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                                Chapter Nineteen

   "How is she?"

   Tamman looked up at Colin's soft question. He sat carefully, one leg
   extended to keep his thigh off his chair, and his face was worn with
   worry.

   "They say she'll be all right." He reached out to the young woman in the
   narrow almost-bed, her lower body cocooned in the sophisticated appliances
   of Imperial medicine, and smoothed her brown hair gently.

   " 'All right,' " he repeated bitterly, "but with only one leg. Maker, it's
   unfair! Why her?!"

   "Why anyone?" Colin asked sadly. He looked at Amanda Givens' pale, plain
   face and sighed. "At least you got her out alive. Remember that."

   "I will. But if she had the biotechnics she deserves, she wouldn't be in
   that bed-and she could grow a new leg, too." He looked back down at
   Amanda. "It's not even their fault, yet they give so much, Colin. All of
   them do."

   "All of you do," Colin corrected gently. "It's not as if you had anything
   to do with the mutiny either."

   "But at least I got a child's biotechnics." Tamman's voice was very low.
   "She didn't get even that much. Hector didn't. My children didn't. They
   live their lives like candle flames, and then they're gone. So many of
   them." He smoothed Amanda's hair once more.

   "We're trying to change that, Tamman. That's what she was doing."

   "I know," the Imperial half-whispered.

   "Then don't take that away from her," Colin said levelly. "Yes, she's
   Terra-born, just like I am, but I was drafted; she chose to fight, knowing
   the odds. She's not a child. Don't treat her like one, because that's the
   one thing she'll never forgive you for."

   "How did you get so wise?" Tamman asked after a moment.

   "It's in the genes, buddy," Colin said, and grinned more naturally as he
   left Tamman alone with the woman he loved.

                                     * * *

   Ganhar cocked back his chair and rested one heel on the edge of his desk.
   He'd just endured a rather stormy interview with Shirhansu, but, taken all
   in all, she was right-they'd been lucky to get any of Nergal's people, and
   the odds were against doing it twice. Tarban's blathering com traffic had
   given them away this time, but now that the other side had walked into one
   trap, they damned well wouldn't walk into another. They'd cover any
   attacking force with active scanners powerful enough to burn through any
   portable stealth field.

   He pondered unhappily, trying to decide what to recommend this time. The
   logical thing was to withdraw a few fighters from offensive sweeps and use
   them to nail any of Nergal's cutters that came in with active scanners,
   but Ganhar had developed a lively respect for Hector MacMahan-who, he was
   certain, was masterminding this entire campaign. The equally logical
   response would be obvious to him: cover Nergal's cutters with his own
   stealthed fighters to nail Ganhar's fighters when they revealed themselves
   by attacking the cutter.

   The very idea reeked of further escalation, and he was sick of it. They
   couldn't match his resources, but they knew where they were going to
   strike, and they could concentrate their forces accordingly; he had to
   cover all the places they might strike. He couldn't have overwhelming
   force anywhere, unless Anu would let him back off on offensive operations
   and smother all possible targets with their own fighters.

   Which, of course, Anu would never do.

   He rubbed his closed eyes wearily, and his thoughts moved like a dirge. It
   was no good. Even if they managed to locate Nergal and destroy her and all
   her people, there was still Anu. Anu and all of them-even himself-and
   their endless futility. Anu was mad, but was he much better off himself?
   What did he think would happen if they ever managed to leave this
   benighted planet?

   Like Jantu, Ganhar had reached his own conclusions about the Imperium's
   apparent disappearance from the cosmos. If he was wrong, then they were
   all doomed. The Imperium would never forgive them, for there could be no
   clemency for such as they-not for mutineers, and never for mutineers who'd
   gone on to do the things they'd done to the helpless natives of Earth.

   And if there was no more Imperium? In that far more likely case, their
   fate might be even worse, for there would still be Anu. Or Jantu. Or
   someone else. The madness had infected them all, for they'd lived too long
   and feared death too much. Ganhar knew he was saner than many of his
   fellows, and look what he had done in the name of survival. He'd worked
   with Kirinal despite her sadism, knowing about her sadism, and when he
   replaced her, he'd devised this obscene plan merely to stay alive a bit
   longer. She and Girru would have loved it, he thought bitterly. This
   slaughter of defenseless degenerates . . .

   No, not "degenerates." Primitives, perhaps, but not degenerates, for it
   was he and his fellows who had degenerated. Once there might even have
   been a bit of glamour in daring to pit themselves against the Imperium's
   might, but not in what they'd done to the people of Earth and their own
   helpless fellows.

   He stared down at the hands he had stolen, and his stomach knotted. He
   didn't regret the mutiny or even the long, bitter warfare with Nergal's
   crew. Or perhaps he did regret those things, but he wouldn't pretend he
   hadn't known what he was doing or whine and snivel before the Maker for
   it. But the other things, especially the things he had done as Operations
   head, sickened him.

   But there was no way to undo them, or even stop them. If he tried, he
   would die, and even after all these years, he wanted to live. But the
   truly paralyzing thing was that even if he'd been willing to die, his
   death would accomplish nothing except, perhaps, to grant him a fleeting
   illusion of expiation. Even if he could bring himself to embrace that-and
   he was cynically uncertain he could-it would leave Anu behind. The madmen
   had the numbers, firepower, and tech base, and nothing Nergal and her
   people might achieve in the short-term could alter that.

   Head of Operations Ganhar's hands clenched as he stared at them and
   wondered when he'd finally begun to crack. He'd seen the awakening of
   guilt in a few others. It usually happened slowly, and some had ended
   their long lives when it happened to them. Others had been spotted by
   Jantu's zealous minions and made examples, but there had never been many,
   and none had been able to do any more than Ganhar could.

   He sighed and stood, walking slowly from his office. The futility of it
   all oppressed him, but he knew he would sit down at the conference table
   and tell Anu things were going according to plan. He might be coming to
   the realization that he despised himself for it, but he would do it, and
   there was no point pretending he wouldn't.

                                     * * *

   Ramman sat in his small apartment, gnawing his fingernails. His
   pastel-walled quarters were littered with unwashed clothing and dirty
   eating utensils, and his nostrils wrinkled with the smell of sour bedding.
   There were extra disadvantages in slovenliness for the sensory-enhanced.

   He knew he was under surveillance and that his strange behavior, his
   isolation from his fellows, was dangerously likely to attract the
   suspicion he could not afford, yet mounting terror and desperation
   paralyzed his ability to do anything about it. He felt like a rabbit in a
   snare, waiting for the trapper's return, and if he mingled with the
   others, they must see it.

   He rose and walked jerkily about the room, the fingers of his clasped
   hands writhing together behind him. Madness. Jiltanith and her father had
   to be insane. They would fail, and their failure would betray the fact
   that someone had helped them by giving them the admittance codes. The
   witch hunt might sweep up the innocent, but would almost certainly trap
   the guilty, and he would be the guilty. He would be found out,
   arrested . . . killed.

   It wasn't fair! But he'd been given his orders, and he had obeyed them.
   He'd planted the codes where he'd been told to. If he told anyone . . . he
   shuddered as he thought of Jantu and the unspeakable things perverted
   Imperial technology had been used to do to other "traitors."

   If he kept quiet, told no one, he would at least live a little longer. At
   least until Nergal's people launched their doomed attack.

   He sank back down on the edge of the bed and sobbed into his hands.

                                     * * *

   " 'Tis time for Stalking-Horse," Jiltanith said quietly. "That fact
   standeth proved by the fate which did befall Tamman's group. That and the
   slaughter which e'en now doth gain in horror do set the stage and gi' us
   pretext enow to cease when Stalking-Horse be added."

   "Agreed," MacMahan said softly, and looked at Colin.

   "Yes," Colin said. "It's time to stop this insanity. Is it set up?"

   "Yes. I've scheduled Geb and Tamman to fly lead with Hanalat and Carhana
   as their wing."

   "Nay," Jiltanith said, and MacMahan glanced at her in surprise, taken
   aback by the finality of her voice. "Nay," she repeated. "The lead is
   mine."

   "No!" The strength of his own protest surprised Colin, and Jiltanith met
   his eyes challengingly-not with the bitter, hateful challenge of old, but
   with a determination that made his heart sink.

   "Tamman hath been wounded," she said reasonably.

   "A flesh wound sickbay and his biotechnics have already taken care of
   almost completely," MacMahan said in the cautious tone of a man who knew
   he was edging into dangerous waters, if not exactly why they had become
   perilous.

   "I speak not o' his flesh, Hector. Certes, 'twould be reason enow t'
   choose anew, yet 'tis his heart hath taken too sore a hurt. I ha' not seen
   him care for any as he doth for his Amanda, not since Himeko's death."

   "We've all been hurt, 'Tanni," MacMahan protested.

   "That's sooth," she agreed, "yet 'tis graver far in Tamman's case."

   " 'Tanni, you can't go." Colin extended one hand to reach across the
   table. "You can't. You're the backup commander for Dahak."

   He could have bitten off his tongue as he saw her dark eyes widen. But
   then they narrowed again and she cocked her head. It was a small gesture,
   but it demanded explanation.

   "Well, I had to pick someone," he said defensively. "It couldn't be Horus
   or one of the older Imperials-they were active mutineers; I couldn't take
   a chance on how Dahak's Alpha Priorities might work out if I'd tried that!
   So it had to be one of the children, and you were the logical choice."

   "And thou didst not think fit to tell me of't?" she demanded, a curiously
   intent light replacing the surprise in her eyes.

   "Well . . ." Colin's face flamed, and he darted an appealing glance at
   MacMahan, but the colonel only looked back impassively. "Maybe I should
   have. But it didn't seem like a good idea at the time."

   "Whyfor not? Yea, and now I think on't, why didst thou not e'en tell a
   soul thou hadst named any one of all our number to follow thee in thy
   command?"

   "Frankly . . . well, much as I wanted to trust you people, I didn't know I
   could when I recorded Dahak's orders. That's one reason I insisted on
   doing it myself," he said, and felt a rush of relief when she nodded
   thoughtfully rather than flying into a rage.

   "Aye, so much I well can see," she said softly. " 'Twas in thy mind that
   so be we knew thou hadst named thine own successor, then were we
   treason-minded we had slain thee and had done?"

   "That's about it," he admitted uncomfortably. "I don't dare contact Dahak
   again, and he can't pick up my implants on passive instrumentation. If I'd
   been wrong about you and you'd known, you could have offed me and told him
   I bought it from the southerners." He met her eyes much more pleadingly
   than he had MacMahan's. "I didn't really think you'd do it, but with the
   Achuultani coming and everything else going to hell, I couldn't take the
   chance."

   " 'Twas wiser in thee than e'er I thought to find," she said, and he
   blinked in surprise as she smiled in white-toothed approval. "God's Teeth,
   Colin-'twould seem we yet may make a spook o' thee!"

   "You do understand!"

   "I ha' not played mistress to Nergal's spies these many years wi'out the
   gaining o' some small wit," she said dryly. " 'Twas but prudence on thy
   part. Yet still a question plagueth me. Whyfor choose me to second thee?
   And if thou must make that choice, whyfor tell me not e'en now? Surely
   there can be naught but trust betwixt us wi' all that's passed sin then?"

   "Well . . ." He felt himself flushing again. "I wasn't certain how you'd
   take it," he said finally. "We weren't exactly . . . on the best of terms,
   you know."

   " 'Tis true," she admitted, and this time she blushed. It was her turn to
   glance sidelong at MacMahan, who, to his eternal credit, looked back with
   only the slightest twinkle in his eyes. "Yet knowing that, thou wouldst
   still ha' seen me in thy shoon?"

   "I didn't intend to give my 'shoon' to anyone," he said testily, "and I
   wouldn't've been around to see it if it happened! But, yes, if it had to
   be someone, I picked you." He shrugged. "You were the best one for the
   job."

   " 'Tis hard to credit," she murmured, "and 'twas lunacy or greater wit
   than I myself possess to gi' such a gift to one who hated thee so sore."

   "Why?" he asked, his voice suddenly gentle. He met her gaze squarely,
   forgetting MacMahan's presence for a moment. "You can understand the
   precautions I felt I had to take-is it so hard to accept that I might
   understand the reasons you hated me, 'Tanni? Or not blame you for them?"

   "Isis spake those self-same words unto me," Jiltanith said slowly, "and
   told me they did come from thee, yet no mind was I to hear her." She shook
   her head and smiled, the first truly gentle smile he had seen from her.
   "Thy heart is larger far than mine, good Colin."

   "Sure," he said uncomfortably, trying to sound light. "Just call me Albert
   Schweitzer." Her smile turned into a grin, but gentleness lingered in her
   dark eyes. "Anyway," he added, "we're all friends now, aren't we?"

   "Aye," she said firmly.

   "Then there's an end to't, as you'd say. And the reason you can't fly the
   lead in Stalking-Horse. We can't risk losing you."

   "Not so," she said instantly, her eyes shrewd. "Thou art not dead nor like
   to be, and 'twould be most unlike thee not to ha' named some other to
   follow me. Tamman, I'll warrant, or some other o' the children?"

   He refused to answer, but she saw it in his eyes.

   "Well, then, sobeit. Tamman is most unlike myself, good Colin. Thou
   knowest-far more than most-how well my heart can hate, but my hate burneth
   cold, not hot. Not so for him. He needeth still some time ere he may clear
   his mind, and Stalking-Horse can be no task for one beclouded."

   "But-"

   "She's right," MacMahan said quietly, and Colin glared reproachfullly at
   him. The colonel shrugged. "I should've seen it myself. Tamman hasn't left
   sickbay since he carried Amanda into it. He'd go, but he needs time to
   settle down before he goes back out. And 'Tanni is our best pilot-you know
   that better than most, too. There's not supposed to be any fighting, but
   if there is, she's best equipped to handle it. We'll give her Rohantha for
   a weaponeer. They'll actually make a better team than Geb and Tamman."

   "But-"

   " 'Tis closed, Colin. 'Hantha and I will take the lead."

   "Damn it, I don't want her up there in a goddamned pinnace, Hector!"

   "That doesn't matter. 'Tanni and I are in charge of this operation-not
   you-and she's right. So shut up and soldier . . . sir!"

                                     * * *

   The admittance chime to Ganhar's private study sounded, and he looked up
   from the holo map he'd been updating as he ordered the hatch to open. It
   was late, and he half-expected to see Shirhansu, but it wasn't she, and
   his eyes narrowed in surprise as his caller stepped inside.

   "Ramman?" He leaned back in his chair. "What can I do for you?"

   "I . . ." The other man's eyes darted about like those of a trapped
   animal, and Ganhar found it hard not to wrinkle his face in distaste as
   Ramman's unwashed odor wafted to him.

   "Well?" he prompted when the other's hesitation stretched out.

   "Are . . . are your quarters secure?" Ramman asked hesitantly, and Ganhar
   frowned in fresh surprise. Ramman sounded serious, yet also oddly as if he
   were playing for time while he reached some inner decision.

   "They are," he said slowly. "I have them swept every morning."

   "Good." Ramman paused again.

   "Look," Ganhar said finally, "if you've got something to say, why not say
   it?"

   "I'm afraid," Ramman admitted after another maddening pause. "But I have
   to tell someone. And-" he managed a lopsided, sickly smile "-I'm even more
   afraid of Jantu than I am of you."

   "Why?" Ganhar asked tightly.

   "Because I'm a traitor," Ramman whispered.

   "What?!" Ramman flinched as if Ganhar had struck him, yet it also seemed
   he'd crossed some inner Rubicon. When he spoke again, his flat, hurried
   voice was louder.

   "I'm a traitor. I-I've been in contact with . . . with Horus and his
   daughter, Jiltanith, for years."

   "You've been talking to them?!"

   "Yes. Yes! I was afraid of Anu, damn it! I wanted . . . I wanted to
   defect, but they wouldn't let me! They made me stay, made me spy for
   them!"

   "You fool," Ganhar said softly. "You poor, damned fool! No wonder Jantu
   scares the shit out of you." Then, as the shock faded, his eyes narrowed
   again. "But if that's true, why tell me? Why tell anyone?"

   "Because . . . because they're going to attack the enclave."

   "Preposterous! They could never crack the shield!"

   "They don't plan to." Ramman bent towards Ganhar, and his voice took on an
   urgent cadence. "They're coming in through the access points."

   "They can't-they don't have the admittance code!"

   "I know. Don't you see? They want me to steal it for them!"

   "That's stupid," Ganhar objected, staring at the dirty, cringing Ramman.
   "They must know Anu doesn't trust you-or did you lie to them about that?"

   "No, I didn't," Ramman said tightly. "And even if I hadn't told them,
   they'd know from how long I've been left outside."

   "Then they must also know Jantu plans to change the code as soon as all
   the 'untrustworthy elements' are back outside."

   "I know, damn it! Listen to me, for Maker's sake! They don't want me to
   bring it out. I'm supposed to plant it for someone else. One of the
   degenerates!"

   "Breaker!" Ganhar whispered. Maker damn it, but it made sense! If they'd
   gotten one of their own degen-people inside, it made audacious, possibly
   foolhardy sense, but sense. They were terribly outnumbered, but with
   surprise on their side . . . And it made their whole offensive make sense,
   too. Drive them into the enclave . . . steal the code . . . smuggle it out
   and hit them before Anu and Jantu changed it. . . . It was brilliant!

   "Why tell me now?" he demanded.

   "Because they'll never get away with it! But if they try, Anu will know
   someone gave them the code, and I'll be one of the ones who get killed for
   it!"

   "And you think there's something I can do about it? You're a bigger fool
   than I thought, Ramman!"

   "No, listen! I've thought about it, and there's a way," Ramman said
   eagerly. "A way that'll help both of us!"

   "How? No, wait. I see it. You tell me, I trap their courier, and we pass
   it off as a counter-intelligence ploy, is that it?"

   "Exactly!"

   "Hmmmmmm." Ganhar stared down at his holo map, then shook his head. "No,
   there's a better way," he said slowly. "You could go ahead and make the
   drop. We could give them the code, then wait for them with everybody in
   armor and all our equipment on line and wipe them out-gut them once and
   for all."

   "Yes. Yes!" Ramman said eagerly.

   "Very neat," Ganhar said, trying to picture what would follow such an
   overwhelming triumph. Nergal's people would be neutralized, but what would
   happen then? He'd be a hero, but even as a hero, his life would hang in
   the balance, for Inanna knew how he thought of the "Chief." Perhaps Anu
   knew, as well. And he remembered his other thoughts, how his own actions
   had come to sicken him. And he still didn't know what had prompted
   Nergal's people to start their offensive, even if he knew how they meant
   to end it. But if he and Ramman trapped them, they could end the long,
   covert war. He'd have no more need to slaughter innocents . . . not that
   there weren't enough Kirinals and Girrus to go on doing it for the fun of
   it. . . .

   "When are you supposed to make the drop?" he asked finally.

   "I already have," Ramman admitted.

   "I see," Ganhar said, and nodded absently as he opened a desk drawer. "I'm
   glad you told me about this. I'm finally going to be able to do something
   effective about the situation on this planet, Ramman, and I couldn't have
   done it without you. Thank you."

   His hand came out of the drawer, and Ramman gaped at the small, heavy
   energy pistol it held. He was still gaping when Ganhar blew his head to
   paste.

    

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                                                                       Framed