Kimber nodded. "We have similar problems on Titan, although on a much smaller scale."

"See, that sort of thinking comes naturally on a world with geography. However, this is Saturn and geography is something we lack in abundance. We have no borders, no real boundaries of any kind. If a man does not like the way things are going, he can move to another city. If enough people in a city are unhappy, they can move to another flyway or cluster. Sorrell III did just that when I was ten. The city elders did not like some of the demands being made on them by other cities in their cluster. Rather than give in, they moved to a different belt. It cost a fortune, but everyone still thinks it was worth it. That is the freedom Kelt Dalishaar wants to take away from us."

"Why, Captain," Kimber said, "you're a born anarchist!"

"Maybe I am," he agreed. "I like things the way they are and don't have much patience with people who think they can run my life better than I do."

She smiled. "My father says much the same thing, only he calls it 'rugged individualism.'"

"He sounds like a wise man."

"He is."

"Speaking of your father, how would you like to send him a message?"

"Do you mean it?" she asked, letting her masquerade drop momentarily. "Can we do it without compromising your safety?"

"I think so."

"How?"

"Your people maintain an embassy on Montana Station in the Southern Hemisphere, don't they?"

She nodded. "There's a trading office there. Not quite an embassy, but close enough.""Good. I have friends aboard Montana. I could send them a letter with an imbedded message for them to pass along to your people. The message will have to be short, innocuous and it cannot tell where you are.

I still do not want to get Glasgow involved in this until I know better where we stand. Can you live with those restrictions and still make sure he gets it?"

She frowned, and then took a notepad from her pocket. She began to write on the tiny screen. After a minute, she handed the small black box to Sands. The note read: #.

For Immediate Delivery to Titania, CR0157, Code Alpha Prime

Father, Am safe with friends. Will contact you for transportation when I can. See you soon.

Love Bunny #.

"Bunny?" he asked.

She smiled. "Father gave me a rabbit for my sixth birthday. His name was Mr. Long Ears. He's called me his little bunny ever since."

"And this code at the top?"

"His personal computer address. The Alpha Prime priority will ensure the station sends it on."

"That should do it. I'm sorry you can't let him know where you are, but the Alliance probably has computers listening to every communications channel they can tap into." He downed his drink, stood, and began gathering packages. "Let's go find a public screen and we'll get this on its way with instructions for my friends."

Five days later, Sands was beginning to worry. Bolin's airships were overdue and there had been no word from the recruiter. Another reason for distress was the apparent lack of interest by the Glasgow authorities forSparrowHawk or her crew.

"What do you think, Lars?" Halley Trevanon asked one evening after dinner.

"Maybe Bolin never bothered to report that he'd hired us."

"That's a possibility, isn't it?"

"Not a very likely one, I wouldn't think. If I'd employed him to handle such a delicate matter, I'd want to know who he'd gotten to handle the dirty work."

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she asked."That we've been tricked?"

She nodded. "It seems more likely with each passing day."

"Agreed," Sands replied. He, too, had been thinking that Bolin had sent them to Glasgow while he headed in the opposite direction. Still, the idea did not ring true. There was the matterSparrowHawk 's cargo to consider. Bolin's airships had made off with the bulk of the prize, but Sands was in possession of the most valuable booty. Just the artwork from the Cloudcroft museum alone was worth millions on the black market. Sands had no problem visualizing Bolin double-crossing them, but only after he had laid his hands on the cream of the enterprise. That was what worried him. When none of the scenarios fit, it is usually because you don't have all the facts. He had a knot in the pit of his stomach that told him there was more going on than he had been told about.

"So what are we going to do?" Halley asked "We'd best find out where we stand with the laird."

"How do we do that?"

"Why not ask him in person?"

Arranging to see the Laird of Glasgow took two days. In the arranging it, Sands found it necessary to work his way up through several layers of bureaucracy. Finally, after much waiting in anterooms and the dispensation of ever-increasing "honoraria," he was informed that he and his party were on the laird's audience schedule for the following day.

Sands, Halley, and Kimber entered the government complex on the third sublevel an hour before their appointment. They were ushered to the anteroom of the laird's official greeter, Angus MacPherson.

MacPherson was a tall man with hard eyes and the air of a harried, busy man.

"Hello, Captain," MacPherson said after a twenty minute wait in a windowless room with twenty other petitioners. "May I be of assistance?"

"We are here to see the laird."

"But, of course, you are. Everyone who comes to me wishes an audience. May I inquire as to your business? You were a bit vague on your application."

"We want to discuss employment with him"

"My dear sir, Glasgow has no need of mercenaries at the moment. Surely, that must be obvious to you. If you think a personal appeal will change that fact, then you are wasting your time. However, if you will leave your resume, we will give you fair consideration the next time we are in the market for your services."

"I'm not talking about future employment."

"Surely you aren't referring topast services. We have checked. So far as we know, you have never been associated with this city."

"Perhaps your knowledge doesn't extend far enough."

"What are you implying?"

"It is a matter we can only discuss with the laird.""Very well. You have paid for the privilege of an audience, so you shall have one. You will be given two minutes. That time begins when you enter the audience chamber. State your case succinctly and do not argue. When the laird indicates the audience is at an end, go quickly and quietly."

Sands and the two women were guided down a long, ornate corridor. Like the exterior of the building, the decor had been designed to simulate some ancient structure. There were high "stone" walls around them, with flying buttresses and narrow windows through which poured a strong yellow-white light.

Functionaries in archaic costumes hurried past them on unknown errands. When they reached the audience hall, a servant took Sands's credit voucher and transferred the last installment of the audience fee.

A subdued electronic tone announced that it was time for them to go in. The page turned to them and said, "Remember to bow and don't speak until the laird signals that he is ready. Good luck."

The big double door swung ponderously open in front of them and Sands found himself standing at the back of a long aisle. On either side of it were various people in kilts and sporrans. A chamberlain announced their presence in a loud voice and they started their walk down the aisle. As they did so, Sands studied the Laird of Glasgow.

Hugh Fitzroy was a big man with a round face and a long, flowing silver beard and bushy eyebrows. He wore the traditional Glasgow costume, including feathered bonnet set at a rakish angle. From the surroundings, Sands would have expected to find him seated on an ornate throne. Instead, the laird sat behind a perfectly ordinary desk on a raised dais. On either side of him were two other desks at which functionaries of the Glasgow court worked. A large holocube dominated the right wall of the audience chamber while an ancient suit of armor stood to their left.

Sands walked to the first balk line with Halley and Kimber flanking him. He stopped and bowed, while the women curtsied. The subdued tone echoed through the chamber, and they proceeded to the place where they had been instructed to stand.

The laird was busy entering something into the notepad that lay open on the desk. Finally, he glanced up.

"You are Captain Larson Sands of the Privateer ShipSparrowHawk ."

"I am, Your Lordship."

"And you wish to see me about employment?"

"Yes, sir."

"Didn't Citizen MacPherson tell you that we are not in the market for privateers at the moment?"

"He did, Your Lordship."

"Then why are you here, Captain Sands?"

"The matter is somewhat delicate, sir. Perhaps we could discuss it in private?"

"If you wished a private audience, you should have said so at the scheduling office. The fees are a great deal higher for those."

"I will speak in public if that is your wish, sir."

"Speak or not as you see fit, Captain.""Very well. I would like to know if you employ an agent by the name of Micah Bolin."

"Bolin? I don't believe so."

"Are you sure?"

"Sir, my administration employs a good many people. I can hardly be expected to remember them all."

"You would remember this one."

"Captain, your time is running out. Enough of these word games. What is it that you want?"

Sands opened his mouth to respond, and closed it just as promptly. He was caught off guard by a sudden alarm. The laird glanced off to one side toward a court recorder. "What is it, Swann?"

"An alert, Your Lordship! A number of warcraft have been detected converging on us from several different directions."

"Whose warships?"

"Unknown, sir."

"Get the city guard out. Stand by to repel attackers."

The clerk looked suddenly distant as he listened to a message feeding into an earphone. "The fleet commander is calling you, sir. He demands our surrender."

"Put him on the big screen," Fitzroy ordered.

Everyone in the audience chamber turned to face the suspended holoscreen as it flickered alight. The screen cleared to reveal a full admiral of the Northern Alliance Navy. It was then that Sands knew that the laird had been telling the truth.

The admiral was Micah Bolin.

Chapter 12: Escape and Consequence.

Sands felt his universe suddenly go slack as he stared at the visage filling the holoscreen. The risk of treachery was one every privateer took each time he signed a contract. Still, the rewards from the Cloudcroft raid had seemed to make the game worth any risk. It came as a shock to realize that the game he had been playing was not even remotely the one he had thought. Whatever the stakes, they were worth far more than he had imagined, more than even the lives of a privateer named Larson Sands and his crew.

"Laird Fitzroy!" the figure in the holoscreen boomed out. The haughty face stared in the direction of the Glasgow leader. It took a moment for Sands to realize that the screen pickup was focused on the dais, and that he was standing outside Bolin's field of view.

"I am Admiral Mikal Blount of the Alliance Navy. You are harboring dangerous fugitives. I demand that you surrender them at once."

"What fugitives?" the laird demanded."The captain and crew of the privateer vesselSparrowHawk . They are wanted for high crimes against the Alliance. You will also lay down your own weapons until we can determine Glasgow's complicity in this matter. You have ten minutes to comply. After that, we will open fire on your city."

Almost no one heard Bolin's threat. At the word "SparrowHawk," the laird and his court turned to stare at Sands. Hugh Fitzroy jumped to his feet and stabbed an accusing finger at the three privateers. "Seize them!"

The guard on duty moved to comply. Unfortunately, it took him a moment to recover from his surprise.

Sands, on the other hand, had launched himself the moment Bolin had spoken his ship's name. He hit the guard just as that protector was moving to unsling his riot gun. The two of them sprawled backward onto the fake flagstone. Sands wrestled the weapon away, tucked it close to his body, and somersaulted. He came out of the roll on his feet while swinging the gun barrel to point in the direction of the laird.

The world seemed to be in slow motion. Hugh Fitzroy's features were frozen into an angry snarl as his right hand reached into one of his desk drawers. Out of the corner of his eye, Sands saw several of the courtiers rushing toward Halley and Kimber.

"Tell your people to stop!" Sands screamed as he brought the gun up. He saw his victim's face blanch.

The laird froze in place, setting an example for his followers. For a span of a dozen heartbeats, the two of them stared at one another with flaring nostrils and pulses pounding visibly in their temples.

"What's going on there?" Bolin demanded. From his vantage point, all he could see was the laird slowly straightening up from his crouch to raise his hands into the air.

"Turn that damned thing off!"

After an interminable few seconds, the screen went dark.