Grayson and his entire staff consisting of Lori, Ramage, Captain Tor, and Tech Master Alard King, floated in the Invidious'scontrol center. Helm's sun shone in the main viewscreen, two hundred million kilometers distant.

"Whoever they are," King said slowly, "they don't care who hears them."

Alard King had joined the Legion on Galatea after their return from Verthandi. He was an expert Tech, who had last served with Steiner's Lyran Guard, but had left for Galatea after a "minor disagreement" with his company commander. He was Grayson's senior Tech now; as Tech Master, he was in overall command of all of the Legion's technical personnel.

King looked across the plot table at Grayson and the others. He was holding a speaker to one ear, but the babble he was listening to was coming from the general bridge speakers as well. Most of the sounds were unintelligible, broadcast in battlecode, but occasionally a voice could be heard in plain speech. "DropShip Two down, Rapacious!"one excited voice cried. "No resistance, Sector Five!"

"Rapacious, "Tor said. "I know that name. That's a Marik ship."

"Let's get a current listing on her," Grayson said.

The Invidious'sCaptain spoke to a nearby aide, watched over her shoulder as she tapped out his request at her computer console, then turned back to the others.

"Fifth Marik Guards," he said.

"That's a regular Marik House regiment," Lori said. "What are they doing here?"

Grayson said nothing, his eyes on the orange brightness of Helm's sun on the viewer.

After jumping in-system at Helm's nadir jump point, they had realized instantly that something was seriously wrong. The combat frequencies were jammed by radio traffic, much of it in battlecode. It was immediately clear that at least one other starship was already in system, presumably at the system's zenith point and blocked from the Invidious'sview by the system's sun.

"It could be a sneak raid," he said. "Kurita or Liao raiders could have jumped in ... or pirate raiders. Maybe a Marik DropShip might have been passing through, and heard a call for help."

Ramage's eyebrow crept toward his hairline. "That's asking a bit of coincidence."

"More's the point," Tor said. "What would raiders want here? Helm is a hell of a long way from anyone's borders, and there's nothing there that any snap raider would want."

"Since when do the Kuritans need an excuse for smashing a planet?" Lori asked.

"Ren's got a point," Grayson said. "Invasions . . . even snap raids, are expensive.They wouldn't pull one without a reason." He shook his head. "But this doesn't feel like a raid."

"Pirates?" King suggested.

"Not this deep in Marik space. And not without something damned valuable to make it worth their while."

"Which makes those Marik ships," Lori said quietly. "Are theyattacking our settlement? And why?"

"The Marik curse," Tor said.

"Eh?" Grayson said. "A rebellion?"

"What else could it be? Any time you look at them, the Free Worlds League is more than halfway to total anarchy. Maybe a rebel faction has finally gone over the line and started a civil war."

"Possible," Grayson said. "But the question remains . . . why Helm? What can they possibly want here?"

"And what's happening to our people down there?" Lori added.

The Invidiouscarried 240 people—her own crew of 20, plus one 'Mech company, one infantry company, a Tech platoon, and reserves. More than seven hundred of the Legion's men, women, and children remained on Helm.

Grayson's hands curled into fists. What was happening here had something to do with the strange events on Sirius V, of that he had no doubt. But what was happening, and what was the connection?

They had to find out, and fast. If they had indeed fallen into the midst of a revolution or power struggle within House Marik, the people they'd left behind on Helm were in grave danger.

"Ren," Grayson said. "How long to recharge for jump?"

Tor consulted his wristcomp. "Once our sail is unfurled—125 hours, if we push it. Otherwise, make it 175."

"And there's been no sign that they've spotted us?"

"Not yet. Speed-of-light propagation will take awhile to send them the news that we're here, but from the sound of things . . ."

He jerked a thumb toward a bridge speaker that had been babbling in static-ridden and unintelligible code for the past several minutes. An excited voice cut in, speaking in the clear. "Attention, unidentified DropShip bearing oh-oh-seven, vector three-one-one! We have not received your authority codes or ID transmission! Please identify! Please identify!"

"It sounds like sheer chaos down there. I think there's a good chance we dropped in unnoticed."

"O.K. Proceed with recharging the drives. Lori, pass the word. Deimosand Phoboswill both be going in.”

“All of us?" Ramage asked.

"Any that want to can remain with Invidious,"Grayson said. "Anyone who wants to come with us to Helm, can."

"That will be everyone," Lori predicted. "But what can we do!”

Grayson's shoulders slumped as he realized the enormity of what he was suggesting. One company against . . . what? "I don't know," he said quietly. "First off, we find our people and see that they're safe. After that, we try to find out what the hell's going on. We'll improvise as we go along." He turned to Tor. "You, Ren, will get this ship out of here as fast as you can recharge."

"Now wait a minute. My people have a stake in what-ever's happening on Helm, too."

"And we all have a stake in keeping the Invidioussafe. The ship is irreplaceable. I want to know that she's out of the line of fire."

With only about twelve JumpShips produced by all the Successor Houses every year, each time a starship was lost to battle, accident, or lack of maintenance, civilization came that much closer to a time when the lanes between stars would be sundered, isolating the worlds of man from one another, possibly forever. For that reason, even warring factions were careful not to carry their fights to the starships.

Men were not always reasonable beings, however, and Grayson wanted to take no chances.

"You'll jump for Stewart," Grayson continued. "The Duke there is a good man, a fair one, and he has ears at the Captain-General's court on Atreus. He's always dealt with us fairly. Maybe he'll be able to tell you what's going on."

"Maybe . . . but you'll be here, in the thick of it."

"We'll handle this the way we did at Verthandi. We'll set a specific time and date for you to jump back in-system. We'll be waiting to broadcast a tight-beam zip-squeal. We'll let you know our condition, and what we want you to do about it."

"I won't have any DropShips," Tor said.

"No, but we will." Grayson looked at the others, each in turn. Now that they had a plan, a course of action to pursue, he felt somewhat better. From the expressions on the others' faces, he knew they did, too. "The rest of us will go in on a High-G, minimum-time run. With luck, anyone in orbit will think we're just another flight of DropShips who have forgotten to transmit their ID. We'll look for a place to set down as close to Durandel as possible." He shrugged. "After that, we'll see."