Conquerors' Legacy

15

"That could be useful," Pheylan agreed, looking around and trying to ignore the eerie sensation tingling through him. It had been barely fifteen days since Aric and Quinn and the Copperheads had pulled him out of this place, unconscious, with a dose of Zhirrzh tongue poison in his bloodstream. Hardly enough time even for his metabolism to recover from the poison and the alien food his captors had fed him; and yet, here he was, back on the same world.

Facing once again the memories of his imprisonment. And the memories of the crushing Peacekeeper defeat that had put him there.

"Commander?"

Pheylan snapped out of the painful musings, focusing on the third member of their party. Colonel Helene Pemberton, if he'd gotten the introductions right, a fiftyish woman with dark hair, piercing gray eyes, and a slight Confederate accent. The colonel had been waiting with Williams when Pheylan had landed and had tagged silently along with them during the tour. "I'm sorry, Colonel," he said. "Did you say something?"

"Not yet," she said, her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied him. "As long as I have your attention, though, did you ever see any of this area while you were here?"

"No," Pheylan said, shaking his head. "I saw my cell room—that was the room with the big glass cylinder in the middle—and some of the areas outside. They never showed me anything else."

"I see," she said. "Carry on, Lieutenant."

"That's about it, actually," the engineer said, waving around the room. "Except for the impressions in the ground where the pyramid and domes you mentioned were sitting. And, of course, the fence."

"Yes, Thrr-gilag mentioned an outer fence," Pheylan said. "Where exactly is it?"

"About half a klick out," Williams said, waving a hand in a general sweep around them. "It's made of a fine mesh, extends a couple of meters up and another couple underground. Basically the same design of fence that was around that other pyramid your brother looked at while he and the Copperheads were out looking for you."

"You never saw the fence here?" Pemberton asked.

"No," Pheylan said. "Though there was a path leading from the landing field away through the trees. I assume it led there."

"Yes, it does," Williams confirmed. "You want to go take a look?"

"Sure," Pheylan said, though he couldn't imagine what good it would do. He wasn't exactly a materials expert, after all.

For that matter he wasn't anything that could make much of a difference to this investigation. He'd been sent here to catch what other, inexperienced eyes might miss, Admiral Rudzinski had said; but from what he'd seen so far, there was precious little left for anyone to look at, experienced or otherwise.

They headed out onto the landing field. The sky had clouded up while they'd been inside, and the stifif breeze had turned chilly. "Unfortunately, the Zhirrzh had plenty of time to pack up everything and get it out of here," Williams commented as he led the way toward the path, the red dust scrunching underfoot. "About ninety hours, I understand, before the Peacekeeper assault force could get here."

"Yes, we worried about that time lag on the way back," Pheylan agreed. "There was some discussion about whether we ought to go to Dorcas instead of heading directly to Edo. Peacekeeper warships starting from there could have lopped about thirty-five hours off the turnaround time."

"Why didn't you?"

"We decided it was too big a gamble," Pheylan said, forcing down the hard lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. Melinda had been on Dorcas when the Zhirrzh had attacked. "There hadn't been any warships there when we'd left, and no guarantee that would have changed. Besides, we were low enough on fuel that if we diverted to Dorcas, we wouldn't have had enough to continue on to Edo."

"Good thing you didn't stop," Pemberton said soberly. "You wouldn't have found anything at Dorcas but Zhirrzh and Zhirrzh warships."

"Yes," Pheylan murmured, Melinda's face hovering before his eyes. "A good thing, indeed."

They reached the path, and Williams led the way onto it. Pheylan followed, his chest aching with the memory of how he'd manipulated his captors into triggering the magnets of his obedience suit at this spot. Slammed flat on his face on the ground, he'd used the distraction to covertly pick up one of the sharp pieces of flint that were still scattered around the edges of the path.

A piece of flint that he'd successfully smuggled back to his cell... and that had been suddenly discovered hours later by the Zhirrzh. He still didn't know how they'd pulled that one off.

The trees were pretty much as Pheylan remembered them: tall gray-green objects, which didn't look anything like the trees he'd grown up with but which obviously filled that same ecological niche. Walking along a path surrounded by them, however, he realized for the first time that they also put out a distinctive and not entirely pleasant odor. "Interesting aroma," he commented. "Smells like an annoyed Avuire."

"Actually, it's more like an Avuire greeting friends after a long absence," Pemberton corrected absently. "Annoyed Avuirli smell entirely different."

"Ah," Pheylan said, stifling a smile. He'd meant the comment to be more facetious than anything else. He considered pointing that out, decided the colonel probably wouldn't appreciate it, and kept silent.

A few minutes later they emerged from the trees. Five meters ahead, stretching out to both sides in front of them, was the fence.

"That's it," Williams said. "What do you think?"

"Impressive," Pheylan said, looking up and down the fence as he stepped toward it for a closer look. "Goes all around the encampment, you said?"

"Right," the engineer said. "Obviously a defense of some sort."

"Obviously," Pheylan agreed. The strands that made up the mesh were slender, composed of a silvery yet vaguely translucent material that reminded him of glass. "Was it electrified?"

"Nope," Williams said, poking at one of the mesh strands with the tip of a knife. "The material's not even conductive. Some kind of high-tensile ceramic material, really strong. We're still doing measurements on it."

Pheylan looked along the fence, shading his eyes with one hand as the sun winked out of the clouds. "What kind of supports does it have?"

"None that we've been able to find," Williams said. "Apparently, the engineering design of the mesh plus the section underground is enough to hold it upright. Oh, and there's no gate, either, at least none we could find. Looks like the Zhirrzh don't go in for evening strolls."

"The question, of course," Pemberton spoke up, "is what the Zhirrzh were expecting it to protect them against. Certainly not any kind of weapons attack."

"Thrr-gilag implied it was here to keep animals out of the compound," Pheylan said, fingering the mesh. The strands were very smooth.

"That's a pretty tight mesh for keeping out tigers," Williams commented. "You'd think they were terrified of squirrels, too."

"Maybe they're not the ones it was here to protect," Pheylan said, letting his hand drop to his side. "Maybe it was to guard the pyramid."

"Why do you say that?" Pemberton asked.

"Well, we know the pyramid was very important to them," Pheylan said. "Three Zhirrzh came bounding out of the domes and pointed nasty-looking sticks at me when I tried to get too close to it. And it was right after that incident that Svv-selic was replaced as interrogation spokesman by Thrr-gilag."

"What do you think the pyramid's significance is?" Pemberton asked.

"I really don't know," Pheylan said. "I came up with all sorts of crazy ideas, but, of course, I never got close enough to see those sausage slices Aric told me were in the niches in the one the Copperheads found."

"Which doesn't necessarily mean this pyramid had the same sausage slices," Pemberton pointed out. "Or that it even had the same purpose. The Zhirrzh may simply like pyramids."

Pheylan shrugged. "Maybe. On the other hand, they build their ships and buildings out of hexagons."

"So why use pyramids for these other structures?" Pemberton asked.

How the hell should I know? With an effort Pheylan bit down on the retort. Wild hunches and educated guesses were why he was there, after all. "Historical reasons, maybe," he suggested. "Maybe there's a long tradition behind the pyramid design for these things and they want to stay with it. Or maybe they're deliberately designed to look different from other kinds of structures."

"For what reason?" Pemberton asked.

"A warning to strangers to stay away, maybe," Pheylan said. "A warning to other Zhirrzh, even—there could easily be subtle markings on the pyramids we humans wouldn't immediately pick up on."

"Perhaps," Pemberton said. "Anything else?"

Pheylan grimaced. Wild hunches... "Or else the shape is purely functional," he said. "Maybe the pyramids are electronic devices. Or weapons."

"What kind of weapons?" Pemberton asked.

Pheylan glanced at Williams. The engineer seemed to have dropped out of this part of the conversation. "Well, I suppose it sounds crazy now, but for a while I wondered if it could be a component for a CIRCE-type weapon."

"Why do you think that sounds crazy?"

"Because I know now this was just a base and not a whole Zhirrzh colony world," Pheylan said. "Not worth bringing in huge amounts of ordnance to protect. Also because they didn't use any exotic weaponry against the Copperhead rescue team, and because they cut and ran instead of waiting to fight the follow-up Peacekeeper force. Finally, because they apparently haven't used anything like CIRCE against the Commonwealth."

"I see," Pemberton said. "Were you aware that each of the Zhirrzh occupation forces has set up at least four of these same pyramids in or around their beachheads?"

Pheylan frowned. "No, I wasn't," he said slowly. "The same kind of pyramid?"

"They look the same on long-range scans," the colonel said. "Beyond that we don't know."

Pheylan stroked the smooth strands of the fence. "Could they have some religious significance, then?" he suggested. "Like a temple or shrine or something?"

"That's a possibility," Pemberton agreed. "Did you ever see any of the Zhirrzh worship or meditate at the pyramid here?"

Pheylan searched his memory. "As far as I can remember, I never even saw any of them go near it," he said. "Except for the guards in the domes, of course."

"I see," Pemberton said, her voice noncommittal. "Well, keep thinking. Perhaps something will come to you."

"Perhaps," Pheylan said. "You're a psychologist, aren't you, Colonel?"

She smiled faintly, the first smile he'd yet seen from her. "Cognitive analyst, actually," she corrected. "My particular specialty is the gleaning of little bits of information from damaged or reluctant minds."

"And which one does mine qualify as?"

She shrugged. "The techniques are basically the same. I'm here to help you dredge up anything you might have seen or heard that could help us in our defense against the Zhirrzh." She cocked her head to the side. "Does my presence or profession bother you?"

Pheylan shook his head. "Melinda took a unit of psychology when she was in med school," he said, a lump again forming in his throat at the reminder of the danger his sister was in. "She spent the entire term break afterward practicing it on my brother and me. Just about drove us crazy."

"You're worried about her, aren't you?" Pemberton asked quietly.

Pheylan looked out at the alien landscape beyond the fence. "I asked to be assigned to whatever force will be going to Dorcas," he said. "They sent me here instead."

"I'm sure Admiral Rudzinski had his reasons," Pemberton said. "There may be something of vital significance here that no one but you would recognize."

"Yes," Pheylan murmured. "Maybe."

He took a deep breath of the pungent air, turned back to face the two of them. "If I do, we're not going to dig it out standing here chatting. Let's get back to the complex."

He spent the rest of the day in the Zhirrzh building complex, watching as Williams's analysis team carried out tests on the ceramic walls, or just wandering around the building and grounds, looking and remembering. When night fell, he returned to the team's laboratory ship, spending a couple more hours dictating his thoughts and impressions into a recorder before retiring to one of the bunks for a fitful night's sleep.

He spent the second day lounging on a cot inside his old prison cell, gazing out through the glass wall and describing for three of the techs the various pieces of Zhirrzh equipment that had been set up around the room. At Colonel Pemberton's suggestion he spent the night there as well. Another night of restive sleep, as it turned out, but without the nightmares he'd been expecting.

Without the nightmares; but with a lot of thinking, particularly in the quiet of the early-morning hours. And by the time the camp began to come alive again, he had come to some unpleasant conclusions.

"Good morning, Commander," Colonel Pemberton greeted him as he entered the main analysis room aboard the laboratory ship. "How did you sleep?"

"Not too badly," Pheylan told her. "I wonder if I could have a private word with you, Colonel."

"Certainly," she said, waving a hand toward a small office that opened off the analysis room. "This way."

He waited until the door had closed behind them. "I'd like to know, Colonel, what exactly I'm doing here," he said. "The truth, I mean."

"Is that all?" she said, frowning. "I thought Admiral Rudzinski laid that out for you back on Edo."

"He gave me the official reason," Pheylan said. "I'm asking for the real reason."

Her eyes flicked thoughtfully across his face. "Can you at least give me a hint?" she asked.

So she was going to play dumb. Pheylan had rather expected she would. "Sure," he said. "To put it in a nutshell, there's nothing here for me to do. The engineers and techs have the analysis part well under control, I've already described at the Edo debriefings everything I saw or did here, and there are no artifacts, tools, or even unexplained skid marks for me to look at."

"Don't you think you're being a little hasty in your judgment?" Pemberton suggested mildly. "You've only been here two days."

"Two days has been enough," Pheylan said. "More than enough, in fact. I'm wasting my time, pure and simple."

"So what would you like me to do about it?" Pemberton lifted an eyebrow. "I presume you do want me to do something about it."

"Yes," Pheylan acknowledged. "I'd like to request a reassignment back to Edo and back into the war."

Pemberton shook her head. "I wish I could help you, Commander," she said. "But I don't think I can."

"Why not? You're the senior officer here, aren't you?"

"I'm a tech officer, Commander," she explained patiently. "This is a tech group. I don't have any command authority outside this unit. I certainly can't cut reassignment orders."

"Then let me go back to Edo on the skitter with your next report," Pheylan persisted. "I can talk to someone in Admiral Rudzinski's office—"

"Commander." Pemberton held up a hand. "I understand your eagerness to get back into action, and the irritation of feeling like you're wasting your time. But we all have a part to play in this war, and every part is equally important. Even if it's not the part you would have chosen for yourself."

"Really," Pheylan said. He hadn't intended to bring this up quite yet, but she'd pushed him into it. "And your part, I take it, is to determine whether or not the Zhirrzh did more to me in those three weeks than just lock me up in a giant test tube?"

Her expression didn't even twitch. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the reason you're here is to see if I've been brainwashed," he said bluntly. "And the reason I'm here is so that if I suddenly go crazy, it'll be in some nice, safe, out-of-the-way place where I can't do any serious damage."

Pemberton cocked an eyebrow. "That's an interesting allegation," she said. "A bit on the paranoid side, though."

"As the old saying goes, even paranoids have enemies," Pheylan countered. "I'd like an honest answer, Colonel."

For a long moment she studied his face. "All right," she said. "You're right. So what now?"

So the unpleasant conclusion he'd come to in those dark predawn hours had been right, after all. He'd hoped he'd been wrong. "I guess you set up your hoops and I jump through them," he told her. "Just show me what I have to do to prove I'm not dangerous."

Pemberton pursed her lips. "Unfortunately, Commander, it's not quite that easy," she said. "Delving the human mind is tricky enough when dealing with well-established, well-documented human psychoses. The possible indoctrination by an alien species is something well outside standard medical experience."

Pheylan stared at her, a sinking feeling forming in his stomach. "Are you saying," he said slowly, "that there is no way for me to prove I haven't been brainwashed?"

"I didn't say that," Pemberton cautioned. "I've studied your file carefully, and I'm sure—"

There was a quiet beep from the wall chatterbox beside the door, and the display came on to reveal Lieutenant Williams. "Colonel Pemberton?"

"Yes, Lieutenant, what is it?" Pemberton asked, stepping over in front of the chatterbox.

"Colonel, we've just made audio contact with a Moray-class battle fueler that meshed into the system about half an hour ago," Williams reported. "The pilot won't give us either his assignment-authorization number or his ship's ID code. All he'll say is that he has to speak with Commander Cavanagh."

"Really," Pemberton said, throwing a frown at Pheylan. "Is he armed?"

"Only minimally," Williams said. "A pair of Melara-Vickers shredder-guns and five medium-range Shrike XV missiles. Nothing we can't handle if we have to."

"Does this pilot at least have a name?"

"He says his name's Max," Williams said dryly. "That's all he'll give me. It's sort of like being hailed by a pet dog."

"I'm glad you find this amusing." Pemberton looked at Pheylan. "Feel free at any time to jump into this conversation, Commander."

Pheylan cleared his throat. "I think there's a good chance that that's the fueler my brother Aric used to come looking for me."

"And Max?"

"Actually, the lieutenant's comment wasn't that far off," Pheylan said. "Max is a parasentient computer."

"I thought parasentients were always supposed to identify themselves."

"CavTronics parasentients are programmed only to do so in response to a direct question," Pheylan explained. "My father's always hated the way other companies' parasentients seemed so smug about themselves."

"I see," Pemberton said. "So what's this all about?"

"I don't know," Pheylan admitted. "At the time I left Edo, Aric was planning to take the fueler and go look for our father."

"Maybe he found him," Williams suggested. "Could be that the two of them are aboard and just letting Max do the talking."

"Let's find out," Pemberton said, gesturing Pheylan over to the chatterbox. "Pipe the comm channel down here."

"Yes, Colonel." The display image split, one half still showing Williams, the other blank to signify an audio-only signal. "Channel open."

Pheylan stepped up to the chatterbox. "Max?"

"Yes, Commander Cavanagh," Max's smooth electronic voice came promptly. "A pleasure to speak with you again. Are you well?"

"I'm fine, Max," Pheylan said. "Are you alone?"

"Yes."

So much for his brother and father's being aboard. "What are you doing here?"

"I would prefer to discuss the matter privately, as it pertains to personal family matters," Max said. "Would it be permissible for me to land?"

Pheylan looked at Pemberton. "Colonel?"

She was gazing back at him. A thoughtful, measuring gaze. "You have a very interesting family, Commander Cavanagh," she said. "One might almost say notorious. Go ahead and let him land. I'm rather curious to hear what they've done now."

"...and so I concluded it would be best to come here and speak with you," Max said. "I hope I have not acted improperly."

"No, not at all," Pheylan assured him, rubbing at the bridge of his nose and trying to sift through this mess. "And you're absolutely sure this Mr. X you mentioned was really NorCoord Military Intelligence?"

"I examined the ID card closely," Max said, "and I have a visual copy in my files for comparison. It was genuine."

Pemberton shifted her position on one of the fueler control room's jump seats. "Yet you won't tell us his name."

"As I stated before, Colonel Pemberton, he made it very clear that I was not to tell anyone else about him," Max said. "I'm sorry."

And whoever he was, he was very interested in finding Aric and their father. What could NorCoord Intelligence possibly want with them? "Could this be some kind of delayed fallout from their borrowing of Masefield's Copperhead unit?"

"I don't know, Commander," Max said. "Legally, though, my understanding is that the inquiry board's decision should have ended the matter. Also, if the borrowing, as you put it, of the Copperheads was the issue, shouldn't this fueler have been impounded as evidence?"

"Probably," Pheylan conceded. "Legal minutiae aren't my specialty. And you have no idea where Aric might have gone?"

"Not with any significant probability," Max said. "I assume he had already left Edo from the fact that I was unable to locate a register for his phone after I spoke with the Intelligence officer. I unfortunately have no data on when precisely he departed."

"The Edo spaceports have listings for all traffic in or out of the planet," Pheylan said. "Did you think to contact them?"

"Yes," Max said. "However, I was able to obtain only the public list, which includes commercial, merchant, and passenger transport. Diplomatic and military craft are on a separate list, which was not available to me."

"Of course," Pheylan murmured, an unpleasant feeling tugging at him. First their father; now Aric. Where in the Commonwealth had the two of them disappeared to? And could the Peacekeepers be involved? "Well, let's start there and—"

"Shh!" Pemberton hissed.

She was staring into space, her head cocked slightly to one side, an expression of intense concentration on her face. "What is it?" Pheylan whispered.

"Didn't you hear it?" Pemberton whispered back. "Like a small explosion."

"No," Pheylan said, feeling his heartbeat pick up its pace. "Max?"

"I've activated my external microphones," the computer said. "Analysis of reverberations is inconclusive."

And then, audible even in the interior of the fueler, Pheylan heard it. A cracking noise, crisp and remote, sounding like a distant thunderclap.

Except that there hadn't been any thunderclouds in the sky when he and Pemberton had entered the fueler twenty minutes earlier. He looked at Pemberton... and on the colonel's face he could see the reflection of his own sudden thought.

The Zhirrzh had returned.

They were out of the fueler and into the lift cage in ten seconds flat. "Get us down, Max," Pheylan ordered, shading his eyes as he scanned the sky. But he could see nothing up there except scattered clouds. "Can you tell where that came from?"

"Inconclusive," Max said as the lift cage started down. "But the highest probability is that the sound originated in or near the building complex."

"He's right," Pemberton said grimly, pointing toward the Zhirrzh structure. "Look—you can see smoke rising from the far side of the closest hexagon."

Pheylan nodded. "I see it. Max, are you picking up any spacecraft? Or aircraft of any sort?"

"None at all," Max assured him.

From the direction of the complex came another sharp crack, this one dragging out into almost a ripping sound, with another puff of the smoke drifting up to swirl away in the breeze. "Then it must be a booby trap," Pemberton concluded.

They reached the ground and headed at a dead run toward the Zhirrzh complex. Between the thuds of their footsteps, Pheylan could hear excited voices coming from the complex, and he braced himself for the gruesome sight of broken, bleeding bodies. He reached the first hexagon, rounded it—

And faltered to a confused stop. There in front of him, as he'd expected and feared, a meter-wide, jagged-edged gap had been blown into the smooth ceramic of the wall. Grouped around the hole were piles of equipment and a dozen or more of Williams's engineers and techs.

But none of them were lying bloodied on the ground or gazing at the hole in horror or bewilderment. Instead they were all on their feet, chattering enthusiastically to each other. And smiling.

Beside Pheylan, Pemberton skidded to a halt of her own. "What the hell?" she panted. "Williams?"

Williams's head popped into sight; he'd been kneeling beside one of the equipment piles. "Hey—Colonel," he called, snagging a rag and wiping his hands as he jogged over to them. His own grin was even wider than those of his techs. "Break out the champagne, Colonel. We did it."

"Did what?" Pemberton demanded.

"What do you think?" Williams said triumphantly, waving his rag toward the hole. "We found a way to break up Zhirrzh ceramic."

"It's real tricky stuff," Williams said as Pheylan and Pemberton joined the techs grouped around the ring of equipment by the wall. "Incredibly tough, incredibly resilient, able to handle kinetic impacts and shock waves and even flash-heating from lasers—"

"We know all that," Pheylan interrupted. The memory of those invulnerable hulls, and of the men and women from the Kinshasa who had died because of them... "Just tell us what you did."

"Well, where brute force fails, you turn to chemistry," Williams said. "We'd already used a meson microscope to map out the atomic structure, so it was mostly a matter of coming up with some kind of catalytic glop that would displace enough atoms to put a strain on critical molecular bonds." He gestured to a pair of tanks with hoses attached to stopcocks. "The stuff doesn't do metal a whole lot of good, either, but fortunately you can make it up as a binary—half the chemical in one bottle, the other half in the other, and they combine on contact to make the catalyst."

"And that's it?" Pemberton asked. "You spray the stuff on the wall and it just falls apart?"

"No, actually, that's just the first step," Williams told her. "The catalyst starts the ceramic crystallizing along irregular planes, which is what we want. But it's only a temporary effect, and as soon as the energy from the reaction has dissipated, the molecular bonds reform. Usually right around the intruding molecules of the catalyst, incidentally, which maybe helps explain why shrapnel attacks don't seem to do much good against the stuff. So before that can happen, you have to give it a good, sharp rap."

"With what, an explosive?" Pemberton frowned, looking around them.

"Oddly enough, no," Williams said, waving at a hornlike metal tube connected to a bank of electronics cabinets. "It turns out that the most effective kick is a fast, precisely modulated series of ultrasonic blasts. In creating those crystallization planes, the catalyst apparently sets up a whole new set of natural frequencies in the ceramic, and when you kick all those resonances in the right order in rapid succession, the stuff just gives up. Then it falls apart."

Pemberton shook her head. "Amazing," she said. "Congratulations are indeed in order, Lieutenant."

"I see just two small flies in the ointment," Pheylan said. "Fly number one: how do you know this same technique will work against Zhirrzh warship hulls? You said yourself the ceramics weren't exactly the same."

"We'll have to check that, of course," Williams agreed. "But I've got a copy of the full analysis Command made of the hull fragments they found at the site of the Jutland battle. Now that we know the approach to take, it ought to be pretty straightforward to figure out how to modify the catalyst to handle the other ceramic."

"Okay," Pheylan said. "Then fly number two: how in the world do you expect to use ultrasonics against a Zhirrzh warship in the vacuum of space?"

"That one's going to be trickier," Williams admitted. "I don't know yet. I've got a couple of ideas; unfortunately, it's going to take a lot more computing power than we've got here to sort them through. We'll have to send all the data back to Edo and let them run with it."

"Maybe not," Pheylan said, an idea slowly beginning to form in the back of his mind. "How much computing power do you need?"

"Oh, we'd need at least—" Williams broke off, his eyes widening slightly. "That's right, you've got a parasentient out there, don't you? What type and specs?"

"He's a CavTronics Carthage-Ivy-Gamma," Pheylan said, searching his memory. "With Class Seven decision-making capabilities, I think, and eight-point-something megamyncs of compressed memory."

"That should do it," Williams said, suddenly looking doubtful. "I don't know, though—we're talking a civilian computer here. Command probably wouldn't like us loading military secrets onto it."

"On the other hand, if the technique works, it won't be a military secret for long," Pemberton pointed out. "We'll want the technique to be as widely disseminated as possible."

"Point," Williams conceded, still looking doubtful. But the chance to test his theories was apparently too strong to resist. "All right," he said, wiping his hands again and pulling a pair of cards from a recorder. "Why don't you go to your fueler and get these loaded up. I'll go to the ship and get the hull stats and join you."

"I'll come with you, Commander," Pemberton added as Pheylan took the cards. "I'm rather curious to see how this works out."