"Why d'you want to ride up here, instead of in a nice comfy seat with the rest of the passengers?"

"You're bringing two extra people along, right? Mr and Mrs Brudnoy, right?"

"That's Lev Brudnoy, isn't it?" asked the copilot, without taking his eyes off the control panel. "He used to be a cosmonaut back in the old days, didn't he?"

It was Brudnoy's wife that bothered Killifer. Joanna. She'll recognize me, he knew. Haven't seen her in damned near eight years, but she'll recognize me if she sees me. Especially if we're locked up in this sardine can for nineteen hours. She'll see me. She'll remember who I am.

"And you got the captain's body, too," Killifer said.

"He goes in the cargo bay."

"Yeah, but you need two extra seats for the Brudnoys. Mine and the reporter's. Makes it all come out even."

The pilot glanced at his copilot, then looked up again at Killifer. "Okay, I guess it'll be all right. Just don't chatter at us while we're taking off."

"Okay!" said Killifer, a surge of gratitude gusting through him.

"Or re-entry," said the copilot.

"Or landing," the pilot added.

"Okay, okay.' Killifer laughed shakily. I can sit here for nineteen hours and never go out into the passenger compartment, he told himself. They got a relief tube here in the cockpit. I can go nineteen hours without taking a crap.

He had never acknowledged it before, but he was deeply afraid of Joanna Brudnoy. It was irrational, but he feared her. That realization made him feel shame. And a burning, relentless hate.

The mercenary lay slouched in his bunk and watched his wall screen display of the Peacekeeper ship taking off. He was startled by the suddenness of it. One instant the big Clippership was sitting out on the floor of the crater, sunlight glinting off its curved diamond body. The next, it was gone in a puff of hot exhaust gases and blown dust and pebbles. When the dust cleared the crater floor was empty. The ship was on its way.

Got to hand it to the kid, the mercenary thought. He faked them out and got them to turn tail. Peacekeeper troops ought to be tougher than that; letting the threat of nanobugs panic them.

He lifted his feet off the floor and wormed off his softboots, then swung his legs onto the bunk. Get some rest, he told himself. The next few days are going to be tough.

He considered his options. There was no way out of it, Doug Stavenger was going to die. The only questions were when and how. Can I do it without getting caught? Maybe make it look like an accident. Or will it be more effective if they all know that he's been assassinated?