“Thank you—”

But Kimmer was taken aback when poles sprouted out of the hoverdiscs and thrust toward the stars. Virtual flags, adorned with the green tetrahedral sigil of free mankind, began to ripple in a nonexistent breeze.

The tall official said, “My name is Boote the Forty-Third—Captain Boote, I should say. I command here, and I place my base at your disposal. I am the one-hundred-and-nineteenth captain of this station, and the forty-third to wear the proud name of Boote.” He spoke comprehensibly, but he had a very strong, clipped accent. “For one thousand and fifty-seven years, sir, we have waited for the call. If today is the day we fight and die for the benefit of the Third Expansion of Mankind—if the purpose of this station is to be fulfilled on my watch—then I, Boote the Forty-Third, will be proud to take my place in history.” He struck his sunken chest with his fist.

“Thank you, Captain,” Kimmer said dryly. “I know you will do your duty.”

The two parties faced each other, motionless. As the delay lengthened, Pirius grew puzzled.

Pila leaned toward him so their helmets touched. “Go to the backup command loop.”

Pirius tapped his chest control panel, and he heard massed voices. “. . . Named for a victory / Over Ghosts, a vanquished enemy / Our Rock, as firm as our resolve / Is dedicated to our duty . . .” Now he saw the faces of the ranks of troops, their moving mouths. They were singing, he realized, all thousand of them, singing a song of welcome to their visitors. They even sang harmonies.

“The lyrics are none too tactful in the circumstances,” Pila murmured through his helmet.

Pirius glanced surreptitiously at the Ghost, but it showed no reaction to this song of triumph about its kind’s most terrible defeat.

The song went on and on. By now Nilis had coached Pirius in the need to be diplomatic, but by the fourth verse he had had enough. He switched to the squadron loop and ordered his crews to fall out. Then he confronted Captain Boote the Forty-Third. “Sir. Thanks for the song. Where’s the refectory?”

Kimmer glowered; Nilis looked mortified. Pila laughed.

Once he’d got his skinsuit stripped off, Pirius went straight to work.

In theory, so he’d been told, the base was fully equipped with all they needed to operate the squadron. He told Pila his target for resuming training flights was twenty-four hours. Again she laughed.

Captain Boote led Pirius and Nilis through the guts of the complex that had been dug into Orion Rock.

Boote wore a robe that trailed to the floor in languid, elegant drapes. His face and scalp had been shaved of every scrap of hair, even eyebrows and nostril hair.

If Boote was magnificent, so was the base he commanded. But like him, it was odd, too. In its layout it was essentially the same as every other Rock Pirius had visited, with the usual barracks, refectories, dispensaries, science labs, training facilities from classrooms to sim chambers, and technical facilities from environment systems to huge subsurface hangars.