"Tell me something," Mouse said. "How come everybody knows we're here?"
"This isn't Navy," Amy replied curtly.
"You keep on and I won't make love to you anymore." Mouse laughed when she turned to glare at him.
"Easy, boy," McClennon said. "We've got to get out of here alive."
Something thrown whipped over their heads.
"Did you see that?" Mouse croaked. "That was Candy... She wanted to marry me."
"Amy, have you shown people those tapes?"
"What tapes?"
"The centerward... "
Mouse nudged him. "I smell a little political skulduggery, old friend. A little crafty censorship. Old Gruber is afraid he can't keep people cranked up if they find out what's really going on."
"You're not to discuss that," Amy said.
Mouse grinned. "Oh! The Saints forfend! Never, my dear. What are you going to do about it if I do?"
"I saw Consuela yesterday," McClennon said, heading them off.
Amy softened. "How was she?"
"Twenty years younger. Happy as a kid loose in a candy store. She's hoping you'll come down."
"You went?"
"Yesterday. It's interesting. But I don't think we'll get as many answers as questions."
The convoy entered Operations Sector. A huge door closed behind them, isolating them from the rest of the ship. Mouse wondered aloud why. No one answered him. McClennon's former tech team, Hans and Clara, awaited him. Their faces were not friendly, but were less inimical than any he had seen outside Operations. Clara even managed a smile.
"Welcome back, Moyshe. You even get your old couch."
"Clara, I want you to meet somebody before we start. You never got the chance. This is Amy."
Clara extended a hand. "Amy. I heard so much about you when Moyshe was with us."
McClennon removed his tunic, handed it to Mouse. The Marine sergeants considered the couch and its technical stations, posted themselves to either side, out of the way.
The Contact room had fallen silent. People stared. Obviously, no one had been warned that Contact expected visitors.
Thomas settled onto the couch. "Clara, I'm not sure I can do this anymore."
"You don't forget. Hans."
Hans said, "You let your hair grow, Moyshe. I'll have to gum it up good."
"Haven't had time for a haircut since we hit The Broken Wings." He shuddered as Hans began rubbing greasy matter into his scalp, and again when the youth slipped the hairnet device into place. A moment later the helmet devoured his head.
"There's a fish waiting, Moyshe," Clara said. "Just go on out. And good luck."
TSD took him. Then he was in the starfish universe.
Stars' End was a vast, milky globe surrounded by countless golden footballs and needles. The three Empire Class warships became creeping vortices of color. They were at full battle stations already, with their heaviest screens up. Golden dragons slid across the distance, orbiting well beyond the ships.
And beyond the dragons, against the galaxy... "My God!" he thought.
He saw great shoals and thunderheads of red obscuring the jeweled kirtle of the galaxy. The sharks were so numerous and excited that he could not discern individuals.
"Yes, Moyshe man-friend. Will attack soon," a voice said inside his mind.
"Chub!"
"Hello. Welcome home. I see by your mind many more adventures lived, Moyshe man-friend. I see doors opened where once shadows lay."
"What in heaven... You've changed, Chub. You've become poetic."
Windchime laughter tinkled through his mind. "Have been so lucky, Moyshe man-friend. First a spy linker who taught jokes, then a she linker filled with poetry."
McClennon felt the starfish reaching deep within him, ferreting through the hidden places, examining all the secrets and fears it had not been able to reach before. "You remember fast, Moyshe man-friend."
On cue, an outside voice said, "Linker, Communications. We have an open channel to Assyrian and Prussian Fire Control. Please inform us when you're ready to begin."
Fear stalked through McClennon. The starfish reached in and calmed him. "I'm ready now," he replied.
He listened in as Danion's communications people closed their nets and linked with the dreadnoughts. He heard the chatter as the Navy and Seiner fleets went on battle alert. From his outside viewpoint he watched screens develop around the Navy ships. The two giant warships began creeping toward the shark storm.
The sharks sensed the attack before it arrived. Suddenly, they were flashing everywhere, trying to reach their attackers and the ships behind them.
McClennon felt the flow from Chub go through his mind into Danion. He saw the response of Assyrian and Prussian. Their weapons ripped the very fabric of space. Sharks by the hundred died.
And by dozens and scores they slipped past and hurled themselves at the massed ships around Stars' End.
In ten minutes space was aglow from the energies being expended. And ten minutes later still McClennon began to feel bleak, to despair. When he recognized the mood's source, he asked, "Chub, what's the matter?"
"Too many sharks, Moyshe man-friend. Attacking was mistake. Even the great ships-that-kill of your people will not be able to endure."
McClennon studied the situation. Space was scarlet, yes, but he saw no sure indicators of defeat.
Still, starfish could intuit developments before even the swiftest human-created computer.
He began to see it fifteen minutes later. Whole packs of sharks were suiciding in the warships' screens, gradually overloading them. They were doing it to every ship. Near Stars' End at least a dozen vessels were aflame with the fire that could burn anywhere, as anti-matter gasses slowly annihilated the metal of their hulls.
It got worse.
"Moyshe?" Clara's voice seemed to come from half a galaxy away. "You've been in a long time. Want to come out?"
"No. I'm doing fine."
"You're thrashing around a lot."
"It's all right. It's grim out here."
A driblet of fear was getting past Chub's sentinel effort. The starfish himself was in a state of agitation. His kind were being slaughtered.
It got worse.
Prussian was compelled to withdraw. The sharks redoubled their assault upon Assyrian. Hapsburg picked up the realtime link and replaced Prussian.
The Navy squadrons fared better than did the Starfisher harvestfleets. Their fire patterns were virtually impenetrable.
From somewhere, a voice screamed, "Breakthrough! Breakthrough!"
McClennon did not understand till much later. At the moment he thought it meant the sharks had managed their victory. It was not till Chub began exulting that he realized the tide had turned.
The sharks were turning on themselves, pairing off and fighting to the death in ponderous, savage duels. Winners searched for new victims. Here and there, a few began to flee.
Within half an hour the only red to be seen was that fading from fragments of dead shark. Space was aboil with the activity of the scavenger things that followed the sharks. Chub kept giggling like a teenager at a dirty joke. "We do it one more time, Moyshe man-friend. This time when impossible. And in grand style. Grandest style possible. Will make bet. Herd and harvestfleet will have no trouble from sharks again for age of man. So many died here... "
"Moyshe?" Clara said. "Still okay? I think we should bring you out. You've been under a long time."
A sadness came over McClennon. For an instant he could not identify its cause. Then he knew. Chub was sorry to see him go. The starfish knew that this time it would be forever.
"I don't know what to say, Chub. I already said goodbye once."
Chub tried a feeble joke. McClennon forced a charity laugh.
"Not so good?"
"Not so good. Remember me, Chub."