"By the time you're done, Ranger Medart should be here, and he can make that decision—she was the one being attacked, so the odds are she's innocent. If that's wrong, or if the Ranger wants her probed for more information, it can be done once he's here."

"I copy. I'll let you know what I find out."

"Appreciate it." Dawson broke that connection, immediately punched in another number.

"Communications, Commspec First Carlson, sir," came the reply.

"This is Major Dawson. Can you get me Ranger Medart, Security priority?"

"It'll take a couple of minutes, sir. I'll have to patch through the Chang to his lander."

"That's fine—just do your best."

Ranger James Medart was stretched out on a lawn lounger, basking in the warmth of Irschcha's sun only meters from the lander that was now serving him as a vacation cabin. Convalescent leave had its good points, he thought drowsily. He hadn't been this relaxed since before the war—and not often then. Laying here in swim trunks, it was hard to believe he'd been damn near torn in half not much more than two months ago.

But he had been, trying to help one of the then-enemy, a gray-skinned Traiti. Oh, well. The war was over, thanks to Steve Tarlac, and the Traiti were Imperial citizens, while he was supposed to be concentrating on recovering his strength. He stood, called to the lander. "I'm going for a swim."

A blond head looked around the edge of the lander's open hatch. "Right, sir. I just got my suit on; I'll play lifeguard."

"Whatever you say, Nevan." Medart sketched a salute, grinning at the young Sandeman warrior who was one of his bodyguard. Then he turned, taking a running dive into the Colvis Reserve's main attraction for humans, Clear Lake.

He swam straight out, with a leisurely sidestroke that took him in the direction of the resort across the lake. He had no intention of going that far, or of seeing anyone except his bodyguards; a week in a tank of rapid-heal, followed by over a month of therapy and constant attention, left him with a strong desire for some privacy.

He'd been swimming for perhaps half an hour, enjoying himself thoroughly, when he heard Nevan calling him. The warrior wouldn't interrupt his swim without good reason; he waved acknowledgement and headed for shore, wondering what was up.

Nevan didn't look too happy, the Ranger thought as he waded out of the lake, and that was a bad sign. "What is it?"

"A call from the Planetary Palace, sir, security priority. Major Dawson is on the screen."

"Damn. All right." Security priority was never good news; Medart wondered just how bad it was this time. He accepted the towel Nevan was holding out, began drying himself as he went to the lander and climbed in. Then he dropped the towel, grabbed his uniform shirt from a hanger by the door, and put it on before going to the lander's comscreen. "What's up, Major?"

Dawson repeated what Corina had told him, adding, "Sergeant Orloff said she was definitely the one being attacked, sir. I asked for a mindprobe to be run on the attacker."

Well, Medart thought with brief regret, there went his leave. Couldn't be helped, though. "Good work. Hold off on Losinj; I'd rather not probe someone trying to help us unless there's no other choice." He grinned, wolflike. "If somebody thinks she's worth killing to keep her from us, she's got to be valuable—I'll be there in about two hours, and I'll stop by Interrogation before I join you. Medart out."

Dawson switched off, looked at Corina. "I'm curious about one thing. Why didn't you call instead of coming in? If you're right, we'd have gotten the information sooner, and you'd have been safer; I could have sent a squad of Marines to escort you here for protection. You'd have been in no danger."

"I am afraid that is not the case, Major. In the first place, there was no place I could call from. In the second, if the Order wishes me dead, there is no safety for me anywhere on Irschcha."

"I don't know," Dawson said skeptically. "All I've really heard about the White Order is that they rule this planet with some sort of strange power they refuse to talk about. I think you're underestimating the Marines."

"Talent is not discussed outside the Order, except with potential initiates," Corina said. "At least it has not been until now; I must inform you of what they can do. It is you who underestimate them."

Dawson shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Either way, I don't have the authority to deal with a major rebellion; you might as well wait till Ranger Medart gets here, and tell him."

Corina nodded, and Dawson went back to the report he'd evidently been studying when she was brought in. She tried a probe of him, finding a weak, almost-nonexistent mind-screen. It was not a real barrier, and her reasons were compelling, so she probed deeper. Human mind patterns were too murky to make this sort of thing a pleasure, but she scanned anyway, for information about this Ranger Medart. She knew, as did everyone, about Rangers in general—that they were the Sovereign's representatives, wielding Imperial authority at need—but she had to know about this specific one.

Dawson, unfortunately, knew little. Although he did serve aboard Medart's cruiser, he was not very familiar with the Command Crew or Ranger. All she could get was his feeling of respect, bordering on awe—much, she thought, the way she had felt about Thark until this morning.

Dawson did not expect any trouble from the Order here inside the Palace, she noted, and found herself agreeing. Thark was not likely to risk compromising the Crusade by a frontal attack now. There would probably be an attempt, though, to have her returned as a criminal, as the Sanctioner had threatened.

Perhaps an hour passed before the intercom chimed. Dawson answered, and Corina overheard Captain Daley's report.

"Just finished that mind-probe you asked for, Pat. He was trying to kill Losinj, all right. His orders came from Senior Valla; she told him Losinj was betraying the Order. He also knows about the existence of a Crusade, which is what they call this rebellion. I couldn't get any details, though. And when he woke up, he somehow managed to knock out a couple of my technicians without even touching them. I had to hit him with another stunner, and I'm going to keep him under until I get orders to the contrary."

"Uh-huh, that confirms what she told me. He probably doesn't have enough rank to know any details. Was he the only one?"

There was a grim laugh from the intercom. "Hardly! From what I got, every Order member on Irschcha is either out to kill her themselves or report her whereabouts to the Sanctioners so one of them can do it."

"Thanks, Joanie, that's a big help." Dawson switched off the intercom and turned to Corina. "That exonerates you, Ms. Losinj. There's no more need to confine you." He touched a switch on the desk, and the restraining straps retracted into the armchair.

"Since I am proven innocent, may I have my blade back?" Corina couldn't keep a note of pleading out of her voice.

Dawson looked at her sharply. "It means that much to you? Well, I don't see why not; take it."

"I thank you." Corina retrieved the blade, ran her fingers gently along it before returning it to its sheath, and resumed her seat. She sensed the Marine's puzzlement, and decided she should try to explain. "It is a part of me, in a way. Having it in someone else's possession makes me quite uncomfortable."

Dawson shook his head. "I don't understand. I know it means you're an adult, but it's just a knife."

"It is more," Corina said, her ears twitching. "My mind pattern—" She broke off at Dawson's blank look. "It is an Irschchan thing," she said apologetically. "I fear I cannot explain it well."

"Or I don't have the background to understand." Dawson gave her a lopsided smile. "Ranger Medart will; whether or not I do isn't really important." He turned his attention back to his