Read Loralynn Kennakris 2: The Morning Which Breaks for Free Online Page A

survivors without much difficulty. “Even if they needed authorization, round-trip comms transit between New Madras and Beta Crucis is only about seventeen— hours . What happened?”
    Taliaferro set his glass down on his desk as if putting it out of harm’s way. “What happened was that the CO at Beta Crucis had strict orders not to escalate without NCA authorization, so he appealed to G-Staff. That’s another thirty-two hours right there. G-Staff wouldn’t move without approval from the Nedaeman Secretary of State, who had to consult with the Archon, who spent twelve hours pissing all over himself.” Taliaferro stared at his scotch with his hands folded over his middle and the veins in his size-19 neck swelling. “So by the time the relief arrived in-system, there was nothing to do but request the bodies.”
    “Oh.” Trin Wesselby, thinking of those men being hunted through an alien landscape for over three days, waiting for the relief that it was their comrades’ sacred duty to provide, not getting it, being surrounded—out of ammo, out of time, thumb on the ANCAP trigger . . . She swallowed a healthy gulp of scotch, which made her eyes water, which made for a good excuse. “How much telemetry did you recover?”
    “Not nearly as much as we’d like. They made the corvette after the firefight started—once that happened, it was just a matter of time. It seems Halith must have given them a lot more than some fancy explosives.”
    “No idea how they did it?”
    “None—the corvette never saw what hit it. Anything on your end?”
    “We have ears out of course, but it’ll be months before we can expect to get anything. Just scanning for precursors now.” A few seconds of silence trickled by. “We sent a brief to Admiral Westover this AM. He’s on his way here to meet with the Old Man.”
    Taliaferro grunted. Admiral of the Fleet John Carlos Westover had the singular distinction of wearing two exalted hats: Chief of Naval Operations and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, which was comprised of the senior military commanders of all the Homeworlds. The Old Man he was on his way to see was Admiral Joss PrenTalien, Commander in Chief, Pleiades Sector. Both had reputations for superb competence and neither was known for a forgiving nature. Taliaferro foresaw a number of possible consequences flowing from this meeting—he knew PrenTalien well—and almost all of them would be quite unpleasant for somebody. “So they’ve called in the cavalry or we’re finally getting some adult supervision.”
    “Or both.” One immaculate fingernail tapped slowly on the side of her glass. “The opposition will have a field day with this.”
    In point of fact, the opposition already was. Hints of the debacle had leaked early, the clouds were waking to it, though only as rumors so far, and righteous indignation was already mounting in the expected quarters, wanting only a shred or two of credible evidence to be unleashed. Such evidence was gathering, or even being manufactured, and as in most cases like this, credibility was largely in the eye of the beholder.
    “I hear there’s already a video of the firefight in the clouds,” Taliaferro said. “Any chance it’s real?”
    Trin Wesselby, who had seen it, shook her head. “No. It’s a mash-up—pretty amateurish.”
    “Who do you think? An oppo-group or just kids having fun?”
    “Hard to say. It has to be somebody local. Anyone who wanted to make some noise could have patched it together and released it. That’s plenty of people.”
    “I’m surprised they didn’t ask you to suppress it.”
    “They did. We could too: the new interdiction bots are quite good, actually. But that’s not a capability we’re ready to turn loose in the wild just to deal with the Archon’s PR problems.”
    Taliaferro nodded. The Archon had maintained that terrorism was a criminal matter; that the perpetrators were to be apprehended and put on trial. It was a risky position