Beckhart's explanation, mad as it sounded, did tie the Bureau's frantic behavior into a neat ball. "What's still on your job list?" Moyshe asked. He glared at Beckhart, daring him to say something about Starfishers.
The original assignment now made military sense. Communications were the backbone of the fleet. Every ambergris node obtained would improve Navy's combat efficiency.
Beckhart surprised him again. "Sangaree, Thomas. The worms that gnaw from within."
Moyshe's mental alarms jangled. "You don't expect the Sangaree to be a long-term problem?"
"No. Thanks to Mouse."
"What?" Kindervoort and benRabi spoke together.
"Why were you sent to the Starfishers, Thomas?"
"To locate you a starfish herd. To get Navy a source of ambergris it wouldn't have to share."
"So you thought. So you thought. Actually, incorporation was a political goal, not military. It hasn't been important to Luna Command. We've known how to find Payne's Fleet for years. That's right, Captain Kindervoort. Starfishers can be recruited. I have agents aboard Danion. Thomas suspected as much when he charged in here with his magazine. But there was no pressing need to incorporate you. Grabbing a fleet might have started a fatal uproar. Nowadays... If I was a Starfisher who hoped for a future in my business, I'd polish up on my Confederation studies."
Kindervoort smiled a thin, wicked smile. "I don't think we need to worry, Admiral."
Beckhart winked at Moyshe, jerked his head to indicate Kindervoort. "Doesn't know me, does he? Thomas, the mission was aimed at the Sangaree. You should have known. That's all Mouse works. Don't interrupt your elders, boy."
BenRabi had intended to ask why he had been sent along.
"I thought the Starfishers, because they deal with the Freehaulers and McGraws, might have a line on Homeworld too. My guess was wrong, but my intuition was right."
You're lying, Moyshe thought. You're editing the past to fit the needs of the present. You knew, and controlled, more than you'll ever tell.
Beckhart said, "Mouse found what I needed. He got it out of the astrogational computer of a mindburned raidship captured at Stars' End. He extracted the data and sent it out. Von Drachau was given the attack mission. Judging from the fleet alert, he pulled it off. He's probably on his way home now, likely with a mob chasing him. The pressure should ease for you at Stars' End, Jarl. You might not have to fight your way in after all. You might say we've done you a favor."
Beckhart leaned back in his chair, grinning at Kindervoort's consternation. "You can't kid a kidder, boy. We guessed what you were up to before you got here. Our agents confirmed what we suspected."
"If you knew that," Moyshe said, "why haven't you given us any trouble? I'd think you'd jump on Stars' End like... "
Kindervoort kicked him under the table.
"Several reasons, Thomas. We're spread too thin already, guarding against their raidships if they get too excited. We've got no feud with you. And you can't do anything but get yourselves killed out there anyway. So why get excited?"
BenRabi studied the old man. Beckhart was excited. What else was up his sleeve? The theft of the Stars' End weaponry after the Seiners opened the planet?
Had Mouse reported their suspicion that the Seiners could manage it?
Why was the Admiral here, now, instead of in Luna Command? Stars' End would be a damned good reason.
It came down to Mouse. Had Mouse simply yielded to his hatreds and passed on the information about the Sangaree? Or was he still reporting?
Kindervoort asked, "If you're spread so thin, how could you mount a raid on Homeworld?"
"It wasn't a raid. It was a wipeout. Let's say the nova bomb disaster wasn't as complete as the news people have been led to believe. Let's suppose a couple of the weapons were taken out before the blowup. Let's take it a little further and speculate that a certain Jupp von Drachau tumbled one into Homeworld's sun."
BenRabi snapped up out of his chair, breaking Amy's sudden iron grip on his arm. He stared over Beckhart's head, into cruel vistas of self-condemnation.
A whole solar system destroyed!
"You're insane. You're all insane."
"I wish you could know how much soul-searching went into the decision, Thomas. I honestly do. And, despite the Four slash Six memo, I don't think the decision would have been made had it not been for the centerward race. Thomas? Come and see those tapes before you judge us. All right?"
BenRabi ignored him. He was back to that failsafer day again. How did Mouse get the manuscript out to Beckhart? Kindervoort had watched them every second. Beckhart's Seiner agents must have handled it while Mouse was holding everyone's attention.
He remembered a Seiner known as Grumpy George. Old George was a coin collector. He and Moyshe had done business several times. George had had a superb collection. He had claimed to have made an outstandingly lucky "blind" purchase during an auction held on The Big Rock Candy Mountain, years ago.
Any truly devoted collector was vulnerable. And George was an obsessive.
This same George had come to Angel City with the first group of tourists. He had stopped by the office to ask about hobby shops. Moyshe had passed him on to Storm. Mouse had given him a list.
"How many hobby shops does the Bureau run, Admiral?"
Beckhart's eyebrows leapt upward. "Damn, ‘Thomas. But you always were intuitive. Just one these days. Oddly enough, it's right here in Angel City."
"In other words, the place has served its purpose."
Beckhart leaned toward Kindervoort. "You see why he made Captain so young?"
Kindervoort simply looked baffled.
An ulcer that had not bothered Moyshe for a year took a sudden bite from his gut.
Someone pounded on the door. "Mr. benRabi, are you there?"
"Come in. What's up?"
"Someone just tried to kill Mister Storm."
"What? How?"
"It was a woman, sir. She just came up and started shooting."
"Is he all right?"
"Yes sir. He took off after her. She headed into Old Town."
Old Town was that part of Angel City which had lain under the first settlers' dome. Today it was largely a warehouse district. It was the base of the city's small underworld.
"You think it's the Sangaree woman?" Kindervoort asked.
"Marya? A grudge like that is the only thing that would set Mouse off," benRabi replied.
"How could she be here?" Amy demanded.
"I'd better go dig him out," Moyshe said. "If it's all right with you, Jarl?"
"It's your shift. Do what you want."
"Amy, stay with Jarl." Moyshe told the messenger, "Find me six off-duty volunteers. Tell them to meet me outside my office. Armed."
"Yes sir."
Moyshe bent, kissed Amy. "In a little while, hon." He wished he could have been a more loving husband lately. Events had permitted them only the most brusque of relationships.
He caught Beckhart giving him an odd look. A baffled, questioning look.
What did that mean? Puzzled, he went to the door.
He paused there, glanced back. Kindervoort and Amy were sipping their drinks, lost within themselves. Poor Jarl. The pressures here were too much for him. He was becoming less and less active, more and more a figurehead. Was it cultural shock?
He would survive. He would make a comeback in his own milieu. He did not worry Moyshe.
His concern was the almost magical disappearance of the Admiral while his back was turned.
He hated to admit it. He loved that old man like a father. Their relationship had that attraction-repulsion of father-son tension. But he could not trust the man. They were of different tribes now.
He had to hurry if he meant to stay ahead of Beckhart.
He was a block from the restaurant when he encountered the first poster. It clung crookedly to the flank of a Marine personnel carrier. He trotted past before it registered. He stopped, spun around. His eyes widened.