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over-ambition.”
    Brandon cocked his head. “Such as?”
    “Intelligence.” Olut6 swung in his chair as some of the stars on the large map-view turned red. “That crazy red Sheen has provided us with an invaluable source of intelligence. And because it’s well-known that we don’t get along, no one suspects him of feeding me information. I couldn’t have designed a more beautiful setup if I tried.”
    “Is he feeding you information?”
    “Of course not. We have to get it the old fashioned way, with plants and agents, like everyone else. But instead of having to go out across the galaxy snooping around in dangerous places where we aren’t wanted, we now have a constant supply of it coming to Amulen. I hate to admit it, but that annual tournament of his, and the new financial center drawing all this interstellar traffic—well, it’s a blessing I never could have foreseen.”
    “What about this station?” Brandon asked. “It’s now getting an impressive flow of alien visitors as well.”
    Olut6 nodded. “Yes, since Cardinal-5 officially opened the governor has certainly been busy with guests. Like this fellow he wants us to come up and meet for some extat reason. But that kind of diplomatic traffic is worthless to military intelligence. The tables are turned—they all come with the intention of sniffing us out.”
    Olut6 tapped on his lightpad again and the map on the wall adjusted views one last time, zooming closer on the inhabited star systems at the far edge of the sphere.
    “No,” Olut6 continued, “you don’t gather intelligence playing mind games with diplomats. You get it from the sloppy, the drunk, the greedy; the very dregs of society sometimes. You get it when they’re off their guard, not thinking about politics or war. That’s part of the reason we’re the dominant force in the sphere now, and in the enviable position of no longer having to wait for our enemies to come here in order to engage them.”
    “Have we many enemies left?” Brandon asked. “With the successful Latia campaign, the surrendering of their fleet without a fight, and the rumors of the light weapon—it all seems to have put the fear of Erob in everyone when it comes to us. And they all know we’ve tripled the size of our military in the last five years.”
    “One enemy is all it takes.” The lightheartedness of Olut6’s voice left. “They’re still out there, and we still don’t know who they are. But we’re picking up clues here and there. Tora is anything but safe.”
    “I guess that attitude is why you’re still the High General.” Brandon looked closer at the map on the wall. “And now I perceive you’re going to give me some reasons why you expect the unknown dark-ship enemy to be lurking along the outer rim of the sphere somewhere.”
    “And your exceptional perception is why you’re still my top unofficial advisor. You see the systems marked in red?”
    “Yes.”
    “They’ve all stopped coming to the annual polwar tournament.”
    “You find that suspicious?”
    “Yes. Do you?”
    Brandon thought for a moment. “Yes. That tournament is the marquee event in the sphere. The game is too addicting to quit. The tournament is structured attractively and the stadium sells out months in advance. I’m surprised any invited races would decline after witnessing even one contest there. How many other worlds have also stopped attending, besides these you have highlighted along the outer edge?”
    “None. Like you said, it’s what they live for now. These are the only ones who’ve discontinued with it.”
    Brandon nodded. “And they’re all located in remote areas along this fringe. That does seem odd. How many are there? Not counting Latia, of course.”
    “Not counting Azaar or Latia, four. Azaar is also an interesting situation. They’ve never attended, despite having been invited every year and assured of forgiveness from that attack by their rebels thirty years ago. Last year I even sent my