The Gripping Hand

PART 3 - THE MOAT AROUND MURCHESON'S EYE

To the question, what shall we do to be saved in this World? there is no other answer but this, Look to your Moat.

George Sevile, Marquis of Halifax

1 New Ireland

The foolish will now ask and say:

"What has made the faithful turn away from the qiblah toward which they used to pray?"

Say: "To God belong the East and the West.

He guides who so wills to the path that is straight."

al-Qur'an

Hyperspace links only specific points. The time required to travel from one Alderson point to another is immeasurably short; but once that Jump has been made, the ship must proceed through normal space to the next Alderson point. This can take weeks to months depending on the Alderson geometry, ship speed, and logistics.

Sinbad was faster than most passenger liners, and Bury had arranged to be met by other ships of his fleet carrying supplies and fuel, so that Sinbad could go by the most direct route possible; and even so the trip lasted long enough to put everyone on edge. They remained polite; but everyone was glad that Sinbad's size allowed some privacy

Yet Renner observed that the odd friendship between Bury and Buckman remained as strong as ever; and if the new Viceroy was tiring of being told stories of Imperial trade on the one hand, and the follies of Imperial science policy on the other, he showed no signs of it. Renner had long since taken to excusing himself quickly after the evening formal dinner

He was glad to be able to announce the last Jump. "It'll be about midnight ship's time," he said. "Take your sleeping pills and you may sleep through it."

"I wish I could," Ruth Cohen said. "And I don't think I'll ever get used to Jump shock."

"You can sleep through it, but you won't get used to it," Renner said. "It's not something you can get used to. Anyway, this is the last for a while."

"One of my ships should be waiting," Bury said,

Renner nodded. "Yes, sir. They'll have been waiting awhile. We had a message saying it passed through three weeks ago."

Bury grimaced. "A costly rendezvous. Ah, well. Thank you, Kevin."

A thin, reedy voice rang through the ship, first in Arabic, then in Anglic. "Prayer is better than sleep! Come to prayer! I witness that the Lord our God is One God. I bear witness that there is no God but Allah, and Mohammed is the Prophet of Allah. Come to prayer. God is great! Prayer is better than sleep!"

Ruth Cohen sat bolt upright. "What in the world..."

The ship was in free-fall. The Velcro covers had held her snugly in the bed, and she'd got so used to gravity changes in the past few weeks that taking the spin off the ship hadn't awakened her. Must have been done smoothly. She realized she was alone in the bed. And I really did sleep through the Jump, too.

Kevin Renner floated in from the adjoining cabin as the thin singsong finally ceased.

"Shh."

"But-"

"Horace has visitors. Partners, or relatives, both maybe, from Levant on the supply ship. Bury has Nabil play muezzin when he wants to look like a conventional Moslem. Sorry I couldn't warn you, we only found out when we docked ships, and I was busy then."

"But-"

Renner grinned. "They wouldn't appreciate that Sinbad's pilot sleeps with a concubine."

"I am not-"

"Well, I know that, and you know that, but they won't know that. Anyway, I take it back. They won't be shocked that I have a concubine. They might not be thrilled by your name."

"Name."

"You're from Dyan."

"I'm not from Dyan, I'm from New Washington."

"I know."

"And I am a Navy officer, on assignment." She looked down at her translucent harem set and tried to grin. "Well, not on duty just at the moment-Kevin, this is not funny."

"Well, maybe not. At least it wasn't hard to figure the direction."

"Kevin-"

"Point toward Earth and you're facing Jerusalem and Mecca both. No difference from here. Same qiblah."

"What has this got to do with anything?"

"I read up on it once," Renner said. "When Mohammed first went to Medina, he preached that the Jews and the Believers were one people, all descended from Abraham, and they'd all have one Messiah. Maybe himself, but that wasn't established. One God, Allah, who was the same as the Jewish Jehovah. Mohammed venerated the Torah. Prayed toward Jerusalem."

"Jerusalem? Kevin, why are we discussing this?"

"So you won't brood about being insulted."

"I still don't like it.'

"Of course not. Neither does Bury. You're a guest. If you insist on acting like one, Bury will cooperate. God knows what it would cost him, though."

"Oh." Ruth pulled a sheet up to her chin and wriggled farther down into the covers holding her to the mattress. "All right. Tell me more. Are you making all this up?"

Renner smiled. "Nope. I'm told that in Medina there's a famous mosque, called the mosque of the Two Qiblahs-"

"Qiblah. Direction?'

"Yeah, aspect. Direction the mosque faces. Mohammed sent letters to the Jewish leaders inviting them to join him. They wouldn't. They said you had to be a son of Jacob to inherit the kingdom and get all the benefits of the prophecies, and Arabs didn't qualify since they were only sons of Abraham."

"And nobody cared about the daughters."

"Not a bit. But for a couple of years they faced Jerusalem, not Mecca, to do their prayers. But when the Jews rejected his offer, Mohammed brooded about it. One morning, Mohammed was in the middle of his prayers, facing Jerusalem, and all of a sudden he swung round to face Mecca. Everybody else did, too, of course. And that's why Arabs and Jews fight."

"I never heard that."

"True, though." Renner looked thoughtful. "Good thing, too. Can you imagine what would have happened to Europe if the Jews and the Moslems had been on the same side? Anyway that's the story of the Two Qiblahs. Now for the fun part."

"Fun part?"

"For the next two weeks we have this ship pretty well to ourselves. The supply ship isn't the only one Bury had meet him here. He's got a hospital ship that would make the Navy's doctors drool kittens. In about three hours, Horace and the Viceroy and Buckman are going to board Mercy of Allah, and by the time we get to New Ireland they'll be new men."

"Wow. Aren't you included?"

Renner grinned. "What's the matter, don't like the old one?"

"Well, my opinion's on record, but it doesn't seem hardly fair."

"But who'd keep you company? Actually, I got rebuilt just before we went to the Purchase. Time enough for touch-ups when we're in orbit and I don't have piloting duties. But we'll be pretty much alone with the staff most of the way into New Ireland."

"I suppose it's just as well. I'm not sure I want to be around a Kevin Renner with more energy than you've already got."

NEW CALEDONIA: Star system behind the Coal Sack with P8 primary star cataloged as Murcheson A. The distant binary, Murcheson B, Is not pail of the New Caledonia system. Murcheson A has six planets in five orbits, with four inner planets, a relatively wide gap containing the debris of an unformed planet, and two outer planets in a Trojan relationship. The four inner planets are named Conchobar, New Ireland, New Scotland, and Fomor, in their order from the sun, which is known locally as Cal, or Old Cal, or the Sun. The two middle planets are inhabited, both terraformed by First Empire scientists after Jasper Murcheson, who was related to Alexander IV, persuaded the Council that the New Caledonian system would be the proper place to establish an Imperial university. It is now known that Murcheson was primarily interested in having an inhabited planet near the red supergiant known as Murcheson's Eye. and as he was not satisfied with the climate of New Ireland, he demanded the terraforming of New Scotland as well.

Fomor is a relatively small planet with almost no atmosphere and few interesting features, It does, however, possess several fungi that are biologically related to other fungi found in the Trans-Coal Sack sector.

The two outer planets occupy the same orbit and are named Dagda and Mider in keeping with the system's Celtic mythological nomenclature. Dagda is a gas giant, and the empire maintains fuel stations on the planet's two moons, Angus and Brigit. Merchant ships are cautioned that Brigit is a Navy base and may not be approached without permission.

"Which we won't need to do, thanks to Bury's supply ship," Renner said, wiping the screen. "We're good all the way to New Ireland."

NEW IRELAND: Second planet of the New Caledonia system. New Ireland was terraformed by First Empire scientists under the influence of Jasper Murcheson and was the original site of the Trans-Coal Sack branch of the Imperial University until the campus was moved to New Scotland.

The inhabitable areas of New Ireland are comparatively small and confined to the temperate-zone areas adjacent to the single major sea. Climate in the inhabitable zone is warm and pleasant. The soil is fertile and there are few insects or other predators. Crop yields are high.

New Ireland joined the Secessionists and continued the war long after both New Ireland and New Scotland had become isolated from their respective allies.

Little industry has been rebuilt since the destruction sustained during the Secession Wars. This was originally due to opposition from New Scotland, but is now apparently the choice of the New Irish Parliament. Consequently New Ireland remains a backwater with tourism as the major source of hard currency

New Ireland and particularly the region known as Deny, is fiercely sought by Imperial Navy crews as a place for shore leave,

Sinbad's B lounge was an add-on pod the shape of a lima bean. Ruth Cohen had set the wall transparent. Andrew Mercer found her reading at a viewscreen, with stars blazing around her and the Coal Sack behind her. The blackness in the other direction was New Ireland's night side.

He'd been watching the Coal Sack on and off ever since Sinbud arrived iii New Cal system. He preferred not to let himself know that the view made him uneasy. The vast black blot stretched across thirty degrees of sky, in the shape of a hooded man with one glowing red eye. Murcheson's Eye, the red supergiant, had a yellow fleck in it: the MOte. And Ruth was a child in the arms of the Hooded Man, her face eerily lit from underneath by the computer screen.

Mercer moved around her to see over her shoulder.

"Greetings, Your Highness." Ruth said.

"Not for two more hours. I don't become Viceroy until we land."

"But you've been in the New Cal system for three weeks. And know you've been reading reports and sending instructions."

Mercer shrugged. "Two weeks of that was in the hands of Bury's djinni." He stretched. "Do I look different?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. Not much, but I can tell. I wonder how long Bury will keep Mercy here?"

"A while, I gather. He plans on some touch-ups. Thinking of taking a turn in the tank?"

"I just might once we settle in. It's not an opportunity I'll get very often. So tomorrow's the big day. Why New Ireland instead of New Scotland?"

"Actually, Sir Kevin suggested it. After I thought it over, it did seem a good idea to have the formal installation on New Ireland. Patch up the old wounds. Let the New Irish know they're accepted. Even if I can't begin work until we get to New Scotland."

"Well, Trujillo got here first."

Ruth scrolled back to the beginning of the news squib. Mercer read over her shoulder

Dateline Montenth 32, 3047. Derry, New Ireland. Mel-Ling Trujillo. His Highness arrives tomorrow. Not only is this the first official visit of an Imperial Viceroy to New Ireland since the wars ended, but Arthur Calvin Mercer will be formally installed as Viceroy for His Majesty's Domains Beyond the Coal Sack in the New Ireland Parliament building.

The Government clearly expects this to be a big deal and has gone all out to bring in official guests to witness the event. There will be three days of official holiday. The New Cal branch of the Imperial Traders Association has arranged for fireworks and is paying for an all-day banquet.

There's no question that among the best people of New Ireland the installation will be the biggest show since INSS Terrible bombarded Derry and ended New Ireland's secession eighty years ago.

At tomorrow's ceremony the Fleet will be represented by three ships, the largest a light cruiser, It seems none of the others in the New Scotland naval yards is spaceworthy. When His Highness has had enough pomp and ceremony and wants to get to work, he might start by looking into the Yardmaster's records.

Meanwhile, for most of New Ireland it's business as usual, and an unusual business it is.

For fifty-six years the province of Derry has been visited by the Navy on leave. They were not always welcome; but they have always been the source of money, and money heals many wounds. Today Derry is famous for its welcome.

The scars from Terrible's visit have long disappeared. Elsewhere on the planet, much of Murcheson's careful terratorming has also disappeared, leaving vast desert regions. But from the top of Romance Crag. Derry still looks like farmland, miles of it in all directions. The town is not one clump; it stretches arms along the crests of the hills, with farmland below.

In the streets it is quite different.

The whores have a wholesome look, I questioned several, and I always had the feeling that they were laughing at me. Uncorrupted. Part of the answer is that I was never able to find one twice. "We come for a little day trip, and maybe we make some money. Then it's back to work with the pigs and the corn," Deirdre told me.

She knows who her father is. Jaynisse doesn't, both thought it an odd question.

If you walk the streets of Derry, you'll find there aren't any brothels, but there are whole blocks of hotels that will provide rooms by the night or by the hour. Most of them have splendid room service.

It is estimated that the average Able Spacer will leave three months' pay on Derry. It you count in the petty officers, the average Navy man spends nearly eighteen hundred crowns here. It is, by the way, very much an average. The Navy people save for their visit here, but they also gamble heavily.

Navy men-I haven't found any women spacers who'll admit being interested in Derry-tend to spend heavily, but it isn't all wine and women. "I always go to the Dream Palace," the midshipman I'll call Carlos Meredith told me. "You can bring your own game cassettes and interface them and play the locals. Anything new from Sparta, the locals love it. I usually win for the first day."

Then he finds a girl and goes off to sleep and comes back the next day and loses what he has left, "The locals are pretty quick with a new game."

Ruth glanced up at Mercer. "There's more, but here's the tag." She skipped to the end of the file.

They find a lot to worry about in Government House, but in the Fleet there's only one topic of conversation. Will the new Viceroy close down Derry?

"Humpf," Mercer said.

"Sir?" Ruth asked.

"She can't mean that. No columnist could be dumb enough to think my first act would be to close the one thing that makes blockade duty tolerable."

"Not much work for you here," Mercer said. "No Outies anywhere, and I can't see how the Secret Service could learn more about the Mote. Maybe you'll find a plot on New Ireland."

"It may not be that funny. There aren't many active anymore, but the Rebel Alliance still exists, you know."

"They threw a bomb at Governor Smelev. But that was years ago. I think the worst we have to worry about on New would be getting too far behind on our shots."

The intercom saved Ruth from having to answer. "They finally called," said Renner's voice. "All personnel, strap in. Ruth, come forward. You don't know how to steal a spacecraft until you can land it."

The inauguration ceremonies had begun at noon and lasted six hours. The celebrities had gone their own ways. Now trucks were moving between the barricades that lined Skid Street. The sun was still well up.

Kevin and Ruth strolled along the main drag. Here was the Falling Ship, a hotel made up of two-story buildings laid in squares, flowerbeds between, aerial ramps linking the roofs. Kevin wondered what they were charging for rooms with a view of Skid Street. A taller hotel could have made considerably better profits on a day like this...but nothing stood tall on New Ireland, not even the Palace.

The trucks were opening like flowers. Ruth and Kevin stopped to watch one unfold. In minutes it had become a bakery, and merrymakers were swarming to buy fresh bread. Kevin bought a loaf, tore off two pieces, and handed one to Ruth.

They ate. "All right. You don't get this on shipboard," Ruth said. "Let's find some fruit."

"Crudités'?" Renner dropped what remained of the loaf and guided her to a vegetable stand. The trucks had all looked alike; now all the suddenly blooming stands were different, and the trucks within had vanished. They munched carrots and a head sized radish as they walked.

"I smell meat," Kevin said. "That way."

"It's not all sex here," Ruth said.

The sudden market already swarmed with women, young and middle-aged, varying between comely and beautiful, but generally good-looking. Men in Navy uniforms stopped to talk and found ready companionship. "I never did get shore leave on New Ireland," Kevin said. "We all knew it was what we wanted. Family cooking, fresh food, and wholesome sex. Hard to say which a Navy man wants more, after a year eating bioplast and yeast steaks. And marijuana. Even a little borloi. They told me you can get drunk, too, but you have to go looking for liquor, and it isn't in the rituals, if you follow me. No bars."

"And you're finally in Derry, but there's a woman hanging on your arm,"

"I'll tough it out somehow. And there's dinner. What the blazes is it? Or was it?"

A carcass roughly the size of an ox was roasting over a fire. Right here in the street? Yes, but the fire was sitting on ribbed metal, the fold-down side of another truck. New Irish kept things neat. The burly proprietor cut them two slices and sealed them in plastic. They walked on.

"Speaking of sex," Kevin said, "what did you think of Trujillo?"

"I guess that look never goes out of style."

"No makeup. You probably thought she was careless. Look like a mouse, but wear a thin dress and no underwear. It turns men on. Worked on you, didn't it?"

"Point taken."

Ruth sighed. "It only works when you're young. Maybe I will take Bury up on his offer. Look, jugglers."

"Did you like her?"

"Trujillo? I'm not supposed to like her. She's no friend to the Navy. But the real answer is I didn't get much chance to talk to her."

"You will,"

"Kevin?"

"Weeks ago she requested passage to the Crazy Eddie Squadron. We all decided she could ride aboard Sinbad."

"Oh."

"Bury's idea. He wants to convert her into a Motie hater." Renner chuckled. "Fresh blood for His Excellency. Mercer heard Horace's spiel so often he was ready to scream if anyone mentioned the Moties. He already sent a letter of invitation."

"Hmm. And you won't say whether she turns you on. I think I'd better do some shopping. Or should I bother?"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning we both know this doesn't last forever. Getting tired of me?"

"Not yet. Want out?"

"Not yet." She nodded thoughtfully, then smiled. "We'll leave it that way, then."

Renner took out his pocket computer. "According to Ms. Trujillo's article, the Brick Moon serves artichokes eighteen different ways. Room service in the hotel next door. Interested?"

"Mmm. Dammit, you've got me thinking like you."

"How so?"

"I want to see how the clerk acts when he sees you walk in with off-planet competition."

2 The High Commission

The art of putting the right man in the right places is first in the science of government; but that of finding places for the discontented is the most difficult.

Talleyrand

NEW SCOTLAND: Third planet of the New Caledonia system. Originally lifeless with extensive atmosphere of methane and water vapor, New Scotland was terraformed by massive infusions of genetically engineered microbes.

The original colonists lived under domes...

New Scotland's major city was dominated by the Viceregal Palace. It stood in the center of a series of concentric rings; much like medieval cities on Earth, New Scotland's growth was controlled by the city's defense technologies.

Renner sent the small landing craft in a wide circle to dissipate its speed. "There are some changes." He pointed to smaller built up complexes out beyond the final ring. "All that's new since I was here. They must think the war's finally over, to build outside the Field protection."

"The Moties have done that much good," Ruth Cohen said. "They've got New Scotland and New Ireland thinking ‘us' about each other. Except at football games."

"They do get a bit rough, don't they? Better than throwing bombs at each other... well, some better anyway." But Moties wouldn't build like that, he thought. Wouldn't build what they couldn't defend.

The flier completed its circuit of the city. Renner brought it to the landing area outside the black granite complex of Government House. Bored Marine guards noted Ruth Cohen's Navy uniform and Renner's expensive business clothes, perfunctorily took their identity cards and inserted them into computer readers, glanced at the screen, and waved them through into the courtyard. They got inside through an unlocked French door leading into a maze of corridors. Renner tried to lead the way to the Commission meeting rooms, but soon became lost. Finally he stopped looking. "Ah. Here's a guard."

They were directed to a different part of the building. Ruth Cohen giggled.

"The last time I was here it was for a meeting in the Council Chamber," Kevin said. "The big hail with a dome. Anybody could find that. How was I to know they'd put the Commission off here in the Annex?"

In contrast to the Grand Council Chamber, the Commission's meeting room was strictly functional. There was no throne. The Viceroy's place was merely an armchair at the center of the big table. The council table was massive. It might have been wood, but Kevin didn't think so. Chairs for advisers stood behind the table. In front there were seats for an audience of fifty or so. Large view screens, now blank, dominated both side walls.

They had barely got into the room when a tall, balding man dressed in dark, conservative business clothes thrust forward and held out his hand. "Kevin. By God, you look good." He paused to look at Renner. "Colorful, too."

Renner frowned for a moment, then grinned. "Jack Cargill. Good to see you." He turned to Ruth. "Commander-I guess it's ‘admiral,' now, isn't it?"

Cargill nodded.

"Ruth Cohen, meet Admiral Cargill. Jack was Exec in MacArthur," Kevin explained. "Are you still with the Crazy Eddie Squadron?"

"No, I'm on the High Commission."

"Gosh. You're important. And to think we shared a cabin once."

‘"Here's another Commissioner you know," Cargill said. "David." He indicated a heavyset, balding man in clerical attire.

"Father Hardy," Renner said. "Hey, it's good to see you again. What have they done, loaded the Commission down with MacArthur crew?"

"No, we're the only ones," David Hardy said. "And I'm not sure in what capacity I'm here."

Renner noted the large pectoral cross on Hardy's cassock. "Everybody's been promoted. Bishop, eh? Do I kiss your ring, my Lord?"

Hardy grinned. "Well, you're welcome to, but you're certainly not part of my flock."

"Sir?"

"I'm missionary bishop to Mote Prime. Of course we don't have any converts."

"Sure of that?" Renner asked.

"As a matter of fact, no," Hardy said. "I never did learn what happened to my Fyunch(click), Not that he was a convert, exactly. Anyway, I might be here as the Church's representative, or as the only semanticist ever to visit Mote Prime-ah." He turned toward the door as it opened. "Here's someone you need to meet again. I'm sure you recognize him."

A tall naval officer in uniform. He looked young to be a full lieutenant, but then Kevin Christian Blaine's father had been a lieutenant commander when only a couple of years older, and captain of MacArthur a year after that. The aristocracy got promotions, but they were also weeded out of the service if they couldn't keep up. Or used to be, Renner thought.

"Your godson, I believe," Hardy was saying.

"Well, not that I exercised many of the duties of the office," Renner said. Blaine's handshake was firm. "And this is Ruth Cohen. How are you, Kevin?"

"Very good, sir. And I really appreciated the things you sent for my birthdays. Some of the oddest stuff-holos, too. You sure got around, Sir Kevin."

"Kevin Renner, galactic tourist." Renner reached into a sleeve pocket and took out a message cube. "On that score, your sister sent this. She's on her way, in case you didn't know."

"Thought she might be. I wondered if she might be coming with you."

"It would have been a bit crowded, and she had a lift. The Honorable Frederick Townsend decided to visit New Caledonia."

"He probably thinks it was his idea," Renner guessed.

"You've met Glenda Ruth, but not Freddy," Kevin Blaine observed. It took Renner a moment to realize that he wasn't asking.

The room began to fill. A half dozen Navy officers in uniform, led by a commander who wore a ship's miniature badge indicating he was master of a medium cruiser. They waved to Blaine, but stayed to themselves on the other side of the room. A group of civilians sat in adviser chairs and put their pocket computers on the arm-desks. Another knot of Navy officers came in. They had white shoulder boards indicating administrative branch and sat near but not with the combat officers.

"The accountants," Cargill said. "Here to convince the world that not one cent has ever been wasted."

"Can they do that, sir?" Ruth asked.

No." She seemed to expect more, so Cargill said, "No matter how you slice it, blockade duty is long stretches of utter boredom. Spiced up with random moments of sheer terror, of course, but that doesn't make up for the boredom. Of course the men are going to misbehave. Officers, too. We're just damned lucky to have troops who'll do it at all."

The large double doors at the end of the room opened wide to admit Bury in his travel chair. Renner clucked in disapproval:

Bury's doctors wanted him to spend more time exercising. Bury was accompanied by Jacob Buckman and Joyce Mei-Ling Trujillo.

"She's wearing underwear today," Renner said. Ruth made a face at him. If Blaine and Hardy heard the remark, they didn't comment.

Joyce Mei-Ling Trujillo was in fact quite well dressed, in a thin silk afternoon dress that would have been fashionable on Sparta. She carried a pocket computer large enough that she needed a bag for it. Ruth Cohen sniffed. "Doesn't trust the central computer system to keep records for her."

"I've found journalists are often like that," Kevin Christian Blaine said.

"Experience?" Renner asked.

"Quite a lot. The Navy likes me to do their talking." Bury, Buckman, and Trujillo took places in the first row of the audience seats. Blaine glanced at his watch. "I'd best be getting to my post."

"Me, too," Cargill said. "Dinner tonight, Kevin?"

"Yes, please. Anyplace special, or shall I ask Bury to invite you up to Sinbad?"

"Sinbad, if you can swing it."

The double doors were thrown open again, and a palace functionary came in. "My lords, ladies, and gentlefolk, His Highness the Viceroy."

Everyone stood. There was no other ceremony, but Mercer looked a bit self-conscious as he took his place at the center of the big table. He was joined at the table by Cargill and Hardy, and two others Renner hadn't met. Their place cards named them as Dr. Arthur MacDonald and Sir Richard Geary, Bart. Renner took a seat near Bury and scribbled on his pocket computer.

Arthur MacDonald, PhD. Professor New Scotland. Holds Blaine Institute Chair of Xenobiology.

Richard Geary, baronet. Investor. Member of Board of Regents, University of New Scotland.

There was more, but Mercer was tapping on the table with his gavel. "I call this meeting of the Imperial Commission to order. Let the record state that this is a public meeting. If there is no objection, we will record the names of attendees.

There were various chirps like a hundred crickets as the palace central computer queried everyone's pocket computer to get the meeting attendance list. Renner's computer beeped twice and then rattled. Heads turned. Renner grinned.

Mercer turned to the Commission secretary. "Mr. Armstrong."

"Thank you, Your Highness," Armstrong said. His voice was thick with the accent of New Caledonia. In deference to our guests, His Highness has changed the meeting agenda to omit the opening formalities and routine business. We therefore proceed directly to Item Four, the report from the blockade squadron. His Highness has requested that the fleet prepare a summary report covering the principal activities of the squadron through the years, as well as a more detailed report of current actions. The report will be presented by Lieutenant the Honorable Kevin Christian Blaine, executive officer of INSS Agamemnon."

Chris Blaine stood near the large screen that dominated one wall of the room. "Thank you, Mr. Secretary. Your Highness."

"The blockade force is formally known as the Eleventh Fleet, or Battle Fleet Murcheson's Eye. The mission of Battle Fleet Murcheson's Eye is to intercept any and all ships entering the Empire from the Mote-to enforce the blockade decreed by this Commission. Blockade duty is hard duty, and the officers and men of the Blockade Fleet are proud of our record of one hundred percent success. We have achieved that success in spite of many very real difficulties."

Renner's thoughts chased each other:

I wonder who wrote that for him?

Still, the Crazy Eddie Squadron would have driven me nuts.

Heyyy... He dared not speak his next thought. Chris doesn't sound that bloody convincing, does he? Why not? Raised by Mediators- He doesn't believe what he's saying.

Blaine gestured, and the wall screen lit up to show a wide-angle view of a dozen blobs ranging in color from black to dull red in a bright red glowing background. "The Alderson point from the Mote lies within the supergiant star. Ships can't stay on station very long, so there's a continual circulation of ships from outside the star to the blockade station. They stay until they're too hot, then they go outside to cool off.

"Motie breakout attempts can happen at any time."

Four new blobs, all dead black, popped into existence on the screen. Imperial ships became floodlight beams as fusion drives lit within the red-hot murk. The screen showed the beginnings of a space battle. Bright threads sprang between the ships. Torpedoes raced out.

"You're shooting with no warning!" someone said. Renner looked around to see Joyce Mei-Ling looking embarrassed, clearly not having meant to speak aloud.

Blaine said, "We wouldn't be telling them anything they don't know, Ms. Trujillo. The best time to hit the Motie ships is during Jump shock, when their automated systems are shut down. If we wait until they've recovered enough to communicate, we might not be able to catch them at all. The rules of engagement acknowledge that."

"A question, Lieutenant."

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Suppose they wanted to negotiate. To surrender?"

"They may well try to," Blaine said. "But how could we know? They cannot come through with no Field. The star would cook them. We can't wait until they get out of the eye, or we'd lose them entirely. This was debated in the first meeting of the Commission, and the rules of engagement were adopted then. They haven't been changed because there's no way to change them, Your Highness. The way to surrender is not to come through."

Mercer nodded thoughtfully. "Proceed, Lieutenant."

Renner glanced over at Bury. He was watching, fascinated, but seemed calm. Probably tranquilized to the eyes.

"Motie breakout attempts have ranged from the simple to ingenious," Blaine said.

The screen showed a kaleidoscope of actions. Single ships; armadas of ships; cluster ships that came apart like grenades and scattered; ships that came out at enormous velocity, tearing meteor trails through orange-hot gas.

"Now, this one was a beauty," Chris Blaine said with what had to be pride. They watched an iceball two kilometers across emerge from the invisible Alderson point. "Four days after I joined the Crazy Eddie Squadron, at the noon watch. The squadron chased after it. The comet-head left a comet-trail of itself as it plunged through the rarefied star-stuff. It dwindled, evaporated, exposing black beads: ships in Langston Field bubbles that raced off in random directions to be chased down by squadron ships.

"Of course we can't send all our ships against any single attempt," Blaine said. "There always has to be a reserve. Since there's no possible way the information could get back to the Mote, I suppose it's safe to say that sometimes that reserve has gotten critically thin."

Chris sounds better, surer. This part he knows, Renner thought; it's the cover-up he doesn't like. "He's pretty good," he said to Ruth Cohen.

"Given his training, he damned well ought to be," Ruth replied. The presentation continued. There were clips of the men amusing themselves on long watches. Then more battle scenes.

"Lately the Moties have a new trick," Blaine said. "They're sending what we've termed ‘token ships.' These are unmanned ships, really only the framework of a ship, just an Alderson Drive and two tanks and a fusion motor. With this one, the sixth, we held off to see if it would do anything."

It didn't. They saw an absurd stick-figure of a ship pop into existence at low velocity and immediately begin to melt.

Mercer cleared his throat. "Commander, do you have any theories on why they would send such things?"

"No, Your Highness. They come one at a time; no Field, they're easy to shoot down. No attempt to send messages. If they wanted us off guard, why send anything at all? It's as if they want us to be alert. We've speculated that they may want to locate the Alderson point more precisely-at their end, in Mote system-but they know that well enough to send ships through at point one percent of lightspeed. We can't do that."

"Hah," Renner said. Everyone looked in his direction. "I think I know-"

"Yes, of course," Buckman said. He stood up. "Sir Kevin is right."

"Jacob-" Bury said. His voice was surprisingly strong.

"Oh. Um. Yes, of course. Cal-Your Highness, should I explain?"

Mercer was nodding gloomily. No surprises here. "Please do, Dr. Buckman."

"They're not trying to locate the Alderson point, they're proving that it's still there."

"Still there?" Jack Cargill sounded shocked. "Excuse me, Dr. Buckman, but why the devil shouldn't it be there?'

"Because it will move when the protostar collapses," Buckman said. "Renner, you seem to be good at talking to amateurs. Maybe you ought to tell them."

They listened as Kevin Renner talked. Kevin watched their eyes for bewilderment or comprehension, watching-he didn't realize it at first-for Kevin Christian Blaine's surprise or disbelief. But Blaine's eyes widened in a slap-my-head Eureka! reaction: old knowledge falling into place. Oh, Lord, he believes it.

"I see," Bishop Hardy said. "I think I understand. But as the least technical person on the Commission, perhaps I should summarize and the experts can tell me if I've left anything out."

"Please," Mercer said.

"We are now convinced that the Moties deceived us about their stellar observations, particularly regarding the protostar. They convinced Dr. Buckman that the protostar will not ignite for from centuries to millennia. It now appears that it may collapse and ignite at any time. Might even have done so already."

"Yes," Buckman said. His voice was grim. "I have to give young Arnoff credit. He was right."

"When it ignites," Hardy said, "the Eleventh Fleet will be guarding an entry point that no longer exists."

"Well, may not, and will have moved a considerable distance in any case," Buckman said. "I've been working on the geometry, but with much of the data suspect it's hard to be exact. Everything depends on the violence of the collapse and the brightness of the new star."

"Yes," Hardy said. "In any event, their first warning would be when the Jump point in Murcheson's Eye moves. Meanwhile, we expect at least one more unguarded Alderson point leading from the Mote into normal space rather than to the inside of a star. And since Alderson Path events happen nearly instantaneously, all this will happen before any light from the protostar reaches us-or reaches the Mote. And therefore you have concluded that the Moties are hurling these cheap probes, these tokens, through periodically to see if the old Point has moved."

"Precisely," Buckman said.

There was a long, low whistle from the skipper of Agamemnon.

"Your pardon, Highness."

"Not at all, Commander Balasingham, I nearly did the same myself," Mercer said. "The situation appears serious indeed. One question. The Navy has ways to determine the location, and thus presumably the existence, of Alderson points without sending ships through them. Don't we?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Commander Balasingham said. He nervously stroked his thick mustache.

"So why the tokens?"

"Disturbances?" Renner said.

"Sir Kevin?"

"Back when I was a navigator, finding an Alderson point was one of the trickiest things we could do. It's never easy, and it's impossible during heavy sunspot activity or during a battle, because Alderson events are very responsive to thermonuclear fluxes."

"You think there may be thermonuclear bombs going off in the Mote system?"

"It wouldn't surprise me, sir."

"Nor me," Bishop Hardy said.

Joyce Mel-Ling Trujillo had sat quietly during all this. Now she came to her feet. "May I ask..."

"Please," Mercer said.

"You're suggesting that the Moties are about to get out."

Renner said, "Right."

"But that's-" She looked at Bury, who was staring ahead with unseeing eyes, his breathing carefully controlled. "Shouldn't we do something?"

Everyone spoke at once. And Bury's eyes flicked up at her. Rage and despair, and a sudden twitch of a mad smile.

Mercer tapped on the table with his gavel. "Of course Ms. Trujillo is correct," he said. "We should do something. The question is what? And I'm not certain that subject needs debate in a public meeting."

"Why not? Who doesn't belong here?" Trujillo demanded.

"Well, you for one," Commissioner MacDonald said. "I dinna believe we need the press here. Your Highness, I move that we adjourn this public meeting and go into executive session."

"I expected something like this," Joyce Mei-Ling Trujillo said.

Commissioner MacDonald seemed astonished. "That's more than I did."

"Cover-up all the way. Corruption in the fleet, so hide it with something else. Mr. Bury, your reputation precedes you."

Bury glared. Mercer said, "Madame, I was well aware that the Moties had lied to us. That was a secondary purpose for this meeting. I... would have thought we'd have more time. These ‘tokens'-"

"Your Highness, I've found enough evidence of corruption that they can smell the stench on Sparta. In a sense I've caused this commission, and in the first meeting you want to go into executive session! So far as I am concerned, the council has evaded the question of corruption in the Crazy Eddie Fleet. Do you really expect me to go along with this massive sense of urgency?"

In the moment before anyone could explode, Kevin Blaine caught Mercer's eye. "Excuse me, my Lord, but she does have a point."

Looks of fury turned on Blaine, but MacDonald said, "In what fashion, Lieutenant?"

"Urgency. Let us look at this as a gambling situation. What's the expected return here, the pot odds? The Moties persuaded Dr. Buckman that Mote system could be bottled up for between five hundred and two thousand years. If they thought that lie was worth telling, the expected date must be conspicuously sooner. It can't be much more than a hundred years, could it? That gap wouldn't be worth hiding.

"Call it thirty to seventy years. We've eaten thirty. Twenty years left, with a fat margin of error. Why the rush?" Blaine turned to Trujillo. "Right?"

"And we know it hasn't gone off yet!"

"Well, not last month. There'd be some delay before we heard from the Crazy Eddie Fleet. The Jump point from the Eye to here would move. But the urgency is because of these token ships. They indicate that the Moties are ready now. The margin of error could still be large, of course," Blaine was talking directly to Trujillo now, "but we're in a maniacal rush so we can get something into place. Anything. Ultimately we'll move some ships from the Crazy Eddie Squadron so they can sit on their asses for twenty years. Or forty, fifty-"

"Or twenty days," Bury muttered.

"And why shouldn't the press be watching that?" Mei-Ling demanded. "Nothing said here can get back to the Moties. You're only keeping secrets from the public!"

"What's said here can get back to Outies," MacDonald said. "And to traitors who might well like to see harm come to the Empire while our strength is massed against the Moties. It's no been so long since the New Irish threw bombs at the Governor General, you know. Madam, I've no doubt of your loyalty, but I do believe you have heard aye more than is safe already. I would no care to see any of this on the tri-vee. Were it left to me-"

"Commissioner MacDonald has a point," Mercer said. "Miss Trujillo, I must ask you to hold what you have heard here in strict confidence."

"Suppress a good story?" She smiled thinly. "I wonder if you can make me do that?"

Commissioner MacDonald said, "Your Highness, the law is very clear regarding threats to the Empire. Is this no a state of emergency? You have but to declare one."

"Even that can't stop me from writing about corruption and this council's evasions," Trujillo said. She paused to let that sink in. "But I'm willing to cooperate. Of course there's a condition."

"What is your condition?" Mercer asked.

"Let me find out the rest of the story."

"What?" MacDonald was outraged.

"Let me finish," she said. "I'll take whatever oath you like- oath of the privy council, isn't it?-and promise not to publish anything, including what I've already heard, until you agree it's safe. But I want to know. I want to be in on the whole story, Moties, corruption in the fleet, all of it."

"Hmm." Mercer looked around the room, then down at the screen set discreetly into the table in front of him. "It would appear that you are the only problem guest, Ms. Trujillo. Everyone else here is already under one or another obligation to keep the secrets of the Empire."

"Him?" Trujillo pointed at Horace Bury.

"As a condition of my accompanying him on his journey to this system, His Excellency and all his crew consented to the conditions of the privy council," Mercer said. It would have made for an uncomfortable trip without that."

"I see. All right. Anyway, I've said I'll take your oath."

"Commander Cohen?" Mercer said. "I make no doubt the Navy has already done a thorough investigation of Miss Trujillo. Has your service any objections?"

"I don't think so. Joyce, you do understand what you're doing? You are voluntarily placing yourself under the restrictions of the Official Secrets Acts. The penalties can include exile for life on any world of His Majesty's choosing."

"Yes, I know. Thank you for the warning. But this is the only way I'll ever find out, isn't it? And if the Moties really are coming out, that will be the biggest story ever."

"If the Moties really are coming out, it will mean war," MacDonald said. "And you'll be under wartime restrictions."

"Are you objecting to including Ms. Trujillo in our official family of advisers?" Mercer asked.

"No, my Lord. Not really."

"All right," Mercer said. "Let's get on with it. Mr. Armstrong, if you'll do the honors."

The Commission secretary fingered his own computer controls. "Miss Trujillo, if you will face His Highness. Raise your right hand and read from the screen in front of you."

"First things first," Mercer said. "Admiral Cargill, I presume you've sent a standby signal to every ship in the system? Thank you. So just what ships have we?"

"It's bad timing," Cargill said. "We've got three frigates in transit from the Crazy Eddie Squadron to New Cal-"

"God is good," Bury muttered. The other three turned to him, and he grinned like a death's head. "They came through. The Jump point hasn't moved since ... two weeks ago?"

"Yes, but the ships themselves are all in need of repair. Not a lot of use. Then, a sovereign-class battleship with three general class battle cruisers and assorted light escort ships jumped out to the Eye three hundred hours ago. There's no way to recall them except to send a messenger ship after them. Nothing else closer than the Crazy Eddie Squadron. Doctor, do we have any damn idea where we'd want to put a second fleet?"

"This is only a first cut," Buckman said.

After a moment Cargill said, "Cut away."

Jacob Buckman tapped at keys. A string of numbers appeared on all the consoles. "There. And maybe there."

"Uh." Renner looked at the screen. "Right. We'll almost certainly get a Jump point at MGC-R-31. That's a smallish star eleven light-years toward the hem of the Hooded Man figure. Eight light years from the Mote. Then we might get one at MGC-R-60, a brighter star a little nearer the Mote, but that one would lead into Murcheson's Eye. Beyond that ....acob? Something in the Coal Sack itself?"

"Probably not, but even so, Murcheson's Eye dominates."

"So it's just this... red dwarf," Mercer said. "Well, we've got to put something there, and I prefer it be now. So what do we have?"

"There's Balasingham's Agomemnon," Cargill said. "A Menulaus-class cruiser. Good ship. I presume you're ready, Balasingham?"

"Admiral, we can boost out as soon as I'm aboard," Commander Balasingham said. "I sent up orders to round up the crew and refuel as soon as I understood what Dr. Buckman was saying."

"Then there's the Atropos frigate," Cargill said.

"Sir, I took the liberty of asking her skipper to put that ship on full alert, too," Balasingham said.

"Good," Cargill said. ‘Unfortunately, Your Highness, except for some messenger boats and merchantmen, there isn't anything else. The battle cruiser Marlborough is in the Yards, but it will take a minor miracle to get her out in under a month."

"Nothing coming in?"

"Not for a month," Cargill said. "We'll send messengers out to scrape up what we can find, but-"

"The upshot is that we've little enough to send to watch the new Alderson point," Mercer said. "Two ships."

"Three, Your Highness," Bury said.

Mercer looked at him sharply. "Horace, are you all right?"

Bury tried to laugh. The sound that came out was more ghastly than humorous. "Why should I not be? Highness, the worst has happened. The Moties are loose."

"We don't know that," someone said.

"Know?" Bury demanded. "Of course we don't know. But it is easier to think that way. Highness, there is no time to waste. Let us take whatever we have to the new Alderson point. Kevin, I presume you and Jacob know where it will appear?"

"Close enough for government work. It isn't a point, it's an arc four light-minutes long," Renner said.

"We go, then. Agamemnon, Atropos, and Sinbad."

"Why Sinbad?" Commander Balasingham asked. "She's not even armed!"

"You might be surprised," Mercer said. "Jacob, will you go with them?"

Buckman nodded. "I expected to. And I'd much prefer to work aboard Sinbad than a Navy ship. I remember trying to work aboard MacArthur. Everyone felt entitled to get in my way, block my sightings, move my equipment-"

"Renner, you can't keep up with us," Balasingham said.

Renner shrugged. "We won't be all that far behind. At worst, we're witnesses, we can report back. Your destruction will make prime-time news."

Bury scowled. "I suppose the Trujillo woman... yes, of course. She would have gone with us to the Eye, after all. We should be on our way now. Now. Allah is merciful. We may yet be there before the Moties. We must be there before the Moties."

3 Communications

In the name of Allah, most benevolent, ever merciful.

Say: I seek refuge with the Lord of men,

The King of men,

From the evil of him who breathes temptations into the

minds of men,

Who suggests evil thoughts to the hearts of men-

From among the djinns and men.

al-Qur'an

On their last night together, Kevin told Ruth, "I'd take you with me if I could find any kind of excuse. Good or bad."

"Would you?"

"Yeah. We're crowded as hell, you know. We've dropped part of the kitchen, we're carrying a drop tank..."

She wasn't buying it. "Love, when we get back into the Empire, it'll make the news. Contact me then? You've got my work number."

"I gave you mine."

She looked down at her sleeves. The three rings of a full commander had just been sewn on. "Of course we're likely to be in different solar systems."

And it really felt like good-bye.

From New Scotland to the Jump would take nearly two weeks. Agamemnon and Atropos started later, but were moving at two gravities of thrust; they would Jump just ahead of Sinbad. Sinbad could beat them there with the drop tank's extra fuel, but Kevin refused to subject Bury to more than one gee. He would have preferred less.

This trip wasn't like the voyage from Sparta. Sinbad felt like a different ship. Attitudes had changed.

With Mercer gone, the kitchen storage region could carry cargo more appropriate to their mission. It didn't matter much. Sinbad's kitchen was styled to feed Horace Bury: to create small, healthful meals rich in flavor for a man whose taste buds were almost dead of old age. Now that program served Renner, too. Renner could diet between suns, when fresh food was unavailable anyway. Blaine, a lord's son but also Navy, expected no better. Buckman never noticed what he ate, and as for Joyce Mei-Ling Trujillo...

"Ms. Trujillo, are you getting fed all right?"

"Lieutenant Blaine asked me that, too. I eat whatever's where the story is, Mr. Renner. I'd say you set a fine table, but-have you ever eaten streaker rat? By the way, you'll be calling me Joyce eventually, won't you? Start now."

Perhaps Bury derived some satisfaction from what Joyce didn't know she was missing. He made no great effort to avoid her; he wasn't agile enough. In her presence he could be affable, but he called her Trujillo.

And so the ship was settling down, and Kevin Renner was enjoying his freedom.

Freedom. Ridiculous. He was surrounded by people, by walls, by obligations... and yet this was his place of power. Horace Bury's ship; but then, he was Bury's superior officer in the Secret Service. Sinbad went where he willed... except that with the Empire of Man at stake, his will had best take Sinbad straight through to MGC-R-31.

Over the past quarter of a century Kevin Renner and Horace Hussein Bury had evolved routines and rituals. One was coffee after dinner.

"She is attractive enough," Bury said. He sipped at the thick, sweet brew. "I know planets where she could be sold at a high price." He chuckled softly. "Not as many as there once were, thanks to our efforts. Perhaps we could arrange to use her as bait."

"She'd be good at that. For a good enough story she'd volunteer," Renner said.

Bury fingered his beard and waited.

"Only guessing," Renner said. "I really haven't spent much time with her at all."

"So I noticed."

"Yeah. Well, put it down to complications. We've got all the time in the world just now, but that could change. Or not. Most likely thing is we spend a boring six months in an empty solar system until an Imperial fleet comes in and chases us out."

"If so, Miss Trujillo will be desperate for distractions," Bury said. "I would presume from anyone willing to provide them."

"Hmpf. Truth is, Horace, it feels good to be-unencumbered."

"The Devil he blew an outward breath, for his heart was free from care."

Renner grinned. "Something like that." And maybe she wants something I can't deliver.

"I cannot say Allah has not been merciful. It would not do to presume too much on His mercy," Bury said.

"And that's the truth. We'll be to the I-point soon enough. What's happening there could tear everybody's leisure all to hell."

"I still don't understand," the Honorable Frederick Townsend said. "And I don't think I ever will."

"I'm sorry," Glenda Ruth said. She looked around the ship's lounge. I think I know every rivet and seam. Hecate was not much larger than a messenger ship. She was fast, but not overly comfortable. Freddy Townsend had bought her for racing, not for long distance cruising. Compartments had been added for ship's stores and one servant, but everything was cramped. "I should have gone with Kevin-"

"You needn't start that again, either," Freddy said. "I suppose you could have gone with them, but why? I'm glad to do you the favor. I like doing things for you. As you must know. But-" Freddy looked up in irritation as Jennifer Banda came into the lounge. "Dinner in half an hour," he said. "Guess I'll get washed up."

Frederick Townsend insisted on dressing for dinner. It had seemed a bit silly at first, but at least it broke up the monotony. The ship was mostly automated, with only the ship's engineer, Terry Kakumi, as crew. The only servant was George, a retired Navy coxswain who served as cook, butler, valet, and sometimes piloted the ship as well. Having one nearly formal meal each day gave everyone something to do.

Jennifer waited until Freddy had left the lounge before she spoke. "I walk into something heavy?"

Glenda Ruth shrugged. "No heavier than usual. Glad you came in, though."

"You're driving that boy crazy," Jennifer said. "Sure you want to do that?"

"No, I'm not sure I want to do that."

"Want to tell me about it?"

"Not really. Yes. What Freddy is too polite to say is, ‘You went to bed with me when we took the trip after graduation, so why won't you sleep with me now?'"

"Oh. I didn't know. I mean, I know what's happened since we left Sparta. Or what hasn't happened. Glenda Ruth, no wonder he's going nuts! I mean-" Jennifer stopped.

"I know what he had every right to expect."

"All right, so why? Bad experience the first time?"

"No." Glenda Ruth's voice was very low and small. "Not a bad experience." Silence; then, "You've studied Moties."

Jennifer smiled. "But I was raised by an all-human orchestra."

"Right. I picked up attitudes from the Moties. Consider that I can refuse to mate. From twelve to seventeen years of age I just plain enjoyed that. Then, consider that I can refuse to get pregnant."

"Freddy?"

"Yes. Sure. I've known him since we shared a crib. And we had just under a month... which was just about right for both of us to get to know our bodies. Something I wasn't likely to learn from Moties. Jennifer, I wish to hell I could tell him all this."

Jennifer was folded up like a stick figure into her web chair. "Ruth, I haven't heard a problem yet."

"Sometimes it takes a while before I feel the vibes. Particularly with vague, murky attitudes. You know?" Glenda Ruth was turned away, looking at the universe in a picture-window display. "My parents don't think it's right to take a bed partner before I'm married, or at least engaged, but they're not sure, so I can live with that. Freddy's parents are sure, but I can live with that, too."

Glenda Ruth turned around. "But Freddy's maybe half sure his parents are right, and it was two months after the trip before I realized it, while I was dancing with him, and what it amounts to is this. By the way, I really appreciate you listening."

"Okay."

"And understanding. Only a damn Motie expert could listen to this and not try to send me to a confessor. Okay. If I sleep with Freddy, it's because we're going to get married or it's because I'm a slut. I'm not sure I want to marry him, and I'm not sure I don't. Either way would be okay, but I'm hung up, so..."

"No man would understand that line of argument, counselor."

"Freddy's not stupid. He'd know, he'd understand, if I could say it right. So I'm still thinking. Damn."

"He'd marry you-"

Glenda Ruth grinned. "Like a shot. But-look, all my life-"

"All eighteen years."

"Well, it's a lifetime to me." Poor Charlie didn't last much longer, Glenda Ruth thought. "All my life I've had someone who could tell me what to do. Had the right to tell me. Now I don't. Now I've got my own money, and I'm legally an adult. Freedom! It's wonderful. The last thing I need is a husband."

"Maybe it's better this way. You sure keep the Honorable Freddy attentive!"

"Oh, damn, it does look that way, doesn't it? He hasn't seen it, but-"

"It'll be all right. Last jump tonight. We'll be on New Scotland in three weeks. Freddy can find another girl." Jennifer grinned. "Don't like that either? Honey, you are in what the Navy calls an untenable position."

Her cabin was small, like all the cabins on Hecate. The only spacious cabin belonged to Freddy. Of course he'd expected her to share it.

Why don't I? she wondered. I lie awake thinking about it. It's not like I don't have my pills, or Freddy has some kind of disease. It's not like I didn't-all I'd have to do is go tap on his door.

Maybe I'd lose him. Can't he be replaced? I can pick any stranger out of a crowd and know if he's sane, trustworthy, intelligent, horny, crosswired, docile. I hear women say they don't understand men, and I want to snicker- There was a sharp wrenching sensation, and she felt sick and confused. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew the ship had made an Alderson Jump, and she was in the grip of the disorientation that always followed. Her father had told her there were a dozen explanations of Jump shock, all inconsistent with each other, but no one had ever been able to disprove any of them.

Gradually control returned. She moved her fingers, then her hands and arms, until they did what she wanted them to. Freddy always recovered faster than she did. She resented that. Not fair.

And now they were in New Caledonia system. Maybe Freddy would drop her off and go on to New Ireland... . She had just settled in to try to sleep when her intercom chirped

"Glenda Ruth."

It was Freddy, of course. What in the world did he want? Hah. Well, why not? If he could stand her in this condition. It wouldn't take long to get cleaned up. She tapped the intercom button.

"Hi. Look, I hate to disturb you, but we've got a message for you."

"What?"

"There's a trader ship here, the New Baghdad Lion."

"Here?"

"Here. Waiting at the Jump point. They say they have a message for the Honorable Glenda Ruth Fowler Blaine. They need your identification code."

"Oh. All right, I'll be right there. You're on the bridge?"

"Yep."

"Be right up. And-Freddy, thanks."

"No problem. Bring your computer."

This sounded urgent, but she took the time to get dressed, the baggy trousers gathered at the ankles that were standard for low gravity. She also took time to put on an Angora sweater, comb her hair, and dab on lipstick. The ship was under slight acceleration, just enough to bold her slippers to the carpet. She made her way forward. Freddy was alone on the bridge.

He indicated the copilot chair. "They're standing by for your code."

She plugged her personal computer into the ship's system.

"Clementine."

Yes, dear. The words scrawled across her computer screen.

"We're supposed to identify ourselves," Glenda Ruth said. "This is me. Now prove it to them."

Password.

"Damn it all, you know it's me. All right." She sketched rapidly with the stylus; not words, but a cartoon.

Right you are. There was no sound, but she knew the computer was sending an encrypted message that could be decoded using her public key. It hardly mattered what the message was, since only messages encrypted with her secret key could be decoded with her public key. The public/secret key system made for positive identifications as well as secure communication.

"Acknowledged," a voice said on the ship's speakers. It was a voice thick with Levantine accent. "Greetings to Miss Glenda Ruth Fowler Blaine. Please prepare to record an encoded message from Lieutenant Kevin Christian Blaine."

Ah," Freddy said. "Standing by. Ready. Got it. Thank you, New Baghdad Lion."

"You are welcome. We have been instructed to offer you fuel."

"Fuel. Why would we want more fuel?" Freddy asked.

The Levantine voice was unperturbed. "Effendi, His Excellency told us to offer you fuel. We offer it. It will not take long to transfer. Shall we do so?"

Freddy looked to Glenda Ruth. "Now what?"

She shrugged. "They're bigger than we are, and if they wanted to do us any harm they'd have done it. Why not let them top off your tanks?"

"Lot more than topping off," Freddy said. "All right. New Baghdad Lion, we accept your offer with gratitude." He punched an intercom button. "Terry, that merchantman's going to pump us some hydrogen. Give them a hand, will you? You have the con."

"Aye, aye. I relieve you," the engineer said.

Freddy shook his head. "But just what is all this in aid of?"

"Maybe this will tell us," Glenda Ruth said.

The message had been encrypted using her public key. She set Clementine to decoding it.

Kevin Christian Blaine to Glenda Ruth Fowler Blaine. The rest does not break in clear, the computer informed her.

"Hah. Use Kevin's special code."

Willco. She adjusted her earphones and waited. Everyone was assured that the public-key/private-key system was secure against everything. Maybe we're just paranoid.

She heard, "Sis, we have a problem. The Moties could be loose by the time you get this."

Freddy was watching her. "Ruth, what's wrong?"

"Nobody's dead. Shh." In the boredom and the interpersonal dominance games, she'd had weeks to forget that she was frightened for the Moties. Now- her brother's voice said, "We're taking three ships to the incipient Alderson point, the I-point, at MGC-R-31. Two Navy ships, and Bury's Sinbad. I've been put aboard Sinbad as liaison. I'm the senior Navy officer aboard, but I catch vibes from Renner. He can show he ranks me if he wants to. Maybe by a lot. The other Navy officer who came out here with Sinbad, an Intelligence lieutenant commander, decided she was needed back on New Scotland.

"I don't think of a lot we can do there by ourselves. The Moties have had a quarter century to prepare for this, and we're just now realizing we have a problem. I can't think three ships will have any surprises for them.

"The pot odds say we'll get there with ten to twenty years leeway, but there are complications. Odd things happening. It might be a lot sooner. There's even a chance it happened already.

"Sis, I sure wish we had the latest the Institute has developed. So does Mr. Bury. If you can get that to us, it might change things. I've attached our best-guess coordinates for the I-point. We thought about waiting for you, but we don't know just how long we have before everything happens. Bury arranged for the ship that gave you this message to refuel yours. Let them, if you haven't done that already. Try to get to the I-point before the Moties do.

"Sinbad's crowded. Bury's got Nabil and three women including Cynthia, no change in the relationships. There's me, Dr. Jacob Buckman, and Joyce Mei-Ling Trujillo, the newscaster. She's interesting. Intelligent and wants to prove it, female and doesn't have to. Commander Cohen decided she was needed on New Scotland just after Trujillo was invited aboard, and that leaves Renner loose. Interesting patterns here.

"You may get here and find nothing's happening at all. Some of the blockade fleet may be en route already, but of course it'll take them months. If things last that long, maybe there won't be a problem, or maybe Mom's Crazy Eddie project will work just fine and we can think on how to use it.

"Or it may be all over before you get here. If they send through a big fleet with Warriors." If they do that, you'll talk to the Master in charge. If we have the symbiote, maybe she'll listen. If you live long enough to talk, Glenda Ruth thought. If.

And her brother's voice ran on: "Anyway, we're going for a look. It will probably help if you can get here pretty quick, but you do what you think best.

Love, Chris."

She reset and heard the message through again. "Freddy?"

"Yes, my love?"

She let it pass. "Freddy, we're being given fuel so that we can go direct to"-she punched in the coordinates from Kevin Blaine's message, and the navigation screen lit up-"here, instead of going to New Scotland first."

Freddy studied the display. "That's a wretched red dwarf system. There's nothing there."

"There will be."

"Glenda Ruth, do you know what you're doing?"

"I think so. It's no trivial thing, Freddy-"

"All right." He turned to the computer.

"No trivial thing at all. I don't exaggerate, do I? So. The fate of the Empire and the fate of the Motie species" -he hadn't paused- "it's all on our shoulders. I didn't even bother to ask Jennifer, she's worked up to this her whole life, but you-"

He'd finished typing in the course change. A warning note sounded, then they felt gentle acceleration. Hecate was now on route to MGC-R-31. Freddy relaxed in his chair, tired, not looking at her.

Didn't wait. Didn't need to think it over. Just trusted me and moved.

And she saw that it would break him. He would heal, over the years, almost; but his view of women of his class would be colored by a period of terrible frustration while his life was bent to one powerful woman's missionary urge.

She made a bet with herself, no trivial thing at all, and said, "I'll be moving into your cabin, if your offer's still open."

He looked up, and searched among possible answers while hiding his surprise. She held her expression solemn, a bit uneasy. Freddy nodded and smiled and took her hand, and still feared to speak.

Chris Blaine reminded Kevin of someone. Of Captain Roderick Blaine, of course, but of someone else, too . .. and he finally got it as Chris paused at a window. Kevin had seen Midshipman Horst Staley looking out at Murcheson's Eye blazing against the Coal Sack, like a single coal red eye within a monk's hood, just before MacArthur jumped to Murcheson's Eye itself.

And Chris took his fill of the Hooded Man, then moved on aft to get breakfast, while Kevin mused at his station.

Why Horst? Horst Staley, who had learned too much on Mote Prime and died for it, twenty-eight years ago. They could never have met. They certainly weren't related. Chris Blaine looked like his father, square face, fine blond hair, tiny Irish nose... his father's was broken, of course... whereas Horst Staley had been enlistment-poster handsome, triangular face, long, heavy muscles, and sloping shoulders.

Horace Bury looked up. "What?'

Chris Blaine was just coming into earshot; Renner could hear his voice. He said, "Just a vagrant thought."

As they approached their stations, Renner heard Trujillo's voice, cheerful and musical and not quite audible; then Blaine's voice raised above the hum of the ship's systems. "If you hadn't been digging for scandal, the high brass wouldn't have heard about the token ships for years. They look so harmless!"

"I can't take credit for that. It was the scandal I was after."

They were both finishing breakfast bars. Joyce Trujillo's assigned chair was out of the way, with a view of several screens but no controls. Blaine took his place as copilot. Renner waited a few minutes, then asked, "Chris, how're we doing?"

"Seventy hours en route and up to speed. I'll wind down the thrust"-tap-"now. Then we can drop the external tank and coast till we're approaching the Jump to the red dwarf. Two hundred seventy hours, unless the Jump point's moved, in which case all Hell lets out for lunch."

"I'm inclined to keep the tank and refill it. Better safe." Blaine nodded.

During the next five minutes the thrust dropped from a standard gravity to .05 gee, just enough to pull spilled liquid out of the air. Renner waited it out, then said, "Lieutenant, you have the con." And he went aft for coffee.

He was unsurprised to find that Bury had floated after him. He asked, "Turkish?"

"Please. You have left-left Blaine in charge of my ship. Is that wise?"

"We're barely beyond Dagda's orbit in New Cal system in free fall, near as dammit. What could happen? Outies? Helium flash in the motor? He's Navy trained, you know."

"Yes."

"Like me."

"Yes. Kevin, what was it you didn't want him to overhear? Or was it the Trujillo woman?"

"Oh... something was nagging at me, irritating me, and I finally got it. You wouldn't remember Midshipman Horst Staley. He was an idealized Navy officer, handsome, imposing, the kind you put on posters. So's Blaine, but he's doing it consciously, like a signal."

‘"Yes, after all, he was raised by Moties. What think you now of Trujillo?"

"All sex and all business, generally not at the same time. She can turn it on and off. What are the rules this trip, Horace? Sex or no sex?"

"Blind eyes, I think. Poor old Trader Bury notices nothing. But she is staying to business?"

"Yeah. Projects availability, but. I like it, actually. I like flirting." Bury did not smile.

Renner said, "Give her a break, Horace. Her dad told her about Traders, merchant princes, but she doesn't know any. She'll learn about Traders from you."

"'Your reputation precedes you,'" Bury quoted.

"I doubt she meant that as viciously as it sounded." Renner sighed. "It's going to be a fun trip. Trujillo offended you first chance she got, you hate Blaine, and if everything goes right, we'll get there in time to find a Motie armada coming out at us."

In the pause that followed, Renner finished brewing two bulbs of Turkish. Bury took his and asked, "How can you say that I hate Kevin Christian Blaine? He is your godson. He is my guest."

"Horace, you haven't been overtly rude, but I know you. And look, if I had to ...

"Igor! Tonight we will make something quite different, quite.

"Yes, Doctor Frankenstein! Yes! Yes!"

"Tonight we will create the infidel least likely to be welcome aboard a teeny tiny spacecraft with Trader Horace Bury. We will give him the following characteristics, hnpf hnpf hnpf! AngloSaxon. Christian. An Empire Navy man. Related to the same Roderick Blaine who once held Bury prisoner aboard a Navy warship. And lastly, hnpf hnpf hnpf! He will be raised by Motie Mediators!"

Horace dropped the accent, "Lastly, he is a manipulative son of a dog."

"I'd say that goes with the Motie training.

"Yes, Kevin, but he tried to manipulate me. Does he think me a fool? It was not Joyce Trujillo who discovered the significance of the token ships!"

"I'll be dipped. Horace, he's chasing her."

"Eh?"

"I didn't see it. She's a career woman six years older than he is! Even so, that's it. He let her see him manipulating you for her benefit. I wonder if she'll buy it?"

Renner hadn't even decided if he liked her. That was not always the most interesting question. Perhaps, somewhere in the back of his brain, he had considered Joyce Mei-Ling Trujillo to be his by default. Blaine was too young, Buckman and Bury were too old, and Kevin Renner was captain of Sinbad.

The problem lay in what she might want. Not money, nor entrée into certain levels of society; he could do that. But secrets... she loved secrets, and Kevin Renner's were not his to give away.

Blaine was too young, and he was a classic model of a Navy man-but Kevin Christian Blaine had been raised by Motie Mediators. Why was that so easy to forget? Renner began to watch him.

Sinbad in free fall could not be spun up. Chris Blaine was used to a bigger Navy ship. He was clumsy for the first couple of days. So was Joyce; she had not spent much time in space. Then they got oriented more or less together. Simultaneously, in fact.

You had to concentrate to see it, how often they occupied the same space. In any of the narrow passages they might pass without brushing. Joyce was still a bit clumsy, but Chris could eel gracefully past her, close enough to link magnetic fields, but without touching her at all. Like dancing.

The morning before Sinbad began deceleration, Joyce Trujillo looked different, and so did Chris Elaine. They both seemed a bit embarrassed about it, and they couldn't seem to avoid body contact.

Two centuries ago, Jasper Murcheson had cataloged most of the stars this side of the Coal Sack. He had numbered them in some haste for his Murcheson General Catalog, then filled in details at leisure.

Half those stars were red dwarves, such as this orange-white dot called MGC-R-31. Murcheson had collected more detail on the hotter yellow dwarves, those that might have habitable planets and particularly those that did. MGC-R-31 had a brown dwarf star companion at half a light-year's distance; Murcheson hadn't even known that much.

Kevin Renner knew it the moment he popped into the system. He knew because some unseen nearby mass had skewed his Jump point by several million miles.

It should be located, fast. It would move the I-point, too! Buckman and Renner set to work at once.

It was good to be in MGC-R-31 system, good to have something to do, to have an excuse to lock that door.

A week of Bury's strained good manners and Blaine's and Trujillo's body-contact formality had been getting on everyone's nerves ....r maybe only on Kevin Renner's. Buckman's needs gave him an excuse to do something about it. Renner had a section of Sinbad's lounge partitioned off to become Jacob Buckman's laboratory.

It was cramped for Buckman, very cramped for Buckman and Renner; visitors were impossible. They preferred using it that way to everyone's popping in and out of the small bridge compartment. The others tried not to interfere.

Search for a brown dwarf. First observe the red dwarf, find its plane of rotation. By then Buckman had calculated a series of distances and masses that might account for the shift in the Alderson point. Look at one locus of points, observe again, calculate again.

Dinner appeared from somewhere. Renner would have ignored it, but Buckman hadn't even looked up. Better to eat, and make Buckman eat too.

And breakfast... but by then they were done. Renner sighed in relief. He opened the door to the lounge and announced, "Nothing. We're here first."

"Allah is merciful," Bury said.

"How sure are you?" Joyce Trujillo asked.

Chris Blaine said, "Good question. You can't know where the Alderson point is going to be."

"I do know that there is no new Alderson point in this region," Buckman said. "As to where the incipient point will be, I've had to change the locus because of the companion. Not much. Brown dwarf stars don't radiate much. It's still an arc along here, still about a million klicks long. I moved it by a couple of light minutes. And it isn't there."

The arc Buckman's cursor made across the screen stretched away from the orange-white glare of MGC-R-31, toward the Coal Sack and an off-centered red peephole into Hell: Murcheson's Eye.

Renner touched a button on the console. "Agamemnon, this is Sinbad. We get a clean sweep. Do you? Over."

Agamemnon had popped out a few minutes ahead of Sinbad, separated by no more than the gap between Earth and Earth's moon. Now they were a few tens of thousands of miles apart, while Atropos moved ahead toward the hypothetical I-point. Agamemnon's response came immediately

"Sinbad this is Agamemnon. Affirmative. I say again, affirmative, there are no signs of any ships in this system. We are definitely here first. Is Lieutenant Blaine available?"

"Right here."

"Please stand by for the skipper."

"Right."

"So that's that," Joyce Trujillo said. She was all business now, as Blaine was all officer.

"For the moment," Bury said. "They will come. But now-now I believe Allah has given us this chance. We may yet lose it, but we have the opportunity."

"God is merciful," Joyce said. "He will not do everything and thus take away our free will and that share of glory that belongs to us."

"Biblical?" Renner asked.

She laughed. "Niccolo Machiavelli."

"Arrgh! Joyce, you have done it to me again."

Buckman said, "Horace? I've listed it as Bury's Infrastar. Your ship, your crew, your discovery."

Seconds late, Bury reacted. He smiled with effort and said, "Thank you, Jacob."

"Here's the skipper," the comm set announced.

"Blaine?"

"Yes, sir. We're all here."

"Some of my officers are suggesting this is a wild-goose chase."

"I would like nothing better, Commander," Horace Bury said. "But I do not believe that."

"Don't guess I do either. We're wondering what to do next. I don't mind admitting this isn't a situation I was trained to deal with," Balasingham said.

"Nothing complicated about it," Buckinan said. "Renner has us on a course to coast along the arc over the next..."

"Fifteen days."

"Fifteen days. Your other ships have our data."

Chris Blaine took over. "Sir, we've sent the data to Atropos, so he'll take up station ahead of us. The I-point will be in this region. I suggest that Agamemnon stay behind, that is, between us and the path back to New Caledonia. Maybe they can intercept. As for us, we make repeated passes until the I-point appears."

"All right," Balasingham said. "For now, anyway. The Viceroy's sending more ships." Short pause. "What if a Motie fleet comes through shooting?"

"Then we do what we can," Bury said.

"And maybe the horse will sing," Renner muttered.

Bury shrugged. He seemed amazingly calm. "The Moties have no control over the protostar. This will be as Allah wills, and Allah is merciful."

If Buckman turned off his intercom, as he frequently did, the only way to find out what he was doing was to bang on his door and risk his acerbic comments about disturbing his work.

He had left the compartment door open this morning. Buckman had been constantly in his laboratory or the adjacent lounge for over thirty hours. Kevin Renner and Chris Blaine had alternated waiting just outside the lab door, and it was Chris's turn. He'd been there an hour, with nothing to do. Then he heard a shout.

"By God!"

Chris went to the compartment door. Buckman was hunched over a console. His grin was wide

"What is it?" Chris asked.

"It's happening."

Chris didn't ask what. "How far away?'

"I'm only getting a flux reading. It's not stable yet, but it will be. It's tremendous! By God! Blaine, this is the best record of a new Alderson event anyone has ever got! Now we can set up for the visuals.'

"How far away, Doctor Buckman?"

Buckman shook his head vigorously. "It's wobbling back and forth! The new star must be pulsing. It's traversing the arc. Half a million kilometers of sweep. More. We could conceivably Jump while it passes us, if it was anything like stable yet."

"I'll tell the other ships."

"It's strong enough that even Navy instruments should pick up, but go ahead." Buckman went back to his console.

Blaine used the lounge intercom. "Kevin. Buckman says this it. I'll alert Agamemnon."

"Agamemnon this is Sinbad. Alderson event detected in our vicinity. Buckman data attached to this message. Suggest you converge on probable Alderson point location. I am also sending this message to Atropos. Blaine."

They waited. Two minutes later the answer came. "Sinbad this is Agamemnon. We are under way at three gee, I say again, three standard gravities. We'll move toward you, but I will remain between the I-point and the exit to New Cal."

"Doesn't take him long to make decisions," Renner said. "He's about twenty light-seconds behind us, but he's not going where we are. He can get to the New Cal Jump point in"-he typed rapidly-about five hours, starting now. And Atropos is ahead of us. I don't know the best tactics."

"Depends too much on what comes through," Chris Blaine said crisply.

"What is it? What's happening?" Joyce eeled out of her cabin, hurriedly adjusting her clothing. "Moties? They've come through?"

"Not yet," Blaine said. "They will."

"Yeah," Renner said. "Dr. Buckman, have things stabilized at all?"

"Beginning to, yes, Kevin. Do you see how the I-point comes fast toward us along the arc and slow going back? I expect we're seeing irregular pulses on the protostar."

"Yeah. Boom and it settles down, boom and it settles down, boom. When the protostar stops flaring..."

"Well, for the next hundred thousand years it won't quite."

"Eases off, then. The I-point will be ahead of us, won't it? Closer to Atropos than us, and still wobbling a bit."

"At a guess, Kevin. This is a first in every way. The collapse of Buckman's Protostar into Buckman's Star."

"It's all guesses, but give Atropos about four and a half hours. At one gee we'll take about eight."

"But you and Buckman don't think we have four hours," Blaine said.

Renner said, "I know, can't push much more than a gee without killing Bury."

"Do not worry about me," Bury said from behind him. "I will be in my water bed. Nabil is bringing it to the lounge now."

"One and a half, then. No more," Renner said. "Okay, as soon as you get in it-

"Stabilized!" Buckman shouted.

"How do you know?"

"A ship came through. There's another! A light-second or two apart."

Renner brought the images up on his screen. "About three light-seconds ahead of us. Closer to us than Atropos-three ships." Renner's fingers were dancing. An alarm wheeped; Renner slapped the volume down. Secure for acceleration. "Four ships. Five."

Sinbad's motor lit. Objects drifted aft.

"They're well separated. The star must be still flaring, the I-point's still drifting."

"Mercy of Allah," Bury muttered. "Quickly, Nabil, get me into my water bed."

"I must secure it to the deck," Nabil said calmly. The little old assassin moved easily under what had become half a gee of pull.

"Six. Seven," Renner said. "Seven so far. Blaine, you'd better get Atropos on line."

"Roger. Doing it."

"What's happening?" Joyce Mei-Ling demanded from the lounge

"Secure for acceleration, dammit!" Renner shouted. "All hands, secure. Nabil, let me know when it's safe!'

"The bed is secured. If you do not turn too much, I can put him in it when we are under way."

"I'll hold it at one gee until you've got him set. Everyone secure? Buckman, you holding on to something? Here we go."

Sinbad eased up to one gee. "They're scattering," Renner said.

"Must have come through with different velocities," Blaine said. "It's just drift so far."

"Sure."

"They will scatter," Bury said. "Of course they will. Seven ships. They have been preparing for this for years. Kevin, can we intercept them all?"

"Not likely. Moties can't take as much gee stress as we can, but there's no way three ships can chase down seven. Not given that much head start."

"Sinbad this is Agamemnon. What's happening, Blaine?"

"Seven Motie ships so far," Blaine said. "Beyond us, and drifting in seven directions. I'll squirt up the data we have." He pressed keys, and the computer sent out what it had. Data twenty plus seconds out-of-date would be better than nothing.

Nearly a minute went by. "Blaine, they'll have plenty of time to recover from Jump shock before we get there," Balasingham's voice said. "Assuming each one accelerates along its present course, and giving them anything like the performance Motie ships had at the blockade point, we aren't going to catch more than four. Five tops, and that assumes we can cripple them without too much of a fight, which is assuming a lot. Damnation-"

Pause; then Balasingham said, "I think it's time to change tactics. I'm ordering Atropos to move toward the I-point and prepare to chase Motie ships. That gets him close to you. I'm taking Agomemnon back to block the way out of this system. Our entry point won't have changed enough to matter. We'll never catch them all, but maybe we can bottle them up in here."

"Not bloody likely," Blaine muttered. "But I suppose it's the best thing to try."

"Captain Renner," Balasingham continued. "You were given sealed orders when you left New Scotland. To be opened on my instructions. My orders said to have you do that when the situation got beyond my control. I hereby instruct you to open those orders.

"You'll find that your Reserve commission as Captain is activated, and you're in command of this expedition with the titular rank of commodore. I don't know what you can do, but I sure can't think of anything. I'm ordering Commander Rawlins in Atropos to put himself under your direction.

"Sir, I am now changing course to guard the Alderson point to New Caledonia. If you want me to do something else, tell me what it is. Agamemnon out.'

"God's navel," Renner said

"Kevin, have I heard correctly?" Bury demanded.

"Apparently," Renner said. "I heard it too."

"Moties," Joyce said from somewhere aft. "Chris-"

"Later."

"Yes, but-Chris, they're Moties!'

"Joyce, it's a great story, but there's no time!" Chris shouted.

"Captain, the first two Motie ships are under acceleration. They must be automated; Moties wouldn't have recovered yet."

"Wonder what kind of computer they trust to work that soon after a Jump?" Buckman muttered.

Chris Blaine examined the computer screen. "Continuing in their original directions. My guess is they'll all do that."

Renner said, "Scatter and lose us. Only seven ships, and I don't see any more... in fact I've lost one. I'd have thought they would send more."

"Me, too," Blaine said. "Maybe they couldn't."

"Spacecraft are expensive," Bury said. He sounded comfortable enough under 1.5 gravities. "Many resources, of different kinds. A complex society."

"Which may mean they've got problems," Renner said. "Jacob, where in the Mote system will their end of the tramline be?"

"Fairly far out. Well beyond the orbit of their gas giant, Mote Beta."

"We never looked at the Trojan civilizations," Renner said. "Maybe we should have."

Half an hour later it was clear enough. Chris Blaine went back to explain to Joyce and Bury: "There are seven Motie ships. Five are under full acceleration in five different directions. One of them is lost, to us and Agamemnon and everyone else. Maybe we'll find it. Maybe not."

"Mercy of Allah," Bury muttered. "And the seventh?"

"The seventh is headed directly toward us, Excellency."

Bury fingered his beard. "They will want to talk, then."

Joyce Mei-Ling was staring at the viewscreen. Suddenly she pointed at the Motie ship. As they watched, a laser beam blinked on and off.

"As you said, Excellency. If you'll excuse me..." Blaine went back to his duty station and turned to Renner. "Apparently they want to talk."

"So do we," Renner said. "We'll never catch any of the others. Atropos may, but we won't."

"One of the others looks to be heading for the Jump point to New Cal," Blaine said. "Agamemnon will be there first, though."

"Meanwhile, that ship is coming to us," Renner said. "Hah. They're modulating that beam. Let's see if any of it makes sense-"

"Imperial ship, this is Motie vessel Phidippides," the speaker said.

"I've heard that name," Joyce Mei-Ling Trujillo said.

"We come in peace. We seek His Excellency Horace Bury. Is he aboard?"

Joyce said, "Phidippides was the first Marathon runner. Delivered his message and died."

Renner and Blaine looked at each other, then at Bury flat in his water bed with a screen above his face. Renner looked at the sensors before he spoke. Bury's heartbeat was steady, brain waves indicating he was fully awake. Okay.

"Horace? It's for you."

4 The I Point

Foreign relations are like human relations. They are endless. The solution of one problem usually leads to another.

James Reston

The Honorable Freddy Townsend woke slowly, savoring each moment of relaxation. He felt eyes on him and turned over. "Hi."

"Hi, yourself."

Nobody puts a big bed aboard a racing ship. It only leaves room for accidents. Freddy had moved the double into Hecate for that earlier voyage with Glenda Ruth. He'd left it aboard for this trip ... of course, why not? It had seemed so empty, until now.

"Chocolate," she said. "Is there any chocolate aboard?"

"You shall have your desire if I have to grow the beans myself," Freddy proclaimed.

"If you find any aboard, lock it up. We're likely to need it."

He stared. Then he reached for her, a tentative gesture. Glenda Ruth laughed. "I won't vanish, you know."

"I can barely follow you, and you always know what I'm thinking. That worries me. If you know so much about people from what the Moties taught you, what do they know about us? Everything including what we don't know ourselves?"

"Maybe not that much," she said.

"But you're not sure."

"I only knew three Moties. And they had to be the smartest ones available. I mean, who would you send as ambassadors to another race? To an empire that threatened your whole race?"

"Yeah, you're probably right." This time he took her firmly by the shoulder and pulled her toward him.

It would take them six days to cross to the Jump point to MGC R-3 1.

On a later splendid morning Glenda Ruth said, "You should let Kakumi teach you some fighting techniques."

Freddy wasn't quite awake yet. He woke slowly and carefully. "Terry? I don't know that he knows any. Inuit are nice peaceful folk who really know machines."

"Taniths aren't. There was three hundred years of tooth and nail. Terry Kakumi's half Tanith."

"And maybe five percent Sauron superman, Freddy. He's bound to know something."

Freddy sat bolt upright. "Rape my lizard! Kakumi's been my engineer-Glenda Ruth, how would you know that? You barely know him!"

"I started watching him because I don't want Jennifer hurt. It looked like she and Terry were, um, courting."

"Four years, five, he's kept this ship healthy."

"He's a good man, Freddy, but I noticed things. I've watched him move. He tried to cook for us once?"

"Ugh. I should have warned you. In a race there's just the two of us. I take precooked. It's better"

"They were perfect soldiers, the Saurons. March for a week without sleeping. Tolerate any sunlight level, any gravity. Breathe any atmosphere, never mind the stench. Sleep anywhere, wake instantly." She paused. "Eat anything organic. Anything."

"Oh. I guess that figures. Okay, so he's part-Sauron. There are Sauron loyalists, you know. Kakumi was six years in the Navy. Honorable discharge as an engineering petty officer."

"It doesn't matter."

"Some places it does," Freddy said. "I'm glad they didn't know when we were racing in the Ekaterina system. I'm glad I didn't know. I'd have been too nervous."

"You won, though."

"Sure. Didn't know you ... You don't follow racing. Damn, sometimes you scare me."

"Pooh."

"Yeah, pooh. Let's both take lessons." They'd been in New Cal system for four days; another six would take them through the Jump point to MGC-R-31. Six lessons in how to be a Sauron soldier?

"Oh, Freddy, that's..." She stopped.

"You weren't going to say..."

"No, not because I'm a girl and you're a boy! Mediators don't fight. Sure, let's both take lessons."

Terry Kakumi looked hard and round, a little taller than Glenda Ruth but more than half again her weight. When Hecate was racing and all needless mass had been stripped out, he slept in the engine compartment. Now there were bulkheads installed to make a cabin for him just forward of the engine compartment, but he hadn't done much with it.

"Bare as the engine room," Freddy told Glenda Ruth. "I suppose it makes sense-are you sure about his ancestry?"

"Want to ask him?"

"No, I don't think so-"

"Of course he may not know."

Freddy tapped on the engine room compartment door.

It opened. "Aye, aye." Kakumi saw Glenda Ruth, came out into the companionway, closing the door behind him. "Need me to relieve George on watch?"

"No, we're on course. Wanted to ask you something, Terry. You were Navy, you must have learned how to fight."

Kakumi nodded.

"Or knew already. Anyway, you knew when we left Sparta we'd be trying to get to the Mote. Well, it might be dangerous. We're wondering if you'll give us some lessons?"

Kakumi looked at Freddy, then Glenda Ruth, and shook his head slowly. "Wouldn't be a good idea. Four days or so, you'd learn just enough to get in trouble. If there's trouble, you talk, I'll fight." He grinned, making small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. "Better than if I talk and you fight. Jennifer's good at talking, too. Do we know for sure if we're going to the Mote?"

"Not yet."

"Too bad."

"Well. I suppose you're right," Freddy said. "About learning just enough to get killed. All right."

"Let's go look at the charts," Glenda Ruth said. She took Freddy's hand and led him away. When they reached the bridge, she was laughing.

"What?"

"Think about it. Why he closed the door."

"Huh? Oh. Jennifer."

"Interesting that he's that sensitive."

"Excellency, greetings!" The lopsided Motie face bubbled with enthusiasm... somehow.

"Salaam. I see that you know me."

"Of course."

Face had been a new concept to the Moties. Renner remembered that rigid, twisted smile. Motie faces weren't evolved to send messages. The creature must be signaling with body language and intonation: Glad, glad to see you! How long it has been, how much like coming home!

Bury's indicators were twitchy but not ominously so, "My Fyunch(click) must be long dead."

"Oh, yes, but she taught another, and that one taught me. I've been Fyunch(click) to you since my birth, yet we meet for the first time. Please tell me, was the coffee-tasting event a success?"

For an instant, Bury gaped. Then, "Yes, indeed. Your teacher's teacher was quite right, the Navy had never considered that a man who doesn't drink wine might still teach them something of discrimination."

"Splendid! But it must seem that I'm talking of some past Dark Age. Let me say in some haste that my task is to persuade you and yours not to fire on us. We come in peace. We carry none of the Warrior class."

Bury nodded in satisfaction. "Astute of you to say so."

Renner and Blaine exchanged glances. Chris Blaine grinned slightly.

"What?" Joyce demanded in a fierce whisper.

"Warriors," Blaine said. When she raised a questioning eyebrow, Chris raised a palm to cut her off. "Later."

The Motie continued to project confidence. "Excellency, our first ship, which we have named Gandhi, wishes to carry an ambassador to your nearest peopled world. She is accompanied by a Mediator, of course, one who can speak to your political authorities. Meanwhile, we aboard Phidippedes wish to accompany you and yours into Mote system."

Bury's passengers stared at their alien communicant. Buckman grinned in anticipation. Joyce scrawled something on her pocket computer. Renner checked again: only Bury was in camera view. "Buckman, cut thrust to half a gee," he said.

"You sure?'

"We're not chasing anything anymore, and Horace has to talk, and that was an order."

Bury ignored the byplay. To the Motie he said, "Me and mine?"

"I was told to invite any ship I found here to follow me home, but particularly the craft with Horace Hussein Bury aboard."

Bury's dancing dials had settled; he must feel himself in control of this situation. "And why should we go with you?"

"Ah. For you, Excellency, to be here at all is to be aware that matters have altered. Until today every ship we sent through the Crazy Eddie point was under sentence of death. We know that none have returned from that alien country. Today new paths between the stars have opened. Your battleships can no longer stand between your systems and ours. Will you not try negotiation instead? Negotiation and trade." The creature didn't rub its hands together when it mentioned trade, but the suggestion was there.

"Perhaps you should speak to our commodore," Bury said. Tap of the button set the camera and monitor screen turning

Toward Kevin Renner. Kevin said, "Hi."

"Kevin, hi! I don't remember ‘commodore.' Are you actually in command of that ship?" Just a bit awestruck, she was, with no intention of showing it. "You've come a long way'

"Uh-huh. Did another human's Fyunch(click) train you, too, maybe?"

"I inherit no training from your Fyunch(click), Kevin, but Bury's Mediator observed other humans. You can't ever know too much about the people you deal with."

"And who did I learn that from?"

"Exactly. And how are Spacers Jackson and Weiss, if you know, sir?"

These personality changes were disconcerting. Renner said, "He's Governor Jackson of Maxroy's Purchase, if you please, and just loving every bit of it."

"All right!"

And Weiss was dead and they both knew it and neither would ever mention it again.

Off camera, Chris Blaine made a suggestive throat-cutting gesture. Joyce looked up from her recorder in alarm. "Keep it talking," she mouthed soundlessly.

Renner studied the lopsided visage a bit longer... knowing how little it was gaining him, while the Mediator used these seconds to study his face. He said, "Make up a name for yourself, for my convenience."

"Eudoxus."

Bury smiled thinly; Joyce's eyes narrowed, then popped wide. When Renner raised an eyebrow, Bury said, "A classical trader and explorer. Discovered the Golden Wind of the Arabs."

"Okay. Eudoxus, for the moment I command every Empire ship in this system. I listen to Horace Bury, so you're talking for his benefit, too. Now, you've sent seven ships through from the Mote. Some we've captured, some are running. One has an ambassador aboard, and you want her transported to where she can contact the Empire. Is that about it?"

"Two ambassadors, Kevin. She and he. An older Keeper to teach the younger, younger to last longer."

Keepers: Sterile Masters. "Prudent. You sent no other Classes?"

"Mediators, of course. And there were working Classes aboard some ships for maintenance, until the Curdle collapsed. Then we spaced them. We feared you would feel threatened.

"However, I have an Engineer pilot aboard, and so does Gandhi." The creature's left hand came up in haste. Something must have showed in Renner's face. "She can be spaced if your big ship takes ours in tow."

"Watchmakers?"

"Of course. They are very valuable."

Bury's needles jumped, then settled back.

"We'll call you back in an hour. Until then..." Kevin considered. "Don't do anything drastic. I'm going to free fall. You match course with me and then cut your thrust. Keep station ten thousand klicks away. Can you cause your other ships to gather here?"

"I can call them, but they will not obey. Three have instructions to hide within this system." The Motie shrugged. The shoulders didn't move. "I tell you nothing you would not expect. Let me repeat my offer. Come with us."

"I'll call you back." Renner switched off. He closed his eyes tight and heaved a massive sigh. Then, "Talk to me. Horace?"

Bury laughed. "How did Eudoxus know that we know of their Warriors? Answer: she did not. But we might know, and if she did not say, ‘We have no Warriors,' no more would be said at all. We would bend every effort to destroying every ship, every Warrior Motie." No laughter now. "An astute analysis, and the correct conclusion, to admit it immediately."

"Um-humm," Renner said. "I was working on that."

"Can they know us that well? Already?" Joyce Mei-Ling asked in wonder. "Kevin-Captain Renner, how did it recognize you?"

"What else?" Renner asked.

"She still doesn't know how MacArthur died."

"Yeah, and you could hardly tell her how the Kaffee Klatch ended, could you?" Kevin grinned at Joyce's puzzlement. "All right, Joyce. Eudoxus recognized me because the Moties took pictures of everyone they met. Made extensive records of what we did, too. Memorizing everything they know about every human who ever went to the Mote would be part of Eudoxus's training."

"Their memories are that good?"

"At least that good. As to the Kaffee Klatch, the Watchmakers had reworked MacArthur's coffeepot months after we thought we'd cleaned them out. They were loose in the tween decks areas, all over the ship, and when we discovered they were there, they fought us. Before that was over, MacArthur was abandoned and Horace was ready to exterminate the Moties. But his Fyunch(click) never knew any of that."

"Eudoxus expects to manipulate me. Poor Horace Bury," Bury said thickly, "he'll risk anything to master the wealth of Motie technology."

"She knows now, Horace. She saw Kevin twitch when she mentioned Watchmakers. It may have been a mistake to leave the visuals on. Horace, I wonder just how much the Moties know about your Arab nationalist sentiments? Anyway, what shall we do?"

"An ambassador. Gandhi! Ludicrous."

"We don't have to blow the Motie ship up, though. Do we?"

"Perhaps if we could destroy all seven... but we can't do that, Kevin. Consider: what if one of the seven was a decoy, say a token ship mounted on a small comet head? Poof, gone. Evaporated. We would only find six, never the seventh. And three have instructions to hide. With a whole system to hide in. A system we have not explored any better than they have. Who knows what resources are here? And you may be sure that those ships have fertile Masters, probably pregnant."

"Yeah."

Joyce Trujillo said, "But in that case, if we could find six- Oh." Kevin noticed the look of annoyance Chris Blaine cast on Joyce Trujillo. But why ...?

No time to worry about that. Kevin said, "Yeah. Six ships, and what if there's no iceball? Talk or fight, and we can't start shooting until or unless we find them all, and we've lost at least one already. So talk, and they want us to go with them to the Mote. That may be a good idea. The question is, can we leave them here? All of the Mote ships, with Agamemnon on guard, until more ships from the blockade squadron come through from the Eye?"

"Can we not? Consider further," Bury said. "These ships are unarmed. There has been no hint of a threat, but if one of these does not report back..."

"The threat is certainly implied, sir," Chris Blaine said. "Look at the record. The first couple of ships the Crazy Eddie Squadron dealt with were probably unarmed. The rest had any weapon you can think of. Excellency, she knew you'd see the threat. With strangers she would have been more explicit."

Renner said, "We have to let Eudoxus report back, and we learn more if we go with her." He got a confirming nod from Bury. "All right, whether or not Agamemnon is enough, she's all we have, because I don't fancy taking Sinbad into the Mote system without a reliable way to send a message out. That means we take Atropos along. Chris, you agree?"

"Yes, sir. If anyone can get a message out, they can, either Atropos herself or the longboat."

Bury asked, "Dr. Buckman, how big are the Motie ships? Tiny, are they not? Too small to fight Agamemnon, even all together. Yes, and thus unarmed. So, Kevin, what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking Eudoxus could tell us more about what waits for us on the other side. Then... we can maybe rendezvous with Agamemnon, leave you and Joyce-"

"Hold up, Commodore Renner-"

"My ship, curse your hullmetal-thick hide."

"Okay, okay. Do we want to put the servants off?"

Bury said, "Each lady so lovely, though all in their forties. Did you ever wonder why, Kevin? I test them in lesser positions. I send the weak and timid to other duties. With such companions near me I need never fear my own people. New Levantines would never suspect my harem."

"Good. They can fight? I was always a little afraid of Cynthia."

"With reason."

"We still can't leave. I still can't leave," Renner said. "Not till we know who's where. Not till things settle down." But Bury was shaking his head. "What, Horace? Eudoxus didn't seem to be in any hurry."

"Kevin, in negotiations only a loser reveals that he is under a deadline. Even so, I think Eudoxus flinched when you cut her off. It's hard to tell, of course. But do consider what may next emerge from the I-point if we do not allow Eudoxus to report back."

"Yeah. Well, we'll wait for her to tell us. Now I need a link to Atropos. Dr. Buckman, I hereby appoint you communications officer."

Buckman chuckled. "Navy personality always comes through, doesn't it? All right, Commodore, I'll try. Incidentally, they're nine light-seconds away."

"Commander Rawlins here. Balasingham tells me I'm under your orders, Captain Renner."

"Such is life. What's your status?"

"We're chasing down the largest of the Motie ships."

"How many can you see?"

"Five. One we're chasing. One is quite openly headed for the New Cal exit point at top speed, but Agamemnon will be there first. One's parked near you. Two more are headed off in opposite directions, and we'll lose at least one of those before we catch up to the one we're chasing."

"So we've lost two now. How long until you catch that Motie ship?"

"I'll be in gunnery range in ten minutes or less. Do I fire?"

Renner looked to the others on Sinbad's bridge. "Blaine?"

"Warning shots, sir?"

Renner activated the mike. "Put a low-power laser dot on them and see what they do. If they won't stop, blow ‘em up."

"And if they stop?"

"Stand by," Renner said. "Damnation. Horace, of course they'll stop. And talk, and talk, and delay."

"We have already lost track of two. By Commander Rawlins's own estimation, no matter what he does with the one he chases, he will not be able to intercept all that will remain. Three will have escaped, Kevin. Three."

"Only into this system. That big cruiser can stop their getting out," Joyce said. "Can't it?"

"I remind you, what may come through next could be enough to destroy Sinbad. Then Atropos. Perhaps Agamemnon."

"They'll have plenty of time to recover from Jump shock before engaging," Blaine said. "We've seen ships come through the Crazy Eddie point that could have slagged Agamemnon in single-ship engagement."

"Sinbad, this is Atropos. We are closing in range to Motie ship. We have a beam on her."

"They'll stop," Blaine said.

"I am certain you are correct."

"Eudoxus is signaling," Buckman said genially.

"Everything happens at once!" Joyce said.

"Sinbad, this is Atropos. As soon as we demonstrated that we could hit the Motie ship, it turned off its drive and is now hailing us in Anglic. ‘We come in peace. This is the Motie ship King Peter's Gift. We come in peace. Do you have instructions?' Sir, do we have instructions?"

"God's navel."

"Suggestion," Blaine said. "Talk to me!"

"Have Atropos put a prize crew on that ship and send it to rendezvous with Agamemnon. Then he can see if he can chase down anything else."

"Yeah. Rawlins, put a crew with a bomb onto that Motie ship and send it to Agamemnon. Then see what you can do about the other Motie ships."

"Eudoxus is signaling," Buckman said cheerfully.

"Of course Eudoxus is signaling. Let her wait. Rawlins, I'm wondering about landings. I'll send you design specs for Sinbad. Horace, I'm sorry, but he's got to have those. Rawlins, Sinbad can land on a habitable planet, but we'd have to find fuel to get off. Does Atropos have landers?"

"Three. Two cutters and a longboat. All functional, but one cutter needs work. I'll send you specs. The longboat could carry enough fuel for a cutter to regain orbit from Mote Prime, but can't get back up without refueling. Afropos can scoopdive a gas giant planet for fuel."

What have I forgotten? Oh, I'll get it later. "Buckman, put Eudoxus on. Hello, Eudoxus, sorry I had to cut you off, but your ships have been keeping us fairly busy."

"I was glad of the nap time, Kevin. Have you given further thought to our invitation?"

Glad of the nap time, hnpf hnpf hnpf! "Further thought, sure. Nap time sounds wonderful. We've got to wait anyway. So. Are you short of anything? Air, food, water? We can lob you a package."

"Kevin... no, we have enough to last us."

"Okay. Tell me anything about what we can expect to meet us on the other side of the Jump point."

"Ye-ess. My Keeper is part of the chain of command of-the name would not translate, of course, so I will call us the Medina Traders. We are the largest trading company in our region. We're involved in dominance games with several other groups, all under truce of one depth or another. We expect to meet you in space and lead you to our territory, all in perfect safety. Nevertheless, surprise by a rival becomes more likely the longer we delay."

Bury broke in. "Dominance games. War?"

Renner looked for hesitation, and he saw it. "Nothing so large, Excellency, but Warriors do become involved from time to time."

"Battles, then. For what prize? Ourselves?"

"For resources, thus far. Your existence we have kept to ourselves."

"So. We might have to fight. What would be your status if you returned alone?"

Shrug. "I would have failed. My Keeper and her-superior- would make decisions on that basis, and so would other clans."

Renner said, "I'm putting you on hold."

The picture remained. Buckman said, "We've cut the signal. So?"

"Keepers?" Joyce asked. "Where have I heard that term?"

"Keepers are sterile male Masters," Blaine said. "Possessive but not aggressively expansive. Joyce, the group we dealt with on Mote Prime was headed by a Master calling itself King Peter-you'll recall one of these ships they've sent us is called King Peter's Gift?-and the Moties he sent us included a Keeper ambassador called Ivan... Captain? It feels funny."

"What?" Renner prompted.

"King Peter's Gift. It's too bald and not too accurate. That damn ship isn't a gift, it's a threat. Eudoxus speaks of different factions, different clans. She spoke of Warriors, but was that really a clever ploy? Sir, we have to suspect that they really don't know what all the expedition learned, and may not be part of King Peter's clan at all."

"Interesting," Bury said. "Of course they know everything I was told. Or think they do."

"Decision time," Renner said. "One of the Mote ships has to go back, but does it have to be Phidippides? Or has Eudoxus learned too much by watching us? Blaine?"

"No, sir, trust me on this. She's starting from too far back. She hasn't been able to interpret anything pointed; she's still correcting egregious assumptions. At worst she might finally know what destroyed MacArthur. Is there a strong reason why they shouldn't know that?"

"I don't know. Let's just say we'll keep all our secrets until we have a reason to give them up."

"Sounds right, sir. And of course we confirmed that we know about the Warrior class. Pity, but at least there won't be any more of the ‘harmless Moties' game they played on my father."

"Yeah. Warriors. Horace, if there's anything I don't know about Sinbad's defenses, tell me privately, before we jump."

"Yes. Eudoxus is becoming nervous, Kevin."

"Yeah. So she's worried that things are coming unraveled at the other end. That's probably not good for us. It means we can ask for concessions, though, because she won't have time to dicker. What do we want from Eudoxus?"

Bury's eyes half-closed. "Yes. If we knew-"

"Atropos calling," Buckman said. "They've got a second ship. Middie going aboard with a bomb. The first prize crew reports that an Engineer reworked the air system to give them air to breathe. All very cooperative. Rawlins has a third ship at the edge of detection range, but it's deep in the asteroids and decelerating. He's sure it's already too late."

"Tell him to leave it alone. Ladies and gentlemen, do we go? Yeah, Joyce, I know. Blaine?"

"Go."

"Horace?"

"Go, of course, but something must be done first."

"Name it."

"We need trade goods. Specifically the magic worm that we presume Glenda Ruth Blaine is bringing."

"Bury, we can't wait for that!" Renner said.

"I do not propose to. I do say that you must order the Navy not to hinder Miss Blaine when she arrives in this system. If she thinks it best to come to the Mote system-and she will, will she not, after your message to her, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then the Navy must not prevent her."

"They're going to think it odd," Renner said. "A lord's daughter going into a combat zone. Okay, I can leave those orders. Anything else?... All right. Buckman, do we go?"

"Certainly. I can get a second view of a protostar in process of collapse! Maybe they'll let me leave instruments."

Kevin Renner nibbled his forefingers for a moment. "It'd be nice to refuel first... ah, well. Put Atropos through."

"Sir?"

"Rawlins, we're going through to Mote system. You're going first. How much fuel have you burned up?"

"I've got half a tank. Enough to get anywhere if we don't have to fight. Sir."

"We're expecting to be met by friends, but it's not certain at all. Battle stations. Prepare your ship, full sleep period included and I am dead serious, and then call me. Sinbad out." With his eyes closed Renner said, "Somebody check on dinner."

Will Rawlins turned to his executive officer. "General Quarters, Hank."

"Aye, aye." Horns sounded through Atropos. "What do you think we'll find?"

"God knows. Get me Balasingham, please. Maybe he'll have an idea."

"Not likely," Henry Parthenio said. "But what the hell. Here he is."

Baiasingham was under three gravities and looked it. "Go ahead, Will."

"Sir, Captain Renner wants me to accompany him into the Mote system."

"Yeah. Have fun."

"You think it's a good idea, sir?"

"I haven't the faintest flipping notion of whether it's a good idea," Balasingham said. His voice came from deep in his chest as he fought the strain of high gravity. "What I do know is that he's the boss now."

"Yes, sir-a Reservist, pilot to an Imperial Trader..." Rawlins's tone said it all: the Navy did not like Traders and never had, and-

"Will, Captain Renner has been to the Mote. A long time ago, but he's been there, and that's more than I can say for anyone else we know. Now switch off your recorder and make sure we're secure. Got it?... Okay. Bury and Renner have been Navy Intelligence for a long time, and Bury comes to this system with the personal recommendation of Lord Roderick Blaine. Will, they're the best people we've got for this job."

"We-ell, all right, sir. Okay, I'm sending two Motie ships with prize crews to rendezvous with you at the exit point. They're under way now, so there's nothing keeping me. I'll take formation with Sinbad and the Motie ship Phidippides, and I reckon we'll be going through when I've done that. God knows when I'll be back."

"Right. Remember your first duty is to get The Word out. Godspeed."

"Thank you, sir. Sir, can we stop them?"

"God knows, Commander. You've seen some of the ships they've sent out of the Mote, and from all we know they've had decades to prepare for this. They could have a whole fleet of dreadnoughts just waiting for orders."

"Ugh. Yeah. Okay, here we go." Rawlins turned to his bridge crew. "Let's do it. Hank, get us into place to enter Mote system. Phidippides, then Atropos, then Sinbad."

5 The Battle of Crazy Eddie's Sister

To delight in war is a merit in the soldier, a dangerous quality in the captain, and a positive crime in the statesman

George Santayana

A brown blur swept past his eyes, too close; came wobbling back, taking on definition. Arm, fingers; fingers searching, closing on his shoulder, a nose nearly touching his. "Kevin. Captain. We." Joyce Trujillo blinking, trying to work her mouth. "We're being shot. At."

Cameras had been pulled inside for the Jump. Through the viewport Kevin saw murky red light where he should have seen black. Enemy lasers must be bathing Sinbad's Langston Field. No hot spots.

"Yeah. Okay. Field's holding. You... recover quick... Joyce." Renner looked around. His head wanted to swivel too far. Buckman was cursing as he tried to get his fingers working, to poke a camera through the Field. Blaine's arms jerked as he tried to bring them to his instruments. Horace Bury was contemplating nirvana with vacant eyes and a trace of a smile.

His doctors had finally got through to him. Stroke, heart failure, ulcers, ruined digestion, and you won't be through it a moment sooner. Don't fight Jump shock!

"Got prr. Probe," Buckman said. A picture appeared in Renner's monitor, and wobbled, and hunted, and found a green glare. "There. One ship using lasers only. Who's gunnery officer?"

"Me." Renner couldn't trust Blaine to kill. Navy trained, but raised by Mediators. Blaine wasn't functional anyway, not even as much as Trujillo. And Sinbad didn't have much for guns: a signaling laser that was several thousand times more powerful than it needed to be, good enough to keep armed merchantmen at bay, nowhere near enough power to be useful against real warships.

How hardened a target was the enemy ship? Would it be worth firing back? And where was Atropos? Sinbad had gone through last. It should be Rawlins's job to protect Sinbad.

The green glare wavered. Lost focus. Now it was a green point ringed in red, a yellow-white halo, glare green and expanding, an inflating violet sphere, poof, gone in seconds.

And with that enemy gone, the sky cleared.

It was a birthday-party sky, a black starfield full of colored balloons linked by bright strings. Sinbad had fallen into a battle. Ships must number in the hundreds. No telling how many sides, or who was who. But Sinbad's Field was murky red and darkening, shedding stored energy and no longer under attack.

"Buckman, get an antenna through that!"

"Done. We've got ships in all directions... not so many toward the Mote... I think I see Atropos."

An orange blob, close, cooling... darkening to red, but not contracting. Definitely Atropos. The Moties' expanding Langston Field had revolutionized Empire warfare; but Atropos had been built for duty at the Eye, where an expanding Field only meant more surface area to absorb heat from the star.

"I have Atropos on the line."

"Good. Rawlins, what's your situation?"

"Stable. We were attacked the moment we came through, Captain Renner. Two fleets, one that shoots at us, one that shoots at the other fleet.

"When the Motie embassy ship, Phidippides, came through, one fleet started shooting at her. I moved in front of her and shot back. When I did, everyone else got in the act."

"How's Phidippides?"

"That's her on the other side of us, with an expanding Field, yellow and getting worse. The one that's not shooting back. Now that we're in front of her it's not critical unless they're hit by torpedoes."

"Can you protect them?"

"Yes, sir. We can't talk to the other fleet, but they cooperate. Between us we slagged one of the enemy just after you came through. Commodore, we haven't seen torpedoes yet, just lasers and particle beams. We're in a general fleet engagement, but beyond watching over you and the Motie ship I don't know the objective. It's all guns, all the ships have expanding Fields-"

"Sinbad, this is Phidippides. Are you unhurt?"

The Motie was speaking in Horace Bury's voice, blurred by noise, probably still affected by Jump shock despite having gone through well before Sinbad. Renner grimaced. He said, "Carry on, Commander Rawlins. You're doing fine. I'll try to get information."

It was pointless to remind the Moties that the passage was supposed to be safe. "Eudoxus, this is Renner. Who's shooting at us?"

Static made a ragged silhouette of the Motie shape. "Call them Ghengis Khan and the Mongol Horde. They're bandits, a large, well-established group. We were under attack from the Khanate when the Crazy Eddie point moved, but we thought they were after our comet."

"Comet, Eudoxus?"

"Resources, Kevin. We moved a comet out of the Waste to feed the industrial needs of Medina's monitoring fleet at the new Jump point we were expecting. Dammit, most of them are protecting the comet-"

"Speed it up, Eudoxus. Who are we fighting? Do we have allies? How do we recognize them? How safe are you? You can't fight."

"Protection is coming. Don't try to fight, Kevin. I will lead you away to our base, to safety. Medina's Warriors are moving to protect us now. They'll guard our withdrawal."

Renner saw it quite suddenly. "You're not from Mote Prime at all."

"No, no, no." the Motie said immediately. "On Mote Prime they've blasted themselves back to the invention of the brick. Medina Trading is at present based in the Oort Cloud, with allies in the Mote Beta moons and other regions. We've been using that wonderful protection field of yours to scoop up mass and debris, but a comet is better."

The pattern of distant ships was changing... had been changing for some time. Brilliant points and larger colored dots, ships under attack and ships not under attack, several hundreds of them, were converging into place between Sinbad's position and the main congestion of warships. Phidippides's Field was cooling, shrinking, as her allies destroyed the ships that were attacking her.

It wasn't easy to see what they were doing, until you remembered the lightspeed gap. Even the nearest ships hadn't been seen to move for the first half-minute. The battle must be scattered up to three or four light-minutes across, tens of millions of klicks. They were all... no, only the nearby ships were reacting to the sudden appearance of three ships in the new Jump point. Some had moved to protect Phidippides and the Empire ships she escorted; some to attack. But far beyond, other glare-white sparks swarmed around the cold white glow of a comet's tail.

It was war among the asteroid civilizations for possession of the I-point, the Jump point into Empire space. Kevin Renner had led them right into it. Asteroid civilizations... and all his preparations had been made for Mote Prime!

Bloody Hell! Renner raged at himself. He couldn't even claim he'd been lied to, though of course he had. And now he was being told to run... but without knowing who was who, how could he argue?

"Stand by," Renner said curtly. "Rawlins?"

"Sir?"

"You're better at analyzing battles than I am. Is there any way we can get a message back to Agamemnan?"

"No, sir. The longboat wouldn't have any chance to get back to the I-point, and Atropos wouldn't have much more. None unless we could coordinate with the Motie fleet that's not shooting at us."

"Thanks. That won't happen. Okay, follow us and watch our backs. We're not going to Mote Prime. We're headed for the comets, outbound from the sun. I'll send the course when I have it."

"Sir-"

"Rawlins, when I know more, you will! Now I have to talk to the Moties. Out."

"No rest for the wicked," Joyce said.

Renner grinned slightly and hit the control keys. "Eudoxus."

"Here, Kevin."

Bury smiled softly, but said nothing.

"There may be another ship coming through anytime in the next five hundred hours," Renner said. "A very valuable ship. With a"-he saw Chris Blaine easing into place off camera-"a human female Mediator aboard. Be sure your people bring that ship to us when it comes."

"We'll try."

"Do more than try. The ship is valuable, and two of the passengers are Imperial aristocracy. Influential. Very influential."

"Ah. I will convey the urgency of the request."

"Good. Now, where are you taking us?"

"Medina Trading is among the nearer comets, above the plane of the Mote planetary system. There is an intermediate base, closer, well defended. We'll go direct to Medina Home unless we're interrupted, but on a course that lets us get to the base at need. Here is your course vector."

Renner examined it. "About twenty-five hours to turnover at something near one and a half standard gee. Everybody okay on that?"

"It is better than being caught in a battle," Bury said.

Renner glanced at the telltales, then caught Nabil's eyes. Nabil nodded slightly.

"Fair enough. Lead off," Renner said.

Chris looked okay; so did Alysia. Bury was fully alert and mad as hell. Good; Renner could use their opinions. He said, "Buckman, I need Atropos, but maintain the link to Phidippides. I'm sounding acceleration warning."

He let Sinbad's corridors turn raucous while he ran the thrust up to one gee. Nabil and Cynthia hovered around Bury like worker ants feeding a queen. Bury's medical monitors were drawing a forest of needles, but why wouldn't they? Horace Bury hadn't been shot at since...

The Outies at Pierrot? Rape my lizard, was it that long ago? And Blaine and Trujillo were staying well clear of each other's privacy bubbles, and neither was saying anything. There may not be as much help there as I thought.

Phidippides was easing away at a gee and a half, almost two Mote gravities. Renner ran his thrust up to match.

Atropos was aglow, black to glare green in a few seconds. The Motie ships looked tiny compared to the empire cruiser, but they had expanding Fields and Atropos didn't. Not good... but somewhere behind them a red point blossomed into a violet sun and dissipated. Atropos began to cool. Rawlins was fast with his guns.

The battle was mostly behind them now. Friendly and enemy ships looked too much alike; in the telescopes each was unique; but one squadron was definitely deploying to form a barrier behind the three fleeing ships. Another group converged on a ship trying to get past the barrier force.

Renner sighed. Until he knew more, what the hell else could he do but run? He made eye contact with Chris Blaine: Do you see anything I don't?

Blaine shook his head and pointed to the battle screen. "Rawlins is right, it's unlikely we'd get a message back to Agamemnon even with help from Medina's fleet, and without Atropos we're in big trouble. Other than that, we're fine. Rawlins knows how to fight, and whoever our allies are, they're pretty good. And willing to take punishment for us."

"They'll be Warriors," Renner said. Nightmare creatures like those statuettes in the Moties' Time Machine sculpture, perhaps altered by selective breeding for life in low gravity. Warriors on both sides.

"Horace?"

"I think of nothing you have not. I feel as if I have deceived myself."

"Which you did," Buckman said, chuckling.

"Mote Beta?" Joyce asked.

"We called the main Mote planet Mote Prime," Renner said. "There's a gas giant we called Beta."

"And almost certainly another planet," Buckman said. "Mote Gamma. Almost certainly a gas giant. There are also two large clusters of asteroids sharing the orbit of Mote Beta. Nearly all of them were moved into place."

"Moved," Joyce said. "Isn't that a lot of work, moving asteroids?"

"Sure is," Renner said. "Enough. We're committed."

"Alea jacta est," Joyce said

"Onk?"

"The die is cast," Bury translated. "Indeed.

"Right. Okay, mike's live again. All right, Eudoxus," Renner said. "Keep talking. What in Hell is a Bury's Fyunch(click) doing in the Mote asteroids?"

Freddy Townsend woke when Kakumi's voice barked at him from the intercom. He woke quickly as he always did when he slept at the bridge console.

"Freddy, there's a radio message. General communications band. Talk to them, Freddy. You there?"

Freddy reached tentatively for the console. The timer showed nearly an hour since the shift. His hand was steady, and his head felt clear. He flipped a switch to put the incoming message on the speakers:

"WARNING. YOU HAVE ENTERED AN INTERDICT ZONE. THIS SYSTEM HAS BEEN PLACED UNDER INTERDICT BY AUTHORITY OF THE VICEROY GOVERNOR GENERAL OF TRANS-COAL SACK SECTOR! THIS SYSTEM IS PATROLLED BY THE IMPERIAL NAVY. BROADCAST YOUR LOCATION MJD IDENTITY ON THIS BAND AND WAIT FOR INSTRUCTIONS, FAILURE TO COMPLY MAY RESULT IN DESTRUCTION OF YOUR SHIP. WARNING."

"Well, that's pretty explicit," Freddy said. He typed quickly on the control console. "Glenda Ruth, I think you should include something in your code so they can be sure its you. That message wasn't friendly at all."

"All right." She connected the interface cable into her computer and scribbled. "Clementine, code that with my private key."

"Yes, dear."

"I wonder about this," Glenda Ruth said. "That message sounds pretty positive."

"You think something has happened?"

"I don't know, but I bet we don't have long to wait." The reply came four minutes later:

HECATE THIS IS INSS AGAMEMNON, REQUEST YOU RENDEZVOUS WITH US IMMEDIATELY. VECTORS FOLLOW. WE HAVE MESSAGES FOR THE HON. GLENDA RUTH FOWLER ELAINE. BALASINGHAM."

Freddy's fingers played. She'd seen him more tense, his fingers moving faster, during a Sauron Menace game... when the penalties for mistakes weren't so high. "Not far. We can be there in ten minutes. Glenda Ruth, I can't find a blinker."

"A what?'

"Normally they'd give us a laser spot to follow. This close, with lOOx mag, I should see something that big directly... unless the Langston Field is up. Nice that we were expected, though. And it's a request, at least so far."

"They've gone stealth," Glenda Ruth said. "And no comment regarding Sinbad or my brother. Freddy, I think it's happened. The Moties are loose."

"Uh-huh." He tapped at console keys. "ACCELERATION WARNING. Stand by for half-standard gravity."

"The Fyunch(click)s of humans were very diverse," Eudoxus said, "and so were their various fates. Captain Roderick Elaine's went mad. Sally Fowler's remained sane enough to advise, but was rarely considered trustworthy. Jacob Buckman's never had a problem. Chaplain Hardy's played abstract intellectual games; even some of the Masters found them interesting. Kevin, yours won so many arguments that she was made a teacher, but always under supervision."

"Flattering," Renner said. "Did you meet her?"

"No. I know these things due to observations by Horace Bury's Fyunch(click). That individual-shall we call her Bury-One? She was young, male, when he studied Horace Bury."

"After MacArthur's departure he saw a ruinous war shaping itself. He made some efforts to avert it, then to shape any kind of refuge for knowledge that would be lost. When these attempts had clearly failed, Bury-One left her Master. With a tangle of alliances and bluffs collapsing about her, she built and provisioned a spacecraft, reached the asteroids, and announced that her services were for sale."

Eudoxus waited patiently through Kevin Renner's laughter. Others were laughing, too, and even Bury was smiling in... pride?

Presently Renner said, "I take it your Medina Trading-"

"No, Kevin, Medina hadn't the wealth or position by then. A civilization we will call Byzantium won the bidding among those who could not be driven off or barred by distance or shortfall of delta-vee."

Chris Blaine was listening patiently, taking it all in and giving nothing. Joyce huddled in one corner of the bridge, whispering frantically into her recorder. Bury was smiling, enjoying Kevin's discomfiture. Bury had played this game before.

None of Renner's crew were going to be any help at all unless one of Cynthia's agonizing massages could put him back together, sometime in the indefinite future.

Byzantium? Renner rubbed his aching temples and considered ordering Atropos to blow Phidippides out of the sky. At least he'd know who his enemies were then. And the next alien who tried to parley might feel impelled to give him more information.

Some of this may have showed even through static, to a trained Mediator. Eudoxus said, "Please, Kevin, let me try to give you some picture of the extraplanetary civilizations."

"Try it."

"On Mote Prime they tend to big, sprawling cultures," Eudoxus said. "They use more intricate interlockings of obligations, bigger and more extensive families controlling wider, better-defined territories than we do. We don't go near Mote Prime. The planetbound are too powerful, and also not mobile enough to threaten us.

"In the asteroids and the moon clusters of Mote Beta and Mote Gamma-"

"Gamma," Buckman said. "So it does exist. A gas giant?"

"Yes, approximately twice the distance from the Mote as Mote Beta. It has an extensive system of moons. In those and Beta's moons the families are small, independent, and not inclined to trust outsiders to supply needed resources."

"Any idea why?"

"We can't make maps out here. There's no way to define a territory. Everything changes shape constantly. Trade routes depend on fuel expenditure, on position and energy considerations, and both are constantly shifting. Your Alderson Field has made it even more complex, because now even the waste areas may yield mass."

"I was going to ask, who is Byzantium? But rape that. Who are you?"

"Medina Traders. Byzantium is an ally."

"Yeah."

"An important ally. When MacArthur arrived in our system nearly twenty-seven Mote Prime years ago, Medina Traders was a family of... how to describe?... well, twenty to thirty Masters and equivalent subgroups, perhaps two hundred of every class excluding Watchmakers. Our position in Mote Beta's Trailing Trojans was gradually slipping. The geometrical relationship of the various rocks had gone through some crucial changes. Our lore included detailed knowledge of failed investigations of the Crazy Eddie Drive, and also of the Curdle in the Coal Sack. We recognized your ships for what they were, from your appearance in the Crazy Eddie point right down to the black-box glow of your Langston Fields."

"I expect you weren't born yet." Any Mediator alive then would be dead by now.

"Oh, no. I was taught these things because His Excellency would insist on knowing the flow of our politics. Kevin, may I talk to His Excellency?"

"For the moment, no." The Mediator would have more trouble reading Renner's thoughts and emotions. Bury, of course, was watching the monitor; he could interrupt if he saw need.

The Motie nodded brusquely. "The advent of interstellar aliens changed everything. We retreated from our position in the Trailing Trojans in good order. Medina lost considerable valuable resources, but we were able to hold on to some by going before there was need. The usurper family, call them Persia, were as eager as we were to avoid noisy space battles that might attract Lenin's attention. We may call this Period One, from the Empire's arrival to Lenin's departure.

"My Master established us in the inner halo of comets, beyond both the old and the expected new Crazy Eddie points. She had a gripping hand on considerable territory when she died, a vast volume enclosing little mass, near to nothing valuable at all. But in thirty years we would be just outward from the access point to the human-ruled Empire. You follow? We would command Crazy Eddie's Sister when the Curdle collapsed and the Sister appeared.

"Resources are thin where we settled. During the twelve years following Lenin's departure, we did well. Call that Period Two. We were able to expand Medina's base due to alliances formed with Byzantium in the moon system of Mote Beta. We shared our knowledge with Byzantium. The family Byzantium is large and powerful and can afford what she sends us, even though half of the resources they send go to support Medina Traders and to increase our strength. Of course they expect to share in the rewards, once our way opens to the worlds of the Empire."

"When Horace Bury's Fyunch(click) appeared, Byzantium was able to block other competitors and acquire her. This worked out well for us. With Bury-One to advise them, Byzantium felt more secure in our partnership."

Bury was nodding, smiling. Politics. Eudoxus continued, "Medina Trading spent Period Two sending ships to test the strength of the Empire's defense of the Eye. All the tricky stunts tried in that period were of our working, using resources that flowed from Byzantium."

"From what we saw, that was a lot of resources," Renner said.

"Indeed," Eudoxus said. "A great deal of wealth was lost forever." The alien conveyed sorrow and resignation. "So. We agitated for a Bury's Motie, but many years passed before Byzantium would release one to us. He was Bury-One's first apprentice. Of course Bury-One was already training a second, and the first began at once to train me. Call her Bury-2A, my teacher."

"I don't see where the fighting comes in yet."

"Am I to feel hurried, Kevin? You'll be two hundred hours en route. We don't intend to keep this acceleration any longer than we have to."

"Two hundred hours... okay. I'd like Sinbad and Atropos refueled as soon as we arrive."

"I'll pass the word. We will do other things for you, too."

"The war."

"Yes. Certain power structures in the Mote Gamma clusters- East India Company, Grenada, the Khanate-watched us build ships, move them into finicky position, make them disappear forever; we even armed and launched a comet that way. Wasn't that why some ancient comic named it the Crazy Eddie point? These pirates coveted what we were destroying in what must have appeared to be a form of potlatch. They thought they must have better use for such vast wealth."

"Potlatch?" Renner said. "A Motie word?'

Joyce stage-whispered, "Human. American Indian. Conspicuous consumption. Humiliate your enemies by destroying your own wealth."

Renner nodded. "Mote Gamma. Eudoxus, we didn't know about a Mote Gamma."

"As I said." The Motie was all unhurried patience now. "A gasball planet, three times the mass of Mote Prime, twice as far from the Mote as the greater gasball you've named Mote Beta. Gamma is much smaller, with two big moons and some gravel, all chewed to death by a million years of mining. I'll send you the mass-" The picture went dark with a snap.

Renner said, "Buckman? What?"

"It just cut off. Maybe she doesn't want to answer," Buckman said.

"No, she's under attack." Lieutenant Blaine pointed out a score of stars blazing dangerously bright. "That's good targeting. The enemy's a good quarter AU behind us. Sinbad can't shoot back, Captain."

"Not at that range. We've got the overpowered signal laser." A glance at Bury: had he held anything back? "And the finger, and they're way out of range for either of those."

The light wavered. It wasn't getting brighter. Probably a whole cluster of enemy ships was firing... and if those lasers were free to converge on distant Phidippides, then Medina's fleet must no longer be a threat.

Phidippides's drifting star thrust sideways; drifted behind Atropos.

Now Atropos became dark red, then cherry red, while Phidippidos cooled.

"Phidippides calling," Buckman said.

"Good. Eudoxus, what's your status?"

"Temperature down. Can your warship handle the flux?"

"Sure, Atropos has more mass and bigger accumulators than you do... and the enemy's breaking off. But dammit, there aren't any of your forces left at the comet, are there?"

Eudoxus shuddered. "Comet! We abandoned the comet as soon as you appeared. What need, when we had Crazy Eddie's Sister to find and protect? Let the Khanate have it. But a splinter group formerly belonging to the Khanate has virtually destroyed our main fleet and now holds the Sister

"Call them the Crimean Tartars, for the moment. They're new to us. The Crimeans hold the new Jump point to the red dwarf, and there's reason to think they know what they have. They'll be hard to dislodge."

Blaine was radiating distress. Renner said, "If they're there when Glenda Ruth comes through, we will all regret it."

"I will inform Medina's Warriors. After that it is out of my hands. Give me a moment."

The picture went dark. Kevin Renner clicked off, then turned to his people. "Horace? Anything? I don't even have intelligent questions. It's frustrating."

"Kevin, I have a thousand questions, but none are urgent. You will note the selection of names for the various groups. All from classic history, all having one way or another impacted on Arab civilization, some like the Khanate quite devastatingly. It is cleverly done."

"Eudoxus fully understands Hecate's importance," Chris Blaine said. "It's still worth remembering, Mediators don't do war. I'm not sure what they'll do now that their fleet is knocked out. Send an embassy group, probably including one trained by Eudoxus...hmm."

"What?"

"It seems probable that the Tartars will capture Hecate," Blaine said.

"You're calm enough about it," Joyce said.

Blaine shrugged without quite using his shoulders. "It's a problem that needs fixing, Joyce, not a bloody funeral. Yet."

"There's certainly nothing we can do about it," Renner said. "We're headed away from the Sister at high acceleration, and our friends don't have any ships left. So what happens?"

Blaine shrugged. "So the Tartars will take possession of Hecate. Medina will send Mediators, one of whom probably knows Anglic. We might be able to get a message to Glenda Ruth. At least tell- yes. Captain, assuming that the Tartars will not allow Eudoxus's friends to brief Glenda Ruth, have Eudoxus instruct his Anglic-speaking Mediator to use the expression ‘rape my lizard'. Either in Glenda Ruth's hearing, or as an expression she will be asked to explain."

"What in the world ...?" Renner demanded.

"It is recent slang, not used before this generation."

"Ah," Bury said. "Miss Blaine will know that the Moties never learned to say that from the MacArthur-Lenin expedition, therefore that this is a message from us. Subtle, Lieutenant. My congratulations."

"Thank you," Chris said.

"What else?" Renner asked. "What use can we make of the Crazy Eddie Worm?"

"What's that?" Joyce asked.

"Later," Chris Blaine said. "I don't know, Captain. Glenda Ruth may think of something. She thinks more like a Motie than I do and she's seen it."

"Allah is merciful," Bury said. "But He expects us to use His gifts wisely. Lieutenant, where did Eudoxus learn about the protostar's future? I am certain my Fyunch(click) knew nothing of it."

"Not when you knew him," Blaine said. "Later..."

"Perhaps so. But perhaps very much later," Bury said. "Perhaps not until leaving the service of Byzantium. I need not tell you there are complexities here."

"Yeah, you must love it," Renner said.

Medina Trading's main base was a billion kilometers from the light and warmth of the Mote, and ten degrees up from the plane of Mote system. It was at the inner edge of the cold and emptiness that lie beyond the farthest planets: the inner cometary halo. Medina's Master could hold such a domain because there was so little of value. But Medina Trading needed a base nearer where the Sister would form.

But matter closer to the Mote moves in faster orbits.

In the thirty years since Empire ships appeared in Mote system, Medina Trading had claimed six comets as temporary bases.

Claim a comet; build defenses and a mining operation. Pressure domes would expand to become homes. Finished products would arrive from Medina Main Base: food, metals, technology for working hydrogen, energy-shield generators, in exchange for spheroids of refined hydrogen ice. Some of Byzantium's tribute to Medina would be diverted to the inner base, and that could include power in the form of a collimated sunbeam. The base would house Watchmakers and Engineers, many ships, a few Warriors, more Masters, and always, at least one pair of Mediators. More would be better.

Before the base could drift so far from Crazy Eddie's unborn Sister as to be useless, the comet would be mined almost to nothing. Medina would claim another.

Ten years ago East India Company won the battle for the Crazy Eddie point. Medina's Master had been forced to make them a partner... but hardly an equal partner. East India Company used its own wealth to test the Crazy Eddie point, while they watched for the Sister in the wrong place. But they also demanded representation at Inner Base Five and, later, Six. Unwanted representatives to be housed at Medina's expense, a family and entourage of spies.

Therefore Inner Base Six became a peaceful industrial installation with a secondary purpose; eventual contact with the Empire through Crazy Eddie's Sister. Dozens of spacecraft were always about. These were harmless mining and transport ships, weaponless, with big bubble cabins. The Sister might open at any time, and then these ships must carry Mediators to meet the Empire of Man. Base Six's Master kept Mediators ready at all times; so did the East India presence.

But contingency plans were made that East India Company was to know nothing of.

6 Hostile Takeover

Power consists in one's capacity to link his wilt with the purpose of others, to lead by reason and a gift of cooperation.

Woodrow Wilson

The great black blot must be Agamemnon. It was twenty klicks away and drifting closer, dead slow. Three much smaller ships were clustered nearby. Freddy expanded the view.

"Alien," he said.

"Moties," Jennifer Banda said. Her grin was enormous, red mouth and white teeth in a dark face lit only by starlight from the viewport. "Glenda Ruth, they look like the ships your father saw. At least, that one does. Those others..."

That one had a crude look. Most of it was a spherical tank. Forward, a smaller, more elaborate container (a cabin?) bristled with sensors; ii looked as if it could detach. Aft was a fat doughnut and a spine like a long, long stinger, a magnetic guide for a fusion 11am e

A second had a similar spherical tank and a smaller cabin, plus a tube that might be a cargo hold. A third was all tori and looked as if it would spin for gravity, but was attached to a round bottomed cone..., a lander?

"All different," Glenda Ruth said.

"Will the Navy let us talk to them?" Jennifer asked.

"I don't see why not," Freddy said.

"HECATE THIS IS AGAMEMNON, OVER.'

"Frederick Townsend here. Centering communications beam. Locked on. Over."

"Locked on. I'm Commander Gregory Balasingham, Mr. Townsend."

"I take it the Moties have got loose," Freddy said.

"I wouldn't put it that way. There's a new Alderson path from this system to the Mote, but no Motie ships have got past us here."

"So far as you know," Glenda Ruth said.

"I see three ships of three radically different designs," Glenda Ruth said. "The message here is that you can't predict what they'll send next, Commander. Maybe something with a lightsail and crew in frozen sleep. Maybe anything. And of course you didn't see all the ships that came through."

There was a long pause. "Miss Blaine, we have a recorded message for you."

"Thank you."

"Stand by to record."

"Standing by," Freddy said. "Got it. Thanks."

"Commander, can we talk to the Moties?" Glenda Ruth asked.

Another pause. "Yes, but I want to listen in."

"That's all right," Glenda Ruth said. "Maybe you'll hear something I haven't. We don't have a lot of time."

"I'll connect you after you've read your message."

"Thank you. We'll call you back," Freddy said. "Give us half an hour. By the way, what time are you on?"

"It's seventeen fifty-two here."

"Thank you, we'll synchronize." Ship's time for Hecate was 1430, early afternoon. They'd been on a twenty-four-hour ship's day since they left Sparta. "Commander, would you or any of your officers care to join us for dinner?"

"Thank you, Mr. Townsend, hut we're on general alert here. For all we know, there may he a fleet of Motie warships bearing down on us."

"Oh. Yes, of course. Thank you. Half an hour, then."

"Not much here," Glenda Ruth said. "Chris says the Moties came through, seven unarmed ships. One-hah."

"Hah?"

"One asked for Horace Bury, First thing they said."

Freddy chuckled. Then he laughed. "Wow, Glenda Ruth, I've listened to you and Jennifer trying to convince people how smart the Moties are-"

"Actually, it was the only thing to do," Jennifer said. "Now that I think of it. Look, if no one was waiting here, they'd go on into the Empire and-what? Who might be glad to see them? Traders! And Bury's the only trader they know about."

"Well, all right, but I still wish I could have seen his face when they asked for him," Freddy said. "What else do we have?"

Glenda Ruth hesitated, then said, "Jennifer, it isn't really. Obvious. They didn't ask for Imperial Autonetics. They asked for the oldest man on the expedition, a full Motie lifetime ago!"

"Mediator lifetime."

"Whatever. Have you considered who they didn't ask for? Dad. Mom. Bishop Hardy. Admiral Kutuzov! People who could exterminate them or save them from someone else. Oh, hell, I don't have an answer. Chris wants us thinking about it."

Jennifer was nodding. "A puzzlement. Hey Fyunch(click)s to humans can go mad."

"Oh, come on! And Horace Bury's is the one that stayed sane? I just... Let's all keep thinking, okay?"

"Okay. The message?"

"Not much more. Kevin Renner's in charge of the expedition. I always thought-"

"Yes?"

"Let's say it doesn't astound me that he's in charge. Renner left orders to Balasingham to let us into the Mote system unless he has good reason not to. Freddy, he won't want to let us go."

"We'll see," Freddy said. "I sure can't fight him."

"Run away," Jennifer said. "He has to stay to guard the Moties, and he won't shoot at us."

"Don't be silly," Freddy said. "Loaded down the way we are, that cruiser's boats could catch us with a long head start. Glenda Ruth, are you sure we want to go to the Mote?"

"I'm sure," Jennifer said.

"Chris wants us. Freddy, what do they have to bargain with? The Crazy Eddie Worm might make all the difference."

"Shouldn't we leave a breeding set here?"

"Pointless," Glenda Ruth said. "It won't be that long before the Institute ship gets to New Cal. My parents, and all the worms you'd ever want. But meanwhile, Bury and Renner may need bargaining chips fast."

Freddy mulled it over. "Well, all right. Look, how big a hurry are we in?"

"The quicker the better. Why?"

"Then we spend some time here." Freddy touched the intercom button. "Kakumi, it's time to lighten ship. Strip down to racing trim. Leave that special cargo in place, but otherwise lighten ship's stores."

Jennifer caught his grimace. "What?"

"George. He didn't volunteer for this. I'll leave him with the Navy if they'll let me. I sure hope one of you can cook!"

Hecate was in shambles. Freddy and Terry Kakumi worked to strip out bulkheads, rearrange equipment, and neither wanted help from Glenda Ruth or Jennifer. Glenda Ruth watched Freddy connect a hose to the foam wall, suck the air out all in one shoomph, roll it up and expose the master bedroom to all and sundry. Kakumi moved in with the hose, mated it to the bed, and shoomph.

To Hades with it, she thought. I'm going to take a shower while there's still a shower facility.

She felt superfluous. The Navy had no objections to Glenda Ruth's talking to the Moties, but the Moties were taking their time about answering the invitation. Why? Motie Mediators always wanted to talk; the decision must come from the Master, the one called Marco Polo.

Explorer and ambassador. The first expedition to the Mote had consisted of two Imperial warships, MacArthur and Lenin, with Lenin forbidden to talk to the Moties at all, and MacArthur greatly restricted in what information could be passed along. The Moties had obtained several books of human history from Chaplain Hardy of the MacArthur, but none covered events as recent as the invention of the Alderson Drive. That left them a limited number of human names and cultures to draw on,

They had chosen: Marco Polo, the Master. Sir Walter Raleigh, the senior Mediator. Interesting choice of names.

Glenda Ruth heard Jennifer's voice as she wriggled out of the shower bag. "Yes. Henry Hudson? Yes, of course... No, I can't promise that, Mr. Hudson, but I can let you talk to my superior." Jennifer's arm semaphored in frantic circles.

Glenda Ruth slid quickly into a towelsuit and moved up beside her.

Henry Hudson was a young Motie furred in brown and white; the pattern didn't match Glenda Ruth's memories of Jock and Charlie. Family markings differed, maybe. The creature seemed both strange and familiar. This one was probably no more than twelve Mote Prime years old, but Moties matured much faster than humans.

And Mediators aboard the other Motie ships would be watching everything. Glenda Ruth felt a surge of stage fright - nothing to what Jennifer must be feeling.

"Good day to you, Ms. Ambassador," the Motie said. Brown irised manlike eyes looked directly into hers. "Jennifer tells me you are Glenda Ruth Blaine, addressed formally as the Honorable Ms. Blaine. I call myself Henry Hudson, and I speak for Marco Polo, my Master. Might I know the nature and extent of your political power?"

Glenda Ruth smiled with the hint of a deprecating shrug. "Through family relationships, but none given formally. We came in some haste. I'll be granted some decision power just because I was here and others weren't, and my family..." She trailed off. It felt like talking to a squid: the creature wasn't reacting right.

She was vaguely aware that behind her Jennifer was speaking rapidly and quietly into a mike. A middie was in the second viewscreen; then an officer; then Balasingham himself. Good. He didn't try to interrupt.

The Motie said, "It delights me to speak to you regardless."

The creature's Anglic was textbook perfect. Her arms...

"Your progenitors visited us before my birth! Including your father?"

"Father and mother."

"Ah. How did it change them?" Arms, shoulders, head, moved wrongly, with a momentary illusion of broken joints, and Glenda Ruth was suddenly terribly aware of her own arms, shoulders, fingers, body language moving without conscious thought, in a language learned from Charlie and Jock. And suddenly she understood.

"You were not trained by a human's Fyunch(click)!"

"No, milady." The Motie moved its arms in a pattern unfamiliar to Glenda Ruth. "I have been taught your language, and some of your customs. I am aware that you do not experience our cycle of reproduction, and that your power structures are different from ours, but I have been assigned no one human to study."

"As yet."

"As you say. Not until we meet the givers of orders in your Empire." It paused. "You do not speak for your Masters. I have been told that I would meet-humans-who were neither Mediator nor Master, but I confess that the experience is stranger than I had anticipated."

"You speak for...

"Medina Traders and certain allied families. My sister Eudoxus returned to the Mote with your ships."

Glenda Ruth grinned. "Eudoxus. Medina Traders. For Mr. Bury's benefit, of course."

"Of course. The terms would be familiar to him."

"But that name would imply that you do not speak for the Motie species. Who are Medina Traders? Who must we negotiate with?"

"We are the family with the foresight and the power to be here in the moment after Crazy Eddie's Sister opened a path. You are surely aware that none can speak for the Motie species. It's a problem, isn't it? The Empire doesn't like that." Henry Hudson studied her for a moment. His own posture still showed nothing. "You have learned Motie customs, some of them, but from a group I have never met." It paused again. "I wish to consult the Ambassador. Forgive me." The screen blanked.

"What's happening?" Freddy asked.

"I'm not sure. Captain Balasingham, have you spoken with these Moties?"

"Only formalities, my Lady," Agamemnon's skipper said from the viewscreen. "We instructed them to take station here. They have requested to be taken to our seat of government, and we told them that would happen in due time. Not much else. There's something odd happening, isn't there?"

"Yes."

"Why did he have to go running to his superior?"

"He doesn't represent King Peter. Or anybody who knew King Peter's family."

"King Peter?" Balasingham prompted.

"King Peter headed the Motie alliance that dealt with MacArthur and Lenin. They sent us our first group of Motie ambassadors, the ones I grew up with. But these Moties don't represent King Peter or any large Motie group. He doesn't even know the... well, the signals, the body language that Charlie and Jock taught me." Glenda Ruth's arms, torso, shoulders, moved in twitchy intricacy as she recited, " ‘Irony, nerves, anger held in check, you ask too much, trust my words, trust me fully.' Universal, simple stuff even a human can learn."

Jennifer Banda wasn't breathing. Behind her unfocused eyes she was trying to memorize what she had seen.

"I'm afraid that still doesn't mean anything to me, my Lady," Balasingham said.

"This Motie represents a group that has been out of contact with King Peter's group for a very long time," Glenda Ruth said. "Cycles. Several cycles."

When Balasingham frowned in puzzlement, Jennifer added, "But King Peter's organization was very powerful. Widespread. Very likely planetwide."

"Planetwide, indeed. They had to be," Glenda Ruth said.

"So any group out of touch so long ..." Jennifer fell silent.

"I still don't get it, but I guess I don't have to. So what are they consulting about?" Balasingham demanded.

"I hope," Glenda Ruth said, "I hope he's getting permission to tell us the truth."

"I am instructed to invite you to the Mote System," Henry Hudson said. "To offer you any assistance we can to aid in that journey and thereafter terminate this conversation. I regret that this is necessary."

"I had hoped you would tell us much more."

"We will... explain everything, to those who have the power to make decisions," the Motie said. "My Lady, you understand, when we talk to you, we tell you more than we learn, yet if we convince you to aid us, we must also convince others."

"So you are still concealing Motie history," Glenda Ruth said.

"Details that might aid your bargaining position? Yes. Not the basics. It is clear that you now know we are capable of war. You infer our capabilities from the probes we have sent," Henry Hudson said. "But you conceal your recent history, your military abilities, your strategies, as is proper. Doubtless you will reveal these in due time. As we will reveal ours. My Lady, it has been delightful speaking with you, and I hope we will meet again after we have been permitted to speak with those whom you obey. I will receive any recorded message you care to send. Good-bye."

Commander Balasingham pulled his lips into a tight line. "Andy, I don't like this much."

Anton Rudakov, Agamemnon's Sailing Master, nodded in sympathy.

Balasingham activated the mike again. "Mr. Townsend, it's not yet established that I should permit you to go, much less store your surplus gear and personnel!"

"Oh, well, that's all right, the Moties offered to take care of my gear if you didn't have room," Freddy said.

"Yeah, I heard that."

"I mean, George will have to stay with you, but he's a retired Navy cox'n, he won't be in the way. Good cook," the Honorable Freddy Townsend said wistfully.

Balasingham sighed. "Mr. Townsend, you want to go off to the Mote system. Your ship is unarmed. We've been shooting at Motie ships since before you were born!"

"We've been invited," Freddy said. "By the Moties, Eudoxus and Henry Hudson. We have recognition signals, and both say there won't be any shooting."

"They say it. And you're headed into totally uncharted areas. If you don't come back, the Blaines will have my head even if your parents don't. And to what end?"

Glenda Ruth's voice spoke from off camera, and Freddy was seen to wince a little. "Commodore Renner thought it was important. Mr. Bury thought it was important enough to send one of his ships to rendezvous with us and fill our tanks. It's important, Commander."

"Okay, I'll give you that, they think it's a good idea, but ma'am, that's a dangerous area."

"Hecate's faster than most people think," Freddy said. "Now that we've taken out the luxury stuff."

"And you'll get lost-" Balasingham cut off the mike when he saw his Sailing Master waving. "Yeah, Andy?"

Anton Rudakov said, "Skipper, whatever happens to them, they're not likely to get lost. I know you don't follow yacht racing much, but even you have to have heard of Freddy Townsend."

"Freddy Town- Oh. Invented something, didn't he?"

"Reinvented. In the Hellgate race he did a gravity assist around the star and then unfurled a lightsail. Everybody calls them spinnakers now, but he was the first."

"You sure that's him? He looks like a kid."

"He started racing as crew on his cousin's ship when he was twelve," Rudakov said. "Skippered his own at age seventeen. In the past eight years he's won a bunch, Skipper. He lost at Heligate, though. The sun flared and the sail shredded."

Balasingham opened the mike again. "My crew tells me I ought to know who you are, Mr. Townsend. And that I should ask you about the Hellgate race."

"Well, I didn't win that one," Freddy said.

"Suppose I send one of my officers with you?"

"Thank you, no."

"Suppose there's a fight?"

The image on the screen changed. A surprisingly adult young lady, very serious. "Commander," Glenda Ruth said, "we do thank you for worrying about us. But we don't need help! Freddy's ship will be faster without any extra people. We have a good engineer, and if there's a fight, we'll lose, and it won't matter if we have one or fifty of your crew with us."

"Miss Blaine-"

"Warriors," she said. "They're a Motie subspecies bred specifically for war. Nobody's ever seen them in the flesh and lived. We have statuettes of them on record. Our Motie ambassadors tried to tell us they were mythical demons, and that's what they look like."

Glenda Ruth's prose turned rich and purple as she went into detail. Freddy found himself sweating. Given what she knew, why was she willing to face such creatures? But Glenda Ruth had never backed away from a dare.

"Exactly," Balasingham said patiently. "It's too dangerous."

"If we're attacked, we'll surrender," she told him. "And talk."

"Why would they listen?"

"We have something they want. We need to put it in Commodore Renner's hands so that he'll have something to negotiate with."

"What is it, Miss Blaine?"

"I'm afraid that's not my secret, Commander. My father gave it to me. I expect you'll find out in a few weeks, The trouble is, in a few weeks almost anything could happen. Commander, you're risking your ship, your crew, the whole Empire, on your ability to block the Moties from getting past you."

"It's not what I'd choose-"

"And we admire you for it. But we all know it may not work. Commodore Renner and His Excellency are trying their own approach, and they've asked for our help. Commander, some of the aristocracy may be riding on its privileges, but the Blaines don't!"

Then, more reasonably, but in a tone that did not even hint that it could be disobeyed: "We have a fast ship. Freddy's a racing pilot, his computer is better than yours, our engineer is first rate, and I can talk to Moties better than anyone including my brother. We thank you for your concern. Freddy, let's go. Thank you, Commander."

The screen darkened for a moment.

"She wouldn't dare," Balasingham muttered

The screen showed the Honorable Frederick Townsend. "Hecate requesting permission to come alongside for fueling," he said formally.

Balasingham heard Rudakov chuckling. No sympathy there! He turned back to the screen. "Permission granted. You can turn your excess baggage over to Chief Halperin."

"Very good. Also, if you have chocolate or oranges aboard Agcimemnoii, we'll need it all."

Balasingham was beyond surprise. "I'll find out. Godspeed, Hecate."

"Thank you."

I-point dead ahead," Freddy said. "Jump in ten minutes. Secure for Alderson Jump. Ladies, strap in good."

Hecate was an empty shell. The main cabin area was crossed by nemourlon webbing. The elaborate shower was gone. Of the cooking gear, only a heater remained. With the walls the oversize water tank made a conspicuous bulge.

Glenda Ruth and Jennifer used the harness attachments at the center of the web. Freddy typed instructions to the ship as Terry Kakumi went from system to system, manually shutting each down to prevent accidental activation following the jump.

"We shouldn't find any trouble," Glenda Ruth said. "Henry Hudson said that Medina controls the space around the Jumppoint... Crazy Eddie's Sister. I have recognition signals."

"Why do I feel you lack confidence?" Jennifer asked.

"No messages," Glenda Ruth said. "Renner, my brother, Bury- they'd try to get a message through, and even if they didn't manage it, the skipper of Atropos-Rawlins-would have been ordered to get a message out. Freddy, doesn't Atropos carry a boat that could do that?"

"Yep. Longboats on light cruisers have both Field and Drive."

"Fuel?" Jennifer wondered.

"There'd be enough to pop through and squirt a message," Freddy said. "Clear enough they couldn't do that. We might guess that somebody won't let ‘em."

"Which means-we're about to Jump into what?" Jennifer asked. "Maybe they'll shoot first! Like we do at the blockade!"

"Not likely." Freddy turned back to his console.

"He's right," Glenda Ruth said. "Look at it. They sent the unarmed embassy fleet. What could they gain by luring ships into the Mote system and destroying them? That wouldn't make sense."

"And we know Moties always make sense," Jennifer said banteringly. "Don't we?"

"Want to go home?" Glenda Ruth asked.

"Humpf."

"Here we go," Freddy said. "We'll go through at nine kilometers a second relative to the Mote. That's close enough to orbital velocity at the other end. Should keep us from running into anything. Other hand, it'll make it easy for anyone to catch us. That okay, Glenda Ruth?"

"Yes." If the tiny note of uncertainty in her voice upset him, Freddy Townsend didn't show it. "Stand by, then. Here we go."

Crazy Eddie's Sister was a hundred hours and more than a hundred million kilometers behind Sinbad. Almost everyone was asleep. Buckman was on watch, and Joyce Trujillo had wakened long before she wanted to. She saw it first.

Indicators blinking in the display in front of Buckman. Faerie lights glowing in the magnified display aft, colored balloons, a flash. "Jacob? Isn't that-"

"Activity at the I-point," Buckman said. His voice was thick with fatigue. "We're getting a relay. It's six light-minutes to the I-point, don't know how far the relay ship is from it. Kevin! Captain!"

Everyone crowded into the lounge. Kevin Renner blinked at the displays while Buckman spoke rapidly. "It's a battle, of course. Looks like a third fleet just arriving."

"See if you can get me Eudoxus," Renner said.

"There's a ship!" Joyce said.

"No Field. Not a Navy ship," Blaine said.

The ship's entry triggered events in ever-widening circles. Motie ships changed course. Some fired on others. Those near the intruder- "Bombs," Buckman said. The newcomer rotated, tumbled, rotated- "That's Hecate," Blaine said.

"How do you know?" Joyce demanded.

"Well, it's an Empire-style racing yacht, Joyce."

Joyce was silent. Renner said, "I can't do anything about this myself. Chris, shall we tell them what the treasure is? It might motivate them."

Blaine thought about it. His lips moved rapidly, talking silently to himself; then he said, "No sir. Let me talk to Eudoxus; you're asleep. But we're in a better bargaining position if they don't know about the Worm. We'll let Glenda Ruth work her end."

"If she lives."

The Master of Base Six, Mustapha Pasha as he would be called when the humans arrived, was lactating. With a babe cradled in his right arms and the urge to mate rising in him, he was not in a proper mood for crisis. Emergencies never happen at a convenient time.

He'd been given this much luck: East India Trading's Masters had no wish to be in Mustapha's company at such a time. Most of them were keeping to their own dome and domains when East India's signal arrived. They must have heard in the same instant that Mustapha did: the Crazy Eddie point had moved.

If it was a false alarm, Medina Trading would lose much bargaining power. Mustapha Pasha would likely die, executed for murder.

Such was luck and such was life. Mustapha began issuing orders. Only details were needed; these plans were years and decades old.

First: bumblebee-sized missiles sprayed the East India dome. Four got through. Most of East India's Masters had been in the ruptured dome, and a third of their Warriors, too, kept as a guard.

East India's remaining Warriors reacted at once; but Mustopha's Warriors were already attacking. Bombs and energy beams tore the Base Six iceball and its fragile housing. Clouds of ice crystals exploded from the surface; colored flashes lit them from within. A kamikaze attack destroyed one of the farming domes. Without orders to guide them, East India's Warriors were going berserk. It didn't matter. They would have had to die, each and all of them, regardless

Of other Classes, many died, too. Mustapha Pasha had enough of Engineers and Doctors and the space-specialized Farmers, who tended the agricultural domes. The remaining Masters of East India Company were held safe, and enough others to give them an entourage. They would serve as hostages until new terms could be made.

After all, East India and Medina were not in fundamental disagreement. They must re-divide certain resources and assign access to the powerful aliens on the far side of the Sister; but this was best thought of as a gambling game waged with lasers and gamma beams and projectiles, technology and false maps and treachery.

7 Labyrinth of Lies

As for those with whom you have made a treaty and who abrogate it every time, and do not fear God, If you meet them in battle, inflict on them such a defeat as would be a lesson for those who come after them, and that they may be warned. For God does not like those who are treacherous.

al-Qur'an

Freddy always recovered first.

And Freddy was swearing in a lurid mumble as his fingers wobbled over the controls. Hecate's oversize attitude jets kicked the racing yacht about like a windball. Glenda Ruth surged in the elastic web, her vision wobbling about the cabin, uncontrolled. Jennifer was whimpering, trying to curl up. Terry offered no resistance to the turbulence, waiting until his body would obey him.

"Feddy lub," Glenda Ruth said, her tongue like a foreign invader in her mouth, "Freddy! Calm down and talk to me about it!"

"Talk." Another surge, milder this time. "We're surrounded. Embedded in an armada of teeny warships fighting another armada of teeny warships, Coal Sack direction. Nukes going flash. Radiation count is scary. I'm trying to get the water tank between us and that, if I can stop the lizard-raping rotation!" He was wailing like a child.

"That will do it?"

"Yeah. The water-the water tank. That's what it's for, partly, stop us from getting fried. Partly, when I dive near a sun-that's got it! And there goes another bomb, flash, wouldn't you know, but I think it's blocked, too." He bashed at keys again. "Damn!" Held one key down. "There. Now I think it's safe to wake up the computer, but I'll send it a test problem before I give it control... -

"Not yet. Another minute. Anyway, when we dive near a sun to get a gravity assist, I don't want solar radiation sleeting through Hecate, so I mounted this mucking great water tank alongside the cabin for a shield. And I freeze it. Then the hull's superconducting, of course, so I can cool the hull by running a wire into the water tank. I can do serious aerobraking or get awfully close to a sun because it can't fry us without first boiling all that thermal mass of water, and even then I can vent the steam-" Freddy sagged back. "And I guess the battle isn't going to fry us, but those ships might unless you talk to them. Computer's safe now. How are you doing?"

"How do I sound?"

"Lucid."

"I'll try talking to them. I don't think I want to move, though. Can you connect me?"

"Sure-one moment. Terry?" No answer. "He stays out longer than me. All right, you're on the frequency Henry Hudson gave us."

She spoke the syllables she'd been told would show her to be an honored guest of Medina Traders. Nothing. She spoke again.

"That got a reaction," Freddy said. "Two of the ships out there- they've changed course. Others are shooting at them-Wups!"

"What?"

A fierce green blaze bathed Freddy's face, from a screen she couldn't see. "Someone just tried to boil us! No real damage, but I sure hope they don't do it again. And-look here. Can you see the screen?"

An alien face. A brown-and-white, a Mediator. It spoke alien words. Nothing she recognized at all, It spoke again- "They hit us again!" Freddy said. "Not so hard, but do something!"

"Surrender," she said. "There's a word-"

"Use it! We can't take many more hits like that!"

"Right. Freddy, we'll have to open the airlock. Both doors."

He did things to the controls. "Whenever you say. Jennifer and Terry are sealed in, suit integrity checks. Yours too. Whenever you say."

"Leave the light on in the airlock. No other lights."

"Romantic."

She considered various answers and chose, "Yeah."

"Let me get this straight," Renner said. "You want me to rig something that makes static and simulates a failure in the communication system."

"Only in the transmission system," Bury said. "Elementary politeness, Kevin. I wish sometimes to be able to observe the Moties while we are not ourselves observed. Let them see static, while we continue to receive their signals. Give the control to me, and do not use it except as I direct. Can you do this?"

"Sure. It could even be real, once or twice, but won't they be suspicious?"

"Of course they will be suspicious. Thank you."

"Need it right now?"

"It would do no harm."

"There are now three fleets at Crazy Eddie's Sister," Eudoxus said. "The new faction we will call the East India Trading Company, a group based in the Belt asteroids, but with many ships. East India was a nominal ally of ours until a few hours ago."

"What happened then?" Renner demanded.

"They will be allies again when we have negotiated new changes in status. I will explain later. In any event East India appears to be losing. So are we. The Crimean Tartars retain possession of your third ship."

"Three fleets. One's yours. Do you have any ships left?"

"One intelligence ship, with a Mediator aboard who is relaying data. Our other warships could do no good and have been ordered to retreat. No fighting ships remain near Crazy Eddie's Sister."

"Damnation. What can you do?"

"Inform my Master. Request means to communicate with the Crimean Tartars, learn what I can of their situation and goals, and ask what I may offer in trade. You must tell me, Kevin, what must I ask for, what must we have, and what may they keep?"

"Mmm..." Kevin rubbed his face. Bristles. "The ship, Hecate, probably isn't worth saving. We want the humans, three to five humans back in good order. Tell them the Empire will be enraged if anything happens to those humans."

"It will, too," Joyce said. "They once sent a hundred ships to avenge the death of a Prince Imperial."

"I hadn't heard that story," Renner said. "Thank you, Joyce."

"Are these people that important?" Eudoxus demanded.

"Not quite," Renner said. "Next thing to it, though. Eudoxus, there are goods, including trade goods aboard Hecate. Some will be very valuable. Others-if possible, consult with the woman Mediator on Hecate. Her name is"-he glanced at Chris Blaine and got a nod-"the Honorable Glenda Ruth Blaine."

"Blaine. As I understand your naming conventions, she will be the daughter of a lord. A Lord Blaine. We know of a Lord Blaine."

"That's the one," Renner said.

"The commander of MacArthur. Second-in-command of your first expedition to us. You have not exaggerated her importance."

"Right. So get Glenda Ruth's opinion as to what to do with those trade goods."

"Their nature?"

"Not known to me. I'd expect them to carry chocolate, though."

"I never tasted chocolate," Eudoxus said.

"The Tartars can have this consignment. We'll get more for you when we can. There may even be some aboard Atropos. Okay?"

"Thank you. They will put restrictions on contacts with their- guests."

"Right. Stand by, I'll see if we have more instructions."

"With your permission I will begin making the Crimeans understand the importance of what they hold. Also to tell them of your life support requirements"

"Good. Thank you." Renner switched off. "Horace?"

Bury had watched in silence. He sipped at the coffee Nabil had brought. "One or another human might want to stay as liaison. Be prepared to give in on this, but ask for the return of all. I think it best not to mention the nature of the cargo."

"Chocolate?" Joyce asked.

Buckman said, "Signal from Eudoxus. Urgent message."

Chris Blaine inhaled sharply, started to say something, but didn't.

"Everyone ready? Here goes." Renner thumbed the communications controls. "News, Eudoxus?"

"Yes, our observation ship reports that there are now two Crimean Tartar ships attached alongside Hecate. The ship itself does not appear to be harmed and was sending messages just prior to its capture."

Chris Blaine's relief was obvious. Captured was better than killed.

"One message was a broadcast of a Medina Traders hailing signal," Eudoxus said. "The rest were to Crimean Tartar ships and were not intercepted. Stand by a moment-here is one we recorded."

The viewscreen showed a human in full space gear, helmet closed, attached to a web of restraining lines. "We come in peace. Fnamyunch(sniff!)."

"That latter is a Medina Traders recognition signal," Eudoxus said. "She could only have obtained it by speaking with our embassy ship."

"That should help with your negotiations," Bury said.

"Ah? Ah, yes, Excellency, if they believe us, and they should. Thank you."

"Right," Renner said. "Stay on that. Anyone else? Good. Eudoxus, please call your Master and establish negotiations with the Crimean Tartars."

"We are beginning that now. I will be needed shortly."

"Right. Then do something else for me. Call me back. And try to tell me who all these people are?"

Eudoxus nodded his head and shoulders, smiling, and vanished.

The colored lights in the control display were the only lights in Hecate. Hecate's four crew waited in a vast dark space, listening to clanking and thudding from the hull. They talked in whispers, and rarely.

With a sound like a gunshot, an elliptical section of hull blasted loose and into Hecate, edge on, straight toward Glenda Ruth, Jennifer shrieked. Freddy yelled warning. Glenda Ruth snapped her tether webbing loose and kicked herself clear... almost clear. The mass banged her flailing foot and tumbled aft, its course unaltered, and banged around back there where the cabin tapered to a rounded point. The cabin pressure fell rapidly, climbed, changed again, then stabilized.

Glenda Ruth's unladylike swearing fell into a sudden silence.

She hadn't seen the Motie enter.

Its gripping hand found a handhold. The crude-looking gun in its right hands was pointed at Glenda Ruth. She screamed and covered her face, then hurriedly grabbed a handhold and spread her hands wide.

Freddy asked, "Are you hurt?"

"It cracked me on the shin. Stay tethered, guys. The Motie might have shot me because I was moving. Just wait it out."

"It's a Warrior," Jennifer said.

"I think so. It's got toes, but.... yeah."

Now the Warrior was gripping handholds with its feet, through digital gloves. A second weapon had appeared, a spiked club. The Warrior's head and shoulders swiveled rapidly. Its gun pointed everywhere. It leaped across the cabin, thudded against the wall, and scanned from there. When it was satisfied, it warble-whistled.

Another Motie came through. It was squat compared to the greyhound look of the Warrior. Its pressure suit hid the pattern of fur, but its behavior identified it: it was a Brown, an Engineer. Another Engineer followed and pulled a transparent balloon after it through the hole. Shapes moved within.

The Engineers converged on the controls, sliding past and around Hecate's crew, ignoring them. One began to play with the controls. Freddy seemed braced for disaster, but nothing much was happening.

Another Motie entered. A pressure suit hid her fur; she was a bit larger than the Engineers. A Mediator? The Engineers huddled with the new one, then kicked themselves aft. One opened the balloon and released four Motie shapes each less than half a meter long. They began to work at the aft of Hecate's cabin.

"Brownies," Jennifer said.

Glenda Ruth peered close. The little ones were chocolate brown, darker than an Engineer; and each of these had four arms. Watchmakers, "brownies," the Class that had destroyed MacArthur. All but one. The fourth was crawling carefully along the wall, toward the bridge. It was a different color, cream and pale brown, and it had three arms.

It launched from the wall, impacted against Jennifer, and clung. It chirped at her and waited for a response.

Glenda Ruth spoke to the big Motie. "Hello? Can you speak?"

The Motie watched her. "We come in peace for all mankind, and for your sake, too." Glenda Ruth said. "Can you understand me? We carry trade goods. We have the right to make binding treaties."

The newest Motie disappeared through the hole. Ignoring her.

"I can't really tell, but that thing doesn't move like it has anything to say. I don't think it's a Mediator," Glenda Ruth said. "Freddy, don't touch any controls."

"Brace yourselves," Terry said.

Glenda Ruth asked, "Why?" before she noticed that the Warrior had anchored itself with three limbs out of five. A moment later the cabin shuddered and rocked.

Freddy said, "That's torn it. Glenda Ruth, you-"

There was thrust. It built up smoothly over six or seven seconds to a tenth of a gravity and stopped.

Freddy said, "My readings don't connect to the rest of the ship. They've disconnected the cabin."

Jennifer began to laugh. "Maybe they'll bring the rest separately," she said, "and give it back."

"Oh, thank you very much. Nevertheless I fear Hecate's racing days are over. Any idea what's happening?"

Glenda Ruth said carefully, "Ooyay ohknay apingtay us eythey areay"

"What? Ah. What else?'

"Henry Hudson and the Medina Traders believed themselves in control here," she said. "Clearly they aren't."

"Who is?"

"I don't know, but it changes everything, doesn't it? The Empire will make no important deals with anyone who doesn't speak for all of the Moties."

"Oh. All right. Now what just happened?"

"We've been captured by a warship. They don't understand what they have, but they can see it's valuable, so they'll be asking for orders. Eventually they'll send a Mediator. Who may or may not know Anglic, Freddy."

"There's air," Freddy said. "Best open up the suits to save the air tanks."

Jennifer tentatively opened her faceplate. "Smells all right- hey!"

Terry Kakumi swiveled toward her. "What?"

"It's a Mediator pup!" Jennifer said. "It has to be. Look, brown and white, and not much bigger than a Watchmaker, that's what it is. Glenda Ruth-"

"Figures," Glenda Ruth said. "As soon as they knew they'd be dealing with humans, they bred a Mediator. Jennifer, I think you've got a friend for life."

Jennifer and the Mediator pup considered each other wonderful. Jennifer cradled it in her arms and answered when it talked. The sounds it made were nonsense, but gradually they began to sound like Jennifer herself.

When she handed the creature to Terry, it cried and tore itself free and jumped off Terry's chin to reach her again. The pup wanted no part of other humans.

So the waiting was hard for the rest of them, and the entertainment thin. Glenda Ruth considered running a history flick on the monitors. Were the other classes, the Warriors and Engineers, really so specialized that they wouldn't watch?

"They've plugged all the holes in the cabin," Freddy said. "Near as I can tell, this is normal Hecate air."

"Temperature's all right, too," Jennifer said. She fondled the pups's ear.

"Obvious. They tore the cabin loose and sealed it and gave us our own life support system back. We're alive but helpless. They'll have time to copy our gear before anything stops working," Glenda Ruth said. "Air doesn't worry me as much as..."

"Yes?"

"Freddy, there may be more battles. Over us."

"Good news from all over," Jennifer Banda said. "I always wondered what the crown felt like when the lion and the unicorn fought over it."

Eudoxus seemed calm. "My Master has been informed. She will set other Mediators to the task of regaining your companions. Our observations show that the inhabited portions of Hecate have been detached from the rest of the ship. The life support systems appear to be intact. Meanwhile, there is heavy message traffic throughout that region. I'll pass on more information as it develops."

Renner said, "But you can at least tell me who's involved, can't you?"

"I can tell you what we have learned of the Crimean Tartars. They were among the powers in the moon system of Mote Beta until they were cast out in a complicated contest with the major Mote Beta clan we call Persia. The Tartar group then subsisted on trade and service to other powers until they were swallowed by the Khanate. They're much smaller now, of course, and as nothing has been heard of them, we thought they must have been successfully integrated into the Khanate families. In light of their capture of your ship we must conclude that they retained some independent identity."

Renner considered the death rate implicit in the phrase they're much smaller now among a people who die if they can't get pregnant. "Okay. East India?"

"Please reassure me that His Excellency is listening."

Horace Bury sighed. "Put me on."

Kevin turned off his mike. "You sure?"

"We will learn from each other. If I can't catch him in a lie, perhaps"-he jerked his head at Chris Blaine-"another can."

Kevin nodded and swiveled the camera. Bury said, "Greetings, Eudoxus."

The Motie bowed; the one ear folded flat, then extended.

"You spoke of the year we spent in Mote system as Period One, Period Two you spent sending ships to break the Empire blockade at Murcheson's Eye. Is it so?"

"Yes, Excellency. Period One began as MacArthur intercepted a miner belonging to Medina Trading. Thereafter a Mote Prime group headed by a powerful planetary Master who called himself King Peter took control of communications with the human expedition."

"Was there a battle?" Renner asked.

"None that you were intended to notice."

"I saw none." Renner said.

"His Excellency noticed the change," Eudoxus said. "I know because-"

"Yes, of course," Bury said. "What I saw was that the Mote Prime group had no interest at all in the creature we had aboard- and although that Engineer had sent a message to its home, nothing came of that."

"Bloody Hell," Renner muttered. "The Skipper never thought of that, and neither did I."

"That also was clear," Eudoxus said. "Only His Excellency understood the true situation." He looked expectantly at Bury. "So. Period One ended with MacArthur destroyed and your battleship Lenin departing Mote system. The ship and its recorded observations sent back by our Engineer you took aboard gave Medina knowledge of how to build an energy shield... Langston Field? Name of a human inventor?'

Kevin said, "Right."

The Motie was amused. Naming a tool for an Engineer! "Our wanderings began shortly after. Our Master saw that there would be great changes, and Medina Traders would not be powerful enough to hold where we were. Thus we traded what we had to Persia: they would take our territory and give us ships. Then during our withdrawal from the Mote Beta Trailing Trojans," she said, "our Engineers developed a working Langston Field and traded it to Persia for more assistance in withdrawing to the Comets.

"It was bad timing. If we had been larger and more powerful, we need not have abandoned our base at all. With what we gave them and what they had, Persia came to rule the Mote Beta moons. They didn't merely arm ships with your Field. They skimmed through the remains of the Mote Beta Ring. After a million years of mining, the planet retained only a narrow ring of dust, but that was megatons of dust. One pass and Persia had it all. We could have had that ourselves... but we were too far away and might not have held it, and in any case we had set our sights further."

Blaine caught Bury's eye. They exchanged nods. Blaine's voice came to Renner on the private intercom circuit. "Medina plans far and acts fast. And they've got some of the best Engineers in the system."

"During Period Two we tested your blockade at the Eye." Eudoxus said, "To do that we needed the assistance of the group we call Byzantium. This is a large and powerful coalition located in the Mote Gamma moons, far from Persia, far from our original home in Mote Beta's Trailing Trojans. I may give you details of our negotiations with them-"

"For the moment, continue your story."

"Well, then, various bandits had already noted our activity. East India Company was one of those. This is the group I spoke of, asteroid based, many ships, nominal allies of Medina until recently, and should be again if things go as planned.

"Still with me? The period during which the Curdle in the Coal Sack might be expected to collapse is Period Three. King Peter of Mote Prime gave you data we knew to be incorrect, data indicating that the Curdle would not become a star for some time. Incidentally, King Peter's data were incorrect also. They did not expect the star to ignite for another fifty of your years. We knew better, and we had the advantage of knowing what the Empire had been told. Of course we did not know precisely when the star would form, and indeed the date we expected was years too early."

"Wow," Joyce said. Her voice was barely audible.

Renner grinned slightly and looked to be sure that she was recording. Good. That gave them an extra copy for insurance. It would take study to be certain he understood everything Eudoxus was saying.

"Period Three opens around a hundred thousand hours ago," Eudoxus continued. "We prepared to exploit the new opening. Medina Traders began sending probes solely to determine whether the Crazy Eddie point had jumped. From your viewpoint these ships would still have come sporadically, and we still shaped them to shake the Empire's composure. You were not to notice a difference. We could afford nothing so flamboyant as the iceball fleet... . Did that have any success?"

Chris Blaine wiggled his eyebrows, offstage. Bury said. "Only in exciting our admiration."

"Our later probes were cheaper, but still our resources were not expanding to match our tasks. While our estimates were better than King Peter's, we made ready too early, and it was costly to remain in a state of readiness. Power shifted among the Mote Gamma families. Medina's behavior was becoming too conspicuous, our security was getting less attention than-"

Bury said, "You were expanding too fast."

Eudoxus-Bury3A-nodded reluctantly. "Wealth that should have gone to security went to feed our growing numbers. Eighty thousand hours ago, East India Company surged out of the Mote Gamma Leading Trojans and took possession of the Crazy Eddie point. They replenished the cost of that mighty battle by dismantling two of our probes already en route to the Eye."

"Where was your ally Byzantium?"

"Far around its orbit, too distant to interfere directly, preoccupied with local problems, and unable to send a large battle fleet. They were not happy, and they blamed us for our carelessness. But the Curdle's collapse was slow in coming, and nobody loves blockade duty."

That's for damn sure, Renner thought, and caught an answering nod from Chris Blaine.

"Having been dispossessed, we did what we could to recover our position. Medina Traders brought the East India Company in on part of the secret. Having taken the old Crazy Eddie point, East India Company was given the obligations, too. Byzantium gave them your Fyunch(click)'s second student's third apprentice."

Kevin said, "Just so I don't get lost -

"Bury-One has died. Medina Traders has Bury 3A, me. Byzantium still has Bury 2 and Bury 3B. Byzantium's Bury 3C went to East India Company. Another family bought Bury 3D while they still had wealth; they may have sold some Bury-Fours. Byzantium may be training others."

Bury stared at the misshapen shadow in wonder. "Have I become the basis of your economy?"

"Not extensively, Excellency, not yet. Of course I am become immensely more valuable since I have had the honor of speaking with you directly."

"Wonderful."

"Our own problem was that East India Company sent the cheapest possible probes. You were bound to notice. I expect that was why you arrived so rapidly?. Yes. But having a Horace Bury Fyunch(click) made East India Company more confident than they should have been-as we intended. Their Bury student is not an astronomer. We gave them a wrong mapping for the expected new Crazy Eddie point, and they accepted it."

"They may be annoyed with you. They are attacking these interlopers, the Crimean Tartars, but whom were they sent to attack?"

"Excellency, you may well- Excuse me," Eudoxus said, and the monitor screen went dark.

Kevin said, "Blaine?"

Chris Blaine said, "The Motie ships got easier to hit nine years ago. Before my time, but the records show. The Crazy Eddie Squadron thought it was because we were getting better at it."

Bury was nodding, enjoying himself. "The word Byzantine might have been invented just for Moties," he said. "Well, Kevin?"

"We can make maps. Computer maps, holograms that move. We should."

"Yes. Jacob?"

"I've been doing that. Horace, I think your interests and mine may have converged at last. Have a look at this." All the monitors suddenly bloomed with an axial view of the Mote system. For a moment it held, then began turning like a sluggish whirlpool.

"Now, note." Buckman's pointer traced along the shaded ring of comets. "Mote Gamma is resources for anyone in this region. A better source than the nearby comets, right? Because comets are so far apart. Where Mote Gamma is passing, there's an economic boom. When Gamma's gone, there's a recession. Sanity check, Horace?"

"Very likely. The boom would stretch over perhaps twenty degrees of arc before costs grow too great. Mote Beta would be too close to the sun for such an effect. And if... what are these marks? The old Jump point to the Eye, the new one ..."

"Right."

They weren't moving. Matter flowed around and past them.

"The Crazy Eddie points. And the new Jump to the red dwarf, Crazy Eddie's Sister. Thirty degrees around from Mote Gamma, and up ten degrees along the Mote's axis. Medina Trading had no easy access to the Mote Gamma resources."

Renner watched the map display rotate. The Crazy Eddie point, not far outward from Mote Beta's orbit, had moved a few hundred thousand klicks when Buckman's Protostar (the Curdle) became Buckman's Star. But the Sister was a billion klicks away, above the plane of the system and well beyond Mote Gamma.

Eudoxus was back. "Excellency, Captain, my Master will act to recover your people and goods. Our bargaining position is worsening. Hecate is in flight with a Crimean Tartar escort, twelve ships of varying size, running out from the sun and wide of the Khanate positions. It seems the Tartars have severed relations with the Khanate. Thirty-six Tartar ships remain in command of the Sister. The East India Company contingent has fled."

Bury's eyes met Kevin's; he didn't speak.

The Motie said, "Your lost ship should be safe in the hands of the Crimean Tartars. No player in this game would risk harm to something so valuable, not even pirate groups like the Khanate, who can only guess Hecate's value from the maneuvering of others... we'll negotiate how to bring you together."

Of course a Mediator would negotiate, Kevin thought. She could hardly plan a war, though if she could estimate relative strengths but if Hecate must be rescued, it must be up to the Empire ships.

"So you had East India watching the wrong part of the sky," he said. "And now they're pissed?"

"Just so. But they don't command the wealth they had when they wrested the Crazy Eddie point from us. They sent cheap token ships to the Eye, and they can't afford a real war fleet either."

"Tell me about the Khanate."

"Ah, yes, the Khanate. You see, Medina Trading's main base is deep among the comets, not conveniently close to the Sister. A succession of large comets have served as inner bases, generally a few light-minutes from the Sister. We're en route for Inner Base Six even now, and more of our ships will meet us there. But as an immediate source of volatiles and water and ores, we sometimes move a small comet head to pass very near the expected Sister

"The Khanate is based in a cluster of comets outward and forward of Medina Trading. They expect wealth to surge their way when Mote Gamma moves into place in fifty thousand hours. Meanwhile they survive as bandits. They must have wondered at the mad placement of our small comet, but they covet the resources. But the Crimean Tartars seem to know why we wanted resources in place."

Bury asked, "Might they be working with someone else?"

"Instruct me," said the Motie.

"Merely a question, Eudoxus. Who knew of the Sister? Medina and Byzantium and East India, and whoever else might deduce the truth from observation. East India was given a false locus for the Sister, but were you truly prepared to deal fairly with Byzantium?"

"Of course," Eudoxus said.

"Any Motie family could learn the truth by observation and deduction," Bury said. "But Byzantium already knew. Perhaps Byzantium grew unhappy with the notion that Medina would command the Sister, so far from Byzantium's sway. Then Byzantium might seek allies easier to dominate.

"Only a passing thought. Finish your tale, Eudoxus."

The Motie needed a moment to react. "Tale? Easily told. We were already embattled when East India signaled that a token ship intended for the Crazy Eddie point had failed to pop through to the Eye. We sent tokens along the arms of the arc where the Sister was to be expected. An expedition of ten ships was launched after, provisioned and manned well in advance, and all running from the firefight with the Khanate fleet. The rest of the Medina fleet followed in a guarded retreat, abandoning our little comet, intending to take possession of Crazy Eddie's Sister.

"By then East India Company's neutrino gauges and telescopes must have seen the action. They have reason for complaint, as you point out. They took our territory by force. Then they donated resources to the exercise: ten years' or more worth of their pitiful token ships. Now they learn that the Sister is not where they were told, but Medina's fleet is in place. They sent ships.

"None of this surprised us much. But when the Crimean Tartars fleet followed us, we were taken by surprise. Medina expected the entire Khanate fleet to remain with the comet. When our first ship disappeared, the Tartars were seen to correct course. They must have known what they were doing."

Jacob Buckman's head popped up at Renner's ear. "They knew better than Medina."

Renner turned. "Talk to me."

"Why did the Khanate attack now? Now puts the Tartars in just the right position to take the Sister. It looks like some genius among the Tartars-"

"Figured out exactly when the Curdle would collapse. Uh-huh. Eudoxus, you concur?"

"It's not my field, Captain Renner. I'll ask. Or they might have been told."

"By whom?"

"By anyone! Do you believe I have told you of all the families here?"

"Okay. Go on."

"The Tartars destroyed two of the ten Medina expedition ships. One missed the Sister. The rest of us reached the orange dwarf. Our fleet tried to hold the Sister until Byzantium's reinforcements could arrive, but these were not expected soon, or with confidence. Mote Beta is too far. But they held long enough for us all to pop through into an ongoing battle."

"But not long enough to protect Hecate."

"No. And that brings us to present time. In ten hours we will reach Inner Base Six."

8 Medina Base Six

Rebellious angels are worse than unbelieving men.

St. Augustine, City of God

Base Six had changed. Shaped charges blasted most of the worked mass of what had been a comet into shards. A snowstorm of dirty ice and ammonia and rock, all useful ores until the advent of the Sister, expanded in the direction of the battle raging at the Sister. If the detritus didn't shield Base Six from weapons, it would at least blind all watchers. Only Medina's Masters would guess what was happening here, and they only because they had shored in the planning.

The white sphere that remained was colder than a comet need be. East India had known of the refineries that made hydrogen and the ships that took it away, but had never known of the heat pumps. The hydrogen hadn't all been used to fuel ships, and most of the ships hadn't gone all the way out to Medina Trading.

Medina Base Six had become a compact hydrogen iceball with a shell of foamed hydrogen ice. Thus insulated and minutely cooled by evaporation, it would hold its cold for decades; possibly centuries. Buried in the iceball was an industrial-sized Empire style shield generator that had served all six inner bases.

Base Six was too close to the action, too vulnerable.

Its three dozen ships were mostly disassembled. They always had been, always visibly under repair. East India's visiting Muster had complained of this, but had never seen the significance of all those dismounted rocket motors.

Now Medina's Engineers mounted forty-one fusion motors in a ring aft of the half-klick snowball. In hours, Base Six had become a warship. It began accelerating immediately, outward, toward Medina Trading.

Most of Base Six's ships, and the hydrogen they carried, had traveled only as far as the odd-shaped black bubble Mustapha thought of as the Storehouse: odd shaped to avoid detection by radar and other means. Within the Storehouse was a growing store of hydrogen, and a population of Warriors that did not grow because tournaments kept their numbers steady

Now troopships full of Warriors moved to rendezvous with Base Six. Some would land, some would orbit.

Base Six was an armed carrier and fuel dump and warship, the heart of a fleet capable of defending whatever treasure had emerged from Crazy Eddie's Sister.

Sinbad accelerated at .8 gravities, comfortable enough for Moties, not too great a strain on Bury. Behind them the Mote was not much more than a star. It had a barely discernible disk and was just too bright for unprotected human eyes. Murcheson's Eye was a dull red smear off beyond the Mote.

Four Motie ships, with Eudoxus in the lead; then Sinbad, closely followed by Atropos; finally, four more Motie warships.

"That's all I can detect, Captain Renner," Commander Rawlins said. "I have the general impression there are more ships moving around out there. We get a sudden detection flash, but nothing we can lock onto. Like... stealthed ships that change shape?"

"Thank you."

"Sir. We watched the Motie ships during the battle. This gives us another look."

"Have any conclusions?"

"They're pretty good. High performance. We saw nothing but gun actions, no torpedoes. Their ships tend to be small. We could certainly defeat any four of what we've seen so far, barring big surprises."

"I would not rule out surprises."

"No, sir, I sure don't. Captain, can you explain what's going on?"

"Do I detect a note of pathos? All right. It's time for a council of war while we have secure communications." Renner thumbed the intercom. "Please have Lieutenant Blaine come up, and if His Excellency is up to a conversation, he ought to listen in.

"Rawlins, we're not going to Mote Prime. They're out of it. The important players are all offplanet civilizations, and there are a lot of those. The one that was best prepared for the new I-point is Medina Trading, ruled by Caliph Almohad, and his chief negotiator is Eudoxus, the Mediator we're following, all names chosen by Eucloxus. Okay so far?"

"Yes, sir. Who are we fighting?"

"There are a whole bunch of factions." Renner's fingers danced. "I made notes. Here."

"Got it." Rawlins's eyes focused offstage. "Oh boy."

"And that's just the important ones."

"Khanate's got the comet...obody cares... the Tartars hold the new Jump point, and a ship... oh, my God."

"Yeah. Hecate is a civilian ship piloted by the Honorable Frederick Townsend with Chris Blaine's sister, Glenda Ruth Fowler Blaine, aboard as passenger."

"Oh, my God. Captain, Lord Blaine isn't going to be happy about that! Are we going to rescue them?"

"Could we?"

Rawlins was quiet for a moment. "I don't know, but I'd sure as hell hate to go back without trying."

"I see your point, but Eudoxus doesn't ships even with yours. Right now the best safe, and our Motie allies are trying to deal while, we're headed for a Medina Traders was a joint base with East India Trading, been a readjustment of that alliance."

"Readjustment?'

"That's the word Eudoxus used.'

"Somebody else to fight?"

"Maybe."

Chris Blaine came to the bridge and took a place near Renner.

Commander Rawlins said, "Are things usually this complicated with Moties? Captain, what the hell is our objective?"

"Good question," Renner said. "First is to survive. Second, get Glenda Ruth Blaine back. She's got a cargo that may change things...may affect our third objective, which is bringing order out of chaos."

"Cargo?"

Rennor said, "Lieutenant Blaine?"

"Yes, sir. As Captain Renner said, there's another objective to consider. The Moties are loose, and that's got to be dealt with, by us or a battle fleet."

"Only there's no battle fleet." Renner sighed. "Okay, Chris. The cargo." Renner caught Cynthia's eye; he negotiated for coffee.

Blaine nodded. "Commander Rawlins, just how much do you know about Moties?"

"Not much. I skipped the classes on Motie society back in the blockade squadron. Studied their tactics, but I didn't see any need to understand them, since all we were supposed to do was kill them."

"Yes, sir. You must have a crewman who was that curious. Find him. Meanwhile, I lecture."

"To begin with, we all know Moties are a strongly differentiated species. Masters are the only Motie class that really counts; whereas the Mediators do all the communicating. Mediators are so likable that we tend to forget that they're not really in charge, that they take orders from Masters

"But not always," Renner said

"Okay, consider the three Moties sent to the Empire. Two of King Peter's Mediators, with an older Master related to King Peter but not previously in charge of Jock and Charlie. That gave Jock and Charlie some leeway. They didn't have to obey every order Ivan gave, although they usually did. There must have been rules, but I never learned them. Ivan only lasted six years, and then they were on their own.

"I once asked Jock what Ivan's last orders were. Jock told me, ‘Act in such a way as to decrease the risk to our kind in the long term. Keep each other sane. Make us look good.' I think she left out considerable detail. And Mediators would lie to us if Ivan had told them to,

"So here we are back in Mote system and everything we know is a little bit wrong. We're dealing with a space civilization, not a planet. All the Classes will be a little different, some a lot different, even including the Masters. Motie civilization is old. The asteroids have been settled for over a hundred thousand years, time enough for evolutionary changes, and we know the Moties have used radical breeding programs on themselves as well."

"Like Saurons," Rawlins said.

"Well, not really," Renner said. "Different objectives, different reasons."

"Yes, sir." Rawlins didn't sound convinced.

"We've had one piece of luck, maybe," Blaine said. "Horace Bury's Mediator apparently left King Peter entirely and sold her services to the highest bidder. Bury-trained Mediators seem to be swapped around out here like money."

"Must make His Excellency happy," Rawlins said. "Is that the reason for all the Arab names they give themselves?"

Chris's forefinger wagged. "No, no! Skipper, these names were all chosen by Medina's Bury-trained Mediator, Eudoxus, probably for their emotional impact on Horace Bury. Tartars are enemies of Arabs. Medina Traders sounds good to an Arab. Eudoxus was a famous Levantine trader who operated out of the Red Sea and discovered the original Arab trade route to India."

"Ho, ho," Rawlins said. "And of course Bury knew that."

"Of course. There is another thing. Motie Masters don't really form societies the way we do. The subordinate classes generally obey the Masters, but Masters don't have any instinct to obey each other, and whatever it is about humans that makes us form societies is largely missing in Masters. Motie Masters will cooperate, and one will take a subordinate position to another, but as far as I can make out, the only loyalties are to a gene line. There's no loyalty at all to any abstraction like an empire, or a city. That's more like an Arab civilization than it's like the Empire, which may account for the popularity of Bury Mediators. Mister Bury is likely to understand things here better than any of us."

"Including you, Blaine?" Rawlins demanded. "The Word in the fleet was that you were raised by Moties."

"Somewhat," Chris Blaine said. "We were still in New Caledonia and my father was on the High Commission until I was six years old. It was when we got back to Sparta and my parents set up the Institute that I got to see the Moties every day. Ivan was dead by then, and Glenda Ruth was just born. She saw a lot more of Jock and Charlie and never met Ivan at all."

"Um. Now what about Hecate's cargo?"

Renner said. "Chris, let me. You've never even seen the Crazy Eddie Worm. You were on blockade-"

"Hold it, Captain." There was a snap in Blaine's voice. "Commander Rawlins, the Worm is a hole card of sorts. Sir, are you sure you want to know more?"

Though he was pretty sure lieutenants didn't talk that way to captains, Renner held his tongue. Rawlins said frostily, "Why wouldn't I want to know, Lieutenant?"

"If you know and you talk to Moties, they'll learn it," Blaine said. "Commander, until you've been around Moties, you just can't understand how quickly they learn to interpret everything you say or do."

"I may have an idea," Rawlins said. "A year aboard my ship and nobody in the wardroom will play poker with you."

"Yes, sir. They may learn from Captain Renner anyway, but probably not. He's had more experience dealing with Moties. They won't learn from His Excellency. Or me."

"Won't learn what?"

They turned to see Joyce Mei-Ling coming into Sinhad's lounge. "All right," Rawlins said. "I'll take your word for it, it's valuable, and it's better that I don't know about this Crazy Eddie Worm. Captain Renner, if the objective is to recover Miss Blaine and her cargo, how do we go about doing it?"

"That's the question," Renner said.

"We negotiate." Bury was onscreen. "Forgive me, I was invited to listen. Commander Rawlins, what is important now is that we appear to be ready to fight, and that the Moties believe that overwhelming Imperial forces will come to our rescue in the not too distant future, so that it is better for the Moties to conclude an agreement with us now while they still have strength."

"Yeah. And that they don't learn just how far the Blockade Fleet is from us. Only it's not so far, sir. Into the Crazy Eddie point and back with the Squadron."

"Except that whatever's left there will shoot before listening. There's no real way to tell a Motie ship from an Imperial," Renner said.

"Damn. Of course that's right. And we can't get a message back to Agamemnon either. Commodore, I'm real glad you're in charge and not me." Rawlins paused. "One thing, though. Admiral Weigle's in command of the blockade fleet. He's got to know something has happened. The Jump point back to New Cal has moved, he damned well will know that, so he'll send back for orders, fast. Also he'll look for the new Jump point to the Mote."

"What will he do if he finds it?" Renner asked.

Rawlins shook his head. "Stand guard over it, I suppose. But you know, sir, Weigle's an aggressive commander. He just might send a scout. We'd better watch for that. All right, Blaine, what else don't I know?"

"A lot, but we don't know it either," Chris Blaine said. "For example. These space civilizations are more like nomads than anything settled. No stable maps, no permanent homes. A few, like the ones in the big planetary moons, are relatively fixed, but mostly things shift and change. The value of... air, food, power, machinery, anything that has to be moved, it depends on distance and delta-vee. It changes every second. There must be ways to sell delta-vee."

"Hah," Rawlmns said. "As if the old Silk Routes changed distances. One day it's like walking across a river bridge to get to Far Cathay. Next month it's thousands of miles away."

"It was like that!" Joyce exclaimed. "When things were stable and there were strong governments, it was only a few weeks from Persia to China, but when the nomads were strong and bandits blocked the passes, it could be months or years, or no land routes at all. And there were pirate empires in Viet Nam and Sumatra, so even the sea routes weren't stable."

"An interesting observation," Bury said. "Which may do much to give us new understanding of these Moties. Thank you, Joyce. Kevin, perhaps we should assume these Moties are more similar to bedouin Arabs than to your Empire."

"Wonderful," Renner said. "The only Arabs I know are you and Nabil."

"Face," Joyce said. "Arabs are concerned with saving face, even more than Chinese. Appearances are very important. Maybe to the Moties, too?"

"I didn't notice that on Mote Prime," Renner said. "But maybe I wouldn't have. But- You know, they did have stories about everything. The paintings, the statuary, they made up stories to hide their past, and they did put the best face they could on things. On the other hand it occurs to me that Chris and Glenda Ruth, me, all of us only knew Mote Prime Moties. Which means none of us are real experts."

"Except His Excellency," Chris Blaine said. "Look at how valuable Bury Mediators are. Of course they're expecting the Empire to be much more like Mr. Bury sees it than as we do."

"As I saw it nearly thirty years ago, Lieutenant," Bury said.

"Damnation," Rawlins said. "Commodore, this is way over my head. Only thing I'm sure of, if we let something happen to Lord Blaine's daughter, my career is finished. Well, I guess I know what to do, keep the guns and torpedoes ready and wait for orders. Commodore, you tell me what to shoot at, I'll try to shoot it, but I sure don't know any more than that!"

"Join the club. Signing off." Renner thumbed the switch,

Joyce turned to Chris Blaine. "All right, what's the Crazy Eddie Worm?"

"I can't tell you," Chris said.

She turned to Renner. "The deal was, I learn everything. Now you're going back on that?"

Chris Blaine said. "Joyce, do you want to be forbidden to talk to Moties?"

"No, of course not. And you can't do that!"

"We can't do that. Joyce, we can't fall thirty stories unless somebody's pushed us off a balcony! There are things you can't know. If you know them, you can't talk to Moties because then the Moties would know them, too."

She didn't believe him, not even when Kevin nodded at her.

"Kevin!"

Renner vaguely knew he was asleep, and someone to wake him, and he didn't care.

"Come on, Kevin. Come on, open the bloody circuit. Your attention please, Captain Renner. God damn it, Kevin-"

"Yeah? Buckman? What?"

"It's a message from nowhere, Kevin, nowhere we know anyway. I just got it."

"Message from nowhere. Important. What is it?"

"It was a general broadcast, wide beam. Must have cost a lot of power to send. Kevin, there's a cover message and a complete library of astronomy for the past hundred thousand years! More, I think! You were asleep, so before I woke you I did some tests. I sampled their observations to see how they match the New Caledonia database over the past few hundred years. It all verifies, all I tested does anyway. Kevin, I think you've got to do something about this. Oh, and Phidippides wants to talk. Atropos wants to talk."

"Yeah." Renner found his uniform and wrestled his legs into it. "Verification. Well?"

"Loci for some of the more obvious stars check out. I started a program to verify the orbits of Murcheson's Eye and the Mote. Then I came and got you. It should be finished by now."

"Okay, let's go." He squeezed through the curtain. "Hello, Horace. You're looking well this morning. Cynthia, we need breakfast, large, served at our posts." Into his acceleration couch. "Jacob, first show me that message. Then you can get me Atropos."

"It's this file."

The message was printed out on Kevin's screen, but it gave the impression of being written on a scroll:

"Greetings, 0 Caliph from afar, from the newest of your servants. You may think of us as the Library at Alexandria; our locus is described in this vector. We give you this record of all of our history's observations of this region of the sky. We have watched the skies for countless ages, and we offer all this to you that you will be pleased with us and know how useful we can be. Remember us, 0 Caliph, when you come into your kingdom."

Renner was at a loss for words. Not so Bury: "This tells us many things," he said, "not the least of which is that they have a Bury apprentice Mediator."

"What else?"

"They know nothing of us. They're powerless and poor. They have no way to engage in dialogue with us, which may imply that they fear Medina, or that they are light-hours away."

"Both, I'd say," Blaine said. "But they're certainly a long way off towards Mote Gamma. They've got good detection. They broadcast across just over two billion kilometers. Even so, they must be poverty-stricken, or they would have sent something, if only a relay to project a narrower beam."

Bury dreamed, his face calm and perfectly still. "Yes. As is, look what they've done. They've spilled their secrets across the sky. They've given away all they had because there was no way to establish a trade. Perhaps the strangers are not strangers to gratitude. Exactly right, for those with no power at all."

"Thanks-"

"There is more. They believe we are powerful, or likely to become so. This argues that others do also. The question is, why? Certainly we are not now."

"Thanks, Horace. Buckman, what have you got?"

"New program just finishing. Their orbits for the Eye and the Mote check against what I've got, with a minor margin of error."

"A hundred thousand years of observations?"

"That, or two or three."

‘Okay get me-"

"Wait one, Kevin. This is finished. Mmm."

Renner watched Buckman dreaming before his screen and presently said, "See if you can describe it," biting off the words.

"Yeah. It's a reiterative program to predict the collapse of Buckman's Protostar, Kevin, at first blush it looks like Medina Trading should have had this. It would have given them the right date year. I mean this is really, seriously valuable."

"Okay. Get me Atropos."

"Yes, sir, we received a copy, too," Rawlins said. "It came from an asteroid that trails the Beta Leading Trojans."

"Onk?"

"Beta Leading Trojans, sir-"

"Right, I understand that."

"Well, there's an asteroid that trails that group. The group is sixty degrees in front of Mote Beta."

"Naturally."

"And this is maybe fifty degrees from Beta."

"Unstable. Had to be nudged, right, Jacob? Anything else, Rawlins?"

"Yeah, my Sailing Master is a science buff, and he hasn't stopped playing with that since he got it."

Eudoxus's sneer was clear and blatant, if hard to describe. "'Library at Alexandria,' forsooth! Their claim would have been valid once. They're near broken, now. They still had some of their wealth ten years ago."

"That would be when they bought a Bury Mediator," Kevin surmised.

The Motie didn't visibly react. "Yes, they bought their Bury Fyunch(click) from Persia. They were maintaining their ancient tradition of collecting and codifying knowledge. Perhaps they still are.

"They're the oldest family we know of. They've traded in information throughout history. They've had to move countless times. They were in the Leading Trojans of Beta eight thousand years ago, at the killing of the Doctors."

"We heard of that," Renner said. Something made him add, "No, I guess we didn't."

"Was there a Killing of the Doctors on Mote Prime? I'm not surprised," Eudoxus said. "It must seem so obvious. Doctors make population problems worse, yes?"

"Obvious, right,"

"Here it was very successful. Alexandria refused to participate and so did some other forgotten civilizations; they must all have been destroyed by the victors. Alexandria alone kept their Doctors. Afterward they bred a basic stock and sold crossbreeds and tailored mutations. But other cultures have sequestered their own breeding stock, Doctors and other rare castes, and Alexandria has fallen on hard times."

"Should we be dealing with them?" Renner asked. He noticed Bury's attention fully on the screen.

"It does no harm," Eudoxus said. "They are considered-a bit strange. But they're no threat, and they can be useful."

Bury was nodding to himself. When Renner broke the connection with Eudoxus, Bury said, "Interesting. Strange. No threat. Librarians. Kevin, this group is poor, but it is permitted to keep its resources." He smiled softly, "Whatever our final decisions, they should include Alexandria."

"Okay, we're closing on it," Buckman said. He image on the screen: a dark object surrounded by "And now Eudoxus is relaying a better picture."

The Motie ship had run on ahead and was nearly Motie base. The screens showed a ring of fusion fire linking black candle flames: fusion rocket motors, forty or more, bright enough to wash out the sensors.

The light washed out some detail, but... the motors ringed one side of a highly regular iceball. Most of the iceball was webbed in colored lines and studded here and there with domes connected by bright bands on the surface. Some of the domes were transparent. There were ships, too, scores of them on the ice and in the space around it.

The instruments aboard Atropos were superior to what Sinbad carried. A man aboard Atropos was relaying data. "Mass: sixty-five thousand tonnes. One klick by half a klick by half a klick. Albedo: ninety-Six percent."

"My God, it's huge," Renner said. "Not so bloody big for a comet, but it's not a comet anymore. It's a carrier spacecraft! Joyce, did the Empire ever build-"

The image became a black ball with only the engine-glare protruding. The proprietors had closed the Field.

Eudoxus appeared. "That's Inner Base Six," she said. "Maneuver to the gripping side in this plane."

From Atropos: "The surface is foamed hydrogen ice. We think the interior is hydrogen ice; the mass is about right. The jets are hydrogen fusion with some refinements."

Renner said, "The Crazy Eddie Probe looked bigger than that. Way bigger, but it turned out to be only a lightsail. I remember before we found that out, Captain Blaine was wondering if we'd have to land on it with Marines."

"This time we do land, I think," Horace Bury said.

Half an hour later, Sinbad was close enough to feel the iceball's minuscule gravity. "Here goes," Renner said.

"Yes, sir," Commander Rawlins said. "Sir, I agree it's best to get Sinbad under a powerful Langston Field, but I won't be sorry to keep Atropos out here where I can maneuver, Captain, they've got a lot of ships and guns in there. There's no way I could force them to let you out."

"Right," Renner said

"We can presume that Hecate's crew are in similar circumstances," Blaine said.

"The Moties of Mote Prime were gracious hosts," Bury said. "We believe these Moties are even more similar to Arabs."

"Yeah. Well, it's one way to find out if Moties have the same ideas about hospitality that Arabs do," Renner said.

"As Allah wills. I am ready, Kevin."

The black shield disappeared. Sinbczd sank toward Base Six. Phidippides moved ahead, veering away toward its own mooring.

Chris pointed. "I think that must be ours."

Renner laughed. "Yeah. My God, it's a mosque."

It was magnificent. It was human, the only shape down there that wasn't utilitarian and alien. Light and airy, a bubble of painted masonry afloat on the ice field. The structure couldn't have been marble; it might well have been carved ice. It was far more mosquelike than the castle King Peter's people had built them on Mote Prime, and considerably smaller. A mosque with a cavity in it... a vertical channel or well, from which cables were even now snaking toward Sinbad.

The black Field closed over the black sky: the stars disappeared. Atropos, on station well away from Base Six, was now out of communication. Renner felt Sinbad's vulnerability.

Sinbad was winched toward the well in the Mosque. It would fit exactly.

"Close fit," Buckman said. "After what we saw on Mote Prime, there isn't much Motie Engineers can do that would surprise me- looks like they have transfer bays matching the airlocks."

Sinbad was pulled inexorably into the docking bay. Those transfer bays were unfinished, mere holes. And Motie Engineers were waiting in the bays, prepared to finish them on the spot.

Fuel began to flow into Sinbad. Good: they'd kept that promise.

It was nearly an hour before the Moties finished connecting Sinbad to an antenna extended through the restored Field. By then Renner was savage with impatience. He pulled himself under control-because if he didn't, Rawlins wouldn't!-and said, "Atropos, this is Sinbad. Testing."

"Atropos here, sir. Locked on. Stand by for-"

"I'm here," said Rawlins.

"Right. Commander, we can figure that anything said monitored by the Moties. I want you to keep testing this circuit. Be sure we have communications."

"Yes, sir. And if we don't?"

"Try to reestablish, but the instant you're out of touch with Sinbad, you're in command. Do what you think best. You'll recall the last orders you got from Balasingham. Of course you'll stay at full-alert status unless I tell you to stand down."

"Yes, sir. Understood. Do you expect real trouble, Captain Renner?"

"Not from here. I think the Moties here will be perfect hosts. Of course they told us they had a major readjustment of their relationship with the East India Company. That sounded sticky."

"Yes, sir."

"And I'll try to find out what that involved. I'll leave the circuits open on standby." Renner touched switches. "And that's done. Horace, I think it's time. Joyce, do you really want to carry-"

"It only masses eight kilograms." Joyce hefted the gyro-stabilized pickup camera. It wriggled within its sleeve like a thing alive.

Renner touched indicators: inner lock, override, outer lock. Sinbad's air-lock doors swung in and out... on a corridor decorated in Moorish abstracts, and good air with a trace of chemicals in it.

Chris Blaine waited impatiently as Eudoxus explained to Horace Bury. "We really don't have room for your Warriors to accompany us," she said. "Of course you don't expect to be escorted by Warriors any more than I do, but a Master of your importance would. My Master will have his Warriors present when you meet."

"It is no matter." Bury waved to indicate Blaine, Cynthia, Nabil, and Joyce. "My friends will have to substitute. In future years we will find new Customs for meetings between humans and Moties."

"Thank you." Eudoxus paused. "There's another small matter. We're hoping you won't need your travel chair, Excellency. But we can rebuild the corridors if we must."

Bury smiled. "You are gracious hosts. Thank you, but for the moment Nabil can carry a portable medical unit that will suffice for my needs. Lead on."

"All right. Kevin."

"I'd better stay in contact with Atropos," Renner said. He was captain; he could not leave his ship.

The corridors bustled with activity. There were Engineers and Watchmakers everywhere. Blaine glanced over Nabil's shoulder at Bury's medical readouts. Calm. Total calm. Perhaps even frighteningly calm.

They entered a dome, a flattened sphere. Through a forest of vines they looked out on the surface. White snow, pastel domes, lines in primary colors. And-Joyce looked behind her, then dashed that way and pointed her pickup camera between two masses of dark greenery.

The Mosque was magnificent. Joyce held for a moment, then zoomed on Sinbad, its single minaret, the piece that made it an artistic whole. She said, "We'll want to go out."

"No problem," Eudoxus said. "Your viewers would feel cheated if they couldn't see it all. Sensory deprivation?"

Joyce only nodded. An instant later she stumbled as she saw how much she was telling Eudoxus about herself. Chris let his grin show through.

Now the corridor dipped beneath the ice. Branches ran off to the sides and up. Here and there were discreet vertical slits, like arrow notches in an ancient keep. Narrower tubes crossed the corridor above head height. Moties popped through these like leaves in a storm.

Down they went, deep into the interior of Base Six.

The corridor opened into a large chamber. Two grotesque shapes stood by a door at the far end. Chris saw Eudoxus's tension as they passed inside. He looked behind him and was not terribly surprised to see two more of the spiky horrors

"Warriors," Joyce muttered. "Frightening efficiency, almost beautiful." She waved her pickup

Nabil and Cynthia were on hair triggers.

One of the Warrior shapes moved to open the door. They were escorted into another large chamber. A white Motie nursed a pup at the far end. To that one's left stood two Warriors, and to their left was another white and a brown-and-white.

Eudoxus spoke rapidly in a language the humans didn't understand. The other Mediator instantly interrupted with splayed arms and an angry bark.

"Hracht! Our Masters spoke that this talk will speak in Anglic," that one said. He seemed unaware that he had the full, dangerous attention of every Warrior in the room. "Then we speak these same thoughts in the trade language. Need is sorrowful, but given recent change in levels, we demand. Else East India Trading Company will not act for you or with you."

Eudoxus gave the impression of bowing. "Very well. I have the honor to present His Excellency Horace Hussein al-Shamlan Bury, Magnate of the Empire, director of the Imperial Traders Association. Your Excellency, my Master, Admiral Mustapha Pasha. Our associate Master of the East India Company, Lord Cornwallis. The young mediator who speaks for Lord Cornwallis may be called Wordsworth." Eudoxus gestured to his master.

Mustapha spoke slowly and carefully.

"Excellency, welcome to Inner Base Six," Eudoxus translated. "In the name of the Caliph Almohad, who sends her greetings. This is your house."

"Thank you," Bury said. "You are gracious hosts." He bowed slightly to both Motie masters, then nodded to Chris Blaine.

"I will speak for His Excellency," Blaine said. "We wish again to thank you for your hospitality, and to assure you we understand that the need for haste was the cause of our coming here with less than full understanding."

Joyce moved to one side so that she could see everyone. Her pickup wriggled in her hands and made a tiny whirring sound. One of the Warriors started a rapid movement that was halted by a short bark from Admiral Mustapha.

Chris Blaine turned to the other Mediator. "Wordsworth, please assure Lord Cornwallis that we are pleased to meet him."

"Her," Wordsworth said. "Medina speakers tell humans are usually hurrying. Is true?"

"Often," Blaine said.

"Then forgive me if we talk important things now," Wordsworth said. "Do you know what your hosts do to us? We were guests, and betrayed. The half of us are dead, torn by flying bits of metal, ripped apart by no air-"

"You were not guests by any choice of ours," Eudoxus said. "As all here are well aware. You forced yourselves into an alliance, and you did not do your part. Your incompetence has brought the Empire here. Twill demonstrate." Eudoxus turned to Blaine. "Tell us how your Empire knew to come to Crazy Eddie's Sister when you did."

"The token ships. Mere shells," Blaine said. "They could have but one purpose."

"Exactly," Eudoxus said. "Had East India sent substantial ships, the Empire would not have guessed, and our ships would be well into Imperial space."

"Where are the ships now?" Wordsworth asked. "Our embassy to humans, do they live or die? I ask the humans to answer."

"No Motie ships have been destroyed," Elaine said. "One hides in the asteroids of the red dwarf. The others wait with an Imperial cruiser for escort by the main battle fleet."

"And East India's representative?"

"You will forgive us, but until this moment we did not know that East India had representatives aboard those ships," Blaine said.

Eudoxus spoke slowly in a language of emphatic consonants: like popcorn popping. Her white-furred Master listened carefully, then spoke in the same language.

"Admiral Mustapha says that both the East India Mediators are safe. There would be no reason to harm them. The Mediators aboard our ships had orders to keep contact with the Empire to a minimum until they could speak with someone in high authority. At that time the East India Mediators will be given the rights we agreed on."

Wordsworth looked to Chris Elaine. "Does he tell true? No powerful Empire person was there, far side of Sister?"

"Captain Renner and His Excellency were the highest authorities present."

"Thank you. I must ask now, what have you agreed with Medina?"

Blaine looked to Bury, then back. "We agreed to come with them. I think it is no secret that we expected to be taken to Mote Prime. Before we could find our balance"-he had almost said footing-"one of our ships and the Sister had both been lost to the Crimean Tartars. Medina has agreed to assist in rescuing the crew and passengers of Hecate. This seems fair. Their duplicity caused our loss."

"Can you speak for your Empire?"

‘"No, but if all of us here are agreed, that will have great influence. I am Kevin Christian Blaine, son of Lord Roderick Blaine. Commodore Renner has influence with the Navy. His Excellency controls the directors of the Imperial Traders Association. Joyce Mei-Ling Trujillo speaks for the news services, Empire-wide. What we agree to will be heard at all levels of the Empire."

Wordsworth asked, "How do we stand, measured along Medina Trading? Have Medina told you? Is there agreement about us, you and Medina Trading?"

"No. We were told that you were partners with Medina, and that a readjustment of status was being negotiated."

"I do not understand."

"That you and Medina are partners now talking about changes in agreements."

"That is spoke with massive delicacy," Wordsworth said. He spoke slowly to his Master and received a lengthy reply. "We can agree to readjustment," Wordsworth said. "We know we do not have equals with Medina, but we insist we be heard in all discussions."

"You are not in a position to insist," Eudoxus said.

Wordsworth gave the Motie equivalent of a shrug. "For us has been worse. Crimean Tartars flee from their former ganglords. They need to know. They need friends. How if they come to us for refuge? If they carry to us human guests and gripping hand on the Sister to trade? We-"

"You could not."

"Medina lost the Crazy Eddie point because too many Masters, too little wealth, move in awkward orbits." Resources badly handled, Chris translated... tentatively. "Was bad mistake. Do not do it again. East India yet has wealth like yours in mass. Crimean Tartars do not know value of what they took. East India can work with Crimean Tartars and humans, or we can work with humans, or we can work with humans and Medina. What do you wish?"

The silence that followed was not empty. Warriors and Mediators and Masters shifted constantly: handholds and footholds, positions, flickering fingers and arms. Chris let it run for several seconds; but he couldn't read the silence, so he broke it.

"What is it you're dividing? Do you know?"

"Access to the Empire and the stars beyond our own," Eudoxus said instantly.

"Your Fyunch(click)'s student's third student tells us Empire would agree with all Moties," Wordsworth said. "All, never less. A stepping... a hierarchy of sorts would look good to you, yes? So, we speak, we mediate, we argue for command over Mote system, too. Some Motie families will control Mote system. We wish will be part of families."

"The highest possible stakes," said Eudoxus. Before Chris or anyone could answer-if he had had an answer-both Mediators had turned to talk to their respective Masters.

Joyce whispered, "At least they agree on that."

Blaine nodded. He was more interested in getting Horace Bury's reaction. Bury caught the query (eyebrow lift, tilt of head) and said, "There's motive here for an arbitrarily large number of murders."

Eudoxus's head and shoulders suddenly snapped around to face Joyce Trujillo. "What do you know of our breeding habits?"

Chris considered throwing his arm across her face. Too bloody late... and it would have told the Mediators what he knew. Eudoxus didn't even wait for her answer, only for the emotions that chased across her face. "So. You would deal with the Moties united. How can you expect us to stay united? Our histories tell that we've tried to unite before, and failed always."

"Neither problems nor opportunities last forever," Bury said. "And what neither Moties nor humans can do, Moties and humans together may accomplish. Allah is merciful."

"King Peter's ambassadors must have told you much," Eudoxus said. "What happened to them?"

"They were well treated," Joyce said. "One was still alive a few years ago, as I remember. At the Blaine Institute. Lieutenant Blaine could tell you more."

"As His Excellency says, everything has changed," Blaine said. "When there was one point to blockade, and that one easily defended, blockade was an effective way to gain time. Now there are two paths to block. There must be a better way, better for humans and Moties. If not..."

"Your battle fleets will come," Eudoxus said. "War in the Mote system, and you to exterminate us. Bloody hands forever, but else we escape to the rest of the universe. That is your terror." She had spoken truth; she must have seen it in their faces. "Our numbers increase. Our domains. In a thousand years we enclose you. Yes, we must seek a better answer."