Rather than tip off anyone in ambush, the troopers practiced absolute radio silence, saying everything they had to say in Anslan—the versatile sign language taught to all RC field agents. Its disadvantage, of course, was the need for one person to be looking directly at another to carry on a conversation, but that was not so much of a disadvantage for the Marines, who practiced boarding actions routinely; each trooper knew his or her job and executed it without direct instruction. Bonzo, the electronics specialist, crawled into the docking tunnel linked to Ellen Arc's belly hatch, and—covered by Whiz Bang— cut through the fat trader's hull with a laser torch. Then, with the other's ship's keel wiring exposed, he fried the other ship's grav plates with a portable surge generator— preventing the nasty surprise of an enemy bouncing them to death with flickered artificial gravity.
What should have followed next was a forced opening of the iris valve before them, and a careful advance into engineering and the bridge, under mutual cover. It did not follow, however, because a feeble radio message from Ellen Arc interrupted them.
"Hey! We surrender! Do you hear us out there? We surrender!"
Drop Kick, jacked into a wall communications jack hard-wired to Coeur's helmet radio, hand-signaled his team to stand by.
"Bridge," Drop Kick said, "did you hear that?"
"Affirmative, a personal communicator. Take it from your end."
"Roger," the sergeant said, tuning his suit radio to broadcast on Ellen Arc's frequency.
"Ellen Arc, this is RCS Hornet. Assemble all hands at your port drive section and prepare to be boarded."
"Roger, Hornet We read you! Don't shoot!"
In reply, Drop Kick nodded to Bonzo, who opened Ellen Arc's belly hatch with a power cable from Hornet. Immediately, four vac-suited figures came into view, floating in the zero-gravity of Ellen Arc's port air lock with their hands up.
That two of the younger traders had temporarily lost bladder control became obvious later, from the smell when their vac suits were taken off, but even before that it was clear that their eyes were locked on the four gun barrels in their face. It was not until after Drop Kick and Whiz Bang had crawled up the docking tube to push them, roughly, down into the gravity of Hornet, that their expression changed—from terror to something more approaching relief.
"Bridge, anyone else over there?"
"Negative, Drop Kick, unless they're psi-shielded."
"All right. Mercy, Whiz Bang, check the ship."
In answer, the troops saluted and then disappeared into the stricken freighter. Bonzo, meanwhile, had gone over the huddled prisoners for weapons. He found none.
"All right," Drop Kick said, "are any of you the captain?"
"Are you going to kill us?" the oldest-looking prisoner asked.
"Haven't decided yet."
"All right," the oldest man said, "I'm the captain, Rolf Krishnamurti."
"Well, Rolf, this is your lucky day; I've just decided not to kill you. Bonzo, take him to the skipper."
As a precaution, Coeur kept Hornet depressurized until a cursory probe of Ellen Arc was complete, but Mercy and Whiz Bang found very little intact on the fat trader that could hurt them—just eight dead crewmembers who hadn't reached spacesuits—and pressure was restored to Hornet within two hours of docking. For the prisoners especially—down to two hours of suit air—that was particularly comforting.
"So," Coeur said, sitting down opposite the seated and handcuffed Captain Krishnamurti at the galley table, "you're the skipper. I suppose you know there's a sloop on the way here with a book to throw at you,"
A slight, bewhiskered man, Krishnamurti was clearly cowed by the looming bulk of Drop Kick's battle dress behind himself.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Well, maybe if you tell me what you were up to, I can put in a good word with our friends.
"Here's what I know. Your ship is registered out of Lancer, and has a legitimate business license. However, what's left of your cargo certainly isn't legal—infantry weapons, ammunition, and space combat missiles carried without proper permits. With food, medicine, and modular shelters, I'd be tempted to think you were outfitting an expedition."
"You might say that."
"Except I don't think it was your expedition. For one thing, you had nukes, and didn't fire'em at us. Does that mean you're stupid, or just didn't want to piss off your customer?"
The smuggler delayed in answering until he felt an armored fist close on his shoulder.
"You want a broken collarbone, mister?"
"All right, all right. So I was paid to carry the stuff."
"By whom?"
"That wasn't my business. Just carrying it from Aubaine to Kruyter, and exchanging it with Nimble Dancer,"
"That's not what she asked," Drop Kick said, tightening his grip.
"Okay, okay. I saw Novastar trucks deliver the cargo."
Suddenly, Coeur leaned forward. "You mean Novastar, as in the Aubani corporation?" "If you say so. I'm not Aubani, f don't know," But I do, Coeur thought. Novastar, as in the corporation run by Physic's husband.
At her sick bay desk. Physic laid aside her vac suit helmet and fell back in her chair, stunned.
"Good Lord."
"Look," Coeur said, standing just inside Physic's doorway, and still wearing her own unhelmeted vac suit, "it might not be anything. Ellen Arc's computers are so damaged it'll take a few days to establish any positive link with your husband."
"I'm sorry," Physic said, lifting up her face. "But that wasn't really what I was thinking about anyway."
"Oh?"
"Red Sun, if I tell you something, is there any chance it could stay between you and me?"
"That depends."
"Well, maybe it's not that important."
"Ripsaw's going to be here within the hour, Physic, if it has any bearing on this incident, maybe you'd better tell me."
Physic frowned, as if weighing her conscience against some other consideration. Ultimately, her conscience won.
"Red Sun, I know that you don't like my husband, and—as far as that goes—I don't like him very much right now either. But until recently I really thought he was serious about getting back together."
"Uh huh," Coeur nodded.
"Well, one of the last times I saw him was a few weeks before we left Aubaine. He came to my office, where I was working late, and I let him in the building. To make a long story short, he told me was through with other women, I thought he seemed sincere, and that was the last lime we had sex."
"Fascinating. So what does this have to do with Ellen Arc?"
"Well, here's the thing that bothers me. He brought a briefcase with him to my office, and set it down behind the end of my couch next to the door. Now it seemed a little large for a briefcase, but I didn't pay it much attention since we spent most of our time on the couch. It wasn't until later that I thought I heard the door open, twice, as if something in that briefcase went out and came back."
"Hmm," Coeur said, growing more interested. "But you didn't see it?"
"No, I don't think so. But I'm not sure "
"It could've been a robot, maybe. Some of the relic models are pretty small. Was there anything important in that building?"
"Are you kidding? Medlab is the central research repository for all of Aubaine!"
"But you let August in anyway,"
"He is my husband, Red Sun,"
"All right. Were any of the database files accessed unusually? Like, after hours, or with fishy passwords?"
"I don't know. I checked, but I'm not a computer technician,"
"I see your concern," Coeur said, "but really, why would one of the wealthier men on Aubaine want to break into a medical library?"
"I don't know. Like I said, maybe it's nothing. But with the possibility that Novastar financed these smugglers, and August being such a jerk to me after that time at Medlab, it makes me wonder if he used me for some ulterior purpose."
Coeur laid a gloved hand on her friend's shoulder.<
br />
"Physic, as far as I know there's no law against having sympathy for your mate. But as soon as we know anything more, I'll let you know."
"Thanks."
When Hornet rendezvoused with Marathon Victrix minutes later, Coeur expected to turn her prisoners over to the larger ship and its full squad of Marines. Ripsaw, however, would come to reveal different instructions, "Nice shooting, Hornet."
"Thank you, Victrix; we tried not to vaporize this one. Are you prepared to take over our prisoners?"
"Negative. Kruyter Control wants you to bring the prisoners directly to Kreuzung."
"Understood. Is there an RC command post there?"
"Negative, Hornet. Kreuzung Asteroid is a holding of Kruytercorp."
Coeur frowned. Although Kruytercorp was the government of Kruyter system, it was also a private corporation, so it could be construed as a conflict of interest later if they involved themselves in the processing of smugglers supported by another corporation.
"If it's any help," Ripsaw elaborated, "Kreuzung sounded very excited when we reported the Novastar connection."
"I see. Any idea what we should do with Ellen Arc?"
"Kruytercorp is sending out a tug to push her in to Kreuzung. In the meantime, we'll carry on an inspection of the hull."
"Affirmative, Victrix. Hornet out."
After Hornet swung around the obstructive bulk of Sonnamen, Deep Six contacted Kruyter Control and verified Ripsaw's orders: Director Tirese Serene wished to debrief Hornet's command crew as soon as possible.
"I think that means you and me," Coeur told Drop Kick, after taking six hours to scoop fuel from Sonnamen and recover Snapshot's drone before starting back toward Kreuzung, "How're the prisoners?"
"Quiet, and smug," Drop Kick said, an opinion verified by the video monitor on his stateroom desk. The smugglers, though haggard, were chatting amiably in the hastily stripped and locked stateroom that served as their cell. "We've grilled ail of 'em pretty good, but I really think they were kept in the dark about their mission in case they were ever caught. The last thing Krishnamurti admitted to was having someone tip him off to the patrol schedule at Phoebus—probably a Novastar mole in the Aubani government."
"I'm sure you did your best."
"Hell, what we could use is a telepath,"
"It's funny you mention that; there's a telepath where we're going."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Director Serene."
"You're kidding."
"Negative, Scissor's looked up her library data, and it looks like she was issued a psionics permit on Aurora."
"Wow. I didn't know there was a psi institute on Aurora."
"There isn't, or anywhere else in the RC. Serene's a remnant from before the Collapse."
"Just like you, huh?"
"Not quite. I took the express elevator to the future; apparently Serene actually lived all 84 of her years in person."
"And she's still working for Kruytercorp? Jeez."
"Anyway, she's probably not a person we should underestimate. I'm sure she's legally constrained against manipulating people, but all the same there might be some incentive for her to smear Novastar with our testimony."
"We could wear psi-helmets," Drop kick suggested, "if we have them."
Coeur smiled. Psi helmets were the last thing she ever would have included in the cargo manifest.
"We don't, but don't worry about it. Just make sure that anything you say is really what you meant to say."
"Yes, sir."
By the time Hornet reached Kreuzung 30 hours later, Coeur had expanded her interpretation of her "command group" to include herself, Drop Kick, Scissor, and Physic—the latter carrying a diagnostic medical scanner and med kit. The Hiver, in particular, was Invited along by Coeur because of its race's reputed immunity to telepathic manipulation.
Kreuzung Asteroid was essentially a giant slab of iron, 300 kilometers long and massing nearly 10 trillion tonnes. For all its mass, however, it had very tittle gravity— perhaps a twentieth of a G—and this was the first thing that Hornefs party noticed when they debarked into the asteroid's pressurized interior Though all of them wore leg weights to hold them down, their first steps into the cavern outside the starboard air lock were awkwardly bounding, and it took them a few seconds to settle down around the smartly dressed young man who had come to visit them.
"Greetings. I am Achmed Ben-Abdui, liaison to Director Serene, and I have been instructed to lead you to her suite."
Coeur shook his hand. "I'm Coeur D'Esprit, captain of the Hornet, Lead on, sir."
The vast chamber that Ben-Abdul led them into was clearly a promenade of some sort, sporting facades of shops, restaurants, and even an office of the defunct Travellers' Aid Society, Presently, though, almost all were empty and unused, contributing to a general atmosphere of ambivalence and decay. A heavy electric truck rattled past them on the promenade, hauling ore, but its driver and other personnel they passed did not have the look of people extracting a fortune from the rock, "If you don't mind my asking," Coeur said, "how profitable is this operation?"
"Frankly," Ben-Abdul said, "not very. But we're optimistic about expansion into new sectors of the belt. Within five years, we'll be one of the most profitable corporations in the Coalition."
Behind Coeur and Ben-Abdul, Drop Kick and Physic exchanged doubtful glances. Neither was a financier, but anyone who listened to the newsvid on Aubaine had heard rumors Kruytercorp wouldn't live out the rest of the year.
"Excuse me, sir," Scissor said, bounding along beside the rest of the group on four of its legs. "Are these conduits beside our path not power supply for artificial gravity plates?"
"Sharp eyes."
"Cicero's our technician," Coeur explained.
"Yes, the entire asteroid used to have artificial gravity, but we found it prohibitively expensive to maintain."
Their approach to a bank of four elevators saved Ben- Abdul from further elaboration of Kruytercorp's shortcomings. In evidence of the asteroid's vast interior, its control panel listed 65 deeper levels.
"Are all of those levels inhabited?" Scissor asked, as a door slid open to admit them.
"No. Most of them are blocked off and open to space."
Inside the elevator, Scissor suddenly noticed the same thing that its mates did: artificial gravity. That suggested a high-speed elevator, and Ben-Abdul was visibly relieved by his first demonstration of evidence that Kruytercorp wasn't on its last legs, "Executive office level," he told the elevator.
"Voice code recognized," the elevator's female voice said. "Stand by."
Mere seconds later, the cab whisked them downward 200 meters, and into a different world.
Tor one thing, there was gravity, and all of Horner's humans felt awkward clunking out of the elevator with their weights. Following Ben-Abdul's lead, they unwrapped the weights from their ankles and then had a look around at their surroundings.
Suffused in crisp clear light—piped-in sunlight filtered of harmful radiation—the office level felt (ess like the inside of an asteroid than an open-air patio on a sunny day. Careful inspection revealed that the antechamber they were in could not be larger than Hornets galley, but its true size was camouflaged by partitions and strategically placed plants.
"Hello, Ms, Bisby," Ben-Abdul said to the only other individual visible, a woman behind a desk that was wrought from a planed slab of rock. 'This is the party from RCS Hornet."
The woman nodded, and one of the partitions slid aside to reveal a long, carpeted corridor.
"I'll have to get a place like this when I retire," Physic said softly, to Drop Kick, "Roger that."
Led by the liaison officer, the Hornet party then passed into the exposed corridor. Lit with the same piped-in sunlight as the antechamber, all of its doors featured nine-digit keypad security locks—hardly radical technology, but effective for TL-11.
"Here we are," Ben-Abdul said finally, stopping before a mauve portal and talking into the speaker
above its keypad, "Computer, party for Director Serene," "Enter please," another synthetic female voice said. Inside the door, Coeur expected absurd luxury, instead, she found a subdued office adjoining a study lined with hard texts, and a fairly young woman in tailored business dress, with green eyes and russet shoulder- length hair, talking by phone at an antique wooden desk, "...look, is anyone dead? No? Well, then why are you bothering me? We've got stockholders who want to see something coming out of that rock beside excuses. Now get on the stick and tell me when you've hit productive ore."
"Excuse me, Ms. Serene," Ben-Abdul said, after the woman hung up her phone, "this is the party from RCS
Hornet."
Coeur concealed her surprise. Anagathic, she thought, or Vilani blood.
"Oh, good," Serene said, standing and extending her hand. "Coeur D'Esprit, am I right?"
"Yes, ma'am," Coeur said, shaking the hand, "and this is Sgt, Major Vin Escher, Dr. Orit Takegawa, and Cicero."
"You are the people I want to see," Serene said, coming around from her desk and exposing her rather handsome body. "Achmed, hold all appointments. And refuel their ship too, out of maintenance funds."
"Ma'am," the liaison said curtly, excusing himself.
"Ma'am," Coeur said, "we do have our own funds..."
"Oh, don't worry about it. If Kruytercorp can't refuel a Coalition freighter, it deserves to fold up. Please, join me in my study."
In the study, Coeur wasn't sure if she was more surprised by yet more wood furniture—a round table and six chairs—or the diverse collection of bound books on the walls. Neither could reasonably be local, but neither was it economical to haul books and lumber through jump space.
"Mistress Serene," Scissor said, noting a strange volume at its eye level, "is this not the Dikrah Kiragdi?"
'The what?" Drop Kick asked.
"An Ithklur saga of the war with the K'kree," Serene said with modest pride, "Yes, Translating it is a little hobby of mine. But please, be seated everyone."
The Hornet humans accepted the offer, joining the director at her table. Scissor, accustomed to a lack of appropriate furniture in human space, simply sat on the floor with its prime limb raised above the table.
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