Ten minutes later she floated before a console in the cache, orienting an inscape camera so that it showed the wealth of netted food bags and equipment behind her. The picture was lined up perfectly, but she still hesitated a long moment before pinging Crisler. Her head hurt and she had to talk to herself for a few minutes to get her voice to stop shaking.

When she called he responded instantly. "So," he said. "Where are you?"

"I know how it looks," she said, "and that can't be helped. But I'm not your bomber. In fact, I think I can help."

He arched an eyebrow disdainfully. "My life support blows out, you disappear and the next morning there you are in what looks like…" he peered past her, "a treasure trove. What should I think about it?"

"This is our local cache of supplies."

"Supplies? You never told us about any cache," he said.

"Why should I have?" she said, her face hot. "The Envy is my ship; it's under the jurisdiction of the halo worlds. You are visitors."

"And now that you no longer need us, you're sending us packing back to the R.E." He said with an angry nod. "I see."

"No, you don't," she said. "Why would we blow up your life support? We need it, too."

"Do you? Not according to what I see behind you. Plus which, how many other caches have you got stashed around the Envy?"

"Oh yeah," she said with a laugh. "We could have lifted thousands of tonnes of stuff out of Erythrion, right? Infinite amounts. Get real, admiral. We came out here the first time with two balloons full of stuff and we flew into Chandaka with one of them. Do the calculations yourself— it was the best we could do with the energy budget we had. Would you have brought all your material back down from near-c if you were me? And would you have told people that you'd left stuff there? Think about it."

"I've been thinking about it," he said darkly.

"Then you know it doesn't add up," she said. "Why would we blow up the Banshee's life support while most of us were aboard it, if we wanted to scuttle you and send you home? If that were the plan, all my crew would be aboard the cache with me."

"Bad timing?" he said.

"We'd have to be idiots to be even getting ready to do something like that right now— we just got here! If we were going to do it, we would have waited a week or two until we were thoroughly camped out somewhere, say in those rooms Mike found in the lake. And you know perfectly well that all I'm after here is proof that the Envy is going to return to Erythrion at the end of her cycle. We don't have that proof and I don't know how to get it— so we still need you and your scientific team."

"So why did you cut and run, then?"

"You were going to lock me up, weren't you?"

He met her eyes. "No, Rue. I gave you my word and I would have kept it. Do you distrust me that much?"

"I… I had to imagine the worst," she said. "If the saboteur's smart, he'd make it look like we did it. And while we were cooling our heels in your brig, you guys might have found the cache on your own and that would just clinch it then, wouldn't it?"

"So? You're still out there with it. But I have your crew."

Rue made a face and waved a hand at Crisler. "Oh, stop it. Like I said, you wouldn't have my crew if it really had been us who did this. Look, Admiral, nobody wants this mission to succeed more than me. My future depends on it. For that reason, I'm bringing the cache back. We can try to rebuild the life-support stacks with my supplies."

Crisler scowled. "In exchange for…?"

"Nothing! Don't you get it yet? This isn't a negotiation, Crisler. I'm giving you the cache. As a gesture of good faith and to prove that I'm not your bomber."

The admiral's scowl gradually subsided into a frown. "Okay," he said finally. "We might be able to get back on-line with the material you've got there. Then what? I still have a saboteur to deal with."

"It's somebody who doesn't want the expedition to succeed," she said. "Or somebody who desperately wants to get back to Chandaka with news about what we've found here. Which is more likely."

He nodded. "I'd been thinking along those lines myself. Your disappearance threw me— because you're right, it doesn't make sense that it was you. But…"

"What?"

He was scowling again. "We're still in danger. Look, Rue, I'll let your people out and meet you in the boardroom when you arrive. We've got to work out a strategy to deal with this— either find the saboteur or neutralize his effectiveness."

"I'd rather talk about everything in the open— everybody present, no secrets," she said.

He shrugged. "If you want."

"Okay. The cache is pretty unwieldy. I'll be a day or two in getting there."

"We'll send some sleds on ahead to get the critical gear," he said. "Otherwise, we're going to run out of air before you get here."

"All right. Are we done?"

"Yes. And Rue… I'm sorry for my presumption of guilt on your part. Thanks."

"You're welcome." She cut the connection, and felt herself slump in relief. She hadn't been crazy to act this way; that was something to remember.

So was the fact that Crisler could be dealt with. Humming, Rue turned to the task of reviving the rest of the cache's systems.

MICHAEL HAD WATCHED as Crisler talked to someone through inscape, but he couldn't hear the dialogue or see the other person. That damnable military inscape was clouding his senses again. Finally Crisler's lips finished moving, he turned, and Michael found he could hear again.

"I suppose you know why you are here?" said Crisler. He had an expression of distaste on his face, as though Michael's mere presence offended him.

"Yes, I've written up a full report about my discovery in Lake Flaccid—"

"That's not what I mean." Crisler smiled grimly, and Michael felt his confidence evaporate. He had just spent the last few hours locked up with Rue's crew— with no explanations or apologies from the marines who guarded them. He had assumed some kind of overall quarantine was in effect.

There were other reasons why Crisler might take an interest in him, though.

The admiral was waiting. Michael cleared his throat. "Are you presuming some… involvement on my part in this explosion?"

"Bombing," said Crisler. "It was a bombing. We found traces of a chemical explosive."

"But why assume one of our people? I hate to say it, but the halo-worlders have the best reason for wanting us gone—"

Crisler shook his head. "The explosive was tagged."

"Tagged? What do you mean?"

"Everything's tagged," said Crisler. "From tables to starships. The tags are molecular-scale. It's impossible to get them out of a manufactured object without destroying that object. This bomb had tags, ergo it came from the R.E. and not the halo."

"The rebels."

"A rebel." Crisler leaned over his desk. "Maybe this rebel."

Michael's past was far behind him, but he still shifted uncomfortably under Crisler's gaze. "I had a brief flirtation with the rebels when I was a kid," he said. "So did a lot of people."

"Maybe. But you have also maintained illegal religious activities ever since." Michael must have reacted, because Crisler laughed. "Yes, we knew about your NeoShinto activities all along. Tolerated them, because you were useful. But you must admit it looks bad for you: a known connection with the rebels; current membership in a secret order that seeks to undermine the R.E. through religious proselytizing."

Michael's defensiveness gave way to anger. "I'm just continuing an old tradition, a tradition of my homeworld. A tradition your people destroyed."

"My people? Interesting turn of phrase." Crisler sat back, steepling his hands. "Of course, I don't have any proof it was you. Just supposition. But one slip-up this far into deep space, and we're all dead. So I can't afford to take any chances."