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one of our ships, and our presence is the difference between victory and defeat, you’ll be a big enough hero that not even Castenello’s patron will be able to touch you.” He pursed his lips. “Conversely, if he’s right and the trap is just some pirates hoping to snag a merchant— and if we delay here long enough to miss out on Ukuthi’s offer—he’ll hang you out to dry. I doubt even Asgard and your patron together will be able to save you.”
    Barrington nodded. That had been his assessment, as well. “It’s still the right thing to do.”
    “I agree, sir.” Garrett hesitated. “For whatever it’s worth, Captain, I don’t think Commander Castenello’s arguments are entirely based on tactical considerations. I think he’s deliberately setting you up for a fall.”
    “Interesting thought,” Barrington said. He’d already figured out that one, too. “Though if I were you I’d keep it to myself. It’s a political minefield out there, and all you’re wearing are carpet slippers.”
    “Indeed,” Garrett said with a faint smile. “I really need to invest in some armored wading boots.”
    “I’ve often found them to be handy,” Barrington agreed. “Still, I imagine there’s a great deal of satisfaction in knowing that you’ve made it to your current position on your own, without the conniving or smoothing of hidden political forces.”
    Garrett shrugged again. “I’m told those forces aren’t all that hidden if you know where to look.”
    “And can stomach what you see,” Barrington told him. “War’s an ugly enough business without injecting politics into it. Especially since in politics the flowing blood is mostly invisible. It can be a bit creepy.”
    “I’ll remember that, sir,” Garrett said. “If that’s all, Captain, I’m still on duty in CoNCH.”
    “Dismissed, Commander,” Barrington said. “No, wait. On second thought, I think I’d rather you go assist Commander Castenello with his tactical work. I’ll take the rest of your watch.”
    Garrett’s forehead furrowed slightly. But his nod was firm enough. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Anything in particular you want me to keep an eye on?”
    “Keep an eye on?” Barrington repeated, allowing some puzzlement into his voice. “You’re not there to keep an eye on anything, Commander. You’re merely to assist with the work, and to make sure all possible scenarios have been considered and prepared for.”
    “Understood, sir,” Garrett said. With another farewell nod, he turned and left the room.
    Not entirely based on tactical considerations. Barrington snorted under his breath. “You think , Commander?” he murmured into the silence.
    But that was all right. Castenello might dream about taking down a Dominion ship’s captain as a prize for his patron, but he was likely to find such prey harder to swallow than he realized. Barrington might not especially like political games, but he did know how to play them.
    In the meantime, there was a puzzle here to be solved. And he and the Dorian were going to solve it.

CHAPTER FOUR
    Merrick Moreau had been a Troft slave for only a little over three weeks. Most of that time had been spent aboard the transport that had brought him and Anya Winghunter from Qasama to Muninn, which had meant he hadn’t had to do any genuine slave-type labor. Still, even without the work, and with only that brief exposure, he’d easily come to the obvious fact that being a slave was a terrible thing.
    What hadn’t been so obvious, and which Merrick had only learned over the past few hours, was that being an ex -slave was nearly as bad.
    Of course, maybe that conclusion only applied to self-freed slaves. Officially freed slaves might be given food and water for the road, or at least a polite word of dismissal.
    Officially freed slaves certainly wouldn’t have their former masters scouring the deep Muninn forest in search of them.
    The Trofts were definitely out there. Merrick knew it as he gazed