"Oh, dear," Easton said. "Oh."

He got up, shuffling his feet to find his slippers. He was wearing a flannel nightshirt long enough to cover his ankles. His patched uniform and tool belt hung from pegs on the wall of the shed.

"We'll want you to come into the fort and surrender formally," Amy said. "You do have a dress uniform of some kind, don't you?"

"I suppose I still do," Easton said morosely. "I haven't been into that closet in…"

He paused and shook his head. "This isn't going to look very good on my record, is it?" he said. "Well, I don't suppose I was really cut out for the military anyway. That's why they sent me here."

"When we're at the Command Center," Amy continued, "my brother will ask you to surrender. You'll say, 'In whose name do you call me to surrender?' And he'll say, 'In the name of almighty God and the Assembly of Self-Governing Worlds.' And you'll surrender. Have you got that?"

"I'll do my best," Captain Easton said. He shook his head again.

"We can try it a few times until you've got it right," Mark said soothingly. "And Captain? You can take the seed catalog if you like. You're welcome to keep it forever."

Easton 's face brightened as though a moon had appeared. "Really?" he said. "Why, you are a very generous young man."

He snatched up the reader. "Now," he said firmly, "I suppose we'd better get this business taken care of."

37. One Hand Hoses the Other

The raiders' portable lights made the corridor in front of the enlisted quarters brighter than it had been in a decade. A pair of recruits from Hestia had started to line the Union soldiers up against the wall, but the Greenwoods didn't see any point in that. Now some of the prisoners huddled for mutual support, watching glumly as raiders went through the room's contents, but others chatted with their captors. A few card games had started.

Mark came out of Hounslow's office. The fort's real Command Center was sixty feet down in the bedrock, but the office terminal worked-to Mark's surprise-and was linked to the main unit.

"Yerby," Mark said, "it looks like at least half the defensive guns are still operable. I'm the closest thing to an expert and I'm not very close, but I think we can get one turret turning. That'll keep off any Alliance ships that arrive before whoever the Assembly sends to take over from us. Or capture them if they do land."

"Good work, lad," Yerby said cheerfully. "It was a bright day for Greenwood when you showed up. Ain't that the truth, Amy girl?"

"Yes it is," Amy said. She grinned at her brother, then gave Mark a smile that was warm enough to make him blush with pleasure.

Lights were coming down the corridor from the direction of the garrison's married quarters. Crying children and the voices of angry adults, mostly women, echoed ahead of them. A man was singing, "… violate me in the violet time, in the vilest way you know!"

Mark thought he recognized the singer as Casey Tafell. Colonel Finch wasn't straitlaced, but he had a civilized sense of propriety. The bawdy song would bother him a great deal. Tafell's sense of humor was more subtle than Mark would have guessed.

The married prisoners with their spouses and offspring arrived as a wailing horde. Half a dozen of the women and a couple men weren't soldiers. Mark wondered whether they'd drifted over from Minor or if some of the garrison's members had managed to bring in companions on the supply vessels.

Finch marched at the head of the mob. He straightened when he noticed that Amy was recording them, but his momentary grimace showed that he knew just how absurd he looked.

Finch had probably tried to impose discipline on the others, but the raiders were even less likely to obey a silly order like that than the prisoners were. The rest of the entourage walked, shambled, or-in the case of some of the younger prisoners-skipped while calling shrilly to their friends.

"Colonel Bannock," Finch said. He saluted. "My troops and I have accomplished our mission without casualties."

"Glad to hear it, Finchie," Yerby said. His eyes narrowed slightly. "I hope that nothing happened to the other folks neither?"

"No," said Finch. He shook his head. "No, there were no incidents."

He scanned the mob of raiders and captives until he found Captain Easton sitting by himself, wearing a blue uniform with tarnished gold braid. "Colonel Bannock?" Finch said. "There'd be no difficulty, I trust, if Ms. Bannock here recorded me, ah, seeming to take the fort's surrender from the commandant?"

"We can do much better than that, Mr. Finch," Amy said crisply.

"We can?" Yerby and Mark blurted at the same time.

"We can show you blasting your way into the Alliance Command Center," Amy said. "Not the real Command Center, of course. You might damage the terminal that we need. But you can shoot your way through this door to the living quarters. No one on Zenith will be able to tell the difference."

She held the hand-lettered COMMAND CENTER sign up to the door by which she stood. "Yerby," she went on. "Please drive the nail in."

Yerby turned slightly and drove the tack home with a quick, perfectly aimed stroke with his flashgun. The laser's buttplate clunked, seating the head flush with the door panel. Yerby's face was expressionless.

"But-" an Alliance soldier said.

Mark, behind Finch's back, pointed one index finger at the soldier and drew the other across his own throat. Pops Hazlitt pulled a big skinning knife from his belt and raised an eyebrow to Mark for instructions.

The soldier gulped into silence. Mark nodded with a slight smile.

"This is very handsome of you," Finch said in amazement. "I assure you that from the position of responsibility I expect to reach on Zenith, I'll do everything I can to help you folk on Greenwood."

"I'm sure you will," said Amy. "After all, you're already committed to insuring that Zenith drops any claim to rule Greenwood, aren't you? As well as voiding your syndicate's private claims."

"Of course, of course," Finch agreed. "There can't be any doubt about that!"

Raiders looked at one another in puzzlement. They obviously couldn't believe that Amy would take the Zenith's word for even the time of day. Finch himself was probably just as surprised as the Greenwoods were, but he was a politician and therefore used to hiding the truth.

Finch looked around. "It would help, I think, if a few of your militia were in the frame appearing to follow me. Those six should be enough," he added, pointing to Dagmar Wately and the Greenwoods standing closest to her.

Maybe Finch chose that group because they looked particularly rugged and hard-bitten. So far as Mark could see, there wasn't a soul in the raiding party who wouldn't have sent citizens scurrying for cover on any street in Quelhagen.

Dagmar glared and said, "I think it'd help if you'd kiss my-"

"Now, now," boomed Yerby. "We're going to do just like Finchie here says. I wonder, Colonel… would you like me to trot along behind you myself? Following your example, I mean. I won't hog your spotlight on this one."

"Why yes, Bannock," Finch said. "And I won't forget your help, either."

"Don't reckon you will," Yerby agreed in a neutral tone.

"I don't see why we got to help this fellow do any blessed thing!" Zeb Randifer complained. "You know he's just going to cheat us once he don't need us no more!"

Yeah!/Too right!/Damn straight! were specific variations Mark heard of the agreement almost every raider expressed.

"No, Yerby's right," Mark said. "This thing we're about to do guarantees that Colonel Finch will make sure Zenith gives up its claim to Greenwood, whatever that costs him personally."

"And anyhow," Yerby added, turning his head so that his gaze swept every member of the raiding party, "I'm giving the orders. Right?"