the town。 Refilling his cup； she chatted idly； to no real point； as if simply letting go of conversation
that loneliness had dammed up inside her。 Viltry was content just to listen。 His day had been
terrible： the savage air…brawl； the panic and fear。 The bats had locked them up so long； they’d finally
been forced to ditch their payloads and turn back on the long； exposed slog for home。 No target
destroyed。 No target even seen。 Just a portion of the Dish of Sand heat…fused into glass。 Halo had
lost no one； but five of its machines had been damaged； and several crewmen hurt。 K for Killshot
had been unable to do more than crawl home。 Part of its pay…load had been hung； and Viltry feared
that even if it got back； it might stumble on landing and be annihilated by its own munitions。 But
they’d made it。 Three of Egsor’s wing； and two Thunderbolt escorts； however； had not。
Some aviators dealt with the pressure of a combat tour by drinking； or hedonistic escapes； others
by sounding off about what had happened to anybody in the crew room who’d listen。 That had never
been Viltry’s way。 These days； he was afraid that if he started talking； he wouldn’t be able to stop。
But listening to the woman talk eased him。 It was like an antidote to the tension of combat。 It
gave him a touch of perspective； reminded him the universe was not simply him； harnessed into a Gchair；
waiting for Fate’s wheel to turn。 Her life was evidently hard。 She was forced to work two
shifts： here during the day； and overnight at the munitions manufactory。 She was worried about the
tide of the war。 Fresh food was getting harder to come by。 What if the cafe was forced to close？ She
had a brother called Eido； who was serving in the land army。 She’d not heard from him for over
three months； since the fighting at the gates of the Trinity Hives。 He’d be home soon； she was
convinced。 She lit a candle for him every day。
“I light three： one for Gart； one for Eido and one for whoever else needs it。”
Viltry smiled。 “I’ll remember that。 Pardon me； but who’s Gart？”
“My husband； Commander Viltry。 He was a pilot officer in the Commonwealth PDF。 He was
lost over the desert the winter before last。”
“I’m sorry； mamzel。 Is he listed missing？”
She shook her head。 “I can assure myself my brother is alive； because I’ve not had proof
otherwise。 But Gart is dead。”
The Commonwealth had given her a widow’s pension； but that had dried up when the war…effort
took its latest bad turn。 Hence the two jobs。 The lack of sleep。
Viltry noticed that the rain had eased。 There was a lightness back in the sky。 She would be late
for her shift if they didn’t take advantage of the break。
She locked the cafe doors； and they hurried down the wet boardwalk towards the town； where
the evening lamps were coming on。
55
DAY 255
Theda MAB South； 08。00
“I’m reporting as ordered；” Darrow told the Navy guardsman under the adamantite portico。 The
guardsman looked at Darrow’s docket wafer and nodded him through。
From the outside； Operations could have been mistaken for a Ministorum chapel built in the
muscular Early Ornate style。 But the many soaring spires and finials were copper and electrophytesleeved
detector columns； the braced flying buttresses housed pneumatic blast dampers； and where
stained glass windows might have glowed； there were deep shutters of loricated steel。 Operations
dominated the north end of the field area； surrounded on three sides by metal forests of vox masts；
auspex towers and modar arrays； where the ground was baked dry and the air smelled cancerously
of ozone and electromagnetics。
Inside； a vaulted and soaring atrium lit by caged lumin strips led to the various control areas。
Men and women in the dark uniforms of Navy and the Departmento Tacticus bustled to and fro。
Vox announcements called for detail rotations。 Darrow followed the enamel wall signs； and made
his way to a busy staircase that led underground。 The main part of Operations was buried in deep；
rockcrete bunkers below the ground。
Down below it was cool； and the air was damp and recirculated。 He shivered and wished he’d
worn his flight coat； despite the hasty patching he’d made to the sleeve。
There was a series of blast doors and another checkpoint； where he had to wait in line under the
eyes of three burly guardsmen while a Munitorum servitor checked his papers； conducted biometric
tests and issued him with a duty pass。
To Darrow’s surprise； Eads was waiting for him at the main hatch。
“Reporting for duty； sir；” Darrow said； saluting。
“Call that a salute？” Eads said。 “Welcome to Operations； Darrow。 Stick close by me today as
you learn the ropes。 Don’t be afraid to ask questions； there’s a lot to know。 If I need you to shut up；
I’ll tell you。”
“Yes； sir。”
Eads turned and used his sensor cane to trace a path into the chamber。 Darrow walked with him。
“Expect to be referred to as ‘junior’； Darrow。 Even by me。 You’re not a pilot cadet down here。
You’re a junior assistant flight controller。”
Darrow was about to ask a question； but Eads reached out and squeezed his wrist。 They had just
entered the chamber； and a hush had fallen。
Darrow gazed around him。 Central Operations was a vast rotunda； three floors deep。 There were
two tiers of consoles around the walls； the upper one accessible by an iron walkway。 These console
stations were manned by Navy operators； some of whom were servitors plugged directly into the
interface sockets of the displays。 Above them was an observation deck where senior officers
gathered to look down on proceedings。 In the centre of the chamber was the principal hololithic
display； which projected a flickering tactical animation six metres into the air from a wide； brassedged
base unit。 Around that stood a ring of semi…opaque glass screens onto which the modar
returns were projected。 A stern…looking placement operator stood ready at each screen； with a stylus
in one hand and an eraser in the other。
56
Around them lay a further ring of primary control consoles； massive codifier stations that
sprouted from the floor like standing stones。 Each one； panelled with wood； its instruments turned in
brass； had its own valve…screen pict display and hololithic repeater。
All the personnel present currently stood or sat silently； heads slightly bowed。
A rector from the Navy chaplaincy； imposing in his selpic blue robes and sable ruff； was
intoning a rite of blessing upon the station。 As he spoke； one hand on his breast； the other tucked
behind his back； tech…priests moved around the room； anointing the stations and offering holy water
from gold ampullas to those personnel in need of personal benediction。 Darrow noticed most
received it； even the higher ranking staffers。
“Let this day be profitable and successful；” the rector said。 “Let the strength of will and the
clarity of sight that is the province of the most high and glorious Imperator； he that is the God…
Emperor of all Mankind； inform your work this day。 May his glory be everlasting； and his beacon of
enlightenment shine to us all in the darkness。 For the Golden Throne； everlasting； and in his name’s
sake； let his will be done。”
The rector made the sign of the aquila across his breast； and everybody did the same。
The deck officer stood； nodded to the rector； and announced； “Day shift begins； 255； 773。M41。”
At once； activity resumed。 A sudden wash of voices； of un…muted vox channels。 Deft hands
chattered over metal keys。 Eads nodded at Darrow to follow him。
As a flight controller； Eads’s station was one of the primary control consoles。 Darrow helped
him into the high…backed seat and stowed the sensor cane where Eads could find it。
“Principal cortical plug and tech…reader link； please；” Eads said as he settled himself。 Darrow
glanced around； and unhooked the two leads from a bracket on the console’s side。 He handed them
to Eads。 Eads read the raised identifier stamps on the plugs with the tips of his fingers； then inserted
the cortical plug into the dermal socket behind his left ear。 The other lead； from which withered
parchment labels dangled； went into a second dermal socket under his hairline at the base of his
skull。 Eads winced slightly as it went in。
The console came to immediate life。 The hololith display lit up and began to rotate。 The pict
screen shimmered into life； showing a scrolling menu of tight…beamed data。 Darrow knew that Eads
was now seeing all this for himself； in his mind。 Eads began to review the details。
Darrow looked around again。 Each of the flight controllers was attended by at least one junior
aide。 All of the other controllers were sighted； although one had bulky augmetic optics； but many
had enhanced their overview with cortical links。
“Vox mic； please；” Eads said。
Darrow unhooked that too； played out the flex； and helped Eads to fit it around his ear so the
bead was in place and the wire stalk set by his lips。
“This is Eads； 7513；” Eads said softly。 “I am now on station。” He was answered by a murmur of
vox responses。
His fingers began to glide over the mechanical keyboard。 The data on the screen altered。 The
cortical plug was simulating a version of the console in Eads’s head so he could operate it。
“Climate plot； please；” Eads said to the link。 A swollen 3D image bloomed across the hololith。
“Tactical… and quadrant operations。” More changes； more overlays。 Hard yellow lines showing
aircraft tracks； dotted red lines of mission sequences； winking green runes positioning the machines
themselves。
“There’s a spare headset if you want to listen；” Eads remarked。
Darrow took the opportunity。 What he heard as he wired up was a nonsense of human and
machine voices； digital transmissions； and binary codes and atmospherics； which sucked and roared
behind the voices。
57
“Use the dial there to select；” Eads pointed。 “It’ll seem overwhelming at first； but you’ll learn to
differentiate and fine tune。 For the next two hours； we’re assigned flight control for two fighter
units： Umbra Flights Four…One and Four…Two。 There are the mission parameters； on screen。”
Suddenly nervous； Darrow read the details； trying not to miss anything。 Two intercept units； four
machines in each。 Routing down across the Peninsula to the headwaters of the Lida； hunting
intruders。 Time of launch； 08。15。
He looked at the brass chronometer mounted above the console top。 It read 08。14。
Theda MAB South； 08。15
“Straps tight？” Racklae shouted； barely audible over the rising howl of the fanjets。
Marquall nodded。 Racklae gave him a finger…and…thumb “O”； then ordered the ground crew
clear。 They jumped off； the last of the hoses disconnected and stowed； rolling the primer cart back。
One fitter carried the yellow boarding ladder away。
Perched beside the cockpit； Racklae tapped his ears and mouth。
Marquall nodded again。 He keyed the vox。
“Test； test；” he said。 “Umbra Eight； Umbra Eight； am I loud？”
“Umbra Eight； this is Lead。 You’re loud and live。 Okay there； Marquall？”
“Yes； ma’am。 Lights are green； I repeat green。 Ready to lift。”
“Stand by； Eight。”
Marquall made the sign of the aquila； then looked up at Racklae。 He showed him a thumb。 The
chief fitter grinned； saluted him； and closed th