"That's the one," Hesse confirmed, glancing back at the door again. "My backers have been sponsoring them as sort of unofficial public-relations arm. They're using the CFL to help stir up public sentiment against governmental excesses."

"I hope that's not their only outlet," Faraday grunted. "The CFL sounds awfully strident sometimes."

"No, they're just one of several groups," Hesse said. "It's a standard wide-spectrum PR approach.

The CFL reaches the people who are the most angry at the crackdown, while other groups concentrate on connecting with the moderates and undecideds. The CFL is just the one that's getting the most press at the moment."

"Ah," Faraday said, looking back down at the paper as he started fastening his shirt.—with the Citizens for Liberty against the blatantly illegal actions of Arbiter Katrina Liadof and the Five Hundred...

He finished with his shirt and rested his left elbow on the edge of the paper, cupping his chin in his hand as he skimmed down the rest of the document. "Doesn't look unreasonable," he commented when he had finished. "Only I thought your backers were supposed to be supporting me. This looks more like a guarantee of me supporting them."

"Well, of course it has to work both directions," Hesse pointed out. "They can hardly give you a blank check for support without acknowledgment that you're on their side, too. That's why the word alliance is used. That makes the whole thing mutual."

"I suppose that makes sense," Faraday agreed. "I might have felt more comfortable if they'd looped me in with one of the less radical groups, though."

"The idea isn't for any of us to be comfortable," Hesse said tartly. "What we need is for people to be angry about this, angry enough that there's real public pressure on the Five Hundred to back away from what Liadof's side is doing. From everything they're doing, from the Martian crackdown on down. That's the only way you're going to be able to protect Drusni's children and the other Qanska from getting nukes thrown down their throats. We've got to throw her out, and we've got to get her out now. There's no time to let you ramp up from concerned to annoyed to righteously indignant and finally to angry."

"I suppose not," Faraday conceded.

"So sign and let's get on with it." Hesse looked at the door again. "And make it quick," he added. "I think I hear someone coming."

He was right; Faraday could hear the approaching footsteps, too. Picking up a pen, he rested his hand on the edge of the desk and scrawled briefly across the line at the bottom. "There," he said, tossing the pen aside and standing up. "Better tuck it away out of sight. I'll get my jacket."

His timing was perfect. Even as he stepped away from the desk, there was a fresh pounding at his door. "Colonel?" a deep voice demanded.

"Come on, take it," Faraday hissed.

Lunging to the desk, Hesse scooped up the paper, hastily folded it back together, and stuffed it away inside his jacket.

Just in time. Behind him, the door slid open and one of Liadof's Sanctum cops strode in. "Colonel, you're wanted at the Contact Room," he announced. His eyes seemed to suddenly notice that Faraday was fully dressed. "Which I take it you already know," he added, throwing a brief and unreadable look at Hesse. "Come with me."

The corridors were mostly empty and quiet as Faraday followed the cop to the Contact Room, Hesse trailing behind them. The security officer at the entrance had obviously been briefed; he passed all three of them through with only a perfunctory glance at their IDs.

Liadof was waiting for them, standing in front of the command chair, her posture unnaturally stiff.

"Colonel Faraday," she said formally. "I apologize for awakening you at this hour."

"No apology necessary, Arbiter Liadof," Faraday said just as formally as he glanced around the room. Despite the late hour, he noted, Beach was in his usual spot at the communications station.

Either he'd been moved here to Gamma Shift, or else Liadof had roused him out of bed, too. The other three men seated at the wraparound control panel were complete strangers to him. "What seems to be the problem?"

He looked back at Liadof in time to see her lips compress briefly. "It's not really a problem," she said. "We've just heard from Mr. Raimey."

She flicked a glance in Beach's direction. "And there seems to be a certain confusion as to what exactly he's trying to say."

Faraday frowned. "The computer can't make it out?"

"The computer's translation is ambiguous," Liadof said. "Mr. Beach seems to think it's not ambiguous at all. As the other local expert on Qanskan tonals, I thought it might be interesting to get your take on it, as well."

"I'll do my best," Faraday said, trying hard to read her face. What new game was she playing now?

"You have a copy?"

"Mr. Beach?" Liadof invited. "Play him the raw, pre-grammar-adjusted message."

Beach touched a switch, and the room filled with the rumbling sound of Qanskan tonals. My name is Manta-born-of-humans with the World In-between Machine-of-the-clouds-above attempting to converse, the words rolled from the speaker. I will with Colonel Faraday about the secret of the Qanskan path between worlds to speak only.

The message began to repeat; and Faraday felt his breath catch in his throat. The Qanskan path between worlds. "He says, 'This is Manta, child of the humans, trying to talk to the Jupiter Prime space station,' " he translated, trying to keep his voice steady. So Manta had done it. He'd found the Qanskan stardrive. " 'I want to speak with Colonel Faraday only about the secret of the Qanskan stardrive.' "

"Yes, that's basically the way the computer translated it," Liadof agreed. "The sticking point is what exactly the word 'only' means here."

Faraday blinked. Only? "Have you asked Manta about it?"

"We've tried," Liadof said. "He hasn't responded to our transmissions. So tell me, Colonel: what does 'only' mean here?"

Faraday frowned, listening to the message again as it ran through another repeat. To him, it seemed perfectly straightforward: Manta wasn't going to give them the actual stardrive, but would only discuss the secret technology involved with it.

Yet from what Liadof had said, it sounded like Beach was arguing for some other interpretation.

Granted, Beach was more versed in tonals than Faraday himself was. But not that much more. What could he be hearing in Manta's message that Faraday wasn't getting?

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Beach turned halfway around at his station. Beach, who had refused to stand with the rest of his Alpha Shift teammates when push had come to crunch.

Beach, who had instead preferred to keep his head down, stay in Liadof's good graces, and keep his career intact.

Beach, now looking back over his shoulder at Faraday. An odd intensity in his eyes; an equally odd stiffness in his back...

And then, suddenly, Faraday got it.

He smiled to himself, that last nagging thorn in his side finally fading away. McCollum, Sprenkle, Milligan—each of them had taken advantage of an opportunity to help him and Manta when the chance had come their way. McCollum had slipped Faraday a sketch of the Omega Probe; Sprenkle had given Manta the hint that broke Liadof's implanted McCarthy control over him; Milligan had fiddled his sensors to give the Manta the time he needed to free the Qanskan hostages. Only Beach had refused to rock his own boat, putting himself and his career above anything so petty and expendable as loyalty.

Or so Faraday had thought. So, probably, had the rest of Alpha Shift. So, certainly, had Liadof, or she wouldn't have kept him on duty.

They'd all been wrong. Beach hadn't defied Liadof for the simple reason that the proper opportunity to do so hadn't yet come along for him.