Hellsky (Hunter-Killer #3)

Chapter 22 - Pray That I'm Wrong

Year 248 P.L. Rychter Calendar
Coordinates: 15.4°N; 29.8°E
Site Designation: Rubicon (City of)

*

The mood of the Commissariat chamber in Rubicon was pugnacious.

Lanto could feel it in the air of the place as he walked in, neat folders tucked under one arm, a cup of his favourite coffee in the other. Part of him wished he had something a little stronger, but it was a little too early in the day to be drowning sorrows.

He took his seat in the minister's gallery, a raised section above the main Commissariat floor – and looked grimly out over the packed seats. Every minister from every ward in the city, and every outlying suburb would be here today, to vote on wither Rubicon was to declare war.

It would, he thought wryly, be the first formal declaration of such a thing. The first conflict with the Scraegans had simply happened – a decades long bloodbath born out of blind chance and self-preservation. Now it would have the weight of the Rychter's human population behind it. The true strength of feeling would be laid bare across the north.

Feelings of hate, freshly engendered by the casualties the northern cities had suffered in their first foray south.

Lanto sighed and sipped at his coffee, letting the folder fall open across his lap. Messages from his own constituents were there, physically printed to burn them into his mind as the day's debate trundled on. He knew how it was likely to go, but what he had yet to decide was which way his vote would fall.

- The Scraegans cannot be trusted.

- The Scraegans started the first war. We will never be safe as long as they exist.

- Rychter belongs to the human race. It's time we showed the Scraegans that.

- War's gone on long enough. If the Commissariat passes this declaration, our people will never forgive them.

Not everyone wanted this. He tried to remember that. It was easy to forget, with his precious few allies in the chamber itself. A handful of old friends serving in their twilight years, and some new hotheads, not old enough to be tainted by the full weight of Rychter's bloody memory. He imagined those opposing the motion could probably scrape together about an eighth of the chamber, if they were lucky.

A token gesture, and not much else.

And as he brought his mind back to the reports from Brekka, he wondered if there was any avoiding it now. No matter what Aurelia managed to dredge up on the fools who'd tried to start this war, they may never make the Scraegans understand. If that were the case, they would need to be ready. Rubicon and the other cities would need to send that message firmly.

Would the others fall in line? He flicked through a couple of pages, to reports on the disposition of the other major cities, and their commissariats. With the exception of Brekka, he knew most of them would follow Rubicon's lead – Helloc-Mera, Dimmer Valley, Wrentus, Conossiapolis, Verdantine. The other potential outlier was Lashkinero, the smallest and most northern of their counterparts. Being so far from the frontline of the war, the people there didn't harbour the same burning hatred for the Scraegans as some of their fellows.

If they opted not to join the task force, though, Lanto didn't think it would make a huge amount of difference. Lashkinero's forces were paltry compared to the might the Rubicon and the rest could bring to bear.

Then the time for thinking was over. Several places to his right, he saw the movement out of the corner of his eye as Commissar-General Xanthus stood, rising like a great sentinel. Although not a particularly large person, she exuded power and confidence as she stepped up to her lectern, iron gaze sweeping out across the packed chamber.