Tremayne, breaking out of his momentary paralysis, finally yanked out his laser. His eyes seemed uncertain of the proper target, though, flicking between Bakshi's crumpled form and the corner where Lathe had risen to his feet. "You can put that away," Lathe advised him grimly. "It's all over now. Nmura, give the other ship a course and get us moving before the Ryqril realize they've lost the ball."

"Uh... yes, sir." Caine glanced around in time to see a thoroughly confused-looking Nmura turn back to his console.

Lathe walked over to Bakshi, trailing flakes of charred flexarmor and the odor of burnt flesh as he did so, and squatted down to check briefly for a pulse. Rising to his feet, he faced Tremayne, the latter still clutching his laser. "It's all over," he repeated. "Unless you have doubts that Bakshi was really a spy, of course."

Slowly, Tremayne slid the pistol into its holster, his eyes glancing at the gash in Lathe's flexarmor. "Just another of your little tricks, huh?" he said bitterly. He shot an angry look back at Caine. "I suppose Caine's laser was specially rigged or something?"

Lathe shook his head. "It was just as deadly as yours—Bakshi wouldn't have been fooled by anything else. I'm wearing a double thickness of flexarmor, with a thin slab of raw meat between to give off the right smell. If Caine had somehow missed and got my head instead I'd be dead now." He had his gloves off now; tiredly, he wiped his forehead.

"We're on our way, Comsquare," Nmura spoke up. "Course heading about ten degrees from target."

"You could have told me," Tremayne growled. "Or didn't you think I could be objective where treason from my own top lieutenant was concerned?"

Lathe gave him a long look. "Your objectivity wasn't in question," he said quietly. "It was your loyalty I wasn't sure of."

Tremayne stiffened, but the explosion Caine had expected didn't come. "I trust you can explain," he said, his tone icy.

"Do you remember the ambush Security laid for us in Calarand, the day I went into Henslowe? The car that stopped us was prepared with four of the heavy-duty mag-lock shackles. Four, not three. You and Bakshi were the only ones in the garage that morning, the only ones that knew Caine would be going along. We were in a closed van, so Security's spotters couldn't have counted us, and I'd made sure no one else had been in the garage. So one of you was a spy, and we had to give that one a chance to hang himself. This is what we came up with."

Slowly, Tremayne nodded. "You're right," he admitted. "Absolutely right. And I never even came close to picking it up." He looked down at Bakshi. "A blackcollar. I can still hardly believe it."

Lathe suddenly looked very old. "Neither could I. That's why I waited so long. I wanted to hear why he'd done it, to try and understand him."

"I suppose in his own way he thought he was serving us," Tremayne said. "Hijackings of food and Idunine—that kind of operation always worked. I don't think I ever noticed that before. Probably part of his deal with them."

Lathe stepped across the bridge and stooped to pick up the weapon he'd hit Bakshi's wrist with. For a long moment he stared at the dragonhead's glittering red eyes. Then, almost savagely, he jammed the ring back onto his finger. "His job wasn't to make life easy for you—his job was to fight the Ryqril." He glanced at Skyler and Mordecai, nodded toward Bakshi's body, turned his back on it. "Commander, what's our ETA for the Diamond?"

"Both freighters have left orbit," the Security man reported, tapping a key on his console. Displays came to life, showing the ships' locations and projected course. "Do you want me to compute possible destinations, Colonel?"

Eakins shook his head. "They'd be foolish to head for the Novas directly. Wait until they've changed course."

"Yes, sir."

Eakins walked back to the middle of the command center, where Galway waited. "You heard?"

Galway nodded. "Any idea when the Ryqril plan to spring their trap?"

"Not really." Eakins looked back at the displays. "If I were the Ryq in charge, though, I would have sprung it before now. Do you suppose something's wrong?"

"I don't know." Galway's neck was beginning to ache again. "Maybe Caine would only give them a course to follow instead of the exact location. Or maybe Lathe simply outsmarted the Ryqril agent."

Eakins gave him a sharp look. "You hope he has, don't you?" he asked in a low voice. "You'd actually like the Ryqril to lose this, wouldn't you?"

"I don't know," Galway admitted. "If I were suddenly transported to that ship with a laser in my hand I know I'd die trying to stop them. But I'm here, where I can't do anything one way or the other... it's hard to explain. Ever since I was prepared, my service to the Ryqril has been tied up with service to the people of Plinry. As Security prefect I maintain order partly because I've been ordered to do so, but also partly because the Ryqril would retaliate if I didn't." He nodded toward the displays. "Every failure to stop Lathe is going to cost Plinry something—even if those Corsairs out there eventually get him. But if he somehow manages to pull this off, he may be able to force them to at least go a little easier on us." He started to shake his head, but winced at the pain. "Am I making any sense?"

Eakins shook his head. "I don't know. I don't think so, really. But you've been pretty badly hurt," he added kindly. "Come on, there are a couple of cots downstairs. We can both do with some sleep, and they can't possibly get anywhere in under thirty hours."

"Yeah." But it seemed so straightforward—or it did until he tried to explain it. Was his love of his world really so hard to understand?

The hell with it. "Yeah," he repeated. "And I think I need another pill, too."

Chainbreaker I had been switched to night mode some hours previously, and as Lathe entered the bridge he was struck by how bright the stars in the display screens seemed by contrast. Some of those "stars," of course, were actually asteroids.

The bridge's single occupant turned at the sound of the opening door. "Hello, Comsquare." He nodded. "What can I do for you?"

"Your officer should have received a coded signal from the other ship within the last hour, and I wanted to make sure it was the proper one. Where is he?"

"Lieutenant Inouye's in the lounge, on break. If you'll watch the bridge, I'll be happy to go get him."

"Please." Unstrapping his safety harness, the other got up and left the bridge. Lathe waited a count of five after the door closed, and then set to work.

It took only a few seconds to call up the Novas' most recently updated position figures from the computer. Reaiming the communicator and adjusting it for the proper medium-tight beam took considerably longer, but it couldn't be helped: the message had to reach a large part of the Diamond without being picked up by Chainbreaker II, a hundred klicks to their side. But finally everything was ready. Encoding the position figures was a trivial matter of adding a fixed number to each and then rearranging their order, something he could do in his head even as he typed them into the pulse transmitter. Finished, he mentally crossed his fingers and pushed the "transmit" button five times.

He didn't wait for an acknowledgment—there wouldn't be one—but immediately cleared the pulse transmitter memory and computer display, and then reset the communicator to its original setting.

When the starman returned with Lieutenant Inouye they found him hunched over the sensor hood, searching the sky for signs of pursuit.