"I suppose so." Bokamba looked up again. "Speaking of which, Adam, may I say how personally pleased I am that you've decided to rejoin the Copperheads? I'm looking forward to working with you again."

"Thank you," Quinn said. "I'll do my best to justify your confidence in me."

"I'm sure you will," Bokamba said with a mischievous smile. "Especially since I'll be riding tail for you tomorrow."

Quinn frowned. "They told me on Edo that they'd be providing me with a new tail man."

"He's supposedly on his way," Bokamba said. "Presumably he'll get here before we actually leave for Zhirrzh space. Until then I'm afraid you're stuck with me." He leveled a finger at Quinn. "All the more reason for you to show up tomorrow knowing what you're doing."

"Translation: get ourselves back to the ward and start learning the maneuvers?" Clipper suggested.

"Exactly," Bokamba said. "And take the rest of your squadron with you."

"Right," Clipper said, standing up. "Come on, Maestro. Mom says we have to study."

Bokamba shook his head. "These young folk," he sighed. "No deference to their elders."

There was no signal Aric was able to see or hear; but suddenly one of the two Yycroman males guarding the unmarked door shifted his rayslicer to point at the ceiling. He snapped his snout, clicking the long rows of teeth together. [Son of Lord Stewart Cavanagh,] he said. [You are summoned. Come.]

"Thank you," Aric said, standing up and stepping to the door, his heart pounding in his ears. He'd dealt with Yycromae before, certainly, in the normal course of CavTronics business operations. But never like this. "May I ask—?"

[You are summoned,] the male repeated.

Aric nodded silently, all the stories he'd ever heard about Yycroman males and their hair-trigger tempers flashing through his mind. The first male opened the door and stepped through. Aric followed, the second male falling in behind him.

He'd expected the door to lead into an audience chamber. To his mild surprise it opened instead directly onto a stone staircase leading downward. The first Yycroma led the way down and into a maze of narrow corridors, connecting with and branching off from theirs at seemingly random angles. A few minutes later they reached the end of a corridor and another door. The Yycroma opened it; lifting his rayslicer again, he stood aside. Swallowing, Aric stepped through the door.

And out onto the observation platform of a huge underground hangar.

He stopped just inside, gazing down in amazement at the perhaps fifty Yycroman freighters laid out in neat rows stretching back across the brightly lit work floor. Hundreds of Yycromae were moving purposefully around: carrying loads and driving lifters, working singly or in pairs beneath or on top of the freighters, conversing briefly in small groups before scattering their separate ways. The air was filled with the rumble of conversation, the flickering flash of welding torches, and the smell of hot metal and chemical affixers and sealants. The whole scene had the surreal atmosphere of a giant anthill populated by furry biped crocodiles.

Furry biped crocodiles busily converting freighters into warships.

There was no doubt about that. Those smooth multiple-cylinder modules being attached to some of the freighters' undersides were clearly space-to-space missiles. Probably of Russian or Nadezhdan manufacture—he could see Cyrillic characters on the spares stacked on the floor beneath his observation platform. Some of the ships were being fitted with antiquated but still lethal Celadonese shredder-burst guns; others already had ultramodern NorCoord 110 mm cannon mounted to them. Targeting lasers were all over the place, as were numerous oddly shaped modules Aric had never seen before but which were marked with Yycroman lettering.

[You are the eldest son of Lord Stewart Cavanagh?]

Aric jumped, spinning around to his left. A Yycroman female stood there, dressed in the elaborate ceremonial helmet and tooled cloak of a high-ranking government official. Flanking her were yet another pair of armed Yycroman males. "Yes," he acknowledged. "I'm Aric Cavanagh."

[I am Klyveress ci Yyatoor,] the female identified herself. [Twelfth Counsel to the Hierarch. I welcome you to the Yycroman world of Phormbi. I and the Yycroman people are in your debt.]

Aric grimaced. This was about to get very sticky. "No, actually, ci Yyatoor, I don't think you are in my debt," he said.

Her face changed subtly. [What are you saying?] she demanded. [That you did not bring the command/switching modules I requested?]

"I'm saying that, legally, I can't give them to you," Aric told her, knowing how ridiculous the words probably sounded. A lone human surrounded by Yycromae on one of their own colony worlds was hardly in a position to make lofty pronouncements of NorCoord law. "The Pacification treaty explicitly forbids NorCoord citizens from supplying items to the Yycromae that could be used for military purposes. This room makes it abundantly clear that that's precisely what you want the modules for."

[Your concerns are understandable,] Klyveress said, pulling a plate from a back-rib pouch. [But unnecessary. Your father has formulated an arrangement.]

"Yes, your message implied as much," Aric said. "I was rather expecting to find him aboard the diplomatic ship you sent for me, in fact. But he wasn't there, and I don't see him here."

[True. He is not here.]

"But he was here once," Aric countered. "He had to be. Your message to me came addressed to Asher Dales—that isn't a name you could have come up with on your own." He gestured toward the freighters. "What happened? Did he figure out what you were doing?"

[There was no need for figuring,] Klyveress said, offering him the plate. [It was he who helped create what we are doing. Please—read.]

Warily, Aric took the plate. It was opened to some kind of legal-looking NorCoord document. "What's this?" he asked.

[Read,] the ci Yyatoor repeated. [The information contained here is not yet public knowledge. Indeed, it may never be so. But you must be made an exception.]

Aric looked down at the plate, hoping he was just imagining the ominous overtones in that last sentence, and began to read.

There were two documents in the file. The first was a guarantee of Yycroman intent to use the warships they were creating exclusively for self-defense against the Conquerors. The second was a statement of Peacekeeper understanding that granted the Yycroman Hierarch this one-time exemption from the rearmament prohibitions of the Pacification treaty.

Aric read through the guarantee, carefully studying the form of the legal/contractual language. By the time he reached the end, it came as no surprise to discover his father's signature among those attached. He also noticed with some interest that the document had a signing date three days after the meeting his father had had on Mra-mig with Assistant Commonwealth Liaison Bronski—the same period, according to Bronski, when he and Kolchin had vanished from sight. The statement of understanding was next, which turned out also to have been signed by his father. As well as by—

Aric looked up sharply. "Brigadier Petr Bronski?" he asked.

[That is correct,] Klyveress said. [As you see, it is all very legal.]

"That wasn't what I meant," Aric said, a sudden knot forming in the pit of his stomach. Bronski, a senior Peacekeeper officer... and suddenly his father's disappearance had taken an abrupt and ominous turn. "My father hasn't been seen for nearly—well, apparently not since these were signed."

[Do not fear, Aric Cavanagh,] Klyveress said. [I have seen him since then. He and his guard, Kolchin, escaped from Brigadier Bronski on Mra-mig, returning here in an appropriated Mrach fighter spacecraft.]