It took several hours for the Mercury to kill its velocity and park itself in a close orbit above the little moon. It could have been done in less time with a high-G burn, but that would have attracted even more attention than their current activities. Erik considered using the time to have his long-delayed lunch, but decided that testing his stomach under the current erratic acceleration wouldn’t be a good idea, even with anti-space-sickness pills.

Instead, he nibbled a few crackers, and caught a nap in a hammock someone had hung in an equipment room behind the bridge. It was the sleeping-bag type, with a zip-up cover to keep the occupant from floating out in zero-G, or being thrown out by the maneuvering thrusters. As a MechWarrior, he prided himself on his ability to sleep anywhere, but he still woke several times after dreams of falling.

The captain didn’t wake him until they’d already dispatched an S7A Bus to the surface. Though Erik protested that he would have preferred to go along, the captain wasn’t having any of it. “No offense, Commander, but working in microgravity like this is a lot harder than it looks. You could almost jump into orbit, but if you found a crevasse, you could still fall far enough to kill yourself. My guys have been doing this half their lives, so you’d only slow them down.”

They returned to the bridge to supervise the mission. “The distress call is just automatic now. There are actually two fighters down there. Our instruments show one of them as registering a temperature of about 120 degrees below zero. It’s dead, and so is whoever was inside. We’re showing residue of reactor plasma and life-support gases that probably vented from one or both vehicles. There’s another one plowed in next to it, but we’re getting energy readings that tell us it has a barely functioning reactor. Of course, that just may mean we’ll find a warm corpse instead of a frozen one.”

These weren’t just lost ships that were hiding. They’d obviously taken severe battle damage, and had barely made it away from the planet. “Well,” said Erik, “looks like the Shensi did manage to get a few licks in, even if I didn’t see it.”

There was a crackle from the radio. “Captain, Brinks here. We’ve got one survivor, but he’s unconscious and in bad shape. I think a missile peeled most of his radiation shielding off, and solar flare activity is high right now. Poor bastards were limping back to their ship while the flare was cooking them from the inside out. They must have tried to land here and use the moon as a radiation shelter, but by then it was too late.”

The captain looked a little pale. Radiation: one of a spacer’s greatest enemies. “Get him back as soon as you can, Brinks. You know the drill.”

“Yes, sir. Strip the ships of any intelligence materials, pull the computer cores for analysis, plant a thermal charge and melt the rest to slag.” There was a pause. “And sir?”

“Yes, Brinks.”

“Should we bring back the other body?”

She glanced at Erik. Then her jaw clenched and she shook her head. “Burn it.”

As soon as the shuttle was aboard and secure, the Mercury went to a one-G thrust. Not only did it get them away from the prying eyes of the Shensi, it made handling the survivor easier.

The Mercury was a large ship, but nominally had a crew of only twelve. She had a well-equipped infirmary, but no doctor. Sergeant Brinks had the most medical training of anyone aboard, but the survivor, if he could properly be called that, needed far better care.

Erik and Captain Yung stood outside the plastic bubble that had been inflated around the pilot’s bed. A drip IV depended on the reliability of a planet’s gravity; therefore, Brinks hooked the patient up to a number of electronic IV pumps. The man’s eyes were clouded white, his gums bled profusely, and his skin was turning a mulberry color. Exposure to heavy radiation was a horrible way to die.

Brinks emerged through a simple airlock that closed with zippers. He was wearing a full surgical garment and mask. His face was gray. This was every spacer’s nightmare, and he was getting to see it closer than anyone. “I’ve done what I could. I’m pumping him full of the antiradiation cocktail they supply us with, and loads of painkillers, but he’s way beyond my help.”

Yung looked at Erik. “We could turn back to Shensi.”

Brinks shook his head. “No point. He’ll be dead before we get there. We might make it to the jump point, and possibly one of the ships there has a real doctor. But—” He shook his head again.

Erik looked at the man in the bubble. “Can he talk?”

“He’s in and out of consciousness. Keeps talking about Sergi. I think that’s the pilot of the other fighter. Maybe his wingman.”

“I want to talk to him.”

Brinks shrugged. “Put on a mask and gloves. He’s got no immune system left to speak of—not that I think he’ll live long enough for infection to be an issue. And don’t expect much.”

The captain patted the sergeant’s shoulder. “If there’s nothing else you can do here, take a break.” She turned back to Erik. “Commander, I’ve got my engineer poking around those computer cores we salvaged. The radiation didn’t do them any good, either, but he thinks he can extract some data. I’m going to go see how he’s doing.” She looked into the bubble and shuddered. It was obvious that she had her own reasons for leaving.

Erik nodded. “I’ll stay here till Brinks comes back. I’ll call for help if I need it.”

Reluctantly he put on the mask and gloves, and zipped himself inside the bubble. The air had the nasty smell of stale vomit and decay. If the man wasn’t a corpse already, he was starting to smell like one. His cracked lips were moving, like he was trying to talk, but he made no sound other than his raspy breathing.

Erik glanced at the IV pumps. The drug canister on one apparently was the all-purpose antiradiation cocktail Brinks had mentioned. The other was Morpidine, a powerful painkiller that was in every combat medical kit. Every soldier knew about it. It was the stuff you administered to comfort the dying, or, through overdose, to end their suffering. There were dozens of oft-circulated jokes about Morpidine, and yet the sight of the stuff made anyone in uniform squirm.

Erik forced himself to lean closer to the doomed pilot. “Can you hear me?”

The man flinched, his blind eyes turned toward Erik’s voice. “Who? Sergi?”

“My name is Erik Sandoval.”

To Erik’s surprise, the man managed a little smile. “Sandoval. I told Sergi you would come. Help us.” He swallowed. “Didn’t believe me. Told him.”

Erik frowned. “Why did you think the Sandovals would help you?”

He smiled, showing his blood-reddened teeth, and Erik averted his eyes. “Wasn’t supposed to know. Lady, hired us to attack. Didn’t say who she worked for, but I knew. Lady…” He seemed to lose focus. He coughed wetly.

“What lady?”

“I—used to be Republic—army. Guarded Duke Sandoval once at—meeting. This lady was with him—all the time. Pretty—Hired us—Told Sergi was Sandoval hired us—Didn’t believe—”

Erik straightened. His gut knotted. Could it be true? The man had no reason to lie, and his description, crude though it was, fit Deena Onan. He remembered their encounter as they’d met at the Tyrannos Rex vehicle bay, and now it all seemed clear. He didn’t know whose betrayal stung him more, the Duke’s or hers.

What now? This information was like a grenade with the pin pulled. One radio call back to Shensi would break the accord, derail the Duke’s plans for a coalition, and perhaps bring his quest for power right down on top of his head. Was that what Erik wanted?

No. Not yet. But if this information was to be of any value to him, he had to control it. Exclusively. This pilot would die, certainly, but perhaps not soon enough.