"Only so I could tell you what I thought of you before I left." Chandris got to her feet, grabbing for the table as her head suddenly went foggy. "Let me alone!" she snapped, jerking back as Hanan reached out a hand. "I don't need your help—I don't need anybody's help." She started around the table, cursing as she banged her knee on the edge of the chair.

"Where are you going?" Ornina asked.

"Where do you think I'm going?" Chandris retorted. "Thanks for everything. Don't bother writing me a reference."

Ornina raised her eyebrows slightly. "The mood you're in, I don't suppose you care, but out here in the real world it's considered proper etiquette to give at least a week's notice before quitting a job."

"Funny woman," Chandris snarled. "Leave the jokes to Hanan—he does a better job with them."

"I'm not joking," Ornina said, taking a short step sideways to block the doorway. "If you really want to leave, of course you're free to go. But I want to hear it from you first."

Chandris stared at her. Was she actually saying...? "Are you people completely crazy? I just tried to steal your angel."

"But you didn't," Ornina pointed out. "That's the important part."

"No, it isn't," Chandris shot back. "Maybe I just figured I couldn't sell it. Next time I'll know enough to take something else. I'm a thief, damn it."

"No," Hanan said from behind her. "You're a cat."

She spun around, almost losing her balance again. "What?"

"You're a cat," he repeated. "Ever see a cat kill a mouse? A pet cat, I mean, not a wild one."

She frowned at him, the sheer unexpectedness of it sidetracking her anger. It was the setup to a joke, probably, and she wasn't in any mood to listen to Hanan's jokes. But he looked so serious...

What the hell. "I saw a cat take out a small rat once," she told him. "There were a lot more rats than mice in the Barrio."

He nodded. "So he killed it. Did he eat it?"

She had to think back. "No. He stalked it and killed it, but then he just walked away."

"That's because he wasn't hungry," Hanan said. "Cats behave like that. A hungry cat will locate some prey, stalk it, capture it, kill it, and eat it. If he's not really hungry enough to eat, he'll still stalk and capture and maybe even kill. But if he's not hungry at all—" he waggled a finger at her for emphasis—"he'll still stalk and capture, but then let it go without hurting it."

She eyed him. Even with three and a half bottles of sherry inside her it was obvious where he was going with this. "And that's supposed to be why I brought it back?"

Hanan shrugged. "It's an interesting system," he said, as if she hadn't spoken. "Hunting and stalking take up a lot of time. If the cat starts the routine before he's really hungry, chances are that by the time he is hungry he'll have caught himself some dinner."

Chandris gritted her teeth, feeling her resolve slipping away. "I'm not a cat."

"No," Ornina agreed softly. "You're a little girl. And I'd say you've been hungry a long time."

Her vision was beginning to swim; angrily, Chandris clenched her throat against the tears. She would not cry. No matter what, she would not cry. "I can't stay here," she said harshly. "There's a man looking for me. A crazy man, getting crazier all the time. If he finds me here, he'll kill all of us."

Hanan and Ornina looked at each other, communicating in that wordless way of theirs. Chandris held her breath, wondering what they would decide. Wondering what she hoped they'd decide.

"Considering the circumstances," Hanan said suddenly, "I'd say we've got a case here of a subconscious being smarter than the person it's attached to."

Chandris blinked. "What does that mean?"

"I thought that was obvious," he said, still straight-faced but with that twinkle back in his eye. "You wanted to steal our angel and run; but your subconscious knew you'd be safer if you stayed here with us."

"Your friend will expect you to keep running," Ornina added. "Or else to hide out with other thieves and con artists." She raised her eyebrows. "Admit it: this is the absolute last place in the Empyrean he would ever think to look."

"You mean...?" She swallowed, unable to finish the question.

"We mean," Hanan said, "that since we can always use a little extra intelligence around here—" he paused dramatically—"your subconscious is hereby invited to stay aboard." He shrugged. "And it can bring the rest of you along if it wants to."

"You're too generous." Chandris's voice broke on the last word, and once again she had to fight back the tears.

"I'm like that," he said with a flippant wave of his hand. But the flippancy was an act—she could see that in his eyes. A feeble attempt to shunt away some of the emotion charging the room.

"Are you going to stay?" Ornina asked.

Chandris took a deep breath. "I suppose I have to," she said, trying to match Hanan's tone. "Without me here, sooner or later someone's going to steal this ship right out from under you."

"Great," Hanan said cheerfully. "Just what I've always wanted: our very own guardian angel."

Ornina threw him that look of hers. "Hanan—"

"So, that's settled," he said, ignoring the warning. "Now. Can we eat?"

Ornina rolled her eyes. "Of course. You feel up to helping, Chandris, or would you rather go lie down for a bit?"

"I can help," Chandris said. Grabbing the table for stability, she headed for the pantry.

There would, she knew, be a lot of stuff to sort out later, after the haze of the sherry wore off. Things about the decision she'd just made, and how she felt about it. But for now, there was one thing that stood out clearly.

For the first time in her life, she actually felt safe.

The cocoon had been drifting through Lorelei system for over a month. Gathering data on the net fields, integrating it, correlating it, storing it, hypothesizing about it.

And now, at last, it was ready.

The vast computer system understood the net fields. They were, as its programmers had suspected, a straightforward if imaginative inversion of basic hyperspace catapult theory.

And with the theory understood, the technology involved was a fairly trivial extrapolation. Deep within the false asteroid, the fabricators came to life.

Quietly, stealthily, they began to build.

The report flowing across the display came to an end. Not, to Forsythe's mind, a particularly satisfying end. "And that," he said, looking up, "is six weeks worth of work?"

Pirbazari held out his hands. "I'm sorry, sir; I know it's not very impressive. But all this stuff has to go through as extra mining equipment, and there are only so many boring lasers and orbit-shift explosives you can order at once. Not without raising some eyebrows."

"I know." Forsythe hissed between clenched teeth. "The problem is that time isn't exactly on our side here."

"We're doing the best we can, sir."

"I know that, too," Forsythe assured him, managing an encouraging smile. He'd learned long ago that it was counterproductive to take out his frustrations on people who weren't responsible for creating them. "What about the Ardanalle tracking systems?"

"There we do have some good news," Pirbazari said, reaching over the desk to tap keys on Forsythe's board. "It turns out that almost fifty percent of Lorelei's mining ships are running with outmoded trackers. We've gotten an order through for a whole bunch of Arda 601's, and they'll be upgrading the mining ships as they bring in loads."

"Good," Forsythe nodded. "How much modification will it take to give them target acquisition capabilities?"

"None, really—that's why I specified 601's. Of course, the miners themselves will have to be taught how to use them." Pirbazari hesitated. "I'm sure you realize, though, that if the Komitadji gets in through the net blockade, this whole exercise becomes academic. We could arm every ship in Lorelei system—miners, transports, and liners—and together they still wouldn't have a chance against it."