"So?"
"Right now Templeton has no idea who's stolen it."
"You do?"
John Hill tapped his ear, and Michael realized he was indicating something buried beneath the skin.
"I get better news than he does. There have been some interesting disappearances, some of which I may be the only one to have heard about."
"How?"
"Trust me."
"All right. But what makes it significant to us?"
"Let me just say that if anyone puts these disappearances together, they're going to remember you and wonder if your being here had anything to do with it."
"I don't understand."
"Templeton doesn't know this yet, but a woman was caught trying to leave her home. She was captured and under interrogation . . ."
Hill's inflection made clear that he meant something rather more severe than simple questioning.
"Before she died she admitted to the existence of an organization called the Sisterhood of Barbara and of something called Exodus. I'd like to believe otherwise, but I think the two events may be connected."
"Why . . . What does this have to do with us?"
"Nothing, but I don't think for a moment the Faithful will believe it."
They'd arrived on the roof by now, and to Michael's surprise a small air car was waiting for them. Hill ushered him aboard and spilled into the driver's seat and brought up the counter grav.
"Templeton took a similar vehicle out of here not long ago on his way to the nearest spaceport. You don't think the ban on technology applies to emergencies? This one is picking up some of his sons."
Michael shook his head in admiring disbelief.
"You were explaining why the Faithful wouldn't believe that we have nothing to do with this."
"Believe that their women, so good, so devout, so well-trained, would rebel without outside stimulus?" Hill snorted and banked the air car at a stomach-wrenching angle. "Easier to believe that such was instigated from without. They'll see you as the servant of your Queen."
"Which I am . . ."
"Except that to the Faithful, Elizabeth shares the dubious honor of being called the Harlot of Satan."
"Shares?"
"With Barbara Bancroft, the woman they blame for foiling their coup to overthrow Grayson."
"What about the rest of the diplomatic corps? What will happen to them?"
Hill shrugged. "I think they'll be all right. The Masadans are going to be very careful about respecting diplomatic immunity until they've made up their mind who they want to get into bed with. The thing is, it could be argued that you're not covered. You're a Navy midshipman, making a courtesy call, you see. . . ."
"Shit."
"In a bucket. So you've been recalled to duty. Lieutenant Dunsinane is such a stickler. . . ."
"That she is," Michael agreed. "Now that I think of it, my orders included having to report back shipboard every evening."
Michael could see they had now arrived at the spaceport. He was unsurprised to find Intransigent's pinnace rising to meet them. Nor did John Hill disappoint him. The vehicle to vehicle transfer was managed as smoothly as if Hill had handled similar procedures numerous times before.
As he took the hand the flight engineer held out to him, Michael called back.
"Thanks!"
"I'll try to keep you posted," Hill shouted over the wind's roar. Then he banked the air car and sped away.
"What's going on, Sir?" the pilot asked once they were buttoned up and streaking for the edge of atmosphere.
"I'm not sure," Michael admitted. "I guess we just follow orders."
"And those are to get back to Intransigent," the pilot agreed.
Michael took advantage of the pinnace's undermanned state to drop into the tac officer's cubby and bring its tactical plot on-line. He easily located what had to be the hijacked Templeton ship crawling tortoiselike out-system. He thought about what John Hill had told him, about this improbable Sisterhood and their desperate Exodus, and felt a surge of sympathy for them.
If they're really trying to get away, why don't they run? he thought. Why the hell don't they run?
Carlie couldn't keep her mind off her absent middy and John Hill's peculiar call, so it was almost a relief when Intransigent was moved to a higher level of alert and she found herself on the bridge, officer of the watch, while Captain Boniece met with his department heads.
"Our pinnace has left the surface," Midshipman Jones reported. "En route to rendezvous with Intransigent."
Carlie acknowledged.
"How's Aaron's Rod?"
Ozzie Russo, another one of Carlie's middies, answered promptly.
"Still heading out-system. Looks like she's on a direct line for hyper limit, Ma'am."
"Hm."
"Lieutenant Dunsinane?"
"Yes, Mister Russo?"
"Why is she moving so slowly? There's not much traffic there."
"I couldn't say, Mister Russo. You sound like you have a theory."
Carlie saw the normally confident, even cocky, Ozzie color.
"Well, Ma'am, it reminds me of the first time my father let me take the helm of our yacht. It had looked so easy on the sims, but once I had all that to handle, I found out the sims hadn't really prepared me. Our pilot made me watch the tapes over and over again, just to get it through my head that I didn't know everything."
The midshipman finished in an embarrassed rush, his color even higher. Carlie, accustomed to Ozzie's more usual rich boy attitude of self-importance, was amused and pleased.
"You may well have a point, Mister Russo. I'll make a note of it."
"Yes, Lieutenant. Thank you, Ma'am."
Later still, the routine business was interrupted from Tactical.
"Lieutenant Dunsinane, a pinnace just launched from the surface. It's going great guns. A second just followed it, also going fast."
"Vector?"
"First one is heading for an armed merchantman, Psalms. The second is heading for armed merchantman Proverbs."
"Those are the other Templeton ships," Carlie said. "Inform Captain Boniece. Then tight-beam our pinnace and suggest she increase her accel. I want those people back on board."
"Yes, Ma'ams," eddied around the bridge.
Next interruption came from the com station.
"Call coming in from planetary surface, Lieutenant Dunsinane. Originating at their Palace of the Just. Caller identifies himself as one Ronald Sands."
"Get Captain Boniece on the line," Carlie said. "Let him know what's up."
"Captain Boniece is on, Ma'am," came the reply hardly a breath later. "He says for you to take it. He'll ghost."
"Right. Pipe it to the bridge."
Ronald Sands proved to be a man of middle years whose light eyes seemed focused on some visionary distance. He wore his light brown hair well past his shoulders and his full beard neatly trimmed. When he moved, though, there was carefully controlled energy that reminded Carlie that the Faithful eschewed prolong. Sands was probably no more than thirty, possibly younger than that.
"You are Lieutenant Dunsinane?" Sands began, his tone almost concealing his disbelief and disgust. Carlie remembered hearing that the Faithful kept their women in isolation. This being the case, Sands was keeping his poise admirably.
"That is correct. Lieutenant Carlotta Dunsinane, officer of the watch, HMS Intransigent. How may I be of service?"
Sands' lips twitched in a very slight smile, one that was surely a concession to courtesy rather than an indication of any friendliness or warmth.
"I speak with the words of Chief Elder Simonds," he said.
Looking down at what was apparently a prepared script he read: "These are the words of Chief Elder Simonds: 'The people of the Star Kingdom have come to Masada speaking of mutual respect and the possibility of alliance. God in His infinite wisdom and greatness of heart has offered opportunity for the Star Kingdom to show the depth of its commitment to these words.