Dass had managed to mollify Kinnit somewhat, and they'd hidden themselves in a supply closet.

  She was really hung up about the whole "getting shot by a tank" thing. He'd have to explain to her the value of a little showmanship in this kind of work.

  Later. He'd explain it later, when she was in a better mood.

  Dass was pleased with the level of disruption at CenCom. All the focus was on the armory and the EVC. It was after hours. With any luck, that would all combine to leave the administrative wing more or less empty.

  Kinnit had gone behind a few racks to change into her thinsuit. Dass waited patiently, reading the labels on boxes of blank slips.

  "I'm ready," she called finally.

  Dass sighed. His form began melting, flowing, becoming more angular. Before long he stood there as XOS-1, exosuit of heroes.

  At Kinnit's insistence, they'd practiced this extensively over the last couple days. He was becoming much more practiced at developing the sharp lines and matte surfaces of an inorganic exosuit.

  "XOS-1 STANDS READY TO DEFEND THE GALAXY, MASTER," he said.

  Kinnit emerged, dressed in her thinsuit.

  "Excellent." She struck a pose. "It's time for adventure! Starstrider, power up!"

  Dass bit back a sigh. He'd hoped she'd tire of this game, or grow past her need to engage in her weird little fantasies. He'd never really developed an interest in pop culture-- spycraft was far more interesting than any show or novel-- and occasionally, he wondered if he were missing out. After working with Kinnit, he'd decided that pop entertainment was not for him, after all.

  At least she seemed to have gotten over being mad at him about the tank.

  He closed in around her, sealing her in and completing the envelopment.

  "XOS-1, camouflage mode on!"

  Dass slowly morphed himself into the form of Eugene, a thick, heavy Terran.

  "Let me do the talking," he reminded her.

  They stepped out into the dimly lit hallway. Eugene had to admit, at least to himself, that all their time practicing had helped them operate together smoothly.

  Eugene walked down the hall with absolute confidence, as though he owned all of CenCom and most of the Navy, making his way further in, closer to Commander Ordren's office. He kept a distracted air about him, as though he were on his way to complete some important bureaucratic task.

  Confidence was key.

  He passed the guard station where he'd been stopped during his earlier penetration attempt. It was unmanned. The hallways beyond were empty and quiet.

  The EVC had done their jobs well.

  In a few minutes, they arrived at Commander Ordren's office. Dass glanced around, making sure they wouldn't be seen, then drew out a small lock pick. It only took him a few seconds of work before the lock clicked and the heavy door swung open.

  He stepped in. The air in Commander Ordren's office was cool and still. Eugene converted back to XOS-1, then opened up. Kinnit stepped out, and he re-formed into Eugene.

  He flipped the light on.

  "Wait, don't do that!" Kinnit cried quietly. "I have a flashlight!"

  "Don't use a flashlight," he said. "If anybody sees the overhead light on, they'll assume Ordren forgot to turn it off. If they see a flashlight bobbing around, they'll know something's up."

  "Oh." Kinnit looked a little disappointed that she wouldn't be able to use her flashlight.

  "I'll keep watch. Knock when you're ready to come out. Be quick."

  She was already hunting around the office by the time he finished speaking. He withdrew.

  It wouldn't do to hang around the office door, but there was a vending machine down the hall, in visual range of the Commander's office. He walked down at stared at the options as though the choice between stale chips and tasteless crackers was an infinitely interesting intellectual exercise.

  After a few minutes, a guard came around the corner. Eugene winced internally, but kept his eyes fixed on the snacks. The guard approached.

  "Can I help you?" he asked.

  "Nah, I'm just getting something to eat. Working late, you know."

  "What office do you work in?"

  "I'm with Hankins over in accounting. But the vending machine down there is out of the good stuff." He turned to the guard, hands on hips. "Can you believe, they haven't refilled that thing in three weeks?"

  "All right, I understand. Have a good evening, sir."

  "Sure, sure," Eugene said, turning back to the snacks. He watched out of the corner of his eyes as the guard walked back down the dimly lit hallway. The guard paused, looking at the slice of light coming from under Commander Ordren's door. He walked closer, and put his hand on the handle.

  "Hey," Eugene called. "Should you be messing around in people's offices?"

  "Somebody left the light on," the guard explained. "I'll just check the office real quick." He pushed the handle down.

  "Do I need to report this or something?" Eugene said. "I'm pretty sure that's some kind violation, going into people's private offices."

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  "I'm sorry, who did you say you were again?"

  "I'm Eugene, from Accounting. On the third floor? Look, I'm not trying to start trouble or anything, I just thought--"

  "You stay right there," the guard said, then he muttered into his comm.

  "Oh, hey," Eugene said, "I don't want to make a thing out of it, I just thought--"

  "Yeah, you just thought nothing. Let me see your ID, please."

  "Ah, my ID? I left it in my office. I can go grab it, you can even--"

  Four more guards jogged onto the scene. Eugene winced.

  Why did they have to get all efficient and competent now?

  "What's happening?" one of them asked.

  "Suspicious character," the initial guard replied. "One of you escort him to his office to check his ID. I'll check the offices down here."

  "Ah cram, you guys," Eugene said. "I just remembered something."

  The guards all turned to him.

  "I just remembered I need you all to go away for a few minutes."

  Pseudopods shot out from Eugene's body, slapping into the men. They screamed and began thrashing. Eugene's creeping flesh oozed up their bodies, across their faces, over their mouths, sealing off the air supply. A couple of guards had the presence of mind to reach for their blasters, but more pseudopods easily plucked the weapons out of their hands.

  "Everybody thinks they're tough until hypoxia sets in," Eugene muttered. He frowned at the guards writhing on the floor, connected to his body with fleshy bands.

  So much for his Eugene persona. Too many people had seen it now. He'd have to discard it.

  He hated having to throw away a perfectly good persona. It took a world of work and refinement to nail down a really good cover. But there was no help for it, unless he wanted to kill the few CenCom guards who'd actually been doing their jobs.

  As the guards' struggles weakened, Eugene walked over to Commander Ordren's office and tapped on the door.

  "You need to hurry up in there, Starstrider."

  The door was flung open.

  "Done!" Kinnit chirped. "I found it! I got lots of pictures."

  "You didn't touch it, did you?"

  "I rolled it up and stuck it in my nose."

  Eugene paused and frowned.

  "I think you spent too much time undercover. It's made you very sarcastic."

  "You only told me 45 times," she muttered, and stuck her tongue out at him. She stepped out of the office. Her step faltered as she took in the crowd of guards flopping weakly on the floor.

  "Did you kill all of these men?" she asked breathlessly.

  "No! I didn't kill anybody. They'll be fine once they get some air." He paused for a moment. "Also, just so you know, before an operation, I infuse some parts of myself with a soporific. They'll be drowsy for a bit. So don't freak out if they don't wake up right away."

  Kinnit looked doubtfully at the fading movements of the guards.

  "Okay... if you say so..."

  "Let's get out of here."

  Grimthorn seethed and paced in the dim cave as the Great Storm continued to rage outside. He'd gotten in the habit of going out from time to time to rage back at it.

  Hundreds of Kobold eyes followed him, filled with awe and concern as he paced.

  Finally, he stopped, and forced himself to sit down on the floor of the cave.

  Admiral Stonefist had sent the rest of the detachment back days ago; they were needed to keep up with the pirates. Only the ISS Swordheart still waited for him in the Takkar system. He checked his scanner regularly. The planetary engineers on the Swordheart were keeping an eye on the massive storm system for him.

  It had been eight days. Eight days. It infuriated him to sit idle for so long when he needed to find Kinnit. When pirates were attacking the Imperium. When the Bolt of Justice was running around free, working their plans.

  Most people, after a few days of forced inactivity, would have accepted the unchangeable, maybe sat and meditated for a while, pondering their place in the universe.

  Admiral Stonefist did none of that. His place was in the thick of things. That's where he needed to be right now. Doing, not waiting.

  The Kobolds had been very gracious, sharing their food and sleeping arrangements. He partook some, to be polite, but the shuttle had been designed for just such an event. It had plenty of rations stored, and it was more comfortable to sleep in than the cave.

  The one thing that calmed him any during this whole ordeal was the singing. The Kobolds were a singing people. They sang to wake each other up, sang to put each other to sleep, sang when they ate, sang to tell stories. The cave was constantly filled with their hooting, cooing music, sometimes bold and heroic, stirring, sometimes soft and whispering and barely there. It was all very comforting, even if none of them sang as sweetly as Kinnit.

  When they sang, he could close his eyes and think of Kinnit, her smooth, soothing voice filling his office, or their nook. He could remember her, snuggled against him, humming or cooing, even if it were just some pop music. It calmed his spirit.

  At least, it did until the next time he went outside to look at the storm.

  He didn't often try to translate the songs. His scanner translator struggled to catch the nuance of many of the lyrics, and some of the their singing was just nonsense words, chosen to sound nice rather than be coherent.

  Some of the songs, however, were about the Kobold's history and legends, the stories of their origins, the heroes of their history. Stories of Hammar of the Trees, who was born of a great tree in the forest and conned the gods into giving the Kobolds the power of speech. Stories of Blacktail the deceiver, who was constantly pulling pranks on Brindletooth the Cat-Bear, the cunning and crafty predator who always sought to eat him. And of course, songs of Ulther, who brought meat and provision to the Kobolds.

  Grimthorn enjoyed those songs and stories, but the ones he loved most were the newer ones. He smiled whenever he heard them, the nascent stories of Kinnit Longlegs who walked among the stars. Grimthorn recognized some of the stories of her adventures, distorted through the Kobolds' limited understanding of space travel and inflated to fit the saga style of their songs. How she was cast into the den of the World-Eater and snuck past him by building a road out of his cave, how she'd been captured by the Great Swarm but fed them all and saved the Imperium from them, how she'd been stabbed through the heart by the Eyeless in order to save the mighty Grimthornstonefist, songs of all her many battle and trials.

  With the Kobold's permission, he was careful to translate and store every one of those. He was inordinately pleased that her accomplishments were being recognized, even on her homeworld.

  There had been another new name circling around the songs in the last few days that made him somewhat uncomfortable. "Grimthornstonefist the Stormfighter" kept cropping up. The new songs spoke of some of his well-known exploits around Arcturus and his homeworld of Dorvalla. They spoke of him battling the Great Storm, going out to war with the spirit of the planetary hurricane.

  He tried to ignore those songs as best he could.

  Admiral Stonefist's scanner beeped. He pulled it up.

  "Report."

  "Sir, we've got some news on the storm."

  Grimthorn jumped to his feet.

  "Analysts have found that the storm has an eye, sir, an area of relative calm right in the center of the hurricane. It will be passing close to your location in a couple of hours. It should be calm enough for you fly through, so you can get off-planet."

  "How close?"

  "Ten kilometers south of your current location."

  Grimthorn pinched his lips and walked to the cave entrance. The fury of the storm continued unabated. Most of the springy trees were bent nearly flat against the ground, whipping viciously in the relentless wind. Many had been snapped off. The howling of the wind pressed against his ears, which were numb to the sound now after having been battered by it for eight straight days.

  Flying only half a kilometer in this had been almost more than he could manage.

  "How long for the rest of the storm to pass?" he asked.

  "It looks like another seven to ten days, sir. Depending."

  Grimthorn stared at the whipping trees.

  "Understood. Thank you for the update. I'll contact you back within the hour to let you know what I'm going to do."

  Another week.

  Grimthorn Stonefist stared into the teeth of the storm and pondered his next move.