After a moment, Tye’s eyes grew almost round. Apparently, the same possibility had just occurred to the martial artist. “You don’t think they were involved… ?”

Hearing the question put so directly, Anton’s answer crystallized.

“No,” he said, shaking his head firmly. “I was wondering myself, once I saw how closely they’ve been connected to the Mesans. But there’s no earthly reason for them to do it. Helen means nothing to them, and if they wanted to strike at me—and for what purpose?—they both have far quicker and simpler ways to do it. I am their subordinate, after all.”

He left off his arm-swinging and began a little set of isometric exercises, one palm against another. “But if you look at it another way, everything begins to make sense. Those same ties to Manpower would make Young and Hendricks the perfect patsies.”

Now he slapped the palms together. “And that—that, Robert—is what explains Helen. She’s the daughter of a Manticoran intelligence agent. Another prybar, that’s all. Another angle. Whoever’s behind this isn’t trying to get information of any kind, much less start a disinformation campaign.” He barked another laugh. “Or, at least, not a subtle one. There’s all hell brewing here, Robert, and when the explosion comes Manticore is being set up to take the blame.”

“The blame for what?”

Anton smiled thinly. “Give me a break. I can’t figure out everything in a few days.” He studied the screen a little longer. “And, in truth, I’m beginning to suspect that the culprit—or culprits, if there’s more than one—is being too clever himself.”

“Peeps, you think? They’re the obvious ones who’d want to damage the Star Kingdom’s standing on Terra. Especially now. Parnell should be arriving in three days, according to the newscasts.”

“Maybe.” Anton shrugged. “But it still doesn’t feel right.”

He pointed a thick finger at the screen. “Too clever, Robert. Too clever by half. Whatever this scheme is, it’s got way too many threads waiting to come loose.”

“A Rube Goldberg machine, you’re saying.”

The Manticoran officer scowled. “And there’s another stupid Sollie expression. I’ve asked six of you people since I got here, and nobody can tell me who this ‘Rube Goldberg’ fellow was supposed to have been.”

Tye chuckled. But Anton noted, a bit sourly, that he gave no answer himself.

“Too many threads…” he mused. “I’d almost laugh, except the minute the thing starts coming apart the first casualty will be Helen.”

Anton turned his head and stared at the data packet lying next to the console. Lieutenant Hobbs had brought it over just before noon. It hadn’t taken the police lab long at all to analyze the material which Anton had given them the night before.

Muhammad’s visit had been brief. He hadn’t even come into Anton’s apartment. He had just handed him the packet, scowling, and said nothing more than: “I am not going to ask where you got five pairs of shoes, Anton. Not unless I find the feet that used to fit them.” Then he left.

Anton had read the data immediately, of course. That had taken no time at all, practically. The data was crystal clear: the owner of the shoes had—recently, and probably frequently—been in the lower depths of the Loop. Below the densely populated warrens, in the labyrinth of tunnels and passageways which marked the most ancient ruins of the city.

The intensity with which Anton now studied that packet was no less than that which he had earlier bestowed on the screen. Again, he was considering a possibility.

And, again, came to a decision. Quickly enough, if not as quickly as before. The decision, this time, was affirmative. And it was one which he came to only with reluctance.

“No way around it,” he muttered. Then, snorting: “God, to think it would come to this! Talk about supping with Satan with a long spoon.”

Tye was startled. “You’re planning to talk to Manpower?”

Anton laughed. No curt bark, either, but a genuine laugh. “Sorry,” he choked. “I misspoke. Calling that woman ‘Satan’ is quite unfair, actually. Hecate would be more accurate. Or Circe, or maybe Morgana.”

Tye scowled. “What woman? And are you trying to get even with me by using meaningless Manticoran expressions? Who the hell are Hecate and the others? I’m not a student of the Star Kingdom’s mythology, you know.”

He scowled even further, hearing Anton’s ensuing laughter. The more so, no doubt, since Anton didn’t bother to explain the source of the humor.

When Anton was done laughing, Tye gestured at the door. “Are we leaving now? To see whomever this mysterious woman might be.”

Anton shook his head. “It’s much too late. I’ll put in a call right away, of course, but I doubt if we’ll get an audience with her until tomorrow morning sometime.”

“An ‘audience’? What is she, some kind of royalty?”

“Close enough,” said Anton softly. He was studying the screen again, where Edwin Young’s vile nature was displayed in antiseptic columns of figures. “The admiral would call her ‘the Lady from the Infernal Regions,’ I imagine. As much as I probably despise the woman, I suppose that’s as good a character reference as you could ask for.”

“What’s ‘the Infernal Regions’?” demanded Tye. “A province of the Star Kingdom? And what do you mean: you probably despise her?”

Anton didn’t bother to answer the first question. As for the other, he shrugged.

“I’ve never actually met her. But her reputation, as they say, precedes her.”

Tye cocked his head. “Nice expression, that. ‘Her reputation precedes her.’ Another old Manticoran saying?”

The Fourth Day

Helen

When she broke through the wall, Helen was astonished. She had long since stopped actually thinking about escape. She had kept digging simply to keep herself occupied and control the terror.

She held her breath. There hadn’t been much noise when her digging shard punctured the surface. But, for all she knew, she had simply penetrated into a space within sight of her abductors. Even if they heard nothing, they might spot the little trickle of dirt spilling on the opposite side.

So she waited, holding absolutely still and breathing as little as possible. She started a little count—one, one thousand; two, one thousand, three—until she reached three hundred.

Five minutes. And—nothing.

She tried to look through the small little crack the shard had made in the wall, but quickly gave up the effort. The hole where she had been digging was almost eighteen inches deep and not much wider than her arm. She couldn’t get her eye close enough to see anything. Nor was there any light coming through the crack. She had known she broke through by feel alone.

She waited another five minutes before she started digging again. Then, moving very slowly and carefully so as to make as little noise as possible, she began to widen the hole.