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Seth's shipyards. The shuttle for Umoran, however, would arrive in fifteen minutes. Boarding would commence ten minutes after that.
    Sighs of relief mixed with groans.
    “God damn it.” This softly, from the man next to her. Well, he'd tagged her as Fleet as clearly as she had him. What were a few epithets between friends?
    He leaned forward as if to stand, then stopped, slumping back slightly, his gaze pinned on the wide viewport across the waiting area as if he could see all the way to Seth. Or the shipyards.
    Shipyards, she guessed. No doubt as to that being his destination. He hadn't questioned her use of Commander Adney's name.
    His eyes narrowed, his brows furrowed. She'd seen that look on her father's face when he was forced to make decisions he didn't like. Or when decisions he wanted to make weren't possible. The shuttle delay clearly had this man on edge.
    “Life's not going to change all that much in the next four hours,” she commented, her voice low.
    He slanted her a glance. The hard, angry emotions she saw in his eyes startled her and almost had her reaching for her L7. But he looked away, removing the immediacy of the threat. Still, she watched his hands, because she knew he was armed. One fist clenched.
    “It already has.” He spoke suddenly, his voice as low as hers but harsh. “Tage hit Corsau an hour ago.”
    She felt her eyes widen. He was looking at her, studying her, not only anger on his face but grief.
    “No.” She breathed out the denial, her chest tightening. “How bad?”
    “Bad.”
    She motioned to the solitary vidscreen hanging in the far corner, flickering with images of a concert in Port Chalo last year. “There's been nothing—”
    “I noticed. I'm guessing the dockmaster doesn't want to deal with a panic situation. Or the news simply hasn't been cleared for the civilian outlets yet.”
    “Where did you hear about it?” Maybe it was rumor. Maybe it wasn't true.
    “From an Alliance captain.” Blue eyes studied her again. “I don't have four hours to waste. How many besides yourself are here to see Commander Adney?”
    “No direct knowledge, sir. But guessing from dock-worker uniforms, and discounting families, I'd say thirty or forty.” She motioned to a group of men and women about her age seated in the first three rows nearest the shuttle tubeway. “My flight out of Calth Nine got in late. They were already here. I haven't talked to them, but they haven't reacted to any shuttle announcements for the moon colony or Umoran.”
    She shifted her gaze to their right. “Those three males at our two o'clock position. Middle one in the white thermal, two females in black behind him. They all feel like Fleet to me, or maybe one of the dirtside forces.”
    “How long were you with ImpSec?”
    She looked at him. “Four and half years, sir.”
    “Academy?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Last posting?”
    “ Sub-lieutenant with SPS, Calth Nine, sir.”
    That rewarded her with a raised eyebrow. Special Protection Service officers were not only polite, professional, and prepared to kill but received additional undercover and high-security operative training. And the old man next to her knew that.
    No, not remotely an old man. But the Old Man. He'd known she was ImpSec. He'd known Adney was a commander, even though Rya hadn't volunteered that information. She felt his rank even more strongly from him now, in the tone of his questions, in his demeanor.
    “Well, Subbie, we're about to make the passengers wanting to go home to Umoran very unhappy,” he said. “Can you handle it?”
    “You intend to commandeer the shuttle?”
    “I do.”
    “I can handle that, sir.”
    “Find out who's here for Commander Adney. Discreetly. Put them on alert. While you do that,” and he shoved himself, grimacing, to his feet, “I'm going to enlist the help of the local stripers.”
    “Whoever's chief probably won't like that. You may have to get clearance from the dockmaster.”
    “I fully intend