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“And if they don’t go for it?” Taisden asked. “They’re civilians, Colonel—even worse, scientists. They don’t herd well.”

“Then there’s one other option. Colonel, that’s basically a Dobrutz liner,” said Hammax. “I know something about the type, because I’ve spent some time in one. The Alliance had a fistful of them, pressed into service as small troop transports during the Rebellion.”

“Go on,” said Pakkpekatt.

“See, that ship down there has a single comm array, mounted outside the nav shields because of the interference from those miserable DZ-nine shield generators,” said Hammax. “It was a known vulnerability. I’m sure I could take it out without collateral damage. Shouldn’t require more than two shots. Might get it in one.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” said Pakkpekatt, advancing the throttles. “However, I believe I will hold that option in deep reserve. There is something here that still eludes me. Perhaps I can encourage these interlopers to reveal it.”

The inbound vessel had remained silent until it was nearly on top of Penga Rift. Then the first signal had come over the emergency comm channel, lighting up several warning bars on the panels at Manazar’s elbow.

“Penga Rift, this is a priority alert. You are operating in a restricted area, and your vessel is at risk. Please verify your transponder identification profile.”

Startled out of inattentiveness, Manazar nearly sent the confirming data without questioning the request. Only at the last moment did he recover his poise and respond, “Unknown vessel, this is Penga Rift. Please identify yourself—this ship is not equipped with an interrogator module.”

“I say again, Penga Rift, this is a priority alert. You are operating in a restricted area, and your vessel is at risk. Please verify your transponder identification profile.” As though to underline the seriousness of the request, a concealed weapons bay had opened on the underside of the new arrival’s hull. The retractable laser cannon that emerged cycled through its full range of motion, then locked on Penga Rift.

That was the point at which Manazar called for the captain and the expedition leader. Then he quickly checked to see if the transponder had already been interrogated, and sent the requested information when he saw that it had.

“I thought since they already have the information and we have nothing to hide, there was no harm in complying,” Manazar explained. “But the very next thing, they wanted to talk to the master of the vessel, with full holocomm. I’ve been putting them off until you got here, but I don’t think they like being put off.”

Barjas nodded. “You did fine, Mazz. I’ll take it from here.”

“No,” said Eckels. “On the starlanes, this ship is yours, Captain, but here in orbit, the expedition leader is in command. I will deal with this.”

He crossed the bridge to Penga Rift’s small holocomm booth and settled himself inside it. “Monitor to station one. Record to personal log Eckels. Begin transmission.” After a moment’s pause, he said, “This is Dr. Joto Eckels of the Obroan Institute, expedition leader. Whom am I addressing?”

When the answering holo formed before him, Eckels felt his body trying to retreat deeper into the seat. The face was not only intensely alien, but both inhumanly large and close enough to violate Eckels’s psychological boundaries. It could have been no more than that the other was leaning forward toward his holo lens, but it made Eckels feel cornered in the booth.

“I am Colonel Ejagga Pakkpekatt of New Republic Intelligence,” said the other, showing teeth that were distinctively those of a carnivore. “My mission in this sector is under the direct authority of the director of operations, and with the knowledge and consent of the Senate Intelligence Council. What is your business here?”

“We are conducting a contract survey and excavation of Maltha Obex.”

“And what is the purpose of your survey and excavation?”

“This is an archaeological research vessel,” said Eckels, recovering some measure of his equilibrium. “Not surprisingly,