“Frankly, I don’t know. I don’t think anyone does.” Kolokoltsov leaned back once more, raising his hands as he admitted his uncertainty. “I only know every other option looks even less likely to succeed. And if this does manage to buy us enough time to push the development on those new Technodyne missiles, the situation’s going to change radically. We’re still way too damned big for them to possibly think they could occupy all of our star systems. We just have to hold everything together long enough to get weapons good enough to give us a chance against them into production. If we can do that, that ratio of force to volume that Kingsford was talking about comes into play on our side, not theirs.”

He looked around the table again and inhaled deeply.

“So, I repeat the question. Are we in agreement that we should authorize Admiral Kingsford’s commerce and infrastructure-raiding strategy?”

No one spoke. But then, slowly, one by one, heads nodded all around the table.

* * *

The Chamber of Stars, the official meeting place of the Solarian League Assembly, was enormous. It had to be for something which seated the delegation of every single star system which claimed League membership. Every system was entitled to a minimum of one delegate; additional delegates were apportioned on the basis of population. The majority of delegations consisted of no more than two or possibly three members. Indeed, almost a third of all delegations boasted only a single member. More populous systems, obviously, had a greater representation, however, and the Beowulf Delegation consisted of nine members, headed by Felicia Hadley.

At the moment, all nine of those members were on the floor of the Chamber. Most were gathered around Hadley in their delegation’s box, but three of them were out circulating. The delegation’s staff reviewed every poll, clipped every editorial, and reviewed the majority of op-ed pieces every day, but Hadley was a firm believer in taking the pulse of the Assembly one-on-one and face-to-face.

Especially on days like this.

“Felicia.”

Hadley turned and found herself facing Hamilton Brinton-Massengale, the delegation’s third ranking member. He was a pleasant, unassuming man, with brown hair, a ready smile, and a certain amiable lack of focus which was highly deceptive. That made him one of Hadley’s best pulse-takers, and she felt her nerves tighten as she absorbed his expression. The usual quick smile was nowhere in evidence.

“Yes, Ham?”

“I think the rumor was right,” Brinton-Massengale said quietly. “An awful lot of people don’t seem to see me when I signal for a word.” He grimaced. “I don’t think they’ve all been struck blind, either.”

“Depends on what you mean by blind, doesn’t it?” Hadley smiled thinly.