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other," said the transmute, sitting down on the double bed. "Then this ship has to go through an intervening universe to reach the AI empire."
    "So what?" said the Terran. "It's just a matter of recalibrating the portal device and proceeding on to our objective—isn't it?" he added, as the blonde shook her head.
    "At that point, the portal device will have exhausted its potential," said Guan-Sharick.
    "It will require recharging from the available resources of that intervening universe. Specifically, at least one ton of plutonium 239."
    "That's a weapons-grade isotope," said John, sinking into the room's sole armchair. "The alternate Terra, Terra Two, is a technological backwater—they're still suffering the effects of World War II. There's only a limited nuclear arsenal, most of it in German hands."
    "Not anymore," said Guan-Sharick. "Since you were last there, the American urban guerrillas—the gangers—have begun creating an arsenal of nuclear weapons in the Colorado Rockies. At the moment, they have more plutonium than they have bombs, thanks to years of pilfering from German nuclear plants. They have, in fact, about half a ton. The Fourth Reich has about another half a ton, exclusive of deployed weapons." The blue-green eyes looked toward the ceiling. "This mission requires someone who can obtain both stockpiles for its use."
    John was on his feet. "No one is sending me back to that hellhole again!"
    "Nothing like the last time," said the transmute, holding up a slender hand. "Just obtain a consensus ..."
    "Between the gangers and the Reich?!"
    ". . . and we can get on with the mission."
    "Why are you telling me this and not R'Gal?"
    "R'Gal has other problems at the moment.
    And you leave as soon as we enter the universe of Terra Two—courtesy of me."
    Guan-Sharick was gone, only to reappear an instant later. "You and Zahava might want to go to the bridge. An old friend of yours just arrived.
    "See you."
    "Sit," ordered the admiral. D'Trelna sat.
    They were in the commandant's office, high atop the Tower, with a view of the cityscape at night through the armorglass. Admiral L'Guan took the commandant's chair, behind the big traq-wood desk. "Why the hell did you come back?" he demanded. "Didn't you know Implacable had been declared a corsair vessel?"
    "Sir," said D'Trelna, "I came back hoping to expose ..."
    L'Guan held up a hand. "I think I know most of what you want to say. Admiral S'Gan's report of your expedition into Quadrant Blue Nine was received, along with reports detailing the treachery of Combine T'Lan, the demise of the corsair K'Tran and your and the mindslavers' defeat of the AI vanguard." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Once received, these reports were suppressed by treasonous officers within FleetOps—human officers in the pay of Combine T'Lan. Said officers will soon be fighting for their lives beside the former occupant of this office."
    Smart money says they'll lose, thought D'Trelna.
    "A duplicate copy of S'Gan's report found its way to my office, but too late to prevent Implacable from being corsair-listed by those same officers.
    "The Council is in disarray, the only strong member being the chair, D'Assan. I believe him to be in the pay of the AIs of Combine T'Lan."
    "Worse," said the commodore. "He loves, worships and reveres them."
    L'Guan snorted. "Fool. He'll be the first to go if they win.
    "Fleet," he continued, "is scattered throughout the Confederation on urgent missions of relief and rescue. The S'Cotar occupation left us with half a hundred crippled planets, populated by the brainwiped survivors of slave-labor factories. Crops disrupted, transport scattered or destroyed. I have a handful of effective ships in home system and am sure of the loyalty of only one FleetOps officer." L'Guan touched his breast. "Of course, all these cares may be taken from me—D'Assan's moving to have me replaced or sent up to Line as duty officer."
    "An honorable position," said D'Trelna.
    "More an