'Train, you need to take your young friend aside and make a few matters clear to him,' Baressa continued. 'I thought that you, at least, were old enough to know better.'
With that she took Velmeran by the arm and led him down the broad corridor toward the pilots' apartments. The younger pilot was too stunned to know what to think. He could only recall that Baressa had been his stern teacher only a few years before. For her to champion him so firmly left him speechless.
'Barthan is a fool and he always will be,' she complained aloud, more to herself. 'Rank and seniority are all- important to him, now that he has a measure of his own, and he would like to forget that the only pack leader he is senior to is you. I guess that means a lot to him, since he does not have a fourth of your talent or quick wits. You threaten him, you might say, not that I am offering that as an excuse. And I certainly do not want you worrying about trouble from him. Train is our other resident fool, but he just needed to have things spelled out for him. He will keep Barthan under control now.'
She paused, noticing that Velmeran was staring at her, and smiled. 'I would not have you intimidated by me, either. It was one thing for me to be a little strict with you when I was teaching you how to run a pack. The time for teaching is past, but there are still some things that I can do to help you. And if I am standing firmly behind you, the other pack leaders will too. Seven of them, at least. That seems like a good percentage to me, certainly at this point.'
'Help me what?' Velmeran asked.
Baressa paused and regarded him closely. 'You are no fool, Meran. And you are certainly no coward. Now you tell me what I am talking about.'
'I think that you mean to make me Commander-designate,' he answered cautiously, afraid that she would scorn him if he guessed wrong. Up until Consherra's very blatant bints, he had always thought of Baressa as filling that role, officially or not.
She nodded firmly. 'So you do understand. I know that it was understood that I was the only candidate for that position. And I would have taken it for the same reason that your mother did, because I was needed. But I do not want it.'
'And you think I do?' Velmeran asked.
'No, but you will take it. You are better than I am,' she replied as she turned to leave.
'But I am not ready to command this ship!' he protested.
Baressa paused to glance back at him. 'You will be.'
5
In Donalt Trace's experience there was nothing so boring and pointless as a formal dinner party. These were the battles that young Richart Lake had been brought up to fight; in his opinion, he could do more good for trade and commerce by fighting Starwolves, subduing unaffiliated fringe worlds and chastising the colonies. He had to admit that the old Councilor and his grandson did fight and win major battles armed with only hors d'oeuvres and wineglasses, hammering out sweet deals for Farstell Trade or alliances between the allegedly unified sectors. The only thing he failed to understand was why he was expected to have any part of it.
Tonight he had retreated into a dark corner. Councilor Lake's suite was spacious, occupying two-thirds of an entire level of the Sector Residence. He preferred the cavernous halls and chambers of the Lake Mansion, some distance down the coast from Vannkarn, where it was easy to lose one's self without committing the social felony of simply disappearing. Quarters were too close in this apartment, but for the moment he was left alone, a glass of warm, flat wine in his hand, as he watched young Richart, seemingly a boyish figure surrounded by the old fools he was deftly maneuvering into trade agreements that were not to their best advantage.
Just then he saw the Councilor's personal servant approaching in a very purposeful manner and used that as an excuse to remove himself, suspecting that there must be some message. Only an attack of Starwolves would get him out of this entirely, and he knew that he would never be so lucky, but any respite would be welcome.
'A courier is in,' Javarns explained. 'There is a messenger who wishes to speak with you, sir.'
'Here?'
The older man nodded. 'He is waiting in the hall, sir.'
'Thank you, Javarns,' Trace said, handing him the half-empty glass. 'I will speak with him outside.'
The messenger was indeed waiting for him in the hallway just outside the suite's double doors, shifting nervously as he eyed the armed guard who had escorted him up. He was a young officer, no doubt captain and crew of the courier that had brought him (couriers were really stingships, their sophisticated attack systems removed to make room for a pocket-sized cabin and a tiny hold). One of Trace's greatest regrets was that the Union lacked an effective long-range achronic transceiver such as the Starwolves possessed, their own being barely good enough for in-system use.
'So?' he asked impatiently. 'Are you out of Tallin?'
'Yes, sir!' The young officer snapped to attention and presented him the locked metal folder bearing the report. The Sector Commander only stared at it and shrugged.
'I have no time right now. You were there?' he asked, and the messenger nodded. 'So you tell me, quick and simple, what happened. Did it work?'
'No, sir,' the officer explained. 'Apparently there was some malfunction in the decoy ship. It evaded but did not respond to contact from the station. It certainly did not explode.'
Trace shrugged again. 'Doesn't sound like my ship, if it evaded. The one we sent out wasn't that smart. I suppose we got whipped in the process?'
'Yes, sir. We lost all the system fleet,' the messenger reported in a quiet voice, then brightened. 'We did take a prisoner.'
'A prisoner?' the Sector Commander asked himself, and glanced up. 'Did you say a prisoner?'
'Yes, sir. A Starwolf rammed a carrier and became trapped inside, alive and well. Being empty, she was quick enough to whip around and break from the battle, and we covered her escape. Her pursuit gave up just as she was heading out of system.'
'At least her captain had sense enough to take her out of system,' Trace mused. 'Do you know where they were bound?'
'No, sir. They refused to say over com, for fear it would be overheard. They did promise another courier as soon as they arrived.'
'That was all they could do, I suppose,' he told himself, then glanced down at the messenger. 'Put that report on my desk and leave the key with me now. Then wait in port until I dismiss you. I might have a message for you to take back.'
The messenger saluted smartly and turned to leave. Trace returned to the apartment, closing the door quietly. A prisoner? A live Starwolf? He had never heard of such a thing happening before. As soon as he entered the dining room, he found that Councilor Lake, with his uncanny talent for sensing trouble, was already moving to intercept him. Richart, the well-trained apprentice, appeared a moment later from another direction. Trace turned abruptly to the bar, seizing that as their excuse for a few quiet words.
'Courier from Tallin?' the elder Lake inquired quietly as he inspected the stock of wine on hand. 'So how did it go?'
'They took the bait, but the conversion device failed to detonate for some reason. We lost the system fleet as a result,' he reported quickly, then grinned. 'We did take a prisoner.'
The Councilor stared at him, wide-eyed. 'A what?'
Donalt quickly explained all that he had been told. The elder Lake obviously did not know what to make of it, seeming to weigh whether it was good news or not. Richart, however, had no such trouble deciding, his boyish face uncharacteristically solemn. Since Trace expected only some advantage to come of it, he was somewhat dismayed by their cautious reactions.
'Have you ever heard of our taking a Starwolf prisoner before?' he asked.
'No, I haven't,' Lake admitted, still distracted by his own thoughts. 'We have managed to acquire a body from time to time, which is how we know as much about them as we do. But we've never had a live body
