"It's their eyes I don't like," Burton said.

De Marbot laughed.

"They look no deader than the eyes of my Hussars at the end of a long campaign. You are reading into them a lack of life that does not exist. The lack, I mean. You know that they are brainless, rather, to be exact, use only a tiny portion of their brains. But one can say that of certain humans we have met."

"One could say a lot," Burton said. "Shall we join the others?"

De Marbot glanced at his wristwatch. "An hour until supper. Perhaps I may be able to make Aphra jolly again. There is nothing that upsets one's digestion like a sullen companion at the table."

"Tell her that she'll be in on the next phase of the project," Burton said. "She'll brighten up then. But don't tell her what we did unless you use this."

He indicated the notebook.

De Marbot grimaced and said, "That one, the watcher, must be wondering what we're up to. How can we hide anything from him? One can't fart without his knowing about it."

Burton grinned and said, "Perhaps we'll make him fill his pants. In a manner of speaking."

The eight had agreed that each would take turns hosting the others. Tonight was Alice's, and she greeted them wearing a long, very lowcut, Lincoln-green evening gown of the style of 1890. Burton doubted that she was also wearing the numerous undergarments of that period. She was too accustomed to the comfortable cool clothes of the Rivervalley, a towel serving as a short skirt and a thin, light cloth serving as a bra. She did have elegant green high-heeled shoes on, and silk stockings, though the latter probably did not reach to her knees. Her jewelry, provided by an e-m converter, was an emerald set in a gold ring, small gold earrings, each with a single large emerald, and a string of pearls.

"You look lovely," he said as he bowed and kissed her hand. "Eighteen-ninety, heh? The year of my death. Are you trying to tell me in a subtle manner that you are celebrating that occasion?"

"If I am, I am doing so unconsciously," she said. "Let's not have any wisecracks, right?"

"Wisecrack. Nineteen thirty-four word," Frigate said to Alice. "The year of your first death."

"The only one, thank God," she said. "Must we speak of the Grim Reaper?"

Frigate bowed and kissed her extended hand.

"You are absolutely devastating. Say the word, and I'm all yours. No, you don't have to say it. I'm yours anyway."

"You're very gallant," she said. "Also, very pushy."

Burton snorted and said, "That's one thing he's not. Except when he's been drinking. Dutch courage."

"In bourbono veritas," the American said. "But you're wrong. Not even then. Am I, Alice?"

"Alice is a well-garrisoned castle on a steep hill surrounded by a wide moat," Burton said. "Don't try to mine her. Take her by storm."

The American flushed. Alice did not lose her smile, but she said, "Please, Dick. Let's not be unpleasant."

"I promise," Burton said. He turned, and started. "My God! Who're ... ?"

Two men in servant's livery were standing near the dinner table. No. Not men. They were androids. One had the face of Gladstone; the other, of Disraeli.

"No one else has ever had two prime ministers of Great Britain wait on them," Alice said.

Burton spun toward her, his face red and scowling.

"Alice! We talked about the danger! The Snark could program them to attack us!"

She met his fury calmly.

"Yes, we did. But you, or somebody, also said that the Snark has a thousand ways of getting at us. He hasn't done anything yet, and if he were going to, he'd have done it. Two androids, a thousand, won't make any difference."

"Agreed!" Li Po said in his loud shrill voice. "Bravo, Alice, for taking the first step! I myself have some plans for androids! I may put them into effect tonight! Ah, tonight! You will suffer no more, Li Po!"

Burton had to admit, to himself, anyway, that she was right. She should not, however, have done this without getting the consent of the others. At the very least, she should have consulted him about it.

Perhaps, if the leader of this group had been someone other than him, she would have. It seemed to him that she took every opportunity to defy him now. Under that quiet soft demeanor, behind those large soft dark eyes, was a stubborn woman.

De Marbot and Behn arrived somewhat flushed and perspiring, as if they had just gotten out of bed or were in the midst of a quarrel. If the latter was the case, they were covering it up well. They smiled and joked and seemed perfectly at ease.

Burton greeted them and strode to a side table loaded with bottles and goblets and a huge bucket of ice. He waved away the android with Gladstone's face, which had approached him and asked if he could pour him a drink. Alice had done a very good job if she had reconstructed the prime minister's features from memory. She could have done so, since the man had dined a number of times at her house when her parents had been alive. More probably, though, she has asked the Computer to locate Gladstone's photograph in the files and it had done so. Then she had given the Computer her specifications, and it had reproduced this living but mindless being.

"By the Lord," he murmured, "it even has his voice!"

He sipped on the rye whiskey, smoother than any he had tasted on Earth, though it must be reproduced from some Terrestrial brand, and he went to talk with Nur. The little Iberian Moor was holding a glass of some pale yellow wine, which would last him for the evening.

"The Prophet did not forbid any alcoholic beverage except wine made from dates," he had once told Burton, who already knew it. "His excessively zealous disciples later extended the ban to all liquor. Though I felt that I did not have to obey the dictates of those ignoramus fundamentalists, I just did not care for strong waters. However, 1 have acquired a taste for this Chinese wine. Besides, even if I were a drunkard, what would Allah do to me that I had not done to myself? As for Mahomet, where is he?"

Burton and Nur talked of Mecca for a while, and then the android who looked like Disraeli announced that dinner was served. Since each guest had told Alice in the morning what he or she would like, the menus were in the Computer's memory. It took one microsecond for the food to appear inside a giant e-m converter; the servants took longer putting the appetizers on the table. Burton had ordered a salad with devil's-rain dressing followed by sturgeon fume a la muscovite and for dessert two tarts with rhubarb filling. The appropriate wine was served with each course.

Burton, Behn, Frigate and Li Po had cigars of the finest Cuban tobacco. Nur smoked his after-dinner cigarette, the only nicotine he allowed himself.

Burton approached the Frenchman, who backed away. "Spare my precious lungs that vile poison!" he cried.

"A man could die happy breathing this," Burton said. "However, as you said, non disputandum de gustibus. Did you inform Aphra that she might join us in our next venture if she wished?"

"That, yes, I did," de Marbot said. "Unfortunately, I could not tell her just what that venture was."

Burton handed him a note. De Marbot read it and looked up. "What ...?"

He came close to the Englishman and stood on his tiptoes to talk into Burton's ear. Burton still had to lean over.

"We will, I will, anyway, be ready. But ... you can give me no indication, no clue, as to what you have in mind?"

"It's best not to."

"Ah, how intriguing," de Marbot said. "May the realization come up to my expectation. Danger, romance, skullduggery, an open charge upon the enemy or a silent stealth, apprehension, uncertainty, a task demanding all of one's courage and a straining of one's steel nerves."

"All of those," Burton said. "Perhaps."