The Meyers situation had him rattled. There was no doubt about that. As much as he wanted to flush her, he loved it every time she strutted into a room. She made him feel young again. It was amazing. What would it be like bedding a woman like her?

  Oh! Cook swayed back, startled. He’d been talking to Stokes. What was he…?

  “Uh, Major…do you have Maddox’s present whereabouts?”

  “Captain Maddox, sir?”

  “Yes, yes, Maddox,” Cook said.

  “Just a minute,” Stokes said.

  “Don’t give me that. You know exactly what he’s doing and where he is.”

  There was a pause on the other end. “I don’t know for sure. Victory is supposed to be in the Barnes System.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Approximately fifty-nine light-years from Earth, sir,” Stokes said.

  “What is Maddox doing there?”

  “He went to chase a rumor, sir.”

  “Get to the point,” Cook said.

  “My apologies, Admiral. Yes… The esteemed captain heard a rumor that indicated another clone might soon be making an appearance in a large comet flying through the Barnes System.”

  “Clone? Another Strand clone?”

  “Yes, sir,” Stokes said.

  “I thought we got all those.”

  “We all thought that, too, sir.” Stokes cleared his throat. He seemed nervous, which wasn’t like the man. “There was another rumor about the Barnes System, sir. That rumor linked Lord Drakos, a New Man hardliner—”

  “I’m well aware of Drakos’s identity.”

  “Yes, sir,” Stokes said.

  “Has the captain reported in lately?”

  There was a short pause. Stokes cleared his throat again. “I, ah…do not have access to a long-distance communicator, sir.”

  Was the major dodging the question? It seemed to Cook as if he was. “Yet you haven’t asked to use my communicator.”

  Stokes did not reply.

  That was odd, most odd. Cook was about to begin a series of hard and fast questions, but before he could, a warning light flashed above his door. His secretary had just pressed a hidden switch to activate the red door light. What was that about? As if he didn’t have enough on his plate already.

  “That will be all, Major,” Cook said. The admiral clicked off the intercom as he stared up at the red door light. It was an old idea, a silent warning or alarm. They had rigged up the red light ages ago during the first New Men scare. His secretary had never flashed it except the two times they’d practiced it. Now, that red light was like a baleful eye staring at—

  Abruptly, Cook opened a bottom drawer to stare at a heavy .55 Powell “Slam Master.” He had put it there several years ago, after the android takeover. He was in the process of lifting the big gun out of the drawer when someone rapped sharply on the office door.

  Cook grunted, aimed the Slam Master at the door, and said, “Enter.”

  The door swung open and two black-uniformed, cap-wearing officers entered. They wore protective gear under their black uniforms with the block letters GCMS emblazoned across their chests. The letters meant, Great Council Marshal Service. They were the Great Council police and protective agents, meant to protect the Prime Minister and the official Commonwealth Councilors.

  What in the hell were they doing marching into the military office of the commander of Star Watch? They should be back in Stockholm, for one thing.

  The two GCMS officers stopped short as they noticed the hand cannon aimed at them. Dour old Bill Sanders crashed into both of them from behind, making one of the officers stumble forward. The bigger of the two held steady.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Cook demanded.

  The Prime Minister’s chief political advisor, Bill Sanders, raised seriously overgrown eyebrows, and something seemed to take place behind his eyes. “Are you going to shoot me?” Sanders asked in his crotchety voice.

  “Why are those two here?” Cook asked. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

  The bigger of the two officers had put his hand on his holstered gun. He’d moved his arm upward as if he was going to draw the sidearm.

  The bigger officer stared into Cook’s eyes. Something there must have convinced him. The officer let go of the holstered gun and let his arm hang limply.

  Sanders saw the exchange, and his lips thinned. “They’ve come to arrest you in case I find you guilty of treason,” he said.

  “Treason?” asked Cook, the idea so outlandish that it stole his anger. Suddenly, the Slam Master was too heavy to hold up. He let the massive gun clunk onto the desk.

  “Better,” Sanders said. The something behind his eyes happened again. “You two,” he said, “wait outside with the others.”

  The two GCMS officers looked at Sanders in confusion.

  “Outside with the others,” Sanders snapped. “Are you hard of hearing as well as clumsy?”

  Each shook his head.

  “Then go,” Sanders said, “and shut the door behind you.”

  Bewildered, the two black-clad, cap-wearing, vested officers hurried out of the office, gently shutting the door behind them.

  Sanders shook his head as if he couldn’t believe their stupidity before sitting in one of the chairs before the desk.

  “Treason?” Cook asked again.

  Sanders reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out a folded official looking paper. He opened it with a single jerk downward. The extra-thick paper had a glittering gold seal on the bottom, with several big signatures scrawled across it.

  “This is a provisional Great Council warrant for your arrest,” Sanders said. “Doctor Meyers has suggested you have been engaged in treasonous actions.”

  “Meyers?” Cook said, slapping the desk. “That’s because she’s a spy.” Understanding dawned. “Yes. I see what’s happened. She must realize I’m on to her, and this is her way of covering her perfectly shaped…” the admiral trailed off.

  “Spying—to use a crude word—is one of her duties for the Prime Minister,” Sanders said.

  Cook stared at Sanders in an uncomprehending manner. “You know she’s a spy?”

  “I prefer the term ‘Prime Ministerial liaison’.”

  Cook shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I don’t mean that Meyers is Hampton’s spy. She’s someone else’s spy.”

  Sanders scowled, and he was good at it. “What’s that supposed to mean?” There was an edge to his voice.

  “I mean someone else like the Spacers, the New Men or, I don’t know, one of the android factions, possibly.”

  “That’s preposterous,” Sanders said. “I checked her out myself before agreeing that she act as our liaison.”

  Cook snorted, having over the years developed a distain for amateurs. “Then you did a piss-poor job of vetting her, Mister Political Advisor. While you might know how to get a man elected, you don’t know squat about real espionage. Take my word for it. Doctor Lisa Meyers is an expert, a real trained agent.”

  Sanders scowled even more, which caused his stooped shoulders to hunch to a greater degree. “You have evidence for these claims?”

  “Of course, I do,” Cook said. “I’ve been debating whether to call you or the Prime Minister about them.”

  Sanders grabbed the edges of his seat and scooted the chair forward until he could rest his elbows on Cook’s huge desk. “Show me the evidence,” he said curtly.

  “I can’t show you anything,” Cook said. “But I can tell you what happened.”

  “Tell me, then. You have my undivided attention.”

  Cook frowned at the rumpled-suited political advisor.

  “What’s wrong now?” Sanders demanded.

  “You came here with two GCMS officers to arrest me for treason. Isn’t that what you said?”

  “There are twelve officers,” Sanders said, “three more of them waiting in your secretary’s office. The rest are in the main—”

  “I don’t care where they are,” Cook said, interrupting. “You used a Great Council warrant to force your way into Star Watch Headquarters. Without the warrant, the marines guarding HQ would have stopped you outside. Then, you burst into my secretary’s office with armed men. That’s unprecedented. You must have used the Prime Minister’s authority to gain the warrant and use of the GCMS officers.”

  “Other than aiming that gun at us, you’re slow today, but essentially correct.”

  Cook stared at Sanders and finally shook his head. “I don’t understand you. If you believe I’m involved in treasonous activity, why are you sitting here talking with me? It seems as if the GCMS officers were a game, a ruse. You can’t really think I’m a traitor.”

  Sanders said nothing, although he sat back, studying the Lord High Admiral.

  “Did Meyers really give such a report?” Cook asked.

  “If I’ve said so, why would you think otherwise?”

  “I’m beginning to think you did all this so you could speak to me alone in my office.”

  “Admiral…” Sanders said smoothly.

  Cook’s eyes widened as an image, a ghost, possibly, appeared in outline form behind Sander’s back.

  “What are you staring at?” Sanders asked, twisting in his chair to look around.

  The image vanished before the political advisor could focus on it.

  Sanders faced forward, eyeing Cook more closely than ever. “What kind of game are you playing?”

  “No game,” the admiral said softly.

  Was he going mad? Seeing ghosts now? Then it hit Cook. That hadn’t been a ghost. It had been a small image of an Adok alien. Yes, he had seen a distinctive leathery face with its many lines and the ropy arms. There was only one Adok that he knew, the AI Galyan, who appeared as a holoimage. Yet if he had just seen Galyan, did that mean Starship Victory and Captain Maddox were near?

  “What’s wrong with you, man?” Sanders demanded.

  “I’m not sure,” Cook said. What was going on here? And what was Sander’s game?

  -7-

  One of the things going on was that Captain Maddox was not fifty-nine light-years away in the Barnes System, but was standing in Major Stokes’ office.

  Maddox was a tall man, lean like a deadly rapier. He wore a Star Watch line officer’s uniform and had just come down from Starship Victory, which had entered the Solar System fifty-three minutes ago. The captain was half New Man and half regular human. Many considered him a half-breed, and he thoroughly detested the term.

  Maddox was stronger, faster and quicker thinking than normal humans, but not as much as a New Man. He and his crew had been to the Barnes System. They had gone to many other places in the last eight months, following a thin lead that grew with each clue. The last clue had caused Maddox to order them back to Earth as fast as the starship could possibly travel. The last clue had been an android, one Maddox had captured, and Professor Ludendorff had taken apart and made talk.

  Victory had parked in Earth orbit forty-two minutes ago and Maddox had come down via a shuttle piloted by Keith Maker twenty-nine minutes ago. The trip from the spaceport to Star Watch Headquarters had taken the rest of the time, although Maddox had walked into Stokes’ office when the Lord High Admiral had called a few minutes ago. Maddox had put a finger before his lips, then, and Stokes had reluctantly complied with the unspoken request.

  Major Stokes was in his late forties, a man of ordinary size, now smoking a mild stimstick. He was whip-smart, one of O’Hara’s most trusted aides, but with a more than an ordinary dislike of Maddox.

  “I’m amazed at you, Captain,” Stokes was saying, the stimstick dangling between his lips and jerking up and down as he talked. The major sat behind his desk, looking up at Maddox in front of him.

  The captain had his arms crossed, although he seemed extraordinarily intense.

  “The evidence for what you’re saying is flimsy at best,” Stokes added.

  “You know it isn’t,” Maddox said.

  At that point, Galyan appeared. He was a holoimage with special projection powers that originated on the ancient, Adok-built starship. In other words, Galyan could travel several thousand kilometers as a holoimage. He could also dim himself, making him seem like a proverbial ghost. He could not go completely invisible, as then his receptors would not be able to “see” anything because they would be transparent, and light would simply go through them.

  “Captain,” Galyan said in a slightly robotic manner. “Sanders is with Cook in his office.”

  Stokes took the stimstick from his mouth. “You projected yourself into the Lord High Admiral’s private—”

  “I ordered Galyan to,” Maddox said, interrupting the major.

  “That’s an outrage,” Stokes said. “You are both subordinate to the Lord High Admiral. That means you are under orders to obey, not do whatever you like whenever you please. Certainly, it is against every rule for you to spy upon your superiors.”

  “Should I remain quiet about what I saw, sir?” Galyan asked the captain.

  “No,” Maddox said.

  “Captain,” Stokes warned.

  “Hurry, Galyan,” Maddox said. “Tell me.”

  “There are five police officers waiting in the admiral’s secretary’s outer office,” Galyan said.

  “Police officers?” Stokes half-shouted. “You mean Marine MPs.”

  “I mean civilian policemen,” Galyan said. “I am quite able to distinguish the difference.”

  “What are policemen doing in Star Watch Headquarters?” Stokes asked.

  Maddox shook his head. “What is Bill Sanders doing in the admiral’s office?”

  “I don’t see why that’s unusual,” Stokes said.

  “Major,” Maddox said. “Time has run out. I don’t believe that that is Bill Sanders. If it is, this Sanders is possibly inhuman or under mind control.”

  “What,” Stokes said. “That’s crazy. Sanders is the new Prime Minister’s most highly trusted advisor.”

  “I’m leaving,” Maddox informed the major.

  “You most certainly are not,” Stokes said, reaching forward for an intercom box. “I’m calling the Provost Marshal’s desk—”

  Maddox swept the intercom off the major’s desk, and it crashed against the wall.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Stokes demanded.

  In a single fluid motion, Maddox reached under his uniform jacket, drew, aimed and fired a dart gun. With a hiss, a knockout dart slammed into Stokes’ chest.

  The major grunted, sat back hard and looked down at the dart sticking in his chest. He finally raised his head to glare at Maddox.

  “This is…” Stokes said, slurring. Then he stopped talking as his head slumped forward and he began to snore softly.

  “Stick with me, Galyan,” Maddox said, as he holstered the dart gun, replacing it under his uniform jacket. “But keep a low profile.”

  The captain exited the office, quietly closing the door behind him. “The major wishes to be left alone for fifteen minutes,” he told the red-haired secretary watching him. “He told me to grab something to eat in the interim.”

  “What was that banging?” she asked.

  “I showed the major what the natives on Barnes III do when they find a woman attractive.”

  She looked down for a moment, as if wondering if Maddox found her attractive. Then she looked up and cocked her head, studying him, becoming the major’s secretary again.

  Maddox gave her a bland stare back.

  “Fifteen minutes?” she asked.

  Maddox nodded, saying no more. She might check on the major as soon as he left. He couldn’t help that, but he would have to use the margin he had.

  Maddox walked serenely through her office and into an outer corridor. From there, he increased his pace, heading for Brigadier O’Hara’s old office. It was absurd that he would have come back just as the android faction allied with Drakos made its move against Admiral Cook. But sometimes absurdities happened. He did not know yet how deep the espionage penetration had gone at Star Watch Headquarters. Too far, would be his estimation.

  Most androids had learned the foolishness of trying to impersonate well-known people. But there were other ways to insert androids into high-level bureaucracy. Drakos seemed to have taken over Strand’s machinery, and the Methuselah Man strongly believed in mind manipulation. Tapping minds could be even more effective than replacing the person with a look-alike android.

  It was quite possible that Sanders was such an altered person. What would an android or imposter do to the Lord High Admiral while alone with him in his office?

  “Excuse me, sir,” a woman said from behind her desk, “but you definitely can’t go in there.”

  Maddox glanced at the secretary. He had just entered the large room, walked past her desk, heading for the door to Brigadier O’Hara’s former office.

  “It’s fine,” Maddox told her. “The new Intel chief is expecting me.”

  “No, he isn’t,” the secretary said, standing, perhaps to emphasize her point. She was a busty woman with a shorter-than-normal uniform dress, and she was angry. “I’m about to call the MPs.”

  “Oh,” Maddox said, turning from the door. “Pardon me.”

  The woman glared at him and continued to do so as Maddox drew his gun and hissed a knockout dart into her.

  She sat down with a thump and continued to stare at him until her eyelids fluttered shut and her head banged onto the desk.

  “You had better be right about this, sir,” the nearly invisible Galyan said. “You no longer have O’Hara’s protection to help you out of pickles.”

  If Maddox heard the advice, he did not acknowledge it. He tested the handle and found it locked. His jaw muscles tightened the slightest bit. Then he stepped back, raised a booted foot and slammed it against the door once, twice—and on the third try the door flew inward.

  Maddox moved fast, and he found a marvelously naked Lisa Meyers lying on the new Intelligence chief’s desk. The new chief, a fit man of fifty-five, was just as naked as he rose off her.

  Without hesitation, Maddox pulled the dart gun’s trigger twice. He reloaded afterward, ignoring their shocked cries before each slumped unconscious, falling into each other’s arms on top of the desk.