IMAGERY STREAMED OVER THE SHIPBOARD network into the Gw'oth habitat. Eric disappearing under a pile of aliens. Sigmund falling.

The primitive natives had sprung a trap.

The humans needed help, but the battle would have ended, for good or ill, before Er'o or his mates could even get into pressure suits.

Keep watch through the external sensors, Sigmund had directed. Very well. Er'o scanned the last few minutes in the sensor logs. There! A radio burst. Seconds later, the welcoming party attacked. More comm bursts and correlated maneuvering by troops and the forces on the river.

Someone commanded these attackers. Where?

Er'o had a rough bearing on the signal source, no more. The enemy headquarters could be almost anywhere in the native city.

Events were coming too fast for him-but maybe not too fast for Ol't'ro. "We need to meld," Er'o called. "Quickly."

23.

So close. close.

Thssthfok put from his mind what might have been. His troops-the empire's finest commandos-had failed to seize the s.p.a.ceship.

The strangers' vessel had yet to emit any recognizable long-range signal. If they could be destroyed quickly, perhaps no others would come. He might be left unmolested here to complete his fleet.

The aliens had broken free of the Drar and retreated into their ship. They would do something something soon, whether lashing out with more destructive shipboard weapons or taking off. The reaction engines Thssthfok had yet to see could easily put the whole city to flame-with him deep in the urban center. soon, whether lashing out with more destructive shipboard weapons or taking off. The reaction engines Thssthfok had yet to see could easily put the whole city to flame-with him deep in the urban center.

To the infantry reserves, he radioed, "Break into that ship or face the emperor's wrath." To the engineering squads, he ordered, "Deploy at bow, rear, and cargo hatch." The engineers ran toward the s.p.a.ceship dragging long iron tubes filled with primitive explosives. And to the naval artillery, he commanded, "Prepare to open fire."

The foot soldiers were as good as dead, but their charge might divert attention from the more serious attacks.

BY SCANT SECONDS SIGMUND BEAT Kirsten to the bridge. Baedeker took one look at their grim faces and ran.

"I'm surprised he didn't fly away and strand us," Sigmund said.

"I didn't leave him that option," Kirsten answered cryptically. She switched on the intercom even as she dropped into her crash couch. "All hands, takeoff in five seconds."

Sigmund grabbed the weapons joysticks, sticky with Puppeteer saliva, and blasted all around. Better to be stunned at a safe distance than crushed by the fringes of the thruster field when Don Quixote Don Quixote lifted. Despite everything, he wished the flying squirrels no harm. They obviously had met the enemy, too. He respected their self-control, if not the trap they had set. lifted. Despite everything, he wished the flying squirrels no harm. They obviously had met the enemy, too. He respected their self-control, if not the trap they had set.

"Anytime, Kirsten," he said.

Blam! An explosion at the bow rocked the ship. The hull, unharmed, rang like a gong. The concussion threw Sigmund and Kirsten from their seats. A second later, from the stern: An explosion at the bow rocked the ship. The hull, unharmed, rang like a gong. The concussion threw Sigmund and Kirsten from their seats. A second later, from the stern: blam! blam! A third explosion toppled Sigmund as he tried to regain his feet. The emergency protective field generators that should have held them in their crash couches were still installed at the air lock. The hull was nearly impregnable. The crew wasn't. A third explosion toppled Sigmund as he tried to regain his feet. The emergency protective field generators that should have held them in their crash couches were still installed at the air lock. The hull was nearly impregnable. The crew wasn't.

"Jeeves," Kirsten called-hissed?-from the floor. (Sigmund craned his neck at something in her voice. Her left arm flopped at her side. Dislocated, he thought.) "Jeeves. Take us up to one hundred feet."

The ship lurched and slewed: another explosion just as they lifted off.

"Sigmund," came a call over the intercom. Er'o. "I've been watching external sensors. We need to get away from those gunboats."

Sigmund helped Kirsten up before settling into his seat. In his tactical display, the river fleet had come about. Hundreds of cannon pointed this way. Artillery crews worked feverishly to raise their aim.

"Evasive maneuvers, Jeeves," Er'o shouted.

"I am afraid I can't-" Jeeves began.

Blam! Blam! Blam!

Sigmund wasn't much of a pilot, but anything beat being a stationary target. He took the controls and Don Quixote Don Quixote darted toward the crowded wharfs. A cool corner of his mind a.n.a.lyzed Er' o's practical advice, one more suggestion that Gw'oth city-states sometimes warred. darted toward the crowded wharfs. A cool corner of his mind a.n.a.lyzed Er' o's practical advice, one more suggestion that Gw'oth city-states sometimes warred.

The ragged broadside volley pa.s.sed where Don Quixote Don Quixote had just been. A dense cloud of smoke all but hid the riverboats. had just been. A dense cloud of smoke all but hid the riverboats.

Sigmund put Don Quixote Don Quixote into a steep climb. The tanjed squirrels couldn't possibly shoot very high, not with only chemical explosives. Something crude like gunpowder, he surmised from the thick smoke. into a steep climb. The tanjed squirrels couldn't possibly shoot very high, not with only chemical explosives. Something crude like gunpowder, he surmised from the thick smoke.

"Sigmund," Er'o called. "Go down within range for a bit. Pretend we're damaged. I want to see something."

A cannonball strike or two, if it came to that, wouldn't hurt anything, and the Gw'oth had been pretty perceptive so far. Sigmund sent his ship into a shallow dive.

"Come to bearing 225," Er'o said. "Good. Now turn to 112."

The riverboats could not turn fast enough to use their main batteries again, but a few boats fired off rounds from their bow guns. Compared to s.p.a.ce junk, cannonb.a.l.l.s were trivial to track and destroy. Nothing made it through to Don Quixote Don Quixote.

"Got you!" Er'o shouted.

RADIO BURSTS CAME MORE and more frequently: from the riverboats, the cl.u.s.ters of ground troops, and the city. The messages meant little to Ol't'ro, but the signals themselves ...

Ol't'ro ignored the messages from the battlefield-those would be reports, or pleas for reinforcement, or excuses-to concentrate on comm to to the warriors. the warriors. Those Those messages might reveal who commanded the attack. messages might reveal who commanded the attack.

Don Quixote's zigzag course did more than evade the primitive projectile weapons. Ol't'ro now had three separate bearings on the source, from deep within the city, of the radio bursts. The bearings intersected at an imposing stone edifice near several pyramids. The rooftop antenna, now that Ol't'ro knew where to direct a telescope, was decidedly out of place.

Each of Don Quixote Don Quixote's sensors told a story. What tale would they tell speaking together?

Ol't'ro decoupled tubacles, one for each external sensor. Data from across the spectrum streamed into their consciousness, but not without cost-all those dropped inter-mind connections slowed and muddled their thoughts. It was only with great concentration that Ol't'ro rescaled, aligned, superimposed, and synthesized all the imagery. He directed Jeeves to alter the ship's scanning patterns.

A clearer picture emerged. The suspected headquarters building teemed with frail six-limbed creatures- And one figure, far more ma.s.sive than the rest, with four four limbs. limbs.

Using Er' o's voice, Ol't'ro shouted to the bridge, "Got you!"

IN THSSTHFOK'S HELMET, an alarm flared red. His battle armor had detected an unexpected electromagnetic signature. The beam was low energy and ultra-wideband: wall-penetrating radar.

The aliens had found him.

He dashed from his command post, headed for the escape tunnels beneath the palace.

"GOT WHO WHO?" Sigmund called.

"Check channel six," Er'o answered.

Sigmund switched the tactical holo. A human running! About as tall as the flying squirrels: five feet.

No, not quite human. The arms were too long. The head shape was wrong. Or was that a hat or helmet? Even at max resolution, Sigmund could not distinguish clothing from body. Still studying the image, he said, "How did you find-no, don't answer. Just keep tracking it."

Kirsten settled into her crash couch, wincing with pain. Her good hand hovered above her controls. "Sort of like flying with one arm tied behind my back," she said. "I'll manage."

The humanoid in the tactical display sped through corridors, the image jerky as Er'o struggled to follow. Sigmund said, "Can you add a distance scale?"

Grid lines appeared and Sigmund blinked. One question answered; no human moved that fast. Then who or what?

Sigmund turned to Kirsten. "Can you fly this?" you fly this?"

She put Don Quixote Don Quixote through a sharp curve, then veered back toward the building with the mysterious stranger. Through gritted teeth, she said, "Looks like yes." through a sharp curve, then veered back toward the building with the mysterious stranger. Through gritted teeth, she said, "Looks like yes."

They had to know who that was running. "Eric," Sigmund called. "Bring battle gear for the two of us to the main lock. And stepping discs. We're going in."

"Stepping discs?"

OL'T'RO KEPT WATCH on the humanoid racing through the headquarters building. "It's headed deeper into the building. How are you going to get at it?"

"Comm laser," Sigmund answered. "At this range, we can drill right through the building. Jeeves, that's your job. Avoid the natives if you can."

A long silence before Jeeves answered. "I don't think I can, Sig-"

"Sigmund, permit me to control the laser." Ol't'ro hated to reveal one of the secrets they had uncovered, but the mission took precedence. The running figure might be one of the enemy, perhaps a straggler or deserter. "Combat evidently exceeds the device's design pa ram e ters."

Over the intercom, a sharp intake of breath. Ol't'ro could not identify the source. Then they were correct-about Jeeves and and that its artificial nature was meant to remain hidden. "Sigmund, we do not have time to waste." that its artificial nature was meant to remain hidden. "Sigmund, we do not have time to waste."

"Right," Sigmund decided. A channel appeared through the firewall. "Don't harm the natives unnecessarily."

ERIC WAS STRUGGLING into his combat gear when Sigmund reached the main air lock. Sigmund did a quick inventory of what the engineer had chosen: handheld stunners and lasers, two sacks of grenades, and four stepping discs. He closed the inner hatch behind them.

Well, Sigmund thought, I was almost almost prepared. It would have been nice to have police restraint fields. The emergency protective force-field generators from the crash couches were still hot-wired into an air-lock circuit. He unplugged one field generator and put it into an outside pocket of his battle armor. prepared. It would have been nice to have police restraint fields. The emergency protective force-field generators from the crash couches were still hot-wired into an air-lock circuit. He unplugged one field generator and put it into an outside pocket of his battle armor.

"Over the target," Kirsten called.

"Ready when you are," Er'o added.

Sigmund had an image of the big native building on his heads-up display. His quarry was deep inside, apparently headed for the warren of tunnels beneath the structure. Some of the pa.s.sageways went far below the surface, beyond the penetration range of Don Quixote Don Quixote's sensors.

The streets were too narrow to set down the ship. How could they head off their target? Once the humanoid got into the maze, it would take an army to drive it out. Sigmund didn't have an army.

Sigmund asked, "How tall is that building, Kirsten?"

"About three hundred feet."

Sigmund stuffed his pockets with grenades and picked up a stepping disc. "Good. Hover over the street, as close as you dare. Er'o, be ready to burn a street-level entrance for us."

Eric's eyes went round. "Armor or no, we can't jump three hundred feet!"

"I don't plan to." Sigmund smacked the emergency override on the air lock. The outer hatch opened-and snipers opened fire.

The nanofabric of the armor stiffened, distributing the impact of the tiny bullets. Sigmund hardly felt them, but it didn't keep him from cursing. He dropped the stepping disc into the street hundreds of feet below. It landed with a crash, dark side up. Upside down. So did the second disc. He grabbed and dropped a third. It landed right side up.

Time to see how well Puppeteers built these things.

One more stepping disc remained on the air-lock deck. Transport controller in hand, he stepped onto the disc- And reappeared on the street.

He jammed a stepping disc into a sling across his back and plunged through a ragged, smoking hole into the building.

EXPLOSIONS BOOMED ALL AROUND, the closer ones shaking the palace. Between explosions Thssthfok heard the ululations of Drar, and small-arms fire, and masonry creaking. And there was a whooshing sound he did not understand.

The comm gear in his armor sensed signals at frequencies beyond the capability of Drar radios. The signal sources changed bearing steadily.

He could not see his pursuers, but he knew he was being chased.

Thssthfok raced down the stairs, for once wishing he were more like his servants. If he had wings, he would have leapt the banister and glided down in an instant.

Still, he had almost reached the catacombs.