Frederick narrowed his eyes. "But then I spoiled it by surrendering?"

Theodore waved away Frederick's inquiry. "No, not at all. You exacted a promise from the Archon to leave one JumpShip behind to carry away the survivors, but you assured her that you would not be among them. You negotiated a deal with me to let some of your people live, trading yourself for them. You must recall that Bushidodemands not only perfection in the arts of war, but perfection in the art of being a warrior. Compassion and concern for your people is very much a part of that, and as such, does you no dishonor."

Frederick kept his face impassive. Were you in my shoes, you would ask to commitseppuku to cleanse your family's name of shame. This mission was my act of atonement. Now, having survived this long, I do not wish to be dead. Does this invalidate what I tried to do?"My people are being sent offworld?"

"Yes. About two hours ago, your JumpShip moved from the pirate point and began heading in for a rendezvous. The Drop-Ship left an hour ago and should link up in a day or two." The Prince frowned slightly. "I hate to tell you that your assault, brave as it was, did not succeed in destroying enough supplies to stop my plan. With the JumpShips already insystem, I have enough transport to bring in the supplies needed for the invasion. Conti and the Fifth Sword arrive next week, and with them come more supplies. You have cost me, at best, a week. I am sorry."

Frederick shook his head. "Not as sorry as I am."

"Spoken like a warrior." Theodore retrieved and raised his bowl in Frederick's direction. "A toast, Frederick. To what could have been—a return to the honorable ways of the warrior."

* * *

As the Lyran JumpShip Tyrmoved from its position amid the seven Combine JumpShips still recharging at a pirate jump point off Dromini VI, it jettisoned all the refuse produced during its wait. Waste water crystallized instantly into glittering ice fangs, while more solid garbage and scraps spun away from the ship and slowly fell toward the Kurita fleet and the planet rotating below them.

Hidden in silvery bags emblazoned with the yellow and black tags used to denote biohazards, fourteen Lyran Intelligence Corps Loki operatives floated toward the enemy JumpShips. Each agent gently guided his bag toward his target ship using specially modified jump infantry flight packs to accomplish the job. Though sent in pairs to the target ships, their assignments had been drawn by lot and created by a computer program that randomized among the optimal assaults needed to cripple a JumpShip. Neither agent knew who else was being sent to the same ship. That meant he could not give his compatriot away in the highly unlikely event he was taken alive.

Raised from birth to be a Loki agent, James felt his heart pounding as the MonolithClass JumpShip Samayou Hitofilled the tiny viewport of his EVA bag. Long and silver, the twin-domed sensor pods at the head of the craft looked like giant, composite eyes, accentuating the vessel's wasplike appearance. Mobile arms attached to the trio of docking collars evenly spaced along the body of the ship were locked down in their stowed position, but James angled his amoeboid craft toward the arm directly amidships, nonetheless. Splayed out in absolute rainbow brilliance, the doughnut-shaped solar collector hung from the ship's stern, soaking in the energy needed to recharge the Jump-Ship's fragile Kearny-Fuchida drives.

After an hour of casual movement through space, James reached the JumpShip's central docking arms. From afar, they had looked much like the mechanical arms used by mining robots in hostile atmospheres. Up close, the Loki agent saw their true size. Each of the twin fingers was a cylinder six meters in diameter that ended in a docking collar. By extending the arms, the JumpShip could link up with six DropShips. In addition, the three docking collars on the JumpShip's hull meant it could accommodate a total of nine DropShips. This capacity left no doubt in James's mind about why the MonolithClass JumpShip was most highly prized in the Successor States, and why the successful completion of his mission was of the utmost importance.

He guided his bag into the gaping maw of one finger, then sliced the bag's silvery flesh open with a vibroblade. Stepping free, he wadded up its thin skin and stuffed it into a thigh pocket of the gray fatigues he wore over the skin-tight vacuum suit. For a moment, it pleased him that the Draconis Combine saw fit to give their astechs such utilitarian garb, but he shut away that tiny emotion as he had been taught. Like a mantra, he murmured, "Reason is the engine that drives us, and passion for success is the only fuel we feed it. Clear mind, clean victory."

He worked his way through the shaft by feel. A hundred meters into it, he reached the large, iris-type hatchway, shut now to keep the ship's atmosphere inside. Off to the left, he found the slender doorway that admitted the astechs who traveled out to monitor docking operations. The mission had gone well so far, but he felt a pang of regret. Because one Kurita JumpShip had moved off toward a rendezvous of its own and out of range of the operation, the Loki teams' mission could not be 100 percent successful.

James shook off his disappointment and set to work. From his left-thigh pocket, he pulled a thin packet of mylar fabric. He unfolded it into an oval just slightly larger than the astech hatchway, then carefully pulled away a protective strip from around the adhesive-treated edge and pressed the canopy against the hull. He checked the seal, carefully twisting himself around to keep from rupturing the membrane that trapped him between it and the hatchway.

Confident he'd gotten a good seal, James opened an oxygen canister on his belt. The hissing sound grew as released gas filled the cocoon. When the digital readout on his bracer reported one atmosphere worth of pressure, he shut off the oxygen and turned his attention to the hatch's lock mechanism.

The Loki agent pulled a silver cylinder from his breast pocket and shoved it into the round keyhole. He pressed a button on it and watched a red light pulse as the skeleton key played out one digital combination of codes after another. Finally, a green light shone on the key and was quickly mirrored by the atmospheric pressure sensor on the lockplate. Satisfied that pressure had been equalized on both sides of the hatch, he opened it with a click.

James slipped through the hatchway quickly and shut it behind him. He doffed the jetpack and mirrored helmet he'd worn during his trip over. In the muted yellow glow of the docking arm's safety lights, he caught a reflection of his own face. His right hand rose involuntarily to touch the corner of his eye. Despite having worn this surgically altered face for a month, he was still not used to the almond eyes, black hair, and bronzed skin.

It never occurred to him that he would have preferred to die wearing his own face. As an orphan raised by and for Loki, his conception of self had been inexorably linked with the fate of the Lyran Commonwealth. He thought of himself as nothing more than a white blood cell whose mission was to do whatever was necessary to protect the health of the state. His success—and he harbored no doubts of it—would save the Commonwealth. That he would have to die to succeed meant nothing because the Commonwealth had given him everything. How could he refuse to return to it all that he was?

Stripping off his gloves and discarding them, James pushed off the hull and floated through the arm toward the second atmospheric bulkhead. Reaching it, he again used his key to open the small hatch built into the giant airlock's bulkhead. Slipping through that hatch, James closed it, then straightened up. He made sure his uniform hung right, then surveyed the interior of the ship's drive section.