Heavy is the Crown: Backyard Starship #16

JN Chaney

1

I COULD FEEL the universe turning against me. I was rested, fed, and cheerful, and did I mention rested—

And the stars were lining up to punch me in the gut. Or lower. “Lunzy, look, I appreciate the opportunity, but we’ve just spent a week off the clock—”

“And well earned, I might add,” Lunzy added. “And there’s the flattery to sweeten the pot,” Perry said. I pushed on past the interruptions. “We’ve got a week’s worth of whatever the hell is sitting on my virtual desk to catch up on. Half of it has to be done on Anvil Dark. Be nice if the universe came to a halt while you’re on vacation, but it doesn’t—”

“I know, Van, I know,” Lunzy said. “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t even consider talking to you about business until you had a day or so back in the saddle to reacclimate to the grind. But I think you’re going to want this particular job.”

“Really.”

“Yes, really. You’re going to want this target.”

“Who?”

“Klezmir.”

We all sat up, and I asked, “Where?”

Lunzy offered a faint smile. “Toldja. I’m sending you the particulars now.”

I nodded and watched the window that popped open on the display. Klezmir was an associate, or minion, or co-conspirator, or—something, we’d never quite figured out exactly what, of the late Dohlennz. He’d been on Bountiful, holed up with Dohlennz when we finally ran them both down and launched our ground assault. Dohlennz died, but no tears there. Or if there were, it was because of lost intel, nothing else. But Master Gerhardt and Cantullin, the Conoku Captain of the Iowa, also died, as did many other brave and dedicated people. It was a bitter, costly affair and was the main reason I’d decided to ground the Fafnir for a week on Helso and let my crew just take some time off. But Klezmir had bugged out in a small ship just as our raid was getting underway. Through some clever piloting, he’d managed to avoid the ships we had in orbit and vanished into the void. So, I wanted him, yeah. He was a loose end. A vile, despicable loose end. “What I don’t get is why Klezmir didn’t take Dohlennz with him when he scrammed. That’s what that handy little ship was for, right?” Icky asked. Torina glanced back. “What you witnessed, Icky, was the phrase there’s no honor among assholes brought to life. I suspect that Klezmir knew that our focus was firmly fixed on Dohlennz and would stay there.”

Rab nodded. “He knew he was an also starring, and that we wouldn’t put a lot of effort into chasing and catching him while Dohlennz was still alive.”

“Yeah, well, he’s graduated from also starring to this week’s special guest,” I said, reading the data Lunzy had sent. “I want that sonofabitch. Lunzy, what’s this about presumed sensitive cargo, with no details?”

“Sensitive covers a lot of ground,” Perry agreed. “Baby butts are sensitive. Emo poets are sensitive. Nitroglycerin is sensitive.”

Lunzy nodded. “That’s just a placeholder in the absence of hard intel. If you believe soft intel, then that sensitive cargo includes stolen persons. The Synergists have been able to account for all of their people who were off-world when this whole shitshow began, except for six Voculators and a—I think he’s called a Hymnist. Klezmir’s movements, as near as we can tell, would have had him roughly cross paths with the Synergists about a week before we raided Dohlennz.”

“That is—uh, soft intel. We don’t know for sure he’s got them?” Funboy asked, idly rubbing sanitizer into one long hand. “Nope, but what we do have comes from your good friend Essie.”

“Ah. Well, I consider Essie’s soft intel superior to many Peacemakers’

supposedly hard stuff.”

“Can’t argue with that. But—what the hell is Klezmir doing at… Gliese 1?

Why is that familiar?” I asked. Perry spoke up. “Because that’s the shady terraforming operation Icky’s mother was involved in. We retrieved a stolen ID from there, a Nesit named Erflos Tand. He turned out to be a being of little or no value, emphasis on none.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, I remember that. I got shot. It hurt. A lot.”

“Pfft. It was only a flesh wound.”

“That required six stitches, you uncaring lout,” I said. “With respect to Van’s ghastly wound—you’re very brave—the reason Klezmir is there, it seems, is because there’s a station still orbiting the planet that was being”—Lunzy made air-quotes—“‘terraformed.’ When the whole operation was blown as a scam, the place was abandoned. And given the time that’s passed, it now counts as salvage.”

“So Klezmir is, what, looking for the scrap value?” I nodded. “I guess he must be desperate for cash.”

“Oh, I think he’s setting his sights higher than that,” Lunzy replied, reaching off-screen to touch a control. “Essie obviously foresaw that someone might try to capitalize on the equipment and stuff abandoned at Gliese 1, probably in relation to some other case he’s working on. He arranged for a small surveillance buoy to quietly sit in the system and monitor the place. Its AI only twist-comms data when it spots something interesting happening. And this image I’m sending you apparently counts as something interesting.”

I studied the image that appeared in the window. It showed a spherical station a few hundred meters across, hanging over an arc of barren, rocky planet. A ship stood nearby, with a slender, barely perceptible line connecting them. “What the hell is that?

A tether?” Rab asked. Lunzy nodded. “If I had to guess, I’d say that Klezmir is going to try and tow that station out of orbit, give it enough delta- v to get it on its way out of the system.”

Laughter rattled around the Fafnir’s cockpit. “So, what, in a hundred years or so, when it finally reaches a twist point, he’s going to have his

grandchildren take it somewhere to sell it?” I asked, shaking my head. But Lunzy remained somber. “We’re not sure, and that’s the problem. We don’t know what he’s planning here. But if he’s prepared to go to this sort of effort, he’s obviously convinced himself it’s somehow worth it.”

“Don’t underestimate the chance of a local chop shop,” Perry muttered. “It’s a station, not a ’67 Chevelle,” I told him. “Those should be chopped up. Too square. Practically Soviet,” Perry stated, digging his talons in. I sighed. “Stylistic preferences aside—“

I sat back, staring at the image. An intact station would be worth a lot of money, far more than its scrap value, if it could be sent somewhere a buyer could use it. It would take a lot of delta- v to get it out to a twist point, though, in anything even resembling a reasonable period of time. So Klezmir either had an idea how to do that, or he had something else in mind. Torina was obviously thinking the same thing. “Maybe he’s not planning on selling it at all. Maybe he plans to use it as a hideout or something.”

I made a sound of agreement. That made sense. He might be multitasking—planning to progressively accelerate the station until he could twist it and use it for his own purposes in the meantime. I sat up again. “Doesn’t matter. If he’s there, busy with this little project of his, then that’s where we need to be, too. Although—Lunzy, how do you know it’s him?

That image shows… a ship. And not an especially distinctive one—”

“Ah, that’s probably my doing. I took the liberty of sharing around to other Guild AIs the drive signature we collected during our first encounter with him—remember the mines, on the cables?”

I sniffed. “Vividly.”

“I also shared a wish list of the things we want to do to him and his repulsive slave ship,” Perry said. “Yeah, my AI passed that on to me, too, Perry. Unfortunately, all of the things on your wish list were immoral, most were illegal, and a few were anatomically questionable, outside of a few races, anyway,” Lunzy replied. “Okay, well, thank you, Lunzy. This is actually a great way to get back into the swing of things,” I said. “Don’t mention it. By the way—how are you doing?”

I knew what she meant. I shrugged. “Still… coming to terms with it. Cantullin—” I sighed. “She hurt, a lot. Hit really close to home. Gerhardt was… very personal, too, but in a different sort of way.”

“Yeah. He was kind of a father figure to me, too. And that’s despite the fact he was only a few years older than me, and I’ve been around the block. Says a lot about the man,” she said. “I agree. Anyway, thanks, Lunzy.”

“Like I said, don’t mention it. Have fun.”

I smiled, and there was no joy in it. “Oh, we will.”

NETTY-P LAID out a course to Gliese 1.

As we departed Helso, I called a planning session in the crew lounge. “I want this bastard Klezmir alive. Netty-P, I’m glad you blew Dohlennz’s brains out, but—”

“I know. But we were never going to take him alive,” she replied. Gabby, who I’d been trying to get more engaged in these sorts of sessions, spoke up. “No, we weren’t. Once he knew he was cornered, he obviously decided he was going to be nasty about it right to the bitter end. Something tells me that this Klezmir has a much stronger sense of self-preservation.”

“Does it have something to do with the fact he practically threw Dohlennz in our faces when he bugged out of Bountiful?” Rab asked. Gabby nodded enthusiastically. “That would be the giveaway, yes!”

“Anyway, it means we need to get in and hit him fast,” I said. “We’re going to use the combi-drive. No fancy sublight maneuvers. It’s also going to mean a boarding action. That means we need to kill his drive and his ability to fight back, but without killing him. Again, a plan, and one that doesn’t involve putting my crew at any unwarranted risk. Period.”

Torina stood, waving her hand. “I think that between myself, Rab, and Mister Personality over there”—she nodded toward Funboy—“we’ve got enough skill on the weapons to render him helpless.”

“Especially if he stays tethered to that station. If we can sneak up on him with the combi-drive, catch him while he’s still in tow, he’ll pretty much be a stationary target,” Icky put in. “A suggestion, since we know Klezmir is such a bad guy?” Torina said. “Name it, my dear.”

“Let’s not worry about docking. Use that sword and make your own airlock.”

Icky grinned. “A big one, please, for us fuller-figured gals.”

I smiled back at her. She’d taken the loss of Cantullin especially hard and had moped through most of her time on Helso. While the time off was valuable, I think that getting back to work was even more so—downright therapeutic for all of us, even. It was good to see her smiling again. “Icky, I suspect you could get that station moving with those upper arms of yours alone. Don’t worry, I’ll make an opening more than big enough for them,” I replied. Icky stood up, which ended up putting her massive, fuzzy butt right in Funboy’s face. His expression went from sour to alarm. Icky glanced back. “Apologies, fuzzy. Didn’t mean to get the full moon waxing right into your face.”

Funboy, though, simply offered a shrug. “In the words of the great philosopher Freddy Mercury, they do make the world go around.”

WE ARRIVED at Gliese 1 to find a system as lonely and empty as the last time we’d been here. A red dwarf star, a barren and rocky planet, a few other objects, and a whole lot of nothing else. “My leg aches at the sight of it,” I said, looking at the magnified imagery on the display. The last time we were here, we retrieved an ID chip containing a Nesit named Erflos Tand from a piece of terraforming equipment amid a ferocious firefight with a bunch of security bots. I took a serious hit that blew a chunk out of my right calf. It had since been regenerated and now showed a faint sheen of scarring if I looked for it, but that was about it. Still, my imagination filled in a faint, tingling ache—the memory of damage, subtle but present. Worst of all, Tand had turned out to be a criminal scumbag. That didn’t change the fact he shouldn’t have been chipped and used to run a mechanical digger, but it definitely blunted the righteous satisfaction of having rescued him. Netty-P spoke as she painted icons onto the tactical overlay. “Okay, Van, Klezmir’s ship is still here, still tethered to that station—although—“

She stopped. I spun on her, a little too fast and alarmed. I had vivid memories of what had happened to Netty, and her sudden hesitation triggered those memories again. She must have noticed. “No, Van, my abrupt silence isn’t because I’ve suddenly been infected by Calamity or anything. It comes from a lack of data.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Klezmir’s ship has obviously accelerated, imparting some delta- v to the station. It’s currently on track to reach a safe twist distance from the star in three hundred and sixty-two years and change.”

“Okay, that’s definitely a slow-burn sort of thing. But?”

“But that’s it. His drive is dark. His ship is at one end of the two cables, the station is at the other, and they’re very slowly getting away. He’s not using active scanners, which might be understandable, to avoid drawing attention to himself. But that’s the extent of the situation. It just seems a little too sedate, if you know what I mean.”

I gave her a bemused smile. “Netty-P, are you in the process of having a hunch?”

“Maybe. If so, it’s a novel experience. We AIs generally process data, and fast. Sure, we can make logical connections between data points that might not be obvious from a first pass. But I have no data points to connect here. Instead, I’ve got data, then it falls off a cliff and there’s nothing to work with. And that has triggered a cautionary response in an admittedly novel way. My response to that is to default to a more cautious course of action, based on possible scenarios to explain Klezmir’s lack of activity—”

“Sounds like a hunch to me,” Torina said, smiling. Icky rested an elbow on her workstation, her chin propped on her fist. “Yeah, a really long-winded hunch. Get to the point, ratchets.”

Netty-P swiveled her imager toward Icky. “In the time it took you to say that, I had to sit through literally billions of clock cycles doing nothing but waiting for you to formulate that great pearl of wisdom. Who’s the boring one here?”

Icky sat up. “I think I was just insulted.” She turned to Funboy. “I was just insulted, wasn’t I?”

“Yes. Yes, you were. And in a rather amusing way,” Funboy replied, starting to smile. Icky put up her hand between them and looked away. “Don’t. Just—

don’t.”

I called everyone back to order. “Okay, so Klezmir seems to be taking a break for some reason. Doesn’t mean we need to change our approach to this. Netty-P, is the combi-drive fired up and ready?”

“It is.”

“Right. Let’s do this, then.”

Torina, Funboy, and Rab each readied the weapon system they’d be using. A moment later, Hodgepodge, the dedicated AI that operated the finicky combi-drive, flung us into a dimensional netherworld, a tiny, ephemeral universe that enclosed the Fafnir and isolated us from the regular one’s physics. We were borne toward Klezmir’s ship on the wings of a paradox—from the perspective of both universes, the ship was essentially standing still, but we were still covering the distance at many times the speed of light. As Perry had once put it, it was like sitting in a car that was parked on a flatbed truck. No matter how fast the truck goes, the speedometer on the car is going to read zero. It wasn’t a perfect analogy—

the truck was, in reality, a weird coexistence of both universes, rather than an actual thing—but it got the point across. Twelve minutes later, we emerged back into reality. If Klezmir had detected us when we first twisted into the Gliese 1 system, he still could have reasonably expected us to take nearly six hours to close with him even if we made our best possible speed. As soon as the combi-drive shut down, Torina, Rab, and Funboy prepared to open fire. Klezmir immediately—

Did nothing. His ship just coasted silently along at one end of the tether, the big station at the other. I gave the overlay a deeply suspicious look. “No active scanners, no drive activity, no thrusters. He’s playing dead.”

“Or he is dead,” Perry offered. “No signs of any damage to his ship, aside from the usual micrometeorite abrasions, that sort of thing,” Icky said. Gabby, standing in the back of the cockpit, spoke up. “Okay, that’s kind of creepy. Maybe Perry’s right and it’s a ghost ship.”

“Oooo, ghoooost shiiiiip,” Perry said, switching his voice to spooky mode. I just scowled. “What, he just died?

Had a heart attack or something?”

Perry shrugged. “Heart attack, aneurysm, slipped in the shower and had a massive head trauma. All equally delicious to me.”

“Perhaps the dreary, grinding ennui of existence simply became too much for him to bear and he chose to end his participation in it,” Funboy said. “It’s happened to mimes before. And I think Klezmir wore stripes one time.”

Torina turned to Gabby. “And you find him charming?

Have I got that right?”

Gabby, in turn, looked at Funboy and nodded. “Dreamy, even.”

“I’m not detecting any elevated radiation levels, so his ship’s power plant seems to be intact and operating normally,” Netty-P said. “Maybe he did something to his ship when he tried to tow that station?

Lost atmospheric integrity or something?” Rab suggested. But Netty-P replied at once. “I considered that. Even if a hull breach leading to decompression happened hours ago, we’d be detecting a dispersing plume of characteristic atmospheric gases and other compounds

—oxygen, carbon dioxide, water vapor, organic compounds related to the biological processes of living beings.”

“I can attest that last one, Icky,” Perry said. “You produce lots of said organic compounds, usually right after a meal.”

“Excuse me, but when was this declared national pick-on-Icky day?

Besides, Bird, you don’t actually smell things with that mechanical snoot of yours. You… analyze them,” Icky shot back. “And some of those analyses are shocking.”

“Uh, kids?” I pointed out the canopy. “There’s a bad guy right over there. Can we focus, please?”

“So, what do you want to do, Van?” Torina asked. I stared at the silent ship that was coasting along on a path that would generally take it out of the galaxy above the galactic plane—in some very, very distant future. “Maybe he’s just playing possum,” Perry offered. I knew what was coming. Rab, Gabby, and Icky all asked, more or less simultaneously, “What’s a possum?

”

I glanced back. “A little Earthly creature renowned for supposedly playing dead to throw off its would-be predators. Actually kind of charming, and they eat ticks—no, don’t ask what those are.”

“That’s dumb. What stops that predator from just eating your fake-dead ass?” Icky asked. “A very good question.” I stared at Klezmir’s ship a moment longer, then shrugged. “Well, sitting here isn’t going to give us any answers. Netty-P, take us in to… a hundred klicks to start. You guys on the weapons hammer the shit out of him with fire-control scanners. I’ll broadcast warnings to heave to in the meantime. And… let’s see what happens.”

Funboy leaned around the bulkhead, his eyes narrowed in a question. “Does anyone know if possum is actually delicious?”

“Netty-P, show our friend a picture of a possum. Preferably in its, ah, natural habitat,” I said. Netty-P laughed and flashed a possum on top of a garbage pile, in mid-hiss. I waved grandly. “Dinner is served.”

Funboy faded back into his chair. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

WHAT HAPPENED WAS—NOTHING. We closed to fifty klicks. There was absolutely no change in Klezmir’s ship. “Okay, this is peculiar. Either he’s got nerves of steel, or he really is dead,” I said. “Or not home. Maybe he had to, or wanted to, leave his ship and go somewhere else,” Gabby said. “Knowing what we do about Klezmir, though, I don’t think he’s just pretending to be a possum. It’s not really in his nature to be this, ah, resolute.”

I turned to Torina. “Can you guys take out his weapons?”

“At this range?

We could probably knock individual bits and pieces off his weapons, if we wanted.”

“Well, let’s start with that, and then defang him.”

Torina, Rab, and Funboy got to work. Our weapons spat surgical destruction, and in less than a minute, Klezmir’s ship had no functioning weapons. Netty-P put up schematics for the standard design his ship was based on, then Torina used that to target a rail-gun shot that caused his reactor to scram. Klezmir’s power emissions dropped to zero. Still no response. I started to unstrap. “Icky, Perry, we’re taking the Frankie in. Torina, you’ve got command here. Pull the Fafnir back to a thousand klicks or so and wait.”

She gave me an uneasy look. “You’re thinking a booby trap?”

I stood. “Maybe. The reactor being offline is one less thing to worry about, but there’s still whatever antimatter he’s got aboard.” The containment pods that held the supremely volatile stuff were supposedly—

and understandably—sabotage-proof. But nothing was a hundred percent. Torina opened her mouth but finally just closed it again and nodded. Being able to work with her aboard the Fafnir was a blessing but also had a sinister side. It meant we could enjoy one another’s company, but it also meant that if something happened to one of us, the other would probably be right there to see it. We both knew that was what we’d effectively signed up for. But we still didn’t have to like it. 2

WE BROUGHT the Frankie to within a few klicks, then a klick, then half that, and finally stopped about a hundred meters from Klezmir’s ship. The tow cable, a braided construct designed to withstand the heat and radiation of a fusion exhaust, dwindled off toward the spherical station that was just visible in the distance. Towing things in space with fusion drives was awkward, which was why it was preferred to simply strap them directly to your ship, account for the change to the mass, and fly that way. Or, as an alternative, push them, rather than pull them. But the first was pretty limited in terms of what you could move that way, while the second required specialized ships designed for it. It might not work for a large, spherical station, anyway. But I wasn’t worried about the station. When we exited the Frankie and started across, my focus was firmly on Klezmir’s ship. If it was set up to release its antimatter containment, then at this distance we wouldn’t feel a thing. Icky, Perry, the Frankie, and I would be instantly puffed to incandescent vapor. And it would happen faster than my nerves could carry the sensation of it to my brain, so I’d cease existing before I even had time to realize it. But we reached the hull and found hand and footholds. Perry, based on the schematics Netty-P had retrieved, indicated a section of hull I could easily cut through. He and Icky pulled back while I connected my tether to a nearby stanchion. Then I plunged the Moonsword into the hull plating and yanked. A stream of vapor immediately erupted from the narrow cut. “Still pressurized,” I said. “Yeah, be careful, Van. It’s fine when it’s just venting slowly like that, but if you cut a big enough piece out—” Icky said. I nodded inside my helmet. “Yeah, kaboom, explosive decompression. Way ahead of you, Icky.”

I made my next cuts carefully, so when a chunk of hull plating finally was ejected by a blast of escaping atmosphere, I was clear of the line of fire. It shot away, a little piece of metal now on its own lonely journey among the stars. I carefully enlarged the hole, letting more atmosphere vent. Then we waited, watching as the jet of vapor kept streaming for a while, then slowed, then finally stopped. “Perry, was that enough atmosphere to account for the whole ship?”

“Yeah, Boss. There might still be a few sealed spaces, but most of it must be hard vacuum now.”

“Well, if Klezmir’s pretending to be dead, he’s really dedicated to it. We’ve shot off his weapons, scrammed his reactor, and decompressed his ship,” Icky said. “Method actors.” Perry sniffed. “I find them hard to work with.”

“Method or possum, but either word, we’re past it at this point,” I said, sticking the Moonsword back into the hole I’d made and starting to cut out a section big enough to give us access. I moved the blade swiftly, which was why, when it abruptly clunked to a stop, I was surprised. There weren’t many things the Moonsword wouldn’t slice with relative ease. Or, when I extracted it from the cut and examined it, that could take a chip out of the edge. I let loose with a string of curses. “Dammit, Perry, I thought this piece of the hull was supposed to be in the clear,” I snapped. “Hey, Boss, according to the schematics, it is.”

“Well, clearly it’s not. Hopefully Linulla can fix that—and if it takes a couple of your feathers to do it, I’m okay with that.”

“Sheesh. Look, I’m telling you, there’s no reason that should have happened, based on the stock design of this type of ship.”

While we’d been bickering, Icky moved in, stuck her hand through the hole, and felt around at the spot where the blade had stopped. “Yeah, there’s your problem. The hull’s been reinforced with—something, not sure what. Klezmir added a spar under here, probably to make his ship a lot tougher.”

I held up the notched blade and sighed. “Well, he succeeded.”

I tried again, this time moving the blade more slowly. I was able to cut through the added spar, but only with difficulty, exertion, and the added embarrassment of losing my braced footing when it finally cut through and went flying off to the end of my tether. Perry and Icky both wisely said nothing, and Icky just reeled me back in. We removed the section of hull plating, and Icky examined the new spar. She pointed at the cut surface of it. “Yeah, this is strong stuff—I’m guessing a chromium, cobalt, and nickel alloy, maybe reinforced with carbon nanotubes. Pricey stuff, too. If he’s put in a bunch of these spars, this ship’s gonna have some amazing scrap value.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll take the cost of repairing my sword out of it,” I grated, then pushed on into the hole to enter Klezmir’s ship. SURE ENOUGH, he was dead. So was the rest of his crew. And it hadn’t been an accident, or a heart attack or aneurism or anything else. I figured that out from the fact Klezmir and his crew had been welded to the bulkheads. The alloy had been heated to molten, and their hands and, in a couple of cases, their feet had been plunged into it and then held there until the metal hardened again. Icky and I just stared in horrified wonder. “That… is definitely a message,” Perry said. “I know these guys were criminal scum, but… I at least hope they were dead when this happened,” Icky said. It was hard to tell. I could see, in the wan glow of the emergency lighting, that their faces were all twisted into variations on a rictus of painful death. Whether that was the result of having their hands jammed into molten metal or not, though, required forensics I was neither capable of nor interested in pursuing. “Uh, Van, remember what I said about a message?” Perry asked, then gestured with a wing at a nearby display. It had been blanked, except for a single message in stark characters on a neutral background. One step ahead of you, Tudor. Release Jocelyn, and this goes no further. The same message was repeated on every terminal and display on the ship, which had all been set to run off of the backup power cells. “Whoever they were, they knew we’d take out his reactor,” Icky said. I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Who do you think did this?”

“I don’t think anyone did it. I know who did it. It was my mother’s shadowy, psychopathic homies, the parts of the GKU called the Ferals.”

“If that’s true, then that means the Ferals have access to Guild intel—the same intel Lunzy got from Essie,” Perry said. I sighed. “Yes, it does. And that means they might have access to who knows what else.”

“That’s a problem.”

“True, Bird. It means that we’re going to have to scrutinize every Guild communiqué, intel report, summary, dossier—all of it—through the murky lens of what the Ferals might do with it.”

“Or if they’re responsible for it. If they can access intel, they might be able to manufacture and inject it, too,” Perry added, cheering me further. I sighed again and nodded, my eyes on the glowing message. Just like that, the Peacemaker Guild—our base of operations, the thing that gave us our freedom of action and even our fundamental legitimacy—

had become suspect. And quite possibly dangerous. AS A BIT OF A TEST, I put a call in to our Forensics shop on Anvil Dark, telling them I had a crime scene at Gliese 1 that had to be processed. When they asked for details, I told them that there had been an egregious mass murder and that I knew who the perpetrators were, but I didn’t want to say to avoid tainting their investigation with preconceived ideas. I did, however, take pains to describe the perps as “thuggish, low-life criminals no better than the likes of the Stillness, or even the Sorcerers.”

Perry had been listening in. “You just pretty much implied that these perps are responsible for every kicked puppy and stolen lollipop in known space. You don’t normally wax so eloquently in your descriptions. Trying to provoke a reaction, are we?”

“That’s part of it, though I’d be surprised if it works. If it does, then it shows just how thin-skinned these damned Ferals are—which is something that’s good to know. But even if it doesn’t, I want to send them a message, something along the lines of, I’m not impressed. If they’re going to behave like criminals, then we’re going to treat them like criminals.”

Perry nodded. “That’s the problem with these bullshit wild west organizations. They’re great, right up until they’re not. Then they’re suddenly just massive liabilities, accountable to no one.”

I replied with a glum nod. Perry wasn’t dumb. He knew that we were both effectively lumping my mother in with the Ferals. If it was just them, I really wouldn’t have a problem simply running them down. But my mother was one of their foremost leaders and, to the extent that they had one, their public face. Whatever sort of confrontation ended up playing out between me and the Ferals, my mother was going to be firmly in the middle of it. For now, though, there was nothing I could do about it. We put a salvage beacon on Klezmir’s ship and registered it with the Guild, so we could claim ownership when the forensics people finally released it. Even as scrap, it would be worth pretty good money. And, as despicable a piece of bipedal excrement as Klezmir was, the idea of using the proceeds from his ship to help bring his murderers to justice had a nice symmetry to it. Boss?

Perry sent to my ear bug. Yes?

You okay?

No. None of us are. I paused, nodding. There were ghosts around us—among Klezmir’s crew, but mostly, among us. We carried the losses, still, and it was just there, at the edge of my senses. Perry watched me, then turned away, his eyes flashing amber. “Big girl. Check your chin hair. Noodle alert.” He was shifting gears for me, knowing we were all aware of the pain we carried. Icky put all four hands on her hips. “What if I’m saving it for later?”

MINDFUL of the damage to the Moonsword, I decided to set course for Starsmith. I was keenly aware that even the toughest, most stubborn plastic bags tended to abruptly fail when they got even a tiny tear or flaw. I’m not a

smith or a metallurgist, but I was worried that the blade might break or shatter thanks to the chip it had taken. It just seemed prudent to get it fixed now because if things heated up, there might not be an opportunity later. When we arrived at Starsmith, I left Icky, Rab, and Funboy doing some maintenance on the Fafnir and the Frankie. Both ships were only about a thousand flight hours away from their Level One inspections. Passing them was a prerequisite for them remaining certified spaceworthy. There were workarounds and emergency exemptions, but if we kept them both in tip-top condition, then the downtime from the inspections should be minimal, or even non-existent. I took Torina, Perry, and Gabby into the subterranean Starsmith complex to find Linulla. We’d announced our arrival, but Linulla was uncharacteristically absent from his usual greeting outside his Forge. One of his kids, now a young adult Conoku from Cantullin’s generation and a senior apprentice to his father, led us to him. We found him puttering over some project on his workbench, one that seemed to involve a lot of bars and ingots of different metals. “Hey, Linulla.”

His eye stalks swiveled to me, then back to his work. “Van.”

An alarm bell started jangling. My gut tightened up. I’d spent time with Linulla at and after Cantullin’s funeral, and he made it effusively clear that he held me blameless for her death. If anything, he seemed genuinely pleased and proud that she’d spent her short, young life doing something important, dying while trying to bring the most wanted man in known space to justice. But time had passed, so maybe resentment had festered. I decided to approach this warily. “Linulla, look, if you’re busy, we can—”

“No.” He tossed an ingot onto the pile with a clank. “No, I’ve got to have all of this scanned before I can do anything with it, anyway. These ingots are supposedly an alloy of exactly the same composition. But I can tell from the way this one has oxidized”—he jabbed a claw toward the one he’d thrown on the table—“that it’s got an excess of beryllium in it. There’s one supplier I’m dropping from my list.”

I glanced sidelong at Torina, but she looked as puzzled and worried as I probably did. Gabby, though, decided to take a different approach. “Linulla, what’s wrong?

Something’s bothering you. Is it what happened to Cantullin?

Because if it is, we should probably talk it out, since

I think we need to be able to keep working together.”

I almost winced. Almost. Gabby had been brave enough to deal with whatever was happening head-on. And when it came to the softer, more psychological parts of the job, she was rapidly becoming our expert. Linulla stared back at her for a long, tense moment—and then he laughed. “Oh. Oh, no. No, it’s not about Cantullin. The things I said about her—

that she died doing something she thought was important while working for someone she respected most deeply—haven’t changed. We Conoku don’t fear death. We fear meaningless death. To my people, and to me, Cantullin lived a good life and had a good death. That sadly isn’t true for many Conoku. If anything, I view her as fortunate.”

“So, what’s the problem then?”

“I have ninety-one descendants, including my own children, and in the cases of the older ones, their children, about to try to get their Class One Skimmer Clearance. Do you know how many skimmers they’ve wrecked?

And while none have died or been seriously injured, I’m not convinced that good fortune will last.” He offered the Conoku equivalent of a sigh. “Dying in a careless skimmer accident is about as meaningless as deaths get, isn’t it?”

He aimed his eye stalks at me. “So, I suppose this is about Cantullin, in a way. Her very good death risks making others seem… less so. But I don’t have the time or energy to oversee this. And you may have noticed that young Conoku are somewhat rambunctious.”

I smiled and shook my head. “What?

No, hadn’t noticed that at all.” I crossed my arms. “So, you’ve got ninety-one kids getting their driver’s licenses, all at the same time. Yeah, I can see how that would be… a handful.”

And by handful, I meant, holy shit that’s insane. I tried to imagine nearly three times as many Conoku as we’d originally brought aboard the Iowa all clamoring for attention, trying to outdo one another. The phrase demolition derby came to mind. Torina blew out a breath. “Yeah. We definitely need to find an answer to that.”

Perry spoke up in our ear bugs. I’ve got one. Tell the randy old clacker to stay on his side of the oyster bed for a night or two, for cryin’ out loud. “Linulla, give us a chance to talk about this, and we’ll see if we can come up with some way of helping you. In the meantime—”

I drew the Moonsword and showed him the blade. He instantly zeroed in on the chip. “Stars cry at you, Van. What did you do to this blade?

Try to cut through some super-hard alloy?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. In my defense, though, I didn’t know it was there.”

He took the blade and cast a keen, expert gaze over it. “It’s a good thing you didn’t just leave it like this. There’s a microfracture starting from that chip, about half a centimeter long, right along the crystal boundaries. A few more solid hits and the blade would have broken right across here.” He gestured with one of his smaller manipulators. I nodded. “That’s what I was afraid of. Can you fix it?”

“I don’t suppose you have the missing chip.”

“Uh, no. We were kind of cutting our way into a hostile spaceship, so trying to find tiny bits of metal wasn’t high on the list.”

“Ah. Well, that’s a problem, then.”

“How so?”

“The Moonsword was fashioned from an unusual metal reputedly found hundreds of years ago in the nucleus of a comet. Whatever it is, it has an atypical character at a subatomic level, which shouldn’t be stable and should quickly break down through radioactive decay. But it doesn’t, and we’re not entirely sure why. My predecessors speculated it had something to do with somebody somehow fiddling around with things at a quantum level—or that somehow happening naturally.”

I gave my chipped blade a morose look. “And—you can’t replicate it.”

“Not even close. Whatever physical principles are involved are beyond our understanding. I’ve even asked, uh, certain experts in the fundamental nature of matter—”

I smiled. “It’s okay. They know about Matterforge,” I said, nodding to my companions. “Ah. Well, then, yes—I asked Matterforge about it, and it had no insights to offer.”

“Huh. A being that lives on a star and can split and fuse elements into lighter or heavier ones at will, and even it doesn’t know what’s going on?

That takes the concept of mystery to a whole new level,” I said, noting that Torina and Gabby had moved aside and were whispering about something. “It does. Anyway, my forerunners therefore decided to focus on how the stuff could be used, an endeavor with which they were a lot more successful. All of which is to say that, to repair your blade, I need some of that material. And, as far as we know, the only sources would be the other two companion blades, the Sunsword and the Starsword.”

“So I need to find one of them. And they’re both lost.” I sighed. “Great. Not that I needed another reason to despise Klezmir, but he’s cost me my sword—and from beyond the grave, at that.”

“Not necessarily,” Linulla replied. “There’s been no word of the Starsword for over two hundred years, it’s true. But one of my clients reported seeing the Sunsword in a private collection about… oh, ten standard years ago. I’ll have to do some research. In the meantime, hang onto your sword and avoid using it to cut anything that isn’t, ah, pliant.”

“Like flesh?” Perry asked. “Flesh would count as pliant, yes. Even softer metals, like regular steel, wouldn’t be a problem. But stay away from hard alloys, ceramics, crystals, those sorts of things,” Linulla replied. “Okay. Well, as soon as you know anything, tell me. I guess I’m entering spaceships and things the old-fashioned way in the meantime, with breaching charges.”

“Or Icky’s hammer,” Perry pointed out. “Good point—”

Gabby and Torina abruptly turned and stepped back into the conversation. “Linulla, Gabby, and I have been talking, and we might have a solution to your kids-in-skimmers problem.”

“You do?

Oh, if so, Van I will repair your blade for free,” Linulla said. “Your kids need discipline and training, and they need it from someone who doesn’t scare them. We’re suggesting that we put Gabby on the case,”

Torina said. Linulla stared for a moment. “Are you up to the challenge of trying to herd around ninety-one young Conoku, Gabby?

And I urge you to consider that question very carefully before you answer. This isn’t something simple, like solving interstellar crimes or winning interstellar wars. This is serious.”

Gabby bobbed her head enthusiastically. “I look forward to the challenge, yes!

You’re an important member of the team, so if we can help

you out, it helps us too, right?

And it will be good practice for me, since I seem to be kind of taking on the role of the Fafnir’s resident therapist, counselor, and all-round touchy-feely sort of person. If I were a human, I’ve been told I would be a Virgo with a Pisces moon. Or, um—well, it’s all rather complicated but someday I hope to visit Los Angeles, where people study these things and even have schools about it!

For instance, there’s a girl named Reyeleyn with umlauts, whatever those are, and she offered to tutor me by phone.” Gabby turned to me, wearing her alien grin. “I’ll need a cell phone and a credit card. No hurry.”

Linulla noticeably brightened. “I don’t know anything about Los Angeles, or, ah, Virgos, but if you can do this, Gabby, then you’ll be my hero. I’ll even throw in some free work to help you make that base of yours at Sol fully operational—the one you call Fortress, I think?”

“Forcus. Although, Linulla, there was something I wanted to ask you, and now seems like a good time for it. Forcus is cute, but I had an idea for a better name. Since it’s effectively the Iowa’ s home base—what would you think of us naming the place Cantullin Station?”

A moment of silence. Then Linulla stepped forward and touched my arm with a claw. “Van, that would be—” He hesitated again. “I don’t know what to say, other than thank you.”

The others gave firm nods. Perry spoke. “Good one, Boss. Good one.”

3

WE WOULD BE LEAVING Gabby on Starsmith. From there, she’d take a shuttle flight to the Conoku homeworld. This was a rare privilege since the Conoku restricted access to their homeworld pretty stringently. As she was preparing to depart—and saying goodbye to Funboy, something we were all quite happy to give a wide berth—Linulla asked me to come and see him again. I assumed this was going to be about Matterforge. Maybe the strange being had yet more cryptic words for me. But it was nothing of the sort. Matterforge, in fact, had been notably silent for several weeks, it seemed, although it was up to something—spectral changes on the surface of its home star hinted at some sort of serious matter-forging going on. Linulla’s quiet conversation was about something more timely and closer to home. “The splinter groups of the GKU, Van. The Ferals. I’d been meaning to talk to you about them at some point, but given what you’ve told me about what happened to that Klezmir character, I thought now was the time since you’re here.”

That made me all ears. “What about the Ferals, Linulla?

What do you know?”

“In terms of specifics?

Very little. Rather, it’s just bits and pieces. Snippets of conversation. Vague suggestions, that sort of thing. They’re out there, and I gather that there are elements within your Guild that are nervous about that. The loss of Master Gerhardt has upended the stability of

the Guild’s power structure, and I think there are… concerns, shall we say, that the Ferals will attempt to capitalize on it.”

“Capitalize on it?

How?”

Linulla paused before he answered. “People tend to say things to me, and around me, believing that I’m a wholly neutral party. And I am—in general. But I’m also a fierce defender of both law and order. Although I don’t claim to have detailed knowledge of these so-called Ferals and their agenda, they make me nervous. Frankly, Van, I count on the Guild as a sort of foundation for law, order, and stability in known space.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “Linulla, you’re doing a great job of being ominous here. Where are you going with this?”

“I am concerned that the Ferals will attempt to deepen and strengthen their grip on the Guild in the wake of Master Gerhardt’s death. Remember that the Galactic Knights, including their Uniformed Order, came first. When that organization collapsed in a spectacular display of infighting, ruthless scheming, and egregious corruption, the Guild was built upon the ruins. It was everything that the Knights—and, again, especially their militant branch, the Uniformed Order—was not.”

He then went on. “The GKU existed—and still exists—to impose order on known space. They would do so by whatever means necessary and were answerable to no one but themselves for the methods and the outcomes. They’re about the greater good, the ends justifying the means, all those buzzwords used to justify abuse. The Guild exists to support other entities, governments, and the like, in maintaining order across known space and is constrained by laws and a culture of justice in enforcing them. Those are two very different missions.”

“So, you think the GKU is going to—what, make a move to co-opt the Guild?”

“The GKU as a whole?

No, probably not. I doubt that your Valint has such aspirations, for instance. If anything, she’s probably one of the few things that have been holding them in check. But her influence isn’t boundless, Van. The Ferals are a power unto themselves. They may say that they only want to maintain the law by working—at its very fringes, if not actually outside it. They may even tell themselves the same thing. But make no mistake. They are ambitious. They once held power, then saw themselves relegated to the sidelines when the Peacemaker Guild was formed. They have never forgotten that.”

I sat back, nodding. Everything Linulla was saying made sense. It particularly made sense when it came to the vaunted 32, which I was now convinced was little more than a smokescreen. The 32 created the illusion of a body overseeing the GKU. Knights like my grandmother Valint might respect it, but I didn’t believe that the Ferals did. I suspected that the

“missing” members of the 32, the ones whose identities no one seemed to know, were all Ferals—if they even existed at all. And that explained something else—why Helem Gauss had been released after his trial, despite carrying Calamity. One of the Ferals saw the outbreak of Calamity as useful in some way. Something that furthered their desired ends. Maybe it had been my mother. I sighed. “Thank you, Linulla. You’ve cut through the bullshit in a lot of ways, regarding a lot of things.”

“I’m glad I could be helpful. The true test, however, is what you’re going to do about it. The Ferals have contented themselves with biding their time, working outside known space, maintaining a low profile, and even helping the Guild from time to time. But I think those days are ending. I think the Ferals are going to start coming in from the void, and they’ll be coming to stay.”

ON THAT PORTENTOUS NOTE, we took our leave of Starsmith, after saying our goodbyes to Gabby. As we broke orbit, I gave the crew a rundown on my conversation with Linulla. When I was done, I looked at Perry. “Well?” I asked him. “Well, what?”

“I gather none of this triggered any new memories, released any locks, or anything like that, huh?

This conversation just seemed like the sort of thing my grandfather would have used for that.”

“Nope, sorry. Although I did recently realize that there’s a Starbucks cup in virtually every scene in Fight Club.”

“There’s a—what?”

“The movie, Fight Club. There’s a Starbucks cup in nearly every scene. The director, David Fincher, was commenting on consumerism and product

placements—“

“Perry, what the hell does this have to do with any of what we’ve been talking about?”

“Nothing. But you looked so eager for me to reveal something new there that I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“You’re… a pain in the ass, Bird, you know that?”

“But I’m good at it.”

“Oh, you’re something—”

“Van, we’ve just received a twist-comm broadcast. It’s a General Order message, Category Three,” Netty-P said. We all sat up. A General Order was the Guild version of the Calling All Cars!

police broadcast from old movies. Category Three meant it was serious but not critical or an outright emergency—yet. It was a text-only message since a twist-comm General Order broadcast from Anvil Dark to all Peacemakers everywhere would be as expensive as hell in antimatter fuel. I read it on the display. “There’s a mass hostage situation in the Reticulum system. Two class 16

transports have been seized by an unknown party.”

“Reticulum. The Reapers’ pleasure city,” Torina said. I whistled. The Reapers were a one-time criminal outfit that had found it more lucrative to part people from their money through immoral, if not outright unethical, means—but not illegal. Gambling, prostitution, unrestrained virtual reality fantasies, various types of drugs, and more, they were all on the menu. We’d visited their domed pleasure city, also called Reticulum, early on in my career during a case. I hadn’t been back since. That was in part because I had no particular desire to go there, but also partly because the Reticulum system, technically known by the much more poetic WISE W2246−0526, was right on the edge of known space. It was the furthest system from Anvil Dark that the Guild still had jurisdiction over. That distance made it an expensive place to visit, which is why most travel there involved large ships, liners, and big freighters, which were simply more efficient fuel-wise. Package tours were popular, with people from all over known space converging on, say, Crossroads, then taking a liner from there to Reticulum. It was the equivalent of a packaged cruise holiday on Earth if the cruise ship only had one port of call, a giant casino, a brothel, and a general den of iniquity. “Okay, Netty-P, the flight management system says we’re good for fuel. Let’s head for Reticulum and see what’s going on.”

“On it, Boss.”

“I have not been to Reticulum in a long time. Not since I was banned from there,” Funboy said. I turned. “You were banned from Reticulum?”

“I was while working undercover.”

“The whole place?

Not just any one establishment, but all of it?” Torina put in. “Yeah, don’t they call their dome over the place the event horizon because what happens under it never gets out?” Icky added. “Yes, but since I will now be arriving there on official duty as a Peacemaker Auxiliary, I don’t think that—”

“No, no, that’s not what I was getting at,” I said, giving my head a curious tilt. “How the hell did you get yourself banned from an anything-goes place like Reticulum?”

Funboy blinked at me. “I would draw your attention to Icky’s observation of a moment ago.”

I grinned. “All right, keep your secrets, then.”

WE ARRIVED to find a half-dozen Peacemakers, including Lunzy and K’losk, already in-system. The others were newer Peacemakers, a couple of whom I’d met but none of whom I knew particularly well. I was surprised to see Petyr Groshenko’s Poltava also on the scene. “Petyr, I’ve heard of people having trouble letting go of their work after they’ve retired, but you’ve been out of the business for years now,” I said when I got him on the comm. He shrugged. “I still get some selected comm traffic from the Guild as a courtesy sort of thing. I happened to be in the neighborhood, so thought I’d drop in to see if we could help.”

“You’re not a Peacemaker, though. You handed in your badge.”

“Ah, but I still have the status of Auxiliary. I can legally assist other Peacemakers in the performance of their duties.”

“Oh. Well. Welcome aboard, then. Do you know what’s going on?”

“The two transports in question, both big class 16s, are carrying supplies to Reticulum—”

“Fluffy handcuffs, lingerie, multi-species condoms, that sort of thing,”

Perry said, bronze eyes aglow. Groshenko flashed a quick smile. “Wouldn’t be surprised, but it’s mostly water, to top off their reclamation systems. Anyway, they’ve both been seized by as-yet unidentified parties in at least ten small ships, none bigger than class 8.”

Netty-P cut in. “Van, we have scanner data being repeated back by Lunzy and K’losk. Whoever owns those ships, they’re not exactly up on their maintenance. A couple of them seem to be held together with patched hull plates, baling wire, and wishful thinking.”

“No IDs?”

“None. No transponders, no registry information. If I had to guess, I’d say that some are probably cobbled together from parts, while others are wrecks that have been refurbished.”

“A good way of avoiding any sort of ID,” Rab noted. “Ballsy as hell, too, flying in beaters like those, but they’re probably totally untraceable.”

Torina nodded. “And throw-away. I wonder how many of them are crewed, and how many are being flown by AIs.”

“Have they given any demands?” I asked. Lunzy, who’d come on the channel, answered. “Just a smart-assed, dare-you-to-come-at-us snark from somebody named Selcurr.”

I turned to Perry. “There are four instances of that name in Guild Archives. One of them is dead, one of them is in our custody, in The Hole, one is incarcerated on Tau Ceti, and the fourth is a ninety-something-year-old Fren-Okun who was arrested on Spindrift about ten years ago for getting in a moist altercation with a Peacemaker named Yotov. And yes, that’s our disgraced former Master.”

“Yotov got slimed?” I chuckled but just shook my head. “So, unless our Fren grandma has decided to take a late career in organized crime, it’s not any of them.”

“Probably not even a real name,” Icky muttered. Lunzy answered. “No, probably not. The question is, though, who are these people?

They’ve got means to refurbish old ships, suggesting there’s infrastructure somewhere they’re using.”

I felt my suspicion deepen as Lunzy spoke. I had some thoughts, but I didn’t want to venture anything—yet. “Doesn’t really matter, does it?

Right now, we’ve got the crews of those two freighters—oh, and their cargo. Is Reticulum in danger of running out of water?”

“Or condoms?” Torina asked, a smirk playing on her face. Lunzy laughed. “No to the first. Reticulum replenishes its water supply at the point they’re down to a ninety-day supply, so that’s not an issue. As for the second—well, I’m sure they’ll make do. Love conquers all, but lust conquers interstellar distances.”

“Okay, Lunzy, how do you want to do this?”

She returned a thoughtful look. “I’m getting a vibe from these people that they’re not actually interested in hijacking water. It’s got value, sure, but not enough to make this sort of operation profitable. As for the freighters themselves, they’re too big, cumbersome, and easily identifiable to be much of a target, either.”

“Unless they intend to conduct a subsequent criminal operation that requires two large cargo ships,” Funboy put in. I shrugged. “Yeah, I guess, but I’m with Lunzy. I think this is about something else entirely.”

“What?” Icky asked. “I’m… not sure. Let’s just see how this plays out. My recommendation is we just give them an ultimatum, then take them out if they refuse it,” I said. “What about the crews of those freighters?” Torina asked. “Oh, I know. They’re going to unfortunately be in the line of fire, and that sucks—”

“In case it matters, the bad guys seem to be stripping fittings off of one of those freighters,” Netty-P interrupted. She put imagery coming from K’losk’s ship, which was closer than ours to the action, on the display. Sure enough, it looked like a pair of workboats were busy yanking point-defense batteries and scanner arrays off the freighter in question. I nodded. “Parts. Yeah, that fits.”

“Fits what?

How?”

“Well, it stands to reason, right?

If the water isn’t their target, and the freighters aren’t their target—and if they cobble together spaceships—”

“Right. Parts. So do you think these guys are just here to steal spaceship components?” Lunzy asked. “I don’t know if they’re just here for that, but that’s at least part of it. Anyway, we should see what this Selcurr has to say.”

Lunzy nodded. “Go for it.”

“Uh—you’re the on-scene commander, Lunzy. You’ve got seniority.”

She smiled. “No, Van, I’m not. Technically, as Gerhardt’s Justiciar, you are.”

“But… he’s dead.”

“He is, but his office isn’t. Justiciar attaches to the position of Master, not the person. You’re technically holding the position of Master right now because of that.”

I turned to Perry. “Why is the first I’m hearing of this, legal advisor of mine?”

“Because it is the most technical of technicalities. There are only three other instances of Justiciars outliving the Masters that gave them the title, and none of them were expected to, or even tried to, act as Masters as a result.” He glared at the display. “So there, Lunzy.”

“Yeah, Perry’s right. But there’s more to it than that, Van. There’s a growing consensus that you’re the logical candidate to officially succeed Gerhardt.”

“What?”

“Hey, I just report the news, I don’t make it. Oh—and before you start down the, But, Lunzy, you’re senior to me and are the better candidate road, I don’t want the job. I know my strengths, and they’re not about leading people. They’re more about supporting the people to lead people.”

“What makes you think I want the job—?”

Groshenko cut in. “You know, this is probably a conversation that needs to happen, but perhaps not right now, hmm?

The bottom line is, Van, that this is your operation to command, at least until and unless a Master shows up. And I mean current, serving Master, before you get any ideas about me taking over.”

I sighed. How the hell had I ended up in charge?

Fine. I switched channels to the one that the—pirates, because that’s at least technically what they were—were using. “This is Peacemaker Van Tudor. You’ve got thirty minutes to stand down and surrender all of your ships.”

A sneering voice came back without visual imagery. It was so sneering, in fact, that it was a caricature, the voice of a mustache-twirling, top-hatted villain tying the heroine onto the railroad tracks. “Or what?

You’re gonna use force?”

“Yes. I’ll destroy every single one of your ships.”

“Really. And what about these poor hostages?”

“Well, you can release them. But if you don’t, well—let’s put it this way. This isn’t a negotiation. You have our terms.”

“You—”

I cut the channel off. I felt my crew looking at me. Perry spoke. “Uh, Van?

Kind of an unconventional approach to a hostage situation, don’t you think?”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“What are you up to?” Torina asked. I sat back. “An experiment. If this goes the way I think it will, those hostages are either going to be released unharmed, or they’re all going to be killed. Nothing we do is going to affect that.”

“You think you know who these people are, don’t you?”

“The Ferals,” Perry said. I shrugged. “If I had to guess, yeah, these are Ferals. They fit, don’t they?

An organization with enough resources, enough infrastructure somewhere out there, to refurbish ships?

They’re not exactly the sorts to pop into showrooms and buy new, are they—?”

“Van, we’re getting an incoming message from Selcurr,” Netty-P said. “Oh, I’ll bet we are.” I reached for the comm but opened the channel to the other Peacemakers and Groshenko instead. “Okay, everyone, here’s the plan. The Fafnir’s going to lead the way. The rest of you make your best possible speed to follow. We’re weapons-tight—don’t shoot at anything unless it’s positively identified as enemy. But if it is, you’re free to shoot.”

K’losk came on. “Van, are you sure you don’t want to try to negotiate an end to this?”

“If I believed that would help, K’losk, I absolutely would. But that’s not what this is about. Without getting into details, this enemy is going to stall, and as soon as we move on them, they’re going to run. Hopefully, they’ll

leave the hostages alive, but that’s going to be up to them. It may not seem like it, but the die is cast here.”

One of the new Peacemakers, a young Gajur female named Koltix, spoke up. “How are you going to lead the way?

We’re almost an hour ahead of you.”

I turned to the others. “I guess the time has come to peel back the veil. The Ferals already know all about the combi-drive, so there’s no point trying to be coy about it.” I turned back to the comm. “You’ll see in a moment. If there are no other questions, let’s do this.”

I got no questions, just terse acknowledgments. I turned to Netty-P. “Okay, combi-drive us into optimum weapons range, please. Torina, Funboy, Rab, stand by to open fire as soon as we return to normal space. Icky, you can depressurize the ship once we’ve suited up.”

Torina reached for her helmet. “Do you really think they’re just going to run?”

“I guess we’re about to find out, aren’t we?”

4

THE COMBI-DRIVE CUT OUT, and we were immediately illuminated by a half-dozen fire-control scanners—a manifestly hostile act. To give them the greatest benefit of the doubt, though, I started to broadcast one more warning to the pirates. I got about halfway through before we came under fire, a laser shot triggering a REAB module with a dull thud, and a particle beam lancing past us. I knew that other ships were trying to develop firing solutions on us since they couldn’t easily predict where we’d reappear in normal space when the combi-drive shut down. I nodded inside my helmet, then gave a grand wave. “You are free to fire.”

Torina opened fire with the lasers. Funboy triggered the particle and plasma-burst cannons, while Rab opened up with the accelerator cannon. The rapid-fire, twist-enhanced slugs from the latter were particularly deadly, slamming into one of the hostile ships and blowing it to fragments, then switching fire to another and doing the same thing. I tended to forget how heavily armed the Fafnir was, thinking of her as the underdog she’d been in so many fights before. Now, though, she was effectively a warship, carrying the firepower of a light cruiser. Even with the Poltava, an actual light cruiser, and the rest of the Peacemakers still at least ten minutes out of range, the battle was pretty one-sided. Another of the pirates’ ships died to Funboy’s plasma-burst barrage—he really was lethal with his shot placement—and I watched as the hull split in hideous silence, outgassing before spinning away into the black. “That was… accurate, Funboy. You’ll have to teach us your target selection methodology when we have a free moment,” I said. “I can reveal it now. I imagine my targets to be people who do not get a clean plate with each trip at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Of all your world’s crimes, that offends me most.”

Perry cocked his head. “Don’t let him see someone double-dip anything in the ranch dressing fountain. He might behead them on sight.”

Funboy adjusted his weapon guidance and gave us a single nod. “The punishment fits the crime.”

I blew out my breath. “Okay. Note to self—no buffets for a while. Now then, I see—ah, thanks, babe. Killer shot,” I told Torina, who had just cheerfully sent two rounds through the engine bell of an enemy ship. And the retreat was on. The rest flung themselves into the darkness at any speed they could muster. As they did, one of them, presumably the mysterious Selcurr, broadcasted an encrypted transmission. We accelerated after them, but they’d been keeping themselves right on the edge of a safe twist distance from Reticulum and quickly twisted away. “Van, that transmission gave their intended destination—a red dwarf about seven light-years to coreward of here,” Netty-P said. “But—”

She paused. I looked at her. “But?”

“But the nav data in the message isn’t correct. If they follow it, they’ll twist to a white dwarf about three light-years in the opposite direction, roughly rimward. It’s a pretty careless error.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“You think it’s a setup?” Torina asked. She was beautiful when she was paranoid. “Well, it took about three seconds for Netty-P to break the encryption, and the data is interesting enough to pique our attention. I suspect we’re supposed to follow them, where we’ll find a somewhat more, uh, vigorous reception.”

“Do you think this is about your mother?” Rab asked. I barked a mirthless laugh. “Oh, I’m sure that’s part of it—”

“Van, Koltix just twisted away,” Netty-P put in. Lunzy came on. “Van, we’ve got twist coordinates for these bastards. Did you want—?”

“To chase them?

No!

Shit, is that where Koltix went?”

“Probably. She’s been determined to make a name for herself since she graduated from Initiate. Damn, are you saying it’s a trap?”

I gave a bitter sigh. “I certainly think it is, yeah. And if we go after Koltix, we’ll be flying into it ourselves. I sure as hell wouldn’t count on it being nothing but rattletrap rebuilds waiting for us, either. If these are who I think they are, the Ferals, there’s probably a sizable fleet waiting there.”

Groshenko cut in. “I’m with Van. I guess I had the same suspicions he did, so I’ve been making some inquiries through back channels. There are a half-dozen GKU capital ships suddenly unaccounted for. They include your mother’s ship, the Retribution.”

I cursed, low and rich and in three languages before I stopped. That seemed to confirm it. “So Koltix flew straight into a trap,” Icky said. I cursed a little more. “Yeah, she did. And the worst part is that the only way to help her is to fly into the same trap ourselves.”

WHICH I CONSIDERED DOING, anyway, but I had to force myself to think about this strategically. It made no sense to willingly walk into a trap, risking the lives of many people, to save one rash Peacemaker. I could only hope that the Ferals, realizing we were onto them, would let Koltix get away. While I had Netty-P try to establish contact with her, I called up Alic on Anvil Dark, explained the situation, and asked him to dispatch the Righteous Fury and any other Peacemakers that could be spared. While he was arranging that, I decided we could afford a brief reconnaissance of the location, an innocuous red dwarf star used for nothing but occasional nav fixes by ships taking a shortcut between Tau Ceti and Spindrift. “Okay, so we’re going to twist into a location outside weapons range of the coordinates in that fake message, look around, then twist away again,” I said, then frowned at the flight-management display. “And then, between that, our previous twists, using the combi-drive, and firing the accelerator cannon, we’re going to have to gas up. I guess we’ll just twist straight to Anvil Dark. Netty-P, I’ve got that right, don’t I?

We’ve got the endurance to do that?”

“If you don’t mind arriving at Anvil Dark with a little less fuel reserve than regs specify. It’s going to mean some additional paperwork.”

“But we won’t end up lost, drifting in space, right?” Icky asked. “No, we won’t.”

“Okay, I’m good with Van doing more paperwork, then.”

I shot her a look. She grinned back and gave me four thumbs up. I kept the ship depressurized and us suited up as a precaution, but we switched the scanners to passive mode. And then we twisted, and the stars fell away again. DEBRIS. That was it. When the passive scanners detected nothing else, I ventured switching to active mode, full power. When that showed no sign of other ships, I had Icky and Rab take the Frankie about a million klicks away, then scanned the system again with both ships. Having B and, more to the point, my mother tailing me while stealthed had left me unnerved, so I’d done some research. It turned out that parallax—scanner data coming from two widely separated sources—could resolve ships concealed by stealth tech better than a single-point source. But even this showed nothing but the star, some rocks up to roughly the size of Orcus, and that debris. Which, by now, we’d been able to confirm as that of Koltix’s ship. It had been hammered into fragments by something, probably an overwhelming bombardment from several waiting warships. As Icky and Rab returned, Torina turned to me. “What I don’t get is why. I mean, Koltix twists into the system alone, in a class 9 Dragon. As soon as she does, they open fire and destroy her. And then they leave. What’s the point?”

“To send us a message, I think,” Funboy said. “And what message is that?

That it’s a declaration of war or something?”

“Yes.”

But I shook my head. “No. War implies a conflict between military forces over some sort of strategic objective. There are interstellar laws that govern that sort of thing, rules about how combatants are treated when

they’re taken prisoner. But these Ferals aren’t combatants. They’re arrogant thugs who don’t think the law applies to them—that it’s something they have to circumvent for the greater good. But it’s the greater good as they define it, so it’s really just about power and control.”

I shook my head again, then continued. “No. This isn’t a war. They aren’t combatants. They’re criminals, and they’re going to be treated as such.” I stared at the tumbling debris on the display. “And now, we can count murder among their crimes.”

I leaned back and sighed. It meant that an entirely new and powerful enemy, one that was intimately enmeshed in the power structure of the Peacemaker Guild, had suddenly entered the field. It was as though the National Guard had suddenly decided to take on the United States as a rogue element that essentially looked and operated like the US Army, was similarly armed, and had access to much of its intel, command, control, and communications systems. As bad as that was, though, it got even worse. The Peacemaker Guild only existed, and only had legitimacy, through the consensus of the various political powers of known space. If they got the sense that infighting between elements of the GKU, and those with the Guild, had turned all of it into more of a risky liability than an asset, then they wouldn’t hesitate to act. They couldn’t afford not to. And the Guild and the GKU wouldn’t even be able to put up a coordinated response. The Ferals would probably end up being destroyed or driven out of known space by far superior forces, but the damage would be done. Much the same circumstances that led to the original GKU getting its wings clipped and replaced by the Guild would have been repeated. I suspected that the powers of known space—the Ceti Alliance, the Eridani Federation, various independent states, and even the League—

wouldn’t be interested in a third go-around. The GKU would be outlawed entirely, the Guild would be dissolved, and—

And then what?

How could anyone imagine that those powers would just create the Peacemaker Guild 2.0 and blithely carry on?

There would be no Guild, just the various powers and their competing interests and agendas. Known space would suddenly become a much less unified and far more dangerous place. And all because I arrested my mother. ALL RIGHT, that wasn’t quite true. The Ferals had been chafing at being forced onto the margins of things for a long time. Things like the 32, even the GKU itself, had been wishful thinking at best, outright deception at worst, papering over their simmering resentment and thwarted ambition. It would have eventually come to this, anyway. If not my mother, there would have been some other pretext, some other flash point. Still, it left me brooding, even starting to second-guess myself as we flew to Anvil Dark. I had a welcome distraction, though, from Lunzy. She’d taken over the scene of the hijacking at Reticulum..

She caught me in my cabin, trying to get caught up on some paperwork with Perry—including the many, many forms I had to fill out accounting for why we arrived at Anvil Dark with less than the authorized reserve of antimatter fuel. “I’ve got good news and bad news,” she said. I braced myself and sighed, waving her on. “Please share.”

Lunzy caught my mood. “Don’t worry, Van, it’s not bad news for us. It’s bad news for the owner of these two freighters. It turns out that both these bulk carriers were flying without proper registration. And, if that wasn’t bad enough, the holding company that owns them owes a ton of unpaid excise fees. Per the usual protocols, the matter was turned over to us to resolve.”

I sat up a little. This wasn’t unusual. The Guild would frequently buy debt owing for things like excise and customs fees at some fraction of their true value, then go after the debt itself. It was easier for us since we had jurisdiction throughout known space. A ship that owed money to, say, the Eridani Federation only had to stay out of their territory to avoid paying, but we could go after them anywhere. It was a lucrative little business for the Guild. “How much do they owe?”

“Lots. More than we’re ever going to collect. And that’s the good news. I’ve seized both ships and put Guild beacons on them. We’re going to pay their crews to take them to Anvil Dark to the impound orbit, and then we’ll put them up for auction.”

“Boss, you should buy one of them,” Perry said. I stared at him, a little dumbfounded. “I should?

Why?

Why the hell would I want to own a freighter?”

“Um, excuse me, sir, but you’re already a shipping magnate. Remember your inherited Fren-Okun transport company?”

I blinked a few times. “Oh, yeah.”

“Oh, yeah,” Perry mimicked. “Sheesh. It’s a good thing some of us are staying on top of it.”

“Some of us are—what are you talking about?”

“Torina and me. We’re dealing with the monthly status updates and financials. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Lunzy laughed. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. If you do want to buy one of these beauties, you can declare yourself as having first right of refusal under Guild seizure policies.”

“I thought those explicitly said no Peacemaker could claim that for a seizure—you know, to stop people from seizing ships just so they can buy them for cheap,” I said. “Ah, yes, but you made me on-scene commander when you departed to find out what happened to Koltix. I’m the one signing off on the seizure. And trust me, I have no desire to own a freighter, anyway.”

“Put Van down for first right of refusal on both of those ships,” Perry said. “Perry—!”

“Will do. See you later, Van,” Lunzy said, signing off. “Perry, can we even afford to buy one of those ships, much less both?”

“One?

Easily. Both?

Eh, might be pushing it.”

“Easily?

Really?”

“You don’t read those summaries I slave over every month, detailing the state of your shipping company and their financials.”

“I—I just—” I finally shrugged. “They always seem to get pushed down the to-do list.”

“Van, I spend nearly half of a second every month on those. It’s a wonder I haven’t cooked off my matrices.” He sounded smug and aggrieved, a true work of art in terms of emotional blackmail. “That probably sounds a lot more dramatic to you, doesn’t it?” I asked him. He answered with a tilt of his head… and an air of smugness. Still, I almost laughed at myself. I’d inherited the shipping company a long time ago, from a Fren-Okun benefactor. It operated four ships, picking up cargo, moving it around, and delivering it. I frankly didn’t pay much

attention to it, being content to let my name sit on the paperwork as

“owner” and otherwise letting its management run the show. Or so I thought, anyway. The crew sometimes poked me about it—Icky, in particular, was fond of tossing me a, “Hey, Van, how’s that shipping company of yours doing?” with a grin. I generally just shrugged and answered something like, “I dunno. Fine, I guess.”

“You forgot all about it again, didn’t you?”

“I prefer a hands-off style. Lasso-fair, I believe the French call it.”

“Um, yeah. That’s exactly right.”

In that moment—albeit light and filled with a sense of camaraderie—I felt something else. A touch of shame. And Perry read my face like a star chart. He shook his head. “Don’t feel bad, Boss. Your head is right where it should be—running this ship, dealing with our various cases, and worrying about things like Dohlennz and Calamity. Torina and I have got this. But I don’t think we’re comfortable buying a freakin’ ship—or two—without your say-so.”

My cabin door opened, and Torina came in. Perry must have sent her a summons. “We’re buying a freakin’ ship?” Torina asked. Perry looked from her to me. “Don’t know. Up to the boss here.”

“Perry tells me we can afford it,” I said to her, spreading my hands. I’d been to Husband School. I knew how things worked. Torina smiled, then tapped Perry’s wingshoulder. “Bird’s right. And it’s a good idea. Of the four ships we’ve got, one is always in for maintenance, crew refresher training, recertification, that sort of thing. That leaves three flying, and they’re tapped out. We’ve sold cargo space on them for the next three months. We could really use a fourth ship to increase our capacity and grow the business.”

“We—really?

It’s that successful?”

Torina clicked her tongue. “Van, I’m not just another pretty face. I’m a martial arts expert, skilled pilot, and the finest paramour in known space.”

“Quite a résumé,” Perry muttered. “Humble, too.”

“Hush, Bird. Your ego could fill a nebula. As for me, I’m also the daughter of two of Helso’s most successful business people. I could

probably have run your shipping company successfully while I was still in school. My parents—especially my father—made sure of it.”

“Huh. Wow. I feel kind of—”

“Stupid?” Perry offered, helpful as ever. “I was going to say out of the loop, thank you very much.” I finally shrugged. “If you guys think we can afford it—although, speaking of your parents, we still owe them money. Shouldn’t we pay them back first, as a priority?”

Torina looked at Perry, and then they both laughed. “Yeah, definitely out of the loop. Van, we sold them a ten percent interest in the company for one bond months ago. You signed off on it. You don’t even remember that?’

“Hey, I… sign lots of things.”

Perry sighed. “I am Radar to your Henry Blake.”

Torina gave him a sidelong look. “I’d ask who they are, but I’m assuming it’s some Earthly pop culture reference.”

“And an awesome one,” Perry agreed. “Okay, fine. If you guys think we can afford a ship, and that we need a ship, then go ahead—buy a ship.”

“We’ll even register it under a new name, to honor you, Van. You’re the one that ultimately made it possible,” Perry said gravely. I shrugged, and we got back into the paperwork. My mood was more buoyant, at least. This, as much as anything, demonstrated just how good my crew was. They were comfortable making decisions on their own and just keeping me informed—

Even if I didn’t read what they wrote. Still, it showed we’re a damned good team. And a damned good team was what we’d need to deal with the impending shitshow that was the Ferals. 5

“THE RCS OBLIVIOUS. Oh, ha-ha-ha, you guys are so funny,” I snapped, glaring at the completed registration document on my data slate. “I said we’d name the new ship in your honor,” Perry said. I turned my glare on Torina as we exited the Fafnir into the Anvil Dark hangar bay we’d been assigned. She, in turn, pointed at Perry. “It was his idea.”

“Oh, you duplicitous vixen. It was your idea, Torina—”

I held up my hands. “If it makes you feel better, I blame you both equally.”

While Icky and Netty-P saw to getting the ship refueled, and some more maintenance out of the way, the rest of us headed for the Keel, the hub of Anvil Dark. I wanted to talk to Alic about the Ferals and what the hell we were going to do about them. And I wanted my crew there with me to give and get as many perspectives as possible. Max, the multi-personality alien who looked after the Masters as their chief administrator, business manager, and general assistant, greeted us. While we were waiting for Alic, I was struck by a sudden desire. “Max, can you unlock Gerhardt’s office?”

Max looked at me, then extended a tentacle and tapped at some controls on their desk. “There you go. Take all the time you need, Van.”

“Thank you.”

We walked into the office that had been Gerhardt’s, and I took some time to just stand and stare at his desk. Gerhardt had always kept it barren and tidy, but this was a different sort of barrenness. It was… empty. The whole office felt that way. Empty. The others hung back, while Torina stepped forward and took my hand. “He was an irascible old fart. In fact, when I first got to know him, I kind of… hated him, actually,” I said. “He was a little doctrinaire, yes. But I think you rubbed off on him, Van. He became more, well, easy-going.”

“I think he rubbed off on me, too.”

“Of course he did,” Torina said. “He was… a father figure. How could he be anything else, given his—his character?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my father, and he was a great man. But… he wasn’t there. Not very much, anyway. I don’t blame him for that. That was the reality of being in the Navy. Duty called—a lot. I made my peace with that a long time ago.”

I sighed. “But, yeah. Gerhardt did sort of step into that role.” My face hardened. “More than my mother ever did, that’s for sure.”

“I miss him, too. I think I always will,” she said, likewise staring at the empty desk. “Yeah, he was unusually good when things were bad. Even when it cost him to be fair and just, fair and just is what he chose, every time.”

“Sounds a lot like you. Although he whined a little less.”

I turned to her. “Whined—?”

I saw the smile playing on her face and shrugged. “Well, I’m learning.”

We returned to the reception foyer and sat. Alic was in a meeting and would be free shortly, Max said, but I was content to wait. The foyer was comfortable, and quiet, and made no demands. It was peaceful, and I could use a little peace right now. “You know, Van, I’ve been thinking,” Rab said once the silence got a little too silent. “Torina and Perry asked me to look over the specs of that new ship of yours—”

“The Oblivious,” Perry put in. “Yes, Perry, the Oblivious—and again, ha-ha. Anyway, Rab, you were going somewhere with that before you were so rudely interrupted.”

Rab smiled. “Yes, I was. It’s outfitted to dock and carry four workboats up to class 5 in size. It looks like only two of those docks were in use, with

a couple of class 4s that have seen better days, while the other two were plated over and repurposed as additional cargo space. I think the idea was that the ship could carry its own shuttles, to deliver cargo to a planetary surface since it doesn’t have any atmospheric capabilities of its own.”

“Okay. And?”

“And, it wouldn’t be hard to refurbish those bays to make them usable again. Fix up the two workboats it has, get a couple of more, and you’ve got a full complement of small craft.”

I shifted and turned toward him. I think I saw where he was going with this but just nodded. “Go on.”

“Well, it kind of sounds like a carrier, doesn’t it?

Now, I know we’re looking down the barrel of a war with the Ferals—”

“Not a war. I refuse to dignify bringing them to justice with the term

‘war’.”

“Fair enough. A clash, then, with the Ferals. A carrier, able to launch four armed workboats, while also having enough cargo space to carry fuel, parts, ordnance—pair that with the Iowa—”

I warmed to his idea instantly. “Rab, I’d like you and Icky to go over that freighter with a fine-toothed comb. Bring in whatever expertise you think you need, including from—and I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to saying this—my alien space shipping company. The aim is to make sure it will work as a freighter first and foremost, but if we can give it a dual purpose—“

Max cut in. “Van, Alic’s available now. He’s in the conference room, first door on the right,” he said, gesturing with a frond-like tentacle down a corridor opening off the foyer. Max was also working on a terminal and dealing with some other paperwork, all simultaneously. Now that was multitasking. We ambled to the conference room and entered to find Alic there—as well as Valint, Petyr Groshenko, and Gabriella Santorelli. It made sense they’d be present since I wanted to talk about the Ferals. Something, though, gave me the feeling that there was more than that on the agenda. “Van, I read your report on the action that led to the death of Koltix. You remain convinced that this was a rogue element of the GKU?” Alic asked. “Yes. Absolutely. Now, if you’re going to ask if I’ve got proof, the sort that would hold up in court, then no—I don’t. But—”

“But, it was the Ferals because of course it was,” Groshenko said. Valint shrugged. “This isn’t a court, and we don’t have a standard of proof to establish, anyway. So, I don’t disagree.”

I gave her a keen look. “Um—you’re a senior member of the GKU. You didn’t get even a hint of what they were planning?”

She returned a sharp look of her own, eyes glittering with intellect. “If I had, I would have warned you and the rest of the Guild,” she snapped but immediately relented. “Unfortunately, the GKU is hardly a unified organization. These days, it’s more like—like a description, like calling someone an ‘engineer’ or a ‘soldier’.

Engineers all generally have things in common, they do the same sorts of things, but I don’t think anyone would claim that engineers are loyal to a common cause or have a shared vision.”

“Then why do we talk about the GKU like it is some kind of unified organization?

Why don’t we just call it what it is—a breeding ground for seditious thugs?” Gabriella asked. Valint spun on her. “The GKU has its flaws, but I will not have it described the same way you might describe the Stillness or some other criminal gang.”

Gabriella didn’t back down. “They killed a Peacemaker, Valint. And they would have killed more Peacemakers if Van and company had been sucked into chasing them—“

“All right, that’s sufficient, I think,” Alic cut in. “Gabriella, I believe it is unfair to label the whole of the GKU like you have. Conversely, Valint, I believe it is fair to label a significant part of it that way. Do you deny it?”

Valint returned a defiant glare, but it faded and she finally shook her head. “No. We have elements that are… operating outside the ideals of the Galactic Knights.”

I sat forward. “Yeah. We do. They’re called the Ferals, and my mother is one of their major players. Her arrest was the trigger for this.”

Alic frowned at me. “Van, you did what you had to—”

“Oh, no, trust me, I know that. I did lose a little sleep over it, right up until I didn’t.” I turned back to Valint. “I know you believe what you’re saying about the ideals of the GKU. I’ve read the old Charter. I know the GKU Creed. It’s all very interesting—from a historical perspective.”

Valint opened her mouth, but I held up my hand and went on. “Like I said, I know you believe in those things. But, let’s face it, Valint. You’re a

minority, probably a shrinking one, struggling to hold onto those high and noble ideas.”

Torina spoke up. “The GKU has been lurking on the edges of known space for, what, centuries now?

We saw how some of those ships at Reticulum were cobbled together from spare parts. For them, it’s a furtive kind of existence, stuck on the outside looking in. It’s no wonder those ideals have started to… to ring hollow to a lot of your GKU comrades.”

“They used to be the ones in charge,” Rab added. “Then they got their butts kicked aside in favor of the Guild. That kind of thing has to build up bitterness and resentment.”

I nodded. “As for the Guild—I know that, technically, it’s the successor to the GKU, perpetuating it, and so on and so on. But that’s not how the Ferals view it. For a long time, the GKU was the law. To them, the Guild probably looks like a tame lapdog, with the other powers of known space holding the leash.” I sat back. “I suspect the Ferals view us, the Guild, with the most contempt of all.”

Perry summed it up. “They killed a Peacemaker because they wanted to kill a Peacemaker. It was a message—to the Guild and to the rest of known space.”

Valint had listened to the conversation in stony silence. I knew this was grating at her morality, her reputation—her humanity. She was a Peacemaker, but a Peacemaker who saw herself as a true legacy of the Galactic Knights Uniformed. She believed in its noble ideals. She saw herself as a protector of the weak, a force for order and justice. And, sure, she was prepared to push the law to its breaking point to accomplish that. The ends really could sometimes justify the means, if those ends were truly good ones. But she was also a vanishing minority, and she knew it. My mother, and the people like her, were the ascendant ones. The GKU was becoming more radicalized and dangerous by the day. The organization she loved was turning into something else, something corrosive and ugly. The die for that had been cast when the GKU was allowed to continue existing even after the Guild had been established to replace it. And that’s because it was expedient. It was convenient. It gave the Masters a way of nudging cases that they couldn’t close otherwise into the hands of the GKU so they could be dealt with. The Guild was Doctor Frankenstein, the GKU was its monster, and now that monster had finally broken its restraints and was starting to run amok. Valint finally offered a nod of her own, a single, curt one. “Fine. Yes. The GKU is—it’s not the GKU I belong to. That GKU is really just a handful of us. Me, B, Mother Hen, a few others. The rest—”

“Are the Ferals,” I said, and Valint nodded again with a vigor that made the small act seem cathartic. “So how many people constitute these Ferals?” Alic asked. “How many ships?

Moreover, how are the ships armed, and do any of them have the combi-drive?

Of the Ferals, how many are Van’s strategic equal or Torina’s tactical match?

Can any of them counter Perry’s knowledge and alacrity he acts to advise us with?”

“I—lotta questions there, friend,” I said. “I have many more in me as well.”

“And you’ll have answers,” I said, giving him a nod of appreciation for his thoroughness. As one, we all turned to regard Valint, who shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. There are elements of the… the Ferals that I only know by reputation. I’m not sure how strong they are, or if they even exist anymore.” She looked around. “The GK—the Ferals haven’t confined their activities to known space. They’ve been involved in things in The Deeps, in Unity space, and elsewhere. They’ve fought battles and lost ships and people. They certainly don’t send detailed situation reports afterward.”

“Not exactly a sign of a healthy, unified organization, is it?” Gabriella said. Valint shot her a scowl but shook her head. “No, it isn’t.”

“So, give us an estimate,” Torina pressed. She was… invested. I knew the tone. Valint sighed. “Hundreds of people, certainly. At least fifty ships—

although those are in various states of repair, and some probably aren’t even space-worthy, being cannibalized for parts. It’s not as though there’s a lot of infrastructure out there, and they can’t just bring their ships here for maintenance. So… probably thirty to forty flyable ships, mostly small capital ships, frigates, and light cruisers. Maybe… ten bigger capital ships?

Heavy cruisers and larger?”

“That’s still a lot of firepower,” Rab said. I nodded at that. “Yeah, it is. And all flown by resourceful, battle-hardened crews.”

“Don’t forget resentful and not exactly good with authority,” Perry added. “That too. All in all, a pretty toxic combination.”

“So, the question, then, is what do we do about it?” Alic asked. Groshenko leaned into the conversation. “For a start, we do what we originally convened here to do,” he said, giving Alic a significant look. Alic nodded, then turned to me. Even before he spoke, I knew what was coming. “Van, we want you to be Gerhardt’s successor. We want you to become a Master of the Peacemaker Guild.”

I DID my best thinking aboard the Fafnir. So, once Alic had put that on the table, I told them I needed time to think about this, then excused myself and returned to the ship with the rest of the crew. I’d meant to head for my cabin and some alone time, but instead I stopped and flopped down in my favorite chair in the crew lounge. “Netty-P told me what’s going on,” Icky said, still decked out in her utility apron and tool harness. “I was gonna congratulate you and give you four handshakes, but something about that glum look on your face tells me that might be, uh, premature.”

“Very premature,” I said, leaning back, closing my eyes, and stretching out my legs with a low groan. Silence reigned for a moment. I opened my eyes to find my crew sharing awkward glances. I sighed and sat up. “So. Speak up already. I want to hear what you guys think.”

“Would it take you off the Fafnir?

Put you behind a cushy desk?

Because, if it does—” Icky started. I shrugged and turned to Perry. “I don’t know. You’re the expert on this stuff. Would this ground me?”

“Honestly, that’s up to you. There have been hands-on Masters, still running cases, still flying regularly, spending as little time as they could get away with on Anvil Dark. That was Groshenko’s style.”

I smiled. “No surprise there.”

“And there have been Masters who’ve been happy to hand their ships over to their Second, or some other successor, and turn themselves into permanent desk pilots. Think Yotov.”

“Again, no surprise,” Torina said. “And you’ve got the types in the middle, like Gerhardt, who generally spent their time here but didn’t blink at heading out into the field when they thought that was the right way to go.”

“So, you’d get to set your own schedule. Sweet,” Icky said, uncrossing her arms. “Well, yes and no. Groshenko was constantly in the shit with the other Masters for not being around to do the tasks that needed to be done. And Yotov was seen as nothing more than a political creature, totally out of touch with what the Peacemakers were facing in the field. Gerhardt probably did the best balancing act,” Perry explained. I laid my hands on my stomach and laced my fingers together, then tilted my head back and looked up at the overheads. “The Guild can not afford to have a Master that isn’t here most of the time. There’s too much going on that needs—I don’t know, strategic direction, I guess. A big chunk of the Guild’s problems come from the fact that the Masters don’t really exercise good control. I’m not saying they should always be giving detailed orders to every Peacemaker, but we spend way too much time chasing off in different directions, without coordination or things being deconflicted.”

“True. Look how we keep tripping over Gabriella,” Torina said. “Essie and I had the same issue,” Funboy said. “On four notable occasions, we had other Peacemakers intrude into ongoing undercover operations simply because they weren’t aware they were going on. It seriously compromised two of them and required an emergency extraction for Essie and me from one of those.”

Icky gave him a raised eyebrow. “Really. Sounds like a hell of a war story.”

“It was.”

Icky stared a moment, then gave us all a deep frown. “And that’s it?

You’re not gonna tell it to us?”

“Some other time perhaps. I believe we have a more important discussion underway.”

“Pfft. Van, you have to turn this down. If we lose you from the Fafnir, then we lose our—I don’t know. Our brain.” She turned to Torina. “No

offense, girl, you’re great and all, but—”

“Oh, trust me, I don’t want to lose Van from the crew either. And I’m not excited about taking over as full Peacemaker,” she replied. She didn’t say anything about the elephant in the room she and I shared, the fact that we’d be husband and wife—and apart. Physically and organizationally, we’d move into two separate worlds. It didn’t escape the attention of the others, though. Rab turned to Perry. “What are the implications of a Master’s wife being a Peacemaker?

Is that a conflict of interest?”

“Inherently?

Not necessarily. As long as Van formally recused himself from things like dealing with her promotions and appointments, the cases she was assigned, that sort of thing, it would be doable. It’s been done before—a few times.”

“The way you said that sounded like it had a ‘but’ hanging off the end of it.”

“Yeah, well, avoiding a formal conflict of interest doesn’t prevent people from believing there might be one, anyway. It’s way harder to avoid the perception of a conflict than the actual thing,” Perry replied. Funboy nodded. “Every time she was rewarded or promoted, even if she achieved it on her own merits and deserved it, there would likely be some who would question it regardless.” He blinked. “People suck like that.”

Netty-P spoke up. “Of course, there is… another option. Van could retain the Fafnir as his ship and us as his crew. Torina could remain his second, so she’d just keep being an Auxiliary, but nothing stops him from naming her his Justiciar. That would allow her to exercise most of the authority of a Peacemaker on his behalf.”

I held up my hands, spread wide. “This is all great conversation, gang, but I should probably note that I’m by no means jumping at this. My gut reaction is to turn it down.”

Torina frowned. “Why?”

“Because I get where my grandfather was coming from. I become a Master, and I’m suddenly embroiled in the scheming, machinations, and politics of the Guild. I frankly think I can make far more of a difference, make an impact, by remaining a Peacekeeper and flying the Fafnir with you guys. No, my boots belong on this deck. Next to you all.”

“Damned right,” Icky said. The others’ reactions to that were mixed. Torina was nodding thoughtfully, but I sensed a shadow of doubt. Funboy and Rab both seemed noncommittal. Perry and Netty-P were—

Well, Perry and Netty-P. They had no body language for me to read. I stood. “Anyway, folks, I appreciate the chance to sound off. For now, I’m just going to think about it. One thing I refuse to allow is to be rushed into deciding. In the meantime, we have a more pressing problem—the Ferals.”

I excused myself so I could spend some alone time in my cabin. My main effort, I told myself, was working on the Ferals problem. Becoming a Master?

Yeah, that could wait. 6

I GOT about an hour of peace, then Perry showed up. I let him in, and he hopped up onto my desk and commanded the door closed. “Van, you turning down a chair at the Master’s Table would be a mistake,” he said. I sighed. He’d intimated this before, mainly in the context of my grandfather turning it down. “Perry, look—”

“Van, I know what’s coloring your thinking here. It’s Mark. Your grandfather turned it down, and you respect him deeply. That means he must have had good reasons for turning it down. And that means that you should respect those reasons. Or, if you accept it, then you’re somehow disrespecting Mark and the choice he made.”

“I—” I started, then stopped and frowned. “I’m not saying that’s right or that I agree with you, but that’s pretty insightful.”

“For an AI, you mean.”

“Did I say that?”

“No, but it was there.”

My frown became a scowl. “Perry, don’t start putting words in my mouth. I didn’t mean that at all. If Torina had said the same thing, I’d have called her insightful, too.”

“Fine. Regardless, it’s still true.”

“Sure. Maybe. To some extent, anyway. Believe it or not, though, it’s not the main reason.”

“What is?”

“How about the fact that I’m not convinced the Masters call the shots?

That there are forces”—I waved a hand vaguely—“out there that do?

Maybe naming someone a Master is just a convenient way of, I don’t know, neutering them. Promoting problems so they stop being problems is a time-honored tradition in every institution. Do you know how many senior executives there are back on Earth with titles like Special Projects Officer or Director of Corporate Welfare?

They might as well be Chief of Straightening Paper Clips.”

“Uh-huh. Or—and hear me out—that’s not true, and we’ve just had a succession of mostly shitty Masters who’ve never really been interested in actually giving the Guild some leadership. Sure, we had Gerhardt. And we’ve got Alic, although, let’s be honest—he’s not the most dynamic sort of leader, is he?

Super smart, but intelligence is only one of the aspects of the job. And I’d argue not even the most important. Volffin is new. In the meantime, we’ve had Yotov, Kharsweil, and umpteen other Masters over the past few decades that have been corrupt, motivated solely by self-interest, or both.”

“Sure, and the 32 has been quite content to let those people become Masters, and be Masters, and not do anything about it. Where the hell have they been?

Hell, I’m supposedly one of them, and I have no idea what it’s supposed to mean. I didn’t even get a key to the executive washroom.” I sighed. “See, I can’t help thinking, Perry, that making me a member of the 32 was supposed to—I don’t know, shut me up, keep me happy and stupid. But that didn’t work, so now it’s time for plan B. Let’s make Van a Master. Then we can bury him in politics and paperwork, endless meetings, and conferences—”

Perry cut in. “Even if that’s true, then isn’t it all the more reason to take up the mantle of Master?

Otherwise, it’s never going to change, is it?”

I shot him a hard look. “So, I’m supposed to save the Guild now.”

Perry stared right back at me, his eyes unblinkingly amber. “Mark said pretty much the same thing to me, during a conversation much like this one, a few decades ago. I’ll tell you the same thing I told him. You’re just finding a way of giving yourself an excuse for not doing something that’s, yes, going to be hard. But it’s also something that needs to be done.”

“By me. There’s no one else that can do this.”

“That’s the same mentality that leads to people standing around a car accident, taking pictures on their phones instead of helping the people bleeding inside the wreckage. Someone else will take care of it.”

I stood. “You know what, Perry?

I don’t want to have this conversation. At least, not right now. In case you’d forgotten, we’ve got much bigger problems to deal with—”

“There will always be bigger problems, Van.”

I opened my mouth, but the door opened. “Sorry to bother you. I’ll leave you to solve all those big problems now,” he said and launched himself out. If I could have slammed the door after him, I would have. I suspect he’d have done the same. I TOLD myself it was easy for Perry. He wasn’t the one who’d have to put on the Master’s badge and then try and unwind the tortured tangle of agendas, schemes, machinations, and general bullshit that was the Peacemaker Guild. Just the thought of it made me tired and anxious. Perry might think that my grandfather had made a mistake, but I got it. I got where Gramps was coming from. So, I shoved the whole matter aside and focused on the Ferals. They were the immediate problem. They’d killed a Peacemaker. And they were still out there, probably plotting their next move. And, as it stood, it seemed all we were going to do was sit around and wait for them to do it, then react to it. No. We needed a proactive plan. We needed to neutralize the threat of the Ferals, and we needed to do it without turning it into a… war. Yeah, I was avoiding calling it that, but the reality was that that’s exactly what it would be. A shooting war. And the last thing the Guild and known space needed right now was opening another front of conflict. We needed to de-escalate the situation in a way that would avoid bloodshed but also give us a long-term solution to the Ferals. The problem was that they were “out there,” and we were “in here”—

So… they had to be brought “in here,” too, didn’t they?

At the very least, we needed to drag them out of the interstellar night and stick them

somewhere where we could keep an eye on them. But we had to do it in a way that was worth their while. Surely they were getting tired of living out in the void, cobbling together ships from parts and hope. But asking them to come to Anvil Dark and join the team wasn’t going to cut it. We needed something for them to do. Something specific. Something difficult. Something challenging that would still be in their best interests—

Out of idle inspiration, I flicked the display on my desk terminal to a chart of known space. The Ceti Alliance and the Eridani Federation were non-starters. They’d want nothing to do with the Ferals. In fact, approaching them to assist in dealing with them might just convince them the Guild was out of its depth and the whole matter was just too much trouble. If one or both of them decided to wind back their support for the Guild, it could end up achieving exactly the opposite effect. It could destabilize known space. The Schegith were, likewise, a no-go. They were too valuable as the allies they were. That left a handful of smaller, independent entities, like Helso or Dregs, or—

The Seven Stars League. I perked up. The League. It was still clawing its way out of the aftermath of a brutal war, both external and civil. The influence of the parasitic beings known as the Tenants—themselves a product of the GKU, thank you very much—immediately followed by that of Calamity was still simmering away. On top of that, the new government, a populist movement that seized power from the old, corrupt power mongers, was itself wrestling with the corrosive effects of post-war corruption. Moreover, the coalition of disparate groups that had been the uprising was fine as long as they were all fighting for the same cause, seizing power. Now that they had it, all of those different and often incompatible agendas were starting to look for payback, their own slice of the pie. I sat back and stared at the chart. What would injecting the Ferals into the middle of that accomplish?

Would it just make things worse?

Or would it give the new regime a powerful tool to stabilize things, while giving the Ferals something useful and productive to do?

On the other hand, if it were successful, would it just give the Ferals a base of power in known space to further their agenda?

I stood. I needed to talk this over with my crew and with Alic, Volffin, Valint, and company. I spoke up, activating my comm. “Perry, call everyone together in the Keel, in the Masters’ digs. That includes Alic, Valint, everyone connected with the 32.”

“Will do.”

His reply was pointedly curt. I knew he was still pissed, but I didn’t have time for that right now. Besides, no matter what I decided about becoming a Master, everyone was just going to have to live with it. Me included. THE REACTION around the table was predictably mixed and generally lukewarm. Valint spoke first. “It’s an interesting idea, Van—but also one that completely ignores the nature of the Ferals. They want to restore the GKU

to its former place of glory and importance in known space, not help prop up a regional government.”

“Do they really think they’re going to go from a fringe group hovering in the darkness beyond the firelight to the ones tending the fire in one swoop?” I countered. She shrugged. “No, probably not. They’re not stupid—which is part of what makes them so dangerous.”

“This one believes you are simply creating the conditions for future problems. Implicit in your fire analogy is the fact that the Ferals will eventually want to control the fire. Do you not believe you are giving them a foundation to do that?” Volffin asked. “Maybe. But the alternative is a shooting war now. And, even if I was excited about the idea of eradicating the Ferals—and I’m not—it’s not going to be that simple. A lot of people are going to die on both sides. Worse, Calamity is still out there. And we don’t know how much of Dohlennz’s nasty little empire is still lurking in the shadows, and then there’s the whole matter of the Jackals and the Tyrants and what seems to be the ongoing effects of that Peacemaker War.” I looked around the table. “Does anyone here really think we can afford another war?

Or, at the very least, another front in the war we’ve got?”

Alic gave me a thoughtful frown. “It does have the advantage of potentially helping to stabilize the League while also dramatically deescalating the situation with the Ferals.”

“Yes—by creating a potential power base for the Ferals going forward,”

Groshenko put in. I sighed. “Yes, I know. It’s far from a perfect plan, and it has a lot of angles to it, not all of them good ones. Again, though, I just don’t believe we can afford to just go to war with the Ferals.”

I looked at my crew. “I know I’ve made a big deal about not calling it a war, but really, that’s what it would be. Big space battles, lots of destroyed ships, lots of dead people.”

Perry spoke up. “What about your mother?”

“What about her?”

“Well, she’s a Feral. And one of the most influential, at least as far as we know. The Ferals already kind of made a statement about her when they killed Klezmir and welded his hands into his bulkhead. Are you just going to leave her sitting in a cell in The Hole?”

“It’s a good point,” Torina said, head tilted to one side. “She probably needs to be part of this. If you could convince her that this is a good idea, she might be able to help sway the Ferals in favor of it.”

I tapped the conference table. I’d only thought about my mother in passing. Torina and Perry were right… but. But, my mother was an additional wild card. We had enough variables in play without introducing another one. “I’d recommend that we start down this road first, test the waters, as it were, with just the players we’ve got.”

Alic looked around the table, then sat forward. “Very well. I believe that you, Van, should go to the League and sound out their leadership about this. If they aren’t interested, then there’s no point in making overtures to the Ferals. And if they are, then we’ve got a solid proposal to take to the Ferals.”

“This one agrees,” Volfinn said. I nodded. “All right. We’ll get underway immediately—”

“There’s still an open question on the table, Van,” Alic said. I nodded. “I know. And… as much as I appreciate the vote of confidence, I’m just not ready to become a Master.”

“Will you ever be?”

I looked around at the watching faces. Most of them looked disappointed—which was hard, but I reminded myself that they weren’t the ones who’d have to do the job, I was. A few were noncommittal. The only one obviously approving was Icky. I finally shrugged. “I don’t know.”

FERSUN CAULDEXX, the leader of the new provisional government of the Seven Stars League, was unavailable. She was apparently off meeting with Unity, trying to improve trading relations with them. The Ceti Alliance and the Eridani Federation were both aggressively wary of the League’s new regime, in part because I suspected both were hoping it would fail and they could just carve up the League between them. Whatever the reason, the result was that trade was restricted between them, and what was occurring was subject to onerous customs and duty provisions. Cauldexx was obviously hoping that improved relations with Unity would help offset some of that. Instead, we were told that we would be meeting with the League’s new Interior Minister, a Hu’warde named Clynepses Ornitolian-Sprowse. Perry snarked at her name. “What, did her parents get paid by the letter when they named her?” It provoked laughter amongst the crew, which was good and made me hopeful that Perry might be moving past my refusal of the Master’s mantle. On the other hand, while he was his old self with the crew, he seemed a little stiff with me, so he hadn’t moved on entirely. Whatever. I refused to be forced to second-guess myself. Instead, I focused on the task ahead. Our meeting with Clynepses would be on a palatial estate on the League capital planet of Sunderbach. It was a sprawling complex of mansion and outbuildings worthy of a Russian oligarch. The estate had once belonged to the Satrap. With him gone, the provisional government had symbolically repurposed much of the estate for public use, parkland where people could

have the alien equivalent of picnics and days at the beach. Only the mansion itself remained a government facility, and even then mainly given over to diplomatic use. Which is why we were meeting Clynepses there. We landed the Fafnir on a pad a short distance from the main building, which looked like a cross between a hunting lodge and the Clampett’s house from The Beverly Hillbillies. A broad lake, wine-colored under the ruddy sunlight, stretched off toward tree-lined shores. Overhead, a flying critter sneezed louder than Icky—without the requisite bath of snot shrapnel, thankfully—and in general, the day was pleasant. I brought Torina and Perry. I actually regretted not having Gabby around, given her penchant for immediately seeing through the veils and smokescreens and general bullshit people tended to fling up around themselves. We’d just have to make do. We were led to the mansion by a functionary and ushered through rooms that had once been sumptuous but had been since stripped of many of their fixtures. It left the place looking bare, with a “looted” vibe going on. Torina moved in close beside me. “Just think—the man who once lived here, the Satrap, had you on a hit list. Now you’re walking through his house and he’s—where did he end up, anyway?”

The functionary overheard us and glanced back. “He settled into comfortable exile on Faalax. That is, until he suffered a tragic fall out of a fifth-floor window.”

“Ah. Careless of him,” Torina said. “Wasn’t it, though?”

That’s one way to make sure the old regime doesn’t attempt to regain power, Perry said in our ear bugs. Torina and I both just nodded. We were led into a comfortable room—yet another meeting room, but one decidedly folksier and cozier than the ones I’d been haunting lately on Anvil Dark or aboard the Righteous Fury. The functionary left us, and we waited. Only a few minutes passed, though, before a statuesque figure entered through another door and strode toward us. “I’m terribly sorry, Peacemaker. I’m afraid my schedule is so packed that there’s barely time in it to get from one meeting to another,” she said. Clynepses Ornitolian-Sprowse was a Hu’warde, the same race as Valint, my grandmother. That technically meant that I was one-quarter Hu’warde, though it didn’t seem to express itself in any meaningful way other than

decent hair and a lack of cavities. I fell somewhat short of the supermodel bone structure and looks that were standard issue for every Hu’warde. But Clynepses was the real deal. Like Valint, she was tall, lean, and wiry, with the same sort of patrician face and, yes, slightly arrogant expression. We stood and greeted her, then all settled back into our places. “Now then, Peacemaker, I understand that you have some sort of proposal to make, on behalf of your Guild,” she said. “I do,” I replied, then summarized for her what we were proposing. I finished with, “It’s no secret that rebuilding a society ravaged by internal strife is a big job and often suffers from… ah, competing interests—”

She barked a laugh. “I wish they were just competing. Try incompatible and utterly hostile to one another. The Social Reformers want to nationalize everything, the Progressive Industrialists want to privatize everything, the Pluralists want to put everything to a vote, every time, for every decision we make—the list goes on. And none of them are willing to bend, even a little.”

“Sounds like a recipe for no one being happy,” Torina said. “And no one is. I suppose that’s a sort of win—if everyone’s pissed off and no one’s getting what they want, then it’s a level playing field.”

Clynepses just shook her head. “But it’s not a stable one, that much is certain. The various factions are starting to get the sense that if the League is going to be rewritten according to their particular vision for the future, then they’re the ones that are going to have to make that happen.”

“And that sounds like a recipe for unrest,” Perry said. “Or civil war,” I added. “Oh, yes. Very much so.” She gave me a thin, hard smile, one that made her look like Valint. “I don’t suppose you’d consider a career change, would you, Peacemaker?

Spend some time as the Interior Minister of an unnamed interstellar state?

It comes with a lovely office with a great view.”

I smiled back at her. “Sorry, I just turned down a promotion. Might make me seem hypocritical.”

Her smile flicked off. “So, explain to me how inserting another group, with another set of agendas—and a bunch of heavily armed warships—is going to help things around here.”

“What we’re hoping is that these rogue elements of the GKU will see this as an opportunity for legitimacy they don’t currently have while

helping achieve stability in known space. That is, after all, their supposed goal.”

Clynepses gave me an appraising look, then pursed her lips. “They’re a problem for you, and this is how you hope to solve it.”

I gave a casual wave. “I’m not pretending otherwise. The only thing I’d disagree with is them being our problem. They’re a problem for known space.”

“They’re also quite cunning. If they sense that the, um, unrest in the League creates the opportunity for it, they might decide to come this way, anyway, and insert themselves into your affairs. After all, if they’re looking to gain a permanent presence in known space, the League might be their best opening,” Torina said. “Your implied message being that we can bring them in on our terms or let them come in on theirs.”

Torina shrugged. “A little blunt, but—yeah, pretty much.” Clynepses stared thoughtfully at the table for a moment. I could tell she was weighing the risks of inserting a new and chaotic element into an already chaotic situation versus the benefits. I also knew exactly what was coming next. As though on cue, she looked up at me. “If I’m going to convince the rest of the provisional government to go along with this, I’m going to have to be able to offer more than vague promises and implied advantages.”

I smiled. “I’m guessing that money would help.”

“Money always helps,” she replied, a cool grin coming to life on her lips. I nodded. “It certainly never hurts. And, to that end, I spoke to The Quiet Room on our way here. They’re prepared to advance up to five hundred million bonds to the League in the form of forgivable performance loans. You achieve certain mutually agreed-to objectives, and the loans will be converted to outright grants.”

“With no interest starting to accrue for at least two standard years.”

I smiled again, doing my best not to seem smug. Dayna had offered me a bet that that would be the first thing out of Clynepses’s mouth. Not Oh, my, what a generous offer, and certainly not, Thank you. I hadn’t taken the bet. “The Quiet Room is prepared to forego interest for one standard year. I gather they’ve been peeking at your financials—it’s what they do, after all

—and believe that’s fair.”

Clynepses gave a slow nod. “Very well. That being the case, I’ll be happy to bring your offer to the Chair and the rest of the provisional government’s Cabinet. Of course, the decision will ultimately come down to what the group decides. I’m only one voice and one vote at the table.”

“Understood, of course.”

“Incidentally, Peacemaker, I had my staff do a little background research on you in anticipation of this meeting. Did you really arrest your own mother?”

I made myself meet her gaze. “I did. She broke the law.”

“In the course of trying to stop Dohlennz, wasn’t she?”

I kept my gaze as rock solid as I could. I wasn’t sure where she was going with this. Trying to provoke a reaction from me?

“I’m sure she believes that.”

Clynepses nodded. “You know, Peacemaker, some might say that that was a profoundly self-destructive act.”

She’s never been around after Funboy’s eaten a tub of blueberry cream cheese, Perry chirped in my ear. I think he was trying to find his place again and resume his role as official smart-ass. I got it. I wanted things to be normal, too. Clynepses went on. “I suspect that you arresting her led to the… issues, shall we call them, that you are currently facing with these so-called Ferals. And those issues have brought you here, no?”

I stood. “Thank you for your time, Minister. We look forward to the response from your government.”

She smiled back and the meeting ended, a functionary already hovering to shepherd Clynepses to her next appointment. She assured us that she would call us with the League’s answer within five standard days. As we returned to the Fafnir, Perry spoke up over the comm. He’d glided off ahead of us and sat on top of the ship, awaiting Torina and me. “You may not be surprised to know that I took advantage of our presence in one of the League’s political sanctums,” he said. “Was this advantage in the form of, ah, informal information gathering?” I asked, using my most innocent expression. He managed to look abashed. “It was indeed.”

“Oh, no, Bird, such, ah, perfidy. That was so very wrong of you,” I replied, then immediately rubbed my hands together. “Anyway, what did you find out?”

“Well, I see where Dayna’s coming from. Based on the data I could glean from stuff leaking from data links, the League’s Interior Ministry isn’t anywhere near as broke as everyone assumes. I caught bits and pieces of major transactions, but they didn’t have the flavor of someone juggling finances and just trying to stay on top of things. They felt more like someone with cash and the willingness to use it.”

“What makes you say that?” Torina asked. “If you’ve got creditors banging on your door—and I’m talking the types of creditors who fund interstellar governments here—are you likely to spend money on some new, luxury-equipped ships for senior governmental travel?”

“Does sound kind of frivolous,” I said, glancing at Torina, then around at the idyllic surroundings. “Audit-worthy, too. This makes me think of other people who inhabit islands of wealth among oceans of austerity and hard times. They’re called oligarchs.”

“Oligarchs don’t usually hold jobs as harassed governmental ministers

—well, and actually do those jobs, anyway. She seemed like she’s pretty diligent about her work, though.”

“Yeah, I suppose. But all we’ve been hearing about is how cash-strapped the new government is, and now Perry discovers they’re buying a fleet of luxury yachts for their muckety-mucks?

That seems kind of—well, off, don’t you think?”

“You think they’ve found another source of funding somewhere?”

We reached the Fafnir. I took in the pastoral surroundings, all leafy foliage—appropriately trimmed—neat lawns, and tended flower beds. It costs money to keep a place like this from just turning back into the botanical riot of wilderness it wanted to be. I’d seen enough shuttered farms back in Iowa, fallow and overgrown, sometimes within mere months of being closed down. “Perry, you said you were peeking at the Interior Ministry’s financials, didn’t you?” I asked. He replied from his perch just above the airlock. “Mostly. There were some broader government transactions, but most of it was Clynepses’s shop, yeah.”

“So, either the government has found other funding, or she has,” I said to Torina. “The question is how dirty is that money?”

Torina shrugged. “Hard to tell. What isn’t hard is funneling dirty money in through corporate fronts and the like, turning it sparkling clean by the time it hits the public accounts as”—she made air quotes, a mannerism she’d picked up on Earth and was starting to overuse—“tax revenue.”

I smirked. “You seem to know an awful lot about money laundering, my dear.”

“You can thank my father for that. He’s a firm believer that you have to know how the dirty side of money works if you’re going to stay on the clean side of it.”

“Wise words.” I glanced back the way we’d come, at the expansive mansion amid its prettified parkland. “The question I now have is, just how dirty is the money Clynepses is bringing in?”

7

WE RETURNED TO ANVIL DARK. I wanted to bring Alic and the other Masters up to date on what had been going on. We’d also finally scheduled the Fafnir’s and the Frankie’s detailed flight inspections so we could get them out of the way. The Guild wanted to make sure their stipends and other financial support were going to ships that weren’t on the verge of blowing apart. These inspections were part of their due diligence, and while they were a pain, they did at least ensure that Peacemakers’ ships were some of the best-maintained in known space. When we arrived, though, we were hustled in to meet with them, suggesting that something was going on, something more than just them being anxious for news from the League. “We received a message from the Ferals,” Alic said once Torina, Perry, Funboy, Rab, and I were seated in the meeting room and the door had closed. Icky and Netty-P were again attending to our ships, readying them for the arrival of the inspectors. “What did they want?” I asked, bracing myself. Was this going to be a declaration of war?

It wasn’t, though. What it was caught me off-guard. “They’ve specified their terms. They will cease all hostile operations in known space and place themselves back under the explicit jurisdiction of the more reliable elements of the GKU,” Alic went on. “Meaning Valint and her people,” I said. Alic nodded. “Essentially, yes.”

“Okay. And since I’m assuming they haven’t suddenly discovered things like charity and altruism and, you know, just doing what’s right, I assume they want something in return.”

“They do. They want all charges against your mother dropped and her released from custody.”

I sat back in my chair. I knew everyone was looking at me, but I needed a moment to absorb this. “They want us to release a convicted murderer. Talk about deals with the devil,” Perry said. Volffin spoke up. “This one agrees that this would be a problematic arrangement. However, the Ferals have provided evidence that the vessels Jocelyn Wallis attacked were not, in fact, just unfortunate bystanders. Rather, they were vessels very much in the employ of Dohlennz. They were carrying the people and resources he intended to use to save Bountiful from the biological plague he unleashed.”

“Do we believe them?

Or do we believe this evidence they provided?” I asked. Rab leaned in. “Evidence can be manufactured.”

“This one is aware; however, the evidence provided, in the form of flight and cargo manifests, is corroborated by other authorities. These ships were chartered by a holding company tied to Dohlennz through a former BeneStar subsidiary. They did take on the cargos the Ferals claimed they did, when and where the manifests list. There were personnel on board them that would have been involved in remediating Dohlennz’s plagues, and this one presumes they knew their role in all of this.”

“Sure, but that’s all circumstantial. We don’t know that the crews of those ships knew any of this, just that they were carrying people and stuff to Bountiful,” Torina said. The response to her came from a surprising source—Perry. “Yeah, but the movements of those ships were clearly intended to throw off people like

—well, us. The crews would have known that, at least, which should have given them reasonable doubt. If you get hired by some guys to sit in a car outside a bank and wait for them to come out and then prepare to drive them away really fast, you should assume they’re up to no good.” He turned to Volffin. “That still doesn’t mean she should have blown them out of space, though. There are options between do nothing and all guns blazing.”

“This one agrees and raised that with the Ferals in question. Their counter is that Jocelyn Wallis reasonably believed that extreme measures were justified to stop Dohlennz. They further—“ Volffin started, then looked at me and stopped. “In any case, this is what they said.”

I shook my head. “You were going to say something else. They further what?”

“This one… wishes to emphasize that this is their words, not the belief of any at this table. They further stated that if Jocelyn Wallis had been allowed to continue in her efforts to stop Dohlennz, the losses during the raid on Bountiful… may have been avoided.”

This time, I nodded. The Ferals were claiming that Gerhardt, Cantullin, and everyone who’d been hurt or killed during the raid might still be alive if my mother had just been allowed to run her course. The flip side of that was that she hadn’t because of me—and that those deaths and injuries were at least partly my fault. It was a neat bit of emotional blackmail. It was impossible to prove either way, but it raised the specter of me being culpable for, or at least complicit in their deaths. And now that that had been said, there was no unsaying it. “So, is that it, then?

Have the Ferals created enough doubt that we have to release Van’s mother?” Rab asked. Funboy answered. “Not necessarily. It could be argued that at the time she attacked those ships, she had no way of knowing that they weren’t innocent bystanders. A crime requires an illegal act and an intent to commit it, either deliberately or through negligence. The argument would be that she still had the latter.”

“It would be a weaker argument, though. If it were brought to trial, it might not be enough to convince the trying authority that she acted unreasonably,” Volffin replied. “I’m getting tired of that word, reasonable,” Rab said. “Nevertheless, what is reasonable and what is not is a foundational principle of the law and can’t be ignored.”

Alic sat forward and leaned his arms on the table. “There’s also the fact that this trial would be against the backdrop of Dohlennz and the things he’s done, and the fact that your mother was trying to stop him. Exigent circumstances and all that. Her defense would likely lean into that. It would take some compelling testimony against her to overcome it.” Alic looked at

me. “Primarily your testimony, Van, since you were there. You were the one who arrested her.”

I just stared at the table. Great. If I wanted to make this stick, I’d have to try, very hard, to portray my mother as a trigger-happy psychopath. And I’d have to do it in the teeth of a formidable defense. Given the threat Dohlennz posed, the argument would be that my mother was just trying to stop him and that the ships she attacked were part of his scheme. Sure, she couldn’t have known that for sure, but they were right where our intelligence about Dohlennz’s moves said they’d be. What had started as almost casual murder was suddenly starting to sound a lot like rash, even irresponsible action—but action taken in the face of a profound threat from a very dangerous man. A man who himself was wanted for crimes that made even murder seem tame. If it was starting to seem like that even to me, then how could I presume to convince anyone else otherwise?

I looked up and found everyone looking back at me. “I gather this has suddenly, somehow, become my decision,” I said. “It is your case, Van. It would fall on you to present evidence of your mother’s guilt. If you want to proceed and try to do just that, the Guild will be behind you,” Alic said. “Even if it were unsuccessful, and she was acquitted, this one believes it would make a powerful statement on the Guild’s behalf—that this sort of thing will not be tolerated, and every effort will be made to uphold the law,”

Volffin added. “That said, this also stands to deescalate the situation involving the Ferals,” Funboy put in. I tapped a finger on the table. Doing what was right, versus doing what was expedient. It was nice when those two things were the same. It was also all too rare. I finally sighed and shrugged. “There’s no point going through with a show trial to try to make a point, and then end up losing it. And passing up an opportunity to cool down the threat from the Ferals isn’t something we can just lightly ignore.”

I finally nodded. “Fine. Let’s release her. But I want to talk to her first.”

Alic nodded back. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

I readied myself for a deluge of recriminations from my crew, particularly Perry. But they were all silent as we headed back to the Fafnir. I finally stopped in the middle of the concourse. “No one’s got anything to say about this. About whether releasing her was the right thing to do or not.”

They exchanged glances. Torina finally spoke. “Van, it was the kind of decision no one should have to make about their own mother. There’d be a cost either way. All I can do is help you deal with it.”

“It’s all any of us can do, really,” Rab agreed. Funboy nodded as well. I looked at Perry. “You did what you felt you had to do,” he said. “That’s pretty noncommittal, Bird.”

“What do you want from me?

Like Torina said, it was a hell of a decision, one that you had to make—and only you. What I think about it doesn’t matter. What does is that we’re here for you if and when you need to deal with the aftermath of it.”

I stood with words in my mouth, ready to say. Words to the effect that this wasn’t helping, that I wanted them to tell me if my decision was right or wrong. But I wasn’t going to get that, I knew. Whatever I was going to get from them, I’d already gotten. So I said nothing, just nodded and resumed walking. It was going to have to be enough. WHILE THE FAFNIR and the Frankie were being pored over, I left the crew on Anvil Dark and took a Guild shuttle to the system called L1159-16.

It was the location of The Hole, the Guild’s prison barge, as well as where seized ships were impounded. One of them was Helem Gauss’s enormous and palatial ship, the Munificent, which was still tied up in legal limbo. When I arrived at The Hole, I had to pass through a succession of security checkpoints, repeatedly showing my credentials and having them verified biometrically. There was no privacy in The Hole. It wasn’t a brutal place by any means, not a gulag where prisoners were forced into hard labor until they dropped. It was downright progressive, in fact, compared to even some prisons in the developed parts of Earth. But it was a prison—

stark, austere, and, in some of the highest security sections, nudging up against harsh. My mother, though, was being kept in a section reserved for high-profile prisoners who were considered low risk for violence or behavioral issues. This was the land of imprisoned politicians, business executives, the well-connected, and the wealthy. I was shown to a comfortable waiting room, more like a small lounge. My guide, a Nesit Peacemaker with a rank unique to The Hole, a Vigilant, hesitated before he left the room. “I have to ask—do you want her in restraints?”

I shook my head. “No. That won’t be necessary.”

He nodded and left. A few minutes later, he returned with my mother. She looked utterly unchanged from the last time I saw her. That was probably partly because her severe injuries after the Battle of Null World had necessitated a slew of biomechanical implants. She was dressed in plain gray coveralls, a biometric patch repeated on her chest, back, and arms ensuring that she could be scanned and identified from any facing. “If you need anything, just speak out,” the Vigilant said, closing the door with a thunk. “Which means they’re listening in on everything we’re saying,” I noted. My mother sniffed and offered a fleeting smile as she sat opposite me. “There is no privacy here, Van, trust me,” she said. A mirthless smile reappeared. “So, have you come to let me go?”

“Yes, I have.”

She stopped, blinked once, and stared. “That isn’t funny, Van—”

“It’s not meant to be. We’ve come into possession of new evidence in your case that—well, I wouldn’t say it exactly exonerates you, but it does raise enough doubt that it’s not a slam dunk.”

This time, a glimmer of a real smile. “Slam dunk. You don’t realize how much Earthly slang stands out until you haven’t heard it in a while. So what evidence is this?”

“Perry advised me to not say. Since the charges against you are being dropped, there’s no need for discovery, to provide any evidence to your barrister. It… apparently helps preserve intelligence.”

“It was my people, wasn’t it?

The GKU?”

“Elements in the GKU were involved, yes.”

She nodded. “Well, while I appreciate the good news, did you need to come all this way to deliver it in person?

For that matter, wouldn’t this

normally be something the prosecutor would do, in writing?”

“That’s still going to happen. I just wanted to let you know that this is happening, why it’s happening, and—well, I’ll be honest. What we—what I expect in return.”

She smirked. “What you expect in return for… what?

For having no case against me?”

“I didn’t say we had no case, Mom. I said there’s new evidence that raises doubt. We could have pushed on, anyway, and, yeah, we might still have got a conviction. You still shot at civilian ships without being certain of their identity or why they were there.”

She crossed her arms. “Oh, I knew why they were there, Van.”

“Really?

How?

You assumed they were being used by Dohlennz, but you didn’t know that. He might have twisted in close to some unrelated ships he happened to know were going to be there. Or he might have hired them to be there, sure, but with no other explanation to their crews. Either way, they’d have had no criminal intent and wouldn’t have been legitimate targets.”

“Oh, for—Van, listen to yourself. You’re doing the same thing your grandfather did, giving the criminals all the benefit of the doubt.”

“That’s because that’s how the law works, Mom. Innocent until proven guilty, remember?

We were in a state of weapons hold. That means you weren’t to fire on any target not positively identified as hostile.”

She gave me an airy wave. “That all sounds nice, Van. So idealistic and

—and noble.” She fixed me with a hard glare. “But there’s no nobility out there. There’s ambition, and betrayal, and duplicity—and death. So much death. Those laws you speak so highly of are fine for—oh, I don’t know, running down smugglers, dealing with pirates, that sort of thing. But the real threats?

The things that will consume known space and everyone and everything in it?

The laws mean nothing to them.”

She tilted her head. “How can you have been doing this for as long as you have, now, and not realize that?

You’ve confronted some of those things yourself. The Sorcerers. The identity thieves. Gauss. Calamity.” Her eyes turned to dark crystal. “Dohlennz. All that matters is stopping those things, Van. All that matters.”

I sighed. “Yeah, yeah, the ends justify the means, blah blah blah. The only thing more tiresome than people saying that to excuse doing whatever the hell they want is the repetition. There have been—hell, there are tyrants

and autocrats and soulless corporations who’ve all had some version of it written in their self-serving propaganda.”

“Van, you may not like it, but you need—”

I shook my head, feeling my eyes go hard. “We need people like you, to do the things that need to be done, the things we can’t do. Again, blah blah blah. I guess that’s supposed to absolve us noble idiots of responsibility somehow. As if winking and nudging and giving the nod to someone else to undermine law and order while we sit back and click our tongues… makes it okay, I guess. Well, you know what?

It doesn’t.”

I sat forward. “Which brings me to the thing I want from you, Mom. First, do I have your attention?”

“Obviously.”

I slapped a big hand down on the table. It sounded like a gunshot in the room’s cold confines. To her credit, my mother didn’t flinch, but she gave me a febrile gaze revealing that, yes, I did have her attention. Now, I needed her to see me in the context of who I was at this moment, not who she used to know. I waited. She waited. Then, I leaned forward, pasting a polite, chill smile on my face. “Jocelyn, I want you to understand that the thing I’m going to ask for is not—it’s not coming from Van, the kid. Or Van the teen, or the loner, or even the rookie Peacemaker in his stripped-down ship. This comes from me, here and now. I am part of a team that is the last word in many battles. I have the comfort of authority and morality on my side, and I’ll continue to do so for as long as I can. Do you understand?

That is the man asking you for this—this thing.”

She regarded me, head tilted slightly, and there was a note of surprise in that look. It was a liminal moment. She saw me as a man. As an agent of the law. As the person she made, and then left to grow wild, on his own. I gave a slow nod. That was what I wanted. She inhaled, then spoke one word. “Ask.”

I paused, just so the break between our statements was clearly defined. “I want this to stop. I want you and the Ferals to come in from the darkness, come out of the cold, and start being part of the solution instead of just another flavor of the problem.”

She took a moment as well, considering what came next. “Van, even if I wanted to do that, what makes you think I have that sort of influence?

You

call us the Ferals. It means wild and untamed. And that’s what these people are. They’ve been pushed to the margins for so long—”

I stood. “No, they haven’t. They haven’t been pushed anywhere. They’ve exiled themselves like kids who’ve taken their toys with them and stormed home because they didn’t get what they wanted. The GKU was revamped into the Guild because they’d made themselves into judge, jury, executioner, and the guy who gets to rifle the body afterward. We are not going back there.”

“So, what do you suggest?

I go back to those people and tell them that we’re putting on b-suits and upholding the law now?

They’ll laugh me out the airlock.”

“Then I guess you’ve got your work cut out for you. But, you know what?

I don’t care. You at least can be part of the solution, Mom. Even if you’re the only one who comes back into the firelight, I’ll count it as a win.”

Now she stood and faced me, the room suddenly too small for both of us. “This isn’t about me, is it?

It’s about you. You don’t like your mother not conforming to your high ideals of justice and right and wrong. It…

embarrasses you.”

I sighed, fighting the urge to laugh outright. “You really don’t know me, do you?

Because if you did, you’d know that this isn’t about me at all, it’s all about you. I want you on my side, Mom. I think you can be a powerful force for good—whether you command a whole fleet of Ferals or if it’s you standing here in prison coveralls.”

I glanced up. “I’m ready to leave,” I said to the air. The door opened almost immediately, admitting the Vigilant. I headed for the door but paused, turned, and looked at my mother. “Oh—remember when you said I was following in my grandfather’s footsteps?

I never did thank you for that.”

I turned and left. And I didn’t look back. 8

I RETURNED to Anvil Dark to find that the Fafnir and the Frankie had both passed their certifications with flying colors and only a few, relatively minor issues that had to be addressed. It was a testament to the crew’s, and particularly Icky’s, diligence in keeping the ships in top condition. I made a point of saying that. Icky grinned and preened a bit. “Thank you, Van. That means a lot.”

I briefly made eye contact with her. The gratitude in her gaze carried a weight that her words just didn’t capture. A few years earlier, she’d gotten careless with her tweaks and workarounds on the Fafnir and left the ship vulnerable to a data attack. In the time the Fafnir had been offline, a chain of events had started that led to the death of a Peacemaker. Gerhardt had intervened, holding me responsible—which was correct, I was—and devastating Icky. She’d been laboring under that cloud ever since. This achievement felt like a final redemption for her, so I decided to seal the deal. I smiled at her. “Master Gerhardt would have been proud.”

Her grin faltered. “I—” I saw her swallow. “Thanks, Van. That means…

even more.”

I patted her closest arm, then turned my attention to the crew. We needed to decide on our next move. It couldn’t be much, not something too time-consuming or that would take us a long way into the black. We should be getting an answer from the League regarding our proposal about the Ferals in no more than two days. As for the Ferals, my mother had been released from custody and had immediately been picked up by her ship, the Retribution. Even if the League’s answer was no, I could at least hope that releasing my mother would turn down the temperature. And if she could exercise some influence, maybe we could start an alternate path to reconciliation. Which all sounded great, right up to the moment the Ferals launched another attack. WE’D HAD dealings with the Epsilon Indi system before. A dwarf planet known only as 109 had been a flash point between two of the minor powers of known space, the Esstai Confederacy and the Arhun Combine. A third faction, a truly alien race of beings that were essentially intelligent liquid metal, known as the Hwananye, lived on 109.

They’d been caught in the crossfire and risked extinction, but we’d managed to de-escalate things. The peace agreement between the Esstai and the Arhun had held ever since. In fact, the two factions had begun to cooperate, including a joint colony on another body in the Epsilon Indi system called Spindle. It was that colony that the Ferals had attacked. A flotilla of ships had twisted into the system and descended on the colony, and then everything had gone dark. That the ships had been Ferals came from the descriptions given by the Esstai and the Arhun, who’d dispatched help—which had been driven off by the massed fire of the attackers. “So, Van’s mother gets released and… this is the response from the Ferals?” Torina spat. “It’s not an encouraging sign,” Funboy said. “In fact, it’s suboptimal.”

I said nothing. I didn’t trust myself to speak. Nor did I look at my crew as we got underway, en route from Anvil Dark to Epsilon Indi at our best possible speed. I could feel them shooting me nervous glances, not sure what to say. Wisely, they chose to say nothing. Because I had screwed up. Big time. And now people were missing and quite possibly dead because of it. I let a breath trickle from my nose, then turned to address my wife and crew. “If any comms come in, route directly to me. No one answers for this except me.”

“Boss?” Perry asked. I stood and stalked to our cabin. “Gimme a minute.” Never had three words tasted like ashes before—until that moment. I SAT IN MY QUARTERS, staring at the terminal on my desk without seeing it. The reports and intel summaries and forms and things didn’t seem important. It was just an excuse for me to be alone, where I could beat the shit out of myself in peace. Of course, it wouldn’t last. The door chime sounded. It was Torina or Perry. They’d come to try to help talk me through it. Which wasn’t going to happen. There was no talking through this. I’d made the mistake of trusting the Ferals—of trusting my mother. And that trust had been repaid with betrayal. I wondered if my mother had been trying to warn me about what was coming. She’d certainly implied it, hadn’t she?

…there’s no nobility out there. There’s ambition, and betrayal, and duplicity—and death. So much death. Whether the Ferals had struck despite her, or if she’d been involved in it, didn’t matter. Betrayal was betrayal—

The door chime sounded again. “Go away.”

A moment passed, then the door opened. I swung my glare on—

Funboy. That caught me short. I stared, surprised. “Funboy. Oh. Ah, yes?”

“My apologies, Van. I had Netty-P open the door. I have come to speak to you about the current situation.”

I took a long breath and sighed it out. “Funboy, look, I really—”

“Don’t want to talk about it. Of course, you don’t. I have no doubt that you feel profoundly foolish right now.”

“I—” I shook my head. “What do you want?”

Funboy closed the door. “As I said, I want to speak with you about the current situation. It is obviously an upsetting one for you. Of more immediate concern to us—to me—however, is the extent to which it will

degrade your effectiveness as the commander of this vessel. We may very well be flying into combat soon. I need to know that you will be fully committed to the task. Because if you are not, then as the Fafnir’s medical authority, I shall have no alternative but to relieve you of command in favor of Torina.”

I stared. Funboy stared impassively back. His expression was unflinchingly matter-of-fact. If it had been anyone else, I’d be bristling by now, telling them to get the hell out of my cabin. But Funboy didn’t work like that. So, I fumbled for something to say and finally settled on, “Can you do that?”

“I will.”

“I didn’t realize you had that power.”

“Nonetheless, I am prepared to exercise it.”

I sat back and blew out my breath. “You know, Funboy, I don’t know your people all that well. I mean, you seem to be, ah, fatalistic, even accepting of whatever happens—“

“That is because we realize that we begin to die the moment we are born. Every minute of life we experience thereafter is merely another minute during which we’ve staved off our inevitable end. Other races celebrate life. We Surtsi celebrate not dying.”

“Bit too close to French cinema for my liking. Perhaps one might say…

depressing.”

“Not at all. It is very freeing. I believe that we would all be better off if everyone shared this way of viewing the world. If every second of existence is a gift, then you learn to appreciate it. I have been told that there are teams of humans who create these sentiments to be distributed on paper products, often around holidays and dates of importance.”

“You mean greeting cards?”

“Perhaps. Although I find the need for written greetings to be excessive and unnecessarily celebratory. In addition, it seems to be quite a lot of…

fuss,” Funboy surmised. “It is. And we’d better avoid how envelopes get sealed—you know what, let’s move on. Although, if this is a pep talk, I have to quote you here

—I’ve had better.”

“I do not give pep talks. They inevitably take the form of empty platitudes intended to improve the mood of the audience. As I said, the

audience should be grateful they are alive, and that should be sufficient.”

“Funboy—”

“Yes, yes. My point. Van, you are behaving irrationally.”

I crossed my arms. “I screwed up. In an epic way. I don’t think feeling betrayed and devastated as a result is irrational.”

“You made the most reasonable decision you could have.”

“By letting my mother go.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll bite—how was that a reasonable decision?”

“Would not releasing her have prevented this attack?”

“I… don’t know. But that’s not the point. The Ferals did this after we released her. That might not seem like a huge middle finger to you, but it sure as hell does to me.”

“Van, why did you choose to release your mother?

Because you love her?

Because you’re devoted to her?”

“I—well, no. She’s never really been part of my life. I know you guys, and care about you all more than her.”

“So, if the evidence that she’d been guilty of a crime were incontrovertible, beyond any reasonable doubt, you wouldn’t have advocated for releasing her?”

“No, of course not.”

“And the only reason you did agree with releasing her is because there was sufficient doubt to make prosecuting her problematic.”

I saw where he was going with this but had to nod regardless. “Yes. If there was no clear prospect of conviction, then pushing ahead with a trial would be pointless. But that wasn’t the only reason. I was hoping we could gain some traction with the Ferals over it. Clearly, we haven’t.”

“That doesn’t follow at all, Van. You were prepared to accept the reality of what the evidence suggested then, so you should be prepared to do the same thing now. You have no idea what your mother’s role in this attack was, if she did indeed have a role. They are called the Ferals, after all. That isn’t a name evocative of a unified, cohesive organization, is it?”

Wild and untamed, as my mother put it. I shook my head. “Not really.”

“This attack may have nothing to do with your mother at all. Or it may, insofar as it was contrived to do what you’ve allowed it to—to cast doubt and discredit on her. And on you.”

I couldn’t help smiling. “You’re… pretty damned persuasive, you know that?”

“Yes, I do. It is a function of my natural charm. I am a people person.”

I sat up, chuckling. “Ordinarily, I’d challenge that assessment as a touch, ah, generous. But, actually, Funboy, you kind of are.”

He blinked. “I just said that, didn’t I?

In any case, it stands to reason—I am an experienced undercover operative. To do that successfully, one must be good with people.”

“The rest of the crew picked you to come in here and talk to me, didn’t they?”

“And they were right to do so.”

I nodded. “Yeah, they were. Okay. Tell them that I’m going to finish up some paperwork here, and then I’ll be out.”

“Whereupon you will resume effective performance as the commander of this ship and crew, and I won’t be forced to relieve you on medical grounds.”

“The most effective performance I can offer, yeah.”

“Excellent. Not only do I dislike playing the heavy, but I have my own reasons for seeing you retain command. You’re good at it. And you being good at it increases the chances of my experiencing a few more moments of this limited existence.”

“Uh… thank you?

I guess?”

“Do not mention it.”

WE ARRIVED at Epsilon Indi and picked up a distress beacon emanating from the planet called Spindle. There were already both Esstai and Arhun ships in orbit—and not shooting at each other, which gave me a small blip of satisfaction. The peace deal we’d help craft had held. B was also already in-system, had come as soon as she heard about the possibility of mass casualties. Before I could get any of them on the comm, though, Perry spoke up. “Huh. I have a new memory about this place.”

I turned to him with a groan. “Now what?

Did you and Gramps fight off some alien horde here?”

“Almost. It was ninjas. Interstellar ninjas who threw literal stars.”

I gave him an unimpressed look. “Okay, no need for the stare and glare, sheesh. It’s not something your grandfather locked away. It’s a memory I’d moved into my archives. It just auto-retrieved itself.”

“You have archives?” Torina asked. “Yeah. When memories go unretrieved for a certain amount of time, they get stored in archives. That way, they’re not being constantly accessed in routine searches for other stuff.”

“How is that any different than how the rest of us do it?” I asked him. Torina nodded. “Yeah, we humans often recall things we haven’t remembered in years when we… I don’t know, hear a particular song, or smell a particular smell.”

“Maybe it’s not any different.”

Torina and I both stared at him, then at each other, then shrugged. “Yeah, the bird has a point, doesn’t he?

Maybe we’re not so different,”

Perry said. “You’re a mechanical bird made of metal-ceramic composite, powered by a fusion cell. We’re… not that,” I said. He awkwardly folded a wing so he could tap his chest with the tip. “I mean in here. Maybe there’s a little metal-ceramic composite in all of us.”

“In the absence of synthetic implants, that would be improbable,”

Funboy said. Perry shook his head. “Wow. You guys have no poetry in your souls.”

“Yeah, fine, we’re all unfeeling monsters, Perry. What the hell did you remember?”

“Oh. Right. There are ruins down there. Ruins upon ruins, actually. From the archaeological evidence, they’re stacked two or three deep, like when Schliemann found Troy. And before anyone asks me who Troy is, it’s not a guy, it’s an ancient city, on Earth.”

“Okay. That’s interesting, but how is that significant?” I asked him. “Not saying it is. It’s just a memory I’ve archived about this planet, which I learned not long after my inception boot-up.”

I looked at Torina, who just shrugged back. “You know, it would be nice to be able to reliably retrieve memories like that. Have to admit, I’m already having trouble keeping some of the things I did early in my time as a Peacemaker straight. I get names wrong,

forget where particular places are, and have to go back into my notes and look them up, that sort of thing—“

“Van, incoming comm traffic. The Esstai, Arhun, and B all want to talk to you,” Netty-P said. “Timely. Put B on,” Perry said. “Done.”

“B, Perry here. We need something from you.”

“Other than my charming presence?” B asked. “Yeah. Van just was mentioning how, in his advanced age, he needs a better method to reliably recall obscure information.”

“You know, I don’t recall saying anything about advanced age,” I said. “See, your memory’s getting worse. Can you help with that, B?

Those of us with perfect recall find this rather pathetic—“

“Is all of this enthusiastic editorializing necessary?” Funboy huffed. “The Surtsi insults me, but I’ll soldier on. B, I think Van needs a touch-up, if you know what I mean.”

Silence for a moment, then, “I’ll be right over with my bag of tricks.”

“Uh, guys?

We’re not here to administer some sort of treatment to me. We have to go to that planet. You know, for the missing colony?”

“And we will. But first, you’re going to get something you needed years ago. All kidding aside, you’re getting to the time when you should get your memory boosted. Remember those injections you had at Crossroads when you first became a Peacemaker Initiate?

The ones that immediately gave you new skills and knowledge?”

I nodded. “Yeah. How to move and fight in zero-g in a syringe. What about them?”

“Well, the nanotech that enables it is broken down and flushed out of your system once it has constructed the appropriate neural connections in your brain—turning synthetic memories into real ones, as it were. But that process isn’t flawless, and there can be errors introduced. You can end up with distorted or incomplete memories, or even have memories end up being associated that aren’t.”

I frowned as he spoke. There were a few things I’d noticed that seemed kind of odd, flickers of a personal Mandela Effect. For instance, I knew that Icky hadn’t been with us when I traveled to New York with Torina, Miryam, and Perry to meet with the darkly suave Equal Grasp lawyer, Forester. A Wu’tzur probably would have raised a few eyebrows amid a Midtown

Manhattan business day. But there were bits of that trip that I strangely did remember Icky being involved in. I knew she hadn’t, though—and that hadn’t even been that long ago. “This is actually kind of worrying. Can it result in lasting problems?” I asked. B answered. “It’s rare, but there have been a few instances of recipients of what we call the taste suffering latent effects as they get older. That’s what the boosters are for. They’re intended to clean up any errors that were introduced. The bigger issue is people who get a little too liberal with using the taste in the first place—especially the illicit stuff.”

“There’s illicit stuff?”

“Van, think how much people would pay to reliably have memories they don’t want removed. Or, if you want to get really, uh, edgy, then think about memories people would be happy to buy. Want to spend a passionate evening with a gorgeous woman who’ll expertly cater to your every whim?”

“Yeah, I see what you mean.”

“No, I was actually asking if you wanted to. I mean, since I’m coming over, anyway—”

I laughed at that. “Careful, my wife might find out.”

“Eh, she’s the understanding type.”

“Oh, I understand, all right,” Torina deadpanned. “She’s the spiciest bug in the galaxy. Good thing I like her.”

We all laughed. It made me glad. I felt like we’d passed through some tough times and were finally emerging from the other side. That didn’t mean there weren’t going to be more tough times ahead because they were just an inevitable part of life. For instance, Funboy’s methodical logic notwithstanding, my mother might have been involved in the attack on the Spindle colony. And that would definitely kick off a tough time. I snapped my fingers, thinking of the colony. “I think it’s going to have to wait. We still have a lost colony to deal with,” I said. “Since the Esstai and the Arhun are present and it’s their colony, there’s not much we can do until they request our involvement. They’ve deployed some surveillance drones to the surface and are surveying things now. We’ve got some time,” B said. “Well, ordinarily, I’d say this isn’t necessary, as I’m all Van needs in his life—don’t look so wounded, Bird. But, sure, if it’s important and we have the opportunity, I say let’s go ahead,” Torina said. “I agree. Sooner is better than later,” Perry added. I scowled. “Does anyone want my opinion on the matter?”

“Doesn’t sound like it—” Icky said, then noticed Funboy eating something out of a jar. “Hey, no food in the cockpit—wait, are those pickles?

Did you just finish them?

I was saving those.”

Funboy replied with a deliberate crunch, then waved a small metallic fork. With great ceremony, he then placed the fork in a small metal case, inscribed with alien lettering. “A tool for every job.”

“You have—a pickle fork?” I asked. “No. I have a specialized utensil that allows me to eat food without inserting my fingers in places they do not belong.” He glanced at the case like it was a favored child. “ This spontukir is a family heirloom, for obvious reasons.”

“Naturally,” I said, with a grave nod. Icky managed to huff and hiccup at the same time, a feat given the size of her lungs. And hearts. And body. “That’s it. If he can sit here and eat pickles, then I’m getting the peanut butter,” she said, standing to go aft. I sighed. “Will the shot put me out?”

“Not even for a second,” Perry replied. I watched Icky stomp back from the galley, holding an industrial-sized jar of peanut butter aloft in triumph. She stuck three thick, fuzzy fingers into the jar and plunged the glop of peanut butter into her mouth, snorting and laughing as Funboy did his best not to faint. I turned to Perry, then sighed. “Damn. I had hopes.”

I EYED the syringe B brandished toward my extended arm warily. “It looks like that needle is going to touch the other side of my body. This is a society that has mastered the ability to fold space itself, but a lethal metal tube is the best it’s managed for injecting things into people?”

B smiled. “I know, right?

There is another method—“ she started, then abruptly and without warning plunged the needle into me. “OW!”

“Well done, princess.” She made a moue, then withdrew the needle and expertly applied a small self-adherent bandage to the injection site. “Our hero survives another terrible ordeal. Magnificent. A paragon of bravery and stuff like that.”

“Wait a minute. You were saying there’s another method?

What is it, and why don’t you use it?” I groused, flexing my arm. “There is. Instead of sticking a syringe into you, I start lying about there being another method to distract you and then stick the syringe into you.”

“Oh, ha-ha, very funny. For the record, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

“Of course not. But it stops the whining and bitching beforehand. That’s my way of saying I do it for me, not for you,” she replied, packing up her kit with a sly smile. I frowned into the air for a moment. “I… don’t notice anything. Last time I had one of these taste things, I felt the effects starting right away.”

“It progresses more slowly in mature minds,” she replied. “Are you calling me old?”

“She ain’t saying you’re a kid anymore, Boss. Wear those cargo shorts with pride, and we’ll stay off your lawn,” Perry put in. “I wonder if that shot affected my middle finger. Hey, Bird—look at that. Even at my advanced age, the digit is fully functional,” I said, grinning broadly. B snickered low, then finished with her bag. “Anyway, you can go save that colony now. I understand the Esstai and the Arhun have opened the way for us. That is, if you don’t expire from a mild prick.”

“Sexual innuendo. How unlike you,” I began, then noticed something in B’s expression. There was a shadow. Something was on her mind. “What is it?”

Her grin faded. “I also understand that my services aren’t needed here. This was expected to be a mass casualty situation, but it’s not.”

My smile faded with hers. “The implication being, what?

There aren’t any survivors?”

She shrugged. “Not sure. You’d have to ask the Esstai and Arhun. They’ve just made it clear that there’s nothing here for me to do.” She gave me a keen look. “You be careful down there, Van. And—”

She hesitated. “And?”

“And, if it turns out this was an attack by the Ferals, and if—” She hesitated again. I nodded. “If my mother’s involved, then this time she’ll be going to prison and staying there. That’s if she survives at all.”

B gave me a searching look. I let her. “Okay then. Just… be careful, Van. I’m good at this medical stuff, but when it comes to minds and spirits—well, I’m just here, if you know what I mean.”

“I do, B. Thank you.”

She left, and I turned to the crew. Netty-P had a status update. “According to the Esstai and Arhun surveillance, there aren’t any known hostiles in orbit or on Spindle’s surface. At this point, they’d like to hand the investigation over to you. The two races obviously only trust one another so far. They’ve come to a mutual agreement that the first feet on the ground down there should belong to a neutral party.”

“Right. Netty-P, you’ll stay here on the Fafnir to keep an eye on the big picture. The rest of us are going down in the Frankie. Full battle rattle, but we’re going to do this quietly.”

“And if there are Ferals down there?” Torina asked. I knew what she meant by Ferals. She meant my mother. That was probably a remote chance, that Mom was down there. But she wanted to know, just in case. “You know the procedure. If there are hostiles down there, they’ll be taken into custody. And, if they resist—”

I took a breath and nodded. “Lethal force is authorized. Don’t wait for approval from me. Just do whatever you have to do.”

I looked at each of my crew as I said it. No one uttered a word because there was nothing to say. 9

IT WASN’T EXACTLY an idyllic place for a colony. Spindle turned out to be a downright hostile planet. The peculiar combination of its location relative to Epsilon Indi, its orbital inclination, period of rotation, axial tilt, and so on resulted in a habitable planet that was also given to fierce storms and wild swings in weather. The colony perched on the edge of a howling wilderness of razor peaks, blasted with gritty winds and beaten upon by punishing sun. The Frankie pitched and shuddered in the gusts swirling around and over the jagged mountains. “Hell of a place to build a colony,” Torina said. “These mountains host some superb mineral deposits, including large volumes of rock called pegmatite—and pegmatite is a classic source of rare earth elements,” Perry said. The Frankie yawed hard under a gust, and her utilitarian AI, Frankie, dutifully manipulated her thrusters and aerodynamic control surfaces to straighten her out. I shrugged. “In other words, there’s money down there. Wouldn’t be the first time a settlement was placed based on profit alone.”

We circled, scanning the colony. The main settlement was a cluster of prefabricated structures upon a plateau on the leeward side of the mountains. It was enough space for the settlement itself, which housed about five hundred people—presumably geologists, miners, engineers, and such, as well as their families—and a landing pad big enough for bulk freighters. A second, smaller settlement lay several klicks closer to the mountains at the entrance to a broad valley. A mining headframe rose

among its half-dozen or so buildings, meaning there was some sort of underground excavation there. I turned the Frankie that way. “Let’s check out the smaller settlement first.”

We orbited overhead, banging away at the place with scanners and scrutinizing it with optical sensors. We did detect a place about fifty meters away from the easternmost building where a ship had landed. We had no idea, though, if that was part of the attack, or a ship on some other innocuous business. I turned and flew the Frankie toward that spot, then deployed the landing pads and settled her onto the ground. By then, the others were at the airlock, ready to dismount. As soon as the pads touched, Rab leaped out with his BAG and took a position for covering fire. Perry launched himself skyward, while Torina, Funboy, and Icky all rushed out and took cover. I told Frankie to keep the ship powered up and ready to bug out, then joined my crew. I moved in beside Torina, who’d taken cover behind a hump in the ground about halfway between the Frankie and the nearest building. A loose wall plate flapped and banged in the incessant wind, but all was otherwise silent. “Nothing from up here,” Perry said. “The place looks abandoned—”

Netty-P cut in. “Van, I’ve moved the Fafnir into geosynchronous orbit so I can keep an eye on things. There’s a power emission from a point about three hundred meters from you, on the other side of the settlement.”

I frowned. “That’s outside the settlement, then. Perry, what do you see over there?”

“Not much. The opening to an adit, that’s it.”

“What’s an adit?

And if this is some dumb dad joke—“

“It’s a mining term. It’s a horizontal excavation with an opening on the surface. If it’s vertical and opens on the surface, it’s a shaft. And if it’s in between, it’s an incline.”

“Really. Huh. Learn something new every day.”

“Do you want me to descend and check out what’s in there?”

“No. Just keep an eye on it from up there. We’re going to sweep through the buildings from this side. Once we get to the other side, we’ll decide how to proceed.”

“Roger dodger.”

I gave instructions for Rab and Funboy to stay in place, covering us, while Icky, Torina, and I would advance. When we reached the nearest building, we’d take up covering positions, then they could come forward. This sort of caterpillar “fire and maneuver” was a basic infantry tactic, and for good reason—it was the best way to move if you expected contact with the enemy. We rushed forward, keeping low, and reached the first building without incident. Torina went to one end and peered around behind it, while I went to the other. Looking around the front of the structure, I saw four more, two on each side of a short street, with the headframe at the end of it. Icky crouched behind the building across the narrow street, a slug-carbine and her hammer both ready. I called Rab and Funboy forward. They hurried along, crouching and zigzagging as they came. Once they’d taken up fire positions, Torina and I selected our next ones, further up the street. When we reached them, Icky, Rab, and Funboy entered and cleared the two buildings we’d passed. It was methodical, stressful work, but that was the nature of fighting in built-up areas. Even with just a half-dozen buildings, all of them of only one or two rooms, it would still take the five of us a good fifteen minutes to work our way through them. Rab and Funboy took up covering positions while Torina, Icky, and I cleared the next two buildings, adjacent to the looming headframe. The door of one was locked. Icky could have beaten it in, but the structure and door were metal so it would have taken her some time. I reached for the Moonsword but remembered the damaged blade and drew The Drop instead. Two of its big rounds punched through the lock mechanism, then I kicked the door in and rushed inside, ready to shoot. The previous buildings had just been storage. This one was an office-slash-laboratory of some sort, containing equipment probably used to analyze rock and mineral samples. But it also contained something else. Blood. Blood, some of it in the form of smeared drag marks, amid the signs of a struggle—tables pushed aside, things knocked off them, broken glassware. I spat a curse. So did Icky. Torina just scanned the place with a hard, cold gaze I recognized as her wanting to hurt someone. “They took them,” I snapped. “Then we’ll get ’em back,” Icky replied. Perry cut in on the comm. “A simple plan, get ’em back. I like it. Simple things are the best. Icky would know that.”

She hefted her hammer, “Bird, think carefully about your—”

I cut them off. “Folks, seriously—” I was about to just tell them to shut up and focus on the job but decided on a whim to try a little experiment. “I was asked to be a Master, remember. I’m a big deal.”

Icky just blinked. “And?”

Torina nodded. “I’d like to reiterate that. And?”

Perry said nothing. And that had been my experiment. I sighed. “So, let’s conduct ourselves with some dignity and class.”

We did get back to work. While Torina captured some imagery, Icky and I examined the various instruments. “What do you think, big girl?”

“Well, this is a gas chromatography setup. And this is an atomic absorption rig. Both are used for sample analysis. I think this is an x-ray spectrophotometer,” she said, pointing at a third device, then waving a hand at a couple of other cryptic pieces of machinery. “These, I don’t know. I’m not a mining-rocks-and-minerals type of person.”

I noticed that one of the instruments had a data module plugged into it. I took it and stuck it in a pouch on my tactical harness. “Well, after we scrub this for Calamity, maybe it can tell us something. Let’s check for any other obvious sources of data, then move on.”

“A security system would be nice, but I don’t see one,” Torina said. “Which means that whatever they were doing here wasn’t especially sensitive.”

“Probably just analyzing rocks from that mine,” Icky said, hefting a fist-sized piece of pinkish rock full of big, glassy crystals shot through with smaller, more metallic ones. I nodded. “Probably.” I looked at the blood. “And that means these people were taken… just for the sake of being taken, it seems. Whatever the reason, it probably didn’t have anything to do with their work.”

“That just makes it worse,” Torina said. “Tell me about it.”

We exited the building, took up new positions outside, and then called Funboy and Rab to clear the next building, which was the headframe. It was an enclosed hoist over a roughly three-by-three-meter shaft excavated into the rock. It was deeper than a suit lamp would illuminate, so Rab used the

expedient method of dropping a rock and counting. It turned out to be only about thirty meters deep, suggesting it was still a pretty new excavation. “Okay, Van, this headframe is clear,” Funboy said. “Good. Torina, Icky, let’s go, we’ve got four more buildings on the other side. We’ll do the nearest on the left first,” I said, standing and starting forward—

And straight into a hail of gunfire. THINGS SLAMMED INTO ME, smacking my right arm, my chest twice, my gut once, and most alarmingly, close to my groin. Something clacked off my helmet. If I’d been unarmored, I’d be very dead. But the b-suit is an amazing thing. It was one piece of alien tech I wouldn’t mind seeing adopted on Earth—as long as we could figure out how to keep it out of the hands of the bad guys, that is. The incoming fire, small caliber, felt like someone jabbing me hard and repeatedly with a stick. It was moderately painful but mostly annoying. Moreover, if some heavier stuff, armor-piercing rounds or something similar, came in after it, even my b-suit wouldn’t hold up. I dove for cover behind the caterpillar track of a small bulldozer-like vehicle mounting a crane. Rounds continued to snap past, some of them clanging off the chunky dozer. Torina, to her credit, kept her voice calm, even flat. “Van, are you okay?”

“Actually, for a guy who just got shot a half-dozen times, yeah, I’m pretty good. Nothing penetrated, at least, though I’m going to have some bruises, I think. That includes one in the land down under,” I added with a rueful wince. “Torina, you going to administer some first aid?” Icky asked, her voice somehow turned into a leer. “First aid is Funboy’s department,” Torina replied, sounding both relieved and amused. “Do you require assistance with that injury, Van?

I have a large-bore needle that could administer—”

I shuddered. “No thanks, I’ll manage. B’s large-bore needle was enough for one day, and she kept it well away from the netherworld. Can anyone

see the shooter?”

“Yeah, Perry zeroed me in. I got him—or it, actually,” Rab replied. “It looks like an automated turret mounted under the eaves of the last building on the right. I’m taking the shot—”

His BAG boomed, a three-round burst. “—now. Aaand, the turret’s gone.”

“What was that you were saying about a security system?” Torina asked. I scowled. “Okay, gang, this just got a lot more complicated. We go nice and slow, only two moving at a time, the other three covering. Icky, you’re with me. First building on the left. The rest of you do the watch-like-hawks thing. And speaking of hawks—Perry, any insights from up there?”

“I didn’t detect that turret until it opened fire. That suggests any defenses are running in passive mode only. And if they’re concealed by the structures of the buildings, I’m blind to them until they activate. The good news, though, is now I know what to look for.”

“Good enough. Icky, let’s go.”

She rushed forward. I followed, gritting my teeth. I wasn’t hurt badly enough to be considered a casualty, but it was enough to be annoying. We reached the building, scanned for trouble, and saw none, so we bashed our way in and cleared it. It was just a single room, the walls lined with shelves containing rock samples, all carefully numbered. “Clear. Okay, Torina and Funboy next, the building across the street from us. Rab, you’re covering with us,” I said. Torina and Funboy rushed forward—into another fusillade of gunfire. This time, it was Funboy who was hit. And went down in a tumbling heap, spraying blood. “FUNBOY!

SHIT—COVER ME!” I shouted. Rab immediately opened up with a steady rhythm of three-round bursts into—something, I wasn’t sure what. Torina likewise opened fire, taking deliberate, aimed shots. I braced myself to run for Funboy, but Icky was a blur as she raced across the street, scooped him up, and brought him back into cover with me without missing a step. She placed Funboy down. I peered through his visor, bracing myself for the worst. He blinked. “Van, if this is the end of my existence, I want to say that you have made this latter portion of it noticeably more tolerable.”

“You’re… awake.”

“Hell, you’re alive,” Icky said. “Obviously, since we are having this conversation.”

I glanced down at his gut, through which a projectile had cleanly punched. The entry wound was small, barely the width of a pencil and only slowly oozing blood that had a distinct bluish tinge to it. Okay, that was the entry wound. The exit would probably be far worse. “Icky, roll him away from me. Funboy, this might—”

“Hurt?

Undoubtedly.”

Icky rolled him, and,for the second time in just a few seconds, I clenched mental teeth, ready for it to be really, really bad. But it wasn’t. The exit wound was nearly identical to the entry, just pushed slightly outward instead of inward. Blood seeped from it, but slowly. I’d seen the stuff flow faster into a sample tube during a routine blood test. “That must have been one hard bullet,” Icky said. “Left in the same shape it entered, I think. Yikes.”

I looked at the hole again, and winced. “Funboy, how do you… well, feel?”

“I am in pain but otherwise lucid. I believe my vital signs are stable.”

“So you’re not gonna… you know, die or anything,” Icky said. “We are all going to die—”

“Yeah, yeah, life misery, the universe is gonna end, yadda-yadda. I mean you’re not going to die right now.”

“There is no way to say for certain. Death could come—”

“Very quickly, if you don’t answer the damned question,” Icky growled, leveling a fierce glare through her visor and straight into Funboy’s eyes. “No. I do not believe I am going to die as an immediate result of this wound. The projectile struck no vital organs since those are generally in my upper torso.”

“So… what’s in your lower torso?” Icky said, then held up a hand. “No, wait, I don’t want to know. What should we do?”

“It should be sufficient to apply first aid sealant to both wounds. However, I will give covering fire only from here on, if that’s okay with you, Van.”

Icky extracted a sealant applicator, while I nodded. “Yeah, it’s fine, of course. I’m just glad you’re… not about to immediately die from the effects of that wound.” I looked back toward Torina, who was on the other side of the street. “Can you see what’s shooting at us?’

“Not what—this time it is a who. They’re Trinduk—”

A shot punched cleanly through the corner of the building above her head, passing through both walls. “—and it looks like they’ve got some new toys—oh. Hang on—”

She raised her carbine, took careful aim, and fired. “Got him. He silhouetted himself against a window behind him.”

I stared for a moment. Trinduk?

What the hell were they doing here?

Not that it mattered. “Okay, Torina, you and I—”

“Van, they’re bugging out. Two of them, they’re heading for that tunnel

—”

“It’s an adit, remember?” Perry cut in. “And I see them. I don’t think there are any other hostiles among those buildings.”

I decided to take a chance. “Okay, Torina, stay with Funboy. Rab, you and Icky come with me,” I said, and charged after the fleeing Trinduk, the other two hard at my heels. WE REACHED the last building and stopped. There were at least a hundred meters of open ground, across which I could see the tunn—adit—in a rock face thrust out from the side of the mountain looming to our right. Wind whipped gritty dust across the open ground. The next cover was at least eighty meters away, a trio of digging machines. “Well, hell. That’s a long way—”

Perry spoke up. “Van, something is happening in that tunnel—”

“Adit,” Rab said drily. “Yeah, fine. A gravimetric anomaly.”

“What?

What the hell would that be?”

“I’m guessing it’s the gravity polarizers of the workboat just exiting now.”

Sure enough, a class four workboat slid out of the adit, lifted, and accelerated away toward the main settlement. Rab fired a burst from his BAG but missed. In a flash, I understood our challenge and began snapping orders. “Netty-P, we’ve got a workboat down here. Stand ready to deal with it if it tries to make a break from the planet—preferably disabling it only, please and thanks. They might have hostages on board. Plus, I’d really like to take these guys alive.”

“And if I can’t disable it?’

I pressed my lips together, then shrugged. “Then let it go. Don’t destroy it. Again, there might be innocents on board.”

“Understood. I’ll pass the same message on to the Esstai and Arhun ships in orbit.”

Torina came on a private channel. “And that, Van, is why you might be your mother’s biological son, but that’s where the similarity ends.”

I grunted grateful assent. That was good to hear, but it didn’t help us right now, did it?

“Van, that workboat isn’t leaving the surface. It’s landing at the main settlement,” Netty-P said. “So, were they just hiding their ship in that cave, or what?” Icky asked. “Adit,” Perry said. “Oh, for—adit, tunnel, cave, whatever,” I growled. “Good question.” I called the Frankie to join us. The ship landed in the open ground near the adit, and while Icky got Funboy aboard, the rest of us did a cautious inspection. It turned out to just be an empty excavation about fifty meters long. The only item of interest was a layer of rock composed of fossils—the compressed remains of giant shells, like clams or abalone in a section nearly ten meters thick. “I can’t shake the feeling the Trinduk were up to something more nefarious in here than hiding their workboat,” I said, shining my suit lamp around the gloomy excavation. “I know it’s nefarious,” Icky said, joining us. “By the way, I found this on the ground out there. One of the bad guys must have dropped it.”

She brandished a rifle of unusual design. Rab, our weapons expert, examined it. “Looks like a coil gun, but… this impeller system is different than any type I’ve seen before. Appears to fire a, say, two-millimeter projectile. And discarding sabot, too. Hell of a punch.”

“That explains Funboy’s wound,” I said. Funboy spoke over the comm. “Indeed, it does. I was fortunate to be struck where I was, though. Had the tissue been more dense, damage from hydrostatic shock may have been much worse.”

“Love how this guy is so clinical about his own gut shot,” Icky muttered. “It’s a wound, and it must be assessed and dealt with. The fact that it’s a wound on my person is just another factor to consider.”

“If you look up stoic in the dictionary—you won’t find it. There’s just a picture of Funboy looking judgmental,” Torina said. I smiled, then took one last look around the adit. “Okay. So, we’ve got bad guys, and probably hostages, in the main settlement.”

“Van, there’s at least three times as many buildings there, some with more than one floor. We’re down a person, so there’s only four of us, and those bad guys know we’re coming. I would strongly recommend against trying to clear it the way we did this one,” Rab said. I nodded. “Wasn’t considering it. What I do want to do is just get some eyes on it to see if we can figure out what’s going on.”

I frowned a moment in thought. “Funboy, are you stable?

Or do we need to get you back to the Fafnir right away?”

“I am in some pain, but I have assessed and treated my wound with the Frankie’s medical resources. The only internal damage is muscular, which is the source of the pain, but there are no other ongoing issues of concern.”

I looked at Torina, who smiled, and just shook my head and smiled back. Stoic indeed. “Can you fly the Frankie?” I asked him. “Certainly.”

“Okay, so we’ll do this. We’ll make a show of the Frankie departing. Once you’ve got her out of scanner coverage of that main settlement down the hill, Funboy, you’ll double back and lay low somewhere nearby in case we need you. The rest of us are going to stalk our way carefully toward the main settlement and… ah, see whatever we see. Perry, what can you spot from up there?”

“I see lots of things.”

“Perry—”

“No signs of life at the main settlement. The Trinduk workboat landed just outside it to the west. One Trinduk got out and went into a big warehouse about twenty meters away. That’s it so far.”

“Okay. Let’s do it,” I said, then exited the adit and looked toward the main settlement. A ridge extended from the high ground above us to the small plateau where it was located. If we stuck to the ridge, just below the crest, we had good cover from broken, rocky ground and scrubby vegetation almost the whole way. I pointed that out, then turned to Rab. “That spiffy gun still have ammunition?”

He nodded. “Forty-four rounds. I checked. It was also jammed, which is why I guess its owner threw it away.” He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Someone obviously doesn’t know basic weapons discipline.”

“Huh. That might suggest these guys aren’t pros. Good to know. Okay, feel free to use it as you see fit,” I said. Rab grinned and hefted the weapon, his BAG slung on his back. “Sweet.”

I waved us into action. “Okay, and with that… let’s grab more ammo from the Frankie, then get moving. I’m feeling rather shooty today.”

10

WE MADE it most of the way to the main settlement before anything of note happened. Perry, wheeling high above and keeping watch, spoke up. “Van, that big warehouse just opened up—and there’s another ship inside it. Bigger this time, probably about class 7.”

No sooner had he said it than Netty-P cut in. “Another class 7 just came on the scanners about five hundred klicks east. It must have been using some terrain for cover. It’s heading straight for you.”

I glanced back at the others… and didn’t see much, since they were all doing a pretty good job of keeping themselves hidden amid the rugged terrain. Even Icky, despite her bulk, was proving to be good at using the ground and cover to her advantage. “Right. This probably means they’ve done what they came here to do, at least as much as they can, and they’re going to bug out. Netty-P, what’s the situation up there?

Are you guys ready?”

“I am. The Esstai and Arhun are—let’s just say that old animosities die hard. They’re doing a terrible job of coordinating their efforts.”

I hesitated at that. It might be better for us to return to the Fafnir and take our bad guys—who may or may not be Ferals, since there was no reason Trinduk couldn’t be Ferals as well—on up there. But we were close enough to the settlement that we might be able to intervene and rescue some hostages before the Trinduk got them off the planet. The decision was simple. “Let’s push on. I at least want to get a good look at what’s happening.” I continued along, moving to the next cover,

then the next. In just over five minutes, we’d reached a point where we could see the settlement clearly. I counted thirty-one buildings, a third of them with two floors and a couple with three. There was no way four of us were going to clear it ourselves. However, we didn’t have to. All of the activity was around the warehouse being used to conceal the class 7.

I saw four Trinduk keeping watch outside, while more figures were boarding the ship inside. I used my visor to magnify and intensify the image, but all I could tell was that some of them were Trinduk and some weren’t. I assumed that the ones that weren’t were Esstai or Arhun settlers but couldn’t be sure. The others were in position now. We had a good firing line where we were and could probably pick off the Trinduk outside the warehouse. That wouldn’t rescue any hostages, though. “We need to disable that damned ship,” I muttered. “Call in the Frankie?” Torina suggested. “They’ll detect her as soon as Funboy breaks the horizon,” Perry pointed out. “Netty-P, where’s that other class 7?”

“About two minutes out from your location.”

“Suboptimal.”

“Way to channel Funboy, Boss,” Perry said. Rab spoke up. “Van, I have an idea.”

“Shoot.”

“That’s it exactly. Shooting. This gun the Trinduk dropped isn’t suited for close-quarters fighting. Oh, it’s great for shooting through walls and things, but tiny, high-velocity rounds just aren’t as good as bigger, slower ones for stopping power.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“Neither of those ships down there are particularly well-armored. The rounds from this thing will punch right through their hull plating. If we can hit them somewhere critical—”

Icky cut in. “Van, both those ships are standard designs. I know exactly where the critical bits are.”

I nodded. “Do it. Rab, you’re the shooter. Icky, you’re his spotter. Torina, you and I are going to take out the visible bad guys. Rab, give me your BAG.”

We sorted ourselves out. By the time we did, the incoming class 7 was close at hand. Which was fine. We’d wait to see what it did, and how much of a distraction it offered when it arrived. “Here she is, right on time,” Perry said. Sure enough, the approaching class 7 appeared around the shoulder of a mountain and swept in toward the settlement. I was hoping it would land alongside the workboat, so we had all three ships in a group and could put Rab’s idea to the test on all of them. But it didn’t. It instead grounded on the far side of the settlement. “Alright, doesn’t matter, it’s time. Weapons free.”

I pulled the BAG into my shoulder. I’d learned to use the M249 SAW, a light machine gun used by the US Army, and this weapon was similar, albeit a lot heftier. Looking through the sight, I put the reticle on one of the Trinduk—who, sure enough, had looked toward the landing class 7—and squeezed the trigger. BOOMBOOMBOOM. I was surprised at how little recoil it had, the gun barely shaking off my sight picture as it fired. The Trinduk went down in a spray of gore. Torina’s carbine cracked while I traversed to a new target. At the same time, I heard Icky giving Rab methodical instructions. “On the workboat—two meters ahead of the drive bell and let’s say a meter below that dorsal scanner dome. Master power distributor. Watch the wind, it’s pretty strong and from your left.”

“Got it,” Rab said, then snapped out a shot. The only visible effect was a small flash when the tiny projectile struck the hull plating. He put two more rounds through the same spot for good measure. Figures were starting to scurry. A few shots came our way, snapping through the air or smacking into rock and dirt. But while the Trinduk’s fancy coil gun might be good for disabling spaceships, it utterly sucked as a suppressive weapon. For something like that, you needed—

BOOMBOOMBOOM. —one of these babies. I made sure to keep my bursts away from the warehouse itself and instead suppressed the guys who were trying to suppress us. Torina complemented my area fire with aimed shots from her carbine. Meanwhile,

Icky and Rab kept up a calm chatter, like they were sitting in a coffee shop

—

“Class 7, four meters ahead of the drive bell—uh, two meters above that rear landing strut, should be the fuel feed controller assembly. “Seen. Firing.”

SNAP. “High and to the left. Come down half a meter and go right a meter.”

“Seen. Firing.”

SNAP. “Good hit. Put a few more rounds through that spot.”

“Firing.”

SNAP. SNAP. SNAP. “Okay, new target, just to be sure. Two meters ahead of the top drive bell, just aft of that rearmost comm dome. Main bus distributor. It’s a small target, about a meter across.”

“Seen. Firing.”

SNAP. I smiled. Icky and Rab made as good a sniper team as I’d ever seen. They were halves of a whole, with superior communication and instincts. Unfortunately, though, it was hard to tell what actual effect they were having. At least, until we saw a dozen figures make a break from the warehouse and start toward the other class 7.

That suggested Rab had managed to ground both ships. The other class 7 was at least three hundred meters further away and mostly hidden behind buildings, though, so he wasn’t going to have even a chance of disabling it. We had to move fast. “Rab, take your BAG, keep us covered. Torina, Icky, you’re with me. Perry, you’re our eyes.”

“I see lots of things.”

“Dear, ready the bird bag,” I said to Torina. “Is that the bag where sassy birds go to think about what they’ve done?”

Perry asked. I snorted. “It’s almost like you expected this.”

Now Perry laughed. “I did. Bird out.”

A PAIR of Trinduk tried to act as rearguards, but Rab kept them thoroughly pinned with bursts from his BAG on the ridgeline behind us. The big rounds cracked overhead in streaks of tracer and slammed into the ground and buildings around the Trinduk. We moved as fast as we could to close the distance. I started to lag, though, sucking wind, my bruises from my earlier hits dragging at me. I told Torina and Icky to just push on. “I’ll keep up. We can’t… let those bastards get to… that other ship.”

Icky howled and put on a burst of speed, her hammer raised over her head in her big hands, ready to swing, while she fired her carbine from the hip with her smaller ones. It was an awe-inspiring sight—and one I was really glad I wasn’t seeing from the receiving end. The Trinduk thought so, too. They both tried to break and run. The head of one immediately blew apart, hit by a BAG round. Icky leaped over a makeshift barricade of some cargo crates and ran the other one down. The Trinduk tried desperately to shoot behind him as he ran, but Icky caught up, smacked his weapon aside with her carbine, then brought her hammer down in a swing so vicious it almost drove the Trinduk into the ground like a tent peg. “Perry, where—?”

“Next corner, hang a left. Watch it, two more are about twenty-five meters along at the next corner, waiting.”

I glanced to one side. “This alley—to my left, will it—”

“Take you into the street about fifteen meters to their right?

Yes, yes it will.”

“Torina—”

“On my way,” she said, veering into the alley. I followed Icky up to the corner, whereupon she had to dodge back as the Trinduk opened fire. I shoved against the wall beside her. She gave me a wild grin. “This is fun!”

I sucked in air. “Yeah. A ball.”

“Firing,” Torina said. I heard her carbine bang in the next street over. Icky peered around the corner, then howled and charged again. I hesitated a moment, gasping. “I’m past the age where this is fun. Or appropriate.”

“You’re younger than I am, Van, and I don’t know anyone who thinks a running gun battle is fun,” Rab said, appearing up the street the way we’d

just come and jogging toward me. “Way younger than I am,” Perry put in. “Yeah, yeah—” I flung myself around the corner, just in time to see Icky swing her hammer like a baseball bat—and turn a Trinduk’s head into an impromptu baseball, sending it into the side of a building with a dull thunk. I turned toward the other Trinduk, The Drop raised, but Perry swooped down in a blur and suddenly erupted in a spectacular flare of dazzle effect that dimmed my visor. The Trinduk started shooting in his general direction, but hitting a small, fast, nimble target he couldn’t even see wasn’t a winning strategy. It did, however, give Torina an opening. She lunged into view, swinging her carbine to butt-stroke the Trinduk. He desperately parried, but it was a feint. She dropped the carbine, revealing an Innsu knife, which she plunged into his eye. Perry, his dazzle effect switched off, swept skyward again. “Next street, take a right. You should be clear for twenty meters, then left. That will take you to the open ground where the class 7 landed,” he said. We hurried that way. Perry kept us updated on the situation in a continuous stream of chatter. “They’re pushing people aboard. I’ve counted at least seven hostages, both Esstai and Arhun. Four Trinduk muscling them onto the ship, three more covering. Watch out once you make that last left, you’ll be right in their field of fire.”

We stopped. Perry transmitted imagery so we could see in our suit HUDs what was going on. The covering Trinduk were already falling back to their ship. We had maybe thirty seconds before they lifted. “Shit. Okay, Rab, switch to your coil gun. You’ve got to disable that ship before it lifts.”

He nodded and just put his BAG on the ground. We pushed on, moving in pairs, Icky and Rab, then me and Torina. Rab reached the end of the street and took up a fire position, just as the class 7 started to lift. “Same as the last class 7 Rab!” Icky called. He lined up his shot. Fired. The class 7—

Just kept lifting. We all cursed simultaneously. As we did, a shape swept overhead, accompanied by the roar of a point-defense cannon. It was the Frankie. The class 7 turned and accelerated away. Funboy kept up an odd pattern of fire, one that seemed intended more to force the class 7 to leave on a particular trajectory. The Trinduk ship vanished into the scudding clouds. The Frankie circled back and descended. “I saw what you did there, sourpuss. Good call,” Perry said. I frowned as the Frankie touched down. “What are you talking about?”

“I anticipated that the Trinduk ship might light its fusion drive as it departed,” Funboy said. Rab, Torina, Icky, and I all shared wide-eyed looks. Icky spoke for all of us. “Oh yeah.”

It was a good point, one that we’d all forgotten amid the excitement. The Trinduk ship could have lit its drive with its exhaust flare pointed at the settlement—and us. Everything would have been scoured and flashed into vapor by a colossal hurricane of incandescent drive plasma. Funboy, though, had forced them to keep their drive bells pointed away from the colony while they lifted. If they hadn’t, and he’d got a clean shot at the bells, he’d have grounded them as surely as Rab had. “Oh yeah is right. Funboy, you’ve earned a trip to Frankenmuth.”

“I will hold you to that.”

SPEAKING OF RAB, he gave me a hang-dog look as I joined him. “Sorry, Van. I screwed that shot up.”

I clapped his shoulder. “Rab, you disabled two ships, one of them a class 7, with two-millimeter slugs. And the third was a long shot, but you got a chance to try it, anyway. All in all, a good day’s work.”

He held up a finger. “Icky and I disabled those ships. Couldn’t have done it without her.”

“Damned right,” she said, holding up a hand and giving Rab a high five

—another Earthly mannerism now among the stars. We did a quick sweep of the settlement to make sure there were no bad guys—or surviving settlers—left behind, and to retrieve any data or evidence of immediate importance. We found more instances of clear struggles and blood, but no bodies. Either the settlers were all still alive or the Trinduk had taken away their bodies for… reasons. Maybe just to deprive us of evidence, or maybe for more sinister plans I didn’t want to dwell upon. As we swept, the clash between the Trinduk class 7 and the Arhun and Esstai ships and the Fafnir played out on the comm, courtesy of Netty-P. It did not go well. True to form, the Arhun and Esstai could not—would not—coordinate their efforts. They got in one another’s way and continually frustrated Netty-P’s attempts to close and fire on the Trinduk. She unleashed a string of remarkably imaginative curses as the situation turned into a British Farce in Space but with a lot more shooting. The Trinduk, on the other hand, knew exactly what to do. They seized on the confusion to break through the supposed blockade in a barrage of weapons fire. Once clear, they started a run out of the system. That would have been a problem since we’d be forced to rush to the Fafnir and start a long stern chase, a race we probably wouldn’t win. The Trinduk ship simply had too much of a head start. Would have been a problem, if not for the combi-drive. “Netty-P, how long do we have until they can twist?” I asked. “About five hours.”

“Lots of time. Okay, gang, let’s head back to the Frankie and rejoin the Fafnir. And then we’ll run those sons of bitches down.”

OF COURSE, catching the Trinduk ship and stopping it were two different things. The combi-drive made the first easy, putting us within firing range just a few minutes after we broke orbit. As for the second, though—

“So how do we do this?

That ship must be packed to the overheads with hostages,” Torina said. I stared at the image of the class 7 on the display, its stellar-bright drive plume stepped down so I could see the ship itself. I just gave a slow nod. Not surprisingly, our orders to heave to and prepare to be boarded were met with stony silence. Our next move would be to fire on the ship to disable it. But if there really were more than a hundred hostages jammed aboard her, then any stray shots could easily kill one, several… or all of them, if we got unlucky. Or if the Trinduk decided to scuttle their ship. Their race was one of the grimmest sort of resolve, so there was a definite chance they’d do that rather than give up what the hell they were up to. “We still haven’t ruled out them being Ferals,” Perry noted. “Oh, I know—” I started to reply, but Netty-P cut in. “Van, we have an incoming comm message—”

“About time. Maybe they’re gonna negotiate,” Icky said. “It’s not from that ship. It’s from Retta.”

We all swapped puzzled glances. The last we’d heard, Retta had been assembling a covert network of informants and spies on Earth to keep tabs on the Equal Grasp, Manon Clemenceau’s so-called Defense Intelligence Reserve, and any other potential troublemakers. That didn’t mean she was necessarily on Earth right now. “Put her on.”

“Bonjour, Van.”

“Retta, we’re kind of in the middle of—”

“I know. I know what you are in the middle of. That is the reason for my call, yes?

I have a message for you. It was delivered to me just now by one of my little birds.”

“The reason for your call?

What are you talking about?”

“Van, the people you are pursuing, they have said this. They have said, stop pursuing their ship, or they will kill some of their hostages, put them into space.”

I sank back into my seat. There were… implications to this. Big implications. If the people aboard that ship could so easily relay a message to us through Retta’s network, then they were part of something much bigger. And they could have just made the threat directly to us, which meant they wanted us to know that. Torina was obviously thinking the same thing. “Whoever those Trinduk are, or are working for, it’s someone or something big. And it knows us well enough to connect us with Retta.”

“Sounds like something the Ferals could do,” Rab said. I sighed. “And would do, yeah—”

“Sorry, Van, we’ve got another incoming message. This time it’s from Filic Creel,” Netty-P put in. I sat back up. It took me a moment to pluck Filic Creel out of my memory and place him. He was the adoptive father of Adayluh Creel, a plant scientist who’d developed a new variety of wheat that could practically grow in a hard vacuum. Her wheat had come along at just the right time. When the Calamity pandemic devastated information systems across known space, it had disrupted many, many things, from traffic control to financial networks. It had also thrown things like food distribution into chaos. Fortunately, Adayluh’s Permada wheat had stepped in, growing fast and wide to fill the immediate void. We’d helped Adayluh, who, not surprisingly, had attracted the attention of powers who didn’t want cheap, plentiful food to be readily available across known space. During the course of that, we’d met her father, Filic, who lived a hermetic life aboard an agri-ship called the Inari out in The Deeps. He’d been grateful that we’d helped and protected his daughter, but we hadn’t had much to do with him since. “Okay, Netty-P. Put him on the same channel as Retta.”

“Van?” a new voice said. The message was audio only—not surprising if it was a twist call originating in the remote reaches of The Deeps. “I’m here, Filic. I’m assuming this isn’t just a social call.”

“No, it’s not. I just received a message from one of Retta’s agents about Adayluh.”

I narrowed my eyes and nodded. “You know Retta.”

“Yes, I do. We’re—”

“We are both members of the 32, yes?

This is something Van must know, Filic.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” he said. “At the moment, I don’t really care. What’s going on, Filic?”

“They’ve taken Adayluh.”

I swore. “Who’s they?”

“They didn’t say.”

“So, let me guess—between the two of you, you’re telling me that if we don’t break off chasing these bastards, then not only will hostages from Spindle die, but so will Adayluh.”

“It is unfortunate, but… oui, c’est vrai, it is true.”

“That’s what they told me, yes. Van, please, you’ve got to—”

“Break off, I know.”

“Somebody went to great lengths to ensure this situation would happen, and that you would face this choice,” Funboy said. Rab nodded. “And they bought themselves extra insurance, in the form of Adayluh.”

“Yeah. Insurance that was aimed directly at me,” I said. “I hate every word of this, but oui. I am sorry, Van.”

“I know, Retta. What about you two?

Are you both safe?”

“I am. One of my little birds is not. That is my next problem to solve.”

“I’ve called some… friends. They’ll be out here with me soon. They’re not necessarily very nice people—at least, not to their enemies—but I trust them,” Filic said. “Van, we need to find Adayluh—”

“And we will. Just… one thing at a time.” I turned to Netty-P. “Back us off.”

“So we’re just going to let those assholes fly away?” Icky grated. I nodded. “Yes. That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

Torina touched my arm. “We’ll get them. And her. All in good time.”

I watched as the Trinduk ship pulled away. “I’m worried that’s the one thing we don’t have.”

11

WITHOUT ANY REAL LEADS, I decided to return to Anvil Dark. It was partly to give myself some time to clear my head. Too many things had suddenly converged—the Ferals, my mother, the Trinduk, Adayluh Creel—

Although it struck me that I was the one converging at least a couple of those things. We knew the Trinduk had been involved in the raid on Spindle. We knew that Adayluh was now implicated because there seemed to be no good reason for her father to be anything but truthful about it. But we only believed the Ferals were involved as well, mainly because the Esstai and Arhun thought they were. And we only thought my mother might be involved because of the Ferals. I needed to clear some of these pieces off the table. It was too crowded otherwise. So, why not go right to the source?

I sat in my cabin, facing some paperwork, but pulled myself away from it. “Netty-P, do we have any way of contacting my mother?”

“Directly?

No. She never gave us her forwarding address when she was released from The Hole.”

“Okay, but Valint probably will probably have it, or can get it. Put a call into her. I want to track down and talk to my mother.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

I turned back to my paperwork, most of it related to the action on Spindle. If something happened, there was a form for it. Land on a planet and exercise jurisdiction?

Form. Get shot at?

Form. Fire back?

Another form. Someone got hurt, like Funboy—who was recovering surprisingly

quickly from his wound, given its potential severity—and there were a whole bunch of forms for that—

The door opened, admitting Torina. She closed it behind her. “Netty-P told me she’s about to put a call through from your mother. I thought I’d offer to be here when she does. And if you don’t want me here, then I’ll—”

“No, no—stay. I want you at my side. Besides, there might be some psychological advantage to showing off the most important woman in my life to my estranged mother—you’re here for me, she isn’t, that sort of thing.”

Torina smirked. “Is that what I am to you?

A psychological advantage?”

I put my arm around her. “Freud never laid eyes on you.”

“He never got laid at all, I’m guessing. So, does that—“

“Van, are you ready to speak to your mother, or do you and Torina want a moment?” Netty-P’s voice cut in. “What are you suggesting here, Netty-P?”

“That you and Torina may wish to engage in sexual intercourse beforehand. I should have thought that would have been obvious, Van.”

I glanced at Torina. “I—huh. Kinda takes the magic out of it when someone just comes out and says it. And with the ghost of Freud in the room, ahh—“

“The innuendo is a little more magical, yeah,” Torina purred. I smiled, but it didn’t last. “Okay, Netty-P, put her through.”

My desk-terminal lit with the image of—

Some guy. He was a Hu’warde, an angular, humanoid alien of Valint’s race, with the same sort of leonine arrogance to his manner. A window popped open in the display, a text-only message from Netty-P. She’d immediately IDed this Hu’warde as Estul Dunokis, a man with a long criminal history going back nearly two decades. Notably, he’d most recently been on Essie’s shit list for crimes committed on the frontier between known space and The Deeps. He and Funboy seemed to have a history as well, based on a note in Essie’s case file that Netty-P highlighted. Funboy hates Estul as much as he detests the idea of a salad bar without sneeze guards. Wow. I wasn’t sure there was a place for that kind of hate on the Fafnir. “Well?” Estul asked, his lip a sneer. I waved a hand at the window open on the display that recounted his misdeeds. “Sorry, I just got distracted by your voluminous record of wrongdoing and the thought of how much money I’m going to make when I drag your sorry ass to jail.”

“Save your breath, asshole. I’m not your mother.”

“Vicious, but simplistic. I’d hoped for better from you, sport.”

He changed from a sneer to a smile, though it was anything but friendly. “In case it’s not clear, I’m not impressed by the overhyped Van Tudor.”

“Good. Be unimpressed. Be contemptuous. Dismiss me completely. That way, you’ll get sloppy one day. And sloppy is how criminals like you almost always get caught. Well, that and sheer hubris. I see your brow’s furrowed a bit, so… that six-letter word refers to—”

“I know what hubris means, asshole.” The smile was gone. “Not sure he really does know what hubris means, dear,” Torina purred. “I make it even odds,” I murmured as new text flashed into the window. Now it was my turn to smile, big and wide and easy. “Or, I could just pay a visit to your family business on Rodantic’s World out in The Deeps, or—oh, even better, I could say hello to your dear old dad at Procyon, on Sunward. Him and his newest mistress. You can rest assured that I—a dedicated servant of justice—will give your entire family the close, personal legal attention you seem so desperate to avoid—”

By the time the image cut out, I could see fury—and, more satisfyingly, a little worry—growing on Estul’s face. The image flicked to one of my mother. “Okay, Van, you’ve had your fun, scared him enough. What do you want?”

“Mom. So warm. So maternal. Quick question, and I need you to consider the answer very carefully. Did you grab the scientist?

Your answer will determine a lot of what happens next.”

Silence. She just stared. I immediately considered the fact she might stonewall me, but the blank look on her face seemed genuine. “What scientist?” she finally asked. “Adayluh Creel.”

“I don’t know that name. At all—wait. Wasn’t she involved with some big news story a few years back?

Something about crops or something?”

My mother wasn’t just being disingenuous. I’d come to know her well enough to read her pretty well, and this was leaving her genuinely confused. I sat back. “Okay. I believe you, Mom. That’s good to know. A huge relief, actually. She was taken by Trinduk, or maybe Sorcerers, though where they came from is a new and shitty question I’m just starting to get to grips with.”

Now my mother looked genuinely concerned. “Sorcerers?

But they were wiped out?”

Torina crouched, looking into the display. “Hi, Mom. It’s your daughter-in-law. Seems the old gang is back, and they’re not only raiding colonial outposts but also kidnapping brilliant, good people in hopes of throwing us off their trail.”

“I was—” my mother started, then turned off-screen. “Shut up, Estul.”

Back to us, her eyes registered confusion. “I don’t know anything about this at all. In fact, I—we—are trying to come in from the cold.”

I stared a moment. “What?”

My mother shrugged. “The Seven Stars League. They’re going to hire me. Hire us, really.”

I crossed my arms. Huh. It seemed my visit to the League had borne some fruit—more of it than I’d expected—and sooner, too. My mother shrugged. “I don’t know what else to do, Van. Being arrested by you—it gave me time to think, sitting in that cell in The Hole. I’m not getting any younger, so—what?

We die out here on the edges of things?

Just drift away?” She gave me a keen look. “What would you prefer?”

An awkward moment passed, and then I just sighed. “I’d prefer you stay alive, Mom. And on this side of the law.”

“I’ll try.”

“For your sake—no, for our sake, I hope you do.”

WE STAYED over at Anvil Dark long enough to refuel and get fully caught up on current intel. Unfortunately, all that our myriad informants and undercover operatives could confirm was that Adayluh Creel had gone missing shortly after leaving Tau Ceti. Her ship’s flight plan had her heading to Faalax for reasons unclear, but she never arrived. Somewhere between start and destination, she’d simply vanished. I considered tracing her course, but my gut told me we wouldn’t find much, and we’d just end up spending a couple of days furiously scanning empty space. All we could really do was wait for new information to become available—new intel, threats, or ransom demands from her captors, something. In the meantime, I decided to check on Earth. We arrived near Forcus—now Cantullin Station, in honor of our fallen comrade—and took up station near the Iowa. Her mix of old crew and new had been exercising, trying to get themselves melded as a team and the noobs up to speed on how to fly the ship in battle. We took the Frankie to Cantullin Station to find more Conoku there—and Gabby. She’d apparently come with them from the Conoku homeworld, concocting a scheme to bring more Conoku into the fold. At any given time, there’d be thirty of them on the Iowa and twenty more manning Cantullin Station, and they’d periodically rotate in groups of ten. It was smart, giving us a larger pool of talent, while also manning up the station and giving the Conoku opportunities to take a break from shipboard duties. But Gabby was good at that sort of thing, seeing innovative solutions to problems. “Okay, Gabby, here’s what we need next, then. Cantullin Station has space-facing defenses, but I think it needs to be able to defend itself against ground attack as well. I’d also like to come up with some sort of refueling facility here. The closest fuel depot is Crossroads, and it’s costing a small fortune in fuel just to send the ships to refuel.”

“That’s pretty wasteful, using the thing to get the thing,” she said. “If you know what I mean.”

“Are you flirting with me, lady?”

“What?

No, I—ooooo, I see what you mean. With the, ah, if you know what I mean. Okay so I wasn’t flirting but yes that could be considered spicy I guess and, anyway—”

She twitched, then giggled, then attempted the most awkward leer in history, her arms waving around like she was directing traffic at the beach during the Fourth of July. I managed to nod while wearing a silly grin. Gabby was earnest and hilarious, and she had a lot of other qualities that brought us to this moment as a six-foot-tall tardigrade acted out her impression of flirtation. She let her arms fall and then cocked a hip, which was probably some kind of cartilage. Then she winked one small eye and said, “Okay, Boss. As you were saying?”

“You’re correct about the thing and the thing. So, work with the Conoku here, and with Panzygrus. They’ve got engineering know-how. And you can consult with Rab about the weapons to protect this place from ground attack.” I patted her arm. It was like tapping a rubbery sack of gelatin—not especially appealing to me, but it really tripped Funboy’s trigger, and that’s what counted. She nodded. “I’ll get right on it. Oh, and what’s this I hear about those nasty Sorcerers being back?

Is that why you’re worried about this place being attacked?”

“Yeah, it seems like old threats never seem to quite go away. They just… rebrand. These may not be called Sorcerers, but that’s what they are, at least as far as I’m concerned.”

“Well, if you don’t like the product, take over manufacturing,” she said, then bustled off to find the Conoku. Perry, standing nearby, watched her go. “She’s a smart blob of protoplasm, I’ll give her that. She also has a point. So, Boss—do we go after the factory where they’re making Sorcerers?”

“As ideas go, I don’t hate it.”

“Whoa, easy with the emotions, big guy. You’re abandoning your midwestern reserve.”

“I see no need to remain emotionally reserved,” Funboy said. Perry looked at me, then turned to him. “You don’t, huh?”

“No.”

“So, this is you being… unreserved,” I said, gesturing at him. “Perhaps not at this moment.”

Torina, who’d been listening, smirked and gave him a sidelong glance. “Well, you do have a distinctly voluptuous side to you, that much we know.”

Funboy smiled at her. We all cringed. “Yeah, that genie ain’t going back in the bottle any time soon, as they say on Earth,” Icky said. “Meh, it makes shopping for his birthday present easier, at least. Get him something love related, something he can share with Gabby.”

Funboy blinked at her. “I do enjoy a good present. What is it?

What—”

“You’ll see, sourpuss. When is your birthday, anyway?

Isn’t it coming up soon?”

“Nineteen shipboard days, using the Fafnir’s calendar.”

“Huh. I wish we’d asked sooner. We can make it work, though. If we save the universe first, of course,” I said. “Make what work?”

Torina had caught my meaning and grinned. “Your party, of course. And I know just the place to host it.”

OUR FIRST HINT of an intel hit about Adayluh came about a day later, taking us hurriedly to Dregs. An otherwise reliable informant was certain they’d seen Adayluh in a Dregs back alley. When we arrived, though, we found out the informant had managed to pick up a nasty drug habit since the Guild’s last contact with them. They’d caught wind of our interest in Adayluh and saw it as an easy way to pick up some bonds to feed their habit. What they got was yanked off the Guild’s informant list and a menacing warning from Icky not to waste our time again. So, it was a dead end. Still, since we were on Dregs anyway, we decided to follow up with a couple of contacts here we did trust to see if they had any insight to offer. In the meantime, Icky took it upon herself to gorge on spicy noodles and chunks of—meat, was the best description—and then give herself a Wu’tzur-sized case of indigestion. “Van, I need to go back to the ship,” she said as we walked toward the spaceport where the Fafnir was grounded.“I mean—now. You have to—”

She grabbed her gut. “Oh. Oh!

Uh—dunno if I’m going to make it.”

“I’m optimistic. As long as we don’t window-shop on the way, we can get you to, ah, relief,” I said with a wave. “This is Dregs. What are we going to window-shop for?

Illicit chems?

Stolen spaceship parts?

Prostitutes?” Perry asked. Funboy raised a hand. “We did pass a building with what appeared to be prostitutes sitting behind a picture window, so technically, we could—”

“Could we just hurry this along, please?” Icky snapped. “I’d prefer to get comfortable in my own lavatory, thanks, since this might… take a while.”

I glanced at Torina. “Ah, the awe and mystery of outer space.”

She smiled and rolled her eyes, mouthing the word commander. We made it back to the Fafnir in record time, just in time to see a figure in a b-suit, or something like it, standing near the Fafnir and holding up some sort of device. My hand went to the butt of The Drop, which was holstered at my side. Perry immediately gained altitude. The rest of the crew fanned out, Icky muttering a string of curses. Ouch. Whoever this was, they really didn’t want to get between her and her bathroom. The figure saw us and immediately hurried away from the ship. “Icky, you… go do whatever you have to do. Rab, Funboy, head back to the terminal, it’s the only official way out of the spaceport. Torina, you’re with me. Perry, you’re the eye in the sky.”

“Ain’t I always?”

Torina and I took off after the b-suited figure. They put on speed. So did we. They put on more and pushed into a crowd disembarking from a passenger shuttle. We pushed in right behind them. I stopped and looked around. All I saw were people—humans, Gajur, a Yonnox, a couple of Nesit, some Fren-Okun, more Gajur. They either ignored me or gave me blank looks. A few glanced hastily away—

something that might have piqued my curiosity, but I was looking for a b-suit. I finally saw one, but it was Torina. “Where did they go?” she asked, dodging people as we both worked our way through the crowd. “No idea. Perry?”

“Sorry, Boss. They walked into that crowd, I lost sight of them under the nose of the shuttle, and they never reappeared.”

I cursed and turned back. There was no sign of them. The only place they could conceivably have gone was aboard the shuttle, so Torina and I headed up the boarding ramp. All we found inside, though, were a trio of harassed crew and a couple of creaky maintenance bots rushing to prep the shuttle for the next leg of its flight. Credentials on display, we did a sweep through the ship, anyway, but found no sign of our b-suited stalker. We returned outside, into the bustle of a Dregs afternoon. “Rab, Funboy, any sign of them?”

“None. And we’re pretty sure of that. Foot traffic through the terminal is pretty light right now,” Rab replied. I looked at Torina. “How the hell does someone just disappear?”

She pulled out her data slate so Perry could send his imagery of the moment to her. Sure enough, it showed the b-suited figure clearly, pushing through the first passengers off the shuttle, then they vanished under the bulk of the ship’s aft section. And that was it. They never reappeared. “They must have had some sort of stealth or chameleon effect. A damned good one, though,” I said as we gave up and headed back to the Fafnir. When we arrived at her pad, Netty-P—who’d been aboard the ship—

had a bit of information to add. “At a port as busy as this one, there are always incidental scanner emissions from ships landing and taking off. I generally tune them out because, well, imagine if cars sounded their horns every time they entered or left a parking lot.”

“That’d get old really fast,” I said. “Exactly. However, when you alerted me to this mysterious individual, I reviewed the scanner logs from that time. There was one scan impinging on the Fafnir with an unusual waveform and frequency variation—sort of a wave of waves, of waves. Anyway, it didn’t trigger any alerts at the time because, again, the scanner emissions from ships can vary a lot. The age of the scanner system, its condition, if the crew has done any custom fiddling with it—”

“The horns all sound different, but they sound different all the time, so none of them stand out,” I offered. “That’s right. But this one came from the right direction and cut off at exactly the time you chased off whoever that was.”

“So, what’s the significance of that?” Torina asked as we closed up the ship and prepared for our departure. “Good question. I’ve tried running a simulation using the characteristics of that scan, and it would be effective in penetrating hull plating and gathering at least some information about the ship’s internal structure. It wouldn’t be anywhere near detailed enough to, say, reconstruct the combi-drive, though. It would just show that the combi-drive was there.”

I crossed my arms. “Knowledge is power. Someone’s doing the next best thing to getting their hands on the Fafnir—they’re trying to get a sense of her inner layout and workings.”

“This is more of a problem than it might appear. They may not be able to learn much about the combi-drive, but they know where it is, meaning

they know what to shoot at—or what not to. It could give someone plans for a hostile boarding, Boss,” Netty-P said. “I know.” I glanced around. “What the hell. It’s time to do some redecorating, anyway. Netty, I need you and Perry to work with Icky and present me with a schematic for a reconfigured ship.”

“Change the interior layout?

Okay, but there’s a fairly limited scope for what we move around. Some systems and components have to be in particular places.”

“We’re not rearranging the deck chairs here. We’re increasingly playing in the big leagues, bumping up against ships like the Fafnir or bigger. It’s time to go up a class—but inside her hull, the Fafnir is going to gain two classes. I’ve got some specific ideas that I’ll discuss with you guys once you have a draft plan.”

Netty-P’s imager stared back at me. “Lotta bonds in that idea, Boss.”

“I know. But that’s okay because we’re not going to pay for it… the bank is. And I don’t mean a loan—or entirely a loan, anyway. The less of that lien bullshit on my ship, the better.”

Torina gave me a bemused look. “Okay, and how are you going to convince a bank to give you money?”

“And presumably in a way that doesn’t involve ski masks and a getaway car,” Perry, perched on the back of a chair in the crew lounge nearby, put in. “I’m going to give Dayna Jasskin something she’s wanted for years.”

“A commission?” Netty-P asked. I chuckled. “No. The very same thing that stalker was after. Information. We’ll be the ears and eyes of the Quiet Room. We’ll upgrade the ship to make her into the most complete sensor suite in known space.”

Torina frowned. “Are you sure you want to go that far into bed with the Quiet Room?

They’re a bank, after all. And banks aren’t normally celebrated for having great moral compasses.”

“Maybe not, but it’s not like they don’t know who they’re dealing with. If they want to do, uh, legally questionable stuff, they’ll have to find someone else to do it.”

Rab gave a thoughtful nod. “We—Van, the Fafnir, all of us—do have a reputation for getting things done. I agree that we shouldn’t be afraid to lean on it a little.”

“I can’t wait to hear this pitch you make to the bank,” Torina said. “You won’t wait long. And I’ll make my case somewhere I can’t lose. God’s country.”

“Iowa?

Or Frankenmuth?” Netty-P asked. I grinned. “Both—”

Icky stepped out of her cabin, wiping her four hands, obviously freshly washed. She saw us all gathered in the crew lounge. “What’d I miss?”

“Someone was scanning the Fafnir, and we chased them but lost them because they had some sort of stealth tech going on, and Netty-P says that they probably got scans of the ship’s interior, so now we’re going to rebuild her and turn her into a bigger and more capable ship, and that needs money so we’re going to the Quiet Room and convincing Dayna Jasskin to turn the Fafnir into the bank’s eyes and ears in known space,” Perry said. Icky just stood there, blinking. “Holy crap. How long was I in there?”

12

OUR FIRST STOP, though, was a return to Anvil Dark. Netty-P, Perry, and Icky, assisted by Funboy and Rab, spent the trip musing over different options for reconfiguring the Fafnir. They blue-skied it, coming up with various designs. A few were pretty wacky—one of them would have turned the ship into something resembling the old American World War II fighter, the twin-engine P-38 Lightning, with its distinctive twin booms—but most were more sedate. They did as much as they could and came up with a half-dozen preliminary design ideas. They presented them to Torina and me, and, as a group, we narrowed those down to four candidates. When we arrived at Anvil Dark, Icky and Netty-P took the four draft designs to the Guild’s shipbuilding and maintenance shop to work out details, find hidden pitfalls, and get them costed out. I wanted at least three options back, so we could take them down to two for our pitch to the Quiet Room. In the meantime, we got a summons from B shortly after we arrived. She was on Anvil Dark and asked us to come to the Keel. That made me curl my lip. A little. “Wonder if this is going to be another pitch for me to become a Master.”

Neither Torina nor Perry, who I was bringing with me, answered with more than shrugs. I knew that they both had misgivings about my flat refusal to even consider it. I was starting to have misgivings of my own. When we arrived, though, in a secure meeting room used by the Masters, it had nothing to do with another round of pressing me to take up the Mantle. Instead, it was B and Groshenko, and they were here for a very different reason. As we entered, B already had imagery on the room’s main display—a severed arm, in rough shape, inscribed with thin blue lines and sporting an all-too-familiar bracelet. I frowned hard at it as I sat down. Perry hopped up on the table and looked at it. “Hey, B, you didn’t tell us you were coming to this meeting armed.”

Her antennae twitched. “Perry, no, stop it. You’re killing me,” she intoned flatly. “Amateur horror movie aside, what the hell is”—I waved at the arm

—“all this?”

Groshenko answered. “Two days ago, the Poltava got a report from a bulk ore carrier about a firefight happening at Wolf 424.

It was a warning to stay clear, but we decided to investigate. When we arrived, we found the aftermath—several ships in pieces, apparently having shot one another into that state.” He nodded at the screen. “We also recovered that. And since squishy biological things are B’s specialty, we took it to her.”

B picked up the thread. “A fact for which I’m eternally grateful, and no, not because I collect random arms or am interested in tattoos. It was the arm’s condition that really got my attention. First—it’s partly freeze-dried by exposure to hard vacuum. It also suffered some damage from radiation. I’m doing my best to slow down the cellular decay, but that’s only going to work for so long. I wanted you to see this in person because it’s… it’s a Crime Against Order, and it’s going to change how we prosecute this particular bloom of evil,” she said, her eyes flashing with inner heat. “I’m listening. Is it about the bracelet, which looks depressingly like a Sorcerer’s rig?” I had one just like it stashed aboard the Fafnir, an experiment to try and put its unique combat capabilities to use for myself. We could never get it to work properly though and finally just shelved it. But it was still pretty distinctive. B gave a short nod, making her antennas dip. “Sure is. Bear in mind this, ah, arm was recovered from the debris of a vicious little brawl. Six ships, three lost with all hands or arms—sorry, couldn’t resist—”

“And you complain about my stand-up,” Perry muttered. “The difference is that I’m charming,” B replied, smiling sweetly. “Anyway, Petyr, here, wasn’t able to figure out why the battle happened, what it was about—”

“Yet, though we’re still working on that,” Groshenko said. “See, back when the Sorcerers were a thing, they had certain…

qualities, certain patterns of behavior we could count on. Of course, that was when they numbered in the thousands before Gerhardt wiped them out. And one of those things was about these bracelets. They never left them behind. Ever. They’d self-destruct instead.”

I let a breath trickle from my mouth, thinking. I’d managed to get my captured version through lucky circumstance. Otherwise, the bracelets, which could do things like generate protective fields around the bearer, simply destroyed themselves when said bearer went down. Sometimes, it was the bracelet that ended up killing them, not their wounds. I pointed at the bracelet. “Like a Mazda turbo.”

“What’s that?” B asked, head tilted. “An Earthly car. The turbos are… rare. Great engineering, and they aren’t making any more of them. So even in a savage wreck where the car’s totaled, they pull the parts. But the turbo component goes first. Hotly contested market, and that’s just a car part, not a device that can change physics in a localized area. I always wanted one when I was a kid but couldn’t afford it.”

“You wanted a Sorcerer’s bracelet when you were a kid?” Perry asked. “I—no, I wanted a turbo—” I started, then glared at him and turned back to B. “Anyway, now, of course, I don’t drive much. The Fafnir’s my main ride. So, to ask the real question—why is this Sorcerer’s turbo, this very special component, just floating around in a debris field and very definitely not destroying itself?”

B spoke to her assistant, with the arm aboard her ship. “Go ahead and make that cut I described.”

Her assistant deftly reached out with an oversized scalpel and sliced the arm with a single, decisive cut, parting it at the wrist. The hand fell away. The bracelet landed on the table with a musical tink. I leaned forward. “Okay. Nice cut, but—”

“Watch.”

The bracelet… moved. Three silvery prongs extended from it and sunk back into the alien flesh. With a snap, the bracelet closed around the arm and went inert. I sat back. “Oh, shit.”

B offered a wintry smile. “My sentiments exactly. Which inspires the question—what if this new generation of Sorcerers aren’t volunteers?”

AND WITH THAT bit of unsettling news under our belts—that the Sorcerers may be back in some form, pressing unwilling Trinduk and maybe others into their ranks to quickly bolster their numbers—we pushed on. I’d planned to spend some time here on Anvil Dark poring over incoming intel and other information sources, looking for a lead in the kidnapping of Adayluh Creel and the settlers from Spindle. Funboy even made a circuitous contact with Essie, who was back working another undercover op

—somewhere. But he came up dry, and so did the intel, and then I got an urgent call from Miryam. That brought me hurrying back to the Fafnir. Miryam had encrypted light-speed comms only, since I wasn’t going to risk giving her custody of antimatter for a twist-comm unit. She could send a message to someone who could twist relay it, though. The default was the Iowa or Cantullin Station, but that was a roughly three-hour trip for comms from Earth one way. However, Groshenko had another ship, a shiny new corvette named the Smolensk, on station as part of our ongoing cordon around Earth. When Miryam’s message arrived, it was, therefore, only about an hour old. “Van, if you can, you should get back to Earth. There’s a big event coming up in Frankenmuth, and it doesn’t involve Christmas or cheese—at least, not directly. Constance Plowitz is bringing together some corporate bigwigs—well, to the extent that corporate wigs from eastern Iowa can be big, anyway. I’m not sure what it’s about, but the fact that it’s her, and it’s in Frankenmuth of all places, makes me nervous. If you can’t get back, at least respond to this message. Love you, my dear.”

The screen flicked back to the Fafnir’s logo—which I still didn’t like. We’d tried three or four different versions so far, reasoning that the ship

needed its own branding. But we hadn’t managed to come up with anything the whole crew bought into yet. I sat back, staring at the crappy logo. I wasn’t anxious to rush back to Earth while Adayluh and the other hostages were still caught up in a potential resurgence of the Sorcerers. And Constance Plowitz wasn’t anything special. She was a Congressperson for an Iowa district, a career politician long on handshakes and baby-kissing and short on, you know, results and stuff. I’d only met her once. But Frankenmuth is in Michigan, so not even her state, much less her district. And while famous for what it was, it wasn’t the place you’d expect a politician to host corporate movers and shakers. If she was going to do this outside her district, then why not Washington DC?

Or sunny Malibu?

Or somewhere in Florida, or even Hawaii?

Why Frankenmuth, Michigan, in

—

I checked the Earthly calendar. It would be mid-autumn in Michigan, so the trees were probably decked out in their fiery fall splendor. But the weather could just as easily be cloudy and gray with rain or even early snow—so why there?

As I frowned at the logo, I found myself drawn to a possible reason, one that was hard to just slough off. It was a message. Plowitz knew about my connection to Frankenmuth, or at least knew that I’d spent some time there not long before the whole Equal Grasp thing blew up on Earth. Her picking Frankenmuth was therefore a message to us—to me. But was it a warning?

An invitation?

Something else altogether?

I stood. There was only one way to find out. I strode into the Fafnir’s crew lounge. “Hey, everyone, we’re going to Earth. To Frankenmuth, to be exact.”

Funboy appeared from the direction of the cockpit. “If this is about my birthday, it isn’t for nearly two shipboard weeks—not that I will pass up the opportunity, of course.”

Icky came to me with a pleading look on her face. “Van—tell me you mean this. That it isn’t some sort of cruel joke.”

“It… isn’t, Icky, no. So, you can stop looking like I’m about to kick your puppy, sheesh. We really are going to Frankenmuth. We’ve got business there.”

She crowed in delight and offered Funboy a rather robust high five. “Yes!

Frankenmuth, here we come!

Gimme some skin, sourpuss!”

Funboy held up his hand, let Icky slap it, then extracted a wet wipe from a container on his belt and wiped it off. “Yes. Yay. Indeed.”

WHEN WE ARRIVED at Sol and closed on Earth, we were able to start something resembling real-time comms with Miryam. She’d learned a little more since her first message. “Van, are you seriously asking me if there are going to be cameras?

A politician, and some corporate muckety-mucks?

As the saying goes, does a bear defecate amid the greenery?”

I laughed. “Okay, you got me there. But what’s it all about?” I asked, then waited. Miryam’s reply came back after the delay. “It’s the Equal Grasp, among other things. Generally political preening and electioneering, and probably a little side hustle to get some campaign donations from the various moneybags accompanying her. You know, the usual low-down, dirty nonsense that we humans call politics.”

“Yeah, who are these corporate movers and shakers, anyway?

Are they important?

People I should know?”

I waited. “Oh, you’ll know them, alright. Let’s see, there’s Johnny Meyer, the Cedar Rapids King of Laminate Flooring, Edna Blunt, the Ice Cream Maven of Waterloo—oh, and Watson Scoville, the Scrap and Recycling Powerhouse of Dubuque. It’s a who’s who of who?

in eastern Iowa.”

I remembered Johnny Meyer from the cable TV of my youth. He was a loudmouth who pretended to lay laminate flooring in his commercials and then, in the next scene, hosted a party attended by a horde of young women, all of them barefoot and cooing about how wonderful the floor felt. Because that’s what people did at parties—they talked about flooring. A lot. I recognized the other two names as well. They were no doubt important campaign donors, though why Plowitz was hauling them all the way to Michigan continued to mystify me. Miryam spoke again. “Anyway, I thought you should know so you can

—well, do something about it, as you see fit. And hey, then you can take

your grumpy little engineer to Frankenmuth for his birthday.”

I laughed again. “How did you know about that?”

A delay. Then, “I’m your attorney. I know everything.”

WE SWUNG by the farm to pick up Miryam, then made our cautious way to Frankenmuth. We flew there during the night, taking a wide loop south, across the eastern seaboard, before doubling back so we could approach Frankenmuth from the east. I’d already spoken to Tony and arranged to land the ship at his friend’s farm, the place where he and his Truly Aware had stashed the alien ship that had dropped in on them. From there, we’d borrow a ground vehicle, an old but serviceable Chevy Suburban Tony’s friend used around the farm. As much as possible, I wanted our crew to keep a low profile, at least for the time being and until we knew what was going on. Rab and Netty-P would stay with the ship, while Perry did his free-agent thing and took to the air. Which frustrated Icky and Funboy, who both wanted to swan-dive into tubs of cheese and fudge and whatever else they could get their slavering mouths on. “Sorry, guys, but business before pleasure,” I said as I wheeled the old Suburban toward the bridge over Dead Creek, which would take us up the Frankenmuth strip from the south. It was turning out to be a fine fall day—sunny, but with a bit of a cool bite in the air. Torina winced as I accelerated past Bronner’s Christmas Wonderland. The Suburban’s exhaust had seen better days, so the old beast rumbled like a Sherman tank whenever I pressed the gas. “I thought you said you wanted low-key. I think they can hear this thing on Cantullin Station,” she said. I shrugged. “No one’s paying much attention. I suspect this isn’t the first time they’ve seen—and heard—a noisy old truck.” I grinned at Miryam, stuck between Torina and me in the front seat. “‘Murica, am I right?”

“Get a bald eagle and an unhealthy diet in there somewhere and you’ve nailed this great land of ours,” she replied with a wink. We arrived at the site of the—whatever the hell this was going to be. The usual advance party of political minions, the wannabe congress critters starting their careers as aides and assistants had already set up a podium and microphone in the Festival Platz. This was a grassy greenspace surrounded

by faux European buildings housing trendy little food places, at least one high-end pet boutique, and a store that seemed to sell nothing but garish socks. The podium itself sat on a small, enclosed permanent stage. I left Icky and Funboy in the Suburban for now, at least until we got a better sense of what was going on. Icky grouched about it, but I promised her cheese later, and she subsided, thoughts filled with the majesty of midwestern milk-based magic. Cheese. And a lot of it. Torina, Miryam, and I turned our attention to the Platz, where a crowd was gathering. Among its ranks, I saw Tony Burgess and his brilliant but emotionally barren associate, Marla. There was no sign of Myron the walking conspiracy theory, so I breathed a sigh of relief at that. I also saw Tutsi Auffenberg, which was a little surprising. I headed her way. “Hello, Tutsi. Extending the reach of Wake Up Cedar Falls, I see,” I said, stepping up beside her. She greeted me with a bubbly smile. “Van Tudor, fancy meeting you here!” she proclaimed brightly. “Say, would you have a moment for an interview?

We can go… over there,” she said, indicating a spot away from the crowd. We ambled that way, Miryam and Torina in tow and discussing how our marriage was going. I shot them an annoyed look. Miryam waved her hand. “This conversation isn’t about you, Van.”

“It’s explicitly about me since I’m, you know, half of this marriage.”

“Okay, let’s put it this way. It’s about you, but it doesn’t involve you. You just go ahead and save the universe.”

Tutsi laughed at that, but her demeanor changed once we were away from the crowd. Her face lost its perkiness and the cool, calculating version of Tutsi, the version that was a savvy and, I suspect, ruthless government agent. She led a cabal within a cabal, a faction within the Defense Intelligence Reserve devoted to managing alien incursions on Earth instead of trying to profit from them—or worse. We’d already linked the family of the DIR Director, Manon Clemenceau, to some of the ghoulish atrocities committed by the vile and now thankfully dead Dohlennz. We hadn’t yet linked her, but it was definitely on my to-do list. All of which effectively made Tutsi an ally by default. We stopped, Torina and Miryam staying a short distance away. I noticed they’d interposed themselves between us and the crowd, chattering away in a sort

of deflector shield made of snide remarks about my husbandly acumen. It was a little insulting, but it also gave Tutsi and me a chance to talk. “So, what the hell is Plowitz doing here?

What is she going to say, or do, or—anyway, what’s this all about?” I asked her, keeping a smile on my face while I talked. Tutsi beamed back at me and nodded. “Not a clue. It seems to have something to do with the Equal Grasp and involves the big names of eastern Iowa—for certain definitions of the word big. If I had to guess, Constance has brokered some sort of, I don’t know, thing—a business relationship, deals, whatever—between these people and the Equal Grasp.”

“Not aiming very high, are they?”

“Who in particular?”

“Plowitz or the Equal Grasp. I mean, getting the Laminate Flooring King of Cedar Rapids on your side is an achievement, I guess, but—” I ended with a shrug. Tutsi flashed a quick smile. “Johnny Meyer is one of Constance’s biggest campaign donors. And when you’re a junior Congressperson from Iowa, you treat your biggest donors the same way you’d treat the CEO of Amazon.”

“So, it’s a big deal in a little pond. Although why here, in Frankenmuth of all places, I have no idea.”

“Oh, I suspect that’s directed at me. Someone on Team Equal Grasp wanted my attention, but they didn’t want to do it in Iowa, near home. They picked a place they knew I was associated with.”

Tutsi glanced around. “Here?

A town sentenced to a life term of every day being Christmas?

What sort of association do you have with this place”?

I smiled. “It’s a long story, and it involves aliens. Suffice it to say, though, that having it here definitely sent me a message, whether that was the actual intent or not. So here we are, and I mildly resent the implication that Christmas and fudge and chicken dinners and America is anything other than heaven on earth.”

“Fudge?”

“Yes, fudge.”

“I stand corrected,” Tutsi admitted. I noticed that Torina had drifted off and was talking to a grumpy-looking man wearing a dark blue windbreaker with SECURITY

emblazoned on it in white. I excused myself from Tutsi and headed that way. Torina turned as I approached. “Van, this is Todd. He’s in charge of security for this little show.”

I smiled and nodded at Todd. He offered a perfunctory nod back to me. Even though it wasn’t particularly warm, he was sweating profusely—

enough that a distinct pong of body odor hung in the air around him. Todd looked just like the sort of rent-a-cop you’d get at an event headlined by the Laminate Flooring King of Cedar Rapids, Iowa. “How’s it going, Todd?

You got all your assets in place?

Reaper drones aloft?”

He crossed his arms and tried to look officious. “Sorry, I’m not at liberty to discuss security matters with civilians.”

I smiled at Torina. “I’m a civilian.”

I ambled on, heading for Tony and Marla. On the way, Perry spoke up in my ear bug. Van, I know you were joking about the Reaper drones, but believe it or not, there’s one up here. I stopped and lowered my voice. “Wait, what?

There’s a Reaper drone up there?

An armed military drone?”

It’s an MQ-1 Predator, so an older model, but not the upgraded Gray Eagle version, so it’s not US military. And it’s not armed, so I’m assuming it’s for surveillance only. It’s staying at about six thousand meters or so and dodging around the clouds. No markings. “Well, all due respect to Todd the security guy, I suspect it isn’t his. I’m guessing Manon Clemenceau’s gang is behind it. If anyone has unmarked Predators, it’s probably the likes of the Defense Intelligence Reserve. She probably wants to keep an eye on what’s going on here.”

I could jam it if you want. Or—ooh, I know, I could have it send back pornographic imagery to its controller. A hot single at your altitude wants to meet you sort of thing. “It’s tempting—” I stopped and glanced around at the waiting stage, the gathering crowd, Todd the security guy, and his handful of wind-breakered underlings. I shook my head. “No. No, don’t jam it. I want Clemenceau and her friends to see exactly what transpires here.”

You’re up to something. “Yes, Perry. Yes, I am.”

13

ABOUT FIVE MINUTES before the scheduled start time of the big event, a pair of limos pulled up to the nearest curbside. SECURITY windbreakers converged as people got out. Constance Plowitz alighted from the first limo, a cell phone glued to her ear, chattering away, nodding and waving at people as she passed them. Her corporate retainers got out of the second limo, all doing their best to look important when even they knew they really weren’t. I was standing nearby with Tony, Marla, Torina, and Miryam. Tony curled his lip as Plowitz approached. “Bets she’s not talking to anyone on that phone and just wants to look like she’s in demand?”

I grinned and kept grinning as Plowitz looked at me. I saw recognition, then a glimmer of smug satisfaction, then a flat, plastic smile. I extended my hand. She shook it, once and quickly, and then moved on without a backward glance. “She goes through all the trouble of having this shindig here, to make a point to you, Van, and then she mostly ignores you?” Tony asked. I just kept grinning and nodded. “That is her point, Tony. She wants me to know that, whatever this is about, she doesn’t care if I know about it or if I approve of it.”

“That… is kind of Machiavellian, actually,” Marla said. Tony nodded. “Machiavellian, and expensive. Plane tickets, limos, accommodation, meals—”

“All billed back to the taxpayer, you can count on it,” Miryam said. I was still grinning. I glad-handed with the Laminate Flooring King and the Ice Cream Princess and the Scrap and Recycling Magnate, then took in Plowitz as she entered the crowd and approached the stage. She’d put away her cell phone and was now effusively shaking hands, laughing and chatting as she methodically worked the crowd. I looked at Miryam. She said it at the same time I did. “Presidential bid.”

Tony scratched under his bowler hat. “A presidential bid?

From Constance Plowitz?

Really?”

Miryam gave him a bemused look. “All Congresspersons harbor thoughts of launching a presidential bid someday. All of them. Every single one.”

“So, Constance here fancies that she’s laying the groundwork,” I said, watching her meander toward the stage, dour SECURITY people pretending they were Secret Service around her. “Just in case that, someday, when she finally throws her hat into the ring for the Oval Office, these people are going to remember the day she shook their hand in Frankenmuth and vote for her.”

Marla watched with her usual lack of any expression whatsoever. “And I thought Myron was delusional.”

I tapped my comm and spoke into it. “Funboy, are you and Icky ready?”

“Icky has already loosed her pants,” Funboy replied. “I find the potentiality of such a development to be nothing short of criminal. However, I am ready, as is Icrul. She’s—I think she got something called excitement burps if you’re wondering as to our current state.”

“It happens to her when she’s jazzed. I’ll take that as a good sign. Alright, you guys are officially on.”

Tony frowned at me. “What’s going on?”

I smiled and kept my eyes on Plowitz. “Watch and enjoy the show.”

I didn’t even see Funboy move in. He simply appeared in front of Plowitz, a small figure amid the crowd. When he did, people took notice, did a double take, then hastily moved away from him. Funboy ignored them and extended his hand toward Plowitz. Constance stopped dead in her tracks, almost causing a rippling rear-end collision of Laminate Floor, Ice Cream, and Scrap Metal and Recycling

behind her. Her smile froze into place—and, as though on autopilot, she immediately reached out and took Funboy’s hand. I’d told Funboy to leave his comm open, so we could hear what transpired. Plowitz’s voice hummed out of my comm and Torina’s. “And—uh, and you are—?”

“Cheerful Enthusiast is the closest translation into your language. I realize that may seem incongruous, a cruel joke, even, given that I am neither cheerful nor enthusiastic. That will change, once I am allowed to partake in the sundry delights of this remarkable place called Frankenmuth, but in the meantime, my light cannot be hidden under a shrub.”

Plowitz and her eastern Iowa court stood there as Funboy spoke. It was as though the somber, plodding cadence of his voice held them mesmerized. They all started, though, when Perry’s voice erupted from his comm. “Hidden under a bushel, Grumpypants. A bushel, not a shrub.”

“Now is not the time to discuss metrics of agricultural commodities, despite our proximity to them. Constance is too busy for that. You are about to speak, yes?”

Plowitz started to sidestep, but Funboy simply sidled over to match her movement. “I… am, yes. I’m here to connect with my—”

“Excellent. Just know that I, Cheerful Enthusiast, will be watching you with great interest.” He stepped closer to her, her rigid smile finally cracking, starting to crumble into confusion. “I find you—and that pantsuit

—very attractive, actually.” He inhaled in what I would always recall as one of the skeeviest moments I’ve ever witnessed, then shook his head in amazement as if Plowitz was a freshly baked pie. Leaning forward, Funboy lowered his voice to a rasp. “You be careful up there.”

Tony, Torina, Miryam, and I all laughed. Even Marla offered a thin, albeit fleeting smile. “How very amusing,” she said, clearly not amused at all. SECURITY moved in but seemed stuck between the need to help out the charge that had hired them and the face-to-face reality of an alien being. Funboy knew not to push too hard, though, and backed away, opening her path to the stage. She moved on, but her smooth and carefully packaged charm had frayed, so she kept glancing back at Funboy as she went. He blew her a kiss. I turned to the comm, wiping my eyes. “Funboy, that was—wow. You really know how to knock them off their game.”

“It wasn’t all a lie. I do like that color blue she’s wearing. And I for one will cheer the day when gaucho pants are back mainstream, but, for now, we must make do with this style.”

Perry cut in. “While you were all down there being mean to the poor Congressperson, I’ve been up here diligently doing my job. So, who wants to guess which one of the corporate moneybags down there has a comm unit linked to a class 12 in orbit?”

Netty-P cut in on Perry’s cutting in. “Actually, it’s a class 10, up-armored, in-company with a class 14 transport. Panzygrus’s surveillance bots sussed it out a few minutes ago.”

I glanced at Torina. Panzygrus had purpose-built two satellite drones that were keeping an eye on Earth from two of its Lagrange Points. They gave us dedicated and unblinking eyes in space even when the Fafnir was grounded and her scanners were severely inhibited. “I think I know where this is going,” Torina said, looking back at Constance. “She represents a particular geographic area in Iowa in your government, right?”

I nodded. “She does.”

“And she’s brought people who donate money to her efforts to remain in government and continue being that representative. I assume that means they expect something in return.”

“Torina, my dear, you’ve just given the most concise description of US

politics I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh, trust me, your government has nothing on the breathtaking corruption that used to be the Seven Stars League. They were Helso’s protectors, remember?” She looked back at Constance. “I suspect that she’s going to announce some sort of agreement to allow the Equal Grasp to set up—facilities, a marketplace, something like that, anyway, in her—what’s it called?

Her district?”

Miryam nodded. “That’s right. And Torina’s right about the rest of it, too. Plowitz is stealing your thunder, Van. Remember your idea to set up the farm as a sort of interstellar trade hub and port of call—in cooperation with your two stinky teenagers?

She’s kicked that up a notch. Those discount industrialists she’s brought with her are involved in it.”

“And that explains why she’s announcing it here. She knew you’d never be able to resist coming here, to Frankenmuth. She wanted you to be here when she announced it,” Tony said, picking up the thread of understanding. I nodded along with them as they spoke. “Someone definitely has a side hustle with the Equal Grasp. Even if it is one of the moneybags, I have no doubt Constance has her fingers in it somewhere.”

We watched as Constance ascended the stage—although her gaze kept flicking back to Funboy, who stood alone in a space created by the crowd shrinking back from him. He said nothing and did nothing, just stood there and watched Constance with an intensity that was either feline or criminal or both. She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes off him, even as she maneuvered her face in front of the microphone to speak. “What a great turnout,” she said, then seemed to regain some confidence at the amplified sound of her own voice. “I’ve always loved coming to Frankenmuth. My heart lives in Iowa, of course, but it always has a few beats to spare for the great state of Michigan!”

Scattered applause. Torina chuckled. “Seriously?

They’re applauding that?”

“There is a certain type of applause that crowds reserve for particularly awkward moments when the alternative is even more awkward silence,”

Marla said. “This is that applause.”

Constance went on, introducing the Floor King, Ice Cream lady, and Scrap and Recycling Guy. Each time, Marla’s embarrassed applause rattled across the Platz. Then she started veering her words in the direction of her main point—which, just as Torina had predicted, was starting to set the stage for turning Cedar Rapids and its environs into the first interstellar trade hub on Earth. I was actually going to let it go, but Constance chose to turn and shoot me another of those smug smiles, the one that said suck it, peasant. The Equal Grasp had obviously told her that I was the main pushback against their efforts to turn Earth into a retail flea market, but with lethal alien tech. So, this was her answer to that—show up in Frankenmuth and announce that the very thing I wanted to prevent was going to happen anyway. Which might have even worked, if I’d been even remotely answerable to her. Constance Plowitz was used to her status as a Congressperson of the United States of America turning heads and opening doors. She’d made the mistake of thinking that actually meant something to someone who wasn’t the Laminate Flooring Poobah of Cedar Rapids Iowa. To an agent of the Peacemaker Guild. So, I didn’t just let it go and let Constance finish her speech. Instead, I touched my comm. “Icky, you’re on.”

“Really?”

“Really. And make it good.”

A fierce bellow erupted from the direction of the beaten-up Suburban, and then 250 kilos of blue-haired, four-armed, teeth-bared muscle and sinew erupted into view. Icky somehow managed to yank off the pants I’d insisted she wear without breaking stride and start whirling them over her head as she charged the stage. People screamed and fell back. Constance shouted at Todd the rent-a-cop. “Do something!

Stop that—that thing!”

I saw Todd look from her to Icky and heard what he said. “Yeah, for $13.75 an hour?

I don’t think so,” he replied and stepped well out of Icky’s way. Icky charged past him, leaped up onto the stage, and snatched the microphone from in front of Constance. The Flooring, Ice Cream, and Scrap people backed hastily away. Icky swung her pants like a medieval flail. “Pants, they suck!

Am I right?

I said, am I right?”

People gaped. Some laughed, nervously at first, but more genuine laughter followed. A middle-aged man abruptly yanked his pants down and off and held them aloft. “They do suck, yeah!”

Icky pointed at him. “Testify, brother!

You know the score!”

Miryam crossed her arms, smirked, and shook her head. “And here I’ve always thought political events were stupid and boring. I was wrong. This is amazing.”

Torina and Tony were almost crying with laughter. Marla grinned a little, although it was kind of like watching Funboy smile. “I’ve imagined many ways that contact with alien intelligence would progress. This was not one of them.”

Constance Plowitz knew it was time to throw in the towel. There was no way sanity would return to the proceedings, so she needed to be—not here, and as quickly as possible. She stormed off the stage, shooting me a venomous look as she passed. I smiled back at her but kept my eyes hard. “You did this here to get my attention, Constance. Well, you got it.”

Torina wiped her eyes. “You didn’t really think this through, did you?”

She sailed imperiously on, heading for her limo, her political underlings tut-tutting and giving disapproving glares in her wake. Funboy caught her eye before she got into the limo, though, and held his hand up to his head, fingers spread, miming a phone. Call me, he mouthed to her. The limo door thunked closed, but not before I saw that—and this is no word of a lie—she was giving Funboy a look of appalled fascination. Ice Cream and Scrap followed her. Surprisingly, the Flooring King lingered on the stage, talking to Icky. The PA system started booming party music, dropping a sick beat. I saw Perry fiddling with it. Funboy sidled up to me and took in the chaos with a calm, blinking gravity. “Does this mean my birthday celebration has started early?”

“SO, what message did you send, exactly?

Aside from the fact that—Icky, that’s its name?”

I grimaced at Tutsi. “Her name. She’s pretty clear on her chosen pronoun.”

“Ah. Well, far be it from me to insult a huge, four-armed space gorilla. And I mean that—far, as in I’d only do it from very far away. Anyway, aside from ensuring one of humanity’s first and probably most enduring images of alien life is her enormous, fuzzy blue butt—what did all that accomplish?

You made a bitter enemy of Constance Plowitz by making her look like an idiot and—what?

Was it just petty spite?”

I glanced around. We’d been in the Frankenmuth Cheese Haus for almost an hour now and had the place to ourselves. This was mainly because Icky and Funboy were sudden celebrities and the alternative was to have the place packed to the rafters with gawkers. The manager had agreed to give us a private showing, as it were, in exchange for money of course, but also the opportunity to use the two of them in promotional materials. I hadn’t decided on the latter, yet. I sat back and looked at my coffee. “There was a man, a Master of the Guild I belong to—a man I admire very much—who once told me that

everything I did was an operation, as in a military-type operation. Everything. Even if I was just—I don’t know, going shopping, or even taking some time off, it should contribute in some way to getting my job done. I took that to heart.”

“So, there was a point to this?

Even though Constance is just going to find another venue to make her announcement and just not tell you about it.”

I nodded. “She wanted my attention by coming here to do her thing. I wanted her to know that she got it and that it didn’t do her any good. Quite the opposite. That we’re not just going to do things her way—we’re going to do them mine.”

Tutsi glanced up as Icky strode past, chomping on cheese. Perry and Torina were following her. “I say she can eat one more slab of cheese,” Perry said. “Damn it, Perry, stop goading her. We’ve got a long flight with her ahead of us, and those of us with a sense of smell already aren’t looking forward to it.”

“But it’s wafer thin—”

“No!”

They strode on. Tutsi watched them, then turned to me. “I met my first alien in 2006.

It was a Gray, a prearranged meeting between it and the DIR

at Area 51.

It was silent and utterly inscrutable. I was… appalled. Fascinated. Horrified at the implications, the profound impacts on human beliefs, religion, and spirituality, the whole race’s very self-identity,” she said, then looked back at Icky, who was bickering with Torina about eating more cheese while Perry egged her on. “And then I see that, and all that awe, mystery, and fearful wonder kinda goes right out the window.”

I smiled. “Don’t let those Grays fool you. They’re assholes. They have a thing about coming to Earth and jerking people around—bullshit frat boy dares, mostly. The one you met was probably trying to get into the cosmic equivalent of Phi-Beta-Lambda-Whatever.”

Tutsi smirked and rolled her eyes. “Because of course they are.”

“Anyway, you were asking about my motives here. That’s the bottom line. If there’s going to be contact between humans and aliens, it’s going to happen—” I hesitated. Now Tutsi smiled. “You were going to say my way again, weren’t you?”

I shrugged. “It kind of makes me sound like I’m in charge of Earth or something. That’s not what I mean, though—”

She laughed. “Oh, I know that. I think of you more as Earth’s protector. Its guardian. And I, for one, am glad of it. Manon and the DIR think that they’ve got a handle on this whole alien contact thing, that they can control it, dictate its terms. But they clearly can’t. So, we need someone like you, Van.”

I thought about the things “out there.” The Sorcerers. The Jackals. The Tyrants. Dohlennz. Calamity. Countless other threats, big and small, near and far, inconvenient and existential. “No, if Manon and DIR think they can control this, they—well, they have no clue. None. At best, they’ll be tolerated if they collaborate. But they won’t stand in their way. The whole global military, if it were entirely united to defend Earth, wouldn’t stand in their way, either. Not for long, anyway.”

Tutsi nodded. “All the more reason to be glad we’ve got people like you on our side. Oh, that reminds me—” She reached into her purse and pulled out a small hybrid comm and data module. “I lifted this from one of Plowitz’s hangers-on. I caught him on his way to his limo for an on-the-move interview and managed to pluck this out of his pocket while he was trying to get a look down my blouse.”

I smiled. “I thought it was a little on the cool side to have your top button undone. That said, though, well done.” I took the object from her. “So, we can add skilled pickpocket to your list of abilities, I see.”

“Pfft. Not that skilled. When a man’s copping a look at your boobs, you’d be surprised at what he doesn’t notice.”

“Not that surprised. So, who was it?

My money’s on the Flooring King.”

“Nope. Mister Scrap Metal and Recycling.”

I put the module in a pouch on my harness for a later Calamity-sweep and examination. “Thanks, Tutsi. And thank your genetics for the tools to get the job done.”

She looked down at her chest with an appraising look. “Not the first time the girls have been helpful. And if the rumors I’m hearing are true, there might be things coming I can’t help you much with, aside from giving some warning. Constance Plowitz might be a predictably ambitious political shill and easy enough to work around, but Manon Clemenceau’s a whole different ball game. She might not be up to defending Earth from

aliens, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t dangerous. She’s got resources with almost no accountability or other oversight, and she’s willing to use them.”

“I know. She had a Predator drone watching over Frankenmuth today. It wasn’t armed, but it was very much up there.”

“It might not have been armed this time. Make no mistake, if she wants Hellfire missiles, she’ll get them. And you’d be one of the first targets in her sights.”

That sent a thrill of anxious dread through me. A Hellfire missile might be as sophisticated as a black powder musket compared to the weapons aboard the Fafnir and the Frankie, but it could still very much blow me to bits without any warning. Warning—that was the key. “Again, thanks, Tutsi. You’ve given me a lot to think about—and a couple of action items, at that.”

I took another sip of coffee, then stood and went to corral my crew. I found Funboy in the middle of a conversation with the Cheese Haus manager that turned out to be a negotiation for a commercial. “All you can eat while we film,” the manager, a portly, cheerful man with a bushy beard was saying as I walked up. “You’ll find my right side is slightly better for the camera. I will likely have to spend a few moments in the, ah, giant room with all the wheels of cheese. To get in character.”

“Hello, Funboy. What’s going on?” I said, a strained smile on my face. “I am in the midst of negotiating a deal to record promotional imagery for this establishment. Incidentally, I understand that many stars of terrestrial imagery employ individuals called agents. Do you believe I should retain one?” he asked me. I held up a finger to the manager. “We’ll be right back.” I motioned for Funboy to follow me, then stopped and turned a few paces away. “Commercials?

Agents?

Really?

Funboy, you’re a Peacemaker Auxiliary aboard the Fafnir, not a burgeoning star of stage and screen.”

“He could be,” Icky said from nearby, although it came out moist and distorted through a mouthful of—cheese, I think, although at this point who knew what she was eating?

I’d seen her down a tub of raspberry compote just a few minutes earlier. I sighed. “Funboy, I’ll tell you what. Let me think about it. There might be some value to putting you in a commercial, but there are downsides, too. The question is how beneficial is it for us and our mission?”

Funboy nodded gravely. “I understand.”

He returned to the manager. “The matter is in abeyance for now. My manager wishes to discuss it with me.”

I sighed again. “I’m his manager now?”

Torina stepped up beside me. “Don’t complain—he wanted me to be his publicist.”

“Okay, Van, I’m heading out,” Tutsi said, joining us. “I’ve got to get back to Cedar Rapids and line up some guests for Wake Up Cedar Rapids!

”

“Why do I get the sense that show is more than just cover for you?” I asked her. She grinned. “Believe it or not, I enjoy it. Interviewing the farmer who grew the biggest potato on record in Linn County is a nice break from worrying about things from your nightmares descending from the nighttime sky.”

“One last thing, Tutsi, before you go. In case you weren’t already, can I get you or your people to keep an eye on Constance Plowtiz?

She might not be in Clemenceau’s league of dangerous, but I don’t want to just discount her, either.”

Tutsi shook her head. “No, don’t do that. She’s still a United States Congressperson. She has connections and ways of using them to at least screw people over.” She glanced pointedly at Miryam as she said it. I got her meaning and nodded. “Exactly. I’d like to know that someone I can trust is keeping watch on… things.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got one of our best people on the job. His name is Myron.”

I stared. “You don’t mean Myron from Appleton, associate of Tony Burgess, do you?”

“The very one.”

Icky laughed. “Hey lady, you from the gubmint?”

“Yeah, not to put too fine a point on it, Myron is—he’s—” I fumbled for a way to put it. “A nutcase?” Tutsi asked, going where I’d have eventually ended up. “Yes, he is. But he’s also dedicated—and obvious about it. I figure he’ll keep Constance busy while also keeping an eye on her.”

“Dedicated. That’s one word for it. Okay, let us know what’s going on, directly if you can, or through Miryam if you can’t. Icky, do we have a spare portable comm, like the one we gave Miryam?”

“Sure. On the Fafnir. Got a couple of them.”

I nodded and turned back. “We’ll get Miryam to get one to you. That way, you can call us… kind of directly.” I went on to explain how it could get a light-speed message to a friendly ship in the Solar System or, with a roughly three-hour delay, to Cantullin Station, and how it would be relayed to us from there. “Got it,” Tutsi said. “And yes, I’ll make sure you’re kept up to date on Constance and Manon.”

Torina looked uncomfortable. “You’re not putting yourself in danger by doing this, are you?”

“Of course I am. Not the first time, though. During my career, I’ve infiltrated a secure compound in Pakistan and slipped aboard a warship of a foreign power to get some intel, and I’ve killed… five people along the way?” She narrowed her eyes. “Maybe six. I’m not sure if the guy in Tanzania died or not. Anyway, I can take care of myself.”

Torina beamed at her. “You’re a woman after my own heart.”

Tutsi momentarily put on her morning show persona. “And next week, I’m going to pay a visit to Iowa’s only hair stylist who exclusively specializes in manes and tails!

So, stay tuned!”

I laughed but quickly turned serious again. “Yeah, especially keep an eye on Plowitz. Manon might be evil, but it’s a cunning sort of evil, focused on keeping what she’s got. Constance is evil in search of upward mobility.”

Tutsi’s morning show persona flicked off. “Oh, I know. I suspect she’s already taken her thirty pieces of silver. And I intend to prove it.”

14

WE WERE ONCE AGAIN LEFT CONTEMPLATING our next move. We still had no solid leads on Adayluh or the other hostages. At least, we were still calling them hostages, sticking to the paradigm that eventually there’d be some sort of demand in return for their release. The alternatives were too awful to contemplate, and none of us were prepared to give up hope. As we departed Earth, though, we got a fortuitous call. It was from Essie, via B. “Essie has some information you might be interested in, given your recent cases,” she said, no preamble, just launching right into it. I got the sense from B’s clipped, business-like attitude that this was something important. If so, then doing it through a relay just slowed things down, made them more cumbersome. “Okay. How come he isn’t making this call himself?”

“He’s on an undercover op and doesn’t want to risk it, I guess. Anyway, he wanted me to get this to you ASAP. The individual he’s been tracking is one Jukiso Switmarr, formerly a mid-level researcher at Pont Alus Kyr.”

I glanced at Torina in the Fafnir’s copilot’s seat. We both leaned into the call. “Formerly?”

“Formerly. He was released, as it were, for research ethics violations. And before you ask, no, I don’t know what those ethics violations were. I’ve put in a call to a friend on Pont Alus Kyr, but I haven’t heard back yet.”

“What was this Switmarr’s field of research that he, um, ethically violated?”

“Bio-integration. Basically, incorporating synthetic components into living organisms. Mind you, this is Pont Alus Kyr we’re talking about, so that’s not a big surprise. It is one of their main fields of research, after all.”

I sat back. “Yeah, but still—that Sorcerer’s Bracelet horror show you showed us would count as bio-integration, I think. I mean, there’s no direct link, but—”

Funboy spoke up from behind us. “Essie would not have risked blowing his cover to pass this message on to you, Van, unless he thought it was important.”

“Yeah, I get it. It’s just kind of… tenuous.”

“Right now, tenuous is really all we have,” Rab put in. I had to nod at that. “The man speaks the truth. Okay, so keeping with the tenuous theme, did Essie say anything about where this guy is?

Or where he’s going?”

“No—”

I started to open my mouth to say something frustrated, but B cut me off. “But Essie did tell me that he left Pont Alus Kyr less than a day ago. He has a creaky old class 4 workboat not suited for anything but short twists, and he has very little money and no known family. His first stop is probably going to be Spindrift since there’s nowhere else he might be able to afford some fuel.”

“Wow. We are taking tenuous and stretching even it pretty thin, aren’t we?”

B barked a laugh. “Hey, if I could give you the exact twist coordinates to drop on top of this guy, I would. We like to think this investigative work is all hard facts uncovered by diligent work, but—well, you should know as well as anyone by now, Van, that sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith.”

“Might not be that big a leap, actually,” Perry said. I turned to him. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been scouring Guild archives for references to this guy, Jukiso Switmarr. No hits. However, guess the name of Spindrift’s most recent resident to have turned up dead under mysterious circumstances—probably executed by some of the other Spindriftians?”

Icky chuckled. “Spindriftians?”

“Spindriftites?

Spindriftons?

People full of Spindriftitude?

Whatever they call themselves.”

“Fine, whatever. Can I assume the name in question is Switmarr?” I cut in before the tangent got too tangential. “It is. One Onulic Switmarr was reported by the Golden Cloaks as having been spaced by persons unknown, apparently because he’d been caught doing some unspecified biohacking,” Perry replied. “What exactly constitutes biohacking?” Rab asked. B answered. “Anything from unlicensed genetic modifications to illicit implants. It’s a catch-all term to describe what you do to bust into information systems, except you’re doing them to bust into biological ones.”

A picture flashed up on the center display. It looked like a lumpy, bipedal frog or toad in a red and green jumpsuit. He looked so much like a frog, in fact, that I could imagine him wearing a top hat, dancing and singing “Hello!

Ma Baby.”

I caught Perry looking at me. “You were thinking of that old Looney Toons cartoon, One Froggy Evening, weren’t you?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Nice try. You watched it about a million times on an old VHS tape when you were a kid. You laughed your head off every time—and got pissed off when the frog never performed for anyone but the guy who found him every time.”

“I was born with a keen sense of justice. That frog was an asshole.”

“Did it ever occur to you that the frog might never have been able to sing, and it was all just happening in the guy’s head because he was crazy?”

“I—oh.” I blinked. “Oh, wow. Perry, you’re blowing my mind and wrecking my childhood.”

“Thanks. It’s a gift.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” B snapped, her antennae flicking with annoyance. “Sorry, B. Perry was just forcing me to make a wrenching reexamination of my childhood. Anyway, Spindrift does seem like our best bet. If you talk to Essie again, thank him and get any other information you can. And when you get some details about Switmarr’s ‘ethics violations’ at Pont Alus Kyr, let us know.”

She signed off. I pointed at the image of Onulic Switmarr. “Assuming there’s a family resemblance—and it’s probably a pretty fair assumption—

everyone commit that face to memory.” I frowned at the display. “Mind you, a guy who looks like a frog is probably a pretty distinctive description all on its own.”

“That red and green jumpsuit—I don’t know. We sure it wasn’t the fashion police who spaced him?” Icky asked. Torina shrugged. “I don’t know. If you squint and kind of tilt your head, he’s actually almost adorable.”

“Okay, Netty-P, to Spindrift then. It’s the closest thing we have to a lead, at least for the foreseeable future.”

“On the way,” Netty-P said. We flew on. Rab and Funboy went aft, while Icky did some engineering things at her workstation, and Torina and I started going through outstanding paperwork. We were reviewing an ammo requisition before sending it to the Guild Quartermaster when something hit me. I sat up, staring. “Van, what is it?

A flash of insight?” Torina asked. “Yeah, it is,” I said, turning to Perry. “The frog’s singing couldn’t have all been in the guy’s head. Remember that the cop heard it while the guy and the frog were in that park.”

Torina stared, then sighed. “I could have married anyone in known space. Anyone.”

WE TWISTED into the Spindrift system and immediately received a distress beacon. “Class 11 fast freighter, seems to be up-armored, about three light-minutes away. It’s heavily damaged,” Netty-P said as an image appeared on the display. It showed the ship, intact but with severe battle damage on her port side, including a hole at least three meters across that exposed structural spars. I changed course to intercept it but paused. “We have to assume this is a genuine call. Netty-P, what’s our flight time?”

“Using full power burns to match velocity with it, about eighteen minutes.”

“And using the combi-drive?”

“About thirty seconds.”

I nodded. “The combi-drive it is. While Netty-P is getting us there, the rest of us should suit up. Icky, once we are, depressurize the ship. Again, we have to assume this is a real distress situation. That doesn’t mean we can’t be really careful about it.”

THE CLASS 11, which was registered as the Empire of Gondar out of Tau Ceti, was completely powered down. She was emitting no scanner energy, and aside from her beacon beating out a steady, canned distress message, she showed absolutely no signs of life. We crossed in the Frankie, keeping the Fafnir a few thousand klicks away. I brought Icky, Funboy, and Perry. I reasoned that it was better to leave the Fafnir free to maneuver while we had the Frankie available to stand by in case we needed to beat a hasty retreat from the derelict Empire. “Owned by one of the ubiquitous numbered holding companies that operate out of Tau Ceti,” Perry was saying. “Her flight plan had her depart Spindrift to dead head to Falaax and pick up a load of cargo, for shipment on to Outward in Procyon. Pretty standard stuff for a freighter.”

I nodded inside my helmet. “Maybe just some good old-fashioned piracy, then.” I had to resist the temptation to see every disconcerting situation as part of a vast conspiracy revolving around Sorcerers and Calamity and whatever else. There was still ordinary crime happening in known space, after all. In fact, in the wake of the Calamity crisis, many people had been pushed to desperate measures, so the mundane sorts of crime like piracy, smuggling, and theft had been on the rise. I brought the Frankie to a relative stop about a klick away from the Empire of Gondar. The magnified imagery showed unmistakable weapons damage, including the telltale, inward-pushed punctures of missile shrapnel. Again, there was no reaction from the derelict ship. Her only remaining armament, a point-defense battery, was trained on a random point in deep space. “Okay, let’s get a little closer,” I said, activating the thrusters and sliding the Frankie to within a hundred meters of the other ship. Again, nothing changed. I set Frankie, the AI, into station-keeping mode, to keep its namesake right where it was relative to the Empire. Then we went aft, opened the airlock, and crossed to the derelict. It only took a few minutes. And it was easy to get inside, thanks to the gaping hole in her flank. It rapidly became clear that there was no one on board. There was no sign of her crew at all. There was also no cargo in her holds, but she had been deadheading, so that wasn’t much of a surprise. But any and all removable data modules were gone, and her archives had been wiped. She’d also been relieved of her fuel, and one weapon hardpoint was empty, with no corresponding weapon or debris anywhere in sight. “So, she’s been stripped. Sounds more and more like piracy to me,”

Torina said over the comm. “Yeah, I don’t disagree. Anyway, I guess we’ll just put a salvage beacon on her and report her crew missing—which is the bit that bothers me. If her crew was here, and dead, that would be one thing. But a missing crew makes me nervous.”

Funboy cut in. “Just in case her crew had been killed in some extremely destructive fashion, I’ve run hand scans for organic residue. If they were, say, vaporized, there would be traces. But there are none—that is, aside from the usual accumulations of biological material, such as skin cells, hairs, and fecal residue that you would expect to find aboard a crewed ship.”

“Fecal residue?” Rab asked. “Yes. Small amounts of material escape when—”

“I think we get the rather disgusting picture, thanks,” I said. “So the crew either left or were removed. And if the latter, they could have been removed either alive or dead.”

“That’s correct,” Funboy said. I looked around the battered interior of the ship. I was standing in the compartment that had been ripped open to space. Surprisingly, despite some incident powerful enough to rip off hull plating and reduce it to the metallic confetti we’d detected drifting around the ship, the space behind it was only moderately damaged. I pushed myself toward the opening and stopped by catching myself on a spar. It, too, was relatively undamaged. “Huh. Icky, Perry, can you guys come here?”

“On my way,” Icky said. She drifted in beside me about the same time Perry did. “What’s up, Boss?”

“Good question.” I pointed at the damage. “What kind of weapon shreds hull plating to metallic splinters but barely scorches a structural rib beneath.” I glanced behind me. “Or just lightly scorches the compartment behind it.”

Now Icky made a sound of curiosity. “Yeah—I’ve never seen anything like this. Weird.”

“A quick calculation of the amount of energy required to do this much damage to standard hull plating shows that these spars should have been ripped apart right along with it. And there should be a lot more damage inside here,” Perry said. Icky cast a critical engineer’s eye on the full damage. “In fact, that much energy should probably have broken at least one of the main longitudinal spars—maybe even breaking the ship apart with it. I’ll say it again. Weird.”

“Yeah, definitely not any sort of projected energy weapon I’m familiar with. Or any type of missile, for that matter,” Perry added. “Okay. Netty-P, start pulling piracy reports, any attacks on ships, that the Guild has on record. Let’s go back—oh, say, five years for a start. See if there are any other incidents like this, with this sort of odd damage.”

“You’re thinking some type of novel weapon?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, yeah.”

Which, as we returned to the Frankie, struck me with a particularly ominous note. I’d gotten used to having access to advanced tech, like the alien grav plating on our ships and the combi-drive. But we weren’t the only ones who might have new toys to play with. AS WE DOCKED with the Fafnir, we got another message from Essie. This time, it was from him directly, but it was only a terse report sent as a burst

transmission and relayed through the comm center on Anvil Dark. “Van, I’m still tracking Jukiso. He bought some fuel at Crossroads, and now seems to just be making short, pretty much random twists. No idea what he’s up to. I’ll keep you posted.”

“He must know he’s being tracked and is trying to throw Essie off his trail,” Torina said. “That would entail avoiding scrutiny by Essie’s extensive network of contacts and informants, which is improbable. No matter where he goes in known space, Essie is likely to soon know about it,” Funboy replied. “So maybe he’s going to give Spindrift a pass, then.”

But I shook my head. “No, I think he’ll end up there eventually.”

“What makes you so sure?” Rab asked. “For one, his dead relative. For another, if that was his only known relative, then there’s probably something else on Spindrift Jukiso wants.”

“Money. Specifically, his poor departed—brother’s, or cousins’, or whatever he was—his money,” Rab said, nodding. I reset our inbound course for Spindrift, leaving the wrecked enigma that was the Empire of Gondar in our wake. “Exactly. Money. It’s the reason criminals do most of the things they do.”

EXCEPT THAT THE hapless Jukiso Switmarr never made it to Spindrift. It wasn’t for want of trying because that had been his eventual destination. We knew this after a call—this time a direct, real-time twist call—with Essie. “So, I’ve got Jukiso’s ship,” he said, wearing his brilliant smile. I couldn’t resist a grin of my own. “Okay. That raises so many questions, like, how?

And where?

And where’s Jukiso?”

“Oh, he’s here. Or here-ish, anyway.”

My smile faltered. “Essie, much as I love the thrill of the chase, can we get to the explanation part of this—?”

“Sorry, Van, I spend my life undercover, looking over my shoulder, surrounded by very bad people. It’s not often I get to have a, you know, actual conversation with someone—at least one where I’m not having to

keep all my lies straight. Anyway, come to Kapteyn’s Star, and all shall be revealed to you.”

“Essie—”

“Trust me, Van, you’re going to want to see this for yourself. I mean, how often do you get to see someone act like a complete goof?”

I glanced around the cockpit. “Well, all the time, actually—”

Someone—I think it was Icky—threw a b-suit glove at me. I tossed the glove back over my shoulder. “Anyway, sure, we’ll be there in—uh, Netty-P?”

“About an hour back to a twist point from here and then, based on the twist coordinates Essie’s AI just sent on a side channel, about another half hour into Kapteyn’s Star’s rather paltry excuse for a gravity well. So, say, two hours,” she replied. “Ok, you heard the lady. About two hours,” I said. Essie nodded. “See you then.”

As we changed course—again—I asked Netty-P what was so special about Kapteyn’s Star. The answer to that was nothing. “It’s another unremarkable red dwarf, about a third of a solar mass and only about one percent as luminous as Sol. And… that’s it.”

“That’s it. So why would Switmarr have gone there?”

“Well, Kapteyn’s Star does get used as a twist waypoint on trips from Spindrift to Dregs. About eighty years ago, a now-defunct corporate venture tried to capitalize on that, setting up a fuel depot, but the route never caught on.”

“Probably because anyone shuttling between Spindrift and Dregs is inevitably up to no good,” Rab muttered. “Actually, I suspect that’s the reason why they tried to capitalize on it. Criminals are always looking for a discreet, off-the-books way of fueling and provisioning their ships.”

“So that’s probably why Switmarr went there. He was hoping to gas up,” Icky said. Netty-P turned her imager toward the big Wu’tzur. “Well, sure, except remember the now defunct thing I mentioned?

That fuel depot was abandoned about seventy years ago and has been sitting idle ever since. No one’s even tried to go after it for scrap salvage.”

“Yeah, but someone might have put it back into operation on the sly. I mean, that’s exactly the kind of thing we Peacemakers are not supposed to

know about, right?”

“You got me there. Yes, that’s possible, although we have no intel to that effect,” Netty-P acknowledged. I shrugged as the Fafnir’s drive lit and we started backtracking to a twist point away from Spindrift. “Whatever. It doesn’t really matter, right?

Whether he’s there because he thought he could get gas there or for some other reason, he’s there. And Essie apparently has custody of his ship, so—

as Essie said, all shall be revealed when we arrive.”

I glanced at Torina. “I hope.”

15

WE ARRIVED to find Essie’s ship on close station with a big workboat that had seen better days—presumably Switmarr’s ship. Both of them were hanging in space about a million klicks away from the derelict refueling depot, a boxy assemblage of spheres and cylinders held together by an enclosing gantry. It was utterly lifeless, giving off no emissions and at the ambient temperature of the space around it. The whole effect was one of cold and lonely emptiness. Sometimes moments like this hit me, usually in one of two ways—a feeling of awe and wonder at the sheer scale of cosmos or a shiver of Lovecraftian cosmic horror at our utter insignificance compared to it. This was one of the latter. It was easy to forget that known space, with all of its trials and tribulations, its politics and scheming, its wonders and dangers, was really just a tiny spot in one arm of the Milky Way Galaxy—which was, itself, just an infinitesimal speck in a void of incomprehensible size. I shuddered and even felt a momentary pang of vertigo. I hastily put my attention back inside the Fafnir’s cockpit and watched the tactical overlay. “Okay, Essie, we’re here,” I said when he answered my comm call. “So, what’s going on here?

Where’s Switmarr?”

“Well, since he was almost out of fuel, I decided to force the issue and try to board him. Honestly, I was getting tired of following him around, but I know that his connection to Pont Alus Kyr makes him potentially valuable. Anyway, he was having none of that and bugged out as soon as I put my toes on his deck plates.”

“Bugged out?

How?

To where?”

“Give that old fuel station a really good scan.”

I glanced at Netty-P, who complied. A few seconds passed, then she put zoomed imagery onto the display, a close-up of what looked like a small cylinder partly embedded in the flank of the old fuel depot. “That’s a standard class 1 escape pod,” she said. Perry made a breath-sucking-in sound. “Ouch. Picked a bad angle there.”

“Is there any good angle for crashing into an old space station?

And doing it pretty much with his face?” Icky asked, snorting with laughter. Perry bowed. “Vicious and true. Also unexpected, but as you know, I’m a big fan of kickin’ baddies when they’re down.”

“Essie, how do we know he’s even still alive?” I asked. Essie smirked. “Well, there’s this, for one,” he said, reaching off-screen. A new voice suddenly broke into the comm channel. “—an innocent scientist has crashed while fleeing from scoundrels of such ill repute that I cannot guarantee I shall live to see another day.”

We all winced. The voice had the quality of a shard of broken glass being dragged over a blackboard, except still somehow whiny and petulant. Essie cut it off. “You see what I mean. He’s kept up a running commentary like that for, oh, a couple hours now. I’m not even sure who he thinks he’s talking to since it’s not a twist comm.”

“Well, to be fair, someone on Spindrift might hear his desperate pleas for help in about, oh, thirteen years,” Netty-P put in. Perry sighed. “Scoundrels of ill repute?

Really?

Boss, if this guy’s wearing an ascot, can we beat him up and take his lunch money?”

Icky cut in. “Ascot?

What’s that?”

“It’s a fancy hanky you wear around your neck.”

“I am unfamiliar with this term, hanky. And it does not translate into Surtsi in any meaningful way,” Funboy said. “Hanky?

I know that. It’s a rag you use to blow your nose, catch snot, boogers, that sort of thing,” Icky said. “Oh. Oh dear. So a biohazard, then.”

“In Icky’s case, definitely,” Perry said. “Hey—!”

“Kids, eyes on the prize, please,” I said. “Essie, why haven’t you just gone and picked him up instead of leaving him there to piss and moan on

that old fuel platform?”

“Well, first of all, because it’s entertaining as hell. I have to sit and watch while the bad guys do bad stuff in hopes of finding out if they’re going to do even worse stuff later on. It’s kinda nice to see a bad guy stuck like this,” he said, his melodious laugh ringing bright and long. “Fair enough. And second of all?”

“Second of all, and more to the point, there’s only one of me, and that fuel depot is pretty big. And a kind of pathetic loser of a criminal whacking or stabbing me is still going to end up with me being the dead one. If you hadn’t shown up, I was going to wait until his suit started running low on air to, uh, entice him into surrendering to me.”

Rab, who’d been focused on his instruments while the rest of the crew was—well, being the rest of the crew, looked up. “Boss, notice anything about that toad’s ride?

Specifically, right there?”

As he spoke, he put a zoomed image of the ventral amidships of Switmarr’s ship. I stared at it, trying to discern what I was supposed to be looking at. Torina was quicker than I was, though. “Right here. Doing a slow tumble a few meters beneath that scanner array. It’s a—box?

A case of some sort?

Looks familiar, though—” she said. “That is a G-Case,” Perry said. “It’s a secure, hermetically sealed case hardened against any sort of energy or particulate emissions from getting in or out. Engineers and scientific types use it to transport samples and devices from place to place. It’s usually because whatever they’ve put inside it is valuable, potentially dangerous, or both. They’re not uncommon, though.”

“Okay, so why does Switmarr have one?

And why is it sitting in space a few meters from his ship, doing about half an rpm?” Torina asked. Rab crossed his arms. “The fact that he’s got it, combined with the fact that he just got fired and run off from Pont Alus Kyr, kind of hints at it having something to do with that.”

I frowned at the slowly rotating case. “If so, then whatever’s in it really could be valuable, dangerous, or both.”

I turned to Perry. “What do you think, Bird?

Could you retrieve it?

Figure out some way of opening it safely to find out what’s inside?”

“I can retrieve it, sure. As for opening it, though—those cases are designed to be secure and nearly indestructible. If you’re transporting an expensive and delicate prototype gizmo from point A to point B, you want to at least try to make sure no one can get at it even if it gets stolen.”

“Well, step one is retrieving it, I guess. How about I leave that to you?”

“My schedule’s pretty open. Sure.”

“You know, there is another way of maybe finding out what’s inside it. We could just ask Switmarr. Worst he’s going to do is refuse to tell us,” Rab said. “Good point. Let’s do both. So, while Perry’s retrieving the case, how about Icky, Rab, and I help Essie to retrieve Switmarr?

Icky can be our cultural liaison officer,” I said, smiling at her. She returned a blank stare. “The what now?”

“Cultural liaison officer. You know, the one responsible for scaring the ever-living shit out of the toad man.”

“Oh, cultural liaison officer. Yeah, that I can definitely do.”

WE BRACED ourselves for a tense search of the old fuel depot, which was a lot bigger than it first seemed once you got close to it. I figure it had to be the length of a ten-story building and about two-thirds of that around. Probably sixty percent of that volume was fuel storage, but that still left an awful lot of dark, airless, no-g interior space to search. When we boarded through the nearest opening to Switmarr’s crashed escape pod, though, we found him huddled in a corridor, clutching a slug pistol in a way that made it clear he had no idea how to use it. Icky pushed herself deftly toward him. He raised the pistol just in time for her to snatch it out of his grip and bend it almost in half. “Uh uh uh, play nice now,” she said, leering into his visor from just a few centimeters away. He winced and cursed, then slumped in defeat. And so ended the cat-and-mouse game of hunting down Jukiso Switmarr. We brought him to the Frankie, then the Fafnir. Essie was already there, as was Perry, who’d returned with the case. After I’d removed my helmet and gloves, I pointed at the G-Case. “Okay, Jukiso. What’s up with this?

And why was it sitting a couple of meters outside your ship?”

He stared at the deck with bulbous eyes. “I was hoping you would miss it and I could retrieve it at a later date.”

“I did miss it, actually, but only because I was focused on your sorry ass,” Essie said. “Did you really think, though, that no one was going to notice it?

Like, at all, ever?”

“I judged it a… possibility.”

“Anything’s possible, I suppose. Okay, so the big question—what the hell is in it?” I asked him. “I can’t tell you.”

Icky crouched beside him. “See, I think you can tell us, you just don’t want to. Now, if I were you, I’d be falling over myself to be helpful to the nice people who just saved your ass.”

“I only needed saving because this—this hooligan insisted on chasing me all over known space,” Jukiso grated, pointing at Essie. “Um, excuse me, Liverpool has hooligans. We Manchester United adherents are enthusiastic fans,” Essie replied with some dignity. I’ve never understood soccer fans, and I understand them even less when they insist on calling the sport football. I gave Essie a grin and nudged Icky aside, getting my game face back on. When I spoke, it was low, even, and devoid of emotion, like when I explain the majesty of American football to an unbelieving European. “Jukiso, you’ve caught me on a bad day. Bad for you, that is, because we don’t have time—or the inclination—to handle you with any delicacy. So, one question before this ends badly—there’s that word again—for you.”

I leaned forward. “What’s in the case?”

He stared at me with eyes the size of baseballs, and up close, I understood something. He was scared. Genuinely so, right down to his bones or cartilage or whatever. “You cannot frighten me as much as my employers. That is a simple fact.”

I watched him and knew he was telling the truth. With each word, I kept catching more scents from him, a hideous range of unpleasant notes that assailed my nose. Bird, why does this guy smell like ammonia and cinnamon and despair?

His species, Boss. Each puff of pheromone he’s putting out is a stress signal. I think he’s being truthful, Perry sent via ear bug. Nodding, I knew we needed a different strategy. Leaning on him wouldn’t work. So, I made a play. “So how about we turn this right around?

Instead of continuing to work for people who terrify you, how would you like to work for people who are

utterly ambivalent as to your existence?” I asked. “I don’t like him,” Icky growled. “Other than Icky, I mean,” I added with a shrug. Jukiso’s eyes goggled again, flicking membranes that looked like camera shutters at half-speed. “What do you mean?”

I spread my hands, easing the tension of my presence. “You’re a researcher in bio-integration. I’ve got no idea why you got fired from Pont Alus Kyr—probably something specific, though, some wrongdoing and not just general incompetence.”

Jukiso puffed up a little. “I am many things, Peacemaker, but I am a skilled, experienced, and methodical scientist. And my talents extend far beyond bio-integration. I’ve adapted certain principles and technologies to other fields of endeavor.”

As he spoke, his huge, popping eyes flicked several times to the G-Case. This was no hardened criminal mastermind. I wondered if he’d even entered voluntarily into whatever relationship he had with his employers, or if he’d been blackmailed, extorted, threatened, or otherwise coerced into it. He was, I decided, a gifted amateur. With a secret. I looked at the case as well, pointedly, then back to him. “Okay. Prove it. What’s in there?”

I made eye contact with him—at least, contact with one of his eyes because I was too close to him to have both in my field of view. I was also close enough to smell the next range of scents coming off him, this time a cloying mix of mildew and ammonia that was sweet enough to make me swear off cookies for a month. It made him even more loveable. “Fine. Open it,” Jukiso said, deflating. “It’s not locked?”

“There’s a code to enter,” he said, and gave it to me—or, more properly, to Perry. It was a surprisingly long string of numbers and letters, which Perry could, and did, instantly memorize. “Alright, we’re getting somewhere. Now, is it booby-trapped?”

“Certainly not. I would not resort to such… such pedestrian measures.”

“You were scared of blowing yourself up, weren’t you?” Icky asked, grinning. “I… was not. Not… too much, anyway.”

We opened the case. It contained a… thing. It was a tubular device about forty centimeters in diameter with a thirty-centimeter cylindrical hole along its length. “Right. It’s a tube.” I looked down at Jukiso. “You invented a tube. Well done, I guess?”

“It is not a tube. Or, well, it is a tube, yes, but not just a tube. It is an accelerator attachment for a point-defense gun. When placed on the muzzle and powered up, it provides a ten to twelve percent boost to muzzle velocity. Best of all, it’s powered by waste heat from the weapon when it fires, so requires only a small power input from the ship’s supply.”

Rab and Netty-P were immediately all over it. “I’ve seen accelerator attachments for PD guns and mass drivers, but if this works as he claims, it’s an order of magnitude more effective than any of them. Our own accelerator cannon was the first real boost I’d ever seen to solid projectile velocities,” Rab said. “Yeah, if this is true, we need some of these, Boss. That would dramatically shorten the flight time of our depleted PD slugs, enough that it would take most missile guidance AIs off guard, at least until they learned to accommodate it,” Netty-P added. She was excited by the possibility, of that there was no doubt. Rab looked interested, and I considered that a good sign. His voice held a note of excitement. “Even then, it would force missiles to maneuver harder and faster, burning more fuel—and they already run pretty much at the edge of their performance envelope. I don’t know if I’d call this a game-changer, but it’s damned close.”

Torina crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Between this and the weapon that took out that freighter back at Spindrift, we’re suddenly seeing a lot of new tech. I have to say I don’t like it.”

“And that’s on top of kidnapped people that includes a top scientist, Adayluh Creel, resurgent Sorcerers, and what’s going on with the League, and your mother and the Ferals—this game suddenly has a lot of pieces in play,” Perry added. I exhaled in frustration. “Yeah, it does. And we don’t know what most of them are doing, much less the rules of the game itself. But we have to start somewhere. Jukiso, we’re going to take you somewhere safe, where you can work under the supervision of someone we trust implicitly.”

“Safe?

There is nowhere safe, not from these people—”

“Oh, I disagree. Have you ever heard of Null World?”

He stiffened, looking surprisingly alarmed. “You mean—the Schegith?

But they’re carnivorous monsters—!”

“Oh, for—maybe the Schegith enjoy the occasional steak, but that whole carnivorous monster thing was created by them, to protect themselves, while their race was going through some hard times. Trust me, Null World is now one of the safest places in known space. There’s only one I’d consider safer.”

Jukiso couldn’t resist. “Which is?”

“Starsmith. But I’m not going to tell you why. And it doesn’t matter. On Null World, you’ll be safe from whoever your employers are, trust me.”

Jukiso brightened a little, adding a whiff of damp towel and gym locker to his pastiche of aromas. I was charmed all over again. “The Schegith—

they do have a fearsome reputation. Most people are terrified of them.”

“A good problem to have, if you ask me,” Icky said. I turned to Netty-P. “Get the fearsome Schegith on the comm, please. I’d like to discuss this with her.”

“One Schegith, coming right up.”

It took a while, but Netty-P finally got Schegith on a twist-comm channel. She peered at me out of the display through a haze of hookah smoke. “This one is always most pleased to speak to the esteemed Van Tudor. Netty-P suggests you have a proposal to advance,” she said. “I do,” I said, then went on to explain. She listened, then looked at Jukiso. “You are a specialist in bio-integration?”

“Not really. Or, I am, but I specialize in the synthetic, inorganic side, not the organic one. And my work has been moving more and more into weapons research. There’s a… a growing interest, as it were, in bio-integrating weapons into living organisms.”

“Oh, I don’t like the sound of that at all,” Torina muttered. “All the more reason to get Jukiso here off your game table and somewhere safely under control,” Essie replied, nodding. Schegith puffed out smoke. “This one wonders if such work could lead to a project deemed quite necessary. A question of… bounty.”

Jukiso stared with his big eyes. “Bounty?

You mean, hunting criminals?”

Schegith boomed a laugh. “No, this one was using the term bounty in its other sense. A bounty, as in something plentiful. Specifically, this one means crops. Weapons research could be useful in such an application, using payloads of seeds, rather than destructive agents, yes?”

“What, you mean like… guns or missiles to spread seeds around?”

Jukiso sounded intrigued. “Yes. This one’s people need increased food supplies but lack the numbers to readily do it themselves. If a means could be developed to scatter seeds over large areas of a high plateau, launching them quickly and effectively, but gently enough to land, grow, and mature in hostile climate conditions, that would be most beneficial. Does such a thing sound plausible?”

Jukiso looked around. He could obviously read the room. “I suppose I’m in the farming business now. And yes, I think such a thing is quite feasible. There are a number of weapons technologies that could be adapted to such an application.”

“Excellent. Essie, as a friend of my friends, this one wishes to extend an invitation to you. Bring the engineer and come to know this one’s people and their home.”

“You’ve got to check out the Undersea,” I said. “It’s impressive. A stunning place. Just don’t get too close to the water. There are carnivorous things on Null World, they just aren’t the Schegith.”

Essie frowned in thought for a moment, then abruptly nodded. “I accept your kind offer. I have so much leave accrued that I’ve never used, and I have no cases that can’t wait. We’ll leave within the hour, and I can assure you that Jukiso will be on his best behavior.”

Schegith signed off. Essie started to head for the Frankie to return to his ship, Jukiso at his side. But he stopped and turned back. “Just one more thing.”

“You’re not wearing a rumpled-up raincoat,” Perry said. Essie stared at him. “What?”

I waved him off. “Perry’s got a bit of an addiction to Earthly pop-culture references—”

“Oh, Columbo!

Yes, I know what you mean now, very good!” Essie laughed. “Anyway, Jukiso was going to tell us all about his contacts, wasn’t he?

Didn’t I hear that?” He looked at Torina. “I heard that, didn’t I?”

I smiled. “I’m sure I recall that, yeah.”

Icky nodded. “I know I did.”

Jukiso sighed. “I don’t have contacts. I have a location. An extremely ironic one, given the circumstances.”

I gave him a wary look. “Why?”

“Because it’s in orbit around, of all places, Null World.”

16

NULL WORLD IS GREAT, one of my favorite places to visit in known space. It was always welcoming and—and this is a big and—safe. I hadn’t been kidding when I’d said to Jukiso that it was probably the second most secure place in known space, after Starsmith. That system had the advantage of an inscrutable alien superbeing living on one of its stars, who built and disassembled elements like a kid with Lego blocks and could toss Earth-sized masses of star stuff like snowballs. Of course, there might be many more versions of Matterforge here on Null World’s star, or even living on Sol. But if they never chose to put in an appearance, then who knew?

Null World had only one drawback—there were limited facilities to refuel and replenish ships there. Schegith had said they were going to change that, but they’d understandably focused on defense first. The last time I’d been there, the Schegith had been building three powerful spaceborne fortresses called Ramparts, using the pattern they’d developed to protect Helso. Each had the firepower of a small flotilla of ships and just took the idea of Null World being safe to it being even safer. But that didn’t help gas up the Fafnir. We’d be at our minimum reserve of antimatter when we arrived there, which meant we could make one twist of up to about ten light-years, and then we’d be dead in space. Since I didn’t want to deal with that—or the paperwork the Guild demanded when it happened, we decided to refuel before we went to Null World. Essie stayed in company with us. I cast a critical eye on the chart. “I guess Dregs is our closest gas station, though it’s kind of out of the way.”

“Actually, just a month or so ago, a flyer talked about a new replenishment station at LP 944-020,” Netty-P said. She highlighted the system on the overlay as she spoke. It was another of the many uninhabited star systems in known space. Most of them were uninhabited, in a ratio of nearly five to one compared to systems with some sort of permanent habitation. At best, they got used as twist waypoints, although occasionally one might pique some interest. It was usually mining or cometary water harvesting, but this one, LP 944-020 didn’t have that. What it did have was a convenient location almost midway between Dregs and Epsilon Eridani and Null World. “Huh. Looks like someone is anticipating that, with the Schegith becoming bigger players in known space by the day, there’s going to be a lot more traffic heading that way,” I said. “It’s a safe bet. I checked, and the new replenishment station there was finished only a few months ago. Brand new, state of the art, and as slick and convenient as a Buc-ees,” Perry said. I shrugged. “Texas sized?

I’m in. Let’s go check it out—get gas, get the oil checked, clean the windshield, maybe a bucket of brisket, all that kind of stuff.”

“And snacks,” Icky put in. “Unless brisket is considered snacks.”.

I smiled. “It is for you, big girl.”

THE PLACE WAS A SHINING beacon of slick commercialism designed to cater to travelers. It was what the rickety, derelict fueling station into which Jukiso crashed aspired to be. Perry’s interstate analogy was apt. The replenishment depot reminded me of one of those complexes of gas stations, restaurants, souvenir shops, and high-throughput bathrooms you found alongside expressways across the US. “Somebody sunk a lot of money into this place,” Perry said, as the docking AI guided the Fafnir into a berth. As soon as the clamps had seated, robotic arms moved into position to refuel the ship, based on a brief, clean order form we’d filled out during our approach. We could even order

food and other supplies and have them delivered, meaning we never had to actually leave the ship. But we did, taking the opportunity to check out the place, which was branded as “Replete.” Perry had checked up on them and found they were a consortium of companies, a joint venture by several players in the spacecraft logistics industry. “Replete” was attached to a chain of new service stations like this one built in key locations across known space. I stopped at a sign outside a store that looked almost exactly like a truck-stop convenience counter. “Huh. Says here they have a rewards program. Collect points with every gram of antimatter, use them for discounts on a wide array of products—”

I put my hands on my hips and shook my head. “Wow. I’m having one of those crossover moments. Seems somebody mixed branded consumerism with my space travel. And did it well, I might add.”

“Van, how long have you been in space?” Perry asked. “Yeah, Boss, you’re acting like this is new?” Rab asked. I picked up a small device wrapped in something like cellophane. It was an air freshener. Not shaped like a pine tree, but the same kind of product. “I don’t, this just seems to, you know, really bring it home. The picture will be complete if they have fuzzy dice you can hang in your ship’s cockpit.”

“You mean like these ones?” Icky said, holding up a pair. I sighed. “Outer space just suddenly got a lot less cool.”

Netty-P, still aboard the Fafnir, cut in on the comm. “Van, Dayna Jasskin would like to speak with you. She says it’s important.”

I put the air freshener down and started to turn away. A voice from behind and below me sounded as I did. “Thank you for coming in to look around. I’m sorry you didn’t find anything you wanted to purchase.”

I turned and looked down at what looked like an inverted wastepaper basket on rollers. “It even comes with condescending staff. Perfect.”

I HAD A FEELING this was a mission-oriented call, not a personal one, so I took it in the cockpit. That way, the rest of the crew could participate, and it

would save me just having to recap it all for them. We also tied in Essie. “Hello, Dayna. What can I do for my favorite banker today?”

Dayna didn’t smile, though, signaling that this was a call with some gravitas. “We’ve been receiving ransom demands for Adayluh Creel.”

I sat up. “Ransom demands?

Plural?”

She nodded. “That’s not unusual in high-profile kidnappings. Your Guild may get a few, but we tend to get most of them. They’re almost always opportunistic idiots hoping someone will get careless and slip some bonds their way.”

“Opportunistic, or desperate?

I mean, how often does that work?”

Torina asked. “Opportunism and desperation often go hand in hand. And it never works, but that doesn’t stop morons out there from thinking they’ve cracked the code to free money.”

“Dayna, you said they were almost always just opportunistic assholes,”

I said. “I get the sense that at least one of them isn’t this time around; otherwise, you wouldn’t have made this call.”

“There’s that big investigative brain of yours, hard at work,” Dayna said, but her smile was a fleeting one. “But you’re right. We have reason to believe that one ransom message we received about Adayluh is real.”

“How much?”

“They don’t want money.”

“Okay, what do they want?”

Dayna hesitated. “They want you, Van.”

“They want… me?

Alive?

Dead?

Do I get to choose?”

Dayna again hesitated. This time, it made my stomach clench a bit. “Worse than either of those. They want you to give up three years. As a chipped person.”

THE REACTION from my crew was… heartwarming, I guess, if vile curses and promises of epic violence could be heartwarming. Essie threw in a few words in a language I didn’t understand but didn’t need to—the tone was enough. I raised my hand, though, and held it up until silence returned. “Thank you, everyone, for your support. Even if it would entail—

genocide?

Did I hear that right, Rab?”

“Well, maybe not genocide. I mean, we could leave a few Trinduk alive, just to keep them locked up until they die.”

“I suspect that would still qualify as genocide.”

“Fine. Genocide lite, then.”

I smirked and turned back to Dayna. “Three years as a chipped person?

Interesting.”

“What the hell is interesting about that?” Torina snapped. But Dayna nodded. “It is, isn’t it?”

Icky stood, all four fists clenched. “Interesting?

It’s bullshit, Boss!

Three years?

They’ll kill the girl and kill you and turn your body into goo and absolutely not!”

Again, though, I waited for some semblance of calm to return—it took a moment. “Let’s imagine—emphasis on imagine—that I do this to save Adayluh and all she means to the stars. No, listen—let’s pretend I go through with this. For three years.”

I looked at my crew. “I get the feeling you’re going somewhere with this, Van, but I’m not getting it,” Funboy said. “Three years. Why that long in particular?”

“Because a lot can happen in three years!

In three years, someone could build an entire criminal empire without you around to get in the way,” Rab said. “Well, I don’t know about that. Lots of criminal empires have come along despite me being around.”

Torina touched my arm. “Van, don’t sell yourself short. This crew is damned good, but it’s still just the body to your brain.”

“We’re the body?

What body part am I?” Icky asked. Perry looked at her, then shook his head. “No—must—not—spoil—

touching—moment—”

Torina went on. “The point is that we—and therefore, you—have left a wake of utter chaos and destruction in the criminal underworld. Getting you out of the way for three years could open a huge window of opportunity for someone.”

“Or, at least, they think that it will—whoever they are,” Dayna put in. “I agree with Torina, but I also get where you’re coming from, Van. There’s something about three years that snags me too. It’s long, but not very long. It’s specific. Why not one year?

Or eight?

Or ten?” Perry asked. “People do tend to default to the base system they use for counting. Humans, for instance, tend to automatically think in terms of fives and tens. So, five years would be more… right, I guess?” Netty-P said. “Is there anyone who uses base three?

Or six, or something like that?”

Rab asked. “No. The closest is a base twelve used by the S’rall. There aren’t any other notable known species that use base three, six, or nine as their basis for counting.”

Icky scowled. “Does it matter?

Does anyone seriously believe they’d just let Van come back to life after three years?

He’d know who they are and have a good reason to just go and hunt them down.”

But I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s it. If they’re lying and they just plan to kill me off, then why not specify two years?

Or one?

Or six months?

Anything less than three years stands to be more enticing than, well, three years, doesn’t it?”

“So, you think the three years is itself important to—whatever their purposes are,” Essie said over the comm. “I do.”

“Then we must uncover who these people are, and their true purposes. And then we must relentlessly hunt and kill off every one of them, in ways so spectacularly horrifying they echo through time, the mere thought of them terrifying any future would-be perpetrators into not even trying,”

Funboy stated. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the birth of a new horror franchise entitled Funboy,” Perry said, then switched to a “movie guy” voice. “In space, he makes sure everyone can hear you scream.”

I smiled. “I’d watch that. But are you forgetting the, uh—” I tapped the Guild patch on my shoulder. Funboy heaved a sigh. “Yes, yes, we can also arrest them and bring them up on charges, blah, blah.”

“I like sourpuss’s idea better,” Icky grumped. “Of course you do. Not entirely put off by it, myself, in fact. But there you go. Now, then, shall we visit Null World?

It’s take-your-criminal-to-work day.”

Jukiso was apparently also listening in. “I prefer to be called—”

“A member of the living?” Essie said. Jukiso laughed nervously, “Ah, yes. I think I’ll sit against that bulkhead for the remainder of this trip.”

I ASKED Dayna to put off the ransom demand, to simply claim that she couldn’t reach me or something, and buy us some time. We then left the shiny new service station and made our way to Null World, carrying almost two hundred bonds worth of snacks. Icky was an expensive passenger. Based on the noises I heard from her general direction, she was also a bit snack-ish. We twisted in, my eyes on the front screens as data scrolled past. I smelled… something and got ready to dismiss it as another of Jukiso’s emotional outbursts until I heard a crunching that was somewhere between heavy machinery and death metal. Torina leaned over. “Is that—do you smell soy sauce and peanut butter and, um—”

“Bananas is the word you’re looking for. And yes, yes I do.”

We both turned to regard Icky, who had a loaf of cake-bread-cookie shoved halfway in her mouth, crumbs on her face and chest like a constellation. She bit down and began chewing with absolute glee. “Wan thum?” Icky held out half of the… loaf?

Torina smiled politely. “No thanks, hon. I’m, um. I’m good.”

Before she could offer the snack to me, Funboy leaned around his bulkhead, brow furrowed in his most peevish setting. “If you get—debris—

from that chainsaw you call a mouth, in my freshly pressed coveralls, there will be repercussions.”

Icky looked confused. “So, you don’t want any?”

Funboy looked up, sighed, and flicked a crumb from his left sleeve. “Van, I shall require a stasis tube, henceforth. Please see to it.”

“Gotcha, Funboy. Coming right up, one—huh. He’s pretty small. How big are Tupperware containers these days?

You know, tuck him in, burp the corner, boom. We’re all happy.”

Torina snorted and took my hand. “See?

That’s why you’re such a people person. You know how to fix things without violence.”

“Can’t help it. I’m naturally easygoing and apparently pro-snack,” I said, leaning back as the twist completed. When we arrived, I arranged for Essie to carry on down to the surface with Jukiso. We stayed aboard the Fafnir in orbit in the meantime because we had another purpose. I wanted to find whatever was supposedly in orbit here, awaiting Jukiso to make contact with it. Which was easier said than done. The effects of Null World’s prodigious storms extended into the space above the planet, colossal blasts of energy pushing into the x-ray spectrum erupting from the tops of the towering storm clouds beneath. There were similar phenomena seen above storms on Earth, streams and flashes of EM energy and bursts of plasma given fanciful labels like sprites and elves. These were far more powerful, though. One colossal blast that hit the Fafnir squarely even triggered safety protections on some systems—including shutting down the galley, where Icky was making something to eat. Again. She uttered a curse that echoed from stem to stern. “I swear, I’m gonna blast the atmosphere right off that damned planet down there!”

“You could do that by just eating enough cheese and standing down there,” I heard Perry say from… somewhere, since he was using the ship’s intercom. “Damn it, Bird, where are you?

Come into the galley and say that!”

I ignored them and turned my attention to Netty-P. “Are we in any danger from this?”

“No. Or—probably not. It’s unlikely that any of these discharges could threaten the ship, which is hardened against stuff like that. It’s a lot of noise and light, mostly.”

“How come it’s such a problem this time?

We’ve been here lots in the past, and never had this sort of thing happen,” Rab said. “Our orbit is normally high enough that we avoid these effects. But the discharges also degrade our scanners, so we’ve been forced into a lower orbit to search for—” Netty-P hesitated. “What are we searching for, anyway?

Do we have any idea?”

I shrugged. “Jukiso wasn’t even sure, or so he says. He was just told to come here, and it would be obvious.”

Rab crossed his arms. “Why here, though?

You’d think some nameless red dwarf would be the sort of place you’d want to do a dead drop. This is right on the doorstep of a highly advanced and understandably wary spacefaring race.”

I shrugged again. “Good question. It certainly isn’t an obvious place to do it, for that very reason. But if Jukiso had come here to retrieve the… the thing, the Schegith would almost certainly have known about it.”

“Implying that either they didn’t care if the Schegith knew about it, or they already did,” Netty-P said. “Are you implying that the Schegith are in on something here?” Torina asked. “Not necessarily. They may have simply been aware of the… thing… in orbit and were waiting to see what happened with it.”

“I’ll get Essie to ask them,” I said. “In the meantime, as long as we’re not in danger, we’ll stay in this orbit and keep scanning.”

“What about those of us that wanna eat?” Icky called from the galley. “Just… use a plasma cutter to heat your food up,” I called back. “Hey, good idea!”

We all looked at one another for a moment, then blinked, and then looked horrified. Torina, Rab, and I hurried aft. “Icky, wait, hang on a second—!”

AS WE RAN our meticulous scan, I retired to my cabin to—yes, do paperwork. But Torina followed me in and closed the door. I gave her a suspicious look. “Either you have a sudden need for lovin’—in which case, my dear, you’ve come to the right place—or you’re pissed off. I’m kind of hoping it’s the former, but—”

“Oh, it’s the latter. Van, how come you haven’t come out and explicitly said that you’re not going to give in to that ransom demand?”

“Because I… didn’t think it was necessary?

Wait—you don’t think I actually would, do you?”

“Van, you can be such a hardheaded, self-sacrificing idealist that, yeah, I was worried you might actually be considering it.”

I swiveled my chair toward her. “Truth?

If I really believed that doing it would save Adayluh and those other hostages, then yeah, I might consider it.” She opened her mouth, but I went on. “But I don’t think that, not for an instant. Even then, by ‘consider it,’ I mean very briefly consider it and reject it. I have an obligation to this ship, this crew, the Guild, and, most of all, to you. Yes, I want to save those people, but there are limits.”

I shrugged and crossed my arms. “To put it another way, if I had the chance to raid wherever those hostages are being held and try to save them, I would in a heartbeat, even if it meant risking my own life. Hell, I risk my life every time we have one of these confrontations. This, though, is—it’s different. Dying is one thing, but that—“

I just shook my head. The mind-numbing, existentially horrifying moments I’d spent hooked up to one of those damned Cusp machines, experiencing the gruesome death of an innocent man—they’d been indelibly scraped into my brain in fire and blood. Dead was one thing. Being a helpless slave, subject to the whims and perversions of others—

That was something else. I would never embrace it, even to save lives. I couldn’t. What I could do, though, was eradicate it from existence. Torina sighed, her body language shifting drastically. “Thank you, Van,”

she said, kneeling and putting her arms around me. “I needed to hear that.”

I hugged her back but frowned as I pulled away. “But… three years. Why three years?”

“You’re really stuck on that, aren’t you?”

“I really am. There’s something significant about three years.”

“They might have just plucked a number out of thin air.”

“Maybe. But… I don’t know. My Spidey Senses are telling me that three years means something.”

“Spidey Senses?”

“Oh. Yeah. Intuition. Instinct. Gut feeling.”

“You don’t hear me casually tossing Helsonian pop culture references around,” Torina said, smirking. “Blame Perry. He’s the pop culture bird. He’s reminded me of cartoons and things I haven’t seen since I was wearing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pajamas and eating cereal from the box in front of the TV.”

“Aw, that sounds adorable—except for the mutant part. What’s up with that?”

“I admit it. I’m a mutant. Parts of my body have a mind of their own.”

She gave me a flat look and tapped my head. “Not this part, apparently.”

“Not at the moment it doesn’t, no,” I said, leaning in to kiss her. The paperwork could wait. IT TOOK FOUR HOURS, but we finally got a scanner hit, a sporadic return that flickered, died, came back to life, flickered, died again. Its track was a straight line, inclined slightly with respect to Null World’s equator. “Decaying orbit. I’m betting Jukiso didn’t meet it, so—no code, no contact, no meetup. Whatever it was, it’s tumbling through those apocalyptic storms that Schegith casually calls weather,” Perry said. “Shit. Is there any way we can retrieve it?” I asked. “Not at this point. As near as we can discern its velocity, it’s losing it to increasing atmospheric drag, which means it’s now falling from orbit. By the time we could even try to intervene, it will probably have been destroyed by UAI,” Netty-P said. “UAI?”

“Uncontrolled Atmospheric Insertion, aka falling out of space.”

“Some of it may survive, though,” Rab persisted. “Certainly, but I suspect it will just be fragments. There’s a slight variation in the scanner returns suggesting that it’s tumbling, as well as intermittent, permanent changes indicating that it’s breaking apart.”

I sighed. “Well, try to track wherever what remains of it lands, and we’ll see what we can find. In the meantime, Netty-P, let’s head down to the surface. Maybe Schegith can shed some light on this.”

17

WE LEFT the Fafnir in orbit with Netty-P, the rest of us taking the Frankie down to the surface of Null World. We arrived at the Schegith sanctuary to find Essie waxing poetically about the place. “This is—amazing!

These frescoes, and tapestries, and this art—it’s magnificent!” he declared, standing and turning in a circle, his eyes wide. We were standing in the antechamber outside Schegith’s personal sanctum. Her doors were closed for the moment, so we were content to simply wait for now. “And that Undersea—it’s a wonder of known space. I could spend hours down there, just sitting on the beach—”

“Not too close to the water, though. Again, there are things with teeth. Lots and lots of teeth,” Torina said. Essie laughed. “No, just a spot on the beach, up near the rocks, to sit and contemplate things. All that water, stretching off into unknown places

—all that rock above, shutting away the rest of the universe—it’s an almost spiritual experience.” He smiled. “The only thing that would make it better would be having a special someone at your side.”

Icky sighed. “Bad news, pal. I’m taken.”

Essie looked dramatically crestfallen “All the good ones are.”

The doors opened, and a Schegith invited us to enter. We found Schegith herself reclining on her massive couch, smoking her ubiquitous pipe. A sweet, pungent, slightly cloying smell perfumed the air. “This one is most pleased to see you, Van Tudor. And your crew, as well.”

I smiled and nodded. “And this, Schegith, is Blessing Mbana, better known as Essie. He’s a fellow Earthling, a damned fine Peacemaker, and an even better friend.”

“This one is most pleased to meet you as well, Essie. This one considers anyone Van Tudor names friend as a friend to the Schegith.”

“I’m… very gratified by that, thank you. I’ve been going on about how beautiful your underground realm is here, but we are here on business.” He turned and motioned Jukiso forward. The frogman introduced himself with stiff formality, whereupon Schegith called forward one of her people. “This one is Tiffalin, a skilled researcher in crop sciences. This one is proposing that you work together to develop the solution we had previously discussed,” Schegith said. “This one invites you to come to the laboratory. Your insights into the mechanical distribution of seeds are most highly anticipated,” Tiffalin said. Jukiso offered a slight bow. “I am very gratified. Please, I am at your disposal—”

“One moment,” I cut in, then turned back to Schegith. “We were trying to track an object that had been placed in orbit around Null World. Jukiso, here, was intended to retrieve it but never managed. It unfortunately appears to have been destroyed in your atmosphere when it fell from orbit.”

“This one was aware. This one intended to watch and see what transpired.”

“You didn’t consider it a potential threat?” Torina asked. Schegith laughed her rolling laugh. “This one considers almost everything a potential threat. In this case, however, it was a small satellite of a type and nature this one’s advisors discerned to be harmless, at least directly. It was judged to be a device for containing and relaying information—a dead drop, I believe, is the term. Perhaps it would have been more prudent to simply destroy it, but sometimes learning about things is better than destroying them.”

“I’d say that’s almost always true,” Rab said. Essie raised an eyebrow at him. “No, sometimes it’s better to destroy them. Think about some of the things we’re up against.”

Rab smiled and nodded. “Good point.”

“Okay, so who put it there?” I asked Schegith. “This is where the mystery deepens. This one does not know.”

“You don’t know?

It just, what, appeared in orbit?”

“It did. This one’s people observed no ships nor even any suggestion of them. Either the ship in question was protected by stealth effects even this one’s technology can’t penetrate, or it was placed into orbit in some other way.”

“A missile,” Jukiso said. We all turned to him. “A missile, yes. It would be much easier to conceal with stealth, particularly given the interference from this planet’s atmosphere. A ship could have twisted into this system only long enough to launch the missile, which would have then surreptitiously guided itself into orbit,” he explained. “You sound rather certain about that. What haven’t you told us?” Essie asked, his mouth still grinning but his eyes as hard as flint. Jukiso gaped, flustered. “I have concealed nothing. But I haven’t told you everything I know because I know a great deal and the vast majority of it is unimportant. Or at least it would seem such, anyway.”

“But?”

“But, several years ago, I consulted on a project commissioned by the Eridani military about the feasibility of this very thing—inserting covert surveillance satellites into planetary orbits in just this way. And no, I genuinely did not make the possible connection with that work until now. You—you must believe this to be true.”

I glanced at Essie, who nodded. “Okay. I’ll buy it for now. So, here’s your first task for us. I’d like you to document the whole procedure—how it would work, what equipment and data it would need, possible vulnerabilities, the whole deal,” I said. “But the Eridani work was classified,” Jukiso replied. “You literally just told us about it.”

“Yes, because I know how you would have reacted to me admitting that I know something but can’t tell you because it’s classified.”

I had to smile at that. “Yeah, that wouldn’t have gone over well. But I don’t care about the Eridani and their secret projects. I just care about this one.”

Jukiso sagged. “Very well.”

I turned to Schegith, but Netty-P cut in on the comm. At the same time, one of her people slithered up to Schegith and spoke to her quietly in their

sibilant language. It was too quiet for my translator ear bug to work with, but I didn’t want to eavesdrop, anyway. “Van, a ship just twisted into the system, then twisted away again four seconds later,” Netty-P said. “That’s it?

In and gone?”

“That’s it.”

I looked at Essie and the rest of my crew. “Sounds like someone just taking a look. The question is, is it just a precursor to something else?”

“This one’s advisor just reported the same thing,” Schegith said, as her advisor withdrew. “It was a military vessel of at least class 12 mass.”

“Actually, I’ve got an identification to a seventy percent confidence level. Mindful of that, it was the Retribution, your mother’s ship,” Netty-P

said. I sighed and cursed at the same time. “Oh, for—what the hell is she up to?”

Perry spoke, his voice confined to my ear bug. Van, considering that your mother recently told us she’s in cahoots with the Seven Stars League, and considering that the League attacked Null World—

I nodded to him. “Perry’s reminding me of other complicating factors in all this. Schegith, I am so sorry. I feel like I’ve brought a bunch of problems right onto your doorstep.”

“Nonsense. Your problems are this one’s. That is the nature of alliances

—and friendships. This one is more concerned for you. This one knows you will stop at nothing to end these problems and only wishes to help in whatever way possible.”

I smiled at the massive bulk, the Hookah Smoking Caterpillar crossed with Jabba the Hutt crossed with—my mind latched onto Winston Churchill. I wasn’t sure why, but it worked. “Schegith, you’re a paragon of honor and honesty, and I intend to make sure the universe knows it.”

Surprisingly, Schegith turned slightly pale. “Schegith, are you… blushing?” Perry asked. Schegith boomed her laugh. “This one is pleased to know it is still possible. Thank you, Van Tudor. Now go. Find the girl. Stop the Sorcerers. And save your family.”

“My family?”

“You will understand soon enough.”

I paused. “Schegith, with the utmost respect, I must ask what you mean.” I spread my feet and stood, waiting, then cut my eyes to Torina, who gave me a small shrug. “This one is aware of your wedding gift that is used to mark time, as well as the addition of new family members.”

“The Moon Clock?

Sure, but—” I turned to Torina, my brows shooting up. “Got something you want to share, dear?

Something Schegith knows, but I don’t?”

Torina looked genuinely confused. “Um. News to me?”

I felt my emotions lower a bit, then turned back to Schegith. “Okay, so not a surprise baby announcement but something else, friend?”

Schegith drew on her pipe, exhaling a contemplative stream of silver bubbles and smoke. When she spoke, it was in the drawl of a philosopher. “Consider the Moon Clock to be like a sword. If it is made, it is to be used. And, if that is true, which this one believes based on… many years of experience, and parenthood… then you, Van Tudor, are already a different man. You are a parent-in-waiting, but even more critical, you already have a family.” With her pipe, she waved at my crew, who stood rapt as she spoke about all of us as more than a collection of people who shared a ship. And she was right. I smiled at my crew, then beamed at my wife, and, for a moment, I forgot all the danger waiting out there in the darkness. WITH THE MYSTERIOUS satellite orbiting Null World lost, and no record as to how it even got into orbit, we had only one solid lead. It was the one provided by my mother when she popped in and out of the system—a fact that may or may not have been intentional. We, therefore, headed for Perspectus, the capital of the Seven Stars League and the best place to start searching for my mother. I doubted that she’d briefly twisted into the Schegith system by accident. She knew something, and it was quite likely connected to the satellite, Jukiso, and Null World. Shortly after we arrived, Netty-P reported that a ship in-system had switched to an intercept course with us and accelerated. It was broadcasting

the transponder identity of a League customs cutter, which made sense. Nor was it using active scanners. Still, I was wary and had Torina and Rab power up our weapons, although we didn’t switch to active scanners either. I did have Netty-P switch our passive scanners into a different mode, though, one that reduced their resolution at long range but made them more sensitive to subtle returns at a short one. It gave us some interesting data. About ten minutes later, we were pinged with a comm message from the cutter. It was a terse Gajur in the uniform of a League customs magistrate. “Peacemaker, you’ll need to proceed to the Perspectus Prime orbital. I’m afraid you’ll have to submit to an inspection.” He shrugged in a way that I assumed was supposed to be apologetic, but there was a smug edge to his manner that made me think he wasn’t sorry at all. That didn’t necessarily mean he was a bad guy, of course. He might just be an officious tool who enjoyed telling other people what to do. Or, for that matter, he might have applied to the Guild to become a Peacemaker and been turned down. I chose to agree, for now. “Alright. What’s the status on requisitioning fuel there?” I specifically chose to use the term requisition. Technically, the Guild Charter—to which the League was a signatory—allowed a Peacemaker to requisition fuel and other items required in the course of an official investigation. The requisitioner could then submit a claim for reimbursement by the Guild. It was intended to help Peacemakers do their jobs, which would benefit all of the Charter signatories, but it rarely happened. Out of courtesy, Peacemakers usually just purchased what they needed up-front. The Gajur’s eyes narrowed at the word requisition, just as I thought they would. “We offer discounts for upstanding members of the law enforcement community. We just can’t help giving back.”

I smiled and glanced at Torina. “See, I’ve always maintained the League was a magnanimous group of—what’s the word, babe?”

“Good stellar citizens?

All-round helpers and generally great people?”

She managed to say it in a way that simultaneously sounded sincere and yet simmered with condescension. Damn, she was good. I turned back to the Gajur. “That’s it. Helpers. Now, let me help you as well, officer. There’s a stealthed ship shadowing you, about a hundred thousand klicks beneath you. It appears to be a threat.”

The Gajur, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh. You don’t. Okay, then, I guess it won’t bother you if we deal with the matter,” I replied, tapped at my weapons panel, and launched a missile at the stealthed target. “That should—yeah, it’s tracking nicely. About two minutes to impact.” I widened my smile. “You’re welcome, by the way. Just glad to do my part to keep League space safe—you know, giving back and all that.”

The Gajur stared. We could see his mind racing. The missile was clearly not tracking his ship. And, since using stealth in the controlled space around a planet was considered a hostile act and could be treated accordingly, he couldn’t really complain. If he genuinely didn’t know about it, then I was helping him enforce the law. And if he did know about it, then he was complicit in what amounted to a crime. “One minute, thirty seconds to impact,” Netty-P said. Time passed. I was starting to feel sorry for this guy. I was now pretty sure he was in on it, though what the intent of the hidden ship had been I wasn’t sure. But it was stealthed. We weren’t even supposed to know it was there. How was he to know that we’d had so many run-ins with stealthed ships that Netty-P had developed scanner settings optimized to detect them?

“I suggest you change course toward—these coordinates,” I said, sending him our data, so it was clear we had a good fix on the other ship. “There might be survivors that need rescuing. Oh, and prosecution—”

“Alright, fine,” he finally snapped. “Destroy your missile, you’ve made your point.”

I stared for a moment, smiling. “Have I?”

I heard Perry snicker. The Gajur’s composure cracked even more, genuine alarm glaring through. “I said you can call off your missile. We get it. Cook that bird, please!”

As he spoke, the other ship deactivated its stealth. It turned out to be a class 8, heavily armed but lightly armored for its size and mass. Perry leaned into the display. “Cook the bird?

Sir, what are you suggesting?”

We all chuckled. Even Funboy said, “That was particularly witty, Perry. Well done. You should consider doing upstanding comedy.”

“You mean stand-up?” Perry asked. Funboy tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “Why would I suggest exercising while honing the craft of humor?”

“Not standing up, like a workout—” Perry began, but stopped, horrified by Funboy’s smile. “I have, as it is said, jokes,” Funboy said into the stunned silence. “While I appreciate you allowing me the chance to perfect my material, should we do something about the missile?”

“Oh. Right.” I let the missile track for another few seconds, still in awe of Funboy’s attempt at humor, then sent it the destruct command. It detonated, some of the debris streaking toward the now-revealed ship. It took a few minor hits, only enough to cause superficial damage—and to drive the point home. The Gajur, his glare as fierce and hot as a star’s photosphere, abruptly cut the channel. Perry gave a tongue-click. “Well, that’s unclear. Are we still supposed to check in at the orbital, get inspected for—I don’t know, undeclared fruit, maybe?

Duty-free booze?

Pets?”

“Can they demand the inspection of a Peacemaker’s ship?” Rab asked. “They can demand whatever they want. It’s up to Van, though. The Charter exempts Peacemakers from customs and other inspections if they’re pursuing an investigation in that jurisdiction. But he could choose to be a fine, cooperative guy if he wanted,” Perry replied. “And he doesn’t. In fact, I’m not all that interested in going down to Sunderbach, anyway. Even under new management, the League still puts me on edge. Besides, we didn’t come here to visit the League. We came looking for my mother.”

“Why don’t you call her?” Perry suggested. “Exactly where I was going with that. Netty-P, if we do manage to connect, will you be able to give me at least a rough idea of her location?”

“If the channel is a direct connection, then I can get it exactly. If it ends up being a relay, that gets more complicated.”

“Well, do your best. In the meantime, let’s slow our approach toward Sunderbach and keep outside their traffic control zone.” I stood. “I’ll be—”

I was going to say, in my cabin, intending to take the call there. But I sat back down again. “I’ll be right here. I want you guys to watch if we get through to her. I need objective eyes, as many of them as I can get, on her. I’m—a little too close to this, so it’s hard for me to sort out whether I think she’s telling the truth or not.”

IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG. My mother’s image appeared on the center display, repeated onto the various crew screens in the cockpit. “Van. Good to see you. I assume this isn’t a social call, though, is it?

As nice as it would be if it were?”

I blinked, then nodded. “No, not a social call, I’m afraid. I need to know what you know about Adayluh Creel, the people kidnapped from Spindle, who’s behind the resurgent Sorcerers, all of it.”

“I know nothing about Adayluh. I barely even know her. And, as for the rest—sorry, Van, I have no idea about any of it, either.”

Van, ask her about the significance of three years, Perry said in my ear bug. “Okay. How about three years?”

“What?”

“Three years. Is that timeframe significant to you in any way?”

“Again, son, I’m sorry, that means nothing to me. A lot of dark things can happen in three years, but so can a lot of good.”

I nodded. “Okay, Mom, thanks. You’ve been really helpful.”

She gave a tentative smile, then I cut the channel. “Well. My mother’s been taken as well. Or something has happened to her, anyway.”

“Was it calling you son or almost smiling?”

“Those, and that remark about dark things and great good happening in three years. My mother doesn’t do that sort of poetic editorializing. And then there’s what wasn’t in the display—anyone, or even anything, for that matter, in the background. Just a bit of generic ship’s bulkhead.”

I leaned back in my seat. “It’s a fabrication. What on Earth would be called a deep fake, generated by AI based on what it thinks she knows and feels about me. And that isn’t much, so it went with a sort of vague motherly persona. In any case, it’s bullshit.”

“It’s the Sorcerers. And they’re not working alone, obviously,” Perry said. I looked at him. “You seem awfully certain about that, Bird. What aren’t you telling me?”

“The Sorcerers didn’t just grow in a lab. They—they made themselves. They created the thing called a Sorcerer and organized themselves into what they became.”

“And when was this?”

“After the Peacemaker war. The one that almost ended the Guild. And everything else. And, no, before you get all riled up, I’m not concealing stuff from you, and I didn’t just have new memories unlocked. In fact, you’ll find this detailed in the report I sent you nearly a week ago summarizing everything we know about the Sorcerers.”

“I—was meaning to get to it—” I started, then blew out an exasperated sigh. “Okay, Bird, we need to come up with a better way of managing all this damned paperwork. It was bad enough when I was a new Peacemaker. Now, it’s like sticking a firehose into my brain every time I open my terminal.”

“Ruthlessly vet your paperwork, got it. I’ll make sure that everything from the desk of Perry goes right to the top. Got it.”

“So, give me the thumbnail of the summary on the Sorcerers. However it happened, they’re back, using the same bracelets, the same bullshit and brutality—it’s like they never left. But where did they come from?

Knowing that might help us understand how and why they’ve returned.”

“Not to mention how to deal with them,” Torina said. “Your grandfather was asking the same questions when they first appeared. It was right before he attacked them. They didn’t begin on the Trinduk homeworld, though,” Perry replied. “Bastards probably crawled out of a latrine pit,” Icky muttered. Perry glanced at her. “Close, big girl. But it wasn’t like that when they started. They didn’t just create a death cult. They torched a planet to do it. Let’s set a course for Radialis. It’s their cradle and their grave.”

18

I HEARD MENTIONS OF RADIALIS. It was another planet outside known space, in The Deeps. It wasn’t as far in as Rodantic’s World, so it wasn’t as onerous a flight through an eerily empty void. We stopped to reprovision at the Torus, taking the opportunity to drop and see Skrilla. He, though, wasn’t there. According to his one-eyed yak-esque business partner, he’d made the trip back to Earth for—reasons. He hadn’t been clear about it. Perry was deeply suspicious. “He went to the one place that has rampant taxation and government agents?

Bah. I call bullshit.”

“What if it’s for love?” Icky asked. “Traveling light years for love is—well, actually that’s kinda romantic. I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and assume it’s for a lost love,” Perry allowed. “See, Bird?

You’re becoming more open to, um, stuff,” Icky said, waving all four hands vaguely. Perry’s eyes flashed, beak down in a laugh. “Yeah. That’s me. A ceramo-metallic crystalline matrix of romance.”

Once topped up, we carried on, heading for Radialis. Perry briefed us during the flight. Radialis was, it seemed, a planet whose population was entirely concentrated into a cluster-gaggle of cities all built around a geothermally active part of the planet’s single supercontinent. The geothermal heat provided ample energy, driving an economy that had attracted people and industry—and growing a megalopolis reminiscent of every futuristic vision of a city, as long as that

city was a heaving, damp mass of crowded streets, rain-smeared vistas, and reeking alleyways. In addition, Radialis had never really established suburbs. There was simply the city and then the next city, all of them piled in moldering layers where desperate people fought to preserve their sanity among the smog and rain and noise. “Doesn’t exactly sound like the kind of place that would spawn something as evil as the Sorcerers,” Rab said. Perry shrugged his wings. “The hell it doesn’t,” he said, casting a gimlet eye at a live feed from below. Rain-streaked buildings sagged, tired, and gray, and throngs of people and vehicles were scattered in a random kind of chaos that made me positively ache for Iowa and the farm. We arrived at Radialis without incident, aside from noting the sudden lack of advertising beacons touting BeneStar and its various subsidiaries. The last time we’d been this far into The Deeps, we’d found BeneStar as pretty much the dominant power. There was no overarching government or anything like the Guild out here. Rather, it was a free-for-all of scattered, self-governing star systems and planets, like a bunch of city-states separated by trackless wilderness. It was easy to understand how BeneStar had managed to insinuate themselves into top-dog status. But with BeneStar gone, its remaining components had fragmented, becoming as insular and competitive as all these independent systems. The Wild West had gotten even wilder. Which might be why, as soon as we tried to enter the traffic pattern for approach to Radialis, we were suddenly attacked. OKAY, ‘ATTACKED’ might be overstating things a little. Maybe ‘irritated’ or

‘annoyed’ would be more accurate, since our would-be assailants were a pair of small ships Netty-P identified as an antiquated type of fighter intended mainly for atmospheric use. “They’re called Talons. It’s a nearly two-hundred-year-old design that originated with the Ceti League. They were intended to be atmospheric combat craft that had a limited exo-atmospheric ability, mainly so they could attack things in low orbit, like ships and satellites. The result,

unfortunately, was a design that kind of sucked at both types of combat, in-atmo and outside of it. They didn’t last very long,” she said. “Only a couple of thousand were made, and of those only a few hundred likely survive. Most of those were demilitarized and converted to civilian use, pleasure craft, and light utility duties, that sort of thing. That’s where they found their niche,” Perry put in. I cast a hard look at the tactical overlay. “Well, these guys are radiating fire control scanners, so pleasure craft or not, that sounds like a hostile act to me,” I replied. “Oh, it absolutely is. You’d be justified in ordering us to destroy them,”

Perry agreed. Torina looked at me. “Do you want to do that?

I mean, they don’t seem to pose much threat, but—”

“But looks can be deceiving, yeah. A crappy little ship that fires a state-of-the-art ship-killer missile can still ruin your day.” I stared at the situation, pondering. “Why would they attack us, a clearly superior ship, in the first place?

It would seem to make no sense,” Funboy said. “Yeah, good question. It means there’s obviously more to this than it appears, or there isn’t and these guys are just assholes.” I tapped a finger on my armrest. “Netty-P, your ship. Put us through some evasive paces. I want to see what they do.”

“My ship,” she said, and immediately began slewing the Fafnir through all three axes. “I’ve wanted to try out some new evasive tricks, so this is timely. Simulations only go so far.”

What followed was a frankly ridiculous, even kind of pathetic chase. The two Talons desperately tried to wallow along after us, while we nimbly dodged and wove, breaking their scanner locks over and over again. It was funny, although in a sad kind of way. I started to get the impression that they were desperate. Maybe they owed someone a lot of money and saw the Fafnir—a new ship on the block—as a hail-Mary throw of the dice to earn some. The fact is they didn’t have a chance. Which honestly made me suspicious. I’d been around the celestial block enough now, and had picked up enough intractable enemies, that we couldn’t discount this being some sort of distraction. So Torina, Rab, and Perry kept a sharp lookout for other threats, things that might be waiting to spring an ambush while we were fixated on our two absurd pursuers. But nothing materialized. After three unanswered warnings and fifteen minutes of the most cumbersome, ridiculous chase I’d ever been involved in, I sighed and scratched my head. “Okay, the novelty has now officially worn off.”

“Gotta respect those guys for their dedication,” Icky said. “I guess, but we didn’t come here to look for would-be pirates to admire.”

“So, do we shoot them down?” Torina asked me. I frowned at the overlay. “Nah. Let’s just fire a warning salvo—

everything that doesn’t expend ordnance. Make it close and scary.”

Torina and Rab nodded, powered up the weapons and fire control scanners, and opened fire. They delivered a three-second fusillade of laser, particle, and plasma-burst cannon fire that ripped through space between the two Talons. They immediately flung themselves into frantic evasive gyrations, then decelerated and fell back, dropping back toward the atmosphere. “Looks like their hearts weren’t really in it,” Rab said. “Kind of a waste of time, actually,” Funboy muttered. I shrugged. “In and of itself, yeah, it was. But it did teach us something about this place.” I glanced down at the sprawl of the planet below. “There are desperate people here. Desperate enough to try something like those guys did. Remember that when we’re down there.”

Torina nodded as she powered her weapons down again and returned them to standby-hold mode. “Desperate enough that just looking tough ain’t gonna be enough. We’d best be prepared to prove it.”

“That we must, yeah.”

Icky stood, grinning. “Sounds like a job for Thumper,” she said. I glanced back at her. “Thumper?”

“Yeah. My hammer.”

As she went aft, I looked at Perry. “You were thinking cartoon bunny rabbit, weren’t you?”

“Van, look who you’re talking to. How could I not?”

RADIALIS LIVED up to its reputation as a smoggy, polluted, crowded, stinky shithole—but a shithole nearly seven times the area of Los Angeles. “I’m noticing a pattern,” I said, as the Frankie touched down on an elevated landing pad not far from one of several city ‘cores’ that made up Radialis City. “Places in space tend to either be absolute cesspits of pollution, corruption, and violent crime, or shining bastions of stupefyingly luxurious splendor. Seriously, is there nothing in between?

No neighborhoods on any of these planets that are just, you know, ordinary working-class suburbs?”

“There are a lot of those. Most of the good citizens of Tau Ceti, Eridani, and Procyon live middle-class lives in middle-class kinds of places,” Netty-P replied. “We just never get to them. Crimes in those sorts of places tend to be taken care of by local law enforcement. We end up going where the big cases are, which are usually in the extremes of shitty underclass or pampered upper class. The FBI doesn’t investigate suburban break-and-enter cases, after all,” Perry added. I made sure The Drop and the Moonsword were both secure, then slung my helmet from my tactical harness. “I guess. It would just be kind of different to investigate something that happened in—I don’t know, a pleasant little bungalow, maybe.”

“We’re here to look into the origin of the Sorcerers, Van. They didn’t start as a homeowners association in a quiet neighborhood,” Perry replied, then cocked his head. “Although, now that I think about it, an HOA and the Sorcerers may have more in common than it would first appear. Both are brutally oppressive, authoritarian cabals full of ambitious and amoral opportunists, after all.”

“Perry, you don’t—own a house somewhere, do you?

One that’s part of an HOA?” I asked him, meaning it jokingly. “Not anymore I don’t, no,” he replied, then turned and flew out of the airlock. “Not anymore?” I hurried after him. “Wait, what?”

PERRY WASN’T QUITE sure where to begin looking for evidence regarding the resurgent Sorcerers, so we headed for the most obvious location to start. It was called a Cultural Exchange Point, the same thing that Constance Plowitz apparently wanted to establish on Earth. Although, if this one was the model she had in mind, there was no way I was going to let that happen. I’d shoot down incoming ships, rather than allow them to create and exploit something like this—this absolute shit hole. The Exchange Point was what amounted to a small museum, surrounded by a chaotic, rambling slum. It was bordered on one side by a bend of fetid canal clogged with drifting trash. A few derelict ground cars protruded from the mire, as though they’d broken down and just been pushed into the canal to get them out of the way. A fume of industrial smog grayed the air and reduced the sun to a pale, fuzzy disk with a half-assed gleam. “This is welcoming,” Torina said, as we approached the gray and rust-colored box that was the Exchange Point. I sniffed. “Yeah. Come and see everything our culture has to offer, which seems to mainly be garbage and sadness.”

Icky brushed a finger along the wall outside the Exchange Point’s door, peered at it, and grimaced. “And grime. Don’t forget grime. Don’t touch anything, sourpuss. You’ll die of mild inconvenience.”

Funboy looked around in horror. “Lurking death is hardly inconvenient. Or mild. Keep your hands in your coveralls, please. I don’t have enough hand sanitizer for all your arms.”

Inside, the place was cavernous and somewhat gloomy but reasonably clean. We stopped briefly at an AI kiosk that issued tickets in exchange for

—something, maybe even bonds, but it wasn’t operating. And judging from the amount of greasy dust that had accumulated on it, it hadn’t been working for a long time—maybe a decade or more. I shrugged and we entered. We found ourselves in a sort of exhibit hall, displays surrounded by large panels depicting a triumphant story of organic life and technology being merged and blended in ways that would benefit sapient beings everywhere. Given that that manifestly was not true, at least not overall—things like the Usu and the Sorcerers themselves were testaments to that—it gave a vibe like a visitor’s center for a Russian gulag. You might show smiling people happily breaking rocks and building

railroads through the frozen Siberian wilderness, but everyone knew that that was at least… a little disingenuous. We ambled a bit, taking in the bullshit, but saw no staff. Perry finally voiced it. “None of this is interactive. It would be nice to have someone we could, you know, talk to,” he said, perched on a display case full of cybernetic implants. Each looked a little like some medieval torture device, except rendered in chrome. I smiled. “Sorcerers aren’t the only magicians around here. I know a magic spell that can make staff appear. Watch this.” I turned to a display of hundred-year-old neurological upgrades and picked one up—

“I must ask you to not touch the displays. There are consequences for refusing to obey this perfectly reasonable rule.”

We all turned to the voice. It was a Synth, not too different from an Usu although leaning more toward the inorganic side of things. It was wearing a faded and somewhat tattered plastic vest that read, in various languages, Here to Help!

Perry shook his head. “There are times in my life when I was sure I’d been to hell, but it turns out I haven’t. Hell is here, and this poor fellow is its sole inhabitant.”

“This poor fellow is Curator Lochmeel, and it is my pleasure to welcome you to the Exchange Point, provided you keep your appendages to yourself.” Lochmeel’s voice was more stilted and mechanical than many other Synths or Usu we’d encountered, reinforcing the more machine than organic thing. “Well, Lochmeel, how about if you show us around your exhibits here?”

I asked. “By all means follow me and again do not touch the displays.”

We fell in behind Lochmeel, who offered a steady, droning description of the exhibits and the history of the Exchange Point. It was all blandly generic stuff. To the extent that it even hinted at the origins of the Sorcerers, it was insipidly sanitized to an extreme degree. Imagine the history of Nazi Germany being distilled down to , there were Nazis and some people thought they were bad and they eventually mostly went away, the end. I started focusing on Lochmeel, rather than the drearily uninformative things he was prattling on about. Something about the sheer mechanistic nature of the guy was plucking at me. Synths were generally stilted and

awkward, sure, but this one took it to a new level. Why just not use an AI, even something mounted in a box on wheels?

Or just a disembodied voice that narrated you around the place?

Why this?

I was starting to suspect I knew why. I glanced at Torina, nodding toward Lochmeel as I did. She nodded and stepped forward, cutting into his droning monologue with some questions. When she did, I turned away and whispered to Perry, “Think we can deactivate him?”

Funboy, standing nearby, raised a slender finger to me. Then he stepped forward and, in one smooth pull, yanked an exposed cable in Lochmeel’s back out of a socket. He immediately went as motionless as a statue, silent and inert. “I anticipated that we may need to disable him, so I took the time to trace his bio-mechanical functions—at least, as much as I could from visual examination only.”

Icky bent over, peering in his face. “Well, you broke him, sad sack.”

Torina heaved a theatrical sigh. “And he was right in the middle of answering my question about—” She frowned. “What the hell did I ask him again?”

“Does it matter?” Rab asked. She smirked. “Yes, of course, it matters—and by that, I mean no, it doesn’t matter at all.”

“Is he—or it—or whatever the right word is—dead?” Rab asked. “No. Just disabled,” Funboy replied, then turned to me. “This is the outcome you sought, wasn’t it?”

I nodded. “It sure is. I want to find out the truth of—whatever this is. Or whoever,” I said, extracting a combo tool from my harness and prying open a box mounted in the middle of his torso. Sure enough, I found exactly what I’d expected to find. An identity chip. The others gave mutters and groans of disgust. I nodded again. “Yeah. Seconded. Now then, let’s find somewhere to install this and see who they stole to be the tour guide of lies.”

BACK ABOARD THE FAFNIR, we fell back on our old standby, Waldo. After isolating him from the ship as a Calamity precaution, we plugged the chip into him and restored the identity on it. Or restored part of it. It was probably female, and possibly human, but that was all we could tell. It had suffered psychological or physical damage, or both, so that only parts of it were lucidly coherent. It seemed to possess some information about the Sorcerers, the learning of which might have led to it being taken by them and enslaved in the dreary little Exchange Point on the planet below. It didn’t know much else, though—including, sadly, who it was or where it had come from. After an hour of patient questioning, we were able to glean enough information to send us to our data archives with other searches. Perry and Netty-P found and assembled what appeared to be disparate bits of information, slowly assembling something resembling a… sketch, maybe, if not an actual picture. The Trinduk, it seemed, were a moderately successful trading species, clever in their own way, though lacking the killer financial instincts of a race like the Yonnox. That much we could have surmised on our own. But this poor, broken identity revealed that the Trinduk had been dragged into a bitter, costly war of obscure purpose, but which had killed at least a million people across four systems, including this one, Radialis. The only bit of hard information we could determine was that the war was fought, at least in part, over a piece of technology called Progenitor—or, alternatively, the Progenitor Loop. That unfortunately brought up no hits in our archives. All we could discern was a claim by our rescued identity that the Progenitor Loop was the most successful marriage of tech and biological life to date. Right up until it wasn’t. Progenitor, it seemed, somehow corrupted the Trinduk who used it, turning them into what came to be called the Sorcerers. It left them fractured, amoral beings, essentially wiping away whatever empathy they naturally possessed and replacing it with coldly calculating psychopathy. The exact relationship between the war and Progenitor was unclear, though—we couldn’t tell if it was the cause of it or became a factor during it or was somehow related to the outcome. We knew only that it was involved somehow. More to the point, it seemed that several Trinduk had originated Progenitor, either by creating it or finding it. But a trading consortium that included the Yonnox apparently scammed, stole, or otherwise illicitly took

it from the Trinduk. This was seemingly a massive blow to them, although why it was so devastating was another question. The more interesting point to me was that the thieving consortium that had taken it had been aided and abetted by a powerful ally. Peacemakers. Who they were and when this had even happened was, like so much else, unclear. But the Trinduk had harbored a grudge over the ransack and redistribution of their resources and tech ever since. Which, I suppose, was understandable. It added a new dimension to the Sorcerers, a hint of aggrieved victimhood that I didn’t like feeling. “Don’t feel bad about not feeling bad, Van,” Perry said when I voiced that. “The Trinduk—the Sorcerers—did this to themselves. It turned them into soulless killers—brilliant, but hollow.”

“It sounds like they were already brilliant. They were apparently the ones who developed Progenitor in the first place, after all,” Torina said. “And from what we’ve been able to discern about the Trinduk, they were no strangers to killing to get what they wanted. They’ve long had a reputation for ruthlessness, even absent the influence of this Progenitor technology. What it did was make them even more ruthless, as well as much more efficient,” Funboy put in. I opened my mouth to reply, but Netty-P cut me off. “Uh, Van?

I’ve used what we learned here to try some new archival searches, applying a statistical method called Principal Components Analysis to see if I could tease out any new trends that could give us insights—”

“I believe you, Netty-P. I’ve used PCA myself. What did you find?” I asked her. “A name that we recognize, implicated in a numbered corporation ostensibly involved in trading in medical materials and substances. There’s a strong correlation between this firm’s work and the sorts of research and development that would be involved in something like Progenitor. The link is through Pont Alus Kyr.”

“That place does keep coming up on our radar, doesn’t it?” Rab said. “Yeah, it does,” I agreed. Pont Alus Kyr, a research facility focused on integrating technology and biological systems, had been a valuable ally—

and a source of some troubling questions. For instance, somehow, a symbiotic being known as Cibilax had been ripped from its human host, a

woman named Hoshi, and had simply vanished. That case had gone completely cold, though I’d never quite forgotten it. I turned to Netty-P. “So, this name we recognize is…?”

“Jeanette Luis-Rocher.”

“Oh. Shit. Her again.”

Rab frowned. “Who’s she?

I’ve heard the name come up a few times, but I’m drawing a blank on it.”

“Yeah, it was mostly before your time aboard the Fafnir. She was a biomedical researcher from Earth who vanished, and reappeared—” I gestured around. “Well, out here. She was one of the first people implicated in the identity theft scheme. We finally managed to run her down and arrest her, but the charges we were able to make stick were pretty minor.”

“Minor, as in, she’s done her time and is back out in the wilds,” Perry said. I glanced at him. “Don’t suppose she gave a forwarding address when she was released from The Hole, huh?”

“No, but—this is interesting. And it pulls Earth back into the picture.”

I scowled. “Uh-oh. Now what?”

“When we were attending Constance Plowitz’s big ‘do’ in Frankenmuth, I heard some of her staffers referring to her brand new chief of staff, someone named Jeannie.”

Torina crossed her arms. “Coincidence?

I think not.”

I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “No, neither do I. Going back to Earth and hooking up with the likes of Plowitz and Manon Clemenceau is exactly the sort of thing Luis-Rocher would do.”

I sat up. “Well, looks like we’re heading back to Earth. At the very least, I want to see what our new triumvirate of wicked witches—her, Plowitz, and Clemenceau—are up to.”

“Can’t help thinking it’s going to end up involving the Sorcerers,”

Torina said. “No, neither can I.” I turned to Netty-P. “Let’s find somewhere to refuel and stock up the galley, so we can get our butts back to known space. I think that’s where we’re going to find the connections we’re looking for—

whatever spider-web it is that links the Sorcerers, Pont Alus Kyr, Progenitor

—”

“Whatever the hell it is,” Icky muttered. I nodded. “And also, Luis-Rocher, the Equal Grasp, Adayluh Creel—

hell, even Calamity—” I shrugged. “I could probably go on.”

“Do you really think all those things are connected?” Rab asked. “Let me put it this way. I’m not convinced they’re not. There’s a thread of some sort binding them. It’s a thread that hopefully is going to lead us to the things we swore to stop when we put on these uniforms.”

I stood. “Right. Places, everyone. We’ve got work to do.”

19

DESPITE PROVISIONING AT RADIALIS, we had to make a stop at Spindrift to do it again. It turned out that the fuel we procured at Radialis was, in Netty-P’s words, about as far from usable fusion fuel as you could get and still make the engine work. Icky was disgusted at the inefficiency of the burn, less than eighty-five percent, and we heard about it the whole way back. “I’m gonna have to pull apart that engine, Van, and make sure that absolute shit we poured into the tank hasn’t damaged its innards,” she grouched. “How bad could it be?

We’re still talking about stuff undergoing nuclear fusion, so millions of degrees, right?

It’s not like it’s some old carbureted four-barrel V8 plugged with carbon. How does anything survive that?”

She gave me a slightly sad look. “Oh, Van. Poor, naïve Van. You just don’t know how delicate a fusion power plant is, do you?

Getting that millions of degrees to happen isn’t about brute force, it’s about gentle finesse—a delicate, featherlight touch. Getting that incandescent ignition to happen requires just the right things to be manipulated in just the right way.”

She turned and left. I just stood, staring at her retreating expanse of blue-haired back. Torina, who’d been standing nearby, had a cup of coffee poised near her lips. She slowly lowered it. “Wow.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Who knew elementary particle physics could be such a turn on?”

Torina put her cup down, grabbed my hand, and pulled me along after her. “Where are we going?”

“To discuss nuclear fusion. In detail.” She glanced back with a coy smile. “Maybe even a couple of times.”

WHILE RE-REPROVISIONING AT SPINDRIFT, we got a call from B—audio only, prerecorded. “Van, send back an acknowledgment when you get this. Schegith will meet you in Earth orbit three days after you do. She has news, and no I’m not being cryptic. She didn’t tell me what it was. She asks you to wait for her there, if necessary.”

I glanced at the others. “Okay. For Schegith, we wait.”

“Three days?

Sweet. Can we go to Canada?” Icky asked. I turned. “Canada?

Why?

And any particular part?

I mean, it’s the second-biggest country on the planet, so you need to be a little more specific.”

Funboy spoke up. “From my reading, I understand that going to the city known as Toronto is effectively synonymous with going to Canada itself.”

I laughed. I’d been to Toronto, a city I liked—as a man once said, it was like New York if New York were run by the Swiss. And yes, I’d learned that an old Canadian adage portrayed Toronto as thinking of itself as the center of Canada—and the universe. How true that was I doubted—I’d spent a fair bit of time in the city doing things related to my old cybersecurity job, and I’d always found the people there to be pretty easygoing. “I wouldn’t say that to a Canadian, Funboy,” I said, then turned to Icky. “You still haven’t explained this sudden desire to visit the Great White North.”

“It’s called poo-teen.”

“Poutine. Right. French fries slathered with gravy and cheese curds—

ah. Cheese curds. Should have known cheese was implicated somehow.”

“Yeah. It comes from a place called Kwee-beck.”

“Quebec. And—” I shook my head. “We’ll see what we can do, Icky.”

“Good. I’m trying to expand my culinary horizons. I’ve been feeling like I’m stuck in a noodle slump.”

“So, the answer is poutine, huh?

Way to think immediately outside the box, big girl.”

WE ARRIVED IN EARTH ORBIT. I contacted Miryam and was surprised when she immediately came back with a request. “Not for you, though. For Funboy,” she said over the comm. Funboy blinked. “For me?”

“Yes. The manager at the Cheese Haus in Frankenmuth wants to speak with you. And when you talk to him, the first thing you can say is that I am not your agent, contrary to what you told him.”

“Ah. My apologies. He requested a name, and of all the people I know on Earth, you seemed the logical choice.”

Miryam gave us the contact information, then I had Netty-P connect us to the cell phone network in eastern Michigan. Funboy took the call on a handset, which he wiped down and held delicately away from his ear as he talked. “This is Cheerful Enthusiast. Yes. Yes. I understand. Yes. Yes, I do. My only requirement is this—I will not wear makeup. It clogs the pores and hides my naturally handsome features, and the brushes are responsible for countless deaths each year due to bacterial infections. If this is amenable, we have an accord. I shall see you there and then.”

He closed the channel. We all waited. He looked around. “I am finished with the conversation. We may now move on to other matters—”

Icky shook her head furiously. “Oh, no. C’mon, gloom tits, what was it?

Who was it?”

“Yeah, was it a lead?

From a source?

Do they have information about where Adayluh or Jocelyn or—” Rab started, then frowned. “What am I saying?

If the call came from the cheese place in Frankenmuth, it’s probably not work-related, isn’t it?”

“On the contrary. It is work-related, albeit only peripherally to the work of this ship and crew.” He “smiled.”

“Uh-oh. I hesitate to ask but—this is good news?” I asked him. “No. It is great news. As an effervescent extrovert, this development is, quite simply, a dream come true for me.”

Torina gave him a flat look. “Effervescent extrovert?

What dictionary are you using?”

“Let me guess—you’ve been selected for an intergalactic voyage with limitless hand sanitizer and solitude,” Perry offered. “Appealing, but nothing compared to this. And why would such an offer originate with the Cheese Haus in Frank—”

“TELL ME OR I START PUNCHING THINGS!” Icky bellowed. Funboy gave her a mild look, then turned to me. “We must go to Frankenmuth, Van, with a stop in Cedar Rapids. I require a tuxedo. As they say in showbiz, Daddy has a gig.”

“A—gig?”

“Yes. I am shooting a commercial. For the Cheese Haus. Now, let us begin our descent. Stardom awaits.”

I WAS PREPARED to go along with this silliness, in part because we had the time to kill before Schegith arrived, and in part out of sheer curiosity. But I admit to a more calculating motive. I was tired of having to laboriously dig out the various bits and pieces of alien conspiracy at work on Earth. Retta’s spy network was certainly helpful, but it was slow. Our upstaging of Constance Plowitz had been a spur-of-the-moment thing just to screw with her, but I hadn’t failed to notice the effect. We’d forced her to react to us. And now that Jeanette Luis-Rocher was involved with her, Plowitz had evolved from simple shill for the Equal Grasp to something more. I knew that Manon Clemenceau was probably well aware of the atrocities being committed by the Sorcerers, and by Dohlennz before them, given the hugely incriminating evidence we’d uncovered in her family’s ancestral home in Belgium. Now Plowitz was connected to it through her new chief of staff,

“Jeannie.” Whether she was actually involved or just being manipulated as

a useful pawn remained to be seen. For now, we needed to do things to keep them all off-balance and reactive. A commercial starring Funboy, portraying an alien lifeform in what had to be the most mundane and ridiculous way possible, was a good start. Not that I put it that way to Funboy, of course. WE LEFT the Fafnir in orbit with Rab and Netty-P aboard, to watch for Schegith and generally provide us with some high cover. The rest of us took the Frankie down to the surface, landing in Cedar Rapids, Iowa—

specifically, in the parking lot of a strip mall outside Swenson Formals-N-More. I’d originally intended to land somewhere discreet, and make our equally discreet way into town, but decided to hell with it at the last minute. I didn’t want the Equal Grasp, Plowitz, or Clemenceau to think that they controlled the alien narrative on Earth. Again, I wanted them to have to react to us. Needless to say, grounding the Frankie in a parking lot in Cedar Rapids just after lunch on a workday caused—a stir. Traffic ground to a stop on the nearby street even before we’d dismounted, while a crowd of onlookers gathered, cell phones brandished like samurai wielding katanas as they tried to get the perfect upload for social media or whatever. A police officer, who’d been on a break at a nearby coffee shop, immediately headed our way. I stopped and waited for him, a smile on my face. “Why, hello, officer,” I said. He stopped, looking wide-eyed from me to my crew behind me to the Frankie, back again—and then he did it again. After another slack-jawed scan of it all, he finally spoke. “Uh—”

“Is there a problem?” I asked him. “Is there—uh—”

I just kept smiling and waited. He finally lifted a hand vaguely toward the Frankie. “That—I don’t think—you can’t just—”

“Park it there?”

“You—yeah. Yeah, that’s—it’s not for—”

“Oh, wait—we didn’t park in a handicapped space, did we?”

He blinked. “You—no. No, that’s not the—uh—issue—”

“Are parked otherwise illegally then?”

“I—” he started, then stopped. I could see his mind racing, trying to parse laws governing parking on municipally regulated property for anything about spacecraft. He finally just shook his head. “Look, you can’t just—park something like that here.”

“Why not?

I’ve just reviewed all federal, state, and local legislation and regulations that might be applicable, and none of them say anything about not parking a spacecraft like that,” Perry said. The cop stared down at him, looking blank. I smiled again. “If Perry says that’s the case, then it is. He’s my legal advisor and he knows—well, pretty much everything about all laws everywhere.”

He raised a wing. “Super-powerful AIs for the win, am I right?”

The cop finally just stepped back, pointing behind him. “I’m just going to—you know, call my Sergeant.”

“You do that. And if you want to talk to us before we go, we’ll be in there,” I said, pointing at Swenson Formals-N-More. “You—” He looked that way, gave his head a slow shake, then backed away. “You have a nice day, officer!” I said, waving. At least two dozen cell phone cameras had caught it all. I suspected videos of it were already on their way up onto the web. We entered Swenson’s and found ourselves in a small, but tidy men’s clothing store. It had the feel of a place that had been around for years, cozy and tinged with an odd bit of nostalgia. It was as though walking through the door had transported us back to the Seventies or Eighties. A dapper older man with a tape measure draped around his neck emerged from a back room. He stopped short at the sight of us. “Oh my—goodness. Are you going to some sort of party?” he asked, blinking through his glasses at us. I laughed. “In a way. One of my crew requires something to wear during a commercial shoot. Funboy, can you tell Mister—I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,” I said. He returned a bemused stare, but one surprisingly free of anything resembling fear or panic. “Swenson. Otto Swenson. The latest Swenson to operate our humble little shop.” He peered up at Icky. “Oh my. You’re very big. That—isn’t a costume, is it?”

She grinned. “Nope. This is the real deal!” she said, spreading her arms

—and inadvertently punching over a mannequin dressed in a suit and raincoat. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry—” she said, hurrying to right the display. The rest of us sighed at her. Funboy chose the moment to step forward. “I am the one interested in procuring a formal garment or garments from you.”

Otto crossed his arms and smiled. “Amazing. And gratifying.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Gratifying?”

“Yes. To have this happen in my lifetime,” he replied, gesturing at Funboy and Icky. “Very gratifying. Very amazing.”

“Then you will manufacture a garment or garments for me?” Funboy asked. Otto laughed. “Oh, absolutely. How could I not?”

“Very well. I have a specific look in mind,” Funboy replied, then launched into a detailed description of what he wanted. Otto started taking notes and measurements but abruptly stopped. “I’m curious. What brought you here, to my shop, of all places?”

Funboy blinked at him. “I searched this planet’s internet. Your reviews are excellent, with the exception of the wholly unreasonable Chad Tarber, who—“

Otto’s face turned pink. “Oh. That customer. Most unpleasant. He gained seventy pounds due to a spaghetti addiction and then had the temerity to blame his fitment on me.”

“What’s spaghetti?” Icky asked. “Noodles.”

She sighed. “I get it.”

“Shall we, then?” Otto asked, pushing his glasses up with a prim finger. Funboy nodded politely. “Let’s.”

I got to spend the next while watching while Funboy was outfitted for a tuxedo—youth-sized—accessorized with a spectacular teal cummerbund and bow tie. There were only a few minor adjustments Otto had to make, so we were able to wait for it. By then, a sizable crowd had gathered outside,

as had several policemen. They were more interested in keeping traffic flowing, though, and no one seemed inclined to get too close to the Frankie. “This is going to drive the Equal Grasp crazy,” Torina said, standing beside me and looking out the window into the parking lot. I nodded as I watched the crowd mill about and “ooh” and “ aah.”

“Hopefully, Plowitz and Clemenceau right along with them.”

“Van?”

I turned to Funboy. He gave a slow shrug and pointed at Otto, now at the till. “Payment is required, but this establishment does not recognize bonds as legal tender.”

Otto shrugged in turn. “US greenbacks. Or Canadian dollars. I’ll do Canadian dollars. That, though—” He pointed at the strips of bonds in Funboy’s hand. “That’s a little too foreign a currency for my tastes.”

I grinned and dug out my wallet, extracting my American Express card. “How about this?”

“That will do nicely,” he said, accepting the card and tapping the chip with a small flourish. Perry was perched on a rail of suit jackets nearby. “You have that with you?”

I glanced at him. “Yeah.”

“So that means you took it all the way to Radialis?

Why?”

“They say to never leave home without it.”

“That’s a motto, Van, not a contractual obligation. Although, if you are throwing some Amex spending around, there are a few things I could use,”

Perry said. “Like what?”

“Bling. You know. Bedazzling my tail. Pinstripes on my outer feathers. I believe we call that flair. I mean, if sourpuss gets some, it’s only fair—

“Note to self—under no circumstances does the bird get my Amex.”

When the tux was finally ready, Funboy put it on because of course he did. Torina straightened his tie, making an approving sound. “You look—

dashing.”

“I know.” He thanked Otto and gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”

I waved to a grinning Otto as we left, grinning back as he just shook his head. On the way to the door, Funboy went on. “I would like to let everyone know that, should this advertising opportunity end up elevating me to great fame, it will not go to my head. I’ll always be the same magnificent bastard I’ve always been.”

I chuckled as we exited into the faces of at least a couple of hundred gawking people. “Well, at least part of that sentence is true.”

On the way back to the Frankie, I saw Tutsi Auffenberg standing in front of a camera, a microphone held in front of some person in the crowd, apparently interviewing them for Wake Up Cedar Rapids!

She looked bubbly and excited. As we passed her, though, I caught her eye and she winked. WE RETURNED to Frankenmuth in as much glory and splendor as we had in Cedar Rapids. We landed the Frankie in the same open greenspace where Constance Plowitz had held—or tried to hold, anyway—her rally and announcement. It felt strange to just land in the middle of a regular workday, no longer concerned about being detected. But I reminded myself that there was a point to this, and I turned to Perry as everyone started to head for the airlock. “Anything on the airwaves yet?”

“Lots. There are about a bazillion TikTok uploads and YouTube videos showing every conceivable angle of our little sojourn in Cedar Rapids—an alarming number of which do not contain me. I mean, people were getting all focused on Sourpuss and the Big Blue Meanie, but the cool AI bird?

Nope. Bastards—“

“Perry, get yourself a publicist or something. Meantime, focus, please.”

“Fine. Anyway, the comments attached to these things are still all over the map regarding whether people actually believe it or not. Some do, some want to, but a lot more are still skeptical and, yeah, there’s still a solid minority that maintains that it’s all bullshit. That it’s viral marketing for something, that it’s all just part of some cheesy blockbuster movie being filmed, that it’s the government trying to deflect from—well, pick your poison. Any number of the various terrible things haunting the news.”

“What about media?”

“Local interest in Cedar Rapids and eastern Iowa, some coverage on the big boys like CNN and BBC, but still surprisingly tame,” Perry said. “Tame?”

“Let me put it this way. The lead story on the BBC website is about alleged price-fixing on fruit being sold in British supermarkets—especially bananas. Al Jazeera is leading with an article about oil production because of course it is. Reuters is all about some big international summit about interest rates and their impact on global trade—yawn—Fox News is—well, Fox News, MSNBC is—”

“I get it. No aliens on page one.”

“Maybe on page one, but definitely below the fold.”

I stood to follow the crew. “Huh.” I thought about it as I entered the airlock to disembark. “That’s all good news, I think. The longer we can keep alien contact kind of mired in this mishmash of believing-it-slash-not-believing-it, the bigger our window to get and keep control of the narrative.”

I stepped outside. Speaking of the narrative. There were already dozens of people thronging around the edges of the grassy square. Someone, probably local Frankenmuth law enforcement, had put up some barricades, those fabric straps you often see in banks to control the line-up for the tellers. There was excitement, chatter, and, of course, many, many cell phones. “Somebody must have tipped the public off that we were coming,” I said, as we headed for the Cheese Haus. “Yeah, but how?

Who the hell knew we were coming to Frankenmuth?”

Torina replied, frowning at the crowd. “Uh, we’re here to film a commercial, remember?

If I had to guess, I’d say it was Mister Cheese Haus. It’s great publicity, having aliens arrive to visit your establishment.”

Torina shrugged. “I guess. It doesn’t seem to have put off the star, though,” she said, nodding ahead of us. Funboy, resplendent in his tux, ambled along and waved to the crowd. He had the air of a celebrity walking the red carpet at the Oscars. And the people loved it, waving and shouting back at him. Perry, wheeling overhead, obviously noticed. “That’s it, Van. We’re going back to Cedar Rapids and I’m getting a tux of my own. If that’s what it takes to get a smidge of the limelight reflected off of Sad Sack, so be it,”

he snapped over the comm. I glanced at Torina. She grinned. I sighed and rolled my eyes. 20

THE COMMERCIAL WENT EXACTLY the way I thought it would. After some discussion with the proprietor and the person directing the commercial—a local theater enthusiast named Mitzi Kopotowski—Funboy smoothly launched into his routine. He stood beside a table of cheese, then swept a hand imperiously at it. “As a person from another planet, I am always gratified to come here to the Cheese Haus when I travel to Earth. It is, in fact, frequently the first place I visit—“

“Uh, we’re not recording yet,” Mitzi said. “Ah. Pardon my anticipation. My name is Cheerful Enthusiast, however.”

“Yes. Okay,” Mitzi said, watching the guy with the camera, a professional-looking handheld job. He nodded, and Mitzi pointed at Funboy. Who stood blinking back at her. Mitzi mouthed something and made a come-on gesture. Funboy blinked some more. “I’m sorry, but your vocal physiology seems to have failed. We likely have biophysical schematics of the human voice box in our ship that would allow me to help you. I will be right back—“

“No!

We’re recording!”

Funboy had started to walk away. He stopped, returned, and swept his hand grandly at the cheese. “As a person from another planet, I am always gratified to come here to the Cheese Haus—”

Torina, Icky, and I watched, utterly bemused, as Funboy did a remarkable job of improv, ambling through the store, pointing out things, and keeping up a steady, running commentary. Mitzi apparently liked it because she followed along, nodding and smiling. I heard her softly muttering. “Yessssssss, handsome, yes. So debonaire. It’s giving early James Bond, and l am here for it. This is going to be great.”

Torina leaned toward me. “Someone wants to get into show business.”

Icky sniffed. “And this is how she plans to do it?

Really?”

I grinned, but, before I could reply, Perry came on my ear bug. Van, there’s a guy out here that’s so obviously a fed of some sort he might as well be wearing an American flag like a cape. The sumbitch has a fresh haircut, for crying out loud. And yes, it’s almost high and tight. Subtle. I glanced at Torina. “Excuse me. There’s somebody I apparently need to go and talk to.”

Behind me, I heard Funboy extolling the virtues of blueberry cheese. “It is cheese. With blueberries. What is there to not like about that combination?” he asked, waving an arm with dramatic effect. Stepping outside, I immediately got things shouted at me from the crowd, people waving, some wanting autographs, but a few also ranting about hoaxes and conspiracies and the like. I just smiled and waved and walked on by, while Perry directed me to the man he’d spied. Yeah, a fed all right. A lean, hard man wearing Ray-Bans and a raincoat over a dark suit, topped off with the haircut that said FED BOY. I headed directly for him. “Good morning, officer,” I said, smiling and extending my hand. He shifted toward me, presumably looking at me, but all I saw in the Ray-Bans was my own tiny, distorted reflection. “Excuse me?”

“I said good morning. Always nice to see our tax dollars hard at work—

and by hard at work, I mean standing around outside a shop selling fancy socks and looking totally out of place.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I withdrew my hand and let my smile fade as I stopped in front of him. “Oh, please. You look like you’ve answered a casting call for The X-Files. Anyway, feel free to keep playing the I’m-just-a-typical-Frankenmuth-tourist if you want. Oh, and say hello to Manon Clemenceau for me.” I switched on my smile again. I could feel the man glaring at me from behind his shades. “Don’t know who that is—”

“Sure you do. Your boss. The one who’s family is implicated in some grave crimes off-world. Things like trafficking in sapient species and my personal favorite, genocide. One officer to another, though—hope you’re not too cozy with her. You’d hate to get roped in as an accomplice, wouldn’t you?”

The man stared for a moment, then dropped his façade. “You might think you’re such a badass, Tudor, but you have no idea what you’re playing with here.”

I—laughed. I actually laughed. And it was genuine. His menacing words were so funny as to be absurd. He recognized it as an actual laugh, too, which seemed to put him off. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, you, of course. You have no idea what you’re playing with here,” I mimicked in a low growl. “Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds, you up-jumped poser?”

“Look, Tudor, do yourself a favor. Just head back up into space and do whatever it is you do up there, and let us do our jobs down here—”

I jammed my face into his. “Whatever it is that I do up there?

Would you like to know what it is I do up there?

Perry, how many bad guys have I been directly responsible for killing?”

His voice hummed from my comm. “Now, by directly, do you mean that you’ve actually shot, stabbed, lacerated, or otherwise killed personally, or do you want to include crews of ships—“

“All of the above.”

“As of today, three hundred and forty-two, plus or minus five or six.”

I pushed my gaze into the Ray-Bans. “Every one of those was a reprobate and criminal of some description. A lot of them were very, very bad, and a few were pretty much Lovecraftian monstrosities. I’ve dealt with mass murderers, slavers, torturers, brutal artificial intelligences, and I’ve done it using technology that humanity won’t discover for another hundred or more years if left to its own devices.”

I pointed behind me. “See my ship?

It’s capable of twisting. That means it can travel from star to star more or less instantly. It uses antimatter to do it. Its fuel pod contains more explosive potential than pretty much the entire US nuclear arsenal. So, let’s just get this out of the way. You don’t frighten me. You can’t frighten me. And you sure as hell don’t want to cross me because you have absolutely no means of dealing with me and my crew. We will go anywhere, do anything we feel necessary—to protect Earth.”

The man had pulled back a bit. Just as I’d genuinely laughed a moment ago, I was now genuinely resolute with anger, and he knew it. I nodded and went on. “Yeah. To protect Earth, my home. Protect it from those bad guys out there, and also the ones down here. The ones like Clemenceau.”

“She’s—as interested in protecting Earth as you are—”

“Bullshit. And let me repeat— bullshit. She sits in her palatial estate outside DC and sends schmucks like you to go and do the actual work. She’s a user, motivated by nothing but self-interest. And you know what?

I think you know that. Deep inside somewhere, when you see her house or her many cars, watch her jetting around in a Gulfstream jet at public expense, you know that she’s a manipulative, narcissistic bitch. You can tell her I said that—and that she’s on my radar, right along with all those other bad guys.”

I turned and walked away, heading back for the Cheese Haus. “Epic rant, Boss. That goober’s heart rate and skin temperature both shot right up the scale. He’s used to making people sweat, not used to having it done to him,” Perry said. “Yeah, well, keep an eye on him. My words might have been big, but seriously, we cannot let ourselves fall into the trap of underestimating these people.”

“He’s leaving actually. Probably running off to report to Clemenceau, tell her all about the big mean spaceman who almost made him cry.”

I grunted assent as I reentered the Cheese Haus. It had been pretty satisfying. But, my gut twinged with sudden unease. I’d wanted to force Clemenceau and company to react to us. Well, it was their turn to do just that, wasn’t it?

I ARRIVED in time to find Funboy wrapping up his commercial, eating some blueberry cheese, swallowing, then saying, “Very satisfying.”

He looked gravely into the camera. “Don’t walk. Don’t fly. Rocket to the Cheese Haus for our newest fall flavors—oh. Oh dear.”

I frowned, exchanged a glance with Torina, and then started to step toward Funboy. But he “smiled”—itself a bit of a Lovecraftian thing—then raised a finger as though he was about to say something. But he stopped, said, “Oh dear,” again, and, very loudly, he farted. Snickers all around, including from me. Because, when it comes to farts, everyone is a twelve-year-old. Mitzi, though, pumped her fist. “Yes!

Cut!

That’s it. Sheer genius!”

Funboy stared at her. “Wait. That isn’t the version you intend to use, is it

—?”

“Absolutely!

It’s comedy gold!

People will love it!”

Funboy’s face slowly slumped in horror. “Oh—dear. No, wait—”

I couldn’t resist a broad grin. “Hey, this turned out even better than I expected.”

Icky shrugged. “Could hardly hear him fart. How’s that gonna sell cheese?

Now, you want farts, I can—”

“We get where you’re going with this, Icky, thanks,” Torina said, holding up a hand. Perry had to get in on the action, of course. “Is this the new standard?

Well, I guess we can strike anything subtle from all future scripts.”

AS WE PREPARED to head back to the Frankie, the owner of the Cheese Haus came up to thank Funboy, then asked him, “How should I arrange payment with you?”

Funboy gave him a momentary stare. “You intend to pay me for this?”

“I—well, yes, of course. It’s probably easiest if I treat you as an independent contractor and just pay you a lump sum. You can take care of dealing with the taxes and such on your own.”

“I’m sorry—taxes?”

The owner grinned. “You really aren’t from around here, are you?”

“I’m—no, of course not. I would think that is evident since I’m not human—“

The man turned to me with a helpless look. “I just really don’t want your friend here to get into trouble with the IRS.”

I nodded and ushered my crew toward the door. “You know, I think it’s probably easier if we just treat this as an unpaid gig. You can consider Funboy as having been paid in exposure.”

“I would accept payment in cheese,” Funboy put in. I shook my head and nudged him along. “Oh, no. Not after the flatulent climax of that commercial of yours. I don’t want to wear out the air recyclers on the Fafnir, thanks.”

Funboy looked aggrieved and triumphant, no small feat. “Being denied the majesty of dairy is akin to a war crime, Peacemaker Tudor.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, princess. Three pounds of cheese. No more.”

He nodded. “Take care of the talent. A good precedent. Now then, let us discuss exactly which three pounds of cheese will construe my compensation—“

FROM FRANKENMUTH, we returned to the farm. I braced myself for news vans and people swarming the place, but when we arrived, we found only a still and pastoral late summer evening lying over Pony Hollow. The only vehicle we saw while landing was a flatbed Ford rattling along the road in front of the farm. It vanished into the distance, leaving a thin pall of tan dust hanging in the muggy air. Shortly after we touched down—inside the barn, since it fit the Frankie nicely—Rab called from orbit. “Schegith’s ship is inbound. She’ll be in Earth orbit in about six hours.”

I climbed out of the Frankie and breathed in the warm tang of crops and manure—the smell of my childhood, practically a security blanket. “Okay. We’ll come up in a couple of hours to wait—”

“Actually, Van, she’s coming to you.”

I stopped partway to the house. “To me?

As in, down here?

To the surface?”

“Yup. She wants to see the place you call home.”

I glanced around. The farm wasn’t set up for massive, slug-like alien beings. I wondered if she’d have trouble with the stairs up to the back porch

—

Although that wouldn’t be a problem because she’d never fit through the door. I finally shrugged. “Sure, what the hell. Give her the coordinates and send her on down when she arrives.”

The rest of us ambled into the house. Icky plunked herself down on a metal box we’d placed against the wall beside the kitchen table, the creaky chairs having no hope of holding her weight. She then toed off her boots and propped her massive feet up on the table. I scowled at her. “Excuse me, but stinky feet are not allowed on the furniture—especially when they’re the size of a small car.”

She looked sheepish and pulled her feet away, thumping them back to the floor. “Sorry, Boss. Guess I’m thinking of this place kinda like home.”

“I’m glad, Icky. I am. Still doesn’t mean you get to stick your grubby feet where I eat.”

Funboy retired to a bedroom to change out of his tuxedo. He carefully packed it into the box he’d been given by Swensson and reverently brought it back downstairs, like he was carrying the Ark of the Covenant. “I am particularly fond of this garment. I believe it will be my new leisure outfit,” he said, putting the box on the kitchen table and stroking it with a long-fingered hand. Perry, perched on a chair, cocked his head. “Really. You want to wear something with a bowtie and cummerbund as your lazy, kicking-around outfit.”

“Yes. I find the constrictions they exert upon my body most relaxing. It is as though I am receiving a gentle, continuous massage.”

Perry looked at me. I looked at Torina. Torina shrugged. “To each their own, I guess?”

We puttered through the evening, me taking some time to just sit out on the back porch with some bourbon and absolutely nothing to do. It felt great. Finally, though, Schegith’s ship appeared, coasting in silently from the east. Or, so Frankie, our workboat’s AI told us, since we couldn’t see through her stealth field. We waited on the porch as a faint hum rose, then held steady, then died. A moment later, a small Schegith ship flicked into

existence alongside the barn. It had the distinctive, smoothly curved, and slightly organic-looking style typical of all of their ships, to the extent that larger ones looked like scaled-up versions of their smaller ones. As we walked toward it, an airlock unsealed, and Schegith appeared, slithering down an extended ramp. She stopped and spent a moment surveying her surroundings. I waited for her first words about Earth, Iowa, and my home. She sneezed. “Ah, forgive this one. This one was prepared with various agents to offset the effects of biochemical agents on your world to which this one is

—is—”

She blasted out another sneeze. “—is unaccustomed. It would appear that the course is not entirely effective, however.” She shuddered, apparently suppressing another sneeze. “This one detects significant quantities of aromatic hydrocarbons in your atmosphere. Is this unusual?”

I shook my head. “Sadly, no. Our society runs on hydrocarbon fuels.”

“Ah. That seems unwise. You should change that. This one will bring reactors in bulk next time. Consider it a gift.”

“Thank you, and we’re working on it. Anyway, aside from the exhaust fumes, what do you think of our humble planet?”

She looked around again. “This one is surprised by the sheer number of living organisms. Your planet is rich in life.”

I thought about the dry, desiccated husk of a planet that was Null World and nodded. “Yeah, it is. Especially plant life.”

“Which is most fascinating, given the recent efforts by this one’s people to begin even the most rudimentary agricultural development.” She slithered toward the corn in the adjacent field. “Are those plants edible?”

“They are. They’re called corn. It’s a grain—whoa. Schegith, it’s not meant to—”

She plucked out a cornstalk and stuck it into her ample mouth. Torina snickered. I waited. She swallowed. “Interesting. Very fibrous, however. You humans must have more robust digestive systems than this one believed.”

I laughed. “We—actually put some work into the stuff before we eat it. We don’t just graze on it.”

She nodded gravely. “This one has much to learn about your world and people and looks forward to doing so. However, there are more immediate concerns,” she said, reaching into a small metal canister slung around her neck. She extracted a data module and offered it over. “This contains much information that this one’s people have gleaned regarding the Sorcerers. Some of it is quite sensitive, implicating various agencies—unfortunately, including your Guild. For that reason, this one did not wish to transmit it.”

I took the module like it was hot. Given the involvement of the Guild and the GKU in other unsavory matters, like the parasitic race known as the Tenants and the release of Calamity, I feared I’d find stuff just as bad regarding the Sorcerers. Maybe worse. I found myself wondering if Gerhardt’s fervent devotion to obliterating them was just about justice, or if it had an element of cover-up to it. I hoped not and didn’t even really want to know. I respected the man too much. I also desperately hoped my grandfather’s name didn’t come up in an unpleasant way. Or Groshenko’s. Or Valint’s, or my mother’s—

I stuck the module in my pocket. “I think I’ll examine this later when I’ve got some quiet time to be horrified, disappointed, or both—“

A sudden flash pulsed in the sky above the farm, like a flashbulb going off in the growing dusk. It could have just been a sizable bolide, a meteorite that had exploded as it plowed into the atmosphere. But I suspected it wasn’t. I hit my comm. “Rab, what was—?”

“That flash?

That was a ship exploding. Netty-P thinks it was roughly a class 9.

It was the Schegith ship up here that shot it—hang on a second.”

I turned to Icky. “You’d better preflight the Frankie, just in case we need to get up there.”

“On it, Boss,” she said, hurrying for the barn. I noticed Schegith withdraw a short distance and start speaking into a comm of her own. Rab came back on. “Van, we’ve scanned the debris. The ship’s reactor scrammed, so that’s not a problem. And its antimatter pod is intact, so the Schegith are going to retrieve it so it’s not stuck in Earth orbit. There’s one more thing, though. Among the debris are two devices I recognize and have confirmed. They’re Series 16 smart bombs, military-grade weapons that should not be aboard anything that isn’t a warship.”

Perry made a whistling sound. “Fifty thousand bonds apiece for those babies. Serious stuff.”

“Yeah, and profoundly dangerous. They’re meant for first-strike attacks on critical installations, like headquarters, comm nodes, air defense systems, that sort of thing. They’re stealthed, highly maneuverable, and tough to stop—kinda by design,” Rab said. “Oh, I don’t like the sound of that. Where were those destined for, I wonder?” Torina said, her mouth a thin, pale line. “Rab, who uses those things?” I asked. “All the major powers. I know people who work for the manufacturer, and they’re meticulously scrupulous about selling only to legitimate end-users in accordance with all the applicable interstellar laws. So, it was more likely one of those end users who made them available.”

“Which includes the Seven Stars League.”

“True, but to be fair, Van, their military was in chaos in the wake of the double-whammy of the Tenants and Calamity. They could just as easily have been stolen. Mind you, the League should have an inventory they have to be able to account for, but—”

Schegith sneezed again. I glanced her way, then nodded. “Yeah. Shoulda-coulda-woulda. Okay, how’s the situation up there otherwise?”

“Up here?

It’s fine. The scanners are clear. Down there, though, I’m not sure,” Rab replied. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that there’s been a sudden flurry of encrypted comms traffic originating on Earth. And I don’t mean Earthly comms.”

“The call’s coming from inside the house!” Perry said. Icky, who had come back out of the barn for an update, frowned. “What call?

I didn’t even hear the phone ring.”

“You know about phones, huh?”

“Uh, yeah. Last time we were here, I used one to order—oh, what’s the stuff called, flat, with cheese, and lots of red stuff—”

“Pizza,” I said. “I remember. You ordered it and ate it all and I had to pay for it.”

“Thank you?”

“Next time at least save me a slice.” I frowned, then pulled the data module out of my pocket and held it toward Perry. “I was going to do this

later, but explosions in orbit and things have kind of lit a fire. Take a look at this and see what you can find that’s immediately relevant. Perry took the module in his beak. “On it, Boss. I’ll be in the Frankie if anyone needs me,” he said and flew off into the barn. Torina watched him go. “Huh.”

I glanced at her. “Huh?”

“Yeah. I just assumed he had to move his beak to talk. Guess he just does that for us, huh?”

“I guess,” I replied, smiling a little. It spoke to Perry’s humanity that he indulged us by moving his beak while he talked, trying to make himself that little bit more organic. “Van Tudor, this is a matter of grave concern,” Schegith suddenly said. We turned to her. “This one has been consulting with this one’s cousins in orbit. They confirm the nature of the weapons Rab observed. Those bombs are meant to destroy stationary installations and point targets.” She looked around. “Such as this farm.”

I sighed. “Yeah, I’d kind of already thought of that.”

“This one believes this farm to be—there is a terrestrial reference. Yes, a heel of the one named Achilles. That is correct, yes?”

I nodded. “Yeah, it is. An Achilles’ heel—a critical vulnerability.”

“Indeed. You must be more vigilant than ever, Van Tudor. This one senses that this farm is your center of gravity, the place from which you draw your strength and resolve. This one can provide automated weapons that will protect it from overt attack.”

“That’s—great, Schegith. But I’m not sure I want to turn my farm into an armed installation.”

“You may have little choice, Van Tudor. If you do not wish to do that, then you must begin to confront the reality of your farm being destroyed. What will be your center of gravity, then?”

I frowned at her for a moment, then shrugged. “You’re making a good point—unfortunately.” I stuck my hands in my pockets, sighed, and looked around at a landscape I could have drawn in minute detail from memory. “I’ll have Rab talk to you and your people about the sorts of weapons we can safely deploy here,” I said although I managed about as much enthusiasm as when I described a dentist’s appointment. “Very well. But that is not all, Van Tudor. There are other ways to threaten your center of gravity than overtly destructive ones. You must be prepared for less conventional forms of attack.”

“Such as?”

“This one is not cognizant of the detailed workings of your society. This one can only advise you to consider all possible scenarios, no matter how unpleasant, and prepare to deal with them.”

I nodded. “Good advice, yeah. Thank you, Schegith.”

“This one is pleased to assist you. And now, this one will be just as pleased—”

She sneezed again. “—to return to orbit. Earth is a wonderful world, one I would like to explore more fully. First, though, this one must perform an important task.”

“What’s that?”

“Locate an effective decongestant.”

21

PERRY ANNOUNCED that there was a lot of information on the data module Schegith had given us in various formats from disparate sources. He’d uploaded and analyzed it all in its context but hadn’t yet started cross-referencing with other archival sources. Instead, he did as I asked and brought forward the stuff of immediate concern. Which meant we were getting a video show projected onto the wall inside the barn rather than trying to crowd around a single display in the Frankie’s cramped cabin. As we gathered to watch, Torina gave me an uncomfortable look. “Did Schegith say anything about the people who collected all of this stuff?

I mean, we’re dealing with some really bad people here who probably aren’t keen on having their business made extremely public.”

I nodded. “I wondered the same thing. Schegith assured me that, to her knowledge, all of the sources—including some of Retta’s—are alive and well. She said, and I quote, ‘This one would not abide the loss of lives merely for the gathering of intelligence.’”

Which was, I thought, a laudable goal. Unfortunately, though, I doubted that many intelligence agencies felt the same way and were quite prepared to sacrifice lives for information. That was certainly true here on Earth. Perry spoke before he started the imagery up. “I’m going to warn you guys—this isn’t pretty. It’s not as bad as some of the stuff we’ve run into, but it’s still unpleasant. Viewer discretion is advised.”

He started the imagery playing. It was immediately clear that it had been captured surreptitiously, from the unsteady movements of the frame and the way the image was occasionally blanked out behind a fold of clothing or something. It was… an auction, a marketplace of some sort. It was enclosed in a cavernous, dimly lit building that could have been anywhere. Hell, it could even have been here, on Earth. There were Sorcerers. They seemed to be running the show. The rest of the clientele was a mixed bag of species, including humans, Yonnox, Skels

—of course—Gajur, a trio of Nesit, a lone Ligurian, and others that we only glimpsed or saw in part. There must have been a hundred or so individuals here, meaning it wasn’t a small affair. So far, though, it could have been a trade show in Indianapolis as far as legality was concerned. It wasn’t until the imagery had moved closer to some of the displays that the true horror set in. Chips. ID chips. I recognized them immediately. There were dozens of them. Hundreds, maybe. And they were being bought and sold, wheeling and dealing for the enslaved digital remains of murdered people being traded like pork bellies. Somehow, the sterile, mechanistic character of it—

there was no blood or gore, not even a speck—made it even worse. The whole thing had an offhand, casual air, like people at a farmer’s market picking over ears of corn and watermelons. Except these were people. Every one of those chips presumably contained somebody, somebody who’d been put there against their will. The scene was nothing but pain and suffering, it was just that all of the pain was tidily invisible. “If you disliked that, you’re gonna hate this,” Perry said as the surreptitious image moved toward a particular display. It took a couple of minutes to work out what it was since it seemed to be a more specialized operation. Icky peered at the screen, shaking her head. “What are we looking at?”

“This particular vendor specializes in recovered identities. To put it another way, when an ID goes insane, these people alter it, stripping out the problematic stuff and leaving some semblance of a working mind behind,”

Perry said. Schegith, who’d joined us on the comm, spoke up. “Such identities are useful for particular menial tasks, so they are sold at a discount.”

I could feel Torina vibrating with rage. “So, they won’t even let these people die. And these are the bastards that have Adayluh and the others, Schegith?”

“This one believes that they are, yes. There is a preponderance of circumstantial evidence to that effect, at least. That same evidence suggests that time is of the essence.”

“They’re going to chip her,” I said, my gaze locked on the imagery. “Actually, Van Tudor, it would appear to be worse than that. Adayluh Creel and the others with her will be used to test something new. They will be turned into Sorcerers.”

We all just stared. Icky finally broke the silence. “So, these assholes aren’t just going to enslave her, they’re gonna turn her into one of them?

And, what, force her to do the evil shit they do?

Stuff like this?” she snapped, jabbing a pair of fingers at the imagery. “Presumably yes. There would be little point in creating more Sorcerers if they do not advance the Sorcerers’ interests. This one believes that Adayluh Creel will be altered such that she will have no choice. She will be given imperatives that will force her to do the things they want done. Whether she will be aware of this or not is a matter of conjecture.”

Schegith let that sink in, then went on. “And despite all of that, it will probably end very badly for her. Trinduk technology is not compatible with non-Trinduk physiologies, a problem they have been trying to rectify. This one believes that hundreds, perhaps thousands of others have been sacrificed to help them advance their evil biometrics.”

“How the hell would the disappearance of hundreds or thousands of people pass unnoticed?” Torina asked. Perry had an answer. “Some worlds suffered terribly, way worse than others during the Calamity Crisis. Remember, thousands of people died when societies started to fall apart, food and power distribution failed, and so on. Known space faced a humanitarian crisis for the better part of a year, and some places are only now just recovering from the damage.”

“It wouldn’t be hard to cause people to disappear during that sort of chaos,” I said, still staring at the imagery. I don’t think I’d even blinked for a while now. “People get reported missing, they just get added to the list.”

“These scumbags thought of everything,” Icky growled. “Okay, Perry, unless more insights are coming, I think we’ve seen enough of this bullshit,” I said. “Just more of the dreary, horrible same,” he said, ending the presentation. I looked at my crew and spoke up so Rab and Netty-P on the orbiting Fafnir were included. “Okay, we’re going to rescue Adayluh and anyone else they’ve got. Thoughts?”

“A comment, Boss. This is so clearly an egregious case of Crimes Against Order that we’d be justified in treating the perpetrators as actual enemy combatants who present a clear and present danger. That means field sanctions.”

Icky glanced at him. “You mean kill them all.”

“Even the Guild Charter recognizes that there are some situations so extreme they need to be treated as combat, rather than law enforcement.”

“I wasn’t objecting, Bird. Just wanted to be clear that’s what you’re saying. Kill them all.”

“Well, keep a few for questioning, but yeah. We need the sanction of a Master to invoke it, though.”

I nodded. “I’ll talk to Volffin and Alic. With Gerhardt, it would have been a slam dunk, but I think one of them will concur.”

On a whim, I turned to the comm. “B, are you up there somewhere?”

“Yup. I’m looking down at Iowa right now. Looks like a nice evening down there. I was actually thinking of landing and looking at cars.”

I frowned. I assumed she’d make her way here, unable to resist finding out why Schegith wanted to come and meet me on Earth. But—

“Cars?”

“Yeah. Your grandfather taught me, and I caught the bug. Haven’t been able to indulge it much, being an alien and all. But since Earth seems to be good with aliens coming to visit, what the hell?

I’m thinking a Chevy Camaro ZL1.”

“You’re… a Camaro girl?” I shook my head. “Whatever. We can go car shopping later. Right now, I want to assemble a force and go rescue Adayluh, the colonists from Spindle, and the others they’ve taken.”

Icky looked at me. “The others?”

“Yeah. I’m sure we’ll find it somewhere in the intel Schegith gave us, but I don’t need to. Remember the deep-faked version of my mother?

Adayluh isn’t their only victim. The Sorcerers have my mother, too.”

DESPITE THE URGENCY, though, we had no choice but to spend some time analyzing and cross-referencing the intel Schegith had given us. We had to try to pin down specifics like a location before we could plan to do anything. I braced myself for days of intricate, nitpicking tedium, hoping that Perry and Netty-P could speed the process up as much as possible. I was both surprised and pleased, therefore, when Perry proclaimed,

“Bingo!” just before noon the following day. We all turned to him. I raised an eyebrow. “Bingo?”

“Yes. Bingo. This bit of imagery here—” He flashed it up on our data slates. It was a scene from the evil chip market. We all stared at it, then frowned. “What’s so bingo about this?” Torina asked. “Lower left. There’s a door open, letting us see outside,” Perry replied. “Okay—”

“Netty-P and I did separate analyses, using the specific spectrum of the sunlight we see, and correcting for the presumed effects of the atmosphere based on the apparent color of the sky and distortion introduced by the imager. We both came to the same conclusion. There’s a particular series of spectral lines in that light which narrows down the type of star. Let’s assume that this is somewhere close enough to known space that this many people from these particular races could easily gather. Add the fact that the view outside is arid desert and that that ridge in the distance is showing a sequence of unique iron-bearing rocks, and we’ve got the location narrowed down to three possible candidates—at least based on the data we have available.”

“Yeah, that rates a bingo for sure. What are our choices?”

The image on the data slate switched to a star chart with three systems highlighted. One of them we could probably rule out right away—it would have been a heavily populated planet held by the Eridani Federation. It stood to reason that the Sorcerers wouldn’t set up a key and super illegal piece of their resurgence right under the noses of the Eridani authorities. That left two candidate systems, both marginal to known space. One was uninhabited, while the other hosted a cometary water-mining operation working out of Procyon. I put my focus on the uninhabited one. “I’m thinking that’s the one. We need to get some eyes on it, though, before we commit,” I said. “This one may be able to assist. This one’s people have been examining the matter of the probe that was placed surreptitiously in orbit around Null World and have developed a prototype of similar technology. The purpose of this is to develop countermeasures, but the technology is installed in a probe. That could be dispatched to this system to place it under surveillance.”

I gave a hard smile. “Using the bad guys’ tech against them?

I love it. How long would it take?”

“This one will issue the instructions immediately. A reasonable estimate is six to eight standard hours to get it deployed.”

“Okay. Do it, please. In the meantime, we can turn our attention to the next part of the problem.”

“Which is?” Torina asked. “Well, once we’ve confirmed where, we need to decide how, as in, how are we going to do this?”

Icky shrugged. “Easy. We attack, just like we did to take out Dohlennz.”

I gave her a frown, though. “We paid too steep a price to take out that bastard. I don’t want to do it again, what amounts to a frontal assault. We need a way of getting in undetected and gaining control of the situation before the bad guys even know what’s going on. We need this to be surgical as hell.”

A moment passed, everyone immersed in thought. It was Netty-P who spoke first, surprisingly. “Van, once we know where, I have an idea for a surgical how. It’s going to be extremely risky, however.”

“The best plans usually are. Go ahead, Netty-P, give us what you’ve got.”

NETTY-P’S IDEA was definitely bold. Bold, as in borderline insane. But it had the feel of something that could actually work. “So, just so that we’re absolutely clear on this—you’re proposing that we fly through a planet?” Torina asked. “That’s right. The combi-drive effectively encloses the Fafnir in a distinct bubble of alternate, temporary, self-contained reality. That’s how it

breaks the light-speed limit—within that bubble, the ship is stationary, so no physical laws are being broken. And from the perspective of the real universe, nothing with a physical existence is moving so the light-speed limitation is irrelevant.”

“It’s as though someone figured out how to make start, up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A work on reality itself,” Perry said. “Bird, are you malfunctioning?

What the hell are you talking about?”

Icky snapped. “The famous cheat code for video games?

No?

Van, you got it, right?”

I smiled and nodded. “I did actually. And I can attest that it was actually both clever and funny—”

“Go me!” Perry said. “—for once.”

“Hey—!”

“Anyway, Netty-P, I’m getting the sense there’s more to it than just happily flying through a solid planet. There’s got to be a catch, right?” I asked. “Of course. Remember the universal law, there are no free lunches?

This one isn’t free, either. The combi-drive was never designed to accommodate the gravitational space-time effects of large masses in extremely close proximity. It could be used to fly close to a stellar mass, for instance, but certainly not through it.”

“What would happen if we tried?” Torina asked. “Probably something terrible—at the very least, the failure of the drive and the loss of the ship. At worst, it might cause irreparable damage to space-time itself, although how that would manifest is a matter of conjecture,” Netty-P replied. “So how is it safe to use it to pass through a planet?”

“I’ve been taking great pains to avoid even suggesting it’s safe. It’s not safe at all. However, a planetary mass is much less than that of a star. The calculations don’t immediately rocket up an asymptotic curve into mathematical oblivion like it does with a stellar mass. A planet the size of Earth should leave a reasonably good margin for safety—and error.”

“How good is reasonably good?” Rab asked. “Better than unreasonably bad?

Seriously, there’s no real standard to compare it to. The best I can say is that the balance of probabilities is in favor of success—again, based on the math and the simulations I’ve run.”

I crossed my arms. “So let me get this straight. Assuming they’re on a planet, and that that planet has only a small, localized population, we can approach it from its far side using the combi-drive, so they’re entirely blind to us. We then pass through the planet using the combi-drive, so we reemerge in normal space right on top of them.”

“That’s right,” Netty-P replied. “It does have kind of an elegant simplicity about it,” Rab agreed. Torina nodded. “And it would take them completely by surprise. Hopefully, enough surprise that it gives us a chance to locate and free the hostages.”

“Yeah, but not with just the seven of us,” Icky put in. “I mean, we’re good, but—”

“Indeed, we would seem to require some form of reinforcement to give a better chance of success,” Funboy added. “I agree. We’ll need to load up the Fafnir with people who know what they’re doing. Fortunately, we know lots of people who know what they’re doing, starting with Groshenko.” I nodded at Netty-P. “Go ahead and do all the calculations and preparation and stuff you need to. In the meantime, I’ll make some calls. And then, all we have to do is wait to hear back from Schegith.”

I didn’t add, and hope that any of the hostages are still alive. If they weren’t, then this mission was going to change from one of rescue to one of retribution. Either way, these would-be resurgent Sorcerers were going to meet a very timely end. SCHEGITH’S SURVEILLANCE probe confirmed the system—the Sorcerers’ lair was, indeed, where we’d presumed it would be. But it confirmed something else. While there was a small settlement on the planet’s surface, based on comm and traffic patterns, it seemed to be more like another Exchange Point. This one wasn’t cultural, though. It was a marketplace, to buy and sell stolen identities. And it was doing pretty brisk business, based on the ships the probe observed coming and going. More importantly, though, the probe located a large, cumbersome barge in orbit around the planet. It seemed to be the focus of the Sorcerers’

activity, suggesting that was actually their base. We speculated that they did their evil Sorcerer shit aboard it, then sent their vile products down to the surface to be traded to the scumbags coming and going like shoppers at a mall. “You know, I can’t help but wonder just how the Sorcerers have managed to put together such an elaborate operation so fast. They were essentially destroyed just a year ago,” Rab said. I gave him a grim nod. “Yeah, they’re getting funding and assistance from somewhere—a lot of it. Who’s giving them that is something we can hopefully find out when we raid this place.”

Which was going to be both easier and harder than we’d thought. Easier because, if our focus was going to be on the barge, we didn’t have to fiddle around with figuring out how to transition from the combi-drive to atmospheric insertion. That had been the part Netty-P was stuck on. Cutting the combi-drive in the tiny instant we were inside the atmosphere required such precise timing that she doubted we could do it safely—there was so much margin of error that we could have cut the drive while still beneath the planet’s surface. “That wouldn’t be good,” she said, and we all nodded enthusiastic agreement. That left us transitioning back into normal space outside the atmosphere, which meant we’d then have to do an atmospheric entry, which would take precious time and give our enemies time to react. Since we were dealing with an orbiting barge, however, we could pop back into existence in space as close to it as we could manage, then immediately close the rest of the distance. How this was going to be harder came down to the fact that the barge represented a much larger area we’d have to search than the settlement did. It had a lot of interior space, no doubt chunked into myriad corridors and compartments. Icky and Funboy had been right—the seven of us weren’t going to cut it. Fortunately, Groshenko came through. He agreed to rush an entire company of his mercenaries to join us, sixty-four hardened soldiers in all. We’d have to pack the Fafnir to the gunwales to fit them all in, but it meant that, when we arrived, it would be the seven of us and sixty-odd very skilled, battle-tested soldiers sweeping into the barge. I wasn’t fooling myself. Successfully rescuing the captives was still far from a certainty. The Sorcerers could pull triggers a lot faster than even our impressive raiding force could sweep the entire barge. But it was the best we were going to manage in the time we had available. And, as I’d heard many times back in my Army days, a half-assed plan executed now is always better than an excellent one executed too late. “One last part to this,” I said as we did our final briefing. We had the commander of Groshenko’s mercenary company, a tough female Wu’tzur named Takrun, on the comm. She and Icky didn’t know one another—

which wasn’t surprising, given there were billions of Wu’tzur—but they made the rest of us smirk at each other covertly because they could have been twins separated at birth. “Looking forward to kicking some bad guys’ asses. We’ve been doing nothing but training and post duties for weeks now,” Takrun said, grinning and pounding her fists together. “You said it, sister. My hammer arms are startin’ to get flabby. I need to do some swinging!” Icky replied. They probably would have high-fived each other—times four, once for each arm—if they’d been physically together. Which one is Icky again?

Damn, I can’t tell them apart, Perry said—in my ear bug because even his smart-assery had its guardrails. I held up my hands. “Patience, folks, please. The last part of this is the cavalry—the forces that are going to twist in the normal way. Those are the Poltava, which will have transferred Takrun’s company to the Fafnir beforehand, the Righteous Fury, and the Iowa. Once we’re engaged, they’ll twist in and make their best possible speed to join us.”

“That’s still going to be a few hours, Van. Things will be settled one way or the other long before then,” Rab said. Icky nodded. “Yeah. The Iowa has a combi-drive. Why not bring her in with us?”

“Two reasons. One, the Iowa’s a big ship, and her combi-drive uses a lot of antimatter fuel. Between that and the twist to get there, her fuel reserves are going to be too low for my liking. In short,I don’t want to use her combi-drive if I don’t have to. The other reason, though, is she’s our secret reserve. Unlike the Fury and the Poltava, she can get to us in minutes. If we need her, we’ll call her in and bite the fuel bullet then. But only if we need her.”

I looked to Takrun. “Groshenko tells me your people are skilled in boarding actions.”

“Oh yeah. I’ve got a dedicated breaching team. They’re more comfortable in no-g busting into ships than fighting on the ground. The rest of the company is specialized in close-quarters fighting,” she replied. I nodded. “Okay, then. The sequence goes like this. We combi-drive into their faces, breach, board, and clear their barge as fast as we can and hopefully rescue the hostages. The Fury, Poltava, and Iowa will start inbound to join us in the meantime. And that’s it, folks. That’s the plan. Nice and simple. Questions, suggestions, comments, or complaints?”

We spent a few minutes ironing out some coordinating details, then signed off and headed for the rendezvous. It was an arbitrary point on the edge of the Procyon system, where we’d transfer Takrun’s mercenaries aboard the Fafnir and then launch ourselves at the Sorcerer’s evil little enterprise. It meant our h-hour—the time for the start of the operation—was only about two hours away. “Okay, everyone. Get yourselves battle-rattled up. We’re bringing everyone except Netty-P, who’ll fly the Fafnir.”

The crew and I started suiting up, checking weapons and generally readying ourselves to start killing things. In the midst of it, Torina put a hand on my shoulder, and I pulled her to me. “Got a favor to ask,” she said. “Name it.”

“Let’s not get killed.”

I kissed her, hard, and Funboy stood politely, his face turned to give us privacy. Or so I thought. “Thanks for looking away,” I said. He gave a small shrug. “One never knows how far saliva can travel under such, ah, tortured conditions.”

22

“OH DEAR.”

I glanced at Funboy and caught a glimpse of him standing among some burly mercenaries in vac-armor. The Fafnir was, indeed, packed to the overheads with soldiers and their gear, leaving very little in the way of personal space. We’d even had to open up our cabins, leaving the cockpit and the engineering bay as the only mercenary-free zones. “You okay?” I asked, leaning toward him. “I am feeling—uncomfortably—“ He vanished behind an armored figure, then reappeared. “Hemmed in. I hope that none of these—these fine soldiers are harboring an infectious disease because these—“

He briefly vanished again. “—conditions are ideal for its transmission—”

“Hey, you accusing us of being dirty and diseased?” one of the mercs, a tough-looking Gajur, snapped and glared at Funboy. Funboy blinked mildly back. “Certainly not. Rather, I am desperately hoping that it’s not the case.”

“The only disease we’ve got is that one Brix’in picked up the last time we were on Dregs,” another of the mercs said, grinning at one of his comrades, another Gajur. “You ever figure out where you picked it up?”

The Gajur apparently named Brix’in shot back a hard leer and a rude gesture. “Yeah, it was the one where I met your girlfriend.”

Rough laughter. Funboy sighed. “Oh dear. Well, at least there is no possibility of acquiring a sexually transmitted pathogen from these”—he

glanced around—“valued allies.”

Brix’in turned his leer on Funboy and waggled his eyebrows. “You sure about that, you cute hairy little thing you?”

Funboy, to his credit, didn’t even blink. “Quite sure. I do not engage in charity work.”

More laughter. Even Brix’in grinned, smacking Funboy on his b-suit’s shoulder. “Oh dear.”

A voice cut in over the intercom. It was Netty-P. Everyone went silent. “Be advised that I will depressurize the ship in one minute following my mark. The combi-drive will engage one minute after that. The flight time will be six minutes and ten seconds. As soon as the combi-drive deactivates, I will send the external situation to all of your various data slates and the Fafnir’s displays. And—mark.”

The silence held when she finished. It was as though someone had thrown a switch, the raucous, rowdy, and raunchy mercs—in other words, ordinary soldiers—flicking into intense and quiet professionalism. Buddies inspected each other’s gear one last time, helmets were snapped in place, and weapons checked to ensure that they were loaded but not cocked or otherwise readied and safe. The breaching team, ten particularly hard-looking mercs that included seven Wu’tzur and three humans, tightened the straps holding their bulky breaching charges to their chests and readied their maneuvering units. Takrun, the mercenary commander, shouted, “One platoon, ready?”

The platoon commander raised a hand. “Two platoon, ready?”

Another raised hand. She worked through each of her subunits in turn, ending with the breaching team. Then she turned to me as the Fafnir depressurized. “All ready, Peacemaker. You give us the go and we’ll go.”

I gave her a thumbs up. “Rab, you ready?”

“All set. I’ve finished the Frankie’s launch checklist. As soon as the combi-drive cuts out, I’m outta here.”

“Sounds good,” I replied. We’d decided that trying to pile sixty-odd people out of the Fafnir’s two rear airlocks was going to be too slow, a major choke point for us. By launching the Frankie but leaving her bay open, we could disembark everyone much more quickly. The breaching

team would be the first to go, to gain us that all-important lodgment in the Sorcerers’ barge. “Combi-drive coming online in thirty seconds,” Netty-P said. We braced ourselves. I watched the time, wincing when the familiar wrench of disorientation hit. The mercenaries, who were more than used to twisting but not to this, spat curses and groaned. “Quiet!” Takrun snapped. “Whatsamatter, you guys never been to an alternate dimension before?”

“Just Matlin’s footlocker, you know, the realm of dirty socks?” someone said, got laughs and curses in reply, then silence fell again. We waited. I watched the display in the packed crew lounge. Netty-P

had it depicting the elapsed time and a schematic of the Fafnir’s position relative to the planet and the barge, currently orbiting on its far side. We’d be ‘hitting’ the planet in about a minute and a half. Torina appeared beside me. “I guess we’ll soon know if the combi-drive can take us through solid rock, huh?”

I smiled at her through my visor. “In theory, we should be fine.”

“In theory, I’m glad to hear that,” she said, smiling back. I held her gaze for a moment, then we clasped hands. Briefly. Just in case. “Thirty seconds to, um, impact. The passage through the planet will only last an instant, all of which is to say, the combi-drive will be cutting out in just under thirty seconds,” Netty-P announced. The tension ratcheted up as the icon representing the Fafnir slid inexorably closer to the planet. Five seconds out, I instinctively braced myself—because, as everyone knows, tensing your muscles is how you survive a collision with a solid object at many times the speed of light. At least I wasn’t alone. I could feel the collective intake of breath around me—

The icon flashed through the planet more quickly than I could even register it. I felt—nothing at all. Then a chime sounded, announcing the combi-drive cutting out. A second or two passed, then external scanner data sluiced into data slates and onto displays. The Sorcerers’ barge loomed just a few klicks away, and Netty-P was already powering us toward it. “Launching now!” Rab said, a shudder running through the Fafnir as the Frankie kicked free and pulled away. He immediately targeted the barge’s external weapons mounts and opened fire. Netty-P did the same with the Fafnir’s weapons, seeking to suppress any defensive fire from the Sorcerers. Takrun watched her data slate with impassive regard, waiting as we approached the barge. I started to grit my teeth as I watched her, waiting, my gut knotting up. We had to move, we had to move fast—

“Breaching team, go,” she said, her voice quiet and certain, a strange mix of calm and urgency. She didn’t yell or curse. She simply spoke. “On the way,” came the equally calm reply. At the same time, the Fafnir’s other airlocks opened and the mercs started to pile out, activating maneuvering units and speeding toward the looming bulk of the barge. Torina, Funboy, and I shuffled to the airlock, Icky right behind us. A mercenary NCO stood there, tapping each person as they passed. “Go left. Go right. Go left—”

I moved into the open hatch. Tap. “Go right.”

I did, stepping into the void, aiming my MU to the left and puffing it, giving me some rightward movement. Then I aimed it behind me and fired, driving myself toward the Sorcerers’ barge. DESPITE THEIR BEST EFFORTS, Rab and Netty-P weren’t able to entirely suppress the defensive fire from the barge. I saw two mercenaries blow to literal pieces by reaching fingers of point-defense tracers before Rab could target the mount with a suppressor cannon and silence it. On the way to the barge, I passed at least three more mercs, or what remained of them, other victims of the desultory PD fire. As one of them rotated into view, I saw through their visor it was Brix’in, the one who’d been the butt of a joke about STDs on Dregs. And now he was dead. I clenched my teeth and drove on, taking a moment to ensure Torina was still off to my left and pacing me—and still alive. Perry swept by, heading after the breaching team. “I’m gonna dazzle my way into the first breach they make,” he said. I nodded and adjusted my course slightly. “Right behind you, Bird.”

I glanced down, a mistake. There was landscape beneath my feet, arid and dun-colored and suddenly giving me a sensation of extreme depth, or height, or however you wanted to look at it. Vertigo yanked at my gut and I

hastily looked back up, focusing on one of the breaching detachments now arriving on the barge’s hull directly ahead of me. The time was nearly perfect, though more by happenstance than planning. The team placed their breaching charges and blew them, blasting an opening into the barge nearly three meters across. Atmosphere blasted out in a shimmering slug of frozen air, which quickly died. Internal bulkheads must have sealed. That was good—but it meant we had to take an intact airlock to enter the pressurized part of the ship. If we weren’t worried about rescuing hostages, we could just blast our way through and not worry about it. But we had to assume the hostages didn’t have suits or helmets, so we were forced to take the time. Creeping dread wrapped fingers around my spine as I considered the issue of time. We had to find the hostages before the Sorcerers killed them, and that meant speed, speed, and more speed. And extreme violence. Perry swept into the gap and lit up like a Fourth of July fireworks display. The breaching team charged in after him. At least two more breaches had been made, one per platoon, and now mercs were piling into them as well. I reached the opening and pushed my way in, drawing The Drop. Torina entered right after me, Icky and Funboy right after her. We were inside the barge. Now came the hard part. I GENERALLY LISTENED to the mercs as they snapped out terse, succinct updates to their progress, but kept my main focus on the way ahead. In addition to the breaching team, we’d been joined by Takrun and her company headquarters element, a lean group of five—her so-called “battle captain,” who handled the routine traffic and helped maintain situational awareness, a comms specialist, two soldiers providing local security, and Takrun herself. Like me, she mainly listened to the company as it advanced through the barge, letting her battle captain deal with anything that didn’t require her immediate input. One of the platoons, the one to our far left, had become bogged down in a firefight with some Sorcerers. We and the other two platoons were able to

maintain forward momentum, though, pushing deeper into the barge. We still had artificial gravity, and one of the platoons had managed to seize an airlock and was now flanking back to find a way into the still-pressurized section of the barge for the rest of us. I glanced at Torina. All we could do was follow along, let the pros do their jobs, stay out of the way, and generally remain alert for threats. Perry had gone to scout out another airlock, some way we could get out of this damned barge when it was time to withdraw. I switched to one of our channels. “Rab, Netty-P, what’s the situation out there?”

“I’ve taken a few hits from mass-driver slugs. Nothing critical, but since everyone who’s going to get aboard is, I’ve backed off,” Rab said. “I’ve engaged two class 10 light corvettes that were in orbit and are trying to move to intervene. One of them is in rough shape. The other’s changed its orbit, is keeping its distance,” Netty-P said. “Not much the bad guys’ ships can do now that we’re aboard,” Torina said. I nodded, but that wasn’t my main concern. “How about our cavalry?

Have they arrived yet, Netty-P?”

“They have. The Poltava’ s in a firefight with an up-gunned class 13 that was out near the twist point. The Righteous Fury and the Iowa are inbound. The Conoku are itching to fire up their combi-drive and join the fun.”

“I’ll bet they are,” I muttered. The Conoku had been clamoring to join the boarding action since I’d briefed them. I knew why—they wanted payback for Cantullin, whose loss was still a gaping wound for them. I’d even considered it. The Conoku were, it turned out, solid performers in a close-quarters battle. They were tough, motivated, and skilled. But I’d only considered it briefly. The last thing they needed was more losses on top of Cantullin. I’d ended up wanting to keep them aboard the Iowa, our reserve against any sudden surprises from enemy ships. Yes, in an extreme case, I’d consider bringing them in and aboard the barge, but that was a last resort. And, based on the fact the battle was progressing pretty well, we weren’t even close to last resort territory yet—

A sudden flurry of gunfire erupted from ahead of us. One of the headquarters security went down, the other staggering under impacts on her armor. Funboy immediately moved to assist the fallen merc. Torina and I moved forward to find fire positions. Icky—

Charged. And Takrun charged right along with her. Both bellowing like enraged beasts, they rushed the Sorcerers ahead of us, Icky with her hammer raised, Takrun wielding a pair of short, broad blades like cleavers. The next few seconds held the rest of us spellbound. Watching Icky in battle was epic all on its own. Watching two of her slam into a hapless foe was—

It was the distillation of violence, that’s what it was. The hammer swung. The blades swept. Fierce cries and bellows. Sorcerers simply came apart. Takrun dropped her blades, picked up one Sorcerer, and slammed him into a bulkhead, then the deck, then the bulkhead again. She dropped him and neatly grabbed her blades, which hung from lanyards attached to her tactical harness. As soon as the battered Sorcerer hit the deck, Icky slammed down a huge, booted foot, crushing his head to broken components and gore. Takrun nodded at Icky. “Thanks for the assist, sis. I had him under control, though.”

“I know. I just felt like stomping something.”

That was it. They both fell back into a ready crouch, Takrun gesturing the rest of us forward. I looked at Torina. She shrugged back at me. “Starting to think we could have stayed on the Fafnir, put our feet up, and participated from out there.”

I grinned, but it faded when I saw Funboy look up from the fallen merc and shake his head. WE CONTINUED TO PUSH FORWARD. We’d now cleared more than half the barge. By any objective measure, our boarding-and-clearing op was going great—better than we could probably have expected. But the sinking, twisting feeling in my gut told me it didn’t matter. Sure, we’d gotten aboard the barge in a little over five minutes and had cleared much of it in fifteen more. That was still twenty minutes. A lot of prisoners could be executed in twenty minutes. But I choked back the simmering despair and just pushed on. We’d killed nearly two dozen Sorcerers, at the cost of several mercs dead and a few more wounded. Resistance had now tapered off, leaving us advancing, observing, advancing again, observing again, moving from corridor to corridor, compartment to compartment in a methodical sweep. The mercs maintained their steady but economical comm updates, showing that all three of the platoons were now moving along with us. “Boss, I found an airlock. No Sorcerers in sight. It’s about twenty meters forward of where you are now, at roughly your two o’clock high,”

Perry said. As he spoke, a colored spot appeared on the rough schematic of the barge that had been filling itself out on my HUD. “Sounds good, Bird. Make sure Takrun and her people know the location. You stay there and keep eyes on it, sound out if any bad guys show up.”

“Roger-dodger.”

At least we were back in a pressurized part of the ship. I was starting to worry that most of it had been vented, meaning that the hostages could have been killed that way. As we stopped at another gloomy junction of converging alloy corridors, I checked in with Netty-P and Rab. “Five ships have beat a hasty retreat so far, and there’s another two on their way up from the surface. Looks like customers decided to haul their asses out of here before they get caught up in the fight,” Rab said. “I’ve collected the most detailed drive and emissions signatures possible on all of them, in case you’d ever like to try running them down,” Netty-P

said. “Or we just happen to stumble across them, yeah. I would like to have a chat with some of those scumbags at some point. What about our relief force?”

“Still inbound. The Poltava destroyed that class 13 she was fighting but took a few serious hits in the process so she’s lagging behind the Iowa and the Fury. Two more ships, probably Sorcerers, did move to intercept, but I think the idea of taking on two battlecruisers gave them second thoughts. They bugged out instead.”

I opened my mouth to reply but suddenly pitched forward against the bulkhead in front of me. It wasn’t just me. It was everyone. I was momentarily confused. So was Torina. Icky, though, a kid who’d literally grown up in space, recognized it right away. She glanced back. “Uh-oh.”

I stared back at her. “Uh-oh?”

She nodded. “Netty-P, is this thing—”

“Firing its drive?

It is. It’s firing retro-thrust, lowering its orbit.”

I stared a moment longer, then got it. “Shit. Are you saying this thing is slowing down?”

Icky nodded. “Yup. Feel that slight push to the right?

That’s deceleration.”

Takrun turned back. “I hate to say it, but I doubt that they’re just heading for a lower orbit. They’re probably deorbiting this thing.”

“Deorbiting—wait. Are you saying we’re falling toward the surface?”

“That’s kind of what de-orbiting means, yeah,” Icky said, her face grim. Torina raised a hand. “Uh, is this thing designed for that?

Is it going to survive and land, or are we talking—?”

“A spectacular meteor show for the people on the surface?

I guess we’re gonna find out.”

Silence. Funboy finally broke it. “Oh dear.”

23

ON HER OWN VOLITION, Netty-P opened fire on the barge’s drive bells, damaging them enough that the automated safeties cut in and killed the drive. That reduced deceleration to zero, but it didn’t change the fact that the barge was no longer traveling fast enough to maintain a stable orbit. Rather, it was starting a long fall into the planet’s gravity well, one that would eventually intersect the surface. This was also known as “crashing.”

“Van, based on external analysis and scanner data, that barge is not going to survive atmospheric insertion. Given the current rate of orbital decay, my simulations consistently say it will start breaking up at about eighty kilometers altitude and will be nothing but debris by fifty,” Netty-P

said. “How long until that happens?”

“You’ll hit the uppermost levels of the atmosphere in about seventeen minutes. It will start breaking apart about six minutes later.”

My mind raced. Twenty-three minutes. I swore softly then opened a comm. “Netty-P, what’s the last possible moment you could pull us out of here if you dock with this thing?”

“Dock with it while it’s starting to plunge into the atmosphere, huh?

Bold move. I’d want to get the Fafnir free of the barge no less than one minute before it starts to break up, so let’s say fifteen minutes. After that, aerodynamic forces are going to make staying docked—problematic.”

“Van, we need to give serious thought to just getting the hell out of here,” Icky said. “I know you want to find the hostages—” She hesitated. I knew she was about to say, and your mother, but she didn’t. I had to make a decision, so I did. “Netty-P, the mercs are going to open an airlock up near the front of this thing for you to dock. They’ll signal you. In ten minutes, I want everyone there, regardless of who or what we’ve found aboard this thing.”

Takrun grinned. “Ballsy. I like it.” She turned to her own comm channel and started snapping out orders. I gestured the rest of my crew forward. “Come on. We’ve still got a bunch of space to search and not much time to do it.”

We rushed forward, giving compartments only a cursory check before moving on. I told everyone to ignore gathering intel or do anything other than find hostages. The mercs moved in after us, sweeping the rest of the barge behind us. As I passed a cross-corridor, a Sorcerer abruptly lunged at me, wielding a short, broad-headed spear that crackled with electrical discharge. I dodged and the thing seared a furrow through my vambrace, slamming me against the bulkhead behind me and knocking The Drop from my grip. I heard shouts, Icky bellowing something, but I didn’t even take time to think. I swept out the Moonsword and slashed at the spear. Part of me was ready for the blade to snap at the unrepaired chip. But it was that or die, and I could always get a new sword. But the blade neatly sliced through the spear, the Sorcerer glaring at me with implacable, mechanical spite. It swung what remained of the spear like a club, clunking my helmet. “I do not have time for you!” I shouted, raising and dropping the Moonsword in a straight overhand strike. It sliced the Sorcerer in two from the top of its metal skull almost to the base of its composite chest. It topped backward, sparking and spurting viscous gore. By then, Torina, Icky, and Funboy had joined me, all of them with weapons raised. I just snatched up The Drop. “Come on!”

We charged forward. Six minutes left. We must nearly be as far forward in this damned thing as we could get, with only machinery space ahead of us. I rounded a corner and looked down a straight corridor about six or seven meters long. A Sorcerer stood in a doorway at the end of it, holding a slug-carbine. Again, I didn’t even think. I just charged. Part of me braced for the impact of slugs, desperately hoping that my b-suit stopped them. Four meters. Three. Two. The Sorcerer still hadn’t fired. Why, I don’t know. He had a clear shot but didn’t take it. Whatever. I raised the Moonsword to cut him down—

He dropped his weapon, fell to his knees, and put his hands up. “Please, I won’t resist.”

I pulled my blow in the last instant. I didn’t have time to marvel at the sight of a Sorcerer surrendering, though. We only had just over four minutes left before we had to evacuate. “Icky, watch him,” I snapped and pushed into the compartment beyond. Another Sorcerer stood there—again, with its hands raised in surrender. Behind it huddled a group of figures. I saw Arhun, probably settlers from Spindle. I saw Adayluh Creel. She was sprawled unconscious, bandages swathing her. I saw my mother. Alive. There was no preamble. “Van, we felt this ship decelerate. It’s falling from orbit, isn’t it?” my mother asked me. “It—yeah. We have to go.”

“Bring the Sorcerers.”

I blinked. “Why?”

“Because they saved our lives. They fought off other Sorcerers that came for us.”

I glanced at the one standing nearby, arms still raised as Funboy checked her for weapons. One look at her face told me everything. She was a Sorcerer, yes. But an unwilling one. I saw pain, guilt, remorse, fury, all of it playing across her features—at least, the ones not yet replaced with implants. “I got Adayluh!” Icky said, scooping up the prone form of the biologist. Torina pushed past me and spoke to the handful of Arhun, who were trembling fearfully at the sight of b-suited, helmeted, heavily armed figures. They probably didn’t understand what was going on. “If you want to live, follow us!” Torina said, urging them toward the exit. There was no time to think. We only had about two minutes left, then we were into the danger minutes. “Takrun, where’s the airlock—?” I started, but she cut me off. “I left you a guide and escort. They’ll bring you here. I’m pulling in the rest of the company now.”

I nodded and turned to the others. “That’s our cue, folks. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

TAKRUN’S GUIDES led us swiftly toward the airlock where Netty-P had docked the Fafnir. It looked like we were going to make it—

Right up until it didn’t. As we rounded a corner, slugs slammed into one of the mercs, dropping them. Torina yelped as rounds hit her. Something smacked hard into my shin just above my ankle. We dove for cover, cursing. My attention flicked to the time. Less than one minute. I leaned around the corner with The Drop, but immediately took fire, including a round that clacked off my helmet. “Bastards!” I howled, meaning every bit of it. I wasn’t just mad—I was incandescent. Spitting mad. Unreasonable. And then I wasn’t. Because I knew anger wasn’t a cure. It was a flaw that made good soldiers do stupid shit. We were pinned down. And, unless we could break free in the next couple of minutes, then we were going to be riding this thing down to the surface. “Torina, Icky, we’re going to have to go for it and—“

Two things happened simultaneously, cutting me off. One, Perry appeared up the corridor, flinging himself at the Sorcerers blocking our path in a storm of razor wings and talons. An instant later, two figures charged up the corridor, shrieking inhuman cries of rage. It was the two Sorcerers who’d protected the prisoners from their fellows. They were unarmed but were charging, anyway. Icky howled and lunged after them. I glanced at Torina, nodded, and we both followed. “Funboy, bring the hostages forward right behind us!” I shouted, then crashed into a maelstrom of combat. It lasted only seconds, a bewildering flurry of gunfire, swings, punches, strikes, Perry’s flailing wings, Icky’s hammer rising and falling like a piledriver. And then, as quickly as it started, it stopped, the air full of hideous debris, walls covered with—fluids, let’s call it that, and small body parts tossed around in repulsive disarray. It wasn’t a ship. It was an abattoir. I glanced around. The Sorcerers were dead. All of them, including the two who’d turned to the good side. The one I’d made eye contact with, the woman, no longer looked agonized or enraged. She just looked like she was asleep. Death found her, but so did peace. As I stepped over her and hurried on, I silently promised her I’d find out who she was and make sure she was remembered as a hero. WE REACHED the airlock as a heavy, groaning shudder rumbled through the barge. The whole thing started to shake. I winced at a loud bang, as something came free and slammed into the hull somewhere above us. I practically shoved my mother and the Arhun through the airlock, jamming them into what looked like a New York subway car at rush hour, nothing but packed bodies. “Icky, get Adayluh in there!

Funboy, Perry, Torina, go!”

I glanced back once as I stepped into the airlock myself. There was no one behind me. But if we had left someone behind, there was nothing we could do about it now—

An explosive bang and the airlock ripped partly free of the barge’s hull. A hurricane of wind roared through the gap. It was still tenuous and wispy, but sheer velocity turned it into a fierce gale. It would be thickening and turning to incandescent plasma—soon, in seconds, maybe. I clung to the outer door of the Fafnir’s airlock, but the barge’s was tearing free, and I’d be yanked out right with it—

A hand closed on my arm. It was my mother. Her face was twisted by the howling gale, her eyes squinted closed, but, somehow, she was hanging onto me. I looked into her eyes. She pulled, hard. I managed to get a foot on the Fafnir’s hatch-coaming and lever myself in. More hands grabbed me. Torina. Funboy. Even Perry wrapped his wings around my leg. “Netty-P—close it up—get us the hell—!”

The outer door slid closed, brushing against my butt as it did. The hurricane abruptly stopped. I felt the Fafnir’s drive light and the rushing, buffeting shudders faded. I found myself looking into my mother’s face from just centimeters away. I gave her a tired smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

She smiled back through a face swollen by exposure to partial vacuum and a fierce gale. “Don’t say I don’t ever do anything for you,” she said, then put her arms around me. “Thank you, Van,” she said. “Hey, I couldn’t not try to rescue you, Mom.”

She pulled back a little. “It’s not the rescue I’m thanking you for. Or, it is, but it’s not just that. It’s—“ She took a shuddering breath. “It’s for choosing to do it in the first place. I didn’t deserve it, but you did it, anyway.”

I touched each of my crew and hugged Torina. Then I lifted my leg, which still had Perry clinging to it. “Bird, I truly, deeply appreciate you helping, but you can let go of me now.”

“Sorry, Van, I actually can’t. My wing actuators are offline from a hit I took in that melee.”

“Wait—I’ve got you stuck on my leg?”

“No, I’ve got you stuck on my wings.”

With Funboy’s help, I extricated my leg from his grip and pushed my way through the mercs crowded into the Fafnir. I passed Takrun along the way. “That was fun, Peacemaker. Keep us in mind for your next party,” she said, giving a weary—and sad—smile. Sad, because she had a butcher’s bill to count. I reached the cockpit and found Netty-P. “I lifted us back into a high orbit. As for your former ride—” She gestured with a manipulator out the

canopy. An incandescent streak plunged into the planet’s atmosphere below, shedding bits of glowing debris. I opened my mouth to say—something, but the barge abruptly came apart, shattering into dozens of glowing filaments, a spectacular but short-lived meteor shower. I looked away from the awful spectacle and its horrifying implications for what would have happened if we’d been delayed even another minute. I patted Netty-P’s chassis. “That was damned good flying, my dear. Thank you.”

“It’s what I do, Van.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the best at it.”

“You know what?

I’m going to channel Perry here. I am the best. Now then, have we decided on my mods?”

“Mods?”

Her head turned to regard me with a laugh. “Flames. Racing stripes. Stuff like that. Don’t want the bird getting all the flair.”

I slumped into the pilot’s seat, put my arm around her, and laughed. “Let me tell you about something called rhinestones—“

THE RIGHTEOUS FURY and the Iowa arrived a short while later, allowing us to transfer the mercs off the Fafnir and restore some semblance of sanity to our ship. By then, pretty much everyone who wanted to flee the marketplace on the surface had. Still, some people remained down there, along with who knew how many stolen IDs on chips. Takrun assembled an ad hoc platoon from her most capable and uninjured personnel, to shuttle down to the settlement and take control of it. I decided to let her and, this time, just wait up here for her to secure it before descending. In the meantime, Funboy fussed over Adayluh, who seemed to be in some sort of induced coma. She appeared mostly unharmed, aside from some incisions that might have been biopsies, tissue samples collected for—reasons. She also had a single implant, a small device that had been placed at the base of her sternum, just under the skin. It wasn’t connected to anything else, including any part of her, so Funboy removed it. He placed it in an evidence bag and held it up. “I think it’s a monitoring device of some sort. If I had to guess, I would say that it was intended to

track and analyze her bodily functions. That is probably a precursor to further—well, work, which would have been tailored to her particular physiology.”

“Which means we got to her just in time,” Torina said, leveling a fierce glare on the evil little device. “But she’s still in a coma,” I said. Funboy nodded. “She is. But it is beyond my means to deal with here, and quite probably beyond my expertise as well. I am mainly familiar with first aid and battle trauma.” He glanced at her, lying in the Fafnir’s auto-doctor. “However, she seems to be stable, so our best option would be to transport her to a facility where she can be properly cared for.”

“Anvil Dark?”

“I would suggest Pont Alus Kyr. Given the nature of her—injuries, or afflictions, or whatever you prefer to call them, their facilities and knowledge base are probably more appropriate.”

I nodded but was cut off by a message from Takrun on the surface. “Van, we’ve secured everything down here there is to secure. That includes about a hundred people.”

“Really?

I thought that place had emptied out.”

“Some of them are customers, yeah. But a few are Sorcerers, who we’ve taken into custody—well, the ones we didn’t have to kill, anyway. Then there are others that I think are just, uh, staff, I guess?

Not all of them seem willing and are thrilled we’re here. And then there are some that shuffle around, not talking, like they’re following programs or something.”

I glanced at Torina. “They probably are.”

I scratched my head, considering the problem. The Poltava had taken some serious damage and had to withdraw, leaving us the Fafnir, the Iowa, and the Righteous Fury. The Fury’ s standing orders allowed her to only take on passengers in an emergency, such as a ship being abandoned in space. The Guild was otherwise pretty strict about bringing people aboard her, and this wasn’t an emergency at this point. That left the Fafnir and the Iowa. With the mercs and the people we’d already rescued, we probably weren’t going to have the means of transporting all of these other people out of the system. I was turning my thoughts to trying to convince the Fury’s Captain to bend the rules, but an unexpected solution literally dropped from the sky. It

was Valint, in the Stormshadow, and she had three fast freighter-class transports in company. “Sorry, I’m late, Van. But I thought you’d need some lift capacity. I’ve brought along a surgical crash team from Anvil Dark as well—they’re set up here, aboard the Stormshadow.”

I smiled in relief. “You’ve made my life a whole lot easier—”

“I dare you to say grandma.”

“— Valint, my dear.”

She smiled briefly. “Alright, we’re inbound, ETA your location in, oh, say four hours.”

“Those ships are hires, right?

Must have cost you a small fortune to get them to agree to come out here—outside known space and into a potential battlespace. Or did you forget to tell them about that part?”

“No, I told them. No point not telling them because they’d have just run at the first glimmer of laser light. I also paid them a great deal of money.”

“Oh. Well, I appreciate that. I’ll see if I can get the Guild to reimburse you—”

She waved a dismissive hand. “In case it isn’t clear by now, you came from money, Van. It just happened to be in space.”

Torina grinned. “Comes from money and then married into it, too. Talk about falling into it. Lucky you.”

“Wait, I’m rich?

In that case, Torina, about that whole wedding thing—

OUCH!”

“You deserved that, Van,” Valint said. I gave her a rueful smile and rubbed my shoulder where Torina had punched it. “Yeah, I guess I did. Anyway, thanks—“ I gave Valint a sidelong smirk and added in a whisper, “—Grandma.”

Valint beamed with a vicious grin. “Torina, hit him for me again.”

WITH THE SITUATION in space in hand, I switched my attention to the surface of the planet and the ground component of the Sorcerers’ evil operation. I descended with Perry and Funboy in the Frankie, leaving Torina and the others to stay on top of matters on the Fafnir and otherwise above the atmosphere. We stepped out into the fierce glare of the system’s star, whose hard radiance had baked the planet’s tidally locked sunward side into sterile desert. The night side was perpetually dark and frozen, but a habitable band existed around the terminator. It was still bright, with stark shadows cast by the sun which sat forever low in the sky in the same place. We headed for the cluster of prefabricated buildings that constituted the settlement, aiming ourselves at the largest of them. “Yeah, this is the place from Schegith’s intel vid alright,” I said, as we entered. It was exactly as I remembered it from the imagery, except with dour mercenaries keeping a watchful—and heavily armed—gaze over the place. At least two dozen people sat in rows on the floor, silent and, in some cases, sullen or with openly hostile scowls. But the mercs had given them water and otherwise provided for them, a testament to the professional culture Groshenko had instilled in his people. They were remorseless, sure, but they weren’t cruel. There were bodies draped in various tarps and things at the other end of the cavernous building. We walked past tables and stands still laden with ID

chips and other components, heading that way. I wanted to see who had died here—just Sorcerers, or anyone else?

Funboy and I started at one of the dozen or so corpses, pulling their coverings aside to examine them. The mercs had been thorough, headshots rendering their skulls down to ragged remnants of gory tissue and broken components. Perry started at the other end, simply sticking his head under the tarps. He looked up from the third one he checked. “Van, this is someone we know.”

Funboy and I joined him, pulling the tarp back. This person had died from a slug-shot to the chest, leaving their face more or less intact. And yes, I did recognize him. “He was in Constance Plowitz’s entourage in Frankenmuth,” I said, staring down at a blond human male, probably just a few years older than me. Perry bobbed his head in agreement. “He was. And that’s about all I can say about him—he was there. I don’t have any record of him doing anything other than arriving, standing around, and watching while Funboy put the moves on Constance—“

I glanced at him. He shrugged. “She had her chance.”

“—and then leaving with her.”

We checked the body over and found a portable comm device strapped into a sort of shoulder holster under one arm. I examined it, studying the display. “It’s locked.” I looked up at Perry. “Can you break into this thing?”

“Mindful of Calamity,” Funboy put in. Perry bobbed his head again. “I uploaded and installed a pretty good remote scan for Calamity signatures last time we were on Anvil Dark. Bester’s people developed it.” He looked at the comm device. “And based on it, this thing is Calamity-free. Just give me a second—” he said, connecting to it. It took him about ten seconds to break through the encryption. “Just off-the-shelf security stuff. Probably came preinstalled. Good, but not good enough. Now, let’s see what’s in the log. If he’s smart, he’d have kept that wiped, but—nope, he’s not smart.”

“There’s a comm log?” I asked. “Yup. Eleven messages to various recipients. I think the last one is probably the one that will interest you the most, though,” Perry replied. “No need for a dramatic reveal, Bird.”

“You’re no fun. Anyway, the comm log shows that it connected about a week ago to a receiving station on Earth—specifically, in McLean, Virginia.”

I sighed. “Manon Clemenceau.”

“Well, there are a lot of diplomats and congress-critters and the like that live there. But I’d say that Clemenceau is probably top of the list of likely suspects, yeah.”

“So that creates a direct connection between Clemenceau and the Sorcerers.”

Funboy raised a finger. “It creates a direct connection between the Sorcerers and her location on Earth. It is possible that the communication was with one of her associates or underlings.”

“Yeah, fair point. Still, it’s exigent enough that I think we can justify digging deeper.”

“Agreed.”

I looked around at the horror show of the market. ID chips had been bought and sold here like home furnishings. It was the most prosaic of slave markets, and that just made it worse. “Well, I guess we can say that these people have no limits when it comes to exploiting Earth.”

“Are you saying that some of the people on these chips are from there?”

Funboy asked. I put my hands on my hips and sighed again. There were so many chips

—so many stolen people. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Not one damned bit.”

24

IT TOOK ANOTHER FULL DAY, but we were able to load up all of our various prisoners, rescues, ID chips, and other bits and pieces of potentially useful stuff. Much of that time was spent cataloging everything we were seizing as evidence, with Perry filling the role of camera and documentarian, so that we had a record of where everything was found and in what state. A few hours into the job, a trio of ships appeared, twisting into the system. They were Sorcerers. We presumed they were a relief force, but three class 11 or 12 ships, even up-gunned and up-armored, were hopelessly overmatched by the combined might of the Fafnir, the Iowa, the Righteous Fury, and the Stormshadow. The Sorcerers obviously knew it, given their petulant blast of fire control scanners and a salvo of missiles launched our way before they vanished again. It was just for show. The missiles would take well over an hour to even begin to represent a threat, so we could shoot them down at our leisure. Rab, though, made an insightful observation as we watched the missiles slowly track toward us—which somehow reminded me of the scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail in which bemused guards watch a knight running toward them—and running toward them—and running toward them—

“That was a bit of a fit of anger, not to mention wasteful. That’s at least twenty thousand bonds worth of missiles fired at us, that have no hope of actually causing any harm,” Rab said, frowning at the overlay. “From what I remember of the Sorcerers before their fall, they were emotionless,

clinical, and precise. They’d never have launched a salvo of frustration at us like this.”

I gave him a keen glance. “What are you suggesting?”

“That these new Sorcerers are different. They’re more—emotional, I guess. More prone to being provoked.”

“That could prove useful,” Torina said. I nodded. “It sure could. Good observation, Rab.”

He turned his jowly, walrus-like countenance toward me. “Hey, I ain’t just another pretty face here, Boss.”

WHILE VALINT and Torina sorted out the final loading of people and things and stuff and we prepared to get underway, I buried myself in my cabin to get started on the final stage of every operation—the meticulous, tedious paperwork. And given that we’d been in firefights, people had died, others had been arrested, more had fled, ships had crashed, and we’d recovered a mountain of evidence, there was more than a little. I’d finally got stuck in, though, when the door chime sounded. I barely glanced over my shoulder. “Sorry, I died a half-dozen form eleven-sixty-two-slash-alpha-four-five-tango’s ago—in triplicate.”

My mother’s voice answered. “Then at least allow me to bury my son—

under all that bureaucratic bullshit.”

I stood and opened the door. “Hi, Mom.”

“Van.”

We stood like that for an awkward moment, and then I stepped back and gestured her in. “Hey, I don’t need an excuse to put off paperwork. What can I do for you, Mom?”

She walked in, stopped, turned. “Well, for a start, you can let me say thank you for rescuing me—” She stopped, smiling ruefully. “Sorry, for rescuing us. Although I kind of suspect that if it hadn’t been for Adayluh Creel and the others, I’d have been out of luck.”

I stared for a moment, actually considering it, then shook my head. “No. Even if it had just been you, I’d have come for you, anyway, Mom. I don’t pick and choose the laws I enforce and the people I help based on whether I’m pissed off at them or not.”

She crossed her arms but maintained that doleful smile. “You do have a sensitive moral compass, don’t you?”

“I like to think so.”

“Well, you got it from your father, not from me.”

I cocked my head. “What do you want, Mom?

I’m assuming it’s more than just to pass the time.”

She nodded. “And that sums it up, doesn’t it?”

“What sums what up?”

“I can’t just pass the time with my son. There needs to be a reason for it.” She held up a hand. “Don’t worry, that’s not a criticism of you, Van. If anything, it’s a criticism of me. One of many.”

This time, I said nothing. It was clear she was going somewhere with this and I sensed she needed to follow her own path to get there. She recognized the meaning of my silence and nodded. “I’m tired, Van.”

“Mom, you were almost killed just a couple of years ago, in battle. You just came through being kidnapped and threatened with a fate worse than death. And that’s on top of all the other confrontations and battles and skirmishes and who knows what else you’ve been doing all these years. I’m not surprised you’re tired. Why don’t you just retire?

Find somewhere to put your feet and—and just that. Just put your feet up.”

“Oh, trust me, Van, that’s not my style. I’d be bored and feeling useless before my seat even got warmed up.”

“Okay, so what are you asking me here?

Or telling me here?

Or—

whatever it is you’re doing here?”

“I’m tired, Van, of doing what I do, which is being pragmatic. Expedient. The ends justifying the means. I need a change. I need to start getting my moral compass properly aligned.”

Again, I just waited. She went on. “I believe you when you say that you’d have come looking for me, even if it was just me alone. Anyone else, and I’d just assume they were saying it because they thought it was what I wanted to hear—what would make them seem like the good guy, the conquering hero. But you—”

She swung her gaze into mine. “You mean it. I can tell because you’ve got those same damned eyes as your father and your grandfather before him. The eyes that tell the truth. That mean it when you say that you want to

do what’s right. I—don’t know what that feels like. But I’d like to find out. Try it on for size before I twist off into the great beyond.”

I gave her a quizzical look. “I didn’t figure you for the afterlife-believing sort, Mom.”

She stepped toward me, lifted a finger, and tapped it to my head. “Of course I do. My afterlife is in here. It’s how my son remembers me. And right now, I doubt that it’s a very happy or fond afterlife. I’d like to change that.”

“What are you saying, Mom?”

“That I am coming in from the cold. That I want to be part of the solution, the way you are. That I want to spend whatever time remains to me with my son, not running away from him like I’ve been doing.”

I nodded and leaned back against my locker. “Okay. I hear you. And I believe that’s what you want—right now.”

“But I’m going to have to prove to you that it’s what I want tomorrow, or next month, or next year.”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, yeah.”

She smiled that sad smile again. “Challenge accepted.”

I stood and moved until I stood directly in front of her. “That said, I’m willing to give it a try. I’d rather have you in my allies list if for no other reason than you’d be one less entry in my potential trouble list.”

“You really know how to give a motivational speech.”

I shrugged. “I never figured you for the motivational speech type, either.”

“I’m not,” she said, hesitated, then hugged me. I hugged her back. “Thank you, Van. Not just for rescuing me, but for being the type of man who would in the first place.”

We held the hug a moment longer, then she stepped back, smiled—a genuine smile this time, not one tinged with sadness—and left. Torina came in right after she’d left. “I saw your mother come in here. Are you—?”

“Okay?

Yeah. I am.” I looked at the door. “And, surprisingly, I think my mother is, too.”

VALINT’S little flotilla departed in company with the Righteous Fury for Anvil Dark. There was a whole bunch of processing to be done, sorting out suspects from witnesses and those from victims. They also carried off Groshenko’s mercenaries although not before Takrun had a last goodbye session with us, particularly with Icky. “That was fun, kicking ass together,” she said to Icky. “Right?

We gotta do it again sometime.”

They fist-bumped, Takrun waved at us and then she headed for the airlock and the shuttle that would take her to one of Valint’s transports. Perry watched her go. “I don’t think I’ve ever before seen such a touching display of bonding over beating people with hammers and things,” he said. Icky grinned. “It’s the song of my people.”

“Really?

I thought that would have been burping and farting.”

Icky flashed Perry four fingers, then headed for the Fafnir’s engineering bay. “Rude. Oh, by the way, Van, I tried to get IDs on those two Sorcerers who turned out to be good guys in disguise. Unfortunately, I’ve hit nothing but dead ends. We might be able to match DNA records or something, but we’ll need to get Bester and his people on that.”

I nodded. “Thanks anyway, Bird. We’ll do that, but—I’d like you to isolate the best images of both of them that you can. I want them remembered—preferably as who they were, but, ultimately, as who they turned out to be.”

“You got it, Boss. I’ll make sure I get their best sides.”

IN COMPANY WITH THE IOWA, we headed for Pont Alus Kyr, to get Adayluh transferred into their care. I decided to keep the Iowa along with us just in case the Sorcerers had decided Adayluh was a valuable enough target to try and come after her again. We remained unmolested during our trip, including a stopover at Spindrift to refuel. I was intrigued to note, though, that two ships, a pair of commodity carriers traveling in-company, briefly illuminated us with active scanners. When Netty-P pointed it out, I decided to not screw around. If these were Sorcerer sympathizers or even just paid informants, I wanted to make it clear to them that we were in no mood for games. “Netty-P, active scanners right back at them, from both us and the Iowa. And run them in fire-control mode.”

“That could be considered a hostile act, Van,” Perry said. “Really?

Huh. Well, they can file a complaint with the Guild.”

We went active and both of the other ships immediately went dark. I curled my lip at their icons on the overlay. “Yeah, I thought so,” I said to them, then we switched back to passive mode and carried on. We arrived at Pont Alus Kyr and were given immediate clearance to dock. I was surprised to find that Filic, Adayluh’s father, was already there. “Your Master Alic informed me of your plans to bring her here,” he said. “How is she?”

I turned to Funboy, who was handing custody of her over to a team from Pont Alus Kyr. Filic watched anxiously as she was pushed past on a litter. “She remains stable. We removed an implant from her, but I suspect that there may be at least one more. The medical facilities on the Fafnir are limited, though,” Funboy said. We started to head after her, winding our way among station personnel and bots. I stopped after just a few paces, though, struck by sudden—

inspiration, I guess?

It was a dark sort of inspiration, though, or maybe suspicion was a better word. It had already prompted me to strap on The Drop. I turned back, stuck my head in the Fafnir’s airlock, and called for Icky. She appeared, wiping her hands, apparently already busy with some maintenance task or other. She kept a list of things that could only be done when the Fafnir wasn’t underway, which she tended to pounce on the moment the ship wasn’t. “Yeah, Boss?”

“Grab your hammer and follow me.”

She paused, frowning, then lowered her hands and tensed. “What’s going on?”

Rab, standing nearby, likewise perked up. “Van?

Is there a problem?”

“I don’t know. Maybe not. But I want to be sure. Rab, you seal up the ship after we’ve left. You open it only for one of us.”

Icky retrieved her hammer without another word. Rab nodded but stepped closer. “Van, what’s this about?

Are you suspecting some kind of threat?

Here, on Pont Alus Kyr?”

I shrugged. “I’m mindful of the fact that Hoshi Onwyn was brutally attacked and almost killed here when her symbiotic buddy Cibilax vanished. That was never solved. At the very least, it means that Pont Alus Kyr had at least one gaping hole in its security.”

Rab nodded. “And Adayluh’s a potentially valuable target— and there are a lot of people coming and going from this place.”

“There are. Half the research staff here are probably on temporary assignments and things—”

Icky returned, her hammer propped on her shoulder. “What am I looking for?” she asked, as we hurried after Adayluh. “Not sure. Bad guys. You’ll know them when you see them, I think.”

“And then—just to be clear—I whack them, right?

No warnings or cease-and-desist bullshit or anything like that?”

I glanced at her. “Icky, you do whatever you feel you have to do in the circumstances. I trust your judgment.”

She looked back at me, then nodded. Her usual blustery bravado was absent. Instead, she had a look of grim, hard purpose, which she leveled onto the people we passed. I saw them flinch and widen their berth around us. Her febrile stare had—

Weight. It had weight. Good. EVEN AS SKILLED as they were, the doctors and techs who’d taken on Adayluh’s case required hours of painstaking work to deal with what the Sorcerers had done to her. As Funboy had suspected, there were other implants, including one in her right foot. They were designed to mimic the properties of human flesh and bone so that they gave a minimal return on medical scans. And each had to be removed manually, and with great care, as they were all integrated into her bodily functions in complicated ways. One in her back, for instance, had grown synthetic nerve fibers that had infiltrated her spinal cord for— opaque reasons, the doctors weren’t even

sure what the point was. It took them nearly two hours of meticulous, careful work to unwind it from her and remove it. Finally, after nearly seven hours of grueling labor, the doctor leading the effort exited the operating theater with a tray. It held five sealed containers, each containing an implant. He held them where Filic and I could see them. “These first two were, we think, just collecting data on her specific physiology and biological functions. What those data were going to be used for, though—” He gave a slight, and ominous, shrug. “As for these other three, we think they were starting to actively make changes to things like hormone and neurotransmitter levels, and generally alter cellular behavior. They were preparing her for something, and I’m going to assume it was nefarious.”

I nodded. “Thanks, doc. I need you to package these implants up for us to transport back to Anvil Dark.”

He frowned. “I was intending that we’d study them here. They might be evil as hell, but they’re also innovative and are pushing the boundaries of

—”

“And they’re evidence,” I cut in. “I’ll make sure that our people know you want to study them, once they’re done with them. But our people have to study them first before anyone else does anything to them.”

I made eye contact with him as I spoke. He got what I was saying—that I didn’t trust Pont Alus Kyr to handle evidence in advance of the Guild studying it. I prepared myself for him to be outraged, but he finally just nodded knowingly. “I understand. I’ll have them prepared for you to take. Maybe you’d like to have one of your people help us with that.”

Now I got it. He had his doubts about the security of Pont Alus Kyr. I made a note of the man’s name—Gotsun, a human male, in case I ever wanted to talk to him. I saw Adayluh being wheeled out of the operating theater. Icky hulked nearby, while Funboy was talking to one of the Pont Alus Kyr techs about the implants. Now. It was going to happen now. And sure enough, it did. The attack came without warning, surprising me by just how unsurprising it was. 25

I DON’T REALLY THINK I’m psychic. For that matter, the jury was still out regarding how real psychic phenomena were in known space. Regardless, I was hit with an instant of utter certainty that the attack would happen now. Maybe it was just a subconscious appreciation of the immediate tactical situation—that Adayluh was exposed and vulnerable, in a corridor with limited freedom for anyone to maneuver. It was the perfect time to try and kill her, and sure enough, the bad guys took a stab at it. It started with a shout from behind me. I turned and saw that a bot had suddenly slammed a med tech against a bulkhead, sending sample trays clattering across the deck. I swept out The Drop and readied it, but some instinct made me turn back the way I’d been facing—

Just in time to see Icky charge a second bot that was wielding a trio of vicious manipulators toward Adayluh. A wicked blade slashed one of the attendants moving her, causing her—a Gajur—to stumble back with a cry and a spray of blood. The bot swept another blade toward Adayluh, intent on decapitating her, but Icky’s hammer was there first. The blade clanged against the hammerhead, which Icky then used to knock it away. “I don’t think so assho—“ she started, but the bot became an inhumanly fast blur of sweeping, shimmering blades. Icky fought desperately to protect herself and Adayluh and was cut, cut again, and cut again. I raised The Drop and fired, double-tapping two rounds into the bot. Then I spun around just in time to see the second bot charging me and slammed two more rounds into it as well. It ground to a halt, shuddering

and spitting fat blue sparks. The acrid tang of burnt electronics fumed the air. I turned back again. My shots had turned the bot attacking Adayluh sluggish so that Icky was now hammering it into scrap like a blacksmith forging something on an anvil. I walked up, aimed The Drop into its center of mass at point-blank range, and fired until the weapon’s action locked to the rear on an empty mag. What had only a moment ago been a sleek medical research bot was now just battered scrap. I changed mags, snapped The Drop’s action closed to chamber a new round and then scanned around me, looking for further threats. What I saw was medical and research personnel crouching, pressed against bulkheads and into corners, desperately trying to make themselves the smallest targets possible. There were two more bots visible, but both had gone dormant. I shrugged and double-tapped rounds into each of them anyway. Was it necessary?

I wasn’t sure, and that was the point. It was satisfying as hell, though. “Van!”

I turned. Torina and Perry were racing toward us. They slowed, then Perry landed on Adayluh’s litter, Torina with her Innsu knife poised and ready. “We were just coming to find you—what the hell happened?”

“The Sorcerers. That’s what happened,” I snapped, then turned to Funboy. He was unarmed but had still adopted a watchful, ready stance in front of the cringing tech holding the implants removed from Adayluh. “I am uninjured,” he said, nodding. “I’m not.”

We turned to Icky. She dripped blood from several deep lacerations. But she still held her hammer ready, her face set in such an expression of hard, grim purpose and barely restrained fury that I almost winced away from it. Now station security arrived. One of them, an officer, immediately tried to tear into me about not alerting them to the threat I suspected, but I lashed right back. “No, I didn’t because I don’t trust you. This is the second time there’s been a serious incident on this station that you’ve utterly failed to prevent. The Sorcerers didn’t just slip these two bots aboard Pont Alus Kyr earlier

today. They’ve had them here for a while, which means they’ve been here for a while. So, you’re either colluding or incompetent. Which is it?”

It came out much harsher than I’d intended, but it got the point across. The security officer deflated, then turned and tried to get some redemption by focusing on securing the scene. By then, Icky was on the floor, a pair of techs and a doctor working on her, sealing up her wounds. Another trio worked on the attendant who’d been slashed. Icky looked up at me. “Good call, Van. You knew that attack was coming.”

“Yes and no. More that it doesn’t surprise me that the Sorcerers tried it.”

I glanced at Adayluh. “I’d say that it was a fit of pique, that if they couldn’t have her for their own twisted purposes then they weren’t going to let her live, but—I don’t know. I’m starting to think there’s something about her in particular.”

“The Sorcerers did implant a variety of devices in her, all of a more subtle nature than is their usual approach,” Funboy agreed, joining us. Filic, who’d gone to use the lavatory or something, came racing back. “Adayluh!”

“I think she’s fine,” Torina said, standing over her, her Innsu blade still at the ready. “Thanks to Icky and that poor woman over there,” she added, nodding at each in turn. Perry, who’d been standing protectively on Adayluh’s litter, suddenly spoke up. “Van, I have a theory.”

“What’s that?

And if it involves dinosaurs being thick in the middle and thin at both ends, I don’t want to hear it—”

“First, good one, Boss. Monty Python would be proud. Second, no, this is an actual theory, rooted in observation used to engage in some conjecture.”

Perry hopped off the litter while Adayluh was resumed being wheeled away to recovery. A heavily armed station security escort accompanied her

—as did Torina and Funboy. I saw Torina quietly slip Funboy a slug-pistol, which he tucked inside his tunic in one smooth motion. I turned back to Perry. “Okay, I’m listening, Bird. Whatcha got?”

“Previously, the Sorcerers were implacable, criminally psychopathic killers. But, seriously, that’s about all that they were. To the extent that they were innovative or even had, you know, ideas—” He made air quotes with his wings. “—it was generally all about more killing. Killing things faster,

better, or doing things to make it easier. I think that, with these resurgent Sorcerers, they’ve changed tactics.”

“How so?” I asked as Icky limped up to join us. “And how are you, big girl?”

She gestured at her lacerations, now sealed with first aid spray and tidy bandages. “Might be down a quart or so, but I’ll live.”

I patted her arm and turned back to Perry. “You were saying—”

“I think these resurgent Sorcerers aren’t just looking to be murderous assholes. I think they’ve got more complicated aspirations than that. If they just wanted people to use as foot soldiers or even cannon fodder, well, there’s lots of that available. They could go to Dregs and kidnap people off the streets. It would be easier and carry less risk. But they didn’t. They went after Adayluh in particular—”

“And my mother.”

“And your mother, yeah. And they implanted things in Adayluh that seemed designed to set the stage for… something else. They were gathering data, to develop a strategy for co-opting her.”

“So, you think—what, that they were trying to turn Adayluh into a Sorcerer but have her remain a scientist?” Icky asked. “The big blue wall hanging gets it. To date, their tech has been good at turning Trinduk into killing machines. But they want more than that, now. They wanted to change Adayluh’s attitudes, her thoughts and feelings and even behavior into that of a Sorcerer, but they wanted to keep her skills and knowledge and experience intact.”

“They wanted to make an evil version of Adayluh, is what you’re saying,” I said. Perry nodded. “In essence, yeah. Oh, I’m sure they don’t see it as evil, but that would be the outcome. They’re trying to recruit”—air quotes again

—“people to their cause who are scientists, doctors, engineers, experienced soldiers who will still be those things, just loyal to the Sorcerers’ cause.”

We stood in silence for a moment, letting it sink in. Icky finally shook her head. “They’re such dicks, Boss. They’re going after people like Adayluh and your mother for what they know—what they can bring to the scumbag party.” Her voice dropped to a growl. “Dicks. I hate them even more now.”

“Shall I record that in our tactical log, Boss?

That Icky hates dicks?”

Perry asked. Icky bristled, but I raised my hands. “Let’s wait until Adayluh pulls through, first. Then you can cut loose with all the dick jokes you want.”

Perry’s eyes flashed. “Holding off on jokes of that quality is cruel and unusual. I’m lodging a complaint.”

“Yes, Perry, you’re the real hero here,” I said, patting his head. “I feel marginally less oppressed. I’ll hold off on that complaint—for now.”

WE JOINED Adayluh and the others in her closely guarded recovery room. Filic looked up as I entered. “Her vital signs are strengthening, now that those evil devices have been removed from her. The doctors think she’ll probably be awake soon.”

I stared down at her for a moment, pondering Perry’s theory. It made sinister sense. Wherever this resurgence of Sorcerers had come from, it had come with a desire to diversify away from just killing and destroying. Adayluh was one of known space’s top food scientists. My mother was a skilled and experienced soldier with an intimate inside knowledge of the GKU and the Guild. Getting those skillsets onto their wicked team would give the Sorcerers far more flexibility to pursue other goals. It also fit, now that I thought about it, with Rab’s observation that this new iteration of Sorcerers seemed to be more emotional, more driven by passion, than the previous version. These new Sorcerers were trying to be something more than what they had been—a working society. I’d have found that a laudable goal if it weren’t for all the, you know, kidnapping, torture, hideous body modification, digital enslavement, and murder. I turned to Filic, hit by yet another moment of inspiration. “I know you’ve been through a lot, but… I’d like you to consider something. The Sorcerers obviously wanted Adayluh, and then made it clear that if they can’t have her, they don’t want her to live. That’s going to be a risk hanging over you until they’ve been dealt with once and for all—“

“Again,” Perry inserted. I gave him a nod of thanks. “Again. Anyway, why don’t you and Adayluh bring your ship, the Inari, to Sol?

You can park it under the guns of our new and growing fortress there, Cantullin Station, which is right out

on the edge of the system. Between it and the Iowa, which normally hangs out there, you’d be safer than—well, almost anywhere else.”

Filic crossed his arms. “It goes against my nature to change how I live my life for the sake of others. That is the main reason I’ve chosen the solitary existence aboard the Inari I have. Doing what you suggest sounds like just that, though—letting others dictate how I live my life.”

He sighed down at his daughter. “But you make a good point. This isn’t just about me.”

“She would be able to continue her research there,” Perry said. Icky nodded. “Yeah, and if anyone tries to harm her, ever, then we’ll obliterate them.”

Filic smiled, then nodded. “Yes. I accept your kind offer. It will also give me a chance to experiment with something I’ve been anxious to try.”

“Which is?” I asked. “Domes.”

“Domes?

Like, greenhouse-type domes, for growing plants?”

“Yes. You said this is located on the edge of the Sol system, correct?

This would be an excellent opportunity to develop the methods and technologies for growing plants under such conditions. It could even make your facility self-sufficient, at least regarding food. I suspect that Adayluh would welcome the chance, as well. She has big plans.”

I smiled and nodded. “So do we. Welcome aboard.”

ADAYLUH CONTINUED to improve and a day later was well enough to travel. Filic had to return to the Inari, though his farming research ship was still parked in The Deeps. He also needed some engineering assistance in getting her twist drive running, since it hadn’t been operated in nearly three years and was out of spec, having lost its certification for flight in known space. When it came to things fueled with antimatter, you wanted wide safety margins and an overall abundance of caution. Fortunately, we had a ready solution in the form of Icky. She knew twist drives almost as well as the engineers who designed and built them. Even better, as a Peacemaker Auxiliary with twist-engineer credentials, she could grant a temporary certification in my name and get the Inari moving toward

Sol. We accordingly sent her along with Filic in the Iowa to return to the Inari so she could configure her twist drive and get her temporarily certified to fly again. “Why the Iowa, Van?” Filic asked. “She’s an awfully big ship that uses a lot of fuel.”

“She also has a powerful array of armor and guns. Given the threat level, I’d feel much better knowing that you and Icky had her around to protect you.”

Filic shifted uncomfortably. “Do you really think the threat is that severe?”

I thought about downplaying it but decided not to. We’d given the Sorcerers a stinging defeat, but we had to assume they were far from beaten. Moreover, whoever or whatever was behind their sudden resurgence was still out there. On top of that, given Rab’s observation about these new Sorcerers being more emotional than the old version, they might very well hold grudges and do things simply to be assholes about it. I just nodded. “Yeah, Filic, I do. And I’ll keep thinking that until I’ve got evidence otherwise.”

The foray to retrieve the Inari was going to take at least three days, and that was assuming that her twist drive didn’t need major work or new components. I decided to take the Fafnir to Anvil Dark since we had various bits and pieces of outstanding business there. Starting with who or what was behind the Sorcerers’ reappearance?

UNFORTUNATELY, our intel people had nothing but musings about that. The most obvious suspect, Dohlennz, was dead. And while it would have made things easier if it were, say, Manon Clemenceau—it would give me an immediate reason to arrest or otherwise deal with her—she simply didn’t have the means. Unless we’d missed something fundamental about her, her reach was almost entirely Earth-bound. She was a stooge for extraterrestrial players, but away from Earth she simply wasn’t a player at all. “There is the mysterious Jeannie, Constance Plowitz’s new Chief of Staff, who’s probably our friend Jeanette Luis-Rocher. She’s been involved

with the evil side of the biotech industry for years,” Perry pointed out, as we sat around the Fafnir’s crew lounge discussing it. “It’s a good point. She was one of the very first villains involved in the identity theft scheme that we encountered,” Torina added. I nodded along as they spoke. “True. But—I don’t know. If she’s on Earth, trying to manipulate the situation there, it doesn’t seem like she’d also be masterminding something as complex as recreating the Sorcerers among the stars, does it?”

“It would be bold, running an operation like the Sorcerers from your homeworld, right under our noses. Makes a hell of a statement,” Rab said. “Yeah, it would. Again though—I just can’t see it. It doesn’t make sense. Bold statement aside, why would she set herself up on a planet where she’d been painfully easy to find, that she has to sneak on and off of at the risk of being caught, where her comms could very well be monitored, and where she has almost no protection at all?

It would be like Hitler setting himself up on one of the Channel Islands and trying to run the Third Reich from there. He could do it, but it would be incredibly cumbersome and inefficient and he’d be constantly at risk of being caught or killed.”

“Maybe it is Dohlennz,” Netty-P said. We all looked at her. “Ghost Dohlennz?

How supernatural of you, Netty-P,” I said. “Well, in a way. He might have set things in motion before he died. If he created some sort of organization or left a successor, those things might still be in motion,” she said. I nodded. “True, but that’s just a different flavor of the same ice cream, isn’t it?

Instead of having no idea who’s behind it, we’ll have no idea who Dohlennz left behind it.”

“Sure, but it gives us a way of narrowing things down. Right now, we could probably find reasons to suspect almost anyone. If we take this as our starting point, we can concentrate on people and things specifically linked to Dohlennz.”

“Yeah. That’s a good point. Perry, can you liaise with Guild intel and ask them to put some particular focus on Dohlennz and his possible legacy in this?

Maybe we’ll come up lucky.”

That aside, our conversation roamed over other suspects, including some remnant of BeneStar, a political player like the Seven Stars League, a criminal group like the Stillness, or even some things that were figuratively and literally more far out, like the Jackals or the Tyrants. We even

considered the possibility it was something much simpler, like the Trinduk, or a cell of the original Sorcerers that had escaped Gerhardt’s campaign against them. And then there was Calamity. Everyone still tended to think of it as a computer virus whose main threat was against information systems. But it was also an AI, so it could very well have motivations and intent of its own. The trouble was that we had no idea where to even begin searching for it, or how such a search would unfold. The uncertainties and ambiguities, along with the fact that every suspect we could think of had reasons it probably wasn’t them, left us all vaguely frustrated. I came away from it with that irritating idea that we were looking at a pile of jigsaw puzzle pieces. We knew they’d somehow go together to form a coherent picture, and could even catch fragmentary glimpses of that picture, but we had no idea what that picture was. We were going to have to let the intel analysis run its course and just keep our own eyes and ears open in the meantime. LUCKY PAID US A VISIT. I hadn’t seen her in a long time, so it was good to get caught up on goings on elsewhere in known space. As we sat in the Fafnir’s crew lounge and swapped Peacemaker stories, she suddenly gave me a sidelong look. “You’re just determined to be coy about this, aren’t you?”

“Coy about what?”

“About the fact you’re going to be moving into the Keel sometime soon.”

I gave her a blank stare. “The Keel—what?

What are you talking about?”

“Van, the word’s out about you becoming a Master.”

That left me staring, too. “What?”

“You’ve been offered Gerhardt’s seat at the Master’s Table. Word’s all over the Guild. And the usual suspects are complaining about it, about getting passed over, but that happens every time a new Master is—”

“Lucky, I did get offered it, yes. But I turned it down.”

Now it was her turn to stare. “Really?

Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because—well, I don’t want to be a Master. Maybe someday, but right now, I think I’m of way more use to the Guild sitting in the Fafnir’s cockpit.”

Lucky leaned back and gave me a surprisingly hard look. “You know, I figured that if anyone could see through the bullshit, it would be you. Kind of disappointing to find out I’m wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

She sat forward again. “Van, the number one reason people give for not wanting to be a Master is the bureaucratic bullshit, paperwork, that sort of thing. For some of them, that’s even true. For most, though, it’s—what’s that Earth expression?

Some sort of sour berries?”

“Sour grapes?”

“Sure. Anyway, it’s just an excuse.”

“Lucky, this isn’t just an excuse. I do believe I can do more good—“

“Yeah, yeah,” she cut in, waving a dismissive hand. “Sure, all the administration and politics and stuff sucks. But that’s not the point. The point is that this Guild needs leadership. Strong leadership. It’s something we haven’t had for a while. Our Masters haven’t had much of a moral compass, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I don’t know. We’ve had Gerhardt, and we’ve got Alic and Volffin—”

“Gerhardt spent most of his career spouting regulations and procedures

—something he only started to break away from, I might add, when you started working with him. Alic is a great strategist, and he and Volffin are decent and basically good, sure—but they’re also not exactly what I’d call conspicuous leaders. The other Masters are just keeping their chairs warm until they can retire with a better pension.”

She leaned forward. “The Guild needs new Masters, Van. Younger, more dynamic, people who are widely respected—people like you. You say you can do more good for the Guild flying the Fafnir. I disagree. I think the best thing you can do for the Guild is move yourself into Gerhardt’s office.”

I had to bite back a sudden flash of anger. I didn’t like people second-guessing decisions I’d made about my own life. But Lucky was insightful, and she was a friend, someone that I respected. I kept my tone steady. “Lucky, I appreciate the vote of confidence. But becoming a Master just isn’t on my scanners right now. I’ve got too much going on—Calamity, the Sorcerers and the stolen persons thing, all the bullshit starting to swirl around Earth.”

She gave me a flat look. “Van, there will always be too much going on. You’ll always have cases on the go.” She sighed, her breath coming out in a rush. “It never calms down. It’s always like this. It’s—it’s constant, this whirlwind of bullshit that won’t let you catch your breath.”

I opened my mouth, but she stood and cut me off, a kind smile creasing her face. “But I’ve said my piece on this. The Guild’s just going to keep muddling along, I guess. We’ll have to all do our part to stop it from collapsing into a heap of chaos and infighting in the meantime.”

She left, leaving me angry—at her, for presuming what she had, but also at the Guild itself. Because she was right. The Guild was starting to fray around the edges. Cracks were starting to appear among factions within it, while more Peacemakers were spending more time off claiming to be working on cases, but who knew?

But the idea that I was somehow going to stop it and help undo the damage—

Yeah, that pissed me off. How dare anyone presume such a thing. It was easy for someone like Lucky to imagine me in that role, fixing all the problems as they saw them, but not willing to do it themselves. What pissed me off even more, though, was a vague feeling that despite my internal outrage, Lucky might be right. The Guild did need leadership. But surely there were others out there better suited, more qualified to do it than me. There had to be. 26

WE FINISHED up miscellaneous bits of business on Anvil Dark, then got the hell out of there. Lucky wasn’t the only Peacemaker who’d caught wind of my being courted as a Master. I was approached several times by others, who all expressed their confidence in my ability to do the job. What varied was their tone. A couple were genuinely enthusiastic. Most, though, were variations on carefully neutral, obviously resentful, or, in most cases, patently attempting to curry favor with me. It offered a little microcosmic look into what being Master would be like and just ended up making me want the job even less. I was glad, therefore, when we got word back from Icky that the Inari was functional and was now en route to Earth escorted by the Iowa. We beat a hasty exit from Anvil Dark, on our way to join them there. We’d no sooner arrived at Earth, though, before we got a message from Cantullin Station. The Conoku delivering it simply said that they’d only just received a call from Miryam on Earth, asking them to tell me to get back there as soon as possible. That was it—no other messaging. “Oh, I don’t like the sound of that,” Torina said. I gave a grim nod. “It’s like you’re echoing my exact thoughts, my dear. I have no doubt some variation on Constance Plowitz, Manon Clemenceau, our friend Forester from the Equal Grasp, or some combination thereof is up to shenanigans.”

We met the Iowa, picked up Icky, and headed for Earth, while Filic and Adayluh got settled in at Cantullin station. As we passed the orbit of Mars,

though, and the light-speed comm delay was down to about five minutes, Miryam informed us it wasn’t Plowitz, Clemenceau, or the Equal Grasp. “As far as I know, it’s someone new, Van. US military. Air Force, I think. A Colonel named Mandeville. He said he wanted to speak to you ASAP—and he said it just that way, ay-sap. All he would tell me was that it was urgent.”

The message ended. I sat back, frowning. “Perry, have we encountered that name before?

Mandeville?”

“Nope. The only Mandeville references I can even find are a town in Quebec, in Canada, a handful of different types of companies with Mandeville in their name, and an investment app for the iPhone. That’s it.”

As we got closer to Earth, I put in calls to both Miryam and Tony. Miryam knew nothing more. Tony didn’t recognize the name either and, after consulting with Marla and Myron, reported that it likewise meant nothing to them. We landed just after midnight at the farm, to find Miryam there waiting. Out of an abundance of caution, I brought only Torina and Perry off the ship and headed into the house. Miryam looked decidedly nervous. “Miryam, what aren’t you telling me?” I asked her. “Honestly, Van, there’s nothing I’m not telling you. I’ve told you all I know. I just have… an uneasy feeling about this. I’m used to military people like your grandfather and father. This Mandeville was—” She fumbled a moment for words. “He was like every petty, officious, bureaucratic military asshole pop culture has ever portrayed. Remember M*A*S*H?

There was a wacky officer who was all about wiping out

‘commies’?”

“Colonel Flagg. He was a great character, and did an unsung acting job if you ask me. Didn’t chew the scenery, you know,” Perry said from where he perched on the kitchen counter. “Right. Oddly accurate on your part, Bird. So, imagine him, but without any of the humor.”

I poured myself some bourbon, a drink I’d resolved to reserve solely for downtime here, at the farm. “Did he say how I’m supposed to get hold of him?”

She fished into her pocket and pulled out a card. “He gave me this. He said to call the number written on the back, not the one printed on the front.”

The card was strangely plain, without any logos. It simply said, Colonel A. Mandeville, US Air Force, Office of Strategic Planning, with a Washington DC number beneath. On the back, in a blocky hand, was penned another number, a cell phone Perry quickly determined was a burner phone activated in Des Moines five days previously. I frowned at it. “Okay, now I’ve got an uneasy feeling. People on legitimate military business don’t normally use disposable phone numbers

—or have such plain cards.”

“You think he’s a fake?” Miryam asked. I shrugged. “Maybe a fake—or maybe another variation on one of those unaccountable, black-ops departments.”

“The military seems to have a lot of those.”

“Myron would not be surprised,” Perry added. “No, he wouldn’t. Bird, can you put an untraceable call through to this number?” I asked him, showing him the card. “Easy-peasy. Did you have anything you wanted me to say, or are you going to use me to play a literal game of telephone?”

“Let’s see who answers, first.”

Perry paused a moment, then made all the sounds associated with connecting a cell phone call. It was a little creepy, him standing there making the connecting beeps, then the ringtone. It rang three times, then was picked up. “Mr. Tudor?” a male voice asked, terse to the point of being clipped. “Yeah, this is me. Who—?”

“Are you at your farm?”

“Who am I talking to?”

“All in good time, Mr. Tudor. I promise I’ll explain everything when we meet. And to that end, are you at your farm?”

I hesitated. “I am.”

“I’ll be there at zero-nine-hundred,” the man said and hung up. “Kind of rude,” Torina said. I nodded. “Yeah.” I stared into my bourbon for a moment. “Okay. Well, I’m going to go fill in the rest of the crew, and then I guess we might as well get a few hours of downtime. Miryam, are you staying here or going home?”

“I think I’ll stay. I’d like to see what this is.”

“You and me both.”

I SENT Rab and Funboy up in the Frankie at about seven a. m. Together with Perry, they were going to keep watch from on high in case this was a setup and anyone tried infiltrating, surrounding, or otherwise approaching the farm as part of the prelude. They detected nothing unusual, though—

nothing you wouldn’t expect to find in rural Iowa early on a weekday morning in the early autumn. As nine o’clock approached, though, Perry confirmed that a dark sedan had turned onto the side road leading to the farm. I moved Icky into the house, while Netty-P remained aboard the Fafnir out behind the barn. Torina and Icky would stay under cover in the farmhouse in case we needed them, while Miryam and I waited on the front porch. At exactly nine a. m., the dark sedan turned into the driveway and crunched up to the house. It had government plates but no other markings. A young, strikingly blond Lieutenant got out of the driver’s side and looked around with a sneer as he put on his forage cap. The Colonel who clambered out of the passenger’s side was older, lean, and angular with hard eyes. He reminded me of General Ripper, the unhinged character from Doctor Strangelove who’d plunged the world into a nuclear holocaust because he couldn’t get it up and blamed the Communists for it. The Colonel stamped his feet as he approached, blousing his trousers down over the tops of his mirror-bright combat boots that were polished to a degree that suggested he might have… issues. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His face was as expressive as a shark, and when he extended his hand, it was so robotic I found myself wondering if he was an Usu. “Mr. Tudor, my name is Alex Mandeville. I’m a Colonel in the Air Force—”

“Office of Strategic Planning, yeah, I read your card. What can I do for you, Colonel?” I shook his hand as he spoke to me. It was like shaking a handful of steel rods, and about as warm. The Lieutenant accompanying him, whose nametag read Hudspeth, offered a nod. Unlike the emotionless Mandeville, Hudspeth was nothing but emotion, which seemed to mostly consist of smug disdain. “It’s what I can do for you, Mr. Tudor,” Mandeville said. “In particular, it’s how I can help head off a whole bunch of trouble that’s coming your

way.”

I felt Miryam shift uncomfortably at my side, but I kept my focus squarely on Mandeville. “And what sort of trouble would that be?”

He flicked that utterly humorless smile on and off again. “Tell me, Mr. Tudor, how did you come to be here this morning?”

“I—uh, live here?”

“No, what I mean is, how did you come to be here, as opposed to being somewhere else?

Somewhere”—he waved a hand vaguely skyward—“out there, for instance?”

I frowned and forced myself to not start shifting uncomfortably. I wasn’t sure where he was going with this, and I didn’t like it. I decided to counter his smarmy oblique approach with a direct one. “I flew here.”

“Aboard your spaceship.”

“That’s right.”

“And you passed through customs where, exactly?”

I stared blankly. “Customs—?”

Mandeville smiled. “Yes. Customs. US law requires that all people entering the country pass through customs control to be checked before admittance across the border. I assume that you therefore passed through customs—somewhere, right?”

A sharp tickle started in my gut. Shit. I really didn’t like where this was going. “What do you want, Colonel?”

That smile lingered now. “To help you, Mr. Tudor. To help you avoid a slew of charges related to illegally entering the United States, illegally flying through US air space without authorization or regard for air traffic regulations, illegally operating a craft that isn’t duly registered with the appropriate governmental authorities—oh, and you have a crew, don’t you?

Tell me, do they have passports?

And were those passports checked through customs, as the law required?

Or are they”—he grinned briefly—“illegal aliens?”

The Lieutenant, Hudspeth, snickered. “Good one, Boss,” he muttered. I wanted to shoot him a glare but kept my focus on Mandeville. As I did, though, I heard Schegith’s voice and mine, conversing some days ago just steps away from where I now stood. “This one believes this farm to be—there is a terrestrial reference. Yes, a heel of the one named Achilles. That is correct, yes?”

I nodded. “Yeah, it is. An Achilles’ heel—a critical vulnerability.”

“Indeed. You must be more vigilant than ever, Van Tudor. I sense that this farm is your center of gravity, the place from which you draw your strength and resolve… you must begin to confront the reality of your farm being destroyed. What will be your center of gravity then?”

Mandeville went on. “Mr. Tudor, at about noon today, a heavily armed task force from ICE is going to show up here, with backup that’s probably going to include a military detachment. They are going to seize this farm and place everyone here under arrest.” He turned to Miryam. “I’m afraid that includes you, ma’am, as an accessory to all of these crimes against American law.” Back to me. “Oh, and that seizure will include any and all spaceships located here at the time.”

That tickle in my gut abruptly stopped, replaced by cold rage. “Colonel, do you really believe I’m going to allow that to happen?”

Mandeville didn’t even blink. Instead, he took a step closer to me. “What are you going to do, Mr. Tudor?

Kill a bunch of ICE agents, other government personnel, and US servicepeople?

Oh, I’m sure you could do that, probably without breaking a sweat. But I’m suspecting you won’t. Mass murder of people just doing their jobs just doesn’t seem your style.”

I took a breath, let it out. “I’ll ask you again—what do you want?”

“Why, to make it all go away, Mr. Tudor. To make it so that none of that ever even happens.”

“In exchange for what?”

He leaned in even closer. “Your ship, Mr. Tudor. Your technology. Your weapons. I want them all.” His smile widened but got no more genuine. “I’m allowing you, Mr. Tudor, to help turn your country into the most powerful on Earth. Hell, you’ll be a hero—the man who made the United States into the most powerful nation on the planet, now—and for the foreseeable future.”

I just stared at him. I had no words because I truly hadn’t seen this coming. Was Plowitz behind it?

Clemenceau?

The Equal Grasp?

Or was Mandeville just an opportunist, doing this to further his own interests?

Not that it mattered. I should have seen it coming, but I hadn’t. And now, here we were. “So, what’s it going to be, Mr. Tudor?

You give me what I want, or—

you don’t, and all of this”—he gestured around us—“is gone.”

He stood back, still smiling, waiting for my answer. I felt Miryam looking at me. I felt Torina and Icky looking at me from inside the house, Perry and Rab and Funboy from high above. All of them, waiting for me to decide. Surrender, hand over the keys to the Fafnir, or evacuate this place, my home, my center of gravity?

And what about Miryam, Tony and his people, the County Sheriff, Clinton Barnes, and all the other people who might be implicated in this?

Do I leave their fate in the hands of this man, or do I rip them away from their lives, too?

They were all waiting for my answer. I heard footfalls, then saw Mandeville’s eyes go round. Hudspeth looked like he wanted to run. “Babe. Big girl. Thanks for coming out. Appreciate the moral support.”

“Don’t mention it, Boss. Got noodles getting cold, by the way. You make a decision?” Icky asked. It came down to Torina’s touch—her hand, small and warm on my arm, a world of familiarity and love and trust in that simple pressure. One touch. One decision. My lips curled, but like Mandeville, the smile didn’t reach my eyes. I felt the tumblers clicking in place as the other section of me came alive, and the decision was easy. The words, though—I paused, needing exactly the right phrasing. “I love it when they pretend to have options, sir—” Hudspeth began. He stopped talking when he saw the look on my face. “Hudspeth, the adults are talking. Understood?” I asked him, then, not waiting for an answer, I turned to address Mandeville, whose smile slipped by a degree. “You’ve threatened me, my wife, my family, and everything else, but—and here’s the part you’re going to kick yourself over—you came here without having all the facts.”

“Did I?” Mandeville asked, regaining a touch of his composure. “Mmm-hmm. We see this kind of thing out there—in space, where I work in law enforcement—well, we see it more often than you’d think. Classic overreach. Think of it as a raccoon finding the keys to an orbital weapons platform. It’s not that the fuzzy little bastard can’t press the button to make the missile go boom, it’s that they’ll do so without understanding

the enormity of the task. And the moment.” I looked at Torina, whose face had settled into steely resolve. We’re with you, Boss. Everyone is, Perry sent. “I could hand over the keys to the castle, so to speak, although in this case, the castle has enough firepower to scour cities in a short afternoon, but

—“

“But?” Mandeville prompted me. “I’m not going to do that.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Hudspeth—”

“Do you believe in slavery, Colonel?” I asked him. “What?”

“Slavery. Human bondage. You know, scourge of humanity, been around since the dawn of time. I’ll assume you know what I mean and move on, we’re both busy. Well, my ship isn’t necessarily flown by me. The pilot is the ship, in a sense,” I said. “Netty-P—that’s her, the pilot—is a sapient being of free will. Now, sure, you could play out your power fantasy that sees you raised to the highest office as a savior or whatever bullshit you’re dreaming, but let me assure you of one thing.”

I stepped forward, my eyes flat as stones. “I want you to try this. I really do. And I’m going to tell you why, just so there’s nothing left to chance. I’m a Peacemaker. That means I uphold laws that encompass the places beyond your reach. But those same laws?

You live within their reach. And, by default, that means it’s my duty to enforce the law as I see fit. You aren’t here to help me, Alex. But I can help you by doing what’s right—and what’s responsible. That means you never touch the controls of the Fafnir. Period.”

Mandeville’s face was flushed, his hands balled into fists. With obvious effort, he regained a modicum of control. “I gave you a chance, Tudor. Remember that.”

I smiled as he turned away. “Other way around, Alex. You remember that. Because if you don’t, you’re going to understand a law more ancient than the Constitution.” I took another step toward him, and he shrank back, his instincts in overdrive. We went inside. Miryam said simply, “He’ll be back.”

I gave a slow nod. “I’m counting on it.”