Chapter 3 — FIVE STEEL BALLS

My life as a PFC in the Jupiter Navy was full, but again it would be tedious to detail it. I continued my training, for though I now had some slight rank, about six months before I would ordinarily have had it, I still had much to learn. I was studying how to raid a ship; that is, how to perform as a member of a specialized crew who would board and take over an enemy spaceship. This was considered to be one of the most dangerous and challenging specialties, with a brief life expectancy. Few soldiers either wanted it or could keep its pace; therefore, promotions within it were prompt. I had jumped to E3 while most of my cycle-mates remained El; after completing four months of training as a raider with top scores, I made E4, corporal.

Juana, not being driven as I was, pursued a more normal course and trained as a computer clerk and secretary. This was a good, secure specialty, but beneath her potential. It became apparent that she and I were not at all similar in personality, but we related well as roommates. Maybe opposites do attract. She was not keen on sex, and my preoccupation was elsewhere, but we performed our weekly stint because the Navy expected it of us, and it was said the Navy had ways of knowing.

Having said that, I must also say it was not an onerous duty, and as I came to understand Juana's nature better, I believe she came to appreciate it as I did. Indeed, though we both agreed that love was no part of this relationship, there were times when a third party might have thought otherwise. Our sex was always gentle and often fulfilling, as Helse had taught me, and I'm sure Juana gradually lost her fear of it. She did not have any strong drive to participate, but she liked to please me, and sometimes we even exceeded the minimum frequency quota. Certainly she valued the closeness of it, if not the mechanics.

In due course I was contacted by the anonymous officer Sergeant Smith had promised: the one who had the list of pirate ships doing business with Chip Off the Old Block. He was Lieutenant Repro, a psychologist attached to the Public Relations staff of the training battalion, and he was a drug addict. I quickly realized that while Sergeant Smith had been relegated to the lowly training unit as an extension of his scapegoat punishment, Lieutenant Repro had been relegated here as an act of mercy. A training battalion had little need of publicity; it did not deal very much with the outside world. Especially not when most of the soldiers were refugee orphans. So this was a sinecure, where Lieutenant Repro could drift out his enlistment in obscurity without doing much harm. No wonder he had not been eager to reveal himself; his shame was best kept private. No wonder, too, that he kept track of pirate vessels: They supplied the drug he had to have.

Why, then, had he agreed to contact me? I realized that he could not have much interest in my need to locate my sister. There had to be something in it for him. I needed to ascertain what this was, to be sure I could trust him.

Repro was a friend of Sergeant Smith's, and I learned later that Smith had pointed out that I might be a suitable pawn in a kind of game they were playing. It was a game that was to have amazing impact on my life, and this contact was perhaps the major break of my military career. But, of course, I did not know this then. Let me render this more directly.

I met Lieutenant Repro in his office in the S-5 section. I should clarify that a battalion has five special sections, each headed by an officer and designated S-l through S-5. They are, respectively, Adjutant, Intelligence, Operations, Logistics, and Public Relations, otherwise known as Propaganda. As an enlisted man, I was hardly aware these existed; later in my career, that was to change.

Lieutenant Repro was a tall, thin, unhealthy-looking man in his late thirties or early forties—perhaps he looked older than he was because of the ravages of his addiction—with thinning brown hair and deepening lines on his face. He was at the moment in command of his faculties, but I could see he wasn't enjoying it. He must have straightened out temporarily, for this occasion. His Class A uniform was slightly rumpled, and his brass slightly tarnished. He was about as unimpressive an officer as I had seen.

On his desk was a little stand, from which five steel balls were suspended by angled threads, barely touching each other. He showed me how it operated. "For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction," he said, lifting an end-ball to the side and letting it go. It swung in its arc down to strike the stationary four, and the ball on the far side swung out, leaving the other four unmoved. The force of the first had been neatly transferred to the last, without moving the intervening masses. Then the end-ball swung back, and the first one rebounded. The principle was simple enough, but I was fascinated to see it in action.

Repro stilled the motion by touching the center balls with his hand. Then he lifted two balls from the end. "If I drop this pair, what will happen?" he asked.

I started to answer, then hesitated, realizing that I wasn't sure. Would two balls beget two balls—or one ball with twice the force?

He let go, and two balls reacted. I had my answer; a ball for a ball, two for two.

Then he lifted three. "Now?"

Three balls. That suggested three to react, but only two remained. What would happen?

He let the three go, and three balls rebounded. Rather, two did, and the third carried through without pause. Fascinating!

"Action-reaction," Lieutenant Repro said. "Inevitable."

I wondered what the point was but remained too intrigued by the balls to inquire. Such a simple yet effective way to demonstrate a principle of physics. "May I try it sir?"

He nodded acquiescence. I lifted one ball, let it go, and watched the far one fling out with similar force. I let the progression continue, noting that the size of the swinging arcs gradually diminished, and that the row of steel balls began to get moving, until finally all five were gently swinging in unison. Friction, I realized. No process was perfect in atmosphere. In a vacuum it would work better, though there would still be some power siphoned away by the inefficiency of the supporting strings.

I tried two balls, then three, then four, then five—and smiled, for, of course, the five merely swung without collisions. Then I started a ball on each side, watching them rebound outward simultaneously. Then I started two balls on one side and one on the other, and saw the reaction proceed without hitch. The two proceeded back on the one side, the one on the other. This device could handle opposite impulses without confusing them.

Then I swung a single ball down with a double force. The opposite ball flung out with similar force.

I looked up. "How does it know the difference between two balls with normal force, and one with double force?"

"It knows," Repro said gravely.

I played with it some more. "The double-force ball is traveling faster," I decided. "That speed is transmitted."

Then I tried two balls at normal force, and then three. Two, then three rebounded. "The velocity is constant," I said, bemused. "But somehow it knows how many there are."

"It knows," he agreed again. "Action and reaction are constant, anywhere in the universe, and in any form in the universe. One has but to read the forces correctly."

"Even in human events?" I asked, beginning to catch on.

"If we read correctly."

"Then psychology reduces to elementary physics?"

"If."

I nodded. "It must be so."

He looked at me, his wasted body strangely animated. "Show me your power," he said, using a Navy idiom.

"Yes, sir." I took a breath, studying him with more than my eyes and ears. "You are intelligent—about one point three on the human scale—and have a civilian university education. You are honest but lack physical courage, so you become compromised. You see reality too clearly, but it is painful, so you dull your sensitivity with a drug—and have done so increasingly for the past decade. You had and lost a woman; that contributed. When your Navy enlistment expires, and they deny you reenlistment, you will retire without protest, step off into space, float free toward the sun, and open your suit."

He was unimpressed. "You could have gotten most of that from Personnel records."

"Had I known your identity, sir," I agreed.

He nodded, acknowledging my point. I had been summoned suddenly to an office; I could not have known. "And why did Sergeant Scapegoat connect us?"

"I have a private mission. You—" I concentrated, seeking to fathom this specific aspect of his nature. My talent is normally a general thing, a perception of fundamental biases, rather than a detailed itemization of traits. It did take time for me to understand a person properly, and this was sudden. Mostly, in the Navy, I had not bothered to use my talent on the soldiers around me; it really wasn't worth it. I had used it on Juana, and on Sergeant Smith, once he caught my attention, but there was no more point in using it on everyone than in studying the complete Personnel files on everyone. It requires an effort to form an informed opinion, and the Navy does not leave a trainee much surplus energy. For routine life and work, it is often best simply to accept people at face value—particularly in a regimented system where deviance from the norm is not encouraged. "You need contact with someone who can apply instinctively the principles you have studied professionally. Such a contact would—would provide some meaning for your life, and you value meaning more than life."

"Purpose," he said. "Purpose more than meaning, though the two may overlap."

"Purpose, sir," I agreed.

"I have measured out my life in chicken shit."

"Yes, sir!"

"Shall we deal?"

"Help me recover my sister, sir, and I'll do anything you want, within reason and legality."

"What I want is reasonable and legal but too complex for you to fathom at the moment."

I concentrated on him again. There is nothing supernatural about my talent; I merely read people quite well. I can, to a large extent, discover their moods and natures from peripheral signals, but I cannot read minds. Intelligent interpretation, not telepathy, is my secret. Now I saw in this man the signals of an enormous ambition but not one to be expressed in simple things such as promotion or riches or romance. He craved power but not any ordinary or competitive type. Rather it was a kind of vindication he sought—vindication in his own eyes, by his own complex code. He sought, perhaps, to change the course of Man, in a devious fashion that only he himself could properly understand. This was a fascinating man! "Yes, sir," I agreed. "But I will cooperate to the extent feasible."

"Your destiny may change," he warned me.

I was aware that he believed he was understating the case. I began to believe it myself. "I have not determined my destiny," I said. "I only want to recover my sister. Then I must become an officer, to fulfill my commitment to Sergeant Smith, so I suppose that means a career in the Navy. I'm satisfied with that."

He lifted a ball. "Perhaps you are now," he said. "This is me." He indicated the ball he held. "This is you." He indicated the far ball.

"Yes, sir," I said noncommittally.

He released his ball. It swung down and struck the group, and my ball rebounded. The implication was clear enough. He intended to apply force to move me, according to his complex will, and I would have to react predictably. He was a strange yet well-meaning man, and his effort would have power, but as I watched the return swing of my ball and the thrust it imparted back to his ball, I knew that once he started me going, he would be subject to my force as much as I was now subject to his.

"Yes, sir," I repeated.

The balls swung back and forth, acting and reacting and re-reacting and slowly declining, until at last the entire group was gently swinging. "And there is the Navy," Lieutenant Repro said.

What we did would have a subtle but definite effect on the entire system. That was a grandiose ambition of his, yet it seemed a credible one.

"I think of these balls as a physical representation of honor," he said.

"Honor, sir?" I asked, surprised.

"Do you know what honor is, Hubris?"

"Integrity," I said.

He smiled. "I will educate you about honor. It is not integrity or truth. It is larger, a less straightforward concept. Honor has aspects of personal esteem, respect, dignity, and reputation, but it is more than these. Honor is an intangible concept, based more on appearance than reality, but its fundament is based on reality, and to a considerable extent it fashions its own reality. Civilization is a function of the honor of the human species. You must master the nuances of honor, to know personally what input will bring about what output." He started the balls rebounding in a complex clicking pattern by releasing them sequentially.

"What do I have to do with honor?" I asked. "It's hard enough just getting through training."

He shook his head ruefully. "I can see my work is cut out for me." But he was not upset by the challenge. "How can I help you recover your sister?"

I explained about the need to check the list of pirate ships doing business with Chip Off the Old Block, especially the one that handled EMPTY HAND chips.

"Yes, I have access to that list," he agreed. "It is considered part of Publicity, because no other department wants to touch the touchy matter of Navy trade with pirate vessels. We do keep track, but we don't advertise it, because then the question might arise why we don't stamp out that trade."

"Why don't we?" I asked.

"That is an excellent question, to which I can proffer no adequate answer. Do you wish to stamp out piracy?"

"Yes!" I said fervently.

Abruptly he stood up, and I saw just how tall he was. "Private First Class Hubris, I have a temporary detail for you. Come with me." This interview occurred before I was promoted to corporal; it is difficult to maintain a perfectly chronological narration when separate threads come together.

I realized that he did not feel free to talk frankly with me here in the office. "Yes, sir."

We walked out into the hall system that linked the various offices, and on to the officers' recreation section. "Do you play pool?" Lieutenant Repro asked.

"Yes, sir. Not well." I had learned all the available games; it was necessary for proper integration into the system.

"I will show you how to play well."

"Yes, sir. Am I permitted to play in the officer's room?"

"You are if I say so." He brought me to a pool table, and we took cues. "The monitors are unable to pick up sounds well in this vicinity," he murmured as he racked the balls. "Just keep your voice low and don't gesture expressively or react overtly."

"Yes, sir." I wasn't certain whether he was paranoid about being spied on, or whether there was justice to it. I can read much of a person's nature, but human nature is largely subjective. Probably there was both paranoia and justice.

"You hate all pirates because of what some did to your family?" he asked, not looking at me as he made his shot.

"Yes. I swore an oath to extirpate piracy from the system."

"But first you must recover your sister from the pirates."

"Yes."

"Suppose you discover that certain powers in the Jupiter hierarchy don't want the pirates extirpated?"

"I will find a way." I realized that he did have some notion why the Navy traded with pirates.

"First you must place yourself in a position to take direct action against the pirates. Then you must have an organization that is capable of doing the job."

"I will find a way, sir."

"I have amused myself by formulating in my mind the elements and personnel of a unit that would be capable of doing any job required of it, despite the opposition of the hierarchy. This unit could be turned to the extirpation of pirates."

"An imaginary unit, sir?"

"Part of my ambition is to make this unit become real."

"But the Navy would not let you assume such a command, sir," I said, perhaps undiplomatically.

"True. I can not assemble it myself. But an officer with the right credentials could."

"Who is that, sir?"

"That officer does not exist at present. I confess this is a weakness in my scheme."

"Then how—?"

"It will be necessary to bring him into existence."

I was silent, not following his logic.

"But first things first," he said abruptly. "The pirate trade with military bases is tolerated because there is graft. Therefore, any direct action against the pirates must be organized in secret. Once we locate the ship on which your sister is hostage, it will be necessary to provoke a conflict with that ship, so that it may be captured without affront to the powers that do not wish to disturb pirate ships."

"You can plan such a mission, sir?" This was obviously the right man to talk to!

"I? No. For that we require a good S-2 officer, for the necessary intelligence, and a strategist for the actual mission."

"Just to capture one ship, sir?"

"To capture it without the loss of your sister's life, and without disturbing the Naval status quo. Both are vital."

"I see, sir." This was becoming more complex than I had thought, but of course I hadn't thought it through. Sixteen is not the most thoughtful age.

"I will get on it, Hubris. You continue your training. Chance may put you in the position you need to accomplish your mission."

"Chance, sir?"

"We'll call it that." He smiled. "Patience, Hubris. A program of significance may be inaugurating here."

"Yes, sir." I did not quite realize or believe it then, but he had spoken absolute truth.

 

Lieutenant Repro was as good as his word. He was an addict, but he was competent. It is an error to suppose an addict is necessarily an inferior person. This one was a driven person.

In two weeks I had the name and location of the ship that handled EMPTY HAND: the Hidden Flower, now drifting in the inner Juclip. It was one of the more disciplined pirate vessels, having originally fled one of the Uranus navies and retaining a fair percentage of military personnel.

That was definitely the ship I had left Spirit on! My premonition of eventual victory grew.

When I completed my raider training and made E4, early in the next year when I was just seventeen, I went on for further training in related areas: infiltration, use of nonstandard weapons, disguises, small-ship piloting, practical emergency medicine, and similar. I was in continuous training, and I liked it. I wanted to be skilled at everything I might possibly need. The continuing availability of EMPTY HAND chips assured me that my sister remained functional.

I made E5, sergeant, at age nineteen, and was put in charge of my own highly trained raider squad. I was ready for action, but there was no action to be had because the pirates were behaving themselves reasonably well in local space, molesting only refugees and incidental stragglers, and it was Naval policy (facilitated by graft) not to make waves. I was helpless.

Then I received a cryptic message. It was a spacegram from Jupiter: Do you have it? It was signed "Q," with no return address or other identification.

I pondered that. Why should an obscure nineteen-year-old sergeant in the Jupiter Navy receive a message from Jupiter? As far as I knew, no one on the Colossus planet knew me. Of course, my enlistment record would be available there, but it was undistinguished. I had spent virtually all my time training for a mission that might never be scheduled. Could the spacegram be an error? That hardly seemed likely; it would have required specific information to locate my name and assignment. I was not a name to be read by mistake in an address directory.

What of that signature? Why was it merely an initial? This anonymity prevented me from responding, even to ask for clarification. Did the sender assume I would recognize him from that single mysterious initial? Why?

I pondered, and suddenly it came to me. I did know of someone whose name started with a Q, and I did have something that person wanted. The name was QYV, pronounced Kife, and the thing was the key that my fiancée Helse had carried. I now wore it on the chain with my dog tags, bound lengthwise so that it wasn't obvious. It was always with me: my sole physical memento of my lost love.

This had to be QYV, who had finally tracked down his lost key to me. That could not have been any easy job, for most of the people his courier Helse had encountered were dead. Certainly the pirates who had been responsible for her demise were dead; I had seen to that. Technically I had killed her—but only technically. She had died in our defensive action against attacking pirates. The memory still hurt; it would always hurt. But four years is a long time to a teenage youth, and I was now able to face the truth without more than an internal flinch.

I had no knowledge what lock that key might fit; I valued it solely because it had been Helse's. I was not about to give it up. If QYV wanted it, he would have to come and get it.

My feelings about QYV were balanced. I was sure he was a pirate, an illegal operator, probably a smuggler. I knew that his name was respected and feared throughout the pirate realm; no one dared cross QYV. I had sworn to extirpate all piracy, but I wasn't sure that oath included QYV because QYV had made it possible for Helse to travel to Jupiter as his courier for the key. That key had enabled me to meet and love her. It was true that I had also lost her, but QYV had not been responsible for that, and certainly had not approved it. QYV protected his couriers. He might be a criminal, but he had done no direct harm to me.

Now he was searching for his lost key and probably also for revenge against those who had balked his courier. I had the key, but I also craved revenge. To that extent, our purposes aligned. However, I knew the enemy of my enemy was not necessarily my friend, and I wanted no contact with QYV. Certainly I would not give up the key.

So my answer to this cryptic message was no problem: I ignored it. But I knew that it had to be merely a preliminary signal; I would be hearing more from QYV.

I did. I received an anonymous vid-call. The screen showed only the letter Q. "Do you?" a nondescript voice asked.

"Show me your power," I replied, and hung up.

A week later new orders came through for me. I was to report for space duty to the destroyer Hammerhead. Its mission was to capture an errant pirate ship, and it turned out that the ship was the Hidden Flower. The very ship I wanted.

In my mail, the last one before I transferred to the ship, I received a sealed note. Inside was a square of paper bearing the single letter Q.

QYV had shown me his power, indeed! How had he known of the thing I most wanted: the chance to rescue my sister Spirit? But still there was no deal, no demand for the key. This was only a demonstration, not the negotiation. But it was doubly impressive, for it also showed the potency of QYV's graft. I no longer considered Lieutenant Repro to be paranoid about pirate influence in the Navy; that influence was real.

I bid farewell to Juana; our two-year tenure as roommates was over. "There is another sergeant I can room with," she said bravely through her tears, so I wouldn't worry.

"Make him happy, Juana," I said. "We shall meet again."

"Yes, we shall," she agreed determinedly. There was theoretically no love between us, but I was aware that she had not entirely kept faith, and I myself was moved more than casually by the sudden separation. Juana was a good woman, and her supportive presence had done much to alleviate my own heartbreak over Helse. We had always known separation would come; enlisted personnel could not marry. Well, they could come close; E4's could be reassigned as units, and E5's could even have a child, using a counteragent to block the universal contraceptive. But that child would be a ward of the Navy and could be taken away at the convenience of the Navy. True marriage and family status, Navy-style, was reserved for officers. Juana could not join me on this hazardous mission, nor would I have wanted her to. Her skills were wrong, and so was her temperament; she was no adventurer. So it was circumstance rather than desire or regulations that separated us. Perhaps this was just as well; it would have been too easy to stay with her for life. Certainly she could attract another roommate; she could attract a hundred! She had been beautiful at age sixteen; at nineteen she was ravishing.

"And if you want to, when you use the ship's Tail," she murmured, "you may pretend it's me." Then she kissed me one final time, and I realized it was no joke. It would be uncomfortable sex on the ship after two years of Juana. Not because she was anything really special in this particular way, but because I did indeed care for her.

This mission had been arranged by QYV, I knew. But there had to be an official pretext. There had been several deaths from contaminated drugs, and the Hidden Flower had been implicated. It was probably a put-up job, but pirate ships had little recourse to legalities. It was to be a surgical strike, without fanfare; we were to capture this vessel undamaged and turn its personnel over to the proper Navy authorities. Except for one civilian hostage aboard it...

I met the captain of the Hammerhead and his crew; they would pilot my crew to the rendezvous with the target vessel. I do not name these people here because they are peripheral to my narration.

We boarded and accelerated toward the Hidden Flower.

 

Of course, this was not a straight line; there are few straight lines when traveling in space, contrary to popular illusion. It was a closing spiral as we moved from our position in the skew-ecliptic of the outer moons of Jupiter to the true ecliptic of the inner moons. Acceleration provided our pseudo-gravity, and it was not confined to single gee. We moved rapidly in toward the colossus planet, though, of course, we would never arrive there. As we neared the detection range of our prey, we set our snare.

It would of course have been virtually impossible to close on the pirate ship unobserved. All pirates were alert for Navy vessels and quickly took evasive action. We had more drive power and could have run the Hidden Flower down and holed her with a single shot, but destruction was not our purpose. We also could have haled her and demanded surrender, but she would have fled or fought or destroyed all her records and contraband before yielding to us. Those records were vital, theoretically. So we used a subterfuge.

We became a virtual derelict. We turned off our drive and drifted in orbit in the approximate path of the pirate. The Hidden Flower, like most pirates, was a scavenger; she took anything she could use from any ship she could disable. The EMPTY HAND trade was only part of her activity, not enough by itself to sustain her. She would not pass up a choice morsel like this.

We were a very special derelict. We had a double hull. The outer one was of the standard thickness and strength; the inner one was much stronger and was largely self-sealing.

We drifted for several days, Earth time. Little of significance has occurred on Earth in five centuries, but its time retains its hold on us, as do its several languages and cultures. Man never truly left Earth; he merely expanded Earth into the Solar System. At any rate, this delay was necessary to abate any suspicion on the part of the target ship.

In that time, we occupied ourselves in whatever manner we selected. Some played dominoes, either the spot-matching type or the physical collapsing-structures type. Some took on the lone girl representing the EM Tail in shifts, trying vainly to wear her out; she must have been nympho. Some viewed feelies. There was, ironically, one chip of the EMPTY HAND brand, the best of the lot; one of my men mentioned his regret at having to take out this particular ship. Some practiced their various combat proficiencies: barehand, sword, club, garrote, and so on. We were all proficient in several martial arts, but true expertise took many years to develop, so competitive practice was always welcome. Because of my talent and intensive training, I was one of the better practitioners, but my ability suffered when matched against the proficiency of strangers whose natures I did not yet know. So mostly I rested and exercised and reviewed raiding strategy in my mind. And got to know my men.

We knew the layout of the Hidden Flower; it was on record, and we had studied it to the point of memorization. We could now move competently within it blindfolded. Indeed, we would do something very like that, for all power in the ship would be stifled. This was necessary to incapacitate the self-destruct system. The pirates thought they were safe from boarding, because of that system, but our technology was ahead of theirs. So it meant a hand-to-hand struggle. We could not use a pacifier for the same reason they would not be able to blow up their own ship: All electric or electronic equipment would become inoperative while the suppressor field was in place.

"Alert," the captain murmured on the intercom. "Prepare for mission."

It was time. The Hidden Flower had sighted us and was closing. I got into my space suit and rendezvoused with my squad. Ten good men, all suited and ready. We did not use names on this mission; I was One, my corporal was Two, and the rest were Three through Eleven. "Remember," I said unnecessarily. "We want them alive—and you alive, too." We knew how to knock out a man bare-handed but also knew that some of those pirates had had similar training, and they would be desperate. So it was no sure thing.

The Hammerhead's crew were also suited. They were Navy men, somewhat disdainful of the soldiers of the enlisted ranks, but they knew what this mission entailed. If this mission malfunctioned, and the pirate ship self-destructed, the Navy personnel would be lost, too. They were dependent on our raider squad to do the job properly. They would have to sit and wait, for this part of it.

"Stand by for holing," the captain's voice came. We had the double hull, but still it was not comfortable waiting to be fired on and holed. If the pirates had a lucky shot, that penetrated the inner hull, too, we would have a rougher time of it than we liked. That was why everyone aboard the Hammerhead was now suited.

The missile came. The ship rocked as a shell detonated against the hull and rocked again as another struck. The third one holed it, and the air blew out; then the bombardment ceased. This was the manner of operation of this pirate: Hole the ship to make quite sure it was dead, then board and clean it out. It was an efficient operation, virtually risk-free, but it forfeited the normal pirate delights of rape, slave-taking, and bloody hand slaughter. Most pirates seemed to crave literal blood, using swords to hack at helpless victims. How well I remembered seeing my father die that way!

I controlled my black rage. These pirates were just as murderous, and I had no sympathy for them, but my mission was to recover my sister alive, and I needed to be coldly objective, to be sure that nothing went wrong. Navy justice would take care of the others.

Now there was silence among us, for we were theoretically dead. The inner hull remained tight, but I led my squad quietly out the lock and to the outer hull. In the darkness we could not see the hole but did not need to; we waited by the main airlock. It was now useless as a pressure lock, but the pirate ship would use it for attachment, to keep the ships conveniently together for the plundering. Once they used the lock, we would strike.

I heard the clang of contact and felt the shudder of the ship. We were in vacuum, but sound is transmitted through substance, so as long as we remained in contact with the hull, our ears could guide us. They guided the Navy captain, too; when that airlock opened, he would turn on the suppressor. Then it would be up to us. We estimated that there were about thirty pirates aboard the Hidden Flower, three times the number of our raiders, but we would have the advantage of surprise and planning.

The lock opened. And the gentle vibration of the pirate ship's operating systems ceased. Our suppressor had blanked out both ships, freezing them electronically. This included the life-support systems; the air would soon be going stale. The mechanical systems of the suits were unaffected.

Now was our time. The first party through the lock, in suits, didn't know what had happened. We closed on the three of them in the dark and took them physically prisoner, three to one. We simply disarmed them and carried them to our inner airlock and put them in, after making sure they had no knives or other purely physical weapons tucked out of sight. The Navy personnel would know what to do with them. The pirates could not communicate with their ship, since their suit radios were now nonfunctional. Not that their fellows would have paid much attention; they had problems of their own, now.

But I knew that Captain Brinker, of the Hidden Flower, was not stupid. Brinker was a woman masquerading as a man, and she kept her secret and her position by ruthless cunning. She would know the moment the power failed that the Hidden Flower was under siege, and she would react immediately. My hope was that she would not know by whom she was being attacked, so would not use Spirit as a hostage. I intended to give her no leisure to think of this; speed was essential.

We operated the airlock—all airlocks had manual controls, since emergency use could occur when power was off—and sent in a party of three. These were our scouts, specially versed in stealth; they would tap a signal if all was well, and another if there was trouble, and we would be guided accordingly.

The all-clear signal came, and three more of us went through. The corporal had been in the first party; I was in the second. I operated the lock controls in the darkness without hesitation; I had practiced carefully for this.

Number Two, the corporal, gripped my arm. I touched my helmet to his. "Three more here," he said. "Unconscious."

"Take them out," I said, "I'll secure the center passage."

He loaded the bodies into the lock, having no difficulty because this was the weightless region, then accompanied them back through. That made six pirates out of the way; perhaps twenty-four to go. The more of them we could take out piecemeal, the better off we would be. At this point they could still overwhelm us, if they made a concerted effort.

I moved toward the center of the ship with four men, leaving one to guard the lock. Why weren't there more pirates here? They had been set up to plunder a dead ship; they should have had a dozen on duty, not six. Answer: The captain had caught on when the power failed and had immediately reassigned all but three already outside and the three waiting to follow. But where had they been reassigned? This could be trouble.

It was. This ship was too quiet. There was none of the noise of confusion there should have been. Captain Brinker had probably set a trap, an ambush, and now was waiting for us to blunder into it.

I thought of the five swinging steel balls on Lieutenant Repro's desk. For every action, an equal and opposite reaction. Force translated exactly. We were now in the role of swinging balls. The Hidden Flower had bombarded and boarded us; we had reacted by neutralizing her electronics, capturing her boarders, and boarding her back; and she reacted by laying an internal ambush for us. The speed of the pirates' reaction bothered me. It was almost as if Captain Brinker had anticipated this raid.

Anticipated it? How could she have, unless someone had tipped her off?

Kife! I muttered subvocally. QYV had set up this mission; he could also have set up a countermission. What did I know about him? Only that he operated ruthlessly, and that he wanted my key. Why not lure me to the pirate ship, my sister as the bait, then capture me and the key and the Navy ship, too? It would be written off as a mission that failed; the Navy would cover up its embarrassment in the usual fashion, and I would disappear.

Very well: Accept the notion of a pirate countertrap. How could the pirates hope to deal with the Hammerhead when the suppressor controlled both ships? It would not be enough to kill or capture me and my squad; the Navy ship would remain supreme. There was no way the Hidden Flower could prevail as long as the suppressor operated.

In my mind, one steel ball swung into another, and a new one rebounded. Now I understood!

I touched the man next to me. Our helmets met. "Back," I said. "Evacuate. Fast. Spread the word."

He was a trained man. He did not question the order. He acted like a cog in a fine machine. He touched the man behind.

In moments we were hastily retreating. We met the corporal with the other arriving men. "Out. Quickly," I said to his helmet. "To the inner hull."

We crowded out through the lock, and on to the inner hull, after tapping out the recognition signal. No one balked or hesitated. How glad I was for the type of discipline Sergeant Smith had instilled in his recruits! Now our lives depended on it.

When we were back in the inner hull, in air, I lifted my helmet so I could communicate more freely. "I must talk to the captain immediately."

He came to me in the dark. "You aborted the mission, soldier?" he inquired with a hint of contempt.

"We have been betrayed," I said. "The pirates knew we were coming. They have set a countertrap. We have to nullify it or we're in trouble."

"What trap, soldier?" he asked skeptically.

"I believe there is a traitor among your personnel," I said. "He is going to turn off the suppressor so the pirates can use power weapons to overwhelm the raiding crew. They are hiding now, waiting for that."

"Among my men?" he demanded, outraged. "Among yours, perhaps, if any traitor exists. Not mine!"

"Sir, the ship is yours, but the mission is mine," I reminded him. "I must act to accomplish the mission and to save your ship and the lives of my men. You must facilitate this."

"Sergeant, facilitation of the mission is one thing; an accusation of treason against my crew is another."

"Yes, sir. We must hurry. I must interview each of your crew members in the next few minutes."

"You have some nerve! This is highly irregular."

"It is necessary to the mission, sir."

"That statement gives you authority of a sort," the captain conceded grudgingly. Anger fairly radiated from him. "I shall cooperate. But there will be an investigation of this matter when we return." That was definitely a threat.

"Yes, sir. Please move it along."

Someone had lighted a candle; now we could see. The captain's aristocratic lips quirked. "Start with me, Sergeant."

"You're clean, sir."

"Just like that, you can judge me?"

"Yes, sir. For this purpose. Please expedite this; we don't know how long the pirates will hold off."

"Your arrogance is phenomenal!" But he gave the order, and one by one his officers came to be interviewed by the sergeant.

Because speed was essential, I had to proceed bluntly. My talent served in this instance as a lie detector. Of each I demanded, "Are you a loyal member of this mission?" Each, of course, asserted that he was. Most considered the question an indignity and would have refused to respond had not Navy discipline required it.

When I came to the ensign in charge of special equipment, I got a false reading. He was lying about his loyalty.

"Place this man under arrest, Captain," I said. "He is our traitor."

The captain was too outraged for a moment to speak. I filled in the gap by addressing the ensign. "I know it is you, sir. You have a choice: Tough it out and take your chances with the court-martial when we return to base, or turn state's evidence and help us now. I am the one pressing the charge; I will give you opportunity to resign without being charged if you cooperate."

"Preposterous!" the captain huffed.

"It is your choice, Ensign," I said evenly. "You have thirty seconds. I will be generous, if."

The ensign looked at me, then at the captain. The ensign was an officer, while I was an enlisted man, but it was evident that I was sure of my ground. His gaze dropped. "I'll cooperate," he said.

The captain's mouth dropped open.

"What is the pirate trap?" I asked.

"I was to turn off the suppressor when all of your squad was inside the pirate ship," he said. "Then I would pie the electronic fire-control system. The pirates would have their destruct system reactivated, putting this ship in check, and we would be unable to retaliate in kind. Then their raiding party would board us—"

"Thank you," I said. I turned to the captain. "Sir, I suggest you confine this man to quarters for the duration of this mission. No charge will be filed against him, and there will be no note in his record."

"The man has committed treason!" the captain exclaimed.

"No, sir. He has informed us in timely fashion of a plot against this mission. He never acted; he merely kept silent until the moment was propitious."

"But his intent—"

"Who can speak for intent? It is the action that counts. I gave him my word, sir. He is to be allowed to resign for personal reasons without dishonor." Sergeant Smith had told me in Basic that souls could be bought and sold for a clean record; I had learned the lesson well.

"Sergeant, you can't presume to tell me—"

"For the good of the mission, sir, I must insist."

The captain clenched his fist. Then he backed down as I had known he would. He realized that I had already saved his ship and probably his life, not to mention his reputation, by the deal I had made. "He shall not be charged," he agreed. "But you and I will settle in due course, Sergeant."

The ensign was conducted away. He shot back one glance of gratitude to me. He had gambled on me and won.

"Now, sir, we must regroup to complete our mission. Have one of your men turn off the suppressor—"

"What?"

"Long enough to satisfy the pirates that their plan is working. They will proceed to the counterraid. Half my squad will be inside the Hidden Flower, ready to take their ship; the other half will deal with the pirate raid."

"Half your squad—five men—can handle the whole pirate ship?" he demanded.

"Yes, sir, in this circumstance. The pirates will radio you to demand your surrender; you must avoid committing yourself. They will then issue an ultimatum: If any of your men resist their raiders, they will blow up both ships. You must accuse them of bluffing, but you must sound uncertain."

"I comprehend the ploy. Any other orders, Sergeant?" he inquired ironically.

"Just keep alert, sir. This is no sure thing, because those pirates are primed for action. Turn the suppressor on again when my corporal tells you to. Mistiming could be fatal, for they will surely use their destruct system when they realize they are being outmaneuvered." I turned to my second-in-command, who had been waiting silently behind me. "When you observe their raiding party clear their ship, take them down without warning, with your stunner beams. Then turn on the suppressor—before they can activate their destruct system—and come in after me, in the Hidden Flower. Fast. The rest as before."

My corporal nodded. He knew what to do and how to do it. I had confidence in him, and now he had confidence in me.

I took five men and returned to the lock. It was chancy doing this, for the pirates might wonder why we were going back and forth. But they were waiting for the suppressor to stop, so probably thought we were just ferrying our captives out. They had sacrificed six men to lull us; the rest would wait for us to bumble inefficiently into their trap. We entered, then crowded into equipment-storage alcoves and waited. After a minute, the suppressor went off; the captain was following orders.

Almost immediately there was activity in the pirate ship. The lights did not come on; they were too canny for that. But we heard the faint noises of the supplementary airlock being used; their raiding party was sneaking out, and their communications officer was surely getting in touch with ours to deliver the ultimatum. Other men were coming toward us, armed with power weapons that we supposedly believed were inoperative. A man using a knife against a laser pistol would live or die according to the state of that pistol! But we were similarly armed and warned, and they did not know this. This was our counter-countertrap.

I heard a man come into the access passage, followed by others. They did not speak, but I knew they were perplexed. Where were we? We waited, unmoving.

When discovery was incipient, I fired my stunner at the nearest. He went limp without a sound, for I had taken him in the throat. We had to keep them silent, to avoid giving alarm before my corporal's party took out the external raiders. My men followed suit. In a moment we had stunned five pirates.

That took care of eleven, here. I judged that a dozen more would be out with the raiding party. That should leave only about seven in the ship, one of which was Spirit. The odds were now just about even.

We waited, and the suppressor came back on. The corporal had scored! We put away our inoperative power weapons and moved on toward the pirate control room. The remaining pirates should be disorganized now, caught by the restoration of the suppressor; we could put them away relatively efficiently.

It wasn't quite that simple. The pirates, aware that something was wrong, were now playing the same game we were. My men spread out, delving like deadly snakes for their hiding prey. I dropped silently down the center tunnel to the control area. The ships were spinning end-over-end, Navy-fashion, so the centrifugal gee was greatest at the extremes. I touched the ladder lightly with alternate hands, controlling my fall and pushing myself away from the wall, since such a fall seems curved. I reached the floor and paused, listening.

There was someone near. My suit was designed for completely silent life support; his was not; therefore, it was not one of my men. I pictured him in my mind, getting his position clear; then I moved in and ran my metal needle into his main oxygen tube.

Now he was in trouble, for I had holed his tube between the tank and the regulatory valve. Oxygen hissed into his suit under unrestrained pressure, bypassing the valve. The outer puncture sealed itself, but not the tube; he was inflating uncomfortably. He had no recourse but to remove his helmet to relieve that pressure, and then I caught his head and jammed my armored finger at a buried nerve 'complex under the ear, and he was unconscious. I left him on the floor and moved on.

I entered the control room. It was empty. Since the suppressor made all the electrical controls inoperative, including the self-destruct system, it was pointless for them to man it. I moved on to the captain's office and paused again. There was only one entrance to the office, and it would be dangerous to use that.

Again the image of a steel ball striking another came to my mind: Open that door and trigger a devastating reaction. Captain Brinker was no shrinking violet, though she was the true hidden flower. I needed another way.

Quickly I removed my suit. There was air here; the suits were in case the ship got holed, or its stalled life-support system was insufficient. There was air at the moment, and I would use it.

I set up the empty suit before the office door. Then I stood to the side and extended a hand to draw the entry panel aside.

Something thunked into the suit. It fell over. I waited. I knew Captain Brinker could not afford to leave the suit there long; it would serve as a signal of her presence.

I heard her come out. She wore no suit, either, knowing it interfered with nocturnal combat.

I could have knifed her, but I wanted her alive. I went after her bare-handed, launching myself in a tackle.

She heard me and moved. I sideswiped her, managing to catch hold of one bare arm. I yanked on it, getting her off-balance, and swept at her ankles with my foot, using a judo takedown. I had not seen her body in the blackness, but my glancing touch had provided me with a suggestion of amazing femininity.

She jumped and swung at me with her free hand. By the way she moved, I knew there was a knife in it.

I caught that hand, clasping it with my fingers, squeezing it, seeking leverage on the knife. We fell together to the floor, torso to torso, and I confirmed that she was not only naked but voluptuous. How had she concealed her sex so effectively?

Then I felt the fingers of her hand and realized that her little finger was missing. "Spirit!" I whispered.

She froze. "Hope," she responded after a moment.

"I got your message. EMPTY HAND. Where's Brinker?"

The cold metal of the blade of a knife touched my neck. Suddenly I knew where Captain Brinker was.

I was trained in combat, but so was Brinker. She had reflexes no other person could match, and iron nerve. She had the drop on me with the knife; I knew I could not escape it. I had her ship by this time, but she had me. She had sprung yet another trap, using my sister to put me off-guard. What a callous ploy that was: Spirit, believing I was a pirate raider from a rival ship, could have killed me, or I her. Captain Brinker, the bloodless female pirate, didn't care; either way, she had her chance.

I held Spirit, savoring her presence after four years, though I had not rescued her yet. "What is your offer, Captain?"

"Life for life," she said. "Yours for mine."

"Agreed." And the knife withdrew. I kissed Spirit, then disengaged and got to my feet. "You can take your lifeboat out, as I did before."

"Yes. I know you are a man of honor, Hubris."

Honor. Lieutenant Repro had lectured me on it, and increasingly I accepted his definition. Truth can be a liar, when incomplete; honor is more than integrity. Honor obliged me to follow through on the spirit of the agreement as well as the letter. There would be no treachery, no loophole.

"Spirit," I said. "Go get dressed, then stay clear while we deal."

Spirit moved away in the dark, and Captain Brinker did not protest. Brinker knew that Spirit had been forfeited as a hostage the moment she was used to decoy me.

"What other deal?" Brinker asked.

"A secret for a secret. Yours for Kife's."

"Agreed." She paused momentarily, knowing that I protected the secret of her sex by not even naming it. "Kife offered a Naval vessel for a key you wear. He set up the trap; I was to deliver the key. I do not know what the key is for."

"He honored his bargain with you," I said. "He betrayed me, but I caught on. How can I reach him?"

"Communications were anonymous. I was to mail the key to Box Q, New Wash, USJ, 20013."

"Company," Spirit murmured, returning.

"We're done here," I said. I raised my voice. "Navy in charge here. Is the ship secure?"

"Secure, Sergeant," one of my men agreed from the control room. He was the one Spirit had heard.

"Losses?"

"One, inside. No report from outside."

"Go check. Tell the captain I am releasing the pirate lifeboat; let it go without molestation. Turn off the suppressor when satisfied that all is secure."

"Right." He moved off.

"I'll lead; you follow, Spirit," I said. I set out for the Hidden Flower's lifeboat, Captain Brinker behind me, Spirit following her.

One of my men guarded the lifeboat access. "Hubris here," I told him in the dark. "I have made a deal. I am releasing this pirate to the lifeboat."

My man moved aside, not questioning this. Captain Brinker entered the lifeboat. "Perhaps we shall deal again, Hubris," she said.

"Perhaps," I agreed noncommittally.

She closed the hatch. She would not be able to take off until the suppressor field stopped, but she was aware of that. The key element of our deal was that the lifeboat would not be fired on as it departed.

Then I found Spirit's hand in the dark and drew her in to me. We embraced and kissed again like long-lost lovers. She was my closest kin and best friend; now my life had shape.

As I held her, noting her newly strange adult body so like that of my older sister, Faith, and yet reminiscent of the twelve-year-old child I had left, I knew there would be complications to negotiate. I would have to persuade the Navy captain to make no protest over my handling of either the traitor or the pirate captain. But a successful mission would make his record, too, look better. He could spare himself embarrassment by going along, and I rather thought he would. Spirit was a more complicated problem. I wanted her with me, now and always, but she was a civilian.

A civilian? She had had four years experience aboard a pirate ship! She surely knew more about handling a spacecraft than any ordinary person did.

"You are going to join the Navy," I informed her.

"Of course," she agreed, as if there had never been any question. Perhaps this was true; she had always had a clear notion where she was going, though she generally had not shared her insights with others.

Then the power returned. The lights came on, and we had to separate slightly. The lifeboat took off. Things were busy after that.