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Authors: Timothy Zahn

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Merrick nodded heavily. And now the instigators of this fresh act of rebellion had likewise disappeared into the forest. The point of Anya’s story was painfully clear. “I’m sorry, Anya,” he said. “I wish we could help them. But aside from giving up and turning ourselves in, I can’t think of anything we can do.”

“I know,” Anya said. “But that wasn’t why I told you the story. I told you because the ones who led the failed rebellion were my parents.”

Merrick stared at her. “Your parents? You mean—?” He broke off as the kicker suddenly hit him. “They ran off and left you there? Knowing full well that the Trofts would take their anger out on you?”

“Yes,” Anya said, and Merrick could hear the echoes of old bitterness in her voice. “I don’t know why. I’ve never known why. I know only that the masters will also remember, and that my part in today’s events will weigh all the more heavily on their judgment against Gangari.”

Abruptly, she got to her feet. “It’s time.”

“Where are we going?” Merrick said, standing up beside her.

“To a place where the masters will not find us,” she said, looking up at the stars and then turning to face southwest. “A place that has proven its ability to stay hidden from their gaze.”

“Sounds perfect,” Merrick said, nodding.

“Yes,” Anya said, striding off into the darkness. “Pray that they will accept us.”

“There’s someone else living there?” Merrick asked, hurrying to catch up. “Anyone you know?”

“I knew them once,” she said. “Or I thought I did.” She hissed out a sigh. “Once, they were my parents.”

#

Barrington had estimated that once the Hermes was prepped it wouldn’t cost them more than ten minutes to break out of hyperspace, drop the courier, and break in again.

In actual fact, the drop took only seven.

“So that’s it,” he commented to Lieutenant Meekan as he gave the CoNCH displays a final check. The break-out and break-in had both gone perfectly, and the Dorian was once again on track toward Qasama.

Or toward wherever it was Commander Ukuthi was sending them.

Meekan was apparently thinking along the same lines. “You think we can trust him, sir?” the aide asked.

“Ukuthi?” Barrington shook his head. “I don’t know. A cruiser like the Dorian would be a fine catch for one of the demesnes we’re fighting. On the other hand, those demesnes can’t possibly expect that we’d be any easier to take intact than any other Dominion warship they’ve tangled with.”

“Perhaps Ukuthi is trying to split our forces,” Meekan suggested. “Hoping to take us out one at a time instead of having to face the task force as a whole.”

“That one’s marginally more likely,” Barrington said. “But whatever Ukuthi’s game, we know there’s at least one other player involved. Someone thought it was worth the effort of chasing him all the way to the Hoibe’ryi’sarai home world and sitting on him, whether it was this Tua’lanek’zia or someone else. I think it more likely that Ukuthi’s looking at the possibilities of having a Dominion warship on his side in whatever tangled politics he’s mixed up in.”

“And is using Qasama’s location as a bargaining chip?” Meekan shrugged. “Yes, that makes sense. The next question is whether he’ll deliver that chip as promised or try to hang onto it against future bargaining.”

Barrington felt his throat tighten. “I wouldn’t put it past him,” he said. “On the other hand, stringing a client along carries its own set of risks. Especially when that client has the kind of firepower that we do.”

“True,” Meekan said. “And there’s something Ukuthi doesn’t know: it’s entirely possible that Commodore Santores will have gotten Qasama’s location from one of the Brooms by the time we reach the other end of this trip. If he has, Ukuthi’s bargaining power will be gone and we may be able to get some genuine information out of him.”

“Possibly,” Barrington agreed. “And either way, we’ll have Qasama.”

“We’ll have Qasama,” Meekan agreed, looking closely at his captain. “I confess I still don’t understand why the commodore is so adamant on finding it.”

“It’s very simple, Lieutenant,” Barrington said, his stomach tightening. In theory, a mere lieutenant shouldn’t be privy to such information. In actual practice, senior command aides were usually exempt from such barriers. “Qasama is Commodore Santores’s flying bridge.”

Meekan blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Do you know why Dominion warships still have flying bridges?” Barrington asked. “Or haven’t you ever wondered about that?”

“The latter, I suppose,” Meekan admitted. “I’ve assumed they were there because warships have always had them.”

Barrington shook his head. “That’s what I used to think, too. It wasn’t until after I graduated that I was able to track down the real reason.”

He gestured upward, toward the flying bridge riding the hull far above the CoNCH’s armored ceiling. “It’s a sucker trap, Lieutenant. It holds two men, has control and power circuits in and around it, and looks every bit like a control node or targeting station or something of intrinsic military value. The very fact that it’s so open and vulnerable makes it a tempting target for any enemy who manages to get that close.”

“Only there’s nothing really there,” Meekan murmured. “Just a repeater station with a water tank behind it.”

“Which, if the enemy’s shot gets through, will spew a ton of instant-freezing ice crystals straight at him,” Barrington said. “Which will in turn generate surprise, confusion, loss of clear targeting, and possible overload of his point defenses. Not a bad return for some wiring, some water, and two lives.”

“I see,” Meekan said, his voice sounding strange. “And you say Qasama is…?”

Barrington sighed. “Our orders are to lure the Trofts into a trap,” he said quietly. “The original plan was to use the Cobra Worlds as bait. Now that we know about Qasama, Commodore Santores feels it will work even better.”

Meekan seemed to digest that. “What if the Qasamans don’t feel like taking the brunt of another Troft incursion?”

“I don’t think the commodore was going to offer them a choice.”

“No, I suppose he wasn’t,” Meekan murmured. “May God have mercy on their souls.”

No,” Barrington said, a shiver running through him. Meekan hadn’t seen the full transcript of the Brooms’ testimony. Barrington had. “May God have mercy on ours.”

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