Very soon, if he was right about Wolf.

Karma.

He paused for a moment outside the storage building to be sure no one was observing him. Satisfied, he entered. Even to his night-adjusted eyes, it was dark inside. He crossed to the place of concealment by memory alone and opened the compartment. Removing what was within, he turned on a low-power lamp and set to work. The light was dim; it would not penetrate to the outside. The sounds were soft; they would not attract the attention of anyone passing by.

Some time later, he hefted the blade. It felt right, well-balanced for all its straightness. This sword was not a katana,the samurai's sword. That would be inappropriate. He held the blade before him, edge up, and raised his other hand above it. Opening the palm of his free hand, he released the feather that had nestled there. In the motionless air of the dark chamber, the feather drifted lazily downward, barely hesitating at the moment the gleaming metal of the blade split it neatly in two. Once Homitsu would have smiled, taken pleasure in the keen edge he had crafted. Today, his expression remained serene.

A sword was a tool.

As he was a tool.

Cold and hard.

18

Plugged into the commander's feed onboard the shuttle, Elson's battle suit kept him updated on the sensor-input from the bridge. The Hammer'svector permitted it information unavailable to the other Dragoon ships. Hidden in the shadow of the planetoid was a Jump-Ship, Scout Class, by the readouts. The ship must have been the transport for the looters whose DropShip had fired on Orion's Sword.As the Hammermoved in its direction, the bogey JumpShip vanished, traveling faster than light to some other star system before the Dragoons could close, abandoning its DropShip to the Dragoons' mercy.

Elson was disgusted at how little loyalty the spheroids showed. But he also knew that if the JumpShip was as tattered as the DropShip lurking among the cached Dragoon ships, running was its only chance at survival. Not honorable, but understandable. Did the people aboard the abandoned DropShip applaud their comrades' decision?

The Orion's Swordcontinued its cat-and-mouse game with the looters' DropShip, each shifting angle forcing the bandit more directly into the path of the Hammer.The looter did not manage to score again on the Dragoon ship, but neither had Orion's Swordbeen able to get a clean shot. Soon it would not matter.

"Coming up on release," Captain Brandon reported. Her voice was terse, businesslike.

"Containing barrage only, Captain," Elson replied in like manner. "I want to board her intact."

"That wreck's so beat up, I won't guarantee it surviving a near-miss, let alone a direct hit."

"Then do not hit it."

"Unity! Your shuttle could drive through their hull without taking damage. It's not worth risking the troops."

"Your assessment is noted." Elson flicked off the channel to the DropShip bridge and watched the shuttle's monitors. In seconds the release warning lit. "Red light on."

"Troopers strapped in," reported Clair, his Point second. Elson checked his harness; it was secure. Either Brandon would follow his orders or she would not. He would soon be too busy to deal with it for a while. Eyes on the unlit "go" light, he murmured, "Standby."

The light flashed on and the shuttle intercom crackled as the pilot reported, "We've got green light."

"Launch," Elson ordered.

His mild annoyance at the pilot's unnecessary announcement vanished, replaced by more immediate concerns as the craft lurched and he was rocked back in his harness. After the gentle tug of the DropShip's regular acceleration, the boost of the shuttle was a sudden, merciless, and implacable foe, but he fought it, pitting his strength against its. Futile, but exhilarating. He comforted himself with the thought that soon he would face real foes.

Attitude jets fired, twisting the craft on a corkscrew course. The maneuver simultaneously separated the shuttle from the DropShip and made it a more difficult target. The shifting motion and stresses of acceleration also brought nausea and giddiness to the passengers. The status monitor on Trooper Four, Harmon, flashed red as the sensors in his suit logged him as unready. He had not been able to control his stomach and had fouled his battle suit's recirculation system. The computer had locked his acceleration harness; Trooper Harmon would not be part of the boarding party.

Confused by the Hammer'sbarrage or else just plain incompetent, the looters' gunners were too slow. The shuttle slipped past their erratic fire without taking the slightest damage. The pilot might be talky, but he performed well. With one last violent rotation, the aero-jock dropped his craft into the looters' fire shadow. Within the safe zone, inaccessible to the DropShip's weapons, the shuttle pilot profligately burned reaction mass to match velocities before the looter pilot could blast away.

The grapples launched, making the shuttle shudder. As the pilot reported success, Elson's Point second called out the vector to the nearest airlock on the DropShip. Metal groaned as the slack was taken up and the pilot's skill at matching velocities was shown to be less-than-perfect but sufficient; the lines held. Then the shuttle's airlock opened and the Elementals were out of their harnesses, floating across the shuttle cabin and into space.

The jump to the DropShip was minimal. Scrambling along the hull, Elson led his troops straight to the hatch. He worked the lock, counting the thumps as the members of his Point landed around him. He waited another half-second after the third set of thumps before remembering that Trooper Four was out for this excursion.

The lock was only big enough for one battle-armored trooper at a time, so he climbed in first. He could have blown the inner door, but that would have compromised the DropShip's atmospheric integrity, an unnecessary tactic at this time. The outer door slid shut and he was alone.

The battle suit's atmosphere sensors flickered messages on his display as oxygen hissed into the cramped space around him. If they had been quick enough, there would be no problems. If not, he would be the first into battle.

He thrust the suit's right arm through the crack as the inner door started to slide open. The machine gun fitted to the arm swirled its barrels, at speed and ready. Unnecessarily. There were no targets; this staging area leading to the main hold was deserted.

Elson stepped out of the lock and locked his boot magnets onto the floor before hitting the controls to recycle the airlock. Releasing the magnets, he pushed off, heading for the door that gave access to the main hold. On landing he locked down again.

The area beyond looked deserted; as yet the crew had not reacted to his intrusion. The telltales on the bridge would alert the crew that the lock had been activated, tipping them to the location of their unexpected visitors. Assuming their equipment worked, he reminded himself. The interior of the ship looked more worn-out than the exterior, and his atmosphere sensor reported high concentrations of waste-product gases in the air.

The first crewmember arrived, floating through the doorway just as Elson's Point second was exiting the lock. Elson didn't bother with a weapon. He clubbed the man down. The crewman cartwheeled under the sudden impact. Elson reached out with the suit's manipulator claw and tugged him through the opening. Dead or unconscious, the looter made no sound as the three tines of the claw cut into his flesh, but his body thumped loudly as it struck the far wall.