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The prime minister extended a hand, with the hesitancy of a man who expected to have it lopped off. “And what have you come here for, sir?”

Raul shook the hand, let it go, before he answered. “We've come huntin' pirates, Your Excellency.” He dredged the unaccustomed title up from a half-forgotten history lesson. He noted the ill-concealed start of guilty knowledge on more than one face.

Seeing him observe it, the prime minister said, almost protesting, “But that happened almost a gigasec ago, Hand Nakamore—and it was an act of need, as you must know. Surely you haven't come all this way, after all this time, to punish—”

“I'm not speakin' of your last raid on the Rings, Your Excellency—I think you know that. I'm speakin' of a starship from outside the Heaven system, that destroyed one of our Navy craft and raided our main distillery—and is passin' by Lansing on its way out of the system—”

“Sir—” Raul heard Sandoval's voice, turned at the sound of more men entering the room.

Sandoval and the two crewmen joined his group, escorting an angry, thin-faced woman. Brown skin, brown eyes, brown hair graying at the temples: Raul assessed her as she assessed him. He felt her anger flick out in a lash of wordless contempt as she glanced at the robed figures of the assembly. Her gaze returned to him, the anger cooling; he thought of a fire banked, controlled, still burning underneath.

“Sir, we found this woman in the radio room. She claims their comm's out of order.”

He nodded; turned back as the prime minister said, “We know nothin' about a starship. You saw the only ships we've got. They can't reach Discus anymore—”

“Face reality. Silver Tyr!” The sharp edge of the woman's voice slashed his words. “He can see you're lyin'; all of you, you couldn't cover the truth any more than those robes cover your rags. If he didn't know the truth before, he knows it now. The best we can do is cooperate, the way he says, and hope maybe he'll be willin' to bargain—”

“Flame Siva! Would you betray the only people in the universe who care enough to help us? And your own daughter—”

“No cripple, no defective, is a child of mine.” Her voice betrayed her. Raul felt the heat of bitter disappointment in the ashes of her words. The sagging figure of crippled Wind Kitavu tightened in a flinch. “But that's irrelevant, anyway, under the circumstances.”

A frown settled into the lines of the prime minister's face. “Two of our people are on board the starship. They say the Grand Harmony attacked the starship first. It had a reason and a right to retaliate against you, and you have no legal claim on it, in our judgment. We have no intention of cooperatin' with any attempt to seize it.”

“I see.” Raul matched the frown, realizing that there was nothing he could really do to these people, because he had already destroyed their only hope. “Fortunately for you, we don't really need your cooperation … but we won't tolerate any interference. We intend to wait here until that ship arrives.” He studied their responses; knew, with certainty and a kind of callous joy, that it would. “One of my ships is remainin' in orbit above Lansing; if we encounter any resistance, the captain has orders to hole your tent. If you want what time you've got left to you, don't get in our way.”

“Even on Lansing we don't run to meet Death, Hand Nakamore.” The prime minister looked down at his gun.

“Especially on Lansing,” Flame Siva said. “We're Materialists, Hand Nakamore, realists. At least we're supposed to be.” She paused. “Just what are you plannin' to do to that ship and its crew? Will you seize it intact?”

Raul laughed shortly. “That's what we'll try to do. But I'd disable it permanently before I'd let it get away from us again. And we want the crew alive, to show us how to run it. But if they refuse to let us board—piracy is a high crime by anybody's law, punishable by death.” He saw the assembly members shift, glittering.

“She's lost most of her crew to you already,” the woman murmured, almost to the floor.

“She?” Raul said, surprised. “That's right”—remembering a detail of alienness and the detection of human remains—“she: a woman pilot. So her crew is shorthanded?”

“Two of our own people are with them,” she repeated. He realized that it was more than a simple statement of fact: her daughter, the prime minister had said. Her hand rose, agitated; she brushed her neck, her matted hair, controlling a gesture he recognized as threatening. “The captain promised us the hydrogen we need to survive, if they helped her get it for her own ship … the hydrogen you wouldn't share with either of us, unless we took it from you by force.”

He waited, not responding because she hadn't made it a challenge.

“What would you give us if I helped you secure the ship intact?”

Surprised again, he asked, “What could you do to guarantee that?”

Thin hands crossed before her, locked around her thin arms; sleeves that were too long and too wide slid back. “Allow me to finish repairs on the radio … give me parts for it if you have them.” She glanced up, her eyes hard and bright. “Let me make contact with the ship when it approaches, to reassure them that it's safe to come in close, so that you can take them easily.”

“We could do that ourselves.”

“No, you can't. My—our people on the ship know the radio here and its problems, and they know my voice. A stranger's voice would make them suspect somethin' was wrong … and so would radio silence.”

“You may have a point.” Raul nodded.

“Will you leave us the hydrogen if I do that?” No fire showed this time.

“If the ship escapes, they can come back with the hydrogen!” Wind Kitavu burst out. “Don't take away our only chance—”

She turned; her face silenced him. Raul wondered what showed on it. She turned back. “Will you?”

Knowing how easy it would be to lie, he said, “I'll request permission. Maybe I'll get it; maybe I won't.” He waited for her reaction, was puzzled by a kind of exasperation, as if she had wanted him to lie, wanted an excuse to perform treason. Or was it something else? He thought of Wadie Abdhiamal.

“But the crew, then? If you … take the ship intact.”

“If I take them alive?” Her daughter … finding in that sufficient explanation at last. “So she does matter to you?”

Flame Siva started; her eyes were cinders, her voice lost its strength. “Yes … of course she matters …” And suddenly defiant, “They all matter! They're tryin' to save us!” She stopped, biting her lip.

Raul shifted lightly. “If they don't resist us, we'll release your daughter and the other one here; if that's what you want.” That'll be punishment enough. “For the rest—there's a Demarchy traitor on board, who gave 'em the information to hit our distillery. I don't think he's left himself much of an option.” But I still want an explanation. “And the outsider crew, what's left of it—they'll cooperate with our navy, one way or another, I expect.”

“You'll never let them go.” Not a question.

“I don't think either the crew or our navy will ever be in a position to negotiate about that.”

She nodded, or shook her head, a peculiar sideward motion. “We do what we can, here … and take what we can get. We're responsible for our own actions.” Again the defiance, the spite, the fire … she faced the ghosts incarnate of the Lansing assembly. “We take the consequences.”

“Sandoval.” Raul signaled him forward. “Take her back, let her work on the radio. And whatever happens, don't let her broadcast anythin', repeat, anythin', until you get the word from me.”