Mondrian leaned back on his pillow under pressure from Tatty’s hand. “You didn’t detect any changes in her, then — before the bomb went off?”

“Before the bomb?” Tatty frowned down at him.

“Yes. I’m a bit fuzzy about those final few minutes, but something certainly seemed odd about her. You knew Godiva better than I did down on Earth, and you were very surprised when she came up here with Luther Brachis. So I wondered, when you were with her before dinner and Brachis and I were talking, if she seemed … well, different at all.”

Tatty sat thoughtful, while Mondrian lay back and stared at her through half-open eyes.

“I think I know what you mean,” she said at last. “She looks the same, and mostly she acts the same, but there’s at least one difference. Whenever I met Godiva down on Earth she was always very conscious of money. Not stingy, exactly, but she talked all the time about her need to earn more. She must have had a fortune stashed away somewhere, because she was the highest-priced escort on the planet and yet she always lived cheaply — simple food, simple clothes. She couldn’t have been spending anywhere near her income, and still she always seemed to want more. The other night, though, she never mentioned money for a moment. That’s a change, if anything is.”

“I agree. And here’s something for you to think about. According to Luther Brachis, Godiva didn’t have a cent when he brought her up from Earth — no money, no possessions other than her clothes.” Mondrian turned to the medical technician, who had been listening with open interest. “Don’t you have any other patients? How soon can I get out of here?”

“Two more days. And visitors have to be restricted to one hour a day.’

“That won’t do.” Mondrian pushed back the covers and swung his legs out of bed. “I have work to do. Bring me my uniform — at once.”

The technician looked to Tatty, found no encouragement there, and shook his head. “I am sorry, sir. I lack the authority to release you.”

“Fine. Go get somebody who does.”

As the technician scurried away Mondrian turned back to Tatty. “I suppose I’m going to have a fight with you, too.”

“Not at all.” As Mondrian rose from the bed, Tatty’s manner changed. She smiled coldly at him. “I looked after you when you were too sick to make your own decisions. I’d do the same for anyone. Now you are clearly getting better, and you can go to hell in your own fashion. I’m leaving Ceres. I already have my exit approval.”

“Using my office seal? Where are you going.”

“Home. Back to Earth. I’ve had all I can stand of Horus and Ceres.” Tatty stood up. “I suppose you ought to thank me for looking after you while you were unconscious, but I know better than to expect that. Anyway, it’s not appropriate. It was all my fault in the first place.’ “The bombing? What are you talking about?”

“That’s the other reason I wanted to be here when you woke up — to tell you that I was responsible for the attempt to assassinate you.”

“Tatty, you’re out of your mind. You didn’t do the bombing any more than I did. We were both victims of it. You were injured, too — I can see the scars still on your arm.”

“I didn’t do the bombing — but I caused it to be done.”

Mondrian reached out to take Tatty’s arm, pulling her back to the bedside. His grip was much stronger than she expected.

“Princess, you can’t make a wild statement like that and say nothing more. Are you saying you arranged for that bomb?”

“No.”

“So what are you saying? That you know who tried to kill us?”

“No one tried to kill us. It was Chan Dalton, and he tried to kill you. The rest of us just happened to be there.”

“Tatty, you’re gibbering. What are you getting at?”

She hesitated and evaded, but under constant prodding from Mondrian she told the whole story; of the long days on Horus, of her loneliness, of her growing despair with Chan and hatred for Mondrian; finally, of her use of Mondrian’s picture as an object for Chan to hate.

Mondrian listened quietly and sympathetically. At the conclusion he sprawled full-length on the bed and shook his head.

“Wrong, Princess. Totally wrong.”

“Prove it.”

“I can’t — but I’ll wager on it. Look at a few facts. First, whoever that waiter was, he wasn’t Chan Dalton.”

“He wasn’t a real waiter. At the restaurant they don’t know who he was.”

“Well, he was certainly dressed like the waiters at that restaurant. But waiter or not, my point is that he wasn’t Chan. Which means that Chan would have had to bribe him. Now, did you tell Chan beforehand where we were going to have dinner?”

“No. He didn’t know in advance — he says he just mindlessly followed us there.”

“So you’re telling me that Chan, who didn’t know where we were going, could in just a few minutes persuade a man dressed like a waiter to deliver a bomb to our table. That sort of thing requires careful preparation and planning. Where would Chan even find a bomb? He’s a recent arrival on Ceres, and he hardly knows anyone. He may look like a twenty-year-old, but in terms of adult contact with the world he s only a few weeks old.”

“He’s a super-fast learner now.”

“It makes no difference. Chan is a newcomer here. No matter how intelligent he is, he couldn’t get the materials and the knowledge in such a short time. You say Chan doesn’t remember what he was doing at the time of the bombing. I’ll accept that. His brain’s still sorting itself out inside his head. But amnesia isn’t a crime. I don’t believe that he had anything at all to do with the explosion.” Mondrian sat up and stared at Tatty. “Give me ten minutes to talk to him, and I guarantee that I can prove he had nothing to do with it — prove it to your satisfaction as well as mine.”

“I can’t.” Tatty looked stricken. “Can’t bring him to you, I mean.”

“Why not?”

“He s not here any more — not on Ceres.”

“Of course he is. You just have to track him down.”

“No. You don’t understand. When Chan told me about his blackout, I told him what happened at the restaurant. We talked, and we agreed. He must have done the bombing, without having control of his actions. He didn’t know what to do. So I helped him — helped him to escape.”

“But he couldn’t possibly get away from here. For one thing, he’d need a travel permit.”

“Esro, you still don’t understand. He already had a travel permit.”

“Who was insane enough to issue one to him? I’ll have their carcass.”

“You were insane enough. Remember, you issued it in advance, so it would be ready when he went off for pursuit team training and you would collect on your bet with Luther Brachis as soon as possible. All I did was ask Captain Flammarion to give Chan the rest of his tests at once. He passed them all, easily. He was ready for the next phase.”

“So where is he?”

“He’s on Barchan. As you planned. Ready to start pursuit team training.”

Tatty’s statement was not quite correct. Chan was certainly in pursuit team training, but he was not actually on Barchan. When Tatty spoke those words he was flying four thousand meters above the planet’s surface in a Security aircar, receiving his final lesson on its operation and handling.

“Don’t you forget now,” said the pilot cheerfully. “Once you drop me off you’re on your own. No collections, no deliveries, you pick your own nose and do your own laundry. And don’t bother to send a message unless you’ve destroyed the ’Fact — or given up trying.”

She laughed, as though her last suggestion was out of the question. The pilot was small and tubby, with sleepy-looking brown eyes. When she was at the controls the car seemed to glide effortlessly through the buffeting winds of Barchan. Only when Chan took over himself did he learn that Barchan’s air currents were strong and unpredictable. Level flight called for constant attention, and landing and take-off on the desert planet was always dangerous.