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off whichever of the infidel vultures had survived bomb and bullet.

    Nodding satisfaction, Anwar gave the order, "Leave the rifles; plenty more where they came from. Now go and disperse. We'll meet at my house this evening."

    As the men ran off they heard another bomb, and more rifle fire, coming from what sounded like about a mile in the other direction.

    * * *

    All three moons were up, Hecate, Eris and Bellona, when Khalid, representing Adnan Sada, met with Bahir in a walled in courtyard in a suburb of Ninewa. "That was well done," Khalid congratulated. "My liwa is pleased."

    "He is pleased even over the twenty-three innocents we killed?" Bahir retorted.

    "No . . . no, of course not," Khalid shook his head. "But there is always what the Balboan mercenaries call 'collateral damage.' If you had not killed the innocents then it would not have seemed as if it were an attack by the resistance. The question is whether the damage is less than there would be if we did not take the action. He thinks it was worth it, however regrettable it may have been."

    And how am I different, then, from the people who blew up my family? Khalid wondered. In this only: they blew up my family; I only blow up others' families. That is as much moral difference as can be.

    From inside his dishdasha Khalid drew several packages of Tauran money which he placed on a low table between himself and Bahir. "This is for your expenses. There is a bonus in there, as well, for a job—well, two jobs, really—well done."

    "It was three jobs, including getting you the introductions and passes to bring your 'news team' to murder the chiefs."

    "You were already paid for the first," Khalid insisted.

    "I know. That isn't the point. But after three such jobs, is that not enough to earn the release of my father's son?"

    Khalid sighed. "I have told you this before, Bahir. Your brother will be pardoned and released when the war is over, really and finally over. He hasn't been subject to the question since he gave us your name. But until the war is over, you dance to our tune if you do not want your brother to dance to a very different tune."

    Under the shadowless light of the three moons, Bahir scowled even as he raked in the money.

8/3/463 AC (Old Earth Year 2518), UEPF Spirit of Peace

    From space, Hecate was up and appeared full as Captain Marguerite Wallenstein's shuttle touched down on the Spirit 's hangar deck. Robinson was there to meet her. He waited for the hangar doors to lock, and the air previously pumped out to be released back into the open space, before cycling the airtight doors. Even then, he didn't trust the green light that came on to signal that air pressure was adequate. Rather, he waited for the balloon visible from the port hole in the hatch to collapse.

    The fleet needed things like the balloon. The ships were old, irreplaceable, and almost unmaintainable. Things went wrong. Things were wrong that simply could not be repaired without resort to drastic measures. He'd been on station for four Old Earth years and had had to order progressive cannibalization of some of his ships to keep others going.

    Clever prole, who thought of the balloon trick, thought the High Admiral, as he walked to the shuttle's hatch. I wonder if I should have had him spaced after all as being too clever a prole. No, I suppose not. After all, it might be me he saves next.

    The symbol of United Earth—northern hemisphere at the center and southern exaggerated out of size, the whole surrounded by a laurel wreath—split as the hatch opened to either side. A small walkway emerged and down the walkway strode the blond and leggy Captain Wallenstein, a pistol strapped to her hip and some black cloth held in her arms. Blue eyes flashed angrily. Wallenstein did not look happy.

    "Never!" she shouted, throwing the black cloth at Robinson. " Never will I go down to that stinking cesspool again."

    The High Admiral smiled, letting the burkha fall to the deck. A prole