Timothy Zahn - Angelmass

She eyed him. Even with three and a half bottles of sherry inside her it was obvious where he was going with this. "And that's supposed to be why I brought it back?"

Hanan shrugged. "It's an interesting system," he said, as if she hadn't spoken. "Hunting and stalking take up a lot of time. If the cat starts the routine before he's really hungry, chances are that by the time he is hungry he'll have caught himself some dinner."

Chandris gritted her teeth, feeling her resolve slipping away. "I'm not a cat."

"No," Ornina agreed softly. "You're a little girl. And I'd say you've been hungry a long time."

Her vision was beginning to swim; angrily, Chandris clenched her throat against the tears. She would not cry. No matter what, she would not cry. "I can't stay here," she said harshly. "There's a man looking for me. A crazy man, getting crazier all the time. If he finds me here, he'll kill all of us."

Hanan and Ornina looked at each other, communicating in that wordless way of theirs. Chandris held her breath, wondering what they would decide. Wondering what she hoped they'd decide.

"Considering the circumstances," Hanan said suddenly, "I'd say we've got a case here of a subconscious being smarter than the person it's attached to."

Chandris blinked. "What does that mean?"

"I thought that was obvious," he said, still straight-faced but with that twinkle back in his eye. "You wanted to steal our angel and run; but your subconscious knew you'd be safer if you stayed here with us."

"Your friend will expect you to keep running," Ornina added. "Or else to hide out with other thieves and con artists." She raised her eyebrows. "Admit it: this is the absolute last place in the Empyrean he would ever think to look."

"You mean...?" She swallowed, unable to finish the question.

"We mean," Hanan said, "that since we can always use a little extra intelligence around here—" he paused dramatically—"your subconscious is hereby invited to stay aboard." He shrugged. "And it can bring the rest of you along if it wants to."

"You're too generous." Chandris's voice broke on the last word, and once again she had to fight back the tears.

"I'm like that," he said with a flippant wave of his hand. But the flippancy was an act—she could see that in his eyes. A feeble attempt to shunt away some of the emotion charging the room.

"Are you going to stay?" Ornina asked.

Chandris took a deep breath. "I suppose I have to," she said, trying to match Hanan's tone. "Without me here, sooner or later someone's going to steal this ship right out from under you."

"Great," Hanan said cheerfully. "Just what I've always wanted: our very own guardian angel."

Ornina threw him that look of hers. "Hanan—"

"So, that's settled," he said, ignoring the warning. "Now. Can we eat?"

Ornina rolled her eyes. "Of course. You feel up to helping, Chandris, or would you rather go lie down for a bit?"

"I can help," Chandris said. Grabbing the table for stability, she headed for the pantry.

There would, she knew, be a lot of stuff to sort out later, after the haze of the sherry wore off. Things about the decision she'd just made, and how she felt about it. But for now, there was one thing that stood out clearly.

For the first time in her life, she actually felt safe.

The cocoon had been drifting through Lorelei system for over a month. Gathering data on the net fields, integrating it, correlating it, storing it, hypothesizing about it.

And now, at last, it was ready.

The vast computer system understood the net fields. They were, as its programmers had suspected, a straightforward if imaginative inversion of basic hyperspace catapult theory.

And with the theory understood, the technology involved was a fairly trivial extrapolation. Deep within the false asteroid, the fabricators came to life.

Quietly, stealthily, they began to build.

The report flowing across the display came to an end. Not, to Forsythe's mind, a particularly satisfying end. "And that," he said, looking up, "is six weeks worth of work?"

Pirbazari held out his hands. "I'm sorry, sir; I know it's not very impressive. But all this stuff has to go through as extra mining equipment, and there are only so many boring lasers and orbit-shift explosives you can order at once. Not without raising some eyebrows."

"I know." Forsythe hissed between clenched teeth. "The problem is that time isn't exactly on our side here."

"We're doing the best we can, sir."

"I know that, too," Forsythe assured him, managing an encouraging smile. He'd learned long ago that it was counterproductive to take out his frustrations on people who weren't responsible for creating them. "What about the Ardanalle tracking systems?"

"There we do have some good news," Pirbazari said, reaching over the desk to tap keys on Forsythe's board. "It turns out that almost fifty percent of Lorelei's mining ships are running with outmoded trackers. We've gotten an order through for a whole bunch of Arda 601's, and they'll be upgrading the mining ships as they bring in loads."

"Good," Forsythe nodded. "How much modification will it take to give them target acquisition capabilities?"

"None, really—that's why I specified 601's. Of course, the miners themselves will have to be taught how to use them." Pirbazari hesitated. "I'm sure you realize, though, that if the Komitadji gets in through the net blockade, this whole exercise becomes academic. We could arm every ship in Lorelei system—miners, transports, and liners—and together they still wouldn't have a chance against it."

"Would you rather we just sit back and do nothing?" Forsythe countered. "At least we might be able to slow them down a little when they come." He shook his head, feeling the frustration rising again.

"We need a weapon, Zar. Something new; something that could get through the defenses of a ship like that."

Pirbazari shrugged, looking strangely uncomfortable. "In theory, we've got one," he said. "All you have to do is find a way to get a catapult to make un-netted throws of less than half a light-day."

Forsythe smiled wryly. "Right. And if wishes were horses, we'd be up to our chins in fertilizer."

Pirbazari didn't smile back. "True. It is theoretically possible, though."

"A lot of things are theoretically possible," Forsythe murmured, drumming his fingers on the desk as he studied the other's face. "You want to tell me what's bothering you?"

Pirbazari's cheek twitched, a sign of discomfort Forsythe didn't see very often in the man. "Since you ask... I feel a little strange operating behind the High Senate's back this way."

"We've cut through governmental bureaucracy before," Forsythe reminded him, choosing his words carefully. It was obvious where the other was going with this, and those doubts had to be quashed right here and now. "Always with the best interests of the people in mind. And if I'm not mistaken, subsequent events have always vindicated our actions."

"I know that, sir," Pirbazari said. "But this time—" He waved a hand toward Forsythe.

Or rather, toward the pendant glittering around Forsythe's neck. "This time I'm wearing an angel,"

Forsythe finished for him. "And you're uncomfortable because I'm talking war and no one else in the High Senate is. That more or less cover it?"

"More or less, sir, yes."

"Fine," Forsythe nodded. "So let's examine it. First of all, is there anything financially unethical in what we're doing? Are we stealing or otherwise misappropriating Empyreal funds to arm Lorelei's miners?"

Pirbazari thought about it. "No, sir, not really," he said at last. "All this stuff is legitimate mining equipment, after all. None of it would go to waste even if the Pax dropped off the edge of the universe tomorrow."