"Do you remember the ambush Security laid for us in Calarand, the day I went into Henslowe? The car that stopped us was prepared with four of the heavy-duty mag-lock shackles. Four, not three. You and Bakshi were the only ones in the garage that morning, the only ones that knew Caine would be going along. We were in a closed van, so Security's spotters couldn't have counted us, and I'd made sure no one else had been in the garage. So one of you was a spy, and we had to give that one a chance to hang himself. This is what we came up with."
Slowly, Tremayne nodded. "You're right," he admitted. "Absolutely right. And I never even came close to picking it up." He looked down at Bakshi. "A blackcollar. I can still hardly believe it."
Lathe suddenly looked very old. "Neither could I. That's why I waited so long. I wanted to hear why he'd done it, to try and understand him."
"I suppose in his own way he thought he was serving us," Tremayne said. "Hijackings of food and Idunine—that kind of operation always worked. I don't think I ever noticed that before. Probably part of his deal with them."
Lathe stepped across the bridge and stooped to pick up the weapon he'd hit Bakshi's wrist with. For a long moment he stared at the dragonhead's glittering red eyes. Then, almost savagely, he jammed the ring back onto his finger. "His job wasn't to make life easy for you—his job was to fight the Ryqril." He glanced at Skyler and Mordecai, nodded toward Bakshi's body, turned his back on it. "Commander, what's our ETA for the Diamond?"
"Both freighters have left orbit," the Security man reported, tapping a key on his console. Displays came to life, showing the ships' locations and projected course. "Do you want me to compute possible destinations, Colonel?"
Eakins shook his head. "They'd be foolish to head for the Novas directly. Wait until they've changed course."
"Yes, sir."
Eakins walked back to the middle of the command center, where Galway waited. "You heard?"
Galway nodded. "Any idea when the Ryqril plan to spring their trap?"
"Not really." Eakins looked back at the displays. "If I were the Ryq in charge, though, I would have sprung it before now. Do you suppose something's wrong?"
"I don't know." Galway's neck was beginning to ache again. "Maybe Caine would only give them a course to follow instead of the exact location. Or maybe Lathe simply outsmarted the Ryqril agent."
Eakins gave him a sharp look. "You hope he has, don't you?" he asked in a low voice. "You'd actually like the Ryqril to lose this, wouldn't you?"
"I don't know," Galway admitted. "If I were suddenly transported to that ship with a laser in my hand I know I'd die trying to stop them. But I'm here, where I can't do anything one way or the other... it's hard to explain. Ever since I was prepared, my service to the Ryqril has been tied up with service to the people of Plinry. As Security prefect I maintain order partly because I've been ordered to do so, but also partly because the Ryqril would retaliate if I didn't." He nodded toward the displays. "Every failure to stop Lathe is going to cost Plinry something—even if those Corsairs out there eventually get him. But if he somehow manages to pull this off, he may be able to force them to at least go a little easier on us." He started to shake his head, but winced at the pain. "Am I making any sense?"
Eakins shook his head. "I don't know. I don't think so, really. But you've been pretty badly hurt," he added kindly. "Come on, there are a couple of cots downstairs. We can both do with some sleep, and they can't possibly get anywhere in under thirty hours."
"Yeah." But it seemed so straightforward—or it did until he tried to explain it. Was his love of his world really so hard to understand?
The hell with it. "Yeah," he repeated. "And I think I need another pill, too."
Chainbreaker I had been switched to night mode some hours previously, and as Lathe entered the bridge he was struck by how bright the stars in the display screens seemed by contrast. Some of those "stars," of course, were actually asteroids.
The bridge's single occupant turned at the sound of the opening door. "Hello, Comsquare." He nodded. "What can I do for you?"
"Your officer should have received a coded signal from the other ship within the last hour, and I wanted to make sure it was the proper one. Where is he?"
"Lieutenant Inouye's in the lounge, on break. If you'll watch the bridge, I'll be happy to go get him."
"Please." Unstrapping his safety harness, the other got up and left the bridge. Lathe waited a count of five after the door closed, and then set to work.
It took only a few seconds to call up the Novas' most recently updated position figures from the computer. Reaiming the communicator and adjusting it for the proper medium-tight beam took considerably longer, but it couldn't be helped: the message had to reach a large part of the Diamond without being picked up by Chainbreaker II, a hundred klicks to their side. But finally everything was ready. Encoding the position figures was a trivial matter of adding a fixed number to each and then rearranging their order, something he could do in his head even as he typed them into the pulse transmitter. Finished, he mentally crossed his fingers and pushed the "transmit" button five times.
He didn't wait for an acknowledgment—there wouldn't be one—but immediately cleared the pulse transmitter memory and computer display, and then reset the communicator to its original setting.
When the starman returned with Lieutenant Inouye they found him hunched over the sensor hood, searching the sky for signs of pursuit.
CHAPTER 32
"There!" Tremayne exclaimed, tapping the display screen with a finger. "That's got to be it."
Caine glanced at the two sets of numbers on the computer screen, noted the minute difference between their own present position and that of the Novas. "I think you're right," he seconded.
"Damn thing's got to be five klicks across," Nmura muttered, squinting at the irregular rock hanging in the middle of the screen. "If they've got any sensor shielding at all it could take us hours to find them."
"We only need to find one," Tremayne said grimly. "If Jensen can get the weapons working on even one we stand a chance."
Caine looked sharply at Lathe. He'd assumed the comsquare had already told Tremayne the truth about Jensen's fictitious magic touch, but it was clear that Lathe had not. "Tremayne—" he began.
"What's the latest on the Corsairs?" Lathe interrupted, giving Caine a warning look. Swallowing, Caine clamped his jaw firmly shut.
"The three coming in from Argent have an ETA of about six hours," the starman at the sensor hood said tightly. "But I can see four more drives coming in from widely different angles."
"Start the search immediately," Tremayne told Nmura. "We're cutting things pretty close already."
For Caine, the next three hours were both the longest and the shortest he'd ever spent in his life. Even with both freighters running complementary patterns over the target asteroid, the search was an exercise in slow frustration—the Novas were too well shielded and their ships too poorly equipped for rapid progress. Compounding the agony was the fact that there was nothing he personally could do to help. He was thus forced to stand by helplessly, watching the rocky surface of the asteroid crawl by on one display screen while the Corsair drive trails grew steadily brighter on the others.
It was to the drive trails that his gaze returned most frequently. The Corsairs were coming in at full power, without making any attempt at sensor shielding. Clearly, Bakshi had passed Lathe's lie on to his superiors and the Ryqril warriors were trying to beat out a deadline that didn't exist. More than once Caine wondered if Lathe had considered the possibility that the Corsairs might launch missiles from maximum range without giving the comsquare a chance to put whatever scheme he had planned into operation.