"Weapons?" Orduval suggested.

"Those too. They're only a kind of tool."

"So why have you brought your other half here?"

"To use the more prosaic tools," Tigger replied. "Your accommodation here is merely one-star and I intend to correct that. Why don't you pack some supplies and take a walk for the rest of the day? I've got work to do here." Orduval returned to the cave, filled a backpack with a water container, some food and a small console—which also contained a direction finder—and then did as suggested. Under the pounding sun he chose the desert outpost as his vague destination, but did not expect to reach it. As he tramped across boiling sand, he considered all Tigger had told him about the Polity; he similarly considered his own world, and compared philosophies. At one point he sat on the ridge of a dune and gazed across the shimmering sea of sand before him. Those dunes, stacked up by the wind and driven across the landscape, were like waves, maybe ripples on a pool? Each wave of colonisation from the Sol system was just like such a ripple, the cast stone that formed them being human sentience centred on Earth. He made some notes in the console about this, and considered other analogies: humans like grains of sand; swirl patterns of dust storms compared to the turmoil of newly forming societies. It was a game, a game of analogy, and one he knew had been played many times before.

Surprisingly, he reached the outpost station before the morning was done and before consuming even half of his water. By this feat he realised just how unfit he had been when first setting out from this place. After wandering around the dusty buildings, he went to gaze at the maglev road—his link back to civilisation—and watched one train shoot past raising a dust cloud, before turning to head back towards what had begun to feel like home to him.

Only now he could not find it.

Climbing the mount to reach the place where he first saw Tigger, Orduval found no cave entrance behind the familiar clearing. For a moment he thought the drone had sealed up the cave with the intent of driving him out into the desert to die, but quickly rejected the idea.

"Tigger," he called.

A stone door hinged silently open and the drone sphere floated out.

"I think you'll like it once I'm done."

When Orduval entered the cave he wondered at the power and efficiency of the tools the drone employed. It had carved out branching rooms, with no sign of the stone debris removed, had smoothed walls and cut shelves, levelled the floor and installed lights. Everywhere protruded wiring and pipework, ready to be connected to familiar domestic appliances.

"Where will the power and water come from?" Orduval asked, as he inspected his newly fashioned abode.

"I have drilled down to ground water, and behind the rear wall I have installed a small fusion reactor—enough for your needs."

Over the ensuing months the drone brought in appliances, furniture, carpets, installed sanitary facilities, filled a food store and cooler. When it brought him a desk and a chair, Orduval sat down, opened his console and typed The Desert of the Mind: A History, and appended his own name to it. After a moment of consideration he deleted his name. Then, remembering stories of one of the early colonists, he appended the pseudonym Uskaron and began to write.

Harald

Harald felt the vibration of the Ironfist's drive through his chair. It was not leaving orbit, merely repositioning to deliver Fleet's violent reply to the attack on Inigis's ship. Right now Fleet surface installations were being abandoned, and communications with the Brumallians being cut. Harald smiled coldly and returned his attention to the Lieutenant seated opposite him.

"A detailed and extensive report," he pronounced, then closed off the segment of eye-screen that had displayed it. "Now you must give me your conclusions."

"With respect, Tacom, it is not within my remit to come to conclusions," Lieutenant Alun replied.

Harald grimaced. "And those who stick too diligently to their remit are doomed to languish in the same rank in Fleet until they retire. Let me put it another way, I would be most interested in hearing your opinion on this matter."

"Which I should append to this report?"

"If you so wish."

Alun stabbed a finger down onto the deck between them. "The launcher was of wartime Brumallian construction; the dead were certainly Brumallians, and those available satellite pictures of the action seem to indicate they did fire the missile that struck Inigis's ship. This being so, to have remained undetected the launcher must have come up through BC32—the small underground city they call Vertical Vienna—which lies only twenty miles away."

"But?" suggested Harald.

"Some believe this was a preliminary strike preparatory to full conflict. I cannot see how this could be true, since we know they hardly possess the ability now to even get into space, and there has been no follow-up aggression from them. Had the attackers been Sudorians, we could have supposed them to be renegades, but Brumallian society acts in consensus, so there are no renegades there. I can only suppose that they felt the Consul Assessor himself to be a threat or…this was not an attack by the Brumallians."

Harald leant back. "Interesting theory. Who then?"

Alun kept his voice bland as he explained, "There are elements here in Fleet who considered the Consul Assessor much more of a threat than the Brumallians."

"That is a very serious accusation."

"Opinion merely," insisted Alun.

"Which you will append to the report?"

"I shall append an opinion," said Alun carefully. "It seems to me that elements as yet unidentified intended this action to be blamed on Fleet—suggesting that we used some Special Operations team to set it up, in our usual warmongering manner. The implicit sophistication of the action leads me to suppose that some powerful organisation has used one of its own Special Operations teams—meaning a Sudorian organisation…perhaps one even as powerful as Orbital Combine?"

Harald studied Alun. "I think you can neglect to mention Fleet Special Operations teams, but I would agree with the theory that some Sudorian organisation plotted with the Brumallians of BC32 on this. Evidence has since become available indicating a schism in Brumallian society, centring on that city, and that Sudorian agents of the aforementioned organisation are active there."

"Evidence?"

"Oh yes, plenty of incontrovertible evidence."

Alun just stared at him for a long moment, then shrugged.

Harald continued, "Both parties would benefit from smearing Fleet and thereby reducing its power. The Brumallians would benefit from our reduced vigilance, and others would be able to seize some of our prerogatives in controlling the defence of Sudoria."

"Yes, that seems reasonable," said the Lieutenant.

"Thank you, Alun. I look forward to the additions you will make to your report, and will watch with interest your advancing career." Harald gestured to the door.

Alun stood up, saluted with his closed fist over his side arm, and moved to depart. However, he halted at the door and turned back. "May I ask a very direct question, Commander?"

"You may. I think you have earned the right."

"It was one of our teams down there, wasn't it?"

Harald smiled. "I don't think Orbital Combine or any other organisation possess the professionalism—so of course it was our men."

"And we're going to bring down Orbital Combine?"

"Yes, Alun, we are going to bring them down—and hard."

Alun grinned fiercely and departed. Harald's smile evaporated as the door closed behind him.