Sands nodded. "It is now. We started out in the South Temperate Belt. They moved the city when I was ten. My father is still paying his share of the assessment."

"An agricultural city, isn't it?""We grew grapes and made them into wine."

"Ah, yes. I had a glass of Sorrell champagne once. Quite tasty as I remember. How does the son of vintners get to be a privateer?"

Sands shrugged. "I didn't want to be a farmer. You have me at a disadvantage, Citizen. You have told me precious little beyond your name. Who do you represent?"

"That is confidential."

"I won't work blind."

"You won't have to. But you will learn the name only when I'm ready to tell you."

"I can keep a secret," Sands replied. "A privateer who can't keep his mouth shut concerning his clients quickly discovers that he has none."

"The same goes for people in my profession," Bolin said.

"Then you aren't representing your own city?"

"No, of course not. Like you, I am a professional. I was engaged by my sponsors to find someone to do a job for them."

"What sort of job?"

"A raid. Although it is to look like a simple grab for resources, the primary purpose is to bring political pressure to bear."

"A raid against what city?"

Bolin smiled. The expression did not help his looks. "That information will come later as well. First I must know whether you are the right man for the job."

"You seem to have learned a great deal about me already. What more do you need to know?"

"I have garnered mere facts. Now I must know what sort of man you are." Bolin glanced down at the desk. He reached out to key his electronic tablet. There was a quiet beeping noise after which Bolin began to read aloud as glowing text scrolled up the flat screen. "Larson Clarke Sands. Age 32. As you said, the son of prosperous merchants aboard Sorrell 3. You attended the Aeronautical School at Nueva Rhoelm briefly, but left after getting into a fight with one of the other students. You returned home, tried to work in the family business, then joined a privateer crew under Gentleman Jacques Le Vecque. You took part in the Battle of the Cusp on the winning side. You used your bonus to invest in a ship of your own. You returned home briefly to recruit your younger brother. The two of you served a number of cities over the last five years. Your brother was killed two weeks ago during the battle between New Philadelphia and the Northern Alliance and you have been grieving his loss ever since."

"You didn't come to Port Gregson looking for just any privateer," Sands said, trying to control his rising anger. "Why me?"

"You would seem to be uniquely suited to the task at hand. Tell me, why did you sign up with New Philadelphia? Surely you must have known that the Delphis would be no match for the Alliance."

Sands shrugged. "We didn't expect the argument to come to blows. We thought a good show of force would be enough to dissuade the Alliance. Obviously, we were wrong. They were set on annexinganother helpless city and nothing we could have done would have stopped them."

"You believe the Alliance to be imperialistic then?"

"Anyone who doesn't is a fool."

"How would you like the opportunity to avenge your brother's death?"

Sands sat suddenly upright, a surge of adrenaline boiling through his veins. He had thought of little else these past two weeks. Despite his reaction, he answered cautiously, "How do I go about doing that?"

"The Alliance is pressuring my sponsors to join them. Those I serve would like to divert their attention."

"By raiding them?"

Bolin nodded.

"What do they want us to do? Waylay one of their freighters?"

Bolin's eyes flashed with some inner emotion. After a moment, he said, "Nothing so minor. The target is to be Cloudcroft, the Alliance capital!"

Kimber Crawford sat in the spacecraft lounge and watched the deep canyon of North Temperate Belt glide by around her. Kimber was dark haired, with a wide face that had inherited the best traits of several of her polyglot ancestors. Like most Titanians, she was well above average in height. Titan had largely been settled by people from Luna to whom Saturn's gravity had seemed oppressive. Although fifty percent larger than Earth's moon, Titan's lower density gave it a nearly identical gravity field. As humanity had learned early in the twenty-first century, people who live under low gees tend to grow tall.

It had been five hours since the Titanian freighter had slipped under the Ring to enter the vast envelope of hydrogen and helium that is Saturn's atmosphere. Four times the ship dipped among the outermost wisps of gas before rising once again to space. Each entry shed part of the freighter's 23 kilometer per second orbital speed. After three hours spent porpoising between atmosphere and vacuum, the freighter dove into the rarified atmosphere for the last time. As it dropped toward the distant cloud tops, it was bathed in a sheath of superheated plasma that lit up the Saturnian night.

The full entry into atmosphere was the most dangerous part of any ship's return from space. If a vessel's entry angle were too steep, its wings would snap off under the stress and its broken body would plunge out of control toward the unseen liquid hydrogen sea below. Kimber could not imagine a more horrible death than lying strapped into an acceleration couch while waiting to be crushed and broiled to death.

She was breathing easier now that particular danger was past. The freighter had successfully made the transition from spaceship to fusion-powered aircraft an hour earlier, and was even now approaching Cloudcroft. It was Second Night outside and Kimber could make out the bright string of pearls in the distance that were the Alliance cities. She felt rather than heard the change in the ship's engines as the captain reduced power for the final approach. The change caused a transformation in her mood. She had been sightseeing primarily to take her mind off the difficult task ahead. Now that they were almost there, she reviewed the speech she would give at the welcoming ceremony that waited in Cloudcroft's landing bay. This was her first diplomatic mission and she was anxious to see it succeed.

Because Saturn's rocky core was covered by several thousand kilometers of superhot liquid hydrogen under enormous pressure, the planet's supply of metals was beyond reach. For that reason, humanitydepended on Saturn's moons for its stocks of metals and a number of important inorganics. There were mining colonies on Dione, Rhea, and Titan. The mines on Titan were the largest and most productive, making the Titanian colonists a power to be reckoned with.

Envon Crawford, Kimber's father, was the Factor of Titan. Crawford had held his position for nearly twenty years and hoped that his daughter would one day succeed him in office. To this end, he had begun Kimber's training at an early age. When she was old enough, he had dispatched her to Oxford-in-the-Clouds, the preeminent university on Saturn. Four years of hard work had earned her a Masters Degree in Industrial Economics. She had planned to go for her doctorate, but had been called home when her mother fell ill two years earlier. She acted as her father's hostess at official functions following her mother's death. To her own surprise, she discovered a talent for the give and take of diplomacy. As part of her training, the elder Crawford appointed her to head the annual trade mission to negotiate copper prices with Titan's largest customers. Their first stop was to be the Northern Alliance.

"We're beginning our approach to Cloudcroft, Miss Crawford," a voice said from behind her. "Captain Nyquist says that you can observe from the cockpit if you like."

"I would like that a lot, Miles!" she told the grizzled flight engineercum steward.

The freighter's pilot glanced over his shoulder as she entered the darkened cockpit. Saturn's ring was a broad arch to their left and Cloudcroft was a brilliantly lit pearl directly ahead. Far off through the night, she could see the lightning flashes that punctuated the flyway's nearby wall. The laminar flow that marked the flyway came to an abrupt end at the cloud wall. Any city that crossed the boundary was liable to be torn asunder within a few minutes. Even if they survived, the first rainstorm they encountered would so weigh them down with condensate that they would slip into the depths.

As they approached the lighted balloon that was their destination, they were able to make out a thin dark band circling its waist. This was outer edge of the support truss. Flashing lights marked the openings where ships could slip inside the vast structure. The freighter banked and slowed, suddenly dropping to a speed where the wind whistling across the wings could no longer support its weight. There was another change in the pitch of the engines as the underjets came alive. The freighter slowed even more.

"Cloudcroft Approach Control, this isGotham out of Titania. We are in your outer approach zone, ready to come aboard."

"We have you on our screensGotham . Place your controls into auto."

"Auto engaged."

"Very wellGotham . You will be arriving in Landing Bay Number Six. Stand by."

The pilot removed his hands from the controls and sat back in his seat. The freighter hovered for a moment longer, then smoothly slid forward. The city grew until it filled the windscreen. Kimber watched as the landing hatch swelled to displace everything else in view. Then, with a barely perceptible bump, they were down on the landing ledge that jutted out from the cavernous open bay. A few seconds later, mechanical arms reached out to hook a cable into the spacecraft's nose and they were pulled inside the oversize shiplock.

Once through the lock, they found themselves in a giant bay lit by overhead flood lamps. A crowd of dignitaries began to form up on the far side as Kimber slid out of her seat. She took a deep breath and headed for the midships lock. The moment of truth was upon her.

Chapter 4: Plot and Counterplot.

"Raid Cloudcroft?Are you out of your fucking mind?"

Bolin leaned back in his chair and gazed at Sands through steepled fingers. "I don't believe so. Are you saying that it can't be done?"

"I'm saying that only a fool would try! The Alliance fleet is the strongest in the North Temperate Belt.

Believe me, I should know! If we were to approach within a hundred kilometers without clearance, they would blast us out of the sky."

"What if a way can be found through the patrols and sensor nets? What if you could board Cloudcroft undetected?"

"Then we might get away with some loot. But it's still a lousy idea."

"Why?"

"Look, Citizen," Sands said, "a successful privateer needs more than a fast ship and a crew willing to risk their lives. Raiders who want to die in bed learn to choose their targets with the same care they put into the genetic makeup of their children. First, there is the matter of finding the right victim. You need a city that has accumulated enough wealth to justify the risk, but not so much that they can put a lot of resources into retribution. Once raided, most cities would rather strengthen their defenses than fund a punitive expedition. The Northern Alliance looks at things differently. If we are successful, there will be no escape for my crew and me. They will track us to Alpha Centauri if they have to. Once they've caught us, they'll wring the name of your sponsor out of us and then send a fleet to punish them."

"And if we can keep you and your people safe?"

"They'll still have their suspicions."

"That you can count on," Bolin said. "In fact, weare counting on it. Without evidence, however, their suspicions will be unfocused. They will lead the Alliance leaders to become frustrated and more than a little paranoid. They will suspect everyone and launch an investigation. That will monopolize their attention for a very long time, thereby taking the pressure off my clients."

"You hope," Lars said sarcastically.

"Believe me, Sands, we have planned this most carefully. The operation is far subtler than it might first appear. By raiding Cloudcroft, we will be exploiting an existing schism in the Alliance leadership. The New Philadelphia crisis was precipitated by the Militarists on the Alliance Council. Kelt Dalishaar, the first councilor, opposed them on the matter. He is an Accretionist; one who believes that the Alliance goal of worldwide hegemony is better served through subversion and the use of political and economic pressure. The Militarists' apparent success has badly damaged his prestige. That is why he is behind the effort to pressure my clients into joining the Alliance. He is trying to rehabilitate his position with the rest of the council.

"In raiding Cloudcroft, we have the opportunity to embarrass both factions. The ruling council believes their cities to be impregnable. We will prove them wrong. If we are successful, the council is likely to dissolve into an orgy of recriminations. At the very least, we hope to topple the militarist leadership. With luck, we can damage the manifest destiny faction as well.""There is still the problem of keeping my identity and that of my people secret," Sands said.

"You will, of course, be masked from head to toe."

"What about my ship?"

"We will disguise that as well. The fact that you fly an Air Shark is one of the reasons I chose you. That is the vessel of choice among many civic navies. We will make it appear that your vessel is one of those disguised as a privateer. I have also arranged for one of the southern cities to employ you. As far as the records will show, you were a hundred thousand kilometers distant from Cloudcroft at the time of the raid."

"Let's hear your plan for approaching Cloudcroft undetected."

Bolin nodded and keyed an instruction into his tablet. Using graphics screens, he detailed how the capital of one of Saturn's most powerful nations could be approached without detection. Despite his wariness, Sands had to admit that the plan might work. It had the advantage of being both simple and clever, although possibly too much so. When the bald man finished, Sands shook his head.

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to find someone else. I won't risk my ship and crew on such a venture."

"You haven't asked about your fee."

"Whatever you're paying, it isn't enough."

Bolin continued with no sign of having heard him. "In addition to your ownSparrowHawk , there will be three large freighters involved in the raid. Your fee will be half of everything taken."

Sands blinked. The offer was unprecedented in its generosity. The going rate was ten percent. Still, he was not tempted and told Bolin so.

"It's not enough?"

"You have to be alive to enjoy your wealth."

"True, I suppose," Bolin said. He sighed heavily. "Well, I tried. I must ask that you not speak of this to anyone, not even your crew."

Sands laughed. "Your secret is safe. Believe me, I wish you well. If you pull it off, it will pay the bastards back for murdering Dane. I just don't think you have much of a chance."

Bolin stood and extended his hand. "We'd have more with you than without."

Sands took the proffered hand. "It doesn't take much to improve on zero."

He was halfway to the door when Bolin spoke again. "I was surprised that you could afford the Saturn Royale and Port Gregson's fees after the Delphi debacle. Losing privateers are not often paid. You must have been extraordinarily fortunate!"

"We've enough savings to tide us over," Sands said. Despite his best effort, a hint of defensiveness had crept into his voice.

"Then you should have no trouble convincing the authorities of your credit balance should they ask."

"Your point?""Only that if you accept my offer, I will advance you whatever funds are necessary to clear up your bills here. Such payment would, of course, be in addition to the fee I have already offered."

Sands sighed and returned to his seat. "What makes you think that I won't say yes now, then refuse to go through with it once we're in the clear?"

Bolin tapped his tablet. "Among other things, those who know you say that you are trustworthy. I'm willing to bet on their good opinion of you."

Kimber Crawford sat in front of her mirror and applied the final touches to her makeup for the evening.

She had been aboard Cloudcroft for three days and was beginning to despair ever wrapping up the new trade agreement. So far, all the talks had taken place between her own technical team and the low-level functionaries of the Alliance's Ministry of Resources. Tonight she would sit with the first councilor at a banquet in her honor, and would try to get some of the sticking points resolved.

She had chosen her weapons for the evening with care. Her gown was in a style that had been popular on Earth just before the evacuation. It was cut from a black translucent material that revealed as much as it concealed. Her hair was piled on top of her head to emphasize her height and held there by an intertwined chain of copper links. Her jewelry was also of hammered copper with turquoise insets, the work of some ancient Navajo craftsman.

She had just finished perfuming herself when her apartment's annunciator chimed. She rose in a rustle of fabric and crossed the room to answer the door. Outside in the hallway was Ganther Bartlett; her father's most trusted servant and her own second in command.

"Come in, Ganth," she said, gesturing him inside.

"You are very beautiful this evening, Kim," the old man said. He entered the apartment, closing the door behind him.

"Are the others ready?"

"Everyone is in their finery. They will leave for the banquet in another fifteen minutes. Since you are the guest of honor, we can delay a bit longer."

Bartlett walked awkwardly to an easy chair and plopped down in it with a sigh. He was troubled by a permanent stoop that caused him to hobble slightly as he walked.

"Is your back still giving you trouble?"

He nodded. "It's the damned gravity. I should have let one of my assistants handle this one."

"Why didn't you?"