, central control."

"Hey," chimed in Scarf. "How about a drink with the
ship's commander? Courtesies of the space-ways,
and all that? I'd sure like to sample some Inner Region
booze."

"You guys ain't invited guests, no way," Rimov
flashed back. "The Commander is fussy about
the people he drinks with."

"Well, you tell him..." Scarf raised a fist to add
gesture to his words, but Brad waved him off,
his eyes holding on Rimov.

"To hell with that," he snapped. "We're here to
do a job and get back to our ship. I repeat: first,
the fire control center, then each gun emplacement.
Now."

"Our fire control center has been deactivated. Why
do you have to see each gun?"

"You know damn well, Rimov," Brad said, putting as
much harshness into his tone as he could muster.
"Your pieces can be fired independent of central
control; I'm going to make sure they won't be.
Let's get on with it."

Brad noted that Rimov was staring at the intensity
slide visible on the breechblock of his sheathed
weapon. Rimov then tilted his head to scrutinize
the settings on Kumiko and Scarf's weapons. His
brows tightened, puzzled. It passed.

"OK, follow me," he said, pivoting and taking the
lead.

The passageways were narrow, confining them to two
abreast. Rimov and one of his men walked ahead, the
other three escorts followed close behind Brad and
his party. The corridors they traversed had been
cleared; no encounters.

Brad, familiar with transports of the line,
memorized their route. They had boarded
amidships, lower starboard, and were headed for
an armor-enclosed section near the stern. The
surveillance and tracking gear and the laser-quads'
fire control computers should be there. That
part should be relatively simple. They reached
a closed, heavy door. Rimov turned to Brad, his
face reflecting rage.

"You didn't answer my question," he growled.
"What're you gonna do to my guns?"

"Nothing you couldn't fix in a couple of work
shifts," Brad replied, motioning to the door.
"Let's move."

Grudgingly, Rimov placed his palm on the disk
lock. A click and the heavy door retracted into
the adjacent bulkhead.

As Brad expected, the fire control center consisted
of dozens of consoles, scopes, directional and power
control devices, and clusters of computer terminals.

Kumiko and Brad circled the small room as Scarf
watched from his position inside the entryway.
Rimov stood beside Scarf, his guards along the
bulkhead, tense,