Sands climbed to his feet and ran in a crouch to the next intersection of corridors. All was quiet. If therewas any fighting on this sublevel, it had moved elsewhere. He signaled the other three to join him.

They made their way two hundred meters in this cautious, leapfrog manner. They finally reached a door that led into a diorama/shopping area. The people inside seemed unsure of what was going on.

"What do you think?" Sands asked as he surveyed the crowd from concealment.

"We don't have any choice," Caen replied. "Any moment now someone is going to find those guards we shot."

"Right." Sands slipped his rocket pistol into a pocket. Caen did the same. Each took one of the women by the arm and walked openly into the shopping mall. People looked at the disheveled figures curiously, but made no move to stop them. When they reached a tube station, they forced their way past several waiting passengers and took the next available car. A moment later, they were deep inside the Cloudcroft support truss and moving toward the city's periphery. Only when they had been on their way for a full minute did Sands allow himself the luxury of a deep sigh.

"Where are we going?" he asked Caen.

"To another safe house."

"I wonder what all the shooting was about," Kimber mused.

"I don't know, but we'd best find out. It could be damned important to our mission."

Mikal Blount marched briskly through the nearly empty landing bay toward the small winged craft that would take him out to where the fleet was assembled. Just forty-eight hours earlier, the bay had been bustling with ships and men making ready for battle. Now his personal gig was almost the only aircraft to be seen. It was a lonely sight, and one that brought home the fact that men were again preparing to do battle among the clouds.

"Everything in readiness, pilot?" he asked as he made his way to the gig's cockpit.

"Ready, sir."

"Then let's see how fast you can have me aboard the flagship. I'm on Admiral Samorset's business and have no time to dawdle."

"Outer marker in ten minutes, sir."

"Make it eight!"

The flagship of the Alliance fleet wasCloud Dancer , a great dirigible nearly a kilometer long that bristled with both offensive and defensive armament. A roving fortress with lasers as powerful as any city's; the flagship also housed a combined force of prowlers and light destroyers.Cloud Dancer 's primary mission was not to fight, but rather to direct other ships in battle. Thus, the flagship's real weapons were its computers, sensors, and communications gear. Only fleet headquarters was better equipped.

The elongated shape of the flagship came out of the haze in a gratifyingly short time as Mikal Blount raced eastward with the report he must deliver in person. He waited anxiously for his pilot to complete the approach. Finally, they were down inCloud Dancer 's landing bay. Blount found a Marine guard and ordered him to guide him to Admiral Samorset"Out with it, Blount," the admiral demanded as soon as they were alone.

Blount stood at attention in front of his superior's desk and said, "I am pleased to report success, sir."

"Dalishaar is dead?"

"Yes, sir. We believe so."

"You don't know?"

Blount suppressed a shudder. He had expected just such an outburst and had practiced his answer. "We haven't found his body yet, Admiral. That is hardly surprising. The missile was directed straight into his apartment. It took off the top two stories of Government Tower."

"You're saying he was vaporized?"

"There are a lot of bodies burned beyond recognition. He may be one of those. I have our pathologists working on the identification now. They'll alert us as soon as they find him."

"And the Titanian woman and her pirate friend?"

"There were a lot of people shot as they tried to flee the tower. More were overcome by hydrogen gas.

The prisoners were not in their apartment, but may well be among either group. We're checking through the dead and wounded." Blount did not mention that they'd found all three guards on the twelfth floor of Government Tower shot dead, and that none of his ersatz raiders admitted doing the shooting.

The admiral looked unhappy. "That tower was supposed to be deserted so you wouldn't have to kill too many of our own people. News accounts claim it was a massacre!"

"There were more than expected," Blount confirmed. "But, damn it, we timed the attack for the evening meal to minimize casualties. If this had been a real attack, the infiltrators would have slaughtered everyone. We could hardly act differently."

"I agree. That does not mean I have to like it. How long did you keep everyone bottled up inside?"

"It was fifteen minutes before we dispatched our 'rescue force.' I couldn't wait any longer without raising suspicions."

"And the current political situation?"

Blount made a show of checking his wrist chronometer. "As of one hour ago, we gained effective control of the government."

"Like hell you did! All your people have done is occupy Government Tower. To control the city requires a hell of a lot more. If your occupation of Glasgow taught you nothing else, it should have taught you that!"

"What would you have me do, Admiral?"

"Everything, God damn it! Have you gotten control of the communications centers, the power stations, the police? Do your troops command every corridor intersection, every shopping mall? Have you an anti-mob strike force ready to sally? Have you arrested any Accretionist leaders yet?"

"No, sir.""Then, by damn,you haven't gotten control of the government, Admiral Blount! "

"With the fleet gone we don't have enough men, sir. Need I remind you that you have taken most of my Marines?"

"I'm well aware of your manpower situation. That does not change facts. We have a tiger by the tail here, Blount -- you do know what a tiger was, don't you? Well get on it and ride! This is one time we cannot afford half measures. If you give the Accretionists time, they will have the full council against us.

Strip the headquarters security force if you have to, but get those troops out!"

"Perhaps I can take a detachment back with me."

"No. You will have to hold Cloudcroft until I can beat back this collection of ragtags. Once we have them on the run, I'll dispatch every man I can spare."

"I'll do my best, Admiral."

Samorset glared at his subordinate through eyes that had seen too little sleep of late. "Your best will have to be perfect if you expect to live out the week."

Blount snapped to attention, saluted, turned on his heel, and hurried out. Admiral Samorset watched him go. Not for the first time, he wondered whether it had been smart to place his fate so thoroughly in Blount's hands.

Kelt Dalishaar's appearance had changed considerably in the last few hours. When he had gone to visit Kimber Crawford, he'd been confident, charming, and even a bit dashing. The meeting had gone better than he had expected and he'd returned to his office to arrange the call to Kimber's father. He'd been in high spirits as he waited the appointed time to contact the enemy fleet.

His first indication that something was wrong had come when the security system failed throughout the upper floors of Government Tower. More concerned than alarmed, he had begun probing the cause. He had not worried until, in a manual sweep of the few security monitors still functioning, he had discovered the two security guards stationed outside the twelfth floor VIP suite lying in pools of their own blood.

Dalishaar's first thought had been one of self-preservation. Anyone who knew where Kimber Crawford and Halley Trevanon were housed probably knewhis location, as well. The obvious thing to do then was to move ... and fast!

Dalishaar lost no time striding to the bolthole he'd last used the night of the raid. In a matter of seconds, he was hurtling down the escape chute. He reached the bottom just as a huge blast shook Government Tower. An instant later, a tongue of flame spat from the chute opening and washed over him.

That flame had lasted but an instant, but long enough to do damage. When he opened his eyes, he found his eyebrows turned to cinder and his carefully styled hair aflame. The heat on his scalp had been unbearable as he beat the fire out with his hands. Only afterward did he notice the stinging sensation all over his face. A look in the mirror had confirmed the beginning of blistering. He winced, but thanked God that he was alive.

Contrary to doctrine, the escape center was unmanned. The duty officer had probably gone out to investigate the failure of the security system. Dalishaar did not have any time to ponder the empty chair.

Almost immediately, the atmosphere alarm began its doleful hooting. Dalishaar hurried to the compartment's emergency cabinet and donned a breather mask, irritating his injured skin further.The chute from his bedroom was not the only emergency exit in Government Tower. The building had a maze of routes known only to the most senior government officials. He made his down a spiral staircase to a hidden tube station in one of the lower sublevels. As he climbed down through the city's deck, he heard the sound of fighting beyond the walls.

It had taken only a few minutes to call an empty tube car and reach the safe house on the outskirts of the city. There he smeared a strong smelling ointment on his wounds before sitting down in front of a work screen. His scrape with death had frightened him more than anything since the time he had nearly slipped over the city railing when he was twelve.

That the explosion had been an assassination attempt was obvious. Whoever they were, they would try again if they knew where to find him.

Chapter 35: The Battle Begins.

The six airships of Strike Force Redemption moved westward in a loose crescent formation. Squadrons of smaller craft kept pace with them across a one hundred kilometer front. The region through which they moved was in turbulent transition between belt and zone, where thirty-kilometer high cumulonimbus clouds floated like icebergs in the clear air. The clouds made the massive airships look like toys threading their way through a child's rumpled bedding.

Envon Crawford sat in the glass walled conference room where Paolo Renzi had told the battle staff about energy screens. As a courtesy, Admiral Vishnu had ordered a command console set up for him.

This gave Crawford access to the full panoply of fleet communications and sensors. Vishnu had also made sure he knew where to find his lifeboat station.

"We're picking up some interference at extreme range," an anonymous voice remarked over the main command circuit. Simultaneous with the report, a ripple of subdued excitement went through the control center below. Conditions on Saturn made long range sensing difficult at best and the Alliance Navy could be expected to further reduce sensor efficiency through electronic countermeasures. Even so, the onset of electronic interference told them that the enemy was on his way.

"Switch to tight beams. Plot the centers of all jammers and interdict!" another voice ordered.

A slight shudder went through the airship. Crawford did not need an outside viewport to know that they had just penetrated another of the towering cloud formations.

"Enemy vessel sighted," the first voice reported after a few minutes of silence. Simultaneous with the report, a red dot appeared amid the interference patterns at the far edge of the situation screen. The flagship's sensor specialists had burned through the interference long enough to get a lock on at least one enemy craft.

The dot was far to the northwest, moving down the center of the flyway. By keeping to the central belt, the Alliance Navy guarded against ambush from the cloud walls. Any attacker who wished to close to missile range must first cross three thousand kilometers of open sky. Strike Force Redemption, on the other hand, was hugging the southern cloud wall to make it more difficult for the Alliance to obtain a true picture of their strength. Admiral Vishnu had no plans to go out to meet the enemy. The Alliance fleet would have to come to them if they wished to save their home cities.

The single red dot became a small cluster, then a larger one, and then several clusters. Each grouprepresented a capital ship and its flock of support craft. The enemy ships changed course and headed directly for the strike force. Simultaneous with the course change, several red dots broke free of the main body and began to close the gap.

"They've burned through our interference," an operator reported over the command circuit.

"Let's hope they haven't seen our squadrons hidden in the zone," Admiral Vishnu responded.

"I only hope we can spot theirs," a third voice chimed in.

"Send out the pickets!"

A tiny sprinkling of green dots separated from their own main body and raced forward. The Alliance craft were all single seat fighters sent to probe Strike Force Redemption's defenses. Admiral Vishnu had responded in kind, sending a screening force of his own scouts forward.

The first clash came ten minutes later. The two opposing scout squadrons launched missiles at extreme range. A double row of deadly symbols closed, interpenetrated, and raced for their respective targets.

As the missiles drew close to the two lines of ships, they began to disappear as each squadron's defensive lasers began plucking its opponents' weapons from the sky.

Soon the ships were within laser range. Beams reached out and slashed. Missiles were fired at point blank range. Ships fell from the sky. As suddenly as it had begun, the skirmish was over. The Alliance scouts rolled into high gee turns and headed back the way they had come. They had lost three of their number, compared to two Strike Force Redemption scouts destroyed.

"First round to us," someone said over the command circuit.

"Cease that chatter!" came the instant command from Admiral Vishnu.

While the scouts battled, the two main fleets continued to close on one another. As the gulf of hydrogen/helium between them shrank, both sides worked furiously at penetrating their opponents' wall of electronic noise. The object of this deadly contest was to see who would be first to classify the opposing ships by type and function. Strike Force Redemption was especially dependent on identifying the enemy flagship. Their entire strategy depended on it.

After an interminable wait, the chief sensor operator reported thatCloud Dancer had been positively identified.

"Commence Operation Scramble!"

Rugillio Caen and Larson Sands were encased in environmental suits as they hung suspended from the Cloudcroft support truss. Around them was a forest of ultralight, 100-meter-long beams. The repeating pattern of the truss was interrupted by two large boxlike structures, one of which was directly overhead.

What little light penetrated the forest of beams did so from below.

Attached to the underside of the decking were several conduits of the type used to protect electrical and optical cables from damage. Inside one of the conduits was the main data link between Alliance Naval Headquarters and the communications station through which high-speed data was transmitted to the fleet.

A small gray lump of explosive, a short run of yellow wire, and a blue box containing an electronic detonator distinguished that particular conduit."All right, the bomb's set," Rugillio Caen said as he dangled below the explosive and played his helmet light across his handiwork.

"Then let's get away from here," Sands responded.

Both men lowered themselves on climbing lines like spiders spinning a web. The climb down was considerably easier than the climb up had been. They halted two hundred meters below the explosive.

Caen started swinging at the end of the long line. Eventually his arc was sufficiently long that he could grab one of the truss crossbeams at the end of it. He hoisted himself atop the girder and signaled for Sands to join him. Two minutes later, Lars was seated beside him on the cross member. The two of them released their climbing lines, letting them dangle free.

"What now?"

Caen fished an instrument from his pouch and opened it to reveal a small data screen. "We wait."

"Word better come through fast. I'm beginning to overheat."

Sands had forgotten how hot it was inside a city gasbag. Beads of sweat were forming on his brow, and then breaking loose to run down into his eyes. He had tried shaking his head to rid himself of them, but the helmet constricted his freedom of motion.

The instrument Caen watched was a satellite communications receiver. What Caen waited for was confirmation that Operation Scramble had begun. The signal was not long in coming. Five minutes after gaining their precarious perch, the receiver beeped and a short code sentence flowed across the screen.

"That's it," Caen said as he closed the receiver and returned it to his pouch. He extracted a small detonator and nonchalantly pressed the control stud. Overhead, a sharp crack and a flash of light told them that their objective had been achieved. A quick check with binoculars confirmed the severing of the data link.

"Come on, let's get out of here before we fry."

The team leader led the way to the hatch they had used for access to the city support truss. Sands waited for Caen to cycle through, then followed. They were met inside by Kimber and Halley, who immediately began to help them off with their helmets.

"How was it?" Kimber asked.