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tomorrow morning. We will have
to wait a few more hours after that for the sake of discretion, and then we
will be on our own way.”
    “Commander Velmeran, please come to the bridge,” Valthyrra’s
voice echoed through the bay.
    “She said please,” Velmeran remarked. “It must be
serious.”
    It apparently was serious, since Consherra hurried to meet him as
soon as he stepped out of the lift onto the bridge. “We have just
received an achronic message from Home Base. They have called us in, as soon as
we can get there.”
    “What?” Velmeran could not have been more surprised, or
confused. “Did they give any reason why? Is there some emergency, or
have they just missed our charming presence?”
    “No explanation,” Valthyrra reported as they came to the center
of the bridge. “We have simply been ordered to return. Ordered, I might
add, in a very abrupt, even curt manner, that I for one found quite
insulting.”
    Velmeran leaned back against the console of the central bridge, his arms
crossed, obviously deep in thought. “We can hardly leave Union space at
this time. Lenna will be signaling for us to come for her as soon as she finds
what she is looking for, and now we have Keflyn off the ship as well. Two of
the most critical missions that we have ever had running at the same time, and
they expect us to drop everything and run home.”
    “Do we ignore the order?” Consherra asked. “You are the
Fleet Commander. In theory, only you can give such orders.”
    “There is one higher authority,” Valthyrra reminded them.
“This order has come directly from the Republican Senate.”
    “Oh, my!” Velmeran muttered thoughtfully. “Well, I have to
assume that such an august body has a very good reason for doing this, although
I would never bet money on it. Valthyrra, call up the Vardon and have her
assume our patrol. Treg and Theralda are going to have to watch things here. If
Lenna’s call comes in, we will just have to drop whatever we are doing.
We will get under way as soon as the Karabyn leaves port tomorrow
morning.”
    “Oh, mercy!” Valthyrra exclaimed. “The powers that be will
have to wait a few hours more.”
    “They will have to wait a few days,” he told her. “I
refuse to wreck this ship rushing home for some unexplained summons. No jumps,
and no excessively high speeds. We will hurry, but we refuse to hustle.”
    Hours later, after the transport bay had been secured for flight, a small,
dark shape dropped down from beneath one of the little ships. It crouched low
to the deck for a long moment, using its single optical sensor to probe the
immediate environment. It was not a particularly intelligent machine, less so
even than a sentry. It had only one purpose, to make its way into the heart of
a Starwolf carrier. It had no clear idea of its goal or how to get there, nor
even what it was looking for. Its primary logic function was to compare what it
saw with its internal records of starship design, and to keep moving until it
found what it sought. It was also programmed to keep itself under cover and
avoid discovery.
    The spider drone’s first task was to scurry down to the bare deck
formed by the sealed bay doors. It sat down tight against the deck, and a small
cutting beam within its body began to bore a tiny, almost microscopic hole all
the way through the door into the cold space beyond. Into this it inserted the
lead of a tiny antenna, sealing the hole against air loss, then the drone spun
a minute spider’s web of an antenna across the bay to the tiny receiver
it hid in the shadows along one wall. Now that it could receive orders, it
hurried to complete its task.
    A combination of data – or rather the lack of it – from both its
optic and sonic sensors led it to infer that it was relative night on board the
Methryn, the corridor lights turned down combined with a general lack of
activity. The deck below was down, analogous to the ship, and it knew how far
forward it was in the