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The small hairs on Trip’s neck rose to attention when Ych’a and Tevik exchanged matching raised-eyebrow glances.

“Aw, shit,” Trip said under his breath. “It freakin’ figures, don’t it?”

FIFTY-FIVE

Ir-Dartha, Romulus

PILOTING HIS PERSONAL FLITTER, Valdore raced alone to his family home in the capital’s suburbs moments after the centurion had brought him the unsettling news.

Someone had attacked the manor, breaching its security. And Valdore had been unable to make contact either with Darule, his wife, or with either of his teenage children. He could only hope that his daughter, Vela, and his son, Vool, had been safely in their classes at the Institute when the incident had occurred.

Now, as he surveyed the ransacked great room and each of the systematically upended bedchambers, even that narrow hope had begun to flee him. On some deep, gut level, he knew that his family was gone, utterly and completely. The only question that remained was why, though he had a strong suspicion that he already knew at least part of the answer.

A voice spoke almost directly behind him. “Admiral.”

Valdore spun toward the sound, his disruptor at the ready almost before either mind or body realized it. He saw T’Luadh, his primary asset within the Tal Shiar spy bureau, standing alone near the great room’s entry vestibule, her hands spread benignly before her.

“Never sneak up on me,” he said, holstering the weapon.

“I’m surprised to see you leave your back undefended, Admiral,” she said. She relaxed her posture and walked more fully into the room so that she, too, could take in what must have happened here. “Where are your personal guards?”

“I came alone,” he said.

“Of course,” she said with a nod of understanding. “It’s difficult to know whom to trust at times such as these.”

“Indeed. And I don’t, as a rule, trust the Tal Shiar.”

She appeared wounded. “Present company excluded, I hope.”

He narrowed his eyes as what little patience for double-talk he possessed rapidly sublimated away. “I suppose that remains to be seen, T’Luadh. Did you have anything to do with this?”

“No,” she said with no hesitation. “But I can’t rule out Tal Shiar involvement.”

“Lovely,” he said sourly.

“The bureau weaves a web that is both vast and tangled, Admiral,” she said as she pulled a small scanning device from the sash of her trousers and began moving it through the air in a slow, sweeping motion.

He frowned. “What are you looking for?”

“Something I believe should be quite easy to find,” she said. “That is, if my assumption proves to be true.”

“Your assumption?” he said, his frown deepening.

“That this deed was done to send you a message,” she said as her scanner began beeping insistently. Kneeling beside a moraine of clutter on the carpet, she extracted a data chip and plugged it into a slot on the device in her hand.

The deed was done before Valdore could protest—for all he knew, she might have just inadvertently detonated a hidden microexplosive device—and a heartbeat later an image of a withered old man seated on an ornate throne shimmered into view on T’Luadh’s device.

“Admiral Valdore, you may now consider yourself officially on notice of my displeasure,” Praetor D’deridex said, staring straight through to the back wall with transparent, prerecorded eyes. “Your handling of the Haakonan campaign has been marked by both a lack of punctuality and a dearth of competence. And your abortive attack on the Andorsu hasn’t exactly covered you in glory, either.”

“You may have my resignation any time you like, you motherless wort,” Valdore growled, though he knew the image’s ears were no more capable of listening to reason than were those of the genuine praetor. “Find somebody else to waste the Empire’s blood and treasure.”

“Until now, I have been remiss in providing you with adequate motivation, particularly regarding Haakona,” the praetor’s image continued superciliously. “To make up for this unforgivable negligence on my part, I have had your family brought to me.” He held up a