Nodding, D'Trelna touched the commlink. "H'Nar, have you secured hangar deck?"

"Not much to secure." The captain stepped back, letting the wall pickup scan the deck. Blue-uniformed medtechs were wheeling away eight green-shrouded carts. "Just us, Zahava and the dead down here, J'Quel. Whatever T'Lan is, he's a very efficient killer."

"Smart money says he's not human, H'Nar. Our Alien Artifacts Officer is an alien."

"Agreed. What now?"

"Meet me at the lift, outside Armory One. Alone. We're going to see a special friend." The captain's eyes widened. "Your little souvenir?" D'Trelna nodded solemnly.

"You get that thing started, J'Quel, there's no telling ..."

"There's no other way, H'Nar."

"Very well," nodded the captain. "I'm on my way."

5.

The shuttle had an aft storage compartment, accessed from either the pa.s.senger section or from outside, through a hatch. John hid there in the dark, pressed against the bulkhead, waiting for whatever had just exterminated ten crew to leave the pilot's cabin. He was going to wait until T'Lan had pa.s.sed by, then empty the M11A's chargepak into that perfect body, holding the trigger back until the reload chimed. Forget John Wayne, the Army had taught him a million years ago-kill the enemy with the least possible risk to yourself. Although, he recalled with a faint smile, that wasn't quite the way Drill Sergeant Eddy had phrased it.

The pitch of the engines changed, climbing an octave. Must be almost to the slaver by now, thought John.

From below came the faint whine of landing struts deploying, then silence as the shuttle landed and the n-gravs died. The Terran drew his blaster and waited, a hand on the door switch.

Hurried footsteps followed the distant hiss of a door opening. The footsteps stopped in front of the storage area.

John clicked off the safety and leveled his weapon at whatever was beyond the thin slab of steel.

There was a faint click, then the whir of the pa.s.senger airlock cycling open. John counted to three, pressed the door switch and stepped squinting into the harsh light, his finger curled around the trigger.

The shuttle and the ramp were empty.

He had a glimpse of the darkness beyond the circle of light thrown by the shuttle, then T'Lan's voice spoke softly from behind. "Put it down, Harrison."

"Not following the antics on the bridge?"

Zahava looked up from her untouched food. A short, wiry-framed officer stood beside her table, wearing brown combat dress with unfamiliar insignia.

"Do I know you?" she said, pushing her tray away. With the ship on full alert, the officers' mess was deserted.

"Colonel R'Gal, Fleet Counterintelligence Command. May I?"

The Israeli shrugged.

R'Gal took a chair opposite her. "Sorry about Harrison."' She looked up, startled. "What do you mean? There's news?"

R'Gal shook his head. "No. I meant about his being . . . off-ship."

"He'll be back," she said quietly, lifting her fata cup. "Word is you're a S'Cotar hunter."

"One in need of some help," he said, smiling ruefully. The smile vanished. "You want to sit and wait, I'd understand."

"If you're looking for Guan-Sharick, we've seen him," she said, and told R'Gal of the meeting in the observation dome.

"Odd," said R'Gal, frowning as she finished. "That's the second time the bug's warned us. The first time was about the S'Cotar fallback point on Terra Two."

"I wasn't in on that," said Zahava. "How'd you know Guan-Sharick was on board?" she added.

The colonel made a V with each hand. "Two and two," he said, crossing the Vs. "According to ship's roster, a dead man came back from the Lake of Dreams battle-one Corporal S'Gat. He was killed in an a.s.sault and cremated with the rest of the dead, there on your moon. And yet"-he held up a finger-"this same corporal was later seen on Vigilant, Vigilant, disembarking with the rest of the commandos. Seen there, but never again. disembarking with the rest of the commandos. Seen there, but never again.

"Then, during the Terra Two affair, Guan-Sharick was flitting about. Checking the times of his appearances against Implacable'& Implacable'& positions, we found that this ship"--he waved a hand-"was always within easy transport range for a S 'Cotar trans.m.u.te.'' positions, we found that this ship"--he waved a hand-"was always within easy transport range for a S 'Cotar trans.m.u.te.''

"Circ.u.mstantial," she shrugged.

"He only showed up when her shield was down," said R'Gal, unruffled. "Over a ninety percent correlation."

"I see," said Zahava. "Kind of compelling."

"So we thought."

"Now what?" she asked, sipping her fata. "We find him."

"You're crazy, Colonel," she said pleasantly. "'Fifty miles of corridors, hundreds of compartments, pa.s.sageways . . . Plus Guan-Sharick's got a device that fools your S'Cotar detectors."

"I'm a Watcher," said R'Gal.

"Oh?" she said warily. "And what do you watch?"

The K'Ronarin laughed. "It's a stupid t.i.tle," he said. "Some of us have this gift." He tapped his head. "We can detect a trans.m.u.te."

"Like that?" she said.

"Usually. That d.a.m.ned device Guan-Sharick's wearing though . . ." He shook his head. "I can tell where he's been, but not where he is. It's maddening."

"But it leaves a trail?"

R'Gal nodded. "Nothing consistent, though. However ..."

"Yes?"

"There're some very strong traces in the lifepod section. And I was thinking perhaps ..."

Zahava grinned. "You were thinking, Colonel, that with everyone at battle stations but us, now would be a fine time to check out the lifepods."

The K'Ronarin grinned back. "If you want to."

Zahava stood. "What are we looking for?"

R'Gal led the way past the food machines and into the corridor. "Anything that doesn't belong. It's the least visited part of the ship. If I had something to hide, I'd hide it there."

Waiting for the lift, he pointed to her holstered Mil A. "I hope you can use that."

The lift arrived with a loud ping.

"Let's hope I get a chance to show you," she said as they boarded.

The doors hissed shut on the empty gray corridor.

"You could be brainwiped for this, J'Quel!" L'Wrona's voice echoed down the pa.s.sageway.

"I certainly will be if you keep announcing it, H'Nar," said D'Trelna mildly.

The two rounded the corner. In the distance, at the end of the corridor, a squad of black-uniformed commandos guarded a closed door.

"Sorry," said the captain as they walked. "But if FleetOps finds you've been hiding a stolen slaver computer on board ..."

"A rediscovered slaver computer," said the commodore.

"The distinction won't impress a tribunal. You took the thing off TNil's Revenge, TNil's Revenge, on Terra's moon," said L'Wrona softly. "Fine. But then you hid it here"-he nodded toward the door-"and told no one. That's illegal. Now you plan to activate it, and that's criminal. FleetOps is going to do some profound reprogramming of your gray matter." on Terra's moon," said L'Wrona softly. "Fine. But then you hid it here"-he nodded toward the door-"and told no one. That's illegal. Now you plan to activate it, and that's criminal. FleetOps is going to do some profound reprogramming of your gray matter."

"We're hanging by our fingernails on the edge of forever," said D'Trelna. "FleetOps is not."

Ten rifles snapped to the salute as the two pa.s.sed by, D'Trelna sketching a salute. "Where's Lieutenant S'Til?" he asked the NCO blocking the door.

"Dispensary, sir," said the sergeant.

D'Trelna frowned. "Odd. She's never sick."

"You going to let us in, Sergeant?" said L'Wrona.

"That's up to the computer, sir." The woman pointed to the security terminal set in the wall.

"J'Quel?" said the captain, deferring to his senior.

"Of course," said D'Trelna. He thumbed the red tab. "D'Trelna, J'Quel, Commodore."

"And L'Wrona, H'Nar, Captain," said the margrave over D'Trelna's shoulder.

The sergeant stepped aside as the door opened.

Stepping through the doorway, commodore and captain entered a wide, high-ceilinged room. Walking quickly, they pa.s.sed rows of racked blasters, light artillery pieces, stacked crates of ordnance, then through a second, double-guarded door and a final security check.

"All right, J'Quel," said L'Wrona as the door slid shut behind them. "Show me."

It was a tiny room, almost a closet, its walls the same uniform gray as elsewhere-except for the wall to their left, which was white with small hexagonal niches. Sealed behind armorgla.s.s in each of the ten lighted niches gleamed a conical silver warhead. Large red lettering blazed above the warheads-lettering repeated in deathless blue flame etched into each piece of armorgla.s.s: .

DEATH-WARNING! DEATH-WARNING! MO 18. G-PLANETARY-DESTRUCT WARHEAD! ANY ATTEMPT TO ACCESS WARHEAD WITHOUT FLEET-ISSUED BATTLECODE WILL DETONATE WARHEAD!

"Impressive, isn't it?" said D'Trelna. Before L'Wrona could move, he'd covered the distance to the first niche and slid the gla.s.s aside.

"J'Quel . . . !" said the captain, aghast as D'Trelna removed the warhead and began casually to unscrew it.

"When Fleet found Implacable Implacable and pulled her out of stasis," said the commodore, "she had only nine of those warheads. The first little baby here was gone from its creche. I appropriated the s.p.a.ce." and pulled her out of stasis," said the commodore, "she had only nine of those warheads. The first little baby here was gone from its creche. I appropriated the s.p.a.ce."

L'Wrona had recovered, moving to D'Trelna's side. "So you created a dummy warhead as a hiding place." He laughed-shakily.

"I've often wondered," said D'Trelna, handing the captain the top of the hollow cone, "what poor rebel planet the Empire snuffed with it."

"We might also speculate on the nature of a culture that uses 'death-warning' as a compound noun," said L'Wrona, glancing at the red letters, "and went through eighteen generations of planet snuffers. . . . That's it?" he asked as D'Trelna held up a small golden egg.

"That's it," nodded the commodore. He handed the other half of the fake warhead to L'Wrona. "Would you replace this?" he asked.

By the time the captain had rea.s.sembled the casing and restored it to its niche, D'Trelna was standing beside the egg, blaster in hand.

"What now?" said L'Wrona.

"Now," said D'Trelna, twisting the MHA's muzzle to lowest power, "little egg grows up." He aimed two-handed at the spheroid.

L'Wrona held up a hand. "Wait, J'Quel. We'd better record this. Just in case."

"In case of what?" asked the commodore, lowering his weapon. "It eats us?"

"As I recall," said the captain, walking to the wall complink, "this unit's predecessor wanted your brain for use in some psychotic fantasy." He punched the On tab as D'Trelna grunted.

"Computer. Captain."

"Yes, Captain?" came the as.e.xual contralto.

"Full scan of special vault, Armory One, commencing now. Record to auxiliary log only, and restrict access to Commodore D'Trelna and/or I."

"Illegal command," said the computer. "Fleet regulations require all log entries be part of ship's primary records, with exception in certain special situations. These situations are . . ."

D'Trelna glared at the complink as the machine prattled on. "I hate a self-righteous computer." He raised his blaster.

"J'Quel, let me take care of it," said L'Wrona, lowering the commodore's arm, a hand to one thick wrist.

"Computer," he continued, "implement command as given, per Directive Green Seven Nine, authenticator Silver Prime."

"Implemented, my lord." The machine now spoke with a brisk, efficient baritone.

D'Trelna stared wide-eyed at the complink, then turned to L'Wrona. "Generic override?" he guessed.