In the meantime, the Zaid-Dayan would be sitting idle while the enemy continued its work. She would no doubt have umpteen thousand forms to fill out and sign: in multiple copies which had to be processed individually, rather than on computer, for security reasons.

She noticed that Dupaynil was watching her with alert interest. So he had read the message even before she’d seen it—which meant he had a tap on the IFTL link, or had somehow coerced one of her communications officers into peeling a copy to his quarters. What else did he know, or had he been told? She decided not to ask; he wouldn’t tell her, and she’d just be angry when he refused.

“Dupaynil.” The change in her tone surprised him; his smugness disappeared. “I want you to start finding out which crew Aygar has been in contact with. Marines, Wefts, officers, enlisted, everyone. You can have a clerk if you need one—“

“No ... I can manage ...” His voice was bemused; she felt a surge of glee that she was making him think.

“I suspect it’s too late to restrict his contacts. And after all, we want him friendly to FSP policies. But if the crew know that they’ll have to go through paperwork and interviews because they talk to him, some may pull back.”

“Good idea . . . and I’d best get started.” Dupaynil sketched a salute—to more than her rank, she was sure—and left.

Sassinak said nothing for a moment, engaging her own (surely still undiscovered?) privacy systems. Then she grinned at Ford.

“That sneak: he knew already.”