CHAPTER1 
ANTARES PASSAGE
 
A Novel By
 
Michael McCollum
   
Sci Fi  Arizona, Inc.
Third Millennium Publishing
An Online Cooperative of Writers and Resources
   

PROLOGUE: THE BIRTH AND DEATH OF A STAR
 
The star was a relative newcomer to the galactic scene. It had begun life as a 
vast cloud of interstellar hydrogen which over the millennia had collapsed in 
upon itself, pulled together by gravitational attraction. As the cloud 
coalesced, the gas at its center grew hotter. After awhile, the interior began 
to glow with a visible light. Then one day, the temperature at the cloud's 
center reached the level where hydrogen fuses into helium. On that day, a new 
star blazed forth to illuminate the blackness of the interstellar night.
For millions of years the star shone with a luminosity equal to that of several 
thousand of its lesser brethren. Indeed, the star's radiance made it a beacon 
visible across the length of the galaxy. However, such profligacy is not without 
its costs. Where smaller suns took as long as 10 billion years to consume their 
available supplies of fusible hydrogen, the giant star managed the same feat in 
less than a single gigayear. About the time the first apelike prehumans ventured 
forth onto the savannas of Africa, the star ran low on hydrogen fuel, and as 
quickly as it had flamed alight, the nuclear fire at its heart was snuffed out.
The end of fusion brought with it a resumption of the contraction that had 
molded the primordial cloud. As the core fell inward, its temperature rose 
precipitously. Within seconds, the temperature at the star's center reached the 
point where helium fuses into carbon. The nuclear fire flamed anew, this time 
powered by the helium ash of the previous cycle. Since the new fire was hotter 
than the old, the star wasted energy even more lavishly than before. It expanded 
as well, providing a larger surface area from which to radiate the vigorous new 
energy to surrounding space. Along with the expansion came cooling of the star's 
outermost layers, and a change in color. Where before the star had radiated a 
brilliant blue-white light, its visible surface was now a bright yellow-green 
color.
The star continued on the quick burning helium-carbon cycle until the time when 
the first agricultural settlements began to appear on Earth. Then, having 
depleted its supply of helium, the inner fire failed, triggering yet another 
cycle of contraction and heating. This time it was the turn of the carbon atoms 
to provide the star's new source of energy. Once again, the new fuel produced 
more energy than previously, forcing the star's surface to expand to provide 
sufficient area to radiate the heat. By the time the star stabilized at 400 
solar diameters, its hue had shaded down from yellow-green to a deep red-orange.
The star was well into its dotage when the first human telescopes were turned 
its way. The first starships to arrive at the star made note of this fact a few 
centuries later when they recorded more neutrinos than expected pouring forth 
from the star's fiery interior. It was obvious even then that the star had not 
long to live. Still, a stellar lifetime is a very long time, and no one truly 
expected the end to come as quickly as it did.
At 17:32 hours on 3 August 2512, the star exhausted the last of its carbon fuel. 
Within seconds, the old cycle of contraction and heating began again. This time 
things were different, however. For now, the star's core was rich in iron, and 
iron cannot be fused to produce energy. Rather, fusing iron nuclei rob energy 
from their surroundings. With its core hopelessly chilled by iron fusion 
reactions, the star gave up its ages-old fight with gravity. The core began its 
final collapse.
As billions upon countless billions of tonnes of matter fell inward, they gave 
up the potential energy they had stored through the millennia. This "energy of 
position" reappeared as heat, causing the temperature at the center of the star 
to rise rapidly toward infinity. Some of this heat was radiated into the middle 
layers of the star's atmosphere; which, unlike the core, were still rich in 
unburned hydrogen. A furious thermonuclear reaction resulted. In the blink of an 
eye, the star began to produce as much energy each second as it had previously 
radiated away in its entire lifetime.
The end came quickly as the star exploded in the most titanic explosion ever 
witnessed by human beings.
  
CHAPTER 1
  
It was high noon when the commercial shuttle touched down at Homeport Spaceport. 
Even so, the Antares Nebula was clearly visible in Alta's deep purple sky if one 
knew where to look. It had been three years since the nova had first burned 
bright in the Altan heavens, and while Antares was no longer the eye-searing 
spark it had once been, the supernova's power and its relative proximity assured 
that it would be visible in daylight for several years to come.
Fleet Captain Richard Arthur Drake unstrapped from his seat and stood to remove 
his kit bag from the shuttle's overhead baggage compartment. Around him, four 
dozen fellow passengers did the same. Then each man and woman queued up in the 
shuttle's center aisle and waited patiently for the landing bridge to be 
maneuvered across the shuttle's wing and attached to the midships airlock.
Drake was of medium height, with a lean, muscular figure. His hair, which he 
wore in the close-cropped style of a military spacer, was black with a touch of 
gray around the edges. A tiny network of worry lines emanated from the corners 
of his green eyes, and a whitish scar cut one of his eyebrows into two unequal 
sections. As he moved slowly down the aisle, he did so with the smooth motion of 
one who has learned to maneuver under widely varying conditions of acceleration 
and gravity.
The crowd was slow to disembark. As each passenger reached the storage lockers 
just forward of the midships airlock, he or she would stop and sort through the 
carry-on luggage, blocking the aisle in the process. Normally, Drake would have 
found his patience running short at the continued delay. Not today. After six 
months spent breathing the reconstituted effluvium that passed for breathing gas 
aboard a starship, he was more than happy to merely stand and inhale deeply of 
the virgin air that wafted in through the open airlock.
Eventually, he found himself across the landing bridge and inside the terminal 
building. He threaded his way through the waiting crowd and was about to board a 
slidewalk for the main terminal building when a familiar voice called out: 
"Richard!"
Drake turned at the sound and was nearly overwhelmed by the fragrant bundle of 
femininity that flew into his embrace. Arms wrapped around his neck and warm 
lips pressed hungrily against his mouth. He responded in kind for long seconds 
before breaking free of his assailant with a grin.
"Excuse me, Miss, but do I know you?"
"You'd better know me," Bethany Lindquist replied with mock severity. "We've got 
a date at the altar, remember?"
"Do we?" he asked. "The last time I asked, you said that you didn't want to set 
a date because..."
"You knew what I meant! Now stop teasing me before I forget that you ever asked 
me."
"Yes, Ma'am, except as I remember, you asked me.
"Then your memory is faulty, sir. Now then, aren't you happy to see me?"
"You know I am, Beth. Here, stand back and let me look at you. Drake thrust his 
fiance out to arms' length and feasted on the sight of her. Bethany was nearly 
as tall as he was, with a well-proportioned figure and an easy, graceful stance. 
Her heart shaped face was framed by shoulder-length auburn hair. Her green eyes 
had a slight slant to them that complemented her high cheekbones. She was 
smiling broadly, which produced dimples in her cheeks. After long seconds of 
mutual inspection, he pulled her close again and sighed. "My God, you're more 
beautiful than I remember!"
"Thank you, kind sir. May I say the same about you?"
"You may. How the hell did you know I was coming, anyway?"
"I have my spies."
"I'll bet you do. But seriously, how did you know? I didn't know myself which 
ship I would be on until a few hours before I left Felicity Base."
"First of all, they're holding a Parliamentary briefing concerning the Helldiver 
Project at the Admiralty tomorrow. I knew you would be attending."
"That's supposed to be a secret."
"Not to me. I'm an invited participant."
"You are?"
She nodded. "I'm the official representative of the terrestrial ambassador, 
remember?"
"Ah, yes. Now I remember why we can't get married. Something about your duty to 
your uncle..."
"Hmmm, do I detect a hint of annoyance in your tone, m'love?"
"More than a hint," he muttered.
"How sweet!"
"Don't change the subject. How did you know I'd be on this shuttle?"
"My uncle told me."
"How the hell did he know?"
"He has an office on Parliament Hill now. He hears things."
"He could have been wrong, you know. What if I hadn't come through that door 
just now?"
Bethany shrugged. "Then I would have met every arriving ship for the next month 
if I'd had to. She snuggled close and kissed him again. "Oh, Richard, it's so 
good to have you home!"
"Good to be home," he replied with his nose nestled in her fragrant hair. After 
a long moment in which no one spoke, they released each other by mutual consent. 
Drake sighed deeply and said, "Well, shall we go in search of the rest of my 
luggage?"
"Suits me," Bethany replied.
They avoided the slidewalk, preferring to walk arm in arm down the long 
concourse. Drake found himself whistling under his breath. As they walked, he 
became aware of the warmth of her beside him, and of the general acuteness of 
his senses. He watched the bustle around him with newly sharpened vision.
Overhead were several large holoscreens. Some were used to display launching and 
arrival information; others directed travelers to various destinations within 
the spaceport, while still others displayed the latest news concerning the 
recently completed election. Drake ignored the latter. He'd had all the "news" 
he cared for on the long flight down from Felicity Base.
They came to the end of the concourse and turned left into the main section of 
the spaceport terminal building. A large holocube stood at the point where 
several slidewalks spilled their loads into the cavernous terminal. Inside the 
cube stood a creature from out of a nightmare.
#
The basis for interstellar travel was established by Bashir-ben-Sulieman in 
2078. Sulieman, an astronomer working out of Farside Observatory, Luna, spent 
his life measuring the precise positions and proper motions of several thousand 
stars. After two decades of work, he reluctantly concluded that existing 
gravitational theories did not adequately explain the placement of various stars 
within the galactic spiral arm of which Sol is a member. Sulieman became 
convinced that space is not only curved locally around planetary and stellar 
masses as Einstein had maintained, but that it is also folded back upon itself 
in long lines stretching across thousands of light-years. He theorized that 
these foldlines originate in the massive black hole that occupies the center of 
the galaxy, and that they stream outward in complex patterns along the spiral 
arms. He further theorized that whenever such a foldline encounters a star, it 
is focused much as a lens focuses a beam of light; and if that focus is 
sufficiently sharp, a weak spot, or foldpoint, appears in the fabric of the 
space-time continuum.
Twenty years after Sulieman's revelation, scientists positioned a spaceship 
within one of the two foldpoints known to exist within the Solar System and 
released copious quantities of energy in a precisely controlled pattern. The 
energy release caused the ship to be instantaneously transported along the 
foldline to the system of Luyten's Star, some 12.5 light-years distant from Sol.
There was no holding the human race back after that. Over the next several 
centuries, the leakage of population into space became a flood. The pattern of 
the migration was determined almost entirely by the shape of foldspace, as the 
aggregate of foldlines and foldpoints came to be called. While some stars were 
found to possess only a single foldpoint, others were endowed with two, three, 
or more. The biggest, most massive stars were found to be especially fertile 
centers of foldpoint production; and therefore, the systems of these stars 
became the crossroads of interstellar travel. The red-orange supergiant star 
Antares was the champion foldpoint producer throughout human space. Its six 
interstellar portals made Antares the linchpin of a network of related star 
systems known collectively as the Antares Foldspace Cluster.
When Antares exploded on 3 August 2512, the immediate effects were felt far 
beyond the confines of the Antares system. The release of so concentrated a 
burst of energy jolted the very fabric of space-time; and with it, the structure 
of foldspace for hundreds of light-years in every direction. In some systems, 
foldpoints underwent radical changes of position, while in others; foldpoints 
appeared where none had previously existed. In still other star systems, 
preexisting foldpoints disappeared without a trace.
The F8 dwarf star known as Valeria had been doubly unlucky. Situated 125 
light-years from Antares, the Val system was what foldspace astronomers called a 
cul-de-sac, a star with but a single foldpoint. When Antares exploded, Valeria's 
foldpoint had simply disappeared. Thus, it was that the human colony on Valeria 
IV (Alta to its inhabitants) had found itself isolated from the rest of human 
space for a century and a quarter. Then, early in the year 2637 (Universal 
Calendar), Antares had burned bright in the Altan sky, signaling the arrival of 
the leading edge of the nova shockwave. Simultaneous with the passage of the 
nova shockwave, Valeria's foldpoint had reappeared high in the system's northern 
hemisphere.
#
"What's this?" Drake asked Bethany, gesturing toward the display.
"Part of the government's 'Know Thy Enemy' campaign," she replied. "They've got 
them in most public places. Push the button and it will spew out all manner of 
interesting facts. Here, listen. As she spoke, she stepped forward and pressed 
a stud that jutted from the base of the holocube. The image came to life and 
seemed to peer down at them. At the same time, a sonorous voice began to speak.
"The creature you see before you, sir or madam, is a Ryall, and the mortal enemy 
of all humanity..."
The image in the holocube was that of a creature designed along the lines of a 
six-legged centaur. The legs were short, less than half-a-meter in length, and 
culminated in wide pad like feet. Their shortness was amply compensated for by 
the creature's forebody  a vertical torso topped by a long, flexible neck that 
carried the alien's head to the height of a man's. The head was wide at the 
back, showing considerable cranial bulge, and narrow at the front where a toothy 
snout jutted forward some fifteen centimeters. The eyes were set wide apart, 
such that the creature had trouble looking straight ahead. In the hologram, its 
head was cocked to one side, as though scanning the faces of passersby. The 
mouth was partially open, showing two rows of conical teeth and a triply forked 
tongue. On top of the head were two flaps of skin stretched taut by rigid, spike 
like projections. Of nostrils or any equivalent, there was no sign.
Two heavily muscled arms attached to the forebody at the same point as the neck. 
The creature's hands consisted of four slender fingers flanked by two opposable 
thumbs. At the opposite end of the main body, a meter-long tail dragged the 
ground. The Ryall's hide was scaled, the scales shading from gray-green on top 
to light beige beneath.
The lecturing voice continued. "... Although the Ryall bear a passing 
resemblance to both terrestrial and Altan reptiles, they are neither. Indeed, 
they do not fit particularly well into any of our normal taxonomic categories. 
They are warm-blooded and the females suckle the young  although on a mixture 
of blood and nutrients rather than milk. In spite of these mammal-like traits, 
they also lay eggs. Note the vestigial webs between the fingers of each hand, 
and again between the short digits on the feet. The Ryall evolved as aquatic 
animals and did not leave the water for the land until quite recently in their 
past. Experts tell us that they were forced from the water by another sentient 
race on their home world, a race the Ryall call the swift eaters. It is this 
incident in their history that we believe makes them so territorial that they 
have attacked us without provocation. That being the case, the only thing left 
for us to do is..."
Drake did not wait to find out what the narrator had in mind. He nudged Bethany 
and said, "Come on, we've better things to do than listen to this."
She glanced at him and smiled slyly. "Maybe we can ask the taxi driver to take a 
shortcut into town."
#
The return of their star's foldpoint should have been front-page news throughout 
the Valeria system. In fact, no one noticed. For a foldpoint is a difficult 
object to find under the best of circumstances, and after 125 years of 
isolation, the Altans had stopped looking. Therefore, it came as something of a 
shock when an unidentified starship materialized high above Val's ecliptic and 
immediately began thrusting for deep space.
Despite their surprise, the Altans lost no time in dispatching a ship to 
investigate. What it discovered was a battered warship bearing the markings of 
the Grand Fleet of Earth, and a crew of corpses. Somewhere in its travels, the 
Earth fleet blastship had been badly mauled in battle and abandoned by its 
surviving crewmembers. After that, it had jumped blindly from foldpoint to 
foldpoint under the control of a radiation-damaged autopilot, eventually ending 
up in the Val system.
With evidence of fighting beyond the foldpoint, the Altans had hurriedly 
organized an expedition to scout the situation. The expedition's first 
destination had been the Napier system and the colony world of New Providence. 
It had been from New Providence that Alta had originally been colonized. What 
the Altan expedition found was an ancestral home abandoned by its inhabitants. 
It had not been difficult to discover the reason. All the while the Altan ships 
were in the system, their outside radiation monitors had chattered wildly. New 
Providence and the whole Napier system had been made uninhabitable by the 
radiation from the nearby Antares Supernova.
The discovery that New Providence was a dead world had saddened, but not 
surprised, the Altans. A number of astronomers had warned them that the fifteen 
light-years that separated Napier from Antares was insufficient to protect the 
system from the full fury of the supernova. What had surprised the Altans was 
the condition in which they found most of New Providence's cities. The steady 
rain of high-energy photons and charged particles was deadly to all forms of 
life, but should not have materially affected the concrete, stone, and steel 
that comprises a city. The Altans had expected to find a world of abandoned, but 
pristine, municipalities.
What they found instead were horizon-to-horizon ruins bearing the unmistakable 
signs of nuclear bombardment. Shocked at the sight of widespread destruction, 
the Altans had dug through the ruins, searching for clues to what had 
precipitated the fighting. What they found had been the biggest surprise of all. 
For, contrary to the explorers' expectations, the New Providentials had not 
fallen to fighting among themselves. They had been attacked by a race of 
centauroid aliens, the Ryall.
Shortly after learning of the aliens' existence, the Altan expedition had 
departed the Napier system for the neighboring system of Hellsgate. New 
Providence had established a second interstellar colony in the Hellsgate system. 
According to the records, the Altans found in the ruins, it had been to this 
second colony that New Providence's refugees had fled.
The Altan ships had entered the Hellsgate system and quickly made contact with 
the inhabitants. They discovered that Sandar (the colony planet in the system) 
had been at war with the Ryall for more than a century. Before the Altans were 
finished, they were given the opportunity to view the war at first hand!
#
Richard Drake was jolted awake by a low-pitched hooting from somewhere outside. 
His first thought was that it was the cry of a night hunting calu beast. Then, 
as he came more awake, he remembered that there had not been a calu sighted in 
Homeport in more than a century.
"What is that?" he asked softly in the blackness.
Bethany stirred beside him, stretching as she came awake. After a moment's 
silence, she said, "I must have fallen asleep. What time is it?"
Drake glanced at the disembodied red numerals that floated in the darkness where 
he remembered the nightstand to be. "Nearly twenty hundred. What's that noise 
outside?"
Bethany sat up in bed and listened. "Oh, that's just the space raid siren. They 
announced a drill this morning on the news."
"How do you know it isn't a real raid?" he asked.
"Hmmm," she responded. "You don't think the Ryall would have the bad taste to 
launch an attack during a scheduled drill, do you?"
He laughed. "I'm sure they would if they could. However, they would have to get 
past the Sandarians first. Since we haven't heard of any major Ryall successes 
in the Hellsgate system, I think we're safe for the time being."
"Depolarize the window, Richard. I want to let the night in."
"Where's the control?"
"On the nightstand, beside the clock. The large round knob next to the light 
switch."
Drake fumbled for the control, found it, and turned it full in the clockwise 
direction. As he did so, one whole wall of the bedroom disappeared as the 
floor-to-ceiling window went from 100% opaque to fully transparent.
Beyond the window lay a clear, calm night. Across the Tigris River, the lights 
of Homeport shone brilliantly in subdued colors, while Antares hovered low in 
the western sky. The nova shed a light the color of a mercury vapor lamp and 
suffused the countryside with a pale silver glow. Directly in front of them, 
nova light reflected from the surface of the river to produce a broad band of 
silver across which a small pleasure boat moved upstream in silence.
Bethany rolled onto her stomach and propped her head on a pillow. "Isn't the 
night beautiful, Richard? Look what the nova's done to the river!" 
Drake reached out and let his fingertips trace the soft curves of her spine.  
"You're the one who is beautiful."
In the distance, the soft ululation of the siren slowly drifted down toward the 
limits of audibility.
"I guess that's it," she said.  "I wonder how much use these drills will be if 
we're ever raided for real?"
"Not much," he replied.  "They're mostly to get people in the proper mood.  If 
you are rousted out of bed in the middle of the night to seek shelter, you're 
more likely to put up with the extra inconveniences a war economy requires."
"I always suspected as much.  Not to change the subject, but are you hungry?"
"Famished," he replied
"Then opaque the window and turn on some lights.  I will make us a snack.  We 
can eat out on the balcony and watch the nova set."
"If that is your wish, my love."
"It is.  Hurry, it will be down in an hour."
Drake rolled over and reset the window control, followed by the overhead lights. 
 They dressed quickly.  Bethany busied herself in the kitchen while he set the 
table on her balcony.  Fifteen minutes later, they were enjoying a late supper 
of roast beef, cril greens, and coffee.  The coffee was nothing like the bitter 
Earth original, but rather an Altan product that the founders of the colony had 
decided was the closest local substitute.  As they ate, they watched Antares 
sink toward the western horizon.
They watched in silence for long minutes before Drake turned to Bethany and 
asked,  "Will you marry me?"
"It seems to me that I've answered that question more than once," she replied.
"No," he persisted.  "I don't mean marry me someday.  I mean marry menow, this 
very minute!  We'll call up city hall and register our vows, then roust the 
nearest city magistrate out of bed."
"We shouldn't have to roust anyone out.  It's only 20:30 hours."
"Even better.  We'll have the whole thing over in an hour."
Bethany caressed his cheek with her hand.  "I'll do it if you insist, Richard, 
but I would rather wait.  I've had a lot of time to think about it these last 
six months, and I've decided I want a big church wedding."
He shrugged.  "Fine.  I'll see if I can't reserve a church for next weekend.  
Surely, the boss will give me the time off if I tell him why I want it.  You can 
invite your uncle and friends, and I will invite everyone at the Admiralty who 
has ever spoken to me.  We will even throw in fifty or so strangers to fill out 
the crowd.  I guarantee a minimum attendance of two hundred!"
She laughed.  "You don't understand, Richard.  I don't want a big wedding in a 
church.  I want a wedding in a big church!"
"You're right, I don't understand you."
"It's simple really, darling.  I have decided that I want to be married in Notre 
Dame Cathedral.  You know, the one in Paris, France."
"You want to be married on Earth?"
She nodded.  "I thought it would be a nice touch."
"I'm not sure Notre Dame exists any longer."
She shrugged.  "Then Westminster Abbey, or St. Peter's Basilica will do just as 
well.  Or even the Little Chapel by the Road.  Just as long as we're married on 
Earth."
"Has it occurred to you that we may never find Earth again?"
"I have confidence, Richard.  We'll find it because we must." Bethany got up and 
stretched.  "Now then, if you are through eating, sir, I think it's time we went 
back to bed."
"What about the nova?  There are still fifteen minutes before it sets."
"We can see Antares anytime, and it isn't every night a woman receives a 
proposal of marriage."
"Or avoids it so skillfully," he said, glancing one last time at the setting 
star.  When he turned his attention back to the table, he discovered that he was 
speaking to an empty balcony.  Lifting a napkin from his lap, he dropped it on 
the table, stood, and followed her inside.
  
CHAPTER 2
  
Except wind stands as never it stood.
It is an ill wind that blows no one good.
 Thomas Tusser, 16th Century Poet
#
There had not been a single inhabitant of Alta  or of the entire Valeria 
system, for that matter  whose life had not been drastically changed by the 
Antares Supernova.  When the nova first burst bright in the Altan sky, it had 
transformed the darkness of Alta's night into an eerie daylight as it flooded 
land and sea with harsh blue-white radiance.  Most Altans had been initially 
enchanted by the phenomenon, although mothers had often complained that their 
children refused to sleep with the nova light peeking around the edges of their 
curtains.
Then had come word of the restoration of the foldpoint.  The news had been 
greeted with universal joy as the pent-up frustrations of The Long Isolation 
were released.  The celebration had gone on for days and a new spirit of 
enthusiasm and hope had surged throughout the system.  For months, it had seemed 
that Alta was on the verge of prosperity unknown in its history.
Slowly the nova had faded from its period of maximum brilliance.  While it did 
so, Alta had eagerly awaited the return of its expedition to the Napier and 
Hellsgate systems.  The day had finally come when the first of the expedition's 
ships returned home, bringing with it news of the Ryall threat.   The public 
mood had shifted almost overnight.  Optimism turned suddenly to horror; 
enthusiasm was quickly transformed into fear.  Night after night, the news 
services vied with each other to broadcast the most graphic views of the 
destruction of New Providence's cities.  No longer was the supernova regarded as 
Alta's personal good luck charm.  For most Altans, Antares had become the 
visible symbol of an uncertain and dangerous future.
If there was anyone who still had reason to be thankful for the nova in Alta's 
sky, that man was Clarence Whitlow.  Whitlow was the hereditary terrestrial 
ambassador to Alta, the fifth member of his family to hold that post.  It was 
the job of the hereditary ambassadors to act as though nothing had changed when 
the supernova isolated Valeria from the rest of human space.  As far as Whitlow 
and his predecessors were concerned, it was their job to represent Earth's 
interests on Alta.  The fact that they had had no instructions from home in 127 
years was a matter not worthy of comment.
To Clarence Whitlow had fallen the lonely task of keeping an important tradition 
alive.  That tradition held that Alta was part of a larger whole, a community of 
worlds built on the twin principles of tolerance and mutual respect.  For thirty 
years, he had lived the fiction that Earth was still a factor in the affairs of 
Alta.  It was a fiction that made him a comical figure to his friends and 
neighbors.  As for official Homeport, save for a small yearly stipend voted by 
Parliament, he had been virtually ignored during his time as terrestrial 
ambassador.
The coming of the nova had changed all of that.  Among the ships trapped in the 
Val system in 2512 were three heavy battle cruisers of Earth's Grand Fleet.  
Part of the agreement by which the first terrestrial ambassador had ceded these 
three ships to the fledgling Altan Navy had been that all succeeding terrestrial 
ambassadors would have a say in their use beyond the Val system.  To enforce the 
agreement, Whitlow's great-great-grandfather had retained certain security codes 
needed to operate the cruisers' jump engines.  Clarence Whitlow, in turn, had 
used his possession of these codes to force a promise from Parliament that he 
would be consulted on all matters of interstellar policy.  They had further 
agreed that Whitlow would have the right to send a personal representative along 
on any future interstellar expeditions.
For Clarence Whitlow, at least, the Antares Supernova had been an unmixed 
blessing.
#
Clarence Whitlow stood behind his oversize, onyxwood desk and stared out the 
window that adorned one wall of his office.  Whitlow was a frail, white haired 
man who walked with a noticeable stoop.  The stoop was the result of a 
progressive bone disease that the doctors had been able to arrest, but not to 
cure.  His bent posture, along with his soft features, had led many an opponent 
to underestimate him over the past three years.  Those who had done so had found 
that an iron will resided inside the stooped form.
Whitlow let his gaze sweep across the scene in front of him.   Across a wide 
tree-lined boulevard was the black cube that housed the Altan Industrial 
Council.  Next to it, in a structure every bit as imposing, was headquartered 
the Free Labor Association.  On either side of the two were other buildings, 
each of which held the legions of special pleaders that have congregated around 
governmental centers since the days of Babylon.  If Whitlow looked over the tops 
of the buildings of Lobbyist Row, he could just make out the ugly pile of stone 
and mortar that was the home of Alta's Parliament.
Not for him this morning were the foreground details of government, however.  
Instead, he lifted his gaze above the concrete-and-marble of the government 
district, past the panorama of Homeport itself, to the azure mountain range that 
bulked up in the distance.  To Whitlow's eyes, the Colgate Mountains were the 
most beautiful on Main Continent; and that, as much as their proximity to the 
capital, had been the reason he had chosen to make his home in their foothills 
for most of his life.  There had been many times over the past three years when 
he had wished that he was back in the mountains tending his roses.
Clarence Whitlow was jolted from his reverie by the sudden buzzing of the 
intercom on his desk.  He passed a hand through thinning white hair and returned 
to his seat.  Leaning forward, he keyed the intercom to life.
"Yes, Miss Preston?"
"Your niece is here, Mr. Ambassador."
"Send her in!"
The office door opened almost immediately and Bethany entered.  He could see by 
the broad smile on her face that her mission to the spaceport the previous day 
had been successful.
"I take it that you found your young man," he said.
  "Yes, Richard came in on the noon shuttle."
"I told you that he would."
"Just how did you know?" Bethany asked.
Whitlow shrugged.  "I keep my eyes open and I see things.  I listen carefully 
and I hear things."
"Have you heard anything about today's conference?"
"Ostensibly, it's to be a classified briefing for newly elected Members of 
Parliament."
"What does 'ostensibly' mean?" Bethany asked.
"I only note that they've had other Parliamentary briefings, and to my 
knowledge, neither the prime minister, nor Jonathan Carstairs, nor Richard Drake 
have been in attendance."
"You're implying that it's something more?"
"I hear rumors."
"What rumors?"
"That they may be about ready to make the decision to commit to a launch date.  
If so, it's about time!" 
Bethany nodded.  "I understand Jonathan Carstairs has actually developed a 
nervous tic over what Helldiver has cost to date.  It would be embarrassing to 
explain to the taxpayers how the Navy invested all that money, then wasn't 
allowed to go."
"I hope you're right, Bethany.   The sooner they launch, the sooner my 
accumulated dispatches will be delivered to an authorized representative of the 
Interstellar Council on Earth." 
"Have you given any thought to what will happen then?" Bethany asked.
"I suppose I'll retire.  Why do you ask?"
"I don't know," she replied.  "It's just that we've been working toward this 
goal for so long, I often wonder what will become of us when we finally succeed. 
 Do you suppose the IC will confirm you as ambassador once we've made contact?"
Whitlow's expression flickered through a series of emotions before he answered.  
"Of course not!  What a silly thing to say."
"I don't think so," his niece said.  "You've served them faithfully all these 
years.  Why wouldn't they keep you on?"
"Because, my darling child, you and I both know that I've only been playing a 
role these past three decades.  It is the ideal of Earth that I have attempted 
to safeguard, not the reality.  That ideal has been important to us.  It has 
helped our people through the long years of isolation and exerted a moderating 
influence over our government.  So long as the prime minister and Parliament are 
reminded that they may someday have to answer to a higher authority, they are 
restrained from some of the excesses that have plagued other governments 
throughout history.
"But let us not mistake my playacting for reality, Beth.  I may possess the 
title of terrestrial ambassador, but I can never be the true representative of 
Earth.  I am no less a colonist at heart than you.  If Earth is at war with the 
Ryall, then they will need one of their own here in Homeport to look after their 
true interests.  Have no illusions about it.  They will turn me out to pasture 
in a moment."
"Then why should we be loyal to them?"
"Because I gave my word to my father on his deathbed.  I promised that I would 
do my very best for Earth.  I have followed that credo for thirty years, and I 
do not propose to stop now."  Whitlow stared at his niece's dour expression.  
"Besides, I'm looking forward to retirement.  It will give me a chance to raise 
my roses.
"Enough of this.  What did you and Richard do after you met him at the 
spaceport?"
Bethany brightened.  "First we took a taxi to the Admiralty so Richard could 
check in with the first admiral.  After that, we had a late lunch at theMandarin 
Orange down by the river."
"How was the food?"
"Excellent!  The alos sprouts were done just the way you like them.  You should 
try it sometime."
"Perhaps you would consent to be my guide some day when you aren't busy."
"Sure."
"Ah, ... was that all?"
Bethany felt her face redden.  She and Richard had gone straight from the 
restaurant to her apartment, where they had made love until nightfall.  That she 
would be intimate with her fianc after six months of separation should not have 
surprised anyone.  Still, it was uncharacteristic of her uncle to ask such a 
question.  She avoided a direct answer by saying:  "Richard asked me to marry 
him again."
"I would have thought once enough."
"We decided that we would have the ceremony on Earth," Bethany replied with a 
grin.  "In a cathedral if we can arrange it."
Her uncle did not react as Bethany expected.  Instead of congratulating her, he 
said, "That brings up a point which I've been meaning to discuss with you.  I've 
been considering finding someone else to represent me on the Helldiver 
Expedition."
"WHAT?"
"I've even thought of going myself."
"You can't, Uncle!  Your heart would never stand up to the acceleration.  
Besides, what is wrong with me representing you?  I've done it before and you 
didn't seem to have any complaints."
"You weren't engaged to Captain Drake before."
"What has that to do with anything?"
"A great deal, Beth.  Do not get me wrong.  No one was happier than when you 
returned from Sandar and announced your engagement to Richard Drake.  He is, if 
you will pardon my saying so, a distinct improvement over your last fianc.  
However, he is also the commander of the Altan contingent to the Helldiver 
Fleet.  That means that he represents the interests of the Altan government.  If 
you are to go along as my representative, then you must represent Earth.  Make 
no mistake about that.  Your first duty will be to the Interstellar Council."
"I understand that perfectly."
"I wonder if you do," Whitlow said.  "Have you considered that a situation may 
arise where you will find yourself at odds with your husband-to-be?"
"I would think, Uncle, that with the Ryall running around loose, the interests 
of Alta and Earth are the same."
"They probably are.  However, you are ducking the question, which is that they 
may not be.  I must know that you will serve Earth first and Richard Drake 
second.  Either that or I will find someone else to represent me.  Can you 
assure me that you will be my honest advocate?"
Bethany hesitated for an uncomfortably long time.  To Whitlow who had raised 
her, the inner turmoil was obvious.  Finally, she said, "I think I can do it, 
Uncle.  I hope and pray the situation will never arise; but if it does, I 
believe I can be sufficiently objective to think of Earth first."
Whitlow nodded.  "Good enough for now.  However, should today's conference 
result in a green light for Helldiver, I will expect your absolute pledge of 
loyalty.  Anything less, bad heart or no, I will go in your place."
#
The Admiralty building had been built in the earliest days of the Altan colony.  
It had originally been designed as the central government's embassy and 
ambassadorial residence on Alta.  Granville Whitlow, the terrestrial ambassador 
at the time of the nova, had ceded the building and grounds to the colonial 
government at the same time he had turned over the battle cruisers.  For a 
century and a quarter, the building had housed the headquarters of the Altan 
Space Navy.
Richard Drake stepped from the taxi that had brought him from Bethany's 
apartment.  He bounded up the steps past the Marine guards who flanked the main 
entrance, and entered through the three-meter high armor plated doors at the 
front entrance.  He marched briskly across a marble floor that still bore the 
stylized outline of Earth in its surface and presented his identification to the 
Marine sergeant who sat in a glass cage just inside the entrance.  When the 
computer in the sub-basement concluded that he was indeed who he said he was, 
the sergeant directed him toward a bank of public lifts to his right.
"Fleet Captain Drake!"
Drake turned at the hail to find Commodore Douglas Wilson striding toward him.  
Wilson was the first admiral's adjutant and chief of staff.  "Good morning, 
sir."
"Morning," Wilson replied.  "Ready for the big day?"
Drake nodded.  "If this is it, I am."
"Should be," Wilson replied.  "The Prime Minister's attending the conference, 
and you can bet he wouldn't be wasting his time if he weren't ready to give us 
the go ahead."
"What about the Conservative Alliance?  Are they ready to give us their 
blessing?"
Wilson nodded.  "Their leadership is, finally!  Some of their newly elected 
rank-and-file types have been making troublesome noises.  We will be briefing 
them.  They've heard rumors about Helldiver and now want to see what it's all 
about."
"Do you think they'll come around after they know the facts?"
Wilson shrugged expansively.  "Who can tell with politicians?  However, enough 
of this political talk.  How go things at Felicity Base?"
"We're in pretty good shape. Discovery is in the final phases of checkout,Dagger 
isn't far behind, and City of Alexandria should begin systems integration 
testing sometime tomorrow."
"What about the tankers?"
"They're about on a par with Alexandria. All testing on the new generators 
should be completed within ten days.  We could launch thirty days after that."
"Hmmm," Wilson mused.  "I wonder how the Sandarians are doing?"
"From what I hear," Drake replied, "they're ahead of us."
The two of them took the lift to the sixth floor where the Admiralty's main 
conference room was located.  The conference room was some ten meters square.  
At its center was a rectangular arrangement of tables covered with white 
tablecloths.  The room was windowless.  To make up for that, a large holoscreen 
had been affixed to each wall.  At each place around the table stood a 
nameplate, a water glass, three pens, and a yellow pad of writing paper.  
Pitchers filled with water had been located at strategic locations.  The only 
electronics in evidence were the controls used to operate the holoscreens.
Drake found his nameplate to the left of one bearing the name of First Admiral 
Dardan.  Commodore Wilson took the seat on the Admiral's right.  Bethany and her 
uncle were already down the table on the opposite side.  Drake smiled at his 
fiance and received only the most cursory of smiles in response.  He quickly 
ran through their conversation at breakfast, wondering what he had done or said 
that might have made her mad.  She had been in good spirits when she had left 
for her uncle's office that morning.  Unable to come up with a cause for her 
apparent shift in mood, he put the subject from his mind.  If he had done 
something to offend her, she would let him know soon enough.
Drake let his gaze sweep the table.  Opposite him were several members of 
Parliament who were unfamiliar to him  which meant that they had been elected 
since the period four years earlier when he'd served as Parliamentary liaison 
officer for the Navy.  On his side of the table were several of the prime 
minister's aides, including Stanislaw Barrett.  Across the table were several 
people from Homeport University.
He had just completed his inventory of the attendees when a voice from behind 
him said:  "All rise for the Honorable Gareth Reynolds, Prime Minister of the 
Altan Republic; the Honorable Jonathan Carstairs, Leader of the Loyal 
Opposition; and Admiral Luis Dardan, Commander of the Altan Space Navy."
The three men entered the room single file and then fanned out to take their 
individual seats.  The others present stood respectfully until the prime 
minister had seated himself before returning to their own seats with 
considerable scraping of chairs.  The prime minister waited for the noise to die 
down, then picked up an onyxwood gavel and banged it on the table.  When the 
room had drifted into silence, Gareth Reynolds began to speak.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.  We are here today because several members 
of Parliament have requested a policy review on the program we all know by the 
code name Project Helldiver.  It is the opinion of these petitioners that we 
were hasty in our approval of this effort two years ago when we signed the 
Sandarian Treaty.  Since the project is nearing completion of Phase I and will 
shortly be ready for space, I propose to go beyond the question of policy, and 
make this meeting a full program readiness review.  By that, I mean that we will 
discuss whatever needs discussing to determine whether we launch Helldiver on 
schedule, delay its departure, or cancel it altogether.
"We will begin with several presentations.  I do not expect everyone to agree 
with everything they hear, nor do I ask anyone to surrender his or her right to 
voice an objection.  However, I do ask you to hold any such remarks until after 
the speakers have finished.  Also, when you rise to speak, please state your 
name and organization clearly for the record.  Finally, I remind you that 
everything discussed here today is classified as an Altan state secret.  What 
you hear here, stays here!
"Anyone have any questions? ... If not, we will begin with Doctor Nathaniel 
Gordon, who will review our situation with regard to the current structure of 
foldspace.  Doctor Gordon, you have the floor!"
  
CHAPTER 3
  
Nathaniel Gordon was a small man with nervous hands and a tendency toward 
pedantry.  He stood at his seat, bowed formally in the direction of the prime 
minister, and said loudly:  "Dr. Nathaniel Gordon, University of Homeport, 
Department of Foldspace Astronomy and Physics.  May I please have the lights 
down?"
As the conference room sank into gloom, the holoscreens mounted high on each of 
the four walls lit to show a complex three-dimensional diagram.  The figure on 
the screens was a rough ellipsoid shape composed of two hundred small white 
spheres connected in a seemingly random pattern by a series of curved red lines. 
 It had the look of a child's construction set or of a complex organic molecule 
model.  Close by each of the spheres were small golden triangle-shaped markers.  
Upon closer examination, it became apparent that the red connecting lines did 
not actually touch the spheres, but rather, terminated in every case at the 
golden markers.
"Before one can fully appreciate what the Helldiver Project proposes to 
accomplish," Gordon began, "it is necessary to understand the effect the Antares 
Supernova has had on the structure of foldspace.  The figure on the screens is 
undoubtedly familiar to many of you.  It is a somewhat stylized diagram showing 
the major foldline links within human space  what we astronomers call a 
Foldspace Topology Chart, or FTC for short.  This particular FTC represents the 
situation before the Antares Supernova of 2512.  The small white spheres are 
stars, the red connecting lines are active foldline links, and the gold-colored 
triangles are charted foldpoints.
"The first thing one notices about this FTC is that fewer than five percent of 
all the stars in human space are charted.  That is because the number of stars 
that possess foldpoints is less than one in twenty.  Another point to note:  It 
is the pattern of foldline connections between the stars, not their actual 
positions in space, that is important.
"This is sometimes a difficult concept for laymen, so forgive me if I dwell on 
it a bit.  Take the example of our own closest neighbor, the M2 dwarf star, 
Reglati-Sera.  Even though Reglati is but three light-years distant from us, no 
human being has ever visited it.  That is because Reglati-Sera belongs to the 
95% of stars that do not possess foldpoints.  Thus, in a very real sense, 
Valeria's closest neighbor is not Reglati-Sera at all; but rather, Napier, from 
whence our ancestors came.  The two systems are separated by 110 light-years 
through normal space, but only by a few billion kilometers via foldline link."
Gordon manipulated the screen control in his hand, and another FTC of 
considerably less complexity replaced the diagram.  The stars were far less 
densely packed and the scale was such that it was now possible to read the names 
of individual stars.  At the center of the screen was a star around which were 
clustered six small golden triangles.  Floating nearby were a series of green, 
glowing letters that spelled out: ANTARES.
"It is not my intention to conduct a seminar in foldspace astronomy this 
morning," Dr. Gordon assured his audience.  "Therefore, let us concentrate on 
the local situation.  On the screen is a foldspace topology chart showing part 
of our own local star group.  Specifically, you are looking at the FTC for the 
Napier Sector of the Antares foldspace cluster.  By the way, please do not 
confuse the term 'foldspace cluster' with the more common 'star cluster.'  A 
star cluster is a group of gravitationally bound stars, whereas a foldspace 
cluster is a group of stars intimately linked by foldlines.  The individual 
stars of a foldpoint cluster may not  and indeed, seldom are  in close 
physical proximity to one another.
"It is a truism that the structure of foldspace determines the economics of all 
activities that rely on interstellar travel.  To understand this point, let us 
take an imaginary journey.  Pretend for a moment that you are a pre-nova 
starship captain departing Alta with a cargo for Earth.  Since Valeria is a 
cul-de-sac system, you have no choice as to the first waypoint on your journey.  
Of necessity, the destination of any starship leaving Valmust be Napier."  Dr. 
Gordon did something to the screen control, and the faint red line connecting 
Valeria to Napier turned bright crimson.  He continued:  "Once in the Napier 
system, however, a pre-nova ship captain was faced with a choice as to his 
subsequent route to Earth.  For example, he could have chosen to take the 
Hellsgate/Aezer route, which involves successive transitions from Napier to 
Hellsgate, Aezer, Hermes, Sacata, Carswell, Vega, and Luyten's Star before 
finally reaching Sol."
The links between stars brightened on the holoscreens as Gordon called out each 
name.  "That is a total of eight foldspace transitions with intrasystem 
maneuvering at each star along the way.  More sensibly, the same ship captain 
could have chosen to use one of the Antares routes from Napier to Sol.  In that 
event, he would merely have to jump from Napier to Antares to Goddard to Sol  a 
total of three foldspace transitions.  Obviously, the latter route is the more 
economical by a considerable margin.
"Now then, let us look at the post-nova situation..." Dr. Gordon manipulating 
the screen controls again.  The small white globe that represented Antares 
suddenly expanded to ten times its former size, engulfing the foldpoint markers 
around it.  Simultaneously, six red hued foldlines faded nearly to invisibility, 
causing the whole center of the foldspace diagram to dim.
"The value of a foldspace cluster lies not in the number of foldpoints it 
possesses, but rather in the increased inter-connectivity that cluster brings to 
the foldspace topology of human space as a whole.  In other words, the supernova 
not only robbed us of those six trade routes, it also robbed us of the 
flexibility which they provided to our starships."  Dr. Gordon thumbed the 
holoscreen control and a third FTC flashed on the screen.  He zoomed in on one 
section of the chart, revealing a string of four stars dangling like a loose 
strand of beads from the body of human space.  The names floating beside the 
star markers were Aezer, Hellsgate, Napier, and Valeria.
"Here then," Nathaniel Gordon said, "is what Antares did to us.  Where before a 
starship captain could choose half-a-dozen routes between Alta and the other 
systems of human space, now there is but one.  Clearly we are poorer and more 
vulnerable as a result."
#
When Professor Gordon finished, the prime minister glanced down the table to 
where Drake sat.  "I believe you are up next, Fleet Captain."
"Yes, sir."  Drake stood and faced the audience.  "My name is Richard Drake.  I 
command the battle cruiser Discovery.  I was military commander of Interstellar 
Expedition One, and will perform that same function for the Altan contingent to 
the Helldiver Expedition.  I have been asked to review some of the events that 
led up to the decision to initiate the Helldiver Project.  I will try to keep it 
brief."
Drake paused and gazed at his audience.  Except for the dozen or so neophyte 
legislators present, most looked mildly bored.  The newly elected members of 
Parliament displayed a less identifiable emotion.  Drake had long since decided 
that they were suffering from ill concealed impatience.  It appeared as though 
they had already made up their minds and were not particularly interested in 
having their opinions swayed by facts.  Not for the first time during the 
meeting, he wondered if the decision concerning Helldiver's fate had not already 
been made in some caucus room on Parliament Hill.  He hurriedly pushed the 
thought from his mind and concentrated instead on his prepared text.
"Two years ago, ladies and gentlemen, we had no idea what conditions were like 
beyond our own foldpoint.  All we knew was that the remains of a once powerful 
warship had fallen into our hands.  Since that single ship could easily have 
defeated our whole navy, we were naturally concerned.  It was for that reason 
that we launched the expedition to New Providence and Sandar.
"As you are all aware, we arrived at New Providence and found that the planet 
had been extensively bombarded prior to its being abandoned in 2527.  We also 
learned of the existence of the Ryall.  After New Providence, I decided to push 
on to the Hellsgate system to investigate further.  There we made contact with 
the Sandarians, who gave us considerable information regarding the Human/Ryall 
War.
"Yet, when we quizzed the Sandarians about Conqueror, they denied ever having 
seen it.  That left us with something of a paradox since, as you can see on the 
screen, Hellsgate sits astride the only plausible route for Conqueror to have 
taken from Earth.  Obviously, if Conqueror didn't come via the Hellsgate route, 
there is only one other possible route it could have used."  Drake stabbed his 
finger at the central star on the diagram.  "It had to come straight through the 
supernova remnant!"
"How is that possible, Captain Drake?" a voice asked from midway down the table.
Drake turned at the interruption.  "I beg your pardon, sir.  You are?"
"My name is Jason Pettigrew.  I am the newly elected representative of the New 
Chalmers District, Paradise Island.  Frankly, I have seen the nova with my own 
eyes and find your suggestion to be utterly preposterous.  How could any ship 
survive inside the supernova longer than an instant without being vaporized?"
Drake shrugged.  "It couldn't, Mr. Pettigrew.  Not if the funeral pyre we see in 
our sky every night was a true picture of the nova.  However, remember that 
light has been in transit for more than a century.  What we are seeing is the 
supernova in its youth.  Antares has aged considerably in 127 years."  As Drake 
spoke, he tapped a computer reference into the screen control.  Suddenly, the 
foldspace diagram was gone, to be replaced by a full color holograph.
The holograph showed a view of the Antares Nebula as seen from the surface of 
New Providence.  More than a century of expansion had transformed the brilliant 
point of light into a ghostlike nebulosity.  The nebula had grown to nearly six 
light-years in diameter and when viewed from the relative closeness of the 
Napier system, covered a staggering 22.5 degrees of arc.  That made it 40 times 
the diameter of Luna as seen from Earth, 200 times the diameter of Felicity as 
seen from Alta.  At the shell's center burned the corpse of what had once been 
the second largest star in human space; while nearby, a second star-like object 
was all that remained of Antares' smaller A3 companion.
"That is how the nova looks today.  Conditions inside are still pretty hellish 
by human standards, but compared to the primordial fury of those first few 
cataclysmic hours, Antares is practically cold!"
Pettigrew shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  "Then the rumors we've heard are 
true!  The purpose of the Helldiver Project...?"
Drake nodded.  "Is to penetrate the nebula, retrace Conqueror 's route, and find 
Earth."
#
There was a long silence in the room.  Finally, another Member of Parliament 
spoke up.  "Surely you can't be serious!"
"Why not?" Drake asked.
"Damn it, we've all seen photographs of Conqueror.  The bow section was 
practically melted off.  Are you telling us that the nova didn't do that?"
Drake shook his head.  "I'm telling you that the nova definitely did do it. 
Conqueror 's autopilot was damaged, but still retained sufficient sanity to use 
the blastship's bulk as a radiation shield for itself, the engines, and fuel 
tanks."
"And you're going to send our ships into that same hell?" Jason Pettigrew asked.
"Not without protection, sir.  For the past two years, a team of Altan and 
Sandarian scientists has been developing an anti-radiation field of radically 
new design.  It should be able to protect a ship inside the nebula."
"I take it that this project is where all the money has gone?" Pettigrew asked.
Drake nodded.  "That was a large part of it.  We've also been equipping various 
ships with antirad generators and making other general improvements."
"What ships?"
"Discovery,Dagger, City of Alexandria, various tankers and support craft."
"My God, you're talking about half our Navy!"
"Not quite half, Jason," the Prime Minister replied from where he had been 
following the debate.  "Not when you count our new construction and foldpoint 
defense program."
"But you are sending Dagger and Discovery out with this expedition!" Pettigrew 
insisted.  "That leaves us onlyDreadnought to defend Alta!"
"True enough, at least until the first of the new cruisers start coming out of 
the shipyards," Gareth Reynolds replied.
"What can possibly have possessed you to siphon off so much of our strength for 
this hair-brained scheme?" Pettigrew asked.
"We had our reasons," the prime minister responded.  "Admiral Dardan!"
Admiral Luis Dardan, commander of the Altan Space Navy, rose from his seat and 
strode to where Drake was standing.  He nodded at his subordinate and whispered, 
"Good job, Captain," before Drake returned to his seat.  Dardan waited for the 
assembled MPs to quiet down before continuing.
"Gentlemen, with the return of Interstellar Expedition One, we Altans found 
ourselves faced with an outside threat for the first time since the founding of 
our colony.  It was the Navy's job to determine how best to meet the Ryall 
challenge; and in doing our job, we studied two basic options.  These were to 
help Sandar defend the Hellsgate-Aezer foldpoint against Ryall attack and to 
attempt to dislodge the Ryall from the Aezer system altogether.  I will address 
the latter option first.
"By far the best solution to our problem would be to drive the Ryall from the 
Aezer system.  Not only would this put more distance between our enemies and us, 
it would also allow trade to resume between Alta and the rest of human space.  
Unfortunately, the military prospects for this option are not good.  The reason 
for this lies in the nature of foldpoints.  A foldpoint is what we in the 
military call a choke point  a restricted volume of space through which all 
attacking forces must be funneled.  Since a defender knows precisely where the 
attack will come, he need not waste his forces in patrolling other sectors.  
Every ship, every orbital fortress, every weapon he possesses can be 
concentrated in and around the foldpoint.  With the defenders positioned to 
defend such a limited killing zone, the battle begins the moment an attacker 
materializes.  If the defense possesses a sufficient concentration of firepower, 
it can annihilate virtually any size attacking force before the aggressor has an 
opportunity to escape into the system at large.  The Sandarians have tried to 
force the Aezer-Hellsgate foldpoint three times over the past seventeen years.  
Each attempt has been a bloody failure.  In light of this, we concluded that 
there is little likelihood of our driving the Ryall from Aezer any time soon.
"The other option considered was to assist the Sandarians in defending the 
Hellsgate-Aezer foldpoint.  Not only will this save Sandar, it will also provide 
Alta with three separate lines of defense."  Dardan turned to the foldspace 
topology diagram.  "The Ryall are here in the Aezer system.  By fortifying the 
entrances to the Hellsgate, Napier, and Val systems, we can make them fight for 
each star system along the way.  With such defense in depth, there is a very 
good chance that we can stop any likely Ryall attack for the indefinite future.  
Indeed, defense in depth is our primary strategy, and the reason why we have 
embarked on our massive shipbuilding program."
"That doesn't explain why you chose to divert so many resources into the 
Helldiver Project," Pettigrew responded.
"No, sir, it does not.  Normally, I would agree with you about the 
inadvisability of diverting such a large fraction of our strength at this time.  
If anything, I would argue that we should wait until we built up larger reserves 
before launching this expedition.  Unfortunately, the Human/Ryall Institute at 
Homeport University uncovered a factor that convinced both ourselves and the 
Sandarian Government that it is not in our best interest to wait."
"What factor, Admiral Dardan?"
"During its studies, the institute asked what the long term effect of our being 
isolated from the rest of humanity would be.  Now, we know from our studies of 
Conqueror and the data we obtained from the Sandarians that Alta has lagged 
perceptibly in technological development during the Long Isolation.  Since the 
Ryall are more than holding their own against humankind, we can assume that we 
have lagged their technological development as well.  What the institute 
concluded was that we will fall even further behind if our isolation continues, 
and that as time goes by, the chance of the Ryall developing weapons and 
techniques capable of countering our defenses increases.
"What form such developments might take, we cannot predict.  However, you merely 
have to observe some of the more advanced devices we discovered aboardConqueror 
to know that the concern is a real one.  By extrapolating the known rate at 
which we are falling behind, the institute calculated that we can expect the 
Ryall to defeat the Hellsgate-Aezer foldpoint defenses sometime within the next 
10 to 25 years.  Once Sandar falls, we Altans can expect to be overrun in less 
than a decade.
"Unless we reestablish contact with Earth immediately, our world has less than 
35 years to live.  That is the motivation behind the Helldiver Project and the 
reason why it must proceed at the earliest possible moment!"
#
  
CHAPTER 4
  
Bethany Lindquist made her way briskly along the length of the main concourse at 
Homeport Spaceport.  As she did so, she weaved around slower groups of 
travelers, trying for a maximum of speed with a minimum of tromped feet.  She 
trailed a single suitcase behind her like a dog on a leash, carried a garment 
bag slung over one shoulder, and clutched another small case with her free hand.
As she walked, she was struck by the paradox inherent in launching the Helldiver 
Project from Homeport Spaceport.  By rights, she should now be moving through 
the bowels of some top-secret military installation, walking past stoic guards 
with lasers topped by fixed bayonets.  Instead, she found herself fighting a 
tide of humanity, pushing her way past mothers holding crying babies as she 
dodged the moving throngs of businessmen with their ever present 
briefcase-cum-computers.  While there were military men present, like Bethany, 
they too were en route to destinations beyond the atmosphere.  They showed 
little interest in her, save for their appreciative glances as she passed.
The problem, she reminded herself, was that Altans had never been a warlike 
people  a fact that owed more to lack of opportunity than any inherent 
righteousness.  In the early days of the colony, the Grand Fleet had kept the 
peace and Alta had had no need for the paraphernalia of war.  Later, with the 
onset of the Long Isolation, there had been no one to fight.  Even the 
establishment of the Altan Space Navy had been little more than a scheme by 
Bethany's ancestor, Granville Whitlow, to keep the three Grand Fleet battle 
cruisers in working order until interstellar travel could be resumed.  For the 
125 years that the foldpoint had remained sealed, the Navy had been little more 
than a police force patrolling the less traveled corners of the Val system.
All that had changed, of course, with the return of Interstellar Expedition One 
from Sandar.  However, despite what the newsfaxes were calling "the largest 
military buildup in Altan history," two years had not been nearly long enough to 
construct the infrastructure of a true military power.  To date Altan efforts to 
fortify the various foldpoints leading from Hellsgate had taken precedence over 
construction of a new military spaceport.  So it was that Helldiver, the most 
closely guarded secret in the history of the colony, was being launched in broad 
daylight, at the busiest time of the day, from the largest public spaceport on 
the planet.
Bethany reached the point where three weeks earlier she had waited for Richard's 
arrival on the noon shuttle.  As she walked briskly past, she remembered the joy 
of their reunion and the bittersweet sadness of their parting forty hours later. 
 They had spent the time before launch seated in the departure lounge.  Bethany 
had managed to hold back her tears until the moment the loading of Richard's 
shuttle was announced over the public address system.
"Stop that!" he had said after kissing her on both eyelids.  "We'll be back 
together before you know it."
"It won't be the same," Bethany had replied.  "When next we meet, you will have 
your job to do and I'll have mine.  Neither of us will have a moment alone 
together until we get to..." She had trailed off into silence, afraid to say the 
word "Earth" lest someone overhear.
He had smiled that quizzical smile of his and chuckled.  "You were the one who 
decided where we should be married, you know."
"I know."
A second announcement from an overhead speaker had caused him to climb to his 
feet.  "Time to go, Beth.  I will see you in three weeks.  Don't forget to pack 
your wedding dress."
"I won't."
Bethany lengthened her stride as the spaceport crowds began to thin out toward 
the end of the long concourse.  As she walked, she shifted the garment bag 
slightly and heard the rustle of hundred-year-old fabric.  She had done as 
Richard commanded.  Inside the garment bag was the wedding dress in which four 
generations of Whitlow women had been married.
She came to a branching of the public walkway.  The main passage turned to the 
left toward the berths of privately owned ground-to-orbit craft, while a small 
side passage ran off to the right.  Bethany turned into the latter without 
hesitation.  She quickly found herself descending a gentle slope into a brightly 
lighted tunnel.  The tunnel surfaced again a hundred meters farther on.  Two 
armed Marines stood guard at the point of emergence.
"May we help you, Ma'am?"
"My name's Lindquist.  I'm bound for Discovery via Alexandria."  As she spoke, 
she pulled a message slip from her pocket.  Printed on Navy letterhead, it 
invited her to appear at Gate 27C, Homeport Spaceport, on or before 10:40 hours, 
16 Taurus 2639 for transportation to ANC Discovery.  The message was signed by 
First Admiral Dardan.
The Marine took the message, punched a code sequence into a handheld computer 
terminal, and waited for the machine to emit a quiet beeping tone.  When it did, 
he nodded and handed the orders back to Bethany.  "Good to have you aboard, Miss 
Lindquist.  You may proceed to the gate.  They'll be boarding in about fifteen 
minutes."
"Thank you, Corporal."
"You're welcome, Ma'am."
#
Richard Drake sat in his command chair onboard Discovery and watched an 
apparition on the viewscreen in front of him.  The screen showed the blue-white 
expanse of Alta's limb surmounted by the blackness of space.  Val was a bright 
disk at the upper edge of the screen, while the atmosphere of the planet showed 
as a disconcertingly narrow band of haze above the world's horizon.  And, 
hovering just above the atmosphere line, silhouetted against the star specked 
backdrop of open space, was a pattern of blue-white alternating with black; a 
mirage that changed from one second to the next; a shimmery, ghostlike 
something!  The sight brought to mind ancient legends of ghost ships that had 
entered foldspace and were never seen again.
Drake looked away and chastised himself for letting an overactive imagination 
get the best of him.  In truth, there was a perfectly prosaic explanation for 
that which lay on the screen in front of him.  The "ghost ship" was an optical 
illusion, an effect that resulted when the hull of a starship was turned into a 
nearly perfect reflector of electromagnetic radiation.  Drake listened to a 
voice counting down the seconds on Discovery 's intercom.  "Five ... four ... 
three ... two ... one ... zero."
At the word "zero," the apparition dramatically changed appearance.  Suddenly, 
the mirror-sheen was gone and a hull of armored steel took its place.  The ship 
thus revealed was a twin of Discovery.  Its central cylinder jutted from the 
center of a habitat ring.  Twelve spokes joined the central cylinder to the 
ring.  A focusing mechanism for the ship's fusion powered photon engines jutted 
from the back of the central cylinder, while the business ends of lasers, 
particle beams, and antimatter projectors jutted from various places on the 
hull.  The outlines of hatches marked the positions of internal cargo spaces and 
hangar bays in which auxiliary craft were housed.
TheDerringer -class heavy battle cruiser was a design that went back nearly two 
centuries.  Designed for speed and acceleration, the ring-and-cylinder design 
was a compromise between a good thrust-to-mass ratio and an adequate low speed 
spin-gravity capability.  The design was ungainly and fragile looking, but 
proven in battle.  One advantage the cylinder-and-ring ships had over purely 
cylindrical designs, if a ship were severely damaged, the habitat ring could be 
jettisoned whole, or in as many as six separate pieces.
"Dagger reports anti-radiation shield test complete, Captain."
"Very good, Communicator," Drake said.  "Open up a channel to Captain Marston."
"Aye aye, sir."
Bela Marston had been Drake's executive officer on Interstellar Expedition One.  
He had since been entrusted with the command of one of the two battle cruisers 
assigned to Project Helldiver.  Marston's image formed on Drake's workscreen.
"Status report, if you please, Bela."
"All systems are nominal, Captain.  Our attenuation factor held steady at 
ten-to-the-minus-ninth, and our heat rejection level was good.  Both backup 
systems worked perfectly when we switched them on line manually.  Our viewscreen 
compensators are working fine."
"No problems then?"
"No, sir.  I'd say we're as ready as we'll ever be."
"Right," Drake replied.  "You may begin preparations to receive passengers."
"We'll be ready for them, Captain."
"Make sure that you are.  We are running behind schedule and we need to make it 
up.  Anything else?"
"No, sir."
"Flagship, out."
"Dagger, out."
Drake turned to a member of his bridge crew.  "What about it, Finley?  Did you 
note any weak spots in Dagger 's field while it was on?"
"No, sir.  He didn't even flicker when he switched over from the primary 
generators.  I would agree with Captain Marston.  They're ready."
Drake nodded and put Dagger out of his mind, leaving only a million-and-one 
other details to be resolved before the Helldiver Fleet left orbit for the 
foldpoint.
#
The trip to orbit was an uneventful one.  Bethany sat next to Calvan Cooper, one 
of Stan Barrett's political assistants.  Barrett would represent Alta on the 
coming expedition, as he had done on Interstellar Expedition One.  Cooper had 
been assigned to his staff as political liaison to the Sandarians, and to assist 
in negotiations when contact was reestablished with the rest of the human race.  
The nervous glance Cooper had given the ground-to-orbit shuttle when he came 
onboard was all that Bethany had needed to identify her seatmate as a 
white-knuckle flyer.  She had done her best to take his mind off the coming 
journey while they taxied into position.  Even after the boat's fusion engines 
thrust them into the dark blue Altan atmosphere, she had kept up a running 
commentary concerning the flight.  By the time the first of the giant spherical 
cryogen tankers of the Helldiver Fleet hove into view, Cooper had relaxed 
visibly.
"Look there," Bethany said, pointing to where the tanker lay.
Cooper leaned over to look out the boat's viewport.   His gaze followed her 
pointing finger.  "Where?"
"There, near that blue star in the Plowman's Foot.  See it?"
"That tiny thing?"
"Not so tiny," she replied.  "You're looking at a million cubic meters of 
cryogen.  Without it, we might not get back."
"I've always been under the impression that it didn't take much fuel to jump 
between the stars," Cooper said.  "Why all the tankers?"
"Depends on what you consider 'not much,'" Bethany replied.  "A foldspace 
transition eats up ten percent of a ship's total fuel supply."
"Then we should have enough for ten transitions," Cooper responded.  "More than 
enough."
Bethany looked perplexed for a moment, and then smiled as she realized his 
misconception.  "You're forgetting the maneuvering between foldpoints, I think.  
 Remember, a foldpoint can occur anywhere in a star system, and multiple 
foldpoints are often on opposite sides of the system primary.  Getting from one 
to another eats up a lot of fuel.  Since we don't know precisely how many 
transitions will be required before we find Earth, we have to take along an 
ample supply."
"How do you know so much about it?  Surely you aren't a ship's officer!"
Bethany smiled at the shocked tone with which Cooper had made his statement.  
Women were a rarity among Altan spacers and there were none at all in the Navy.  
The attitude was a holdover from the original colonists' aversion to allowing 
women to practice any profession they considered dangerous, which itself was an 
outgrowth of the founders' need to populate their new world.  Even so, there had 
been half-a-dozen women along on Interstellar Expedition One  mostly scientists 
 and there would be three times that number on the coming voyage.  In addition, 
the Sandarian fleet was nearly twenty percent female, the result of Sandar 
having been at war with the Ryall for more than a century.
Rather than rebuke young Cooper for his unintended slight, Bethany merely said, 
"I know so much about such things because I was aboard Discovery during 
Interstellar Expedition One."
"Of course," Cooper replied.  "I remember you now!  You're the hereditary 
terrestrial ambassador to Alta, aren't you?"
Bethany shook her head.  "My uncle is hereditary ambassador.  I am his official 
representative.  I'm a comparative historian by profession; but I have also 
learned quite a lot about the Ryall over the past two years.  I hope to learn 
more when we get to Earth."
"I hope I didn't offend you with my remark," Cooper said.
"You didn't," Bethany replied.
The first cryogen tanker had fallen behind while they talked.  It was quickly 
replaced with another, then another, and another.  Finally, when the last of the 
big ships had disappeared back along their flight path, a large cylindrical 
vessel appeared in front of them.
They watched the new ship grow larger as the boat slowly approached it.  Three 
interorbit freighters hovered near the stationary ship while small boats flitted 
about.  Suddenly, the acceleration alarm sounded and Bethany and Calvan Cooper 
were tugged forward against their straps as the boat completed its approach to 
the space liner.
 #
Like most commercial vessels, City of Alexandria had been designed on the 
cylindrical plan so that it could be rotated about its axis to provide 
spin-gravity at times when thrust was absent.  The ship's rotation had been 
halted three days earlier to facilitate the loading of personnel and supplies, 
leaving the whole vessel in a state of zero gravity.  There are few operations 
more confusing to the untutored eye than the transfer of cargo in weightlessness 
is.
As Bethany entered the passenger liner, the sight of hundreds of packing crates 
floating between deck and overhead confronted her.  Since it is impossible to 
"pile" things in zero gravity, most of the odd shaped boxes and barrels had been 
restrained behind large nets until the handlers could move them.  A few of the 
color-coded cartons had escaped restraint, however, and were floating free in 
the compartment.  Other containers were being manhandled toward various open 
hatchways.
 Into this planned confusion trickled the passengers from Homeport.  Most had 
little or no previous space experience.  Confused by the lack of gravity, they 
clung to the guide rope and stared wide-eyed at their surroundings.  Clustered 
around them were several members of Alexandria 's crew.  These were the 
"baby-sitters," spacers who had been unlucky enough to draw escort duty for the 
groundlings.  Scarlet armbands on their uniforms identified them.  Seeing 
Bethany emerge from the open airlock, one of the escorts kicked off and arrowed 
to where she clung to the guide rope.
"May I help you, Ma'am?"
Bethany nodded.  "You can tell me where I can catch the boat to Discovery ."
"That would be in Hangar Bay Six, port side, just aft of Frame 611.  Take Gamma 
Deck around thirty degrees and head inboard along the main corridor."
"Port side, Frame 611," she repeated, nodding.  "Got it!"
"I'll be happy to guide you," the spacer said.
"No thank you," Bethany replied. "I've been aboard before.  I can find my way."
"As you see fit, Ma'am."
Bethany pulled herself to Calvan Cooper's side.  The young political assistant's 
face bore the pinched expression of someone on the verge of space sickness.
"Feeling all right?" Bethany asked.
He smiled wanly.  "I think I'll live.  Where to next?"
"We have to cross to the other side of the ship to get to Discovery 's boat."
"You mean this isnt Discovery ?" he asked, letting his free arm flap in an 
all-encompassing gesture.
"No, of course not.  This is City of Alexandria , a converted passenger liner."
"Hmmm, I thought it looked awfully big for a warship," he replied.
"Come on.  Keep close."
She led him through the compartment to a hatchway equipped with an emergency 
pressure door.  Once in the corridor beyond, Bethany grabbed hold of one of two 
guide ropes that ran the length of the corridor.  She kicked off and began to 
make her way toward the main cross-ship corridor.  They reached a lower deck to 
find it alive with activity.  It seemed that every spare corner and crevice had 
been filled with supplies of one sort or another.  Especially evident were the 
blue-coded boxes of foodstuffs.  She knew from her previous experience that 
there would be no showers untilAlexandria 's passengers and crew managed to eat 
their way into the fresher stalls.  Likewise, she guided Cooper past a 
compartment that had been a ballroom in the days when Alexandria had been a 
passenger liner.  The vast space was filled to overflowing with containers whose 
markings proclaimed their contents to be radiation resistant gravitational 
detectors.
They passed another department in which spacers sat strapped into chairs in 
front of electronic consoles.
"Communications center?" Cooper asked as they passed.
"Combat control center, I think."
"Don't you know?"
She shook her head.  "It must have been added during the overhaul. City of 
Alexandria did not use to be armed.  Wonder what they put into her?"
They continued to the port side of the liner and then moved aft until they came 
to Frame 611.  Bethany led Cooper through an emergency door into a large 
compartment filled with a number of small spacecraft.  Bethany recognized 
several armed scouts tucked in among a collection of two-man scooters and other 
ships' boats.
A spacer made his way past the stored ships to where they clung in the hatchway.
"Ah, Miss Lindquist, we've been expecting you!"
She looked at him, vaguely aware that she should know his name.
"Chief Nelson, Ma'am.  I served aboard Discovery last trip."
"I remember you now," Bethany replied.  "Good to see you again, Chief."
"We're glad to see you, too, Ma'am."
"Who is 'we,' Chief?"
"Practically every spacer in the fleet, Ma'am.  The captain has been running us 
ragged these past three weeks.  We figured that now you're here, the old man 
might let up a bit."
Bethany felt her cheeks redden at the implications of Nelson's remark. 
"Where's the boat?"
"We're attached to the after personnel lock.  We have one other passenger.  As 
soon as he arrives, we'll be on our way."
"I think you'll find this gentleman is your other passenger."
"Mr. Cooper, sir?"
Cooper nodded.  From his look, he was still trying to decide whether 
weightlessness agreed with him.
  The chief grinned, seemingly oblivious to his guest's discomfort.  "In that 
case, if you two will get onboard, we'll be heading out for the flagship 
immediately."
#
"Attention, All Ships.  It is now T minus ten minutes, and counting!"
Richard Drake sat in his command chair on Discovery 's bridge and listened to 
the announcement on the fleet command frequency.  Around him, the cruiser's 
bridge crew was busy with the myriad last minute details that always preceded a 
launch.  He watched their quiet professionalism and thought of similar scenes on 
the seven other ships of the Helldiver Fleet.  Two minutes after the 'All Ships' 
announcement, department heads began relaying their status to the ship's 
executive officer.  As Drake eavesdropped on the command circuit, he felt a 
sudden rush of pride at the caliber of people he had working under him.  When 
the roll call was complete, Commander Rorqual Marchant, his exec, buzzed him on 
their private circuit.
"All departments report ready for space, Captain."
"Very good, Rorq.  Tell Engineering they can start bringing the reactor up to 
maneuvering power."
"Aye aye, sir."
Drake keyed for the fusion reactor's status screens to be displayed at his 
command console.  The graph showed Discovery 's primary powerplant well above 
the level needed for station keeping.  He waited for the reactor's output to 
stabilize at intermediate power before keying for the communicator-on-duty.
"Activate the fleet command circuit, Mr. Hayden."
"Yes, sir."
"Report your status, gentlemen," Drake ordered the other captains of the fleet.
"Dagger ready for space, Captain," Bela Marston immediately responded.
"City of Alexandria, ready for space, sir." Rolf Bustamente, commanding officer 
of the converted liner, replied.
"Phoenix is ready, sir."
"Likewise Tharsis , Captain."
"Vellos?" Drake asked, turning his attention to the CO of the largest cryogen 
tanker in the fleet.
"We're ready, sir."
"Alcor V is ready, Captain,"
"Summa Warrior is straining at the leash, sir," the final starship captain 
reported.
Drake nodded.  "All right, you each know the flight plan. Discovery will lead 
off at precisely 12:00 hours, with each successive ship following at one-minute 
intervals.  As soon as you have completed your turn away from the ecliptic, move 
to your assigned positions in fleet formation.  We have not had as much time for 
fleet maneuvers as I would like, so let's get in all the practice we can on the 
trip out.  Are there any questions?"   There were none.  "Good luck to you all."
As soon as his screens were clear, Drake keyed for Discovery 's astrogator.  
"All right, Mr. Cristobal, you have the conn."
"Aye aye, sir."
 Having temporarily relinquished command of his ship, Drake pulled tight the 
straps that would keep him from floating out of his acceleration couch and lay 
back to observe the departure.  As he did so, a graph showing Discovery 's 
proposed orbital track was flashed on the main viewscreen.
Since Valeria's foldpoint was situated high in the system's northern hemisphere, 
the fleet's departure orbit had the appearance of a bent fishhook.  At the 
appointed time, Discovery 's engines would nudge her away from Alta.  At first, 
the ship would move along a carefully computed path in the plane of the 
ecliptic.  However, as soon as the cruiser cleared the near-Alta orbital zone 
and its hundreds of satellites and space installations, it would turn toward the 
foldpoint.
  The astrogator busied himself at his console for a few seconds, and then 
triggered the raucous buzzing of the acceleration alarms.
"Attention, All Hands.  T minus one minute!  First warning.  Prepare for 
prolonged acceleration, One-half standard gravity in one minute."
An expectant hush fell over the ship as the voices on the intercom tailed off 
into silence.
"Final warning!  One-half standard gravity in thirty seconds.  I repeat.  Five 
meters per second squared in thirty seconds.
"Fifteen ... ten ... five, four, three, two, one, Boost!"
#
  
CHAPTER 5
  
Admiral Sergei Fallon Gower, Seventh Viscount of Hallen Hall, Fleet Admiral of 
the Royal Sandarian Navy, and by appointment of his Majesty, John-Philip Walkirk 
VI, commander of His Majesty's forces assigned to penetrate the Antares Nebula, 
sat in his office onboard his flagship and scowled at the viewscreen in front of 
him.  The picture was a view of New Providence relayed from the nose camera of 
an unmanned scout cruising three hundred meters above the ruins of the one-time 
capital city of the planet.  The scene was not a pleasant one.  Here a twisted, 
rusted skeleton showed where a glass-and-steel tower had once stood; there a 
pile of blast marked rubble was all that remained of the concrete walls of a 
government building; elsewhere stood the blackened stick figures of a grove of 
trees.  The colors of the scene were black, gray, tan, and brown.  Conspicuously 
absent were the green of living chlorophyll, or any of the other colors of life.
More than a century after the last, catastrophic Ryall raid on New Providence; 
the surface of the planet remained a barren wasteland.  So far as could be seen 
from orbit, not a single blade of grass grew on the world's land masses; nor was 
there evidence of life in the planet's oceans  although the Sandarian ships 
were ill equipped to probe the most extreme depths, and therefore may well have 
missed seeing a few isolated pockets of protoplasm.
The Ryall attacks on New Providence had been responsible for vast destruction.  
They had killed forty million people and destroyed more than a thousand 
metropolitan centers around the globe.  Yet, not even that race of belligerent 
centaurs could have wrought destruction on so vast a scale.  When the black 
Ryall ships finally broke through New Providence's defenses, they had rained 
fire on a doomed world.  For the true slayer of New Providence  and of all life 
in the Napier system  had been the Antares Supernova.
The dwellers of New Providence had known something was amiss when they lost 
contact with their colony in the Valeria system in August 2512.  Their concern 
turned to worry when several ships known to be in transit across the Antares 
system failed to arrive on schedule.  Worry turned to fear when the vessels 
dispatched to check the whereabouts of the missing ships had themselves failed 
to return at the appointed time.
The enormity of the disaster had become clear when New Providence's astronomers 
concluded that only a nearby supernova of unprecedented power could explain what 
had happened to their universe.  With the realization that it had been Antares 
that had exploded came the knowledge that New Providence was a doomed planet.  
For throughout the history of the colony, Antares had been the brightest star in 
the sky.  On those nights when the red supergiant was above the horizon, its 
ocher gleam was nearly bright enough to read by.  The fact that their system was 
physically close to the giant star had always been a source of pride to the 
inhabitants of New Providence.  However, once the astronomers calculated the 
quantity of radiation that would soon be sleeting through the Napier system, the 
giant star's proximity became a source of despair.
Human nature being what it is, the news had not been well received.  At first 
people refused to believe that they would soon be forced to abandon their homes. 
 Eventually, however, the reality of their predicament began to sink in.  An 
evacuation program was organized.  By the end of the first year, the whole of 
the New Providential industrial complex had been converted to the task of 
resettling three billion people to a different star system.  Shipyards rushed to 
build the evacuation fleet while teams of pioneers worked to ready new homes for 
New Providence's masses on Sandarson's World.
While the engineers raced to build an evacuation fleet, the New Providential 
scientists had studied the changes the nova had wrought to the structure of 
foldspace.  The study began with a survey of the gravitational gradient 
throughout the Napier system.  Upon analyzing their data, the scientists were 
surprised to discover the presence of a foldpoint where no such had been 
previously.  Further analysis showed the foldpoint a temporary phenomenon, the 
result of long-range focusing of a foldline by the expanding nova shockwave.  
Once the wavefront reached Napier, the new foldpoint would disappear.
The scientists were in favor of exploring the new foldpoint immediately.  Those 
whose job it was to transplant the population to another star system were not 
keen on anything that would divert precious resources from the evacuation 
effort.  The scientists were persistent and were eventually given a three-ship 
armada with which to explore the foldpoint.
Two of the ships had jumped to the system beyond the foldpoint immediately after 
arrival while the third remained behind to make precise measurements of the 
foldpoint's gravitational gradient.  Twelve days later, the surveyors who had 
stayed behind reported a dozen starships of unknown type materializing in the 
nearby foldpoint.  The report had cut off abruptly as the invaders destroyed the 
survey ship and then turned for New Providence.
The Interstellar Council had dispatched a flotilla of warships and auxiliaries.  
This flotilla had gone out to meet the invading aliens.  The battle was joined 
in deep space and the human forces were largely successful.  Even so, a single 
alien ship managed to evade destruction long enough to launch a spread of six 
missiles at New Providence.  Six missiles, six cities, and ten million dead in 
the ruins!
A second raid followed the first by eighteen months.  This time the human 
defenders were ready and the invading Ryall ships were destroyed before they 
could get beyond the foldpoint.
There followed a long period of peace in the Napier system.  The years in which 
no Ryall ship appeared in the new foldpoint lulled the New Providential 
government into a false sense of security while they wrestled with the problems 
of evacuation.  By the twelfth year following the supernova, they had succeeded 
in evacuating eighty percent of the population.  The end of the de facto truce 
with the Ryall had come as a surprise as three dozen starships materialized in 
the disputed foldpoint.  They swept aside the few human guard units and raced 
for New Providence.  The defenders were sluggish to respond.  Even so, they 
managed to throw a respectable number of ships into the path of the oncoming 
marauders.  The battle had been both brutal and short.  When it was over, ten of 
the Ryall attackers were still in shape to deliver their cargo of death to New 
Providence.  What followed became known as the Great Burning.
Sergei Gower gazed at the ruins and remembered the chilling stories his 
great-grandfather had told of that last desperate fight for a doomed world.  Nor 
had that been the last of the fighting.  Gower stared at the destruction and 
thought of the millions who had died violently in the century since humans had 
abandoned New Providence.  He thought of his father, killed aboard his ship 
during the first expedition to wrest control of the Aezer system from the 
centaurs; of his younger brother, slaughtered a decade past with the second 
Aezer armada; and of his son, killed only two years before at the Battle of 
Sandar.  He thought of all those he had lost to the centaurs and made a silent 
vow as he gazed at the ruins of a once prosperous world.
This time things would be different!
#
The sixteen-ship Sandarian contingent to the Helldiver Fleet had left parking 
orbit more than a month earlier.  The flagship was the Blastship Royal Avenger , 
veteran of a hundred long patrols and two major space battles.  With a 
complement of six hundred, Royal Avenger mounted sufficient armament to lay 
waste an entire world, or to win a slugging match with half-a-dozen lesser 
warships.  She carried in her holds a variety of armed auxiliaries.
In addition to the flagship, the Sandarian fleet included the heavy battle 
cruisers Terra and Victory, and His Majesty's Destroyers Arrow , Mace , and 
Scimitar .  Completing the force was His Majesty's Armed Transport Saskatoon ; 
onboard which were the men and equipment of the 33rd Regiment, 2nd Battalion, 
6th Division, Royal Space Marines.  Supporting the warcraft were nine 
noncombatants  three freighters, five cryogen tankers, and the mother ship for 
a series of communications relay craft.  The latter were small starships with 
oversize fuel tanks that would be dropped in each foldpoint along the way.  It 
would be their task to relay radio messages between the Helldiver Fleet and 
Sandar.  They would do so by shuttling periodically between the two ends of each 
active foldline link and passing whatever messages they had accumulated to the 
next relay craft along the line.  All vessels and major auxiliaries had been 
equipped with the new anti-radiation field and were provisioned for a long 
voyage.
The run from Sandar out to the Hellsgate-Napier foldpoint had taken ten days at 
one-half gravity of acceleration.  The fleet arrived at the foldpoint and 
underwent foldspace transition without incident.  The Sandarian ships had spent 
the next two weeks traversing the six billion kilometers of vacuum that lay 
between the foldpoint and New Providence.  Once they arrived at the one-time 
capital planet of the Napier system, the Sandarians had settled into a parking 
orbit to await the arrival of the Altan contingent.
On the sixth day following the fleet's arrival at New Providence, Admiral Gower 
found himself in his sanctum sanctorum situated at the rear of Royal Avenger 's 
Combat Control Center.  The office cum command center was a glass walled cubical 
with a panoramic view of the CCC, its two dozen weapons consoles and their 
operators.  Arrayed across the opposite bulkhead were several oversize screens 
on which all aspects of fleet operations could be displayed.  Sergei Gower sat 
at his command desk and gazed thoughtfully at the activity going on in the 
compartment below.
One main viewscreen showed a view of New Providence as seen by one of the 
blastship's hull cameras.  White cyclone patterns of clouds reflected Napier's 
G8 rays, giving the planet the blue-white marbled look of any terrestrial world. 
 An adjacent screen showed the corresponding electronic map of the planet.  A 
series of green sparks shifted on the surface of the planet as Gower watched.  
These marked the spot where Saskatoon 's Marines were engaged in a landing 
exercise against a simulated Ryall strong point.  He contemplated the shifting 
alphanumeric display for long seconds before keying for Avenger 's 
communications center.
"Yes, sir?" the communicator on duty responded.
"Get me Colonel Valdis aboard Saskatoon ."
"It will take a few moments, Admiral.  Colonel Valdis is currently issuing 
operational orders to one of his landing craft."
"Break in as soon as he is free."
"Yes, sir!"
Nothing in Gower's orders from the Sandarian High Command called for the use of 
ground forces either before or after the fleet had penetrated the nebula.   Even 
so, a lifetime of fighting the centaurs had taught the admiral caution, and had 
caused him to insist that the expedition have access to ground forces.  Having 
received them, he did not intend to let pass any opportunity to hone their 
skills.
"You wanted to speak to me, Admiral?" a gruff looking man asked from Gower's 
screen.
"Report status of your exercise, Colonel."
"All ships are now down without mishap.  The two strike forces are converging on 
the objective as planned.  They will link up..." The colonel's eyes flicked 
toward something beyond the field of view of the screen camera.  "... in exactly 
seventeen minutes."
Are you watching your schedule?"
"Yes, sir.  If anything, we are a little ahead of our planned timeline.  We 
should have everything wrapped up and all the men back under radiation shielding 
at least one hour before local nebula rise."
Gower nodded.  "See that you do.  I want the name, service number, and dosimeter 
reading of the man with the maximum exposure reported directly to me as soon as 
you get it."
"Will do, Admiral."
Gower cut the connection and turned to other problems.  He scanned his 
workscreen and requested that he be put through to the captain of one of the 
cryogen tankers.  That worthy seemed surprised by the summons.
"What may I do for you, sir?"
"Your morning report shows that you detected a leak in your primary fuel tank, 
Captain.  What have you done about it?"
"Uh, we have men out in suits checking the hull, sir."
"What is your prediction for time to make repairs?"
"Two hours at the outside, Admiral."
"Very well.  I want to hear that you have found the leak and have sealed it in 
no more than three hours time.  If you cannot assure me that your vessel is 
again pressure tight by then, I will dispatch a repair crew to assist you.  Is 
that understood?"
"Yes, sir."
The screen went blank and Gower was about to proceed to the next trouble item on 
his list when it lit again to show an earnest young ensign in the corridor just 
beyond Gower's office.  The admiral's scowl softened perceptibly as he studied 
the handsome features peering out of the screen at him.  The high cheekbones, 
aristocratic nose, and square chin were a younger version of the features of His 
Majesty, John-Philip Walkirk VI, whose official portrait adorned the bulkhead 
over his Gower's computer terminal.
"Ensign Philip Walkirk, reporting for scheduled instruction, sir!" the young man 
said as quickly as Gower acknowledged his presence.
"Very well, Ensign," Admiral Gower answered formally, "You have my permission to 
enter."
The hatch opened and the crown prince of Sandar strode across the metal deck to 
stand at attention in front of the admiral's desk.
"Please be seated, Your Highness."
"Thank you, sir," the prince responded.
"Shall I ring for refreshments?"
"No thank you, sir.  I have just come from the officers' mess."
"Very well," Gower replied.  "What have you learned since last we spoke, Your 
Highness?"
"Among other things, sir, that I don't think I care for sitting and waiting when 
we could be doing something useful."
"Oh?" Gower asked, lifting his right eyebrow in a gesture that would have had 
any other subordinate in a cold sweat.  "Do you have some criticism to offer 
concerning the way I command this fleet?"
"I meant to imply no such criticism, Admiral."
"Then what did you mean to imply, Ensign?"
The prince hesitated, obviously casting about for the most politic way of 
explaining himself.  Gower gave him no chance.
"Come now, Your Highness.  An officer must be quick on his feet and a future 
king even more so.  You have stated that you are unhappy with the way this 
expedition is being run.  Defend your position, and quickly!"
"Yes, sir.  There is a lot of talk in the mess about how we are wasting time.  
We could be out at the Napier-Antares foldpoint mapping the nebula instead of 
sitting here in parking orbit waiting for the Altans to arrive."
"Yes, we could," Gower agreed.
"Then why are we orbiting this dead world?"
"You tell me," the admiral responded.
"Because our orders are to do so," the price replied.
"Correct!  And a military man always follows his orders, Your Highness."
Gower noted the young man's studied look of irritation that quickly faded from 
his features.  He leaned back in his chair and regarded the prince with 
something approaching avuncular pride.  For most of the time, Philip Walkirk was 
one of Avenger 's ensigns, treated no different than other officers of his rank, 
save that he was always addressed by his royal honorific.  In the Sandarian 
Navy, much of an ensign's day was taken up with studying those things that 
cannot be taught in a naval academy.  Such things were best taught by one's 
immediate superiors.  Once each week, though, the admiral took it upon himself 
to teach the heir to the throne those things that would be useful when he became 
king.
"Besides," he said, continuing in a less martial vein, "you know enough of the 
political realities that you should be able to figure out the reason for our 
orders yourself."
"Well," the prince began, "I suppose our Altan partners might object to being 
left out of the initial explorations."
Gower nodded.  "It would hardly build trust between our two systems if we gave 
them the idea that we don't need them."
"But we don't need them!" Philip Walkirk replied.
"That is where you are wrong, Your Highness.  We need them badly."
"But why?  After more than a century of isolation, they hardly have enough ships 
to patrol their own system, let alone carry the attack to the Ryall."
"True," the admiral replied.  "And by the same token, they haven't been bloodied 
the way we have.  They have not seen their manpower and treasure poured into 
futile attempts to break the Ryall blockade of Aezer.  They have not seen their 
home world under attack.  They do not command a people weary unto death of war.
"The truth is, Highness, that we of Sandar are barely holding our own against 
the centaurs, and that we can foresee the day when we will go under if we don't 
obtain outside aid.  Worse, our enemies can foresee that same day.  Why else do 
you think they launched the attack which ended in the Battle of Sandar?"
Two years earlier, shortly after Alta's Interstellar Expedition One entered the 
Hellsgate system, Sandar had come under attack from a heavily armed fleet of 
Ryall warships.  The Sandarian navy, having been decimated by three attempts to 
break the Aezer blockade, had been unable to prevent a breakout from the 
fortified Hellsgate-Aezer foldpoint.  There had followed a pitched space battle 
in which the Altan battle cruiser Discovery had taken part.  Humanity had won 
the battle that day, but just barely.  It gave Gower the shakes to think of how 
close they had come to disaster.
"Obviously, sir," the prince replied, "We need allies.  However, once we 
penetrate the nebula, we will have Earth and all the other worlds of human 
space.  We won't need the Altans."
"We will need every ally we can get, Highness.  After all, Earth is far away and 
pressed by the aliens, too.  We will need a large production capacity to build 
the weapons we need.  Alta has that capacity.  To not court our cousins would be 
criminally negligent and terribly stupid.  As you well know, your father is 
neither of these.  Therefore, we wait until the Altans arrive.  Only after we 
have integrated their forces with our own do we undertake our mission."
"But where are they?"
The admiral shrugged.  "The last reports we had were that they were preparing to 
launch.  It is not inconceivable that they have been delayed.  We will wait for 
them."
"How long do we wait, sir?"
"Until they arrive, or until I become convinced that they aren't coming," Gower 
replied smoothly.
The hooting of an alarm suddenly startled both men.  Gower looked up to see a 
flurry of activity taking place in the combat control center.  He keyed for the 
officer on duty.  "What's happened, Commander Massey?"
"Terra has detected a large number of ships, sir."
"Where?" Gower asked, his every sense suddenly alert.
"In the Napier-Valeria foldpoint sir."
"How many?"
"I make it a total of eight."
"Identification?"
"Stand by a moment, Admiral.  Our computer is crunching the data now...Yes, sir, 
we have positive identification on two of the craft.  They areDiscovery and City 
of Alexandria .  Neutrino and infrared signatures closely match the readings we 
took when both ships visited Sandar.  A third ship seems to be a heavy cruiser 
of the Discovery class."
Gower nodded.  "That will be Dagger .  What of the other five?"
"No identification possible yet, sir.  However, they are definitely of human 
construction."
"No need for further identification," Gower replied.  "Please get a message out, 
Commander.  Welcome our allies to the Napier system and ask that they expedite 
their crossing."  Gower glanced at the crown prince, who was watching the 
exchange with a new excitement in his eyes.  "Tell them that we have some young 
officers onboard who would like to get started with exploring the nebula."
#
   
CHAPTER 6
  
Richard Drake sat in his acceleration couch on the bridge and watched as 
Discovery 's astrogator maneuvered the ship toward the Valeria-Napier foldpoint. 
 The foldpoint was a red-shaded ellipse in the middle of the main bridge 
viewscreen.  Just beyond the boundary to the interstellar gateway, eight tiny 
gold sparks moved cautiously forward.  As Drake watched, the first spark crossed 
the edge of the ellipse and began to blink rapidly.  Within seconds, each of the 
others did likewise.  Drake watched as the last of the ships under his command 
crossed the boundaries of the foldpoint.
"Mr. Cristobal," Drake said.
"Yes, sir," the astrogator replied.
"When will you be ready for the jump?"
"Any time, Captain.  We are beyond the zone of uncertainty and have entered the 
foldpoint proper.  We've nothing to gain by waiting any longer."
"Very well," Drake replied.  "Lock in the preplanned jump sequence."
"Locked in, Captain."
Drake keyed for the general fleet communications circuit.  "All captains, link 
to me."
Drake's screens lit to show the faces of his seven subordinates.  He polled them 
individually, and found them eager for the coming jump.  Most had never been 
outside the Val system, and their eagerness brought back memories of his own 
first interstellar jump.  When the last captain had reported his readiness for 
foldspace transition, Drake nodded and said:
"Right. You each know the plan. Discovery will go first, followed byDagger ,City 
of Alexandria , and then the cryogen tankers at intervals of thirty seconds.  
Once on the other side, immediately report your status and position, and then 
form on the flagship.  Any questions?"  There were none.  "Very well, you may 
proceed when ready."
As quickly as his screens had cleared, Drake turned back to his astrogator.  
"You may do likewise, Mr. Cristobal.  Proceed when ready."
"Aye aye, sir.  One minute to transition.  Generators to power, now!"
This last was addressed to the engineering officer whose station was next to 
Argos Cristobal's.  Drake listened to the interplay between the astrogator and 
the various other departments.  At the same time, he punched for a view of 
Antares on the main viewscreen.  The nova was now merely a very bright star.
"Sound your warning, Mr. Cristobal."
"Sounding now, Captain."
There was the raucous sound of alarms, followed by Argos Cristobal's voice on 
the general annunciator: "Attention, All Hands!  This is the astrogator 
speaking.  Prepare for foldspace transition.  I repeat, prepare for foldspace 
transition.  You have thirty seconds.  T minus thirty seconds and counting!"
"All hands, report status!" Drake ordered.
"Once again there was a roll call, this one for the various department heads 
onboardDiscovery .  All reported their readiness for foldspace transition.
"Ten seconds, Captain," Cristobal reported.
"Jump when ready, Lieutenant."
"Yes, sir.  Five, ... four ... three ... two  ... one, Jump!"
No particular sensation accompanied foldspace transition, not surprising when 
theoretically the ship had not "gone" anywhere.  For one single instant Drake 
felt a touch of fear that something had gone wrong, that perhaps the foldspace 
generators had malfunctioned and Discovery still orbited high above Val.  Then 
he glanced at the viewscreen and felt the usual feeling of relief that followed 
a successful jump.  For the object on the screen bore no resemblance to the 
eye-searing point of violet-white light that had been there just a few seconds 
earlier.
In the single blink of an eye, Antares had been transformed from a particularly 
bright star into a vast ball of ghostly light that covered half the sky.  At the 
center of the sphere lay the remnant of the once mighty red giant.  The 
furiously radiating object that was all that remained of Antares was a vast ball 
of plasma larger than most stars.  Beneath that veil of energetic gas lay a 
rapidly rotating neutron star.  As the invisible neutron star rotated, its 
magnetic field whipped the expanding cloud of plasma, generating intense 
synchrotron radiation and considerable radio energy.  The quick "fluttering" 
call of the Antares pulsar was clearly audible across a wide band of 
communications frequencies.
Scanning outward from the wrecked star, Drake noted that the nebula turned 
nearly transparent just beyond the bounds of the central object, allowing 
several background stars to shine through the gas cloud.  The remnants of 
Antares' A3 companion sun also lay close to the central mass.  The gas cloud 
turned translucent again at approximately one-third the distance to the 
periphery.  The thickening cloud glowed with a deep reddish color.  Farther out, 
the red subtly turned to orange, the orange shaded up to yellow, and the yellow 
turned to green.  At the outer perimeter, the gas thickened until it was nearly 
opaque and glowing with the blue-white radiance of a fluorescent lamp.  Drake's 
inspection of the nebula took only a matter of seconds.  As he gazed at the 
ghostly apparition, Lieutenant Cristobal's voice could be heard echoing through 
the ship. "Foldspace transition successfully completed!"
"Communicator," Drake ordered.  "Get me a status report from all department 
heads.  Also, let me know as each ship checks in."
"Aye aye, sir."
Drake reached out and switched his private viewscreen to a view of Napier.  The 
system primary was noticeably yellower than was Valeria.  Whereas Alta's sun was 
an F8 dwarf, yellow-white in color and somewhat hotter than Sol, New 
Providence's sun was a G8 giant, cooler and much larger than humanity's birth 
star.  Its size made for a much larger temperate zone than is normal in systems 
with terrestrial worlds.  Thus, New Providence was planet seven in the Napier 
system.  Napier's size also resulted in foldpoints forming much farther from the 
system primary than was normal for a dwarf sun.
Drake oriented himself quickly and began picking out guide stars.  He let his 
gaze drift to where New Providence lay.  The planet did not show on the 
viewscreen, nor had he expected it to.  The distance between the foldpoint and 
the one-time capital world of the Napier system was such that a powerful 
telescope would have been required to make New Providence visible.
"Dagger just reported in, Captain," the communicator said over Drake's command 
circuit.  "Its breakout point is three thousand kilometers from us."
"Acknowledged," Drake said.  Over the next four minutes, the rest of his fleet 
materialized in the foldpoint around him.  He mentally ticked them off as they 
came through. Dagger ,City of Alexandria, Phoenix ,Tharsis ,Vellos ,Alcor V , 
and finally, Suma Warrior .  All checked in as quickly as they arrived.  All 
reported having successfully made the jump from Valeria without difficulty.
"All ships to close on us," Drake ordered when the last cryogen tanker reported 
in.  Because there was no way to predict where in a foldpoint any particular 
ship would materialize, it was necessary to reform the fleet after the jump.  
"Someone get a telescope focused on New Providence."
"Done, Captain," one of the bridge technicians responded.  "Channel sixteen."
Drake keyed to switch his screen to the telescopic view.  New Providence showed 
as a small half-moon shape.  The planet was still five billion kilometers 
distant.  "Any sign of our Sandarian allies?"
"We're analyzing now, Captain.  No coherent radiation such as from a message 
laser, sir.  If they're here, they aren't advertising the fact."
Drake watched quietly while the technicians did their work.  After a minute's 
silence, the sensor tech reported, "We've got them, sir!  There are several 
ships in orbit about New Providence.  At least a dozen, possibly more.  One of 
them is large, probably blastship class.  Shall I pulse them?"
"What's the communications delay at this distance?"
"Five hours each way, sir."
"All right, send them the following message.  'Have arrived in good order.  Will 
proceed to rendezvous as soon as fleet order has been restored.  Am anxious to 
begin explorations.  Signed, Drake, Vice Commander."
"Yes, sir.  All ships have acknowledged your order to rejoin. Alexandria is the 
farthest out.  Captain Martin reports he'll be here in two hours."
"Acknowledged."  Drake glanced one last time at the crescent New Providence 
floating against the black of space.  He then keyed for Bethany's cabin.  She 
smiled up at the camera when she saw who it was.
"Well," he said, "we're here."
"So I see.  The nebula's more beautiful than I remember it."
He nodded.  "I hope we still think so once we've gotten inside."
#
The ship's boat slipped from behind the curve of City of Alexandria and moved 
out into the blaze of full Napier-light.  Ahead lay the backlit sphere of New 
Providence; its black form turned silvery by nebula light.  A horizon-to-horizon 
light show was taking place over the night side of the planet as continent-wide 
auroral displays chased one another across the sky.  A silver halo along the 
eastern limb of the planet betrayed the coming of day.  Hanging immediately 
above the advancing terminator was Napier, a perfectly round ball of fire in the 
sky.
"Hello,Royal Avenger , this is Moliere .  We have departed City of Alexandria 
and are en route to your position."
"I have you on my screen, Moliere .  You are cleared for approach to Landing Bay 
Seven.  Please report the outer marker."
"Will do, Avenger . Moliere out."
"Avenger, out."
Ensign Grant Nals, Moliere 's pilot, turned to Richard Drake and said, "We're in 
the groove, Captain.  I estimate rendezvous in ten minutes."
"How long after that to achieve a hard dock?" Drake asked.
"Another five to ten minutes, sir.  We are cleared for the central axis entry 
into the hangar bay.  That should speed matters up considerably."
"Excellent!  What margin of safety have you programmed into our trajectory?"
"We're set up for a miss distance of one hundred meters, Captain, if that meets 
with your approval."
"You are the pilot-in-command, son," Drake said.  "You don't need my approval 
when it comes to flying your ship.  Now, if you're asking my advice..."
"Yes, sir."
"Then I would say that a margin of one hundred meters is entirely adequate.  
It's close enough to impress them with your ability as a pilot, but far enough 
to make sure that we don't plaster ourselves across Avenger 's hull.  Needless 
to say, smashing into the flagship would hardly endear us to our new boss."
"No, sir," Nals replied.  "I'm sure Commander Marchant would have something to 
say about it too."
Drake nodded.  "I believe he would.  Please buzz the passenger cabin as soon as 
you report the outer marker."
"Yes, sir."
Drake turned, floated to the exit hatchway, braced himself against the zero 
gravity environment of the boat, and opened the hatch.  The quiet chatter of the 
outside radiation detectors which had been the only background sound on the 
flight deck was suddenly drowned out by the buzz of many voices.  He pulled 
through the hatch and closed it behind him before turning to face his fellow 
passengers.  In addition to Drake, Moliere was carrying Stan Barrett, Bethany 
Lindquist, Captain Bela Marston of Dagger , Captain Raoul Bustamente of 
Alexandria , and several of the expedition's senior scientists.
Drake pulled himself to the empty couch beside Bethany, pivoted once more in 
midair, and pulled himself down into the seat.  He turned to her, smiled, and 
said, "Have I complimented you on how beautiful you are today?"
She smiled back, displaying two prominent dimples.  "I believe you've mentioned 
it once or twice."  Bethany was wearing a pantsuit of powder blue, black space 
boots, and the scarlet sash traditionally worn by terrestrial diplomats.  She 
had piled her hair on top of her head in a formal zero gravity style for the 
occasion.  The effect was stunning.  "Did the pilot mention how long it would be 
before we arrive?"
"Not long," he replied.  "Avenger is only about thirty kilometers ahead of us in 
orbit.  We should be aboard within twenty minutes."
"Will we be able to see Avenger during the approach?"
"Better than you may like.  We'll be coming up astern and will transit its whole 
length at a distance of one hundred meters before we match velocities."
Bethany slipped her hand into Drake's and asked, "Are you nervous?"
He smiled wanly.  "A little."
She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.  "No need to be.  You'll do fine."
"I hope so," he replied.  "Otherwise, I may find myself swabbing decks for the 
Sandarian Navy..."
It had taken the Altan fleet two weeks to cross from the Napier-Val foldpoint to 
New Providence.  Much of that time, Drake had spent in long distance 
communication with Admiral Gower.  The subject of their exchanges had been how 
best to integrate the Altan and Sandarian fleets into a well functioning whole.
The gross details regarding how the expedition was to be organized had been 
established two years earlier by the Altan/Sandarian mutual defense treaty.  One 
of the things the treaty stipulated was that the military commander of the 
Helldiver Expedition must be a Sandarian, and an Altan must fill the post of 
vice-commander.  The treaty gave the military commander overall responsibility 
for the safety of the men, women, and ships under him.  It also required that he 
listen to the advice of a triumvirate of civilian advisors.
Drake knew of no one who had been totally happy with the arrangements mandated 
by the treaty.  Parliament had not liked being forced to accept a Sandarian in 
overall command, nor had the two militaries involved enjoyed having civilians 
looking over their shoulders.  Despite the dissatisfactions, however, both 
governments had worked diligently to implement the provisions of the treaty.  
Despite all the preplanning, Drake and Gower had discovered numerous 
organizational details that required their personal attention.  By the time the 
Altan fleet closed the range to where two-way screen communication became 
possible, Drake had developed considerable respect for his new boss.  He hoped 
the feeling was mutual.
Ten minutes after departing City of Alexandria , Landing Boat Moliere drew 
abreast of His Majesty's Blastship Royal Avenger .  The view through the 
starboard viewports was awesome.  At the blastship's stern were the focusing 
rings and field generators of three large photon engines.  Even quiescent, the 
engines that drove the flagship gave the impression of unlimited power.  Just in 
front of the engine exhausts were the radiators and other piping associated with 
the ship's four massive fusion generators.  In front of the generators were the 
blastship's fuel tanks; heavily armored and insulated to keep the deuterium 
enriched hydrogen fuel as close to absolute zero as possible.
Drake let his gaze move forward along the blastship's flank.  The cylindrical 
hull was pierced in places by large hangar doors through which armed auxiliaries 
could sortie into battle.  Forward of these were the snouts of a dozen 
antimatter projectors, Royal Avenger 's primary anti-ship weapons.  The business 
ends of other weapon systems also jutted from the heavily armored hull.  
Interspersed with the weaponry were all manner of sensor gear.
As the landing boat slipped past the blastship's flanks, they were rewarded with 
ever changing vistas since Avenger was rotating about its axis at the rate of 
several revolutions per minute.  So close was landing boat to blastship that it 
was easy to imagine oneself in a small aircraft flying over an endless plain.  
The optical illusion came to an abrupt end when the landing boat passed abeam of 
the blastship's prow.
Like most starships, little or no effort had gone into streamlining Avenger .  
In fact, the prow was actually slightly concave, and its surface covered with 
arrays of electronic and electromagnetic sensors.  A hangar door outwardly 
identical to those that dotted the blastship's flanks was set flush with the 
hull at the giant ship's axis of rotation.
As quickly as the bow portal came into view, Moliere 's pilot fired the attitude 
control thrusters to halt the landing boat's forward speed.  Once Moliere had 
halted in space, he began firing his side thrusters to align the landing boat 
with the central portal.  A popping noise echoed through the passenger cabin 
each time the thrusters fired.  When Moliere was lined up with Royal Avenger 's 
axis portal, the thrusters fired twice more to match the flagship's rate of 
rotation.  The hangar door retracted, and Moliere 's pilot nudged his boat 
toward the lighted opening.  Within seconds, the boat passed into a spacious 
cavern lighted by million-candlepower polyarc lamps.  There followed a series of 
bumping and scraping noises, and a gentle tug of deceleration as the landing 
boat's forward velocity was halted.  After that, there came a long span of 
silence interrupted by the sudden sound of air swirling outside the hull.
Moliere had arrived.
#
   
CHAPTER 7
  
Richard Drake was the first to leave the confines of the landing boat for the 
brightly lit steel cavern that was Royal Avenger 's forward hangar bay.  He 
stepped over the airlock coaming onto a raised platform some two meters above 
the level of the main deck.  He paused for a moment to take in his surroundings. 
 From the springiness in his step, he estimated the local gravity field to be 
approximately one-third standard, which jibed well with what he knew of Avenger 
's rate of spin and his own location with respect to the blastship's central 
axis.  A wisp of exhalation fog swirled around his shoulders as he breathed 
deeply of the frigid air.  The atmosphere had a dry metallic taste that was 
common to spacecraft environmental control systems and especially noticeable 
immediately after a compartment exposed to vacuum has been repressurized.  Drake 
found the combination of low gravity and cold air exhilarating.  He craned his 
neck to scan the interior of the hangar bay.
Royal Avenger's forward hangar bay was a cylindrical cavern some thirty meters 
in diameter by thirty meters long.  The forward bulkhead was a complex hatch 
mechanism built on the principle of an observatory weather dome, save that each 
dome segment was hinged at its base to allow it to swing back and out of the 
way, opening the bay totally to space.  The aft bulkhead was flat and pierced by 
a passageway some ten meters in diameter.  At the moment, the passageway was 
sealed by a series of airtight doors  doors that could be opened to allow 
access to the blastship's interior spaces and aft hangar bays.  Had it been 
empty, the bay's twenty thousand cubic meters of enclosed space would have been 
daunting.  As it was, there was barely sufficient room for Moliere on the 
crowded cylindrical deck.
Drake scanned the dozen or so auxiliary craft housed in the bay.  Directly 
overhead were four small, armed scouts of a type similar to those carried 
aboardDiscovery .  These were vacuum craft, as shown by their complete lack of 
aerodynamic symmetry.  Beside them were two large winged lifting body shapes, 
landing boats designed to transport men and materiel to and from the surface of 
a terrestrial world.  Beyond Moliere 's wingtip, several small two- and four-man 
orbital workboats lay strapped to the deck.  Beside them, a series of empty 
cradles showed where other craft were normally stowed.  Whether they were out 
working with the fleet or had merely been moved to make way for the Altan 
landing boat, Drake had no way of knowing.  Impressed by the number and variety 
of the Sandarian equipment, Drake turned his attention to the Sandarians 
themselves.
A reception committee consisting of a double row of naval officers and a single 
civilian dignitary stood at the foot of the embarkation stairs.  Drake 
recognized Admiral Gower in the front rank.  Two places beyond the admiral was a 
young man in the uniform of an ensign.  Drake had met Philip Walkirk during his 
visit to Sandar two years earlier.  Even had he not recognized the crown prince, 
however, his inclusion in the front rank of such a distinguished gathering would 
have been all the clue needed.  Behind the high-ranking officers was a second 
rank of middle grade officers.  Opposite the welcoming party stood a rank of 
Sandarian Royal Marines.  Their crimson uniforms, mirrored helmets, and matching 
boots were resplendent under the glow of the polyarcs.  Each Marine stood 
rigidly at attention with an electromagnetic rifle thrust out before him. 
Drake moved to the ladder and carefully descended to the deck.  He walked the 
two paces to where Admiral Gower stood, snapped to attention, and saluted.
"Fleet Captain Richard Arthur Drake, Altan Space Navy, reporting for duty, sir!"
Gower returned his salute with millimetric precision, and then held out his hand 
to Drake.
"I have been looking forward to meeting the hero of the Battle of Sandar in the 
flesh, Fleet Captain," Gower said.  "My king asked me to express his undying 
gratitude for what you did in stopping the Ryall attack on our world."
"A lot of people were heroes that day, Admiral," Drake responded.  "The victory 
belonged to them, especially those who died during the defense."
Gower nodded.  "We are well aware of the sacrifices which Alta made on our 
behalf.  I can assure you that all of your casualties have had their names 
inscribed in our roll of honored dead."
Drake smiled.  "With your permission, sir, I will have an announcement to that 
effect posted in every Altan ship."
"Permission granted," he admiral replied.  "But enough talk of the past.  The 
time has come when we must carry out our own obligations.  Are your people ready 
to tackle the nebula?"
"Ready and eager, sir.  You have but to give the order."
"I will do so, but not until I am sure that our two fleets can work properly 
together.  To that end, we begin a two-week-long fleet exercise tomorrow at 
08:00."
"We'll be ready, sir."
"In the meantime, I have scheduled a small banquet for our respective staffs.  
I'm afraid the food isn't very fancy, but the cuisine's shortcomings should be 
more than made up by the comradeship."
"I'm sure the food will be fine, Admiral."
Gower turned to the officer beside him.  "Fleet Captain Drake, I have the honor 
to present Senior Commander Valor Rossmore, First Knight of Rossmore, and my 
Chief of Staff."
"Commander."
"Fleet Captain."
Taking Drake by the elbow, Gower guided him down the receiving line.  "His 
Highness, Ensign Philip Walkirk, Crown Prince of Sandar, Duke of Cragston, and 
Hereditary Game Warden of the Alsenan Life Preserve."
"Your Highness," Drake replied, inclining his head in a quick bow.
"At your service, sir," Ensign Walkirk responded.
"Count Victor Husanic, senior member of the Council of Royal Advisors, and his 
majesty's personal representative on this expedition."
Count Husanic was a tall, white haired man with a heavily lined face, and a 
stooped posture.  Drake estimated that the count's age was at least sixty 
standard years, and was frankly surprised that the Sandarians would risk such a 
man to the stresses which warships are sometimes forced to endure.  He nodded in 
the nobleman's direction.  "Count Husanic."
"Fleet Captain Drake," Husanic replied.  "I too want to express my appreciation 
for what you did during the Battle of Sandar.  You took a considerable risk for 
the sake of my world, a risk that you could easily have avoided."
"It seemed that we had no other choice at the time, sir." There was a quiet 
throat clearing noise from Admiral Gower.  Drake turned to look at him.  The 
admiral said softly, "Count Husanic's son was with Commodore Bardak's blocking 
force, Captain."
"Oh?" Drake asked.  "What ship?"
"Warwind, second wave," Husanic replied.
Drake blinked as understanding overtook him.  The force that had gone out to 
stop the invading Ryall fleet had been divided into three attack waves.  The 
first and third waves had taken heavy casualties during the battle.  The second 
had been wiped out to the last ship.
"My condolences on your loss," Drake said softly.
Husanic nodded his head gravely.  "Thank you for your sentiment, Captain.  I am 
afraid that the past century has visited far too many such losses on Sandar.  
Perhaps this expedition will change that."
"I hope so, sir."
"Now then, Captain Drake," Admiral Gower said, "I think it time that we met your 
people."
#
Introducing his fellow Altans to the Sandarians took another ten minutes.  After 
Bethany Lindquist and Stan Barrett had been presented to the admiral, crown 
prince, and Count Husanic, the introductions became something of a ritual.  As 
each Altan officer descended the ladder from the landing boat, his Sandarian 
counterpart was called forward to meet him.  The two would then exchange a few 
courtesies before the admiral suggested that the Sandarian officer guide his 
guest around the blastship.  Each pair or quartet would then move through the 
pressure tight door in the aft bulkhead and the process would begin anew.  When 
the last of his people had been through the ritual, Drake discovered that his 
party had dwindled to three: himself, Bethany, and Stan Barrett.  Save for the 
rigid line of Royal Marines, the number of Sandarians had also shrunk.  Admiral 
Gower's party consisted of himself, the crown prince, and Count Husanic.
"I thought we six would take a tour of the flag bridge, Captain," Gower 
announced, "following which we will adjourn to my flight cabin for a few drinks 
before dinner.  His Majesty was kind enough to stock Royal Avenger with wine 
from his private cellars.  I think you will find it quite good."
"I am willing to entertain the two ambassadors if you and Captain Drake wish to 
review policy, Sergei," Count Husanic offered.
"There will be plenty of time for that later, Victor," the admiral replied.  
"Besides, you, Miss Lindquist, and Mr. Barrett are the real power behind the 
throne on this expedition, are you not?"
"I sometimes wonder," the older man replied.  "It is my experience that you navy 
people would just as soon we civilians kept our opinions to ourselves."
"Please, Victor, you are going to shock our guests with such cynicism I'm sure 
that Captain Drake is no advocate of military supremacy."
"No, sir.  We Altans are brought up to believe in the ancient tradition of 
civilian control of the military."
"Are you now?" Husanic asked with a half-smile.  "You might be surprised to 
learn just how recent a development that tradition is."
"You speak like an historian, Count Husanic," Bethany said.
"In a small way, Milady, I am."
"So am I!"
"Really?" the Sandarian representative said, his expression changing to one of 
total pleasure.  "What is your specialty?"
"Earth history, sir."
"Excellent!  That is my own vice, although I must confess that I have little 
enough time to follow it these days.  Would you do an old man a favor and sit 
with me at the banquet tonight?  It isn't very often that I get a chance to 
speak of my hobby with a professional."
"I would be honored, sir."
Husanic offered his arm to Bethany and led her through the airtight door into 
the blastship proper.  The four men followed them.  Drake found himself paired 
with Admiral Gower, while Stan Barrett walked along in company with the crown 
prince.
As quickly as they had entered the inhabited areas of the blastship, Richard 
Drake found something to disquiet him.  Quick glances into a few of the 
compartments that opened onto the passageway suggested that Royal Avenger was an 
older ship than he had realized.  Everywhere he looked, there was evidence of 
extensive and recent modifications, of equipment ripped out and other equipment 
installed in its place.  The impression was that of a ship that had seen better 
days.
Not that Avenger was not clean inside.  It was clean enough to eat off the 
decks, he noted.  Every surface seemed to have received a recent coat of paint, 
all the brightwork had been polished, and even the ventilator air filters were 
free of telltale traces of dust.  However, the equipment was old, and much of it 
seemed out of place.  In some places, the scars of welding torches were still 
visible under the fresh coat of paint.  Even the steel decks bore the marks of 
years of use.
"How old is Royal Avenger , Admiral?" Drake asked as they walked down a long 
corridor broken every ten meters or so by an airtight door.
"She was launched sixty-five standard years ago," Gower replied.  "For the past 
thirty years, Avenger has been in orbital storage.  We brought her out 
specifically for this expedition.  Don't worry, Captain.  She's old, but she can 
still fight."
"Yes, sir," Drake responded, surprised at the dismay he felt upon having his 
suspicions confirmed.  After all, his own ship had a proud history going back 
nearly 150 years.  Who was he to criticize a vessel constructed any time during 
the past century?  Still, it worried him that the Sandarians were so strapped 
for ships that they had been forced to resurrect this relic.
Avenger's combat control center was one compartment that showed no sign of age.  
Every piece of equipment in it appeared to be brand new.  Most were more modern 
than anything Alta possessed, a visible reminder of the technological 
obsolescence Alta had suffered during the Long Isolation.  Drake gazed down upon 
the rows of workstations from the admiral's glass enclosed flag bridge and 
watched the activities of the console operators with interest.  As he did so, he 
listened with half an ear to Admiral Gower's explanation to Bethany and Stan 
Barrett.
"... The console operators monitor every aspect of a space battle.  The consoles 
themselves are run by six large computers.  They take sensor readings and 
convert them into meaningful data, operate on that data, and come up with 
short-term predictions of an enemy's probable strategy.  These predictions are 
passed on to my battle staff, which assimilates the data and advises me in real 
time.  I follow the course of the battle here..." He pointed to a holocube that 
measured two meters to a side.  "And order corrections in strategy as I feel 
they are needed.
"By the way, Drake, I will want six of your best officers to begin training for 
positions on my battle staff."
"I'll go over my rosters and have the names to you by this time tomorrow," Drake 
replied.
"Excellent!" Gower responded.  "I will, of course, provide you with six of my 
own officers to take their places."
"Admiral," Stan Barrett said.
"Yes, Mr. Barrett?"
"You sound as though you expect the Ryall to attack us sometime during the 
course of this expedition."
"No, Mr. Barrett, I do not.  However, I propose to be ready for such an attack 
should one come."
"But surely we'll be safe once we're inside the nebula."
"Why do you say that?"
"It stands to reason," the Altan ambassador replied.  "It's only by the wildest 
stroke of luck that we discovered that the nebula is navigable.  Unless the 
Ryall have had their own version of theConqueror incident, they should have no 
reason to question the possibility."
"Have you ever considered that they may have seen Conqueror jump into the nebula 
in the first place?"
"Then they will think it destroyed."
"What if some Ryall ship captain or astrogator was sufficiently intrigued that 
he ran a few simple calculations to see what happens to a ship that dives into 
the nebula?"
"Why," Barrett replied, "I suppose he might realize that an improved antirad 
field would allow a ship to survive inside the nebula."
"In which case," Gower answered, "we'll be ready for them."
#
The welcoming banquet was held in the officer's mess on the outermost deck of 
the ship. Royal Avenger 's rate of spin was such that spin gravity at the outer 
hull was 0.95 standard  the precise value for Sandar's surface gravitation.  
Like all the inhabited spaces aboard the cylindrical ship, the mess compartment 
was designed for frequent conversion from the out-is-down orientation of spin 
gravity to the aft-is-down of powered flight.  Two long metal tables were bolted 
to the curved deck and arranged parallel to one another.  Fittings on the aft 
bulkhead showed where they were bolted down when the ship transitioned to 
powered boost.
Admiral Gower and his party arrived at the officer's mess two minutes before 
20:00 hours.  They found the compartment already filled with Altan and Sandarian 
officers, many of who were engaged in animated conversation with one another.  A 
few of the Sandarian officers were women.  Without exception, these were the 
center of the largest groupings.  Drake caught bits of talk as he moved to his 
position at the center of the head table, and was pleased at how well the two 
groups seemed to be getting along.   The buzz of conversation subsided.  The 
assembled officers sorted themselves out and found their assigned seats at the 
two mess tables.  As they did so, white-coated Royal Marine stewards moved among 
them filling wineglasses and placing appetizers on the white linen tablecloths.  
After a few minutes, Admiral Gower rose at his seat and gently tapped a 
wineglass with a spoon.
"May I have your attention please?"  The compartment became instantly silent as 
Gower scanned his listeners' faces.  After a few seconds, he nodded in 
satisfaction, and continued:  "Ladies and gentlemen.  For those of you who are 
Altan, I say welcome.  I hope that you have seen something of the flagship since 
your arrival, and that you will see more before you return to your own ships.  
If you have questions, please do not hesitate to ask them.  That is the only way 
you will learn about us.
"Now then, a general comment.  Each one of you is to be complimented.  You have 
earned your place on the rolls of this expedition by being the best our 
respective peoples and worlds have to offer.  You must be the best, because we 
have a Herculean task before us.  That task comes in many parts and will require 
the unstinting efforts of all of us.
"Our first duty will be to weld our separate fleets into a single fleet.  This 
should not be difficult.  After all, both our peoples are descended from good 
New Providential stock.  We share a common bloodline, history, and tradition.  
We share something else as well.  We are fighting the same implacable enemy.  
Shared danger has always proven a powerful cement and I expect no difference 
this time.
"However, it would be foolish for us to close our eyes to the fact that our two 
peoples have grown apart this past century.  We Sandarians are war hardened 
royalists and you Altans will probably find us too authoritarian, callous, and 
cynical for your tastes.  If you wish to understand the key to our 
personalities, you must remember that no Sandarian now alive has ever known 
anything but battle.  You Altans are parliamentary democrats who have never 
known warfare of any kind.  It is likely that we will find you lacking in 
certain things we consider to be military virtues.
"That there will be friction between us is inevitable.  When it happens, I ask 
that each of you to give the other the benefit of the doubt.  Remember that our 
only safety lies in working well with one another."  Gower paused to let his 
message sink in.  "Now, I believe your vice-commander has something to say to 
you."
Drake stood and spoke of Earth and of the vast fleets the Interstellar Council 
would send to aid the two colonies once contact was reestablished.  He spoke of 
clearing the Aezer system once and for all of Ryall ships, and of driving them 
forever from human space.  He concluded by saying, "To those of us in this 
compartment has fallen the task of reuniting the human race.  Let us not fail in 
our duty."
Admiral Gower lifted his wineglass and signaled for the others in the mess to do 
the same.  "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you His Majesty, the king, and His 
Honor, the prime minister.  May God grant them wisdom, long life, and victory!"
When the first toast had been completed, Drake raised his own glass and said, 
"To Earth!"  The compartment quickly reverberated as two dozen voices echoed his 
sentiment.
#
    
CHAPTER 8
  
Twenty-two starships floated motionless in the infinite vacuum of deep space, 
their hulls illuminated by the subdued yellow of a shrunken Napier and the soft 
blue-white of the Antares nebula.  The interplay of light and shadow across the 
ships' hulls created an effect rarely seen outside a surrealistic painting.  It 
was an effect largely wasted on the three thousand spacers, scientists, and 
politicians who manned the ships.  To the naked eye, it appeared as though each 
ship floated alone in a universe populated only by the far stars.  Even Royal 
Avenger , the largest ship in the fleet, was too far from its nearest neighbors 
to be visible.  However, the impression of isolation was misleading.  Onboard 
each vessel were sensing devices far more acute than the human eye.  To those 
who continually monitored screens displaying the output from such devices, the 
true size and disposition of the Helldiver fleet was readily apparent.
The screens showed twenty-two bright golden sparks arrayed in a vast globe 
around the pale, indistinct ellipse that defined the Napier-Antares foldpoint.  
Sometimes there was movement on the status displays as auxiliary craft 
transported personnel, spare parts, and supplies from one starship to another.  
At much greater intervals, pairs of starships could be seen to break formation, 
enter the foldpoint itself, and disappear into hard vacuum.  It was not unusual 
for various alarms to sound a few minutes after starship pairs jumped from the 
Napier-Antares foldpoint into the heart of the nebula.  Such alarms were 
triggered by the return of other ships from the nebula.  Returning ships 
invariably glowed all over with the blue-white intensity of an electric spark.  
These glows faded rapidly as anti-radiation fields reradiated absorbed energy to 
surrounding space; but while they lasted, they made the returning ships 
conspicuous objects indeed.
It had been three months since the Altan and Sandarian fleets had joined forces. 
 One of those months had been devoted to fleet exercises ranging from battle 
maneuvers to abandon ship drills.  In the process of integrating the two fleets 
into one, Richard Drake had learned that Admiral Gower was an officer who drove 
himself and his subordinates to their utmost limits.  Even though a hard 
taskmaster, the admiral somehow managed to avoid the role of martinet while 
building esprit-de-corps throughout the fleet.  It was a display of 
professionalism Drake found reason to study with interest.
After a month of sustained effort, the admiral grudgingly conceded that the 
fleet was sufficiently integrated that they could get on with their mission.  
Before giving the order to space for the Napier-Antares foldpoint, however, 
Gower had one final innovation to implement.  He ordered each Altan ship to 
exchange one officer with a Sandarian counterpart.  The purpose of the order was 
to continue the process of breaking down the barriers erected by a century of 
isolation.   It was a plan Drake heartily agreed with  that is, until the 
moment when he discovered the identity of the Sandarian the admiral had assigned 
to Discovery .
"Your exchange officer is to be Ensign Philip Walkirk, Captain." Gower had 
deadpanned from Drake's screen a few days before the fleet was due to move out 
for the foldpoint.
"The crown prince, sir?  You must be joking!"
"I never joke about orders, Captain.  Have you some personal animosity toward 
this officer?  Am I to assume that you do not wish him to serve under you?"
"You know damned well what my objection is, sir," Drake had replied.  "I can't 
take the responsibility.  Damn it, he's the heir to the Sandarian throne!  What 
if he were injured or killed while serving aboard an Altan naval vessel?"
"He is as safe aboard Discovery as Royal Avenger , Captain."
"But if anything should happen to him, it could rupture Altan-Sandarian 
relations for decades!"
"I don't think you know us very well," the admiral had replied.  "We are a 
warrior people.  Our king is a warrior king.  Every Sandarian parent knows that 
one day his or her children will be called upon to serve.  John-Philip Walkirk 
is no different in that respect from any other Sandarian.  Were he to attempt to 
shield his own offspring from danger while asking the rest of us to risk our 
children, he would not remain our monarch for very long.  No, the crown prince 
must take his chances like everyone else."
"Well then what of the disruption to routine?  Most of my people are 
uncomfortable around royalty.  They don't know how to act, and won't take kindly 
to bowing and scraping."
"You are to treat Ensign Walkirk exactly as you would any other officer of 
comparable rank.  In fact, since you are not his subjects, there is no need for 
you to address him as 'Your Royal Highness.'"
"I still don't like it," Drake said in one final attempt to get the order 
revoked.  "Whose brilliant idea was this, anyway?"
"His Highness made the initial suggestion," Gower replied.  "After some thought, 
I agreed with him.  It will be valuable experience for a future king of Sandar 
to live and work among people other than his own.  Any further objections, 
Captain Drake?""
"No, sir." Fifteen years in the military had taught Drake the futility of 
arguing when a superior had his mind set on something.  "We'll welcome him with 
open arms."
"Excellent, Captain.   His Highness will be pleased!"
Ensign Walkirk had come aboard later that same watch.  If he had any knowledge 
of Drake's conversation with Admiral Gower, he showed no sign of it.  The same 
boat that delivered Philip Walkirk had taken Stan Barrett and Calvan Cooper back 
to the flagship where they could coordinate more closely with their Sandarian 
counterparts.
Two days later, the fleet had departed New Providence for the Napier-Antares 
foldpoint.
#
It had taken three weeks at an acceleration of one half gravity for the 
Helldiver fleet to cross the Napier system to where the Napier-Antares foldpoint 
lay high in the southern sky.  For a week after their arrival, the scientists 
onboardCity of Alexandria had painstakingly charted the portal's structure and 
location.  Once that task was completed, it was time to test the new 
anti-radiation fields under realistic conditions.  To do that, a ship would have 
to enter the maelstrom of the nebula.
Ever since leaving New Providence, various starship captains had waged a 
friendly battle over the question of who would be first into the nebula.  
Admiral Gower had put an end to the contest by choosing His Majesty's Armed 
DestroyerScimitar .  Virtually everyone in the fleet found a reason to be in 
front of a viewscreen as the destroyer broke formation and made for the 
foldpoint's interior.  After maneuvering his ship to the center of the foldpoint 
and killing all forward velocity, Scimitar 's captain took a few minutes to 
double check his systems before switching on his ship's anti-radiation field.  
Moments after the ship's hull turned totally reflective, the destroyer slipped 
into the heart of the cosmic catastrophe that dominated Napier's northern sky.
There had followed half an hour of rising tension in the ships of the Helldiver 
fleet as chronometers slowly ticked off the passing minutes.  That tension 
reached its peak as the appointed time for Scimitar 's reappearance approached.  
The act of breathing virtually stopped throughout the fleet as the countdown 
clocks reached 00:00:00, then resumed in a collective sigh of relief as the 
destroyer once again appeared on the fleet's screens. Scimitar 's captain lost 
no time in reporting that the anti-radiation field had worked perfectly.  If 
anything, conditions inside the nebula were less stressful than the engineers 
predicted they would be.
The next ships to enter the nebula had been Mace and Victory .  To these two had 
fallen the task of mapping the Antares end of the foldline link.  It was a task 
that is not particularly easy under the best of conditions, and conditions 
inside the nebula were among the worst imaginable.  The nebula was filled with 
electrostatic repulsions, powerful pulses of radio energy, strong and shifting 
magnetic fields.  Compared to these background conditions, the subtle variations 
in gravitational constant by which foldpoints are normally detected are nearly 
imperceptible.
When first presented with the problem of mapping foldspace in the midst of so 
much cosmic fury, the Altan and Sandarian scientific communities had despaired 
of ever finding a solution.  Only the fact that a badly damaged Conqueror had 
somehow managed to find its way through the nebula kept them looking.  
Eventually they hit upon a promising approach and constructed more than fifty 
thousand specially designed instrumented probes.  The only problem was that 
there had been no opportunity to test the probes in the laboratory.  The first 
they would know whether the design was successful would be whenVictory tried to 
measure the curvature of space around the Antares-Napier foldpoint.
Over a period of ten days, the two ships had quartered and re-quartered the 
volume of space around their emergence point.  Slowly the scientists onboard the 
Sandarian cruiser had filtered out the worst of the noise, computer enhanced 
whatever signal remained, and then subjected the resulting data to a battery of 
sophisticated algorithms designed to extract the essential gravitational data 
from a sea of white noise.  To their great relief, they found that when all the 
signal processing was complete, a small nugget of information remained.  They 
used each bit of hard won data to construct a three dimensional map of the local 
structure of foldspace.  By the fifth day, the clumping of isogravity lines that 
denotes a foldpoint became obvious.  By the tenth day, the scientists had 
collected sufficient data to be able to define with confidence the foldpoint's 
boundaries. Victory 's captain used that information to post navigational 
beacons around the foldpoint.  His mission accomplished, he ordered his small 
task force back to the Napier system.
The next ships to enter the nebula were Dagger and Terra .  With them had gone 
virtually the expedition's entire complement of foldspace astronomers and 
multidimensional physicists.  This second task force's mission was similar to 
that of Victory and Mace , but with a significant difference.  Where the 
previous entrants had stayed close by the Antares-Napier exit point, Dagger and 
Terra had orders to penetrate deeply into the nebula.  Their goal was to obtain 
gravitational data from as wide an area as possible.  By doing so, the 
scientists hoped to gain insight into the location of other foldpoints within 
the nebula.
#
Richard Drake sat in his command chair on Discovery 's bridge and glanced at the 
chronometer in front of him.  "They're late!"
"Only by a few minutes," Bethany replied from the observer's seat beside him.  
"And they were fine when Mace contacted them last week."
Drake nodded.  Helldiver mission rules called for the number of ships inside the 
nebula to be minimized during the initial foldspace survey.  Later, when the 
hazards to be found within the nebula were better understood, the entire fleet 
would enter.  In order to maintain contact with the two cruisers, the three 
Sandarian destroyers had been assigned the job of periodically entering the 
nebula and establishing a communications link.  Contact was via laser beam since 
all other forms of long-range communications were effectively jammed.  Once 
contact was complete, the destroyer would jump back to Napier and relay the two 
cruisers' reports to Admiral Gower.
Suddenly, alarms began to ring all over the bridge.
"Breakout!" one of the sensor technicians in Discovery 's combat control center 
called out over the command circuit.  "We have breakout on two targets.  The 
first bears 73 mark 165, range 80,000 kilometers.  Target Two bears 65 mark 155, 
range 55,000."
"Identification?" Drake asked.
"They're ours, Captain," the technician replied.  "At least, they're blipping 
today's transponder codes."
"Mr. Hayden!  Please make a signal to Captain Marston onboard Dagger .  Tell him 
'Welcome Home!' and ask him to report at his convenience."
"Aye aye, sir."
Thirty seconds later, Drake's screen lit to reveal Bela Marston's chunky 
features. Dagger 's captain broke into a broad grin as soon as he caught sight 
of Drake.
"The nebula mapping expedition has returned, sir.  Request permission to rejoin 
the fleet."
"Permission granted, Captain," Drake replied formally.  "Have you anything to 
report?"
"Yes, sir," Marston replied.  "Pursuant to orders, my ship and the Sandarian 
Battle Cruiser Terra entered the Antares nebula.  We mapped the gravitational 
constant over as wide a volume of space as we were able to reach while remaining 
within the time constraints allotted to our mission.  We also observed the 
structure of the nebula and the Antares pulsar."
"Were you able to ascertain the overall pattern of foldspace within the nebula, 
then?" Drake asked.
"Yes, sir," Marston responded, grinning.  Also, sir, I believe we may have 
discovered a second foldpoint!"
#
Bethany Lindquist stretched sleepily and rolled over in bed.  As she did so, her 
head came in contact with something sharp.  Swearing under her breath, she came 
fully awake to discover herself in a strange bunk.  It took a few moments to 
remember where she was and how she had gotten there.
Following the return of Dagger and Terra from their survey expedition, rumors 
had gone through the fleet like a flash fire in an atmosphere of pure oxygen.  
Most had at their core the facts of Captain Marston's official report, namely 
that the surveyors had found a second foldpoint inside the nebula.  The 
interesting thing had been that so many variations on the same theme could be 
developed so quickly.  Some had the foldpoint winking out of existence even as 
the scientists had confirmed its existence.  Others were sure that Earth itself 
lay just beyond and that the expedition commanders were having second thoughts 
about ordering that contact be made.
The discovery sparked an official reaction as well.  Admiral Gower had ordered 
all data regarding the new discovery refined immediately.  He had scheduled a 
full-scale review for next week.  Upon hearing of the deadline, the scientists 
objected.  The astronomers in particular had been especially caustic in their 
comments.  They pointed out that the volume of data was such that it would take 
years to analyze it all.  Furthermore, they argued, there were only a handful of 
specialists along who had the necessary skill and that they had to sleep 
sometime.  Considering the available resources, the chief astronomer had 
explained, even the most preliminary of reports would take a hard month of 
effort.
The admiral had not been sympathetic.  He had informed Dr. Grayson, the 
expedition's senior Sandarian scientist, that the king would hear of it if he 
wasn't ready with a report in seven days.  As for the plea of insufficient 
resources, Gower agreed to temporarily provide the astronomy section with every 
expedition member skilled in the computer correlation techniques.  Because of 
her background as an historian  a profession that was almost totally a matter 
of computer correlation  Bethany found herself temporarily transferred toCity 
of Alexandria .
"Good morning," Bethany's roommate said from across the tiny cabin.  Sara 
Crofton was a woman of about thirty standard years, an expert in nova phenomena, 
and one of the two dozen Altan women along on the expedition.  She had been the 
only woman with a private cabin when Bethany came onboard, and had been gracious 
about doubling up for the duration.
"Morning," Bethany replied, still rubbing her head where she had hit it on the 
corner of her bunk.  "Ready for the big conference today?"
"If you mean 'did I get enough sleep last night?', the answer is no!  I'll be 
glad when these twenty hour days are over!"
"Me, too," Bethany replied, swinging her legs over the edge of her bunk and 
putting them on the carpeted deck.  The past six days had been a blur of 
activity as the scientists worked overtime to squeeze all they could from the 
data before the admiral's deadline.  Nor was the effort isolated to the 
multidimensional physicists and foldspace astronomers.  Other astronomers 
concentrated on learning all they could about the nebula.
Bethany washed her face in the cabin's basin while Sara busied herself in the 
tiny head adjoining the cabin.  They then traded places (there being 
insufficient room for both women to dress simultaneously).  When Bethany 
returned, she found her roommate making both bunks.
"You don't have to do that," she said.  "I can make my own."
The red haired astronomer glanced up with a smile.  "I don't mind.  You get 
dressed and we'll go down to breakfast."
"Thanks then.  I'll do the same for you tomorrow."  Bethany slipped into a clean 
shipsuit, combed her hair, put on a minimum of makeup, then reached into her 
overnight bag and brought out a tiny bottle of perfume.  Opening it, she dabbed 
a drop behind each ear.
Sara raised her eyebrows in an unspoken question.  In the week they had shared a 
cabin, it was the first time she had seen Bethany wear perfume.
Glancing up, Bethany saw her roommate's quizzical expression in the mirror.  She 
smiled.  "Richard will be at the conference today.  I want to look and smell my 
best for him."
   
CHAPTER 9
  
The scientific conference was held in what had once been City of Alexandria 's 
main ballroom.   Situated on the outermost deck, the compartment was large 
enough for the surface underfoot to show a perceptible curve.  Tables were 
arrayed around three sides of a rectangle, with the open side occupied by a 
dais, lectern, and holoscreen.
Bethany arrived early to help set up the conference.  The first attendees began 
streaming in fifteen minutes before the scheduled starting time and the 
compartment quickly filled with people.  When Bethany finally sought her own 
place at the table, she found Stan Barrett and Calvan Cooper seated to her 
right, Count Husanic and Philip Walkirk to her left.
"Good afternoon, Miss Lindquist," Husanic said as he leaned forward to kiss her 
hand.  "I'm told that you had a great deal to do with what we will be hearing 
today."
"I merely did the drudge work so the real brains could devote their time to 
thinking."  Bethany was cut off by the sudden sound of chairs scraping across 
the deck.  She turned to see Admiral Gower enter the compartment with Richard 
Drake in tow.  She hurriedly climbed to her feet, as did those around her.  
Drake followed the admiral to the center of the table directly opposite the 
holoscreen.  As he did so, his gaze swept the compartment until he found 
Bethany.  She answered his wink with a beaming smile.
"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," Admiral Gower said after waiting a few 
seconds for everyone to return to their seats.  "These past six weeks have been 
a busy time for all of us.  I thought it time we reviewed what we have learned 
since our ships first entered the nebula.  Since this is primarily a scientific 
meeting, I will turn it over to Dr. Fel Grayson, Senior Scientist."
Grayson, a tall, bony Sandarian, moved to stand behind the lectern.  "Ladies and 
gentlemen, what you will hear today are preliminary findings.  We will 
undoubtedly modify our views of things as we learn more.  Therefore, I urge you 
to read the weekly reports that we put on the fleet database.  It is especially 
important for those of you in command positions to keep current with the latest 
scientific thinking since you will be making decisions based on that thinking.  
With those words of introduction, I will now call on Sara Crofton, Professor of 
Astronomy, Homeport University.  Professor Crofton will discuss the findings of 
the stellar astronomy team."
Sara Crofton mounted the dais with a sheaf of notes in one hand and a screen 
control in the other.  She moved to take Dr. Grayson's place at the lectern and 
spent a few seconds arranging her notes before launching into her statement.  
"Ladies, gentlemen, colleagues.  It was the task of the stellar astronomy team 
to study the Antares nebula.  In this, we had a distinct advantage over our 
multidimensional brethren.  The object of our interest is clearly visible out 
any viewport.  It wasn't necessary that we dive into the nebula to study its 
structure."
The lights dimmed and the holoscreen lit to show an old style 2-D color 
photograph.         The photograph showed two closely linked stars surrounded by 
an irregular shell of faintly glowing gas.  The brighter of the stars glared 
red-orange, while its smaller companion's color was greenish-white.  Sara 
Crofton continued her discussion.  "This is a view of Antares taken by the 
Palomar Observatory on Earth late in the twentieth century.  At that time, 
Antares was an M0 red-orange supergiant with a mass sixteen times that of Sol 
and a diameter 400 times as great.  The star was slightly variable, and like all 
M-class stars, rich in heavy metals, particularly titanium.  The other star in 
the photograph is Antares' much less massive A3 companion."
She manipulated the screen control and the scene changed.  The center of the 
screen was dominated by a single point of violet-white light so bright that it 
washed out every other star in the picture.  "This is Antares as it looked in 
the first minutes following the arrival of the nova shockwave in the Hellsgate 
system.  The view was taken by one of the last ships out of the system in 2027, 
and comes to us courtesy of the Royal Sandarian Archives."
Again, the scene flickered.  A great bubble-like cloud replaced the exploding 
star.  At the center of the cloud, a single starlike object burned with the 
light of an electric spark.  "This, of course, is Antares as we see it today.  
One hundred twenty seven years after the initial explosion, the nova cloud has 
expanded to a diameter of six light-years, with a concomitant degree of dilution 
and cooling.  Even so, conditions inside remain very hazardous for starships."
  The view changed again, this time showing a close-up of the nebula's central 
star.  "What you are looking at now is the remnant at the center of the nebula.  
When Antares went supernova, virtually the whole stellar atmosphere was blown 
away into space, leaving the central core exposed.  The pressures exerted by 
that explosion were sufficient to collapse Antares' innermost layers.  The 
result was a neutron star deep inside the body of the post-nova star.  Since 
angular momentum was conserved during the collapse, the neutron star rotates at 
a speed of 600 revolutions per second.  It is this rotation that powers 
everything in the nebula, and which represents the greatest danger to our ships.
"When Antares' core collapsed into the highly dense neutron star, the star's 
magnetic field collapsed with it.  The field is now several billion times more 
concentrated than it was.  More importantly, it rotates in synch with the 
neutron star.  Thus, the rotating magnetic field has the effect of turning 
Antares into a giant particle accelerator.  As the field rotates, it whips the 
electrically charged plasma into motion, accelerating it until individual ions 
are moving at nearly the speed of light.  This white-hot plasma gives off a 
hellishly strong spectrum of emissions  everything from synchrotron radiation, 
to hard and soft X-rays, to gamma rays, to high-speed charged particles.  If 
this weren't bad enough, these energetic radiations encounter gas particles as 
they move through the nebula, producing all manner of secondary radiation 
phenomena."
Sara Crofton manipulated the screen control once more. A schematic diagram of 
the Antares nebula flashed on the screen.  The diagram divided the nebula into a 
series of concentric layers.  Each layer was labeled with a hazard factor.
"You will find this diagram in your handouts.  What it shows is the degree of 
risk you face at any point within the nebula.  Obviously, the closer one 
approaches the central star, the worse things get.  Nothing mysterious about 
that.  It is simply the inverse square law working against us.  As indicated by 
the diagram, any ship that approaches within 400 million kilometers of the 
neutron star is very likely to suffer an overloaded anti-radiation field.  The 
risk is tolerable for short periods between 400 million and 800 million 
kilometers.  Beyond 800 million, your antirad fields should be able to withstand 
the flux indefinitely.
"I will leave it to Academician Loren St. Cyr, the next speaker, to relate these 
danger zones to foldpoint positions within the nebula."
#
Loren St. Cyr was the Sandarian multidimensional astronomer who headed the 
foldspace mapping effort.  St. Cyr was a pudgy man in his late forties whose 
deeply lined face and shock of white hair made him appear older.  Professor St. 
Cyr stepped to the podium, glanced at the screen of a pocket computer/notebook, 
and began to speak in the tones of one who wrongly believes himself a gifted 
orator.
"Foldlines!" he began thunderously, "Virtually everything depends on foldlines.  
Yet, how many people truly understand what a foldline is, or how such a thing 
could possibly have been affected by the Antares supernova?  Since much of what 
I have to say depends upon such understanding; I will begin with a digression."
The diagram of the Antares nebula left over from Sara Crofton's presentation 
disappeared from the screen.  What appeared in its place was an abstract figure 
composed of thousands of separate line segments arrayed in a double spiral 
pattern.  "Astronomers have long known that a massive black hole occupies the 
center of our galaxy, and that billions upon billions of foldlines emanate from 
it.  These foldlines sweep outward along the spiral arms in a complex, 
interwoven pattern.  Whenever a foldline encounters a star, it is focused by 
that star's mass much as a lens focuses a ray of light.  If the focus is sharp 
enough, a weak spot, or foldpoint, develops in the fabric of the space-time 
continuum.
"It has long been known that the larger a star, the more likely it is to attract 
a foldline and thereby form a foldpoint.  Since pre-nova Antares was one of the 
largest stars in human space, the early explorers were not surprised to discover 
that it possessed six foldpoints, the largest number yet discovered in a single 
system."
The diagram changed to show a stylized view of the Antares system before 2512.  
At the center of the screen were the red-giant Antares and its green-dwarf 
companion, Antares' twelve planets, and the gold-yellow symbols showing the 
star's foldpoints.
"Obviously, a star's size and mass are exceedingly important in determining the 
number and distribution of foldpoints within a system.  As Professor Crofton 
noted during her talk, Antares' original mass was 16 solar masses.  However, its 
diameter  some 400 times that of Sol  gave the star a very low overall 
density.  Actually, pre-nova Antares possessed two distinct regions within the 
boundaries of its photosphere.  A highly dense stellar core dominated the star's 
interior, while the outer region was a relatively diffuse stellar atmosphere.  
This dual density resulted in two different classes of foldpoints being formed 
within the pre-nova Antares system.
"Note that there are four foldpoints which are quite distant from the system 
primary.  These four  leading to Napier, Grundlestar, Faraway, and Saracen  
range from 8 to 12 billion kilometers distant from Antares.  These 'long focus' 
foldpoints then are the result of focusing by the star's atmosphere.  Two other 
foldpoints  leading to the Goddard and Braxton systems  are 'short focus' 
foldpoints, and the result of focusing by the star's core.  These two were 900 
million and 1.8 billion kilometers distant, respectively."
Professor St. Cyr manipulated the screen control to replace the schematic 
diagram with one similar to that used by Sara Crofton.  "Obviously, Antares' 
physical properties underwent drastic change when the star went supernova.  What 
was once the star's atmosphere is now a gas cloud six light-years across.  Even 
though the mass is still there, the density is now far too low to focus 
foldlines.  What this means is that those four outer foldpoints cannot possibly 
be where they were in pre-nova times.  Similarly, the collapse of Antares' core 
into a hidden neutron star has changed the focusing powers of the core, and 
therefore, changed the location of the 'short focus' foldpoints.   Understand 
that the foldlines are still there, but their positions have changed in ways we 
cannot yet predict.
"We do know that one of the 'long focus' foldpoints has survived, however.  That 
is the Antares-Napier foldpoint through which our ships are able to enter the 
nebula.  Antares-Napier is now 300 million kilometers distant from its pre-nova 
position.  Presumably, the other foldpoints have shifted like amounts from their 
former locations.
"It was this sort of data that we set out to obtain when we began our surveys 
inside the nebula.  It is a big star system and one in which conditions make it 
difficult to obtain the data we need to isolate foldpoint positions.  Indeed, we 
could spend our lives crisscrossing the nebula without ever finding another 
foldpoint.  However, the gods appear to have smiled on us. During its sweep 
across the system, Dagger detected the clumping of isogravity lines that mark 
the location of a second foldpoint within the nebula."
Professor St. Cyr pointed to the second of two foldpoint symbols on the screen.  
"The new foldpoint is roughly here, some 800 million kilometers from Antares, 
and a mere 200 million distant from the Antares-Napier foldpoint.  We haven't 
enough information to isolate it precisely, of course, but we do know that it 
exists.  Nor is there sufficient correlation between the position of this new 
foldpoint and that of any pre-nova portal for us to make a positive 
determination as to where it might lead.  Nevertheless, it is a foldpoint, and 
as such, well worth exploring!"
Following St. Cyr's presentation, the meeting quickly devolved into discussions 
as to how best to exploit the new discovery.  The arguments continued until 
Gower ordered a halt to the proceedings to give everyone an opportunity to think 
about what they had learned.
#
The conference reconvened the next morning without the presence of the fleet 
commander or vice-commander.  Rather than listen to the endless hairsplitting 
that is the essence of scientific discourse, Drake and Gower met to review fleet 
operations.  After discussing recent expeditions inside the nebula, the admiral 
changed the subject to the overall level of fleet preparedness.
"It's been six weeks since our last general inspection, Drake.  Time we found 
out who has let their guard down, don't you think?"
"My reports indicate that things are still relatively shipshape, Admiral."
"Reports can be wrong, Captain.  I've seen it happen before on orbital duty.  
Any time the main engines are not operating, the crews seem to think there is no 
reason to be vigilant.  No, I think we'd best have some surprise inspections."
"I'll put out the order to all commanding officers immediately."
"Dontorder it, Captain. Do it!"
"Sir?"
"I want you to handle the inspections yourself.  The captains will work that 
much harder if the fleet vice-commander finds a problem they should have caught 
themselves.  In addition, you want to see how they respond when you and your 
team show up unannounced.  Don't give them any warning."
"I'll begin immediately."
"Good.  Try to hit at least four combatants over the next seventy-two hours.  
That should be a sufficient sample to judge how the men are holding up.  After 
that, word will be all over the fleet and your element of surprise will be 
gone."
"And when I've completed these inspections, Admiral?"
"Report to me aboard the flagship."
"What about the conference recommendations regarding this new foldpoint, sir?"
"They'll be arguing about that for days.  We can't very well let our force fall 
apart while the scientists contemplate the whichness of what, now can we?"
"No, sir."
As ordered, Drake spent the next three days moving from ship to ship, conducting 
surprise inspections with the aid of six trusty subordinates.  On the third day, 
he took a landing boat to Royal Avenger to report the results to Gower.
"Welcome," the admiral said.  "You look haggard."
"Nothing wrong with me that twelve hours sleep wouldn't cure, sir."
"How did things go?"
"On the whole, very well.  We hit Dagger ,Terra ,Victory ,Saskatoon , and Mace . 
 We found a few things wrong, but no major complaints.  You'll have my report in 
the morning."
"Which ships are ready for operations inside the nebula?"
"All of them, sir."
Gower nodded.  "Right.  I have decided to send an expedition to check out this 
new foldpoint.  Would you care to lead the expedition?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Then the job's yours.  The battle staff has studied the problem and have a 
number of recommendations concerning the composition of the task force."  Gower 
glanced down at a computer printout lying on his desk.  "They suggest Discovery 
,Terra , the three destroyers, and Saskatoon ."
"The regimental transport, sir?  I would rather have Alexandria .  We're a lot 
more likely to need scientists than Marines."
"You'll have scientists aboard Discovery and Terra .  Since we do not know what 
is on the other side of that foldpoint, we don't know what you will need in the 
way of forces.  Think of the Marines as an insurance policy."
"What about tankers?"
"You will be taking three into the nebula with you.  They will stay there.  
After topping off your ships, they will act as communications relays.  Any other 
questions?"
"No, sir."
"Very well.  You may begin your preparations.  Good luck to you."
"Thank you, sir."
#
   
CHAPTER 10
  
Richard Drake sat in his command chair on Discovery 's bridge and gazed at the 
image of the Antares pulsar relayed from Discovery 's largest telescope.  In 
addition to having been magnified, the image was electronically enhanced to show 
both the star's surface features and the surrounding (and normally invisible) 
corona.  Every minute or so, a dark tinged wave would pass across Antares' face 
almost too quickly to see.  As it passed, the star would be wracked by a violent 
explosion.  Torrents of white-hot plasma would arch into the sky.  Before they 
could properly form, the geysers were wrenched into great glowing rivers that 
spiraled continuously away from the star's surface  mute testimony to the power 
of the pulsar's rapidly rotating magnetic field.
  Drake lowered his gaze to an auxiliary screen where the same view was 
displayed at a lesser magnification.  On the smaller screen, Antares' corpse was 
a tiny ball of scintillating fire surrounded by an endless sea of fluorescent 
fog.  Concurrent with each explosion, a series of light rings would race away 
from the star like waves escaping a pebble tossed into a pond.  The most 
powerful of these traveling waves of radiance would persist for long minutes, 
and climb nearly to the edge of the screen before dissipating into the 
background glow of the nebula.
"Captain,Phoenix reports that they have us in sight, Discovery 's communicator 
said.
The comment brought Drake back to the business at hand.  In the month 
sinceDiscovery had entered the nebula, the cruiser's fuel stocks had reached the 
critical point.  It was time to tackle the tricky task of refueling in the 
radiation storm that was the nebula's interior, an operation that was fraught 
with danger for both the ships involved.
"All right, Communicator.  Tell them that they are cleared for approach and tell 
the chief engineer that he may begin taking the spin off the ship."
"Aye aye, Captain."
Half a minute later, the voice of the chief engineer cut into the general 
intercom circuit: "Attention, All Hands!  Make all preparations for refueling 
operations.  Despinning begins now!  Zero gravity in five minutes.  I repeat, 
the ship will be in zero gravity conditions in five minutes.  Secure all loose 
equipment and personnel.  Take all necessary precautions."
As the announcement echoed around him, Richard Drake ordered the main viewscreen 
switched to one of the hull cameras in position to view the cryogen tanker's 
approach.  The seething Antares pulsar was replaced by the rosy glow of the 
surrounding nebula.  Drake searched the fog for the tiny shape of the cryogen 
tanker.  He searched in vain for nearly a minute before his eye caught a single 
white sparkle.  The sparkle grew, and quickly turned into a tiny pearl that 
glowed with an internal white light.  Silhouetted as it was against the red hue 
of the nebula, the glow had an almost supernatural beauty to it.  In reality, of 
course, there was a much more prosaic explanation for the phenomenon.
Before their jump from Napier to Antares, each starship captain had ordered his 
ship's antirad generators activated.  Instantly, the eight ships' hulls had 
taken on a mirror-like sheen.  However, Napier is not Antares, and the fields 
were not perfect.  A few billion kilometers from Napier, the quantity of energy 
that leaked into the field was insignificant.  In the raging storm of the 
nebula, however, even a few tenths percent leakage would quickly be fatal.  The 
engineers who had designed the field had known this, and had taken steps to 
transform energy leakage into visible light, which was then radiated back into 
space.  The result was that each of the task force's starships glowed with white 
radiance.
The image of the tanker continued to grow until it filled the screen. Phoenix 
halted its approach when it was a few hundred meters from Discovery .  At nearly 
the same moment, the cruiser's rate of rotation slowed to a halt.  There 
followed several minutes of careful consultation before the tanker fired its 
attitude jets and slowly moved to place its bulk betweenDiscovery and the 
Antares pulsar.  The purpose of the maneuver was not to shield the cruiser, but 
rather to shield the refueling line that would soon stretch between the two 
ships.  Even at their current distance from the central star, the energy flux 
was such that the most heavily armored fuel transfer line would melt within 
minutes of leaving the protection of Phoenix 's shielding.
As Drake watched, the tele-operated line suddenly appeared from out of the 
featureless pearl-white surface of the tanker and made its way toward the battle 
cruiser.  It quickly passed out of the hull camera's field of view and under the 
rim of the cruiser's habitat ring.  Thirty seconds later, the ship echoed with 
the report that Phoenix was ready to begin the fuel transfer.
"Tell Captain Stuart that he may begin when ready," Drake replied to the report. 
 He listened as the communicator passed on his order.  Then, on the screen, the 
fuel transfer line stiffened as deuterium enriched liquid hydrogen began flowing 
into Discovery 's tanks.
#
Bethany Lindquist ate a late breakfast in the officer's mess on the 
morningDiscovery was scheduled for refueling.  She had slept late, having been 
up categorizing isogravity data for the astronomy team well into the late watch 
the previous evening.  She had just finished half a raja fruit when the overhead 
speaker blared out: "Attention, All Hands!  Make all preparations for refueling 
operations..." She sighed and reached for the hold down straps on her chair.  As 
she did so, someone slid a covered tray into the table restraints across from 
her.
"Mind if I anchor here for a bit, Bethany?"
She glanced up to see the young, smiling face of Philip Walkirk hovering over 
her.  "It would be my pleasure, Your Highness."
Walkirk grimaced.  "Please, I'm trying to camouflage myself as a good democrat.  
On this ship, I'm just 'Ensign Walkirk,' or Philip to my friends."
"In that case, I would be honored to have you sit next to me, ... Philip."
The Sandarian prince strapped himself down just as unpleasant sensations in 
Bethany's inner ear told her that the despinning process had begun.
"Work late last evening?" Philip asked as he sipped coffee from a low gravity 
container.
Bethany nodded and told him of her late bout with the ship's computer.  It had 
been two weeks since Discovery and the other ships of the task force had reached 
the region where Dagger had noted a distinct clumping of the isogravity lines.  
They had spent the time crisscrossing the region, refining the data in order to 
pinpoint the new foldpoint's exact position.  The quantity of data had proven 
too much for the six astronomers onboard, so Bethany volunteered to assist the 
analysis effort.
They ate together in silence as gravity slowly disappeared around them.  
Finally, Bethany asked,  "How is your sister?"  Princess Lara Walkirk had been 
Bethany's guide on Sandar.
"I imagine she's busy just now," Philip replied.  "Preparations for the wedding, 
you know."
"What wedding?"
"Lara is to be married next glacier melt."
"Really?  When did she become engaged?"
"Oh, about fifteen years ago," Philip replied.
"You're kidding!"
"Not at all," Philip said.  "Lara has been betrothed since age six.  Didn't she 
tell you?"
"I guess the subject never came up."
"I'm surprised.  The official date was established some five years ago at a full 
meeting of the Council of Royal Advisors."
"Didn't Lara have something to say about it?"
"No, of course not.  Why should she?"
"The couple involved should have the final say in such matters."
"Not if one of them is a Sandarian royal princess, Bethany.  Such weddings are a 
matter of state policy."
"Who is the lucky man?"
"The principal suitor is the Count of Claremore."
"Principal suitor?"
Philip paused, thinking how best to explain the Sandarian marriage custom.  
Finally, he said, "There are many reasons for us to plan royal marriages a 
decade or so in advance.  Such alliances are always the subject of difficult 
political negotiations and it is best to get them over early.  In addition, 
there is the need to provide the populace with a sense of stability, to give 
them time to get used to the idea.  And, most important, it is vital that the 
prospective bride or bridegroom be evaluated over a long span of time to insure 
that he or she is suitable for the task of ruling."
Bethany nodded.  "Many Terran cultures practiced child betrothals for much the 
same reasons."
Philip continued.  "We Sandarians, however, have a rather unique problem.  We 
have been at war with the Ryall for the whole of our history, and it is our 
custom to send the children of our ruling class out to serve with the fleet.  
This means that there is a nontrivial probability that a prospective bride or 
bridegroom may be killed in battle.  That would upset the stability we strive 
for.  To avoid such disruptions, we name a primary suitor for a royal princess, 
and at least one backup suitor.  Lara's backup is the Earl of Rodeston.  If 
anything were to happen to Claremore, Rodeston would marry Lara."
Bethany thought about how she would feel if she were auctioned off to the 
highest bidder like some prized cow, and after having gotten used to the idea, 
had her mate switched on her at the last minute.  She shivered at the thought, 
and then was struck by another.  She glanced at Philip, who was just finishing 
off his coffee.  "I just realized, Philip, that you must also be betrothed!"
He nodded.  "Since I was three.  Would you like to see her photograph?"
"Very much."
The prince pulled a small hologram out of his pocket and passed it over to her.  
Bethany took it and studied it for long seconds.  In it, a young blonde woman 
was making a face at the camera.  Despite that, the woman's beauty was clearly 
evident.  "The Lady Donna Elisabeth Carendale, my future queen.  I took this on 
a picnic some three years ago.  She keeps asking me to destroy it, but I find it 
more real than all the official portraits ever taken of her."
"She's lovely," Bethany said.  "I assume that she also has a backup."
"Two," Philip replied.  He smiled, "although I doubt if I will be needing them."
"When is the big day?"
"Sometime after we get back from this expedition.  How would you like to come to 
the wedding?"
Bethany smiled.  "I would be honored, Philip."
"In that case, consider yourself invited."
"Perhaps you will return the favor for me then," Bethany replied.  She found 
herself explaining her and Richard Drake's plans to be married on Earth.
"That's marvelous," Philip replied.  "How come I haven't heard of this before?"
"We didn't want it to get around the fleet," she cautioned.  "We don't want 
people to make a fuss over us."
"Then they won't hear it from me," he responded.  He made a sign in the air with 
his fingers, a sign Bethany did not recognize.  When he finished, he said, "I 
understand you've become quite an expert on our enemies since you visited 
Sandar."
Bethany nodded.  "Alta needed Ryall experts, and it seemed a natural extension 
of my job as a comparative historian."
"Have you read Buckman's Guide to Ryall Social Behavior , and Adamson's Ryall 
Mores and Manners ?"
Bethany nodded, adding, "Although, I'm not sure I followed Buckman's reasoning.  
In fact, all my studies have left me with the feeling that we may not understand 
the Ryall as well as we think we do."
"You aren't alone in that feeling," Philip replied.  "I know men who have spent 
their lives studying the centaurs who wonder the same thing."
"I suppose the thing that strikes me as most odd is the mythology the Ryall have 
invented concerning novas.  In all other respects they appear to be completely 
rational, yet when it comes to exploding stars, they're as superstitious as the 
ancient gypsies."
"Considering their history," Philip replied, "can you blame them?"
#
In the century of war since the New Providential refugees had first settled 
Sandar, there had been dozens of major clashes and hundreds of individual 
battles with the Ryall.  Usually when a ship was struck in the course of such 
battles, it was destroyed outright.  Occasionally, however, ships escaped 
destruction but were sufficiently damaged that they could not make it back to 
base.  In such cases, both sides went to considerable trouble to rescue the 
surviving crew.  For, in a war between alien species, prisoners were worth their 
weight in platinum.
Over the years, the Sandarians had managed to collect a few hundred prisoners in 
this way.  They had also taken the bodies of foes from the wreckage of slain 
ships.  From the dead they had gained a considerable understanding of Ryall 
physiology.  From their prisoners, they had attempted to learn the workings of 
the Ryall mind, with significantly less success.
One of the first things the Sandarians had discovered was that the Ryall, like 
humans, are a culturally variegated race.  The outlook of any individual Ryall 
was largely dependent on where he was raised.  For instance, prisoners from 
Avadon (the human code name for one of the major worlds of the Ryall Hegemony) 
would not eat certain meats, while those from Belaston would eat nothing else.  
Prisoners from Caarel built shelters of reeds when given nothing better, while 
those from Darthan preferred to dig burrows in the ground.  No matter where the 
prisoner was from, all Ryall agreed on one thing: the Legend of the Swift Eaters 
.
Some thirty thousand years ago, humanity and the Ryall had been about on a par 
with one another.  At a time when most humans lived in family villages and were 
hunter/gatherers, the Ryall had also lived in small family groupings.  They 
preferred the banks of rivers or the shores of shallow seas for their 
settlements.  They were simple fisher folk who spent their time in the water 
harvesting other forms of marine life.  The streams and seas of the Ryall home 
world were sufficiently bountiful that it was unusual for a fisherman to go 
hungry.  While Ryall villages might occasionally war with one another over a 
particularly rich fishing ground, the Ryall were, mostly, peaceful and happy.
This tranquil way of life had come to an abrupt end about the time humans 
learned to carve stone and ivory, and long before the era of agriculture began 
on Earth.  The cause had been a single star that suddenly burned bright in the 
home world sky.  The primitive Ryall had not known what to make of the new star, 
which was bright enough to be seen even in daylight.  Like most primitives, they 
saw any change in the sky as an evil omen and fled to their witch doctors and 
shamans to seek advice.  These worthies advised them to cower in their burrows 
until the star passed.  And pass it did.  After a few years, the new star faded 
back into the obscurity from whence it came.  Indeed, it would have quickly been 
forgotten except that the daily lives of the Ryall began to change rapidly about 
the time the new star faded from sight.
Like the Antares supernova of thirty millennia later, the nearby nova had 
showered the Ryall home world with radiation.  The levels were not high enough 
to sterilize the Ryall worlds, but they were bad enough.  The rain of primary 
and secondary radiations had wreaked havoc with the genetic reservoirs of life, 
causing the mutation rate to rise precipitously.  With each new generation of 
hatchlings had come grotesque new shapes and abilities.  Most of these had been 
harmful and mercifully killed their owners while still in the egg.  Others were 
of limited utility and were quickly weeded out by either natural selection or 
the elders of the tribe.  Some mutations, however, proved beneficial and were 
incorporated into the quickly evolving race.
Nor were the Ryall the only race evolving.  Some five thousand years after the 
nova first burned bright in the sky; there came into existence on the Ryall home 
world another intelligent species.  The Ryall prisoners had various names for 
these beings.  The most common translated as "the swift eaters."
The swifts were amphibians descended from a non-sentient carnivore that 
inhabited the oceans of the Ryall world.  The new race was intelligent (although 
not nearly so intelligent as the Ryall themselves).  The swifts were fast, 
cunning, and voracious.  They attacked the Ryall breeding grounds and gorged 
themselves on Ryall eggs.  As a result, the Ryall population plummeted.  There 
was even a time when the swifts threatened the existence of the older species.
After generations of trying, the Ryall finally devised a successful defense 
against the depredations of the swifts.  They withdrew completely from the water 
and became full-time land animals living in groups inland to avoid attack.  They 
learned to lay their eggs in artificial pools fed by streams, to hunt and herd 
other land animals.  They learned to farm to provide fodder for their herds.  
They learned to use fire and metals.  Eventually, they developed cities and a 
true civilization.  Sometime during their Bronze Age, the Ryall had also learned 
to hunt the swift eaters.  It was a long hunt, lasting some fifteen thousand 
years.  As generation followed generation, the Ryall learned to hate the swifts. 
 Eventually, that hate became instinct.
When the hunt was finally over, the Ryall found that they had learned a valuable 
lesson.  History had taught them that there is but one possible response to any 
potential competitor species  to seek that species' extinction.  Thus it was 
that when a new nova blazed forth just beyond the Ryall realm, the Ryall 
discovered a new, even deadlier threat to their species.  This threat was a 
species of warm-blooded bipeds that came in a variety of odd colors.  They were 
spacefarers whose ships showed a certain flair for the technic arts.  As far as 
the Ryall were concerned, no hatchling would be safe while a single member of 
this strange new race was left alive anywhere in the galaxy!
#
Bethany sipped from her zero gravity coffee cup and contemplated Philip 
Walkirk's comments about Ryall history.  Or, rather, what human beings thought 
Ryall history was, she reminded herself.
"I have often wondered whether the Legend of the Swift Eaters is oral history, 
or merely a legend," Bethany said.  "Do you think the swifts really existed?"
 Philip shrugged.  "I don't know that we have any hard evidence one way or the 
other.  It doesn't really matter, though.  So long as the Ryall believe in the 
swifts and continue to act on that belief, then the question is moot."
"Are you sure they do believe in them?"
"Oh, most definitely!  That is the primary reason why the Ryall psyche leans so 
heavily toward xenophobia.  So long as they want us dead, what difference the 
reason?"
"But if they truly want us dead, how can we ever hope to negotiate a peace with 
them?" Bethany asked.
Philip Walkirk blinked in surprise at Bethany's question.  He paused for long 
seconds, as though he was having trouble wringing meaning from the words.  
Finally, he said, "There can never be peace between us until we drive them back 
to their home worlds.  As for negotiation, does one negotiate with a mad dog?"
"I'm not sure I'm ready to concede that they are mad dogs."
"That is your privilege.  We Sandarians have had a century to study our 
adversaries.  We can hardly expect you Altans to come around to our way of 
thinking in only two years."
Bethany sensed the tension that lay behind Philip's words and decided to change 
the subject.  Slowly they drifted into telling each other stories about their 
homes.  Bethany told Philip stories about life on Alta, while he amused her with 
anecdotes from the Sandarian court.  They were in the midst of comparing notes 
on hobbies when an overhead speaker blared out the news that refueling was 
complete and that spin-gravity would be restored in five minutes.
Quick on the heels of the announcement, Commander Marchant, the executive 
officer, floated through the wardroom hatch.  As he did so, he exclaimed, "Ah, 
there you two are!"
Philip Walkirk glanced up and said, "Have you been looking for us, sir?"
Marchant nodded.  "The captain's called a meeting of all officers.  You're to 
come too, Miss Lindquist."
"What's up?" Bethany asked.
"Professor St. Cyr has just reported that they've isolated the foldpoint!" 
Marchant replied.  "The captain has given the order to prepare the ship for 
foldspace transition.  It looks like were going to jump!"
#

  
CHAPTER 11
  
Bethany Lindquist sat in the observer's seat next to Richard Drake's command 
console onDiscovery 's bridge.  She watched wide eyed while all around her the 
control room crew prepared the cruiser for battle or flight, whichever proved 
more appropriate in the coming hours.  Two images graced the main viewscreen, 
images that Bethany had been watching off and on for the past twenty minutes.  
The left side of the screen showed the five oddly shaped bubbles of brilliant 
white light that would shortly enter the system beyond the foldpoint.  They 
floated in an endless mist of pale red.  The right side of the screen showed 
three equally bright spheres silhouetted against the mist.  These were the task 
force's cryogen tankers, which would be staying behind to relay reports back to 
Royal Avenger and the rest of the fleet.
"Do you think we'll find Earth on the first try, Richard?" Bethany asked.
"We know that fully half of Antares' original foldpoints led eventually to Sol," 
Drake replied.  "Maybe this is one of those."
"And if it isn't?"
"Then we try again."
Drake reached out to briefly clasp Bethany's hand, and then keyed for the 
communicator on duty.  "Set up an 'all ships' circuit, Mr. Hayden.  Commanding 
officers conference."
"Yes, sir!"
Within a minute, Drake found himself staring at the features of the five 
starship captains under his command.  He searched out the round face of 
Captain-Lieutenant Lord Harl Quaid of His Majesty's Destroyer Mace , and the 
mustachioed visage of Captain-Lieutenant Sir Carter Ashton Rostock, ofMace 's 
sister ship Arrow .
"Gentlemen, are your ships ready?"
"Yes, sir," Quaid replied and was echoed immediately by Rostock.
"Very well.  Captain Quaid, you will be in command.  You will immediately take 
star readings and initiate a passive sensor sweep on breakout.  Look for any 
evidence of inhabited planets, military installations, or space traffic.  If you 
find any, both ships will return immediately.  Otherwise,Mace stays to guard the 
foldpoint while Arrow jumps back here to report.  Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir.  And if we're attacked?"
"Then your first duty will be to see that one of you survives long enough to get 
back here and report."
Drake's gaze moved to another screen.  "What is Terra 's status, Captain 
Dreyer?"
"All personnel are at battle stations, sir," the Sandarian cruiser captain 
replied.
"Captain Stiles?"
"Scimitar is ready."
"Captain Eberhart?"
"All personnel are in acceleration tanks, sir.  Give the word and Saskatoon will 
be out of here like a snow lizard skating across glaze ice."
"Very well, gentlemen. Mace and Arrow will begin all preparations for foldspace 
transition.  This conference is ended.
One by one, the faces on Drake's auxiliary screens winked out.  He keyed for his 
executive officer in Discovery 's combat control center.  Status, Commander 
Marchant."
"All sensors alive and seeing, Captain.  All primary and secondary batteries are 
manned and operating.  All antimatter projectors at power and ready to shoot.  
We have full firepower capability out to one hundred thousand kilometers."
"All right," Drake replied.  "Keep your eyes peeled for unfriendly visitors."
There followed five minutes of increasing tension as the two destroyer captains 
checked and rechecked their ships.  Despite the calm voices that filled the 
command circuit, Drake and everyone onboard the two destroyers knew that the job 
of being first through the foldpoint was a dangerous one.
Until the Antares supernova, there had never been a confirmed case of an active 
foldline link terminating in the interior of a star.  However, if the foldpoint 
on the other end of the foldline link had formed deep inside a star, thenArrow 
and Mace would never know it.  Worse, if neither destroyer survived to return 
and report, Drake would not be free to search for them.  Losing both destroyers 
would be prima facia evidence that conditions on the other side of the foldpoint 
were lethal.  It would be difficult to send another ship and crew to near 
certain death on the slight chance that whatever had destroyed Arrow and Mace 
would spare it.
More likely than the possibility of coming out inside a star was the prospect 
that the two destroyers would materialize inside a defended foldpoint.  If they 
did, the sudden appearance of two glowing apparitions of unknown origin would 
undoubtedly set the defenders to shooting.  It would matter little whether the 
defenders were Ryall or human.
"Permission to begin countdown, sir, Mace 's captain said over the audio 
command circuit."
"Permission granted," Drake replied.
"Attention all ships!  Foldspace transition in sixty seconds.  I repeat, 
foldspace transition in sixty seconds!"
There was a sudden flurry of good luck messages over the ship-to-ship circuits 
and then total silence save for the voice of Mace 's astrogator counting down 
the seconds remaining to transition.  Drake glanced up at the main viewscreen 
and searched for the two tiny cylindrical shapes that were the Sandarian 
destroyers.
"Ten ... nine ... eight..." 
He ordered the screen magnification raised to maximum.  The two ships expanded 
on the screen.  Details were still indistinct because of the surrounding 
anti-radiation fields.
"Five ... four ... three..."
Drake felt his fingers grip the edge of his acceleration couch and was vaguely 
aware that he had been holding his breath. Two ... one ... jump!"
On the screen, two cylindrical bubbles of light winked out as one. Mace and 
Arrow were gone.
#
Nearly an hour later, the scene on Discovery 's bridge had not changed 
noticeably.  Drake sat in his command chair, his eyes sweeping restlessly back 
and forth across his auxiliary screens.  Beside him, Bethany chewed her lower 
lip while devoting her full attention to the main viewscreen.  Around them, 
console operators sat rigidly at their stations, fingers poised for action over 
keyboards.
"How long has it been?" Drake asked no one in particular.
"Fifty seven minutes, sixteen seconds, sir," one of the technicians replied over 
the command circuit.
"Less than three minutes to go," Drake muttered.
Suddenly, a single mirrored form materialized five thousand kilometers in front 
ofDiscovery and alarms began to clang all over the ship.  Orders were snapped 
out over commlinks and weapons operators scrambled to obey.  Within seconds, the 
cruiser's heavy laser and antimatter projector batteries had been brought to 
bear on the intruder.  Almost as quickly, reports came in from Terra and 
Scimitar .  They too had the newcomer in their sights.
"Combat Control, identify new arrival!" Drake snapped.
"ItsArrow , Captain," was the immediate answer.  "She appears undamaged."
Drake sighed quietly and made a conscious effort to release the tension that had 
been building for the past hour.  "Get me Captain Rostock, then tell Terra and 
Scimitar to stand down."
"Captain Rostock is on your Number Three Screen, sir."
One of Drake's screens cleared to show the features of Arrow 's captain.
"Report, Mr. Rostock!" Drake ordered.
"Mission accomplished, sir!  The system beyond the foldpoint is situated 
approximately two hundred light-years from here, midway between Antares and 
Spica.  The system primary is a G7 dwarf with at least five planets.  Two of 
these are typical inner system worlds.  One has an oxygen atmosphere and shows 
definite traces of chlorophyll.  The other is a hothouse planet unsuited for 
human habitation.  The other three worlds we spotted were all outer system gas 
giants."
"Any sign of civilization?"
Rostock shook his head.  "We scanned for everything from high frequency 
electromagnetic waves to low frequency gravity waves.  Nothing, sir."
Drake frowned.  An uninhabited G7 star in the direction of Spica was not what 
they had been looking for.  To Drake's knowledge, the entire region of space 
around Spica had never been explored.  It was one sector of the galaxy that 
remained closed to humanity due to lack of active foldline links.  The fact that 
Mace and Arrow had penetrated two hundred light-years in that direction proved 
yet again that the Antares supernova had drastically altered the local structure 
of foldspace.  Drake said as much to Rostock.
"Yes, sir.  That was the conclusion Captain Quaid and I reached."
"Anything else I should know, Captain?"
"We have star studies and other recorded observations, Captain.  They may prove 
valuable to the scientists."
"Very well.  Transmit them to us, and to the cryogen tankers for relay to 
Admiral Gower.  Then stand by while we prepare the task force for foldspace 
transition."
"Yes, sir!"
Drake keyed for Discovery 's communicator-on-duty.  "Put me on the 'all ships' 
circuit, Mr. Hayden."
"You're on, sir."
"Attention, all ships and crews.  This is the task force commander speaking.  I 
have just received Arrows report concerning the system on the other side of 
this foldpoint.  It appears not to be inhabited, nor to have been previously 
explored.  We will therefore enter the system and map it for additional 
foldpoints."
Half an hour later, the small fleet had positioned itself in a roughly spherical 
formation at the center of the foldpoint.  Drake watched Discovery 's 
preparations for the upcoming jump on his screens.  In truth, the cruiser had 
been ready to jump since before Arrow and Mace had disappeared into hard vacuum. 
 Still, it never hurt to double check things, and the cruiser's crew did so with 
an enthusiasm born of the knowledge that their lives depended on it.
The countdown clock was within five minutes of jump time when Drake said, "Mr. 
Hayden, get me the chief engineer, please."
"Yes, sir."
The face of Gavin Arnam, Discovery 's chief engineer, appeared on Drake's 
screen.  "Are we ready to jump, chief?"
"Ready, Captain.  Mass converters are holding steady.  Antirad fields are 
nominal, jump computers are online.  Engine boost is a steady zero point five 
gees."
"Very good, Engineer.  Hold her together for a few more minutes and we will be 
out of this plasma soup.  Commander Marchant?"
Arnam's features were quickly replaced by those of the executive officer.  
"Status, please!"
"Combat Control is ready for anything, sir.  All battle stations are manned.  
All offensive weapons systems are ready."
"Mr. Cristobal?"
"Foldspace generators are energized, Captain.  I confirm the chief engineer's 
report that the jump computer is online and functioning."
"Very well.  All departments stand by."
Drake surveyed his ship captains.  One by one, they announced that they were 
ready for the long jump.  Satisfied, he gave them their orders. Discovery would 
go first, followed at ten-second intervals by Terra ,Arrow , and Scimitar . 
Saskatoon would bring up the rear.  With that duty finished, Drake leaned back 
in his acceleration couch and watched the countdown chronometer's red numerals 
march inexorably toward 00:00:00.
From his station on the bridge, Argos Cristobal counted down the seconds to jump 
time.  Drake barely heard him.  His gaze was riveted on the red haze that filled 
the viewscreen instead.  Cristobal's clear voice suddenly cried, "Zero!" and the 
haze was gone, replaced in an instant by a starfield of white stars silhouetted 
against black sky.
"Get me a view of Antares, Mr. Cristobal."
"Yes, sir."
The screen changed to show a red-orange star with a greenish-white companion 
tucked in close beside it.  The sight brought memories of long ago winter 
camping trips with his father flooding into Drake's consciousness.  Whatever 
star system this was, the nova shockwave would not arrive for another seventy 
years or so.
Drake found his reminiscences cut short by the sudden blaring of an alarm.  The 
raucous noise was abruptly cut off and Commander Marchant's voice issued from an 
overhead speaker.
"Captain! Mace is under power.  It has left the foldpoint and is accelerating at 
six gravities in the direction of the inner system.  Range is fifty thousand 
kilometers."
"Where the hell does Quaid think he is going?"
"Unknown, Captain.  Stand by.  Sensors have just picked up another ship!"
"Where, Number One?"
"It appears to be just departing the second planet, sir. Mace is in pursuit."
"Identify that second craft!" Drake ordered. 
There were another few seconds of silence.  Then:  "Drive flare spectrum 
indicates the other craft is Ryall, Captain.  I repeat.  The craft is definitely 
Ryall!"
#
Several things happened at once following Marchant's identification of the Ryall 
ship.  Drake put through a call to Mace at the same moment one of the sensor 
operators reported Terra 's arrival in the system.  There were a few seconds of 
confusion while Drake issued orders that each newly arrived ship be brought 
up-to-date as it materialized.  By the time he had finished that, Captain Harl 
Quaid was on his screen.  The Sandarian nobleman's features were stretched tight 
across his skull in the dead man's grimace that is the mark of high 
acceleration.
"Report!" Drake ordered.
The words poured forth, each one laboriously delivered against a gravity field 
six times normal.  "Our detectors picked up a drive flare departing the second 
planet just after Arrow left the system, sir."
"How the hell did you miss it on your initial survey?" Drake asked.
"It must have been in close parking orbit about the planet and emitting too 
little energy for detection.  Speed of light delay between here and the second 
planet is twenty minutes.  They must have detected our arrival, spent some time 
deciding what to do about us, and then lit out.  Light from the flare then took 
twenty minutes to get back to us.  We tracked him long enough to make sure that 
our instrumentation was not acting up.  I then orderedMace to pursue."
Drake nodded.  "Good man!  We cannot allow them to leave the system.  They must 
know we came out of the nebula."
"That was my thought, too, sir!"
"Save your strength, Captain," Drake advised.  "I'll get back to you as soon as 
we're organized here."
Drake switched the communications screen off and cursed the bad luck that made a 
Ryall starship a witness to their arrival.  He then put such thoughts from his 
mind.  There would be plenty of time for recriminations later.  What was needed 
now was to stop that ship from making it to wherever it was going.
Drake thought about it for a moment, then frowned as he wondered if the quarry 
were a warcraft; and if so, how large?  It was possible that Mace was not big 
enough to take on the fleeing ship.  A Ryall victory over the Sandarian 
destroyer would leave their quarry to spread the alarm across the Ryall 
Hegemony.  What had a single ship been doing orbiting an uninhabited world, 
anyway?  Indeed, was it a single ship?  For all Drake knew, an entire Ryall 
battle fleet could be lurking out of sight behind the G7 star's second world.
And what of the world itself?  Even if there were no fleet, there was the fact 
that the planet might well be inhabited after all.  If this were a Ryall colony, 
then the fact that neither Arrow nor Mace had detected energy emissions meant 
little.  Humanity's ships had entered the system a mere ninety minutes earlier, 
too little time in which to survey an entire world.  The Ryall could have 
substantial ground installations, even cities, on the far side where their 
emissions would be hidden by the planet's mass.
A chill wave of fear ran down Drake's spine.  He had a sudden vision of a 
million or more centaurs listening avidly to news reports that human ships had 
been seen exiting the Antares nebula.  It was one of the prime rules of the 
Helldiver Expedition that no Ryall must ever learn that the nebula was 
navigable.  For, if the Ryall ever learned that the nebula could be penetrated, 
they would use that knowledge to attack human space.  Some of the proposed 
remedies to prevent the centaurs from learning the secret were draconian. 
Drake glanced up and momentarily locked eyes with Bethany.  She read the 
expression on his face.  A look of horror slowly diffused her features.
"Oh, Richard!  You wouldn't destroy a whole planet to keep our secret, would 
you?"
"I may have no alternative," he replied gruffly.
"But that would be genocide!"
He did not answer, keying angrily for Communicator Hayden instead.
"Captains' conference!" he snapped.
The three remaining ships of the task force had arrived during the time Drake 
spent placing his thoughts in order.  Within seconds, his screens lit up to show 
the faces of his subordinate commanders.  He quickly summarized his analysis of 
the situation for them.
"Considering everything we don't know about this system, I've decided to split 
the force.  I will take Discovery and follow Mace in pursuit of the Ryall ship.  
Captain Dreyer, you will take Terra ,Arrow , and Saskatoon and engage the 
planet.  Captain Stiles, Scimitar will return to the nebula and relay what has 
happened to Admiral Gower.  Once you have made contact with the rest of the 
fleet, you will return here and stand by in the foldpoint.  Any questions, 
gentlemen?"  There were none.  "In that case, good luck to you all."
Drake switched off and turned to his astrogator.  "I want a full performance 
intercept plotted for that Ryall ship, Mr. Cristobal."
"Plotted and engaged, Captain."
"Good man!  'All hands' circuit, Mr. Hayden."
"You have it, sir."
Drake paused a moment, licked dry lips, then began to speak. "Attention All 
Hands!  Prepare for prolonged and heavy acceleration..."
#
  
CHAPTER 12
  
Varlan of the Scented Waters Clan lay in front of her computer console on a 
cured herbos hide and watched the dots that reported the current period's 
production scroll rightward across the screen.  Occasionally, she would run her 
grasping digits over the ten-centimeter wide control sphere, causing other 
patterns of dots to appear on the screen.  As she watched, she alternately 
raised and lowered her earflaps.  The movement showed Varlan's irritation with 
what she was reading.
The mineral extraction facility on Corlis had been operating for an entire 
twelve period, yet production still lagged far behind computer projections.  It 
had been bad enough in previous periods when they had barely managed to fill the 
ore carriers that called infrequently at the frontier world.  NowSpace Swimmer 
orbited overhead and there was only enough extract in the storage bins to fill 
eight-twelfths of the ore carrier's capacious holds.  The continuing shortfall 
in production could no longer be hidden.
Varlan knew that she had failed in her responsibilities and it angered her.  
What made the failure doubly irksome was the fact that it was not entirely her 
fault.  Rather, there had been an unexpected spate of equipment breakdowns and a 
freak storm that had toppled a number of power pylons.  The pipeline that 
carried water from the upstream diversion dam to the laser drill cooling jackets 
had also been late going into operation.  Without an adequate supply of cooling 
water, the drills had had to be operated at less than maximum power.  If that 
were not enough, the laborers were forever coming down with diseases the 
philosophers had never seen before.  Still, the safety of the race depended on a 
continuous flow of power metals and Varlan knew that Those Who Rule would pay 
scant attention to her excuses.
"May the laborers proceed me to the evil star!" Varlan cursed as she finished 
the production report and wondered how long it would be before the manager's 
caste found someone else to run the Corlis facility.
The hexagonal walls of her cell/office reverberated with the soft hooting cry of 
a windsniffer .  Varlan turned her long supple neck to face the curtained 
entryway and called permission to enter to the unknown who had triggered the 
signal.  As she had half expected, the visitor was Salfador, Corlis Complex's 
chief philosopher/priest.  Varlan watched the priest flow gracefully across the 
carpet of new mown rushes to stand before her.  Salfador was a strong male whose 
scales were a healthy gray-green, whose six legs rippled with strength, and 
whose grasping digits held the dexterity and skill of a first class surgeon.  
Varlan had long considered asking him to be her mate during the next copulation 
season, but had not yet broached the subject for fear that it would lessen her 
authority over him.
"Greetings, Salfador of the Eternal Fire!" she said, bowing her neck as custom 
required.
"Greetings to you, Varlan of the Scented Waters," he replied before going on in 
a more conversational tone.  "I see that you are doing your ledgers.  Have I 
arrived at a bad time?"
"There are no good times when we cannot even fill the holds of one old ore 
carrier," she replied.  "I fear that you will have a new manager to counsel 
shortly, Salfador.  I expect to be recalled before the next period is over."
"You are too unforgiving of yourself, Varlan," he said, slipping effortlessly 
into his role as confidant.  "You have done as well as anyone could considering 
the handicaps under which you are forced to labor.  How were you to know that 
the local microorganisms would find Ryall flesh tasty, and thereby have half of 
your labor force under my care at any given moment?"
"Those Who Rule do not listen to excuses," Varlan replied, repeating the warning 
she had given herself only a few dozen heartbeats earlier.
"Nor do they remove managers who produce at the best rate the situation 
warrants.  Besides, with the drilling of Shaft Number Six, we are bound to 
improve our output in the future.  All will be forgiven if you perform well next 
period."
"I hope so," Varlan replied.  "What may I do for you, Oh Spiritual One?"
Salfador's mouth opened and his tongue flicked out from between two rows of 
conical teeth.  "I had hoped to relieve your burden of command by inviting you 
to bathe with me."
There was a quick whistling noise as Varlan drew air in between her own slightly 
open teeth.  The mannerism was the Ryall equivalent of a sigh.  "I would enjoy 
that greatly.  Unfortunately, there is the loading of Space Swimmer to worry 
about, and the sending of dispatches."
"Let your subordinates do it."
Varlan hissed her anger at the suggestion.  "Never let it be said that a member 
of the Clan of the Scented Waters allowed others to do her duty!"
Salfador 'shrugged.'  "As you will have it, Varlan.  I go now."
The priest had just circled to move back toward the entrance when the 
communications gear at the manager's workstation began to squawk.  He turned his 
head to look directly backward along his dorsal spine while Varlan answered the 
call.
"Space Leader Ossfil of Space Swimmer ," the communicator hissed.  "Greetings 
Varlan of the Scented Waters."
"Greetings to you Ossfil of Space Swimmer .  Speak."
"We have detected two vessels of unknown type materializing in the gateway from 
the Evil Star."
Varlan slid nictating membranes over her eyes, and then opened them again to 
signify her shock.  "Are you sure?"
Ossfil bobbed his head rapidly from side to side.  "No doubt at all.  I have 
reviewed the records.  They appeared together some twelve cubed heartbeats ago.  
They were very bright and attracted the immediate attention of our automatic 
sentinels.  They faded over a period of several heartbeats until they were no 
longer visible."
"But how could any ship survive inside the Evil Star?"
"I know not," Ossfil replied.
"What of their origin?  Could they be of the Race?"
Ossfil's answer was a curt negative finger movement.  "Unlikely.  If they were 
of the Race, they would have arrived by the normal gateway.  Not so?"
"Agreed," Varlan replied.  "That means they must be ships of the two-legged 
monsters!"
"It would seem logical," the ship leader replied.  "I await your orders, Varlan 
of the Scented Waters."
Ossfil's last comment made Varlan blink again.  True, she was manager of the 
Corlis Mineral Extraction Complex, and as such, outranked a mere shipmaster by 
several degrees.  Still, what did she know of fighting the monsters?  That was 
for the warrior castes.  Yet, there were none such on Corlis.  No one had 
thought them necessary this deep inside the hegemony. What to do?  Military 
expert or no, Varlan recognized that monster starships arriving via the gateway 
from the Evil Star was a matter of overriding importance.  It meant that the 
two-legged beasts had developed a new capability, one that might be unknown to 
Those Who Rule. She considered her priorities, and concluded that warning the 
hegemony would have to take precedence over the smooth operation of the Corlis 
complex.  It was a decision that would have been difficult for any member of the 
Ryall managerial caste to make.
"You must carry the word to the hegemony," Varlan told Ossfil.
"Your command shall be heeded," the starship commander replied.  "What of you on 
the surface?"
"We will defend ourselves as best we can.  Launch Space Swimmer as quickly as 
you have jettisoned your cargo."
"But we are half filled!" Ossfil protested. "And the power metals are sorely 
needed."
"It is more important that your ship attain its maximum acceleration.  If those 
are truly monster warships, they will undoubtedly have many times your 
thrust-to-weight ratio," Varlan replied.  "The cargo can remain in orbit until 
you return with warriors."
Ossfil bowed his head.  "Your words shall be heeded."
"May the Great Hunter protect you..." Varlan said.
"... And the swift eaters ever be slain," Ossfil replied, finishing the ancient 
formula.
#
Richard Drake grimaced under the burden of four gravities of acceleration and 
watched his screens. Discovery had been under high gees for more than eighty 
hours, and their quarry was very nearly in range.  As he watched the symbol that 
represented the Ryall ship on his screen, he reviewed the events of the past 
three days and wondered what mistakes he had made.
During the first twenty hours of the chase, Discovery 's sensor operators had 
noted a number of peculiarities in the Ryall starship's behavior.  The most 
important was the leisurely three-quarters of a standard gravity with which the 
Ryall ship had pulled away from the second planet.  A suspicious man would have 
thought the Ryall ship was a ruse.  However, ruse or no,Discovery and Mace had 
no choice but to take the bait.  Failing to give chase would allow their quarry 
to escape and report their presence in the Ryall-held system.
Hour piled upon hour and Drake began to discount the possibility that he was 
diving headlong into a trap.  Among other reassuring developments, sensors 
reported the quarry's rate of acceleration had slowly increased from 0.75 to 
0.93 gravities over a period of some forty hours.  Such an increase was to be 
expected from a ship straining everything to escape its pursuers.  As it burned 
off fuel, its thrust-to-weight ratio would slowly increase, and so would its 
rate of acceleration.  On the other hand, a warship intentionally pulling them 
into a trap would more likely maintain a constant rate of acceleration until it 
turned on its pursuers.
Having become convinced that their quarry was the Ryall equivalent of a 
commercial starship, Drake put through a call to Captain Quaid onboard Mace .  
"Our quarry doesn't seem to be acting much like a warcraft."
Quaid's features were haggard as he nodded.  "Agreed, sir.  I've seen better 
legs under tramp interplanetary craft."
"You have experience with Ryall ships, Quaid.  What kind of armament would they 
mount on a merchantman?"
"Only short range stuff, sir.  They would not have any reason to mount larger 
weapons, and any such would detract from their cargo carrying ability.  
Remember, the Ryall are subject to the same laws of economics that we are."
Drake nodded.  "I thought so.  A change of strategy is in order, I think."
"Change, sir?"
"Instead of blowing our quarry out of the sky, Captain, I think we'll try to 
capture it."
The Sandarian nobleman said nothing, but his expression reminded Drake of 
someone who has just bitten into an under-ripe grava fruit.
"You don't agree?"
"Surely you are aware of the difficulties inherent in boarding a hostile 
spacecraft, sir; especially one under acceleration!"
"I'm also aware that Terra is preparing an attack on the second planet and that 
we have no idea what they're facing.  We need detailed information on the 
planetary defenses.  For that we need prisoners."
"Yes, sir."
#
"Get me Ensign Walkirk aboard Barracuda ," Drake ordered.  While he waited, he 
watched the smeared splotch of light centered on the main viewscreen.  The 
splotch was the drive flare of the Ryall ship some one hundred thousand 
kilometers in front of Discovery .  The Altan battle cruiser had matched 
velocities with the Ryall ship some two hours earlier and was now shadowing it.  
One hundred thousand kilometers beyond the target, Mace had also matched the 
Ryall ship's pace, effectively bracketing it between its two human pursuers.
"Ensign Walkirk on Screen Four, Captain."
Drake turned to see the Sandarian crown prince staring out of the screen at him.
"You wanted to speak to me, Captain?"
"Are your men ready, Mr. Walkirk?"
"Yes, sir.  The first squad is here with me in Barracuda ; the second is 
inMalachi .  We're ready and spoiling for a fight."
"I want no heroics, Ensign.  You are to take no unnecessary risks.  If you find 
that ship heavily defended, back off immediately.  We'll finish them with our 
main batteries."
"Understood, sir.  We'll be cautious as a Sandarian snow chicken."
"You'd better!  If anything happens to you..."
The prince's smile was evident even through the faceplate of his vacsuit helmet. 
 "Don't worry, sir.  We Walkirks have always been lucky."
Drake signed off and spent the next dozen seconds cursing the day he'd sought to 
keep the Sandarian prince out of trouble by assigning him the job of company 
commander of Discovery 's Marine detachment.  It had seemed a good idea at the 
time.  Had he foreseen that he would be sending Marines to force their way into 
a ship filled with hostile aliens, however, Drake would have shuffled the 
assignments of virtually every officer aboard to avoid risking Philip Walkirk's 
life.  He had considered sending another officer with the boarding party, but 
rejected the idea.  To do so would have been a gross insult to the prince, his 
father, and to every Sandarian alive.  So, Drake had assigned the task of 
capturing the Ryall starship to the Sandarian prince and prayed that he would 
come through the operation unscathed.
Drake scowled, made a conscious effort to stop worrying, and issued the order to 
launchDiscovery 's scout ships.  Within seconds, four winged shapes cleared the 
cruiser's habitat ring and spread out for the long run in toward the target.  
One of Drake's screens relayed a view from one of Mace 's hull cameras.  On it, 
two additional shapes streaked away from the destroyer and disappeared into the 
blackness of space.
 "He is jinking, sir!" came the immediate report from one of Discovery 's sensor 
operators.
Drake glanced up at the main viewscreen.  Sure enough, having seen that his 
pursuers had launched auxiliary craft, the Ryall captain had begun evasive 
maneuvering.
"Launch camera probe!"
A squat cylindrical device departed the habitat ring and moved toward the Ryall 
ship at an acceleration no manned vessel could match.
For the next three hours, Drake watched the ballet of lights that marched across 
the tactical displays.  The Ryall ship was a bright red diamond that data showed 
to be thrusting at right angles to its velocity vector.  Six amber arrows 
steadily closed on the target, effortlessly matching its futile attempts at 
evasion.  Much closer to the Ryall vessel than any of the scout ships was a 
yellow-green sunburst shape that represented the camera probe.  It too matched 
the movements of the Ryall quarry as it bored in for a fast flyby.
"Put the view from the probe up on the screen," Drake ordered when the 
yellow-green symbol had nearly merged with the red diamond shape.
The tactical display was replaced by a starfield against which a small fuzzy 
blob of violet-white light was centered.  The patch of luminescence quickly 
swelled to fill half the screen as the camera probe closed the distance.  
Centered on the screen, silhouetted by the violet glow of its own drive flare, 
was the Ryall ship.  Drake's first glance told him that the Ryall craft was no 
warship.  Rather it was some sort of commodity carrier with a spherical hull, 
oversize access hatches, and a drive system that was woefully inadequate for its 
bulk.  The ship expanded to fill the viewscreen as the probe reached minimum 
distance.  There followed a moment of blurring, then a bright starlike light as 
the probe whipped past the Ryall ship and sped into the blackness of space.  
Drake signaled for his executive officer.
"Can you identify the class, Mr. Marchant?"
"Negative, sir.  The computer doesn't seem to be able to match it."
"Any attempt to attack the probe?"
"None that we could detect, Captain.  He may have been holding his fire until 
the scouts are in range."
Drake shook his head.  "The probe looks enough like a missile that he would have 
tried to destroy it if he could.  The fact that he didn't probably means that he 
lacks ship to ship armaments."
"Yes, sir."
"Transmit copies of those views to the scouts and follow up with computer 
enhancements as soon as you have them."
"On their way now, Captain."
"Very well.  Mr. Hayden.  Transmit the following to Ensign Walkirk 
aboardBarracuda :  'You may begin your attack when ready!'"
#
Varlan of the Scented Waters stood on the hilltop and gazed wistfully out over 
the valley in which the Corlis Mineral Complex was located.  She often climbed 
that particular hill when faced with a problem, or to observe the progress of a 
construction project, or merely to be alone to think.  In the past, her 
observations had been tinged with more than a little pride at the 
accomplishments of her race.
When the first boatloads of Ryall workers had arrived on Corlis, they had found 
a mineral-rich valley choked by blue-green vegetation and inhabited by a few odd 
looking quadrupedal animals.  Gone were the rampant native growths, burned and 
rooted out when the valley had been scraped clear of soil to expose the 
underlying bedrock.  Gone were the native species, killed or driven off to keep 
them out of the automated machinery.  Gone was the stream that had carved the 
valley from the planet's crust, dammed upstream to provide cooling water for the 
lasers.
The transformed valley was now filled with vast dome-like buildings and 
longhouses.  The former housed the delicate extraction and refining mechanisms, 
while workers lived in the latter.  It had taken a full ten revolutions of 
Corlis about its star to transform this valley into a working smelter complex 
and mine.  Now the two-legged monsters might well turn the whole effort into 
radioactive dust in less time than it took to slide a nictating membrane over a 
vision ocular.
Varlan shivered and turned her attention to the reason she had climbed the hill. 
 Down in the valley, giant rock cutters were carving trenches and throwing the 
detritus to the outside.  Varlan had no experience or training in military 
matters, yet it seemed to her that such a construct would serve to hold off any 
ground assault the monsters might attempt.  The problem was that Corlis Complex 
was largely automated, leaving her with a total work force of twelve twelves of 
laborers, a single twelve of technicians, and another of administration 
personnel.  In addition, there were no real weapons to be found in the complex.  
They had nothing with which to fight even had her staff known anything about 
fighting.
It had taken Salfador to solve the problem of weapons.  The philosopher/priest 
had suggested converting mining machinery to serve as weapons, particularly the 
heavy laser drills. Varlan had little hope that such a thing was possible, but 
had set the artisans to work as a means of keeping up morale.  To her surprise, 
the converted drills made efficient military lasers.  The artisans were now 
converting ore cars into fighting machines.  Despite the artisans' progress, 
Varlan could not help worrying as she gazed down at the barrier construction.   
It was not necessary for one to be hatched a warrior to see that there was too 
much perimeter and not enough workers to properly defend it.
Varlan was pondering her dilemma when her personal communicator signaled for 
attention.  She answered it to discover the technician in charge of 
communications staring out of the tiny screen at her.  The underling made the 
gesture of respect before saying, "I have a message for you from Ossfil of Space 
Swimmer ."
"Proceed with the message."
"'The monsters have me surrounded and I am unable to reach the gateway.  I am 
taking evasive action, but will not be able to escape.  Request instructions.  
Ossfil, commanding Space Swimmer .'"
Varlan muttered a few deep imprecations to the evil star before replying.  
"Transmit the following:  'From Varlan of the Scented Waters to Ossfil of Space 
Swimmer .  As a minimum, you will destroy your astrogation computer and trigger 
the amnesia of your astrogator.  After that is done, you may act on your own 
initiative.'"
When the communications tech had acknowledged the message, Varlan returned to 
her private thoughts, now more depressed than ever. Space Swimmer had been their 
only hope.  Had it reached the gateway to Carratyl, ships of warriors would have 
been winging to the rescue within a few thousand heartbeats of Space Swimmer 's 
call.  As it was, no one in the hegemony would learn the fate of the Corlis 
Complex for another half planetary year, at least; not until the next scheduled 
ore carrier arrived to load power metals.  No, she corrected herself, that was 
not so. Space Swimmer would be missed.  Undoubtedly the hegemony would send a 
ship to search for the ore carrier when it failed to arrive at the processing 
center on Pasotil.  The rescue force could well arrive within the span of a 
single production period!
Much buoyed by the thought, Varlan turned and ambled down the hill.  As she 
walked, she began to imitate the sound of a leather-winged sasbo to signal her 
new confidence in the future.  What matter if four shiploads of monsters were 
bearing down on her even as she whistled?  The race had always succeeded in the 
past and would do so in the future.  In the meantime, she had defenses to 
prepare and monsters to slay!
#
   
CHAPTER 13
  
Ensign Philip David Eusabio Walkirk, Duke of Cragston, Defender of the 
Foldpoints, offspring of warrior-kings, and would-be slayer of the Ryall foe, 
lay in his acceleration couch encased in a vacsuit and breathed in the cloying 
stink of his own fear.  Around him, similarly encased in airtight armor, a dozen 
members of Discovery 's contingent of Altan Space Marines also lay strapped into 
acceleration couches.
"Ten minutes to go, Ensign," the gruff voice of Sergeant Willem Barthol said 
over Philip's earphones.  "We'd best be preparing them for disembarkation."
"Right," the prince answered as he began to unstrap from his couch.
The plan was simple, if somewhat dangerous for those who were to carry it out.  
The camera probe had provided detailed photographs of the Ryall craft's exterior 
and had confirmed its apparent lack of heavy weaponry.  ("Apparent" being the 
operative word in that sentence, Philip kept reminding himself.)  The next ships 
to approach the Ryall bulk carrier would be the scout boats Questor and Calico . 
 It would be their job to disable the Ryall ship's engines and burn away all the 
sensor pickups on its hull.  Once the quarry was immobilized and blinded, scout 
boatsBarracuda and Horned Devil would close to within ten meters of the Ryall 
ship and offload their twenty-five man boarding party.  The two scouts, along 
with Questor and Calico and the two scout vessels fromMace , would then surround 
the Ryall ship and provide cover while the Marines blasted their way through the 
hull at two widely separated points.  Once inside, it would be the Marines' job 
to capture the quarry.
"We're ready to disembark," Philip Walkirk radioed to the scout boat's pilot.
"Stand by, Ensign," the pilot replied.  "We'll be shutting down boost in another 
ten seconds."
Philip watched the tiny chronometer display in his helmet.  True to the pilot's 
word, the pressure on his chest died away ten seconds later.  Simultaneously, 
the pilot's voice could be heard over the general circuit:
"All Hands!  We will be in zero gravity for another 8.6 minutes, and then will 
go to two gravities.  Make sure that you are well anchored before that time!  
Good luck, Marines!"
Ever since leaving Discovery , the scout boat had been slowly closing the gap by 
backing toward the Ryall ship on a tail of fire.  Paradoxically, with the Ryall 
ship still decelerating for a foldpoint it would never reach, onceBarracuda shut 
down its engines, they would close the gap even more quickly than before.
"All right, Marines!" Philip Walkirk said over the general circuit.  "Odd files, 
by the numbers, prepare to disembark!"
Six Marines lifted themselves from their couches and moved to line up in the 
scout boat's too narrow center aisle.  They moved awkwardly in the cramped 
passenger cabin toward the bow airlock.  As quickly as the first group had 
cleared the aisle, Drake ordered the even number files out of their couches.  
The starboard side passengers quickly followed suit.  At the airlock, the scout 
boat's crew chief, also suited up, stood with his hand on the valve that would 
spill air from Barracuda 's passenger cabin to space.
"Ready to depressurize when you are, Ensign," the chief said.
Philip Walkirk ordered a suit check made.  There followed two minutes of mutual 
inspection and a quick, precise countdown of acknowledgments that suit checks 
were complete.
"Anchor yourselves, Marines.  We're about to depressurize."
The sudden tugging of a gentle wind and the keening of air being vented suddenly 
filled the small cabin.  The sound quickly died away as the air that carried it 
drained out into space.  Concurrent with the sudden silence, Philip Walkirk's 
vacuum armor puffed up and stiffened at the joints, as did that of every man 
aboard.  As quickly as the air was gone, the crew chief reached out and cycled 
both airlock doors open, leaving Philip a clear view of the infinite black 
outside.
"Follow me!" he ordered.
A scout boat is a small, heavily armed auxiliary capable of interplanetary (but 
not interstellar) flight.  It was the normal task of such warcraft to scout an 
enemy before battle, and to harry him while he engaged the mother ship.  Scouts 
were also used to ferry passengers and cargo between ships and down to the 
surface of a planet.  They were not, however, designed to deliver ground troops 
to the scene of battle.
SinceBarracuda was not a proper assault boat (there being none such aboard the 
Altan cruiser), engineers had been forced to improvise.  They had done so by 
welding a pair of rails to the upper surfaces of Barracuda 's two stubby delta 
wings.  The plan called for the Marine boarding party to exit the cabin, pull 
themselves along the wings via the safety rails, and anchor themselves for the 
final approach to the Ryall starship.  Being out on the wings would allow a much 
quicker assault, although it exposed the boarding party to whatever furies the 
Ryall captain had at his disposal.
  Philip Walkirk snapped the end of a safety line to the rail leading toward the 
port side of the scout and stepped out into nothingness.  He pulled himself hand 
over hand toward the far-left position on the wing.  Once there, he carefully 
snapped other lines to padeyes bonded to the wing for just that purpose. The new 
lines each had a small explosive charge at the points where they attached to 
Philip's armor.  At a signal from him, the charges would shear the lines, 
freeing him from his temporary bonds.  In the meantime, however, the four-point 
attachment assured that he would remain fastened to his perch no matter how 
violently the scout maneuvered during its approach.
He looked back toward the airlock to see his six companions similarly positioned 
along the surface of the wing.  He then watched other figures exit the airlock.  
Sergeant Barthol led the even-number files up and over the fuselage to the 
attach points on the starboard wing.  Philip watched them out of sight, then 
turned to view that vee-shaped section of black sky framed between his armored 
boots.  As he watched, a bright flare of light lit the black sky, then another 
and another.
"What the hell was that?" a voice asked in his earphones.  He recognized the 
thick accent of Alta's western continent and identified the voice as that of 
Corporal Kevin Sayers, immediately to his right on the wing.
"That will be Questor and Calico burning out his eyes and crippling his 
engines," Philip replied.
"Hope the centaurs don't decide to suicide on us," the corporal muttered.
That makes two of us, Philip thought to himself.  Aloud he said, "If they were 
going to blow themselves up, they would have done so before now."
Philip watched the Ryall starship grow in size as the scout boat bore down on 
it.  It had started out as a mere pinpoint and had grown to the size of a 
half-crown piece when the pilot's voice echoed in his earphones.
"Acceleration in ten seconds!  Hold on tight out there."
A sudden violet nimbus sprang into existence below Philip Walkirk's feet.  At 
the same time, a sudden surge of acceleration threatened to pull him into his 
boots.  He slid downward inside his armor, reaching bottom with an audible oof 
as Barracuda 's pilot fought to bleed off the high closing rate that had 
developed between the two ships.  Out of the corner of his eye, Philip noted 
another violet-white star spring forth in the firmament.  That, he knew, would 
be Horned Devil delivering the other half of the boarding party.
Suddenly, the pressure was gone and the scout boat hung motionless a mere ten 
meters from the Ryall ship.
"Cut yourselves loose, now!"  As Philip said it, he thumbed the switch that 
would detonate his own separation charges.  There was a muffled whump sound and 
he was free.  "Engage maneuvering units!  Jump for that ship!"
#
Varlan of the Scented Waters lay in front of a large holotank and watched the 
monster starships close in on Space Swimmer .  The tank, which was normally used 
for mapping variations in the underground strata, had been jury-rigged by the 
technicians to display a more or less up-to-date view of the situation in space. 
 In its depths, Corlis' yellow star, Eulysta, was a tiny glowing jewel.  High 
above it, near the upper edge of display, lay the gateway to the Evil Star.  The 
gateway to Carratyl was much lower, about on a level with the blue-green point 
of light that denoted Corlis itself.  Three other close-in planets also showed 
in the image space, as did their orbital paths around the star.
There were other faint lines of light in the tank; lines that moved at nearly 
right angles to the concentric circles that marked the plane of Eulysta's 
ecliptic.  The orbital tracks of the ships that pursued Space Swimmer were dimly 
etched in an emerald hue.  Next to the course lines, several time and vector 
notations gave mute testimony to the speed with which the two-legged devils had 
crossed the system in pursuit of the fleeing ore carrier.
Varlan's gaze was drawn to a second group of alien warships.  These too trailed 
dimly lit green threads behind them.  They were not, however, in pursuit ofSpace 
Swimmer .  Rather, these enemies were bound directly for Corlis and would arrive 
in only three revolutions of the planet.  Varlan cursed the fact that there 
would not be more time to ready her defenses, although objectively, she knew 
that twelve-cubed years would be insufficient if the monsters really wished to 
take Corlis Complex.
Putting her own problems momentarily out of mind, she turned her attention back 
toSpace Swimmer 's fate.  Raising the pitch of her voice to the frequency range 
guarded by the computer that operated the holotank, she said, "Move focus to 
Space Swimmer .  Increase magnification to maximum."
The overall view of the Eulysta system faded away, to be replaced by another.  
The central region of the tank was now inhabited by a swarm of ships.  At the 
center lay the rose-colored dot of Space Swimmer .  Around it swarmed 
purple-green enemy craft.  Out of each point of light emanated small violet 
lines, the direction and length of which denoted the velocity and acceleration 
vectors of that particular vessel.  Varlan was no expert, but the fact that the 
closest monster ships had velocities and accelerations nearly identical to those 
of the Ryall ore carrier indicated that the end was near for Ossfil and Space 
Swimmer .
"What is the basis for this display?" Varlan asked.
"The information is the most probable projection of the observations that Space 
Swimmer provided in its last communication," the computer responded.
"How long ago?"
"The span of time has been twelve-cubed heartbeats."
Varlan signified her pleasure at the relative currency of the information.  
There had been a time when she would have taken for granted an uninterrupted 
flow of information concerning the soon to be fought battle.  The past several 
planetary days had educated her considerably in such matters.
"Varlan of the Scented Waters!"
Her concentration regarding the display was so great that Varlan had not heard 
the rustle of dried rushes behind her.  Startled, she snapped her neck 180 
degrees about to observe Salfador standing behind her.  Such was her mood that 
the philosopher/priest's call, which had been delivered at minimal volume, had 
seemed a shout.
"You should be named Salfador the Silent, Philosopher!"
"My apologies if I caused you distress, Varlan.  I have completed the tasks that 
you set for me.  The medical facility has been moved to Shaft Number One and 
prepared to receive wounded.  Also, I have trained two of your laborers to 
operate several of the healing machines."
Varlan signaled her appreciation, then moved her head to stare intently with one 
eye at the philosopher/priest's downcast features.
"What is wrong, Salfador?"
The priest indicated the screen.  "How goes the battle for Space Swimmer ?"
Varlan's response had no equivalent among humans.  The closest a man could have 
come to translating the sound would have been a snort of disdain coupled with 
cynical laughter.  "The battle is more a fish drive than a contest between 
warriors.  I fear the monsters will have Ossfil in another few hundred 
heartbeats."
"Will they not merely destroy him?"
"It would appear not.  I am no expert in matters of piloting, but it seems that 
either of the larger monster starships could have done so before now.  Instead, 
Ossfil reports they have launched daughter craft.  Apparently, they will try to 
capture Space Swimmer ."
"What of the astronomical data in his computer?"
"I have given the order that he destroy his computer and trigger his 
astrogator's amnesia.  Failing that, of course, he will destroy his ship."
The normally facile philosopher/priest allowed his triforked tongue to flick 
between open teeth as he hesitated an uncharacteristically long time.  When he 
finally spoke, it was in a voice nearly too quiet to hear.  Varlan shifted her 
earflaps to catch his words more clearly.
"I have come to you, Varlan, because I need the advice of one wiser than I."
"Surely there are none such here, Salfador."
"You underestimate yourself, my manager.  And in any event, it is a poor 
physician who diagnoses his own illness."
"Proceed then."
"I have never told you the story of my youth and how I became a healer."
"That is true," Varlan agreed.  "It has never been a matter of concern between 
us."
"We have never suffered invasion by monsters before."
"True."
"The priesthood and healing were not my original vocation.  I was a gifted pupil 
and my teachers thought me capable of studying natural philosophy.  I trained as 
a seeker after astronomical understanding, a star gazer, if you will."
"I long ago noticed your interest in such matters and remarked to myself that it 
is unusual in a medical technician," Varlan replied.
Salfador signaled wry humor.  "Agreed.  My colleagues are not renowned for their 
love of galactic structure, nor of the differences between the great stars.  You 
do well to get them to look up into the sky at night."
"Your point?"
"Unfortunately, I found that I did not have the aptitude which my teachers 
believed.  I could have been a good natural philosopher, but not a great one.  I 
therefore chose my current path.  I have had no reason for regrets in this 
choice ... none until now, that is."
"I do not understand."
"It is regrettable, Varlan of the Scented Waters, but I still have considerable 
astronomical data in my brain, including knowledge of the positions of many of 
the gateways throughout the hegemony."
Varlan "blinked" in horror at Salfador's revelation.  Like all Ryall, she had an 
abiding pride in the works of her race.  She had been barely out of the egg when 
she had been taught the names of the worlds that the Race controlled, and only 
slightly older when she knew each of their histories in detail.  However, one 
thing she had not learned was the method by which starships traveled from one to 
another.  Such data were the domain of astronomers and astrogators, information 
unneeded by the average Ryall.  Indeed, it had only been since she ascended to 
the managership of Corlis Complex that she had learned the secret of the 
gateways between the stars.
"You must have been fitted with an amnesia spell.  Give me your trigger code and 
I will excise the knowledge from your brain," she said.
The miserable look on Salfador's features was all the answer she needed.  Even 
so, he said, "I'm afraid that I was never fitted with such.  I had not intended 
to be an astrogator on a starship, and therefore, had no need."
Varlan stared closely at her advisor and confidant, trying to divine some way 
out of the predicament.  She thought of ordering him to take to the jungle to 
hide until the monsters left, then rejected the idea for the same reason that 
she had rejected having the complex's staff do the same.  The local biochemistry 
was sufficiently close to Ryall norms to cause illness, but lacked several 
essential ingredients (as well as possessing others that were unhealthful).  To 
ask a philosopher to camp in the woods like a barbarian was unthinkable.  Even 
more unthinkable, however, was allowing Salfador to fall into the grasp of the 
monsters.  Finally, she said:  "You know what you must do, of course."
Salfador signaled his agreement.  "I have already done so.  There are many 
poisons in the medical kits.  I injected myself with one before coming here.  Do 
not fear.  My death will be quite painless."
"Then your purpose in coming here...?"
"Was to take my leave of you.  I ask that you tell my clan of my death should 
you return one day to the hegemony."
"I will do so.  How long until the poison takes effect?"
"My vision is already affected.  That is the first symptom.  I will be dead in 
another thousand heartbeats."
Varlan moved to Salfador and hugged him in a very human gesture of affection.  
"Farewell then, Salfador of the Eternal Fire.  I will miss you."
"And I you, Varlan of the Scented Waters."
#
Philip jumped for the vast spherical hull of the Ryall starship and grounded 
expertly between two of the large access hatches.  As he did so, reaction jets 
began to fire around the ship's waist.  At first, he thought the Ryall captain 
was using them in the hope of catching one or more attackers in their white-hot 
flame.  When the jets continued to fire, however, Philip guessed their real 
purpose and ordered:  "Anchor yourselves!  Quickly!  They're rotating the ship 
in the hope of throwing us off."
There followed a flurry of Marines anchoring themselves to the hull with 
magnetic clamps.  The point where the boarding party had landed was midway 
between equator and pole, and the rotation did not affect them greatly.  Philip 
felt a light tugging at his feet as his body rotated to face outward.  Around 
him, the Marines hung like spiders from their webs.  The only figure in sight 
not anchored was Corporal Sayers, who was using his maneuvering jets to 
compensate for the slow spin and move toward the spherical ship's too close 
horizon.  Sayers was Barracuda 's sapper.  He carried a large explosive charge 
strapped to his chest.  He disappeared from sight.  Half a minute later, he was 
back, jetting for Philip's position at high speed.  He had just grounded 
expertly next to the prince when the hull plates shivered beneath his boots.  
Philip felt a sharp tug on his safety line just as something large and flat spun 
away into space from somewhere beyond the horizon.
"I planted the entry charge against one of those medium size doors a quarter of 
the way around the circumference, sir."
Philip nodded; forgetting in his excitement that no one could see the gesture.  
He unlimbered his weapon  a projectile device that fired anesthetic darts.  The 
darts were heavy enough to punch through vacuum armor, and contained a dose of 
anesthetic that would knock a Ryall down in a matter of seconds.  He unhooked 
from his perch and jetted in the direction of the explosion.  "Follow me!  And 
remember, we're after prisoners!"
Through pure luck, Sayers had found a hatch that led directly into the crew 
quarters and not into the capacious holds.  Philip jetted through the jagged 
hole and moved immediately to take cover in a jumble of what had been equipment 
lockers.  One by one, twelve other shapes entered the darkness from the 
brilliantly lit hull outside.
"Hope them centaurs had sense enough to get into suits before we blew their 
hull," came the comment from one of the enlisted men.  Philip hoped the same 
thing, since they had destroyed the ship's pressure integrity with their charge. 
 They would also blow any pressure doors they encountered.  If the Ryall were 
not protected by vacuum suits, the whole mission would be in vain.
Another sudden hammer blow caused the deck to jump.  "That will be theHorned 
Devil force," Philip said.  "Watch out who you shoot.  Sergeant Barthol, lead 
out!"
Philip watched as a large figure with chevrons on his suit ambled through the 
nearly weightless corridor to a cross passage farther on.  Barthol glanced first 
one way down the passage, then the other, before taking cover in the junction.  
He signaled for the rest of the squad to leapfrog him.  They continued for ten 
minutes in this way, meeting no opposition.
Philip Walkirk was beginning to wonder if there were any Ryall left aboard when 
Private Traconen pushed open a bulkhead hatch and was suddenly thrown back 
across the passageway in a shower of small explosions.  Traconen recoiled from a 
glancing blow against the bulkhead, his punctured suit spewing red mist as he 
tumbled head over heels down the passageway.
"Carter, go after Traconen!" Philip ordered.  "The rest of you lay down covering 
fire."
Not all of the boarding party carried anesthetic projectile throwers.  Some 
carried explosive rifles and heavy riot guns.  Two Marines braced themselves 
against handy stanchions and began to spray automatic fire through the open 
hatchway.   The weapons fired in an eerie silence and a sporadic wind flowed 
down the corridor as their muzzle gasses expanded into vacuum.  Sergeant Barthol 
hugged the near bulkhead as he moved to the hatchway.  He unclipped a small egg 
shaped object from his equipment belt.
"Better stand back," he cautioned.  The two Marines who had enfiladed the 
compartment moved back along the corridor.  Barthol armed the grenade and 
launched it in the awkward side armed throw of a man in space armor, then 
hurriedly backed off.
The ensuing explosion was far from silent.  It buffeted Philip Walkirk, jarring 
his teeth even inside the armor.  A moment later, his helmet rang with a sudden 
clanging noise as a bit of debris bounced off it.  He was surprised to find a 
small star break in his helmet visor in front of his left eye.  Gulping down 
bile, he ordered a scouting party into the compartment from which Traconen had 
been felled.  Thirty seconds after slipping through the deadly door, the scouts 
reported that all was clear.
Philip trotted forward to see the Ryall defenders with his own eyes.  What he 
saw was sufficient to turn his stomach.  Two Ryall encased in their own versions 
of vacuum suits had lain in wait inside the compartment behind a barrier of 
furniture.  Weapons ready, they had shot the first human face to poke its way 
through the door.  Their weapon, Philip Walkirk was surprised to see, was a 
crude gun that appeared to have been manufactured in the ship's machine shop.
Philip left the compartment and moved to where Sergeant Barthol stooped over 
Private Traconen.
"How is he?"
"I'm afraid he's dead, sir."
"Leave him then, Sergeant.  We'll pick him up after we've secured the ship."
"Yes, sir."
The rest of the capture was relatively uneventful.  It had taken ten minutes 
more for Philip Walkirk's forces to link up with the second Marine boarding 
force.  Together they had swept through the ship collecting prisoners.  There 
were eight in all.  Seven of the centaurs gave up peacefully, each spreading his 
arms in a gesture of submission when overtaken by the human raiders.  One chose 
to resist.
Half an hour after their entry into the Ryall ship, Corporal Sayers returned to 
the assembly point with an unconscious Ryall in tow.
"What happened to you?" Sergeant Barthol asked upon seeing the ginger way he 
moved.
"Damned centaur near broke my arm with a big crowbar, Sarge."
Barthol looked down at the limp alien Sayers had in tow.  "Did you kill him?"
"Naw.  Shot him with a dart.  He'll be all right, 'cept that he's crazy as a 
high plateau jumper."
"How so?"
"I found him amidships in one of the equipment rooms.  He had this big bar he'd 
ripped out of some machinery and was using it to beat holy hell out of some 
access panel.  Looked to me like he wanted to get through it and into the 
machinery beyond.  Anyway, I flashed my light in his face.  He turned and 
attacked me with this damned thing!" Sayers said, holding up the bar.  "I was so 
surprised that I didn't do more than get my arm up to ward off the blow.  
Anyway, he hauled back for another swing and I shot him.  He got in two more 
licks before he keeled over."
Barthol nudged the limp Ryall with the toe of his boot.  The transparent fabric 
of the Ryall's vacsuit dented in under the pressure and then sprang back.  "I 
guess we'll find out what it was all about when he wakes up."
Philip Walkirk, who had listened to the conversation over his suit radio, moved 
over to where the sergeant and corporal were standing.  In this part of the 
ship, there was just enough gravity from the spin to keep his boots on the deck. 
 "What did you say just now, Corporal?" he asked.
"I said this damned crazy centaur attacked me, sir..."
"No, about his trying to smash a machine.  What machine?"
"'Fraid I don't recognize this alien machinery too good, sir."
"Take me to it."
Sayers led the way, followed by Philip Walkirk and Sergeant Barthol.  They moved 
through gloomy corridors until they reached a small compartment almost at the 
very center of the spherical ship.
"Yonder machine over there, sir!" Sayer said, playing the beam from his hand 
lamp over a dented access panel.
Philip gazed at the panel, blinked, and then emitted a low whistle.
"This thing important, sir?" Barthol asked.
"You might say that," Philip replied.  "What Corporal Sayers refers to as 
'yonder machine' is their astrogation computer.  The fact that he was trying to 
beat it to death may mean that their normal destruct mechanism failed to operate 
properly."
"That good, sir?"
Philip Walkirk's sudden laughter startled the two noncoms.  "That box, Sergeant, 
may well contain information vital to the conduct of the war."
"What information, sir?"
"If we've been very, very lucky, we may just dredge up a foldspace topology 
chart for the whole damned Ryall hegemony!"
   
CHAPTER 14
  
The rays of the unnamed yellow star cascaded over the small fleet, causing ships 
to glow in the surrealistic half light/half dark pattern so familiar to those 
who space.  In the center of the fleet floated a battered, oversize sphere.  On 
one side of the sphere, a series of sheared off pylons marked the location where 
long-range sensing and communications gear had once been mounted.  At the other 
side, the delicate mechanisms that once drove the ship from foldpoint to planet 
and back again had been converted to scrap by a single disabling stroke.  In 
between, the points at which the two boarding parties had forced entry remained 
as silent reminders of the battle fought onboard.
Discovery and Mace hung in space less than a kilometer from the Ryall starship 
as various landing craft and interorbit shuttles moved back and forth between 
the three vessels.  The scout boats that had aided in the Ryall ship's capture 
stood well out from the main fleet.  They had taken up outrider positions after 
the battle, insurance against other Ryall craft entering the system through the 
local (and as yet unidentified) foldpoint. "Technician Scarlotti on Channel Six, 
Captain," Moriet Hayden reported to Richard Drake on Discovery 's bridge.
Drake had spent the morning going over inventory reports with his executive 
officer and was glad for the interruption.  He activated the communications 
channel and said, "Drake here.  Go ahead."
The face of Mace 's senior computer specialist gazed out of the screen at him.  
"I've finished my inspection of the Ryall computer, Captain."
"And?"
"Whoever it was that took a wrecking bar to this thing succeeded in making it 
unusable.  Half the input/output circuits are mangled beyond repair.
"And the memory banks?"
"They appear to be undamaged, sir.  Whatever this computer knew before the 
attack, it still knows.  Had any blow fallen two centimeters to the right, 
however, it would have been a different story."
"What about the destruct mechanism?  Why didn't it go off?"
Scarlotti held up a hexagonal box of alien construction from which a thick cable 
protruded.  "The damned thing's corroded, sir.  When they activated it, the 
pulse shorted out in the power leads.  It looks like it was installed years ago 
and then degraded to the point where it failed when they tried to use it."
Drake nodded.  He was not particularly surprised by the news.  The entire Ryall 
starship had the air of a tramp about it.  "Can you extract the data in the 
computer?"
"Already have, sir.  I did that before I started poking around inside.  Didn't 
want to trigger an automatic memory wipe."
"Did you get it all?"
"I think so, sir.  I dumped using three different techniques, and then compared 
each data set with the other two.  All three are identical down to the least 
significant bit.  If anything else is in there, it's hidden too deep for me to 
pry out."
"Can you read it?"
"No, sir.  My specialty is Ryall hardware.  You will need a damned good software 
technician to interpret the crap.  Frankly, I don't know of any that good this 
side of the main fleet."
"How much data is there?"
Scarlotti glanced down and read a number from a computer printout.  "About two 
trillion bytes, Captain."
"How long to transmit it to Arrow back at the Antares foldpoint?"
"All of it, sir?"
Drake nodded.  "Unless you know of some way of extracting only the data we're 
interested in."
The tech was quiet for a moment, his lips moving as he performed a quick 
calculation in his head.  "I'd say a day and a half for the initial squirt, 
followed by two days to check for transmission errors and resend any suspicious 
blocks."
 "Very well, Mr. Scarlotti," Drake responded.  "Duplicate your recordings.  
Bring one copy here to Discovery and send the other toMace .  As soon as you're 
aboard, prepare the data for transmission toArrow ."
"Aye aye, Captain."
Drake turned to Commander Marchant after the computer technician had signed off. 
 "That's damned good news, Rorq.  Now if only we've been lucky and their 
astrogation data is still intact."
The exec nodded.  "It would be quite a letdown if all we've got is the Ryall 
captain's laundry list."
"I don't think he was trying to beat his laundry list to death with that 
wrecking bar."
"No, sir.  Neither do I."
"Is he still sticking to his story?"
The exec nodded.  "He says the Ryall presence on the second planet is limited to 
a mining and smelting operation.  His ship was a bulk ore carrier sent to pick 
up the mine's output.  It's a regular run."
"When is the next ship scheduled to arrive?"
"Not for six months at least, sir.  Maybe longer."
"Where was he headed when we caught up with him?"
"He doesn't know, sir."
"You mean he won't tell."
"No, sir.  I mean he doesn't know!  The interrogators had him hooked up to a 
whole battery of sensors when they questioned him.  He showed no physiological 
changes at all when asked his destination.  Something or someone has completely 
wiped his mind of all astrogation data.  He even looks blank when they mention 
foldpoints to him."
"What about the astrogator?"
"I'm afraid, Captain, that the astrogator was one of the two centaurs killed 
after Private Traconen got it."
"All right.  Get a summary of everything we have learned about the planet's 
defenses off to Saskatoon .  Perhaps it will help Colonel Valdis plan his 
assault."
"Yes, sir.  What about the Ryall ship?"
"We'll give the salvage crew another three days before we destroy it.  After 
that, we'll see if we can't find this mysterious foldpoint Ossfil doesn't 
remember being out here."
#
The attack against the planet took place forty-eight hours later.  Drake spent 
three continuous watches in his command chair monitoring the assault via relayed 
tactical displays and reports.  He need not have bothered.  The Ryall defenders 
proved no match for the Sandarian Marines.
Saskatoon's assault boats had entered the planet's atmosphere in the hemisphere 
opposite the Ryall mine and smelter.  Once safely down, they flew around the 
globe to positions just below the horizon from the Ryall installation.  Two 
hundred Sandarian Marines in full battle armor had then disembarked and moved 
into position for a dawn assault.
The Ryall defenders fought bravely, but unskillfully.  Many of them began firing 
their makeshift weapons wildly at the first sign of attack, and quickly ran out 
of ammunition.  Some chose to defend positions better abandoned, while others 
had appeared confused when overrun, as though they did not understand what they 
were supposed to be doing.  Still others refused to surrender at all and had to 
be shot down.
The most difficult part of the assault involved taking the kilometer-deep mine 
shafts, several of which had been heavily fortified.  For a time it looked as 
though the shafts would have to be sealed by bombardment.  However, the 
stalemate was broken when a squad of Marines probing the outlying areas of the 
complex found an unguarded shaft and made their way through cross tunnels to 
positions behind the Ryall positions.  Once the defenders discovered humans 
behind them, they quickly surrendered.
Even before the last tunnel was pacified, the Marines had spread out and begun a 
thorough search of the mine complex.  When they were finished, they were in 
possession of twenty live prisoners and eighteen enemy corpses.  Marine 
casualties for the battle included seven dead, twelve wounded.
  With the planet in human hands, Drake ordered salvage operations aboard the 
Ryall starship concluded.  The last work party to board the ore carrier left a 
nuclear explosive charge in the main cargo hold.  When the human ships had 
pulled back to a safe distance, Drake ordered the charge detonated.  The 
resulting ball of plasma was visible on the screens for a dozen minutes and to 
the instruments for several hours longer.
Following the ore carrier's destruction, the small armada shifted operations to 
the point in space where the Ryall ship had appeared headed. Discovery launched 
a series of probes to measure the local gravitational constant, and after a week 
of careful measurement and calculation, confirmed the presence of a nearby 
foldpoint.
Drake ordered Mace to take up position within the newly discovered foldpoint to 
guard against any further intrusions by Ryall starships.  Having thus secured 
his flank, he ordered Discovery to begin boosting for the nameless star's second 
planet.
#
Bethany Lindquist walked down the corridor in a swish of light blue fabric and a 
cloud of perfume.  Her dress was a formal evening gown of a style popular with 
Homeport trendsetters; her auburn hair was piled high atop of her head; her face 
was shaded subtly to accentuate her high cheekbones.  A gold necklace that had 
come originally from Earth completed the picture.  The reactions from the few 
grinning spacers she encountered told her that the hours she had spent in front 
of a mirror had not been wasted.
Bethany walked a quarter of the distance around the habitat ring to Richard 
Drake's cabin.  She knocked lightly and waited for the door to open.  Richard 
was resplendent in the full dress uniform of the Altan Navy.  He extended his 
hand to draw her across the threshold.
"You're beautiful!" he exclaimed, letting his eyes roam up and down her form.
"Thank you, kind sir," she said, curtsying slightly.  "The invitation did 
specify a formal dinner party, did it not?"
"It did."
Bethany's gaze swept the room.  She was not surprised to note the presence of 
only two place settings at the table."
"Aren't you afraid the rest of the crew will be jealous?" she asked.
"Let them.  I am tired of not being able to pay proper court to my lady.  
Besides, if you are going down to the surface tomorrow, this may well be our 
last chance to have dinner together for quite some time."
Bethany laughed.  "If I'd known accepting Professor Alvarez's offer would bring 
this response, I would have brought him to see you sooner."
"I'm just glad you brought him when you did," Drake replied.
Bethany had been eating lunch in Discovery 's wardroom the previous day when 
Professor Boris Alvarez, Fellow of the Royal Sandarian Academy, had taken the 
seat next to hers and struck up a conversation.
 After fifteen minutes in which it became obvious that he had something more on 
his mind than merely passing the time with the only woman aboard ship, Bethany 
had asked him, "May I help you with something, Professor?
"Well ... ah, I mean ... well, yes, now that you mention it, Miss Lindquist, you 
can.  I would like to speak to you about a matter of some importance."
"I'm listening."
"Ah, you are aware that I have made something of specialty in the study of Ryall 
technology, particularly information systems, are you not?"
"I know that you are the closest thing to an expert we have aboard this ship, 
Professor."
"Have you also heard that the Marines have captured a large Ryall computer down 
on the planet's surface?"
Bethany had nodded.  "I understand they're planning to suck this one dry of 
data, too."
"In my opinion, Miss Lindquist, that would be counterproductive."
"Why?"
"Look," Alvarez replied, suddenly becoming more animated.  "We took a great deal 
of information out of that ore carrier's computer, only we have no way of 
deciphering precisely what it says.  Like us, the centaurs store data in a form 
that makes sense to their machines, but not necessarily to themselves.  That 
starship information consists of all manner of computer programs mixed in with 
subsidiary data.  Even were we able to segregate the programs from the data, we 
would need to understand the operation of the programs to read the data.  Do you 
understand what I am saying?"
Bethany nodded, then added, "No one said that it would be easy."
"True.  But that is no reason for us to make it more difficult than it need be."
"I don't understand, Professor."
Alvarez hunched forward earnestly.  "It seems to me that we may be able to 
install the ore carrier's information in the computer that the Marines have 
captured, and possibly get the programs running.  All Ryall computers use more 
or less the same operating system, you know."
Bethany had frowned.  "To what purpose?"
"Simply this," Alvarez had replied.  "If we can get the programs running, there 
will be no need to decipher the whole mass of information in order to extract 
the data that interests us. Rather, we have merely to ask the computer what we 
wish to know.  If we've done our job right, it will tell us!"
Bethany was pensive for a moment.  "Have you talked to Captain Drake about 
this?"
Alvarez shook his head.  "No.  I am afraid that I do not explain things well to 
people.  You know a lot about Ryall information systems.  You can help me 
explain the concept to him.  Afterwards, I will also need an assistant down on 
the surface."
"Are you offering me the job, Professor?"
"Yes, if you would like it."
"I accept.  Brief me on the mechanics of what we are talking about, and then 
we'll ask for an appointment to see the boss."
Upon hearing Alvarez's proposal, Drake had ordered its immediate implementation. 
 The three of them had then spent an hour discussing what would be needed for 
the project to proceed.  Afterwards, Bethany and Alvarez had returned to their 
respective cabins to begin packing.  Thirty minutes later, Bethany had been 
interrupted by a spacer who had presented her with a sealed envelope.  Opening 
it, she'd found the dinner invitation from Richard.
Drake took Bethany's wrap and guided her to the leather couch.  They were served 
drinks by a white-coated steward who otherwise remained in the background.  They 
spoke of Alvarez's plan and of various other minor matters until dinner was 
ready.  Transferring to the table in the center of the cabin, Drake held 
Bethany's chair as she seated herself, then moved to the side opposite.  The 
steward had previously lighted three candles in the center of the table.  As 
soon as they were seated, he dimmed the overhead lights to their night settings. 
 Watching the perfect manners of the steward, Bethany found it difficult to 
remember that this same man had helped storm the Ryall starship only ten days 
earlier.
Eventually, dessert was served and Drake dismissed the steward.  He left the 
cabin without a word, trundling a cart piled high with the ship's finest silver 
service.  Bethany finished off the last of a piece of pie with ice cream, and 
lifted a coffee cup to her lips.  Gazing over the rim of the cup, she said, "You 
didn't have to do this, you know!"
"Do what?" Drake asked.
"Put on this fancy spread for me.  I have been ready to sneak into your bed 
nightly for the past three months.  A sandwich of cold lunch meat and day-old 
ribolf salad would have been more than adequate."
"But this is so much more romantic," he replied, letting his arm sweep across 
the table in a gallant gesture.  He then went on in a more normal tone.  
"Besides, I'm afraid I had an ulterior motive when I planned this dinner."
"Oh?" she asked in mock surprise.
"What I should have said is that I have another ulterior motive.  Do you 
remember a conversation we had just after returning from Sandar?  You expressed 
concern that the prisoners we'd talked to might have been telling us what the 
Sandarians wanted us to hear."
She nodded.  "I thought they might have been coerced into parroting Sandarian 
propaganda."
"Do you still feel that way?"
"No," Bethany replied.  "I've learned enough since to know that data obtained 
from prisoner interviews is meticulously controlled.  However, I do wonder 
whether such data isn't misapplied at times."
"How so?"
"Obviously, Richard, since most prisoners are members of the Ryall military 
caste, our views of the Ryall species are strongly influenced by the military 
caste outlook.  How do we know that outlook is shared by the managerial caste 
that runs the hegemony, or by the other castes, for that matter?"
"Would you like an opportunity to find out?"
"How?"
"We captured the manager of the Corlis mine and smelter along with nineteen 
other Ryall.  I would like you to interview her for us when you're down on the 
surface."
 "Why me, Richard?"
"Because the Sandarians have been conditioned to think of the Ryall as 
humanity's implacable enemy.  If we rely solely on Colonel Valdis' 
interrogators, everything we learn will be colored by that attitude.  You, on 
the other hand, are relatively open-minded when it comes to the Ryall.  You 
possess a specialized knowledge of both Ryall psychology and physiology.  You 
have studied the centaurs enough that you should have some feeling as to whether 
you are being told the truth.  In summary, my love, you are the perfect person 
for the job.  How about it?"
Rather than answering him directly, Bethany said, "Do you know, Richard, that my 
uncle almost refused to let me come on this expedition?"
"For God's sake, why?"
"He was worried that my love for you would blind me to the fact that my primary 
duty lies with Earth."
"What has that to do with what we are talking about?"
Bethany shrugged.  "Perhaps nothing.  Still, we both know that prisoner 
interview data is normally classified at least 'confidential,' and sometimes 
much higher.  It is also a well known fact that interrogators aren't supposed to 
talk about their work."
"So?"
"So I want it understood in advance that I am free to share anything I learn 
with the Interstellar Council the moment we reach Earth."
"I see no problem with that, Bethany."
She smiled.  "In that case, I consider it an honor to interview this prisoner 
for you, Richard.  In fact, I would never have forgiven you if you had given the 
job to anyone else.  I have dreamed of getting my hands on a member of the 
managerial caste ever since I knew there was such a thing.  I have some theories 
I'd like to see tested out."
"Good!  Now that that's settled, let's talk about something else," he said, 
taking her hands in his own.  "You are looking particularly ravishing tonight, 
my love...."
#
  
CHAPTER 15
  
The polyarcs in Discovery 's main hangar bay gave Landing Boat Moliere a bright, 
blue-white sheen as Boris Alvarez and Bethany Lindquist arrived the next morning 
for the ninety-minute flight down to Corlis.  Bethany was slightly hung over and 
sleepy, but otherwise content.  After dinner, she and Drake had made love into 
the small hours of the morning, parting only when she had had to return to her 
own cabin to finish packing.  She was definitely logy, however, as she followed 
Professor Alvarez onboard the landing boat.  It was all she could do to strap 
herself into one of the acceleration couches before she drifted off to sleep.
She woke some time later to a jolting sensation and the high-pitched keening of 
hypersonic wind rushing past the hull outside.  Opening her eyes with a start, 
she turned toward Alvarez, who was watching the play of plasma streams outside 
the viewport.
"How long have I been asleep?" she asked.
"Forty minutes," he replied.  "We're just entering atmosphere now."
She considered going back to sleep, but then thought better of it.  Instead, the 
two of them watched in silence as the boat sliced through the night air a 
hundred kilometers above the surface of the virgin planet below.  Save for a few 
wildfires burning in the distance and the widespread sparks of lightning 
flashes, the planetary disk was black.  Half an hour later, they crossed the 
terminator into daylight and the landscape turned a dull tan and orange color.
"Pretty big desert," Alvarez observed.
Bethany nodded.  Their speed was such that the desert quickly fell astern, to be 
replaced by a wide sea.  For ten minutes, they flew above the azure blue of deep 
water before once again making landfall.  This time the land was covered by a 
dense forest of blue-green vegetation.  Bethany watched in fascination as detail 
appeared to boil up out of the land below, an optical illusion brought about by 
the landing boat's swift descent.
Finally, they were over their destination.  Bethany had only the briefest 
glimpse of the Ryall installation before the boat transitioned to a low hover, 
and dust kicked up by the underjets rose to throw a curtain over everything 
beyond the viewport.  Even so, the momentary view had left her with an 
impression of domelike buildings scattered among the open frameworks of alien 
machinery.
The boat had barely touched down when the dozen passengers began unstrapping and 
dragging their luggage out of the overhead bins.  Bethany inserted herself 
between Professor Alvarez and the broad back of a corporal of Sandarian Marines. 
 As she did so, she caught sight of the activity taking place on the other side 
of the crude landing field.
"What's going on?" she wondered aloud.  "Why all the landing craft?"
The corporal turned, stooped to look through the viewport, and said,  "Those are 
Saskatoon 's boats, Ma'am.  We have orders to ship our assault vehicles and 
heavy weapons back to orbit as quickly as possible.  Scuttlebutt has it that we 
may have to abandon this world in a hurry if a Ryall ship pops through that 
second foldpoint."
"Makes sense," Bethany said, nodding.  Her original question had been largely 
rhetorical.  If she had thought about it, she would have known thatSaskatoon 's 
boats would be loading about now.  She had been present at the meeting where 
Richard Drake had decided to order Saskatoon 's commander to get the Marines' 
heavy equipment back onboard their ship.
"Yeah, that makes sense, Ma'am.  But what about the other orders?"
She attempted to stifle a yawn with partial success and asked, "What other 
orders, Corporal?"
"The orders to clean this damned place up, Ma'am.  Silliest damned thing I ever 
heard.  They want us to pack up everything we brought down with us, and I 
meaneverything !  Garbage, ration tins, spent cartridge cases, used up power 
packs.  Why, they even have teams out obliterating our vehicle tracks and 
footprints back in the bush!  For chrissake, you would think the King hisself 
was coming for Sunday morning inspection!  Does that make any sense to you?"
"That is the army for you, Corporal," Bethany replied.
"Damned right it is!"
Actually, the cleanup orders had their origin in the same meeting where it had 
been decided to begin the embarkation process.  The hope onboard Discovery was 
that they could erase all traces of human presence from the planet.  If they 
were successful and if the fleet subsequently managed to get clear of the system 
before the next Ryall starship arrived, they would leave the centaurs with a 
mystery to solve, but no hard evidence of human presence this deep in Ryall 
space.
Bethany's ears popped as the boat's internal pressure was equalized with that of 
the outside atmosphere.  In the front part of the passenger cabin, the airlock 
door swung slowly inward, accompanied by a puff of dust-laden air.
Upon disembarking, Bethany and Professor Alvarez found a Sandarian lieutenant 
waiting to escort them to Marine headquarters.  The three walked along a pathway 
that had been cut from native rock.  Their goal was a large, dome-shaped 
building.  Once inside, the lieutenant led them to an arched doorway next to 
which a hand drawn sign had been hung.  It read:
  
COLONEL O. Z. VALDIS, K.o.S., O.B.V.
COMMANDING OFFICER
33RD REGIMENT, 2ND BATTALION, 6TH DIVISION
SANDARIAN ROYAL SPACE MARINES
  
Knock Before Entering
  
The lieutenant rapped twice on the doorframe next to the sign, waited for 
permission, then pulled back the covering animal skin to allow them to enter.
Colonel Valdis was a tall gray haired man with the trim body of a professional 
warrior and an impressive set of facial scars.  He crossed from the makeshift 
desk he had been using with a portable command console to where Bethany and 
Professor Alvarez were standing.
He leaned forward and kissed Bethany's outstretched hand.  "Good to have you 
with us, Miss Lindquist."
"Good to be here, Colonel.  I'd just about given up hope of getting my feet back 
on solid ground until we reach Earth."
The colonel guffawed.  "Spoken like a true Marine!  I hope we can make your stay 
here a memorable one."  He then turned to Professor Alvarez and saluted him.  
"Welcome, Sir Boris.  If there is anything that I can do for you, please don't 
hesitate to ask."
"All I require, Colonel, is for someone to show me to this computer you 
captured."
"And you, Miss Lindquist?" Valdis asked, turning his attention back to Bethany.
"Did Captain Drake advise you that I was to interview one of the prisoners?"
"Yes, Ma'am, although I can't think of why you would want to."
"I've made the Ryall my special field of study ever since we discovered their 
existence," Bethany said.  "Yet, I've never actually seen one."
"It will take some time to arrange the interview, Miss Lindquist.  My own 
interrogators are using the equipment at the moment, and it's important that we 
get the individual stories on tape before they have time to agree on a lie."
"I'm in no hurry, Colonel.  Just sometime before we head back up to the ship."
"Very well.  Lieutenant Harreck!"
The lieutenant who had guided them from the landing area immediately appeared.
"Please show our guests to their work area and instruct them in the regulations 
governing our occupation."
"Yes, sir."
"It was good to meet you, Miss Lindquist.  You too, Sir Boris.  Harreck here 
will show you to your work area and will arrange quarters for you."
"You are most kind, Colonel."
"My pleasure, Sir Boris.  Now, if you will excuse me, I have an evacuation to 
run."
#
The captured Ryall computer turned out to be a typical example of centaur 
information processing technology.  Even so, and despite Professor Alvarez's 
cavalier assumption that loading the astrogation database would be relatively 
straightforward, they ran into difficulties almost immediately.  The first 
problem involved incompatible storage media.  The data that had been taken from 
the starship had been recorded in standard holographic data cubes  standard, 
that is, for human beings.  Unfortunately, the Ryall equivalent involved thin, 
translucent strips.  The captured computer included several strip readers, but 
of course, no cube readers.
It had taken nearly an entire thirty-hour day for Alvarez to adapt the cube 
reader out of a Marine fire control computer to interface with the Ryall 
machine.  Then he and Bethany had slept six hours before another long session to 
load the starship data into the captured machine.
Then had come the problem of activating the various starship programs.  To 
Bethany's surprise, Boris Alvarez turned out to be a skilled translator of the 
dot patterns that made up the Ryall script.  For two days, he scanned the 
computer operations manual, translating those sections that he thought would be 
of some use.  He kept Bethany busy transcribing notes and putting them into an 
easily retrievable form.
Finally, when Alvarez felt confident enough to begin manipulating the computer 
directly, he seated himself in front of the readout screen and ran his hands 
over the slightly slippery surface of the input/output sphere.  The machine 
responded by scrolling a distinctive pattern of dots right to left across the 
face of the screen.
"It looks as though you know what you are doing," Bethany said, observing the 
ease with which he manipulated the alien artifact.
Alvarez nodded, obviously pleased by the compliment.  "I could do a lot better 
if I had an extra thumb like the Ryall.  Still, it isn't difficult once you get 
the hang of it."
"Shall I set up the recorders?"
"Yes.  We should be ready to begin exploring our data base any time now."
"I'll get started right away.  At least the hard part is over!"
Alvarez looked at her as one looks at a child.  "The preliminaries are over, 
Miss Lindquist.  The hard part is about to begin!"
#
A crisp, cool wind blew down the valley and wafted Bethany's hair into her eyes 
as she stepped from the protection of the headquarters building.  She stopped to 
stretch and work out the kinks of too many hours spent in front of a computer 
screen.  As she did so, she breathed deeply of Corlis' virgin air and noted that 
the smell of rain had been added to the normal cinnamon and orange blossom 
scent.  Overhead, the scudding white clouds of late morning had turned to dark, 
towering thunderheads just as the meteorologists had predicted they would.  
Bethany did not mind.  After months of being cooped up in Discovery , a bit of 
violent weather was a welcome diversion.
Having worked the largest of the knots from her muscles, she moved quickly away 
from the dome-shaped headquarters building, being careful to keep to the hard 
surfaced pathway.  Her destination was the Quonset-style structure in which the 
Ryall prisoners were housed.  As she walked, her gaze was drawn to the hills on 
each side of the valley, and to the line of blue-green vegetation that marked 
the farthest extent of the Ryall excavations.  From a distance, the growth 
looked like a typical forest of the Altan highlands, although the trees appeared 
more stunted and gnarled than at home.
Bethany let her gaze follow the forest line to the large earthen dam that the 
Ryall had constructed upstream of their complex.  Marines who had scouted that 
far reported a large lake behind the dam, one that grew perceptibly larger with 
each afternoon thunderstorm.  At the dam's base was a white box of a structure 
from which a dozen large diameter pipes emanated.  The pipes split into two 
groups just below the valve house, and ran ten kilometers down each side of the 
valley.  They disappeared into the ground just before reaching the first of the 
vertical shafts that the Ryall had drilled into bedrock.
Rising in the distance beyond the dam, their flanks softened by atmospheric 
scattering, were several large snow capped mountains.  The mountain range 
reminded Bethany of the Colgate Mountains east of Homeport and made her a little 
sad that this beautiful world would soon have to be abandoned.
She was still gazing off into the distance and thinking of what humankind could 
do with a world like Corlis when she reached the prisoners' barracks.  Forcing 
her attention back to the job at hand, she checked through the Marine guard post 
at the only opening in a hastily erected electric fence.  She was escorted to an 
interview room.  Inside, she found a single metal folding chair, a matching 
table, and a translator computer.  The translator's pickup microphones had been 
affixed to the walls and ceiling.
"They're bringing Varlan now, Ma'am," the sergeant who had escorted her from the 
guard station said.
Bethany thanked him and turned to face the door opposite the one through which 
she had entered.  Less than a minute later, the door opened and two Marines 
armed with riot guns escorted a Ryall into the interview room.
The Ryall was gray-green on top and shaded to tan below.  Its cranial bulge was 
prominent, but the snout seemed shorter than the photographs that Bethany had 
seen.  The body was also sleeker than the drone warrior types that made up the 
bulk of humanity's prisoners.  The tail was longer and the pads at the end of 
the feet were larger.  The head on the long neck twisting in a slow traverse as 
the Ryall surveyed its surroundings.
"Miss Bethany Lindquist," the sergeant said formally, "May I present Varlan of 
the Scented Waters, Manager of the Corlis Mineral Extraction Complex.  Varlan, I 
have the honor to present Bethany Lindquist, a great leader among my people."
Bethany found herself the object of intense scrutiny by a single jet black eye.  
Varlan's mouth was open, revealing a double row of razor sharp teeth and a 
triforked tongue.  Bethany knew from her studies that the Ryall breathed through 
their mouths, which accounted for the resemblance to a dog's panting.
"Hello, Varlan," Bethany said.
There followed a noise something like the sound of a flute, after that the 
speaker on the table said, "Greetings, Bethany of the Lindquists.  How may this 
one assist you?"
Bethany glanced up at the three Marines who had taken up station around the 
room, their riot guns at the ready.  "Thank you, Sergeant.  Will you and your 
men please wait outside?"
"I wouldn't advise that, Ma'am.  Those teeth are sharp and they can swing that 
tail of theirs with a vengeance.  One of the defenders nearly took my head clean 
off, and me wearing battle armor at the time!"
"I'm sure I will be safe, Sergeant.  Varlan isn't going to harm me knowing that 
you are outside."
"Okay, Ma'am.  It's your funeral."
The Ryall watched the Marines file out of the room, tilting her head in order to 
follow their progress with her right eye while keeping Bethany in constant view 
of her left.  When the solid door (a temporary improvement to the barracks) 
closed behind them, she shifted her entire attention to Bethany.
"It is my understanding that you are female, Varlan of the Scented Waters," 
Bethany began.
"I am," the Ryall replied.
"So am I," Bethany responded.  "I am curious as to whether we females think 
alike."
"How can we?" Varlan asked.  "We are of different species."
"But there must be similarities.  We are the sex that brings forth new life, are 
we not?"
"We are," Varlan replied.
"Then surely our outlooks must overlap somewhat."
"What an odd thought."
"Shall we attempt to find common ground on which to base our discussions, then?"
Varlan made a gesture that Bethany did not recognize.  It consisted of emitting 
a hissing sound at the same time she flapped her ear membranes.  "Among my race 
we would say 'Shall we attempt to swim the river of consensus?'"
"Shall we?"
"A prisoner does well to humor her jailers," the Ryall replied.  "Also, the 
concept is an interesting one."
Bethany started the discussion by describing the human reproductive cycle and 
the fact that human young are born alive.  She continued by explaining the 
effect this simple fact of nature had on human attitudes.  The Ryall, she soon 
learned, had somewhat analogous attitudes, although, since they had no way to 
know which hatchlings were their own, their affection tended to be generalized.  
This in turn made it easy for the Ryall to grasp the concept of group loyalty, 
and ultimately, loyalty to the entire species.
"See," Bethany said after they had been talking for more than an hour, "there 
appears to be nothing that our two races cannot discuss rationally with one 
another."
"That would appear to be true."
"Then why do you Ryall hate and fear us so?"
"We do not hate you, Bethany of the Lindquists.  Nor do we fear you."
"Yet, you attacked us without provocation and refuse all of our attempts at 
negotiating an end to this war between us."
"Your very existence is provocation enough," Varlan replied.
"That is not an answer.  Surely, the universe is big enough for both of us.  Why 
must we fight one another when there are so many stars to be claimed?"
Varlan moved her head to gaze at the single window in the interview room.  "Look 
there, Bethany of the Lindquists," she said; gesturing with one six fingered 
hand.  "What do you see?"
Bethany followed the Ryall's gesture.  "I see the other side of the valley, the 
forest, and the mountains beyond."
"Do you find this scene attractive?"
Bethany nodded.  "I do indeed.  This is a lovely world.  It reminds me of home."
"Then we agree on something else," Varlan replied.  "I too can gaze at the 
mountains in the distance and think of my home among the stars."
"One more reason why we should be friends."
The Ryall hissed.  "All the more reason why we must be enemies!  History teaches 
that two intelligent species cannot share a single habitat.  Both must expand 
their range until one day, they will find themselves in conflict."
"Even if that were true," Bethany replied, "it will be thousands of years before 
we run out of living room on the planets we now hold.  Why fight now?"
"Would you have us place the burden of ridding the universe of you humans on 
future generations?"
"I would try to avoid fighting altogether," Bethany replied with a sigh.  
"However, I appreciate your honesty.  A human in your position would probably 
have told me what he thought I wanted to hear."
"To what avail?" Varlan asked.  "When the logic of a situation is plain for all 
to see, where lies the advantage in proving oneself a liar or deluded?
  
CHAPTER 16
  
"Decontamination complete, Milady!  You may step through into the next cubicle 
and get dressed."
Bethany watched the last of the vile smelling decontamination fluid gurgle down 
the drain at her feet, and then glanced up at the overhead speaker from which 
the unseen operator's voice had emanated.  As she did so, she wondered if he 
could see her.
"What about my clothing?" she asked, shivering slightly in the sudden cold draft 
of the chamber.
"Undergoing fumigation, Milady.  You will find a new shipsuit in the cubicle."
"Thank you!"
"You are most welcome."
Bethany pressed the control that opened the airtight door leading from the 
chamber to the changing cubical beyond.  True to the operator's word, the 
plastic bag into which she had sealed the clothing she had worn on Corlis was 
gone.  In its place was a neatly folded replacement outfit.  She dried herself, 
then carefully slipped into new underwear, shipsuit, and soft boots.  She 
brushed her hair using a brush from the tiny personal effects kit that had 
accompanied the clothing, and studied the result in the full length mirror that 
hung on the inside of the cubical door.  Other than temporarily looking like a 
drowned rodent and smelling of disinfectant, she decided that she was none the 
worse for wear.  She slipped the packet of personal effects into a pocket of the 
shipsuit, opened the cubical door, and stepped into the corridor beyond.
"Welcome aboard Terra ," a voice said from somewhere behind her.
She turned to find Captain Lord Rheinhardt Dreyer, the Sandarian cruiser's 
captain, waiting for her.  The captain was a tall man, with a lean figure, 
close-cropped sandy hair, and eyes that were a pale blue.  He wore the undress 
uniform of the Royal Sandarian Navy.
"Captain Dreyer!  There was no need for you to come down to meet me."
The Sandarian officer chuckled.  "Oh, but there was.  Captain Drake would have 
my ears if you were not treated properly while aboard my ship.  I'm sorry that 
you couldn't have been routed directly to Discovery , but the regulations 
concerning decontamination after a visit to an alien biosphere are extremely 
stringent."
"As they should be," Bethany replied.  "I understand from Varlan that the Ryall 
had a number of laborers come down with unknown diseases on Corlis.  I'm no 
expert, but it seems to me that any microorganism that can feed off Ryall 
biochemistry might do as well on human."
"Varlan?" The Sandarian captain looked blank for a moment, then nodded.  He 
struggled to keep a tone of disapproval from his voice and very nearly 
succeeded.  "Ah, yes, that is one of the Ryall prisoners, is it not?  Colonel 
Valdis reported that you had quite a number of interviews with the prisoners 
while you were on Corlis."
"I interviewed Varlan, the manager of the Corlis mine, three times.  After two 
years of studying the Ryall from books and printouts, I found it refreshing to 
finally meet one in the flesh."
"And did he match your expectations?"
"She."
"Beg your pardon?"
"Varlan's female.  And yes, it was definitely educational.  Ever talk to one of 
them?"
The Sandarian shook his head.  "In my business, Milady, we seldom get close 
enough to the enemy to hold a conversation.  No, our 'communicating' is done 
with missiles and antimatter projectors.  As for prisoner interrogations, I 
leave those to specialists."
"You are probably wise.  The Ryall seem to have their own logic for looking at 
the universe."
Dreyer nodded.  "My people have been trying to understand the centaurs without 
success for the better part of a century."
"Now that I've talked to a Ryall, I think I understand the problem better."
"Where is Sir Boris, Milady?"
"He stayed behind to check out some last minute information.  He's scheduled up 
on the morning shuttle."
"Speaking of which," Dreyer said, "I'm afraid that you just missed the scheduled 
boat for Discovery .  Shall I arrange a special ferry?"
"No need.  I can wait for the scheduled run in the morning."
Dreyer grinned.  "I was hoping you would say that.  I have taken the liberty of 
having your luggage sent to Cabin 173 on Gamma Deck.  I would be honored if you 
will be my guest at dinner this evening."
"Thank you, Captain.  I accept."
"Excellent!  Dinner is at 20:00 hours."
#
After a late evening of Sandarian hospitality, Bethany was up early to catch the 
interorbit ferry for Discovery .  With four ships in orbit about Corlis, the 
task force had established its own scheduled spaceline, with two flights daily 
between the orbiting warships.  From Terra toDiscovery was a twenty-minute 
voyage.  Bethany spent the time with her nose pressed to the viewport, watching 
the beauty of Corlis stream by below.
Richard Drake was waiting in Discovery 's main hangar bay when she disembarked.  
Seeing him at the foot of the ladder, Bethany literally flew into his arms in 
the microgravity of the hangar bay.  It was all that he could do to keep his 
grip on the stanchion he had used to anchor himself.
"Welcome home," he said as he enfolded her in a one armed embrace.  They kissed 
and then clung to one another while ordinary spacers either grinned or 
studiously ignored them.
"It's good to be home, Richard," she said, breathless, after their lips finally 
parted.  She glanced at the bay around them.  "Nothing's changed, I see."
He turned his head to follow her gaze, and noted the sudden increase in activity 
among the spacers whose job it was to offload cargo from the ferry craft.  
"You've only been gone ten days.  Here, these are for you."
She struggled from his arms to discover a bouquet of red and white roses in the 
hand he had been using to steady himself.
"They're beautiful!"
"Not nearly as beautiful as you."
"You flatter me, sir ... and I love it!"
"It's the plain truth.
"I still love it."
"How was your trip?" he asked.
"Both interesting and educational.  How were things while I was gone?"
"Nerve wracking," he replied.  "Every day I expect Mace to report that a Ryall 
ship has popped out of that second foldpoint.  I understand you and Alvarez hit 
the jackpot!"
Bethany nodded.  "The man's a virtuoso when it comes to playing a Ryall 
input/output sphere, Richard.  You should have seen him.  It was uncanny."
"So I gathered.  He's requested that I arrange a conference to go over your 
discoveries."
"When?"
"This afternoon.  Care to give me a preview?"
"Boris asked me not to.  I hope you don't mind, Richard.  He did most of the 
work, so it's only fair that he get the credit."
Drake shrugged.  "I suppose I can wait."
"That's why I love you so, Richard.  You are the most understanding martinet 
I've ever known."
Having left the hangar bay, they pulled themselves hand over hand along the main 
Alpha Deck circumferential corridor.  Drake led the way to his cabin, which was 
up two decks and a quarter of the way around the habitat ring.  When they 
arrived, Drake guided Bethany the guest chair in front of his desk.
"When will gravity be restored?" she asked as she fumbled for the chair's 
restraint belt.
He glanced at the chronometer on the far bulkhead.  "Another ten minutes.  As 
soon as they launch the ferry, they will put some spin on.  Care to report on 
your discussions with the Ryall manager?"
"Yes, as long as I have time to clean up before the conference.  I showered once 
last night, and again this morning, and my hair still smells of that damned bug 
spray."
"On you, my dear, even bug spray smells good."
Bethany laughed.  "Love isn't only blind, it also lacks a sense of smell!"
Drake leaned forward and switched on his recorder.  He spoke for more than a 
minute, reciting for the record the circumstances under which Bethany had gone 
down to Corlis and his instructions to her.  With a final glance at the sound 
level readout, he nodded to Bethany.  "Proceed with your report."
Bethany began by describing her initial meeting with Colonel Valdis.
"What was Colonel Valdis' reaction to your request to interview the prisoner?"
Bethany shook her head.  "He was gracious, although I think he may have been 
annoyed, too. He hid it well, but I got the impression that he would have 
preferred if I hadn't been such a bother."
"Any trouble with scheduling the interview?"
"It took a few days, but then we were awfully busy with the computer.  I 
received word one morning that Varlan would be available late in the afternoon.  
They had everything ready for me when I reached the prisoner barracks."
"How did you approach the question of a negotiated end to the war?"
"I don't remember exactly, but it seemed a natural question to ask at the time."
"And Varlan's response?"
Bethany sighed.  "The same as every other Ryall prisoner I've ever heard of.  So 
far as she's concerned, there isn't enough room in the universe for both our 
species."
"What was her mood when she told you that?  Angry, nervous, distraught?"
"None of those.  That is what makes it so discouraging.  She could just as 
easily have been discussing the first law of thermodynamics.  As far as the 
Ryall are concerned, the extermination of one intelligent species by another is 
just an unfortunate fact of life."
Drake leaned back in his chair and gazed at Bethany through steepled fingertips. 
 "That is essentially the same story we've gotten from Ossfil and his crew.  If 
high-level Ryall managers and merchant starship captains are not able to see the 
futility of carrying on this war, then there probably is not a single Ryall 
alive who can.  Damn the swift eaters!"
"Which reminds me," Bethany said.  "Varlan and I discussed the legend of the 
swifts during our second interview."
"And?"
"And they're no legend.  The Ryall have swift skeletons in their museums.  They 
use them to indoctrinate the hatchlings."
"Then the Sandarians are right.  The only way to win this war is to blow the 
Ryall back to their home worlds?"
"I'm not so sure of that," Bethany replied, her brow furrowed in concentration.  
"I think maybe both we and the Sandarians are giving up too easily.  After all, 
I've only had eight hours or so to talk to Varlan about things that must be very 
alien to her."
"What are you suggesting?"
"That she be brought here to Discovery where I can continue to work on her.  
Perhaps I can bring her around to our way of thinking.  If I succeed, at least 
it will prove that they can be swayed by logic."
"And if you don't?"
Bethany shrugged.  "Then I guess we do unto others before they have a chance to 
do unto us!"
#
Drake accompanied Bethany to the afternoon conference.  "I see you've had some 
time to pull yourself together," he said when she opened her cabin door for him.
"Like it?" she asked, pirouetting for his inspection.  Gone were the shipsuit 
and the plain hairstyle of that morning.  In its place was a semiformal pants 
suit with a moderately plunging bodice and an asymmetric hairstyle.  "I thought 
I would get dressed up.  After all, thisis something of an occasion."
The wardroom was full to capacity when they arrived.  Bethany and Drake weaved 
their way through the crowd to the front of the compartment where a lectern and 
holoscreen had been set up.  Their destination was the clump of scientists and 
Sandarian military officers who had congregated around Boris Alvarez.  Drake 
pushed his way through and extended his hand to the Sandarian scientist.
"Good to have you back, Sir Boris."
"Thank you, Captain," Alvarez replied.  The scientist had dark bags under his 
eyes and sunken cheeks that Drake did not remember having been there before.  
Still, his eyes shone with an unnatural brightness and his handshake was firm 
and resolute.  There followed five minutes in which everyone found a seat, and 
Alvarez conferred in urgent whispers with Bethany.  Eventually, Bethany took her 
seat next to Drake's, and let her hand steal into his as soon as the lights 
faded to the dim blue radiance normally used to simulate night.
"Greetings, Captain Drake, Captain Dreyer, officers of Discovery and Terra , and 
colleagues," Alvarez began in a loud, strong voice.  "As you know, ten days ago, 
Miss Lindquist and I went down to Corlis.  Our task there was to see if we could 
extract the astrogation data we captured with the Ryall ore carrier.  I am 
pleased to announce that we were successful!"
Alvarez manipulated the screen control and caused the holoscreen to light up.  
Near the bottom of the screen were two star symbols.  The larger was labeled 
'ANTARES NEBULA'; the smaller, 'EULYSTA/Corlis.'  Between the two symbols was 
the dotted line marking an active foldline link.
"Here you have the path by which we entered this system.  The link between 
Antares and Eulysta is quite recent.  It was originally formed when Antares 
exploded.  Because the Eulysta-Antares foldpoint leads directly into the heart 
of the nebula, the Ryall apparently consider it impassable."
Alvarez touched the control and a third star suddenly materialized in the depths 
of the screen.  "This is Carratyl.  It is the next system in from Eulysta."  
Alvarez paused and looked up from his notes.  "I hope everyone realizes that 
these names are translations of Ryall originals.  The original of 'Carratyl' 
sounds like someone clearing his throat.
"It was Carratyl toward which the Ryall ore carrier was fleeing when we caught 
up with it.  Unlike Eulysta, which is virtually uninhabited, Carratyl is a bona 
fide system of the Ryall Hegemony.  It possesses a single inhabited world, 
Kalatin, which has a population of approximately one billion.  Kalatin is an 
agricultural world.  The pilot's ephemeris from which we obtained this data 
indicates that there is a small naval base on the largest of its three moons.
"Which brings us to the next system of interest," Alvarez said as he caused a 
fourth star symbol to appear on the screen.  "I won't trouble you with the Ryall 
name, for we humans have known this star since ancient times.  I give you 
Spica!"
There was a sudden silence throughout the wardroom, followed by a low muttering 
from the astronomers present.  Drake gazed with amazement at the flock of 
symbols that had suddenly appeared on the screen.  From somewhere nearby, a 
voice muttered, "My God!  Six ... seven ... eight foldpoints!"
Up on the podium, it was obvious that Boris Alvarez was enjoying their reaction 
to his sudden revelation.  He grinned as he said,  "As most of you have already 
noticed, Spica possesses a total of eight foldpoints.  This makes it the hub 
star of the largest foldspace cluster ever discovered.  More importantly, 
however, Spica is the premier system of the Ryall Hegemony, as you will shortly 
see."
Alvarez manipulated his control and the other stars of Ryall space began 
appearing.  Even before the full diagram was completed, the pattern was clear to 
those who knew how to read a foldspace topology chart.  Drake scanned the 
diagram in growing disbelief.  Short strings and branches of foldlines tied the 
individual star systems of the Ryall Hegemony to one another.  Here three stars 
were strung together; there two others branched away from a third.  In another 
case, four stars were connected in a rare closed ring pattern.  As he searched 
the diagram, however, Drake could find no telltale line connecting any two of 
the small groupings save through the central hub system of Spica.  Alvarez 
confirmed his growing suspicions a few seconds later.
  "There are twenty-two separate systems in the Ryall Hegemony. Every single one 
of them belongs to the Spica Foldspace Cluster!"
  
CHAPTER 17
  
From:  Drake, R. A.
     Task Force Commander
  
To:      All Ship Captains
    All Ground Force Commanders
  
Date: 11 September 2639 (UC)
Time: 20:00 hours (UT)
  
Subject:  Orders
  
1. Final preparations for the abandonment of Corlis will begin immediately.  All 
personnel will adhere to the following timetable:
  
1.1 Ryall prisoners will be transferred to orbit beginning 09:00 hours, 12 
September 2639.
  
1.2 Final inspections of Corlis mining complex will be completed by 09:00 hours, 
13 September 2639.
  
1.3 The last landing boat will lift from Corlis no later than 18:00 hours, 13 
September 2639.
  
2. The fleet will depart Corlis parking orbit at 24:00 hours, 13 September 2639, 
and will arrive at the Eulysta-Antares foldpoint at 12:00 hours on 18 September 
2639.
  
3. Sandarian space navy destroyer Mace will coordinate its departure from the 
Eulysta-Carratyl foldpoint in order to arrive at the Eulysta-Antares foldpoint 
simultaneously with the rest of the fleet.
  
(Signed)
  
Richard Drake
Fleet Captain
Altan Space Navy
#
Drake sat in his command chair and watched Landing Boat Moliere disappear 
intoDiscovery 's open landing bay.  As quickly as the winged arrow had 
disappeared into the curve of the habitat ring, the cruiser's senior ship 
handler reported via ship's intercom.
"Landing boat successfully retrieved, Captain."
"Very good, Mr. Salmonson," Drake replied.  "Secure the bay."
"Securing now."
"That does it, sir," one of the bridge technicians reported to Drake.  "All 
boats are now back in their cradles."
"Have you confirmation on Moliere 's passenger list?"
"Yes, sir.  All task force personnel are accounted for."
"And the prisoners?"
"All secure, Captain."
"Excellent, Mr. Davis.  Mr. Marchant!"
"I'm on the circuit, sir," Drake's executive officer said from his station in 
the combat control center.
"How are we doing on time?"
"The Ryall mining complex should be coming over the horizon in about two 
minutes, Captain.  All telemetry signals are strong and clear."
"Stand by to detonate on my order, Commander."
"Standing by."
"Mr. Hayden.  Put the planet on the main viewscreen, please."
"Going up now, sir."
The blue and white limb of the planet as seen through one of the telescopes 
mounted on Discovery 's central cylinder flashed on the screen.  The view 
scanned right, then grew larger as the telescope's magnification was increased.
Drake watched the scenery slip across the screen as Discovery 's orbital speed 
took it ever closer to the target area.  After a minute, the Ryall mine and 
smelter complex came into view.  The valley in which the centaurs had 
established their settlement was a buff colored slash clearly visible amid the 
greenery of the surrounding forest.  A large patch of blue marked the position 
of the lake that supplied the mine with water.  The buildings and frameworks of 
the Ryall mine cast shadows across the bare countryside.
"More magnification if you can, Mr. Hayden."
"Going to full mag, Captain."
The image enlarged once again, causing the valley to overflow the edges of the 
screen.
"Not quite that much," Drake ordered.  The view backed off until the ends of the 
valley were once again visible.
"Are you ready, Mr. Marchant?"
"Ready, Captain."
"Detonate!"
At first, nothing appeared to happen.  Then, puffs of buff colored smoke rose 
all around the white cube of the valve house at the base of the dam.  The valve 
house tilted, rolled down a short slope, and then disappeared from view as a 
dark stain began to fill the valley below.  The stain developed a leading edge 
of white froth that moved with astonishing swiftness.  The earthen dam collapsed 
completely as its base was chewed away by rushing water.  A tidal wave broke 
through and raced downstream, easily overtaking the first surge of boiling foam.
Drake watched the wave gobble up the lengths of pipe on each side of the valley. 
 Three minutes later, the wall of water washed over the buildings and framework 
structures of the mine complex.  The roiling flood submerged white domes and 
longhouses alike, splintering them into hundreds of pieces of debris.  The 
initial bits of wreckage were dashed against rocks, splintering them further 
until they disappeared completely from the telescopes and cameras orbiting two 
hundred kilometers overhead.
"So that was your plan!" a voice muttered beside Drake.  "Blow the dam and cover 
the evidence under a blanket of mud!"
Drake glanced up to see Bethany maneuvering herself into the observer's seat 
beside him.
"That was it," he replied.  "Now when the Ryall come looking for their lost 
starship, they'll find their settlement wiped out by what appears to be a 
natural disaster."
"Surely they will expect survivors!"
"Not necessarily.  They could all have been caught down in the mines."  Drake 
gestured to the section of viewscreen where large whirlpools had developed is 
the rushing river as millions of cubic meters of water poured into open mine 
shafts.  "And even if there were survivors, it's logical that they would have 
been evacuated on the ore carrier."
"And then lost with the ship!"
Drake nodded.
"Do you think they'll buy it?"
"It doesn't matter whether they buy the disaster story or not so long as they 
don't associate us with it.
#
Varlan of the Scented Waters had been awakened in the prison barracks early on 
the previous day and herded into a room where shackles had been affixed to her 
legs.  She and her fellow prisoners were loaded onto the back of a transport and 
driven to the area the humans used for their landing field.  There they had been 
placed five to a cage, loaded into the cargo hold of a landing boat, and ferried 
to orbit.  Varlan had used her status to claim the corner of the cage closest to 
a viewport.  Thus, she was able to watch the planet fall away below as the blue 
sky turned slowly black.
The other four prisoners in her cage were laborers.  They had squealed in panic 
as the boat lifted away from Corlis.  Only Varlan's sense of dignity kept her 
from joining their cries with her own.  For, while they had remained prisoners 
in Corlis Complex, it had been possible to hope that Those Who Rule would learn 
of their fate and send warriors to rescue them.  Once aboard the humans' ships, 
there could be no possibility of rescue.  The best that could be hoped for was a 
quick death when warriors of The Race caught and destroyed the interlopers.
Varlan and her party had been taken to a great cylindrical warship in Corlis 
parking orbit.  There they had been subjected to a terrible spray of foul 
smelling liquid.  At first, it had seemed that the humans were trying to poison 
them, but Varlan's judgment had quickly overcome her terror.  Had the humans 
wished their prisoners dead, she reasoned, they would not have gone to the 
trouble of hauling them to their orbiting ships.  The deed could easily have 
been done in the confines of the prison barracks.  No, Varlan decided, rather 
than poison, the humans were dousing them with some kind of disinfectant, much 
as the medics did when they treated someone suffering from parasites.
Following the ordeal of the noxious spray, Varlan and her four companions were 
herded into a closed compartment.  Save for the sanitation facilities  poor 
copies of ground based plumbing rather than the zero gravity adaptations used in 
Ryall starships  and a series of tie-down straps, the compartment was 
unfurnished.  Varlan and her companions had settled down to await developments.  
They had been in their new prison for a thousand heartbeats when a second party 
of five prisoners joined them.  The same ritual occurred twice more until all 
the centaurs captured on Corlis were once again together.
Nothing else of significance happened for what Varlan judged to be an entire 
day.  They were fed regularly and the compartment was supplied with fresh water 
for drinking.  Several times during their stay, alarms sounded throughout the 
ship and overhead speakers warned that a condition of null gravity would shortly 
be experienced.  At these times, the Ryall moved to tie themselves down with the 
straps attached to the floor.  A number of laborers lost the contents of their 
first stomachs during these periods, causing considerable discomfort for all 
concerned.
After a sleep period in which Varlan managed to doze only fitfully, the single 
hatch opened and one of the humans equipped with a translating machine called 
out her name.  She briefly considered refusing to answer, but decided against 
it.  Maltreatment was not to be courted without purpose or hope of future gain.  
Also, should the humans truly want her, they would not find it difficult to sort 
her out from the other prisoners.
She moved forward and meekly allowed the humans to shackle her again.  They led 
her to the large hangar through which they had entered the human starship.  
There she was placed aboard one of the winged landing craft and transferred to a 
second ship, this one a toroid and central cylinder design.  She had been 
escorted to a prison compartment aboard the second ship.  This one contained 
Ossfil and the seven surviving members ofSpace Swimmer 's crew.
"Greetings, Varlan of the Scented Waters," Ossfil had said after making the 
gesture of respect.
"Greetings, Ossfil, once of Space Swimmer .  How fare you at the hands of our 
captors?"
"Well enough.  They feed us regularly from our own ship's stores.  The fare is 
monotonous, but filling.  How is it with you and Corlis Complex?"
Varlan told of the brief attempt at defending the mine and smelter, and of their 
ignominious capture by the human warriors.  She had just finished when a human 
voice emanated from an overhead speaker and made some sort of announcement.
"What now?" Varlan asked.
"They are warning everyone to secure themselves.  They are about to energize the 
ship's main drive engines," Ossfil said.
"Do you speak the language, Ossfil, late of Space Swimmer ?"
Ossfil gave the sign that signifies a minor accomplishment.  "A few words only.  
That long sound pattern that sounds like someone gargling can best be translated 
'acceleration.'"
"Where do you suppose they are taking us?"
The answer when it came was almost too low to hear.  "I fear we are bound for 
the Evil Star."
Varlan stiffened.  Like most upper caste Ryall, she had learned enough astronomy 
to know what a supernova was and how such were triggered.  Even so, such events 
had been considered evil omens throughout the history of the race.  The thought 
that she was on a ship bound for the interior of such a cataclysm brought the 
fears of a thousand generations to mind.
"How is that possible?  Surely to enter the Evil Star is to be instantly 
destroyed!"
"One would think so," Ossfil replied.  "However, I myself have seen their 
starships appear in the portal leading out of the Evil Star.  One must believe 
one's own oculars.  Therefore we must assume that the monsters possess knowledge 
that we do not."
Varlan noted Ossfil's use of the term "monsters," and was surprised that she no 
longer thought of their captors as such.  Instead, she had begun to think of 
them by the name they themselves used.  It was a curious transformation in 
attitude, and one that she resolved to study at greater length when she had 
time.  Now it was necessary to learn all she could from Ossfil concerning his 
captivity.
"When you were taken prisoner, did they question you?"
Ossfil signaled an affirmative.  "I and all of these survivors from my crew.  
They asked about Corlis Complex and whether we were aware of any other ships in 
the Eulysta System."
"Did you answer their questions?"
"No, but that did not seem to matter.  Before questioning, they attached sensors 
to various parts of my body and hooked them into a box of some kind.  After each 
question, they would look at the readouts.  It was as though I was answering 
their questions without speaking."
Varlan "nodded."  She too had been subjected to something of the sort when 
questioned.  Mostly they had asked about the roster of workers then on Corlis, 
and whether any had escaped.
"At least our honor is intact, Ossfil," she said in a kindly tone.  "We cannot 
help what their alien gadgets tell them."
There was a long pause before the starship captain responded.  "I fear that my 
honor is not intact, Varlan of the Scented Waters."
"How so, Ossfil, late of Space Swimmer ?"
Ossfil closed his ears tight on top of his head and curled his tail between his 
first and second pairs of legs.  It was a gesture of one in the throes of 
extreme shame.
"The destruct mechanism on Space Swimmer 's computer malfunctioned.  I fear the 
monsters may have learned where our home stars are located."
The blows to Varlan's psyche had been very great recently.  First, there had 
come the shock of capture.  Then there had been the destruction of hope when she 
realized that they were to be taken off Corlis.  Now came the news that the 
information that Salfador of the Eternal Flame had died to protect might be in 
the possession of humans.  The sudden howl of anguish that Varlan emitted had 
supersonic overtones.  It was a cry of absolute and total despair.
#
ALPHA VIRGINIS (SPICA)
 
POSITION:  132511.5 R.A., -110900 DEC, 274 L-Y (Solcentric)
 
SYSTEM TYPE: BINARY
 
SYSTEM DESCRIPTION:
 
As viewed from Sol, Alpha Virginis is an eclipsing variable binary system 
(0.91-1.01 absolute magnitude) with a period of 4 days.  The two stars are very 
closely coupled and are not resolvable by ground-based telescopes on terrestrial 
worlds.  The binary nature of the Alpha Virginis system was originally 
discovered using spectrographic techniques.
 
Alpha Virginis-A is a Spectral Class B1.5, Luminosity Class V, giant star.  
Diameter: 6.2 Sol.  Mass:  16.0 Sol.
 
Alpha Virginis-B is a Spectral Class B3.0, Luminosity Class V, dwarf star.  
Diameter and mass are not well determined.
 
REMARKS:
 
The Alpha Virginis system has never been visited since no foldline leading to it 
has yet been discovered.  Multidimensional astronomers consider this fact 
unusual since the larger of the system's two stars is sufficiently massive to 
produce optimum conditions for foldpoint formation.  Many astronomers have 
predicted that a foldspace transition sequence leading to the system will 
eventually be found.
 
Alpha Virginis is the brightest star in the zodiacal constellation of Virgo and 
one of the 15 brightest stars in the terrestrial sky.  The name "Spica" is 
Latin, and means, "Head of Grain."
  
  Excerpt from The Pilot's Almanac , 2510 Edition.
#
Richard Drake sat in front of the workscreen in his cabin and gazed at a two 
dimensional photograph in which a single brilliant blue-white star lay centered 
against a field of black.  As he did so, he slowly read the almanac entry that 
accompanied the picture.  "...No foldline leading to it has yet been discovered 
... sufficiently massive to produce optimum conditions for foldspace formation 
... transition sequence leading to the system will eventually be found..." He 
wondered what the long dead author of those words would have said had he known 
that Spica was even then the central star of an alien civilization.
After long minutes spent staring at the blue-white star, Drake cleared the 
screen and brought up another view.  This time the screen was filled with more 
than a hundred stars.  Having discovered that he could not sleep after a long, 
eventful day that had included the fleet's departure from Corlis, Drake had put 
his insomnia to good use.  He plotted the positions of the twenty-two stars that 
Boris Alvarez had identified as being part of the Ryall Hegemony, and then 
color-coded them a bright crimson for easy identification.
After studying the shape of Ryall space for a moment, he had called up Discovery 
's astrogation database and input the same data for the nearly eighty inhabited 
stars that comprised human space.  He had colored the human stars green, and 
then merged them with the Ryall star map.  Finally, he had reduced the scale of 
the display to the point where he could take in the two realms at a single 
glance.
For five hundred years, the human race had expanded out along the foldlines, 
eventually occupying an ellipsoid-shaped region of space some 500 light-years 
long by 200 light-years in diameter.  The Ryall had been expanding as well, 
occupying their own region of the galaxy.  Ryall space was approximately 
one-third the volume of human space, and nearly a perfect sphere.  The two 
realms shared a common boundary, and actually interpenetrated in the region 
around Antares.  Displayed as they were on the same screen, it was obvious why 
humanity was slowly losing its war with the centaurs.
The long history of warfare on Earth had taught generations of generals the 
value of seeking favorable terrain on which to fight a battle.  From Waterloo to 
Little Round Top to the Battle of Prudhoe Bay, the victors owed their success 
more to the lay of the land than to their military superiority over the 
vanquished.  What the star map did for Drake was prove that the same could well 
be true of humanity's war with the Ryall.
Ryall space, localized as it was within the Spica Foldspace Cluster, was blessed 
with short, internal lines of communication and a high degree of 
inter-connectivity.  No system in the hegemony lay more than six foldspace 
transitions from any other system.  Human space, on the other hand, was strung 
out along the axis of the galactic spiral arm.  The distance between the two 
farthest human systems was fifteen transitions.
The tactical and strategic value to the Ryall of their foldspace cluster was 
substantial.  If attacked, they could spread the alarm and rush reinforcements 
anywhere in their realm much more quickly than could Homo sapiens in similar 
circumstances.  Once mustered, their forces could shift rapidly from trouble 
spot to trouble spot, allowing each ship to do the work of two or more human 
craft.
Drake stared at the star chart for long minutes and considered the implications. 
 He was still doing so when his screen beeped for attention.  He reached out and 
accepted the call.
"Sorry to bother you so late, Captain." Philip Walkirk said.  The Sandarian 
prince was officer of the deck.
"No problem, Mr. Walkirk.  I have been doing some doodling with the computer.  
What's up?"
"Sensor operators have just detected a ship materializing in the Eulysta-Antares 
foldpoint, sir.  They think its Arrow ."
"Have the communicator confirm the identification and report to Captain Rostock 
the fact that we are on our way to the foldpoint.  He is to hold there until we 
arrive."
"Yes, Captain."
Philip Walkirk signed off and Drake returned to his ruminations.  Fifteen 
minutes later, the Sandarian prince was once again on his screen.
"Communications have been established, sir. Arrow is transmitting a message from 
Admiral Gower."
"What do they say?"
"Admiral Gower is ordering us to abandon this system and return immediately to 
the nebula, sir."
"Does he give any reason?"
"Yes, sir.  The fleet has located another of Antares' foldpoints.  The admiral 
wants us to rejoin before they send anyone through to see what is on the other 
side."
  
CHAPTER 18
  
While Richard Drake's task force explored the Eulysta system, the scientists 
onboardCity of Alexandria had worked round-the-clock to update their 
mathematical model describing the structure of foldspace within the Antares 
nebula.  The job had proved more difficult than anticipated.  Since foldlines 
are focused by gravitational curvature  the so called "gravity lens" effect  
the quantity and arrangement of matter within a system is the major factor 
affecting foldpoint formation.  In most star systems, the overwhelming majority 
of mass is in the stars themselves.  This fact makes it relatively easy to 
predict foldpoint formation once the involved foldline has been identified.
 The Antares Nebula was far more complex than the average star system, however.  
The innermost element tending to focus foldlines was the neutron star at the 
heart of the pulsar.  The tiny star's high rate of rotation and small size 
tended to distort those few foldlines that passed directly through the star's 
heart.  As for those foldlines with a small offset, they avoided the neutron 
star's influence altogether.  Surrounding the neutron star was a several million 
kilometer thick layer of highly charged plasma.  Energy transferred from the 
star's rapidly rotating magnetic field tended to keep the plasma energized, and 
thereby minimized the density variations.  This relatively homogeneous layer of 
plasma tended to strongly focus foldlines that passed anywhere within the 
boundaries of the Antares remnant.
Beyond the central mass lay the nebula.  Diffuse to the point of being a very 
good vacuum, it nevertheless contained a full thirty- percent of giant Antares' 
pre-nova mass.  Foldlines entering that six light-year thick globe of gas could 
not help but be affected by it.  Beyond the gas and dust lay the leading edge of 
the supernova shockwave, now some 127 light-years distant.  It had been the 
shockwave that had caused Alta's long isolation and the passage of the shockwave 
beyond the Valeria system that had ended it.  Thus, no model intended to predict 
foldpoint formation inside the nebula could ignore the effect of that far-off 
discontinuity in the interstellar medium.
It was the job of the astronomers aboard City of Alexandria to take each of 
these factors into account, incorporate them into a series of simultaneous 
equations, and determine the influence each focusing element exerted at every 
point within the nebula.  The work was both subtle and exasperating, yet the 
scientists eventually produced a foldspace map that accounted for the foldpoints 
leading to both Eulysta and Napier.  With the known foldpoints finally in the 
right place, the scientists used the model to ask where else in the system such 
interstellar portals might be found.  The computer predicted additional 
foldpoints at four new locations, and assigned probabilities to its guesses.
While waiting for Drake's task force to return from their explorations, Admiral 
Gower ordered the two most probable locations for new foldpoints investigated.  
The Sandarian cruiser Victory led the first mapping expedition to a point in 
space more than a billion kilometers from the Eulysta foldpoint.  The second 
expedition was led by the Altan cruiser Dagger , which was assigned a foldpoint 
some two billion kilometers distant.  The Victory expedition arrived first and 
combed its assigned search area diligently, but found nothing.  The Dagger 
expedition did the same, and quickly detected the characteristic clumping of 
isogravity lines.
It had been Dagger 's report, along with Arrow 's delivery of the Sandarian 
astrogation data, that had caused Gower to order the Corlis expedition to return 
to the nebula.
#
"Honor party, ten-hut !"
The double rank of Altan Space Marines, resplendent in black and silver, their 
boots locked into the deck cleats underfoot to keep them from floating away in 
the zero gravity of the hangar bay, snapped to attention at Philip Walkirk's 
command.  Before them, an interorbit transfer craft from His Majesty's 
BlastshipRoyal Avenger lay secured in the dock.  The transfer vehicle's airlock 
opened and a single figure floated into the bay.
"Honor party, present arms!"
Twelve rifles snapped into position as Admiral Gower maneuvered to the base of 
the disembarkation ladder where Richard Drake and Philip Walkirk waited.  Like 
the Marines, they had inserted the toes of their shipboots into deck cleats to 
free both hands.  Drake and Walkirk saluted as the Admiral reached them.  Gower, 
one hand on the safety line, returned the salute.
"Good to have you back, Fleet Captain," the admiral said.
"Good to be back, sir."
Gower turned toward the prince.  "I have just read the report of your action 
against the Ryall ore carrier, Your Highness.  The king will be pleased when he 
hears of it."
"I had a good team with me, sir.  In fact, the honor party consists entirely of 
veterans of that boarding."
The admiral turned around and gazed up and down the rows of rigid Marines.
"Gentlemen, you have my heartfelt gratitude, that of His Majesty, John-Philip 
Walkirk, and of all the Sandarian people.  Thank you for protecting our prince."
A dozen voices shouted, "You are welcome, sir!" in unison.
Gower turned to Drake and said, "Now, Captain, if you will lead me to your 
cabin, we can get on with the reason for my visit."
"Yes, sir.  Follow me, please."
Drake led the admiral out into the main circumferential corridor.  By the time 
they reached Drake's door, sufficient spin weight had been restored to allow the 
two men to skate down the corridor rather than pull themselves hand over hand.
"May I offer you refreshments, Admiral?" Drake asked as Gower made himself 
comfortable on the leather couch in Drake's cabin.
"Thank you, Captain.  A glass of that marvelous brandy Mr. Barrett brought with 
him when he boarded Avenger would be welcome."
"Yes, sir," Drake replied.  He slid back the wooden panel that hid a small but 
well stocked liquor cabinet and a supply of low gravity glasses.  Drake poured 
two glasses of brandy and handed one to the Admiral.
Gower took a sip, then slipped the base of the glass into a low gravity holder 
on the table at the end of the couch.  "I've just read your report of the Corlis 
operation, Captain.  My compliments on a job well done."
"Thank you, sir."
"That astrogation data alone is worth a dozen blastships!"
"Have your experts made any progress in deciphering the raw computer data 
thatArrow delivered to you?"  Drake asked.
Gower shook his head.  "It's still much too early for results."
"At least we have Professor Alvarez's data."
"I only wish it weren't quite so distressing. Drake."  It had not taken long for 
Gower to recognize the problems associated with fighting an enemy whose home 
territory was contained entirely in close-coupled foldspace cluster.  "My battle 
staff estimates the force multiplier effect of their internal lines of 
communication to be at least two, and possibly as high as three."
"Yes, sir.  That was my conclusion as well."
"No wonder we've barely held them at bay all these years. God help us if they 
ever learn to penetrate the nebula.  Which brings me to my next question.  How 
sure are you that you got away from Eulysta clean?"
"Very sure, sir," Drake replied.  "Mace guarded the second foldpoint virtually 
the whole time we were there.  Even after Captain Quaid abandoned his station to 
rejoin the fleet, we kept a close watch on the Carratyl foldpoint until we 
jumped.  Nothing entered or left the system while we had it under observation."
"What about Corlis?"
"We spent a lot of effort cleaning up every trace of human activity, sir.  
Hopefully, anything we missed was wiped away by the flood."
"Any chance that there were Ryall survivors you didn't know about?  Any refugees 
hiding out in the woods?"
"The interrogators quizzed the prisoners quite extensively on that, sir.  
Everyone seems to be accounted for."
"Where are these prisoners now?"
"The survivors from the ore carrier and the manager of the Corlis mine are 
housed on Gamma Deck, sir. Terra has the other Corlis survivors."
"How are conditions in those cells?"
"Crowded, sir.  I'm afraid we couldn't spare very much room for the holding 
pens."
"We have both the space and facilities for them aboard Avenger .  I'll arrange 
to take them off your hands as soon as I get back to my ship."
"With your permission, sir, I'd like to keep the manager of the Corlis mine here 
onDiscovery ."
"Why, Captain?"
"Miss Lindquist is currently studying that particular prisoner, sir."
"What does she hope to learn from these studies, Drake?"
"She is trying to quantify the differences between the way the Ryall managerial 
and warrior castes react to humans."
"What makes her think there are any differences, Drake?"
"She doesn't know, Admiral.  That's the reason for the study."
Admiral Gower pursed his lips, and then nodded his agreement.  "Very well.  It 
is certainly God's own truth that we have lacked managers to study over the 
years.  Tell her that I will expect weekly reports of her progress."
"Yes, sir."
Gower picked up his glass and took a sip of brandy with obvious relish.  He 
carefully returned the glass to its holder, and then turned to regard Drake with 
a fixed stare.
"I liked your work in the Eulysta system, Drake.  You got in, obtained valuable 
information, covered your tracks, and got out without getting caught."
"I appreciate your confidence, Admiral."
"You've earned it.  Now, how would you like to lead the expedition to explore 
the new foldpoint?"
"Will I be allowed to pick my own ships?"
"What's the matter?  Didn't you like the fleet I provided to explore Eulysta?"
"It was more than adequate, sir.  However, there are one or two changes I would 
have made."
"Very well.  When can you be ready to leave?"
"Will seventy two hours be soon enough?"
"That will be fine, Captain."
#
Bethany arranged for Varlan to be placed in a cabin of her own at the same time 
the other Ryall prisoners were transferred to the flagship.  The cabin had been 
modified to reflect the living quarters they had found on Corlis.  It was also 
equipped with an entertainment screen and a copious supply of recordings.  To 
further relax the Ryall, and make her more susceptible to cajolery, the security 
arrangements were kept as discreet as possible.  They included a video 
surveillance system, a door that only opened from the outside, and an armed 
Marine guard in the corridor outside.
"What do you think of your quarters?" Bethany asked the Ryall the day after the 
transfer.
Varlan ducked her long neck in an imitation of a human nod and said, "They are 
much more in keeping with my station.  However, I confess that I do not 
understand why you have done this."  The Ryall's words emanated from the 
portable translator she wore on a chain around her neck.
"My purpose is the same as it was on Corlis," Bethany replied.  "Just because 
your people and mine are competitors is no reason why we two have to be 
enemies."
Varlan considered Bethany's comment for a moment before replying.  "Were you 
another Ryall, I would think this an attempt to suborn me into treason against 
my caste and clan."
"I don't ask you to betray your race, Varlan.  I merely ask that you attempt to 
understand mine."
"To what purpose?"
"In the hope that we can find a mutually acceptable way of ending this war."
"I have noted this curious blind spot in your character before, Bethany of the 
Lindquists.  Why are you unable to face the fact that we are competitors and 
must remain so?  How can you hold to this delusion that all intelligent beings 
are spawn-mates when it is obviously not so?  Is this an attitude common to your 
race or merely a personal idiosyncrasy?"
"I leave that for you to judge, Varlan, when you know us better."
"Very well," the Ryall replied.  "I will study you at the same time you are 
studying me.  It can do no harm, and it will make my imprisonment pass all the 
more quickly."
#
Richard Drake found himself a popular man following Admiral Gower's announcement 
that he would lead the expedition to explore the new foldpoint.  Within two 
hours of the order going out, he had spoken to the commanding officer of every 
destroyer and cruiser in the fleet.  Drake had assured each petitioner that 
tactical considerations would be the sole determinant regarding which ships were 
chosen to make up the new task force.  One particularly insistent officer was 
Bela Marston, Dagger 's commander, whose ship was just back from its journey of 
exploration.
"You just have to tap Dagger , Richard," Marston had pleaded.  After all, we 
found the damn thing!"
Drake had nodded his head.  "I grant you that you have a good claim, Bela, but 
first I need to see what sort of resources I'll be needing.  If your ship fits 
into the plan, you are in.  If not, then I can't use you."
"Damn it, Richard.  My crew is still complaining that they didn't get in on the 
Eulysta expedition."
"As I said, Captain ," Drake replied, emphasizing Marston's title in order to 
signal that he was treading far too close to the line between duty and 
friendship, "I will let you know."
Marston's face froze into an expressionless mask.  "Yes, sir.  Thank you for 
considering us.  Have I your permission to sign off?"
Drake had sighed.  "Don't go away mad.  Damn it, I'll try to work you in if it 
makes any sense at all tactically."
"Thank you, sir!"
Drake had gone to work immediately planning a reconnaissance in force.  As 
before, the initial entry would be made by two of the Sandarian destroyers, and 
for the same reason.  Even if attacked immediately upon breakout, there was a 
good chance one or both would be able to return to the nebula to report.  If, on 
the other hand, no one was waiting to ambush arriving starships, then one 
destroyer would stay to guard the foldpoint while the other returned to Antares 
to report.
Drake's first decision concerning force composition was a relatively easy one.  
Figuring that local naval superiority would be of more immediate use than ground 
forces, he decided to leave Saskatoon behind.  If a ground target presented 
itself as it had at Corlis, then there would be plenty of time to call in the 
Marines once enemy space forces were defeated. 
Drake selected his team after a long night spent in front of his computer 
console.  The task force would be essentially the same as had explored the 
Eulysta system, with the single exception that Dagger would substitute 
forSaskatoon .  It was with a sense of some satisfaction that Drake transmitted 
his selections to Admiral Gower:
  
"Request assignment of Cruisers Discovery ,Terra ,Dagger ; DestroyersArrow ,Mace 
,Scimitar ; and three cryogen tankers, your choice, to explore Foldpoint No. 3. 
 Drake, Task Force Commander"
  
It was with even greater satisfaction that he received the admiral's official 
reply an hour later:
  
"Assignments approved.  Tankers Phoenix ,Tharsis , and Sandarian Soldier are 
assigned to your force.  Launch when ready.  Gower, Fleet Admiral"
#
Upon his arrival near the newly discovered foldpoint, Drake ordered each of his 
ships topped off from the cryogen tankers and then had the tankers pull back to 
a safe distance.  He ordered the three battle cruisers and the destroyerMace to 
draw up in defensive formation, and ordered Arrow andScimitar to make all 
preparations for foldspace transition.
Just as at Eulysta, he listened to the two destroyer captains make their final 
prejump checks prior to beginning their dual countdown; felt his own tension 
build with each passing second; and finally, watched two glowing anti-radiation 
fields disappear from Discovery 's viewscreen.  Just as it had at Eulysta, time 
dragged on interminably while Drake waited for one of the destroyers to reappear 
and report.
"We have a breakout, Captain!" came the welcome cry from Discovery 's combat 
control center at the end of a tense half hour.
"What ship?"
"Arrow, sir."
"Get me Captain Rostock," Drake ordered the communicator on duty.
"Yes, sir."
It took another thirty seconds for Carter Rostock's flushed features to appear 
on Drake's screen.  Drake would have sworn it was longer.
"Report, Mr. Rostock," he ordered.
"All clear on the other side, Captain."
"Do you recognize the system?"
"Yes, sir.  It's Goddard!"
"Are you sure about that?"
"Absolutely positive, sir."
Drake felt suddenly lightheaded.  Goddard was one of the first systems ever 
colonized by human beings.  And beyond Goddard, lay Sol!
  
CHAPTER 19
  
GODDARD  STAR:
 
BASIC DATA:
 F8 spectral class dwarf star.
Abs. Mag.: +4.5.
Position (Sol Rel.):  1627.1 RA,-2207.4 DEC, 114 L-Y.
Number of Foldpoints:  3
 
Foldspace Transition Sequences:
Primary:  Sol, Goddard
Secondary:  Antares, Goddard
Tertiary:  Vega, Tsiolkovsky, and Goddard
 
The system contains 12 planets, 62 moons, and a scattering of small asteroids.  
Planet IV, Goddard, and Planet V, Felicity, are Earth-type worlds with 
indigenous lifeforms.  The planets, in order of their distance from the system 
primary, include...
 
HISTORY: First explored in 2130 by ships of the First Foldspace Survey, the 
system was named for Robert H. Goddard, a pioneer in the development of rockets. 
 The fourth planet is habitable over much of its land surface, although the 
equatorial regions exceed 70 deg. C during summer.  The fifth planet is also 
inhabited.  Temperatures at the highest latitudes of Goddard V drop to the 
freezing point of carbon dioxide during the winter.  (See separate entry for 
GODDARD  PLANET and FELICITY.)  The colony on Goddard IV was established in 
2135; Goddard V, 2148.  The Community of Nations, which controlled the system 
until independence in 2208, established both colonies.
 
THE PEOPLE:  The population of the Goddard System was 4,527,650,000 during the 
2500 census.  Because of the diversity of the original colonists, the principal 
languages spoken in the system are...
 
 Excerpted from A Spacers Guide to Human Space, Ninety-seventh Edition , 
Copyright 2510 by Hallan Publications, Ltd., Greater New York, Earth.
#
"Foldspace transition complete!  All departments, report damage or injuries!  
Sensor technicians, begin full ambient sweep and report."
Richard Drake listened to the post-jump announcement echo throughout the bridge, 
then punched for Argos Cristobal, Discovery 's astrogator.
"Put Goddard up on the screen, Mr. Cristobal."
"Yes, sir."
The main viewscreen cleared to display a black starfield with a single 
yellow-white point of light at the center.  Drake felt a sudden touch of 
homesickness at the sight.  Goddard could have been Valeria's twin.  He quickly 
scanned the screen, looking for dots of light that showed the 
not-quite-dimensionless shapes that would betray the presence of planetary 
bodies.  If there were such, he did not notice them.
"Any radio traffic, Mr. Slater?"
"Yes, sir," the communicator reported.  "I've got both inhabited worlds spotted, 
as well as a large number of discrete points scattered across deep space.  The 
place is crawling with ships!"
"Human, I hope."
"Yes, sir."
"Are your recorders running?"
"They are, Captain."
"Mr. Cristobal, show us Antares!" Drake ordered.  The request had become a 
tradition aboard Discovery .   More than anything else, Antares' transformations 
from baleful red-orange sun, to blazing nova, to distant ring nebula, to endless 
red fog, helped drive home the point that each timeDiscovery underwent a 
foldspace transition, it crossed an unthinkably broad gulf of interstellar 
space.
In the center of the screen, Antares was once again the red-orange beacon that 
had graced the Altan sky for centuries.  The Goddard system was situated outside 
the expanding nova shockwave, and therefore, would be spared the electric 
blue-white of Antares dawnlight for another century.
"Switch over to Sol, astrogator."
"Yes, sir."
This time the viewscreen cleared to show a dim yellow star.  It would have been 
difficult to spot at all except that it was marked by a set of electronic 
crosshairs.
"Is that it?" Bethany asked from her usual place beside Drake.
"That's it," he answered.
"It isn't very impressive."
"It isn't an intrinsically impressive star.  At this distance, Sol is just 
barely on the edge of visibility for naked eye viewing.  At home, you need a 
good size telescope and a better knowledge of astronomy than most people 
possess."
Bethany nodded.  "My uncle once took me up into the Colgate Range to try and 
show it to me when I was a little girl.  He spent the night fiddling with a 
borrowed telescope, and was never really sure which star was Sol."
After a long minute spent looking at the pale light on the screen, Drake keyed 
for his executive officer in Discovery 's Combat Control Center.  "What's the 
status on the rest of the fleet, Mr. Marchant?"
"Everyone seems to have arrived safely, Captain. Dagger is 10,000 kilometers off 
our beam; Terra is 25,000 astern.  The destroyers are scattered at similar 
distances around us."
"Mr. Slater.  Have the rest of the fleet close on us.  Then put your intercepts 
up on the screen."
"Yes, sir."
Almost immediately, a schematic diagram of the Goddard system appeared on the 
screen.  On it were symbols denoting where sources of artificial electromagnetic 
radiation had been detected.  The two brightest radio stars were the system's 
two inhabited planets.  The inner world, Goddard, rode the inner edge of the 
temperate zone while the outer world, Felicity, did the same in the region where 
water turns to ice.  A sprinkling of smaller specks marked the apparent 
positions of hundreds of ships in transit across the system.  Most appeared 
clustered in a broad band between the points where pre-nova astrogation charts 
placed the system's other two foldpoints.  A second stream of ships was 
obviously en route between Planets IV and V.
Half an hour later, the number of contacts identified as ships or orbital 
installations had risen to more than a thousand.  In addition,Discovery 's 
sensor operators had mapped the surfaces of the two inhabited worlds from afar 
and discovered them to be covered with electrical grids.  The scientists were 
attempting to estimate of the system's industrial potential when a high power 
pulse from the inner system overwhelmed their instruments.
"We were just scanned by some sort of high energy search radar!" the 
communicator reported.
"Didn't take them long to spot us, did it?" Rorqual Marchant asked over the 
intercom.
Drake shrugged.  "Not surprising when you consider how much energy our antirad 
field dumps on breakout."
"Shall we tell them who we are?" the executive officer asked.
"Not quite yet," Drake replied.  "Let's see how they react toward us first."
An hour later, sensor operators began reporting several ships headed in their 
direction."
"How many, Mr. Marchant?"
"I make it an even dozen, Captain," Marchant replied, watching his readouts.  
"No, another just lit off and two more appear to be powering up.  Fifteen, sir.  
The computer is tentatively identifying three of them as capital ships."
"They're sending the whole damned fleet out after us!"
"Can you blame them, Captain?"
"I dont blame them, Rorq.  I just hope we can convince them of our identity 
before they pull within firing range."
#
Gregory Oldfield, first secretary to the terrestrial embassy on Goddard, roused 
slowly from his slumber as he became ever more aware of the raucous noise 
emanating from his nightstand.  Rolling over, he groped for the communicator, 
intent on silencing its emergency tone before it roused the young woman beside 
him.  His hand contacted the rounded screen housing, and then groped its way 
through the dark to the handset.  Maneuvering the receiver to his ear, he 
moaned:  "Go ahead."
"Is that you, Mr. Oldfield?" Byron Caldwell III, the night duty officer at the 
embassy asked.  "Why can't I see you?"
"Because I have the visual pickup turned off," Oldfield muttered as he opened 
one eye to gaze at the assistant third secretary's peach fuzz cheeks silhouetted 
in the soft fluorescence of the screen.  "What is it that you want, Caldwell?"
"The Old Man says for you to get your posterior down here right away, Mr. 
Oldfield!"
Suddenly, Oldfield was wide-awake.  He lifted his head from the pillow and 
craned his neck to glance at the chronometer on the nightstand.  The green 
digits displayed 03:16.  "It's three o'clock in the morning, Caldwell.  The 
ambassador isn't at the embassy, is he?"
The face on the screen nodded.  "Yes, sir, he is.  He rolled in all excited 
about twenty minutes ago.  He says that Admiral Ryerson got him out of bed."
"Ryerson?  When did he get back?"
"Get back from where, sir?"
"Last I heard, he was out with the fleet."
"Uh, yes, sir.  He is.  He called the ambassador from orbit.  Seems we've been 
getting reports of a number of unidentified ships coming out of the nebula."
Oldfield sat straight up in bed despite the pounding headache left over from the 
previous evening's partying.  "Are you sure?"
"No, sir," the newly hatched assistant third undersecretary said.  "I'm not sure 
of anything.  That's why we need you here."
"I'm on my way!"
Oldfield commanded the bedroom lights to full radiance.  As he did so, the 
beautiful young woman on the other side of the bed stirred, covering her eyes 
for a moment against the sudden light.
"What is it, Greggy?"
"Something's come up at the embassy.  I have to go down there and straighten it 
out.  Go back to sleep.  If I'm not back by morning, make yourself breakfast and 
call a cab."
"Do you have to go?"
"Duty calls, love."  He leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead.  She smiled, 
turned over, and fell back to sleep.  Five minutes later, Greg Oldfield 
commanded the illumination off as he left the bedroom on his way to the front 
door.  It was not until he had reached the underground garage where he parked 
his sportster that he realized that he could not remember his companion's name.
The embassy was ablaze with lights when Oldfield pulled into his parking space 
under the embassy.  He grabbed his briefcase from the back seat and hurried to 
the lift that would take him to the highest level in the building.  He found 
Ambassador Elliot at his desk reading communications.
"What's up, sir?" he asked as he plopped down in the big easy chair the 
ambassador kept for important visitors.  Ambassador Elliot looked up, causing 
light from the desk lamp to reflect off his old style glasses.
"Where have you been?"
"I was at home in bed, sir.  I got here as soon as I could.  What's up?"
Elliot handed him the printout he had been reading.  Oldfield started to skim 
it, blinked, then went back to read it slowly line by line.  The further he 
read, the more incredulous he became:
#
***** MOST SECRET  *****  MOST SECRET *****  
  
Date:  17 October 2639 (UC), 16:22:48.6 (UT)
  
From:  Ryerson, R. T.
    Fleet Admiral
    TSNS Teddy Roosevelt
  
To:      (1) All Ships and Stations, Grand Fleet, Goddard
     (2) Ambassador, Terrestrial Embassy, Goddard
     (3) Relay via fast courier to Home Fleet, Solsys
  
Subject:  Contact in Goddard/Antares Foldpoint
  
1. At 15:12:15 hours standard, 17 October 2639, two objects were detected 
materializing in Goddard/Antares foldpoint.  Immediately following breakout, 
objects were observed to glow with multispectral light.  This glow faded over a 
period of fifteen seconds until the objects were no longer visible.
  
2. At 15:50:33 hours standard, 17 October 2639, an additional five objects were 
detected materializing in Goddard/Antares foldpoint.  Short-lived luminescence 
observed.
  
3. Differences in position of objects are typical of standard breakout scatter 
for vessels arriving in a foldpoint.
  
4. Objects are believed to be unidentified fleet of starships from inside 
Antares supernova remnant.
  
5. All available combatants have been ordered to the foldpoint to defend and 
investigate.
  
R. T. Ryerson
Fleet Admiral, Commanding
Squadron 1712
Terrestrial Space Navy
  
***** MOST SECRET  *****  MOST SECRET *****
#
  When he had finished reading, Greg Oldfield glanced up and asked, "Is this for 
real?"
The ambassador nodded.  "Confirmed by Admiral Ryerson to me personally not more 
than one hour ago."
"Are they Ryall?"
"That is the suspicion.  I do not know how they managed it, but the centaurs 
have somehow succeeded in penetrating the supernova remnant.  There's going to 
be hell to pay over this."  Elliot opened his mouth to say something else, but 
was interrupted by the quiet buzzing of his desk communicator.  He reached over, 
lifted the receiver, and listened intently.  Oldfield could not hear the words, 
but from the rapid-fire delivery of whoever was on the other end, he concluded 
that something was up.  The ambassador listened for long seconds in silence, 
then said, "Thank you," and hung up.
"What's the matter?" Greg Oldfield asked, noting his boss's dazed look.
"That was communications.  Admiral Ryerson just sent out another general 
broadcast.  Seems he's made contact with the mystery ships."
"And?" the first secretary asked.
"They claim to be colonists from the Valeria and Hellsgate systems!"
Oldfield frowned.  "I've heard of Hellsgate, of course.  That was the system cut 
off when the Ryall grabbed Aezer some fifteen, no seventeen, years ago.  But 
what is this Valeria?"
"Good question."  The ambassador keyed the workscreen on his desk and soon had 
lines of glowing characters scrolling up its face at fast reading speed.  He 
scanned the information, and then said, "Says here that the Valeria system was 
one of the smaller colonies in the Antares Cluster.  All contact between Valeria 
and the rest of human space was lost the moment Antares exploded."
"Failed foldpoint?" Oldfield asked.
"Apparently."  The ambassador scowled as he continued to read.  A minute later, 
he cleared the screen and leaned back in his chair.  "Well, this puts a 
different light on things, doesn't it?"
"How so?" Oldfield asked.
"Didn't you hear?  They aren't centaurs.  That makes it a diplomatic problem 
rather than a military one.  And since we're the diplomats on the scene, we'll 
have to handle it."
"Handle it how?"
Elliot's face split into the broad grin that usually meant that someone was 
about to be assigned to latrine duty.  "I suppose one of us will have to get out 
there to take charge of the negotiations."
"What negotiations?"
"You surprise me, Oldfield.  You've been a career diplomat long enough to know 
that there are always negotiations."
"I don't suppose you are volunteering, Mr. Ambassador?"
"I'd love to, Mr. First Secretary.  However, I cannot break away just now.  
Goddard Founders' Day coming up, you know.  You'll have to go in my place."
Oldfield groaned.  "Somehow I thought that was what you were getting at."
#
A week after their arrival in the Goddard system, Richard Drake stood in the 
small control room that looked out over Discovery 's main hangar bay, and 
watched as a small interorbit ferry floated through the open hangar doors.  The 
ferry bore the markings of the Terrestrial Space Navy's Grand Fleet, and had the 
name of its parent ship, TSNS Teddy Roosevelt , stenciled across its prow.  As 
quickly as the craft cleared the doors, the petty officer in charge of docking 
operations ordered the bay sealed and pressurized.  A minute later, the subdued 
roar of escaping air reverberated through the armor glass window that separated 
the control room from the bay and a storm of expansion fog hid the newly arrived 
shuttle in its swirling embrace.
The petty officer watched his gauges, and then nodded to Drake.  "Safe to go in 
now, sir."
"Thanks, Chief.  That was a good, crisp approach and docking.  My compliments."
"Thank you, sir."
Drake pulled himself hand over hand to the airlock that provided access to the 
bay.  He entered the bay and used a guide rope to traverse the oversize 
compartment to where the rest of the welcoming party had already taken their 
places.  Bethany Lindquist, Philip Walkirk, and six Marines had anchored 
themselves to the meshwork deck underfoot.  Drake joined them.
"Isn't it exciting, Richard?  We finally get to meet people from Earth!" Bethany 
said.
"What about those two lieutenants who looked us over yesterday?"
"They don't count since you wouldn't let me ask them any questions."
Drake shrugged.  "They had other work to do."
The fleet that had put out to meet them had arrived twenty hours earlier.  After 
an initial conference held in deep space aboard landing boats, the terrestrial 
admiral had ordered two of his junior lieutenants to inspect the Helldiver fleet 
to ensure they were who they said.  The two had poked throughDiscovery 's 
various spaces, and had then gone on to inspect the other five ships of the 
fleet.  The inspection had taken eight hours, and in the end, the two 
terrestrial officers had pronounced themselves satisfied.
Drake's attention was caught by the sudden movement of the outer door of the 
ferry's airlock.  Philip Walkirk called his Marines to attention as a tall man 
in a black and gold uniform stepped out onto the landing stage.  Overhead, Ad 
Astra , the unofficial anthem of human space, began to play.  The admiral 
stopped and held himself in place via a guide rail until the anthem finished, 
then used the same rail to pull himself toward the waiting colonists.  Several 
other terrestrials followed him out of the airlock.  The second man in line wore 
the formal dress of a diplomat, while those who followed him were garbed in the 
uniform of the Terrestrial Space Navy.  The admiral reached Drake and said:  
"Captain Drake?  I am Fleet Admiral Ryerson."
"Good to meet you, Admiral," Drake replied as he saluted. Ryerson returned the 
salute before turning to the man in the diplomatic sash.  "May I present First 
Secretary Gregory Oldfield from the embassy on Goddard?"
"Welcome aboard, Mr. Oldfield," Drake said, shaking the diplomat's hand.  He 
introduced Philip Walkirk and Bethany Lindquist.
The two terrestrials introduced the officers with them, all of who were members 
of Ryerson's staff.  Following the introductions, the admiral gazed around, his 
eyes taking in the details of Discovery 's hangar bay.  "This is an old Dragon 
class heavy battle cruiser, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir.  We inherited three of them from the Grand Fleet when the nova 
destroyed our foldpoint."
"Looks like you've taken good care of her."
"We've done our best, Admiral."
"I would say that your best is damned good, Captain, from the look of this 
hangar bay."
Drake gestured to the airlock leading back into the habitat portion of the ship. 
 "Now then, if you gentlemen would follow me, we'll make you as comfortable as 
we can and try to restore some spin to the ship."
Drake led the party toward the wardroom.  Their progress was slowed as the 
terrestrial officers asked questions concerning the ship and its history.  Like 
the admiral, most remarked on their surprise at how good a condition the 
150-year-old cruiser was in.  By the time they reached their destination, full 
spin-gravity had nearly been restored to the ship.
Once inside the wardroom, Drake introduced the terrestrials to Rorqual Marchant, 
Professors Alvarez and St. Cyr, and six other senior scientists.  As soon as the 
introductions were concluded, everyone took their places around the wardroom 
table.  First Secretary Oldfield began the discussions by asking:
"I can't help but notice that there are no political people here, Captain Drake. 
 Why is that?"
"The official representatives of both the Altan and Sandarian governments are 
with our flagship, which is still inside the nebula, Mr. Oldfield.  I'm afraid 
that what you see here is merely a scouting party."
"Some scouting party," Ryerson said from beside Oldfield.  "Three cruisers and 
three destroyers!  What did you expect to meet on this side of the foldpoint?"
"We didn't know what to expect, Admiral.  That is why we came in force."
"Excuse me, Admiral," Bethany said.  "Has Earth been notified of our presence 
yet?"
Ryerson nodded.  "Indeed, young lady.  A fast courier was dispatched as quickly 
as we learned your identity."
"And when can we expect a response?"
"Any time now," Ryerson said before turning his attention to Drake.  "Captain, 
this is your meeting and you can run it any way you wish.  However, it would be 
useful if you would explain how it is that you arrived in this system in the 
manner you did.  As you can imagine, news of ships coming out of the supernova 
remnant created quite a stir!"
"I can imagine, Admiral," Drake replied with a laugh.  "We had a similar 
experience in my home system a few years ago."  Drake went on to quickly sketch 
the history of the Altan colony from the time of the Antares Supernova, through 
the Long Isolation, to the moment when Conqueror had suddenly appeared in their 
sky.
"What ship did you say that was?" Ryerson asked.
"TSNS Conqueror, Admiral."
The terrestrials exchanged knowing looks, and there were several nods around the 
table.  Ryerson was one of those who nodded.  "Conqueror was lost three years 
ago at the Second Battle of Klamath, Captain.  I know.  I was there."
"We have often speculated as to what happened, Admiral," Bethany said.  "If you 
wouldn't mind telling us..."
"Not at all, Miss Lindquist.  The plan was to drive the Ryall from the Klamath 
system, which you may or may not know, is one of three where human and Ryall 
space come together.  We assembled more than a hundred ships for the operation.  
Fleet Admiral Carnaby was in overall command. Conqueror was his flagship.  My 
own Teddy Roosevelt led one of the subfleets assigned to the operation.
"The battle began very well for our side.  We caught a small Ryall fleet just 
outside the orbit of Klamath III and engaged it.  They were fewer than twenty 
ships while we were more than a hundred, so they had no choice but to fall back 
toward the planet in the hope of using it for cover.  Naturally, we pressed the 
attack.  The battle quickly found itself just beyond the atmosphere line of 
Klamath III, and in some cases, had dipped down into the planet's stratosphere.
"It was then that we learned we had fallen into a Ryall trap.  You see, the 
whole of the Ryall fleet was at Klamath III.  Except for the twenty ships that 
had baited us in, they were hovering low on the far side of the planet, out of 
sight of our sensors.  One moment we were on the verge of wiping out an 
outnumbered enemy and the next the sky was full of centaur warships.  They came 
boiling around the planet's limb and hit us in the flank.
"To his credit, Admiral Carnaby recognized what was happening instantly and 
ordered everyone to disengage before the flankers could get behind us.  While 
the rest of us boosted at eight gravities to get clear, Carnaby orderedConqueror 
to attack the Ryall fleet head on.  It was a magnificent gesture, but of course, 
he did not have a chance against the combined strength of eighty Ryall ships of 
the line. Conqueror was savaged as the Ryall got hit after hit on her.  Yet, she 
still kept firing until the rest of us had put enough delta V between the Ryall 
and ourselves.  Only then did Admiral Carnaby give the order to abandon ship.
"I'm afraid we aren't sure what happened after that since Carnaby wasn't one of 
those we picked up after the battle.  Still, we surmise that he ordered the 
blastship's autopilot to seek the nearest foldpoint as a diversion to allow his 
lifeboats to escape.  We tracked Conqueror until she reached the Klamath-Antares 
foldpoint and jumped.  We have always assumed that she was vaporized the instant 
she entered the supernova."  Ryerson paused to sweep his gaze across the 
assembled colonists.  "Obviously, we assumed wrong."
"You weren't alone in that, Admiral," Drake replied.  "We too found it difficult 
to believe any ship could penetrate the nebula and survive.  We found it so 
difficult, in fact, that we didn't even consider the possibility until we'd 
exhausted all other possibilities."
"Howdo your ships manage to survive inside the nebula, Captain?" one of 
Ryerson's staff officers asked.
"Anti-radiation shielding," Drake replied.
"Would the design of this shielding be for sale?" Ryerson asked.
"We're ready to give you the design, Admiral."
"In return for what?" First Secretary Oldfield asked.
"Your assistance in dislodging the Ryall from the Aezer system," Philip Walkirk 
answered from where he sat at the far end of the table.
"I hope you understand, Your Highness, that you will have to take that matter up 
with Government Central on Earth.  We poor hinterland diplomats lack the power 
to commit the Grand Fleet to battle, I'm afraid."
"When can we go through to Earth, Mr. Oldfield?" Bethany asked.
"Very soon, Miss Lindquist.  In fact, Admiral Ryerson will assign suitable 
escort just as soon as you choose the vessel that you want to make the trip."
"I don't understand," Drake said.  "The entire Helldiver fleet will be making 
the trip."
Oldfield looked surprised, then smiled sheepishly.  "Silly of me, Captain.  You 
are strangers here.  Of course, you aren't familiar with the regulations."
"What regulations?"
"Why, that govern the entry of warships into the solar system.  With modern 
warships capable of so much destruction, we are quite sensitive about allowing 
them close to the home world.  Surely, you can understand our caution.  You will 
be allowed one ship for the trip to Earth, and that ship will have to be 
escorted by at least one of our own."
"And the rest of the Helldiver Fleet?"
"They will, of course, have to remain here in the Goddard system until you 
return."
  
CHAPTER 20
  
"What do you mean they won't allow Royal Avenger to travel to Earth?" Admiral 
Gower asked, his angry features glowering out of Drake's screen.  It had been 
two weeks since the first meeting aboard Discovery between the colonists and 
representatives of the central government, and barely an hour since Royal 
Avenger had materialized in the Goddard-Antares foldpoint.
"They won't allow it, sir," Drake replied.  "They claim they have no way of 
knowing the capabilities of a foreign built blastship.  Therefore, they cannot 
allow Avenger anywhere near Earth."
There followed a string of oaths. "And so they chose Discovery ?"
"Yes, sir.  They know the type well and doubt we could endanger the planet 
before the planetary defense centers destroyed us.  I was given the choice of 
Discovery or Dagger for our embassy ship.  I choseDiscovery ."
"And how do you propose squeezing our entire embassy into a single battle 
cruiser?"
"I don't, Admiral.  The regulations do not apply to unarmed transports.  As soon 
as I discovered that, I offered to disable City of Alexandria 's fire control 
system and dismount her antimatter projectors.  Admiral Ryerson agreed to my 
proposal."
"I'm surprised he didn't insist on the liner going alone."
"He suggested it, sir.  I told him that we weren't about to go into a strange 
systemcompletely helpless."
"And what did he say to that?"
"He said that he understood."
There was a long pause as Admiral Gower digested what Drake had told him.  At 
the end of it, his brows were knit by equal mixtures of anger and worry.  "Is 
this beam secure, Captain?"
Drake punched up the readout that told him the status of the communications 
channel betweenDiscovery and Royal Avenger .  The glowing numbers declared the 
beam to be tightly focused and highly scrambled.  "Secure, sir."
"How do these people strike you?"
"Beg your pardon, sir?"
"Are they friendly?"
"They're friendly, Admiral, although a bit distant, too."
"In what way?"
"We tell them our troubles, they listen politely, but make no commitments.  It 
happened the first time when we offered to trade the anti-radiation field for 
their help in driving the Ryall out of Aezer.  They told us we would have to 
take it up with the home office.  It has happened two or three times since.  I 
think Oldfield is under orders not to make any promises that might prove 
bothersome later.  Admiral Ryerson, on the other hand, appears to want the 
antirad field badly."
"Don't put too much faith in that, Captain," Gower replied.  "Now that they know 
the field exists, they should have no trouble developing it for themselves.  No, 
if we require bargaining leverage, we'll need something stronger."
"What else have we got, sir?"
"Quite a lot  maybe.  Have you or anyone else told them about Eulysta and what 
happened there?"
"No, sir."
"You're sure?"
"Quite sure, Admiral.  We haven't said so directly, but we've left them with the 
impression that we came straight from Napier."
"Excellent!  Pass the word.  The subject of Eulysta is classified, and I'll 
space the first man who even hints at the existence of the Ryall astrogation 
data ... What's the matter, Captain?  You look like you just bit into something 
sour."
Drake frowned.  "Uh, we may have a problem there, sir."
"Problem, Drake?"
"Miss Lindquist, sir.  She may not agree to keep quiet."
"Why should we need her agreement?"
"She is the representative of the terrestrial ambassador to Alta, Admiral."
"I'd forgotten that," Gower said.  "Any chance of you convincing her to keep 
quiet?"
"I'll try, of course."
"Perhaps I should talk to her, Captain.  You may be a bit too close to the 
problem."
"That won't be necessary, sir.  I'll handle it."
"I think not, Captain.  Please ask Miss Lindquist to report here aboardRoyal 
Avenger tomorrow.  I need to ask her advice on several matters pertaining to 
Earth anyway, and we'll use the opportunity to discuss this other matter."
"Yes, sir.  I'll deliver your message immediately."
#
Bethany Lindquist had been aboard the flagship only once previously.  On that 
occasion, she had been impressed by the oversize compartments and the seemingly 
endless corridors.  Nor was the flagship's size the only difference between it 
and the Altan cruisers she was used to.  Whenever she encountered crewmen aboard 
Discovery , they would invariably acknowledge her presence with a smile or a 
quick greeting.  Not so aboard Royal Avenger .  The Sandarian male and female 
crewmembers she encountered were always in a hurry.  Bethany found their studied 
humorlessness disconcerting.
"We're here, Milady," her guide, a fuzz cheeked ensign, said in the lilting 
Sandarian accent.
"Where is 'here,' Ensign?"
"My Lord Admiral's cabin, Milady."  The ensign tapped a code into a 
bulkhead-mounted keypad.  A moment passed before the pressure door slid back 
into its recess.  Bethany stepped over the raised coaming and the door closed 
silently behind her.
Admiral Gower was seated behind a massive desk, his finger still on the door 
control.  He rose and moved to where Bethany stood.  "Good morning, Miss 
Lindquist.  How was the flight?"
"Fine," Bethany replied.  "It wasn't really necessary for you to send a special 
shuttle.  I could have waited for the regularly scheduled run."
"Nonsense.  If I must interrupt someone's busy schedule, the least I can do is 
provide proper transportation.  Care for a drink?"
"Yes, thank you."
"How about Sandarian vodka?"
"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with it, Admiral."
Gower's eyebrows went up in a look of surprise.  "Really?  Surely we introduced 
you to our planetary drink while you were on Sandar."
"Not that I remember."
"Well, then you have to try it," he said as he moved to a small bar clamped to 
one of the bulkheads.
While the admiral poured drinks, Bethany let her gaze sweep her surroundings.  
The first thing she noticed was the life-size portrait of John-Philip Walkirk VI 
hanging behind Gower's desk.  The monarch was clad in the uniform of 
Admiral-General of the Sandarian armed services, and seemed to be looking 
directly at her.  The cabin was otherwise devoid of decoration save for a large 
Sandarian flag, tattered and singed around the edges, that hung inside a glass 
case on the bulkhead opposite the king's portrait.  Gower noted Bethany's 
interest as he returned with her drink.
"That flag came from my father's destroyer.  His ship was holed during a fight 
with the Ryall.  One of the survivors risked his life to salvage that flag and 
present it to my mother.
How old were you at the time?"
"Sixteen standard years.  It was my fourth year at the naval academy."
"Do all Sandarian children begin their military training so young?"
Gower nodded.  "Those who show an aptitude for it."
"What a terrible shame it is to have to draft twelve-year-olds into the Navy!"
Gower shrugged.  "It has been our way for so long that it seems natural to us."  
There followed an awkward silence in which Gower sipped from his glass.  Bethany 
did the same, and then grimaced slightly as the alcohol burned its way across 
her tongue and down her throat."
Noticing her discomfort, the admiral asked, "Shall I get you something else?"
Bethany fanned her lips; "I'll be fine.  I just didn't expect it to be this 
strong."
"We come from a cold world, Miss Lindquist.  This," he said, gesturing with his 
glass, "is a drink for cold worlds.  It warms the blood and makes one forget the 
bite of the wind." 
Carefully, Bethany took another sip.  The burning seemed less this time, as 
though her mouth had been injected with a local anesthetic.
"I understand that you are an historian, and an expert on Earth history."
Bethany nodded.  "I'm a comparative historian, Admiral."
"What is that?"
"We study history looking for situations that are analogous to some current 
problem.  We then study how our ancestors handled, or failed to handle, the 
similar situation; and use that knowledge to advise the Altan government."
"And have you studied the Ryall-Human war?  Is there any period in Earth history 
that is similar?"
"If you mean 'Has there ever been a war in which our enemies were intelligent 
aliens?', obviously not!  However, if you consider the centaurs' rigid attitude 
regarding our right to exist, you can find close analogues in any number of 
religious wars that have been fought down through history.  'Christ and No 
Quarter!' would not be a difficult concept for the Ryall."
"And how were these religious wars resolved?"
Bethany shrugged.  "Mostly, they weren't!  Most didn't end until one or both 
sides had fought to exhaustion."
"Is that to be our fate as well?"
"I hope not.  That is one of the reasons why I'm studying Varlan."
"Ah, yes, the captured Ryall manager.  How goes the study?"
"It's too early to tell, Admiral.  I have tried to convince her that our two 
species have a great deal in common, and therefore, that it is stupid for us to 
fight.  Sometimes she seems receptive, other times not."
"So you have said in your reports.  How long before you become convinced that 
your task is hopeless?"
"When I've tried everything I can think of, I suppose."
Gower laughed.  "A good answer and one that convinces me that I was correct in 
asking you here."
"I don't understand, Admiral."
"You are, of course, aware that Royal Avenger will not be allowed to make the 
journey to Earth."
Bethany nodded.  "Terrestrial regulations forbid it."
"Unfortunately, true.  I will therefore be transferring my flag to Discovery ."
"You're relieving Richard of his command?"
"Not at all.  He commands the cruiser, I command the expedition.  The only 
difference is in the vessel from that that command is exercised.  However, 
transferring my flag to Discovery presents me with a problem.  As you are 
undoubtedly aware, my staff is largely drawn from the ranks of Royal Avenger 's 
line officers.  Were I to take them with me, I would leave this ship unable to 
defend itself.  That, of course, is unthinkable.  Therefore, I have decided to 
limit the number of Avenger 's personnel who will accompany me.
"Among those I will be leaving behind are two officers extremely knowledgeable 
of Earth history, officers whose expertise I will need during the coming 
negotiations with the Interstellar Council.  It has occurred to me that you 
could replace that expertise."
"Are you offering me a job, Admiral Gower?"
"I am."
Bethany hesitated, then said, "I'm very flattered, but I'm afraid what you ask 
is impossible."
"Why impossible, Miss Lindquist?"
"I took an oath to look after the best interests of Earth.  I can hardly do that 
and advise you, too."
Gower regarded her with narrowed eyes for a moment, and then sighed.  "If there 
is one thing an officer of the king understands, Miss Lindquist, it is the 
importance of abiding by one's oaths.  I had hoped you would not find your duty 
to Earth in conflict with your duty to this expedition.  However, I won't 
attempt to dissuade you."
"Thank you for that, sir.  Is that the reason you asked me here today?"
"That and one other matter," Gower replied.  He reached forward, plucked a 
computer printout from his desk, and held it out to her.  "I issued Fleet Order 
703 this morning.  I would like you to read and sign it before you leave."
#
Fleet Order: 703
  
Date: 8 November, 2639 (UC)
  
To: All Personnel
  
Classification: Most Secret
  
From:  Gower, S.F.
     Commanding Admiral
  
Subject:  Eulysta Campaign
  
1. No member of this expedition shall divulge information to non-expedition 
members concerning Eulysta, Corlis, or the events that transpired there.
  
2. Any violation of this order will be regarded as high treason, and will be 
punished accordingly.
  
(Signed)
  
S.F. Gower
Admiral
Sandarian Space Navy
#
"What is this?" Bethany asked after reading the order.
"Just what it appears to be, Miss Lindquist.  A classification order regarding 
the Eulysta campaign.  It is specifically aimed at ensuring that the 
terrestrials do not find out about the astrogation data we obtained there."
"But surely such data must be old news to our hosts, Admiral.  Why classify it?"
"Because, Miss Lindquist, I believe the terrestrials are still ignorant of the 
disposition of stars within the hegemony.  If I am correct in that belief, then 
you are wrong and that data represents our most valuable commodity.  The central 
government may be willing to pay handsomely for what we have in our data banks.  
In any event, we hope to use whatever leverage the Ryall astrogation data gives 
us to obtain assistance in routing the Ryall from Aezer."
"If what you suspect is true, Admiral, that is all the more reason why I can't 
obey this order.  It's my duty to get the information to the Interstellar 
Council as quickly as possible."
Gower nodded.  "Captain Drake thought that might be your attitude."
"Richard knew you were going to ask me to sign this? Bethany asked as she waved 
the printout at Gower.
"He was aware that I was going to speak to you of it."
"Why that...!"
"Please, Miss Lindquist," Gower continued, cutting off the tirade before it had 
a chance to get started.  "It isn't as though we were asking that your lips be 
sealed forever.  Only long enough for us to be given the chance to exploit this 
knowledge that we bought at the cost of a number of lives."
"I'm sorry, Admiral Gower, but I am pledged to Earth's service regardless of my 
personal feelings in the matter.  I will not agree to this order."
Gower leaned back in his seat and regarded her through steepled fingers.  When 
finally he spoke, it was more in sorrow than anger.  "In that case, Miss 
Lindquist, I cannot allow you to leave this ship.  You will stay here  in the 
brig, if necessary  until after Discovery and City of Alexandria have left for 
the Goddard-Sol foldpoint."
"You wouldn't dare lock me up!"
Gower's icy calm contrasted sharply with Bethany's fury.  "I would dare.  I have 
my own duty to perform and I will perform it even if I must face court martial 
when I return home."
"Richard will never stand for this.  My uncle has a treaty with the Altan 
Parliament!  Besides, he gave me his word that I wouldn't be muzzled."
"I do not represent the Altan Parliament, Miss Lindquist.  Nor do I think 
Captain Drake will fight me on this.  He also has his duty, which at the moment 
requires that he obey my orders.  Should he choose not to, he will be proclaimed 
a mutineer.  Hardly seems worth it considering our argument merely concerns the 
timing of our revelation to the terrestrials."
"You're saying that you will tell them?" Bethany asked.
"For what it is worth, I give you my word.  When we've gotten what we came to 
get, or when it becomes clear that is not possible, I will hand them the 
astrogation data personally."
Bethany glowered at him for long seconds, before snapping:  "What is it you want 
me to agree to?"
"Merely that you will not divulge our secret without permission from either 
myself or Captain Drake.  Do you agree?"
"I agree under protest.  However, I plan to lodge a formal protest with 
Parliament when we return home."
"I understand completely," Gower said nodding.  He extracted a pen from its zero 
gravity holder on top of his desk and handed it to Bethany.  "Please sign in the 
space provided."
#
Discovery's main viewscreen showed a string of three golden ship symbols and the 
hazy red ellipsoid that marked the position of the Goddard-Sol foldpoint.  The 
symbols were strung out in line astern formation, with small glowing legends 
beside each denoting velocity and acceleration vectors, as well as the time of 
arrival at the foldpoint boundary.  Other symbols arrayed around the foldpoint 
displayed the positions of the two dozen orbital fortresses that guarded the 
gateway to Earth.
"Are those necessary?" Drake asked from his command chair, gesturing to the 
violet fortress symbols.
"We hope not," Gregory Oldfield said from the observer's seat beside Drake.  
Normally Bethany would have been seated there, but she had not spoken to Drake 
since her return from Royal Avenger more than a week earlier.  After hearing 
Admiral Gower's report of the meeting, he was not surprised.
Drake watched the first of the golden markers cross over the boundary of the 
foldpoint.  As it did so, the ship symbol began to blink rapidly.
"Communicator, put through a call to Admiral Ryerson aboard Teddy Roosevelt , 
please."
"Yes, sir."
An auxiliary screen cleared to show Ryerson's features.  "How do you want to 
handle this, Admiral?"
"Just the way we planned it, Captain.  We will go through first to alert the 
defenses on the other side.  Give us five minutes, and then follow inDiscovery . 
 Five minutes after that, City of Alexandria will come through.  Make sure that 
you begin your identity and password broadcast before you jump.  Remember, that 
password is the only thing protecting you from the automatic defense 
mechanisms."
"Identity and password.  Will do, sir."
As soon as Ryerson broke the connection, Drake turned to his communications 
officer.  "Status check.  All departments, Mr. Hayden."
"Yes, sir."
The roll call of department heads began almost immediately.  "Environmental 
control, ready to jump. ... Engineering, ready to jump. ... Combat control, 
ready to jump. ... Astrogation, ready to jump. ... Fleet commander, ready to 
jump. ..." That last was from Admiral Gower, who had chosen to observe the jump 
from the Combat Control Center  just in case.  After half a minute, the roll 
call reached the bridge and moved smoothly from communications, to astrogation, 
to commanding officer.  He finished the roll with the call:  "Captain, ready to 
jump!"
"The ship is buttoned up and ready to jump, Captain!" his executive officer 
reported.
"Very well, Mr. Marchant."
"Captain, Sensors!  Teddy Roosevelt's jump field is building now."
"Switch main viewscreen to outside view, Mr. Hayden."
"Outside view, Captain."
The schematic diagram on the screen faded away, to be replaced by a black 
starfield.  As Drake watched, the stars moved out radially from the center of 
the screen as the magnification increased.  A tiny foreshortened cylinder 
appeared in the center of the view and quickly grew until it nearly filled the 
screen.  Drake watched as the telltale waviness that marked a fully charged 
jumpfield obscured the Earth fleet blastship.  Then, in the blink of an eye, the 
behemoth was gone, with only a few faint stars to mark where she had been.
"Teddy Roosevelt has jumped, Captain."
"Very good, Mr. Hayden.  Mr. Cristobal, start the countdown clock.  We jump in 
five minutes."
"Aye aye, Captain.  The clock has started."
"Are the recordings ready, Communicator?"
"Ready, sir."
"Start them now.  I want you to monitor them continuously, and notify me 
immediately if there is any kind of breakdown."
"Yes, sir."
Drake watched the red numerals on the countdown clock wind slowly down.  When 
the clock still showed two minutes to go, he keyed for Bethany's stateroom.  She 
answered on the second buzz.
"Well, it looks like this is it," he said.
"I guess it does," she replied stiffly.
"Are you watching your screen?"
She nodded.
"Turn to Channel Two.  I'll have Sol put up on the screen as soon as we arrive 
on the other side."
She said, "Thank you for your courtesy, Richard," then abruptly broke the 
connection.
Drake turned back to the countdown clock.  There was now less than a minute to 
go.
"It's all yours, Mr. Cristobal."
"Thank you, Captain.  Generators are at full power and the jumpfield is 
building.  Thirty seconds to jump.  Stand by.  Fifteen ... ten ... five ... four 
... three ... two ... one ... Jump!"
#
  
CHAPTER 21
  
"Put the system primary up on the screen, Mr. Cristobal!"
"Coming up now, Captain."
A few seconds passed before the screen flashed once and a yellow-white disk lay 
centered in the field of view.  The only features on the star's surface were a 
few sunspots trailing one another across an incandescent plasma sea.  Even 
though large enough to swallow a hundred planets the size of Alta, the spots 
were minor imperfections when judged against the whole disk of the star.
"We're waiting on confirmation, Mr. Cristobal," Drake said after a dozen seconds 
passed in silence.
"Uh, sorry, sir.  I was just rechecking my data.  It is Sol all right.  The 
spectrum matches to ten significant places."
"Very well.  Mr. Hayden, pipe this view into Communications Channel Two.  Then 
switch the main screen to the tactical display.
"Aye aye, Captain!"
The screen changed again, this time to a schematic diagram of the space near the 
Sol-Goddard foldpoint.  As the screen came alight, it began to fill with symbols 
that quickly painted a picture of the foldpoint defenses.  There were several 
low whistles on Discovery 's bridge, as their extent became apparent.  They had 
started out formidable, and were getting more so with each passing second.
Radar and infrared sensors had quickly detected thousands of objects scattered 
throughout the volume of space occupied by the foldpoint.  Each was the size of 
a small scout ship and constructed of an open framework of girders, fuel tanks, 
and an oversize photon drive.  The nearest such was less than a thousand 
kilometers from Discovery , and after a visual examination, the technician 
manning the threat console tentatively identified it as a high acceleration 
orbital mine.
Just beyond the foldpoint's periphery floated two hundred orbital fortresses.  
Telescopic examination of the closest showed it to be bristling with heavy 
lasers, antimatter projectors, missile launchers, and various ports that were 
presumably used to sortie manned interceptors.  Interspersed among the offensive 
weaponry were long and short-range sensors, heat radiators, communications gear, 
and a number of less identifiable mechanisms.  Judging by the amount of 
quiescent energy the orbital fortress spilled to space, it was more than a match 
for any normal fleet of warships.
If the line of orbital fortresses were not enough, long-range sensors detected 
three formations of warships maintaining station at various distances from the 
foldpoint.  Each fleet was positioned to interdict the most direct route to 
Earth, and each appeared to be composed primarily of blastships and heavy 
cruisers.
Drake keyed for the technician manning the countermeasures console in the Combat 
Control Center.  "What's the E-M spectrum like, Mr. Benson?"
 The technician's lined features split into a wide grin.  "You could come close 
to frying an egg on our hull, Captain, the radar beams are so thick out there!  
I have identified 1312 separate sources of E-M radiation in the vicinity so far 
 everything from search and fire control radars to ranging lasers and 
communications beams."
"Let me know if that changes."
"Yes, sir."
"Mr. Cristobal.  Wheres Teddy Roosevelt ?"
"Ten thousand kilometers off our beam, sir.  Almost due galactic north.  She has 
gone to one-tenth gee and appears to be maneuvering for rendezvous."
"How long until Alexandria comes through?"
"Another two minutes, twelve seconds, sir."
"All sensors at high gain?"
"Yes, sir.  High gain and recording."
"Very well.  Stand by to report her arrival."
The countdown chronometer ticked off the remaining minutes and seconds.  When 
the proper time had elapsed, the converted liner flashed into existence some six 
thousand kilometers in front of Discovery 's bow.
"Message from Teddy Roosevelt , Captain," the communicator said immediately 
afterAlexandria 's arrival.
"Put him on, Mr. Hayden."
"Channel Three, sir."
Drake turned to where Admiral Ryerson's features were visible on an auxiliary 
screen.  "Yes, sir?"
"You have been cleared to enter the solar system, Captain.  Please move your 
ships to the main traffic corridor as previously instructed."
"Will do, sir."
Ryerson glanced away from the screen pickup, and then back again.  "We calculate 
rendezvous in forty minutes."
"See you soon.  And Drake..."
"Yes, sir?"
"Welcome home!"
#
Varlan of the Scented Waters lay in front of the viewscreen in her cabin and 
stared at the bright double world centered therein.  Both displayed the tiny 
half-moon shapes that showed them to be closer to the system primary than was 
the human warship in which Varlan was held prisoner.  The larger of the two 
planets was a dazzling blue-white in color, while the smaller satellite appeared 
to be a dull gray-white.  Varlan gazed at the two worlds and pondered recent 
events.
When Bethany of the Lindquists had first begun their daily interviews, Varlan 
had seen them as a good way to stave off the boredom of captivity.  They had 
been intellectual exercises in which she had attempted to unravel the mystery of 
why humans act the way they do.  Since Bethany of the Lindquists was effectively 
the only human that Varlan ever saw, the interviews quickly became an exercise 
in understanding why Bethany behaved the way she did.
Prime among the many riddles that Bethany posed for Varlan was her steadfast 
refusal to see the logical paradox in her idea that cooperation between 
intelligent species was not only possible, but also desirable.  At first Varlan 
had thought to educate Bethany concerning this obvious blind spot.  She had done 
this by recounting the many hard lessons her species had learned during their 
long competition with the swift eaters.  However, Bethany had remained as 
optimistic as ever.  Varlan, in turn  concerned that Bethany might react badly 
if her cherished delusion were challenged too directly  had softened her verbal 
opposition.  She had even conceded that cooperation between species was 
theoretically possible, if highly unlikely in practice.
It had all seemed a harmless enough way to humor her jailer while also providing 
the intellectual stimulation she needed to keep her own fears in check.  Varlan 
had always considered herself a rational modern thinker, and had never believed 
the ancient superstitions of her race.  Still, the entry of the human ships into 
the Evil Star had made her apprehensive and troubled her sleep.  She had often 
dreamed of being chased by gaping jawed swifts with razor teeth.
Eventually, the human fleet had moved out of the Evil Star and Varlan's mood had 
improved.  With the return to normal space, she had scanned the new black sky 
for many hundreds of heartbeats.  Although her knowledge of astronomy was no 
better than the average Ryall's, she hoped to determine whether the human ship 
had returned to the hegemony.  Unfortunately, those few constellations that she 
was able to recognize seemed oddly skewed, an indication that they were far 
distant from any of the systems familiar to the Ryall manager.
It had been in this period that Bethany of the Lindquists had been particularly 
excited during their daily interviews.  When Varlan had asked the reason for her 
mood, Bethany replied that the ship had entered the Goddard star system.  The 
name, Bethany had informed her, was that of a famous human philosopher-priest of 
the past.
There followed many days in which interesting events had taken place, including 
the arrival of several very large human warships.  From her solitary prison 
inDiscovery 's habitat ring, Varlan monitored the comings and goings by counting 
the number of times spin-gravity was removed from the ship.  She had also judged 
the progress of events by the changes in Bethany's moods.  Toward the end of the 
period, the human female had seemed distracted and uncharacteristically silent.
"Is something wrong, Bethany of the Lindquists?" Varlan had asked.
"It's nothing," Bethany responded.  "I'm mad at Admiral Gower and Richard.  I'll 
get over it."
At Varlan's urging, Bethany had gone on to explain that Gower had asked her to 
do something that implied dishonor to the Clan of the Lindquists.  Bethany had 
complied under pressure, and was now unhappy for having done so.  Curious, 
Varlan had asked the nature of the implied dishonor, but Bethany refused to 
explain further.  As for why her displeasure with Gower also applied to 
Bethany's mate-to-be, Varlan had no clue, and Bethany seemed unable to explain.  
After ten minutes spent trying to understand, Varlan said:
"I'm afraid that I do not comprehend mammalian mating practices well enough to 
comment, Bethany.  I must tell you that egg laying would seem to be a much 
simpler method of procreation."
Bethany made the gesture with her lips that Varlan knew to be the human 
equivalent of a smile.  "You may well be right."
There had followed a long period in which the aft bulkhead was the deck rather 
than the curved outer hull.  This, Varlan knew, meant that the ship was under 
power.  She passed the time viewing films from the human entertainment library 
and thinking about what she had learned.  At the end of several days,Discovery 
underwent a series of acceleration changes, and then jumped to yet another star 
system.
During the interview session immediately following the jump between stars, 
Bethany once again showed all the symptoms of excitement.  She spoke rapidly, 
moved her hands in short, jerky motions, and paced the room.
"What is wrong?" Varlan asked.  "Have you and Richard ceased your hostilities?"
Bethany shook her head.  "I'm still giving him the cold shoulder." (The 
translator had failed to render any interpretation of the last two words.)  "But 
I'm finding it harder and harder.  He has sent me flowers every day, and twice 
invited me to dinner in his cabin.  I suppose I'll have to forgive him sooner or 
later."
"You don't seem unhappy."
Bethany grinned.  "Far from it!  I saw Earth today through the big telescope."
"Earth?" Varlan asked.
"Our destination, the place we started for when we began this expedition."
"Was this 'Earth' a famous human like 'Goddard?'"
"No, of course not," Bethany replied with a laugh.  "Earth is the central world 
of human space."
"The seat of your government?"
Bethany nodded.
"It must have been colonized quite a long time ago to have achieved such power," 
Varlan observed.
Bethany laughed again.  "You don't understand.  Earth is not a colony.  It's the 
mother world, the place where humans first evolved."
Bethany had left shortly thereafter, leaving Varlan alone to consider the 
implications of this new bit of information.  Of all the lessons the Ryall had 
learned during their long competition with the swifts, the most important was 
the need to seek out and destroy the vipers in their nest.  For sixty circuits 
of the Ryall home world about its star, warriors of the hegemony had sought to 
do just that against the human foe.  They had failed utterly.  Yet, the much 
sought after home world of the humans lay a mere two interstellar jumps beyond 
the Evil Star  easy striking distance for a strong warfleet!
 Suddenly, Varlan knew her destiny.  She must somehow get this vital information 
back to Those Who Rule.  She watched the blue-white and gray-white orbs, and 
considered how such a feat might be accomplished.
#
Bethany Lindquist turned over in her bed, raised herself to one elbow, and 
rearranged her pillow for the sixth time.  Rolling over onto her stomach, she 
tried to blank the whirling thoughts from her mind.  After five fruitless 
minutes in which she willed herself not to think, and thought ever more actively 
as a result, she lifted her head and opened her eyes to search for the 
chronometer on the nightstand.  The red numerals glared back 01:37 at her.  
Sighing, she sat up, swung bare feet down onto the carpeted deck, and stood 
erect.  Working from memory in the darkened cabin, she groped for her robe, 
slipped into its silky embrace, and then pulled it tight about her.  She moved 
to the door and pushed it open.  A rectangle of blue light from the corridor 
spilled across her.  She stepped out into the corridor, closed the cabin door 
behind her, and padded softly in the direction of the wardroom.  As she moved 
through the deserted ship, she pondered the reasons why she was having trouble 
sleeping.
The first, of course, was the fact that they would enter Earth parking orbit the 
following day.  All through their journey from the Sol-Goddard foldpoint, 
Bethany had spent hours watching Earth grow larger on the screen.  She had 
watched it transformed from an indistinct blur to a living world.  She had noted 
Earth's similarity to Alta, and then reminded herself that the correlation was 
the other way around (by definition).
She had stared at the impossibly thin line of Earth's atmosphere and thought of 
the thousands of generations that had lived beneath its protective blanket of 
air.  She had peered down at vast expanses of ocean, and remembered all the 
pictures she had seen of coral reefs, sunken ships, and icebergs the size of 
mountains.  She had stared in wonder at the familiar shapes of continents that 
she had never expected to see in person.  Considering the excitement she felt at 
having finally arrived, it was no wonder that she was having trouble sleeping.
The second matter that was keeping Bethany awake was the breakthrough she had 
made with Varlan earlier in the day.  The session had started out like any 
other, with the centaur discussing Ryall philosophy.  Then, they had continued a 
discussion that had begun with their first interview on Corlis: the attitude of 
humans and Ryall toward their offspring.  Bethany had been discussing the love 
of human parents for their children, and Varlan had replied that the Ryall felt 
similarly about their own offspring.
"But you can't know who your children are!" Bethany had said.
"Of course not.  When the time comes to lay my eggs, instinct takes over.  I dig 
a hole in warm sand, deposit the eggs, and then cover them over.  I have very 
little memory of the event afterward.  If I wished to know my own hatchlings  a 
desire that my people consider to be perverted  I would require the assistance 
of another to mark my nest and to keep watch until the eggs hatched.  However, 
it is not necessary to know one's parents in Ryall society.  The hatchlings are 
brought up collectively and are loved every bit as much as your human 
offspring."
"See, our two species have something in common after all," Bethany replied.
Varlan was silent for a long time.  Finally, she spoke softly and carefully.  
"Perhaps you are right, Bethany of the Lindquists.  Perhaps we are more alike 
than I first believed."
There had followed a long discussion in which Varlan admitted that she could 
have been wrong about the inevitability of conflict between species.  Bethany 
had called a halt shortly thereafter to give the alien concept time to mature in 
the Ryall's mind.
 Bethany was still thinking about Varlan as she reached the small galley that 
adjoined the wardroom, the refrigerator of which was kept well stocked for the 
benefit of midwatch crewmen.  Bethany had intended to warm a bulb of milk to 
take back to her cabin.  She had not expected to find anyone in the galley so 
late, and was therefore surprised to discover Greg Oldfield seated at the small 
serving table in front of a plate of cold cuts and cheese.
"Evening, Miss Lindquist," the first secretary said, looking up from carving a 
piece off the end of a long yellow cheese.
"Good, evening, Mr. Oldfield."
"Please, I'm Greg to my friends."
"And I'm Bethany to mine, Greg."
"Join me in a snack, Bethany?"
"No thank you.  I just came down for a drink of milk."
"Sounds good.  Mind making me one too?"
"Warm or cold?"
"Cold, please."
Bethany moved to the refrigerator, dispensed two drinking bulbs, and then 
slipped one into the warmer.  A minute later, she was seated across the table 
from Oldfield.
"Couldn't sleep?" the terrestrial diplomat asked.
"No.  I guess I'm just too excited about tomorrow."
"Big day for you people, I imagine."
"My family has waited six generations for what will take place tomorrow," 
Bethany said.  "Yes, I would say that it will be a big day!"
"I've been meaning to ask you about that," Oldfield replied.  "Mind telling me 
how it is that you happen to be the representative of the terrestrial ambassador 
to Alta?"
Bethany recounted the story of Granville Whitlow and his compulsion to maintain 
a terrestrial presence on Alta after the failure of the foldpoint.  She told him 
of the deal Whitlow had made to transfer control of the three Grand Fleet battle 
cruisers to the newly formed colonial navy.  She told of the generations of 
Whitlows who had kept the dream alive for more than a century.  When she 
finished, the first secretary sat and gazed at Bethany with a new respect.
"I had no idea.  I will have to bring this matter to the attention of my 
superiors when we land.  Such loyalty should be rewarded."
"All I want is to deliver my uncle's dispatches to the proper people."
"You'll deliver them to the coordinator himself if I have anything to say about 
it."
#
Discovery's Control Room Number One was crowded.  In addition to Richard Drake 
and the full bridge duty crew, Admiral Gower, First Secretary Oldfield, and 
Bethany Lindquist were all present for the final approach.  In order to 
accommodate the admiral and first secretary, Drake had ordered two temporary 
acceleration couches installed.  The additional couches made the control room 
crowded, and somewhat obscured Drake's field of view.  He had gladly accepted 
those inconveniences, however, because the arrangement left the permanent 
observer's couch free for Bethany. 
"I can watch the approach from my stateroom," she had answered when he first 
invited her to observe the proceedings from the bridge.
"You'll do nothing of the sort.  We started this voyage together, and by God, 
we're going to finish it the same way!"
"Yes, Richard," she had replied meekly.  Later, when she arrived on the bridge, 
her lingering feelings of pique had been quickly submerged by the excitement of 
the occasion.  She had even managed to be civil to Admiral Gower when he arrived 
to take his station.
The main viewscreen had been focused on the swelling Earth for the past several 
hours.  The only time it had been diverted was when the battle cruiser swept in 
past the orbit of Luna.  The moon was close enough to appear larger than the 
Earth at the moment of closest approach.  Sol was low behind the satellite, a 
celestial arrangement that plunged the near face into shadow.  Only the carpets 
of silver lights that marked the positions of the satellite's underground cities 
broke the darkness.
The fleet continued inward.  As each ship fell toward Earth, it retarded its 
hyperbolic velocity by throwing a stream of photons forward along its path at 
the speed of light.  Thus balanced on cones of light, each ship decelerated at a 
constant one-half gravity. Teddy Roosevelt led the procession, followed by 
Discovery , with City of Alexandria bringing up the rear.
AsDiscovery fell deeper into Earth-Luna space, sensor operators began to issue 
ever more frequent warnings of impending close encounters with objects in orbit 
about the planet.  After a heart pounding few seconds, each report would be 
declared a close approach rather than a possible collision and Drake would begin 
to breathe again.  Eventually, sensor operators reported thatTeddy Roosevelt was 
decelerating rapidly for final approach.
"Stand by for our own transition to final power," Argos Cristobal said from his 
station upon hearing the report.
"You have the conn, Mr. Cristobal," Drake replied.
"Yes, sir.  Engines to full power in fifteen seconds.  Ten ... five ... three 
... two ... one.  Power!"
Drake felt himself pulled deeper into his acceleration couch.  After several 
minutes,Discovery 's maneuvering computer sensed that conditions were right for 
a 1000-kilometer high circular orbit about the planet.  Electronic orders 
flashed from the bridge to the engine spaces in the cruiser's central cylinder, 
and the flow of power to the photon engines was disrupted.
Suddenly, weight evaporated around Drake.  The residual springiness of the 
acceleration couch padding threw him gently forward into his restraining 
harness, where he oscillated for a few cycles before coming to rest.  There 
followed several seconds of silence, followed by Greg Oldfield's cheery voice 
saying:
"Welcome to Earth, people.  Welcome home!"
  
CHAPTER 22
  
Earth, as viewed from the vantage point of low orbit, may possibly be the most 
beautiful sight in the universe.  Certainly, there are planets that are larger 
and gaudier; and others that are surrounded by truly impressive ring structures, 
or multiple hurtling moons.  There are even worlds in the terrestrial 
classification that sport brighter blues and whites the color of new fallen 
snow.  Despite this, Earth is still the most beautiful of worlds.  For, on no 
other world can one gaze down at the cradle of the human race.  Nowhere else 
does the approach of darkness throw into stark relief the outline of a 
5000-year-old pyramid, or highlight the twisting form of a stone wall a thousand 
kilometers long.  On no other world can a spacefaring traveler see the primitive 
concrete-and-steel structures from which his ancestors first launched ships into 
space.
To the Altans especially, surveying the world of their forefathers from on high 
brought with it a feeling of reverence and quiet joy.  Even so, most ofDiscovery 
's crew had had their fill of orbital sightseeing by the end of the second day.  
They were anxious to get their feet on solid ground, to breath deeply of air 
untainted by recycling, to partake of the only environment in the universe for 
which human beings are perfectly suited.
Discovery and City of Alexandria were in orbit for more than forty hours before 
Greg Oldfield announced that a ground-to-orbit craft would be up to transport 
the official negotiating team the following day.  When asked the reason for the 
delay, he blamed difficulties in arranging a proper welcoming ceremony.  Admiral 
Gower wondered aloud to Richard Drake whether the reason wasn't more basic; 
namely that the terrestrials had yet to establish a policy regarding their newly 
rediscovered colonies.
The list of those who would be the first to go down to the surface had been in 
preparation since the truncated Helldiver Fleet left Goddard.  FromDiscovery , 
the negotiating team would consist of Admiral Gower, Richard Drake, Philip 
Walkirk, and half a dozen assistants and advisors.  Richard Drake's assistant 
would be Argos Cristobal, Discovery 's astrogator.  Cristobal had made a 
thorough study of the captured Ryall astrogation data and would be a valuable 
man to have along when a deal was struck with the Interstellar Council.  City of 
Alexandria's contribution to the team would include Stanislaw Barrett, Count 
Husanic, their two assistants, 6 scientists, and 2 economists.  Bethany 
Lindquist would also accompany the party in her capacity as her uncle's 
representative; as would First Secretary Oldfield, who had been assigned as 
their terrestrial liaison officer.
Upon entering the shuttle the next day, Richard Drake made sure that he and 
Bethany occupied adjoining acceleration couches.  They spoke very little during 
the transfer craft's stop at City of Alexandria .  Finally, after they had 
departed the liner and begun the long fall toward Earth, Drake turned to Bethany 
and said:  "What say we declare a truce for the duration?"
"I do not know what you are talking about, Richard," she replied stiffly.
"You know damned well what I'm talking about, my love.  You're still mad because 
Admiral Gower threatened to throw you in the brig."
"Don't I have a right to be mad?"
"You did at the time," he replied.  "However, that was ten days ago.  Gower did 
what he had to do, and you made the best bargain you could.  You should have 
come to grips with it by now.  This pouting is childish."
Drake noted the signs of a building explosion, and was surprised when it did not 
come.  Instead, Bethany leaned back in her acceleration couch and regarded him 
more calmly than she had in days.  "I'm not mad at Admiral Gower anymore.  As 
you say, he did what he had to do."
"Then who are you mad at?"
"You."
"Me?  What did I do?"
"You sent me over there without so much as a hint of what Gower was planning."
Drake glanced in the direction of Greg Oldfield.  The first secretary was seated 
three rows in front of them on the opposite side of the fuselage.  He was 
engaged in animated conversation with his seatmate, and seemed oblivious to 
everyone around him.  Even so, Drake lowered his voice to a whisper that was 
nearly masked by the hypersonic keening outside the hull.
"Damn it, I couldn't warn you.  I had my orders.  Besides, Gower was correct in 
asking you what he did.  That data is ours.  If we're to give it to the 
terrestrials, then we have a right to get a fair price in return."
"What makes you think you'll need it?" Bethany asked, matching Drake's whisper.  
"How do you know they won't give us everything we ask for?  Maybe there's no 
need for us to hold the data for ransom?"
Drake shrugged.  "In which case, we'll give it to them without hesitation."
"And if we can't agree on a plan to drive the Ryall from Aezer?"
"Then we'll work something out.  We all agree that what we know is too important 
to be kept a secret any longer than necessary."
She looked at him sharply.  "Do you really mean that, Richard?"
"I do."
She smiled.  "In that case, you're forgiven."
"Care to seal that with a kiss?"
She smiled.  "If that is the proper protocol."
"Believe me, it is."
They embraced for long seconds; totally oblivious to the dozen or so people 
seated behind them.  They then sat back to watch the Mother of Men unfold 
beneath them.
Outside the window, the lights of Central Asia sparkled amid the ghostly glow of 
plasma dancing around the window frame.  The racing shuttle overtook the 
terminator and night turned quickly into day.  Shortly after the coming of the 
sun, a chain of islands appeared in the midst of a vast blue ocean.  Beyond the 
islands, huge squares of blue-green water marked the position of several 
mid-ocean farms.  A few minutes later, a coastline emerged from the haze in 
front of them. Drake knew from having studied the shuttle's flight path that he 
was looking at the western coast of the North American Continent.  The shuttle 
made landfall just above a large bay surrounded by an even larger city.
The shuttle banked right and turned toward a light brown smudge on the horizon.  
Ten minutes later, the smudge had grown into a large desert in the center of 
which lay a sprawling spaceport.  As the craft swept over the spaceport, it 
banked sharply and began to lose altitude.  There followed a series of maneuvers 
that brought the ground up with astonishing rapidity.  Then the brown of the 
desert turned to the dirty black of tarmac, and the shuttle touched down with 
the double squeal of tires that had marked returns to Earth for half a thousand 
years.
As soon as the shuttle slowed sufficiently to pull off the runway, Greg Oldfield 
climbed to his feet.  The first secretary moved to the front of the cabin before 
turning to face them.  "Welcome to Mojave Spaceport.  There will be a short 
ceremony inside the terminal.  Afterwards, we will board an aircraft for Mexico 
City.  In the meantime, sit back and enjoy the view.  We'll be at the terminal 
in another few minutes."
#
Ciudad de Mxico (Mexico City) was the largest metropolis Bethany Lindquist had 
ever seen.  From her room in one of the towers that dominated the skyline she 
could look out across the city toward the twin volcanoes Istachuatl and 
Popocatpetl.  Closer, but no less imposing, was the man-made mountain that 
served as headquarters for the Council for the Promotion of Interstellar Trade 
and Cooperation.
Bethany smiled as she remembered the shock of first seeing those archaic words 
chiseled into the marble lintel over the main entrance to what was, in reality, 
the de facto capital of human space.  She had always known the "central 
government" had begun life as a mercantile association.  The events by which the 
association had first acquired the trappings of a supranational body  and 
later, of a sovereign government  were legend.  Still, seeing it with one's own 
eyes drove home the point far more effectively than reading about it on a 
computer screen.
Bethany had been in Mexico City three days.  The first day had included an 
appearance in front of a full session of the Interstellar Council.  She and her 
fellow colonists had sat in the central rotunda of the council chamber while 
speaker after speaker rose to praise their visitors from the lost systems of the 
Antares Cluster.  Yet, after half an hour of listening to the unrelenting 
praise, Bethany began to notice that the speeches were rife with high-sounding 
words, but noticeably lacking in concrete proposals.
After the general session, the managers of the Helldiver Expedition had been 
taken somewhere else to meet the powers that be.  Bethany had tried to have 
herself included in the group, but Admiral Gower had refused, pointing out (not 
unkindly) that she was a self-professed agent for the other side.
Therefore, while the military men, scientists, and economists all went off to 
meet their various counterparts, Bethany sought out the library at the 
Universadad de Mxico . There she scanned summaries of the history of human 
space since the Ryall capture of Aezer.  She was disheartened to discover that 
not much had changed since the Sandarians had been cut off from the rest of 
human space.  The war with the Ryall still ground on with no end in sight, and 
the military situation, if anything, had deteriorated noticeably.
Nor was that her only disturbing discovery.  For two hours, she had scanned 
issues of Mexico City newsfaxes dating back to the days of the Antares 
Supernova.  Her historian's eye had picked up a distressing pattern, one that a 
non-professional could easily miss.
When news of the Ryall depredations first reached Earth, a great war fever had 
broken out.  This had been followed by the expenditure of vast sums of money to 
build up humanity's capabilities for both offense and defense.  In a decade or 
less, human space had been organized into a smoothly functioning mechanism for 
the prosecution of interstellar war.  It had been in this period that the solar 
system's foldpoint defenses had first been constructed, as had similar defenses 
in nearly every system within three foldspace transitions of Ryall space.  For 
three generations humanity had worked tirelessly to defeat the Ryall.
Then, forty years earlier, the first cracks had appeared in humanity's resolve.  
The initial indications of faltering will had come when the press ceased talking 
about winning the war and became preoccupied with "containing the centaurs."  
Over the next two decades, offensive operations came virtually to a standstill 
and ever more resources were diverted to foldpoint defenses.  Toward the end of 
the period, even defensive appropriations began to have difficulty making it 
through the council.
About the time the Ryall took Aezer, large groups of dissenters began to make 
their presence felt.  The first system to openly defy the council on a war 
related issue had been Scuyler's Star.  The Scuylerians had declared themselves 
neutral in the fight and had refused to supply their quota of ships for the 
annual fleet levy.  The rebellion had been put down by the Grand Fleet, which 
had occupied Scuyler in a bloodless operation that had nevertheless sent a 
strong message to other would-be pacifists.
The growth of the pacifist movement had been slowed, but not stopped.  Not 
surprisingly, one of the strongest centers of the movement was Earth herself.  
For the average terrestrial, the war was far away.  At their closest, the 
centaurs were four foldspace transitions distant.  To reach the solar system 
they would have to fight their way through a dozen fleets and four sets of 
foldpoint defenses.  Because of this insulating barrier of multiple defensive 
lines, the average terrestrial saw no good reason for his taxes to be used 
protecting "a few colony worlds that should do more to protect themselves."  
This attitude was especially apparent in the actions of some of the major 
nation-states  which stubbornly maintained the fiction that they were the 
Interstellar Council's equals.  Over the past decade, most governments had 
passed nonbinding resolutions calling for a reduction in war appropriations.
Bethany was mildly depressed when she returned to her hotel.  It was a familiar 
feeling, brought on by a too concentrated dose of history taken in too little 
time.  For history, like news, is mostly bad.  Bethany had learned the wisdom of 
that old Chinese curse, "May you live in interesting times!" during her first 
year as an undergraduate at Homeport University.  She had often considered that 
only an historian could truly appreciate the subtle depth of the sentiment.
Upon reaching her room, she discovered a message informing her that she had been 
invited on a tour of Mexico City; and that if she wished to accept, a guide 
would be waiting for her in the lobby of her hotel at 07:00 hours the following 
morning.  The guide turned out to be a perky blonde by the name of Ryssa 
Blenham, who was also the daughter of the Second Coordinator for the 
Interstellar Council.  Over breakfast, Bethany learned that Ryssa was from 
Galleria, which lay at the opposite end of human space from Alta.  The two women 
spent the morning touring garish museums, stolid sixteenth century churches, and 
various monuments to Mexico City's past.  At every stop, Bethany reflected on 
the fact that each stone figure or bronze plaque represented an instant of blood 
and pain  be they the result of earthquake, revolution, or war.  At noon, Ryssa 
guided her to one of the open-air cafes that adorned both sides of a wide 
boulevard.  The two women ate a light lunch of gazpacho and salad, and talked 
about their respective childhoods.  Inevitably, the conversation turned to 
Bethany's position with the Helldiver Expedition.
"I understand that you are a diplomat," Ryssa said.
Bethany, who was in the process of sipping wine from a glass, laughed. "Only in 
the broadest sense of the word, Ryssa.  She went on to explain her family's 
history, and her own appointment at official representative of the hereditary 
terrestrial ambassador to Alta.  She ended by explaining that she was on Earth 
to deliver the accumulated dispatches of the Homeport embassy to someone in the 
diplomatic service of the Interstellar Council.
"But these dispatches are over a century old, are they not?"  Ryssa asked.
Bethany nodded.  "Some of them."
"They must contain many secrets then, to be important after all this time."
"On the contrary, most are mundane, day-to-day matters.  Annual accountings of 
terrestrial property on Alta, summaries of embassy political activity, lists of 
passport expirations and renewals, corrections to immigration records, marriage 
records, that sort of thing."
"But surely you didn't go to all this trouble merely to bring routine reports to 
the council!  If it is as you say, who will want to read the stuff?"
Bethany shrugged.  "I doubt anyone will.  Except for my uncle's cover letter, 
it's all pretty dry reading."
Ryssa shook her head.  "Then it seems to me that you have come a long way for 
nothing."
Bethany leaned back in her chair and regarding her hostess with narrowed eyes.  
There was something about the question that made her uncomfortable, and Bethany 
struggled for the proper words to explain.
"It isn't the contents of my uncle's dispatches that are important, Ryssa.  
Rather, it is the principle they represent.  Granville Whitlow took an oath to 
look after Earth's interests on Alta.  He spent his life upholding that oath.  
His descendants have done the same for six generations.  The dispatches I carry 
are the product of those six lives.  When I deliver them into the hands of the 
proper authorities, I will, in effect, be saying that those lives counted for 
something!"
"It sounds as though it is very important to you."
"It is. Very important."
"In that case, perhaps I can speak to my father of this."
#
The next morning Bethany received a call from a pleasant young woman with a 
Spanish accent notifying her that she had an appointment with the Second 
Coordinator of the Interstellar Council at 10:00 hours, and "would that be 
convenient for Senorita Lindquist?"  After assuring her caller that she would be 
there, Bethany spent the rest of the morning preparing for the audience.
Sir Joshua Blenham, Senior Delegate to the Interstellar Council from Galleria, 
Socata IV, was a large bear of a man with a bushy mustache and crinkles around 
the eyes.  He had a tendency to boom when he talked, but immediately made 
Bethany feel at ease.  In addition to Blenham, there were three other men in the 
office.  She recognized two of them as being functionaries who had taken Richard 
Drake and the other Helldiver leaders away after the general audience on the 
first day.  The third man was a stranger to her.
"Miss Bethany Lindquist, may I present Raoul Letterier, Alphonse Grast, and 
Kelton Dalwood?" Blenham said as he indicated the three in turn.  "I won't bore 
you with their overlong titles or what they do.  Frankly, our administrative 
organization is such that it is sometimes difficult for even us to understand.  
However, let us say that they are involved in the question of assisting your 
colony and that of the Sandarians.  Gentlemen, Miss Lindquist is a terrestrial 
loyalist."
"So I understand from First Secretary Oldfield's report," Letterier said.  
"Frankly, Miss Lindquist, I am amazed that people such as you and your uncle 
still exist on Alta."
"Why, Mr. Letterier?"
"It has been a long time since the Antares Supernova.  To be frank, we very 
nearly had forgotten about you.  We had assumed that you would have forgotten 
about us.  To find colonists still loyal to the council is amazing."
"You misunderstand," Bethany replied.  "My uncle isn't loyal to this particular 
Interstellar Council anymore than you are loyal to whatever council ruled the 
year Granville Whitlow left Earth for Alta.  My uncle is loyal to the idea of 
Earth."
"You are correct, Miss Lindquist.  I don't understand."
"On Alta, gentlemen, Earth is a legend.  It is a fairyland place where the 
cities are paved with gold and justice always triumphs.  Its leaders are the 
wisest, its courts the fairest, its freedoms the greatest in the whole galaxy.  
It is an ideal that all other peoples must strive to live up to. That is the 
Earth to which my uncle gives his loyalty."
"You seem to be implying that we don't measure up," Blenham replied.
"I spent some time in the university library the day before yesterday.  From 
what I saw, I'm not sure that you do."
"Surelyyou didn't expect this world to be the fairyland place that you 
describe," Letterier said.
"No," Bethany agreed.  "But I didn't expect to find a planet apathetic about the 
Ryall threat, either."
"And is that what you think you have found?"
"I came away from my studies with that strong impression, sir."
"Well then, perhaps we can convince you otherwise," Blenham said.  "In the 
meantime, I understand that you have some dispatches for me.  Do you have them 
with you?"
"Yes, sir," Bethany replied.  She reached into her pouch and retrieved the 
record tile on which had been recorded the administrative details of 127 years 
of embassy operations.  She handed it to Blenham.
The coordinator held the tile between thumb and forefinger and studied the play 
of colors from the hologram interference patterns before placing the tile on his 
desk.  At a signal from the coordinator, all four men rose to their feet.  
Puzzled, Bethany did likewise.
Blenham came around the desk with a small case in his hands.  He stopped in 
front of Bethany, and removed something from the case.  Clearing his throat, 
Blenham said formally, "Bethany Lindquist, by the power vested in me by the 
Interstellar Council, and on behalf of Ambassador Clarence Whitlow, Chief of 
Mission, Valeria IV, I bestow on you The Order of Terra , with all the rights 
and privileges pertaining thereto.  I further thank you on behalf of the council 
for your loyalty, and that of your family for these many years of unheralded 
service."
Bethany found her eyes filling with moisture as Blenham lifted the gold medal 
with its rainbow colored ribbon over her head.  He then kissed her on both 
cheeks, and each of the others present shook her hand solemnly.
"What, nothing to say?" Blenham asked when he had finished.
"I thank you for my uncle," Bethany replied with a sniff.  "This,"  She 
gestured toward the medal.   "will make all the years of ridicule worth it."
Letterier grinned.  "You may not know it, Miss Lindquist, but a stipend of 
100,000 stellars a year goes with that bit of metal you have around your neck.  
Your uncle is a rich man."
"Can we get on with it, Sir Joshua?" the man who had been introduced as Alphonse 
Grast asked from where he had retaken his seat.
"You are so impatient, Alphonse," Blenham replied with a sigh.  "However, I 
suppose we do have a schedule to maintain.  Miss Lindquist, if you are 
agreeable, Mr. Grast would like to ask you a few questions."
"What sort of questions?" Bethany asked as she returned to the chair in which 
she had been sitting.
"I am a member of the Grand Fleet General Staff, Miss Lindquist.  I hold the 
rank of commodore in that service, and I am assigned to military intelligence.  
I would appreciate it if you would answer some questions for me."
"Of course, if I'm able."
Grast gazed levelly into her eyes.  "Please tell us how it is that you have a 
Ryall prisoner onboard your ship!"
#
"She's lying!"
Sir Joshua Blenham, who thirty seconds earlier had escorted Bethany Lindquist to 
his office door and then directed his secretary to see her safely out of the 
building, turned and regarded Commodore Grast with a look of distaste.
"Must you always be so direct in your assertions, Alphonse?  Here our guest has 
barely departed, and already you are casting aspersions on her character."
"I merely state fact, Coordinator.  They are all lying to us.  We need no expert 
in voice stress analysis to tell us that.  Did you see the way she tensed up 
when I mentioned the Ryall prisoner onboard their flagship?  From the way she 
flinched, you would think I had jabbed her with a pin."
"I have to agree, Sir Joshua," Raoul Letterier said.  "I was watching the young 
lady quite closely.  Her whole body tensed when Alphonse asked her about the 
Ryall."
"Perhaps that was because of this research she claims to be doing," Blenham 
replied.  "What about that, Mr. Dalwood?"
The man, who had been introduced as Kelton Dalwood, was a technician trained in 
analyzing voice stress patterns and inferring things from them  sometimes quite 
important things.  While the other three men argued, he had been going over the 
recordings he had been making surreptitiously while Bethany talked.  At 
Blenham's question, he looked up.
"Beg your pardon, Coordinator?"
"The question, Mr. Dalwood, is whether or not Miss Lindquist is hypersensitive 
about this research she claims to be conducting on the Ryall aboard their ship."
"No, sir.  Her level of stress was relatively low during the period when she was 
explaining her research.  It appears to be the fact that we know about this 
particular Ryall that has her spooked."
"Can you infer the reason for that, Technician?" Grast asked.
"No, sir.  There weren't sufficient questions asked to determine that."
"Let us not confine our discussions to the girl, gentlemen," Letterier said.  
"Do you have any explanation for this anomalous reading that we seem to be 
getting from all of the colonists, Mr. Dalwood?"
"No, sir.  All I can tell you that their level of tension soars right off the 
scale when we ask about either their trip through the nebula, or the Ryall."
"My God!  You don't suppose the Ryall know this trick for diving into exploding 
stars, do you?" Letterier asked.
"Unlikely," Commodore Grast replied.  "If they did, we would have found 
ourselves under attack in half a dozen systems across human space."
"Could it be this anti-radiation gizmo they are trying to protect?"
The voice stress technician shook his head.  "We've tested a dozen of them now 
and they show a very straightforward reaction when someone asks questions about 
their anti-radiation device.  They tell the questioner that they would love to 
give it to us, but that formal agreements will have to be signed first.  Their 
reaction is that of enlightened self interest, not the subliminal guilt that 
first made us suspicious that they were hiding something."
"Well, gentlemen, we won't very well discover that sitting in this office," 
Blenham replied.  "What say we continue listening to what they tell us and keep 
our ears tuned to this apparent mystery.  In the meantime, perhaps Miss 
Lindquist will take us up on our offer to help in her Ryall research."
Grast nodded with satisfaction.  "If we can just get the beast in our own 
interrogation chambers, we'll be able to learn everything it knows."
"In the meantime, let us continue to treat our guests as guests.  Perhaps they 
will eventually tell us their secret of their own accord."
"And if they do not?" Raoul Letterier asked.
"Then we will have to find another way, won't we?"
  
CHAPTER 23
  
Richard Drake had been in Mexico City for two days and had so far seen little 
more than the interiors of conference rooms.  The negotiating team had broken up 
into individuals or working groups immediately following their reception by the 
full Interstellar Council.
The diplomatic/political working group consisted of Stan Barrett, Count Husanic, 
and their two assistants.  The four diplomats accompanied First Secretary 
Oldfield to the Colonial Department where they discussed the details of 
reestablishing diplomatic relations with their counterparts.  The conferences 
had touched on such matters as diplomatic recognition, travel documentation, 
quarantine restrictions, and reciprocal trade agreements.
The scientists had mostly gone off on their own, or in the company of one or two 
terrestrial colleagues.  Their assigned task was to become familiar with 
technical developments that had taken place since Sandar's isolation from the 
rest of human space.  Most had chosen various libraries around the city in which 
to perform their research.  Boris Alvarez, whose task it was to determine the 
strides that had been made in deciphering captured Ryall technology, was one of 
a small group who had chosen the library at the University of Mexico for their 
labors.  After a briefing by university librarians concerning information 
retrieval procedures, Alvarez had allowed himself to be led to one of the large 
study areas.  As he was passing a bank of information terminals, he found 
Bethany Lindquist comfortably ensconced in one of the small study cubicles.
"I see that we are research partners once again," he had said as he paused 
beside where she sat.
Startled by the interruption, Bethany had looked up, seen who it was, then 
smiled.  "Hello, Boris.  What brings you here?"
"Just trying to get current in my field," he replied.  "And you?"
"The same.  I'm studying history from a terrestrial point of view."
"That could take quite some time."
"Not at the rate I'm scanning.  I have clocked myself at just under a decade 
every ten minutes.  I haven't crammed like this since my days as an 
undergraduate."
"Are you learning anything?"
"I'm learning something!   However, it's too early to figure out precisely 
what."
"Well, I had best get to it myself.  Good hunting."
"You too, Boris!"
Like the civilians, the Altan and Sandarian naval officers had formed a working 
group with their terrestrial counterparts.  Where the diplomatic working group 
had been whisked upstairs in the council building, the military people were 
transported across town to the foothills of the Serrana del Ajusco Mountains.  
There they found Grand Fleet Headquarters, a glass skyscraper whose proportions 
rivaled those of the mountain range beyond.
The first meeting was devoted to mutual orientation.  On the colonists' side, 
both Drake and Gower made presentations concerning the naval strength of their 
respective star systems.  In addition, Admiral Gower gave a detailed review of 
Sandarian operations against the Ryall, and a candid assessment of the Battle of 
Sandar, which the colonists had very nearly lost.  Questions by Admiral Ryerson 
and Grand Admiral Belton, Grand Fleet Chief of Staff, kept the session going 
until well after the normal time for the noon meal.
Following a quick snack in the senior officers' dining room, it was the 
terrestrials' turn to orient the Altans and Sandarians.  The task fell to a 
Commodore Muoz, a small man with a speaking voice that tended to lapse into a 
nasal monotone.  Muoz began his review of the military situation in human space 
by giving an overview of the relative strengths, battle tactics, and strategies 
used by human and Ryall fleets over the past century.  He then began a detailed 
analysis of Grand Fleet operations during the seventeen years since the fall of 
Aezer. Four hours later, Drake felt as though his head were going to burst from 
its load of new information. Still, despite the enormity of the subject matter, 
one overall impression had stood out starkly in the mass of details. Homo 
sapiens and Centaurus sapiens were locked in a struggle to the death, a struggle 
that the centaurs were winning.
When Antares exploded, it had linked human and Ryall space through three star 
systems  Aezer, Constantine, and Klamath.  In one other system, Napier, 
shockwave focusing had temporarily created a fourth foldline link between the 
two realms.  Unfortunately, for all concerned, the temporary foldpoint in the 
Napier system had lasted long enough for the two races to become aware of each 
other's existence and for the first Ryall attacks to be launched against New 
Providence.
The two decades that followed had seen a steady increase in the number of Ryall 
attacks against human space.  The assaults had triggered a massive human defense 
effort in which foldpoints were fortified, vast numbers of warships constructed, 
and the economy of human space put on a war footing.  Those early years had also 
seen a series of large-scale offensive operations launched against the centaurs. 
 However, despite some early successes, the Grand Fleet and its auxiliaries had 
failed to halt the Ryall encroachment into human territory.  The best they could 
do was slow the centaur advance.
Constantine had been the first system lost to the Ryall, and along with it, a 
prime world colonized only thirty years earlier.  The survivors had fled to the 
adjoining star system of Hallowell.  There the Grand Fleet had fought a pitched 
battle to protect the Hallowell-Constantine foldpoint against a determined Ryall 
thrust.  When the Ryall attack failed, both sides settled down to fortify their 
respective sides of the foldline link.  The inherent advantage that each 
foldpoint gave to its own set of defenders had produced a stalemate that had 
lasted more than fifty years.
The second system to be lost to the Ryall had been Aezer.  That, of course, had 
brought about Sandar's isolation and triggered five bloody attempts at regaining 
the system  three by the Sandarians and two others by the Grand Fleet.
Drake had no need to ask about the battle for the third system, Klamath.  He had 
seen evidence of how that fight was going when Conqueror fell into the Val 
system.
As Drake sat and listened to the litany of failure on which Commodore Muoz was 
attempting to place the best possible face, he suddenly realized that here was 
confirmation that the terrestrials were ignorant of the true nature of the Ryall 
Hegemony.  Had they known that Ryall space occupied a single compact foldspace 
cluster, it would not have been necessary to postulate a Ryall force that, in 
Drake's opinion, was 300 percent too large.
Nor had all the reverses come on the battlefield.  It was inevitable that the 
long, unsuccessful war would also take its toll on the home front.  Unable to 
dislodge their enemies from any of the gateway systems to Ryall space, and faced 
with an erosion of public support for the war, the Grand Fleet had adopted a 
defensive strategy.  They began to place more and more emphasis on foldpoint 
defenses, less and less on taking the battle to the Ryall.
It was a quiet and depressed group of Altan and Sandarian military men who 
returned to their hotel that evening.  For, unlike the terrestrials, to whom the 
situation had seemed a natural, lifelong evolution, the Altans and Sandarians 
had been hit with it in a single blow.  Worse, they knew the underlying reason 
for humanity's troubles lay in the Ryalls' seeming ability to be everywhere at 
once.  Unlike the terrestrials, they recognized the danger that ability posed to 
the future existence of the human race.
#
The following morning's meeting was held in the same conference room, but with a 
larger audience.  Following introductions, Admiral Belton turned the meeting 
over to Admiral Gower, who in turn explained that Altan and Sandarian 
strategists had been working on a plan to break the Aezer blockade.  He 
concluded by saying, "With your permission, Admiral Belton, I will turn the 
floor over to my chief strategist, Commander Sir Garrett Foster.  He will 
explain in detail what we have in mind."
Foster was a typical product of the Sandarian military academy  a stern faced 
taciturn man with a quiet voice that nonetheless had the strength of command to 
it.  He strode to the holoscreen at the front of the conference room, turned to 
face the audience, and said:
"Good afternoon, sirs.  I would like to begin today by reviewing the current 
situation in the Antares Cluster.  If I may have the lights down, please."  The 
overhead lights dimmed and the holoscreen came to light.  In its depths was a 
foldspace topology chart showing the overall structure of the Antares Foldspace 
Cluster.  "You will note from the chart that there is but a single conventional 
post-nova sequence of foldspace transitions between Hellsgate and human space.  
Anyone wishing to travel from Sandar to Sol must first transition between the 
Hellsgate, Aezer, Hermes, Sacata, Carswell, and Vega systems.  Upon reaching 
Vega, of course, it is a simple matter for a ship to reach Sol.
"Unfortunately, the Ryall cut the lifeline between Sandar and human space 
seventeen years ago.  They did this when they took control of the Aezer system 
and established their blockade there.  Since that time, both of our forces have 
attempted to break the blockade without success."  Foster gazed out over his 
audience and asked, "What do you suppose would have happened if we had been able 
to coordinate those attacks?"
"That is hardly relevant, Commander," Admiral Ryerson replied.  "With the sole 
link between us cut, we had no way of communicating our plans to you."
"True enough, Admiral," Foster replied, turning back to the foldspace chart.  
"More than true, in fact.  It is one of basic principles of the universe that 
all communications, save for those that travel via foldline link, are limited to 
the speed of light.  Had we of Sandar sent you a radio message detailing our 
plans to attack Aezer, that message would still be on its way a couple of 
centuries hence.  The same had you attempted to send us a similar message.  
Without communication, there can be no coordination, without coordination, no 
hope of victory.
"That is what the Ryall did to us when they captured Aezer.  By destroying our 
ability to act in concert, the centaurs ensured that they would never face 
simultaneous attacks on the Aezer foldpoints.  This leaves them free to 
concentrate their entire force at whichever foldpoint comes under attack, and to 
shift it quickly to the opposite side of the system should need arise.  Up until 
now, however, the chance of both foldpoints coming under attack at the same time 
has been too low for them to worry about."
Foster gazed at the assembled Grand Fleet officers and let the meaning of what 
he was saying sink in.  When he continued, he had a grim little smile on his 
face.  "I am here to tell you that things have changed, gentlemen.  Obviously, 
or else I would not be here to tell you!
"What has changed is the fact that we and the Altans have developed an 
anti-radiation field that allows our ships to penetrate the Antares nebula.  In 
so doing, we have bypassed the Ryall blockade of Aezer, and reestablished 
communication with the rest of human space.  In so doing, we have also provided 
a means to drive the Ryall from the Aezer system.  This time we can coordinate 
the date and hour of our attacks against Aezer."
"Are you suggesting a simultaneous assault at both ends of the Aezer system?" 
Admiral Ryerson asked.
"No, sir," Foster responded.  "A simultaneous attack would mean that both of our 
forces would engage foldpoint defenses that are at full strength.  No, we have 
something subtler in mind.  You see, the Ryall know that they have hurt Sandar 
badly.  They have bled us during each of our attacks on Aezer, and again at the 
Battle of Sandar.  It is the belief of the Sandarian General Staff that the 
Ryall commander in the Aezer system has effectively written us off as a serious 
threat.  It pains me to tell you that he is very nearly correct in that 
assessment.
"We propose, therefore, that the Grand Fleet send a battle group through the 
nebula to Hellsgate.  There Altan and Sandarian naval forces will join them.  At 
a prearranged time, a second battle group will launch a diversionary attack 
against Aezer from the Hermes system.  This attack will be designed to draw 
Ryall forces away from the Aezer-Hellsgate foldpoint and toward Aezer-Hermes.  
Then, at the moment we judge the defenses to be at their weakest, the battle 
group in the Hellsgate system will attack the Aezer-Hellsgate foldpoint and 
destroy whatever defenses remain.
"As quickly as the attacking force is able to break free of the foldpoint, it 
will divide into two groups.  The first group will race to the third foldpoint 
in the Aezer system, the one leading back into Ryall space.  There they will 
attempt to destroy all Ryall reinforcements as they materialize.  The second 
group will cross the system and engage the Aezer-Hermes defenses from behind, 
thus clearing the foldpoint for entry by the Hermes battle group.  Once we've 
occupied Aezer in strength, we should be able to hold the system against 
anything the centaurs can throw at us."
"An interesting plan," Admiral Ryerson said.  "Have you subjected it to rigorous 
analysis?"
"We have," Foster replied.  "We estimate an 85 percent chance of success if we 
use two battle groups in the attack, 97 percent if we use three."
"We'll have to check your data."
"Of course," Admiral Gower replied from his place beside Drake.
For the next six hours, the conference discussed the myriad details that would 
have to be worked out for such an attack to succeed.  There was the matter of 
outfitting one or two battle groups with anti-radiation fields, and of the 
support ships that would be required.  There was the operation's impact on Grand 
Fleet operations in the rest of human space.  Finally, there was the cost to be 
considered.  As the sun disappeared behind the nearby mountains, sending tongues 
of azure shadow leaping across fleet headquarters, Admiral Belton stopped the 
discussions.  "We've done enough for today, people.  Major Krael, how long to 
convert this proposal into a feasibility plan and program it into your 
computers?"
"Twelve to sixteen hours, sir," Belton's chief of analysis said.  "We should 
have preliminary results by the day after tomorrow."
"Then I propose that we reconvene at that time.  Is that agreeable to you, 
Admiral Gower?"
"It is."
"Very well.  I hereby declare this meeting to be adjourned!"
   
CHAPTER 24
  
Richard Drake's third full day on Earth began with a meeting of the various 
Helldiver working groups to discuss what each had discovered.  The meeting took 
place in the ballroom of the hotel where the delegation was staying.  There had 
been some talk of choosing another site to make electronic eavesdropping more 
difficult, but the state of the technology was such that almost any meeting site 
could be bugged in a matter of minutes.  Since they lacked the equipment to make 
the meeting room truly "bug proof," Admiral Gower saw no reason not to let 
convenience control the choice.
Largely, the reports were encouraging.  Count Husanic, speaking for the 
diplomatic/political working group, announced that the terrestrial diplomats 
were highly interested in reestablishing relations.  Indeed, if the cause of 
reunification had a problem, it was probably with the Altan Parliament and the 
Sandarian Royal Council.  For, in the years since Sandar's isolation, the 
Interstellar Council had significantly increased the cost of membership in the 
community of human star systems.  Current war taxes alone amounted to a full ten 
percent of a system's yearly output.  Additionally, each system was required to 
raise and maintain a full squadron of ships for incorporation into the Grand 
Fleet.
The diplomats had discussed a number of tentative protocols during their 
meetings.  One of these concerned the exchange of technology.  The terrestrials 
had been quick to emphasize that the signing of such an agreement would require 
the immediate surrender of all data pertaining to the anti-radiation field.  In 
return, Alta and Sandar would be given full rights to whatever classified data 
the rest of humanity had obtained in the years since the fall of Aezer.
Another agreement that had been discussed called for the Altan and Sandarian 
high commands to turn over all intelligence information concerning the Ryall to 
the Grand Fleet.  Upon hearing this, Admiral Gower wondered aloud whether the 
terrestrials had any particular intelligence data in mind.  He did not say so 
aloud, but his tone made it clear that his question was really:  "Do they know 
about the Ryall astrogation data?"  Count Husanic assured him that the sharing 
of intelligence data was merely a formality.
Following Count Husanic's report, Richard Drake reviewed the progress of the 
military working group and emphasized the fact that their plan to free the Aezer 
system was being evaluated by Grand Fleet experts.   Finally, several scientists 
summarized the results of their studies.  None had come across any startling new 
developments; but several commented that they were dismayed by the emphasis that 
the terrestrials placed on defensive research.  "If you ask me," one said, "they 
are trying to dig themselves a hole and pull it in after them."
The meeting broke up shortly after noon.  Richard Drake, with nothing pending, 
decided that the time had come to see the sights.  He stopped in the hotel gift 
shop and purchased what the saleslady assured him was a typical leisure outfit 
in the current style.  He changed from his uniform and took the lift to the 
lobby.  There he found Bethany waiting to go upstairs.
"Hello, stranger!"
"Richard!  I was beginning to wonder if you had been swallowed up in a chasm 
somewhere.  Where did you get that outfit?"
"Like it?" he asked, posturing to show off the chartreuse kilt and lime green 
shirt that he had purchased.  "The lady assured me that I would blend right in."
"In a neon jungle, maybe," she replied, laughing.  "Have you eaten yet?"
"Is that an invitation to lunch, my love?"
"It is."
"Then I accept."
"Fine.  Let's go up to my room so I can change."
"I'm right behind you."
Drake waited in the bedroom while Bethany slipped into another "native costume" 
 a mauve skirt and blouse, with dark purple boots and a shoulder bag of the 
same color.
"I see we shop in the same store," she said as she slipped into his arms and 
tilted her head up for a kiss.
"Or take advice from the same saleswoman," he replied just before planting his 
lips on hers.  They stayed that way for long seconds before breaking the 
embrace.  He indicated the double bed with a tilt of his head.  "Care to delay 
lunch?"
"It's tempting," she replied, "but I've had a big morning and I'm famished."
"Then lunch it is.  Do you know a place other than the hotel restaurant?"
"That I do.  Come on, we'll find a cab."
#
The restaurant was on top of one of the tall buildings downtown.  It was 
decorated to appear as a forest clearing, with the tables interspersed among 
tall trees.  A small, gurgling stream ran through the dining area at a slant.  A 
wooden bridge crossed the stream where it bisected the main walkway.
"Nice," Drake said as he glanced around.  "How do you know about this place?"
"Ryssa told me about it."
"Who's Ryssa?"
"My guide.  She's also the daughter of the Second Coordinator."
Drake whistled.  "Sounds like you've been getting the VIP treatment."
She nodded.  At that moment, a waiter appeared, handed them two ornate, 
gilt-edged menus, and took their drink orders.  "Tell me about your morning," 
Drake said when the waiter had departed.
"Not much to tell, Richard.  I met Ryssa's father, and he gave me this."  
Bethany reached into her shoulder bag, retrieved a small rectangular box, opened 
it, and handed it to Drake.  Inside was a golden medallion suspended from a 
multicolored ribbon.
"Beautiful.  What is it?"
"MerelyThe Order of Terra , the highest medal that can be awarded to someone in 
the diplomatic service," Bethany replied smugly.  "They presented it to me so 
that I can give it to Uncle Clarence."
"You've delivered your dispatches!"
Bethany nodded.
"Well, this calls for a drink!"  Drake signaled their waiter and asked that 
their order be changed to champagne.  When the glasses arrived, they held their 
drinks aloft while Drake proposed a toast.  "To duties fulfilled and promises 
yet to keep!"
Bethany sipped from her glass, and then carefully put her drink down on the 
white tablecloth. "That was very poetic, Richard.  Did it mean what I think?"
He nodded.  "You promised to marry me just as soon as you delivered those damned 
dispatches.  Remember?"
"I remember."
"So, how about it?"
"You want to get married? Now ?"
"Why not?"
Bethany shrugged.  "I guess I can't think of any reason not to."
"Good!  Let's find someone who can tell us about the local customs.  Where do 
you suppose we should look?"
"There's no need," Bethany replied.  "I asked Ryssa about Mexican marriage 
customs yesterday."
"Oh?" Drake asked, his eyebrows rising.
Bethany turned red.  "The subject came up somehow."
"I'm not criticizing, my love.  Tell me what she told you."
"We have to go down to the Hall of Records and take out a license.  The cost is 
one hundred pesos.  After that there is a three day waiting period before the 
ceremony can take place."
"You said you wanted to be married in a cathedral.  Any idea where we might find 
one?"
Bethany blushed again and cast her eyes down at the table.  "Ryssa said that she 
would be glad to talk to the priests at Catedral Metropolitana , if we wanted 
her to.  It's mostly used as a church museum these days, but they occasionally 
hold weddings there, too."
"Here's the afternoon schedule, then," Drake said.  "We finish lunch, go down to 
the Hall of Records, pay our hundred pesos, and then end up back at the hotel.  
Agreeable to you?"
"Whatever you say, my love."
#
Later, Bethany rested her head on Drake's chest while he stroked up and down her 
spine.  "I can hardly believe it!  Three more days and we'll be husband and 
wife!"
"Do you want to see the license again?"
"You know I can't read Spanish, Richard."
After lunch, they had indeed sought out the Ciudad de Mxico Minesterio del 
Registrador and recorded their desire to obtain a marriage license.  They had 
been asked to fill out innumerable forms and answer a number of questions put to 
them by a functionary with a self-important air.  When the functionary had 
satisfied himself that all was in order and that the proper fee had been paid, 
they were issued a marriage license printed in Spanish.
Bethany had called Ryssa from the municipal building where the minesterio was 
located.  Ryssa's blonde features had broken into a broad smile at the news and 
she immediately asked to speak with the lucky man.  Drake had moved into the 
phone pickup's field of view and introduced himself.
"You are a lucky man, Captain Drake.  I hope you know that."
"I am well aware of that fact, Miss Blenham."
"I'm Ryssa to my friends, Captain."
"And I'm Richard to mine, Ryssa."
"I'm looking forward to meeting you in the flesh, Richard.  I will call the 
cathedral immediately and make a reservation.  Any particular time?"
"Any time after three days from now," he replied.
"Let's see, your waiting period is up Friday afternoon.  Will Saturday morning 
be acceptable?"
"More than acceptable."
"Then Saturday it is.  If I run into a hitch, I'll try for Sunday afternoon 
between services."
"Fine," Bethany said.
"Have you done any shopping for your trousseau yet?"  Ryssa asked.
Bethany laughed.  "We only decided to get married a few hours ago.  I haven't 
had the time!"
"How about if I stop by your hotel tomorrow morning and we go buy out the town?"
"I don't want to be a bother, Ryssa."
"A bother?  My dear, this is the most excitement I have had this year!  Why, 
this is a true-life fairy tale.  Just wait until the news media gets hold of the 
story!"
"Uh, we were hoping to keep this out of the press," Drake replied.  He had been 
observing the terrestrial media on the few occasions when he had free time and 
wasn't sure that he liked what he saw.
"Wish we could, Richard," Ryssa replied.  "You entered your names in the 
registrar's computer, did you not?"
"Yes."
"Then it's already too late.  The fax services have been alerted.  Believe me, 
they have some of the most sophisticated information recall programs on this or 
any other planet.  They probably assigned a reporter to follow up about the time 
Bethany was punching my number into the phone."
"We didn't know!" Bethany said.  "Is there any way we can undo it?"
Ryssa thought a moment, and then said, "You can register me as your agent for 
the affair.  That will force them to deal through me.  The privacy laws are very 
strict on such matters."
"How do we do that?"
Ryssa reached out and touched a control somewhere out of sight of the phone 
pickup.  "Do you, Richard Drake and Bethany Lindquist, legal residents of Alta, 
Valeria IV, assign to one Ryssa Blenham, the sole right to act as your personal 
agent for your upcoming nuptials?"
"We do," Drake replied.
"Bethany has to say it too!"
"We do," Bethany agreed.
"Then that's taken care of.  I'll register with the ministry and you'll be 
shielded from inquisitive reporters."
"Thank you, Ryssa."
"You're welcome, Bethany.  The best of luck to both of you, and I will be there 
at 07:00 tomorrow to help you do your shopping.  Goodbye, Captain Drake."
"Goodbye, Ryssa."
Drake and Bethany had taken a cab from the Ministerio back to the hotel.  There 
they had spent the afternoon making love.  The sun was just beginning to color 
the western sky red when Bethany was reminded of something she had been meaning 
to tell him, but which she had forgotten in the excitement.
"Richard."
"Yes, my love?"
"Mind if we discuss business for a bit?"
"If we must," he replied lazily.
She rolled off him, and propped herself up on one elbow.  "Something happened at 
the ceremony today that you should know about."
He turned to face her, and in so doing, mimicked her position.  "What?"
"Coordinator Blenham asked me why we had a Ryall prisoner aboard Discovery ."
Drake blinked and then sat straight up in bed.  He was suddenly fully awake and 
alert.  "What did you tell him?"
"That I was engaged in research on Ryall psychology, that Varlan was my subject, 
and that he would have to talk to either you or Admiral Gower if he wanted more 
details."
"Did he act as though he knew about a certain item?"
"I don't think so, Richard, but it's difficult to be sure.  I think he was 
merely checking out Greg Oldfield's report of a Ryall aboard our ship.  When I 
explained that the research was confidential, he told me about various 
psychodrugs the terrestrials have developed for use on Ryall prisoners.  He 
offered to place specialists at my disposal if I wanted to use them."
"You can't very well accept his offer."
"Why not?"
"Because Varlan knows far too much to risk narcoquiz.  I wonder if the offer 
wasn't a ploy on Blenham's part."
"Then you do think that he suspects something?"
Drake told her about the proposed agreement that required the colonists to share 
all intelligence information, and Count Husanic's theory that it was a mere 
formality.  "Originally, I thought so, too.  Now, with your news, I'm not so 
sure."
"But how could they know?"
"That," Drake replied, "is one hell of a good question!"
#
Sometime during the night, each Helldiver delegate received a message in their 
hotel rooms that the various working group meetings scheduled for the following 
day had been canceled.  In their place, there would be a conference in the Hall 
of Ministers at Council Headquarters at 10:00 hours.
"What's going on?" Bethany asked Drake when he showed her the note that had been 
pushed under their door.
"I imagine Admiral Belton's people have finished their analysis of our plan for 
getting Aezer back."
"Do you think Admiral Gower would mind if I tagged along?" Bethany asked.
"I thought you and Ryssa were going shopping this morning?"
"I'll call and cancel.  This is more important."
"In that case, you're invited whether Admiral Gower minds or not.  This concerns 
all of us."
If Gower was surprised when Bethany showed up on Drake's arm at the Hall of 
Ministers, he did not show it.  The hall was a large elliptical room dominated 
by a single conference table.  Guides in the livery of the council bureaucracy 
ushered each newly arrived colonist to a seat.  Across the table, the 
terrestrial attendees were slowly filtering in.  Drake nodded to Admirals Belton 
and Ryerson as he took his seat.  Both acknowledged his greeting, but with a 
curtness that made it impossible for him to prejudge the outcome of the 
conference.  Seated two places down from Belton was a civilian whose features 
bore a strong family resemblance to those of Ryssa Blenham.  Drake was not 
surprised when one of the terrestrials addressed the man as "Coordinator 
Blenham."
The first coordinator entered the hall through a door opposite the one through 
which the colonists had entered.  Drake recognized him from his official 
portrait that decorated Grand Fleet Headquarters across town.  The first 
coordinator conferred briefly with Blenham and Admiral Belton, and then gaveled 
the meeting to order.  As soon as silence had descended in the hall, he faced 
Stan Barrett and Count Husanic.
"Who will speak for your side, gentlemen?  You, Mr. Barrett?"
"I yield to Count Husanic, Coordinator.  He will act as our spokesman."
"Very well.  Since this is the first time we have all been assembled in a single 
spot, I suggest that we each introduce ourselves.   For those who do not know 
me, I am First Coordinator Dolph Gellard, Council Representative from United 
Europe, Earth."  The introductions continued around the table, with each man and 
woman stating his or her name and occupation.  When the circuit had been 
completed, Gellard formally announced the purpose of the meeting:
"On Monday last, at Grand Fleet Headquarters, Admiral Gower's people presented a 
plan by which the Ryall might be driven from the Aezer system.  Admiral Belton's 
staff has studied this proposal for the past two days, and the admiral informs 
me that they are now ready to respond.  Admiral Belton, the floor is yours!"
Belton spoke to an aide and suddenly the tapestries that covered the walls on 
each side of the table slid apart to reveal a pair of holoscreens positioned to 
give everyone a clear view.  Each screen came alight to display the same 
foldspace topology chart that Commander Foster had used during his presentation 
to the military working group.  Belton quickly explained how Foster had proposed 
to drive the Ryall from the Aezer star system.
"Now then," he said after completing his summary, "my staff has analyzed this 
plan and we find that a coordinated assault by combined Grand Fleet, Altan, and 
Sandarian forces has a better than eighty percent chance of success if properly 
implemented.  I am therefore prepared to recommend such an operation to the full 
council, Mr. Coordinator."
"Thank you, Grand Admiral," Gellard replied.  "And my congratulations to you, 
Admiral Gower, for the excellent work by your staff in preparing this plan."
"Then you are ready to go ahead with it, Mr. Coordinator?"
"I am certainly ready to talk about it, Admiral.  However, there are several 
other points that need to be considered before we leap so precipitously into the 
unknown."
"Such as?"
"Firstly, there is the matter of Altan and Sandarian representation on the 
Interstellar Council.  Count Husanic, are your people ready to accept the 
burdens that come with such membership?"
"They are, Coordinator."
"And you, Mr. Barrett?  Will the Altan Parliament agree to our terms?"
"I fail to see that we have any choice in the matter, Mr. Coordinator."
"What does our chief economist say about accepting Alta and Sandar back into the 
human community?"
A small man with a permanent stoop rose from his position near the end of the 
table on the terrestrial side.  "Mr. Coordinator, the Office of Economic 
Evaluation has no objection to these two systems' reintegration into human 
space.  Any economic dislocations will be short lived and easily countered.  
There will be no need for even such mild measures as limited trade 
restrictions."
One by one, the first coordinator polled his experts up and down the table.  One 
by one, they gave him the green light to proceed.  While the head of the 
Department of Manpower Utilization was making his report, Gellard turned and 
held a whispered conference with an aide.  The aide nodded, reached down and 
extracted a sheaf of papers from a briefcase.  He handed the papers to the first 
coordinator, who looked at them carefully.  Even from where he was seated, Drake 
could see the golden flash of an ornate seal that had been attached to the first 
page of the stack.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the coordinator said following the manpower expert's 
report.  "I hold in my hand the official applications for membership of Alta, 
Valeria IV, and Sandar, Hellsgate IV, to the Interstellar Council.  These papers 
require only my own signature and that of Second Coordinator Blenham for these 
two worlds to be accepted.  Before we sign, however, one additional matter must 
be resolved.  Commodore Grast, will you please come in?"
This last was apparently addressed to thin air.  However, a moment later, the 
door behind the first coordinator opened and an officer Drake had never seen 
before entered the conference hall.  Simultaneously, there was a quiet gasp from 
Bethany.
"What is it?" Drake asked.
"He's the one who asked me about Varlan," she replied.
The officer scanned the ranks of the colonists with cold eyes for long seconds 
before speaking.  "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.  My name is Alphonse 
Grast.  I am with military intelligence.  Although we have never met  with the 
single exception of Miss Lindquist  I feel that I know most of you personally.  
You see, I am the officer assigned to resolve a mystery that first came to our 
attention when we reviewed certain recordings made by First Secretary Oldfield 
while your ship was still in the Goddard system.
"During routine voice stress analysis of statements made by Captain Drake, 
Admiral Gower, Stanislaw Barrett, Count Husanic, and others; we noted that you 
were displaying symptoms that indicate that your statements were not entirely 
true.  This aroused our curiosity, but did not particularly concern us at first. 
 After all, it was to be expected that you would shade the truth a bit to 
improve your bargaining position.
"However, as we continued to study your responses, the pattern of prevarication 
began to take on increasingly ominous overtones.  Whenever anyone asked you 
about your journey through the nebula, your voice stress patterns suggested that 
we should not believe what you were telling us.  The same was true many times 
when you discussed the Ryall.  Therefore, I ask you now.  What is it that you 
are trying to hide from us?"
Husanic looked at Barrett, who glanced at Gower and Drake in turn.  After half a 
minute of silence, Count Husanic cleared his throat and turned to face 
Coordinator Gellard.  "A useful technique, this voice stress analysis.  I wish 
we had known about it earlier.  As Commodore Grast has surmised, we do know 
something that we have not told you.  Specifically, we are in possession of data 
we believe to be vital to the prosecution of the war."
"What data, sir?"
"Extremely valuable data, Mr. Coordinator.  Before we divulge it, we must have 
your assurance that you will help us against the Ryall."
"You see your applications for membership in the Interstellar Council before 
you, sir," Gellard replied.  "We cannot give you a greater assurance than that.  
Nor can we act on your application until we know what it is that you are hiding 
from us."
Husanic nodded and turned to face Gower.  "The ball would seem to be in your 
court, Admiral."
Gower nodded slowly.  "Ladies and gentlemen, our journey here was not quite as 
straightforward as we have led you believe.  We did, in fact, take one small 
detour en route..."
   
CHAPTER 25
  
Saturday morning dawned crisp and clear.  The rising sun was a golden ball 
framed by the blue-tinged flanks of the Istachuatl and Popocatpetl volcanoes.  
A gentle wind from the southeast carried with it the smell of pines and the 
promise of cool weather.  Richard Drake stood on the balcony of his hotel room 
and breathed deeply of the crisp morning air as he surveyed the city.  To the 
north, the sun's rays reflected off the windows of the neo-Aztec megastructures 
that housed much of the city's population.  The vast pyramids fluoresced with 
orange fire all across their eastern flanks, while on their western slopes, 
aircraft avoidance beacons still stabbed out into space at a steady rate of one 
flash each second.  Directly below Drake's vantage point, maintenance machines 
fanned out across one of the city's many greenswards to begin their daily tasks. 
 Halfway to the horizon, a traffic circle was just beginning to fill with 
vehicles as people got an early start on their Saturday morning errands.  As he 
watched Mexico City come awake on the day he was to be married, Richard Drake 
was reminded of how much difference forty-eight hours can make in a situation.
The catalyst, of course, had been Admiral Gower's revelation that the Helldiver 
Expedition had in its possession astrogation data for the Ryall Hegemony.  The 
mood in the Hall of Ministers had changed quickly following the announcement.  
Terrestrials who moments earlier had stared at their colonial counterparts with 
expressions of suspicion and distrust were suddenly wide eyed at the prospect of 
learning the topology of enemy space.  Admiral Gower had barely finished his 
statement before being deluged with questions about the data.  When he refused 
to say any more, Coordinator Gellard suggested that they finalize the terms 
under which Alta and Sandar would take their rightful places among the worlds of 
human space.
It had taken less than an hour for the two sides to reach a tentative agreement. 
 For their part, the terrestrials agreed to start planning for the Aezer 
campaign immediately.  In return, the colonists promised that their first 
official act as newly inducted members of the Interstellar Council would be to 
turn over all captured data to the council and Grand Fleet.
A session of the full Interstellar Council was convened later that same 
afternoon.  The sole purpose of the session was to induct Alta and Sandar back 
into the political organization of human space.  With the other Helldiver 
personnel looking on, Count Husanic and Stan Barrett were each given their 
charters of responsibility, welcomed formally to the Interstellar Council by 
Coordinator Gellard, and escorted to their seats by a delegation of senior 
council representatives.  As soon as both were properly seated, everyone in the 
hall gave them a standing ovation.  At the end of the ceremony, which lasted 
less than twenty minutes, the council was adjourned by acclamation.
Half an hour later, it was the colonists' turn to uphold their part of the 
bargain.  Argos Cristobal found himself in a large lecture hall in front of a 
holoscreen and a hastily gathered audience of council representatives, Grand 
Fleet officers, and university professors.  Cristobal used a series of foldspace 
topology charts to explain what the Helldiver Fleet had learned about Ryall 
space, including the fact that the hegemony occupied a single, closely coupled 
foldspace cluster.  The briefing lasted for more than an hour, with numerous 
interruptions for questions.  It ended finally with the distribution of record 
tiles containing copies of the captured Ryall data.
  That night, Coordinator Gellard hosted a gala in honor of human space's two 
newest worlds.  Midway through his opening remarks, the first coordinator 
surprised everyone by announcing the pending marriage of Richard Drake and 
Bethany Lindquist.  The crowd that was already buzzing with news of the day's 
events had screamed their approval at the news.  The astonished couple fought 
their way through a crowd of well-wishers to the podium, where Drake stammered 
out a speech of appreciation in which he somehow managed to invite everyone 
present to attend the ceremony.
The following two days had been long and busy for Richard Drake and Bethany 
Lindquist.  Drake had divided his time between assisting Grand Fleet analysts in 
their planning for the Aezer campaign, and fending off Mexico City florists who 
wanted to provide the flowers for the wedding "at cost."  Bethany and Ryssa 
Blenham had spent all of Thursday shopping for Bethany's trousseau and appearing 
on afternoon holovision programs.  Friday had been spent in getting Bethany's 
wedding dress fitted and at the beauty parlor.  Because of their schedules, the 
bride and groom did not see one another again until Friday evening.  The 
occasion that brought them together was the wedding rehearsal.
Like most Spanish colonial churches, Catedral Metropolitana sported twin bell 
towers and a number of architectural styles  a legacy of the three hundred 
years required to complete construction.  Inside, the wedding party gathered in 
front of the ornate Altar del Rey (the Altar of the King) to receive instruction 
concerning the following day's ceremony.  Admiral Gower was to give the bride 
away, while Philip Walkirk had been chosen Drake's best man.  Their instructor 
was a young priest who acted as the assistant to the Archbishop of Mexico City.
A minor hitch developed when the archbishop's assistant discovered that the 
couple was members of the Church of Alta.  He agreed to proceed when a quick 
comparison of doctrine turned up no beliefs sufficiently unorthodox to block the 
ceremony and after Ryssa Blenham took him aside to explain the political 
importance of this particular wedding.  The rehearsal had then continued without 
problem.
"What's this?" Drake asked as they were leaving and came to a high scaffold 
toward the back of the cathedral on which several holocameras and long-range 
microphones were mounted.
"I told you that people would be interested in your wedding," Ryssa replied.  
"They're going to beam the ceremony over one of the auxiliary entertainment 
channels.  They expect a couple of million people to watch tomorrow  not a 
large number compared to a grand network hookup, but not bad for a simple 
wedding."
"I'm beginning to wonder just how simple this wedding is going to be," Drake had 
replied.
Ryssa returned his laugh with one of her own. "Never let it be said that we 
don't show a visitor a good time!"
A post-wedding-rehearsal party had taken up the rest of Friday evening.  When 
Drake finally returned to his hotel, it was well past midnight.  He woke an hour 
before dawn, showered, shaved, and stepped outside onto the balcony to greet the 
coming dawn.
#
"Scared?" Philip Walkirk asked in a stage whisper.  He and Drake were standing 
in front of the gilt Altar del Rey, looking out over the rows of filled pews.
"Frightened to death," Drake whispered back.
As they stood there, they were assaulted by the sound of hundreds of separate 
conversations.  Seating for the event had been by strict protocol order.  The 
front pews were reserved for friends of the bride and groom, at the very least, 
people who had actually met them.  Officials of the Interstellar Council came 
next, followed by officers of the Mexican government and of the Grand Fleet.  
Seating for the general public was on a first come/first served basis and took 
up the rear half of the cathedral where the pews disappeared into gloom.  The 
news media had not been provided seating.  They roamed freely through the aisles 
with their handheld cameras.  However, out of respect for the solemnity of the 
event, they were attired in the same formal wear as the other guests.
Drake wore his best dress uniform, with the Order of Sandar on his breast. 
Philip Walkirk was also in uniform.  He wore the dress blues of the Sandarian 
Navy.  Other Altan and Sandarian uniforms were sprinkled throughout the front 
rows of the cathedral.
Suddenly, the cathedral organ fell silent.  It had been softly playing a series 
of tunes that Drake had not recognized.  A ripple of expectation swept through 
the crowd as numerous necks were craned and heads turned to gaze toward the 
narthex at the rear of the cathedral.  There was a flurry of activity at the 
back of the long central aisle.  The priest who had conducted the previous 
evening's rehearsal strode purposely up the cathedral's right side aisle.  He 
stopped at a control box set back in an alcove.  The chandeliers overhead slowly 
dimmed and a series of spotlights high in the rafters sprang to light.  
Particles of dust scintillated in the beams as the central aisle was illuminated 
with brilliant white light.
The organ stuttered for several notes, then began the sonorous strains of The 
Wedding March.  There followed a vast noise as five hundred spectators rose to 
their feet and turned to face the rear.  A pair of flower girls stepped off from 
the back of the cathedral, pacing slowly forward in time to the music, 
sprinkling rose petals as they came.  A dozen maids of honor in matching organdy 
dresses followed them.  Then, murmurs of appreciation and wishes for a long life 
arose at the back of the church and slowly moved forward as the bride came into 
view.
Bethany's gown was of white, iridescent cloth.  The bodice shaded from opaque to 
translucent as it rose from breast to shoulders, and the skirt sparkled with a 
thousand tiny stars. A mantilla in the local style supported the white lace 
veil.  The gown was completed with a train that stretched four meters behind 
Bethany as she marched into view on Admiral Gower's arm.  Drake barely noticed 
his superior.  Like everyone else in the cathedral, he had eyes only for his 
bride.
The ceremony was in Spanish, since the Archbishop of Mexico City either did not 
know, or did not choose to use, Standard.  After a short ceremony in which the 
archbishop asked God's blessings on the congregation, he read a portion of the 
marriage ceremony in Spanish, then halted to allow the younger priest to 
translate.  Rather than being awkward, Drake found that the stately pauses 
provided a certain solemnity to the occasion.
"Who giveth this woman to this man? ...  Do you, Arthur Richard Drake, ... 
promise to love, honor, and cherish, ... in sickness and in health, ... in good 
times and in bad, ... so long as you both shall live?
"I do."
"Do you, Bethany Patricia Lindquist, ... promise to love, honor, and obey ... in 
sickness and in health ... in good times and in bad, ... so long as you both 
shall live?
"I do."
"By the power vested in me by His Holiness, by the officials of Ciudad de 
Mxico, and Estados Unidos Mxicanos ... and in the name of the Father, the Son, 
and the Holy Spirit, ... I now pronounce you man and wife.
"You may kiss the bride!"
#
"I don't want this to end!"
Bethany was lying beside Drake on the beach at Aculpulco, soaking up the rays of 
a sun she had never really expected to see in her lifetime.  Despite the season 
(early winter) and the temperature (cool), the rays warmed her back and suffused 
her with a feeling of total well-being.
"Neither do I," her new husband said as he worked suntan lotion into her skin.  
They were alone, and Bethany had removed the halter-top of her swimming suit to 
develop an even tan.  Every third stroke, Drake would let his hand drop down her 
side to the swell of her breast.  The barely perceptible shiver that ran through 
her body told him that she was enjoying the attention.
Their honeymoon had been everything both of them had hoped for.  They had spent 
their nights in passionate lovemaking and their days playing in the cool water 
of Aculpulco Bay.  One day they would skin-dive along the rocky shore, the next 
they would take a sailboat out into the Sea of Cortez.  On some days, they would 
merely swim and lie in the sand.  During the evenings, they would take in the 
varied nightlife of a city that had been a tourist attraction for nearly seven 
hundred years.
Almost as much fun for Bethany were the Acapulco shops. Twice she had taken 
Drake on buying sprees, spending money freely until he had begun to worry about 
the bills coming due.
"How do you propose to pay for all of this?" he had asked, gesturing to the 
packages she had loaded him down with.
"Ryssa said there was a considerable sum of cash in the wedding gifts.  I was 
going to use that.  And if we run short, I can always tap the stipend that 
accompanied The Order of Terra," she informed him cheerfully.
"That money belongs to your uncle!"
"I've got enough saved up in the Bank of Homeport to make it good once we get 
home.  And then, of course, there's your own fabulous salary as a naval officer, 
my dear husband!"
Drake's response had been a halfhearted attempt at strangling his bride.  
Throughout its history, the Altan Space Navy had been forced to operate on a 
shoestring.  Even though the Ryall threat had changed that, the pay scales had 
not been revised upward since Drake's first year out of the naval academy.
For an entire week, they were just two people in love.  They ate together, slept 
together, showered together, and made love together.  By mutual consent, neither 
turned on the holovision set in their bungalow, looked at a newsfax, or 
consciously listened to other people's conversations.  It was as though the rest 
of the universe had faded to unreality, and only the two honeymooners mattered 
in the scheme of things.
On the seventh day, Drake found himself on the beach, rubbing suntan lotion into 
his wife's back.  After long consideration, he reluctantly punctured the cocoon 
with which they had surrounded themselves.  "We ought to be thinking about a 
return to Mexico City, you know."
"Must we, Richard?" she asked lazily.
"I'm afraid so.  Admiral Gower is not going to let me lie on the beach forever.  
Not while he's doing all the work of liaison with the Interstellar Council."
"I would think a little work would be good for him."
Drake laughed as his hands swept once more down her bare back. "That isn't the 
proper attitude for a Navy wife, my love.  Admirals do not work.  Theyown people 
who work."
She was silent for long minutes.  So long, in fact, that he thought she might 
have fallen asleep.  Finally, she spoke.  "When were you thinking of going back, 
Richard?"
"Monday morning," he replied.  "That way, we will have had eight full days of 
honeymoon."
She sighed.  "I suppose that's more than a lot of other people get in their 
lives.  I'd hoped we could see more of Earth, though."
"There's nothing to keep us from going on tour later," he replied.  "It will 
take at least three months to work out the details for the attack on Aezer."
Bethany sighed. "There will always be an attack to plan, won't there, Richard?  
Our lives are destined to be filled with battle  preparations for, fighting of, 
and recovery from."
"I don't know about that," Drake replied.  "After all, once we've retrieved 
Aezer from the centaurs, Alta should be fairly safe.  I will not be able to ride 
the ships forever, you know.  One of these days, the flight surgeon will down 
check me for lack of acceleration tolerance.  After a few years behind a desk 
I'll be eligible for retirement."
Bethany snorted.  "What will you do in retirement?"
"We could always move to West Continent and start a farm."
There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of the waves pounding the 
shore.  Finally, Bethany said, "Do you know what I sometimes find myself 
thinking of, Richard?"
"Yours truly, I hope."
She laughed.  "That too.  However, sometimes I remember how beautiful it was on 
Corlis.  That valley where the Ryall had their mine and smelter must have been 
something to see before they stripped it of vegetation.  Now, if I were to go in 
for homesteading, that's the place I'd like to do it."
"Too bad Corlis is in Ryall space."
"Yes, too bad," she replied.  Bethany had been resting face down on a beach 
towel.  She suddenly reached under her, held her halter in position, and sat up. 
 Twisting to put her back to her husband, she asked him to snap her top.  He 
took his time about it and allowed his hands to roam lovingly as he did so.  
When he had finished, Bethany turned to face him.  "Are we really going back to 
Mexico City on Monday?"
He nodded.  "I think it's best."
"In that case, I want to talk to Coordinator Blenham as soon as we get back."
"What about?"
"He offered to loan me an interrogator for Varlan, remember?  Now that the 
secret is out, I think I'll take him up on it."
"Why, for God's sake?"
"Because I think I was making progress with her on our trip from Goddard to Sol, 
but I can't really be sure.  I want to give her a shot of truth drug to find out 
what she really thinks."
"What if she's been converted to our way of thinking?"
"Then there's hope that this war can end some day," Bethany replied.  "Who 
knows, maybe we can actually make peace with the damned beasties!"
"And if not?"
"Then I suppose we'll have to kill them all."
They walked the beach and talked until after sunset, returning to their bungalow 
only when the air became too cool for comfort.  Drake was the first to see the 
message with the red URGENT stamp in the wire basket next to the phone.
"What is it?" Bethany asked as Drake tore open the outer envelope and retrieved 
the message flimsy inside.  He read it through quickly.
"It's from Admiral Gower.  I'm sorry, love, but we have to leave tonight."
"Why?  What's happened?"
"Gower thinks there is some sort of trouble with the negotiations.  The 
terrestrials have been acting noncommittal for the past couple of days.  There's 
a rumor going around the capital that the Interstellar Council may be on the 
verge of rejecting the plan to attack Aezer!"
  
CHAPTER 26
  
Philip Walkirk met the newlyweds at the Mexico City airport.  It was nearly 
midnight, and the terminal was empty of everyone except late night travelers.
"What's happened?" Drake asked as soon as he and Bethany had disembarked from 
the short haul airliner that had transported them south from Acapulco.
"We're not exactly sure, Captain.  Things were going well until last Wednesday.  
We were holding daily conferences with the Grand Fleet, making real progress in 
planning the Aezer assault.  Then I was sent up to Washington to answer 
technical questions about the anti-radiation field.  When I returned yesterday, 
I found our whole delegation concerned that the terrestrials no longer seem 
interested in our problem.  It is nothing you can put your finger on.  They just 
are not acting as aggressively as they had been.  Also, several of the upper 
level people have missed recent planning sessions."
"That hardly seems reason enough to start worrying that they'll go back on their 
word," Drake replied.
"Yes, sir.  That is exactly what I said.  However, there are other indications 
of a problem, too.  Stan Barrett and Count Husanic have overheard conversations 
on the floor of the council."
"What conversations?"
"Vaguely disturbing references to Alta and Sandar.  Whenever Barrett or Husanic 
try to ask anyone about it, that person always turns evasive.  Also, the other 
representatives have taken to giving them looks."
"Looks?"
"Count Husanic describes them as the sort you would expect if you were suffering 
from a terminal disease and everyone but you knew about it."
"Can't Husanic clear this up with Coordinator Gellard?" Bethany asked.
"He's tried to get an appointment with the first coordinator for two days 
running," the prince replied.  "So far, official word is that Gellard's schedule 
is filled up through the end of next week."
"Grand Admiral Belton?"
"Unavailable."
"How about Admiral Ryerson?"
"He's gone back up to Teddy Roosevelt. I have suggested that Commander Marston 
take the landing boat over to see him  the two ships are still only about a 
hundred kilometers apart in orbit  but Marston can't get permission to board 
the blastship.  They are having 'maintenance problems.'  Also, Ryerson is too 
busy to come to the screen."
Drake considered Philip's words, and nodded.  "Sounds like someone passed the 
word to place us on the pariah list."
"Yes, sir.  That is what Admiral Gower thinks, too.  It's his opinion that 
something has happened to cause the terrestrials to rethink our proposal, that 
they are still arguing about it among themselves, and that they don't want to 
talk to us until they've formulated policy."
"What about the second coordinator?" Bethany asked.
"Blenham?" Philip Walkirk replied.  "I don't think anyone has tried him yet.  I 
doubt whether it would do any good considering all the other people who are 
'unavailable.'"
"Maybe I should try," Bethany mused.  "I still have his offer to help with 
Varlan's interrogation.  I can use that as the excuse to get in to see him, then 
try to pump him for information."
"Are you willing to do that?" Drake asked.  "After all, you are still officially 
on their side, you know."
She shook her head.  "Not since I became Mrs. Richard Drake, Citizen of Alta."
"Then that's what we'll do," Drake said.  The three of them hurried to the 
baggage claim area, and from there to the taxi stand in front of the terminal 
building. They were back at the delegation's hotel twenty minutes later.
#
"Mrs. Drake to see you, Coordinator.  I told her that she would need to make an 
appointment during the regular workweek, but she is very insistent.
Sir Joshua Blenham looked up from the report he was reading and frowned in the 
direction of his secretary.  It was Sunday morning, and outside Blenham's 
floor-to-ceiling window, the Mexican capital was its usual sleepy self.  It 
would get busy later in the day when weekend shoppers flooded the downtown 
malls.  At the moment, however, everyone was either in church or else watching 
the European football championships on the holocube.
"Mrs. Drake?  I'm sorry, but I don't know any 'Mrs. Drake.'"
"Have you forgotten that you attended her wedding last week?"
"Oh, Bethany Lindquist Drake!  Why didn't you say so?"
"I believe that is precisely what I said, Coordinator."
"So you did!  Please, send her in."
A minute later, Bethany walked through the door of the Second Coordinator's 
office.  Blenham rose and crossed the distance between them in long strides.  
"Good morning, my dear.  What brings you here on a Sunday morning?"
"I called your home, Coordinator.  Ryssa told me that you were working today."
"Unfortunately, yes.  The paperwork has been piling up around here all week.  I 
thought I would get some filing done.  However, forgive my manners.  Come in, 
have a seat!  I'll see if Marisa can find us some hot coffee."
Bethany sat on the couch Blenham had indicated, but refused the offer of 
refreshment.  She had tried Earth coffee when she first arrived and had not 
cared for the bitter brew.  The aftertaste made her wonder what the Alta's 
founding fathers had seen in the stuff.
"You are looking well," Blenham said once he too had settled on the couch.  "I 
would say that married life agrees with you."
"It agrees with me very well, Coordinator.  I only wish we could have stayed on 
the beach at least another week.  Two would have been even better."
"Why didn't you?"
Bethany told him of the message Richard had received in Acapulco and of Philip 
Walkirk's comments when he picked them up at the airport the previous evening. 
She concluded her remarks by saying, "The entire Helldiver delegation is getting 
very concerned, sir.  We are all hoping that someone in authority could explain 
what's happening to us."
Blenham looked uncomfortable for a moment.  "I wish I could help, Bethany; but 
I'm not presently at liberty to tell you any more than you already know.  As you 
have surmised, we have run into a problem.  Our experts are trying to find their 
away around it. When they do, you will be told."
"Why not tell us now?  Maybe we can help."
"I'm sorry, but I have my orders.  I can say nothing more."
"I understand, Coordinator."
Blenham smiled wanly.  "I doubt that you do, Mrs. Drake, but I admire your 
diplomacy for saying so.  Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Yes, sir.  I would like to accept your offer of help with Varlan; that is, if 
it's still open."
"Of course!  What is it that you would like?"
"Could you loan me one of your interrogation experts?  I want to test Varlan to 
see how sincere she has been lately."
"Where will this interrogation take place?"
"OnboardDiscovery if that is all right with you."
"Suits me just fine.  When would you like to do it?"
"As soon as possible."
"How about the day after tomorrow?"
"That will be fine."
"Very well, I will arrange it.  And Bethany."
"Yes, sir?"
"Try not to worry.  Things will work themselves out presently."
#
Three days after Drake's return to Mexico City, the embargo on information was 
suddenly lifted when Drake, Admiral Gower, Stan Barrett, and Count Husanic were 
summoned to a meeting with the first coordinator.
"What do you suppose this means?" Drake asked Gower when the admiral showed him 
the request.
"I don't know," Gower replied.  "Except for what little information your wife 
brought back from the second coordinator, we've been completely in the dark."
At the mention of his wife, Drake felt a pang of loneliness.  Bethany's 
departure for orbit the previous evening was the first time the two of them had 
been apart since the wedding.
The four men arrived at the first coordinator's office on the top floor of 
council headquarters at the appointed hour.  There they found the first 
coordinator, Second Coordinator Blenham, Grand Admiral Belton, and Admiral 
Ryerson waiting for them.  There were handshakes all around as the eight settled 
into place around a small conference table.  Coordinator Gellard began the 
meeting by thanking them for coming so promptly.
"You have to admit that you have a way of piquing a person's curiosity, Mr. 
Coordinator," Husanic replied.
"I must explain our recent behavior, Count Husanic.  Approximately one week ago, 
Admiral Belton's experts stumbled onto something with potentially far reaching 
consequences.  We needed time to review the implications before we confronted 
you directly.  I am afraid our clumsiness in handling the matter was caused by 
an unauthorized leak on the floor of the Interstellar Council.  Unfortunately, 
the man who started the rumors is a council representative, so there is very 
little we can do about his transgression.  Still, he has caused you people 
considerable mental anguish; and for that, I apologize on behalf of all of us.  
We should have acted differently."
"Apology accepted," Husanic replied.  "Now, sir, can we get to whatever it is 
that is bothering you?"
"If it were done ... 'twere well it were done quickly! the second coordinator 
quoted.
"Admiral Belton, will you please explain to our guests?"
"Yes, sir," Belton replied.  The admiral got to his feet and walked over to a 
bookcase that covered one entire wall of the first coordinator's office.  He 
manipulated a control and several things began to happen simultaneously.  The 
window behind the coordinator's desk turned opaque while a section of the 
bookcase swung forward to reveal a wall-mounted holoscreen.  The screen came 
alight to reveal a foldspace map of the Ryall Hegemony.  The map had been color 
coded to show the various interconnecting paths between Ryall stars.
"The data you gentlemen provided has been a godsend," the admiral began, 
gesturing toward the foldspace topology chart.  "In the nearly two weeks since 
we received this new information, our analysts have been working round the clock 
to incorporate it into our strategic and tactical doctrines.  In order to 
accomplish this, we have been reanalyzing practically every engagement we have 
ever fought with the Ryall.  In so doing, we have understood things that have 
puzzled us for the better part of a century.  In short, gentlemen, we have been 
learning the advantages that the Spica Foldspace Cluster confers on the Ryall.
"The most important advantage our enemies derive from the cluster comes from its 
unusually high connectivity quotient. This close coupling of the Ryall stars 
manifests itself in a number of ways, most of them bad from our point of view.  
As has already been noted by Captain Drake and others, the Spica Cluster allows 
the Ryall to utilize their forces much more effectively than can we.  In other 
words, they are able to do the same job with far fewer ships."
"Do you have any quantitative figures on that?" Gower asked.
Belton nodded.  "We think the factor is approximately two point seven.  For the 
non-military men among us, that means that 100 Ryall starships can do the work 
of 270 human ships."
A low whistle emanated from somewhere on Drake's left.  He was not sure, but he 
thought it came from Stan Barrett.
Belton continued.  "Nor is force multiplication the only manifestation of a high 
connectivity quotient.  For with their short travel times, the Ryall have no 
need to defend in depth.  They can concentrate their forces in those systems 
where they dispute with us.  Should we open up a new front anywhere else, it is 
a relatively easy matter for them to rush forces to the new battle zone.
"Lastly, of course, there is the advantage that their tightly bound foldspace 
cluster confers on their industrial capabilities.  The short travel distances 
and times, plus the numerous opportunities for transshipment, allow their 
planetary economies to be integrated with one another whereas our own worlds' 
economies are only loosely bound together.  With their low transportation costs, 
Ryall worlds can afford to specialize.   "We see this in the Ryall system of 
Carratyl, whose primary activity is the production of agricultural products for 
the rest of the hegemony.  Presumably, there are Ryall worlds that specialize in 
the production of starships, and still others who are heavy or light industry 
specialists."
"So far, Admiral," Drake said, "you haven't said anything we didn't already 
know."
"Quite true, Captain.  I have been discussing the strategic consequences of the 
fact that the Ryall Hegemony occupies the Spica Foldspace Cluster.  These are 
obvious to anyone who cares to think about them.  Now, let us turn to the 
tactical advantages, which aren't so easily determined."
Belton picked up a screen control and punched a number into its keypad.  The 
Spica foldspace topology chart disappeared, to be replaced by one showing the 
relationship of the Hellsgate, Aezer, and Hermes systems, including all the 
foldpoints of each.  Belton continued:
"Let us consider our battle plan for breaking the Ryall blockade of Aezer.  A 
Grand Fleet battle group will launch a diversionary attack against the 
Aezer-Hermes foldpoint in the hope that the Ryall commander will choose to strip 
his Aezer-Hellsgate defenses to provide reinforcements.  Some forty hours later, 
a mixed force of Grand Fleet, Sandarian, and Altan starships will launch an all 
out assault against the weakened Aezer-Hellsgate foldpoint.  Once 
Aezer-Hellsgate is open, our ships will race to blockade the foldpoint leading 
back to Ryall space in order to cut off the flow of Ryall reinforcements, and to 
attack the Aezer-Hermes defenses from behind."
Belton turned to face Gower and Drake.  "It's a good plan, gentlemen.  It has 
the elegance of simplicity and just the right touch of genius.  Unfortunately, 
it has one minor defect.  It won't work!"
#
There was a long pause in which Drake looked at Gower, and then both men locked 
eyes with their respective diplomatic representatives.  Finally, Gower cleared 
his throat and said, "I fail to see a flaw in our thinking, Admiral Belton."
"The flaw," Belton replied, "is in the assumption that the Ryall will denude the 
Aezer-Hellsgate defenses in response to a threat against Aezer-Hermes.  That 
seemed a logical assumption two weeks ago when you first presented your plan to 
us.  However, now that we understand the hegemony's topology, we no longer 
believe the Ryall will choose to reinforce from within the Aezer system.
"Rather, we believe the Ryall commander will call for reinforcements from the 
home worlds, which means that our force attacking from Hellsgate will be thrown 
against full strength foldpoint defenses."
"The Ryall won't have time to get ships from the heart of Ryall space," Admiral 
Gower replied.
"I wish that were true," Belton responded.  "However, we have simulated it a 
hundred times using a hundred different scenarios.  Like us, the Ryall use 
communications relays between their front lines and their home worlds.  It will 
take them less than eight hours to get word of the initial attack back into the 
heart of Ryall space.  Even if we launched simultaneous assaults against both 
foldpoints and were able to punch through without unacceptable losses, by the 
time we reach the third Aezer foldpoint, we'll find it boiling with 
reinforcements."
The silence was even longer this time.  Coordinator Gellard was the first to 
speak.  When he did so, there was great sadness in his voice.  "I'm sorry, 
gentlemen, but under the circumstances, we will have to withdraw our support 
from the plan to attack Aezer."
"You're abandoning us?"
"Not abandoning you, Captain Drake.  Your worlds are members of the Interstellar 
Council and we will treat them as such.  We cannot, however, commit our forces 
to an attack we know will fail.  Sorry."
"Forgive me if I appear confused, Mr. Coordinator," Admiral Gower replied in an 
icy voice.  "You will not help us dislodge the Ryall from Aezer, but you are not 
abandoning us.  What, precisely, does that mean?"
"We are proposing," Gellard said, "that you recognize reality.  The truth is 
that both Alta and Sandar are in an untenable position and will not survive 
another twenty years of blockade."
"What other choice do we have?"
"We propose that you consider the possibility of evacuating your worlds.  We 
will, of course, help transport your populations to other planets in human 
space."
  
CHAPTER 27
  
Bethany Drake lay in the acceleration couch and watched Discovery grow gradually 
larger in the bulkhead-mounted viewscreen. Beside her, a psycho-technician named 
Kirsten Moldare did the same.  The two were the sole passengers aboard the small 
ground-to-orbit shuttle that had lifted out of Mojave Spaceport an hour 
previously bound for low orbit.
"You came through an exploded star in that?" Kirsten asked as she gestured 
toward the screen where the Altan battle cruiser lay silhouetted against a black 
backdrop.
Bethany nodded.  "More than once."
"My God, it must be at least century old!"
"Closer to a century-and-a-half.  But Discovery 's been well cared for, so I 
think you'll find her a sound ship. Bethany pretended not to notice when her 
companion gulped conspicuously.  Obviously, Kirsten had just remembered that she 
would soon board that antique in the center of the screen.
Coordinator Blenham had moved quickly to accommodate Bethany's request for a 
trained interrogator.  One call to Grand Fleet Headquarters had resulted in 
Lieutenant Kirsten Moldare, Doctor of Alien Psychology; being assigned to assist 
in the examination of Varlan's motives.
The shuttle's approach and entry into the battle cruiser's hangar bay was 
accomplished without difficulty.  The usual air rush and swirling expansion fog 
announced their safe arrival.  Rorqual Marchant greeted the two women as they 
exited the forward airlock.
"Welcome back aboard, Bethany.  And congratulations on your marriage!  The 
captain couldn't have made a better choice."
"Did you have a chance to see the ceremony, Commander Marchant?" Bethany asked.
"Everyone on board saw it, and they've been playing the recording ever since. 
City of Alexandria , too."
"Please thank the crew for their lovely wedding present. Ryssa Blenham had 
purchased a figurine of the Aztec goddess of fertility on behalf of Discovery 's 
crew, and had presented it to Richard and Bethany at the reception that had 
followed their wedding.
"You can thank them yourself.  I have taken the liberty of scheduling lunch in 
the crew's mess.  I hope you don't mind."
"I'm honored!"  Bethany turned to indicate her companion.  "Commander Rorqual 
Marchant, I would like to present Lieutenant Kirsten Moldare of the Grand Fleet. 
 Kirsten, Commander Marchant, Discovery 's executive officer."
"Welcome aboard, Lieutenant."
"Thank you, Commander."
"Is there anything I can do to assist you while you're aboard Discovery?"
"You can restore spin-gravity as quickly as possible, Commander.  I am an alien 
psychologist, not a line officer.  My stomach has been trying to crawl up my 
backbone ever since we made orbit."
"You'll be feeling better in about fifteen minutes," Marchant replied.
Bethany helped Kirsten to Drake's office to await the promised return of a 
comfortable level of ship's spin.  While they waited, the two women discussed 
the coming interview.
"None of this will hurt Varlan will it?" Bethany asked.
Kirsten shook her head.  "The suppressant I will be using has been judged 
pharmacologically safe for Ryall biochemistry.  As for the possibility of the 
subject injuring herself, I will take care of that by administering an 
immobilizer."
"She isn't likely to become violent is she?"
"Such reactions are quite common, Mrs. Drake.  You must understand that the drug 
suppresses her higher mentation without affecting her emotions.  Once she is 
under, Varlan will act very like a human being under the influence of a powerful 
psychodrug.  Left unhindered in her movements, she could well injure either 
herself or us."
"What if she refuses to submit willingly?  She's strong as two men, you know."
"I doubt that will be a problem.  The Ryall are fairly stoic creatures once they 
know something is inevitable."  Kirsten swallowed, lifted a hand, and patted her 
midsection.  "I would say Commander Marchant has been as good as his word.  
Gravity seems to be restored."
Bethany nodded.  "We're up to approximately one tenth standard.  It will get 
stronger rather quickly now."
"It's already enough to keep my stomach from doing flip-flops.  Shall we go meet 
our subject?"
Bethany led Kirsten to the stateroom that had been converted into Varlan's 
quarters.  She nodded to the Marine on duty in the corridor outside, and then 
entered the cabin.
"Greetings, Bethany of the Lindquists!" Varlan's high-pitched whistle sang out 
as she caught sight of her visitors.
"Hello, Varlan.  Miss me?"
"Very much.  I observed your mating ritual on my entertainment screen.  The 
symbolism seemed quite complex.  I would like to speak of it at some future 
time."
"I'd be more than happy to talk to you, Varlan.  Has the crew been treating you 
well?"
"They feed me regularly, but I miss our daily discussions."
Bethany nodded.  "You aren't alone in that.  Varlan, I would like you to meet 
Kirsten Moldare.  She works for Those Who Rule on Earth.  Kirsten, I have the 
honor to present Varlan of the Scented Waters, Manager of the Corlis Mineral 
Extraction Complex, and my friend."
"Greetings, Varlan," the psychologist replied, mimicking the Ryall gesture of 
obeisance as she did so.  "It is an honor for one such as myself to meet so 
accomplished a member of the Great Race."
Varlan put her earflaps full up and regarded this new human with one obsidian 
eye.  "Greetings, Kirsten of the Moldares.  I too am honored that you would take 
the time to greet me.  May I ask your purpose in doing so?"
"Bethany has told me of your conversations with her.  I have spoken to a number 
of your fellows, and have found none with your great wisdom."
"It is true that Bethany has caused me to look deeply into my own soul," the 
Ryall replied.
"It is always difficult to grasp concepts that are alien to normal thought 
patterns," Kirsten said.  "That you have succeeded in doing so reflects credit 
on the Clan of the Scented Waters."
"I thank the daughter of the Moldares for her kind words."
"I would ask a favor of you, Varlan."
"What favor?"
"I am one who studies your admirable species as a profession."
"You are an interrogator of captives?"
"Yes," Kirsten answered with more honesty than she would have used with a human 
being.
"And you wish to interrogate me?"
"I wish to study more deeply the wisdom that led you to your new insight.  I 
have a drug which will aid in the examination."
"Drug?" Varlan asked.  The translator signaled the sudden alarm that the Ryall 
felt by increasing its volume.
"It will make your limbs heavy, and possibly cause your eyes to feel hot.  You 
will not be harmed in any way."
Varlan folded her ears tight against her head and turned to face Bethany.  "Is 
this your wish, Bethany of the Lindquists?"
"It would be most helpful, Varlan."
The Ryall hesitated for long seconds, then made the gesture that signified 
reluctant acceptance of a situation.
"Please assume a resting position," Kirsten ordered.
Varlan tucked her six legs up under her torso and wrapped her tail close in as 
she sank slowly to the carpeted deck.   Kirsten extracted a hypodermic gun from 
her medkit and walked to where the Ryall lay.  Kneeling down, she ran her 
fingers across Varlan's back, searching the Ryall's dorsal spine for a 
particular vertebra.  When she found it, she pressed the hypodermic to the joint 
and injected a dose of drug.
"The drug will take a moment to become effective, Varlan.  Do not be frightened 
by the sensations.  They are harmless."
The two women watched carefully as the Ryall's head began to wobble, and then 
slowly slipped downward to the deck.  Less than a minute after the injection, 
the Ryall lay stretched out like a sleeping dragon.  Only her eyes showed that 
she was awake and aware.
"How do you feel?" Kirsten asked from her position beside the prone centaur.
"Sleepy, but not sleepy," the translator box around the Ryall's neck responded.  
The computer's diction was as clear as ever, but Bethany thought she detected an 
imprecision in the Ryall's own speech pattern.  She commented on it to Kirsten.
"That's normal," the psychologist replied.  She used a small box to check the 
Ryall's heart rate, temperature, and respiration; then nodded with satisfaction. 
 "She's definitely under. Start out simply as we've discussed."
Bethany slid down next to the prone form on the deck, making it easier for 
Varlan to see her.  "What is your full name, please?"
"I am Varlan of the Scented Waters Clan."
"And your home world?"
"Beautiful Darthan!"
"And what was your position on Corlis?"
"I was the manager of the mineral extraction facility."
"Do you know who I am?"
"You are Bethany of the Lindquists, human, and my jailer."
"Am I nothing else to you?"
"You relieve my boredom, and teach me about your species, which my kind call 
'monsters.'"
"Surely you don't think that I am a monster, Varlan."
The Ryall did not answer.  Kirsten gestured that Bethany should repeat the 
question, which she did.  There was another long delay, in which Bethany noted 
Varlan's breathing shifted from a slow, rhythmic motion to a fast, shallow pant. 
 Whatever control the drug had over her was not complete.  Somewhere beneath 
that gray-green hide stretched over the pear-shaped skull, a battle raged.  
Then, suddenly, it was as though a barrier had given way somewhere in the 
Ryall's mind.  Varlan began to emit a long squeal of sound nearly too fast for 
the translator to keep up.
"You are worse than a monster!  Your species is the spawn of the Evil Star who 
would gorge yourselves on our hatchlings if we gave you the chance.  You are 
creatures who must be destroyed, even though your destruction be the work of a 
thousand generations!"
#
The aircraft from Mojave Spaceport delivered a thoroughly dejected Bethany Drake 
into the arms of her husband some sixteen hours later.
"How did it go?" he asked after a kiss of greeting.  The question was purely 
rhetorical.  He could see from her expression how it had gone.
"Oh, Richard, it was horrible!" she sobbed.  "You can't imagine how much Varlan 
hates us."
"And her conversion to our point of view?"
"All a sham.  She had some vague plan about getting Earth's location to the 
Ryall high command.  Here I thought I was making real progress, and all the time 
she was planning an attack on Earth."
Drake drew his wife into his arms and held her.  They stood that way for long 
minutes, oblivious to the looks of passersby.  Finally, Bethany sniffed, lifted 
her head from his shoulder, and forced a smile.  "And how was your day, my 
husband?"
"Compared to yours?" he asked.  "Not good.  I'll tell you about it when we get 
back to the hotel."
Later, in the privacy of their room, he recounted the session in the first 
coordinator's office.  She listened in growing horror as he related the 
terrestrials' conclusion.
"Evacuation?  They can't be serious!"
"I'm afraid they're damned serious," Drake replied.  "They've written off both 
Val and Hellsgate.  Their strategy simulators give us no chance of dislodging 
the Ryall from Aezer."
"Then we'll resupply through the nebula."
Drake shook his head.  "They checked that, too.  The supply effort needed to 
hold off the Ryall would divert too many resources from the rest of human space. 
 It would never be authorized."
"And yet, they are willing to undertake the more massive task of evacuating two 
entire star systems through the nebula?  Where are they going to getthose 
ships?"
"You don't need all that many, my love.  I've seen their figures."
"We're talking six billion people, Richard. Four billion Sandarians and two 
billion of us.  What with our belongings, it would take every starship in human 
space."
"They aren't talking about belongings.  They plan to use cold sleep and stack 
the evacuees like cordwood.  You can pack a lot of people in one of the big 
colony ships if you don't have to worry about minor things like eating, 
breathing, and elbow room."
"Surely they won't make us abandon everything, Richard.  They can't be that 
cruel."
"The offer is to evacuate people, period!  No dogs, no cats, no potted plants, 
no paintings, no possessions of any kind.  Considering that you go into a cold 
sleep tank nude, we may not even have the clothes off our backs when we arrive 
wherever it is they decide to resettle us.  That is the other bit of good news.  
We will not be sent to a single world.  They want to disperse us throughout 
human space."
"You told them no, of course."
He grinned.  "We told them Hell, no!'"
"Good.  What did they say to that?"
"They suggested that we avoid hasty judgments and think about it awhile.  They 
reminded us that we either evacuate now or prepare to be overrun by the Ryall 
sometime in the next twenty years."
"Surely there has to be another choice!" Bethany said.
"If there is, I haven't thought of it."
She let her hand steal into his.  They sat quietly for long minutes while she 
tried to adjust to this new shock.  Finally, she turned to Drake and asked,  
"What are we going to do, Richard?"
He smiled the smile of one who has been pushed past his limit.  "I don't know 
about you, my beautiful wife, but I think I'm going to get drunk!  Care to join 
me?"
She shrugged.  "Why not?  I don't see how it can make things worse than they 
already are!"
#
The binge proved to be a bust.  Drake had finished one drink and started another 
when he decided that alcohol was not the answer.  He looked up to discover that 
his wife had not even finished her first.  By mutual consent, they retired to 
the balcony and sat side-by-side on the chaise lounge as they looked out over 
the city.
The sun had long since set, leaving the lights of Mexico City a carpet of 
glittering jewels strewn across the ancient lake bed where more than eleven 
hundred years earlier, Hernn Corts had defeated the Aztec priest-king, 
Moctezuma II.  Overhead, the stars were washed out by the glow from the city 
until only the brightest were visible.  Still, Drake tried to trace the 
constellations, gazing off to the south in the hope of spotting a red-orange 
spark in the sky.  After awhile, Bethany joined him.
"Is that it?" she asked, pointing out a star on the horizon where the Sierra 
Nevada Mountains formed a black wall.
Drake shook his head.  "Wrong direction.  That's east.  That is probably Mars 
you are looking at.  I'm not sure that Antares is visible in Earth's northern 
hemisphere at this time of year, anyway."
Bethany snuggled close and said, "It doesn't matter.  We couldn't see home, 
anyway."
Drake nuzzled her hair and smiled.  "Remember the first time we met?"
"At Mrs. Mortridge's party?  How can I forget?  You were telling everyone about 
the Conqueror mission and that man made that silly comment about how surprising 
it was some of the dead spacers were women..."
"Whereupon you jumped in with both feet to set him straight about the history of 
women in space!"
She grinned.  "Uncle Clarence always says that I have a tendency toward 
preachiness.  Were you mad at me for interrupting your story?"
"Far from it.  I had told that same tale a dozen times or more.  You were a 
breath of fresh air.  Besides, you were the most beautiful thing I had ever 
seen."
Bethany sighed.  "And I thought you were particularly dashing in your uniform.  
I was flattered that you even bothered to talk to me."
They lapsed into silence again for long minutes.  Finally, Bethany said, "Do you 
know what I'll miss the most if we're forced to evacuate, Richard?"
"We're not going to be."
"I know that," she answered.  "But if we were going to abandon our homes, do you 
know what I would miss the most?"
"What?"
"The smell of the air after a spring rain in the highlands when the xanthro 
bushes all bloom at once after a rain."
Drake nodded.  The heavy odor of the xanthro seeds was much favored as a perfume 
on Alta.  Before the nova, extract of xanthro had been a major export industry 
for the planet.
"I think I'd miss hiking up Clearether Peak the most," Drake replied.  "It's a 
struggle getting to the top, but once there, you can see three hundred 
kilometers in every direction."
"Sounds like fun."
"I'll take you there..." Drake had been about to say that the two of them would 
climb Clearether someday.  He stopped himself when he realized that the 
opportunity might never present itself.
Bethany had no difficulty following his interrupted train of thought.  Tears 
welled up in her eyes.
"Damn it, Richard, it just isn't fair!"
"What isn't?"
"This whole situation.  Here we are talking about losing our homes to the Ryall, 
and for what?  Are we less intelligent than they are?  Are they better warriors? 
 Do they build better ships?  No, on all counts!  We are losing this damned war 
because the wrong damned star chose the wrong damned time to end its life.  Why 
couldn't it have been Spica that exploded?  Where would the Ryall have been 
then?"  Bethany had sensed her husband's body suddenly go tense next to her.  
She turned and studied his expression, which was that of someone deep in 
thought.  "Richard, what's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," he said after several seconds of silence.  He sat up in the 
lounger, swung his legs over the side, and stood up.  "I just had a weird 
thought."
"What?"
"Best that I don't get your hopes up just yet," he said before taking long 
strides toward the telephone screen inside.  Bethany followed, curious.
"Who are you calling?"
"Grand Fleet Headquarters."
"Why?"
"I need access to one of their tactical simulators.  I doubt my idea will stand 
up to analysis.  And even if it turns out to be theoretically possible, it may 
not be practical."
"I don't understand, Richard."
He looked at her and grinned.  "Neither do I  yet!  However, when I do, we may 
find that the Ryall are not in nearly as impregnable a position as we think.  In 
fact, the Antares Supernova may well have been the worst thing that ever 
happened to them!"
  
CHAPTER 28
  
Another meeting was convened in the first coordinator's office two days later.  
As before, the Interstellar Council was represented by Coordinators Gellard and 
Blenham; the Grand Fleet by Admirals Belton and Ryerson; and the colonists by 
Admiral Gower, Stan Barrett, and Count Husanic.  Also present was Bethany Drake, 
who was now representing only herself.  The only person missing from the 
gathering was Richard Drake, at whose instigation it had been arranged.
"Where is the good captain, Mrs. Drake?" Coordinator Blenham asked as he checked 
his wrist chronometer.  It was already five minutes past the scheduled starting 
time, and Blenham was anxious to be done in time for his 14:00 appointment.
"He'll be here," Bethany replied.  "He's coming from Grand Fleet Headquarters 
and may have been delayed in traffic."
Coordinator Gellard turned to Belton.  "What is Captain Drake doing at 
headquarters, Admiral?"
"We granted him access to our big strategic simulator two nights ago, 
Coordinator.  He's been engaged in some sort of theoretical study ever since."
"What sort of study, Admiral?"
"Unknown, sir.  Drake has everything under a personal security code that blocks 
everyone else from getting access to his project.   Whatever he is doing is 
costing considerable computer time.  There have been complaints from other 
users."
Gellard turned to Gower.  "What do you know of this, Admiral?"
"Nothing," Admiral Gower responded.  "I haven't been in contact with Captain 
Drake since our last conference in this office.  As you can well imagine, none 
of us have felt like socializing lately."
"Mrs. Drake?"
Bethany shook her head slowly.  "Sorry, Coordinator.  All I know is that we were 
sitting on our balcony the night before last when he jumped up, called a taxi, 
and headed off into the night for Grand Fleet H.Q.  Except for the call where he 
asked me to set up this meeting, I haven't seen or talked to him since."
Gellard opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by the brief chime of 
his desk intercom.  He leaned forward and pressed a control.  "Yes?"
"Captain Drake is here to see you, Coordinator."
"Send him in."
A moment later the door opened and Richard Drake entered the office.  Two days 
of continuous effort punctuated only by brief catnaps and hurriedly eaten snacks 
had transformed him.  There were dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes, his 
cheeks were sunken, and his normally immaculate uniform looked as though it had 
been slept in.  Despite the evidence of fatigue and lack of sleep, he strode 
purposefully across the office to stand in front of the first coordinator's 
desk.
Gellard gazed up at Drake.  "When your wife asked for this meeting, Captain, I 
granted it because I thought you colonists had come to your senses regarding 
this Aezer matter.  Now I find out that you have been using expensive Grand 
Fleet equipment for a project that even your commanding officer knows nothing 
about.  What is going on here?"
"I will be most happy to answer that question if I may borrow your holoscreen, 
Coordinator."
Gellard nodded.  "By all means!"
Drake moved to the bookcase and touched the same control that he had seen 
Admiral Ryerson use three days earlier.  Once again, the bookcase swung away 
from the wall to reveal the holoscreen behind it.  Drake reached into an inner 
pocket and extracted a record tile he inserted into a slot next to the screen.  
He turned to face his audience.
"Gentlemen, three days ago you presented the results of a Grand Fleet analysis 
concerning the Altan-Sandarian plan to drive the Ryall from the Aezer star 
system.  At that time, you pointed out that the plan's basic assumption  that 
the Ryall would strip the Aezer-Hellsgate foldpoint defenses to reinforce 
Aezer-Hermes  was incorrect.  By utilizing the astrogation data we provided, 
you proved that the fast communications and travel times within the hegemony 
made it likely that the centaurs would reinforce directly from their home stars. 
 Since such reinforcement makes a diversionary attack worse than useless, you 
recommended that the attack not be carried out as planned.
"Now, the obvious solution is to such a predicament would be a strategy of 
simultaneous large scale attacks against both foldpoints.  Unfortunately, your 
analysis proved once again that such a tactic has little chance of working.  The 
problem is that we would not be able to seize the system quickly enough to 
prevent the Ryall reinforcements from entering it.  In such a situation, 
superior Ryall mobility would likely allow them to overpower any of our ships 
that survived the initial assault.
"Finally, you recommended that we accept the fact that our situation is hopeless 
and abandon our homes while there is still time to do so."
"Everyone in this room is well aware of recent events, Captain Drake.  What is 
your point?"
"I am merely reminding you, Coordinator, that as things stand, no course of 
action appears likely to break the Ryall stranglehold on the Aezer system.  I 
propose that we accept this unpleasant fact and look elsewhere for the solution 
to our dilemma.  When solving a problem, gentlemen, it is always useful to step 
back a bit and look to fundamentals.
"Several weeks ago, Coordinator, I sat in Grand Fleet Headquarters and listened 
to your chief strategist attempt to explain away the obvious fact that humanity 
has been losing ground to the Ryall for much of the past century.  What I heard 
was that the Ryall have more ships and a larger resource base than we do.  Yet, 
the Ryall data we captured shows this not to be true.  The Ryall fleet is not 
larger than our fleet. Their ships are no better equipped.  Indeed, the Ryall 
Hegemony is substantially smaller than human space, and Ryall warriors are 
neither smarter, more tenacious, nor braver than human warriors."
Drake paused in his recitation and looked at his audience.  "So why, gentlemen, 
are we still losing this war?"
"They have Spica," Coordinator Blenham said.
"Correct!  At the risk of disagreeing with the poet, the fault lies not in 
ourselves, but in our stars. The Ryall are the beneficiaries of a simple 
accident of nature.  They inhabit the Spica Foldspace Cluster."
Drake turned abruptly and activated the control that brought the holoscreen to 
life.  In the screen's pseudo-depth was a diagram very like the one Drake had 
developed that first night he had learned the Ryall secret.  Scintillating in 
the blackness of space lay all the stars of human space and the Ryall Hegemony.  
Each star was color coded, and had a tiny line connecting it to its neighbors.
"Here we see the problem displayed in a form which is relatively easy to 
understand.  Where we humans are spread along the spiral arm in a collection of 
stars only barely related to one another, the Ryall inhabit a compact ball of 
stars, each tied closely to Spica.  As Admiral Belton explained in our last 
meeting, the advantages of this arrangement include substantially faster 
communications between systems, a more efficient utilization of natural 
resources, and a degree of industrial integration which our own worlds can only 
dream about.  While none of these factors is decisive in and of itself; taken in 
toto, they give the Ryall an advantage that we find nearly impossible to 
overcome."
Drake stabbed out with a finger and pointed to the star that was at the center 
of the ball of red threads that permeated the Ryall portion of the screen.  "If 
we are ever to win this war, we will have to counter the advantages which the 
Ryall derive from their foldspace cluster."
"And how do you propose to do that, Captain?" Blenham asked.
Drake grinned.  "Quite easily, Coordinator.  All we need do is capture and hold 
Spica!"
#
There was a sudden silence from each of the listeners.  Even Bethany was 
surprised to the point of speechlessness.  Finally, Admiral Belton came alive.  
He looked from the screen to Drake and back again.
"Captain, I hope you don't take offense at my next remark. Whether you do or 
not, however, I must ask it. Are you drunk, or just plain crazy?"
"Neither, Admiral.  It can be done.  I know because I've spent the past two days 
proving that it can be done!"
"If you can't dislodge the Ryall from Aezer, how the hell do you propose 
securing the central star of their whole damned hegemony?  For Christ's sake, 
how do you propose getting to Spica in the first place?"
"By using the back door, Admiral.  Specifically, the transition sequence will be 
Antares, Eulysta, Carratyl, Spica."
"They'll slaughter you before you get halfway there."
"No they won't.  Remember, the entire Ryall fleet is centered in the Aezer, 
Constantine, and Klamath systems.  Eulysta, being one of their interior stars, 
is virtually uninhabited.  Even if they are rebuilding the Corlis complex, there 
will not be more than half-a-dozen commercial starships in the system.  As for 
Carratyl, it is a backwater agricultural system with a single naval base and no 
foldpoint defenses at all.  If we can only get to the Carratyl-Spica foldpoint 
before the alarm is spread throughout the hegemony, we'll be able to pour an 
overwhelming force of ships into Spica before they'll be able to react."
"Let's say we succeed in capturing Spica," Belton said.  "What's to stop the 
whole damned Ryall navy from pouncing on us immediately thereafter?"
"Nothing, Admiral.  In fact, you can expect them to do just that.  Remember our 
own problems in attempting to break the Ryall blockade of Aezer.  By capturing 
Spica, we turn the existing tactical equation on its ear.  This time it will be 
the human forces that possess interior lines of communication, superior 
coordination, and mobility.  For once, it will be the Ryall who will have to 
fight blind.  They will be forced to feed their fleets through the various 
foldpoints piecemeal, and we will destroy them the same way."
"How long do you think we can hold eight separate foldpoints against determined 
attack?" Ryerson asked.
"As long as necessary, sir.  Our assault force will hold only long enough for us 
to bring up orbital fortresses.  We will get those by stripping some of the 
foldpoint defenses here in human space.  Once the fortresses are in place, we 
will be able to hold Spica as well as we hold our own systems."
"Hold it for how long?"
"Until they either learn civility or run out of ships."
"That could take the better part of a thousand years!"
"I don't think so, sir.  You see, the centaurs' great advantage is also their 
Achilles' heel.  The hegemony depends on fast, inexpensive star travel.  Their 
industrial base is highly integrated, with each world specializing in what it 
does best.  The moment we succeed in blocking the hub system of their foldspace 
cluster, their industrial machine begins to fall apart.  If we maintain our 
choke hold long enough, the hegemony will suffer a catastrophic economic 
collapse.  Once that happens, their ability to wage war will be gone.  We can 
then capture their home systems one at a time.  We'll force them back to their 
home worlds until they learn to accept our right to exist."
Coordinator Gellard turned to Gower.  "You have been very quiet during all of 
this, Admiral.  What do you think of this fantastic scheme?"
"I'm not sure what to make of it, Coordinator," Gower replied.  "It certainly 
has the virtue of originality.  In addition, I find that I like it much better 
than your suggestion that we abandon Alta and Sandar to the Ryall.  Still, it's 
a big step."
"Too big a step, I fear," Gellard replied.  "The council will never take such a 
gamble."
Drake, who had been living on stimulants for two days, listened to the cavalier 
rejection of his plan and fought back rising anger.
"The council doesn't have any choice in the matter."  Drake turned to his wife.  
"Tell him what Varlan told you!"
Bethany recounted her interview with the Ryall prisoner, and her disappointment 
at learning that Varlan's seeming conversion had been a sham.  She told them of 
the Ryall's half formed hope that someday she would be able to get the 
information of Earth's location to the Ryall high command.
"Don't you see?" Drake asked when Bethany had finished.  "If they ever discover 
Earth's location, they mean to destroy it!  That is the choice that faces the 
council.  Either we go after Spica now that we know their secret, or else they 
come after Earth as soon as they learn ours.  Which will it be?"
The coordinator was silent for long seconds.  Bethany's revelation had obviously 
had an impact on him.  Nearly a minute passed before a troubled man looked at 
Drake and nodded slowly.  "I'll see that your plan is brought before the 
council.  What they will do with it, I cannot predict."
  
CHAPTER 29
  
Richard Drake sat at the desk in his cabin aboard Alta's newest blastship, 
Conqueror II and watched the glowing words of the morning report scroll up the 
face of his workscreen. It had been three years since that day on Earth when he 
had first proposed the attack on Spica; two and a half since the Interstellar 
Council had grudgingly agreed.  They had been good years, years in which the 
human race had regained its sense of purpose.  They had been full years as well, 
years in which millions had worked unstintingly to prepare for the invasion of 
the hub star of the Ryall Hegemony.
The operational plan finally adopted was not greatly different from that which 
Drake had originally proposed.  It called for an armada of six hundred ships to 
pass through the nebula and capture the systems of Eulysta and Carratyl.  The 
strikes would be lightning-fast.  High acceleration interdiction craft would 
race across each system to cut off the retreat of any Ryall ship that might 
prematurely warn the hegemony of the human presence.
When Carratyl was secured and its single naval base neutralized, the invasion 
fleet would jump to Spica en masse.  Once there, they would split into ten task 
forces ranging in size from 30 to 90 ships each.  Eight of the task forces would 
race to englobe each of Spica's eight foldpoints, while the remaining two would 
search out and destroy any Ryall ships caught between foldpoints.  Once the 
interstellar portals were interdicted, the invasion fleet would settle down to 
the dangerous business of destroying all ships that materialized within any of 
the foldpoints.
The initial blockade of Spica's foldpoints would have to hold for at least a 
month.  At the end of that time, the first of the big orbital fortresses would 
arrive to begin construction of real foldpoint defenses. However, since the 
orbital forts were being stripped from foldpoints all across human space, it 
would be half-a-year before the last was in position around Spica.  Until that 
happy day, the ships of the Spica invasion force would have to keep alert for 
possible breakouts.
It had taken two years and the services of nearly every shipyard in human space 
to equip the invasion fleet with anti-radiation fields.  The first ships out of 
the shipyards had been formed into a special squadron and sent into the nebula.  
It was their job to guard the nebula end of the Antares-Eulysta foldline link.  
Although humanity's strategists thought it unlikely the Ryall would ever develop 
their own capability to penetrate the supernova remnant, they were not willing 
to risk the future of the human race on the possibility.  Should any such ship 
appear, the guardians had orders to make sure that vessel never left the nebula.
A dozen other starships had been stationed inside the nebula.  It was their job 
to act as communications relays and tie together the far-flung star systems 
where the human fleet was slowly gathering.  There were five staging systems in 
all  Hellsgate, Goddard, Napier, Sacata, and Valeria.  Each had been turned 
into a vast military base hosting hundreds of starships and tens-of-thousands of 
crewmembers.  Each was within one or two jumps of the nebula, close enough for 
the fleet to move out quickly should the need arise.
Drake was still reading the morning report when his communicator signaled an 
incoming call.  He reached out and touched the control that would put the 
incoming call on his workscreen.   He found himself looking at Conqueror II 's 
chief communicator.
"What is it, Mr. Hayden?" he asked.
"We just received a flash message from Earth, Admiral.  It's Priority One, 
addressed to all ships and command centers.  This might be it, sir."
"It's in code, of course."
"Yes, sir.  Shall I put it on your screen?"
Drake nodded.  Suddenly, a series of code groupings began to appear in the upper 
right hand corner of Drake's workstation.  Drake typed in his personal 
authorization code and the groupings were immediately transformed into 
comprehensible words and sentences.  Drake scanned the message with a growing 
sense of excitement.
#
******MOST SECRET ******* MOST SECRET *******
  
From:  Commander  Spica Assault Force
  
To:  Commanding Officers, All Ships and
Command Centers
  
Date: 17 July 2642 (UC)
  
Subject: Battle Orders
  
Message Begins:
  
1. At 13:14 Standard, this date, Guard Force Eulysta reported the penetration of 
a single Ryall craft into the Antares Nebula.
  
2. The subject craft was engaged and destroyed before it could return to its 
system of origin. 
  
3. All ships will proceed immediately for their jump off points and will 
rendezvous at the Antares-Eulysta foldpoint at 24:00 hours, 24 August 2642 (UC).
  
4. The assault on Eulysta will begin at 08:00 hours on 25 August 2642.  Any 
vessel not in its assigned position at that time will be dropped from the 
formation.
  
5. Good luck and God Speed to you all!
  
Belton, G.T.
Commanding Admiral
Spica Assault Force
  
Message Ends.
  
******MOST SECRET ******* MOST SECRET *******
#
Drake finished the message and turned to Moriet Hayden. "Notify all captains 
that I will be holding an officers' conference onboard Conqueror II in two 
hours. Then get me Mrs. Drake.  She should be at the university this time of 
day.  If she isn't, try her at home."
"Yes, sir," the communicator replied crisply.  "Are we on, Admiral?"
"We're on!"
While he waited for the call to Alta, Drake leaned back in his chair and thought 
of all the preparations that still needed to be done.  The official launch date 
was not for another six weeks, and Drake had been aiming to have the three dozen 
Altan starships under his command ready two weeks before that. This early launch 
meant that preparations would have to be completed underway, and that final 
ammunition loading would have to take place deep within the nebula.  Still, it 
could have been worse.  Whatever the Ryall intruder had been  warship or 
research craft  it could have arrived two years earlier at a time when humanity 
was woefully unprepared for it.
"Your wife is on the line, Admiral," the communicator said from somewhere off 
camera. 
"Thank you, Mr. Hayden. Secure this channel, please."
"I already have, sir."
Drake felt his heart stutter as Bethany's features flashed on the screen.  It 
had been two months since he'd last been home, and even the pace at which he'd 
been driving himself lately couldn't completely push out the loneliness he felt 
at the long separation.
"What's the matter, Richard?" Bethany asked, her voice and expression showing 
her apprehension.
"We just got word that the Ryall have crashed the nebula."
Bethany emitted a quick gasp and asked, "How many ships?"
"Only one.  The guard force took care of it."
"How do you suppose they figured it out?"
He shrugged.  "Could have been anything.  Maybe we did not cover our tracks as 
well as we thought back on Corlis.  Or maybe some Ryall genius asked himself the 
same questions we asked once we realized thatConqueror came through the nebula. 
In any event, it will not do them any good.  When their ship fails to return, 
they will have to think about it awhile.  They will have to review the design of 
the anti-radiation field for flaws.  By the time they get up the courage to try 
again, we'll be all over them."
"When are you leaving?"
"We leave parking orbit in six hours."
"I wish you didn't have to go so soon, Richard," she said, her voice suddenly 
cracking with emotion.
"I'm glad we're going," he replied.  "We've waited long enough.  I'm just sorry 
I won't be here when the baby comes."
"I'm sorry, too," she replied with a forced laugh.  "I'll forgive you this time. 
 After all, what you'll be doing is more important that what I'll be doing."
He shook his head.  "Never more important, my love.  Merely more pressing.  
Anyway, I'll be back before he's a year old."
"You'd better be!"
"I will.  I promise."
There was a long delay in which Drake saw tears well up in Bethany's eyes.  His 
own eyes felt damp as well.  Finally, she said, "I love you, Richard."
"I love you, too.  I have to go now.  I have an officers' conference to prepare 
for.  I'll call you again this same time tomorrow and every day until we jump 
for Napier."
"I'll be waiting."
He blew her a kiss, then switched off the screen.  After a minute or two, he 
called up an external view and watched the line of ships that were his to 
command.  First in line was Discovery, now under Rorqual Marchant's command. 
Beyond that were the battle cruiser's sister ships, Dagger andDreadnought. 
Beyond them were all the newer ships, the product of Alta's busy shipyards.  As 
Drake surveyed his command, he was filled with pride for all that his people had 
accomplished in the six short years since TSNS Conqueror had fallen into the Val 
system.
At the same time, he could not help feeling a little sorry for a certain race of 
six-legged xenophobes.  Perhaps Varlan was right to call Antares the "Evil 
Star."  For it was Antares that made contact between centaur and human possible. 
 It was Antares that had largely dictated how the Ryall-Human War was fought in 
the past, and would be fought in the future.  Antares gave the human race an 
unguarded highway into the heart of the Ryall Hegemony.
As the centaurs were about to learn, the day of the Antares Supernova might well 
have been the blackest day in all of Ryall history.  For generations into the 
future, Ryall mothers would cradle the hatchlings in their arms and speak of the 
great Evil Star that had once sprung to life at the very edge of their realm.  
And each would finish her tale with the same warning, whispered in a voice so 
soft that the hatchlings would need to spread their ear flaps wide to hear it at 
all:  "Beware the Evil Star, my young one, for it brings the humans!"
In human space, future generations would look skyward as the nova wavefront 
overtook their star systems.  They would watch Antares dawnlight spread across 
their lands with a sense of wonder.  They would hoist their children high to see 
the pretty new light in the heavens.  Lovers would lie under the stars at night 
and watch the rising of a beautiful new star.
For humanity, at least, the Antares Supernova would forever be seen as the best 
of all possible omens.
#
The End
