"Is that all?" she said, frowning. "I thought Admiral Rudzinski laid that out for you back on Edo."

"He gave me the official reason," Pheylan said. "I'm asking for the real reason."

Her eyes flicked thoughtfully across his face. "Can you at least give me a hint?" she asked.

So she was going to play dumb. Pheylan had rather expected she would. "Sure," he said. "To put it in a nutshell, there's nothing here for me to do. The engineers and techs have the analysis part well under control, I've already described at the Edo debriefings everything I saw or did here, and there are no artifacts, tools, or even unexplained skid marks for me to look at."

"Don't you think you're being a little hasty in your judgment?" Pemberton suggested mildly. "You've only been here two days."

"Two days has been enough," Pheylan said. "More than enough, in fact. I'm wasting my time, pure and simple."

"So what would you like me to do about it?" Pemberton lifted an eyebrow. "I presume you do want me to do something about it."

"Yes," Pheylan acknowledged. "I'd like to request a reassignment back to Edo and back into the war."

Pemberton shook her head. "I wish I could help you, Commander," she said. "But I don't think I can."

"Why not? You're the senior officer here, aren't you?"

"I'm a tech officer, Commander," she explained patiently. "This is a tech group. I don't have any command authority outside this unit. I certainly can't cut reassignment orders."

"Then let me go back to Edo on the skitter with your next report," Pheylan persisted. "I can talk to someone in Admiral Rudzinski's office—"

"Commander." Pemberton held up a hand. "I understand your eagerness to get back into action, and the irritation of feeling like you're wasting your time. But we all have a part to play in this war, and every part is equally important. Even if it's not the part you would have chosen for yourself."

"Really," Pheylan said. He hadn't intended to bring this up quite yet, but she'd pushed him into it. "And your part, I take it, is to determine whether or not the Zhirrzh did more to me in those three weeks than just lock me up in a giant test tube?"

Her expression didn't even twitch. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the reason you're here is to see if I've been brainwashed," he said bluntly. "And the reason I'm here is so that if I suddenly go crazy, it'll be in some nice, safe, out-of-the-way place where I can't do any serious damage."

Pemberton cocked an eyebrow. "That's an interesting allegation," she said. "A bit on the paranoid side, though."

"As the old saying goes, even paranoids have enemies," Pheylan countered. "I'd like an honest answer, Colonel."

For a long moment she studied his face. "All right," she said. "You're right. So what now?"

So the unpleasant conclusion he'd come to in those dark predawn hours had been right, after all. He'd hoped he'd been wrong. "I guess you set up your hoops and I jump through them," he told her. "Just show me what I have to do to prove I'm not dangerous."

Pemberton pursed her lips. "Unfortunately, Commander, it's not quite that easy," she said. "Delving the human mind is tricky enough when dealing with well-established, well-documented human psychoses. The possible indoctrination by an alien species is something well outside standard medical experience."

Pheylan stared at her, a sinking feeling forming in his stomach. "Are you saying," he said slowly, "that there is no way for me to prove I haven't been brainwashed?"

"I didn't say that," Pemberton cautioned. "I've studied your file carefully, and I'm sure—"

There was a quiet beep from the wall chatterbox beside the door, and the display came on to reveal Lieutenant Williams. "Colonel Pemberton?"

"Yes, Lieutenant, what is it?" Pemberton asked, stepping over in front of the chatterbox.

"Colonel, we've just made audio contact with a Moray-class battle fueler that meshed into the system about half an hour ago," Williams reported. "The pilot won't give us either his assignment-authorization number or his ship's ID code. All he'll say is that he has to speak with Commander Cavanagh."

"Really," Pemberton said, throwing a frown at Pheylan. "Is he armed?"

"Only minimally," Williams said. "A pair of Melara-Vickers shredder-guns and five medium-range Shrike XV missiles. Nothing we can't handle if we have to."

"Does this pilot at least have a name?"

"He says his name's Max," Williams said dryly. "That's all he'll give me. It's sort of like being hailed by a pet dog."

"I'm glad you find this amusing." Pemberton looked at Pheylan. "Feel free at any time to jump into this conversation, Commander."

Pheylan cleared his throat. "I think there's a good chance that that's the fueler my brother Aric used to come looking for me."

"And Max?"

"Actually, the lieutenant's comment wasn't that far off," Pheylan said. "Max is a parasentient computer."

"I thought parasentients were always supposed to identify themselves."

"CavTronics parasentients are programmed only to do so in response to a direct question," Pheylan explained. "My father's always hated the way other companies' parasentients seemed so smug about themselves."

"I see," Pemberton said. "So what's this all about?"

"I don't know," Pheylan admitted. "At the time I left Edo, Aric was planning to take the fueler and go look for our father."

"Maybe he found him," Williams suggested. "Could be that the two of them are aboard and just letting Max do the talking."

"Let's find out," Pemberton said, gesturing Pheylan over to the chatterbox. "Pipe the comm channel down here."

"Yes, Colonel." The display image split, one half still showing Williams, the other blank to signify an audio-only signal. "Channel open."

Pheylan stepped up to the chatterbox. "Max?"

"Yes, Commander Cavanagh," Max's smooth electronic voice came promptly. "A pleasure to speak with you again. Are you well?"

"I'm fine, Max," Pheylan said. "Are you alone?"

"Yes."

So much for his brother and father's being aboard. "What are you doing here?"

"I would prefer to discuss the matter privately, as it pertains to personal family matters," Max said. "Would it be permissible for me to land?"

Pheylan looked at Pemberton. "Colonel?"

She was gazing back at him. A thoughtful, measuring gaze. "You have a very interesting family, Commander Cavanagh," she said. "One might almost say notorious. Go ahead and let him land. I'm rather curious to hear what they've done now."

"...and so I concluded it would be best to come here and speak with you," Max said. "I hope I have not acted improperly."

"No, not at all," Pheylan assured him, rubbing at the bridge of his nose and trying to sift through this mess. "And you're absolutely sure this Mr. X you mentioned was really NorCoord Military Intelligence?"

"I examined the ID card closely," Max said, "and I have a visual copy in my files for comparison. It was genuine."

Pemberton shifted her position on one of the fueler control room's jump seats. "Yet you won't tell us his name."

"As I stated before, Colonel Pemberton, he made it very clear that I was not to tell anyone else about him," Max said. "I'm sorry."

And whoever he was, he was very interested in finding Aric and their father. What could NorCoord Intelligence possibly want with them? "Could this be some kind of delayed fallout from their borrowing of Masefield's Copperhead unit?"

"I don't know, Commander," Max said. "Legally, though, my understanding is that the inquiry board's decision should have ended the matter. Also, if the borrowing, as you put it, of the Copperheads was the issue, shouldn't this fueler have been impounded as evidence?"

"Probably," Pheylan conceded. "Legal minutiae aren't my specialty. And you have no idea where Aric might have gone?"