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  Carrasco turned on his heel and settled lightly on the table as they entered behind him.

  “By God’s whiskers, Cap,” Happy’s deep voice boomed, “this’U be like old times!”

  Carrasco’s smile might have been strained through mesh.

  Light blue eyes twinkling in his ruddy features, Anderson looked Arturian up and down, a stubby hand shooting out. “Glad t‘ meet ya in person, First Officer. Been too busy working out the bugs to get up to officer country to say hello.”

  Happy Anderson looked to be about forty, bluff and hearty. His face consisted of a series of heavy planes, the stubby nose looking battered. A bulldog jaw supported a full mouth used to smiles. He pumped Art’s hand half off his arm and turned to Bryana, talking the whole time. “You wouldn’t believe the mess Cap was in. By the Architect’s plumbbob, he was a charred, blackened sight. His eyeballs was cooked in his head, the skin a peelin‘ down the front of his face. Why his hair was a melted—”

  “Happy? I don’t think they want the details,” Carrasco interrupted, voice brittle.

  “Aye, Cap.” Happy grinned reluctantly. “But it’s so good to see you in uniform again . . . looking as if there’s nothing ever happened. Why, reminds me of the time on Vicar Station when them boys was fixin‘ to bust my head and Cap rushed in at the last minute. He lit into them goons and bodies was a fly in’—”

  “Later,” Carrasco suggested gently. “For the moment, the First Officers could probably care less.”

  Got that right. Art bit his lip to keep from agreeing.

  Carrasco studied them, an unnerved glazing in his eyes. “I read your vitae on the way in. You both have outstanding records. As this is going to be an irregular affair anyway, I’ll do all I can to help you learn the ropes. Compared to insystem, deep space isn’t that much more difficult. Navigation gets a little trickier and rescue isn’t just a beacon away. But you—”

  “Captain?” Bryana stood braced, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “I take it you don’t have any information concerning this spacing? Is there any ‘For Your Eyes Only’ on First Officer clearance? Any briefing we should know about?”

  Carrasco shook his head slowly. “Nothing ... to my knowledge, First Officer.” He stared at her, brown eyes hiding nothing. “I’ve never had an assignment like this. The only orders available to me at this time are to do as the Speaker of Star’s Rest and the Confederate Council request. Beyond that is anyone’s guess. I tried several times to prod additional information out of the Galactic Grand Master—no luck. He simply smiled and told me to use my wits . . . and that he trusted my judgment in all matters.”

  Oh, swell! Trust the judgment of a man who’s lost three ships in a row? Either Kraal’s a lunatic, or the Craft is in worse shape than I thought. Nice pick of assignments, Art, old buddy! You‘ve tagged yourself for something with all the earmarks of a disaster!

  Carrasco turned to Happy who was still grinning, that wretched adoration in his eyes. “I read the ship’s preliminary specs on the way in. Pretty impressive. I’ll catch up on the stats and performance capabilities as soon as I’m settled. What’s Engineering look like? You’ve been with her since Frontier, haven’t you?”

  Happy nodded. “The likes of which you’ve never seen, Sol. I wouldn’t swear to it, but I think we could short circuit a star with the reactor in this baby. To my knowledge, it’s the largest in the galaxy.”

  “How about your staff?”

  “Got a real good second engineer. Odd sort of duck. Name’s Kralacheck. I’d never admit it, but he might be smarter than me.”

  No doubt. I see what Bryana meant . . . but then a trained penguin might be smarter, Art thought dryly.

  “First Officers,” Sol turned. “I’ll take your briefing now. What’s the situation?”

  Bryana held her defensive posture, eyes hard as they met Carrasco’s. “According to orders, we waited to board the diplomats until your arrival. The only exception was Speaker Archon and his daughter Constance. We received clearance from Frontier to allow them aboard and to provide quarters for security reasons. Dockside has cleared us for departure upon your arrival. The Speaker would like to meet with you first thing.”

  “Very well, as soon as we’ve finished here, begin boarding the diplomats. First Officer Arturian, inform Misha Gaitano to observe the strictest security in the process. Given—”

  “I don’t think we can, sir,” Art interrupted, trying to stifle his irritation.

  Carrasco tipped his head, a curious resistance in his eyes. “Oh?”

  “We’ve already had several canisters delivered bearing diplomatic seals.” Art steeled himself, attempting to keep his professional face. “Under Confederate policy, sir, we can’t search their luggage.”

  Carrasco’s expression pinched slightly. “No, I suppose not. We’ll have to live with that. I don’t like it, but I guess we’re stuck. Double our security precautions, no unauthorized entry into certain sensitive parts of the ship and so forth. You know the drill.” He shifted his gaze to Happy. “How long until we can space?”

  “Anytime, Cap. Five minutes, if you want. We’ve got things pretty well under control. Minor modifications can be conducted during acceleration to jump.”

  “Any questions?” Sol asked, half expectantly. “No? Then let’s get the diplomats aboard and some space behind us.” He stood energetically, signaling the meeting was over.

  On the way out the hatch, Art heard Happy ask, “What was all that shooting on the dock? Heard a Brotherhood agent died as a result. Guess they shot him up pretty bad.”

  “Yes . . . they did,” Carrasco gritted, a quiver at the corner of his lips.

  * * *

  Nikita Malakova gave the Brotherhood agent his most scathing baleful glare as the man checked his papers. Behind a security door, another man studied a monitor. The security agent looked up, evidently receiving a report.

  “Sir, could I ask you to leave your pulse pistol and knife with us? Considering—”

  “Never!” Nikita narrowed his eyes, jaw thrust out. “What you think, eh? That I would surrender pistol and knife? What then? I become prey for anyone else with weapon!”

  “I understand, sir, but—”

  “You see this?” Nikita pointed to the clearance on the Council ID. “Says I am diplomat, no? Beyond silly little title, I am man. As man, I take responsibility for me. Is human right to protect self and family. And what you know, eh? Occasional fool still tries to rob me. And would not be first time some subverter of will of oppressed masses would like to assassinate Nikita Malakova! No, you clear me—or I go back and file protest with Council and we see what happens.”

  The man behind the monitor was talking softly into a comm. Finally, he looked up and nodded.

  “Very well, Representative. We will, however, file notice with the Captain that you’re—”

  Nikita leaned down, jamming a thick finger into the man’s chest. “You listen, Brotherhood subverter of the masses. So long as the people are armed, they are free! Eh? You consider. What do Sirians want? To take away guns! That’s what. They claim depriving masses of weapons stops crime. You ever been to Malakova Station? No? You ever been to Gulag Sector? No? Hey, you can leave door unlocked! Leave credit card on table in restaurant. You come back, it still there—with no charges on it. You know why? Because we ... the people . . . shoot thief on sight!”

  The man steeled himself. “Certainly sir, I can understand your convictions; however, you’ll be traveling on a Brotherhood ship with guaranteed security that—”

  “I take own security. Now, you want me to call Galactic Grand Master? Or you let me pass?”

  The man sighed. “Very well, sir. Enjoy your—”

  “Bah!” Nikita bulled past, striding down the narrow corridor. “Take my gun from me, will they? What then? How do sneaky Brotherhood bloodsuckers expect me to stay free?”

  At the end of the corridor, Nikita stepped out on the docks, seeing the hatch and a handful of wary Patr
ol. Around the perimeters, armed riot wagons waited, armored sides mirror reflective against lasers. The heavy blasters had a suspiciously activated look to them.

  Tayash Niter waved from one side. In person he looked even more fragile, an emaciated caricature of a man. He dressed severely in black, the effect accentuating the snowy white of his hair and augmenting the narrow look of his face. As if to keep his tottering body from collapsing, he braced himself on a thin black cane that gleamed in the bright lights.

  Grinning, Nikita padded forward, kissing his friend’s cheeks and gesturing toward the lock. “So, we go on a Brotherhood ship! Maybe we see if stories are true!”

  Tayash chuckled under his breath, running an age-freckled hand through his shock of stiff white hair. “You think they would allow us to see Brotherhood ‘secrets’? You’re more naive than I always suspected. What is this, Nikita?” Tayash looked around. “No big-boobed, mindless piece of female fluff to keep your bed warm at night? Slipping, are you? Or did your wives find out about that prostitute from Ceti you took to—”

  “Shhhh!” Nikita warned, finger to his lips. “What you think? That because this is Brotherhood dock my wives don’t have ears? Rumors . . . rumors go everywhere.”

  Tayash elbowed him, chortling. “I bet your cutthroat constituents checked your expenses. Found too much money going for—”

  “Hey! You accuse me of pilfering funds of workers for personal gain? Bah! I am soldier of the permanent revolution!”

  Tayash nodded, leaning on his gleaming black cane. “Aye, soldier for the revolution. My bloated butt hole you’re a—”

  “So, what has happened here? ”Nikita jerked his head toward the lock.

  Tayash bent his gaze to the cluster of Patrol and people knotted around the hatch. “A great deal. Mark Lietov himself arrived a few minutes back. Your instincts about this being big were right. Lietov—”

  “Bah!” Nikita slapped his thighs with heavy hands. “So, Sirians send Director of Political Affairs? Number two man in whole pustulant government? We shall have to keep eyes and ears eternally open, my friend. Lietov? I never would have—”

  “Nor is he the only one.”

  Nikita raised an eyebrow. “Well? Don’t just stand there. Who? Tayash, damn you, tell me who?”

  Niter worked his lips. “Oh, I will. For the moment, I was simply relishing the thought of not being interrupted by you. Thought I’d pay you back for all the times you wouldn’t allow me to finish a—”

  “Who?” Nikita thundered.

  Tayash pulled at the white spike of his goatee. “Terra sent Medea. She brought her husband—”

  “Medea?” Nikita clenched his hands behind him, staring at the lock. “There is viperous woman if one ever existed. So who did Palmiere send—or is he coming himself?”

  “Stokovski.”

  “George Stokovski? That simpering worthless weak-minded—”

  “But New Israel sends General Paul Ben Geller.”

  Nikita’s incredulous expression widened to a smile. “That’s better. Leave it to Jews to not fool around. So Mossad is in this, too? Their best agent?”

  “And Ambrose has sent Norik Ngoro as their . . . Nikita? What’s this? Did I finally manage to catch you off guard? You look pale.”

  “Ngoro?”

  “The same. Nikita, I do believe this is the first time I’ve seen you go pale when it wasn’t mention of another woman in the presence of your wives. What is—”

  “And Amahara is with him?”

  “Yes. Is that significant?”

  Nikita filled his lungs, stretching his bearlike chest. “Norik Ngoro is Truth Sayer in his own station. Tayash, that man reads minds. Some psi power I don’t understand. A sensitivity, if you will. Amahara goes along as official recorder—of course, fact that Ngoro can’t dress himself is beside point. Genius has its price.”

  “I don’t see the-”

  “Tayash, understand. Norik Ngoro is most dangerous man in human space. Important thing is that he’s come here. To go with us for whatever reason we’re taking this trip. Lietov, Medea, Earl of Baspa, are all frightening enough ... but Ngoro? What have we stumbled into?”

  * * *

  Sol stood alone on the bridge, tracing a finger down the side of the command chair, the monitors glowing warm and alive before him. The bridge . . .

  Flashback: He staggered as images of Gage loomed from the depths of his mind. Mbazi grinned up from his command chair, the broad plains of his face illuminated by a wide toothy smile, bridge lights playing in the steel wool mat of his hair. Maybry hummed softly to himself, concentration fixed on his headset. In the screens the alternating blue-red of the binary system closed to a semi-detached state, the envelopes elongating as the stars approached their Roche limits.

  “Captain?” Gage asked. “Are you all right? I detect a—”

  Reality shifted, a black shape hurling out of the shimmering flickering of blue and red lights.

  “Where the hell?” Mbazi jerked around. “They’re shooting at us! Damn it! Shields up! Gage, give us everything!”

  Below his feet, Gage shuddered under concussions as bright blaster bolts exploded plating, lancing plasma through Gage’s vulnerable hull.

  “Accelerate!” Mbazi cried, looking up, beseeching. “Sol? Why? Why is this happening? Damn it, Cap! Do something! Save us!”

  “Captain!”

  “Not now, Gage, ” he whispered.

  “Captain!”

  Sol straightened, the horror snapping from his mind. He blinked. Looked down to see his fingers sunk into the foam of the command chair. About him, Boaz’s pristine bridge gleamed.

  “I . . .”

  “Captain?” Boaz demanded. “Are you all right?”

  Sol gulped air, bracing himself on the thick back of the command chair. He shivered as cold sweat broke out on his body. “Fine. Yes, I’m fine. Just in my head is all. Just . . .”

  “I detect severe physical and psychological stress. If you aren’t feeling well, I could—”

  “I’m fine, ship.”

  “Engineer Anderson is outside the hatch.”

  “Pass him.”

  Anderson strolled in, whistling to himself, stopping dead at the sight of Sol. “Blessed protons, Cap. You look like you’d seen a ghost.”

  Sol smiled weakly, sinking into the command chair, fishing absently for his cup. “I . . . Yeah, maybe I did.” Sol fumbled his cup out with nervous hands, jamming it unsteadily into the dispenser. “I don’t know, Happy, maybe I’m not ready for this.”

  Anderson cocked his head, frowning. “I ... well, just wanted to come up. I mean I ... Well, damn it! You and me, we’ve been through a lot together. I don’t know. I just thought maybe I’d come up and see how you were doing. Don’t know when we’ll get time again.”

  “Sit down.” Sol gestured as he took his cup from the dispenser, slopping coffee on the deck. His gut twisted, anxiety sending shivers through his tight muscles. Happy’s frown deepened.

  “It’s these new hands,” Sol explained lamely. He wiggled his fingers. “Hard to believe.”

  Happy lowered himself slowly into one of the chairs. “Yeah, I suppose.” He hesitated. “So, tell me, Sol. How are you? Last time I saw you, they had you clammed up in a med unit like a bug in a cocoon. I mean, I stood there and couldn’t see anything but monitors. I ... aw, I don’t know. I just wanted you to know all of us made it up one time or another to see you.”

  They’d come. His crew—what remained of it—hadn’t forgotten him. A burning knot of tears tried to form in his eyes. Gritting his teeth, he killed the urge. “Thanks, Happy. I don’t remember much. Just pain. Pain like you’d never think a body could survive.” He puffed an exhale. “Maybe I didn’t, huh?”

  Happy stared down at his thumb. “Yeah, well, when I heard you might take Boaz, I crossed my fingers. I think we all did. You know, me and the crew, well, every time we take a breath, it’s because of what you did that day.”

  Sol nodded slo
wly. “Couldn’t order anyone else to.” He shrugged nervously. “I guess I’m saying ‘I’ a lot. Nervous, Happy. Guess I don’t know what to say. But, well, tell me about Gage, about the trip back. How . . . how did she die?”

  He steeled himself, forcing himself to listen.

  Happy stared up at the monitors where Arcturus stretched into infinity. “Easy, Cap. Quick. Like she never knew she’d gone to sleep. Mostly, she shut herself off, depowered the boards to keep things together. She was a lady . . . always. Like you, she sacrificed herself for us.”

  Sol nodded, taking a deep breath.

  “Is that what’s bothering you?”

  Sol spread his hands. “You don’t space that long with a crew or a ship like Gage and just let go.” He looked up. “I don’t know. Maybe I haven’t had time to mourn.”

  Happy smiled, the gesture splitting his blocky face. “Yeah, well, Cap, you brought us all home again. Damn me if I know how we made it since I was in Engineering pasting things together, but we did. For more than a couple of moments, there, I almost got religion. Been a while since I prayed that hard.”

  “But all those people.” Sol jumped to his feet, pacing nervously. “And I just keep asking myself why . . . who.”

  “Black ship.” Happy exhaled, digging his own coffee cup out of his pouch and slipping it into the dispenser. “Pirates? Who knows? Probably thought they had easy pickings. Figured to hit us on the fly-by and come back and pick up pieces. They just didn’t figure we’d survive. That we’d have time to accelerate to jump. Barely made it as it was. They’d turned around and were pretty close by the time we made jump. The shielding wavered once or twice, but it held. Honestly, Cap, you bought us the time.”

  Sol nodded, fingering the cushioning on the monitors. “What is this stuff?”

  “Pretty neat design they cooked up. It images—like a monitor. At the same time, it keeps the equipment sealed. Less maintenance. Acts as a cushion, too, in case you fall or something.”

  “And this ship? Is she really everything everyone says?”

  “She is. Smart, too. Gage was pretty sharp, but Boaz . . . well, you’ll find out.”