She didn't think so. Victor was certainly a good enough liar to be able to pass it off as the truth. On the other hand—

With Victor Cachat, you never know. If he thought it was called for by the demands of his duty...

She wondered, second, what Victor was going to do next. Berry had no idea—not a clue—what sort of "negotiations" he intended to conduct with the Masadans now that she was out of the way. Whatever it was, she was sure it would be a doozy, thought up on the spot. If Victor Cachat suddenly found himself cast down into the lowest pit of the Inferno, Berry had no doubt at all he'd be improvising a plot against the Devil before he'd finished brushing off the bone dust of sinners.

Mostly, though, she found herself wondering about Thandi Palane.

Not whether Thandi would get there in time. On that subject, she had no doubt at all. She just found herself, again, wondering at the quirks of human nature. What does she see in him, anyway?

She decided to ask her, when she got the chance. It was none of her business, true. But since Berry had decided that Thandi was another big sister, it was her simple obligation to help the woman sort out her own feelings.

The thought cheered her up. Berry was good at that.

Once Berry was off the bridge, Victor began to speak. The few short seconds had been enough for him to jury-rig the outlines of his scheme.

If you can call something this ramshackle a "scheme," that is. Pray to whatever might be holy, Victor, that these people are as stupid as they are maniacal.

"Your original purpose is null and void. Templeton is dead—both of them, Abraham as well as Gideon. The six of you here are all that survive of your group, other than two of you who were injured and are now in captivity."

Quickly, he scanned the little group of religious zealots, confirming his original assessment that all of them were Masadan.

"Both of them are Scrags, by the way. I leave it to you to decide whether you'll try to insist that they be released from custody and returned to you. Personally, I don't care in the least."

"Who are you?" demanded Kubler.

Victor smiled crookedly. "A good question—and one I've been trying to keep people from asking for some time now. My name is Victor Cachat. I'm an agent from the Republic of Haven's Federal Investigation Agency, supposedly here to determine what happened to a shipload of Havenite religious refugees who disappeared on their way to Tiberian. What I really am, however, is a loyal member of the revolution and someone determined to restore the principles of Rob Pierre and Oscar Saint-Just to my star nation. I had to leave Haven, because I knew that soon enough the investigators of the new traitorous regime would uncover my true loyalties. So when the chance came, I volunteered for this mission to get myself out of Havenite territory."

Shrugging: "I could care less what happened to a pack of social deviants, who would have been arrested sooner or later anyway under a sane regime. As it happens, I do know what befell them. You—or the Ringstorff sociopath you've been working for—had them all murdered."

He paused for a moment, giving them another quick inspection. "The moment I realized what was happening here, I saw a way I could advance my own project. Since I'd already managed to work my way into the good graces of the Erewhonese authorities—ha! talk about a pack of carrion-eaters trying to avoid responsibility—I was able to convince them to let me accompany the Princess and negotiate for them."

What a lot of babble! A moron could spot the holes in the logic.

But he let no signs of his uneasiness show. And, as he pressed on with his nonsensical prattle, consoled himself with the thought that Masadan religious fanatics—other than their real expertise at mayhem—were fairly hard to distinguish from morons, when you got right down to it.

"I can get you out of here, Kubler. All of you. If you insist, I can probably get your two Scrags back also. But you'll have to agree to do it my way—and give up any plan of using the Manticoran princess for anything other than a hostage to ensure your safe passage."

"Safe passage to where ?"

"The same place I imagine you were planning to take her in the first place—Congo." Victor scowled, looked around for a chair, and eased himself into a nearby control station. He didn't give the control panel itself so much as a glance, not wanting to make the Masadans nervous that he intended to meddle with the ship. He simply wanted to shift the discussion to one between seated people; which, in the nature of things, automatically defuses tension.

Once seated, he ran fingers through his stiff, coarse hair. "I imagine Templeton's plan was to blackmail the Mesans there into providing him with shelter. Frankly, I'm highly skeptical that would have worked under the best of circumstances. This whole affair is going to have Mesa—especially Manpower—shrieking with fury. Not even Manpower is arrogant enough to want to infuriate the Star Kingdom of Manticore. Certainly not in a way which will make it very difficult for their normal Solarian protectors to provide them with much of a shield."

Kubler, hesitantly, had taken a seat himself. Victor gave him a level gaze.

"That's the reason I insisted—and will continue to insist—that the girl be handled delicately. Harm her in any way, Kubler, and you're likely to bring down the Eighth Fleet on Congo—possibly even on Mesa itself."

One of the Masadans tried to sneer. "Be serious! No way—"

"Really?" demanded Cachat. "Were you there when White Haven cut half the way through the Republic of Haven?" After a silent pause. "I thought not. Well, I was —attached as a commissioner to one of the Republic's superdreadnoughts before our fleets were routed. So I wouldn't be too sure White Haven couldn't cut his way through a goodly portion of Solarian space in order to turn Mesa into a slag heap if the whim struck Elizabeth the Third. The Solarian Navy is vastly overrated, in my opinion. But it hardly matters—because you can be sure and certain that the Mesans themselves will have no desire to run the risk."

His expression became slightly derisive. "For what? You? What are the six of you—all that survive—to the Mesans, that they should accept that risk? Even if Templeton had survived, I doubt they would have agreed. With him dead..."

He left the thought hanging. To his relief, he saw that all the Masadans were too preoccupied with their own extremely dire predicament to be spending much thought on the contradictions and just plain silliness in Victor's prattle.

He glanced quickly at his watch. Five minutes down. One hundred and fifteen to go, assuming Thandi can do it in two hours. Glumly: Which I doubt.

His thoughts grew less glum, hearing one of the other Masadans suddenly blurt out some words. Solomon Farrow, that was, the second of the Masadan pilots.

"In the name of God, Hosea, he's right—and you know it. You've told me yourself, in private, you had doubts about Gideon's plan."

Kubler glared at him briefly; but, Victor noted, didn't argue the point. Instead, after a moment, Kubler shifted his eyes back to him.

"All right, Cachat. What's yourproposal?"

Hallelujah. Just keep prattling, Victor.