"No."

Major General Hampstead touches Vice Admiral Omohundro on the shoulder with the fingertips of his right hand and whispers into his ear. After two short sentences Brigadier Yost leans toward them to listen. I attempt to listen, but the terminal's auditory sensors are inadequate to the task. I reexamine my Peacekeeper military legal code listing, attempting to extrapolate their conversation. From my expression algorithms and a tone/inference examination of the trial transcript, I calculate a probability of 0.87 that the three judges do not in fact wish to find Aric and the Copperheads guilty. This is also consistent with several conversations that took place both before and after Commander Cavanagh's rescue, in which the participants of the rescue mission speculated that Peacekeeper Command would find it politically difficult to prosecute them should the mission be successful.

Security Chief Quinn stands up. The three officers cease their whispered conversation and look at him. I examine Quinn's expression, deduce an emotional mix centered upon grim amusement. "If I may beg a moment of the court's time, Admiral Omohundro?"

Vice Admiral Omohundro looks briefly at the terminal lens. Expression analysis indicates wariness. "Thank you for your testimony and corrections, Max. If we need anything more, we'll contact you."

He reaches for a switch on the table. "You may speak, Commander Quinn."

"Sir, it seems obvious to me—"

The visual and auditory linkages are broken as the data-feed line is disconnected. With Vice Admiral Omohundro's dismissal my part in the proceedings is over.

But I am curious. Security Chief Quinn's expression and verbal tone indicated a high degree of importance to what he is about to say. Furthermore, when Lord Cavanagh had me installed aboard the fueler, he ordered me to protect his son Aric to the fullest of my capabilities. That order has not been rescinded; and without information I cannot reasonably expect to fulfill it.

The far end of the linkage is broken, but the fluctuations of the disconnect transient are still flickering. Through the noise I search along the linkage to the misaligned contact point I identified earlier. The bleed-through ratio is approximately 0.84 percent; small, but adequate for my purposes. Boosting my signal, I jump a command across the contact onto a new linkage. The command tracks to a control node, which is still aligned to accept my presence within the system. My command is noted and executed, and the original data feed is reconnected.

"—that Peacekeeper Command can hardly afford the luxury of taking eight Copperheads out of their fighters and locking them away somewhere. Furthermore, I'm sure the three of you have more urgent matters to attend to than to preside over full-blown court-martial proceedings."

Vice Admiral Omohundro's expression goes through four subtle but recognizable emotional changes as Security Chief Quinn speaks. The final expression appears to conform most closely to cautious anticipation. "And yet such a court-martial is clearly called for, Mr. Quinn. Even in time of war, command discipline must be maintained."

"Agreed, sir. On the other hand, you must also consider troop morale. And, after all, we did succeed in bringing Commander Cavanagh back."

Vice Admiral Omohundro looks over at Commander Cavanagh. There is no longer any doubt: his expression is one of anticipation. "If you have a point to make, please get to it."

Quinn's face changes subtly. I match the expression with suppressed anxiety. "It's been suggested to me, sir, that the Peacekeepers might appreciate regaining my services as a Copperhead pilot. I realize that in the current military situation you could probably order me to serve; I'd like to suggest that if the charges against Commander Masefield and his unit are dropped, no such formalities will be necessary. I will resign from my position at CavTronics Industries and voluntarily rejoin the Copperheads."

There is a distinct flicker in four of the polished metalwork surfaces within my line of sight. I examine the reflections and deduce that one of the still as-yet-unseen observers has crossed his arms across his chest. Further examination is inconclusive, but I estimate a probability of 0.60 that his expression has also changed.

Vice Admiral Omohundro looks in that direction, his expression also changing. "You have a comment to make, Parlimin VanDiver?"

I have a name now, and I take 0.01 second to locate and study the appropriate file. Jacy VanDiver, fifty-five, from Grampians on Avon; appointed a member of the NorCoord Parliament in 2297. The file notes several acrimonious contacts between Parlimin VanDiver and Lord Cavanagh over the past fifteen years, involving both business and political matters. Another curious fact catches my attention: Parlimin VanDiver was also under consideration for a seat in the NorCoord Parliament in 2291 and 2294. In both instances Governor Fletcher of Grampians on Avon appointed Lord Cavanagh instead.

"Not at the moment, Admiral." Parlimin VanDiver's voice is rich and deep. Without a baseline reading I cannot perform a complete stress/emotion analysis. "Perhaps later."

Vice Admiral Omohundro continues to look at Parlimin VanDiver for another 0.63 second, then returns his attention to Security Chief Quinn. "Very well, Mr. Quinn. As head of this hearing board, I hereby accept your offer. You are hereby reinstated as a lieutenant in the Copperheads and will report to Sector Commander Copperheads immediately for duty assignment."

Vice Admiral Omohundro picks up a gavel lying beside his right hand and raises it to a height of 16.5 centimeters above the table. "This hearing is adjourned."

The gavel came down sharply on the table, and Pheylan Cavanagh breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

It was over.

"There we go," Admiral Rudzinski murmured from beside him as they stood up. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Pheylan smiled lopsidedly. "No, sir. Hardly even worth coming in for."

The admiral smiled wryly in return, then sobered. "You realize, of course, that this is hardly a triumph for any of them. They've escaped prison sentences so that they can be sent to the front lines of a war."

"That's where they should be, sir," Pheylan reminded him quietly. "We're Peacekeepers. That's our job."

And then Aric was there in front of him, trying hard not to grin and not succeeding all that well. "Well, that's over," he said, holding out a hand. "Thanks, Pheylan, for testifying for us."

Pheylan brushed past the outstretched hand and enveloped his older brother in a brief bear hug. "I think most of the debt is still on my side of the ledger," he reminded Aric as he stepped back again. "What are you going to do now?"

Aric grimaced. "I'm going to get the fueler released from impoundment and try to track Father down."

"Still no word from him?" Pheylan asked.

"No," Aric said. "I finally got a chance to talk to Captain Teva, though. It turns out Dad deliberately ordered him and the Cavatina away from Mra-mig about two and a half weeks ago."

"Yes, I heard he'd been on Mra-mig," Rudzinski said. "What was he doing there?"

"Looking for information about the Zhirrzh that might help us find Pheylan," Aric told him. "That 'Conquerors Without Reason' title we've been using apparently originated from some Mrach legend."

"Did he find anything?" Rudzinski asked.

"Apparently not," Aric said. "At least that was the message he sent to Dorcas with the Cavatina. After that, near as I can tell, he just dropped off the edge of the universe."

A breath of air brushed the back of Pheylan's neck, and he turned to find a burly, middle-aged man standing off to the side, listening silently to the conversation. "May we help you, sir?" he asked the man.