Plan B by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Page B

particle-beams began the attack. A charged beam could well use the same path to—"

    "I am not interested in traitorous assumptions!" the General snarled. "I asked you for whys."

    Nelirikk stared at the screen—at the crater where the pretty ship had been—until the view changed to a map of the surrounding area.

    "Sir. It is possible that the ship was ordered to remain grounded in order to defend an important center or person." He pointed.

    "I propose that the town, the nearby command base, or the remaining mercenary troops are of special importance. That small plane, trying so bravely to hinder our jets—it may be that by luck we were attacking the escape ship of an important person."

    Nelirikk paused, staring at the screen.

    "Recall that by drawing fire the ship has taken out a number of our drop fighters and has forced a demonstration of our overhead strength. A scout might trade his ship for such information. For this possibility, I assume standard invasion policy has been followed and the planetary satellite net has been destroyed."

    The General was eyeing him, displeasure apparent. "You insist on this scout, do you?"

    "If all Liaden ships of that size were as powerful, sir, I believe Liadens would even now be pursuing us across the galaxy."

    "Fool!" The General's fist rose, but, remarkably, no blow landed. He twisted in his chair, frowning heavily at the screen. "Hear yourself—naming Liadens— Liadens !—brave, assigning soldierly virtue to a race long known to be weak and honorless— animals , No-Troop. You entertain the possibility that the 14th Conquest Corps might be routed by animals ."

    Nelirikk said nothing.

    The General shut down the display. "We have discovered maps and a short-range radio transceiver in a captured enemy vehicle. I understand from your records that you are fluent in the language of Liaden animals and can read their scratchings as well."

    The General rose, walked to the brown-gray wall and back.

    "You will be outfitted for a special mission. You are to infiltrate the area bounded by a triangle of this airfield, this town, and this command center. You will be given the transceiver and the maps I spoke of, as well as a recall signaler. I will issue a weapon from my office. Security will issue a kit and a blade."

    He came to Nelirikk's chair.

    "We make use of your training and inclinations, No-Troop," he commented; "and allow you to avoid fighting."

    Nelirikk sat quietly, refusing to show any reaction to an insult that would have demanded blood to balance—ten Cycles ago.

    The General's lips pursed, as if he would spit; then:

    "Let me be clear: You are to gather information—which you will note on the map. You are to return to the pick-up point no later than the tenth planetary dawn after you are released. This is a combat order."

    Nelirikk straightened, unable to control the quickening of his heartbeat. A combat order! Was he reinstated, then—once more a part of the Troop?

    "Be sure you understand your orders entirely, No-Troop," the General advised him. "Deviate from them and you will be shot. Not even a Heroic Explorer's Starburst certificate in your file can protect you from proper punishment if you fail a combat command!"

    Ten Cycles of keeping his face quiet served him well. But the blow was severe. Odd, that so sudden a burst of hope should leave such agony in its wake.

    On the hillside, under the hard, beautiful stars, Nelirikk stirred and came out of his thoughts. The shattered hope of reinstatement had faded in the resolution of a mystery ten Cycles old. Almost, he was content. For he knew at last why they had not executed him.

    The General had thought he'd known—had thought Nelirikk used the protection of a Hero's status to wreak havoc in the war room and flaunt command. The General had not taken into account the slowness with which such news trickles down through the levels, from the High Command to the soldier. Even the announcement of so signal an