"A prisoner?" the Sector Commander asked himself, and glanced up. "Did you say a prisoner?"
"Yes, sir. A Starwolf rammed a carrier and became trapped inside, alive and well. Being empty, she was quick enough to whip around and break from the battle, and we covered her escape. Her pursuit gave up just as she was heading out of system."
"At least her captain had sense enough to take her out of system," Trace mused. "Do you know where they were bound?"
"No, sir. They refused to say over com, for fear it would be overheard. They did promise another courier as soon as they arrived."
"That was all they could do, I suppose," he told himself, then glanced down at the messenger. "Put that report on my desk and leave the key with me now. Then wait in port until I dismiss you. I might have a message for you to take back."
The messenger saluted smartly and turned to leave. Trace returned to the apartment, closing the door quietly. A prisoner? A live Starwolf? He had never heard of such a thing happening before. As soon as he entered the dining room, he found that Councilor Lake, with his uncanny talent for sensing trouble, was already moving to intercept him. Richart, the well-trained apprentice, appeared a moment later from another direction. Trace turned abruptly to the bar, seizing that as their excuse for a few quiet words.
"Courier from Tallin?" the elder Lake inquired quietly as he inspected the stock of wine on hand. "So how did it go?"
"They took the bait, but the conversion device failed to detonate for some reason. We lost the system fleet as a result," he reported quickly, then grinned. "We did take a prisoner."
The Councilor stared at him, wide-eyed. "A what?"
Donalt quickly explained all that he had been told. The elder Lake obviously did not know what to make of it, seeming to weigh whether it was good news or not. Richart, however, had no such trouble deciding, his boyish face uncharacteristically solemn. Since Trace expected only some advantage to come of it, he was somewhat dismayed by their cautious reactions.
"Have you ever heard of our taking a Starwolf prisoner before?" he asked.
"No, I haven't," Lake admitted, still distracted by his own thoughts. "We have managed to acquire a body from time to time, which is how we know as much about them as we do. But we've never had a live body before."
"Why not?"
"Mostly because the Starwolves would rip this sector apart to find him."
"But what can they do about it, if they have no idea where we have him?" the Sector Commander demanded. "That is the trick, isn't it? We just need to keep him in hiding until we're finished with him. We did it before, with the Vardon's memory cell. We kept it hidden for thousands of years."
"That is a completely different case," Lake replied, brushing that impatiently aside. "For one thing, they weren't even aware it existed until we finally put it on public display here in Vannkarn. And the memory cell is also an imperishable good; you can bet that they plan to come for it in their own good time. But a prisoner is altogether something else. They know that we have him, where we got him, and they are going to do whatever they must to get him back."
"You think they can trace him?" Richart asked.
"I am willing to bet on it," the Councilor said firmly. "They have technology we can only dream about. For all we know, their scanners can track a ship across stellar distances. And just as likely, they can follow its trail of energy-emission residue. How should I know?"
"Here comes trouble," Richart said suddenly, having spied one of their distinguished guests approaching. "Let me distract him for a moment."
With that he shot off like a missile to intercept his intended target. Trace stared after him for a moment, surprised at such a magnanimous gesture on his part. Trace had always held the younger Lake in mild contempt. He was small for one of old Terran stock, hardly any taller than most modern humans, stocky and plump. His boyish looks had now followed him into his thirties; he was cherub-cheeked, with curly brown hair and the eternally amused look in his eyes that he had inherited from his grandfather. But Donalt did not let personal dislike interfere with his judgment. Richart was an administrative genius exceeding even his formidable grandfather.
"You want this prisoner, don't you?" Lake asked.
"Of course I do."
"Why?" the Councilor asked, eyeing him shrewdly. "Prestige?"
"Hardly!" Trace declared, somewhat indignant. "It has occurred to me that, with a live subject to study, we might finally discover how Starwolves were made. So that we can make our own."
"Ah, I see," Lake said thoughtfully. "The ultimate weapon to use against a Starwolf is another Starwolf."
"Of course," Trace agreed. "That is the premise behind our Tracer missiles. But we already know that anything mechanical we build would never equal the real thing. Therefore we need the real thing."
The Councilor nodded thoughtfully. "All right, then. If you can keep him, and I emphasize the 'if,' then you will have all the help we can muster in probing their secrets. But that is sort of out of your hands right now, I'm afraid. They would have to get their prisoner situated somewhere long enough for you to issue some orders on his handling. Right now we don't even know where he is."
* * * *
Boulder was essentially just that, a big rock in the middle of open space, not large enough to be a real planet, barely large enough to have served some planet for a moon, and with no sun to warm it. How such a piece of basalt had ever happened to end up in the middle of nowhere was uncertain, so it must have been drifting about for quite some time. To the Starwolves, however, it was a valuable piece of property indeed. It was just big enough to have the gravity to hold a carrier in stationary orbit twenty kilometers out. It had a hole in it just large enough for a damaged carrier to back into, the guns of its forward battery facing out, and, best of all, the Union had no idea it existed.
A ship was already waiting, not the carrier Delvon but one of the immense Starwolf freighters. Although the size and general shape was the same, the freighters had less than half the mass. They were not fighting ships, being only lightly armored, and more than half their main hull was devoted to several cavernous holds. The Union knew nothing of these ships, for they never showed themselves.
"Hello, who is there?" Valthyrra called out as she approached. There were, of course, official rules and procedures for recognition, but the Starwolf ships tended to be more informal, since they were all old friends.
"This is Fyrdenna Lesdryn," the freighter responded. "Hello, Valthyrra. Long time, no see."
"Hello, Feery. You look well. But what are you doing here, if I may ask the obvious?"
"Thenderra transferred your call to me, and I was closer to Boulder at the time than any of you. I'm on my way home, in fact, but I have plenty of room for all the junk you have to give."
"You may have it with my gratitude, and especially Thenderra's," Valthyrra said. "She did not sound at all happy to have to take it off my hands."
"I should say not! My bridge crew is still laughing at the sight of you popping out of starflight with your transports and capture ships following you like a brood!" Fyrdenna exclaimed, then became serious. "Still, you do have more than Lyerrana Vyesden gave me."
"Lyerrana?" Valthyrra prompted, unsure whether she should have heard this. The entire bridge crew paused to listen, since she was putting this over audio.
"You were too far to one side to have caught the news on achronic," the freighter continued. "Lyerrana was making her usual rounds of the outer fringe when she came upon a Union invasion of a nonaffiliated world. Balgan by name. It seems that they were just starting to make a profit, and the Union decided that it wanted that profit for its own trade companies."
"The old story."