Especially not when leaving. The Citizens, far from being a threat, trembled before the might of his war fleet. Their fear was plain in their broadcasts, long relayed to Jm'ho by stealthed buoys. As Bm'o's ships drew near, Citizens in ever larger numbers urged their government to surrender.

Surrender! Of what possible interest to him were a trillion alien subjects? Of what conceivable value was their overcrowded, overheated world-even if it were not escaping from the galaxy?

"All may leave," Bm'o announced to his guests, and they scrambled from his presence as speedily as decorum permitted. He followed at a far more leisurely swim.

The direct path to Ol't'ro's rebels was already long. Rt'o had counseled, her wisdom more evident with each passing day, that to detour around cowards was senseless. By choosing to match course and speed with the Citizen worlds, he had demonstrated that he meant them no harm. His fleet's course was predictable, to avoid alarming the Concordance (if not too too predictable, lest, against their nature and all logic, the Citizens should consider an attack). predictable, lest, against their nature and all logic, the Citizens should consider an attack).

And still they feared Bm'o's might.

Air or water, tubacles or jaws, the laws of politics never changed. Rt'o had correctly seen the threats of Concordance politicians as posturing for domestic consumption-just as Bm'o had often used external threats to intimidate his rivals. By the same universal laws he dare not ignore Ol't'ro's insolence, no matter how far the rebels fled. Any unanswered flouting of the Tn'Tn'ho's authority would incite new resistance at home.

And so, uneventfully, the voyage proceeded, with naught to fear but the eeriness of hyperspace.

As the scheduled moment of emergence approached, Bm'o jetted into the control center of his command ship. Crew flattened, groveling, at their duty stations. Commanders respectfully lowered the arcs of their tubacles.

"As you were," Bm'o ordered.

The crews and junior commanders returned to their tasks. The captain directed a tubacle at his sovereign, awaiting guidance.

"Reenter as planned," Bm'o said.

Displays filled with stars. (Extraordinary objects, stars. He wondered if he would ever become accustomed to them.) In other displays, ships. His fleet, intact, clustered to support each other and protect him.

The routine chaos of emergence began. Astrogational measurements. Sensor sweeps. Communication exchanges. The commanders would be- "Sire!" the ship's captain said. Alarm hues rippled across his integument. "We are being scanned!"

"From where?" Bm'o asked calmly. The Citizens had been tracking them at every recent emergence. "The same border sensors?"

"Those sources, Sire, and many others," the captain answered. "The Citizens' stealth technology must be ... very good. From the power levels, they are close. Very close."

So the Citizens meant to defend themselves against a nonexistent attack. Commendable, although surprising.

Waiting only until a revised sequence of reemergence points-unpredictable, this time-could be radioed and acknowledged, Bm'o ordered his fleet back to hyperspace.

37.

"Catastrophe is upon us." Behind the camera, gazing adoringly at Achilles, virtual Citizens stood in untold thousands. Their rapt attention inspired him. "Catastrophe is upon us, and our Hindmost does ... nothing.

"He flatters his inaction with imposing names. He speaks of calm and patient determination, of deterrence and quiet diplomacy. He claims we have nothing to fear. All the while, the enemy approaches."

At this point, when broadcast, the recording would cut to an animation: a time-lapse holographic map built with data from the hyperwave-radar system. Achilles risked nothing now by revealing that his minions had access to the border sensors. The Gw'oth were in hyperspace on their last hop this side of Hearth. The last hop before he obliterated them.

"See how the enemy's war fleet approaches while your government does nothing nothing.

"But who is this enemy? To whom did the Hindmost lose the secret of hyperdrive? At whose mercy does the Hindmost's paralysis leave us?"

A video sequence would appear here: -A single Gw'o scuttling across seabed muck, slimy and repugnant.

-A Gw'oth banquet surreptitiously recorded by Thalia, the aliens grabbing, crushing, rending their food. Their live live food. Their food. Their prey. prey.

-More imagery from Thalia, this of Gw'oth warships leaping from an icebound world.

-And the final sequence: the pulsating, entangled mass of a Gw'otesht. That this scene came from Nessus' long-ago mission files made using it all the more satisfying. The throbbing, writhing tangle looked like an orgy, and Achilles would not say otherwise. Let Baedeker's experts try to explain.

"These are the predators almost upon us." are the predators almost upon us."

Now the images would vanish. Achilles leaned toward the camera, toward his virtual audience, toward his glorious destiny. "The Hindmost has failed you. I shall not.

"Within five days"-although, more likely, the Gw'oth would reappear sooner-"I shall have eliminated this threat." shall have eliminated this threat."

And you will have acclaimed me Hindmost.

"Where do they go?" Achilles raged. His tune echoed from the walls of his cabin.

Clotho stood with heads bowed. "I cannot say, Excellency."

Then what good are you? Achilles nearly wailed, but he kept the grievance inside. He needed loyal supporters more than ever.

(In his mind's eye, classmates and parents ... watching. Doing nothing. Always, others failed him. He must dominate. He must work his will. He would. would.) The Gw'oth should have emerged within a day of his broadcast. But that day had gone by, and another, and now another. another. "The aliens avoid us," he roared. "The aliens avoid us," he roared.

"Yes, Excellency." Timidly, "How is that possible, Excellency?"

"Go find out!"

"Yes, Excellency, at once." Clotho sidled to the hatch, reeking of fear pheromones. He stood, frozen, one head looking at Achilles and the other at the closed hatch.

"Now."

Clotho pelted from the room, scarcely slowing to shut the hatch behind him.

Achilles called up and studied the latest tactical data. The gleaming icon of the Fleet of Worlds. The dotted, not-quite-straight path of Gw'oth reappearances in normal space. The mauve region within range of the buoys that projected the suppressor field. The yellow region into which the Gw'oth might next emerge-that volume growing with every moment the aliens continued in hyperspace. volume growing with every moment the aliens continued in hyperspace.

Ships in hyperspace traveled at a constant rate: a quantum limitation. Achilles knew with mathematical precision that if the accursed aliens did not soon reenter normal space, they would emerge beyond the reach of his farthest tier of suppressor buoys. Untouchable.

He caterwauled in frustration.

Soon after the Gw'oth passed his buoys, they would pass Remembrance Remembrance itself. If he allowed itself. If he allowed that that to happen, mathematical precision also decreed he would never catch up. Not unless, unlike their past behavior, the Gw'oth chose to dally in normal space. to happen, mathematical precision also decreed he would never catch up. Not unless, unlike their past behavior, the Gw'oth chose to dally in normal space.

But if Remembrance Remembrance jumped to hyperspace to remain ahead of the Gw'oth, he risked them emerging when he could not see. jumped to hyperspace to remain ahead of the Gw'oth, he risked them emerging when he could not see.

Mathematical precision could not guide him now. Intuition must serve. Achilles took a comm unit from his desk. "Clotho, set course for Kl'mo. For now, use only thrusters. Be prepared to jump to hyperspace on my order."

For days Baedeker had lived and slept in the Clandestine Directorate command bunker. Each time he checked with his ministers the panic among the public had grown. The uncertainty became palpable.

For days-as the tension in the bunker grew, as defenders lapsed into catatonia and had to be replaced, as hushed whispers became murmurs became intermittent keening-nothing happened. No Gw'oth. No pronouncements from Achilles. No news from Nessus, or Sigmund, or Louis Wu.

Until- "A strong signal," Nike sang out from near a hyperwave-radar console. "A large return. Many ships."

"Ripples," sang another operator. "Many ships are emerging from hyperspace."

Baedeker had been fitfully dozing astraddle a shift-watcher's bench. He jerked awake. "Copy the data to my station," he ordered.

With a sweep of a head he superimposed both holograms. A short, sharp trill expanded the scale. Another trill brightened the grid lines. "Thank the herd," he crooned to no one and everyone.

The Gw'oth had reemerged a light-year beyond beyond the Fleet, still speeding northward. the Fleet, still speeding northward.

Baedeker, laughing at him!

Achilles galloped through the corridors of his ship, sweat running down his flanks, chest heaving, inarticulate with rage. His mane coiffure had collapsed into a sodden mass. Crew, round-eyed, scrambled out of his way.

How fitting that he ran in circles, for there was nowhere to to run. run.

Baedeker, mocking him!

Achilles could not banish the humiliation from his mind.

Oh, the Hindmost's speech to the Concordance had been entirely proper: the Gw'oth ships have passed. There never was danger. Even the appearance of danger has ended. Citizens should return to their homes, their work, and their normal routines. "Alarmists" should be ignored.

Alarmist. How casually, unceremoniously, callously, Baedeker dismissed him. How casually, unceremoniously, callously, Baedeker dismissed him.

While across Hearth countless lackeys did Baedeker's bidding, proclaimed the Hindmost's true true message: that the crisis Achilles had so grandly proclaimed was a mirage, the great battle he had foreseen, a delusion. That Achilles was a failure, a fool, and a menace. message: that the crisis Achilles had so grandly proclaimed was a mirage, the great battle he had foreseen, a delusion. That Achilles was a failure, a fool, and a menace.

Success had been snatched-Achilles still did not know how!-from his jaws. He would would have vanquished the Gw'oth and then claimed his rightful place as Hindmost. Now, cheated of his victory, he could not return at all, except to shame and banishment and Baedeker's gloating. have vanquished the Gw'oth and then claimed his rightful place as Hindmost. Now, cheated of his victory, he could not return at all, except to shame and banishment and Baedeker's gloating.

The Gw'oth must pay. His enemies must pay. Above all, Baedeker Baedeker must pay. must pay.

Achilles tore faster and faster, hooves pounding, droplets of sweat flying, his sash flapping, but his mind raced quicker still. To regain the initiative he must overtake the Gw'oth fleet. If Remembrance Remembrance stayed in hyperspace all the way, hardly ever dropping into normal space, he could reach Kl'mo first. Laboring around the clock to replace the abandoned suppressor buoys would keep everyone's mind busy. A few insanities among the crew were likely, but that was acceptable. He had enough to manage. stayed in hyperspace all the way, hardly ever dropping into normal space, he could reach Kl'mo first. Laboring around the clock to replace the abandoned suppressor buoys would keep everyone's mind busy. A few insanities among the crew were likely, but that was acceptable. He had enough to manage.

Baedeker, taunting him! Unacceptable!

Smash Kl'mo. Destroy the Gw'oth fleet. Return proudly to Hearth with the enemy crushed. Who then could say what the aliens had planned for their homeward trip?

He could yet claim his prize. He would. would.

A cross corridor loomed and, hooves skittering for traction, Achilles veered into it. There was not a moment to be wasted. He galloped onto the bridge. Clotho stared at him.

Achilles chanted firmly, with a confidence that he did not feel, "Depart immediately for Kl'mo."

THE FOG OF WAR.

38.

"Good news at last," Nessus sang. Aegis, Aegis, suddenly, felt much less empty. suddenly, felt much less empty.

"Very good, sir," Voice answered, as though he had not processed the message as Nessus listened. Or earlier, while downloading it.

The English butler mannerisms grew tiresome, even rendered as music. "What do you think of the news?"

"I should imagine you will be happy to see Hearth again," Voice answered cautiously.

Baedeker and and Hearth. Nessus climbed off the pilot's bench and stretched. "If only ..." Hearth. Nessus climbed off the pilot's bench and stretched. "If only ..."

"If only what, sir?"

If only he could believe the danger had passed. Achilles stymied, and the Gw'oth warships safely past Hearth? That, Nessus accepted. Louis and Sigmund would make a formidable team.

But Achilles stopped? Nessus had known Achilles-struggled against Achilles-far too long to believe that. Achilles cared only for himself. While Achilles could conspire, he would.

"If only the universe were not so complicated."

"I do not think I can help you with that, sir."

For a long time Nessus stood staring at the view ports. Two nebulae shone nearby, lit by the stars to which they had given birth. The cooler cloud glowed blue; it only scattered the ambient starlight. The second cloud, its gases heated to plasma by the tight cluster of young stars within, blazed with its own pink light.

Only he was rushing away from the nebulae at nearly half light speed. The display corrected for the massive red shift.

He had a long trip ahead of him, returning the way he had come. But it would have been longer still if Aegis Aegis had shed any of the Fleet's normal-space velocity. had shed any of the Fleet's normal-space velocity.

Happily, he had not had to confront using that velocity to slaughter a world of Gw'oth. Good news, indeed.

"Voice, record a reply."

"Of course, sir."

"Recall order acknowledged. On my way home. Will check in every three days." Nessus paused. "Send that to the Hindmost."

"Very good, sir."

On the long trip home, he would try to make sense of the new task Baedeker and Nike had inexplicably assigned to him. What did he even know about ... ?

Nessus had to flip his mindset into Interworld to frame his own question. Counterespionage. How would he find Achilles' illicit sources-spies-within Clandestine Directorate?

Where would he even begin?

Nessus gazed again at the glowing nebulae. He would enjoy their beauty a bit longer.