Moving slowly, lest he get himself stunned, Achilles set a display to show the bridge security camera. Roland was nowhere in the picture. Achilles waved a head at the camera. His double in the image remained at work at his console.

Argo's security sensors had been compromised.

"So who is about to board the Pak ship?" Achilles asked.

Roland leaned against a console shelf, far across the bridge from Achilles. Too bad the human did not take a proper seat. Had he settled into any crash couch on the bridge, Achilles could have immobilized him with the crash-protection force field. Maybe the human knew that.

"Nine," Roland said. "All but me. The tenth suit was empty, a balloon on a string, towed along so you wouldn't suspect anyone had stayed behind." He managed to look apologetic. "Our mission cannot succeed if you get cold feet. Hooves. Now move to the center of the bridge."

With its heater on, an empty suit looked no different to infrared sensors than an occupied suit. Clever.

Backing up as directed, Achilles pointed a head at the main display. "They are almost at the ship."

Still standing, Roland reached for the copilot's console. "Then let's watch."

Roland's deputy, a dour and sturdy woman named Tabitha Jones-Calvani, led the salvage party aboard the derelict. "It's not pretty in here," she reported.

Helmet cameras told as much. Corpses floated about, contorted, dotted with lesions. Even knowing what to expect, Achilles felt nauseous.

The Pak were humanoid, although shorter than humans. Their leathery skin was like armor. Their limbs were heavily muscled, and their joints enormous to take the strain. In death, many hands curled like claws-with wicked talons protruding.

These were born warriors.

"No, it's not pretty," Roland answered. "Take it slow and be safe."

Achilles could only agree. He watched the humans fan out to search the ship. They remained sealed in their spacesuits, and their boot magnets let them walk despite the lack of gravity.

Here and there, as the intruders proceeded, they found Pak belted to their stations. Panels were removed, racks extended, and components scattered about. Cabling snaked everywhere, looking improvised. Achilles managed to respect their doomed efforts to survive, wondering what they thought to construct that could change-anything.

"Approaching the bridge, I think," Tabitha said. "The bow, in any case."

"Take it slow," Roland repeated.

Helmet lamps sent bright spots skittering about, revealing more bodies and scavenged equipment. The camera through which Achilles looked wobbled as its wearer sidestepped yet another floating corpse. The body was frozen, its mouth agape, in a final paroxysm.

"Poor bastard," someone muttered.

"He would kill you if he could," another answered.

"How many bodies did-?" Achilles stopped. Something in the image had changed. In an open equipment bay: a bit of red glow, where all had been shadow before.

Screaming began. It was unworldly, inhuman. All around the camera's suddenly spasmodic point of view, images writhed and jerked.

"Finagle!" Roland shouted. He nodded at a console, at external sensor readouts. "The ramscoop field is back up. Without a crew bubble."

Too late, they knew what the dying Pak had been up to. Setting a trap. Everyone on that ship was as good as dead. Achilles galloped for the hyperdrive control.

There was a hiss like an angry swarm of purple pollinators: Roland's stunner. It was a warning shot, and Achilles backed away from the console. His legs tingled from the near miss.

"We can save them!" Roland yelled, standing at the midrange comm console. "If I can kill that field quickly."

The communications laser was powerful enough to cross a solar system. Up close it was a fearsome weapon. It might destroy the repaired field generator, or the power plant that fed it, without killing all the humans aboard. At the least, it would kill with merciful quickness.

Roland reached for the transmit button and- The second Pak trap snapped shut its jaws.

9.

The Fleet of Worlds had once held six six worlds. On one of the six, then known simply as Nature Preserve Four, a few million humans had faithfully served the Citizens. As farmers, factory workers, eventually scouts: grateful humans did everything they could for their benefactors and mentors. They knew themselves to be descended from an embryo bank recovered from a derelict ramscoop found adrift in space. There had been, they were taught, no clues aboard to the location of the ship's point of origin. worlds. On one of the six, then known simply as Nature Preserve Four, a few million humans had faithfully served the Citizens. As farmers, factory workers, eventually scouts: grateful humans did everything they could for their benefactors and mentors. They knew themselves to be descended from an embryo bank recovered from a derelict ramscoop found adrift in space. There had been, they were taught, no clues aboard to the location of the ship's point of origin.

And then those servants discovered the whole truth: Citizens Citizens had attacked the ancient ship when it risked finding Hearth. had attacked the ancient ship when it risked finding Hearth.

The chain reaction at the galactic core had just been revealed, and the Fleet of Worlds had just cast off its tie to Hearth's ancestral star. Death lunged at the herd from behind. Unknown perils lurked in their path. At that, the worst possible moment, as Citizen society strained and sanity crumbled, the servant humans had rebelled.

And so Nature Preserve Four, renamed New Terra, had won its independence. It now flew ahead of the Fleet-a world of unwitting scouts. The New Terrans were too few and too weak to confront their former masters. And most were also too cautious, their culture having been modeled on their masters' society.

Earth authorities, if they should ever learn the fate of the lost colony ship, would have a more forceful reaction. Nessus had spent many years-if often in hiding-on Earth and its colony worlds. He did not doubt humanity's wrath.

But fits of bravery were not the only form of Nessus' madness. He had come to like like humans. When Achilles conspired to reclaim New Terra, hoping to govern there as viceroy for the Concordance, Nessus had brought the humans a champion: Sigmund Ausfaller. And so New Terra had kept its freedom. And so, for long years, Achilles had lost his. humans. When Achilles conspired to reclaim New Terra, hoping to govern there as viceroy for the Concordance, Nessus had brought the humans a champion: Sigmund Ausfaller. And so New Terra had kept its freedom. And so, for long years, Achilles had lost his.

The next time trouble came to this part of the galaxy, it was the Gw'oth who first spotted it. They and Sigmund, as much as anyone, had saved everyone.

Even the Fleet.

It did not matter, in a way, that in saving everyone else Sigmund had been broken. He would have refused to take sides between Gw'oth and Citizens anyway.

Nessus never intended Louis to know any of that.

And then, this time by Nessus' choice, Aegis Aegis dropped again into normal space. A recording awaited him on a remote hyperwave radio buoy. dropped again into normal space. A recording awaited him on a remote hyperwave radio buoy.

A foreboding message from New Terra, sent by Sigmund Ausfaller. ...

Ausfaller.

It was a name from Louis's troubled childhood, a name overheard when his parents were unaware he was in earshot. The boogeyman personified. Louis didn't know who Ausfaller was, not exactly, but he had a pretty good idea what what Ausfaller was. An evil genius. A raging paranoid. An obsessive. An ARM, an agent of the United Nations military. Ausfaller was. An evil genius. A raging paranoid. An obsessive. An ARM, an agent of the United Nations military.

The one who had chased Louis's family across the stars and into hiding.

And now Louis had a face to put with the name.

An altogether ordinary-looking man, thickset and middle-aged, looked out of Aegis Aegis' main bridge display. He had a round face, with dark hair and eyes. He wore a jumpsuit that, aside from its programmed color choices, looked the twin to what Louis wore. Ausfaller could be any bureaucrat, on any world- Until you looked into those piercing, haunted eyes.

"Voice, replay the message," Louis said. His impression was that the message came via a relay of buoys. The direction of the ship's hyperwave-radio beam-if he could figure out how to access that information-would tell him nothing.

"Nessus," the message began, Ausfaller's brow ominously furrowed, "we have a situation. My sources say you are away from the Fleet. I neither know nor ask what your purpose is. I only hope that whatever you're doing has you closer to the action than we are here. Call when you get this. You'll be put through to me, day or night. Ausfaller, out."

Louis studied the frozen final frame, considering. Ausfaller spoke strangely accented Interworld. And there was a bit of hesitation at times, as though he was out of practice. Odd.

Day or night? That phrasing suggested Ausfaller was on a planet. But hyperwave didn't work inside a gravitational singularity. Laser or regular radio links from a habitable planet took hours to reach the edge of your solar system, where instantaneous hyperwave began to work-unless your planet was nowhere near a sun.

Louis glowered at the holo. "What are you up to, Ausfaller? Why do you know about the Fleet?"

Nessus sidled onto the bridge, nervously plucking at his already unkempt mane. He had retreated, shaking, to his cabin upon first seeing the message. "When Sigmund Ausfaller says something is a situation, worlds tremble. Let us see what he knows."

"Putting through the call," Voice said.

"Louis, you are about to learn things you will not take back to Known Space." Nessus shifted his weight from hoof to hoof. He seemed about to say more when the comm display changed. Ausfaller again, looking very tired.

"Nessus, thank you for responding. It appears our old friend Achilles is away on a mission of his own." A curl of the lip showed that friend friend meant anything but. "If whatever he's up to is sanctioned by Clandestine Directorate, they are not admitting it. I've asked." (Ausfaller named names with whom he had checked, all from Earth's mythology. Louis wondered what meant anything but. "If whatever he's up to is sanctioned by Clandestine Directorate, they are not admitting it. I've asked." (Ausfaller named names with whom he had checked, all from Earth's mythology. Louis wondered what that that was about.) "And the disturbing thing is-" Ausfaller paused. "Who is that with you?" was about.) "And the disturbing thing is-" Ausfaller paused. "Who is that with you?"

"My name is Wu. Louis Wu."

"I invited Louis to help me on my business," Nessus said.

It had taken perhaps a minute for Ausfaller to notice Louis. Even doing the math in his head, approximating like mad, Louis was certain: no way no way was Ausfaller on a planet among the Fleet of Worlds. A hyperspace relay beyond the singularity of was Ausfaller on a planet among the Fleet of Worlds. A hyperspace relay beyond the singularity of five five clustered terrestrial worlds had to be well over a light-minute away from any of them. clustered terrestrial worlds had to be well over a light-minute away from any of them.

Suddenly, it was painfully obvious.

Louis muted the connection. "Another world. A human world, apparently, and they don't speak Interworld. Why did you need me me?"

"Not all humans are created equal," Nessus said. "As your quick mind demonstrates."

"Very well," Ausfaller eventually resumed. "I'm pleased to meet you, Louis."

Ausfaller had not reacted. Because Wu was a common name? No, Louis decided. Because Ausfaller had not allowed himself to react. He was, undoubtedly, trained not not to react. He would surely have had more to say if Nessus had included a random party in the conversation. to react. He would surely have had more to say if Nessus had included a random party in the conversation.

You and I will talk about what you did to my family, Louis promised himself. Ideally when I can reach out with more than words.

Nessus unmuted the connection. "All right, Sigmund. Tell us what you find disturbing."

"It starts with a band of New Terran criminals unaccounted for. Some of our worst, I'm afraid. Out of sight for about a third of a year, now."

"Criminals and Achilles unseen at the same time?" Nessus said, "That is a tenuous connection at best."

The round-trip comm delays gave Louis's mind ample time to churn. New Terra was a human world, obviously. This Achilles sounded like a high-ranking Puppeteer official, and Sigmund was keeping tabs on him. As secretive as Puppeteers were, Nessus did not seem surprised. Why not? Ausfaller doling out the bad news: because he knew that too much misfortune too fast would send a Puppeteer into shock.

"For one, there is the leader of these vanished criminals. Roland Allen-Cartwright." Ausfaller permitted a flash of anger to show. "He was one of my best people-and, it turned out, a sociopath. I booted him out of the Office of Strategic Analyses, but he had learned very special skills first."

Office of Strategic Analyses. That had to be government doublespeak, like the United Nations giving its massive security apparatus the innocuous name of Amalgamated Regional Militia.

A spy agency, Louis guessed. "What ARM dirty tricks did you teach your bad apple?"

Another delay. Ausfaller refused to take the bait. "The relevant skills for now are how to probe security systems for vulnerabilities. I didn't have my own computer network in mind."

"What did he get into?" Nessus asked.

But Ausfaller was still talking. "Too late, audit software found anomalies that triggered an intruder alert. Someone with far more computer savvy than me would have to give you the details. How isn't the important part. The thing is"-and Ausfaller glowered-"Roland hacked into the sealed archives of the Pak War."

10.

Achilles woke screaming. Something tugged at his leg!

His shouts echoing in his helmets, he saw that the tether he had tied just above a forehoof had gone taut. He lived in fear of the tether coming loose, of drifting out the yawning hole that a cargo-hold hatch no longer sealed, into the deadly hail of relativistic interstellar muck.

He forced himself to stop shouting, to breathe slowly and evenly. Gradually his hearts stopped pounding. The battery-powered lights he had rigged scarcely managed to ease the gloom, and shadows moved ominously whenever anything-himself included-shifted in the zero gravity.

He had been alone before. Solitude did not bother him. Much. But this this solitude was different. He was light-years from any help, his predicament unknown. Other Pak ships would come to investigate the unexpected energy release of the neutron bomb. He wondered how long he had before they arrived. solitude was different. He was light-years from any help, his predicament unknown. Other Pak ships would come to investigate the unexpected energy release of the neutron bomb. He wondered how long he had before they arrived.

He had exactly that long left to live. ...

Flare shields had activated almost before Achilles noticed the bright green light. An instant later there was a flash of orange, as quickly vanquished, then blue, then normal shipboard illumination again. He screamed at Roland, "Get us out of here!"

The human stood, cursing, dueling with lasers with the not-so-dead Pak ship. "Flare shields are holding," he called out. "It's just another automated defense, like the ramscoop field. Probably also triggered by our people going aboard. I'll have it off in a minute."

Achilles sidled toward the pilot's console. The shield blocked the visible light from solar flares. The hull itself would stop the particle flux from even the biggest flare or coronal mass ejection. The shield adapted automatically to ambient light-not all flares were equally hot, hence their color distributions varied-but that did not mean it was agile enough to adjust to- Another blaze of color, this time fiery red. It seemed longer than the last flash. Then blue again. Then, not any light Achilles could see, but a sensation of heat. Infrared. "Visible" meant something different for every species, and General Products hulls were transparent for all its onetime customers.

"We have to get out-" A stunner blast to the deck made his hooves sting.

"A few seconds more," Roland snapped. "The ramscoop field is down now."

The flare shield could not keep up with these frequency jumps. Why should it? There was a sensation of light behind behind Achilles' eyes-ultraviolet?-then that bright green again, then heat. So Achilles' eyes-ultraviolet?-then that bright green again, then heat. So much much heat! He dove for the pilot's couch. heat! He dove for the pilot's couch.

Roland screamed and- Discontinuity.

Vacuum! Achilles was shrieking, his chest in agony. He had to spew the air from his lungs before they exploded.

Except for dim emergency lamps, the bridge was dark. Something struck him high on a flank. He turned, still soundlessly screeching. It was floating debris, one chunk among countless many, nondescript in the gloom.

It, or something like it, may have saved his life.

The pilot's couch had a stasis-field generator. Inside stasis, time stood still. Nothing could harm him. Had some bit of flotsam not nudged the control, he would have stayed inside, unaware, as the field protected him from the vacuum.

Until, inevitably, more Pak came to investigate.

The gushing from his lungs was weaker now. He was freezing, and yet he thought he could feel his blood starting to simmer. The bridge seemed even darker than a moment ago. A few emergency lamps were lit, and shadows moved unsettlingly. With an eerie distant warble, faintly heard by sound conduction through his body, the last gases erupted from his lungs.

He was drifting!