Her hand clenched into a fist, and her eyes blazed.
"But whatever they're up to, Tisiphone and I can finally hit the bastards!" she said fiercely. "We know what they've got, we know where to find it, and we're going to rip the guts right out of them!"
"Wait—slow down!" Ben Belkassem begged. "What do you mean, you 'know what they've got'?"
"The 'pirate' fleet," Alicia said precisely, "consists of nine Fleet transports, seventeen Fleet destroyers, not counting the one we destroyed, six Fleet light cruisers, nine Fleet heavy cruisers, five Fleet battle-cruisers, and one Capella-class dreadnought."
Ben Belkassem's jaw dropped. That was at least twice his own worst-case estimate, and how in hell had they gotten their hands on one of the Fleet's most modem dreadnoughts?
Alicia smiled—as if she could read his mind, he thought, and shuddered at the possibility that she was doing precisely that.
"Admiral Brinkman," she explained, "is only one of the senior officers involved. According to the record, most of their ships were stripped and sent to the breakers, but that was only a cover. In fact, they simply disappeared— with all systems and data bases intact. As for the dreadnought, she's the Procyon. If you check the ship list, you'll find her in the Sigma Draconis Reserve Fleet, but if anyone checks her berth—" She shrugged.
"Dear God!" Ben Belkassem whispered, then shook himself. "You said you know where they are?"
"At this particular moment, they are either at or en route to AR-12359/J, an M4 just outside the Franconian Sector. Alexsov was supposed to rendezvous with them after completing his business on Wyvern, and unless Alexsov was wrong, Admiral Brinkman—" the rank was a curse in her mouth "—will be sending them new targeting orders there within the next three weeks. Only they won't be able to carry them out."
Her cold, shark-like smile chilled his blood.
"Alicia, you can't take on that kind of opposition by yourself—not even with an alpha synth! They'll kill you!"
"Not before we kill Procyon," she said softly, and he swallowed. Fury or no Fury, there was madness in her eyes now. She meant it. She was going to launch a suicide attack straight into them unless he could dissuade her, and his mind worked desperately.
"That's ... not the best strategy," he said, and her lip curled.
"Oh? It's more than the entire sector government's managed! And just who else do you suggest I send? Shall we report to Admiral Brinkman? Or, since we know he's dirty, perhaps we should take a chance on Admiral Gomez. Of course, there's the little problem that I don't have a single scrap of proof, isn't there? What do you suppose they'll do if a crazy woman tells them 'voices' insist the second in command of the Franconian Naval District is actually running the pirates? Voices that got the information from someone who's conveniently dead? Assuming, that is, that they forget their shoot on sight order long enough for me to tell them!
"Those bastards murdered everyone I loved, and Governor Treadwell, the entire Imperial Fleet, and even Uncle Arthur can go straight to Hell before I let them get away now!" Her eyes glared at the inspector, and he shuddered. The amusement of only minutes before had vanished into a raw, ugly hatred totally unlike the woman he remembered from Soissons. And, he thought, unlike the woman he'd observed on Dewent and Wyvern. It was as if learning who her enemies were had snapped something down inside her... .
"All right, granted we can't inform Soissons. Hell, with Brinkman dirty, there's no telling how far up—or down— the rot's spread." He was too caught up in his thoughts to notice he was taking Brinkman's guilt as a given. "But if you go busting in there, the only person who knows the truth—whether anyone else is ready to believe you or not—is going to get killed. You may hurt them, but what if you don't hurt them enough? What if they regroup?"
"Then they're your problem," she said flatly. "I'm dropping you at Mirbile. You can follow up without explaining where you got your lead."
She was right, he thought, but if he admitted it she'd go right ahead and get herself killed.
"Look, assume you get Procyon. I'm not as sure you can do it as you are, but let's accept that you kill Howell and his staff. You'll also be killing the only confirmation of what you've just told me! I may be able to get Brinkman and his underlings, but how do I get whoever's behind him?" He saw the fire in her eyes waver and pressed his advantage. "They may be tapped in at a level even higher than Brinkman—maybe even at court back on Old Earth—and if it starts unraveling out here, you can bet Brinkman will suffer a fatal accident before we pick him up. That breaks the chain. If you hit them by yourself, you may guarantee the real masterminds get away!"
"He makes a point, Little One," Tisiphone murmured. "I swore we would reach the ones responsible for your planet's murder. If we settle for those whose hands actually did the deed, you may die and leave me forsworn."
"I don't care if he's right!" Alicia snarled. "We've finally got a clear shot at the bastards! I say we take it!"
Ben Belkassem thrust himself back in his chair, eyes huge as he realized who she was arguing with, and made himself sit silently.
"Yet what if he speaks the truth? Would you settle for underlings, leaving those who set this obscenity in motion untouched? Knowing they may plot anew to murder other families as they did those whom you loved?"
Alicia closed her eyes, biting her lip until she tasted blood, and the Fury's voice was almost gentle in her brain.
"You sound more like myself than I do, Little One, but I have learned from you, as well. We must strike the head from this monster if we seek true vengeance ... and if we would not have it rise again."
"But—"
"She's right, Alley," Megarea broke in. "Please. You know I'll back you, whatever you decide, but listen to her. Listen to Ferhat"
Tears burned the corners of her eyes, tears of pain and hate not even Tisiphone could fully mute, of frustration and need. She wanted to attack, needed to attack, and she had a target at last.
"So what would you do?" she demanded bitterly.
"Lend me your voice, Little One," the Fury said unexpectedly, and Alicia's eyes opened in surprise as she heard her own voice speak,
"Alicia wishes to strike now, Ferhat Ben Belkassem." The inspector stiffened and sweat popped on his forehead at the strange timber of Alicia's voice. "She believes, and rightly, that we must strike our foes now, while we know where we may find them. Yet you counsel otherwise. Why?"
Ben Belkassem licked his lips. He'd told Alicia the truth; he couldn't quite accept that she'd been possessed by a creature from mythology, but he knew it wasn't Alicia speaking. Whoever— whatever—had entered her life, he was face to face with it at last, unable even to pretend it didn't exist, and terror chipped away at his veneer of sophistication, revealing the primitive behind it to his own inner eye.
"Because—because it isn't enough ... Tisiphone," he made himself say. "At the very least, we need outside confirmation of the ships they have from witnesses no one can sweep under the rug because they're 'crazy.' That would lend at least partial credence to the rest of what Alicia—to what the two of you have just told me. And we have to hurt them worse than you can, destroy more of their ships and shatter the raiding force so badly they'll need months to reorganize while we go to work from the other end."
"Well and good, Ferhat Ben Belkassem," that dispassionate, infinitely cold ghost of Alicia's contralto replied. "Yet we have but our good Megarea. You yourself have said we dare not seek aid from the Franconian Sector, and no other can reach hither before our enemies depart their present rendezvous."