“We should discuss it inside,” Desjani said, her tone of voice betraying none of her anger, only cold resolve.

  That would have told him how serious this was even if the expressions on the Marines hadn’t offered plenty of clues. Geary waved everyone into his stateroom, stepping back as they filed in. As the sailor moved it became obvious he had his hands secured behind his back, the nearest Marine on either side maneuvering him by holding on to his arms.

  Only when the door was closed did Desjani speak again, her words as hard as steel. “Admiral, I must report an attempted assassination of Colonel Rogero and Kommodor Bradamont.”

  Geary’s startled gaze went to the junior sailor, who licked his lips nervously but remained silent. “Are Rogero and Bradamont all right?”

  “Yes, sir. Colonel Rogero had rigged a secondary alarm system on the door to his stateroom.” Desjani made a face. “Force of habit from being in the Syndicate Worlds’ armed forces, he said, where officers had to worry about out-of-control ‘workers’ and other officers who wanted to clear a path to promotion. That alerted Rogero when the door opened without an alert sounding. He and Bradamont confronted the sailor who entered, and restrained him just as the roving Marine sentry patrol came by.”

  “Captain Desjani, you said ‘attempted assassination,’ ” Geary said, his own voice growing as formal and cold as Desjani’s. “The sailor had a weapon?”

  Gunnery Sergeant Orvis answered, holding out a sealed bag with a couple of tubes visible inside. “Chemicals, sir. For a binary gas weapon. When combined, the chemicals would have produced a nerve agent. Anyone in that compartment would’ve been dead within seconds.”

  “A nerve agent.” Geary turned a disbelieving gaze on the sailor, who had still been trying his best to appear bold, but who visibly quailed when Geary’s gaze fell on him. “You were willing to die to kill Colonel Rogero and Kommodor Bradamont?”

  The sailor hesitated. “That . . . It wouldn’t have been instant. I had two minutes to get clear.”

  Gunnery Sergeant Orvis snorted in contempt. “Is that what they told you? You stupid bootcamp. You would’ve died right along with them.”

  “Who gave you the chemicals?” Captain Desjani demanded.

  “I . . . I don’t know, Captain! We had drops set up. Code names.”

  Desjani turned her eyes to Geary. “I assume, Admiral, that you want this man fully interrogated before you have him shot.”

  The sailor jerked with shock. “You . . . you can’t—”

  His words broke off as Orvis turned a menacing look on him. “You should’ve paid attention when they taught you fleet regulations. Out here, the admiral can convict you based on just what we’ve told him, and order you executed by firing squad. And he won’t have any trouble finding volunteers for that firing squad.”

  “Why?” Geary asked the sailor. “What’s your name? Why did you try to murder Rogero and Bradamont?”

  “Inglis. My name’s Inglis.” The sailor’s voice quavered, his earlier defiance crumbling. “Because he’s a Syndic! And she went over to them! Traitorous bi—!”

  The sailor’s voice cut off as the Marine on one side of him rammed an elbow into his gut. “Sorry, Gunny,” the Marine said. “I guess I lost my balance for a moment.”

  “You joined the fleet after the war was over,” Desjani said to Petty Officer Inglis, who was painfully trying to straighten up. One of Desjani’s hands was twitching as if she were ready to fire a weapon.

  “My father and my sister died fighting them!”

  “Apparently,” Geary said, “you forgot what they were fighting for when they died. Tell the interrogators everything you know and there’s a chance I’ll show you some mercy. Get him out of here.”

  “Put him in a maximum-security cell,” Desjani ordered. “I want a sentry watching him constantly.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Orvis gestured to a Marine corporal. “Get him there in one piece. I’ll be along in a minute.”

  As the other Marines yanked Inglis out the door, Orvis shook his head at Desjani and Geary. “I believe him when he said he didn’t know that stuff’d kill him, too. And that he doesn’t know any names. I did some counterterrorist work. The planners always choose idiots who are just smart enough to pull a trigger or plant a bomb, but too stupid to ask questions or wonder why they’re throwing away their lives while their bosses stay safe. We’re probably not going to get anything useful out of him.”

  “See what we can find out,” Geary said.

  “Make sure your people know that nobody talks about this,” Desjani ordered. “Not until we’re ready to make an announcement.”

  “Aye, Captain.” Orvis saluted and hustled after the others, leaving Desjani glowering at the door.

  “You’re not really going to show him mercy, are you?” she asked in a voice that trembled with her effort to control it. “He tried to murder people on my ship.”

  It was one thing to order someone to do something that might result in their death. It was another to act as judge, jury, and executioner. In this case, though, his own anger tempted him to instantly agree with her. That and knowing that almost every other sailor in the fleet would be unhappy if Inglis wasn’t given the ultimate penalty after his actions stained the honor of all of them. “If he seems like he might be useful to us alive, maybe,” Geary said. “But only then.”

  “What use could he be alive?” Desjani asked.

  “Maybe someone will try to silence him. Giving us a chance to catch that someone.”

  “Hmmm.” She nodded, calming herself. “If that seems possible, okay. But not for too long.”

  “No. Not for too long.” Once, he couldn’t have imagined himself saying that so calmly. But that had been a hundred years ago, when his universe had been a much simpler place.

  * * *

  HE didn’t get much sleep the rest of the night, especially after he realized that fleet regulations required Inglis’s execution to be broadcast to the fleet when it happened. That made it entirely too possible that the Dancers would be able to intercept and view it as well. How would the aliens respond?

  After a grumpy breakfast of a ration bar and coffee, Geary called Ambassador Rycerz, once again getting only her message box. He left a bare-bones description of last night’s events, then went looking for Rogero and Bradamont.

  Rogero’s nonchalance about the assassination attempt was almost as unnerving as the attempt itself. Despite everything, Geary had harbored a belief that the former Syndics were exaggerating the cutthroat nature of life in the Syndicate Worlds. But far from being rattled by this attack, Rogero took on the manner of a veteran dealing with a familiar danger.

  Bradamont wasn’t nearly as calm.

  “Admiral, I assert my right to be part of the firing squad.”

  “Noted,” Geary said. Because what else could he say? Fleet regulations written a score of years after his own supposed death during his “last stand” gave that right to the intended victims of capital crimes. And changes to attitudes wrought by a century-long war had made such victims often willing to assert their right to vengeance.

  Seeking distraction, he headed for the compartment with the Dancer communications device. As he neared it, he was momentarily startled by the sight of a large duck waddling down the passageway, closely followed by a pair of Marines. “How is Ensign Duck doing?” Geary asked, feeling a little lightness amid his dark mood.

  “Ensign Duck has breakfasted and is making his rounds,” one of the Marines replied, her voice and face absolutely serious.

  “Then carry on,” Geary said. He watched the duck and the Marines head off down the passageway before going on and entering the Dancer transmitter compartment. Only General Charban was there at the moment, gazing glumly at the device.

  “Anything new?” Geary asked, even though he knew Charban would’ve called him already if there were anything new to report.

  “I’m afraid not,” Charban said, leaning back a little farther. “Macadams and his bunch are sending another one of their long missives to the Dancers.”

  “Have they changed their approach?” Geary asked, dropping into a seat opposite Charban.

  “Not really.” Charban twisted his face in thought. “You know how when someone doesn’t understand something, the person talking to them will sometimes try speaking louder, as if saying it at a higher volume will somehow make it more understandable? I think that’s the best way to describe what Macadams and his brilliant cohorts are doing. They keep saying the same things, but they’re trying to say them louder. Metaphorically speaking, that is.”

  “I’ll bet the Dancers are impressed.”

  “They keep answering, ‘Hello,’ as if they’re trying to hear someone who isn’t coming across well,” Charban said, a slow smile replacing his formerly gloomy expression. “Is there any way to get video and audio feeds of Macadams and his bunch as those Dancer replies come in?”

  “I might try to get some,” Geary said. “Speaking of Dancer replies, have they responded at all to our request for access to one of their jump drives?”

  “Not a word.” Charban spread his hands. “Maybe they need to bounce that question up their chain of command to see how they should reply. If so, we’re probably going to be orbiting here for a while waiting on that. But I need to warn you again that the Dancers have sometimes simply avoided answering questions they don’t want to answer. Rather than say no, they pretend we never asked the question.”

  “Are there certain kinds of questions more likely to be ignored?” Geary asked, casting a glance at the transmitter.

  This time General Charban shrugged. “If there are, we’ve yet to be able to establish a pattern of which questions they won’t answer. Maybe it’s a vast cultural difference, where to them certain questions fall into a certain category even though to us they seem totally unrelated.”

  “Sort of like trying to talk to Dr. Macadams and his people,” Geary said.

  Charban grinned. “You said it, not me.” He glanced at the transmitter as a low tone came out of it. “Ah. Macadams and company have finally finished.” Another tone sounded. “That was a very quick response.”

  “What did the Dancers reply?”

  Charban’s smile widened. “Hello.”

  Geary smiled briefly, but his humor slipped away quickly. “Do you think the Dancers are annoyed by Macadams’s attempts to communicate? I mean, replying that fast and that abruptly? Just one word?”

  “Could be,” Charban said with another shrug. “It does feel like a brush-off, doesn’t it? But that’s in human terms. The Dancers might think they’re telling us, ‘Go ahead, we’re listening.’ ”

  “I have enough trouble understanding other humans,” Geary commented.

  “Me, too.” Charban cocked one eye at him. “I heard a rumor about an attempted murder aboard this ship. Is there any truth to it?”

  Geary slapped one hand to his forehead. “Nobody was supposed to say anything.”

  “That’s exactly when they do say something. So it’s true?”

  “Yes.” He paused, wondering if he should even ask the question bothering him. “How do you think the Dancers would react if they became aware we’d executed one of our own sailors?”

  Charban shook his head. “I honestly have no idea. For all we know the Dancers eat their own young. I don’t really believe that but our knowledge of them is still very superficial.”

  The buzz of his comm pad cut off Geary’s response. He checked it, feeling a heaviness fill him. “Never mind. They won’t see an execution.”

  “Why not?”

  “The sailor involved is dead.”

  * * *

  “HOW the hell did this happen?”

  Geary stood in one of Dauntless’s secure brig cells. Captain Desjani, Dr. Nasr, and Gunnery Sergeant Orvis stood nearby, the doctor and the gunny looking downcast and Desjani appearing more furious than Geary himself felt. The body of Inglis lay sprawled on the deck.

  “He was given a full medical scan before being put in this cell,” Dr. Nasr insisted. “Nothing untoward was detected. No implants, no suspicious blood content, no nanos, nothing.”

  “Then what killed him? And why couldn’t he be revived?”

  “His nervous system was fried,” Desjani said, every word clipped off.

  “Spontaneously?” Geary demanded.

  “He was injected with the nerve agent by a dart,” Dr. Nasr said. “I have not removed it.”

  “My Marines didn’t allow anyone near this cell,” Gunnery Sergeant Orvis insisted. “And the security system records back them up. No one was detected.”

  One word caught Geary’s attention. “Detected.”

  “That’s right, Admiral,” Orvis said. “There’s only one way this could’ve been done. Someone had to be wearing a stealth suit.”

  Desjani turned a sharp look on the Marine. “Are you saying one of the Marine scout stealth suits was used to do this? You’re implicating another Marine in this?”

  “No, Captain. High-security systems are keyed to spot tiny signs that a stealth suit is being used nearby, and since we know everything about the Marine suits, all the technical specs, the systems can spot them or at least alert that something isn’t right.” Gunnery Sergeant Orvis looked at Geary and Desjani with a stubborn and determined expression. “There’s only one group with this fleet that might have a stealth suit even better than the ones the Marines use.”

  “Colonel Webb’s people,” Geary said.

  “That’s right, Admiral.”

  Desjani glared down at Inglis’s body. “I want a full record of this site and the surrounding area and the body before it’s moved, then a full medical examination. Make sure the masters-at-arms are fully engaged with this.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Orvis and Dr. Nasr both said.

  “Can we talk, Admiral?” Desjani added.

  “Sure.” Geary walked alongside Desjani, who remained silent until they reached his stateroom.

  Once there, she stood, still angry. “Gunny Orvis has a point.”

  “He does,” Geary said. “But we need to factor in a couple of other points.”

  “Such as?”

  “The Marines don’t like Colonel Webb’s force. They think the Wendigos are special operator loose cannons.”

  “They have good reasons to think that,” Desjani said.

  “Granted.” Geary didn’t sit down, either, walking restlessly about the limited confines of his stateroom. “I was expecting another action aimed at implicating someone in Webb’s unit, but I didn’t expect it to happen so soon.”

  “Expecting?” Her voice was challenging. Desjani was still angry, but even when angry she never stopped thinking.

  “If Webb’s people wanted to silence Inglis,” Geary said, “that would mean they’re implicated in the attempt to murder Bradamont and Rogero.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would they have used a throwaway like Inglis instead of doing it themselves? Why not kill Bradamont and Rogero the same way Inglis was killed?”

  Desjani didn’t answer, her brow furrowed with thought. “That still might have implicated them, but not as clearly as this does. Especially if they’d used that binary agent Inglis had instead of a dart under circumstances that required a stealth suit.”

  “That’s right,” Geary said. “Inglis’s murder clearly implicates one of Webb’s soldiers. If they did it, it means they were smart, capable, and effective enough to do something stupid that points directly at them even though Inglis himself couldn’t have fingered them.”

  “Then why use Inglis in the first place?”

  “Maybe they didn’t. Maybe Inglis was part of some other problem, and whoever wants another finger pointed at Webb’s soldiers took advantage of the opportunity.”

  She searched his eyes. “You’ve got other reasons to think someone is trying to set up Webb and his unit?”

  “Yes.” He met her gaze without flinching. “Which doesn’t mean I’m not going to hit up Webb and contact Ambassador Rycerz about this. All indications are that we have an opponent with a means to go just about anywhere in the fleet without being detected.”

  “Why aren’t you dead already?” Desjani asked, concern entering her gaze.

  “Good question. Lieutenant Iger has a gut feeling that there are multiple players trying to sabotage this mission. I think he’s right, and the player who just killed Inglis doesn’t want to kill me the same way. But they do want to create problems for this mission.”

  “The attempt on your life at that reception at Midway could’ve, and probably would’ve, been blamed on the former Syndics,” she said. “Maybe you need to die in a way that creates even more problems.”

  “That’s certainly possible,” Geary said, wondering why he was discussing this so calmly, why he wasn’t as scared as he should be. Maybe because it didn’t feel real to him. Maybe just because he was in denial. “People are trying to manipulate us, wreck this mission by turning us against each other. Not just against Webb and his unit, but distrust sown against our own sailors. Like you said a little while back, I don’t like being pushed.”

  She nodded, arms crossed, looking just as angry but not at the same things. “You know, we really can’t rule out the former Syndics at Midway having a hand in this. Maybe that’s why they wanted Rogero on this ship. Even that assassination attempt at the reception could have been a setup designed to allow Drakon to save you. I like Bradamont, but she’s bought into a system run by people who by their own admission have a lot of experience with dirty deeds done cheap.”