Spread before her on the table was the completely disassembled revolver that she'd pulled from the Federation officer's death grip. After she had it completely cleaned, she would treat the external surfaces with a corrosion-resistant phosphate finish.

When Sarah Blythe went beyond Pluto the next time, she would go armed.

BETAPORT, VENUS

August 14, Year 26

1741 hours, Venus time

Piet Ricimer rose from the table in the back room of the Blue Rose Tavern and stretched with a groan. 'I'm going to complain to the landlord about how hard the chairs in this room are,' he said.

'They were comfortable enough six hours ago,' Stephen said. 'Maybe we've just worn them out.'

The Blue Rose was on Ship Street, facing the port's transfer docks. The tavern had been Piet's headquarters from the beginning, long before he'd bought the freehold with a small fraction of the profits on his most recent raiding voyage.

Business was good tonight. A gust of laughter from the public bar rumbled its way through the wall. Guillermo was outside, acting as doorkeeper in case an important message arrived in person rather than by telephone.

'Six hours?' Piet echoed. 'So it is. Shall we take a break?'

'Ten minutes more,' Stephen said. He typed a string of commands on the keyboard, then rotated the holographic screen so that the display faced his companion. 'I want to run through the last of the ships offered to the squadron.'

Piet sat down again, his expression neutral. 'All right,' he said.

In the public bar, three sailors sang in excellent harmony, 'There were ninety and nine who safely lay-'

'The Gallant Sallie,' Stephen said. He leaned back in his chair so that his shoulders touched the glazed tiles of the wall behind him. 'A well-found vessel of a hundred and fifty tonnes. A crew of sixteen plus the captain and mate. She mounts four ten-centimeter guns, sufficient for the purpose we'd want her for-which I take to be transport rather than combat. She could easily be up-gunned, of course.'

'No, we don't need another fighting ship,' Piet said. He looked at Stephen rather than the display. 'If I recall correctly,' he continued evenly, 'this vessel's owner and captain is a woman.'

Stephen got up, turned to face the corner behind him, and forced his palms hard against both walls of the angle. 'Governor Halys is a woman, Piet,' he said in a tense, clipped voice. 'We serve a woman.'

'We serve mankind, Stephen,' Piet replied. His arms were spread, his right hand on the console and his left draped with deliberate nonchalance across the back of his chair. 'I hope that we serve God as well, by executing His plan to return mankind to the stars. But I take your point.'

Piet was speaking softly. His face, no longer neutral, bore a look of concern similar to that of an adult with an injured child.

Stephen sighed, turned, and wrapped his arms around himself. He was trying to find a position that relaxed him. 'It's not just Lilymead, Piet,' he said without meeting his friend's eyes. 'I've looked at the Gallant Sallie's maintenance records. I may not know the first thing about piloting, but I can see from repair invoices whether the captain's been beating a ship around. She's good.'

'By now, perhaps the first thing,' Piet said with a smile.

Stephen laughed, glad of the release. 'All right, I'm a gentleman and can't be expected to touch my delicate fingers to a navigation computer,' he said.

Piet stood. He put his right hand on the back of Stephen's hand and his left on Stephen's right shoulder. 'Are you asking me to do this, Stephen?' he said.

Stephen met his eyes at last. 'Yes, I am,' he said.

In the public bar, dozens joined the trio to roar, 'Rejoice, for the Shepherd has found His sheep!'

The a cappella rendition ended in a general cheer.

'All right, Stephen,' Piet said, sitting down again. 'Let's run through the rest of these and get something to eat, shall we?' He grinned. 'Perhaps to drink as well.'

'That's the last,' Stephen said. He breathed out a sigh of relief more intense than anything he'd felt outside of combat. The feeling took him completely by surprise.

He looked at his friend. 'Thanks, Piet,' he said.

'It's little enough to do for you, Stephen,' Piet said. He was dressed in flashy style even now, closeted with a friend doing bookwork. His tunic was black plush crossed by triple gold chevrons, in contrast to Stephen's worn blue garment with one of the buttons missing. 'You came out beyond Pluto with me the second time because I needed you. Even though you knew what it would cost.'

'No, by then it wouldn't have done me any good to stay home,' Stephen said. 'That's not, that's nothing for you to worry about. I-'

He glanced toward the door. The voices of sailors beginning 'Three Old Whores from Betaport' didn't penetrate his consciousness, though his ears filed the information.

He looked down at Piet again and said with lilting simplicity, 'Since the first voyage, the only time I'm really alive is when I'm killing something. That's not your doing, Piet. Best I ought to be out in the Reaches where enemies come with proper labels, isn't it? Otherwise-'

Stephen shrugged. His mouth smiled, but he couldn't control what his eyes showed to those who watched him at times like these.

Piet stood up. 'We'll get something to eat,' he said, gripping his friend's hand. Then he said, 'Stephen? Do you know why you want the Gallant Sallie in the squadron?'

'Not really,' Stephen said. He chuckled. 'In my case, introspection isn't a terribly good idea, you know.'

He opened the door to the public bar. 'Dinner, Guillermo,' he said, putting his free hand on the Molt's chitinous shoulder. 'Blackie's as usual?'

Sailors cheered and doffed their caps to Captain Ricimer and Mister Gregg. In Betaport, Piet Ricimer stood just below the throne of God-and Mister Stephen Gregg was the angel with the sword.

'I've been checking prices on provisioning the squadron from common stores and deducting the cost from the captains' shares,' Stephen said to his companions as they squeezed toward the street door. 'I think it's workable. If we leave it to individual captains the usual way, some of them are going to skimp-which hurts us all. . '

BETAPORT, VENUS

October 4, Year 26

1404 hours, Venus time

'My friends, my fellows; some of you my comrades of many years,' said Piet Ricimer. He spoke in distinct periods so that his amplified voice, echoing across the huge storage dock, was nonetheless clearly audible. 'Our purpose today is the same as that of former years, to free the stars from the tyranny of President Pleyal and the North American Federation.'

Sal and the crew of the Gallant Sallie stood in a tight group in the midst of nearly two thousand sailors. The storage dock held eighteen starships with room for forty or more. On Venus, all starship operations except takeoff and landing took place in vast caverns like this one. Internal cargo was transferred, repairs were carried out, consumables including air and water for reaction mass were loaded-and finally the crew reported on board. Only then was the vessel winched complete along one of the tunnels to a transfer dock whose dome could be opened to the Venerian atmosphere for launch.

The assembly was being held here because a storage dock was the only volume in Betaport sufficient to hold the numbers involved, the crews of all the Betaport vessels that were part of the squadron. Ishtar City was the capital and financial center of the Free State of Venus, but Betaport and the settlements of Beta Regio were the heart of trade to the Reaches-and resistance to the Feds' claim to own everything beyond Pluto. Though ships would lift from Ishtar City to join the squadron in orbit, most of Ricimer's vessels were in this dock.

'With the help of God, we will take prizes on this voyage,' General Commander Ricimer said. So that he could be seen by all, he stood in the open hold of the Wrath, a purpose-built warship that

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