Hadeishi gave them all a stern look, saying "The Emperor expects you to do your duty!"

Then he stood up, forcing them to do the same. "Dismissed."

Kosho did not join the general stampede for the door, taking a moment to straighten her already perfectly arranged v-pad and notes on the table in front of her.

Hadeishi waited for the passageway door to close before he spoke. "Yes, Susan? Is something bothering you?"

"Will you be holding more of these meetings in the future?" The woman's face showed even less expression than usual. "Will you be soliciting comment and advice from junior officers?"

"If circumstances warrant," Hadeishi replied, wondering at her choice of words. They had a familiar ring to them… Ah yes, he remembered, recalling an Academy first-year course, circumstances of sedition and mutiny aboard ship. "We will not," he continued, "be discussing opinions of command authority competence or operational concerns."

"I am very glad to hear that, Chu-sa." Kosho seemed to relax a fraction, though it was very difficult to tell. "Did you know Smith-tzin and I had been working on this g-array reconfig?"

Hadeishi nodded. "I did. Main comp informed me when the sho-i ko-hosei requsted data about systems outside of his security area. I saw you had approved the request."

"You said nothing."

"There was no reason to say anything, Sho-sa. Both of you are fine officers and understood the problem at hand. I saw no benefit to be gained from interfering in your work."

Now Kosho did relax and Hadeishi felt a sudden warm affection for her. She worries about the boy, he thought. "You did well to encourage him, Susan. He's very bright."

"Hai," she said, making a properly polite bow. "But he does not understand Fleet tradition."

"I know. He's still young and he's only served aboard the Cornuelle." Hadeishi sighed, stroking his beard. "I fear he will not do so well if transferred to another ship. We will have to help him if something like that happens."

As a general rule, Fleet did not like to shift crews around from ship to ship. The Great Clans, in particular, resisted attempts to reform the recruitment and staffing policies of Fleet. However, as men and women advanced in rank, they were often required to change posting to secure the proper duty slot. Within a clan-squadron, a junior officer would be taken care of by higher-ranking relatives. In such a case, Smith would be posted to a heavier-gauge ship – a battle cruiser or a dreadnought – where he could find clan-relatives to guide and protect him in the new environment.

The Cornuelle, unfortunately, was on detached duty – another result of Hadeishi's low status in Fleet – and if Smith were promoted as he should be, then a posting to an entirely different squadron would be inevitable. Circumstances weighed against the bright young Englishman finding as understanding and lenient a commander as Hadeishi.

"We could keep him here, Chu-sa," Kosho offered.

Hadeishi shrugged. "We've a full allotment of junior lieutenants, unless someone dies or requests a transfer off-ship."

"What about Yoyontzin?"

Hadeishi's lips quirked into a half-smile. He looked sideways at Kosho. "You think he will suffer an accident in the coming action? A regrettable incident with a shorting panel or falling structural beam?"

Kosho drew herself up stiffly. "Of course not! I suspect he may request a transfer when this duty patrol is complete."

"Well," Hadeishi said, giving her a considering look. "I would certainly give such a request my full attention."

The exec nodded, gathered up her v-pad and notes and bowed.

"Dismissed." Hadeishi watched her stride out. Poor Yoyontzin, he thought in amusement. Caught between Kosho and Isoroku…like a bug between granite and steel.

Southeast of Mons Prion

Two Midge s flew south, southeast – tiny silver specks against the dark immensity of the Escarpment. Sharp peaks towered thousands of meters above them, a sheer wall of basalt with sandstone feet. Deep canyons split the face of the range, spewing out kilometers of rubble to be swallowed by enormous dunes below. Gretchen fought to keep her eyes from straying to the horizon. When they did, her stomach twisted with a start of fear. The horizon tilted at a strange angle, one entirely at odds with her inner ear and the sensors on the Gagarin.

The mass of the mountain range to her right was so great that "down" had shifted, swinging off to an angle pointing at the base of the Escarpment. Hummingbird was suffering from the same problem – every so often his Midge would twitch over as he tried to correct an unexpected, unfelt bank.

Progress had been slow all day, but the navigation v-pane on Gretchen's console now showed they were very close to slot canyon number twelve. Russovsky's logbook had a note indicating the geologist had set down inside the canyon, where there was a sheltering cave. A second entry reported discovering a "cylinder."

Anderssen scowled at the tiny shape of the nauallis's ultralight. The Mйxica had remained silent all day despite her attempts to engage him in conversation. Hundreds of kilometers had rolled away under them as they flew past jagged peaks, steeply plunging canyons and endless bony ridges. Gretchen felt oppressed by the lack of human contact, but she'd held her tongue for the last six hours. In that time she'd thought a great deal about what the old crow had claimed in the cave. While Gretchen didn't doubt something had happened and had no doubt the nauallis held closely guarded secrets, she thought his out-of-hand dismissal of human-built technology was dangerously self-centered.

How could we survive down here? She grumbled to herself, without spacecraft and ultralights and pressure masks and z-suits? Millions of tools – an entire civilization – specialists by the planetfull…all of which were sustained, informed and generated by human science and technology.

Is he jealous? she wondered. The talamatinime must be descendants of the priestly caste of ancient Azteca. Curiosity stirred an eager head and she wondered just what kind of secret history – what hidden, almost-forgotten tales – had been handed down from priest to priest over the fifteen hundred years since the first Nisei merchant landed on the coast of Matlalzinca with a shipload of iron ingots, steel sword blanks and huge, long-legged riding "hornless deer." A tale worth knowing, Gretchen thought, biting her lip. So much of the public record was lost in the Second Blow…

Despite an angry desire to shout at the thick-headed old man over the comm, Anderssen restrained herself. We'll have to land eventually, she thought grimly. Countless questions had come to mind since their last conversation on the slopes of Prion. And then I'll sit on him if I have -

"Hummingbird, look out!" Gretchen's voice rang thin and shrill in the cabin of the Gagarin.

The nauallis's Midge had suddenly jerked sideways, toward the looming wall of the Escarpment. What at first seemed to be a black crevice in the mountainside was now visible as a huge canyon. Hummingbird's ultralight was sweeping toward the opening at tremendous speed. Gretchen immediately hauled right on the control stick and Gagarin swung round with gratifying speed. She stared out of the port side of the aircraft, searching for a telltale – There!

Far below, the sand was in constant motion, gusting thin streamers of reddish dust toward the face of the Escarpment. The dunes made sort of a nozzle where speeding clouds of grit rolled across the valley floor. Anderssen cursed, realizing they had come unawares upon the mouth of the canyon.