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silent…but even as Roman looked around the bridge he saw that it was a losing battle. The poacher’s crack about their orders coming from the Tampies had subtly but noticeably shifted their sympathies in his favor—that, along with the Tampy ship’s damnably bad timing in showing up when it did. It was just as well, Roman thought darkly, that there was no chance anyway of tracking the renegade down. It wouldn’t be an operation his crew could tackle wholeheartedly.
    Damn the Tampies, anyway. Abruptly, he reached to his console, keyed the radio. If the Tampies were here to keep tabs on his hunting— “Tampy ship, this is Captain Haml Roman aboard the C.S.S. Dryden ,” he identified himself, his tone harsher than he’d intended it to be. “Your presence in this part of the system is not exactly conducive to our mission of hunting poachers. Would it be at all possible for you to shift your own operations elsewhere?”
    â€œI hear,” the whining alien voice came promptly. “We conduct no operations here, Rro-maa; we bring a message for you from your people.”
    Roman blinked. That wasn’t exactly the reply he’d been expecting. “I see. Go ahead, we’re ready to receive it.”
    An indicator came on briefly and went off. “Farewell,” the Tampy said, and a moment later vanished from the displays.
    The message was short, but no less a bombshell for all that. Roman read it twice before raising his eyes from his screen. “Lieutenant, lay in a course back to Solomon,” he ordered Nussmeyer. “Head out as soon as the Mitsuushi’s ready to go.”
    â€œTrouble?” Trent asked.
    â€œI’m not sure,” Roman shook his head. “The message just says that we’re to return, that the refitting for the Amity project has been finished.”
    Trent’s forehead furrowed. “That’s it? So what do they want from us?—a flyby to send it off?”
    â€œNot really,” Roman said. “Mostly, what they want is me…to be Amity ’s captain.”

Chapter 3
    T HE COURIER SHIP THAT had brought Roman from Solomon to the Tampies’ Kialinninni system had been an old one, right on the edge of being retired or possibly a bit past it; and if appearances and the occasional creaking from the bracing struts were any indication, the shuttle now arrowing him toward Kialinninni’s sun and the Tampy space horse corral was of similar vintage. A continual and sobering reminder that the Amity project was looked upon with scorn or even suspicion by a significant part of the Senate and Starforce…and that it was that faction that controlled the appropriations. “I hope,” he commented, “that the Amity ’s in better shape than this thing.”
    The pilot chuckled. Like the shuttle he, too, was unspectacular: a middle-aged lieutenant who’d apparently reached the peak of his capabilities years before and had just sort of stayed there. Unlike the hardware, though, there was something more beneath his surface; some quietly flickering flame of excitement or optimism that official contempt and slashed budgets had been unable to dampen.
    Roman had seen such borderline-religious faith before among the more rabid pro-Tampy supporters. He had yet to decide whether he found it encouraging or frightening.
    â€œNot to worry, sir,” the pilot assured him. “The Amity is a beauty—brand-new, top-line in-system freighter, modified down centerline and out. You’ll have better equipment and accommodations than most anything flying. Certainly better than anything I’ve ever flown on.”
    Which might not, of course, be saying much. “Glad to hear it,” Roman said, eyes searching the view out the shuttle’s control bubble. “Can we see it from here?”
    â€œJust barely, sir,” the other said, touching the wraparound viewport. “That’s Amity over