Once he had arranged to meet with Del Kellum in the Osquivel administrative station, Kotto could barely contain his enthusiasm. The eccentric inventor was so excited about his new theory that he found himself unable to do other work, so he and his two compies shut down their temporary systems and left the hydrogue derelict in empty space.

He let the compies pilot the shuttle down into the industrial complex in the gas giant's rings, far below. Del Kellum hadn't wanted him to study the alien wreck too close to the shipyards, just in case the hydrogues took notice. Kotto didn't mind the isolation; he could never have concentrated properly amidst the many distractions down in the rings.

While he waited for the clan leader to see him, thoughts ricocheted through his mind. "It's a solution at least, right? This is what we were supposed to be doing in the first place, isn't it, GU?"

"I have no context for your statement, Kotto Okiah," the scuffed compy said.

Kotto gave a dismissive wave. He couldn't expect them to follow his train of thought if he didn't say anything out loud. "Never mind."

He fidgeted, then looked again at the sketched-out calculations and his scrawled proposal. He liked to work with scraps of recyclable paper instead of on a datascreen, which he found confining. Real paper gave him more creative elbow room, the freedom to think and flow; after he was finished, GU always cleaned up his sketches and summarized the basic idea in a neater format. Now, the two Analytical compies accompanied him to project backup data and supporting hypotheses, should Kotto need it. Whenever Del Kellum got here...

"What's taking him so long?"

"I do not have access to his schedule, Kotto Okiah," GU said.

"Neither do I," KR said.

"What a conundrum." Kotto sighed and leaned back in his chair.

He had made similar presentations before. His mother had trained him how to present his case and stand up against the usual stream of complaints and uncertainties from other clan leaders. Roamers weren't unimaginative, nor were they afraid to take risks, but they were conservative and careful. The clans had suffered too many tragedies and disasters over the years.

"You need to be firm, and your conclusions must be irrefutable," Jhy Okiah had said. "If you show a speck of uncertainty, they'll eat you alive and you'll never get any project approved."

Faced with the hydrogue interdiction against skymining, Speaker Peroni had called for all Roamers to find innovative ways to keep producing ekti. Kotto had plunged into the challenge with a vengeance, one idea after another. And unlike his other schemes, this new plan was incredibly simple-child's play by comparison-yet it had enormous repercussions. Today, he only had to convince Del Kellum; there wasn't anyone else involved.

"Good thing it's a small-scale operation," he muttered to KR.

"I do not have any context-" the compy began.

"What's that?" Del Kellum said as he came into the chamber without apologizing for being late.

With a glance at a chronometer, Kotto saw that the barrel-chested man was only two minutes past the time of their appointment. "I was just rehearsing my presentation," he said, looking sheepish.

"I don't like rehearsed speeches. Just tell me what you're thinking, by damn. Did you find something in the derelict?"

Kotto glanced at the two compies for imagined encouragement, then turned back to the clan head. "How about a straightforward way to open up a drogue warglobe? Simple and cheap."

"Those are two words I don't often hear around here." Kellum led him over to a station with a small table, where he shooed the technician away so they could use the space. "Show me."

Kotto laid out his drawings and explained how he had inadvertently stumbled upon a solution with the small hydrogue vessel, and how he expected to extend the same principle to the big warglobes using small membranes that could vibrate at a precise resonance frequency.

The clan leader scratched his graying beard, absorbing the sketches and calculations. "I usually can't understand a thing you're talking about, Kotto-but this...this is so simple it's ridiculous."

"I agree it's uncomplicated. All the more reason it should be completely effective. I'm going to call it a 'doorbell.' Can your facilities make them here?"

The clan leader gave a scowl. "Don't insult my workers, Kotto. Even those clumsy Eddy prisoners could make something as straightforward as this. In fact, maybe I'll put them on it. They can't complain about making weapons to fight the drogues."

Kotto beamed. "We should get on it right away, since there's no telling when we might need to use them. I'd like to start disseminating them to anyone who might need help against the drogues. Could we pass the word to the Hansa, so they-"

Del Kellum's scowl deepened. "Just like that? After what the Eddies did to Rendezvous and all those other Roamer facilities? We hand over the solution and expect them to embrace us?"

"I...uh, I thought it would save lives. And it's not as if they can use the technology against us us in any way." in any way."

"Let's save Roamer lives. Forget about the Big Goose." Kellum's shoulders sagged. "I suppose Zhett would yell at me for that decision. All right, let me reconsider. But I do want to arm the clans first. We've got to set our priorities, by damn."

"What about the Therons? They're our friends, aren't they? Realistically, they're the most likely target for a renewed drogue attack. In fact, I'm surprised warglobes haven't come back already. We might not have a lot of time."

The clan leader paced around the station, then lashed out at his eavesdropping technicians. "What are you all looking at? Do I need to find other duties for you?" The workers scurried back to their stations.

The administrator turned back to Kotto. "Yes, I suppose we should get your-did you call them doorbells?-we should get them to Theroc as soon as possible. We all know they're the most vulnerable, and the drogues seem to have quite a vendetta against them."

"My system will be easy enough for the Therons to use," Kotto said brightly. "I could take the first batch of my doorbells there in a day or two."

"If we get cracking," Del Kellum said.

Kotto smiled at GU and KR as if expecting the two compies to celebrate with him.

"Don't just stand there grinning like an idiot," the clan leader said, nudging him to get moving. "Leave that old derelict where it is for the time being. It'll keep. Manufacture your first batch of doorbells and go deliver them to Theroc."

Chapter 61-PATRICK FITZPATRICK III.

The Roamers put in long shifts. Fitzpatrick's hands were dirty, his muscles sore. Even burly Bill Stanna would have complained about the work. But Stanna was dead.

The POWs now grudgingly spent their days doing assigned tasks, side by side with reprogrammed Soldier compies. Del Kellum assumed the EDF captives had learned their lesson, but the crackdown had only forced them to look more carefully for alternatives, and to make better plans.

Fitzpatrick was uneasy about what his comrades might do.

He and his small group of companions were assigned to a component-fabrication plant. The confined air inside the factory structure stank from unhealthy levels of fumes and processing residue. The temperature ranged from stifling heat near the ingot converters to numbing cold by the receiving bay that repeatedly opened to hard vacuum to accept new shipments of raw metals.

The machinery received raw material from roving smelters that broke down and converted ring rubble. Fabrication machinery formed girders, hull plates, engine cowlings. The vacuum-injected metals were mixed in molds with ceramic reinforcements to yield precision lightweight components.

Fitzpatrick and his comrades stood on the line, assisting. Soldier compies did the heaviest lifting. Out in the spacedock assembly yards, additional reprogrammed robots worked with Roamer shipbuilders.

The background din of throbbing pumps, hissing exhaust vents, and clanking metal allowed the captive workers to talk in relative privacy. "I think I've got a plan," Kiro Yamane said.

Fitzpatrick leaned closer. "I've had about ten of them, but none seemed feasible."

The cyberneticist continued his pretense of diligent labor. "Yes, but I think I can pull this one off."

"Listen to him," said Shelia Andez, her eyes flashing bright. "It's something the Roachers will never expect-something only Kiro can do."

Yamane casually continued his assigned mindless work. He glanced at the three nearest military-model compies moving still-hot parts. "I know those Soldier compies backwards and forwards. I've walked around inside their brains and designed the overlay of EDF military and tactical programming that goes on top of the basic Klikiss circuits and makes the compies function."

Fitzpatrick saw where this was going. "I thought the Roamers wiped their memory cores and reprogrammed them all."

Yamane made a distasteful expression. "Programming in Soldier compies has plenty of complexities and back doors. Given a little time, I'm sure I'll find a way to reactivate a few routines."

"And you can trigger these Soldier compies, turn them back into loyal EDF fighters so they'll help us escape?"

Yamane looked away, frowning. Andez leaned closer to Fitzpatrick, ostensibly to help him guide a curved girder through its finishing bumpers. "Not exactly. He can scramble their new programming, but he can't restore their obedience routines."

"What good will that do?"

Yamane explained. "I was placed aboard the Osquivel battle group to study the responses of the new Soldier compies. They know how to be fighters, saboteurs, destroyers. That part is ingrained. I believe I can yank off the governing restrictions the Roamers installed. Once turned loose, they'll do whatever they're inspired to do, probably commit sabotage. Certainly they'll cause chaos in the shipyards."

"Then they'll kick some ass! It'll be quite a sight to see," Andez said out of the corner of her mouth. "Think about a hundred loose cannons tromping around the Roacher shipyards!"

"I can't argue with that in principle." Fitzpatrick tried to quell his immediate misgivings. "But what good will it do us?"

When Andez turned to him, her face lit up. "During the diversion, somebody somebody should be able to escape. This'll give us the chance we need." should be able to escape. This'll give us the chance we need."

Fitzpatrick turned back to his work. "There are no interstellar ships available here in the rings. Del Kellum made that plain enough. We'll never get out of the Osquivel system. What's the point?"

"I thought you'd be excited." Andez scowled. "Don't you want to escape? Or do you like that annoying daughter of Kellum flirting with you all the time?"

Fitzpatrick hoped he wasn't blushing. "I'm just playing devil's advocate. After what happened to Bill, we can't rely on a half-assed plan-like he did. Sorry, but getting in a ship with a fifty-year journey ahead of me doesn't sound like an adequate strategy."

Yamane remained calm. "We've been watching the activities here very closely, Patrick. Once every five days, a cargo escort descends from the cometary extraction facilities high above the system. It hauls a load of stardrive fuel, which one pilot takes to some distribution center, where it is sold among the clans. If we hijacked the cargo escort, one of us could get away."

Fitzpatrick felt caught between two impossible situations. He didn't like the idea of unrestrained Soldier compies running amok in the shipyards. What if Zhett was caught in a crossfire? He didn't want her to get hurt. Besides, he had a grudging respect for everything that the Roamers had accomplished, and it would be a shame to let it be ruined.

On the other hand, escape was imperative. He owed it to his comrades.

Though dumbfounded by the plan, Fitzpatrick could see no holes in it. Ekti cargo escorts were clunky, graceless ships, but they did have stardrives. "I'll grant you, the Roamers wouldn't expect it. But that would leave the rest of our people behind. What good does it do the other thirty if only one of us escapes?"

"We only need one," said Yamane. "Whoever gets away calls in the EDF cavalry."

"And we'll hold down the fort in the meantime." Andez leaned closer, speaking quickly as she saw the Roamer supervisor coming toward them. "It's got to be you, Fitzpatrick. You're our best pilot. Hijack the cargo escort and get out of here so you can rescue us all."

"Yes," he said, feeling no real elation. "I suppose it would have to be me."

Chapter 62-MAUREEN FITZPATRICK.

Her offices on Earth weren't nearly as spacious as the ones she'd inhabited when she was Hansa Chairman, years ago, but Maureen Fitzpatrick made do. Though she'd been retired for almost half a century, she never slowed down.

In the decades since surrendering her post, Maureen had worked out of her splendid house deep in the Rocky Mountains, surrounded by beautiful peaks, high meadows, and accessible ski areas. From her personal shuttlepad, she could climb into a vehicle and fly to any other place on Earth if she needed to attend a meeting.

Today, she used her private fleet and well-paid pilots to bring the other attendees to her, while she sat back and waited for it all to happen. This meeting had to be on her own turf.

Maureen looked at least three decades younger than her actual age, mainly due to anti-aging treatments-certainly not because of gentle living and a stress-free life. The former Chairman had always felt more comfortable in an office than at home; thus she'd converted her large estate into both. She kept ever-changing teams of consultants and experts around her in a "think tank" environment. Sometimes Hansa officials hired her for advice; at other times she directed underlings to pursue matters that she was interested in. Occasionally, Maureen would take the initiative to ramrod a proposal through the government complexities that she knew so well.

For today, she had the servants set out a long table of refreshments: exotic fruits, delicate pastries, and a wide array of beverages. After much consideration, Maureen decided to hold this gathering on the comfortable, sunny veranda. The skies were a perfect Colorado blue, and the late spring was unseasonably warm. It boded well for one of her personal passions. The other grieving parents and family members would not react well to a cold and formal business presentation in a boardroom.

She heard shuttles landing and knew that the pilots had coordinated their approach paths so that all the guests would arrive at the same time. Maureen had no wish to deal with awkward social conversations while waiting for guests to trickle in. Few of them had any inkling as to why she had called them, but when a former Hansa Chairman sent an invitation, no one dared to decline.

She poured herself a snifter of fine cognac and sipped it languorously. She drank only occasionally and chose the rare brandy because it was expensive and impressive, not because it suited her tastes. Maureen Fitzpatrick could never allow herself to be seen drinking anything so gauche or trendy as one of the new fruity vitamin beverages.

The doorman and her social secretary had arranged for the guests to gather in the foyer, where they could talk with each other until they were all ready to come outside. When they filed through the door onto the veranda, butlers explained the buffet table and the bar, as if these people couldn't figure it out for themselves. Maureen smiled warmly at them and took the time to shake each person's hand, looking into their faces and pretending to learn their names. In fact, she had studied their files in detail long before the meeting.

A tall, distinguished-looking black couple wore EDF uniforms, which provided just the flavor Maureen had hoped for. She shook the man's large hand as he introduced himself. "I am Conrad Brindle, and this is my wife Natalie. I hope this little"-he gestured his hand around the gathering-"party is important. We used up two days' leave to come here."

Maureen wondered if this couple was involved in General Lanyan's silly red-herring operation against a few showy Roamer targets. If so, maybe she would convince them of other priorities...

"Oh, I think you'll agree it's important." She smiled pleasantly at Natalie Brindle, then stepped back to gain everyone's attention, raising her voice.

"In case you haven't figured it out, all of you are family members of brave soldiers who were lost during the battle of Osquivel." She looked around, seeing expressions fall, sorrow reappearing on numerous faces. "Our family members fought bravely, but the hydrogues were simply too overwhelming. Those vessels that fled barely managed to escape with their lives." Her face became a stony mask. "They had no choice but to leave the wounded and the dead behind."

She paused, then continued. "Now, none of us can speak for tactical decisions made during the heat of a battle, especially a rout like the one at Osquivel. But for me at least, it does not sit well to know that the Earth Defense Forces simply abandoned their dead and never bothered to go back for them."

Her guests muttered uneasily. Natalie Brindle spoke up. "What is your interest in this, Ms. Fitzpatrick?"

Maureen's voice quivered a little, which was perfect. "My grandson, Patrick Fitzpatrick III, commanded a Manta cruiser, which was lost with all hands. He would have been my heir." She took a sip of cognac to fortify herself, realizing that she needed it after all. Her emotion was not entirely feigned.

"Most of you know who I am and my history. I don't like to give up on all those fine young soldiers who fell during the debacle at Osquivel. I therefore propose that we, the families of the fallen, mount our own expedition to the battlefield in the rings and see if we can recover the bodies of our lost heroes. I would like to create a memorial to all those who died."

"Back to Osquivel?" one of the parents cried. "How do we know it's safe? The hydrogues are there-"

Maureen tried to sound reassuring. "The battle has been over for months. Since the EDF is still stinging from how badly they were beaten, I intend to go there myself. If I felt it was too hazardous, I would simply send a designated representative." She had meant the comment to be funny, but no one chuckled.

"Who'll pay for it?" Conrad Brindle said. "The EDF isn't generous in providing death benefits, and neither my wife nor I can afford any extravagant expenses."

"I will bankroll the entire operation. You need not worry about anything. And the current Hansa Chairman assures me that we will proceed with the full blessing of King Peter. Now"-she glanced at each of them in turn-"are you interested in joining me? All of our families together will make a significant statement. We can be there in four days for an initial reconnaissance, perhaps a symbolic wreath-laying."

Natalie Brindle clasped her husband's hand, and she spoke for both of them. "We're going. We wouldn't miss it for the world."

Most of the attendees agreed quickly. Maureen didn't press or question those few who declined.

"Very well, then," she said in the tone she often used to signal that a meeting had reached its end. "I have already made the proper overtures and located an available Manta cruiser. As soon as an appropriate security escort can be put together, we will head off to Osquivel. It is my heartfelt desire that we find out exactly what happened to our loved ones and establish a memorial zone to remember the brave soldiers who died fighting against the evil hydrogues."

Her aims accomplished, Maureen took her leave, as she had other work to do, and she'd had enough of socializing for now. Her guests were allowed to remain for hours, nibbling and drinking.