The bard settled back down into the couch behind Dar’s with a grateful sigh. He stretched the webbing across his body and locked it in, then accepted the shot glass from Dar absentmindedly as he gazed at the viewscreen and its image of Terra, huge against the stars.

“What course shall I set?” Fess asked softly.

“Moment of decision,” Lona said to Dar. “Where do you want to go?”

Dar looked deeply into her eyes. She held his gaze, hers unwavering. Her pupils seemed to grow larger, larger…

“Wherever you’re going,” Dar said softly.

She sat still, very still.

Then she said, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Dar said, “very.”

Then they were still again, gazes locked.

Whitey cleared his throat and said, a little too loudly, “Well, you know how it is, Fess—when you’re young, and all that.”

“There are references to it in my data banks,” the voice agreed.

“You go off to your own little dream world,” Whitey explained, “even though you think you’re staying in the real one. You get wrapped up in romance for a while, and you don’t really relate all that well to what’s going on around you.”

“Similar to an artificially induced alteration in consciousness?”

“Well, that’s what the drugs are trying to imitate, yeah—but you know how much an imitation’s worth. Still, when they do get involved in the real thing, they’re out of touch for a while, and it’s up to us old folk to hold things together till they come out of their trances.”

“How do you intend to hold things together, Mr. Tambourin?”

“Oh, just bumming around the Terran Sphere for a while, drifting and roaming, same as I’ve always done, singing innocent, apolitical songs—and gradually working my way out to Wolmar.”

“Wolmar? But why?”

“Oh, to see Stroganoff again, I suppose—and this Cholly that Dar’s so enthusiastic about. Seems as though they might have some good ideas. I couldn’t do it the easy way, though, hitching a ride with Horatio. I mean, I’ve got some responsibilities. Gotta see these two young folk settled and safe before I can go kiyoodling off. And at the rate they’re going now, it’s going to take them a long time …”

“I thought you were in love with Sam,” Lona finally said.

Dar shook his head. “Not a bit—at least, not after you came along. She was a good ally, when things got tense—but a lover? No. I couldn’t get interested.”

“Oh?” Lona said, dryly. “Why not?”

“Because,” Dar said, “I just wouldn’t be able to make love to someone who was reading my mind.”

Lona sat very still for a few seconds. Then she said, “Sam? The real, live telepath at the bottom of the whole scare?”

“The correlations are rather obvious,” Fess’s voice murmured, “if all you’ve told me is accurate. Her knowing exactly where to find the credentials in the luggage of Bhelabher’s staff, her ability to open a strange combination lock, to lead Dar through the dark maze of the criminals’ dungeon on Falstaff, her emotional reactions to the witch-hunt… What is surprising is that none of us realized it sooner.”

“And that Fess knew all the facts.” Lona eyed Dar suspiciously. “Didn’t know you two had gotten so chummy.”

“He’s a very sympathetic listener,” Dar said brightly.

“But nobody told him to correlate for the identity of a possible telepath.” The suspicious gaze turned calculating. “When did you realize it?”

“Right after Father Marco pulled me out of that interrogation. I realized that the flashing lights and noises were an awful lot of trouble to go to if they weren’t really afraid of having their minds read—so they really believed there was a telepath, and it had to have been one of our crew. Then I remembered seeing suspicious, hostile Sam falling head-over-heels in love with Horatio Bocello on a moment’s notice. It just wasn’t like her. She had to be seeing something in him that the rest of us didn’t see—and there was only one way she could’ve done that.”

“By peering into his mind.” Lona pursed her lips, nodding. “Well, love at first second-sight, I can see.”

“The Executive Director, however, does not realize that you are not the telepath,” Fess pointed out. “He will no doubt be hunting you for the rest of his life—and his successor after him. A telepath would make an invaluable aide for a dictator.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about that. But I think, if I find some out-of-the-way place and live quietly, I’ll probably be pretty safe. Of course, I’ll have to take a few standard precautions, such as changing my name …”

“To what would you change it?”

“Oh, nothing too elaborate; I’m kinda tired just now.” Dar sighed, leaning back in his couch. “Just taking my real name and making a few changes—you know, ‘d’Armand’ instead of ‘Dar Mandra,’ that sort of thing.” He turned to Lona. “You ought to think about that—you’re on their list, too.”

“Yes,” she said, eyes glowing, “I know.”

“Interested in changing your name?”

“Yes, I think I will,” she said, “ ‘d’Armand’ sounds good to me, too.”