“I would point out that as Rafael’s Directorate operates on a quasi-secret basis anyway,” Larry said, “the preparatory functions it will be conducting into strategic planetary defense can quite easily be kept quiet under its standard procedures. I believe that was the original recommendation of the ExoProtectorate Council.”

“It was,” Campbell said. For a moment the two of them locked gazes. Then Campbell offered up a small smile. “Well, I have no objections to that. In fact, it’s rather tidy having everything under one roof. Think you can cope with the extra responsibility, Rafael?”

“And the budget,” Gore grunted.

Everyone laughed.

“You can depend on me,” Rafael assured them.

“It makes sense,” Gore said to Justine and Thompson after everyone else had left. “And it was a brilliant piece of maneuvering on the Halgarths’ part, nobody was going to say no that late in the day. Larry effectively split the navy. The Sheldons will have the ships, while the defense side will all be under Rafael’s control. He’s got the budget strings, which puts the DRNG and Buta subordinate to him.”

“And defense will ultimately be the bigger budget,” Thompson said. “We should have seen that coming. The Halgarths keep their dominance of the force field market.”

“The defense budget will only be bigger if the Dysons are a threat,” Justine observed. “I seem to be the only one who isn’t convinced they will be. You two certainly are, and as for Rafael… Jesus, it won’t be long before he’s designing uniforms with nice shiny jackboots.”

“Who’d blame him. All the girls love a sailor.”

“It’s not funny, Dad. This merger gives him a great deal of power. The Directorates were kept separate for a reason.”

“I’ll talk to Patricia and Doi herself when I get back to the Senate tomorrow,” Thompson said. “You’re right about that, Justine. There needs to be an executive review committee for Rafael’s new empire, and his new vice directors will be appointed from other families and dynasties. I’ve got some contacts on the inside of the Directorate who can keep an eye on him as well. Don’t worry, we’ll keep him in check.”

…

Even with his tight-fitting goggles and fur-lined woolen balaclava Ozzie could feel the freezing wind biting his cheeks. It was infiltrating the edge of his hood as he moved his arms back and forth in a smooth rhythm to propel himself forward with the carved bone ski poles gripped in each hand. The repetitive motion was hard work; he’d only been outside fifteen minutes, and already perspiration was soaking into the T-shirt he wore under his checked shirt, sweaters, and icewhale fur overcoat. His skis bobbed over the crisp ice, leaving clear twin tracks behind.

Out here, on the relatively level surface of the vast depression surrounding the Ice Citadel, he could move with a degree of ease, though it was nothing like the speed he used to reach on resort slopes back in the Commonwealth. It would be a lot slower in the forest, he knew. And he’d be hauling a great deal more weight in his backpack as well. Today, he was practicing with about half the weight of what he would be taking when they left for good.

He twisted his body carefully, curving to a halt before jamming his poles into the thin layer of crusty ice. Red sunlight washed down on the desolate landscape, revealing a multitude of small ripples in the frozen ground. At half a mile behind him the Ice Citadel stood aloof from the flat gray land, green light winking steadily from its pinnacle, prickles of crimson sunlight scattered off facets in its hexagonal crystal mirrors. A hundred yards away, Tochee was sliding along efficiently. They’d started calling the alien that now, rather than the tochee. Communication personalized it, at least from the human perspective. Ozzie figured he owed it that much.

It had taken Ozzie and George Parkin a week to design the vehicle that carried the heavy alien. The main structure was a simple sledge of carved icewhale bone, over four yards long, which could hold Tochee’s entire body with room to spare. At the front was a windscreen of crystal cut from a tree, and secured in a bone frame that angled back. Behind that, stitched to the circular hoops that went over the sledge platform, was a cylinder of icewhale fur that laced up at the rear. The arrangement was the equivalent of a fur coat for Tochee, keeping its body insulated from the sub-arctic air and its ridges of locomotion flesh well clear of the ground. To move the sledge along, a pair of spiked poles were fixed to the framework on either side in a variant of a rowlock. George Parkin had designed, carved, and assembled the four sturdy little mechanisms himself, and was quietly proud of his achievement. All four spiked poles passed through leather rings in the fur cylinder, which allowed them a fair degree of movement. Tochee gripped the ends in its manipulator flesh, and used the poles as combination ski poles and oars.

A big crowd had gathered outside the Ice Citadel the first time Ozzie, Orion, and George had pushed the sledge out from the workshop. It had taken Tochee a couple of minutes of tentative, experimental motions before mastering the poles. Since then, the three of them had been out every day, practicing.

Ozzie watched Tochee maneuver the sledge toward where he was waiting without losing any momentum. The contraption made him think of some bizarre Victorian attempt to build a snowmobile. But it worked, and the alien was proficient enough now to give him a great deal of confidence for their venture. That just left Orion. The boy was skijoring behind Tochee, short skis strapped to his boots, and holding on to a slim rope that was tied to the back of the sledge frame. Ozzie had decided it was a lot easier for Orion to do that than learn how to ski properly. In fact, the boy was probably enjoying himself a little too much as he swayed from side to side behind the sledge. Ozzie wondered if he should insist on a shorter rope, take away the opportunity for delight. Although Orion was a lot happier these days now their preparations to leave were becoming ever more tangible.

The sledge came to a slow stop beside Ozzie, all four poles digging into the gritty ice to score narrow furrows. He was pleased to see Orion angling his own skis correctly to brake. More than once the boy had plowed into the back of Tochee’s sledge. Maybe they did stand a chance after all. Ozzie held out a mitten, thumb extended upward. Behind the thick windscreen of crystal, Tochee’s manipulator flesh formed a similar gesture.

“How are you doing?” Ozzie asked loudly, it was too cold to pull his balaclava aside and expose his mouth.

“All right,” Orion yelled back. “My arms still ache a bit from yesterday, but these skis are easier to balance on.”

“Okay, let’s keep going.” Ozzie struck off across the ice, heading toward a section of the crystal tree forest he’d visited on a harvesting trip three weeks ago. He held a steady pace, concentrating on the ground ahead. There were hidden ridges and little jutting pinnacles of rock that could prove perilous if he hit them wrong. And if Tochee ran over any of them it would be a plain disaster. He wondered if they should take some spare icewhale bone and a few tools for repairs just in case. It would mean more weight, but increase their chances. Like everything they carried with them, there had to be a balance between safety and success. When they started their trial runs in the forest he’d have a better idea.

“Ozzie!”

He turned at the muffled voice, finding Tochee was laboring hard with the sledge’s poles, moving them fast, gradually catching up. Orion was shouting furiously, his free arm waving about. Ozzie moved his legs proficiently, bending from the knees as he slewed around, and quickly came to a halt. He stared out over the empty floor of the Ice Citadel depression to where the boy was pointing.