"So the little people are interlopers. Just like us."
"Maybe." McClennon had an image of Bronze Age barbarians camped in the street of a space age city.
"Keep talking. I don't want to think about the fly up."
A Navy Lieutenant awaited them at Marathon's ingress lock. "If you'll follow me, sirs?"
The Admiral awaited them on the bridge. "Ah. Thomas. I was beginning to wonder."
"Is it critical, sir? We haven't slept for ages."
"It's critical. But the Seiners say it doesn't look like it'll break right away. Rest up good before you go over."
"Over?"
"I'm sending you to Danion. I want you to go into link and give Assyrian and Prussian a fire control realtime."
"You have got to be kidding."
"Why? My calculations show them capable of cleaning up that little mess out there. It's a chance to show Gruber what can happen if he gets tricky."
"Point. Sir, you're over-optimistic. Sharks are super deadly. They throw anti-hydrogen when they get mad. Second point. Why me? A Seiner mindtech could do the job, and probably better. They're better trained."
"I want you. I don't want some Seiner who'll adjust the data to make us look bad."
"I have to go?"
"It's an order."
"Then make it another ship. I'm liable to get lynched aboard Danion."
"Danion is Gruber's choice. That's the ship we know. He has secrets too."
"Thanks a lot. Sir."
Mouse stage-whispered, "The ship's Legal Officer would back you if you want to refuse. You don't have to work when you're under arrest."
"I got troubles enough without getting the Old Man mad at me. Madder at me."
Beckhart glared at Mouse. "You're going with him, son. Head bodyguard. Take your two Marines. Tommy, if it will make you more comfortable, stay with the Psych people till time to go."
"I will."
Danion had not changed—except there were no friendly faces aboard now. Amy met them at the ingress lock. A squad of grim-faced Security people accompanied her. She installed the party aboard a convoy of small vehicles.
People spat and cursed as they passed.
"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.