."

His face fell, and he shook his head again. "It's not what I meant. Ms. Palmer, I have to tell you this, but I'm doing it in confidence. The JBC's extremely concerned by the increase in... I heard them called_kennel boats_."

"Immigrants? They don't bother you. The colony handles the onboarding and the quarantine. Unless you're worried about competition, with the uplink ready..." Many of the moreaus had worked at the same kind of companies that made up the Jericho Business Council, after all; it wasn't out of the question that they might be a threat to the JBC's market share.

But that wasn't on Tenney's mind. "It's not my place to say more, Grey. But try to impress on your friends, if you can... this_isn't_ the time."

"For..."

The commlink closed without an answer.

***

Encha border crossing, 25 kilometers north of Davis Chartered Colonial Jericho 23/12/2535

Ancient music, human music, filled the truck--ignored by all of the crew, though a few of them tapped their paws along to the rhythm.Berlioz again. Alta recognized the strains of the march from Symphony Fantastique. One of Sol Solte's favorite pieces, well-matched to the vehicle's darkened interior.

Colonel Sol, her chief of staff, intended to conduct the visit by himself, but Alta was curious and she'd invited herself along to the converted Tarvos cargo hoverdyne. A dozen soldiers were paying close, quiet attention as Berlioz's coffee-black strings rose towards the piece's climax.

"Signal from Kilo Two. They're ready," one of them announced. "We should be, too."

A red-furred husky immediately to the speaker's right nodded sharply, and powered on her computer screen. "Energizing. System online."

Sol said nothing. Alta said nothing. Brass notes slipped defiantly into the score.

"Launch detected, eighty-two degrees. Six tracks inbound."

"Resolve it." The unit's commander, towards the front of the Tarvos, couldn't see anything--his goggles immersed him in a purely virtual world--filled with the information poured directly into them. "What's the target, Kita?"

"Us, sir."

"Counterfire. Mode two. Engage at will."

"Firing," someone called out. Alta heard a low, quick hum--pulsing half a dozen times in quick succession. Then more silence, save for the music.

The husky turned. "All inbound missiles defeated, sir."

"Good work." Their commander kept his goggles on, though--Alta could see that he was a feline of some kind, though nothing else about him. He hadn't removed them since she'd stepped into the Tarvos. "Time?"

"Four seconds."

Sol Solte, who despite his Rukhat name was also an ex-Trimurti moreau--a big, classically striped tiger--nodded slowly, and leaned closer to Alta so that he could point to the husky's computer screen. "The specifications say one battery can defeat ninety-five percent of inbound projectiles, assuming a ten-second lead time for ten rounds."

"Leaving, what, half a projectile? That still rounds up to one complete missile getting through, doesn't it?" Alta grinned. "It_is_ good work, though. How long can they sustain it for?"

"Officially, they--" A buzzing, harsh alarm cut him off.

"Launch detected! Eighty-two degrees, eleven tracks inbound!"

"Resolve it."

"Split trajectories. Group one is five missiles, on us. Group two is six missiles, on a point to our west, theta point five two, estimated alpha--"

"Prioritize the second group, counterfire, mode two, engage at will."

"Firing."

"Group two defeated. Group one, ten seconds to impact, alpha in three"--"emergency cycle, cooling"--"stand by, stand by." Alta did her best to follow the alarmed chatter. "Ready... ready... Clear!"

"Five seconds. Brace for impact!"

Alta checked her harness quickly, then counted down in her head.Five. Four. Three.

"Group one defeated." The husky shook her head quickly, clearing it and staring at her screen searchingly. "Scope's clear."

"Was that planned?" Sol Solte asked. Behind his question, the music crashed to a final, decisive halt. "Did you know that was coming?"

"No, sir," the commander answered flatly. "I believe OPFOR decided we needed to be... challenged."

"Kilo Two signals the exercise is over," another voice added. "They want to know if we're still alive."

Altalanuk knew that she couldn't count on being able to consistently suppress artillery fire. If nothing else, the system's lasers needed time to cool down. And if the humans were smart, they'd find a way to oversaturate the defenses. The modified Tarvos, part of a team with another vehicle for power and a third for high-accuracy radar, was a minor miracle of technology.

But they only had four. Alta had a hundred and sixty kilometers of vulnerable border to cover.

And_really_, they only had three. Politically, at least one of the units would be needed to guard the capital at Davis. Altalanuk wished to put a permanent installation there; Kodja would have none of it, not while they could preserve the illusion of goodwill towards their human counterparts.

For her own reasons--chiefly, that she didn't want him to become complacent--Alta downplayed the optimistic parts of her assessment when talking to Kodja. The Defense Committee had added another dozen tanks to their inventory; seven of them were not Yaprumash 450s but an indigenous design based on it, created in Lasht Karali's workshops.

Karali promised that these would be faster, despite carrying greater protection. In exchange, Karali had removed the heavy railguns from their turret, trading that for a battery of missiles. Altalanuk didn't believe the missiles would be just as effective at taking on aerial threats as they were at light armor--that seemed too good to be true--but the fact remained that they'd certainly be more flexible.

She also did not tell Kodja of her certainty that the important fighting would be over by the time human armored vehicles reached the front. The retriever still believed that a protracted campaign was some kind of possibility. And he nodded, understandingly, when she said she was sparing him the technical details.

"But I do want to show you this. And I invited you for a reason," she added, nodding to Levin. The Border Collie lifted his left ear. "Exactly. This graph shows our light ammunition expenditure over the last two months."

"You wanted to show me because you like seeing me suffer?" Levin asked. The graph was modestly exponential--the rate had increased three hundred percent in that time.

"No. Because of this.These are the marksmanship scores for our training operations. I've begun including the reserve in those. For clarification, brothers, this..." She scrolled down to bring the value into view on the computer. "Is our mean score from last year. And this..." She kept scrolling, slow enough for them to follow the numbers as they grew lower and lower. "This is a passing score in CODA's basic training."

"So it's showing results."

"Yes, Kodja. It's showing results. I don't intend to waste your time, or our budget. We're doing better. I'm not comfortable going head to head with mercenary walkers, not yet, but we're closing the gap."

Levin took the computer from her and examined it himself. "I'm not such a pup that I think you'd ask for less money,inanu Altalanuk. But will you ask for more?" She stared at him, and raised her eyebrows warily. "If you did, where would it go?"

"Training. We need more soldiers, and we need to get them brought up to speed quickly. And we need infrastructure, Levin--we need to be able to build and repair these on our own. Our logistics capacity is subpar, and our ability to deal with casualties is... well, even worse."

"How bad?" Kodja asked.

"Medical? We've gotten used to evacuating the more serious cases, but obviously that won't be possible if we're under siege. Our civilian doctors are overworked. If I had the money, I'd try to put out some kind of... headhunting feelers. Djanesh is still active, isn't he?"

"Speaking of that..."

According to the director of onboarding, twenty-eight hundred moreaus had arrived at the colony in the previous three months. Two days later, she was looking at sixty of them, those who had immediately volunteered for the Defense Committee. Not all of them would be full-time; she couldn't arm them full-time as it was.

And they were a motley bunch; she didn't think Kodja would've approved despite how readily he agreed with her request to recruit them. Half had experience in CODA or Garuda--its lower-rate counterpart that focused mostly on riot control. The others had the_look_ of ex-Starlighters. Sharp-eyed. Sharp-toothed. Twitchy. It wasn't officially known; Jericho didn't ask for access to criminal records.

After the induction ceremony she picked one of them at random, a Border Collie who gave his name as Darwin. He had Levin's black-and-white color pattern, Levin's glittering bronze eyes, and a fierce, razor-edged grin that would've sent Levin whimpering back to his spreadsheets.

"Welcome to Jericho," she told him.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Where are you from? You don't sound like you joined from Dawa."

He barked. "No, ma'am. Norcrest, in the Black Hills, and before that the Kez-e-Sula Belt. And before_that_, I wrote employee-optimization software for Honeywell."

Altalanuk looked into his eyes again, with a newfound appreciation for the glint in them. "I had the impression you weren't ex-PMC, but I had you pegged for Spartoi."

"No. I guess, if you're asking me, you were Starlight Faction yourself? They have their place, but when they backstabbed the Black Hills I realized they didn't go far enough. I was in the EGI for six years before I moved to Norcrest itself."

By 'backstab,' Darwin meant Starlight had declined to assist a planetside resistance movement in confronting Dade-Darby-Kitchen. DDK may have been a major corporation, but without a planet to call home they were allies of a sort to the Starlight Faction's cause. "There were other moreaus there?"

"A few. It's complicated. Do you have a problem with the EGI, ma'am?"

"You already guessed my background--it's not a problem, no. Call it curiosity." Even if the Starlight Faction considered the_Ismenistas_ to be radicals, most of them had read The Second Birth of Ismena Pavón. Alta certainly had. It inveighed against corporate city-states and their corruption.

Moreaus, according to the book's author, were one more example of that corruption--a perversion of the natural order to purely capitalist ends. Hence, she supposed, why he called it_complicated_. "They mostly took pity on me, I think. They see us as victims... they were happy to enlist our help."

"Until you left."

"There were a few close calls. A few too many. And then Governor Kirk started inviting immigrants to the Black Hills Free State. I joined because their security forces needed help, but they didn't really want someone like me, they wanted a more sedate sort of... sort of... ma'am? Why are you smiling like that?"

"Perhaps it's a story for later. What brought you here?"

"Everyone in the Black Hills is already a refugee. They want to make something new there, and I wish them well, but I was reading about Jericho, and I realized this is where we belong. You know? Maybe it's strange, ma'am, but if I'm going to settle down I want it to be a place that isn't just... the most convenient. And if I'm going to fight for a place, I want it to be for the right reason. Does that... make sense at all?"

More than anything else, what Altalanuk realized was the subtle change in the question she'd posed. Once she might've been curious about his past--about what had happened at MBB to nudge him towards the Starlight Faction, and then to the_Ismenistas_.

She didn't know when she'd stopped asking. Or when she'd realized that, in its own way, it didn't really matter. She hadn't answered Darwin's question, either. "Ma'am? You're smiling again."

She was.

***

Colonial Administration Building Davis, Chartered Colonial Jericho 6/13/2535

"What do you think the biggest challenge has been?"

Kodja tilted his head. "Challenge?"

The mild-mannered shepherd on the other side of his desk tilted her head, too. "You were the son of farmers... then moved to administering a computing center... then you became an onboarding assistant. Moving from deputy director of onboarding to colonial administrator was a big step, but you've made a lot of changes in your life."

"Yes..."

She smiled, trying to prompt him. "And it was a contentious time. I reported on your predecessor's refusal to stand for re-election. In your last two elections, you've run unopposed. You've been able to bring the DC into the fold and to start several large projects. Out of everything, what's the biggest challenge?"

"Well, to be honest, I'd almost say... hold on." There was a light flashing on the computer screen embedded in his desk. Kodja's paw brought the notification into the foreground--a message from his assistant. "What's going on?"

"You have an incoming call from_inanu_ Halinchi, administrator. It's coded as a high-priority message."

"I can leave," the reporter said. It was a friendly interview; she had no reason to press him. "I can come back later, if you'd like."

Kodja nodded, waited for the door to close, and tapped the desk again. The hologram depicting Halinchi's face rendered it blurry and subtly skewed, dreamlike and eerie. "Inanu Halinchi, how can I help you?"

"We need to convene a limited cabinet meeting, sir. Immediately."

"Who with? And how 'immediately' do you require it, Halinchi?"

"I mean that my transport touches down in ten minutes, sir. Ministers Shenkiy and Korden should be invited."

"Altalanuk?"

The badger's expression tightened, warping in the low-bandwidth transmission. "Yes, I suppose. But it's not that kind of situation, I caution you now. You don't need to have a heart attack."

Kodja asked his assistant to summon the others, and reserved one of the quiet meeting rooms in the basement of the capitol building where they wouldn't be disturbed. He occasionally indulged the fantasy that it might afford them some protection, too, though Altalanuk said a direct impact would obliterate the whole structure anyway.

It was sufficiently secluded that he didn't hear the sound of Halinchi's transport landing; a knock at the door was his first warning. She shut it behind her, locked it, and turned to face him. "Before the others get here, let me explain."

"How worried should I be?"

"Fairly. I would say it rises to the level of a crisis. The Jericho Business Council is closing McKeever Spaceport to our traffic until further notice."

A few seconds passed before the shock abated enough to respond. "They can do that?"

"Through a technicality, yes. It's a dispute over what they refer to as 'handling fees.' There's been an increase in traffic over the last few weeks. They want the sector ecclesia to review new tariffs. Until then they can, under Yucatec law,legally prevent us from using the port."

Their relationship to the Yucatan Alliance and the sector ecclesia was tenuous at best, but there were no_other_ laws they could really claim for their own. "Yassuja. Effective immediately?"

She shook her head. "Vessels in orbit are still cleared. Forty-eight hours."

Korden, their transportation minister, listened patiently when she explained the situation again on his arrival. "They're unhappy with the immigration," the dog intuited. He was a mixed-breed, like many of them; German shepherd in his lineage gave Korden's eyes a look of perpetual soulfulness. "We might've expected that."

"I knew it was a possibility, but I assumed they'd file a normal complaint through the transportation commission. Not a payment dispute."

"They shouldn't actually be able to use it to justify shutting down traffic," Korden mused. "Right? Don't we have the right to appeal?"

Halinchi threw her paws up in a terse shrug. "Of course. We can countersue. We can try to block_their_ traffic. But since they control the spaceport, it all has to wait until the ecclesia is willing to consider it. That could take weeks, maybe months."

"Is there anything we can do to change their minds?" Kodja asked.

In the badger's opinion, the answer was 'no.' Had the objection truly been monetary in nature, they could've found an equitable solution. Money wouldn't pacify a disagreement over the very existence of the colony. She reiterated this to Shenkiy when, panting from exertion, the dog made his way into the room.

Shenkiy took the news as a personal attack; for half a minute he could do nothing but growl. The new arrivals had been a point of pride for him; the sense that they might be anything other than testament to the colony's success was profoundly insulting.

The combined efforts of Halinchi, Kodja and Korden were required to get him thinking productively again. McKeever wasn't the only spaceport on the planet--simply the closest and most convenient. Convenient enough that they hadn't taken the time to build out their own infrastructure--warehouses, cranes, repair facilities.

None of it could be replicated immediately, or even in the near future.

Karlself, in a neutral zone towards the planet's equator, already handled some of the colony's freight traffic. Suborbital lighters ferried the cargo between Karlself and McKeever; given a suitable alternative they could land somewhere else.

Shenkiy finally calmed down enough to suggest the town of Al-Hass Hakhkin, southeast of Davis. The industrial complex had plenty of advantages--most of the colony's factories were there, and the surface infrastructure was well-developed.

And that, over the next hour, became the plan. Shenkiy pledged to find engineers to set up temporary landing strips and to construct new warehouses; Korden explained the kind of ships they'd need to service. While Shenkiy sketched out the details, Korden pulled Kodja aside to explain the cost: a forty percent surcharge on the current rates, at least.

Halinchi listened in. "Can we afford that?"

"Not forever." Korden, who never exactly looked_happy_, had veered into outright gloom. And it'll hit your budget hard, Koddich. We've had it pretty good... I don't want to think that any more than you do, friend, but it's hard to deny."

"We were too reliant on them," Kodja admitted. Despite their antagonism, the Jericho Business Council had never closed the port before; it was easy to have become complacent. "Alta? You've been quiet. Is it bad?"

"Bad? Yes," the Ibizan said. "But we have no choice. I can find engineers in the Defense Committee to help with construction. As for this... particular provocation? I don't even have interesting speculation."

"We don't need it," Halinchi said. "Human antipathy explains plenty. Oh, Alta, yes, we've argued before, sure. But I deal with them all the time--I'm not blind to the way they work. Don't you dogs have a saying like that? That whenever humans speak, they scheme between their words?"

"It's not quite that blunt." Frustration twitched her tall ears. "Maybe it should be, though. Do you expect they also took a dim view of our defensive acquisitions?"

"It may surprise you, general, but no. I don't think so. I don't believe they view that as a threat in the same way our population growth might prove to be."

Kodja wondered if the Ibizan might've asked the question from a sense of guilt, but she nodded. "It doesn't surprise me,inanu. It clarifies their position, as well. When we moved most of our cargo through McKeever, they had the right to inspect it. If they force us to use Karlself, they give that up. They don't know what we're bringing in."

"She's right," Korden murmured gloomily. "If they think that trade is worthwhile, they're not worried about an armed challenge... or they think they'll have more success cutting off exports."

"Are they playing a long game, then?" Shenkiy looked from the group down to the plans he'd scattered over the table. "We can have the improvised landing area ready within a week at most. Even if it's forty percent more expensive--I_did_ hear you, Korden--we can survive that for quite some time. Maybe even long enough for our own real port. Aless Ha'kin isn't the best place, I guess you're going to say..."

Kodja recalled Halinchi telling him that the Jericho Business Council had no intention of finding a lasting solution. As the five looked at each other, the retriever felt a growing unease, wondering how the conflicting ideas might be reconciled.

Unease turned to outright dread when Altalanuk was the one to answer. "It's not long-term, Shenkiy, no matter the time you spend developing it. Suborbital trade comes over the western coast or the Arkadiensee. Either way they can see it coming for two hundred kilometers. A missile battery anywhere on the ridge would lock us down."

"So?"

"So the moment they want to bring us under a complete blockade, they can. Until then, they make us pay dearly for every ship we want to land. It's what the humans call a 'win-win situation.'"

"Then how do_we_ win?"

Even Alta had no answer for that one.

***

Near Kodajuk, west of the Kurghen Corsini Chartered Colonial Jericho 7/6/2523

Altalanuk had never before felt the need to count stars. In deep space they were everywhere, a commodity, not even worthy of constellations. And for most of her planetside life she'd been in cities, where the bright lights drowned out everything else.

Now, though...

"How do you even_know_ all this?"

"My sister is a teacher," Khalizai answered. "It's what they tell the pups now. That one there, that's_al-Hisan_."

They'd already spent more than an hour, on that warm spring night, on their backs in the clearing--a little patch of open ground near Kodajuk, in the forests west of the Corsini Plain. It had started when Khalizai said that he was tired--wanted to catch his breath before they headed back to town.

Altalanuk agreed; she wasn't all that tired herself, but the long day had been enjoyable and she didn't really want it to end. Their first successful training exercise with the volunteers reporting to what they now called the Defense Committee.

"Al-Hisan," she echoed. "The... horse?"

"That's right. This star is supposed to be its eye." Khalizai had switched a rangefinding laser into visible-light mode, and used it to draw the constellation's outline. "And that's its head. Those four stars are its body."

"Very skinny body. Aren't horses supposed to be big? I thought they were as big as a hoverdyne."

Khalizai shrugged and turned the laser off. "I don't know. I think I read in a book that humans keep them as pets, so they can't be_that_ big. You're thinking of rhinoceroses or something."

The Ibizan hound laughed at the absurdity of it all. Some moreau had known what a horse's head looked like--from playing chess, probably--and they'd picked the very human icon to cast up in the stars. "Maybe I was thinking of bulls, actually."

"Oh, yeah. That's where the Tarvos got its name, I suppose."

Rheinmetall's Tarvos was the primary transport vehicle CODA used; surplus stock made them ubiquitous in Jericho.I wonder if that's where we got the word in Rukhat, too? Tarush and tarusha_, bulls and cows... not like most of us knew what cows were in the arcologies_.

Khalizai must've been pondering the same thing. "And now we use_Tarvosja_ to carry tarushja to market, huh? It's funny how the humans never uplifted cattle."

"No funnier than how we eat them. I remember reading in--don't laugh, okay, Kha'zai? In_the Second Birth of Ismena Pavón_, when she talks about moreaus, she said that some of the earliest purely engineered ones were pigs. They used them to test body armor."

Khalizai didn't laugh; the husky shook his head in disgust. "At least_that_ part's behind us." 'Destructive testing' on moreaus was--in theory--outlawed. The night was too pleasant for them to be dwelling on the space between theory and reality. "Speaking of which, we have to enjoy this place while we can. The permit is to turn this into pasture."

"The whole forest?"

"Nine hundred hectares on the leeward slope. This is," he added, his voice going mock-serious, "a bit of a secret, since I only know because my brother-in-law is part of the collective."

Alta sat up, looking across the clearing. When the Defense Committee began training, debris from the old battle still dotted the landscape. Cleaning it up was part of the exchange that let them use the land.

She tried to picture it transformed, with cattle grazing amidst the remaining tree stumps. Her ears swiveled back, and she blinked. Khalizai, still on his back, cocked his head. "Talla? What's the matter?"

Her shock was not at the idea of farmers tending to the clearing--it was at just how easy the image had come to her mind. The shape of the fence... the silhouette of a moreau watching his herd, pride obvious in the straightness of his stature... the smell of cattle, at which she could only guess. "Nothing."

"Really nothing?"

She settled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. "It'll be nice to see that. It's just... weird to think of. I wouldn't have ever guessed that I'd say I was looking forward to a ranch."

"You mean it's weird to think of this place as home, Alta? It shouldn't be. Think of all the work you've put into it over the last year."

As he said that, the truth of it sank in and her ears flattened a second time. Jericho_was_ home--had become home--although she couldn't possibly see herself taking up residence on a farm. Khalizai wouldn't either.

"Your work," Khalizai went on. "The Defense Committee may have been our idea, but you've been the one to carry it. You convinced me to let the ex-Spartoi join, and some of them are already our best soldiers."

"Kenir isn't pleased," Alta said. "Kenir says the CSO should be the only armed group in the colony. I keep being told that."

"And you keep telling Kenir that if the CSO wants a safety valve for all the malcontents, this is what they get."

"Are we malcontents? No matter what Kenir says, I'm fairly happy."

It startled her to think of this, too, but she'd been honest--that much was plain in the way her tail wagged. How long had_that_ been? Alien enough that, when Khalizai noticed, the husky laughed. She couldn't help herself; couldn't keep the wagging from speeding up. "Going to settle down?" he teased.

"Not likely."

"They'd probably give you your own plot of land. You'd have earned a tractor and a plow, Talla."

"You'd have to make me use them." The Ibizan didn't even know why she was grinning. The mental image, perhaps; the sheer absurdity--and the absurdity of who was suggesting it.

"I might just. Tame you..."

"Try it," she shot back.

Khalizai's eyes narrowed. She had a few heartbeats to know what he was about to do--and to feel the dawning awareness that what she felt was anticipation, not apprehension. And then he had her pinned, practically pouncing her to the soft ground. "Say that again?"

His body was a fuzzy, warm weight atop her; his eyes seemed to have just as much presence. "Try it," she repeated. Her voice had softened, though, and when she felt the light, pressure of his teeth on her nose she nipped back at him at once.

Khalizai growled, a shudder that rumbled from his chest to hers. The fur of his muzzle was velvet, nosing the smooth red pelt of the Ibizan's cheek to seek out her ear. "I could."

"I know," Alta breathed. Her paws were at either side of his thick, curled tail, catching every steady, slow wag. But it was his belt she went for instead, and when he raised his hips she felt herself sliding it loose.

The thought occurred--jarring, muddled--that she was acting on instinct because if she stopped to consider what she was doing she might abandon the effort altogether. They were still outside, after all; they'd had a long day. They were coworkers; he was her superior. She hadn't sought out such intimacy since her arrival, and she'd never desired it much to begin with...

And yet she had both catches of the husky's khakis open, the one that kept his tail in place and the one that a telling pressure at his crotch was already pushing further apart.I'm not being reckless, she decided. Impatient, maybe. Not reckless.

They were outside. It was a beautiful night--the breeze warm and inviting; the stars museum-piece clear. Better things than gazing could surely be done beneath them.

He was her superior. Her commander, yes, but then... then he was also her friend, her closest confidant. Who else knew her so well? The husky's broad paws caressed exposed fur on her thigh: her pants were halfway off, and he couldn't have done that alone, so it must've been her will...

She'd never cared for sex. With humans it had always been so_transactional_, so inarguably tawdry, that enjoyment was irrelevant. But Khalizai was not human; he was the first companion she'd truly respected in years and was it so surprising that she might feel differently?

Their clothes were gone. His naked body pressed to hers and the Ibizan felt a thrilling surge of energy at its plush, solid warmth. No: she felt differently about the husky. He pushed closer, and something smooth and hard nudged between her legs.

Her claws gripped his sides, the husky bucked again, and she realized he wasn't doing it on purpose--no more than his erratic, panted growls were deliberate. The notion that he wanted her just as badly kindled_desire_ into something more like need. And as Khalizai pinned her, every twitch of his hips and swipe of his tongue crystallized the imposing reality of what was happening.

With or without her acknowledging it, but she nipped the curving triangle of the husky's ear and whispered_take me_. A plea, or an order. Maybe both. With the darkness and the closeness of his body she couldn't see the dog's cock, but she felt the nudging, insistent heat brush her, its pointed tip sodden and slick.

Alta sucked her breath in as Khalizai entered and his length was suddenly_there_, in her, filling the Ibizan with its throbbing, stretching heat. She meant to growl, the way he did; what came from her parted muzzle was a quiet gasp. Then a plaintive, helpless whine at the emptiness as he pulled back.

The husky's ears slid back, his teeth gritted, and he pushed deeply into her. That second time her wits were momentarily back; she_did_ growl, and she heard the way her own voice choked off at the shock of another firm thrust.

He took her steadily, letting her gradually become aware of one new sensation after the other. How much better he was than her human partners had been, how perfectly the contours of the husky's bulging cock fit her. How good, how_right_ Khalizai felt as he slid deep and the Ibizan's warm folds welcomed him.

Khalizai said nothing of_taming_ her, though as the speed and strength of his movements grew she had the sense that it might well've been just that. But then, as she raised her hips to welcome him and the husky moaned, the thought vanished. So did its successor, the sense of power she had over him--the sense that the mere touch of her fingers in his slate fur was what spurred him on.

Neither of them had been tamed--neither could be--though as Khalizai's hips crashed inward she caught the increasing difficulty of their joining. At last the pressure built until she couldn't hold back her startled cry. She hadn't taken a knot before. It had seemed like too much trouble, and then--fuck! is that even supposed to fit? Then, listening to humans talk about it they'd made it sound so... bestial, so tantalizingly degrading...

But it_did_ fit: Khalizai gave a broken growl and thrust in hard, hard enough to drive the air from her lungs so her yelp was thin and quavering when with a final, precipitous lurch he forced the whole of himself inside. And she was close to him, then, as close as any two bodies could be, as close as she'd ever been to another soul.

The husky leaned down, and as his hips bucked and the thick tie swelled to seal off all movement, his hot breath washed her ear. He panted to her, the oaths shifting from Rukhat to coarse, barbarian English and finally wordless growls that she echoed in her plaintive, delirious whines.

His quick, urgent humping drew her attention down to where they joined in swift, white-hot bursts of light and sensation. Every time he tugged back she could feel his knot pushing against her, reminding her insistently that he was hers, that she was his, and that nothing could've separated them.

The Ibizan's slender arms circled his back, and her legs tightened, clasping her lover possessively as his frantic movements broke down some barrier to... to_something_ she couldn't even have defined. Its name was the way her claws raked the husky's fur as a sudden, dizzying pleasure locked her muscles up, and the cry that choked off in her white throat.

Her muscles fluttered and clenched; for a moment she was lost to the pulsing, radiating energy that sang through her nerves. Her arched back shoved her ears down and into the grass: Khalizai sounded distant and muddy as the husky grunted deeply through a half-dozen erratic thrusts--then her name was on his lips, and she felt his cock begin to throb and flex inside her.

Nothing like before. Not like anything before Jericho and the_alkosh_ and Khalizai and any dog who might once have been Kashina. The raw ecstasy melted and lingered as a comforting warmth, tapering slowly. It flickered again when the shuddering husky lowered himself to her, and her trembling paws stroked his back.

She would not tell Khalizai of her feelings for him, not then. He didn't say it either, but his tongue dragged along her ear and when he could speak again he said what he really would've meant all along.

"You belong," he told her. "We had this because you belong. Finally."

"Yes."

"This is your home, Talla.Our home."

"Yes," she whispered.

She loved him, too.

***

Irjakh, 40 kilometers south of Davis Chartered Colonial Jericho 13/3/2536

Levin disliked using official government vehicles--the showiness of it seemed a bit much to the Border Collie. But Kodja had insisted that he borrow a car for the journey to Irjakh, rather than going through the expense of an autocab, so Levin bore stoically the deferential bow from a moreau at the machine shop's gate.

He also declined the offered escort--regretting it as soon as he saw the size of the place. The workshop was the largest building in Irjakh; fully fifteen percent of the town's two thousand inhabitants worked there. Despite how busy it was, they'd gleefully agreed to the favor Arkas asked of them. Arkas even said they'd declined payment.

Yahashgan, the burly labrador retriever of a shop foreman, beamed a grin at Levin as soon as he'd found his way over and introduced himself. "Right! You're his father? I only got to meet Arkas, and only briefly."

"I am his father, yes. It was Arkas's idea, but I'm quite appreciative you agreed."

He chortled. "I should be saying that to_you_. Really, everyone's enjoyed having Sayyich around--he keeps telling us that he's going to work here as soon as he's able. I'm sure that won't last--but the enthusiasm!"

"He_is_ enthusiastic. Can he be pried away to return home?"

"With difficulty." The lab grinned wider. "He's up in the control station right now, watching them move one of the other jobs so we can finish up the harvester. I ordered Narra not to let the boy touch any of the controls, but he's such a pushover--if Sayyich says Narra let him, don't tell me so I don't have to discipline anyone, alright?"

The foreman's infectious good mood made Levin feel less guilty about asking the machine shop to watch their son. It was Levin's turn for it, but ever since the spaceport's closure he'd had too much work to take days off. And Irjakh's workshop had been doing some repairs on a harvester owned by Arkas's family, and Sayda loved machines so much...

Yahashgan offered to give Levin a tour of the building, while they waited; clad in a protective helmet and vest the Border Collie was back to feeling a bit ridiculous. Half a dozen workers came up to talk about Sayda, though; that settled his nerves. "I told you he was popular," the lab teased.

"Still--I know you're busy, and it's an imposition."

"Imposition? No. Busy... yes. All the new citizens couldn't have come at a better time. We're working around the clock."

"Even with the trade restrictions?"

The lab gave him an eager, proud nod. "Despite it! Because of it! Our brothers up the road have been salvaging old parts, scrapping what they can't reuse... not_everything_ here is farm equipment, you know."

Levin followed his gaze; he was looking at a big, squat vehicle with a low profile and wide tracks. "Doing work for the DC, then?"

"Yes, sir. That flat white paint job? It's adaptive camo. The old Soviet stuff we got in didn't come with anything like that--all needed refitting. This one here isn't even an official 450, but a new design based on it... Lasht Karali came up with it; we just do the final work here. In fact, we can do almost everything right here in the colony."

The Border Collie knew little of military equipment. In an objective sense, he supposed he was happy to learn that Alta had been using her budget to good effect. "Impressive."

"Not even the best part, sir." Yahashgan led him to the next bay over, through a locked door and into a clean room where four moreaus were hard at work behind some kind of buzzing robotic contraptions.

Levin couldn't guess at what they were up to. The foreman handed him something that looked like a cross between an oversized bullet and a dart and weighed at least three or four kilograms. "Is this... I don't even know. What is this?"

Yahashgan called one of the workers over. The shepherdess was scrupulously clean and studious--she looked like she could've been a doctor, until her sharp grin broke the illusion of demureness. "The first of the new batch, sir," she told the lab.

"Levin here is from the government. Can you explain it?"

She nodded, and took the device from his grasp. "We acquired twenty-four mortars, all model PM2-82s--the eighty-two is the diameter, you see? Three hundred rounds in stock, which is not very many."

"This model can fire up to thirty shells every minute," Yahashgan said. "And, they were unguided."

The shepherdess removed the finned rear of the shell with a deft, jerking twist of her paw. "You see this, on the inside? Guess where it comes from? Go on, guess!"

Levin blinked; he couldn't distinguish one of the parts from any other and didn't even know which she'd pointed at. Yahashgan came to his rescue: "Levin is a busy man, Nathich."

"Sorry! I just--it's part of a PL652. Those tiny little aggie monitors they use for soil samples and things. They have a working radio and a barometer, and the chip is reprogrammable--so we can--I want to diagram it for you, but... I won't. We can triangulate its position and use that to adjust these little vanes."

"And just like that, we've turned it into a guided weapon."

"Which is... good," Levin said, carefully--Yahashgan seemed to think so at least, and he didn't know of any downside. "Does_inanu_ Altalanuk know?"

"She was quite supportive, yes."

"The best part of it, sir," the shepherdess went on as she screwed the tail back into place. "You can't_buy_ a single PL652. You buy them in batches of a hundred for about two obols a batch. Refitting all our inventory cost us about as much as lunch."

Yahashgan patted the dog's shoulder approvingly. "Not even that much, Levin. We had plenty around already. But the_rest_... we've started making more shells from extruded irrigation pipe. They've worked well in testing, and we can manage about seventy a day at this shop."

"Everything is domestic? What about... don't they need fuel and explosives? We import that, don't we? How long can you keep it up if we had to work without imports?"

"Oh, no, no. We make our own explosives, too."

Despite Nathich's airy shrug, Levin felt a chill race through his spine and lock his muscles into place. "You... make your own?Here?"

Yahashgan, unlike the shepherdess, saw what he was getting at immediately. "No. No, Levin. Not here. We don't even work with kamanex here--the shells go elsewhere to be filled. My shop doesn't have the safety precautions required, and if we did, I wouldn't have let your son through the door. Don't worry, brother."

It was one thing to_say_ "don't worry," and quite another for the concern to be actually allayed. Levin's unease persisted until after Sayyich was in his arms, and tempered his responses to the pup's enthusiastic burbling on the drive home to Davis.

Arkas was done working for the day; Levin used the need to return the car as an excuse and went in search of Altalanuk. When the Ibizan wasn't stalking about the woods, she made her home in the Defense Committee's headquarters. It was not great shock to find her there, her eyes sweeping back and forth over a textbook.

"Good evening, Levin," she said. "Can I help you?"

"I think so. I was at a shop in Irjakh--Yahashgan's business--and he said something that I would like clarification on, if you don't mind."

Her ear flicked gently, but without protest she got up, closed the door, then returned to her seat and faced him. "Yahashgan does some work for the Defense Committee, yes. It's partly volunteer labor, but I can provide more details on the expenses if you'd like."

"What is_kamanex_, Alta?"

Again came that twitch in her ear. "Ah."

"He wasn't lying? You have us making high explosives?"

"We don't have a choice, Levin. Having to import our explosives is a critical vulnerability for the colony and our defense."

"What_is_ it?"

"Do you care about the chemistry? It's a nitroamine-derived compound. We have difficulties with the Sandmeyer process; I don't know all the details. One of our agricultural scientists adapted the Matsura reaction for making fertilizer, and kamanex can be synthesized as a secondary product."

"Is it safe?"

"It explodes, Levin. It's not quite as insensitive as what we were using before, but it's stable enough and we can make it in small batches--not in sufficient quantities, yet, but it's better than nothing."

"Does Administrator Kodja know?"

"Not all the details, not until I'm convinced we can sustain it. It's an experiment for now, Levin." She tapped her desk, activating the screen beneath its surface, and fiddled with it until a map of the colony appeared. "This is our production chain. Initial assembly... final assembly... kamanex factories."

"Three of them..."

"It's expensive," she explained.

It was not the expense he noticed. The factories were on the western edge of the colony, on the far side of the hills off towards the coast. None was closer than two kilometers from the nearest town.

Logistically it must've been inefficient. Logistics had clearly not been on the Ibizan's mind. Altalanuk, uncharacteristically, softened her voice. "You don't have to worry, comrade."

"The civilians..."

"Are gone, for now. Everyone at the plants is a volunteer. Our transport routes skirt the major cities, too. I can't keep us safe and invite disaster at the same time--there's no point."

"But you_can_ keep us safe?"

She closed the map, and the screen dimmed to lightless black, and the clear reflection of the Ibizan's stoic face. "I have to."

***

Defense Committee Provisional Headquarters Near Corsini, Chartered Colonial Jericho 1/8/2523

Whatever led Khalizai to call an 'exceptional meeting' of the Defense Committee, Altalanuk trusted that it was important. Her faith only deepened when she saw the tension in the husky's features; the way his fingers fidgeted and his muzzle curled.

The Defense Committee was small, small enough to meet in a converted barn outside Corsini. Including Khalizai and Altalanuk, there were only four members of its leadership. The others shared uncomfortable glances.

"I asked you here because I'd like your help," the husky began. "Your counsel. I've been informed of a request from one of our citizens: the superintendent of the Kir farms. He says that interlopers have set up camp on the eastern edge of Kir."

Genakhot's deep voice lent an even more contemplative edge to the collie's carefully moderated words. "Since Kir Kodaw is, itself, at the eastern edge of our territory, I suppose we can guess at who these interlopers might be?"

Khalizai seemed to feel there was no point in equivocation. "They're humans, yes. According to the superintendent, they've already leveled one of the orchards and they've brought up construction equipment."

Such a transgression didn't surprise Altalanuk--anybody who put their faith in humans keeping their word was a fool. "They can't possibly think it's their territory, can they? Nothing on the south bank of the Arkadiensee is human. The corporations wouldn't approve it, not officially--they must be wildcatters."

"Probably, yes. They might even be farmers themselves, happy to take advantage of cultivated land that's close to water and transportation."

"Assuming that we wouldn't do anything to stop them..." Genakhot intoned.

"We aren't." Altalanuk came to the realization aloud. "The CSO has decided against it."

"My sources tell me the Colonial Security Organization was informed of the situation two days ago. Commander Kenir has long said that the CSO cannot be the first to use force in a confrontation."

Alta heard the others muttering in disbelief, and added her own growl. "Are they posting guards? Calling up more policemen? At least...trying to show Kir K'daw that we haven't forgotten them?" The resolution against preemptive action was, the Ibizan knew, rank idiocy--and a battle she'd given up fighting almost immediately. Kenir would entertain no objections to it.

"They asked the foreign ministry to complain. The official line being given to the administration is that because it involves non-citizens, police action lies outside CSO's jurisdiction. Privately, of course, they don't want to risk conflict. We can all sympathize. But, because the superintendent spoke to me, I'm asking you for your opinions."

"If we cannot defend our borders, we do not_have_ borders." Genakhot shook his head. "The CSO needs to stand up for itself... and for us."

Joshika, a leopardess with outsized, dramatic spots to match her sharp grey eyes, spoke in clipped bursts. "They will not do so. This course of action is committed. It falls to us. We'll have to act."

Khalizai nodded softly. "It_could_ fall to us, sister. I'm sure that's why were asked, but this crosses a certain boundary--knowing that Kenir's preference has already been made clear, we'd be consciously violating it."

"Then we have to--just like Joshika said." Already in her mind Altalanuk was reviewing the terrain around Kir Kodaw, a farming town that lay in gentle hills south of the big reservoir they called the Arkadiensee. "We'll have to be strong_for_ Kenir, and for the administration. We can do that, Kha'zai."

"Do they have weapons?"

Khalizai answered Genakhot with a second nod. This time it was crisp; a decision had been made, and the husky's firm tone told them all it was what he'd expected. "Yes. It's all small arms; from the data I was given by the superintendent, the humans seem to number about fifty, with weapons for half of them. Nothing heavier than rifles."

"If we give them a chance to regroup, I'm sure they'll find something heavier."

"Agreed, Alta. We have to hit them hard enough to knock them out with the first blow. I'd like you to speak to your groups and get me some volunteers. I don't think that'll be the problem--making sure they're disciplined and ready for this is a different matter. Report back here in six hours."

Out of fifty moreaus in Alta's company, forty-seven offered to join her. She took a third, though--even mindful of what Khalizai had said--the Ibizan hound would've trusted any of them with the job. Genakhot and Joshika had done the same.

The husky was late to their meeting; when he arrived it was to say he'd come from scouting around Kir Kodaw. The humans had begun to incorporate a regular patrol around their camp. "No, it's just prudence," Khalizai answered, when Genakhot asked if he thought they expected an attack. "And it won't make our jobs much more difficult."

"Then what do you propose?"

"There's a convoy scheduled to arrive from somewhere in the human zone: according to intercepted traffic for the border crossing, it's two Tarvos trucks and a lighter escort vehicle of some sort. Given everything else we know, it doesn't take much to guess they're probably carrying additional weaponry--automatic sentries, turrets, mines... they like the PPC mines."

Officially pressure and proximity mines were not illegal. Truly automated weapons were, but command-triggered mines--the "C" in PPC--passed muster as long as someone operated them manually. Even still, neither the CSO nor the DC possessed any because humans had banned their import.

"Indeed," Khalizai agreed. "Which is convenient, indeed, for these humans--acting as they are without official support. We'll have to keep it in mind when we consider our options." Khalizai used his computer to summon a map of Kir Kodaw for their benefit.

Altalanuk shared what turned out to be a common assessment; of the numerous possible areas to set up an ambush, the most logical was in the hills immediately south of Kir Kodaw's farms. "They'll be too far inside our territory to summon help..."

"Yes. And close enough to divide the attention of the garrison the humans are maintaining_in_ Kir Kodaw." Khalizai proposed to split his forces in half, flanking the human position and driving them back and into territory controlled by Alta's successful ambush.

She didn't question him when he proposed it. The husky ordered Joshika to assist her, and the pair made their way under cover of darkness to the hillside. They needed to develop a more detailed plan of action, and wanted to be in position before any human scouts were around to notice the movement.

Actually, this will be quite simple. Easy, even. Her two recoilless rifles would make short work of anything the humans were likely to have--even a heavily armored walker was vulnerable to them, if they hit a sensitive spot. Hoverdynes didn't have anything like that kind of protection.

"They'll have to take the road," Joshika said. "We can have explosives in place alongside that path. Once the lead vehicle is disabled, we can take out whatever's behind them in one go."

"We have enough charges for that kind of thing?"

"Oh, yes." The leopard wore a dark, pointed grin. Joshika was a veteran of the Starlight Faction, not a proper military; her first ideas almost always came down to explosions. Altalanuk considered herself quite sympathetic to the notion.

The Ibizan figured the sequence would be fairly predictable. After they hit the convoy, the human guards at Kir Kodaw would have to know they were under attack. Khalizai's advance logically pushed them towards linking up with the convoy. "We should wait," Alta said.

"Until?"

"Until the humans from the farms retreat back here."

Joshika looked down and over the stony terrain. "You think if we completely annihilate the convoy, they might become unpredictable," she realized. "Or settle on a last stand, which would be easier from a fixed position..."

"Exactly."

The clouded leopard's grin flashed again, and she went to set up her explosives. As long as she got a chance to use them, Alta thought, Joshika would manage to extract some happiness.And good for her.

Alta nursed a small kernel of worry. Joshika and her command were familiar with the technical details of sabotage. Altalanuk had to rely on her men for something more conventional than that, and this would be the first time they were truly being tested. She split them into two fire-teams, in support of either recoilless rifle, hidden from view.

And then she waited.

From time to time, her eyes flicked upwards to the stars. She couldn't see them moving, not even if she tried to focus on it, but every time she looked to the horizon a new constellation was dawning. Terran constellations showed mythic figures. Heroes--none of them, naturally, moreaus. Perhaps that was appropriate. Khalizai had given them the callsign_Sachek_: 'buzzard.'

"Sachek One, this is Sachek One-Niner."

On the horizon, just below the stars, her tactical visor projected an icon for the scout on the radio. "Sachek One actual," she answered him. "Go ahead."

"I have a visual on three vehicles on the move towards your position. Two cargo hoverdynes, one wheeled vehicle in the lead."

He transmitted a picture of what he saw; Altalanuk narrowed her eyes in investigation. "Armed. Maybe an M4. Can you confirm that, One-Niner?"

"No, sir. The recognition AI isn't locking on."

Her sergeant, a purebred retriever with his golden fur dyed navy blue, caught the conversation and rolled closer to join in. "Looks like it, though, captain. They should have M4s. The civilian model, at least; that's in wide use."

"This isn't civilian," Alta pointed out. The twin-barreled contraption on its roof looked like a grenade launcher. "And that armament would be illegal."

"Then we're doing the authorities a favor, aren't we?"

Alta's laugh came out as a muted grunt. "Sachek Two, this is Sachek One actual."

"Sachek Two," Joshika answered at once. "We have your downlink, too."

"You should be able to see them yourselves. By the time the lead vehicle crosses point Echo, I need a positive confirmation on what they've got."

"Understood," the leopard said.

It would take ten minutes or so--more waiting--but Alta had no time for the stars. She brought up her tactical map and added a model of the convoy for when it would be in range. It helped to visualize the firing angle of her two recoilless rifles. She could see exactly where they'd be most vulnerable, where the shot would be easiest...

Where the gun truck, if indeed it was, would be by then. Joshika's soldiers wouldn't be vulnerable, but nor would they be ideally located to provide any support. On the other hand, repositioning them forward might tip the humans off to movement. "What do you think?" she asked her sergeant.

"We should be able to manage. Acceptable risk."

Alta closed the hologram and signaled Khalizai that they were ready. The convoy moved past Joshika's team, as intended, and the leopard called over with more information. "Sachek One, Sachek Two-Seven. Lead vehicle is an M4A6 with an M605-2 grenade launcher. Their targeting scanners and countermeasures are active but they haven't seen us yet and they're moving out of engagement range."

"Understood. Sachek One, out." Alta clicked a magnifying lens down over her visor; she could just see the truck nosing its way around a bend in the road. The two cargo hovercraft floated silently behind it; none of their lights were on and they moved slowly.

Not slowly enough for a multispectral cloak to hide them completely, but enough that the countermeasures threw off their targeting computers. She briefly considered her two gunners. Both were CODA veterans, both had been in combat before--and both, while competent marksmen, were self-appointed to the role.

Oh well. "On my signal, open fire on the two hoverdynes. Koshan, take the middle vehicle; Sathab, take the trailer. Turn off your computers and aim manually. Try to disable the engines. Reload and immediately engage the M4. We'll suppress it as best as we can."

Both of them acknowledged, Koshan first. Alta steadied her nerves, switched off the safety of her carbine, and put the gun truck in her sights.

"Open fire."

Half a second later, she saw two simultaneous flares of sparks, and the hoverdynes careened and slammed into the dirt road. Alta's visor was immediately alight with new signals--a wash of glaring electromagnetic radiation from the active guidance on the truck. The grenade launcher swung crisply around to face them.

Later the Ibizan would swear that she_saw_ the rounds in flight; in the moment she perceived the impacts almost as swiftly--two high-explosive rounds tore the hill a hundred meters to her side into a sacrifice of clay and heat and stone.

She waited for a second salvo. None came. One of her two gunners had punched a hole neatly through the turret; the launcher shuddered and twitched but failed to move. And then immediately, as if to challenge their good fortune, the hatches on the hoverdynes opened wide and figures jumped from it to the ground.

Armored--she saw that herself or one of her men radioed it in; either way she was aware of it at once. Had the humans known her numbers, they might've seized the initiative, but instead they took cover behind what remained of the cargo trucks, whose chassis served as decent protection.

The possibility remained that they might figure it out; Joshika's forces would have a hard time advancing under cover and that left Alta feeling precarious. She ducked back to find her comms operator. "Inform Khalizai we're up against enemy infantry, maybe... forty plus, armored. Light weapons."

The same as her soldiers had, only human mercenaries would be far more apt to use them effectively. For the moment, her unit's suppressing fire held them down; the Ibizan slunk closer to get a better view of the situation.

Some of the gunfire she could hear was more distant, now; her visor showed the northern horizon as a burn-red blur. Her radio operator's voice explained more into her right ear. "Captain, Narrak actual advises they're in contact with hostiles all along the western perimeter of Kir Kodaw. They're meeting unexpected resistance."

Unexpected like armored mercenaries, Alta thought. Or like being outnumbered two to one. The humans had started to pick up on the disparity in incoming fire. A half-dozen of them scrambled from behind the truck before disappearing in cover below the hill.

Joshika, perceiving the decaying situation, reported that she was moving closer. The humans were only in defilade from Alta's position; the leopardess had a clearer line of sight. The incoming fire was neither quick nor accurate--all of them were conserving ammunition--but the risk of being flanked checked the human advance and forced them back to the shelter of their trucks.

And whatever Khalizai was up to paid dividends; soon enough he was back on the radio. "Sachek, this is Narrak actual. We've taken our primary objective, and the enemy is withdrawing as planned towards you." More tactical information followed: another three dozen armed humans, covering the distance on foot.

It took some of the pressure off, in the moment at least; the mercenaries in the convoy were distracted with the need to protect their approaching comrades. At the same time it complicated the future. The humans had to know that they had a numerical advantage on the moreaus. They only needed to push them back from the hills to allow for a safe retreat--perhaps even a counterattack to retake the farm.

Altalanuk gave in to Joshika's impatience when she asked for permission to trigger the hidden explosives. The next call was a five-second warning--then the road went up in a sudden roar, and in the confusion that followed Alta ordered her soldiers to advance. They opened fire again a hundred meters closer, just as the dust was settling. The demolition charges wouldn't have done much on the mercenaries, armored as they were--but the same couldn't have been said for the other humans, and Altalanuk sensed the tension breaking even before she could see the silhouetted figures pulling back.

Let them, Khalizai said, when Joshika announced the human retreat. Twenty minutes after the signal to cease fire, when no other threats presented themselves, the husky ordered them to regroup at Kir Kodaw.

The air smelled of fire--and worse--but the flames had gone out and darkness hid the extent of the carnage. Still, Khalizai was on edge; his lip periodically flickered into a half-curl. Even the sight of Altalanuk didn't calm him much. "I think it's done," he said. "I hope."

"They're gone, at least."

"I've ordered guards posted on the eastern perimeter. Burn whatever's left of the human vehicles."

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Not the bodies. Police those... as well as we can. I guess we'll want to return them."

His head turned, and she followed it to what remained of a prefabricated guard tower. A soft, motionless shape sprawled from its doorway; it took Alta a moment to realize the form looked odd because its head was largely gone. "Yes, sir," she said again.

"Four of our own, as well." Khalizai shook his head. "It won't be the only price to pay. Kenir will ask if it was worth it."

"Kenir can ask what they like, Kha'zai," she reassured him. "Because we liberated the farms. They couldn't. The CSO couldn't. We did. And we'll do it again, if we have to. But maybe.... maybe this will be where it stops."

***

Colonial Administration Building Davis, Chartered Colonial Jericho 20/5/2536

"How certain are you about the details?"

Grey Palmer looked at the computer again. "I wasn't there to see them loading it, Kodja, so I can't be completely certain. I trust that my contacts aren't trying to mislead me, however."

"I don't know anything about it," Halinchi said. She tapped the edge of the screen, scanning through the summary once again. "It seems plausible."

"I don't want to put you in a bad position, Gerrich." Kodja rested his paw atop the human woman's hand. "You shouldn't be here. Just... in case."

Grey nodded wordlessly and then stood up, giving the two a sympathetic look. Kodja waited until the door had closed behind her to give a good reason for asking for her departure.

"I should tell Altalanuk."

The badger understood that he was saying more than four mere words suggested. She didn't object, which was probably a sign in and of itself. The retriever sighed, and sent a message for the Ibizan hound to join them.

She arrived a few minutes later, took the computer Grey had left behind, and read it with narrowing eyes. "Ah. I see."

"I'm not a specialist in star freighters, but if the manifest details are accurate, this is enough to keep them armed for... what, a couple of months, at least?"

Altalanuk nodded. "That's not the worst of it, for that matter--before you ask me to tell you the bad news. They're clearly aware of what we're doing, or they wouldn't be ordering rockets specially designed to counter the tanks we bought. This is what they're up to now that we're banned from the spaceport, Halinchi?"

"Unfortunately, you already know what I'm going to tell you. There's nothing illegal about the shipment itself. Perhaps about the goods, but if the customs paperwork is in order, we can't challenge origin details..."

Kodja sighed, watching that opportunity close itself. "So if you filed an official protest, they wouldn't be obligated to act."

"She's not going to file an official protest," Alta said. It came before Halinchi's answer... but when Kodja looked at the badger, her frown told him she hadn't been planning on answering anyway.

"Explain."

"Because in the end, we need to destroy the ship. Filing a protest does nothing except tell them your government has spies in the shipping guilds, and it makes it obvious that you were aware of the situation."

"You're making me even more aware of it. There has to be a solution that_doesn't_ involve terrorism, Alta. We're not going to get them to reopen the spaceport this way."

"It's not about reprisal, Kodja." The Ibizan's tone was deadly and calm. "It's about maintaining the balance of power as long as we can. Who did this information come from? Mara?"

"Grey Palmer. I don't know where she got it."

Altalanuk cocked her head, and her eyes flicked upwards, sweeping back and forth as she assembled her thoughts. "Most of the small arms would be easy to source. The MGMs, though... if I wanted to buy a hundred MGM-30s, I'd have to go through a reputable broker to forge the clearance paperwork. Probably another ten thousand obols apiece just in bribes, and somebody else to cover how they went walking from a Raytheon depot."

The retriever did his best to follow her logic and anticipate where it was going. "This was planned in advance. If we destroy the ship, they wouldn't be able to replace their losses on short notice."

"They'll go through different brokers, but that will take time. A few months."

"And picture this, Kodja," Halinchi spoke up. "You're an arms dealer watching the situation on Jericho. You sell a hundred... Mark 30 Man-portable Guided Multithreat rockets to a corporate security firm. The ship doesn't make its destination. If they want replacements... well, they wouldn't have insurance, would they? And I bet you'd charge a lot more the second time around."

Altalanuk rarely called Kodja_soft_ to the retriever's face, and enough of their friendship remained that he doubted she said so behind his back. All the same, she thought of him as risk-averse--too worried about political consequences and public relations and the appearance of impropriety.

Things were more complicated. Halinchi was right--he knew that because he'd seen it before. His first job as colonial administrator had been getting the irrigation system running again in Kidrin Kodaw, a farming village to the north. The purification units were bad, nobody on Jericho would repair them...

Nobody would sell them new ones, either. A less reputable friend found him a contact who happened to have them in stock, well below-cost. On a slow day Kodja had checked the news... found the story about a hijacked freighter full of industrial machinery...

And when they needed new equipment for one of the forges in Al-Hass Hakhin, Kodja knew who he could ask. He hadn't told the cabinet; they wouldn't need to know. "Can it be my turn?" the retriever asked the others softly.

"Turn?"

He turned a weak smile in Halinchi's direction. "To be the wise one. The one who speaks of... unpleasant, inconvenient truths. Alta, you think I can't order you to take down that freighter--I am not willing to get the civilian government involved in such a thing."

"It's not an ideal position, Kodja," the Ibizan said. "Even if this is necessary for the colony's survival. Even if you believed that."

"And of course, Alta, even if I gave the order not to destroy the ship, you might do it anyway. Like you did at Kir Kodaw. For all of the consequences."

"It needed to be done. We needed to fight back. The administrator didn't understand that. You did."

"I know." Kodja didn't want his voice to be as soft as it was; didn't want to think that he was unable to rise to what lay before him. Of course, he_had_ understood it--that was why he'd disbanded the Colonial Security Organization in favor of the Defense Committee, fully aware of every implication.

"Then you know it now, too," the Ibizan pressed.

"Would you do it anyway?"

He didn't know why he'd even asked; he didn't have the energy to argue, or the will. But Alta said nothing, anyway, taking the question as rhetorical.

It might as well have been. What was the point of the charade?

***

Defense Committee headquarters complex Corsini, Chartered Colonial Jericho 22/5/2536

Something was amiss with Darwin's planning. The modeling software he used to estimate the ballistic performance of the colony's defensive weaponry kept coming up short--knocking a good two or three kilometers off the range. It made it difficult to optimize their placement.

Interruptions didn't help matters. Sergeant Ara wasn't part of his unit; she reported to the intelligence section, and had a direct line to the general herself--it was the only reason he was keeping his frustration muted. "Can it wait?" he asked.

"No, sir. It's urgent. They specifically told me to seek out your help."

"Who's 'they,' sergeant?"

"General Alta and Major Kalasos, sir."

He took the computer from her and felt his heartbeat quicken immediately. "I can see why." It was obvious by the beginning of the third paragraph:

MV Hanska-56 is a 64,000-ton modular freighter of the B&V Asterion class, completed in 2522 with hull number AS8584...

Darwin dismissed the sergeant and locked the door to the planning office. The Border Collie briefly pressed his fingers together, took a deep breath, then started work. Fifteen minutes later he had a schematic of the ship up on the wall. An hour after that and the schematic was covered with a diagram of every possible weak point.

Four hours later, and the door buzzed. Darwin tapped a button on the tabletop to deny the request for entry--the alarm light would flash and tell the visitor that he was busy on a high-security matter and not to be disturbed.

But the door opened anyway, and Altalanuk stepped inside. Darwin swallowed his surprise and straightened up to meet her. "Sir."

"At ease. This looks promising," the Ibizan said, pointing towards the wall of the office. "Is it? Can it be done?"

"I think so. It won't necessarily be easy. This model is highly overbuilt. It wasn't their purpose, but they've been used in some... high-intensity sectors for military transport. The reactor, for example, has meter-thick shielding in places."

"But you said it's possible?"

Darwin nodded. "I've done it before. Granted, we had more time."

"Do you have a plan yet?"

In eighteen hours, the_Hanska_ would be ready to start re-entry. They could be in position with one of the missile trucks by then; he was confident of the hit probabilities. Precisely timed, one hit to the forward cargo doors would do the job.

"Won't the heat-shielding there absorb most of the impact?"

The Border Collie looked at his commander, hiding neither his surprise nor his mild respect. "You've also been thinking of a plan, sir?"

"Yes. But without much luck."

He spread his fingers over the schematic, magnifying the cargo section. "If we were just trying to penetrate the hull, the heat shielding would be a problem. We're not. The cargo doors are coupled to the hull--strengthened titanium. From the right angle, it'll transfer the impact to the structural framework, and when it snaps back it'll crack the heat shield wide open. It's not designed to take any stress from the inside."

"Is that how you did it before?"

They'd had, he repeated, more time, thanks to inside help. But it was the same principle: explosives on the inside of the bay doors, in that case; the heat shield was completely ruined and the freighter had been in spacedock for three months.

"Not destroyed?"

"Not in that case, but it cost them the cargo. And if we get them before they have a chance to abort the re-entry, well..."

"What could go wrong?"

He hadn't gotten that far. "We could be discovered before firing. The missile might be a dud. They could adjust their descent profile if they had warning of hostiles... but... freighter captains are so tight-fisted with their fuel..."

Darwin wasn't worried about missing his target; he was categorically unconcerned with the necessity of staging from neutral territory. Altalanuk provided him access to a lighter big enough to carry one of the missile trucks and two modified rockets. That, too, gave him cause for respect.

The Defense Committee's knowledge of the freighter was two days old by the time the request got to Darwin. In that time, Altalanuk had seen to refitting half a dozen of the colony's antiaircraft missiles to increase their range and payload. They were the same changes Darwin would've made, for the most part.

Maybe she'd known it would be necessary all along; maybe they'd had the rockets on hand to begin with. It wouldn't surprise him. The Ibizan was smart. Too restrained, or limited by what the Defense Committee would allow... but smart.

Darwin set up the missile battery on an island well to the southwest of the colony; it was the best firing position, and he hoped the distance would at least stall any reprisals. The others with him didn't comment on that part.

Maybe it was wishful thinking. In any case, they'd run out of time for speculation. He checked the security of the radio link and nudged the transmit switch. "Satar, this is Alkin One. We're in position and ready to begin prep."

It was Altalanuk herself on the other end, back in Corsini. "Go ahead, Alkin. Orbital tracking has the target on its expected trajectory. Forty minutes."

Darwin took to the truck quickly--when he'd first seen it his impression had been that it was vastly more complicated than what he was used to. But its capabilities were admirable--plus, it had a comfortable seat and climate control. No need for a vacuum suit. "Starting us up. Main power."

The lights came on, and the truck's operator confirmed the readout on his built-in test panel. "Online. Reactor output looks normal. Cooling systems active. Suppression systems active. EM check?"

Sergeant Kita Hadaran ran through her own routine in a matter of seconds. "Minimal interference. Alkin Two is standing by, and we have a good downlink." The husky referred to the missile truck's partner, a second hoverdyne with its powerful, high-accuracy radar. That would be turned off for the moment, just in case.

Darwin kept the crew for the operation small--the most experienced of the missileers. Also, the most reliable: ones who wouldn't balk at the order to destroy a civilian freighter in orbit. He'd volunteered to operate the missiles himself.

Only two of the truck's four rails were loaded. A pair of orange lights came on, one for each missile: they were in standby, ready to be turned on at a moment's notice.What could go wrong? He reconsidered the general's question. In forty minutes, almost nothing could go wrong--hills obscured them from surface observation posts, the freighter showed no sign of caution, and even if the Jericho Business Council had strike aircraft aloft, McKeever Spaceport was nearly an hour's flight time away.

No, very little could go wrong. Darwin excused himself from the truck and pulled himself carefully onto the roof. Dawn would break in a little while, but there'd been no sun yet to beat back the night's chill. It took both the Border Collie's fur and his uniform to keep him warm.

The two missiles glowed softly in the dim light; their white paint and red stripes made them look nothing so much as children's toys. But they were six meters long, and he wouldn't have been able to get his arms around them if he tried.

He recognized the 2K90B rockets--common on the outer worlds, either purchased surplus from the Orion Soviet or manufactured under license. They could be used for research, or to loft microsatellites, but plenty of little colonies found reason to have a nice blend of plausible deniability and orbital defense.

A head poked up behind him on the roof, interrupting his inspection. "Message from Satar, sir."

Darwin ducked back into the truck and pulled the hatch closed behind him. "Satar, this is Alkin One. Go ahead."

It was the general again. "Orbital recon from the advanced teams shows you at ten minutes to intercept. Can you confirm you have your target?"

"Wait one." The Border Collie switched over to the local network and ordered their guidance vehicle to power up its sensor array. They'd be visible now, if anybody was paying attention. But who had cause to worry?

Sergeant Kita's ears swiveled forward and she tilted her head a few degrees at the screen before her. "Contact, sir. Track Sierra-Zero is a high-energy thermal signature at two hundred kilometers in altitude, descending. The trajectory matches the freighter."

"Satar, Alkin One. We're tracking a deorbiting contact as a probable match."

A few seconds of silence hung on the line. "Alkin One. Authenticate kilo alpha, seven zero."

Darwin touched his paw to the control panel, letting it scan him, and read the authentication chart that his signature produced. "Satar, I authenticate tango four." More silence. Longer. From the corner of his eye, Darwin could see the contact Kita tracked drawing nearer.

"Alkin One, this is Satar.Pamir. I say again: Pamir."

"Understood," Darwin said. "Alkin One, out."

Pamir was a human word; Alta had chosen it because the sounds were alien to Nakath-Rukhat, and pronouncing it took conscious effort. She did not want to give the order lightly, or without such deliberation. Darwin understood this without true sympathy.

And they had much to do. "Sergeant, range track Sierra-Zero and copy signatures to the firing console."

"Yes, sir." The husky worked diligently, her eyes focused unwaveringly on her equipment. "Passive scan at level one and two is complete. Active scan is available... now."

An image of what she saw appeared on one of the screens at Darwin's own station. From so far away, they couldn't see much of the freighter. He looked for telltale signatures: the bulge of its main reactor, positioned well aft; a shift in color along the heat-shielding below the hull's midline.

The Border Collie had decided that responsibility for identifying the_Hanska_ would have to rest with him; it wasn't an appropriate burden for the others. Even if he was certain--and he intended to be. There. That's the reactor. And that's the deep-space antenna blister. Unmistakable.

"Firing solutions on track Sierra-Zero," he ordered, and flipped the arming toggle. The missile lights changed from orange to dim, flashing green. "Hold for crosscheck."

"Solution ready. Standing by, MFC crosscheck."

The Master Firing Computer brought up an overview of the firing solution, with the ascent profile clearly labeled. They were perfectly aligned; the computer showed no errors. "Crosscheck confirmed," Darwin said; a countdown timer appeared in the corner of his display. "Copy program to rails two and three."

"Program set." The blinking green lights went steady and bright. According to the computer, they would have their best shot in seventy seconds.

Darwin kept watching the freighter's image, even while his thumb pressed the button to prealign the missile launcher. Silently, smoothly, above their heads the battery swiveled to face the_Hanska_. "Do we have contingencies, sergeant?"

"No, sir. There's not enough time."

A shame. To lighten the missiles, they'd removed the datalink equipment from their guidance hardware. Once launched, they had only the solution Sergeant Kita programmed the AI with; if the freighter changed course, there was no way to compensate.

Then again, Darwin reminded himself, the freighter_wouldn't_ change course. And the AI was good. He was making things more complicated than they needed to be--in combat Kita and her firing officer would've had the missiles away in scant seconds.

His opportunity was drawing near. "Ten seconds to launch." There were no acknowledgments; certainly no objections. "Five." He waited, and held in the launch toggle for the prescribed full second.

The truck's armor and insulation muted the roar of the rocket engines. Fifteen seconds later there was nothing but silence. "Solid lock on both missiles, sir," Kita said, breaking the spell. "ETA: two minutes."

Darwin watched over her shoulder, holding his breath; the freighter's image had started to blur and distort. "What's going on?"

"It's hitting the atmosphere; heating up. The plasma makes it harder to keep a good radar lock on them."

"But they're still there." The countdown showed fifteen seconds to impact.

"Yes, sir," she confirmed, without taking her attention from the display. "We've lost contact with the missiles."

"Understood, sergeant." He nodded; nothing else to be done but that. The ball, as humans said, was out of his court. The impact timer had reached zero and begun counting up. Ten seconds, then twenty. Thirty. Sixty.

"Sir, Alkin Two has lost contact with track Sierra-Zero."

"Lost contact? Did they jump?"

"I don't know. The signal went below rejection limits. I'll try to--hold on. Sir, picking up two contacts at the track's last known position. Strike my last. Six contacts. Nine. Sensors have multiple contacts, diverging trajectories; no database match."

"Thermal?"

Far above the truck, one fireball had turned into two dozen--bright, blazing meteors whose path had become aimless and futile. The Border Collie watched his screen until the lights no longer fit within the display.

"Alkin One, this is Satar. Message, over."

"Satar, Alkin One. Go ahead."

"Intercepted radio chatter says orbital control has no downlink from an inbound freighter on the McKeever approach path. They should've reauthenticated a minute ago. Please advise."

Darwin looked at his display. "Alkin One.Pamir."

It wasn't until he was back aboard the lighter, racing at low altitude back towards Davis, that the full impact struck the Border Collie. He hadn't slept in more than a day; the adrenaline ebbed quickly. Alta's debrief was clinical and swift--then he went to pass out.

A gentle knock on the door roused him.My roommate? Did I lock him out?

Sergeant Kita was on the other side, next to a tiger he didn't recognize from the Defense Committee.Tacherat, Kita said. 'Charging,' in Rukhat. "Who's charging?"

"It's my name," the tiger answered. "I'd like to talk."

"Are you in the DC? I haven't seen you. This area's restricted."

"I let him in, sir," Kita explained, and told him that he could blame her if he wanted--but she did not think he would want to.

Tacherat put his fingers to the wall, and it activated with a video he must've saved from earlier: it started partway into the news report. A human woman spoke calmly before a plume of rising smoke.

--no injuries on the ground, thanks to the area's remoteness. The Procyon phalanx, a notorious Spartoi faction, claimed responsibility for the attack.

"But we know who really did it. They've shut down traffic into McKeever until further notice, captain, just like that. What does that tell you?"

"That we got their attention."

"Exactly." The tiger pulled his paw away, closing the video. "General Altalanuk and Administrator Kodja say nothing. They think it's too dangerous, but I don't imagine that you agree, Darwin. I look at this and I see a very important truth."

"Which is what?" the Border Collie asked.

"Alta won't do what needs to be done, Darwin," Kita answered before the tiger could. "She might want to, but her paws are tied. The civilian government still believes they can negotiate with Congress... they didn't lash out until their backs were up against a wall."

"Kita said you were an_Ismenista_. You saw what happened in the Black Hills, too." The tiger didn't need to explain further when he caught the perk of Darwin's folded ears. It was in defense of their homes that the Black Hills Free State attacked and destroyed a mining rig before it could be used to obliterate their colony.

Congress protested the loss; the corporation sued... but nothing had come of it. The Black Hills were still independent, no longer part of the Yucatan Alliance. "Then what needs to be done, Kita?" He did not address the husky by rank.

"The landing beacons for the spaceport are in neutral territory--the furthest one out isn't very far from where we were this morning, sir. The JBC has left them unguarded. If they think they can shut us down, we should repay them in kind. There's a hundred kilometers of unmonitored roads between the council's northern border and their inland outposts, and six loads of ore a day travel it."

"And the checkpoints are vulnerable. They don't expect an attack. But what if they did? What_if_, Darwin, they knew they weren't safe as long as they challenge us?"

"You haven't proposed this to General Altalanuk, obviously." The Border Collie left the threat unspoken--that he could turn them in for the very suggestion. "She might have reasons for disagreeing."

"I'm sure of it." Tacherat granted it with no hint of scorn or anger. "She's too naive about the colony. She doesn't know what needs to be done--and doesn't have the will, either. Darwin--comrade--fellow warrior.My cell passed the cargo manifest to your intelligence community. Friends among the Starlight Faction... and others. Did you act at once?"

"No," Darwin agreed. "I'm sure they deliberated it. There were arguments... endless debates..."

"Over weapons. Weapons that those humans could_only_ intend to turn on us. That freighter carried death for our colony... and when you had it in your sights, did the Defense Committee freely give the order? Did they bay for blood the way fifty years of human slights have entitled us to?"

"Well," the Border Collie began. "It was... a weighty--"

"It was_not_." Tacherat cut him off, and Darwin was grateful that he hadn't needed to lie. "It was necessary, that's all. We can't afford to hesitate now. We can't afford squeamishness."

"I only felt a weight being_lifted_," Kita added; the red husky's teeth backed the heat in her words. "The one humans just like those put on me the moment I was born. You felt the same."

"If we escalate..." Darwin stopped, though it was too late--the proposition was already there, hanging. "They'll hit us right back. Unless..."

Tacherat grinned. "Indeed."

Every outpost they attacked, every truck route they ambushed, called upon the resources of the human mercenaries. Any soldier_there_ was one not available to strike at the colony. They would need more--and what if none came?

What if nobody was willing to take the risk that_their_ freighter would be the one shot down? What if no company would insure the machinery of a gold mine the tenth time it was burnt to the ground? What if the humans decided another's profit wasn't worth dying for? That they had nothing worth dying for, not on Jericho...

Unlike Darwin. "There will be consequences."

"Of course. I don't much care for humans, but there_is_ a proverb I find appropriate. One of theirs, about omelettes and eggs." Tacherat paused, waiting, but Darwin shook his head, unfamiliar. "They say: the hen is never as happy as the cook to see her eggs broken--but omelettes are not made for hens."

"I suppose that's fair," he said, though it seemed that more might be at risk than mere broken eggs. "Perhaps we don't really have a choice in which we are."

"We do have a choice. We can keep wrapping ourselves in proportionate response, yes--cowering in our dens until the humans finally come to shoot us in our own homes, if that's what you want.Or..."

"Or," the Border Collie echoed, and nodded. "Or we can show our fangs."

"Then you're with us?"

"I'm with you. I say it's time that we make them pay."