THE SPIRIT 
OF DORSAI 
GORDON R.DICKSON 


ace books 
A Division of Charter Communications inc. A GROSSET & DUNLAP COMPANY 
Park Avenue South New York, New York 
THE SPIRIT OF DORSAI 
Copyright © 1979 by Gordon R. Dickson Illustrations copyright © 1979 by Fernando Fernandez 
A portion of this book was published as "Brothers" in ASTOUNDING: John W. Campbell Memorial 

Anthology, copyright © 1973 by Random House, Inc. 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, except for the 
inclusion of brief quotations in a review, without permission in writing from the publisher. 
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely 

coincidental. 
An ACE Book -Cover art by Enric 
First Ace printing: September 1979 First mass market printing: April 
Manufactured in the United States of America 

CONTENTS 

Prologue… 
Amanda Morgan… 
Interlude… 
Brothers… 
Epilogue… 

PROLOGUE 

She was tall, slim, and so blonde as to be almost white-haired. There was an erectness to her body 
that no man could have possessed without stiffness. As she sat cross-legged, her grey eyes gazing 
down into the valley on the Dorsai that held Fal Morgan and the surrounding homesteads, her 
face had the quality of a profile stamped on a silver coin. 

"Amanda…" said Hal Mayne, gently. 

Lost in her thoughts, she did not hear him; and the moment was so close to perfection that he was 
reluctant to disturb it. The part of him that was a poet, which had survived the months of being a 
hunted guerrilla on Harmony and even the sickness and the brutalities of the prison there before 
his escape, stirred again, watching her. Here, on the roof of a warriors' world, under a clean and 


cloudless sky in 
a time when the human race was everywhere submitting to the chains of a new slavery, she wore 
an armor of sunlight, unconquerable. Beside her, in his much taller, wide-shouldered but gaunt, 


body, pared thin by privation and suffering, he felt like some great dark bird of earth-bound flesh 
and bone, bending above an entity of pure spirit. 
As he waited, her eyes lost their abstraction. As if they had been separated so far that his voice, 


speaking her name, had had to stretch across time and space to only now reach her, she turned 
finally back to him. 


"Did you say something?" she asked. 
"I was going to say how much you resemble that picture of her—of the first Amanda Morgan," he 
said. "It could be a picture of you." 


She smiled a little. 


"Yes," she said, "both the second Amanda to bear the name, and I look very much like her. It 
happens." 
"It's still a strange thing, with only three of you of that name in your family in two hundred 


years," he said. "Does it just happen she had her picture printed at the same age you are now?" 
he said. 
"No." She shook her head. "It wasn't." 
"It wasn't?" 
"No. That picture you saw in our hall was made when she was much older than I am now." 
He frowned. 


"It's true," she said. "We age very slowly, we Morgans—and she was something special." 
"Not as special as you," he said. "She couldn't be. You're Dorsai—end-result Dorsai. She lived 
before people like you were what you are now." 


"That's not true," the third Amanda said. "She 


was Dorsai before there was a Dorsai world. What she was, was the material out of which our 
people and our culture here were made." 
He shook his head, slowly. 
"How can you be so sure about what she was— two hundred standard years ago?" 
"How can I?" She looked at him far a moment. "In many ways, I am her." 
He watched her. 
"A reincarnation?" 
"No," she answered. "Not really. But something… more as if time didn't matter. As if it's all the 


same thing; her, there in the beginning of our world, and I here, at…" 



"The end of it," he suggested. 

"The end of it," he suggested. 

Something—the shadow of a swooping bird, perhaps—shuttered the sunlight from his eyes far a 
split second. 

"You think so much of her," he said, thought-fully. "But it's Cletus Grahame and his textbooks on 
the military art he wrote two hundred years ago—it's Donal Graeme and the way he brought the 
inhabited worlds together, one hundred years ago—that other worlds think of when they use the 
word 'Dorsai'." 

"We've had Graemes far our next neighbor since Cletus," she replied. "What's thought of them, 
they earned. But the first Amanda was here before either of them. She founded our family. She 
cleared the out


laws from these mountains before Cletus came; and when she was ninety-three, she held Foralie 
district against Dow deCastries' veteran troops when they invaded, thinking they'd have no 
trouble with the children, the women, the sick and the old that were all that were left here, then." 

"You mean," Hal said, "that time deCastries tried to take over the Dorsai, at the very end of 
Cletus' struggle with him?" 

"With him and all the power of Earth behind him, in a time when everyone thought Earth was 
more powerful than all the other inhabited worlds combined." 

"But wasn't it Cletus who gave directions for the defense of Dorsai, that time?" 

"Cletus wasn't here. He left two of his officers, Arvid Johnson and Bill Athyer to coordinate the 
defense and give the districts a general survey of the strategical and tactical situations involved. 
But their job was only a matter of laying out the military physics of the situation, with Cletus' 
theories and principles as guidelines. It was up to each district individually after that, to draw up 
its own plan for dealing with the invaders. That's what Foralie did—knowing it would be under 
the gun more than any other district, since Foralie homestead was here, and Cletus would be 
expected to return to it as soon as he heard the Dorsai had been invaded." 

"And it was the first Amanda who was given charge of Foralie district, by the people in the 
district, then?" he asked. "Why her? She hadn't been a soldier." 

"I told you," she said. "During the Outlaw Years, she'd led the way in clearing out the lawless 
mercenaries. After she did that—and other things— 

with just the women, the cripples, old men and children to help her, the rest of the districts 
fallowed her example and law came to all the Dorsai. She was the best person to command." 

"How did they do it, then?" 

"Clean out the outlaws?" the third Amanda asked. 

"No—though I want to hear that sometime, too. What I meant was, how did Amanda and Foralie 
district defeat first-line troops? Most military scholars seem to think that the invaders defeated 


themselves, that they had to defeat themselves; because there was no way a gaggle of women, 


children and old people could possibly have done it." 
"In a way you could say the troops did defeat themselves—did you ever read Cletus' Tactics of 
Mistake?" she answered. "But actually what happened was a case of putting our strengths 
against the weaknesses of the invaders." 


"Weaknesses? What weaknesses did first-line troops have?" 
She looked at him again with those level eyes. 
"They weren't willing to die unless they had to." 
"That?" Hal looked at her curiously. "That's a weakness?" 
"Comparatively. Because we were." 
"Willing to die?" he studied her. "Non-combatants? Old people, mothers—" 
"And children. Yes." The armor of sunlight around her seemed to invest her words with a quality 


of truth greater than he had ever known from anyone else. "The Dorsai was farmed by people 
who were willing to pay with their lives in others battles, in order to buy freedom far their homes. 
Not only the men who went off to fight, but those at home had 

that same image of freedom and were willing to live and die far it." 

"But simply being willing to die—" 

"You don't understand, not being born here," she said. "It was a matter of their being able to make harder 
choices than people less willing. Amanda and the others in the district best qualified to decide sat down 
and considered a number of plans. They all entailed casualties—and the casualties could include the 
people who were considering the plans. They chose the one that gave the district the greatest 
effectiveness against the enemy for the least number of deaths; and, having chosen it, they were all ready 
to 

be among those who would die, if necessary. The invading soldiers had no such plan—and no such 
courage." 
He shook his head. 


"I don't understand," he said. 
"That's because you're not Dorsai. And because you don't understand someone like the first 
Amanda." 


"No," he said. "That's true. I don't." 
He looked at her. 
"How did it happen?" he asked. "How did she-how did they do it? I have to know." 
"You do?" Her gaze was unmoving on him. 
"Yes," he said. There were so many things he had not been able to explain, things he had not 


admitted to her yet. There was the matter of his visit to Foralie, and the particular moment in 



which he had stepped into the doorway which some of the towering Graeme men, such as Ian and 
Kensie, the twin uncles of Donal Graeme, had been said to fill from sill to lintel and from side to 
side. As it had been with them, Hal's unshod feet had rested on the sill and the top of his head 
brushed the lintel. But unlike them, his shoulder-points had not touched the frame on either side. 

which he had stepped into the doorway which some of the towering Graeme men, such as Ian and 
Kensie, the twin uncles of Donal Graeme, had been said to fill from sill to lintel and from side to 
side. As it had been with them, Hal's unshod feet had rested on the sill and the top of his head 
brushed the lintel. But unlike them, his shoulder-points had not touched the frame on either side. 

"I need to know," he said again. 

"All right," she said. "I'll tell you just how it was." 

AMANDA 

MORGAN 

Stone are my walls, and my roof is of timber; But the hands of my builder are stronger by far. The 
roof may be burned and my stones may be scattered. Never her light be defeated in war… 

Song of the house named Fal Morgan 

Amanda Morgan woke suddenly in darkness, her finger automatically on the firing button of the heavy 
energy handgun. She had heard—or dreamed she heard—the cry of a child. Rousing further, she 
remembered Betta in the next room and faced the impossibility of her great-granddaughter giving birth 
without calling her. It had been part of her dream, then. 

Still, for a few seconds more, she lay, feeling the ghosts of old enemies still around her and the sleeping 
house. The cry had merged with the dream she had been having. In her dream, she had been reliving the 
long-ago swoop on her slammer, handgun in fist, down into the first of the outlaw camps. It had been 
when Dorsai was new, and the camps, back in the mountains, had been bases for the out-of-work 
mercenaries. She had finally led the women of Foralie district against these men who had raided their 
homes for so long, in the intervals when the professional soldiers of their own households were away 
fighting on other worlds. 

The last thing the outlaws had expected from a bunch of women had been a frontal assault in full daylight. 
Therefore, it had been that she had given them. In her dream she had been recalling the fierce bolts from 
the handgun slicing through makeshift walls and the bodies beyond, setting fire to dried wood and oily 
rags. 

By the time she had been in among the huts, some of the outlaws were already armed and out of their 
structures; and the rest of the fight had disintegrated into a mixed blur of bodies and weapons. The 
outlaws were all veterans— but so, in their own way, were the women from the households. There were 
good shots on both sides; and in her younger strength, then, she was a match for any out-of-condition 
mercenary. Also, she was carried along in a rage they could not match… 

She blinked, pushing the images of the dream from her. The outlaws were gone now—as were the 
Eversills who had tried to steal her land, and other enemies. They were all gone, now, making way for 
new foes. She listened a moment longer, but about her the house of Fal Morgan was still. 

After a moment she got up anyway, stepping for a second into the chill bath of night air as she reached 
for a robe from the chair by her bed. Strong moonlight, filtering through sheer curtains, gave back her 


ghost in dim image from the tall armoire mirror. A ghost from sixty years past. For a second before the 
robe settled about her, the lean and still-erect shape in the mirror invented the illusion of a young, 
full-fleshed body. She went out. 

ghost in dim image from the tall armoire mirror. A ghost from sixty years past. For a second before the 
robe settled about her, the lean and still-erect shape in the mirror invented the illusion of a young, 
full-fleshed body. She went out. 

The moonlight shone through the curtains even more brightly on this side of the house. Betta still slept, 
breathing heavily, her swollen middle rising like a promise under the covering blankets. The concern 
about this child-to-be, which had occupied Amanda all these past months, came back on her with fresh 
urgency. She touched the rough, heavy cloth over the unborn life briefly and lightly with her fingertips. 
Then she turned and went back out. Down the corridor and around the corner, the Earth-built clock in 
the living room chimed the first quarter of an hour past four a.m.. 

She was fully awake now, and her mind moved purposefully. The birth was due at any time now, and 
Betta was insistent about wanting to use the name Amanda if it was a girl. Was she wrong in withholding 
it, again? Her decision could not be put off much longer. In the kitchen she made herself tea. Sitting at the 
table by the window, she drank it, gazing down over the green tops of the conifers, the pines and spruce 
on the slope that fell away from the side of the house, then rose again to the close horizon of the ridge in 
that direction, and the mountain peaks beyond, overlooking Foralie Town and Fal Morgan alike, together 
with a dozen similar homesteads. 

She could not put off any longer the making up of her mind. As soon as the baby was born, Betta would 
want to name her. On the surface, it did not seem such an important matter. Why should one name be 
particularly sacred? Except that Betta did not realize, none of them in the family seemed to realize, how 
much the name Amanda had come to be a talisman for them all. 

The trouble was, time had caught up with her. There was no guarantee that she could wait around for 
more children to be born. With the trouble that was probably coming, the odds were against her being 
lucky enough to still be here for the official naming of Betta's child, when that took place. But there had 
been a strong reason behind her refusal to let her name be given to one of the younger generations, all 
these years. True, it was not an easy reason to explain or defend. Its roots were in something as deep as 
a superstition—the feeling in her that Fal Morgan would only stand as long as that name in the family 
could stand like a pillar to which they could all anchor. And how could she tell ahead of time how a baby 
would turn out? 

Once more she had worn a new groove around the full circle of the problem. For a few moments, while 
she drank her tea, she let her thoughts slide off to the conifers below, which she had stretched herself to 
buy as seedlings when the Earth stock had finally been imported here to this world they called the Dorsai. 
They had grown until now they blocked the field of fire from the house in that direction. During the 
Outlaw Years, she would never have let them grow so high. 

With what might be now coming in the way of trouble from Earth, they should probably be cut down 
completely— though the thought of it went against something deep in her. This house, this land, all of it, 
was what she had built for herself, her children and their children. It was the greatest of her dreams, made 
real; and there was no part of it, once won, that she could give up easily. 

Still seated by the window, slowly drinking the hot tea, her mind went off entirely from the threats of the 
present to her earliest dreams, back to Caernarvon and the Wales of her childhood, to her small room on 
a top floor with the ceiling all angles. 


She remembered that, now, as she sat in this house with only two lives presently stirring between its 
walls. No— three, with the child waiting to be born, who would be having dreams of her own, before 
long. How old had she herself been when she had first dreamed of running the wind? 

She remembered that, now, as she sat in this house with only two lives presently stirring between its 
walls. No— three, with the child waiting to be born, who would be having dreams of her own, before 
long. How old had she herself been when she had first dreamed of running the wind? 

In her imagination she had run from Caernarvon and Cardiff clear to France and back again; not above 
great banks of solar collectors or clumps of manufactories, but over open fields and mountains and cattle, 
and over flowers in fields where green things grew and where people were happy. She had gotten finally 
so that she could run, in her imagination, farther and faster than anyone. 

None was so fleet as she. She ran to Spain and Norway. She ran across Europe as far as Russia, she ran 
south to the end of Africa and beyond that to the Antarctic and saw the great whales still alive. She ran 
west over America and south over South America. She saw the cowboys and gauchos as they once had 
been, and she saw the strange people at the tip of South America where it was quite cold. 

She ran west over the Pacific, over all the south Pacific and over the north Pacific. She ran over the 
volcanos of the Hawaiian islands, over Japan and China and Indo-China. She ran south over Australia 
and saw deserts, and the great herds of sheep and the wild kangaroos hopping. 

Then she went west once more and saw the steppes and the Ukraine and the Black Sea and 
Constantinople that was, and Turkey, and all the plains where Alexander marched, his army to the east, 
and then back to Africa. She saw strange ships with lug sails on the sea east of Africa, and she ran across 
the Mediterranean where she saw Italy. She looked down on Rome, with all its history, and on the Swiss 
alps where people yodeled and climbed mountains when they were not working very hard; and all in all 
she saw many things, until she finally ran home and fell asleep on the breast of the wind and on her own 
bed. Remembering it all, now that she was ninety-two years old— which was a figure that meant nothing 
to her—she sat here, light years from it all, on the Dorsai, thinking of it all and drinking tea in the last of 
the moonlight, looking down at her conifers. 

She stirred, pushed the empty cup from her and rose. Time to begin the day—her control bracelet 
chimed with the note of an incoming call. 

She thumbed the bracelet's com button. The cover over the phone screen on the kitchen wall slid back 
and the screen itself lit up with the heavy face of Piers van der Lin. That face looked out and down at her, 
the lines that time had cut into it deeper than she had ever seen them. A sound of wheezing whistled and 
sang behind the labor of his speaking. 

"Sorry, Amanda," his voice was hoarse and slow with both age and illness. "Woke you, didn't I?" 

"Woke me?" She felt a tension in him and was suddenly alert. "Piers, it's almost daybreak You know me 
better than that. What is it?" 

"Bad news, I'm afraid…" his breathing, like the faint distant music of war-pipes, sounded between 
words. "The invasion from Earth is on its way. Word just came. Coalition first-line troops—to reach the 
planet here in thirty-two hours." 

"Well, Cletus told us it would happen. Do you want me down in town?" 


"No," he said. 
Her voice took on an edge in spite of her best intentions. 
"Don't be foolish, Piers," she said. "If they can take away the freedom we have here, then the Dorsai 


ceases to exist—except for a name. We're all expendable." 


"Yes," he said, wheezing, "but you're far down on the list. Don't be foolish, yourself, Amanda. You know 
what you're worth to us." 
"Piers, what do you want me to do?" 
He looked at her with a face carved by the same years that had touched her so lightly. 
"Cletus just sent word to Eachan Khan to hold himself out from any resistance action here. That leaves us 


back where we were to begin with in a choice for a Commander for the district. I know, 
Betta's about due-" 
"That's not it." She broke in. "You know what it is. You ought to. I'm not that young any more. Does the 


district want someone who might fold up on them?" 
"They want you, at any cost You know that," Piers said, heavily. "Even Eachan only accepted because 
you asked someone else to take it. There's no one in the district, no matter what their age or name, who 


won't jump when you speak No one else can say that. What do you think they care about the fact you 
aren't what you were, physically? They want you." 
Amanda took a deep breath. She had had a feeling in her bones about this. He was going on. 
"I've already passed the word to Arvid Johnson and Bill Athyer—those two Cletus left behind to 


organize the planet's defense. With Betta as she is, we wouldn't have called on you if there was any other 


choice—but there isn't, now—" 
"All right," said Amanda. There was no point in trying to dodge what had to be. Fal Morgan would have 
to be left empty and unprotected against the invaders. That was simply the way of it. No point, either, in 
railing against Piers. His exhaustion under the extended asthmatic attack was plain. "I'll be glad to if I'm 
really needed, you know that. You've already told Johnson and Athyer I'll do it?" 


"I just said I'd ask you." 
"No need for that. You should know you can count on me. Shall I call and tell them it's settled?" 
"I think… they'll be contacting you." 
Amanda glanced at her bracelet. Sure enough, the tiny red phone light on it was blinking—signalling 


another call in waiting. It could have begun that blinking any time in the last minute or so; but she should 


have noticed it before this. 
"I think they're on line now," she said. "I'll sign off. And I'll take care of things, Piers. Try and get some 
sleep." 


"I'll sleep… soon," he said. "Thanks, Amanda." 
"Nonsense." She broke the connection and touched the bracelet for the second call. The contrast was 
characteristic of this Dorsai world of theirs—sophisticated com equipment built into a house constructed 



by hand, of native timber and stone. The screen grayed and then came back into color to show an office 
room all but hidden by the largeboned face of a blond-haired man in his middle twenties. The single 
barred star of a vice-marshall glinted on the collar of his grey field uniform. Above it was a face that might 
have been boyish once, but now had a stillness to it, a quiet and waiting that made it old before its time. 

by hand, of native timber and stone. The screen grayed and then came back into color to show an office 
room all but hidden by the largeboned face of a blond-haired man in his middle twenties. The single 
barred star of a vice-marshall glinted on the collar of his grey field uniform. Above it was a face that might 
have been boyish once, but now had a stillness to it, a quiet and waiting that made it old before its time. 
" 
"Yes," said Amanda. "You're Arvid Johnson?" 
"That's right," he answered. "Piers suggested we ask you to take on the duty of Commander of Foralie 


District." 
"Yes, he just called." 
"We understand," Arvid's eyes in the screen were steady on her, "your great-granddaughter's 


pregnant—" 
"I've already told Piers I'd do it." Amanda examined Arvid minutely. He was one of the two people on 
which they must all depend—with Cletus Grahame gone. "If you know this district, you know there's no 


one else for the job. Eachan Khan could do it, but apparently that son-in-law of his just told him to keep 
himself available for other things." 
"We know about Cletus asking him to stay out of things," said Arvid. "I'm sorry it has to be you—" 
"Don't be sorry," said Amanda. "I'm not doing it for you. We're all doing it for ourselves." 
"Well, thanks anyway." He smiled, a little wearily. 
"As I say, it's not a matter for thanks." 
"Whatever you like." 
Amanda continued to examine him closely, across the gulf of the years separating them. What she was 


seeing, she decided, was that new certainty that 


was beginning to be noticeable in the Dorsai around Cletus. There was something about Arvid that was 
as immovable as a mountain. 
"What do you want me to do first?" she asked. 
"There's to be a meeting of all district commanders of this island at South Point, at 0900 this morning. 


We'd like you here. Also, since Foralie's the place Cletus is going to come back to—if he comes back— 
you can expect some special attention; and Bill and I would like to talk to you about that. We can 
arrange pickup for you from the Foralie Town airpad, if you'll be waiting there in an hour." 

Amanda thought swiftly. 
"Make it two hours. I've got things to do first." 
"All right. Two hours, then, Foralie Town air-pad." 
"Don't concern yourself!" said Amanda. "I'll remember." 
She broke the connection. For a brief moment more she sat, turning things over in her mind. Then she 


rang Foralie homestead, home of Cletus and Melissa Grahame. 



There was a short delay, then the narrow-boned face of Melissa—Eachan Khan's daughter, now Cletus' 
wife—took shape under touseled hair on the screen. Melissa's eyelids were still heavy with sleep. 


"Who—oh, Amanda," she said. 
"I've just been asked to take over district command, from Piers," Amanda said. "The invasion's on its 
way and I've got to leave Fal Morgan in an hour for a meeting at South Point. I don't know when or if I'll 
be back Can you take Betta?" 


"Of course." Melissa's voice and face were coming awake as she spoke. "How close is she?" 
"Any time." 
"She can ride?" 
"Not horseback Just about anything else." 
Melissa nodded. 
"I'll be over in the skimmer in forty minutes." She looked out of the screen at Amanda. "I know— you'd 


rather I moved in with her there. But I can't leave Foralie, now. I promised Cletus." 
"I understand," said Amanda. "Do you know yet when Cletus will be back?" 
"No. Any time—like Betta." Her voice thinned a little. "I'm never sure." 
"No. Nor he, either, I suppose." Amanda watched the younger woman for a second. "I'll have Betta 


ready when you get here. Goodby." 
"Goodby." 
Amanda broke contact and set about getting Betta up and packed. This done, there was the house to be 


organized for a period of perhaps some days without inhabitants. Betta sat bundled in a chair in the 
kitchen, waiting, as Amanda finished programming the automatic controls of the house for the interval. 
"You can call me from time to time at Foralie," Betta said. 


"When possible," said Amanda. 
She glanced over and saw the normally open, friendly face of her great-granddaughter, now looking puffy 
and pale above the red cardigan sweater enveloping her. Betta was more than capable in ordinary times; 
it was only in emergencies like this that she had a tendency to founder. Amanda checked her own critical 
frame of mind. It was not easy for Betta, about to have a child with her husband, father and brother all 
off-planet, in combat, and—the nature of war being what it was—the possibility existing that none of 
them might come back to her. There were only three men at the moment, left in the house of ap Morgan, 
and only two women; and now one of those two, Amanda, herself, was going off on a duty that could 
end in a hangman's rope or a firing squad. For she did not delude herself that the Earth-bred Alliance and 
Coalition military would fight with the same restraint toward civilians the soldiers of the younger worlds 
showed. 

But it would not help to fuss over Betta now. It would help none of them—there was an approaching 
humming noise outside the house that crescendoed to a peak just beyond the kitchen door, and stopped. 
"Melissa," said Betta. 


"Come on," Amanda said. 

"Come on," Amanda said. 

"I'll check up on you when I have time," Amanda said, kissing her great-granddaughter briefly. Betta's 
arms tightened fiercely around her. 

"Mandy!" The diminutive of her name which only the young children normally used and the sudden 
desperate appeal in Betta's voice sent a surge of empathy arcing between them. Over Betta's shoulder, 
Amanda saw the face of Melissa, calm and waiting. Unlike Betta, Melissa came into her own in a crisis-it 
was in ordinary times that the daughter of Eachan Khan fumbled and lost her way. 

"Never mind me," said Amanda, "I'll be all right. Take care of your own duties." 

With strength, she freed herself and waved them off. For a second more she stood, watching their 
skimmer hum off down the slope. Betta's farewell had just woken a grimness in her that was still there. 
Melissa and Betta. Either way, being a woman who was useful half the time was no good. Life required 
you to be operative at all hours and seasons. 

That was the problem with a talisman-name like her own. She who would own it must be operative in 
just that way, at all times. "When someone of that capability should be born into the family, she could 
release the name of Amanda, which she had so far refused to every female child in the line. As she 
refused it to Betta for this child. And yet… and yet, it was not right to lock up the name forever. As each 
generation moved farther away from her own time, it and the happenings connected with it would then 
become more and more legendary, more and more unreal… 

She put the matter for the thousandth time from her mind and turned back to buttoning up Fal Morgan. 
Passing down the long hall, she let her fingers trail for a second on its dark wainscotting. Almost, she 
could feel a living warmth in the wood, the heart of the house beating. But there was nothing more she 
could do to protect it now. In the days to come, it, too, must take its chances. 

Fifteen minutes later, she was on her own skimmer, headed downslope toward Foralie Town. At her 
back was an overnight bag, considerably smaller than the one they had packed for Betta. Under her belt 
was a heavy energy pistol on full charge and in perfect order. In the long-arm boot of the skimmer was 
an ancient blunderbus of a pellet shotgun, its clean and decent barrel replaced minutes before by one that 
was rusted and old, but workable. As she reached the foot of the slope and started the rise to the ridge, 
her gaze was filled by the mountains and Fal Morgan moved for the moment into the back of her mind. 

The skimmer hummed upslope, only a few feet above the ground. Out from under the spruce and pine, 
the highland sun was brilliant. The thin earth cover, broken by outcroppings of granite and quartz was 
brown, sparsely covered by tough green grasses. The air was cold and light, yet unwarmed by the sun. 
She felt it deep in her lungs when she breathed. The wine of the morning, her own mother had called air 
like this, nearly a century ago. 

She mounted to the crest of the ridge and the mountains stood up around her on all sides, shoulder to 
shoulder like friendly giants, as she topped the ridge and headed down the further slope to Foralie, now 
visible, distant and small by the river bend, far below. The sky was brilliantly clear with the hew day. 
Only a small, stray cloud, here and there, graced its perfection. The mountains stood, looking down. 
There were people here who were put off by their bare rock, their remote and icy summits, but she 
herself found them honest—secure, strong and holding, brothers to her soul. 

A deep feeling moved in her, even after all these years. Even more than for the home she had raised, she 


had found in herself a love for this world. She loved it as she loved her children, her children's children 
and her three husbands—each different, each unmatchable in its own way. 

had found in herself a love for this world. She loved it as she loved her children, her children's children 
and her three husbands—each different, each unmatchable in its own way. 

But she was sliding swiftly now, down the gentler, longer curve of the slope that led to Foralie Town. She 
could see the brown track of the river road, now, following the snake of blue water that wound away to 
the east and out between a fold in the mountains, and in its other direction from the town, west and up 
until it disappeared in the rocky folds above, where its source lay in the water of permanent ice sheets at 
seventeen thousand feet. Small clumps of the native softwood trees moved and passed like shutters 
between her and sight of the town below as she descended. But at this hour she saw no other traffic 
about. Twenty minutes later, she came to the road and the river below the town, and turned left, 
upstream toward the buildings that were now close. 

She passed out from behind a clump of small softwoods and slid past the town manufactory and the town 
dump, which now separated her from the river and the wharf that let river traffic unload directly to the 
manufactory. The manufactory itself was silent and inactive, at this early hour. The early sun winked on 
the rubble of refuse, broken metal and discarded material of all kinds, in the little hollow below the 
exhaust vent of the manufactory's power unit. 

The Dorsai was a poor world in terms of arable land and most natural resources; but it did supply 
petroleum products from the drowned shorelines of the many islands that took the place of continents on 
the watery planet. So crude oil had been the fuel chosen for the power generator at the manufactory, 
which had been imported at great cost from Earth. The tools driven by that generator were as 
sophisticated as any found on Earth, while the dump was as primitive as any that pioneer towns had ever 
had. Like her Fal Morgan and the communications equipment within its wall. 

She stopped the skimmer and got off, walking a dozen feet or so back into the brush across the road 
from the dump. She took the heavy energy handgun from her belt and hung it low on the branch of a 
sapling, where the green leaves all about would hide it from anyone not standing within arm's reach of it. 
She made no further effort to protect it. The broad arrow stamped on its grip, mark of the ap Morgans, 
would identify it to anyone native to this world who might stumble across it. 

She returned to the skimmer, just as a metal door in the side of the manufactory slid back with a rattle 
and a bang. Jhanis Bins came out, wheeling a dump carrier loaded with silvery drifts of fine metallic dust. 

Amanda walked over to him as he wheeled the carrier to the dump and tilted its contents onto the rubble 
inches below the exhaust vent. He jerked the carrier back on to the roadway and winked at Amanda. 
Age and illness had wasted him to a near skeleton, but there was still strength in his body, if little 
endurance. Above the old knife-scar laying all the way across his eyes held a sardonic humor. 

"Nickel grindings?" asked Amanda, nodding at what Jhanis had just dumped. 

"Right," he said. There was grim humor in his voice as well as his eyes. "You're up early." 

"So are you," she said. 


"Lots to be done." He offered a hand. "Amanda." 
She took it. 
"Jhanis." 
He let go and grinned again. 
"Well, back to work Luck Commander, ma'm." 
He turned the carrier back toward the manufactory. 
"News travels fast," she said. 
"How else?" he replied, over his shoulder, and went inside. The metal door rolled on its tracks, slamming 


shut behind him. 
Amanda remounted the skimmer and slide it on into town. As she came to a street of houses just off the 
main street, she saw Bhaktabahadur Rais, sweeping the path between the flowers in front of his house, 
holding the broom awkwardly but firmly in the clawed arthritic fingers of the one hand remaining to him. 
The empty sleeve of the other arm was pinned up neatly just below the shoulder joint. The small brown 
man smiled warmly as the skimmer settled to the ground when Amanda stopped its motors opposite him. 


He was no bigger than a twelve-year boy, but in spite of having almost as many years as Amanda, he 
moved as lightly as a child. 
He carried the broom to the skimmer, leaned it against his shoulder and saluted. There was an impish 


sparkle about him. 


"All right, Bhak," said Amanda. "I'm just doing what I'm asked. Did the young ones and their Ancients 
get out of town?" 
He sobered. 
"Piers sent them out two days ago," he said. "You didn't know?" 
Amanda shook her head. 
"I've been busy with Betta. Why two days ago?" 
"Evidence they were out before we heard any Earth troops were coming." He shifted his broom back 


into his hand. "If nothing had happened it would have been easy to have called them back after a few 


days. If you need me for anything, Amanda—" 
"I'll ask, don't worry," she said. It would be easier at any time for Bhak to fight, than wait. The kukri in its 
curved sheath still lay on his mantelpiece. "I've got to get on to the town hall." 


She lifted the skimmer on the thrust of its fans. Their humming was loud in the quiet street. 
"Where's Betta?" Bhak raised his voice. 
"Foralie." 
He smiled again. 
"Good. Any news of Cletus?" 



She shook her head and set the skimmer off down the street. Turning on to the main street, past the last 
house around the corner, she checked suddenly and went back A heavy-bodied girl with long brown hair 
and a round somewhat bunched-up face was sitting on her front step. Amanda stopped the skimmer, got 
out and went up to the steps. The girl looked up at her. 

She shook her head and set the skimmer off down the street. Turning on to the main street, past the last 
house around the corner, she checked suddenly and went back A heavy-bodied girl with long brown hair 
and a round somewhat bunched-up face was sitting on her front step. Amanda stopped the skimmer, got 
out and went up to the steps. The girl looked up at her. 
" 
Marte's face took on a slightly sullen look 
"I'm staying with grandma." 
"But you wanted to go with one of the teams," said Amanda gently. "You told me so just last week" 
Marte did not answer. She merely stared hard at the concrete of the walk between her feet. Amanda 


went up the steps past her and into the house. 
"Berthe?" she called, as the door closed behind her. 
"Amanda? I'm in the library." The voice that came back was deep enough to be male, but when Amanda 


followed it into a room off to her right, the old friend she found among the crowded bookshelves there, 
seated at a desk, writing on a sheet of paper, was a woman with even more years than herself 
"Hello, Amanda," Berthe Haugsrud said. "I'm just writing some instructions." 
"Marte's still here," Amanda said. 
Berthe pushed back in her chair and sighed. 
"It's her choice. She wants to stay. I can't bring myself to force her to go if she doesn't want to." 


"What have you told her?" Amanda heard the tone of her voice, sharper than she had intended. 
"Nothing." Berthe looked at her. "You can't hide things from her, Amanda. She's as sensitive as… 
anyone. She picked it up—from the air, from the other young ones. Even if she doesn't understand 
details, she knows what's likely to happen." 


"She's young," said Amanda. "What is she—not seventeen yet?" 
"But she's got no one but me," said Berthe. Her eyes were black and direct under the wrinkled lids. 
"Without me, she'd have nobody. Oh, I know everyone in town would look after her, as long as they 


could. But it wouldn't be the same. Here, in this house, with just the two of us, she can forget she's 
different. She can pretend she's just as bright as anyone. With that gone…" 
They looked at each other for a moment. 
"Well, it's your decision," said Amanda, turning away. 
"And hers, Amanda. And hers." 
"Yes. All right. Goodby, Berthe." 
"Goodby, Amanda. Good luck" 
"The same to you," said Amanda, soberly. "The same to you." 
She went out, touching Marte softly on the girl's bowed head as she went by. Marte did not stir or 



respond. Amanda remounted the skimmer and drove it around the further corner, down the main street 
to the square concrete box that was the town hall. 


"Hello, Jenna," she said, stepping into the outer office. "I'm here to be sworn in." 
Jenna Chalk looked up from her desk behind the counter that bisected the front office. She was a 
pleasant, rusty-haired woman, small and in her mid-sixties, looking like anything in the universe but the 
ex-mercenary she once had been. 


"Good," she said. "Piers has been waiting. I'll bring the papers and we'll go back—" 
"Still here?" said Amanda. "What's he doing waiting around?" 
"He wanted to see you." Jenna slid her hands into the two wrist-crutches leaning against her desk, and 


levered herself to her feet. Leaning on one crutch, she picked up the folder before her on her desk and 
turned, leading the way down the corridor behind the counter that led toward the back of the building 
and the other offices there. Amanda let herself through the swinging gate in the counter and caught up. 

"How is he?" Amanda asked. 
"Worn out—a little easier since the sun came up," said Jenna, hobbling along. Her bones, over the years 
had become so fragile that they shattered at a touch, and her legs had broken so many times now that it 


was almost a miracle that she could walk at all. "I think hell let himself risk some medication, after he sees 
you take over." 
"He didn't need to wait for me," said Amanda. "That was foolish." 
"It's his way," said Jenna. "The habits of seventy years don't change." 
She stopped and pushed open the door they had come up against. Together they entered and found the 


massive, ancient shape of Piers propped up in a high-backed chair behind the wide desk of his office. 
"Piers," said Amanda. "You didn't need to wait. Go home." 
"I want to witness your signing-in," said Piers. Talking was still difficult for him, but Amanda noted that his 


breathing did seem to have eased slightly with the sunrise, in common asthmatic fashion. "Just in case the 
troops they drop here decide to check records." 


"All right," said Amanda. 
Jenna was already switching on the recording camera eye in the wall. They went through the ritual of 
signing papers and administering an oath to Amanda that gave her the official title of Mayor of Foralie 
Town, which would be a cover for her secret rank of district commander. 


"Now, for God's sake, go home!" said Amanda to 
Piers when they were done. "Take some of that medicine of yours and sleep." 
"I will," said Piers. "Thank you for this, Amanda. And good luck My skimmer's out back. Could you help 

me to it?" 
Amanda put one hand under the heavy old man's right elbow and helped him to his feet. The years had 
taken much of her physical strength, but she still knew how to concentrate what she had at the point 
needed. She piloted Piers out the back way and helped him into the seat of his skimmer. 



"Can you get down, and take care of yourself by yourself when you get home?" she asked. 

"Can you get down, and take care of yourself by yourself when you get home?" she asked. 

more. 

"Amanda." 

"Piers." She laid a hand for a second on his shoulder. 

"It's a good world, Amanda." 

"I know. I think so, too." 

"Goodby." 

"Goodby," said Amanda; and watched the skimmer take him away. 

She turned back into the town hall. 

"Marie's still here," she said to Jenna. "I guess, we'll just have to let her stay, if that's what she wants." 

"It is," said Jenna. 

"Are there any others still around I don't know about?" 

"No, the young ones are all gone—and their Ancients." 

"Have you got a map for me?" 

Jenna reached into her folder and came out with a map of the country about Foralie Town, up into the 


mountains surrounding. Initials in red were scattered about it. 
"Each team under the initials of its Ancient," Jenna said. 
Amanda studied it. 
"They're all out in position, now, then?" 
Jenna nodded. 
"And they're all armed?" 
"With the best we had to give them," Jenna said. She shook her head. "I can't help it, Amanda. It's bad 


enough for us at our age, but to give our young people hand weapons and ask them to stop—" 
"Do you know an alternative?" said Amanda. 
Jenna shook her head again, silently. 
"An aircraft's due to pick me up from the pad here in three-quarters of an hour," Amanda said. "I'll be 


checking the situation out around the town otherwise, between now and then. Just in case I don't get 


back here before we're hit, are you going to have any trouble convincing the invaders that I'm a Mayor 


and nothing more?' 

Jenna snorted. 


"I've been clerk in this town hall nine years—" 


"All right," said Amanda. "I just wanted to put it in words. If the troops they send in won't billet in town, 
try and get them to camp close in on the up-river side." 
"Of course," said Jenna. "I know. You don't have to tell me, Amanda. Anyway, there shouldn't be much 


trouble getting them there. It's a natural bivouac area." 
"Yes. All right, then," Amanda said. "Take care of yourself, too, Jenna." 
"We both better take care of ourselves," said Jenna. "Luck, Amanda." 
Amanda went out 
She was on the airpad, waiting, when a light, four-place gravity aircraft dropped suddenly out of the blue 


above and touched down lightly on the pad. A door swung open. She went forward, carrying her single 
piece of luggage and climbed in. The craft took off. Amanda found herself seated next to Geoff Harbor, 
district commander of North Point. 


"You both know each other, don't you?" asked the pilot, looking back over his shoulder. 
"For sixteen years," said Geoff. "Hello, Amanda." 
"Geoff," she said. "They bringing you in for this meeting, too? Are you all ready, up there at North Point?" 
"Yes. All set," he answered both questions, looking at her curiously above his narrow nose and 


wedge-shaped chin. He was only in his forties, but twenty years of living with the aftereffects of massive 


battle injuries had given his skin a waxy look "I -was expecting Eachan." 
"Eachan was asked by Cletus Grahame to hold himself ready for something else," said Amanda. "Piers 
took charge and I just replaced him this morn-ing." 


"Asthma getting him?" 


"The pressure of all this thing pushed him into an attack, I think," said Amanda. "Have you met this Arvid 
Johnson, or the other one—Bill Athyer?" 
"I've met Arvid," said Geoff "He's what Cletus Grahame's now calling a 'battle op'—a field tactician. 


Athyer's a strategist and they work as a team—but you must have heard all this." 
"Yes," said Amanda. "But what I want to know is some first-hand opinions on what they're like." 
"Arvid struck me as being damn capable," said Geoff. "If they work well together, then Bill Athyer can't 


be much less. And if Cletus put them in charge of the defense here… but you know Cletus, of course?" 
"He's a neighbor," said Amanda. "I've met him a few times." 
"And you've got doubts about him, too?" 
"No," said Amanda. "But we're trying to make bricks without straw. A handful of adults with a force of 


half-grown teenagers to knock down an assault force of first-line troops. Miracles are going to have to 
be routine, and nothing's so good we shouldn't worry about whether it's good enough." 
Geoff nodded. 



A short while later they set down on the airpad outside the island government center at South Point. A 
lean, brown-skinned soldier wearing the collar tabs that showed Groupman's rank—one of the staff of a 
dozen or so combat-qualified Dorsai that Arvid Johnson and Bill Athyer had been allowed to keep for 
their defense of the planet—was waiting for them as they stepped out of the aircraft. He led them to a 
briefing room already half-full of district commanders from all over the island, then turned to the room at 
large. 

A short while later they set down on the airpad outside the island government center at South Point. A 
lean, brown-skinned soldier wearing the collar tabs that showed Groupman's rank—one of the staff of a 
dozen or so combat-qualified Dorsai that Arvid Johnson and Bill Athyer had been allowed to keep for 
their defense of the planet—was waiting for them as they stepped out of the aircraft. He led them to a 
briefing room already half-full of district commanders from all over the island, then turned to the room at 
large. 

The small man, Amanda thought, must be Bill Athyer, the strategist At first glance, Bill might have 
appeared not only unimpressive, but sour—but Amanda's swift and experienced perceptions picked up 
something vibrant and brilliant in him. Literally, without loosing whatever painful and inhibiting 
self-consciousness and self-doubt he had been born with, he must somewhere have picked up the inner 
fire that now shone through his unremarkable exterior. He was all flame within—and that flame made him 
a strange contrast to the cool, almost remote competence of Arvid. 

"Sorry to spring this on you," Arvid said, when both men were standing on the platform and feeing the 
audience. "But it seems, after all, we can't wait for the district commanders who aren't here yet. We've 
just had word that whoever's navigating the invasion ships is either extremely lucky or very good. He's 
brought them out of their last phase shift right on top of the planet. They're in orbit overhead now and 
already dropping troops on our population centers." 

He paused and looked around the room. 

"The rest of the Dorsai's been notified, of course," he said. "Bill Athyer and myself with the few line 
soldiers we've got, are going to have to start moving— and keep moving. Don't try to find us—we'll find 
you. 

Communication will be known-person to known-person. In short, if the word you get from us doesn't 
come through somebody you trust implicitly, disregard it." 

"This is one of our strengths," said Bill Athyer, so swiftly, it was almost as if he interrupted. His voice was 
harsh, but crackled with something like high excitement. "Just as we know the terrain, we know each 
other. These two things let us dispense with a lot the invader has to have. But be warned—our 
advantages are going to be of most use only during the first few days. As they get to know us, they'll 
begin to be able to guess what we can do. Now, you've each submitted operational plans for the defense 
of your particular district within the general guidelines Arvid and I drew up. We've reviewed these plans, 
and by now you've all seen our recommendations for amendations and additions. If, in any case, there's 
more to be said, we'll get in touch with you as necessary. So you'd probably all better head back to your 
districts as quickly as possible. We've enough aircraft waiting to get you all back—hopefully before the 
invasion forces hit your districts. Get moving—is Amanda Morgan here?" 

"Here!" called Amanda. 

"Would you step up here, please?" 

With Bill Athyer's last words, all the seated commanders had gotten to their feet, and she was hidden in 


the swarm of bodies. She pushed her way forward to the platform and looked up into the faces of the 
unusual pair standing there. 

the swarm of bodies. She pushed her way forward to the platform and looked up into the faces of the 
unusual pair standing there. 

"A word with you before you leave," said Bill. "Will you come along?" 

He led the way out of the briefing room. Arvid and Amanda followed. They stepped into a small office 
and Arvid shut the door behind them on the noise in the hall, as the other commanders moved to their 
waiting aircraft. 

"You took command of the Foralie District just this morning," Bill said. "Have you had any chance to 
look at the plans handed in by the man you replaced?" 

"Piers van der Lin checked with several of us when he drafted them," Amanda said. "But in any case, 
anyone in Foralie District over the age of nine knows how we're going to deal with whoever they send 
against us." 

"All right," said Bill. Arvid nodded. 

"You understand," Bill went on. "In Foralie, there, you'll be at the pick-point for whatever's going to 
happen. You can probably expect, if our information's right, to see Dow deCastries himself, as well as 
extra troops and a rank-heavier staff of enemy officers than any of the other districts. They'll be zeroing in 
on Foralie homestead." 

The thought of Betta and the unborn child there was a sudden twinge in Amanda's chest. 

"There's no one at Foralie but Melissa Grahame and Eachan Khan, right now," she said. "Nobody to 
speak of." 

"There's going to be. Cletus will be on his way back as soon as the information we're invaded hits the 
Exotics—and I think you know the Exotics get news faster than anyone else. He may be on his way right 
now. Dow deCastries will be expecting this. So you can also expect your district to be one of the first, if 
not the first, hit. Odds are good that you, at least, aren't going to get home before the first troops touch 
down in your district. But we'll do our best for you. We've got our fastest aircraft holding for you now. 
Any last questions, or needs?" 

Amanda looked at them both. Young men both of them. 

"Not now," she said. "In any case, we know what we have to do." 

"Good." It was Arvid speaking again. "You'd better get going, then." 

The craft they were holding for her turned out to be a small, two-place high altitude gravity flyer, which 
rocketed to the ten-kilometer altitude, then back down toward Foralie on a flight path like the trajectory 
of a fired mortar shell. They were less than half an hour in the air. Nonetheless, as they plunged toward 
Foralie Town airpad, the com system inside the craft crackled. 

"Identify yourself. Identify yourself. This is Outpost Four-nine-three, Alliance-Coalition 
Expeditionary Force to the Dorsai. You are under our weapons. Identify yourself." 

The pilot glanced briefly at Amanda and touched the transmit button on his control wheel. 

"What'd you say?" he asked. "This is Mike Amery, on a taxi run from South Point just to bring the 


Foralie Town Mayor home. Who did you say you were?" 

Foralie Town Mayor home. Who did you say you were?" 

"Amanda Morgan," said Amanda, clearly, to the com equipment, "of the household ap Morgan, Foralie 
District." 

"Hold. Do not attempt to land until we check your identification. Repeat. Hold. Do not attempt to 
land until given permission." 

The speaker was abruptly silent again. The pilot checked the landing pattern for the craft. They waited. 
After several minutes the order came to bring themselves in. 

Two transport-pale, obviously Earth-native, privates in Coalition uniforms were covering the aircraft 
hatch with cone rifles, as Amanda preceded the pilot out on to the pad. A thin, serious-faced young 
Coalition lieutenant motioned the two of them to a staff car. 

"Where do you think you're taking us?" Amanda demanded. "Who are you? What're you doing here, 
anyway?" 

"It'll all be explained at your town hall, ma'm," said the lieutenant. "I'm sorry, but I'm not permitted to 
answer questions." 

He got into the staff car with them and tapped the driver on the shoulder. They drove to town, through 
streets empty of any human figures not in uniforms. With the emptiness of the streets was a stillness. On 
the north edge of the town, on the upslope of the meadow which Amanda had mentioned to Jen-na, 
Amanda could glimpse beehive-shaped cantonment-huts of bubble plastic being blown into existence in 
orderly rows—and from this area alone came a sound, distant but real, of voices and activities. Amanda 
felt the prevailing wind from the south on the back of her neck, and scented the faint odors of the fresh 
riverwater and the dump, carried by it, although the manufactory itself was silent. 

The staff car reached the town hall. The pilot was left in the outer office, but Amanda was ushered in past 
guards to the office that had been Piers', and was now hers. There, a large map of the district had been 
imaged on one wall and several officers of grades between major and brigadier general were standing 
about in a discussion that seemed very close to argument. Only one person in the room wore civilian 
clothing, and this was a tall, slim man seated at Amanda's desk, tilted back in its chair, apparently 
absorbed in studying the map that was imaged. 

He seemed oddly remote from the rest, isolated by position or authority and willing to concentrate on the 
map, leaving the officers to their talk. The expression on his face was thoughtful, abstract. Few men 
Amanda had met in her long life could have legitimately been called handsome, but this man was. His 
features were so regular as to approach un-naturalness. His dark hair was touched with grey only at the 
temples, and his high forehead seemed to shadow deep-set eyes, so dark that they appeared inherently 
unreadable. If it had not been for those eyes and an air of power that seemed to wrap him like light from 
some invisible source, he might have looked too pretty to be someone to reckon with. Watching him 
now, however, Amanda had few doubts as to his ability, or his identity. 

"Sir—" began the lieutenant who had brought Amanda in; but the brigadier to whom he spoke, glancing 
up, interrupted him, speaking directly to Amanda. 

"You're the Mayor, here? What were you doing away from the town? Where are all your 
townspeople—" 


"General," Amanda spoke slowly. She did hot have to invent the anger behind her words. "Don't ask me 
questions. I'll do the asking. Who're you? What made you think you could walk into this office without 
my permission? Where'd you come from? And what're you doing here, under arms, without getting 
authority, first—from the island authorities at South Point, and from us?" 

"General," Amanda spoke slowly. She did hot have to invent the anger behind her words. "Don't ask me 
questions. I'll do the asking. Who're you? What made you think you could walk into this office without 
my permission? Where'd you come from? And what're you doing here, under arms, without getting 
authority, first—from the island authorities at South Point, and from us?" 

"I think I don't," said Amanda. "You're here illegally and I'm still waiting for an explanation—and an 
apology for pushing yourself into my office without leave." 
The brigadier's mouth tightened, and the skin wrinkled and puffed around his eyes. 
"Foralie District's been occupied by the Coalition-Alliance authorities," he said. "That's all you need to 


know. Now, I want some answers—" 
"I'll need a lot more of an explanation than that," broke in Amanda. "Neither the Alliance nor the 


Coalition, nor any Coalition-Alliance troops, have any right I know of to be below parking orbit. I want 
your authority for being here. I want to talk to your superior —and I want both those things now!" 
"What kind of a farce do you think you're playing?" The words burst out of the brigadier. "You're under 


occupation—" 


"General," said a voice from the desk, and every head in the room turned to the man who sat there. 
"Perhaps I ought to talk to the Mayor." 
"Yes sir," muttered the brigadier. The skin around his eyes was still puffy, his face darkened now with 


blood-gorged capillaries. "Amanda Morgan, this is Dow deCastries, Supreme Commander of 
Alliance-Coalition forces." 
"I didn't imagine he could be anyone else," said 
Amanda. She took a step that brought her to the outer edge of her desk, and looked across it at Dow. 
"You're sitting in my chair," she said. 
Dow rose easily to his feet and stepped back, gesturing to the now-empty seat. 


"Please…" he said. 
"Just stay on your feet. That'll be good enough for now," said Amanda. She made no move to sit down 
herself "You're responsible for this?" 


"Yes, you could say I am." Dow looked at her thoughtfully. "General Amorine—" he spoke without 
looking away from Amanda—"the Mayor and I probably had better talk things over privately." 
"Yes sir, if that's what you want." 


"It is. It is, indeed." Now Dow did look at the brigadier, who stepped back 
"Of course, sir," Amorine turned on the lieutenant who had brought Amanda in. "You checked her for 
weapons, of course?" 


"Sir… I—" The lieutenant was flustered. His stiff embarrassment pleaded that you did not expect a 
woman Amanda's age to go armed. 


"I don't think we need worry about that, General" Dew's voice was still relaxed; but his eyes were steady 


on the brigadier. 
"Of course, sir." Amorine herded his officers out. The door closed behind them, leaving Amanda and 
Dow standing face to face. 


"You're sure you won't sit down?" asked Dow. 
"This isn't a social occasion," said Amanda. 
"No," said Dow. "Unfortunately, no it isn't. It's a serious situation, in which your whole planet has been 


placed under Alliance-Coalition control. Effectively, what you call the Dorsai no longer exists." 
"Hardly," said Amanda. 
"You have trouble believing that?" said Dow. "I assure you—" 
"I've no intention of believing it, now, or later," Amanda said. "The Dorsai isn't this town. It isn't any 


number of towns just like it. It's not even the islands and the sea—it's the people." 
"Exactly," said Dow, "and the people are now under control of the Alliance-Coalition. You brought it on 
yourself, you know. You've squandered your ordinary defensive force on a dozen other worlds, and 
you've got nothing but non-combatants left here. In short, you're helpless. But that's not my concern. I'm 


not interested in your planet, or your people, as people. It's just necessary we make sure they aren't led 
astray again by another dangerous madman like Cletus Grahame." 
"Madman?" echoed Amanda, dryly. 
Dow raised his eyebrows. 
"Don't you think he was mad in thinking he could succeed against the two richest powers on the most 


powerful human world in existence?" He shook his head. "But there's not much point in our arguing 
politics, is there? All I want is your cooperation." 
"Or else what?" 


"I wasn't threatening," Dow said mildly. 
"Of course you were," said Amanda. She held his eyes with her own for a long second. "Do you know 
your Shakespeare?" 


"I did once." 


"Near the end of Macbeth, when Macbeth himself hears a cry in the night that signals the death of Lady 
Macbeth," Amanda said, "he says 'there was a time my senses would have cool'd to hear a night-
shriek…'remember it? Well, that time passes for all of us, with the years. You'll probably have a few to 


go yet to find that out for yourself; but if and when you do you'll discover that eventually you outlive fear, 
just as you outlive a lot of other things. You can't bully me, you can't scare me—or anyone else in Foralie 
District with enough seniority to take my place." 


It was his turn now to consider her for a long moment without speaking. 
"All right," he said. "I'll believe you. My only interest, as I say, is in arresting Cletus Grahame and taking 
him back to Earth with me." 



"You occupy a whole world just to arrest one man?" Amanda said. 


"Please." He held up one long hand. "I thought we were going to talk straightforwardly with each other. I 
want Cletus. Is he on the Dorsai?" 
"Not as far as I know." 
"Then I'll go to his home and wait for him to come to me," said Dow. He glanced at the map. "That'll be 


Foralie—the homestead marked there near your own Fal Morgan?" 
"That's right." 
"Then I'll move up there, now. Meanwhile I want to know what the situation is here, clearly. Your able 


fighting men are all off planet. All right. But there's no one in this town who isn't crippled, sick, or over 
sixty. Where are all your healthy young women, your teenagers below military age, and anyone else 
who's effective?" 

"Gone off out of town," said Amanda. 
Dow's black eyes seemed to deepen. 
"That hardly seems normal. I assume you had warnings of us, at least as soon as we were in orbit. 
I'd be very surprised if it wasn't news of our being in orbit that brought you back here in that aircraft just 


now. You wouldn't have messaged ahead, telling your children and able-bodied adults to scatter and 
hide?" 
"No," said Amanda. "I didn't; and no one here gave any such direction." 


"Then maybe you'll explain why they're all gone?" 
"Do you want a few hundred reasons?" Amanda said. "It's the end of summer. The men are gone. This 
town is just a supply and government center. Who's young and wants to hang around here all day? The 
younger women living in town are up visiting at the various homesteads where they've got friends and 
there's some social life. The babies and younger children went with their mothers. The older children are 
off on team exercises." 


"Team exercises?" 
"Military team exercises," said Amanda, bluntly and with grim humor, watching him. "Otherwise known 
as 'creeping and crawling'. This is a world where the main occupation, once you're grown, is being a 
mercenary soldier. So this is our version of field trips. It's good exercise, the youngsters get some 


academic credit for it when they go back to school in a few weeks, and it's a chance for them to get 
away from adult supervision and move around on their own, camping out." 
Dow frowned. 
"No adult supervision?" 
"Not a lot," said Amanda. "There's one adult-called an "Ancient", with each team, in case of emergencies; 


but in most cases the team makes its own decision about what kind of games it'll play with other teams in 
the same area, where it'll set up camp, and so forth." 
"These children," Dow was still frowning, "are they armed?" 



"With real weapons? They never have been." 

"With real weapons? They never have been." 

"Commander," said Amanda, "Dorsai children don't get wild notions about military operations. Not if 
they expect to stay Dorsai as adults." 

"I see," said Dow. He smiled slowly at her. "All the same, I think we better get them and the able-bodied 
adults back into town here, where we can explain to them what the situation is and what they should or 
shouldn't do. Also, there's a few of your other people who're conspicuous by their absence. For 
example, where are your medical people?" 

"We've got one physician and three meds, here in Foralie District," said Amanda. "They all ride circuit 
most of the time. You'll find them scattered out at various homesteads, right now." 

"I see," said Dow again. "Well, I think you better call them in as well, along with any other adult from the 
homesteads who's physically able to come." 

"No," said Amanda. 

He looked at her. His eyebrows raised. 

"Courage, Amanda Morgan," he said, "is one thing. Stupidity, something else." 

"And nonsense is nonsense wherever you find it," said Amanda. "I told you, you couldn't bully me —or 
anyone else you'll find in this town. And you'll need one of us who's here to deal with the people of the 
district for you. I can bring the youngsters back in if necessary, and with them such adults from the 
homesteads who don't need to stay where they are. If the medical people are free to come in, I can get 
them, too. But in return, I'll want some things from you." 

"I don't think you're in a position to bargain." 

"Of course I am," said Amanda. "Let's not play games. It's much easier for you if you can get civilian 
cooperation—it's much faster. Difficulty with the populace means expense, when you're carrying the cost 
of enough troops to nail down a planet—even as sparsely settled a planet as this one. And you yourself 
said once you get Cletus you'll be taking off without another thought for the rest of us." 

"That's not exactly what I said," Dow replied. 

Amanda snorted. 

"All right," he said, "what was it you had in mind?" 

"First, get your troops out of our town unless you were thinking of billeting them in our homes, here?" 

"I think you saw camp being set up just beyond the houses a street or two over." 

"All right," Amanda said. "Then I want them to stay out of town unless they've got actual business here. 
When they do come in, they're to come in as visitors, remembering their manners. I don't want any of 
your officers, like that brigadier just now, trying to throw their weight around. Our people are to be free 
of any authority from yours, so we can get back to business as usual—and that includes putting the 
manufactory back into operation, immediately. I noticed you'd had the power shut off. Don't you realize 
we've got contracts to fill—contracts for manufactured items, so that we can trade with the rest of Dorsai 
for the fish, the grain and other things we have to have to live?" 


"All right," said Dow. "I suppose we can agree to those things." 

"All right," said Dow. "I suppose we can agree to those things." 

"No," said Dow. "We'll be putting out patrols immediately; and I myself'll be leaving with an escort for 
Foralie homestead in a few hours." 

"In that case—" Amanda was beginning, but this time it was Dow who cut her short. 

"In that case—" his voice was level, "you'll force me to take the more difficult and time-consuming way 
with your people. I didn't bargain with you on any of the other things you asked for. I'm not bargaining 
now. Go ahead and take back your town, start up your manufactory, and round up only those you feel 
can come in safely. But our patrols go out as soon as we're ready to send them; and I leave, today, just 
as I said. Now, do we have an agreement?" 

Amanda nodded, slowly. 

"We have," she said. "All right, you'd better get those officers of yours back in here. I'm going to have to 
move to cover the district personally, even in a week. I'll go right now, but I want to hear that 
manufactory operating before I'm out of earshot of town. I suppose you've got Jhanis Bins closed up in 
his house, like everyone else." 

"Whoever he is," said Dow. "He'd be under house quarantine, yes." 

"All right, I'll call him," said Amanda. "But I want your General Amorine to send an officer to get him and 
take him safely to the manufactory, just in case some of your enlisted men may not have heard word of 
this agreement by that time." 

"Fair enough," said Dow. He stepped to the desk and keyed the com system there. "General, will you 
and your staff step back into the office, here?" 

"Yes, Mr. deCastries." The voice from the wall came promptly. 

Twenty minutes later, Amanda reached the air-pad in the same staff car that had brought her in from it. 
Under the eye of the two enlisted men on duty there, her skimmer stood waiting for her. 

"Thanks," she said to the young lieutenant who had brought her in. She climbed out of the staff car, 
walked across the pad and got into her skimmer. 

"Just a minute," called the lieutenant. 

She looked back to see him standing up in his staff car. There was a shine to his forehead that told of 
perspiration. 

"You've got a weapon there, ma'm," he said. "Just a minute. Soldier—you!" He pointed to one of the 
enlisted men guarding the pad. "Get that piece and bring it over to me." 

"Lieutenant," said Amanda, "this is still a young planet and we had lawless people roaming around our 
mountains as recently as just a few years back. We all carry guns here." 

"Sorry, ma'm. I have to examine it. Soldier…" 

The enlisted man came over to the skimmer, pulled the pellet shotgun from the scabbard beside her and 


winked at her. 

winked at her. 

He carried the weapon to the lieutenant, and said something Amanda could not catch. The lieutenant also 
tilted the pellet gun up to look briefly into its barrel, then handed it back 

"Take it to her," he ordered. He lifted his head and called across to Amanda. "Be careful with it, ma'm." 

"I will be," said Amanda. 

She received the rifle, powered up the skimmer and slid off through the fringe of trees around the pad. 

She took her way toward the downriver side of town. As she went, the sudden throb of the engines in 
the manufactory erupted on her ear. She smiled, but she was suddenly conscious of the prevailing wind in 
her face. Sweating, she asked herself, at your age? She turned her scorn inward. Where was all that talk 
of yours to deCastries about having outlived fear? 

She swung through town and around by the river road past the dump. The manufactory stood, noisily 
operating. There was no Coalition uniform in sight outside the building and the side looking in her 
direction was blank of windows. She stopped her skimmer long enough to walk back into the brush and 
retrieve the energy handgun she had hung on the tree. Then she remounted her skimmer and headed 
upslope, out of town. 

Her mind was racing. Dow had intimated he would head out to Foralie homestead yet this afternoon. 
Which meant Amanda herself would have to go directly there to get there before him. She had hoped to 
come in there with evening, and perhaps even stay overnight to see how Betta was doing. Now it would 
have to be a case of getting in and out in an hour at most. And, almost more important, either before or 
after she reached there, she had to reach the team which was holding the territory through which Dow 
and his escort would pass. 

Who was Ancient for that team? So many things had happened so far this day that she had to search her 
memory for a moment before it came up with the name of Ramon Dye. Good. Ramon was one of the 
best of the Ancients; and, aside from the fact that he was legless, strong as a bull. 

Thinking deeply, she slid the skimmer along under maximum power. She was burning up a month's 
normal expenditure of energy in a few days, with her present spendthrift use of the vehicle; but there was 
a time for thriftiness and a time to spend. Of her two choices, it would have to be a decision to contact 
Ramon's team first, before going to Foralie. Ramon's team would have to send runners to the other 
teams, since even visual signals would be too risky, with the Coalition troops at Foralie town probably 
loaded with the latest in surveillance equipment. The more time she could give the runners, the better. 

It was a stroke of bad luck, Dow's determination to send out patrols and go so immediately to Foralie 
himself Bad on two counts. Patrols out meant some of the troops away from the immediate area of the 
town, at all times. It would have been much better to have them all concentrated there. Also, patrols out 
meant that sooner or later some of them would have to be taken care of by the teams—and that, while it 
would have to be faced if and when it came, was something not good to think about until then. There 
would be a heavy load thrown on the youngsters—not only to do what had to be done, but to do it with 
the coolheadedness and calculation of adults, without which they could not succeed, and their lives would 
be thrown away for nothing. 

She reminded herself that up through medieval times, twelve- and fourteen-year-olds had been 


commonly found in armies. Ship's boys had been taken for granted in the navies of the eighteenth and 
nineteenth centuries. But these historical facts brought no comfort. The children who would be going up 
against Earth-made weapons here would be children she had known since their birth. 

commonly found in armies. Ship's boys had been taken for granted in the navies of the eighteenth and 
nineteenth centuries. But these historical facts brought no comfort. The children who would be going up 
against Earth-made weapons here would be children she had known since their birth. 

She came at last to a mountain meadow a full meter high with fall grass. The meadow was separated by 
just one ridge from Foralie homestead. Amanda turned her skimmer into the shade of a clump of native 
softwoods on the upslope edge of the meadow, below the ridge. On the relatively open ground beneath 
those trees she put the vehicle down and waited. 

It was all of twenty minutes before her ear picked up—not exactly a sound that should not have been 
there, but a sound that was misplaced in the rhythm of natural noises surrounding her. She lifted her 
voice. 

"All right!" she called. "I'm in a hurry. Come on in!" 

Heads emerged above the grasstops, as close as half a dozen meters from her and as far out as halfway 
across the meadow. Figures stood up; tanned, slim figures in flexible shoes, twill slacks strapped tight at 
the ankle and long-sleeved, tight-wristed shirts, all of neutral color. One of the tallest, a girl about fifteen, 
put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. 

A skimmer came over the ridge and hummed down toward Amanda until it sank to a stop beside her on 
the ground. The team members, ranging in age from eight years of age to sixteen, were already gathering 
around the two of them. 

Amanda waited until they were all there, then nodded to the man on the other skimmer and looked 
around the closed arc of sun-browned faces, sun-bleached hair. 

"The invaders are here, in Foralie town," she said. "Coalition first-line troops under a brigadier and staff, 
with Dow deCastries." 

The faces looked back at her in silence. Adults would have reacted with voice and feature. These looked 
at her with the same expressions they had shown before; but Amanda, knowing them all, could feel the 
impact of the news on them. 

"Everyone's out?" the man on the other skimmer asked. 

Amanda turned again to the Ancient. Perched on his skimmer the way he was, Ramon Dye might have 
forced a stranger to look twice before discovering that there were no legs below Ramon's hips. Strapped 
openly in the boot of his vehicle, behind him, were the two artificial legs he normally used in town; but out 
here, like the team members, he was stripped to essentials. His square, quiet face under its straight brown 
hair looked at her with concern. 

"Everybody's out but those who're supposed to be there," said Amanda. "Except for Marte Haugsrud. 
She decided to stay with her grandmother." 

Still, there was that utter silence from the circle effaces, although more than half a dozen of them had 
grown up within a few doors of Berthe. It was not that they did not feel, Amanda reminded herself; it was 
that by instinct, like small animals, they were dumb under the whiplash of fate. 

"But we've other things to talk about," she said— and felt the emotion she had evoked in them with her 
news, relax under the pressure of her need for their attention. "DeCastries is taking an armed escort with 


him to Foralie to wait for Cletus; and he's also going to start sending out patrols, immediately." 

him to Foralie to wait for Cletus; and he's also going to start sending out patrols, immediately." 

"I want you to get runners out to the nearest other teams—nothing but runners, mind you, those troops 
will be watching for any recordable signalling —and tell them to pass other runners on to spread the 
word. Until you get further word from me, all patrols are to be left alone; completely alone, no matter 
what they do. Watch them, learn everything you can about them, but stay out of sight. Pass that word on 
to the homesteads, as well as to the other teams." 

She paused, looking around, waiting for questions. None came. 

"I've made an agreement with deCastries that I'll bring all the teams and all the able adults in from the 
homesteads to Foralie Town, to be told the rules of the occupation. I've told him it'll take me at least a 
week to round everyone up. So we've got that much time, anyway." 

"What if Cletus doesn't come home in a week?" asked the girl who had whistled for Ramon. 

"Cross that bridge when we come to it," said Amanda. "But I think he'll be here. Whether he is or not, 
though, we've still got the district to defend. Word or orders from Arvid Johnson and Bill Athyer is to be 
trusted only if it comes through someone you trust personally—pass that along to the other teams and 
homesteads, too. Now, I'm going on up to Foralie to brief them on Dow's coming. Any questions or 
comments, so far?" 

"Betta hasn't had her baby yet," said a young voice. 

"Thanks for telling me," said Amanda. She searched the circle with her eyes, but she was not able to 
identify the one who had just spoken. "Let's stick to business for the moment, though. I've got a special 
job for your best infiltrator—unless one of the neighboring teams has someone better than you have. 
Have they?" 

Several voices told her immediately that the others had not. 

"Who've you got, then?" 

"Lexy—" the voices answered. 

An almost white-haired twelve-year old girl was pushed forward, scowling a little. Amanda looked at 
her—Alexandra Andrea, from Tormai homestead. Lexy, like the others, was slim by right of youth; but a 
squareness of shoulder and a sturdiness of frame were already evident. For no particular reason, 
Amanda suddenly remembered haw her awn hair, as a child, had been so blond as to be almost white. 

The memory of her young self brought another concern to mind. She looked searchingly at Lexy. What 
she knew about Lexy included indications of a certain amount of independence and a flair for risk-taking. 
Even now, obviously uncomfortable at being shoved forward this way, Lexy was still broadcasting an 
impression of truculence and self-acknowledged ability. Character traits, Amanda thought, remembering 
her own childhood again, that could lead to a disregard of orders and to chance-taking. 

"I need someone to go in close to the cantonments the occupation troops have set up at Foralie Town," 
she said aloud. "Someone who can listen, pick up information, and get back with it safely. Note —I said 
safely." 

She locked eyes with Lexy. 


"Do you take chances, Lexy?" she asked. "Can I trust you to get in and get out without taking risks?" 
There was a sudden outbreak of hoots and laughter from the team. 
"Send Tim with her!" 
Lexy flushed. A slight boy, Lexy's age or possibly as much as a year or two younger, was pushed 


forward. Beside Lexy, he looked like a feather beside a rock 
"Timothy Royce," Amanda said, looking at him. "How good are you, Tim?" 
"He's good," said Lexy. "That is, he's better than the rest of these elephants." 
"Lexy won't take chances with Tim along," said the girl who had whistled. Amanda was vainly searching 


her memory for this one's name. Sometimes when they shot up suddenly, she lost track of who they 


were; and the tall girl was already effectively an adult. 


"How about it, Tim?" Amanda asked the boy. Tim hesitated. 


"He gets scared," a very young voice volunteered. 


"No, he doesn't!" Lexy turned on the crowd. "He's cautious, that's all." 


"No," said Tim, unexpectedly. "I do get scared. But with Lexy I can do anything you want." 


He looked openly at Amanda. 


Amanda looked at Ramon. 
"I can't add anything," he said, shaking his head. "Lexy's good, and Tim's pretty good—and they work 
well together." 


His eyes settled on Amanda's suddenly. 


"But do you have to have someone from one of the teams?" 


"Who else is there?" 


"One of the older ones, then…" his voice trailed off. Amanda looked back at the faces ringed about. 


"Team?" she asked. 


There was a moment of almost awkward silence and then the girl who had whistled—Leah Abo, the 


name suddenly leaped into existence in Amanda's mind—spoke. 
"Any of us'll go," she said. "But Lexy's the best." 
"That's it, then," said Amanda. She put the power to her skimmer, and lifted it off the ground. "Lexy, 


Tim—I'll meet you after dark tonight, just behind the closest ridge above the meadow north of town. All 


of you—be careful. Don't let the patrols see you. And get those runners out as fast as you can." 
She left them, the circle parted and she hummed up and over the ridge. Foralie homestead lay on a small 
level space a couple of hundred meters beyond her, on a rise that commanded a clear view in all 
directions as far as the town itself. 


Behind the long, low, timbered house there, she could see the oversize jungle gym that Cletus had, 



caused to be constructed at Grahame-House and then moved here, after his marriage to Melissa. It had 
been a device to help him build himself back physically after his knee operation, and there was no reason 
for it to evoke any particular feeling in her. But now, seeing its spidery and intricate structure casting its 
shadow on the roof of the long, plain-timbered house beneath it, she suddenly felt—almost as if she 
touched the cold metal of it with her hand—the hard, intricately woven realities that would be bringing 
Dow and Cletus to their final meeting beneath that shadow. 

caused to be constructed at Grahame-House and then moved here, after his marriage to Melissa. It had 
been a device to help him build himself back physically after his knee operation, and there was no reason 
for it to evoke any particular feeling in her. But now, seeing its spidery and intricate structure casting its 
shadow on the roof of the long, plain-timbered house beneath it, she suddenly felt—almost as if she 
touched the cold metal of it with her hand—the hard, intricately woven realities that would be bringing 
Dow and Cletus to their final meeting beneath that shadow. 

"Betta's fine, Amanda," said Melissa. "Still waiting. "What's going on?" 

"The occupation troops are down in Foralie Town." 

"We know," said Eachan Khan, in his brief, clipped British-accented speech. "Watched them drop in, 
using the scope on our roof." 

"They've got Dow deCastries with them," Amanda said, getting down from the skimmer. He's after 
Cletus, of course. He plans to come up here to Foralie right away. He may be right behind me—" 

The ground under her feet seemed to rock suddenly. She found Eachan Khan holding her up. 

"Amanda!" said Melissa, supporting her on the other side. "When did you eat last?" 

"I don't rememb…" she found the words had difficulty corning out. Her knees trembled, and she felt 
close to fainting. A distant fury filled her. This was the aspect of her age that she resented most deeply. 
Rested and nourished, she could face down a de-Castries. But let any unusual time pass without food 
and rest and she became just another frail oldster. 

Her next awareness was of being propped up on a couch in the Foralie sitting room, with a pillow behind 
her back Melissa was helping her sip hot, sweet tea with the fiery taste of Dorsai whisky in it. Her head 
began to clear. By the time the cup was empty, there was a plate of neatly cut sandwiches made by 
Eachan Khan, on the coffee table beside her. She had forgotten how delicious sandwiches could be. 

"What's the rest of the news, then?" Eachan asked, when she had eaten. "What happened to you today?" 

She told them. 

"… I must admit, Eachan," she said, as she wound tip, looking at the stiff-backed ex-general, "I wasn't 
too pleased about Cletus asking you to sit on your hands, here—and even less pleased with you for 
agreeing. But I think I understand it better since I met deCastries, himself. If any one of them's likely to 
suspect how we might defend ourselves, it'll be him, not those officers with him. And the one thing that'll 
go farther to keep him from starting to suspect anything, will be finding you puttering around here, 
keeping house right under his nose while he waits for Cletus. He knows your military reputation." 

"Wouldn't call it puttering," said Eachan. "But you're right. Cletus does have a tendency to think around 
corners." 

"Let alone the fact—" Amanda held his eye with her own, "that if something happens to me, you'll still be 
here to take over." 

"Depends on circumstance." 


"Nonetheless," said Amanda. 
"Of course," Eachan said. "Naturally, if I'm free —and needed—I'd be available." 
"Yes-" Amanda broke off suddenly. "But I've got to get out of here!" 
She sat up abruptly on the couch, swinging her feet to the floor. 
"DeCastries and his escort are probably right behind me. I'd just planned to drop by and brief you-" 
She got to her feet, but lightheadedness took her again at the sudden movement and she sat down again, 


unexpectedly. 
"Amanda, be sensible. You can't go anywhere until you've rested for a few hours," said Melissa. 
"I tell you, deCastries-" 
"Said he'd be up here yet today? I don't think so," said Eachan. 
She turned, almost to glare at him. 
"What makes you so sure?" 
"Because he's no soldier. Bright of course—Lord yes, he's bright. But he's not a soldier. That means he's 


in the hands of those officers of his. Earth-bound types, still thinking in terms of large-unit movements. 
They might get patrols out, late in the day, but they won't get Dow off." 


"What if he simply orders them to get him off?" Amanda demanded. 
"They'll promise him, of course, but somehow everybody won't be together, the vehicles won't be set, 
with everything harnessed up and ready to go, before sundown; and even Dow'll see the sense of not 
striking out into unfamiliar territory with night coming on." 


"How can you be that sure?" Melissa asked her father. 
"That brigadier's got his own future to think of. Better to have Dow down on him over not getting off on 
time than to send someone like Dow out and turn out to be the officer who lost him. The day's more than 
half over. If Dow and his escort get bogged down for even a few hours by some hairbrained locals 
fighting back—that's the way the brigadier'll be thinking— they could end up being caught out, unable to 


move, in the open at dark Strange country, nighttime, and an open perimeter's chancy with a prize 
political package like Dow. No, no—he won't be here until tomorrow at the earliest." 
Eachan cocked an eye on Amanda. 
"But if you like," he said, "Melly and I'll take turns on the scope up on the roof. If anything moves out of 


Foralie we can see it; and by the time we're sure it's definitely moving in this direction, we'll still have two 


hours before it can get here at column speed. Take a nap, Amanda. We'll call you if you need to move." 
Amanda gave in. Stretched out on a large bed in one of the wide, airy bedrooms of Foralie, the curtains 
drawn against the sunlight, she fell into a heavy sleep from which she roused, it seemed, within minutes. 


But, blinking the numbness of slumber from her vision, she saw that beyond the closed curtains there was 
now darkness, and the room around her was plunged in a deeper gloom that that of curtained daylight. 
"What time is it?" she called out, throwing back the single blanket with which she had been covered. No 



answer came. She sat on the edge of the bed, summoning herself to awareness, then got to her feet and 


let herself out into the hall, where artificial lights were lit. 
"What time is it?" she repeated, coming into the kitchen. Both Eachan Khan and Melissa looked up from 
the table there, and Melissa got to her feet. 


"Two hours after sunset," she answered. But Amanda had already focused on the wall clock across the 


room, which displayed the figure 21:10. "Sit down, Amanda. You'll want some tea." 
"No," said Amanda. "I "was supposed to meet two of the youngsters from the local team just above 
Foralie Town before sunset—" 


"We know," said Eachan. "We had a runner from that team when they saw you didn't leave here. The 
two you're talking about went, and Ramon went with them. He knows what you want in the way of 
information." 


"I've got to get down there, to meet them." 
"Amanda—sit!" said Melissa from the kitchen unit. "Tea'll be ready for you in a second." 
"I don't want any tea," said Amanda. 
"Of course you do," said Melissa. 
Of course, she did. It was another of her weaknesses of age. She could almost taste the tea in 


anticipation, and her sleep-heavy body yearned for the internal warmth that would help it wake up. She 
sat down at the table opposite Eachan. 


"fine watch you keep," she said to him. 
"Nothing came from Foralie Town in this direction before sunset," he said. "They're not starting out with 
Dow in the dark, as I said. So I came back inside, of course. You could stay the night, if you want." 


"No, I've got to get there; and I've a lot of ground to cover—" she broke off as Melissa placed a 


steaming cup before her. "Thanks, Melissa." 
"But why don't you stay the night?" Melissa asked, sitting back down at the table, herself "Betta's already 
asleep, but you could see her in the morning 


_" 
"No. I've got to go." Melissa looked at her father. "Dad?" 
"No," said Eachan, "I think perhaps she's right. But will you come back for the night, afterwards, 


Amanda?" 
"No. I don't know where I'll light." 
"If you change your mind," said Melissa. "Just come to the door and ring. But I don't have to tell you 


that." 
Amanda left Foralie homestead half an hour later. The moon, which had been full the night before, was 
just past full, but scattered clouds cut down the brilliant night illumination she had woken to early that 
morning. She made good time on the skimmer toward the ridge where she had arranged to meet Lexy 
and Tim. A hundred meters or so behind it, she found Ramon's skimmer, empty, and dropped her own 



beside it. No one was in sight. Ramon could not walk upright without his prosthetics, but he could 
creep-and-crawl as well as any other adult. Amanda was about to work her way up to the ridge, herself 
staying low so that any instruments in the cantonment below would not discover her, when a rustle in the 
shadows warned her of people returning. A few moments later, Ramon, Lexy and Tim all rose from the 
ground at arms-length from her. 

beside it. No one was in sight. Ramon could not walk upright without his prosthetics, but he could 
creep-and-crawl as well as any other adult. Amanda was about to work her way up to the ridge, herself 
staying low so that any instruments in the cantonment below would not discover her, when a rustle in the 
shadows warned her of people returning. A few moments later, Ramon, Lexy and Tim all rose from the 
ground at arms-length from her. 

"It wasn't necessary," said Ramon. His powerful arms hauled him up on to his own skimmer and he sat 
upright there. 
"Yes, it was," said Amanda. "You didn't let these two go in until things were shut down—" 
"They didn't go down until full dark," said Ramon. "Not until the last of the patrols had left and the 


manufactory was shut down. The townsfolk were all inside and the troops were all in their cantonment 
area. Tim stayed beyond the perimeter there and Lexy went up to just outside the outer line of huts, close 
enough so she could hear them talking, but with plenty of room to leave if she needed to." 

Amanda transferred her attention to Lexy. 
"What were they talking about?" 
"Usual stuff," said Lexy. "The officers, and the equipment, how long they'd be here before they'd ship off 


again. Regular soldier off-duty talk" 
"Did they talk about when deCastries would be leaving for Foralie?" 
"First thing in the morning. They'd stalled about getting ready, so he couldn't get off today," said Lexy. 


"They don't think much of those of our people who're left here; but still none of them I heard talking felt 
much like starting out with night coming on." 


"What do they think of their officers?" 
"Nothing great. There's a major they all like, but he's not on the general's staff. They really draw the line 
between enlisted and officer." 


"Now, you see for yourself, how that is with Old World troops," commented Ramon to the two young 


ones. 
"It's a pretty stupid way for them to be, all the same, out here in hostile territory," said Lexy. "But they've 
got a good pool of light vehicles. No armor. Vehicle-mounted light weapons and handweapons. I could 
have brought you one of their cone rifles—" 


"Oh, could you?" 
There was a little silence in the darkness, that betrayed Lexy's recognition of her slip of the tongue. 
"The whole line of huts was empty. All I did was look in the last one in the line," said Lexy. "These 
Earth troops—they're worse than elephants. I could have gone in and picked their pockets and got out 


without their knowing about it." 
The moon came from behind a cloud that had been hiding it, and in the pale light Amanda could see 
Lexy's face… tightmouthed. 



"Ramon," said Amanda. "Didn't you tell them specifically not to go into the cantonment area?" 

"Ramon," said Amanda. "Didn't you tell them specifically not to go into the cantonment area?" 

"Lexy, under no conditions, now or in the future, do you or anyone else go beyond the outer line of huts." 
Exasperation took her suddenly. "And don't bristle! If you have to resent an order, try to keep the fact to 
yourself." 

Another cloud obscured the moon. Lexy's voice came unexpectedly out of the darkness. 

"Why?" 

"For one reason, because an hour later you may wish you had. For another, learn never to challenge 
automatically. No one's that good. Sit on your impulse until you know everything that's likely to happen 
when you act on it." 

Silence out of the darkness. Amanda wondered whether Lexy was filing the information she had just 
received in the automatic discard file of her mind, or —just possibly—tucking it away for future 
reference. 

"Now," Amanda said. "Anything else? Any talk of plans? Any talk of Cletus being on the way here?" 

"No," said Lexy. "They did talk about relocation, after Cletus is tried back on Earth. And they even said 
something about changing the name of our planet. That doesn't make sense." 

Amanda breathed deeply. 

"I'm afraid it does," she said. 

"Amanda?" It was Ramon asking. "I'm not sure I follow you." 

"DeCastries tried to give me the impression that this whole invasion was designed only to arrest Cletus 
and take him back to Earth to stand trial. I let him think I went along with that. But of course they've got 
a lot more than that in mind, with the expense they've gone to here. What they really want to do is bury 
the Dorsai—and everyone in uniform wearing that name. Obviously what they've planned is to use 
Cletus' trial as a means to whip up Earth sentiment. Then, with a lot of public backing, they can raise the 
funds they'd need to spread our people out on other worlds, and give this world a new name and a new 
breed of settler." 

Amanda thought for a moment, while the moon continued to play peekaboo with the clouds. 

"I'd better go back to Foralie tonight, after all," she said. "Eachan will have to know this, in case he has to 
take over. Lexy—anything else?" 

"Nothing, Amanda, really. Just off-duty talk" 

"All right. I want this listening to go on—only at night, though, after the town and the cantonment's settled 
down. Ramon, will you stay on top of that? And also make sure neither Lexy or anyone else goes into 
the cantonment area. Past the outer line sentries is all right, if they know what they're doing. But not, 
repeat not, into the cantonment streets; and never into the huts, themselves. There's more here than just 
your personal risk to think about, Lexy. It's our whole world, and all of us, at stake." 

Silence. 

"All right, Amanda, we'll take care of it," said 


Ramon. "And we'll get word to you if anything breaks." 

Ramon. "And we'll get word to you if anything breaks." 

She lifted her skimmer on minimum power to keep the sound of its motors down and swung away in the 
direction of Foralie. Had she been unfairly hard on Lexy? The thought walked through her mind, 
unbidden. It was not an unfamiliar thought, nowadays; Betta, Melissa, Lexy… a number of them evoked 
it in her. How far was she justified in expecting them to react as she, herself, would? To what extent was 
it right of her to expect a future Amanda to react as she would? 

No easy answer came to her. On the surface it was unfair. She was unfair. On the other hand there were 
the inescapable facts. There was the need that someone, at least, react as she did; and the reality that 
what she required of them was what experience had taught her life required of them all. Forcibly, she put 
the unresolved problem once again from her; and made herself concentrate on the imperatives of the 
moment. 

Mid-morning of the following day she lay in tall grass, high on a slope, and watched the train that was the 
escort of Dow deCastries, winding up through the folds of the hills toward Foralie. Around her were the 
members of Ramon's team. The train consisted of what looked like two platoons of enlisted men, under 
four officers and Dow himself, all sliding over the ground in air-cushion staff cars, with a heavy energy 
rifle deck-mounted on every car but the one occupied by Dow. The vehicles moved with the slowness of 
prudence, and there were flankers out on skimmers, as well as two skimmers at point. 

'They'll reach Foralie in another twenty minutes or so," Ramon said in Amanda's ear. "What should we 
do about getting runners in to Eachan and Melissa?" 

"Don't send anyone in," Amanda said. "Eachan will come out to you if he wants contact. Or maybe 
Melissa will. At any rate, let them set it up. Tell them I've gone to look at the situation generally 
throughout the district. I need to know what the other patrols sent out are doing." 

She waited until the train had disappeared over the ridge toward which it had been heading, then slid 
back down into the small slope behind her, where her skimmer was hidden. 

"You're folly powered?" asked Ramon, looking at the skimmer. 

"Enough for non-stop operation for a week," said Amanda. "I'll see you this evening, down above the 
cantonments." 

The rest of that day she was continually on the move. It was quite true, as she had told Dow, that it 
would take her a week to fully cover the homesteads of the Foralie district. But it was not necessary for 
what she had in mind to call at every homestead, since she had a communications network involving the 
teams and the people in the homesteads themselves. She needed only to call at those few homesteads 
where she needed personal contact with such as the medical personnel or such as Tosca Aras, invalided 
home and anchored in his house by age and a broken leg. Tosca, like Eachan, was an experienced 
tactical mind to whom the rest could turn in case anything took her out of action. 

In any case, her main interest was in the patrols Dow had sent out. Eachan, watching with the scope on 
the Foralie rooftop, reported two had gone out the evening before and this morning another four had 
taken their way on different bearings, out into the district. In each case they seemed to be following a 
route taking them to the homesteads of a certain area of the district on a swing that looked like it might 
last twenty-four hours, and at the end of that time bring them back to Foralie Town and their 
cantonments. 


"They don't seem to be out looking for trouble," Myron Lee, Ancient for one of the other teams, said to 
Amanda as they stood behind a thicket, looking down on one of these patrols. Myron, lean to the point 
of emaciation and in his fifties, was hardly any stronger physically than Amanda, but radiated an 
impression of unconquerable energy. 

"They don't seem to be out looking for trouble," Myron Lee, Ancient for one of the other teams, said to 
Amanda as they stood behind a thicket, looking down on one of these patrols. Myron, lean to the point 
of emaciation and in his fifties, was hardly any stronger physically than Amanda, but radiated an 
impression of unconquerable energy. 

The patrol they were watching, like all the others Amanda had checked, was a single platoon under a 
single commissioned officer. But its personnel were mounted on staff cars and skimmers, as the escort for 
Dow had been; and in this case, every staff car mounted a heavy energy rifle, while the soldiers riding 
both these and the skimmers carried both issue cone rifles and sidearms. 

"What have they been doing when they reach a homestead?" Amanda asked. 

"They take the names and images of the people there, and take images of the homestead, itself. Census 
work, of a sort," said Myron. 

Amanda nodded. She had been given the same description whenever she had asked that question about 
other patrols. It was not unusual military procedure to gather data about the people and structures in any 
area where a force was stationed—but the method of the particular survey seemed to imply that the 
people and buildings surveyed might need to be taken by force, at some time in the future. 

By evening she was back behind the ridge overlooking the meadow holding the cantonments. Lexy, Tim 
and Ramon had been waiting when she got there. They waited a little longer, together, while twilight gave 
way to full dark The clouds were even thicker this night; and when the last of the light was gone, they 
could not see each other, even at arm's length. 

"Go ahead," Amanda said to the two youngsters. "Remember, word of Cletus, or any word of what's 
going on in town, are the two things I particularly want to hear about." 

There was the faintest rustle of grass, and she was alone with Ramon. 

A little over an hour later the two team members were back 

"Nothing much of anything going on," Lexy reported. "Nothing about Cletus coming. They'd like some 
news themselves about how long they're going to be here and what they're going to do. All they say 
about the town is that it's dull—they say what good would it be if they could go in there? There's no 
place to drink or anything else going on. They did mention an old lady being sick, but they didn't say 
which one." 

"Berthe Haugsrud's the oldest," said Ramon's voice, out of the darkness. 

Amanda snorted. 

"At their age," she said, "anyone over thirty's old. All right, we'll meet here again and try it once more, 
tomorrow night." 

She left them and swung east to the Aras homestead, to see if the district's single physician, Dr. 

Ekram Bayar, who had been reported there, had heard word of any sick in Foralie Town. 

"He's gone over to Foralie," Tosca Aras' diminutive daughter told her. "Melissa phoned to say Betta was 
going into labor. Ekram said he didn't expect any problems, but since he was closer than any of the 
medicians, he went himself. But he's coming back here. Do you want to phone over there, now?" 


Amanda hesitated. 
"No," she said. "I've been staying off the air so that whatever listening devices they've got down in the 


troop area can't be sure where I am. I'll wait a bit, here. Then, if he doesn't come soon, you could call for 
me and find out how things are." 
"You could take a nap," said Mene. 
"No, I've got things to do," said Amanda. 
But she ended up taking the nap. Mene called her awake on the intercom at what turned out to be an 


hour and a half later and she came in to the Aras sitting room to find Tosca himself up, with his broken 
leg stretched out stiffly on a couch, and both Mene and Ekram with the old general, having a drink before 
dinner. 

"Amanda!" Mene said. "It was a false alarm about Betta." 
"Uh!" Amanda found a chair and dropped heavily into it. "The pains stopped?" 
"Before Ekram even got here." 
Amanda looked across at the physician, a sturdy, brown-faced thirty-year old with a shock of black, 


straight hair and a bushy black mustache. 


"She probably doesn't need me at all," he said to Amanda. "I'd guess, she'll have one of the easier births 
on record around here." 
"You don't know that," said Amanda. 
"Of course I don't know," he said. "I'm just giving you my opinion." 
It came to her suddenly that Ekram, like herself and everyone else, had been under an emotional strain 


since the invasion became a reality. She became aware suddenly of Tosca stretching out an arm in her 
direction. 
"Here," he said. He was handing her a glass. 
"What's this? Whisky? Tosca, I can't-" 
"You aren't going any place else tonight," he said. "Drink it." 
She became conscious that the others all had glasses in their hands. 


"And then you can have dinner," said Tosca. 
"All right." She took the glass and sipped cautiously at it. Tosca had diluted the pure liquor with enough 
water so that it was the sort of mixture she could drink with some comfort. She looked over the rim of 
her glass at the physician. 


"Ekram," she said. "I had some of the team children listening outside the cantonments. They reported the 


soldiers had been mentioning someone— an old woman, they said—was sick in town…" 
"Berthe." He put down his glass on the coffee table before the couch on which he sat, his face a little 
grim. "I should go down there." 



"No," said Tosca. 
"If you get in there, they may not let you out again," said Amanda. "They'll have military medicians." 
"Yes. A full physician, a lieutenant colonel—there for the benefit of this Dow deCastries more than for 


the troops, I'd guess," Ekram said. "I've talked to him over the air. Something of a political appointee, I 
gather. Primarily a surgeon, but he seemed capable, and he said he'd take care of anyone in town when I 
wasn't there. He expects me to be available most of the time, of course." 

"You told him you had your hands fall up here?" 

"Oh, yes," Ekram gnawed a corner of his moustache, something he almost never did. "I explained that 
with most of the mothers of young children being upcountry right now…" 
He trailed off. 
"He accepted that, all right?" 
"Accepted it? Of course, he accepted it. I hope you realize, Amanda—" he stared hard at her, "it's not 


my job to ignore people." 


"Who're you ignoring? Berthe? You told the truth. You've got patients needing you all over the place, up 
here." 
"Yes," he said. 
But his gaze was stony. It went off from her to the unlit, wide stone fireplace across the room and he 


drank sparsely from his glass, in silence. 
"I'll have dinner in a few minutes," said Mene, leaving them. 
With dinner, Ekram became more cheerful. But by the following morning the phone began to ring with 


calls from other households relaying word they had heard in conversations with people still in the town, of 
now two or three of the older people there being ill. 

"Not one of the ones who're supposed to be sick has called," Mene pointed out over the breakfast table. 
"They wouldn't, of course. Noble—yes, damned noble, all of them! All of you. I'm sorry, Amanda—" he 
turned stiffly to Amanda. "I'm going down." 


"All right," said Amanda. 


She had meant to leave early, but she had stayed around, fearing just such a decision from Ekram. They 
would have to give, somewhat. But they need not give everything. 
"All right," she said again. "But not until this evening. Not until things are shut down for the day." 
"No," said Ekram. "I'm going now." 
"Ekram," said Amanda. "Your duty's to everyone. Not just to those in the town. The real need for you 


may be yet to come. You're our only physician; and we may get to the equivalent of a field hospital 
before this is over." 
"She's right," said Tosca. 



"Damn it!" said Ekram. He got up from the table, slammed his chair back into place and walked out of 
the kitchen. "Damn this whole business!" 

"Damn it!" said Ekram. He got up from the table, slammed his chair back into place and walked out of 
the kitchen. "Damn this whole business!" 

"All right," Amanda said. "Then I'll get going." 

She spent the day out, tracking the patrols. In one or two instances, where the sweep was the third 
through a particular area, the majority at least of the soldiers in a particular patrol were those who had 
been out on the first sweep—not only to her eyes but the sharper observation of the team members who 
had been keeping track of those patrols. She watched them closely through a scope, trying to see if there 
were any signs of sloppiness or inattention evident in the way they performed their duties; but she was 
un-able to convince herself that she saw any. 

She had a good deal more success, with the help of the team members, in identifying patterns of behavior 
that were developing in the way they made their sweeps. Their approach to a household, for one thing, 
had already begun to settle down to a routine. That was the best clue that the line soldiers had yet given 
as to their opinion of the dangerousness of those still left in Foralie district. She found herself wondering, 
briefly, how all the other districts in all the other cantons of the Dorsai were doing with their defense plans 
and their particular invaders. Some would have more success against the Earth troops, some less— that 
was inherent in the situation and the nature of things. 

She sent word to the households themselves, to the effect that the people in them should, whenever 
possible, do and say the same thing each time to the patrols so as to build a tendency in these contacts 
toward custom and predictability. 

It was mid-afternoon when a runner caught up with her with a message that had been passed by phone 
from homestead to homestead for her, in the guise of neighborly gossip. 

"Ekram's left the upcountry for town," she was told. The runner, a fourteen-year-old boy, looked at her 
with the steady blue eyes of the D'Aurois family. 

"Why?" Amanda asked. "Did whoever passed the message say why?" 

"He was at the Kiempü homestead, and he got a call from the military doctor," the boy said. "The other 
doctor's worried about identifying whatever's making people sick in town." 

"That's all?" 

"That's all Reiko Kiempü passed on, Amanda." 

"Thank you," she said. 

"—Except that she said the latest word is nothing's happened yet with Betta." 

"Thanks," Amanda said. 

She was a good hour of skimmer time from the Kiempü homestead, it was not far out of her way on her 
route to meet Lexy, Tim and Ramon once more above the meadow with the cantonment huts. She left 
her checking on the patrols and headed out. 

When she got there, Reiko was outside, waiting, having heard Amanda was on the way. Amanda slid the 
skimmer to a stop and spoke eye to eye with the calm, tall, bronzed young woman, without getting out of 
the vehicle. 


"The call went to Foralie first," Reiko told her, "but Ekram had already moved on. It finally caught up 
with him here, about two hours ago." 

"The call went to Foralie first," Reiko told her, "but Ekram had already moved on. It finally caught up 
with him here, about two hours ago." 

"No, all Ekram said was that he had to go down, that he couldn't leave it all to the other physician any 
longer." 

Amanda looked at Maru Kiempü's daughter, bleakly. 

"Three hours until dark," she said, "before I can get Lexy down to listen to what they're talking about in 
the cantonments." 

"Eat something. Rest," said Reiko. 

"I suppose so." 

Amanda had never had less appetite or felt less like resting in her life. She could feel events building 
inexorably toward an explosion, as she had felt the long rollers of the Atlantic surf on the harsh seashores 
of her childhood, building to the one great wave that would drive spray clear to the high rocks on which 
she stood watching. 

But it was common sense to eat and rest, with much of a long day behind her and possibly a long night 
ahead. 

Just before sunset, she left the Kiempü homestead, and arrived at the meeting place with Lexy, Tim and 
Ramon before full dark. The clouds were thick and the air that wrapped about them was heavy with the 
dampness of the impending weather. 

"Ekram still in town?" she asked. 

"Yes," said Ramon. "We've got a cordon circling the whole area, outside the picket line the troops set up 
around the town. No one's gone out all day but patrols. If Ekram does, we'll get word as soon as he 
leaves." 

"Good," said Amanda. "Lexy, Tim, be especially careful. A night like this their sentries could be in a 
mood to shoot first and check afterward. And the same thing applies to the soldiers in the cantonment 
area, itself" 

"All right," said Lexy. 

no 

They went off Amanda did not offer to talk and Ramon did not intrude questions upon her. Now that she 
was at the scene of some actual action, she began to feel the fatigue of the day in spite of her rest up at 
Kiempii homestead, and she dozed lightly, sitting on her skimmer. 

She roused at a touch on her arm. 

"They're coming back," said Ramon's voice in her ear. 

She sat up creakily and tried to blink the heavy obscurity out of her eyes. But it was almost solid around 
her. The only thing visible was the line of the ridge-crest, some thirty meters off; silhouetted against the 
lighter dark of the clouded sky. The clouds were low enough to reflect a faint glow from the lights of the 
town and the cantonment beyond the ridge. 


"Amanda, we heard about Cletus—" It was Lexy's voice, right at her feet. She could see nothing of either 
youngster. 
"What did you hear?" 


"Well, not about Cletus, himself, exactly—" put in Tim. 
"Practically, it was," said Lexy. "They've got word from one of their transport ships, in orbit. It picked up 
the signal of a ship phasing in, just outside our star system. They think it's Cletus, coming. If it is, they 
figure that in a couple more short phase shifts he ought to be in orbit here; and he ought to be down on 
the ground at Foralie by early afternoon tomorrow, at the latest." 


"Did they say anything about their transport trying to arrest him in orbit?" 
"No," said Lexy. 
"Did you expect them to, Amanda?" Ramon ill asked. 
"No," said Amanda. "He's coming of his own choice and it makes sense to let anything you want all the 


way into a trap before you close it. Once in orbit, his ship wouldn't be able to get away without being 
destroyed by theirs, anyway. But mainly, they want to be sure to get him alive for that full-dress trial back 
on Earth, so they can arrange to have the rest of us deported and scattered. So, I wouldn't expect they'll 
do anything until he's grounded. But there's always orders that get misunderstood, and commanders who 
jump the gun." 


"Tomorrow afternoon," said Ramon musingly. "That's it, then." 
"That's it," said Amanda, grimly. "Lexy, what else?" 
"Lots of people in town are sick—" Lexy's voice was unaccustomedly hushed, as if it had finally come 


home to her what this situation was leading to, with people she had known all her life. "Both docs are 
working." 
"How about the soldiers? Any of them sick?" 
"Yes, lots," said Lexy. "Just this evening, a whole long line of them went on sick call." 
Amanda turned in the direction of Ramon's flitter and spoke to the invisible Ancient. 
"Ramon," she said, "how many hours was Ekram in town in the afternoon?" 


"Not more than two." 
"We've got to get him out of there…" But her tone of voice betrayed the fact that she was talking to 
herself, rather than to the other three, and no one answered. 


"I want to know the minute he leaves," Amanda said. "If he isn't gone by morning… I'd better stay here 


tonight." 
"If you want to move back beyond the next ridge, we can build you a shelter," Ramon said. "We can 
build it up over you and your skimmer and you can tap heat off the skimmer. That way you can be 
comfortable and maybe get some sleep." 


Amanda nodded, then remembered they could not see her. 



"Fine," she said 

"Fine," she said 

She felt a strange sadness and a loneliness. Present concerns slid off and were lost in personal memories. 
She found herself thinking once more of Jimmy, her first-born—Betta's grandfather—whom she had 
loved more than any of her other children, though none of them had known it. Jimmy, whom she had 
cared for as child and adult through his own long life and all three of her own marriages, and brought at 
last with her here to the Dorsai to found a household. He was the Morgan from which all the ap Morgans 
since were named. He had lived sixty-four years, and ended up a good man and a good father—but all 
those years she had held the reins tight upon him. 

Not his fault. As a six-month-old baby he had been taken—legally stolen from her by her in-laws, after 
his father's death, and the less than a short year and a half of their marriage. She had fought for four years 
after that, fought literally and legally, until finally she had worn her father and mother-in-law down to 
where they were forced to allow her visiting rights; and then she had stolen him back Stolen him, and fled 
off-Earth to the technologically-oriented new world of Newton; where she had married again, to give the 
boy a home and a father. 

But when she had finally got him back, he had been damaged. Lying now, in this shelter in the Dorsai 
hills, she once more faced the fact that it might not have been her in-laws handling of him alone that had 
been to blame. It could also have been something genetic in their ancestry and her first husband's. But 
whatever it was, she had lost a healthy, happy baby, and regained a boy given to sudden near-psychotic 
outbursts of fury and ill judgment. 

But she had encompassed him, guarded him, controlled him—keeping him always with her and bringing 
him through the years to a successful life and a quiet death. Only—at a great cost. For she had never 
been free in all that time to let him know how much she loved him. Her sternness, her unyielding authority, 
had made up the emotional control he had required, to supply the lack of it in himself. When he lay dying 
at last, in the large bedroom at Fal Morgan, she had been torn by the desire to let him know how she had 
always felt. But a knowledge of the selfishness of that desire had sustained her in silence. To put into plain 
words the role she had played for him all his life would have taken away what pride he had in the way he 
had lived, would have underlined the fact that without her he could never have stood alone. 

So, she had let him go, playing her part to the last. At the very end he had tried to say something to her. 
He had almost spoken; and a small corner of her mind clung to the thought that there, in the last moment, 
he had been about to say that he understood, that he had always understood, that he knew how she 
loved him. 

Now, lying in the darkness of the shelter, Amanda came as close as she ever had in her existence to 
crying out against whatever ruled the universe. Why had life always called upon her to be its 
disciplinarian, its executioner, as it was doing now, once again? Cheek pressed against the tough, 
smooth-worn leather of the skimmer seat cushion, she heard the answer in her own mind—it had been 
because she would do the job and others would not. 

She was too old for tears. She drifted off into sleep without feeling the tide that took her out, dry-eyed. 


A rustle, the sound of the branches that completely enclosed her being pulled apart, brought her instantly 
awake. Gray daylight was leaking through the cover below the cap of the groundsheet, and there was the 
sound of a gust of rain pattering on the groundsheet itself. 


"Amanda—" said Ramon, and crawled into the shelter. There was barely room for him to squat beside 
her skimmer. His face, under a rain-slick poncho hood, was on a level with hers. 
She sat up. 


"What time is it?" 
"Nine hundred hours. It's been daylight for nearly three hours. Ekram's still in town. I thought you'd want 
to be wakened." 


"Thanks." 


"General Amorine—that brigadier in charge of the troops—has been phoning around the homesteads. He 
wants you to come in and talk to him." 
"He can do without. Twelve hours," said Amanda. "How could I sleep twelve hours? Are the patrols 


out? How did the troops on them look?" 


"A little sloppy in execution. Everybody hunched up—under rain gear of course. But they didn't look too 
happy, even aside from that. Some were coughing, the team members said." 
"Any news from the homesteads—any news they've heard over the air, by phone from town?" 
"Ekram and the military doc were up all night." 
"We've got to get him out of there—" Amanda checked and corrected herself. "I've got to get him out of 


there. What's the weather for the rest of today?" 
"Should clear by noon. Then cold, windy and bright." 
"By the time Cletus is here we should have good visibility?" 
"We should, Amanda." 
"Good. Pass the word. I want those patrols observed all the time. Let me know if you can how many of 


the men on them become unusually sick or fall out. Also check with Cow's escort troops, at Foralie. 
Chances are they're all in good shape, but it won't hurt to check The minute Cletus arrives, pass the word 
for the four other teams closest to Foralie to move in and join up with your team. Ring Foralie completely 
with the teams—what's that?" 


Ramon had just put a thermos jug and a small metal box on the deck of her skimmer. 
"Tea and some food," Ramon said. "Mene sent it down." 
"I'm not an invalid." 
"No, Amanda," said Ramon, backing out through the opening in the shelter on hands and knees. Outside, 


he pushed the branches back into place to seal the gap he had made entering. Left to herself, her mind 
busy, Amanda drank the hot tea and ate the equally hot stew and biscuits she found in the metal box 
Finished, she got up and donned her own poncho, dismantled the shelter and put the ground cloth back 



in the boot, the seat-back and cushions back in place. Outside, the wind was gusty and cold with 
occasional rain. She lifted her skimmer and slid it down to just behind the lower ridge, where the 
ponchoed figure of Ramon sat keeping a scope trained on the cantonments and town below. 

in the boot, the seat-back and cushions back in place. Outside, the wind was gusty and cold with 
occasional rain. She lifted her skimmer and slid it down to just behind the lower ridge, where the 
ponchoed figure of Ramon sat keeping a scope trained on the cantonments and town below. 

A gust of wind and rain made her duck her head. 

"Amanda?" Ramon was frowning up at her. "What if he won't let you out again?" 

"He'll let me out," Amanda said. "But whether I'm there or not, the teams are going to have to be ready to 
move against deCastries' escort and any troops they send up with Cletus, once Cletus gets to Foralie. 
Just as they want Cletus for trial, we want Cletus safe, and we want deCastries, alive—not dead. If most 
of the rest of the districts can't break loose, we want something to bargain with. Cletus'll know how to 
use deCastries that way." 

"If you're not available and it's time to attack them should we wait for Eachan to come out and take 
over?" 

"If you think there's time—you and the other Ancients. If time looks tight, don't hesitate. Move on your 
own." 

Ramon nodded. 

"I'll look for you here when I come back," Amanda said; and lifted her skimmer, sending it off at a slant 
behind the cover of the ridge to approach the town from the opposite, down-river side. 

She paused behind a ridge to drop off her handgun and then came up along the river road, where she 
encountered a Coalition-Alliance sentry in rain gear, about five hundred meters out behind the 
manufactory. She slid the skimmer directly at him and set it down, half a dozen meters from him. He held 
his cone rifle pointed toward her as he walked forward. 

"Take that gun out of its scabbard, ma'm," he said, nodding at the pellet shotgun, "and hand it to me-butt 
first." 

She obeyed. 

He cradled the cone rifle in one arm to take the 

heavy weight of the pellet gun in both hands. He glanced at it, held it up to look into the barrel and 
handed it back to her. 

"Not much of a weapon, ma'm." 

"No?" Amanda, holding the recovered pellet gun in the crook of her arm, swung it around horizontally 
until its muzzle rested against the deckface between her and the boot, the deckface over the power unit. 
"What if I decide to pull the trigger right now?" 

She saw his face go still, caught between shock and disbelief 

"You hadn't thought of that?" said Amanda. "The pellets from this weapon could add enough kinetic 
energy to the power core to blow it, you, and me to bits. In your motor pool I could set off a chain 
explosion that would wipe out your full complement of vehicles. Had you thought of that?" 

He stared at her for a second longer, then his face moved. 


"Maybe you think you better impound it, after all?" 


"No," he said. "I don't think you're about to commit suicide, even if they'd let you anywhere near our 
motor pool—which they wouldn't." 
He coughed. 
"What's your business in town, ma'm?" 
"I'm Amanda Morgan, mayor of Foralie Town," she said. "That's my business. And for that matter, your 


commanding officer's been asking to see me. Don't tell me they didn't give you an image and a 


description of me?" 
"Yes," he said. He coughed, lowered his rifle, and wiped from his cheek some of the moisture that had 
just dripped from the edge of his rain hood. He had a narrow young face. "You're to go right on in." 


"Then why all this nonsense?" 
He sighed a little. 
"Orders, ma'm." 
"Orders!" She peered at him. "You don't look too well." 
He shook his head. 
"Nothing important, ma'm. Go ahead." 
She lifted her skimmer and went past him. The sound of the manufactory grew on her ear. She checked 


the skimmer outside its sliding door, strongly tempted to look inside and see if Jhanis Bins was still at the 
control board. The town dump looked even less attractive than it ordinarily did. The nickel grindings, 
which Jhanis had dumped just the other day, had slumped into pockets and hollows; and now these were 
partially filled with liquid that in the grey day looked to have a yellowish tinge. She changed her mind 
about going in to look for Jhanis. Time was too tight. She touched the power control bar of the skimmer 
and headed on into town, feeling the wet, rain-studded wind on the back of her neck 

The streets were empty. Down a side alley she saw a skimmer that she recognized as Ekram's, behind 
the house of Marie Bureaux. She went on, past the city hall and up to the edge of the cantonment area, 
where she was again stopped, this time by two sentries. 

"Your general wanted to see me," she said, after identifying herself. 
"If you'll wait a moment while we call in, ma'm…" 
A moment later she was waved through, and directed to a command building four times the size of the 


ordinary cantonment huts but made of the same blown bubble plastic. Once again she was checked by 
sentries and ushered, eventually into an office with a desk, a chair behind it, and one less-comfortable 
chair feeing it. 

"If you'll have a seat here," said the sergeant who brought her in. 

She sat and waited for some ten or twelve minutes. At the end of that time a major came in, carrying a 
folder of record films, which he slipped into the desk viewer, punching up the first one. 
"Amanda Morgan?" he said, looking over the top of the viewer, which was slanted toward him, hiding the 


film on display from her. 
"That's right," said Amanda. "And you're Major—" 
He hesitated. 
"Major Suel," he said, after a second. "Now, about the situation here in town and in the district-" 
"Just a second, Major," said Amanda. "I came in to talk to your general." 
"He's busy. You can talk to me. Now, about the situation—" 
He broke off. Amanda was already on her feet. 
"You can tell the general for me, I don't have time to waste. Next time he can come and find me." 


Amanda turned toward the door. 
"Just a minute—" There was the sound of the major's chair being pushed back "Just a minute!" 
"No minute," said Amanda. "I was asked to come in to talk to General Amorine. If he's not available, I've 


got my hands too full to wait around." 
She reached for the door. It did not open for her. 
"Major," she said, looking back over her shoulder. "Open this door." 
"Come back and sit down," he said, standing behind his desk "You can leave after we've talked. This is a 


military base—" 
He broke off again. Amanda had come back to the desk and walked around it to face the desk viewer. 


She reached out to press his phone button and the document on the viewer vanished to show the face of 
the sergeant who had let her in here. 
"Sir—" the sergeant broke off in confusion, seeing Amanda. 
"Sergeant," said Amanda, "connect me with Dow deCastries up at Foralie Homestead, right away." 
"Cancel that!" said the major. "Sergeant—cancel that." 
He punched off the phone and walked to the door. 
"Wait!" he threw back at Amanda and went out. 
Amanda followed him to the door, but found it once more locked to her touch. She went back and sat 


down. Less than five minutes later, the major returned with the skin taut over the bones of his face. He 
avoided looking directly at her. 
"This way, if you will," he said, holding the door open. 


"Thank you, Major." 
He brought her to a much larger and more comfortable office, with a tall window against which the rain 
was now gusting. There was a desk in the corner, but the rest of the furniture consisted of padded 
armchairs, with the single exception of a single armless straight-backed chair facing the desk It was to this 
chair that Amanda was taken. 


General Amorine, who had been standing by the window, walked over to seat himself behind the desk 
"I've been trying to get you for two days," he said. 
Amanda, who had not been invited to sit, did so anyway. 
"And I've been busy doing what I promised Dow deCastries I'd do," she said. "I still am busy at it; and 


this trip in to see you is delaying it." 
He looked at her, stiff-faced. A cough took him by the throat. 
"Mayor," he said, when the coughing was done, 'you're in no position to push." 
"General, I'm not pushing. You are." 
"I'm the commanding officer of the occupying force here," he said. "It's my job to push when things don't 


work" 


He checked, as if he would cough again, but did not. A gust of rain rattled loudly against the office 
window in the brief moment of silence between them. Amanda waited. 
"I say," he repeated. "It's my job to push when things don't work" 
"I heard you," said Amanda. 
"They aren't working now," Armorine said. "They aren't working to my satisfaction. We want a census of 


this district and all pertinent data—and we want it without delay." 
"There hasn't been any delay." 
"I think there has." 
Amanda sat, looking at him. 
"I know there has," Amorine said. 
"For example?" 
He looked at her for several seconds without saying anything. 
"How long," he said, "has it been since you were on Earth?" 
"Seventy years, or so," said Amanda. 
"I thought so," he said. "I thought it had been something like that long. Out here on the new worlds, 


you've forgotten just what Earth is like. Here, on wild planets with lots of space and only handfuls of 
people even in your largest population centers, you tend to forget." 


"The mess and the overcrowding?" 
"The people and the power!" he said, harshly— and broke off to cough again. He wiped his mouth. 
"When you think in terms of people out here, you think in terms of thousands—millions, at the most, 
when your thinking is planet-wide. But on Earth those same figures are billions. You think in terms of a 
few hundred thousand square meters of floor space given over to manufactory on a whole world. On 
Earth that space is measured in trillions of square meters. You talk about using a few million 
kilowatt-hours of energy. Do you know how kilowatt-hours of used energy are counted on Earth?" 



"So?" said Amanda. 

"So?" said Amanda. 

"Come into our backyard, and we can fight you," said Amanda. "You're a long way from your millions 
and your trillions now, general." 

"No," said Amorine, and he said it without coughing or heat. "That's your self-delusion, only. Earth's got 
the power to wipe clean every other humanly-seeded world whenever she wants to. When 

Earth moves, when she decides to move, you'll vanish. And you people here are indeed going to vanish. I 
want you to believe that—for your own sake. You'll save yourself and all the people you love a great 
deal of pain if you can wake yourself up to an understanding of what the facts are." 

He looked at her. She looked back 

"You are all, all of you, already gone," he said. "For the moment you've still got your town, and your 
homes, and your own name, but all those things are going to go. You, yourself, in your old age, are going 
to be moved to another place, a place you don't know, to die among strangers—all this because you've 
been foolish enough to forget what Earth is." 

He paused. She still sat, not speaking. 

"There's no reprieve, no choice," he said. "What I'm telling you is for your own information only. Our 
politicians haven't announced it yet—but the Dorsai is already a forgotten world; and everyone on it will 
soon be scattered individually through all the other inhabited planets. For you—for you, only— I've got 
an offer, that for you, only, will make things easier." 

He waited, but still she gave him no assistance. 

"You're being non-cooperative with our occupation, here," he said. "I don't care what Mr. deCastries' 
opinion of you is. I know. I know non-cooperation when I run into it. I'd be a failure in my job if I didn't. 
Bear in mind, we don't have to have your cooperation, but it'd help. It'd save paperwork, effort, and 
explanations. So, what I'm offering you is, cooperate and I'll promise this much for you: I'll ensure that 
whatever few years you have left can be lived here, on your own world. You'll have to watch everyone 
else being shipped off; but you, at least, won't have to end your days among strangers." 

He paused. 

"But you'll have to take me up on this, now," he said, "or you'll lose the chance, for good. Say yes now, 
and follow through, or the chance is gone. Well?" 

"General," said Amanda. "I've listened to you. Now, you listen to me. You're the one who's dreaming. 
It's not us who are already dead and gone—it's you and your men. You're already defeated. You just 
don't know it." 

"Mrs. Morgan,'* said Amorine, heavily, "you're a fool. There's no way you can defeat Earth." 

"Yes," said Amanda, bleakly. Another gust of rain came and rattled against the window, like the tapping 
of the fingers of dead children. "Believe me, there is." 


He stood up. 
"All right," he said. "I tried. We'll do it our own way from now on. You can go." 
Amanda also stood up. 
"One thing, however," she said. "I want to see Cletus when he lands." 
"Cletus? Cletus Grahame, you mean?" Amorine stared at her. "What makes you think he's going to 


land?" 


"Don't talk nonsense, General," Amanda said. "You know as well as I do, he's due in by early 


after-noon." 


"Who told you that?" 


"Everyone knows it." He stared at her. 


"Damn!" he said, softly. "No, you cannot see Grahame—now or in the future." 


"I've got to be able to report to the local people that he's well and agreeable to being in your custody," 


Amanda said. "Or do you want the district to rise in arms spontaneously?" 
He stared at her balefully. Staring, he began to cough again. When the fit was over, he nodded. 
"Hell be down in a little over an hour. Shall we find you a place to wait?" 
"If it's an hour, I'll go into town and get some things done. Will you leave word at the airpad, so I can get 


past your soldiers?" 
He nodded. 
"Ask for Lieutenant Estrange," he said. 
She went out. 
Back in town she found Ekram's skimmer still parked behind the house of Marie Bureaux. She parked 


her own skimmer beside his and let herself in the back door, into the kitchen. 


Ekram was there, washing his hands at the sink He looked back over his shoulder at her at the sound of 


her entrance. 


"Marie?" Amanda said. 


"Marie's dead." He turned his head back to the sink 


"And you're still in town here." 


He finished washing and turned to face her, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. 


"Berthe Haugsrud's dead," he said. "Bhaktabahadur Rais is dead. Fifteen more are dying. Young Marte 


Haugsrud's sick There's five dead soldiers in the cantonments, thirty more dying and most of the rest 
sick." 
"So you leave," she said. 



"Leave? How can I leave? Their medical officer knows something's going on. There's just nothing he can 
do about it. He'd be an absolute, incompetent idiot not to know that something's going on, particularly 
since they've been getting word from other occupation units—not from many, but even a few's enough— 
where the same thing's happening. All that's kept them blind this long is the fact it started hitting our 
people first. If I run, now—" 

"Leave? How can I leave? Their medical officer knows something's going on. There's just nothing he can 
do about it. He'd be an absolute, incompetent idiot not to know that something's going on, particularly 
since they've been getting word from other occupation units—not from many, but even a few's enough— 
where the same thing's happening. All that's kept them blind this long is the fact it started hitting our 
people first. If I run, now—" 

"You go," Amanda said. "That's an order." 

"To hell with orders!" 

"Cletus is due to land in an hour. You've had three hours in town here during daylight hours. In three 
more hours we're going to have open war. Get out of here, get up in those hills and get ready to handle 
casualties." 

"The kids…" he swayed a little on his feet. "Kids, kids and guns…" 

"Will you go?" 

"Yes." His voice was dull. He walked stiffjointedly past her and out the back door. Following him, she 
saw him climb, still with the awkwardness of exhaustion, on to his skimmer, lift it, and head it out of town. 

Amanda went back inside to see whether there was anything she could do for the remains of Marie. But 
there was nothing. She left and went to the Haugsrud house to see if Marte could be brought to leave 
town with her, now that Berthe was dead. But the doors were locked and Marte refused to answer, 
though Amanda could see her through a window, sitting on the living room couch. Amanda tried several 
ways to force her way in, but time began to grow short. She turned away at last and headed toward the 
airpad. 

She was almost late getting there. By the time she had made contact with Lieutenant Estrange and been 
allowed to the airpad itself, a shuttleboat, bearing the inlaid sunburst emblem of the Exotics, was landed; 
and Cletus was stepping out on to the pad. A line of vehicles and an armed escort was already waiting 
for him. 

He was wearing a sidearm, which was taken from him, and led toward the second of the waiting staff 
cars. 

"I've got to speak to him!" said Amanda fiercely to Estrange. "Weren't you given orders I was to be able 
to speak to him?" 

"Yes. Please—wait a minute. Wait here." 

The lieutenant went forward and spoke to the colonel in charge of operation. After some little discussion, 
Estrange came back and got Amanda. 

"If you'll come with me?" He brought her to Cletus, who was already seated in the staff car. 

"Amanda!" Cletus looked out over the edge of the open window of the staff car. "Is everyone all right?" 

"Fine," said Amanda. "I've taken over the post of Mayor from Piers." 

"Good," said Cletus, urgently. His cheerful, lean face was a little thinner than when she had seen it last, 
marked a little more deeply by lines of tension. "I'm glad it's you. Will you tell everyone they must keep 


calm about all this? I don't want anyone getting excited and trying to do things. These occupying soldiers 
have behaved themselves, haven't they?" 
"Oh, yes," said Amanda. 


"Good. I thought they would. I'll leave matters in your hands, then. They're taking me up to Grahame 
House—to Foralie, I mean. Apparently Dow de-Castries is already there, and I'm sure once I've had a 
talk with him we can straighten this all out. So all anyone needs to do is just sit tight for a day or two, and 
everything will be all right. Will you see the district understands that?" 


Out of the corners of her eyes, Amanda could see the almost-wondering contempt growing on the faces 
of the Coalition officers and men within hearing. 
"Ill take care of it, Cletus." 
"I know you will. Oil-how's Betta?" 


"You'll see her when you get to Foralie," said Amanda. "She's due to have her baby any time now." 
"Good. Good. Tell her I saw her brother David just a few days ago, and he's fine. No—wait. I'll tell her 
myself, since I'll be seeing her first. Talk to you shortly, Amanda." 


"Yes, Cletus," said Amanda, stepping back from the staff car. The convoy got underway and moved out. 


"And that's this military genius of theirs?" she heard one of the enlisted men muttering to another, as she 
turned away with Estrange. 
Five minutes later she was on her way past the cordon of sentries enclosing the town and twelve minutes 


after that, having stopped only to pickup her handgun, she stood beside Ramon, on his skimmer, looking 


down from cover on the more slowly-moving convoy as it headed in the direction of Foralie. 
"We'll want all the available teams in position around Foralie before they get there," she said. "But when 
they show up, let them through. We'll want them together with Dew's escort before we hit them." 


"Most of the men in that convoy are sick," said 
Ramon. 
"Yes," said Amanda, half to herself. "But the ones who've been up there with Dow all this time are going 


to be perfectly healthy. And they're front line troops. If we don't get them in the first few minutes, it's 
going to cost us—" 
"Maybe not," said Ramon. She looked at him. 


"What do you mean?" 
"I mean, not all of them up at Foralie may be healthy. I haven't had a chance to tell you, but a patrol came 
up to there early today and stayed for about two hours. They could have switched personnel." 


"Not likely." Amanda frowned. "Dew's their prize package. Why would they take the healthy troops they 
have protecting him; and replace them with cripples, just to get more of their able-bodied down at 
town?" 


"They might have some reason we don't know about." 



Amanda shook her head. 
"I don't believe it," she said. "In fact, until I hear positively there's been a change of personnel at Foralie, I 
won't believe it. We'll continue on the assumption that they're all healthy troops there, and the only 


advantage we've got is surprise. Cletus, bless him, helped us with that, as much as he could. He did 
everything possible to put their suspicions to sleep, down in town." 
"He did?" Ramon stared at her. "What did he do?" 
Amanda told him what Cletus had said from the staff car in the hearing of the convoy soldiery. 
Ramon's face lengthened. 
"But maybe he really means we shouldn't do anything until…" 
His voice failed at the look on Amanda's face. 
"If a rooster came up to you and quacked," said Amanda, sharply, "would you ignore everything else 


about it and decide it'd turned into a drake?" 
She looked down her nose at him. 
"Even if Cletus actually had taken leave of his senses, that wouldn't alter the situation for the rest of us," 


she went on. "We've still got to move in, rescue him, and take deCastries when he reaches Foralie. It's 
the one chance we've got. But don't concern yourself. Cletus understands the situation here." 
She nodded at his skimmer. 
"You go get the teams into position. I'll meet you at Foralie before they get there." 


"Where will you be?" Ramon's face was a little pale. 
"I'll be rounding up any adults capable of using a weapon—except the women with young children— 
from the near households. We'll need anyone we can get." 


"What about the other patrols?" 
"Once we've got deCastries, we shouldn't have much opposition from anyone else who's been in Foralie 


Town. A good half of them are going to be dead in a week, and the most of the rest won't be able to 
fight." 
"They may fight even if they're not able." 
"How can they—" she broke off, suddenly seeing the white look in Ramon's eyes. "What's the matter 


with you? You ought to know that." 
"I didn't want to know," he said. "I didn't listen when they told us." 
"Didn't you?" said Amanda. "Well, you'd better listen now, then. Carbon monoxide passed over finely 


divided nickel gives you a liquid—nickel carbonyl, a volatile liquid that melts at twenty-five degrees 
Centrigrade, boils at forty-three degrees and evaporates at normal temperatures in the open. One part in 
a million of the vapors can be enough to cause allergic dermatitis and edema of the lungs—irreversible." 

His face was stark His mouth was open as if he gasped for breath. 


"I don't mind the fighting," he said thickly. "It's just the thought of the casualties among the soldiers. If this 
war could only be stopped now, before it starts-" 

"I don't mind the fighting," he said thickly. "It's just the thought of the casualties among the soldiers. If this 
war could only be stopped now, before it starts-" 

He did not answer. 

"They're our casualties," she said, "already counted. The war you want to stop before it starts has been 
going for two days. Did you think it would all take place with no cost at all?" 

"No, I…" He swayed a little on his skimmer; and the momentary gust of anger he had sparked off in her 
went away, suddenly. 

"I know," she said. "There's things that aren't easy for you to think about. They aren't easy for Ekram. 
Nor for me, nor any of us. Nor was it easy for those people like Berthe, down in town, who stayed there 
knowing what was going to happen to them. But do you have any more of it to face or live with than they 
did, or the boys and girls on the teams will?" 

"No," he said. "But I can't help how I feel." 

"No," she said. "No, of course you can't. Well, do the best you can, anyway." 

He nodded numbly and reached for the power bar of his skimmer. Amanda watched him lift and slide 
away, gazing for a long moment after his powerful shoulders, now slumped and weary. Then she 
mounted her awn skimmer and took off at right angles to his route. 

She reproached herself as she went for her outburst at him. He was still young and had not seen what 
people could do to people. He had no basis of experience from which to imagine what would happen to 
the dispossessed Dorsai, once they were scattered thinly among the populations of other worlds who had 
been educated to hold them in detestation and contempt. He could still cling to a hope that somehow an 
enemy could be defeated with such cleverness that neither friend nor foe need suffer. 

She headed toward the Aras homestead to pick up Mene as the first of her adult recruits for the assault 
on Foralie. 

Travelling there, even now, she found the mountains calming her spirit. The rain had stopped, according 
to the weather predictions Ramon had given her, and a swift wind was tearing the cloud cover to tatters. 
The sky revealed was a high, hard blue; and the air, on the wings of a stiff breeze, piping with an 
invigorating cold. She felt stilled, concentrated and clear of mind. 

For better or for worse, they must now move into literal combat. There was no more time to worry 
whether individuals would measure up. There was no time for her cataloguing of the sort of lacks she had 
noted in Betta, in Melissa, in Lexy and just now in Ramon. Time had run out on her decision of the name 
for Betta's child. She must leave word with others before the actual assault on Foralie about what she 
had decided, one way or another, so that it could be passed on to Betta if necessary. She would do just 
that. At the last minute she would make up her mind one way or another and have done with it. 

Forty-five minutes later, she swung her skimmer up to a fold in the hills, carrying Mene Aras with her. As 
she topped the rise and dipped down into the hidden hollow beyond, she saw the Ancients of five teams; 
together with a dozen or so of the team-leaders and runners from them, plus Jer Walker leaning on both 
his walking canes and a half-rifle slung from the shoulders of his frail, ninety-year old body. Nine of the 
other women, most of them young, and also armed, were already there. But most welcome of all was the 


sight of the unusual pair that were Arvid Johnson and Bill Athyer, together with six of the Dorsai they had 
been able to keep as staff 

sight of the unusual pair that were Arvid Johnson and Bill Athyer, together with six of the Dorsai they had 
been able to keep as staff 

"I was deliberately not counting on you," she said, "but I thought you might be here in time." 

"You'll need us," Arvid said. "I take it you knew Swahili is now the officer in charge of Cow's escort? He 
came up here with replacement troops this morn-ing." 

"Swahili?" Amanda frowned, for the name had a familiar ring but eluded identification. 

"He's a major with these Coalition troops. But he was one of Eachan Khan's officers," Bill said. "A 
Dorsai, once—but probably you've never seen him. He didn't like any place where there wasn't any 
fighting going on. He joined Eachan some years ago, out on one of the off-world contracts and I think he 
was only here in this district briefly, once or twice. The only things that usually brought him to the Dorsai 
were short visits to that new training center Cletus set up on the other side of the world." 

"The point is, though, he literally is a Dorsai—or was. One of the best we ever had, in fact," said Arvid. 
"If anyone's going to catch us moving in before we want them to know we're there, it'll be him." 

There was a strange, almost sad note in Arvid's voice. 

"Yes, he's that good. Some of us-" Bill glanced for a second at his tall companion, "thought he was the 
best we had… in some ways. At any rate, that's why Arvid and I'll be going in first, to secure the house." 

"You're taking charge, then?" said Amanda. 

"We hadn't planned on it," said Arvid, swiftly. "It's your district, of course—" 

"Don't talk nonsense," said Amanda. "We'll do anything that works. Did you really think I'd be prickly 
about my authority?" 

"No," said Arvid. "Not really. But I do think you should stay in overall command. These local people 
know you, not me. Just give us four minutes head start, then move in. We'll take the house. That'll leave 
you the compound area that was set up for the escort troops, beside the house. How do you plan to 
handle that?" 

"The only way we can," said Amanda. "I'll go in first, with the other adults behind me—openly, like 
neighbors coming to visit—and I'll try to disarm the sentry. Then we'll take the compound—we 
adults-building by building. Meanwhile, the teams will lie out around with their weapons and try to see 
that, whatever happens, none of the soldiers break out of the compound area after we've gone in." 

Arvid nodded. 

"All right," he said. "Our word is that all the men in the convoy bringing Cletus in are pretty well sick and 
useless. I suppose you also have the information that most of the well troops that came up originally with 
Dow were traded back to town for the personnel of the patrol that came up with Swahili—a patrol of 
sick that were sent up this morning? That should make things easier for you." 

Amanda scowled. 

"I heard that from Ramon—one of my team Ancients," she said. "I don't believe it. Why trade good 
fighting men for bad around someone as important as Dow?" 


"It checks out, all the same," said Arvid. "We hear Dow was called by their military physician late last 
night. He was the one who ordered the change." 

"It checks out, all the same," said Arvid. "We hear Dow was called by their military physician late last 
night. He was the one who ordered the change." 

"No. Just got a report on it, passed out through Foralie town." 

Amanda shook her head stubbornly. 

"One further piece of evidence," said Arvid. "On the basis of the report, I had a couple of my staff check 
the patrol that went out and the patrol that came back It was a completely different set effaces that 
returned." 

Amanda sighed. 

"All right. If that's right…" she swung away from him. "Take off any time you're ready." 

"We're ready now," said Arvid. "Four minutes." 

"Good luck," she said, and went over to her own group, the assorted gang of women, Jer, the five 
Ancients and the young team-members, carrying their cone and energy rifles in the crook of their arms, 
muzzle down, like hunting weapons. 

"All right," she said to them all. "You know what you're supposed to do and you heard me talking just 
now with Arvid and Bill…" 

She hesitated, finding herself strangely, uncharacteristically, at a loss for words. There was something that 
needed to be said; something that she had been working toward for a very long time, that she needed to 
tell them before they went where they were going. But whatever it was, it would not define itself for her. 
A skimmer topped the ridge opposite the one that overlooked Foralie and came sliding down to them 
under full power, carrying Reiko Kiempü, armed. Amanda saw the tall young woman's eyes slip past her 
for a second to Arvid. Then Reiko had reached the rest of them and jumped off her skimmer. 

"I got word over the phone just before I left home," she said to Amanda. "Betta's in labor—the real thing, 
this time." 

"Thanks," said Amanda, hardly knowing she spoke. 

Suddenly, as if a switch had been pulled, the words she had been looking for were ready to her tongue. 
With this news everything abruptly fell into order—her silent lifelong love for Jimmy and for Fal Morgan, 
the years of struggling to survive back when the outlaw mercenaries had prowled the new Dorsai 
settlements, the sending out of the men in each generation to be killed, to earn the necessary credits that 
alone would let them all continue to survive—just as they were, and wished to be. 

As they were. 

Those were the magic words. They had a right to be as they were; and it was a right Worth all it cost. 
This harsh world had been one that no one else had wanted. But they had taken it, she and others like 
her. They had built it with their own hands and blood. It was theirs. You love, she thought suddenly, 
what you give to—and in proportion as you give. 

That was all she had wanted to say. But now, looking around her at the adolescent faces of the young 
team members, at the other adult women, at old Jer Walker, she realized there had never been any need 
to tell the rest of them that. From the youngest to the oldest, they already knew it. It was in their bones 


and blood, as it was in hers. Perhaps not all of them had yet put it into words in their minds, as she had 
just done in hers—but they knew. 

and blood, as it was in hers. Perhaps not all of them had yet put it into words in their minds, as she had 
just done in hers—but they knew. 

It came to her then like a revelation that none of it mattered—their individual weaknesses, the things that 
they seemed to lack that she herself either had innately, or time had taught her. She had been guilty of 
Amandamorphism—thinking only someone exactly like herself could earn even passing marks to qualify 
for the role she had played here so long. But that idea was nonsense. The fact that no two people were 
exactly alike had nothing to do with the fact that two people could be equally useful. 

There came a time when anyone had to face the leaving of ultimate decisions to others, and to time itself 
A time when faith proved to either have been placed, or misplaced, but when it was too late to do 
anything more about it. It was not up to her to leave Betta a last decision about the use of the Amanda 

ISO 

name for Betta's child. Betta herself was the one to decide that, as Amanda had made necessary 
decisions in her own time, and all generations to come would have to make their own decisions in their 
time. 

"What are you smiling at, Amanda?" said Reiko, looming beside and over her. 

"Nothing," said Amanda. "Nothing at all." 

She turned to the rest of them. 

"I'll go in first," she said, "as soon as Arvid and Bill with their team have had their four minute lead. The 
rest of you, follow me, coming two to a skimmer, from different directions. We'll use Betta as an excuse 
for gathering at Foralie, as long as that's conveniently turned up. Actually, the excuse won't matter…" 

She looked around at their faces. 

"Myself, first. Then Mene and Reiko. The rest team up as you wish. Team members, stay close and fire 
as needed; but don't move in to the compound unless or until you're called in by one of us who've gone 
ahead. That includes Ancients. Ancients, stay with your teams. In case everything falls apart here, it'll be 
up to each of you to pull your team off, get it back into the mountains, and keep it alive. Everybody 
understand?" 

They nodded or murmured their understanding. 

"All right—" She was interrupted by a flicker of red, a cloth being waved briefly from just behind the 
crest of the ridge overlooking Foralie. "All right. Convoy in sight. It'll take it another five minutes or so to 
reach the house. Everybody up behind the ridge, ready to go." 

Lying with the others, just behind the crest of the ridge, she looked through a screen of grass at the 
convoy. Even to her eye, its vehicle column seemed to move somewhat sluggishly. Evidently that part of 
Arvid's information—about the convoy troops all being sick—was correct. She crossed her fingers 
mentally upon the hope that the rest of what he had told her was also reliable—but with misgivings. 
Counting the team members, the Dorsai would outnumber the troops of the convoy and those already at 
Foralie nearly five to one—but children against experienced soldiers made that figure one of mockery. 


Experienced soldiers against civilians was bad enough. 

Experienced soldiers against civilians was bad enough. 

"Stay right there—" he was beginning, when she interrupted him. 

"Oh, stop that nonsense! My great-granddaughter's having a baby. Where is she?" 

"Where? She… oh, the house, of course, ma'm." 

"All right, you go tell her I'll be right there. I've got to speak to whoever's in charge of that convoy—" 

"I can't leave my post. I'm sorry, but—" 

"What do you mean, you can't leave your post? Don't you recognize me? I'm the mayor of Foralie Town. 
You must have been shown an image of me as part of your briefing. Now, you get in there—" 

"I'm sorry. I really can't—" 

"Don't tell me can't-" 

They argued, the sentry forgetting his weapon to the point where its barrel sagged off to one side. A new 
humming announced another skimmer that slid down upon them with Reiko and Mene Tosca aboard. 

"Halt—" said the soldier, swinging his rifle to command these new arrivals. 

"Now what're you doing?" said Amanda, exasperatedly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cletus 
being escorted into the house. The majority of the soldiers of the convoy should now be out of their 
vehicles and moving inside one or another of the cantonment buildings. There was still no sign of Arvid, 
Bill and their team. 

"Don't you understand that neighbors come calling when there's a birth?" she said sharply, interrupting 
another argument that was developing between the sentry and Reiko. "I know these neighbors well. I'll 
vouch for them…" 

"In a second, ma'm…" the sentry threw over his shoulder at her and turned back to Reiko. 

"No second," said Amanda. 

The difference in the tone of her voice brought him around. He froze at the sight of Amanda's heavy 
handgun pointed at his middle. Ineffective as they were at ordinary rifle distance, the energy handguns 
were devastating at point-blank range like this. Even if Amanda's aim should be bad—and she held the 
gun too steadily to suggest bad aim—any pressure on its trigger would mean his being cut almost in two. 

"Just keep talking," said Amanda softly. She held the gun low, so that the sentry's own body shielded any 
view of it from the compound or the house. "You and I are just going on with our conversation. Wave 


these two to the compound as if you were referring them to someone there. There'll be other skimmers 
coming—" 

these two to the compound as if you were referring them to someone there. There'll be other skimmers 
coming—" 

"—and after each one stops here for a moment, you'll wave them to the compound, too. Do you 
understand?" Amanda said. 

"Yes…" His eyes were on the steady muzzle of her handgun. 

"Good. Mene, Reiko, go ahead. Wait until enough others catch up with you before you make a move, 
though." 

"Leave it to us," said Reiko. Their skimmer lifted and hummed toward the compound. 

"Just stand relaxed," Amanda told the sentry. "Don't move your rifle." 

She sat. The sentry's face showed the pallor of what was perhaps illness, now overlaid with a mute 
desperation. He did not move. He was not as youthful as some of the other soldiers, but from the relative 
standpoint of Amanda's years they were all young. Other skimmers came and moved on to the 
compound, until all the adults had gone by her. 

"Stand still," Amanda said to the sentry. 

Off to one side, a movement caught her eye. It was a figure slipping around the corner of the house and 
entering the door. Then another. Arvid and Bill with their men—at last. 

She turned her head slightly to look. Five… six figures flickered around the corner of the house and in 
through the door. Out of the other corner of her eyes she caught movement close to her. Looking back, 
she saw the sentry bringing up the barrel of his rifle to knock the energy weapon out of her hand. Twenty, 
even ten years before, she would have been able to move the handgun out of the way in time, but age 
had slowed her too much. 

She felt the shock against her wrist as metal met metal and the energy gun was sent flying. But she was 
already stooping to the scabbard with the pellet shotgun as the sentry's cone rifle swung back to point at 
her. The stream of cones whistled over her bent head, then lowered. She felt a single heavy shock in the 
area of her left shoulder, but then the shotgun had, in its turn, batted the light frame of the cone rifle aside 
and the sentry was looking into the wide muzzle of the heavier gun. 

"Drop it," said Amanda. 

Her own words sounded distant in her own ears. There was a strange feeling all through her. The impact 
had been high enough so that possibly the single cone that struck her had not made a fatal wound; but 
shock was swift with missiles from that weapon. 

The cone rifle dropped to the ground. 

"Now lie down, face down…" said Amanda. She was still hearing her voice as if from a long distance 
away, and the world about her had an unreal quality to it. "No, out of arm's reach of the rifle…" 

The sentry obeyed. She touched the power bar of her skimmer, lifted it and lowered it carefully on the 
lower half of his body. Then she killed the power and got off. Pinned down by the weight upon him, the 
sentry lay helpless. 


"If you call or struggle, you'll get shot," she told him. 

"If you call or struggle, you'll get shot," she told him. 

There was the whistling of cone rifle fire from the direction of the cantonment. She turned in that 
direction, but there was no one to be seen outside the buildings she faced. The vehicle park was behind 
them, however, screened by them from her sight. 

She bent to pick up the handgun, then thought better of it. The pellet shotgun was operable in spite of the 
rust in its barrel, and uncertain as she was now, she was probably better off with a weapon having a wide 
shot pattern. She began to walk unsteadily toward the compound. Every step took an unbelievable effort 
and her balance was not good, so that she wavered as she went. She reached the first building and 
opened its door. A supply room—empty. She went on to the next and opened the door, too wobbly to 
take ordinary precautions in entering. The thick air of a sickroom took her nostrils as she entered. Tina 
Alchenso, one of the other women, stood with an energy rifle, covering a barracks-like interior in which 
all the soldiers there seemed sick or dying. The air seemed heavy as well with the scentless odor of 
resignation and defeat. Those who were able had evidently been ordered out of their beds. They lay face 
down on the floor in the central aisle, hands stretched out beyond their heads. 

"Where's everybody?" Amanda asked. 

"They went on to the other buildings," Tina said. 

Amanda let herself out again and went on, trying doors as she went. She found two more buildings where 
one of the adults stood guard over ill soldiers. She was almost back to the vehicle parking area, when she 
saw a huddled figure against the outside Avail of a building. 

"Reiko!" she said, and knelt clumsily beside the other woman. 

"Stop Mene," Reiko barely whispered. She was bleeding heavily just above the belt of her jumper. 
"Mene's out of her head." 

"All right," said Amanda. "You lie quiet" 

With an effort, she rose and went on. There was the next building before her. She opened the door and 
found Mene holding her energy rifle on yet another room of sick and dying soldiers. Mene's face was 
white and wiped clean of expression. Her eyes stared, fixed, and her finger quivered on the firing button 
of the weapon. The gaze of all the men in the room were on her face; and there was not even the sound 
of breathing. 

"Mene," said Amanda, gently. Mene's gaze jerked around to focus on Amanda for a brief moment before 
returning to the soldiers. 

"Mene…" said Amanda, softly. "It's almost over. Don't hurt anyone, now. It's just about over. Just hold 
them a while longer. That's all, just hold them." 

Mene said nothing. 

"Do you hear me?" 

Mene nodded jerkily, keeping her eyes on the men before her. 

"I'll be back soon," said Amanda. 


She went out. The world was even more unreal about her and she felt as if she was walking on numb 
legs. But that was unimportant. Something large was wrong with the overall situation. 

She went out. The world was even more unreal about her and she felt as if she was walking on numb 
legs. But that was unimportant. Something large was wrong with the overall situation. 

She tried to think with a dulled mind. She could gamble that Arvid and Bill's team had already subdued 
the house; and go back there now, without checking further, to get help… her mind cleared a little. A 
move like that would be the height of foolishness. Even if Arvid and Bill had men to spare to come back 
here with her, going for assistance would waste time when there might be no time to waste. 

She took a good grip on her pellet gun, which was becoming an intolerable weight in her hands, and 
started around the curved wall of one of the huts. 

Possibly the sense of unreality that held her was largely to blame—but it seemed to her that there was no 
warning at all. Suddenly she found herself in the midst of a tight phalanx of vehicles, the front ones already 
loaded with weaponed and alert-looking soldiers, and the rear ones with other such climbing into them. 
But, if her appearance among them had seemed sudden to her, it had apparently seemed the same to 
them. 

She was abruptly conscious that all movement around her had ceased. Soldiers were poised, half-in, 
half-out of their vehicles. Their eyes were on her. 

Plainly, her fears had been justified. The apparent replacement of well soldiers by sick ones had been a 
trap; and these she faced now were about to move in for a counterattack She felt the last of her energy 
and will slipping away, took one step forward, and jammed the muzzle of her pellet shotgun against the 
side panel shielding the power unit in the closest vehicle. 

"Get down," she said to the officers and men facing her. 

They stared at her as if she was a ghost risen out of the ground before them. 

"I'll blow every one of you up if I have to—and be glad to," she said. "Get out. Lie down, face down, all 
of you!" 

For a second more they merely sat frozen, staring. Then understanding seemed to go through them in an 
invisible wave. They began to move out of their seats. 

"Hurry…" said Amanda, for her strength was going fast. "On the ground…" 

They obeyed. Dreamily, remotely, she saw them climbing from the vehicles and prostrating themselves on 
the ground. 

Now what do I do, Amanda thought? She had only a minute or two of strength left. 

The answer came from the back of her head— the only answer. Press the firing button of the pellet 
gun, after all, and make sure no one gets away— 

Unexpectedly, there was the sound of running feet behind her. She started to glance back over her 
shoulder; and found herself caught and upheld. She was surrounded by the field uniforms of four of the 
Dorsai staff members who had been with Arvid and Bill. 


"Easy…" said the one holding her—almost carrying her, in fact. "We've got it. It's all over." 

"Easy…" said the one holding her—almost carrying her, in fact. "We've got it. It's all over." 

"… shai Dorsai!" 

What was that? That ridiculous phrase that the children had made up only a few years back, and which 
was now beginning to be picked up by their elders as a high compliment? It was supposed to mean 
"real, actual Dorsai." Nonsense. 

It occurred to her, as some minor statistic might, that she was dying; and she was vaguely annoyed with 
herself for not having realized this earlier. There were things she should think about, if that was the case. 
If Betta had been in labor before the attack began, she might well have her child by now. 

If so, it was important she tell Betta what she had decided just before they moved in on the troops, that 
the use of the Amanda name was her responsibility now, and the responsibility of succeeding 
generations… 

"Well," said a voice just above her, and she looked up into the face of Ekram. He stank of sweat and 
anesthetic. "Coming out of it, are you?" 

"How long…" it was incredibly hard to speak 

"Oh, about two days," he answered with abominable cheerfulness. 

She thought of her need to tell Betta of her decision. 

"Betta…" she said. It was becoming a little easier to talk; but the effort was still massive. She had 
intended to ask specifically for news of Betta and the child. 

"Betta's fine. She's got a baby boy, all parts in good working order. Three point seven three kilograms." 

Boy! A shock went through her. 

Of course. But why shouldn't the child be a boy? No reason—except that, deluded by her own aging 
desires, she had fallen into the comfortable thought that it would not be anything but a girl. 

A boy. That made the matter of names beside the point entirely. 

For a moment, however, she teetered on the edge of self-pity. After all she had known, after all these 
years, why couldn't it have been a girl—under happier circumstances when she could have lived to know 
it, and find that it was a child who could safely take up her name? 

She hauled herself back to common sense. What was all this foolishness about names, anyway? The 
Dorsai had won, had kept itself independent. That was her reward, as well as the reward to all of them 
—not just the sentimental business of passing her name on to a descendent. But she should still tell Bet-ta 
of her earlier decision, if Ekram would only let them bring the girl to her. It would be just like the 
physician to decide that her dying might be hurried by such an effort, and refuse to let Betta come. She 
would have to make sure he understood this was not a decision for him to make. A deathbed wish was 
sacred and he must understand that was what this was… 


"Ekram," she managed to say faintly. "I'm dying…" 

"Ekram," she managed to say faintly. "I'm dying…" 

She stared at him aghast. This was outrageous. This was too much. After all she had been through… then 
the import of his words trickled through the sense of unreality wrapping her. 

"Bring Betta here! At once!" she said; and her voice was almost strong. 

"Later," said Ekram. 

"Then I'll have to go to her," she said, grimly. 

She was only able to move one of her arms feebly sideways on top of the covers, in token of starting to 
get up from the bed. But it was enough. 

"All right. All right!" said Ekram. "In just a minute." 

She relaxed, feeling strangely luxurious. It was all right. The name of the game was survival, not how you 
did it. A boy! Almost she laughed. Well, that sort of thing happened, from time to time. In a few more 
years it could also happen that this boy could have a sister. It was worth waiting around to see. She 
would still have to die someday, of course—but in her own good time. 

INTERLUDE 

The voice of the third Amanda ceased. In the still mountain afternoon there were no other sounds 
but •the hum of some nearby insects. A little breeze sprang up, and was gone again. 

With her words still echoing in his mind, Hal thought of the struggle she had been speaking of, 
that early Dorsai fight to stay free of Dow deCastries; and its likeness to the present fight on all 
the worlds, to resist the loss of human freedom to the Other Men and Women—those cross-breeds 
from human splinter cultures such as that on the Dorsai itself. This present fight in which he and 
the third Amanda were both caught up. 

"What happened inside Foralie?" he asked. "Inside the house, I mean, after Arvid Johnson and 
Bill Athyer with their men went inside? What happened with Cletus and Dow—or were they just 
able to take over with no trouble?" 

"Something more than no trouble," she said. "Swahili was there, remember, and Swahili had been 
a Dorsai. But Eachan Khan killed Swahili when Swahili let himself be distracted for a second and 
Arvid and Bill were able to control the situation. Dow had a sleeve gun of his own, it turned out. 
He hurt Cletus, but didn't manage to kill him. In the end it was Dow who was shipped back to 
Earth as a prisoner." 

"I see," said Hal. But his first question had immediately raised another one in his mind. 

"How was that other business worked?" he asked. "That Coalition trick of having a contingent of 
well soldiers up there at Foralie after they'd seemed to have been rotated down into the area of 
town? Where did they come from, the soldiers Amanda found wait


ing, and ready to fight, in the vehicle park?" 

"You remember the military physician had phoned Dow deCastries the night before," Hal's 
Amanda said. "He was a political appointee himself and he knew General Amorine was another. 


Besides Amorine was sick himself from the nickel carbonyl vapors. The military physician knew 
that taking his suspicions to Amorine would simply have meant Amorine arresting Ekram and 
trying to force some kind of answer out of him—and the military doctor was only too aware of 
what it would be like for him to face alone a situation where everybody was dying. So, he went 
directly to Dow, instead." 

Besides Amorine was sick himself from the nickel carbonyl vapors. The military physician knew 
that taking his suspicions to Amorine would simply have meant Amorine arresting Ekram and 
trying to force some kind of answer out of him—and the military doctor was only too aware of 
what it would be like for him to face alone a situation where everybody was dying. So, he went 
directly to Dow, instead." 
. 
"Dow had been getting the reports from other areas. A thousand different things were going 


wrong in a thousand different places with his occupation forces; and, next to Cletus, he had the 
best mind on the planet." She paused to look at him. "Don't underestimate what Dow was." 
"I didn't intend to." 
"What he saw," Amanda said, "was that, for all practical purposes, his occupation of the Dorsai 


had failed. But he could still, with some luck, grab Cletus and take him off-planet as a 
prisoner—or at the worst, get away himself. This, if he had military control in this one district 
alone." 


"And he figured out that as soon as Cletus reached Foralie, Foralie would be attacked by the 


local people in a try to rescue him?" 
"Of course." Amanda shrugged. "It was obvious —as the first Amanda essentially said, to Ramon, 
when Ramon wondered if Cletus hadn't really meant 


what he said at the airpad—that they should do nothing against the soldiers. One way or another 
the district had to attack, then. So he sent up the patrol that morning with only sick soldiers; and 
it brought back well soldiers, all right; but those same well soldiers—only now pretending to be 
sick—went back up as the troops in the convoy that escorted Cletus to Foralie." 


"Ah," said Hal, nodding. "How long did the first Amanda actually live?" 
"She lived to be a hundred and eight." 
"And saw a second Amanda?" 
Hal's Amanda shook her head. 
"No. It was nearly a hundred years before there was a second Amanda," she said. 
Hal smiled. 
"Who had the wisdom to name the second one Amanda?" 
"No one," Amanda said. "She was named Elaine; but by the time she was sir years old everyone 


was already calling her the second Amanda. You might say, she named herself." 


Once more, in the back of his mind, Hal felt an obscure alerting to attention of that part of him 
which recognized the existence of The Purpose. 
"Tell me something about the second Amanda," he said. 
The third Amanda hesitated for a brief moment. 
"For one thing," she said, "the second Amanda was the one both Kensie and Ian Graeme were in 



love with." 

love with." 

"That's right," Amanda said. "Ion's wife, the mother of his children, was named Leah. But it was 
the second Amanda who both the twins fell in love with in the first place." 

"How did it happen?" 

The third Amanda looked down toward Fal Morgan. 

"The second Amanda grew up with Kensie and Ian," she said. "How could it be any other way 
when the two households were practically side by side, here? She grew up with them; and by the 
time they were nearly grown, if she loved either of them, it was probably Kensie, with that 
brightness and warmth that was such a natural part of him." 

"She loved Kensie?" v 

"I said—if she loved either of them… then. She was young, they were young. She had had them 
around all her life. What was there about them to make her suddenly fall seriously in love with 
either one of them? But then they graduated from the Academy and went off to the wars; and 
when they came back, it was all different." 

She paused. 

"Different? How?" Hal said gently, to get her going again. 

She sighed once more. 

"It's not easy to describe," she said. "It's something that happens often, with the situation we have 
here on the Dorsai. You grow up, knowing the boys of your district, and those from a lot of others. 
And when they finally sign contracts and go off-planet, that's all they are, still—just tall boys. But 
then, perhaps it's a year, or several, before they come home; and when they do you find they're… 
different." 

"You mean, they've become men." 

"Not only men," she said, "but men you never thought might come from the boys you knew. Some 
things you hardly noticed about them have moved forward in them and taken over. Other things 
you thought were the most important part of what made them, have gone way back in them, or 
been lost forever. They've grown up in ways you didn't expect. Suddenly, it's as if you never had 
known them. They can be anybody… strangers." 

Her voice had sunk so low that she seemed to be speaking more to herself than him; and her gaze 
was on nothing. 

"You sit and talk with them, after they come home," she went on, "and you realize you're talking 
to someone who's gone away from what was common to both of you and now has something that 
has nothing to do with you, that you've never known and maybe never will know …" 

She looked at him. Her eyes were brilliant. 

"And then you discover that the same thing that happened to them has happened to you. You were 


a girl they grew up with when they left; but that girl is gone, gone forever. With you, too, some 
things have come forward, other things have gone back or been lost forever. Now they sit talking 
to a woman they don't know, that now they maybe never will know. And so, everything changes." 

a girl they grew up with when they left; but that girl is gone, gone forever. With you, too, some 
things have come forward, other things have gone back or been lost forever. Now they sit talking 
to a woman they don't know, that now they maybe never will know. And so, everything changes." 

"Yes," she said, soberly. "They came back, two strangers, and fell in love with a stranger they had 
once grown up with. With any other three people that would have been problem enough—but 
those twins were half and half of each other, and Amanda knew it." 

"What happened?" 

The third Amanda, Hal's Amanda, did not answer. She had drawn her knees up to her chin, and 
hugged them. Now she rested her chin upon her knees, staring down into the valley. 

"What happened?" Hal asked again. 

"Everybody had simply assumed that Kensie and Amanda would end up together," she said, at 
last, "including Ian. When Ian found he was in love with Amanda himself, it was unthinkable to 
him that he should interfere in any way with his twin brother. So he married Leah, who had 
wanted him for a long time. Married her simply and quickly." 

"And took himself out of the picture." 

"No, "Amanda shook her head. "Because he had made a mistake. After the two of them had come 
home, different, it wasn't Kensie, but Ian, that the 

second Amanda had fallen in love with. Ian. Only with Ian being the kind of person he was, there 
was no chance that, having once married Leah, that situation could ever be changed." 

"But you say …" began Hal puzzled, then checked himself. "But, if she had any love for Kensie at 
all, what was to keep her from ending up with him? Certainly that would have been better than 
the two of them—" 

"The way they were." Amanda turned her head to look at Hal. "Kensie and Ian were too close not 
to know each other's feelings; and Kensie loved Amanda as completely as Amanda loved Ian. 
Knowing how she loved Ian, Kensie could not take the place he would have filled in her life if 
things had been otherwise. He went back to the wars as if… he was too much a Dorsai to 
deliberately put himself in the way of getting killed. But for all his brightness, he lived in the 
shadow of death for years after that; and it seemed as if death was perversely avoiding him." 

She looked away from him, down to the valley again. 

"The Exotics say," she went on, "that there are ontogenetic laws which explain why someone like 
Kensie could lead a charmed life under such conditions." 

"Yes," said Hal. He had not realized how strangely he had said the word until he looked up and 
saw her gazing at him. 

"You know something about ontogenetics?" she asked. "Something that applies to the second 
Amanda, and Ian and Kensie?" 

"To Ian and Kensie, maybe," he said. The part of him that concerned itself with what he called 
The 


Purpose—that half-seen thing he must do with his life —was working powerfully, now; and he 
heard his own words almost as if someone else was speaking them. "Ontogenetics merely says 
nothing happens by chance or accident. Everything is interrelated. Stop and think. When Donal 
Graeme was moving toward his goal of bringing all the inhabited worlds under one order, his 
enemy was William of Ceta, just as Dow deCastries was the special opponent of Cletus 
Grahame." 

Purpose—that half-seen thing he must do with his life —was working powerfully, now; and he 
heard his own words almost as if someone else was speaking them. "Ontogenetics merely says 
nothing happens by chance or accident. Everything is interrelated. Stop and think. When Donal 
Graeme was moving toward his goal of bringing all the inhabited worlds under one order, his 
enemy was William of Ceta, just as Dow deCastries was the special opponent of Cletus 
Grahame." 

"To defeat William, who had unlimited power and wealth, Donal needed to defeat all possible military 
opponents. To do that he needed a military force larger than had ever been seen on the inhabited worlds. 
Only one other man could train that force as Donal needed it trained—and the rule in the Graeme 
household was that no two of their men served in the same place at the same time; far the same reason 
that a father and mother of young children may travel by different spacecraft, so that in case a phase 

shift accident should take one of them, the other would still be there to take care of the children." 

"But it was different with Ian and Kensie," Amanda said. "They were allowed to serve in the same 
farce, together." 

"Until Kensie's death. Then the rule was broken once more by Eachan Khan Graeme, who you'll 
remember was the family head, Donal's father and Jan's older brother." The Purpose-oriented 
part of Hal's mind was in complete control of him, now. He went on, not noticing the sudden 
intensity with which she was regarding him. "He asked Donal to find work with him for Ian, as the 
only means of rousing Ian after his twin's death." 

She was watching him closely. 

"You know a good deal about the Graemes," she said. 

Suddenly aware of her attention, he grew flustered. 

"I… don't," he said. "I only know something about ontogenetics." 

"What you're saying adds up to the fact that Donal had Kensie killed to free Ian far his own use." 

"No, no…" he protested. "Only Donal's need far Ian, acting on the network of cause and 
effect—" 

"No!" she said. "Do you think any such farces could combine to kill Kensie, and Ian wouldn't be 
aware of it? They were one person, those twins!" 

"But you said yourself that Kensie had been searching far death, ever since he had lost Amanda," 
he protested. "Maybe Ian simply, at last, let him go. You remember Kensie was assassinated. 
Dorsai aren't easy to assassinate, unless they don't care any 

"No!" the third Amanda said, again, almost violently. "That wasn't the way it was, at all. You 
don't know… did you know that Tonias Velt, the Blau-vain chief of police, wrote Eachan Khan 
Graeme afterwards, telling him the whole story? Velt was there and saw it all. Do you know what 
he saw?" 

"No," said Hal. The part of him concerned with The Purpose drew close to the front of his mind 
and spoke through his lips almost against his will, as if it, not he, controlled them. "But I want to 
know." 


"I'll tell you, then," said Amanda, "I'll tell it all to you, just as I read it when I was young—just as 
Velt wrote it to Eachan Khan Graeme after Kensie's body had been shipped home here far burial 

"I'll tell you, then," said Amanda, "I'll tell it all to you, just as I read it when I was young—just as 
Velt wrote it to Eachan Khan Graeme after Kensie's body had been shipped home here far burial 

BROTHERS 

Physically, he was big, very big. The professional soldiers of several generations from that small, harsh 
world called the Dorsai, are normally larger than men from other worlds; but the Graemes are large even 
among the Dorsai. At the same time, like his twin brother, Ian, Commander Kensie Graeme was so 
well-proportioned in spite of his size that it was only at moments like this, when I saw him standing next 
to a fellow Dorsai like his executive officer, Colonel Charley ap Morgan, that I could realize how big he 
actually was. He had the black, curly hair of the Graemes, the heavy-boned face and brilliant grey-green 
eyes of his family, also, that utter stillness at rest and that startling swiftness in motion that was 
characteristic of the several-generations Dorsai. 

So, too, had Ian, back in Blauvain; for physically the twins were the image of each other. But otherwise, 
temperamentally, their difference was striking. Everybody loved Kensie. He was like some golden god of 
the sunshine. While Ian was dark and solitary as the black ice of a glacier in a land where it was always 
night. 

"… Blood," Pel Sinjin had said to me on our drive out here to the field encampment of the Expedition. 
"You know what they say, Tom. Blood and ice water, half-and-half in his veins, is what makes a Dorsai. 
But something must have gone wrong with those two when their mother was carrying them. Kensie got all 
the blood. Ian…" 

He had let the sentence finish itself. Like Kensie's own soldiers, Pel had come to idolize the man, and 
downgrade Ian in proportion. I had let the matter slide. 

Now, Kensie was smiling at us, as if there was some joke we were not yet in on. 

"A welcoming committee?" he said. "Is that what you are?" 

"Not exactly," I said. "We came out to talk about letting your men into Blauvain city for rest and 
relaxation; now that you've got those invading soldiers from the Friendly Worlds all rounded up, 
disarmed, and ready for shipment home—what's the joke?" 

"Just," said Charley ap Morgan, "that we were on our way into Blauvain to see you. We just got a 
repeater message that you and other planetary officials here on St. Marie are giving Ian and Kensie, with 
their staffs, a surprise victory dinner in Blauvain this evening." 

"Hells Bells!" I said.. 

"You hadn't been told?" Kensie asked. 

"Not a damn word," I said. 

It was typical of the fumbling of the so-called government-of-mayors we had here on our little world of 
St. Marie. Here was I, Superintendent of Police in Blauvain—our capital city—and here was Pel, 
commanding general of our planetary militia which had been in the field with the Exotic Expedition sent to 
rescue us from the invading puritan fanatics from the Friendly Worlds; and no one had bothered to tell 
either one of us about a dinner for the two Commanders of that Expedition. 

"You're going in, then?" Pel asked Kensie. Kensie nodded. "I've got to call my HQ." 


Pel went out. Kensie laughed. 

Pel went out. Kensie laughed. 

"Not that way," I said. "But even though the Friendlies have all been rounded up, the Blue Front is still 
with us in the shape of a good number of political outlaws and terrorists that want to pull down our 
present government. They lost the gamble they took when they invited in the Friendly troops; but now 
they may take advantage of any trouble that can be stirred up around your soldiers while they're on their 
awn in the city." 

"There shouldn't be any," Kensie reached for a dress gunbelt of black leather and began to put it on over 
the white dress uniform he was already wearing. "But we can talk about it, if you like. —You'd better be 
doing some dressing yourself, Charley." 

"On my way," said Charley ap Morgan; and went out. 

So, fifteen minutes later, Pel and I found ourselves headed back the way we had come, this time with 
three passengers. I was still at the controls of the police car as we slid on its air cushion across the rich 
grass of our St. Marie summer toward Blau-vain; but Kensie rode with me in front, making me feel small 
beside him—and I am considered a large man among our own people on St. Marie. Beside Kensie, I 
must have looked like a fifteen year old boy in relative comparison. Pel was equally small in back 
between Charley and a Dorsai Senior Commandant named Chu Van Moy—a heavy-bodied, black 
Mongol, if you can imagine such a man, from the Dorsai South Continent. 

"… No real problem," Kensie was saying as we left the grass at last for the vitreous road surface leading 
us in among the streets and roads of the city—in particular the road curving in between the high office 
buildings; of Blauvain's West Industrial Park, now just half a kilometer ahead, "we'll turn the men loose in 
small groups if you say. But there shouldn't be any need to worry. They're mercenaries, and a mercenary 
knows that civilians pay his wages. He's not going to make any trouble which would give his profession a 
bad name." 

"I don't worry about your men," I said. "It's the Blue Front fabricating some trouble in the vicinity of some 
of your men and then trying to pin the blame on them, that worries me. The only way to guard against that 
is to have your troops in small enough numbers so that my policemen can keep an eye on the civilians 
around them." 

"Fair enough," said Kiensie. He smiled down at me. "I hope, though, you don't plan on having your men 
holding our men's hands all through their evenings in town—" 

Just then we passed between the first of the tall office buildings. A shadow from the late morning sun fell 
across the car, and the high walls around us gave Kensie's last words a flat echo. Right on the heels of 
those words—in fact, mixed with them—came a faint sound as of multiple whistlings about us; and 
Kensie fell forward, no longer speaking, until his forehead against the front windscreen stopped him from 
movement. 

The next thing I knew I was flying through the air, literally. Charley ap Morgan had left the police car on 
the right side, dragging me along with a hand like a steel clamp on my arm, until we ended up against the 
front of the building on our right. We crouched there, Charley with his dress handgun in his fist and 
looking up at the windows of the building opposite. Across the narrow way, I could see Chu Van Moy 
with Pel beside him, a dress gun also in Chu's fist. I reached for my own police beltgun, and remembered 
I was not wearing it. 


About us there was utter silence. The narrow little projectiles from one or more sliver rifles, that had 
fluted about us, did not come again. For the first time I realized there was no one on the streets and no 
movement to be seen behind the windows about us. 

About us there was utter silence. The narrow little projectiles from one or more sliver rifles, that had 
fluted about us, did not come again. For the first time I realized there was no one on the streets and no 
movement to be seen behind the windows about us. 

"A hospital," he said again. His face was as pale as a sick man's. 

Neither Charley or Chu paid any attention. Silently they were continuing to scan the windows of the 
building opposite them. 

"A hospital!" shouted Pel, suddenly. 

Abruptly, Charley got to his feet and slid his weapon back into its holster. Across the street, Chu also 
was rising. Charley looked at the other Dorsai. 

"Yes," said Charley, "where is the nearest hospital?" 

But Pel was already behind the controls of the police car. The rest of us had to move or be left behind. 
He swung the car toward Blauvain's Medical Receiving, West, only three minutes away. 

He drove the streets like a madman, switching on the warning lights and siren as he went. Screaming, the 
vehicle careened through traffic and signals alike, to jerk to a stop behind the ambulance entrance at 
Medical West. Pel jumped from the car. 

"I'll get a life support system—a medician—" he said, and ran inside. 

I got out; and then Charley and Chu got out, more slowly. The two Dorsais were on opposite sides of 
the car. 

"Find a room," Charley said. Chu nodded and went after Pel through the ambulance entrance. 

Charley turned to the car. Gently, he picked up Kensie in his arms, the way you pick up a sleeping child, 
gently, holding Kensie to his chest so that Kensie's head fell in to rest on Charley's left shoulder. Carrying 
his Reid Commander, Charley turned and went into the medical establishment. I followed. 

Inside, there was a long corridor with hospital personnel milling about. Chu stood by a doorway a few 
meters down the hall to the left, half a head taller than the people between us. With Kensie in his arms, 
Charley went toward the other Commandant. 

Chu stood aside as Charley came up. The door swung back automatically, and Charley led the way into 
a room with surgical equipment in sterile cases along both its sides, and an operating table in its center. 
Charley laid Kensie softly on the table, which was almost too short for his tall body. He put the long legs 
together, picked up the arms and laid their hands on the upper thighs. There was a line of small, red stains 
across the front of his jacket, high up, but no other marks. Kensie's face, with its eyes closed, looked 
blindly to the white ceiling overhead. 

"All right," said Charley. He led the way back out into the hall. Chu came last and turned to click the lock 
on the door into place, drawing his handgun. 

"What's this?" somebody shouted at my elbow, pushing toward Chu. "That's an emergency room. You 
can't do that-" 


Chu was using his handgun on low aperture to slag the lock of the door. A crude but effective way to 
make sure that the room would not be opened by anyone with anything short of an industrial, heavy-duty 
torch. The man who was talking was middle-aged, with a grey mustache and the short green jacket of a 
senior surgeon. I intercepted him and held him back from Chu. 


"Yes, he can," I said, as he turned to stare furiously in my direction. "Do you recognize me? I'm Tomas 
Velt, the Superintendent of Police." 
He hesitated, and then calmed slightly—but only slightly. 


"I still say—" he began. 
"By the authority of my office," I said, "I do now deputize you as a temporary Police Assistant. —That 
puts you under my orders. You'll see that no one in this hospital tries to open that door or get into that 
room until Police authorization is given. I make you responsible. Do you understand?" 


He blinked at me. But before he could say anything, there was a new outburst of sound and action; and 
Pel broke into our group, literally dragging along another man in a senior surgeon's jacket. 
"Here!" Pel was shouting. "Right in here. Bring the life support—" 
He broke off, catching sight of Chu. 
"What?" he said. "What's going on? Is Kensie in there? We don't want the door sealed—" 
"Pel," I said. I put my hand on his shoulder. "Pel!" 
He finally felt and heard me. He turned a furious face in my direction. 
"Pel," I said quietly, but slowly and clearly to him. "He's dead. Kensie. Kensie is dead." 
Pel stared at me. 
"No," he said irritably, trying to pull away from me. I held him. "No!" 


"Dead," I said, looking him squarely in the eyes. "Dead, Pel." 
His eyes stared back at me, then seemed to loose their focus and stare off at something else. After a little 
they focused back, on mine again and I let go of him. 


"Dead?" he repeated. It was hardly more than a whisper. 


He walked over and leaned against one of the white-painted corridor walls. A nurse moved toward him 
and I signalled her to stop. 
"Just leave him alone for a moment," I said. I 
turned back to the two Dorsai officers who were now-testing the door to see if it was truly sealed. 
"If you'll come to Police Headquarters," I said, "we can get the hunt going for whoever did it." 
Charley looked at me briefly. There was no more friendly humor in his face now; but neither did it show 


any kind of shock, or fury. The expression it showed was only a businesslike one. 
"No," he said briefly. "We have to report." 



He went out, followed by Chu, moving so rapidly that I had to run to keep up with their long strides. 
Outside the door, they climbed back into the police car, Charley taking the controls. I scrambled in 
behind them and felt someone behind me. It was Pel. 

He went out, followed by Chu, moving so rapidly that I had to run to keep up with their long strides. 
Outside the door, they climbed back into the police car, Charley taking the controls. I scrambled in 
behind them and felt someone behind me. It was Pel. 
" 
"No. Too late," he said. 
And it was too late. Charley already had the police car in motion. He drove no less swiftly than Pel had 


driven, but without madness. For all that, though, I made most of the trip with my fingers tight on the edge 
of my seat; for with the faster speed of Dorsai reflexes he went through available spaces and openings in 
traffic where I would have sworn we could not get through. 

We pulled up before the office building attached to the Exotic Embassy as space for Expeditionary Base 
Headquarters. Charley led the way in past a guard, whose routine challenge broke off in mid-sentence as 
he recognized the two of them. 

"We have to talk to the Base Commander," Charley said to him. "Where's Commander Graeme?" 
"With the Blauvain Mayor, and the Outbond." The guard, who was no Dorsai, stammered a little. 
Charley turned on his heel. "Wait—sir, I mean the Outbond's with him, here in the Commander's office." 
Charley turned again. 
"We'll go on in. Call ahead," Charley said. 
He led the way, without waiting to watch the guard obey, down a corridor and up an escalator ramp to 


an outer office where a young Force-Leader stood up behind his desk at the sight of us. 


"Sir—" The Force-Leader said to Charley, "the Outbond and the Mayor will only be with the 
Commander another few minutes—" 
Charley brushed past him, and the Force-leader spun around to punch at his desk phone. Heels clicking 


on the polished stone floor, Charley led us toward a further door and opened it, stepping into the office 
beyond. We followed him there—into a large, square room with windows overlooking the city and our 
own broad-shouldered Mayor, Moro Spence, standing there with a white-haired, calm-faced, 
hazel-eyed man in a blue robe both facing a desk at which sat the mirror image of Kensie that was his 
twin brother, Ian Graeme. 

Ian spoke to his desk as we came in. 

"It's all right," he said. He punched a button and looked up at Charley, who went forward with Chu 
beside him, to the very edge of the desk, and then both saluted. 
"What is it?" asked Ian. 
"Kensie," said Charley. His voice became formal. "Field Commander Kensie Graeme has just been 


killed, sir, as we were on our way into the city." 


For perhaps a second—no longer—Ian sat without speaking. But his face—so like Kensie's and yet so 
different—did not change expression. 
"How?" he asked, then. 



"By assassins we couldn't see," Charley answered. "Civilians we think They got away." 

"By assassins we couldn't see," Charley answered. "Civilians we think They got away." 

"The Blue Front!" he said. "Ian… Ian, listen…" 

No one paid any attention to him. Charley was briefly recounting what had happened from the time the 
message about the invitation had reached the encampment— 

"But there wasn't any celebration like that planned!" protested Moro Spence, to the deaf ears around 
him. Ian sat quietly, his harsh, powerful face half in shadow from the sunlight coming in the high window 
behind him, listening as he might have listened to a thousand other reports. There was still no change 
visible in him; except perhaps that he, who had always been remote from everyone else, seemed even 
more remote now. His heavy forearms lay on the desktop, and the massive hands that were trained to be 
deadly weapons in their own right lay open and still on the papers beneath them. Almost, he seemed to 
be more legendary character than ordinary man; and that impression was not mine alone, because behind 
me I heard Pel hiss on a breath of sick fury indrawn between his teeth; and I remembered how he had 
talked of Ian being only ice and water, Kensie only blood. 

The white-haired man in the blue robe, who was the Exotic, Padma, Outbond to St. Marie for the period 
of the Expedition, was also watching Ian steadily. When Charley was through with his account, Padma 
spoke. 

"Ian," he said; and his calm, light baritone seemed to linger and reecho strangely on the ear, "I think this is 
something best handled by the local authorities." 

Ian glanced at him. 

"No," he answered. He looked at Charley. "Who's Duty Officer?" 

"NgTsok," said Charley. 

Ian punched the phone button on his desk 

"Get me Colonel Waru Ng'kok, Encampment HQ," he said to the desk 

" 'No?' " echoed Moro. "I don't understand Commander. We can handle it. It's the Blue Front, you see. 
They're an outlawed political—" 

I came up behind him and put my hand on his shoulder. He broke off, turning around. 

"Oh, Tom!" he said, on a note of relief "I didn't see you before. I'm glad you're here—" 

I put my finger to my lips. He was politician enough to recognize that there are times to shut up. He shut 
up now, and we both looked back at Ian. 

"… Waru? This is Base Commander Ian Graeme," Ian was saying to his phone. "Activate our four best 
Hunter Teams; and take three Forces from your on-duty troops to surround Blauvain. Seal all entrances 
to the city. No one allowed in or out without our authority. Tell the involved troops briefing on these 
actions will be forthcoming." 

As professional, free-lance soldiers, under the pattern of the Dorsai contract—which the Exotic 
employers honored for all their military employees—the mercenaries were entitled to know the aim and 
purpose of any general orders for military action they were given. By a ninety-six per cent vote among 


the enlisted men concerned, they could refuse to obey the order. In fact, by a hundred per cent vote, they 
could force their officers to use them in an action they themselves demanded. But a hundred per cent 
vote was almost unheard of. The phone grid in lan's desk top said something I could not catch. 

the enlisted men concerned, they could refuse to obey the order. In fact, by a hundred per cent vote, they 
could force their officers to use them in an action they themselves demanded. But a hundred per cent 
vote was almost unheard of. The phone grid in lan's desk top said something I could not catch. 

He clicked off the phone and reached down to open a drawer in his desk He took out a gunbelt—a 
working, earth-colored gunbelt unlike the dress one Kensie had put on earlier—with sidearm already in 
its holster; and, standing up, began to strap it on. On his feet, he dominated the room, towering over us 
all. 

"Tom," he said, looking at me, "put your police to work, finding out what they can. Tell them all to be 
prepared to obey orders by any one of our soldiers, no matter what his rank." 

"I don't know if I've got the authority to tell them that," I said. 

"I've just given you the authority," he answered calmly. "As of this moment, Blauvain is under martial 
law." 

Moro cleared his throat; but I jerked a hand at him to keep him quiet. There was no one in this room 
with the power to deal with lan's authority now, except the gentle-faced man in the blue robe. I looked 
appealingly at Padma, and he turned from me to Ian. 

"Naturally, Ian, measures will have to be taken, for the satisfaction of the soldiers who knew Kensie," 
Padma said softly, "but perhaps finding the guilty men would be better done by the civilian police without 
military assistance?" 

"I'm afraid we can't leave it to them," said Ian briefly. He turned to the other two Dorsai officers.. "Chu, 
take command of the Forces I've just ordered to cordon the city. Charley, you'll take over as Acting 
Field Commander. Have all the officers and men in the encampment held there, and gather back any who 
are off post. You can use the office next to this one. We'll brief the troops in the encampment, this 
afternoon. Chu can brief his forces as he posts them around the city." 

The two turned and headed toward the door. 

"Just a minute, gentlemen!" 

Padma's voice was raised only slightly. But the pair of officers paused and turned for a moment. 

"Colonel ap Morgan, Commandant Moy," said Padma, "as the official representative of the Exotic 
Government, which is your employer, I relieve you from the requirement of following any further orders 
of Commander Ian Graeme." 

Charley and Chu looked past the Exotic, to Ian. 

"Go ahead," said Ian. They went. Ian turned back to Padma. "Our contracts provide that officers and 
men are not subject to civilian authority while on active duty, engaged with an enemy." 

"But the war—the war with the Friendly invaders—is over," said Moro. 

"One of our soldiers has just been killed," said Ian. "Until the identity of the killers is established, I'm 
going to assume we're still engaged with an enemy." 

He looked again at me. 


"Tom," he said. "You can contact your Police Headquarters from this desk As soon as you've done that, 


report to me in the office next door, where I sent Charley." 
He came around the desk and went out. Padma followed him. I went to the desk and put in a phone call 
to my own office. 


"For God's sake, Tom!" said Moro to me, as I punched phone buttons for the number of my office, and 
started to get the police machinery rolling. "What's going on, here?" 


I was too busy to answer him. Someone else was not. 
"He's going to make them pay for killing his brother," said Pel savagely, from across the room. "That's 
what's going on!" 


I had nearly forgotten Pel. Moro must have forgotten him absolutely, because he turned around to him 
now as if Pel had suddenly appeared on the scene in a cloud of fire and brimstone-odorous smoke. 


"Pel?" he said. "Oh, Pel—get your militia together and under arms, right away. This is an emergency—" 
"Go to hell!" Pel answered him. "I'm not going to lift a finger to keep Ian from hunting down those 
assassins. And no one else in the militia who knew Kensie Graeme is going to lift a finger, either." 


"But this could bring down the government!" 


Moro was close to the idea of tears, if not to the actual article. "This could throw St. Marie back into 
anarchy, and the Blue Front will take over by default!" 
"That's what the planet deserves," said Pel, "when it lets men like Kensie be shot down like dogs —men 


who came here to risk their lives to save our government!" 


"You're crazier than these mercenaries are!" said Moro, staring at him. Then a touch of hope lifted 
Moro's drawn features. "Actually, Ian seems calm enough. Maybe he won't—" 
"He'll take this city apart if he has to," said Pel, savagely. "Don't blind yourself" 
I had finished my phoning. I punched off, and straightened up, looking at Pel. 
"I thought you told me there was nothing but ice and water to Ian?" I said. 
"There isn't," Pel answered. "But Kensie's his twin brother. That's the one thing he can't sit back from and 


shuffle off. You'll see." 
"I hope and pray I don't," I said; and I left the office for the one next door where Ian was waiting for me. 


Pel and Moro followed; but when we came to the doorway of the" other office, there was a soldier there 
who would let only me through. 
"… We'll want a guard on that hospital room, and a Force guarding the hospital itself," Ian was saying 


slowly and deliberately to Charley ap Morgan as I came in. He was standing over Charley, who was 
seated at a desk Back against a wall stood the silent figure in a blue robe that was Padma. Ian turned to 
face me. 


"The troops at the encampment are being paraded in one hour," he said. "Charley will be going out to 
brief them on what's happened. I'd like you to go with him and be on the stand with him during the 
briefing." 



I looked back at him, up at him. I had not gone along with Pel's ice-and-water assessement of the man. 
But now for the first time I began to doubt myself and begin to believe Pel. If ever there had been two 
brothers who had seemed to be opposite halves of a single egg, Kensie and Ian had been those two. But 
here was Ian with Kensie dead—perhaps the only living person on the eleven human-inhabited worlds 
among the stars who had loved or understood him— and Ian had so far shown no more emotion at his 
brother's death than he might have on discovering an incorrect Order of the Day. 

I looked back at him, up at him. I had not gone along with Pel's ice-and-water assessement of the man. 
But now for the first time I began to doubt myself and begin to believe Pel. If ever there had been two 
brothers who had seemed to be opposite halves of a single egg, Kensie and Ian had been those two. But 
here was Ian with Kensie dead—perhaps the only living person on the eleven human-inhabited worlds 
among the stars who had loved or understood him— and Ian had so far shown no more emotion at his 
brother's death than he might have on discovering an incorrect Order of the Day. 

If Ian was repressing emotion that was due to explode sometime soon, then we were all in trouble. My 
Blauvain police and the planetary militia together were toy soldiers compared to these professionals. 
Without the Exotic control to govern them, the whole planet was at their mercy. But there was no point in 
admitting that—even to ourselves—while even the shadow of independence was left to us. 

"Commander," I said. "General Pel Sinjin's planetary militia were closely involved with your brother's 
forces. He would like to be at any such brief-ing. Also, Moro Spence, Blauvain's Mayor and pro-tem 
President of the St. Marie Planetary Government, would want to be there. Both these men, Commander, 
have as deep a stake in this situation as your troops." 

Ian looked at me. 

"General Sinjin," he said, after a moment. "Of course. But we don't need mayors." 

"St. Marie needs them," I said. "That's all our St. Marie World Council is, actually—a collection of 
mayors from our largest cities. Show that Moro and the rest mean nothing, and what little authority they 
have will be gone in ten minutes. Does St. Marie deserve that from you?" 

He could have answered that St. Marie had been the death of his brother—and it deserved anything he 
wished to give it. But he did not. I would have felt safer with him if he had. Instead, he looked at me as if 
from a long, long distance for several seconds, then over at Padma. 

"You'd favor that?" he asked. 

"Yes," said Padma. Ian looked back at me. 

"Both Moro and General Sinjin can go with you, then," he said. "Charley will be leaving from here by air 
in about forty minutes. I'll let you get back to your own responsibilities until then. You'd better appoint 
someone as liaison from your police, to stand by here in this office." 

"Thanks," I said. "I will." 

I turned and went out. As I left, I heard Ian behind me, dictating. 

"… All travel by the inhabitants of the City of Blauvain will be restricted to that which is absolutely 
essential. Military passes must be obtained for such travel. Inhabitants are to stay off the streets. Anyone 
involved in any gathering will be subject to investigation and arrest. The City of Blauvain is to recognize 
the fact that it is now under martial, not civil, law…" 

The door closed behind me. I saw Pel and Moro waiting in the corridor. 

"It's all right," I told them, "you haven't been shut out of things—yet." 


We took off from the top of that building, forty minutes later, Charley and myself up in the control seats 
of a military eight-man liaison craft with Pel and Moro sitting back among the passenger seats. 

We took off from the top of that building, forty minutes later, Charley and myself up in the control seats 
of a military eight-man liaison craft with Pel and Moro sitting back among the passenger seats. 

He was looking ahead through the forward vision screen and he did not answer for a moment. When he 
did, it was without turning his head. 

"Kensie and I," he said softly, almost absently, "grew up together. Most of our lives we've been in the 
same place, working for the same employers." 

I had thought I knew Charley ap Morgan. In his cheerfulness, he had seemed more human, less of a 
half-god of Avar than other Dorsai like Kensie or Ian— or even lesser Dorsai officers like Chu. But now 
he had moved off with the rest. His words took him out of my reach, into some cold, high, distant country 
where only Dorsai lived. It was a land I could not enter, the rules of which I would never understand. But 
I tried again, anyway. 

"Charley," I said, after a moment of silence, "that doesn't answer what I asked you." 

He looked at me then, briefly. 

"I don't know what's going to happen," he said. 

He turned his attention back to the controls. We flew the rest of the way to the encampment without 
talking. 

When we landed, we found the entire Expedition drawn up in formation. They were grouped by Forces 
into Battalion and Arm Groups; and their dun-colored battle dress showed glints of light in the late 
afternoon sunlight. It was not until we mounted the stand facing them that I recognized the glitter for what 
it was. They had come to the formation under arms, all of them—although that had not been in lan's 
orders. Word of Kensie had preceded us. I looked at Charlie; but he was paying no attention to the 
weapons. 

The sun struck at us from the southwest at a lowered angle. The troops were in formation, with their 
backs to the old factory, and when Charley spoke, the amplifiers caught up his voice and carried it out 
over their heads. 

"Troops of the Exotic Expeditionary Force in relief of Saint Marie," he said. "By order of Commander 
Ian Graeme, this briefing is ordered for the hundred and eighty-seventh day of the Expedition on St. 
Marie soil." 

The brick walls slapped his words back with a flat echo over the still men in uniform. I stood a little 
behind him, in the shadow of his shoulders, listening. Pel and Moro were behind me. 

"I regret to inform you," Charley said, "that sniper activity within the City of Blauvain, this day, about 
thirteen hundred hours, cost us the life of Commander Kensie Graeme." 

There was no sound from the men. 

"The snipers have not yet been captured or killed. Since they remain unidentified, Commander Ian 
Graeme has ordered that the condition of hostilities, which was earlier assumed to have ended, is still in 
effect. Blauvain has been placed under martial law, sufficient force has been sent to seal the city against 
any exit or ingress, and all persons under Exotic contract to the Expedition have been recalled to this 


encampment…" 

encampment…" 

"Look at them!" he said. "They're ready to march on Blauvain right now. Do you think they'll let Kensie 
be killed on some stinking little world like this of ours, and not see that somebody pays for it?" 

"Shut up, Pel," I murmured out of the corner of my mouth at him. But he went on. 

"Look at them!" he said. "It's the order to march they're waiting for—the order to march on Blauvain. 
And if Charley doesn't end up giving it, there'll be hell to pay. You see how they've all come armed?" 

"That's right, Pel, Blauvain's not your city!" It was a bitter whisper from Moro. "If it was Castelmane they 
were itching to march on, would you feel the same way about it?" 

"Yes!" hissed Pel, fiercely. "If men come here to risk their lives for us, and we can't do any better than let 
them be gunned down in the streets, what do we deserve? What does anyone deserve?" 

"Stop making a court case out of it!" whispered Moro harshly. "It's Kensie you're thinking of—that's all. 
Just like it's only Kensie they're thinking of, out there…" 

I tried again to quiet them, then realized that actually it did not make any difference. For all practical 
purposes, the three of us were invisible there behind Charley. The attention of the armed men ranked 
before us was all on Charley, and only on him. As Pel had said, they were waiting for one certain order; 
and only that order mattered to them. 

It was like standing facing some great, dun-colored, wounded beast which must charge at any second 
now, if only because in action would there be relief from the pain it was suffering. Charley's 
expressionless voice went on, each word coming back like a slapping of dry boards together, in the echo 
from the factory wall. He was issuing a long list of commands having to do with the order of the camp, 
and its transition back to a condition of battle-alert. 

I could feel the tension rising as he approached the end of his list of orders without one which might 
indicate action by the Expedition against the city in which Kensie had died. Then, suddenly, the list was 
at an end. 

"…That concludes," said Charley, in the same unvarying tones, "the present orders dealing with the 
situation. I would remind the personnel of this Expedition that at present the identity of the assassins of 
Commander Graeme is unknown. The civilian police are exerting every effort to investigate the matter; 
and it is the opinion of your officers that nothing else can be done for the moment but to give them our 
complete cooperation. A suspicion exists that a native, outlawed political party, known as The Blue 
Front, may have been responsible for the assassination. If this should be so, we must be careful to 
distinguish between those of this world who are actually guilty of Commander Graeme's death and the 
great majority of innocent bystanders." 

He stopped speaking. 

There was not a sound from the thousands of men ranked before him. — 

"All right, Brigade-Major," said Charley, looking down from the stand at the ranking officer in the 
formation. "Dismiss your troops." 

The Brigade-Major, who had been standing like all the rest facing the stand, wheeled about. 


"Atten-shun!" he snapped, and the amplifier sensors of the stand picked his voice up and threw it out 
over the men in formation as they had projected Charley's voice. "Dis-miss!" 

"Atten-shun!" he snapped, and the amplifier sensors of the stand picked his voice up and threw it out 
over the men in formation as they had projected Charley's voice. "Dis-miss!" 

"They little knew of brotherhood…" 

Other voices rapidly picked it. up. 

"… The faith of fighting men— 

"Who once to prove their lie was good 

"Hanged Colonel Jacques Chretien..." 

—And suddenly they were all singing in the ranks facing us. It was a song of the young Colonel who had 
been put to death one hundred years before, when the Dorsai were just in their beginning. A New Earth 
city had employed a force of Dorsai with the secret intention of using them against an enemy force so 
superior as to surely destroy them utterly—so rendering payment for their services unnecessary while at 
the same time doing considerable damage to the enemy. Then the Dorsai had defeated the enemy, 
instead, and the city faced the necessity of paying, after all. To avoid this, the city authorities came up 
with the idea of charging the Dorsai commanding officer with dealing with the enemy, taking a bribe to 
claim victory for a battle never fought at all. It was the technique of the big lie; and it might even have 
worked if they had not made the mistake of arresting the commanding officer, to back up their story. 

It was not a song to which I would have had any objection, ordinarily. But now—suddenly—I found it 
directed at me. It was at Pel, Moro, myself, that the soldiers of the Expedition were all singing it. Before, 
I had felt almost invisible on the stand behind Charley ap Morgan. Now, we three civilians were the focus 
of every pair of eyes on the field—we civilians who were like the civilians that had hanged Jacques 
Chretien; we who were St. Marians, like whoever had shot Kensie Graeme. It was like facing into the 
roaring maw of some great beast ready to swallow us up. We stood facing it, frozen. 

Nor did Charley ap Morgan interfere. 

He stood silent himself, waiting while they went through all the verses of the song to its end:— 

. . .One fourth of Rochmont's fighting strength-One battalion of Dorsai— Were sent by Rochmont 
forth alone, To bleed Helmuth, and die. 

But look, look dawn from Rochmont's heights 

Upon the Helmuth plain. 

At all of Helmuth's armored force 

By Dorsai checked, or slain. 

Look down, look down, on Rochmont's shame To hide the wrong she'd done, Made claim Helmuth 
had bribed Dorsais— No battle had been won. 


To prove that lie, the Rochmont Lords Arrested Jacques Chretien, On charge he dealt with 
Helmuth's Chiefs For payment to his men. 

To prove that lie, the Rochmont Lords Arrested Jacques Chretien, On charge he dealt with 
Helmuth's Chiefs For payment to his men. 

Strong-held behind her walls, Rochmont Scorned to answer them, Condemned, and at the 
daybreak, hanged, Young Colonel Jacques Chretien. 

Bright, bright, the sun that morning rose Upon each weaponed wall. But when the sun set in the 
west, Those walls were leveled all. 

Then soft and white the moon arose On streets and roofs unstained, But when that moon was 

down once more No street nor roof remained. 

No more is there a Rochmont town No more are Rochmont's men. But stands a Dorsai monument 
To Colonel Jacques Chretien. 

So pass the word from world to world, Alone still stands Dorsai. But while she lives, no one of 
hers, By foreign wrong shall die. 

They little knew of brotherhood —The faith of fighting men— Who once to prove their lie was 
good Hanged Colonel Jacques Chretien! 

It ended. Once more they were silent—utterly silent. On the platform Charley moved. He took half a 
step forward and the sensors picked up his voice once more and threw it out over the heads of the 
waiting men. 

"Officers! Front and Center. Face your men!" 

From the end of each rank figures moved. The commissioned and non-commissioned officers stepped 
forward, turned and marched to a point opposite the middle of the rank they had headed, turned once 
more and stood at attention, 

"Prepare to fire." 

The weapons in the hands of the officers came up to waist level, their muzzles pointing at the men directly 
before them. The breath in my chest was sud-denly a solid thing. I could not have inhaled or exhaled if I 
had tried. I had heard of something like this but I had never believed it, let alone dreamed that I would be 
there to see it happen. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the angle of Charley ap Morgan's face, 
and it was a Dorsai face in all respects now. He spoke again. 

"The command to dismiss has been given," Charley's voice rang and reechoed over the silent men, "and 
not obeyed. The command will be repeated under the stricture of the Third Article of the Professional 
Soldier's Covenant. Officers will open fire on any refusing to obey." 

There was something like a small sigh that ran through all the standing men, followed by the faint rattle of 
safeties being released on the weapons of the men in ranks. They stood facing their officers and 
non-commissioned officers now—fellow soldiers and old friends. But they were all professionals. They 
would not simply stand and be executed if it came to the final point. The breath in my chest was now so 
solid it hurt, like something jagged and heavy pressing against my ribs. In ten seconds we could all be 
dead. 


"Brigade-Major," said the level voice of Charley. "Dismiss your troops." 


The Brigade-major, who had turned once more to face Charley, when Charley spoke to him, turned 
back again to the parade ground of men. 
"Dis—" No more than in Charley's voice was there perceptible change in the Brigade-Major's command 


from the time it had been given before, "-miss!" 
The formations dissolved. All at once the ranks were breaking up, the men in them turning away, the 
officers and non-coms lowering the weapons they had lifted to ready position at Charley's earlier 
command. The long-held breath tore itself out of my lungs so roughly it ripped at my throat. I turned to 


Charley but he was halfway down the steps from the platform, as expressionless as he had been all 
through the last few minutes. I had to half-run to catch up to him. 
"Charley!" I said, reaching him. 
He turned to look at me as he walked along. Suddenly I felt how pale and sweat dampened I was. I tried 


to laugh. 
"Thank God that's over," I said. 
"Over?" He shook his head. "It's not over, Tom. The enlisted men will be voting now. It's their right." 
"Vote?" The world made no sense to me, for a second. Then suddenly it made too much sense. "You 


mean—they might vote to march on Blauvain, or something like mat?" 
"Perhaps—something like that," he said. 
I stared at him. 
"And then?" I said. "You wouldn't… if their vote should be to march on Blauvain—what would you do?" 
He looked at me almost coldly. 
"Lead my troops," he said. 
I stopped. Standing there, I watched him walk away from me. A hand tugged at my elbow", and I turned 


around to see that Pel and Moro had caught up to me. It was Moro who had his hand on my arm. 
"Tom," said Moro, "What do we do, now?" 
"See Padma," I said. "If he can't do something, I don't know anybody who can." 
Charley was not flying directly back to Blauvain. 
He was already in a staff meeting with his fellow officers, who were barred from the voting of the enlisted 


men by the Covenant. We three civilians had to borrow a land car from the encampment motor pool. 
It was a silent ride, most of the way back into town. Once again I was at the controls, with Pel beside 


me. Sitting behind us, just before we reached the west area of the city, Moro leaned forward to put his 
head between us. 
"Tom," he said. "You'll have to put your police on special duty. Pel, you've got to mobilize the militia 


—right now." 



"Moro," I answered—and I suddenly felt dog-tired, weary to the point of exhaustion. "I've got less than 
three hundred men, ninety-nine per cent of them without anything more exciting in the way of experience 
than filling out reports or taking charge at a fire, an accident or a family quarrel. They wouldn't face those 
mercenaries even if I ordered them to." 

"Moro," I answered—and I suddenly felt dog-tired, weary to the point of exhaustion. "I've got less than 
three hundred men, ninety-nine per cent of them without anything more exciting in the way of experience 
than filling out reports or taking charge at a fire, an accident or a family quarrel. They wouldn't face those 
mercenaries even if I ordered them to." 

Pel laughed at him. 

"Over a hundred years ago, a battalion of Dorsais took a fortified city—Rochmont—with nothing heavier 
than light field pieces. This is a brigade—six battalions—armed with the best weapons the Exotics can 
buy them—facing a city with no natural or artificial defenses at all. And you want my two thousand 
militiamen to try to stop them? There's no force on St. Marie that could stop those professional soldiers." 

"At Rochmont they were all Dorsai—" Moro began. 

"For God's sake!" cried Pel. "These are Dorsai-officered, the best mercenaries you can find. Elite 
troops—the Exotics don't hire anything else for fear they might have to touch a weapon themselves and 
damage their, enlightenment—or whatever the hell it is! Face it, Moro! If Kensie's troops want to chew 
us up, they will. And there's nothing you or I can do about it!" 

Moro said nothing for a long moment. Pel's last words had hit a near-hysterical note. When the Mayor of 
Blauvain did speak again, it was softly. 

"I just wish to God I knew why you want just that to happen, so badly," he said. 

"Go to hell!" said Pel. "Just go-" 

I slammed the car into retro and we skidded to a halt, thumping down on the grass as the air-cushion quit 
I looked at Pel. 

"That's something I'd like to know, too," I said. "All right, you liked Kensie. So did I. But what we're 
facing is anything from the leveling of a city to a possible massacre of a couple of hundred thousand 
people. All that for the death of just one man?" 

Pel's face looked bitter and sick 

"We're no good, we St. Marians," he said, thickly. "We're a fat little farm world that's never done 
anything since it was first settled but yell for help to the Exotics every time we got into trouble. And the 
Exotics have bailed us out every time, only because we're in the same solar system with them. What're 
we worth? Nothing! At least the Dorsai and the Exotics have got some value—some use!" 

He turned away from Moro and myself; and we could not get another word out of him. 

We drove on into the city, where, to my great relief, I finally got rid of Pel and Moro both; and was able 
to get to Police Headquarters and take charge of things. 

As I had expected, things badly needed taking care of there. As I should also have expected, I had very 
much underestimated how badly they needed it. I had planned to spend two or three hours getting the 
situation under control, and then be free to seek out Padma. But, as it ended up, it took me nearly seven 
straight hours to damp down the panic, straighten out the confusion, and put some purpose and order 
back into the operations of all my people, off-duty and otherwise, who had reported for emergency 
service. Actually, it was little enough we were required to do —merely patrol the streets and see that the 


town's citizens stayed off the streets and out of the way of the mercenaries. Still, that took seven hours to 
put into smooth operation; and at the end of that time I was still not free to go hunting for Padma, but had 
to respond to a series of calls for my presence by the detective crew assigned to work with the 
mercenaries in tracking down the assassins. 

town's citizens stayed off the streets and out of the way of the mercenaries. Still, that took seven hours to 
put into smooth operation; and at the end of that time I was still not free to go hunting for Padma, but had 
to respond to a series of calls for my presence by the detective crew assigned to work with the 
mercenaries in tracking down the assassins. 

We came at last to a block of warehouses on the north side of the city; and to one warehouse in 
particular. Within, the large, echoing structure was empty except for a few hundred square feet of crated 
harvesting machinery on the first of its three floors. I found my men on the second floor in the transparent 
cubicles that were the building's offices, apparently doing nothing. 

"What's the matter?" I said, when I saw them. They were not only idle, but they looked unhappy. 

"There's nothing we can do, Superintendent," said the senior detective lieutenant present—Lee Hall, a 
man I'd known for sixteen years. "We can't keep up with them, even if they'd let us." 

"Keep up?" I asked. 

"Yes sir," Lee said. "Come on, I'll show you. They let us watch, anyway." 

He led me out of the offices up to the top floor of the warehouse, a great, bare space with a few empty 
crates scattered between piles of unused packing materials. At one end, portable floodlights were 
illuminating an area with a merciless blue-white light that made the shadows cast by men and things look 
solid enough to stub your toe on. He led me toward the light until a Groupman stepped forward to bar 
our way. 

"Close enough, Lieutenant," he said to Lee. He looked at me. 

"This is Tomas Velt, Blauvain superintendent of police." 

"Honored to meet you, sir," said the Groupman to me. "But you and the Lieutenant will have to stand 
back here if you want to see what's going on." 

"What is going on?" I asked. 

"Reconstruction," said the Groupman. "That's one of our Hunter Teams." 

I turned to watch. In the white glare of the light were four of the mercenaries. At first glance they seemed 
engaged in some odd ballet or mime acting. They were at little distances from one another; and first one, 
then another of them would move a short distance—perhaps as if he had gotten up from a nonexistent 
chair and walked across to an equally nonexistent table, then turned to face the others. Following which 
another man would move in and apparently do something at the same invisible table with him. 

"The men of our Hunter Teams are essentially trackers, Superintendent," said the Groupman quietly in my 
ear. "But some teams are better in certain surroundings than others. These are men of a team that works 
well in interiors." 

"But what are they doing?" I said. 


"Reconstructing what the assassins did when they were here," said the Groupman. "Each of three men on 
the team takes the track of one of the assassins, and the fourth man -watches them all as coordinator." 

"Reconstructing what the assassins did when they were here," said the Groupman. "Each of three men on 
the team takes the track of one of the assassins, and the fourth man -watches them all as coordinator." 

"But what kind of signs are they tracking?" I asked. 

"Little things, mostly." He smiled. "Tiny things-some things you or I wouldn't be able to see if they were 
pointed out to us. Sometimes there's nothing and they have to go on guess—that's where the coordinator 
helps." He sobered. "Looks like black magic, doesn't it? It does, even to me, sometimes, and I've been a 
Dorsai for fourteen years." 

I stared at the moving figures. 

"You said—three," I said. 

"That's right," answered the Groupman. "There were three snipers. We've tracked them from the office in 
the building they fired from, to here. This was their headquarters—the place they moved from, to the 
office, just before the killing. There's sign they were here a couple of days, at least, waiting." 

"Waiting?" I asked. "How do you know there were three and they were waiting?" 

"Lots of repetitive sign. Habitual actions. Signs of camping beds set up. Food signs for a number of 
meals. Metal lubricant signs showing weapons had been disassembled and worked over here. Signs of a 
portable, private phone—they must have waited for a phone call from someone telling them the 
Commander was on his way in from the encampment." 

"But how do you know there were only three?" 

"There's sign for only three," he said. "Three—all big for your world, all under thirty. The biggest man had 
black hair and a full beard. He was the one who hadn't changed clothes for a week—" The Groupman 
sniffed the air. "Smell him?" 

I sniffed hard and long. 

"I don't smell a thing," I said. 

"Hmm," the Groupman looked grimly pleased. "Maybe those fourteen years have done me some good, 
after all. The stink of him's in the air, all right. It's one of the things our Hunter Teams followed to this 
place." 

I looked aside at Lee Hall, then back at the soldier. 

"You don't need my detectives at all, do you?" I said. 

"No sir," he looked me in the face. "But we assume you'd want them to stay with us. That's all right." 

"Yes." I said. And I left there. If my men were not needed, neither was I; and I had no time to stand 
around being useless. There was still Padma to talk to. 

But it was not easy to locate the Outbond. The Exotic Embassy either could not or would not tell me 
where he was; and the Expedition Headquarters in Blauvain also claimed not to know. As a matter of 
ordinary police work, my own department kept track of important outworlders like the Graeme brothers 


and the Outbond, as they moved around our city. But in this case, there was no record of Padma ever 
leaving the room in which I had last seen him with Ian Graeme, early in the day. I finally took my 
determination in both hands and called Ian himself to ask if Padma was with him. 

and the Outbond, as they moved around our city. But in this case, there was no record of Padma ever 
leaving the room in which I had last seen him with Ian Graeme, early in the day. I finally took my 
determination in both hands and called Ian himself to ask if Padma was with him. 

So, with one of the professional soldiers in my police car to vouch for me at roadblocks, I returned to my 
own dark apartment; and when, alone at last, I came into the living room and turned on the light, there 
was Padma waiting for me in one of my own chair-floats. 

The jar of finding him there was solid—more like an emotional explosion than I would have thought. It 
was like seeing a ghost in reality, the ghost of someone from whose funeral you have just returned. I 
stood staring at him. 

"Sorry to startle you, Tom," he said. "I know, you were going to have a drink and forget about everything 
for a few hours. Why don't you have the drink, anyway?" 

He nodded toward the bar built into a corner of the apartment living room. I never used the thing unless 
there were guests on hand; but it was always stocked—that was part of the maintenance agreement in 
the lease. I went over and punched the buttons for a single brandy and water. I knew there was no use 
offering Padma alcohol. 

"How did you get in here?" I said, with back to him. 

"I told your supervisor you were looking for me," Padma said. "He let me in. We Exotics aren't so 
common on your world here that he didn't recognize me." 

I swallowed half the glass at a gulp, carried the drink back, and sat down in a chair opposite him. The 
background lighting in the apartment had gone on automatically when night darkened the windows. It was 
a soft light, pouring from the corners of the ceiling and from little random apertures and niches in the 
walls. Under it, in his blue robe, with this ageless face, Padma looked like the image of a buddah, beyond 
all the human and ordinary storms of life. 

"What are you doing here?" I asked. "I've been looking all over for you." 

"That's why I'm here," Padma said. "The situation being what it is, you would want to appeal to me to 
help you with it. So I wanted to see you away from any place where you might blame my refusal to help 
on outside pressures." 

"Refusal?" I said. It was probably my imagination; but the brandy and water I had swallowed seemed to 
have gone to my head already. I felt light-minded and unreal. "You aren't even going to listen to me first 
before saying no?" 

"My hope," said Padma, "is that you'll listen to me, first, Tom, before rejecting what I've got to tell you. 
You're thinking that I could bring pressure to bear on Ian Graeme to move his soldiers half a world away 
from Blauvain, or otherwise take the situation out of its critical present phase. But the truth is I could not; 
and even if I could, I would not." 

"Would not," I echoed, muzzily. 

"Yes. Would not. But not just because of personal choice. For four centuries now, Tom, we students of 
the Exotic Sciences have been telling other men and women that our human race was committed to a 


future, to the workings of history as it is. It's true we Exotics have a calculative technique now, called 
ontogenetics, that helps us to resolve any present or predicted moment into its larger historical factors. 
We've made no secret of having such techniques. But that doesn't mean we can control what will happen, 
particularly while other men still tend to reject the very thing we work with—the concept of a large, 
shifting pattern of events that involves all of us and our lives." 

future, to the workings of history as it is. It's true we Exotics have a calculative technique now, called 
ontogenetics, that helps us to resolve any present or predicted moment into its larger historical factors. 
We've made no secret of having such techniques. But that doesn't mean we can control what will happen, 
particularly while other men still tend to reject the very thing we work with—the concept of a large, 
shifting pattern of events that involves all of us and our lives." 

"Neither do we on Mara and Kultis," said Pad-ma. "But we do believe in a physics of human action and 
interaction, which we believe works in a certain direction, toward a certain goal which we now think is 
less than a hundred years off— if, in fact, we haven't already reached it. Movement toward that goal has 
been building up for at least the last thousand years; and by now the momentum of its forces is massive. 
No single individual or group of individuals at the present time have the mass to oppose or turn that 
movement from its path. Only something greater than a human being as we know a human being might do 
that." 

"Sure," I said. The glass in my hand was empty. I did not remember drinking the rest of its contents; but 
the alcohol was bringing me a certain easing of weariness and tension. I got up, went back to the bar, and 
came back with a full glass, while Padma waited silently. "Sure, I understand. You think you've spotted a 
historical trend here; and you don't want to interfere for fear of spoiling it A fancy excuse to do nothing." 

"Not an excuse, Tom," Padma said; and there was something different, like a deep gong-note in his 
voice, that blew the fumes of the brandy clear from my wits for a second and made me look at him. "I'm 
not telling you I won't do anything about the situation. I'm telling you that I can't do anything about it. 
Even if I tried to do something, it would be no use. It's not for you alone that the situation is too massive; 
it's that way for everyone." 

"How do you know if you don't try?" I said. "Let me see you try, and it not work Then maybe I'd believe 
you." 

"Tom," he said, "can you lift me out of this chair?" 

I blinked at him. I am no Dorsai, as I think I have said, but I am large for my world, which meant in this 
case that I was a head taller than Padma and perhaps a quarter again the weight. Also I was undoubtedly 
younger; and I had worked all my life to stay in good physical condition. I could have lifted someone my 
own weight out of that chair with no trouble, and Padma was less than that. 

"Unless you're tied down," I said. 

"I'm not." He stood up briefly, and then sat again. "Try and lift me, Tom." 

I put my glass down, stepped over to his float and stood behind him. I wrapped my arms around his 
body under his armpits, and lifted—at first easily, then with all my strength. 

But not only could I not lift him, I could not budge him. If he had been a lifesized statue of stone I would 
have expected to feel more reaction and movement in response to my efforts. 

I gave up finally, panting, and stood back from him. 

"What do you weigh?" I demanded. 

"No more than you think Sit down again, Tom—" I did. "Don't let it bother you. It's a trick, of course. 
No, not a mechanical trick, a physiological one—but a trick just the same, that's been shown on stage at 
times, at least during the last four hundred years." 


"Stand up," I said. "Let me try again." 
He did. I did. He was still immovable. 
"Now," he said, when I had given up a second time. "Try once more; and you'll find you can lift me." 
I wiped my forehead, put my arms around him, and heaved upward with all my strength. I almost threw 


him against the ceiling overhead. Numbly I set him down again. 
"You see?" he said, reseating himself "Just as I knew you could not lift me until I let you, I know that 


there is nothing I can do to alter present events here on St. Marie from their present direction. But you 
can." 
"I can?" I stared at him, then exploded. "Then for God's sake tell me how?" 
He shook his head, slowly. 
"I'm sorry, Tom," he said. "But that's just what I can't do. I only know that, resolved to ontogenetic 


terms, the situation here shows you as a pivotal character. On you, as a point, the bundle of human forces 
that were concentrated here and bent toward destruction by another such pivotal character, may be 
redirected back into the general historical pattern with a minimum of harm. I tell you this so that being 
aware of it, you can be watching for opportunities to redirect. That's all I can do." 

Incredibly, with those words, he got up and went toward the door of the apartment. 
"Hold on!" I said, and he stopped, turning back momentarily. "This other pivotal character. Who's he?" 
Padma shook his head again. 
"It would do you no good to know," he said. "I give you my word he is now far away from the situation 


and will not be coming back to it He is not even on the planet." 
"One of the assassins of Kensie!" I said. "And they've gotten away, off-planet!" 
"No," said Padma. "No. The men who assassinated Kensie are only tools of events. If none of them had 


existed, three others would have been there in their place. Forget this other pivotal character, Tom. He 
was no more in charge of the situation he created than you are in charge of the situation here and now. 
He was simply, like you, in a position that gave him freedom of choice. Good night." 

With those last words, he was suddenly out the door and gone. To this day I cannot remember if he 
moved particularly swiftly; or whether for some reason I now can't remember I simply let him go. Just-all 
at once I was alone. 

Fatigue rolled over me like the heavy waves of some ocean of mercury. I stumbled into the bedroom, fell 
on my sleeping float, and that was all I remembered until—only a second later, it seemed—I woke to the 
hammering of my telephone's chimes on my ears. 

I reached out, fumbled at the bedside table and pushed the on button. 
"Velt here," I said, thickly. 
"Tom—this is More. Tom? Is that you, Tom?" 
I licked my lips, swallowed and spoke more understandably. 



"It's me," I said. "What's the call for?" 
"Where've you been?" 
"Sleeping," I said. "What's the call for?" 
"I've got to talk to you. Can you come—" 
"You come here," I said. "I've got to get up and dress and get some coffee in me before I go anyplace. 


You can talk to me while I'm doing it." 


I punched off. He was still saying something at the other end of the line but just then I did not care what it 
was. 
I pushed my dead-heavy body out of bed and began to move. I was dressed and at the coffee when he 

came. 
"Have a cup." I pushed it at him as he sat down at the porch table with me. He took it automatically. 
"Tom—" he said. The cup trembled in his hand as he lifted it and he sipped hastily from it before putting it 


down again. "Tom, you were in the Blue Front once, weren't you?" 


"Weren't we all?" I said. "Back when we and it were young together; and it was an idealistic outfit aimed 
at putting some order and system into our world government?" 
"Yes, yes of course," Moro said. "But what I mean is, if you were a member once, maybe you know 

who to contact now—" 
I began to laugh. I laughed so hard I had to put my cup down to avoid spilling it. 
"Moro, don't you know better than that?" I said. "If I knew who the present leaders of the Blue Front 


were, they'd be in jail. The Blauvain police commissioner—the head law enforcement man of our capital 
city—is the last man the Blue Front would be in touch with nowadays. They'd come to you, first. You 
were a member once, too, back in college days, remember?" 

"Yes," he said miserably. "But I don't know anything now, just as you're saying. I thought you might have 
informers, or suspicions you couldn't prove, or-" 

"None of them," I said. "All right. Why do you want to know who's running the Blue Front, now?" 
"I thought I'd make an appeal to them, to give up the assassins of Kensie Graeme—to save the Blauvain 
people. Tom—" he stared directly at me. "Just an hour ago the enlisted men of the mercenaries took a 
vote on whether to demand their officers lead them on the city. They voted over ninety-four per cent, in 
favor. And Pel… Pel's finally mobilized his militia; but I don't think he means to help us. He's been trying 
to get in to talk to Ian all day." 

"All day?" I glanced at the time on my wrist unit. "4:25—it's not 4:25 pm, now?" 
"Yes," said Moro, staring at me. "I thought you knew." 
"I didn't mean to sleep like this!" I came out of the chair, moving toward the door. "Pel's trying to see 


Ian? The sooner we get down and see him ourselves, the better." 
So we went. But we were too late. By the time we got to Expedition Headquarters and past the junior 
officers to the door of the office where Ian was, Pel was already with Ian. I brushed aside the Force 



Leader barring our way and walked in, followed by Moro. 


Pel was standing facing Ian, who sat at a desk surrounded by stacks of filmprints. He got to his feet as 
Moro and I appeared. 
"That'll be all right, Force-leader," he said to the officer behind us. "Tom, I'm glad you're here. Mr. 


Mayor, though, if you don't mind waiting outside, I’ll see you in a few minutes." 


Moro had little choice but to go out again. The door shut behind him, Ian waved me to a chair beside 
Pel, and sat down again himself. 
"Go ahead, General," he said to Pel. "Repeat what you'd started to tell me, for the benefit of Tom, here." 
Pel glanced savagely at me for a second out of the edge of his eyes before answering. 
"This doesn't have anything to do with the Police Commissioner of Blauvain," he said, "or anyone else of 


St. Marie." 


"Repeat," said Ian again. He did not raise his voice. The word was simply an iron door dropped in Pel's 
way, forcing him to turn back Pel glanced once more, grimly at me. 
"I was just saying," he said, "if Commander Graeme would go to the encampment and speak to the 


enlisted men there, he could probably get them to vote unanimously." 
"Vote unanimously for what?" I asked. 
"For a house-to-house search of the Blauvain area," Ian answered. 
"The city's been cordoned," Pel said quickly. "A search like that would turn up the assassins in a matter 


of hours, with the whole expeditionary force searching." 
"Sure," I said, "and with the actual assassins, there'd be a few hundred suspected assassins, or people 
who fought or ran for the wrong reason, killed or wounded by the searchers. Even if the Blue Front didn't 


take advantage of the opportunity—which they certainly would—to start gunfights with the soldiers in the 
city streets." 
"What of it?" said Pel, talking to Ian rather than to me. "Your troops can handle any Blue Front people. 


And you'd be doing St. Marie a favor to wipe them out." 
"If the whole thing didn't develop into a wiping-out of the whole civilian population of the city," I said. 
"You're implying, Tom," said Pel, "that the Exotic troops can't be controlled by—" 
Ian cut him short. 
"Your suggestion, General," he said, "is the same one I've been getting from other quarters. Someone else 


is here with it right now. I'll let you listen to the answer I give him." 
He turned toward his desk annunciator. 
"Send in Groupman Whallo," he said. 
He straightened up and turned back to us as the door to his office opened and in came the mercenary 


noncom I had brushed past out there. In the light, I saw it was the immigrant Dorsai of the Hunter Team I 
had encountered—the man who had been a Dorsai fourteen years. 



"Sir!" he said, stopping a few steps before Ian and saluting. Uncovered himself, Ian did not return the 
salute. 

"Sir!" he said, stopping a few steps before Ian and saluting. Uncovered himself, Ian did not return the 
salute. 

"Yes sir," said Whallo. I could see him glance at and recognize me out of the corner of his eyes. "As 
representative of the enlisted men of the Expedition, I have been sent to convey to you the results of our 
latest vote on orders. By unanimous vote, the enlisted men of this command have concurred in the need 
for a single operation." 

"Which is?" 

"That a house-to-house search of the Blauvain city area be made for the assassins of Reid Commander 
Graeme," said Whallo. He nodded at lan's desk and for the first time I saw solidigraphs there-artists' 
impressions, undoubtedly, but looking remarkably lifelike of three men in civilian clothes. "There's no 
danger we won't recognize them when we find them." 

Whallo's formal and artificial delivery was at odds with the way I had heard him speak when I had run 
into him at the Hunter Team site. There was, it occurred to me suddenly, probably a military protocol 
even to matters like this—even to the matter of a man's death and the possible death of a city. It came as 
a little shock to realize it and for the first time I began to feel something of what Padma had meant in 
saying that the momentum of forces involved here was massive. For a second it was almost as if I could 
feel those forces like great winds, blowing on the present moment. —But Ian was already answering him. 

"Any house-to-house search involves possible military errors and danger to the civilian population," he 
was saying. "The military record of my brother is not to be marred after his death by any intemperate 
order from me." 

"Yes sir," said Whallo. "I'm sorry sir; but the en-listed men of the expedition had hoped that the action 
would be ordered by you. Their decision calls for six hours in which you may consider the matter before 
our Enlisted Men's Council takes the responsibility for the action upon itself. Meanwhile, the Hunter 
Teams will be withdrawn—this is part of the voted decision." 

"That, too?" said Ian. 

"I'm sorry, sir. But you know," said Whallo, "they've been at a dead end for some hours now. The trail 
was lost in traffic; and the men might be anywhere in the central part of the city." 

"Yes," said Ian. "Well, thank you for your message, Groupman." 

"Sir!" said Whallo. He saluted again and went out. 

As the door closed behind him, lan's head turned back to face Pel and myself 

"You heard, gentlemen," he said. "Now, I've got work to do." 

Pel and I left. In the corridor outside, Whallo was already gone and the young Force-Leader was absent. 
Only Moro stood waiting for us. Pel turned on me, furiously. 

"Who asked you to show up here?" he demanded. 

"Moro," I answered. "And a good thing, too. Pel, what's got into you? You act as if you had some 
personal axe to grind in seeing the Exotic mercenaries level Blauvain—" 


He spun away from me. 

He spun away from me. 

Puzzled, I watched him take a couple of long strides away from me and out of the outer office. 
Sud-denly, it was as if the winds of those massive forces I had felt for a moment just past in lan's office 
had blown my head strangely clean, clear and empty, so that the slightest sound echoed with importance. 
All at once, I was hearing the echo of Pel saying those identical words as Kensie was preparing to leave 
the mercenary encampment for the non-existent victory dinner; and a half-recognized but long-held 
suspicion in me flared into a raging certainty. 

I took three long strides after him and caught him. I whirled him around and rammed him up against a 
wall. 

"It was you!" I said. "You called from the Encampment to the city just before we drove in. It was you 
who told the assassins we were on the way and to move into position to snipe at our car. You're Blue 
Front, Pel; and you set Kensie up to be murdered!" 

My hands were on his throat and he could not have answered if he had wanted to. But he did not need 
to. Then I heard the click of bootheels on the floor of the polished stone corridor flagging outside the 
office, and let go of him, slipping my hand under my uniform jacket to my beltgun. 

"Say a word," I whispered to him, "or try anything… and I'll kill you before you can get the first syllable 
out. You're coming along with us!" 

The Force-leader entered. He glanced at the three of us curiously. 

"Something I can do for you gentlemen?" he asked. 

"No," I said, "No, we're just leaving." 

With one arm through Pel's and the hand of my other arm under my jacket on the butt of my beltgun, we 
went out as close as the old friends we had always been, Moro bringing up the rear. Out in the corridor, 
with the office door behind us, Moro caught up with me on the opposite side from Pel. 

"What are we going to do?" Moro whispered. Pel had still said nothing; but his eyes were like the black 
shadows of meteor craters on the gray face of an airless moon. 

"Take him downstairs and out to a locked room in the nearest police post," I said. "He's a walking stick 
of high explosive if any of the mercenaries find out what he did. Someone of his rank involved in Kensie's 
killing is all the excuse they need to run our streets red in the gutters." 

We got Pel to a private back room in Post Ninety-six, a local police center less than three minutes drive 
from the building where Ian had his office. 

"But how can you be sure, he—" Moro hesitated at putting it into words, once we were safe in the room. 
He stood staring at Pel, who sat huddled in a chair, still without speaking. 

"I'm sure," I said. "The Exotic, Padma-" I cut myself off as much as Moro had done. "Never mind. The 
main thing is he's Blue Front, he's involved—and what do we do about it?" 

Pel stirred and spoke for the first time since I had almost strangled him. He looked up at Moro and 
myself out of his grey-dead face. 


"I did it for St. Marie!" he said, hoarsely. "But I didn't know they were going to kill him! I didn't know 
that. They said it was just to be shooting around the car—for an incident—" 

"I did it for St. Marie!" he said, hoarsely. "But I didn't know they were going to kill him! I didn't know 
that. They said it was just to be shooting around the car—for an incident—" 

"What'll we do?" Moro was staring in fascinated horror at Pel. 

"That was my question," I reminded him. He stood there looking hardly in better case than Pel. "But it 
doesn't look like you're going to be much help in answering it." I laughed, but not happily. "Padma said 
the choice was up to me." 

"Who? What're you talking about? What choice?" asked Moro. 

"Pel here—" I nodded at him, "knows where the assassins are hiding." 

"No," said Pel. 

"Well, you know enough so that we can find them," I said. "It makes no difference. And outside of this 
room, there's only two people on St. Marie we can trust with that information." 

"You think I'd tell you anything?" Pel said. His face was still grey, but it had firmed up now. "Do you think 
even if I knew anything I'd tell you? St. Marie needs a strong government to survive and only the Blue 
Front can give it to her. I was ready to give my life for that, yesterday. I'm still willing. I won't tell you 
anything—and you can't make me. Not in six hours." 

"What two people?" Moro asked me. 

"Padma," I said, "and Ian." 

"Ian!" said Pel. "You think he'll help you? He doesn't give a damn for St. Marie, either way. Did you 
believe that talk of his about his brother's military record? He's got no feelings. It's his own military record 
he's concerned with; and he doesn't care if the mercenaries tear Blauvain up by the roots, as long as it's 
done over his own objection. He's just as happy as any of the other mercenaries with that vote. He's just 
going to sit out his six hours and let things happen." 

"And I suppose Padma doesn't care either?" Moro was beginning to sound a little ugly himself. "It was 
the Exotics sent us help against the Friendlies in the first place!" 

"Who knows what Exotics want?" Pel retorted. "They pretend to go about doing nothing but helping 
other people, and never dirtying their hands with violence and so on; and somehow with all that they 
keep on getting richer and more powerful all the time. Sure, trust Padma, why don't you? Trust Padma 
and see what happens!" 

Moro looked at me uncomfortably. 

"What if he's right?" Moro said. 

"What if he's right?" I snarled at him. "Moro, can't you see this is what St. Marie's trouble has always 
been? Here's the troublemaker we always have around—someone like Pel—whispering that the devil's in 
the chimney and you—like the rest of our people always do—starting to shake at the knees and wanting 
to sell him the house at any price! Stay here both of you; and don't try to leave the room." 

I went out, locking the door behind me. They were in one of a number of rooms set up behind the duty 
officer's desk and I went up to the night sergeant on duty. He was a man I'd known back when I had 


been in detective training on the Blauvain force, an old-line policeman named Jaker Reales. 

been in detective training on the Blauvain force, an old-line policeman named Jaker Reales. 

"Got you, Tom," said Jaker. "Leave it up to me, sir." 

"Thanks, Jaker," I said. 

I went out and back to Expedition Headquarters. It had not occurred to me to wonder what Ian would 
do now that his Hunter Teams had been taken from him. I found Expedition Headquarters now quietly 
aswarm with officers—officers who clearly were most of them Dorsai. No enlisted men were to be seen. 

I was braced to argue my way into seeing Ian; but the men on duty surprised me. I had to wait only four 
or five minutes outside the door of lan's private office before six Senior Commandants, Charley ap 
Morgan among them, filed out. 

"Good," said Charley, nodding as he saw me; and then went on without any further explanation of what 
he meant. I had no time even to look after him. Ian was waiting. 

I went in. Ian sat massively behind his desk, waiting for me, and waved me to a chair facing him as I 
came in. I sat down. He was only a few feet from me, but again I had the feeling of a vast distance 
separating us. Even here and now, under the soft lights of this nighttime office, he conveyed, more 
strongly than any Dorsai I had ever seen, a sense of difference. Generations of men bred to war had 
made him; and I could not warm to him as Pel and others had warmed to Kensie. Far from kindling any 
affection in me, as he sat there, a cold wind like that off some icy and barren mountaintop seemed to 
blow from him to me, chilling me. I could believe Pel, that Ian was all ice and no blood; and there was no 
reason for me to do anything for him—except that as a man whose brother had been killed, he deserved 
-whatever help any other decent, law-abiding man could give him. 

But I owed something to myself, too, and to the fact that we were not all villains, like Pel, on St. Marie. 

"I've got something to tell you," I said. "It's about General Sinjin." 

He nodded, slowly. 

"I've been waiting for you to come to me with that," he said. 

I stared at him. 

"You knew about Pel?" I said. 

"We knew someone from the St. Marie authorities had to be involved in what happened," he said. 
"Normally, a Dorsai officer is alert to any potentially dangerous situation. But there was the false dinner 
invitation; and then the matter of the assassins happening to be in just the right place at the right time, with 
just the right weapons. Also, our Hunter Teams found clear evidence the encounter was no accident. As 
I say, an officer like Field Commander Graeme is not ordinarily killed that easily." 

It was odd to sit there and hear him speak Kensie's name that way. Title and name rang on my ears with 
the strangeness one feels when somebody speaks of himself in the third person. 

"But Pel?" I said. 


"We didn't know it was General Sinjin who was involved" Ian said. "You identified him yourself by 
coming to me about him just now." 

"We didn't know it was General Sinjin who was involved" Ian said. "You identified him yourself by 
coming to me about him just now." 

"Yes," said Ian, nodding. 

"I've known him all my life," I said, carefully. "I 

believe he's suffered some sort of nervous breakdown over the death of your brother. You know, he 
admired your brother very much. But he's still the man I grew up with; and that man can't be easily made 
to do something he doesn't want to do. Pel says he won't tell us anything that'll help us find the assassins; 
and he doesn't think we can make him tell us inside of the six hours left before your soldiers move in to 
search Blauvain. Knowing him, I'm afraid he's right." 

I stopped talking. Ian sat where he was, behind the desk, looking at me, merely waiting. 

"Don't you understand?" I said. "Pel can help us, but I don't know of any way to make him do it." 

Still Ian said nothing. 

"What do you want from me?" I almost shouted it at him, at last. 

"Whatever," Ian said, "you have to give." 

For a moment it seemed to me that there •was something like a crack in the granite mountain that he 
seemed to be. For a moment I could have sworn that I saw into him. But if this was true, the crack 
closed up immediately, the minute I glimpsed it. He sat remote, icy, waiting, there behind his desk 

"I've got nothing," I said, "unless you know of some way to make Pel talk" 

"I have no way consistent with my brother's reputation as a Dorsai officer," said Ian, remotely. 

"You're concerned with reputations?" I said. "I'm concerned with the people who'll die and be hurt in 
Blauvain if your mercenaries come in to hunt door-to-door for those assassins. Which is more important, 
the reputation of a dead man, or the lives of living ones?" 

"The people are rightly your concern, Com-missioner," said Ian, still remotely, "the professional 
reputation of Kensie Graeme is rightly mine." 

"What will happen to that reputation if those troops move into Blauvain in less than six hours from now?" 
I demanded. 

"Something not good," Ian said. "That doesn't change my personal responsibilities. I can't do what I 
shouldn't do and I must do what I ought to do." 

I stood up. 

"There's no answer to the situation, then," I said. Suddenly, the utter tiredness I had felt before was on 
me again. I was tired of the fanatic Friendlies who had come out of another solar system to exercise a 
purely theoretical claim to our revenues and world surface as an excuse to assault St. Marie. I was tired 
of the Blue Front and people like Pel. I was tired of off-world people of all kinds, including Exotics and 
Dorsais. I was tired, tired… It came to me then that I could walk out. I could refuse to make the decision 
that Padma had said I would make and the whole matter would be out of my hands. I told myself to do 
that, to get up and walk out; but my feet did not budge. In picking on me, events had chosen the right 


idiot as a pivot point. Like Ian, I could not do what I should not do, and I must do what I ought to do. 

idiot as a pivot point. Like Ian, I could not do what I should not do, and I must do what I ought to do. 

"The Exotics," said Ian, "force nobody." But he stood up. 

"Maybe I can talk him into it," I said, exhaustedly. "At least, I can try." 

Once more, I would have had no idea where to find Padma in a hurry. But Ian located him in a research 
enclosure, a carrel in the stacks of the Blauvain library; which like many libraries on all the eleven 
inhabited worlds, had been Exotic-endowed. In the small space of the carrel Ian and I faced him; the two 
of us standing, Padma seated in the serenity of his blue robe and unchanging facial expression. I told him 
what we needed with Pel, and he shook his head. 

"Tom," he said, "you must already know that we who study the Exotic sciences never force anyone or 
anything. Not for moral reasons alone; but because using force would damage our ability to do the 
sensitive work we've dedicated our lives to doing. "That's why we hire mercenaries to fight for us, and 
Cetan lawyers to handle our off-world business contracts. I am the last person on this world to make Pel 
talk" 

"Don't you feel any responsibility to the innocent people of this city?" I said. "To the lives that will be lost 
if he doesn't?" 

"Emotionally, yes," Padma said, softly. "But there are practical limits to the responsibility of personal 
inaction. If I were to concern myself with all possible pain consequent upon the least, single action of 
mine, I would have to spend my life like a statue. I was not responsible for Kensie's death; and I am not 
responsible for finding his killers. Without such a responsibility I can't violate the most basic prohibition of 
my life's rules." 

"You knew Kensie," I said. "Don't you owe anything to him? And don't you owe anything to the same St. 
Marie people you sent an armed expedition to help?" 

"We make it a point to give, rather than take," Padma said, "just to avoid debts like that which could 
force us into doing what we shouldn't do. No, Tom. 

The Exotics and I have no obligation to your people, or even to Kensie." 

"—And to the Dorsai?" asked Ian, behind me. 

I had almost forgotten he was there, I had been concentrating so hard on Padma. Certainly, I had not 
expected Ian to speak The sound of his deep voice was like a heavy bell tolling in the small room; and for 
the first time Padma's face changed. 

"The Dorsai…" he echoed. "Yes, the time is coming when there will be neither Exotics nor Dorsai, in the 
end when the final development is achieved. But we Exotics have always counted on our work as a step 
on the way to that end; and the Dorsai helped us up our step. Possibly, if things had gone otherwise, the 
Dorsai might have never been; and we would still be where we are now. But things went as they have; 
and our thread has been tangled with the Dorsai thread from the time your many-times removed 
grandfather Cletus Grahame first freed all the younger worlds from the politics of Earth…" 

He stood up. 

"I'll force no one," he said. "But I will offer Pel my help to find peace with himself, if he can; and if he 
finds such peace, then maybe he •will want to tell you willingly what you want to know." 


Padma, Ian and I went back to the police station where I had left Pel and Moro locked up. We let Moro 
out, and closed the door upon the three of us with Pel. He sat in a chair, looking at us, pale, pinch-faced 
and composed. 

Padma, Ian and I went back to the police station where I had left Pel and Moro locked up. We let Moro 
out, and closed the door upon the three of us with Pel. He sat in a chair, looking at us, pale, pinch-faced 
and composed. 

"No, Pel," said Padma softly, pacing across the room to him as Ian and I sat down to wait. "I would not 
deal in hypnosis, particularly without the consent of the one to be hypnotized." 

"Well, you sure as hell haven't got my consent!" said Pel. 

Padma had reached him now and was standing over him. Pel looked up into the calm face above the blue 
robe. 

"But try it if you like." Pel said, "I don't hypnotize easily." 

"No," said Padma. "I've said I would not hypnotize anyone; but in any case, neither you nor anyone else 
can be hypnotized without his or her innate consent. All things between individuals are done by consent. 
The prisoner consents to his captivity as the patient consents to his surgery—the difference is only in 
degree and pattern. The great, blind mass that is humanity in general is like an amoebic animal. It exists 
by internal laws that cohere its body and its actions. Those internal laws are based upon conscious and 
unconscious, mutual consents of its atoms—ourselves —to work with each other and cooperate. Peace 
and satisfaction come to each of us in proportion to our success in such cooperation, in the 
forward-searching movement of the humanity-creature as a whole. Non-consent and noncooperation 
work against the grain. Pain and self-hate result from friction when we fight against our natural desire to 
cooperate…" 

His voice went on. Gently but compellingly he said a great deal more, and I understood all at the time; 
but beyond what I have quoted so far—and those first few sentences stay printed-clear in my 
memory—I do not recall another specific word. I do not know to this day what happened. Perhaps I 
half-dozed without realizing I was dozing. At any rate, time passed; and when I reached a point where 
the memory record took up again, he was leaving and Pel had altered. 

"I can talk to you some more, can't I?" Pel said as the Outbond rose to leave. Pel's voice had become 
clear-toned and strangely young-sounding. "I don't mean now. I mean, there'll be other times?" 

"I'm afraid not," Padma said. "Ill have to leave St. Marie shortly. My work takes me back to my own 
world and then on to one of the Friendly planets to meet someone and wind up what began here. But you 
don't need me to talk to. You created your own insights as we talked, and you can go on doing that by 
yourself. Goodby, Pel." 

"Goodby," said Pel. He watched Padma leave. When he looked at me again his face, like his voice, was 
clear and younger than I had seen it in years. "Did you hear all that, Tom?" 

"I think so…" I said; because already the memory was beginning to slip away from me. I could feel the 
import of what Padma had said to Pel, but without being able to give it exact shape, it was as if I had 
intercepted a message that had turned out to be not for me, and so my mental machinery had already 
begun to cancel it out. I got up and went over to Pel. "You'll help us find those assassins, now?" 

"Yes," he said. "Of course I will." 

He was able to give us a list of five places that were possible hiding places for the three we hunted. He 


provided exact directions for finding each one. 

provided exact directions for finding each one. 

"We have Hunters," said Ian. "Those officers who are Dorsai are still with us; and there are Hunters 
among them." 

He stepped to the phone unit on the desk in the room and put a call in to Charley ap Morgan, at 
Expeditionary Headquarters. When Charley answered, Ian gave him the five locations Pel had supplied 
us. 

"Now," he said to me as he turned away from the phone. "We'll go back to my office." 

"I want to come," said Pel. Ian looked at him for a long moment, then nodded, without changing 
expression. 

"You can come," he said. 

When we got back to the Expeditionary Headquarters building, the rooms and corridors there seemed 
even more aswarm with officers. As Ian had said, they were mostly Dorsai. But I saw some among them 
who might not have been. Apparently Ian commanded his own loyalty, or perhaps it was the Dorsai 
concept that commanded its own loyalty to whoever was commanding officer. We went to his office; 
and, sitting there, waited while the reports began to come in. 

The first three locations to be checked out by the officer Hunter Teams drew blanks. The fourth showed 
evidence of having been used within the last twenty-four hours, although it was empty now. The last 
location to be checked also drew blank 

The Hunter Teams concentrated on the fourth location and began to work outward from it, hoping to 
cross sign of a trail away from it. I checked the clock figures on my wrist unit. It was now nearing one 

a.m. in the morning, local time; and the six hour deadline of the enlisted mercenaries was due to expire in 
forty-seven minutes. In the office where I waited with Ian, Pel, Charley ap Morgan, and another senior 
Dorsai officer, the air was thick with the tension of waiting. Ian and the two other Dorsai sat still; even Pel 
sat still. I was the one who fidgeted and paced, as the time continued to run out. 
The phone on lan's desk flashed its visual signal light. Ian reached out to punch it on. 

"Yes?" he said. 

"Hunter Team Three," said a voice from the desk "We have clear sign and are following now. Suggest 
you join us, sir." 

"Thank you. Coming," said Ian. 

We went, Ian, Charley, Pel and myself, in an Expedition Command Car. It was an eerie ride through the 
patrolled and deserted streets of my city. lan's Hunter Team Three was ahead of us and led us to an 
apartment hotel on the upper north side of the city, in the oldest section. 

The building had been built of poured cement faced with Castlemane granite. Inside, the corridors were 
old-fashionedly narrow and close-feeling, with dark, thick carpeting and metal Avails in imitation oak 
woodgrain. The soundproofing was good, however. We mounted to the seventh story and moved down 
the hall to suite number 415 without hearing any sound other than those we made, ourselves. 

"Here," finally said the leader of the Hunter Team, a lean, gnarled Dorsai Senior Commandant in his late 


fifties. He gestured to the door of 415. "All three of them." 

fifties. He gestured to the door of 415. "All three of them." 

stepped up to one side of the door; and, reaching out an arm, touched the door annunciator stud. 

There was no response. Above the door, the half-meter square annunciator screen stayed brown and 
blank 
Ian pressed the button again. 
Again we waited, and there was no response. 
Ian pressed the stud. Holding it down, so that his voice would go with the sound of its announcing chimes 

to the ears of those within, he spoke. 
"This is Commander Ian Graeme," he said. "Blauvain is now under martial law, and you are under arrest 
in connection with the assassination of Field Commander Kensie Graeme. If necessary, we can cut our 
way in to you. However, I'm concerned that Held Commander Graeme's reputation be kept free of 

criticism in the matter of determining responsibility for his death. So I'm offering you the chance to come 
out and surrender." 
He released the stud and stopped talking. There was a long pause. Then a voice spoke from the 


annunciator grille below the screen, although the screen itself remained blank 


"Go to hell, Graeme," said the voice. "We got your brother; and if you try to blast your way in here, we'll 
get you, too." 
"My advice to you," said Ian—his voice was cold, distant, and impersonal, as if this was something he 


did every day, "is to surrender." 
"You guarantee our safety if we do?" 
"No," said Ian. "I only guarantee that I will see that Field Commander Graeme's reputation is not 


adversely affected by the way you're handled." 
There was no immediate answer from the screen. Behind Ian, Charley looked again at his wrist unit. 
"They're playing for time," he said. "But why? What good will that do them?" 
"They're fanatics," said Pel, softly. "Just as much fanatics as the Friendly soldiers were, only for the Blue 


Front instead of for some puritan form of religion. Those three in there don't expect to get out of this 
alive. They're only trying to set a higher price on their own deaths—get something more for their dying." 


Charley ap Morgan's wrist unit chimed. 
"Time's up," he said to Ian. "The enlisted men are moving into the suburbs of Blauvain now, to begin their 
search." 


Ian reached out and pushed the annunciator stud again, holding it down as he spoke to the men inside. 



"Are you coming out?" 

"Are you coming out?" 

"I'll come in and talk to you if you like," said Ian. 

"No—" began Pel out loud. I gripped his arm, and he turned on me, whispering. "Torn, tell him not to go 
in! That's what they want." 

"Stay here," I said. 

I pushed forward until Charley ap Morgan put out an arm to stop me. I spoke across that arm to Ian. 

"Ian," I said, in a voice safely low enough so that the door annunciator would not pick it up. "Pel says—" 

"Maybe that's a good idea," said the voice from the annunciator. "That's right, why don't you come on in, 
Graeme? Leave your weapons outside." 

"Tom," said Ian, without looking either at me or Charley ap Morgan, "Stay back Keep him back, 
Charley." 

"Yes sir," said Charley. He looked into my face, eye to eye with me. "Stay out of this, Tom. Backup." 

Ian stepped forward to stand square in front of the door, where a beam coming through it could go 
through him as well. He was taking off his sidearm as he went. He dropped it to the floor, in full sight of 
the screen, through the blankness of which those inside would be looking out. 

"I'm unarmed," he said. 

"Of that sidepiece, you are," said the annunciator. "Do you think we're going to take your word for the 
rest of you? Strip." 

Without hesitation, Ian unsealed his uniform jacket and began to take off his clothes. In a moment or two, 
he stood naked in the hallway, but if the men in the suite had thought to gain some sort of moral 
advantage over him because of that, they were disappointed. 

Stripped, he looked—like an athlete—larger and more impressive than he had, clothed. He towered 
over us all in the hall, even over the other Dorsai there; and with his darkly tanned skin under the lights he 
seemed like a massive figure carved in oak 

"I'm waiting," he said, after a moment, calmly. 

"All right," said the voice from the annunciator. "Come on in." 

He moved forward. The door unlatched and slid aside before him. He passed through and it closed 
behind him. For a moment we were left with no sound or word from him or the suite; then, unexpectedly, 
the screen lit up. We found ourselves looking over and past lan's bare shoulders at a room in which three 
men, each armed with a rifle and a pair of side-arms, sat facing him. They gave no sign of knowing that 
he had turned on the annunciator screen, the controls of which would be hidden behind him, now that he 
stood inside the door, facing the room. 

The center one of the three seated men laughed. He was the big, black-bearded man I had found vaguely 
familiar when I saw the solidigraphs of the three of them in lan's office; and I recognized him now. He 
was a professional wrestler. He had been arraigned on assault charges four years ago, but lack of 
testimony against him had caused the charges to be dismissed. He was not as tall as Ian, but much 


heavier of body; and it was his voice we had been hearing, because now we heard it again as his lips 
moved on the screen. 

heavier of body; and it was his voice we had been hearing, because now we heard it again as his lips 
moved on the screen. 

We could not see lan's face; but he said nothing and apparently his lack of reaction was irritating to the 
big assassin, because he dropped his cheerful tone and leaned forward in his chair. 

"Don't you understand, Graeme?" he said. "We've lived and died for the Blue Front, all three of us—for 
the one political parry with the strength and guts to save our world. We're dead men no matter what we 
do. Did you think we don't know that? You think we don't know what would happen to us if we were 
idiots enough to surrender the way you said? Your men would tear us apart; and if there was anything left 
of us after that, the government's law would try us and then shoot us. We only let you in here so that we 
could lay you out like your twin brother, before we were laid out ourselves. Don't you follow me, man? 
You walked into our hands here like a fly into a trap, never realizing." 

"I realized," said Ian. 

The big man scowled at him and the muzzle of the heat rifle he held in one thick hand, came up. 

"What do you mean?" he demanded. "Whatever you think you've got up your sleeve isn't going to save 
you. Why would you come in here, knowing what we'd do?" 

"The Dorsai are professional soldiers," said lan's voice, calmly. "We live and survive by our reputation. 
Without that reputation none of us could earn our living. And the reputation of the Dorsai in general is the 
sum of the reputations of its individual men and women. So Field Commander Kensie Graeme's 
professional reputation is a thing of value, to be guarded even after his death. I came in for that reason." 

The big man's eyes narrowed. He was doing all the talking and his two companions seemed content to 
leave it that way. 

"A reputation's worth dying for?" he said. 

"I've been ready to die for mine for eighteen years," said lan's voice, quietly. "Today's no different than 
yesterday." 

"And you came in here—" the big man's voice broke off on a snort. "I don't believe it. Watch him, you 
two!" 

"Believe or not," said Ian. "I came in here, just as I told you, to see that the professional reputation of 
Held Commander Graeme was protected from events which might tarnish it. You'll notice—" his head 
moved slightly as if indicating something behind him and out of our sight, "I've turned on your annunciator 
screen, so that outside the door they can see what's going on in here." 

The eyes of the three men jerked upwards to stare at the screen inside the suite, somewhere over lan's 
head. There was a blur of motion that was lan's tanned body flying through the air, a sound of something 
smashing and the screen went blank again. 

We outside were left blind once more, standing in the hallway, staring at the unresponsive screen and 
door. Pel, who had stepped up next to me, moved toward the door itself 

"Stay!" snapped Charley. 


The single sharp tone was like a command given to some domestic beast. Pel flinched at the tone, but 
stopped—and in that moment the door before us disintegrated to the roar of an explosion in the room. 

The single sharp tone was like a command given to some domestic beast. Pel flinched at the tone, but 
stopped—and in that moment the door before us disintegrated to the roar of an explosion in the room. 

It was like diving into a centrifuge filled with whirling bodies. I ducked to avoid the flying form of one of 
the men I had seen in the screen, but his leg slammed my head, and I went reeling, half-dazed and 
disoriented, into the very heart of the tumult. It was all a blur of action. I had a scrambled impression of 
explosions, of fire-beams lancing around me—and somehow in the midst of it all, the towering, brown 
body of Ian moving with the certainty and deadliness of a panther. All those he touched went down; and 
all who went down, stayed down. 

Then it was over. I steadied myself with one hand against a half-burned wall and realized that only Ian 
and myself were on our feet in that room. Not one of the other Dorsai had followed me in. On the floor, 
the three assassins lay still. One had his neck broken. Across the room a second man lay obviously dead, 
but with no obvious sign of the damage that had ended his life. The big man, the ex-wrestler, had the right 
side of his forehead crushed in, as if by a club. 

Looking up from the three bodies, I saw I was now alone in the room. I turned back into the corridor, 
and found there only Pel and Charley. Ian and the other Dorsai were already gone. 

"Where's Ian?" I asked Charley. My voice came out thickly, like the voice of a slightly drunken man. 

"Leave him alone," said Charley. "You don't need him, now. Those are the assassins there; and the 
enlisted men have already been notified and pulled back from their search of Blauvain. What more is 
needed?" 

I pulled myself together; and remembered I was a policeman. 

"I've got to know exactly what happened," I said. "I've got to know if it was self-defense, or…" 

The words died on my tongue. To accuse a naked man of anything else in the death of three heavily 
armed individuals who had threatened his life, as I had just heard them do over the annunciator, was 
ridiculous. 

"No," said Charley. "This was done during a period of martial law in Blauvain. Your office will receive a 
report from our command about it; but actually it's not even something within your authority." 

Some of the tension that had been in him earlier seemed to leak out of him, then. He half-smiled and 
became more like the friendly officer I had known before Kensie's death. 

"But that martial law is about to be withdrawn," he said. "Maybe you'll want to get on the phone and start 
getting your own people out here to tidy up the details." 

—And he stood aside to let me go. 

One day later, and the professional soldiers of the Exotic Expeditionary Force showed their affection for 
Kensie in a different fashion. 

His body had been laid in state for a public review in the open, main floor lobby of the Blauvain City 
Government building. Beginning in the grey dawn and through the cloudless day—the sort of hard, bright 
day that seems impatient with those who will not bury their dead and get on to further things —the 
mercenaries filed past the casket holding Kensie, visible at foil length in dress uniform under the 
transparent cover. Each one as he passed touched the casket lightly with his fingertips, or said a word to 


the dead man, or both. There were over ten thousand soldiers passing, one at a time. They were 
unarmed, in field uniforms and their line seemed endless. 

the dead man, or both. There were over ten thousand soldiers passing, one at a time. They were 
unarmed, in field uniforms and their line seemed endless. 

By the time noon came and went without incident, I was ready to make a guess why not. It was because 
there was something in the mood of the civilian crowd itself that forbade terrorism, here and now. Any 
Blue Front activists trying such a thing would have been smothered by the very civilians around them in 
whose name they were doing it. 

Something of awe and pity, and almost of envy, seemed to be stirring the souls of the Blauvain people; 
those same people of mine who had huddled in their houses twenty hours before, in undiluted fear of the 
very men now lined up before them and moving slowly to the City Government building. Once more, as I 
stood on a balcony above the lobby holding the casket, I felt those winds of vast movement I had sensed 
first for a moment in lan's office, the winds of those forces of which Padma had spoken to me. The 
Blauvain people were different today and showed the difference. Kensie's death had changed them. 

Then, something more happened. As the last of the soldiers passed, Blauvain civilians began to fall in 
behind them, extending the line. By mid-afternoon, the last soldier had gone by and the first figure in 
civilian clothes passed the casket, neither touching it nor speaking to it, but pausing to look with an 
unusual, almost shy curiosity upon the face of the body inside, in the name of which so much might have 
happened. 

Already, behind that one man, the line of civilians was half again as long as the line of soldiers had been. 

It was nearly midnight, long past the time when it had been planned to shut the gates of the lobby, when 
the last of the civilians had gone and the casket could be transferred to a room at Expeditionary 
Headquarters from which it would be shipped back to the Dorsai. This business of shipping a body home 
happened seldom, even in the case of mercenaries of the highest rank; but there had never been any 
doubt that it would happen in the case of Kensie. The enlisted men and officers of his command had 
contributed the extra funds necessary for the shipment. —Ian, when his time came, would undoubtedly 
be buried in the earth of whatever world on which he fell. Only if he happened to be at home when the 
time came, would that earth be soil of the Dorsai. But Kensie had been—Kensie. 

"Do you know what's been suggested to me?" asked Moro, as he, Pel and I, along with several of the 
Expedition's senior officers—Charley ap Morgan among them—stood watching Kensie's casket being 
brought into the room at Expedition HQ, "There's a proposal to get the city government to put up a 
statue of him, here in Blauvain. A statue of Kensie." 

Neither Pel nor I answered. We stood watching the placing of the casket. For all its massive appearance, 
four men handled it and the body within easily. The apparently thick metal of its sides were actually 
hollow to reduce shipping weight. The soldiers settled it, took off the transparent weather cover and 
carried it out. The body of Kensie lay alone, uncovered; the profile of his face, seen from where we 
stood, quiet and still against the light pink cloth of the casket's lining. The senior officers who were with us 
and who had not been in the line of soldiers filing through the lobby, now began to go into the room, one 
at a time to stand for a second at the casket before coming out again. 


"It's what we never had on St. Marie," said Pel, after a long moment. He was a different man since 
Padma had talked to him. "A leader. Someone to love and follow. Now that our people have seen there 
is such a thing, they want something like it for themselves." 

"It's what we never had on St. Marie," said Pel, after a long moment. He was a different man since 
Padma had talked to him. "A leader. Someone to love and follow. Now that our people have seen there 
is such a thing, they want something like it for themselves." 
. 
"You Dorsai changed us," Pel said. 
"Did we?" said Charley, stopping. "How do you feel about Ian now, Pel?" 
"Ian?" Pel frowned. "We're talking about Kensie. lan's just—what he always was." 
"What you all never understood," said Charley, looking from one to the other of us. 
"lan's a good man," said Pel. "I don't argue with that. But there'll never be another Kensie." 
"There'll never be another Ian," said Charley. "He and Kensie made up one person. That's what none of 


you ever understood. Now half of Ian is gone, into the grave." 
Pel shook his head slowly. 
"I'm sorry," he said. "I can't believe that. I can't believe Ian ever needed anyone—even Kensie. He's 


never risked anything, so how could he lose anything? After Kensie's death he did nothing but sit on his 
spine here insisting that he couldn't risk Kensie's reputation by doing anything—until events forced his 
hand. That's not the action of a man who's lost the better half of himself" 

"I didn't say better half," said Charley, "I only said half—and just half is enough. Stop and try to feel for a 
moment what it would be like. Stop for a second and feel how it would be if you -were amputated down 
the middle—if the life that was closest to you was wrenched away, shot down in the street by a handful 
of self-deluded, crackpot revolutionaries from a world you'd come to rescue. Suppose it was like that for 
you, how would you feel?" 

Pel had gone a little pale as Charley talked. When he answered his voice had a slight echo of the 
difference and youngness it had had after Padma had talked to him. 

"I guess…" he said very slowly, and ran off into silence. 
"Yes?" said Charley. "Now you're beginning to understand, to feel as Ian feels. Suppose you feel like this 
and just outside the city where the assassins of your brother are hiding there are six battalions of 
seasoned soldiers who can turn that same city—who can hardly be held back from turning that city—into 
another Rochmont, at one word from you. Tell me, is it easy, or is it hard, not to say that one word that 
will turn them loose?" 

"It would be…" The words seemed dragged from Pel, "hard…" 
"Yes," said Charley, grimly, "as it was hard for Ian." 
"Then why did he do it?" demanded Pel. 
"He told you why," said Charley. "He did it to protect his brother's military reputation, so that not even 


after his death should Kensie Graeme's name be an excuse for anything but the highest and best of 
military conduct." 
"But Kensie was dead. He couldn't hurt his own reputation!" 



"His troops could," said Charley. "His troops wanted someone to pay for Kensie's death. They wanted 
to leave a monument to Kensie and their grief for him, as long-lasting a monument as Rochmont has been 
to Jacques Chretian. There was only one way to satisfy them, and that was if Ian himself acted for 
them—as their agent—in dealing with the assassins. Because nobody could deny that Kensie's brother 
had the greatest right of all to represent all those who had lost with Kensie's death." 

"His troops could," said Charley. "His troops wanted someone to pay for Kensie's death. They wanted 
to leave a monument to Kensie and their grief for him, as long-lasting a monument as Rochmont has been 
to Jacques Chretian. There was only one way to satisfy them, and that was if Ian himself acted for 
them—as their agent—in dealing with the assassins. Because nobody could deny that Kensie's brother 
had the greatest right of all to represent all those who had lost with Kensie's death." 

He stopped, halted by the thin, faint smile on Charley's face. 

"Ian was our Battle Op, our strategist," said Charley. "Just as Kensie was Field Commander, our 
tactician. Do you think that a strategist of lan's ability couldn't lay a plan that would bring him face to face, 
alone, with the assassins once they were located?" 

"What if they hadn't been located?" I asked. "What if I hadn't found out about Pel, and Pel hadn't told us 
what he knew?" 

Charley shook his head. 

"I don't know," he said. "Somehow Ian must have known this way would work—or he would have done 
it differently. For some reason he counted on help from you, Tom." 

"Me!" I said. "What makes you say that?" 

"He told me so." Charley looked at me strangely. "You know, many people thought that because they 
didn't understand Ian, that Ian didn't understand them. Actually, he understands other people unusually 
well. I think he saw something in you, Tom, he could rely on. And he was right, wasn't he?" 

Once more, the winds I had felt—of the forces of which Padma had spoken, blew through me, chilling 
and enlightening me. Ian had felt those winds as well as I had—and understood them better. I could see 
the inevitability of it now. There had been only one pull on the many threads entangled in the fabric of 
events here; and that pull had been through me to Ian. 

"When he went to that suite where the assassins were holed up," said Charley, "he intended to go in to 
them alone, and unarmed. And when he killed them with his bare hands, he did what every man in the 
Expeditionary force wanted to do. So, when that was done, the anger of the troops was 
lightning-rodded. Through Ian, they all had their revenge; and then they were free. Free just to mourn for 
Kensie as they're doing today. So Blauvain escaped; and the Dorsai reputation has escaped stain, and 
the state of affairs between the inhabited worlds hasn't been upset by an incident here on St. Marie that 
could make enemies out of worlds, like the Exotic and the Dorsai, and St. Marie, who should all be 
friends." 

He stopped talking. It had been a long speech for Charley; and none of us could think of anything to say. 
The last of the senior officers, all except Ian, had gone past us now, in and out of the room, and the 
casket was alone. Then Pel spoke. 

"I'm sorry," he said, and he sounded sorry. "But even if what you say is all true, it only proves what I 
always said about Ian. Kensie had two mens' feelings, but Ian hasn't any. He's ice and water with no 
blood in him. He couldn't bleed if he wanted to. Don't tell me any man torn apart emotionally by his twin 
brother's death could sit down and plan to handle a situation so cold-bloodedly and efficiently." 

"People don't always bleed on the outside where you can see—" Charley broke off, turning his head. 


We looked where he was looking, down the corridor behind us, and saw Ian coming, tall and alone. He 
strode up to us, nodded briefly at us, and went past into the room. We saw him walk to the side of the 
casket. 

We looked where he was looking, down the corridor behind us, and saw Ian coming, tall and alone. He 
strode up to us, nodded briefly at us, and went past into the room. We saw him walk to the side of the 
casket. 

Twin face gazed to twin face, the living and the dead. Under the lights of the room, with the motionless 
towering figure of Ian, it was as if both were living, or both were dead—so little difference there was to 
be seen between them. Only, Kensie's eyes were closed and lan's opened; Kensie' slept while Ian 
waked. And the oneness of the two of them was so solid and evident a thing, there in that room, that it 
stopped the breath in my chest. 

For perhaps a minute or two Ian stood without moving. His face did not change. Then he lifted his gaze, 
let go of the casket and turned about. He came walking toward us, out of the room, his hands at his 
sides, the fingers curled into his palms. 

"Gentlemen," he said, nodding to us as he passed, and went down the corridor until a turn in it took him 
out of sight. 

Charley left us and went softly back into the room. He stood a moment there, then turned and called to 
us. 

"Pel," he said, "come here." 

Pel came; and the rest of us after him. 

"I told you," Charley said to Pel, "some people don't bleed on the outside where you can see it." 

He moved away from the casket and we looked at it. On its edge were the two areas where Ian had laid 
hold of it with his hands while he stood looking down at his dead brother. There was no mistaking the 
places, for at both of them, the hollow metal side had been bent in on itself and crushed with the strength 
of a grip that was hard to imagine. Below the crushed areas, the cloth lining of the casket was also 
crumpled and rent; and where each fingertip had pressed, the fabric was torn and marked with a dark 
stain of blood. 

EPILOGUE 

"…So," said the third Amanda, at last, "you see how it really was." 

Hal Mayne nodded. He lifted his head suddenly to see her staring penetratingly at him. 

"Or," she said, "do you see something more than I see, even in this?" 

He opened his mouth to deny that, and found he could not. 

"Maybe," he said. Loneliness and a need to explain himself swept through him without warning, 
like a heavy tide. "You've got to understand I'm a poet. I… I handle things all the time I don't 
understand. I'm almost like someone in total darkness, feeling things, sensing things, but never 
seeing shapes I can describe to other people." 

She breathed slowly, in and out. 


"So," she said, "there was something more to this interest of yours in the ap Morgans and the 
Graemes, all along." 
"Yes … no!" he said, almost explosively. "You 


still don't understand. I can't prove anything, but I can feel… connections." 
His hands moved, reached out almost as if by their own wills, to grasp at the empty air in front of 
him. 


"Connections," he said, "between the past and the present. Between Cletus and Donal and many 
others, not related at all. Connections between you and the other two Amandas, and between the 
ap Morgans and the Graemes—and between all these things and the movement of the Splinter 
Culture cross-breeds—the New Kind, as they're calling themselves now—and the rest of the 
human race on all the worlds. I'm Jumbling in the dark, but I'm getting there… I can feel myself 
getting there!" 


She had relaxed. She still watched him, but no longer accusingly. 
"So that's why you have to head back now, to Earth and the Final Encyclopedia," she said. 
"Yes." He looked at her starkly. "I had to leave to save my life. But now, I have to go back. 


Everything on Coby, on Harmony, even everything here, keeps pointing me back there." 
He reached for her hand. She let him take it, but without returning the pressure of his fingers. 
"Amanda," he said urgently. "Come back with me. I don't mean just because I want you with me. 


I mean because that's where all things are finally coming together. That's where it all ends—or 
starts. You should be there—just as I have to be there. Amanda, come with me." 
She sat still for a moment, then her eyes went past him. Gently, she withdrew her hand from his. 
"If you're right, then I will come," she said. "But not now, Hal. Not now. In my own good time."