"Yes, Sir."

"Tell your relief to keep the officer of the watch appraised."

"Yes, Sir."

Carlie was back in her quarters, taking a breather before going to check on her middies, when a call was relayed to her.

"Restricted channel from the surface," the com officer, Midshipman Kareem Jones reported crisply.

"Very good. I'll take it here."

A face Carlie remembered forgetting after one of Captain Boniece's dinners formed on the screen.

"Lieutenant Dunsinane, John Hill," the face said. "I'm with the embassy here. I'd like you to request the return of Mr. Midshipman Winton to Intransigent."

All Carlie's old doubts about Michael Winton came flooding back.

"Has he done something wrong?"

"He has done nothing, but I suspect that a situation is developing where it may not be best for Mr. Winton's continued welfare that he remain planetside."

Carlie had seen tabletops with more expression than Hill was showing, but there was an intensity in his gaze that made a lie of all the stiff neutrality.

"Situation?"

"I don't dare say more," Hill replied. "I only request that as the officer directly responsible for Intransigent's midshipmen you be prepared to say that he is returning on your order."

A crackle of static wavered across the connection, and Carlie knew she didn't have time to ask more questions.

"I'll send the order," she agreed. "He is due on board fourth watch anyhow."

"Th . . ."

John Hill's thanks, if thanks they were, were cut off. A moment later Midshipman Jones' voice came on, apologetic.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. The call was interrupted at the surface. Would you like us to try and reestablish it from here?"

"No, Mr. Jones, that won't be necessary. Send a message to Captain Boniece asking him to call me at his first convenience."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Boniece returned her call almost before Carlie could finish mentally framing her report.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

Carlie explained about John Hill's mysterious call, finishing by saying, "So I agreed, Sir. I hope that was the right thing to do."

"Sounds to me like Mr. Hill wanted an excuse to get Mr. Winton—or perhaps it would be wiser to say Crown Prince Michael in this case—off the surface without creating a diplomatic incident. He didn't say anything about removing the rest of the diplomatic contingent, did he?"

"No, Sir. We were cut off, but I had no indication he was about to ask anything of the sort. His concern seemed solely for Mr. Winton."

"Interesting."

The captain bit into his lower lip for a moment.

"Sounds like Mr. Hill was apprehensive about a situation wherein either Prince Michael or Mr. Midshipman Winton would be facing a risk that the rest of the diplomatic contingent would not. Very strange."

"Do you think it's just a matter of his relationship to the Queen?" Carlie asked hesitantly.

"It could be, or it could be that Mr. Hill senses a situation developing where an officer in the Queen's service might be more vulnerable than a civilian diplomat."

"My apologies, Sir, but you're talking in riddles."

"Riddles are all Mr. Hill has left us with. Keep yourself available, Lieutenant. You may be needed."

"Yes, Sir."

The captain closed the connection almost as abruptly as had Mr. Hill. No longer in the least bit tired, Carlie straightened her tunic and went to review her other middies, vaguely seeking reassurance that they, at least, were out of danger.

On Aaron's Rod Judith felt the sudden clarity that comes with having made an irrevocable decision. She should have felt it when she cut her hair or when she donned men's clothing or when she took Flower from the planet's surface, but it wasn't until she sat here, nothing but the star-filled emptiness of space in front of her that she felt the last of the chains that had held her on Masada snap and leave her free.

"I'm plotting us the most direct course to hyper limit," she said crisply. "Odelia, let me know if anything new comes from the surface. Sherlyn, keep an eye out for anything moving on an intercept course."

An odd thought occurred to her.

"Connect me to Rena."

"Damage Control here."

"Rena. Has anyone taken a good look at the shuttle on which the smugglers came aboard?"

"I did, actually. My team seemed best equipped to inspect it."

"Where did it originate?"

"It's registered to a Silesian ship, the Firebird."

Sherlyn volunteered, "Firebird is here in system, Judith."

Judith nodded her thanks and continued, "How's it set in the hold?"

"Facing out toward the doors. I guess they turned it around somehow."

"Good. How confident do you feel about checking its piloting programs?"

"Pretty good. But, Moses, it's unarmed and unarmored. I don't think it will do as an escape vehicle."

"Good to know. Get acquainted with its piloting program. I may have something for you to put into it."

"Yes, Moses."

At least Masadan women are good at taking orders, Judith thought with a faint trace of humor.

Dinah had glanced over at her, but the older woman said nothing and when Judith volunteered nothing of her thoughts, returned to checking the weaponry boards.

Odelia broke the quiet that had settled over the bridge.

"Moses, surface is now insisting we return to orbit."

Judith nodded.

"Odelia, I don't think we can fool them for long, but let's mess up the works. Tell them you're Sam . . . Tell them we're taking the ship out on Ephraim's orders. That should at least slow them down long enough to talk with him."

Odelia nodded, the skin around her eyes tight with worry. Judith heard her query the computer for Sam's identification codes and instruct it to configure her voice mask to match his range.

Good. Thinking for herself. I suspect we're going to need a lot of that if we're going to get out of here alive. 

That diversion bought them enough time that the planet had visibly receded, but at last the call came as Judith had known it would.

"They say they've spoken with Elder Templeton and that he has no idea what they're talking about. They sound really angry."

"Let them be angry," Judith said. "The more angry they are, the less energy they'll have for clear thought. Any sign of pursuit?"

"Several drives have gone active," Sherlyn reported, "including the Firebird's. The only thing moving toward us are a couple of light attack craft."

"We're better armed than any of those," Dinah reported.

Judith knew that the Faithful's dedication to building a navy had not extended to extensive in-system defense. Simply put, the Graysons didn't want war, dedicating their energies to protecting their own system. The Faithful, on the other hand, had specifically designed their navy to take Yeltsin's Star back, and each LAC cut into offensive tonnage. They'd built just enough LACs to keep their system from being a sitting duck while the rest of the fleet was away, and those ships were widely spread out. Nor were they likely to fire on a ship belonging to a prominent citizen.

"Good, Dinah," she said. "We may need to remind them of that. How do we look for offensive capacity?"

"Full-up," Dinah reported crisply. "Jessica reports that the magazines are well-stocked and that her crews have the tubes ready for loading. The energy mounts are powered up and ready. Point defense is standing by."

"As I recall specs for the LACs," Judith mused. "They're pretty much limited to one salvo each from their box launchers and a single spinal laser, right?"

"Right," Dinah confirmed.

"Well, we won't throw away missiles unless absolutely necessary, and we have the range on them."