"Your own views seem to have changed somewhat since our last meeting."

"What do you mean?"

"You weren't willing to sacrfice the whole group for one person. Now you are."

"Don't you see? Whatever my own personal feelings in the matter, we've got to break in there and get Lori out...get her out, or...or..."

"Or what?"

Grayson had not let himself face the question until now, and the reality made him feel wrenchingly sick. "Or we'll have to kill her ourselves. We can't let Nagumo find out about the Phobos."

Brasednewic's face worked against some cold silent, inner battle. "Why are you telling meall this?"

"Because we need to work together on this operation...the Free Rangers and the Gray Death. Every rebel soldier in the Silvan Basin must know by now that I took you down that day for going in against the University without orders, and every one of them must know why you did it. How can I give the order for them to do the exact same thing, unless you're willing to help? Ramage's commandos will follow my lead, I think. For this to work, we need to throw in everything we have, the whole Free Verthandian army. I needyou, Tollen. I need your help...and your influence with your troops."

There was a flicker of something behind Brasednewic's eyes, but Grayson saw that something die as he watched. The rebel turned away. "No, Captain... no."

"Good god, man, why?"

"You have the gall to stand there and ask me to send my people to certain death...after what you did to me...in front of my own people?"

"Look, you'll have your command back. You didn't have to walk away from it in the first place. We could have worked something out."

"It's too late for that, Carlyle. You embarassed me in front of my people. You think they'd follow me...now?"

"I don't see why not," Grayson said evenly. "Mypeople are following me."

"Maybe it's different for mercenaries. Pay them enough, and—"

"Dammit, what does that have to do with it? Look..."

"Carlyle, I don't think you understand. I've got a handful of people—ones who were with me before you came—who might still follow me. The rest...I don't know. Maybe they would, but that bond of trust just isn't there anymore. You broke that, Carlyle. You did. Well, I can still fight Nagumo, but in my own way. In my own time."

“Tollen, everything we've built here in the past months, the cooperation between the different rebel bands, between your people and mine...we can't let that be torn down."

"It already has been." He shook his head. "Most Verthandians wouldn't follow me...anymore than they'd follow you if you turned around the way you’re asking me to do for you. It'll be better this way. I won't stand in your way. Captain, or interfere with your plans. But I'm taking everyone who will follow me back to the Uppsala Mountains, above my old home. We'll raid and harry the Dracos from there."

"That's not the way, Tollen. We have to work together. Your people knowyou. They'll follow you."

"While I follow you? No Captain, I can't do that. I can't ask my people to do that."

"I don't understand."

"No? Then maybe you're not the leader I thought you were, Carlyle. Hell, you may be some kind of tactical wizard, but you've got a lot to learn about people." He turned and strode away, leaving Grayson standing there alone.

And Grayson knew Brasednewic was right.

* * * *

Nagumo nodded at Vlade's image in the intercom screen. "You think she might know something, then?"

"I'm certain of it, my Lord. We got extremely specific responses over the monitors when I questioned her about where the rebels had the heavy support equipment and repair facilities for their ‘Mechs.

She was lying, of course, but some of her answers suggest that the mercenaries have a secret base or facility hidden somewhere."

Nagumo's pulse quickened. "Did you ask her about their ship? Was it lost in a storm as everyone supposed?"

Vlade showed his teeth. "She said the DropShip was lost in the storm. I calculate an 80 percent probability that she is lying on that point as well and that the ship is intact, somewhere in the Silvan Basin."

"That would explain a very great deal. What else did you learn?”

“I found her weak point, my Lord. I have the lever with which to break her.”

“Oh?"

"I don't know the details, of course. What I suspect is that at some time in her past, Kalmar suffered a terrible loss...and that loss is associated with fire."

"Ah..."

"Exactly, my Lord. She showed no more than the usual response to statements designed to evoke images of death or pain or imprisonment, of wealth, of any of the usual stimuli. But she appears to be terrified of death by fire. A very unusual... very gratifyingresponse to that particular stimulus."

Nagumo closed his eyes and controlled his reaction. He would not let Vlade see his feelings.

The man's enthusiasm for his work had always repelled the Governor-General. Nagumo had not realized how much he actually loathed the man and his eager smile until now. He wondered if he had grown softer in the past months, for the interrogator to grate at his nerves so.

"Then I can count on you to... to use that response, to get me the information I need."

"Of course. Would you like to come down and participate? It should be interesting,"

"No."

Dammit, man, I've got other things, to do than make myself ill watching you play!

"I leave it in your hands. And when you're through, be sure I get a complete report."

"Of course, my Lord," Vlade said, and Nagumo could tell how anxious he was to get back to his gruesome task.

Under the circumstances, it was the best plan they could come up with. A volunteer commando team of fifty Verthandians followed Grayson and Sergeant Ramage, picking their way through the dark. They wore black from head to toe. Their faces were smeared with black dye, and their weapons and every piece of equipment were carefully wrapped and taped to keep metal from clinking against stone or other metal. Ramage had told Grayson privately they were the best unit he'd ever worked with. For months, he'd been training them in special, small-unit operations.

Not all of the commandos were Verthandians. One of them, unrecognizable in her night vision goggles and black face paint was Sue Ellen Klein, fighter pilot turned commando.

Grayson had found her sitting on a rock, sharpening a knife with long, slow strokes across a whetstone. "What are you doing with this bunch?" he'd asked.

"I volunteered. Captain." Her voice was soft, but very steady.

He'd had little opportunity to talk with her since her rescue several months before. Her captivity among the Dracos seemed to have left her little more than a hollow shell for some time, and the new light in her eyes surprised Grayson.

"I wonder if it's a good idea for you to go in there," he said. "If you're looking for a chance to get even with someone..."

"I'll do my job, Captain." She snapped the knife into her boot sheath, and added in a quieter voice, "I'll do what I have to do."

The answer had not entirely satisfied Grayson. He had lived long enough with the fiery coals of vengeance inside his own gut to recognize it in another. Her hate focused on someone else besides him now, someone within the Kurita camp. He could read that in the deliberate way she stroked her knife against the stone.