“I don’t think so.”

“Do you have some independent corroboration for your opinion? Agents on site, or anything of the sort?”

The Baron’s lips twisted. “Really, Admiral, I cannot say.”

Naturally not. He rubbed his face, a Naismith-thoughtful gesture. “Can you say anything specific about what the Bharaputrans are doing?”

“They are in fact turning their medical complex inside out right now. All the employees, and all the security forces they brought in to contain your raid, have been engaged in the search.”

“Could it be an elaborate charade, to mislead us?”

The Baron paused. “No,” he said flatly at last. “They’re really scrambling. On all levels. Are you aware …” he took a decisive breath, “of what your kidnapping of Baron Bharaputra, if it should prove more than a brief interlude, could do to the balance of power among the Great Houses of Jackson’s Whole?”

“No, what?”

The Baron’s chin went up, and he checked Mark sharply for signs of sarcasm. The vertical lines between his eyes deepened, but he answered seriously. “You should realize, the value of your hostage may go down with time. No power-vacuum at the top of a Great House, or even a House Minor, can last long. There are always factions of younger men waiting, perhaps in secret, to rush in and fill it. Even supposing Lotus manages to get Vasa Luigi’s chief loyalist lieutenant to fill and retain his place—as time goes on, it can only dawn on him that the return of his master will involve demotion as well as reward. Think of a Great House as the hydra of mythology. Chop off its head, and seven more arise on the stump of neck—and begin biting each other. Eventually, only one will survive. In the meantime, the House is weakened, and all its old alliances and deals are thrown into doubt. The turmoil expands in a widening ring to associate Houses … such abrupt changes are not welcomed, here. Not by anyone.” Least of all by Baron Fell himself, Mark gathered.

“Except maybe by your younger colleagues,” Mark suggested.

A wave of Fell’s hand dismissed the concerns of his younger colleagues. If they wanted power, the wave implied, let them plot and scramble and kill for it as he had.

“Well, I have no desire to keep Baron Bharaputra till he grows old and moldy,” said Mark. “I have no personal use for him at all, out of this context. Please urge House Bharaputra to speed in finding my brother, eh?”

“They need no urging.” Fell regarded him coldly. “Be aware, Admiral, if this … situation is not brought to a satisfactory conclusion quickly, Fell Station will not be able to harbor you.”

“Uh … define quickly.”

“Very soon. Within another day-cycle.”

Fell Station surely had enough force to evict the two small Dendarii ships whenever it willed. Or worse than evict. “Understood. Uh … what about unimpeded passage out at Jumppoint Five?” If things did not go well …

“That … you may have to deal for separately.”

“Deal how?”

“If you still had your hostage … I would not desire that you carry Vasa Luigi out of Jacksonian local space. And I am positioned to see that you do not.”

Quinn’s fist slammed down beside the vid plate. “No!” she cried. “No way! Baron Bharaputra is the only card we have to get my, get the cryo-chamber back. We will not give him up!”

Fell recoiled slightly. “Captain!” he reproved.

“We will take him with us if we’re forced out,” Quinn threatened, “and you can all hang out to dry. Or he can walk back from Jumppoint Five without a pressure suit. If we don’t get that cryo-chamber—well, we have better allies than you. And with fewer inhibitions. They won’t care about your profits, or your deals, or your balances. The only question they’ll be asking is whether to start at the north pole, and burn down, or at the south pole, and burn up!”

Fell grimaced angrily. “Don’t be absurd, Captain Quinn. You speak of a planetary force.”

Quinn leaned into the vid pick-up and snarled, “Baron, I speak of a multi-planetary force!”

Bothari-Jesek, startled, made an urgent throat-slicing gesture across her neck, Cut it, Quinn!

Fell’s eyes went hard and bright as glass glints. “You’re bluffing,” he said at last.

“I am not. You’d best believe I am not!”

“No one would do all that for one man. Still less for one corpse.”

Quinn hesitated. Mark’s hand closed on hers upon his shoulder and squeezed hard to say, Control yourself, dammit. She was on the verge of giving away what she’d practically threatened him with death not to reveal. “You may be right, Baron,” she said finally. “You’d better pray you’re right.”

After a long moment of silence, Fell inquired mildly, “And just who is this uninhibited ally of yours, Admiral?”

After an equally long pause, Mark looked up and said sweetly, “Captain Quinn was bluffing, Baron.”

Fell’s lips drew back on an extremely dry smile. “All Betans are liars,” he said softly. His hand moved to cut the comm; his image faded in the usual haze of sparkles. This time it was his cold smile that seemed to linger, bodiless.

“Good job, Quinn,” Mark snarled into the silence. “You’ve just let Baron Fell know how much he could really get for that cryo-chamber. And maybe even who from. Now we have two enemies.”

Quinn was breathing hard, as though she’d been running. “He’s not our enemy; he’s not our friend. Fell serves Fell. Remember that, ’cause he will.”

“But was Fell lying, or was he merely passing on House Bharaputra’s lies?” Bothari-Jesek asked slowly. “What independent line of profit could Fell possibly have on all this?”

“Or are they both lying?” said Quinn.

“What if neither of them are?” asked Mark in irritation. “Have you thought of that? Remember what Norwood—”

A comm beeper interrupted him. Quinn leaned on her hands on the comconsole to listen.

“Quinn, this is Bel. That contact I found agrees to meet us at the Ariel’s docking bay. If you want to be in on the interrogation, you need to pod over now.”

“Yes, right, I’ll be there, Quinn out.” She turned, haggard, and started for the door. “Elena, see that he,” a jerk of her thumb, “is confined to quarters.”

“Yeah, well, after you talk with whatever Bel dragged in, get yourself some rest, huh, Quinnie? You’re unstrung. You almost lost it back there.”

Quinn’s ambiguous parting wave acknowledged the truth of this, without making any promises. As Quinn exited, Bothari-Jesek turned to her station console, to order up a personnel pod to be ready for Quinn by the time she arrived at the hatch.

Mark rose and wandered around the tactics room, his hands thrust carefully into his pockets. A dozen real-time and holo-schematic display consoles sat dark and still; communication and encoding systems lay silent. He pictured the tactics nerve center fully staffed, alive and bright and chaotic, heading into battle. He imagined enemy fire peeling the ship open like a meal tray, all that life smashed and burned and spilled into the hard radiation and vacuum of space. Fire from House Fell’s station at Jumppoint Five, say, as the Peregrine fought for escape. He shuddered, nauseated.

He paused before the sealed door to the briefing chamber. Bothari-Jesek was now engaged in some other communication, some decision having to do with the security of their Fell Station moorings. Curious, he laid his palm upon the lock-pad. Somewhat to his surprise, the door slid demurely open. Somebody had some re-programming to do, if all top-secured Dendarii facilities were keyed to admit a dead man’s palm print. A lot of re-programming—Miles doubtless had it fixed so he could just waft right through anywhere in the fleet. That would be his style.

Bothari-Jesek glanced up, but said nothing. Taking that as tacit permission, Mark walked into the briefing room, and circled the table. Lights came up for him as he paced. Thorne’s words, spoken here, echoed in his head. Norwood said, The Admiral will get out of here even if we don’t. How carefully had the Dendarii examined their recordings of the drop mission? Surely someone had been over them all several times by now. What could he possibly see that they hadn’t? They knew their people, their equipment. But I know the medical complex. I know Jackson’s Whole.