Jin swallowed. "Thank you, Kruin Sammon. I will betray neither your hospitality nor our bargain."

Kruin nodded again and rose from his cushions, Daulo following suit. "Tomorrow representatives from Mangus will be arriving at Milika to receive a shipment of our metals. You may wish to begin your investigation by observing them."

"I will do so," Jin said.

"And now-" Kruin leaned back down to his desk and touched a button "-it's time for the evening meal. Come, let us join the others."

Jin kept her expression neutral. Drugs or poison at the evening meal... "Yes," she agreed. "Let us."

Chapter 24

The insistent warble of his bedside phone snapped Corwin wide awake. Must be some trouble, was his first thought, focusing with an effort on his clock. But it wasn't the middle of the night, after all; it was only a little after six and almost time to get up anyway. Probably just Thena with some latebreaking appointment change or something, he decided, reaching to the phone and jabbing the instrument on. "Hello?"

But it wasn't Thena's face that appeared on the screen. It was Governor-General

Chandler's... and it was as grim as Corwin had ever seen the man. "You'd better get over to the starfield right away," he said without preamble. "The Southern

Cross'll be landing in about fifteen minutes, and you'll want to see what they've got."

"The Southern Cross?" Corwin frowned, a knot starting to form in his stomach.

"What's gone wrong?"

"Everything," Chandler snarled. "Just get down here."

Corwin gritted his teeth. "Yes, sir."

The phone screen went black. "Damn," Corwin muttered under his breath. Swinging his legs out of bed, he grabbed his clothes and started pulling them on. There was only one conceivable reason why the Southern Cross would be back so soon: the Qasaman mission had met with some kind of disaster.

He paused, half dressed, heart pounding in his throat. A disaster. An emergency, perhaps, requiring swift action... and long experience had showed him that committees and councils weren't built for speed.

Most jobs are done, the old couplet came back to him, by committees of one.

Gritting his teeth, he reached back to the phone and punched a number.

He arrived at the starfield twenty minutes later to find that Chandler had sealed off one of the conference rooms in the entrypoint building. Two other

Directorate members-Telek and Priesly-had arrived before him... and one look at their faces told him that the situation was even worse than he'd feared.

He was right.

Captain Koja's report was short, partly because there wasn't much to say and partly because the enhanced telephoto on the wall display behind him said it all anyway. "We elected not to wait and see if he found the survival pod," the captain concluded, "under the assumption that we could serve him better by getting back and sounding the alarm." He looked at Chandler. "That's really all

I have, sir. Do you have any questions?"

Chandler asked something and was answered, but Corwin didn't really hear any of it. A horrible shimmer of unreality seemed to have fallen between him and the rest of the room. Between him and the rest of the universe. That last image of

Jin as she'd waved to them from the Southern Cross's entryway hovered ghost-like in front of his face... in front of the computer-enhanced image of the shuttle's death still displayed on the conference-room wall. I sent her there, the thought swirled like a bitterly cold tornado through his mind. I pushed it through. I forced them to make her a Cobra. And then I sent her off to Qasama... all in the name of thwarting political enemies. In the name of politics.

Someone was calling his name. He looked over to see Chandler eyeing him. "Yes?"

"I asked if you had any comments or suggestions," the governor-general repeated evenly.

For a moment Corwin locked eyes with him. Chandler returned the gaze steadily, without so much as flinching. It was the statesman look that Corwin had seen on him so often... and always hated. It inevitably appeared at those times when

Chandler wanted to appear above politics, or to disclaim all responsibility for something he'd had a hand in. So that's how it's going to be here, too, is it?

Corwin thought silently toward that look. Not going to accept any more responsibility than you absolutely have to? Well, we'll just see about that.

But first there was a question he had to ask. Shifting his eyes to Koja, he took a deep breath. "Captain, is there...?" He licked his lips and tried again. "Is there any indication as to... which of the Cobras might have survived?"

A muscle in Koja's cheek twitched. "I'm sorry, Governor, but there isn't," he said, almost gently. "We've gone over the data a hundred times in the past eight days. There just isn't any way to tell."

Corwin nodded, feeling the others' eyes on him. "Then it could be Jin who's still alive down there, couldn't it?"

Koja shrugged fractionally. "It could be her, yes. Could be all the Cobras, for all we can tell."

No false hope, Corwin warned himself. But the admonition wasn't serious, and he knew it. Without hope, he could already feel his mind turning inward again, away from the wave of guilt threatening to overwhelm him. But with hope... that same wave could be turned outward. Turned outward to claim vengeance for what had happened to his niece. Alive or dead, he owed her that much. "For the moment," he said, looking back at Chandler, "we can skip over any recriminations as to why the Southern Cross wasn't carrying any emergency equipment for just such a disaster as this. Right now our first priority is to get a rescue team together and out to Qasama as quickly as possible. What steps have you taken toward that end?"

"I've spoken to Coordinator Maung Kha," Chandler replied. "The Academy directors are gong to assemble a list for us."

"Which will be ready when?" Corwin asked.

Priesly shifted in his seat. "You want it fast or you want it good?" he asked

Corwin.

"We want it both," Telek snapped before Corwin could respond.

"I'm sure you do, Governor-" Priesly began.

"Mr. Chandler," Telek cut him off, "do I assume I've been included in this council of war because of my first-hand expertise on Qasaman matters? Fine. Then kindly pay attention to that expertise when I tell you that Moreau's right. If you want your Cobra back alive, minutes could literally count. The Qasamans are fast and smart, and once they make their move they don't leave a whole hell of a lot of room to maneuver in."

"I understand," Chandler said with clearly forced patience. "But as Governor

Priesly points out, to do the job properly takes a certain amount of time."

"That depends on how far into complicated channels you insist on dragging the process," Corwin told him.

"Channels exist for a reason," Priesly growled. "The Academy has the computers and lists you'd need to find the best people for the job. Unless you'd rather just toss some ragtag collection of Cobras together on your own?"

"I won't have to," Corwin said calmly. "It's already being done."

All eyes turned to him. "What's that supposed to mean?" Chandler asked cautiously.

"It means that before I left home this morning I called Justin and told him something had gone wrong with the mission."

"You what?" Priesly snarled. "Moreau-"

"Shut up," Chandler cut him off. "And...?"

"And I told him to organize a rescue mission," Corwin said calmly. "He should have a list ready in an hour or so."

For a long moment the room was filled with a brittle silence. "You've overstepped your bounds rather badly," Chandler said at last. "I could have you removed from office for that."