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  Yet. for ail the giad feelings, there was an undercurrent of sadness in the room as well. Snapshot, who'd haff-heartediy supported Drop Kick in his efforts to be festive, presently stood alone at the rear of the loft, near the elevator, and took the earliest opportunity to disappear through it.

  "Hey, Physic," Drop Kick said to his adviser 30 minutes after midnight, "I've been looking around for Snapper. You seen her?"

  "No. Last I saw, she was over by the elevator."

  "Elevator, right. Back In a flash."

  Drop Kick had hoped to ask Snapshot for adance before Coeur made him clean up the loft. But Snapshot was neither In the lounge nor In her missile turret.

  Well, this is damned strange, he thought, returning to the loft to check her stateroom and finding it, too, unoccupied. Where could she be?

  Then It hit him—the one place a person could go If she really wanted to be alone.

  The hold.

  His intuition proved correct Hearing her crying before he saw her, Drop Kick found Snapshot hunkered down beside the tubes of the drop pod, nursing a half-empty bottle of gin.

  "Oh fuck," Snapshot muttered, wiping her runny nose, "Busted,"

  "Denlse," Drop Kick said, "what are you doing?"

  "Well, I was trying to get plastered," Snapshot said, lifting her bottle up toward Drop Kick. "Want some?"

  "No, I don't think so," Drop Kick replied, although he did take the bottle and sit down beside her.

  "Well, then you oughta give me my bottle back."

  "May be later, "Drop Kick said. "You know, I was worried about you,"

  "Sorry," Snapshot said. "I've had this bender planned for a long time, though, and I figured I'd better make the most of It."

  "You...planned to get drunk?"

  "Well...yeah, I figured I'd have to wait until Reformation Day tor the skipper to unlock the really hard stuff, but then you went and got her to move up the calendar by three weeks."

  Suddenly, Drop Kick understood. The tube Snapshot was sitting under was Number Three—the one Badger would have used to drop assault if he'd lived.

  "It's Badger, isn't it?"

  "Oh, that poor fuck," Snapshot said, confirming Drop Kick's guess by drawing her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees and burying her face in the hollow thus created.

  "Yeah, I should have guessed," Drop Kick said quietly. "You really miss him, don't you?"

  "Well," a shuddering Snapshot said, lifting her heao from her arms, "that's a pretty stupid thing to say, now, Isn't it? Of course I miss him."

  "Sorry," Drop Kick said, startled by her anger.

  Instantly, though, Snapsnot realized she'd hurt him.

  "No, I'm the one who should be sorry. You're important tome, and I should have shared my feelings with you earlier."

  "Well," Drop Kick offered, "you can share them now."

  Snapshot smiled, although In her condition It looked like more of a grimace.

  "Well, for one thing, Vm, you know t never had the hots for Badger or anything—he was just a friend. But all the same, there was something about him...something so sad..."

  "Something like you?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean," Drop Kick said gently, "he was a lot more like you than maybe you think. I mean really, until the skipper saw your good side, you were about one demerit shy of being expelled from the Technical Academy."

  "Who told you that?"

  "The Skipper. You know, she's my friend, too."

  "Oh, yeah, right."

  "Really, Snapper, I'm no shrink, but it seems to me that you and Badger had a lot In common. Until you met Red Sun, you really didn't have anyone on your side at the academy, and until Badger met you, he didn't really have anyone on his Side either."

  As if to prove he was right, Snapshot suddenly clenched her left hand into a fist and swung it backward against the empty drop tube behind her.

  "Damn it," she said, "damn it, why does It always have lobe people like tiim who die out here—people nobody gave a damn about anyway?"

  "Hey, Snapper, come on," Drop Kick said. "You cared about him."

  "Oh God, Vin," Snapshot said, rolling into his side and pressing her crying lace into his shoulder. "Ileel like such an idiot. I've never been this worked up about anyone before."

  "Oh, shush," Drop Kick said, bringing his closer arm up to hold herand brushing a loose red hair out of her eyes. "I'm sure you're the best friend he ever had."

  "You know," Snapshot said, after a long moment, "I think I owe you a dance."

  "Feel up to it?" Drop Kick asked.

  "Well, sure," Snapshot said, moving to stand up. Under the influence of two pints of Old Bilgewater, however, she didn't quite make it and collapsed back onto her butt.

  "Or maybe not," she said, "Man, this is embarrassing. Now how am I gonna get back to my stateroom?"

  "Well. I could carry you through the party," Drop Kick said, "but people might wonder. How about you sleep on the cot in The G-carrier instead?"

  "That's a plan."

  "Come on," Drop Kick said, helping Snapshot up with a hand under her shoulder, "I'll help you over."

  "Well, that's mighty nice of you," Snapshot observed. "You know, you'd probably make a nice girl a good husband."

  "Yeah, but do you know any nice girls?" Drop Kick asked, tea singly.

  "Snapshot looked up at him, smiling. "I think so, but ask me again when I'm sober. I'd hate to make any commitments when I'm drunk."

  "Yes, well, I'm sure that goes for both of us," Drop Kick responded, helping Snapshot through the rear hatch of the G-carrier, tucking her Into the cot in the rear compartment, then departing to clean up the mess he was sure the crew had left for him in the loft.

  Chapter Eight

  To cross the space between the AO and Mexit required four weeks—as unsettling a span of time as Coeur had ever had at Horner's helm. Deep in the Wilds—and In a fragile freighter to boot—her only option was to tegard every long range sensor blip as a potential enemy and steer a wide path around it. Coeur was familiar with stealth, however—she'd had to be to survive behind theSolomani lines In a tiny Imperial scout ship. So Hornet kept the lowest possible profile, laying off her active sensors, fueling from outer orbit gas giants and planetoid belts, and eventually precipitating from jump in the fourth orbit of Mexit system—at a small gas giant well outward from the malnworld in orbit 0.

  Rather small and blue, with two large moons and a small ring system, Opaco IV was a cold and quiet gas giant, the farthest from her dim red primary Opaco. Unlike Yoga's Novolen, therefore, it promised to be an uneventful fueling stop.

  "All stations report secure from jump," Deep Six announced. "Short-range passive sensors read clear."

  "Roger that," Coeur said, studying her own duplicate of the Schalli's sensor panel.

  "Some background chatter, though. Looks like Mexit may have radio "

  "How about TV?" Coeur asked.

  "Unlikely. The VHF frequencies are too low,"

  "Fair enough, figure it's safe to deploy the passive array?"

  "Affirmative."

  Coeur was glad to hear that. Though Hornet had a very good computer, the passive sensor array integral to her hull was simply too small to see much detail beyond 100,000 kilometers. Good resolution any further out—beyond a million kilometers—would demand the folding passive array. It was either that or fire up the active sensors and give away their position to anyone in the area.

  "Deploying array." Coeur report eel.

  "Belay that!" Deep Six said. "Hot contact bearing 1171*

  Instantly, Coeur shut down the motors unfolding the array.

  "I can't Lell how big she is, "the navigator went on, "she's too far for our integral passive sensors. She is maneuvering, however, and using active sensors."

  "What's her course?"

  "Difficult to say. i'll need to process more signal."

  "Fuck," Coeur swore under her breath. Sti'.l, she knew she it could be wor
se: The antenna of Hornet's folding anay was 126 meters across, and Its deployment would suddenly make the tiny ship—43 meters long—a huge target to active sensors.

  "Course solution fixed," Deep Six said a minute later. Target is powering into a close orbit above the gas giant. Since she has not hailed us, or begun evasive burns, I suspect we have not been delected."

  "Good, let's keep it that way. What's our lime to the cloud tops on residual velocity?"

  "Just over 30 hours."

  Coeur thought a moment.

  "Sixer?"

  "Sir?"

  "Can you plot us a spiral approach course to that gas giant? I want to stay on opposite sides of the planet from that ship as much as possible. We will make maximum maneuver burns while he's below the horizon, then shut down and present him with a cold, frontal aspect when he's on our side. By the time we get within half a light-second of him, I'd like to have that planet between us at all limes. Can you do it?"

  "Yes sir. It will only take a moment. However, this assumes that he does not alter his orbit."

  "Right. So work out as many alternate spirals and Insertion vectors as you can, and keep an eye out for the first sign that he has changed orbit. Advise Crowbar that we'll be skimming tomorrow but that in the meantime I want short. Intense burns so the thrust bells can cool down when we're in view of the target "

  'Roger, Captain, Understood."

  * * *

  Since she knew she might still have to fight or run—and therefore evacuate the hull to prevent explosive decompression—Coeur still hadn't let anyone takeoff their vac suit helmets 20 minutes after Deep Six first contacted the bogey. That was time enough to determine the oblivious status of the contact, but it seemed a virtual eternity to the Marines and junior technarchs, who had no immediate duties, no real sense of what was going on outside, and no company except the rhythmic hissing of their own breath in their battle dress and vac suit helmets. But Coeur wasn't about to take the chance that the bogey's sensor operators weren't sharper than they seemed. Predictably, An-Wing was the first to call the bridge and complain when Coeur announced ail hands would remain suited until further notice.

  "Captain D' Esprit, I must Insist that you clarify our situation! Are we In some kind of danger?"

  "We're not certain, Ms. An-Wing. Another spacecraft Is in the area, and we're uncertain of her intentions."

  "Another spacecraft? Could it be Crazy /aneT

  "Not likely," Coeur answered, "but anyway, I'm not going to find out until we've got some jump fuel in us."

  Masaryk, in the stateroom opposite An-Wing's, hopped on the line before Coeur could sign off.

  "Captain, Is there something we should be doing? You know, to prepare for an emergency?"

  "You're doing it by staying suited up and in your cabin. Bridge out"

  Coeur then shook her head, shutting off the shlpwlde Intercom. Deep Six, meanwhile, searched his lexicon of human Idiom for an appropriate remark.

  "Civilians."

  "You said it, Sixer. Get me Snapshot."

  "Snapshot here, skipper."

  "Snapper, what's your status? Don't you have a probe in your launcher?"

  'That's affirmative," the missile gunner answered. "I've got one nuke and one pfobe in the can."

  "How about the missiles in tl%e drop pod? They nominal?"

  "Affirmative; they all read green. You can have Six nukes any time you want them,"

  Coeur nodded, though Snapshot couldn't see the gesture. Thanks to the extra capacity of the drop pod, she had more ready missiles than an enemy would expect from a ship of Homer's size.

  "I'lf remember that. Snapper At the moment, though, I'd Just like you to launch the probe. Sixer will deliver you a contraorbital plot in a few minutes."

  "Contraorbital, sir?"

  "Roger, Into the course of our bogey With any luck, we'll get a look at her before she gets a look at us."

  If Badger had been alive to see it, Coeur was certain he would have been proud of his gunnery tutor. After reaching an orbit that would let it intercept the bogey. Snapshot's probe followed her instructions to tumble like a chunk of planetary debris and subsequently passed within 1000 kilometers of its objective without being spotted. The passive images it recorded were therefore of the highest quality, and astonished both Coeur and Deep Six when the probe was free to download its data to Home/ on the far side of the gas giant, "Good Gaia,* Coeur said, "how close did that probe get?" "A minimum of 700 km," Deep Six said. "That much is apparent from the resolution of the video Image. I recognize this configuration as a fcVit/rw-class colonial cruiser*

  Indeed she is, Coeur thought. Too small fo light with the big boys, but more than big enough to min our day.

  At 1250 tons displacement, the colonial cruiser was Indeed a giant compared to Hornet, withoriglnal firepower comparable to that of the Coalition's front-line clippers. Before the Collapse, Coeur had heard Imperial Navy officers make disparaging remarks about the class, but the colonial cnjlser never really was intended to Tight In the line of battle. Rather, the Kinunir was an intimidation machine, designed to keep smaller planets In line with Imperial policy through the threat of bombardment with heavy lasers and missiles, backed up by a platoon of Imperial Marines. If the ostensible purpose of the design was piracy suppression, Coeur knew better. The design proliferated just as rebellion flowered in the Last Imperium, when the loyalty of border worlds was at a premium.

  "That looks like a name on her spine," Coeur said. "Can you make It out?"

  "Affirmative," Deep Six said, feeding the clarified image to Coeur's station after afewseconds of processing. "Asyou can see, the tetters are human Anglic."

  "Pleasant name—Royal Vengeance. Could she be Solee?" "There is a shadowed Image on the vertical tall that might be an insignia. I shall attempt to enhance It*

  Containing her anticipation, Coeur waited patiently for Deep Six to complete this second task.

  "This Is Interesting," he said. "Examine pixel elements 224 A by 1350, which I have magnified."

  "Damn. It's the Solee crest all right" "AJfirmatJve. Reliable Network reports correlate this symbol— the Greek heimet on a red circle—with Solee fleet activity,* 'This is bad, Sixer. It means they got here first" Deep Six answered this with a moment of reflective silence as his vac-suited body bobbed in the water of his roller-chair.

  "Sir, that may not be a legitimate conjecture. Remember that we are in the fourth orbit of the Mexit system, not In the orbit of the mainworkJ,"

  "Yeah, you're right. Continue to analyze this data, and download the drive and emission particulars to the gunners." "Yes, sir."

  Surprisingly, the Solee made noattempts to adjust their course and single-mindedly kept their active EMS hammering at the murky cloud deck of the gas giant.

  "The/re looking for something," Coeur mused, watching the animated track that represented the projected Solee course on the bridge's tactical display, "but what?"

  "Their original course suggested a pursuit, but I detected no other bodies " Deep Six offered.

  "Yeah. Maybe they spotted someone about to skim, or just completing skimming, and forced them Into the atmosphere to take cover." Clod it's not me. 'That ship's large enough to have small craft," Coeur noted. "Any sign of those?"

  "Negative." Deep Six answered, "Nor Is there evidence of drone or missile activity. Just the one slarshlp executing a loud, and—if I may say—ill-conceived search. Vessels within gas giant atmospheres are notoriously difficult to locate,"

  "You may say so," Coeur said, "but don't think It. It doesn't pay to underestimate your adversaries," "Perhaps you're right, sir."

  "Perhaps? Anyway, it could be a ruse tor all we know—blasting away noisily to draw somebody else into the open. Since Hornets in no Immediate danger, we'll keep splrallng In quietly. But for Cod's sake, whoever has the sensor watch, keep a sharp eye out for sudden changes in their search pattern."

  Coeur and Deep Six surrendered the bridge to Newton and Mercy twice In t
he coming hours, so Coeur and Deep Six could res: and be fresh for skimming. All the watches went uneventfully—save for griping from the Junior technarchs at the random vacuum drills Coeur had ordered. At last, Coeur and Deep Six came to take the bridge just one diameter, or 30,000 km, from the blue face of Opaco IV. Just below and ahead of the ship, meanwhile, hung the planet's gray-white ring, reaching like a vast highway of ice and rock around the far side of the world, "Nice ring," Coeur commented, settling Into her chair. "Yes, it Is attractive," Deep Six agreed, rolling up to his station and locking his wheels In place on the deck, "but the particles are of substantial mass. Be sure you steer clear of the shepherd moons on the Inner and outer limbs of the ring."

  "I see 'em,"

  The danger Is minimal. We are well above the ring and will cross its span in less than a minute "

  Coeur nodded, but didn't answer; until they were across the ring, she wasn't about to take her attention away from the navigation sensor track, or her hands off her Joystick and throttle.

  "Captain, incoming signal."

  "What?" Coeur snapped, intent on her flying, "Nothing coherent," Deep Six answered, "Just repealing pulses from a laser communicator. It was, however, definitely directed at us."

  "Did you fix the position?*

  "Affirmative, bearing 275—from the ring."

  "Could it be a code?"

  "Possibly, Let me run the signal through pattern recognition."

  An anxious moment passed as Hornet soared over the inner edge of the ring.

  "Pattern Isolated. It Is a Terran telegraphic code repeating the letters V, Z, V, e, A."

  "V, 2, V. e, A? What In the world Is that?"

  "Unknown; it doesn't conform to any known contact signal...."

  Deep Six was a skilled code breaker, however, and divined the meaning even as his voice trailed off. Coeur, not nearly as gifted at pattern analysis, but not stupid either, got It a moment later, saying it aloud at the same time as Deep Six.

  "Vega Tom, WEMfmh."

  That must be it," Deep Six said, The correlation Is precise "

  Though amazed by this unlikely development—meeting Tom by chance in the Wilds—Coeur nonetheless maintained enough composure to examine the projected track of the Solee cruiser. It would not rise above The west limb of the planet for anotner 20 minutes.