Starfishers Volume 3: Stars End by Glen Cook Page B

in manned vessels. They were fast and shielded heavily enough to punch through a powerful defense.
    The weapon remained largely theoretical. But the men who had created it were confident it would function.
    Neidemeyer whispered to Marescu as they donned working suits, trying to convince his friend, and himself, that they were just gearing up for a field test. “I’m sure the money people just want to see if they’re getting any return on their investment,” he insisted. “You can’t blame them for wanting to try their new toy.”
    “Yeah. Our hero von Drachau is going to take potshots at a couple of insignificant stars. Right?”
    “Right.”
    “You’re a fool, Paul.”
    A band of strangers entered the arsenal. They stared at the four dark needles, clearly awed and a little frightened.
    “That’s von Drachau on the right,” Paul whispered. “I recognize him from the holo. Only he looks a lot older.”
    “Looks a little grey around the gills, I’d say.”
    Von Drachau did look depressed. He spoke with the Major and Kathe Adler. Kathe led his party around one of the missiles. Von Drachau became more impressed.
    There was something about the big, terrible ones that excited a resonance in the soul. It was almost a siren call. Marescu felt it himself each time he touched one of the monsters. He was ashamed of himself when he did.
    “Little boys play with firecrackers, and big boys play with bombs,” he muttered.
    “Ease up. Kathe meant it when she said they’re watching you. Feuchtmayer isn’t one of your big fans, Ion.”
    “I’ll stay out of his way.”
    The days whipped past. Technicians swarmed over the pair of weapons von Drachau selected. Marescu tested systems and supervised the installation of special shipping aids. Josip brought the missiles’ computation systems into communion with the battle computers aboard von Drachau’s ship. Technicians designed and installed adapters and links that would fit the securing rings and launch vanes going onto the belly of the warship.
    Neidermeyer prepared a manual for the science officers responsible for arming the sunkiller and monitoring its gluon pulse in passage, watching for that tiny anomaly that might forecast the expansion of a quark shell into disaster.
    Marescu could not believe there was so much to do. His shifts were long and demanding. He felt a lot of sympathy for Paul, whose personal research project seemed threatened with death by inattention.
    Neidermeyer watched his friend more closely than he did the gluon pulse, hunting some telltale psychological anomaly. Marescu seemed almost too much in control, and had thrown himself into his work with a near-fanaticism that bespoke a very fragile stability fighting its last stand. Yet there were positive signs. Ion had shed the filthy Archaicist outfit. He had begun devoting more time to his personal appearance . . . 
    Then it was over.
    Kathe Adler joined them in the lounge. “Let the firewater flow,” she proclaimed. “It’s time to say the hell with it and turn loose of the brass ring for a while.”
    Marescu gave her an odd look.
    The celebration became a premature New Year’s bash.
    The pressure was off. The antagonisms went on the shelf for the day. Guilts got tucked away. Scientists and technicians made shows of comradeship with the Marines. A handful of von Drachau’s officers joined in, drinking lightly, listening to the jokes but seldom laughing.
    “For them it’s just begun,” Ion murmured. He glanced around. No one had heard him.
    Von Drachau was a focus of brooding gloom. He seemed to have sunk two-thirds into another universe. Ion watched him glare at Paul as if Neidermeyer were some small, venomous insect when Paul tried to strike up a conversation about the raid in the Hell Stars. Von Drachau disappeared only minutes later.
    “Don’t think you made an impression, my friend,” Ion said.
    Kathe agreed. “He’s sensitive about it, Paul. He’s a strange one. You should have