Kube-McDowell, Michael P. - Trigon 03

chapter 1

Intruder

Two light-hours from Ba'ar Tell, Rampart drifted silently inits asteroidal orbit, primed for a fight. Its sensors were alive,its weapons battle-ready. The prime watch, the best of whatwas already an elite crew, held down all eight stations on thebridge.

With an electronic chime as herald, a section of the heads-up display on the bubble of Denn Lieter's battle couch reformed. Lieter studied the new data for a moment, then frowned.

"Why are we getting estimated flight tracks on the targetsall of a sudden? Aren't the pickets still on them?" Lieter askedquietly. His throat mike picked up the inquiry and relayed it tothe other stations.

The answer came from the comtech. "The outer picket inthat zone just went silent, sir. Defense Command on Ba'arTell is reporting it presumed destroyed. Inner pickets are stilltoo far away for good data."

"If they're going to change course, this would be the time," a calm feminine voice said in Lieter's ear. That was Mills, the battle strategist, on her private captain's line.

"We'll stay put," Lieter said, with more certainty than hefelt. "All stations, call down."

"Navcom ready."

"Weapons ready."

"Communications ready."

"Strategy and Analysis ready..."

Lieter only half listened to the ritual litany of the call-downcheck. Moving slowly so as not to trigger the acceleration sensors in the head harness, Lieter twisted sideways in theclose confines of his battle couch and looked through the bubble toward the rear of the bridge. As expected, he saw a tall,rangy man in a tan Command uniform standing on the observer's dais.

Before the visitor could make eye contact with him, Lieterturned back to his console. As captain of the Rampart, ordinarily Lieter would have been the highest-ranking officer onboard. But such was the import of the moment that the observer both outranked Lieter and unsettled him. Harmack Wells, the new Director of USS-Defense, had that kind of effect.on people.

Lieter had no doubt that Rampart's machine componentwas up to the task ahead, but its human component was stillunproven. This was the supreme test. Though it was the solereason they had been built, no Defender had ever been askedto fend off a Mizari attack on one of the Unified Worlds. It was the real possibility of failure that left Lieter's shirt gluedto his back with cold sweat, and which made it impossible toforget Wells's watching eyes.

"Interior pickets have reconfirmed the tracks on targetsAlpha and Beta," the comtech announced. "DefCom projectsa planetary attack vector for both inbounds, confidence-90.Rampart authorized for full-force intercept."

Lieter took a deep breath and held it a long moment. "Acknowledged, Rampart authorized for FFI," he said. He tappeda glowing square on a touchboard with his forefinger, and theupper left quadrant of his display changed to a strategy map."Mills?"

"Yes, Captain. Recommending standard two-target attack."

"Concur. Weapons, begin mode 21 attack immediately."

Within seconds the staccato baric of the fifty-barreled rail-gun filled the ship: ten barrels per salvo, one hundred roundsper second, sixty thousand rounds per minute. Even throughthe insulating cocoon of his battle couch, Lieter could hear theinsistent, incessant drumming.

Lieter had to imagine the rest: the furious activity of theinjectors, reloading each barrel twice a second; the cylindricalpellets hurtling down their electromagnetic channels; the muzzle deflectors tweaking each projectile toward its place in thedispersal pattern, A mode 21 attack meant the pattern Defender crews called the death halo: a five-kilometre-wide cone of high-velocity shrapnel from which no ship larger than a sprint could hope to escape by luck alone.

Devastating as the death halo could be, it was far from infallible. Given enough warning, the intruder could evade itor even turn tail and outrun it. But first, the Mizari had to detect it—not an easy task, since each element of the halowas less than three centimetres in cross section. To all but the very best optical or radar sensors, the halo would be invisibleuntil it was too late.

"We have a telecam view of Beta from Picket 1-7," the comtech advised Lieter.

A finger on a touchboard brought the picture up on Lieter'sdisplay. The Mizari intruder was a nearly spherical black-hulled object twice Rampart's longest dimension in diameter.No obvious ordnance blisters marred its smoothly curved surface. There was no hint of the savage power that had long agodevastated Earth and earned the Mizari their better known name: the Sterilizers.

But we remember, Lieter thought. We remember.

Twenty minutes later the railgun closed the last gap in thedeath halo and fell silent. Rampart coasted on, waiting. The trade-off was distance for energy—the closer the Defender was to its targets, the more watts per square metre the lanceswould be able to deliver. Unless the Mizari forced Lieter's hand, Rampart would wait until the death halo struck the first blow.

"Vector change, Beta," the gravigator announced, his voicebetraying a touch of alarm.

"Mills—has he made the halo?" asked Lieter.

"I don't think so, sir. Alpha is still on a collision vector.More likely a change from convoy spacing to attack spacing.Recommend we move with Beta."

"No. At this range we'll just be giving ourselves away.Lances, track Beta." Lieter glanced again at the strategy mapand the intercept counter. Less than eight minutes remainedbefore the Mizari and the halo would meet. Lieter's back muscles and sphincter were knotted with tension. "Navcom,prepare to take us toward Beta the moment Alpha hits thehalo. We'll make her cross the tee on us—"

"Vector change on Alpha," the gravigator fairly shouted."They've seen it. Running to the near perimeter—"

"Lances, fire," Lieter said reflexively, the observer behindhim forgotten. "Navcom, forty percent forward, Railgun,*mode 15. Fire on the run. Mills—is Alpha going to clear the halo?"

As he spoke, the six computer-targeted lances fired. Except as tracks on the strategy map, the stabbing bursts of energy from the lances were invisible. But the picket's telecamsshowed the result. Great rents opened along the curve of theblack sphere as whole sections of the hull boiled away. Thefirst Mizari intruder died quickly and quietly, transformed intoa skeleton enveloped in a spreading cloud of molecular metalthat had once comprised its integument and sinew.

"Alpha will not clear the halo," Mills said. "They know it,too—they're starting to use some sort of DE weapon to cleara path through."

Lieter's response was terse. "Lances, target Alpha at theprojected point of exit. The moment they come through thehalo, burn them."

"No need," Mills said. "They're at a bad angle, for thepattern. They're not going to make it."

Even as she spoke, the tracks of the Mizari vessel and thehalo intersected. Though the pellets were mere inert mass, thecombined velocities of target and missile more than made upfor any lack of explosives. A bright flower blossomed on theblack face of the intruder, then a second and third. Tiny bits ofmatter flew in every direction. Then an explosion inside theintruder briefly lit the jagged entry holes, giving it the eerieaspect of a candlelit jack-o'-lantern.

A long moment passed, and then a tight cluster of pellets—five or more, Lieter thought, though it happened too quickly to be certain—stitched a line across what remained ofthe hull, cracking it open like an egg and spilling its contentsinto cold space. Almost at once the Alpha marker on Lieter'sstrategy map changed from red to green to signify it had beenneutralized.

"Break, break," Lieter said. "All stations, stand down from battle mode. Navcom, let's go have a look at what we did."

There was a burst of happy, self-congriatulatory chatter thatmoved from the comlines to the air as the bubbles of the bridge couches began to retract as one.

"Let's keep the celebration under wraps," Lieter rebukedsharply, looking for Wells as the couch's hold-downs releasedhim. The Director was still standing where Lieter had last seenhim, his gaze locked on the blank main display used otherthan during combat.

Clambering out of the couch, Lieter faced Wells and saluted. "FFI exercise completed, sir. I only wish those hadbeen Mizari ships instead of drone mock-ups."

For several seconds Wells did not react, continuing to starestraight ahead as though he hadn't heard. Then he straightenedand nodded in Lieter's direction.

"Be careful what you wish for, Captain. Open warfare withthe Mizari is not something to be rushed into."

"I only meant—"

"At least you're not as reckless with your command as youare with your words," Wells continued. "After you've processed the data from the conflict recorders, we'll review the results in detail here. Pending that, please extend my appreciation to everyone involved for their efforts."

"Yes, Director," Lieter said, and saluted again as Wells flickered and vanished. Sensing someone at his elbow, Lieterturned to see Mills waiting for him. "Good work."

"Thank you, sir," she said, fluffing her hair where the headrestraints had matted it. "Only, do you have any idea why theywere so easy on us? They didn't throw us a single curve. Wedidn't even come under fire."

"If we had a need to know, they'd tell us," Lieter said, looking back to where the image of Wells had been. "But youcan be sure they have their reasons."

Shaking his head and frowning, Harmack Wells steppedout of Telepresence Chamber 041. As he started down the corridor toward his office his adjutant, Teo Farlad, fell in beside him.

"A good exercise," Farlad said. "The crew performed well—"

"Means nothing," Wells said gruffly.

"It means the Defenders can do their job as advertised—"

"I needed a compelling demonstration for the Committee. I got two big dumb targets that couldn't take a punch, much less throw one."

Farlad's face betrayed his puzzlement. "We gave the drones every reasonable capacity. Their battle computersweren't constrained—they just didn't make the halo and Rampart until it was too late."

"Is assuming the Mizari DE weapons couldn't break through the halo a reasonable assumption? Is assuming theirships were that vulnerable to our lances reasonable? The Chancellor isn't stupid. She knows when she's being flimflammed."

"But, sir—we don't know what their weapons and defenses are capable of. There's no way to simulate—""For sixty million Coullars I expected more than targetpractice."

"There'll be more rehearsals, with other variables—•"

"Hopefully some will resemble the real world. In the meantime we'll have to figure out how to sell that fantasy tothe Committee." They were approaching the central hub of theUSS-Central station, a nine-story open atrium filled with lightand greenery.

"I do have some good news for you," Farlad said, eager torepair the damage. "It's why I met you—I was coming to tellyou."

"So stop puffing yourself up and tell me," Wells said, squinting across the hub at a group of people walking towardthe entrance to the Resource wing.

"I've come up with another Thackery document—"

"Hardly earthshaking news."

"This one is something special—something he wrote after he left the Service—"

"Put it in my private file and I'll have a look at it," Wells said, signaling for silence and stopping. "Isn't that Comit£Sujata?"

Farlad peered in the direction Wells pointed and fixed on a tall, long-limbed woman wearing a half blouse and hip wrapin the Maranit style. "Yes, sir. With Whitehall of the Arcturusresearch colony and his facilitator."

"I thought you were going to get back to me with someuseful information on her."

"Her bio is as complete as I can make it—"

"I still need to know how she's likely to vote on Triad."

"She's gone with the majority on the monthly Defense appropriations."

"Not good enough. We haven't brought any new defenseinitiatives before the Committee in the six months she's been sitting on it. It doesn't require any special commitment toconfirm the status quo."

"I gave her the Triad briefing material the second week shewas here. But she's put off talking with me about it a halfdozen times. Maybe if you approached her directly—"

Wells's answering tone was that of a man nearing the limitsof his patience. "I don't expect her to be a factor. I just don'twant any surprises. We go to the Committee Thursday. Havesomething for me by then."

Farlad swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."

"And come by my office as soon as Lieter relays the combat data. We'll take up the Ba'ar Tell matter then," he said,and walked away toward the Defense wing. Wearing an exasperated expression, Farlad watched him go, then started across the atrium in pursuit of Sujata.

The body language of the two combatants could not havebeen more different. Richard Whitehall, a bullnecked colonymanager whose appearance was at odds with his prim antiquarian name, had taken over a chair in the Resource Director's office with the restless authority of a bear staking claimto his den. In the chair facing him, Janell Sujata sat lightly,legs crossed discreetly, hands fingertip-to-fingertip in her lap,a model of quiet self-assurance.

"I'm sorry," Sujata was saying. "That's simply the way things are.""Terira pa niti, par es," Whitehall said gruffly, lockinghis arms over his chest.

"The truth is, I would like very much to help you," Sujatacontinued in an even tone which implied she had not understood the Shinn curse, though she had. "But your problemisn't with Resource, it's with Defense. Every cargo packet inthe octant is tied up with the buildup of Bootes Center and theSentinel Support Node. There won't be any ships free to increase the frequency of the Arcturus packet runs until Defensereleases them back to Transport."

Standing while the others sat, the short, round-bodied facilitator interposed himself physically as well as diplomatically between the Comite and the Arcturus manager. "Mr. Whitehall noted that there was excess capacity in the LupusOctant, and wondered if it wouldn't be possible to transfer oneor more ships—"

Sujata smiled wanly. "If it were, Defense would take them as well. You have to understand that they have first cliim onthe resources of the Service."

"Mr. Whitehall would like you to understand that certaincommitments were made to the Arcturus colonists as well." "And those commitments are largely being met, throughthe Museum program—"

It was a measure of Whitehall's frustration that, thoughraised under Liam-Won's fiercely chauvinistic monarchy, henevertheless addressed Sujata directly. "Is this what the Committee meant us to be, a dumping ground for broken-downships and useless personnel?" he demanded. "Have we volunteered to be shuffled off and forgotten?"

Sujata was not cowed by Whitehall's accusing tone. "Mr.Whitehall, I should not have to be the one to remind you ofthe Arcturus project's history. The management of BootesCenter initiated your colony primarily as a means to increasetheir own ship traffic and accelerate the Center's growth. ButBootes Center is now under a military governor whose primeconcern is the Mizari, not the health of the Arcturus colony onCheia—"

The facilitator risked an interruption in the hopes of restoring decorum. "Mr. Whitehall is well versed in Cheia's history.His concern is for the present and the future."

"Then he would do well not to accuse his only friend atUnity of being his enemy," Sujata replied. "If my predecessorhadn't chosen Arcturus as the site for the Museum, Mr. Whitehall would have had far less help and much more to complain about. Or would he rather the colony were withoutthe people and materiel the Museum ships brought out on theirfinal voyages?"

The facilitator glanced nervously at Whitehall and read hisexpression. "Mr. Whitehall only wishes to make certain youunderstand that the present situation is not optimum."

"I understand that the lack of inbound traffic has affected Cheia's growth plan. But I repeat, your problem is primarilywith Defense, indirectly with Transport, and ultimately withthe Mizari."

"And that is all you are able to offer Mr. Whitehall?"

Sujata spread her hands wide, palms up. "That and mypromise we'll continue sending mothballed ships to the Museum as fast as they come into our hands, with as long a cargoand passenger manifest as they'll bear. The Defense branch isbuilding its own freighters even now. When they start to comeon line, you should see an improvement in the packet schedule."

"Mr. Whitehall would be more at peace if that promisebore any specifics," the facilitator said gravely as Whitehallbegan to rise from his chair.

Though she did not seem to hurry, somehow Sujata wasstanding first. "Perhaps Mr. Whitehall would see the whole matter in a better light if he reminded himself that instead ofbeing chosen to receive a unique asset like the Museum, Cheiamight instead have been blessed with the Sentinel SupportNode and all the interference from Defense that goes with it."

"Fecuma," Whitehall muttered as he moved past her. Animpolitic smile tugged at one corner of Sujata's mouth, butshe politely hid it behind one hand as she showed the men tothe door.

Coming from Ba'ar Tell, it was inevitable that Wyrena TenGa'ar would find Unity Center overwhelming. The communalcabin on the packet Moraji had been a new enough experiencein itself, but at least she had had the company of others fromher own world on the first leg, to Microscopium Center.

M-Center was a greater shock, and one for which she hadno cushion. The great space station, which had begun life asan Advance Base in the era of expansion, gave her her first taste of what her father disparagingly called Terran hive-living. Inevitably, Wyrena got lost repeatedly in M-Center'seighteen levels during the three-day layover, confused to thepoint of tears by the quad-level-sector address system and themaze of look-alike corridors.

From M-Center inbound to Unity, Moraji carried a more ethnically diverse group. Fully half the twenty beds were filled by Service staffers near Wyrena's own age. She foundthem loud, mannerless, and intimidating. Two Ba'ar men were aboard, one a minor official of the Centrality and theother a student. But neither was from her home city of Farnax,and though she would have been willing to forgo clan rules forconversation and companionship, they made clear that they were not.

Also aboard was a stiff-necked delegation from Daehne,whose attitude toward the rest of the passengers fluctuated between paranoia and condescension. Two of the Daehni made open sexual demands on Wyrena, which she escapedgranting less because of her own will than because of the intervention of a member of the USS tutelary commission traveling with the Daehni.

"Nothing personal," the commissioner told her. "They justresent the fact that Ba'ar Tell has a Committee Observer and Daehne is still on the outside looking in. To get the best of aBa'ar—especially a female—well, you understand."

After that Wyrena kept to herself, with little to do but thinkabout the decision she had made, already afraid she had madethe wrong choice. She smoothed over her fears by painting hertrip as an adventure and turning her hoped-for reunion withJanell into a girlish fantasy. Someone who met the ship wouldknow Janell, or know someone who did. Or perhaps Janellwould even be there waiting, having found out somehow thatshe was coming—

But Unity was no outer world to which ships came callingonly four or five times in a year, and where traditions of hospitality dictated each be received with high ceremony. Morajiwas just another inbound packet, and the bewildered Ba'ar woman aboard her just another visitor. The harried-lookingguest liaison who herded all the non-USS passengers throughthe terminal seemed far more interested in rushing them through processing than in welcoming them individually.After passing her identity and solvency checks, Wyrena wasset free to fend for herself.

Despite having spent most of the last three days inboundplanning what she would do, the next hours were better forgotten: it was the bustle and confusion of M-Center again,only worse. Her first act was to commandeer the first free comnode she saw. Facing an unfamiliar technology, she gratefullyand hopefully accepted the unit's patient prompts.

Then came the first surprise. On Ba'ar Tell no one whoowned a talkwire ever left it unattended; etiquette demandedthat someone answer every call. But Janell was "Page Offline—Message Only."

"Where is she?" Wyrena asked plaintively. "When will shebe back?" But however humanlike the voice, she was talking with a machine, not a sympathetic house retainer. "The address is

UC-R-SIOO. No other data is available," the com node advised her. "Would you like to leave a message?"

Wyrena did not want Janell to hear the news that way, froma frozen voice caught in an electronic trap. She would waituntil she could witness the reaction she could not predict.

"No message," she said.

"Thank you," the voice said sweetly.

Wyrena spent two hours wandering the lower levels of Unity in search for R-SIOO before the forlorn expressionetched into her face prompted another woman in the same liftto take pity on her. It was then she learned that she was looking in the wrong place. UC-R-SIOO was an address not atUnity but at a satellite station trailing Unity in orbit by a fewthousand klicks. f/SS-Central, Resource Wing, Suite 100.

Wyrena's benefactor helped her find the commuter nodeand get a seat on the twice-hourly UC shuttle. But then shewas alone again. The canisterlike shuttle was claustrophobic,the view of the Earth from its window-simulating displaysvertiginous, and the forty-minute flight almost unendurable.

When the shuttle finally docked, she followed the other passengers onto a spiral escalator. Three upward rotationslater it delivered her into the middle of a towering atrium largeenough to enclose the eight-story Councilary Hall in Famax.Dazzled by the architectural wonder surrounding her, severalminutes passed before she noted the five great corridors corresponding to the Center's five spokes and the USS's five branches: Transport, Survey, Resource, Defense, and Operations. With tentative steps she crossed the atrium to the Resource wing and started down the central corridor.

Inside was a lift node, with its ranks of doors and electronic Directory. Beyond, a security station barred the waydown the corridor. Beyond that, Wyrena saw a glass-walledwaiting room where a woman sat working, a man sat waiting,and three office doors stood closed. The glass wall bore aperplexing legend:

SUITE 100
OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR
USS-RESOURCE

Janell had been head of the USS office on Ba'ar Tell, but the circumstances under which she had left—could she be working for a Comitfi now?

Confused, Wyrena summoned up her courage and steppedup to the security station. "I need to see Janell Sujata—"

"Show your card."

Wyrena did, hopefully.

The officer barely glanced at it. "Not cleared. Have anappointment?" "No—" "Would you like to request an appointment?"At that moment one of the doors inside Suite 100 opened,

and three figures emerged from the room beyond. The firsttwo Wyrena did not know, but the one trailing behind—

"Janell!" Wyrena called out impulsively.

Sujata peered out through the glass, her face flashing annoyance at being addressed in public by her private name. Then she saw the woman standing by the Security desk, andthe annoyance evaporated.

"Wyrena?" she exclaimed, disbelieving, and crossed the space between them with swift strides. "Wyrena!"

They hugged fiercely for a moment, wordlessly absorbingthe sensory reality of each other, relearning familiar scents andsoftnesses. Then the men who had come out of the office with Sujata brushed by them in leaving, and the reminder of theirpresence brought on a spontaneous rush of self-consciousness.She pushed Sujata away, only to have her guilty impulse confirmed when she saw the frankly curious way the man seatedin the waiting area was studying them.

Sujata caught the shamed look in her eyes and laughed."This is Unity, not Ba'ar Tell," she said gaily. "You don't haveto worry about offending people."

Pulling Wyrena close again, Sujata kissed her gently butknowingly, an unhurried, fullmouthed kiss of lovers separatedand reunited. Eyes closed, Wyrena forgot her guilt, and thistime it was Sujata who finally broke the embrace.

"Come on," Sujata said, taking the younger woman's hands. "My quarters are upstairs."

As they turned to go, the man who had been waiting stood.

"Comitfc Sujata, I really must see you," he said in a clear,commanding voice. "Director Wells is very eager for yourreaction to the materials I left with you last month."

At the man's tone Wyrena hesitated. But Sujata did noteven look back. "Another time, Mr. Farlad," she called over her shoulder. "Another time."

There were a half dozen items queued up on the com register for Wells's attention: a progress report on construction ofthe new headquarters; a quarterly budget statement; the latestrecon survey from the Sentinels; and other less urgent minutiae.

Relegating the rest to a holding file, Wells took a few minutes to review the recon survey. It was both the most important and the most predictable item on the list. He knew beforestarting that there would be no real news in it; were anythingunusual to happen on the Perimeter he would be notified immediately and directly by means of the tiny transceiver implanted below his right ear.

As always, the first item in the report was the deploymentupdate. Only eight of the ten Sentinels were on station; Muschynka and Gnivi were still in the yards at Lynx Center for general overhaul.

I'd love to replace all five of those old survey ships, Wells thought as he read on. They were a poor bargain right from the start.

Next came the rotation schedule for the Sentinels' twelve-person crews. The tender Edmund Hillary was en route with relief crews for Maranit and Feghr. All the other crews were well within the stringent fatigue criteria employed on the Perimeter.

The penultimate section dealt with the condition of the eight hundred listening buoys oriented toward the Ursa Majorcluster and popularly known as the Shield. As might be expected with two Sentinels in port, the inspection schedule hadslipped a bit, and an unusually high fifty-three buoys wereabnominal in one parameter or another. But there was no pattern to the failures, nor any real gap in the coverage. Thesituation bore watching but did not justify heightened concern.

Lastly there was a summary of the data collected by thebuoys. The buoys' receptors were capable of simultaneouslyand continuously monitoring everything from low.-frequencyradio on one end of the spectrum to microwaves at the other.The raw data was sieved in real-time against a long list ofalarm triggers, then relayed via dedicated Kleine links to theStrategic Data Center, which occupied two levels of the Defense wing.

What finally reached Wells was a list of anomalies, tagged by time and buoy, along with the explanation for each and arating of the degree of confidence with which that explanationwas proffered. In this instance, as was generally the case, itwas a short list. By now the only real secrets of the quarantined zone were those that lay beyond the capacities of the receptors.

Foremost among them the Mizari themselves.

Somewhere in the Ursa Major moving cluster, die Sterilizers waited. Almost certainly the suns of the Mizar-Alcor system—the Horse and the Rider of Arabian astronomy, thetraditional test for acuity of vision—shone bright in their sky,but they might call other worlds home, as well, worlds orbiting Alioth or Merak or Megrez or Phad. Even the most far-flung members of the cluster, in Draco and Leo Minor andUrsa Minor, could by now be host to the murderous Mizari.On the star map in the Committee Chamber, all sixteen members of the cluster were black-flagged.

Wells could not think of the Mizari without surrendering atleast part of his conscious energies to a well-considered anddeeply rooted antipathy. It had been sixty thousand years sincehumans and Mizari had last had contact, but for Wells that dusty history was as vivid and immediate as if .he had witnessed it. The vast span of time only heightened his outrage ata crime so long left unavenged.

With no more provocation than the appearance of a singleWeichsel iceship near their triple binary system, the black starof the Mizari had struck back across the light-years and destroyed the human civilization now known as the Founders.The punishment was so out of proportion to the offense thatWells could find no way to rationalize it. It had been deliberate, cold-blooded, unblinking genocide, an attempt to erasefrom existence an entire sentient species. Had the Mizariknown of the colonies started by the Weichsel explorers, theattempt would doubtless have been successful.

And had it not been for Merritt Thackery's pursuit of, andcontact with, the ethereal D'shanna and the revelations that resulted, the foraging survey ships would inevitably have blundered into Mizari space once more and given the bastardsa second chance.

Which we will never give you, Wells vowed. Never again will we allow ourselves to be victimized.

But it was a vow that was still mostly bluster. No one knew better than Wells how precarious the strategic situation was.No one knew better than he what a woeful misnomer it was to call the elliptical array of buoys a Shield. It was psychologically appealing, and the geometry of their deployment evensuggested such a shape. But the elements of the Shield wereunarmed and completely passive, mere receptors for the energies that reached them and the information that might therebybe gleaned. Even active radar was considered too risky, toointrusive.

The Sentinels, which looked after the buoys as shepherdsmight look after sheep, were warships only in name. Carryingonly a single-barreled railgun and a single terawatt lance turreteach, they might hold their own in a duel against ships of theirown kind, but in cold truth were little more imposing than ashepherd waving his wooden staff.

Put bluntly, if the Sterilizers came out now, USS-Defensewould be helpless to stop them. That fact had become theunifying focus of Wells's life, gnawing at him and driving him on. He was ashamed of the timidity forced on him by theweakness of the Unified Worlds, furious at those who refused to see the threat. The specter of the Sterilizers cast a shadowover everything that humankind was and did, and nothing wasmore important than beating back the darkness.

"Busy?" a cheery voice asked, intruding on Wells's brooding. Even without looking, Wells knew who his visitor was—the distinctive tenor voice and presumptuous entrance weresufficient identification. Wells reflexively purged the screen ofhis terminal, then settled back in his chair with his hands folded in his lap.

"Observer Berberon," Wells said. "What a surprise. Whatbrings you over from Unity?"

Felithe Berberon beamed, as though merely being recognized was the highest form of flattery. "Oh, this, that, the littledetails that so fill up one's calendar. But when I heard, I hadto come up and congratulate you."

Wells's gaze narrowed. "Congratulate me on what?"

"Why, on your successful test of the Defenders, of course. I'm sure the Committee is going to be delighted with thenews—you're ahead of schedule and I'll wager you're underbudget as well. Excellent, simply excellent."

Working to keep a scowl off his face, Wells replied. "I'm glad you're pleased. We're ready to declare the Defendersoperational, in fact." It was bad enough to be reminded that hehad thus far been unable to ferret out Berberon's sources inside Defense, but Wells had no patience for Berberon's endless ingratiatory chatter.

"Of course, I understand perfectly," Berberon was saying,"though I understand the attack drones didn't put up much of afight, did they? Still, I assume you'll have some spectacularvideo of the war for Thursday's Committee meeting?"

What nerve, Wells thought, and almost said. I don't care how many years you've been here, you're only an Observer. You can't even vote on appropriations.

But the liquid-voiced senior member of the Terran Observer Delegation had some influence on the Committee— there was no doubt about that. Even if you never knew exactlywhere he really stood, there was no point in going out of yourway to offend him. No matter how smarmy he was—

"If we can put it together by then, and the agenda allows,"Wells said.

"Oh, I'll see that there's time for you. Count on it," Berberon promised breezily. "Well, I won't keep you, Harmack.See you Thursday."

Swallowing his spittle, Wells nodded acknowledgment as the door closed on Berberon. He allowed enough time forBerberon to clear the outer office, then touched a contact on his terminal. "Lieutenant Holloway? Have someone find outwho Berberon talked to before he came here. Get on it rightnow."

"Another leak, Director?"

"Yes, another leak, goddamnit," Wells said, scowling."And I want it plugged fast, before something important getscompromised."

chapter 2

In the
Private Heart

After the spontaneous moment of reunion, there was awkwardness. Though she hated herself for it and strove not toshow it, Sujata found that Wyrena's reappearance in her lifefelt like an intrusion. However warmly remembered, the Ba'arwoman was part of a life episode already put away as complete. She belonged there, on Ba'ar Tell, in the past. Not here.

There was no mistaking that Wyrena was uncomfortable, too. All the way to Sujata's quarters, Wyrena was on the verge of blurting out either an apology or an explanation. Thesame insecurity that prompted the urge quelled it.

But alone, naked in each other's arms, they rediscoveredthe wordless communion which they had known on Ba'ar Tell.The erotic glow enfolded them and carried them off to a private place. And after, with the distance between them erased,talk came more easily.

"I shouldn't have come." The words were said in a small voice muffled by the pillow into which Wyrena's face waspressed, as if they were not really meant to be heard.

Sujata smiled to herself and shifted so that she could reachout and stroke the bare skin of Wyrena's back. "Why not?"

"I couldn't know you'd become this important—"

"Nor could I," she said, remembering. The whole structure of the Service had changed while she was in the high craze toUnity, and, with it, the selection procedures for the high staffpositions. "But what does that have to do with us?"

"They'll use me against you—you'll lose influence—"

Sujata understood the younger woman's distress. Ba'ar Tellwas a world of rigid rules and roles. There was no place forthe kind of relationship she and Wyrena had enjoyed, and, inthe end, that was what had separated them. ,

"That isn't how things work here," Sujata said, tracingsmall circles with her forefinger at the base of Wyrena's spine.

"The way that man glared at us—"

"What, Whitehall? He's from Liam-Won. There isn't much he approves of here."

Wyrena rolled on her side and propped her head on herhand. "But this isn't your home, either. Are you sure you really know these people?"

Sujata sought Wyrena's hand with her own. "This place isnot without its prejudices. But the people who matter understand that who I share my bed with doesn't affect how I do myjob. And the others can't reach us. No one will pressure you here. No one will judge."

Wyrena looked away, and Sujata knew that they had reached a delicate area. "My father was not wrong to do whathe did," Wyrena said at last. "He could not have done otherwise."

"What about me?" Sujata asked. "Were you angry with mefor agreeing to leave?" "No—oh, no. If you didn't leave, my family's positionwould have been damaged terribly."

"But no one outside the family knew—"

"In time they would have," Wyrena said soberly. "Besides,even if you had stayed, we never could have seen each other.Just as we never got to say good-bye." "You allow him that much power over you, simply becauseyou were living in his house—" "You don't understand. He would have forbidden it, and I would have had to obey him. I was bound just as he was.""You said you loved me." This was said in a teasing, testing voice.

"Oh, Janell—I do. But even for you—"

"Conflict is hard for you to deal with."

"Conflict is the consequence of selfishness."

It had the sound of an epigram, and it was one. "The Philosopher's First Canon."

"Yes. A very early lesson in my schooling."

"So, then, why did you leave?"

Wyrena was slow to answer, as though there were still some uncertainty in her own mind. "Because I missed you.And because I wanted to know what it was like to live outside the rules, the way you did. A Ba'ar woman's dreams are forher mate and sons. I wanted to dream for myself."

Sujata opened her arms, and Wyrena came to her. Theycuddled close, the feel of skin against skin comforting. "Eversince I left, I've been afraid," Wyrena said. "Afraid that I'd waited too long and I'd find you gone, headed for some otherworld or outpost, and I'd never catch up. Afraid that youwouldn't want me—that I hadn't been as important to you asyou'd been to me. I never was able to tell you—" ,

"Your mouth was otherwise occupied," Sujata teased. "No,go on, finish."

"I had never met anyone like you. No woman on Ba'ar Tellcan ever hope to be self-minded the way you are. You knowthe word they use—"

"Ka'ila'in."

"And it's not only the men who would call you that but thewomen too. The reason they curse the ka'ila'in so harshly is that they are afraid of them, for different reasons. But I thought you were wonderful—"

"I never felt that from them—"

"You are not Ba'ar. You were allowed to be different," she said, and kissed the curve of Sujata's right breast. "No, if Iwere going to be angry with you, it would be for refusing tounderstand how great the risk was. Do you see why I'm loath to take your word that neither of us can be hurt for the samething here? Are we really safe, Janell, or is it just that youwish we were, like on Ba'ar Tell?"

Sujata's fingers played in the soft hair streaming down Wyrena's back. "We're safe, Wy—from others. We can stillhurt each other if we're cruel or careless or fall out of love."

"I won't let that happen."

"Nor I," she said, and kissed her forehead. "But explain,please—how were you able to leave? Surely your father objected—"

"Oh, but he didn't—because appearances were maintained. My father knew my feelings but never acknowledgedthem to me. Still, without a word being said, he saw thateverything was taken care of. You see, I left, not in disgrace,but with honor. I came at the invitation of Ambassador Wen, who promised me a place in his office."

Sujata wrinkled her nose, puzzled. "But Wen is gone—ElirKa'in is the Ba'ar Observer now. Surely your father knew howmuch time would pass. Ba'ar Tell is nearly fifty cees out—" >

"Of course he knew."

"So he kicked you out."

"But gracefully and with my needs considered."

"Amazing, the games you Ba'ar play."

Wyrena smiled. "We have an art for compromise and accommodation which you never did understand.""There's something in the Canons about that, isn't there?""A great deal of something," Wyrena said: "I knew you

weren't listening when I explained it."

"Because you were distracting me at the same time," Sujata said playfully. "Now you'll have more time to teach me."

Wyrena laughed in her throaty way. "Especially since there

is no place waiting in the Ba'ar Tell Observer's office.""I shouldn't have much trouble finding something for youif you want." Wyrena lifted her head to look into Sujata's eyes. "Must I?"

"No. But if not that, then what?"

"If I could just stay here—be here for you—not have toface them—would that be all right?"

"There's no reason to hide from them—you said youwanted to live outside the rules, didn't you? But if that's whatyou want—"

"It is," Wyrena said, and snuggled closer.

The next morning, Wells found Farlad waiting for him inhis office anteroom. The adjutant came to his feet as Wellscame through the outer door, then followed him into the inneroffice.

"Expected to see you yesterday," Wells said as he disappeared momentarily into the kitchenette. He reappeared a moment later with a glass of ice water in one hand. "What happened?"

"Operations was having trouble with the Kleine transmis

sions—the data didn't come in clean until just a few hoursago."Wells's forehead became creased with concern. "What kind of trouble?" "Noise. Interference. Dropped bits. The error algorithmshad a busy night."

Frowning, Wells settled into his chair. "I don't like that. I don't like that at all. Reliable Kleine communications are keyto our battle command and control. Were you given any explanation for the problem?"

"No, sir. According to the senior comtech, they don'tknow why it's been happening."

"Been happening? Then this isn't a one-time problem?"

"Apparently not, sir. She said it's been cropping up moreand more often, especially in the octants where there's a lot ofship traffic."

"Which means Bootes and Lynx."

"Among others."

"That's even more disturbing," Wells said, his expressiongrim. "If we were to lose the ability to communicate with thePerimeter—I want a full report on this fast. How often it happens, how long it lasts—everything. If we can't put anend to it, we may have to revise our C3 procedures."

"Yes, sir. I'll put in the request."

Wells settled back in his chair. "So what about the Ba'ar Tell exercise? Have you figured out yet why I'm not impressed?"

"Frankly, sir, no. The Defenders are tough little warships. I'd hate to have to lead an attack against them."

"I'm not impressed because that exercise was a fantasy. Weweren't attacking the Mizari, we were attacking ourselves."Wells touched a contact and activated his terminal. "I'm not the only one that recognizes it, either. Berberon was in hereyesterday and got in a few digs about us beating up on strawmen."

"Berberon? How did he find out about the test?"

"That's a separate problem. The point is, he wasn't impressed." Wells leaned forward and rested his elbows on thedesk. "Teo, my predecessor in this office made a career out ofunderestimating the Mizari. I wouldn't like to see you repeating his error."

Farlad took a seat across from Wells. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand your thinking. If you're convinced the Defenders can't fulfill their mission, why did you continue theprogram? Why did you accelerate deployment if you don'tbelieve there's any strategic value?"

"Not all strategies are directed against the enemy," Wellssaid quietly. With a sideways glance he scanned the columnsof numbers that had appeared on the display. "I think perhapswe can carry this off, Berberon notwithstanding."

Comprehension dawned on Farlad's face. "The Committee—"

"If I were to have come in four years ago and scrapped theDefenders, telling the Committee that they were useless, wewould have been forced to spend the next twenty years building something to replace them."

"I still don't see the value—"

"Consider the deployment of the Defenders. Three for Earth.,Two for Jouma. One each for Ba'ar Tell and Maranit and Rena-Kiri."

"Protecting the five most populous Worlds," Farlad saidslowly. "All of which are represented by Observers. And if theObservers believe that their home worlds are safe—"

Smiling faintly, Wells interrupted. "Only when they feelsafe will they allow us to focus on building a weapons systemthat would allow us to carry the fight to the Mizari."

'Triad.'* Farlad shook his head. "I always thought it was a little crazy to base a Defender at Ba'ar Tell, way out in one ofthe safe octants, before we placed one at Liam-Won, practically in the Mizari's backyard. Now I see—Liam-Won hassixty-one million inhabitants, while Ba'ar Tell has well over abillion."

"That was one consideration," Wells said, nodding. "Another is that while Ambassador Ka'in is well liked and respected, Prince Denzell is an obnoxious prig who has evenalienated Comitfc Vandekar, his planet-kin."

"So while on the one hand we assure enough votes to approve Triad," Farlad mused, "at the same time we make clearthat it's good to be our friend."

"Just so."

"The only thing that puzzles me is that Triad can't have anydeterrent value unless we reestablish contact with the Mizari. And even if we do reestablish contact, we don't know what level of threat would be a deterrent to them."

"We can be sure the Defenders would not be," Wells said, then paused. "But you're right—we simply have to leam more about the Mizari. We can't be confident that we're secure until we do."

"Director Lycom was considering a proposal to send driftprobes into the quarantine zone—"

"And then cower behind the Sentinel line for another two hundred years, waiting for them to reach Mizar-Alcor? Thatmight have been fine for Lycom but not for me. Don't troubleyourself to mention it again." Wells's answer was reflexive rather than angry; he was staring past Farlad with an unfocused gaze, most of his attention elsewhere.

"No, sir," Farlad said. "Comitfe, have you read Jiadur's Wake yet?"

"Hmm?"

"Thackery's book. I told you about it yesterday."

"No."

"I really urge you to take a look at it soon. There are someperspectives in it we haven't seen anywhere else in the record—"

"Suggestion noted," Wells said, returning from his reverieand straightening up in his chair. "When will the video abstract of the Ba'ar Tell exercise be ready for prescreening?"

"It's being edited now. Should be no more than another hour or so." "I'll want to see it as soon as possible. We need to make iteasy for the Committee to say yes to Triad.""I'll go down and check on it as soon as we're finished

here."

"I think we're finished. Oh—what about Sujata?"

"I haven't been able to see her." Farlad held up his hands

as though to fend off criticism. "Not my fault. She hasn't beenin her office since midday yesterday. But that doesn't mean Idon't have something new to tell you about her. I'm not sure that it'll be of any practical value, but let me tell you what'sbeen occupying her...."

Felithe Berberon frowned to himself and stared down at the hallway floor as he waited, listening to the chimes sound onthe far side of the apartment door. Why did the Chancellor want to see me herel he wondered. The last time I was here was the party Chancellor Delkes threw after resigning—was that seven years ago or eightl

The soft whir of the security camera brought his head up again, and he flashed a vacant smile in its direction. A moment later the lock unlatched with a buzz, and Berberon stepped forward and into the apartment.

Inside, it was about as he had expected, considering thepersonality of its occupant: elegant, practical, uncrowded. Y^jofcke some of her predecessors, the Chancellor clearly maintained the suite as a comfortable retreat, not a showplace forentertaining. Other than the sheer size of the suite, the Onlyreal touch of luxury was the viewpit, with its cushion sculpture and floor-to-ceiling windows, which occupied the far endof the rectangular greatroom. Arvade had that installed, he recalled fondly. I was young enough to enjoy it then.

"Hello, Felithe," said Chancellor Blythe Erickson as she crossed the greatroom toward him, her white silk caftan flowing gracefully with her strides. She locked fingers with him inthe formal greeting that said "equal," stepped close to brushher cheek against his in a gesture that amended it to "friend,"then turned away.

"Thank you for coming up tonight," she said, recrossingthe room and retrieving a glass half filled with ice and an amber liquid.

"Is there enough of that for two?"

She gestured at the bar. "You're welcome to choice of thehouse, so long as you promise not to compromise your judgment. I need you at your best tonight."

Berberon smiled. "Since alcohol works only on the higherbrain functions, I am hardly in any danger."

"You are immodest in your modesty." Pausing, she staredthrough the bottom of her glass at the floor. "Felithe, I'm about to tell you some things you are not supposed to know,because I need to ask your opinion. Do you have any objection to my doing that?"

"No—except it may not be necessary. I find I know manythings I am not supposed to know."

"Does the catalog include something called Triad?"

"A rather large entry, I am embarrassed to admit."

Erickson shook her head and smiled wryly. "I might haveexpected it. You always know things that no one else does."

He bowed in mock ceremony. "One of the few and decidedly minor compensations for having been here thirty-five years."

With her drink replenished and his drawn fresh, they settled in the viewpit. The Chancellor settled gracefully on the padded floor near the center window, knees together and barefeet tucked beneath her. Berberon sat uncomfortably cross-legged opposite her.

"How can I help you, Blythe?""I believe that Wells is planning to bring the Triad proposalbefore the Committee tomorrow."

That rumor was not meant for your ears, Berberon thought.Someone has been indiscreet. "I would not be surprised if thatwere true," he said, nodding.

"Do you know how the vote will go?""How can I say, Madame Chancellor? I am only an Observer, not a Director. I cannot even vote myself." "Now you dissemble too much. Surely you have a sense oftheir leanings—"

"No better or worse than your own." He hesitated, thenadded, "I must tell you that when it happens, tomorrow oranother day, I will myself speak in favor."

"Felithe! Why?"

He shrugged at her expression of dismay. "You know thatWells has many friends, friends who are in a position to causethe Terran Council a great deal of grief."

"It seemed to me that the Nines have been quiet lately. Arethey still a problem?"

"The Nines will be a problem until they grow up or dieoff," Berberon said with uncommon depth of feeling. "Theyare arrogant, self-important elitists who've decided they willonly tolerate sharing Earth with their inferiors if they themselves are in charge." Checking his outburst, he smiled sheepishly. "Forgive me. You did not ask me here to listen to mecarry on about matters that are outside your concern."

"Yet it seems that your problems with the Nines affect ushere."

"They affect my public posture only. I cast no vote in Committee. It's your Directors who will decide whether Wellsgets what he is asking for, and you after them."

"I'd hoped to enlist you to speak against him. Or at least tooffer him no support."

Berberon lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness."How can I? My charge is to befriend him, to assist him inobtaining what he wants. Thus the Council hopes to buy offthe Nines and focus their attention elsewhere. And there are other considerations as well. Thirty percent of Earth's industrial product is related to Defense expenditures. Wells's buildup has helped us considerably."

"So to keep the money flowing and the workers busy, youwould give a man who feels as Wells does that kind of power—"

"Alone he is not a threat to our interests," Berberon said softly. "Collectively the Nines are."

Erickson pressed her body back into the cushions and stared out the window, as though seeking to withdraw frpmhim. "I invited Felithe Berberon to my apartment, but it seemsI got the Terran Observer to the Committee instead. Can younever speak for yourself?"

Sighing, Berberon drained his glass and set it aside. "Myown thoughts are irrelevant. I've survived here this long because I obediently advocate what I am told to advocate."

"Even when you disagree?"

Berberon cocked an eyebrow and shrugged. "If my wisdom were better thought of, I would be on the World Council, not representing it."

"Felithe, please—am I wrong to mistrust Wells? To wantthis weapon never to come into existence?" There was honestanguish in her voice.

It was Berberon's turn to stare out the window as he carefully composed an answer. "I am convinced that Wells is sincerely interested in the security of the Unified Worlds. If Imay revive .an archaic word, he is a patriot. That is both hisstrength and his weakness. As for Triad—perhaps it is my agethat makes me so fearless. I hope the Mizari are gone, extinctthousands of years ago. But if they are not, I would like toknow that we will fare better against them the second time."

"Then your own beliefs are not so far from official policyas you might have wanted me to think."Berberon's smile was rueful. "In this instance, perhaps not, after all."

Eyes downcast, Blythe drew her knees up to her chest andhugged them. "I suppose I've known this has been comingsince he joined the Committee." She raised her head and metBerberon's gaze. "Thank you for coming by, Ambassador. You can see yourself out?'

She seemed lonely; perhaps that was inevitable for one inher position. If he were a younger man, or a different kind ofman, he might have stayed and tried to fill that need. But itwas not the kind of thing Felithe Berberon did, not the kind of relationship he formed. He had learned that lesson decadesago: that as expediency demanded, he could find himself tomorrow lining up against a friend made today. Knowing that,he had kept his distance and been rewarded for his discipline.Through the years Chancellors and Directors alike came andwent, while Berberon carried on just the same, his tenure unprecedented and unequalled.

But as he left the executive complex, a part of him wondered against his will whether he knew how to stop playingthe role in which he had submerged himself for so long, andwhether he would have had what Erickson needed within him to give.

"Archive," Erickson said softly, curled up alone in theviewpit of her darkened apartment.

"Ready," answered the netlink.

"Terran history. Nines. Statement of purpose. Exclude references previously accessed. Primary sources if available."

"No contemporary primary sources available. I have twenty-four speeches by founder Eric Lange from his campaign for supervisor of Sudamerica District 5."

"Oldest entry. Context."

"Year 610 A.R. A public rally in Montevideo, Sudamerica.Estimated attendance, six thousand. Source of reference, Earthnet polinews archive."

"Show me," Erickson said, settling back firmly against thecushions.

The greatroom lights dimmed further, and a flatscreen video element in the viewpit's broad window came to life."There were warnings," the image of Eric Lange said to theoverflow crowd in the seedy public hall. "William Clifford, a man who would be here tonight had he not lived nearly athousand years ago, a man who was in every way one of us,saw what was coining.

"'A race which is fixed, persistent in form, unable to change,' he said, 'is surely in peril of extinction. It is quitepossible for conventional rules and habits to get such powerthat progress is impossible, and the race is fit only for death.In the face of such a danger, it is not right to be proper!'

"Clifford was right—but no one listened. We went on taxing the winners so that losers could be made equal. We went on legitimizing the claims of the have-nots and would-nots and could-nots. We went on elevating mediocrity. And we taught our children that that was what it meant to be civilized."

There was a light in Lange's eyes that seemed to burnthrough Erickson's objective remove, and his voice had the compelling power of honest conviction. A powerful speaker,yes, but no demagogue, she thought. Every word spoken fromthe heart, every idea the product of introspection—

"They will ask us what we stand for," Lange said. "We will tell them. We believe in survival." He was cheered. "They will ask us what we want. We will tell them. Wewant the freedom to grow." The cheers resounded.

"They will ask us what we offer. We will tell them. Weoffer change—change for the better if we can, but if not, thenchange for its own sake. We have a right to live in interestingtimes. We have a right to struggle, and if w& are worthy, togreatness."

The. audience told him, with six thousand massed voices, that they agreed. Lange smiled an uncomfortable, embarrassed smile and waited for them to quiet.

"They will ask us our name," he began again softly. "Andwe will tell them. We are the not-average. We are the non-followers." As he continued, his voice rose, and the sound of voices crying "Yes" rose with it to reach a roar. "We are theun-mediocre. We are the movers. We are the dreamers. We are the builders and planners. We mastered fire. We invented writing. And we colonized the stars. We are the Nines. We are theNines. And we will not be denied our birthright."

The images played in Erickson's mind long after she closedthe archive file and shut off the netlink. It was still "tonight"for Lange, still the pinnacle of his triumph. There was no hintthere of what would come just three months later.

How would it be different if you hadn't been killed, if those who reacted to your message with fear instead of cheers hadn't dragged you from your house and silenced youl she wondered. At the very least the Nines wouldn't have felt the need to go underground, and we would have known who we were fighting.

Would you have approved of them as they are now? Would you have embraced the same goals? I hear the origins of their agenda in your words—it's all there. But is what they want \yhat you wanted? I believe you truly meant to lift us up, but what they do promises to drag us down—

Tipping back his head, Wells drained the tall glass of icewater, then refilled it and drank half. As he wiped his mouthwith the back of his hand, he noted the clock and was surprised to see that it read 20:40.

Returning to his seat, Wells viewed one last time the seven-and-a-half-minute unnarrated clip of the Ba'ar Tell FFIexercise. The first edit had been too slick, too theatrical—too patendy intended to end all debate over the Defender's effectiveness. This one, the third, was better: the overview of the Defender system and strategy he had ordered added at thebeginning made everything that followed more effective.

"Save," Wells said. "File to Wells, Defense Archives, Committee Chamber. Level One voice-lock."

"Done," replied the terminal.

Now—what else needs my attention before I leave? He ran through a mental list as precise and complete as if it had beenwritten down and came up with only one item: Farlad's newThackery document. I'll give it ten minutes, Wells thought. That probably will be enough.

But first he touched the com key. "Ronina."

The terminal needed no more guidance than that. On itsown it quickly sought out her com address from his directoryand placed the call. When she came on, her voice contained agratifying note of surprise and pleasure. "Mack—how nice.I've been hoping you hadn't crossed me off your list."

That was one of Ronina's few unattractive features—her propensity for prompting him for reassurance, for setting him up to offer some verbal endorsement of her status. As he usually did, he ignored the cue. "I'll be done here in a littlewhile—"

"I'll take that as an invitation," she purred. "Do you wantto come here or should I go up to your apartment?"

"Mine, I think."

"I'll be waiting for you—and thinking wicked thoughts."

Then, clearing the screen of his notes for the next day'spresentation, Wells called up his private files, ar act that required voice-password and retinal identification. There was a brief pause as the decryptor failed to keep pace with the system's file retrieval speed, and then the menu popped up on the screen.

The file was named, unambiguously, MERRITT THACKERY. Shortly after becoming Director of Defense, Wells had begun

a search of Service records for any and all anecdotal accounts

by Thackery of his encounter with the D'shanna he called

Gabriel and of what Thackery saw while on the spindle.

There turned out to be hundreds of such documents. It was

impossible to believe that anyone anywhere had ever been

more intensively interviewed and debriefed than had Thackery

after his return from the spindle. There were literally thou

sands of hours of interviews: normal, under time-expansion

hypnosis, and using endorphin memory-enhancement therapy.

Had Service physicians known how to dissect Thackery's

brain and suck out the memories directly, Wells did not think

they would have hesitated to do so.

The documents told Wells what every schoolchild knew,and little more. Then in the drive core of the shattered Surveyship Dove, Gabriel had reached out from the spindle and takenThackery back with him across the barrier. That from the vantage of the energy matrix of the spindle, Gabriel showedThackery the echoes of the ice-age Earth-based civilizationthat had founded the heretofore inexplicable human colonies.

Traveling downtime on the spindle, Thackery witnessedthe Mizari's savage attack on the Weichsel civilization. Helearned the danger that awaited in the Ursa Major cluster, andhe brought that warning back to the matter-matrix, oncethought the only reality. And in doing so he had become thebest-known personage in human history. Thackery's miraculous translocation persuaded the skeptics, as it had the Surveybrass, that the story he told was not fantasy, however fantastic.

But the things that Wells wanted most to find, even neededto find, simply were not there. There were no details about theMizari, no glimpse of their world or even themselves, no hintof what moved them or, even more importantly, what their vulnerabilities might be. Not trusting the task to anyone else,Wells had plowed his way through more than two thirds of thedocuments in a search for even a handful of clues about the Mizari.

He had not found even one.

Farlad's fiagnote for Jiadur's Wake indicated that it had been written after Thackery's retirement and represented thelast contact between the Service and the onetime Director of the Survey Branch. When Thackery had offered the text to theEarthnet for distribution, they had routinely referred it to theCommittee for clearance. Clearance had been summarily de

nied—and rightly so, Wells saw immediately—on grounds ofexecutive privilege and internal security.It began:

I am Merritt Thackery. If you think you know me, youdo not. I have seen the videos of my life, and it was not so.The creators of those images grafted the places and faces of my life onto another person, a stronger, more self-confident person, a person who might well have been duethe acclaim that I have accrued. That person was admirable, even heroic, and his story entertaining. But it was notme, and it was not my story.

When I returned to Earth, I was asked what I did, and I told them. I was asked what I saw, and I told them. But I was never asked what I felt, and when I offered it myself,there was little interest. Somehow that was deemed not worthy of study, or thought too subjective to be trustworthy. What they wanted, and therefore what they got,was the testimony of a witness, not the experiences of a man.

So the story that the Service eventually released, andthe creative talents of the Nets transmogrified, was but theskeleton of truth, lacking the sinew of emotion to animateit, the tissue of humanity to smooth over the awkward joints. The truth is this: What I did could have been done as well by another. And there have been times when Iwished that it had been.

If you prefer your histories simple and your heroes untarnished, read no farther. But if you prefer the truth, whatever shape it takes, then read on, for it is for you that Ihave written this.

Farlad was right—I've found you at last, Wells thought

with satisfaction. He touched the com key. "Ronina.""I'm here, sweet. Will you be long?" She answered in

video mode, posing before the terminal in a translucent cat

suit that revealed creamy white skin down nearly to her nip

ples and hid very little elsewhere. But even that sight was insufficient inducement to change

his mind. "Go home. I won't be coming back to the apart

ment, after all," he said, and cued forward to the first chapter.

chapter 3

Sword

It was nearly four in the morning when Wells finished reading.He had moved from the desk to a couch and traded the fixed terminal for a hand-held slate. His eyes were weary, and whenhe set the slate aside, he dimmed the room's lights for theirsake. But he was nowhere near sleep, for his mind was full ofwhat he had just read.

The tone of the manuscript was mocking, cynical, almostembittered. Despite it, or perhaps because of it, Jiadur's Wake sang, and Wells had found himself drawn in.

Though not strictly chronological, most of the first half ofthe text dealt with the early history of the Service, beginningwith the Reunion of Earth with its daughter world, Journa,and continuing through the Revision, which had closed out thePhase II explorations in which Thackery had taken part.

His portrait of the Service was blunt and unflattering,pointing up the flaws and foibles of both the organization as a whole and the individuals who comprised it. But he was no more kind to himself. Speaking frankly of his initial lack ofcommitment, his later selfishness, his subsequent obsession,Thackery laid waste to his own popular image as a self-directed hero.

Wells was not obliged to accept Thackery's own harsh appraisal of his worth. Clearly Thackery had succumbed in hislater years to the imposter syndrome, that self-destructive suspicion that one's success is due to luck and accident, not personal merit. Even great men grow weary, Wells thought.

But Wells accepted enough of Thackery's self-deprecationat face value to lay to rest a nagging puzzle. From the time hefirst began to study Revision history, Wells had been hauntedby the conviction that there was more to the story than wasbeing told.

Wells could not believe that Thackery had not demanded to see the Mizari home world, to divine their nature. All he would have had to do is look out from the spindle and hewould have seen them, as he had seen what they had done toEarth, as he had seen the death of the Weichsel ship, which inturn had brought on the death of the Weichsel. Thackery musthave done so; the Service must be concealing what he learned.Of that Wells had been certain.

That certainty had been one of several motivations that hadled him to a career in the USS. If there was more to learn, the Service was the natural custodian of that knowledge. To sharein it, he would have to become one of them. To learn, then, that even the Service knew nothing more had only compounded his consternation. The months-long search throughthe Thackery file had been motivated by the hope that theycontained data lost or overlooked.

Now, as Thackery the man rewrote Thackery the legend, itwas easier to understand. Thackery had been afraid. He hadbeen overwhelmed by what he had seen—no shame in that,surely!—and his time on the spindle had been cut short by his own inability to deal with the revelations granted to him.Consequently the things that Wells needed to learn, Thackeryhad never known.

But the D'shanna knew. Looking out from the energy-matrix that flowed from the universe's beginning and guaranteed its end, the D'shanna could provide perfect knowledge ofthe Mizari: what they were, where they were, and how theycould be dealt with. The D'shanna could do at any time whatThackery had failed to do in his only opportunity.

Yet in the century and a half since the Revision, no suchcollaboration had taken place. Thackery had reported that ofall the D'shanna only Gabriel had taken note of the humanspecies and an interest in its plight. And Gabriel had been crippled by the time of his encounter with Thackery and thereafter had either "died" or gone far uptime on the spindle torejoin his own kind and replenish himself. Either Way, Gabrielwas beyond reach.

These were the givens: that Thackery's experience hadbeen unique and unrepeatable and that the D'shanna could notbe counted on to do any more than they already had.

But Jiadur's Wake told Wells that Thackery's feelings toward the D'shanna had not been sufficiently taken into account. One passage near the end illumed that more clearly than the rest:

. . . Somehow, because of our need for heroes, I have been credited for that which Gabriel did. If there was sacrifice, the greater sacrifice by far was his, for he owed us noloyalty save that which his morality imposed upon himself.For that reason, if there was nobility, it was Gabriel's, notmiije. My interests were selfish, his selfless. The humanrace has never had a better friend. Nor have I.

For, while I was on the spindle, Gabriel and I were intimate in a way that I had never before nor have eversince experienced with another human. It was a quality ofrelationship that is beyond depiction, beyond description,just as the spindle itself cannot be understood solely interms of. the matter-matrix. Without masks or barriers or deceptions each grasped and accepted the essence of theother. It was the purest moment of my life, a high, clearnote of joy.

Gabriel gave us life, knowledge, and identity, perhapsat the cost of his own. And I, our feeble ambassador, was able to give him nothing in return....

Wells had been searching for what had been overlooked,not hidden. None of the memory aids used in Thackery's debriefing could make a man say what he did not want to say. Itwas assumed throughout that Thackery was a willing subject,eager to share everything that he knew.

But was that true?

A dark suspicion was forming in Wells's mind, a slippery,shadowy thought that resisted his efforts to dislodge it. Where were your loyalties, Thackery? What didn't you tell us? Perhaps that you could call Gabriel at will? Did you think to protect him from further demands, or perhaps insure that no one would intrude on that most perfect relationship with that most empathic mind?

It was a shocking, almost treasonous thought—that MerrittThackery, the most outstanding figure in Service history, thearchitect of the Revision, had been compromised by dividedloyalties, had held back information because of the bond hefelt with an alien being.

A radical thought, indeed. But as Wells lay in the darknessand reflected, it was a thought he could not stop thinking.

Wells's presence in the suite at seven in the morning surprised Farlad. "You're in early, sir."Weary enough to find that observation funny, Wells chuckled deep in his throat. "In a manner of speaking, yes."

"Have you been up all night?"

"I have."

Farlad's gaze narrowed in concern. "Are you going to beall right for the Committee meeting this morning?"

Wells laughed. "I haven't required more than five hours ofsleep a night for more than twenty years. It'd be a sad commentary on my fitness if I couldn't go without even that for aday."

"Yes, sir." Farlad hesitated, then went on. "If you're readyto hear it, I have a little more data on that communications problem. It seems that, quite unknown to anyone outsideOperations, the quality of our Kleine transmissions has beensteadily deteriorating—enough so that they've had to reducethe standard rate of transmission three times in the last six years. I've asked the supervisor of communications to come inand give you a full briefing."

"Do they have any idea what's causing it?""No—only that they're now confident that it isn't a hardware problem.""Meaning that it's something happening between the transmitter and the receiver."

"Yes, sir."

"But the signal is piped directly through the spindle. Theinterference would have to originate there."

"Supervisor Ruiz believes it's related directly to the sheervolume of traffic—that we're approaching the carrying capacity of the system. There's a good correlation between the degree of interference and the level of traffic in a particular octant."

Wells shook his head. "Unless he can support his beliefwith more than a correlation, we're obliged to take a darkerview of this business—officially, at least."

"Are you suggesting that the Mizari could be responsible?"

"They could be," he said, steepling his fingers and touching them to his chin. "Perhaps they've learned how to accessthe spindle or how to project some instrumentality there." Hepaused, his expression thoughtful. "There's also the possibility it may be the D'shanna."

'Trying to communicate? Or trying to cut off our communications?"

"It doesn't have to be either. It could be a meaninglessconsequence of their normal activity. It doesn't matter. Whatwould matter is if they're there—if they've taken note of usor could be made to take an interest. We could use an ally,Teo—.someone who can get us the information we need without alerting or alarming the Mizari."

"The D'shanna certainly could do that. But why would they? According to Thackery—"

"I am not sure we can trust Thackery's assertions on thesubject. After reviewing his manuscript I find myself wondering if he remained in contact with the D'shanna after returningto Earth, or at least knew how to contact them at will."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Nevertheless, I want to know what happened to Thackery's personal datarecs—his notes, diaries, logs, anyplace hemight have recorded his most private thoughts."

"I presume he took his personal recs with him when heresigned. There may be some record of the download—"

"There is. Two hundred gigabytes worth."

"P.D.'s aren't archived. They're gone."

"But he had them. That's the track I want to follow."

"Impossible," Farlad said, shaking his head. "Thackeryfiled a comprehensive no-disclosure request with Earth's Citizen Registry three years after he resigned. I can't even get confirmation on a date of death."

Wells scowled. "Damned Privacy Laws—what the hell isthe use of a planetary information net if you can't get anythingout of it?"

"I can't blame Thackery. He was apparently hounded by all sorts of mystics and religionists who wanted his blessing or

his secrets or to have his baby."

"If we couch the request as a Defense need-to-know—•"

"I did, sir. They wouldn't release any information, citingthe Right of Privacy. They wouldn't even confirm that theyhad any information."

"Route the request through Berberon."

Farlad shook his head. "Sir, I've dealt with these peoplebefore. It doesn't matter. Thackery requested that his recordsbe closed, so they are closed, end of discussion. Earth citizenshave that right, sir, as you well know. Even Berberon wouldn't be able to help. And in any case, if there really wasanything sensitive in his files, Thackery would have orderedthem destroyed after his death."

"I suppose so," Wells said. He pursed his lips and glancedat the clock. "I can shower here before the Committee meets, but my dress uniform is upstairs in my apartment—"

Farlad took the hint graciously. "Be back with it shortly,"he said, and left the room.

But rather than head for the comfort room, Wells went to his desk. He dialed the number manually, since it was forbidden to have it recorded anywhere. Even the dialer's traffic logwould be purged by commands from the other end as soon asthe connection was made.

The phone rang twice, then stopped. No one spoke, but hehad not expected them to. "This is Harmack Wells, Eighth Tier," he said, and hung up.

A moment later the phone buzzed softly. Wells touched acontact and settled back in his chair.

"Alcibiades went out for the evening," said the caller.

"And saw a play by Aristophanes," Wells replied. Thecallback and code exchange were special concessions to theneed to protect Wells from being charged with a proscribedaffiliation. Had he been an Earth-based civilian, as most Nines were, no such precautions would have been necessary.

"Good morning, Mr. Wells," the undertier said. "How canI help you?"

"I have an Aid Referral request."

"Go ahead, sir."

"Do we have persons placed where they can access secureddata in Earth's information net?"

"Of course, Mr. Wells."

"I need to get around a Registry blackout arid locate thepersonal datarecs of former USS Director Merritt Thackery. Ifthey're archived anywhere, I want a copy. If not, I want toknow what became of them. Can you help?"

"One moment." After a few seconds the undertier came back on the line. "Yes, we have some avenues we can pursue.What priority shall we assign to it?"

"Highest."

"Yes, Mr. Wells. Will a progress report every six hours besufficient?" "Yes, thank you.""If he's left any traces, we'll find them," the undertier

promised.

Sujata breezed into the Chamber Room of the UnifiedSpace Service Steering Committee later than she had plannedbut still with ten minutes to spare. Her circular alcove was onthe far side of the sunken central arena, one of six on that level—for the five directors and the Chancellor. Six similar alcoves, reserved for the Observers, looked down on the arena from the upper level.

Giving the aggregation of Observers, Directors, and senioraides milling about the chamber only a cursory glance, Sujatacircled the room to her seat. She had just begun to descend thethree steps that led to her alcove when hands touched hershoulders from behind and a familiar voice whispered at her ear "Fraxis deny a—natalir pendiya nalyir en entya, ne fraxis. So you do still exist—I heard rumors that you'd fallendown a hole and been lost."

Reaching up to grasp the trespassing hands, Sujata lookedback over her shoulder into the knowing smile of Allianora ofBrenadan, the Maranit Observer. "Sarir pendiya bis penya, Allianya—gossip sits badly on your tongue, Allianora," Sujata answered in the same mellifluous language and salaciousspirit.

"A surprise, since so much sits well there," said Allianorain English, eyes twinkling. 'Ten minutes ago I had a chance towager whether you would tear yourself away long enough forthe meeting. Not having yet seen your pillow mate, I was forced to decline. When do I meet her?"

"When you promise to behave yourself around her." Allianora laughed huskily. "Perhaps you're wise to keepher hidden away, at that."

"In truth, it's on her account more than mine that we've been so reclusive."

"I think you'll be glad you came out," Allianora said, looking past Sujata to the other side of the room. "Consideringwho's chosen today to return to the fold, this might well beamusing." She gave Sujata's hands a squeeze, then continuedon to her own alcove a quarter-turn around the upper level.

A more attentive survey of the chamber gave Allianora'sparting comment meaning. Sujata had taken part in fifteenCommittee meetings since her appointment, and never beforehad all six seats on the Observer level been filled. Sujata wasaccustomed to seeing one, two, even three of the Observers'alcoves empty.

But today, even Prince Denzell of Liam-Won and Elder Gayla Hollis of Rena-Kiri, the most frequent absentees, werepresent. Both had been known to complain that their presencethere was meaningless and ceremonial and that their time wasbetter spent trying to influence the servicrats directly.

The complaint was not without merit. Though each Observer was routinely allotted ten minutes for free commentary,that time came at the top of the agenda, often leaving them inthe position of addressing decisions made during the last meeting rather than those at hand. And Sujata could not deny thatmore than one Director held that the real business of the Committee began after the last of the Observers had spoken.

Denzell had one other, more personal grievance. In line with the closed nature of Committee meetings, Erickson would not permit the use of facilitators in the Chamber—asignificant ruling, since three women held seats in the arena.Though the stricture predated Denzell's arrival (and despitethe example of his worldkin, Operations Director Anjean Vandekar, who had managed to adapt), Denzell maintained thatthe Chancellor was practicing "cultural terrorism" by forcinghim to speak directly to her. Sujata had no sympathy for theLiamese Observer on that particular count.

As Sujata settled in her chair a small, hooded console opened clamshell-fashion and placed itself in reach of herright hand. On it was the hexagonal debate manager—a representation of the Chamber with a small lightbar in the centerand twelve request-to-speak lights arrayed around it. Like the Observers, each Director was budgeted a certain amount oftime, usually thirty minutes. They controlled that time bymeans of the debate manager, holding or passing the token in whatever manner they desired.

She logged in absently, studying Denzell's brooding eyesand deeply lined face and wondering what had brought himback. As was the customary practice of the Committee, no agenda had been circulated. But obviously there had been either leak or lobbying, though neither had reached Sujata.

Chancellor Erickson then appeared at the doorway, resplendent in a free-flowing Shinn remembrance gown. She smiledbriefly at Comite Rieke and Ambassador Pawley Bree, who were standing by the door talking in hushed tones, then descended to her alcove. That started both a migration and anexodus, as the Observers and Directors moved toward their seats, their aides toward the door.

When all movement stopped, two alcoves on oppositesides of the arena remained vacant: Transport and Defense.Loughridge and Wells came in together, last but not late. Thesandy-haired Loughridge laughed as though Wells had made ajoke just before they entered, and then the two parted company and headed for their alcoves.

Erickson followed them to their seats with her eyes, thenreached for her console. The double doors at her back slid shut, and the slender metal rod of the Committee secretary—not a person but a program—rose from the floor at the verycenter of the arena. Since the log the secretary compiled wasactually made by means of sensors located in each individualalcove, the rod was more of a courtesy, a visual reminder thatwhat transpired would become part of the Committee's archives.

"Log begin," the secretary announced. "A meeting of theSteering Committee of the Unified Space Service. Present: Chancellor Erickson, Observer Berberon—"

"Cancel. It's obvious that everyone is here," Erickson interrupted. "We will take the roll as read."

"A pity," Berberon said from his place on the upper level toErickson's right. "My disbelieving eyes would have welcomedconfirmation that the elusive Prince Denzell has rejoined us atlast."

By dint of personality, position, and seniority, Berberontook it as his right to inteiject his thoughts at will. Despite therigid rules on debate management under which the Committeeoperated, his wry comments and gentle barbs were usually well received. TTiis was no exception: a ripple of laughter rolled through the room, leaving several smiles in its wake.

But Denzell did not share the others' amusement. "I would remind Observer Berberon that his time begins when the lighton his console begins glowing, not the far dimmer light in hishead," he said, glowering at Berberon.

"Observer Denzell has a point—if we might at least observe our own rules at the beginning?" Erickson said. "Observer Berberon, if you would like to continue on this or somemore pertinent subject, you have the token."

"Thank you, Chancellor," Berberon said, rising from hischair. "As much as I would enjoy further colloquy with myfriend the Prince, I am aware that we have much to do this morning. In the hopes of furthering us along that path and infull confidence that you will welcome hearing what he has tosay, I cede my commentary time to Comitfe Wells."

Sujata perked up; this was an unusual, though presumablypermissible, departure from routine.

"I thank Observer Berberon for his courtesy," Wells said asall eyes shifted their focus to him. "I can't promise that all of you will welcome everything I have to say today, but we should at least be able to start out in agreement. As of thismorning, the Planetary Defense Force has been declared fullyoperational—•"

Applause interrupted Wells—it seemed to start with Loughridge, but several others who shared or understood thecustom quickly joined in. Wells waited patientiy until thenoise waned, then he continued. "We took this step after conducting a final certification exercise in the Ba'ar Tell systemearlier this week. With the Chancellor's indulgence I wouldlike to show you the results of that exercise."

As the Chamber's lights dimmed, a hexagonal section ofthe floor at the center of the arena rose slowly until the metre-tall screens on each of the six faces were fully exposed. The"exploding star" logo of the Defense Branch appeared in whiteon the black screen, then dissolved into a polar map of thetwelve-planet system.

"The exercise involved a simulated attack on Ba'ar Tell bytwo Mizari intruders," Wells narrated. "All elements of the Defender system were involved: the deep-space pickets, theC3 center on Ba'ar Tell, and the mobile weapons platform—in this case, the Rampart—"

Sujata studied the screen intendy as Wells continued.

Preoccupied by the enormous task of gathering up the unraveling threads of the bloated and inefficient Resource branch, shehad made a conscious decision to postpone the rest of hereducation. Since there was little Resource could do for Defense that Wells was not busily preparing his branch to providefor itself, Defense matters had gotten the shortest shrift. Consequently much of what she was seeing was new to her.

"The attack drones were given every reasonable capability—the supercee speed of a Sentinel, the firepower of a Defender, the detection gear of a Shield element," Wells wassaying. "The battle-management computers on board the drones were given free rein to attack any and all elements ofthe system when detected. However, Rampart's drift mode deployment successfully concealed its position and enabled itto strike the first blow—"

It was an impressive display of carnage, even on the smallscreen. Most compelling were the screen-filling views of dissolving hulls and splintering bulkheads captured by the relaysmounted on board the drones. Though it was merely one high-tech robot destroying another, it was nevertheless a levelof violence to which Sujata had never been exposed. Shefound it as disquieting as it was fascinating.

At the height of the attack, she averted her eyes, and wasstartled to find Wells studying her with cold curiosity as hecontinued his narration.

She found herself unable to look away for a long moment.What do you want? she wondered, feeling invaded by thedirectness of his interest. Then the chamber lights began tobrighten, and she looked away to see the now darkened screens retreat into the floor.

"We will, of course, continue testing and learning," Wells was saying. "But from this point on, the goal will not bedevelopment but honing our operational readiness."

Bree, the Journan Observer, spoke up. "Comite Wells, what is the status of Defender deployment?"

"Six of the eight Defenders that have been authorized arecomplete," Wells told him. "The second Defender for Journaand the third for Earth are nearing completion under an accelerated construction schedule."

"And are any further Defenders planned?" asked Denzellfrom across the Chamber. "No."

"Then what use will be made of the shipbuilding capacitybrought into being for this project?"

"As funds and facilities become available, new cargo carriers are being built for the Defense branch. I reviewed our plans in this area at a meeting several months ago."

Denzell's cheeks colored at the implied reproof, but he hadnothing to say—or was given no opportunity to say it. Meanwhile Erickson had gained the floor. "Comity Wells, do youmean to say that you are fully confident the Defenders canblunt a Mizari attack?" she asked. "Or does this represent some lower level of confidence related to their mechanical readiness?"

"We are more capable and secure than we were. We areless capable and secure than we should be," Wells said gravely. "I will have more to say about that when I control myown time. I'm afraid I have consumed all of Observer Berberon's."

Ambassador Ka'in spoke up then. "My time is next, and I will gladly forgo it so that we may pursue the Chancellor'squestion. How much confidence should we place in the Defenders, Comitfc Wells? How much security do they represent?"

"I'll warn you in advance that a complete answer to thatwill be time-consuming." "I will be happy to pass the token as well, if necessary,"said Elder Hollis..

"Thank you," Wells said with an acknowledging nod. "I'llbe as concise as possible. We have to start by considering thetactical and strategic situations separately. The Defenders werebuilt to fulfill a specific tactical need—protecting a heavilypopulated planet from attack. We think they're now ready todo that.

"The strategic situation is much more complex. Now wehave to protect not one planet, but thirteen EC. worlds, the Cheia colony, and nineteen other systems where there's a human presence—plus the hundreds of unarmed packets andsprints traveling between them.

"The goal of strategic planning is to prevent not just a given planetary assault, but any attack on any element of our community. And I'm obliged to tell you that the tactical competence of the Defenders has absolutely no impact on the strategic situation.

"Obviously, the Mizari can still attack any installation thatlacks a Defender force. But even beyond that, they have nothing to lose in attacking Ba'ar Tell or Maranit or EartK, even ifthe attack initially fails. All that they risk are the forces directly involved. Defenders are effectively restricted to operations in and near a single star system—•"

Sujata's hand went to her console at that comment andlogged a request-to-speak.

"—which means that the Mizari homeworlds are safe. They could, in fact, send one assault force after another against one of the Worlds until they wear down or puzzle outits defenses. At present, we couldn't even reinforce the besieged World, much less carry the fight back to the Mizari."

Sujata's token began glowing, more quickly than she hadexpected. "Comit£ Wells, I regret the ignorance that underliesthis question, but I'll get no wiser if I stay silent. Why can't aDefender attack a Mizari homeworld?"

Wells smiled. "That's a good question, not a foolish one—in fact, you anticipate me. There are two answers. First, theDefenders lack supercee capability. Because of crew time, thepractical limit to their operational range is a rather severe one—perhaps half a cee. That's why they were built in the systems where they were deployed, even though that requiredcreating shipbuilding capacity almost from scratch in more than one case."

The token was still lit, so Sujata pursued the issue. "Thenwhat I don't understand is why they were designed that way."

"Trade-offs," Wells said. "I offer you as a counterexamplethe Sentinels, which are supercee-capable but comparativelylightly armed. Our ship designers are pushing against a technological ceiling. The S-series drive in the Defenders draws asmuch power from the spindle as we are able to channel andcontrol. Without a breakthrough in materials science that would allow us to open the tap wider, we have to budget a fixed amount of energy among die competing demands."

The token went black, and Wells looked away from Sujatato his larger audience. "But, for the sake of argument, let'ssay that we acquire the technology to build a new class ofvessel with the firepower of a Defender and the speed of aSentinel. You might think that we'd then have a weapons system capable of attacking a Mizari homeworld.

"You'd be wrong, for—and this is the second answer to Comitfc Sujata's question—it's vastly more difficult to attacka planet than to defend one.

"I understand that to nonmilitary people this seems counterintuitive. But the truth is that planets are easy to hit, buthard to hurt. Planets are like the boxer who gives you his bellyknowing he can take it long enough to zero in on your jaw.They have no weak points—no hollow shell to shatter, no finely tuned systems to scramble. Point weapons such as lances are virtually useless. Only a weapon of mass destruction could be effective. And there is no such weapon in our arsenal.

"We have the Sentinels and the Shield to monitor our frontier. We have the Defenders to secure our homeworlds," Wells Said. "But we have no sword. We have no way to persuade our enemy not to pick a fight—or to punish him if he does. Wecan defend—but we lack the power to destroy.

"Nearly two years ago my office circulated to the Directorsa proposal for a new weapons system that would fill this strategic gap and give us, for the first time, a deterrent threat. Recognizing that the first priority had to go to direct defenseof the major Worlds, we offered the plan for consideration,not action. But now that the Defenders are in place, we mustmove forward."

"It's time for us to forge a sword. It's time to build the Triad Force."

You're quite a salesman, Harmack Wells, Sujata thought,her fingers dancing over her touchboard and filling the tinydisplay with data. Now let's see what it is you're selling.

chapter 4

Triad

FOLLOWING FOR INTERNAL USE ONLY:

Origin—Strategic Operations Study Circle

Affirmative Review —Subdirector for Strategic Planning—Technology Verification Board—Assistant Director for Perimeter Operations—Command Board —Director of Defense

FOLLOWING FOR RESTRICTED RELEASE—LIST 1A:

PROJECT PROPOSAL: TRIAD FORCE

Section 1: Summary Overview

1.0 Strategic Role of the Triad Force

1.1 Triad would provide a long-range planetary assaultoption not currently available to Unified Space Service planners. This option is seen as essential to establishing a credible deterrent posture.

2.0 Composition of the Triad Attack Group

2.1 A Triad attack group would consist of three vessels:

* Two (2) supercee-capable lineships equippedwith AVLO-S main drive and AVLO-C translational drive

* One (1) supercee-capable carrier.

3.0 Armament of the Triad Attack Group

3.1 Triad lineships would be equipped with a compound neutral-particle/laser lance of at least one (1)terawatt (measured at aperture).

1 Triad carriers would be equipped with appropriatesurface assault weapons, including, but not limited to, static mass bombs, fission weapons, fusion weapons, and/or other technologies that may becomeavailable (see section 6.0).

2 Mission Outline

4.1 Triad strategy requires a high-velocity short-duration assault commencing immediately after theattack group elements drop to subcee velocities.

4.2 The lineships will employ direct approach vectorsdiverging no greater than sixty degrees, providing acentral zone of overlapping coverage. After deploying decoys and other countermeasures the lineshipswill engage any and all planetary defense systems andattack surface-point targets related to planetary defense.

1 The carrier will employ a direct approach vector tothe central target zone, decelerating to the appropriateentry velocity of the armaments prior to release.

2 Parameters and Procurement

5.1 The initial size of the Triad Force is proposed atfive attack groups.

5.2 The following shipyards are accredited at the required technical level and would be candidates for construction contracts: Bootes Center, Lynx Center, Perseus Center, Journa (Yard B), Earth (Yards 102 and 105), Maranit.

6.0 Alternative Weapons Technologies

6.1 Maximum effectiveness of the Triad concept depends on successful development of the Danfield Device, a nonexplosive weapon of mass destructionbased on AVLO technology. It is theorized that in theabsence of flux coils and other moderating devices,an AVLO spindle tap of unrestricted size opened forone nanosecond or less would yield an intense burstof energy across the electromagnetic spectrum. Theyield is estimated to be two orders of magnitudegreater than the largest available fusion weapons.

6.2 Basic research related to the Danfield Device is currently being conducted under the authority of the

. Defense Research Office, with the concurrence of the Command Board.

THIS RELEASE AUTHORIZED UNDER CODE 41-1-425-R

Harmack Wells Director USS-Defense

(MORE FOLLOWS)

There were times when Felithe Berberon found himself feeling a grudging admiration for Harmack Wells—for his unwavering internal compass, for his almost self-righteoussense of purpose, for the intellectual and emotional commitment he brought to anything he did. Since those were also thequalities that made Wells so damnably difficult to deal with,the feeling never lasted long. But it was real enough while itlasted, even if it did leave Berberon feeling faintly disloyal.

This was one of those times. The meeting was goingsplendidly for Wells. The Comitfc was in his element, holdingforth in loving detail on the system he had diligently shepherded through the approvals process since joining the Service as a defense strategist more than a dozen years ago.

Berberon reflected that he was perhaps the only person inthe room—Wells excepted—with a sense of what had led tothat moment. Triad had become Wells's personal charge almost by default. When first proposed, none of the senior Defense staff was eager to embrace it, in part because the timingwas wrong—theDefender program having just hit full stride—and in part because of difficulties within the Affirmation.

The new Elder of Rena-Kiri was then refusing to recognizecertain guarantees contained in the Affirmation of Unitysigned by his predecessor. He could do so with impunity, inpart because the Affirmation specifically reserved him that right, and in part because the Unified Worlds, then as now,were not unified at all. The Affirmation created no executive machinery by which other signees could respond in concert.

Even so, Elder North's repudiation of Rena-Kiri's responsibilities under the Affirmation was so hard-edged that it divided the other worlds into two camps, one that saw the Renan action as a threat to the Affirmation generally and onethat saw it as a defense of the principle of planetary independence. There was a real fear that Triad would be seen by thelatter group not as a strategic deterrent, but as a tool by whichthe majority would enforce discipline and move the loose twelve-member planetary confederation toward some more rigidly structured federalist body.

Any such suspicion on the part of the Renans (or the threeother worlds that sided with them) was ludicrous on its face,of course. The Service was not an arm of the Affirmation but an independent, self-supported, and self-directed organization. And no Chancellor, certainly not Chancellor Delkes,would have approved any such use of any such weapon. Nevertheless, because of the perceived potential for diplomaticdisaster, Triad was not merely ignored. It was activelysquelched. Berberon himself had helped see to that.

Though not there at the conception, Wells soon adopted theTriad proposal as his own. Each time he advanced in the Defense bureaucracy—and he had advanced with uncommon speed—he brought Triad along with him, refining it, updatingit, winning over key skeptics, emphasizing the Mizari threat,until now he stood just one step away from final vindication.

All the more marvelous to watch because you really believe it, Berberon thought as he listened.

"The Danfield Device will effect the most concentrated release of energy known outside a stellar core," Wells was saying. "Picture an amount of energy equal to that required toboost a Sentinel to supercee, but released in less than a millisecond. If the device is triggered on the way down, the energyoutflux will boil the atmosphere off the planet like peeling therind off an orange. The shock wave and windstorm alone willshatter anything less dense than a granite mountain for fivethousand kilometres in every direction."

Wells paused a moment to let that image register on hisaudience. "If the device penetrates to the surface, even someof the mountains are at risk. No artificial structure, whether on the surface or below, will be left intact. The planet will ringwith Force 8 aftershocks for weeks. The Danfield Device won't destroy the planet, but it almost certainly will eliminateany Mizari occupying it. It would even be effective against a species based on a gaseous world similar to Jupiter."

Berberon noted Sujata blanching at Wells's description. A horrible weapon, Berberon agreed silently. Horrible enough in itself—more horrible to see the invention that gave us the stars and each other subverted this way.

"And the ships that deliver this device—how will they survive? Or will this be a mission for volunteers' honor?" asked Elder Hollis, reclaiming a moment of his commentarytime.

Berberon's face twisted into a grimace. The reference wasto what Berberon considered a particularly distasteful conceptof martyrdom drawn from the pattern of armed conflict thathad dominated even recent Renan history.

Wells shook his head. "Even with the best available shielding, the Danfield Device will have to decelerate to less thantencee to penetrate the atmosphere," he said. "The Triad shipswill have enough time to move safely into the blast shadow ofthe target planet itself."

Berberon requested and quickly was passed the token. "On what far horizon does this hopeful mirage lie, Comitfc?" heasked with studied innocence, though he knew the answer before asking. "How many miracles must your scientists workto bring it into existence?"

Wells nodded slightly. "A fair question, Mr. Berberon. I'm happy to say that due to advances over the last year, and thelast three months in particular, the problems involved in building the Danfield Device are now solely engineering ones. There are no fundamental theoretical hurdles."

"That is welcome news indeed, Comite," Berberon said pleasantly.

But the tone of the meeting changed dramatically a fewminutes later, when control of the token passed to Denzell."We of Liam-Won are pleased that these powerful ships haveproven such a wise investment," Denzell began, his expression showing anything but pleasure. "We would be more pleased if one were defending our world.

"Would you explain again to me, please, why the sixty-onemillion people of Liam-Won are not worthy of protection?Must I give you all a lesson in astrography? We are just thirteen cees from the Perimeter. Does the Comite expect theMizari to pass over us and come looking for a more challenging target?"

"If Observer Denzell wants answers, he will have to grantmy request-to-speak—" Wells attempted to inteiject.

"You have choreographed enough of this already, you andyour grinning accomplice there," Denzell said, pointing atBerberon. "We know the answers. You leave us out there as bait, undefended, tempting, to dangle before the Mizari andcoax them into the attack that will give you the war you wantso badly."

The charge was preposterous on its face, yet Berberon feltobliged to come to Wells's defense. "If the learned Observer were still capable of reason, I am sure he would realize thatTriad will do more to assure Liam-Won's safety than anynumber of Defenders could," he said with a politeness thatwas in itself an insult.

"How easily that comes to your lips, with not one but threeDefenders orbiting overhead," Denzell shouted. "Yet we arethe ones at risk—"

"You forget that the Mizari know the way here," Berberonsaid, the chill in his voice authentic. "It was our world theyscorched, our ancestors they exterminated."

"Were the Weichsel not our ancestors as well?" Denzell demanded angrily. "Were they not the Founders of all the Worlds—"

"Break!" Erickson said sharply, and both men fell abruptlysilent. "Observer Denzell, you have challenged Comite Wellson a personal level. He has a right-of-reply."

"Thank you, Chancellor," Wells said without waiting forDenzell to acknowledge the point of order. "I am afraid theObserver is beyond persuasion, but I will address myself to his audience. Nearly all our people are already protected.What Prince Denzell asks is not reasonable—"

Denzell reentered the debate with an emphatic interruption."Before Comitfc Wells silences me again by consuming all mytime, I must protest his lies. I ask only for fairness—that youplace at least one Defender in each inhabited system. Nothing more than that."

"Do you understand the price?" Wells asked, his voice stillcalm. "To directly protect that last one half of one percent ofthe Affirmation's human population will require an investmentat least equal to that which we have already made. And we'llhave to give up the real security of the Triad Force at the sametime. We'd be paying a very high price for very little."

"Someone must speak for those who are not here," Ambassador Bree said, taking up Denzell's theme. "The fact thatmore than ninety-nine percent of our kin live on five worlds isirrelevant. Those who call Liam-Won or Dzuba or Pai-Tem home.value their lives as much as any on the five majorworlds. Perhaps more importantly, each world still harbors a unique and irreplaceable expression of the human potential. Iwould not like to see us say as a matter of policy that a cultureof seventy thousand is less valuable than one of seventy million."

Wells shook his head. "Ambassador, beginning work onTriad would say just the opposite. It would say that we arewilling to fight for what is ours, that we will pursue everyavenue to guarantee the security of the Affirmation."

At that point the lights on Berberon's console told him thatWells was, for the first time, controlling his own time. It's over, Berberon thought in Denzell's direction. Watch as helays you open so gracefully that you cannot help but admirethe skill, even as you bleed.

But first Wells let several moments of silence slip by as a means of collecting the full attention of the Committee. Whenhe was satisfied, he resumed talking, this time with all suggestion of pleading removed from his voice.

"Prince Denzell is not being realistic," he said matter-offactly. "That vulnerable half percent of our population is scattered over twenty-two different systems. Would he have usbuild twenty-two more Defenders when five Triad groupswould provide far greater security and flexibility for half thecost or less?"

"Prince Denzell is also not being honest. The human world that is most at risk is not Liam-Won but Feghr—Feghr, located not merely near the Perimeter but beyond it, virtually onthe doorstep of the Mizari Cluster. The last of the First Colonization worlds—on our maps since the Revision, spirituallyand genetically our kin but still ignorant of our presence, stillprisoners within the restricted zone.

"Why? Because we have been so weak, our fear of the Mizari so great, that we would rather sacrifice them than disturb the Mizari again. With Triad in place we need not be sotimid. With Triad in place, we could restore Feghr to its birthright.

"But the question of cost and the problem of Feghr aresecondary issues. If this very moment we received notice fromthe Sentinels the Mizari were crossing the Perimeter—something that could happen, at any moment of any day—wewould have only two options. To flee to the sanctuary of ourDefender-protected worlds and prepare for a siege we cannotwin—or to fall to our knees and submit to their will—whatever that may be.

"Triad will create a third option—through which we willbe able to preserve our several cultures, our beloved home-worlds, and our self-respect. Chancellor Erickson, in the name of our own survival, I ask for a poll of the Committeeon this question."

"Seconded," Loughridge said quickly.

Four-one or five-zero, Berberon predicted silently.

"Are you convinced that there has been enough discussion?" Erickson asked, her tone oddly cautionary.What are you thinking, Blythe? Berberon wondered apprehensively. This has a greater momentum than you realize— "It's a simple enough issue," Wells said. "We can choose to be helpless or choose to be secure.""Is that how you want the question worded?" Ericksonasked with just a hint of ridicule.

For the first time Berberon saw annoyance on Wells's face."I put the question: Should the USS immediately begin development of the Triad Force?"

"Very well," Erickson said. "We will see what all of us have to say."

"A poll of the Committee on the question offered by Comite Wells," said the secretary. "Defense—how do you vote?"

"I vote yes," said Wells emphatically.

"Defense votes yes," said the secretary. "Survey—how doyou vote?"

Rieke had been silent until that moment, but her feelingsabout the Defense branch in general were no mystery and hervote, therefore, no surprise.

"I remind the other Directors that half of the Sentinels, all of the Sentinel tenders, and all of the Reconnaissance vessels are former Survey ships," Rieke said. "I am left with justeleven major vessels to cany out geophysical and archaeological studies of two hundred systems with ten thousand planets.Survey has been emasculated, and Transport and Resource arebeing bled dry—all to feed the appetite of this war machineComite Wells is creating. Enough and too much. I say no tothis madness."

Unmoved by Rieke's impassioned preface, the secretarypressed on. "Survey votes no. Resource—how do you vote?"

"I find merit in the arguments raised by both Comite Wellsand Ambassador Bree," Sujata said slowly. "But my dutieswithin my own branch have kept me from learning as muchabout Defense matters as I feel I should know before expressing an opinion. Therefore I beg the indulgence of both sidesand reluctantly abstain."

That was unexpected. Interesting, Berberon thought. Areyou truly that conscientious or is it merely that you wish toavoid being caught on the losing side?

Transport was next, but Loughridge's affirmative vote wasa foregone conclusion. That left Vandekar to decide whetherWells would win a three-to-one victory, or lose on a two-twonull vote.

Vandekar's eyes were directed downward as he answeredthe secretary's call, thereby avoiding both Wells's and Denzell's expectant gazes.

"Like Comite Sujata, I do not find the choice as simple asComit6 Wells feels I should," Vandekar said in his reedyvoice. "Like my planet-kin Aramir Denzell, I fear that shouldwar come, Liam-Won must inevitably be a battleground. Positioned as we are, we can expect nothing else. Therefore anymove that might increase the chance of war—even a war wemight eventually win—cannot meet with our approval. Forthis reason we would oppose any mission to Feghr. To hearComite Wells say that with Triad such an endeavor might berisked chills me."

Denzell was smiling confidently at this point, but whenVandekar continued, the smile quickly vanished.

"But I have had to remind myself that I do not sit on theCommittee as the representative of Liam-Won," Vandekar saidin a tone appropriate for an apology. "I regret the position inwhich Comite Rieke finds herself and her branch. I understand fully the suspicion of Prince Denzell that all worlds are notbeing treated equally. I sympathize with Ambassador Bree'sprofound observations on the intrinsic value of each memberof our community. But we have limited resources. We cannotdo everything worth doing. We must make choices."

He paused, more for breath than for effect. "And I am persuaded that the better choice for the greater community weserve is to make Comite Wells's metaphorical sword real. Ivote yes on Triad."

"A report on the question," said the secretary. "Three in theaffirmative, one in the negative, one abstention. The proposalis recommended to the Chancellor."

Affirm it, Berberon urged Erickson silently from behind.Don't be foolish. Triad itself means nothing. The compromiseof interests is what matters. Don't upset the balance.

But when Erickson failed to respond to the secretary's report with her usual businesslike briskness, Berberon knew thatshe had decided otherwise.

"Perhaps there have been too many words said in the matter already," she began. "Even so, I will add a few more in thehope that you will understand the action I am about to take.

"First, I believe we have a moral obligation to station aDefender not only at Liam-Won but also at Dzuba and Shinn,Daehne and Muschynka, even Sennifi, our willful isolate. I view this as a service we are extending to the various Worlds,no less than the packet schedules we set or the Kleine nets wemanage. Until now we have worked very hard to avoid dividing the Worlds into the haves and the have-nots. If these vessels were worth deploying anywhere, they are worth deploying everywhere."

His lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure, Wells shookhis head as a father might react when his child disappointedhim.

Berberon sank back into his chair and masked his face with a hand. Blythe, you are buying more trouble than you know,he thought sadly. For more than just yourself.

"I am also concerned," she continued, "that the kind of decision Comite Wells proposes we make is one that a collective; body of the Worlds could justly make, but which we cannot presume to make on their behalf. The shift of strategyembodied in merely creating Triad represents a revision in theService's historic role that I cannot endorse.

"By means of the Shield and the Defenders, we presentlyprovide the planetary leaders with the time and security theywould require to respond to any threat from the Mizari. In theabsence of any preexisting mechanism for consensus amongthe Worlds, to build and operate an attack force implies thatwe have arrogated to ourselves the right to decide when andunder what circumstances that force should be used. This is something we cannot do."

A disaster, Berberon moaned. Blythe, you have ambushed me.

"Lasdy I reject the sense of urgency with which this proposal is offered," Erickson said. "There has been no contact between human and Mizari in sixty millennia. The people ofFeghr have survived without knowledge of us for an equallylong time. I see no reason why we need anticipate or initiatechange in either area. We don't even know that the Sterilizersthemselves still exist. We proceed only on the assumption thatsince we have survived this long, they have as well. But it is an assumption, as likely to be wrong as right."

"Nothing that powerful disappears of its own accord," Wells said, scowling. "Not without something more powerfulcoming along to push them off their pedestal."

"A correct and commendable attitude for one in your position, Comite," Erickson replied evenly. "It serves us well for you to cast things in the worst possible light. But I am notobliged to share your view. I hereby table the Triad proposaland set aside the Committee's poll." She glanced down at herconsole. "The token has passed from Comite Wells. ComiteRieke, I believe you have some other matters to bring beforeus?"

chapter 5

The Consequences
of Honor

Wyrena lay on her stomach at the edge of the tile, resting herchin on her folded arms and watching Janell circle the pool.The first few laps she had been furiously intense, legs thrashing the water, arms slashing down through the surface in amanner that created more spray than speed. The hard wallssplashed the sound of her passage around the room such thatwhen Wyrena closed her eyes, it had seemed as though theremust be a half dozen other swimmers keeping Janell company.

But she had worked out whatever hateful energy had possessed her, and for the past ten minutes Janell had been gliding and gamboling gracefully. Wyrena watched her dive deepand lost sight of her in the reflections of the lights overhead. A moment later Janell surfaced within arm's reach and shook her head to spray Wyrena with droplets from her hair.

"Are you sure you don't want to join me?" Sujata asked,smiling and panting slightly as she clung to the edge with onehand.

"Did you ever see a woman swimming the whole time youwere on Ba'ar Tell?" There was a hint of impatience in thequestion.

"I didn't see anyone swimming. Is there a pool in the entire city of Famax?"

Wyrena shook her head. "There may not be one on theplanet."

"Doesn't anyone know how to swim?"

"Of course we know how. There is a river-bathing ceremony that is part of the mala'nat—the renewal."

Sujata smiled conspiratorially. "From which we absentedourselves because the house would be empty, as I recall. Isthere a reason I wouldn't have seen women particularly?"

"Because it's forbidden under the Code of Conduct."

"Forbidden? Whatever for?"

"Because we poison the water."

It was said earnestly, so Sujata stilled her initial impulse tolaugh. "Just by being women?""Yes. When the fraili die or the crops grow sick, it canalways be traced back to a woman swimming in the river."

"Really," Sujata said with a straight face, pushing off backward and coasting away on the power of a slow kick."May as well come in if that's the only reason. UndoubtedlyI've poisoned it pretty well already."

Wyrena sat up. "I don't ridicule your faith," she said indignantly.

"That's because the Maranit faith isn't cluttered up withsilly rules," Sujata said, cupping a hand and sending a sheet ofwater in Wyrena's direction. Most of it fell short, though theleading edge came close enough to cause Wyrena to jump upand retreat a step.

Laughing, Sujata changed directions and came paddlingback. "You really should spend some time in here yourself.It's the best way to build up your leg strength. When we godownwell to Earth and you feel that full one gee, you'll wishyou had."

"Are we going to Earth?" Wyrena asked, a note of anxietyin her voice.

"Absolutely and unquestionably, just as soon as I can getaway. Aren't you curious? I've been wanting to go downwellever since I came here, but there was always something moreimportant—if less fun. Now I'm glad I was too busy, so wecan discover it together. It'll be more fun with you along. If I don't have to push you in a sedan chair, that is!"

Sujata had reached the stairs and came rising out of thewater, droplets cascading down her sleek skin and the shinyfabric of her suit. Wyrena met her at the top with a towel and a kiss. "I have so much to learn here yet," Wyrena said. "Thethought of facing a world with that many people on it leavesme breathless."

"You'll have time to catch your breath. We won't be goinganytime soon," Sujata said, toweling off her matted hair. "I have too much catching up to do just now."

With those words a hint of the inner unrest Sujata hadtaken into the pool returned to her face. "Why can't you talk to me about your meeting?" Wyrenaasked plaintively.Sujata shook her head. "Because that's the rule. And because officially nothing happened."

"You were gone four hours—"

"That's not unusual for the Committee."

"Four hours and nothing happened?"

"Only decisions to do something count. There weren't any.""And everything else is a secret?" "The Directors can tell their aides—the Observers can tell

whatever authorities selected them. Everyone else is shut out." Draping the towel over her shoulders, Sujata inclinedher head toward the door. "Come on," she said with a grin. "Ineed to shower off the poison."

With a sheepish smile, Wyrena fell in beside her. "Maybeit's just our way to avoid getting our long hair wet—"

"Now there's a reason that makes sense."

Later, enclosed in the privacy of Sujata's suite, Wyrenamade another attempt to draw her out. "Was it what wasn'tpassed at the meeting that upset you?"

"No—"

"Something made you upset. It's still in your eyes when you're not using them to lie."

"I was upset at myself, for being caught unprepared." Shefrowned and shook her head. "I should have made time for Farlad." Noting Wyrena's puzzlement, she added, "The man who was in the waiting room the day you arrived."

Wyrena retreated into the comer of the couch, her facesuddenly ashen. "Then it's my fault—that's why you won'ttalk about it with me. Because of me you shamed yourself.You see, I was right—I shouldn't have come. The third dayand already I've given you reason to be angry with me."

"I'm not angry with you!" Sujata said, reaching unsuccessfully for Wyrena's hand. "You didn't do anything wrong—"

"If that was so, you'd share your unhappiness with me,"Wyrena said, her small voice brimming with barely containedemotion. "Who could I tell? Who do I even know? You shared with me in Farnax and never heard of any of it from other thanme. Isn't it so? Why have you stopped trusting me?"

Sujata slid along the couch and drew Wyrena into hercomforting embrace. "Little one, I haven't stopped trustingyou," she said soothingly. "But to prove it I'd have to break one of the rules I swore to follow. Unless"—Sujata drew herhead back far enough that she could look into Wyrena'seyes—"unless you were working for me, after all."

Wyrena's eyes showed skepticism. "It would only be a fiction of convenience." "Why? I need a sounding board. I'm still learning. We'll learn together."

"If you think it would work—"

"Of course. And I have an open req for an administrativeassistant. Please—you wouldn't be forced to have contact with a lot of people. The person you'd see the most of wouldbe me."

For the first time since the conversation had begun, Wyrena smiled, a warm, dazzling, faintly admiring smile. "If you really want me to, I will. When do I start?"

"Officially when I've filed all the approvals. Unofficially you start right now."

In the next ten minutes Sujata outlined the highlights of themeeting, including her own vote and Erickson's action. Likethe well-bred Ba'ar woman she was, Wyrena listened withoutinterruptions.

"I don't understand why the Chancellor could do that," shesaid when Sujata was done. "How can she simply set their decision aside?"

"Don't think of the USS as a government. Think of it as a corporation with no stockholders. It's only accountable to itself. And internally everyone is accountable to the Chancellor.The Steering Committee is technically there only to advise.That's why we use the terms we do—a poll of the Committee,not a vote. A recommendation to the Chancellor, not a decision. She usually takes the recs, of course. But the only thingthat we ever do that carries any authority is a Vote of Continuance."

"The Chancellor is a very powerful person, then," Wyrenasaid thoughtfully.

"That she is."

"I'm surprised the Worlds allow this to continue."

Sujata chuckled softly. "The thing is, it didn't used to matter, when all the USS did was run the orbital stations and operate the survey ships. And now that it does matter, no onequite knows how to bell the cat. I'm told there was quite a fuss about forty years back. That's when the rules were revised to admit the Observers. But that's as far as reform got.The Service still charts its own course."

"And the Observers don't have any real say."

"Except in a vote of Continuance," Sujata agreed. "ThoughI gladly would have traded seats with an Observer today. Thething of it is, I very nearly voted yes. Wells was so persuasive,so confident and professional. But after hearing the Chancellor's reasons I realized how selective his version of the issue had been."

"I see now why you were upset."

"I hate being caught like that. I should have realized whenFarlad kept harping on it that it was important to them, even ifit wasn't to me."

"When emotions run high, you cannot make friends without making enemies. You did the right thing by abstaining."

Sujata shook her head. "This time my conscience demanded I not vote. The next time it will demand I do."

"Maybe this is the end of it."

"I don't think so," Sujata said forlornly. "This is going to

come up again—and I don't know what I'm going to do when it does."

The star dome was deserted except for the two shadowyfigures near its center. One lay full-length on one of the recliners, his attention focused upward on the tiny nodes of lightthat seemed to lie just beyond the seamless synglas. The othersat upright on the edge of a nearby chair, his attention focusedon the first. Starlight alone betrayed the troubled expressionsboth men wore.

"She said she doubted they existed," Wells said. "I couldhardly believe I'd heard it. I feel them there, Teo. It's as though there were a chill in that part of the sky."

Farlad's gaze flicked upward briefly and found the familiar outline of Ursa Major. "It's irresponsible of her, of course.But only two firm yes votes—that isn't much cause for optimism."

"I prefer to focus on the fact that there was only one firmno vote."

"What I meant is that the Chancellor isn't likely to changeher mind if that's the most support you can muster. We cancontinue funding the research from other accounts. It's just not time to build yet."

"That's not acceptable."

"She sits for renewal in less than two years," Farlad reminded. "She may step aside then. Or we may be able to. laythe groundwork for replacing her."

"Two more years wasted—two more years vulnerable—"

"It will take a dozen years or more to build Triad once wehave the go-ahead, longer than that to deploy the groups toadvance bases. Against that—"

"Against that two years is still two years more in which theMizari could act and we couldn't. I'm disturbed enough aboutthe window of vulnerability forced on us by the system's leadtime. I won't tolerate opening it still wider for no good purpose."

"I understand that, sir. I just don't see that we have anything to say about it just now."

To that Wells had no immediate reply. He lay perfectly stillon the recliner, folded hands resting on his taut stomach, gazing out at the stars of the Great Bear. Then, in one smoothmotion, he swung his legs over the side of the recliner andcame to his feet.

"Thank you, Teo. I'll see you in the office tomorrow," hesaid briskly, and started off toward the exit, his long stridescarrying him quickly across the floor.

"Where are you going?" Farlad called after, jumping up.

"To see that Comite Sujata is prepared to render a vote thenext time," Wells called back. "It was negligent of me not tosee to it sooner."

"What point is there to that? The Chancellor can set aside a four-to-one vote as easily as a three-to-one."

Wells paused and looked back. "Why, you said it yourself,she knows our support has some softness. Perhaps she'll seethings differently when she feels more alone."

Farlad glanced at the faintly glowing face of his watch."It's late. Sujata will be in her suite by now, surely."

Wells waved a hand in the air. "Just as well. Sometimes the surroundings in which something is said affects how it is heard."

Whenever Janell was away, Wyrena rattled around theapartment aimlessly. There were no rituals or rhythms to thehousehold, no well-defined place for her yet. With a touch ofthe anxiety that came with custom violated or ignored, she felta need to be needed, to be useful. But beyond some trivialstraightening and putting-away, there was nothing for her todo.

Moreover, Wyrena felt unnaturally alone. Janell's way ofliving was machine-dependent and streamlined to a degree thatWyrena, raised in the highly social complexity of a Ba'ar familyenclave, could not have previously imagined. The formalizedinterplay in which she was so skillful, the carefully delineatedroles in which she was so comfortable, had been left on Ba'ar Tell. She had failed to realize how much she would miss them.

Now there was only Janell. I cannot lose her, was the fearful refrain of her thoughts. If I lose her, all time will be like these empty hours. From lovers' games Wyrena vowed tobuild them a comfortable web of ritual. From her lover's cues she would carve out a complementary selfhood, making each necessary to the other, making each complete through the other.

Janell's concession earlier that day to share what had troubled her was a beginning. The rules and dynamics of theCommittee were fascinating, not unlike an undisciplined Ba'arenclave. It was the aspect of Janell's life for which Wyrenahad felt the greatest immediate affinity, in which she couldmost readily foresee being useful.

Yet even in this most important task Wyrena had alreadymade errors. She had been clinging, possessive, wanting instead of giving. Janell had said as much when she went off todischarge her responsibilities to words and numbers and machines, though the work center of the apartment surely contained everything she would need.

"Must you leave? Can't you work here?" Wyrena had pleaded.

"I can—but with you here I won't," was the answer. Therewas no question where it placed the fault for this particularseparation.

Janell had showed her how to use the net and fill a wall with light and images, but nothing in her experience hadtrained her to fill time with passive watching. Her solitudeweighed on her, the more so because she did not know howlong it would last.

By the time the door page sounded, Wyrena was dozing inthe chair where she had settled to await Janell's return. She was momentarily taken aback by the unfamiliar noise, thenfollowed it with tentative steps to the entryway. The tiny display by the door controls was black, but a yellow light aboveit was flashing. Her hand went out, and the page fell silent asthe door slid open.

"Janell?" Wyrena said hopefully.

Instead of Janell, a strange man stood there with arms crossed over his chest, almost filling the doorway with hisframe. For several long seconds, while she stood frozen byuncertainty, he raked her with piercing, deep-set eyes.

Then his arms fell to his sides and the rigidness left hispose. "Greetings of the evening," he said pleasantly, bowingfrom the neck. "I ask harmony on your house and family, andthe blessings of the endless river on your lands."

Her heart leapt at the familiar phrasing. "At our door is the end of your road, and at our table the end of your hunger,"Wyrena said reflexively, stepping back from the doorway."Are you from the Tell?" she added hopefully.

"I'm afraid not," the stranger said as he stepped past her."But my position has allowed me to learn some of its customs." Reading the lack of recognition in her eyes, he said,"I'm Harmack Wells."

So this is Wells! she thought admiringly. Just as Janell led me to believe, one who lives with confidence and walks with strength. Bowing, she said, "Comite Sujata has spoken of you."

"I'd like to talk to her, if she's not in bed."

Either Wells had not learned as much as he claimed or he had abandoned it in favor of the looser local mores, for the question fit badly with Wyrena's rules of propriety for visitors. "No," she said finally, struggling past her slack-jawedindecision.

"Ah," Wells said, eyeing her nightdress and rumpled hair."I apologize for disturbing you. I trust you'll tell her that I washere?"

Belatedly Wyrena realized her inarticulate answer had misled him. "I meant to say she's not here," she said hastily."Janell went to her office. You can find her there."

"I see. Thank you." He took a step toward the door, thenturned and looked back at her. "My manners fail me at times.Let me welcome you to Unity and Earth. I understand you'veonly recently arrived?"

"Five days ago."

Wells nodded. "You'll forgive my curiosity, but I find myself wondering what kind of Ba'ar woman comes here alone.""I am not alone," she said defensively."Forgive my error. When you greeted me, you seemed

hungry for the familiar. Here and on Unity there are manymen from Ba'ar Tell, equally hungry. I thought perhaps tomake your presence known to them."

"That is not necessary," Wyrena said, looking away.

"I would be happy—•"

"I told you, I'm not alone!" Wyrena could feel him watching her, could sense the probing gaze and the mind behind it."Te da'arit?" he said softly. The question was impertinent but phrased in the male obligatory. She had to answer. "Yes. I love her."

"Do you practice the Canon?"

"Of course."

"And what of Comite Sujata? Has she learned the Canontoo? Does she understand the woman's true role, the beauty ofsilent compromise, the imperative of accommodation?"

"I try to teach her, as I can—by word and example."

"Is she a good student?"

When she did not answer, Wells moved closer, until she could almost feel his warm breath on her face. "You said that she had spoken of me. Has she spoken of the work she does, the problems we face?"

Wyrena turned her back to Wells—an insult which, regrettably, he probably would fail to take the meaning of—andsaid nothing.

"Listen, little ka'ila'in," Wells said softly, his lips but ahand's breadth from her ear. "There are things you should know. Your Janell has important decisions to make in the daysahead. She has risen to a position of great honor, a positionwhose responsibilities she takes to heart. But persons of conscience are sometimes paralyzed by decisions of consequence.If she should share her struggle with you, I would like to know that you will counsel her in accord with the Canon. Iwould like to think that you will help her steer a course ofcompromise."

Surprised by Wells's words, Wyrena turned to face him. "I would do that for her anyway, to bring her peace."

"Of course," Wells said, holding her gaze almost hypnotically. "But you need to understand that there's more at stakethan her peace. If the wrong decisions are made, or no decision at all, the consequences won't stop at the border of thislittle world you share with her. Do you understand?"

Wyrena searched his words for a threat, yet found only awarning. Nevertheless, she felt the threat all the same. "Yes, Iunderstand."

"And you'll remember, when the time comes?"

"I will."

"Then it won't be necessary to tell Janell that I was here,"Wells said, bowing. "Good night, Wyrena Ten Ga'ar."

It was not until after he had gone that she realized she hadnever told him her name. There is the threat, she thought. It is in the things he knows without being told. It is in his eyes, which look at me as if they see my essence. He is not Ba'ar, but he knows us. Knows me. Oh, Janell—come home soon and make me forget his eyes.

Felithe Berberon glanced back and forth between Wells andErickson and sighed. Enough hostile energy was flowing backand forth across Erickson's meeting lounge to make him loathto step between them. For this I gave up talking to children? he thought mockingly.

The "invitation" from Wells had come late, only that morning. When it reached him, Berberon was already in his single-seat courier, being whisked through Unity's maze of travel tubes to a meeting with a group of Council Scholars—Terranyouths being honored for their academic achievements with aweek of ceremony at Capital, the island seat of the World Council, and a three-day trip to Unity, the orbiting seat of theService.

In truth Berberon had been half wishing for a reprieve fromthat yearly responsibility. He had no quarrel with recognizingtalent, as far as that went. But in recent years the program hadbecome little more than a recruiting exercise, run by the Ninesfor their own benefit but paid for with Coullars. Worse, the planners seemed to think that the Scholars' greatest need inlife was to meet with as much of the orbital officialdom as possible.

They bring these kids up here, he had been thinking, most of them for the first time, ostensibly the brightest and best of their generation, and proceed to herd them from one activity to another as if they didn't trust them to plan as much as a minute's free time. The kids'd appreciate it a lot more if we'd let them loose at the transship terminal with a couple hundred Coullars and what amounts to a three-day liberty.

Then the message had come, popping up on the courier'scom like an unwanted houseguest. "Felithe—I am going tosee the Chancellor at ten to see if we can't find some common ground on Triad. Teo suggested, and I concur, that it might bewell if you were to go along. Perhaps you can play the peacemaker."

Hearing it the first time, Berberon had groaned audibly. Hehad much to lose by going, more to lose by not going. Without much enthusiasm he redirected his courier toward the shuttle terminal and arranged for the Terran Unitor to stand infor him with the Scholars. He did not think that there was much chance he could play peacemaker. More likely referee.Or if things get particularly bloody, witness.

Erickson had received them civilly, if not cordially. Thatatmosphere lasted exactly as long as it took for them to reachthe privacy of the lounge and close the door behind them. "Felithe, I suppose I'm not surprised to see you here, though Iam disappointed," Erickson said as she settled in a chair. "Comite, I presume this has something to do with Triad. I wouldhave thought enough was said on that subject yesterday."

Wells remained standing. "I want to see if we can't establish a time frame for bringing in Triad that would satisfy yourobjections."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Erickson said stiffly.

"Please, Blythe," Berberon had said, spreading his handswide. "Let's not start from unnecessarily rigid positions. Yourrejection of the proposal yesterday was conditional, not final.In that light—"

"I'm very much sorry if I led anyone to think that," shesaid. "I should have been more explicit."Berberon had made one further foredoomed effort to smooth the waters. "Reasonable people can always find room

for compromise. Isn't it said that government is the art ofcompromise—"

But Erickson cut him off again. "I should not have to remind you that the Service is not a government. I have nointention of compromising. I will not allow Triad to be built."

"Would you rather the Mizari overwhelmed us?" Wells asked harshly.

"No—but I don't think that's the choice."

It had gone downhill from there. Berberon had rarely seenWells so passionate; he had never seen Erickson so resolute.Predictably neither made any headway with the other.

"The whole point of Triad is to make the prospect of war soterrifying that they can't conceive of starting one," Wells wassaying. "We don't have to fight a war. We just have to makesure they know we're ready to fight one."

Erickson answered first with a scornful look. "We're too ready, as far as I'm concerned. Don't you know the history ofthat idea and where it almost led us? Why don't you come tothe Committee with a proposal to build an ambassador ship?Why not build a Pride of Man?'

"Because the only way to negotiate with them is from a position of strength."

"I would have thought that the logic of mutual survivalwould overcome such thinking."

"We have no reason to believe they're interested in mutual survival. We have very good reason to believe just the opposite."

Erickson waved a hand at him in dismissal. "We're not even in communication with them. We don't know why theydid what they did. We don't know if the conditions that prompted them to do it are still in place."

"So should we forgive and forget until they come after usagain?"

"What alternative are you offering? Your talk of deterrencesounds like a childish need to frighten those who frighten you.What if fear is foreign to their nature?"

"Every sentient understands death and what it means.""So what's your intent once Triad is built—to make Contact for the sole purpose of threatening them?""Reestablishment of an interface between the Mizari and ourselves is inevitable." "I like that—'reestablishing an interface.' It sounds so per

fectly benign. What you mean is, we'll prod them with a stickuntil they wake up and then beat them senseless."

Patiently Wells shifted to another tack. "Chancellor, pleaseunderstand that I recognize valid reasons for believing the Mizari either don't exist or are no longer a threat. This is a subject on which reasonable minds may disagree. But whenyou don't know which course is right, you have to look at theprice of being wrong. If you're wrong, it could cost us everything. If I'm wrong, all it costs us is a little time."

"Do you really think that this is doing nothing more to usthan that?" she demanded. "That gearing up for total war amounts to nothing more than putting railgans on cargopackets?"

Erickson's words came with a rush, passion breakingthrough frost. "You already have the greatest share of ourinternal appropriations. In just forty years Defense has grownlarger than any other branch and threatens to become largerthan all the others combined. We now extract Planetary Service Assessments from everyone who can pay them—what are they but a war tax? The billions of Coullars you'vepumped into the Sentinel and Defender programs have stokedthe economies of the industrial worlds to the point that we'vebegun to affect planetary politics. Isn't that right, Felithe?What do the Observers care if you cry wolf, as long as youwhisper profit in the same breath?"

Berberon shrugged. "There is no shame in having a selfishinterest so long as you also have a more noble one."

Erickson came up out of her seat and threw her hands highin the air in frustration. "And which interest accounts for the messages I've received since yesterday from the Journan Elector and the Maranit High Mistress? Which one accountsfor Felithe's presence here?"

"Chancellor," Wells said gently, "I quarrel with none ofyour observations. These are facts that anyone can see. But they'll all be instantly irrelevant if the Mizari attack whilewe're still powerless to retaliate."

Erickson settled back into her chair, propping her chin onone fist as she avoided looking at either visitor. "Are we sosure of ourselves that we would never strike at them first?"

"The sole purpose of Triad is to protect the human community," Berberon said.

Erickson turned on Wells. "And if you learned that you could attack them with impunity and destroy them before theycould respond, you wouldn't persuade yourself that you wereonly protecting us and go ahead and give the order?"

Wells hesitated only a moment, but it was enough for Erickson. "Just as I thought," she said, verbally pouncing. "The problem is not the weapons. It's the reason we think we have for using them."

"No prudent commander limits his options in advance,"Wells said with quick anger. "Yes, a unilateral attack has to beconsidered a possibility. But it wouldn't be a first strike. Theystruck first, a long time ago."

"Enough," Erickson said, raising one hand. "Everythingyou say only confirms my initial decision. There will be noTriad while I'm Chancellor. I won't be the one to put theService on a war footing. You're welcome to take your case tothe individual planetary governments and try to persuade themto turn the Affirmation of Unity into something more substantial, something that can bear the weight of this kind of decision."

"You overlook the likelihood that the worlds may be happyto have the Service deal with this, that in us they have exactlythe central government they want," Wells said.

"If so, they're going to have to spell it out," Erickson saidcurtly. The audience was over.

All the way back to his office in the Defense wing, Wellssaid nothing. He was too busy at first stilling the spuriousemotions that had been stirred up in the conflict, and too busyafter that digesting its substantive outcome. Neither explicitlyincluded nor dismissed. Berberon trailed along, respectingWells's silence but regarding him with a combination of curiosity and apprehension.

Farlad met them at the door to the suite. "What did she say?" he asked hopefully.

"She said no," was Wells's succinct reply as he crossed theroom and settled on one of the lounges. He stared at the flooras he massaged the back of his neck, aware that the otherswere watching him expectantly. "Teo, I'm even more gratefulto you now for your suggestion," he said at last. "It's veryimportant that Observer Berberon was there to see that display."

"She did close the door rather firmly," Berberon said with a

weak smile in Farlad's direction. Wells nodded, his expression grave. "More exactly, she leftus with no choice but to ask a Vote of Continuance on her." His face registering shock, Berberon shook his head vigorously. 'Triad isn't a recall issue."

"It is for me."

"Harmack, yesterday's votes on Triad mean nothing in thiscontext. Chancellor Erickson has been a first-rate administrator. No one has a grievance against her personally."

"I have no grievance against her personally myself," Wellssaid, raising his head to meet the Observer's gaze. "But herattitude is reckless. It was one thing to be timid when we hadno other choice. But only a fool or a coward would continuethat posture now."

"Blythe is neither a fool nor a coward," Berberon said, a noticeable edge in his voice. "She took the stand she did onprinciple."

"Perhaps," Wells said in a tone that conceded no such thing. "Regardless, she's wrong." "Harmack, this can't be the only way we Can go," Berberon said pleadingly.

Wells stretched out his legs and settled back against thecushions. "Actually I think she expects it. She as much as invited it. She acknowledged that the reaction has been critical. She made it a personal issue. She challenged us to showher that the Worlds stand with us. This will show her very clearly."

Farlad sounded a note of caution. "We need to count the votes very carefully before going ahead with this. She mayknow she can withstand this and is hoping to hang you out todry publicly."

"Vote-counting be damned," Wells said with a sidewise glance at Berberon. "I've got a principle at stake here too."Berberon had found his way to a chair. "And who will you replace her with if you win? Yourself?"

"I've no interest in being Chancellor."

"Who, then? You won't sit for Rieke. Erickson won't sit for Loughridge. Sujata hasn't the experience. And Vandekar—well, Vandekar shouldn't even be a Director, much less Chancellor. Like as not, you'll go through all this only to electErickson all over again."

"I don't necessarily agree with your opinions of the candidates," Wells said with equanimity. "What I would value isyour opinion of where the requisite fourth Observer vote ismost likely to come from."

But rebellion had bubbled up from some heretofore unknown reservoir and taken command of Berberon's tongue."You'd better worry about where the first vote is coming fromfirst," he said, coming to his feet. "This time you want toomuch."

Wells sat upright slowly, holding contact with Berberon'sdefiant eyes. "I've never demanded anything from you,Felithe, least of all that you compromise yourself," he said ina measured tone.

"Oh, not directly, no, that would taint the relationship,"Berberon said sarcastically. "You call your puppeteer, and theWorld Council dances, and the words come out of my mouth.You bloody Nines! Well, this time I won't have it."

"How little you understand us," Wells said quietly.

"You .should wish that were so," was Berberon's harsh-edged reply. "I'll stand against you with my vote, my voice,and all the debts I can call in. I supported your advancementto the Committee, Harmack, and I've done you a hundredsmaller favors since then. But this time you're wrong. BlytheErickson belongs in the Chancellery, and Triad be damned."

When Berberon was gone, Farlad cast an apprehensiveglance in Wells's direction.

Wells caught the glance and returned a wry smile. "No, I'm not going to retract what I said earlier. This wasn't yourfault."

"Did you know that he knew?" Farlad asked cautiously.

"Yes and no," Wells said. "He's never said anything before, but I always assumed he believed I was a Nine. We arenot that hard to pick out of a crowd, after all."

"This makes matters awkward."

"I doubt he has adequate proof to ask for my dismissal. You would have trouble proving it, even as a Second-tier Nine." "I meant his opposition.""Ah. It changes only the difficulty of the objective, not the

objective itself." Wells shook his head and laughed softly. "Of all the surprises—even Berberon has principles. Who wouldhave thought he was hiding a diamond or two in his shit allthese years?"

The laughter helped, but nonetheless Wells's equanimitywas bruised by three so closely spaced setbacks. Before long,he sent Farlad away and sealed himself within the cocoon ofhis suite to mend.

There were times it seemed as if he had been lighting thesame fight forever, that the nits and gnats who kept comingforward to spar with him were determined to wear him downbefore he could ever face his real opponent. The only cure forthat weariness of spirit was to retreat for a few hours, to taketime to simply be.

Wells had one totem, one source of material comfort. From a voice-locked drawer he retrieved a small jeweler's box, suchas might hold a ring or a pair of earrings. Inside was a thumbnail-sized gold trigon comprised of three discontinuous bars.Besides Wells, only the metalsmith who had made it knew itexisted. Only Wells knew what it was: the symbol of Triad, aninsignia for a nonexistent command.

But he knew the kind of men that would wear it, the kind of ships they would employ, the task they would undertake.They would wear the gold triangle, not along with the traditional black ellipse but in place of it. It would be a symbol thatset them apart, that raised them up. Looking at the example heheld in his hand, he did not consider such thoughts to be merewishes or hopes. The tangible, tactile reality of the gleamingemblem somehow made it easier to believe in that which was still unrealized.

As Wells was returning the insignia to its case his implanttransceiver penetrated his meditations with the seven-tone signal that announced a page from the Nines. He had been halfexpecting it, since the third of the promised progress reportswas overdue. But the voice he heard was not that of the researcher, or even a messenger, but of one of the most seniormembers of the Eighth Tier: Robert Chaisson.

A brilliant political historian with polymathic knowledge ofpre-Reunion society, Chaisson was one of the five overtierswho had recommended Wells's promotion to Eighth. At thattime Wells had regarded him as the most likely candidate tojoin Eric Lange, the movement's martyred founder, on theNinth Tier. Four years later Wells understood the sociodynamics of the Eighth Tier well enough not to expect that, but hewas still vaguely uncomfortable to have Chaisson treat him asan equal.

"How are you, Harmack?" Chaisson asked cheerfully.

"I'm well, Robert. Busy. A bit tired. Our paths haven'tcrossed for a while now." "You have to get back down to Earth now and again.""I do, actually. It's just that I never seem to have the time

to come over to the Americas."

"Maybe you just need a more compelling reason," Chaisson said, continuing on before Wells could decide if the comment was said in pique or jest. "I understand you had a setback in Committee yesterday."

It was no surprise that Chaisson knew; he had a web ofcontacts in Capital. "A temporary problem only, I expect."

"I am glad to hear you so optimistic. Though it is disappointing in a way—I thought perhaps I would have a chanceto lift your spirits. I'm calling to tell you your search has borne sweeter fruit than you imagined."

"Thackery's personal recs still exist?" Wells asked hopefully. .

"Presumably."

The answer did not seem to make sense. "What do youmean?" Wells asked, less insistently than he would have if hehad been talking to anyone else.

"It would be unusual to purge them while you still mightneed them, wouldn't you say?"

"Damn you, stop playing. What are you trying to say?"

Chaisson laughed, a soft-edged sound like a bird's wings fluttering. "That Merritt Thackery is alive. He's living alonein the Susquehanna Valley, on property listed in the name of J.

M. Langston."

Wells felt his legs weaken under him even as his heart began to race. "Alive? How? He resigned as Director the yearbefore I was born. He was old then, and that was forty-threeyears ago!"

"Not as old as you seem to think. Don't forget that he didfield work even after the Revision, almost right up to when heresigned. Directors weren't time-bound then—that reform came later. Brian Arlett, the Fourth Tier who handled yourrequest, says that biologically Thackery's no more than a hundred and five—hardly remarkable. And there's alwaysbeen speculation that his journey through the spindle turnedhis odometer back, so to speak. There was even a cult of theImmortal centered on him—short-lived, though." Chaisson chuckled deep in his throat at his own joke.

"I can hardly believe it," Wells said, holding his head in hishands. "How can he have hidden from everyone for fortyyears and we find him in forty-eight hours?"

Chaisson laughed again. "You know the answer to that. Wecheat. We can milk the databases in ways no legitimate usercan. Arlett can tell you more, if it matters to you. He's waitingto come on the line and give you a full report. My only rolehere is to steal his thunder."

"Has Thackery been contacted? Does he know we've found him?"

"No to both. He hid himself purposefully and well. Arlettdidn't think we should give him a chance to destroy what you're after."

"He's what I'm after—now."

"The sentiment still applies. And besides—just as I wantedto be the one to tell you, I thought you would want to go seehim first yourself."

"I do, absolutely." He glanced across the office at the clock. "I should be able to get downwell within the hour."

"No hurry," Chaisson said breezily. "A couple of ThirdTiers are watching him. He won't go anywhere without usknowing it."

"Thank you."

"Not me. Arlett saw to that, too. He really has done anexcellent bit of service for you. You are planning to promote him for this, I assume?"

"Of course."

"Just wanted to be sure you weren't so excited that youforgot," Chaisson said cheerfully. "Brian's a good kid with alot of potential. I've been aware of him for some time. Oh,and Harmack? When you're done with Thackery, let me know.I should very much like to talk with him myself."

chapter 6

Refuge

Had he been there for any less urgent purpose, the dirt roadmight have been enough to make Harmack Wells turn back.Just as it had been described to him, it was the sort of road seemingly designed to enforce privacy. Unmarked, overgrown, and eroded, it offered no promise that anyone lived atthe other end of it, much less the man who did.

But neither the steep slope nor the washboard surface ofthe road was an impediment to Wells's slim-profiled skeeter.He guided the vehicle slowly through the shadowy tunnel untilit ended, widening out into a clearing barely large enough to turn a nonflying car around in. The leaf-and-needle carpetcovering the clearing showed no sign that another vehicle hadever disturbed it.

Leaving his skeeter parked on the road, Wells continuedupslope on foot, on a path barely discernible from the rest ofthe terrain. Until entering the Pennsylvania Protectorate, hehad not realized so much undomesticated forestland still existed in the densely populated eastern half of North America.Not that he had spent any time wondering about it: His lastseveral visits had been confined to Capital and Benamira.

The canopy of leaves was so thick and the path so undulating that it was impossible to see the house until he was on top of it. It was a Swann self-contained, half buried in the hillside and cloaked in a shell of natural wood planking so light incolor, it looked as though it were freshly cut. So disguised, italmost seemed to belong there.

Below the house, on the sunny south slope, was a sprawling ornamental garden, a living quilt of yellow and red andwhite blossoms. On the steepest parts of the slope the flowerbeds were terraced and the wood-slat walks became stairs. The detailed planning and diligent care evident in the gardenmade a sharp contrast with the neglected road and forest path.

Movement in the garden drew Wells's eye: a man, his backto Wells, kneeling on one of the upper tiers. Wells picked hisway to the nearest walkway and followed it upward. Drawingcloser, he took note of the man's thinning silver hair, the trayof tools resting to one side, the trowel being energetically wielded in one gnarled hand.

As Wells reached the same level as the gardener, the creakof the walkway boards under his full frame announced his presence. The man glanced up, then brushed moist black dirtfrom his hands and sat back on his heels. A thick, close-cropped white beard masked what would have been a familiarvisage.

"I do not welcome guests," he said. "Please leave the wayyou came." There were many years and much travail in thelines of his face but a clear and determined light in his eyes.

Wells stepped toward him. "Do you know who I am?""No," said the old man, sniffing as though to say he alsodid not care.

Wells drew another step closer. "I know who you are." When the old man continued to silently regard Wells withopen annoyance, Wells went on, "I know all about you. TheGreat Revisionist. First Ambassador to the D'shanna. Director of—"

"Spare me my biography," said the man, turning away andplunging his hands into one of the tray's several compartments. He deposited a double handful of peat in the hole before him, then sighed and hung his head at an angle. "I hadrather hoped I had been forgotten."

"Hardly," Wells said, approaching within a metre. "Though, like most of my generation must, I thought MerrittThackery was dead. Or do I take you wrong? Is that what youwant?"

Thackery said nothing as he pressed the soil into place around the last of a new cluster of zinnias, kept his silence ashe gathered up his tools and took the tray in hand. Turning hisback on Wells, he started up the sloping walkway, his stridesmade deliberate by age.

Wells followed Thackery at a respectful distance. WhenThackery went to place his tray in a large wooden storage boxnestled against the house, Wells jumped forward to lift theheavy lid. But Thackery made no acknowledgment that theyounger man was even there.

"I mean I know everything about you," Wells said as Thackery washed his scarred hands under an outdoor spigot."Even things you may not know. And things you may not want others to know."

But still Thackery showed no spark of interest, almost asthough he were deaf to Wells's words. He wiped his handscasually on his trouser legs, then moved toward the door.

Not being recognized had been an affront; being ignoreddrove a needle deep into Wells's ego. "Do you think this is allit will take?" he called out angrily. "Are you waiting for me toget tired of being ignored and go away?"

"No," Thackery said, pausing on the threshold. "I am waiting for you to stop trying to impress me and tell me whatyou want."

"Then you'll talk with me?"

Thackery!s eyebrow lifted in surprise. "You would havehad to go to a great deal of trouble to find me. I know, because I went to a great deal of trouble not to be found. Youdidn't intend to let me refuse, did you?"

Wells stared a moment. "No."

Thackery nodded. "Then you'd better come inside."

The house had been as completely reworked on the insideas it had on the outside. Only the positions of the sun jacket,the regen inputs, and other elements of the environmental system marked it as a Swann. Many of the interior walls had beenremoved, and several ceilings raised, so that instead of severalsmall rooms, there was a single elongated and irregularlyshaped chamber. At one end a spiral staircase led to a rooftopobservation deck, visible through the sloping high-wall glassof the sun jacket.

It seemed almost like the great hall of a castle from a newmedieval age. Aside from the light fixtures, virtually none of the common home technology was in evidence. Nowhere didWells espy a netlink projector, or even a furniture groupingoriented for a concealed one. And to reinforce the impression,despite all the glass, the interior seemed shadowy and somber.

They settled in soft chairs by a window that looked out onthe tree-covered valley. "Perhaps I should know who you are," Thackery said.

"My name is Harmack Wells."

Thackery gestured in the air with one hand. "I'm afraid I've rather completely eloigned myself from the affairs of theworld. Your name is not one I have heard before."

"Four years ago I was named Director of USS-Defense."

"Ah," Thackery said, his hand going to his chin. "Thatexplains some things. Not all, by far. How did you find me?No one in the Service knows where I am."

Wells smiled. "I have access to resources beyond those theService can call on."

"And what are those?"

Wells hesitated. For all the information he had gathered onThackery, the man had already surprised him more than once.Wells had expected Thackery to vigorously resist the intrusion; that was why Wells had come himself, and alone. YetThackery's easy concession was no victory. Wells still had toprove himself, and one of the tests would be honesty.

"I am also an Eighth Tier member of the Nines," said Wells.

It was an admission Wells rarely made to those outside theorganization. A conflict-of-interest clause in Service contractsprohibited membership in certain types of partisan organizations and any sort of involvement with planetary politics. TheNines were at the top of the blacklist.

Contract notwithstanding, Wells was admitting not only tomembership but also to a very high level of involvement. Consequently he was not surprised when Thackery frownedand looked away, out the window.

Wells continued, "As you might expect, a number of ourmembers work in information science. They were able to access the payment records from your Service trust and yourprimary credit account. Following the money is usually a goodway to find someone."

Thackery turned back and regarded Wells with a level gaze. "Then it's the Ninth Tier that sent you? Or does the Chancellor of the Service now condone its Directors coming downwell to violate the Privacy Laws and harass Earth citizens?"

"Certain issues transcend such considerations."

Thackery scowled. "That's the kind of arrogance I've cometo expect from the Nines. I've long suspected you believe thatCouncil law applies only to others. This episode demonstratesthat I was right."

Wells felt himself tensing. "Perhaps you should wait untilyou hear why I sought you out before judging.""I've been waiting since you first disturbed me," Thackerysaid, folding his hands on his lap.

His irritation on the rise again, Wells wondered when hehad lost control of the encounter. "I don't know what youknow of the strategic situation—" Wells began.

"Nothing, and I have even less interest."

"Can I continue?"

Thackery waved a hand. "Of course."

"When I became Director of Defense, I inherited a passiveestablishment capable of doing little more than warning thatan attack was coming. We had no way of blunting anotherattack. We still have no way of carrying the war to the Sterilizers."

"An oversight you no doubt intend to correct."

"The only way to assure our own peace is to be ready to goto war." "If you say. What have I to contribute to this?""We need to know more about the Mizari. As a matter of

political necessity, we need conclusive proof that they stillexist. As a matter of military intelligence, we need to knowwhat they are like and what they are capable of. It would be best if we could acquire both without reminding them of our own existence."

"Why come to me? All I know of the Sterilizers can befound in the reports I made."

"I know that. I've read Jiadur's Wake."

Thackery raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. "Then youare one of the few," he said with some bitterness. "But that still doesn't answer my question."

"I need your help only to contact the D'shanna. They canprovide us the rest of what we need."

Thackery seemed to shrink into his chair like a turtle withdrawing into his shell. "There is nothing I can do for you."

"You have to," Wells pressed, sensing Thackery's vulnerability. "No one else has ever been on the spindle. No one elsehas ever contacted the D'shanna."

"I do not have the information you seek. I know no way todo what you want," he said stonily. Then his expression softened to one of wistful reflection. "And if I did, I no longerhave the confidence of purpose to trust myself to know theright thing to do with it."

"I have the confidence. Trust me."

Thackery sank back into his chair, slowly drew his legs up,and twisted to one side, a trembling hand hiding his eyes."This is the world you built," Thackery said wearily, "you andyour kind. I neither know nor care about your squabbles. Please go away."

With those words the last remnants of the idolatry Wellshad once felt for Thackery melted away, and with them,Wells's inhibitions. "You're human. You're bloodkin to the whole Affirmation. How can you favor an alien over yourown kind?" he demanded.

"My own kind?" Thackery said with a bitter laugh. "No one anywhere is like me. I waited too long to retire—aboutfour centuries too long. There's not one person on Earth who'sseen half of what I have or understands what seeing it did to me. I don't belong here."

"Where do you belong, then?" Wells asked cuttingly. "On the spindle, with Gabriel? Is that why you've isolated yourself, so no one will know when you go away with him?"

Suddenly Thackery was on his feet, shouting. "If I knewhow to return there, do you think I would still be here? Doyou think I haven't called out to the sky ten thousand timeshoping Gabriel would answer, that he would return and takeme back? Why do you think I've clung to life this long?"

As though his legs had gone to rubber beneath him, Thackery slowly slipped back down into his seat and buriedhis face in his hands. Wells looked away, embarrassed for ^e man.

The courtesy also helped mask Wells's own fierce disappointment. He did not want to believe Thackery, for that would require him to abandon hope for an ally against theMizari. But Thackery's pain was no pretense; Wells did notdoubt that he had tried to make contact and failed, not once but many times. Even so, Wells could not help but play onelast card.

"Director—"

Thackery looked up.

"I'm going to leave now. You've made your attitude clear.There's something I have to make clear to you. I'm afraid it won't be possible to protect your secret. There is a wholegeneration who knows you only as a name. They will be curious to see you as a man. Many will want more from you thanI do."

"That threat was implied the moment you appeared,"Thackery said, his face and voice regaining the gruffness theyhad projected in the garden. "It makes no difference. I havenothing to tell you."

Wells pursed his lips and nodded. He extracted his longframe from the chair and stood there for a moment, lookingdown at Thackery. "You were once a hero to me," he said, abare hint of the sadness he felt escaping with the words.

Thackery raised his head and met Wells's gaze levelly. "Itrust you know better now."

"Yes," Wells said, and turned away.

Somehow the walk back down the hill to his skeeter seemed endless.

For a long time after Wells left, Thackery sat in his chairand thought the things he had not said.

If being with Gabriel on the spindle had been the high pointof his life, it had also served to make the years that followedseem all the more hollow. Not thirteen years restructuringSurvey for its new, more limited role, not his final mission toRena-Kiri, not his brief stint as Director of the Service had been enough to make him whole again. The degree to whichhe was lionized following the Council's announcement of hisdiscoveries only accentuated his empty feelings.

After his resignation he had begun an emotional odyssey, asearch for a community in which he could be comfortable, towhich he could experience a sense of belonging. He tried toinject himself into one Terran subculture after another, commune and clan, archaicist and mysticist, hoping to find mindsattuned to his own perceptions of existence.

But the respectful deference of people who might otherwise have been his friends, the endless attempts by smiling influence-peddlers to place him in their debt, the ingrainedmisperceptions of what he had actually done, the shallownessand temporality of their vision of the world, all worked to deny him what he was seeking.

It was then that he began work on Jiadur's Wake, naivelyhoping to free himself of the burden of his own fame. When itwas rejected—he could not view the decision to censor it inany other light—he considered it a rejection of himself andturned his back on them.

In fact, the only lesson of enduring value that emergedfrom that time was one of rejection—that he was a foreigner,an oddity, an alien. There was no one else like him anywhere.Acceptance of that lesson had brought him at last to the Susquehanna.

There had been little enough pleasure in the four decadessince he had retired, but most of what there had been, he had found here, in his woodland sanctuary. Now it had been violated, and Thackery knew he could not stay. But where hecould go, he did not know. One thing was clear: There wouldbe no sanctuary for him now anywhere on Earth.

His deepyacht, Fireside, had been downwell for a longtime, but he had provided for its upkeep by means of a testamentary trust. He had had no conscious reason for doing so,beyond the natural inclination of a sailor to care for his ship.She had no great sentimental value to him, as he had madeonly one voyage in her. She had no practical value so long ashe wished to maintain his pseudonymous hermitage.

Now the ship beckoned to him, offering escape. But wherecould it take him that Wells could not reach? To regain whathe had lost, he would have to leave not only Earth but also theAffirmation. To attempt that in a deepyacht too closely resembled suicide.

It was several hours before he hit upon an alternative ,^butwhen he did, its rightness compelled him to embrace it. Thefirst step required but a phone call. "Prepare Fireside for space," he said. "I'm going out." The word again was so strong in his mind that he wondered if he had said it.

Thackery had not quite admitted to himself until Wells hadtorn it from him that his time in the Susquehanna had been avigil. If he was to fail to find a place in the human community,if he was to be denied reunion with Gabriel, he could at least choose not to surrender his remaining life to those hurts.

He had had enough of being lonely; now it was time to be alone.

Three hours after leaving Thackery, Wells rode an emptytwelve-seat executive shuttle out of Newark back to orbit. The Brazilian orbital injector was closed twenty-four hours formaintenance, and he preferred enduring the extra gees and extra cost of the any-field shuttle to either waiting or goinghalfway around the world to the still operating African or Far East injectors. He briefly considered accepting the forcedlayover and flying west to see Chaisson, but in the end hedecided he had left too many matters hanging to justify moretime away.

Almost until he boarded the shuttle Wells had been unable to look past his disappointment at the outcome of his visit. Butas the swollen-bodied vehicle lumbered upward, vibrating insympathy with its roaring chemical engines, he at last put thedisappointment behind him.

The whole business had been false to his basic beliefs. He was embarrassed remembering the threat he had made, theemotional barbs he had attempted to lodge in Thackery's conscience. It had been so tempting to hope that Thackery couldpave smooth one of the most difficult parts of what lay ahead.

But despite what Berberon thought, and even if the samecould not be said of the Nines generally, coercion was not Wells's way. It was usually better that something not be doneat all than be done by unwilling hands. And it was alwaysbetter to take responsibilities on oneself than to drop them intothe laps of the unprepared.

Seduced by the prospect of a quick and easy solution to theproblem of scouting the Mizari, he had allowed himself to bedistracted at a time when more essential matters had requiredhis full attention. Now Triad had been derailed, Berberon alienated, and Erickson alerted.

As the sky outside the shuttie's windows faded quicklyfrom blue to violet, and then to black, Wells took advantage ofthe privacy of the passenger cabin to make two calls, closingout his business on the surface.

The first was to Chaisson. The historian was off-line, so Wells left a brief message: "Richard—the business with Merritt will take some time to complete, and I don't think it willwithstand any extraneous contacts. Please put off indefinitely any plans to see him, and treat his existence as the strictestpossible secret." Tradition would give the request the force ofan order.

The second call was to Arlett. "We're going to have tokeep watching Thackery, and you're going to have to coordinate it," Wells told him. "Anybody who doesn't already knowthat he's there isn't to find out. Anybody who does know isunder interdict."

"I understand, Mr. Wells. Nobody comes to see him exceptyou."

"I won't be coming back to see him," Wells said. "But solong as he stays in that house, I want him left undisturbed. Ifhe should leave, that's another story. I'm to be alerted immediately, and he's to be monitored as intensively and invasivelyas we're capable of. Barring that, though, leave him be."

"I understand. Sir—if I might ask about the possibility ofpromotion—"

"No. Never ask, Brian. And never make it part of yourdecision to lend service. Do for yourself and the things youbelieve in and not for the rewards that might come."

"That would be easier if it were always clear how the things we are asked to do serve what we believe in.""It would be clearer if you did not always expect it to beeasy," Wells said sharply.

"Yes, sir," Arlett said in a subdued voice.

In fairness, finding Thackery was service at least equal tothat on which many promotions had been granted, and doubtless Arlett knew that. But he also doubtless knew that the jump from Fourth to Fifth brought with it so large a meaSareof additional authority—including the right to recruit new First Tiers and the first, albeit limited, authority to place referral requests—that it was not uncommon for the overtier involved to "load up" on the candidate.

Wells was content to let Arlett think that was the reason and grumble to himself if so inclined. To grant a promotionnow, Wells would have to make known to the community ofthe Nines the service that had won it, and that he was not prepared to do. He would sustain a small, short-lived injusticein expiation of a larger one, so that he might quell his conscience and quiet his backward-looking curiosity, and so focushis efforts on shaping the still malleable future.

That business dealt with, he made one final call, to Kioni.

He felt within him a growing restless energy, an impatiencewith the endless jockeying of move and countermove, pawntraded for pawn—an eagerness to press on to the endgame.There was no cure at hand for the root cause, but he was potabove treating the symptoms.

Kioni was much preferable to Ronina for such matings. She was much less his physical ideal than Ronina, small-breasted where Ronina was well gifted, thick-thighed whereRonina was long-limbed. But Kioni allowed him to come toher without promises and to touch her without touching, inwhatever way he chose and whenever he pleased. They cametogether as animals, in mutual selfishness, and parted asstrangers, in mutual satiation. Or so he had come to expect ofher from their half dozen previous encounters.

She was waiting in his bed when he arrived, and she didnot disappoint him.

chapter 7

Recall

Felithe Berberon had fully expected to hear from the WorldCouncil concerning his report on the challenge to ChancellorErickson. But he had not expected to be ordered to Capitalthree hours after transmitting it.

Nor was the order a welcome one. For a variety of reasons,it had been more than seven years since Berberon had been onEarth. One reason had to do with personal biology. Berberon was allergic to more than two hundred varieties of atmospheric flotsam and did not care either to flood his body withmind-dulling drugs or to go without and spend his time down-well feeling as though his chest were in a vise.

An even larger factor was that the trip down and back quitethoroughly terrorized him. Having no comforting faith withwhich to sanguinely accept his own mortality, Berberon choseto avoid placing his life at even minimal risk. That was notpossible where spaceflight was concerned—particularly theorbit-to-ground and ground-to-orbit regimens.

True, shuttle crashes were rare, and failures of the orbital injectors even rarer, but when accidents did occur, there werenever any survivors. As he habitually reminded those amusedby his phobia, "Bags of protoplasm make notoriously bad meteors."

A final consideration was that, thanks to three decades in reduced gravity and an aversion to exercise for its own sake,he was now thoroughly maladapted to a full gee field. Climbing a ramp or stairway on Earth left him panting, his heartbeating angry protest against the exertion. Too, the altered environment clashed against his learned reflexes, turning hisgliding steps into graceless stumbles. And what were pleasingly rounded body contours in orbit became loose, saggingfolds of flesh on Earth; the first day down, the man in Berberon's mirror was a stranger.

In light of such considerations, and not being notably sentimental about verdant hills and pristine brooks, Berberon hadgladly forgone many opportunities to return to his home world.The last event he had thought important enough to come downwell for had been the election of Jean-Paul Tanvier as World Council President. Being present at the inaugurationand endearingly visible during the social functions that surrounded it had doubtless been a factor in Tanvier retainingBerberon as Observer, especially considering that one of thePresident's aides had been angling for the post for himself.

This time he had been given no choice.

Mercifully the worst part of the trip was already behindhim. He had come in through Algiers Port of Entry, the shuttlepopping its double sonic boom over the Strait of Gibraltar andmaking its. final heart-pounding energy management turn overthe western Mediterranean. Only when the spaceplane stoppedrolling did he unclench his teeth and relax his viselike grip onthe padded body harness.

A Council airskiff had been waiting for him there. As quickly as his ovemighter could be retrieved from the cargoclaim, he was aloft again. Flying fifteen hundred metres abovethe water, the skiff made a dogleg around Sardegna and thenskimmed across the Tyrrhenian Sea in a beeline toward theItalian peninsula and the Adriatic beyond. Now, with the rounded ridges of the Apennines ahead on the horizon and thecoastline passing below, the skiff began to climb. Capital layjust twenty minutes away.

Still troubling Berberon was the question of why he hadbeen recalled. Other than purely social functions, which thissurely was not, there was no interaction that could not be handled technologically, no information that could not be passed by means of the secure channels of the net.

The only reasons Berberon could think of for bringing him down to Earth were symbolic ones. Recall without explanation was in itself a naked reminder of the Council's authority.And Tanvier's insistence on breathing the same air as he didcould be an attempt to reinforce through the ancient languageof biological programming just who was in charge. Body-language dominance displays were transmitted poorly by thenet, and pheromones and fear-sweat not at all.

But there had been nothing in Berberon's message that should have prompted a rebuke. He had not mentioned his admittedly indiscreet blowup with Wells, offering instead aprediction that Wells would attempt to have Erickson removed, along with his own appraisal of why that was undesirable.

Which meant that almost certainly a version of that regrettable conversation had reached Tanvier by another route. If so,then there was one more possible reason for the recall—thatTanvier was going to remove him from the Observer's office.

Before Berberon could evaluate the question to his satisfaction, the skiff was suddenly over water again and Capital wasin sight.

The once free-floating artificial island had been permanently located in the shallows of the Gulf of Venice for thebetter part of a century, ever since the practical difficulties ofmaintaining it had begun to outweigh the symbolic value of aCapital not physically "belonging" to any traditional nation-state.

At first, it had been moored still afloat. Later, when the bora-whipped waters of the Gulf and the unpredictable seichesof the Adriatic continued the structural assault begun in thefree-roaming years, Capital had been elevated out of the seaon pillars in a feat of engineering arguably more remarkablethan the city's construction.

Berberon had always found it both ironic and appropriatethat the island city had ended up in sight of the ruins of theCity of Canals. Both Capital and Venice were centers of economic and political power for their eras, and both had made adevil's pact with the sea—acquiring a unique beauty and character even while sowing the seeds of self-destruction.

After decades of fighting subsidence and flooding, Venicehad succumbed to entropy and neglect in the Black Years preceding Reunion. Capital's end was even now being preordained by efficiency analyses, which pointed up the undeniably high cost of the endless maintenance of an architectural white elephant and proposed moving the seat of government elsewhere.

But until the Council turned analysis into action, Capitalwould continue its life as a modern reincarnation of La Serenissima.

The airskiff delivered Berberon to the elevated passenger-only landing deck on the west edge of the city. From there anopen-air slidewalk carried him to the security checkpoint atthe entrance to the Council Hall. By the time he reached it, hewas gasping for breath despite the drugs he had taken thatmorning.

On the other side of the checkpoint an aide-courtier waswaiting to escort him to the meeting. From the route theytook, Berberon knew almost immediately that their destinationwas one of the four sumptuous lounges on the sixteenth floorof the Hall, each of which looked out to a different compasspoint through a broad expanse of seamless synglas.

Being taken there instead of to the regular Council chamberconfirmed Berberon's suspicion that he would not be facingthe full seventeen-member Council but its unofficial inner circle: Tanvier and the five High Ministers. They were waitingthere for him, seated as though they had known his arrival wasimminent, talking quietly among themselves.

Berberon knew them all in varying degrees. The closest hehad to a personal friend in the group was Aram Wolfe, theHigh Minister for Economic Planning, who was the oldest ofthe six by several years. The two women, Hu and Aboulein,were nearly strangers; Hu by dint of a retiring personality andAboulein because she had been in office less than a year.

The blunt-spoken Breswaithe regarded Berberon with a certain amount of personal antipathy; presumably it arose from incompatible personalities, since they often agreed on matters of policy. By contrast, Berberon had had several heated disagreements, public and private, with President Tan-vier, most notably over his strategy for appeasing the Nines.Yet Tanvier was enough of a professional that those conflictshad never taken on personal dimensions.

Dailey was the hardest to take, for he held the seat Berberon thought by rights should have belonged to him. Worse,the chisel-featured North American seemed somehow to charge every look and utterance with his self-satisfied awareness of that grievance.

There was one chair left unoccupied, and Berberon eased

his weary-limbed frame into it gratefully as the ministersshifted their attention from each other to the newcomer. "Capital is enjoying a cool summer, I see," Berberon offered conversationally.

"Do you think so?" Tanvier asfced lightly. "Perhaps youhave become too thoroughly acclimated to Unity. I know Ialways find it oppressively warm there."

His control of the meeting established, Tanvier paused andglanced down at the slate in his lap. "We've reviewed yourmost recent dispatch with a great deal of interest," he said,looking up. "As you well know, Felithe, no Chancellor hasfaced a Vote of Continuation since Delkes withstood three of them early in his first term. And no Chancellor has lost a Votesince Ryan Bodanis was shown the door in 'twenty-four."

"Quite true," Berberon said.

"Then you understand why I thought it would be a goodidea for you to come and review the process with us, for thebenefit of those of us whose political memories don't reachback that far." Tanvier smiled at Aboulein as he spoke.

At first blush, Berberon was insulted by the request. Therewere probably fifty political analysts, including at least fivewho were experts on the USS, with offices within ten minutesof the conference room. Any one of them could have easilyprovided what amounted to a second form polisci lecture. Andwhat's more, it was their job.

But a moment's reflection persuaded Berberon that perhapsTanvier was more concerned about security than professionalcourtesy. In any event, there was nothing to be gained by demurring.

"A brief review before we move on to the particulars of thepresent situation would very likely be time well spent," Berberon agreed. "According to the revision of the bylawsadopted in 640—"

"Excuse me, Observer Berberon," Aboulein interrupted. "I am one who requested your appearance here. I've read thebylaws, as I hope every Councilor has. What is not clear to me is whether the high officers of the Service actually followtheir own rules."

"Oh?"

"After all, with the autonomy granted the Chancellor andthe degree of secrecy that surrounds Committee decisions, itwould be very difficult for the Service Court to make a caseagainst the ruling oligarchy, even if they were inclined to do so. I would very much value your observations along thatline."

Berberon nodded, his pride somewhat assuaged by the young Mideasterner's redefinition of the question. "I understand that it's hard for the members of a body such as the Council, with all the elaborate checks and balances under which it operates, to see what restrains those who hold powermore absolutely. And it's true that from time to time, as in anylarge organization, there exists a distinction between the waythings are officially done and the way they are really done.

"However, in this particular area the bylaws have alwaysbeen very carefully observed. The Chancellor's term is ten years. The only way to remove her before that time is througha Vote of Continuation, the rules for which are very specific.Wells or any other Comite can ask for a Vote of Continuationat any meeting or request a meeting for that purpose. He willbe allowed to state why he believes a change is desirable. TheChancellor will be allowed an equal amount of time—be itfive minutes or five hours—for rebuttal.

"Once the statements are on record, the Committee votes secretly, with no further discussion. Once the Committee's vote is recorded—but not announced—the Observers are polled publicly, in order of seniority."

"So you would vote first," Breswaithe observed. "Wouldyou say that that gives you any useful influence?"

"Of course. The process was meant to allow those with thelongest perspective to set the tone," Berberon said. "Wherewas I? Oh, yes—for Erickson to be removed, a majority ofboth the Committee and the Observers—each counted separately—must vote against her."

"So Chancellor Erickson could conceivably alienate eightof the eleven concerned and still stay on," Dailey said. "I findthat remarkable."

"Remember that before Atlee's reforms, the chief executive of the Service could not be removed at all. The Service has always been interested in long-term stability. These ruleswere meant to protect against frivolous concerns being usedagainst a sitting Chancellor," Berberon said.

"It still strikes me as reckless and politically naive," Daileysaid.

"You apply a false standard," Berberon said firmly. "Fundamentally it is not a political system. It is an administrativeone—"

Tanvier interrupted, imposing a truce on the skirmishingparties. "You haven't addressed the selection of a replacement."

Berberon nodded. "True, I have not. But then, there is little I can say, because the Observers—which is to say theWorlds—have no role in it. Should a Chancellor lose a Vote of Continuation, he or she becomes a temporary member ofdie Committee. The Committee then meets daily in private—no Observers present—until one of its members is elected Chancellor, again on a majority vote. But, of course, a majority is now four votes, not three. You see the potential for stalemate, I trust."

"The former Chancellor could conceivably wield considerable influence in choosing her successor," Aboulein suggested.

"That's often been the case at the end of a term, when the same procedure is followed," Berberon agreed.Wolfe joined the discussion for the first time. "How do yousee things proceeding should Erickson lose the vote?"

There was something unspoken in the question that troubled Berberon, prompting him to answer more bluntly than heotherwise might have. "You can count on at least six weeks ofposturing and bloodletting before a replacement is chosen," hewarned. "It'll take that long for everyone to stop promotingtheir own cause and come together for the common good."

"Not unlike the College of Cardinals," Tanvier observed.

"Except that the ghost of the last pope gets to vote—andmay even get to succeed himself.""Is that your prediction in this instance?" Tanvier asked.Berberon shook his head. "I don't think it's possible at this

time to predict who will emerge as the new Chancellor." "Could it be Wells himself?" Wolfe asked with a note of concern.

"I'm reasonably confident that Chancellor Erickson wouldbe able to block that." Berberon turned his eyes on Tanvier ashe continued. "But I would prefer not to see it get that far. Nomatter who is eventually elected, Wells is certain to have moreinfluence than he does now with Erickson. By successfullyremoving a Chancellor who opposed him, he will have warnedothers against doing the same."

Continuing, he addressed himself to the group as a whole."This is one of several reasons why it's very important thatErickson win this vote. I have already talked with Ambassador Ka'in about it, and I will see Ambassador Bree on my return.Wells will be lobbying them as well, of course, but I am reasonably confident that at least two of the other Observerswill stand with me."

Tanvier contemplated his hands, folded and resting in hislap, as he replied. "I'm afraid that we do not share your appraisal of the situation, Felithe."

"In what respect?" Berberon demanded.

It was Breswaithe who answered, stepping in in a mannersuggesting that it had been prearranged. "There are consequences to this business that you've overlooked or minimized.The efficiency and effectiveness of the Service will be affected by the time spent haggling over elections, as well as bythe long period of readjustment that is bound to follow."

Berberon stared at Breswaithe disbelievingly. "I don't seewhere the prospect of weakening the Service argues for Erickson's removal. I would think the opposite were true."

"We believe that having the Service in internal disarray,however briefly, works to our advantage," Breswaithe saidquietly.

"Who believes that?" Berberon demanded, giving Breswaithe a scathing look. "Oh, I know the Nines do, because oftheir paranoia about an interplanetary government. They'dlove to see us seize control of the USS and end any drifttoward federalism. But who else in their right mind? The USSis the glue that holds the Unified Worlds together."

No one spoke, and Berberon searched their faces for explanations. "Is that it? Is annexation officially on our agendanow?"

"Nothing as extreme as that," Tanvier said, gesturing in theair with one hand. "But I am increasingly uncomfortable withthe degree to which we are dependent on an organization aspotentially—ah—unpredictable as the Unified Space Service.This would seem to offer an opportunity to gain some additional leverage and thereby reduce that dependence."

"We seem to be having some trouble finding the rightwords," Berberon said with a tightness in his throat. "You saythe USS is unpredictable, and yet it seems that what you'rereally saying is that you don't control them. And what you seeas undesirable dependence looks to me like a perfectly benigninterdependence."

"Honorable minds may differ on the latter," Hu said.

Berberon stared. "When did this Council turn isolationist?

How are we harmed by ties with the Service or the other worlds?" he demanded challengingly. "Tell me how that diminishes anything except the chances of the Nines gaining thekind of control that they seek."

Wolfe made one feeble effort to cast events in a better light. "If Wells is truly as potentially disruptive as you havelately been arguing, perhaps you can look on this as an opportunity to throw an obstacle in his path."

It was painfully clear that the matter had been fully discussed and the decision made even before Berberon had been recalled to Capital. "It won't be an obstacle," Berberon saidangrily. "You're doing him a favor. Perhaps I've misread this from the start. Is that fleet he's building to be Earth's ratherthan the Service's? Has some deal been struck under which he's to become Chancellor and give us what would be toomuch trouble to take? If so, then for life's sake tell me now. I operate best when I have the maximum available information."

"No such deal exists," Tanvier said, less convincingly thanBerberon would have liked. "Certainly annexation has beendiscussed in High Council. And I won't say that the possibility has been ruled out. But for the present we will contentourselves with more modest goals—such as control of our own spaceports and of ground-to-orbit travel. Erickson has been unequivocal in her refusal even to negotiate such a transfer. Hopefully her successor will be more reasonable."

Berberon sank back into his chair. "You'd better spell outwhat you expect from me, then. This is not the game I thoughtwe were playing."

"I fully intended to," Tanvier said amicably. "Your instructions are to stand mute on the question of the recall of Chancellor Erickson."

Berberon shook his head in disgust. "I tell you again, it is a mistake of the first order to consciously try to weaken theService."

Tanvier refolded his hands in his lap. "That may be, fromtheir perspective. But your first obligation is to us, Felithe.Please do not make us think that you have been away so longas to have forgotten it."

Janell Sujata had had to leave much of Maranit behind when she came to Unity the first time, as a member of one ofthe early tutelary classes from that world. She had left behind the familiar pastels of the heath, the faintly gingerish scent ofmaranax on the summer air, the noisy camaraderie of the kinderhouse. But by bringing her lifecord with her, she felt as though she somehow had brought all of that and more withher.

Five years later, when she and two others from her classhad chosen to stay in what her home tongue called the worldof outsiders, she had given up still more. Contact with theoutside was too new for Maranit to have a legal concept ofplanetary citizenship, but that did not mean it had no sense ofcommunity. By staying behind, the three gave up a claim tobelonging as tangible as any in law. Sujata of Murlith signedher first Service contract as Janell Sujata, put away her feyacloth hipwraps, and faced the fact that opportunities for xochaya would be few and far between.

It was not all sacrifice—far from it. She had learned bythen that the Service was eager to dilute the dominance ofEarth.and Journa by assimilating representatives from otherworlds. It was the key reason why they so willingly brought inhundreds of young colonials, then clothed, housed, fed, andeducated them at Service expense. Having had the chance toevaluate them at length and in detail, at the end of the tutelaryperiod the Service coaxed and wooed and eventually hired thebest of them.

That was the other thing Sujata learned: that she was goodat doing the things the Service needed done. She had a knack, more trained than inherited, for making groups function smoothly—not by inspiring them, not by mastering every lastdetail of their task herself, but by reading the strengths of eachindividual and placing them where they could be most effective.

In the world of outsiders there was opportunity for onewith such a skill. On Maranit the road to the top was congested with other aspirants. Kinship and friendship and personality often counted as much as ability, and in those categories she had no special advantage. Seduced by praiseshe deserved but rarely heard, she stayed.

Perhaps because of her lineage, rather than despite it, shehad been well rewarded. Her first job had been as a minorproject leader during the construction of USS-Central; herportion had come in ahead of schedule and within the conservatively set budget. From there she had gone to MicroscopiumCenter as an associate deputy manager of base operations.

Two promotions later she had moved on to Ba'ar Tell as Director of the Service's office there. At each stop she had become more a part of the Service and less a part of Maranit.

But throughout she had kept the lifecord, and if she hadhad fewer chances to wear it those years, that was not to saythat it had become any less important to her. She still faithfully cared for it: the core of the sugar-brown necklace of intricately woven and knotted hair was now nearly twentyyears old, but was still as silky and supple as when it had beenpart of her uncut tresses at age twelve. She had been late tomenarche and so had welcomed the chance to begin work onher lifecord when it finally came.

And she still faithfully observed the requirement to add tothe lifecord yearly, so that the record it contained might becomplete. According to tradition, the fragile strands held thememory of each hour and minute of that person's life. Whenthat individual died, the lifecord was treated with more reverence than the body and was commonly kept by the family as a memorial.

Inevitably, anthropologists had come to dissect Maranit customs. With the imperiousness of superior knowledge, theyhad announced that while hair did indeed contain a continuous record of health and diet, dead protein offered neither themechanism nor the structure to preserve emotion and experience. Like most Maranit, Janell Sujata found she did not care. What matter if a lifecord was not really a vault of memories,so long as when she contemplated it and touched it, she remembered?

Concealed by the loose Shinn-style blouse she wore, Sujata's lifecord was around her neck now as she walked throughthe corridors of Unity's diplomatic section. Hanging from thecord was a smooth-surfaced pendant made of what seemed tobe a finely grained wood but was in fact a tiny piece of Maranit itself. She had chipped her heartstone from the motherrock in Murlith the same day her hair was cut for the lifecord.Like all new heartstones, it had broken off jagged and ugly,characterless. The beauty it had since acquired had come solely from her.

If the lifecord was a testament to accumulated experience,the heartstone was a test of character. Many a young girl madeher fingers bleed trying to accomplish too much too quickly. Ithad taken Sujata eight years to work her stone, hand-rubbingits roughness smooth, imprinting her soul on its malleable heart. Only then had she been proud enough of her stone tohang it from her lifecord and so proclaim herself mi adult.

Lifecord and heaitstone together—die merging of learningand experience with commitment and inner strength—madefor the most precious and the most private possession a Maranit woman owned. Sujata had never allowed Wyrena to seeit, or even to know that it existed. Created by Maranit sensibilities, it was fit only for Maranit eyes.

She turned onto a wide boulevard flanked by yard apartments whose front doors opened not onto a sterile corridor butto a private patch of landscaped life lit from a high-archedglassine ceiling. The ground cover and flowers chosen by Environmental Maintenance were egocentrically Terran, to be sure, but the effect was still pleasing. Had die whole blockthat contained it not been security-restricted, GegenscheinWay would likely have been featured on the standard Unity tour.

As she came up the walk toward the entrance to one of theapartments, the door slid open and a woman stepped to theopening.

"Come in, Sujata," Allianora said, and stepped aside to admit her.

Wordlessly they readied themselves, shedding jewelry andblouses, scrubbing away makeup. The ritual of xochaya was familiar to each separately, even if they were relatively new toeach other. It was not uncommon for sisters or close friends to sit down together weekly, or lovers daily. Sujata's relationshipwith Allianora fit none of those categories, and in the three months since her arrival the two women had performed xochaya only three times.

That was admittedly more Sujata's doing than Allianora's.As the senior ruler, Allianora had made the customary offer onfirst meeting, and Sujata had accepted, as politeness demanded. But whether due to the difference in age, Sujata'sseparation from her own traditions, or simply as a matter ofrandom incompatibility, they learned that time that Sujata didnot read Allianora well. Xochaya required mutual trust, involved mutual risk, but could not promise mutual rewards.

With a long-time mate on her diplomatic staff Allianoracould gracefully sustain an occasional unequal match. Sujatawas too aware of the one-sidedness to avail herself often of Allianora's generosity. But there were times, like this, whenthe need was too great.

Bare to the waist, hipwrap knotted on the private right instead of the public left, they sat down on opposite sides of alow table decorated with elaborate abstract carvings. Sujataplaced her hands side by side on the table, palms down,fingers parallel, thumbs touching tip to tip. Allianora did the same, completing the cradle. Allianora's hands reminded Sujata of her mother's: the skin life-toughened, the ring fingeralmost as long as the middle. Closing her eyes, Sujata focusedon her own breathing until it became deep, peaceful, and regular. The heartstone dangled between her breasts, swayinglike a metronome and pacing her body's fundamental rhythm.

Sujata opened her eyes to find Allianora studying herclosely. The focus of Allianora's gaze was not Sujata's facebut just below. Sujata showed her acceptance of the scrutinyby returning it. Opening herself to Allianora's reading, Sujatareached out with her eyes toward what Maranit artists calledthe "second face"—the breasts, lifecord, and heartstone of another. Together they spqke the pledge:

Selir bi'chentya

Darnatir bi'maranya en bis losya

Ti bir naskya en bis pentaya

Loris bir rownya

Qoris nonitya

I lower my mask

Open my heart to your eyes

My ears to your words of guidance

Expose the flaws in my essence

Make me whole

Breaking the cradle, Allianora reached out with her righthand and closed her fingers around Sujata's heartstone. Closing her eyes, she explored its sinuous surface with her fingertips, as if drawing through them the residue of Sujata'sunresolved emotion. After several minutes she released the stone and sat back on her heels.

"You are unhappy," Allianora said, opening her eyes. "Thelittle one has complicated your life."

Sujata sighed deeply. "She's working so hard to get closeto me that she's driving me away. She is endlessly solicitous.She apologizes anytime she imagines she has displeased me—and she imagines it often."

"Her need follows the path of dependence."

"But she wasn't like this before," Sujata said, taking herown heartstone in hand. "On Ba'ar Tell she was confident, playful. She came to me, not the other way around. Nothingwould have happened between us if that hadn't been true."

"This is your world, Sujata. It frightens her.""Why should she be frightened? I'm as new to this Unity asshe. But I find nothing frightening here."

Allianora smiled. "Because you have something importantto do. You have worth-making tasks enough to occupy youfully—as they did before she came. But you are her wholelife now."

"I know that," Sujata said resignedly. "But I don't want tobe."

"Because of the responsiblity you feel toward her?"

"It's an unhealthy way to live, for either side."

"Don't judge so harshly. None of us can fully escape thatwhich we learn with the uncritical mind. You were able to introduce her to a new pattern because she was secure that theold was there for her to flee to. It was a game, an adventure.She was testing herself with the forbidden, and it took hold ofher. Now she is here, without that security. All she has is theold patterns driven into her as a child."

"She never showed me this face before."

"She had no need to. What you describe is the way inwhich Ba'ar Tell women are taught to hold their mates. What you despise, men cherish because it brings gratification tothem and peace to the household. If she is true to the pattern,you will never hear her complain, no matter how unhappy shebecomes. One of the rules of compromise is to swallow yourown unhappiness."

"She has shown that already," Sujata said unhappily. "Allianora, I cannot share my home with this sort of woman."

"Then do not."

Sujata said nothing, and Allianora nodded. "I know. If youhave conscience, you are as much a prisoner of her dependence as she is. How deep are your feelings for her?"

"For the Wyrena I knew six months ago, very. For thisstranger using her name and face—"

"You know the choice, then," Allianora said. "You can turn her out, solving your problem by increasing hers. Or youcan swallow your own unhappiness long enough to help her to grow, against her will. That way you may rediscover theWyrena you thought you knew—"

That was when the interruption came: a grating buzz inSujata's right ear and a louder, more musical message alarmsounding from Allianora's terminal in a far corner of the room. As Allianora rose from the table Sujata's right handwent to the small depression behind her ear. With a practicedmotion she pressed the skin-covered stem twice: once to silence the alert and once to retrieve the message.

"Comite Janell Sujata: Chancellor Blythe Erickson wishes to advise you that a special session of the Steering Committee, Unified Space Service, has been called for 20:00 hours, Day 134, A.R. 654, in the customary place. Comite JanellSujata—"

As the message began to repeat, Sujata pressed the stemagain to silence the transceiver and looked to Allianora, nowstanding by her net. "I presume yours is also about the Committee meeting?"

"Yes," Allianora said, standing at the net and studying thedisplay. "How very odd—at night, and with only an hour'swarning."

"So it is unusual? I wondered." Sujata stood and reachedfor her blouse. "Are you going to go?"

"Are you?"

"I have to," Sujata said matter-of-factly. "And I'll be doingwell not to be late. Could you call down to the terminal andreserve a seat? Or two, if you're coming."

"But we weren't finished. I hate being interrupted. I don'tlike leaving xochaya with so much still to talk about and so little resolved—"

Sujata flashed a helpless, resigned smile. "What can wedo? The Chancellor calls, for whatever reason."

Erickson had not intended that four days would slip bybetween the decision itself and its execution. In reflecting onher meeting with Wells and Berberon, only one course of action had recommended itself to her, and it was one best carried out quickly. The problem was that the Committee would notstand still.

In calling a meeting, Erickson needed to give only an hour's notice, not the three days that was her custom. For thisparticular session she determined from the start to give Wells as little time as possible to work on the rest of the Committee.But key individuals kept placing themselves more than an hour away—most notably Wells himself. By the time she wasready to move, he was already gone, on his way downwell inthe middle of the night.

By the time Wells returned the next day, Sujata had left tospend a long day reviewing productivity and safety problemswith the staff of the Cluster B processing station, half a million klicks away—a good three hours even traveling by high-gee sprint. Then it was Wells's turn again, off inspecting thesentinel Guardian, under construction in Yard 104. His shuttle was due back at Central in slightly more than twenty minutes;when it docked, all five members of the Committee would be on-station for the first time in four days.

Wells's trip to Earth troubled Erickson deeply. On orbit shecould keep close tabs on anyone wearing a transceiver. Shehad no such authority on Earth, and her informal sources hadreturned few details of Wells's brief visit. Aside from his general destination and the time elapsed between his landing andreturn, she knew nothing, had no clue who he had seen orwhat his business there might have been. It took little imagination to concoct ominous answers. She could only hope that,confident the next move was his, Wells had moved slowlyenough to leave her an opening.

Ka'in was the first to arrive, followed in short order byRieke and Loughridge. Erickson sat in her alcove and madesmall talk with Rieke, using the Survey chief as a buffer against the curiosity of the others. As the others wandered inby ones and twos, both speculation and complaint were effectively squelched by Erickson's presence, though an occasionalstray comment reached her ear from the corridor outside.

Wells arrived with five minutes to spare, looking somewhatworn and wrinkled from his travels and sporting a smear oflubricant along the right forearm of his Service blouse. Henodded politely to Erickson as he took his place, then turnedhis attention to the slate he carried.

Those who had lingered outside in the corridor seemed tointerpret Wells's arrival as a signal that the meeting was aboutto start. They followed him in en masse, moving to their seatsin a strange kind of silence.

Sujata had been the farthest away and so was, unsurprisingly, the last to straggle in, breathless as though she had runall the way from the terminal. When 20:00 hours came, Prince Denzell and Elder Hollis were nowhere to be seen, but that did not matter; only the five who shared the center with herwould have anything to say about what happened next.

"First, I want to apologize for finding it necessary to callall of you away from whatever was occupying you this evening," Erickson said, slowly scanning their faces. "I promiseyou that although what we are about to consider is important,it will not require much of our time. The sole purpose of thismeeting is to consider a Chancellor's Request for withdrawalby a sitting member of the Committee. No other business willbe discussed."

There was a stirring, but Erickson did not pause long enough to allow it to become an interruption. "The reason cited in defense of this Request is Chancellor's privilege. Although all authority does proceed from the Chancellorship, thefact is that the Director of any branch has considerable discretionary power. It is not possible for the Chancellor to exercisethoroughgoing and continuous oversight.

"Nor should it be necessary. The Chancellor has the rightto know that the executive officers acting in her name are alsoacting in accord with her stated objectives and principles, evenif they should personally disagree with them. It was evidentthe last time we gathered here that a fundamental disagreement exists between Comite Wells and myself. UnfortunatelyI no longer have full confidence that Comite Wells accepts thecondition and principle I just described.

"I want to make perfectly clear that I am requesting thewithdrawal of Comite Wells solely on the basis of Chancellor's Privilege. I do not mean to imply in any manner or degree that Comite Wells is unfit for his post or to suggest he hasdeliberately abused his authority—nor do I believe that eitherof those is true. Comite Wells has been a dedicated member of the Service, and I would like to see him continue with the Service in a different capacity."

Erickson touched her console, and the secretary took over."Comite Wells, the Chancellor has requested that you voluntarily withdraw from your position as Director of Defense anda member of this Committee. Do you accede to this request?"

"I do not," Wells said firmly.

"Comite Wells declines to withdraw," confirmed the secretary. "A vote on removal is in order. Comite Wells, do youwish to make a statement?"

"I do."

"You have one minute and twenty seconds."

Wells took several of those seconds to compose his thoughts, pursing his lips and staring at the recording pylon inthe center of the arena. Then he straightened up in his seat,folded his hands across his lap, and raised his head to lookdirectly at Erickson. He spoke softly at first, but his eyes werehard and unyielding.

"I appreciate the Chancellor's effort to spare me publichumiliation by couching her demand in the least contentiousterms, by cloaking it in the most admirable principles," Wellssaid. "I am only sorry that my conscience will not permit meto do the same."

Shifting forward in his seat, Wells continued in a voicesuddenly steel-edged and commanding. "The fact is that thisvote has nothing to do with Chancellor's Privilege," Wellssaid. "This vote is about survival. If you vote as ChancellorErickson asks, you are voting for timidity, for weakness, forvulnerability. You are voting to prolong the terror with whichwe've already lived for more than a hundred years. You arevoting, should it come to that pass, for our dream to become a nightmare, for our people to again die screaming under theweapons of an alien race."

He sat back in his chair, gripping the armrests tightly withhis hands. "If you don't believe that can happen, if you'reconfident the Mizari are nothing more than the boogeymen ina sixty-thousand-year-old scare story, then you should vote asChancellor Erickson wishes you would. But if even part ofyou knows or fears, as I do, that the Mizari are still a threat tous, then there is only one way you can vote and only onecourse the Service can take—"

"Comite Wells's time has expired," announced the secretary. "A vote on removal is ordered—"

"—which is for us to rise to their challenge and defend thehuman community with every tool at our disposal," Wells concluded emphatically. "That is what this vote is about."

Hearing him and looking at the faces of the rest of the Committee, Erickson felt a chill of foreboding. Her requesthad been reasonable, dispassionate, proper—and a waste oftime. In his first few words he had shunted aside the substance of her appeal. The rest of his words fueled and then exploitedtheir anxieties.

I made the mistake of thinking it was enough to be right, she thought regretfully. But he answered with symbols, with emotions that undercut reason. It wasn't a fair fight—how could I win?

While Erickson and Wells locked gazes, the question appeared simultaneously on the consoles of the other four members. All that was required of them was two small movements of the hand: one touch to vote, another to confirm. It took very little time.

"By a vote of one to three," the secretary announced impassively, "the removal of Comite Wells is not agreed to."

Even anticipating the outcome, it was a blow to hear itconfirmed. As Rieke's dismayed gasp betrayed her vote,Erickson lowered her head and momentarily closed her eyes.When she looked up again, Loughridge was gloating openly,his face split by a mocking grin. Wells sat impassively in hisalcove, his eyes on his folded hands. If he felt either relief orthe exultation of victory, neither made it to his face. Ericksondoubted that she was doing as thorough a job of hiding herfeelings.

"The meeting is adjourned," she said hoarsely.

For a long moment no one moved. Then Berberon scuttledout, shaking his head as he went and starting an exodus thatleft Erickson and Wells alone in the chamber.

"I think—I think it would be a good idea if we talked," shesaid at last.

"I agree," Wells said quietly.

"Not tonight. Tomorrow sometime. I'll leave a messagewith your office." Wells bowed his head politely as he stood. "I'm at yourdisposal, Chancellor. Tomorrow."

She did not look at him as he climbed to the upper leveland left the chamber through the doors at her back. But whenhe was gone , she touched her console and the doors closed toenforce her privacy. For a long minute she sat as though frozen, taking her breath in shallow, noisy gulps and fighting thewave of despair that threatened to overtake her.

But shortly there came a moment when resistance and surrender seemed equally pointless. In that moment she slipped to one side in her chair, covered her eyes with a hand as though ashamed, and began to cry—a chest-heaving, almosttearless possession that filled her with fury over her own helplessness to prevent it.

It took twenty minutes for Erickson to collect herself sufficiently to think about going home. Even then there was nospring in the steps that carried her up out of her alcove, no lifein the downcast eyes that guided her to the doorway. Thedoors slid open obediently at her approach, but when she triedto pass through them, she was brought up short by a man whostepped out from the shadows along the far wall and into herpath.

"What is it?" she asked wildly, her head whipping up asshe tried to focus on the face.

"I'm sorry if I startled you, Blythe," Felithe Berberon saidgently. "But before you talk to Wells tomorrow, you shouldtalk with me."

"I'm going home," she said in a fragile voice. Loweringher head, she started to brush past him.

"Not alone," he said, catching her bare arm with one hand.

She stared at him with eyes still bright with moisture, uncomprehending."l ean help, Blythe," he said pleadingly. "Please let me." In a rush of ascetic self-flagellation, she nearly refused

him. But the touch of his hand on her skin was a reminder of a closeness she had long forgone, one which at that moment was compellingly appealing. She knew that was not what Berberon was offering; knew, too, that he was not one whom shewould have sought out for the role. But there was an earnestness in him that she had not much seen before. And this night,this one time, if he could even just hold her and manage to betender, he could at least make sleep come more easily.

"Come with me, then," she said at last, pulling free andleading the way toward the lift node.

Mercifully, he was tender. And in the moming, before theytalked, he made breakfast for them both.

chapter 8

The Chains
of Power

Brian Arlett sat on the lift flange of his rented skeeter andpeered across the deserted flight apron toward the deepyacht.The ship rested in the upright launch position on the apron infront of its berthing bunker, which was the largest of the fivestrung along the west edge of the port. Several pieces ofground-support equipment were arrayed around the ship, butthey were still and silent. The only sounds Arlett heard now were occasional cries from orbiting seabirds; he could not even hear any sound from the sea as it lapped gently at thebeach just three hundred metres away.

"Anything yet?" he asked aloud. The words were pickedup by the implant mike and relayed through the open channelto 9-Net.

"Sorry, Brian," came the reply. "No answer. I'm trying toget an overtier to authorize a direct page. That's not too easy,since you won't let me tell them what this is about. If Wellswas so eager to hear from you, he should have set up a netpass-through."

"Keep trying," Arlett said with a sigh.

Standing, Arlett brought his scanner up to eye level andtrained it on Berth 5. Over the last hour the steady stream of orange-clad techs making their way between the bunker andthe ship had dwindled away to nothing. Now the only peoplein sight were the officious-looking Customs agent at the footof the access ramp and the small clot of techs standing idlybetween the yawning doors of the now empty bunker.

"This is Wells," a voice said in his ear.

Reflexively Arlett straightened up before answering. "Mr.Wells, this is Brian Arlett. I have an update on Merritt Thackery. There is some urgency to it or I wouldn't have insisted ona page."

"Yes, Brian. Go ahead."

"He took us a little by surprise—left his house this morning before seven in a land cruiser and went straight to theLancaster County Airport. The spotter notified me, and I caught up with him in Florida. We're now both at Port Abaco,in the Bahamas."

"Port Abaco—what's he doing there?"

"Apparently trying to sneak out the back way, sir."

"I thought the launch facilities there were shut down several years ago."

"So did I," Arlett said. "But if I understand the port manager correctly—he has a damnably thick accent and refuses torepeat anything—under Service space law, no ship that received proper authorization to land and is up-to-date on its berthing fees and taxes can be refused permission to lift again."

Wells clucked. "That's correct. That provision was addedafter there was some trouble with the Daehne trying to appropriate an archaeological vessel. So what you're telling me isthat there're some ships there that haven't moved since the port was closed?"

"Yes, Mr. Wells—three of them. Two are antiques. I don'tthink they could move even if the port still had the kind ofsupport facilities they require. But the third is another story.It's a free-landing deepyacht named Fireside, and it's sitting out on a lift pad looking like it's ready to go."

"Fireside. Well, I'll be damned. That's Thackery's ship.How close are you? Can you see what's going on?"

"I'm sitting about a half a klick away on the north edge ofthe field. Thackery was aboard his ship for twenty-five minutes, but then he came out again and talked with some of thetech people before disappearing into the berthing bunker. I haven't seen him for a quarter of an hour."

"Where is Fireside supposed to be headed? What did the port manager say?"

"I don't think he knew, and I haven't been able to get intothe right system to find out myself," Arlett said, pacingalongside his vehicle. "But either Thackery's having troublewith Customs, or Transport must have rejected his flight proposal. The port manager was expecting Fireside to lift at ten local time—which would have been about ten minutes after Thackery got here. But it's past eleven already."

"Those are our systems that you're trying to get into," Wells said dryly. "All flight requests are filed with USS-Transport." Wells fell silent for a moment, then added, "I'mgoing to go off-line for a moment. Hold on there while I check this out."

It was not the call that Wells had been expecting that morning, but he was glad he had been there to receive it live. Hislips pursed pensively, Wells muted the link and turned to histerminal. "Quicksearch. Let me have the DFAR abstract on deepyacht Fireside," he said, propping his chin on his folded hands.

The abstract popped up on the display a moment later:

Vessel: FIRESIDE (Y-400317) Type: Class B Deepyacht

Registry: Earth Ownership: Private	Manufacturer: Adara (Journa) Drive: AVLO Compact, SeriesIII
Proposed Flight Plan:Originate:Requested Departure:Destination:	Port Abaco, Earth 1ST AR 654.118.21:00 Port Helixis, Arcturus New
Estimated Arrival:	Colony 1ST AR 676.311
Passenger Manifest:Cargo Manifest:	Merritt T. LangstonPersonal Effects (Classes Al,C,D3)

Transport Flight Approval Request #652-AB-00001
Action: Referred to Defense Traffic Office
Defense Flight Approval Referral #DFAR-E122341
Action: Rejected

What did you expect, Thackery? Wells thought. You know that Arcturus is in the Bootes Octant. Surely you realized that we screen everything going that way—that Transport would have to get permission from Defense to let you go. And we don't approve much except for the regular packets and our own internal operations. That's why you're still sitting on the ground there.

Shaking his head to himself, Wells reopened the link. "Areyou there?"

"Yes, Mr. Wells," Arlett acknowledged.

"I've found out what's holding him up," Wells said. "I'mnot sure yet how I want to handle it. I'd like you to stay whereyou are and call back if there're any developments. I'll wantto know immediately if they start to move Fireside out to theflight line or back into the bunker. If Thackery leaves, youleave with him."

"I understand," Arlett said.

Wells broke the link and sat back in his chair. You could have Stayed in the Susquehanna. I would have seen that you were left alone. But you didn't know, did you? / threatened the very opposite. But I hoped you would wait until you saw if 1 was really going to follow through on it.

A quick check with Bootes Traffic Control told him thatthere were six ships en route to Arcturus, ranging from a freighter less than a cee from grounding at Helixis to a packetbarely six weeks out from Bootes Center. Would it make anydifference to add Fireside to that stream?

Objectively considered, it was not a particularly dangerous run. At a distance of thirty-seven cees Arcturus was barelyhalfway to the Ursa Major cluster and a full thirteen cees within the Perimeter. Moreover, the trajectory that led to Arcturus lay thirty degrees south and west of the nearest black-flagged star—

The only thing holding Wells back was Thackery himself.Can I trust him to go there and only there? All traffic in the octants adjoining the Perimeter was subject to strict lane discipline. Would that be enough to insure Thackery's compliance?Wells could not keep Thackery on Earth, even if he wanted to.All Thackery had to do was file a new request with a differentdestination, and he would be gone—

Wells realized belatedly that he was searching for a reasonto let Thackery go, trying to justify in his head a decision already made in his heart. The Traffic Office has sound, conservative guidelines. They followed precedent. Why overrulethem?

Perhaps it was guilt over having chased Thackery from hishiding place. Perhaps it was yesterday's victory over Ericksonand the anticipation of her surrender that inclined him to begenerous. Wells did not know, and it did not seem importantenough to wring his hands endlessly. Why shouldn't he beable to go to Arcturus New Colony if that's what he wants? hethought.

"Defnet. Traffic Office," he said.

A woman responded. "Traffic, Lieutenant Lezak."

"This is Director Wells. Voice Authorization Check."

There was hardly any pause. "Confirmed, sir. How can I help you?" "In regard to #DFAR-El2234l—""Go ahead, sir. I have it up in front of me.""You are to approve the request, subject to the normal cor

ridor and communications restrictions for the Bootes Octant. Correct the request to reflect an 1ST 22:00 departure and seethat an amended report is sent over to Transport immediately."

Never having seen a deepyacht lift, Arlett did not immediately know whether, when the techs started returning the support gear to Berth 5, that meant the launch was imminent orhad been scrubbed.

The first unambiguous sign was when Thackery emergedfrom the bunker and began to cross the open pavement towardFireside with brisk, purposeful strides. Arlett immediatelypaged Wells, but by then things were happening very quickly.The Customs agent gave Thackery a quick, cursory, final inspection, then hurried off toward the cavernous bunker. Thackery scrambled aboard his ship and sealed the hatch behind him. A high-pitched hiss and wail coming from the shipconspired with the growl of the closing bunker doors to shatterthe silence of the port.

It seemed an eternity before Wells responded to the page."Yes, Brian," he said at last. "What's happening?"

"Mr. Wells! She's going to lift—"

At that moment the whistie of the compressors turned intoan angry whine, and a fierce but flameless blast of air from theliftjets blew a cloud of limestone dust outward from the base of the ship. The ground shook, sending dozens of speckle-furred agoutis scrambling from nests and burrows they hadnever had any reason to think unsafe.

Within a minute the leading edge of the jet blast reachedwhere Arlett stood, forcing him to turn his head away andshield his eyes from the hail of tiny grit. When he lookedback, Fireside was already its own height off the ground,liftjets screaming as they fought the dead weight of the fuselage that enclosed them.

The painfully slow ascent made Arlett wonder if somethingwas wrong, if the ship was about to lose what seemed to be aprecarious balance and come crashing down into the sea. Butthe deepyacht continued to climb, accelerating steadily, if unspectacularly. Arlett tracked Fireside with his scanner as longas possible, until the ship seemed to tear a hole through a bankof clouds and then vanish beyond them.

"Did she get away all right?" Wells asked calmly."I;—I suppose so, sir," Arlett said in a shaky voice. "I can'tsee her anymore."

Inexplicably Wells sounded pleased. "Thank you, Brian," he said. "Please consider yourself released. You acquittedyourself quite well during this whole matter, and I have decided to put through a recommendation for your promotion toFifth Tier."

"Thank you," Arlett said uncertainly. "But I honestly don'tunderstand. I thought you would want to stop him—•" "At one time I would have," Wells said. "But he's not important anymore."

A night's rest or reflection, or both, had put the starch backinto Erickson, Wells concluded. After keeping him waitingmost of the morning, she had one of her aides call him to heroffice with a message that was far more like a summons thanan invitation. When he arrived, he was shown into an emptyconference room and kept waiting again.

Now Erickson had joined him, slate in hand, and he couldsee by the set of her jaw and the firmness of her mouth thather self-confidence, or at least a convincing substitute for it,had returned. She swept through the room en route to her chair, offering no detectable greeting except to indicate with a wave of the hand that he should sit.

"Do you still plan to ask for a Vote of Continuance onme?" she asked bluntly when they both were settled.

Wells was less surprised by the question than by the tone inwhich it was asked. Whether she had guessed, or Berberonhad told her, hardly mattered. "Has last night's vote given youany cause to rethink your position on Triad?"

"No." Her answer was flat and unapologetic.

"In that case, the answer to your question is yes."

"About as I thought," she said, nodding. 'Tell me, ComiteWells, what did you expect out of this meeting?"He smiled faintiy. "I'm afraid I've already had to discard my expectations." "You thought that I had asked you here to work out theground rules for an accommodation."

"Yes," Wells admitted.

"Under what terms?"

Wells shrugged. "I thought you might offer to allow theconstruction of Triad—"

"While you allow me to remain Chancellor?"

"Yes."

"Would you have accepted such a proposal?"

"It would have merited close examination. But it seems you have no intention of making such an offer."

"True. My principles are not that flexible. I will not presideover your vision of the Service. I would sooner resign thancarry out policies I don't believe in."

Wells sat back in his chair and folded his hands on his lap."Then resign." "I'm prepared to—if we can agree on my successor heretoday."

Wells shook his head. "The time when the head of the Service could handpick his or her successor is past. Whyshould I strike a deal with you when I can have you removedand then choose a replacement to my own liking?"

"Because it isn't that easy, and you know it."

Wells did, but was not about to concede the point. "Whatwill be different from last night, except that I'll also be voting?"

"Nothing. They will be just as reluctant to remove me asthey were to remove you. They may be perfectly happy withyou doing what you do best and me doing what I do best, evenif we end up fighting because of it."

Wells shook his head. "I see one vote to retain you, no more."

"I see three—and one of them should be yours. You

wouldn't have the budget and the program you do if the rest ofthe Service weren't well run and fiscally healthy." "Maybe that's how we should vote," Wells said. "But it'snot how we will vote."

Erickson showed a faint smile. "Perhaps not. But what makes you think that any majority you whip together will stayintact once the Chancellery's open? Every one of them will bethinking about their own chances—and why not? There's nothing you can give them. They're already all one step fromthe top. Why should they go for someone else at your say-so?"

"Because they have a clear idea of the direction we need totake."

"That's wishful thinking. If you were going to put yourselfup for the Chancellorship, you might hold them together—might possibly, if you fought for it hard enough. But youdon't want to be Chancellor."

She was not supposed to have known that; it was to havebeen a concession she would think cost him more than it did. Now it had been devalued. It had to have been Berberon. "Did I say that?" he asked lamely.

"Why would you, when it's to your advantage if I thinkotherwise? But you implied it when you talked about a replacement who was 'to your liking.' And besides, youwouldn't want to trade spending all of your time directly involved in what you think most important for five Branches'worth of administrative duties."

"No—but I'd take the post myself before letting someonewho thinks as you do have it," he said wamingly.

"You can only be talking about Rieke. I'm realist enoughto never have considered her as a possible successor—just asyou need to be realistic and understand that Loughridge cannever be approved as Chancellor."

There was no point in denying that that was his intent. "Why not?"

"Because I won't allow it."

"What makes you think it's up to you?"

The faint, annoying smile played on her lips again. "You'restill being too idealistic. It's much easier in this kind of situation to muster votes against someone than for them. It's goingto be a long time before anyone puts together four votes andends it. And, you know, you may not be the one that does it."

"If it took a month, six months—a year, even—it wouldbe worth it."

"Would it be worth having the World Council of Commissioners nationalize our ground facilities?"

Wells gaped in disbelief. "What are you talking about?"

"The orbital injectors, all sixteen operational ports—Idon't need to inventory our investment for you."

"They wouldn't do that—"

"They're itching to do that, and more if we give them theopportunity. Why are you surprised? Your friends downwellhave put this bug in their ear. The Commissioners want us fighting, Harmack. They want to take advantage of us whilewe're distracted. And how long do you think it would takeKing Parath and Elder Barsihlev to decide that Liam-Won andRena-Kiri ought to do the same? I wouldn't put it past theFirst Mistress of Maranit to follow suit, once she saw everyone else getting away with it."

"They wouldn't get away with it."

"No? What are you going to do? Make war on our ownpeople?" "Of course not. But economic pressure—""So we refuse to send anything down while they're control

ling the ports. Who can stand that the longest?""We're self-sufficient. And they depend on us. We sell them twenty times what they sell us—"

"Which means suspension of trade hurts us twenty times asmuch as it does them—more, really, since they number eleven billion to our one million. It's fiscal suicide for a net exporter to suspend exports. Didn't you ever study macroeconomics?"

"There would be things we could do. We could cut off communications —"

"All you would accomplish is legitimizing their anxietyabout us." Hands resting on her knees, she leaned forward inher chair. "Let me tell you what you'd do: nothing. And thenyou'd learn how to get along without the income we've beengenerating by charging them for the privilege of doing business with us. Do you think they don't know that the landing fees and transshipment levies far exceed the actual cost ofrunning the ports? That money paid for the Defenders—justtry to build Triad without it."

"And the alternative—"

"I already told you. I resign—and a neutral candidate agreed on between us now becomes Chancellor.""How do you know I won't turn right around and get rid ofthe new Chancellor too?"

Erickson settled back in her chair. "I'll take that chance. My guess is you're only going to be able to stampede themonce. You try this again six months down the road and they'regoing to start to think the problem's with you."

Regrettably that, too, conformed to Wells's own appraisalof the situation. "I get to build Triad?"

"Probably," Erickson said, her voice registering her unhappiness about it. "But I can't promise it. That's not part of thedeal. You'll have a chance to make your case to a new face. Ican't tell you what they'll decide when they're sitting here."

"That doesn't make this very attractive for me. Maybe Ishould just take my chances with the Committee and the Council."

"Go ahead—if you really believe in taking chances. Here'show if adds up: You don't know that you can replace me. Even if you do, you don't know that you get to pick my replacement. And even if you do, it won't come easily or quickly—and the planetary governments will be gnawingaway at us the whole time we're squabbling."

Appalled by the prospect, Wells shook his head. "I can't believe that you're willing to see us pushed to the wall over a point of personal pride."

"You had better believe it if you want to prevent it," shesaid coolly. "Harmack, I love the Service. I don't want to seeit crippled by bureaucratic fratricide. I don't want to see itpreyed upon by little men with little minds—"

"But you're threatening to let both those things happen."

"Yes—if you try to seat yourself or Loughridge as Chancellor. I'd rather see the Service chopped up by the Worldsthan see you in command of a combat force with no checks onyour authority."

Wells considered that for a moment. "Who do you propose,then?' "The list of candidates isn't terribly long. Vandekar has themost experience—" "No," Wells said emphatically. "He's too much a monarch's minister." "What do you mean?"

"The Liamese are bred to believe that authority comes byblood and divine right. Vandekar is uncomfortable sitting atthe top of the ladder, as though he doesn't believe he trulybelongs there. You can see it in the way he handles Operations, always looking for someone else to make the decision.The Service would end up being led either by King Parath orby no one. And what you said earlier was right—for Defenseto be strong, the rest of the Service has to be strong too."

"That narrows the list to one."

"I know."

"And?"

Wells tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling. Itwas less than he had come here expecting—less, even, thanhe had thought assured of a week ago. The whole questioncentered on Triad, but it had gotten enormously more complicated than that. All he had was one uncertainty to weighagainst another. Even so, the scales were tipping heavily inone direction.

"Each of us delivers our vote iand one other," Wells said slowly.

"Yes."

"You bow out quietly, and we cheat the World Council outof their opportunity for mischief.""Yes." "And neither of us tries to attach any preconditions to thenomination. We both take our chances."

"That's right."

Wells pursed his lips. There are no unqualified victories,after all, he thought. Erickson will be gone—the Council willbe frustrated—

At last he nodded. "All right. I can live with Sujata."

"Then it's time to find out what she thinks," Erickson said. "Do you want to be there?"

"Of course."

"Let's break for lunch," Erickson said, rising. "I'll ask herto come in at thirteen."

"Fine," Wells said. "Except I think we'd best go to lunchtogether and agree how much we're going to tell her."

Curiously, the only three times Sujata had been inside theChancellor's suite had been prior to her appointment as Director of the Resource Branch.

On returning to Unity from Ba'ar Tell, she had been invitedin for what seemed on the surface to be a formal welcome back from the Chancellor to a moderately important servicrat.A week later, she had been called back for an undisguised andfar more thoroughgoing interview for an unspecified job. Thethird occasion, which came three days later, had lasted onlylong enough for Erickson to tell Sujata of her appointment tothe Committee.

But that had been die end of it, rather than the beginning.Except for the periodic Committee meetings, Erickson wascontent to communicate her concerns and requests by memoand phone. So coming as an exception to Erickson's insularmanagement style, the summons to Erickson's office itselfloudly proclaimed that something both important and out ofthe ordinary was to happen.

Forewarned, Sujata managed to sit quietly while Erickson,with Wells a silent spectator, announced without embellishment that she was leaving the Chancellor's office, and howwould Sujata feel about stepping into the vacancy?

But the outward calm with which Sujata received thosewords was not reflected inside her. While listening, she recalled the Maranit game of tossing a seedpod from a ghirluplant back and forth in a circle of children. Eventually the podmistook the shaking it received in the course of the game tomean that the late-summer winds had begun and thereuponobediendy exploded, splattering anyone nearby with its cacheof sticky, foul-smelling seeds.

Sujata viewed the offer of the Chancellorship with thesame apprehension felt by a Maranit child preparing to make acatch on a well-shaken ghirlu pod. And we always tried to toss it to someone we didn't like

Knowing Erickson and Wells would take her slowness torespond as a natural consequence of surprise, Sujata allowedherself a moment to try to read them. She focused first onWells but found the Defense Director's expression as unrevealing as ever. Sujata was always discomfited dealing with amale as skilled at self-concealment as a Maranit high woman;under the present circumstances her unease was magnified.

Looking back to Erickson, Sujata saw a weariness in theChancellor's eyes. You may be doing this voluntarily, but you are not doing it willingly, she thought. What's going on? "Why me?" she said at last.

"Because you're the best candidate," Erickson said.

"Best how?" Sujata said skeptically. "I'm the least experienced member of the Committee. I've barely begun to masterthe workings of my own branch, much less that of the rest ofthe Service. I'm still thirty years out of sync—both withwhat's happening here and out in the Affirmation. How canyou say that I'm most qualified?"

Wells answered. "She didn't. She said that you were thebest candidate."

"Would you explain to me the difference?"

"The Chancellery is a post you grow into," Erickson saidwith philosophical detachment. "No one comes to it qualified—I certainly didn't. You come to it with potential."

"Which you've demonstrated you have," Wells added.

Flattery from Wells? An even more flagrant warning sign."Even so—I can't believe the Committee would rather have me as Chancellor than you," Sujata said, looking straight atErickson.

"That's not the choice facing them," Erickson said, "since I'm resigning."This time Sujata looked at Wells. "I don't understand why.The Committee would never remove you—"

Glancing sideways at Wells before she began, Erickson replied, "I've been in this post for eight years. As rewarding asit is, it is also very demanding. The time has come for me todo other things."

The glance, which Sujata caught in her fringe vision, hadthe effect of negating Erickson's words. Neither one of them is going to be honest unless I force them to be, Sujata realized.

"So you and Comite Wells have agreed that I should be the new Chancellor. It hasn't been that long since I read thebylaws—I thought this sort of thing was up to the Committee.How is it that you two are making the decision for us?"

Now Erickson and Wells exchanged glances, as thoughneither was eager to be the one to answer. "Because there areconsiderations that are not obvious to you right now," Erickson said at last. "The integrity of the Service is best served bya smooth transition."

"There is nothing underhanded in our trying to guaranteethat that's what takes place," Wells said. "Why are you both trying so hard to hide what's reallyinvolved here?" Sujata demanded. "What you're telling me

would make a fine face-saving press release. But I'm not a netcaster. I'm the one who's being asked to stand in for oneside in a scrap. This has nothing to do with being tired or witha graceful succession. It has to do with you two and Triad.Isn't that right?"

"I am tired," Erickson said tersely. "And there are reasonsother than the cosmetic why the transition must be smooth."

Wells began, "It's true that we have had—"

"Continue to have," Erickson said quietly.

"—profound differences," Wells said. "But at the momentwe are in agreement—that you should be the next Chancellorof the Unified Space Service."

"So you've struck a compromise, then," Sujata said.

"Yes," Erickson acknowledged. "And since you insist onaddressing it, you should know it's a delicate compromise and that you are a key part of it." "Or would be—if you agree to our proposal," Wells said."But you don't seem eager to do that—"

"I find that more reassuring than disturbing," Erickson saidbefore Sujata could answer. "I've learned to be suspicious ofthose who are too eager for power."

Wells ignored the dig. "You clearly are not flattered by theoffer. I would have thought that to be asked would be a pleasant surprise, no matter whether you were disposed to accept ornot. Would you mind explaining why I was wrong?"

"You wouldn't approve me if you didn't think I was goingto be either ineffective or sympathetic. Why should I be flattered?"

"Not at all," Wells said, gesturing with his right hand. "Iwould be delighted if you proved merely to be realistic. Whatmatters most is that you bring to the Chancellery the samequality of administration you've shown in all your previousbillets."

"That is my hope too," Erickson said.

Liar, Sujata thought. You don't realize—your face is soopen. You give away so much. You show things that Maranithigh women share only in xochaya, if then. "I don't know but that Resource isn't too big for me to manage," she said. "Howcan I take on an even greater responsibility before I find out?"

"By trusting our judgment," Erickson said. "By putting theService's needs above your own anxieties. Comite Sujata, ifyou say no, it will in all likelihood precipitate a difficult time

for the Service. It would be unfair to lay the responsibility forthat on you. But you can prevent it—by saying yes.""Do I really have a choice?" Sujata asked. "I was under theimpression that I was being drafted, not asked to volunteer."

"Of course you do," Wells said. "If you tell the Committeeyou don't want to be Chancellor, you can be sure they won'telect you, our compromise notwithstanding. You have a choice."

Yes—the same choice / always had during the game. To catch the ghirlu and risk it dying in my hands—or to let it drop and risk being thought a coward. "I want to think it over."

"I would insist on it. But please, do not take too much timedeciding," Erickson said. "If you do, I'm fairly certain ComiteWells will lose his enthusiasm for the compromise—"

"In all probability," Wells said."—and we'll all have to start looking at the less attractiveoptions," Erickson finished."I'm not the kind that takes forever to make a decision," Sujata said, standing. "I'll let you know before long."

chapter 9

The Path
Regained

Janell Sujata did not know where her footsteps were takingher. Her legs carried her along of their own volition, takingthis corridor, that lift, picking a path through the animate obstacles that were other pedestrians. She moved as though pursued, as though she feared being caught from behind, exceptthat she never stole a glance back over her shoulder.

Instead, her gaze was focused on the far distance. She sawwithout seeing, in the sort of trancelike state that suggestedshe was following a path so familiar that the instructions forretracing it had been added to her repertoire of reflexes. Except that, as often as she had gone walking in Unity, she didnot know where she was.

After leaving the Chancellor's suite, Sujata had avoidedher office and her apartment. Several of her staff knew whereshe had been and would want to know what had transpired atthe meeting, but Sujata instinctively moved to protect her owndecision-making process from the opinions of others, especially those with a vested interest. None of the complexities affect them. They'll think it's wonderful and expect to move up with me. How can I tell them and then face their disappointment if I refuse—

At home waited Wyrena—a good listener and a valuable sounding board, except that this time she was part of theproblem too. The farrago of thought Sujata yearned to scatteron the table for scrutiny included things she could not discloseto a plain woman, and she was not confident of her ability toselectively hold up the mask just now. And how can 1 tell Wyrena that I was glad to leave Ba'ar Tell, why I was grateful

for a chance to return here—

It was Allianora she needed to talk with, Allianora to whom she could unburden herself freely. But Allianora hadnot answered Sujata's page, and the Maranit Mission Officewould not tell Sujata where the Observer was. The first dismayed Sujata, the latter aggrieved her. I am a highwoman too, had been her unexamined thought. My claim on her is as important as any. Recasting her need as possessive jealousy,she had gone straight to the Unity shuttle, blindly determinedto track Allianora down.

Learning no more from visiting the Mission in person thanshe had by calling, Sujata had gone next to Allianora's home.There had been no answer to the door page, which shouldhave ended Sujata's search. Enough time had passed for her tohave shaken the impulse that had brought her there, enoughtime to recognize its essential foolishness.

But she knew a name, spoken once by Allianora and filedaway by Sujata in the reflexive way that a Maranit highwomanhoarded personal information, the name of a young Missionstaffer whom Allianora often blessed with her company. It wasan easy matter to learn the address attached to the name, and a matter of a few minutes brisk walk to reach the residential block that contained it. Everything was too easy, too fast.Even Cajiya answered the door page too quickly for Sujata toask herself what she was doing there and turn away.

"I want to see Allianora," Sujata had said stiffly.

"She's not here," Cajiya had said, surprised.

Then, in a loss of control that was painful to remember,

Sujata had pushed her way past the young servicrat and searched the apartment herself before she was satisfied thatshe had been told the truth. At that moment of realization everything she had done became clear to her, and she had wanted to hide, to disappear—anything to escape having toretrace her steps past Cajiya and subject herself to Cajiya'sjudgmental gaze.

"She went downwell," Cajiya said quietly as Sujata neared the front door again. "Something about a festival in Majorca."She said it in such a way that it was an apology, and the apology an insult.

That was when Sujata's flight had begun, a flight thatcould not succeed because her pursuer was her equal in speedand endurance. She did not look back because the demons that were chasing her were inside her mind and memory's eye.

The walls on either side of the corridor fell back, and the pathway split to become a balcony encircling a small atrium.Sujata slowed, now knowing at least generally, if not specifically, where she was. The minor atria were the anchor pointsfor the residential blocks, linked by fifth-level slidewalks tothe city core and other major nodes. If she wanted to make herway home, she could now do so easily.

She came to the balcony overlooking the gallery and looked over the edge. Three floors below, a play was in progress, the kind of slapstick comedy that played well on an open-air proscenium. The high, affected voices of the actorsand the laughter of the audience carried up to where she stoodalone.

Would that I could sit down there among them with nothing to think about but the last joke and the unfolding story. I've allowed myself so little time for self these last six months, denied myself in the expectation that I will receive a greater measure later.

Sujata knew her own pattern: to plunge into the task withan obsessive fervor, establishing her presence and authorityand shaping or reshaping the group to her liking, then to pullback and let people do their jobs. A technically minded friendhad once offered her a useful analysis by analogy: The designand engineering of a complex system with many moving partswas a time-consuming process, but one hour of anticipationsaved a hundred hours of correction. A well-constructed machine should run without supervision, requiring only occasional maintenance to insure its efficiency.

In the same way, Sujata endured the sacrifices of the "design" phase because of the rewards of the "maintenance" phase. But Wells and Erickson had only seen the first half ofthe pattern. They did not understand that it was not the responsibility to which Sujata responded but the recognition thatcame with accepting it.

No wonder Wells and Erickson chose me. But I never meant to live like this. Do they know how much time I've had to spend in sprints just to begin putting Resource in order? Do they know what I'm expecting in return? No—I would never let them. But still, I'm six months into repairing one fiendishly complex machine with the end nowhere in sight, and they want me to leave it to take on an even more dauntingly complicated one—

In a flash of self-revelation Sujata saw that her resistance tothe proposal that Wells and Erickson had laid before her andher problems with Wyrena were of a piece. Both threatened,though on different scales, to push further into the future thearrival of the rewards of her labors.

It's not Wyrena that's changed, she thought as she climbedthe ramp to the fifth-level slidewalks. I have. When we met on Ba'ar Tell, I felt free to indulge myself. The Ba'ar Tell office was already in order. I could give her first claim on my time because I needed so little to keep things running smoothly. But here I have my hands full. Here I push her away to protect my single-mindedness—and feel guilty even as I do because I know that what she wants is nothing more than her due.

She let the slidewalk carry her toward the city core and herthoughts carry her toward an inevitable conclusion. Work is not life—it's what gets in the way of living. But there are some tasks so large that once you accept them, you risk never getting back to what, until then, you thought was most important. Wyrena and I can talk. Now that I understand, I can make her understand, and we can work out an accommodation. But what accommodation can I possibly make with the Chancellery?

Six months, and she had not yet even made a first visit tothe surface. Nothing was keeping her from ending that skein.With her travel rating she could go to the terminal at any timeand bump someone off any Earthbound flight. Her papers were in order. She had already accumulated nearly threeweeks of compensatory time. Either her personal or her Director's accounts could easily stand the expense. Nothing kepther from going except the knowledge that one visit would beat once too little to satisfy her and too much for her futureresolve.

A gibbous Earth was large in the windows of the UC shuttle terminal. Sujata arranged for her seat, then setded in achair to savor the view. Africa appeared to her as a dustybrown film overlaid by broken white clouds, a mere crust seemingly afloat on a liquid-blue sphere and being chased byapproaching night.

This is the mask of the Mother, she thought as she looked out, beautiful, serene, timeless. But she wears her past on her secret face like any highwoman, in the intricate weave of the living mane she wears, the sheen and shape of her heartstone. There are wonderful ancient places down there, valleys rich with millions of years of growing, a hundred thousand species each of which is kin to me. This is what I came back for—to touch her and read her and take her inside me—

The first call chime announced the shuttle ready for boarding, and Sujata reluctantly tore herself away. When will I know you? she thought sadly as she rose from her chair. When is there to be time for me?

Wyrena Ten Ga'ar looked flushed and uncomfortable fromthe moment the link was completed and her face appeared onWells's display. "Lodanya Wyrena, this is Harmack Wells. Do you remember me?"

"Yes, Comite," said Wyrena, averting her eyes according to custom. "I remember you. I regret to tell you that ComiteSujata is not here—"

"I know that, keefla," he said, watching her face closely.The Maranit term described one who has given up home-keeping to become a mistress. Said with its original inflection,it was a term of affection between a man and his lover. Said with a different inflection by one woman about another, it wasa pejorative. Said that same way by a man, it was a rebuke.

As he had expected, Wyrena accepted the rebuke and apologized. "Fraxir marya. I did not mean to presume."

"I called not to talk with Comite Sujata but with you—about Comite Sujata. The last time I spoke to you, I warnedyou that she would have difficult decisions to make."

"I remember."

"Good," Wells said. "Those decisions are on her now. She has been offered the Chancellery of the Service."

Wyrena's eyes came up, and Wells read both surprise andelation in them. "Yes, Comite. I understand."

"I hope you do," Wells said. "But we'll take a few moments to make certain you see the ramifications for all the parties concerned. When you do, I am sure you will be able tohelp her make the right choice."

Wells's call prepared Wyrena to address the political dimensions of Sujata's dilemma. But when Sujata returned tothe apartment, it was the personal dimension that receivedprimary consideration, and for that Wyrena was completelyunprepared.

On Ba'ar Tell they had had neither the need nor the inclination to talk self-consciously of their relationship. They hadsimply enjoyed each other as much as the time they couldsteal allowed. Wyrena had always presumed that Sujata, too,understood that emotions were to be experienced, not analyzed. The giddy excitement and self-devouring pain that werethe two sides of love were not things that could be frozen anddissected with a psychological scalpel.

She loved Janell because she could not help but love her,because being with Janell was the most uplifting state of beingWyrena had known. Such a feeling could not have its genesisin anything except the complementary perfection of the otherand the rightness of sharing life with them.

But now Sujata insisted on offering reasons for things thatcould have no reason except beyond their inarguable reality,taking something that was seamless and beautiful and tearingit apart with cold and calculating analysis.

Her life in the Ga'ar enclave had been full of rules and reasons—do this to make yourself useful, do this to makeyourself desirable—and the result was a life of artifice andcounterfeit emotion. Now Janell was as much as saying thatwhat they had shared was equally counterfeit, equally taintedby matters far removed from the simple equation of two heartsin synchrony.

Just tell me what you want, she thought anxiously, not why you think you want it. It's enough to know that there is something I can do for you. To be asked is reason enough.

But as Sujata went on, Wyrena learned to her distress thatshe could not reach and heal the hurt Sujata had inside her,because Sujata wanted things that Wyrena could not give her.There was a rival for Sujata's time and perhaps for her affections as well—a rival whose appeal Wyrena found inexplicable.

"I want to be able to spend two or three months out of theyear on Earth, wandering here and there," Sujata protested."But how can I do that as Chancellor? Look at Chancellor Erickson. After eight years her life consisted of office and Committee and home, one tightly circumscribed circle. Thejob nearly consumed her."

By the end of an hour, Wyrena saw clearly the direction inwhich Sujata was moving. She also knew by then that she hada better reason to try to turn Sujata than any Wells had provided. But Sujata had offered no opportunity for Wyrena toinfluence the decision, and Wyrena had found no ways to create one. Sujata was telling, not asking—talking, not listening—as she moved inexorably toward the cusp.

For that reason Wyrena viewed the unexpected sound of thedoor page as a welcome interruption. Without waiting for Sujata's approval, Wyrena bounded from her chair to answer it.

The man Wyrena saw in the monitor displayed the dandyish affectations she had come to associate with Terran highfashion: tightly curled hair hung girlishly at shoulder length, a lacy jabot setting off the visitor's blue silk blouse. Despitehaving been chided by Sujata for her ethnocentricity, Wyrenastill felt a reflexive flash of scorn on seeing such a spectacle.Misbehaving Ba'ar Tell boys were sometimes dressed in theirsisters' clothing for punishment; why a man would choose todress himself that way, she could not discern.

But this once, her gratitude for the interruption suppressedthat judgmental impulse. "Greetings of the house," Wyrena said buoyantly.

"And to you. Would you be so kind as to tell Comite Sujatathat the Terran Observer would like to see her?" the visitor said, beaming unctuously at the camera.

By that time, Sujata had followed Wyrena as far as the endof the entryway. "Let him in," she said, and turned away.

Berberon bobbed his head in salute as the door opened."You must be Wyrena Ten Ga'ar, the Director's new aide," hesaid politely. "I am Felithe Berberon, Terran Observer to the Committee."

"In here, Felithe," Sujata called from the other room.

Answering Berberon's bow of the head with a welcomingsmile, Wyrena let him past, then followed him into the greatroom. They found Sujata seated where Wyrena had left her afew moments earlier.

"Good evening, Director," Berberon said. "I hopehaven't disturbed you—"

"No."

"I thought you might grant me a few minutes to speak privately with you."

"About what?" Berberon glanced sideways at Wyrena, raising an eyebrowquestioningly. "If it's the Chancellery, she knows," Sujata said. "We'vebeen talking about it."

Nodding, Berberon edged toward a seat. "Then, of course,she should stay. I was given to understand you are havingsome difficulty deciding what to do. I thought I might be ableto help."

"How?"

"By providing you with information you are not likely tohave received elsewhere." "She doesn't want to take the post," Wyrena said.His eyes betraying his alarm, Berberon looked to Wyrena

questioningly, as though wondering whether she were ally orenemy. Then he turned back to Sujata. "Am I too late, then?"Berberon asked. "Have you already decided?"

"No," Sujata said. "Not entirely. But Wyrena is right. I don't want the post."

"But you may take it nonetheless?"

"AH I can say is that I haven't decided not to," Sujata said.

"I will take that as a positive sign," Berberon said with ahopeful smile.

Sujata did not answer the smile. "So what does the World Council have to say on the subject of Chancellor Erickson'ssuccessor?"

"I am not here representing the Council," Berberon admitted.

"Oh? Then who sent you here? Wells? Or Erickson?"

"Neither. Though I, too, want to see you take the post, I doso for separate and personal reasons.""Do you plan to offer as selective a version of the truth asthey did?" "No. I will be honest with you—perhaps uncomfortablyso." "Then please sit down," Sujata said. "I would welcome some honesty."

Relieved, Wyrena waited until Berberon had selected a chair, then settled herself behind and to the right of him, outof the range of his peripheral vision. It was the traditionalplace for a Ba'ar woman at a talk circle, but more than habitdictated her choice. Had Wyrena made herself part of the circle, Berberon would have been obliged to divide his attention between Sujata and herself. This way he could focus his attention on Sujata exclusively.

"You can begin by explaining why Chancellor Erickson isresigning," Sujata said, drawing her legs up and tucking herknees under her chin.

"It's really quite simple. Blythe doesn't think she can beatWells on Triad."

Sujata shook her head. "But why resign? Shouldn't she goout fighting, making as much noise as possible? Shouldn't sheforce him to use a recall vote and not just quietly absent herself?"

Berberon smiled. "Is there such a thing as gambling on Maranit?" "No—but I've come across it enough times since leaving there. Why?"

"I once watched a gambler facing bankruptcy bet his lastdozen chips on a weak hand. Later I asked him why he'd donethat, when he could have held on for several more hands hoping for something better. He said that if you're playing to win,and not just to postpone leaving the table, sometimes you haveto take a chance before the chips are gone. That's what Blytheis doing. Having you made Chancellor is the best she thinksshe can get."

"But she's the Chancellor. She's Director Wells's superior.He has to take her orders." Berberon shook his head. "Wells is different. He has leverage of his own."

"Why?"

"Because Wells is a member of the Nines."

Sujata frowned. "I have encountered the term several times since I arrived here, but I don't really understand what it refers to—or why it matters."

"How to describe them?" Berberon said with a sigh. "TheNines are part philosophical clique, part political party, partactivist cadre. They are the champions of the individual in thisgeneration. They believe that competition is the ideal way toallocate wealth and power in society."

"I don't remember hearing of them when I was here before, as a tutelate. Or, for that matter, at M-Center or Ba'ar Tell."

"Perfectly understandable. They were founded here forty-odd years ago and have little or no presence elsewhere. They are uniquely Terran, though there are some parallels betweentheir beliefs and the self-reliance code of the Rena-Kiri."

"What does the name refer to?"

'To their conceit. To the rank they have given themselves.They consider themselves the elite, the intellectually gifted,the morally superior."

"You disagree, it seems."

"Yes. Before I offer further opinions of the Nines, youshould know that my antipathy toward them is personal andlong-standing. I was recruited by them thirty years ago.Though I take no pride in saying so, I qualified easily. But Iwas horrified by what they advocate."

"Why? What do they want?"

Berberon sighed again. "Their complaint is that they arebeing held back from reaching their ultimate levels of achievement by a social order biased against excellence."

"And is it?"

He shrugged. "Any society that tries to protect its weakermembers must set some limits on the power of its strongermembers. The Council has worked hard to still the competitive element in our nature and to blunt and channel it where it cannot be stilled. It's not easily done. You may have difficultyunderstanding this, coming from Maranit."

"What do you mean?"

Berberon pursed his lips. "What fraction of the membership of the Nines would you guess is male?"

"Why, I don't know. Wouldn't it reflect the sex ratio onEarth—fifty percent or something near it?"

Berberon shook his head. "Our best guess is that at leasteighty percent of the Nines are male. The Nines aren't overtlysexist, mind you—the numbers reflect the sexual bias in whatthey have to offer."

"Explain."

"I hope to," he said, settling back in his chair. "You see, atleast in our post-Founding culture, male competitiveness islinked to the programming for sexual selection. Achievementtranslates into opportunity for reproduction. Look at Wells andhis little harem—he's a perfect example of what I mean. Ifyou look into what we know of our history, you'll see that it's always been that way. Wealth and power, achievement of virtually any variety, have been the green light to mating."

"If that's programmed into human males genetically, what explanation do you offer for Maranit? All positions of authority are held by high women, and the men accept this and always have."

"Just so—because you have found different ways of satisfying the unique biological imperatives of the sexes." "I do not know what you mean by 'unique biological imperatives.' "

A frown flickered across Berberon's face. "Simply that interms of their sexual strategies, men and women are verynearly two different species."

"Curious. Is this your opinion, or do Terrans consider this a fact?" "It's a basic principle of sociobiology," Berberon said witha hint of defensiveness. "May I speak personally?"

"Go ahead."

"Since sperm are plentiful and represent a trivial investment, the fundamental male strategy is to mate as widely aspossible—a strategy that puts every male in direct competition with every other male, since every female is a potentialmate."

Wyrena found Sujata's expression cautionary. "And whatare the women thought to be doing while the men are fightingover them?" Sujata asked.

"Following their own strategy. The female investment inreproduction is much greater than the male's, which means that the female strategy must necessarily be different. First, tobe selective. And second, to see that her issue is well providedfor. There are many exceptions to this, of course—nurture hasits say as well. But this is the underlying pattern laid down bynature."

"According to Terran science."

"According to Nature herself. You can see it in hundreds ofspecies and thousands of human cultures." "Not on Maranit. Our pattern is completely different.""But do you understand why you are different?" Berberon

demanded. "Because Maranit women have had control of their own fertility for thousands of years. Because you've nevertried to make your males responsible for supporting the youngyou choose to bear. And because you let your men mate freelywith the female underclass. Don't you see? Maranit culture isas completely entangled with the sexes' biological programsas ours. But your version escapes the destructive male competitiveness that has always maired ours."

"Maranit is hardly without conflict and competition."

"But you high women reserve that to yourselves. Your competition springs from a more benign instinct. You competeto find better ways to preserve and provide. It's a strugglewhere even the losers win. Earth and Maranit represent opposite swings of the pendulum—one, ours, in which male, sex-based competitiveness and the behaviors that result from it areat their peak, and one, yours, in which they are mercifullyalmost nonexistent."

Wyrena sensed growing resistance in Sujata. "Even if yourspeculations are correct, what has any of this to do with thequestion of my becoming Chancellor?"

"Everything, if you heed its import—not.ling if you do not," Berberon said somberly. "Perhaps you know that shortlybefore the reunion we were on the verge of doing to ourselveswhat we so hate the Mizari for doing—destroying human lifeon a global scale. It sounds like madness and it was. The madness is part of us.

"That time the fission blanket saved us from ourselves. But we're back to shouting across the glade again, making the apethreat-display to the Mizari—except with our latest technology of death instead of upraised arms and snarls. The sorrytruth is that the behaviors that come with the male sexual strategy translate poorly to a culture that can build fusion bombs and DE weapons."

Sujata was shaking her head, arms crossed over her chest."This is all very difficult for me to credit. And even if what you say is true, where is the mind? Surely we've learnedsomething in all this time."

"The biological program can be overridden, but it can never be banished or forgotten. It's always running, alwayspushing, always testing," Berberon said grimly. "And the wonderful human rationality that can check a primal impulseis just as good at constructing justifications for following itinstead."

Sujata held up her hands, palms out. "We've expended alot of time on this, and I don't see the relevance, even if I accepted the premises. I'd like to move on to other things."

For the first time Berberon showed impatience. "You don'thave to accept what I say about ethnology. Look into it yourself when you have the opportunity and draw your own conclusions. But what matters to me is that, for whatever reason, you Maranit have learned how to live without war. I do not know whether the lessons you have learned are transferable ornot. I only know that of all the worlds, yours is the only oneof which it can be said, and you are the only member of theCommittee that comes from such a heritage."

"Surely that's more of a liability than an asset? I'm the least prepared to evaluate what Wells says he must have ormust do," Sujata said. "These kinds of questions are completely alien to my experience. Why do you think I had somuch difficulty making a decision on Triad? If I were Chancellor, I would be completely dependent on Wells. You mightas well have him as Chancellor."

"You feel inadequate to pass on questions of military strategy?"

"Yes—"

"Then you have embraced the fiction that military decisions require more than ordinary clear thinking and goodjudgment," Berberon said, rising out of his chair and gesturingdramatically with one hand. "What does it matter if you can'tcite the Thirteen Principles of Sun Tzu or the elements of Delbruck's Strategy of Exhaustion? Janell, our bloody historyhas given us many lessons in how to win. But a soldier knowsno more than you do on the subject of when to fight."

"Somehow I doubt that Wells would agree with you."

Berberon settled back into his chair. "I think perhaps hewould. Certainly Carl von Clausewitz would have. Clausewitzis one of those names you feel so crippled by not knowing—he is regarded as the father of modern strategic thought. 'Warhas its own grammer,' Clausewitz said, 'but not its own logic.' That's from his classic treatise, On War. I believe you'd find Wells has a copy of the original German edition inhis library."

For the first time Wyrena felt as though Berberon hadscored heavily with Sujata. Confirmation of sorts came withher response.

"So perhaps I'm not disadvantaged," Sujata said slowly. "There's still Wells and the Nines. How am I to be any moreeffective against them than Erickson was?"

Berberon sat forward. "Let's consider why Erickson hadtrouble. You must begin with the understanding that the Ninesare not a monolithic organization—they hardly could be, considering their basic beliefs. And they never could be a massmovement, filling the streets with their supporters. Nevertheless the World Council fears them."

"Because they disagree on public policy?"

"No. Because one of their goals is to eliminate the Council, and it never pays to ignore or underestimate a self-declared enemy."

"Why would they want to remove the Council? Wouldn't a simpler goal be to control it?"

"Except that the Council itself can close off that avenuethrough die appointment process. There are also philosophicalobjections. They consider the Council to be false to its origin,which was the meritocratic Pangaean Consortium ruled by asingle strong leader. The Nines despise government by committee and consensus. Given a chance, they would replace theCouncil with their version of Plato's philosopher-king and reinstitute what they euphemistically call an 'opportunity society.'"

"Presumably the Council has some strategy for preventingthis from happening." "Yes. By turning their attention elsewhere while we workto break the back of this destructive pattern of socialization."Light dawned in Sujata's eyes. "By turning their attention to the Mizari—"

Wells nodded. "There is only one thing that goads theNines even more than living under the rule of the Council. Asegocentric and individualistic as they are, they are also fiercely proud of their humanity. And because they are proud, theyare also protective. They have become the most vocal advocates on Earth of a strong military posture."

"Which at this moment is symbolized by Triad."

"Yes. And as long as the Council assists them in this area,they are unwilling to risk the initial chaos that even the mostpeaceful revolution must bring. They will tolerate us as longas our policy in this area is 'right.'"

"So this is why you've been Wells's ally on the Committee."

"Yes. The Council has actively cultivated the Nines's xenophobia. In a real sense they created Wells. Unfortunatelythey built too well. The fear has begun to feed back on itscreators."

"You didn't expect Wells to become this powerful."

"No," Berberon said, shaking his head. "Certainly not thisquickly. Though it's not that he himself is so powerful. It'sthat our fear, which he understands and uses perfectly, hasmade us weak. The strength of the Nines is in ideas, symbols that have the capacity to reach beyond their own membershipand change the way people act. And the most powerful ofthose symbols—about loyalty and strength and victory—reach right past the mind to the emotions."

"So how do I control him?"

Wyrena had not understood everything that Berberon hadsaid—parts of it had been so foreign to her view of life as tobe incomprehensible, and other parts simply had been outsidethe scope of her education. But she knew what Wells wanted.She understood clearly enough that if Sujata became Chancellor, she would need Wyrena all the more. And she knew that,with Sujata vacillating at last, it was time to throw her weighton the scale.

"By giving him what he wants," Wyrena said, loudlyenough to assure that she would not be ignored. Sujata andBerberon both started, confirming Wyrena's suspicion thatthat they had forgotten her presence. Berberon twisted aroundin his seat, his eyes offering gratitude for her allegiance.

"What did you say?" Sujata asked.

"Give Comite Wells what he wants," she repeated, emboldened. "Let him build Triad. There is more to the Service than Defense, and more to fighting a war than simply buildingthe weapons. Give Comite Wells his head on this and managethe rest as best you can."

"The rest—"

"Yes. Make the Chancellery strong and the Service flourish. Invest yourself with the kind of authority Comite Wellswill respect. He's vulnerable to the same kind of appeal hemakes to others, because he believes. You could do it, Janell. I can help. Women of Ba'ar Tell know things about powertoo."

"Your friend is right," Berberon said, turning back to Sujata. "The only course left is to give Wells what he wants. Thenew Chancellor will have to give him Triad. The Committeehas made that clear."

"How can that be called 'controlling' him?"

"Wells is influential now. But it will take years to build theTriad force," Wyrena said. "Fear fades. Sometime in that spana chance will come to turn him."

"There is always that hope," Berberon said. "As well asthe hope that we will discover that the Mizari are extinct." "But what a waste—of time, of material, of labor—"

"We can afford to let Wells build Triad, and the weaponsystem after that, and the one after that," Berberon continued."What we can't afford is to let him start a war."

"That's a very thin line to draw."

"Yes. Appeasement is always a dangerous game to play.But as I said, we are out of options. That's why I want you asChancellor. The final authority is in this office, not his. And you are the only one I have any confidence will say no whenhe comes asking."

"You expect me to hold the office a long time, then. AsWyrena has pointed out, it will be a decade or more beforeTriad will be ready."

Berberon nodded. "I would hope your tenure is one daylonger than Wells's."

"And if I don't become Chancellor?"

"Then Wells will soon have not only Triad but also theauthority to use it, a prospect that frightens me more than Ican say."

For a moment Sujata said nothing. "And if it's the Mizariand not the Nines we should be worrying about?" she askedfinally. "What if the right answer turns out to be yes?"

Berberon grimaced. "The right answer will never be yes.The concept of war only applies between relative equals. Noone calls it war when you pour boiling water on an anthill.The Mizari were unimaginably more powerful than us sixtythousand years ago. If they still exist, it would be a miracle ifthe gap were not even wider now. Don't waste time worryingabout the Mizari coming looking for us, because there'd benothing to do but lay down and die if they did. Worry about usgetting cocky and going out looking for them."

Sujata rested her chin on her folded hands and stared at thecenter of the floor. For long seconds no one said anything.Wyrena caught a glance and a nervous smile from Berberon.

"All right," Sujata said at last. "I'll take the post.""Thank you," Berberon said, rising. "I wish I could promise you won't regret it—"

"I would never expect such a promise," Sujata said. "Myeyes are open. But I have some conditions of my own. Thefirst is that you get Erickson to wait a week. I want to godownwell, by myself, for a few days before the change takesplace."

"I understand," he said, bowing his head politely.

"The second is that you commit yourself to staying in theTerran Observer's Office as long as you expect me to stay inthe Chancellor's suite. I know that to some degree that's up tothe World Council. But as long as they'll have you, you'ddamn well better stay. You share the responsibility for creatingthis crisis. You should share the responsibility for trying toshape this stalemate that you think will be a solution."

Berberon nodded his acquiescence. "As you note, I am notmy own master. But I promise you that as long as I am able, Iwill be here, and I will help you however I can." Bowing toWyrena, he began backing toward the door.

"Observer Berberon—that gambler," Sujata called afterhim. "What happened?" Berberon smiled somberly. "Not that it matters, but he lostto a stronger hand."

From the moment he had first been informed of its terms, Berberon had been aware of a disturbing window of vulnerability in Erickson's pact with Wells. Under the Committee'sprocedures Erickson would have to forgo her post first, making her irrevocable concession before Wells was obliged toanswer in kind. There was at least a possibility that Wellswould renege, offering Loughridge or even himself for the vacancy.

Erickson did not share Berberon's fear. She was confident that Wells was not only properly chary of the fight she hadpromised and the threat from Tanvier's quarter, but essentiallyhonorable. Wells was to second Erickson's nomination of Sujata; the vote would be a formality.

Berberon would have welcomed an infusion of the same confidence. But the moment Erickson announced her resignation to a mostly startled Committee, Berberon's stomach began to churn. As he led the Observers from the room andthe chamber doors closed behind them so that the Elections Committee could begin its work in secrecy, his anxiety soared.His rubbery legs carried him barely a dozen steps down thecorridor, at which point he collapsed onto the benchlike sill ofa hexagonal window overlooking the Center's main atrium.

His presence drew the others to that part of the corridor.Berberon was surprised to see how thoroughly the knowledgeof what was to happen had been contained. Like Loughridgeand Vandekar, whose incredulous faces had betrayed them asthe two directors who had not been apprised in advance, all of the Observers except Berberon, himself, were stunned byErickson's resignation. They had filed out in silence, lookingwonderingly at each other and back into the arena, their stepsas uncertain and tentative as those of a child testing thin ice.

Now they were finding their voices—though, too proud toadmit they had been caught by surprise, they had little morethan idle chatter to offer.

"I'm not surprised," Prince Denzell declared, though hehad no audience. "She should have been removed years ago.She was clearly unfit to be Chancellor."

"Odd—I seem to recall you allying yourself with the Chancellor just a couple of weeks ago," Ambassador Ka'insaid quietly.

"Even die incompetent must sometimes be right, by chancealone," was Denzell's stiff-necked reply. Allianora came and shared the sill with Berberon. "How will we know when they're done?"

"There'll be a recall page," Berberon said in a shaky voice.

"It's all right to leave, then?" Hollis asked. "They don'texpect us to wait here?""No," Berberon said. "Good," Hollis said gruffly, and stomped off toward the

lifts.

Allianora looked around her uncertainly, then started to riseas if to leave. Berberon checked her movement with a hand on her forearm. "This will either be short or very long," he said."We may as well wait a bit."

It was barely ten minutes, but it seemed to Berberon to bean hour. Heads turned as the chamber doors opened, and Berberon and Allianora rose from their seats expectantly. A moment later Erickson emerged, her back straight and head high,her expression dignified and controlled. Without as much as aglance in their direction she walked off down the curving corridor in the opposite direction, away from the executive offices and toward the residential block.

Knowing what it was she was walking away from, Berberon found Erickson's retreating figure a poignant, forlornsight. He felt a strong urge to follow, but resisted. It wasunlikely she would welcome company just now, and his needto know that all had proceeded according to plan was even stronger.

The recall page came as they were already moving backtoward the open doors of the chamber. As they filed back in and took their seats on the upper level, they saw that the remaining members of the Committee were in their customaryplaces, with the Chancellor's alcove empty. Sujata sat withhead lowered as though in a private world. Among the othersthere was much intent examination of hands and nails; interspersed with many furtive, curious glances. No one spokeuntil a breathless Hollis rejoined them a few minutes later.

"What's happened?" he demanded from the doorway."Nothing. And nothing will until you come log in," Berberon answered with faint impatience. Moments after Hollis settled in his alcove the status lighton the recorder pylon changed from amber to green.

"By a vote of the Elections Committee," the machine intoned, "the nomination of Janell Sujata as Chancellor of theUnified Space Service is confirmed."

Berberon started the applause, which had a curious quality.As small as the group was, it was possible to distinguish varying degrees of enthusiasm, including the merely polite. Denzell did not join in at all.

Recalled from her introspective reverie, Sujata climbed outof her alcove and made the long walk around the periphery ofthe room. When she had settled in the seat so recently occupied by Erickson, she looked slowly around the room beforespeaking, making eye contact with each Observer and Director in turn.

"To those who supported my nomination, thank you," shesaid. "To those of you who did not, I ask only that you willgive me a fair opportunity to prove you wrong."

Berberon was encouraged. Whether she truly felt that way or not, Sujata was projecting surprising calm and self-assurance. I think she's going to be all right—

"I won't keep you here very much longer today, thoughyou can count on seeing me often from now on. But there aretwo things that deserve some attention. The first is the vacancy on the Committee. I'll begin conducting interviews immediately. If you have any candidates you would like to recommend, please forward their names to me promptly.

"The second item is Triad. Director Wells?"

"Yes?"

"The Defense Branch's current proposal for a force of fiveTriad attack groups is not acceptable. I would like to see arevised budget and procurement schedule for a three-group force at our next meeting. Also, I find the description of yourproposed operational communications, command, and controlfor Triad inadequate. Please submit a revised specification thatprovides more detail and clearly reflects the final authority ofthe Chancellor's office."

"Certainly, Chancellor Sujata," Wells said with a little bowof his head. "That's all, then," Sujata said. "I'll be seeing each of youindividually, and I'll see all of you back here next Tuesday."

She rose, and others with her, beginning the exodus.

"No!" Denzell shouted, his face twisted by fury and contempt. "Wells! How can you allow this? She is worse than thelast one! Not just a woman but a Maranite—her woman-organs ripped from her—bedding her aide without shame. What kind of person is this to lead us? Someone who has committed reproductive suicide. What does her kind care about the future?"

Though the appeal was to Wells, he merely crossed hisarms on his chest and regarded Denzell quizzically. All othereyes went to Sujata. Above and beyond the unprecedentedbreach of etiquette, Denzell's histrionics were the first overtchallenge to the new doyenne, and everyone froze in place asthey waited to see what she would do.

Her gaze locked on the breast-beating Liamese, Sujata allowed him to rant on for a few more sentences. Then she pounced on his first hesitation for breath, saying lightly, "We all must make allowances, Aramir. I trust you will forgive memy cultural baggage, just as I will not hold you responsiblefor the ritual lobotomy you obviously endured."

The tension was broken by laughter, led by Berberon's distinctive chortle and Loughridge's basso guffaw. Even Wells'sface was split by an ear-to-ear grin. Seeing the last, Denzellstormed off, purpling and sputtering to himself.

A repartee worthy even of me, Berberon thought with satisfaction. She's going to do just fine. Yes, she's going to do just fine.

Farlad found Wells in the star dome, lying on a reclinernear the center of the room and staring out at the stars of UrsaMajor. The moon, at first quarter, was just moving into thefield of view, its brilliance overpowering the star field aroundit and lending a death-white cast to the interior of the dome.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" Wells said as Farlad approached.

"I thought you would want to know. We just got confirmation in the office of Chancellor Sujata's request for proposal.It's official. You've won."

"This is just the beginning," Wells said in a faraway voice."I've been playing chess simultaneously with two opponents.Now the weaker has been eliminated. Now there is only oneto concern myself with."

"Yes, sir."

"I've been lying here thinking about Thackery. A greatman, Teo. A great man despite his flaws. But he left the jobhalf finished. No fault of his, mind you—there was no opportunity to do more. We have that opportunity," Wells said."Teo, you, and I are going to live to see this stalemate broken."

"Sir?"

Wells sat up and swung his legs over the side of the recliner. "Rashuri gave us the Reunion—Thackery the Revision. But only when there has been a Reckoning will whatthey started be complete."

Farlad's frown was barely detectable in the moonlight. "It'sdifficult for me to see that happening in our lifetime, sir."

"There are ways to cheat time, Teo. I began this expecting to finish it."

"You've accomplished a great deal just seeing Triad through to this point."

Wells shook his head slowly. "There's a great deal left tobe done between now and when the Triad groups are ready. Agreat deal left to be done before we're ready to face the Mizari."

"Perhaps that won't be necessary, sir."

Wells stood, and the moonlight made his features and tall,lean frame seem sculpted of gray stone rather than flesh. "If we find them, we will have to fight them," he said firmly. "And we will find them."

II.

A. R. 660:
THE HUNT

"II faut, dans le gouvernement, des bergers el des bouchers."

—Voltaire

chapter 10

Eyes Bright
With Purpose

"I go amongst the buildings of a city and I
see a Man hunying along—to what? The
Creature hath a purpose, and its eyes are
bright with it."

—John Keats

"I want to thank you for taking the time to come over," Harmack Wells said to the woman keeping pace at his side.

"No trouble, Director. It's my job to deal with this sort ofthing when the Chancellor is off-station," Wyrena Ten Ga'arreplied.

She had come to Unity as little more than a girl, but hadgrown enough in spirit that "woman" fit her more comfortably now. Six years of responsibility, responsibility that had expanded almost faster than she had been prepared for, hadworked a change on her. The pattern and habits of her Ba'arheritage were too deeply engrained to be erased, but they hadbeen softened by a new confidence and self-assurance.

Still, sometimes new faces or places brought back an echoof how she had felt when she first arrived: insecure, intimidated, painfully deferential. And there was one old face whocould do that to her still—Harmack Wells.

They were walking down a corridor deep in the bowels ofUSS-Central, in a section rarely seen by outsiders. The decorconsequently lacked the plush and polish accorded the publicareas. The walls were covered in a calming, but bland, lightblue impervacoat, and the uncarpeted composite floor bore the scars and black streaks that were the telltale signs of vehiculartraffic.

Ahead, the corridor divided. "This way," Wells said as theyneared it, catching Ten Ga'ar's elbow and steering her towprdthe left branch. "Just a little farther to the lab."

"Thanks. You'd think I'd know this whole station by now,"Ten Ga'ar said. "The Chancellor never gets lost. I still do. If you left me down here, I'd be a week finding my way back."

"This is tech country," Wells said. "Nobody ever comesdown here except the whitecoats."

A few paces ahead on the right, a door opened and a low-slung cargo trolley trundled out and began to make a wide turntoward them. Sensing their presence, it paused until they werepast, then continued on its way with a faint whirring sound.

"You could always hitch a ride with one of those," Wellssaid, smiling and jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "Here'sthe lab," he added, angling toward the next door.

The sign beside the door read, SYNTHETIC MODELING APPLICATIONS LABORATORY.

"I wouldn't have asked you to come down here, except thatthis is the only full-scale holo simulator in a secured area,"Wells said, waiting for her to catch up. When she did, he stood aside and allowed her to enter first.

Beyond the door was a modestly sized and relatively uncluttered room. A single two-seat console faced a largesynglas window, and three low equipment racks stood alongone wall. The sole tech seated at the console wore gray coveralls and a black-and-red shoulder emblem Ten Ga'ar did not recognize. He came to his feet as they entered.

"Everything is ready, Director," the tech said, saluting.

'Thank you, Joel," Wells said. "We'll go right'on down."

Wells led the way through another door and down a narrowpassage on a steeply sloping ramp lit only by small lamps atknee height. After a dozen or so steps Ten Ga'ar found herselfin a large, dimly lit chamber, which was spherical except forthe small, level area in the middle of the floor where she and Wells were standing. Looking up, she saw the synglas windowof the control room halfway up the wall to her right.

"Voice cue, please, Joel," Wells said.

"Yes, Director," was the disembodied reply. A momentlater the window dimmed to black, and the chamber grew even darker.

Wells turned to face Ten Ga'ar. "What I wanted to talk to the Chancellor about—and will still need to, probably—concerns the Kleine communications system. Maybe it's just aswell that I have you to practice on, because of the complexityof the problem."

"If the problem is anything other than procurement or security, I'm afraid you're doomed to lose me," Ten Ga'ar saidwith a wry smile.

"I'm afraid the problem is technical. But I don't intend tooffer a technical explanation," Wells said. "I'm as likely asanyone to defer that sort of thing to an expert. I just want tosee if I can give you a useful handle on the situation."

"We can try, anyway," Ten Ga'ar said agreeably.

"For the sake of our sanity we'll keep this two-dimensional," Wells said. "You know that the Kleine is used throughout the Service as the primary long-range communications system. The only such system, really, if you're talking about any distance farther than a few cee-seconds."

"All the ships still carry wideband EM transmitters, don'tthey?"

"And narrowband laser relays, too, but about the only timethey're even used is in-system or when a ship's disabled. TheKleine is used everywhere, all the time. How much do youknow about how it works?"

"Enough to sit down at a com node and send a messagesomewhere—nothing more than that."Wells nodded. "Then we'll start from the beginning. I'llinvite you to think of an infinitely large billiard table—"

As he spoke, a fine grid of intersecting green lines appeared, just overhead and parallel to the floor. Some trick ofreflection made it seem as though the phantom bisected thechamber and continued infinitely outward.

"This represents the boundary between the matter-matrix ofthe Universe, down here where we are, and the energy-matrixof the spindle, up there above us. The boundary—that is, thetable—isn't completely planar," Wells continued. "Here andthere you find a conical depression—"

Several dozen such depressions, each with a smoothlysloping symmetrical shape reminiscent of the bell of a brassinstrument, appeared in the construct.

"—almost like pockets out in the middle of the table. Atthe bottom of every pocket is an AVLO generator—either a ship drive or a station power unit like we have here." A number of the depressions, apparently representing ships inflight, started to crawl slowly across the mesh field. Wells continued, "Sending a Kleine transmission is like shooting abilliard ball up out of one of the pockets with exactly the rightforce and velocity so it crosses the table and drops into thepocket where the intended receiver is located."

All across the grid, bright orange spheres began arcing upout of the various depressions, "rolling" across the mesh surface, and then plunging back down into a neighboring depression.

There was something elegant and graceful in their motions,but Ten Ga'ar forced herself to attend to the point of the illustration. "A receiver-addressable system," Ten Ga'ar said.

"Exactly."

"And the problem is?"

"That it's becoming harder and harder to get the messageswhere they're aimed."Ten Ga'ar's face creased with concern. "Why is it happening?"

"In objective terms, we don't know. The problem is on thespindle, where we have no way of making direct observations.By analogy, though, it's as though the surface of our billiardtable were gradually getting rougher—wrinkling, developingtiny tears, warping."

It was clear by now that the simulator was closely attending to Wells's words, for as he continued to explain, each newaspect of the problem was played out on the construct overhead. Ten Ga'ar watched, fascinated, as the grid began todistort, sending the orange spheres careening unpredictably.

"No one understands why it's happening—whether thefour hundred years we've been using the Kleine has, in effect,worn down the table; or if it's a matter of too many pockets inthe table, so that the farther the message is going, the morelikely it'll be deflected; or even a matter of too many balls onthe table, so they keep colliding.

"Kleine messages aren't billiard balls, of course—they'repackets of energy, and the analogy breaks down at that point.Getting a message to its destination isn't an all-or-nothingproposition—what happens is that the energy becomes diffused and the information content is degraded."

"Is there anything you can do?"

"On its own, Operations instituted error-checking protocolson all communications about ten years ago. Of course, theerror-checking procedures themselves can be affected by theinterference, so that at times the data may come through cleanbut end up needing to be retransmitted because the checksumitself got hit. And all the error-checking and retransmissionrepresent overhead that slows down the rate of data exchange—the more so, the worse the interference gets and the morecomplex the data-integrity precautions become."

"Did you say the interference is getting worse?"

"Yes. Right now we're managing, but the rate of deterioration has us concerned," Wells said. "Concerned enough thatwe've restricted Kleine traffic in the Lynx and Bootes Octantsand done everything we can to hold down the number of shipsoperating there."

"Has that helped?"

"Not appreciably. End simulation," he said, and the gridvanished. "I don't need to tell you how important reliable Kleine communications are to everything we're doing," he continued, leading her back up the passage to the control center. "If data from the Sentinels on the Perimeter can't reach us, we're as good as blind—with no way to know what'sgoing on out there and no warning if what's going on isn't toour liking. And, of course, it would be impossible to coordinate any sort of response if we can't reach all the elements ofour forces swiftly and reliably. Thanks, Joel," he added with anod to the tech as they left the lab.

Ten Ga'ar did not need to be persuaded that the situation was serious. There were implications that went far beyondmilitary readiness. Except for the Kleine, the Worlds and theships that served them were all isolates in time. The Kleinebound them together.

Only the Kleine gave the concept of "now" more than alocal, parochial meaning. Without it, the Affirmation couldnot exist. No number of ships could replace it. By ship,Journa was ten years away, Ba'ar Tell a quarter-century. Neither commerce nor a sense of community could survive theloss of the Kleine.

"You said that Operations knew about this for ten years,and you've apparently known about it for at least a while,"Ten Ga'ar said, falling in beside him as they headed back theway they had come. "Why are we only hearing about it from you now? Why did you wait this long to alert us to the problem?"

"A fair question. I feel a bit uncomfortable defending our silence. I guess part of the answer to that is that it wasn't aproblem at the outset, just an operational nuisance, the kind oftechnological idiosyncrasy that every complex system displays," Wells said. "Another part is that we had no reason notto think the interference wouldn't plateau at some manageablelevel."

They reached the lift nexus, and Wells used his priority keyto call a car. "So what do we do now that there is a problem?" Ten Ga'arasked as the lift doors opened to admit them.There were two others on the lift already, and Wells shookhis head. "Later."

"We can go to my office," Ten Ga'ar said.

"Mine is closer," Wells said, in a manner that ended discussion.

They rode in silence, Wells studying the lift status displayand Ten Ga'ar studying him. Wells no longer terrified her, butshe still respected his power. / should have insisted on myoffice, she thought in self-reproach. It was a constant strugglenot to simply surrender on some level to his aura of command.Still, she thought, I think I'm handling myself pretty well on this one. '

Looking away from Wells, Ten Ga'ar became aware thatthe other riders were eyeing Wells and her curiously, withquestioning glances and barely concealed sniggering smiles.When they left the lift four levels up, she laughed. "You don'tthink they thought—hearing only what they did—"

"I certainly hope so," Wells said with a straight face. "My reputation can use the boost."

Ten Ga'ar said nothing, but Wells's jest started her thinking. In all the time she had known him Wells had lived alone,but clearly by choice rather than by necessity. With his burning eyes, trim physique, and quiet authority, Wells projected a message to which many women responded strongly. Ten Ga'arherself felt it, and she had heard more than a few others on the staff admit to the same reaction.

Wells had taken advantage of that attraction to enjoy aseries—and, at times, a multiplicity—of casual matings. Inthe language of her homeworld, he was ga'fla—one who beds, but does not wed. Ten Ga'ar counted among her friendstwo women who had been on his string and one who hopedshe still was, and knew that their commitment to and hopesfor the relationship had always been greater than Wells's.

Even knowing Wells's reputation, each had been convincedthat she could offer him something unique, something thatwould make her his chosen. Though Ten Ga'ar was politeenough not to force them to face it, the reality was that allWells wanted from them was what any woman could give him. He consciously and consistently chose not to involve himself on any other level.

But for perhaps as long as half a year, Wells had apparentlybeen pulling back from even that minimal involvement. TenGa'ar became aware of it when Kilaoqe came to her, distraught that Wells had stopped asking for her and wondering ifWyrena knew who had stolen his attentions. After harvestingwhat they could from the grapevine and finding others wondering the same, they concluded it was someone Wells wasseeing during his periodic brief visits downwell.

Wells's small, self-conscious jest opened the door to anentirely different view of the matter. Consciously and deliberately, Wells had allowed his intimate relationships to quietlyexpire, like so many neglected houseplants. Ten Ga'ar had anidea how long ago he had made that decision. What still wasn't clear was why.

Before Ten Ga'ar's silence became conspicuous, the liftdisgorged them on Level 1. Corridor traffic prevented themfrom resuming their conversation until they reached Wells'soffice five minutes later.

"You were asking about what we do now," Wells said asthey settled in facing chairs. "The only long-term fix that anyof our people can envision is building a system of automatedrelay stations. The interference increases with distance, so theplan would be to lay out trunk lines, with active repeatersevery ten cees or so grabbing every message, cleaning it up asnecessary, and firing it along to the next. We're also looking atinstituting communications controls at the same time."

"The independent shipowners aren't going to like that," Ten Ga'ar observed. "They're unhappy enough having to submit to Service traffic control. If you start telling them theyhave to channel all their transmissions through us as well,they'll be in the Chancellor's office crying foul before you canfinish a sentence."

"They'll have to live with it, though. At the moment everyKleine unit can direct-link to every other Kleine unit, and thenumber of possible connections has just completely gone around the bend. In the beginning that kind of unrestrictedcommunications was a boon, but it's becoming a nightmare.

"By consolidating everything along a set series of links anddoing some traffic management at the same time—everymajor user being allocated certain blocks of time to originatemessages, with Defnet having a priority claim at all times—we should be able to get around these interference problems."

"If you want to volunteer to do the selling job on the Independent Shipowners Association, you're welcome to it," TenGa'ar said. "How many trunk corridors?"

"At least eight, with possibly an extra one each for thePerseus and Microscopium Octants and a dedicated one forDefense in the Mizari Zone."

"With an average of five repeaters for every trunk, that'smore than fifty relays—"

"Eighty-four, with backups and branch links."

"—every one with its own AVLO generator, station-keeping servos—would they be manned?"

"Probably only the Defnet trunk. But there'd have to bemaintenance'ships for the rest of them. You're right—it's abig project, and expensive as hell. Just looking at the logistics, not the design and construction, it'll take thirty-five yearsto bring it into being. And from the pace the Kleine signal isdegrading on the longest runs—here to Ba'ar Tell and the Perimeter—we should have started ten years ago."

Her face showing worry lines, Ten Ga'ar shook her head."Did you mean to imply earlier that there's a short-term solution?"

"No," Wells said, "But there's a short-term precaution weneed to take."

"What's that?"

"Move my office and staff out to Lynx Center."

So that's what this is about, she thought, looking askant atWells. "The bylaws require the Chancellor and members ofthe Committee to stay time-bound to the Terran system for theduration of their appointment."

"I'm aware of that. A special exemption will have to bemade." "The Chancellor will be reluctant to make one. There's a good reason Atlee wrote a travel restriction into the reforms.

We don't want a repeat of the abuses the old system permitted,the worst of which was Thackery being promoted to Directorof the Service while he has in the craze returning from a fieldassignment."

"I'm aware of the problems Atlee was addressing," Wellssaid. "But the fact is that we face the prospect of losing directcommunications with the Perimeter before the relay systemcan be deployed. That would seem to be an important enough reason to make an exception. My moving to Lynx Center should guarantee that we experience no window of vulnerability."

"Why not just use Lynx Center as a temporary relay pointuntil the trunk system is ready in that sector?"

"I intend to. But don't you think it'd be prudent to shorten the command chain where we can?"

"The Chancellor will have to make that decision," Ten Ga'ar said.

"Of course," Wells said agreeably. "Do you know where Chancellor Sujata is?"

"Of course," Ten Ga'ar said, rising from her chair to signify that the discussion was over. "Is this important enough to call her back from Earth?"

"Important enough, certainly. Urgent enough—umm. Howmuch longer is she supposed to be downwell?"

"The Chancellor is due back next Monday."

Wells mused. "No. We'll respect her privacy. But it's certainly important enough to be at the top of the list when shecomes back."

"Done."

The black-grained beach was deserted except for its nativeinhabitants and a solitary woman, sitting cross-legged justabove the tide line. Bare-breasted and clutching a pendantdangling from her necklace, she rocked slowly to and fro asshe chanted to herself:

Selir bi'chentya

Darnatir bi'maranya en bis losya

Qoris nonitya...

Sujata opened her eyes slowly and looked seaward. Herother senses were already nearly overloaded: the brisk breezeexploring her skin, the tang of the salt spume in her nostrils, the cacophony of rushing and splashing water in her ears. Sheadded to that the sight of endless waves punishing the faces ofcraggy black sea stacks, which stood defiantly against the battering of the sea.

She had only begun to sample all of Earth's textures, andyet this place had drawn her back. The interface betweenwater, land, and air seemed to her the most magic of the manymagic places she had discovered.

Once, farther south on the same shore, she had come across a seal rookery at twilight and had sat awestruck on a cliff overlooking the beach as thousands of sleek, black bodiesstruggled ashore and clustered together on the sands for thenight. The air had been full of their barking and their wet,musky scent; later, when she climbed down to the beach andwalked among them in the darkness, she had sensed their self-awareness and primal circle of community.

Sujata wondered at times whether she would have felt thesame affection for Maranit had she undertaken a similar odyssey there. Maranit had seas and forbidding mountain rangesand deserts. But on Maranit the highlands of the First Continent were an island of life on an otherwise unfriendly world,like an infection that had not yet overwhelmed the patient'sbody. The rest of Maranit, as well as it was known, was barren.

But on Earth there seemed to be no environment so hostile that it did not harbor life. Life clung fiercely, possessively, tothe Earth. On the top of some of the sea stacks, trees grew,stalwart remnants of an ancient forest carved up by the sea'sadvance. Other sea stacks wore a cap of white guano thatmarked where gulls and terns roosted. The turbulent wavesbroke on a beach that was home to a hundred species, fromtiny amphipods buried out of sight to the sandpipers that skittered along the changing water line.

Half shrouded by a late-forming sea mist, the disc of thesun was dipping down toward the broken horizon. As it divedbetween the silhouettes of two of the largest sea stacks, a chime sounded from Sujata's implant transceiver. Reluctantlyshe rose from her cross-legged repose and walked up thebeach to the edge of the marrat grass, where a small carrybagrested.

She took from the bag a Journan-style daiiki—a full-sleeved, ankle-length caftan dyed in muted rusts and ambers —and drew it around her. As she began buttoning the garment's long front closure she began to hear a new note overthe sound of the sea: a sound that was artificial, mechanical, and therefore alien to the place. A few moments later she sawthe airskiff angling toward her, its landing lights bright againstthe darkening sky.

The skiff landed a few dozen metres from where Sujatastood, and a moment later a young man clambered out of thecabin.

"Sorry I'm late, Chancellor," he called as he crossed the sand toward her. "I misjudged the headwinds coming westover the Rockies—should have gotten off earlier from Philadelphia."

"That's all right, Joaquim," Sujata said, lifting her bag toher shoulder and going to meet him. "I'm never in a hurry toleave here."

Two of the three seats in the airskiff's small passengercabin were already occupied by Katrina Evanik and Laban Garrard, recent additions to her staff. Evanik, dark-haired and round-faced, was from Journa; Garrard, slender and sallow-complected, was Dzuban. Their contracts called them staff consultants. In fact, they were field observers with advanceddegrees in cultural psychology and certificates from the Survey Branch's Human Studies School.

Like Sujata, Evanik and Garrard had been on Earth for thelast six weeks, but with a nearly opposite purpose. WhereSujata had isolated herself hoping to find the pulse of Earth'snatural community, her handpicked sociologists had immersedthemselves in its human community.

"Hello, Katrina, Laban," Sujata said as she settled betweenthem. "How did things go?"

"I thought it was very productive," Evanik said. "I onlywish it wasn't necessary to leave this abruptly." The skifflurched abruptly as Joaquim guided the skiff back into the air.

"I understand. But we're looking for a series of snapshots.We haven't the resources to make feature films," Sujata said."Laban? Did you think your time well spent?"

"I told you before we came down here that I'm not comfortable with this methodology," Garrard hedged. "I still don'tsee why we can't go to the Council's Data and Evaluationpeople. The chances are they already have what you want toknow on file."

"I'm not interested in having my data filtered through theCouncil's particular set of prejudices," Sujata said. "And I doubt they would have what I want available, in any case.These people studied and probed and judged my world—and yours, and Katrina's—as though Earth represented the ultimate expression of humanity. I don't think they're prepared tolook at themselves with an objective eye."

"I seem to recall that the anthropologists were under theaegis of the Service—" "The Service has always reflected primarily Terran cultureand attitudes," Evanik said.

Garrard glared crossly at his colleague. "Even so, what theChancellor has us doing can't be considered a properly formulated research program—"

"I asked you to find out what Terrans are thinking and saying about Wells, the Mizari, and the possibility of war,"Sujata said. "That seems perfecdy clear to me."

"But all you're going to get is a limited sample of completely anecdotal evidence. There's no way to construct anysort of useful hypothesis from that sort of data—"

"I already have my hypothesis," Sujata said. "What I needis for you and Katrina to be my eyes and ears. I want you towatch and listen for the things I would be watching and listening for if I were free to go where you can and make the kindsof contacts you can make," Sujata said. "Which brings meback to my original question. What did you find out?"

"I'd prefer to wait until I've had a chance to review and edit my notes," Garrard said stiffly. "I hope you will allow meto be at least that professional."

Before the frosty silence that followed could become toouncomfortable, Evanik spoke up. "Did either of you hear about the war rally in Munich?" she asked.

"I wouldn't have," Sujata said. "Dr. Garrard?"

"It would be easier to say if I did if I knew more aboutwhat Dr. Evanik is referring to.""Katrina?" "It was on the fourteenth—a spontaneous noon-hour

rally," Evanik said. "There must have been three thousandpeople—"

"Is that your estimate or the authorities'?" Garrard said,interrupting. "What did the authorities say?"

"It's my estimate. I saw at least one camera crew there, but

if there was any mention on Earthnet, it was blacked out locally. That's why I wondered if you'd heard about it.""No," Garrard said. "I heard nothing. Though it should beeasy enough to find out what the net carried." "Was it the rally itself or the reason for it that was so unusual?" Sujata asked.

"Both, really. From a communications rationale there's noreason to bring people together physically when Earthnet canrelay the information content to any number of people up toand including the entire population. And the Council frownson what it calls 'unstructured mass associations' for anythingother than live entertainment events, since human beings arenot at their rational best in large multiples of a hundred."

"How did these people get a permit, then?"

"Apparently they didn't," Evanik said. "There was no priorannouncement, no publicity, just the rumor that someone named Robert Chaisson was going to be there. At eleven-thirty the plaza was empty—at noon it was packed. It was allvery old-fashioned. No Orator's Screen, no dais. Chaisson simply climbed to the highest spot in the plaza, set up his loudbox, and spoke to them."

"What was his agenda?"

"His main point was that he thought the Council shouldimmediately begin building a standing army of at least half amillion men. And he wanted the Council to urge the othermajor worlds to do the same. He asked the crowd to pressDailey, the Commissioner for Eastern Europe, to propose it tothe Council. He also urged the young men in the audience toprepare themselves to serve, and to tell Dailey they were willing to volunteer. He was a very effective speaker, by the way.Very bright, very articulate."

"Why would Earth need a self-defense force?" Sujata wondered aloud. "Does this mean they've no confidence in theDefenders?"

Evanik shook her head. "Exactly the opposite. They havecomplete confidence in the Defenders—though Chaisson didsay that Earth shouldn't be content to have the Service do itsfighting for it. But he wasn't talking about a self-defense force. He wants an offensive army—to attack the Mizari. Thewords he used were 'to root out the vermin wherever they'rehiding and make space safe for mankind again.'"

"How did they respond to him?"

'They stayed. They listened. That line about the vermingot a big roar of approval. And they booed the Peace Corpswhen they came to arrest him."

"Ah. That explains it," Garrard said, settling back in hisseat. "As a general rule, the net doesn't publicize criminal activity."

That didn't begin to explain it, Sujata thought. They had toknow it would be blacked out. So who was it meant for? Tanvier. The Council. It had to be. And they would take note, and they would start to worry. "The Nines are restless—" And then Berberon would come knocking. But why now? What dothey want now?

Perhaps just the obvious. "Worry about us getting cockyand going out looking for them," Berberon had warned her.Maybe it was time to start....

The Chancellor's conference room was more crowded than Berberpn could remember seeing it. Even allowing for Sujata's passion for face-to-face accountability, it was an unusual gathering. The Chancellery embraced a richly populatedbureaucracy, and most of the principals were on hand.

Berberon recalled how in the first year or so of Sujata'sstewardship many senior Chancellery staffers had experiencedpanic on discovering that their new boss expected them to beable to present their ideas in person and to answer questionsoff the cuff. Sujata would not let them hide behind memos andarms-length electronic consultations.

Nor did she respect the traditional and fiercely defendedfiefdoms that had been carved out in the name of division of responsibility. She expected everyone, not merely the staffanalysts, to embrace the larger picture and offer insights. Andshe encouraged them to disagree, not only with each other butwith her as well. In short she had brought the art of the dialogue back to the Service.

The gathering was a crisis conference in everything butname. In the three weeks since Sujata had returned from herleave, most of the resources of the Chancellery had been marshaled for an intensive review of Wells's latest proposal. Nowit was time for answers to the questions she had posed. Thewitnesses sat elbow-to-elbow at the far end of the room, waiting to be called on.

Since he did not share her authority, Berberon was not seated at the main table with Sujata, Ten Ga'ar, and ReganMarshall, the Vice Chancellor. But he had been given fullaccess to Wells's formal proposal and understood that the session was as much for his benefit as for Sujata's. By his actionseight years ago, Berberon had shouldered an extra burden where Wells was concerned.

First up was the chief of Data and Library Services.

"You've reviewed the Defense Branch's report on Kleineinterference?" Sujata asked.

"Yes, Chancellor."

"Is it accurate?"

"I consulted the Operations Branch records in an attempt tosee if there were inaccuracies or omissions. I found none."

"In your opinion the report contains an accurate history ofthe problem?"

"Yes, Chancellor."

"And you found no evidence that any coordinated effortwas made to suppress knowledge of the problem?"

"I found no such evidence. Judging from the number ofindividuals who knew of the problem and when and how theyheard of it, dissemination followed a natural dispersal pattern."

"Who knew? Any of our people?" asked Marshall.

"I've located seven individual Chancellery staffers who had some awareness of the problem, but they all viewed it as atechnical matter with no policy consequences, and all had been reassured that Operations was addressing it."

That answer could hardly please Sujata, but she made nocomment and dismissed the chief. Next up was the supervisorof the Office of Technical Coordination.

"Franklin, may we have your evaluation of the proposedtrunk communications system?"

"We don't really have much to look at so far, Chancellor.What we have is a statement of design intent, not a fullyengineered solution," the supervisor said, resting his foldedhands on his round belly pontifically. "But the theory is consistent with our understanding of the physics of transmatrixlinks."

"Why can't we just increase the strength of the transmission and get a better signal-to-noise ratio?" asked the chief ofthe Office of Financial Management.

The OTC supervisor turned to face his colleague. "Ken, this isn't like trying to be heard across a noisy room. You can't simply talk louder. We're not pushing energy. We're justaiming it."

"Does Lynx Center have the capacity to serve as a temporary relay point between here and the Perimeter?" Marshall asked.

"Not at present."

"When could they have it?" Sujata asked.

"Considering that they're already beginning some preliminary tests, there's a very high probability they could begin toassume that function in five years."

"And Perimeter Command?"

"A few years longer. They don't have the facilities Lynxdoes."

"Won't that solve the problem?" asked the finance chief."It's taken us three hundred years for the problem to becomesignificant. Seems like bringing up just two relay stations between-here and the Perimeter should buy us quite a lot of time."

"You don't cut the interference by a third simply by cuttingthe distance into thirds," the OTC man said with a hint of impatience. "The baseline interference on even the shortestlink is already high enough to require special data-handlingprotocols. By the time the Lynx and Perimeter Command relays come on line, we'll be lucky if we're no worse off thanwe are right now."

"Let's take a closer look at the time parameter," Sujatasaid. "The schedule proposed for deployment of the repeatersystem in the Lynx and Bootes Octants—is it realistic?"

"Optimistic, I would say. Token-passing communicationshave never been attempted on this scale. There are bound tobe some difficulties."

"So you agree that there is potentially a window duringwhich we will be out of touch with the Perimeter."

"Completely out of touch, no. But suffering from severelyimpaired communications, yes. Real-time voice and video will probably be impossible, even with sparse matrix techniques."

"Thank you, Director," Sujata said.

Over the next hour they heard from several other witnessesconcerning the financial and logistical feasibility of the repeater system. Then Sujata dismissed all those who had testified, leaving only her committee liaison and the High Justice of the Service Court awaiting their turn.

"Those of us who remain are the only ones who know thatComitfc Wells has recommended moving the Strategy Committee and certain officers in command of the Defense Branch, including himself, to Lynx Center," Sujata said. "I'dlike for us to now focus on that part of the proposal. JusticeKemmerman, would you please offer your interpretation of Section 74.1?"

"The bylaws are very clear on this," the silver-haired justice said, speaking slowly. "Section 74.1 specifies that no member of the Steering Committee may take any action thatwould remove himself or herself from the system-local timetrack or place himself of herself out of real-time communication with the remainder of the Committee for more than fourteen consecutive days. In effect that means that Wells can goto the moon or Mars, but he can't go to Lynx—not as Director of the Defense Branch, that is."

"Unless the bylaws are changed," the liaison interjected.

"Yes. There is that option, if you wish to take it and youcan muster a unanimous vote of the Committee. Though I would discourage you from tinkering with the long-term stability of the Service to meet short-term needs."

The liaison turned to Sujata. "Chancellor, you have to weigh the desirability. But as a practical matter, in my opinionthe Committee would be willing to approve a change exempting only the Director of the Defense Branch from Section 74.1."

"I wonder," Marshall said. "Chancellor, I might remindyou that three of the Directors are colonials like yourself, whomight be very interested in being free to make a visit homewithout having to resign from the Committee to do it."

"You may well be right, Regan," Sujata said. "JusticeKemmerman, is there any way to let Wells go without changing the bylaws and throwing the door wide open for everyone?"

"I'm afraid not." "What about the Chancellor's emergency powers under32.33?" Ten Ga'ar asked.

Kemmerman frowned. "It's a gray area," he acknowledgedgrudgingly. "You have a certain latitude under the emergency-powers clause, but the Committee is always in a position todisagree as to whether the situation qualifies as an emergency."

"Would the Court feel obliged to initiate any action on itsown to stop the transfer?"

"You're asking me to speak for all five justices—not justfor myself—and to render a decision before the fact," Kemmerman said. "I really am not in a position to do either."

"Let me put it another way," the liaison said. "Has the Court ever intervened against a decision by the Chancellorwithout having first received a petition from a member of theCommittee?"

"No," Kemmerman said. "That has not happened."

"Then, Chancellor, I'd say that if you took the precautionof getting the Committee's approval by means of an advisoryvote, you should be safe from any repercussions."

For the next quarter of an hour the group brainstormedpossible ways of providing for an interim exercise of power.Then Sujata excused both the High Justice and the committeeliaison, leaving only Berberon, Marshall, Ten Ga'ar, and herself in the room.

"It sounds to me as though everything hangs together except Wells's reason for going," Sujata began. "Our expertsdon't foresee a complete loss of communications with the Perimeter. Building the repeater system would be enough of aresponse to the situation."

"Wslls does have a certain obligation to look on the darkside," Marshall pointed out. "He may well think a loss ofcommunications is a real enough possibility that prudence requires moving the command forward."

"He may," Sujata said. "But for the moment let's assumeotherwise. Can anyone think of any reason that hasn't alreadybeen stated here why Wells may see this as a desirable move?"

"Symbology," Berberon said.

"Explain."

Berberon dragged his chair forward to join the others at thetable before continuing. "Being on the Perimeter is not particularly attractive duty. There aren't many creature comforts ona Sentinel, and very few more on a tender. The crews aresmall and the ships are crowded. There's a mind-numbingsameness to the work. Instead of going back to Lynx Center,the rotations now take the crews to Perimeter Command, which is just as spartan as the ships they come off. They neverget that now-I'm-back-in-civilization feeling. And on top ofeverything else there's a sense of isolation, of vulnerability—particularly so now that they can look back here and see the worlds enjoying protections they don't have."

"Meaning the Defenders."

"Yes. But for Wells to bring a fleet flagship into a forwardarea as much as says, 'We're strong. We're safe here.' Andprivations are less onerous when they're shared."

"I agree—but I think it goes further," Ten Ga'ar said. "Chancellor, I've watched him, both with a Ba'ar woman's eyes and with the tools that you have taught me. Comitd Wellshas a warrior spirit. It is in his walk, in the way he dominatesa room by his presence. It is the reason for the mask behindwhich he hides. To fulfill that spirit, to be honest to his essence, at some time he must walk into the arena to be tested. I think this is why he asks to leave us. The rest is only pretext."

Sujata locked eyes with Ten Ga'ar. "If you're right, iswalking into the arena enough?" she asked softly. "Or does he have to fight and defeat an opponent too?"

"Chancellor, I do not know."

"Probably Wells, himself, doesn't know," Berberon said."The Renans have a saying, 'No one hates war more than a warrior. But no one loves victory more than the victor.' It's aconflict every soldier wrestles with in times of peace. Oncewar has begun, of course, they do not have the luxury of beingphilosophical. More fundamental concerns come to the fore—like survival."

Staring at the center of the table, Sujata chewed at the tipof her thumb thoughtfully. "If I believed that the Perimetermight become isolated by this interference problem," she saidat last, "I never would consider letting Wells go there. I neverhave caught him in a lie or found him to follow the letter ofthe law while violating its spirit. Yet, though I trust him, Iwould not want to tempt him. That much of what Wyrena saysI have seen in him myself.

"But Franklin tells me that I can count on always beingable to get a priority message through to the Perimeter. Aslong as that link exists, the last word belongs to the Chancellor. It seems as though I am free to let Wells go but not obliged to. So should I?"

It was the question Berberon had been waiting for, and hepounced on it without hesitation. "Yes, Chancellor, absolutely.This is what we've been asking for—a chance to neutralizeWells. It's a seventeen-year run to Lynx. Seventeen years totake back what we gave him. Seventeen years the Committeewill be free from his influence."

"Doesn't he know that too? Why would he throw away theposition and the power he worked so hard to achieve, unlesshe knew he were going to get even more?"

"Power is only a means to an end. He would give it upwhen he's achieved that end. I think Wyrena is right. Wells isso enamored of the thought of riding to the front on a whitecharger that he's willing to separate himself from his allies downwell."

Sujata looked to the Vice Chancellor. "Regan?"

"I'm really not convinced that romantic notions of gallantry or symbolism from the days of trench warfare have anything to do with Comite Wells's proposal. As for a hiddenagenda, I don't see what good he can do for his friends therethat he can't do here," Marshall said. "And as for trusting ortempting Wells, I don't see what harm he can do us there thathe can't do here. Let him go. Let him take himself out of the picture."

"Wyrena?"

"Just one selfish thought on your behalf," Ten Ga'ar said."If he goes to Lynx, in all likelihood you will never have todeal with him again."

Sujata was silent for a moment. "Does anyone have anyfears that Wells is positioning himself for a coup?" she askedquietly.

"Just the reverse," Berberon said. "I would be more fearful of that if he stayed here."

"I agree," said Marshall. "Earth is the locus of power in theAffirmation. This is where the action is. Let him go, Chancellor. Let's be rid of him."

Sujata's gaze flicked in Berberon's direction. Does this change the rules of our bargain? her eyes asked. Would this free mel

Berberon answered with a slow nod. Yes, he thought. And free me as well.

"Very well," Sujata said. "Wyrena, please call ComiteWells. Tell him I want to see him."

chapter 11

The Destinies
of Ships and Men

Harry Eugene Barnstable had been roaming the gangways ofMaintenance Yard 105 for a long rime. He had come to theorbiting shipyard at age twenty-two, fresh out of school, because he loved the deepships, found them achingly beautifulin form and romantically compelling in function.

With a clarity of self-knowledge uncommon in the young,Barnstable had understood that he lacked whatever it took to wear the black ellipse of the deepship crews. Whether it was a timidity of spirit or an addiction to comfort, Barnstable knewhe would never give up Earth and the normal life it represented to fly star to star in the deepships. But this close hecould get, like the landlubbers who once haunted the quays,the earthbound whose spirits alone soared into the clouds onsilver wings.

Barnstable's first job was as an enviromental integrity engineer—a fancy name for someone who maintained pressureenclosures and space doors. There were a lot of space doors inYard 105. The station boasted sixteen full-sized work baysarrayed in a four-by-four grid, and each shipway had seveninterlocks—two for man-sized waldoids, two for the construction teleops, and three flying tunnels to provide shirtsleeve access to completed hulls. Yard 105 kept its EI engineers busy.

But being busy proved not to be enough for Barnstable.Feeling as though what he did was peripheral to the real workof the Yard, he returned to school quarter-time in a quest fornew employment endorsements. Three years later he was fullyqualified as a teleop assembler, enabling him for the first timeto make a direct contribution. The highlight of that period washelping to lay the keelspine of a new packet destined for theEarth-Ba'ar Tell run.

Yet even in his new role there was still a distance between him and the ships he loved so much. He performed his dutiesin the comfort of the Yard's shirt-sleeve teleop center, isolatedfrom the ships in the bays by a hundred metres of space andthe very technology made his job possible. His robotic surrogates—welders, pushers, seamers-—roamed all over the ships's hulls. His real hands never touched them.

By the time he was forty, Barnstable had found a way tocross that final barrier, graduating from the teleop room to theranks of the integrations engineers. Then, at long last, hecould board the deepships freely, and he learned them as wellas the men who ere wed them, and in some ways better.

Barnstable felt a pride in w.hat he did that drove or shamedthose who worked with him to ask more of themselves. And the word got out that when Barnstable's crew installed something, it worked; when they fixed something, it stayedfixed.

Then a freak accident—ironically, caused by a mismaintained hatch that cycled closed without warning—irreparablydamaged nerves in his right leg, costing him both strength andmobility and bringing him back to the soft duty on-station.Barnstable could have sued or retired, or both. Instead he stayed on as the supervisor of F-bay.

In all, Barnstable had spent thirty-one years watching theships come and go from Yard 105's bays. Some had takenshape there, and some had only been visitors, stopping for a time to rest and recoup. Packets and cruisers, tugs andfreighters—he remembered them all by name, and many bythe service he had done them.

As different as the ships and Barnstable's memories of them were, they had one thing in common: once a ship leftYard 105, Barnstable knew not to expect to see it again. Ships left Yard 105 for the craze and the long runs to the otherWorlds. Those that were meant to return would not do so until many more years had passed, time eaten up by the long,empty light-years.

Of all the ships that Barnstable had seen riding at anchor inthe shipways, only one had ever left and come back—and ithad done so repeatedly. The ship had been in Yard 105 whenhe had first come there, and he had begun to think it would bethere long after he had left. Its name was Tilak Charan.

As spanking new outside as Charan appeared to the eye, itwas in fact a relic of an era, the feeling of which was almostimpossible to recapture, when the frontier had represented challenge and mystery instead of terror and death. Tilak Charan was the third name the vessel had borne. When Barnstable had first crossed paths with it, it had been called Welchsel. When it had begun its life more than a century and a halfago, its name was Taipeng. Barnstable did not concern himself with the changing appellations, for he knew it best by thehull registration under which all the ship's work records wereindexed—USS-96.

Like its sister ship the Joanna Wesley (formerly Journa, nee New York), which was in the care of Yard 102, USS-96 was part of the Survey Branch's last great shipbuilding project. The sixteen vessels that had comprised the Cities Series were to have been the spearheads of the SurveyBranch's Phase III search, fresh blood for the millennium-longpursuit of First Colonization Worlds. Aided by a much largerfleet of unmanned drones, the Cities vessels were to have pushed hard at the limits of the known, more than trebling thevolume of explored space in the course of a five-hundred-yearplan that would add four thousand new star systems to thecatalogs of the astrographers.

But Thackery's Revision had intervened, abruptly haltingthe expansion and canceling the Survey Branch's plans. Of thesixteen Cities hulls, six were never more than engineering drawings, and three were abandoned with their keelspinesfreshly laid. Seven were completed as "generic" AVLO hullsand renamed for seven of the Unified Worlds. Five of those seven misbegotten survey ships now patrolled the Perimeter intheir new identity as Sentinels.

Except for the journey inbound to Earth from the Centerswhere they had been built, the two remaining ships—USS-96 and USS-97—had jpent the next hundred years as deepshipsin name only. In the decades immediately following the Revision, when the panic was most palpable, they had been flyingarchives, filled with nonvolatile memory cubes representingwhat was hoped would be a meaningful abstract of the species's collective knowledge and history.

Later, when fear of the Mizari had mellowed to paranoia,the memory cubes had been removed from USS-96 to makeroom for berths and accommodations intended for Earth's ruling elite and the Service's senior staff. When the list of thosedemanding to be part of the evacuation grew too long forUSS-96 to accommodate them, the same had been done to USS-97. For thirty years the two ships were quietly held inreserve, ready to leave orbit literally on a day's notice. But theneed had never arisen.

Three factors led to the next phase of the ships' careers. Progress on the Perimeter listening posts gradually erased thefear of a sudden, overwhelming attack by the Mizari. TheService withdrew from the evacuation plan, prompting a fewkey Terran officials, embarrassed by the suggestion of selfishness and cowardice, to remove their names from the list. And as the new Defense Branch matured, it began to exercise itsclaim on the resources of the Service, especially those it feltwere being underutilized.

As a consequence, both ships underwent still another metamorphosis, this time to emerge as engineering test-beds. Every new development in deepship technology between themid-500s and the early 600s was field-tested on USS-96 orUSS-97, or both. The procedures for upgrading ships in thefield were worked out, sometimes by trial and error, on theirviscera. Toward the end experimentation overran development, and boths ships diverged sharply and in different directions from the standard internal plan for deepships.

That was how Barnstable had first found USS-96—its lines marred by the addition of experimental doughnut-shapedAVLO radiators forward and aft, its innards ravaged by a succession of tinkerers, all of whom had treated the ship as a disposable good.

It was Harmack Wells who had rescued the ships from slowdeath at the hands of the Office of Systems Research. Soonafter Wells took office, USS-96 was moved into Barnstable's F-bay, USS-97 into Yard 102. In the six years since, both ships had been stripped down to the bone and then rebuilt withstate-of-the-art components. Virtually the only original equipment left in place were the AVLO-L drives, and even thosereceived new controllers and peripherals.

The thoroughness of USS-97's renovation and the degreeof interest the Director's office expressed in its progress hadlong ago caused Barnstable to wonder if the ship were beingreadied for a role as fleet flagship. But it was not until fiveweeks ago that his suspicions were confirmed, when USS-96and USS-97 were both assigned flag crews.

Even then it was not clear which of the two ships would beprimary. Not until the recommission orders came throughspecifying that the ship in Barnstable's F-bay was to have F-l Tilak Charan as its transponder ID was the picture complete. Wells was going to the Perimeter, and it was Charan that would take him there.

For Barnstable that news was the vindication for a lifetime of labor. Even learning that Wesley's unreadiness—she was still six weeks from full flight certification—had been a factorin the choice did not dim his pride. "First and best," he hadtold the refit team at their final meeting that moming. "That'swhat Charan is—that's what we are."

As much as Barnstable was pleased for his own sake, hewas even more pleased for Charan. Though he knew betterthan most that ships were mere technological artifacts, he wasenough the romantic to also believe that each ship had a proper destiny conferred on it by the intent of the builder.When that destiny was frustrated or unfulfilled, it could onlybe viewed as a tragedy.

From his office greatport Barnstable watched as the blackspider that was the base tug entered the spaceward end ofF-bay and nosed close to Charan's bow. Two waldoids were standing by in case of trouble, but the tug pilot was skilled athis job, The six slender grapple arms gracefully closed on theflared circular rim of the forward radiator. After a brief pauseto be certain all was secure, the shipway's anchors releasedCharan, and the tug began to edge the flagship out of the yard.

For the last time, Barnstable thought. This time Charan would not return. At long last she would become what she hadbeen built to be—a deepship, riding gravity's own wave between the stars.

"It's about damn time," Barnstable said to himself, watching the tug's chemical thrusters fire as it pointed Charan toward Unity Center. "About damn time." Then he turned awayfrom the greatport, surprised to find his eyes bright withmoisture. Tomorrow another ship would fill the empty bay,and he could not allow himself to think of Charan for very long.

"... the mighty arm of the chosen people of God. O Benefactor, look with favor on the labors of those who follow the path You have shown us, that we might win back the promisedlands and earn the right to live forever in the infinity of YourCreation. Give us strength and comfort as we prepare ourselves to face Your enemies...."

Though Janell Sujata was standing just a few metres awayfrom the Most Reverend Bishop of the Holy RedemptionChurch, she was not listening to his invocation. Looking outfrom the temporary rostrum at one edge of Unity Center's great central atrium at the overflow crowd gathered on thebalconies and the main plaza, Sujata wondered just when shehad lost complete control over the departure ceremonies.

Perhaps my failure was not anticipating the amount of fuss that could attend the sailing of a single ship, she thought. If someone had told me a month ago, I would not have believed it.

A month ago everything had seemed in order for a quick,quiet departure for Wells and his staff. The Committee hadgiven its pro forma approval to the relocation of Wells and the command staff. Wells had accepted her requirement that thejourney be made in the minimum time possible, forcing Charan to stay in the craze, incommunicado, until its approach to Lynx Center. Satisfactory arrangements had beenworked out for the Deputy Director of Defense to report directly to the Chancellor in Wells's absence.

The first clue to what was coming, the significance of which Sujata unfortunately missed, was the attention that Charan garnered after being moved to a station-keeping zoneadjacent to Unity Center. From the first day, buses jetted almost hourly between the Center and the ship. Some carriedEarthnet and outworld journalists, others dignitaries who hadrequested tours.

Most often, of course, the buses carried members of Charan's crew, who were readying her for departure but not yet ready to take up residence. Gradually those who needed tobe there began to crowd out those who were merely curious,and after two weeks the tours were halted. The next day thecrew began to occupy the ship on a continuous rotating schedule, serving notice that Charan's sailing date was drawing near.

But by then the Defense Branch had forwarded to Sujatawithout comment more than fifty internal inquiries as to whether there would be any formal send-off for Charan and the command staff. Some of the inquiries, assuming that therewould be a ceremony of some sort, merely asked for theschedule and other details. The referrals did not quite add upto an official request on Wells's part, but Sujata nonethelesstook the hint. Conscious of the psychological aspects of thetransfer, she saw no harm and some possible good in a quiet,in-house salute to those who were leaving.

Then Berberon had intervened, asking if he might have thechance to address Wells and his staff as a way of underliningthe Terran government's support for a move over which theNines were reportedly ecstatic. She could not refuse him. ButBerberon's involvement brought with it demands for access tothe ceremony by Earthnet and a flurry of requests for invitations for officials from other Observer missions. Suddenly thequiet leave-taking had become a major media event.

Her one victory had been to keep Wells himself off thepodium and away from the microphones. Instead he stood aspart of a neat pattern of human bodies a few metres in front ofthe rostrum in a reserved area on the plaza. Wells and hisstaff, wearing rust-colored, high-collared tunics that onlycould be considered officers' uniforms, formed the front rank. She had seen the tunics before, but there was one new detail. Each of the men in the front row wore above his right breastpocket a small gold trigon made up of three discontinuous bars.

Standing behind in four rows of ten abreast were the flagcrews of Charan and Wesley, thirty-five men and five womendressed in the blue unisex jumpsuits that had been standarddeepship garb since the Service's earliest days. Comparedwith the front row, the crews seemed almost painfully young.Even so, they had well learned the stoic soldier's mask: Theirfaces were as unmarked by emotion as they were untouchedby time.

Berberon was at the podium now, and Sujata forced herself to listen, though she knew that his words were riddled withinsincerity.

"Every great civilization draws much of its greatness fromthe quality of the men and women who answer the call to defend it," Berberon was saying. "A city, a nation, a world, a species that does not enjoy the loyalty, does not inspire thesacrifice, of its strongest, brightest, and bravest men and women, cannot be called great no matter what its other accomplishments might be.

"Yet those who answer the call have been rarely accorded the depth of gratitude their service deserves. They performtheir offtimes onerous duty in the twilight of our consciousness—we know they are there, but for some reason we do notsee them. They do for the rest of us what we would have trouble doing for ourselves, asking nothing more than the opportunity to follow the dictates of honor. But they have earnedmuch more.

"So it is altogether fitting that we take this occasion to sayto the commanders and crews of the flagships Tilak Charan and Joanna Wesley, thank you. We thank you for what youhave done and what you will do. We thank you for what youhave already sacrificed and for what you will sacrifice. Andwe thank you for the courage you have shown, and the courage you will show as you face the challenge of keeping yourhomeworlds safe."

A well-constructed speech, Sujata thought as Berberon interrupted himself by leading the enthusiastic applause for thecrews. All the magic words—bravery, duty, sacrifice, honor —a paraphrase of Eric Lange's famous quote about what thebrightest and best mean to society. How could they doubt thatyou are their friend?

At Berberon's prompting, Wells acknowledged the applause with a raised hand. That gesture drove the intensity ofthe tumult a notch higher. It began to fade only when Berberon stepped away from the podium, making way for Sujatato replace him there. It was as if the crowd wanted there to beno mistake about who was the object of their acclaim.

She had struggled with her own role in the ceremony. Inthe end she decided to keep it simple—a few words that weremeaningless because they were merely the public echo of agreements already made.

But she had not realized the context that Berberon and the others who had preceded her would create, the climate in which her words would be heard. As she came to the podiumshe discarded her planned remarks and cast about for the minimum she could say to satisfy the expectations of both Wellsand his supporters.

"Harmack Wells."

Wells took one step forward and looked up at her.

"By the authority of the Chancellor's Office, I hereby appoint you Commander of the Perimeter Defense Force of theUnified Space Service."

The crowd roared its approval, and the sound rained downon Sujata as a tangible entity. Wells saluted, though whetherhe was answering Sujata or the crowd, she could not say.

"With the blessings of wisdom, may we have peace in our time," Sujata said. "Commander, your ship awaits you."

A second salute, this one clearly meant for Sujata, and Wells turned to face the uniformed assemblage. One row at a time, beginning with the rear rank, Wells's party marcheddown the aisle that had been kept clear for them, across thecenter of the plaza to the spiral slidewalk that led down to theshuttle terminal. The thunderous applause continued long afterthe last of them had vanished out of sight.

The atrium's high-intensity lights began to dim to permitthe progress of the crew and the departure of the ship to beshown holographically in the middle of the atrium. Her presence no longer required, Sujata took advantage of the momentto descend from the rostrum and retreat to the privacy of heroffice. The only one who seemed to notice was Berberon, who fell in beside her wordlessly and escorted her out of theplaza and up-station to her office.

"Did you see that display?" Sujata demanded the momentthe door closed behind them. She flung her jacket into a chairwith an intensity that told her she was more disturbed than shehad realized. "It isn't just the Nines—you're all crazy. Whatis it about you people that the prospect of a fight excites youinstead of terrifying you?"

"I tried to tell you once," Berberon said. "You'll never understand us unless you embrace it."

"I resist your explanation," she said stiffly. "This has to besomething you've taught yourselves, not something you inherit. You'd never have survived otherwise."

"We almost didn't," Berberon said idly. "Mind if I watchthe departure?"Sujata gestured with one hand. "I intended to watch. I just

had to get away from that crowd. Holo on," she said sharply."Channel one. No audio."

The holo showed a twenty-place bus with blue-and-whiteTransport markings jetting across from the station to Charan, which was waiting two klicks away with a caretaker crew aboard. Though there was no video from the bus's passengercompartment, Sujata knew that it carried only half of thosewho had stood in the plaza. Against the small, but real, possibility that one ship or the other might be lost en route to LynxCenter, everything had been duplicated or divided, includingpersonnel.

The Traffic Office's lane regulations required a minimumone-day spacing between AVLO ships on the same route, butit would be as much as a month before the second half of the expedition left. Wesley would not be ready to leave the Yard for five days, and final preparations could add up to fourweeks to that. With Sujata's approval, Wells had chosen not towait. .

So Wesley's crew and passengers—which included Farlad,the vice chairman of the Strategy Committee, and one of itsmembers, as well as two senior command officers—had parted company with their mates somewhere between the plaza and the terminal. Along with Sujata, Berberon, and alarge fraction of both the Service's million and Earth's billions, those assigned to Wesley were now merely spectators.

Its thrusters showing as tiny orange halos, the bus edgedalongside Charan and extended its transfer tunnel to the forward three-o'clock entryway. One by one Charan's crew drifted down the tunnel, caught the circular handrail just inside the hatch, and twisted as needed to bring them down upright on Charan's gravity-ducted decking.

"Is what they do so much more admirable than what wedo?" Sujata asked as the net changed feeds to show the bridgecrew settling into their couches. "Absent the martial context,that crowd out there never would have responded to either ofus with that kind of enthusiasm."

"A lesson learned by thousands of tottering dictators throughout history. No, of course they wouldn't," Berberonsaid. "There's nothing in the genome to fire them up over diplomats and administrators. Government was invented by man, not nature."

"You won't give up on that, will you?""Not when I know I'm right."

It did not take long for Charan's crew to have her ready fordeparture, as the caretakers had already attended to everythingthat could not be handled by the crew and the ship herself inthe last few minutes. As the scheduled power-up neared, Sujata walked to the greatport and opened the shade.

"Can you see Charan from there?" Berberon asked, crossing the room to join her.

Sujata waited until Berberon stood beside her, then pointed. "There—a couple of degrees southwest of Procyon,in Canis Major."

"I see it now," Berberon said. "Pretty thing, picking up thesunlight that way."

Just then, Procyon and the other background stars forward of Charan's bow and aft of her stern seemed to jump to newpositions as the AVLO drive suddenly came alive. The distortion caused by the twin gravitational lenses was the only evidence of the tremendous power being drawn from the spindleby the tiny vessel. Within a few seconds the ship was perceptibly moving, the ripple preceding it growing ever larger asthe drive built up toward the craze.

"Until just now I didn't realize just how glad I am that he'sleaving," Sujata said softly.

"I'm less pleased than I might be," Berberon said brightly."Who knows what the Nines will be turning their attention tonow? Whatever their choice, it will mean headaches for the Council." He glanced away from her and out the greatport."Still, there is a certain satisfaction attached to the sight."

But it was a sight they did not get to enjoy for long. In lessthan a minute Charan crossed the star field and disappearedinto it as a fading pinpoint. They turned away from the great-port as one.

"If you were so inclined, you could leave office now," Berberon said tentatively, less a suggestion than a question.

"I think not," Sujata said, collecting her cloak. "I wouldn'twant to be responsible for cementing a tradition of midtermresignations."

"Commendable." "But I do think I'll take my sabbaticals four times a yearinstead of three from here on," she added.

Berberon smiled and bowed graciously. "Since our mostpersistent nuisance just now courteously removed himself,you can do so in good conscience."

chapter 12

Diffidatio

How could we have been so stupid? Berberon demanded of himself as he stood at the terminal waiting for a response.

Sixteen days ago Charan had carried Wells off toward the Perimeter. For sixteen days Berberon had been enjoying notthinking about Wells, enjoying the sensation of a complex equation suddenly reduced to manageable dimensions. Forsixteen days he had allowed himself to celebrate his victory.Suddenly, with no warning, matters were worse than ever.

A voice whispered in Berberon's ear, and he nodded to himself and turned away from the desk. "She's comingdown," he said to his guest.

"I am very uncomfortable with this," said Teo Farlad. Herose from the chair where he had been seated. "I should leave now."

"You'll stay and you'll tell her what you told me," Berberon said forcefully. "She has to know the source. She has tounderstand that we're not guessing—that we know."

"You can't make any direct use of this.""Your job is to collect the information, not to decide howit's to be used." "We don't have the authority to put her in the picture."

Berberon poured himself an ample serving of anisette. "I'm taking the responsibility. You don't need to concern yourself on that account."

"I don't understand why you can't handle this the way youalways have."

"Because she won't want to believe it," Berberon said bluntly. "Ever since the Erickson affair, Wells has been on hisbest behavior. He's never given her any real reason not to trusthim. On top of which the Liamese rebellion served to pullthem closer together than I'd have predicted they'd be."

Farlad nodded reluctant agreement. "Coming when it did,in her first year—"

"They worked very closely on how to handle that, and when the decision to enforce a general interdiction was made,Wells had the people in the right places to make it happen.You see, you have to tell her," Berberon said. "She'll be evenless eager than me, to learn how stupid we both were."

"All right," Farlad said. "I accept what you say. But it isn'tjust Sujata. There's only six of us with access to these materials—three on Charan and three of us going on Wesley. If Sujata does anything openly because of what I tell her, it's inevitable that Wells will trace the leak back to me. My usefulness will be over."

Berberon could not let himself be swayed. "If that happens, it will be regrettable, but we have no choice. The situation is such that protecting you is a luxury we can't afford."

Farlad scowled. Less than five minutes later the door opened to admit Sujata to the office."Teo," she said, acknowledging him with a nod. "All right,Felithe. I'm here. What's this about?"

The ambassador invited her toward a seat with a wave of his hand, then settled himself behind his desk. Farlad was standing stiffly by the chrome-steel sculpture in the center ofthe room, arms crossed over his chest as though hugging himself.

"Before I tell you, you need to know a little more aboutTeo and me," Berberon said. Sujata's brows knit in puzzlement. "Is this something personal, then? I don't understand." Berberon shook his head. "Teo, tell her who you are."

His expression sour, Farlad complied. "Chancellor Sujata,my real name is Kris March. I'm a captain in the WorldCouncil's Intelligence Operations Force."

Sujata gaped at Berberon unbelievingly. "He's a spy?"

"In a word, yes," said Beberon. *Teo has been my primarysource inside Defense since the day Wells became Director.""Which makes you—""A brevet major in the IOF, and coordinator of our opera

tions here."

Any other Chancellor would have filled the room with theirfury at that revelation. Sujata might have been furious, butthere was no outward sign. "I suppose there are more, shesaid.

"Yes, but don't ask me to tell you who they are."

"In my office?"

"No. We place them where we need them. You've beenopen enough with me that it hasn't been necessary.""I don't know that I should be comforted by that answer.How long has this been going on?"

"Chancellor, I resolved to tell you who we are so that youwould take what we have to talk about seriously. But I'm not prepared to be quizzed about the IOF," Berberon said. "You know my reputation for knowing things I'm not supposed to.Now you know that my reputation is well founded."

"I always thought that you'd simply cultivated a network ofcontacts over the years—" "In fact, I have," Berberon said. "It makes an excellent cover for the rest of my job."

"You'll have to leave the Service," Sujata said tersely,looking at Farlad. A chink, however small, in her emotional armor. That Maranit reserve will be tested today, Berberon thought sympathetically.

"We can talk about whether that would be prudent someother time," he said. "At this moment you need to listen towhat Teo has to say."

Sujata folded her hands in her lap and sat back. "Go ahead."

"You need to understand the working relationship betweenthe Director and myself," Farlad said, taking a step or twotoward her and dropping his crossed arms to his abdomen."Though I'm his top aide, my clearance has never been ashigh as his. There have always been things that he's done for himself or through others in the Branch, things that I'veknown nothing about until they were over with."

"Teo joined the Nines solely to increase the chances ofWells confiding in him," Berberon said. "It was only a partialsuccess, unfortunately."

"You're a Nine too?" Sujata asked, taken aback.

Farlad nodded. "Fourth Tier."

"Is this what you asked me here to talk about, then? Something regarding the Nines?"

Farlad glanced sideways at Berberon before answering."No, Chancellor. Major Berberon tells me that you had somedoubts about Director Wells's motivations for moving the flagcommand. I think I know why he did it, and I think I knowwhy he did it now."

"I'm listening."

"I didn't know anything about the move until Director Wells asked me to confirm my willingness to go. When I did,I seem to have passed some kind of test, because the next dayI was promoted from Director's Adjutant to Chief of Staff forDefense, and my security rating was raised right to the top."

"Equal to Wells's?"

"Yes. I was given right-to-know on everything except personal datarecs, and invited to poke around. Wells himself evenwalked me through some of the new material the day beforeCharan left. He told me that he wanted me to be fully informed so that if something happened to him, I could be ofassistance to Deputy Director Gaema."

"And you learned what?"

Farlad drew a long breath before answering. "Chancellor,were you aware that the Danfield Device has been successfully tested?"

Sujata blinked several times. "No."

"It has. It exists. It was tested five months ago, on a planetoid orbiting 41 Leo. The yield was 130 percent of design. The planetoid was nickel-iron and the deedee damn near melted it."

Sujata was still hiding whatever anger or alarm she wasfeeling behind her highwoman's mask. She looked at Berberon and said quietly, "I should have been told."

"Yes, you should have," Berberon said. "But did the research authorization require them to tell you?""I don't remember, " Sujata said slowly. "That was years

ago. Perhaps it didn't." She looked at Farlad. "Is there more?""I'm afraid so. I know you were aware of the delays onTriad construction—" "Yes. I understand the engineers were having trouble withthe new series drive."

"The trouble they were having is making the AVLO-T blowlike a deedee on command. They had to redesign it so that itcan be made to open an uncontrolled aperture to the spindle. Itwasn't easy to defeat the drive's tendency to just shut downand close the tap when something goes wrong."

"What are you saying?" "That each element of the Triad will, in effect, be a Dan-field Device."

Sujata brought her folded hands to her mouth and staredhard at the floor between her feet and where Farlad stood. Then she looked up and met his eyes again.

"I think I know what this has to do with," she said. "Harmack did discuss with me the difficulty of any sort of rescueoperation at these distances and under battle conditions. I don't relish the thought of it ever having to be used, but itseems prudent and merciful to provide some sort of self-destruct. And we certainly wouldn't want our most advanced technology falling into the hands of the Mizari."

"Officially it's described in just those terms," Farlad said."But I don't think Wells held up construction of something heconsiders so crucial just to get a particularly nasty method ofself-destruction, not with other perfectly effective optionsavailable. I think he wanted every one of the nine ships to becapable of making a planetary assault on its own."

It took Sujata a moment to understand the implication."But it would be a suicide attack."

"The crews call it 'volunteer's honor,'" Berberon interjected. "As though it were a privilege to throw away your life."

"But why? What possible use could they have for it?"

Farlad shrugged. "There are sixteen star systems in theMizari Cluster, some as much as thirty cees from each other.You only gave Wells three Triads with which to cover them."

"I authorized a fourth last year—"

"Yes—to allow for downtime and make certain that three groups are on-station at any given time," Farlad said. "Yougave him no more strength in the field, no more flexibility."

"Are you saying he would deploy the Triad elements individually?"

"He'll at least have that option now."

Sujata was shaking her head. "I can't believe he'd sendthem out alone. There has to be another reason."

"It may just be insurance," Farlad said. "Some of our studies show as much as a one-in-four chance that the carrier's weapon could be intercepted far enough out to nullify it. If you have four deedees to play with, the odds drop to one in a hundred, factoring in the loss of surprise on the follow-up attacks."

"So is this sort of death-dive in the Triad Force operationalplan?"

"It's not forbidden. I don't know what kind of options Wells will allow the Triad commanders to load into their battle-management systems."

""No," Sujata said stubbornly. "I see nothing suspicious inthis."

Farlad and Berberon exchanged glances. "Then let me tellyou something that is in the Triad operational plan," Berberonsaid. "The Triads are going to be stationed at patrol circles tencees beyond the Perimeter—inside the Mizari Cluster. They'llbe fully armed and ready to move the moment they receive'go' codes."

"Wells and I discussed this too. To have a credible deterrent you have to be in a position to make a quick response."

"Yes. Ordinarily I would agree," Berberon said. "Except Inote that there is no provision for confirming an attack orderwith the Chancellor's office. The 'go' codes come from theDefense Director through Perimeter Defense Command."

"How else would you have it?" Sujata asked. "Wells can'torder an attack without prior authorization from me."

The same benighted trust / so recently was forced to forgo, Berberon thought. You are too much the legalist, Janell. 'Teo, would you give the Chancellor your appraisal of Director Wells's intentions?"

Her face still showing skepticism, Sujata turned toward the younger man.

"This is hard for me," Farlad said hoarsely, shifting hisweight from one foot to the other as he stood with eyesaverted downward. "You don't work closely with someone fora long time without developing strong feelings about them, one way or another. I like the Director. And I believe in whathe said he believed in. I guess I resisted seeing what shouldhave been obvious to me a lot sooner.

"All along he's had his sight set on one goal, and he's never wavered. There's been another purpose beyond the stated one to everything he's done. When he redirected weapons research from defensive systems to offensive. Whenhe engineered the replacement of an activist Chancellor with—forgive me—a caretaker. When he used the communications crisis as a pretext for moving toward the Perimeter."

"What goal, Teo?"

"Isn't it obvious? To destroy the Mizari. He never meant tobuild us a defense against them. His talk of deterrence and abalance of terror was a smoke screen. Yes, theoretically youcontrol the Defense forces. But you do it through Wells. Youdepend on him and his good faith. The Triad commanders willbe looking to him, not to you."

"Wells won't start a war simply because he can," Sujatasaid with unwavering certainty. "He's extremely stable—conservative. You should know better than anyone that he's'anything but reckless."

"Chancellor, I'm sorry, but you don't understand," Farladsaid. "Have you forgotten that he is a Nine, what their mind-set is? He is willing to start a war—because he's incapable ofbelieving that we could lose. And he always meant to lead thecharge himself. Triad is a first-strike weapon. It's a sneak-attack weapon. He'll use them as soon as they're ready—and they'll be ready when he reaches Lynx Center."

"But the Perimeter would be the worst place to be in awar," Sujata protested. "Why would he go there?" "Because his concept of honor demands it," Farlad saidquietly.

Reluctant though he had been to take part, Farlad had followed Berberon's script flawlessly. The timing, the delivery,the careful unfolding of the story in such a way to maximizeits impact—all had been perfect. And yet still Sujata did not react.

Berberon would have wagered heavily that no one couldlisten to what Sujata had heard and not explode out of theirchair with fury at having been betrayed. He could not believethat it was solely her Maranit heritage that was to blame, thatshe was capable of holding such feeling behind her mask. At some fundamental level she was discounting what she had heard. Thankfully, against that possibility he had held backone card, which he now played.

"For whatever reason, you do not seem to be taking whatwe say very seriously," Berberon said. "Would it make anydifference to you to learn that there is something else thatWells kept from you? That the Triads not only now have aweapon but also have a target?"

He saw a flicker of dismay cross Sujata's face, but he didnot stop to measure how deeply his words had pierced her. Hecontinued on, driving the blade deeper. "The very first thingthat Wells told Teo after raising his clearance was that eightand a half years ago a new generation of data analyzers in thePerimeter listening posts began to report weak and uncorrelated emissions from Mizar-Alcor. That coincides with the beginning of Wells's campaign for Triad.

"The Mizari are real, Chancellor. And Wells knows where they are."

Even Sujata's surrender, when it came, was controlled. AsBerberon was speaking, her eyes had widened as though trying to absorb the enormity of the deception. Then suddenlyshe pressed her folded hands against her forehead, squeezedher eyes shut, and curled into a rigid ball in her chair. But herretreat could not shut out Berberon's words, and she shivered violently in reaction to his last sentence.

From his chair across the room Berberon looked on with genuine sympathy. He understood her pain, and her anger athis part in it. The fact that he felt the same humiliation did notreduce his responsibility. His empathy was empty of comfort,and so he made no attempt to communicate it to her.

"Thank you, Teo," was all he said. "You can go now."

Then, when Farlad was gone, Berberon himself withdrewto an adjoining room so that Sujata might have an opportunityto restore the privacy of self that he had been obliged to sorudely violate.

Ambushed.

There was no single word that could adequately describewhat Sujata was feeling, but that one captured the highestpoints. Sujata felt victimized by those she had trusted, ambushed, and then cruelly misused by them. Everyone had liedto her. Wells had lied and she had failed to detect it. Berberon

had lied and she had failed to detect it. A feeble gift you have, she whispered to herself. Too little for Maranit—too little even for here.

But the cut that had gone the deepest was Farlad's. A "caretaker" Chancellor, he had called her. She could not denyit. She knew well her own selfish inclinations. They were heranswer to her anger at being cornered into taking the Chancellorship, an anger that even six years of selfishness had notcompletely erased.

But she had a conscience as well, which demanded she give her position its due. She had not always placed herself first. In her six years she had canceled two sabbaticals and returned from a third early to deal with minor crises. Her conscience would leave her at peace only as long as the Service was functioning smoothly.

But Farlad's revelations were a brutal lesson that thoughshe had attended to appearances and to the day-to-day detail,she had neglected larger concerns. She had not led the Servicebut had been content merely to manage it. And by doing so, she had given Wells his opportunity.

Curled up in her chair, eyes turned inward, Sujata hadbarely been aware of Farlad and Berberon leaving the room.She was only slightly more aware when Berberon returned.He walked toward her slowly but deliberately, stopping a polite distance from where she sat.

"You have to stop him," he said quietly.

His words roused Sujata out of her withdrawal. "Stophim!" she exclaimed, coming up out of her chair with a sudden, violent motion. "You slitter, you were the one who saidto help him! Look where we are now."

"Sorting out the degrees of blame can wait for another time. Right now you need to decide what you're going to do."

She turned her back on him and walked toward the closed greatport. "What else? I'm going to have to recall Charan, order it to return here as quickly as possible."

Across the room she heard the deep breath Berberon tookbefore answering. "I wish it were that easy. Did you forgetshe's flying deaf, in the craze? She won't rejoin the net untilthe approach to Lynx Center."

Sujata sighed, the outward sign of a sudden wave of self-recrimination that washed over her. "Of course, you're right.And I did that. I wanted Wells to be isolated from his network here. He wanted to have Charan make the run in pogo mode,coming out of the craze every few months to pick up dispatches. I insisted otherwise."

"It was a good decision with what you knew then," Berberon said. "Unfortunately, it just makes things more complicated now."

Sujata barely heard Berberon's reply. Her mind was busycasting about for another solution to the dilemma. "I'll have to remove him from the Directorship," she said at last, turning toface the Terran Observer. "Wells will arrive at Lynx Center tofind he has no authority."

"How's it to be done?" Berberon asked. "The accused has the right of reply during a recall. How can Wells defend himself in absentia?"

"The Committee will surely allow an exception in this case—"

"Why should they? Don't you realize that what upsets youwill please them? They want the Triads to have operationalweapons. They assumed all along that the Mizari are real."

Sujata fought her own rising panic. "Then the only answeris to cancel Triad. He'll get there and he'll have nothing tostart a war with—"

"Try, and you'll no longer be Chancellor," Berberon saidgently. "The hawkish tilt of the Committee is worse now than it was when Erickson tried to stop Triad. One politically incorrect move on your part and Loughridge will move into youroffice."

"What's the answer, then?"

"Don't let him be out there alone," Berberon said simply.

Sujata shut out the unwelcome words. "I—I don't knowwhat I was thinking. It doesn't matter if he can't return rightaway. I can still recall him," she said, the words tumbling outon top of each other. "The dispatch will be waiting for himwhen he gets there. He'll just have to turn around and comeback. Or no, even better, we can conduct a hearing on hisdismissal through the Kleine. He can have his say and thenwe'll be rid of him—"

Berberon shook his head slowly. 'Two thirds of the peopleon Lynx are Defense personnel. They have seventeen years tothink about him coming. More than time enough to create apowerful mythos about the man who'll lead them as they riseup to vanquish their enemy and reclaim their pride. They'll receive him as a soldier-messiah. He'll become something larger than life to them."

"No—"

"Just as Teo said, they won't be looking to you—they'll belooking to him. Once he's there alone, he doesn't have toobey you. And if he chooses to follow his conscience insteadof the Service charter, there won't be anything you can doabout it. You can't touch him there."

"He wouldn't do that," she said, a note of desperation inher voice. "Teo says otherwise—and I agree with him. So do you, ifyou're honest with yourself."

Sujata threw her head back and stared up at the ceiling as acascade of anger and indignation flooded through her. No\ Why should I have to pay the price again? I've only just gotten back what it cost me the first time. Damn it all, it isn't fair—it isn't fair— Although those thoughts ravaged her, still she keptthem bottled within her.

"The only answer I can see is for you to be even moreimposing a figure and just as close at hand," Berberon continued. "You have to follow him, in Wesley. You have to enforce your objection in person."

"What good will that do?" she demanded. "You said Defense owns Lynx Center. If Wells has decided to break withthe Service and follow his own path, he can refuse my ordersas easily in person as he can with me here."

"I don't have the answer to that," Berberon said. "He maynot listen to you." He hesitated briefly, then went on. "It may be necessary to remove Wells another way."

She stared disbelievingly. "You can't be serious—"

"I am perfectly serious. Teo will take care of it if we tellhim it's necessary. But even so, it already may be too late tostop this war," Berberon said. "I'm going to have to tell mygovernment to assume that war is coming."

At that moment she saw in his face and heard in his voice the fear he had been trying to hide from her: a helpless fear ofthe ending of things, of the inevitable loss of all that was worth saving. He did not fear for himself so much as for hispeople, and suddenly she thought of Maranit with a vividnessshe had not known for years.

Berberon's fear stilled the streets of her memories, and littered the burning maranax with bodies of her friends. Her knees suddenly weak beneath her, Sujata felt her way back toher chair. "The Committee will never permit me to leave."

Berberon came closer and crouched down within arm's reach. "Don't tell them you're going there to stop him. Tellthem you're going there to join him, because of the gravity ofthe situation."

She pressed her palms to her temples and stared down atthe floor. Each noisy breath carried the echoes of tears trappedwithin her. I don't want to leave Earth\ she thought in one last furious, selfish cry. I don't want to leave what I've found down there—

As though he could read her, Berberon said softly, "Janell—I'm sorry. But it has to be you. There's no one else."

A heart-rending sound, half cry, half moan, escaped herlips as the mask shattered and the tears came. "God damnyou," she said, sobbing. "You take and take and take. You— steal—everything that matters to me." Her face twisted into an ugly rictus as she fought to stem the flood of anguish anddespair. Failing, she came up suddenly out of her chair andfled with quick strides to the far wall. She threw one forearmup against the wall at head height and buried her face in thecrook of her elbow.

Presently, as her sobbing weakened and slowed, she turnedher face toward Berberon. Her mask was not yet up: her eyesradiated hate.

"Fecuma. Ka'arrit. I'll go, God damn you," she snapped."I'll catch your runaway soldier and I'll try to cage him. Butyou're coming with me, you slitter. You tell the Council whatever you have to, I don't care. But you're coming with me.This time it's going to cost you too."

chapter 13

So Long a Journey,
So Little Joy

As a four-time veteran of the transplant trauma, Sujata knewexactly what it represented. It was not unlike extracting aningrown wandering vine from the hedgerow. Given enoughtime and a patient hand, both the hedgerow and the vine couldemerge from the sundering largely undamaged. Get the transplant into new soil soon enough and almost always it wouldsmoothly recover from what shock it necessarily endured.And in most cases the hedgerow would never even notice it was gone.

But when time was short and the direct took precedenceover the delicate, both organisms were going to suffer grievously. Cut here, uproot there, and never mind the fragile new leaves. We can prune away the damage later—

Sujata had begun the delicate business of disengaging herlife from that of Wyrena Ten Ga'ar six years ago. But despiteearly success and the passage of time, she had never pressedthe process to a conclusion. There came a time when the emotional price of the final break outweighed the gain to be hadfrom making it. Equilibrium set in, a new equilibrium thatfound the circles of their lives still overlapping, but no longer congruent.

Ten Ga'ar had her own residence, her own friends, and the comfortable illusion that she was still first in Sujata's love. Intruth, Ten Ga'ar had moved to the periphery of Sujata's emotional life. But respecting the illusion, Sujata made no effortto move anyone else into the space Ten Ga'ar had vacated.

For her part, Sujata kept her xochaya mates, Allianora and, later, a new Emigre named Lochas—Ten Ga'ar did not knowenough of the depth of those relationships to be jealous ofthem. And during her sabbaticals on the surface, Sujatamerged herself with the mother, engaging her senses and hersensibility with the living fabric of a homeworld now moreprecious to her than her own. Between the two she saw to herown needs, or enough of them to keep her whole.

But she and Ten Ga'ar were still lovers; they were comfortable friends. And they were going to have to say good-bye.

Sujata had kept her decision to pursue Wells to herself aslong as possible. There was no reason to deal with its ramifications until the Committee had spoken. Now, returning from the Committee chamber with that body's permission, therewas every reason to hasten the unpleasantries. The grapevinewould soon be humming with rumors, and it would be cruelerby far if Ten Ga'ar heard it from another.

She briefly considered taking Ten Ga'ar home with her as acourtesy, breaking the news to her where they would have theprivacy to fully and freely express their feelings. But she convinced herself that Ten Ga'ar would accept the decision morereadily if the Service's needs were emphasized and the personal consequences downplayed. The impersonal atmosphereof her conference room was more conducive to such a strategythan the intimacy of her suite.

Ten Ga'ar arrived in the Chancellery Office a minute afterSujata, and they walked to the conference room together."How did your special session go?" Ten Ga'ar asked, stopping so that Sujata could enter the room first.

"It was—productive."

"Am I allowed to know yet what it was about?"

"That's why I wanted to see you."

They settled on opposite ends of a backless divan. "I don'tquite know where to start," Sujata said. "Certain matters cameto light yesterday that are going to mean a lot of changes.I don't want to go through what those matters were or whatthe changes will be now, because it would just delay getting to the point. What it all means in the end is that we made a mistake.

"I made a mistake," she corrected quickly. "I shouldn't have let Wells leave. And to correct the mistake I'm going to have to follow him out to Lynx in Wesley."

Ten Ga'ar's eyes cast randomly about for focus as she grappled with the implications of that statement. "All right,"she said finally. "It'll be crowded, but we can find two berths

Please don't make this harder, Sujata begged silently. "Observer Berberon will be going with me."

"Three berths, then. We can double up some of the ratings

Sujata could not let the misapprehension take any strongerhold. "You won't be going."

A look of wounded surprise, like that of a dog whose nosehas been smacked for no obvious reason, passed over TenGa'ar's face. "Why?" she asked plaintively.

"In the first place there isn't room. Wesley has combat accommodations. Even adding two people to the manifest willmake for a miserable thirty days to Lynx."

"But I could stay with you, in your cabin—that wouldn'tput anyone else out—"

"I'm only going to request a single command cabin, whichObserver Berberon and I will share. There isn't room for a third person."

"You and I would only need one bunk—"

"Wy, I'm sorry—no. There's a more important reason, besides. I need you here. I had to agree that Wesley would run the leg in pogo mode. We're going to drop down for dispatches every second day, which means every nine months orso on this time track. I need someone I know and trust here to distill that nine months of activity down into something I candeal with in ninety minutes, and then to see that my decisionsget carried out. Not to mention make all the little decisionsthat will need to be made on the spot."

"Regan can do that, just like he has during your sabbaticals."

"With you helping, as you have during my sabbaticals."

Ten Ga'ar hugged herself as her eyes brightened withmoisture. "You don't want me to go. If you wanted me, theseother things wouldn't even matter. You never even consideredtaking me."

The attempt at emotional blackmail triggered a rush of anger in Sujata. "No, Wy, I didn't. I've been thinking abouttrying to stop Wells from plunging the Worlds into war. In thatkind of company our relationship moves pretty far down onmy list of concerns."

Ten Ga'ar half turned away and stared down at her feet.She sat rigid and motionless except for her left hand, whichplayed idly with a fastener on her blouse.

"I shouldn't be surprised, really," she said in a voice almost too faint to be heard. "You've been looking for a reasonto break with me ever since you became Chancellor. I couldn'tmove with you to the Chancellor's suite—security, you said. I knew it was because you were embarrassed by me. The partiesI wasn't welcome at—business, you said. I knew better. Thesabbaticals you took alone—once you talked about us exploring Earth together. Then, I was afraid to. But you never askedme again. You made clear I wasn't welcome."

Ten Ga'ar raised her head and turned a tear-streaked face toward Sujata. "I kept waiting for you to push me all the wayout. But you never did. I suppose you wanted me to decide Iwouldn't stand for just a little of you and take that last stepmyself. Or maybe you were just reducing me to what youreally wanted me for—a hand between your legs, a mouth onyour breast—"

"Wyrena, stop," Sujata said, a command and a plea. "Wewere living on top of each other. I needed more room, and sodid you. It was never that I didn't love you."

Ten Ga'ar's lost and distant look did not waver. "You never loved me as much as I loved you." Sujata sighed. "I loved you as much and as well as I was able to."

"And I never asked for more, did I? Even though I wanted it. Wanted what you gave Allianora. No, don't be surprised.Even though you never talked about xochaya, did you think Icouldn't find out elsewhere? That still hurts, Janell. I wanted to be part of all your secrets, but you never thought me goodenough."

"It isn't something you teach someone in an afternoon,"Sujata said helplessly. "You can't put on another person's culture like a change of clothing. It would have been empty ofmeaning."

"Not to me," Ten Ga'ar said, her eyes brimming over again. "Not to me."

Infected by the other woman's sadness, Sujata edged

toward Ten Ga'ar and opened her arms. "Let me hold you."

But Ten Ga'ar drew back defensively. "No. No, I don't

think so." She rose from the divan and retreated a few steps to

the center of the room. "I guess when I think about it, you.really haven't been very good to me—or for me—after all,"she said, her back to Sujata. "I—I don't think I would care to go with you to Lynx, anyway. I'll make—I'll meet with thecaptain of the Wesley and arrange space for you and Observer Berberon."

"Regan and Captain Hirschfield are coming in at 13:00 towork out the final arrangements," Sujata said, though she .hated having to do so. "I wasn't sure you'd feel like being

involved—"

"I'm fine," Ten Ga'ar said stiffly, her back still turned.

"It's part of my job, isn't it? I'll come back at 13:00, then."

She moved toward the door.

Sujata realized then that she had chosen her office for the

encounter, not in the hopes of inhibiting Ten Ga'ar's feelings,

but to inhibit her own. She came to her feet and called after

Ten Ga'ar, "Wy—please understand. I don't want to do this.*'

Ten Ga'ar stopped a step from the doorway but did not

turn.

"Going to Lynx is the last thing I want," Sujata said plead

ingly. "I would have been happy to stay here and keep you in

my life. Wy, I did love you. I still love you. I didn't let you

into my life lightly. I don't leave easily. And I'll never let go

of the feeling." She held out her arms, an invitation to an

embrace. "Please," she begged. "Please, Wy. Let me hold

you."

But she knew it was too late. Ten Ga'ar's own wounds

were still bleeding, rendering Sujata's pain irrelevant. "I'll be

here at 13:00 with the others," Ten Ga'ar said with the barest

shake of her head.

She never even looked back as she walked away.

"This is wonderful news you bring me for a change, Fe-lithe," Tanvier said, pivoting slowly back and forth in his bowllike chair. Though the two men were alone, the WorldCouncil President wore the insincere half smile of contentment that was his public face. "The Service leadership squabbling at the highest levels—first Wells and now ChancellorSujata hying off to the Perimeter—this almost warrants a eelebration. Certainly it demands some careful reflection on theopportunities that might now open up."

"I am ever more convinced that you'll never understand anything I tell you correctly the first time," Berberon said sharply. "This is a disaster, Jean-Paul, the final failure of yourattempt to neutralize the Nines."

"Final failure?" Tanvier said, reaching for his pipe andlighter. "My dear Felithe, you are so dramatic. What has changed except that the USS is now headless and will soontopple to the ground dead? By the time Wells's little convoyreaches Lynx, we will quite likely control the space over ourheads again."

Berberon glowered in the direction of the pipe and circledTanvier's desk to a spot where the room's air currents weretaking the plume of pollution away from him instead of toward him. The pipe's contents were noncarcinogenic but farfrom nonallergenic; smoking the pipe was something Tanvierdid specifically to annoy him.

"Enjoy your triumph while you can. Because when the Mizari return, I doubt you'll have the same cheery view ofthings."

Tanvier snorted. "Do you really believe that Wells meansto start a war he can't win? The Nines are radicals, yes, butthey're not insane—Wells least of all."

"We're all a little bit insane, Jean-Paul," Berberon said, leaning over the desk. "It's the reptile brain buried down thereunder all those cosmetic layers of cortex. It keeps asking us todo things that made perfect sense in the Cambrian Era but nosense at all in the world we occupy. Mostly we ignore thevoice, but every now and then we say yes. Wells has alreadysaid yes to his beast. I knew that ten years ago. All he's beenwaiting for is the opportunity to follow through. Which,bloody goddamnit, we went and handed to him."

Tanvier leaned back and spread his hands wide. "What doyou want from me, Felithe? You said the Chancellor was on tohim. She'll put the bad genie back in the bottle."

"I don't think we can take that for granted.""Then let Farlad loose. He'll handle it," Tanvier said with a shrug. "I'll place that option at your discretion."

"I've already claimed it myself, thank you. But the opportunity may not arise. And we have no one else positioned totake up the ball."

"None of our agents were tapped for CharanT'

"No. And, of course, we have no in-place assets at LynxCenter or Perimeter Command. Talk to the section head about that, not me," he added quickly.

"So we'll be spectators," Tanvier said sanguinely. "I ask

• you again—what do you want from me?"

"For one, leave the Service alone at least until this matter is resolved. If he gets to Lynx and finds that we're answering thephones at USS-Central, he'll figure this is his one and onlychance and be all the more determined not to waste it. I don't care how good an opportunity this appears to be. We can't cutJanell's legs out from under her until Wells is under control."

Tanvier pursed his lips and drew deeply at his pipe. "Youmay have something there. Very well. The Service can muddle along without our interference—for now."

Berberon nodded gratefully and settled back into a chair."That's a good decision, Jean-Paul. See that you stick withit."

"Felithe, have I ever pointed out to you that you're a pushybastard?"

"Less often than you've thought it, I'm sure. So when I tell you the next part, I'm sure you're going to want to have thatcelebration, after all."

"Why? What's the next part?"
"I've promised to go with Chancellor Sujata to Lynx."
"Why to God's Earth would you do that? Wait—you're

not—but I heard that she was—" "Stop right there," Berberon snapped. "I'm going so I cantry to help her pull your irons out of the fire, that's all."

Tanvier screwed up his face into a daunting frown. "You'rethe Terran Observer to the Steering Committee of the UnifiedSpace Service. How can you fulfill that function from twenty-five cees away?"

"The only events that matter over the next fifty years aregoing to take place out there. Nothing even remotely as important is going to happen in the Earth locus. I assume thatyou'll want me to be where I at least have a chance to make adifference?"

Tanvier gestured with his pipe hand, disturbing a columnof gray smoke. "We can send someone else along with Sujata,for appearances. It doesn't have to be you."

"I'm afraid I've already committed myself."
"Then I'm afraid I must insist you give up your post. I just

can't embrace the idea of an absentee Observer. Rather oxy-moronic, don't you think?"

"So call me something else," Berberon said tersely."Create a new position—Special Ambassador for Military Affairs, I don't care. Just make sure I have some authority torepresent you. Give me some leverage to help Janell with Wells."

Tanvier nodded grudgingly. "I suppose we can come upwith something suitably vague and ceremonial. But tell me—what exactly is it you think you're going to be able to do?"

"I'll know better when we reach Lynx," Berberon said witha shake of his head. "Maybe lend moral support. Maybe helpJanell space the son of a bitch."

Laughing broadly, Tanvier leaned forward and set down hispipe. "Felithe, I'm going to miss you."

"Jean-Paul, you don't know how much it troubles me notto be able to say the same," Berberon said, rising. "I have toget back. They're moving up Wesley's departure to try to makeup for some of the time we'll lose dropping down for dispatches. We want to make sure we catch him at Lynx."

Tanvier struggled up from his chair. "Are there any mattersdown here that will need looking after? For instance, anypretty women being left behind?" he asked, flashing a grin."Seriously, if there are things that you need—"

"Just my title and a draft of my authority, by sailing time—16:00 tomorrow."

"I'll see that you have it."

Berberon nodded and moved toward the door. He took two steps, then stopped and half turned toward Tanvier. His expression was grim. "This is a bad time, Jean-Paul, and a verydangerous business. Don't make any mistake about that."

His earlier amusement was no longer in evidence on Tan-vier's face. "I won't, Felithe. Good luck to you. I have confidence that you and Chancellor Sujata will get the job done,one way or another."

Berberon grunted. "All the same, just in case we fail andWells gets his war, I'd recommend you start digging a very deep hole to hide in. Because this time around I don't think the Mizari will settle for half measures."

Forty-one hours after Berberon had called her to his officeto hear Farlad's story, Janell Sujata boarded the auxiliary flagship Joanna Wesley for the first time.

It had been forty-one hours of frantic activity, forty-onehours without sleep. Nearly six of those hours had been spentfighting with Captain Hirschfield, who had come as close ashe could to refusing outright to recognize Sujata's claim on hiscommand before finally capitulating. Even then Hirschfield had been barely less accommodating about hastening the sailing date. He had insisted, ultimately futilely, that the ship'sdefensive systems (which were not fully fault-tested) were asimportant as its propulsion and navigation systems (which were).

From Hirschfield she had gone to the Committee, informing them only that a Sterilizer nest had been detected and thatthe critical nature of the situation demanded her presence aswell on the Perimeter. To her surprise the other Directors didnot balk, perhaps because Wells's departure had conditionedthem to the idea, perhaps because her absence promised toleave them more powerful, or perhaps even because they accepted her argument and their perception of the danger at facevalue.

There had been other long sessions with Ten Ga'ar andMarshall, working out the responsibilities of each in the ongoing management of the Service. Those meetings, formal andbusinesslike, had been all Sujata had seen of Ten Ga'ar. Therehad been no chance to try to tear down the wall that suddenlyhad sprung up between them.

As the time neared to board the bus for the trip to Wesley,Sujata had not even been able to locate her to say good-bye.Nor had she had time for a final xochaya with Allianora or Lochas, though her need was great. Stealing a few minutes tocall them was the most she could manage.

The shipwrights had turned Wesley into an armored labyrinth, mechanical and claustrophobic. The thick energy-absorbing layer under her new mirror-finish skin had stolensome of her former living volume, and her new equipment,including the l.5-terawatt lance, had stolen still more. The pressure walls and hatchways every few metres along the narrow climbways gave the illusion of shells within shells withinshells.

Throughout the hull, human comfort had clearly been relegated to second place behind military functionality. The largest unobstructed volumes within Wesley's hourglass hull were the new command bridge, just forward of the pinched "waist,"and the drive and weapons engineers' systems center, just aftof the "waist." Cushioned between them amidships were thedrive, the massive capacitance bank for the lance, and keyelements of the ship's communications and computing facilities.

Ignored in the confused activity of final preparations forsailing, Sujata headed forward to find the cabin she would share with Berberon and see that her effects had been safelydelivered aboard. She had been too busy even to see to something as personal but fundamentally trivial as selecting herown clothing. In fact, she had only returned to her suite oncein the last two days, and then only long enough to retrieve herlifecord from its hiding place and add it to the things her aidehad collected for her.

The cabin was essentially as she had expected, yet seemedalmost intolerably crowded. It was narrow enough that shecould span it with her outstretched arms, perhaps twice thatdeep, and had a low enough ceiling that Sujata was aware of itover her head. There were two bunks, the upper folded andlatched against the wall, the lower providing the only seating;a tiny bath with shower and toilet, to be shared with the occupants of the adjacent cabin; and a floor-to-ceiling bank ofswinging-door lockers of assorted sizes, serving as closet, bureau, and desk.

Her possessions were neatly arrayed in several lockers labeled with her name, though on scanning their contents sheimmediately thought of other things she would have liked instead of, or in addition to, what was there. But it was too late for such considerations. Sailing time was less than an hour away.

In the process of coming forward she had snagged theloose folds of her daiiki several times on projections and sotook the opportunity to change into more close-fitting clothing. Then, since she had no part to play in the preparations fordeparture, she stole a few minutes to tour the rest of Wesley'sclimbways and chambers.

When she reached the aftmost section, she instantly regretted her unspoken complaints about her cabin. The ratings'quarters located there made the command cabins seem palatial.

Ten sleeping cubicles, arrayed like cells in a honeycomb— or crypts in a mausoleum—faced a small galley flanked by atwo-stall shower on one side and a lavatory on the other. Thecubicles, which were too small even to sit up straight in, consisted of a padded sleeping surface, a blank wall that cried outfor decoration, a sliding wall that concealed storage for personal effects, and a bare ceiling with recessed lighting and a flatscreen terminal.

There would be little privacy here, Sujata saw. The ratingswould eat, sleep, copulate, bathe, and excrete in close proximity to each other, the fundamental human functions colliding in the confined space. And, she knew, should any of themdie while on patrol, the bodies would rest here as well, sealedin a cubicle flooded with tissue-preserving gases, awaiting return to the requested place of burial.

Leaving the crew quarters, she joined Berberon and Hirschfield on the command bridge. With its six egg-shapedbattle couches arrayed in a circle, the bridge looked oddly likethe nesting place for some great bird. The couches rested on a circular track; if Wesley were to begin spinning as a defenseagainst energy weapons, the couches would rotate in the opposite direction along the track, protecting their occupantsfrom any disorienting effects. In the center of the circle was a six-sided display not unlike that in the Committee chamber.The screen facing Sujata showed a graphlike gravigation track.

"I was juSt about to come looking for you," Berberon said,coming up to her. "Captain Hirschfield says that we can goforward—that there's really no place for us here."

"Even so, we can stay if we're so inclined," Sujata said,loudly enough for Hirschfield to hear. "Which I am."

They stood there together and listened to the chatter between the various bridge officers and the techs on the systemsdeck as 16:00 drew closer. Though much of what was said meant little to Sujata, she could see that Hirschfield was walking them through the final minutes in an unhurried, yetcrisply disciplined, manner.

"Captain Hirschfield?" the comtech said at one point. "Theoff-watch is requesting a feed of the coverage from Earthnet.Any objection?"

Hirschfield shook his head. "No. You can put it on up here,too, on alternate screens."

Earthnet had learned a lesson from the sailing of Charan, namely that a deepship retreating against a background of stars is an unspectacular image on all but the largest and sharpestvideo displays. Unquestionably the most dramatic sight inEarth's region of space was Earth itself. So for Wesley the Net was trying another tack: covering the sailing from Wesley'sperspective and showing the receding Earth as it would be seen from the ship's observation deck—if it had one, which itdid not.

The picture that came up on the screen facing Sujata was ofswiriing cloud tops and mottled blue oceans, zigzagging riversand smooth, tan plains. The sight brought an involuntarysmile to Sujata's face.

All that you've done these last two days, and nothing for yourself, she told herself. You didn't even take a few minutes out to go down to the Earthdome, or even to take one long last look from the greatport in your office.

All at once the true dimensions of what she was leavingbehind were clear to her. Up until then she had been too busyto think of it, too busy and perhaps too wary of the emotionssuch thoughts would unleash. But fatigue had made her vulnerable, and as she stood there staring at the face of Earth, a devastating sense of loss welled up inside her.

"Wait," she said suddenly.

"What?" Hirschfield demanded.

"I said wait. Suspend the count."

"Listen, I asked you once to go forward to your cabin, that

I didn't need your interference here," Hirschfield said crossly."Now I have to insist—" "No!" she said sharply, cutting him off. "I have to leave theship. Recall the bus." "You can't," Hirschfield protested. "We're programmed tosail in eighteen minutes.""Recall the bus," she repeated. "I am sorry, but I have todo this."

Three strides carried her to the port climbway, and she started forward without looking to see if Hirschfield or Berberon were following. Ten metres on, the climbway mergedwith the corridor leading to one of the forward space doors.She stopped there and pressed the stub of her transceiver. "Joaquim? Where are you?"

"Uh—Chancellor, I'm here in Central. Seeing you off from the star dome, in fact, with a few friends from Transport."

"Joaquim, I need to go downwell one last time. Point of Arches. Very quick—just down and back. Can you help me?"

"Of course, Chancellor," the pilot said cheerily. "No problem. We heard you recall the bus. I'll see that there's a shuttleready to go by the time it gets you back here. And a skiffstanding by in Seattle."

After Hirschfield's belligerence and Berberon's questioninglooks, his unquestioning willingness to help her touched Sujata, nearly triggering tears. "Thank you, Joaquim," she saidhoarsely. "I'll be waiting."

The bright landing lights of the skiff lit up a cloverleaf-shaped section of the sands like midday, sending nocturnal crabs scurrying in confusion for cover. Other creatures watched from their dark sanctuaries as the vehicle dipped towithin a metre of the ground, gracefully rotated a half turn,then settled on the beach.

With a hiss and a faint metallic creak, the port hatch edgedopen. Almost immediately Sujata clambered out, clutching inone hand a small parcel wrapped in a thin red fabric.

"Give me ten minutes," she shouted over the whine of Jhe turbines and the white noise of the surf.

"I'll just wander up the coastline to Cape Flattery and givethe Makah Indians a scare," Joaquim called back. "Hollerwhen you want me and I'll pop right back."

Waving her agreement, Sujata pushed the hatch closed, ducked her head against the flying sand, and moved awayquickly. As she did, the skiff raised up and slewed northward.Its machine sounds faded gradually into the night, restoringpeace to the beach and insuring privacy for Sujata's actions.

Compared to the harsh argon floodlights of the skiff, thelight from the gibbous moon was pale and ghostly. Sujata fellto her knees in the sand and set her burden before her to unwrap it. The land breeze tugged at the comers of the lightfabric, then swept the scrap away when she cradled the life-cord in both hands and raised it before her eyes. Slowly sheran the knotted cord with her fingertips, remembering. Thenshe draped it around her neck and clutched the heartstone fiercely in one hand.

So long a journey, with so little joy, she thought sadly.

Slipping her shoes from her feet, she stood and walked down the slope of the beach to the water's edge. The chillbrine swirled around her ankles and made her shiver. She leaned down, scooped up a handful of water in her cuppedpalm, and brought it to her mouth to taste. Then, for a longmoment, she stood still, listening to the Mother's voice, reaching out with all of her senses for Her face.

Then with a sudden, decisive movement, she slipped thelifecord from her neck and hurled it with all her strength outtoward where the waves were expending themselves againstthe columns of black rock. She watched the lifecord arc over the near breakers, turning gracefully end over end, but lostsight of it in the shadow of a sea stack and did not see where itfell.

"Selir bi'chentya," she began chanting in a voice that trembled and broke. "Darnatir bi'maranya en bis losya.Ti bir naskya en bis pentaya. Loris bir rownya. Qoris nonitya—"

Suddenly chilled through, she hugged herself and retreateda few steps from the surging water. There, she thought. I'll never leave You now, Mother. I have given myself to You. Make me forever part of You—

With an effort, she made herself turn away and walk backup the sloping beach. She picked up her shoes where she haddiscarded them and, surrendering to the sand clinging to herfeet, tucked them under one arm. For just an instant she hesitated, stealing another glance back out to sea. Then she reached up and firmly pressed the stub of her transceiver.

"All right, Joaquim," she called in a voice husky with emotion. "You can come back for me. I'm ready to go now."

chapter 14

Mothball

"Coming up on the starboard side now is Regal Bearing, a typical yacht of the Adara yards," intoned Jeffrey Hawkins,Viking's tour guide, in a cheery, practiced voice. "RegalBearing was built in 312 A.R. for a Journan corporate collective and spent most of its active years legging from Journa toAdvance Base Perseus...."

It had been four hours since Viking had left its moorings,and more than a hour since the tour had begun. Already therewas some restlessness among the tour cruiser's fifty-odd passengers, and some chatter among those who had already tiredof Hawkins's ongoing narration. One or two were even sleeping in the dimly lit main cabin.

But others were listening and looking out through theviewports as raptly now as they had when the first great bulkhad loomed up out of the darkness and suddenly been lit byViking's powerful spotlights. Among them was a towheadedthree-year-old boy seated in the back row on the starboard side. At the announcement he squirmed in his chair andcraned his head in an unsuccessful effort to see past the heads,shoulders, and backs between him and the viewport.

"Pick me up, Mommy, please?" he asked plaintively.

"Sssh. Be quiet, Matt," whispered the young woman to thechild's right.

But an elderly man with a close-cropped white beard whowas sitting on the child's left reached down with a pale, oddlyscarred hand and hoisted the boy onto one shoulder. "There you go," he said. "Can you see it now?"

The boy's answer was a beaming smile and a gleeful, "Canyou see it? Ye-ah!"

From his vantage point in the guide's booth Jeffrey Hawkins took note of the byplay. He smiled to himself as man andchild together peered out through the synglass at the still andsilent shapes of the Unified Planets Spacecraft Museum slipping past.

Hawkins knew them all: sprints and warships, freightersand yachts, scattered across the blackness as though painted inplace. The stillness was illusion. In reality the Museum's exhibits were hurtling along in formation, a hundred-odd shipsscattered through a hundred cubic kilometres, their hulls bronzed by light from the giant red star Arcturus. Moving asone, they traced an orbit between the habitable planet Cheia,home to the Arcturus New Colony, and the Jovian planet Chryseis.

It was Hawkins's third season as Viking's tour guide. Three weeks out of every two years, the Museum passed close enough to Cheia for Viking to carry the curious for a visit. Thetours were not run to provide a profit but rather a service.They were a way to say to the Service bureaucracy at Central,"Yes, we value what you've sent us—send us more."

In those three seasons Hawkins had come to know the two kinds of people who came to the Museum as well as he hadthe ships themselves. The first group, those Hawkins thoughtof as the believers, usually comprised the majority of the visitors. They were the ones who came to marvel at the technology, to steep themselves in the history. Like Hawkins, nearlyall had been bom on Cheia. Also like Hawkins, they had noreal hope of ever leaving it.

The believers came to the Museum with a wistful longingand the conviction that circumstance had conspired to deprivethem of something wonderful. For them the ships representedother worlds, other times, other lives. The bearded man with the child on his shoulder was one such; Hawkins could read the emotions on his face, could see it in the way he had treated the child's request as something important.

By contrast, the child's mother belonged to the categoryHawkins called the skimmers. Some skimmers were tourists in the true sense: members of visiting packet crews who cameto the Museum only to he able to say when they returned toBootes Center or Earth that they had been to a place that wasbeyond the reach of their audience.

But most skimmers were native Cheians. They were thetype of social gadflies who were only interested in championship games, finish lines, and opening nights. Their interest inan event or activity was related less to the inner satisfactionthat might be derived from it than to its snob value and trendiness.

It was the skimmers who had packed Viking for this tour, just as they had every tour this season; ordinarily the four rows of seats would have been half full or less. It was the skimmers who were talking and dozing and shifting impatiently m their seats. They had no interest in a typical yacht ofthe Achernar yards, or the bulk-cargo packet retired from theCy gnus-Maranit run, or any of the Museum's proletarian vessels. They had come to see the royalty. They had come because of Munin.

Five years earlier Munin had arrived at Arcturus New Colony from Bootes Center carrying twenty-six emigrants and asgreat a volume of technological trade goods as could coexistwith her human cargo. From the first, her presence had causeda sensation. While she was being unloaded at Equatorial Station so many people left their jobs elsewhere on the orbitingbase to come see her that the station manager felt obliged todeclare the docks restricted. Six hours later he surrendered in the face of a, near mutiny and issued a visitation schedule instead.

However extreme, the interest in Munin was perfectly understandable. With Pride of Earth now a ground-based monument in the Jouman capital, Dove destroyed, and Hug in scrapped, Munin was the oldest surviving pioneer survey ship,the last of the Pathfinders on whose exploits the entire SurveyBranch had been founded.

But transcending even that, Munin was "Merritt Thackery'sship"—the instrument of the Revision, by extension a symbolof the D'shanna themselves. Such was her cachet that alreadyseveral hundred Cheian colonists claimed to have emigrated aboard her, and the number was sure to grow in the years to come.

With such a pedigree Munin immediately had become thecenterpiece of the Museum, most of the holdings of whichwere of little intrinsic value. They were there more or less bydefault; ships that, cme step from being scrapped, had madeone last journey as part of Arcturus New Colony's one-waylifeline. That was reflected in the care they were given; thoughtheir external appearances were maintained by the Museumstaff, no effort was expended to keep their systems operational. Many could no longer even hold an atmosphere.

Munin had been treated very differently. When her lastpassengers had disembarked, her hold had been emptied, andher final crew had signed off, she had been turned over to theMuseum historians. Their charge was to see that Munin was restored inside and out to match as closely as possible her appearance when, with Thackery commanding, she had crossed paths with the D'shanna among the stars of Ursa Major.

During the Museum's last close pass to Cheia the curatorshad still been at their task, their tug and work barge mooredalongside and Munin's exterior further hidden by work rigging. Many had come to see Munin then and gone back disappointed. Now Munin was ready, not only to be seen but also tobe boarded. Hawkins was not surprised, then, that his showwas now playing to a packed audience. But he also could nothelp but feel more kindly toward the believers aboard thantoward the skimmers.

On this particular tour Hawkins had spotted someone he knew among the passengers, a man who did not qualify eitheras believer or skimmer: Colonel Ramiz. As second-incommand of the Defense Branch's small contingent on Cheia,the little man with the jet-black hair, pinched face, and unpleasant manner was a familiar sight around the EquatorialStation—much noticed but little regarded.

But why Ramiz was aboard Viking was something of a puzzlement to Hawkins. When Munin had come in, Ramiz had gone aboard in the company of a gaggle of shipwrights,trying to decide whether she could be turned into a sort ofbargain-basement Defender for the ANC. Surely he had seenall that he needed to of her then—unless he had changed hismind about her usefulness?

"There she is," someone cried suddenly. "There's Muninl"

Fifty heads turned as fifty pairs of eyes searched spacebeyond the viewports. There was a chorus of oohs and ahs,and Hawkins forgot Ramiz. He liked to let his passengers spotMunin for themselves, tried to allow them that little thrill of discovery, but once they had, it was time to go to work.

"That's right, ladies and gentlemen. That giant ship coming up to starboard is none other than S3 Munin, last survivingPathfinder, flagship of the Unified Worlds Museum, and stillcarrying an honorary commission from the Survey Branch ofthe USS. In just a few minutes we'll be going aboard, startingwith those of you sitting on the portside—no, sorry, too lateto change seats, but you'll all have your chance—"

As Hawkins had guessed, Colonel Raymond Ramiz wasnot aboard Viking for the tour. He was there to keep an eye onthe bearded man who called himself J. M. Langston, but whoyears ago and cees away had had another name.

Ramiz's instructions had come not from the Defense hierarchy but from the Upper Tier, and they were simple. Langstonwas not to leave Cheia—ever. So long as he kept to himselfand led a quiet life, Ramiz was to let him be. But if Langstontried to get near any ship capable of intersystem flight, he wasto be stopped.

In the five months since his arrival, Langston had givenevery indication he intended nothing more than to disappearinto the woodwork. Take the matter of Fireside; his first act had been to sell it to the Colony Manager's office, under termsthat would make him comfortable on Cheia for as long as hemight be expected to live.

Aside from what it said about his intentions, the sale also showed his willingness to adapt to local conventions. Thoughtechnically operating on the official Service currency, Arcturus New Colony was loath to embrace those who broughtonly paper wealth to the community. They took from the colony with their Coullars more than those Coulters could bringback to the colony, since the once-every-five-years packetschedule created a bottleneck that prevented exchanging thesurplus for something useful.

So new Coullars brought from the outside could onlycheapen old Coullars, and those who brought them and nothing else faced the community's approbium. Langston had that kind of wealth but left it untouched. He lived within the limits of his locally derived income and so escaped any unwelcomenotoriety.

But the thought of Langston aboard Munin, even as a visitor, made Ramiz uncomfortable, and so he had tagged along.He was even more concerned after seeing how careless theMuseum was about security. As each passenger had paid hisfare the clerk had collected his name—but had not checked those names, even against their own identification. Ramiz knew that for certain, since the phony name he himself hadgiven to test them had gone unchallenged. They did not knowwho they had aboard.

At least the young tour guide took the elementary precaution of tallying up with a hand counter the number goingaboard. Ignoring the indignant looks from the other passengers, Ramiz edged his way forward until only two bodies separated him from Langston. He did not know what he thoughtLangston might do, but he was confident that he could stophim.

The group gathered briefly on the ed-rec deck to listen toHawkins outline the ground rules for the tour. When Hawkinsled the way downship, Ramiz made sure that Langston starteddown the climbway first, so that he would have him in sight atall times.

They paused for a short spiel at the drive-core access hatch, again at the contact lab, and ended their descent in thedress-out room and the gig bay. When they started back, byvirtue of having been one of the last down, Ramiz found himself trapped into being one of the leaders going up. He comforted himself with the realization that there was reallynowhere Langston could go.

On the way back up, Hawkins took them through the wardroom and allowed them to peek inside two of the restoredcabins, including Thackery's. Then it was on to their last stop,the bridge.

A surprise was waiting on the bridge: animated hologramsof the ship's crew moving in synchrony with the canned chatter. There was Thackery at his command station, and AmeliaKoi, and Derrel Guerrieri, and Gwen Shinault. Chuckling tohimself, Ramiz turned to catch Langston's reaction. But Langston was not there.

Pushing his way past the others, Ramiz rushed to the railing at the edge of the climbway and looked down. Neither ofthe two tourists still climbing was Langston. Swinging himselfover the railing, Ramiz started back down.

He descended the climbway slowly, with catlike agility anda light step, trying to sort out any unusual sounds from thecacophony filtering down to him from Hawkins and the others. He did not have to go far. Langston was standing facing one of the now-closed doors on B-deck, where the command cabins were. On the door before him was a small brass plaque that read M. THACKERY, CMDR. in three-centimetre-tall block letters.

"This is wrong. This wasn't here," the bearded man whispered to himself as he traced the grooves of the engraving with a fingertip.

Ramiz had seen enough. "You," he barked, stepping offthe climbway. "What do you think you're doing? You've gotno special privileges here. Get upship with the others."

Langston started and looked back over his shoulder with afrightened look in his eyes. As he did, Hawkins materializedon the climbway just above and behind Ramiz. The tour guidegave both Langston and Ramiz long, hard looks, then continued down past them. "Come along now, folks," he called backup the climbway, "I'm sure your friends and companions backon board Viking are mighty impatient for their turn."

Eyes downcast, Langston brushed past Ramiz and joinedthe migration back to the entry port. Ramiz waited until thelast of the passengers was by, then took his time descending,studying the ship's interior from a different perspective thanhe had the last time he was aboard.

But as he reached the port and tried to pass Hawkins, thetour guide stepped away from the wall and blocked the way."What are you doing here?"

"My job," Ramiz said curtly.

"It looks like you're trying to do mine. What did you thinkhe was going to do? Stow away? He's just an old man with afantasy. He couldn't hurt anything. There wasn't any need togo after him like that."

Ramiz could not resist the temptation to parade his superiorknowledge before the youth. "You dumb little mouthpiece,"he snarled. "What's he have to do, go sit in his chair beforeyou'd recognize him? He's an old man, all right, but he's not here fantasizing. He's here remembering."

Better judgment finally silenced Ramiz before he said Langston's former name. "Now get out of my way," hegrowled, "before I knock you down and walk out of here onyour face."

He enjoyed the sight of Hawkins hastening to comply.

Back in the tour-guide booth, still fuming over Ramiz'spresumption, Hawkins struggled with what the colonel hadsaid. Could the bearded old man actually be Merritt Thackery?It seemed impossible. And yet who else could Ramiz havemeant? Hawkins tried to study the face of the mystery passenger, but he sat sunken into his chair, chin down, head turnedhalf away. The seat-assignment chart said the man's name was

J. M. Langston, which proved nothing.

If it is Thackery, I can't let him leave without talking to him.

But how could it be? Yes, Thackery's deepyacht was here.The Museum had tried to acquire it but had been outbid by theColony Manager's Office. Could it have been Thackery himself that brought it to Arcturus? I thought he was dead. But even if he's not, why would he come here?

The pale, scarred patches on the man's hand—Hawkinssuddenly remembered a grisly sequence in the holoflick Appointment With Destiny. In the course of one of the landingshe made while pursuing the D'shanna, Merritt Thackery hadbeen bitten by a native organism and nearly died of poisoning,his skin turning black and splitting open to reveal raw red flesh. He did not know how much the makers of the film might have stretched the truth—but if there had been such anincident, surely it would have left its mark.

But he would have had the flaws corrected, surely—whowould have worn such scars willingly?

By the time Viking returned on its berth at Equatorial Station, Hawkins was no more sure of his facts. But he was firmly determined not to let the matter end there.

Getting to Langston proved to be a test of patience, sinceHawkins did not want Ramiz to know of his interest. Happily,all of Equatorial Station's dock facilities were concentrated inone area, with the Museum's offices located directly acrossfrom the boarding lounge for the Cheia shuttle. It was notdifficult for Hawkins to find reasons to linger in the offices,and an easy matter to keep an eye on Langston from there.

Ramiz was also lingering and watching, though somewhatmore obviously, almost as if he wanted Langston to be aware that he was there. Twice Langston shambled up the corridortoward the main station, with Ramiz following openly. Eachtime, he returned within twenty minutes, Ramiz dogging hisheels, and took a seat in the shuttle boarding lounge.

Not until the gate attendant arrived and Langston lined upwith the others to register for the 18:00 shuttle did Ramiz relax his vigilance. As Langston took his seat once more, thecolonel approached the attendant, exchanged a few words with him, and then, apparently satisfied by what he hadlearned, headed off in the direction of the Defense Annex.

That was Hawkins's opportunity. Leaving the Museum offices, he double-checked the corridor for any sign of Ramiz,then headed for Langston. Using a side entrance to the lounge,he came up out of nowhere to take Langston by the shoulderwith a firm grip.

"Would you come with me, please," he said in as authoritative a tone as he could muster.

As though he had no will left with which to resist, Langston allowed himself to be steered down the corridor to an unoccupied comfort station. When they were inside, Hawkinslocked the door behind them, then gestured toward the singlechair.

"Sit down, please," he said.

Moving slowly, Langston complied. Hawkins hopped upand sat on the edge of the sink facing him. "You're MerrittThackery," he said, leaning forward.

Langston closed his eyes and his features seemed to sag.

"You are, aren't you?"

Eyes still closed, Langston nodded. "I didn't know that Iwas being watched, even here, until today," he said in a halfwhisper.

"You are. Not by me. By that man who caught you onB-deck. Colonel Ramiz, from the Defense Branch." Langston—Thackery—opened his eyes but still avoided looking at Hawkins. "I had hoped I had left all that behind me," was histired answer.

"Why are you here? Did you come all this way just to see

MuninT

Thackery said nothing."What, do you think I'm working for Richardson?" Hawkins prodded. "I despise the man."Still Thackery was silent, staring at the floor.

Hawkins frowned and rubbed his face with one long-fingered hand. "See, I keep trying to figure out why youcame here, why a little backwater colony like Cheia. Somehow I don't think it's a coincidence that Munin is here too. And I keep trying to figure out what Colonel Ramiz was worried about. The answers keep coming out the same."

At that moment the first boarding call for the Cheia shuttlesounded through the comfort station's speaker. "My flight—"Thackery said, starting to rise out of his chair.

"Sit down. We have fifteen minutes, at least," Hawkins said sharply. When Thackery meekly acceded, Hawkins continued. "You know, I know a lot about these ships. Not justwhat I say during the tours. I've read most everything the curators can dig up. But there's one thing I'm not sure about, something you can answer. What if there'd been a disaster thatleft only one crew member alive—some kind of contamination, maybe? Would he have been stranded? Can one man handle a survey ship?"

Thackery shuddered violently and folded his hands in frontof his mouth.

"It must bother you, all these strangers trampling throughyour ship," Hawkins said softly. "Peering into the room whereyou and Dr. Koi slept—listening to the ghosts on the bridgeand thinking that's the way it was—"

"What do you want from me?" Thackery cried.

Hawkins flashed a quick, sympathetic smile. "I don't wantanything from you. I want to give something to you. I want totell you that if Captain Ramiz is right—if you came here totry to take Munin—that I'll help."

Thackery raised his eyes to meet Hawkins's and stared unbelievingly into them.

"I don't think you could manage it on your own," Hawkinssaid. "Not with Ramiz watching. Not without someone to tellyou where to find the cutout box the curators installed to disable the controls during tours. But we could do it together, ifthat's what you want. I can handle Ramiz. I already knowhow I'll do it."

"Why would you do this?" Thackery asked wonderingly."Why would you care?"

Hawkins smiled wryly. "You're Merritt Thackery. Whatmore reason do I need?" But instead of warming up at theflattery, Thackery's expression frosted over again. "You wouldn't have left Earth and come all this way unless it wasimportant," Hawkins went on anxiously. "And you wouldn'tthink of taking Munin unless you had a need that justified it."

"And what if my only reasons are selfish ones, if the onlyneeds I care about now are my own?"

Shaking his head, Hawkins said, "Whatever she means toyou, it's more than she means to us, to the Museum, Munin is yours if you want her—we owe you so much more. Will youtake her?"

For a long moment there was silence, and Thackery wouldnot meet Hawkins's eyes. "It—it was easier to leave Earththan you might think," Thackery said at last, slowly, as though the words were painful, as if the very act of self-disclosure required breaking deeply ingrained patterns. "Idon't belong there—I never really have. It's been a layover, a breathing space between missions. Tycho—Descartes—Munin—Fireside—they were my real homes, the onlyplaces that life stood still long enough for me to understandthe rules."

Thackery raised his head and their eyes met. In Thackery'sblue-gray orbs Hawkins saw pain and vulnerability, a loneliness and weariness that he could not touch. They were eyesthat seemed to remember everything they had ever seen in alife spanning half a millennium.

"Will you take her?" Hawkins repeated. "Will you let mehelp?"Thackery drew a deep breath and released it as a sigh. "Yes," he said.

Hawkins hopped off the sink and onto his feet. "Friday isthe last tour of die season," he said, moving to the door andunlocking it. "Come on the tour again. I'll hold a seat for you."

"As simple as that?"

"For you—yes." His hand on the door actuator, Hawkinsturned to go, then turned back to Thackery. "If you could justtell me—where will you go that Fireside couldn't take you?"

"Out," Thackery said, his eyes misting. "Out where thereare no colonels to watch me. Where there's no one that wants anything from me. Munin will take me where I can be alone. Where there are no stars in the sky, only galaxies—•" Thackery's voice broke, and he looked away.

"I'll—I'll look for you Friday," Hawkins said, regretting having asked. "You have about five minutes to catch yourshuttle," he added. Then he slipped out the door quietly, feeling for all the world like an intruder in the other man's life.

Friday brought both Thackery and Ramiz back to Viking.The crucial first step was to seat them far enough apart so thatHawkins could draw the line separating the two tour groupsfor Munin somewhere between them.

Thackery had the first seat on the aisle, from which position he would be first in line when it was time to cross to Munin. Hawkins filled the seats around him with two families with eight children between them.

So when Ramiz came to the counter and demanded, "Put me as close to Langston—that one, there—as you can," Thackery was already insulated.

"I can get you across the aisle and one seat back," Hawkinssaid helpfully.

"No. Put me on the same side as him."

"Row H?"

"Fine."

Hawkins resisted the impulse to smile.

For the first time in three seasons the tour seemed interminable. You're turning into a skimmer, Hawkins thought,chiding himself. But he forgave himself his impatience, andeven the flubs his inattention created, knowing the reason.

Finally Munin was in sight. Hawkins waited until Viking was alongside and the transfer tunnel extended before announcing, "The first group will consist of Rows A throughG—"

For a moment Ramiz sat rooted in his chair by surprise.Then, after looking around the cabin as if to see who might tryto stop him, he bounced up out of his seat and headed forward. But by then the aisle was full, and he had no choice butto bide his time at the end of the line.

At the head of the line Thackery's eyes locked with Hawkins's, asking a silent question. "Go right on aboard, sir,"Hawkins said. "Follow the blue line and wait at the other end. F-5," he added in a whisper as Thackery brushed by him.

Hawkins had unlocked the isolation cabin at the end of the previous day's tour, and he trusted that Thackery understoodhe was to wait there. He passed him through without registering a tally on his counter, then turned his attention to the next face in line. "Brought the family out With you, eh?" he saidbrightly.

The counter showed twenty-seven when Ramiz roundedthe corner from the main aisle to where Hawkins stood by thehatch.

"Excuse me, sir, but I believe you were seated in row H,"Hawkins said, blocking the corridor. Hawkins and Ramiz were alone, but the fact that there could be an audience on Viking's bridge—in truth, Hawkins hoped that there was—required carefully chosen words. "Wait your turn, please. I'llbe back for the rest of the group in a few minutes."

"You little jerk, he came back for a reason. You don't know what he could do in there—" "I don't know what you're talking about," Hawkins saidinnocently. "Now, if you'd just return to your seat—""Get out of my way," Ramiz snarled, placing one hand onHawkins's chest and giving a shove.

Hawkins staggered back, but he had been prepared for itand kept his balance. His right hand went to his hip, and asRamiz tried to pass, the hand came up in what must haveseemed to Ramiz to be an attempt to ward off any furthercontact—except that Hawkins's hand was not empty.

In three seasons Hawkins had never had cause to use the small aerosol of Sub-Dew that rode unobtrusively on his belt,but he remembered all he needed to about how it worked and what to expect. There was a sharp hissing sound, and a narrowly focused jet of mist caught Ramiz full in the face. Almost between one step and the next, Ramiz slumped sidewaysagainst the bulkhead, his rubbery legs buckled, and he slid tothe floor.

His own legs shaky, Hawkins leaned back against the bulkhead and tapped the shipnet. "Bridge, I had a little troublewith one of the passengers. If you could send a steward backto the transfer hatch—"

"We saw, Jeff," came the reply. "Are you all right?"

"Sure. I'm fine."

"Then go ahead with your tour. We'll take care of it."

Hawkins waited until the last passenger of the last tour hadcrossed back to Viking before paging Thackery in F-5. It wasan unnecessary step; as though Munin were already his again,Thackery seemed to know the right time, appearing bare seconds later at the far end of the corridor.

"I don't have long. I'm supposed to be powering down forthe season," Hawkins said. "The cutout box is under the panel at the gravigatfon station—nothing complicated, just turn everything off to on. The consumables reprocessor is still about a third full from when the curators moved out. The clothes in your cabin are your size, unless you've gainedweight—the curators were very thorough. The drive hasn'tbeen touched since she came in, except cosmetically."

"Should I wait, or—"

Hawkins shook his head. "Just long enough for Viking to get clear. If you don't leave quickly, you may not get a chance to."

"You're going to catch hell."

"For carelessness, maybe. Not for helping. I think I'm covered. Anyway, this isn't that great a job," he said without conviction. "I have to go. They'll be expecting my okay to separate."

Thackery nodded and advanced a few steps closer alongthe corridor as Hawkins stepped into the lock and cycled theouter hatch.

"I like to think that roaming in Munin, you'll outlive usall," Hawkins said as the door smoothly rotated out from therecessed position.

"I don't," Thackery said bluntly. "Outliving people hasbeen my curse."Feeling foolish again, Hawkins turned away and reachedfor the lock controls.

"Jeffrey—"

Hawkins looked back through the narrowing gap.

"Thank you," Thackery said simply.

The thwwpp of the hatch sealing itself precluded any reply.

The transfer tunnel returned to its cradle on the side of Viking with a muffled clang that made the floor panels underHawkins's feet vibrate.

"Hawkins to bridge. We're all buttoned up."

"I make us one short on the count."

Hawkins looked up at the camera and shook his head. "Must have one in the john. How's our feisty guest feeling?""Still under. Resting comfortably," the bridge replied. "Allright, Jeff. Find your own seat. We're about to get moving."

The great survey ship came clearly into view to starboard as Viking drifted sideways under the impetus of its station-keeping thrusters, then began a braking maneuver to start herjourney back to Equatorial Station. Less than a kilometre separated the two ships when suddenly the stars fore and aft ofMunin seemed to ripple, as though the very substance of space were being shaken by the energies of its drive. The cabinfilled with cries of alarm and delight as those with the bestview came up out of their chairs, pointing excitedly.

"What the hell is going on?" demanded Viking's captain."Hawk, what'd you do to her?"

Part of Hawkins longed to answer honestly, to share thepang of jealousy that came with seeing Munin under power,and the deep satisfaction that proceeded from knowing whowas on her bridge. But an honest answer could only aggravatewhatever difficulties lay ahead.

"Shit, I didn't do anything! Looks like we've got a runaway," Hawkins offered lamely, then tabbed the cabin circuit."Nothing to concern yourself over, folks—just part of the show, a little surprise for the end of the season. Those surveyships sure can move, can't they? Nothing in the Universe cancatch them—"

chapter 15

The Fan Bank
of the Rubicon

There is simply no way, Sujata thought as she waited for thecomtech to establish the link with Earth, to adjust to this insane time-twisting. The journey to Lynx Center was nearlyover, and she had still not made peace with the fact that theship's chronometers were lying to her. One minute was notone minute at all—it was two hours. While she slept a singlenight's sleep, forty days raced by. From noon to noon was four months.

Contrary to her expectations, her previous transplant experience had helped only until Wesley sailed. After that it counted for nothing. The other times, she had hit the crazeand never had to look back. She had been able to say goodbye once and then break cleanly with her past.

But with Wesley diving down out of the craze every secondday for contact with Central, Sujata felt as though she werealways saying good-bye, and the check-in had become something to dread. It meant painful reminders of what she hadgiven up. It meant deaths and resignations and retirements,always without warning, gradually replacing the little worldshe had known with one she did not.

The hardest defection to take had been Regan Marshall, who resigned at the midway point of Wesley*s voyage. Thoughhe had consulted with her on his replacement, it still left -herdepending heavily on someone who was a stranger. She wasbeginning to feel like a helpless spectator, cheated not only ofany sense of accomplishment but even of any real feeling ofinvolvement.

But even that was not as hard as watching Ten Ga'ar complete her metamorphosis from child to woman.

The first day Ten Ga'ar had stolen a moment of the link-time to say that she forgave Sujata, that she understood, thatleaving her behind was the right decision, and that she had learned how to be happy without Sujata. Her words were jarring, and Sujata was taken completely by surprise. In one dayof shiptime.Ten Ga'ar had had more chance to work throughher sadness, to heal the wound, than Sujata would-have in thecourse of the entire voyage.

Still bitter that Ten Ga'ar had been so petty as to cheat herout of a chance to properly say good-bye, Sujata at first rebelled at being forgiven. It had taken her a few days to realizewhat Ten Ga'ar already knew by the first check-in—that theycould not afford to sustain any emotion save a fond remembrance of the intimacy they had once shared. They were out ofsync and growing apart, and there was nothing to do but accept it.

There were missteps, too, on the professional side. Morethan once in the first week Sujata came back the "next day"with suggestions and solutions for problems that had been either solved or made irrelevant by the months that passed between one afternoon and the next. To make it work, Ten Ga'ar had to learn to offer Sujata a decision to be confirmed ratherthan a situation to be analyzed, while Sujata had to agree tosurrender more of her authority than she had initially thought necessary. *

The sole thread of continuity across all seven weeks of therun was Garrard and Evanik's report. It had come to be theonly part of the dispatch that commanded her attention whenthe link had been terminated. The duo now headed a team of fifteen researchers, who documented in both objective andsubjective detail that the cultural shift Sujata had feared wascontinuing.

Both the economy of the system as a whole and the budgetof the World Council were increasingly dominated by militaryexpenditures. The time was not far off when the military would directly or indirectly employ the largest fraction of thesystem's work force. Questions of planetary security hadmoved permanently onto the World Council's agenda.

Those were the generalities: the specifics were equally disturbing. Eleven years ago the Nines had brought the conceptof political parties back to global governance, coming out ofthe closet to promote Robert Chaisson for a vacancy on theWorld Council. Though he failed to gain appointment, Chaisson did gain a new platform for his views. As if to answerChaisson's charge that the Council was jeopardizing Earth'ssecurity by entrusting its defense to the Service, the next yearTanvier initiated an ambitious and horrendously expensive effort to build ground-based defenses against a Mizari attack—defenses that Sujata's technical analysts regarded as worthless.

Three years later the Council authorized a special branch ofthe Peace Force that was in everything but name an army. TheExotics, as they came to be called, were meant to be the firston the scene if the Mizari attack took the form of an invasion. Their weapons included everything from teleoperated air armor to X-ray bombs and other nucleonics; their strategy embraced such concepts as "cauterization" and "nonstrategic personnel write-off." The Exotics did not need to recruit—there were ten applicants for every opening.

But that was no surprise, considering that the three mostpopular mass entertainments of the decade were jingoisticglories-of-war tales in which courageous men and women turned back the loathsome Mizari hordes. Tnie, all three were independently produced (one with financial support from theNines), and less inflammatory fare was still coming out of theCouncil's edu-entertainment arm, but the fact that they attained net distribution at all was in itself telling.

A light winked on the terminal before her, and Sujataroused herself from her gloomy ruminations. The check-in was fairly routine. In less than fifteen minutes Ten Ga'ar highlighted the contents of the main dispatch, being transmitted on the high band in compressed mode directly to Wesley'slibrary.

Evanik came on to outline the research unit's current projects, and to inform Sujata that Garrard had finally madegood on his threats to resign, taking a position with the Council's sociometric division. Vice Chancellor Abram Walker came on to offer his usual empty assurances that everythingwas in hand and running smoothly.

There was nothing in any of their messages for Sujata evento respond to with more than a grunt and a nod unitil Ten Ga'arcame back on at the end.

"I wanted to remind you that this is the last opportunity foryou to send a dispatch forward to Wells," she said, "something that'll be waiting for him when Charan comes out of the

' craze. The majority opinion here is that you need to take theoffensive, because he's sure to. He's virtually certain to takethe fact that you're right on his heels as a threat."'

"I'm afraid I'm going to side with the minority, Wy," Sujata said, shaking her head. "Wells has to act before I canreact. What he's done so far isn't enough to support coming down on him—if it was, we'd have gone through the Committee. Eveh though we're afraid he intends to, he hasn't crossed the line yet. I see no reason to force him to that point any sooner than necessary. I don't want to comer him intohaving to disobey an order.

"He'll hear through normal channels that I'm coming to

, Lynx, and the official reason for it. Beyond that, I'm content to let him wonder. Hitting him with an order to ground theTriads, or some such, isn't going to make him feel less threatened. Just the opposite—all it would do is spook him. I needto sit down with Wells and have this out before he does anything irreversible. I can't do that from here any better than Icould from where you are. It's just going to have to wait untilI catch up with him. Which won't be long now."

Ten Ga'ar received those words with a neutral expression,which confirmed for Sujata that the "reminder" actually hadbeen someone else's idea. As the years had slipped by, the number of people willing to talk to her directly had dwindledto three. Sujata understood—she was a stranger to most of herown staff, a sort of technological oracle giving three audienceseach year. In a recent nightmarish dream her face had appeared on terminals throughout Central, but no one had knownwho she was or wanted to talk to her.

"We understand your perspective, Chancellor," Ten Ga'arwas saying. "What you said parallels some of our discussionshere. Is there anything else we can do for you today?"

"No," Sujata said. "Nothing you can do."

"Then I guess the next time we talk, you'll be out of thecraze for good and inbound to Lynx. Our best to all of youuntil then. Central out."

"Wesley out," Sujata said, leaning back in her seat andrubbing her eyes. No, nothing you can do to help me, Wy. And that's about the hardest part to accept—

The sound of. exuberant cheering was still ringing in Harmack Wells's ears as he settled into a chair in the office of Andrew Hogue, the governor of Lynx Center. Barely an hourago Wells had led the crew of Charan out of the disembarkment tunnel to a reception that made the send-off from Centralfifty-two days ago seem restrained.

"They really love us, don't they?" Captain Elizin had whispered. He was standing beside Wells on the cargo sled thathad been pressed into service for the processional through thestreets, which were thronged with thousands who had comeout to welcome them.

Wells had nodded agreeably, but he did not take the acclaim personally. He took it instead as a sign of how badly thepeople wanted a champion, a hero. He accepted it graciouslyat the same time he discounted it, because he understood their need to find release from fear.

This is not for what we've done but for what you hope we'll do, he had thought, looking out at their faces. / will try to dojustice to your faith.

Across the room, Onhki Yamakawa, the senior member of the Strategy Committee traveling with Wells on Charan, stood studying a directory of Lynx Central. "I am afraid that I will have no better luck finding a proper Japanese meal here than Ihad trying to coax one from Charan's synthesizer," he said mournfully.

Before Wells could commiserate, the door opened to admittwo men, both Lynx natives. The first through was Hogue, a broad-chested man with a pleasant face and fair hair that wasso closely cropped, he almost seemed bald.

"Governor," Wells said, coming to his feet and offering hishand.

"Very glad to meet you at last, Commander," Hogue saidas they shook. "Sorry about all the commotion on the wayover here. I thought it was best if we simply got that behind usall at once."

"Perfectly understandable," Wells said. "I'm sure the crew appreciated it."Hogue introduced his companion, a rangy young man with

darting eyes that never seemed to look straight ahead, as Colonel Philip Shields, chief of the Defense Intelligence Office,Lynx Annex.

"I know this has already been a long day for you," Hoguesaid, "but Mr. Shields thought it important that you be put inthe picture as quickly as possible."

"I agree entirely," Wells said, settling back into his chair.Hogue took the seat to Wells's right, and the others draggedchairs across the carpet to form a small circle.

"Did you have a chance on the way in to begin reviewingthe news abstracts we sent over?" Hogue asked.

"A few minutes, no more."

"Then you know at least the good news: the Perimeter isquiet; the political situation is stable, and the Triads are onschedule. However, there are a couple of wrinkles that I'll let Mr. Shields discuss."

"What about WesleyT Yamakawa interjected. "What's her status?"

"Due in thirty-eight days from now."

Wells wrinkled his brow at hearing that. "She was onlysupposed to be twenty-one days behind us. What happened? What delayed her?"

With a meaningful glance Hogue deferred to Shields.

"Commander, Chancellor Sujata and Ambassador Berberon are aboard Wesley," Shields said. "Wesley's been pogoing in and out of the craze, which accounts for the slippage inher arrival time."

"This is bad," Yamakawa muttered. "Very bad.""Why are they coming here?" Wells asked with honest puzzlement.

"Sir, I do not know. The official purpose is to observe. Oursources inside the Chancellery report that Sujata has describedthe situation on the Perimeter as 'critical.'"

"Even so, I don't understand why she should consider herphysical presence necessary," Hogue said. "Communicationswith Unity haven't even been close to going down."

"Does anyone have any ideas?" Wells asked. "Colonel?"

"The one possibility I've considered is that she may wishto align herself more strongly with the pro-defense faction andthereby secure her own position."

"She's coming to meddle," Yamakawa said firmly. "She iscoming to insinuate herself into matters she knows nothing about."

"Does that seem reasonable to you, Commander?" Hogueasked.

"No," Wells said. "She's kept her distance, and at the sametime she's been very accommodating to our interests and concerns. I don't believe that she would suddenly decide that sheneeded to become more intimately involved."

"Unless something happened to make her lose confidencein the senior Defense administration," Yamakawa pointed out.He had been preparing to say more, but caught an admonitoryglance from Wells and fell silent.

"Are there any messages waiting for me from the Chancellor?" Wells asked, turning to Hogue.

"None that I am aware of."

Wells frowned and shook his head. "This seems to me to be no cause for concern. Certainly Chancellor Sujata has everyright to exercise oversight in person," he said. "Assuming thatthis is one of the wrinkles the Governor mentioned, what's the other?"

"I think you will find this a more serious matter. There isabout to be a violation of the Perimeter. Not by the Mizari,"Shields added quickly. "By one of our vessels—Munin, sir. Hijacked from the Unified Planets Museum at Arcturus."

"Hijacked?"

"Yes, sir. It gets stranger. The person responsible seems tobe Merritt Thackery. As far as we've been able to determine,he's the only one aboard. The investigation showed that hehad two accomplices at Cheia, one a Museum employee andthe other one of our people, a Colonel Ramiz. Both served time, but that hasn't helped us get Munin or Thackery back."

"Well, I'll be damned," Wells said, settling back in hischair. "Where's he headed?"

"At first we had no idea. But after we made clear we knew who was on board, he filed a formal flight plan giving hisdestination as the Corona Borealis Cluster."

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that astrographical feature."

"No reason why you should be, sir. It's a galaxy cluster,one of the richest—more than five hundred of them, mostlyellipticals. Sir, that cluster lies more than a billion cees beyond the edge of our Galaxy. But he's in no hurry, considering how far he thinks he's going. Munin hasn't crazed since he made his getaway."

"Munin may not be crazed, but there seems ample evidence

her pilot is," Yamakawa said. "Why was the ship not inter

cepted?"

"No Sentinel was in a position to do so," Hogue said.

. "If Triad One had been on-station, would it have been able

to intercept?" Wells asked.

"I don't think anyone has worked it out," Hogue said. "My

suspicion is yes, it would have."

"What is the point of entry into the Mizari Zone?" Yama

kawa inquired.

"Indeterminate. Munin will not enter the Cluster proper.In fact, her general heading is carrying her away from themore sensitive areas. She'll cross the Perimeter somewhere in the Bootes-Corona Borealis area. Here's an odd note: He's been changing course to pass through or near systems whichi haven't yet been surveyed. He relays back the data collected

by the ship's scientific instrumentation—or tries to."

'Tries to r

"Munin's communications gear was not updated for advanced error-checking. We lose a portion of his transmissions

to interference."

"Then we are in contact with the ship?" Yamakawa asked.

"After a fashion. He's never answered any dispatch directed at him," Hogue said.

"Interference again?" Wells asked.

"Possibly," Shields said. "Possibly intransigence. I agree with Mr. Yamakawa—whoever he is, this man is not stable. And he is about to compound what is already a very seriouslist of offenses."

"Seems to me as though he has little to fear in the way ofretribution," Wells said lightly. "Was there anything else, Governor?"

"No. Nothing of comparable urgency."

"Fine," Wells said. "I'll sleep on both these matters andtake them up with you again tomorrow. I also want to tour theyards tomorrow and take a look at Triad Three."

"I'll arrange it," Hogue promised.

"Not too early," Wells added as he stood up. "Onhki? What do you say we go try to see what Lynx does have to offer in the way of civilized fare?"

"The effort should be made," Yamakawa said. "But I hold out little hope for fiesh seafood."

Over a Daehne-style platter of sectioned fruits, seared meatcubes, and seasoned raw dough, Yamakawa and Wells continued the discussion.

"Are you truly concerned about the Munin matter?" Yamakawa asked.

"Why do you ask?"

Yamakawa twirled a meat cube in a cup of mustard sauce."The ship is two hours west and twenty degrees south ofAlcor. Colonel Shield's alarm seems excessive."

"There's a lesson in what happened," Wells said. "The factthat we couldn't prevent Munin from leaving means that inthat same time frame we couldn't have prevented a Mizariship from entering. It underlines the importance of getting theTriads on station.

"Still, to answer your question, no. I'm more concerned about Sujata. Why did you say what you did about her losingconfidence in us—in me?"

Yamakawa chewed thoughtfully before answering. "As youwell know, there are certain sensitive matters on which she was not fully informed. If she were to have been appraised ofthem, she would be forced to consider the Mizari threat more seriously than she was previously inclined to. At the same time she could well conclude that in order to have full and honest knowledge of the situation, she would have to be moredirectly involved. Either or both would account for her coming here."

"How do you imagine she came to be 'appraised' of thosesensitive matters?"

Yamakawa shrugged. "This decision was clearly made inhaste, after we sailed. The window of opportunity was small,the number of candidates limited."

Wells ticked them off on his fingers. "Captain Hirschfield.Mr. Rice and Mr. Scurlock of the Strategy Committee."

"And Farlad."

"Yes."

"Three of whom had access to that information for several months before we sailed," Yamakawa observed. "Surely if itwere one of them, they would have acted sooner."

"So you think it was Teo?"

"I do."

Wells stared at Yamakawa for a long moment, then shookhis head. "Why would he do it? Why would he betray me that way?"

"The motives of traitors and cowards are not particularlysubtle. Money. Self-aggrandizement. Misplaced loyalties. Fear. Does it really matter?"

Wells laid down his fork, the food suddenly tasteless in his

mouth. "I suppose not."."He will have to be disciplined, of course."Wells did not answer. How many years must you wait? he

was thinking. How well must you know someone before you can be sure of him!

"If there is doubt in your mind, all four can be presumed

guilty—" Yamakawa began."I want him out," Wells said harshly. "I want him gone." Nodding, Yamakawa went on. "It is a court-martial of

fense. Even a capital offense. But difficult to prove. And atrial would be awkward, due to the Chancellor's involvement,

s We may wish to find other means to settle the account." Wells was not listening. An old adversary, thought vanquished, had returned to the board, and he was busy assessingher position. She can only be coming to stand in my way—if she believed in the cause, she would have stayed on Earth. She seeks to harry me, to distract me, to place her collar and leash around my neck. But to do that she will have to catch me—

Despite a night of restless sleep and what he had told Hogue, Wells was up early the next morning, impatient to seeat last the fruits of his labors. Wells had defined the mission, but he had been obliged to entrust the engineers with designing the ships themselves. He knew only the generalities; hewas eager to learn the specifics.

The final contract had awarded Triad One to Bootes Center, Triad Two to Perimeter Base, and Triad Three to Lynx. The decision had turned not on politics or economicsbut on time. Any one of the Service's Earth-orbital shipyardscould have built a Triad twenty percent faster for thirty percentless. But the price of those savings was an extra seventeenyears journeying to the patrol circles located from eight tofifteen cees beyond the Perimeter.

Lynx Center's shipyard was an integral part of the station,occupying the equivalent of its nine lowest levels. Most ofthat volume was devoted to an enormous enclosed work baywith a one-tenth strength gravity held that was upside down in relation to the rest of the station. The inverted field, which turned what should have been the ceiling into the floor, was aninnovation peculiar to the Lynx Center. It was necessary because the real floor was a multisectioned door several hectares in total area and quite complicated enough without gravityducting.

Nearly one third of that door was at that moment retracted,and from the foreman's lookout where Wells was first taken he could see why: One of the Triad's two lineships was beingtowed away from the yard by a small tug. Wells knew at aglance that the ship under tow was part of the Triad. Its peculiar profile said it could be nothing else.

Each Triad ship had not one AVLO drive, but two—anaxial drive with forward and aft field radiators, just as anydeepship, and a translational drive, with a second set of radiators amidships oriented at right angles to the primary hull. Thetransverse hull gave the lineship the appearance of a flyingIron Cross.

Turning his attention inside the work bay, Wells saw that the effect was even more pronounced with the carrier. Its transverse hull was nearly as large as the primary in order toaccommodate the cradles for the massive DDs, one on each side.

"I don't see how you shoehorned them all in here," Wellssaid to his guide. "The bay looks crowded even with one ofthem out."

"There hasn't been much room to spare since the hullswere completed," the guide agreed. "Ready to go aboard?"

"You bet I am."

Though the physical elements that made up the interior were familiar to anyone who had ever spent time on a Servicedeepship, the Triad as a whole had an alien feel to it. Most notably there was no bridge to speak of. Where Wells would have expected to find it, he found instead a ring of second-generation battle couches burrowed in among the hardware ofthe drives, each at the end of its own cavelike ejection chute.

The arrangement afforded the crew the maximum physicalprotection, but it also meant that they would go into battlefragmented, psychologically alone. They would never look across an open bridge and see dying and injured mates, butthey also could never look out and catch a thumbs-up or areassuring grin.

Absent a bridge, the largest "open" spaces aboard were the immersion tanks forward and aft. The tanks were there to protect the off-shift crew against the neck-snapping lateral accelerations that would come as the ship evaded incoming fire. The translational drive was nearly as powerful as the main.Test crews had opined that even with the couches and I-tanks,the brutal translational maneuvers—combining snap rolls and abrupt sideslips—were more punishing than taking fire would be. ' *

As the tour proceeded, Wells tried to build in his head a picture of what life would be like aboard Triad, a picture that would keep the ships and their crews real to him when theywere far removed from his sight in the Mizari Zone. But the picture refused to coalesce. Only the mechanical elements were in focus: he strained unsuccessfully to bring the humanelement to the forefront.

Presently Wells realized that he was responding to a design philosophy completely antithetical to that of all other deep-ships. The packets and surveyors, even the flagships, had been built as living places for human beings, tiny worlds cased in synthmesh and alumichrome. Triad was more akin toan intrasystem tug or mining ship, where every other consideration was subordinate to its function.

But even beyond that, Wells sensed that Triad had been designed and built as an integrated organism, a cyborg with interchangeable brains. The bridge stations were merely places to plug in key components, the tanks and berths merely places to store the spares.

Following his voluble guide from stern to bow, Wells had less a sense of being inside a hull than of crawling through theguts of a machine awaiting the installation of its animating force. Everything he saw said that the prospect for human pleasures was small, the possibility of death very real.

Wondering if he was asking too much of the men and women who wore the golden trigon, Wells continued his inspection. He sat in the captain's battle couch, peered into theheart of the drive, tasted the output of the food synthesizers. He tested the knowledge of the riggers aboard with his questions, and their workmanship with his eyes and hands.

After more than ninety minutes Wells and his guide left the carrier by the forward access hatch. On the bulkhead betweenthe hatch's inner and outer doors, directly below the anodized

plaque bearing the carrier's official designation "T 301," Wells discovered an unauthorized plastic sign that bore the legend AVENGER. The lettering was rendered in a bold freehand style, the oversized A drawn as a pair of pincers, poised to crush a planet already in flames. "Where did this come from?" Wells asked, pointing.

"One of the riggers, probably. The Triads weren't givennames by the Flight Office, so I'm afraid the crews come up with their own. I'll see that it's removed, sir," the guide said apologetically.

It was the first purely human touch Wells had seen thatmorning. But more than that, it was a welcome sign that thehuman spirit of Avenger's crew would survive the privationstheir duty aboard her would enforce on them. "You'll do nothing of the kind," Wells said. "It's a good name. It stays."

"Certainly, sir. Would you like to see Falcon, sir?" the guide asked. "I understand that Mr. Yamakawa isn't expectingus for another forty minutes."

The armed and armored reconnaissance ship was mooredin the adjacent refit bay; originally Wells had planned to include it in his tour.

"No," Wells said with a small, contented smile. "I've seen enough."

Wells spent the rest of the morning huddled with Yamakawa. That afternoon he called Hogue, Shields, and all theLynx Annex department heads together for a war conference.He did not waste words.

"In three days the survey ship Munin will cross the Perimeter," Wells told them. "We can't prevent this violation. Wecan't predict whether the Mizari will detect the incursion orwhat reaction they might have if they do. So we have to readyourselves for the worst. As of this moment I am officiallyplacing the Defense Branch on a full war footing."

There was a stirring among those gathered, but Wells ignored it and went on. "I have already this morning ordered theTriads deployed to their patrol circles beyond the Perimeter assoon as they are operationally certified. Within six hours TriadOne will sail from Bootes Center. I am assured that within four weeks Triad Three will be ready to sail from here. AllStatus-A mission rules are in effect—the ships will be armedand authorized to defend their sectors.

"I am also ordering the reconnaissance ships Eagle and Kite, now at Perimeter Base, to begin their intrusive survey ofthe members of the Ursa Major Cluster. Kite's initial destination is Megrez. Eagle will attempt to make contact withFeghr, the isolate colony believed to be on 82 Lynx. As soonas its crew is complete, Falcon will leave here to join the mission—

"Commander?" interrupted one of the department heads."It seems to me that all this does is multiply the risk—"

"By the time the first survey is made, all three Triads willbe positioned to respond swiftly to any threatened hostilities,"Wells said firmly, shaking his head. "Believe me, we've analyzed the risks very carefully."

"I am counting on everyone's very best effort toward seeing that this transition comes off smoothly. Now, more than ever, we cannot afford any failures. The entire Defense Branch must function as a single, coordinated whole.

"Unfortunately our monitoring of transmissions from Munin provides further evidence that communications between here and the Perimeter are more severely affected bythe interference than communications elsewhere within our territory. The situation is, in fact, now worse between here and the Perimeter than it was between Earth and Lynx whenmy staff and I decided to relocate here.

"So to guarantee that command integrity will not be compromised during the critical period ahead, I have decided tomove my staff to Perimeter Base. We will take the next two orthree days to work out any short-term logistical problems withyou, and then we'll be heading out. Because of the possibilityof significant developments while we're en route, we will runthe leg in four-a-day pogo mode—more or less a monthly check-in schedule from your perspective.

"I'm sure that you have many questions, but most of themare particular to your specialty, so let's hold them for individual conferences. File your requests through the governor's office.

"One last matter," Wells said, standing. "Due to some reassignments related to these changes, I am going to need anew Chief of Staff for Defense. Colonel Shields, would yoube interested in coming out to the Perimeter?"

Shields looked startled at first, then beamed. "Thank you,Commander Wells. I would be honored to have the opportunity to serve in that capacity."

"Then the job is yours. I'll see that your new orders are cutimmediately," Wells said, and stood. "That's all, gentlemen. Let's get on it."

"I want an explanation," Chancellor Sujata said. Her tone was icy, the muscles of her face rigid.

Governor Hogue raised his hands in supplication. "Chancellor, I had no reason to think that Commander Wells was exceeding his authority by continuing on to the Perimeter. And even if I had known, it wasn't my place to stop him."

"How can you say that?" Berberon demanded. "Aren't yougovernor of this station? That makes you responsible for everything that happens."

Rising from his chair, Hogue turned his back on them andwalked to the etagere on the facing wall. "Ambassador, I don't think you appreciate my position here," he said, absently adjusting the positions of the objects displayed on theshelves. "To the extent that I am an official of the OperationsBranch, my job is to facilitate the work of our clients—theother branches of the Service. But beyond that I am a militarygovernor. I have two masters. I am to treat instructions coming from the Defense Director as though they came from theOperations Director."

Hogue turned back toward them. "Now tell me where in there you find a basis for me to give orders to CommanderWells. No," he said, shaking his head, "if there are policydisagreements between the two branches, or between the Directors and youj^elf, they have to be settled on a higher levelthan a station governor."

"I accept your assessment of your authority, Governor,"Sujata said placidly. "Now please give me your assessment ofmine."

"Why, your authority here is absolute. You are the Chancellor."

"Very well. Triad Three is not to leave this station."

Hogue's face reddened. "Chancellor, I can't prevent it."

"Why not?"

"Triad's sailing orders come from Wells himself."

"I am countermanding them. I am ordering you as governor of this station to see that Triad Three remains in port."

"And I'm telling you, I can't issue such an order."

"The order comes from me, not you."

Hogue released an exasperated sigh. "I accept your authority, Chancellor. Probably the Defcom people here do too. Butexercised through proper channels—through the Defense chain of command. Not through the likes of me."

"Are you saying you think they'll disregard that order?" Berberon asked.

"I know they will. Chancellor, they are well trained andwell disciplined. And part of good discipline is knowingwho's got the right to tell you to jump."

"But you do control station services," Berberon said. "Cutthe power to the yards. Freeze them out. Disable the hangardoors. You can orderthat, can't you?"

"Yes," Hogue said. "I can do that. If that's what you reallywant." "Why shouldn't we want it, if it will do the job?" Berberonasked.

'Triad One has already sailed. Triad Two is firmly in thehands of Defense. You won't be able to call either of those back unless you do it through Wells."

"So? We'll take our victories a piece at a time," Berberonsaid.

HOgue frowned. "It just seems to me that all you do bykeeping Three here is weaken us just when we most need to bestrong."

"Now you sound like Wells—" Berberon began, disgusted.

"Governor Hogue is right," Sujata said, unable to keep thetiredness out of her voice. "Wells doesn't need three Triads to start a war. Denying him this one won't solve the problem. Itmay even make it worse, because he will need all three andmore to fight one." She sighed. "Would you leave us alone,please, Governor?"

"Of course," Hogue said.

The moment the door closed behind him, Sujata pitchedforward in her chair and buried her face in her hands. Thoughshe held back the tears, her own tortured breaths were loud in her ears.

"Janell—" Berberon said tentatively.

Though embarrassed by her display, she could not bottle upher despair any longer. "We'll never catch him," she said helplessly. "We'll never stop him. It was already too late whenwe started."

"You can't let yourself think like that," Berberon said,more stern than compassionate.

"What was it Teo told us Wells had said? 'When we find them, we will have to fight them. And we will find them.'That's the way it's going to be. It's no more complicated thanthat. Except that there's no way we can win."

"Where is Teo?" Berberon asked, nobly trying to change the subject. "I want to get his opinion of what Hogue said."

"He went to report to the Flight Office with the rest of thecrew," she said, sitting upright and pressing her steepledfingers against her lips. "He'll be up presently."

Silence descended on the room, as though the mention ofFarlad had constituted a pact not to continue until he was there. Sujata stared out at the arboretum Hogue's office overlooked and tried to summon up a semblance of enthusiasm.

"You know we're going to have to follow him to the Perimeter," Berberon said at last.

"I know," Sujata said. There was a long pause, and thenshe added with a resigned sigh, "I don't want to get back onthat ship. But I suppose there's no good reason to postponeit."

"Governor Hogue said that Charan will be pogoing," Berberon said encouragingly. "There may even be a chance wecan beat Wells to Perimeter Command."

Sujata nodded politely and reached for the com key. "FindCaptain Hirschfield," she said. "I want to see him."

"Yes, Chancellor."

Sujata released the key, then suddenly tabbed it again.

"Yes, Chancellor?"

"Also, call the Security Annex and have them send up acouple of marshals. Put them somewhere Hirschfield won'tsee them and have them wait," she said. She looked up to findBerberon staring at her curiously, and smiled. "You know howwe Maranit are when we don't get our way."

'Testy," Berberon said with a hint of a smile. "Can I besomewhere else?"

"You most certainly cannot."

When Hirschfield arrived twenty minutes later, it did notrequire a Maranit upbringing to be able to read his thoughts.There was a look in Hirschfield's eyes that said he resentedbeing called there, a look that said, I thought I was finished with you. The set of his jaw telegraphed his determination not to cooperate.

Sujata read all that and more in him, but none of it mattered. It was no longer important to avoid conflict; indeed, sheno longer had that luxury.

"Captain Hirschfield, how quickly can Wesley be ready to continue on to Perimeter Base?"

Hirschfield's gaze narrowed. "I don't understand yourquestion. This is Wesley's home port now. Or did you mean,how long would it take her to get there if needed?"

"Answer the question I asked. How much time will youneed to get Wesley ready to sail for the Perimeter?"

Hirschfield was trying to guard his expression but withlittle success; his apprehension came through clearly. "Theoperational plan for Wesley specifies an alert response time of two hours—•"

Glancing at the clock before she spoke, Sujata said, "Verywell. Please return to the ship and supervise the preparations.Sailing time will be 11:30."

"Are you calling a drill, Chancellor?"

Sujata folded her hands on her lap. "No, Captain. I amtelling you that in two hours we are continuing on to the Perimeter."

Hirschfield began shaking his head before Sujata was finished. "You don't understand. Wesley is the auxiliary fleetflagship. As such, her role is to be available to the commandofficers at the secondary command base, which is LynxCenter. Wesley is staying here."

"I understand perfectly. You seem to be the one having thedifficulty. This is not a request or a suggestion. AmbassadorBerberon and I are going to Perimeter Command. Wesley is taking us there."

"No, sir," Hirshfield said sharply. "Because you insisted ona quick getaway from Central, we left there without operational certification of Wesley's weapons systems. Wesley has fifty man-weeks of final checkout due her, and she's going toget it here and now. I'm not about to take her farther out into the Perimeter without a fully operational lance."

"Captain Hirschfield, I am Chancellor of the Service. I amordering you to take me to the Perimeter."

"I'm sorry, Chancellor. Adding yourself to the manifest back at Central was one thing. Even fiddling with our sailingdate. But you're asking too much. We're under a Status-Aalert. Wesley is staying here so that she can do the job she was built for."

"I'm not asking anything, Captain. That was an order.""I take my orders from Commander Wells and the FlightOffice, Chancellor. Not from you."

For a long moment they stared at each other with eyes thatwere hard and unyielding. Then Sujata raised one eyebrowquestioningly as she turned away and touched the com key.

"Yes, Chancellor?"

"Please send in my other visitors."

"Yes, Chancellor."

A moment later the door opened and two lithe, well-muscled security officers came through the opening. They continued two steps into the room and then stood at attention, awaiting their orders.

"What is this?" Hirschfield demanded.

Sujata ignored him. "Captain Hirschfield is under arrest forwillful insubordination," she told the officers. "He is to be held in custody until the mustering-out procedures are completed. The Ambassador and I will forward our depositions tothe judge advocate by the end of the day."

"Yes, Chancellor," the taller officer said. "Captain?"

Hirschfield shot a black, putrescent look of pure will-toharm in Sujata's direction, but allowed himself to be led away.When they were gone, Berberon made a clucking sound deepin his throat. "He didn't play that very smart."

"He didn't think he had to," Sujata said tersely. "He thought he had the better hand. Who's second-in-command?"

"Killea."

She reached for the com key.

"Yes, Chancellor?"

"Find Lieutenant Killea. Tell him what happened to Captain Hirschfield. Then tell him I want to see him." Sujatalooked across at Berberon and managed a weak smile. "I hopewe don't have to end up flying the ship ourselves because thecrew is all in custody."

"Killea will get the message," Berberon said. "I only wishthere was reason to think it would be that easy when we catchWells."

Sujata frowned and shook her head. "Security is part ofOperations. Those men work for Hogue. Where we're going,everyone works for Wells."

"As I was saying—I wish."

Farlad showed up just as Killea was leaving, making for a"momentary traffic jam at the door to the office.

"Captain Killea is on his way to get the ship ready for a

noon sailing," Sujata said. "We're continuing on to Perimeter

Command."

Flashing a tight-lipped and troubled smile, Farlad said

quietly, "I'm not."

"Why not?" Sujata asked.

"Wills left new orders for me. I'm to report for duty on

board the recon ship Falcon. We're being sent into Sector

Seven of the Mizari Zone—to begin surveying the black-

flagged systems."

"Never mind that," Sujata said. "You're coming to the Pe

rimeter with us."

Farlad shook his head. "This says that he knows, just as I

told you he would. I can't be of any further use to you. But I

can still be of some use to the Service."

"Teo, this is not necessary," Berberon said. "I am terminat

ing your assignment. Resign your contract. You can return to

Earth—"

"Can I?" he asked, holding his head cocked at an angle.

"Return to who, or what? What use will the Council have for

an agent whose training is thirty-five years out of date, who'll

require not just retraining but a complete reeducation to be

useful again?" He shook his head again slowly. "I don't want

war to come. But if it is coming, I want to do my part to

protect my homeworld. Do you understand?"

"Your attachment to Earth, yes," Sujata said. "The rest-

no."

"I understand," Berberon said compassionately. 'Teo—I'm

sorry it worked out this way."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Farlad said. "But it would be

all right with me if you manage somehow to make what Fal

con's going out there to do unnecessary."

"We'll keep that in mind," Berberon said with a wry smile.

After Farlad left, Sujata cast a weary glance in Berberon's

direction. "We have about an hour. Do you need to talk to

home before we head back out?"

"Yes."

"So do I," she said, standing. "You can use the terminal

here. I'll let Hogue scare me up another one."

Even confined to a fifteen-centimetre screen, Tanvier managed to be imposing. Age had made his features cold, hissunken eyes remote. "There is no way that Farlad can carryout his instructions?"

"No," Berberon said. "He was right. Wells knows—orsuspects. If Farlad shows up at Perimeter Command, all he'llmanage to do is get himself busted down for not following theorders Wells left here for him."

"Then we will have to depend on you."

"Jean-Paul, I haven't the training—"

Tanvier's expression was hard and unyielding. "I will notlet this insanity endanger what I've built. You went out thereto solve a problem. The problem is still unsolved."

"What do you expect from me?" Berberon shouted. "You created the problem. You signed this devil's pact. This wasnever to be part of my responsibilities."

"I'm sure that when you have time to think about it, you'llrealize your objections are foolish," Tanvier said, unmoved."A lot of things that were never to happen, happened. You areon the scene. You will have to do what needs doing. Farlad'smission is now your mission. I have no doubt that you willaccept that necessity before the time to do something about itis on you."

As the link was established, Sujata was shocked to see thatWyrena had cut her long, splendid hair, the symbol of herBa'ar heritage. The woman staring back at her from the terminal was a stranger, not ten years younger than Sujata andrefreshingly naive but ten years older and serenely seasoned.

"Everything's coming apart," Sujata told the stranger."Wells has gone on to the Perimeter, and we have to followhim. So that we have a chance to catch him, we're going tostay in the craze throughout the leg. You understand what thatmeans—that you're going to have to do without any helpfrom here for—I haven't even had time to figure out how longit will take us to run the leg."

Aware of her own weariness, Sujata plunged on. "Umm— we'll be leaving Rice and Scurlock and the rest of Wells's entourage here. They're no friends of ours, and there's no sense bringing them along. Oh, and I had to replace CaptainHirschfield—"

Sujata lost the thread of her thoughts and stopped. "I knowthere's five hundred things that need to be dealt with, and I can't think of the first one," she said finally. "I'm sorry. This has all happened so quickly, I'm still a little off-balance."

"It's all right," Ten Ga'ar said. "We'll manage."

"Vice Chancellor Walker will probably have to pick hisown successor, without my approval. I suppose you'll need-that authority in advance," Sujata rambled on. "And budget

authority—"

"We'll deal with whatever needs doing," Ten Ga'ar said."We have the mechanisms in place. You do what you need to.We'll keep the rest of the Service humming."

Her words made Sujata feel completely useless. "Of courseyou will. I don't know why I'm worrying about trying to helpsolve your problems when I can't even deal with my own,"she said self-hatingly, and sighed. "We don't have much time before we have to board. Can you think of anything you needto know, anything I need to say to make what you do official?"

Ten Ga'ar shook her head slowly. "This is no different thanwhen you were en route to Lynx. The Vice Chancellor will actin your name while you're out of touch."

Sujata found herself with nothing to say. "If it's that simple at your end, then I suppose it's time for good-bye. Thereare still one or two minor details here that require my attention—"

A compassionate look touched Ten Ga'ar's features. "Janell—don't stop believing in what you're doing. Wells isnot beyond reaching. Remember the Canons."

"It seems like a very long time since you tried to teachthem to me," Sujata said, unable to silence the defeated notein her voice.

Ten Ga'ar smiled affectionately. "For me, it not onlyseems, but is. But I believe in you, Janell. You have what isneeded for this task. Only be certain that you know clearlywhat it is. Your goal is not to bend him to your will, to remakehim as you would wish him to be. You must take him as he is.Know him, and you will have him. He is vulnerable to whathe believes in. Remember that, and you will turn him."

Had her heart not been so filled with despair, Sujata wouldhave found the reversal of roles amusing. "I wish I could holdyou," she said, though what she meant was that she wanted tobe held.

"I wish I could give you that," Ten Ga'ar said, as though

she understood. "But I know you will find the strength youneed alone." I'll have to, Sujata thought as she signed off. Because that's what I am—alone.

chapter 16

In the Palace
of the Immortals

In the three months he had been alone aboard Munin, Merritt Thackery had come to understand that he was losing a battlewith madness. He knew that as certainly as he knew that thepower to prevent it had already escaped him.

Since there was so little else to think of, he thought mostoften about the fragile structure of his own thoughts. But allhis thinking, and all he had learned through it, had done nothing to stem the decline of his reason.

He understood that Munin was only a catalyst, not the cause. He had returned to her hopeful, in search of the senseof belonging he had last known aboard her. It was a vain hope, the kind that sprang from the heart to the will unexamined by the mind. He had been alone, and sought to end thealoneness. But now he was more alone than ever.

It could not have been otherwise. Munin's compartmentsand climbways sang to him of the familiar, inundated him with images of times lost and faces forsaken. The curators ofthe Museum had been astonishingly thorough: either they hadhad the assistance of some of Thackery's former crew or theService had known more about the details of life aboard its survey ships than he had realized.

His allovers, a .bit snug now, were the size he had wornthen; he had found them in the locker where he had alwayskept them. His food preferences were still programmed intothe synthesizers. The ship's library contained nothing more recent than A.R. 538, the year of the Revision; nothing of theD'shanna, nothing of the Mizari, no word of the four colonieshe had discovered—in fact, no mention of Thackery at all.

It was as though all the intervening years had simply nothappened, as if it were still A.R. 538 and Munin was still searching for the beings who had stolen life from the Sennifi,still chasing the floating tomb of Dove among the stars of Lynx Octant. In a perversely fitting reversal it seemed as though, instead of-being the one who had vanished, he hadreturned to the ship to find it suddenly empty of life. Munin screamed their absence to him, still bleeding from the woundmade by that which had been torn from her—and from him.

The fact that he had not realized that it would be so told him that his madness had begun long before he had boardedher. But it had grown much worse in the days since. The evidence, perhaps even the cause, could be found in his changing reaction to the bridge holograms.

There were six of them, remarkably real, disturbinglyfaithful to Thackery's memories. Himself, of course, seated atthe captain's station, one hand on his chin as he studied animage on the primary display. Derrel Guerrieri, who had beenThackery's shipmate from the time he left Earth as a novicesurveyor until the day he left Munin to meet the D'shanna on the spindle. Feisty Gwen Shinault, whose engineering skill had rescued Munin from the scrap heap. Joel Nunn, the quiet,dependable astrographer. Elena Ryttn at the communicationsstation.

And Amelia Koi—Amy, a gentle good spirit with whom hewould have shared a lifetime. Duty had cut their days togetherabruptly short, had stolen any future that might have been. Hehad paid the price of conscience in the coin of her love, andfrom that day his conscience had never been at peace.

Five lost friends, near enough to touch yet forever beyondhis reach. They spoke as well as moved—in their own voices,spliced or borrowed from recordings in the Service archives.To Thackery's eyes and ears they were real. Missing only wasthe tang of human habitation in the air, the hundred exhalations of life that made of the ship a friendly cave shared to escape a colder winter than Homo neanderfhalis had ever known.

His first day aboard, Thackery stood by the climbway railing and watched the real-yet-not-real animations move through their five-minute ballet three times in succession. Then he broke down, crying. When he turned the projectorsoff, he vowed never to turn them on again. He knew thedanger from the first. He sensed that to surround himself withsuch easy, but empty, comforts was to start down a road fromwhich there would lie no returning.

Yet on this day, three months later, he found himself welldown that road. For there were six figures on Munin's bridge:five ghosts and a man who was little more than that. Theirmotion stilled, their voices silenced, they stood as statues in a family gallery. One by one he had brought them back, firstDerrel, then Elena, Joel, Gwen, and finally himself.

One place, though, was still empty. He could not, wouldnot, try to bring Amy back that way, could not endure thereminder. And yet he could not ignore the message of theempty chair, nor stop himself from thinking of her. The conflict was yet another thread of his madness—a thread he hadwoven into the fabric himself.

Cognizant of the risk involved in his plan to return to Earththrough the spindle, Thackery had thought it the mercifulthing to allow Amy and the rest of Munin's crew to think that he was dead—a goal accomplished when Gabriel allowed thecorpse of Dove to plunge into the seething mass of a star.

But by that same act he had started an emotional time bomb ticking. After Dove's destruction Amy had turned Munin, her captain and purpose gone, back toward home. Bythe time the Service came to grips with what Thackery had totell them, Munin was already flying deaf, its crew believing a lie.

The lie could not endure. When Munin came out of the craze, Amy and the others would learn the truth—where hehad been, what he had done, and that he was still alive. As inevitably as the sun must rise, someday the display wouldchime and a picture begin to form on the screen, a visage outof his past.

She would speak, and her words would destroy him. Eithershe would still love him, thirty years out of sync and twenty-five light-years out of reach, and her love would cost him thetenuous peace he had made with what he had done. Or she would hate him, and her hate would cost him the fond memories of the only woman with whom he had ever shared morethan grief.

Thackery could not bear to face that day, that call, thataccounting. So before it came, before it would come, he hadtaken a field assignment on Rena that he had no right to takeand fled Earth in Fireside. Cocooned in the craze, he was safe from her, from the pain that could only come from connectingwith her again.

But waiting for him when he reached Rena was the newsthat Amy had found she could bear to face it even less thanhe. While Thackery was in the craze, running from her inselfish cowardice, Amy had guided Munin into port, then resigned her Service contract. And when no one and nothinghad call or claim on her, she had gone off alone and quietlytaken her life.

Hearing that had cost Thackery more than peace or memories.

He wondered at times why he had not followed her leadand ended the pain. He did not fear death, confident as he wasthat it meant nothing more than the end of life, that darknessand not judgment awaited him. The only answer he could findto the riddle was that continuing to live was a punishment heinflicted on himself in expiation of his guilt.

Now Thackery shared the chair at his station with his ownprojection, the younger apparition poised in anticipation, theolder submerged in dolor. Both gazed up at the bridge display,but only the ghost saw what appeared there. The imagesplayed on the real Thackery's retinas but were rarely perceivedby his mind.

In that state, even the klaxonlike collision alarm did not quickly penetrate his consciousness. But when it did, he stirred in his seat and looked up at the screen hopefully, scanning for the reason for the alarm. He was not so far gone as tobe beyond being rescued by novelty.

He was not sure at first what he was seeing. The star fieldbegan to shift as, having waited as long as it could for guidance, Munin moved to save itself. But the alarm continued to sound, and the star field continued to shift, as though Munin's efforts were somehow being negated. Puzzlement gave birthto curiosity, and curiosity reclaimed for the moment the betterfaculties of his mind. His brow furrowed, Thackery studiedthe image intently, until at last he focused not on the glowing points of light but on what lay between them.

it was a growing sphere of darkness, a black destroyerrising from the shadows. Star after star winked out as the expanding edge of an emptiness more complete than spaceitself masked or swallowed them.

Thackery knew what the black star meant. He had seen itonce before, from the spindle, and knew that there was littletime. Even so, he stood staring openmouthed fot long secondsbefore he realized that he was looking at his own death andthat despite everything—this, his greatest madness—he didnot want to die.

Moving slowly at first, his eyes riveted to the screen, heedged toward the climbway. When his hand brushed the coldmetal of the railing, it seemed to galvanize him. Twisting away from the sight of the Mizari black star, he scrabbleddown the rungs of the climbway until he reached the accessdoor for the drive core. His mind was focused with a cold, crystal clarity it had not known for years.

For a terrifying moment the access door resisted. Then itswung free, and he dived through the opening recklessly, tearing a long gouge along one forearm. He did not even pause tonotice the pain or blood. A touch on the engineering board,and the shield plates for coils sixteen and seventeen slid intotheir recesses, revealing a complex of spiral tubing seethingwith energy.

There was no time to do more than draw a deep breath and summon his will to live to the front of his consciousness. Reaching out with trembling arms, closing his eyes at the lastinstant, Thackery plunged his hands into the heart of the driveand seized hold of a whirlwind of fire.

Once his hands closed on the flesh of the demon, there was no releasing his grasp. Every muscle knotted in agony, everycell crying protest, he fought against the onslaught of energiesseeking to steal his will. He clung there, huddled in a ball,screaming a scream that was at once a protest against his lifeand a howl of defiance.

His body was burning and he did not know whether fromwithin or without. As his mind cried, Where is the crossing? Where is the end! the ship surrounding him dissolved into component atoms and vanished like a mist in sunlight. Aninstant later, oblivious to his fight for life and coherence, theuniverse of stars did the same.

The Defense Intelligence Data Analysis Center (DIDAC) was a mausoleumlike crypt within the bowels of PerimeterCommand: one thousand locker-sized AI modules filling rowupon row of floor-to-ceiling interface racks. Only the modules' rectangular faceplates were visible, featureless and identical except for the identifying number embossed in the upperright corner.

Quiet and dimly lit, DIDAC seemed to be a forgottenplace, an electronic graveyard left over from some now completed task, an impression that cast the single data technician,moving quietly through the aisles with his cart of componentsand test gear, in the role of caretaker—or even undertaker.

But that impression, however outwardly justified, was wrong. The appearance of the modules belied both their capabilities and importance, and the restful peace of the corridorswas in sharp contrast to the furious activity within the racks.For each of the modules was in fact a keen and highly specialized electronic mind, busily sorting through its share of theincessant deluge of data being gathered by the Defense Intelligence Office.

Operating under the dictum "You can never know too muchor prepare too well," the Office eagerly monitored the outputfrom every active Kleine unit within the Bootes and LynxOctants. Each separate source was assigned a separate DIDACmodule. A few modules were dedicated to major facilitiessuch as Lynx Center, and a larger number to the various deep-ships patrolling in or simply traveling through the region.

But by far the majority of the modules were attending tothe output of the eight hundred listening buoys that comprisedthe Shield. That was the task for which DIDAC had been built; all other functions merely reflected the Office's determination to find use for the system's consciously included reserve capacity.

Oblivious to tedium, undaunted by detail, the modules patiently panned the binary stream in a quest to find that mostvaluable commodity, information, among the wealth of valueless data. Though they could not be said to possess consciousness, they did possess curiosity—an insatiable curiosity forthe irregular, the anomalous, the unexpected, the unexplained.

So the intelligence that was monitoring the dispatches fromMunin was machine, not human. Until recently MOD 214 had been devoting its attention to the output of a buoy located inthe Canes Venatici region of the Shield. But that particularbuoy was currently being serviced by the Sentinel Daehne, and so MOD 214 had been assigned a secondary task.

That its new task was considered by the supervising humanintelligences to be of less import than its old, MOD 214 hadno awareness. It reviewed the complex of digitized data withthe same perseverance it had devoted to its previous duty. Andwhen it detected a discrepant event matrix, it reacted with noless urgency.

As clever and flexible as it was at sifting through the data,MOD 214 knew only three things to do in the event that itssearch was successful: to retrieve from downstream all previously passed-over data associated with the event; to routethat data and any that followed to a save file; and to alert a human operator. MOD 214 did all three within a fraction of asecond, then returned to its task. Curiosity about what happened next had not been included in its library of enablers.

The eomtech who received MOD 214*s alert was far from oblivious to tedium and only indifferently curious. In the firstthree hours of his four-hour shift, Paul Wilkins had been called on to examine nineteen discrepant event matrices detected by various DIDAC modules. None had been meaningful. In fact, during the five months he had served as a DIDACoperator, the most significant anomaly that had passed throughhis board was a minor buoy malfunction, which was only aCode Three event.

So when the alarm began sounding, Wilkins casually tookthe time to finish what he was saying to the operator on hisright before turning lazily to his board.

"Tell me," he said, which silenced the alarm.

In the design of the DIDAC module, not much of its brainpower had been allocated for conversation. MOD 214's answer was typically terse. "Threat code, sector N15.30, surveyship Munin."

"Inference class?" Each DIDAC module monitored its own logic stream so that it could both reconstruct and evaluate thedecision-making process. This provided the operators and theanalysts in the Office with a tool for weighing conclusions thatthey could not hope to confirm independendy. Class Five inferences were barely more than guesses: Class One, only fractionally less than certainty.

"Non-inferential. Direct observation."

"Show me," Wilkins said, suddenly chilled.

For several seconds he watched in stunned silence as the black star closed with Munin. He knew that he should act, but the sight transfixed him. They're coming out, he thought, andthe thought paralyzed him. The Mizari are coming out.

The operator to Wilkins's right saved him, reaching acrossfrom his station to touch the com key. "Station 31 paging thewatch commander—"

Wilkins took over in a shaky voice. "I have a Code Oneevent in sector N15.30, survey ship Munin under attack—"

Before the watch commander could respond, it was over. Aflare of energy from the black star seemed to bum out Munin's eyes, followed a few seconds later by a dispassionate announcement from MOD 214: "Active mode gone. Transponder gone. Munin LOS. Munin destroyed."

"Inference class?"

"Class One."

"Aggressor ID?" asked Wilkins's neighbor, now standing over him. Even knowing the answer, it was a jolt to hear it: "Mizari.""Inference class?" Wilkins whispered."Class One." Before the day was over, the record of Munin's final mo

ments would be replayed a score of times—for the watch commander, for the head of the Defense Intelligence Office,for the station commander. For the captains of all the Sentinelsand tenders on the Perimeter. For Governor Hogue at Lynxand Deputy Director Barnes at Central. And for Acting Commander of Perimeter Defense Osten Venngst, who was reponsible, with Wells incommunicado in the craze, for ordering theService's response.

No matter where the dispatch was played, or for whom itwas played, always it ended the same: "Munin destroyed. Aggressor ID: Mizari."

By such simple words did they learn that the fighting hadbegun.

Cocooned in the tissue of his own consciousness, Thackeryallowed himself to be tossed and buffeted by the tides andcurrents of the spindle. He had no energy to spare for rejoicing that he was, in at least an abstract sense, still alive.

The crossing had been difficult, and he was acutely awareof the savaging the finer elements of his new structure had suffered. Shielding himself from the turbulence with the strongest surviving elements of his personality, Thackery endeavored to restore what he could.

Where an echo, fast fading, or a shimmering fragment, fastdissipating, remained to remind him of the elegant shape andcomplex synergy of the element it represented, there was hope. But that which had been torn free and swept away,without even a pale, harmonic ripple to show something hadbeen there, these things he could not reconstract. He could noteven catalog what had been lost.

The wounds had been grevious, and for the most part, hisrepairs were crude. He felt as though he were struggling toassemble with maul and mallet the delicate parts of a fine andcomplex watch. With every well-intentioned movement hesent the tiny gears and catches scattering, losing three for every one he captured.

But s'till he persisted, tracing down each thread of his consciousness, weaving loose ends back into the pattern, forgingconnections where it seemed proper to do so. And presentlythere came a point at which he had recouped enough of hisfaculties to spare some small portion for other concerns, among them wondering how he had survived.

Thackery was unable to summon concrete remembrancesof the moments in which he had passed from Munin's drive core to the spindle. He sensed that, rather than projectinghimself by a simple act of will, he had been drawn across thebarrier when the drive was destroyed and the aperture closed.His achievement had been to maintain the integrity of his consciousness long enough for that moment arrive.

Because I remembered. Because I have been here before. The thoughts formed clearly and easily, and their resonances were true.

Time passed and his understanding grew. He saw that thebulwark surrounding him was nothing less than his will to live, bolstered by the clean, simple structure of his reason.Within that shell he found, drifting free, pale threads of hiscuriosity and a mote that was a memory of a word. He restored both to their station and felt himself grow.

I am D'shanna now, he thought, and unfolded.

He had remembered the spindle as a place of great beauty—a place where currents of energy—like long, gentle swells, each with its own hue and timbre and taste—collided misciblyand immiscibly in a rhythm that seemed random and chaoticuntil the mind's far eye abstracted the pattern.

But this time Thackery opened his senses to a landscapefull of fury. He had not realized the strength of his shield, nor the violence of the assault against it, and for long moments hewavered on the brink of retreating. But the need to see, toknow, was complete in him, while fear was a shrunken fragment. He steeled himself against the battering and looked outward into infinity.

The resonance that was Thackery was drifting like a motein a great Brownian sea near the interface between the matter-matrix he knew as the Universe and the energy-matrix of thespindle. The interface, propagating like a slow-moving ripplefrom the cataclysm of origin in which the two matrices hadbeen separated to the cataclysm of terminus in which theywould be reunited, marked what those he had left behind called the present. Downtime, there were only echoes; uptime, only anticipations.

There had been turbulence here before, he remembered. Every ship's drive was a whirling sinkhole, every Kleine message a hard-edged resonance slicing through the fibers of thespindle. There were more ships and more messages now, andso a greater disturbance.

But there was also a powerful tide from uptime, an incursion of discordant energies whose shadowy dark colors blocked the far view. Thackery could name neither its sourcenor its substance, but it proclaimed its own power to his eyes.It was the shadow tide that drove the storm holding the spindlein its grip.

Thackery was abruptly aware of his isolation. As far as hissenses could reach, even deep into the quiet downtime, heperceived no other resonances like his own. If the D'shannacould be said to have a birthplace, it was here, cradled between future and past. This was the one point at which theconstructs of both matrices could be said to be real, real enough to manipulate, and yet not so real as to be unchangeable.

When last he had come there, the exodus uptime had already begun, tens of thousands of D'shanna migrating awayfrom the intruding human presence. But even so, Thackeryhad known the presence of many of Gabriel's kind, and nowhe felt their absence.

Gabriel. Each thought Thackery formed seemed to containreflected in its fine resonances a dozen more, and so the healing continued. This was a good thought,.a strong thought, richin implication and memory. '

Gabriel... He sent the namepattern out into the chaos withlittle hope of answer. If Gabriel still endured, he was with theother D'shanna in the far uptime near terminus, beyond thechaos of nearer tomorrows. Thackery was alone in the interface zone, alone and uncertain of what next to do...

. , . for one of the threads that had eluded him in the course of his self-resurrection was purpose. He had found the placewhere it belonged, the anchor points that cried out for itspresence, but the wounds there were nearly healed, as thoughpurpose had been lost not in the transition but sometime longbefore.

He remembered how time had weighed on him, on Earth, in Munin. Now he had nothing but time. There was death onthe spindle, or at least nonexistence. All he need do is let go,open himself to the dark currents and let them scatter his energies. It would be an easy death, without pain, without rancor.But he could not let go. That which had protected him throughtransition and rebirth also protected him against the impulse todie.

So time remained, perhaps time without ending. In the absence of purpose Thackery could at least indulge his curiosity,for he had conceived a question, and a question demanded an answer.

All the Universe was spread below him, all the paststretched out behind him. The art of seeing was still withinhim, and he opened himself to let the echoes of reality pourinto him. Patiently—for he had time in abundance—he siftedthrough the echoes for familiar images, for places and moments congruent with the resonance of memory. He reached with his senses across the barrier and surrounded himself with the Universe, seeking the creatures that had driven him here,searching for the face of the enemy.

Hard by the thin nebulosity that had been Munin, two stars whirled in an oscillating ballet. The dancers were ill-matched,the larger a brilliant white, the smaller a pale yellow. Theywere joined in their dance by a small, rocky world tracingwhat seemed a perilous course between them. The planet'sechoes said nothing of life, and yet there was something.

Thackery focused his sight and scanned the face of thewhirling mote. It was a desolate place, hard-edged, dry, airless. Nowhere on its surface could he find the signature oflife. Nowhere was there a sign that this was the world that hadlaunched the black star. And yet there was something— Something more—

A sound heard at the periphery of sensation—

Not sound but muted song. Not voice but discordant chorus. He listened with ears newly opened to a clacking,whining sound that made him think of swarming nests of antsand flights of angry bees. But where was the source? Nothingmoved on the dead planet's surface.

The sound seemed to emanate from the planet's entire surface, out not uniformly so. He let his senses follow the voiceof one of the loudest singers and found there, set in the coldstone surface of the planet, a shallow crystalline dome. Heprobed past its smooth, unmarked surface and sensed a confusion of electrical currents within the solid mass of silica-quartz, of energies received and transmuted, then emitted again.

Was this life? Could this be life? But he sensed no patternin the currents, no sense to the song. If there was Mind here,he could not touch it. Life, perhaps, but not intelligence—merely the pointless stirring of matter in obedience to the impulse from within. These sun-eaters could not be the buildersof the black star.

Thackery widened the focus of his viewing both across andbelow the planet's surface. There were many of the crystalcreatures, and he sensed the synergy among them. Even lifewithout purpose obeys the imperative of interdependency. Awhole ecology of meaninglessness—

But as he stretched himself in an effort to absorb the ecology of this strange world in its entirety, a new and shockingperception forced itself on him without warning. For a briefinstant he brushed up against the energies of a powerful Mind,powerful enough that he flinched from the contact defensively.

Even so, that moment was enough to show him what hehad seen without seeing—a Mind that harnessed energy directly in the substance of its body, without the need for mechanical contrivance. A Mind that embraced an entire world and looked out from it with one sight that embraced an entireUniverse.

Such were the Mizari. Such were the enemies of humanity.Thackery did not need to probe the Mind.of this Mizari nest todiscover its self-name, for he knew that it would carry thesame thread of meaning as all self-names: We are that which is worthy—we are life.

, How came you here? he asked of the Mind. How long agodid you make your claim?

He did not expect nor receive answers and so began to search for them on his own.

Leaving the turmoil of the interface behind, Thackerybegan to push his way downtime, against the steady past-tofuture current of the spindle. His senses, still focused on theMizari world, now embraced echoes that were true but not real.

Bare moments after he began his sojourn he was a spectator to his own death, the only witness as the black star appeared, closed on Munin and destroyed her, and then vanished. But even from his privileged position he could not see whence the black star came or to where it went. He shrugged his puzzlement aside and continued on.

The years unrolled before his eyes, the worlds spinningbackward in their courses, a hundred, a thousand, a hundred thousand years, and still the Mizari owned the barren planet.A million years, ten million, and still the Mizari persisted,their song declaring their presence. It seemed as though aslong as there had been a planet, the Mizari had been there.They were more than visitors. They were part of its substance.

An ancient species they are—old already when humankind was being born. If they had wanted it, the galaxy could have been theirs. They had time, and the, black stars to carry them—

Still farther back Thackery flew,-until the stars in that region of space began to converge and the nebula out of whichthey had formed to reappear. As they came together he heardacross the unimaginable distances another Mizari voice, and a third, and a fourth, each singing the same song, yet each singing a song all its own.

Like great whales cruising the black depths of the sea, each alone save for the distant voice of its kin—

Thackery realized with sudden certainty where he was,what he was witnessing. He knew the names of these newlyyoung stars and the shape they would one day make in Earth'snight skies: Alioth. Merak. Megrez. Phad. Alcor. Mizar. But there were a hundred more, spawn of the same mother but notthe same litter, returning from haunts more widely scattered inspace: Menkalinan. Sirius. Aldhafera. Ras Alhague.

As the stars and their planets dissolved into whirling disks of gas and dust, and as the disks merged into a great coalescing cloud, the Mizari song was finally stilled, and Thackeryunderstood at last. This glorious unnamed nebula, alive withturbulence, had given birth not only to the Ursa Major Clusterbut to the Mizari as well.

The evolutionary pressure that had shaped their nature andtheir powers was the same that had shaped the planets thatwere their homes. The same process had bound them inextricably to those worlds. No new Mizari nests had been foundedsince the cluster had dispersed. Those that existed in Thackery's time had existed since the beginning. These were notcreatures oriented to dominion and conquest. By their veryessence they were creatures shaped by the single imperative ofsurvival.

Thackery tried to form the namepattern for an intelligencethat had known fifty million years without death, whose bodymassed ten million times that of the largest life-forms Earthhad ever known, whose perspective embraced the spectacle ofthe Universe from every direction and across immense spansof time. He failed. It was a conception too great for Thackeryas he was. He would have to grow before he could accept itinto himself.

There was one riddle, left unanswered—the black star. But with what he now knew, Thackery understood what it mustbe. A species existing on a planetary scale could only be endangered by a catastrophe on the same scale. The black starwas the reason the airless Mizari world he had studied was oddly unscarred by craters. It was the means by which a handful of Mizari nests had survived the violence of planet-making. Guardian, shield, it stood between the Mizari and adeadly fall of stones.

Drifting uptime along a different fiber of the spindle,Thackery acquired the proof he did not require. He watchedthe two Mizari worlds of Alcor turn aside a thousand waywardplanetoids, vaporize a hundred wandering comets—even, intime, shatter whole planets and drive their fragments into thesun—until the system was swept clean of all that might endanger them.

The black star appeared when needed, disappeared when its task was done. For it was neither star nor ship, nor could iteven be said to be real. It was a weapon without substance,which could not be destroyed because it did not exisrat thepoint where it appeared to the senses. It was an instrumentality for their collective will, a receiver "for their energies. Andthe channel for those energies led through the spindle.

Panthers had their claws, piranha their teeth. The Mizarihad the Mind's Shout—an ancient reflex still slumberingwithin them, a terrible savage power still at their command.

Sixty thousand years'ago the Mizari had swept away theWeichsel, not in retribution but in response to an imperative asdeeply ingrained in them as the will to live. Now Thackeryhad unwittingly repeated the transgression of the Weichsel iceship so long ago. Withdrawing his senses from beyond thespindle, he hastened to rejoin the present, wondering as heflew across the years how high the price would be this time.

chapter 17

The Provider's
Voice

Midway between Lynx Center and Perimeter Command, Tilak Charan emerged from the craze at the leading edge of thegravitational track that betrayed its position among the stars ofLeo Minor. At the bidding of its comtech Charan's instruments reached out and snatched from the ether the recognitionsign and ready-to-link signal of its destination, toward whichthe ship continued to hurtle with barely less urgency than before.

In the privacy of his cabin Wells waited patiently for thepale blue WAITING FOR CARRIER message to vanish from thedisplay. Two minutes of waiting exhausted his patience, andhe touched the com key. "Problem, Mr. Stevens?"

"Sorry, sir. A little trouble picking it out of the scruff,that's all," the comtech said. "Should be coming up now."

A moment later the pallid-skinned, mustachioed face of Osten Venngst appeared on the screen. Venngst glanced to hisleft, as though listening to someone standing there out of view, then nodded and looked down at his lap as though consulting a slate. "Time mark, 710.245. Defense status: We areat Code One alert throughout the entire Perimeter—"

"What's happened?" Wells demanded, unable to contain

his alarm. "Why are we in a war alert?''

"Sir, two months ago we received a positive confirmationon an active Mizari nest in the One Corona Borealis system,"

- Venngst said. "The rogue ship Munin was entering the systemon a survey run and was destroyed by a hostile by means of anintense burst of black-body radiation. Fortunately Munin was relaying data right up until the end, so we did get a good lookat their weapons. But since the attack came so quickly, thesystem survey'is very sketchy and we cbuld not establish where within the system the Mizari are based."

For the first time since he had set his course fifteen yearsago, Wells felt the stabbing chill of uncertainty. A touch onthe terminal command board brought a map of die Bootes andLynx Octants up in place of Venngst's face. "One CoronaBorealis—that's Alphecca, yes? What the hell are the Mizaridoing there at all? That's way outside the cluster. If they'vegotten that far, they could be anywhere."

"Ye?, sir. The strategy staff here is very concerned, as you might imagine."

This is my own damn fault. Thackery wouldn't have been out there if I hadn't been feeling soft about him. Damn, damn, damn. These always come back to bite you. Wells chased the map from the screen with a touch. "What action have youtaken?"

Venngst acknowledged the question with a nod. "I immediately placed all elements of the Perimeter Defense on highestalert. I also exercised my preemptive authority under Status-Amission rules to divert Triad One from its patrol circle. TriadOne is now in the high craze-to Alphecca with instructions tolocate and destroy the Mizari nest."

Wells frowned and sat forward in his chair. "I presume

these attack orders conform to the specifications of the Strat

egy Committee."

"Yes, sir. As per your instructions, Captain Lieter's ordersare presumptive-go, and he was given full command discretion. Triad One will come out of the craze twelve hours before system contact to pick up the most current intelligence and toprovide a final opportunity for a wave-off—you'll be on-station by then, incidentally. Absent a recall at that time, hewill go back into the craze and not drop out again until beginning the actual assault run."

"Very good, Osten."

"There is one other matter," Venngst said. "I took the liberty of amending the standard battle order to provide an additional opportunity for a wave-off, approximately six weeksfrom now on the PerCom time track. The command lineshiponly will come out of the craze for a twenty-minute Kleinetroll—"

Wells slammed his palm down on the console beside him."Damn it, Osten, all that does is give them a chance to get twofixes on our ships and a track back to our facilities on this sideof the Perimeter."

"I thought this additional exposure was justified," Venngstsaid defensively. "Sir, I ordered Triad One to Alphecca withserious reservations about the wisdom of doing so. Yes, it wasthe response dictated by the strategic plan—except the strategic plan didn't anticipate a target so far removed from whatwe always considered the primary front. I wanted you to havean opportunity to countermand my attack authorization if youthought it more important to keep Triad One at home than tomake a swift, punitive response."

Venngst hesitated, then glanced down at his lap again. "I understand that you may wish to convene the Strategy Committee to discuss this, so we are prepared to hold this linkopen as long as necessary."

"Has there been any additional activity in or near the OneCor Bor sector?"

"No, sir. We have sixteen buoys focused on the hot zone,and they've seen nothing. However, we are somewhat limitedby the fact that the buoys out on the fringe have never beenupgraded since their original deployment. At the moment wecan't even pick up the Mizari EM signature Munin was monitoring."

"Status of the other Triads?"

"Fully operational and on their patrol circles."

"And the recon ships?" Wells asked, calling back the map.

"No change. Eagle is inbound to the 285 Lynx system, to make contact with the Feghr colony. Kite has completed a survey of the Megrez system, negative outcome, and is continuing on to Alioth. Falcon is headed for 17919 UMa. All this is in the report we high-banded to you at the top of thelink. We'll stand by while you and the Committee review it."

"Not necessary," Wells said. "Your ambivalence about theAlphecca mission was unnecessary. I'm confirming your attack orders for Triad One. Send Lieter a scram signal so thathe'll get his ship back up in the craze as quickly as possible."

Venngst seemed relieved. "Yes, Commander."

"But you didn't go far enough," WeBs continued. "It'sstrategic suicide to sit around waiting for them to take the firstswing on the primary front too." ' *

Swallowing hard, Venngst said, "We thought that considering the length of the run to Alphecca, we could afford to deferon that until you'd been put in the picture."

"You shouldn't have," Wells said bluntly. "I assume you'dhave told me if we'd picked up any additional probables?" "There are none, sir. Mizar-Alcor and Phad are the onlysystems displaying the EM signature."

"All right—what follows are formal command orders, tobe abstracted into both Charan's command log and your command log there. Eagle is to be redirected from the Feghr contact to survey 21 Leo Minor. We can't offer the people ofFeghr any protection, so there's no point in possibly betrayingtheir presence to the Mizari. Kite is ordered to proceed directly, to Phad and conduct a pre-assault recon. Falcon is to proceed directly to Mizar-Alcor and do likewise there. Allbest speed and minimum exposure."

"Confirming, Eagle to 21 Leo Minor, Kite to Phad, Falcon to Mizar-Alcor, Code One rules."

"Yes," Wells said, settling back in his chair. He felt strangely calm. "On my authority you are also instructed todeploy Triad Two on a presumptive-go mission to Mizar-Alcor, ditto Triad Thrpe to Phad. I want the wave-offs scheduled so that they get every last bit of data from the recons, andI want the assaults as tightly scheduled as possible, so the Mizari don't have a chance to learn from experience. Clear?"

"Yes, Commander Wells. Clear. We're going in after them."

Oh, certainly—the vainglorious quest for honor, the challenge and glory of combat, Wells thought. All the easier to embrace because you will not huddle in the tunneled dark spaces of a Triad hull bargaining with Death. But what choice do we have1 What choice have we ever had?

But his thoughts were thoughts to which no Commandercould admit ownership, and he stilled their voice inside him.What were needed now were words that Venngst could pass tothe crews of the Triads, words that conformed to image andexpectation.

"Damn right we are," Wells said. "It's time to hit back."

On a long leg in the high craze there was little to do aboardWesley except mark time. The crew found the long watchestedious and the time between them a challenge to their capacity for self-amusement. -Nothing changed except money fromone hand to another and bodies from one bed to another.

With neither those diversions nor even the alternative of work available to her, Sujata's days were even longer andharder to fill. She and Berberon were outsiders: out of deference or vindictiveness or both, the crew had effectively closedthem off from ship life.

Oh, they recognized her right to go anywhere withoutbeing challenged, but her presence was accepted rather thanwelcomed. When she appeared in a compartment, conversations came to a halt, and they regarded her with looks thatwere wary at their core. They acknowledged her right to inquire into any aspect of ship operation, but she knew only thatwhich she asked about. Except for an occasional tidbit fromCaptain Killea, nothing was ever volunteered.

Perhaps they thought that she wanted nothing more thanthat. A few probably thought that Berberon filled whateversocial needs she had—the same few who kept alive the uglyjokes about the nature of their relationship. Killea had saidnothing to Sujata about it—she learned of it directly fromship's records—but he had already disciplined two crew members for "propagation of salacious and unsubstantiated anecdotes disrespectful of the office of Chancellor generally,and Chancellor Sujata personally." Rather than putting an endto it, no doubt Killea's action had simply taught the crew notto repeat such jokes in his presence.

In truth, Berberon had been very poor company since Wesley had left Lynx three weeks ago. His characteristic cheeriness and volubility had vanished without warning in the wakeof their failure to catch Wells there. The removal of Wells's staffers from Wesley left them with separate cabins, and Berberon rarely left his. He would sit quietly in the dark forhours, thinking unimaginable thoughts.

When he did emerge, Berberon was at best polite and cooperative. It was as though he no longer felt the need or could summon the energy to raise the smiling mask he formerlywore. But he offered no explanations, and for a time Sujatarespected his privacy.

But one evening when the empty hours and the silencewere wearing on her, she came to his cabin to find him sittingon the far end of the lower bunk, chin propped on his steepledhands, staring vacantly at the wall. Settling at the opposite endof the bunk, she broached the issue with an attempt at humor.

"What have you done with the real Felithe Berberon?" sheasked. "Did you replace him at Lynx, or is he still on boardsomewhere?"

He responded to her words as though being called backfrom somewhere, his eyes seeking, hert, his face suddenlyreanimated. "I'm afraid my thoughts have been largely unhappy ones, and I have never seen much point in sharingunhappiness."

"Why unhappy?"

Berberon glanced upward at the cabin ceiling. "Such a little world this is, this ship," he said. "Coming out from Earthwe had the daily dispatches to unite us with the rest of humanity, to give us new things to think about. But flying deaf in thecraze this way, all the way to PerCom—".

"It's the only way to be certain we catch Wells."

"I know that," Berberon said. "But he could have changedhis plans, his schedule, even his destination when he learnedthat we were still following him. They could be fighting the war even now. I don't know how you deal with the uncertainty."

"Wells will be there'," Sujata said with the confidence ofthe desperate. "We will have 'a chance to change his mind."

Berberon sighed. "When I am not feeling any more thanmy normal measure of cynicism, I, too, think that he will bethere. But I can take no comfort in that, because I hold little hope that you will succeed in dissuading him,."

Sujata's eyebrows narrowed in surprise. "Once you told methat you thought I was the only one who could persuade Wellsnot to do this. Or what else was that long harangue on thebiology of aggression about?"

"About nothing, it seems. You'll recall that I was unable toconvince you."

"Which doesn't mean that I ignored what you said."

"Yes—your research project. From which you learned toolittle or learned it too late. It doesn't matter now," Berberon said tiredly. "Besides, you misremember what I said. I thoughtyou had promise as one who could stop Wells. I never be

lieved that you could change him.""It isn't necessary to change Wells—just this particular decision."

Berberon slapped the cot with his right hand. "But don'tyou see, what he's doing comes from what he is. He's listening to voices he doesn'-t know how to say no to, voices thathave been working on him all his life. You can't hope to turnhim around with a few well-chosen words." He let his head tipback until it rested against the bulkhead and he was staring upat the ceiling. "This is pointless. You don't believe it evennow."

Sighing, Berberon closed his eyes. "It isn't your fault," he went on. "Admitting that we have an animal nature is not easy. Harder still is the truth that it controls us as much ormore than we control it. We are too proud, we humans, tooattached to the idea of our own free will. It took generationsfor the simple truth of evolution to become part of the educated concept of who and what we are."

Sujata allowed an affectionate smile to touch her lips briefly. "I liked the old Felithe better—the silver-tonguedschemer who always had five angles on the situation and smiled so much, you knew right away you couldn't trust him."

Berberon straightened up and met her eyes squarely. "Ifyou see him," he said dourly, "tell him he can have his jobback."

"Felithe," Sujata said gently, reaching out to pat Berberon's knee. "I did listen to you back then. I listened then,and I've been listening ever since, everywhere, to everyone.Trying to hear what's not said, to find the common threadsthat you said linked so much together. I found something—not what you said I would find but something all the same.Will you let me take you away from your misery long enoughto tell you what I learned? I think perhaps I can promise you alittle hope."

Shifting to a more comfortable position, Berberon managed a weak smile and a weaker joke. "Very well, Janell. Butonly a little hope, please. I am afraid that in my condition, I might suffer an allergic reaction to the full dose."

The energy resonance that called itself Merritt Thackeryhad learned much since returning uptime from the birthplace of the Mizari. He knew now the cause of the storm that ragedin the near uptime. He had learned how to hear.the echoes ofMizari thoughts and to resolve the patterns of their unimaginable antiquity and fundamental alienness. He carried withinhim as new harmonics the imperatives that were integral to theMizari mind. ,

.What he did not know was if he would ever be able to tell another human what he knew.

While roaming the interface and garnering new understanding, he had been confident that he knew how to reachacross the barrier. The Kleine units on every ship and stationwere linked through the spindle. The subharmonic that carriedthe coded patterns of communication was as open and exposedas an unshielded cable, vulnerable to the tumult of the interface, open to Thackery's touch.

He had thought it would be a simple matter to manipulatethe Kleine waves, to reshape them to carry his message throughout the net. They would not be able to ignore theimage "and message of a dead man, images originating fromnowhere, invading the system from somewhere outside reality,messages comprised of warnings and portents.

But when he tried, he failed. He thought at first that thewaves were too subtle and his efforts too clumsy. But when hefcfcused his senses more clearly on the Kleine harmonic, he saw that his touch was deft enough. Following the alteredwaves outward, he learned that the fault was not his. Everychange he effected, every thought he injected, lasted onlyuntil the waves dived back beyond the barrier and reached themachines that waited patiently in the loop to sift the wheatfrom the electronic chaff. To those machines his messageswere merely noise to be suppressed.

The only possibility remaining in Thackery's limited inventory of ideas was to drive himself down to the barrier and reach across to plant his thoughts directly into the mind of a chosen individual, echoing the way Gabriel had reached outand touched the mind of a young Merritt Thackery.

But Thackery was determined not to make the mistake thatGabriel nearly had. He had searched across time and space todiscover the one who could act on what she would learn from him, and then had searched again to find her. Now he lookeddown on the ship that carried her, looked down into the swirling vortex of its drive, down through the hull and bulkheads.

He found her young and vibrant resonance cocooned within a cabin with a second, more subdued. She was speaking, and Thackery opened his senses to hear both her wordsand the inner voice that declared her namepattem.

Her words said, "It's as if there are two distinct ethics in the human ethos—a provider ethic and a preserver ethic. Theprovider ethic is about acquiring. It says that if one slain deeris good, two is better. The preserver ethic is about keeping. Itsays that there is a point at which it is more important toprotect what you have than to run the risks involved in acquiring more."

Focusing his substance and energy, Thackery drove himselfdownward in an attempt to project himself into the cabin between them. If he could stretch the barrier until it touched her, if she could hear his echoes the way he heard hers—

Chancellor Sujata—listen to me. What we are—you are— means nothing now. What matters is what the Mizari are. Listen and I will tell you. They harness the energy of the spindle through their Mind's Shout. They destroy out of a reflex twenty times older and more finely honed than any you may carry in your bodies.

But Sujata showed no awareness of Thackery's nearness."I hear the provider ethic in the words said over fallen soldiers: He died for a good reason, in a good cause," she wassaying. "And you rarely question the claim. How can you?You are the ones left behind, the ones for whom they sought toprovide. You must honor them or demean yourselves.

"When a capitalist talks about defending market share orevaluating a return on investment, I hear the provider frettingover poaching in his traditional hunting ground and decidingwhether the fur of a black bear is worth the risk of dyingtrying to take it. When an engineer wonders how to use a newdiscovery, when a runner celebrates his victory over the pack,when an explorer plants a flag in the ice of an uninhabitablemountaintop—I hear the provider ethic in all of these.

"The provider ethic is always looking forward to tomorrow, to the next challenge, the next conquest. The preserverethic is more interested in savoring today—"

Listen, won't you listen! Close your mouth and open your mind. It was the Mind's Shout that crushed the Weichsel, that sterilized the planet. And they are stronger now than they were then.

But Sujata was listening to her companion rather than toThackery. "What you are saying is nothing more than what Isaid to you, dressed up in different clothing," Sujata's companion was saying. "You've found new Words to describe theurging of the reptile hindbrain to fight and of the limbic system to love. I am heartened by your enlightenment, eventhough it's much overdue. But I see no reason yet to hope thatWells will suddenly become tractable."

"Perhaps there is a genetic root to all this, as you say,"Sujata said. "But if there is, the genes reside not on the sexchromosomes but somewhere else in our genome. This is thekey difference, and the reason to hope. Aggression is not theexclusive province of the male. Nurturing is not the exclusiveprovince of the female. They are complementary principles,not only within the species but within each individual.

"Yes, for most people, one or the other dominates their outward behavior. But those who embrace one ethic to the exclusion of the other cannot survive. The provider dies a death of reckless courage. The preserver dies a death of unchecked fear. Both, ethics coexist in everyone. Which meansthat Wells, provider archetype though he is, has within himthe capacity to understand an argument couched in the preservation ethic."

The proximity of the drive taphole and its turbulence, thestruggle to stand against the currents near the barrier betweenmatter-matrix and energy-matrix, the sustained effort to project himself beyond it and seize Sujata's consciousness, allwere taking their toll on Thackery. He sensed the weakeningof his will, his mind, his substance, and sensed, too, the imminent necessity to abandon his effort and retreat to repairhimself once again.

There was enough time left for one last effort, all his energy concentrated on opening a single infinitesimally smallpassage, all his consciousnessjocused on forming simple concrete thoughts of great internal coherence:

Listen to me.'

The Mizari want nothing we have.

They are not demons.

They are not destroyers.

Leave them be and live.

Disturb them and die.

Sujata suddenly looked ceilingward. "How very strange,"she said. "Felithe—come feel this. It's been getting hotterwhere I'm sitting—it must be fifteen degrees hotter right herethan in the rest of the room. Can you feel the air moving? Likea breeze. But there's no vent overhead. Do you think therecould be a fire somewhere, behind the ceiling plates?" she said, fretting.

The channel was minute, the link fragile. But it was real,and Thackery called on the last of his reserve to force his thoughts across to Sujata.

Yes, touch me, listen.' They can find us anywhere if they have reason to. They watch the sky with their whole being. They hear the whispers of their kin across the light-years. There is no defense. There will be no warning. The black star will simply appear, and there will be death.

Then, abruptly, it was over. Drained, battered, Thackerywas torn away from the point of contact by the surging currents. Instantly the normal balance between the matrices reasserted itself, and the channel vanished as thoroughly as if ithad never existed.

Thackery could not afford to concern himself with the loss.It was all he could do to keep from being drawn into the drive vortex and consumed. Tacking away from the dangerouseddies, he cocooned himself within his life-will and allowed the currents, to bear him inward, away from the barrier.

He did not look back. He could not. He did not need to. He had sensed no answering recognition from Sujata's inner voice. She had not heard.

Kneeling on the end of the bunk, Sujata passed her righthand slowly through the air above her head. "This is so odd—can you feel it at all? Perhaps I should find the ship's medtech instead of the environmental engineer—"

"It does seem a little warm," Berberon said politely.

"It's fading now," Sujata said, frowning and shaking herhead. She waved her hand experimentally a few more times,then sat back on her heels. "Whatever it was, it's gone." Shelooked toward Berberon and smiled ruefully. "I'm sorry. Youwere about to say something and I interrupted you."

With a slight shrug and a shake of his head, Berberon demurred. "Nothing of consequence."

'Tell me at least if you share my hope."

• "I-wish I could say yes—""But you can't. Why?"Berberon sighed and looked down at his folded hands.

"Because even if you are right in everything you say, even ifmy view has t>een too mechanistic apd I took too little accountof heart and mind, all you can offer is talk. And it's too latefor talk. It was too late already once Wells, left Earth. He's committed too much. Even if there was a time when he would have listened, when he could have understood, that chance was lost. He won't listen now."

"I don't understand," Sujata said, her brow furrowed. "If you believe that, then why are you here? Why did you come?Oh, I know I insisted, but I couldn't have forced you. If youthought we had no chance, why put yourself through this?"

Berberon raised his head and held her gaze with sad andtired eyes. "A simple reason," he said. "There is somethingthat, if it can be done at all, I am the only one who can do.You see, Janell, if you fail, then I must try to kill him." Hesmiled self-mockingly. "Tell me, if you can, in which ethic Iwill find comfort if I succeed."

chapter 18

Koan

Sujata and Berberon made a point of being on Wesley's bridgeas the ship made its inbound exit from the craze. Since theyhad no responsibilities there, they also had no stations at which to sit. Ignored, they stood together in the observer'sdais a few steps behind Killea's command couch, Sujata witharms crossed over her chest, Berberon nervously plucking atthe skin below his lower lip with the thumb and forefinger ofhis right hand.

Until the moment that Wesley's space velocity dippedbelow cee, there was little to watch. But as soon as that moment came and the forward telecam view began to form behind the navigation graphics on the primary display, it seemedas though everyone were talking at once.

"Kleine carrier acquired," reported the comtech. 'Timemark: 715.288." "Hey—it's my birthday," one of the defense systems techssaid with surprised pleasure.

Her mate at the defense board offered a less prosaic observation. "Captain, we're being scanned by PeiCom picketradar—taking transponder query now."

"Acknowledged," Killea said.

"Just think of all the lances being zeroed on us right now,"Berberon whispered to Sujata. "I'd rather not." -A moment later the comtech announped, "PerCom TrafficOffice has accepted our ID and cleared us through to dock.""Navigation signal acquired," the gravigator added. "Per-Com Traffic Office requests we hand over control to thfem."

"Do so," Killea said.

"Yes, sir."

The comtech was not done. "Acquiring PerCom net carrier, five bands. Mail coming in now—top of the stack is formal welcome, Acting Commander Osten Venngst and Station Governor William White to Captain Killea and all hands." He turned toward Sujata. "Chancellor, CommanderWells also extends his greetings."

Sujata nodded expressionlessly."The son of a bitch beat us here," Berberon said in a harsh whisper.

"I never expected anything different," Sujata said with aslight shrug. "He knows what happened to Captain Hirsch-field. He wasn't about to let us get here first, and he had theedge. All he had to do was pass over one or two check-ins tostay ahead."

• "Any reply, Chancellor?" asked the comtech."No," Sujata said with a shake of her head. "But find out

for me how long Charan's been in port."

"Yes, sir."

"But now he's had a chance to reaffirm his claim to these people's loyalty," Berberon said, fretting. "Now PerCom's even more clearly his fiefdom, the staff his retainers, and youthe unwelcome visitor."

"Thirty-six hours, Chancellor," the comtech said. "She came in yesterday morning."

"Thank you."

"Add a week lost during the approach," Berberon said."More than enough time for Wells to establish his hold on thestation."

"What's important is that he's still here," Sujata said. "Mr.Morris, let me know when the library updates are all in."

The comtech shook his head. "Sorry, Chancellor. We won'tbe getting any until we're on-station. The net operator says bythe time they push it all through to us, we won't have time todo anything with it, anyway."

Sujata nodded absently. "Thank you, Mr. Morris."

"Another Wells gambit?" Berberon asked Sujata.

"Of course."

"There is mail for both you and the Ambassador, though,"the comtech added.

Sujata closed her eyes momentarily. Of course there is. But I don't want to look at it— She opened her eyes to find Berberon looking at her curiously, his eyes expressing concern.

"We'll both want privacy while we catch up," she said."Why don't you go use the terminal in your cabin first?"

"I'd be happy to wait until you've—"

"I want us to maintain a presence on the bridge," she said,gracefully lowering herself to her knees, sitting on her heels inthe center of the dais. Berberon frowned uncertainly, then bobbed his head in reluctant agreement. "If you insist. I'll come back down as soon as I'm finished."

"Fine," she said, avoiding looking at him by focusing hergaze at the display. "Mr. Morris, please tie my transceiver tothe Kleine audio for PeiCom."

"Of course. But it's pretty dull stuff—"

"I would rather be the judge of that myself." But a halfhour of eavesdropping on the primary voice-link to PerimeterCommand vindicated Morris's judgment—when there was any traffic at all, it was stultifyingly practical and proper.

The approach to Perimeter Command seemed interminable, and that perception did not proceed entirely from Sujata's impatience. The inbound flight profile thrust Wesley into playingout a variation of Zeno's paradox—the closer they drew to thestation, the slower their progress, until it seemed as thoughthey would never get there at all. It was always that way,Sujata realized, but she had never sat and done nothing butwait it out before.

Berberon was gone nearly two hours. By the time he returned, Perimeter Command had graduated from invisibility toan indistinct gray oblong in the center of the primary display.

"Sony I was so long," Berberon said as he joined her in thecenter of the bridge. "I needed to discuss some matters with home."

"Perfectly understandable," Sujata said, taking Berberon'shand to help herself up. "You'll stay here?"

"If you wish."

"Just keep an eye on things for me."

There were several long messages in Sujata's mail queue,and little enough good news between them. Most of the mailhad been sent under familiar headers but unfamiliar names, for both Vice Chancellor Walker and Ten Ga'ar had resigned, thelatter shortly after Wesley had left Lynx.. Sujata had fully expected Wyrena to go, and read Walker's notice concerning it as the Ba'ar woman's long-overdue declaration of independence.

. Even so, the news enforced Sujata's sense of isolation andthe perversity of AVLO flight. The twenty-two-year-old girlwho had followed Sujata to Earth was now a mature womanof eighty. How did you spend those years, and were they good ones? she wondered. Did I ever' cross your mind in a fond memory, and did you ever find someone who could accept what you tried to give me?

Sujata skimmed the reports from Pierce, the new Vice Chancellor, with little enthusiasm. The events and developments' detailed therein were the sort of concerns that make uplife but not history. The changing names and faces and thework done by those to whom they belonged seemed fundamentally irrelevant to her or to her problems: Transport had X number of packets operating on Y schedule to destination Z; Resource had begun recovering high quality ore A from new mine B\ and on and on.

It was clear that Pierce was confident of his own authorityand was reporting to her almost more out of courtesy thanobligation. He neither asked her opinion on anything nor feltobliged to explain the rationale for his actions. As she read,she came to understand that she was Chancellor of the USS now in name only. At best, she was the Chancellor of the Defense Branch. And perhaps not even that—despite the factthat Pierce seemed unable to separate her from Wells.

" . . . you and Director Wells ..."

"... you both understand..."

"... if either of you ..."

The tone of the reports raised grave concerns in Sujata'smind about how much authority she still retained. Not one ofthose whom she had left on the Committee remained. Pierce, exercising administrative power in her name, was a completestranger—chosen not by Walker but by Walker's successor,another stranger. How would they react to orders from theChancellor Emeritus thirty years after her abdication? Sujata thought she knew, but there was no comfort in the answer.

Nor was there any comfort in the realization that Wells was in the same situation. Wells did not need any help fromCentral; he had all the allies he needed here on the Perimeter. It was Sujata who needed allies—who needed somewhere to turn if persuasion failed. Something other than anambassador-assassin to fall back on—

But it was hard to convince herself that allies would be forthcoming: / don't even think there's anyone left there who understands what's at stake out here—and it's too late to educate them.

Thinking such thoughts, Sujata was slightly heartened tofind one familiar name, that of Katrina Evanik, attached to the last and lengthiest item in the queue. Instructions for Evanikhad been one of several things that had been overlooked in thehaste to leave Lynx. In retrospect Sujata wished she had toldEvanik to wrap up the project and disband the research unit;she had learned what she needed to from it. But Evanik had carried on faithfully, making Sujata's project her life's work.

Out of a sense of duty Sujata began to review Evanik'ssummary. There was much in it that once would have commanded Sujata's rapt attention, including the news that theNines were at last on the decline. In her summary Evanikalluded to two primary reasons for the shift: a rejection, because of the oppressive cost, of the defensive buildup withwhich they were so closely identified; and the perception, formed from his zealous public advocacy of the Nines' agenda, of Chaisson as an extremist and an elitist.

The expanded files with their amplifying details beckoned,but despite the guilt she felt doing it, Sujata saved the report toher personal library without reading further. No doubt it contained much good work and would be an important supplement to the Council's own studies when the histories of the Revision era were written.

But as uncertain as she was that those histories would ever be written, she could generate no more interest in the shiftingtides of Terran politics than she had in the reorganization ofthe Transport Branch. With what could be the final war hanging over the species, it just did not seem to matter.

When Sujata finally returned to the bridge, she expected tosee the primary display filled edge-to-edge with the image of Perimeter Command. But the display was nearly blank, offering only systems status indicators in place.of the customarystar view and position plot.

She crossed the bridge to the corrynunications station. "Mr.Morris? Are we having problems with the forward telecam?"

"No, Chancellor."

"Then put its output back up on the board."

Killea's battle couch rotated toward them. "Chancellor, I ordered the video suppressed because it contains sensitive information," he said.

"Oh?"

"Chancellor, information on the configuration and defensive capabilities of Perimeter Command carries the highestsecurity restriction. That restriction includes video images."

"What's your point, Captain?"

Killea glanced sideways at Berberon. "Not everyonepresent on the bridge holds a clearance equal to that restriction, sir."

"Are you referring to Ambassador Berberon?"

"I am."

After a calculated pause Sujata turned back to the comtech."Restore the video, mister." Looking past Sujata toward Killea, the comtech began,"But the ambassador doesn't have—"

Sujata moved neatly sideways until her body blocked theline of sight between the tech and the captain. "He does now,Mr. Morris. Log it and restore the video to the board."

The comtech drew a deep breath and turned back to hisconsole. "Yes, Chancellor."

Facing the display, head cocked slightly to one side, Sujatastudied the image that appeared there. The station was shapedlike an H that had toppled on its back, with a long, rectilinearcentral section and two smaller wings attached perpendicularto it on either end. Eight lance towers bristled from the lateralwings, each consisting of a silver ball of aperture lenses at theend of a slender stalk.

The lower half of the central section contained the service shipways, arrayed like cells in a honeycomb and open to spaceon both sides. Sujata gauged the size of the station by theshipways—the central section was wide enough for its lowestlevel to include three Triad-sized work bays, all of which wereempty. The next level up had six Sentinel-sized bays, two of which were occupied by metallic pupae—Charan and one of the Sentinels.

Nodding to herself, Sujata turned and moved toward theclimbway. "Thank you, Mr. Morris. I'll take that feed in mycabin now. Ambassador, will you accompany me?"

"You didn't have to do that," Berberon said when he caught up to her on the corridor leading to their cabin.

"Yes, I did," Sujata said.

"I mean it, Teo got me several files on the station."

Sujata shook her head as she unlocked the cabin. "That'snot why I did it. Obedience is a habit. They need practice.NoW—was there anything in your mail that you can or needto tell me about?"

Sujata and Berberon returned to the bridge in time for thefinal stages of the berthing. They joined the bridge crew asspectators, since Wesley's drive was idling and her movements were controlled by the pilot computers of the spider tugslocked on her bow and stern. Accustomed to the conservative pace of the human tug pilots working the Terran yards, Sujatamarveled at the efficiency of the double-tug arrangement. Ittook bare minutes, rather than the hour or more she had expected, to guide Wesley into one of the tunnellike bays.

As soon as the all-secure message came, Sujata strode tothe center of the bridge as though she were walking onstage.

"Captain Killea."

Killea rotated his couch toward her and met her hard gaze.

"Command log, record," she said.

"Recording," the library station acknowledged.

"Captain Killea, you are instructed to disregard any deployment orders you may receive from the PeiCom Flight Office or any part of the Defense hierarchy. In simple terms,Wesley is not to budge from here without my explicit authorization. Further, I want this ship available to move on fiveminutes' notice. Don't shut down any systems that take longerthan that to checklist."

"Yes, Chancellor," Killea said. "What about the final certification work on the lance?"

"Have it taken care of. But don't let any station personnelon board unsupervised. If there's maintenance work that needsdoing, have your own techs do it, or make sure they're rightthere watching to see that it's done right."

"I understand. May I authorize station leave?"

"For up to six of your crew at a time—but make sure youalways have a full watch on board.""That's the accepted procedure, Chancellor." "Fine. Report to me on shipY status daily at noon." Sheturned her gaze on Berberon. "Ambassador?"

"Ready."

"Then let's go visiting."

Waiting for them at the end of the access tunnel was a fresh-faced lieutenant wearing the gold eagle's feather emblemof the command staff on the collar of his blouse. "Chancellor Sujata, Ambassador Berberon," he said with a slight bow."I'm Lieutenant Baines. Commander Wells asked me to extend his greetings and to escort you to his office."

Oh, no, Harmack-^jhe game doesn't start until the field is level, Sujata thought. She summoned up her best baleful lookand released it full force on the lieutenant. "Has saluting asuperior officer gone out of fashion on this station, mister?"

Taken aback, Baines blinked twice, then offered a brisk salute. "My apologies, Chancellor."

"Accepted. You can show us our quarters now."

"But the Commander said—"

"Commander Wells will understand that the Ambassador and I have just completed a long leg in the craze and wouldneed an opportunity to unwind and acclimate ourselves. Now—which way?"

Baines frowned unhappily. "I don't know, Chancellor. We'll have to stop at Operations."

"Fine," she said briskly. "Let's go."

At Operations they picked up the housing officer, a sunken-cheeked man of forty who seemed faintly annoyed atthe inconvenience of having to leave his desk. He led them insilence through the central section to Blue Wing, then up threelevels to a dormitory block.

"Chancellor Sujata, this room has been cleared for you,"the housing officer said, opening a door marked 301 and thenstepping aside.

"And what about the Ambassador?" she asked as she brushed by him and into the room.

"The next room on this side of the block—303."

Stopping at the foot of the single bed, Sujata gave the room and its furnishings a protracted silent scrutiny, then turned tothe housing officer. "I don't know—is anything larger available on-station?"

"No, sir. A room this size is usually a quad."Pursing her lips, Sujata nodded. "This will do, then. Now,where is my office?"

The housing officer exchanged worried glances with Baines. "I was only given authority to allocate housingspace—"

"Do you expect the Chancellor of the Service to live out ofher suitcase and work out of her quarters?" Sujata asked withheavy irony.

Baines drew a deep breath and answered for the housingofficer. "No, Sir. Will you excuse us while we see to the arrangements?"

"Of course." This time Baines remembered to salute, and the housing officer followed his lead. "Testing the waters?" Berberon asked with a grin when they were alone. "No," Sujata said, settling down on the edge of the bed."Stirring them up a bit." Berberon's grin widened. "Speaking of water, I would like a real shower, if you think we have the time.""Go ahead," Sujata said. "Wells will wait."

Baines was back within half an hour. Berberon was still enjoying the relative comforts of his quarters, and Sujata didnot disturb him. She went with Baines back to the central section, where he showed her a five-by-three-metre cubiclewith the hopeful attitude of a real-estate agent showing off achoice property.

En route they had passed enough other office areas for Sujata to be able to gauge what amenities the station boastedin that regard. "This is acceptable," she said after glancingaround the room briefly. She gestured toward the desk. "Thisterminal—will I have full access to the station library throughit? Fleet deployments, general and command logs—"

"No, Chancellor. Only safe-room terminals—"

"See thet it gets such access."

"I can't do that, Chancellor. Only the Commander—•"

"Lieutenant," Sujata said with exaggerated patience, "please make an effort to think before you speak. I am Chancellor of the Unified Space Service. I have final administrativeauthority over every action taken by any Branch. There can'tbe any question about my clearance, now can there? Or do youthink that I should need to go to th? Directors and ask permission to see the information I require to carry out my responsibilities

"No—" Baines said hesitantly.

"Then my access code in your system should reflect that,yes?" "I only know that—•""Lieutenant—" Sujata said wamingly."I don't have the authority to change access parameters myself. But I'll convey your request—"

"Order." . "

"Your order to those who can."

"I trust you'll show enough initiative to do so without needlessly troubling the Director. As recently as he's arrived on-station, I'm certain he has enough important business tooccupy him."

"Yes, sir."

Left alone, she posted a message to Berberon telling himwhere to find her and then settled back to wait. Shortly beforeBerberon joined her, the terminal began to treat her queriesmore responsively.

"Do you think they really gave you access to everything?"Berberon asked skeptically when he had heard the story.

"No," Sujata said in a relaxed tone. "But they probablyopened up everything they thought I would know they werehiding—which is exactly what I wanted to see. Sit down andlet's go through it."

What little amusement they had derived from confoundingthe station bureaucracy vanished quickly as they learned of thedestruction of Munin and the subsequent mobilization. Theirlong faces grew even longer as they studied the timetable.Falcon was due to survey Mizar-Alcor in just two days, Kite to reach Phad shortly afterward. The Triads would begin hitting their final wave-off points within the week, beginningwith Triad One at Alphecca. A month later they would begintheir assaults.

"No wonder he didn't mind us catching up to him," Berberon said somberly.Her lips a small, tight line across her face, Sujata gave no

reply. For the next two hours she silently studied record afterrecord, report after report, her attention never wavering fromthe terminal, her concentration never breaking.

"All right," she said finally, pushing back from the desk."I'm ready."

"Going to invite him down here?"

Sujata shook her head. "Those kind of games won't rattleWells. No, I'll go to see him." "I, singular?""This time," she said, and reached for the com key. "Lieu

tenant Baines—this is Chancellor Sujata. To my office, please."

The folds of her daiiki flaring out behind her, her face amask of determination, Sujata strode into the outer office ofWells's suite with Baines at her heels.

"Which door?" she asked, slowing momentarily to let Baines come up beside her.

"Commander Wells's office is straight ahead," Baines said,then looked to the puzzled aide-de-camp, who had risen halfout of his chair at their entrance. "Is the Commander in?"

"You can't—" the aide began, but Baines silenced himwith a look and a cutting motion of his left hand.

"This is Chancellor Sujata," Baines said sharply.

The aide, saluted in slow motion, as though his confusionhad driven motor functions to a lower level of priority. "Yes,"the aide said meekly. "The Commander's with Mr. Shields." Baines nodded. "Should I wait for you here, Chancellor?"he asked, turning back to Sujata.

"No," she said with a shake of the head. "I don't know how long this will take. You may go. But consider yourselfstill on call."

"Yes, sir," Baines said, saluting.

Some of the conversation had clearly filtered through thedoor, for both Wells and the stranger who had to be Shields were both staring in the direction of the door when Sujataentered. For a long moment no one spoke. It was as thoughSujata and Wells were trying to stare the other down, whileShields suspiciously sized up the newcomer.

"Leave us, Philip," Wells said at last.

Shields glanced back and forth twice between Sujata andWells, then frowned crossly and stalked out with his head lowered. As the door closed, a faint, wry smile creased Wells's face. "Welcome to the Perimeter, Chancellor."

"If I thought you really welcomed my presence, I'd thank you," Sujata said, circling to the right, her eyes locked onWells's. ^

" "Why shouldn't I welcome you?" Wells asked, easing a step to his left and resting his hands "on the back of a chair._ "Can we dispense with the fencing?" Wells slipped around to the front of the chair and settledhimself in it. "Certainly," he said."I'm here to find out why you're doing this. I'm here to find out why the Triads are on their way to attack the Mizari."

"Is it such a mystery?" Wells asked, raising his hands andturning them palms-up. "They've destroyed one of our vesselsand, in the process, murdered ohie of our most revered statesmen." '

"An old ship and a forgotten hero. Does that justify thedeaths of millions on both sides?"

"There's no deterrence if they don't know what we can do," Wells said firmly. "Since we have no way "to tell them,we have to show them. We can't let what they did go unanswered. Do sit down. Chancellor—"

Sujata ignored the invitation. "Why is it necessary that weanswer with warships? Why not send an ambassador ship instead, a new Pride of EarthT

Smiling tolerantly, Wells shook his head. "The only way tonegotiate with them is from a position of strength."

"Why does mutual survival have to be negotiated?" shedemanded. "The concept of war is predicated on the beliefthat there are worse things than being dead. Nothing is worsethan being dead."

"Would you rather that we were in a position where we hadno choice but to submit to their demands?" "What could they want from us? What could the Weichselhave given them?" "Nothing less than the Galaxy, it would seem. Would yourather they simply overwhelmed us?"

"No, but I don't think that's the choice. How hard you'veworked this last century to meet them in battle!" she said earnestly, extending a hand toward him, then snatching itback. "How little you've done to embrace other possibilities.We haven't talked to them. We don't even know if we can talk to them." She opened her arms wide, which the loose-sleevedrobe made into a dramatic gesture. "All we really know of them is what they did. We don't know what their reason was.We don't know if the conditions that prompted them to,do itare still in place."

"Come, now, Chancellor. Isn't it obvious that they operatefrom an incompatible ethic?""We have to believe that they're enough like us to understand. We have to believe that there's another answer."

Wells twisted sideways in his chair and hooked his foldedhands over one knee. "We have no reason to believe that— which is why we have to be ready to destroy them."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Sujata turned half awayand cast her gaze downward. "You're more than ready," shesaid angrily. "You're eager. It's time to drop the fiction ofdeterrence. What you really want is to lay waste to their worldand their culture."

Wells came up out of his chair and took a step toward her."Neither the Weichsel iceship nor Munin posed any threat tothem, and both were destroyed without warning. Isn't it clearthat there can never be any rapprochement between their kindand ours?"

"They are just like us," she said sharply, turning on him."They have one set of rules for treating those they considerbrothers, and a second set for 'the others.' Why can't we justrecognize each other's right to exist?"

"This isn't about existence. It's about empery." Wells turned away and stared out the greatport at the stars of theUrsa Major cluster. "We might be willing to concede themwhat they occupy. They might even be willing to do the samefor us. But how much of what no one holds will they bewilling to grant us? Or us them?" He looked back over hisshoulder at Sujata. "I'll give you the answer to that one—neither side will give away anything until we know what it iswe're giving, and maybe not then. No, Chancellor. Our survival is predicated on their destruction."

The words of the provider, over and over. "So you believe.And a few weeks from now you'll give them reason to believethe same. But do either of you know if you're right?"

"I do," he said with simple confidence.

Frowning, Sujata circled the room clockwise, forcingWells to turn away from the greatport to keep her in sight."And how will you carry out your intent? Munin was barelywithin the heliosphere of the Alphecca system when it was attacked. How much time did it have, two minutes, three? The Triads won't get close enough for their wreckage to fall on theMizari, much less their weapons."

. Jt was Wells's turn to cross his arms over his chest defensively. "In fact, Chancellor, our analysis_Aof the attack on Munin has made us more confident, -riot less. Munin had no defensive systems, no energy-absorbing shield, no systemshardening. A Triad would have survived that attack. Even arecon ship would have come through it in good shape."

Sujata realized that it was a mistake to have begun arguingtactics, but she could not go back. "And if the Mizari usedonly as much force against Munin as was necessary to destroyit, if they're capable of much more?"

"The weapons and energies used in the attack on Munin were consistent with our models of the attack on the Weichsel," Wells said stiffly._s

IThe same principle applies. You still only know what theydid, not what they're capable of."^v"We're not fools, Janell. The recon ships are going in first.We'll adjust our tactics according to what they learn."

"I have a more fundamental adjustment in mind," Sujatasaid, her eyes boring into his. "Cancel the attack orders. Bring the fleet back."

Wells did not flinch from her gaze. "No," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Commander Wells—you've gone a half step over theline," she said, drawing closer to him. "That's not too far foryou to step back."

He shook his head. "It has always been the responsibilityof those who most clearly perceive the danger to respond to it.I didn't plan Munin's intrusion. But I would be remiss in myduties if I did nothing in its wake. Not to move against theMizari would be the reckless act now."

"You're talking about trying to avoid losing a war," she said pleadingly. "I'm trying to avoid fighting one."

"That's no longer possible."

"It's always possible. The answer is in you, Harmack.Don't resist it because it seems obvious. Wage peace. Turnaway from war."

"I wish that it were that easy," he said wistfully. "I truly do."

"It can be. Call back Falcon and Kite. Call back the Triads."

Wells shook his head slowly. "I am sorry, Chancellor. What

you ask is impossible." ^

"Then you leave me no choice but to recall them myself."

"I'm afraid that you will find that just as impossible. Theywill not accept such an order from you." Sujata squeezed her hands into fists and shook them at Wells. "Who owns you, damnit? How can you do this?""My conscience owns me, Chancellor. You never have understood that,"

"Your power is out of balance with your responsibility. Youspeak for yourself, but what you say endangers everyone.Who gives you the right? Who gives you the authority?"

"And whom do you represent, Janell Sujata?" he asked, hiseyes flashing anger for the first time. "What plebiscite put youin office? When did the Unified Worlds designate you to represent them? One coward selected you, and three more putyou here—and even they're dead now. An impressive mandate, indeed. Necessity gives me the right. Chancellor. 1 givemyself the authority."

Sujata knew she should challenge Wells's pronouncement,but she felt drained, her determination blunted, her optimismsapped. He isn't listening. Not to me. He never wavered, not for a moment.

To retreat was to concede defeat, but she lacked the will to continue. I.did lose. I did lose, but I'll try again. Another day, another tack—perhaps with Yamakawa here, or Venngst.They might listen. There's still a little time. With an audience he wouldn't dare defy me openly—

She heard the desperation in her own thoughts and turnedaway before it could show on her face. Mustering what dignity she could in straight shoulders and an erect head, she stalked out of the office. But her fleeing steps were not swiftenough to keep helplessness from closing in on her, nor to catch up with her departed hope.

Though she had left Berberon in her office awaiting herreturn and report, that commitment had fled her consciousnessby the time the moment to fulfill it arrived. Instead Sujatawent to her room and sought refuge in the embrace of bedcovers and the dark freedom of sleep. But her dreams weredisturbed and disturbing, bringing restlessness rather than peace. She moved back and forth between sleep and consciousness, hardly knowing the difference between them, forher reality had become a nightmare from which there was noawakening.

So when the page alarm sounded from her transceiver, Sujata was more tired than when she had turned in. It was a jarring way to be awakened—the sound seemed to drill through the bones of her skull. Ey habit she placed the implant off-line, but new surroundings and the grim circumstances had broken many habits. She fumbled for the stem andpressed it once to acknowledge, then lay wide-eyed in the dark and tried to gather her wits.

"Chancellor?" It was Berberon's voice.

Sujata managed a grunt of assent.

"I wondered if you were finished with Commander Wells.It's been afrtiost four hours." This time she managed words, though they were slurred. "Yes," she said. "Yes, we're finished."

Berberon waited a moment, as though expecting Sujata toamplify her answer, then cautiously asked, "What success didyou have?"

"None."

"Ah." Berberon managed to make that single syllable ringwith compassion. "I thought that might be the case when youdidn't come back." He paused. "Do you want me to go seehim?"

An ally, a fresh reinforcement, Sujata's clouded mind toldher. "We have nothing to lose by it," she said sleepily. "I thinkyou do understand him better than I do."

"I wish it were otherwise," Berberon said, his words strangely clipped. "You tyy to think of other things now. It's my turn to carry the freight—my turn and long overdue."There was a long silence, then he added, "Take care of yourself, Janell."

Sujata murmured a good-bye and placed her transceiveroff-line, then turned on her side and drew the extra pillowunder her arm. Sleep was inviting her back, teasing her withthe promise that she would not have to think at all.

Surrendering to the exhortations, she shrugged aside thetiny voice of alarm, the warning that she had missed something important in the conversation that had just ended. Thepleadings of her body for a surcease of feeling, an end to hermind's pain, were too strong, and she slept, blissfully unaware

that in the days ahead sleep would be very hard indeed to come by.

The weariness Berberon had heard in Sujata's voice wasonly an echo of that which he felt in his entire being. It was not simple fatigue but something much deeper and much harder to eradicate. He was weary of the stratagems and thesecrets, weary of the double-dealing, the intrigue, the responsibility.

Most of all he was weary of the guilt. Tanvier had been thearchitect of the appeasement plan, but it was he, Berberon,who had supervised construction. Little matter that he haddone so reluctantly, that he had seen the flaws in the designand worried over them. Now that the edifice stood poised tocollapse, he was as culpable as Tanvier—more so, perhaps,for having swallowed his objections and surrendered his conscience to the dictates of duty.

He had undertaken this journey solely to expiate his guilt, agoal he had not yet come close to achieving. Now there was a strangeness to everything around him that told him the end ofhis journey was near. The end of the corridor seemed to recede farther into the distance with each step he took toward it,and the sound of his footsteps echoed hollowly in his ears. Allother sounds were hushed except the hammering of his heartwithin his chest.

As he made the turn from the corridor into the anteroom of the Office of the Commander, Perimeter Defense, the oddlyfocused feeling persisted. He had time enough to calmly notethe three identical unmarked doors leading to inner offices, thefish-eyed scanner high in one comer, the golden-hued brokentriangle prominent on the facing wall, and a hundred other details before the aide behind the desk turned a questioningeye in his direction.

"I'm here to see the Commander," Berberon said, summoning a well-practiced air of authority.

"Your name, please?"

"Berberon. Felithe Berberon, representing the World Council of Earth as Special Observer for Defense."

The aide nodded and gestured toward the chairs on the opposite side of the room. "Thank you. If you'll give me a moment, I'll see if Mr. Shields is available or can work you into his schedule."

Berberon rested his hands on the edge of the aide's deskand leaned across it. "I'm afraid you misunderstood. I want tosee Wefls, not this Shields." .4.^v

"I'm sorry, Ambassador Berberon," the-aide said unblinkingly. "Your name doesn't appear on the Commander's clearedlist."

- "Of course it doesn't," Berberon said with an engagingsmile. "Chancellor Sujata and I have only just arrived on Wesley. If you'll just advise the Commander that I'm here, I assure you he'll want to see me."

While Berberon was speaking, the middle door opened anda rangily built man in a black dress allover emerged. "A problem, Lieutenant?"

"Colonel Shields, this is Ambassador Berberon. He's requested to See the Commander, but he's not on the clearedlist."

"Obviously an oversight—" Berberon began.

"If the Commander wants to see you, Mr. Berberon, be assured that he knows where to find you," Shields said coldly."If you have a concern, you can relay it through me."

Berberon bit back a sigh that would have verged on a soband glanced away from Shields with what he hoped was anindignant look on his face. Is this what I've come to, unable even to finesse my way past a flunky and a supernumerary?

Berberon was addled by indecision: to threaten, to wheedle, tomake a show of displeasure and storm off, to accede—theseconds were passing, and with them the initiative.

Then the door on the left opened and Wells himself emerged, engaged in conversation with a man Berberon didnot know. Berberon took t\vo steps toward them, then stoppedshort when Shields began to move to intercept him.

"Commander Wells, I really must see you," he blurted out,more anxiously than he would have wished.

Wells glanced his way in surprise and his steps slowed."I'm sorry, Observer Berberon," he said. "I haven't the time."Then he continued on, passing behind Shields and heading forthe rightmost door, the stranger trailing behind him.

"But you met privately with Janell—" Berberon cried outin protest.

Wells slowed, stopped, and turned to face Berberon. "I have certain responsibilities with respect to the Chancellor. I have none toward you. You have no authority here, no officialstatus whatsoever. I tolerate your presence on this station as a

courtesy to the Chancellor. But I feel no obligation to allowyou to waste my time with inanities."

"How dare you talk to me like that—" Berberon sputtered.

"Besides," Wells continued, the stiffness going out of his pose. "I can find reasons to respect Sujata. The same has never been true of you. You're smarmy and weak, Berberon, a perfect argument for breeding control."

The man standing beyond Wells looked embarrassed forBerberon, while Shields was clearly enjoying the skewering.Berberon's mouth worked soundlessly as he struggled to compose a retort.^

"Please save your breath," Wells said. "I feel nothing but contempt for you. It's a continuing irritant to me that in protecting what's good about our species I have to protect thelikes of you as well." Shaking his head disgustedly, Wells turned away.

Berberon had resolved not to take the first opportunity butto wait patiently for the best one. Now it seemed as though thefirst would be not only the best but also the last. Oblivious toanything but Wells's retreating figure, Berberon reached intothe pocket that concealed the tiny fletchette gun.

He had barely drawn the weapon clear when a tremendousblow to the side of his face sent his head snapping to the right,and the impulsive clench on the trigger released a wild flurryof darts. There was a sharp cry, but Berberon did not knowfrom whom.

Shields. I was too close to Shields—

Staggering back toward the entrance to the anteroom, Berberon tried to turn the gun on the Chief of Staff. But the younger man's reflexes were quicker, and Shields stepped inclose, a look of grim pleasure on his face. A sweeping blowwith the left hand sent the weapon spinning out of Berberon'sgrip, and then a quick thrust with the right drove fingers asrigid as iron rods up under Berberon's sternum. The final blowwas a stiff-knuckled shot to the larynx, the cracking and splitting of his own cartilage loud in Berberon's ears.

Wide-eyed at the sudden pain that possessed him, Ber-_ beron toppled backward, sucking air with strangled, raspingsounds, the periphery of his vision graying. By the time hishead struck the hard surface of the corridor floor with teeth-jarring force, Berberon's limbs were already numb and cold,and the shuddering spasms that shook his body as it lay therewere only the last protests of a mind that was already gone.

chapter 19

No Call to Die

"I am the family face
Flesh perishes, I live on. ..
The eternal thing in man,
That heeds no call to die."

—Thomas Hardy

Sujata's eyes flew open suddenly, her sleep-addled mind attempting to focus on that which had disturbed her. Knocking—a loud, impatient knocking on the door of her quarters.Loud enough to drag her up from a deep and dreamless sleep;impatient enough that when she did not answer immediately,the door slid open to admit a cascade of light and two tan-uniformed security officers. The younger of the two, an ensign, advanced as far as the end of her bed. The other, a lieutenant, remained by the, door.

Lying flat on her back was a poor position from which toenforce a sense of indignation, so Sujata struggled to a sittingposition, gathering the blanket around her torso to hide hernudity. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

The ensign squinted in her direction and said, "ChancellorSujata, you are to come with us."

"Where? Why?"

"Chancellor, all I know is that we were told to escort you ifyou were cooperative and drag you if you weren't," the lieutenant said from the entryway. "Whose orders are these? Surely I have a right to know thatmuch."

After a moment's hesitation the lieutenant said, "Commander Wells's." He added, "Chancellor, since I'm not entirely comfortable with the idea of dragging you, I'd be grateful for your cooperation."

Sujata's first impulse was anything but cooperative. Butsince her grievance was with him who had given the orders,not those who carried them out, she bit her tongue. Keepingthe blanket wrapped around her, she swung her feet over theside of the bed. "I have to dress."

The ensign nodded stiffly. "We were told to wait."

"You can do so outside."

"With all due apologies, Chancellor," the lieutenant said,"we were instructed not to leave you alone or turn our backson you."

A half-remembered conversation flashed through her mind,and suddenly Sujata knew with a horrible certainty why shewas being summoned. No, Felithe, not that, not now. Even in failing you could have cost me my last chance, and if you'd succeeded—

Sujata stood, letting the blanket fall away. Shrugging offher visitors' watching eyes with the knowledge that they couldnot invade her truly private self, she crossed the room to thewardrobe.

"Be quick, please," the ensign added.

To be summoned like this, to be subjected to this kind ofinvasion— Slipping into a russet daiiki, she reflected, Wells wants to humiliate me. He is angry, angry enough to make him reckless. She reached for a brush to quickly erase thesnarls and tangles of a restless sleep, then stopped in mid-motion. No—let him see me this way. Let him think he has won his little game. Perhaps I can do more with him by surrendering the advantage than by trying to reclaim it. There is something about that in the Canons, isn't there, Wy renal

She turned to the officers and planted her hands on herhips. "I'm ready."

To her surprise, they led her not toward Wells's suite butinto an area of the station she had not yet seen. Much of thesignage along the way was cryptic, number and letter codeswithout obvious meaning, and it was difficult even to keepherself oriented to station compass points. But presently they came to a block that—wherever it was located—unambiguously housed the station's medical services.

But who's hurt? Felithe? Or Wells? Perhaps it was some

thing other than anger that had given his orders their urgency,

she thought. She was led through the triage area with its ex

press lift—from the docks? she wondered—and into a corri

dor lined with double-doored examination rooms.

Standing outside the last room on the left were two more

station security officers, a male colonel and a female ensign.

Notwithstanding the precautions Sujata's escort had taken

while she dressed, the ensign searched her—not politely—

before standing aside to a(lmit her to the room.

Two steps inside, Sujata stopped short, her breath catchingin her throat at what she saw. In one of the far corners stood Wells, half turned away from her, arms crossed over his chest,shoulders hunched. There was a padded bulge at his right calf,as though his trousers were concealing a bandage.

Shields sat casually in a chair, one leg hooked over theother, a smoking stick in one hand. And lying on his back onan examination table, naked and still, was Berberon. Or, more precisely, Berberon's corpse. The ambassador's open eyes, aslifeless as tinted glass, stared up at the ceiling.

One small part of Sujata's consciousness had been preparing for this possibility since she had left her room. Even so,the sight suffused her thoughts with a wave of regret and outrage. Stepping forward to the table, Sujata touched the puiplebruise in the middle of Berberon's chest and felt the clamminess of the cooling flesh. ^ >

"What happened?" she asked in a small voice.

Wells whirled in place to face her, raising his right arm topoint a small weapon at her face. When his arm was fullyraised and extended, the mesh opening of the gun's rectangular barrel was only a few centimetres from her face.

"Do you really need explanations, Chancellor?" he snapped. "He failed in his assignment. Now he's dead insteadof me. What do you think, Chancellor? Do you like lookingdown the barrel?"

Sujata almost did not hear the words. The moment Wellsturned, she saw with astonishment that his mask was down. Felithe had surprised him. No, more than that—he had shaken him, she thought, reading a hundred nuances in Wells's face and tone and posture that she had never seen inhim before. I would not have expected this. Perhaps there issomething here—

"I don't especially like it," she said with a practiced casualness, looking past the gun to Wells's face. "Do you like seeingthe man who paved the way for you to become Director lyingthere like a trophy kill?"

Slowly Wells lowered the weapon and passed it into Shields's hands. "He came to my office and tried to murderme," he said. Deprived of the camouflage of anger, his voicebetrayed his shock with an uncharacteristic tremble. "Tried toshoot me in the back, right outside my own office. He camecloser to succeeding than I like to think about. If Colonel Shields hadn't been there—"

Though Wells \yould not admit to it, it was obvious that hewas favoring his right leg, bearing most of his weight on hisleft. A little pain, perhaps, Harmackl There's a message in itif you'll listen. Sujata glanced momentarily at Shields, thenlooked back to Wells. "Am I to assume from the way you hadme rousted out that you expect me to try to follow his example?"

Wells laughed without humor. "I expected you to try to tellme that he did this on his own—"

"Far from it. If you believed that, it would be easier foryou to shrug this off, which is just what you should not do,"Sujata said, resting both hands on the table at Berberon's side."Of course he had orders—orders from the World Council. They're frightened of you. This tells you how much. Don'tblame Felithe. Blame yourself and what you're doing here. You closed off all the other options."

It was Shields who answered, stepping in as though protecting Wells. "I'm afraid that the blame points more towardyou, Chancellor. Yes, the Ambassador received such ordersfrom President Tanvier before you left Lynx. But the newPresident, Dailey, countermanded them after Wesley came out of the craze."

"Felithe said nothing—how can you know that? You monitored his calls?"

"This is a sensitive military installation, Chancellor. Everyone's communications are monitored," Shields said. "Outgoing and internal. Oh, don't try to hide behind yourindignation. Your responsibility for what Berberon tried to dois obvious."

Sujata looked at Wells. "I could not have given him suchan order, nor would I if I had the authority. I came here to try

to prevent needless death, not to be a party to it.""Then why did Berberon call you fcw-instructions before he.acted?" Wells demanded.

Taking Berberon's hand in here,Sujata looked down at his

slack-muscled face wistfully. "He called me for information,

not instructions. Perhaps I should have known what he was

thinking. I wish I had, because then I would have stopped

him, and he might still be alive." She glanced up at Wells.

"But I gave him no orders, Harmack. If his orders from the

Council truly were withdrawn, then he did what he did for his

own reasons."

"Or your reasons," Shields persisted.

"No," Sujata said firmly. "Even if I thought as you do,

Colonel—which I'm grateftil I do not—what Commander

Wells told me yesterday would stop me. I want the Triads

recalled. Since he seems to be the only one who can do that, it

would be insane to have him killed. And contrary to what

Chaisson has been telling your homeworld, hoping for peace

with the Mizari does not automatically mean one is insane."

Wells's face, still open to her reading, told her that her

argument had persuaded him. But she had no fund of shared

experience with Shields to draw on, and he remained unim

pressed.

"You can plead your ctfse when you're tried," he said.

"Which, unfortunately, can't be immediately. Who you are

and where we are poses certain technical problems—as I'm

sure you took into account beforehand."

"A complaint against a Chancellor has to be presented before the full Service Court," she said.

"Yes. Which, of course, is based at Central. But we maynot have to ship you back there—we've requested an opinionon whether the trial can be conducted through a Kleine link."

"So I'm not under Clause 34 suspension?" she asked, referring to the relevant part of the Service contract.

"Until we have the Court's answer, technically not. Butthat doesn't mean you're going to have your run of the station.Governor White has more than sufficient authority on this station to restrict you to your quarters."

She looked to Wells. "Harmack, this is unnecessary. Youknow that I'm no threat to you."Scratching the back of his neck with one hand, Wells turned away from her. "Perhaps not. But you still could

disrupt this station at a critical juncture. Governor White isconcerned, and it's his decision. I'm here to exercise operational command, not logistical. Don't look for me to inter*fere."

Sujata pursed her lips and nodded. She had expected nothing less, and yet she needed something more. "If you don't object, I'll contact the Council and tell them of Felithe's death."

"No communications," Shields said sharply.

But Wells overruled him with a wave of his hand. "You can't stop the Chancellor from talking to Central, Philip. Shehas that right. And if she wants the unhappy task of reportingthe Ambassador's death, I see no reason we can't oblige."

"She may have coded messages to deliver—""All she can tell them is the truth. I have nothing to fearfrom the truth." "They could have other agents here," Shields insisted."Remember Farlad—"

"If there are other agents here, no doubt they will take theChancellor's cautions to heart," Wells said. "Authorize a link with President Dailey for her."

"Thank you, Commander," she said.

Shields scowled, then rose from the chair. Pocketing Berberon's weapon, the Chief of Staff circled the examination table and moved to the doors. He stopped there and lookedback expectantly at Sujata. "Come along, then," he said.

Sujata gave Berberon's flaccid fingers one last squeeze andthen released his hand. You didn't kill him, Felithe, she thought as she followed Shields out the door. But perhaps youshowed him that he's mortal, and that might be enough.Enough to make him understand what there is to be afraid of—

Roland Dailey, 107th President of a World Council justconcluding its 694th annual session, was a younger man thanSujata had hoped he would be. All that tradition was in the hands of a man who wore less than four decades of living onhis face.

The young pretend that death only happens to others untilthe truth is forced on them, she thought as she studied him.Have you had your revelation yet, Roland Dailey? Throughwhat set of preconceptions will you filter what you hear?

She could study him at her leisure,^:for Dailey's image wasfrozen due to interference between Perimeter Command and Earth. Her greeting block had gone oijt and she was waiting for a reply; in the meantime the termipal was holding the lastcomplete data frame on the screen. The net operator hadwarned her she would spend half her time waiting and recommended a text link. But she had insisted on a full bimodal link.

I need to see his faee and hear him, and he to see and hear me, she thought. I need every edge I can get—

Dailey's image was abruptly reanimated as the next datablock got through. ^'Chancellor Sujata, what a pleasure tomake your acquaintance. I wonder if you might not haveknown my grandfather, Commissioner Brant Dailey. I understand that that was your era."

"You'll forgive me, President Dailey, if I forgo the reminiscences," she said with courtly curtness. "I have a great deal totalk about and a limited amount of time in which to do so. To begin with, I must tell you that this conversation is beingmonitored by the military forces here under the command ofHarmack Wells, Director of the Defense Branch. You should consider any interruption that occurs to be an attempt at censorship rather than the result-of interference, which I am assured the techs can cope with if we're willing to be patient."

This time the wait was only a few seconds, as though a screen-before-transmission delay had been removed from theloop. Shields had reluctantly left her alone at her office terminal, but she had no doubt he was listening in. "I understand, Chancellor—at least I understand what you said, not why itshould be so."

"I hope to make that clear," she replied. "I don't knowyou, President Dailey, but I must depend on you. You don'tknow me, but you must trust me. If I can't depend on you, orif you decide you can't believe what I tell you, then the lastchance to prevent a foolish and unnecessary war will slip away from us.

"I understand fully that it may be difficult for you to creditwhat I tell you. I am a woman, and I know that there are still many men who hear the same words differently from a woman's mouth than from a man's. Even more, I am a Maranit woman, and so doubly suspect. But though I am not ofyour world, I love it better than my own. You must believe that we have a common stake in preserving the life it embraces. I have done as much as I can. Now I need help."

Dailey's expression and tone were both guarded, but therewas a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. "You make this all sound very ominous. All right, Chancellor. I am listening."

"Before I can tell you anything, there's something I have toknow," Sujata said. "President Tanvier had authorized Ambassador Berberon to kill Commander Wells if circumstances dictated. Though I didn't approve of the method, I did understand the reasoning. You withdrew that authorization. Why? I need an honest and complete answer. Why aren't you as troubled by the situation here as President Tanvier was? What doyou understand the situation here to be?"

There was a long delay, and Sujata had no way of knowingwhether it originated with Dailey or somewhere in the loop. "Idon't know if you know the circumstances of my succession,"Dailey said. "President Tanvier held on to this office for fifty-seven years, which virtually everyone but Tanvier himself andthe Nines agreed was twenty years too long. He was Presidentwhen I was born, and he was President when he died three years ago. I was elected by the Council to replace him precisely because I reject his Machiavellian approach to governance.

"I inherited from Tanvier a rather large file detailing theattempts by him and Ambassador Berberon to manipulate theinternal affairs of the Service. I don't know how aware youwere of these attempts. I do know that I was shocked to readof them. Perhaps before we had our own independent planetary defenses there might have been some justification for concern, if not for meddling.

"But I don't share the paranoiac obsession with the Service's Defense plans that typified Tanvier and his supporters.And there can be no justification for the kind of orders Tanviergave the Ambassador. Ever since I learned what they were,I've been most eager for a chance to countermand them. Which I finally got when your ship arrived at Perimeter Command.

"I was glad to hear you say that you disapproved of theassassination order. I don't like this kind of business, Chancellor. I also don't like the kind of people who employ it.Which is why when we spoke the other day, I gave Ambassador Berberon seventy-two hours to submit his resignation orbe fired."

Dailey's prideful revelation answered one of Sujata's nag

ging questions. Now I understand why Felithe didn't wait, Sujata thought. His time was running out even faster than ours. If he were no longer Ambassador, Wells would have no reason to see him. '

"President Dailey, you've judged a man you didn't knowmore harshly than he deserves," she said. "There's no point intrying to persuade you of that, because it's now a moot issue. Orders or not, Felithe Berberon was killed a few hours agoattempting to assassinate Commander Wells. I don't expectyou to mourn, though I will. But despite what you think ofhim, I do need to persuade you that he wasn't paranoid butjustifiably frightened. And the reason he was frightened is thatWells is about to begin a war he can't win."

Dailey's face screamed his resistance to that news. "Whathas this to do with me or the Council?" Dailey protested."Why are you coming to me with your complaints? You'reChancellor of the Service. If you disagree with your commander's judgments, overrule him. Order him to stop. Or am I missing something?"

Sujata sighed. "Regrettably Commander Wells no longeraccepts my authority. In his mind, he's not here on behalf ofthe Service. He thinks he's representing all humanity. Andsince there is no one delegated to speak for humanity, he'sfollowing his conscience."'

"I don't understand why you gave such a man command inthe first place—" Dailey began.

"Then Tanvier's file was incomplete," Sujata said angrilywithout waiting for the clear-to-send. "Or are you trying topretend the Council had no part in creating this problem?"

"—and what do you mean that he's about to start a war? And how do you know he can't win? Why would he do such athing? Or are you trying to pull me in on your side of aninternal power struggle? If you were friends with AmbassadorBerberon, perhaps you share more of his philosophy than youcare to admit."

"President Dailey, you deserve specific strategic details,"Sujata said, sighing. "But I have no doubt that the moment Ibegin to provide them to you, this connection will be broken.All I can risk are the naked assertions, and you must somehowfind a way to believe me. War is imminent. The Triads cannotprotect you. The Defenders cannot protect you. Your Exoticscannot protect you. If war comes, Earth will be put to ruin just

as it was when the Weichsel called it home." "I simply can't accept such a claim. Our strategic advisers—"

"Your strategic advisers are just like Wells's," Sujata said."They find it impossible to credit the Mizari with powers onany level other than our own. You impose our limitations onthem without knowing anything more about them than that they exist."

She paused to catch her breath and collect her thoughts,then continued. "Perhaps your advisers are right. Perhaps Wells is right. But do you understand the price of beingwrong? Doyou have any concept of the level on which thiswar will be fought; the energies each side has harnessed? Doyou have any concept what these weapons can do to the bodyof life on our worlds and theirs? How can you allow him tomake this decision for you?"

President Dailey's expression had turned cross, as thoughhe had stopped resisting and begun resenting. "If he won'tlisten to you, then why would he listen to me? I don't seewhere you've presented me with an alternative. If your Commander Wells is as reckless as you say, what can I do to reinhim in? Do you expect me to appeal to him as a planet-kin?It's your china shop he's broken loose in, not mine. If youcan't stop him, how can I?"

"I think he would like a reason to stop," Sujata said, measuring her words carefully. "I think you can give him that reason. Wells is not out of control, you have to understandthat. He's a principled man. He's doing what he thinks is hisduty, according to the code that he's lived his life by. But thatperception—of duty, that code he subscribes to, that gives usone chance to reach him.

"But to do it you have to create an authority greater thanthat of the Service and the Chancellery, one equal to the levelof the principle Wells is following."

"You expect the Council to seize control of the Service? Orare you offering to surrender it to us?"

"That wouldn't be enough," Sujata said. "You have to create an authority that is nothing less than all the Worldsunited, which offers a way for you to reclaim collectively thepower Wells believes he's exercising in your best interest. Youmust make a credible way for the Worlds to say, 'No, this isour decision to make, not yours.'"

Dailey was shaking his head eveik^jefore Sujata finished."No, Chancellor, no. This is impossible. Do you understandthe political cost-—the-entrenchment against any sort of intersystem federalism, a legacy left by the Nines? How can youeven ask me to surrender Earth's sovereignty—"

"IfT were there with you, I'd Wring your neck for a fool!What value is there in the sovereign right to die a meaninglessdeath?" Sujata exploded. "Do you think you can escape theconsequences just by telling yourself it's the Service's problem? Do you think that by helping pay for the Triads you'vedischarged your duty, like some medieval "knight paying scutage?

"This is the way it is, President Dailey, as unhappy a choice as you gave Felithe. You can have war, qr you canhave the responsibility you've been shirking since the Revision. You have three days to make it happen. Because that'sall the time left before Wells's fleet takes us past a point of noreturn,—"

The screen went blank, and Sujata fell silent, knowingwhat it meant. Less than half a minute later a breathless Shields materialized in the doorway, his chest heaving as heglowered blackly at her.

"I don't care what the tommander said, that's the end of it," he said fiercely! "You'd do anything to stop us, wouldn'tyou?" Betray the Commander, sell out the Service—"

"Yes," she said, rising from her seat uncowed. "And if youunderstood what was really about to happen, you'd be helping me. But you don't have it in you to understand that you'rebeing loyal to the wrong man and the wrong idea."

"Yours is the wrong idea, Chancellor—that it's somehowmore moral to be a victim than a victor. Ensign!" he barked,and a moment later a security officer appeared behind him."Escort Chancellor Sujata to her quarters and post yourselfoutside the door until you're relieved. She is not to leave orhave visitors."

He looked back to Sujata with a grim, but self-satisfied,smile on his face. "You were right about one thing, though,Chancellor. Time is running out for you. When the Triadsconclude their final wave-off checks, it will be too late for anyone, including President Dailey, to interfere."

Though there were no bars in her makeshift cell, Sujata'simprisonment was complete. The room terminal was locked out of the station net, and her slate had been taken from her. She had no way of reaching Dailey or even Wells, and nofriends on-station to argue for her in her stead.

Each time a meal was brought, she asked the bearer to pass a message to Wells: "Please tell Commander Wells that I \vould like to see him." But none of her messengers wore thecommand emblem or ranked higher than specialist. So nonewere positioned to pass that message directly to Wells, and shewas certain that Shields would never relay it to him. In anyevent, there was no answer.

She could not sleep, and yet awake there was nothing to dobut wonder. The mind-eating uncertainty drove her to converse with h6r guards, sitting on the entry way floor with herback propped against the inside of the door. But though itsaved her from endlessly reviewing her catalog of missed opportunities and outright mistakes, the guards were no less vigilant for her having reached out to them.

One day ground by, then a second, and a third began, dayscounted by the cycle of meals since even the terminal clockhad been disabled. When she tired of the guards or they ofher, her mind kept returning to images of ships in the highcraze, drawing closer and closer to worlds teeming with life.Terrible weapons nested under the wings of the carriers— more terrible weapons waited on the planet's surface. In thedarkness and silence of her quarters she could see them clearly, sense their imminent unleashing.

She saw the wholeness of life shattered—the delicate fabric of ancient ecologies rent. The shock and confusion in thelast moments, not only in sentient minds but also in the mindsof a thousand species with a glimmer of self-awareness and inthe collective mind of the Mother. The soul-searing knowledge that this specter, this moment, was death, death final andterrible, death cold and inescapable. And the world she keptseeing in flames was Earth.

Sujata knew with a certainty not justified by any facts shecould marshal that Wells's ships could not win, and that certainty puzzled her. She could not recall when that certaintyhad displaced prudent apprehension, personal affront, and cultural opprobium as her motivation. Sometime after Wesleysailed from Earth orbit, sometime before it docked at this station—she could fix it no more firmly than that.

But her inner conviction meant no more to Wells and those who shared his viewpoint than her apprehension. It was the lesson Berberon had tried so hard to teach her and which she had learned too late. If she'had understood Wells the way Felithe had, she would have understood how hopeless her mission had been.

She saw now that Wells was incapable of the leap of trustrequired for her to succeed. .He was what he had to be. He could be nothing else, think "ho other way. War was inevitablenot because Wells wanted war, but because he saw it as inevitable. He could jwt allow himself to hope the Mizari were capable of mercy or wisdom pr even simple sanity. No victories had ever been won by thinking the best of an enemy,and many defeats had been avoided by thinking the worst.

The only way out was to take the decision out of his hands.But the best opportunity to do that had been lost when she hadleft Central. If she had understood then, and stayed behind,there would have been time at least to try to push the Worldstogether. Wells understood power, respected power. He wouldhave listened to the massed voice of die Affirmation, she was sure of it.

But that understanding had come too late, and there wasnot enough power in her ideas alone to reach him. Her visionwas nobler and more ennobling than his, but she could notforce him to embrace it. Felithe had made more of an impression on Wells with his futile, fatal gesture than she ever couldhope to make with words. But even that had come too late.

Sujata was working such thoughts into a fine web of despair when she was interrupted by the sound of the door page.The sound puzzled her, for the guards never troubled to use itwhen allowing her meals to be brought in. She raised her headand looked toward the door just as it slid open. To her surprise, it was Wells who stepped through the doorway.

"Falcon is about to begin its survey of the Mizar-Alcorsystem," he said. "I thought perhaps you might like to monitorthe pass with us in the situation room."

Unspoken was the coda, So you can see that I'm right. She almost laughed. The True Believer—still thinking he can convert me. I've given up on him, but he hasn't had a comparable awakening.

But she quickly suppressed her bitter thoughts. It was a gesture Wells did not have to make, and her sense of resignation had not erased her curiosity. Beyond which, it was a chance to escape her prison for a little while.

"Thank you. I would like that," she said, and followed him out into the corridor.

There he surprised her again, dismissing the security contingent. When they were alone, he turned to her. "Chancellor,I'm embarrassed to say that I didn't realize until now howsevere the restrictions placed on you were," he said. "I don'tthink they were justified, and I've instructed Governor White to lift them. I've also reviewed the evidence Colonel Shields intended to use in his complaint against you, and I didn't findit persuasive. No complaint will be made."

It was probably as close to an apology as Wells was capable of offering, but it was not enough. "Does this mean thatyou will recall the Triads?"

Wells avoided looking directly at her. "Let's leave that discussion until after Falcon's recon," he said, starting down thecorridor. He took a few steps, then stopped and looked back ather. "Oh, and Captain Killea has been rather anxiously tryingto reach you for three days. Because he couldn't, he's got thatship and crew locked up as tight as if they were in Contactquarantine. When we get to the situation room, would youplease call over to him and free the slaves?"

Though it was not immediately obvious, the system mapon the curved screen of Teo Farlad's battle couch was amongthe most complicated in the ship's library. Within the smallregion of the Galaxy explored by humankind there were binary and trinary suns aplenty, and no shortage of stars withten, twelve, or fifteen major satellites. But the seven elementsincluded on Farlad's map were all suns—seven suns clusteredin one tiny area of the sky, so closely that to an observer onGarth they merged into what the eye saw as only two lights, a lesser and a greater.

But Farlad and Falcon saw them as they really were—nottwo stars but two families of stars. The two brightest of theseven, brilliant emerald-white twins orbiting each other so closely that they would easily have fit inside the orbit of Mercury, formed the core of one cluster. A trio of dimmer starsorbited the twins at a distance of more than two light-days. Inthe millennia since the Mizari attack on the Weichsel, the trio had completed only five leisurely circuits of the central pair.This was Anak al Banat, Zeta Ursae Majoris, The Horse—Mizar.

302 Michael P.. Kube-McDowell

Lying a quarter cee to the east but sharing the same motionthrough space were two -white stars, each only a few timesbrighter than Sol—Alcor, The Rider, The Lost One. Here, asfrom Earth, it was clearly the lesser member of the stellarpartnership. Even so, it was Falcon's primary destination, forAlcor was the apparent source of the discordant radio signature thought to betray the Mizari's presence..

The Alcor signature was three times as energetic as thatemanating from Phad and several dozen times more powerfulthan the emissions from the Alphecca nest. Even so, it wasbut a whisper, a flickering candle in the night.

Until a few days ago there had been some question whetherthe signature arose from the twin suns themselves somehow orfrom a body orbiting them. Viewed from the observatory atLynx, Alcor showed no planetary spoor, even though astrophysical modeling.of the system showed that it was stable enough to have allowed planets to form. There were limits tothe resolving powef of the Lynx instruments, but even so, some quietly started to wonder about the admittedly remotepossibility of star-based life.

Falcon had ended that debate when it dropped briefly outof the craze for a pre-survey navigation hack. From half a ceeaway it was clear that the signature was coming from a planetorbiting the twin suns at a distance of eleven light-minutes.They had taken its measure as best they could, plotted itsorbit, and given it a name—6UMa-Al. Then Falcon had hied back into the craze while its crew worked out the details of its appointment with the Mizari.

The ship was on her way to keep that appointment now.Farlad touched a key with his right index finger, and a fourthof his display was filled with the telecam image of Alcor B.The main sequence sun lay just five light-minutes ahead on Falcon's track. With its portrait digitally processed for maximum clarity, Alcor B showed a face marred by great magneticstorms and a limb made ragged by fiery prominences.

Spanning a quarter of a million kilometres each second, Falcon continued to dive directly toward Alcor B at a velocitythat, unchanged, would take it deep into the star's turbulentphotosphere. But that was not Falcon's destiny. Already theship's main drive was singing as it drew energy from the spindle, killing off velocity at a twelve-gee rate.

Farlad was aware that his back muscles were knotted with tension. Coming out of the craze so close to a star, and at asshallow an angle to the system ecliptic as Falcon had, was a high-risk maneuver—but a purposeful one. Falcon was usingAlcor B as a shield, masking its presence as long as possiblefrom the inhabitants of 6UMa-Al. By hiding in Alcor B's optical and radar shadow until the last moment, then translating just enough to skim the photosphere, Falcon would remain undetectable almost up until the moment the survey began.

For any other Service vessel except a Triad lineship, theplanetary detritus encountered during the headlong divethrough the system, together with the furious radiation absorbed during the stellar pass, would likely have meant itsdestruction. But Falcon had been built to withstand that and more.

Almost before Farlad was ready, the gyros altered the ship's attitude, and the programmed deflection around Alcor Bbegan. The stellar pass was harrowing, even though the shields and radiators dealt easily with all but a tiny fraction ofthe complex incoming radiation. Farlad could not shake the image of Falcon as a moth dancing too near the flame. To hisgreat relief the pass was over in a matter of ninety seconds,and 6UMa-Al replaced Alcor B on the displays.

Unless there was a serious gap in the data collected the firsttime, because of instrument failure or interference from the ground, there would be only one fly by. Twenty minutes inbound—twenty minutes outbound. There was no time to waste, and the increased traffic on the ship's command netreflected that urgency.

"Instrument pods, deploy."

"Track and timeline nominal."

"Nav hack, on the mark."

Though he was nominally in charge of data management,there was little for Farlad to do at this juncture but watch tosee that the system followed the rules programmed into it. Data from the dozens of passive instruments focused on 6UMa-Al was being funneled directly into the multibandKleine link. The data cache was less than ten percent full, andthat only due to data held for retransmission.

But the cache would quickly fill when the link reached itscapacity and a backlog began to build. As Falcon drew closer to the planet the improving resolution would increase the dataload, as would the entry of the active instruments into the system. Due to the lag at this distance, there was as yet nodata from the mapping radar or other active instruments, butduring the last third of the approach they would pick up theechoes of the energies they were now focusing on the Mizariworld. Then Farlad would have to take a more active role.

With every passing moment Falcon moved closer to meeting the primary criterion for a successful mission: relayinggood data to DIDAC. Farlad listened to the chatter as the survey techs plucked bits of data from the stream. An oxysilicate world with a cold inert core and one large moon. Nothingdistinctive—but there were puzzles.

"Frosty down there—280 absolute. But it shouldn't evenbe that warm—" "Picking up indications of a nonpolar magnetic field.Damn, how canihey generate that—"

"Atmospheric pressure 285 millibars—an easy ride downfor the deedees. But a rock that size should have held more air—".

"The EM detectors are picking up the signature from allover the surface of the planet—from the surface of the moontoo—"

"Where are the rest of the^planets? There should be moreplanets—"

The Kleine link was at capacity now, and the data cache was filling. Looking at the data that had already gone out,Farlad adjusted the priorities assigned to the various instruments so the more critical observations went directly into thelink. Top priority went to the active instruments, which caughtthe echoes of their first probings as Falcon closed to within a million kilometres of the planet. At the same time the sendingportion of those instruments shut down, lest they provide Mizari gunners with an easy means of tracking their target.

As Falcon raced on toward its closest approach to 6UMaAl, Farlad began to allow himself to think about the chancesof meeting the secondary criterion for success: survival. If theship got as far as the outbound phase, her chances of survivalwere markedly better. Outbound, her speed would work forher, not against her. Outbound, Captain Rukekin had the authority to break off the survey and run—

But a bare three minutes from close-approach, almost asthough Farlad had jinxed the mission by his presumption, the contact alarm sounded. Immediately Farlad reshuffled thepriorities to make sure the battie-management data got through to DIDAC. Almost as immediately the throughput on the relaylink plummeted. It was as dramatic a drop as might have beencaused by all the high-band channels crashing at once. But there was nothing wrong with the hardware.

Farlad had no other duties under a contact alert, so he eavesdropped on the command net, looking for answers. The fear and barely contained panic he heard there broughthim no comfort.

"Where the hell did it come from, that sector was clear—" "I get no range vector, our probe's passing right through itas if it weren't there—"

Farlad heard the high-energy crackle of the lance firing,once, twice, again, and still again. The ship seemed to shudder, and the tumult on the command net devolved into raw static. Farlad suddenly knew that the egglike couch was aboutto become his coffin. He wanted to throw back the overhead hatch and climb off his back and into the access corridor, to run downship to the tanks and so not die alone. But it wasalready too late—the ejection countdown was flashing on hisdisplay, and the couch had begun to rotate from the vertical tothe horizontal in preparation.

But it was also too late for that. In consecutive instants the couch ground to a stop halfway through its translation, and theaccess corridor lights went dark. There was heat without fireand Farlad's body screamed, but his mind watched detachedlyas his own skin browned and blackened and crinkled. Then his eyes burned, too, and he was blind for the last long moment ofagony that preceded the end of all sensation.

Shocked silence reigned in the situation room when Falcon's transmission abruptly terminated. The expressions on the faces of the senior command staff ranged from Yamakawa's disgruntled frown to Captain Elizin's mask of horror.Sujata had to fight with herself not to turn away from the sightof her waking nightmare becoming real. Now she steadied herself with a hand on a nearby wall and fought to control herself-betraying panting breaths and racing heart.

"All right," Yamakawa said finally. "We've lost a ship andsome good men. Let's dig in and find out what we got inexchange. We have one hour to figure out what to tell Kite when she reaches Phad, and five hours until Triad One hits its wave-off."

"There's only one thing to tell Kite," Sujata said, stepping forward. 'To abort her mission. And the same for Triad One.

Tell them to come home."

Yamakawa regarded her with a curiously impersonal gaze,

as though she were a thing that had had the impertinence to

step outride of its place. Then he turned his back on her and

ignored her, as he had since Wells had brought her into the

room forty minutes earlier.

"The attack came approximately eight minutes after the, first opportunity for the Mizari to detect Falcon emerging

from the stellar shadow," he said, addressing Wells. "That

puts the upper limit on their response time. We ought to be

able to get some idea of their sensing capability by looking at

the Munin incident in that light."

"Kite's target orbits tighter to its star than Falcon's did to

Alcor," Venngst said, consulting his slate. "If Kite makes its

pass at, oh, seventy-cee instead of fifty-cee, she should be

able to reach her breakaway point safely, with only a modest

degradation of the data quality—"

Sujata could scarcely believe what she was witnessing,

how easily they wrote off Falcon's dead as the price for what

they'd learned. Only Elizin still seemed to be shaken, and no

one seemed to notice. And yet they seemed blind to the mean

ing of the truths blood had bought.

"What more do you peed to know?" she demanded, ad

vancing on Yamakawa. "What's the point of risking the crew

of Kitel Mr. Brodini," she said, turning on the Strategy Com

mittee's tactics expert. "If Falcon had been a Triad carrier,

would she have been close enough to release her deedees?"

Brodini glanced nervously in Yamakawa's direction before

answering. "No, Chancellor. But a carrier would have had

support from its lineships—"

"For how long? Eight minutes? Five? Three? Who's to say

they can't atomize three ships at that distance as easily as they

did one?"

Venngst began, "I see no reason for consistently under

valuing our capabilities and overvaluing theirs—"

Sujata whirled to face Wells. "How are you going to fight

that?" she demanded, pointing a finger at the image of the

black star frozen on a display. "You heard Falcon's crew—it

came out of nowhere. Tlie lances couldn't touch it. It de

stroyed a heavily shielded recon ship as easily as it did Munin.

Whatever it is, it had enough power in it to cross eighty light

years and still destroy most of life on Earth. How can youthink of fighting it?" Wells looked away from her and up at the display. "We have options. There has to be a way," he said.

"What would you have us do, Chancellor?" Shields askedin a hard-edged voice. "Surrender without fighting? They'vedestroyed two of our ships—killed thirty-one of our people.We can't let them get away with that."

"Why not?" Sujata asked. "Why do you have to try tomake every death mean something? Why can't those deathshave been ouf mistake instead of their crime? Humans used to know that losing and living was better than losing and dying.But you have this insane idea that pride and revenge are worthdying for."

"Life is worth dying for," Wells said. "That's what this isabout, Chancellor. Survival—and the freedom to make the most of living. Millions have died gladly for that cause."

She felt Wells's ambivalence and at the same time sensed the pressure the expectant audience was exerting on him. Yamakawa, Venngst, Brodini, Captain Elizin, Shields—their faces demanded nothing less from Wells than confirmation oftheir most deeply held beliefs. Beliefs she had to keep tryingto break down, at least in Wells's mind—

"Those aren't noble deaths," she said angrily. "They're thedeaths of cowards—cowards who couldn't face walking awayfrom a confrontation not the winner. Don't you understand?You're not snarling and waving your fists across a water hole.You're talking about a war that can only end with one of ourspecies destroyed. Even if we win, it's wrong."

That was the ultimate heresy, and voicing it only hardenedthem further against her. "Commander, it's obvious that this is hopeless," Shields said. "I warned you a Maranit could neverunderstand."

Wells tore his gaze away from Sujata's face to glance atShields, then began to turn his back on Sujata as though dismissing her.

"Why do you want this war?" she shouted across the roomat him. "Why can't you let go?""I don't want it," he snapped back. "Don't you understand? I never wanted it."

"Then do you have the courage for peace?"

"How do you know that they want what we want?" There was something in his voice that pleaded for a persuasive an

swer. --"If they're living things, they must have a drive to preserve

themselves," she said with breathless earnestness. "I count on

nothing more than that."

Wells's anguish was now evident toeveryone in the room."Do you understand what you'd be risking?"" "Yes," Sujata said bluntly. "Do you understand what you already are?"

Slowly drawing a deep breath, Wells averted his eyes

downward. Sujata waited and said nothing, sensing he had

reached a delicate cusp.

Yamakawa sensed the same thing. "Commander," he said

firmly. .'Time is slipping away from us. The Phad recon—

Kite will need guidance—"

Sujata pounced^ "That's right—tell Kite what happened to

Falcon. Tell them you've decided to wait until the same thing

happens to them to be convinced." Her tone changed abruptly

from biting to soothing. "Harmack, it doesn't matter what

they think. It doesn't matter if we don't have all the answers.

If a thing is right, it's right no matter what. How many reasons

do you need?"

Wells pursed hisjips and slowly shook his head.

Despair flooded Sujata's being. "Commander Wells, as

Chancellor of the Service I am ordering you to recall all ships

to the Perimeter. I understand your reservations. But the re

sponsibility is mine. Call them back."

He slowly raised his head and met her eyes. She knew the

answer he would give, and she knew, too, that no one in the

room would question his defiance. And yet he hesitated, hold

ing her gaze for a long, frozen moment.

"I'm sorry—" he began in a soft voice.

Just then a trilling sound from one of the consoles inter

rupted. "Basenet," announced a com operator. "I have a prior

ity request for conference from President Roland Dailey."

Sujata suddenly perked up.

"Refuse it," Wells said. "I can't take the time."

"Commander, this is Senior Specialist Marlenberg," said a

new voice. "Sir, President Dailey is most insistent—he prom

ised to arrange for the evisceration of the duty tech if he didn't

refer the request to higher-ups. I've already refused a request

in your name. This request reminds you that you claim Terran citizenship and orders you to respond immediately or face charges under Council law."

"What is this?" Yamakawa demanded.

"I guess we should find out," Wells said. "All right, Mr.Marlenberg. We'll accept the conference." With a sidewaysglance at Sujata, Wells walked to the conference ring at the farend of the room. As he stepped inside the circle, holographicimages began to appear opposite him: first Dailey, then a manwearing the imperial robes of Liam-Won, a Maranit woman inhigh dress, and on until seven semisolid human shapes stoodthere. Slight differences in density among the figures and thefaint auroralike modulation patterns between them showed that each was originating from a different location.

''Commander Wells, is Chancellor Sujata present?"

"She is."

"Chancellor, would you enter the circle, please?" .

Sujata picked her way between Yamakawa and Shields andcame forward to stand beside Wells.

"Thank you," Dailey said. "Chancellor, I call on you todaynot as President of the World Council of Earth but as Chief Delegate of the Concordat of Worlds, currently in session bymeans of this conference you have joined—"

chapter 20

Footsteps of the Dawn

"The bear that prowled all night about the fold

Of the North Star hath shrunk into his den,

Scared by the blithsome footstaeps of the dawn...

—James Russell Lowell

"Is this a joke? What in bloody hell is the Concordat of Worlds?" Colonel Shields demanded from where he stood in the middle of the situation room.

If the conference relay picked up Shields's words, Daileypaid them no notice. He went on to introduce the other delegates, who proved to be the heads of state of the six most populous First Colonization worlds: the Journan Elector, theHigh Councilor of Ba'ar Tell, the First Mistress of Maranit,the King of Liam-Won, the Renan Elder, the Dzuban Life Father.

Dailey continued, "Seats are being held open for all theother home worlds—including Feghr—pending their unification. We will not consider the Concordat complete until all theworlds are represented. In the meantime it's true that a numberof our brothers and sisters will be, in effect, disenfranchised. However, I want to note that our seven worlds are home to the vast majority of the human population. The worlds not yetseated boast a total population of barely two hundred and fiftymillion—three percent of the total census.

"Chancellor, the Concordat is a voluntary federation notunlike the former Pangaean Consortium of Earth. Under the charter that each of the delegates has signed on behalf of hisworld, the individual worlds surrender to the Concordat the right to exercise dominion over certain matters of common interest, while retaining autonomy on all matters of strictly local concern. Among those functions we intend to address collectively are those which heretofore have been administered by the Service—transportation, trade, and security."

Behind her, Sujata heard Elizin's hostile whisper: "What'sgoing on here? Why is he talking to her?"

"I understand," Sujata said, stealing a sideways glance atWells. The Director's expression was passive and unrevealing.

"I want to assure you that the Concordat is prepared to assume the contractual obligations incurred by the Service, both toward the individual employees and its tradingpartners," Dailey said. "You also have the right to know someof our specific intentions. The Arcturus New Colony on Cheiawill be asked to decide whether it wishes to be admitted as a voting member or continue to be administered by central authority.

"Where the various facilities of the Resource Branch are located in an inhabited system, they will be sold at a fair valueto the local government. The remainder will be held by theConcordat and administered for the general welfare. Finally,the ships and forward stations of the Survey, Transport, andDefense Branches will be merged into a provisional SpaceAuthority under the direct supervision of the Concordat.

"Chancellor, we make this claim lawfully and would preferto exercise it peacefully, but we are prepared to take all necessary measures to enforce it. Will you recognize our authorityand release the assets of the Service to us, or will it be necessary for us to seize them?"

"I recognize your authority," Sujata said, no hesitation inher voice.

"Nobody cares what you say, bitch," Brodini said, raging."Let them try to seize us. They'll wish they'd left us alone—"

"That remark is out of order, Mr. Brodini," Wells said sharply.

"I mean it. She'll see just what the Triads are capable ofwhen we send one to Maranit—"

"Shut up or remove yourself, Mr. Brodini," Wells said, underlining his words with a hard look of rebuke.

Brodini fell silent, but he was not the only objector. "This is a setup, a sham," Shields declared. "This imaginary Concordat has lio power over us. We have the right to—"

-'To do what?" Wells asked, sending the Chief of Staff the same withering look. "Please consider your words, Mr. Shields. What exactly are you defending?"

Dailey had to be hearing the altercation, but he chose not towait for it to end. "So that the Concordat has the opportunityto be served by executives of its own choosing, I ask that yousubmit your open resignation," hf said to Sujata. "I might addthat this doesn't mean that you may not be retained in this orsome other capacity."

"I understand, and I'll respect that request."

"Thank you, Chancellor, for your sense of honor. Commander Wells?" "Yes," Wells said, turning back."Commander Wells, under the legal and uncoerced transfer

of power you just witnessed, you are now an employee of theConcordat's provisional Space Authority. Twenty minutes agothe Concordat voted unanimously to order the recall of all ofits vessels to the Perimeter pending a complete review of theconsequences of past Service policies. You are directed to facilitate that recall. Please acknowledge."

"Tell them to go to hell," Yamakawa demanded angrily."This is nothing but a hijacking dressed up in legalisms."

"I have to agree, sir," Venngst volunteered. "Without seeing the Charter, knowing the circumstances—I don't knowhow they can expect us simply to hand over the sort of powerour ships represent. The other worlds may be holding out, andthe Concordat may be planning to use the Service to enforcetheir power. I don't think your duty here is at all clear."

Wells drew a deep breath and released it in a sigh. "When a thing is right, it's right no matter what sort of clothing it'swearing," he said softly. He glanced down at Sujata, and she saw something new—call it relief—in his eyes. Then he turned his back on Venngst to face Dailey.

"Acknowledged, Mr. Chief Delegate," Wells said in a clear, strong voice. "I will recall the ships. I assume you willwant my resignation as well?"

"Yes, for the same reason." Wells nodded. "I will tender it directly, along with those of my senior staff."It was over that quickly. Her knees suddenly weak, Sujata

released the breath she had been holding as a shivery sigh ofrelief. She closed her eyes and saw the shadow lifting fromthe surface of her adopted homeworld, saw life stirring anewin the light. She heard someone say, "Thank you, Harmack,"in a fervent voice. Only later did she realize it had been hers.

Translating intent into action took a little longer. The clockwas still running on Kite, which gave issuing its recall thehighest priority. But before Wells could deal with that, he hadto deal with a minor revolt among his staff.

There was no trouble with Yamakawa, a pragmatic man, orVenngst, 3 consummate professional who knew his place.Even Shields, though surly, seemed ready to accept the newreality.

Brodini and Elizin were another matter. As soon as Sujataand Wells left the conference and the continuing session of theConcordat, Brodini flatly refused to do anything to help carryout Dailey's instructions. Since as a member of the strategycommittee Brodini had neither command authority nor operational responsibility, it was something of an empty vow.

But Wells reacted to the symbolic meaning of the refusalrather than its substantive value. "I'll accept your resignationnow, then, Mr. Brodini," he said curtly.

"I'm not resigning, either," Brodini said defiantly. "Do you think I'm just going to go quietly and let this happen? Somebody has to speak out. I'm going to make sure the station staffknows what's happening."

For all the bold words Brodini's protest ended meekly. Hissecurity clearance was dropped all the way to R-l and he, himself, was frog-marched by two Security officers to confinement in the housing block. Instead of a fight, Brodini settled for shouting imprecations against Sujata and the Concordat all the way down the corridor.

But Brodini's ineffectual gesture seemed to embolden Elizin, who had taken the loss of Falcon harder than any of them. Ever since then he had stood alone, unnoticed, near the back of the room, head hanging, silent, lost inside himself.When Brodini was gone and Wells announced he would makethe recall in person from the Flight Office Command Center,Elizin suddenly sprang to life, rushing with long strides fromwhere he had been lingering to intercept Wells.

"Mack—' you can't do this. You owe them," Elizin said,blocking the way to the door with his body. "I had friends on Falcon. So did most of my men. I ate dinner with CaptainHardesty the night before we left Lynx. He was telling meabout a place he'd bought near Benamira. To retire to, you know?"

"Stand aside, Captain," Wells said, firmly but not-withouta note of sympathy.

Elizin backed a step or' two toward the door but made no move to get out of the way. "Those monsters fried him andyou're going to let them get away with it. It isn't right,Mack," he said with an earliest and deeply felt anguish. "Itjust isn't right. You let them go out there thinking the Service was behind them, believing we were gonna back them up.You've gotta do something, Mack. You can't just leave themout there. You've gotta bring them back, at least—"

There was too little time to be diplomatic. "There's nothing to bring back. I'm sorry, Captain," Wells said, and tried tobrush past the captain.

On surprise alone, Wells made it to within two steps of thedoor. Then Elizin grabbed him by the arm with an iron-fingered grip and swung him around. "Didn't you hear me?"he shouted, waving his free arm wildly, the hand balled in amenacing fist.

The move had put Elizin's back to both Shields and Sujata.Sujata looked expectantly at Shields, expecting him to intervene. When he did not, she did, stepping forward and grasping Elizin's neck from behind in a sure-handed grip that tookboth the fight out of Elizin and the starch out of his legs. Hecollapsed heavily to the floor and lay still where he fell.

"Carotid artery and motor ganglia," Sujata said, lookingdown at her handiwork. "He'll be all right in a minute or so."

"See he's taken to the infirmary," Wells said to Shields."He's not dangerous. He's not even wrong. He's just upset." Then he turned to Sujata. "We've got to move."

She fell in beside him in the corridor, keeping pace with hislong, uneven strides."I didn't know you had that kind of trick available to you,"Wells said. There was a grudging respect in his tone."Just something we Maranit bitches came up with to keepthe herd docile," she said lightly.Surprised, he laughed. "Please don't make me like you,"

he said soberly. "It's bad enough having to concede that youwere right."

Sujata stayed with Wells in the Flight Office Command Center until Kite acknowledged the recall and made good itsescape from the Phad system by climbing immediately backinto the craze. After that it would be four hours until the next message had to go out, to Triad One nearing Alphecca. Sujatatook advantage of the lull to excuse herself and go off alone topay the first installment of gratitude on some sizable debts.

Unescorted for the first time on the station, she quite predictably got lost. But she had been cooped up in her quarterslong enough that the freedom to get lost was a pleasure initself. When she found her way again, her first stop was Wesley, where she found Captain Killea supervising the long delayed housecleaning of his now empty ship.

"Thank you," she said when she had separated him fromthe dock foreman. He shrugged. "We didn't do anything. In fact, I'm stillwondering what it is we were going to have to do.""You followed my directions. You sent a message, just bydoing your job."

Killea nodded thoughtfully. "I guess I understand that, withthe stories I've heard since we opened up. I could still do withsomething more concrete to tell the crew."

"Did you have any trouble with them?"

"Trouble?" he asked, cocking his head to one side. "No,Trouble is the second watch laying me out with a fitting wrench and making for the hatch. But I've had my fill ofraised eyebrows and sidewise looks for a while."

"I'll give you something more concrete for the crew—likea Service citation you can drop into their personnel files."

"That would help," he said. He inclined his head towardthe dock foreman. "I've got to see to some things, if you'll excuse me."

"In a moment," she said. "Captain Killea, I may yet needmore from you and Wesley than sitting locked-out in dock." He folded his arms across his chest. "How soon? The lance stills needs certification work."

"Don't worry about that. Where we'll be going we won'tneed it. In fact, I'd prefer the lance disabled. I presume it'snot practical to think about removing it."

It was Killea's turn to raise an eyebrow. "No, Chancellor, itwouldn't be.",

"What Wesley does' need is the very best linguacomp available, on-station or elsewhere' I'll authorize a priority link if itneeds to be downloaded from Central. Your librarian will have to make a partition in the ship's library for the inference processor and knowledge bank. And the battle strategist's stationon the bridge is to be modified for the operator."

"I'm not sure that the displays are compatible—•"

"Then have your systems people replace them. Rip out thewhole battle couch if necessary. We won't be needing that,either."

"It'll take some time." "I understand that. Give yourself a couple of days off, thenget on it.''

"Yes, Chancellor," he said, brightening. He started to turnaway, then stopped. "Chancellor, are we ever going to knowwhat really went on in there?"

She smiled faintly. "I doubt it, Captain."

"But it's over, right? Everything's back on keel now?"

"Not quite, Captain. Not quite."

Returning to her office, Sujata tried to call Dailey, only tobe told he was not available. The Concordat was still in session. It was the same an hour later, and an hour after that.

It was not surprising that the first session of the Concordatshould be a lengthy one. But there was something novel in theexperience of trying to contact someone who had more important things to do than to talk to her. It impressed upon her in away that merely saying the words had not that she was nolonger the final arbiter.

The discovery was at once liberating and jarring. For sixand a half years she had been the person to whom people camefor permission. In her ingrained habit of thinking she had planned out her afternoon: First I will see Killea, then I will talk to Dailey, then return to the Flight Command Center for the wave-off of the Triads. Now she was serving at someone else's pleasure, and though there was some relief in havinggiven up responsibility with authority, it was irritating to bemade to while away time waiting for Dailey to make himselfavailable.

She spent most of that time looking over the shoulders of various DIDAC specialists as they reviewed the data Falcon had managed to gather in the minutes before its death. Everything she saw, everything she learned from and with the specialists, convinced her that her still unspoken resolve was right-minded.

Studying the images of the crystallike domes scattered overthe surface of both the planet and its moon, Sujata tried toembrace the totality of their existence, their unity to eachother and with their worlds. The integration of the Mizari totheir homeworld was even more total than that of the Mother to the motherworld, and she marveled at it. When she listened to the modulations of their life signature, the unique expressions arising from each of the two Alcor nests, she tried toinfuse them with meaning.

So hard even to think of it as life, even for me. So hard to identity with—so easy to discount. Nothing here to love or even to know empathy with—

It was not until after the successful Triad One wave-off, which she went ahead and witnessed as planned, that she made contact with Dailey. Though there was weariness in hiseyes, there was also an inner glow of satisfaction illuminatinghis features.

"My greetings and apologies, Chancellor," he said cheerily. "I was notified of your messages, but I simply could notbreak away until now."

"I understand," she said. "I realize that you had a lot ofbusiness to attend to—and probably still do."

"Indeed," Dailey said, tipping backward in his chair. "Itwas quite exciting, actually. The Elder of Rena-Kiri put forththe proposition that since the crisis had been averted, the Concordat should therefore be dissolved and everything would return to the way it was. In short, he wanted to turn it into thesham Commander Wells's advisers were saying it was. It wasrather a challenge to turn him away from that idea."

"I'm happy to hear that you succeededSujata said. "I

have some good news for you as well. Kite has been recalled

from her survey of Phad, and Triad One from its attack on

* Alphecca. The other recalls should be completed shortly."

"Excellent! You seem to have managed to make the mostof our meager assistance. I am sorry that we could only muster seven worlds," Dailey said. "I was concerned that that would be a problem for you."

Sujata shook her head. "I'm amazed that you managed thatmuch in as little time as you had. And you gave Wells theopportunity, the out he needed, at just the right time.*'

"In truth I'm rather amazed. But we—Earth, that is—had more influence than I would have thought before trying.Jouma and Maranit were with us from the start, Journa because of the special affection they have always felt for us andyour world as a matter of principle—your involvement maywell have been a factor too. But the Ba'ar were more than a little reluctant to play the mouse bedding down with the elephant, which is why we ended up with a one-world, one-vote system.

"Of course, the prospect of the Renans or the Liamese getting the upper hand then scared the Dzubans so badly that theythrew in'with Jouriia and Maranit to see that I became Chief Delegate." Dailey laughed to himself. "Oh, it is going to be achallenge, I can see that already. I intend to go back and readeverything Devaraja Rashuri wrote on the subject of statecraft.I will need all the help I can get to keep the worlds from flyingapart again like marbles on a spin-table. But I can postponesuch concerns until tomorrow. Tonight is a night for celebrating. Do you have something to drink at hand? I would like totoast you for bridging us back from the brink, for preservingthe delicate peace."

Sujata shook her head. "I would have to refuse the toast,Chief Delegate. This isn't peace—it isn't even a stalemate. Itisn't enough just to go back to what and where we were before. The status quo represents sterility, not stability."

Dailey frowned. "I'm sorry, Chancellor, I don't understand why so."

"I wonder even if you can. You see one moment in time, and nothing of the path that's brought us here. This wholebusiness of the Mizari and the endless, unfought war has arrested us, diverted our creative energies into engineering destruction. We've become so numbed by the prospect of deaththat we no longer feel the life within us.

"You see, Wells and the Nines were right, at least in part.We need a solution that will reopen the Galaxy to us," she saidwith a passion she had not realized she felt. "Until we find onewe're blocked not only physically but emotionally. We don'tknow how to turn inward on ourselves. We need the frontier. We need the capacity to grow, to conceive of hopeful futures."

"I find nothing to quarrel with in that," Dailey said easily.

"But that's a vision for a tomorrow still a long way away."

"No, sir," she said. "It has to be a vision for today. Knowing that the Mizari exist and something of what they arc andwhat they can do does nothing to erase the fear we feel. All itdoes is give it a clearer focus. Unless there's a change, there'llbe more like Wells. And eventually one of them will get whathe doesn't want but is always working toward—war."

"I thought you said we couldn't win."

. "Not now. But you know the way we are. Some of these people are already working their endlessly inventive littlebrains overtime trying to find a way to overcome the Mizariadvantage. Perhaps there's some way to blind the Mizari. Orperhaps we'll leam how to gravigate accurately enough tobring a robot bomber out of the craze ten clicks above thesurface of one of their nests. There'll either be a way or we'llconvince ourselves there is."

Dailey sighed. "Agreed. But what can be done to preventit? What is it you want me to do?""All you need to do is give permission. I'm ready to do the rest."

"Permission for what?"

"I want to take Wesley to Alcor. Not to spy on the Mizari orto try to take their measure. To reach out to them as best we can. To try to show them that we, too, are life, worthy ofsurviving."

"And if they destroy your ship, as they did Falcon and Munin?"

"I hope you'll send another, building on whatever I learn.Ships and staff are cheap enough when it's the future you'retrying to buy back."

Dailey considered for several moments before answering."I don't think we could approve it without some reason to hope for success."

"I wouldn't offer to go if I didn't think there was one,"Sujata said quickly. "The Alphecca and Alcor systems haveboth been heavily altered by Mizari efforts. The only bodies inthem are stars and the Mizari nests—we didn't pick up a bitof debris larger than a fist. They've swept their homes clean,as it were—planets, moons, asteroids, everything—using thisenergy instrumentality we've been calling the black star."

"You're not encouraging me," Dailey said. "That's a terrifying power.""Agreed," she said. "But ask yourself why the two nests in

this system, left feach other alone while .they cleared out everything else. Why don't they mutually annihilate each-other, orat least the larger destroy the smaller?-Why make this one exception? Because they know the other is there. This low-frequency signature we used to find them—it's how they talkto each other, or at least how they identify each other/'

"So you think you can dress like a lion and walk amongthem?"

"Munin had no EM output, and it was destroyed, probablyas soon as it was detected. Falcon got much closer, but after itshut down its EM output it was also destroyed. If we go inthere broadcasting the signature of the Phad or Alphecca nest,I know they'll leave us alone."

Dailey pursed his lips. "Write up a proposal. Something I can show the other Delegates—"

Before Dailey was finished, the screen blanked, cuttinghim off in mid-sentence. A moment later Yamakawa appearedin his.place.

"Chancellor, you're needed in the situation room immediately," Yamakawa said.

"Why? What's wrong?"

'Triad Two didn't acknowledge the wave-off," he said grimly. "It's still ton its way to Alcor."

"How the hell could this happen?" Sujata demanded,thrusting her face close to Wells's. "If this is some kind oftrick to commit us, to go back on your word—"

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you would thinkthat," Wells said tiredly. "The fact is that we did everythingthe same for Triad Two as we did for Triad One. Except TriadTwo never acknowledged. We never even picked up their transponder signal."

Sujata turned away and hugged herself. "Maybe becausethere was nothing to pick up. Maybe something went wrong."

"Chancellor, each Triad command ship has dual backupsfor the Kleine system," Yamakawa said. "It's unlikely that anytechnical failure would render it mute."

"Unless it had been destroyed." Wells shook his head. "I'm afraid we have a good idea whythey didn't hear us. Mr. Marshall?"One of the comtechs cleared his throat nervously. "Chancellor, I was reviewing the transmission from Falcon just be

fore it—before the link was broken. At the moment the black star first appeared, the interference jumped up fifteen pointsand kept climbing through to the end of the encounter. Even ifFalcon had survived, we would have lost contact with it in a matter of a few more seconds."

"What about the Munin encounter?" "The same pattern, though less severe—proportional to theblack star's release of energy."

Sujata's brow fyrrowed as she looked back and forth between the tech and Wells. "How can that be? I understood that the Kleine link was direct through the spindle. How can anything happening on our side of the fence cause interference?"

Yamakawa answered. "It appears that the spindle is the source of the black star's energy. Or to put it more accurately,the black star is the manifestation of a corridor to the spindle.The Data Analysis Office confirms that the spectrum of radiation directed against the Falcon and Munin is identical to the raw energy flux tapped by the AVLO drive."

"They can tap the spindle, just as we can—"

"Yes," Yamakawa said. "It explains the sudden appearanceof the black star on both occasions. It also explains the interference. Their weapon disturbs the spindle. After it's used, it leaves a zone of"—he paused, looking for the right word,then shrugged—"a zone that the relatively low-energy Kleinecarrier can't penetrate."

"Why wasn't I told?""Chancellor, all these pieces have fallen together in the lastfew minutes," Wells said. "No one kept any secrets."

Her back to everyone, Sujata retreated a half dozen nervous paces, then turned and looked at Wells. "So, what now?The Triad commander was expecting to hear something, right?What are they supposed to do when they don't hear it?"

Wells nodded to Marshall, who cleared his throat againbefore answering. "The procedure is that if they don't acquireour carrier in the first ninety seconds, they extend the exposure—their time out of the craze—to a total of three minutes. If they don't have it by the end of that time, they go back up."

"And do what?"

"Carry out their standing orders," Wells said. "That's whatpresumptive-go mission rules are all about—the possibilitythat the command structure may be impacted by enemy activity, leaving the battle group to carry out its mission without

support. Triad Two is on its way to attack the Alcor nests."

Sujata stared at him for a long moment, then searched the

faces of the others, each in turn: Yamakawa, Venngst, Shields,

Marshall, and the other auxiliaries. What she read' there

frightened her. "Why isn't anybody doing anything?" she de

manded, throwing her hands in the air.

"There's nothing we can do," Wells said quietly. "Nothing to stop them, anyway.""When they begin their attack, we can catch them then, though, just as we did Kite."

Wells lowered his eyes and shook his head slightly. "TriadTwo is heading into the zone of interference. There's very little reason to hope it will abate enough by the time it gets to Alcor for us to reach them."

A small spark of hope manifested itself in Marshall's eyes."Chancellor, if the black star really is a spindle manifestation —" he began tentatively.

"Yes 7"

"I've been thinking about the fact that it's been eleven years since the Munin incident, and there hasn't been any retaliation. If they can respond as quickly as it seems they can—maybe they can'ttrack an AVLO ship through the crazeback to its point of origin the way they could a Weichsel ice-ship. It is a much more difficult feat, even for us, and they're our ships. Maybe they don't yet know where to find us."

"Maybe not," Sujata said. "But if Triad Two reaches Alcor, we're going to be giving them three more reasons to keep looking." She turned to Wells. "When will they reachAlcor? How long do we have?"

"Three months."

Sujata stared blankly. "I have to talk to Dailey," she said at last.

"I can make that link for you here," Marshall said.

"Chancellor, be sure to ask him if he still wants us to recall Triad Three," Yamakawa said pointedly.

She understood immediately the implication, and the realization chilled her. To think we may erui up stumbling off the precipice after deciding to turn and walk away—the true mistake was made when we walked up to the edge in the first place. Too late now for regrets—or for much of anything else.

"Chancellor, I have the Chief Delegate now."
Sujata drew a deep breath and started across the room to

ward the com station without knowing what it was she wasgoing to say. Already fevered by her distress, she did not notice the swirling pool of warm air she passed through on the way.

Wait.

"No," Sujata said. "I don't think anyone here is to blame,at least not for the specific failure. There's plenty of blame topass around for creating the circumstances in which it's takingplace."

Do nothing.

-"My recommendation is going to sound like a non-decision."

Trust.

"I say we hold our breath and ride it out. Maybe we can'tstop Triad Two, but we don't have to help them."

It is my turn.

"Yes, three months is a long time for us to hold our breath. But we know what will happen with the other option. It's a choice between the chance of them striking back and the certainty of it."

In his newest metamorphosis he knew himself to be evenmore of the spindle and less of his former existence. Muchthat was old and no longer useful had been stripped away, andhe had learned much that was new. "The most important lessonhe had learned was that he could channel the spindle's energies and did not need to risk his own. Understanding that, hehad power; understanding himself, he had the skill.

Thackery had sensed the wrongness the moment he brought his once-again-restored resonance back to the focus ofdisturbance. He listened and then reached out and touched Sujata's mind, this time with a delicate, sure touch that leftpale, quavery shadows on her thoughts:

Wait.

Do nothing.

Trust.

Then he moved off, riding the currents of the spindle withthe same grace he had once seen in Gabriel, his sight focusedfar across the fibers to where a trio of wormholes betrayed thepresence of three infinitesimally small cylinders enclosing theordered energies of life. There was no haste in his movement,for he knew the moment and the means and that both were within reach. Doubt was not part of him, nor fear. He had given those up forever.

At one time he had garnered acclaim for doing that whichany of thousands could have done as well. Now there was a service that only he could perform but which none would everknow about. They would know only, in time, that the ships and their crews never emerged from the craze, never completed their mission.

He did not even regret their sacrifice, not only becauseregret, too, had been excised from his substance. He saw thatthose ships were the center, the source, of the dark anticipations that clouded the near uptime and confused the present. Itwas within his power to erase those anticipations, and theprice paid, even the death of those who had once been his kin,could not begin to compare with the value received.

Calling on knowledge both new and old, Thackery reachedout, down toward the boundary, and extended his essence andcontrol into all three wormholes at once, into the hearts of the three ships. It required only a mere shrug, a twist so, and a flood of energy poured through him and into the fragiledrives. Irreplaceable circuits fused, then melted. There was a sudden flowering of energy where the ships had been, a flowering of such dimensions that the watching eyes on thematter-matrix could not help but detect it and know its meaning.

It was done.

He lingered there to watch the cautious approach of a single ship singing the song of the Mizari to the system of sevensuns, to savor the meeting of mind and Mind, and to listen tomessages meant for other hearers.

"We will never stand face-to-face to take each other's measure," the woman told those whom she served, "for what we are is as far outside their grasp as what they are is outside ours. We will never join hands in friendship, for they havendthing to offer us or we them. But neither will we make waron each other again. We will never share a world with them,but we can 9hare a Galaxy."

In his new state Thackery could no longer feel, save forthose two feelings that all intelligence cannot help but know:amusement at the absurdity of existence, and respect for thefinality of nonexistence. But he still had the memory of otheremotions, and the heart he no longer possessed swelled with ajoy his new body could not have mustered.

For the disturbance in the spindle was vanishing even as hewatched, and at long last, the way uptime was clear. And inthe tranquil far future, he saw a wondrous vision in the matrix, a living resonance of such delicacy and beauty thatmerely to embrace it Thackery was required to grow in himself.

= Gabriel... =

>1 heard your call and came down from terminus, but theturbulence blocked the way to you. Are you in need?<

The touch of the D'shannan's answer on Thackery's being was rapture, a taste of reunion, of completion. =No. I am whole. =

>Are you finished here?<

Before answering, Thackery looked out across the barrierto the matter-matrix that had been home and hell, that had created him and then destroyed him. He saw the restless activity of the ships and their crews, the worlds newly astir withunleashed ambition. There was no place among them for him,no part in their strivings for him. He was done with that now.

= Yes. / am finished here. =

>Then will you come uptime with me, to await the end incommunion?< =/ will, Gabriel, = Thackery answered eagerly. =Do you know this timbre? Do you understand my joy? =

>1 understand. Come, Merritt Thackery. Come and be onewith us.<