Carefully, Montgomery laid down his plate. "Look," he said, fixing Daschka with his best command-rank glare. "My task force has been demolished. You understand? Demolished. The only ship I would trust to fly right now is the fuel carrier Pelican, and that only because we left it back at the practice area when we charged in on this ridiculous rescue mission. I'm not going with you; I'm not assigning a ship to go with you; I'm not letting a ship go with you."

He leveled a finger. "And let me also point out that it's been your colleagues in NorCoord Intelligence who've been running around making sub-rosa armament agreements with the Yycromae. If you don't trust them, that's hardly a sterling endorsement for either you or your treaties."

"Commodore?" the comm-duty officer called. "There's a call coming in for a Mr. Daschka. Is he there with you?"

"Ensign, this is not Mr. Daschka's private answering service," Montgomery snapped. "Whoever it is can just file it."

"Yes, sir," the officer said. "Uh... it's the Klyveress ci Yyatoor, sir: Twelfth Counsel to the Yycroman Hierarch. She'd like to speak with Mr. Daschka."

Montgomery glowered at Daschka, stomach tightening with the unpleasant feeling of having just been had. "Thank you," he growled, punching for the channel and beckoning Daschka forward. "I believe it's for you."

Daschka moved to his side as the display lit up to reveal a crocodilian Yycroman face. "This is Daschka, ci Yyatoor," he said. "How can I serve you?"

[A skitter from Granparra has just arrived,] Klyveress said. [I presume the Peacekeeper forces detected it.]

Daschka glanced at Montgomery, a questioning look on his face. Montgomery shrugged in response. He'd been far too busy lately to notice any skitters, but he wasn't really surprised to hear that one had sneaked in. Come hell or high water, the mail always seemed to make it through.

[It contained an encrypted message for you,] the ci Yyatoor continued. [Would you like me to transmit it?]

"Yes, thank you," Daschka nodded, pulling out a card and sliding it into the transfer slot. "Go ahead."

The slot beeped, and he removed the card. [Commodore Lord Montgomery,] Klyveress said, the long snout shifting to point at him. [Allow me to present my gratitude for your unselfish and sacrificial aid in our time of critical need. The Yycroman Hierarchy and the Yycroman people will not soon forget.]

"You're welcome," Montgomery said, bowing his head toward the display and trying furiously to remember the proper protocol for dealing with Yycroman leaders. "May I also say that our sacrifices would have been considerably greater without the assistance and similar sacrifices of your people. We thank you in turn."

Klyveress inclined her head in acceptance. [It is to our mutual advantage to have your battle force repaired as quickly as possible, Commodore Lord Montgomery,] she said. [To that end I am placing our repair facilities at your complete disposal. I would beg you to take advantage of them.]

"You won't have to offer twice," Montgomery said. "I accept, again with thanks. With your permission I'll transfer this channel over to my fleet exec, who's coordinating our repair efforts."

[I will await with anticipation my conversation with him,] Klyveress said gravely. [I bid you farewell for now.]

Montgomery keyed for hold. "Transfer this to Captain Germaine," he called to the comm officer. "Tell him it's the Yycromae with an offer of assistance. And tell him to take everything they'll give him."

"Yes, sir."

Montgomery looked back to Daschka, who was frowning thoughtfully at his plate. "If that's all, then, we're very busy here," he told the other. "I'd appreciate your getting off my ship as soon as your partner finishes your refueling. And be sure you take that civilian Aric Cavanagh with you."

"We were planning to, Commodore," Daschka said, reversing the plate and offering it to him. "But before I go, you might find this interesting."

Grimacing, Montgomery took the plate and skimmed through the message. A senior NorCoord Intelligence officer—he noticed that, as with his copy of the Yycroman agreements, Daschka had discreetly screened off the officer's name—had found indications that two major Mrachani operations were imminent. The first—

"You'll notice that the first operation—Mirnacheem-hyeea One—was scheduled for today," Daschka pointed out. "As you may know, Mirnacheem-hyeea means Conquerors Without Reason; and on Day Zero we've just had a Conqueror attack on Phormbi. Coincidence?"

Montgomery shrugged noncommittally. "Why Phormbi?"

"Because this is where the Yycromae have been working to rebuild their space forces," Daschka said. "There's no particular reason why the Zhirrzh would have known about that. But we know for a fact that the Mrachanis did."

"Mm," Montgomery grunted, skimming over the rest of the message. The Intelligence officer had subsequently headed off to Mra to do some snooping around, taking Lord Stewart Cavanagh with him—"Lord Cavanagh?" he demanded, glaring up at Daschka again. "He's involved in this, too?"

"You'd be surprised at the things he's involved in," Daschka said ruefully. "I don't even think I know all of it."

Montgomery nodded, a sour taste in his mouth. It was becoming increasingly and annoyingly difficult to swing a dead cat around this war without hitting something Lord Cavanagh had had a hand in, from secret Yycroman agreements to former employees who had their own individualistic idea of how orders were supposed to be carried out. And that whole thing was just one more headache he didn't need right now.

He paused, a sudden idea occurring to him. Maybe this was his chance to kill two birds with one stone. Or at least chase one of the birds out of his hair for a while. "Tell you what," he said to Daschka. "I can't spare you any capital ships; but what I can do is let you have a single fighter and a pilot. You can put it in your forward hold where it'll be ready to launch if you run into trouble. It'll be better than nothing, anyway."

Daschka pursed his lips. "I suppose so," he conceded. "Very well, I accept. I don't suppose this fighter will be in anything close to mint condition."

"No, but it's not as bad as some we've got aboard," Montgomery assured him. "You'll have a few hours; perhaps you can make some running repairs. Oh, and I won't be able to spare you a tail man, either—we need him aboard."

"This sounds better all the time," Daschka said dryly. "Is the pilot at least conscious?"

"Conscious, in perfect health, and one of the best," Montgomery assured him. "I'll have the orders cut immediately, and he'll be in the hangar bay by the time you're ready to leave."

"We'll be expecting him," Daschka said. "May I ask his name?"

"Certainly," Montgomery said. "Copperhead Lieutenant Adam Quinn. Former—and also probably future—employee of Lord Stewart Cavanagh."

Daschka shook his head. "Why," he said, "am I not surprised?"

Speaker Cvv-panav sipped at his cup of aged Minsinc wine. "Interesting," he said. "Tell me this, Searcher Gll-borgiv: do you still trust him?"

The Elder nodded and vanished. Cvv-panav sipped again at his wine, savoring the delicate aroma of the glycerol and flavorings, and touched another key on his reader. There was a beat, and then the listing came up.

The Elder returned. " 'Implicitly, Speaker Cvv-panav,' " he quoted Gll-borgiv's words. " 'Everything Valloittaja told us about Phormbi and the Yycromae was subsequently proved to be correct.' "

"Except for the part about the Human-Conqueror attack," Cvv-panav pointed out. "Did he have anything to say about that?"

The Elder vanished, and the Speaker turned his attention back to the listing. All right. The first five warships were already in position, less than two tentharcs from their respective rendezvous points. Six others would be in position in another fullarc, plus the three from the Phormbi attack force if he decided they were still reasonably battle capable. The follow-up forces would be more complicated; still, if he started breaking into the various colony-world fleets before they were reassembled...