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“I accept your gift,” he said. “Walk behind my car.”

The processional car came forward and stopped for him, and Nil Spaar ascended once more to the open cabin. Once there, he spread his clenched fists wide, turned his face to the faithful, and roared the cry of the old imperatives, flesh and joy. They answered with the chant of grace to the All, as though approving his choices.

“Onward,” Nil Spaar ordered the driver, then settled back into his seat. It was a profound power he had discovered, to know that his touch could change lives, his glance confer honor, his presence bring ecstasy, and his whim invite immediate gratification.

I shall have to be very careful not to let this distract me overly much, Nil Spaar thought as the car continued toward Giat Nor. But it will be an agreeable enough distraction for the present.

At a distance of half a light-year, Koornacht Cluster filled half the sky with a spectacular wash of stars and lit the hulls of the Fifth Fleet like a spotlight.

At the same time, local and hypercomm signals bombarded the vessels that had just emerged from hyperspace, lighting up stations all around Intrepid’s bridge.

“Captain, we have a priority one alert from the Fleet Office,” the communications chief sang out. “Fleet Office has upgraded the conflict code to yellow-two. I have five, count five, attachments for General A’baht, security high.”

Morano spun his chair toward the right. “Tactical—report!”

“All clear, Captain. Sensors report no targets. Pickets report no contacts. Prowlers report no contacts.”

“Poll the task force.”

“Polling them, sir.” It was the first chance to discover whether any of the ships in the task force had been lost en route. “Picket Wayfarer and tender Northstar do not respond. All others reporting on station.”

“Confirming that,” called the task force coordinator. “Receiving notification that Northstar missed the jump due to navcomp failure, arrival now expected two-eight-forty. Wayfarer suffered hyperdrive failure at mission time oh-nine-sixteen and dropped out early. She’s now under tow to Alland Yard for repairs.”

“Scratch her from the list, Arky, and move Vigilant forward into that slot,” A’baht said calmly.

“Aye, General.”

“Tactical, update,” Captain Morano called.

“Still clear, sir.”

“Maintain active scanning.” Morano turned to A’baht. “Nothing out there. Then why did they kick us up to yellow-two?”

“Let me have my attachments here, Comm,” said A’baht, swinging a flat-panel display up and across in front of him.

The polarizers on the secure display guaranteed that Morano could not read it from where he sat, so he tried to read A’baht’s face instead, with little more success.

“Interesting,” A’baht said finally, returning the display to its recess. “The yellow-two is due to the fact that the Yevetha apparently knew we were coming.”

“Then where are they?”

“Apparently they chose not to meet us,” said A’baht. “Or to make any other aggressive moves, for that matter. All the inhabited worlds within ten light-years of here are reporting quiet skies.”

“Well—that’s good, eh? That’s what we want, isn’t it?”

“That’s what the President wants,” said A’baht. “I wish the Yevetha were here. I want a good look at their fleet. Chances are they’re getting a good look at ours. Narth, what can we do to make it harder for them?”

The tactical aide rocked back in his chair. “Shuffle assets, rotate callsigns, hop and skip along the operational perimeter. I think we can keep them confused for a while, anyway. But it’s hard to hide for long in the middle of nowhere.”

“With all respect, General, the way I understood it, hiding was the last thing we were supposed to do out here,” said Morano. “And that kind of maneuvering sends the chances of an operational accident way up. Remember the Endor and the Shooting Star?” The two Alliance frigates had collided after a mistimed jump, with the loss of all hands. “Let them get a good look at us, so they know what they’re in for if they come out. If they have any sense