"Oh, hell," Stagwell said. "I wish Ingermann had shot you in the leg. At leastwe could take your crutches away."

Holloway turned back to Major Lunt. "Now, George," he said, "what about Ingermann?"

George Lunt spread his hands. "What can I say, Jack? He's not among the dead.

He's not among the wounded; and he's not among the prisoners. He's copped out on foot and hit the woods. He'll get hungry, sooner or later, and we'll get him. Now, go lie down, like Dick says. You look all feverish to me."

"Dammit all to Nifflheim!" Holloway said. And he said some other things, more profane, as he tried to hold down the butt stock of his rifle with his forearm while trying to chamber a fresh round one-handed.

"What are you trying to do, now?" George said. He took the rifle away from Jack and slammed the heavy bolt of the Sleeker back, then forward, chambering a fresh round. He handed the weapon back to Holloway. "Now, what do you think you're doing?" he asked again.

Jack stood up. "I'm going to find that fat little son of a khooghra," he said.

"He's bound to have left tracks in this mud, and I'm going to find him. He got a whole bunch of poor, dumb slobs killed-whose only crime was being out of work and hungry-and I'm going to find him." He sloshed off over the muddy ground, in a still-slight drizzle of rain, toward the deep woods.

George Lunt got to his feet and started to say something, then let it be. He knew Jack Holloway well enough to know that there wasn 't much point in reasoning with him when he was in this kind of mood.

The dawn in Mallorysport was a dingy gray, partly from the overcast and the light rain, and partly from the pall of smoke that still hung in the heavy air after the fires in Mortgageville had been put out.

There were puddles of water on the weed-infested esplanade where the aircar set down. Hugo Ingermann, wearing now-dry-but-wrinkled clothes hopped out of the side hatch, then leaned back into the aircar to profusely shake the hand of his rescuer. "I won't forget you for this, "he said. "I promise you, I'll see that you're taken care of very well indeed-just as soon as this blows over. It'll blow over, you know. These things always do. And when it does, you'll be on my team-and on my payroll. I promise you that. Oh, yes. They've got Hugo Ingermann down right now, but he's not out. You'll see."

The man in the hat, behind the controls of the aircar, smiled cryptically, but his colorless eyes showed no emotion. "I wish you the very best, Mr.

Ingermann," the man in the hat said. "But please don't feel that you're obligated to me."

"Oh.butlam, "Ingermann said. "I never forget a debt of gratitude. That's the way I am about gestures of friendship. You'll see. I won't forget this."

"I sincerely hope not," the man in the hat said. "Be seeing you." He pulled the side hatch shut and watched for a moment as Hugo Ingermann ran off through the puddles of rainwater on the esplanade.

Chapter 45.

Joe Holderman stood, again, looking out the window at the drill yard, sipping coffee from a white porcelain mug with no handle. He heard footsteps behind him. 'Too many rats in the box, Jordy," he said. "Too many rats iri the box."Jordan Nunez threw down a stack of printout on the watch commander's desk.

"Dammit to Niffiheim, Joe," he said. "What are you doing back here? You're not on duty station again till 1200 today."

Holderman didn't move his gaze from the drill yard. "Can't sleep, Jordy," he said. "Too many rats in the box. I can see it coming. We're going to have to cut down a lot of poor bastards whose only crime is that they can't make a living. Too many rats in the box."

Nunez hooked his thumbs into his hip pockets. "You're lettin' this get to you, Joe," he said. "Why don't you just have a couple of stiff drinks and go to bed?"

"Tried that," Holderman said. "It doesn't work any more. I 'm never wrong. I don't like what I see. Too many rats in the box."

"Oh, hell," Nunez said irritably. "I'm going to call the Doc and have him give you a shot that'll put you out for twenty-four hours. I'll pull your shift.

You've got to get off this."

"I wish to Ghu you would," Holderman said. "I sure don't want it on my record."

Nunez punched up a call combination on the screen.

When it cleared he said, "Get Doctor Bob." A pause. "I know you '11 have to wake him up. I 've got an officer here that needs a sedative-I.V.-and I want it stat. What? I'm the watch commander. Now, get Bob Morton up and get him over here. I don't want to file paperwork on this."

"Son," Napier said, "you've got the whole bag in that portfolio."

Lieutenant Moshe Gilbert nodded.

"Now," Napier said,"I want you to take seriously what I told you. You keep that packet on your lap. You take it with you when you go to the head. You sit on it when you eat, and you keep it tucked under your arm-with a pistol in your hand-when you sleep. You deliver it by hand to Admiral Peterson-nobody else-and you require him-on my authority-to verify thumbprint before you put it in his hands. And then you wait-a week, a month, however long he may take-for the instructions. And then you get those instructions back here-and you burn out the drives on The Ranger if you have to. Commander Hesser is at your disposal in that respect. The Ranger is powered up and ready to lift out.

She'll strain every rivet to get you-and that packet-to Terra in four months'

time-if that's humanly possible. Do I make myself clear, Mister?"

"You do, sir." Gilbert saluted.

"Understood, aye," Napier said and returned the salute.

The two men shook hands.

"Ghu!-you smell good," Victor Grego said as he pitched the file folder of work onto the dappled marble hall table7 in his penthouse foyer and slung his other arm around Christiana, pulling her close to him as he kissed her on the neck.

"Victor!" she said in mock surprise. "Aren't we ardent this evening."

Grego regarded her at arm's length. "I know enough to grab onto a good thing when I find it. How do you think I became Manager-in-Chief, anyway?""I love it, and you know it, you old dog," she said.

"I know it, and I know you love it," he replied. "Cocktails before dinner?

Where's Diamond?"

"Yes," she said. "At Government House with Flora and Fauna-in that order.

We'll have a drink and then go over there to fetch him-and the Fuzzies will have their evening romp together, and we will dine with Governor Rainsford.

He wants to talk to you about this Navy reception that's coming off tomorrow."

" Ah," Grego said, accepting the frosted glass she handed him. "Alex Napier is going to tell us all. Is that it?"

"More or less," Christiana said, "as I understand it. It's to be done with a certain amount of pomp-and from what I have been able to pick up on the coffee-pot-and-water-cooler telegraph, there's a good chance that you can get the Company's fingers back into the operation of the planet."

"Oh-ho," Grego said. He put his arm around her waist and walked her out onto the south terrace, from where they could view the Zarathustran sunset, blazing red and gold in the western sky. "So, this insurrection and gun battle thing over on North Beta is a little larger than the news media let on to the citizens, is it?"

"It certainly looks that way to me," she said.

Grego patted her, just below the ribs. "Maybe I should fire Harry Steefer and put you in charge of the Company Police-the way about you that you have of ferreting things out and-oh-managing people-including me."

She giggled quietly and smacked Grego on the shoulder with her fist.

"Ingermann got away, you know," she said, turning suddenly serious.

Grego raised his eyebrows. "No. I hadn't heard that. It'll be Nifflheim 's own job to dig him out and arrest him, now."

"That's why I think we should send Gwen over to Hollo-way Station as soon as she's ready to leave the hospital," Christiana said. "She's the star witness in the case, and where would she be safer than sitting in the middle of the entire ZNPF? Perhaps we can arrange for her to stay with Lynne Andrews-who is an M.D.-and who lives next door to the van Riebeeks-who are also both M.D.s.

And I understand Gerd van Riebeek is experienced in the bush and a good hand with a gun."

Grego took a pull at his drink. "You've figured it all out, haven't you?"

She smiled a tight little smile and nodded.

Grego nodded. "I'll speak to Pappy Jack at the reception."

Chapter 46.

When Fuzzies talk among themselves, they generally sit down on the ground-or the floor-in a circle and proceed with the conversation. When they are in attendance at a social function with the Hagga, though, they have learned to make their talk-circle in a place where they are not apt to get stepped on accidentally. In the case of parties held in places with outdoor terraces, such as Victor Grego's penthouse or the Colonial Governor's quarters atGovernment House, >tnere always seemed to be heavy circular tables made of dilon in use as outdoor furniture. These became a favorite place for Fuzzy-talk while the Hagga made Big-One talk.

Starwatcher and Little Fuzzy were deep in serious conversation with Diamond, who would occasionally nod his head slowly. All of them frequently lapsed into Lingua Fuzzy, audible to.Terran ears only as a series ofyeeks. All three were soon to be disturbed by Commodore Napier-who referred to them as the Big Three Fuzzies-as he would require then-presence in the Governor's conference room.

The reception that Alex Napier had laid on at Government House could, as Christiana had predicted, be accurately described as having a certain amount of pomp. The first inkling that this was a military affair came from the posted-and armed-Marine sentries in dress blues. They positively glittered.

They were affable, incredibly polite to the civilians, and all business as they checked the identification of every person entering the building.

Through Governor Rainsford's cavernous private conference room and out on the terrace, Navy messcooks in spotless whites had laid out a buffet that would rival the most elaborate do that Jerry Panoyian could assemble. The bar was open, but the presence of more Marine sentries, posted like statues around the terrace fenceline, seemed to indicate restraint. Napier had carefully orchestrated the affair to indicate convivial co-operation while at the same time underscoring the point that civil unrest was still a cause for concern.

He had only invited The People Who Counted, and the quick realization that they were all there indicated that this would come to more than some little Public Relations party the Navy was tossing.

Ordinarily, Napier would have been resplendent in his gold-braided Space Navy black uniform, but he looked like an undertaker alongside Marines in dress blues. Phil Helton, in particular, was blindingly easy to find, with Master Gunnery Sergeant of Fleet Marines chevrons-three gold ones up, three more upside down under them, and two straight gold bars through the middle, all on a crimson background with a flaming bomb at the center of the two straight bars. That took up most of each sleeve, but on the left one he had to cram in a string of gold hashmarks and off-planet service bars (which were called hershey bars for some reason no one remembered any more). The high, tunic collar, piped in red, was set off with the TFMC anchor-and-spiral-nebula insignia-"clanker in the stars," as it was referred to by insiders.

Jack Hollo way sidled up to Helton. "That's a mighty gaudy-I mean-ah-colorful uniform, Phil," he said.

Helton smiled a tight smile and took a sip of his drink. "That's because you've never seen a senior Marine NCO in full drag before," he said.

"Full drag?" Holloway was awash to the term.

"All dressed up," Helton said.

"No," Jack said, "as a matter of fact, I never have. Great Ghu," he said, eyeing Helton's medals, "that's quite a string of gongs you've got there, too."

"Well," Helton said,"no matter how careful you are, you can't avoid collecting a few in twenty years."

"What's your next move?" Holloway asked. "I suppose you'll be shipping out pretty soon.""Yes, sir," Helton said, reiterating their private joke. "My work's done here, now. Time to move on to the next job."

"How long before they put you out to pasture?" Jack asked.

Helton puffed his cheeks and exhaled noisily. "I'm supposed to get my double-dec chip any time, now," he said."I haven't made up my mind whether to pull the pin then or stick for thirty. It all just gets to be the same after a while."

Holloway looked off into the middle distance. "I know what you mean, Phil," he said. "I know what you mean."

The band-in Navy full-dress-had returned to the platform and struck up a slow waltz called Baldur's Rum Rats. Holloway recognized it, but had no notion at all of why it had come to be written or what it meant.

As Holloway stared across the terrace, he could see Grego and Christiana coming toward them, accompanied by Ben Rainsford-who was wearing his usual rumpled bush jacket and short pants. With his bushy red whiskers and knobby knees-at that distance-he looked rather like an obscure species of khaki emu.

Odd-how he and Victor Grego had become something of friendly enemies, once each understood that they were both working toward the same goals. Grego seemed to be getting positively mellow-and everyone noticed how impossible it was for himself and Christiana to conceal their obviously deep devotion to each other. Even in public, at the most formal of affairs, they were like a pair of water spaniels that had mated for life-totally wrapped up in each other.

Holloway smiled as unobtrusively as he could. Wonder what goes on when there's no one else around, he thought. Looks like there'll be another wedding reception pretty soon-and Grego won't be losing his Fuzzy-Sitter-In-Chief at this one.

He turned to Helton. "I hope you'll consider coming back to Zarathustra when you leave the TFMC," he said.

"I heard that," Grego said jovially, "and I concur. Zarathustra needs men like you, Helton. We're getting ready to grow, again. This little pot of mud that Ingermann has stirred up will settle out pretty soon, and-"

"And Ian Ferguson is griping about retirement," Rainsford interrupted. "I've been talking to Alex Napier about you, young man, and he agrees with me that you 'd be a perfect choice for the next Commandant of the Colonial Constabulary."

Helton grinned broadly and took a hurried gulp of his drink. "You overwhelm me, gentlemen," he said. The only thing I can say at the moment is a verse that comes to mind.

'When foxes eat the last gold grape, And the last white antelope is killed, '

I shall stop fighting and escape Into a little house I'll build.' "

Helton was relieved from dealing further with Ben Rainsford's expansive suggestions by the ringing of a ship's bell over the portable public address speakers-ding-ding-ding-ding-and the amplified voice of a Navy Chief Petty Officer. "Four bells and all's shipshape. Those with individual invitations to the briefing should turn to in the ward room-" pause"-I mean-assemble in theGovernor's conference chamber."

1800 hours. The band resumed playing, softly-light classics, mostly: Like Loki is my Home, Buried in the Stars, Hyper space Heaven, Senchant Star-that sort of thing. People were filing into the conference room and taking seats which had small cards taped to the backs with each individual 's name printed on them.

The room had been re-arranged, with the long conference table turned at a right angle across one end of the room. Alex Napier and his principal staff were seated behind it, like judges in a court.

As soon as everyone was comfortably situated and the Marine guards had closed the outer doors to the conference room, Napier rose. "Ladies and gentlemen,"

he said, nodding toward Little Fuzzy, Diamond, and Starwatcher, who were seated in the front row, to indicate that he included them in the appellation,"you may have noticed that there are quite a lot of Marines on Zarathustra." There was a ripple of laughter. "To be more precise," Napier said, "there is a full brigade of them, assigned to Xerxes Base and under the command of Colonel Thomas McGraw." He indicated McGraw, who stood so that everyone might get a good look at him. "I wish to emphasize," Napier continued,"that this military presence in no way indicates that I have again assumed temporary control of the civil government. The Marines-and a contingent of Naval personnel from Xerxes-are here in answer to the specific request by Governor Rainsford for assistance in maintaining law and order during a period of civil unrest. When complete order has been restored, and on the request, again, of Governor Rainsford, we will withdraw."

Jack Hollo way nodded. Ah, he thought to himself, Ben has made a deal with Alex Napier-a deal that will not bring down a Board of Inquiry on either one of them, but will get us all out from under this insurrection business as gracefully as possible.

"The situation is, I must say, quite serious," Napier was saving, "but nothing-in the view of Governor Rainsford, Mr. Victor Grego, or myself-that warrants a declaration of Martial Law."

Oh-ho, Holloway was thinking. All three of them put it together over cocktails last night.

"I will elaborate on this later during the briefing, but it is not the central reason for calling you together.

"As most of you know, there has been discovered-in conjunction with a wrecked hypership of alien design-a certain body of equally alien communications and information storage gear on North Beta. The Navy has impounded this gear under the provisions of Priority One, in order to examine it and decipher as much of the information as our cryptography and psycho-medical personnel could manage.

The results of our investigations will be presented in the briefing by Lieutenant Commander Ybarra, Liaison Officer, and Lieutenant diCenzo, Chief Psychologist-whose portion of the briefing will follow immediately after me.