He was vacillating. Avoiding decision. Riding a period of stability for all it was worth.
One squeeze of a trigger would settle a trillion fates. His friend? Or Amy, his love?
Those symbols remained as motionless as the man between whose legs McClennon stood. They waited too, aware that, for the moment, he was possessed of godlike power.
Mouse had, McClennon was sure, known the ramifications for some time. Perhaps since before the mission had begun. Mouse stared at Amy's weapon, half hypnotized by the death lying there. Death had never touched him...
He had been immune for so long...
Amy was pale and growing paler. She had had time to think, to see some of the possibilities, and to grow scared. Her gun hand quivered.
Mouse began moving, almost imperceptibly bringing his stunner a little farther forward.
"Wait!" McClennon snapped. "This is silly. There's a way out."
They looked at him, their faces grave and baffled.
His finger danced on his stunner's trigger. Amy squeaked as she fell. Mouse looked infinitely surprised. Shaking, McClennon peered into the street beyond the trees behind him. The Marines seemed uninterested in the park. Good. If the men just kept their mouths shut...
He scrambled down, collected weapons, stunned Marya again. Her breathing indicated she was partially recovered, and probably gathering herself for something.
He had to keep the three of them out of the way while he twisted the Admiral's tail. Maybe he could salvage something for everybody, though Beckhart would resent it all to hell.
But, dammit! It wasn't necessary to have big winners and losers. Everybody could lose a little and win a little and come out ahead in the end.
Beckhart would give in if he could not catch up fast enough. He had to have those coordinates soon, or see his whole intrigue blow up in his face.
McClennon laughed. He was going to get the best of the Old Man, and that was as rare as roc's eggs. Still chuckling, he threw Amy over his shoulder and headed for the tight darkness of Old Town.
She would come out of this hating him, but by doing it this way he would give her more than he ever could with love.
He searched his mind for signs of instability. All the gears were in place and working smoothly. Some sort of balance had been achieved. Not a natural one, but one that looked good for a while. He was now a little of everyone he had ever been, and a little more, too.
He hoped it would last long enough.
Eighteen: 3050 AD
The Main Sequence
"What the hell is going on, Damon?" Beckhart's voice had a saw-toothed edge. "Storm and the Sangaree woman were in that park. Storm called to say he was going in after her. McClennon's men admit he went in. You chased the Seiner woman in there. Four people. Where the hell are they now?"
"I don't know, sir," the Major confessed. "We went in as soon as we knew where to look. They weren't there anymore."
"No shit? You're aware that three of those people are professionals, aren't you?"
"Yes sir. And two of them are ours, with no reason to run."
"One of them. I'm not sure what McClennon thinks he is. It's not his fault, but he has his head on backwards and it's falling apart. He probably doesn't know who he is or who he's working for half the time. He's the one I'm worried about. He needs psychiatric attention fast."
Beckhart massaged his forehead. He was growing a bitch of a headache. Just when it looked like he had it nailed down... He had to snag Thomas or his woman before Gruber called his bluff. He had to show at the Yards before the harvestfleets extricated themselves from the standoff at Stars' End. He had to move before the Sangaree raidfleet learned about Homeworld.
"Why the hell did that idiot Kindervoort have to go and kill himself?"
"He evidently had strong feelings."
"They're a stiff-necked mob. I've never figured them out. That damned Payne is still up there making nasty talk. With three squadrons sitting on his back."
"Just pride talking, sir."
"We screwed up, Damon. If we don't find those people, alive, we're had. We. Do I make myself clear?"
"Abundantly, Admiral. I've got all my men digging. The local police don't have any decent tracking gear, but it's still only a matter of time."
"The shorter the time, the better, Major. High Command is breathing down my neck. The CSN has a personal stake in what we're doing. He isn't very fond of me. So don't forget that water and horseshit both go downhill."
"Message received, Admiral."
"Good. Get out there and find them. And don't forget that they're professionals."
The Marines did not turn up a trace all night. Beckhart spent the time tossing, sharing his cot with a cruel dread.
He was afraid the Sangaree woman had gotten the drop on Storm and McClennon and had spirited them out of the city. She had gotten out once before.
Time trudged along. The tension built. He began snapping at everyone around him. "Like a mad dog," he overheard one of his technical ratings say.
That hit him like ice water. It made him count ten before speaking. He had an image of himself as a reasonable, fair, and fatherly superior. His pride demanded that he treat his subordinates well.
After thirty hours he locked himself in his tiny cubicle of an office. He drank coffee, gobbled aspirin, and wondered if he was too old to start praying.
"Admiral!" an excited voice called through the closed door. "Comm call. Field channel three. It's McClennon, sir."
Beckhart slapped his drab Navy comm unit, muffing the channel selection twice. "Come on, you bastard." A moment later, "Thomas? Where the hell are you, son? What's going on? Where's Mouse? You all right?"
"We're fine. Mouse is tied up at the moment." McClennon giggled. "All three of them are."
He's gone, Beckhart thought. Cracked completely. "Where are you, Thomas?"
"Around and about. Right now I'm here."
"McClennon... Report to me immediately. In person."
"No sir."
"What? Thomas, the whole damned thing is going down... " What was McClennon up to?
"Give me one little thing, Admiral. That's all I'm asking. One thing, and I give you Stars' End on a platter."
"What the hell do you think you're doing? When did Commanders start bargaining with Admirals?"
"Captain."
"That can be rectified. McClennon, I'm tired and I'm aggravated. Don't give me any shit. Tell me where you are so I can send somebody to pick you up."
"No sir. Not till I get what I want. I've got something you need. You give me something back. You want to talk about it?"
"I'll listen, Thomas. That's all." That's all. Had anyone had sense enough to try for a fix on McClennon's transceiver? Probably not. Too much to expect of these people.
"It's simple, Admiral. I'll give you the coordinates for the Yards after you execute some instrument guaranteeing the Starfishers' independence. Recognize them as an independent political entity. Offer to exchange embassies. Offer mutual non-aggression pacts. All those kinds of things that will make it hard for Luna Command to subjugate them without a big public outcry."
"Holy shit. You're out of your mind."
"I know it." Beckhart heard McClennon's pain and fear. The man was scared silly. He knew he was on the edge. "It's getting worse. I need help, Chief. But I've got to do this first."
"Thomas, the answer is no. You know damned well that I couldn't agree to something like that even if I wanted. Which I don't, I don't have the power."
"High Command does. I'll listen on this channel. You let me know when the treaties are ready."
"Thomas, you're committing suicide. You're throwing your career away."
"Really? You mean you haven't used me up yet?"