CLEATUS

Get ready, Holt warned the FEA. Len won’t let you tackle her yet. He’s being too damn protective. But you’ll get your chance when she’s done.

After no more than a moment, several of the votes shot their hands into the air. Despite Holt’s warning, Cleatus wanted to ask her, Why the hell do you need time? But he was too angry to wave his arm for permission to speak like a goddamn school kid.

For no apparent reason, Len indicated Silat. “Senior Member Punjat Silat,” he announced formally to Hyland, “Combined Asian Islands and Peninsulas.”

Ponderous with superiority and heart trouble, Silat climbed to his feet. “Ensign Hyland,” he offered sanctimoniously, “I will not delay you by describing how profoundly I admire your resourcefulness and courage. However, we must be clear on essential matters.

“Why does Calm Horizons pursue you? Why are the Amnion willing to risk a war in order to stop you?”

Morn had her answer ready. Unfortunately Cleatus felt sure she would support Hannish’s accusations.

“They know we have an antimutagen. They know we’re willing to broadcast it. They want to silence us if they can.

“And they want Davies.” The strain in her voice gave the impression that she held her arms locked over her chest. “They were surprised by the results when he was force-grown.”

In fatigue and ire she explained, “Simply turning a fetus into a physiologically mature organism isn’t enough. The new child needs a mind. Something to take the place of years of development. With their own kind, they imprint the mind of the host on the offspring. I guess it works for them. But in the past it hasn’t worked for human beings. When they tried it, they lost the host. Apparently having your mind copied makes you insane. I think it’s a fear reaction.

“But I didn’t go insane when my mind was copied. My zone implant protected me. I had the control with me.

“They knew I had an implant. They could tell. But I guess they never thought of using one that way. They don’t understand how fear affects humans.” She sighed. “So now they think maybe they can use zone implants to let them copy human minds onto Amnion. Or Amnion minds onto humans. And they want to study Davies to find out how successful the imprinting was.”

Several of the sheep bleated aloud. Her explanation seemed more plausible than Hannish’s bald statement earlier: it made the idea of Amnion that could pass as human look real. But Silat received the information as if it were only of academic interest. “Thank you, Ensign Hyland,” he said impersonally as he sank into his chair. “A fascinating insight.”

The smug bastard was probably planning his next monograph.

Damn it, Cleat, Holt insisted harshly, I want that kid! He’s perfect. I can make a deal—

As soon as I get the chance, Cleatus promised. After I’ve torn her apart, even these morons will vote to decharter.

His grip on his bowels was so tight it made his chest hurt.

More hands. Len had reduced the Council to a kindergarten class.

His choices made no sense. He recognized Vest Martingale as if he felt sorry for her tarnished constituency; announced her to the room pickups.

Martingale stood up. “Ensign Hyland, where is Captain Succorso now? Can we talk to him? His side of the story might shed some light.”

Com-Mine was blamed everywhere for the passage of the Preempt Act. Martingale wanted to know what Succorso might say about Hashi Lebwohl and Milos Taverner.

“Captain Succorso is dead,” Hyland answered flatly.

That was a blow to Martingale’s desire for vindication. “Dead?” she demanded. “What happened to him?”

“Member Martingale—” The woman sounded tired of trying to account for herself. “When we left Deaner Beckmann’s lab, we were under attack by Amnion surrogates and mercenaries. Captain Thermopyle used a singularity grenade to turn the battle. But Captain Succorso and Sib Mackern had left the ship to attempt an EVA ambush. As far as I know, they both died in the black hole.”

“Wait a minute,” Martingale shot back. “Captain Succorso left the ship? After you made him prisoner?”

Cleatus hoped devoutly that Hyland would admit she’d had Succorso murdered.

No such luck. “The ambush was his idea,” she retorted. “He thought he could damage one of the ships we were fighting, an Amnion surrogate. And he had as much to lose as we did. We let him try.” For a moment her voice seemed to ache in the gap between her pickup and the Council’s speakers. “Sib Mackern went along to make sure he didn’t turn on us.”

Martingale bit her lip in disappointment. “Thank you, Ensign Hyland.” She sat down heavily.

Another flurry of hands. The sheep seemed to thrive on being treated like children.

Len surprised Cleatus by nodding to Igensard. “Special Counsel Maxim Igensard,” he told Hyland, “in proxy for Eastern Union Senior Member Sen Abdullah.”

Igensard jumped up so fast he almost tripped himself. The misguided idiot probably wanted to redeem his credibility.

“Ensign Hyland,” he began as if he meant to sneer but had forgotten how, “you’ve had time to study the situation. You’ve talked to Director Donner.” They’d had plenty of opportunity to decide on a story. “You said—I assume you were telling the truth—the transmission you received from Punisher included two sets of contradictory instructions. In retrospect, how do you account for that?”

He must have struck a nerve. Morn snapped, “Special Counsel, I’ve come too far to waste my time lying to you.” But she didn’t refuse to answer his question.

“The orders that gave Captain Thermopyle’s codes to Nick Succorso were perfectly clear. Anybody who received that transmission would have understood them.” Including, presumably, Donner herself. And Punisher. “But the programming which caused Captain Thermopyle to reveal his codes to us was encrypted. It was written in a kind of embedded machine language none of us recognized.

“We asked Director Donner if she had anything to do with it. She states that UMCPHQ’s transmission was relayed exactly as the cruiser received it. Punisher’s communications log confirms this.

“The transmission was coded from Warden Dios. He wrote it.”

Oh, hell, Cleatus groaned in disappointment. She knew. The damn woman had figured out what must have happened.

Why wasn’t she dead, where she belonged?

As if she had the right to make such statements, she pronounced, “I believe that when Director Dios issued his plain instructions he was carrying out someone else’s orders. Or he wanted to mislead someone he feared. The encrypted instructions represent his true intentions. He meant to foil whoever wished Nick Succorso to have control of Angus.

“As far as I know,” she finished in a spatter of static, “the only man in human space who can give orders to the director of the UMCP—or threaten him—is Holt Fasner.”

Of course. Another accusation. But Cleatus didn’t bother to comment on it. He knew in his guts there was worse to come.

Igensard made a desperate effort to recover his earlier righteousness. “You’re speculating, Ensign Hyland,” he countered. “You can’t prove any of that.”

“True.” She was sure of herself; so sure that she didn’t falter for a second. “But I can tell you this, Special Counsel.

“Captain Thermopyle has told me—and Director Donner has confirmed—that DA wrote his programming explicitly to prevent him from rescuing me. I was considered dangerous because I could testify that he was framed. But I couldn’t do any harm as long as I was with Nick Succorso. If he didn’t kill me, someone else would. Unless Captain Thermopyle interfered.

“So why am I alive?”

She paused as if she wanted to be sure all the votes were listening. Then she said, “I’m alive because Captain Thermopyle was given new orders. Just before he was released from UMCPHQ, Warden Dios switched his datacore. His new programming included instruction-sets which required him to save me.”

The bastard! Holt rasped in Cleatus’ ear. So that’s how he did it. I knew she must have had help.

Fiercely Hyland concluded, “The Warden Dios who wants me alive is not the same man who handed Captain Thermopyle’s priority-codes to Nick Succorso. Nick would have cheerfully killed me. As soon as he could think of a way to do it with enough pain and degradation.

“I’m here telling you my story because Warden Dios made that possible.”

Panting, Holt explained, He’s been planning this ever since he sent Thermopyle to Billingate—no, ever since he let Succorso take that fucking woman off Com-Mine. By God, he started to betray me months ago!

Cleatus shook his head in dismay, appalled by the realization that Dios was so dangerous; so much more dangerous than he’d ever imagined. Even when the bastard was stuck aboard Calm Horizons, he worked through puppets like Hyland to ruin—

Igensard looked helplessly at Cleatus; but Cleatus offered him no assistance. If he couldn’t think of a way to attack Hyland’s assertions, that was his problem. His ambitions meant nothing to the FEA.

“None of this makes sense, Ensign,” Igensard protested weakly. He was too distraught to notice that he was simply feeding her the questions she wanted; helping her score her points. “Dios has been the UMCP director for years. Why has he started countermanding his own orders now?”

“Maybe,” the woman retorted at once, “this is his first real chance to show you that Holt Fasner isn’t fit to be responsible for the UMCP.”

Gray failure tinged Igensard’s face as he slumped down into his seat.

Fit? Holt snarled into Cleatus’ ear. His fury seethed like Fane’s guts. She doesn’t think I’m fit? If I get my hands on her, I’ll teach her a thing or two about fit.

At the moment Cleatus could think of nothing he wanted in life except to help Holt crucify Hyland. The votes had been right on the edge of enacting his, Cleatus’, proposal. Now he would have to start the whole process again.

Gritting his teeth to curb his exasperation, he lifted his hand like a good little boy.

Len ignored him. Goading him—The effete twit may have wished to provoke an eruption so he could carry out his threat to have Cleatus removed. Ing was stupidly eager to obey.

Cleatus contained his indignation as Len recognized Sixten Vertigus. At once Vertigus levered his old bones upright.

“It’s an honor, Captain.” Interference marred Hyland’s transmission, but she sounded sincere. “I wish we could have met under other circumstances.”

Inanely Vertigus flapped a hand she couldn’t see. “The honor’s mine, Ensign.” His voice wobbled. “You’re a valiant woman.” With a visible effort he tightened his grip on himself until he was able to speak more steadily. “I wish I could tell you everything you’ve done will be worth what it cost. But none of us are sure how this mess is going to turn out.”

He looked at Hannish as if he were talking to her as well as to Hyland.

“Director Hannish has told us Punisher’s command module is towing Trumpet to Calm Horizons. What’s going on, Ensign? Director Dios must have reached some kind of agreement with the Amnion. We need to know what it is.”

For the first time Morn hesitated. When she answered, her tone had lost some of its certainty.

“We’re responding to Calm Horizons’ demands.”

Apparently she wasn’t sure how much she could afford to let the votes know.

Her caution brought Cleatus to the edge of his seat. Instinct told him that she was about to give him the opening he needed.

Vertigus frowned. He didn’t know how to take Hyland’s response. “I assume you’ve been in contact with Director Dios.”

“We’ve talked to him, yes,” Hyland said distantly.

“Is he all right?”

Again she hesitated. “He sounds all right.”

Static surrounded her words like an aura. What she said—or what she meant—was embedded in it. Nevertheless Cleatus thought he heard hints of distress through the distortion.

Vertigus missed them. Or he believed that what he wanted to know was more important. Instead of probing her hesitation, he rephrased his question.

“What did he tell you to do?”

“He didn’t tell us to do anything.” Her discomfort made her impatient; cryptic. “He relayed Calm Horizons’ demands. Now we’re responding to them.”

Vertigus scrubbed his face with both hands like a man trying to wake himself up. “Forgive me, Ensign. You aren’t being clear. Or I’m being stupid.” Bingo. “Do you mean to say Director Dios did not reach an agreement with the Amnion?”

Hyland sighed. “That’s right.”

“But if he didn’t,” the old fool protested, “who did? Somebody must have. Isn’t your command module on the way to Calm Horizons? With Trumpet?”

An instant of silence from the transmission conveyed the impression that Hyland tapped depleted reserves; summoned the last of her strength. Then she said harshly, “I did, Captain.”

Vertigus gaped at the speakers. Most of the sheep did the same. His voice cracked as he demanded, “On whose authority?”

“On mine,” she snapped. “I’m in command here.” A woman on the brink of an abyss. “I have the bridge. I stopped taking Warden Dios’ orders when he abandoned me to Nick Succorso. We’re responding to Calm Horizons on my authority.

“Ask UMCPHQ Center,” she finished. “They’ll confirm it.”

If Cleatus hadn’t been forewarned, he would have been as shocked as the votes. Fortunately he was ready. He’d known for some time that Hyland commanded Punisher. By intuition he’d grasped the implications.

A mere ensign had arrogated to herself the responsibility for humankind’s survival. And for keeping the Council alive.

Exactly the opening he needed.

Before anyone in the room could speak, the speakers emitted the metallic pop of a toggled pickup.

“I’ll confirm it,” a new voice barked; another woman.

Cleatus recognized her as soon as she said her name.

“This is Min Donner, UMCP Acting Director, aboard Punisher. Ensign Morn Hyland is in command of this vessel. She and Captain Thermopyle took the bridge when they came aboard.

“And it’s a damn good thing they did.” Intensity clanged like iron in her voice, but Cleatus couldn’t interpret it. Fury? Desperation? “She’s negotiated an arrangement that may actually keep you alive. Which is more than I could have done. If it were up to me, we would all have fried by now.”

Vertigus struggled to control his chagrin. “Acting Director, this is Captain Vertigus. What arrangement?”

I swear, Holt spat, every idiot in human space works for Ward. He’s pulling too many strings. If we don’t start to cut them soon—

He didn’t finish the warning. He didn’t need to. Cleatus understood him perfectly.

As if she were stifling curses, Donner replied, “Calm Horizons has agreed to leave without shooting at us. Morn has agreed to let them have Davies Hyland, Vector Shaheed, and Trumpet. Captain Ubikwe is using the command module to keep our part of the bargain.

“Davies is her son,” she asserted. She must have thought that was important.

Before Vertigus—or Len—could challenge her, she snapped, “Donner out,” and silenced her pickup with a violent click.

Cleatus feared that Punisher’s transmission had been cut off. But the cavernous hiss and spatter of the speakers told him the channel was still open.

Go! Holt ordered. Now!

Cleatus jumped. For the moment, at least, Vertigus was too shaken to find words. And Len seemed to founder in confusion. None of the other Members knew what to do.

The FEA didn’t say a word; didn’t give Len any excuse to remove him. Leaping to his feet, he flung his hand like a mute shout at the President.

Hannish opened her mouth to object, then bit it shut again.

Under the circumstances, Len couldn’t refuse. His gaze flinched and wavered in alarm. Apparently he needed his grip on the podium to keep him upright.

“Ensign Hyland—” The words stuck in his throat. He swallowed thickly, then tried again. “Ensign, will you answer a question from UMC First Executive Assistant Cleatus Fane?”

The damn woman may have thought she no longer had anything to fear. “We’re on a countdown here, Mr. President.” Already her attention seemed to be elsewhere. “He’s got two minutes.”

Len turned a look like a groan at Cleatus. “Mr. Fane.”

Cleatus fought down his squirming trepidation. Quietly, hiding his hopes, he asked, “Ensign Hyland, you said Director Dios ‘sounds all right.’ I get the impression you aren’t sure. Why not? What’re you worried about?”

That got her. She hesitated again. The background noise of the speakers suggested groping.

His heart thudded without mercy while he waited.

Abruptly she answered, “The Amnion have a special mutagen, Mr. Fane.” Her voice had changed. It carried an ache Cleatus couldn’t name. “A delayed-reaction mutagen. It doesn’t start to work until ten minutes or so after it’s been injected. And they have an antidote. It’s not a cure. It just keeps the mutagen inert. As long as you have the antidote in your system, you don’t mutate. As soon as it runs out, you turn into an Amnioni.

“They use this mutagen for blackmail. They inject you with it. Then you do what they say, or they don’t give you the antidote. We know about it because it was done to one of us. Ciro Vasaczk.”

She paused, groping again, then admitted softly, “We’re concerned that Director Dios may be under that kind of pressure.

“He says he has a suicide capsule. I don’t doubt him. But I’m not sure even that would be enough to protect him.”

There Cleatus identified the change in her voice. It was a note of farewell. She’d already given up hope for Warden Dios.

Good-bye.

And good riddance.

That was all Cleatus needed from her.

He remained on his feet, even though his question had been answered, and votes around him flapped their arms like scarecrows. From the knotted tension in his guts to the throbbing pulse in his temples, he was sure that Hyland hadn’t told the truth; not the whole truth.

He believed her “concern” for Dios. He knew that much of what she’d said was dangerously accurate. But she’d stated more than once that she felt pressed for time. She’d just announced, We’re on a countdown here. Earlier she’d said, We have fifty-six minutes left. I need the time. And she hadn’t explained why.

If her side of her bargain with Calm Horizons could be fulfilled by her kid, Shaheed, and Trumpet, what else did she have to do? What countdown was she talking about?

She was keeping secrets. Plotting something. Lying

He conveyed this to Holt; but it didn’t disturb him. In fact, he was counting on it. Let her try any desperate trick she could think of: on Calm Horizons; on UMCPHQ; on Holt. Cleatus didn’t care. Not as long as she shut up and let him get to work.

There was a moment of confusion while Len scanned the room, trying to decide which of the sheep he should recognize next. Then Hyland took the choice away from him.

“Mr. President,” she announced roughly, “I can’t afford any more time. I hope I can tell my story in more detail when this is over.”

Before Len could reply, she said, “Punisher out.”

At once her transmission disappeared from the speakers. Cold space punctuated by particle noise took its place until Len’s aide closed the channel. Then the Council’s link to the contest of ships far overhead was gone.

Finally!

The sheep turned glazed, vacuous stares toward each other, stunned by their own incomprehension. Vertigus fumbled at a console he apparently didn’t know how to use. Hannish watched Len with her legs poised under her, no doubt champing for a chance to point out how neatly Hyland’s story supported hers. Burnish and Manse consulted urgently with each other. Martingale hissed fury at her aides like a woman who wanted to tell the entire created universe that Com-Mine had been maligned. Carsin kept her horrified gaze on her Senior Member, Vertigus, as if she thought he might start to show signs of mutation.

Cleatus’ downlink told him that Punisher’s command module was thirty-eight minutes away from Calm Horizons.

“Mr. President,” he ventured, “may I address the Council?”

He’d lost ground; a lot of it. That was obvious. Anything which confirmed Hannish’s facts suggested the illogical implication that her conclusions were also accurate. Most of the votes were too stupid to tell the difference between evidence and inference. Martingale had gone over to the enemy. Carsin was wavering. Hell, even Igensard had collapsed.

But Morn Hyland had given Cleatus the opening he needed.

With an air of defeat, Len conceded the floor. He seemed to be the only one in the room besides Cleatus who’d grasped the significance of Hyland’s last revelation.

“Thank you, Mr. President.” This time the FEA left his place and ascended the dais. Now it was essential for him to dominate the Council. He took any advantage he could get: elevation; physical presence; fear.

With an effort of will that made him sweat, he kept his tone mild. He would lose even more ground if any hint of his underlying desperation showed; if he betrayed by any word or inflection or gesture that he was fighting for his life.

Some of the votes were hostile. But most of them were simply frightened; scared out of their small minds by proton cannon and mutation and treason. Deliberately Cleatus set himself to direct their fear where it would do the most good.

“Members, it’s time for action.” The voice of reason, stating the irrefutable, pointing out the inevitable. “Ensign Hyland’s story has made that obvious. It’s urgent that you reach a decision now. As she said herself, if you don’t act before Punisher’s command module and Trumpet reach Calm Horizons, nothing you do will make a difference.

“You don’t need me to tell you that it’s the task of this body and this session to make a difference.”

Determined to succeed, he forced himself to relax against the podium.

“You have two choices. Only two, that I can see. The UWB Senior Member’s Bill of Severance. Or my proposal to decharter the UMCP so that they can be rechartered with a new director. You must pass one or the other.

“Unfortunately”—Cleatus sighed with false regret—“I think a Bill of Severance has just ceased to be an option.”

He was the Dragon’s First Executive Assistant. Even his enemies didn’t presume to treat him the way Hannish had been treated: interrupted and hectored at every turn. Only Len had dared insult him—and the weak little man clearly had no intention of doing so again. The votes who were dependent on the UMC hung on his every word, waiting for him to save them from their dilemma. Those who weren’t actively hostile gave him a chance to persuade them. And the rest didn’t risk offending him.

With nothing except Holt’s voice to distract him, Cleatus was allowed to speak for his master unimpeded.

“The whole point of such a bill,” he explained, “is that it preserves the present hierarchy, operations, and personnel of the UMCP. It shifts accountability from the UMC to the GCES. Everything else is maintained intact.

“In other words,” he stated heavily, “Warden Dios remains as director.”

He sighed again. “Well, you heard Ensign Hyland. She’s ‘concerned’ that Director Dios is being blackmailed. And I, for one, take her concerns seriously. I think she knows what she’s talking about.

“To be injected with a delayed-reaction mutagen would be a terrible thing. But it would be even more terrible to let a man in that condition keep his job.”

Good, Holt murmured. Don’t stop.

In case the sheep weren’t scared enough, Cleatus asked, “Do any of you think you could stand up to that kind of blackmail? Do you think Warden Dios can? For myself, I’m not sure.

“If you aren’t sure,” he asserted, “it would be inexcusable to let him stay on as director.”

Vertigus fluttered an arm like a drowning man; tried to inject a protest. The idiot refused to give up. Even Hannish had enough sense to hang her head; but Vertigus went on floundering.

Cleatus talked over him.

“Captain Vertigus wants to suggest an alternative. Perhaps an amendment to his Bill, stipulating that Min Donner assumes the position of UMCP director until the immediate crisis is past, and Warden Dios can go to a lab for some blood-work.” The look on Sixten’s face showed that Cleatus had guessed right. “I’m sorry, that isn’t good enough. Min Donner is aboard Punisher, a ship she doesn’t command. Her own life is in the hands of renegade cops who may or may not be telling us the truth about what they want.

“In fact,” he digressed, “we have reason to think they are not. I’ll get to that in a minute.”

Then he resumed, “My point is this. If she can’t control her own movements, or make her own decisions, she certainly can’t take charge of the UMCP.

“And who else is there?” Grimly he restrained his impulse to shout the sheep into flight. “Director Lebwohl? Do you want him to command our defense? No, I’m afraid a Bill of Severance is no longer a viable alternative.”

Argue with that, you silly bastards. I dare you.

Enough, Holt pronounced. They’re convinced. Unless they’re too stupid to live. Go on before you lose them.

Cleatus swore mutely at the voice in his ear; but he obeyed.

“On the other side”—visceral outrage gave his voice an edge he couldn’t suppress—“Director Hannish has raised some rather distressing objections to my proposal. She blames virtually every crime the cops have committed on Holt Fasner.

“For her part, Ensign Hyland doesn’t go quite so far. She only accuses Holt Fasner of wanting her dead so she can’t testify that Captain Thermopyle was framed—of wanting her dead so badly that he ordered Director Dios to give control over DA’s welded cyborg to Nick Succorso.

“I’ll respond to those charges.”

He paused to let his anger grow. If he couldn’t contain it, he might as well use it. Still he chose his words carefully.

“I think we’ll have to take Director Hannish’s facts as given. Ensign Hyland has confirmed a number of them. And since she’s safely sequestered aboard Punisher, we can’t examine her evidence. Because we have so little time left, we must assume that Director Hannish, at least, has told us the truth.”

As it appears to her, Holt prompted unnecessarily.

“As it appears to her,” Cleatus intoned.

“I’ve already talked about this. I don’t want to belabor the obvious. Everything Director Hannish has revealed was supplied by Director Dios—the man directly responsible for the crimes she reports. And she can’t prove any of her charges. They’re all based on inference and distrust.

“Do you believe her? As I said earlier, consider the source. Warden Dios betrayed Com-Mine Security, framed Angus Thermopyle, tricked you into passing the Preempt Act. He suppressed an effective antimutagen and maneuvered the Amnion into committing an act of war. And now he’s been caught. He’s stuck in a mess of his own making. So of course he wants to pin the blame on someone else. That’s his only hope.” The FEA’s tone hinted at bloodshed. “He knows he’ll be executed if he can’t convince you he was just following orders.

“What else do you expect from a man who’s capable of the crimes Warden Dios has committed?”

He paused, trying to give his question the force of an indictment. Then he went on, “It’s a fact Director Hannish can’t dispute that Warden Dios has refused to speak to Holt Fasner since this crisis began. And for almost twenty-four hours before that he kept himself incommunicado. He’s declined to explain himself or his actions to the one man in human space who could have held him accountable.”

Good, Holt murmured in approval. Good.

Since Holt was satisfied, Cleatus took the next step.

“Where Ensign Hyland is concerned, I’m not convinced she’s telling the truth.”

Now he did his best to sound rueful: the sorrow of a man who hated impugning Hyland after all she’d suffered, but whose responsibility to the Council left him no choice.

“Again consider the source.

“For one thing, she’s patently insane.” He ticked off indications at random. “She kept her zone implant control. She let the Amnion force-grow her baby. She broadcast Dr. Shaheed’s formula while Calm Horizons could hear it. She freed Thermopyle from his priority-codes. She took command of Punisher.

“Which she must have done at gunpoint,” he added. “Or by threatening them with those singularity grenades. I can’t imagine that Min Donner would have let it happen otherwise.”

Then he continued tallying the evidence against Morn Hyland. “In addition, she took it on herself to negotiate for our survival. And she sold her own son to keep herself alive.” That was enough. “It’s all madness. And this lunatic theory linking Holt Fasner with Nick Succorso proves it. After everything she’s done and endured, she’s plainly demented.”

Be careful, Holt warned. The votes feel sorry for her. Don’t give them a reason to react the wrong way.

“But that’s not all,” Cleatus said at once. “If it were, I wouldn’t mention it. Who am I to question her decisions after everything she’s been through? I have to ask, however”—he made a show of shouldering an unpleasant burden—“exactly what is her relationship with Angus Thermopyle?”

He had the satisfaction of seeing the Hannish bitch wince. The rest of his audience stared at him, rapt or dumbfounded.

“She concealed evidence that would have led to his execution by Com-Mine. She freed him from his priority-codes. And did you notice that her deal with Calm Horizons doesn’t include him?

“What’s going on here? Is this an example of the hostage syndrome, where women fall in love with the men who trap and abuse them? Since she admits the crime of keeping her zone implant control, how can we believe her when she says Thermopyle was framed? Her only evidence conveniently exists in the datacore of a ship which has already been dismantled.

“She’s a cop. She knew what she was doing. Like Warden Dios, she’s ruined if she can’t pin the blame on someone else.”

Damn it, Holt snapped, I told you to be careful!

Gritting his teeth, Cleatus forged ahead. “And isn’t it really Angus Thermopyle who’s in command of Punisher? That would make more sense. He has some strange power over Ensign Hyland. He has singularity grenades. And he has a reason—he might call it a good reason—to hold Punisher as well as Director Donner under duress. He’s a welded cyborg. He may be slime, but he’s had every vestige of choice and dignity stripped away from him. He must want revenge. He wouldn’t be human if he didn’t.

“Everything you just heard from Ensign Hyland—including her implausible ‘deal’ with Calm Horizons—could be Angus Thermopyle’s revenge. If he wants to destroy the UMCP for what they did to him, he could hardly hope for a better way to go about it.

“Why do you think the scan net is down? Do you really believe Min Donner ordered that? Do you believe it actually restricts what Calm Horizons can see without limiting the effectiveness of our ships? I don’t. I think the net is down because that suits what Captain Thermopyle has in mind.”

Nice recovery, Holt gibed. He sounded more cheerful. I’m convinced.

Just wait, Cleatus muttered into his pickup. I’m not done.

“But even that’s not all,” he told the votes. “There are two other points I want you to consider.

“According to Ensign Hyland, the Amnion had her in their hands twice. What if she’s lying about the effectiveness of this antimutagen? What if it didn’t come from DA, isn’t based on Shaheed’s research? What if the Amnion have already gotten what they wanted from Davies Hyland? What if the whole story is a fabrication?

“What if Morn Hyland is no longer human? What if this entire disaster is some incomprehensible Amnion plot to discredit the UMCP and Holt Fasner just when we need them most?”

Are you listening, bitch? he asked Hannish mutely. Do you think you have a monopoly on tainting people with unsubstantiated charges?

Shit, Cleat! Holt yelped. I warned you to be careful! You’ve gone too far. They don’t want to hear that!

He was right. Some of the sheep muttered protests. Manse mouthed, No, no, in shock and refusal. Burnish exchanged whispered objections with his aides and Carsin. Len shifted forward as if he meant to intervene. Just loudly enough to be heard, Silat observed, “This charade seems rather too elaborate and—if I may say so—too human to be attributed to the Amnion.”

Quickly Cleatus retreated a step. “It’s just speculation, of course,” he admitted with apparent candor. “It would explain a lot—but I really don’t have a scrap of evidence. Hell, I don’t have any way of knowing where Succorso got his antimutagen. Or how good it is. But if I were a Member of this Council,” he added sententiously, “I would want to take every possibility into account, no matter how farfetched it sounds.”

That mollified the votes somewhat. Manse and Len subsided. Silat inclined his head condescendingly. After a moment Burnish silenced himself like a man biting his tongue.

Behind her expressionless mask, Hannish’s face was pallid with misery. She seemed to think he’d already won.

He wasn’t sure. Hurrying to recover his momentum, he stated, “One more point, and I’ll sit down. I’ve saved this for last, but it may be more important than all the others.”

Some of the sheep groaned; but he ignored them.

“I said earlier we have reason to think Hyland may be lying. Actually, I’m sure she is.” Before Hannish or Vertigus could react, he asserted, “She hasn’t told us the truth about her deal with Calm Horizons.”

He hoped his audience would hear the words he didn’t say: And if she’s willing to lie about that, she could lie about anything.

“Obviously she’s under some kind of pressure,” he explained. “Otherwise why did she say, ‘I can’t afford any more time.’ At first we all thought she was referring to the deadline of the command module’s dock with Calm Horizons. But that’s still twenty-two minutes away,” according to his downlink, “and yet she couldn’t ‘afford any more time’ ten minutes ago.

“Why is she out of time? It doesn’t make sense. If she really made a deal—if the Amnion have agreed to let us live in exchange for Davies Hyland, Dr. Shaheed, and Trumpet—what’s left for her to do? What can she do?

“There’s only one explanation.” Abruptly he stiffened; let veiled outrage into his voice. “She has something planned. Something she doesn’t want us to know about. Something that will have a direct effect on the outcome of this crisis.

“It may be she intends to cheat Calm Horizons somehow,” he suggested bitterly. “Or it’s possible she’s actually agreed to give away a hell of a lot more than she admits. For all we know, we’ve been doomed without the decency of any forewarning. Or maybe we’ll have to live with an arrangement that’s too expensive for humankind to sustain.

“She’s crazy, remember. Whether you want to hear that or not, she’s crazy.

“Whatever happens,” he sneered, “it will happen because an abused ensign took it into her head to negotiate our survival on terms she isn’t willing to explain.”

All right, Cleat, Holt put in. You’ve made your point. Now let them vote. We can still pull this off.

Cleatus couldn’t stop. “Am I the only one,” he demanded harshly, “who can smell Angus Thermopyle’s reek in all this?”

Yet he had to stop. Holt was right: the time had come. If the bastards couldn’t make up their minds now, they were beyond hope. They deserved any terrible thing that happened to them.

But, God! Cleatus Fane did not want to share their fate.

Suddenly he felt as tired as Len looked. “Members,” he sighed, “I’ve answered your objections as well as I can. It’s up to you. The future of our species has to be decided now.”

Heavily he left the dais, returned to his seat. For a moment he had no idea where matters stood. Exhaustion filled him like defeat, and he couldn’t begin to estimate the mood of the Council. There must have been more he could have said; some better way to meet Holt’s demands; some sentence or argument that would have turned the fear of the sheep to his purposes. He simply couldn’t imagine what it might be. He’d done his best. Now he had to leave his personal terror in the hands of a gaggle of twits and cowards.

When he heard Len ask for a motion from the floor, however, and saw how the votes treated his proposal to recharter the UMCP, he knew that he would live.