Torec’s hand slipped into his. In this cold place, far from home, surrounded by so many gruesome secrets, the touch of warm flesh was comforting.

Pila turned on her superior. She seemed more upset by the violation of orthodoxy than by the cold biological reality of the jasofts. “Minister, if this is true—why are these monstrosities tolerated?”

Gramm said nothing, his round face crimson.

Luru said, “Well, I’m useful, you see. And I know too much to be dispensed with. Don’t I, Gramm?”

“You old witch,” Gramm said tightly.

“Witch? If so, I brought you here to remind you of my spell,” she said, her tone dark.

Gramm glared. But it was clear he had no choice but to give her what she wanted.

When the meeting broke up, Torec approached Luru. She was clearly fascinated.

“But how do you live?”

Luru winked at her. “Most days I sleep a lot.” She put her hands on the ensigns’ shoulders; her skin felt warm, soft to Pirius: human, not at all strange. She said, “You children must be as hungry as I am. We have a lot of work to do. A great mission—a Galaxy to conquer. But first we eat. Come!” And she led them away.

Chapter 18

Out on the surface of the Rock, the cadets were learning to advance behind an artillery barrage.

It was another brutally simple, unbelievably ancient tactic. Behind the advancing troops was a bank of monopole cannon, mankind’s most effective weapon against Xeelee technology. The guns opened up before the advance began, firing live shells over the heads of the troops. The idea was that the hail of shells would flatten enemy emplacements, and the troops would rush forward and take the positions without a fight. Then the barrage would work its way forward, a curtain of fire always just ahead of the advancing troops, steadily raking out the opposition before the troops even got there. So the theory had always had it.

But in practice, Pirius Blue found himself lying in clinging asteroid dust as the barrage flew, so thick it was a curtain of light over his head, and shells of twisted spacetime fell not half a kilometer from him. The shells’ pounding seemed to shake the whole asteroid. The sense of physical energy erupting around him was overwhelming, as if all the violence of the Galaxy center were focused on this one battered old Rock.

The order to advance, actually to run into the fire, all but defeated his courage.

The success of this tactic depended on precise timing, coordination between artillery and infantry, and extremely accurate firing by the gunners. But the cannon were only machines, the gunners only human, the infantry were rattled and confused, and in an imperfect universe all were liable to error. The strategy depended a good deal on simple luck.

And, today, his platoon’s luck ran out.