A Call To Arms: Chapter Eight

    Khetha’s shuttle was exactly where Ulobo’s tablet had said it would be. The flight systems were cold — the Supreme Chosen One probably hadn’t used the vehicle for months — but they came up with gratifying speed. A quick check of the computer as the reaction thrusters did their self-check revealed a quasi-diplomatic priority launch code for the vehicle. The relationship between the Cascans and Khetha’s alleged government-in-exile, Llyn reflected, must have been an interesting one. Probably very expensive, too.

    But the details didn’t matter. If the code got him off Casca in a timely fashion, that was all he cared about.

    Meanwhile, Ulobo’s tablet had included information on the orbiting ship’s startup procedure. It would still be tricky to operate a ship like this alone, but as long as nothing serious happened with the engineering he had no doubt he could handle it. The only other option was to collect the pick-up crew he’d tentatively reserved over the past week and make this journey a group effort.

    But he’d already killed enough people for one trip. Besides, a man like Khetha would be sure to keep everything in top-level shape. Leaning back in his seat, keeping an eye on the shuttle’s readouts, Llyn settled in to work through the manual.

 

---

 

    “…and then they brought me down here,” Townsend finished.

    “I see,” Quechua City Police Detective Dolarz said, nodding. “Okay. Let’s go back to the part where you first heard the gunshots –”

    “Look, I know that’s the stuff you’re supposed to be asking me about,” Townsend interrupted. “But there’s another killer out there, remember? Maybe the guy who killed those other eight men, too.”

    “Yes; your man with the criminal smile,” Dolarz said, his voice strained. “We’ll get to him soon enough.”

    Townsend sent a frustrated glance at Lisa, sitting silently behind the detective, and for a moment she thought he was going to appeal to her.

    But he didn’t. Which was just as well, because there was nothing she or the entire Navy could do for him right now. At this particular moment, Missile Tech Charles Townsend was about as deep in this growing firestorm as he could get.

    Eight murders, right in the middle of Casca’s capital city. It was horrifying, it was virtually unheard of on this world, and the police were already apparently starting to feel high-level government heat over it.

    They were searching frantically for answers. And if answers weren’t forthcoming, they might be willing to settle for scapegoats.

    Lisa’s uni-link vibrated: Captain Marcello wanted to see her. Silently leaving her chair, she opened the interrogation room door behind her and slipped out.

    Marcello and Commodore Henderson were waiting in the briefing room, along with a stiff-backed woman wearing a senior police officer’s uniform. Her eyes were fiery as she eyed the newcomer, but Lisa could also sense a bit of hunted animal in her face. “Commander Donnelly,” Marcello greeted her gravely. “This is Lieutenant Nabaum. She’s currently overseeing the investigation.”

    “Ma’am,” Lisa said, exchanging nods with the other woman. “I hope the rest of the case is coming along better than Missile Tech Townsend’s interrogation.”

    “Your petty officer is not exactly smelling like a garden rose at the moment,” Nabaum said acidly. “And yes, we’re making progress. We’ve identified the hit squad — they’re members of a criminal organization called Black Piranha. Very nasty group — we’ve been trying to wipe them out for over thirty years. As far as we know, though, this is the first time they’ve been involved in something with interstellar implications. Maybe this will finally give us the opening and leverage we need to take them out for good.”

    “You’re sure they made the hit?” Henderson asked. “I understood from Townsend’s testimony that they didn’t arrive on the scene until after the gunshots.”

    “You may also have noticed from Townsend’s testimony that he claims to have heard only two shots,” Nabaum countered. She waved a hand impatiently. “All right, granted — the room where the other six bodies were found was soundproofed, so forget the numbers. But his claimed timing is still suspicious. Especially since that ridiculous smiling-man theory of his is looking more and more like a deliberate red herring.”

    “How do you conclude that?” Lisa asked.

    Nabaum smiled thinly. “Because we found the message that was sent to the Piranhas, specifying that address and ordering them to deal with whoever they found inside. That order came in via the Havenite mail packet, which means it came in from off-world, which means it was put into motion at least a year ago. That pretty well eliminates the possibility that anyone aboard Soleil Azur was involved.”

    “It does?” Marcello asked, frowning. “I was under the impression that the room where the bodies were found was pretty much an unused storage area. How could whoever sent the message have known the victims would even be there?”

    Nabaum lifted fingers. “One: it might have started life as a storeroom, but it was rented three years ago and renovated as a private meeting room. Two –”

    “Rented by whom?” Henderson asked.

    “We’re still running that down,” Nabaum said. “We’ve worked through three layers already — no idea how many more there are. My money’s on someone connected with the Piranhas, though. Two: a private meeting room is typically the site of, not surprisingly, meetings. Often those meetings run on a regular schedule, which they apparently did and someone apparently learned. I know that because, three: the message listed no fewer than twelve possible dates and times for the Piranhas to do the deed, of which today was the fourth. Clearly, whoever set up the killing was well informed about his intended victims’ movements and plans, which means there was no reason he would need to be on Casca, let alone that he actually was.”

    Marcello’s uni-link trilled. He raised his wrist and keyed it on. “Marcello.”

    He listened a moment, and his already grim expression went a little grimmer. “Thank you, Commander. Bring it down here, will you?”

    He put the uni-link away. “I had Commander Shiflett go to Townsend’s room at the Hamilton and take a look at that personal he brought from the ship,” he told Lisa. “She found a copy of the Mota murder recording on it.”

    Lisa winced. So along with whatever Nabaum was considering charging Townsend with, he was also on the hook for the system hack Peirola had spotted last night. “So he was Commissioner Peirola’s hacker?” she asked.

    “Looks like it,” Marcello said. “One other bit of information you don’t know: Commodore Henderson ordered a fresh facial-comparison scan run between the recording and Soleil Azur’s passengers and crew. The closest any of them come is thirty-eight percent.”

    “What if the murderer wore a disguise?” Lisa suggested. “A wig, false mustache, and some facial builds could change his appearance that much, couldn’t they?”

    “Of course they could,” Nabaum put in. “But why bother with a disguise when he was going to scramble the security recordings and retrograde the guards’ memories anyway?”

    “Maybe he likes covering his trail with more than one layer of dirt,” Lisa said.

    Nabaum puffed out a sigh. “Look, Commander. I realize Petty Officer Townsend is a fellow shipmate, as well as being a close friend. But the facts are –”

    “Excuse me,” Lisa interrupted reflexively, the RMN rules on chain-of-command fraternization blurring across her vision. “Missile Tech Townsend is not a close friend. He’s a competent petty officer under my command, and that’s all.”

    “Then why were you the one he called with his little verbal game?” Nabaum countered, a knowing look in her eye.

    “I have no idea,” Lisa said, painfully aware of her captain listening silently to all this.

    “Well, we’ll make sure to ask him about it later,” Nabaum said placidly.

    “What about the victims?” Marcello asked. “Any luck identifying them?”

    Nabaum’s gotcha expression soured. “Not yet,” she admitted. “The killers had already loaded the bodies into denature bags — standard pre-disposal practice among the more sophisticated of our criminals. Their faces, prints, corneas, and retinas were already too far gone for computer match, and their DNA was well on its way. We were able to retrieve enough to work with, but it’s going to be a little longer before we can match any names to them.”

 

---

 

    “I see,” Marcello said. “I wonder if we can talk to Missile Tech Townsend privately. Once his interrogation is finished, of course.”

    “I think that can be arranged,” Nabaum said. “If you’d care to wait here, I’ll have him sent down as soon as we’re done with him. If you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to.”

    She headed for the door. “I need to head out, too,” Henderson said. “There are a couple of angles I want to look into.”

    “Of course,” Marcello said. “A suggestion, if I may: you might want to send Soleil Azur’s personnel photos to all commercial ground and air services. Just in case one of them tries to leave Quechua City.”

    “Along with vehicle rentals,” Henderson said, nodding. “Already done. Let me know if you find out anything new.”

    “I will, Sir,” Marcello assured him. “I hope we can get this thing straightened out quickly.”

    “Amen to that.” Henderson smiled faintly. “Because so far, the Manticoran friendship tour is not exactly living up to our expectations. Good luck.”

    It was another hour before Townsend finally arrived in the briefing room. Long enough for Commander Shiflett to join them. More than long enough for Marcello and Lisa to confirm that a purloined copy of the Deuxième Prison recording was indeed on Townsend’s personal.

    After the incredible morning Townsend had just been through, Lisa had expected him to show up dragging like a new recruit just in from his first ten-klick run. But while the petty officer’s face was drawn, there was a simmering fire in his eyes and a flagpole stiffness to his back.

    “I don’t know what else I can tell you, Sir,” he said when they were all seated around the table. “The smile on this man was the same as the one on the recording. Same lips, same shape, same almost-dimple, even the same hint of upper teeth.”

    “And you got all this from a single glance?” Marcello asked.

    “Two glances, Sir, actually,” Townsend said. “And the second time I already knew what to look for.”

    “A remarkable talent, Missile Tech,” Shiflett said in a tone that suggested she didn’t believe it for a second.

    “I don’t know if I’d call it a talent, Ma’am,” Townsend said. “I just saw what I saw.” He looked back at Marcello. “I take it, Sir, that the police aren’t taking this seriously?”

    “They’re convinced that the men you saw disposing of the bodies were also the killers,” Marcello said. “Or at least were part of the same group as the killers.”

    “Do they have any thoughts on motive, Sir?” Townsend asked.

    “They don’t even know who the victims were,” Marcello said. “Let’s move on, shall we?” He tapped the cover of Townsend’s personal.

    Townsend winced. “Yes, Sir. I know this is going to sound strange, but in fact I was asked to break into the Havenite pirate download and record it.”

    “Were you, now,” Marcello said. “By whom, may I ask?”

    “I was asked to keep it strictly confidential.”

    “To the point of spending the trip back home in the brig?”

    “Yes, Sir.”

    “How about to the point of staying on Casca to face obstruction and possibly murder charges?” Shiflett put in.

    Lisa felt her stomach tighten. Surely Shiflett wasn’t serious.

    She was. Lisa had seen that expression before, and she knew with certainty that the XO was completely, deadly serious.

    And on one level Lisa couldn’t blame her. As Commodore Henderson had said, the Manticoran visit was on the edge of becoming a public-relations disaster. If it took leaving a marginal petty officer behind to face local charges to bring things back on track, Shiflett might very well be prepared to pay that price.

    Townsend knew it, too. He looked at Shiflett, then at Marcello, then at Lisa, then back to Shiflett. “No, Ma’am,” he conceded.

    He turned to Marcello, squaring his shoulders. “It was Countess Calvingdell who gave me the assignment, Sir.”

    At the edge of her vision, Lisa saw Marcello’s and Shiflett’s eyes perform a synchronized widening. “The Defense Minister?” Marcello demanded.

    “Yes, Sir,” Townsend said, as painfully uncomfortable as Lisa had ever seen him. “She noticed there were some odd glitches in the Haven pirate data coming in via Casca, and wanted to know whether the glitches were in the original Havenite encryption or in the extra layer that the Cascans put on it. Since we were going to be here when one of the packets arrived, she asked me to pull a copy of the original data and encryption so that we could compare it with the version that Casca then sent back with us.”

    “Ridiculous,” Shiflett said flatly. “If she wanted a direct copy, why not just ask Captain Marcello to get her one? Why go to you in the first place.”

    Lisa had been wrong. Townsend was capable of at least one deeper layer of discomfort. “I think, Ma’am, that she was also concerned the glitches might be coming from somewhere in the Navy. Possibly even from inside her own office.”

    For once, even Shiflett seemed to be at a loss for words. “All right,” she said at last, some of the antagonism gone from her voice. “Again, why you?”

    “One of my uncle’s friends was part of the Intelligence department of the Meyerdahl System Defense Force before he emigrated to Sphinx,” Townsend said. “He’s advised the Countess before on clandestine operations, and suggested that I be given the job.”

    “You have any proof of this?” Marcello asked. “Aside from our going back and asking Calvingdell, that is?”

    “Nothing that would satisfy a Cascan court,” Townsend admitted. “And I’d ask, Sir, that you not tell them about this. Please. Countess Calvingdell’s instructions were very explicit on that point. I think she was worried about possible political repercussions.”

    Marcello grunted. “I’ll just bet she was.”

    “But there is a hidden clause in your own orders, Sir, which the Countess put in,” Townsend continued.

    “Really,” Marcello said, his voice dropping half an octave. “I don’t recall seeing anything in there aside from the standard collection of contingency files.”

    “It’s not just locked, Sir, it’s invisible,” Townsend said. “You can’t even see that it’s there unless you put in the password donnybrook.”

    Marcello and Shiflett exchanged glances. “We’ll see,” Marcello said.

    “Thank you, Sir,” Townsend said. “But with your permission, Captain, we can’t afford to wait until you get back to Damocles and confirm that. Let me offer you some indirect evidence right now. If you look through the record of my incursion, you’ll see that I was using the Havenites’ own decryption process. The only way I could have gotten hold of that is via a senior member of the Defense Ministry.”

    “Or else you stole it,” Shiflett said.

    “That’s possible, Ma’am,” Townsend conceded. “But a thief who’d obtained an official Havenite military encryption probably wouldn’t bother using it for a relatively non-critical file like this. He would more likely find a buyer and retire in luxury.”

    “Maybe that was next on your list,” Shiflett suggested darkly. “In fact, maybe your smiling man was part of that deal.”

    Lisa stiffened as a sudden thought flashed across her brain. If Townsend had copied more than just the Havenite data… “Excuse me,” she said as Townsend opened his mouth to reply. “Did you record anything besides the pirate data?”

    Townsend’s lip twitched. “I got some of the rest of the packet, yes, Ma’am,” he said. “I wasn’t snooping — I’d seen the recording of the murder, and thought there might be more information elsewhere in the packet.”

    “You have something, TO?” Marcello asked.

    “Maybe,” Lisa said. “With your permission, Sir?”

    Marcello waved a hand in silent assent. Lisa pulled the personal over to her, turned it on, and swiveled it around to face Townsend. “See if you got a message for a criminal group called — no, wait. Of course they wouldn’t have used their real name. Let me think how to do this…”

 

---

 

    “Are you talking about the Black Piranhas?” Shiflett asked, pulling out her tablet. “Hang on — Nabaum gave me the original of that file. It was in the will-call folder, number — well, here.” She turned the tablet so Townsend could see it. “See if you have this one.”

    “Yes, Ma’am.” For a few seconds Townsend worked the keyboard, frowning intently at the display. Then his face cleared. “Got it,” he said. “But it’s encrypted, and I haven’t got the key.”

    Shiflett gestured toward him. “Send it to me. I should be able to run it through the same decryption system the police used on the original.”

    “Yes, Ma’am,” Townsend said. “Sent.”

    “Got it,” Shiflett said. “Let’s see if this works.”

    “What exactly are you looking for, TO?” Marcello asked quietly into the silence.

    “I’m not sure, Sir,” Lisa confessed. “Lieutenant Nabaum said the kill order had come in the packet from off-world. I’m thinking that if she’s wrong about that, maybe there’ll be something different between it and Missile Tech Townsend’s version.”

    “Well, well,” Shiflett said, her voice suddenly intrigued. “Would you look at this? The version on the personal is just like the one the police have…except that the location of the hit is missing. Hello — so are those twelve date and time stamps she was so impressed by.”

    “Interesting,” Marcello said. “So it’s possible that someone had the template in place in the packet, then added the location and time before the Piranhas picked it up?”

    “That would certainly fit, Sir,” Shiflett said. “That way, the killer wouldn’t have to know in advance where the meeting would take place. Even if the victims were cagey enough to switch the place or time at the last second, he could insert the data into the message and it would still read out as having come from off-world.”

    “So either the Piranhas were really quick on the uptake,” Lisa said, “or else the men you saw were just the clean-up squad.”

    “It has to be the latter,” Townsend said. “I only heard two shots, which had to be the two outside men. That means the six inside had already been killed, which implies the killer was at the meeting by invitation.”

    “Unless he shot the two outside men first and then went in and shot the others,” Lisa suggested.

    Townsend shook his head. “You wouldn’t charge into a room and wait until you’d closed the door behind you before you started shooting, Ma’am,” he pointed out. “Even if you tried, your intended victims certainly wouldn’t give you that much time before they started shooting back.”

    “Point,” Marcello said. “So when the message says to deal with whoever they found inside, it’s just referring to body disposal?”

    “Apparently,” Shiflett said. “And contrary to how Nabaum’s reading it.” She gave a little shrug. “Nice plan, really. If Townsend hadn’t stumbled on them, and they’d gotten the bodies out of there, the murders would have just gone down as unsolved disappearances.”

    “And even if they did get caught, there’s a complete disconnect between them and the actual killer,” Marcello agreed. “As an extra bonus, by making it look like the order came from off-planet, it could take months or years for the Cascans to back-track the message and pin down his identity.”

    “If they even had the resources to try, Ma’am,” Townsend added.

    “Gimmicking the Havenite packet that way couldn’t have been easy, though,” Marcello pointed out.

    “He’s already screwed with a maximum-security prison’s recording system,” Shiflett pointed out. “This can’t be any harder.”

    “Excuse me, Sir,” Townsend said. “But now that we know that Mr. Smiley might be involved, shouldn’t we ask the Quechua City Police to pick him up?”

    “Afraid you haven’t given them much to go on,” Shiflett said.

    “What about the picture?” Townsend asked. “Redko got you and the cops a picture, didn’t he?”

    “What are you talking about?” Shiflett demanded.

    “I pointed him to the killer and told him to get a picture,” Townsend said, sitting up straighter in his chair. “He didn’t –? Oh, no. Damn it.”

    Shiflett had already keyed her uni-link. “Lieutenant Nabaum,” she ordered, her eyes smoldering. “When was this, Townsend?”

    “Just before I got grabbed by the clean-up crew,” Townsend said between clenched teeth. “I sent them in pairs — he should have had someone with him.”

    “His locator’s not registering,” Marcello muttered, glowering at his own uni-link. He shot a look at Shiflett, still waiting impatiently for Nabaum to answer, then turned to Lisa. “TO, get our people out there,” he ordered. “Get them on the streets and have them start a search. Starting at –” he gestured to Townsend.

    “Barclay Street and Marsala Avenue,” Townsend supplied.

    “Starting there,” Marcello said. “Have them look everywhere a human being could be hidden. Tell them they’re looking for EW Tech Redko.” His lips tightened. “Or,” he added quietly, “his body.”

 

---

 

    It took the Damocles crew and, eventually, most of the Quechua City police force a solid hour to find Redko. He and a Spacer Second Class named Aj Krit were taped to the back wall of a dumpster in a service alley four blocks away from the corner where Chomps had left them, with a couple of trash bags strategically placed to hide them from view.

    To Chomps’s surprise and infinite relief, they were alive.

    According to the petty officer who found them, Redko swore for three solid minutes after they got the tape off his mouth while they were untaping him from the dumpster. By the time Chomps and Commander Donnelly arrived he had apparently run out of curses.

    But from the look in his eye Chomps was pretty sure he was ready to do a repeat performance.

    “About freaking time,” he bit out as he spotted Townsend. His eyes flicked to Donnelly, and Chomps could see him revising his vocabulary now that a senior officer was present. “I was starting to think you were going to let me get a private tour of the Quechua City garbage sorter. What the hell kept you?”

    “It got complicated,” Chomps said, some vocabulary of his own very much wanting to come out. “What the hell happened?”

    “What do you think happened?” Redko said bitterly. “He got the drop on us, that’s what. We never even saw him coming.”

    “And how exactly was there even a drop he could get?” Chomps demanded. “You were supposed to take a picture. One. From a safe distance.”

    “Well, I couldn’t, could I?” Redko shot back. “He never gave me a clear shot. So we figured we’d follow him, just for a minute or so, and try to get at least a solid profile on him.” He nodded back over his shoulder at the dumpster. “Only next thing I knew, we were wrapped up like bargain-priced mummies and plastered against the back of that thing. Plastered solid — I couldn’t even kick the sides to try to get someone’s attention.”

    “Consider yourself lucky you’re able to complain about it,” Donnelly advised tersely. “We think the man you were tailing killed eight other men.”

    “I was thinking –” Redko broke off. “Did you say eight, Ma’am? But –” he looked back at Chomps.

    “Eight,” Chomps confirmed. “The two shots we heard were the last of a string. As Commander Donnelly says, consider yourself lucky.”

    “Yes, Ma’am,” Redko said, in a considerably more subdued voice. “Well…did you get him?”

    “Not yet,” Donnelly said. “But the police have an alert out, and Commodore Henderson has the CDF checking all shuttle flights he might have been able to catch.”

    “They’ll get him,” Chomps promised. “In the meantime…” He looked at Donnelly.

    She nodded. “The hospital for a quick check, then to the police station for a debriefing.”

    “Yes, Ma’am.” Chomps gestured. “Come on, Reddy. I’ll help you to the car.”

 

---

 

---

 

    The diplomatic code from Ulobo’s tablet worked like a charm. Quechua City Space Control let Llyn leave orbit, their instructions and confirmations filled with the sort of stiff formal phrases that must have come straight from the official rule file. By the time of their second, much less serene call, he’d built up a twenty-one-second time delay’s worth of distance.

    It made the conversation even more awkward than it otherwise would have been.

    “Diplomatic courier ship Score Settler, this is Quechua City Control,” a harsh voice came over the bridge speaker. “Commodore Henderson of the Cascan Defense Force requests that you abort your trip and return immediately to Casca.”

    Llyn touched the mike control. “Quechua City Control, this is Score Settler,” he replied. “Captain Ulobo speaking. My apologies, but I’m afraid it will be impossible to accede to your request. General Khetha has received a message requesting him to come at once to Zuckerman, and is determined that that obligation be met.”

    He counted out the seconds of the time-delay; and right on target —

    “Captain Ulobo, this is not a request,” a new, even harsher voice came on. “You are ordered to return to orbit immediately.”

    Or what? Llyn thought back with a tight smile. He’d carefully checked the locations of the CDF’s ships — all four of them — on his way out of orbit, and had confirmed that none of them was in position to come after him.

    But there was nothing to be gained by pointing that out. Besides, gloating wasn’t Llyn’s style. “I’m sorry, Quechua City Control, but that simply isn’t possible,” he said. “If all goes well, General Khetha will be back in three months. He’ll be happy to sit down with Commodore Henderson then.”

    “Captain Ulobo, I don’t think you fully understand the situation,” the man said. “If you refuse to comply, you will be brought back by force.”

    Llyn opened his mouth to reply —

    And stopped as one of the displays belatedly caught his eye. It was an ID map of everything in orbit around Casca, all the ships that might be close enough to head off after him. He’d taken all of the CDF warships into account, and dismissed them as any threat.

    But he’d forgotten about the Manticore destroyer. And if they started bringing up their impellers right now…

    Quickly, he ran the numbers. It would be close — it would be damn close. But if they really, really wanted him, they could indeed have him.

    And as if in response to that sudden revelation — “Score Settler, this is Captain Marcello of the Royal Manticoran Naval Ship Damocles,” a new voice came from the speaker. “The Cascan Defense Force has authorized me to pursue and detain or destroy you. Bring your ship around and return to Casca or we will do so.”

    Llyn cursed under his breath. He had just one option, and it wasn’t a pretty one. Keying for impeller control, he ran his acceleration and inertial compensator to ninety-five percent.

    It wasn’t something he did lightly. It wasn’t something anyone did lightly. Especially not someone whose impeller room was running on full automatic, with no one watching gauges to make sure nothing went wrong. Eighty-five percent was considered the upper limit for safe travel, and virtually no one except warships in combat ever crossed that line.

    But Llyn needed more of a lead if he was to stay ahead of Damocles and her missiles. An hour at ninety-five percent should do the trick. Even if Marcello decided to push his own ship to the same limit.

    And if he did…well, then it would be a race.

 

---

 

    “CIC confirms, Captain,” Lieutenant Nikkelsen’s voice came from Marcello’s uni-link. “Score Settler is running at ninety-five percent maximum acceleration.”

    Lisa shivered. Ninety-five percent. Whoever was aboard really didn’t want anyone catching him.

    “Well, that pretty much confirms it’s our boy, doesn’t it?” Commodore Henderson said sourly.

    “I would say so, Commodore,” Marcello said, just as sourly, as they all watched the departing icon on the CDF Command Center display. “I was wishing mightily that we hadn’t taken those two beta nodes off-line for inspection last night, but I see now that it wouldn’t really have mattered whether we had or not.”

    “Not unless you were willing to red-line your systems, too,” Henderson agreed. “Which I assume you weren’t?”

    “I wouldn’t have been, no,” Marcello said. “But seeing that he was willing might have changed my mind.” He gave a little snort. “One more big fat zero for our collection.”

    At the rear of the group, Townsend cleared his throat. “If I may, Sir?” he said tentatively. “We also know now that the murderer hasn’t got a tap into high-level CDF files.”

    “How do you figure that?” Shiflett asked, frowning.

    “Because if he did, he’d have known Damocles’s forward ring was down and she couldn’t give chase,” Townsend said. “I assume that maintenance plan was logged into the Cascans’ system?”

    “It was,” Marcello confirmed, nodding. “It also means he hasn’t got an ally tucked in among CDF personnel who could have found that out for him.”

    “Yes, Sir.”

    “I suppose that’s worth something,” Henderson said.

    “It’s worth a lot,” Marcello said. “A traitor in your midst could have made for serious future trouble.”

    “Agreed,” Henderson said. “On the other hand, a traitor would have been a lead we might have been able to ferret out. This way, we’ve again got zero.”

    “Yes,” Marcello murmured. “Whoever this guy is, he’s damn smooth.” He gazed at the display another moment, then turned to Townsend. “And now, I think it’s time we headed back to the ship,” he continued, a slight edge to his voice. “There’s apparently some new reading I have to do.”

    Lisa looked at Townsend, too. The big Sphinxian’s face was a little pale, but there was no hint of panic in his expression. Whatever these supposed secret orders were, she had no doubt they really did exist.

    What Marcello would choose to do with them, of course, was another matter. Orders were orders, but long-distance ones like this usually included a degree of latitude that ship’s commanders could invoke in case of unforeseen circumstances.

    “Of course,” Henderson said. “We’ll continue monitoring him from down here, and Chachani will continue bringing up her impellers, just in case he has a malfunction before he hits the hyper limit. Unless that happens, though, I’m afraid he’s clear and gone.”

    “Yes,” Marcello murmured. “I wonder what a megalomaniac like Khetha had — or knew — that could possibly make this whole thing worth this much effort.”

    Lisa swallowed. This much effort, and this many lives.

    It was a big galaxy, but she couldn’t quite rid herself of the suspicion that the Haven Sector might someday find that out.

    It was unlikely to be an enjoyable experience.

 

---

 

    The timer Llyn had set ran to zero…and with that, there was no longer any even theoretical possibility that the Cascans, Manticorans, or Manticoran missiles could catch him.

    With a huff of relief, he quickly ran the impellers back to the standard eighty-five percent. He’d half expected Damocles to try anyway, running her own impellers as high as she had to in order to burn off Llyn’s lead.

    But Captain Marcello hadn’t been that crazy. And really, who could blame him? He shouldn’t be expected to risk his ship and crew that way, certainly not when all they could even suspect Llyn of was an assault on those two nosy Manticorans he’d caught following him.

    And so, for want of a little courage, the captain of Damocles had forfeited his chance to save his worlds.

    And the real pity was that he would never know it.