The Gripping Hand

"Bandwagon," Joyce said. "Glenda Ruth, you agree?"

"I guess I have to."

"I have a new target group for you," Atropos said.

"Engaging."

"Rawlins here. Commodore, we're getting no answer from the Fleet, and we're going to be overwhelmed."

"Suggestions?"

"Run for it while we can. Pop back into the Mote system, where we have allies."

"It's not much of a chance."

"More than we have now," Rawlins said, "Sir."

"Actually, it's a good plan, for you," Re

"Just a minute-"

"No, we don't have any time at all. I'm staying on course. You run like hell. Rawlins, somebody's got to survive this. Our Moties analyze it this way. If the enemy gets back alive, the neutrals will join the Khanate. We can't let that happen! Rawlins, you get back into the Mote system and let everyone know the Empire is coming!"

There was a long pause. "Aye, aye, sir. Godspeed."

"Godspeed. Freddy, get the Flinger ready."

"Sinbad's last stand," Freddy said. He nodded toward Bury. "I guess he deserves a Viking's funeral. Only there's no dog at his feet."

The cameras went dark. "We've lost the link to Atropos," Joyce dictated quietly.

"No shadow from Atropos now," Re

"I've got a tentative target group. Give me a look to be sure. Right. Launching. Retracting. Captain, I think that's it for the Flinger."

"Agreed."

"I hate being blind!" Joyce shouted.

"Who doesn't?" Freddy said.

"In the days before superconductors, we'd be getting burn throughs now," Re

"Whoopee. How long do we have?" Glenda Ruth asked.

"Hour anyway," Re

"The Engineers are rebuilding cameras," Victoria said. "And I am informed there is a new ante

"Bless you," Re

"Identify yourself."

"What the hell? God damn! Imperial Fleet, this is Imperial auxiliary destroyer Sinbad, Commodore Kevin Re

A short delay, then the regular communications screen lit. "Imperial Fleet, this is INSS Atropos, William Hiram Rawlins. We are part of the task force Agamemnon, detached to duty with Commodore Re

"Are there other Imperial ships with you?"

"None. Atropos and Sinbad," Re

"I may have a better way. Put Lieutenant Blaine on."

"Atropos here. Here's Blaine. Admiral, if you're going to help us, you better be damn quick about it! We're in trouble."

"We can see that. Blaine, who am I?"

"Captain Damon Collins," Blaine's voice answered quickly.

"Right. Blaine, tell me something a Motie wouldn't know."

"Poker. That first game. I know how you beat me, Captain."

"Remind me."

Re

But Blaine was talking fast. "I'd never played Big Squeeze before. High-low, six cards plus a replacement. We had our six. I was showing two little pair up, and two down cards. You had three hearts and a something, club six maybe-"

"It's coming back."

"-nothing bigger than a nine I threw a down card. You threw the nine of hearts. Pulled the jack of hearts. We declared, both high. You had the flush."

"You swore you'd never figure out how I did that."

"I worked it out after the next game. What happened was, you already had your flush, but you had a shot at low hand, too. I was betting like I had a full house. You believed me. You threw your flush away and got it back with your low hand ruined. ‘Rape my lizard,' you said to yourself-"

"And beat you for the very last time."

"Fyunch(click)."

"Enough," another voice said. "Is it Blaine?"

"Definitely, Admiral."

"Sinbad and Atropos. Converge on the Flag. We're sending escorts. All squadrons, engage enemy closely."

Epilogue Endgame

To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive, and the true success is to labour.

Robert Louis Stevenson

I

From the stretched-taffy look of the ice around the Mosque, it must have been twisted almost horizontal, then later pulled back to true. No damage showed. If anything, it had been improved.

The tremendous space of the Great Hall now sprouted semicircular balconies at every level. Men and Moties clustered on the balconies in groups of three or ten, sometimes shouting or even jump/flying from balcony to balcony. Diplomacy moved at a breakneck pace here, slowing down at times to accommodate human minds.

What Joyce was doing wouldn't have worked in the older Mosque; wouldn't have worked without the gyrostabilized camera either.

In the diminished gravity Joyce Mei-Ling Trujillo was leaping from balcony to balcony stopping to swing the camera at Nabil and a handful of Moties, again with Glenda Ruth and her brother to do a short interview, then leaping on. She looked like some lovely goddess moving from cloud to cloud, gradually approaching earth.

She reached the floor flushed with the exercise, started to say something to Kevin, then swung toward the great monitor screen.

The great blue-and-white sphere filled most of the view. Cloud patterns streamed sluggishly across continents whose borders were marked all in circles. "That's Mote Prime! Isn't it, Kevin? I can see the craters. I came to see Mote Prime, and we've been here seven bloody months without coming anywhere near it!"

He put a hand out to steady her in the minuscule gravity. "You won't get any closer this trip. The good news is, they still don't seem to have any kind of access to space. That footage was taken from a Medina ship skimming just above the clouds, pole to pole, and nobody tried to shoot back."

"I would have loved to see the Zoo."

"Probably gone by now. Things don't last among Moties."

Joyce and camera faced him. "So it's a blockade again, but with Moties in charge."

"Subject to approval from home."

"Of course." Joyce switched off the camera. "Off the record? You don't have any doubts, do you, Kevin?"

"Plenty. How do we use the worm here? We could pick a faction on Mote Prime-maybe King Peter's family survived-and distribute it. Or not. Or not yet. The Crazy Eddie Worm is still experimental. Say..."

"What?"

"Bear with me a second, Joyce. Victor! Dammit, that worm's done it. Mediators really do all look alike now. Victor? All just out of adolescence."

The Mediator who had been the Tartars' Victoria bounded toward them in a low arc. "Kevin?"

"Yeah. Victor, sooner or later you'll be in contact with Mote Prime. We want certain bodies returned to us for proper burial. Three human males, Midshipmen Potter, Staley, Whitbread. They may have been dissected, God knows what, but please retrieve them at your earliest convenience."

"It will be done. If there is any successor to the group that held them. Things change rapidly there."

"Some don't. Try."

"Yes. Anything else?"

"Yeah. Joyce, guess what the Bandit Group was guarding?"

"Some weapons cache that was too far away to use," Joyce said promptly.