"Green, Sharon - Mind Guest" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Sharon)

Mind Guest

by Sharon Green

A Diana Santee Spaceways Novel

Chapter 1

Waking up began as a struggle, the sort you strain against with all

your strength and get absolutely nowhere with. I strained and struggled

and found nothing but fog to fight, but by the time I reached the

groaning stage the fog was beginning to lift. I became aware of what I

entailed, then felt the hum that touched deeply but lightly in my

bones. I knew the hum should mean something, but I was still too deep

in the fog to know what.

It took a lot of effort to turn to my left side and open my eyes, and I

couldn't remember why the effort was necessary. All I saw was a small

room, plain metal walls, built-in drawers, and nothing else. All behind

a thin but unbreakable mesh of monostrand, the sort used m spaceships

to protect sleepers from the sudden loss of gravity.

Spaceship.

I had to be on a ship, but where was I going? Was the assignment

finished already? Assignment. What assignment? What the hell was going

on? I put a hand to my head as if that would stop the spasms going on

inside it, but there was still too much fog. Raising my arm seemed to

be a signal for the fog to close in again, and that turned the switch

off on my struggling.

The next time my eyes opened, the fog was all gone. I saw the top of

the bunk section, the monostrand safety net closing the only open side,

felt the throb that meant live but unfiring engines. I was in a ship,

all right, but this time I knew all about it. The assignment I'd been

so worried over even when I didn't remember anything about it hadn't

been finished, not unless you count getting grabbed as finishing it.

I'd walked right into Radman's waiting arms, just as if I were

responding to an invitation he'd sent out. I sat up carefully on the

bunk, trying not to bash my thick head on the metal above, disgusted

with myself and impatient with the dizziness the last of the drug

caused. Radman had used cryosol, and there was no knowing how long it

had kept me under.

I ran my hands through my tangled hair as I sat cross-legged, giving

myself a couple of minutes to take inventory before pressing on to the

harder job of getting out of the bunk. My entire body felt heavy and

without strength, probably a combination reaction from the drug and the

length of time I'd been unconscious, but I didn't hurt anymore. My

clothes were long gone, cut away at Radman's direction while he stood

and grinned and drooled, and naturally not replaced. He'd pretended to

be delighted that it was a female Special Agent who had been sent after

him, but his delight had switched to panic when one of his men had

gotten careless enough to let me almost get one leg free. 'There were

only five of them there besides Radman himself, and those aren't very

comfortable odds against a hyper-A. The nickname means High Percentage

Risk Agent and isn't handed out to every male with big muscles or every

female with a pretty smile. Radman had never heard the nickname, but he

didn't have to. He'd heard about Special Agents, and believed enough of

what he'd heard to be very, very careful.

I unhooked the monostrand mesh and swung my legs over the side of the

bunk, then stood up. I was feeling steadier than I thought I would, but

a couple of twinges flashed here and there, an unpleasant tail-end reminder of Radman's reaction to my "attempted escape." After I'd been

chained with no more than a single link's space between wrists and

ankles, Radman had spent some time kicking me around-literally.

Experience had probably taught him how much pain he could give without

actually breaking anything important, and he'd put that knowledge to

work. By the time he'd worked off the heavy sweat he'd felt at the

thought of my getting loose I was sure he'd cracked a couple of ribs at

the very least, but I'd been wrong. Nothing had scraped together inside

when a couple of Radman's men had carried me to a metal-framed cot and

had shifted the chains on me to create the ever-popular spread-eagled

look. Radman had gotten hot from the fun he'd had knocking' me around,

and wanted to spend some time working that off. I have a high pain

threshold, but happily not that high; it didn't take long before his

second-stage battering put me out. Which was a damned good thing. If

I'd still been conscious when it came time for him to let rip I would

have spit in his face, and I'd been in no shape to stand what would

have come from that little gesture.

The small cabin opened onto a somewhat larger common room, from which

it was possible to reach the rest of the ship. All the lights were set

at daylight normal, but I ignored the brightness in the common room the

way I had in the cabin and made my way to the tiny galley. I took a

long drink of water while the ship thawed and heated a synthegg

sandwich for me, then sat and ate it while a second was being done.

Cryosol slows your bodily processes while it keeps you unconscious, but

that just means you won't starve to death before you wake up. It

doesn't mean you can afford to forget to grab at least a quick bite

once you're up and around again, despite the fact that you're not

feeling very hungry. People have been known to die from the oversight,

and it would have been rude of me to die so quickly and thereby spoil

all of Radman's carefully laid plans.

When the second sandwich was ready I took it with me to the control

room. Radman had had a lot of fun telling me all about what he intended

doing, but even knowing what to expect didn't stop the flutter of panic

I felt at sight of all that red on the pilot's console. Most pilots

equate blinking red with the pumping of lifeblood out of a major

artery, and I was no different. It took an effort to keep from running

closer and quickly slapping switches, but since I knew how useless

slapping switches would be I could walk forward slowly until I stood

behind the pilot's chair.

The acceleration and deceleration switches had been cut off flush with

the console, giving the check-off computer hysterics, and the emergency

rocket toggle was also gone. The life-support system, meteor

deflectors, view screens and communicator were still on the green, but

that meant nothing. Radman had preset the view from the forward view

screen, and the location computer was running a continuous "no

information" blank tape, showing that I'd left human-inhabited space

long behind me. Just for the hell of it I checked the number of inches

of blank tape, multiplied by the standard rounded figure supplied in

the front of every ephemeris, then took a long, slow bite of my

sandwich. At the time of calculation I'd already been in an area of

space that would not be explored for a minimum of two hundred standard

years, with each second passing sending me farther and farther away.

I'd be able to watch where I was going, Radman had said, live

comfortably and eat well while I thought about ways of coming back, but

there'd be no coming back. By going after him I'd earned a free,

unending vacation trip, and he was going to see that I got what I'd

earned. I could still hear his heavy, brutal laughter as the cryosol was hype-sprayed into my bloodstream, and I looked down to see that I'd

unconsciously crushed the sandwich to slop in one hand. I turned and

left the control room then, and went to get a cup of coffee and another

sandwich.

I set up a loose schedule for living in the days that followed, but

still spent a lot of time reviewing and re-reviewing the moves I'd made

in going after Radman. I'd expected to see what I'd done wrong rather

quickly, but time passed and as far as I could see I hadn't done

anything wrong. Nothing I'd done would have told Radman I was coming

after him, but I'd still found him waiting for me. I usually had to go

heavy on the exercising after coming to that conclusion, even though I

knew intense rage was a waste of time and energy. The position I'd been

forced into wasn't contusive to sane calm and logical thinking.

I must have been about two months on my way to nowhere when I finally

decided I'd had enough of sitting around and doing nothing. Aside from

the fact that there wasn't much I could do, most of my hesitation had

come from that terrible human disease called wishful thinking. Being

fully adult and more realistic than most hadn't stopped me from hoping

that Starman Courageous and his loyal crew would somehow stumble across

me, save me from the fate worse than death that had been imposed on me,

and quickly return me to hearth and home. It took me that two months to

admit that I was the proud possessor of a fate worse than death, and

that Starman Courageous, every broad-shouldered and wide-chested inch

of him, was too busy saving slender helpless female types on tri-v to

show up. If anything was going to he done, I was the one who would have

to do it.

I took one last cigarette with my feet propped up, grabbed a quick

shower, then found an adjusting tool and headed for the c6ntrol room. I

knew almost nothing about transbar electronics, but I was faced with

the choice of tinkering and possibly killing myself fast, or leaving it

alone and continuing on until I went crazy. Being a loner I hadn't

found the two months totally unbearable, but two months wasn't two

years or twenty. If I didn't do something, I was sealed into what would

eventually become my tomb, and sitting around waiting for the

inevitable wasn't my usual style.

The controls had been damaged at the pilot's console, which is usually

a pretty permanent way of damaging them, but there was one remote

chance. The transbar leads were tucked away in a box of their own, and

if I could figure out which leads controlled what, I might be able to

bypass the console. Only I was not an electrical engineer. My talents

lie in other directions, and I've piloted many ships, but never had to

fix any of them. I opened the panel that covered the leads, groaned at

the nine million different colored wires, then took a deep breath and

got started.

I'd found the leads that controlled the shower, the lights, and a dozen

and a half unknown functions before it happened. I was tightening the

last lead I'd loosened when the adjusting tool slipped, knocking out a

lead in the unexplored section. The loose lead swung down and to the

left, 'toward the bottom contact, but fouled on another lead instead.

There was a spray of pretty blue sparks for about three seconds, then

silence. I wondered if I'd done anything serious, only to notice the

new flashing red light on the control console. I closed my eyes for a

minute then went to see what it was. It turned out to be nothing much -

the new blinking red light was for the life support system.

After I carefully tossed the adjusting tool away, I sat down in the

pilot's seat. I would have done better using spit and baling wire on

the control console, the way Starman Courageous would have, but it might have taken me another two standard months to kill myself with

spit and baling wire. Why waste the time?

Then my eyes fell on the forward viewscreen, and I stared hard. I

hadn't bothered checking it for weeks, but I should have taken a peek

before starting on the transbar leads - it would have saved some

trouble. The ship had blundered into the middle of a star system,

cutting across the orbital path of at least one of the planets. I could

tell this easily by the sight of the good-sized moon I was heading for,

but I couldn't tell by eye whether or not I'd hit it. My hand went

toward the computer outlet automatically, but I pulled it back before

asking for the data. If the ship was going to hit, it would hit. There

was nothing I could do about it one way or the other, and if I hit I

wouldn't have to worry about the new ringing in my ears. My tinkering

with the transbar leads had done something to the air pressure, and I

hadn't the faintest idea of how to undo it. I sat back in ~e seat and

simply watched the moon.

Six hours later, I was a lot closer to the moon and a lot closer to

upchucking. The on-again, off-again ringing in my ears was making me

dizzy and nauseated, but I stayed near the viewscreen to see what was

happening. Then, suddenly, the proximity alarm went off, almost sending

me straight up through the hull. Where the hell would another ship be

coming from way out there? Nothing showed in the forward viewscreen,

and I was about to activate the others when the ringing got deeper and

closer to my head. I hesitated a minute, trying to fight the lowering

air pressure, but it was no good. I didn't touch the transbar leads,

but the lights went out anyway.

Chapter 2

Waking up was downright luxurious. I was lying belly down and I

stretched in comfort and yawned, wondering why the bunk felt so soft,

then groaned when I realized it was probably a malfunction in the

gravity control. I buried my face in the softness, knowing damned well

that there was almost nothing I could do about it, then lay very still.

The gentle fragrance coming from what I was lying on was nothing like

the paper bed linen I'd used so long, and it was also nothing like

anything I'd ever encountered before. There was dark all around me, the

familiar dark I always slept in, but even in the dark there was

something different about my surroundings.

I moved my fingers over whatever it was I was lying on, getting the

impression of a soft and very rich-feeling fur. There was no pillow

under my face, just the fur, and stretching my arms out limited the

size of the fur whatever to little more than the width of a double bed

was closer to the edge on the right, so I hung my right arm over it and

found that the floor was no more than twelve inches below me - and also

covered with what felt like fur. None of what was happening made any

sense: was I dreaming or just plain crazy?

I shifted over onto my back, in the process making another unsettling

discovery. I knew I had no clothes on, but I'd had the impression that

I was covered with something like a light blanket. Now I could feel

there was a warmth on me, from shoulder height down to past my toes,

but the warmth wasn't coming from anything as banal as a cover. All at

once I began feeling annoyed, knowing damned well that by rights I

ought to be scared stiff, but the whole thing was too stupid to be

scary. When someone puts you in the dark to terrify you, they don't

give you fur to lie on, and they don't make sure you're snuggly warm. I

brushed my loose hair away from my face and made up my mind, then sat up slowly, holding one hand above my head to see if there was anything

over me.

As soon as I was sitting straight, there was no longer any need to hold

my hand up. A light had begun glowing from somewhere, starting very

faint and low, then brightening to a good level. I took a deep breath

and let it out slowly, fairly sure - or at least hoping - that there

was a photocell or some equivalent involved.

The room that had just come to view was no more than twelve by twelve,

having very few things in it. There was a small round metallic shape

next to the bed-couch I was lying on, an amorphous blob that might have

been a chair, and nothing else. I looked down at the bed-couch under

me, expecting to see fur, but saw nothing but cloth. Granted, it was a

silvery-gray cloth that looked better than any other cloth I'd ever

seen, but it was still just cloth. The couch-bed was a low platform, an

eight-foot by seven foot oblong, raised slightly at the end that was

against the wall, and seemingly upholstered. I shifted around a little,

noticing that the warmth I'd felt earlier was fading, then decided to

ask the major question: where the hell could I possibly be? It was

fairly obvious that the proximity alarm bad meant another ship, but

where had they come from, and who were they? And while I was listing

interesting questions, it would be smart to include, why? Someone had

gone to more than a little trouble intercepting my ship, had managed to

pull me out of it alive - and then had neatly tucked me into beddy-bye

before disappearing from view. I'm normally grateful for any help I get

in saving my neck, but I'd learned to be skeptical as well.

The warmth was entirely gone, so I put my feet out to the fur-cloth

floor and stood up, looking around again. The floor-fur was a deep

green, setting off the light salmon-colored wall panels, the panels

themselves being very plain. Each three-foot section of wall was

separated from the others by a panel line, and there must have been a

door there somewhere, but I couldn't spot it just then. I also saw no

window - which didn't mean there weren't any - but the far wall had

something square on it. I moved closer, trying to figure out what the

square might be. It was a light, slightly flickering gold in color, and

could have been anything from an observation screen or window to an

example of the art of tomorrow. I felt the urge to touch it, but pulled

back suddenly. I was old enough to know better than to touch strange,

unexplained objects; I'd had enough of waking up in odd places for a

while.

"I see you've taken it upon yourself to leave your bed," an annoyed

male voice said from behind me. "Are you sure you're feeling well

enough?"

The unexpectedness of the voice startled me, that and the fact it was

using an unknown language that I somehow understood perfectly. I turned

slowly and took the time to prepare myself for whatever might be

standing behind me, but the whole thing was a giant let-down. The only

thing standing behind me, well to the right, was a mild-looking little

man, round-cheeked and slightly pot-bellied, wearing a dark gold, onepiece

outfit that could have been a uniform. The outfit had patches

here and there, supporting the uniform theory, and the little man

wasn't looking at all pleased with me. The entire scene had a very

unreal quality to it, as if it would all turn out to be someone's idea

of a practical joke, but I dismissed that thought fast and smiled my

friendliest smile.

"How sweet of you to be concerned about me," I purred, moving a step or

two closer to him. "I'm feeling just fine now, and I'll bet I have you

to thank for it. I can see in your eyes that you're a very-special-sort of man.

His blue eyes didn't get any darker, but his chest swelled and his face

settled into a prissy look of satisfaction.

"I did very little more than see to your comfort, my dear," he said

smoothly. "And yet you may rest assured that had anything been

seriously wrong with you, I would have seen to it to the best of my

ability. We're rather isolated out here, but our medical facilities

can't be bettered anywhere."

I let my smile warm slightly, mainly to cover the fact that I was still

moving slowly toward him, and said, "I knew I was right about you, but

I'm just a little confused. You mentioned your medical facilities here,

but you didn't say where 'here' was. Can you tell me where I am?"

The satisfaction shifted to a frown, and the little man peered at me.

"This is an observation outpost of our Absari Confederacy," he answered

sharply. "The planet is called Tildor by its natives. Hadn't you any

idea you were in our neighborhood? The area happens to be proscribed."

I stopped where I was, about five feet from my visitor, determined not

to show how off balance I suddenly was. Not only hadn't I known that

the area was proscribed, I'd never even heard of proscribed areas, not

to mention something called the "Absari Confederacy." Things were back

to being unreal again, but there was one thing I knew for a rock-hard

fact: if my Federation had ever had contact with an Absari Confederacy,

I would have heard about it. My not having heard about them meant we'd

never contacted them, and I was back to wandering in the dark,

searching for a candle.

The little man was still watching me closely, so I decided to use some

of the confusion I felt to my own advantage.

"I must have gone farther astray than I thought," I breathed weakly,

putting my hand to my head. "I haven't the faintest idea of how I got

here."

"But, my dear girl, where were you going?" he asked, stepping closer to

me with professional concern. "And where did you start from? Surely no

one would have allowed someone with such meager knowledge of star

locations to travel about alone?"

We were no more than three feet apart, and that was just about right

for what I was going to have to do. He'd already asked three questions

I couldn't possibly answer, and I also couldn't afford to wait around

until those questions came from a more official source. I had to get

out of there as fast as possible, without leaving anyone behind who

could begin yelling before I was well out of reach.

I had stiffened the fingers of my right hand and was just lifting the

arm, when a section of the wall panel directly behind the little man

slid aside, showing a second male visitor. This one was a good deal

larger than the first, much taller and with much broader shoulders and

no pot-belly, wearing the same sort of one-piece uniform that the

little man wore, but his was a cobalt blue, with the patches in

different places. His dark eyes gave me a slow, frank stare of

appraisal, and he must have been pleased with what he saw-his rugged

face creased into a grin, and he stopped next to the little man, his

eyes still on me.

"How's our patient doing, Landren?" he asked in the sort of deep voice

one would expect. "Is she up to having visitors yet?"

The little man had glanced at the newcomer, but his attention was still

on me.

"She's still a bit shaky, Commander," he answered with what was

becoming a familiar frown. "But there seems to be something odd going

on here. You specifically told me she was alone, but why would such a helpless young woman be traveling alone? And another thing\a133"

"You're perfectly right, Landren," the man addressed as Commander

interrupted. "I'm sure there are many things to discuss, but this isn't

the time for it. The young lady and I are going to have a chat now, and

I'd appreciate it if you would have someone bring a tray of edibles to

us. You and I can have a talk later."

I stood casually where I was, making sure my muscles were relaxed in

spite of the fact that the bigger man hadn't taken his dark eyes off me

and now stood between me and my erstwhile target. The little man was

annoyed all over again, not knowing how close he had come to the end of

every annoyance, but there seemed to be little he could do. he nodded

once, angrily, and drew himself up.

"Very well, Commander," he grudged to the larger man's back. "We'll

discuss the matter later. And I'll speak to one of your team members

about the rest of it."

He looked at me with what was probably supposed to have been a smile,

bowed stiffly, then turned and walked out. The man who now stood and

studied me with folded arms and sharp, intelligent eyes was nothing

like the first man and would not be as easy to handle, but he would

still have to be handled one way or another. I'd done a lot of bluffing

in my professional life, but never in a situation where I didn't even

know what I was supposed to be bluffing about. The man's eyes kept

moving over me, as though he were looking for some sign of

embarrassment on my part due to the fact that he was dressed and I

wasn't, but he wasn't likely to find one. I'd been born and raised on

one of the only two nudist planets in the Federation, and standing

around raw had never bothered me. I looked away from the man, extended

my left arm for inspection, then rubbed at an invisible spot with a

small frown and a whole lot of concentration. I heard the sound of a

snort of amusement, then the big man shifted slightly where he stood.

"You're really very good, girl," he commented in that deep voice. "If I

didn't know better, I'd swear you were as innocent as you look."

The comment did nothing for my peace of mind, but I smiled at him with

polite interest.

"I don't understand, Commander," I said, putting just a touch of

confusion into my tone. "Am I supposed to be guilty of something?"

The question made the man smile again, then he laughed aloud.

"All right, I give up," he conceded with a chuckle. "I'd better stop

trying to shake that calm of yours before I push you into trying

something violent. I'll start off by telling you that I already know

you're not native to our Confederacy, so you can relax as far as that

goes. If you'll join me out on the terrace, we can both relax and

discuss the rest of it."

He stood not three feet away from me, grinning informally but in no way

off guard, and I didn't know what the hell to do. Insisting you know

something as a fact when all you do is suspect is such an old trick

that lots of people have forgotten about it. If he was telling the

truth, the fact that I wasn't in a jail cell was an encouraging sign,

but then I reminded myself that iron bars do not a prison make.

"I hate to seem dense, Commander, but I'm afraid I have very little

idea of what you're talking about," I drawled. "Suppose you add a few

details to what you've already said, and then maybe I'll be able to

hold up my end of the conversation."

He studied me again, then he nodded.

"Considering your position, I can't blame you for being cautious," he

conceded. "Maybe it would be better if we both knew what was

happening." he moved to his right, no more than five or six steps, then touched one of the salmon-colored wall panels. A thin, horizontal

section of the wall snapped out, knee height from the floor, and the

Commander sat himself down on it.

"All right, from the beginning," he said, leaning back against the wall

in his bench seat. "As soon as we looked at your ship, we knew you were

not from one of the member planets of the Confederacy. By 'we' I mean

my second in command and myself. he and I are the only ones who know

about you, which is why Landren was so confused."

He stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles, frowning slightly in

concentration. "The Absari Confederacy has known about your Federation

for some twenty standard years now, but the knowledge hasn't been

spread about. One of our scout ships netted a primitive rocket,

calculated the direction from which it had come, then backtracked on

it. When they began picking up communicator signals, they turned back

and reported to Absar Central, and we've been tip-toeing around the

edges of your volume of space ever since. We're nearly to the point of

introducing ourselves, but things like that take time." His eyes came

back to me, and the grin was starting again. "If I were going to

execute you as an undesirable alien, it would have been done by now, so

how about calling a truce and having something to eat with me? I'll

feel like a fool if I have to call a bodyguard before I can relax with

you in arm's reach."

This time I studied him and his grin, weighing my options. I could

trust him and take my chances or wipe him and take my chances, but

either way it would be a risk. The way he moved and held himself said a

lot about his ability, and the lack of fat on his well-muscled body

said he had very little need of a bodyguard. I would have backed my own

ability against his no matter what he knew, but even if I did best him

and then managed to find my way to a ship without running afoul of

anyone else, which way did I point the ship? Which quadrant had I come

in from? I took a strand of my hair to chew on, and the Commander's

grin widened. -

"You look as though you're having trouble making up your mind," he

observed, moving his back away from the wall to lean one elbow on a

broad thigh. "Suppose I add this as support for being reasonable: you

must have a lot of questions you'd like answered, and I'll be glad to

answer them - as well as fill you in on what you said when I questioned

you. You were unconscious at the time, so you're hardly likely to

remember it by yourself."

I continued to stare at him for a second, then smiled, as did he. he

was trying to bribe me with my own curiosity, and that made me feel

better about him. A man who understands bribery can't be all bad.

"All right, Commander, you've got me," I laughed, shaking my head at

him. "Curiosity always has been my fatal flaw, and I've got a question

that's been bothering me since that other man first opened his mouth. I

feel as though I'm speaking my own language, but what I'm speaking and

hearing isn't my own language. I mean, I'm pretty sure it isn't my own

language, even though I'm thinking in it, too. Does that make any

sense, or do I have a lump on the head to account for it?"

"You're perfectly all right," he chuckled, getting to his feet and

hiding the seat. "You had to have a language lesson before I could

question you, and there was no reason to take it back again once you

had it."

I could have spent a lot of time thinking about their methods of

teaching languages to people who were unconscious, but the Commander

had moved another two feet to his right and had put his hand on the

wall again. A panel popped open, revealing a footed jumpsuit, and he pulled it out then closed the panel again. The jumpsuit looked like the

uniform he was wearing - aside from being dark green in color and

having no patches - and it also looked like it might fit me.

"You'd better put this on," he said, tossing me the suit with what

looked like regret on his face. "We usually wear clothing of some sort

around here, and there's no sense in getting people curious."

As soon as I had the suit, he turned away from me and walked over to

that shimmering golden square on the wall. he brushed his fingers along

the upper right side of it, and I blinked as it began lengthening and

widening as though it were made of syngel. The former square kept

changing until it was about seven feet high and four feet wide, then he

seemed to be satisfied. It still shimmered goldenly, but now it was a

doorway, showing a hazy view of green skies and yellow sunshine above a

wide, carved wood balcony. The big man took time out from staring

through the doorway to glance at me, and I realized I'd just been

standing there holding the suit in my hand, so I began getting into it.

It didn't take more than a minute, which made the timing just right.

"Ah-here's the food," the big man observed, causing me to look around.

The panel door had slid aside again, and this time it was a really

oversized male who entered pushing a cart. he was bigger and wider -

and younger - than the Commander, with brown hair and eyes and a broad,

square face, and he wore the same uniform outfit, only in a deep red.

he pushed the cart - which had no wheels but some sort of runners -

through the golden haze and out onto the terrace, then came back

through the golden doorway without it. he nodded to Commander whoever,

sent a wink in my direction, then left again without a word. When the

panel had slid closed behind his broad back, I looked over toward the

Commander again and commented, "Now I know why that doorway is so high.

I'm glad to see he's friendly."

"That's Leandor, head of my special section," the Commander supplied,

looking toward the now empty doorway. "He must have heard about our

visitor and decided to get a look at her to break up the boredom.

Waiting on tables isn't what he was trained for."

"How about discussing what he was trained for," I suggested with a

bright smile. "As an easy lead-in to all those questions you're going

to answer for me."

"You sound as though you think I won't be answering any questions," he

said with an injured air of innocence. "You do have my word, you know,

and I consider my word a solemn oath. Let's take a look and see what

Leandor brought."

He headed out through the golden haze with a half-swallowed grin on his

face, leaving me no option but to ignore my annoyance and follow him.

It was pretty obvious he intended running our interview to suit

himself, and it didn't yet suit him to get down to cases.

As I passed through the golden haze, I felt a light tingling sensation,

the same sort of tingling you feel when moving through a light grade

force shield. Once I was through it, I noticed immediately that the

quality of the air was different. Inside the air was fresh and clean,

but fresh and clean in the way of having been laundered through a

recirculator; outside was the fresh and clean of true outdoors, with a

lot of that just-born feeling of recent rain. I took a deep, sweet

breath of it, knowing how lucky I was to be able to breath air like

that again, then looked around.

The green sky was early-afternoon light, lacking the too-bright glare

of morning. The yellow sunshine covered everything, and in some strange

way made the ten foot, carved wood balcony a very dark brown. The wood

gleamed as though it were polished, intricate designs following themselves around the entire area of it. Commander who-sis was busy at

the tray, so I walked to the thigh-high balcony rail, leaned one hand

on it, and looked over.

Below the balcony was miles of unoccupied air, falling away dizzily to

medium-sized foothills a long way down. If there was anything on the

ground far below I couldn't see it, but there didn't seem to be

anything anywhere - just miles and miles of emptiness. That first

little man had said we were in an outpost, and I wondered briefly what

sort of an outpost it could be.

I turned away from the balcony rail to see that the Commander had

transferred a number of thin, oblong dishes to a wide block of pure

white stone that was obviously going to be our table, so I left the

rail and joined him. There were matching white stone benches to sit on,

so I lowered myself and rested an elbow on the table.

"Question number one which requires a detailed response," I announced,

watching the big man as he paused over uncovering a dish to glance at

me. "What do I call you when I get tired of 'Commander'?"

The question was obviously an acceptable one, and the wary look faded

from his eyes as he bowed.

"I am Commander Arlent Selarn Delrah Garmar Rantal Queltes Dameron," he

answered, pronouncing the names slowly and distinctly. "Please call me

Dameron."

"That's what I get for asking for detail," I sighed, shaking my head.

"If you hadn't added that last, I might have gotten discouraged."

"I somehow doubt that," he laughed, seating himself on his own white

bench. "And what would you like to be called?"

"Now, why should you have to ask my name?" I mused, keeping my eyes on

him. "What about all that sleep talking I did?"

He smiled gently.

"I know that your name is," and suddenly his pronunciation became

foreign, " 'Special Agent of the Federation Council Diana Santee,' but

which of those names do you prefer being addressed by? We usually

choose the one we like best, no matter what position it holds in the

full tide."

"Our familiar names are usually chosen for us," I answered with an air

of faint disappointment. "My chosen name is Diana, and Diana had

thought she'd caught you in a little bit of fast foot-shuffling. I'll

just have to drown my sorrow at the mistake in some of that food which

smells so delicious."

"Best idea I've heard yet," he agreed with what was becoming a usual

grin, then started digging in. I went at it a little more cautiously,

but didn't find any hidden caches of camouflaged ptomaine. Everything

tasted as good as it smelled, which let me shift my eating to automatic

while my mind paid attention to thinking.

For some reason, it appeared I had given my name and rank in Basic

rather than in whatever I was speaking then. I didn't know enough about

the situation to even begin to guess why, but could only hope I also

hadn't gone into detail about my job. No matter what my position there

turned out to be, they would watch a non-combatant a lot less carefully

than they'd watch an experienced professional. And as large as I was,

the man who had named himself Dameron was larger still, and obviously a

fighting man. No matter what he had learned about me, it probably would

not be enough to make him call that bodyguard he'd joked about earlierand

therein lay another advantage for me. His eyes came to me as I

watched him chew, and I smiled in response to his smile, but we weren't

-smiling at the same thing.

After I'd eaten most of what had been put in front of me, I decided to get on with the question and answer game. I picked up the hexagonal

glass of what had turned out to be a light, sparkling silver wine,

sipped at it, then cleared my throat. When Dameron's dark eyes were on

me, I put the glass down again.

"If you've regained part of your strength, I'd like to get on with our

information exchange," I said, gesturing at all the empty dishes. "So

far, all we've exchanged is our names, and that's not my idea of making

headway."

"You do have a point," he sighed, looking regretfully at the leftovers

but pushing his plate away anyway. "Go ahead and ask your questions."

"I've got the next one all ready," I said, leaning forward a little. "I

was told that this is an outpost, but no one's said what sort of an

outpost. Does your Confederacy have a colony here?"

Dameron poured himself more of the wine, then leaned to one side of his

bench with a sigh.

"We have no colony here, but there are people who we protect - in a

way," he said, sipping from his glass before waving a finger at me.

"No, don't start looking at me like that, I'm trying to explain!"

He was annoyed at the expression on my face, but if that was his idea

of explaining, he was bound to get even more annoyed. I kept my

skepticism voiceless and leaned my forearm down to my own bench, and he

continued with a vague gesture of his wine glass.

"We of the Absari Confederacy like to think of ourselves as civilized,"

he groped. "Being civilized, we feel it our duty to help those people

in our area of space who haven't gotten as far as we have. We watch

over them and lend an anonymous hand, easing them more quickly through

certain standard steps of advancement. For instance, we supply various

rulers with advisors who put a premium on intelligence and a gift for

invention. When our assisted kingdoms begin to prosper, their neighbors

copy the methods used to catch up, thereby spreading the idea

painlessly. We also encourage force of arms-no sense helping a kingdom

to prosperity just to see them lose it to the nearest strong man-but we

don't supply any clues which will lead to the more advanced sorts of

weaponry. They don't know about us, won't know about us unless a

catastrophe happens, and we maintain a strict hands-off policy with

anything that's really new. We won't try to change something we've

never seen before; after all, how can we evaluate it?"

He paused at that point to swallow at his wine, and I sipped at my own,

finally understanding why he'd had such a problem with his explanation.

His Confederacy mixed into the affairs of non-member planets, and it's

easy to misinterpret something like that, no matter what the motive

behind it is. I took another sip of wine and smiled at him.

"I can understand why you're careful about something new. Have you come

across many really new things?"

"Not many," he smiled back, relaxing a little. "But a few. As a matter

of fact, this planet has a beauty of a poser that we've been trying to

get to the bottom of since we got here. We try not to have our agents

commit their full lives to a backward planet like this one, and we

certainly don't allow families to settle here, but we may have to make

an exception. The mystery is handed down in certain families only, and

outsiders don't have a chance of getting anywhere near it. Something

will have to be done, but I hope it's done after my time. It's bound to

be involved and risky."

He stopped again, as though he'd already said whatever there was to

say, and I shifted on the bench, my curiosity really aroused.

"Well?" I prompted, wondering if he'd ever remember to include details.

"What is this fantastic mystery? Don't tell me the secret is a secret?" He looked down into his glass as he gently swirled the light, silvery

wine, and he seemed to be fascinated with whatever he saw there.

"I'm sorry to say that the secret is just exactly that," be murmured.

"I don't think you should be too overburdened with knowledge when you

go back to your home sector."

He was so off-hand and casual about it that I nearly missed it. My arm,

which was stretched out to put my glass back on the table, froze to

complete motionlessness, and my jaw dropped down to where I was

sitting.

"Do you mean to sit there and say that you're sending me home?" I

gasped, staring at him. "Why?"

The grin he'd been hiding came all the way out, and he laughed aloud.

"Because, as I told you, we hope to make peaceful contact with your

people some day," he chuckled. "The more friends we have there when the

day comes, the better off we'll be. I'm also personally convinced

you'll say nothing about us when you do get back."

I finished putting my glass on the table, then added my forearms right

in front of it.

"Oh, yes," I nodded with a grumble. "I'd almost forgotten that

unconscious conversation we had. Maybe if you tell me what I said, I'll

find it easier to believe what you're saying."

"You'll believe it when you get there," he grinned, then finished off

his wine. "I found out that much about you. You said you'd been sent

away from your people by someone who wanted to get rid of you before

you put him out of business. I gathered that the business was illegal,

and you're some sort of law enforcement agent for your Federation."

His eyes were on me in a casual, mildly curious way, so I made sure to

squirm uncomfortably and blush enough to be noticed.

"I'd already gotten the proof I needed, but I got careless," I

confessed in an embarrassed voice. "Radman's a slaver, and that's too

lucrative a business not to watch closely. My department would have

known he was responsible for my disappearance, but the way he worked

it, be would have come out as innocent as an infant if he were put to

the Question. he would have been asked about my present physical

whereabouts and condition, and he would have been able to answer in all

honesty, 'I don't know'!"

The thought of it made me furious all over again, but I was careful not

to show the feeling. Radman had seen to it that I would have been able

to stay alive and healthy for years, and hadn't given a damn that

during those years I most likely would have become a raving lunatic.

The thought had been with me constantly during those two months aboard

the ship, but now I was able to think about coming face to face with

him again, now there was more than just the dream of it. The

fingernails of my right hand scraped along the white stone of the table

top, and I barely felt it.

I was brought back to my surroundings when Dameron rose from his bench

and put his hand out to me.

"If you feel up to a short guided tour, we can check on your

transportation home on the way," he smiled. "My second and I've been

working on your ship in our free time, getting it back together, and

the only thing we haven't done yet is reprogram your course computer.

You know, you really did a job on that ship. I don't know how we

managed to get you out of it alive."

"Personally," I said, getting to my feet, "I attribute it to my great

mechanical ability, my unbelievable strength for survival and more luck

than any ten people see in a lifetime."

He chuckled his agreement and we left the terrace, but going back was an experience in itself. The terrace seemed to grow out of the

mountainside, sheer gray rock stretching almost as far up as the ground

below was down, and right in the center of the gray rock was a hazy

golden doorway, through which the plain bed-room could be seen. When we

were both back through the tingling haze, Dameron touched the side of

the doorway again, and in a matter of moments the doorway was once

again a square. I chewed at the inside of my lip as I stared, knowing

that you give away how much you know by the questions you ask, but the

terrace question was one I couldn't let slide. When Dameron began

leading the way toward the sliding exit of the room, I made up my mind.

"The view from the terrace was magnificent," I said as normally as I

could as I followed him to the door. "If that's what's outside these

rooms, I'm surprised you can keep anyone indoors."

"I might have had a problem if that was what was there," he agreed,

slowing as he left the room to let me catch up. "But it happens that

those terraces are nowhere near this base - or this volume of space."

I tried not to frown. "That's not what I would call an informative

answer," I protested, looking up at him as we walked. he chuckled at

the irritation in my tone.

"I don't have many details to give you," be answered, sounding almost

embarrassed. "The splinter terraces are something we use, but not

because we understand them." he sighed a little and shook his head.

"They were looking for a transportation breakthrough and found the

Skytops instead. That's what we call those mountains, and I'm sure you

saw why. We built a terrace and anchored it in the rock, then used it

as a base for exploration. None of the exploration teams or subsequent

searchers were ever heard from again."

His face was serious and his voice was quiet, the sort of quiet some

people use when they speak of the uselessly dead. He'd stopped in the

middle of the corridor and was staring down at the carpeting.

"Wherever that place is," he continued heavily, "all we know about it

is that the constellations are totally unfamiliar-when we finally get

to see them. The days are very long-some fifty standard hours' worth -

and the nights correspond. Our people had survival equipment and

communication equipment, but we still lost them - suddenly and without

explanation. The searchers who went after them were lost to - at a

different point. And there's the last thing to consider." His eyes came

back up to me, holding mine as if daring me to dispute him. "Each time

a new doorway is put into use, a new terrace has to be built. The

terrace is always there after that, but a new doorway means a new

terrace, and the view always seems to be the same. I don't know how

many doorways are in use, but no one has ever seen more than the

terrace he stood on. You're welcome to the information I have on the

terraces, because they're something I would personally like to see

explained. I had a friend on the first ex-team that was lost."

I nodded my head, understanding how he felt, and smiled faintly. "So

they're called splinter terraces because someone feels they're parallel

universes or some such. Do you put much stock in that?"

"Who knows?" he shrugged, starting t9 walk again. "It's always a

possibility, no matter how odd it sounds. We use the terraces in bases

like these to keep the personnel from developing claustrophobia, but

that's all they're good for."

"You still haven't said what's outside," I reminded him, pacing him

down the salmon-colored corridor on dark green carpeting. There were

doorways on both sides of the corridor, and up ahead, about twenty-five

feet in front of us, was an airtight door that looked dependable.

"Outside is nothing but airless moonscape," he answered. "This base is underground on Tildor's nearer moon. When the Tildorani achieve

spaceflight we'll welcome them to the group, but we don't want to be

discovered by them before then."

"Don't blame you a bit," I commented, looking around as I walked. The

doors along the corridor were unmarked, but there were small, metal

plates to the right and left of each door, each pair of plates having a

symbol of some sort, the symbols on each door being different.

"This is our residential area," Dameron supplied in true tour-guide

fashion. "We have to pass through the work area to reach the docking

facilities, so you'll get to see most of the base. It's a typical base

in most respects, but we find it comfortable."

I nodded again without commenting, and continued to look around. We

passed through the airtight door into another corridor, making sure the

door was properly sealed behind us, then paced the length of the

corridor. The walls were a brisk electric blue here with bright rust

carpeting on the floor - a combination which seemed to encourage

bustle. People bustled out of one doorway and into another, not really

rushing but certainly not taking their time, and through the open

doorways I could see other people sitting at odd-looking cubes or

standing near what must have been computer terminals. Everyone was

busy, and Dameron gestured toward them.

"This is our work area, where everything gets done," he explained.

"Detailed information about areas and people are constantly updated,

reports are added to their proper places, supply lists are confirmed

and filled, and placed-on-planet profiles are developed for each of our

team people. Knowing that an advisor-agent is about to take a trip

helps me to keep our barbarian-agents from attacking his escort-and

also gives the barbarian-agents a chance to keep a protective eye on

him. I don't ever want to have to send a report to Absar Central

telling them that half my field team just wiped out the other half.

Reports like that aren't appreciated."

"That's one comment I can understand without details," I laughed, still

looking around. Everything seemed so familiar and home-like that it was

beginning to disturb me. I know that humanoid cultures at certain

levels will be basically the same even if they begin light-years away

from each other, but the base was so totally non-alien that I was

finding it hard not to think of it as an extension of home. If I had

had to learn their language the hard way it would have been easier

remembering that they were strangers and still-possible enemies, but

the ease of communication worked against my trained instincts. If I

didn't find something really alien about these people, I might find

myself in the trap of beginning to like them. Almost in desperation, I

turned my head to Dameron

"What are the people on the planet like?" I asked, hoping for something

extreme.

"The Tildorani are just like you and me," he answered without

hesitation, taking time out from inspecting his work force to glance at

me. "The humanoid form seems to be a popular one, and base personnel

always look like the natives they're Watchers for. You can never tell

when some emergency will arise which will call for shuttling down most

of us, and it's best to be prepared."

"You must have a large group of trained Watchers to be able to match

every backward planet," I commented. "Even among humanoids there can be

a broad enough spread of variations to make a noticeable difference."

"That poses no problem," he said, stopping where he was again. "We have

a simple answer for that based on...

There was a sudden shout of, "Dameron!" and we both turned to see a woman standing in a doorway on the righthand side of the corridor,

about fifteen feet ahead of us. The woman was looking considerably

upset, and Dameron didn't hesitate. he headed for her immediately at a

trot, with me right behind him.

"I'm assuming that that was a shout of joy, Gemiral," he said as he

reached the woman. "I left orders that there were to be no problems

today."

"If this weren't so serious, I'd laugh myself silly over that," the

woman snorted. "You'd better come in here and hear the latest."

Dameron frowned, but followed the woman back through the doorway she'd

come out of. Being shy never pays, so I tagged along after them into

what looked like a communications center. There were three men and two

women seated at consoles, whisper mikes and ear discs in place, and one

unoccupied console had a man standing next to it, a web-thin headset in

his hand. he was big and dark-haired, wearing a uniform of a blue only

slightly lighter than Dameron's, and he gave me a curious stare before

turning his attention to the Commander.

"Is Leandor's team in trouble?" Cameron asked hina, frowning.

"Nothing that simple," the big man answered, tossing the headset gently

onto the console he stood near. "Post five just called to warn us that

Clero's up to something that will affect Bellna when she leaves for the

capital to marry Prince Remo. They'll call back when they have all the

details."

"I knew Clero would try something!" Dameron growled, smacking his open

palm with a wide fist. "Just our luck that it took this long to find

out what. We'd better have enough time to set up a counter-plan, or

everything we've worked for will go right down the tubes."

"It'll be worse than that," the big man said, shaking his head. "We

won't simply be back to square one, we'll be off the board entirely. If

we lose Bellna, we have no one to replace her with."

"I know, I know," Dameron grumbled, gesturing a dismissal at the other

man as he turned away from him. "It's Bellna or nothing, and Clero's

trying to make it nothing. A lot he has to worry about, with five

daughters to throw in the pot. If he loses one or two, he still has the

others. Well, I'm not prepared to lose Bellna, and I wont lose her as

long as I have enough information to plan with. Where the hell is post

5?"

He turned to stare at the silent console, his impatience willing it to

come alive and tell him what he wanted to know, but it didn't respond.

The men and women at the other consoles paid only partial attention to

the displays in front of them, most of their concern directed toward

the same spot Dameron stared at. The woman Gemiral had reclaimed her

seat and headphones, but her presence wasn't doing any more than

Dameron's stare. The only one who looked at all distracted was the

large, dark-haired man, who leaned against Gemiral's console with

folded arms, his eyes resting on me. I leaned back against the wall

near the door and folded my own arms, absorbing the casual stare

without acknowledging it. I didn't want anyone demanding to know what I

was doing there at least until I found out what the flap was all about,

which meant that near invisibility was called for. I looked at nothing

in particular and didn't make a sound, and happily there were no

demands coming my way.

My time sense isn't too inaccurate, but a wait like that is hard to

judge. Subjectively it felt like hours were passing, but objectively it

couldn't have been more than fifteen or twenty minutes before the

console began blinking a demanding orange. The woman Gemiral began

removing her headset, but Dameron gestured impatiently and stepped forward to flip a switch.

"I'm right here, Eavamon," he said to the now steady orange light.

"What have you got?"

"Not nearly enough," a thin voice answered, sounding impossibly

distant. "We've discovered there's going to be an attempt and we know

approximately when they'll hit, but exactly who will be doing the

hitting and what spot they've chosen is still Clero's secret. He's not

taking any chances on a leak."

"You'd better tell me everything you know," Dameron said with a

frustrated look on his face. "It may still be possible to do

something."

"There's very little to it," the thin voice answered. "Clero knows

Bellna will be leaving for the capital soon, and has arranged it so

that she never gets there. It would be harder for him if Havro planned

on using his own men as an escort, but his own men are too deep in that

fight on his western border. Grigon tells us that mercenaries have been

hired, and you know what mercenaries are like."

"Only too well," Dameron muttered, then turned his head to the big man

who stood not far from him.

"Valdon, how many men can we put together to be mercenaries if Havro's

bunch turn out to be useless or bought?"

"None." The big man called Valdon shrugged. "All of you do. I don't

expect to lose, but if I do, the turn is all Natha escapade in post 9's

territory. With the number of barbarians in that area, pulling. them

out quickly is just about impossible. And forget about Leandor even

before you ask. He's Healed, but he's nowhere ready to go back - if we

ever intend seeing him again. But neither of you has heard the latest

from the capital. Sardrin's message came in a little while ago."

"This time it had better be good news," Dameron said, suddenly looking

more alert. "Is it anything we can use?"

"0nly if you'd like Bellna to have a King's Escort," Valdon answered

with a grin. "King Naro has sent the Escort to deliver the dowry gifts

and collect his son's bride, and there are two hundred of them. Can you

see Clero attacking a King's Escort of two hundred fighters?"

"Easily," came the miniature voice of Eavamon from the console, putting

a damper on the pleased grins Dameron and Valdon were showing. "He'd

need two or three times their number in attackers, but the game's worth

it to him. When is the Escort due?"

"In a little less than a local week," Valdon supplied, exchanging looks

with Dameron. "Sardrin would have told us about them as soon as they

left, but King Naro insisted that his most trusted advisers join him in

the pre-nuptial religious ceremonies that are expected of him. Sardrin

thinks Naro wants him to come up with a way out of the need for

ceremonies like that, and after going through one himself he's more

than willing. Why did you ask about the Escort's ETA?"

"I was hoping they might be so close that Clero would not have the time

to find the number of men he needed," Eavamon answered, his sigh so

clear it should have caused a flicker in the orange light.

"Unfortunately that's more than enough time, especially if he has relay

riders watching the capital, which I'm sure he does. He'll know they're

coming and he'll be prepared."

"He may know they're coming, but if he doesn't care about them he won't

be prepared," Dameron said, the words slow and thoughtful.

"Is that supposed to mean something?" the invisible Eavamon asked while

Valdon gave Dameron a look that said the same thing.

"It means that Clero won't care about the Escort if he thinks Bellna

has already left with mercenaries," Dameron said, his face and voice both announcing his grin. "He'll be too busy chasing the mercenary

group to care about an Escort that miraculously missed them."

"With a decoy!" the Eavamon voice crowed, enjoying the idea as much as

Dameron. "A decoy ought to be easy to arrange!"

"Not as easy as all that," Valdon said, taking his turn at wet-blanket

throwing. "Don't forget about the Natha gatherings in 9's territory.

How are we supposed to reach a suitable decoy?"

"You can't tell me every female fighter we have is in on that," Dameron

protested, an edge of impatience to his voice. "Get busy and start

checking, and give me some choices. With almost a week to work in we'll

be able to pull this off, but only if we get going immediately.

Eavamon, let me know if you hear anything else, no matter how

insignificant it is, and start preparing the leak that will tell Clero

Bellna has left secretly with mercenaries. Don't release it until I

give you the word, but have it ready."

"Will do," Eavamon agreed~ already sounding thoughtful. "I'll also get

in touch with Grigon and have him begin preparing a way to keep Bellna

away from those mercenaries and around for the Escort. He'll need the

time."

"He probably will," Dameron said with a nod he seemed to think the

absent Eavamon could see. "We'll call you if we need anything else, but

right now it's up to us. Base out." he flipped off the orange light,

then turned his head. "Valdon, get on that search fast. I want that

information as soon as the files can be programmed."

He turned away from the console without seeing Valdon's preoccupied

nod, the big man having already settled in front of what was probably a

computer terminal. Dameron was heading for the door I was standing

beside, deep in thought, and wouldn't have seen me even if I'd been

dressed in flashing sun-sign. I had no interest in being left behind as

a permanent wall post, so I accepted the risk of being run down and

stepped directly in his path. The commander stopped short, frowned at

me for a minute or two without recognition, then memory flashed briefly

in his eyes. he took my arm and led me out of the room, then waited for

the door to slide closed again behind us before giving me an apologetic

look.

"I'm sorry that took so long, but we have a crisis," he said, trying

hard to really look sorry. "At least you got to see something of the

way we operate. Did you find it interesting?"

"Oh, yes, very," I nodded, keeping my tone solemn. "I get a real kick

out of being in the true thick of things. You said my ship was this

way?"

"Your ship," he echoed, not doing well with hiding his impatience at

the thought of being distracted from his crisis. "That's right, we were

going to your ship, weren't we?" I could almost see his mind going

clickety-clickety-click behind his eyes, but be was obviously the type

who considered business before visitors. he made up his mind fast,

apparently feeling no guilt over the decision. "I can't take the time

for that now," he admitted, giving me the bad news without flinching.

"Once I have this problem squared away we can program your course

computer, and I promise it will be the first thing I do."

"The first thing after a planetary week's worth of waiting?" I asked,

trying not to sound as boorish as I was feeling. he and his people had

saved my life - but I'd been looking forward to going home. "You won't

mind my wandering around here alone and - amusing - myself?"

His expression changed at that, just the way I'd wanted it to, but the

semi-panic he must have been feeling didn't push him in the direction I

was hoping for. He pasted a friendly expression on his face, took my arm again, then started guiding me up the corridor in our original

direction.

"You know, now that you mention it, I think it might interest you more

if you knew exactly what we're in the middle of," he said, sounding as

if he were selling magazines. "Let's get comfortable in my office, and

I'll fill you in."

"There's an old saying about interesting times," I commented, not

letting him hurry me as fast as he wanted to. "Suppose you give me your

coordinates and the proper quadrant and I do my own programming?"

"You may remember what I said about not wanting you too overburdened

with unnecessary information," he said, glancing down at me as he put a

little more muscle into his hauling. "The coordinates of this base come

under the heading of unnecessary."

"Suppose I offer to close my eyes?" I suggested, but only to be

annoying. Dameron would have to enter his location in my ship's

computer in order to program the proper course back to the Federation,

but he could always build in an automatic forget order once destination

was reached which would remove the information. A program like that

could not be tampered with without purging it completely or ruining it

enough to be useless; telling me the coordinates would negate the

entire effort. he snorted under his breath at my suggestion, not even

bothering to comment or refuse, and we continued to the end of the

corridor.

The last room on the left turned out to be Dameron's, and the door slid

aside to show a rust and blue combination that would have deafened me

in a week if I'd had to use it regularly. There was a squarish but

comfortable-looking chair standing to the right of a low block of

plastic or metal, what was probably a computer terminal to the right of

the chair, and a couple of lump chairs in front of the

block~hair4erminal arrangement. All around the walls were filled

shelves, gaps here and there allowing the hanging of various somethings

including very clear photographs of unpeopled landscapes. The lighting

level brightened up from dim as soon as we entered, and Dameron guided

me to the second lump chair before trying to ease me down into it. I

put my right leg slightly behind me and locked the knee, assuming what

was almost standard attack-defense stance, and the good commander found

he couldn't do much against it. he would have had to knee me in the

middle to get me to bend, and he wasn't prepared to go quite that far.

"You'll find the background a lot more comfortable to listen to if you

do it sitting down," he said, turning away as if leaving me erect had

been his original idea. "If nothing else, it will fill the time until-"

His words broke off as his attention was captured by the supposed

computer terminal, which was signaling for his attention. He hit a key

that sent symbols of all sorts scurrying across the screen, giving him

information that he absorbed as fast as it came. It took two or three

minutes before he had it all, and then he flipped it back to blank

while muttering under his breath.

"I take it the news wasn't particularly good," I observed, watching him

drop into the squarish chair with a preoccupied look. "More headaches

to add to the ones you already have?"

"Just an added dimension to the existing ones," he answered with a

sigh, breaking out of the preoccupation. "It seems Valdon was right:

every one of our female fighters is committed to post 9's territory,

and we'd have to use a scoutship to reach them - if we knew exactly

where they were. They're involved with the barbarians and the

barbarians are on the move, and we can't just walk in there and

politely ask to speak to one or two of our girls. We can't settle the crisis in Narella by creating a new one in Natha."

"You know, I've heard it said that the best way to thi is to occupy

your hands and attention with something that has nothing to do with

your problem," I remarked, folding my arms as I looked down at him.

"The subconscious gets it all settled for you, and you've accomplished

two things instead of one."

"You don't give up, do you?" he rejoindered, amused. "This isn't the

sort of problem my subconscious can do anything about. It may turn out

to need something on the order of a miracle. Are you going to make me

get a crick in my neck from looking up at you while I talk? These

details take some telling."

I could see from the sparkle in his dark eyes that his amusement had

increased, but I wasn't sharing any of it. he wasn't going to be

working on my course computer unless I threatened his life, and

probably not even then. he struck me as the sort who would die in his

tracks rather than let himself be forced into something he'd decided

against, even if the decision was temporary. I looked up at the blue

ceiling in defeat as I shook my head, then turned to the lump chair I'd

refused earlier. I'd listen to his damned story, then start working on

him again once it was over.

"You have my neck's grateful appreciation," he chuckled as he watched

me sit, trying not to sound too victorious. "I've also heard it said

that you can solve a problem by explaining the situation to someone

else aloud, so don't think of this as wasting time. Think of it as

giving me some help in return for the help I'll be giving you."

He grinned outright at that, probably thinking he was backing me into a

corner of guilt-riddled gratitude, but he had to be forgiven for the

mistaken belief. he just didn't know me very well - but he would learn.

"The area we're primarily concerned with right now is called Narella,

after Naro, its current king, the fourth in his line," Dameron began,

leaning back comfortably in his squarish chair. "Narella is the most

advanced country on this continent, and although we're not ignoring the

other countries, this is where we're concentrating our efforts. Here's

what the country looks like."

He reached over to tap a series of keys on his terminal, and suddenly

the block of metal or plastic on his other side was no longer blank.

The side facing me lit up to show a map of sorts, heavy lines

surrounding an area that was divided up into six sub areas of varying

sizes.

"King Naro rules the country, but he has five princes governing

different parts of it under him," Dameron continued, looking at the top

of the block, which was out of my line of vision. "The eastern-most

area is his own domain, and larger than any of the other five. His

capital city Naridon is here, near the western border."

A black dot appeared on the map, roughly halfway between the northern

and southern boundaries, just as Dameron put a finger on the top of the

block in what would be the same place if he had a view of the map in

front of him. The block seemed to be a repeater screen of middling

complexity, and not the limited desk area I had originally guessed at.

"The political situation in Narella is no different from any other

primitive area - and too many so-called civilized ones," the lecture

went on. "Naro is a really good king, not terribly despotic, more fairminded

than you would expect, a crafty leader, a capable military

commander, and a man willing to consider intelligent advice. he runs

the country to suit himself, but he understands that the better off his

people are, the more he can demand in taxes and levies. Despite the

fact that Naro is making life profitable and pleasant for his princes as well as himself, some of them would prefer seeing another king on

the throne, namely one of their number.

"The leader of the most well organized opposition is Prince Clero, a

man we know more about than we care for. He's not nearly as intelligent

as he thinks he is, has the support of the others through fear, and

indulges in brutality just for the fun of it. Giving him advice is like

spitting before you know what direction the wind is coming from: you

only find out after you do it whether or not it was a good idea. Re's a

paranoid who suspects everyone of plotting against him, and we lost two

agents before we were able to adopt a lower profile in his keep. His

lands are here."

Black dots circled the second most westerly division as Dameron's

finger moved around a section on the top of the block. Not counting the

king's lands, the area was second largest of the rest, the section to

the west of it being a third again its size.

"This Clero sounds like a real charmer," I said, studying the map. "Why

don't you arrange for a fatal accident and be rid of him?"

"Have you ever tried to reach a paranoid in high position?" Dameron

asked with a serious snort. "We might be able to justify a move like

that to Absar Central, but even if we could we'd still have to be able

to do it without using anything of our more advanced technology. If I

authorized taking Clero out any other way, I'd spend the rest of my

career on Absar, listing the thousand best reasons why I should have

the same thing done to me. We're here to help these people by guiding

them, not by taking them over."

"Then why are you working so hard against Clero?" I asked, raising my

eyes to Dameron's face. "If you don't have the right to stop him by

killing him, it could be argued that you don't have the right to stop

him at all. Maybe he'd make a better king than Naro in spite of your

opinions to the contrary."

"We're not discussing unsupported opinion," Dameron snapped, with a

frown. he didn't realize I was needling him on purpose, playing devil's

advocate to get even for the lecture he was forcing me to sit through.

"We're discussing carefully documented evidence that supports the

contention that Clero is a dangerous psychopath who would have the

country in ruins in less than two years. Even if you dismissed

everything else, his views on the slave trade should be enough to prove

the point."

"The slave trade?" I echoed, suddenly seeing Radman's face flash across

my mind. "He's a slaver?"

"Not directly, no," Dameron answered with a head-shake, his face grim

and his voice nearly a growl. "He just gives slaving his whole-hearted

support, and patronizes the trade regularly and eagerly. he buys male

slaves and works them to death without looking at them twice; he

wouldn't care if it was his own grandfather who had been enslaved.

Female slaves he looks at more than twice, especially the very young

ones. Some of them have been sold to the slavers by their fathers, some

were stolen when they weren't watched carefully enough; he never

questions their origins when he buys them. After he buys the - well,

they usually survive, but you'd be surprised how little that says. Use

like that is hard enough on grown women; what it does to little girls

is unspeakable, especially if he decides to train them to a life of it.

That's one of his hobbies. Can you see it in his eyes?"

The map was suddenly replaced by a depth photo of a man, but Dameron's

question was bitterness without meaning. The eyes that stared out at me

were light-colored and laughing, set in a handsome face topped by sandy

hair. The handsome face was wreathed in smiles, true delight and good-

natured happiness clear in every line. If the man had been a politician

women would have eagerly raised their babies for him to kiss, and

fathers would have volunteered their teenage daughters to help him in

his campaigning. It was the face of a man who loved life and loved

people, a man who trusted and could be trust - a man who, according to

Dameron, was a sadistic psychopath.

"And Naro's above all that?" I asked after a minute of studying the

mature, handsome face. "No hidden little twists he keeps out of the

public eye?"

"Naro's a product of his culture," Dameron shrugged, tapping the

terminal again. "He enjoys indulging himself with female slaves, but he

knows the slave trade can get out of hand if it isn't kept under tight

control. People beating the woods for stolen children aren't very

productive, and a drop in productivity affects his tax collections.

He's nothing if not practical, but what more can people ask for in a

ruler?"

The face now projected in front of me was approximately the same age as

Clero's, but there the similarity ended. Naro was dark-haired and darkeyed,

his features average and nondescript except for a faint and

difficult to define air to competence and decisiveness. he also looked

as though he would be harder to get along with than Clero, harder to

talk to and harder to relate to.

"Why isn't Naro taking care of seeing to Clero?" I asked, looking up to

see Dameron's eyes on me. "If he's as competent as you say, he ought to

know who the opposition is."

"Naro does know who the opposition is," Dameron answered with a faint,

humorless smile. "He knows all about the distant cousin of his who

Clero uses as a front. As far as Clero goes, no one beyond the other

princes involved - and ourselves - know what he's up to. And even if

people were told about it, how many of them would believe it? Could you

look Clero in the face and suspect him of anything underhanded? Being

hard on slaves doesn't equate with planning treason. Every-one is hard

on slaves."

"You do have a problem," I admitted, seeing that King Naro's face had

been replaced with the map we'd been looking at. "And just what is

Clero planning?"

"He's trying to reach the throne by the back door," Dameron said, his

tone still annoyed. "King Naro's oldest son and heir, Remo, is

seventeen, a ripe marriage-able age. Clero has been trying to pair Remo

up with one of his daughters, which would be the beginning of the end

for Naro. Right after the marriage an accident could be arranged to

settle Naro, and then Remo would become king. Remo's two brothers would

then follow their father, after which it would be Remo's turn. With

Clero's daughter a widowed queen and no other heir in sight, guess who

could walk into the Regent's job - which would evolve into the

kingship?"

"Why would a widowed queen need a regent?" was my next try, seriously

curious. "Are Clero's daughters so incompetent they'd need a regent, or

are they just so far under daddy's thumb they'd ask for him?"

"Neither," Dameron came back, a sudden amusement in his dark eyes.

"Narella will never be ruled by a queen simply because women aren't

competent enough to rule. They're shallow, flighty, empty-headed,

unknowledgeable, too flatterable and totally helpless. Women are made

for bedrooms and kitchens, not thronerooms."

"How would you like your arm broken in three places?" I asked mildly

and pleasantly through a comfortable smile. "Afterward I can even give

you the medical terminology for each of the breaks, which break came first, and a pretty good estimation of how long each will take to

heal."

"Why do I get the feeling you're not really joking?" Dameron asked, his

grin coming full out. "If I didn't know better I'd think you were angry

with me, but that couldn't be. All I was doing was quoting the way

Narellan men see the thing. Which, of course, has nothing to do with my

own views."

"Oh, of course," I agreed with a sober nod. "Are they really all that

backward?"

"Backward isn't the word," Dameron snorted, still somewhat amused. "If

their women step out of line they beat them, without hesitation and

without regret. A woman with a smart mouth would get it twice as fast,

just to be sure she didn't make the same mistake a second time. If

there's one thing those women give their men, it's obedience and

respect."

"That's two things," I pointed out, giving him the ghost of a smile.

"And there's a difference between respect and fear, a big difference.

So Clero's daughter as a widowed queen would mean Clero as king, but

you and your horde have a plan to stop him - if you can make it work

right."

"It damned well better work right," Dameron growled. "The only way we

could counter his move was to find another candidate for bride-to-be,

which we did. Havro is another prince governing under Naro, his lands

lying here, to the west of Clero's."

The dots ran around the most westerly section, the largest area after

the king's, the one lying right next to Clero's, and then the map

disappeared to show the face of a man. Obviously part of the age group

shared by Naro and Clero, Prince Havro was a man with a broad, boyish

face and bright red hair, blue eyes sharp with private amusement. he

wasn't as distant as Naro or as handsome as Clero, but there was still

something - involved - about him.

"Havro is a competent man, reliable enough to guard the country's

western border from barbarian invasion, and intelligent enough to take

suggestions when they make sense," Dameron said. "He considers ruling a

responsibility rather than a right, and he has a daughter who is

perfect for our purposes. Bellna has no sisters, but in any contest

between her and Clero's three eligible girls, she might as well be

considered quintuplets. She's prettier than Clero's three, smarter than

they are, quick to learn, and eager to become the eventual queen of

Narella. We maneuvered Bellna and Remo into a meeting at the capital -

right after Remo'd had Clero's daughters presented to him. Our timing

couldn't have been better."

The repeater screen first showed three girls ranging in age from

fourteen to seventeen years, standing near a dark-haired, dark-eyed,

very handsome young male. The male looked as though he would have been

happy to drop through the floor, but from boredom more than anything

else. The youngest girl was still a boy, straight up and down and with

no hint of femininity even in her face. The second girl was clearly

feminine, but too sweetly female and very delicate looking. The third

and oldest was pretty, but the stiffness in her stance and the forced

smile on her face said that nothing in life was likely to please her.

All three wore long, complicated party gowns, well fitted and well

made, but none of them looked right in the clothing.

And then the screen changed to a single girl standing near the boy, and

I blinked at the extreme difference. This girl had lots of bright red

hair and dancing blue eyes, a smile to make a man three days dead rise

again, and a body that made all the previous three look like boys. The young male was grinning down at her, his eyes nearly a blur, his

approval and interest so clear that anyone watching him would have to

laugh softly. The girl returned his look with a cloaked arrogance and

wordless challenge in her eyes that had probably made him quiver, and I

laughed at that, too.

"Bellna is no more than about fifteen, but Remo considers that

perfect," Dameron said, a chuckle in his voice. "His bride bar to be

from one of the princely families, and Clero's daughters are about

average among the rest. Remo spoke to his father about his decision,

got Naro's approval, then made the engagement formal. Re's bright and

able to make even unpleasant decisions quickly, and should make a good

king when he succeeds his father."

"And his marrying Bellna should let him live long enough to reach that

point," I nodded. "I'm assuming that if Bellna ends up a widowed queen

with all the rest of Remo's family gone, Havro rather than Clero would

he tapped as Regent. What I'm wondering is, wouldn't that simply put

Havro in the same spot as Naro and the others? If Clero can scratch a

king and his sons, what's to keep him from doing it to another prince

like himself?"

"That's a good question," Dameron said with a smile of approval.

"You're right in all of your assumptions except for the one concerning

worry about Havro. Havro and Clero are enemies of long standing, and

while Havro isn't paranoid he also isn't foolish enough to let Clero or

any of his friends or hirelings get anywhere near him. If we can keep

Bellna safe until she marries Remo, Clero will be stopped cold until he

can think of something else."

"Which brings you right back to the big if," I said, leaning back in

the lump chair. "You can decoy Clero away if you can find a stand-in

for Bellna. None of the women I've seen in this base looks much like

her, but I suppose padding, make-up and a wig would take care of that.

Why don't you use one of the gals you have here?"

"Because none of them are trained fighters," Dameron said, in a voice

charged with frustration. "They've all had field experience to one

degree or another, but whoever goes out as decoy has to expect to be

the object of Clero's attempt at bloody murder. The Tildorani are still

in the sword-swinging stage before gunpowder, but that only means that

our decoy has to be able to handle a blade well enough so that she

needn't depend on protection from someone else. Getting separated from

outside protection can happen all too easily. Whoever does the decoy

work not only has to look exactly like Bellna, she also has to be able

to fight a whole lot better than that pretty little girl."

The block to Dameron's right reverted to its original picturelessness

as Dameron tapped keys on his terminal, but I sat and frowned at it a

minute before shifting my eyes back to the man.

"What do you mean, the decoy has to look exactly like Bellna?" I asked,

watching him as he tapped at keys. "I can understand the need for

fighting ability, but aren't you crowding your options a little by

insisting on an exact look-alike? It could be years before you found

anyone like that - if you ever did. I thought you said you had less

than a week."

"I don't have to find someone who looks exactly like Bellna," Dameron

said with a snort of faint amusement, still paying attention to his

terminal. "The changes in facial structure and all will require only

minor Healing, nothing major involved. Less than a week gives us more

than enough time for it - if we can find someone to change soon enough.

If we didn't need that relationship with the barbarians so badly-"

His voice trailed off as the symbols of his terminal took his attention again, and I didn't say anything more to distract him, being too busy

with my own thoughts. If I was understanding him correctly - and I

didn't see how I could be mistaken Dameron's people were able to change

anyone to look like anyone else as easily as my people shuttled back

and forth from planets to orbital stations. The possibilities inherent

in the process were endless and fascinating, especially in my line of

work. If I could be changed to look like - oh, that young girl Bellna,

for instance, I could get away with almost anything I tried. Rather

than depending on my brown hair and eyes to let me melt into a crowd as

camouflage, I could let red hair and blue eyes distract any male to the

point where I could stalk a target, reach him, and then walk away

without ever being suspected of anything nasty. No one would believe

that a fifteen year old girl could be a Special Agent, and that would

give me more of an edge than being female did. I crossed my legs as I

watched pictures parading past my inner eye, and forgot all about

Dameron.

At least until he made a sound of pleased surprise and turned away from

his terminal. His face was lit with hopeful excitement, and he bounced

out of his chair as if he had just shed ten years of heavy worry.

"The gods must be on our side in this one," he said through a grin as

he headed for the door. "One of the gals from post nine is on her way

in, and should be here any minute. You just relax where you are, girl.

I won't be long."

By that time the door was already sliding closed behind him, so there

wasn't much sense in trying to argue. I was annoyed at being left there

to sit and twiddle when I could have been a good number of parsecs on

my way back home, but there wasn't anything I could do about it until

Dameron got back. I leaned back in the lump chair again and began

sketching out a going-home campaign that would grab Dameron's attention

by the throat and hold it long enough to get something done.

I had developed a line of attack with enough variables to cover almost

any contingency and was ready to start fleshing it out with carefully

chosen detail, when the door to the room slid open again. I thought it

was Dameron coming back, but the figure walking through the opening

belonged to the one who had been called Valdon. he had dark black hair

and dark black eyes, and although he wasn't quite as big as the junior

giant named Leandor, he didn't miss by much. he moved as lightly and

with as much confidence as the leader of the field team had, which was

usually unexpected in such big men. he hesitated very briefly when he

saw me, as though he hadn't expected to find me there, then headed

straight for Dameron's chair.

"Well, there you are again," he observed, sitting down and keying the

terminal to life without taking his eyes off me. "I saw you earlier,

with Dameron, in the communications room."

"Yes, I remember that," I observed back, keeping the answer neutral and

uncommitted. I didn't know where this Valdon stood in the base, but the

fewer people who knew about my origins, the better. It might be

necessary for Dameron and his second to have all the details, but as

far as I was concerned that was still two too many. Either one of them

could, at any time, come up with a dozen great reasons for keeping me

there a while longer, and the more people who knew about me, the better

the chance that some mental lightbulbs would glow. Leaving the base

amid tearful good-byes was preferable to fighting my way out of it, so

a low profile was definitely a high priority.

The terminal beeped for attention, giving Valdon something else to

stare at, but the distraction didn't last long. There were only three

rows of symbols for him to glance at and respond to, and then his dark black eyes were on me again.

"How do you like our facilities?" he asked, as though just making

conversation to while away the time. "The base is pretty standard, but

we like to think we have better optionals than any other outpost in the

Confederacy."

"I'm sure you do," I agreed in a sober way, leaving it to him to decide

whether I was agreeing with his opinion or his conclusion. A faint

shadow that might have been annoyance flickered in his eyes while he

waited for me to add to my four word statement, and when I didn't he

stirred in the squarish chair.

"We don't often get visitors like you, and I'm curious about you," he

admitted in a friendly, outgoing way. "I'm assuming you're lost, and

were heading somewhere else. Where were you going, and how long did it

take you to get here?"

He was playing it casual, asking his too-pointed questions and trying

to keep his interested inspection of me from becoming overly obvious.

he seemed to be a man who felt no discomfort from really looking at a

woman, but who had learned that many women flinched from that sort of

hunter's interest. I couldn't remember a time when the thought of being

hunted didn't amuse and interest me more than bother me, but the

opportunity was too good to miss.

"I-really don't remember," I answered only the last of his questions,

swallowing hard as I looked down at my hands in my lap. I had quietly

drawn my knees together and was sitting as stiffly and primly as the

lump chair allowed. "How much longer do you think Dameron will be?"

"Oh, I'm sure he'll be back any minute," Valdon's voice rushed to

reassure me, his tone a shade too jolly. "How about something to drink

while we're waiting?"

"Drink?" I echoed as if I'd never heard the word before, and nearly

panicked. I was letting it all fall apart at once, as though my

previous coolness had been no more than a front I couldn't maintain any

longer. Valdon was a very handsome man, with the sort of masculine

features and mannerisms that too often flustered women right into

hysterics. If the way he shrugged meant anything, he'd had to face that

particular problem be-fore and shouldn't be too hard to divert from

detectiving.

"Yes, a drink," he repeated with a pleasant smile. "As a matter of

fact, I'll be glad to join you. What would you like?"

He started to get out of Dameron's chair, anxious to be doing something

other than trying not to stare at me, but he'd asked another question

that it wouldn't be safe to give a non-specific answer to. The man

might be temporarily flustered, but he wasn't likely to be stupid; too

many artful evasions would be bound to set him thinking. Instead of

registering his question in any way I scrambled out of the lump chair

and backed away from him in mute, wide-eyed fear, hoping I wasn't

pushing the act too far. I fully expected to back out the door into the

corridor, but found myself startled for real when the door didn't slide

open behind me. I'd been wondering why Dameron had been so casual about

leaving me unaccompanied and unwatched, and now I'd accidentally gotten

the answer. Being locked in annoyed the hell out of me, but for the

sake of the performance I was putting on for Valdon, I couldn't let it

show.

"This is ridiculous," Valdon muttered, straightening slowly Out of the

chair, seeming annoyed. "You're act as though I'm about to attack you.

My self-control is really a lot better than that - I haven't attacked a

woman in months."

He grinned a very attractive grin to show he was just kidding, but I couldn't afford to chuckle in answer the way I wanted to. I gave him a

sickly smile to show I was trying, and put a shaky hand to my hair.

"I know I'm being silly, but I can't help it," I said in a very small

voice, sending him a pleading look. "The way you were looking at me,

the way you talk - I'm just not used to it. Do you think you can go and

see what's keeping Dameron?"

To say I was trying to get rid of him was an understatement, and I was

expecting him to be more than happy to g0 - but things didn't work out

that way. A deeply frustrated expression flashed briefly across his

face, and then he was looking apologetic.

"I already know what's keeping Dameron, and I'm afraid I have to stay

here," he said, very sincere compassion clear in his tone. "I've got to

keep an eye on the progress of certain of our projects until he gets

back, and I've got to do it with this terminal. You don't mind sharing

the room with me for that short a time, do you?"

He brought the grin back and made it really warm, trying to jolly me

out of my upset and interest me by turning on the charm. The only

problem with that was that in another minute we'd be back to chummy

conversation and more questions, the avoidance of which was my original

reason for starting that nonsense. I needed him gone or neutralized,

and if I couldn't have one I'd have to settle for the other; it all

depended on how gullible he was. I let my eyes begin filming over with

tears, and plucked nervously at the one-piece suit t was wearing.

"But I'm afraid of you," I whispered, making sure my voice came out

ragged. "I've never been this close to someone like you before, someone

who has actually worked among uncivilized barbarians. You keep looking

at me the way one of them would - I'm going to cry hard, I just know I

am!"

I sniffled a little, finding it damned hard not to burst out laughing

at the stricken look that replaced his well-practiced grin. Most men

were sensible enough to ignore blackmail tears, but every now and then

one would come along who turned to quivering jelly at the first choked

sob and/or glisten of moisture. I was almost ashamed to go on taking

advantage, but he'd had his chance to bail out and hadn't taken it. It

was too bad, but business was business.

"Now, now, you don't really want to cry," he said, looking as though he

wanted to come closer and put his manly arms around me - but didn't

dare. "What if I promise not to look at you the way one of them would?

That would make you feel better, wouldn't it?"

"I don't know," I snuffled, sounding absolutely forlorn. "Maybe - maybe

- if you didn't look at me at all -"

"That's a good idea," he agreed with enthusiasm, turning completely

around to look at me over his shoulder. "This is better, isn't it?"

"You're still looking at me," I pointed out with the same quiver in my

voice. "And you're much too close. And you sound so - so - overawing."

"All right, all right, I'll take care of it," he said, that close to

growling. I wasn't sure there was such a word as overawing, but he was

still trying to keep me from being overawed. he turned his head

completely away from me, stalked up to the wall directly behind

Dameron's block-chair-terminal arrangement, then spoke to the wall.

"This had better do it for you," he said, making sure not to turn

again. "I've never been very good at melting into polycrete."

"Oh, that's perfect," I gushed, with a slight grin. "If you can only

stay like that until Dameron comes back, I'm sure I won't cry."

"You have no idea how much those words mean to me," he muttered,

folding his arms across his chest to signal an end to the conversation

that frightened me so much. I laughed without sound as I eased myself over to the second lump chair and then into it, finally stretching out

to prop my feet on the block Dameron had done so much with. I would

have put Valdon into the room's corner if I hadn't thought that would

be pushing it, but seeing him standing in front of the wall like a

naughty little boy was almost as good. If he hadn't been considering me

a helpless little flutterhead of a female he never would have gone

along with my insistances, so he deserved whatever he got for that as

well as for being too nosy.

Another twenty minutes or so passed with Valdon shifting at the wall

but doing no more than that, a pleasant silence surrounding us that let

me go on with developing my campaign against Dameron. I was ready to

pull my feet down if the terminal signaled for Valdon's attention, but

the interruption never came and Valdon never turned. I was finding it

hard to believe that a grown man could be put to a wall and kept there

with such a pack of nonsense, but that's the way it went until the door

to the room slid noiselessly aside and Dameron stepped in. he stopped

in the doorway to stare first at Valdon and then at me, and a look of

confusion settled on his broad features.

"What are you two doing?" he asked, sounding and looking bewildered.

"We were waiting for you to get back," I answered, looking up at him

without moving even though Valdon turned immediately away from the

wall. "You certainly took long enough."

"There was more involved than I thought there - I still don't

understand." Dameron's bewilderment was about to turn into annoyance.

"Why is Valdon standing near the wall all the way over there, while

you're - what the hell is going on?"

"Nothing's going on," I assured him, putting my feet down and standing

up to face him. Valdon was staring at me without saying a word, but I

had more pressing matters to think about. "Why don't you and I take a

little walk and see to that chore we were discussing earlier? It won't

take long, and then you can concentrate on Narella without any

distractions. And there are a few other very pertinent advantages I'll

be glad to point out on the way. You might say it'll be an offer you

can't refuse."

I gave him an impatient grimace, but before he could answer, another

precinct was heard from.

"I could be mistaken, but it sounds as if you're over your bout of

shyness," Valdon observed, his deep voice having intensified. "Or is it

just those of us who have really worked with 'uncivilized barbarians'

who make you want to cry?"

"I'm very unprejudiced," I said, looking over my shoulder at Valdon's

annoyance. "If the situation calls for it, I'm willing to shed a few

tears for anyone. Are you feeling cheated because I didn't make good on

the threat?"

"She threatened you?" Dameron demanded of Valdon, still trying to

figure out what was going on. "What did you do to her?"

"I - 'overawed' her," Valdon answered dryly, as he stared at me. "I

made her so nervous by the ferocious way I looked at her and talked to

her that she almost had hysterics. I had to promise not to look at her

again or say a word, just to keep her from fainting or throwing a

crying fit."

"Hysterics," Dameron repeated in a flat voice. "Fainting and crying.

Are we talking about the same female?"

I turned my head to Dameron to see that although his unfriendly stare

was aimed at me, his faint air of ridicule was directed at Valdon. The

big man's handsome face had darkened in response to Dameron's scoffing,

but he hadn't added anything. "I had to find something amusing to pass the time," I told Dameron's

accusing stare in a hurt tone designed to let him know how unjust his

accusation was. "It wasn't my idea to be left here unoccupied and

ignored while you went trotting off to have fun. And I don't know what

you're complaining about - no one got hurt, did they?"

I made my question as pointed as possible without being deliberately

offensive; Dameron showed he got the point by straightening where he

stood and sobering. I hadn't strung Valdon just for the fun of it, but

if Dameron understood that the interlude could have been destructive

rather than embarrassing, we didn't have to go into anything else. I

wanted Dameron to see how much better off his base would be with me

gone from it, and if his expression was anything to judge by, I wasn't

far from getting what I wanted. Dameron opened his mouth, probably to

agree to my suggestion of a walk, but the big hand suddenly wrapping

around my right arm stopped any words from being said.

"So making me look like a fool was nothing more than an amusement for

you," Valdon growled, tightening his grip to match the anger in his

eyes. "You needed some entertainment to stave off boredom, and I was

it. Did you find all the fun you were looking for? You weren't

disappointed?"

"If you don't like being conned, try being less nosy," I told him,

meeting his anger calmly. "Not everyone considers exchanging life

histories the best of conversational topics. And don't feel too raw

over being taken in. You aren't the first to fall for some line I

happened to come up with, and you won't be the last. The best thing you

can do right now is forget it-and let go of my arm."

"Or you'll cry?" he asked, still staring down at me. "Maybe a few tears

would be the best thing that could happen to you after all - to see to

it that I am the last one to fall for some line of yours. You had your

fun; it would only be fair if I took my turn."

"Valdon," Dameron rumbled warningly from behind my left shoulder, but

those deep black eyes gave no indication that the warning had been

heard. They were locked to my face, watching for a reaction to the

threat he'd made, waiting for the fainthearted regret he expected to

set in. It was too bad I wouldn't be leaving there without trouble

after all, but that's the way things went sometimes.

"You're entitled to make a stab at taking your turn," I agreed, then

shot my arm forward and sideways fast against his fingers, which broke

his hold on my arm. "Only don't expect me to stand here like a statue

while you do. I don't expect to lose, but if I do the turn is all

yours."

I set myself without being obvious about it, curious as to how good he

was. The way he moved said he wasn't likely to be clumsy or awkward,

and his size, handled as easily as he handled it, was a definite asset

for him. If he didn't have a weak middle or a glass jaw I would have my

hands full, and shortly thereafter the rest of me would match, with

bruises if nothing else. Killing him was out, of course, for many

reasons even beyond the one that said he had a right to try getting

even. I usually followed the adage that counseled, "Never make enemies

by accident, only on purpose," but that time I'd missed. If a few

bruises were the price for reclaiming the slip, I'd pay the price and

count myself lucky, there had been times when it had been higher. I

watched the man in front of me carefully, waiting for his first move,

but for some reason it didn't come. He just stood and frowned down at

me, finally shaking his head.

"If you're expecting me to start a fist fight with you, you can forget

it," he said, his tone flat and final. "Despite your generous offer, I don't make a habit of fist-fighting with women - even when they deserve

a good swatting at the very least. All you can expect from me is the

swatting, but I'll choose my own time and place, thanks. I'm used to

setting up my own schedules."

I watched him walk between Dameron and me and head for the door, and

once it had closed behind him I couldn't help shaking my head the way

he had.

"What in the name of the deep endless dark was he talking about?" I

asked no one in particular, then looked at Dameron. "And what's a

swatting?"

"He was trying to tell you that he doesn't beat up on women even when

they're expecting him to," Dameron answered, leaning back against the

wall by the door with folded arms. "How did all that happen to get

started?"

"He came in and immediately began asking me all sorts of questions," I

explained, still feeling the urge to shake my head. "I decided that it

was enough for you and your second to know about me, and we didn't need

baby to make three. I had the choice of telling him what to do with his

questions and thereby starting a fight, or conning him and keeping it

peaceful. Believe it or not, I decided to keep it peaceful."

"Do all of your people use the same definition of peaceful?" Dameron

asked with a snort of amusement. "If they do, I can't wait until we're

in full contact with them. And for your information, Valdon is my

second in command. He wasn't there when I was questioning you - a small

crisis had come up that needed seeing to - and he was probably trying

to find out what he'd missed. Looks like he got more than he bargained

for."

"He should have told me who he was," I said with a shrug, ready to

dismiss the whole thing. "I usually use restraint when dealing with an

ally. And speaking about dealing, now that your urgent errand is seen

to, let's take that walk and do a little dealing of our own. I think I

can safely say you owe it to your people to get me out of here as soon

as possible."

"You may be right about that." he nodded, still sticking to his piece

of wall. "But when you talk about my urgent errand having been seen to,

don't start assuming it was seen to successfully. Flantoril, the post 9

fighter who just came in, can't do the job I need her for. The only

reason she's back here is to be treated for the wounds she took in a

recent fight; if she hadn't been brought back, she would have died.

Healing will keep her alive, but only if she doesn't have to go through

a second session of Healing to change her into Bellna. Rumanoids from

her home sector don't react well to too much. Healing. Did you really

intend trying to defend yourself against Valdon?"

"Why not?" I asked, surprised by the sudden, out-of-context question.

"A small, harmless-looking man like him ought to be a cinch to take.

What has that got to do with our visit to my course computer?"

"It has a lot to do with it," he said, finally coming away from the

wall to stand himself in front of me. "When I saw you calmly accepting

the possibility of a fight with a man most men would try to appease, it

came to me to wonder how well you can handle a sword."

"No, you don't!" I said with an immediate headshake, holding one hand

up toward him while the other turned into an automatic, unconscious

fist. "As far as you're concerned, I don't even know what the word

sword means. Your problems in Narella are none of my business, and I

intend keeping it that way. If you'll just show me the blinking red

sign reading 'Exit' I'll get out of your way and take care of my course

computer myself." "Without specific coordinate and quadrant data?" he asked very mildly,

the dark eyes looking down at me faintly amused. "I'll bet you can

handle a sword at least as well as one of my team girls."

"The couple of times I tried, I nearly cut my own foot off," I said,

feeling absolutely no guilt over the lie as I met his gaze. "And as far

as coordinates and quadrant data go, I'll take my chances without them.

The same luck that got me here just might get me home again."

"That would be more miracle than luck," he snorted, still looking at me

with those piercing eyes. "And don't you think you owe us more than a

brisk 'thanks!' and a farewell wave? If not for us you'd be a stiff,

blue corpse, riding an airless hulk into eternity."

"Very poetic," I applauded with a nod. "Not to mention graphic. Now,

out of pure, soul-deep gratitude, I'm supposed to put my neck on the

chopping block with an eager smile? What's the difference between dying

in space and dying on a planet I have no business going near?"

"The more I talk to you and think about you, the more convinced I

become that if anyone can survive, you're the one," he said. "It may

have taken me awhile to put the whole picture together, but now that I

have, you can't deny it."

"How about if I deny your sanity?" I came back, putting my fingers on

my hips. "I don't know what you're thinking about, and I doubt very

much if you do."

"I know exactly what I'm talking about," he chuckled, suddenly moving

past me to his blocky chair. He sat, tapped a few keys on his terminal,

got half a dozen symbols in answer, then turned all the way back to me.

"I don't know why I didn't think of the question sooner, but it finally

came to me to ask why you were put in a crippled ship and headed into

the deep black."

He beamed at me with a possessiveness I'd noticed earlier, looking as

though he'd made his point and was just waiting for me to acknowledge

it. I have often found myself with my head in a noose, but I can

honestly say I never helped put it there.

"You see a big secret in that?" I came back immediately, throwing in a

shrug for good measure. "All I see is the caution of a man who knows

what's good for him. My people knew what I was doing and who I was

involved with; if they decided to bring Radman in and put him to the

Question, he'd have to be able to say that the last time he saw me I

was alive and healthy, and was still in that condition as far as he

knew. That's why he made sure I had everything I needed to be

comfortable."

"Very logical and neat," Dameron conceded, but his nod and smile showed

nothing of concession. The man did it to protect himself. But you did

say he was a slaver, didn't you? Couldn't he just have added you to his

inventory and been able to say the same thing? I can't imagine his

having any trouble selling a woman with your - ah - obvious attributes,

and I'm sure your Federation has too many planets for him to be afraid

that your people might stumble across you. If he didn't arrange a set

of chains and a private auction for you, there must have been a reason.

He paused again, still wearing that "gotcha" expression, clearly

waiting for me to comment; being compassionate, I saw no reason to

disappoint him.

"Yes?" I prompted, looking faintly interested. "And the reason was?"

"That he thought you had too good a chance to get yourself out of any

arrangement like that," he growled, suddenly annoyed that I was

ignoring the way he was pinning me to the wail. "If an enemy who knew

you went to such lengths to be safely rid of you, then you have to be

more than just average at what you do. Now go ahead and make your denials."

"I have no denials to make," I shrugged, turning away from his darkeyed

stare to go and reclaim my old lump-chair. I slid into it and made

myself comfortable, then looked at him again. "I see no reason to

either confirm or deny anything you say. Just let me know when you get

to the end of your lecture series and the testing is about to start.

That's when I'd like to leave."

"Damn it, you can't refuse to do this job for me!" he snapped, leaning

forward toward me to emphasize his words. "You needed rescuing and I

need a decoy; you got what you needed, and now it's my turn!"

"I only got half of what I needed," I pointed out, resting my elbow on

my thigh and my chin in my palm. "When it came time to discuss C & Q

data, you were much too busy. If the kind of help that buys you is what

you're looking for, I'll be glad to supply it. If not, you've got a

problem."

"How would you like to spend the rest of this crisis time in irons?" he

asked, growling again. "I promised to reprogram your course computer as

soon as I find the time, and I will. I saved your life, and I'll see to

it that you don't have to go searching for where you came from. What

more do you want?"

"What more do you have?" I muttered, playing smart to cover the tiny,

tingling doubts I was beginning to feel. I'd pushed Dameron as hard as

I'd been able, expecting to see the iron fist flash out of the velvet

glove, ready to do some fisting myself on my way out of there, but it

hadn't happened. Instead of threatening me

Dameron was pleading, and not a word about holding back the information

I needed! I leaned all the way back in the lump chair, silently cursing

the roll of the dice. Coersion I can understand and cope with; frantic

requests for help are harder to ignore.

"I think I can understand how you feel," I heard after a long minute,

looking up to see softer, more compassionate eyes on me. "You're a long

way from home and want to start back, without any twisting, dangerous

side trips. In your place I'd feel the same, but Diana-I can't afford

to put myself in your place. Too many lives are hanging in the balance,

and I have no one else to turn to."

"I see you've finally remembered my name," I commented, despite his

sober expression. "What if I still say no?"

"You mean, what will I do to get even?" he asked, looking straight at

me for another five seconds before raising his eyes to the blue ceiling

and folding his hands behind his head. "I could always string you up by

the thumbs, but I'd have to wait until an overhead hook became

available. Putting in new hooks always loses us some air. Once you're

strung up I could light a fire under your bare feet, but the automatic

extinguishers don't like open fires. Skinning you alive might do the

trick, but. . ."

"Okay, okay, enough," I interrupted, showing my palm to admit surrender

before his list got to be 'phone book length. "If you were trying to

tell me you're beyond that sort of thing, I got the point. The only

thing I still don't know is what you're not beyond."

"I'm not beyond dickering, if that's 'what you meant," he answered,

back to looking at me. "Motivation is important when it comes to

survival, and saving your favorite neck isn't always enough. I've

always found bonuses helpful."

"I don't expect to hang around long enough to spend a bonus," I

snorted, dismissing the suggestion with a wave of my hand. "And

survival has always been a good enough motivation for me on its own."

"Then you are experienced in handling dangerous situations," he said softly, a grin spreading across his face. I suppose something in my

expression showed what I thought of his methods of data-gathering; he

wiped the grin fast and leaned forward in his chair. "I wasn't digging

for that, but I'm glad to have the reassurance - since you're not

admitting or denying anything. What I meant to say was, the bonuses I

offer aren't in the form of legal tender. I try to offer things that

would not normally be for sale at any price."

"Like what?" I asked, more curious than hooked. I still couldn't

generate much enthusiasm for the idea of working for him. I had things

at home waiting to be done - like a recently scheduled second meeting

with Radman the slaver.

"Oh, items like certain souvenirs," Dameron drawled, his grin back

again. "The Tildorani have turned carving into a high art, but they

aren't in a position to do any exporting. Some of my people are

collectors, and wouldn't be able to pick, choose and carry off any of

the better items without field team help. And then there are those who

do more-personal-collecting, for any of a variety of reasons. Even if

the reason happens to be vanity, all they have to do is collect the

necessary number of points."

I could feel the hook being dangled more enticingly in front of me, but

I couldn't make out the nature of the bait. I could see I was supposed

to ask what points and what they bought, allowing ignorance and

innocence to draw me closer to the hidden barbs, but that wasn't my

first time at dickering. I glanced around, as though unconsciously

trying to check the time, a shadow of impatience to the movement, and

Dameron suddenly lost his drawl.

"Not all of our people have original Absari blood," he said. "Those who

do substitution work - or decoy work, if you'd like to put it like that

- and have to be changed here in the base, have the option of keeping

the features they've been given if they want them. Those team members

earn one point for each job, and it takes three points to buy the

option, but I won't ask the same price of you. Do this job for me and

Bellna's looks are yours to keep or give back, whichever way you want

it. She's the most attractive humanoid female I've ever seen; if she

weren't, I would not have brought the point up. You're pretty enough in

your own right, girl, but Bellna's one of those one-in-a-million

special cases. Can you sit there and tell me you're not tempted even a

little?"

I sat there and didn't tell him anything at all. Truthfully I was far

from unhappy with my own looks, notwithstanding the tact that no one

would ever consider me beautiful. How I looked was part of who I was to

me, and I was satisfied with the whole and not particularly anxious to

change it. The only thing that kept me from refusing outright was that

Dameron was right: Bellna was spectacularly beautiful, and I remembered

my earlier thoughts on the subject. If the change would benefit my job

and make life - and surviving - easier, saying no could be the

stupidest thing I'd ever done. I grappled with the pros and cons as I

brushed my lips with a strand of hair, then focused on Dameron again

with one of the more cogent cons.

"You're asking an impossibility," I said, not terribly unhappy with the

conclusion. "Your field people know all about what's going on, know the

people involved, the language, the terrain, friend from foe. I'd have

to be crazy to involve myself in a project with that many minuses on my

side, as crazy as you are for suggesting it. I don't mind improvising

when a situation calls for it, but I have to have something to

improvise with."

XXX "You have no idea how glad I am to hear that objection," Dameron said, his expression serious. "It means you're finally thinking about

the project as something to be thought about, not just something to

reject out of hand. But I'm equally as glad to say that your objection

is invalid. How do you think my field people learn what they need to

know? Do you think I can afford to have them waste desperately needed

working time cramming discs of information or groping around blind

until they learn what's what? They're given what they need to know just

the way you were given our language, quickly and painlessly. We even

have a tape of Bellna's persona for you."

"What do you mean, a 'tape' of her 'persona'?" I interrupted the flow,

trying to ignore the diminishing of my resolve. Dameron with his

fascinating new ways of doing things was doing a lot better job of

hooking me than the usual bonus he'd promised. When it comes to

curiosity, cats have nothing on me.

"We have a copy of Bellna's memories and personality," Dameron said,

really warming to his subject. "Once it's impressed on your mind it

will act like a reference library, telling you how to deal with the

people you meet, whether or not Bellna knows them, how she usually acts

with them if she does know them, and what would and would not be in

character for her. It does more than studying her for years would, and

was taken only recently, which means it's up to date. Any more

objections?"

"Give me a minute, and I'll think of something, I muttered, turning to

stare at his impassive face. I was curious - perhaps too much s0 - but

I was still reluctant. Telling myself that going home was the smarter

move didn't help; I wanted to work with Dameron's techniques and find

out how they did. Against that, a two-month trip filled with boredom

didn't have a chance, especially when I might get home to find that

someone else had settled Radman's hash in my absence. Something in the

back of my head was telling me I was putting my foot in it clear up to

the shoulder, but I've never been very good at taking advice to be

sensible, even when the advice is my own. My fingers drummed on the arm

of the lump chair with a monotonous sound, but Dameron didn't let it go

on for long.

"Your minute's up," he announced, no real push in his voice. "If you

need another one, by all means take it. I'd hate to have you think I'm

rushing you into anything."

"That sounds like a suitable epitaph," I nodded, bringing my eyes back

to him. "'At least she wasn't rushed.' How far would I have to restrain

my instincts for self-preservation?"

"Any time it's a choice between you or the other guy, I expect you to

give me the time to think up a better epitaph than the one you just

mentioned," he answered with a faint grin. "As long as you don't use

Tildor as a private hunting preserve, you have everyone's blessing in

staying alive. I'm still not trying to rush you, but my people will

need some time to check your Healing tolerance and calibrate their

doses and instrumentation. If we're going to move on this, we'll have

to do it soon."

His eyes were calm and his big body was relaxed in the squarish chair,

but two of his fingers rubbed against one another in a gesture I was

sure he was unaware of I stared at him another ten seconds, but only to

add to his inner turmoil; I was sure he knew I couldn't resist his

bait; that was why he'd dangled it.

"It really would never do to make your people do their calibration in a

hurry," I said at last, drawling the way he'd drawled earlier. Just

remember: if I get killed, I'll never speak to you again."

He let out a whoop of victory and bounced out of his chair, leaned down to grab my wrists, then hauled me to my feet.

"We'll get right over there," he grinned, pounding me on the back in a

happy, enthusiastic way. If I hadn't been in decent shape, his friendly

approval would have done a lot toward flattening me. "Let's just-"

His words cut off as his terminal signaled for attention. He turned

toward it and impatiently tapped a couple of keys, giving me the chance

to flex the muscles in my shoulder that he'd been playing pat-a-cake

on. Symbols appeared on the screen, and when Dameron saw them he

muttered under his breath, then tapped another couple of keys.

"Post 7 needs help of some sort," he said, turning hack to me and

rubbing his broad face in frustration. "I want you turned over to the

clinicians now, not after 7's endless explanations, but you can't go

yourself\a133 I'll have to send Valdon with you."

"Is that supposed to be reassurance or a threat?" I asked, letting

Dameron take my arm and steer us both toward the door. "It does help in

one way, I guess. With Valdon there, I won't have to look for any

enemnues among your clinicians."

"Valdon's not your enemy," Dameron said, a touch of annoyance in his

voice as the door slid open in front of us. "He was trying to help you,

and you made him look foolish. You can't blame him for being angry."

"Sure I can," I answered, looking up at him. "Before rushing in to help

someone, it's smart to find out whether or not they need your help, and

also whether or not they want it. Valdon strikes me as the sort who

never bothers asking those questions when a female's involved, and that

means he deserves whatever he gets. There are one or two of us who can

take care of ourselves."

"He wasn't raised to look at k like that," Dameron said, heading us

across the corridor, but more slowly. "He was taught to be courteous to

and considerate of women, and that's what he is. He wasn't trying to

insult you; he was just trying to keep you from being afraid of him.

For some reason, a good number of women are uncomfortable around him."

"It's that hunter's look in his eyes," I said, stopping a couple of

feet from the door Dameron was moving toward so that I could chuckle

softly. "I knew it was something that gave him trouble, but it's not a

trait he can change. So women run screaming from him, do they?"

"They don't run screaming from him," Dameron came back, trying to be

stern, but he couldn't hold the look and meet my grin at the same time.

he came up with his own chuckle and grin, then shook his head. "They

start out being attracted to him, but as soon as he tries to return

their interest, they suddenly remember appointments elsewhere. I didn't

believe it happened to him all the time at home until it happened once

out here. The field team girls don't usually react to him that way, but

they're not in the base much."

"Poor baby," I commiserated, still laughing softly. "He leads a rough

life. All right, I'll try not to be so hard on him. I'll give him as

much elbow room as he gives me."

"That sounds fair enough," Dameron grinned, then gestured toward the

door in front of us. "He ought to be in there."

We started toward the door again and it slid open, showing an office

just like Dameron's except for the presence of Valdon. The big man sat

in his own squarish chair staring down at a complex map projected on

his cube, but when he saw us he reached behind him to his terminal and

keyed the cube blank again.

"Valdon, we have our decoy Bellna," Dameron announced, leaving me a

couple of steps inside the doorway to walk closer to the other man

alone. "I was about to take her to the clinicians, but post 7 called

in, so you'll have to take her there for me. Tell them she's a native of a new associated world, so they need to calibrate her completely.

And I want everything given to her at once, as quickly as her system

can take it. We'll need all the time we can get for briefing and

planning sessions.

"And for laying in a supply of hankies for her tears," Valdon said,

barely glancing at me as he stood up. "Who would you like assigned to

the job of holding her hand and wiping her nose?"

"Make it someone interesting," I said before Dameron could vocalize the

annoyance on his face. "It would be a pleasant change to meet someone

interesting around here."

"That's enough out of both of you," Dameron growled, glaring first at

me and then at Valdon. "I don't have the time to referee the tiffs

between two small children. You both have jobs to do, and I expect to

see them done without bickering."

"I think you're making a mistake, but you're in charge." Valdon

shrugged, turning his head to look straight at me. "If I'm wrong I'll

apologize, but I don't think she can handle it. Odds are she's never

touched a sword in her life."

"Well, I may not be all that capable, but I'm willing to learn," I

purred, meeting his dark-eyed stare with a small smile. "Why don't you

find us a couple of weapons and give me some lessons?"

"If you did that, you'd be the biggest fool I know," Dameron said,

interrupting what would probably have been agreement from Valdon.

"Can't you see she'd never have made the offer if she wasn't pretty

damned good with a blade? You refused to give me a straight answer

before, girl, but I want one now. How much experience have you had with

swordplay?"

"Enough," I answered, looking at Dameron as I folded my arms. "If you

have any doubts, I won't feel insulted if you withdraw your offer.

There are other things I'd rather be doing."

"I'm not withdrawing anything," Dameron growled, annoyed at the way I'd

answered him - or not answered him. "As I said before, I don't have the

time for this. Valdon, get her over to the clinicians."

With that he stomped out of the room, barely giving the door time to

slide out of his way. He seemed to do a lot of that, playing chicken

with doors, and as sight of his back disappeared, I wondered what

happened when he lost.

"It seems I have my orders," Valdon's deep voice came, and I turned my

head back to see him staring at me. "You'd better be as good as you

think you are. Tildor is no place for beginners."

"No one's as good as they think they are," I came back, noticing again

how really attractive he was. He stood with wide arms crossed over a

broad chest, lean-hipped, longish black hair a perfect match to the

hunter's look in his unwavering, black-eyed stare. He was still annoyed

with me, and would probably go on being annoyed if he was waiting for

me to get flustered. It was too bad, really, but he just wasn't my

type.

"At least that's one point in your favor," he granted, moving closer to

look down at me with slightly less annoyance. "You're not a braggart.

Talkers don't live very long on Tildor, and this project is too

important to gamble on hot air."

"Approval at last," I sighed, folding my hands as I looked up at him

adoringly. "I think I'm in love."

"Very funny," he growled, turning me away from him by the shoulders and

pushing me toward the door. Valdon still didn't appreciate my sense of

humor, and that was it as far as friendly conversation between us went,

which was fine with me. I was a lot more interested in Dameron's procedures than in Valdon, and as the clinicians bustled me away from

him, the last glance I got of his expression said that he knew it.

Chapter 3

I awoke on the ftirTy couch-bed a second time, this time seeing a soft

light glowing in the room, and this time knowing exactly where I was. I

took a deep breath and found that I was braced for pain, but there was

none. No pain, no discomfort, just a feeling of health and vitality and

well-being. I hadn't expected the aftermath to be that easy, not after

seeing the array of equipment the clinicians had had. I'd been weighed

and measured and probed and scanned and practically turned inside out,

and then I'd been put to sleep. That last step had taken longer than it

should have, I was told, simply because my readings were different from

everyone else's, different in a way difficult to measure. They'd had to

do a lot of delicate recalibration before they were ready to start on

me, and after all that build-up I'd missed the procedures themselves by

being unconscious. I wasn't awake long enough or fully enough to be

annoyed, but once I was I expected to be.

I sat up on the couch-bed and ran my fingers tilmugh my hair, wondering

if my last thought made any sense at all. Despite the feeling of

glowing good health I was also feeling faintly fuzzy around the edges,

as though I'd just been roused out of a very deep sleep. The room light

brightened to a point just short of eye-hurting, letting me look down

at myself and the delicate pink, slim-strapped body suit someone had

put on me. The clinicians must have thought my sense of modesty needed

protecting, but all the suit's presence did was increase my annoyance.

I never slept in anything, and if they'd had the good sense to ask

first - The argumentative train of thought was ended completely by the

appearance of a thick lock of hair falling over my left shoulder. It

wasn't as though that was the first time it had ever happened, but the

lock of hair was red! I grabbed more hair and brought it around to see

it, and it was red, too! The excitement rising in me said I may have

accepted Dameron's procedures intellectually, but emotionally I hadn't

believed they could do it. I put my hands to my face, trying to detect

differences, but didn't know my own features well enough that way to

make anything out. What I needed was a mirror.

I stood up fast and looked around, but all the salmon and green room

held was what it had held before: the couch-bed, the round thing next

to it, and a lump chair. I was about to go storming out into the

corridor yelling for Dameron, but the need to search the salmon-colored

panels for the one that was the door brought me up short. Dameron had

done so much with the wall panels that it would be stupid of me not to

try them first. I strode over and began touching them here and there,

finding absolutely nothing until my fingers slid over an invisible,

yielding patch. A door popped open to my left, allowing access to a

narrow space between the wall - and on the back of the door was a fulllength

mirror.

Looking into the mirror was something of a shock.

Have you ever had your hair cut or styled in a way totally different

from the way you usually wear it? Do you remember your first conviction

that the face you stared at wasn't your own and that it would take a

while to get used to your new image? My eyes found Bellna staring back

at me, her face even more beautiful than the photo had shown it to be,

her blue eyes sparkling with life and an impish delight, her bright red

hair falling in thick cascades around her face and shoulders. My face

and shoulders. I shook my head, trying to break away from the sense of unreality, finding myself even more confused when the image in the

mirror did the same.

Okay, let's bring this back down to earth, I told myself firmly,

straightening myself and the mirror image at the same time. That's what

you look like now, and you'd better get used to it. Have you ever seen

a complexion that flawless? Such perfectly arched eyebrows? Such real,

true beauty? You know you haven't, and now it's yours; how about

getting started on using it?

I let a smile come through and the mirror face glowed with warmth and

invitation, so softly sensual that the smile suddenly disappeared and

the wide blue eyes widened even farther. A smile on that face was a

devastating weapon, one I'd be smart to take it easy with. I didn't

want to spend my time on Tildor fighting off rape attempts, especially

since Bellna's face went so well with my body and hers. The girl and I

were almost equally well-endowed, the only major changes intended

having been to lighten my skin to a red-head's shade, and change all of

my bodily hair to match hers. Luckily, Bellna was a big girl, only

about two inches less than my own height, which meant it hadn't been

necessary to shorten me. The clinicians had discussed the point at some

length, and practical considerations had dictated their final decision.

My reflexes and sense of balance were adjusted to my body as it was;

shortening me would throw off that adjustment, possibly fatally if I

couldn't readjust before I had to defend myself from serious attack. It

would be a lot simpler putting me in flat-heeled boots rather than the

high-heeled ones Bellna wore, thereby adjusting the height difference

painlessly. I moved my body slowly in the mirror, glad it was more

recognizable than my face even if it was covered by that ridiculous

bodysuit. The pink of it went terribly with my hair, and I saw my new

face frown as the thought came that the thing was much too revealing

and immodest. Whoever had put me in it should have been whipped for the

insult, to do such a thing to someone such as I! How dare they treat me

so, as though I were a peasant girl or a slave! Who would dare!

"What's the matter, don't you like it?" a voice came suddenly from

behind me, and I whirled around while blinking back clouds of highly

incensed anger. Valdon stood just inside the door to the corridor,

still too close to let it slide closed again behind him. He'd come in

with no more announcement than I ever got, and I was getting tired of

the intrusion.

"Next time, you'd better figure out some way of letting me know you're

out there," I said, only somewhat distracted by the sweet, girlish

tones I'd produced that just had to be Bellna's voice. I value my

privacy, and have been known to go to some lengths to ensure it.

"You can worry about your privacy once this is all over," he countered,

taking a few steps forward and folding his arms across his chest. "In

case it hasn't come through to you yet, I'm part of this project too,

but in a position just a little higher than yours. Now, what were you

doing a minute ago?"

He stood there in front of the now closed door, that unwavering stare

coming straight at me, and I suddenly realized something else about

him. It wasn't only a hunter who looked out from his eyes, it was also

a man who was used to dominating everything and everyone around him. I

hadn't seen that look often before, but I was bright enough to

recognize it - and human enough to resent it. I didn't work for Valdon

no matter what opinions he had to the contrary, and it was time he knew

it.

"None of your damned business what I was doing a minute ago," I

answered, turning back to the mirror. "You managed to find your way in here, so now let's see if you can remember the way out. If I decide I

need you for something, I'll send someone to rattle your cage.

I shook my head to move the hair back from my face, seeing, in

reflection, the way Valdon's jaw tightened in anger, the look in his

dark eyes hardening even further. he unfolded his arms and straightened

to full height, then started coming toward me.

"Now, you listen to me, you little" he began, his right hand

outstretched to wrap around my arm again, yet that was far too much. No

one had the authority to touch my person, least of all boorish louts

such as he. I turned somewhat back to him, my right side toward his

reaching one, struck upward with my arm against his to raise it, then

kicked sideways into his ribs, twisting my hip into the kick. The churl

grunted aloud with pain as he bent forward, his arms wrapped about

himself, and then he leaned upon one knee, seeking with eyes closed to

recover what breath he might. I had swiftly taken myself back a pace or

two, well prepared to continue should he show signs of further

foolishness, but then came an interruption.

"Now what are you two doing?" Dameron demanded from the doorway,

frowning at Valdon and me. I shook my head hard as I relaxed from the

standard attack-defense position I'd taken, and Valdon raised himself

to his feet, though obviously still in pain. He took a deep breath,

wincing as he did so, then made for the door as Dameron moved to one

side.

"Nothing but a small difference of opinion," he muttered as he passed

Dameron. "I'll see you later."

Dameron leaned out to watch Valdon disappear up the corridor, then came

back in to turn his sudden confusion toward me.

"I don't understand any of this," he protested, a plaintive note in his

tone. "What happened between you two this time, and where is he going?

There's a briefing scheduled for you in a little while, and I wanted

him there."

I moved my hand over the panel, closing up the mirror again, then gave

my attention to finding the closet that had been used the last time.

When I did find it and found that it had been used again; I pulled out

the jumpsuit that had been neatly hung back in place. As I began

getting into the suit, I shrugged in answer to Dameron's question.

"I don't know where he's going," I said over my shoulder, predictably

adding to Dameron's confusion. "And it's just the way he said. A small

difference of opinion."

Dameron shook his head without comment, not terribly satisfied with my

answer, but I wasn't very happy with it myself. I was trying to Tigure

out what had made me act the way I had, but the crystal-clear reasons

of a few minutes earlier had somehow clouded to total irrelevance. No

matter how annoyed I got, I wasn't in the habit of assaulting people

who weren't bent on offering me harm. Getting physical rarely does more

than cause hard feelings or create awkward, unexplainable bodies. I'd

struck out at Valdon without warning or excuse, and the action bothered

me more than any possible consequences. It wasn't like me to do

something like that, and I'd have to be careful to watch myself closely

in the future. I closed the jumpsuit with a stroke of my hand, then

went with Dameron to his briefing.

The scoutship settled to the ground in the deep black of the woods,

making no more sound than a leaf settling the same way. The night sky

was dark with racing clouds, and we nestled in the darkness, showing no

lights of our own. The hull of the small scout ship was clear all about

the pilot and me, but nothing could be seen through it from the outside. The pilot's instrument board glowed a steady, unexcited blue,

and he and I sat in silence, waiting for the agent who was supposed to

rendezvous with us.

The past few base days had been dull tripled and squared, filled with

nothing but briefing sessions. Right from the very first, the impressed

memories I'd been given had made the briefings a bore, going over and

over again points I already knew. I kept getting the urge to explode

and walk out, but I overrode that feeling. I've been invited to many

briefing sessions, but I've never purposely missed one and I never

will. When your life can depend on some insignificant little point some

bore grinds out, you learn to listen with full attention. I was told

about the political and geographical twistings and forkings, given a

list of friend and foe, filled in on plans, hopes and wishful thinking.

I was a fairly good improviser and hadn't been caught off-balance too

many times, so I wasn't worrying about the operation, but that didn't

mean I had no worries.

I'd been silently examining my inner self, and what I'd noticed about

my attitudes and reactions had not only not gone away, it had begun to

spread, coloring my thinking when I wasn't consciously willing it not

to. When someone warned me to watch out for this or that possibility, I

experienced a very strong desire to laugh at him and tell him just how

good I was. That part of it scared me more than the presence of a knife

at my throat would have; thinking you're the best and smartest around

is the first step toward a messy ending. Over and over I caught myself

mentally strutting around, discounting advice even before I'd heard it,

minimizing the plottings of opponents. I kept telling myself that it

was only a slight aberration, a weird reaction from having been alone

so long, thinking myself finished, and then suddenly finding myself

saved. Relief can do strange things to people, and as soon as the shock

or whatever it was passed, I'd be my old, practical self again. I told

that to myself often, and hoped that I wasn't conning myself.

The woods around us were thick and old, the black shadow leaves swaying

in a rhythm that had been known forever. I couldn't feel what was

moving them, but I could see its passage, and I recalled what the woods

were like during the daylight hours, when I had ridden them with my

escort. My escort had been large, of course, as befitted a princess,

and they had been ever alert to keep harm from me. My ladies had

disliked riding the woods as often as I did, finding the experience

uncomfortable in the extreme, therefore did I ever insist upon their

accompanying me. It was necessary to teach them that my needs and

desires were all-important, theirs nothing but ignorable whim. Once, to

punish them for daring to beg to be excused, I picnicked for a very

long time with the captain of my guard, allowing all of my escort the

time to carry my three ladies off into the woods. I knew they and the

others of my ladies had been taken into the woods before by certain

members of my escort, yet never had all of them taken only three. I

felt the punishment would do well for them, and when they were later

returned to me, tears staining their cheeks, I considered the matter

properly seen to. Thereafter they recalled that I was a princess and

they were not. It was a - I broke off the thought fast and shook my

head, forcing the rambling back from wherever it had come. Bellna's own

neighborhood seemed to have triggered her memories, and it wasn't

taking me long to discover that I didn't like her very much. I moved

around in my seat, ignoring the questioning look I was getting from the

pilot, and that reminded me of the other questioning looks I'd been

getting lately - or maybe "questionable" would be a better word. Not

long after the briefings had started, Valdon had shown up and put himself in a quiet corner, listening but not contributing. No one had

questioned his presence so I couldn't very well object, but he'd spent

most of his time staring at me with no expression on his face. Normal

staring doesn't bother me a bit, but there was something about his

stare that rubbed me the wrong way, something behind it that primed me

like a high explosive. I gritted my teeth and stuck it out during the

briefings, but made sure to be nowhere near him afterward. The new,

touchy part of me felt satisfaction' over what I had done to him and

was more than willing to have me do it again, but there was no sense in

adding complications. Dameron was trying to minimize possible trouble

spots in the operation, and I had decided to try doing the same.

Although nothing but a sprinkling of stars relieved the darkness

outside, the planetary time wasn't all that tat\a153?? late. Just then

I was waiting to be collected by one of the resident agents of Tudor,

who would escort me - or, rather, the Princess Belln - to a hunting

lodge not far from Havro's keep. The lodge was sometimes used by

certain of Havro's guests, but just then it would be empty. The agent

and I would spend the night, and in the morning my secret mercenary

escort would pick me up. No one knew about this secret leave-taking but

Prince Clero and his cronies, who had been told soon enough to target

their plans against my traveling group, but not soon enough to send

riders against the lodge. I'd be able to get one night's uninterrupted

sleep before the fun began, and after that it would be catch as catch

can.

I sighed as I thought about the plans that had been made for after the

attack. They all hinged on whether or not I was still breathing, of

course, but assuming I was, I was to dump my escort and then head

south. Once I had put a lot of emptiness between me and other people a

scout ship would pick me up, guided in by the beacon that had been

implanted somewhere in my body. Just where that beacon was I had no

idea; there wasn't a mark or scar on me. As a matter of fact, one or

two scars that I'd had for a while had also disappeared without a

trace, all of it due to the process known as Healing. I wanted to spend

a lot of time thinking about that, but in the middle of Dameron's

precious project I couldn't spare the attention. Once it was over,

though.

The pilot next to me had been helping me watch the darkness, but he'd

been using his instruments instead of his eyesight. He stiffened

suddenly just before I caught a hint of movement about twenty-five feet

from where we sat, but the stiffness left him almost immediately and

his hand relaxed away from his sidearm. His panel light glowed a cool

blue, telling us my date had arrived.

Four dark, cloaked figures came up to the scouter, one slightly ahead

of the other three, all of them waiting for the pilot to activate the

access release. When the panel next to my right arm slid aside I

gathered my cape together, then climbed out into the night. The figure

closest to the scouter took my arm to help me down, then all five of us

moved back about ten feet from the scouter and watched it rise

soundlessly into the air, gliding higher and higher, becoming harder

and harder to see. In no more than seconds it had blended with the dark

gray clouds sliding through the skies, totally gone from mere mortal

senses. I took a deep breath to drown the sudden, childish feeling of

abandonment I was abruptly filled with, and only then discovered that

the hand that had taken my arm hadn't let go again. I tugged slightly

to show that I was ready to be turned loose, but the hand on my arm

only tightened.

"Have no fear, you will not be harmed," a gruff, impatient voice came from the shadow figure beside me, speaking the Tilddrani language.

"These-ah-guardsmen - and I will escort you to your destination,

Princess. During this short journey, we require no converse from you."

It wasn't hard to tell that I'd just been ordered to keep quiet, or

that the other three men were Absari agents posing as Tildorani. The

Bellna memories I'd been given identified the voice as belonging to

Grigon, Prince Havro's chief adviser, but the tone and sense of command

weren't part of those memories. Grigon usually used smoothly

professional calm on Bellna, and I couldn't see any reason to change

that.

"Converse is unnecessary when issuing commands, Grigon," I told him

coldly, resisting the pull that was trying to take me deeper into the

surrounding trees. "You and these others may indeed escort me, yet only

in the manner befitting my station. Release my arm, and begin such

actions at once."

"Your station during the longer journey before you remains as yet

undetermined," the Grigon-shadow growled, obviously displeased with my

retort. "Should it be necessary for the exalted Princess Bellna to

adopt the actions and mannerisms of a peasant girl to escape her

father's enemies, it is best that she be fully prepared to do so. This

walk will begin to prepare her."

His grip tightened even more on my arm, and then I was yanked along so

hard I nearly went down from the pull. I felt outrage and shock that a

servant like Grigon would act that way with me, then impatiently pushed

those feelings aside. The reaction was Bellna's rather than mine, just

as most of my previous speech had been. I wasn't used to keeping the

new set of memories and personality from affecting my own, and the lack

had already begun making trouble. I can't say I enjoyed the way Grigon

was manhandling me through the windy dark, but getting up on a high

horse wasn't the way to stop it. His dialogue had told me we were in

enemy territory and had to watch what we said, so it was hardly the

place to teach him the right way to greet a fellow conspirator. It

would be smarter to wait until we got where we were going and could

talk freely - even though ignoring the annoyance was hard. I got a left

handed grip on the cape and long-skirted dress I was wearing, got them

out of the way of the hurried steps being forced on me, and just

followed quietly - if not meekly along;

It took at least twenty minutes to reach our destination. Grigon

started out at a good clip that had me almost running beside him, but

we weren't following a road or even a trail. Continuing on like that in

the dark would have run us into a tree or a ground depression in no

time, and the man knew it. He slowed almost at once and gestured one of

the other three into leading our little parade, giving him the job of

traversing the terrain before we set our dainty boots on it. The chosen

one took over the job of point without comment, leaving the other two

to follow along behind. We moved a little faster then, but not so fast

that I had trouble keeping up. I hate wearing skirts, most especially

long skirts, but awkward or not, that's what I had to work with. All

Tildorani women dressed that way, even underage princesses who had been

given their way much too often in life.

The wind whipped all our capes around, and the dark was so deep under

the trees that we wouldn't have been able to see the moons even if

there hadn't been clouds. I didn't know we had reached where we were

going until I saw the small clearing we had entered, and looked around

the side of the big man in front of me to see the large, wooden twostory

we were approaching. Bellna had never been to the hunting lodge,

and I could feel the sense of reserved curiosity that sight of it brought to the part that was her. She knew that her father had used it

and f6r that reason it was somewhat acceptable, but other than that it

was much too low-class to suit her tastes. Although I hadn't exactly

been raised in a barn myself, her attitude made me want to shake my

head. Snobs have their place in life, I suppose, and I'm just being

short-sighted in not being able to see where.

A dark shadow stepped into sight on the other side of the clearing,

grew an arm to gesture with, then melted back into the trees it had

come from. Grigon did nothing to acknowledge the ahead signal; he

spoke, instead, to the three men with us.

"The lodge remains secure," he said, his gruff voice low enough to

carry no farther than the men around us.

"I will take the girl inside and remain to instruct her. For you, the

others do not exist. Guard us as though you were alone."

The three gave no vocal agreement, but there was no doubt they'd follow

orders. Two of them moved away from us toward the sides of the lodge as

Grigon pulled me toward the wide porch that fronted the place, and by

the time we reached the door the two were gone from sight and hearing.

The third had let us pass him and then had followed, but once he

reached the steps leading up to the porch be stopped and turned around,

his back t6 the lodge as he faced outward. I caught a glimpse of a

sheathed sword as he turned to take his post, and then Grigon had

pulled me through the door he had opened, into the dimly lit interior.

The door was closed again with a firm click, and at long last my arm

was released from capture. I took the opportunity to rub it as I looked

around, squinting only a little at the increased light as Grigon turned

the lamp higher.

The word "rustic" must have been coined for the room we stood in. The

log walls were well made and properly sealed, but were totally

undecorated except for the bows and spears hanging on two of them,

mostly around the two closed doors. A big stone fireplace dominated

another of the walls, with four heavy, handmade chairs standing not far

from the crackling blaze someone had started on its hearth. The only

wall that wasn't bare was the front one containing windows; heavy brown

drapes covered them so that they couldn't be seen from inside. The

wooden floors were as bare as most of the walls, but the whole place

was neat and entirely lacking that empty, untenanted feel that seldomused

places usually had. I unhooked my cape and began to slide it off

my shoulders, already feeling the difference the fire made after the

cool of the night; as I did so, the man called Grigon stopped prowling

around and. came over to give me the benefit of his expertise.

"There was no need whatsoever for you to attempt so superior a manner,"

he said, unhooking his own cape and pulling it off as he glared at me.

He was a tall man with a thin face and a perpetually stooped look,

wearing black pants and boots and a wide-sleeved, plain white shirt.

"You were commanded to silence, and silent you should have remained.

Such behavior was unprofessional and the height of stupidity. It will

not be forgotten."

"How good of you to greet me so warmly," I drawled, hanging my cape

over my left arm with a comradely smile. He was still using the

Tildorani tongue, so I did the same. "Your graciousness will be a great

comfort to me during my sojourn here."

"Your manner remains entirely unacceptable," he growled, a faint flush

of anger tingling his smooth-shaven cheeks. "It is neither the youthful

imperiousness of the princess, nor the carefully respectful response of

a peasant girl. Do you think yourself in the midst of a female groupsewing,

that you behave so? Do you seek to nullify our careful planning?"

"It is scarcely possible for me to nullify your superior planning from

this room," I came back, finding it impossible to keep the dryness from

my voice. "I would, however, appreciate being informed concerning the

reason for your having twice referred to the possibility of my being

presented as a peasant girl. I was given the impression in base that I

was to be the Princess Bellna alone."

"Guard your unthinking tongue!" he snapped, the look in his dark eyes

sharpening. "Though this lodge is secure, you are not again to refer to

'base'! Also, it is not for you to question what role you will play!

Should we think it necessary that you be disguised as a peasant, you

will obey our orders without question - if such a difficult undertaking

is not beyond your abilities! You stand dressed in the clothing of a

princess; remove it and show me the peasant girl I may require."

His voice had grown cold and haughty, a Tildorani male giving orders to

a lowly female. My temper flared in response to his attitude, but my

own reactions were sweet calm compared to the outrage coming from the

Bellna personality. No one spoke to a princess like that, and she

wasn't about to stand for it.

"How dare you!" I found myself hissing, fists clenched as I leaned

forward toward the man not far from me. "Is it now that you will

overstep yourself, peasantish servant? Am I now to be able to speak to

my father, giving him proof of your lack of respect for me? Till now he

has laughingly dismissed my protests; there will be little laughter

caused by this! Show me to my rooms at once, and perhaps you will

retain your head when your man - hood has been taken!"

I looked coldly upon the wretch, seeing his frown and the first signs

of apprehension. Surely did he know that my words had not been idle,

yet rather than attempt apology he abruptly straightened from the stoop

that had ever been a part of him, strode across the distance separating

us, then grasped my arms. He shook me with strength, shocking me with

such unbelievable behavior, and I didn't know what the hell was going

on.

"Snap out of it!" Grigon ordered, clear worry in his eyes as he shook

me again. "That's the second time you've done it, and this time I'm

sure. Cut it out!"

"Cut what out?" I growled, raising both fists in front of me and then

snapping them outward to break his hold. He had shifted to base

language, and that seemed to be adding to my confusion. "What the hell

are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about that speech you just gave me," he answered, his eyes

narrowed as he looked at me. He seemed both larger and younger now that

he'd dropped his roll - and a lot less belligerent. "Bellna has

resented Grigon's influence over her father for a long time, and she

and he have had more than one venomous exchange like that. That wasn't

you pretending to be Bellna; that was Bellna herself."

"Don't be ridiculous," I scoffed, picking up my cape and then looking

around for some place other than the floor to put it down. "Just

because I don't have the hang of using her persona yet doesn't mean

there's anything strange going on. Once I get a little practice in, her

personality won't jump out every time she gets upset."

"You're missing the point," he said, his touch on my arm bringing my

eyes back to his sober face. "I don't know where you got the idea that

practice has anything to do with it, but her personality isn't supposed

to jump out at all. It's an unliving, unaware reference file, not

another person inside your head to be fought with. Does Dameron know

about this?" I stared at him for a minute without answering, feel-mg even more

confused, then finally shook my head.

"How can Dameron know about it when I don't know about it?" I asked,

searching his face for signs that he was putting me on. "Are you trying

to tell me that impression isn't supposed to work this way? That this

sort of thing-whatever it is - has never happened to anyone else?"

"Not until now." he took a deep breath as he looked away from me, let

it out slowly, then brought his eyes back. "It's a good thing I had a

communicator installed here, just in case. I'd better call Dameron."

"And tell him what?" I demanded, stopping Grigon as he began turning

away from me. "That we scrap the whole project because of one minor

unexpected complication? A suggestion like that is guaranteed to make

him love you forever."

"One minor complication?" he echoed, outrage thick in his tone. "You've

got a living, thinking Bellna sharing your head and body, taking over

whenever she pleases, and you call that minor? Has anyone ever told you

you have a gift for understatement?"

"She doesn't take over whenever she pleases," I denied sourly, deciding

I might as well hang onto the damned cape for a while. "She's been able

to take over to a small extent because I didn't know she wasn't

supposed to be able to. From now on I'll make sure I stay permanently

in the driver's seat."

"Oh, sure you will," he agreed with heavy sarcasm, turning all the way

back to me and folding his arms. "You'll have no trouble at all in

making a fifteen-year-old brat do things your way while Clero's men

close in from all sides. They won't distract you from matching wills

with her, and she won't distract you from keeping yourself unsplited.

It's done all the time."

"If it isn't done all the time, how do you know how hard it will be?" I

countered, getting more and more annoyed at his pessimism. "And I

thought this project was a top-priority, die-before-failing necessity.

Someone listening to you would think you were looking for a reason to

call it off."

I was trying to put him on the defensive, trying to take his mind off

the single track it had been clinging to, but the man was no child or

beginner. Instead of getting insulted or trying to justify his

position, he let his eyes grow cold.

"You're right about this being a top-priority project," he said,

staring down at me. "The part you are wrong about is thinking we'd

throw away the life of one of our own people just to see our purpose

accomplished. I know Dameron picked you because he thought you had a

much better than even chance of surviving this mess; I also know he'll

want to hear my reasons for thinking you won't survive. Want to bet he

will love me forever?"

He stared at me for a minute after that, giving me a chance to make the

sucker bet if I was foolish enough to do so, but I knew better than to

waste the effort. The Absari base commander would side with him, not

with me. After the minute he unfolded his arms and began to turn away

again, but I couldn't let him go through with it.

"Grigon, don't call Dameron," I sighed, giving up my previous attempts

to buffalo him. "You don't have to tell me he'll cancel the project. I

know he will."

"Don't you think he should?" the man called Grigon asked, his tone more

reasonable than argumentative. "I can't imagine what could have gone

wrong with the impression, but it's bound to make your role five times

more difficult, if not downright impossible. Your wanting to go with it

tells me you're probably a suicide buff." "Sorry, but suicide's not my thing," I denied, shifting that stupid

cape to my other arm. "I'm on the inside with this problem, and I'm

telling you that it honestly doesn't feel as terrible as you're

describing it. I've never walked away from an assignment already

committed to in my entire career, not unless there were reasons a lot

more compelling than some stray thoughts in my head. Just how positive

are you that your guess is better than mine?"

He hesitated visibly then, considering my question, but logic was on my

side. No one can be an expert on something that's never happened

before, and Grigon couldn't pretend that he was.

"I can't possibly be positive, and you know it," he said, ending the

brief pause, annoyance back in his voice and eyes. "What makes you so

sure that you have the way of it? If you find out I'm right with your

last living thought, do you intend sending your spirit back to let me

say I told you so? I won't find it nearly as satisfying as you seem to

think I will."

"Why do you insist on seeing me dead?" I demanded, trying to ignore the

severe adult-child overtones that kept escaping his control. "You said

yourself that Dameron would not have sent me if he didn't think I could

handle it. I'd like to know what makes you believe I can't."

"Maybe it's the fact that I know this world and I don't know you," he

said, rubbing his face with one hand, the vexation in his voice

stronger. "We've got to settle this one way or the other tonight,

before we commit to this project too far to back out if it becomes

necessary. Come with me."

He turned and strode to the left-hand door, threw it open, then waited

for me to follow as he'd ordered. When I got there and looked past him

I saw a dim, narrow back hall with two more closed doors straight

ahead, and a heavy staircase to the left. I wondered why my guide had

stopped at the threshold rather than leading the way through, but he

didn't leave me wondering long.

"Take those stairs to the next floor and go to the last room along the

hail," he said, gesturing briefly with one hand. "I'll be there as soon

as I report your safe arrival, and then we can discuss the problem

until we both know where we stand."

I hesitated very briefly, trying to think of a diplomatic way of

offering to go with him while he reported my "arrival," but there

didn't seem to be one. Anything I said would translate out as not

trusting him - which was exactly the way I felt but was not an attitude

calculated to make him think more kindly about my chances of continuing

with the project. The only thing I could do was give him the chance to

blow the whistle behind my back and hope I'd raised enough doubt in his

mind to keep him from doing no more than think about it. I craned my

neck around a little more, using sightseeing to account for my silence,

then nodded as I glanced at him.

"Up to the second floor, then down to the end," I agreed, using my free

hand to get a grip on the long skirt that would have tripped me on

those stairs. "See you there."

I walked to the stairs and began climbing them with out looking back,

not even pausing when I heard the soft click of the door being closed.

There was no guarantee Grigon was on the outside of the closed door,

and I'd already cut him loose in my mind. Taking him out of the game

entirely would have been the only way of stopping him from reporting

anything he pleased, and I wasn't willing to do that. The Lord of Luck

had been good to me in my time, and the only way to repay him is to

trust him completely when none of your own efforts will do the trick.

The door at the end of the hall was not door but doors. Two beautifully carved doors stood quietly in the half-lit shadow of a single wall

candle, and opening one of them showed me a room that banished all

thoughts of rustic. A fire danced and crackled in the large marble

fireplace to the left of the doors, an occasional spark jumping out to

the wide stone apron in front of it. Beyond the apron was a single

well-padded chair standing on the beginnings of a room-wide, deepnapped

carpet in what seemed to be wine-red. All the wall space in the

room was covered with heavy cloth hangings, and ahead and to the right

was an enormous bed, canopied and curtained in the same dark red, with

another, lighter color showing faintly inside the curtains. Gold thread

picked out Prince Havro's emblem on the front curtain, a large circle

enclosing a snarling, clawing isphalgor standing on an intricately

embroidered rendition of the three letters of Havro's family name. I

could feel Bellna's recognition of her father's insignia, but it came

as something of a shock to realize that she couldn't read the letters.

Women on Tildor were kept illiterate as a matter of course, and even

Bellna's position as princess hadn't saved her from the darkness. The

background information I'd been given let me read as well as any

Tildorani male, but that was a point I'd have to keep firmly in mind.

No matter who I was on that planet, if the character was female it

would have to forget how to read.

I closed the door behind me and moved farther into the room, seeing a

large, beautifully carved wardrobe and matching bench standing to the

right of the bed. I finally got rid of the cape by dumping it on the

bench, then walked over to the wide carved screen of wood that had been

set up to the right of the wardrobe. There was faint candlelight

trickling out around its edges that made me curious, but stepping

behind it fed me a jolt of shock from the Bellna presence. The area

behind the screen was all mirrored, wall and screen alike, and thick,

soft fur pelts covered the more sedate wine-red carpeting. The area was

a slave nook, and if I'd bothered looking for them among the furs, I

probably could have found the chains. Bellna was sputtering indignantly

in my head, upset not so much by the discovery of her father's play

nest as by having to look at something that free, high-born women were

usually sheltered from. Everyone knew what men used female slaves for,

but that didn't mean it was something a well-bred woman would want to

look at!

Idly wondering if Grigon had lit the candle, I turned my head to one of

the mirrors and stared at the redheaded reflection there, consciously

swallowing down the indignation and forcing it away from me. There was

no expression on the beautiful face, but it took a minute or two for

the tension to leave the well-rounded figure dressed all in dark blue.

The effort necessary to push the Bellna presence to the back of my mind

hadn't been excessive, but a fal?nt doubt came to dance around lightly

on my nerve ends. Was I just being stubborn by insisting that I could

handle the role? Was I endangering everyone involved-as well as the

project itself-by not going straight back to base? Was Grigon right in

thinking that I couldn't fight Bellna and Clero's men both at the same

time? The hell of it was he cou~ be right, but there was no way of

telling until the time came. Did I take the chance and go on with it,

or did I opt for the cautious point of view and head on back?

A look of disgust formed on the face I was staring at, but the Bellna

presence had nothing to do with it. I was the one who felt the disgust,

and entirely with myself. The thought of something having gone wrong

with the impression didn't frighten me, not when I could regain control

so easily. I'd been in a lot hotter water that time I'd been fed an

illegal zombie drug, and hadn't been able to throw it off. The problem was that I still didn't really want to be there, and my devious mind

was digging for a way out that would free me from my commitment to

Dameron without my having to renege. Could Dameron find someone to

replace me in time to keep the project going? No. Did I take the job on

without coercion and promise to see it through? Yes. Then how about

cutting out the emoting and breast-beating - and the needling of your

co-worker and getting serious about this? I looked sternly at the

mirror image that was me and held the stare for a minute, then let a

faint grim come through. My sense of right hadn't let me allow Grigon

to send me back without an argument, but my escape reflex had almost

had me ready to accept the easy out he wanted to hand me. I'd accept

the challenge instead, and still make it home in time to vote.

"You look very much at home in there," a voice came, filled with faint

amusement. "Except for the clothes, of course. You'll have to get rid

of those."

"I wouldn't dream of usurping my host's right to initiate all actions,"

I laughed, turning to look at Grigon. "After you, my lord."

"You picked a hell of a time to be gracious," Grigon grinned, stepping

back from the end of the screen. "Come on out here and let's get

acquainted."

I followed him back out to the middle of the room, then stood watching

as he walked to the chair in front of the fire and lowered himself into

it. Aside from the bench in front of the wardrobe and the bed it was

the only place to sit, but I wasn't given my choice of the two other

locations. Grigon moved the chair so that he could see me more easily,

then gestured me closer.

"I've been thinking about our problem, and I believe have come up with

a way to settle it," he said, making himself comfortable as he looked

up at me. "It all depends on how determined you are that I'm wrong and

you're right."

"I'm very determined," I said, folding my arms as I looked down at him.

"Does your solution have anything to do with making me stand up until I

fall over?"

"In a manner of speaking it does," he said, a flicker of annoyance

showing in his eyes. "Since you seem to have slept through all the

briefing sessions you were given, let me repeat the point I thought I'd

made when you first got here: if you keep wise-cracking the way you've

been doing, you'll either outline yourself as a complete stranger and

foreigner, or end up tied to a whipping stand. You won't find either

possibility enjoyable, and the rest of us are far from eager to join

you. Do you think you can get it through your head that you're putting

our necks on the block right along with yours?"

"I'm fully aware of the fact that flip doesn't go over well on this

world," I said, feeling none of the guilt he was trying to feed me -

and trying not to feel the annoyance. "If I'd known that wise-cracking

in this lodge would put you and the others in jeopardy, I wouldn't have

done it. Please accept my apology, and also my assurance that it won't

happen again."

"You're still not funny," he growled, letting his eyes go cold as he

looked at me. "The only way I can judge how you'll act out there is by

seeing how you do in her - and so far you're not making it. It doesn't

matter whether anyone else can hear you. I can hear you.

"I didn't know I was being tested," I shrugged, still not very

impressed but finally seeing his point. "If you want to evaluate the

role I'll be playing that's another story, but bear in mind that Bellna

would not allow herself to be kept standing like this. Once I settle

into her, you'll have to vacate that chair." "Bellna might not be the only role you'll be playing," he said,

comfortably crossing his legs as he ignored my last comment. "If you

find yourself. on your own you may have to switch to being the peasant

girl we discussed earlier-with nothing of Bellna showing. Do you know

how a peasant girl on this world acts?"

"Certainly," I answered, ignoring the ripple of outrage coming from the

Bellna presence. "Do you want the peasant girl instead of Bellna?"

"I want them both," he answered flatly, locking eyes with me. "Bellna

first and then the peasant, and I want it all to be you. You'll take

your cue from the way I speak to you, and then act accordingly. If Remo

hadn't made his and Bellna's engagement official while she was still in

the Capital, I wouldn't have been able to test you as far as I think

necessary."

"I don't understand," I frowned, also not understanding the sudden

gleam in his dark eyes. "What his that got to do with anything?"

"You should know more about that than I do," he said, grinning faintly

as he got out of the chair. "When Remo made the engagement official he

was entitled to take Bellna to bed - which he did, at almost breakneck

speed. She's not a virgin any longer, which means you can be put

through the role of peasant. Peasant girls are given to men as soon as

they stop looking like boys."

I had to work at ignoring the flurry of embarrassment coming from

Bellna, but got some help at it from the part of my mind that houses

nasty suspicions. Grigon was still grinning at me, and that put a

sharper edge on it.

"Is this test the solution you came up with?" I asked, still holding

his eyes. "Set me into a convenient role, and then indulge in a little

rape? How nice that your safety can be confirmed so pleasantly."

"I thought well of the idea," he said, and then his grin hardened. "And

whatever you think about it, you'll still go along with it if you want

a piece of this project. If you can keep Bellna from taking over while

you're being treated as a peasant, I'll agree that you'll be able to do

it at any time. If you're going to lose the argument, which is the

better time: while you're being raped, or while you're being attacked?"

He stared down at me, waiting to see if I would back away from the deal

or continue arguing, but I couldn't really do either. The son of a joy

girl was right, no matter what his motivations were. If I couldn't

handle it, we were better off finding Out right then.

"A pity you didn't opt for the attack instead of the rape," I

commented, brushing at the skirt of my dress. "Let's get this over

with. I'm going to need whatever sleep I can grab."

"One must admire your self-confidence," he retorted, moving to my left,

away from the fire. "Are you always so sure that things will work out

the way you want them to?"

"I can only judge from past experience." I shrugged, turning my head to

look at him. "Since things usually do work out the way I want them to,

it's only reasonable to expect they'll continue on like that."

"For your sake, I hope they will," he said, and then his face suddenly

took on a supercilious look. "My lady Princess," he said in broad,

clipped Rimilian, sketching a stiff bow. "Pray be seated and rest

yourself the while I fetch refreshments."

"Fetch them quickly, Ruthor," I answered in Bellna's pettish private

tones, recognizing the character Grigon was imitating. Prince Ruthor

was one of Clero's sons, and he'd been ardently courting Bellna,

probably at his father's urging, before Prince Remo came on the scene.

"The journey here has positively exhausted me, and I must look an

absolute hag." "Such a thing would be impossibility," RuthorGrigon protested distandy

as I sat in the oversized chair. He had gone to one of the draped walls

and parted the drape to expose a good stock of drinkables, his back to

me as he messed and clinked. I ran my palms over the very soft leather

of the chair arms, making myself comfortable while I had the chance.

Grigon was trying to disarm m~nd the Bellna presence as well-by evoking

Ruthor, who was hardly the most capable of Clero's sons. If Ruthor got

very, very lucky, he might one day qualify for the honor of dropping

the last letter of his name, but Bellna didn't think he'd make it and

her memories forced me to agree with her. He was a stiff-necked snob

who always acted in the precisely correct manner, never speaking out of

turn, never seeking a corner where he might take me in his arms as Remo

had.

"Your drink, my lady Princess," Grigon-Ruthor announced from right in

front of me, his arm extended with a tiny, delicate glass held

carefully between his fingers. I took the glass without thanking him,

treating him like a servant the way Bellna always did, privately

cursing myself up, down and sideways. I'd almost let it happen again -

no, it had already started happening again, and the only thing that had

pulled me out of it was Grigon's interruption. I'd let my mind wander

and Bellna had immediately started to come out. Damn it! If I didn't do

any better than that, I deserved to be sent back!

"You dislike the drink?" Grigon-Ruthor's voice came, and I looked up to

see him staring down at me, a cool, distant smile on his face. "Perhaps

you would care for something less potent?"

"I am perfectly capable of drinking anything you choose, Ruthor," I

answered, bristling with insult. "I am scarcely the child you seem to

think me!"

"I see you as no less than perfect, my lady Princess," he answered with

another bow. "I recall now that it was your father the Prince who

commanded that you abstain. Forgive my poor memory, and allow me to

dispose of that for you."

He plucked the tiny glass out of my hand and turned away with it,

carrying it back to the hidden niche it came from. I let myself sputter

and oh! Just the way Bellna would have done, all the while wondering

what Grigon was up to. I wouldn't have minded swallowing that drink,

but I hadn't been given the chance to do more than look at it. I pinned

my fellow conspirator with an accusing stare as he came back toward me,

and he betrayed a well-practiced chuckle.

"Your pout is the most attractive that I have ever seen," he said,

stopping in front of me. "Should you wish it, my lady Princess, you may

climb into my lap and have a sip from my glass. Surely your father -

the Prince would have no objection to a single sip."

"How dare you speak to me so patronizingly!" I gasped, fighting both to

be Bellna and not be her. "As you clearly think me a child, Ruthor, you

may leave me at once!"

I got to my feet and stood with chin raised high, projecting all the

outraged indignation I could feel Bellna putting out. My doing what she

was feeling was like living an echo, but managing it wasn't as hard as

I'd thought it would be at first. I seemed to be getting the hang of

it, and that made me feel a good deal better.

"Ah, but I shall not leave you," Grigon-Ruthor purred, taking a step

closer to me. "And now that I think on it, you seem to be someone other

than the Princess. You wear her clothing, yet you are clearly not she.

Who are you?"

His question, coming as suddenly as it did, was more than a little

startling. Bellna recoiled in shock from a Ruthor she had never seen before, but that was only on the inside, where Grigon's careful stare

couldn't see it. Outwardly I took my cue as I was supposed to, and

looked down nervously at my hands.

"I am no one, Lord," I whispered, making sure my voice trembled. "A

poor peasant girl, wishing no more than to know the feel of her

mistress' clothing upon her skin. I would not have stolen the things. .

."

"A likely tale!" Grigon snorted, his voice still cold. "Let me see

you."

His hand came to my chin and raised my face, letting me see the gleam

in his dark eyes. I cringed back without moving out of his negligent

grasp, a trick I'd learned some years earlier, and he chuckled his

appreciation of the gesture.

"Now that I've caught you, I believe I shall make use of you," he said,

moving his hand from under my chin to touch my face. "Have you the

ability to serve me properly, girl?"

"I-I am not much used, lord," I whispered, borrowing some of Bellna's

wide-eyed, disbelieving fear. "I will serve as best I may."

"You will serve better than that," he said, his tone dry. "You may be

very sure I will see to it. Come and put yourself in my lap now."

He moved past me to reclaim the chair, then looked up as he sipped from

the wineglass he held. He'd given himself three or four times what he'd

given me, and was even getting to drink some of it. Being careful not

to jiggle his arm I climbed into his lap, feeling as ridiculous as I

always did in a situation like that. Grigon was a big man, but I'm not

what might be described as a little girl. Behind my eyes Bellna was

beginning to come out of the shock she'd felt, heavy coils of outrage

forming, almost ready to explode. I took a good grip on the rather

large reserve of single-mindedness I come equipped with, and tried to

ignore her.

"I shall now allow you the sip of wine I promised earlier," Grigon

said, his supercilious Ruthor-tones increasing in patronizing-load. I

reached for the glass he held out toward me, but he shook his head.

"Both hands, if you please, little peasant. I should dislike having the

contents of this glass emptied upon me. You have my word that I would

dislike it a very great deal."

The hardened glint in his eyes told me that he would undoubtedly use an

excuse like that to beat me, and a beating was one thing I couldn't

risk. I didn't yet have an experienced-enough hold on the Bellna

presence to believe I could hold her back during the infliction of

pain; I could finally see that what I'd done to Valdon must have been

because of the faulty impression. If Grigon hurt me and I loosened his

teeth in revenge it would be satisfying, but it would also lose me the

game.

"Now for the sip," Grigon directed once I had the glass in both hands.

he watched carefully as I took a single, undersized swallow, but didn't

see anything of Bellna's sputtering rage. Her intense feelings of

humiliation poured through me, bringing a trembling to my hands, but

the trembling was perfectly in character. The swallow of wine would awe

and impress a real peasant, who would hardly be expected to know the

vintage was just backward enough to keep it from being considered

really good. My throat swallowed and my hands trembled, but Grigon

didn't take the glass when I offered it back to him.

"You may hold that for me for the moment," he said, putting one hand on

my skirt-covered leg and looking down at my boots. "I am unaccustomed

to seeing one of your station draped about so. We will first remove

those, and then perhaps have another sip of wine." His hands went to the lacings on my hoot, and Bellna was again shocked

as well as scandalized. She was too young and inexperienced to

understand the smirking pleasure Grigon was showing in his role of

Ruthor; after all, all he was doing was taking off - It was an action

fit for a servant. I sighed to myself, thinking about groaning as well;

how would she react once she began to understand?

Grigon unlaced my hoots slowly, drew them off one at a time, then

reached out to take the wine glass from me. he had raised the bottom of

my skirt to my knees to reach the lacings, and hadn't lowered it again

after the boots were gone. He sipped at his wine as he ran one palm

over my now bare calf, and anyone who could have heard the racket in my

head would have thought he was running his hand over my naked body.

Although outraged, I did not pull the skirt back down, but couldn't

keep from shifting a little in the presence of Bellna's furious

embarrassment.

"A wench who blushes!" Grigon-Ruthor chuckled, his warm, broad hand

still moving slowly over my leg. "How delightful I find you, my young

innocent. Your times at use must have been few indeed. Take the glass

and hold it, but do not drink. Such youth and innocence must not be

wasted in a drunken stupor."

I took the glass with two hands again, finding the very real amusement

in his eyes as difficult to bear as Bellna's raving. I wasn't the

blushing type, but apparently Bellna was. I had enough time to be

grateful that Grigon didn't know me better, and then all I could do was

gasp and try not to spill the wine. Grigon-Ruthor was sliding his palm

up under the skirt and along my leg to my thigh, and Bellna was just

about jumping out of her skin.

"You have not been given my permission to be quite as shy as that,

little peasant," Grigon said, his hand having paused in its upward

movement. "Unlock your muscles, and do not attempt to refuse me again.

You are aware, are you not, that you are mine to do with as I please?"

"Yes, Lord," I whispered, forcing my knees apart against tremendous

resistance. I had never before had to fight to control my own body in

quite the same way, and the sweat breaking out all over me under the

dress was adding to the mad I was beginning to feel. That was my body,

damn it, and no one else had the right to try to run it! I held the

wine glass carefully, forced my knees apart with mental teeth clenched,

and thought I could feel some of the strength in the Bellna ravings

fade a little.

"Ah, you seek to please me," Grigon-Ruthor said, the supercilious smile

back in place. "I do indeed find myself pleased, for I mean to see if I

may know how many men you have served before me.

I had a sudden, horrible premonition that he knew something I didn't,

but I wouldn't have had the time to ask about it even if the question

would have been in character. His hand slid quickly up between my

thighs before I could utter a sound, and the next instant I was gasping

in my own disbelief and trying to move away from him. His other hand in

the middle of my back kept me from moving that way, and the glass of

wine I held kept me from flying up toward the ceiling.

"Why, you are scarcely removed from the state of virginity," he

laughed, watching my face as I closed my eyes and trembled. "I would be

very much surprised if there has been more than a single man who has

tasted you. And I must say how thoughtful I consider you, to have

refrained from wearing the undergarments of a lady when you donned the

outer garments. Such a lack would show your true origins to any man who

touched you."

The half-growl in his voice was more accusation than approval, but at that point I really didn't care. I hadn't worn the heavy, uncomfortable

underwear simply because I hadn't expected anyone to be checking for

their presence; the fact that be was checking was the least of my

worries. I'd been told I'd be matched to Bellna, but I hadn't expected

to be matched to the extent of being turned into the next thing to a

virgin! My own reflexive urge to push his hand away stumbled into

Bellna's desperate need, the two flowed together, and it was all I

could do to keep from really defending myself. I kept my eyes closed

tight and trembled from the effort to do no more than that, and

Ruthor's chuckle sounded again.

"How strong an appeal I find in the innocent," he said, the faint slur

in his voice pointing up the interest of an apprentice sadist. "You may

release the wine now, and when I am done with it we will continue."

I opened my eyes to an awareness of the fact that he had been trying to

take the wine glass back from me, but hadn't been able to get my hands

to release their hold. I surrendered the glass to his smirk without

argument, despite the fact that I would have been willing to fight him

for it. Backward or not I could have used that wine, which was probably

his reason for refusing itto me. If I won the game it would be without

help, especially the sort that would steady my jangled nerve-endings

and numb my perceptions to a certain degree. Under normal conditions I

preferred keeping a clear head during a job, but on that job a clear

head was the one thing I wouldn't have no matter how little I drank. I

took a deep breath against the clamor still raging in my skull,

pretending I didn't see the way Grigon-Ruthor was staring at me over

his glass rim, reflecting that it was a good thing I'd opted for being

an "innocent" peasant girl. Being inexperienced can excuse a lot of

blunders, but it was also helping me cover my fight against Bellna. Her

time with Remo had been the sort of frustratingly distasteful

experience very sheltered women often have during their first taste of

sex. Remo had been too eager to arouse her properly before going for

his good time, and by the time she was past the fear and pain of his

attack and just beginning to feel some-thing else, he was already

through with her. There hadn't been more than that one bout between

them, and Bellna, childlike, expected all subsequent experiences to be

like the first. No one had told her any differently, and I had already

discovered that although I could hear her thoughts, none of mine

reached her. The fear that underlay her shock and outrage was worse

than those other two emotions and I swallowed hard, trying to get rid

of the taste of it.

"Do you anticipate my continued attention, child?" Grigon-Ruthor asked,

finishing off the last of his wine and tossing the glass away. "You

seem unsettled and unsure, yet this cannot be so. You are eager to

serve and please me, are you not?"

"Yes, Lord," I whispered, wishing he would get on with it rather than

dragging it out the way he was doing. "I am eager to serve and please

you."

"As you should be," he said, the smugness in his voice setting my teeth

on edge. "It is the place of peasant girls to be eager to serve their

betters, and yet there are times when reluctance and inexperience are a

good deal more - warming her eager anticipation. If I were to release

you from the need to give me service, would you find yourself filled

with gratitude toward me?"

I blinked at the faintly smiling indulgence on his face, wondering what

he was up to, wondering if he meant what he said. Was he really going

to let me off?"

"Lord, I would be grateful for whatever attention was given me by you," I whispered, deciding to play it as safe as possible. "If I were to be

left untouched, however, I would be. . ."

"Deeply disappointed," he interupted, nodding with world-weary

acceptance, knowing damned well that that wasn't what I'd been about to

say. "I have no other recourse then than to complete what was begun. Ah

me, how difficult it is at times to see to one's duty as a lord. Come

and lay your head upon my chest, child, and we will see to your lusts

as well as we may."

His hand forced me down against him, my cheek to his shoulder, the

disappoint went welling up from inside me bringing actual tears to my

eyes. Even as I fought against being overwhelmed I cursed silently,

finally understanding that his little act of supposed generosity had

been designed to reach Bellna rather than me. He was trying to force

her reactions out into the open, beyond my control, to a place where he

could see them and recognize them for what they were. If I had been

silly enough to believe him myself he might have gotten what he wanted,

but I'm not what could be described as a trusting soul. I'd hoped he'd

meant what he'd said, but I hadn't believed it; the little girl inside

my head had believed, and I couldn't escape paying the price for her

gullibility. Bellna didn't know what was going on, but she certainly

knew she wanted no more of it.

Grigon's shirt was a semi-soft linen, undoubtedly the best material

available to those who were above the level of peasant but below the

level of nobility. I found a faint, musky, masculine odor and

concentrated on that, trying to keep my attention away from where my

antagonist's free hand had returned. Bellna wanted to kick and scream

and fight and throw herself around, but the peasant I was supposed to

be would never be allowed that kind of theatrics. Grigon had taken to

indulging in a bout of slow teasing, and after a few minutes of his

silent indulgence, I made another unpleasant discovery. It had been a

long time since I'd last seen to my sexual needs, and although my body

had been made to match Bellna's, my reactions to things like Grigon's

teasing were strictly my own. It came to me that this rime the bastard

was after me, but there was less I could do about it than when he'd dug

for Bellna's reactions. I'd been able to keep her from taking over when

he'd been the victim, but keeping control was going to be harder with

me on the hot seat. I squirmed involuntarily at the picture those

thought-words evoked, and immediately regretted it. Grigon-Ruthor

laughed softly and increased his efforts, the predator immediately

attacking at the scent of blood. He was going to get me one way or the

other, and he damned well knew it.

It didn't take long before I was hanging onto the back of his shirt

with trembling fists, my face against his shoulder, my eyes closed

again. I had to remember not to let Bellna take over, remember not to

break the role of peasant girl, and remember not to react the way an

experienced woman would, all while being subjected to the close

attention of a man who knew his way around a woman's body a hell of a

lot better than any Tildorani would have. I was somehow managing to do

everything I had to, but only if you don't count breathing normally as

part of everything. I may be fairly capable in my chosen line of work,

but I'm still human; I wanted to stroke Grigon's body the way he

stroked mine, kiss his face softly to tell him I was ready to move on

to better things. I wanted to begin opening his shirt as he ran his

hands over me - but that wasn't what he wanted, or Bellna either. She

didn't understand the strange feelings assaulting her, and she feared

them; Grigon understood only too well, and wasn't about to let up.

"You may begin to undo the clothing of a lady," he said in Ruthor's lazy tones, making no effort to hide the growing slur in his voice.

"Should the sight of your body please me, you may well find yourself

ravaged without mercy."

I almost gasped at the throbbing wave of fear coursing through me,

finding it necessary to sit still for a brief moment before pushing

away from his chest. Grigon was now conducting an attack on two fronts,

trying to prod Bellna and me both at the same time. If I wanted what I

needed, and also wanted to keep from breaking my role I had to listen

to him, but if I did as he said Bellna would surely become even more

violent than she had been. She knew he was hardly likely tQ dislike her

body, and the panic was already begmm to set in. I forced myself to

raise my hands to the buttons on the front of my dress, feeling my

cheeks flame with Bellna's embarrassment, finding it impossible to sit

still in the face of Grigon's toying, biting my lip to show the

consternation of a very young peasant girl. I felt as though I were

three people and briefly, dizzyingly, couldn't remember which of the

three was supposed to show. The buttons fought my fingers the way

every-thing on that planet was fighting me, and hot, fat tears began to

roll down my cheek, courtesy of Bellna's fright and misery.

"Does your clumsiness distress you, little one?" GrigonRuthor asked

with oh-so-much concern in his voice, finally taking his hand away from

me. "You attempt to obey me., yet find yourself unable to do so. It is

clear I must assist you."

His hands came to mine to push them gently away, and then he tackled

the buttons. He wet his lips with pleased anticipation as he undid

them, but his expression changed-abruptly when the opened buttons

showed nothing but the silken under dress I hadn't been able to get out

of wearing. He was so obviously disappointed that nothing sexy showed

that his expression was downright comical. Under normal circumstances I

might have smiled to myself and saved the snicker for a private time,

but those circumstances were far from normal. Bellna was a little girl,

and so was the peasant girl of my role; the two of them combined and

giggled aloud in relief.

"You dare to laugh at me?" Grigon-Ruthor thundered, his frown widening

my eyes above the hand I'd hastily clapped over my mouth. "You dare to

find amusement in the doings of your lord?"

I was about to assure him very sincerely that I hadn't been laughing,

and especially not at him, when he interrupted the intention in the

most direct way possible. His hands took the blue velvet dress I was

wearing and ripped it open, then did the same to the white silk under

dress. Bellna's shock coursed through me as he threw me off his lap to

the floor, the disbelief intensifying as I hit hard. I'd been able to

cushion the jolt a little by using my hands, but the ruined material of

dress and under dress had been pushed down onto my arms, tying me into

what was left of once-elegant clothing. My left hip got the worst of

it, but one benefit came out of the unpleasant episode: the presence in

my mind was so shocked that it went speechless and motionless, leaving

me free to show appropriate fear and repentance when Grigon-Ruthor went

down to one knee and pulled me back toward him.

"Insolence is punished as ever it will be, girl," he told me coldly,

half-kneeling above me. "Do you continue to feel amusement?"

"I feel only the desire to serve you, Lord!" I quavered, looking up at

him with none of the growl I felt inside me. I wanted to serve him, all

right, but that sort of serving would have to wait-until I won.

"You need not fear," he said, reaching out to touch one of my nowexposed

breasts. "You will do exactly that. Get to your feet."

He stood straight and watched me struggle around until I could rise, holding the pieces of dress and under dress to keep them from falling

off me. I knew he wanted me stripped, but he wanted it done at his own

pace, and wouldn't appreciate being anticipated. When I was standing in

front of him he reached out and ripped everything the rest of the way,

then stepped back a pace to study me.

"Unexpected largesse," he murmured, looking at me with the most

intrusive stare he could manage. "More than I had anticipated-yet

without the hint of a blush. Are you other than the innocent I thought

you to be?"

"I am frightened, Lord," I whispered, cursing myself for forgetting

such an important detail. I had expected Bellna's embarrassment to do

the job for me, and when it didn't I hadn't been bright enough to take

over. "If you wish it I will attempt to do other than feel fear, and

yet.

"Still your tongue," he interrupted irritably, gesturing with one hand.

"I want no further words from you. Rid yourself of those rags, and take

yourself to my bed."

I got my wrists loose from the dress sleeves and let the "rags" fall to

the floor, then let my hesitation and reluctance show as I hurried

toward the curtained bed. Despite the fact that I knew I'd never sleep

without a good deal of soothing, I did feel reluctant at the thought of

sharing Grigon's bed. He wasn't likely to do anything for me without

indulging in a little more torture first, and whatever he did do would

be tempered by the way I'd been changed to match Bellna. I wasn't

afraid of the man, but wary wouldn't be a word too far from the mark.

Grigon waited until I'd parted the curtains, groped to find the covers,

then slipped under them before following me over. I was just beginning

to feel safe and snug in the darkness when the curtains were jerked

aside as far as they would go, and Grigon's darkened form moved toward

the head of the bed. I heard him reaching around, then heard a rattle

and a scrape. A spark flared bright in the darkness, catching

immediately on the slim piece of wood it had flared near, and from that

slim piece of wood a candle on the narrow shelf above the bed was lit.

Grigon blew out the flame on the piece of wood and set it back in its

place, and then he was ready for other things.

"I dislike being unable to see what I am about," he said, moving back

to the curtain opening at the side of the bed. "Were you given

permission to hide yourself beneath those covers?"

"No, Lord," I whispered, throwing the covers away as though they were

hot. "I meant no disobedience; Lord. I ask your forgiveness, Lord."

"Enough," he said, pulling his shirt out of his pants and then hauling

it off over his head. "I had thought it clear that I wished no more of

your chatter. I see you must be silenced by other means."

I watched him pull his boots off and then tackle his pants, his broad,

hair-covered chest more of a distraction than it should have been. He

had something else in mind for me, something I was not likely to enjoy,

but my mind insisted on watching him with wide-eyed interest as he got

down to the buff. He was certainly well made as a man, a fact sitting

in his lap had only hinted at. His degree of arousal would have had

some men pawing at the ground and demanding to get on with working it

off, but Grigon acted as though he had all the time in the world. he

tossed his pants to one side with a careless gesture, smiled faintly

when he saw my eyes on him, then moved closer to stand over me.

"You will lie flat so that I may examine you at my leisure," he said in

his Ruthor voice, leaning down to shove me partway across the bed so

that he might climb in himself. The bed linen wasn't linen but silk,

and he had seen to it that I'd warmed a place for him. "Should I hear a single sound from you, you will be punished. Have I made myself clear?"

I bobbed my head spasmodically, giving him a wide-eyed stare filled

with the apprehension of innocence. Bellna was bewildered in the shock

she was still suffering from and so was my role character; I,

unfortunately, could now guess at what he was up to. he sat next to me

where I lay and looked down at me, the faint smile on his face touched

with a hint of true amusement as his big hand came to stroke gently at

my middle. I'd never be able to take his "examination" without making

some kind of a sound, not in the face of the sort of expertise he'd

shown earlier. He was going to use that as an excuse to "punish" me,

but maybe being forewarned would be enough to let me hold out. His

stroking right hand came to slide over my breast, two of his fingers

catching the nipple between them and squeezing gently; I was able to

keep the gasp from coming out even though my mouth opened, but I

quickly changed my mind. Being forewarned wasn't going to do me a damn

bit of good, at least as far as holding out went. Maybe I could do

something with it afterward.

Surprisingly enough, "afterward" took a while to arrive.

Grigon worked on me slowly and deliberately, rekindling the blaze he

had started earlier and building on it. His hands and lips went

everywhere, touching, tasting, arousing, driving me more insane with

every minute that passed. I held the light blue silk clenched in my

fists as I twisted and writhed, barely aware of the still-frightened

child behind my eyes, totally consumed by the needs of my body. I felt

his hands like metal on my thighs, holding them apart and raising me

from the bed; I felt his breath, blown gently from between his lips;

when his tongue touched me I threw my head back and screamed,

completely beyond thinking and caring. That was what Grigon had been

waiting for, of course, and the open-handed slap that made my ears ring

brought me back and told me I'd lost the round.

"Again you disobey!" Grigon-Ruthor snarled, his second slap blurring my

vision and bringing tears to my eyes.. "Go and fetch my belt, at once!"

Teary-eyed and trembling I backed away from him, then slid off the bed

to do as he'd ordered. Control! I told myself with held-off

desperation, feeling the blubbering fear pour through me as I groped in

the shadows on my knees for Grigon's belt. It was lying half covered by

his pants, as though it had been set in place in anticipation of use,

which of course it had been. I picked up the soft but heavy leather in

trembling hands and held it to me, still not knowing whether or not I

could go through with it. I had a thing about being beaten that stemmed

from a very unpleasant experience during one of my assignments, and I

didn't know whether or not I could hold still for being beaten by

Grigon. I rose to my feet again, still clutching the belt, and hurried

back to the bed through the chill of the room. One way or another, my

question was about to be answered.

Grigon-Ruthor sat waiting for me on the bed, the small candle above

throwing shadows all about as I climbed over his legs. The tears were

still running down my cheeks as I reached the belt out toward him with

both hands, and for a minute his eyes met mine. That I knew he was

going to beat me must have been clear to see; as he took the belt a

peculiar expression flickered across his face. He glanced at the

trembling in my hands, the hopelessness my face must have been covered

with, the roundness of defeat in my shoulders, and suddenly there was a

different decision in his eyes.

"Such youthful innocence," he murmured, reaching a hand out to touch my

face. "That there are men who find pleasure in destroying such

freshness and beauty has never failed to infuriate me. I am no longer able to continue with this. Come to my arms, child."

I watched him throw the belt away but didn't really understand; not

until be had taken me in his arms and raised my face for his kiss. He

had spoken in his own voice, not that of Ruthor, and the game seemed to

be over. I say seemed to be because he was still speaking in the

Tildorani tongue, and he had begun to caress me again. I tested his

truthfulness with a small moan and got nothing but a murmur in

response, but the burning in my cheeks where he had slapped me worked

to keep me skeptical. I might have won the game already, but there was

no sense in not making sure.

Grigon's kiss was long and tender, and by the time it was over I lay in

his arms with both of us horizontal rather than vertical. His hands

moved over me with gentleness that surprised and startled the guest

behind my eyes, and did something more than that: it also aroused her.

How that could be possible I hadn't the faintest idea, but if a

glandular emotion like anger or embarrassment was possible for her, why

not arousal? The only possibility I could think of was that she was

using my body as an emotion-receptor, and with her diminished fear came

awareness of other sensations. Whatever it was, I was suddenly gripped

by arousal out of control, the sort that's usually channeled and used

through knowledge and experience tQ heighten enjoyment. I clutched

Grigon's back convulsively, pressing myself up against him, hearing his

chuckle as he pressed me flat to the bed. Bellna was ready to get on

with it and so was he, and once again I was in the minority. I tried to

push away her presence but it surged all around me, raw with power,

impossible to control. My knees separated of their own accord, the

baldest invitation possible, and Grigon wasn't slow to accept. He

positioned him-self between my thighs, gathered me to him, then

smothered me with a kiss as he surged forward into me.

If not for that kiss it would have been all over right then and there.

Aroused or not, Bellna was suddenly afraid, and she tried to cry out

when Grigon entered me. From my point of view the sensation was

unbelievable; Grigon felt as though he were twice the size he actually

was. Bellna, unused to that sensation under any circumstances, tried to

fight her way free and then panicked when she couldn't. Panic for her

happily corseted of withdrawal from control, and I was back where I was

supposed to be when Grigon raised his head.

"Does something disturb you, little one?" he asked, kissing my face

gently as he smoothed my hair back. "It was my impression that you

attempted to speak."

"I'm merely overwhelmed," I got out, trying to gather up all the ends

Bellna had dropped, before he decided something was peculiar. "I had

not anticipated such size and strength from you. Perhaps you would

allow me to see to your needs in another manner?"

"My sympathy and understanding are yours, wench, yet this may not be,"

he answered, his words nearly a murmur as his hips began to move

slowly. "I cannot bring myself to abandon the exquisite tightness of

you which, though it now disturbs you, will only be aided and lessened

by my presence. You have obeyed me well till now; will you continue to

do so?"

"Am I now permitted disobedience if that is my wish?" I asked, nearly

gasping the words. His movement was making his presence even more

unbelievable, and I didn't know how long I could stand it.

"No," he said with a merry grin, gathering me to him again. "I would

indeed be a fool were I to permit such a thing. Perhaps afterward."

He lost interest in conversation then, and it occurred to me that I had

another afterward to look forward to. Grigon's performance was considerate as far as rape usually goes, but considerate or not it was

still rape. With that in mind I forced myself to concentrate on what he

was doing rather than ignoring it, and began to help him - in my own

way. A woman who knows what she's doing can either extend a man's

performance or force it into termination, and Grigon had been holding

back a longer time than was usual. I know he was looking forward to a

leisurely ride, but I've had training from an adept of Saccarion, and

he couldn't resist my muscle movement. With teeth gritted he tried to

hold back, fighting the urge for release with non-movement, but he

didn't have a chance. He climaxed uncontrollably, his hands on my

shoulders, and then he withdrew to lay down beside me and breathe

deeply for a minute or two. I stirred where I lay, well aware of the

fact that my needs hadn't been seen to, but I'd rather have to use a

lot of self-control and cold showers than submit to rape.

"I apologize for the brevity of the entertainment, Grigon said at last,

rolling onto his side to put his hand on my middle again. I was

surprised to see that he didn't understand what had been done to him,

but it did save me some trouble: "We will proceed to your suggestion of

alternate amusement, and then will return for a second and longer

encounter of intimate enjoyment, eh? Let us. . ."

"Forget it," I interrupted, switching back to base language as I pushed

his hand away and sat up. "You've had enough fun for one night at my

expense. Let's discuss whether or not I've passed the test."

"You're a hard woman," he sighed, following my example as to language.

Other than that he turned to his back again, tucked his hands behind

his head, and looked up at me. "As far as the test goes, I'm not the

one to ask about it. How did it go from your end?"

"It wasn't as simple as I thought it would be," I admitted, running

both hands through my hair while my elbows rested on my knees. "Isn't

there some way to get rid of her so I can get on with this project in

peace?"

"Not without going back home," he said, watching me closely without

moving. "I'll call Dameron and arrange for retrieval."

"Forget it," I repeated, giving him a sour glance. "As far as the

project goes, nothing has changed. If I don't go, there's no one

waiting to be sent in my place. I'll have to manage just as I am."

"Manage to do what?" he asked, keeping his tone level. "Get yourself

killed? The men on this world don't fool around. If your alternate

personality comes out at the wrong time, you probably won't have the

chance to repair the damage. It's too much of a risk."

"Breathing in and out is a risk," I countered. "And you forget one

thing: I'm supposed to be Bellna. If I slip as Bellna, there's not much

harm done. After it's all over, I'll just have to stay away from people

until I'm picked up. I've lived off the land before; I won't starve or

trip over something with teeth and claws."

"I still don't like it," he said, finally sitting up straight and

folding his legs in front of him. "There are so many things that can go

wrong that we didn't dare ask the computer to list them; it would still

be working on the question. What if you can't avoid being among people?

What if you do trip over something with teeth and claws? What if you

run afoul of something we haven't even thought of? I keep getting

visions of you lying half under a bush, awash in your own blood,

complete vacancy behind those pretty blue eyes. I don't think I could

shrug off being partly responsible for the death of a young girl with

everything to live for."

I could see him fairly well in the flickering candlelight, and he

wasn't joking or being sarcastic. He really felt concern for me - but for the strangest reason.

"You're not by any chance thinking of me as being as young as I look,

are you?" I asked suddenly, bringing a flash of startlement to his

eyes. "Bellna is this young and innocent and helpless; I'm not. Putting

me half under a bush, awash in my own blood, has been tried before any

number of times. It didn't work then, and it's not guaranteed to work

now. If you don't believe that, I'll be glad to prove it by tossing you

into the fireplace. Just say the word."

"I think I can get along well enough without your kind offer," he

answered, a faint smile just beginning to curve his lips. "I'm not that

easy to toss into a fireplace, but I'm willing to stipulate the fact

that you're competent. The only question is, are you competent enough

to overcome the handicap you have? Will you be able to handle it no

matter what the situation?"

"Well, I can think of one situation when I may not be able to handle

it," I said, deciding to try some calculated misdirection. "I'm glad

you didn't try beating me with that belt; I don't know if I could have

kept control of myself."

"You think you would have lost control to Bellna?" he asked with a

frown. "Because of a beating? What makes you think she would have

dominated you at a time like that?"

"I'm not talking about her dominating me," I said, shaking my head as I

lay back down and stretched out. "In fact, it has nothing to do with

Bellna. I'm the one with an aversion to being beaten, and I've been

known to be somewhat-harsh with people who try it. I had a run-in with

a heavy whip once, and the passage of time hasn't done much to make me

forget it."

"Harsh," he echoed, a strange expression on his face as he looked down

at me. "Your eyes turn soulless when you say that. I've never had a

heavy whip used on me, but I can imagine what it must be like. Tell me

what was done to you."

"It's impossible to imagine what it's like without experiencing it," I

said, unable to keep the harshness out of my tone even though I looked

away from him. "As far as the rest of it goes, I'd rather not discuss

it."

"You're trembling," he said, his hand suddenly on my arm. "Of course we

don't have to discuss it if you don't want to. Are you all right?"

I turned my head back to him and nodded without speaking. I always

trembled when I thought about that one -particular incident, and not

just from anger. Anyone who thinks they would react differently and

more bravely is invited to try it for themselves.

"You shouldn't have much to worry about on that score at least," Grigon

said, moving his other hand to stroke my hair. "Most men on this world

would rather bed a female than beat her, especially one who looks like

Bellna. Your peasant girl role was good enough to mollify anyone who

wasn't actively bent on harming Bellna; if you run into the other kind,

you're free to defend yourself. If you were able to keep me from seeing

such deep-seated emotions when you brought my belt, you should be able

to retain control at other times. I feel considerably better about this

now."

"I'm glad to hear that," I said, producing a smile to match the one he

was wearing. "With that in mind, I think I ought to get some sleep now.

Tomorrow will be a busy day."

"Uh, yes, tomorrow," he agreed, suddenly looking more reluctant than

friendly or approving. "I suppose you will need your rest. Are you sure

there isn't anything else you need-that I could help you with?"

"Don't tell me you're asking," I said with brows high, raising' up on one elbow toward him. "What happened to the demands and orders?"

"They go with the other characters," he said, showing a grin. "In my

own persona, I don't indulge in rape unless I have to. And that 'have

to' refers to professional necessity, not last-ditch desperation. If

you tell me to walk away, it won't be the first time I've done it."

"Then I don't have to feel guilty about making you do it again," I

said, lying back down. "Good night."

"That value judgment is open to debate," he sighed, taking his hands

away from me. "Merely expressed as a wish to be granted, however, I

offer the same back to you. Sleep well."

I waited until he had gotten off the bed and had started for his

clothes before calling him back. I'd been curious to see if he really

meant what he'd said about leaving, and at that point there was no

doubt. Although rape tends to turn me stubborn, free agreement on all

sides is another matter entirely -and his abruptly terminated

performance earlier had gotten me curious about how he would do under

other circumstances. He came back to the bed with a soft laugh, took me

in his arms, then proceeded to make my struggle with Bellna less of a

struggle. My invisible guest was losing both her fear and her

reluctance, but her over enthusiasm was something left to be worked on.

I had a very pleasant time - but Bellna loved it.

Chapter 4

I awoke when the automatic sensing system I've developed over the years

told me I was no longer alone in the room. I could hear soft, whispered

conversation, and could see the sudden glow of a just-lit candle

through my slitted eyes. Whoever the intruders were, they certainly

weren't trying to sneak up on me; a second candle cut the dimness, and

another whisper joined the others. The last whisper overrode the first

two sharply, and there was a brief period of silence during which I

could see three long-skirted figures moving across the carpeting in

front of the fireplace. A fourth skirted form passed behind the first

three to the hearth, set wood in it, then worked briefly to get a fire

going. While this was being accomplished the first three opened a large

box, pawed through its hidden contents, then began arguing in very low

tones. All four of the intruders were female, and Bellna's thoughts

indicated they were servants. I hadn't been told to expect any

servants, but then I hadn't been told much of anything. They seemed to

be trying very hard not to wake me up, and the chill in the room's air

did well to convince me that staying where I was was probably my best

course of action. I yawned silently, snuggled down farther under the

covers, and continued with my best course of action.

I wasn't sleepy enough to fall asleep again, but the comfort of the

warmed silk cradling my body set my mind to drifting. It was highly

unlikely that the four women were anything other than the servants

Bellna thought them, and that meant my last-ditch effort with Grigon

the night before hadn't worn off the way I'd been afraid it might. He'd

been very attentive and considerate while making love to me, but most

mature men have no trouble separating bed time from thinking time. If

he hadn't down checked me for the project, it meant that he really had

been convinced by the story I'd told him. Not that the story wasn't

true. There are an uncounted number of times when truth will do more

for you than lying; the catch is in knowing when one of those times has

come by.

I felt a contented purr in my mind, and realized that Bellna was also

thinking about Grigon. He was talented enough to satisfy almost any woman, but especially one with Bellna's limited experience. She'd lost

control almost from the first moment he'd entered me, but I'd been able

to ignore her until Grigon began trotting out various facets of his

talent. There are certain things no woman alive can ignore, especially

if she starts out aroused. Grigon had the advantage over me the second

time, and he wasn't shy about pushing for all he was worth. I'd felt my

control slipping, fought to regain it, then realized that I couldn't

fight. My awareness was sliding into Bellna's, the two of them running

together, the resulting consciousness completely bound to the man who

was laughing softly as he watched me. Grigon obviously knew total

surrender when he saw it; the rest of our time together had been filled

with pleasure, but I'd had no say in any part of it. I'd felt nothing

but satisfaction at the time, but looking back on it was somewhat

embarrassing, just as Bellna's girlish memories were. My feeling the

way she did had caused the bonding between us, but was that any better

than having her assume control? The resulting personality didn't do

things the way I did; it might be best if I tried to avoid-"Forgive me,

Highness, yet I must awaken you," a soft voice interrupted my thoughts,

coming from right beside the bed. I opened my eyes to see a young girl,

her hands held nervously before her, no more of her expression visible

than the tremor in her voice. I was basing my guess as to her age on

the sound of her voice, but when she stepped back and turned enough so

that the candlelight touched most of her face, I saw I was right.

"Inform the Princess that her coach and escort have already arrived," a

stage-whisper came from one of the other three. "We must hasten if we

are not to anger the captain."

"You need have fear of angering none save me," I interrupted with

Bellna-huffiness, sitting up while making sure I held the covers

modestly over myself. "Who is this captain you speak of, and how dare

he make demands of me?"

"Captain Fallan is the leader of your mercenary escort, Highness," the

quavering answer came, this time directly from the girl who had

whispered before. She stood with the other two not far from the

fireplace, and all four of them looked nervous and uncomfortable.

"Though he uttered no words of demand, we were instructed to ready you

as quickly as possible. It would be foolish to ignore such

instructions, for mercenaries are known to have little patience, most

especially captains of mercenaries.

The girl stopped to breathe after getting all that out in a rush, the

other three nodding their heads in agreement. All four of them were

young, no more than sixteen at the most, and all of them were clearly

peasants. They wore long print skirts made from some cheap material,

low cut blouses that had once been white, had solid-colored shawls tied

around their hips out of the way, and were barefoot. Bellna didn't know

any of them, and couldn't understand why they were there. The female

servants who usually looked after her were trained ladies' maids,

efficient, genteel and quietly obedient.

"We were brought here by Captain Fallan for the express purpose of

assisting you to readiness," the girl next to the bed said, drawing my

eyes back to her. "We had best do so immediately."

"Had we really," I murmured, letting Bellna's annoyance touch me. "Have

you ever before been privileged to serve a Princess?" They all shook

their heads, looking confused, and I nodded. "I thought not. You have

much to learn before you will be acceptable. Bring me a wrap."

None of the four was terribly pleased with my attitude, and I could see

they were having difficulty remembering and accepting my higher social

position. If I'd been older than they it would have been easier all around, but I wasn't older and I may even have been younger. One of the

two who hadn't spoken yet, a pretty redhead with a good figure, went to

the large box I'd seen them open earlier and pulled out a long, tiearound

dress. The tie-around was the wrap I'd asked for, and when she

brought it to the bed I threw the covers aside, stood up, and let her

put it around me.

"You may bring beverages and foods to break my fast," I informed them

haughtily as I tied the tie-around. "When I have finished my repast,

you may then dress me."

The two who had done all the talking so far began sputtering as a

prelude to arguing, but I wasn't listening to anything I didn't want to

hear. I moved between the heavy curtain and the bed, found the lighter

arrangement Grigon had used the night before, lit the candle, then went

back to jerk the drapes closed in the faces of my new servants. They

were half outraged and half frightened, but I didn't think they'd make

the mistake of outright disobedience. They may not have liked it, but I

war a princess.

I spent some time behind the curtain making use of the room's chamber

pot in private, then went out to find that two of the four girls, the

two talkative ones, were gone. The other two glanced at me

uncomfortably, but kept quiet as I went to the chair in front of the

fire and sat down. Their disapproval was as loud as shouting, but as

long as they didn't say anything out loud Bellna was satisfied, which

meant that L was satisfied. I was more eager to get going than to stop

for a meal, but letting myself be rushed wouldn't have been in

character. Bellna was used to doing things her way, so obnoxious was

the way I would have to play it.

It didn't take long for the two girls to get back, and they didn't look

happy. One of them carried a tray and the other opened the door for

her, and the two of them hurried over to where I was sitting.

"Captain Fallan sends his compliments, Princess," the second one said

while the first, the one who had been nearest the bed, put the tray

across the arms of the chair I sat in. "He wishes you a hearty repast,

yet asks that you partake of it as quickly as possible. Dawn approaches

swiftly, and it is best that we be on our way before then."

"He swore when he heard you had not yet dressed," the girl who had

carried the tray blurted, her face pale in the candlelight. She had

brown hair, just as the second girl did, but looked fractionally

younger. "Had it been I he swore at, I would not have been able to

cease trembling. His anger grows as his patience thins."

"And yet the word he sent was most courteous," I pointed out, lifting

the thick wedge of bread smeared with what looked like butter. "He may

swear as he wishes in the presence of peasants, yet would my father

have his tongue out were he to do the same before me. He will wait as

long as necessary, for it is in my service that he moves. Was the lord

Grigon as displeased as he?"

"The lord spoke no word in our presence, yet did he seem touched by

annoyance," the girl answered, glancing at her friends. They weren't

used to seeing a female get away with murder when dealing with men, and

they weren't sure whether or not they liked it.

"The lord Grigon will also survive," I said with a sniff, then tackled

the fried meat and boiled oats on my plate. The meal was a quick,

slapped-together affair that Bellna didn't care for, but rather than

refuse to touch it, I simply showed distaste while slowly shoveling it

in. I did have to get the show on the road, and could intelligently

delay things only so long. The four girls stood around watching me, the

oddest expressions on their faces, their annoyance growing when they realized I was ignoring them just as much as I was ignoring the men.

Even the slowest meal has to come to an end, and the girls were all

ready for me when I indicated that the wooden tray could be taken. I'd

spent a small amount of time privately admiring the intricately carved

bone that was used in place of wood or metal plates, and could finally

understand Dameron's reference to collectors. The bone plate would have

fit well into my own collection of rare and beautiful things, but there

was no way for me to get it out of there. The only practical solution

would be to come back for it once all the excitement was over, but that

time was a long way off. I had to live through everything in between

first, and that might turn out to be easier said than done.

Once the tray was taken, I had to let myself be dressed. I would have

preferred doing it alone, without help, but that would have been out of

character. The underwear I had managed to avoid in the base was the

first thing produced, to Bellna's satisfaction and the girls'

amusement. The bottom part fit tight down to below my knees, was drawn

closed at my waist, and was made up of frilly layers of lace. The top

part was a short-sleeved, waist4ong jacket with lacings in front, made

of silk without frilly layers, as confining as a straitjacket with the

lacings closed. Raising my arms so that the under-dress could be put on

me wasn't the easy gesture it should have been, setting me to wonder

how I was supposed to fight in that rig. A light blue dress had been

supplied to take the place of the dark blue one Grigon had torn, and

then I was urged into the chair so that my boots could be put on and

laced. My underwear came to just about the top of the boots, and with

the long sleeved, high-collared dress, I was covered all over. Bellna

considered that the only decent way to appear in public, but I couldn't

help wishing there was some way to be indecent yet stay in character.

The blazing fire was making me sweat, and outdoors would hardly be

better. The nights grew cool around there, but the days were pleasantly

warm.

After my hair had been combed to Bellna's satisfaction, I led the way

out of the room. It was useful being able to leave some of the small

details to the Bellna presence, but I had to be careful not to do it

too often. Something like that could get to be a habit, and habits like

that I didn't need. The girls followed after me down the stairs, trying

not to step on my skirts in their hurry, even more upset that I was

still taking my time. At the bottom of the stairs the redhead, who was

carrying my cape, squeezed past me and got to the door to the outer

room first, then held it open. I knew she was telling the men I'd

finally gotten there, and when I reached the doorway I found two sets

of eyes on me.

Grigon stood in the same conservative dark trousers and white shirt he

had worn the day before, stood shouldered and narrow-faced, his faint

air of disapproval covered by the small bow he performed. As far as

being the center of attention, though, he could have been jumping up

and down and waving his arms and he still wouldn't have made it. The

second man dominated the room completely, despite the fact that he was

doing nothing but standing there. He was taller and broader than

Grigon, brown-haired and brown-eyed, square-faced and almost handsome

in his ugliness. His pants and knee-length boots were black, but his

shirt was a bright, blazing red, telling everyone who looked at him

that he was a mercenary. The long neck-scarf he wore was a light blue,

showing that he was employed by Prince Havro, whose main color was

light blue. My information told me his neck scarf was black when he was

unemployed, and also that the length of it ~ claimed him captain of his

group. His left hand rested on the hilt of a plain, workmanlike sword, which was sheathed in a well-worn brown leather scabbard belted around

his waist; his eyes, piercingly direct and without any trace of

backwardness, rested only on me. Bellna unfluttered in my mind at the

impact of those eyes, impressed despite herself, sharing the sense of

excitement that crackled among the four girls behind me like static

electricity. Fallan was the sort of man whose attention most females

tried to attract; it seemed only fair to let him know where he stood

with me.

"I hope, Lieutenant, that you and your men are prepared to depart," I

told his stare as I moved briskly into the center of the room. "The

journey before us is lengthy, and there is little sense in standing

about here."

"In standing about here," he echoed in a deep voice, watching without

expression as I approached him. "You are concerned as to whether or not

we are prepared to depart?"

"My Princess, allow me to present the leader of your escort," Grigon

hastily interposed as Fallan began drawing himself up to the explosion

point. "This is Captain Fallan, leader of twenty, engaged by your

father the Prince to protect you from his enemies at all costs. Where

your safety is concerned, the Captain has been authorized to speak with

your father's voice. I feel quite sure, Captain, that my Princess will

afford you full cooperation."

"I will be pleased to give the - captain, did you say, Grigon? - the

Captain's planned itinerary my personal attention," I answered as I

adjusted the sleeves and skirt of my dress, not looking directly at

either of the men. "It will undoubtedly be acceptable with only the

most minor corrections."

Grigon looked as if he wanted to close his eyes in pain, and the four

girls behind me gasped in shock; Fallan, surprisingly, showed amusement

rather than anger

"My - itinerary - has already received the approval of your father,

Princess," he said with the smallest bow it's possible for the human

body to perform. "It is therefore unnecessary for you to concern

yourself with the matter, save in compliance. As sufficient time has

already been wasted in awaiting your appearance, you may now take

yourself to the coach which stands without. My men and I seek to

complete our commission before we have attained too great an age to

attempt others after it."

"How dare you!" I gasped, using only a small part of Bellna's shocked

indignation at the way he'd spoken to me. "Perhaps it has escaped your

notice that you address someone other than a peasant, Captain! I assure

you my father will hear of your impertinence!"

"Your father has already heard of my impertinence," Fallan grinned,

moving a step closer to me. "It is undoubtedly the reason I was given

this commission. You may inform his Highness that all proceeds apace,

Lord Grigon."

"It will be my pleasure to do so, Captain," Grigon agreed with the

ghost of a smile on his narrow face. "Now, if I may have a moment alone

with the Princess before your departure.

"You may not," Fallan said, finality in his voice as his big hand

wrapped around my arm. "The Princess has expended more moments than her

share; yours must unfortunately replace one of them. This moment is the

one we depart."

Grigon's mouth opened in protest, his faint amusement gone, but he

wasn't given a chance to get any words out. Fallan was already hustling

me toward the door, his pace and effort easy enough to pretend to be

assistance, his grip solid enough to really give me no choice. Bellna was having a screaming fit in my head, furious over the way Fallan was

treating me, but I glanced back at Grigon feeling disturbed. My fellow

agent had clearly wanted to tell me something, and was just as clearly

not going to get the chance. I sputtered indignantly at Fallan just to

stay in character, but inwardly I was cursing at him in a way that

probably would have shocked him if I'd done it aloud. Missing inside

information was hazardous to the health in my line of work, and I was

missing it because of Fallan.

Apparently the information Grigon had wasn't important enough to cause

him to make a fuss over Fallan's decision. I heard him trailing along

behind with the four girls as I was taken through the door into the

early dawn. At the foot of the porch steps was a large, ornate

carriage, light blue trimmed with gold, Prince Havro's sigil on the

door facing us, six brown vair harnessed to the front of it. Vair were

tall, doe-eyed draft animals, four-legged and soft-coated, maned and

tailed and usually even-tempered. Fallan's twenty were also mounted on

vair, though not at the time we left the lodge. Right then they were

standing around looking bored, but when they saw us they immediately

perked up.

"Your four wenches must accompany you in the coach," Fallan told me as

I hastily lifted my skirts to keep from tripping down the steps. "I

lack sufficient vair to mount them among my men, and would not wish the

distraction even had I the vair. They will ride with you."

"They are not mine, therefore may they be left behind!" I snapped,

annoyed at the way he was treating me, but even more frustrated by his

suggestion. When Clero's men caught up with that coach, I wanted to be

the only one in it. If attackers become confused about who the target

is, they tend to wipe out everyone in sight just to be on the safe

side.

"They will not be left behind," he answered, more interested in

reaching for the handle of the coach door than in arguing with me. "It

is necessary that they accompany you, and they shall do so. Allow me to

assist you into the coach."

His hand on my arm forced me up the narrow steps and into the coach,

letting me go only when I made the obvious choice between standing up

all bent over and sitting down on the right-hand seat. The seething

Bellna was doing bubbled through my mind and body, involving me more

than a little. Fallan was making an occasional, casual attempt to treat

me with the respect a princess was supposed to be given, but only if

the attempt didn't put him out any. I pulled angrily at my skirt to

straighten it under me, fighting off the urge to tell Fallan exactly

what I thought of him-in terms guaranteed to make him come after me. A

boot in the face would teach him to watch his mouth when he spoke to

me, not to mention how personally pleasant I would find-I shook my head

hard, making sure that line of thought was cut off cold. Bellna's

frothing was beginning to affect my annoyance, and I couldn't let that

happen. I needed Fallen to help me spring Clero's trap, and even if I

didn't, beating up on him would be somewhat out of character. I could

sit there and scowl at the back of his head, but that was all I had

better do.

At Fallan's gesture the four girls hurried to the coach, then climbed

inside wearing harried expressions. They weren't about to disobey

Fallan and not enter the coach, but my very obvious displeasure was

making them uneasy. The first three to scramble inside made sure to

take the opposite seat, as far from me as possible, but that left the

fourth one, the redhead, out in the cold or at least out of a seat.

There just wasn't any more room on the other side, and I was sitting in the middle of my seat. Another man had come up to join Fallan at the

coach door, this one wearing a light blue neck scarf of his

lieutenant's length, and when the redhead hesitated, half in and half

out of the coach, he decided to take advantage of the situation.

"Should there be no room for this one, Captain, I will gladly take her

with me," he said with a grin, then slid his hand up under her cheap

print skirt. "Her presence will pass the time quite pleasantly."

The girl gasped and reddened when the mercenary's hand reached its

target, but she still had nowhere to go. Her left arm clutched my cape

to her body as both mercenaries laughed, and then her widened eyes

closed in misery. She couldn't climb in and she couldn't climb out, and

Bellna was smugly pleased to see her like that. What happened to

peasants was of no concern to a princess, the two men were enjoying the

girl's discomfort, and even the other three peasant girls were

snickering to themselves. No one felt the least amount of pity for the

victim caught in the middle, but I've never been bright about things

like that. I reached out and took the girl's right arm, hauled her past

me to the seat to my right, then turned my head toward Fallan.

"I had thought grown men would be more difficult to divert from their

duty," I observed in Bellna's sleekest, nastiest tone. "Apparently, my

father's enemies will need do no more than dangle some pleasant wench

before you, and you will be theirs. I now see the necessity for the

presence of these peasants: to allow you to retain memory of your

commission."

The second man was as pretty-handsome as Fallan was ugly, and he hadn't

liked the way I'd taken his toy away. My speech turned his frown into a

scowl, but before he could vocalize his displeasure, Fallan's big hand

was on his shoulder.

"It is long past time to depart, Ralnor," Fallan said in a strangely

even tone, his eyes unmoving from my face.

"Have the men mount up." he waited for Ralnor to move away with a curt

nod, then closed the coach door with a slam. "As for you, Missy," he

continued in a lower tone, looking up at me through the window,

"Princess or no, injured sensibilities or no, you had best learn to

curb your tongue. Should I find it necessary to remonstrate with you

for impertinence as your father has given me leave to do, you will find

the occasion less than pleasant."

With that he turned and walked behind the coach, undoubtedly to get his

vair, leaving me to cope with the painful resonance of Bellna's shock.

My uninvited guest was finding it impossible to believe that her father

would have given Fallan permission to keep her in line, and was

scandalized at the mere suggestion that he had. For my own part I was

fairly certain Fallan was exaggerating if not lying outright, a

possibility supported by the uncertain look on Grigon's face. The

Absari agent was still standing on the lodge porch, watching the

goings-on but not joining them; when he saw me looking at him his

expression turned determined and he started down the steps, but he was

too late. Fallan shouted an order, another voice echoed it, and the

coach lurched briskly away from the lodge.

"I cannot fathom the reason you have placed yourself in jeopardy for

me," a faint voice said from my right. "You are a Princess and I am no

one."

I turned my head to see the red-haired girl, backed as far away from me

on the seat as she could get, still clutching my cape, vast confusion

in her big blue eyes. At the same time I became aware of the fact that

the other three girls were also staring at me, all of them practically

shouting that I'd stepped out of character. They weren't far wrong, but I didn't want them to go on believing it.

"I, placed in jeopardy?" I asked with brows raised high, pulling my

skirt away from the redhead as though she might contaminate it. "You

speak foolishly, girl, for you know not what you say. Think you that

lout toyed with you? As you say, you are less than nothing and I am a

princess. To put hands upon the servant of a princess is to offer

insult to the princess herself, and that I shall not allow. That fool

of a captain is now aware of it."

"And yet he promised you punishment," the girl whispered, still hugging

my cape. "You cannot know what punishment is at the hands of one such

as he."

"Nor shall I know," I smirked, waving the point away with one hand. "He

attempts to frighten me with child's tales which I shall not, of

course, believe. Have no fear, girl. You stand beneath my protection."

I turned my attention to the forest we rode through, pretending I

didn't see the looks exchanged among the three girls opposite me. They

were now probably considering me no more than a pompous brat, which was

just the way I wanted it. When the attack came, their first thought

would be to put as much distance between me and them as possible -

which just might keep them alive.

It didn't take long before our party reached a wide road through the

woods, and shortly thereafter the real boredom began. Although the day

was beginning to be pretty, there's just so much you can get out of

forests and fields and more forests. My mercenary escort rode all

around the coach, their neck scarves streaming out behind them, their

eyes constantly in motion in all directions. The four girls in the

coach untied their shawls from around their waists and retied them

around their shoulders against the early morning chill, then began

discussing in low tones the various mercenaries they could see from the

coach, possibly to take their minds off how cold they still were. In

all the layers of clothes I'd been stuffed into, cold was the least of

my worries; once the sun came up for real, I'd be sweating like a metal

bucket filled with ice. I moved in discomfort, silently cursing the way

my layered underwear made it feel as if I were sitting on something

lumpy. Only chains could have tied me tighter than those clothes, and I

didn't like the feeling. I stared out of the window on my left

morosely, trying to block out the giggling of the peasant girls, and

suddenly a beautiful red bird flashed out of the trees, pacing us with

lazy wing-beats for a moment before turning away back to the forest. I

watched the bird until it disappeared, delighting in its beauty and

freedom, not realizing that I was being watched just as closely until I

noticed Fallan. The mercenary captain rode his vair not five feet from

the coach, and when he saw my eyes on him he urged his mount closer.

"I had not known you had a smile of such beauty, Princess," he said,

looking at me in a way that made Bellna shiver in my mind. "A pity it

is so often displaced by a pout."

He grinned then and sent his vair on ahead and out of sight, leaving

behind a deep silence in the coach. All four of the girls were staring

at me wide-eyed, their faces reflecting the thrilled excitement Bellna

was sending racing through my bloodstream. Fallan had actually shown a

faint interest in me, and Bellna was almost ready to consider it a

promise of undying love. All of the girls, Bellna included, were

beginning to have a crush on the big mercenary, and I felt like

groaning. I hadn't had a crush on a man since I'd seen Starman

Courageous without his chest pads and girdle; and wasn't about to be

caught up in the nonsense. As far as I was concerned Fallan was nothing more than a pain in the rump, and on that point I would make the

decision stick. I turned back to stare out the window again, ignoring

an urge to lean out and look ahead that wasn't mine, and worked at

sticking to my resolve.

The motion of the coach put me to sleep for a while, but I was awake

again when we reached the inn. We'd only been on the road for a few

hours, and at first I didn't understand why we were stopping. It took a

minute before I realized that Tildorani ate four meals a day rather

than three, and it was time for the second meal. I wasn't particularly

hungry, but I was too bored not to be looking forward to the stop.

The inn was a large, three-story yellow and white house with a high

wall and gate, a stable not far from the house, and a wide entrance

court. Stable boys hurried over to help with the mercenaries' mounts,

and Fallan himself came to hand me out of the coach. His touch on my

arm was deferential rather than demanding, and combined with the same

look he had given me earlier it was enough to turn Bellna shy with

fluster. I, however, hadn't forgotten how pushy he'd been at the lodge;

when I climbed out of the coach I made sure to come down right on his

foot. The instep is a high pain target, which took care of the halfamused,

half-interested look he'd been wearing.

"Oh, how clumsy of me!" I exclaimed immediately, as he closed his eyes

and flinched. "I do hope you will forgive me, Captain."

"Certainly, Princess," he got out through his teeth, then looked at me

with a lot less friendliness. "Had the misstep not been an accident, it

would certainly have been punished. As it was an accident, it will

certainly be forgiven."

"How fortunate, then, that it was an accident," I said with a pleasant

smile, ignoring the fact that he had told me he suspected it wasn't.

"Shall we enter the inn now?"

"As soon as I am able to walk again," he muttered, turning back to the

coach to gesture the four girls out. They came out one at a time,

making sure to touch the ground nowhere near Fallan's feet, and the way

they loosened their shawls reminded me how uncomfortable I was. It

wasn't Fallan's fault that I'd been closed into layer after layer of

straitjacket, but having gotten some of my own back from him even

raised my spirits about that.

"This way, Princess," Fallan directed, and led off all alone toward the

inn, I followed after him, the girls followed after me, and the rest of

Fallan's men completed the parade. The only one to hurry was Fallan's

lieutenant, Ralnor, who hustled a little to catch up to Fallan before

the mercenary captain reached the inn. The two of them paused in the

doorway, blocking the parade, and I realized they were checking out the

interior before letting me walk in. It seemed like a sensible idea,

even though Clero's men shouldn't have had the time to get there yet.

But then, Fallan and his men didn't know about the timetable we'd

established, and I wasn't about to tell them.

The appearance of the inn turned out to be acceptable. Fallan and

Ralnor moved farther inside and then stepped apart, making an aisle for

me to walk through. I used the aisle casually, showing nothing of the

upset the Bellna presence felt over what I'd done to Fallan. It was

almost like looking out at the world through two sets of eyes, one mine

and the other-well, mine also but strangely different. One way Fallan

looked big and roughly attractive and annoyingly in the way, the other

he was an overpoweringly attractive man of violence and sex appeal. It

wasn't too difficult keeping the two views separated, but it still felt

strange.

The inside of the inn was cozy, in a rustic, backward way. The ground floor seemed to be all one room, except fur a part at the back

separated by a wall and door, which probably hid the cooking

facilities. Most of the back wall was taken up by a fireplace, filled

at the moment with nothing but fresh, unburned logs. The numerous

windows streaming sunlight were uncurtained, and the animal4at wall

lamps were unlit. More than a dozen travelers sat about at trestle

tables of various sizes, and every one of them turned to stare when we

made our entrance. A short, thin man came out of the door in the far

wall, started when he saw us, then hurried over.

"Forgive me for not having known of your presence sooner, Captain," he

said to Fallan with a few absentminded bows, his eyes glued to me with

a glitter. "May I be of service to you?"

"The Princess honors your house in order to dine," Fallan answered, his

voice cold and dangerous. 'It were best that you not disappoint her

expectations."

"The Princess!" the small man gasped, utterly delighted. "Highness, my

house is yours! Pray enter and be seated!"

This time the bowing was for me, along with the stares of everyone in

the room. Considering the fact that Fallan was supposed to be

protecting me, he was being awfully generous with information as to who

I was. Most nobles traveled around on Tildor without telling people who

they were; that was why the innkeeper had addressed himself to Fallan;

he hadn't expected to be told who I was. As a decoy for the real

princess it didn't matter much to me, but Fallan wasn't supposed to

know I was a decoy. I frowned as I followed the innkeeper across the

floor and tried to catch Fallan's eye, but the big mercenary seemed to

be avoiding looking in my direction.

The innkeeper led us all the way to the left, to a corner area standing

apart from the rest of the room. The tables there were crafted rather

than thrown together, short lengths of white cloth covered them, and

four or five big, well-carved chairs stood together in a corner. My

host hurried over to one of the chairs, dragged it to the head of the

largest table, tossed aside the plain chair standing there, then bowed

to me again.

"Your seat, Highness," he burbled, thrilled with the entire situation.

"Allow me to assist you.

"I will assist her," Fallan said, totally untouched by the way the

small man's face fell. "You may return to your hearth and have our meal

prepared. Those three wenches are to be fed in your kitchens; the

fourth will remain here to serve the Princess. My lieutenant and some

of my men will accompany you.

Ralnor moved two steps off to wait for the innkeeper, who looked

nervous rather than insulted. Fallan's lieutenant would be there to

make sure there was nothing added to our meal that shouldn't be added,

and if something aroused his suspicions he might not take the time to

ask questions. The innkeeper nodded his head in resignation, bowed to

me again, then led Ralnor and his four mercenaries and the three darkhaired

girls toward the door in the far wall. The only one of the girls

left was the redhead, and she looked nervous for some odd reason. I

went to the ornate chair and took my place, then watched Fallan seat

himself to my right, his back to the wall our table stood near. His men

arranged themselves very obtrusively around us, and Fallan turned to

glance at the still standing redhead.

"Place yourself behind the Princess and to her left, where you may

serve her without intrusion," Fallan directed, stretching out

comfortably in his chair. "Yon inn wenches will serve no more than my

men and I." The girl turned her head to see the three inn girls who were hurrying

toward us, two of them carrying wooden trays filled with metal goblets

for the men, one of them with a silver tray and a single, intricately

wrought gold-colored goblet. The goblet probably was gold, but even,

though the redhead quickly rounded the back of my chair to jake it from

the inn girl, the thing never reached me.

"The Princess does not take wine at such an early hour of the day,"

Fallan announced, stopping both girls in their tracks. "Return that

goblet, and fetch a pot of andilla."

The inn girl, looking frightened, sketched a fast curtsy and headed

back the way she came, leaving the redhead to step back behind my

chair. Bellna didn't understand what was going on any more than I did,

which made it my option to comment.

"How thoughtful of you to look after my wants so carefully, Captain," I

commented, finally bringing those eyes directly to me. "And how clever

of you to be aware of them without consulting me."

"My commission demands both thoughtfulness and cleverness, Princess,"

Fallan answered with a faint grin, accepting a copper-colored goblet

from one of the inn girls. "You will find that I shall not shirk my

duty."

"Ah, you are aware, then, of your duty." I nodded in approval, then

looked at him with exaggerated sweetness. "Would you, in that event, be

so kind as to explain it to me? It has seemed, till now, that the

demands of duty have escaped you entirely."

A small gasp came from behind my chair, echoed in some part by the

Bellna presence. Both Bellna and the redhead thought I was pushing it

with Fallan, something neither one of them would have done. I was

pushing it, but I had to find out what he was up to.

"Appearances are often deceiving, Princess," Fallan answered with an

impassive drawl. "One often finds it necessary to see the last of a

series of actions before the first of those actions is clarified. Now

comes your andilla."

Which ended the discussion. The inn girl with the silver tray was back,

this time bringing a beautifully designed ceramic pitcher and mug, the

pitcher presumably filled with the warm, chocolatey drink called

andilla. The redhead stepped out from behind my chair, took the mug and

pitcher from the tray, poured me a mugful of andilla, then disappeared

behind my chair again. I still didn't know what Fallan was up to, still

didn't understand why the redhead had to serve me instead of one of the

inn girls, and didn't want any part of the andilla. I could see faint

wisps of steam rising from the mug, and didn't much care for chocolate

drinks even when they were cold. I tugged at the high collar of my

dress and moved in annoyance in the big chair, but that did me as much

good as questioning Fallan had. It was fairly clear that the meal stop

would not be a particularly pleasant one.

My guess didn't prove to be entirely wrong. The men had their wine

poured for them, and then the food began coming. Omelets and light

soups and thin cuts of meat, lightly fried fowl and vegetables and

fresh-baked bread, and all of it was brought to me first. During an

assignment I usually believe in eating whenever I can, knowing the next

chance I get might be a long time in coming, but that was pushing it

even for me. I tasted all of the dishes out of curiosity, finding them

underseasoned but otherwise acceptable, then spent some time watching

everyone else eat. Fallan's men did their eating standing up, and

Fallan, although seated, spent as much time as they did looking around.

Their goblets were refilled almost as soon as they emptied them, but

none of them was drinking at all hard. Most mercenaries drank wine the way other people drink water, or at least that was what Bellna

believed; true or not true, I could see they were watching their

intake. It gave me the impression they were expecting trouble, and that

set me to wondering what they knew that I didn't. Clero's men could

show up at any time, but Fallan and company shouldn't have known that.

Our meal was just about over when the trouble happened. It was nothing

more than a simple scuffle, but it drew the attention of Fallan

himself. Two men seated on the other side of the room, merchants or

landed gentry by their clothing, tried to come over to my table for

some reason or other. Fallan's men barred their way, telling them to go

back to their own table, but the two strangers disagreed. Hard words

followed, swords came half out of scabbards, and Fallan, with a snapped

order to the redhead to stay behind my chair, got up and joined the

party. Once he got there the two men forgot about swords and tried

bluster, but it was clear to everyone in the room that the argument was

over. Fallan wasn't the leader of his men because someone had appointed

him to the job, and both of the strangers wilted visibly under his

stare. I leaned back in my chair again, disappointed to a large degree

that the argument wasn't the prelude to the attack I was waiting for.

That attack would put my neck on the line, but it would also give me

the chance to get off that planet. Dameron's so important job was

beginning to bore me, and boredom was more dangerous than attack. It

made the most alert careless, the fastest sluggish, the brightest

uncaring; boredom had killed more agents than weapons and ambush, and I

didn't want my name added to the list. It didn't help that Bellna was

even more bored than I was; that sort of reaction doesn't need

reinforcement.

I suppose I could say that what I did next was an attempt to end the

boredom, and to a great extent it would be true. The real truth is that

when I get bored, I also get an irresistible urge to liven things up.

I've had trouble because of that particular urge, but nothing that I

didn't consider well worth the fun involved. I didn't often indulge the

urge during an assignment, but when I saw Fallan watching his men as

they escorted the two intruders back to their table on the other side

of the inn, the idea came to me all at once. His goblet stood to my

right, still half filled with wine, and it didn't take very long to

empty it down my throat. For a very young wine it wasn't bad, but

drinking it was only half of what I had in mind. The other half was

refilling the goblet to its previous level with the andilla I hadn't

touched, the andilla I'd been given because of Fallan. It seemed only

fair to return the favor and then see what developed. The Bellna

presence giggled nervously as I sat back again, but was too delighted

with what she'd-I'd done to really regret it. The boredom was taken

care of, and that was what counted.

No more than another couple of minutes passed before Fallan came back

to my side of the table. He stopped behind his chair but didn't sit,

instead looking around before glancing at me.

"It is more than time that we continued on, Princess," he said,

absently reaching for the goblet he'd left unemptied. "There has

already been one incident, and the next may be less easily seen to. It

seems I was ill-advised to announce your identity so openly."

No, don't tell me! I responded, but only to myself as I stared up at

him in silence. He was noticing the obvious pretty damned late, but

somehow he seemed more satisfied than contrite. He was still up to

something, but questioning him would have been a waste of breath. I sat

instead and watched him raise his goblet to his lips as he continued to

look around, saw him take a good, healthy swallow-then watched straight-faced as he spit out the unexpected drink. Andilla isn't bad

when it's warm; cold, it tastes very much like unwashed armpits. Half a

dozen men at a nearby table laughed uproariously, obviously having seen

what I'd done and eagerly awaiting the trap to close. Fallan wiped his

mouth with the back of his hand as his eyes moved to me, and Bellna was

suddenly all out of giggles.

"I would know the meaning of this gift, Princess," he ground out, the

expression on his face and the blaze in his eyes enough to replace the

recent laughter at the nearby table with immediate silence. "has it

some significance which eludes me?"

"I merely sought to emulate your actions, Captain," I answered. in the

most innocent tone I could manage, at the same time rising from my

chair. "Your anticipation of my wishes was enviable, so much so that I

attempted the same for you. Have I failed so dismally, then?"

He stared at me briefly without answering, returned the goblet to the

table with a thud, then came closer to take my arm.

"Had you truly sought to anticipate my wishes, you would have bared

your bottom, Princes," he growled very low, his hand closing a bit more

on my arm. "Another doing such as this, and I will make the effort for

you. For that you have my word."

"Why, Captain, whatever do you mean?" I asked, oddly feeling the fear

Bellna experienced coursing through my body. Fallan's threat had