Timothy Zahn - Angelmass

And Jereko, too?

"Jereko, too," she said, nodding.

His eyes searched her face for a moment. Then, the creases vanished from his forehead and he smiled. Okay, he signed. I believe you.

"Good," Chandris said, feeling a pang of guilt. Did it count as a lie, she wondered uncomfortably, if you had all the good intentions in the world, but at the same time didn't have the foggiest idea how you were going to make a promise work? "Do you know when Mr. Forsythe will be coming back in the morning?"

He said nine o'clock, Ronyon signed. Are you going to talk to him about Jereko?

She reached out and took his hands. "Thank you," she said quietly, squeezing them once and then standing up. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He smiled up at her, exactly like a child who'd just been told he'd been a good boy. Good night, Chandris, he signed. Happy dreams.

She swallowed. "You, too, Ronyon."

He was still smiling as she left.

When Forsythe's presence on Seraph first came to light, just after the Gazelle's near-fatal brush with Angelmass, the Governor had offered the distinguished visitors top-class hotel rooms as well as temporary office space. Forsythe had accepted the office, but had turned down the accommodations.

His ship was just as comfortable, nearly as convenient to the Government Building, and much easier to keep nosy media types away from.

He sat alone now in the control room of the ship, a drink gripped in his hand, gazing out the landing viewport at the starry sky overhead. It was nearly three in the morning, and he was as bone-weary as he had ever been in his life.

And, though he would never admit it to anyone, as frightened.

EmDef was doing its best—he had to give them that. In the seven hours since the Pax invasion they had pulled together an amazing assortment of fighting ships, armed patrol craft, and even a few research and weather satellites that could be modified into floating weapons platforms. Well before the Komitadji arrived over Seraph, all of the planet's defenses would be ready.

And none of it would do a single bit of good.

Forsythe sighed, a dark and lonely sound in the deserted control room. The Komitadji was just too big, too powerful, too indestructible. EmDef could throw everything they had against it and still not make a significant reduction in its offensive capabilities. When the dust cleared, the Komitadji would still be there.

And it would be sitting in orbit above a completely helpless world.

Forsythe sipped at his drink without tasting it, visualizing that bleak scenario. Earlier, at the battle by the net, the Komitadji's commander had destroyed a Hellfire missile rather than let it unnecessarily demolish one of the catapult ships. Would he show similar restraint and mercy toward a captured planet full of civilians?

Or would the level of restraint instead be tied to how quickly the vanquished were willing to surrender? Would the level of punitive action rise with each dent the EmDef forces put in the Komitadji's hull?

Forsythe had ordered that the people of Seraph not be informed of the impending attack, arguing in part that they might as well get one last good night's sleep. Would they understand his reasoning this coming afternoon when the truth abruptly rose up and slapped them in the face?

More importantly, would the EmDef men and women who would be getting no sleep at all tonight understand if he abruptly threw all their hard work away and surrendered Seraph to the Pax without a shot being fired?

What was a High Senator's duty here? To satisfy pride by allowing as much damage as possible to be inflicted on both sides? To present the money-worshiping Pax with a Pyhrric victory by forcing them to destroy much of what they had come here to conquer?

Or was his duty instead to accept the inevitable, present the enemy a fully functional world, and protect the lives of the people he'd sworn to serve?

Reaching to his chest, he fingered the angel pendant hanging there, his mind drifting back to all those High Senate meetings he'd attended on Uhuru. Irritating though he'd found his angel-wearing colleagues to be, he couldn't help but notice their overall calmness and assurance. They were utterly convinced that their methods were right, that the consequences of their actions would be what was best for the people of the Empyrean.

Had that calm been merely an illusion? A side effect of the sheep-like attitude the angels created?

Or had there been more to it than that? Did the angels in fact bestow a degree of genuine wisdom upon their wearers?

Forsythe didn't know. And it was looking more and more like he would never have the chance to find out. Even if he took the angel back from Ronyon tonight, whatever effect it might have on him couldn't possibly be fast enough to give him anything useful before the Komitadji arrived.

But it would at least short-circuit anything Kosta might say.

He snorted derisively under his breath. Who exactly was he kidding? Nothing would close Kosta's mouth. The kid had his own agenda—a Pax agenda—and the minute he got within squealing range of someone's ear, it would all come out. High Senator Arkin Forsythe, honored official of the Empyrean, had deliberately committed a felony.

There was no way he could conceal it. No way he could even bring it down to his word against Kosta's. Ronyon knew all about the scheme; and despite the pains Forsythe had taken to rationalize it for the big man, none of that would do any good once the questioning began. Ronyon was too honest, and too simple, to make any excuses or fabrications or spins. He would simply and straightforwardly tell the truth.

What would the people of Seraph think when they found out? What would Pirbazari think, and all the EmDef officers and troops still laboring out there in the night?

Unfortunately, he knew full well what they would think. Once, months ago, such a revelation would have meant the instant end of Forsythe's career. Now, here, the consequences would be far worse.

Because no matter what he ordered the people of Seraph to do now, it would be seen as nothing more than the self-serving manipulation of a corrupt politician. Surrender without a fight? He'd been bribed by the Pax to deliver an undamaged Empyreal world. Fight to the last man and ship? He'd been bribed to waste EmDef resources by throwing them uselessly against an obviously invincible Pax warship. Either way, the issue would be plunged into uncertainty and confusion, generating suspicion and hostility toward all their leaders.

And no matter when Seraph surrendered, before battle or afterwards, that same suspicion would likely spill over into the creation of a hundred different guerrilla units. Angry men and women would turn their anger and shame at Forsythe toward their occupiers, spilling more and more blood, until even the Pax declared Seraph not worth the trouble and destroyed it.

All that, because Kosta had somehow learned his secret.

Or rather, all that if Forsythe permitted him to reveal it.

The greatest good for the greatest number, the ancient measuring stick whispered through his mind.

If Kosta had been a threat to Forsythe alone, it would be different. Forsythe had made his decision, and he was willing to face the consequences of his actions. If there was one thing his father had taught him, it was that.

But it wasn't only himself on the line here. Kosta had become a threat to all the people of Seraph, and of the Empyrean. The people Forsythe had sworn to protect.

And as an admitted Pax spy in time of war, Kosta had already forfeited his life.

From the direction of his office came the sound of gentle chimes as his father's old antique-style clock marked the three o'clock hour. It would be easy enough, Forsythe realized, the thoughts seeming as distant as if they were coming from someone else's mind. He would go to the Government Building at nine, as he'd told Pirbazari and Ronyon he would. He would go in alone to interrogate Kosta, with Pirbazari's spare gun tucked away out of sight beneath his jacket. A startled shout, an order to keep back, a single shot, and it would be over. The outer work area would be buzzing with clerks and junior officials at that hour, all of them ready to testify afterward as to what they'd heard.