Free The Gathering Flame by Debra Doyle, James D. MacDonald Page A

they wanted reports of Mage activity … anything from the probes?”
    Gala laughed. “Back to that, are we?” She waved a hand at the row of monitor screens. “What you see. All quiet in Parezulan space.”
    “Which is why you’re up every morning before daybreak checking the sensors?” Brehant shook his head. “You don’t believe that, Gala, any more than I do. You’re tracking something. Give.”
    No, Gala reflected, Tres Brehant had never been stupid. She smiled in spite of herself, but only for a few seconds. She had other things on her mind.
    “All right,” she said. “I don’t know if this is significant, but it worries me: when I chart where things are moving, and where the last raids were, all the lines of transit go right through this sector.”
    “Parezul’s on the arc to a lot of places. It’s why we’re sitting here.” Brehant moved over to the comp station and called up more of the intelligence reports. “Let’s see what else we’ve got in the civilized galaxy this week.”
    Brehant scanned the material for several minutes in silence. Then his eyebrows—dark and bushy, and always mobile—went up toward his hairline. “Here’s an odd one—from Innish-Kyl, no less. A movement report from a Crown courier. In port for under twelve hours, heading to Entibor, in passage from Galcen with a stopover. Do you know how far Innish-Kyl is from being the most efficient course from Galcen to Entibor?”
    “Of course I do. But when I run across items like that, I try not to speculate. The Crown doesn’t like snooping.”
    Brehant cast a sharp glance in her direction. “So you saw it, then.”
    “Of course.”
    “Anything else in the traffic?”
    She shook her head. “Nothing.”
    “Then let’s go have a cup of cha’a. Your galley ought to have the morning supply ready by now.”
    “The truth comes out,” said Gala. “You only love us because the cha’a brews up better with natural groundwater.”
    Brehant laughed. Over on the communications panel, a message light blinked on and started beeping.
    “Courier coming in,” Gala said. “With news.”
    A few minutes later, the comm panel beeped and chittered and extruded another curling slip of printout. This time Gala beckoned for Tres to come up and look at it along with her. They read it together in silence. Finally the squadron commander sighed and stepped back.
    “That’s it, then,” he said. “What we were both watching for. Mage raid on Tanpaleyn.”
    Gala crumpled up the scrap of flimsy, then reflexively smoothed it out again. “Damned poor report. Nothing on strength or type of units. With no more information than that, all we can do is detach a scouting and security force.”
    “I can handle that,” Brehant offered. “The squadron hasn’t had enough work lately anyhow. We could use the exercise.”
    “Thanks, Tres.” Gala punched the comm button for the duty officer. “Get Lieutenant Verris out of bed and tell him to come in here. I want nearspace monitoring stations up and active.”
    “So we watch and wait. Do you think that’s enough?”
    “It’ll have to be,” she said. “The Mages’ll be gone from Tanpaleyn by the time anyone gets there anyway. They know what our reaction time is better than we do.”
    “Don’t they though.” Brehant straightened his shoulders. “I’d better get back to orbit and start my run out toward the drop points. Later, Gala.”
    “Later.”
    Gala turned back to the sensor screens. The door snicked open and shut and open again as Brehant hurried out and the newly awakened Lieutenant Verris hurried in, hastily. sealing up the front of his uniform tunic.
    “Good,” she said to the lieutenant. “You’re here. Get on the boards—I want the monitors set to extreme range and top sensitivity, and I want somebody watching them every minute.”
    “Extreme range and top sensitivity, aye.” Verris began entering the changes as he spoke. Without glancing up from his work, he asked,