He swore, eased himself free, and slid quietly over to the edge of the bed.

Godiva gave a drowsy murmur of complaint. She slept like a child, deeply, peacefully, securely, snuggled against Brachis with one arm across his body. She usually fell asleep at once and claimed that she never had anything but pleasant dreams. Once she was asleep, Luther’s departure from her side was one of the few things that would produce any reaction at all.

He waited to make sure that she would not waken, staring down at her as he pulled on his uniform. As always, Godiva slept naked. The skin of her bare body was so fine and fair that it seemed to glow like a pink pearl in the faint light of the ceiling panels. Brachis cursed again as he left her and hurried through into the living room. Three in the morning! But the communication unit was already in message receiving mode.

“Commander Brachis?” said a weary voice, as soon as Luther touched the keys.

It was Mondrian. He might have known. “Here. This is a devil of a time to make a call.”

And if it were Mondrian, there had to be a good reason for it. Brachis was already straightening his uniform and pulling on his boots.

“I need to talk to you. At once.” The dry voice had a tone that Brachis did not recognize. “You look as tired as I feel. Come to Anabasis Headquarters. To Communications. Alone.”

The unit went dead. Brachis snorted. Alone! What did Mondrian expect, that he’d lead in a brigade of bagpipers? But he headed for the door with his boots still unstrapped. Mondrian would never add that unnecessary word unless the situation were truly abnormal.

The door to Anabasis Communications was locked. That was significant, too. Brachis banged his fist hard on the metal, taking some of his own irritation out on the panels. After a long delay and a clicking of tumblers the heavy plate slid open.

Mondrian stood waiting. With one stiff movement he gestured Brachis to enter, and locked the door at once behind them.

Luther Brachis stared at him. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing, but I suggest you stop it. You look freeze-dried, like one of the things we pull out for identification after a major airlock failure.”

Mondrian did not smile, did not greet him. “Travancore,” he said.

“We lost the team?” Brachis was not too surprised. He had always thought that the first team in was likely to get wiped out. There was no substitute for experience, and the second or third team would have a much better chance.

“Worse than that.”

“Christ. The Construct is out and on the loose?”

“And worse than that.” Mondrian took the other man by the arm. His fingers bit into Brachis’s biceps. “There’s something terrifying on Travancore, fully operating and incredibly dangerous. I want you to watch this. Then we must talk.”

“I told you that the first team wouldn’t cut it when it came to blasting the Construct. They chickened out, didn’t they? Pipe-Rillas and Tinkers and goddamned Angels, no bunch of misfit aliens has the guts to do the job properly. Why not let humans handle it, that way there’s a chance of success.”

Mondrian paused in the middle of setting up a playback sequence. “You are wrong, Luther, quite wrong. But that is all irrelevant now. We have to blockade.”

“Travancore?”

“More than that. The whole Talitha system. The only thing that goes in is the next pursuit team.” The screen began to flicker with the preliminary rainbow fringes of a long-distance Mattin Link transmission. “And that’s just the beginning. Nothing comes out.”

“Esro, you re out of your mind. Do you realize what it costs to blockade a stellar system?”

“I know exactly what it costs. It’s more than you think.”

“So why bother? There’s an easier way. I don’t care how tough that Construct is, it can be destroyed if we just pump in enough energy.”

“You’d have to sterilize half the planet.”

“So what? Sterilize the whole damned thing if we have to.”

“And who explains that to the Stellar Group ambassadors?”

“Easy. We blame the Construct. They’re scared out of their minds about it already. Do you think they’re going to question us?”

“I don’t know. I’m not going to find out. Sit down, Luther. I’m not going to argue with you now. I don’t have to, because you hate aliens a lot more than I ever will. Just watch what came in from Travancore — and then see if you don’t agree with me completely about the need for blockade.”

Chapter 29

Skrynol was ready to dim the lights when Mondrian stopped her.

Not this time. If you don’t mind, I want to do something different.”

The lanky Pipe-Rilla clucked disapproval. “I do mind. The agenda is set by the Fropper, not the patient. And recently we have been making very slow progress.”

“Then one extra session won’t matter.” Mondrian had been carrying a narrow black tube, as long as his forearm. He handed it to Skrynol. “I also think this may be relevant to my problem.’

“A recording?” Skrynol glanced around the claustrophobic chamber for an open viewing space. “If it does not involve you, it has no value.”

“It is of me, and of one other. I want you to examine it, and tell me what he was thinking of as we talked. Also, I want to know what / was thinking.”

“Based on visual and aural inputs only? You are a supreme optimist, Commander Mondrian.” But Skrynol was already dimming the lights and setting the recorder to playback mode. To a Pipe-Rilla who was also a Fropper, the challenge was irresistible.

“I must watch this all the way through, Commander. In silence. During the second playing I will integrate my impressions and describe them to you. Before we begin, however, tell me something of the other party.”

“His name is Chancellor Vercingetorix Dalton. He was born and raised on Earth, but in unusual circumstances.”

As the image volume formed, Mondrian described Chan’s background, his odd history and training, and the successful Barchan Simmie hunt. He continued until the image space was completely defined, and Skrynol held up a fleshy forelimb.

“For the moment, that is enough. If I have questions, you can answer them after first viewing.”

She dimmed the lights, and a moment later Mondrian felt the soft touch of electrodes and needle sensors.

“With your permission,” said Skrynol’s voice in the darkness. “Your feelings as you watch may add much to what I can deduce from the recording.”

The projection record began. Esro Mondrian and Chan Dalton were facing diagonally across a table, with Chan apparently sitting in deep shadow. In fact, Mondrian had been at Anabasis Headquarters on Ceres, while Dalton was linking in from S’kat’lan, eighteen lightyears away.

Skrynol watched in silence for twenty minutes. At the end of the recording she sighed. “Ah, that rosy light. I recognize it. Sweet S’kat’lan, world of my dreams! To be there, to be home, instead of here.”

“I am sure Dalton would say exactly the same thing about Earth. Did you get anything?”

“Of course. Wait and see. Never fear, I will tell you what I observe … at the right moment.”

The recording began again.

Esro Mondrian was nodding his head to Chan Dalton. “Congratulations on a great effort on Barchan. You did it in record time, and you didn’t harm a single Shellback.”

(“There is already concealment,” said Skrynol. “On your part. You are thinking, What a change in so short a time. Dalton grew up. But he is tense, taut as a Link-line. 1 must be careful!”)

Mondrian, sitting in the dark, wondered at the wisdom of his decision to show the recording to Skrynol. His pretended interest in his own thoughts had been intended only to persuade Skrynol to offer her insights on Dalton’s thinking. Now it was too late to say that he had changed his mind.