"So you're convinced they suspect you went ahead with your own plan against orders?" Sammi asked.

"I have no doubt. But I'm also sure they have yet to put together sufficient proof to come out and accuse

me of it. After all, this mission was always recognized as being dangerous-that's why the conservative plan was originally adopted in the first place. I had to fight like the dickens just to get them to agree to two days instead of one for that very reason."

"Did they ask about me?"

"Not a peep, Sammi. You just keep quiet about things. If they do ask you any questions, deny everything

like we said. I hate having to have to tell you to lie, but the stakes are way too high to go wobbly now,"

Dykstra said. "But your own work-has it been going well?"

"Now that's a piece of good news," Sammi said. "I've had some good luck. I can give the genanites any

kind of latency period that I want. At least, in simulation. I won't know for sure unless-I mean, until the guys get back."

Dykstra noticed the slip. "I'm starting to get a little worried, too," he said.

"Want to come to my lab and look at what I've been doing, Chris?" Sammi asked.

"I would love to, but I cannot," Dykstra said. "I'm wanted on Farside. Paracelsus crater. I need to pack a few things. I'm leaving in two hours." He sighed. "Do you know that since my return to Luna, I haven't had the time to do a single worthwhile thing either in the lab or at my workstation? Just politicking and subterfuge and giving evasive answers to questions. And there's so much to do."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Sammi said. "So I'm almost afraid to say this, but be sure to come by after you get back."

"Certainly, Sammi. Seeing you is always a pleasure in its own right," Dykstra said, smiling gently.

He did not mention to Sammi that although he'd been asked to go to Farside, there wasn't anything like a rational reason for it that he could see.

It was while he was on the special shuttle waiting for the pilot who would take him to Farside that Dykstra got the notion that perhaps he'd find out about things even before the shuttle got to its destination. He knew he was right when Colonel Knoedler came aboard, sat down at the pilot's controls, and said, "I expect we'll have an interesting flight, Dr. Dykstra."

"No doubt," Dykstra said, taking the arrival of the colonel in stride. "May I ask if there is a genuine reason for going to Farside?"

"Why certainly there is, Doctor. But we'll be at the top of our ballistic when we'll be notified that our scheduled meeting has been canceled, and I'll abort to a single orbit return to base."

The two said no more while Knoedler took the shuttle out of the docks and sent them thrusting on their way. Within seconds of leaving the surface, Dykstra noticed that the colonel had activated the defense screens. "I gather you don't want to risk any chance of our conversation being overheard," Dykstra said.

The colonel turned to look at him. He had soft brown hair and tight, brown wrinkles around eyes that lased in the ultraviolet. Tendons in his neck stuck out like cables and his jaw muscles were prominent. "You have that right. But I wouldn't have had to bother if you'd just tell me how it is you've managed to make your quarters bugproof. I finally told my men to give up last week."

Dykstra smiled. He'd known men like Colonel "Tommy" before. This was a man of honor and honesty, even though he had been diametrically opposed to Dykstra's plans. "When this whole shebang is over, Colonel, I'll let you in on a few of my other secrets."

The message that the Farside meeting had been canceled came at the expected time, Knoedler tweaked the thrusters, and they entered the groove of an unpowered orbit that would take them around the Moon and back to the High Command.

"Let me tell you about myself, Dr. Dykstra," Knoedler began. "As a boy, you were my idol. I had a high IQ and knew I wanted to study theoretical physics by the time I was seven. Given my personality, I wanted to both emulate you and overthrow your work. But it didn't take long for me to realize that you were in a class by yourself.

"Ultimately, I wound up in the service, and in my current position, and I like it here. I also have a confession to make. It was I, and not Major Moore, who tried to keep you out of the Phinon Project in the beginning. It was only when it became clear that mortal minds were no match for advanced alien technology that the Joint Staff ordered us to take you."

"But why did you keep me out?" Dykstra asked. "Even when you knew I could help."

"Because I knew you'd be doing exactly the sort of things that you have been doing. Those men in the Hyperlight are doing the mission you wanted them to do, not the one that was agreed to. All by itself your bearing inspires that sort of devotion. I've had my men chasing all over the Solar Union trying to ferret out the system you have under you-"

"What system? You think I'm at the top of a conspiracy?"

"No. That I could handle. It's the system of friendships you've cultivated over the course of the last century. I can't compete with that. You've made good friends and they all think they owe you something. What sort of pressure could I bring to bear against the president of the most powerful company in the Union when he has fond memories of you reading to him when he was a child?"

Dykstra did not betray his curiosity at Knoedler's indirect mention of Wayne Vander Kam. What kind of pressure, indeed? Dykstra thought. Somehow he was sure that the colonel had thought of something.

"The problem I have with you, Doctor, is that you're not bound by anyone or anything temporal," Knoedler continued. "You're a man of Destiny, with a big 'D.' You'll always do what you think is best, and who the hell can argue with you that you're wrong?"

"I can see your problem, Colonel. But I can't say I'm sorry. I gather you knew I wouldn't be?"

"Yeah."

Dykstra made himself more comfortable in his seat, then Knoedler noticed his movements and promptly dropped the internal gravity down to Luna standard. "Forgive me. I should have done that first thing," he said, and Dykstra knew that, about this matter, he was sincere.

"That's okay. Now, there must be some other reason for your wanting to talk to me under these hushed conditions than just to make confessions. What is it?"

"Haaa," the colonel sighed. "I need your help."

"How can I serve?" Dykstra asked ironically.

"There are some on the Joint Staff who are calling for your hide, and for the hides of your men once they return. About what you'd expect. But despite my earlier vociferous objections to your views, it's all moot now as far as I'm concerned. Besides, we have more hyperdrive ships under construction as I speak. What I have to offer is protection for your people. When your men return they'll be accused of nothing, and we won't even question that beautiful genano engineer friend of yours." He looked Dykstra in the eye. "Don't say anything, Doctor. You haven't admitted anything and I didn't expect you to. You just run your show and I'll run mine."

"But what's your problem, Colonel?"

"The Belt. Some on the Joint Staff also want to use the new technology to slaughter the Belt. Despite the cease-fire and our sharing of knowledge about the Phinons, no one has felt particularly inclined to tell the Belt about what you've been able to accomplish, Doctor. They feel that the new impeller technology alone gives the System Patrol an unbeatable edge.

"I read a report you once wrote about our level of technology and fighting the Belt-what do you think now?"

Dykstra looked away, out the window and at the scarred surface of the Moon. Years ago he had turned his mind to running through war scenarios against the Belt, and his had been one of the voices instrumental in ending the Belt War of Independence in favor of the Belt by demonstrating that victory by the Solar Union (victory defined as resubjugation of the Belt worlds) would come at a prohibitive cost even if luck was on their side. But now he added the new drive and the mass converter into the calculus of war and said: "They're right. It would."

"I don't want that," Knoedler said. "We can't afford to fight the Belt ever again while the aliens are out there. Any aliens, for that matter. Who knows what's out there besides the Phinons? And besides, we have a freaking FTL drive now. Who the hell is going to care about Solar real estate in a few years? The Belter types will be the first to head for the stars!" Knoedler was almost shouting now, then he caught himself and settled down.

"What's your bottom line, Colonel?" Dykstra asked softly.

"I want to share the Phinon technology with the Belt. But the only person they're going to trust in a meeting with us is you . . ."

"Hold it right there, Colonel," Dykstra said. "Before you continue the hard sell, I want the whole truth. I'm having trouble believing you're magnanimous enough to just hand everything to the Belt when you don't need to. To be accused of treason to show the goodness in your heart? Please."

"We have data that strongly indicates that the Phinons may be massing ships outside the Hague Limit, possibly for an invasion," Knoedler said. Dykstra was pleased that the man hadn't bothered to protest his innocence. Knoedler filled him in on the information supplied by the Belt.

"If an invasion comes, I want the BDF to be at the same technological level that the Patrol is," Knoedler concluded.

"That's better," Dykstra said, though he wasn't entirely convinced that Knoedler had told him everything.

"It's got to be you, Dr. Dykstra," Knoedler continued. "You're the only one with the system-wide veneration who could pull this off. You have to write Einstein's letter, only this time we're giving the bomb away."

"The Belt tried to have me killed a few months back," Dykstra pointed out.

"And only you," Knoedler said. "Look at it as a gesture of great respect."

Dykstra thought about it a moment. "I'd rather have my house back," he said. "Nevertheless, I will help you, Colonel."

VIII.

Pops was not happy with the options he had in front of him. Despite the days spent on planning the raid, he was painfully aware that they would be going in with almost nothing more going for them than wishful thinking and a prayer.

Well, what did you expect on a renegade mission, anyway?

Had this been an official expedition, there would have been more spacecraft involved, and a lot more guys, and a shitload of equipment and weaponry. As it was, they had: himself, Bob, and Rick; Pops' top-of-the-line power suit, Bob's lesser power suit, some hand weapons; and guts.

Sometimes guts were enough. They'd served him in the past.

Pops had first seen active service in the military back in the Forties, in the Central American jungles. Having decided that jungle rot was not his cup of tea, he'd transferred off planet to join the fight against the revolting Belt. He'd never gone back to Earth to live since.

Now he wondered if he'd ever see the Solar System again.

"Granted, this is a damnfool expedition. We're going to need more than a little luck to pull this off, too. But this is the scenario I've come up with given what we've been able to find out about the Phinons in the past few days." Pops was addressing Bob and Rick in the middeck. He had a display up in the holotank, and it showed that section of a typical Phinon comet that they'd physically explored.

"This entry shaft is open to vacuum on this comet, just like in all the abandoned ones. We'll ground the ship nearby, then Bob and I will enter the shaft. If there happen to be some Phinons there in suits, then we're going to try to disable a couple, hit them with PMDP, load them into the rescue bags, and come right back."

"Do you really think you'll be able to disable them, Pops?" Rick asked.

Pops restrained the urge to snap back with, "If I didn't think we'd be able to I wouldn't have brought it up," and instead said: "What we know from the encounter at Deepguard is that a person in a power suit is a match for a Phinon. And I'm more than good, and my suit is the best, complete with the deluxe weapons platform. Besides that, I intend to cut a couple limbs off the bastards right up front. Sammi doesn't need a whole Phinon for her work-just a living one. If there are any in that shaft, Bob and I are going to nab the first two who cross our path and then we're out of there."

"And if the shaft is empty?" Rick asked.

Pops sighed. Didn't Rick know enough to just sit and listen first during a briefing? "I'm coming to that, Rick."

Pops enlarged a section of the holo. "Down here are those rooms we explored. The most conservative thing to do, assuming that the entire unpressurized shaft is empty, is to go someplace where we've been before. In this case, when we get to this door, assuming there's pressure behind it, I'm going to blow it open. We'll grab whatever Phinons come drifting out, stuff them in the rescue bags, and then, again, we're outta there.

"We're not going to finesse a damn thing. We go in, we blast or cut or kill as need be, take what we came for and split."

Several hours later Bob was ready to put the Hyperlight down on the surface of the comet. "I don't see anything on the deepscans-nothing incoming whatsoever. So unless they pop out of hyperspace right next to us we should have time to get down without any Phinon ships spotting us. Rick says he still hasn't seen any evidence that this comet has any tracking or scanning beams emanating from it at all," Bob informed Pops.

Pops was on the middeck, going through the checkout on his power suit one more time. "And so, sailor?" he said.

"And so I'll have us down in two minutes, right next to the refinery," Bob answered. Given the capabilities of the ship, it made more sense for them in this case to put down on the surface and hide out than it did to remain hovering over the surface. The ship would be much harder to spot on the ground, and the Hyperlight could be back in space in a split second if need be. Which was about all Rick would be able to do with the ship anyway-no one expected any fancy flying out of a non-pilot, not in a military craft.

Pops flexed his arms. The suit felt good around him. It had sometimes been his home for days at a time and it felt as comfortable on him as nicely worn shoes. He held up the pistol in his hand. It was a scary looking thing, with pointed beam guides and trim cooling fins along the barrel. It was Pops' favorite, a '62 model FEL UV laser gun. Though his suit had lots more goodies built into it, this weapon had fond memories attached to it.

Pops felt a slight bump as the ship grounded. A moment later Bob joined him on the middeck and put on his own power suit.

Pops did the jaw move that made his faceplate lock into place. Although the inside of Pops' helmet was ordinarily a virtual vision environment, a transparent panel remained over the face, both in case the VR equipment failed, and because it was nice for your comrades to be able to look inside and see you sometimes.

They entered the airlock, the door closed behind them. Pops could hear the high hissing of air pumping out of the chamber. No sooner had the hissing stopped when Rick said over the comm: "Any time you're ready. Good luck. Come back, please. I can't fly this damn thing, y'know."

Pops looked at Bob who nodded. The lieutenant was smiling at Rick's remark. Pops opened the lock. They stepped out and their gripfields held them to the surface. Pops turned on a very dim light and allowed his image intensifiers to illuminate the way. They walked through the monochrome world to where the shaft opened on the surface. Once there, they hesitated a moment, but there was really nothing else to do except look over the lip.

Pops did. The shaft was empty.

But this time it was illuminated all the way to the bottom. "Damn," Pops said. "I really was hoping there'd be a couple Phinons flitting by right near the top of the shaft. Then we could get the hell out of here in short order."

"No such luck," Bob said. "Besides, didn't you want to do this the hard way?" The comment was followed by a strained laugh.

"Just try to keep laughing as we head down," Pops said. They both jetted to the center of the shaft then let the slight gravity pull them down into the depths of the comet. Again there was the myriad of doors along the way, only this time each was lighted at the entrance, though still none were open. Pops kept his attention on the view below, and Bob watched above them. Any one of those doors could open after they'd passed. And if any of them did and some Phinons came out, Pops would be perfectly content to end the descent and revert to his original plan.

No such luck. They landed at the bottom of the shaft on the huge door, still without seeing a Phinon.

"Okay, to the right," Pops said. To their eyes this comet was laid out exactly like the others they had visited, and they would not have been able to tell the difference if it weren't for the case that this time the lights were on. They proceeded slowly, Pops watching the front and Bob the rear, but still no Phinons emerged to make life more interesting.

"There's the hemisphere," Pops said finally. "Same door is open in this one."

"Guess it's our destiny," Bob said. "Maybe we'll at least find out what the hell those paired depressions are for."

They went into the airlock tube. As expected, the door at the other end was closed. Pops said, "I'm going to try to open this door. I assume there's pressure on the other side. If it won't open I'm going to rip it out. You'll have to clear out if I do that."

"Roger, Roger," Bob said.

"Don't do that."

"Sorry. Nerves," Bob admitted.

Pops reached for the triangle on the door. The instant his hand touched it, the first door closed and they heard the thunderclap of rapid repressurization.

"We're in air," Bob said.

"Tell Rick," Pops ordered.

They had kept checking in with Rick all along, and Rick had been constantly monitoring them, so he was ready with an analysis the instant Bob hailed him.