She thanked the pale, thin-fingered E-clone who had stepped aside at her request and returned to her own cubby. She knew that the right thing to do would be to tell Oakes. With Colony gone and no communication to Ship, they were isolated, alone in the wilderness that pressed inward all around the Redoubt.

Yes—Oakes would have to be told. She sat down at her desk, called on Voice-Only when nothing else responded, and when he snapped that he was busy, she insisted that her information transcended any other business.

Oakes heard her out in silence, then: “We’re trapped.”

“How can we be trapped?” she asked. “There’s no one to trap us.”

“They’ve set us up,” he insisted. “Wait there for me.”

The ‘coder snapped with his sudden disconnection and it was only then she realized that Oakes had not asked where she was. Did he spy on her all the time? How much of what I did . . . how much did he see?

In less than a minute, Oakes stepped through the hatch, his white singlesuit drenched in sweat. He was speaking as he entered, crackling tension in his voice.

“That TaoLini woman, Panille and Thomas—they’re out to destroy us!”

He stopped just inside the room, glared down at her across the comdesk.

“That’s impossible! I saw the hylighter carry Thomas off. And Panille . . .”

“They’re alive, I tell you! Alive and plotting against us.”

“How . . .”

“More clones have revolted! And we’ve had a strange message from Ferry, threatening. They’re somewhere nearby, some valley, Lewis thinks. People and equipment. They’re going to attack.”

“How could anyone . . .”

“Probe flights, Lewis is sending out probes. And there is something out there. They’re able to drive our search instruments crazy—some kind of interference that Lewis can’t explain—but we’re still getting indications of a lot of life and metal.”

“Where?”

“South.” He gestured vaguely. “What were you doing when the ship broke contact?”

“Nothing,” she lied. “The circuitry just went dead.”

“We need that contact, the people still up there, the material and food. Get them back.”

“I’ve tried. Here, see for yourself.” She slid out of the seat and gestured for him to take it.

“No . . . no.” He seemed actually afraid to sit at her comdesk. “I . . . trust your efforts. I just . . .”

She slipped back into her seat. “You just what!”

“Nothing. See if you can contact Lewis. Tell him to meet me at the Command Center.”

Oakes turned on his heel. The hatch hissed closed behind him.

She keyed a search for Lewis and fed the message into it, then tried once more to contact Ship. No response. She sat back and stared at the comdesk. A feeling of regret swept over her, pre-remorse, a sense of sorrow over the Morgan Oakes who might have been. He was nearing the very kind of desperation she wanted.