Angelmass

The memory faded, his face creasing with concern again. What are they going to do to Jereko? Are they going to hurt him?

"I don't know," Chandris said, her mind still back behind her in that office. So those men were guarding a lone prisoner, not simply standing by while he was being interrogated.

But that still didn't make any sense. Surely Magasca had enough real prison space for even such a supposedly high-profile criminal like a master Pax spy. There was no reason Forsythe should have to turn his office into a makeshift cell.

Unless the High Senator didn't want him talking to anyone else.

And then it all fell together, and she found herself looking at Ronyon with sudden new understanding. Of course. Kosta wouldn't have wanted to go to jail—he wanted to get out to Angelmass, and there would be no chance of wheedling his way there once he was officially charged. He would have tried to talk Forsythe into holding off on an official arrest while he went and did his experiment, probably nobly offering to turn himself back in when it was finished.

And when that hadn't worked, he had played his trump card.

The fact that Forsythe wasn't wearing his angel.

"So Mr. Forsythe talked to Jereko," she said. "Did he say anything to you when he came out?"

He told me not to tell anyone about Jereko, Ronyon signed, his face suddenly going uncertain halfway through the sentence. Uh-oh. I wasn't supposed to tell you this, was I?

"It's okay," Chandris said hastily. "I'm sure he just meant not to tell anyone who didn't already know."

Ronyon blinked. You already knew?

Chandris felt her throat tighten, seeing a deep hole suddenly open up in front of her. Admitting to Ronyon that she knew about Kosta might get him to talk more freely, but it would also damn her as an accessory to espionage if he ever repeated that to Forsythe.

But she had no choice. Not if she was going to help Kosta. "Yes, I knew," she said. "He told me a couple of days ago, when we were discussing what to do about Angelmass."

Ronyon shivered, his shoulders hunching like he was trying to make himself smaller. That's a bad place, he signed, his eyes looking haunted. It scared me a lot.

"It scares me, too," Chandris assured him. "And Jereko, and a lot of other people."

She leaned toward him slightly. "That's why Jereko and I need to go out there. We need to find out some things about it, so that no one will have to be scared anymore. Can you help us?"

His face puckered even more. I don't know, he signed, the words starting to come out faster in his agitation. Mr. Forsythe told me not to tell anyone, and now I have. If I help you, he's going to be real mad at me.

"He'll be mostly mad at me," Chandris assured him. "If you get in trouble, I'll tell him it was my fault, that you didn't have anything to do with it."

He peered down at her hands, his face twisted almost like he was going to cry. But that wouldn't be true, he signed. You aren't making me do anything. Mr. Forsythe says when somebody does something wrong they should take the blame themselves.

"He's right," Chandris conceded. Except for Forsythe himself, she added silently, the thought of his fake angel pendant flitting through her mind. But it was no use bringing that up. Ronyon was clearly a willing accomplice to the fraud, which meant that Forsythe must have spun him some sort of story to make the whole thing seem legitimate. Trying to argue the point now would only confuse him.

I mean, I want to help, Ronyon went on, signing so fast now she could hardly keep up. You and Jereko helped me a lot when we were out on the ship and I got scared. But Mr. Forsythe told me not to tell anybody—

"Yes, I know," Chandris said, touching his hand soothingly. "It's all right. It's my fault—I shouldn't have asked you. I'm sorry."

He blinked. That's all right, he signed, almost shyly. I'm not mad at you. I like you.

She smiled. "I like you too, Ronyon," she said, and meant it. There was something about his earnest, childlike i

And Jereko, too?

"Jereko, too," she said, nodding.

His eyes searched her face for a moment. Then, the creases vanished from his forehead and he smiled. Okay, he signed. I believe you.

"Good," Chandris said, feeling a pang of guilt. Did it count as a lie, she wondered uncomfortably, if you had all the good intentions in the world, but at the same time didn't have the foggiest idea how you were going to make a promise work? "Do you know when Mr. Forsythe will be coming back in the morning?"

He said nine o'clock, Ronyon signed. Are you going to talk to him about Jereko?

She reached out and took his hands. "Thank you," she said quietly, squeezing them once and then standing up. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He smiled up at her, exactly like a child who'd just been told he'd been a good boy. Good night, Chandris, he signed. Happy dreams.

She swallowed. "You, too, Ronyon."

He was still smiling as she left.

When Forsythe's presence on Seraph first came to light, just after the Gazelle's near-fatal brush with Angelmass, the Governor had offered the distinguished visitors top-class hotel rooms as well as temporary office space. Forsythe had accepted the office, but had turned down the accommodations.

His ship was just as comfortable, nearly as convenient to the Government Building, and much easier to keep nosy media types away from.

He sat alone now in the control room of the ship, a drink gripped in his hand, gazing out the landing viewport at the starry sky overhead. It was nearly three in the morning, and he was as bone-weary as he had ever been in his life.

And, though he would never admit it to anyone, as frightened.

EmDef was doing its best—he had to give them that. In the seven hours since the Pax invasion they had pulled together an amazing assortment of fighting ships, armed patrol craft, and even a few research and weather satellites that could be modified into floating weapons platforms. Well before the Komitadji arrived over Seraph, all of the planet's defenses would be ready.

And none of it would do a single bit of good.

Forsythe sighed, a dark and lonely sound in the deserted control room. The Komitadji was just too big, too powerful, too indestructible. EmDef could throw everything they had against it and still not make a significant reduction in its offensive capabilities. When the dust cleared, the Komitadji would still be there.

And it would be sitting in orbit above a completely helpless world.

Forsythe sipped at his drink without tasting it, visualizing that bleak scenario. Earlier, at the battle by the net, the Komitadji's commander had destroyed a Hellfire missile rather than let it u

Or would the level of restraint instead be tied to how quickly the vanquished were willing to surrender? Would the level of punitive action rise with each dent the EmDef forces put in the Komitadji's hull?

Forsythe had ordered that the people of Seraph not be informed of the impending attack, arguing in part that they might as well get one last good night's sleep. Would they understand his reasoning this coming afternoon when the truth abruptly rose up and slapped them in the face?

More importantly, would the EmDef men and women who would be getting no sleep at all tonight understand if he abruptly threw all their hard work away and surrendered Seraph to the Pax without a shot being fired?

What was a High Senator's duty here? To satisfy pride by allowing as much damage as possible to be inflicted on both sides? To present the money-worshiping Pax with a Pyhrric victory by forcing them to destroy much of what they had come here to conquer?