No questions asked

Below that was a picture of Walter Nowotny. Below that: For war crimes, including murder, attempted genocide, bribery and coercion of public officials, and being ugly in a public place

"The image is one we took with one of our cameras inside the palace,"

Jasmine explained. "We dodged the background out since we think Nowotny doesn't need to know about them at the moment."

"Wish they were bombs," Riss muttered. "I notice we put a price tag on Walter's head. If somebody wants to collect, where'll we get the credits?"

"We shall worry about that when it happens," King said, a bit loftily.

"Also, there's that bit about being ugly in a public place," M'chel said. "I assume Chas came up with the copy?"

She was fairly sure Jasmine hadn't, since she wasn't particularly impressed with the depth of her sense of humor.

"Actually, no," King said. "It was Grok."

"Grok?" M'chel asked in an incredulous tone.

"Grok," Jasmine said. "He has depths."

"He does indeed," Riss said. "Now, we'll see if this shakes Walter's little equanimity enough to make him do something stupid."

"We can hope," King agreed. "But if nothing else, it makes me feel better for the moment."

FORTY-SEVEN

« ^ »

I am most pleased." Ral Tomkins announced. He'd assembled Cerberus's entire board in person for this announcement. Or almost all of them. Yarb'ro was conspicuous by his presence only on a com.

"We now have terror by the throat."

On cue, the reward poster for Star Risk flashed on a wall-sized screen behind him.

"Thanks to some selfless citizens of the Alliance, we now know who these thugs and pirates are who've been striking terror into the hearts of the innocents of the Alsaoud System—none other than the goons who dubbed themselves Star Risk. Now that they have been identified, their eradication is a certainty, and without them masterminding the terror campaign of these self-styled People, victory will be immediately at hand."

He waited for applause, frowned slightly when none showed itself, and continued:

"To make our task easier, not only have I increased the size of our forces assigned to the Alsaoud System and the space surrounding it, but this day I was also successful in having assigned to us the 441st Signal Intelligence Detachment of the Alliance Navy, to enable us to narrow Star Risk's location, and then to deal with them as harshly as they deserve."

This time, after Tomkins's frown-around, there was a spatter of "here, here's," tapping of knuckles against real wood, and a few gentle claps.

Tomkins smiled.

"The thing that amazes me," Yarb'ro's dry voice came, "is that I think you've been reading your own press releases long enough to believe the crap you're spouting."

Tomkins reddened, started to reply. But Yarb'ro continued.

"There is nothing wrong with such drivel for the masses who generally believe it," Yarb'ro continued. "But not to us, and most of all not to yourself.

"Realize something, Tomkins. There is no difference, save in size, between Cerberus and Star Risk, nor in our evident intentions: to bring Alsaoud under our hegemony, and thereby increase our profits.

"So please don't bore us with any of this terror by the throat shit that you've been burbling."

Yarb'ro realized he was burning every conceivable bridge that might end the feud between him and Tomkins, but he no longer cared. An hour earlier, a com from Nowotny had made it very clear that his former pupil had now firmly cast his lot with Tomkins. Yarb'ro was feeling very alone.

"As I've said before," he went on, "I think Cerberus is getting overly involved in the Alsaoud worlds, and now we've hung our intentions out to dry, to mix a metaphor, with the Alliance, and by borrowing this Siglnt unit.

"For what end? So a government, which we must realize loves only itself, will think well of us, when we operate by the same self-interest? How absurd.

"I think this is foolishness, and dangerous as well. And I now introduce a measure of censure against our chairman, Ral Tomkins, and further direct him to end all involvements in the Alsaoud worlds, and to cancel this request to the Alliance."

He waited.

There was utter silence.

No second for his motion, not even a request for debate.

Cerberus's board thoroughly approved of the course chosen.

Yarb'ro slumped in defeat, and his screen blanked.

Ral Tomkins smiled, tightly.

FORTY-EIGHT

« ^ »

The explosion came exactly sixty seconds after Yarb'ro turned on the burners of his old-fashioned natural-gas-powered stove.

The man fancied himself a gourmet cook, and had studied the cuisine of half a hundred worlds in his assignments, first for Alliance Intelligence and then Cerberus.

He was a real rarity—a man who was just as happy cooking for just himself as for a party of twenty.

Yarb'ro was studying the dish he was making for the first time, Sung-tzu-chi-ssu. He had toasted his pine nuts with a bit of salt and thyme, and was getting ready to brown the chicken with the habanero peppers, sitting in its marinade.

There was a very slight click.

Yarb'ro's stove did not normally click.

He dove behind a butcher block table as the stove blew up.

The fire flashed over him, but he was barely burned. The blast did most of the damage, shattering his left leg and arm.

The fire department rescued him and put out the flames before his mansion could ignite, but his kitchen was gutted, and his huge collection of cookbooks, fiches, and files was a dead loss.

Official investigation blamed the explosion on an "industrial accident."

Yarb'ro, painfully recuperating, knew better.

FORTY-NINE

« ^ »

The 441st Signal Intelligence outfit arrived in the Alsaoud System fairly unobtrusively, at least for an Alliance unit.

Fortunately for them, they were organized as an independent, space-based detachment, with a dumbbell-shaped artificial satellite and a pair of obsolescent destroyers to guard against interlopers.

That kept them a ways away from the roiling chaos of Khazia.

Being professionals, they went immediately to work!

They'd handled harder jobs.

The main code the People used had begun life as a commercial cipher.

One of the People's computer sorts had put a scramble on that cipher, then a further scramble.

The end result was more than enough to keep Alsaoud in the dark.

But not enough for the Alliance.

While their computers were ticketing away at the task, their signal analysis specialists were working away.

The main com bands used by the People's ships were quickly found, and even though they couldn't be read yet, their transmissions were logged.

A third and fourth destroyer hung above the Maron Region and monitored outgoing coms that were evident responses to the People's ship transmissions.

That gave them a possible location for the People's headquarters.

That information went to Walter Nowotny.

His second in command wanted to launch on the data they had.

"No," Nowotny said. "Not 'til we're sure. We'll most likely have just the one chance."

Walter Nowotny was a careful man.

Three local days later, the 441st broke the People's code and confirmed that the signals going into the Maron Region included requests for instructions.

The transmissions out were orders.

That gave Nowotny confirmation for the probable location for the People's high command, which must include Star Risk.

In the interim, Star Risk itself had a break—or, more correctly, a solid analysis of data.

The People's agents on Khazia had reported an increase in supplies being sent offworld.

The supplies were interesting—support items for various electronics, plus food and other items not commonly used by Alsaoud natives.

Star Risk found this interesting, and drew the obvious conclusion—that there was a new player in the game.

Grok began breadboarding circuitry, and installing what he'd rigged in Star Risk's yacht, much to von Baldur's displeasure as he saw rich real wood paneling and carpets being ripped out to be replaced by utilitarian plas and little wireless transmission points.

Nowotny decided he had enough for a strike.

A pair of Rasmussen's best patrol boats were slaved to a light transport, and the ensuing lump sent on a jump out of the system, then a second blind jump to make sure they weren't tracked, then a return to the navpoint just outside the Alsaoud System, close to the Maron Regions.

The transport that had carried the patrol boat crew members in relative comfort within range of the target was parked in an orbit well out of anyone's way, after the crews were transferred back to their ships.

The patrol boats went in, jumping into the Maron Regions, then taking a high, looping orbit to where those commands had originated, which could only be the People's High Command.

The ships were detected, and destroyers were launched against them, too late.

Each patrol boat launched a pair of heavy missiles, set to home on the command source.

Then they fled back to where the transport waited.

One of them made it; the other was tracked and destroyed by one of the People's strike craft.

Radar picked up the incoming missiles, and launched countermissiles against them.

Only one was destroyed.

All three of the others impacted and blew up within half a kilometer of those outgoing transmissions.

The com channels blurped static, then went ominously silent.

Walter Nowotny was monitoring the mission, and for a brief moment, rejoiced that he—Cerberus—had finally rid themselves of that damned Star Risk.

But within hours, the command transmissions began once more, from another, unlocated spot within the Maron Regions.

Star Risk had tried to get the People to change—and keep on changing—their code and the com channels, but without success.

But at least they'd been able to convince the People's leaders (such as they were in that fairly anarchic society) that all transmissions should be remoted.

So Rasmussen's Raiders only blew up a quadrangle of 'cast towers, and they were the last set of three.

Star Risk was also careful.

It would be their turn to strike next.