"Uh-oh. That's top secret all right."

  "Sorry I have to run. Crowbar. Maybe we can pick up the tour next weekend."

  "Guess so. It's just too bad you had to leave before I showed you the best part."

  "What's that?"

  "The sign you recommended for the galley: The captain is always right, and mutineers will be spaced."

  Coeur nodded approvingly.

  "Maybe I picked the wrong ship after all. So long, Crowbar."

  "So long. Red Sun."

  ***

  If Coeur had concerns for the casualness of her dress, they disappeared when she saw the condition of her companion. Drop Kick, clearly enjoying his inter-assignment furlough. Standing out on the aft deck of a rented recreational hovercraft and waving to Coeur as she flew the pinnace in low overhead, it appeared the best he could manage was shorts and a khaki summer shirt with chevrons.

  But even Coeur, who was not big on romance, could see why Drop Kick did not have parade dress along on the boat The due came from Snapshot, the pale -skinned Oriflammen redhead who was wearing even less than the sergeant major, and was evidently his sole companion.

  Ah, love.

  "Come to take away my man? "Snapshot sent, over ship-to-ship radio.

  "Afraid so. That boat of yours anchored?"

  "Roger that. Red Sun."

  "Good. Just hold her steady, then, and I'll drop a ladder down for Drop Kick."

  Despite the great size of the pinnace—Its 24-meter wingspan cast a giant shadow across the hovercraft—its double-redundant flight computers gave Coeur the confidence to park it directly above the far smaller watercraft and set the contra-grav to hover so she could move to the port hatch and roll out a rope ladder. Since the pinnace held rock steady in the crystal-blue equatorial sky, while the hovercraft rolled erratically on the ocean water, Drop Kick's greatest challenge was grabbing hold of the end of the ladder. Once he managed that without dunking himself, It was a simple matter to scramble up the rungs and into the spacecraft's hatch.

  "Welcome aboard, sergeant, "Coeur said, offering a hand to the burly tanker.

  "Thanks. Now what the hell is this all about?"

  "Hell if I know. Roll up that ladder, though, and I'll get us underway."

  "Roger."

  Doing as bade, the big Marine hauled the ladder back aboard, then gave a farewell wave to Snapshot and shut the hatch. By the time he reached the copilot's seat, the craft was already pulling its wings in to achieve a delta configuration and climbing under Coeur's control, aiming for the capital 1500 kilometers away, or about IS minutes at their best speed.

  "I feel bad about leaving Snapper alone there, "Drop Kick said, "but Brusman isn't too far away."

  "Not too close, either, "Coeur said, with a quick glance at her companion. Descended from a line of fishermen working the equatorial waters of Aubaine, Drop Kick inherited blue eyes, skin that tanned deeply and a shock of blonde hair that tended toward white when he was out in the sun, as he'd just been with Snapshot.

  "Really, Captain. We were just out fishing."

  "Funny. I didn't see any tackle in the boat."

  "You are the perceptive one. aren't you, sir."

  "I try. Oh, by the way, I'm almost finished with your painting. Since you're going to hang it in the unit HQ, I tried not to make it too good, so the officers wouldn't be envious."

  "And I paid for that?"

  Coeur shook her head.

  "lust, kidding, Drop Kick. Really, I'm sure you'll like it."

  To take advantage of her high speed, Coeur soon had them shooting into a parabolic course high above the troposphere, where drag from the dense lower atmosphere—and the chance of collision with low-flying aircraft—would be diminished. At the height of their arc, the noonday sky turned a violet purple through the bridge windows, though inertial compensation prevented any real sense of motion,

  "So anyway, "Drop Kick said, "you must have some idea what Hammer wants with us."

  "Nearest I can figure, "Coeur speculated, "he wants clarification on some piece of data we brought back from the frontier. Hornet did uncover a lot of new ground in Shenk subsector."

  "I was thinking it might be something worse."

  "Like?"

  "Like maybe Virus is back — Hiver Folgorex II."

  Coeur spared Drop Kick an acid look.

  "Don't even think it. One brush with that bug was enough."

  Drop Kick shrugged. The singular achievement of Hornet's shakedown cruise was recovery of the vaccine to Hiver Folgorex II from the Guild base on Sauler—Hiver Folgorex II being an engineered virus the Guild had hoped would exterminate the Hiver race and knock the supporting legs out from under the Coalition's table. Hornet's own technical adviser, the Hiver Scissor, and practically every Hiver on the planet Ra had suffered agonizing deaths from infection with the vims, so it was not a pleasant thought to visualize yet another strain of the plague loose in the Coalition.

  "Let's hope it's something more congenial, "Coeur suggested, "like a fleet of vampire battleships on the loose."

  "Or perhaps the word that all our suns are going nova."

  "Yeah, something manageable."

  The pinnace began nosing down toward its destination, and the spacers cut short their conversation as the austere geometry of Trantown have into view.

  On a world whose surface was 98. 2% covered with water, r>o land stood out as a continent, but the island of Trannis, home of Trantown, was as close as it got. With 450 kilometers from north to south, it struck the Terran Coeur as roughly the size and shape of ireland, but there the comparison ended. Pushed up from the sea by volcanic action, the heart of the island was inaccessible rock, ringed by a coastal plateau devoted alternately to terraced farmland and rigidly structured cities.

  Had Trannis been closer to the equator, it might have been the world's starport as well as the capital of Aubaine and the Coalition, but the extra advantage of angular momentum to launching starships gave that honor to tiny Brusman Atoll. Since most visitors to Aubaine came for the thrice-weekly Auction at the starport, bright and energetic young Brusman came first to mind when most off-worlders thought of Aubaine, but Trannis had assets the smaller island could not rival: namely, money, knowledge and the administrators to manage them.

  in bygone days, Trantown was the heart of a commercial empire on balkanized Vras, ruling vast areas of the world through a calculated blend of force and mercantile inducement. During the Collapse, it was the only state with money to lend for new projects, and—not coincidentally—the choice for a capital when Hivers contacted the world and the planet was unified.

  "Locking on traffic beam, "Coeur announced, relaxing in her seat; "Trantown Control will take us in the rest of the way."

  "Are we going to the municipal spaceport? "Drop Kick asked, searching the ordered grid of blocks below for familiar features.

  "Roger. This bird's a little large to park on top of Arses HQ."

  Now flown remotely by computer, the pinnace extended her delta wings automatically for additional lift and drifted at aerodynamic stall speed above the roofs of waterfront warehouses at the edge of the spaceport. Though boxed in by a valley of slab-like skyscrapers, the spaceport maintained a broad safety zone of marshland and factories around its perimeter—a prudent precaution after the same port was wrecked by crash-diving spacecraft infected with Suicide strains of Virus 70 years before.

  The pinnace finally came to a rest not at the busy public landing field, but at a hangar within an adjacent fenced-in area, well-patrolled by Coalition Marines and monitored by remote sensors. Here they left the pinnace in the care of the Arse engineer in charge of the RC facility, call-sign"Half-track."

  "Good afternoon, sir, "Coeur said, saluting as she and Drop Kick came down the rear hatch of the pinnace."

  "Red Sun, "the wiry Half-track returned, with a salute of his own. Though formerly a commander in the Aubani Navy, his attitude toward rank wa^ consistent with the rest of the informal RCES; he wore a simple jumpsuit with no sign of rank or prior service.

  "We understand Hammer wants to see us as quickly as possible. May we borrow one of your vehicles?"

  "Affirmative, "Half-track answered, "right this way. The commodore advised us to have something ready for you."

  "All right! "Drop Kick said, falling in behind Coeur as she followed Half-track out of the hangar. Aware of the haste with which they'd been summoned, he visualized the vehicle as some sort of executive speeder—probably with its own guard and chauffeur.

  The reality was somewhat more modest.

  A battered, low-performance rag-top air-raft, painted in primer red.

  "That's it?"

  Half-track appeared hurt by Drop Kick's question, but Coeur nodded knowingly.

  "To give us a tow profile, "she speculated. "Maybe this is a bigger deal than we thought."

  ***

  Low profile or not. Half-track's air-raft was not as feeble as it looked. His mechanics had installed a powerful new TL12 turbine to power her thrusters, and the stripped-down paint reduced weight, giving the vehicle a top speed three limes the 100 kph allowed in the city traffic net.

  Though Aubaine was the most advanced of the Coalition's 20 worlds, it had been ravaged by the Collapse all the same. Consequently, most of Trantown's business traffic was not in the air, but on the ground—electrical and muscle-powered vehicles being the preference for those going to and from their activities on this sunny summer afternoon." There was a time, "Coeur said, over the wind in the open cockpit, "when everybody on a world like this would have had an air-raft."

  "Conspicuous consumption."

  "Yeah, that was our motto in the imperium. Everything in large amounts."

  "Including death."

  "Yeah, I suppose so. There's the old HQ."

  Apart from the myriad antennae on its broad, flat roof, the RCES HQ was not a distinguished structure. Formerly the head-

  quarters of the island empire's information ministry, it was only 20 stories tall—a dwarf among the 150-meter towers nearby. But the inherent telecommunication rig and installed phone lines made it a natural choice for the headquarters of a rapidly growing agency like the Regency Coalition Exploration Service (RCES or Arses, for short).

  Disengaging the traffic net's control of the air-raft, Coeur radioed ahead her request to land, then drifted away from the aerial traffic stream and set down atop the building. More Marines met them there, detaining them for retina scans in the security shack on the edge of the roof before passing them on.

  "You'd think they'd recognize us, "Drop Kick said afterward, as he and Coeur rode an elevator down to the director's level, "what with us saving the Coalition and all."

  "You ever met the commodore? "Coeur asked.

  "No, not really. Just seen him at ceremonies."

  "A word of advice, then: You might want to stow the satire."

  "Doesn't go for it, huh?"

  "Well, "Coeur said, with a thoughtful expression, "It isn't like he doesn't have a sense of humor. It's just that he doesn't like people joking about missions in the field—especially ones where people could get killed."

  Drop Kick nodded.

  "Point taken. Thanks."

  The elevator opened onto a corridor adjacent to Strategic Ops, always a hub of activity for the Arses intelligence analysts and as busy as the rest of Trantown, even on what was nominally a weekend. The two Arses workstations closest to the commodore's office held not humans, however, but Schalli, hard at work on Virus-busting software. These streamlined aquatic creatures, the sentient race indigenous to Aubaine, were hampered by their limited terrestrial mobility in the field. But in wheeled roller-chairs they managed well enough in a modern city with abundant ramps and powered elevators.

  "Good afternoon. Red Sun, "the nearest Schalli said from his workstation, noting the arrival of the Arse and Marine at the commodore's office.

  "Good afternoon, Typhoon. Is the commodore in?"

  "Affirmative. He requested me to send you to his office immediately."

  "Very good. Come on, sergeant."

  With brisk steps, Coeur and Drop Kick crossed Strategic Ops and came at last into the director's office. Not pretentious, it was fronted by a simple reception area, whose doors were open and therefore invited the pair to enter.

  "Good, you're here, "Hammer said. "Come in."

  Crossing the threshold of the director's office, Coeur was stunned. The commodore was there of course, a balding, weatherworn Nimban sailor. But also present were two senior aides— Papa and Thumper. These ex-Marines—the former a Balduri lieutenant permanently grimacing from a spinal injury, the latter an Oriflammen boloball star-cum-trooper with a squat body and outgoing demeandr—held positions of high authority in the Long Range Planning Group, coordinating hot missions inside and outside the AO. To see both together with Hammer was a sure sign something serious was up.

  "Hey, Drop Kick, "Thumper said, wheeling on the tanker and giving him a hearty handshake. "Long time, no hear."

  "Well, a couple months."

  "You two know each other? "Coeur asked.

  "Hell, yeah, "Thumper said, around a thick wad of something he was chewing, likely faisal root"Debriefed his tankers after they came back from Sauler. That was some trick—stuffing the tank full of plastique and blowing the living hell out of Guild HQ. I love it!"

  "Actually, "Drop Kick said, with a glance at Coeur, "that was the captain's idea."

  "Regardless of whose idea it was, "Hammer interrupted, "we have some serious matters to discuss."

  "Sorry, sir, "Drop Kick apologized.

  "Don't mean to be snappy, "the commodore went on, "but lime is short. Gentlemen, Red Sun, please sit down."

  Five seats stood ready, two near the door and three on the side of the desk opposite, so Coeur and Drop Kick took the two obviously intended for their use and waited as the others settled into place. Though Hammer and his staff, men wearing simple military shirts without any sign of rank, were hardly ostentatious, there was no doubting their military efficiency. Crisply, they took their seats, flipped open three computer notepads to refresh their minds on the facts at hand, then manipulated controls on the commodore's desk to darken the room and illuminate a side wall holographic projector as the commodore returned to his feet.

  "Red Sun, "he said, "you've probably guessed something big is up."

  "Yes, sir. I figured as much from the Class III message."

  "Well, it was warranted. What we're about to tell you could have a large bearing on the future of the Coalition."

  Coeur raised an eyebrow.

  "The future, sir?"

  "Yes, the future, as in whether it'll be just pretty rough or completely awful. Papa, load the first image."

  Chapter Two

  The picture Papa pulled up was an animated holographic mug shot, probably TL9 because it was grainy and rotated the subject's head only 45 degrees left and right from center. The subject him self was vaguely familiar to Coeur, a rough-featured thug with an eye patch over his right eye and burns on the right side of his head, identified by the caption under his head as K. Wolfowitz, NO. 99475.

  This is Kenji Wolfowitz, "Hammer explained, "call sign Zero. Recognize him?"

  Coeur shook her head. "An Oriflammen raider?"

  "Right, and one of the worst. This mug shot was taken a couple of years ago, when he was arrested on Oriflamme for firing on a Dawn League scout Somehow, though, when the Dawn League was replaced by the Coalition, the charges against him were dropped, and he was released."

  "What? "Drop Kick asked.

  "He's got a black belt in brown-nosing, "the Oriflammen Thumper explained. "Bribed a technarch magistrate."

  "Oh."

  "And, "Hammer went on, "went back to his trade, waylaying ships from ambush. Unfortunately, we didn't have enough proof of piracy to arrest him with a Coalition vessel. Two days ago, we received reliable intelligence that his ship and crew were captured on Mexit, well outside the AO."

  "Well, good, "Drop Kick said.

  "No, bad. Papa, next image."

  Since the holographic projector took up most of the five-meter wall. Papa did not remove the image of Zero; instead, he reduced it in size and moved it over to the corner of a new image. Unlike the first, this was a 2-D monochrome still picture, but the wickedly rounded geometry of the object displayed drove a spike of fear right through Coeur's spine.

  A block globe generator.

  The metal object depleted was round, with heat radiating-fins around its middle and power conduits around its base. Compared to the two figures beside it—triumphant Zero and another raider, both in flak vests—the device appeared to be about three-meters in diameter, small, but not so small it couldn't cause havoc in the wrong hands.

  Coeur thought back to an ordinary day, 83 years before.

  Her scout/courier Swift was a sensor picket, high above Muan Gwi. Rumors ran that the Solomani offensive was finally petering out and that an imperial fleet would soon assemble here for a counterattack. When it did, Coeur assumed it would use the capital ship already of Muon Gwi as its slgship—ISS Leopardess, a mighty vessel of 500, 000 tons repairing minor damage in low orbit.

  Though the battleship's escort was relatively small—a light cruiser and squadron of destroyers—Coeur felt safe enough. The battleship was not so hurt that she could not fight and maneuver under her own power, and the scout ships of the sensor picket would certainly alert her to man battle stations before intruding ships could close to firing range.

  But then it happened. One moment there were no contacts anywhere within 2 million kilometers, then suddenly a ship was dead ahead—a long needle dead in Coeur's path. At first, she assumed the ship was precipitating out of jump, but they were far too dose to the planet for that. It was a Solomani cruiser, flickering its black globe stroboscopically—and it had almost certainly jumped in hours before to drift unseen into optimum firing range.

  "Swift to Leopardess! "Coeur called. "Swift to Leopardess! Enemy contact bearing one-seven-seven!"

  But it was too late. Ignoring Swift, the cruiser discharged its spinal meson gun, and Leopardess rocked from internal explosions. The stunned and scattered escort fleet struggled to engage the enemy, but already the cruiser was maneuvering away toward jump point. Having made a short jump, it had fuel remaining to escape and did so handily as the Leopardess fell ablaze into Muan Gwi's atmosphere, well on her way to becoming a tomb for 10, 000.

 

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