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Darwin and his band of guerrillas throw fuel onto a building fire as the Kashkin comes to outright blows with its human neighbor.

Alta and Kodja try to keep things from boiling over, but the crisis is nearing a breaking point. And Darwin, now operating independently, is not about to make things any easier for them. And of course, Jericho's human residents aren't about to stand by and do nothing.

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. 3, "Disquieted Minds"

***

We are reduced to the alternative of choosing an unconditional submission to the tyranny of irritated ministers, or resistance by force. The latter is our choice.

We most solemnly, before God and the world, declare that the arms we have been compelled by our enemies to assume we will, in defiance of every hazard, with unabating firmness and perseverance, employ for the preservation of our liberties; being with one mind resolved to die free men rather than live slaves.

— “Declaration of the Causes and Necessity of Taking Up Arms," Thomas Jefferson

Shade Island, near the equator of Jericho

26/7/2536

Darwin kept his gaze moving constantly, sweeping over the horizon to his south for any sign of activity. Any signal at all, which the Border Collie had to hope would be picked up by his sensors and amplified in the helmet he wore.

So far, nothing, but the clock was ticking.

“Darwin, Zaraneh here. The beacon's in place. I'm coming back to you."

“Good work. See you in a bit." He let out a relieved sigh, and turned to the man next to him. “Zara has everything set up. We should get ready to leave."

Next to him was a human—thus far the only human in the group they'd come to call al-Hakaja zd'Hakuja tol Shinan en'Daresh: the sons and daughters whose fangs have been given purpose. al-Hashida was already fifty strong, some of them formerly of the Defense Committee, some of them merely patriots.

Darwin didn't know whether Ignat Bodrov was a patriot or not. He didn't come from the Starlight Faction; his family lived in an independent colony on one of the outer worlds, where they ran a seed bank.

Why are you joining? Darwin asked him, and Ignat had told him that it was the right thing to do. His cousin, also a freighter pilot, turned him on to the plight of the moreaus; he spoke Nakath-Rukhat nearly as well as he spoke Russian and English.

At first Darwin had not been inclined to trust the man, but he was the only pilot they had. And over the previous two months of slumber, while the Hashida grew and plotted, he'd proven himself flying low-level transport runs between al-Kashkin and Jericho's neutral zone.

Zaraneh, a diminutive fennec, bounded up over the hill behind him and they made their way to Bodrov's ship, the Belabog. He leaned from the cockpit, waving them aboard. “Hurry up. Have a contact inbound, brothers."

“Ours?" Zaraneh asked.

“Yes." Ignat grinned widely, a dangerous grin despite his lack of fangs. “So again: hurry up."

Darwin let Zara into the cockpit first, then pulled himself aboard and closed the hatch behind them. “Do the signals look good?"

Zaraneh strapped in to the engineering station and brought the computer to life. “Yes. I have control… the Khelira is searching for our beacon. Let me connect them." MV Khelira was no longer suitable for spaceflight—but it did not have to be, after all, not for their purposes. “Good, it's done. Inputting the final program now…"

Ignat's Belabog lifted gently, drifting backwards and gaining altitude. Darwin looked at the transmission tower with open contempt. Whoever designed it intended for the navigation beacon to withstand direct assault and the fury of any equatorial storm. His explosives experts and his own experience told him there was no way the Hashida could demolish it.

“The Khelira is one minute away," Zaraneh told them. He, too, wore a telling smirk. Darwin's helmet identified the freighter, descending quickly from five kilometers above the surface. “Commencing terminal burn…"

“I activate our NARA protocols now, brothers," Ignat said, referring to the systems designed against nuclear attack; protective shields dropped to cover the Belabog's windows. Darwin wouldn't have minded seeing the final act played out in real-time… but then, he fancied keeping his sight intact, too. “Ten seconds."

Obsolete freighter or no, the Khelira massed eight thousand tons empty and they'd put four thousand tons of stone ballast in her hold. The freighter plunged down and into the navigation beacon, its fiery end muted by the clinical readouts on Darwin's display.

“Brace yourself," Ignat cautioned. “This will be rough." The shockwave was anything but muted; their ship rocked heavily and Darwin caught the sound of alarms in the cockpit—but even that was exciting. It made the destruction tangible; inarguable.

There was nothing left of the beacon.

“Satisfied?" Bodrov let the Belabog circle over a smoking, shattered crater; nothing manmade was even discernible in the rubble. Definitely satisfying. “Shall I set a course for Kashkin?"

“Please do."

Darwin appreciated the way Bodrov eschewed the use of 'Jericho,' or 'the Chartered Colony.' Like the rest of the Hashida, he called it al-Kashkin: home. The first home. Their only home. The Belabog sped at wavetop level back towards the continent, and Darwin patted Zaraneh's shoulder in appreciation for the fennec's work.

Crashing a freighter into the orbital beacon was Zaraneh's idea, proving to be the best combination of effectiveness and simplicity. He'd programmed the AI and built the homing transmitter that guided the Khelira on its course. And it had gone off spectacularly; the orbital beacon was obliterated, and with it any inbound traffic to Noel K. McKeever, the human spaceport.

Darwin's contribution had been waiting until there were ships in orbit, waiting to land. Deorbiting without automatic navigation was illegal; even if Congress granted a waiver—and they were sure to do so—no sane freighter captain would consent to such a thing.

The journey from Shade Island to al-Kashkin took a few hours, during which all three relished in the chaos spreading through the orbital control network. Without guidance, the humans had no choice but to dock in the neutral zone and use expensive suborbital transports to close the rest of the distance. It was the exact same thing they'd forced on the moreaus, an irony which was lost on none of them.

When they landed, he congratulated his team one last time and told them to get some rest—Zaraneh and Ignat, and a handful of technicians working in the basement of a grain mill in Chadagh. al-Hashida had no fixed headquarters. Sometimes they met in apartments; sometimes in cafés when the regulars had left. The grain mill belonged to a sympathetic moreau, one of the ones who hadn't benefited from being native-born.

She remembered what life in a human barracks was like. When Darwin told her he needed a small workshop to complete their first mission—to announce their presence to the world—the old dog's eyes had flashed with the fire of unpleasant memory. “You can have it as long as you like," she said; he didn't need to ask her to keep their presence a secret. She would never tell.

Secure in that knowledge, Darwin went back to his apartment and looked over the statement his second in command, Tacherat, had prepared for them. Up to that point they had been quiet—waiting. Preparing. The island operation would serve as their coming-out party.

We have dismantled the orbital navigation system outpost on Shade Island, conscious of its disruption on illegal human shipping and conscious of the bloodless nature of the act. In doing so we hope to compel a new look at the control the Jericho Business Council believes they exert, and which they clearly do not.

We are the Hashida. We do not speak for the colonial administration. We do not answer to them, nor to any authority in al-Kashkin_—our homeland, which you call 'Jericho.' Yet we swear allegiance to it, and as long as it remains under human oppression—occupation being too kind a word—we will not rest. The days in which your subjugation of our kind goes unchallenged are over._

He sent the message—to the McKeever Spaceport authorities, and to a few human journalists; he figured they would do the rest. No more than an hour passed before he heard the sound of his door's buzzer going off. General Altalanuk was waiting on the other side.

“I see you've been busy." The Ibizan's voice was chilly. “Were you bored? Maybe that's not a surprise, given the state of your den…"

Darwin looked over his shoulder. The Border Collie's apartment was mostly bare; his reading material took up little space when he had the holograms turned off. “It's more lively when I'm not getting ready for bed."

Alta let herself in without asking, and pushed the door closed behind her. “I knew what you were doing when you resigned your commission. But did you? Did you know what you were doing?"

“I'm only doing what you can't. Or wouldn't—I don't suppose it matters, one way or the other."

“Do you take me for a coward, Darwin?"

He tilted his head. “Honestly? No, General Altalanuk. I respect you. I think in my place—without your responsibilities—you'd be doing the same thing I'm doing now."

“Do you know why I don't?"

Darwin shrugged. “Because you have those responsibilities."

“And an awareness of the consequences. We can't win a war with the Business Council, and if you provoke them that's exactly what we risk. This isn't the time."

“I'm not fighting a war. If the Jericho Business Council is smart, they'll see that we won't be pushed around. They'll propose negotiations with Congress to get their spaceport reopened with our help. It cost you nothing."

“Not yet." The Ibizan growled, although partly—even Darwin could see that—it was out of the frustrating realization that she'd been on the other side of that conversation numerous times. “You need to be careful."

“I was careful, general. There were no casualties on either side. We even removed the auxiliary reactor so there wouldn't be any radioactive debris when they went to rebuild. This was a clean operation."

“I doubt the civilian government will see it that way. Yassuja—this isn't the time! I understand you, Darwin, and you're right: I'd do the same thing in your place. But do you understand me?"

When all was said and done, Altalanuk's Defense Committee had done nothing to punish the humans for banning moreau traffic from the spaceport, and the Hashida had. Darwin stood his ground. “I understand that our home is worth fighting for, and I intend to fight for it."

“And I've been in your position. I am in your position. We're on the same side, Darwin. Can we reach a compromise?"

“Does it involve surrender?"

Alta gritted her teeth. “No. And for now, I won't disarm al-Hashida—but trust me, I reserve the right to take action if it becomes necessary. You need to tell me what you're doing before you do it. I need advanced warning."

“So you can stop us?"

Her lip curled, and her eyes blazed with a short, sharp snarl. “Don't push me. I can't keep the reserve on alert forever, and I certainly can't continue waking them up in the middle of the night in case the humans take your antics as an excuse to invade."

Darwin could see the pragmatism of her answer, at least. “Very well. As long as you're not insisting on disarmament."

“No. And let me be absolutely clear, I'm also forbidding any support from the Defense Committee. Let your men know that if they're still serving, they need to choose one or the other by the end of the week. After that, if I find out I have Hashida members in the DC, I'm having them court-martialed. Is that acceptable?"

“Yes, sir."

She sighed, and her lip lowered. “Who will I lose?"

“Most of them are already gone. It's no more than a dozen, general. And most of them weren't really cut out for service… some of them weren't even on the planet to begin with, but they came when they heard we were done putting up with the humans—done letting them take what they wanted from us."

“Are they all registered?"

“Mostly. I haven't pressed that issue, as long as I can trust them. You should think of the Hashida as a… a safety valve, of sorts." It would've been too much to hope for, thinking that Alta would agree with his metaphor. He was more surprised at the Ibizan's abrupt, barking laughter. “General Altalanuk?"

“I won't think of them that way, if it's all the same to you. Watch yourself, Darwin, and your men. This is a gamble you need to be very, very careful with."

Outwardly he agreed, at least to get the Ibizan hound to leave him alone. Privately, he doubted that Altalanuk could disarm them even if she wanted. Would the Defense Committee really consent to that? None of them would be mourning the injury they'd paid to the human trade routes, after all.

Kita, the husky who'd been one of the first three al-Hashida, told him of half a dozen new members in just the first day after the operation. More would come, he knew; there was already interest. It was what happened when you put the force of arms behind your love of Kashkin and its citizens.

Kita also brought him a schedule: corporation transports, unguarded, slinking through the continent's forests to run cargo between the home complexes of the Jerusalem Business Council and its outlying territories. They thought they were safe. They thought they were untouchable.

His grin said otherwise, and Kita laughed.

***

Colonial Administration Building

Davis, Chartered Colonial Jericho

27/7/2536

The day was proving to be one of those that Kodja felt had been deliberately crafted to try him. Days that started in a pre-dawn meeting with Altalanuk frequently turned out this way; this meeting had presaged the one with Foreign Minister Halinchi.

Halinchi understood his bleak mood at once. “You already have breakfast out," she said, pointing to the spread of fruit and bottled water. “Has it been a long morning for you, too, Kodja?"

The golden retriever tried to smile. “If I come in early and pretend to work hard, I can convince my assistant to pay for breakfast out of the budget, that's all. Though I suppose if I paid for it myself, it still would be… wouldn't it?"

“One more step, though." Halinchi eyed the breakfast options and settled on one of the pears, which the badger sliced with her own sharp claws. “Which part should we discuss first?"

“It wasn't us." Halinchi paused, pear juice dripping from her paw, and stared at him with a dry skepticism. “It wasn't. They call themselves al-Hashida, it seems. A mix of former soldiers, former terrorists… current terrorists, apparently…"

“General Altalanuk doesn't control them?"

“No. They're independent. Striking the orbital beacon was their decision, not ours. According to the human-language news, McKeever Spaceport is shut down again while they try to find alternatives. I guess they'll reroute to Karlself, in the neutral zone."

Halinchi nodded. “They don't have much of a choice. What else about these… al-Hashida? How long before you can bring them to justice?"

“I can't."

She snorted, her laughter bitter—and knowing. “Can't you? Talk to your minister of security, Kodja."

“Alta won't disarm them. Well"—he caught himself, lest she get the wrong impression. “Alta didn't tell me that. But it's not likely that she'd agree to do it."

Halinchi set what was left of the pear back down on the table to turn both of her paws up in a questioning shrug. “How can you do anything else? They're an armed gang that doesn't answer to the Defense Committee or to you. Order her to round them up. It should be simple, unless I'm quite confused."

“All the same, inanu Halinchi, it's not. I'm not sure she can."

“You're saying the Defense Committee's loyalty is questionable? Altalanuk's loyalty is questionable?"

Kodja shook his head, and put the bitterness of his meeting with the Ibizan into the tone of his argument. “Alta is first and foremost a patriot. She believes in the colony; she believes in me. But she's secondly a pragmatist. Ordering the DC to round up fellow citizens for doing what… what many of them think we should've done in the first place… it's politically very difficult."

“Does she think her soldiers would disobey?"

“No… I don't think so, either. I think she wants to avoid putting them in that position. If you tell me it's absolutely necessary to appease the JBC or Congress, that's one thing. Otherwise…"

Halinchi returned to her pear, slicing chunks free until the rest of it was gone, nodding slowly between bites. “Maybe I'm convinced. How much else do either of you know?"

“This information is classified, of course. It shouldn't go past you."

“Of course."

“It seems to have taken Alta partly by surprise. Her intelligence section guesses that there are about a hundred of them. A few are from the DC. One of them's the radical who masterminded the destruction of the human arms freighter two months ago."

“Terrorist, you mean. I got a dossier out of the general. If we tied together all the aliases, I'm sure he has a dozen warrants outstanding."

“Yes. Probably," Kodja admitted. The same could be said for more of the Defense Committee than he liked. “Alta said that if there are any left in the DC, they'll be expelled or jailed. She wants to keep her organization clean. They won't work together. I don't know if we even know their leader for sure. It might be the terrorist; it might not be."

“This is a dangerous new element in a very unstable situation, Kodja."

“I know. Have another pear."

The badger took one, cutting it open and gesturing with it towards him. “Go on, then."

“They're getting off-world funding—the same funding we've been declining. I'm sure Alta's told you that different groups are always offering arms and money if we'll cause trouble here. She's said 'no,' to her credit. I've said no. The Hashida have fewer scruples. We can probably expect more from them."

“How much more?"

Altalanuk had given him no concrete information. Her intelligence officers had drawn up a broad list of likely victims. Human-owned mines, transport convoys, isolated border patrols operated by the human police—nuisance targets, the Ibizan said. Harassment.

Kodja might not have been a military strategist, and didn't have a desire to learn, but he wasn't so blind as to miss the subtext of her briefing. She'd readily provided an array of vulnerable targets; it was unlikely that her team had produced that report in the hours between hearing of the orbital beacon attack and her meeting with Kodja.

“So I need to know something from the foreign office," he finished. “I need to know where the line is—what will provoke a human reaction."

“You're not going to like my answer, administrator. I don't like it."

“I haven't liked most of what I've heard today, so…"

“The pear's pretty good," she offered, and then the badger laughed her resigned, bitter laugh again. “The first message I received this morning was from our liaison to the Jericho Business Council. They said we have twelve hours to formally apologize and pay complete restitution or they'll take it by force."

“Bluster?"

“Yes. If General Altalanuk wasn't frothing at the mouth when she spoke to you, the JBC must not be on a combat footing. In any case, the second message was from the assistant deputy secretary of local transportation in the Gemini Sector."

Kodja was lost; he cocked his head. “Who?"

“She reports to someone who reports to someone who reports to Melin Jimenez, the new vice-president of the chamber. Vice-President Jimenez doesn't want the sector ecclesia to be seen as directly talking to us; it was a back-door request. A proposal."

“What's the proposal?"

“We repair the orbital beacon—our budget, our engineers. In exchange, they'll keep the JBC from taking any action and reopen the spaceport to our ships. For a hundred thousand tons a month, at first; we might be able to discuss that later."

It was less than they'd had previously, Kodja knew, but not by much. He was still surprised. “They're willing to talk? Why?"

“The ecclesia doesn't want the impression that they're giving in to terrorists, Kodja, but they need the spaceport reopened. They have more important issues to deal with than our squabble."

“But the business council is human, and they—"

“Provoked us," she cut him off. “Jimenez recognizes that, I think; they know that our relations are tense. The ecclesia voted to fund a planetary garrison—CODA's assembling it now. Now, really, CODA's military could defeat either us or the JBC… but not without cost. They can't spare that. It's in the vice-president's interest to keep us at a low boil."

“Take the offer, then? Is there a downside?"

“They're not giving us the through traffic we had before, so I imagine Minister Korden will be keeping the port at Aless Ha'kin open."

“That's fine. Korden would argue—correctly—that we need to develop that port, anyway. What happens when the human defense forces get here?"

Halinchi didn't have a clear answer for him. The best outcome, she said, was that the Colonial Defense Authority would act in the capacity of peacekeepers. On the other hand, the badger pointed out that decaying relationships with the Tripartite Kingdom made for far more serious concerns than a few upstart dogs. The Sanganese, after all, controlled a proper military.

And there were positive signs. President Jimenez no longer wanted Halinchi to meet separately with the Jericho Business Council and the Yucatan Alliance. Instead they were convening the Congressional Joint Administration Working Group, which would sit on a diplomatic vessel in orbit. Neutral ground, the badger said—though when he asked if it put them on a level footing, her laughter was far less optimistic.

Nuri had invited Grey Palmer over that evening, and while Kodja considered pleading exhaustion he decided it might also be a good opportunity to lean on her superior expertise. After dinner, with a tray of savory dessert between them—Grey hadn't yet learned to appreciate the palate cleansing quality of bacon—the retriever cleared his throat.

“I have a confession to make to you, Grey, though I'm not sure I really should."

Grey looked between Kodja and Nuri, who shrugged her ignorance of whatever it might be. “I'm not sure I should take it," the human finally said. “I'm not a priest."

“There's a story about that one," Nuri said, giving her husband a teasing prod. “Later. What's your confession, Ishla?"

“International relations have always escaped me. I'm supposed to be a politician, but I've always focused more on the bureaucracy. When Halinchi talks, I'm out of my league."

“It isn't much of a confession," Grey said, not unkindly. “You've always been better with the bureaucracy. Very good with it, in fact—more patient than I would be."

“I'm not sure it's enough. What do you know about the Tripartite Kingdom?"

“Probably not much more than you, Kodja."

The golden retriever doubted that highly, and he wasn't in the mood for platitudes. He shook his head. “On Earth, they were three countries. Nihon, Chinesia… Sino… Sinica? That's the three parts?"

“Oof." Grey's response was telling. “Okay. Sino and China are the same. Yes, they're from old Earth. They trace their heritage back thousands of years, though this kingdom is new."

“The three parts are…" Nuri closed her eyes thoughtfully. “The past, the present, and the ascension, correct? That's what we teach in school," the marten explained.

“Yes. Officially their religious doctrine says that their history is guiding them to some… glorious future, to which there are many paths. Ninety-nine paths; we used to call them 'Pathies,' but I think that's a slur. Practically they're no more spiritual than you are."

Nuri, lacking her husband's ongoing disquiet, smiled. “Remember I said I had a story? Just after he was elected, Ishla came to watch a school play in Salem, because that year was the first graduating class. They performed an old human play, and afterwards Ishla told me that the makeup was mostly good, but not for the priest."

“Oh?"

The marten couldn't help the way the memory made her grin. “He told me the priest looked like the other… well, the other humans. For some reason he thought they were a different species. I guess… well, they don't cover human biology much in our schools."

“It seemed logical. A whole planet dominated by one species… well. I was young, and my job didn't have me interacting with anyone who wasn't from the colony."

“We're doing better now," Nuri added. “The play was a human one, actually. About the older, human Salem. The witch-provings."

“Witch-provings?" Grey looked puzzled.

“A human religious ceremony—very old. They sacrificed people to appease the witch-gods. Yes, Ishla? Hu'hekhja kotuk?"

Kodja nodded. “If that's the phrase they used. I don't remember, Gerrich—it was an old human custom, anyway."

“I hope we're doing better now." Grey sighed. “I guess it's not that simple with the Sanganese, is it? They told us that… they had something against moreaus. We used to hear stories about it. Any time we were negotiating with Sanganese companies, they made us leave our moreaus behind."

“It was the first war here on Jericho, fifty years ago. The Commonwealth of the Enlightened started out as a Nakath militia that joined with the humans to fight off the Sanganese. I remember that much." Kodja had been taught that in school, at least.

But in school, they left out the more macabre details; the retriever had never seen fit to confirm them. Stories about nakathja turned into fur coats, or eaten, or burned—passed around as whispered tales between pups trying to show how brave they were to even relate the rumors.

“The devil you know," Grey Palmer offered. “Better the devil you know than the one you don't. Then again, I suppose we also say to keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

“You have a lot of experience with devils," Nuri said.

Grey didn't bother denying it. But, with a sad laugh and a gentle shake of her head, she spoke anyway. “Don't worry. You'll get there."

***

Defense Committee headquarters complex

Corsini, Chartered Colonial Jericho

10/8/2536

Alta turned the volume on her communicator up before she went to sleep, so that any incoming messages were guaranteed to rouse her. It also meant that, when the alarm sounded, she startled into wakefulness with an adrenaline rush that felt like cardiac arrest.

“General, Satar. Message."

“Satar, go ahead."

“Border alarms started going off in the northern sector two minutes ago. We've confirmed they're genuine. Colonel Marel requests orders."

“I'll be right there." And then she hit the button on her communicator labeled 'emergency.' Alishat Hass-Kodja would be waking up just as unpleasantly—she didn't wait for him to acknowledge her, speaking as soon as the channel was open. “We may be under attack. I'm going to headquarters now."

“May… what?" He was addled.

Then again, so was she. “Border incursion. I'm requesting permission to put the DC on alert."

“Granted. Let… let me know when you have any details."

“Of course."

She threw her jacket on quickly and kicked her feet into her heavy boots. Outside the night was crisp; the stars overhead clear and beautiful. It was two o'clock in the morning, after all. Nothing should've troubled any of them. She didn't feel the cold; didn't feel the way the air stabbed into her lungs as she sprinted the two hundred meters to the Defense Committee's command bunker.

All the lights were on; every computer station was manned when she burst through the door. “What's going on, god damn it?" Altalanuk didn't believe in gods; there was no Nakath-Rukhat version of the phrase and she posed the question in the coarse, guttural English tongue.

“We started tracking—"

A raised voice cut the speaker off. “Sergeant, stand by. New picture."

“Start talking," Alta snarled.

“Priority call from Lieutenant Qarja, just north of Tascat Degh. They've been engaged by an unknown number of hostiles who were directing heavy weapons fire into the town. Qarja has garrisoned two buildings at the edge of Tascat Degh but they're running low on ammunition."

Alta cleared a space on the planning table and brought up a three-dimensional map of the farming village—a dozen buildings and twenty citizens near the edge of the colony. Not the kind of place she'd been expecting an attack.

Everything had gone wrong. Qarja was smart, but most of her men were new and Alta suspected Colonel Marel gave Qarja the northern patrol to help train them. If the humans were attacking now it meant their surveillance equipment wasn't up to par. It meant the isolated towns were far more vulnerable than she'd feared.

It also confirmed rumors Major Kalasos had been reporting for nearly two months—that, like Darwin's Hashida, more militant human groups were beginning to organize. The JBC wouldn't attack them directly—and if they did, certainly it would not be in such a piecemeal fashion. The raiders had to come from somewhere else.

And the DC was off-guard.

Half an hour later, just before reinforcements arrived, Qarja radioed back to say that the humans were withdrawing. Three of Tascat Degh's inhabitants had been killed and the town's pumping station was in ruins.

They'd gotten lucky. When she suggested this to her senior staff, none of them disagreed, dashing the last of the Ibizan's faint hopes that she'd been pessimistic. “Where did they come from? Who are they? Rangers? The League? I need answers."

Kodja would want answers, too. She had to ignore seven incoming calls from the retriever before she was satisfied she understood things well enough to speak with any authority, and she stressed the need to explain it to him in person. Troublingly, by the time she made her way back to Davis—just past five in the morning, three hours after she'd been startled from sleep—Halinchi was also there.

“I've already given him a message from the attackers, general," the badger said. “They claim that quarrying at Tascat Degh has disrupted the cross-border water supply in violation of our tacit agreement to share water resources."

“Did they identify themselves?"

“No, but I assume it was the NPL. You came to the same conclusion, I expect, general?"

Halinchi was starting to grow on Alta—the badger might've been a valuable asset to the Defense Committee, in different circumstances. “Yes," she confirmed. “Based on what we know, the Native Protection League seems to have been the ones engaging us. Our intelligence is somewhat limited—unfortunately we didn't take any prisoners or capture any equipment."

“I've been told they didn't act under the orders of the CMA."

Kodja looked between them. “And that's the… Council Military Authority, right?" The official security organization of the Jericho Business Council.

“Yes. NPL is different. They don't officially share men or equipment. They might not even always communicate," Altalanuk explained as best she could. “I doubt they take orders from the council's board."

“Probably not. They're privately held. Remember, Kodja, the CMA is the counterpart of our Defense Committee. The corporations all approved its creation when we started to rearm."

“This sounds a bit confusing," Kodja admitted. “So why are there two militaries, then?"

“There are more than that. Four or five. The NPL, Southern Watch, the Houston Militia, the Rangers… a few others that might exist only on paper."

Foreign Minister Halinchi smiled understandingly at the golden retriever's look of disbelief. “They don't all trust the Authority. This is what I deal with every day, administrator. It's never simple."

“They pay for the Authority. They voted for it—you just said they voted for it."

“All of the corporations contribute, but most of the budget comes from the three largest partners. Everyone else seems to suspect that, in the event of a crisis, the CMA would focus on defending its most important stakeholders."

“There are also different goals," Alta went on. “Officially, the CMA is just for defending the council's property. That's why they named it that, after the Colonial Defense Authority. The NPL is a private militia, but they also dispute our charter and consider us to be illegal tenants."

“Certain voices have been arguing that we should be evicted by force for years, Kodja. Now they see their chance." Halinchi spoke dispassionately, like they might have been talking about a minor difference of opinion on a trade agreement.

Altalanuk could, with some imagination, consider what the badger's human counterparts were going through. In all probability they did not sanction the League, and with a CODA task force circling overhead they were wary of any open violence. But if the League enjoyed any success, surely the council would be quick to capitalize.

Much as she felt about al-Hashida.

Halinchi and Kodja turned. “What amuses you?" the retriever asked, baffled. “Why did you just laugh?"

“Briefly I thought of the old cliché: we're not so different. It's wrong, though. There's a lot more of them."

“What are we going to do?"

“Militarily? We have to respond. Our intelligence has identified a probable staging area—at least a light weapons cache—just across the official border-line from Sorren and Tascat deghja."

“You want to attack it?"

“Not directly. We have some mortar shells to use up, though. We'll hit the site with, say, eighteen rounds. Six for every citizen killed in Tascat Degh. That seems fair."

“Halinchi?"

The badger nodded. “Signal me when you're about to start and I'll pass word to the JBC informing them of our intent. If it's a limited reprisal, I think the humans should understand. They'll be inclined to take it as a cost of doing business with the NPL."

“Go ahead, then. A limited reprisal, Alta."

She'd set up the batteries even before going to visit the government in Davis. Prudence, though, meant that the Ibizan waited until she was back at Defense Committee headquarters before actually sending the order. At that point it was seven in the morning; she was still in no mood to sleep.

“Do you think they'll escalate?"

Major Kalasos looked up, meeting Alta's eyes across the planning board. “Probably not, but there are some warning signs." The mutt tapped her fingers on the board, and the map updated to her touch. Radio intercepts and triggered sensors stretched across ten kilometers of border.

“It's always a gamble. Worst-case scenario?"

“The NPL probably has an understrength battalion here. Motorized infantry, converted M20s and older hoverdynes. Nothing too expensive… nothing too threatening. But…"

“But some of them will be looking for an excuse. We might be giving them one."

“Yes, ma'am."

But as she'd said, it was always a gamble. She ordered Colonel Marel to put his battalion on alert and directed him to garrison the vulnerable border towns. Marel could act on his own initiative; she trusted him.

Marel saw the same possibility that DC headquarters identified—that a human advance in force could threaten Salem, the largest town in the north. He kept two of his companies there, including the tanks she'd allocated to the battalion. Ulak Company he stationed in the remains of Tascat Degh and Sorren Degh, with Shanik Company just to their south to contain a breakthrough.

Completing the mobilization would take time and Alta didn't want to lose the initiative; she ordered the bombardment to start with Shanik Company still moving into position. And then, staring at every new update on the planning board, she waited.

“Battery Sanak reports fire mission complete." The battery's symbol on the map darkened. More waiting. Altalanuk made herself a pot of tea, starting to sip at it before it was really cool enough to drink comfortably.

And by the time it was, Major Kalasos was standing before her, tense. “Ma'am."

“How bad is it?"

“Based on radio traffic and the monitoring outposts, they're getting ready to move. It must be the NPL. I'm trying to get aerial, but we lost signal with our last drone fifteen seconds after it got on station."

It's always a gamble. If the NPL attacked on their own, Colonel Marel would be able to contain them—she hoped. First Battalion, stationed at Corsini itself, could provide support if it was needed.

But what if it wasn't just the NPL? What if the other militias joined in? Shifting First Battalion to aid Marel left Corsini exposed—if the humans acted quickly enough they'd be able to cut the colony in half before she could stop them.

Nothing in their intercepts hinted at a general mobilization. Even still… even still, there were four thousand people in Salem to worry about. “What's Second Battalion's disposition?"

“Companies Shek and Kossik are standing by with battalion headquarters in Salem. Ulak Company is spread out between Tascat Degh, Ha'lanja and Elden Kodaw. Shanik Company is at Sorren Degh. None of them are in contact yet."

“Does Marel think he can hold them at Tascat Degh? That's optimistic." Alta shook her head—Tascat Degh was deserted, anyway. “No point in trading lives for rubble. We need to shorten that line while we have the time to do so. Objections?"

There were none, though Sol Solte cleared his throat. The tiger kept his voice low: “I recommend we activate Plan Kishen at Salem, though, ma'am."

“Can we? Be honest."

“With Colonel Marel's help, yes."

Tying at least one of his companies down. Always a gamble, Alta thought darkly. “Very well. Send the order to activate Kishen for Salem and the outlying towns on my authority."

***

Tascat Degh

On the border of Yucatec Jericho and the Chartered Colony

11/8/2536

“Ulak Two, this is Ulak Seven, new orders follow. Withdraw in an orderly fashion from point azad to point daran and link up with Ulak Three to secure Elden. Expect contact within the hour. Out."

Lieutenant Shaddin nodded to the C&S operator, signaling receipt if not necessarily consent, and waited for her to radio back their acknowledgment before saying anything. “Threat picture?"

The C&S operator, a harried feline corporal with the notched ears of a veteran militant in one of the Starlight Faction's moreau units, locked up. Shaddin watched her eyes flick back and forth across whatever showed up in her eyepiece. “Between here and there it looks clean. That's friendly territory."

“Because we're retreating," Shaddin said. The order meant they were giving up Tascat Degh completely. The civilian population was gone, evacuated before dawn, but the notion still stung. His platoon hadn't been taking fire. None of them had been taking fire. But Captain Deshar must've known better, or been told the situation was decaying.

Contact within the hour. It was only four hours earlier that the collie's platoon had been directed to take up defensive positions in what remained of Tascat Degh; the broken stone wall at his back had once been part of a garage. The trucks were gone; the garage was rubble.

Point “daran," west of the farms of Elden Kodaw, lay twelve hundred meters to their south. Shaddin patted the remains of the wall, promising to return, and led his soldiers back.

Lieutenant Qarja, third platoon leader, met him with more information at Elden Kodaw. “We've laid in ammunition and pulled high-res images of the northern approach. If they're coming…"

“We're ready for them?" Shaddin asked.

The shepherdess shrugged. “We'll see."

Elden Kodaw made for a crossroads, of sorts; they understood why most of the company had been redeployed there. First platoon watched the road to their west. Captain Deshar and the headquarters section was just to the south.

Shaddin asked the platoon sergeant for an opinion, which turned out to match his own. That was reassuring; Sergeant Arn had far more experience than Shaddin himself. “I expect they'll order us to pull back again once we know what the humans have. There must be enough of them. We abandoned the border outpost and Tascat Degh, and this isn't as secure of a position as Tascat was…"

'Secure' was a relative term, of course. There wasn't that much cover; the farmland had mostly been cleared. First Platoon was scattered along the road, positioned between rocks and in hastily cleared ditches. Lieutenant Shaddin didn't envy them.

“Ulak One-Niner. Echo contact, three-two, four kilometers. Strength four. No visual."

Shaddin looked to his C&S operator. 'Collections and Synthesis' meant constantly balancing their direct surveillance and external intelligence—the 'threat picture.' In human militaries, they went through intensive training for that, but the Defense Committee had no such resources. She was doing the best she could; her head nodded slightly. “Got it. Just off to the north. EM only, medium strength… either radio comms or active surveillance."

He directed the platoon to take their positions and be ready to return fire anyway. It was the first proper report they'd had; command would be giving them an updated plan at any moment. But still.

“Ulak Seven. Stand by for current picture. Intel is tracking what appear to be approximately three companies moving south with presumed hostile intent. Their probable plan of attack is to take Elden Kodaw, from which point they can move on Kharid Degh or Salem. We—"

And then Shaddin's attention was immediately split, because first platoon radioed in that they were taking fire. His sergeant still said that she saw nothing. The tactical link to Lieutenant Qarja's platoon saw nothing. But first platoon was under attack, three companies gave the humans a clear numerical advantage, and…

“—hold your positions until the evacuation is complete."

“We're holding?" Shaddin asked.

Sergeant Arn nodded. “Until they get the civilians out of Salem."

Yassuja. The collie wouldn't swear aloud, but… How long will that take? And no reinforcements. They were it. DC High Command was keeping its reserve deployed to secure Salem. And that was fine, four thousand moreaus lived there, but what had seemed like intriguing theory in basic training didn't look as interesting in practice.

“Contact! One, two kilometers. Visual, we've—"

“Get down!" Arn shouted.

Shaddin thought at first they'd been struck by lightning, but the blinding light didn't abate and nor did the thunder, even after his noise-canceling earpieces adapted to the sound. Why didn't they warn me? This isn't happening, this—

His mind kicked the thought free. M4 truck or something like it. Raython Tesla plasma cannon. Suppressing fire. Eighty bolts per minute. First tested in 2450, power consumption of—no, doesn't matter. They'll be blind to the impact area as long as they're firing. The M4 is unarmored. The defensive—

“Hanak, move your team around the house and see if you can target that vehicle from the far side. Take it out if you can." The order seemed to have come from someone else's muzzle, as though he was watching himself in a strange performance.

But. No. Simple. Keep it simple. A three kilogram rocket with a half-kilo shaped charge found a trajectory and decided it was good and crossed the gap in a matter of seconds and the fire stopped and milliseconds later a secondary explosion scattered shrapnel across 117.4 seconds of arc from his position and—

“Two, that can't be all they have. Cover the heavy weapons team and make sure they take out anything that comes into view." Hanak and the two others in his team only had six rockets, and one of them was already gone, but…

Somehow he'd filed the information away subconsciously. His tactical display teemed with signals. Shaddin leaned up carefully, looking through his rifle's scope to put context to it. Twenty people? Thirty? They had plenty of hiding places in the uneven terrain.

Another truck—not an M4, these were technicals, civilian models with armor plate added—briefly appeared before something turned it into so much wreckage. Except it took two attempts to knock it out, so their ammunition was half gone.

Movement caught his eye, right in the center of his sights. His carbine kicked; the movement stopped. Maybe they'd thought better of it. Maybe. Too much going on to care. He dropped back into proper cover.

First platoon, nearer to the action, was being overrun. Neither he nor Lieutenant Qarja could rescue them without exposing themselves to the worst of what the humans had.

They were getting closer.

Hanak was out of rockets, though it cost two more technicals.

They kept coming. Another truck nosed around the bend and, sensing safety, brought its heavy cannon to bear. Molten rock sprayed off to Shaddin's right, where Hanak had been. Still was?

Now the best the platoon had to answer it with were their squad machine guns and those had been meant for infantry and it seemed like their fire raked the technical for hours until the incoming rounds stopped.

Two seconds. Had to be: the machine gun had stopped firing and two seconds was how long it took to expend its magazine.

“Why did you stop?" Arn—Sergeant Arn was yelling it at the machine gun team.

“The barrels are—"

“Stop and they kill you." He couldn't have given them more than half a second to comply before adding: “stop and I'll kill you! LT!"

Shaddin's head jerked and he forced himself to pay attention. “Sergeant?"

“We need more rockets. Tell Captain Deshar we need more rockets or we—"

Arn's muzzle kept moving, but in silence. Slowly. A heartbeat later came the deafening shockwave; splintered rock, sharp as arrowpoints, rained down from what remained of the building behind them.

And Shaddin suddenly understood that there had never really been an or, after all.

***

Defense Committee headquarters complex

Corsini, Chartered Colonial Jericho

11/8/2536

“How bad is it?" For some reason—Alta knew it was jamming, though not the source—their high-bandwidth communications network had gone down and there was no picture. The radio room was in the center of their command bunker, well-insulated and highly protected. All she could hear was Kodja's voice.

Outside, her keen ears would've been able to pick up distant fire, too, and she wanted to get back to focusing on that as soon as possible. “Stable, administrator. For the moment."

“Stable?"

“We've checked their advance at Elden Kodaw and are counterattacking from Sorren Degh. I don't think they were expecting resistance; definitely not of this quantity. Their supporting vehicles—"

“Salem? Is Salem safe?"

“We activated Plan Kishen as soon as we heard an attack was possible. The last civilian convoy left twenty minutes ago. We're still guarding the town."

“Alright. Then I have an update from the humans. We're… done. I believe. Halinichi has a message from the head of CODA's detachment here. They're ordering a cease-fire. They say they'll attack anyone not respecting it. We've done it. You've done it. Alta? Are you there?"

The Ibizan had her eyes closed, visualizing the map she'd last seen, still processing what he told her. “Yes. Yes, administrator. I'm here. When does the cease-fire take effect?"

“Uh. Hold on. Two hours from now, on the CODA landing ship's next orbit. Can you hold out that long?"

“Yes," she answered flatly.

He didn't mute his microphone for his relieved sigh. “Good. Good work, Talla. We owe you."

Alta closed the channel and left the radio room to rejoin the others monitoring the situation on the ground. Her curt summary to Kodja—stable—left out a lot of details.

Sol Solte, across the table, looked up from the display and searched her expression. “Ma'am?"

“We have two hours."

“Until?"

“Until we stop fighting," she told the tiger. “CODA says everybody lays down arms then."

“CODA? They're imposing a cease-fire?"

“'Imposing' is a good word—we have to assume the League got in touch with their masters in the JBC and they're trying to consolidate their gains while they can." Two hours, and human troops still remained in Tascat Degh, and between the hamlet and their border. She felt quite certain a cease-fire would keep them there. “So what do we do?"

A quarter of Colonel Marel's battalion had been needed to man the convoys. Ulak Company was badly mauled—two platoons were completely combat ineffective and the third was nearly out of ammunition. Shanik Company, whose counteroffensive was meant to relieve pressure on the front lines at Elden, had also taken losses.

Major Kalasos told her that the human militia still numbered at least two hundred. If they stayed after the cease-fire, two hundred would assuredly become five hundred, or a thousand. “What's the status of Marel's artillery?"

“Continued skirmishing at Elden Kodaw is keeping them busy, ma'am, but we should have enough rounds for another two hours, especially if the enemy militia doesn't advance. The last update indicated about twenty rounds per mortar."

Critical, almost, but she couldn't help that. “It'll do. We need to counterattack. Major, you said two hundred? They can't be dug in."

“No, ma'am, but—"

“Where's their reserve?"

“We…" Kalasos looked to be considering another protest, but Alta's glare dissuaded her. “The odds are good that it's what Shanik Company has engaged at Sorren Degh. Maybe two platoon's worth?"

“With limited heavy weapons and no room to maneuver. Shek Company is completely fresh. They advance from Salem, we push through the human lines at Elden Kodaw, and that's it. We have tactical superiority; we need to use it. Colonel Sol, tell me I'm wrong."

Sol Solte ran sharp feline claws through his sunset-golden hair. The tiger shook his head. “I don't think you're wrong, ma'am, as such. If you want a dissenting opinion, it's pretty easy to come up with one. The battalion's spread out, Elden Kodaw is unstable… leaving Salem undefended would be risky. But if they were going to attack, they would've done so by now, I think."

“So do I." She sent a message to the battalion demanding that Marel check in and, while he was being tracked down, looked over the map again. Could be worse. And we have a chance to put the tanks to use for the first time. Shek Company comprised the battalion's armor: not much help in holding a defensive line, but she had to think they'd be up to the task of breaking the human lines.

Colonel Marel's hologram appeared; the fennec's eyes were hidden behind a tactical information headset and two radio sets were wired into his massive ears. “Reporting as ordered, ma'am."

“What's your situation, colonel?"

“Ulak Company has lost eighty killed or wounded, including three officers. I've pulled Shanik Company's second platoon to stabilize Elden and that's slowed our advance from Tek Sornu."

“Are there any signs of hostile activity north of Salem, sir?" Major Kalasos asked. “We've nothing from our intel."

“No. Nothing. It's quiet here."

Altalanuk lifted her eyes to look at Major Kalasos, and caught the mixed-breed's nod. “Understood. Colonel, new orders. Your battalion is to counterattack immediately and decisively with the objective of clearing the road between Elden Kodaw and the border. In two hours, you're to be at the border crossing."

“Two hours," he repeated. “I advise you that, setting aside Ulak Company, we're understrength. Kossik is still with the convoys. It'll take at least an hour until they're reassembled here."

“I know. Here's why I said two hours, colonel. CODA is enforcing a cease-fire effective at 1930. They want to occupy our territory. After 1930, we'll have to evict them through diplomacy. Until then…"

“Understood," Marel said.

“Can you do it?"

Marel's native language was Farsi and his Ruhkat came from an odd dialect—that was why he called the town Tek Sornu instead of Sorren Degh. His reply was in neither dialect nor Farsi, but standard old dogspeak. “Nan'tag, general."

Råk nan ratag, the old independence battle-cry: we can do it. “Nan'tag," Alta echoed. “Good luck."

***

al-Hashida Cell A den

Irjakh, Chartered Colonial Jericho

17/8/2536

al-Hashida's teeth had continued to grow in number and length. Darwin was loathe to reject any opportunity, out of simple necessity—but he empathized when his purchasing officer told him that some bridges were not to be crossed.

“Substantial weaponry, though," the Border Collie reminded him. “Well-made weaponry. Military-grade."

“A hostile military," his purchaser growled. “And they're using us. If you force me, sir, I will accept, but…"

“Under duress. I understand."

This was not a lie: he understood perfectly, and he hated the position he'd put the shepherd in. The weapons came from one of the Sangan Kingdom's syndicates on the planet and, strictly speaking, they weren't actually for sale. The agreement was that the Hashida would arrange transport from the spaceport at Karlself, in the neutral zone, and if a few rockets happened to go missing…

In the end Darwin did force the shepherd, but he involved as few of the Hashida as possible and obscured the details from the rest. Too many of them had heard gruesome stories of what the Sanganese did to captured moreaus.

Ignat Bodrov handled the rest of it, and he grinned sympathetically when Darwin explained. “I bet you didn't think there'd be so much politics, eh?"

Darwin shuddered at the understatement. What wasn't political?

Until that point, logistics had remained free of such concerns. They had plenty of politics to consider without infighting. Things would only become more contentious; he called the cell's leaders together to discuss a message they'd been given via contacts in the Development Ministry.

Alkana Nakhul, who'd served in the ministry for years, joined the Hashida because she felt the civilian government wasn't doing enough. It soon became clear why: “We have a note from Kareh hass-Soltek, soon-to-be-former administrator of Aresh Degh."

“That's a strange way of putting it," Darwin said. Nakhul, a seasoned veteran of human militias, had also acquired a human faculty for turns of phrase. Sometimes it could be confusing for the others, even another Border Collie like Darwin.

“Inanu Kareh has been given notice that the village is to be abandoned. The notice comes from the Development Ministry, countersigned by the General Altalanuk. The Defense Committee can't… well. Commit to their defense."

Looking at a map, Darwin saw why at once. Aresh Degh and its sixty inhabitants sat in a small pocket near the Kashkin's southeastern border—'near' because ownership of the land was technically disputed. At the time of the village's establishment, nobody cared.

And now they did. Aresh Degh was two kilometers from the nearest town of any kind and ten from any Defense Committee outposts. The map al-Hashida used showed the settlement with a pulsing red indicator.

“They were attacked."

Nakhul took her cue to refocus the map on the little town. “Yesterday. DC forces responded, but by that point two houses had been leveled and the power substation was knocked out of commission."

“Who was responsible?"

“The Houston Militia. They say it was necessary to protect the communication relay on Terr Hanakhasstalak."

Tacherat, who had disabled the relay in three separate attacks, chuckled. “We're doing our job, then. Maybe one more strike and they'll really start paying attention."

“Or it's a pretense." Darwin liked the tiger's initiative and aggression, but striking Hill 413 again wouldn't accomplish anything new. “The hill doesn't even have line-of-sight on Aresh Degh."

“Aresh is in a valley," Nakhul added. “Nothing has line-of-sight on it."

Darwin scanned the letter from Aresh's leader, which requested assistance. He had to wonder if the man was merely desperate, or naive enough to think that a hundred Hashida irregulars might succeed where the Defense Committee could not. “Nakhich, the militia?"

One curt nod from the blue merle and Aresh disappeared from the map, replaced by the intricately connected web through which Nakhul kept track of her intelligence. “They're independent, but allied to the NPL—their leaders are packmates. Ah… siblings, I mean. Well-funded and aggressive; their equipment is mostly military surplus."

“Have we fought?"

Nakhul shook her head and tapped one of the nodes on her graph. “The Houston Militia was part of the joint attack on Turat Kodaw the week before last. My sources tell me the DC sees them as the NPL's enforcers in this sector."

“What does that mean?"

“They do what the NPL won't risk," she answered.

The Native Protection League had been willing to risk quite a bit, all on their own. Darwin knew that this amounted to more of what Ignat scornfully derided as politics. A whole task force of CODA peacekeepers hadn't stopped the violence, after all.

If anything, they'd made it worse. Congress was focused on the decaying situation with their Sanganese rivals off in the north—with good reason, Darwin thought, considering what we know they're smuggling in. They expected the Jericho Business Council to act accordingly.

All of which meant that neither CODA nor the council's security forces were inclined to spend time or effort bringing any private corporate mercenaries to heel. And if they caused trouble along Kashkin's borders, so much the better. “And we're just giving up Aresh."

“Surrendering, again. Tarsh Kodaw. Ha'noja Degh. Kidanja Degh." Tacherat's bitterness built as the tiger listed the other settlements they'd pulled back from in the previous weeks.

In Darwin's mind, those had been different—no more than a family or two, and they'd left voluntarily. Aresh Degh's leader wanted to stay. “But I assume we can't defend them, Nakhul?"

“No, sir. Nobody could. It's in a valley, the access roads are unimproved and easy to cut off, there's no landing strip, the sightlines for defensive batteries are compromised, the—"

“We get the idea."

Kita, the husky, had relatives in the area around Aresh Degh. She understood, outwardly, that the towns couldn't be held. But she also wouldn't stand for inaction. Hill 413 and its communications relay linked the human settlements with their mines in the east. Aresh Degh's inhabitants had paid with their lives: it couldn't simply be abandoned.

Nakhul suggested a promising convoy: packed with ore, it would need to move slowly; their mercenary escort would be comparatively exposed. Darwin asked for volunteers, though that was always a formality—they had more than enough—and headed out himself.

When will we compromise? There must come a point when we have to… when we stop pushing back… when we decide that we've gone too far. Altalanuk would say that. Even Nakhul was frank about the need to give Aresh Degh up; the pragmatism required by the Kashkin's strategic realities was inescapable.

No. His thoughts interrupted themselves; he pushed the notion back.

That's the point. There are voices for the pragmatic. For the craven and collaborators alike. You're not them. You didn't force the ha-Areshja from their homes. There's no intrinsic value to the middle ground. Righteousness doesn't compromise. Even if—

His thumb closed on the detonator, and the road erupted in a bright flare and a geyser of stone and dirt. The leading vehicle in the five-truck convoy pitched into the crater that remained without even a futile attempt at slowing down. There'd been no chance to.

By the time the rifle's scope was to his eye, half a second later, fire was already pouring into the other four trucks. He watched the windows splinter, and the machinery spark and shudder. Flechettes shredded the fabric covers on the cargo beds, exposing the dull ore beneath…

And that was all. The trucks had stopped. Two of them had begun to smoke—the sickly blue pall of compromised equipment somewhere in their ruined vitals. He saw no other movement. Darwin gave caution another thirty seconds before he went to investigate. The Hashida fanned out, checking the vehicles one by one.

Darwin and Kita found two humans in the cab of the first vehicle: ironically the least damaged; soft earth had acted as a shock absorber. Both of them were alive, if dazed. “Careful," Darwin warned.

The sound of his voice through the shattered glass brought the humans to their senses. “What… oh… oh, fuck," one of them groaned. “It's the… it's…"

“So it is," the Border Collie growled. “Get your hands up and we won't hurt you. You're being taken prisoner." Both of them were still disoriented; he repeated the order sharply. “Hands up."

They did. As he went to open the passenger side door, though, he saw the human furthest from him start to move slowly. There was a carbine stowed against the roof. The man's fingers were only a few centimeters away. Shaking—no doubt trying to judge how much time he might have… how good his reflexes would need to be—but working closer.

Darwin started to speak when there was a sudden spray of glass, and the man jerked convulsively and went sprawling, limp. The Border Collie didn't bother checking if he was still alive—the answer was obvious—but for the survivor's benefit he growled an order to Kita to hold her fire lest the husky decide on finishing the job.

“Y-you said you wouldn't harm us."

“He was going for that gun. I didn't think I'd have to tell you not to be stupid, too. Don't be stupid," Darwin spat. “Who are you?"

“Lester. H-Hill. Lester Hill."

“Houston Militia?"

The man shook his trembling head quickly. “No—no, they… they didn't come, they… they said we didn't n-need it. The road's safe."

“So much for that. You'd rather they were here?"

Lester didn't seem to know what the right answer would be. “No," he finally stammered. “They're trouble. They act like they own this place. We don't—none of us like 'em—Nels said he—oh god, Nels… you shot him…"

“The driver?"

“Driver," Lester echoed. “Just. We're all just—I—we're not militia. I'm just a m… a m-mechanic."

“Nobody is just anything. Your employers pay the militia's bills with the money you make for them," Darwin reminded the human. Anything further was interrupted by one of the other Hashida coming to report in.

“Eight—well, nine—other humans, sir. And a bunch of rocks. Nothing living, and the trucks are done for. The APU on one of them is in a bad way. If it fails catastrophically, the reactor's going to be a few minutes behind, at best. We don't want to be around when that happens."

The report, given in Rukhat, went completely over Lester's head. Darwin answered in English. “Understood. Then we'll have to move quickly—without prisoners. How many dead, did you say?"

“Nine, sir."

“How many were killed at Aresh Degh?"

“Uh—"

“Ten," Kita answered.

“Well, then. I suppose she had the right idea." Darwin leveled his rifle at the human, who understood the implication immediately.

“No! Please, we didn't—I never—look. Look—sir. What's your—what's your name?"

Darwin ignored the protests—easy enough; his hyperventilation made him hard to understand in the first place. “My subordinate told me that one of the reactors might be damaged enough to explode. You'll want to run, I believe. Tell the rescue plane to get clear, too."

“You're not going to kill me?"

“No. It's not about evening the score. Instead, you're going to take a message back. You're going to tell your company that they were wrong: it's not safe. Not this road, not Jackson's Pass, not the motor pool… not your own fucking beds. The mines are closed. We're closing them. Don't come back."

***

Colonial Administration Building

Davis, Chartered Colonial Jericho

26/10/2536

Levin was losing his ability to consider any given bit of news objectively. It was, the Border Collie thought, as though the colony was subjected to Newton's laws. Any positive event was checked by an equal opposite negative one.

This could not be true, objectively, but it certainly seemed that way. After the Battle of Elden Kodaw, their border had settled down again—for a fortnight, none of the skirmishes that followed amounted to anything more than property damage. Now that peace was fraying.

Human militias attacked farmers in the hills south of the Arkadiensee—outside the colony's official borders, true, but the land was unclaimed and it hadn't mattered before. Shenkiy assented to abandoning the farms, but not before two dozen citizens had been killed, ten at Aresh Degh alone. As many humans were dead in reprisal attacks, and as distasteful as it might've been Levin knew that when Alta said the sentiment was for vengeance the Ibizan was right.

McKeever Spaceport was open again—trade might even return to normal—but their customs officials were capricious in what ships they chose to reject. Not without cause: every other day brought word of fresh sabotage in the human outlying towns. Kodja stayed cautiously optimistic, General Altalanuk was buoyed by their victory at Elden Kodaw, even if Tascat Degh was still ruined…

Yet Levin couldn't suppress his misgivings. Arkas still wouldn't agree to take their son to a safer colony offworld. It's our home, love, Arkas insisted. But he protested less and less each time. Levin would wear him down eventually. “I almost feel that our accomplishments these days can be measured in the time between crises."

“We're still here," Kodja assured his friend. “Maybe the fighting in the north will have been the end of it. CODA is managing to keep the peace so far. You even told me our projections are better than before."

“Slightly, yes." Levin fought to control his pessimism, though it felt almost like a physical weight that he had to shove away. The dog's smile was only partly honest. “I wouldn't have accepted your offer otherwise, right?"

“Right." Kodja patted the collie's paw. His official tenure as Finance Minister was scarcely a month old; for all intents and purposes Levin had been covering the position since it went vacant a year before.

In truth Levin accepted because he wanted to support his friend, who carried far more of the colony's burdens than any one individual deserved. The ideal pack, as the proverb went, shared such burdens.

The rest of the cabinet filtered in and went through their regular agenda. Minister Shenkiy announced that another four hundred immigrants brought the colony's population above seventy thousand. Minister Korden admitted to a slight delay in finishing the spaceport at Aless Ha'kin but thought it could be done by the fall.

Halinchi ordinarily spoke remotely from the Alliance-flagged starship that served for neutral diplomatic ground; this time she joined them in the flesh, but only brought more troubling news. “There was a new report presented to the joint session. Formal, but we are the intended recipients."

“A report?" Kodja asked for clarification.

“The note was clinical. Two Jericho Business Council members are downsizing their moreau workforce by six hundred units. In the joint session, I was also treated to a brief diatribe about the potential for their workers to be a fifth column of traitors and saboteurs, but I don't think that's on the record. The downsizing is."

“We can absorb that easily," Shenkiy promised; he seemed eager to do so. “It won't be a problem."

The badger shook her head with an ominous, slow subtlety. “It will, because they aren't coming here. I offered to do so, and the council's representative categorically refused to, and I quote, 'expand the ranks of a hostile militia.'"

Shenkiy bristled; his hackles rose. “That's nonsense. There are plenty of peaceful openings in the colony."

“What will happen to them?" Kodja must've known the question needed answering, even if none of them would enjoy hearing it.

“They're being transported off-world, so that they can't cause trouble."

“Where they'll be killed."

Levin watched in dismay as Halinchi's eyes slid from Kodja down to the table. “Yes. That was, in so many words, made clear. The council's liaison stressed to the joint session that they feared for the reliability of their moreaus as long as we are here to incite rebellion."

“What are we going to do?" Shenkiy demanded. His bluster made it hard to tell if he truly thought there was something that could be done. “Did you ask what we could do?"

“Nothing, Shenkiy," Levin said. “We could pay a ransom if they'd take money. It's clearly not about that. Congressional law sees moreaus as capital investment. It's none of our business what they do with it—they have no reason to tell us. They wanted inanu Halinchi to know. They're sending a message."

“Then we send one back," Minister Shenkiy growled. “What about… other matters. General, could we… launch some kind of rescue?"

Halinchi cleared her throat. “My Nakath-Rukhat is imperfect, so… firstly, may we switch back to English, and secondly—did Minister Shenkiy propose military action?"

“He did, yes. And no, we can't." Altalanuk left no ambiguity in her words or her tone, but Shenkiy wouldn't have it. He opened his mouth to speak. “Minister. We can't. I don't have the weaponry to invade Council territory. I don't have the transports to evacuate six hundred individuals on short notice. I don't have the men, I don't have the equipment, and I don't have room to bury every soldier it would cost."

The cabinet fell silent. Kodja's paws folded, tightly clenched. “Is there any potential for negotiation, Halinchi?"

“I'm sorry."

“'No'?"

“I'm sorry," the badger repeated. “I don't see it. This is their way of… creating consequences for us. Congress knows that, too. They're providing the transports."

“Shared guilt." Understanding Shenkiy's words through his growls took them all a few seconds—Levin didn't know at first if he was speaking English or Rukhat. “Criminals…"

Halinchi didn't bother trying to calm him down; as soon as she deciphered his rumbling speech she answered his question straight. “No, the best of a bad situation. They mean it that way, anyhow. Congressional transportation means they'll survive until their final destination rather than just being thrown out an airlock."

“Is that our chance?"

“I think so, Kodja, yes. We've put out discreet inquiries to our contacts in the shipping industry. If we get lucky, we'll be able to pick them up on the far end. The chances for success depend on the limits of human vindictiveness."

After the meeting ended, Kodja proved to be inconsolable. Levin had to leave his friend; he tracked down Halinchi, who was waiting for a transport to take her back to the joint session starship.

“Minister Levin." The badger nodded politely.

“Could we have done anything different?"

“Perhaps, yes. But what would it have mattered?"

***

al-Hashida Cell A den

Irjakh, Chartered Colonial Jericho

3/11/2536

Darwin didn't mention the fact that their intelligence hadn't come from the Defense Committee. He didn't know where it had come from exactly, but the source had to have been human. No moreaus would've been allowed access to a transmitter in the Jericho Business Council, not after everything that had happened.

The window of opportunity would be extremely small, and it was by far the biggest operation that al-Hashida had attempted. Tacherat, the tiger who had become their second-in-command, saw the conflict in Darwin's eyes.

“It's for the best," Tacherat insisted.

The Border Collie shook his head. “I know. But I want to be there on the ground. In case anything goes wrong. In case we have to change things. I don't distrust you, comrade."

“I would never say otherwise," Tacherat assured him. “You need to be here. Undistracted. If… 'anything goes wrong,' as you say, we'll need a clear head."

The clearest parts of Darwin's head were the details of the operation; everything else seemed fuzzy. But it was true: he had other responsibilities, more complex and less pleasant than mere destruction.

General Altalanuk accepted his request for an in-person meeting; she arrived at the café in Chadagh driving a Defense Committee car—alone. The Ibizan's glare, directed across the table, told him they remained on poor terms. He accepted that; he had done little to make her life easier in the short term.

“You asked to be informed of our operations, general. We've done that."

“Yes," she allowed. “Transmitting directly to my intelligence department from a network of mobile repeaters. Something's different."

“We're going to destroy the ships Congress is using to transport the JBC's moreaus. Tomorrow. I wanted you to know."

She froze, saying nothing, not even breathing. Their server returned with a tray: two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits, which he set between the two of them and retreated silently. Her expression flickered.

“Was that… surprise I read in your expression?"

“It was caution. Which I thought prudent, but…" She lifted the lid of the teapot to check the contents. “The waiter. Master Sergeant Kashal?"

“One of our sensor operators," Darwin confirmed. “This is safe territory. If I consider it safe, then…"

“Fine." Altalanuk broke a tea biscuit in half, sniffed it carefully, and took a bite. “You can't attack the ships, Darwin. I'll have to move on your organization if you insist on doing so."

“We'll attack them on the ground. There will be no casualties."

Alta listened carefully and thoughtfully consumed the rest of the biscuit. “You can't have the resources to stage an operation in human territory. It's more complex than that, then, I imagine?"

“We've acquired a battery of Sanganese rockets, and adapted the precision guidance systems designed by the shops in Irjakh. The kind of ships the humans are using… well, they'll be powered down. It won't take many impacts to disable them permanently."

In the Border Collie's brief tenure with the Defense Committee, their commander had consistently struck him as unflappable. It was even something of a weakness; he found it hard to believe she was sufficiently invested in the colony. Her gaze was impossible to read.

“Six rockets," he went on. “We haven't been able to test them, of course."

“The spaceport has enough defense capacity to absorb twenty times that, though."

“Sympathetic contacts within the JBC have leaked the access codes to the local network. We'll infiltrate McKeever and disable the power for the central guidance systems and the link to the secured router."

“How long does that buy you? Thirty seconds?"

“If we're lucky, as much as ninety. Thirty is reasonable, yes."

Altalanuk poured herself a cup of tea. “If the ships were private, it would be one thing. Attacking Congressional assets will bring them down on us."

“They might not know it's us. We've taken… other measures. I'm trusting you, general. I know that, in a sense, I betrayed your trust. But now I'm trusting you." He had a data chip in the breast pocket of his vest; he slid it across the table and, as if it was a continuation of the same fluid movement, the Ibizan picked it back up.

Finally, she took a sip. “I can't help you. You're on your own, Darwin."

She agreed to nothing else through the rest of their meeting. But nor did she arrest any of the Hashida, and Darwin realized that meant she had given them tacit permission. If he wanted to allow himself more optimism, that meant she thought it had a reasonable chance of success.

Either way, there was now nothing to stop them. He ordered the rocket team into position, with Tacherat supervising them directly. He checked and double-checked the intelligence reports, and the careful sequence they'd planned and rehearsed. It will work. This will work.

It was only a matter of actually doing the damned thing.

The Border Collie felt a little ridiculous, wearing a tactical information visor in the safety of an active lumber yard's supply office. But the others already had them on and the atmosphere was tense. “Scheduled upload from Gena," a quiet voice from off to his side announced. Kashal; the samoyed no longer went by 'master sergeant.'

Darwin's computer decrypted the data packet, and the images spread out on the inside of his visor. The three freighters were exactly where they expected them to be. Infrared imagery confirmed to his satisfaction that the reactors were powered down and the ships were uncrewed—and unguarded. “Start the clock."

'Gena' was a human colleague of Ignat; none of them knew what their real name might've been. Darwin didn't even want to start the process of prying, lest it trigger some security protocols for no good reason. Ignat didn't think Gena was the source of their information on the freighters or the McKeever access codes.

CODA, the Colonial Defense Authority, had a task force stationed in orbit. It disappeared over the far horizon, also on schedule; they weren't spending the fuel budget to keep any of their assets over the planet's surface. That, too, formed a sort of countdown timer—the last time the task force would be providing updated imagery to anybody asking for it on the spaceport.

Darwin sent the signal for the rocket artillery team to move into position, from one carefully disguised hiding place to another. That was supposed to take twenty minutes; Gena transmitted every fifteen, hiding the update as a burst of noise on a regular maintenance broadcast.

Two transmissions later the rockets were ready. Gena sent precise coordinates; the team in the office forwarded the firing solution to their comrades manning the artillery. The Border Collie brushed his computer with a finger and the checklist came up, already mostly green.

“Comms traffic?" he asked.

“Orbital control band is clear," Kashal answered. “Security band is clear. Military band is clear. The reserved channels are… wait one. Interference from the link at Sedi Ha'chagha. They're energizing for a transmission. It's being passed through to the satellite link at Terr Kuhinja."

His fingers tightened, claws dragging the computer's surface. “Can you tell the recipient? Are they warning the humans?"

“I can't tell, sir. The traffic is encrypted. It looks like our diplomatic codes, at a first glance, but I can't reverse the protocol in real-time."

Perhaps, then, it was nothing at all. Darwin put it out of his mind—they could look at the message later, when they had the opportunity to decode it. If they had the opportunity. “Save it for later. Switch to active reconnaissance on the spaceport."

Somewhere inside McKeever, Gena—whoever they were—logged themselves in to the control network. Fifteen seconds later the power system recorded a transient surge and shut down protectively; the main guidance computer monitoring the spaceport's perimeter went with it.

“Launch signal from the rocket battery," Kashal said, flatly.

By then one of the engineers at McKeever noticed the guidance system failure. That was no problem; each of the defensive lasers batteries had their own backups. One signal was all it would take. The signal went out. The batteries—completely automated—rejected it at once.

They had tried to confirm the command's validity by matching its signature against the one provided by the security servers. Those, two, had been disabled. Had the engineer known that he might've acted differently; instead he sent the command again, and again it was rejected.

He read the rest of the error message, which prompted him to enter his fingerprint for authentication instead. Thirty seconds had now elapsed. Grumbling about their ancient equipment and its constant failures, the engineer did as he was asked. There was dust from a powdered donut on his finger; he had to try again. Thirty-four seconds after the system shut down, the defensive batteries powered on their own radars.

Honeywell quoted a five hundred millisecond startup time and a hundred-millisecond time to acquire a positional fix. In practice it took twice that.

Thirty-six seconds had gone by: the radars flashed a dramatic alarm and the cannons swung up into firing position.

At the same time, Kashal watched his connections drop. “No signal from the rockets," the samoyed announced. They didn't need to tell the rocket crew, who had fled immediately after the launch. None of them could change anything once the missiles were in flight. Nobody in the office could, either.

Kashal had plenty to do, anyway. The orbital control radio bands were ominously, immediately active, along with the military band and the local security network. Gena's next scheduled transmission was essentially a formality.

Darwin thanked the others, though if anything the adrenaline had worsened. It wouldn't truly get better until the rocket crews—out of contact for their own safety—had returned to Kashkin; he saw the way his smile intensified their own, and was immediately back at ease.

Before he considered the matter closed entirely he went back to the mill one last time. Nobody remained but a single guard and Kashal. The samoyed had been waiting for him. “We were able to decode the message from Ha'chagha, sir. We caught a lucky break, actually—the coastal transmitters don't support our new encryption protocols."

“Is it anything interesting?"

“See for yourself."

It was a text-only message, a cable sent between two of the civilian government's highest authorities. Darwin immediately realized why Kashal wanted him to see it.

TO: In. Korteran Halinchi [eyes only]

PRIORITY: Emergency

Excuse brevity, am on exercises at coast. Confirm per cabinet meeting federal ships LEOPOLDO, CINCINNATI, PRINCESS JULIA are intended for live transport. Have been informed Sangan intel lists manifest as materiel details of intercept attached. Your reply required immediately with explanation of this disagreement.

FROM: General Altalanuk, Commander, Jericho Defense Committee

He did not have to look at the attached data to know what it contained. The document was an urgent message from one of the Sanganese families describing the contents of the freighters as heavy weaponry: walking tanks, medium-range atomic rockets, gunship munitions.

It was a forgery, though they'd used genuine diplomatic signing keys. And perhaps—since the same manifest had been leaked to susceptible Sanganese contacts—no forgery was even needed. Either way, Alta had understood. Darwin had yet another reason to smile.

***

Colonial Administration Building

Davis, Chartered Colonial Jericho

4/11/2536

“What happened? You have to have some idea what happened." Kodja didn't know how to describe the emotion he felt. Anger? Surprise? Panic? The golden retriever had been forwarded a furious communiqué from the president of the Jericho Business Council's governing board, a second from the commander of the immensely powerful CODA task force waiting to rain destruction on the whole colony from orbit; a third from the sector ecclesia was waiting by the time he made his way to the capitol building.

“We don't know. Everything is confused." Halinchi spoke via hologram; the badger had escaped from an emergency session of the ecclesia and the Congressional Joint Administration Working Group to brief him. “Is it clearer on the surface?"

“Apparently there weren't any fatalities, but the damage is extensive. Three ships are a total loss. Half an hour ago, the JBC released a statement calling the attack 'premeditated' and 'complex.'" The crisis had no budgetary implications; Levin had taken it upon himself to filter the news coming in for the rest of the cabinet.

“Alta might know more. I replied to you, general," Halinchi said.

Kodja's eyes turned with the rest of the cabinet to Altalanuk. The Ibizan nodded. “I received your reply. A point of order—please double-check the encryption methods in your message, inanu Halinchi. I only transmitted with our old protocol because of extenuating circumstances. This is a security risk."

“Understood, general; my apologies. Your thoughts?"

“Our intelligence department was leaked an intercept from Sanganese intelligence. They said the freighters were carrying heavy weaponry—beyond that authorized for corporate ownership in a controlled zone. I was at the coast when I received this; I asked Halinchi to investigate."

Minister Shenkiy, who Kodja found had been growing defensive to the point of paranoia, stood at once. “They're bringing in weapons? They can't be allowed to ship in weapons. Alta, what are we going to do about that?"

Alta translated from Rukhat into English, and Kodja noticed she left off most of the fury in his tone. “Inanu Halinchi, inana Shenkiy wishes to know what we have done with this intelligence."

The same sense of chaos and confusion was plain on the badger's face. “I was in the process of lodging a formal request for information when we received word of the attack. They've been too busy yelling, since, but I was able to get confirmation that the ships aren't approved to carry arms."

“Well!" Shenkiy grumbled and growled his way into the effort needed to speak in English so that Halinchi could follow. “If they were carrying weapons, I say it's good we destroyed them."

“We didn't," Altalanuk said. “Shenkiy, I have made it clear that the Defense Committee doesn't have the ability to carry out this kind of action."

A year ago and that, Kodja recalled wistfully, would've been the end of it. Now Alta's DC was not the only armed party to consider. “What about the others? The Hashida?" He saw that Halinchi's hologram was leaning forward, waiting for an answer like everyone else in the cabinet.

The Ibizan splayed her long fingers against the table, as if trying to show she had nothing to hide—or, perhaps, as if bracing herself. “I can offer no flat denial. In the past, the DC has always transmitted advanced notice of their operations to our intelligence center. We received no such warning… or if we did, it never reached my desk."

“They tell you what they're doing?"

The ghost of a smile worked its way through the Ibizan's muzzle. “Yes, Levin."

“I thought the DC didn't work with those terrorists? You said the DC was purged of al-Hashida sympathizers."

“It is, and we don't." She spoke with a flat, calculated calm.

“Then why do they tell you?"

“Because I asked them to. I can't disarm the Hashida without bloodshed, as I've said before. Asking to be kept informed was my… compromise. It permits me to activate the reserve if I think there might be reprisals—but convoy attacks and minor acts of sabotage have never done so. This is different, obviously."

Obviously. Kodja thought of Nuri's faith that he would rise to such occasions. He took a deep breath. “General. Be absolutely clear with us one final time: we did not attack those ships? We had nothing to do with it?"

“We did not. The whole cabinet knows my reputation for overcautiousness. If we attack the humans, you'll know when I order a general mobilization and you all complain about the inconvenience. We didn't mobilize until two hours ago."

Kodja was modestly reassured to hear of the colony's innocence—but that meant they had no better idea of what was happening. “And the human militias? Have they done the same?"

“Yes. The JBC border outposts are on alert and they've doubled their patrol strength. There hasn't been any shooting, for what that's worth."

“Hopefully there won't be. Inanu Halinchi, summarize this discussion to the ecclesia so they know how we've reached our course of action. I'll put out a statement publicly disavowing any connection with this act of terrorism. General, tell your forces to stand down."

“Until we know they're going to do the same, I strongly advise we do not."

“Noted. Do it anyway."

Alta, unlike Shenkiy, had sufficient decorum not to challenge him before the cabinet. The Ibizan nodded and left the room to do as she'd been told. In half an hour, she passed along the information that, slowly, their human counterparts were standing down, too.

It didn't add up to quite enough for Kodja to believe that a crisis had truly been averted. At least there'd been no invasion; by the evening he felt comfortable dismissing the cabinet back to their regular duties.

Halinchi arrived the next morning, on an early flight from the Working Group vessel. Yet again she'd clearly been up all night… but she said that the humans had, too; everyone was alarmed by what had happened. And the Joint Administration Working Group, despite the awkwardness of its name, was proving its value.

“It is?"

“There's no shooting, is there?"

“Fair enough. Does anyone know what actually happened?"

“The official report will take time. I've seen a draft, though. And again, sir, this is a good sign. If they're showing me any kind of draft for a report like that, it's because they're not going to demand reparations. Or try to justify an invasion."

Kodja took the small victories where he could find them. “The early suspicions fall on someone else?"

“Human intrigue. Sanganese equipment was found in the debris. We can't authenticate the message Altalanuk sent us, and I don't know where she got it, but CODA intelligence must've intercepted the same thing… they didn't seem surprised."

But the Jericho Business Council bayed for blood, and Halinchi said their demands were destined to force the hand of the Yucatec sector ecclesia back on Gemini. She'd been given a draft of something else, a formal agreement.

“It's less a peace treaty or a cease-fire than an instrument of surrender," the badger said bitterly. Kodja listened as calmly as he could to the terms. Total disarmament of the corporate militias and the Hashida terrorists. Regular inspections and surveillance by CODA patrols to ensure compliance.

Another 'joint committee' to study the colonial borders, this one far less friendly. Halinchi didn't have to tell him would inevitably mean ceding territory to the businessmen. Further restrictions on immigration, with McKeever Spaceport personnel having a line-item veto on every passenger manifest.

“Shenkiy will say that's unacceptable."

Halinchi could do nothing but shake her head. “Wait until Alta hears about the military posture. Not just disarmament for the militias—they're proposing that our defense budget be directly proportional to the economic value of our assets. Obviously the Jericho Business Council has more."

“Do we get anything out of this?"

“CODA takes over the checkpoints, and they're guaranteed by congressional mandate. The little bit of land we have, we keep. At least until everyone's no longer distracted by the Sanganese expansion in the north."

“It's so… vindictive. But maybe they don't mean it that way. It's only pragmatism, right? Buying time, and… and they're giving more concessions to the Jericho Business Council because they're the ones who've been causing the most trouble. Am I naive, Halinchi?"

“You might be, but in this case I agree—there's that old saying, about the squeaky wheel getting the grease? They're giving the JBC some grease, but it's obvious that they're worried, too."

“Worried?"

“The Foreign Ministry believes that open conflict between the Yucatan Alliance and the Sanganese families is inevitable. CODA's task force is too big, with too many supply ships… they're preparing for sustained, major operations, not just peacekeeping."

“Congress hopes if the JBC is convinced they could defeat us any time, they'll be willing to take part in the fighting?"

“Exactly. Remember what Grey Palmer said, months ago? The authorization for the council to even raise an army is based on the idea that it would be used for self-defense against the Sangan Kingdom. It was a convenient fig leaf."

“A what?"

“A cover story. An excuse. Now it looks like the first shots may come from the Kingdom—that bluff is being called, by Congress and the JBC alike."

He asked if the cease-fire agreement was a bluff in and of itself—if they were stalling for time, or attempting some form of deception. Kodja had, before, assumed that any of them would jump in an instant at the opportunity to take out their frustrations with the colony.

“I wouldn't go that far. This attack and the Sanganese connection... it's all very unsettled."

“Do any of them blame us?"

“Not officially, Kodja, but they have their suspicions. Just like you and I."

“What are yours?"

“Alta knows more than she's letting on. My sources tell me that she scheduled an drill on the western coast with only three hours' notice. It was for one of our antimissile batteries."

“So?"

“According to the general, she wanted to test their readiness on short notice. I asked my military advisor for a dissenting opinion. He points out a plausible alternative: that she knew a rocket attack was coming and wanted to be ready to stop it if we were the target."

“So she lied when she said she was caught off guard?"

The badger said nothing.

“Halinchi?"

“I don't fucking know!" After the outburst she gritted her teeth and shut her eyes tightly. “I… I don't know. If it was us, why didn't she put the DC on alert? Where did she get Sangan weapons? If it wasn't us, how did she know? Why did she wait to tell me?"

“Maybe it was a coincidence."

“She said it was important I get the message she sent—important enough to use the obsolete local transmitters. Remember how she told me to watch my encryption? I got the same talk from my security chief. The codes are old—vulnerable. Alta said it was extenuating circumstances, but… but… she doesn't slip up like that, Kodja. Nothing makes sense. But what does it matter? We have what we have. It's unlikely to get better."

“It's your opinion that we need to accept the offer, then?"

“I'll do what I can to soften the terms, but... yes. Will you put it to the cabinet?"

“For a vote?" Kodja shook his head. “To surrender even the fiction of our autonomy—is that the kind of thing you vote on?"

“I think they should have a say, but honestly... it's that or taking unilateral action. Maybe that will be necessary."

“We might as well not voice the unthinkable while we have the chance not to."

“While we have the chance? No, perhaps not. The fact remains, Kodja: you have to be our leader now. It wasn't what you asked for... this wasn't what any of us asked for. But if it comes down to it..."

***

Central Command, Council Military Authority

Ford City, Yucatec Jericho

5/11/2536

“You understand this is your failure, don't you?" Officially, as he understood it, Elodie was 'Vice President, Contingency Operations' for GE's Jericho campus. Practically she had taken to acting as an unshootable messenger for the Jericho Business Council.

Was she acting on her own authority? On the council's? Colonel Kastner didn't know for certain. All he really knew was that he hadn't been able to get rid of her. “I don't see how it is. Responsibility for port security lies with the port, not with me."

“You didn't know the Pathies were going to attack us. You didn't do anything to stop them. And by the time you finally reacted, the attackers were gone. It's your failure. You need to deal with it."

“How do you propose I do that?"

“We have six hundred units taking up food, water, and power. Congress won't replace those freighters. You need to take care of it."

“Do I, then."

Elodie snorted. “It's your job, but I kind of figured you'd be stubborn. Here. Sixteen thousand obol bonus for dealing with this, and the Board will forgive your failure. For now." She tossed a data card on his desk, wheeled, and stormed out.

Beautiful. This is just fucking beautiful.

Max Kastner didn't blame Congress. He didn't want to imagine the conversations between the JBC's Governance Board and either the sector ecclesia or the military attaché from the Colonial Defense Authority task force. It was, no doubt, just as aggressive.

Beautiful. Kastner understood now why his predecessor tried to warn him off taking the assignment. Subtly, but clearly. They think they want a military but they don't know how to use it. They're just checking a box. It'll be maddening.

But it was also a fivefold increase in salary for a former chartered police commander, and a private car, and a ten percent bonus paid under the table. Kastner called for his adjutant, less because he needed her administrative support than because he needed her history in dealing with this particular new problem.

“The data card says they need to go away, and they can't wind up in puppy paradise south of the lake."

Lea Weisz had the look of a grandmother: greying hair tied back in a tight bun, thin glasses; lined face. Her clear, ice-blue eyes flickered as she scanned the card. “Six hundred. Hm."

“You had experience with this before, right? You worked with pacification units."

“Yes. It was mostly the same thing, even."

“For a biomed firm?"

“Agriculture. ADM shut down a plantation and didn't want any of their stock showing up in the black market, diluting value—they had breeding certs, after all. That was probably why they hired us—that colony had the largest breeding population in the sector."

Kastner had no interest in dwelling on the filthy particulars of moreau reproduction, and he was a little unsettled by the way she'd volunteered the information. “Do you have any advice? What did you do with them?"

“We shot them."

Every morning, Colonel Kastner reviewed the disposition of the Council Military Authority, over which he was notionally the single commander. It was, by the numbers, quite formidable.

Each of his two brigades—one in the west, one in the east—was identical. A tank battalion with sixty walkers: old Denel Rooijakkals, to be sure, but still competent. Two infantry battalions, complete with armored cars and the best civilian-grade powered armor. Two security battalions, with riot gear and fast hovercraft and drones.

Fourteen thousand men, and their most important task was shooting six hundred dogs to keep them from running away. Max didn't know whether he was more unnerved to think that the CMA wasn't up for the task or to think that they were. “You shot them," he echoed.

“Right. Our experience taught me that it's not the kind of job that gets volunteers. It bothers people. You'll need to pay them… ADM wound up paying fifty obols a head. That would eat up your bonus, though, and a bit more."

“That's not my main concern." The tone of offense in his voice was probably unearned; he knew he lacked the moral authority to take too much umbrage at the accusation of taking blood money.

“You could ask the auxiliaries. They'd do it."

That was as inarguable as it was unacceptable. “No—God, no. There's no way it doesn't get out. The puppies will have a fit when it does. And I don't trust them."

“The moreaus?"

“The auxiliaries. They'll do something awful, Lea. They'll… set them on fire or something. Horrible publicity." Things would only spiral further out of control.

That, too, his predecessor had hinted at. The JBC wanted the moreau colony gone. The land was valuable; more than that, its existence threatened the use of moreau labor—not only on Jericho but, to some degree, everywhere else as well.

Now the colony was too well-established to fail on its own, and the JBC had turned to an aggressive, well-funded marketing campaign portraying its existence as a mortal threat. It had worked to secure funding for the military Kastner now commanded, and Congressional intervention in the form of a CODA task force.

It had also fostered a degree of enmity in the average employee that, perhaps, the Governance Board hadn't anticipated. The militias—deceptively called 'auxiliaries'—were one example. The Board liked them; Elodie asked often why the CMA couldn't be as aggressive and openly hostile.

Kastner thought they were dangerous. No, the militias would have to be left out of it. “We need a different option. One we can take care of ourselves."

Missing from Lea's grandmotherly air was the smile she gave him. He'd seen it before: cold, giving the odd impression of crooked, dripping fangs despite her straight white teeth. “Well… if you don't trust the auxiliaries, do you trust our men?"

“I trust them more, at least."

“Then hand the dogs out. Give them for free to anyone who wants them—with the understanding that they're not to cross the border. You'll get a few hundred interested parties, and the problem will take care of itself."

“Hmm. What about the rest?"

She shrugged, as if he'd asked about her plans for dinner. “Hire a lighter. Dump them in the south sea—it'll be a few thousand for the rental; a few more for a bribe. It's so far away that… well, the odds are good nobody will ever even know."

“A few thousand. Five? Can you do it for five?"

“I know a few, don't worry. Give me five thousand obols and I can handle it, Max."

“Done. Two thousand more if we go a month and I don't hear anything."

That eerie smile cracked her serene face again. “Oh, then it's a deal, for sure. I've got a kitchen to remodel, and you've got hands to keep clean. Say—do you want one of the dogs? I can pick one out for you."

“What would I do with a dog?"

“I dunno. Maybe you find something. Can always throw it out later."

“That simple, huh?"

“Of course it is. What do you say?"

“Well, hell. Why not?"

***

Colonial Administration Building

Davis, Chartered Colonial Jericho

11/11/2536

“It is more than an injustice, administrator Kodja—it is an outrage. All the time that I've spent building this colony—helping you to build this colony—and we see now the plain truth of what they want. It is utterly, completely unacceptable. I'm ashamed to be in the same room with packmates who would consent to our return to slavery and—"

Kodja rapped his fist against the table, jolting Shenkiy from his diatribe. “Watch yourself, inana. They have their reasons. You've heard them."

“I've heard that the humans presume to violate our borders. That they insist on blessing every new member of our family, denying us the very essence of autonomy and the ability to chart our own destiny. And the pretense—that we dared stand up to them when they murdered our kin—yes." The mongrel growled, and directed his glare at Levin. “Yes, I said I murdered and I said kin. Administrator, I cannot agree to this. I say no."

Altalanuk had, of course, fully expected Shenkiy to vote against agreeing to the terms of the congressional armistice. She also expected the anger in his words. There hadn't really been any surprises. Transportation Minister Korden voted in favor, as did Finance Minister Levin—both for the same reasons. It was that, they said, or annihilation.

Perhaps that meant they expected her to save them. Kodja tilted his paw to the Ibizan hound. “Noted. Inanu Altalanuk, what do you say?"

“The Defense Committee is as strong now as it has ever been, administrator. We can raise, on short notice, three thousand soldiers. Our deficiencies in small arms and ammunition persist, and we continue to suffer from a shortage of heavy weaponry—but we have, I feel, demonstrated our ability to hold our own."

“You see? We could take them on!" Shenkiy spoke up, and took the opportunity to glare at Levin again.

“I am not given to share inana Shenkiy's exuberance—our engagements have been costly. But I agree that we can't in good conscience agree to deprive our state of its means to defend itself. The proposal would limit us to a force of no more than six or seven hundred, with no armor and no artillery. I cannot approve of this.

“That is not, to be clear, my largest concern. Disarming al-Hashida will be costly. There will be fighting—this treaty will divide packmate against packmate and we should all understand that this is exactly what they wanted. The desire to purchase a few more years of subservient existence might be tempting. But this is a death warrant."

“Your vote is no, Alta?"

She nodded. “We can't consent. The Defense Committee will never grant its consent. Not while I'm in command."

Kodja sighed heavily—and was it merely a trick of the light, or was the retriever's golden muzzle starting to whiten? “I already expect your resignation, Talla." He paused and, considering the presence of the others in the room, changed his phrasing from something so familiar. “Eltakit Altalanuk."

He almost never used her rank; she understood that this was his way of deferring to her as a military leader, instead of as his friend or even any other minister. It was a token that she appreciated, even if it didn't really matter. “I won't trouble you with the gesture, administrator."

Kodja shook his head. “You may. I'll accept it, inanu Alta."

She felt suddenly exposed—shock rendering her vulnerable and transparent. Her ears had abruptly, involuntarily splayed. “You will?"

“I can hardly force you to stay on, given the circumstances. You've done much for us, Alta. I don't claim to know what would be too much, but…"

The treaty counted, surely. It called into question everything they'd worked for—so much so that she hadn't even bothered to voice her concerns to the administrator in anything but the clinical language of her final report. He'd already anticipated them. “If this isn't, Kodja, nothing is."

“I know. I wouldn't blame you."

Altalanuk had thought, many times, of resigning. And each time she had decided that it was an impossibility. Even if Kodja took it without protest, her relationship to the Kashkin would be permanently sundered. She got her ears back up. “Inanja, may we have a few minutes of privacy?"

Foreign Minister Halinchi was in a closed session with the human diplomats, and had not yet cast her vote. Alta knew the badger would, no matter how reluctantly, approve. That would put the cabinet at three in favor and three against—the Minister of Justice sided with Shenkiy on principle and the rest abstained—and Kodja would let his eternal pragmatism cast the tiebreaking decision.

“You may as well, Talla," he told her gently, in the quiet room. “There's other work here for you. We can go back to drinking tea on the Ikashta promenade. I can't ask this of you. It's not right."

Many years had come and gone since the last time they'd taken in a warm sunset on the promenade—the south side of the Arkadiensee dam, looking east to the placid water of the reservoir. “I might even like that," she admitted. “But I can't ask that of you, Kodja."

“What do you mean?"

“The last thing you need right now is for the Defense Committee to be left rudderless. Colonel Sol is a competent bureaucrat, and I know that you like him. I do, too. But he won't be able to manage the more… restive… in the DC. I said that we'd never consent—we won't. But we're not in control, Kodja, you are. We have to listen. I have to make them listen."

In the worst-case scenario, she foresaw the committee splintering. None of them desired disarmament. Some would fight—maybe they wouldn't even join the Hashida. Maybe they would take the remnants of the Defense Committee, and the weapons she'd so carefully stockpiled, and decide that even Darwin was too restrained.

Down that path lay catastrophe. Kodja deserved better. The colony deserved better. It was not about her retirement, or finding a place in the few years of peace that would follow. She would stand with him, much as it pained her. That was the price of her station.

It had to be paid.

***

Woodhill Township

Near the eastern border of the Chartered Colony

3/4/2525

Khalizai wasn't given to thinking of himself as being particularly artistic. Of course, his mate disagreed—she would remind him immediately of the creativity involved in military strategy. Perhaps it was a fair statement; even so, the husky could never picture himself before an easel or putting the finishing touches on a poem.

Artistry and imagination wouldn't be required to predict the coming news bulletins.

TERRORISTS LEVEL WOODHILL: SIX INJURED, 30 HOMELESS

Militants from the unrecognized Free Jericho movement attacked and destroyed the town of Woodhill this morning, driving its thirty residents east with only the belongings they could carry. The leader of the terrorist faction, Captain 'Club' Colliezan, had previously reiterated his intentions of cleansing Free Jericho of human inhabitants…

If any of the human settlers had been carrying recorders, the bulletin would naturally render the destruction in glorious, garish, three-dimensional detail. If not—and honestly given the speed of the operation he doubted there was any record—the bulletin would carry an 'artistic representation' instead. Generally in such representations Khalizai was depicted as a Border Collie: the sound of his name made for a false cognate. No doubt that was also why they translated kattan as 'captain.'

He didn't really care; it wasn't like he needed them to show what he looked like. He was fine with staying enigmatic. And they wouldn't have appreciated the subtle use of referring to the Committee's leader as 'captain,' anyway—the implication it carried in Rukhat of one guiding them to their destination, utterly responsible for their safety.

Khalizai bent down to examine the shattered remains of a plaque, its lettering obscured by dust. Property of W, he deciphered from one piece. orized personnel o. The husky's claws raked through the bits of rubble. ransfor.

WS300 Generator-Transformer

Property of Woodhill, Jericho

Service or repair by authorized personnel only

They had left nothing of the WS300 to repair. They had, indeed, left nothing at all—the longer he looked at the ceramic, the more certain Khalizai became that it had cracked in the heat of the recently extinguished fires rather than damaged in any structural collapse.

Defense Committee forces made good on a promise to evict remaining squatters west of the Uchdawan River and inside the Chartered Colony's borders with the capture of 'Woodhill,' a human settlement east of Kir Kodaw. DC head Colonel Khalizai confirmed the success of the operation, which caused no fatalities, in a statement this afternoon…

Or perhaps the Rukhat-speaking reporters wouldn't focus on the promise. Perhaps their summary would be even simpler, confirming only the lack of deaths and the sudden absence of human occupants in the town. There wouldn't be any holograms.

Altalanuk returned from a circuit of the perimeter to find him sitting on a pile of masonry, still warm from the flames. The suppressants did their job well enough, but the DC had been quite thorough in their destruction. Another few degrees and the temperature would have been dangerous instead of merely uncomfortable.

“It's clear, Kha'zai," Alta said. “There are no humans left, and no sign of any traps or mines or anything…"

“'Traps'?" The husky kicked one of the bricks at his feet away from the pile. “I highly doubt there ever were any to begin with. Not all farmers are so…"

A sergeant accompanying the Ibizan—a mixed-breed dog with a sharp mind and a sharper tongue—saw that he didn't intend to finish. “Effective. They won't bother us again, sir."

“They didn't bother the DC to begin with." Once he'd pointed it out, though, Khalizai was no longer sure why he'd bothered. The raid was made up of volunteers; the sergeant must've had some connection to the area or she wouldn't have come along. There was little reason to expect sympathy. “Either way, yes. It's done."

“Go check in with the radioman, sergeant," Alta ordered. “See if Davis has responded yet."

“Yes, ma'am."

Altalanuk waited until she was out of earshot. “You have regrets, Kha'zai? They brought it on themselves. If not by the occupation, then—"

“Yes, I know."

They were hardly innocent, of course. Woodhill farmers had long been a nuisance—sniping at stray cattle and sabotaging the road that led west and deeper into the Jericho colony. Even ignoring that, as Alta said the village lay within the moreau's notional land grant. They didn't belong.

Khalizai expected it was more complicated than the dismissive way his mate said 'they brought it on themselves.' He didn't think they chose to live within the colony's borders because it was the best option available to them. Either they had nowhere else to go—in which case they were not really his problem—or they did so as deliberate provocation.

“You think we were overenthusiastic?"

However much the humans deserved it, the fact remained that Woodhill had been utterly obliterated. The fields were nothing but ash and only scrap was left of the farm equipment. And the DC had handily removed any possible excuse for return: there was no personal property for anyone to collect. Nothing had survived, unless the broken transformer plaque carried sentimental value.

If his mate thought that he'd become too soft-hearted, Khalizai could depend on her going through the rest of the litany. Defending the colony's borders was an absolute requirement, and that meant clearing any illegal human settlements. Woodhill was the last of those. In some sense that made it a much more significant victory. He knew that.

And he knew—yassuja, how I know—that the Defense Committee had been chafing for over a year to clear out Woodhill. Maybe that was why the volunteers had been so eager. Maybe that was why they'd given the residents only ten minutes' warning. Twenty minutes, one human had protested, would let them retrieve a truck parked at one of the farmers and load their belongings into it.

“I know that truck, sir," a platoon lieutenant explained in Nakath-Rukhat. “I'd recognize it anywhere. Old S5200 with an open bed—the one they use to poach my family's sheep."

“Ours too," another soldier added. “My brother got a shot off on it… didn't stop them… never has…"

He'd given them ten minutes, and not a second more. The truck was now a charred heap of melted, useless metal. He'd watched the lieutenant empty his sidearm into the wreckage, long after it no longer mattered.

“This is the end of it," he told Altalanuk. The husky couldn't swear—wasn't nearly foolish enough to swear—that they might forge some lasting peace with their human neighbors. But saying it felt reassuring.

“It should be, yes. With luck."

His ear flicked. “It is the end," he repeated, words and the thought behind them coming at the same time. “I'm stepping down as the head of the Committee."

His mate blinked, tilting her head first one way and then the other. “Yassuja. You're serious, Kha'zai, aren't you?"

“I am. I'll add my formal recommendation that you take over in my stead, but I doubt very much it'll matter." A weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and as it fled, it drew his muzzle up in a smile, too. “I might not even get the chance."

“No?"

He laughed, briefly thought of the last time he'd heard the sound from his own muzzle, and decided the answer was irrelevant. “You're the one who talked Kodja into making border security part of his reelection campaign, Talla. Even if you weren't friends, you've proven yourself."

“So have you."

“Yes. For… this." He stood, gesturing to the vacated rubble. “For making our borders real. Making them mean something. That's over now."

“There's so much left to do," the Ibizan insisted. “You're not finished."

“I am. You aren't, Talla. Our comrades… they believe in the colony, in the DC, in us… they've been given reason to. Passion was good enough to take us this far. But these pups… these wild, angry pups… it requires more than passion to meet what comes next. To sustain them when there isn't a town for them to burn to ashes."

“I'm not certain I'm any more suited for that than you are, Kha'zai."

A fresh smile worked across his muzzle.

He recalled an interview he'd seen early on in his military service: part of the Rukhat-language network that CODA adopted when more moreaus were starting to enlist. The interview subject was a Border Collie named Runshana, the first nakath to be promoted to flag rank.

Najar-Kenera Runshana, rag dakhiy hukhul ena dihishun al-kigat?

Al-dihishun sajikakilla hukhu sha kitja, sha al-tago kit. Jo, al-keth nan tago kit, taguk kit tol ileda, huz rålsajika al-sar, jaghan sar. Ilsajikag kigan, zada… al-kala. Al-ela hakh al-dihishun, ilkhetna. Ilkheta—ilninusalla.

Runshana spoke fluent Nakath, as did the interviewer, but many of the words were foreign—human. 'Najar-Kenera' was but an approximation of 'major-general'; 'dihishun' an attempt at saying 'division.' The sounds were alien in dogspeak.

Major-General Runshana, what is the most important thing in leading a division?

The division must become more than just a collection of little groups, or even one big group. Yes, it's true we are such a group, the largest I've seen, but it has become a pack. Our pack. So I must be not only a leader but a parent. The division's mother, I always thought. I still think. I truly believe.

Twenty years later he still remembered that, and the truth of it had only become more apparent. The Defense Committee needed it more than it needed him. More than a captain. Al-ela tagkit. The mother of their packs.

“El'ta'kit Talla," he said, and took the Ibizan's paws. “I can imagine nobody better."

***

Colonial Administration Building

Davis, Chartered Colonial Jericho

14/11/2536

It had, once, been nothing more than an ordinary conference room—a place for businessmen to present their quarterly budgets and quibble over the details of project plans. Kodja had seen pictures from before its renovation. There had still been computers on the table; they were in the Jericho Archives now, their testament to the 2485-model Integrated Office Lighting Suite Marketing Brief long since obsolete.

The first time he'd stood before the cabinet it was as the onboarding deputy assistant, reporting on a year's worth of immigration statistics. The Development Minister at the time gave him the speaking slot as a gift, recognition in honor of their accomplishments.

Then, 40 years after the colony's founding, it had still felt as though they were building something. The numbers had only confirmed it. Two thousand additional citizens, seventy new businesses, a hundred farms.

Kodja had lost this feeling, somewhere along the line. Calling the atmosphere tense suggested willful denial of the resignation that pervaded the room. They were gathered just after noon, and the big windows were open to drifting clouds under a defiantly, inconsiderately warm sun.

“What are the next steps?" Shenkiy broke the silence. “Do we all buy collars, or will they be given to us?"

“Quiet," someone else growled. Minister Korden? Minister Zahanish? It might even have been Altalanuk.

“The final draft of the proposal says the Working Group will appoint a supervisor to ensure compliance." Kodja hated to hear himself say it. “They'll be the ones providing any collars, Shenkiy. We'll deal with that as it comes."

“Word is starting to filter out." Altalanuk must not have been the one to growl; her voice was still clear, if somber. “I've taken the precaution of calling up the constabulary elements of the Defense Committee, but we should still expect violence."

“Against us?"

“Probably not for the most part, no. But I can't predict anything for certain, Kodja. We've always been open with the Foreign Ministry. But the Hashida have informants inside the Observatory, too, and much less to lose from staying quiet. Staying quiet or docile," she added.

Kodja didn't want to think about how tense the mood must've been in the old observatory building that served as the Foreign Ministry's office. Rumor had it that they chose the spot not because of its stately architecture but because the hill it sat on gave them advanced warning when anyone was coming with pitchforks.

“Good for them," Shenkiy said aloud, though most of the others were surely thinking it. Even Kodja found it easier to muster empathy than condemnation. “How awful would it be if the constabulary weren't able to stop them in time? I couldn't stand it."

“Be that as it may." Kodja didn't want to let Shenkiy take things too far. Alta's report, submitted and read to the cabinet in full, anticipated that pacifying the Hashida would entail dozens of fatalities. Despite his good intentions, Shenkiy would only make things worse.

Halinchi bowed in greeting to the rest of the cabinet on her arrival. Then, immediately, she pointed to the small room next door. “Kodja, I need to speak to you in camera."

He was beyond the point of feeling apprehension; he followed her inside without protest. “Inanu Halinchi. Welcome. You submitted our response to the Working Group?"

“No," the badger said. “I didn't have the opportunity. The Business Council has rejected the cease-fire agreement. Indeed, formally, they've rejected any cease-fire agreement."

“What? Why?"

“Obviously, they don't think it's necessary."

“Are we at war?"

“I don't believe so. But I was held under a communications embargo until we landed. Altalanuk hasn't said anything about human troop movements?"

“No. No, she's not said anything. What... what do we do?"

“The next steps aren't clear to me yet, sir. Should the general session be postponed?"

“I... I guess not. The cabinet needs to stay informed, right?"

She nodded and, back in the main room, made no attempt to mince words. “My counterpart from the Jericho Business Council has categorically rejected any brokered settlement between ourselves and the council. Their counterproposal is for unilateral disarmament on our behalf and the transfer of the CODA military group to the control of their own commanders."

Levin was the first to speak, though the Border Collie was as puzzled as anyone. “Did they expect that to be seriously entertained?"

“I don't think so, not unless they gravely overestimate their position. The important thing for us to know is they're not willing to negotiate. As far as they're concerned, it's not worth giving up the ability of their militias to harass us."

“And to be harassed in turn, right?" Kodja said. “They understand that if they don't come to an agreement, we're not obligated to just… accept their hostility without reacting."

“The numbers are in their favor. We're a nuisance they can wear down."

“And if the conflict between Congress and the Kingdom turns into open fighting, CODA won't be nearly as invested in keeping us from each other," Altalanuk added to Halinchi's assessment. “If some human militia happens to take a town or two, there's no authority to demand they give it back. We can't rely on their peacekeepers."

“What does the Yucatan Alliance think, Halinchi? Did you hear anything from them?"

“They're surprised, Kodja. They weren't expecting to be shut out. It doesn't mean they're any friendlier to us, but we won't see another attempt at turning the colony into a vassal. That carries consequences all of its own."

“This is it, then? There's no settlement with the council."

“No."

Not with the status quo as it was. Halinchi agreed that they would have to work directly with the Alliance. Kodja set her the task of drawing up a new formal charter for the colony and its borders and, though she freely admitted the difficulty of the task, she agreed.

From Transportation Minister Korden he asked for a firm proposal to complete work on a spaceport that would allow them complete autonomy from McKeever. From Shenkiy, plans to contend with human control over the watershed—it wouldn't take much for sufficiently vindictive corporations to shut down most of the irrigation system.

“General Altalanuk, we should admit now that the Defense Committee does not function as a credible deterrent against human aggression. That's not an insult to you, general. It was never in your mandate."

“No, administrator, it's not."

“Your mandate is security."

“To maintain the orderly functioning, ensure the safe continuance, and protect the physical integrity of the colony's affairs, Kodja, yes. I know. I wrote it with inana Khalizai myself. You helped."

It was deliberately nebulous; that had seemed wise, ten years before. “We should make this explicit. We should agree to a new mandate. I suggest… the Security Ministry is expected to undertake the defense of the colony and its citizens, to raise and organize such a military as might be required"—he emphasized the word so that there would be no doubt to his meaning—“to independently safeguard our borders and our people. Specific language to be drafted by inana Zahanish, but…"

“Why wait?" Shenkiy asked. “What do you say, Hannich?"

Justice Minister Zahanish had no reason to stall. “I see no real problems, Kodja. In the interests of expedience, I move that we adopt this charter and its language without—"

“Second." Shenkiy had raised his paw immediately.

“You can't second your own pack's proposal, minister," Kodja reminded him gently. The cabinet was divided into four of them; the Rukhat words meant 'Structure,' 'Growth,' 'Action' and 'Other Packs.' Justice and Development were both in the Pack of Structure.

“I second it, then," Halinchi said. “Might as well."

“It's been moved and seconded. Are there objections?" He looked around the room; Levin shook his head, but stayed quiet. “Then it's adopted. Alta, I'd request a plan of action for upholding this mandate, budget and timeline included, within… two days?"

“It might take three."

“Three, then."

He dismissed the cabinet to an uncertain future. Halinchi stayed behind, closing and locking the door. “I know you said the cabinet should be fully informed. In general, I agree, but... there are certain voices I'd prefer not to... engage at the moment."

“That's your right, of course. Engage with what, though?"

“The Foreign Ministry supports you, Kodja, of course. We'll do everything in our power to find enough common ground with the ecclesia to force an understanding with the business council. My degree of optimism is... well, irrelevant."

“But we have to try, don't we?"

“I know. I agree. But I wouldn't be doing my job without giving you an honest opinion. We should begin considering other courses of action. Additional steps. It depends on what General Altalanuk says—if the Defense Committee can't ever beat human mercenaries, we might as well abandon the colony. If not..."

“That doesn't sound like a simple 'additional step,' Halinchi. That's..."

“Being honest about the state of affairs that already exist. We might as well give it a name."

“Kashkin?"

“Independence."