"Urgent communique coming in for you, my lord. Your personal access code."

Dixter frowned, stuffed the napkin in the water glass, and headed for the commlink room. Very few people in the galaxy had access to the admiral's personal access code, which provided the highest level of security available. An urgent message from one of them boded nothing good.

Entering the commlink room-located adjacent to his office-Dixter dismissed the personnel working there, shut and sealed the door. Bennett, with a long-suffering sigh, remained behind in the general's office to mop up the spilled water.

Dixter gave his identification, provided voice and hand print and DNA scan to gain access to the message. The descrambling took several seconds, during which the general waited with grim patience. He had a good idea who was calling and wished he'd thought to take an antacid tablet after breakfast.

A man's face appeared on the vidscreen-a bald head, acid-splashed skin, overhanging forehead, and deep, shadowed eyes-one real, one cybernetic. The burning sensation in Dixter's stomach increased.

Xris nodded curtly as Dixter's image registered on the cyborg's own screen. No preliminary, time-wasting formalities for the cyborg. He was direct and to the point.

"Something took the bait, boss."

"They made an attempt? Did you catch them?"

Xris grimaced. "You might say they ended up catching us, boss. Swallowed us hook, line, pole, and boat. The good news is you were right on two counts-you've got a leak and someone is after the bomb. The bad news is-they found it. Something entered the vault. Took the bomb."

Dixter stared, shocked. "Good God, man! That's not possible! And you let them get away-"

Xris grunted. "Hold on, boss. You've got to hear me out.

You'll get my full report in writing, but I thought I better deliver it first in person. Let you know I'm sober."

Dixter attempted to contain his impatience. "What happened?"

Reaching into his pocket, the cyborg drew out a twist, stuck it in his mouth, lit it.

"We made the transfer, moved the space-rotation bomb from the palace to Snaga Ohme's. You know how it went from your end. Top secret. Same from ours. As you and I arranged, Raoul let it be known among certain circles here on Laskar that he was for sale. A couple of people wanted to buy, but they turned out to be just after information on new product lines.

"Then we hit dirt. These guys weren't interested in the latest in plasma grenade launchers. They wanted blueprints of the house, details about the security systems. Raoul gave them the stuff, enough of it real to look good to an expert. Not real enough to use. I don't know why they needed it. Any of it." Xris drew in smoke. "Waste of their money, our time."

"Obviously not," said Dixter dryly. "It worked for them. You must have made a mistake, Xris, given them too much real information."

The cyborg snorted, blew smoke through his nose. "I don't get paid to make mistakes, boss. Hell, I could have given them a layout of the inside of Raoul's head and it would have been one and the same. Take a look at the monitor readings. They should be coming through by now."

Dixter walked over to another machine, studied the information that was being transmitted hallway across the galaxy.

He stared at it, frowned. "Print it," he ordered the computer, unwilling to believe what he saw on the screen.

The printout was no different, however. He studied it wordlessly, then looked back at the cyborg. "If it were any other man, I'd say you were seeing ghosts...."

"Ghosts." Xris stubbed the end of the twist out on the console. "Funny you should mention ghosts. Look, if it makes you feel any better, boss, we didn't believe it either. We figured, like you are, probably, that the equipment must have malfunctioned. We checked it, more than once. It's working fine."

The cyborg stopped, took another twist from his pocket, but he didn't light it. He stared at it, switched the stare to Dixter. "And then we found proof. You want it from the beginning?"

Dixter sighed, rubbed his forehead, nodded.

Xris continued. "Front gate security saw, registered nothing. Same with the entrance-all the entrances. Nothing. Nada. Zip. The first we know we're being invaded, the motion detectors inside the house start registering movement. Like you see there."

"But how can you be sure? There's no corroboration from the other monitors, is there?"

"Nothing on visual, nothing on audio."

"What confirms it?"

"A drop in barometric pressure-in certain areas only-and a corresponding movement of the air in places where no air should be moving."

"The drop in pressure accompanies the disturbance," Dixter observed, studying the report. "So do the air currents."

"That's what convinced us we weren't crazy. We fed all this stuff into the computer, had it chart the results. Take a look at that. Look at the path it makes."

Dixter examined another document, transmitted by the cyborg-a diagram of Snaga Ohme's vast estate. A line had been drawn in red, a line that followed the movement detected by the various sensors. Dixter stared at it; his jaw went slack.

"Ghosts, you said, boss," Xris commented.

The path started at an outside wall, went through a nullgrav-steel-lined marble wall into the house, and traveled through room after room, moving straight through walls, ceilings, floors. It never deviated from its chosen course; no obstruction stopped it. It headed straight in one direction: the vault.

"As you see, to even reach the house itself, this thing had to pass through the force field that surrounds the estate, had to go through the garden, where life expectancy is thirty seconds if you're lucky. Motion detectors sensed movement in the garden, but they didn't get any corroborating evidence from other detectors, and so they didn't react, other than to register it.

"That's why it didn't trip any of the thousand or so booby traps, not that they would have done any damage. Couldn't. The thing moved too damn fast. It made it safely to the house, slid right through a fortified exterior wall that could withstand a direct hit from a lascannon and not buckle. Nothing stopped it. Nothing even fazed it apparently."

"Was the vault on the layout Raoul passed on?"

"Sure. No reason not to. A lot of people already know about it. Snaga Ohme was proud of the contraption. He used to take special clients to see it. According to the Loti, Ohme once claimed he could detonate an atomic bomb next to it and the blast wouldn't so much as put a dent in the walls. He was exaggerating, of course, but probably not by much. What we didn't put on there was the security surrounding it, not to mention the vault's own internal security systems."'"

"And you say this . . . whatever it was . . . got past all that and inside the vault. What did it do once it was inside? Did it take the bomb?"

"Maybe it took it. Maybe it vaporized it. Maybe it ate it. We got the thing on vid. All I know is that one minute the damn bomb's there and the next it isn't."

"And this . . . thing . . . was responsible. Damn it, how do we know for sure?"

"Maybe we don't. We got two firm indications, boss: First, we registered an increase in the radiation level around the vault. Not much. But enough to make us suspicious, especially tracing the path the thing took. We examined the vault's superstructure. There'd been an alteration in the metal itself, a chemical change, enough to generate radioactivity. And only in that one place, directly in line with the path."

"That's the first. What was the second?"

Xris looked grim. "The bomb was moved."

"Moved?"

"Jostled, handled. Not far-a fraction of a fraction of a centimeter before it vanished. But enough to set off the alarm. That was the only alarm this thing did set off, by the way. And that was only because we've had the bomb surrounded by every conceivable type of sensing device, all sensitive enough to register a hair falling on it. The guards reacted instantly, entered the vault. They found nothing. Nothing except that the bomb was gone."

"The guards didn't see anything? Hear anything?"

"Now, that's another strange thing, boss. The guards didn't see or hear anything, but one of them reported feeling something. About a split second before the alarm went off. She said she felt as if she'd been shoved into a compression chamber. The feeling passed immediately. She shows no physical damage, no chemical alteration. No increase in radiation level, no aftereffects. But notice where she was standing, boss."

Dixter looked, gave a low whistle. The guard's position had been indicated on the diagram. She had been standing directly in the red-lined path.

"You mean whatever this was went right through her?" Dixter was aghast.

"Through her, through nullgrav steel vault walls, into the vault, and out again. Look, motion detectors pick it up here, on the opposite side. It passed on through the rest of the house, exited here, through another fortified wall. Back out into the garden, through the force field, and presumably back to wherever it came from."

Dixter passed his hand over his face, scratched his chin. "Do you realize what you're saying, Xris? This thing goes through solid steel walls with leaving so much as a trace, then actually manages to touch and move an object? Damn it, it's not possible!"

The cyborg chewed on the twist. "What can I say, boss? I agree completely. It's not possible. But it happened."

"It took the bomb. Through solid matter."

"Yeah, and ... I wonder if you've considered something else."

Xris lit the twist, puffed on it absently, flicked the ash to the floor. He stared at Dixter speculatively.

"What?" the admiral asked grimly.

"Whoever has that bomb now," Xris said, letting the smoke trickle slowly from his lips, "knows it's a fake."

The pain in Dixter's stomach jabbed him. He winced, pressed his hand to his side.

"Damnation," Dixter swore. He bent over the computer readouts, studied them, willing them to change, to make sense.

They didn't.

"What was that you said about ghosts?" Dixter asked suddenly, thinking back to something Xris had said earlier. "You said it was funny I should mention it."

"Oh, yeah. When Raoul was meeting with these jokers who bought the information, the Little One-you remember the Little One?"

"The empath in the raincoat."

"Yeah. Well, the Little One picks up on the name of an organization these guys are all carrying around in their heads. Ghost Legion. Ever heard of it?"

"No, but that doesn't mean much. You think there's a connection?" "It's one hell of a coincidence if there's not. These guys buy a layout of the house and grounds and three days later something goes right through us. Yeah, I'd say there was a connection."

"But, like you said earlier"-Dixter waved a hand-"if they have this type of capability, what did they need with layouts? Why bother?"

"Maybe they're trying to tell us something, boss. Send us a message. Maybe we got caught in our own trap."

Dixter shook his head. "That doesn't make sense."

Xris took the twist out of his mouth, tossed it onto the floor. "Let me know when any of this makes sense, will you, boss?"

Dixter was thinking. "I suppose the next step is to investigate this Ghost Legion. Will you-"

"Sorry, boss. Count me out. I've got ... other business."

"Xris, this is important," Dixter said quietly.

"So's my business. I'm leaving tonight, as a matter of fact."

"I could order you to stay for complete debriefing. I could have you arrested."

"Wouldn't be pleasant for either of us, boss. Besides"-Xris smiled ruefully-"I'm about as debriefed as I can get. The others, too. I've sent you my complete report, plus Raoul's and the Little One's, plus the reports of everyone else in this place. Damn machines saw more than any of us. Spend your time debriefing them. Like I said, I'm leaving."

"I don't suppose you'd care to elaborate... ."

A series of beeps came over the commlink-the cyborg's mechanical arm, Tunning through a routine systems check. Xris made a few minor adjustments, looked back at Dixter.

"Yeah, all right, boss. I could use your help, in fact. I plan to make a quick trip out of the galaxy. If your perimeter patrols spot me, I'd appreciate it if they didn't shoot me, either on the way out or on the way back."

"You're going into Corasia?"

Xris took a twist out of his pocket, studied it with interest.

Dixter tried again. "This wouldn't have anything to do with those humans taken prisoner during the raid on the Nargosi outpost, would it?"

Xris lit the twist, drew the smoke into his lungs, blew it back out.

"I can't give you permission to go behind enemy lines, Xris," Dixter said gravely.

"Fine, then. Skip it. Forget I said anything."

"Are you going alone? You can at least tell me that much."

Xris considered; apparently decided he could. "I was. But that's all changed-thanks to Raoul and his big lip-glossed mouth. The whole team's going. Though what the hell I'm going to do with a poisoner and an empath is beyond me."

Dixter thought the matter over. "If someone could rescue those people . .." He nodded. "I'll pass the word along. Nothing official, of course. I can't do that."

Xris looked intently at Dixter, actually almost smiled. "Thanks, boss."

Dixter shook his head. "You know the odds. If you get into trouble, I'll have to deny I ever heard of you. The treaty and all that."

Xris grinned. "If we get into trouble, you won't need to bother. Nobody'll ever hear of us again. Though I wish I could stick around and help you on this other job. Damnedest thing I ever saw-or didn't see. I could give you the names of some good people ..."

"Thanks, but I have someone in mind. You know him, in fact. Tusca. Former Scimitar pilot. You rescued him from the Corasians-"

"During that job we did for the Starlady. Yeah, I remember. You know, boss, it's mostly because of Lady Maigrey I'm doing this other. Something she said to me. She had a way of sticking to your mind."

"She did indeed," said John Dixter. "Godspeed, Xris."

"Same to you, boss."

The image of the cyborg vanished. The vidscreen went blank. Dixter stood staring at it a long time without moving. Then he wiped his hand across his face again, grimaced at the pain in his stomach. He stuffed the printouts under his arm, to be studied again at his leisure, coded the information contained in the computer under the highest possible security, then summoned back the operator.

"Have that new material in there gone over by experts," he ordered.

"Yes, sir. What type of experts, sir?"

Dixter pondered, frowning. "Damn it, I don't know!" He exploded, frustrated. "Expert experts. We seem to be inundated with them around here. Maybe they can do something useful for a change."

The officer stared at him, startled. The admiral was noted for being easygoing, unflappable.