She had vague thoughts of spiriting the oldsters out from beneath the commando’s guard and slipping them aboard the small warship that waited in the lock, then returning them to Earth. Confronted with a fait accompli, her superiors would be forced to make the best of the situation. As this would still leave them in sole possession of the artifact, she doubted any anger over her actions would last long.

If she encountered resistance, she knew she could take out any one of the commandos, but even with surprise on her side, subduing all four of them would likely prove an impossible proposition. The odds were as bad as her intentions were good.

Among other physical and mental attributes, Ashili had been endowed with a superb sense of direction. She turned left at an intersection, convinced she was heading toward the incredible chamber that contained the artificial ocean. At a second intersection she hesitated, then went right. Judging from the speed at which the horizontal elevator had traveled, she should be close now. If not, she would turn back and begin retracing her steps.

The scale on which the corridor had been constructed denied her the companionship of echoes. Artwork or oversize hieroglyphs appeared periodically on the walls. Aliens or humans could have marched anywhere in the ship twenty abreast without scraping the smooth walls. One could fly from station to station, she marveled.

The artifact hummed softly all around her.

XVIII

Praxedes regarded the prisoners. The gentle mountain called Shimoda sat quietly: eyes closed, lips moving silently, hands folded across the great curve of belly, the pale blue fire of the Autothor hovering nearby. Hawkins glared through the great sweep of observation port at the lunar surface, cursing craters and his situation with equal invention. The serving robot squatted quiescent against the wall, silently recharging. Gelmann, Heath, and Iranaputra sat close together, whispering among themselves. Even seated, Heath towered above his friends, and it was to him that the commando addressed himself.

“I don’t like to waste time.” He gestured to Bassan, who unlimbered a pocket holojector. A few skilled adjustments invoked a compact starfield within the diameter of the holomag. As the commando operated the control box a thin green line leaped from one sun within the hazy sphere to another. As soon as internal contact had been established between systems representations, the entire starfield began to rotate slowly.

“That’s the line from Earth to Reconcavo. That’s where we want you to order the artifact to go.” He glanced in the direction of the blue ellipse. The damn thing made him nervous even though he knew it was intellectually inert. “If it’s half as perceptive as Ashili reported, it should have no trouble calculating the necessary tachyspace adjustments.”

“How do you know, old chap, that the ship is even capable of interstellar travel? We certainly haven’t tried to take her anywhere.”

“Stalling is a way of wasting time. I told you that I don’t like that.” Praxedes waved expansively. “This vessel wasn’t built and buried here to move luggage or individuals from Earth to Europa. Monitors on Earth recorded its passage from over the Atlantic Ocean to its present position. Knowing the time of transit allows us to calculate relative velocity. It had to have traveled through tachyspace, however briefly. You must’ve realized that too.”

“A trip from Earth to moon, you only should eat something soon that gives you chronic diarrhea, is pretty different from making a transstellar jump.” Gelmann glared up at her captor. “What if whatever this ship uses for a drive can’t manage the distance?”

Praxedes gestured casually with the gun he carried. “Easy enough to find out. Give the order.”

Heath smiled cheerily. “What if we decline to do so, you filthy rotten son-of-a-bitch?”

Bassan clipped the holojector to his belt and removed from a pouch the mate to the electric shock device Ashili had used to threaten Gelmann. “I don’t like to use this. There’s usually a lot of noise. Me, I like peace and quiet.” He advanced on Heath.

“No!” Everyone turned to Iranaputra.

Bassan halted and glanced at his superior. Praxedes considered the smaller man. With his slim build and delicate features he looked like a perfectly molded miniature model of a much larger individual. Perhaps things would go faster if they directed their questions and demands to him instead of to the more formal Heath.

Ignoring the threatening whispers of his companions, Iranaputra rose and approached the Autothor. “Evaluate the distances between star systems represented there.” He pointed to the hovering holomag.

“Done,” said the Autothor a moment later. Argolo looked up briefly from where she was watching over Hawkins and Shimoda to whistle appreciation for the Autothor’s speed.

“Are you capable of making such a journey through tachyspace?”

“Really, old boy!” Heath’s outrage was no less palpable than that of Gelmann or Shimoda. Ignoring the drama being played out behind him, Hawkins just kept mooning morosely at Aristarchus.

“Calculating.” Less than two minutes passed. “Yes. There would be no problem making the journey.”

“There, you see?” Praxedes nodded approvingly to Iranaputra, then grinned down at Heath and Gelmann. “No reason to make this any more difficult than necessary.” To illustrate his good intentions he raised the muzzle of his weapon, though he didn’t deactivate it.

“We’ll have a pleasant trip to Reconcavo and turn over the artifact to the research staff that’s already been assembled there. Then you’ll be put on a commercial flight heading back toward Earth, where you can resume your respective retirements devoid of any worries.” The commando lied fluidly and without compunction. “The people of Earth, citizens and retirees and tourists alike, long ago quit troubling themselves with galactic politics. Keep that in mind and you’ll have an easy, relaxed time of it.” When they failed to respond, he added encouragingly, “Why do you care what happens to this artifact anyway? It’s not your property and it’s not your responsibility.”

“I know.” With great ceremony Heath removed his old monocle from a pocket and inserted it carefully in his left eye. “But something in me grates at the thought of turning it over to the likes of you. I don’t like you, you see.”

“That’s okay.” Praxedes took no offense. “You don’t have to like me. Just cooperate and you can hate my guts all you wish.” He nodded to Bassan, who stepped forward, holding the ominous little electrical device before him.

“There is no need for that, sir.” Iranaputra rushed to hover protectively over Mina Gelmann.

Heath glared up at him. “Victor, old chap, if any one socioeconomic body gains control of this ship, it will upset the balance of power among the leagues.”

“That is not my concern or yours, Wes.”

“Listen to your friend,” Praxedes advised. “He talks sense.”

The two men eyed one another a moment longer.

“Go ahead … Colonel.” Iranaputra smiled reassuringly at his old friend. “‘Tarry not, messenger. Let him who knows give the order.’ Kalidasa, Third Chapter.”

Heath shook his head as he climbed to his feet. “You and your bottomless font of ancient nonsense.” He sighed tiredly. “I guess there is neither glory nor despair in a strategic retreat.” His long legs carried him past Shimoda and Hawkins until he was standing next to the slowly bobbing Autothor.

“Old ship: Have you been listening to this discussion?” The commandos’ hands tightened on their weapons.

“I have.”

“Do you understand what these visitors want?”

“I do.”

Heath glanced over to Gelmann, who had cast her eyes downward. He spoke to the patient Autothor. “Then I hereby direct you to comply with their request. Activate your drive and take us to the system they have indicated.” As Praxedes relaxed, the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that just now.”

Praxedes tensed anew. Heath blinked and looked confused. Even Hawkins perked up.

Bassan gestured threateningly with his weapon and Heath obediently tried again. “I’m giving you a direct order. You’ve always responded to our directives before.”

“I am aware of that. But I really cannot comply with this particular request at this time.”

“When would you be able to comply?”

“I cannot tell you that either.”

His expression less than conciliatory, Bassan hefted the compact shocker and again approached Mina Gelmann. She flinched as he pressed it to her forehead, just above the left orbit.

“This is some kind of a trick. I don’t like being tricked.” He eyed his superior expectantly.

“I don’t want to play anymore,” growled Praxedes. “No more games.”

Iranaputra started forward until Argolo turned her gun in his direction. “It is not a trick. You have been watching all the time. When could we have done anything to fool you?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care.” Bassan could sense the old woman beginning to tremble beneath him.

Iranaputra noticed it too. For the first time a word he had never imagined in relation to her popped into his mind: frail. She was frail. They were all of them after all frail: frail and old.