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his clumsy subtext. He was clearly referring not to the Fleet, but to the Frontier Protection Party. When legal colonists became infuriated with the Flags’ constant nibbling on their turf, they joined the FPP. The movement had started out reasonably enough but subsequently degenerated into rabble-rouser politics and anti-Flag bullying.
    ‘I can see the difficulty of your position given your assigned mission goals,’ said Bak. ‘But maybe we can find a way to help you meet your targets while … softening the impact on local politics?’
    Ann tried to contain her disapproval. She knew Bak was an FPP supporter from the pro-Colonial events she’d attended that had been arranged by the Rumfoord League. Having seen her at those same meetings, Bak no doubt assumed he could take her politics for granted. But then, like most people, Bak had no idea that the Rumfoord League existed, or that there was anything going on at those events other than the usual Flag-bashing rhetoric. All Bak knew was that she appeared to be deeper into Colonial politics than he was.
    Nothing made Ann more uncomfortable than reactionaries assuming she shared their views. Being mixed up with idiots like the FPP made her feel dirty. She’d suspected Bak of being in on the entire Krotokin affair from the start, which was why she’d kept him out of the loop. His attitude now did little to alleviate her suspicions.
    ‘Commissioner Bak, my position here is clear,’ she said. ‘I have no choice but to uphold the rule of law.’
    A second icon appeared in her view. This one had River Chu’s marker on it and a private security code. Her words dried up. An icon like that could only mean one thing – fresh data from the League. Besides her, River was the only other person aboard with access. He must have received a reply ping from Messaging Central when he submitted their report. Something had been waiting for them on the stack while they were in stealth mode. It could have been there for days, she realised with alarm. They’d never expected Krotokin to take more than a week to make his move.
    ‘One moment, please,’ she told the commissioner. She paused the comms feed and opened the attached message. It contained a single phrase: Constant Flies .
    Her insides crunched tight. It had finally happened, then – the moment the League had been planning for. The dreadful years of creeping around behind the backs of the Fleet were finally over and all the awful secrets they’d kept from the rest of IPSO would finally come out. But who knew how long the message had languished? She didn’t have a second to waste. They’d have to return to New Panama immediately.
    Frustrating though it was, her current mission would have to be resolved without her. Her crew would be confused, of course, and probably upset, so she’d need to concoct some explanation for why they weren’t sticking around to nail the crooks to the wall. It could have been worse, though. At least they got to catch the president.
    She turned the feed back on.
    ‘Commissioner … Darrel. I have considered my options and one alternative has just come to light.’
    ‘Please,’ said Bak. ‘Go on?’
    ‘Effective immediately, I am handing over resolution of the case to you.’
    Bak blinked at her, suddenly wary at being handed his ideal solution with so little effort.
    ‘I’m not sure I follow.’
    ‘I have an executive order permitting me to delegate responsibility for concluding this affair. If it would smooth local politics, I could delegate to you.’
    ‘It undoubtedly would,’ said Bak, ‘but are you sure you’re comfortable with handing it off?’
    ‘No, Darrel,’ she said. ‘Not comfortable at all. But then I don’t imagine you will be, either. A final report must be filed at local Fleet HQ within twenty days showing a satisfactory resolution. If I leave you in charge, an interim report will have to go with me, containing my recommendations for legal next steps. You will need to