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  There was a barely audible whirring from outside. L'Wrona threw a switch, and what had been a dark band of armorglass was suddenly clear. Outside, the berth doors were cycling open, revealing the stars of a cloudless desert night.

  "And away," said L'Wrona, moving the control stalk forward. With a faint whine of n-gravs, Rich Man's Toy moved out into the night.

  "Control Central orders you to return to berth and await clearance," said Dad as they banked sharply away from the lights of the spaceport.

  "Do not acknowledge," said L'Wrona, tying in the CCI, just in case. Outside, the hull suddenly sprouted weapons blisters.

  "Tower's on fire," said Dad as they climbed toward Line.

  "What?!" L'Wrona checked the rear scan. Flames were leaping from the topmost level of the ancient fortress, a beacon that burned like a sentinel fire over the low skyline of the city. Below and from the west a V-shaped formation flew toward the Tower. Firecraft, advised the tacscan.

  "Prime Base has turned out the fireguard," said Dad.

  "Looks like the commandant's level," said L'Wrona. "D'Trelna's somewhere in that pile of stone."

  L'Wrona hadn't been to the Tower since he was a kid, going with his father to visit an old friend who'd just been appointed Commandant-then a mostly symbolic post for aging aristocrats. There'd been no gray uniforms then, no Imperial Party, no war. He remembered it as a pleasant, musty old place of antique weapons and crenellated battlements built for small boys to leap along, far above oblivion. The future margrave had had a wonderful time jumping and running before his father intercepted him, bade his friend a gracious good-bye, then taken him back to their townhome and administered a fierce paddling.

  Toy was too high now for visual, forcing the captain to contend with a relayed pickup from one of the commercial vid stations. The sharp image showed the firecraft form into a single line and come in low, green tinted snuffer gas spewing from the big tanks, then turn for home. Below them, deprived of oxygen, the fire died.

  "D'Trelna's the fat one you work for, isn't he?" said Dad.

  How did he know that? wondered L'Wrona. Must have been tapping into the vidchannels. "As competent as he is fat," said the captain, automatically laying in the jump coordinates for U'Tria, his mind on other things. The commodore's arrest and removal to the Tower at the same time as a fire in the commandant's suite was too big a coincidence. Dark deeds adoing, he thought as they cleared the atmosphere, and no time to stop. Luck, J'Quel, wherever you are.

  "Line challenges," said Dad.

  L'Wrona flipped open the commlink.

  "Pleasurecraft Rich Man's Toy outbound for U'Tria," said L'Wrona.

  "Acknowledged, Rich Man's Toy," came Line's voice. "You are cleared for jump point." Then, after L'Wrona switched off, it added softly, into the void, "And may fortune grace your sword, My Lord Captain."

  "Armaments check," said L'Wrona as they swept through the shield wall, making for jump point at max. "Run the diagnostics now, then once we clear jump point, we'll do a little target practicing out by the J'An Belt."

  "Think there'll be trouble?" said Dad.

  "Count on it," said the captain.

  The FleetOps duty officer was Admiral I'Tal. His hopes for a quiet evening shift had dissolved with the first action report: yet another task force in grave trouble, going up against the corsairs in Quadrant Red Seven. Dispatching what help he could, the admiral shunted all subsequent reports of the growing debacle to a lesser level. Then all hell had broken loose at the Tower, stirred up by L'Guan himself-the commandant relieved, a battalion of commandos sent in, sudden Council orders to withdraw the Tower guard, then fragmented reports of a firefight. FleetOps handled it all with its usual quiet efficiency-except for the Council liaison team, five excitable members of the Imperial Party who ran from monitor to monitor, making a nuisance of themselves.

  It was as the firecraft reached the Tower that Admiral I'Tal-indeed, all of FleetOps -had his biggest surprise since the war: computer spoke-something it only did if no other source had detected an emergency. Admiral I'Tal had heard computer speak once, when he was a cadet.

  "Alert. Alert." The asexual contralto echoed through the command tiers. "Unauthorized departure. Unauthorized departure. L'Aal-class cruiser Implacable is lifting. Implacable is lifting."

  FleetOps Command center was a big enclosed pit, deep beneath Prime Base. As the warning died, every eye in the room turned to the admiral, way up on the top tier. "Orders, sir?" said Commodore A'Wal to his right. A'Wal had served under Admiral S'Gan-he knew what she'd have done.

  "Alert condition two," said I'Tel. "Base defenses to engage Implacable, picket squadrons to intercept if she escapes." A chime sounded-three repeating notes-the nearest FleetOps ever came to an alert klaxon. "And request Line's assistance," said the admiral. Not that he expected to get it-Line had its own very narrow priorities.

  "She's heading for space," said A'Wal. "Batteries opening fire now."

  "Excuse me, Admiral," said a soft voice.

  I'Tal turned. Councilor D'Assan stood behind him, flanked by the council observers.

  "Please do not engage that vessel," he said softly. "I speak for the Council."

  "Why in the seven hells not?" whispered the admiral. "She's ours. She's stolen. She can wipe a planet, conquer a system."

  "We've shaken public confidence enough this evening, Admiral," said D'Assan serenely. "To add to the Tower fire a massive shoot-out between Prime Base and that ship, debris raining down, civilian casualties, the vidchannels feeding…" He shook his head. "No. Please-have your gunners stand down. You can take her in space."

  A'Wal watched as I'Tal thought about it. Up on the screen, the target image was directly over the Base's main defenses.

  "Very well," said the admiral, turning to A'Wal. "Batteries to stand down, please, Commodore. Advise Commodore G'Tur that it's all his now."

  "They're not firing," said A'Tir, leaning over K'Lal's shoulder.

  "Not everyone's a butcher, A'Tir," said N'Trol, coming onto the bridge, a corsair trailing him.

  She turned. "Engines and jump drive?" she said.

  "Satisfactory." The two faced each other in front of the empty captain's chair. "You can jump-if you make it to jump point."

  "I think we can handle the pickets," said

  A'Tir, turning to the big board and its tacscan of the inner system. "We'll be well away before they can intercept."

  "I wasn't thinking so much of the picket ships," said the engineer as the corsair commander faced him again.

  "What, then?"

  "Line challenges," called K'Lal. "That," said N'Trol.

  "Shall we consult, Admiral?" said Line.

  "As prescribed," said L'Guan as he and D'Trelna entered the combat center.

  Combat center was in the heart of Line's command asteroid. Seeing it for the first time, D'Trelna thought it looked more like the office of a top Combine executive than part of a military installation: a spacious, high-ceilinged room, with a desk made in the image of a classically simple-yet-elegant t'ata table; two long, off-white sofas along the wall, a pair of low beverage tables in front of them; a small scattering of armchairs around the desk. The wall behind the desk was a diorama of snowcapped peaks ringing a crystal-blue lake. Imperial Survey tapes, noted D'Trelna. Contemporary techniques weren't as sharp.

  "Situation?" said L'Guan, sitting on a sofa, facing the diorama. D'Trelna sank into the other sofa.

  "A combined crew of corsairs, under former Commander A'Tir, and Implacablites, under Commander N'Trol, have seized Implacable and are approaching my inner sector. FleetOps request that we stop them. They do not specify the method."

  "Who's this N'Trol, Commodore?" asked L'Guan, turning to D'Trelna.

  Gods, thought D'Trelna. N'Trol? A corsair? Absurd.

  "He's Implacable's engineer, Admiral," said D'Trelna. "Highly competent, irreverent, irascible, no lover of authority…"

  "Would he have turned corsair?"

  "No, sir
," said D'Trelna firmly. "He hates military structure, he's impatient with anyone slower than himself-mostly everyone-but a corsair? Never. N'Trol fought K'Tran with us off Terra Two-even briefly commanded K'Tran's captured ship, with K'Tran and A'Tir in attendance. He's had far better opportunities than this to betray us. I suspect he's made concessions, hoping to keep his crew alive until they can retake the ship."

  "What about Prime Base defenses?" said L'Guan.

  "They did not fire, out of political and humanitarian concerns," said Line.

  "Mostly the former, I suppose."

  "Councilor D'Assan was visiting FleetOps when the decision was made."

  "And the pickets?" said L'Guan.

  "Fleet units are attempting to intercept, but they have nothing substantial enough between here and jump point to stop a heavy cruiser."

  "Will you stop them?" said L'Guan.

  "No, Admiral," said Line. "Not unless you convince me that Implacable constitutes a direct threat to the security of the planet."

  "She's an armed heavy cruiser in the wrong hands," said L'Guan.

  "Similar arguments have been made by FleetOps as recently as today and as long ago as the First Dynasty. They are not evocative."

  "May I speak with N'Trol?" said D'Trelna.

  "Certainly," said Line. The diorama on the wall vanished, replaced by K'Lal's startled face.

  "This is Defense Sphere Command," said Line. "Put Commander N'Trol on."

  "Speak freely," said A'Tir, drawing her side-arm as N'Trol walked to the engineering station's commscreen. Ignoring her, he stepped into the pickup. "Commander N'Trol," he said, sinking into the padded flight chair. A familiar face appeared in the pickup.

  "Quite a mess, N'Trol," said D'Trelna. "What are you and the crew doing with the throat-slitters?"

  "A mutually uneasy alliance," said N'Trol. He was aware of someone behind him. An Ml 1A barrel tapped softly against the back of the chairarm.

  "And if you do get away, where are you going?" asked the commodore.

  N'Trol shrugged. "I don't know what the jump coordinates are-a passionate secret of

  A'Tir's. This whole thing's her empty-headed gesture."

  The corsair commander stepped into the pickup, standing to the left of the engineer. "Line has made no attempt to stop us, D'Trelna-we're almost in clear space."

  Stricken, D'Trelna turned to L'Guan. "Do something, please. My men will be dead the instant those butchers are through with them."

  "Don't you think I know that, D'Trelna?" The admiral looked weary and far older than he was. "There's nothing I can do-nothing anyone but Line can do."

  "Commander A'Tir." It was Line.

  A'Tir's eyes narrowed. "Yes?"

  "If we meet again, it will be to your disadvantage," said Line.

  "I'm not coming back here alive," said A'Tir, reaching past N'Trol to flick off the commlink. The last thing the two men in the command center saw was N'Trol's wink.

  There was a glum silence in the room, broken a few minutes later by Line's announcement: "Implacable has jumped."

  D'Trelna sat up. "Of course," he muttered.

  "Of course what?" asked the admiral.

  "N'Trol told us. 'Haven't seen the jump coordinates'-meaning he had. 'Passionate.' 'Empty-headed.'" D'Trelna looked at L'Guan, face set and certain. "A'Tir's gone to rescue K'Tran."

  "From a fleet of mindslavers? And rescue what?" said L'Guan. "The R'Actolians cut K'Tran up-his brain's doing their tactics for them, his body's on ice somewhere in one of those monstrosities-your own report said so.

  "True," said D'Trelna. "But the same process that took K'Tran apart can put him together again."

  "Still…"

  The commodore held up a hand. "The power of love, Admiral."

  "Love? Those two?" said L'Guan. "K'Tran and A'Tir?"

  D'Trelna nodded. "Her, certainly. Him, I don't know."

  L'Guan shook his head. "Even the most feral of creatures mate, I suppose." He rose.

  "Stand you to a drink, D'Trelna?" he said. "There's a pleasant little bar the other side of that waterfall."

  "FleetOps and Councilor D'Assan each desire urgently to confer with you, Admiral," said Line as the two officers left the room.

  L'Guan laughed. "One or both of them tried to kill us last night and now they want to confer.

  "Tell them the commodore and I are plotting their mutual destruction over brandy. I'll call them when we're through."

  8

  "Fine;' said captain P'Qal. "Let's say I believe you. You forged an alliance with the mindslavers, stopped the AI vanguard cold out in the Ghost Quadrant and you took this lovely pleasure dome." His hand swept the room. "Let's say I even believe that Combine T'Lan is an AI nest and you two"-his eyes shifted between R'Gal and S'Rel-"represent the heroic immortals who stood against your own kind for honor, truth and justice."

  "Ease off, P'Qal," said S'Rel.

  "Believing this," continued the captain, "and, for various reasons, I do, why should I give you the portal device? My sense of duty tells me I should turn you around and point you toward K'Ronar." He punched up a t'ata and took another sweetcake from the platter on R'Gal's desk. "With an AI invasion coming through the Rift in the Ghost Quadrant, headed straight at K'Ronar, Fleet needs this ship. It needs to copy its systems and deploy a fleet of these… Why are you shaking your head?" he asked R'Gal.

  "There's not enough time, materials or expertise to build a single battleglobe, Captain," said the AI. "The weapons systems are hardly miniaturized marvels: to be effective they have to be numerous and mounted on a battleglobe. Only other battleglobes or mindslavers stand a chance against the Fleet of the One."

  "What a hideous name," said S'Tat.

  "And a misnomer," said S'Rel, turning to her. "It should be called the Fleet of Fear and Hate. Our fascistic brethren have built and maintained a hegemony at fearsome cost. All the enslaved races hate them, and, judging from records on this ship, the brethren are beginning to hate each other. The conservatives hate the liberals, the liberals the conservatives, both hate and fear the underraces. It's Colonel R'Gal's theory that our home realm's a rotten fruit, ready to fall. One ship-this ship-can spark a revolt that will burn out the bad and maybe spare some of the good."

  P'Qal had been sipping his t'ata while he listened. "You haven't been home for a million years, any of you," he said, setting down the cup. "Yet you're so sure of yourselves." He looked at the two AIs. "The only recent arrivals from your universe have been the AIs' infiltrators who became Combine T'Lan. Therefore you have some way of independently confirming information you found on this ship. Probably

  …"

  "All right, Captain," said R'Gal. "Let's just say we are sure of ourselves."

  P'Qal nodded. "Fine. So you can't save us from fire and blood without the portal device -if you can save us at all. Which brings me to my other objection. There is only one extant alternative-reality linkage device, an Imperial relic, evidently a prototype. Obviously, you'd have to take it with you or you couldn't access your home universe from the intervening reality. With you goes a very impressive bit of technology. I'm loath to release it on such a wild risk."

  "New technology will be of no use to us," said K'Raoda, "if we're all dead. And we will be dead if the Fleet of the One isn't stopped."

  P'Qal sighed. "You can have it," he said. "I hope you know how to use it with this monster's drive."

  "You're a brave man, Captain." R'Gal smiled. "And we do know how to use it."

  "You know what they'll do to me if you don't succeed?" he said, shaking his head. "I'll have S'Yatan release it to you."

  "You may have lost your mind, Captain. I haven't lost mine," said S'Yatan, his image sharp in the commscreen. "I'm not releasing that device to anyone but an authorized Fleet detachment-preferably of flotilla strength."

  P'Qal's face reddened dangerously. He leaned closer to the pickup. "Don't give me any of your Academy crap about authorizations and illegal orders, Captain," he said. "
We have no way to contact Fleet. I am insystem commander. I have made the best decision possible with the available data and have now given you a direct, lawful order. They may court-martial me for releasing that device, but I sure as hell will see you shot for disobeying a direct order in a known combat zone." He leaned back, a short, fat man out of breath.

  "I am making for jump point, Captain P'Qal," said S'Yatan icily, features pale but composed. "I will report your dereliction of duty to FleetOps-and my reaction to it. We'll see who faces the wall."

  The screen went blank.

  "Get him back, Captain," said R'Gal. "We're not going anywhere without that device."

  P'Qal searched the unfamiliar console for the retransmit key.

  "Don't bother, Captain," said S'Rel, turning from the complink. "I was afraid of this. Devastator carried a full liaison packet, with all the data Combine T'Lan had sent home over the years-sabotage plans, strategy, agents. The real S'Yatan was killed and a combat droid substituted during his plebe year. Gentlemen, our enemies have the portal device."

  The K'Ronarins under R'Gal and D'Trelna had taken Devastator, sensor-scanned for traces of any holdouts in the thousands of miles of corridors honeycombing the battleglobe, then busied themselves with repairs, ignoring the vast reaches of the great ship. Most of Devastator remained unexplored.

  There was one structure that attracted visitors, even though some distance from the operations tower and the hub of activity-the observatory. It was a comparatively small dome of a building, white in contrast to the battleglobe's endless black and gray, set in a slight depression between the operations tower and the yawning chasm of a hangar portal. A score of screens, all larger than Implacable's main screen, lined the concave sweep of white wall, just above the railed walkway circling the room. Instrument consoles filled the center of the observatory floor. Only one of them was on now, presenting sensor data as a familiar, sharply defined picture.

  "So near, yet…" said Zahava, looking at the screen.

  John stood beside her, also looking at the scan of Earth. Home was a soft swirl of stratocumuli broken by the blue and brown pastels of a surface only an hour away.