Out in the hallway the red light over 9-42-A changed to green.

L'Wrona walked across the narrow ap.r.o.n of the berth, then scrambled up the ship's boarding ladder. Reaching the top, he grabbed the support bar above the airlock and pulled himself in, feet first. The outer door hissed shut behind him. He stood in the coffin-sized s.p.a.ce between inner and outer door-an area equipped with an array of miniaturized scanners that could discreetly explore the contents of a guest's garments, a.n.a.lyze his or her physiology for anything from infectious diseases to narcotics, and, if necessary, dispatch unwanted visitors with a brief needier burst.

There was no needier burst. The inner door opened on to a short, well-lit corridor. "It seems you are H'Nar, H'Nar," said Dad.

"You sound disappointed," said L'Wrona, walking down the corridor to the bridge. On his way he pa.s.sed an alley-shaped galley on his left, and a bedsitting room on his right. Had he turned left at the hatchway instead of right, he'd have come to the engine room.

"You try sitting on standby for ten years and see how you like it . . . son. I led a robust life-I crave action."

"Action is why you're dead," said L'Wrona, sliding into the left seat. The bridge was small, just the two flight chairs, but crammed with instruments. Fleet compliance inspectors would have been astounded to see that the original gunnery controls not only were intact-a very serious illegality-but had been augmented by the best combat command and information system available. The CCI was a salvaged Imperial model, unmatched since the Fall. When L'Wrona had asked the old man where he'd gotten it, the margrave had merely touched his fingers to his lips and winked.

"You're lucky to still have me, H'Nar," said the ship. "Not every parent would have been so thoughtful."

Twelve years ago, smiling happily, accompanied by a pair of twenty-year-old female companions, the margrave had departed on his annual jaunt aboard one of the jump-equipped cruise liners that catered to the affluent. Done in by too much companionship somewhere off A'Gal IV, the old man had come back in a bodybag-still smiling. Family and Confederation had consigned his body to s.p.a.ce with full honors, the guns of the Home Fleet saluting him as he was launched -still smiling-toward galactic north.

Behind him, the margrave had left t.i.tles and estates stretching back to the T'Rlon Dynasty and this one heavily modified "pleasurecraf t."

Calling up the preflight checklist prompt on the commscreen, L'Wrona was reviewing the jump drive status-green/on-call-when Dad said, "Cleared straight through, son, but with a suspicious delay. K'Ronarport was checking with someone."

"Any idea who?"

"They had me on hold. Not smart-there's a lot of electronic sieve on those circuits. Our controller punched out to a priority line at the Combine T'Lan liaison office. The rest was in code."

There was a barely audible whirring from outside. L'Wrona threw a switch, and what had been a dark band of armorgla.s.s 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 Rich Man's Toy moved out into the night. 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 s.p.a.ceport.

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

"Acknowledged, Rich Man's Toy," 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." 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 h.e.l.l 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 as.e.xual contralto echoed through the command tiers. "Unauthorized departure. Unauthorized departure. L'Aal-cla.s.s cruiser Implacable Implacable is lifting. is lifting. Implacable Implacable is lifting." 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, 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 a.s.sistance," said the admiral. Not that he expected to get it-Line had its own very narrow priorities. 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 a.s.sistance," said the admiral. Not that he expected to get it-Line had its own very narrow priorities.

"She's heading for s.p.a.ce," said A'Wal. "Batteries opening fire now."

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

I'Tal turned. Councilor D'a.s.san 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 h.e.l.ls 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'a.s.san serenely. "To add to the Tower fire a ma.s.sive 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 s.p.a.ce."

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 s.p.a.cious, high-ceilinged room, with a desk made in the image of a cla.s.sically 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 Implacable and are approaching my inner sector. FleetOps request that we stop them. They do not specify the method." 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.

G.o.ds, thought D'Trelna. N'Trol? A corsair? Absurd.

"He's Implacable's Implacable's engineer, Admiral," said D'Trelna. "Highly competent, irreverent, irascible, no lover of authority . . ." 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'a.s.san 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 Implacable const.i.tutes a direct threat to the security of the planet." const.i.tutes 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 pa.s.sionate 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 s.p.a.ce."

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 "Implacable has jumped." 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. 'Pa.s.sionate.' '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'a.s.san each desire urgently to confer with you, Admiral," said Line as the two officers left the room.