PART IPART I
 
July, in the Year 
of our Lord 2241
 
CHAPTER 1
 
"... and so we gather to commission UNS Galactic, the greatest ship ever built, 
the pinnacle of human interstellar endeavor."
 
Surreptitiously, to avoid the attention of the pulsing hok>-cams focused on the 
dais, I eased my aching leg, fixing a glazed stare at Admiral Dubrovik's broad 
back and the crowded London auditorium beyond. At my left Derek Carr smiled in 
sympathy.
 
Would old Dubrovik ever wind down? As SecGen and nominal Commander in Chief of 
all U.N. forces I could have blocked his posting to Lunapolis Command, but I'd 
interfered enough in U.N. Naval appointments over the years. These days, I tried 
to limit myself to where it would do the most good. Amid the dignitaries and 
officials patiently listening were a considerable number of officers Id advanced 
because of competence rather than connections.
 
Yet also among the sober blue uniforms and starched dress whites were a few 
disgruntled Earth First sympathizers, disgusted that I wouldn't support retaking 
the few interstellar colonies that had achieved independence. There might even 
have been a few enviro fanatics, although zealots of that stripe were rare in 
the Navy. No doubt among the audience were quite a number who didn't give 
Christ's damn, as long as no one tampered with their pay billet
 
**... not since Earth's first convulsive leap into space two hundred fifty years 
ago have so many individuals, so many thousands of diverse corporations, 
participated in a public project.
 
And with good reason; their profits were enormous. Galactic was an error of 
judgment; I'd let myself be persuaded by Admiralty's unbounded enthusiasm and 
Senator Robbie Roland's deal with the Territorial Party, our opposition in the 
General Assembly, to give us a free hand on the Naval budget through the next 
Secretarial election—if we shared the lucrative construction contracts with 
their allies. What we needed were Alpha-class vessels like my first command, UNS 
Hibernia, not the vast and expensive behemoth we'd constructed.
 
I grimaced past my wife, Arlene, to my old friend Admiral Jeff Thorne, with whom 
I'd shared my misgivings.
 
Yes, Galactic, along with the nearly completed Olympiad and men1 two sister 
ships on the drawing boards, would help seed new colonies, but home system had 
been establishing colonies for nearly two centuries, and the existing colonies 
needed servicing too. I doubted it would prove efficient to send a huge vessel 
such as Galactic to supply Derek Carr's home colony of Hope Nation.
 
I glanced at the huge holoscreen, and the magnificent vessel that dominated its 
view. Lights blazing, she floated high above the planet, off Earthport Orbiting 
Station, at whose Naval wing she'd been built.
 
I shook my head. After the fiasco with UNS Wellington many years past, there was 
no thought of assembling a throng of dignitaries on ship for her dedication. 
We'd been lucky to escape with our lives that day, after the fish attacked. The 
aliens were gone now, victims of the caterwaul stations I'd devised. From time 
to time, in the dark nights when Lord God reproached me, I wondered whether to 
add genocide to the roll of my sins.
 
"Could even SecGen Seafort have imagined just twelve years ago, as he began his 
second administration, when the world was reeling from the Transpop Rebellion 
and not yet recovered from the attacks of the dread fish mat he did so much to 
abate—"
 
My bream came in a hiss. Arlene's bony fingers squeezed my right elbow in 
warning.
 
I scowled at her. 'The damned sycophant! Did you hear what—"
 
My wife leaned close, the ghost of a smile smoothing the wrinkles that caressed 
her still-bright blue eyes. "Cover your lips, Nick. They'll read you."
 
"By Lord God, let them. I—" Common sense finally intruded. I subsided, seething.
 
To my left, a cough that might have been a chuckle. I shot Derek Carr a steely 
gaze that would have withered him as a Naval midshipman, but unfortunately those 
days were decades past My old friend had a laser glare of his own mat had held 
him in good stead since he'd become First Stad-holder of Hope Nation, and he was 
unimpressed by mine.
 
"... with her vast cargo holds, a crew of eight hundred ninety, transporting 
over three thousand passengers, bristling with armaments, she'll carry U.N. 
prestige and authority to our far-flung colonies across the infinite reaches 
of..."
 
Derek leaned close. "He does go on."
 
I turned to Jeff Thorne, whispering. "Do you hear? Now the idiot's making 
policy. 'Carry U.N. authority' indeed. As if we need a warship these days to 
deal with our own dominions."
 
"With some of them, you might." He raised a hand to forestall my reply. "I think 
Dubrovik's wrapping it up."
 
"... and so, to commission UNS Galactic, I have the honor to present His 
Excellency Nicholas Ewing Seafort, Secretary-General of the United Nations." 
Turning, the Admiral flashed me a pleased smile, like a toddler expecting a 
parent's approval.
 
Welcoming applause rolled across the crowded hall, whose coolers labored to 
counteract the sweltering London summer.
 
I groped for my silver-headed cane, hoisted myself from my seat, and winked at 
Artene, graving, gaunt, and lovely. "Shall I fire Dubrovik right nowr I was 
half-serious.
 
Her tips barely moved. "Of course, dear. The Territorials would love a martyr as 
a candidate, next election.**
 
With a sigh, I limped to me waiting microphones.
 
"Voyager is landing," Mark TUnitz, head of my security detail, muttered into his 
throat mike. Our hen* set down precisely on the cross that marked the center of 
Devon Naval Academy's pad.
 
TUnitz was an assignee of U,N, Investigations. General Donner was drawn from 
U.N.A.F., Karen Bums from Naval Intelligence, other security agents from New 
York Police Command. An odd system, but giving all services a hand in the 
SecGen's protection deterred the formation of a praetorian guard, with the 
resultant interservice jealousies.
 
I climbed out, under the sullen Devon afternoon sun. A security joey was 
waiting, to hover at my arm lest I slip. "Do I look feeble?" My voice was 
caustic. Perhaps I feared the answer. "Let me be. Here, Artene.** I extended a 
hand.
 
Ducking through the hatchway, she climbed slowly down toe steps. "What's wrong, 
Nicky? You've been cross all day."
 
"Nothing." My knee ached. "I hate those public ceremonies,** I forced a smile as 
Commandant Hazen hurried to greet us. Overhead, the helis and jets mat 
constituted my unwieldy protection detail moved off.
 
Normally, security accompanied me everywhere, but from my first administration 
I'd drawn the line at Academy or the Naval wing at Earthport. Under no 
circumstances would I allow Tilnitz and his eclectic crew to pretend I needed 
guarding from the United Nations Naval Service, in which I'd served so 
memorably. I would wander the Academy grounds unprotected, except by the 
Commandant or his staff. It wasn't, after all, as if Academy were an open 
campus.
 
I looked about. A tall iron fence surrounded the compound, meeting itself at the 
guardhouse gate. As always, mulberry and juniper abounded, tended by Academy 
staff and cadets. Above, tall maples tent then- shade, Devon Academy had once 
been far from town, bat shops and pubs had sprung up to serve it Still, our 
buildings were set well back from me fence, obscured by the extensive plantings, 
which allowed a modicum of privacy,
 
Artene and I had just escaped the huge reception that followed my dedication of 
Galactic, and my cheeks were sore with the aftermath of my frozen smile. At 
least, standing about greeting dignitaries, I'd had time for a few amiable words 
with Derek Carr, before he went off to rejoin his Hope Nation trade legation, 
I'd be seeing him again in a day or so, at my retreat outside Washington.
 
"Welcome, Mr. SecGen." Hazen came to attention. Florid, the hint of a paunch 
lurking underneath his Naval blues, he still managed to look distinguished, a 
few touches of gray gracing his locks.
 
I rammed his salute. "As you ware." For a moment my heart eased, Devon was home 
to me. I frowned. Had been home, before my betrayal had forfeited all claim to 
it Hastily, I turned my thoughts elsewhere. I'd made my peace with my 
transgressions years before, or thought I had. Either Lord God would forgive me, 
or He would not
 
As we walked the unchanged footpath to the administration building I scrutinized 
the Commandant I'd met but once, at a Rotunda reception. Once, the Navy had been 
my entire life, and I wouldn't have dreamed of allowing the Board of Admiralty 
to appoint a Commandant I didn't know well. But since the Transpop Rebellion, 
I'd been ever more preoccupied with civilian issues, and the nurture of our 
economy.
 
I cleared my throat "You've met Ms. Seafort, I believe?" Arlene, knowing me 
well, smoothly took over the conversation while I brooded. A former officer 
herself, she knew Academy as well as I.
 
We strolled past the Commandant's quarters I'd once occupied, past dorms I'd 
inhabited as a cadet. Knowing my wishes—my aides had made them clear—Hazen 
hadn't interrupted Academy routine to put the cadets on show for me; his charges 
were at their usual classes. Nonetheless, the compound seemed almost deserted. 
Typically, a handful of cadets could be found scurrying about on special duty 
or, as punishment detail, set to manicuring the lawn with meticulous precision.
 
Trie Commandant seemed to read my thoughts. "I canceled outdoor activities, Mr. 
SecGen." He glanced upward, shading his eyes. "Sorry, 1 should have brought 
lined umbrellas."
 
I snorted my disdain. "1 don't need shielding." Nonetheless, I hurried my pace.
 
"We've a radiation alert for the rest of the week, despite the seeding. If the 
gamma count gets much worse I'll send most of the joeys to Farside." Lunar 
Academy, whose warrens were on die far side of the moon, where cadets did 
advanced training. "Over time, it's getting better," He shrugged. "So they say, 
but were you ever kept indoors at DevoaT"
 
"That was a half century ago." I made a face. "Things change." To my relief, we 
were nearing the Commandant's quarters. My knee throbbed, and besides, I wanted 
Arlene out of the newly menacing sun.
 
"How about Grierson?" I looked across the gleaming rosewood conference table.
 
Sergeant M'bovo replied; the boy was of his barracks. "Good attitude, willing 
worker, sir. Still waiting to see his Vail." Give your all, we cadets had been 
exhorted. Over the years the "Navy all" had become a catchword, shortened to 
theYall.
 
"He's only fifteen," Arlene's tone was gentle. Where I was often harsh with 
green young middies, she tended to be more kind. Her parenting, even more than 
my own, had nourished our son, Philip. Of course, in his adolescence even P.T. 
had learned that Arlene's tolerance had limits. Lord God protect the youngster 
who overstepped them.
 
Not so many years ago, as Philip had reached manhood, Arlene and I had spoken 
seriously of having more children. But, with the cares of office... I signed. 
Over my long career youngsters seemed to seek me out, as if expecting guidance 
or assurance only I could provide. In return, I'd gotten too many of diem 
killed.
 
"Mr. SecOetiT Hazen held the file, waiting.
 
I snapped my attention back to our conference, "Very well, we'll see." I slid 
his folder into the "undecided** pile. Though a putar screen was inset into the 
table in front of each seat, the Navy cherished its ttaditioni. One of them was 
using old-style paper folders for cadet candidate files,
 
The purpose of my Academy jaunt was twofold. First, Devon was one of the few 
places outside my own walled home in which I was free of the ubiquitous 
mediamen. The Academy pounds were closed, and woe betide the heli that overflew 
it
 
My other motive was more complex. Once, as Academy Commandant, I'd selected a 
few cadets as special aides. It hadn't worked out; I'd gotten them massacred in 
one of my senseless follies. Yet my successors, blind to my misconduct, 
continued the tradition,
 
Years later, when I returned to public life as a Senator,
then as SecGen, I'd tired of the self-serving blather of my politically astute 
assistants, and sought out younger adjutants. I'd coopted midshipmen fresh out 
of Academy, and to my dismay, watched them grow into political creatures as 
unacceptable as those they replaced
 
The solution I'd devised was to select them at Academy, before they became 
middies, men—with an occasional exception—send them to a year or two aboard 
ship. Thereafter, when they were offered a shoreside posting at the U.N. 
Rotunda, I had at least a hope they'd remember their traditions and the 
discipline of Naval life. Most of mem did, as long as I didn't keep them too 
long. My current aide, Charlie Witrek, was a willing joey, one I'd come to like, 
but in a week he would be rotated back aloft, and we'd bring down some middy I'd 
chosen in previous years.
 
The system worked well, overall. Of course, none of the selectees must have any 
idea he'd been chosen to ripen in the fleet, else he wouldn't take his shipside 
duties seriously. For that I needed the cooperation of Academy's staff, and of 
course I had it They too wanted their minions to mature as young midshipmen, and 
if mat weren't enough, none cared to risk a SecGen's enmity.
 
Still, I found the selection process uncomfortably reminiscent of Final Cull, 
the miserable job of choosing who, among the myriad of applicants, was to attend 
Academy. One of my great pleasures as SecGen had been to return to the Navy the 
long-sought privilege of selecting its own officer candidates.
 
Today, for two hours, Hazen, Arlene, and I reviewed files with the staff 
sergeants, noting which youngsters showed promise.
 
Over the years Arlene and I had developed a fine working relationship. By my 
authority, she sat in on many of the conferences I was required to endure. Here, 
at Academy, her views were particularly valuable; we'd been cadets together and 
shared a knowledge and love of the Navy.
 
I opened another folder. "What about—"
 
The door flew open. "Commandant!" A sergeant, his breath coining hard. A 
red-haired midshipman was close behind.
 
Hazen reared up. "How dare you burst in like—"
 
"We couldn't reach you; your caller was set to 'don't disturb/ We've had an, uh, 
accident Suit training, the pressure room. Rve cadets..."
 
I grimaced, recalling cadet days. First, Sarge had taught us how to suit up. 
We'd endured his drills several days in a row, skylarking when his eye wasn't on 
us. Then, one day, after suiting, Sarge sent us one by one into a foggy room 
with an airlock at each end. About half of us, when we emerged, turned green. 
The other half had known how to seal their suits properly.
 
The five cadets who'd gotten a whiff of the gas would suffer no more man a day's 
sore stomach and the indignity of losing their lunch. A tough lesson, but far 
more gentle than that of unforgiving space.
 
"Take them to sickbay, Oregon." Hazen shot me an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry, 
Mr. SeeGen,"
 
"Sir, two are dead. The rest... the medics are working on them, but—n
 
"Oh, Lord God." My voice was strained.
 
The Commandant blinked. "Impossible! How? What..."
 
**I don't know!" Oregon sounded near
 
I scrambled to my feet, lurched to the door.
 
"Nick, wait" Arlene.
 
I paid her no heed. Leaning heavily on my cane, I strode through the admin wing, 
outside to the late-afternoon sun, along the walkway toward the classrooms, the 
dorms, the suiting chamber halfway across the base.
 
By interfering, I was muscling in on Hazen's prerogatives, but anxiety drove me 
onward. Cadets didn't die in suiting practice. Not at Devon. Farside was another 
matter, there was no appeal from the laws of vacuum. If some of our
charges were dead—I took a deep breath—Academy faced a scandal. Someone had been 
unforgivably negligent And the Commandant would write letters this night, that 
would ravage families' lives.
 
By the time I neared the classroom area, all had caught up with me: the staff 
sergeants wbo'd joined our conference, the Commandant, Arlene, the agonized 
Sergeant Gregori, the middy who'd burst in with him.
 
Hazen panted to Oregon, "Full report!**
 
"Aye aye, sir. I took Krane Barracks to the suiting room at seventeen hundred 
hours. Later than usual, but we were keeping them out of the sun.** The sergeant 
paused for breath. "Twenty-nine cadets; Cadet Robbins was confined to barracks. 
I had them help each other suit up. Same as always, sir."
 
"Get on with it!**
 
I opened my mouth for a rebuke, but held my peace. Hazen was in charge, not I.
 
"Then I sent them through. Midshipman Anselm, here, was helping. A canister of 
the emetic was already in place; Sergeant Booker used the chamber this morning. 
The first four cadets went through without incident"
 
Where in God's own Hell was the suiting chamber? I'd never remembered it as so 
distant
 
Gregori slowed his pace, to match mine. "Cadet Santini doubled over as she came 
out the lock. I helped with her helmet and gave her a piece of my mind, but my 
eye was on the cadets going through the room." Abruptly he came to a halt, his 
gaze withdrawn to a private hell.
 
"I told you to report!" Hazen.
 
"Belay that!" My voice was a lash. Protocol be damned. I was Commander in Chief, 
and could do as I pleased. I limped to Gregori. "Are you all right, Sergeant?*' 
He was responsible for the cadets' safety. Lord God knew what he must be 
feeling.
 
"Sir..." His eyes beseeched mine. "Other cadets were
flailing ill. It's not their fault they're young, they don't know to 
double-check the seals. I was trying to watch them all, and Santini had her 
helmet off. I knew she'd be all right Except .. .** He shuddered. "When I looked 
down she was in convulsions. There was nothing I could do. Nothing!" His voice 
broke.
 
Awkwardly, I let my hand brush his shoulder.
 
He began to walk again, this time more slowly. "In the chamber, Ford pitched 
flat on his face. Then Eiken went down. I realized something was terribly wrong 
and yelled at Anselm to purge the room, but he didn't hear me, or didn't 
understand."
 
The middy stirred.
 
I raised a hand. "In a moment Mr., ah, Anselm. Go on, Sarge."
 
"By the time I ran round to the other door and triggered the emergency oxygen 
flush, two more were down. I ordered Anselm to pull them out—he was suited, I 
wasn't— and ran back to Santini. She was staring at the sky.** Gregori's mouth 
worked. "By the time we got the others out, three more were dying. I called 
sickbay, and rang for Lieutenant LeBow.**
 
At last, the suiting chamber, a low, windowless, gunmetal gray building behind 
the nav training center. I recalled the suit room, with its rows of lockers 
where the cadets would enter. The airlock to the main chamber, the waiting lock 
at the far exit
 
A covey of cadets milled about I said, unbelieving, "You left your squad there?"
 
"Lieutenant LeBow told me to report to you, flank." And the sergeant would, of 
course. In the Navy, orders were obeyed.
 
My knee ached abominably. I bit back a foul imprecation as we neared the dazed 
cadets. Some were weeping. A few slumped on the grass. Among them were five 
motionless Forms in gray. Three med techs worked over them, from scramble carts. 
A lieutenant watched, arms folded.
 
A cadet corporal saw us coming. "Attention!" His voice was ragged.
 
"As you were," I rasped. Then I had a glimpse of one of the casualties. "Oh, 
Lord." Blood had flowed, from her mouth and eyes. "You, there, any survivors?"
 
The med tech looked up, his eyes grim. He shook his head.
 
"What caused it?"
 
"I don't know." Wearily, he knelt on the grass. "We couldn't have been three 
minutes responding to the call. They were gone. We never had a chance."
 
I turned. "Sergeant M'bovo, escort the squad to barracks." The sooner the 
joeykids were removed from the sight, the better.
 
"Let me take mem, sir. They're mine." Oregon.
 
"No, I want you here." If it was Oregon's blunder mat had killed his cadets, he 
should be kept far from mem. "Stay with them. Sergeant M'bovo. See that they're 
on light duty for three days."
 
"Aye aye, sir." There was little else be could say, to a direct order, Civilian 
I might be, and outside the chain of command, but I was SccOen. "You joeys, back 
to barracks. Double-time!"
 
When the cadets were out of earshot Hazen grated, *Td have laid on extra drills, 
to keep them occupied."
 
So might I, in my younger days. "Let mem grieve," I turned to me redheaded 
middy. "Let's hear your version." My wife flinched, and too late, I realized it 
sounded an accusation.
 
Anselm stammered out his story, but it corroborated the sergeant's in all 
details.
 
Arlene pulled me close, to whisper in my ear. "Nick, let Hazen handle it You're 
stepping on his toes."
 
True, but I was beyond that "Where's the emetic canis-terT
 
"Still in the dispenser." Sergeant Oregon swung open the panel
 
"Don't touch that!" I lowered my voice to a normal tone. "Commandant, have the 
gas analyzed. A party of three to take the canister to the lab. Send LeBow, 
there. And two sergeants who had nothing to do with the incident Get these poor 
children's bodies to sickbay, we can't have mem lying here. Well, what are you 
staring at? Get moving, flank!"
 
"Aye aye, sir." As if dazed, Hazen reached for his caller. Gregori said nothing, 
but his eyes bore mute reproach.
 
"And autopsies on the cadets. Tonight" I tried to mink what else. "Seal the 
base." If rumors got out, we'd be besieged with mediamen, to the Navy's 
detriment All media-men were ghouls. "Gregori, Anselm, wait for us at the 
Commandant's office."
 
Hazen was busy on his caller.
 
"LeBow!"
 
The lieutenant jumped as if shot "Yes, sir!"
 
"Suit up, and go into the chamber. Check out—"
 
"I won't need a suit, sir. It's been purged."
 
"Suit up," My tone was icy. "We'll take no chances."
 
"Aye aye, sir," At least he seemed abashed, as well he should, quarreling with a 
direct order. On the other hand, as a civilian I had no right to give nun 
orders.
 
"Look around, report by radio anything mat      out of place," As he turned to 
the suiting-room door I added, "Careful with your seals!"
 
LeBow's expedition found nothing. By the time he emerged, the lifeless cadets 
had been carried to sickbay, and two staff sergeants had arrived to escort die 
canister to the lab. We all watched LeBow disconnect it from the intake. 
Ignoring common sense, I held my breath to inspect it gingerly. The customary 
factory label, the usual warnings. If the manufacturer had inadvertently sent us 
a contaminated canister, I'd see the culprit hanged. I hoped that was the case. 
The alternatives didn't bear thinking about
 
There was work ahead, and I'd realized I didn't trust Hazen to do it alone. This 
was one of the moments I regretted refusing to carry a personal caller. An old 
habit, dating from my days as Commandant. As I'd learned on Hibernia, a 
commander who carried a caller had no peace.
 
"Would you give Branstead a call?" I gave Hazen my chief of staff's code. "Tell 
him to cancel my suborbital. I'll spend the night in Devon."
 
"Nick, we have to get home." Ariene looked apologetic. "Derek's coming, and 
tomorrow there's the delegation from Dutch Relief."
 
"Belay that. Commandant. Let me talk to him." I took the caller. "Jerence? 
Arlene's on the way home, I'll stay here." Ariene shot me a look of annoyance. 
"Lay on transport tomorrow. I'll let you know when. No, I'm fine. There's been 
an... incident. What? I don't care, reschedule him. Next week." I rang off, gave 
my wife an awkward hug. "Get ready for Derek, listen to die Hollanders for me. 
I'll see you soon."
 
Somewhat mollified, she rested her chin on my shoulder. "Nick, those cadets..."
 
««Yes, I know. Terrible."
 
"I mean the survivors,"
 
"Death happens, Ariene, We've bom seen it. They have to get used—"
 
"They're bewildered, and in pain."
 
"It's not my responsibility."
 
"You remember, don't you, Nick?" Her voice was soft.
 
I looked away. At last I said, "I'll do what I can."
 
In the gathering dusk Hazen and I walked slowly back to
his office. "How well do you know Oregon, Commandant?"
 
"He's a good man. Even if he wasn't watching carefully,
how could he have caused their deaths? We've used the emetic for years."
 
My smile was grim. "Generations."
 
"It was surely an accident, Mr. SecGen. Contaminants."
 
"Do you believe that?" My own doubts were growing.
 
A long silence. "I want to."
 
Abruptly I liked him more. "I'm sorry. I know I've been taking over."
 
"That's your privilege, sir. You're SecGen,"
 
I grinned, remembering an Admiral who'd commandeered my ship, long past "That 
doesn't make it easier,"
 
"No," he said, I admired his honesty. He added, "You don't remember me, do 
you?*'
 
I cast about in my memory. "I was notified of your appointment. You had UNS 
Churchill, am I right?"
 
"I was in Valdez Barracks," He spoke as if he hadn't heard. "When you took 
command." He slowed his pace, so I'd have less difficulty keeping up. "Sergeant 
Ibarez,"
 
"Ah,** How could I make him change die subject? I loved Academy, truly I did. 
Yet...
 
"I was one of the few left here when you took the cadets to Farside. Else I'd 
have volunteered, I know 1 would," His face was red, and his gaze was carefully 
averted. "I'd fallen—we were skylarking in barracks. About a week before die 
fish attacked. I broke three ribs. Sarge said you were furious."
 
"It's a cool night," I said desperately. "After toe sun goes—Commandant, I atone 
every night of my life for what I did to those wretched cadets. Be thankful you 
weren't among them." During die final alien attack I'd called for volunteers, 
knowing, but not telling them, I was sending them to their deaths. At least, 
with effort, I now could speak of it For years I could not
 
"Sir, do you know what it's like, to be class of '01, die last class Nicholas 
Seafort commanded? They say you called die cadets to Farside dining hall." His 
eyes were distant, as if reliving a memory he couldn't have known. "You said 
there'd be danger, and asked for cadets willing to go to the Fusers. Your voice 
... hushed, urgent, almost desperately casual. Even as joeykids, they 
understood."
 
"Mr. Hazen ..." How could I divert him?
 
"For years, those who refused cast blame one on another, or you. Only Boland and 
Branstead could be proud. And Tenere." The pitifully few survivors, who'd sailed 
with me in the Mothership.
 
"And whenever it came up, I was hurt and defensive." His tone was 
conversational. "I would have gone, but how could I prove it? We fought, at 
times. I lost friends." He chopped off his words, cleared his throat. "When I 
was posted here, I couldn't fathom the honor. To walk where you walked, sit at 
your desk, command men you—"
 
"Stop it!" My cry echoed through the quadrangle.
 
He faced me, determined. "I wanted so to impress you. To make you see I had 
matters well in hand. You think I don't know what an idiot 1 sounded, shouting 
at Oregon? I could have bitten my tongue off."
 
"It's all right, Mr. Hazen. I've done the same."
 
"Not in front of your..." He muttered something unintelligible.
 
"What?"
 
"Idol." His gaze was a challenge, as if daring me to object
 
I muttered, "Lord God preserve us." We'd reached the steps. I took his arm, 
leaned my weight on it as we climbed. "I really ought to have this leg looked 
at."
 
"May I ask what it is, sir? I noticed you began to carry a cane a few years 
ago."
 
"Arthritis. The Helsinki crash aggravated it." Arthritis was curable, and had 
been for generations. But I deserved my infirmities.
 
He paused at the door to his office. "Will you see Gregori and Anselm now, or 
wait for the lab report?"
 
"Wait, I mink."
 
"I could show you to the VIP suite."
 
"I know the way. Ring my quarters when you have the report" I limped to my 
apartment
 
I peeled off my jacket washed my face, combed my hair. I caught a glimpse of the 
aging visage in the glass, and paused. Wrinkles on my forehead, and my hairline 
was creeping upward. I hadn't let them give me cosmetic enzymes, though I'd had 
the primary anti-aging compounds. They were universally disseminated through 
drinking water.
 
Still, even past sixty, I wasn't all that old. The relentless extension of life 
was the main cause of Earth's overcrowding, and a terrible strain on our 
resources. I had another quarter century of active life, if I wanted it Perhaps 
even more. These days, retirement benefits didn't start until eighty-five.
 
I passed a hand over the faint outline of the hideous scar that had once adorned 
my cheek. Many years ago I'd let mem remove it at the insistence of Admiralty. 
Joeykids had started to emulate my appearance, and that was intolerable.
 
Nearly fifty years, since Father had brought me to Academy's gates, guided me 
within, and strode off without a backward glance. The U.N. Navy had been 
then—and still was—the glamorous service youngsters dreamed of joining. The Army 
was a poor relative, and resented it
 
Of course, the Navy had the advantage of starting its officers young. The 
discovery in 2046 that N-waves travel faster than light and the accompanying 
revision of physics, led to the fusion drive, and superluminous travel. But the 
stars came at a cost: melanoma T, a vicious carcinoma triggered by long exposure 
to Fusion fields. It was an occupational hazard for spacefarers.
 
Fortunately, humans whose cells were exposed to N-waves within five years of 
puberty seemed almost immune. But the Navy couldn't put untrained children 
aboard its great starships. And so cadets were recruited barely into
their teens, as I had been. After two years at Academy they were shipped off as 
green young middies to get their sea legs aboard a starship.
 
Gaunt eyes stared at me from the mirror.
 
As a middy, I'd been catapulted to Captain of UNS Hi-bernia on the death of her 
other officers. Later, on Challenger, I'd fought off relentless attacks by the 
alien fish. We'd survived to see home system, but not before I'd damned myself 
by breaking my sacred oath, to save my ship.
 
By then, to my infinite disgust, I was a media hero. Eventually, Admiralty 
appointed me Commandant of Naval Academy. And at Farside, when the fish 
attacked, I engaged hi the greatest betrayal since Judas. I sent my cadets to 
their deaths with lies.
 
The caller chimed. "Yes?"
 
"Sir, the lab report." Hazen.
 
"So soon?" I glanced at my watch, I'd been staring into the mirror a full hour. 
"I'll be right there."
 
I smoothed my graying hair. Decades ago, Father Ryson had saved my sanity, in 
the hard peace of his neo-Benedic-tinc monastery. Brother Nicholas would be at 
Lancaster yet, but for the desperate pleas of Eddie Boss, my transpop shipmate, 
whose tribe was under attack by the Territorial Administration. I couldn't 
refuse him. Leaving my haven, I'd used my notoriety to enter politics. As 
Senator from northern England, then as SecGen, I managed to have the relocations 
halted.
 
Despite my best intentions, my life had been political ever since. I'd left 
office in the Port of London scandal, and been glad. But the Transpop Rebellion 
of 2229 sucked me into its madness. I'd had no choice; my son Philip was caught 
up in it, and missing. His life was worth more than mine. I still thought so, 
despite what he'd become after.
 
When the rebellion was settled, given the attitude of die
Territorial Party toward our urban masses, I'd had no choice but to declare my 
candidacy once more. I thrust on my jacket, limped to the Commandant's office.
 
"Nerve gas." Hazen jabbed a thick finger at the holo-screen. "Deadly toxin."
 
Stunned, I sank into my chair. I'd dreaded something of the sort, and the 
confirmation left me dazed. I grasped at straws. "Contaminating the emetic?" I 
peered at the screen.
 
"No, sir. Nerve gas in concentrated form. One canister, if opened in dining 
hall, could have killed the whole lot of us."
 
"Oregon said Booker had used the same canister earlier."
 
"His cadets are fine. I sent Anselm to check."
 
I asked, "Where is the emetic made?"
 
His face was grim. "I put in a call to the manufacturer. Chemgen Corporation 
specializes in hospital supply. They claim even if they'd made some sort of 
error, they produce nothing that could kill so fast"
 
"And the canister?"
 
"I already thought of mat They construct their own,"
 
I let my eyes meet his. "Commandant, do you understand what you're saying?"
 
"Yes, sir. It was deliberate."
 
For a moment we were silent Then I slammed the table. "That sergeant who used 
the suiting room this morning, Booker, was it? Said him and Oregon to F and D!"
 
"Sir, we can't."
 
"Cadets are dead."
 
"But mere's no evidence. Nothing at alt"
 
"They both used the canister."
 
Hazen took a deep breath. "That's not evidence of a crime, sir, and you know 
it!"
 
My jaw clenched. It had been a long while since anyone had spoken to me so. 
After a time, my fury abated.
 
He was right
 
A defendant had no right to silence, not since the Truth in
Testimony Act of 2026. If there was other evidence against him, he could be sent 
for polygraph and drag interrogation. If the tests proved he had told the troth, 
charges were dismissed. If he admitted the charges, as sophisticated drugs 
forced him to do, his confession was of course introduced as evidence.
 
But to keep authorities from fishing in the recesses of a prisoner's mind, the 
law was quite clear. There had to be independent evidence of guilt before P and 
D could be ordered.
 
I sighed. "Sony. Confine Booker to barracks until we sort this out And call in 
the middy, would your
 
Together, we grilled the hapless Anselm until he was (benched with perspiration, 
and his lip beginning to tremble. At last, I relented. The boy was telling the 
truth: he'd seen nothing out of the ordinary before the cadets went down, and 
had no reason to suspect Oregon or anyone else.
 
"Pardon me, sir?" He addressed his Commandant.
 
"Could you tell me what mis is about?"
 
Hazen and I exchanged astonished glances. Middies, questioning their commanding 
officers? What was the Navy coming to? Reddening, the Commandant took bream, but 
I intervened. There was no reason the boy shouldn't know. "The cadets didn't die 
by accident. It was murder."
 
"Oh, no!" The boy's anguished cry was from me heart
 
"Nerve gas."
 
"But, why?"
 
"We don't know." Abruptly I added, "Any ideas?"
 
"Lord God, it's impossible. Jimmy Ford? Santini? Who*d want to kill them?" His 
eyes were wet "Yesterday was Roony Eiken's birthday."
 
"You're to tell no one," I said, "It's quite important the news not get out" Not 
until we learned what bad befallen us,
 
"Aye aye, sir."
 
I glanced at the Commandant "Special duties?" The boy could be isolated from the 
other middies, to remove all temptation to gossip.
 
To his credit, Hazen shook his head. "Mr. Anselm is an officer, and his word is 
sufficient."
 
Coloring, I accepted the unstated rebuke, knowing it was warranted. A Naval 
officer's word was his bond. The entire Service was based on trust. Had I not 
been so distraught by the bloodstained children lying in the grass, I'd have 
remembered I was dealing with my cherished U,N,N,S,, not a pack of amoral 
politicians,
 
Hazen took pity, "Dismissed, Mr. Anselm."
 
The boy fled,
 
I cleared my throat. "Question the sergeants,"
 
"Oregon already told us his story."
 
"Then we'll hear it again." And so we did. During his recitation Sergeant Oregon 
eyed me with downright hostility. I could hardly blame him,
 
"As I said, sir, I have no idea what went wrong. The canister was in place, 
everything looked as it should,"
 
"Did your cadets quarrel among themselves, or with other barracks?"
 
He balled his fists, checked himself. "Commandant, permission to speak freely?"
 
Hazen nodded.
 
"No one hated my cadets, in Krane or any other barracks. Even if he's SecGen, 
how do you stand such nonsense?"
 
"Sergeant!" The Commandant was scandalized.
 
"I've had enough! Court-martial me if you don't like it!" Oregon subsided, 
breaming heavily.
 
Hazen blinked, "I understand your feelings, but SecGen Seafort and I have to 
know—"
 
A knock on the door, A breathless middy saluted and came to attention, 
"Midshipman Andrew Payson reporting, sir. Sergeant Booker isn't at Valdez 
Barracks. His cadet corporal hasn't seen him since lunch."
 
I snarled to Hazen, "The gate!"
 
He punched the code into his caller. When he was through, he rose slowly from 
his seat "Hooker signed out early this afternoon. That God damned son of—"
 
I snapped, "Don't blaspheme!"
 
"—a bitch! The fucking whoreson! That—"
 
"All right!" I slapped the table hard enough so my hand stung. "Sarge, we owe 
you an apology."
 
"Bloody right you do!" Gregori looked ready to launch himself across the table. 
I had to admire his courage. Either the Commandant or I could break him.
 
The middy glanced between us as if we were all demented.
 
The caller chimed. Muttering an epithet, the Commandant answered. After a few 
words he handed it to me.
 
"Sir? Branstead here. Have you heard of an Eco Action League?"
 
"I'm busy, Jerence. Can this wait?" Even as I spoke, I knew better. My chief of 
staff wouldn't interrupt unless the matter was urgent
 
"We've had a communique*. They claim they've killed half a dozen Academy 
cadets."
 
My knuckles were white on me caller. "Go on."
 
"As long as you continue wasting funds on colossal boondoggles like 
Go/ocfio-their phrase—while tides continue to rise, they'll strike. It goes on 
for pages in the same vein,"
 
"The sons of—" I marshaled my whirling thoughts. "Keep it quiet as long as you 
can. Get me out of here, before the media hear of my visit and make a circus of 
Academy." "Sorry, sir. I got a copy of the communique* from Holoworld, They want 
a comment, and verification that you're at Devon. The Action League says they 
struck during your visit to show mat no one was safe from me wrath of the 
people. You have twenty-four hours to announce a change in policy, or they'll 
strike again, and disregard the cost in lives."
 
I cursed long and fluently.
 
When I wound down, Branstead said, "I'll send your heli."
 
"No, I'll see this through." I swallowed bile; my visit had caused the deaths of 
unwitting children. I cared not a fig for my reputation. By leaving I'd hoped 
only to spare Academy, and the Navy. If the news was out, my presence didn't 
matter.
 
"I'm sending in the heli; I want Tilnitz at your side. Security has nothing on 
an Eco Action League. Whoever they are, if they can strike at Academy, you're 
not safe."
 
"No. We've been through that."
 
For a moment I thought he would argue, but to my relief he didn't press the 
point. Instead, he said, "I rang up Win-stead at die Enviro Council, and they're 
mystified as well."
 
"No doubt" My sarcasm was evident; the Council's hands were always clean, no 
matter what vileness their cohorts perpetrated. "Find the Eco League. Pull out 
all the stops,"
 
"I'll notify Naval Intelligence, Academy's their bailiwick. By the way, I'll 
have to set up a news conference. As soon as you get back,"
 
"Have Carlotti handle it" Let my portly press secretary appease the vultures of 
the media,
 
"Sorry, it's too big a story. They'll expect you,"
 
I sighed. "Delay as long as you can." I rang off.
 
"Well, now." I glared at Gregori. "Are you an enviro, Sarge?"
 
"No," His gaze held contempt
 
"I thought not"
 
The caller chimed again. I suppressed an urge to smash it Hazen listened a 
moment rang off. 'That was sickbay. Autopsies confirm the lab report."
 
I grunted.
 
"Go home to your cadets, Sarge. Commandant call up the
file on Hooker, flank. Send a copy to Branstead. Midshipman, you're dismissed"
 
Sergeant Gregori favored me with a frosty glare as he stalked off. Well, I 
wasn't surprised, despite my apology. I'd as much as accused him of murder.
 
CHAPTER 2
 
JL he breeze was chill, but the sun bore down with bracing warmth. In T-shirt, 
faded work pants, and my usual scuffed boots, I loped steadily up the hill, my 
breath deep, my heart thumping, my whole body alive with the glory of a Welsh 
spring morning. It wasn't often Father let me spend the night at Jason's, and I 
ought not annoy him by returning late for chores.
 
I'd been running for a quarter hour, from Jason's home to ours. At last I 
rounded the rise of the knoll. There, below me, was our cottage, morning mist 
rising like a ghost from the stony farmyard. Beyond our fence lay the twisting 
Brid-gend road to Cardiff.
 
I stopped for a few breaths, hands on my knees. The lee of the hillside was 
thick with thistles, but the eastern side was mostly grass, grazed short by our 
neighbor's sheep.
 
Father would have tea boiling. In a few moments he'd be glancing at the clock, 
lips pursed in disapproval.
 
I loped down the hill. Gravity and youth sped my steps. My lope became a trot, 
the trot a joyous gallop. My hair caressed the wind of my passage. My breath 
came easy. I was young, and happy in myself, and could do anything.
 
I cried out in delight, and woke myself.
 
I was in Devon, in the guest suite of Naval Academy.
 
Fifty irredeemable years separated me from the boy who raced down the hill.
 
I clutched my pillow like a life vest, washed by a wave of regret so sharp it 
threatened to carry me to a place of no return.
 
When finally it passed, I was drenched with sweat. I climbed out of bed, leaned 
heavily on my cane, hobbled to the bathroom. I stood a long while under the hot 
soothing shower, mourning the eager young joey kid I'd once been.
 
It was early afternoon, just past lunch. Sergeant Booker was nowhere to be 
found. Swarms of mediamen were camped outside Academy's gates.
 
I sipped at coffee, irritable from my interrupted sleep. "You had an enviro 
maniac on staff and didn't know?*'
 
"It's not illegal to favor—"
 
I slammed the table, splattering coffee on Sergeant Hooker's file. "Eleven years 
an enviro, and you didn't know?"
 
Hazen and LeBow exchanged glances. "He wasn't that outspoken, Mr. SecGen. In 
fact, other than a few pamphlets in his cabin there's no evidence he was—"
 
"Bah." I waved it away. "Screen these people out! It says Booker's sister 
suffered kidney failure after the Glas-tonbury spill. His mother died two years 
later, same cause. If that doesn't qualify him as an enviro fanatic ..."
 
Hazen's tone was hot. "My brother is fighting melanoma, and we think it's from 
the California Daze." Incompetent techs had misread Los Angeles ozone depletion 
stats six days in a row, and thousands had unwittingly been exposed to high 
gamma counts. "Am I a terrorist? Do you want my resignation?"
 
"Of course not." I drummed the table, willing reason into my tone. "Sorry. I 
suppose we can't call every loonie enviro a security risk, but..." But they 
were, I knew. Even my own son had betrayed me. He— I bit off the thought
 
LeBow took up his Commandant's defense. "Sir, they've become a potent force. 
Over thirty enviro supporters elected to the Assembly, and Lord God knows how 
many Supras or Territorials would vote enviro if they had a chance. Yes, a few 
are glitched, but on the whole, Winstead's crowd is respectable. There's no 
cause to suspect—"
 
"Don't lecture me," I growled. I'd been wading in the political sewer too long, 
and knew all its denizens.
 
"Still." Hazen sounded morose. "Even if Booker was unhinged by his family's 
loss, how could he kill his cadets?"
 
"Not his. Oregon's."
 
"It's the same." Drill sergeants would die to protect their charges. Over the 
years, many had.
 
On that sour note our meeting ended. The Commandant, three lieutenants, and a 
handful of middies accompanied me to the pad. I waited irritably for the heli 
blades to slow. Four grim-faced security joeys jumped out, weapons ready to 
guard me from peril. Mark Tilnitz himself headed today's detail. Of all the 
security agents I'd had to endure in years of political life, he was the most 
tolerable.
 
I adjusted my tie, oddly reluctant to board.
 
Hazen said, "We'll redouble base security, sir. There'll be no more incidents."
 
"You can't guard against everything."
 
"I can damn well try." The Commandant's language left me uneasy; in my middy 
days more than one officer had been beached for blasphemy. Of course, these days 
strict adherence to Church policy was on the wane, though I wished it weren't 
so.
 
Our state religion was an amalgam of Protestant and Catholic ritual, sprung from 
the Great Yahwehist Reunification. Religious union wouldn't have been possible, 
had not the Final War devastated Africa and Asia. But Christian resurgence in a 
revitalized Europe as well as America led eventually to the miraculous conclave 
that established Mother Church, guided by her holy Council of Patriarchs. After 
the Armies of Lord God repressed the Pentecostal heresy, the Church was adopted 
by and became the underpinning of our United Nations Government.
 
The Council of Patriarchs wielded less power today than
in days past, but they still represented the reunified
Church. I'd been summoned to meet with them two days
hence, in New York, and they hadn't disclosed our agenda.
 
Overhead, outside the gates, a heli droned daringly close
to Academy's no-fly zone. It bore the Newsworld insignia.
 
"You'd better go, sir. They probably have a lens on us,"
 
"Yes." But my foot lingered on the step. "Those cadets
from Krane. Go easy on them."
 
"I will."
 
They've been through ..." I sighed, recalling my foolish promise to Arlene. I 
beckoned Tilnitz. "Wait here. Til be back shortly."
 
I refused to let the Commandant and his officers follow me to barracks, but 
Hazen insisted on sending the middy Anselm as an aide. It was easier to allow it 
than object.
 
Moments later, I stood outside Krane Barracks, breaming heavily from my hike. 
The dorm was as I remembered: long, low, wooden, four steps above ground level. 
I'd spent two years in—
 
"Oh, it's you." Glowering, Sergeant Gregori faced me at the door. Clearly, I 
wasn't forgiven. "May I come in?"
 
"If you must," With obvious reluctance he stood aside. "What have you told 
themT* "That we're investigating."
 
A young voice rang out "Attention!" Twenty-five gray-clad cadets dropped what 
they were doing, and hastily formed a line.
 
Five of the bunks were stripped, the belongings piled neatly on the mattresses. 
Sometime this day, each close friend of the casualties would choose an item for 
remembrance. Then the remaining gear would be shipped home to grieving parents. 
It was the Navy way.
 
"As you were." I waited for the jocykids to relax. "I've come about yesterday's 
tragedy. You cadets have to understand ..."
 
They would never understand. Death was something mat happened to others. Not to 
their own kind. Through a haze of years I recalled the sense of immortality that 
had buoyed me, until the horrid day I lost my first and closest friend. Jason 
lay buried in Cardiff. Decades had passed, since last I'd visited.
 
"You, lad." I spoke to the cadet corporal. "What's your name?"
 
"Dam'1 Bevin, sir." Why did the name sound familiar? I tried to concentrate, 
gave it up. He was no more than fourteen. Did he recognize me? No, cadets called 
everyone "sir." Anything that moved.
 
"I'm Secretary-General Seafort." His jaw dropped, with dawning recognition. "Did 
you know them well?" Of course he did, you idiot, they were bunkies, "I mean, 
particularly well?"
 
The boy's eyes glistened "Jimmy—I mean. Cadet Ford, sir. He and I..."
 
"Who else?" I looked about
 
"Santini tutored me in nav." A shy girl.
 
"Ronny Eiken came from my school."
 
Slowly, as if ashamed, the youngsters acknowledged their friendships.
 
I said, 'There's nothing I can do, nothing die Navy can do, to make up your 
loss. I'm sorry." It sounded inadequate. "We failed to protect you. I apologize, 
on behalf of Academy.**
 
Sarge gaped. My words approached heresy, Cadets were the lowest of the low. One 
never apologized to them.
 
"Sir?" It was the cadet corporal, daringly. Sarge frowned. Cadets spoke only 
when spoken to.
 
"Yes, Bevin?"
 
"What happened to them? Was it pollution?"
 
"We'll get to the bottom of this, I promise you. And when we do, we'll explain, 
as best we can." It seemed inadequate. No, more than inadequate: an outright 
lie. We knew what had been done. Heavily, I sank to the gray blanket of a 
perfectly made bunk. "Gather round, would you please?" I waited.
 
"Ford and Santini and the others were murdered. Envi-ros put nerve gas in the 
suit chamber. Your bunkies were selected as symbols, you see." It wasn't easy to 
face their inquisitive eyes, and I gave my frustration free rein. "En-viro 
fanatics used them to teach me a lesson. It's what comes of letting dissidents 
preach their poison."
 
"That's goofjuice!"
 
With one bound Gregori crossed the room, seized Bevin by the nape, cuffed him 
hard. "Respect your betters, you insolent young—" "Let him speak." My tone was 
low, but it sliced like a knife.
 
Sarge thrust the cadet corporal toward me. The boy stumbled, caught himself by 
clutching my knees, I winced.
 
"Well?"
 
Bevin took a deep breath, plunged ahead, 'They're not enviros, they're 
terrorists. Can't you see the difference?" "Are you enviro?"
 
**Yes! And so's my father. Are you making it illegal?" "Bloody whale buggers," I 
muttered. "There's no talking to you."
 
"The Enviro Council elected representatives to the General Assembly. People are 
for them. We—" "A few."
 
"—don't need bombs, or nerve gas!" Our eyes locked, The barracks was silent 
Gray-clad boys and girls and their sergeant stood transfixed, watching a cadet 
beard the administrator of the world government.
 
I cleared my throat "Five of you died. If it weren't for the enviros ..."
 
'Terrorists, sir!"
 
"Don't you see, joey? It's the politicals who smooth the way for the killers, 
with their oily speeches, their bills submitted more for the approval of 
gullible masses man because they'd do any good." I knotted my fists, recalling 
the endless aggravations of the Senate, the clamoring hot-bloods in the General 
Assembly.
 
Repairing the ravages of the fish war took time as well as endless expense. We 
had obligations to our colonies as well as our own people. And there was nothing 
we could do to reverse centuries of environmental neglect; land and weather were 
in Lord God's hands. Enviros disrupted government, caused endless expense, 
divided families ... Why couldn't they understand?
 
"Is that really what you think, sir?" The boy's face showed disapproval. More 
man that: betrayal.
 
My truculence collapsed. "I don't know what I think. I'm tired, and I've been 
SecGen too long." I leaned on my cane, hoisted myself to my feet. "I'm going 
home."
 
Bevin glanced at his sergeant, back to me. "Sir, I'm sorry if—**
 
"It's too late for that" I clumped to the door.
 
Outside, the middy came to attention. I noticed his eyes were red. "What are you 
bawling at?"
 
"Nothing, sir." Anselm's spine was ramrod straight, stomach sucked tight
 
"Stand easy," I growled. The cadet corporal's brazen behavior wasn't the middy's 
fault. By brute force I made my tone gentle as I started down the path, "A 
caning?" Midshipmen and cadets were considered young gentlemen, and were subject 
to corporal punishment, unlike ordinary seamen.
 
"No, sir."
 
"What, then?"
 
"It's just..." He swallowed. "Yesterday I helped San-tini into her suit. She 
always had trouble with her clamps. Always."
 
"You were ... friends?" Fraternizing was discouraged, but I recalled a middy, 
long years past, who'd made my cadet days bearable.
 
Miserably, he nodded, "What do we do, sir?" It was an appeal.
 
"Our duty. It's the only answer I know." It wasn't near enough; my hands moved 
without my volition. "Come here, boy." Gently, I pulled his red locks close to 
my chest.
 
"It's not—we weren't—"
 
"I know."
 
"She tried so hanir
 
"They all do."
 
After a time he pulled loose, scuffed the earth with a spit-shined boot. "She 
made fun of my hair."
 
"Daring, for a eadet." We resumed our walk.
 
"She knew I didn't mind." He sniffled. "Seeing her He there..."
 
"I can imagine."
 
"Blood running from her mouth," He recoiled. "Why, sir? Why does it have to end 
like that?"
 
"I don't know, son,"
 
His voice was almost too soft to hear. "I'll miss her."
 
We passed the Commandant's office.
 
"Sir?" He gestured. 'The helipad's this way." A path forked to the left.
 
"I know." I headed onward.
 
"Where are you going?"
 
'To my duty." As we neared the wrought-iron gates, I smoothed my hair, tugged at 
my tie.
 
Ahead, a predatory swarm of mediamen focused through the iron rails. My face was 
a stone mask.
 
"We're home, sir."
 
Blinking myself awake, I peered through the foggy heli window. We'd set down on 
the dusty concrete pad in my Washington compound.
 
Outside the walls, red maples drooped in muggy July heat. Across the river from 
Old Washington, the compound nestled in the Virginia hills incorporated into the 
broad-cned District. Built to resemble an old southern estate, it was a gift 
raised by public subscription after the end of my first Administration.
 
A large home, with seven bedrooms and a plethora of verandas and porches, its 
outbuildings included sheds, a greenhouse, and a small cottage, all within 
protective stone walls.
 
I'd been adamant in refusing the unwarranted gift, but Arlene's good sense 
prevailed. We needed a home for P.T., and I'd had no savings whatever. "You 
deserve it," she'd insisted, and at length I acquiesced.
 
These days I found it a nuisance commuting to the Rotunda in New York, and I did 
so as seldom as possible. Naturally, when the General Assembly was in session I 
had to be present, at least on occasion, to defend my Government against the 
ruthless elitists of the Territorial Party, and those independents who would 
bolt us for personal gain. A vote of no-confidence in the Assembly would bring 
down an Administration.
 
But other times I brought work home, and met with del-egations and political 
allies in my comfortable den. If the electorate didn't like it, they could vote 
me out.
 
Ours was a complicated system. Assemblymen were elected from districts 
corresponding to regions of constituent nations, and served terms of four years 
unless the Government lost a vote of no-confidence or failed to pass major 
legislation, or unless the SecGen dissolved the Senate and Assembly and called 
for new elections. The Senate, on the other hand, couldn't dismiss the 
Government with a motion of no-confidence, but could block legislation 
indefinitely. Senators were elected for six years and were maddeningly 
independent.
 
I rubbed my eyes. Despite all the amenities and care lavished on a SecGen, 
intercontinental travel was wearing. I'd slept two hours in the noisy suborbhal 
from London, but my aging body craved more. With helpless envy I recalled the 
lithe form I'd possessed as middy, then Captain. I'd thrived on lack of sleep, 
or so it had seemed.
 
1 yawned. "Where's ArleneT
 
Mark Tilnitz whispered a query into his throat mike, cocked his head for the 
response. "Cleaning up after the Hollanders, I believe."
 
Supervising the staff, that meant. I'd throw a fit if I saw her toting trays of 
glasses herself. We'd done enough of that in our private years. There had to be 
some compensation for the misery of public office. These days we had help with 
cooking and gardening, though I refused to allow anyone but my midshipman aides 
to maintain an office in the compound. My Rotunda staff communicated from New 
York via caller, nets, and fax.
 
1 tramped to the veranda. Glassed double doors from my inner office awaited me. 
I hesitated, chose instead the door to the sunlit hall where my aide's desk was 
placed, "—like an old lion facing a pack of wolves. Look at him!"
 
"Yes, I'm responsible. For my government, for the Navy, for the lives of those 
poor cadets. I take the obligation seriously. "
 
"What will you do now?"
 
"Go home, and set the investigation in motion."
 
"And when you find the terrorists?"
 
"Lord God willing, I'll attend their execution."
 
"Oh, good line."
 
"He means it. Uh-oh, he's calling on Vince Canto."
 
"Mr. SecGen, the Independents are demanding an investigation of Galactic's 
funding. Was there a deal between you and the Territorials?"
 
"Watch. He blew his answer."
 
"There was an understanding. We all agreed that a strong Navy was necessary, and 
funding ships was the way to achieve it."
 
A groan. "We're in for it He admitted mere's a deal."
 
"The old man won't lie, even if— Oh! Mr. SecGen!" Charlie Witrek, my earnest 
young middy, scrambled to his feet. Slower to rise was my chief of staff, 
Jerence Branstead. A sardonic wave.
 
"Hallo, Jerence." Safe from probing holocameras, I loosened my tie, took off my 
jacket, Charlie took it to hang.
 
"Mr. SecGen, will you make further concessions to en-viro sentiment as a result 
of—"
 
"The question is offensive. No. We will not submit to terrorism. These people 
are glitched, throwbaeks to a discredited age."
 
Branstead nodded his approval at the screen, "Well said."
 
"Do you support Rcichschancflor Mundt's call for a worldwide reassessment of 
costly pollution measures?"
 
"No, The issue's been studied over and again. We'n doing what we can, Mundt is 
protective of the Dresden chip works, but our measures won't cause a shutdown,"
 
I'd tried to sound conciliatory, I recalled. Mundt was a Supranationalist, a 
member of my own governing party, but was obsessed with protecting his nation's 
industry from regulation. At times he could be difficult. And Widener, the 
British Prime Minister, pressed just as strongly for stiffen enviro legislation. 
My role as SecGen could only be to steer a middle course. The world had been 
debating environmental spoliation for centuries, and I saw no need to act 
rashly.
 
"Do you view the cracks in the Three Gorges Dean with greater alarm now that—"
 
"Turn that bloody thing off." Wearily, I slumped into a chair.
 
14—shifts in rain patterns filled the reservoir thirty percent above rated 
capacity?"
 
My image faded from the screen.
 
"You did well, sir." Witrek, my staff middy. He ran fingers through his hair, 
but as always, every strand was in place. He wouldn't allow it otherwise.
 
I glowered. "What would I do without your approval?"
 
He grinned, knowing me too well to be fazed. "How can you stand those vultures?"
 
"I hold my nose."
 
Charlie brought me a coffee, strong and black as I liked it
 
"Thank you." A middy wasn't a butler, and shouldn't be treated as one. But 
Witrek, with quiet competence, found ways to make himself useful without being 
asked. I would miss him.
 
As if reading my mind he asked, "Did you pick my successor, sir?" "We're working 
on it." "I imagine it's difficult."
 
If I said nothing, he would let it drop, but I knew he yearned for me to pursue 
it. "Do go on, Charlie."
 
"I mean, he'd need to be resourceful, motivated, as patient as Job..." His tone 
was bright.
 
"Yes, I've missed those qualities the last two years." Not so, but I enjoyed our 
byplay. "Any word on your posting?*' He grimaced. "Not yet." No doubt he'd be 
sent to a ship of the line. I could intervene, but wouldn't unless there was 
need. I wondered if he'd sought Galactic. "What's on for this afternoon?" 
Charlie consulted his console. "Mr. Carr's due at five. He'll stay the night"
 
"Good." Despite my weariness, my face softened to a smile.
 
Derek Carr, scion of an old Hope Nation family, had been an arrogant Uppie of 
sixteen when he'd first sailed as a passenger on Hibernia. After the death of 
our officers he'd answered my summons to become a cadet, a difficult role for 
him to fill, given my uncertainty and inexperience. Nonetheless, I'd promoted 
him to middy as soon as I could. We'd toured his colony together, and over the 
years had become steadfast friends.
 
Jerence Branstead said cautiously, "Arlene's laid on a small reception for Mr. 
Carr."
 
I groaned. My wife knew bow little I enjoyed playing host. I could deal with 
visitors on business of state; as long as I stood for election I had no right to 
complain. But at a private party I felt as awkward as a middy in a gathering of 
Captains.
 
"But Jeff Thorne's invited."
 
"Oh." I smiled. Admiral Thorne, my mentor in Academy days, had been Branstead's 
predecessor as chief of staff. Now retired, he lived in London. I checked my 
watch. "I'd better get changed." Leaning on the banister, I made my way 
upstairs. They'd offered to put in an elevator, but I wouldn't hear of it. I was 
aged enough without acting the part of an old man. Next they'd have someone 
wiping drool from my lips.
 
"They say it's huge." A woman of thirty or so, resplendent in a mauve jumpsuit 
and amethyst bracelets. I was trying desperately to recall her name.
 
My eyes searched for Arlene. "By comparison, my first ship, Hibernia, had a 
hundred thirty passengers. Galactic carries over three thousand."
 
"That's a small city. Her Captain must feel like a colonial governor."
 
"Captain Stanger?" I'd only met him once; he'd spent
 
"I won't tell you how to run your affairs, sir, but—"
 
"Please do." He was one of the few I'd listen to.
 
There's an odd undercurrent to the conversations I've heard about her."
 
"How so?"
 
"As you say, GoJocrtc's become a symbol. Everyone's either violently opposed or 
very much in favor. For every enviro who bemoans her cost, I've heard a Navy man 
defend her, but with such contempt and hatred of the enviros—" Thorne said, 
"Joeys get emotional. Pay no attention." I nodded agreement.
 
Derek studied me closely. "You're sure?" "Yes." I spoke more confidently than I 
felt. Why in Lord God's name had I approved the expenditure? Even if Galactic 
hadn't gone over budget...
 
"I'm glad you built her," he said simply. Then, with a grin, "You'll learn 
Galactic and Olympiad are wasted as supply ships. Their best use will be to open 
new colonies." A wry smile. "And the outworlds need all the allies we can get"
 
Even as a jest, it troubled me. "Does Hope Nation need protection, Derek?" My 
attention wandered. The crowd was starting to thin; I really ought to circulate, 
at least to say good-byes.
 
"Not from you, sir. That goes without saying." True. On my visit to Centraltown, 
their capital, I was feted as hero, revered almost as deity. I'd never gone 
back. Derek's look was pensive. "But you won't be SecGen forever. And even in 
office, you can't manage affairs light-years from home."
 
I snorted. "I don't govern your Commonweal." Acknowledging a fait accompli, as a 
young Captain I'd granted Hope Nation its independence, after the Navy had 
abandoned the colony to alien attack. "Some folk wish you did. Oh, not at home. 
Here." He lowered his voice. "That new Bishop the Patriarchs sent to 
Centraltown. Know him?"
 
"No."
 
Thorne rubbed his chin. "Andori? He's Saythor's man, and conservative." He 
snagged a cocktail from a passing waiter.
 
Derek said, "We've locked horns half a dozen times. He's gone so far as to 
threaten me with disavowal."
 
I drew breath. Disavowal was one small step short of excommunication, a deadly 
matter. No citizen caring to preserve his soul could have dealings with a 
disavowed individual. And if one were excommunicated, even wife and children 
were expected to shun him. "Be careful."
 
"The Bishop has less support than he thinks. Religion has waned a bit; if it 
came to that, I might carry a vote to disestablish the Church."
 
"Derek!" I was scandalized, and not a little offended.
 
He held up a placating hand. "Only if it comes to it. Would you rather I 
wandered the plantations stealing corn?"
 
"Lord God." I drained my drink.
 
"It's worse on other worlds. What irks the colonies is how little you realize 
you need us. Your imports of food and raw materials have skyrocketed. Soon the 
balance of trade will be in our favor. You need our goodwill, Nick. And you 
won't get it with heavy-handed threats."
 
"I never once—"
 
"Not you personally, but your government. Really, you ought to visit more."
 
"He can't." Old habits die hard; Thorne rushed to my defense. Even in a 
fastship, Hope Nation was a nine-month cruise.
 
I said warily, "What haven't I been told?"
 
"In the colonies, there've been hangings from time to time, for treason and 
heresy." Derek shook his head. "In reality, for nothing more than political 
talk. No actual rebellion."
 
Til look into it."
 
"The Navy, of course, backs the colonial Governors. Some of your less temperate 
Captains urge mass executions, or boycott. There's a move in your Senate to 
rescind Detour's independence, return them to colonial status. They say—"
 
"That's gone nowhere. I've seen to that" Neanderthals, everywhere. Frightened of 
change.
 
"As I said, you won't be SecGen forever." Derek shot me a look of appraisal. 
"Though you have a few years
 
left."
 
"We'll talk about it later." Derek would stay the night, as would my chief of 
staff. Jerence Branstead and I were old friends from Centraltown days, when he'd 
been but a boy.
 
The party was definitely winding down; Arlene's glances were ever more pointed. 
I drifted off to join her at the door.
 
"What a relief." I eased off my shoes, rested my feet on A hassock.
 
Wiping an end table, Arlene frowned. "Your shoes? They're your favorite—"
 
"The reception." I gestured vaguely at the nearly empty room. House staff joeys 
were quietly, efficiently gathering abandoned glasses and hors d'oeuvres.
 
Branstead settled himself comfortably on a sofa, near Derek. "By the way, about 
your Devon press conference—"
 
"Don't start. Please."
 
"—when Vince Canlo asks a hostile question, turn it aside. No need to alienate—"
 
"Newsnet hates us," I said sourly. "They're in the Terrie Party's pocket."
 
"All the more reason not to feed him. A diplomatic evasion now and then..."
 
Derek grunted. "That's not Nick. Never has been." He raised an eyebrow at 
Branstead. "You've been with him long enough to know."
 
"Would you have him play into their hands?"
 
"I'd have him tell the truth, as he does." Derek pursed his lips. "I concede 
they were harrying you, Nick. You don't personally dictate clean air policy."
 
"I didn't raise sea levels, either." I tried not to sound glum. "Or cause the 
Santa Monica mudslides."
 
Arlene handed a waiter the tray of glasses she'd collected, and perched on the 
arm of my chair. "Feeling sorry for ourselves, love?" Her fingers brushed the 
back of my neck.
 
"Not at all, hon, it's just..." I sighed. "I can't please everybody."
 
"You please me." Abruptly her mouth hovered before mine, and rewarded me with a 
long kiss. "They snapped and growled at your heels." Another kiss. "You stood up 
well. Sounded like the wrath of God. When Canlo brought up the ruins of 
Bangladesh..."
 
I'd nearly lost my temper. As I had when Holoworld asked about strengthening the 
New York Seawall. Didn't they know that their questions gave credence to the 
fulmi-nations of the Eco Action League? How could mediamen support those 
ruthless murderers?
 
I growled, "You've all nothing better to do than stare at a holovid?"
 
"You're news, love." Arlene settled into my lap, a beautiful, slender woman. I 
felt myself stir.
 
"Urn." I looked about helplessly. "We ought to help straighten the house."
 
"He's embarrassed," she told Jerence sweetly, getting to her feet. "Or he 
doesn't want me."
 
"Arlene!"
 
A wicked grin. 'Tonight you'll have to show me otherwise."
 
I tried not to blush.
 
Chatting with Derek, I puttered about the room. It was amazing where joeys might 
set down drinks and food. Once, I was lighting a fire and found—
 
"... the Patriarchs?" Jerence waited expectantly.
 
"Eh?" I wrenched my mind to the present.
 
"We ought to prepare for your meeting," he said patiently. He'd known me too 
many years to be offended.
 
"How can we?" I hadn't a clue why I'd been summoned. "It's probably the 
religious education budget. Get me next year's figures."
 
"Will do, but I doubt they'd hold a special session to—"
 
"Nicky." Arlene tapped my shoulder. Something in her tone gave me pause. "P.T.'s 
come."
 
I regarded her steadily.
 
"He wants to talk to you."
 
"No."
 
"Please, love."
 
"No." I turned away, but she caught my arm, swung me back. "Don't walk away from 
me, Nick Seafort!"
 
I tried to disengage her fingers. "What do you want of me?"
 
"Speak with your son."
 
Casually, Derek swung from his seat and drifted toward the hall. I stayed him 
with a gesture. He was my oldest friend; from him I need not have secrets.
 
"Not today of all days, Arlene. Not after Devon."
 
"Nick, this can't go on. The two of you are like little children."
 
"Don Y calJ me a—"
 
"He's waiting in the hallway."
 
I looked to Derek and Branstead, but they said nothing. "Well?"
 
Derek shrugged. "Far be it from me to—"
 
"Damn it!"
 
"How long have you been estranged?"
 
I shrugged. "A year or so."
 
Arlene folded her arms. "Almost three."
 
Derek said, "And you're miserable."
 
"I'm no such thing. He deserves—"
 
"For God's sake, Nick. I've known you forty years."
 
I capitulated. "Even if I were, it's a matter of principle."
 
"Mr. SecGen, don't be an ass." His tone was light, but his eyes were not
 
"You're the second person today to read me off." For a long moment I stared at 
the carpet. "I don't know if I should see him. It's been so long, and when he 
left—"
 
"Hello, Path."
 
I whirled.
 
P.T. stood in the doorway.
 
At twenty-four he was everything I'd once hoped him to be. Brilliant, athletic, 
dedicated, and handsome, at least to a father's eyes.
 
"Philip." I yearned to sink into my favorite leather chair, but that would 
extend the conversation, and I wanted at all costs to do otherwise.
 
"You've been well?"
 
My tone was harsh. "Is that why you've come?"
 
Derek's eyes caught Branstead's, but neither man spoke.
 
"No, sir." Philip's hands fluttered, found his pockets. "When I heard the news 
from Academy ..."
 
I waited, refusing to make conversational sounds that would help him.
 
His glance flitted to his mother. "Should I go?"
 
I said, "Perhaps another time would be..."
 
"Nick." Derek.
 
I knotted my fists. "Say what you came for."
 
P.T. said earnestly, "We had nothing to do with it. I swear by Lord God." His 
eyes searched mine for absolution.
 
"Philip, the Enviro Council is composed of fanatics that cause us no end of 
trouble. Did you plot the murder of my cadets? No. But you created the 
atmosphere that made it possible, and I find that unforgivable."
 
Jerence opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it. I rounded on him. 
"Well, they did! Their constant carping about our policy, the way they undermine 
us in the Assembly ..."
 
"Path, how can you oppose us? Have you seen holos of
Bangladesh?" "I've been there." In what little waS left of that hapless
swamp.
 
"Do you know what Holland is facing? Louisiana? For that matter, how's 
Micronesia holding up?"
 
"Is this about politics, you two?" Derek stood, hands on hips.
 
I ignored him. "Philip, it would take generations to reverse—"
 
"No it wouldn't! At the Council we've done studies of the economic cost I've run 
the stats myself, in fact it's my project. In the long run, reversing the 
ecological damage will actually save—"
 
"Over how long?" I glared. "Generations."
 
"Stop it, both of you!" Derek looked every inch the Stadholder of Hope Nation.
 
"Thirty years," P.T. said stubbornly.
 
"Paid for out of this year's budget. Philip, we haven't the money." How many 
times had we been down this road, my intransigent son and I?
 
"South Atlantic fish yields are down again. It's the fifth summer—"
 
"And colonial food imports are up. We balance."
 
I looked past him to the doorway, hoping he'd take the hint, yearning for him to 
go.
 
"I won't watch this." Derek's eyes had a dangerous glint "Jerence, let's leave 
them to their lunacy." He tugged at Branstead's sleeve. "Nick thinks he's in the 
Rotunda, arguing with a Territorial deputy." He brushed past "And
you! " He stopped short, to scowl at Philip. "You've nothing to be proud of this 
day. For a prodigy, you act like a dolt!" And he was gone.
 
Branstead followed, squeezing my arm in passing.
 
Silence.
 
"Is there anything else?" My tone was unyielding.
 
Arlene said softly, "Remember why you came."
 
Philip braced himself. "Yes, sir, there is."
 
"What, then?"
 
His voice was unsteady. "Path, I love you."
 
I bolted past him to the door, but my fingers slipped on the knob, and then he 
was there, his hand over mine.
 
"Father, I'm begging you!" He sank to his knees.
 
"DON'T DO THAT!" With horror, I realized my fist was raised to club him into 
submission. Instead, I hauled him to his feet
 
Once, in my youth, a man had begged me on his knees, and I'd refused to spare 
his life. It was a gesture I could no longer abide.
 
I covered my face. "P.T., leave, I beg you."
 
"Sir, it doesn't have to be this way between us."
 
"You made it so. Who was it rifled my office, copied my private environmental 
papers for the Territorials?"
 
He cried, "I was nineteen, and stupid! They said it would help." And 
sardonically, they'd betrayed him.
 
"You were never stupid. Over and again I've asked you to stay clear of the 
enviro fringe. You knew the political capital they made of your support. They 
still do!"
 
"We're not fringe, Path." His tone was reasonable, but he abandoned it. "I love 
you so much, sir!" His voice cracked.
 
Unable to respond, I faced the door, hugging myself.
 
"Can't we be friends again? Please?"
 
"Yes, Nicky, can't you?" Arlene's voice was soft.
 
I swallowed, until I was sure I could speak. "How's Jared?"
 
P.T.'s tone was pitifully eager. "Fine, sir." Jared Tenere had lived with us 
once, as a boy, and caused all sorts of trouble. Fd disliked him intensely. Now 
he and Philip were paired.
 
"Still planning to adopt?"
 
"He wants to go monogenetic clone."
 
"Whose cells?"
 
"Mine."
 
"Derek is monogenetic clone."
 
"I know."
 
We were marking time.
 
I took a deep breath. "Will you give up enviro politics?"
 
He glanced at his mother, with resignation. "No, Path." His tone was resolute.
 
It should have made me furious, but for some reason I was glad. I forced myself 
to turn, and faced my son. Something stung my eyes. Damned pollutants. Not that 
the envi-ros were right; there was nothing we could do about them.
 
Philip's hands began to pick at his shirt. His eyes darted. "Oh, God, I'm 
revving." It was a frenzy he'd often worked himself into as a child, when the 
breathtaking speed of his thoughts outpaced his ability to cope. He closed his 
eyes for a moment, tried to breathe deeply. "I can't stand— about the cadets, 
sir, I swear I'll do whatever you say to make it up. Don't shut me—"
 
Lord God, I can't bear any more.
 
His fingers scrabbled at the cotton of his tunic. "Oh, Path, please don't cry!"
 
I opened my arms.
 
With a moan, he fell into them.
 
Arlene leaned against the door, silent. Surreptitiously, she wiped her eyes.
 
I yawned. It was late, but I treasured my time with Derek. Arlene nestled close, 
holding my hand. Branstead was in the den, communing with his caller. Derek 
slouched on a comfortable sofa. "So, it's done," he said.
 
I shrugged. "And then he went home." After our fervent embrace, Philip and I had 
chatted a while longer. Despite the emotion of the moment, three years of 
estrangement couldn't be so easily overcome. Our talk had veered again to 
politics, and become strained. Eventually, he'd left, with a vague promise that 
he'd visit soon, with Jared. With shame, I realized I was glad to see him go.
 
Arlene stirred the remains of her drink. "I'm glad you reconciled."
 
"Who said we did?"
 
She snorted.
 
"You could say we reconciled, after a fashion." My tone was grudging. I hadn't 
told Philip how I'd cherished cradling him in my arms. Perhaps my fragile, 
genius son already knew.
 
"Between the two of you ..." She shook her head.
 
She must have been miserable, these last years. I'd been so caught up in my 
stubborn anger... "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep you from him."
 
"Good heavens, did you think you had?" She looked at me quizzically, but 
squeezed my fingers.
 
"I don't—you and I haven't talked much about—" I sputtered to a halt.
 
"Not since that day you began shouting, at breakfast"
 
I cringed. It hadn't been one of my better days. Still, I felt betrayed. "All 
this time you've been seeing—"
 
"Of course. I'm his mother."
 
"And I'm his father!"
 
"Yes, love." She didn't quite make it sound an accusation.
 
Hastily, I retreated. As always, Arlene would do what she thought right.
 
"I'm glad it's over," said Derek. "You can bear only so much loneliness."
 
"You forget yourself, sir!" My tone was ice.
 
"Do I?" The Stadholder of the Commonweal of Hope Nation met my scowl, 
unflinching.
 
I struggled to hold on to my vexation. "If I want analysis of my feelings, I'll 
ask."
 
"Is he abusing you, Derek?" His calls completed, Branstead peered in from the 
door.
 
"No, but he's trying."
 
"Don't gang up on me," I said sourly.
 
Derek said quietly, "You've always been lonely, haven't you, Nick?"
 
Uncomfortable at the probe, I considered his question. "Not reall—I suppose so." 
Life in Father's cottage had been lonesome, except for my friendship with Jason, 
though I hadn't considered it so at the time. During my years on ship I endured 
the unyielding isolation of a Captain. Command of Academy wasn't much different. 
Then had come the monastery. I glanced quickly at Arlene, curled at my side. 
"Except for my marriage."
 
"If only it were true." She smiled to ease the hurt of her words.
 
"Arlener
 
Languidly, she rose to her feet, wrapped herself around the back of my chair to 
massage my shoulders. "You've been a loving husband, and attentive too. But 
nothing can penetrate the wall you've built. I blame your father for that."
 
"Bah." I waved it away. "What's come over you all tonight?" Gently, I set aside 
Arlene's fingers, struggled to my feet. "I have work to do. It's morning in 
Asia; Hiroto-san is waiting. And I want to call Hazen about that murderous 
sergeant. Has Charlie gone to bed?" My staff middy and I often worked into the 
night It was a peaceable time, and productive.
 
"Witrek will be transferred in a week," Jerence reminded me.
 
"Call someone down. We have a list." The last thing on my mind was choosing a 
middy aide. Tomorrow, I'd have to fly to New York; the Council of Patriarchs 
waited. The day after, we had the Von Walthers banquet at Earthport Station.
 
I paused at the door, disconcerted. At last I muttered, "Derek ... thank you." A 
quick wave good night, and I limped to my office.
 
In Father's cottage, tongue between my teeth, I bent over my desk, laboring over 
my balsa model of UNS Repulse. Jason and I had chosen it on one of our 
infrequent bicycle rides to Cardiff. I hoped to have it finished by his next 
visit, so we could paint it together.
 
I struggled to attach the disk of Level 3 to the central shaft. Repulse was, 
like most ships of the line, a three-decker.
 
Not that there was much chance I'd ever see her.
 
I was twelve, desperate for a year to pass so I'd be old enough to apply to 
U.N.N.S. Academy. Last year I'd managed, after months of scrimping and saving, 
to set aside enough coin for Neilsen's Naval Academy Entrance Exam Prep Guide, 
and at my stubborn insistence. Father now included a heavy measure of math in my 
home schoolwork.
 
"Nicholas, it's bedtime."
 
"Aye, Father." Reluctantly, I set down the model If it was only possible.. .1 
closed my eyes, rested my forehead on the scarred desk.
 
I'd have to get past transcript evaluation, two interviews, and final cull, 
before I might ever see Academy. Each year many thousands applied, and fewer 
than five hundred were selected.
 
I busied myself making ready for bed, knelt next to the covers for my prayers.
 
"Lord God, I beg You, let me serve in the Navy. I'll be
noble, and good, I swear I'll be true to You forever. " I took a deep breath, 
echoed earnestly, "Forever. "
 
"Nick, you're kicking me."
 
"Wha—" Slowly, I came awake.
 
Arlene gently stroked my flank. "You were thrashing about, love."
 
"I'm sorry." I put my head down, pretended sleep, felt my eyes burn.
 
Could I start over, Lord? You gave me such a magnificent gift, this life. And 
I've made such a hash of it.
 
CHAPTER 3
 
t's that racket?" I paused at the heli door.
 
"Demonstrators, sir." Karen Bums, deputy chief of security. Her tone was 
disapproving.
 
From the helipad I couldn't see the protesters, of course. A high wall 
surrounded our compound. When P.T. was younger, it had been my dread that some 
crazed partisan would scramble over the wall and injure him. But then, as now, 
Security kept vigilant guard.
 
"Who now?" I wiped my face. The day was sweltering. It seemed summers were worse 
than ever.
 
"European Independencers by the cottages, Earth Firsters south of the gate."
 
"How many?"
 
"I'm not sure."
 
"Let's take a look."
 
"No, Mr. SecGen!" Karen grabbed my arm before I'd taken two paces.
 
I rapped her with my cane. "Belay that!"
 
"Mr. Seafort, how do you expect us to keep you alive?"
 
"Oh, come now. How many assassins come here expecting me to visit with them?" 
Obstinately, I moved toward the gate.
 
"Larry, Ezekiel, take the point! Suko, watch for darters."
 
Fuming, I let my nannies surround me as I strode past the gatehouse, along the 
path to the street For a moment the clamor lulled. "Open the gate."
 
"Mr. SecGen..."
 
"Do it" But I did it myself, thrusting into the mass of In-dependencers. Five 
hundred or so, I guessed. Well enough dressed, most of them. "What's this about? 
What do you want?"
 
"Freedom for—"
 
"Hey, it's Seafort!"
 
"Get away from—"
 
"Bring back the E.C.!"
 
"Stand clear!" Karen's tone brooked no argument I occupied the sidewalk; 
pressure from my guards slowly forced the demonstrators into the street
 
I raised my voice. "How can I listen in this uproar?" I raised my hands for 
silence. "Have you a spokesman? Will you be quiet?" Slowly, the din subsided. 
"Mark, pass me that bullhorn."
 
A heavyset man pushed forward. "I'm in charge. We're hereto—"
 
"I'm Nicholas Seafort. What's your name?"
 
"Uh, Franks. Maury Franks."
 
"What do you want?" I handed him the speaker,
 
"Independence for the European states."
 
"All of them?"
 
"I—yes."
 
I said, "Public opinion in Britain runs seventy percent in favor of union, last 
I looked. France is—"
 
"Polls can be faked. We want a plebiscite! People, the Government has conspired 
for decades to hide the truth. Ever since the Austrian-Italian Merger of 2170, 
Administration after Administration has—"
 
"Oh, no, you don't" I snatched back the bullhorn. "I'm willing to listen, but 
not if you besiege my home. Certainly
not if you make speeches. Bring a petition to my U.N. office."
 
"We tried—"
 
"I guarantee you I'll personally deliver an answer within three days."
 
"We've heard that goofjuice before. Lies, all of it"
 
"You have my solemn oath. Before Lord God." It brought murmurs of astonishment
 
Franks blustered, but a glance showed him his congregation wasn't with him.
 
"Deliver it whenever you're ready, Mr. Franks." I moved toward the Earth 
Firsters. "What are you joeys doing here?"
 
Below, Delaware merged into New Jersey. U.N. One would be landing on the East 
River strip in half an hour. Washington was too close to New York for a 
suborbital; we were reduced to old-fashioned jets, hi-trans rail, or a heli. My 
jet was equipped with every sort of luxury, which I never used. Nonetheless, we 
carried valets, a butler, security staff, my media secretary, putermen, a Naval 
liaison... I sighed.
 
Mark Tllnitz selected a bottle from the bin. "Wine, sir?" He had to raise his 
voice over the drone of the engines.
 
"And meet the Council of Patriarchs reeking of alcohol? Are you glitched?"
 
"It's not illegal, Mr. SecGen. You're a civilian." And I was ashore, to boot. 
Aboard Naval vessels, alcohol, like most drugs, was strictly forbidden. "The 
Beaujolais, do you think?" Tilnitz's voice was smooth.
 
Perhaps he was tweaking me to divert my disquiet; he was sensitive to my moods. 
I stared moodily out the window at the brown landscape below.
 
In the cockpit were two pilots, a navigator, a radar de-fenseman. Behind them in 
the galley, two uniformed stewards waited, hoping I'd press a call button. In 
the compartment aft of us, Jerence Branstead chatted with a few
favored mediamen. Farther toward the tail lounged our press secretary, the 
valet, and the rest of my swollen entourage.
 
"It's ridiculous." I slapped the armrest "An escort of seventy for a trip to the 
office."
 
"We've been through this." Tilnitz sounded resigned.
 
"Go through it again!"
 
Instead of answering me directly, he raised an eyebrow. "Sir, I'm sure the 
Council has no quarrel with you."
 
"Don't patronize me, Mark."
 
"Why notr
 
I glared, but after a moment his mouth twitched. I grumbled, "Why do I put up 
with youT
 
"Because Jeff Thorne retired." Admiral Thorne, my former chief of staff, had 
once been my superior, and was one of the few who knew how misplaced was the 
public's adulation. In consequence, he spoke to me without undue regard for my 
rank. During my second term I'd relied heavily on his judgment and discretion.
 
Perhaps Mark was right. I seemed to need a goad, to puncture my moods. In 
earlier days, I'd had Edgar Tolliver, but he was long gone from my life, first 
to a Captaincy, then to retirement.
 
Mark's tone was dry, "Karen's rather miffed with you,"
 
"Why?" I knew full well why.
 
"Crowds are dangerous, sir."
 
"I'm no tyrant If the people want to kill me, I should let them, or leave 
office."
 
"You don't believe that."
 
I was silent not sure whether I did,
 
"You certainly startled them," Tilnitz admitted. "But what was the point?"
 
"I don't know. I was restless. To shake up their thinking, I suppose. Make them 
see me as a person, not an abstraction."
 
"Oh, great. At five hundred a pop, how long 'til you win over thirty billion 
citiz—"
 
"Enough, Mark." I keyed the caller. "Mr. Branstead, join me, please."
 
"You rang?" Jerence must have been standing at the en-tryway.
 
"Ask the puter for our budget for religious education for the last ten years."
 
"Surely that's not why the Patriarchs—"
 
"Do it!"
 
Jerence and Tilnitz exchanged sympathetic glances. If I'd carried a pistol I 
could have shot them both,
 
I strode down the mosaic walkway toward the Rotunda,
 
The new U.N. enclave—everyone called it that, though it hadn't been new for a 
hundred fifty years—stretched along the befouled East River from Thirty-eighth 
Street to Forty-seventh. Within its confines were housed the offices of Senators 
and Assemblymen, the numerous U.N. commissions, tribunals, and organizations, 
and envoys from our former and current colonies.
 
Many were in two huge towers whose lines suggested the original U.N. building, 
long demolished. Between them, surrounded by manicured walkways, was the 
magnificent marbled Rotunda that housed my Secretariat,
 
I panted, "Are we late?'
 
Jerence checked his watch, "We have twelve minutes,"
 
"Hmpf." I strode faster, ignoring a warning twinge in my knee. Dutifully, my 
retinue kept pace. In younger days I would have increased my stride until the 
throng was forced to lope. It was absurd; even on the walkway I had at least 
twenty companions. Why hadn't I put a stop to it in my first term?
 
I glanced upward to the Von Walthers Administrative Center, on top of which 
sharpshooters doubtless maintained vigil.
 
The sun passed behind the shadow of a looming tower. No apparatus as vast as the 
world government could be housed in as small a space as the U.N. enclave; only 
the heads of each department—Treasury, Education, Planetary Trade, 
etc.—maintained offices in the Rotunda.
 
Unlike capitols of earlier days, we had no need to concentrate our principal 
offices, so departments were spread over several continents, and linked by net 
Only six hundred thousand worked in the U.N. complex and its environs. Many of 
them were housed in huge towers, amid New York's wealthy Uppies.
 
Admiralty, as always, was based in London, and semi-independent. The 
Territorials had tried once to bring them into the fold, but the Navy had called 
in every political marker it possessed, and sent the administration reeling. No 
government had again attempted to rein them in.
 
We neared the Rotunda steps. Within, the Patriarchs waited
 
The relationship between the United Nations and the Reunification Church was not 
fully defined. During the Era of Law that followed the Rebellious Ages, America 
and Japan had slowly lost their ability to dominate the world by financial 
strength. The U.N. became the only strong global institution, just as the Final 
War permanently changed the world balance of power by devastating Japan, China, 
and much of Africa.
 
At the same time, the miracle of Christian Reunification swept conservative 
Europe, now me most influential region of the globe. The United Nations 
explicitly governed in the name of Lord God and His Church. Rebellion was more 
man treason; it was apostasy.
 
"Easy, sir. Let them wait; you're head of Government."
 
"I owe them courtesy." They represented the Deity. On the other hand, so, by 
law, did 1.1 slowed my pace a trifle,
 
Despite the acknowledged relationship, the Church had no specific rights or 
duties under the U.N. Charter. The Council of Patriarchs, of which the head of 
every major Christian sect was a member, was the principal achievement
of Reunification. It governed the Church. But it did not govern the United 
Nations.
 
Yet, what fate would befall a SecGen who openly defied the Council's command? 
Disavowal, surely. Only once in their history had the Patriarchs ever disavowed 
their own Government Not that the infamous Van Rourke deserved any less.
 
Formal excommunication was also possible. In that event one would be barred from 
the rites of any member sect, and all must acknowledge that Lord God's face was 
turned from him. To consort with him would be treason.
 
Jerence waved jauntily to the mcdiamen gathered on the lawn. As was my wont, I 
ignored the holocams and the reporters' shouted questions. They'd learn soon 
enough why I was here, as would I.
 
Gritting my teeth, I climbed the innumerable white marble steps to the imposing 
entrance. It was a show for the holocams; I could have been whisked by tram 
through the tunnel from the landing strip, direct to the smooth, silent lifts. 
But Jerence had unearthed a poll that questioned my physical abilities, now that 
I carried a cane, and he took every opportunity to put the public's doubts to 
rest.
 
Within, all was marble dadoes and mahogany paneling, interspersed with solemn 
portraits of long-dead leaden, I couldn't imagine why a head of Government would 
want to work in such a tomb.
 
My staff dutifully following along, I made my way through echoing corridors to 
the reception room. Jerence Branstead whispered, "Stand up for your rights," and 
stood aside.
 
Anderson. chief of protocol, flung open the doors,
 
I stopped short. At the head of the vast oval table, where I'd expected to 
preside as host, sat Francis Saythor, First Bishop of the Protestant Episcopal 
Church, current Elder of the Council of Patriarchs. His hands were folded 
comfortably across his stomach.
 
Surrounding him, in the closest seats to the head of the table, were all 
thirteen of the colorfully dressed Patriarchs. I'd expected that the Executive, 
at most, would convene. Certainly not the full Council.
 
The dapper Archbishop of the Methodist Synod nodded. At his right was the Roman 
Catholic Bishop of Rome, robed in imperial purple and white. At his left, the 
elderly First President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, in 
an old-fashioned business suit He glared across the polished table at his 
principal competitor, the President of the Reorganized Latter-day Saints.
 
Saythor, rotund and pale, stroking his charcoal beard, gestured to a seat.
 
Instead of taking the closest vacant chair, I strode to the foot of the table, 
took the seat opposite the Elder's. If confrontation was what he desired, 
confrontation he would have.
 
"Brother Nicholas." Saythor's voice was soft "Let us pray."
 
I bowed my head Even in conflict Lord God must prevail.
 
After the benediction, Saythor made a temple of his fingers and smiled affably. 
"Thank you for joining us. Nicholas."
 
Religion was a serious matter; one ought not nifle witii Lord God. But the Elder 
had always irked me, and his behavior today was no exception. So I said, "It's 
my pleasure. Francis."
 
As I expected, the use of his first name displeased him, but he made no overt 
gesture other man to raise an eyebrow. "The Council has concerns we wish to 
share." His manner was ponderous.
 
"By all means."
 
"Your Administration—you in particular—have shown unnecessary hostility to those 
who would protect Lord God's most cherished planet"
 
My jaw dropped. "You want me to favor the envirosT
 
"Sarcasm is unnecessary," Saythor admonished. "We speak of those who'd protect 
Earth from the ravages of her selfish colonies."
 
I frowned, still not sure what he meant
 
Stefan Wendrous, Patriarch of the Greek Orthodox Church, intervened in his 
heavily accented English. "Mr. Seafort, we're distressed that you persecute 
political groups whose sole purpose—"
 
"What groups? Please speak clearly."
 
Saythor shrugged at his colleagues, as if to demonstrate my obstinacy. "It's not 
necessary to Ust them by name. Your policies—**
 
"Toward whom?" I was sailing in a fog.
 
The Elder's temper frayed. "The Earth First Alliance, among others. The 
Committee Against Colonial Waste. The Council of Economic Realists." 
Conservatives, all of them. No, reactionaries, who demanded our funding of the 
colonies be curtailed. Why would the Patriarchs demand I support them?
 
"Now, wait a minute," I struggled to conttol my tone of voice. 'The Patriarchs 
have always favored colonial expansion. In the process we spread the Gospel of 
Jesus Christ diroughout—"
 
"Of course," Saymor's voice was bland, "But it's past time our colonial children 
began paying back our beneficence."
 
"Began?" Derek would have apoplexy, were I to repeat that remark. No doubt the 
other colonial governments felt likewise. "Do you realize we've crippled their 
economies, asking them to pay for our rebuilding?"
 
Andrew DeStoat, Elder of the Evangelical Lutheran Church, snorted in disdain. 
"The fish who attacked were instruments of Satan, It's appropriate to require 
all Christian nations to undo their mischief."
 
"So you want me to crack down on die colonies?" My
hand toyed with the silver head of my cane. What on earth had caused this shift 
in policy? I'd not met often with the Council, but they'd rarely interfered so 
blatantly. Their usual concerns were more likely to revolve around religious 
education, or criminal statutes they saw as overly lax.
 
"Certainly not." The Elder looked shocked. "However, considering the vast sums 
we've spent—**
 
"Our colonies provide foodstuffs, raw materials, manufactured—"
 
"—on gargantuan ships such as Galactic, it behooves us to use her well."
 
I fell silent, aghast. Never before had the Patriarchs interfered directly in 
Naval matters.
 
"Her early voyages should both transmit our goodwill, and our insistence that 
Earth's needs be met. After all, ours is the one planet in the known universe 
blessed by the sojourn of Jesus Christ." He leaned forward, spoke with grave 
emphasis. "The miracle of Reunification mustn't be squandered. In the colonies, 
unreconciled sects run wild; without our intervention, they'd do so here as 
well. To combat them takes funds. Our income mustn't be jeopardized"
 
I clamped my mouth shut. Hie Church was infallible, though I had my private 
doubts about its current Elder. Still, 1 had to say something, "I'll ask 
Admiralty to take your views into consideration,"
 
"Favorably?"
 
"I can't speak for Admiralty." I'd begun to perspire.
 
"A maiden cruise to Belladonna would be a welcome start"
 
I swallowed. We'd just negotiated a new trade pact with Belladonna, giving die 
distant milling colony greater say in ore quotas, and granting liberal trade 
allowances.
 
It wasn't mere generosity on my part. Only by keeping our colonies content might 
we keep their support, and head off their yearning for self-government Hope 
Nation was an example; years ago, I'd had to grant mem independence, after 
suppressing a planters' revolution.
 
We couldn't afford another upheaval, economically or morally. Revolt against the 
U.N. was rebellion against Lord God. Millions of souls hung in the balance. My 
own understanding that I was damned caused me ceaseless misery.
 
Luckily for the Navy, I had an out "Galactic Fuses in two months for 
Constantine. She's carrying the principal wave of colonists and supplies."
 
"A few months' postponement won't matter." Saythor's stem visage met mine.
 
I said evenly, "Delay would be unwise."
 
"Look, Seafort" The Elder's tone was now openly hostile. "We're in agreement on 
mis." His gesture included his colleagues. "You understand what that signifies? 
Representatives of all His churches concur on His will, without dissent We have 
no doubt that in this we speak for Lord God.**
 
That was a warning, if anything was. If I defied tile Church on a matter in 
which they spoke for the Deity, I could be charged with heresy. Unlikely, 1 
supposed, but quite possible. Nonetheless, I waited in stubborn silence.
 
"Let me be frank," Saythor added. "We already know the Territorials will have no 
scruples in furthering His cause,** No, they wouldn't The opposition party saw 
the Navy as a club with which to strike its enemies. It always had. In the 
Transpop Rebellion, the Tcrric government had used Naval lasers to blast city 
streets. And they were dead set against colonial independence. Ordering the Navy 
to hold the colonies by brute force would be a simple solution they'd eagerly 
endorse.
 
I hesitated, yearning to comply. But visions of the idyllic Hope Nation 
landscape drifted before me, and of the earnest, hard-working folk of Detour, I 
wouldn't let the greed of the Patriarchs corrupt U.N, colonial policy, "I will 
not send a Naval vessel to menace U.N. citizens who've done no wrong,"
 
The Elder's fingers drummed the table. "As you wish."
 
"Brother Nicholas." The Bishop of Rome stayed Saythor with an upraised hand. 
"Review the matter without haste. I pray you, don't discard a life of service 
over a small issue."
 
"We speak of finance, Your Holiness." I fished in my pocket for a coin, found 
only a credit chip. I held it between two fingers. "This is of Caesar, not of 
God. Let temporal matters arrange themselves without your intervention."
 
"It's our duty to intervene." Pope Nicholai shook his head. "Still, Francis, 
wait a week. Give him time to consider."
 
A look of annoyance flitted over the Elder's pudgy face. "In deference to your 
wishes, so be it." He looked to me.
 
I was beyond tact. "I don't need a week. Let someone else besmirch the Navy."
 
"Nonetheless, we'll wait. The usual press statement, outside? Earnest exchange 
of views? Frank discussion?"
 
"Very well." What they told the mediamen was of no concern. Mechanically, I 
moved with the rest of them to the door.
 
I would be free at last. For years I'd sought release from the burden of office, 
and now it was at hand. So why did I feel not relief, but disappointment?
 
Because my beloved Navy would be used for dishonorable ends. For two hundred 
years courageous sailors had sailed the starlanes, not to threaten our colonies, 
but to nurture them.
 
On the other hand, the Council spoke for the Reunification Church, and the 
Church for Lord God. Who was I to set my will against that of the Deity? I 
couldn't believe the Patriarchs had actually threatened me with renunciation. 
Well, they hadn't, not in so many words. But what did Pope Nicholai mean, 
"discard a life of service over a small issue"? Discard my life itself? My 
service?
 
My lips tightened. When I couldn't reconcile my duty with the Church, it was 
time to leave office.
 
In the anteroom I nodded curtly to Branstead and Mark Tilnitz. Security men 
formed their customary ring as we began our walk through the rooms of state to 
the holocams waiting outside.
 
'Trouble, sir?" Jerence's voice was a whisper.
 
"Later." The Patriarchs and their retinues were near.
 
A hand touched my shoulder.
 
The Elder of the Lutheran Church said quietly, "Bishop Saythor isn't graced with 
soft speech. Brother Nicholas, but heed his words nonetheless." A short, graying 
man dressed in traditional black, he wiped his brow with a starched 
handkerchief.
 
I leaned against a marble column, letting the procession pass me by. "I'm 
puzzled, Reverend DeStoat What brought on the Council's sudden anxiety about our 
colonies?" I could guess the answer the Territorials, out of office for twelve 
years, had been whispering in their collective ear. The Catholic sect, among 
others, had always favored the Terries.
 
'They have more than economics on their mind." DeStoat's smile was wry. "In the 
colonies, too many wayward cults have sprung up, in disregard of the one true 
way."
 
"Couldn't you settle those matters ecclesiastically?"
 
His mouth tightened. "Only when colonial affairs are firmly in hand." He lowered 
his voice. "The Reunification is a precious gift. If we make demands of the 
colonial churches we can't enforce, our unity might be shattered. It's a risk we 
can't take. We must keep them under firm control, and the Navy is Lord God's 
instrument. Take care, Brother Nicholas." His mouth smiled, but his eyes did not 
"Defiance could jeopardize more than your Administration."
 
A warning, or a threat, barely disguised. We reached the door. Dutifully, I took 
my place beside Elder Saythor, letting my presence endorse his platitudes to the 
mediamen.
 
"I hope it's not Galactic," said Charlie Witrek. He put another chip in the 
holovid, scanned it We were in my Washington study, attacking my endless 
paperwork.
 
I snorted. "You're probably the only middy in the U.N. Navy who doesn't want 
her. Why?"
 
"She's too big. Too many middies. I'd never be first." The first midshipman, on 
any Naval vessel, had special privileges, and was in charge of his fellows. But 
seniority applied; the midshipman with the longest service was automatically 
first.
 
Charlie was no doubt right; on a ship such as Galactic it would be years before 
he'd have hope of making first middy.
 
"You're how old? Eighteen?"
 
"Nineteen in September." Young, by civilian reckoning, but not for a middy, 
Witrek would have joined at fourteen or so, as a cadet. He filed his chip, 
reached for another. "It's not like they'll have a lot of ships to choose from."
 
I grunted. UNS Wellington had just left for Casanova, and Braeburn was already 
en route to Vega. Over seventy star-ships, but not more than two were in home 
system. A far cry from the days of the fish war, when we'd recalled nearly our 
entire fleet. Nowadays the Navy was desperately busy ferrying colonists outward, 
hauling their produce back home.
 
"Mr. Seafort?" For once, he sounded tentative, unsure. "I don't want to take 
advantage, but..." He steeled himself. "Could you see that I get a ship? Not an 
administrative posting?"
 
I could have sworn he held his breath. Any thought of twitting him vanished. 
"Yes, Charlie. You deserve that much."
 
A sigh. I was right. He had been holding his breath.
 
Ariene faced me, hands on hips, a disapproving frown creasing her lined face. 
"For heaven's sake," I said. "I have to go; it's the Von Walthers Award, and I'm 
the guest of honor." They'd named the moral leadership award for Hugo Von 
Walthers, the legendary Captain who'd discovered the wreck of Celestina, gone on 
to be a colonial Governor, and ended his career as Secretary-General over a 
century before.
 
Canceling the trip was impossible. They'd laid on the awards banquet at the 
Earthport Hilton. I felt vaguely uneasy about it; I knew our easing of the 
Charities Tax Act had played a significant role in their selection of me as this 
year's recipient though there hadn't exactly been a quid pro quo. Not really, 
although Jerence had discussed it with the nominations committee. In any event, 
while I was aloft, I wanted to consult with Naval brass; the Council's ultimatum 
made doing so even more urgent
 
Of course, now that my tenure as SecGen was about to come to an ignominious end, 
perhaps my consultations didn't much matter. Regardless of what Admiralty said, 
1 wouldn't cany out Saythor's policy.
 
"Micky, you've been pushing yourself. And the acceleration—"
 
I snorted. "Since when have I had problem with liftoff?" I'd spent my life 
clawing my way out of one planetary gravity well or another,
 
"You're getting older.**
 
"I'll be fine." I sought to mollify her, "1*11 have Bransiead make time for a 
nap after we dock."
 
That brought a smile, as I hoped it would. But it faded. She said, "Don't mock 
my worries."
 
"I'm not, hon, but as long as I'm SecGen, I have to keep up appearances." I 
checked her expression; my reassurance seemed to have little effect. "Care to 
change your mind and come along?"
 
"Well,., yes,**
 
I did my best to hide my surprise. "Very well, get packed; we leave in two 
hours." In tjum, I was finding liftoff more difficult each trip, and I didn't 
want Ariene along to observe me. She herself seemed to bear acceleration as 
easily as when she'd been a cadet eager for her first trip to Farside. On the 
other hand, she'd always been a fitness fanatic. She taught Philip self-defense, 
far more competently than I could have. She'd have made a formidable drill 
instructor. Even today she kept herself in fine shape.
 
Normally we'd lift from Potomac Shuttleport. About half the size of New York Von 
Walthers, it was North America's fourth largest spaceport. It handled 
suborbitals to Europe and Asia as well as the massive shuttlebuses that lifted 
cargo and personnel to Earthport Station and beyond.
 
Unfortunately, our Secretarial shuttle was docked in New York, and Tilnitz 
merely laughed at my suggestion that we book a commercial flight. So we trooped 
into a heli, heading for Potomac Shuttleport, where we would board the jetliner 
that would save an hour compared to a heli flight to New York. I bore it with 
ill grace; I'd have preferred flying the jet heli directly to Von Walthers 
Shuttleport, but it couldn't have carried the entourage mustered for my visit 
aloft
 
We flew over the old White House, where the American President still reigned 
over his regional government. Washington still bore the scars of the huge 
bureaucracy that had throttled it: vast white stone buildings in federal style 
and glass monstrosities linered the landscape. The remains of the Pentagon 
scarred miles of lowland.
 
At Potomac Shuttleport Arlene and I walked the red carpet to the jetliner, 
followed by my numerous aides. I seethed at the fuss.
 
Perhaps sensing my mood, my staff gave us a wide berth once the doors were 
sealed. Carlotti, my press secretary, made himself comfortable in the aft 
compartment; Mark Tilnitz settled with the crew in the cockpit. Arlene, knowing 
my moods, sat peaceably across the aisle scanning a holozine. Only Jerence 
Branstead, with the ease of long familiarity, sat near me, holovid in hand.
 
"You wanted to review the Von Walthers seating, sir?"
 
Seating approval for the banquet was one of the terms we'd negotiated.
 
"Oh, yes. The chart?' I peered at the arrangements. The Von Walthers affair 
would be among my last public appearances; I might as well enjoy myself. "Have 
them put Kahn elsewhere. We've never been friends." Besides, a seat other than 
at the center of the dais would thoroughly annoy the former SecGen. That sort of 
power was a perk of office I'd rarely exercised. "Where's Metzner? No, put him 
on the dais. He supported our cuts to the U.N.A.F. budget."
 
The engine whine grew louder. Almost imperceptibly, we began our taxi.
 
"Now, make sure Boland's seat is near mine. It'll make him happy, and irritate 
the devil out of Rothstein."
 
My chief of staff looked askance. "Are you sure, sir?" ,    "If the Terries 
don't like it, they can eat in the lobby." My tone was gleeful. After a moment 
Branstead smiled too.
 
At last, we began our takeoff roll. j         "Now, as to the Naval brass—" j    
     An unexpected bump lifted me from my seat. Almost instantly, the craft 
braked, rocking side to side. I braced my-I      self.
 
|     Mark Tilnitz darted out of the cockpit. He reached past i Jerence, tore 
off my seat belt, threw me to the deck. | He whipped across the aisle, pulled 
Arlene clear. He ; hauled her to a seat several rows forward. He dived back to ' 
the chair I'd vacated, scrambled to lower the porthole shades.
 
Swerving, the craft slowed. I snarled, "What in God's—"
 
Ignoring me, Tilnitz barked into his shoulder mike. "Ground team, we've got a 
scramble! Shots fired from the west. Seal the terminal!" He whirled to the 
cockpit. "Pilot, stay away from buildings! Roll to the far end of the field!" 
The door to the aft compartment flew open. Two burly security men dashed in. One 
knelt over me, protectively.
 
"Stay clear of windows, Branstead! Get down!" Mark drew his pistol, peered 
cautiously past a shade. "No one in sight. Anyone hurt?** He glanced about "They 
shot out a tire."
 
I pushed the security agent aside, hauled myself to a seat on the far side of 
the craft. "How do you know?*' The rush of adrenaline left me shaky.
 
"I saw sparks on the tarmac. Their first two shots missed. Get down, sir!" He 
tugged at my arm. Again, he keyed his caller. "Armored vehicle to the north end 
of the field. I want troops, a heli, full air support."
 
I twisted free from his grasp. "I'm as safe here as anywhere. Arlene?"
 
"I'm all right** Her face was grim. "Mark, catch them.**
 
"Our joeys know the drill.** He muttered into his caller. "Mr. SecGen, we'll 
take you home to the compound."
 
I slammed the armrest "The hell you will." I felt a moment's guilt for my 
language. "I'll not be made a prisoner by some lunatic with a rifle."
 
"Nicky—"
 
"No, Arlene, I'm going to Earthport Stay home if you're afraid." I could have 
bitten my tongue off, but it was too late. Instead of erupting, though, Arlene 
compressed her mouth and said nothing. I knew her outrage would be slow in 
cooling.
 
I tried to sound reasonable. "Mark, I'll accept protection while you sort this 
out. An hour. Two, no more. Then we go on to New York."
 
"This is my show, sir. Shots were fired."
 
"You heard me."
 
"And you heard me. Or I'll resign." We exchanged glares.
 
Jerence growled, "Enough, the both of you.'*
 
I gaped. My chief of staff never spoke to me so.
 
"Mark, he's the boss, whether we like it or not Mr. SecGen, stop throwing your 
weight around. Mark knows what he's doing."
 
"I never said he didn't" Why did I sound peevish?
 
In the distance, sirens screamed. Flashing lights drew close, wheeled to 
surround us.
 
Mark's gaze grew distant as he listened to his earplug. "Area secured. Off the 
plane, Mr. SecGen."
 
"Very well. Arlene?" I held out a hand, but she stalked past me.
 
Tilnitz led the way, pistol drawn and ready. Surrounding me, security agents 
hustled me down the steps. In seconds, I was huddled inside a dim-lit armored 
truck.
 
Mark snapped, "Go!"
 
"Not without Arlene."
 
"She's in the next car. Go go go!" We lurched off, gained speed rapidly.
 
"Where are we headed?"
 
"A hangar."
 
"Why there?"
 
His tone held resignation. "It's by the book, sir."
 
An hour later, I paced the cold concrete of the hangar. "I want to see the 
body."
 
" "111 we search every inch, the terminal's not secure."
 
My mood was foul. Arlene was barely willing to acknowledge my existence, despite 
my apology. I knew my comment had been inexcusable; on Wellington, Arlene had 
faced attack by the alien fish without qualms. To question her courage ...
 
Jerence Branstead stood by the truck, arms folded, disgusted with my resolve to 
be on our way to Earthport
 
I took a deep breath. Then another. I'd have to practice patience.
 
Jerence sighed loudly, for the third time.
 
No, by Lord God, I would not. I was about to be disavowed by the Patriarchs; I 
would do as I wished. "Mark, look at me." I took his hand, placed it on my chest 
"Who do you think I am?" "The Secretary-General." He sounded puzzled.
 
"Not Lord Christ? I'm just a man, do you agree?" He nodded. "So I can be killed 
despite all your efforts. I spent all my Navy years in one sort of danger or 
another. They shot at me aboard Hibernia, and on Hope Nation. They wounded me on 
Challenger. Fish hurled acid at my ships. I damn near died in the Rebellion." I 
was skirting blasphemy; I'd have to rein in my tongue. I made a short prayer of 
contrition.
 
He said, "Those days are past."
 
"Not if Lord God wills it!" I brandished my cane as if it were a laser. "I won't 
go skulking about, do you hear? Show me the damn—the blessed body."     ;
 
Mark threw up his hands in defeat "Very well." We piled back into the truck.
 
The terminal lobby had been cordoned off. I knelt by the      / bloody corpse 
still clutching its ancient rifle. A sallow blond-haired joey, about thirty. 
Faded jumpsuit, with a scorched hole in the chest. Receding hair, sallow cheeks. 
No one I'd ever met. I hadn't really expected otherwise.
 
Around us, civilian police and U.N. security staff milled about recording the 
scene, note-taking, interviewing. Thank     j heaven, Carlotti was keeping the 
mediamen at bay. It was the only reason I tolerated him.
 
I looked down at the vacant eyes. "Was he alone?"
 
"Except for his driver."
 
"ID?"
 
"We've taken prints and DNA. It shouldn't be long. He's E.A.L., though." Mark 
saw my mystified look. "Eco Action League. Had a manifesto in his pocket"
 
"A new one?"
 
"Fairly similar to the first" He grimaced. "We should have been prepared. At 
Devon they warned they'd strike again."
 
"Where is it?**
 
"Forensics has it; I'll get you a copy."
 
I fingered the scorched jumpsuit "Was your enviro goofjuice worth dying for, 
joey?"
 
"I don't think he expected to die." Mark gestured to the outer door. "He almost 
got away. A car was waiting."
 
"Did you get a description?"
 
"Oh, we have it But in the confusion the driver bolted and escaped. I want you 
out of here. Have you seen enough?"
 
"Yes." I was profoundly disturbed. How could the ecos murder innocent children, 
attack my transport? The Rebellious Ages were long past, thank Lord God. Our 
population wasn't under the heel of a tyranny; across the world, the public 
embraced the strictures that bound us together and made war and terror relics of 
history. Yes, the urban trans-pops had once rebelled, but they'd been driven to 
it by desperation, by the threat of extinction.
 
Acts of terrorism were punishable by death, regardless of their success or 
failure. That was just But when had the penalty last been meted? Public 
dissension was so rare these days ... and since the upgrade of the laser 
installation at Lu-napolis, what point in insurrection? America's eastern 
seaboard, seat of government and our primary industrial base, was so heavily 
protected that no earthly force could threaten it
 
I sighed. What was the world coming to? Well, it wouldn't be my problem for 
long. "Get us to Von Walthers."
 
Mark led me to a heli.
 
Earthport was the largest orbiting station ever built. In geosync orbit over the 
eastern U.S., its bays moored interplanetary vessels for Lunapolis, Deimos, and 
other nearby settlements and, more importantly, vast Naval starships for our 
more distant colonies. Its bonded warehouses stored cargo for transshipment as 
well as ores and grains ferried home from distant provinces awaiting transfer to 
Earth or other local ports. Earthport's numerous hotels and restaurants served 
throngs of passengers en route to and from the sixty-seven planets and 
satellites on which the human race had established beachheads.
 
Eleven of those outposts had been colonized during my terms of office.
 
Surreptitiously I rubbed my chest, not yet recovered from liftoff. For decades, 
ever since my lung replacement... ah, well.
 
"Welcome, sir," said Geoffrey Rand, civilian administrator of Earthport. 'Thank 
Lord God you're safe.**
 
I frowned. No doubt the news zines were already trumpeting the shuttleport 
fiasco. "Have you met Ms. Seafort? Arlene ..." She nodded curtly, still miffed.
 
Rand gestured toward the waiting electricart. "This way, sir." As I passed the 
sparse line of officials, Fleet Admiral McKay saluted stiffly.
 
At my side, Mark Tilnitz eyed each face, his glance flickering down to the 
hands. I supposed I couldn't blame him, given the day's events. I beckoned 
Branstead. "What's the drill?"
 
"I scheduled you a couple of hours in your Hilton suite, but that was before 
the, urn, delay. I'll cancel the Naval tour so you'll have time to rest before 
the banquet."
 
"Nonsense." I took a deep breath, tried not to wince. "I'll skip the nap."
 
"You need it, Nick." Artene's voice was acid.
 
"I'll decide that." I pressed my lips tight, unwilling to quarrel in front of 
strangers.
 
The cart rolled through bright-lit corridors, each punctuated by emergency 
hatches that would slam shut at the first sign of decompression. For security 
reasons we'd docked on Level 5, near the Naval wing, far from the civilian 
concourses and their shops.
 
As a Captain, I'd oft walked these corridors and thought nothing of it. My 
knuckles tightened on my cane. I could do so again, if need be. My staff coddled 
me too much, and I suspected I was becoming soft as a result. I had half a mind 
to stop the cart and walk. In fact—
 
I raised my cane. "Hold it." Startled, the driver carefully braked. I slid off 
the cart. Hurriedly, Mark followed.
 
All were staring at me. I couldn't very well demand to walk, could I? I'd 
inconvenience Rand, the Admiral, my staff...
 
I had to give a reason for stopping. "What's this?" I pointed to a hatch.
 
'Traffic control, Mr. SecGen." If Rand was surprised at my abrupt diversion, he 
gave no sign.
 
"Let's see." I slapped open the hatch, from the access pad at its side.
 
Within, a small anteroom. I peered past the startled guard. Beyond, a row of 
consoles, manned by techs. "Why aren't they in uniform?"
 
"They're civilians, sir."
 
"Oh. Of course." I felt an idiot. If I'd visited Earthport as often as I ought, 
I'd know better. The Navy operated out of its own wing, and the rest of the 
station was under the administrator's control. "Very well." Casually, I eased 
myself onto the cart. "Cany on."
 
In moments, we rolled to a stop at the closed and guarded hatch to the Naval 
wing. I shook hands with Rand, the station administrator, and confronted 
Tilnitz. "Mark, I'm in Navy territory. Get some rest. Take Arlene to the hotel. 
Unless ... T I gestured to the hatch.
 
Arlene shook her head. "The hotel."
 
"Mr. SecGen—"
 
"Jerence, tell Mark I'm safe with the Navy. Admiral, let's go." I left Tilnitz 
protesting.
 
The conference room was spacious enough to hold the entire Board of Admiralty, 
fifteen in all, but we were only five, including a Captain. Gray-flecked Admiral 
McKay took a place across from me. Farther down the table was Admiral
Hoi of BuPers, thin of face, his expression somber. Johanson of the Governmental 
Affairs Office was mere also, and an officer I didn't recall, whose stern blue 
eyes regarded me steadily.
 
"Mr. SecGen, may I present Captain Stanger."
 
Oh, of course. I'd seen his holo, spread across the zines. "How do you find 
Galactic, Mr. Stanger?"
 
"She's wonderful, sir." His gaze softened hi a brief smile.
 
I grunted She ought to be, for what she cost. But I owed him more courtesy than 
that "And the loading?" Galactic'* cargo holds were huge, and most of her stores 
had to be hauled from groundside, a shuttle load at a time.
 
"We're coming along well. Two months, according to schedule." He saw me grimace, 
added quickly, "It's all right, sir, really. We're using the time to whip the 
crew into shape."
 
That, at least, I understood. As difficult as it was to train new crewmen, it 
was twice as hard when the entire ship's company had been transferred from other 
vessels, and had to learn the quirks and peculiarities of a new craft.
 
Admiral McKay cleared his throat, switched on his holovid. "Well, then—"
 
"Would you like a tour, Mr. SecGen? We'd be honored." Stanger waited 
expectantly.
 
"I wish I could. I have the Vdn Walthers banquet—" On the other hand, my 
schedule tomorrow held nothing of great importance, and it was time I saw the 
great behemoth that was such a bone of contention. Besides, after I next met 
with the Patriarchs, I doubted I'd have another chance.
 
I'd delay my return shuttle. Tilnitz and Branstead didn't have to like it "Very 
well, in the morning. I'll look forward to it" I saw McKay's eyes were frosty. 
"Sorry, Admiral, on to business."
 
We ran through half a dozen routine items: staffing concerns, out-of-budget 
special appropriations, home fleet dispositions.
 
There was an awkward pause.
 
"Well?" I looked from one to another. "What is this meeting really about?"
 
"Mr. SecGen ..." Admiral Hoi's tone was cautious. "We wanted you to be cognizant 
of concerns shared by a great number of Naval officers."
 
I'd endured similar mind-numbing circumspection from the Patriarchs, and was 
thoroughly sick of it. "Speak plainly."
 
"We all love the Navy; that goes without saying. We're concerned about 
Administration priorities."
 
I stirred. Why was it so difficult for him to reveal his thoughts? Perhaps 
Captain Stanger sensed my impatience. He coughed discreetly, and Hoi nodded in 
relief.
 
Stanger leaned forward, his blue eyes serious. "There's little enough money to 
rebuild New York, aid the ravaged Netherlands, and support the expansion of the 
Navy to protect us from colonial dissolution. The Navy doesn't want funds 
squandered on ecological boondoggles. There, it's said."
 
"What boon—how is this your business?"
 
"Officially, it isn't" For a moment he dropped his eyes. "Would you prefer we 
didn't speak?"
 
Yes. "No, of course not It's just..." I was floundering. "Go ahead."
 
Stanger's smile was grim. "All of us here are loyal to our last breath, as are 
all the officers we've spoken to."
 
"Naturally." Why did I feel a chill?
 
"Nonetheless, officers throughout the Service are troubled. I believe you'll 
confirm, Admiral Hoi, will you not? Just so. The Seafort Administration hasn't 
opposed the Greenhouse Gases Reduction Act for exam—"
 
"Cutting industrial emission of greenhouse gases will slow global warming, at 
least to a degree. And it's only five percent"
 
"On top of four percent three years ago. But any reduction
cripples our industry and will slash Government revenues. And to what purpose? 
Frankly, Holland is beyond saving. Cut our losses."
 
1 shook my head. "It's not just the Dutch. The same tides roil across Florida, 
Louisiana, Japan—"
 
"A seawall is a hell of a lot cheaper, Mr. SecGen, than foolish enviro fantasy 
on a global scale. You see, sir"— Stanger waited for my nod to 
proceed—"expansion of the fleet is vital. Surely you must agree. The colonials 
are restless, but if trade with a single colony is disrupted, our economy could 
tailspin. Now, if ever, we need a firm presence among the worlds, and that means 
more ships. And it's not just factory emission controls that hamper us. There's 
no real proof ozone reseeding works, or—"
 
"But we ought to try." Why did I feel I was parroting the enviro line? 
Essentially, Stanger was right. There was little we could do to change the 
course Lord God had set for us. But I mustn't tell Stanger that; he was 
challenging Administration policy. "We're under increasing pressure from the 
enviros. Not just Winstead and his Council; now there's the loonies of the Eco 
Action League. Casting aside enviro programs would be as bad as giving in to 
their terrorism. Can't you see we have to maintain a steady course?"
 
"I see the Naval budget in disarray. Don't make it worse with useless enviro—"
 
I said, 'The Navy spent more this year than last"
 
"Yes, we had an increase, but almost all of it went to Galactic and Olympiad,"
 
I slammed the table. "You wanted those ships!"
 
"Of course we do." Slanger's tone was soothing. "They can carry thousands of 
troops, if it comes to that No colony will—"
 
"We won't use them to browbeat other worlds!" I reined myself in. We were far 
off topic. "I won't abandon the Greenhouse Gases bill. It's not expedient" We'd 
decided, Branstead and I, to give the enviros what little we must, to keep them 
quiescent.
 
"You'll continue playing into the Enviro Council's hands?"
 
"I didn't say that." A pause. "How many officers agree with your sentiment?"
 
"Most I've spoken to." He passed the ball to McKay. "Sir, what is Admiralty's 
view?"
 
The Admiral looked uncomfortable. "On the whole, we've little disagreement Mr. 
SecGen ..." He looked to me in appeal. "You've been the Navy's staunch supporter 
all your lire. Can you not see that mis is no moment to falter?"
 
I got slowly to my feet "Is that what I'm doing?"
 
Johanson of Governmental Affairs spoke for the first time. "Absolutely not, sir. 
But we're worried about the immense pressure put on you by the enviro fringe. 
They're totally unrealistic on budgetary constraints."
 
"What if..." I was almost afraid to ask, "I don't do as you ask?"
 
"Why, sir." Stanger's guileless eyes met mine, "We'll do our duty, as always. 
But we'll be disappointed."
 
"Very well. See that it comes to no more than that" My skin was clammy. "Pll 
think carefully on what you've said. Next month when I meet with Admiralty on me 
budget—" But I wouldn't be meeting with Admiralry next month. At best, I'd be 
retired. Or facing a heresy charge if me Patriarchs were so minded.
 
"1*11 think hard on it" I finished lamely. "Believe me, I too want the Navy 
strong and vigilant" On that note, we adjourned.
 
The confrontation left me troubled. Whether I viewed their remarks as threat or 
warning, they made dear I'd been too long out of touch with the working 
officers. Well, it would be my successor's problem, not mine. Unless I chose to 
throw my lot in with the conservatives, mount a show of
force for the colonies, and by doing so win the Patriarchs* favor.
 
"Oh, Mr. SecGen." Admiral Hoi seemed cordial. "Could we stop at my private 
office? I've something to show you."
 
"Very well." In the corridor, Jerence Branstead waited with my security chief. I 
scowled. "I thought I told you to rest."
 
Tllnitz waved it away. "My job's to keep an eye on you."
 
Hoi was present, so I held my peace. I followed him to his hatch.
 
"That way, sir."
 
"I know." My tone was curt. A decade ago, I'd come aloft to this very office to 
demand Admiral Jeff Thome put an end to the decimation of the transpops. The 
place reminded me of tragedies I'd as soon leave buried, of days before P.T. and 
I had grown apart.
 
Hoi stood aside. 1 limped in, caught a glimpse of the huge holoscreen dominating 
the far bulkhead, "It hasn't chang— Lord in heaven!"
 
The Naval officer who came to his feet wore a shy grin. "We wanted to 
surprise—sir, are you all right?"
 
I steadied myself at the console, "Yes, I,., Alexi, how have you—it's so good 
to—I didn't know—" I swallowed, "Come!"
 
He extended his hand; I started to take it, pulled him instead into an embrace. 
*'Oh, God. Lord God." I could say no more.
 
Alexi Tamarov had been a fellow middy on Hibernia when I first reported to her 
wardroom, a hopeful boy with the ruin of my life still ahead. Afterward, I'd 
made him lieutenant, sailed with him again years later, seen him through a 
terrible wound and the anguish of amnesia.
 
I wiped my eyes. "How did ... where did you., ,** "Melbourne docked two days 
ago, sir" "It's been how long?"
 
"Twelve years." Several cruises, on his part, elections and politics, on mine.
 
I closed my eyes. How could it be? Where did a life go? "Let's have a look at 
you." Still slim, a finely chiseled face, wavy hair only now showing a touch of 
gray. "You're Captain." His shoulder patches told me that, but I'd already 
known. From time to time I watched the few names I still recalled, as they 
climbed the Captains' list
 
"For six years, I've been out of system a year and a half, I arranged extra 
leave; Josh Fenner has Melbourne for the Titan run. Moira is a bit unhappy I 
left her with the joey kids, especially as Mikhael—is Ms, Seafort along?"
 
My smile vanished at the thought of the amends I must make. "At the hotel. 
She'll be delighted to see you. And we'll have you down to—oh!"
 
"What, sir?"
 
"Derek's in town!"
 
His face lit in delight "The three musketeers, together at last!" Barely more 
than boys, together we'd endured Cen-traltown's upheavals.
 
I giggled. Somehow, his presence swept away my burdens. Alexi was a good-hearted 
joey, and steadfast unto death. If only I'd had him with me, these cheerless 
years.
 
Someone coughed. Dimly, I realized we weren't alone. "Ah, Mark, you've never 
met,.. Admiral Hoi, would you do the introductions?" I sank into a chair, my 
head in my hands.
 
Once, in Hope Nation, Alexi and I had shared a tent outside the Plantation Zone. 
"Sir?" I'd been young, still eager, struggling to know my duty. "Sir, are you 
well?"
 
"Of course, Jerence." I groped for his arm. "Make time for Alexi, Fit him in, 
regardless of what else I have on my plate. And put him on the dais tonight."
 
"Done."
 
Two levels below, Earthport's corridors were wider, the fittings more stylish, 
as befit public areas. Our cart slid to a halt at the Milton's main hatch, 
resplendent in gold trim.
 
I waved cordially to the gawkers, delighted to have Alexi at my side. We made 
our way into the crowded auditorium. The audience had undergone stringent 
security checks, beyond those they'd already endured to reach the Station.
 
Half an hour later, in view of the hundreds who'd paid astronomical sums for the 
privilege, and watched by millions on worldwide nets, I toyed with my roast 
chicken and peas. I was thinking of Arlene, wishing I could discuss with her 
Stanger's assertions, and regretting my vile accusation of cowardice, but she 
was in the front row, having steadfastly refused the dais.
 
Somehow, I'd have to undo my folly.
 
Senator Rob Boland leaned close. "I hope I won't embarrass you tonight."
 
"You won't if you tell truth." If he weren't up for reelec-tion, I wouldn't have 
agreed to his giving the principal address. But Robbie Boland had served well in 
his father's old Senate seat, and deserved another term.
 
We'd long since set aside our differences over the trans-pops, and his moral 
failure to support them. Politics required me to be practical. His help was 
instrumental in shepherding through the Senate many bills that our party thought 
important.
 
At the far end of the dais, former SecGen Kahn chewed stolidly.
 
Robbie reached across my plate to offer Alexi a hand. "Mr. Tamarov, I don't 
believe we've met."
 
"A pleasure. Senator."
 
"You served on his first ship, right? How I envy you."
 
"How so?" Alexi shot me an apologetic glance, but I didn't really mind them 
talking past me.
 
"I met Mr. Seafort when he was Commandant." Boland
had been a cadet men, in my care. "But you knew him when he was young."
 
"We were all young then." Alexi smiled at the memory, turning to me. "And now, 
look at you." He read from the glittering emblem on the screen behind the dais. 
"The Von Walthers Award for Moral Leadership."
 
"Lord Christ, Alexi. Er, sorry." For an instant I bowed my head in contrition. 
"Don't you realize it's all political? How could I actually deserve this?"
 
"How could you not?"
 
The lights dimmed; the chairman rapped on the podium, began his introduction. I 
tried to achieve a look of polite interest
 
First he had to thank the event's organizers. Then he handed off to Anton 
Bourse, the world-famous holo star, who gave the world's millions a capsule 
biography of Captain Von Walthers. Next, the head of the Von Walthers Foundation 
spoke of their charitable work, and of the award they sponsored.
 
My polite smile began to congeal. I coveted my mourn with my napkin.
 
Alexi whispered, "Patience, sir. It won't be long.*
 
I grunted.
 
His eyes glowed, "I had no idea when Melbourne docked that you were getting the 
Von Walthers, It's so fitting."
 
"You're an innocent"
 
"Don't you understand, sir? I'd have dropped out years ago if not for your 
example. Even today, middies revere you. I can't tell you how good it feels to 
know the public feels die same."
 
"Alexi, how often must I tell you? We engineered mis, Branstead and I." 1 turned 
away, took a cautious sip of wine. Through the glass, one of the lights looked 
like a porthole. I toyed with my goblet Like a porthole at UNS Helsinki's aft 
airlock.
 
/ strode down the Level 2 corridor. Up the ladder, turn
left. Sixteen, green and awkward, I was a nervous young middy reporting for the 
first time to the bridge. I'd not yet met Mr. Hager, the first midshipman who'd 
control my destiny, or the Captain, so far advanced on the ladder of life that I 
was sweating in anticipation of our coming encounter.
 
I had to make a good impression. My whole career depended on it. All my 
striving, all my training, had led to this interview.
 
Help me, Lord God. I am Yours, wholly. I dedicate my service to You.
 
My footsteps slowed. I was outside the bridge.
 
Clutching my orders, I smoothed my jacket, ran a hand through my close-cropped 
hair. This is it, Lord. My career starts in this moment.
 
Help me make it right.
 
Help me to be proud.
 
A round of applause. I looked up, startled. Robbie Boland slid back his chair, 
strode to the podium.
 
"Ladies and gentlemen, it is a sobering honor to be here tonight. For our 
honoree is a comrade, an old friend, my late father's long ally, my ..." He 
hesitated. "My mentor. The man who showed me right from wrong, who was"—a rueful 
smile—"responsible for my political eclipse." That brought friendly laughter.
 
Boland, disa-aught at the death of his friend Adam Tenere that he'd done nothing 
to prevent, had resigned as Assemblyman to raise Adam's troubled son Jared. It 
was five years before he reemerged into political life.
 
"Nicholas Seafort is a man who will not lie. A man who will not prevaricate. A 
man who hates falsehood. A man who does right, as he sees it, no matter what the 
cost."
 
Alexi squeezed my arm. Tm so proud of you! I wouldn't miss this for the world,**
 
I stared at my goblet, but the bridge of Helsinki had faded beyond recall.
 
Lord, why must it be so? Why cannot I go back, be again that earnest boy?
 
At the far left, SecGen Kahn looked fixedly at his plate.
 
Why am I here, Lord?
 
"... a man who is at once kind, resolute, brilliant, innovative, and a moral 
beacon for all mankind. I give you the Captain of Hibernia, Challenger, and 
Trafalgar, the recipient of this year's Hugo Von Walthers Award, 
Secretary-General Nicholas Ewing Seafort!" Boland turned, led the thunderous 
applause.
 
Lord, take me back to boyhood. I'd beg on my knees, if it would sway Thee. Give 
me another chance.
 
"Sir, it's time."
 
Please. How could I have gone so wrong?
 
"They're waiting!"
 
There was nothing but to go through with it. A few words of thanks, and it would 
be over. Slowly, reluctantly, I got to my feet. The thunder hadn't abated. 
Across the hall, guests had risen, offering a standing ovation.
 
It was intolerable.
 
I reached the podium, leaned my cane against the stand. Smiling widely, eyes 
shining, Robbie Boland offered me his hand.
 
Waiting for the applause to subside, I scanned the hall. Arvin Rothstein was 
banished to the second row of tables, as I'd planned. He'd paid over a thousand 
Unies to participate. Lord God, he looked elegant in his black dinner apparel.
 
I raised both hands, waved the multitude to their seats. How many of the 
attendees did I know? Admiral Hoi, of course. Deputy SecGen Cisno Valera, with a 
table of his aides. Connie Histung, of Holoworld. Vince Canlo from Newsnet, so 
many others.
 
Slowly, the applause dwindled.
 
I squinted past the lights, past the banks of holocams that would send my words 
to the world.
 
In the front row, joeys were waving, as if to attract my attention.
 
Oh, no.
 
My son Philip and Jared Tenere grinned up at me, delighted at my shock.
 
No, Lord. Not this. I glanced back to Alexi. His mouth formed silent words. 
"Bravo, sir!"
 
The scrape of a thousand chairs. At last, the hall quieted
 
Only a few words. Then it would be done.
 
"Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you—**
 
"Midshipman Nicholas Seafort reporting, sir! " The eager young boy's voice 
cracked. He stiffened to attention. The Captain of Helsinki turned piercing gray 
eyes upon him.
 
"—thank—" I faltered.
 
No.
 
I stood a long moment, staring at the podium.
 
In the hall, murmurs of unease.
 
I gripped the lectern, with knuckles turned white. At the front table, my son 
P.T. gazed upward, misting and proud.
 
I raised my head, "—thank you for the honor you wish to confer." I searched the 
audience, for a face that might understand.
 
"You would fete my moral leadership. Yet last winter I approved revision of the 
Charities Tax Act, benefiting me Von Walthers Foundation, among others. I knew 
mat bestowal of mis award was contemplated as a result In what I can only 
describe as an act of moral negligence, I allowed my nomination to proceed."
 
Gasps, from throughout die hall.
 
In the front row, Philip watched, his lips parted as if to protest, Jared's hand 
slid across, protectively grasped his.
 
"Am I* overall, an evil man? I mink not, yet I allowed political revenge to 
dictate the seating of this banquet Mr. Sec-Gen Kahn, you should have been 
seated more prominently, and would have been, had I not interfered. Mr. 
Rothstein, though you are a director of the Von Walthers Foundation, I
had you removed from the dais for your opposition to the wheat tariff bill. I 
apologize to you both for my moral lapse."
 
"Mr. SecGen, don't!" Jerence Branstead's hiss carried from the dais.
 
"Rumor has it that the Von Walthers Award has been politicized before. So be it. 
That is no excuse for my participating in a tawdry sham."
 
Murmurs, that stilled to shocked silence,
 
I swallowed a lump in my throat. "As I've sat here with an old shipmate, in the 
presence of my son of whom I'm immensely proud, and a fine boy who was once my 
cadet. I've been reminded of what once, decades past I strove to become. It's 
too late to be that person. But I can make a token effort to redeem myself. So, 
you see, if I have any pretense to moral decency, I cannot accept an award for 
moral leadership. I decline the honor you would do me tonight"
 
I gazed serenely at the holocams. "Thank you for your intentions, May Lord God 
bless you all."
 
Grasping my cane, I limped from the silent hall.
 
CHAPTER 4
 
We were gathered in my luxurious Hilton suite. Spacious portholes overlooked UNS 
Galactic, and beyond it, the immense sphere of Earth.
 
Jerence Branstead slumped, head in hands.
 
Arlene made a place for herself on the arm of my settee. "Ah, Nicky. Will you 
ever change?"
 
I snorted. "Not likely." Not at this late date.
 
"It's a shame. Aside from your Puritan morals you're a pretty decent joey."
 
Scandalized, I glanced about. Though I respected her criticism, she rarely went 
at me in public. True, I thought of Branstead and Alexi almost as family, but...
 
Alexi blew his nose.
 
I snapped, "For heaven's—this isn't a wake!"
 
"It might as well be," said Branstead. "Politically." His penetrating gray eyes 
settled on mine.
 
I waved it away. "It doesn't matter." The Patriarchs would put paid to my 
account in a very few days. But Jerence and Arlene didn't know, and I didn't 
care to tell them. There was no way I could criticize the Elder without 
disparaging the Church itself, and that I was loath to do. It would put me in 
conflict with Lord God Himself.
 
"It was such a fine moment, sir." Alexi. "Why ruin it?"
 
"It's not your concern." I spoke before thinking. "Sony, you deserve better." 
Wearily, I leaned back, resting my head, wishing Philip had chosen to join our 
gathering, but he'd told Arlene he wanted to be alone, and disappeared from the 
auditorium. "I've become rather imperious of late. Surely you've all noticed. 
You should have stopped me."
 
"We tried." Branstead's tone was wry.
 
"It's as if I treat my office as a right I get so impatient with the fools who 
block our progress." I sighed, wishing I had words to explain. "When I first 
took office, the scars of the alien bombing were still raw." Cities obliterated, 
the populace in shock that our brave conquest of the stars had sown such havoc.
 
"And then, my second Administration, after the Transpop Rebellion ..." New York 
had been in flames, and unrest had spread to Chicago, Detroit, London.
 
As a Naval officer, as a civilian, I'd been a war hero, then peacemaker. But as 
SecGen I'd labored to restore the damage, ease the world's economic strains. To 
quell emotion, to keep us on the steady path to recovery. In the process I 
constantly traveled the globe, offering myself as solace to those overcome by 
incessant disaster. The Berlin spew, the New Orleans flood, the Kiev meltdown 
... would it never cease?
 
No. It seemed a crowded, injured world took chances, too many of them, to 
restore its faltering economy. But I showed myself, exposing myself to fouled 
air, cholera-ravaged homeless, polluted waters, raging fires, doing what I could 
to galvanize the machinery of Government. Over and again I'd toured the cities 
of Earth, letting myself be seen, touched, heard, in contrast to my aloof 
predecessor, SecGen Kahn.
 
In foreign affairs, I rebuilt our relations with our many colonies, disgruntled 
at abandonment in their moment of need when the remorseless fish were attacking 
so many outposts. I'd altered the exchange rate in their favor, to encourage 
their industries and promote trade.
 
And, throughout, I'd told the truth, an unvarying policy that eventually earned 
the world's begrudging trust
 
And yet, I'd handled so many matters so poorly. "I suppose, as we age," I said, 
"we all yearn to be young again, to have more life before us. But that's not 
quite how I feel. What I really want is to go back and change whom I've become. 
But that's impossible, and it drives me mad."
 
"Someone tell him." Alexi spoke to the wall, as if afraid to meet my eye. "If 
anyone should have pride in whom he's become, it's he."
 
"I'm not proud of myself of late."
 
"Bah. You never have been."
 
'Those acts you call heroic—"
 
Jerence said, "You're as wrong about yourself now as you ever were."
 
"Oh, nonsense. I know I abused you as a child, and as for Trafalgar—"
 
"God damn it, you listen to me!" Branstead's voice was hard. I gaped at his 
blasphemy, but he paid no heed. "Where would I be if not for you? Dead, or in a 
prison colony pining for goofjuice!" The horribly addictive drug had seized him 
as a boy, and he'd writhed in its clutches, until I'd encouraged his escape.
 
A fourteen-year-old joeykid swam before me, on the fast-ship Victoria. He put 
his hand for comfort in mine. "I swear on my immortal soul that I... won't... 
ever use ... goofjuice again." He was weeping. "It was so hard, Mr. Seafort So 
hard!"
 
But he'd done it. And made a life to be proud of.
 
"And me." Alexi's voice was soft. "If not for you, Mr. Seafort, what would I 
be?"
 
"As you are now. Recovered from your troubles, a successful officer—"
 
"You taught me how to be an officer. Then you taught me again."
 
"Alexi, I had little to do—"
 
His words were almost a whisper. "Don't discredit what you were to me. And still 
are."
 
I threw up my arms. "I don't know what to say."
 
Arlene tentatively raised a hand, like a joeykid at school. "That you're wrong, 
and you're sorry?"
 
Lord God, how do I deserve friends such as these?
 
I bowed my head.
 
An hour later, our company gone, Arlene settled across the room. She regarded me 
warily. "Nicky, what in God's name is troubling you? No, don't look away. It's 
time we..." She swallowed. 'Tell me."
 
"It's..." My heart pounded.
 
"Say it"
 
"There's a woman. I—we've been in love."
 
For a moment her eyes closed, as if in some unbearable pain. Then, with resolve, 
"Is she beautiful?"
 
I studied her, wondering how much more she could be hurt "Yes. Lord God, yes."
 
A moan.
 
"Blue eyes, auburn hair..."
 
Her tone was bitter. "You've known her long?"
 
I forced myself to meet her eyes. "Finding her was the miracle of my..." My 
throat caught. "I abhor myself for not doing more for her. I've loved her since 
I was sixteen, and I still don't know what I'd do without—"
 
"Oh, Nicky!" She flew across the carpet, threw herself into my arms.
 
I wrapped myself around her, breathing in her fragrance, exulting in the sturdy 
beat of her heart. "I'm sorry, my love. I'm so sorry." I could say no more. "So 
sorry."
 
From the porthole of our launch, UNS Galactic was a disappointment. She was 
large, but not all mat immense. Her lights beamed from her mooring a kilometer 
or so from Earthpon Station. Actually, she wasn't moored; she merely floated at 
rest relative to the Station.
 
Galactic was too vast to be accommodated at Earthport's usual locks; she would 
block five bays at a time. The Station's extension bay at which she and her 
sister ship would dock wasn't completed yet. A minor inconvenience, all told.
 
The starship had four launches and two gigs, to carry passengers back and forth. 
Her middies must be beside themselves, striving to earn the boon of piloting 
between Station and ship. In fact, a gig was just setting off; its running 
lights glowed green and white. Utterly dwarfed by Galactic, it steered a course 
for a Station bay.
 
Alexi, Arlene, and I had boarded Galactic'& launch from one of the Naval locks. 
A night's sleep hadn't changed my mind that I'd acted appropriately at the Von 
Walthers banquet. A pity I hadn't come to my senses earlier, and refused the 
nomination.
 
Some idiot had arranged for mediamen to record our jaunt from Earthport, and 
their shouted questions still echoed hi my ears.
 
"Mr. SecGen, have you seen the polls?"
 
"How long did you plan—"
 
"Is this die start of your reelection camp—"
 
"Did you mean to set an example for the Assembly?"
 
The hiss of a sliding hatch had restored blessed silence.
 
We decelerated, as our pilot began his approach to Galactic's launch bay. Off 
our starboard bow, the gig floated toward the Station.
 
I caught my breath. That wasn't a gig, it was another launch, several times a 
gig's size. That meant...
 
Suddenly, I saw Galactic in perspective. If her launch looked like a gnat on a 
bison, she was truly gigantic. I pressed my forehead to the porthole, straining 
to take in her glory. At last, I leaned back, assimilating what I'd seen. Arlene 
squeezed my hand.
 
"What I'd give to have her," said Alexi.
 
I nodded agreement. Any Captain would give his right arm for the posting; I 
wondered again what influence had swayed Admiralty hi Stanger's favor. Perhaps I 
should have taken a stronger role in the selection. Galactic was the Navy's 
greatest vessel, the largest ever built Only her sister ship Olympiad, still 
under construction, would be comparable.
 
As if reading my mind, Alexi said, "They could have built ten starships for the 
cost"
 
I nodded.
 
"Well, no doubt she'll satisfy the hotheads." He turned to the porthole. "Sorry, 
shouldn't meddle in politics."
 
Almost, I let it go. "What are you saying, Alexi?"
 
"Surely you've heard the talk. The Navy's mission of destiny. Lifeline to the 
colonies. Earth's ungrateful children, that sort of rubbish." His eyes roamed 
the distant hull. "Lord, she's big."
 
"How will Galactic—"
 
"Oh, just by being there. An unstated threat, should one be necessary." He made 
a vague gesture.
 
"Is that sort of talk common?"
 
"Common enough. I didn't mean to tell tales out of school." A placating gesture. 
"It's just... well, we've grown so dependent on imports, it makes joeys 
nervous." He smiled. "Captains on a long cruise have too much time to brood"
 
I knew that was so.
 
"Look, sir, the launch bay hatches are open. The ship's so massive you can 
barely see the bay."
 
I joined him at the porthole. Behind us, Arlene watched quietly, her face 
without expression.
 
The pilot began braking maneuvers.
 
Soon our vessel inched into the launch bay. At last the capture latches clicked 
into place, and the huge outer hatch slid shut behind us. A short wait, while 
the bay was pressurized. Naturally, as on any ship, there was a lock between the 
bay and the working areas of the ship, but one didn't want to herd passengers 
about in suits if it was avoidable, so the bay was normally kept aired.
 
We climbed down, cycled through the lock to the Level 3 corridor.
 
A voice roared, "Stand to!"
 
Twenty-two officers resplendent in dress whites stiffened to attention. At their 
head, Captain Stanger snapped an Academy salute. Despite myself, my heart 
quickened.
 
"Gentlemen, as you were.**
 
Stanger stepped forward smartly. "Welcome to Galactic, Mr. SecGen."
 
"Thank you." I glanced about All circumference corridors had a curve, but 
Galactic's was far less pronounced than on any ship I'd known. Her disks were 
far wider, so that was to be expected, but it gave the ship a sense of grandeur 
and luxury I hadn't expected.
 
Ariene's eye flitted about "Good Lord.'*
 
I understood her awe. The typical ship's corridors were painted Naval gray, but 
here the corridor was richly detailed in wood tones, with an astonishing amount 
of intricately molded trim. Hatch surrounds were outlined in gold
 
I looked down, scandalized. "Carpeting? On a corridor deck?" Corridors had 
riveted plates throughout. Always.
 
"We're on Level 3, sir. Passenger country. Level 1 is more what you're used to."
 
I scuffed my feet on the obscenely soft material. After a moment I relaxed 
enough to grin at Arlene. "She's something, isn't she?" Almost, I didn't regret 
the cost.
 
Alexi said, "She puts Hibernia to shame."
 
"Hmpff." Loyalty made me frown.
 
The officers seemed suspiciously young. My eye flitted among shoulder stripes 
and length of service pins. "Lord in heaven, how many middies do you berth?"
 
"Eleven, sir."
 
"All in a wardroom?"
 
"Not exactly. We call it one, but it's divvied into two compartments."
 
The first middy would have his hands full, if Galactic was like any ship I'd 
ever known. I'd found it a trial to keep track of three middies. Ten 
subordinates would be...
 
"Who's first?"
 
"Mr. Speke, step forward."
 
A lanky joey strode from among his fellows, saluted. "Midshipman Edwin Speke 
reporting, sir."
 
I glanced at his service pins. "Six years." Plenty of experience. Useful. But 
why hadn't he made lieutenant? Well, six years as middy wasn't all that long. 
Eyebrows wouldn't begin to be raised for another year or so.
 
One by one Captain Stanger introduced his lieutenants, who all seemed eager to 
shake my hand. I wondered how many of them would still brag of meeting me, after 
my coming disgrace by the Patriarchs.
 
"Shall we visit the bridge, sir?"
 
"Please." I had to negotiate the shoals of protocol. Even as SecGen, I had no 
right of command in Stanger's ship; the Navy took its chain of command most 
seriously indeed. He and his crew had come to attention before me as a courtesy, 
not an obligation.
 
A ship could have but one Captain, and Stanger was he. No civilian, even the 
Commander in Chief and head of Government, could legitimately issue a direct 
order on ship. Even an Admiral was required to operate through his subordinate 
Captain, who had actual responsibility for the vessel. The Admiral's recourse 
was to remove a Captain who offended; even an Admiral couldn't countermand his 
Captain's orders.
 
It was well this was so. The Navy survived by maintaining an absolutely clear 
line of authority.
 
Ultimately, I could have Galactic'* crew do as I wished, but only by issuing 
directives to Admiralty, and having their orders filter through the chain of 
command. Of course, in practical terms a request from me had the effect of a 
direct order. No sailor in his right mind would alienate the SecGen.
 
We started down the corridor, several officers trailing behind.
 
Like any starship, Galactic was composed of disks. Imagine a series of foam 
rubber circles, stacked one on top of another. Then picture a rather thick 
old-fashioned pencil stuck through the center of the disks. The part of the 
pencil forward of the disks contained the voluminous cargo holds that justified 
the ship's existence. Aft, below the disks, were the fusion drive chambers that 
generated the N-wave that drove the ship. But the disks were where passengers 
and crew worked and lived.
 
Most starships contained two levels, or three. Galactic had six, and they were 
huge. Through the middle of each disk ran a circular circumference corridor, 
divided into nominal east and west. The disks were connected by stairwells, 
which by Naval terminology were ladders.
 
"I feel..." I couldn't say it aloud, even to Arlene. I felt more at home on this 
ship, unfamiliar as she was, than ever I'd be in the corridors of the Rotunda.
 
Why can we not retreat to what was? More to the point, why had I ever abandoned 
life as a Captain? I sighed.
 
Stanger stopped abruptly at a hatch, slapped the panel. The midshipmen continued 
on until they were beyond the corridor curve.
 
A hatch slid open. I gaped. "Elevators, in a starship?"
 
"For passengers, mostly. Remember, we have six levels." He smiled. "The lifts 
are off-limits to middies."
 
"I would hope." How soft would the Navy grow, if middies rode elevators from 
level to level? Why, in my day ...
 
"Shall we?"
 
I asked brusquely, "Do you normally ride?"
 
"No, sir. But..." His eye flicked to my cane.
 
That did it. "Neither do I." I stalked down the corridor.
 
The ladder was farther than I'd thought Surely the stair to
Level 2 was no steeper than usual. Lips tight, I negotiated the steps, 
transferring as much weight to the rail as I could. As I climbed, though, my 
discomfort lessened. At the top of the ladder, on Level 2,1 felt almost 
light-headed.
 
Stanger read my mind. "We have three gravitron units. They're intended to mesh, 
but I keep the bow units set low. About a third gee. It's better for our 
health."
 
"Is it?"
 
He shrugged. "I like it that way." As Captain, he could set them as he chose. 
Light gravity was rather refreshing, once you got used to it. Most unusual; a 
ship such as Hibernia had but one set of gravitrons.
 
We climbed to Level 1. It was, as Stanger had said, more as I'd expected. Gray 
bulkheads, alloy plate decking. Utilitarian. To my eye, comfortable.
 
A quarter of the way around the long corridor, we came to the bridge. Stanger 
slapped open the thickened hatch. A bridge was built like a fortress; if sealed 
from within, only a heavy cutting rig could penetrate it
 
The watch officer jumped from his console, stood at attention.
 
"As you were." Automatically, Stanger glanced at the console readouts. My own 
eye was drawn to the simulscreen that dominated the front bulkhead. As on any 
bridge, it provided a view of the stars, as seen from the ship's prow. But most 
ships weren't moored just off Earthport Station. The view from Galactic was 
beyond spectacular. It was breathtaking.
 
"Mr. SecGen, Ms. Seafort: First Lieutenant Garrow."
 
I grunted, still lost in the Station's blaze of lights.
 
"An honor to meet you, sir."
 
"Of course." After a moment I tore myself from the simulscreen, realized what 
I'd said. "I mean..." I flushed "Sorry. You've been on ship long, Lieutenant?"
 
"I came from Seville two weeks before commissioning."
 
I forced myself to concentrate. "Captain Stanger's last command." I'd read as 
much, in a briefing.
 
Stanger drifted to the hatch. "I brought Garrow with me. A good man. Would you 
like a brief tour, Mr. SecGenT
 
"Very well." Reluctantly, glancing behind, we followed him from the bridge. Two 
middies tagged along, apparently at the Captain's behest.
 
The dining hall on Level 2 was elegant beyond words; its decor would have been 
suitable in the finest French restaurant in Lunapolis. Alexi and I exchanged 
skeptical glances. "Rather ornate," he allowed.
 
I tried to count the tables. If Galactic carried three thousand passengers... 
"Mr. Stanger, surely you don't hold two seatingsT
 
"No, this is only first class. Most passengers are served in the second dining 
hall below. We—"
 
I spluttered, "First class?" In all my Naval years, it had been a proud axiom: 
the Navy traveled with but one class of passenger. While wealthier joeys could 
buy certain amenities, such as parties and receptions in the lounges, passenger 
cabins were all the same size, and meals were alike.
 
"It's not really a class, sir, it's—"
 
**Why wasn't I told of this?"
 
"I don't know, sir,**
 
"Show me the other dining hall."
 
Grimly, we proceeded two levels down the ladder.
 
Alexi scowled at the pressed celulex tables, the rows of straight chairs, "Hah. 
Not really a class?"
 
I muttered, "Inexcusable." Compared to the opulent first class dining hall, the 
compartment was dreary and utilitarian.
 
Arlene gave my hand a warning squeeze, but her eyes said she was as disgusted as 
I.
 
I shook my head. "I'll be paying Admiralty a visit." I rounded on Captain 
Stanger. "I suppose the cabins are equally classless?"
 
"There are differences among them." Stanger's tone was frosty. "Remember, Mr. 
SecGen, that I'm not the architect"
 
I wasn't about to be mollified "You, of course, dine on Level 2?"
 
"It's nearer the bridge."
 
"But of course." My tone dripped contempt.
 
The two middies exchanged glances.
 
"Easy, sir." Alexi touched my arm,
 
"It's an outrage." He and Arlene were right: mere was no point in alienating 
Stanger, but... the Captain wasn't even ashamed of the disgraceful arrangements. 
Still, I'd treated him poorly in front of his own midshipmen. For the sake of 
ship's discipline I tried to rein in my ire. "No need to drag you about the 
ship; a middy will suffice. You, there. Speke, is it? Would you care to show us 
the engine room?"
 
"With the Captain's permission." A touch insolent, per-haps, but technically 
correct. It was Stanger's ship, not mine.
 
Stanger nodded his consent Then, to me, "Would you care to lunch with us before 
you leave?"
 
"No, thank you. We have a shuttle to catch," Not quite true; our shuttle for Von 
Walthers would depart when we were ready. Earthport was in geosync over the 
southeastern Amerieas, so we need not be concerned with an entry win-dow. Still, 
I doubted I'd enjoy a meal in a galley masquerading as a luxury hotel.
 
The Captain's face was wooden. "As you wish. 1*11 have the launch crew stand 
by." Another salute, and he left us.
 
Perhaps Midshipman Speke had taken umbrage at my dismissal of Stanger; he was 
distinctly cool as we went about our tour. It annoyed me enough so that 
obstinately, after the engine room, I asked to see more. Arlene looked about 
with interest; she'd been a lieutenant for a number of years in one of the 
Navy's proudest ships.
 
"This way, sir." Speke's tone was sullen. Well, if that was his attitude, no 
wonder he hadn't made lieutenant
 
I had the middy lead us to die comm room—an impressive establishment, bristling 
with radionics and sensors— and then an elegant passenger lounge, complete with 
ornate bronze statuary. With every step, I was more uneasy, more sure the Navy 
had made a grave miscalculation.
 
Galactic was stunning, there was no denying it But the Navy was in the transport 
business, not the hotel trade. A voyage could last well over a year; Galactic's 
cruise to the new colony of Constantine would take a full nineteen months. On 
such long voyages class distinctions ought to be suppressed, not encouraged, 
else they would fester, and resentments burst forth.
 
I asked, "Where are hydros?" Despite her capacious holds, the starship would 
depend to a large degree on the produce of her hydroponics chambers,
 
Speke said, "Below, on Level 6."
 
I gaped at Alexi, but he had seen it too. The impatient middy had rolled his 
eyes. Alexi shook his head. I knew what he was thinking: on Melbourne, or for 
mat matter, on any ship of mine, a middy who showed such disrespect would be 
brought up short. Well, Galactic was Stanger's to command. I wouldn't interfere.
 
Passing cabin after cabin, we trudged down die sumptuous corridor toward the 
hydroponics chamber, my knee aching. We passed an airlock, one of half a dozen 
the ship boasted, Two seamen waited for the entry light to go green, stiff and 
awkward in their pressure suits.
 
Alexi said, "Hullo, what's this?"
 
The young middy's voice was cool. "Machinist's mates, sir. 1 believe they're 
checking another sensor Problem SIR
 
"Four external airlock sensors have gone bad so far." That sort of thing 
happened, especially on a new ship. That's why Galactic tarried so long in home 
system after her commissioning. Speke shook his head. "Shoddy Navy parts." I bit 
back a savage reply.
 
By the time we'd looked at the rows of tomatoes, legumes, and greens growing in 
East Hydros, I'd walked as much as I could tolerate. We started back to the 
launch berth.
 
At the Level 3 launch bay lock, I opened the inner hatch from the corridor 
panel. 'That will be all, Mr. Speke."
 
Alexi cleared his throat. "Middy, please give Mr. Stanger a message."
 
"Yes, sir?" The boy waited.
 
Alexi's voice was stern. 'Tell him Captain Tamarov is offended by your behavior, 
and wishes to call it to his attention,"
 
The middy gulped. "Aye, sir."
 
I whistled under my breath. The boy was in for it now. At twenty, he was by 
custom too old to be caned, but he'd have to work off demerits as would any 
other middy. If I were his commander, he'd get a full ten demerits, for the 
folly of irking a fellow Captain. Each required two hours of hard exercise.
 
I'd been prepared to let the matter go, but Alexi wasn't so charitable. Well, 
coming off a ship of the line, he expected shipboard discipline. No doubt, on 
Melbourne, he got it, though Alexi was one of the most kindhearted souls I knew.
 
Still, I hesitated. It was I who'd kindled Speke's resentment in the first 
place, by being so brusque with Stanger. Nonetheless, I'd see ten midshipmen 
caned before I'd alienate my oldest friend. I flashed Alexi a glance of apology. 
"Your outrage is warranted. Captain Tamarov." I favored the hapless middy with a 
steely glare, "Tell me, Mr,, ah, Speke. Can you imagine making Captain?"
 
"Urn—I..." It was every midshipman's dream. "Yes, sir,**
 
"And if one of your middies—no doubt a good joey at heart—went about sulky and 
sullen, sighing under his breath, rolling his eyes ,.. You'd be pleased?"
 
"No, sir," He reddened.
 
"And this in front of a distinguished Captain and the Sec-Gen?"
 
"No, sir." He was sweating.
 
"You were annoyed, perhaps, that I was curt with Captain Stanger?"
 
"I—there was no—it's none of my business, sir."
 
"Ahh." My glance softened. "Perhaps I might prevail on Mr. Tamarov to 
countermand his order?"
 
Glowering, Alexi nodded.
 
"Very well, no need to report the matter to Stanger. But joey ... think on it"
 
The boy's gratitude was pathetic. "I will, sir. Thank you. Please forgive me."
 
"Good lad." Out of habit, I saluted, and automatically, he stiffened to return 
it
 
In silence, we passed through the lock.
 
"I wish I'd been at the banquet" Derek Carr lounged on the soft blue divan in my 
Washington living room, swirling his drink. "After you left the hall, the media 
were at a loss. I've never heard such blather on the nets." His sharp blue eyes 
met mine. "Though you shouldn't have done it"
 
"I had to."
 
"Why? Because you're not perfect?*
 
"I'm much less than mat"
 
On the couch opposite, Arlene lounged with Alexi. Though they'd never known each 
other in the Service, they'd hit it off from the moment they'd met, years ago. 
In fact during the Transpop Rebellion, we'd stayed with Alexi and his wife, 
Moira, while searching for Philip, They'd had one toddler, I recalled, and 
another joey kid on the way.
 
Again I wished P.T. were with us, but he'd left word in response to my query. He 
needed time, he said, to assimilate what I'd done. I knew my refusal of the Von 
Walthers hurt him deeply, though I wasn't sure why.
 
Alexi sipped at his scotch. "1 haven't followed the news. What's the line?"
 
Derek grinned. "First word was that the SecGen's glitched and should resign. But 
then they read the early polls."
 
"And?"
 
"I'd say he got'away with it The newsies go on about his unyielding moral 
rectitude, his refusal to compromise, Ms—"
 
"So, Mr. SecGen." Alexi raised his glass in mock salute. "You'll hold the 
Rotunda awhile yet"
 
"No." It was time I told them. "In a few days it'll be over."
 
Arlene gazed at my face, silent, waiting.
 
"I—it's—you see..." I hadn't expected it to be so hard. A deep breath. 'The 
Patriarchs intend to disavow me."
 
"Why?"
 
"Because of the Navy. Colonial affairs. No, that's not it The real issue is that 
I refuse to support Mother Church. They want me to coerce the colonies into 
economic and social submission, and I refused. But they're right, you see. They 
have to be." For some unfathomable reason, my eyes stung. "They represent Lord 
God, Only a fool would oppose His wiU,"
 
"But you're not that." Alexi set down his drink, "Sir, they*ve no right to—"
 
"Be silent!" I slapped the table with open palm, MNot another word!" He'd come 
close to blasphemy, and perhaps damnation,
 
"No," Alexi gave an apologetic smile. "We're past that, you and I. I'm long 
since adult, and a Captain. I take responsibility for my acts. If the Patriarchs 
condemn you, they're wrong. It's that simple."
 
Derek uncurled himself from the divan. "Doss Branstead know? Has he started to 
fight? Plant stories in zines, get out the word that—"
 
"He doesn't know, and we'll do no such tiling." My tone was firm. "They've every 
right to censure me. And even— no, let me finish—even supposing they're wrong, 
if you think I'd raise my hand against them, you know me not at all."
 
Silence.
 
"Besides ..." I made my tone more reasonable. "I'll retire at last. You've no 
idea how much I want out of office."
 
Abruptly, Arlene got to her feet, padded to the door.
 
"What's up, hon?"
 
"I'll make tea." She disappeared into the hall.
 
"Excuse me." Perhaps she wanted tea, but that wasn't all. "Hon?" I followed into 
the bright-lit kitchen. "What is it?"
 
"Nothing, Nick. You have enough troubles." She set a ceramic pot in the micro. 
"Until it boils," she told it
 
"Go on, hon."
 
"Retirement."
 
"I look forward to it so much."
 
Her gaze was speculative. "You've said that for years. When did it stop being 
true?"
 
"What? How can—I've always dreamed of—"
 
"You meant it at first. The night you announced for re-election, atop the 
Franjee Tower, you almost wept. When did it change?"
 
"It didn't!"
 
'•Swear it, Nick. By Lord God."
 
"Of course I do. I—"
 
"Say the words."
 
"Oh, Arlene ... By Lord God Himself, I swear to you, I yearn..." I faltered
 
"Water boiling." The micro lapsed silent.
 
I blurted, "I don't know when. Until tonight, I didn't realize..." I met her 
gaze. "I like being SecGen. I want to hold on to office. I like the power. And 
I'm good at it; I make decisions and get them carried out. It's like being 
Captain again; when I speak, joeys jump. That's Lord God's truth." My smile was 
bitter. "See what I've become?"
 
"It's important you see also."
 
"Why?"
 
"So you can have what you want Let's fight them."
 
"No. Tell me, what do you want?"
 
"A cup of Darjeeling." She busied herself with the pot "All right, that's not 
honest. I hoped you'd retire, because I thought that's what you wanted. I can 
make a life for myself either way, Nick." Suddenly her eyes teared. "I always 
have."
 
"Oh, hon." I drew close.
 
She fended me off with a palm. "If we're to tell truth... You love me, I think, 
though sometimes I'm not sure. But you don't need me. I've stayed busy. 1 raised 
Philip, and did a damn fine job of it So did you; we were good parents, weren't 
we? I wish he were still young."
 
She sipped at her tea, made a face. "I played at First Lady when I had to. I've 
read, and gone back to school; you know how proud I was of my doctorate." She 
paused, reflecting.
 
"Arlene..."
 
"But for years... I've been marking time. I have a few friends, but not many." 
She stared into her cup. "So we'll leave the Rotunda for good. It's all right. 
It's just... Galactic reminded me of my years on Wellington, and what it was 
like to see other worlds. Of the life I lost."
 
I whispered, "You too?"
 
"More than you'll ever know." She lifted her tea, splashed the counter, set it 
down. "Damn. Sorry. But—damn!" She fled to the hall. "Say good night for me."
 
"Hon—"
 
"Please, Nick!" She was gone.
 
"Hooker's disappeared from the face of the Earth." Mark Tilnitz looked grim. 
"We've searched, Naval Intelligence is hunting, U.N. Security has pulled out all 
the stops."
 
"And?" I tapped my desk, wishing I'd held the meeting in the comfort of my 
Washington compound, but I'd hoped the formality of my Rotunda office would spur 
the world's security forces to greater effort
 
"We're falling all over each other," Karen Bums said, "and getting nowhere."
 
General Donner glowered. As head of U.N. Security Forces, he was nominally 
Mark's boss, but he knew that in reality Mark was answerable only to me. "We've 
run analyses on the two manifestos. We think one person wrote them both."
 
"That's a great help." I sounded too sarcastic, and regretted it.
 
"The joey in the terminal was Brian Keltek," said Tilnitz. "From Vancouver, a 
metallurgist for BP Shell. A loner, no surviving family. Father was a fisherman 
until the North Pacific die-off."
 
"The fish kill wasn't our fault. The temperature inversion had nothing to do 
with global warming." Why did I sound defensive?
 
"A number of scientists agree with you. Keltek contributed to the Enviro Council 
for seven years." Mark regarded me steadily.
 
"It figures." Let them claim what they might; Winstead headed a gang of loonies.
 
Captain Binn of U.N.A.F. Security asked, "Does this Keltek have friends? 
Associates?"
 
"Neighbors. Naturally, they saw nothing."
 
"Now, look." My tone was sharp. "A man can't just disappear unless he goes 
transpop. There's hotel records, travel vouchers, credit billings—"
 
"Don't tell me my job." Donner was blunt. "We're working on it."
 
Captain Binn demanded, "Who knew the SecGen would visit Academy?"
 
Tilnitz said, "We've been over that. The Commandant,
two of his lieutenants, the SecGen's security detail. The media wasn't informed 
until he was on the way. That's routine/'
 
"The Eco Action League manifesto referred to the Sec-Gen at Academy. That means 
a leak."
 
I rubbed my temples, hoping to soothe the first intimations of a headache. 
"Anyone could have known. Once we announced it to the media..."
 
"Lots of enviro sympathizers in that bunch." Mark sounded gloomy. "We're 
checking."
 
"This is nonsense." I flipped off my holovid. 'These Eco League joeys are 
glitched. They're throwbacks to some other century. We simply don't have 
terrorism anymore."
 
"I know, sir. Perhaps we imagined the gunshots." Tilnitz withstood my withering 
glare.
 
I suppressed an urge to pull out my hair. "What about the airport joey's car? 
The driver?"
 
'The electricar was stolen the morning of the attack. No clues. We've taken it 
apart looking for prints or DNA, but all we get is the owner's."
 
"Find the Eco League. We're running out of time."
 
Timer' Mark looked puzzled. "How so?"
 
I cursed under my breath. Nobody in the room knew about my impending dismissal, 
and I couldn't tell them. Only fear of my impatience would spur them on. The 
E.A.L. may attack again," I said. "Worse, every day that passes sends a message 
to the public that we can't catch fugitives. This isn't some untamed colony, 
it's Earth itself." I stood. "We meet again in two days. I want results."
 
The massive jet droned toward New York, my third trip this week. I might as well 
move there, I thought disgustedly.
 
Charlie Witrek, my middy, sat across from us, reading a holozine. As always, he 
was immaculately groomed.
 
Alexi sat comfortably at my side. He was hitching a ride back to Moira, he said, 
though 1 knew he had come along to provide moral support for my showdown with 
the Patriarchs.
 
Derek would have joined us as well, but with the Patriarchs' attitude toward our 
colonies, I wanted him out of harm's way. Lord knew what the Elders might do at 
the sight of him.
 
Hope Nation was no longer a colony, thanks to my highhandedness years before. 
Derek's government had maintained its independence through several SecGens, 
despite unrelenting pressure from the Church. Perhaps, if the Patriarchs had 
their way, Galactic might someday appear over Centraltown, bristling with 
lasers, to reassert our control over a free people.
 
I sighed.
 
Alexi said, "What's wrong, sir?"
 
"It won't be my problem much longer."
 
A pause. "Sometimes you're too cryptic even for me."
 
Across the aisle, Charlie Witrek nodded emphatically.
 
I couldn't help but smile. "Hope Nation, I meant"
 
Alexi said, "What will you do after, ah, you retire?"
 
"After I'm dismissed? Travel, I suppose." If they let me.
 
"Sir, I know you're worried they might—"
 
"Why do you keep calling me 'sir'? You have more seniority than I ever did."
 
"Would you rather I called you 4Mr. SecGenT'
 
" 'Nick.'"
 
A moment's silence. "I never called you that"
 
"Start."
 
"I don't think I could." He waved his glass at a steward, waited until his drink 
was poured. "It'd be sacrilege."
 
I frowned. Lord God shouldn't be taken lightly.
 
"You never cease to amaze me, you know." A long sip. "When we were young, you'd 
have reamed that middy Speke so he never dared to be rude again." He stared at 
his liquor. "We were terrified of crossing you, back on Hiber-nia. You had a way 
about you."
 
Charlie slowly put down his holovid, all ears.
 
"I was harsh."
 
"When needed. But you were gentle with Captain Stanger's middy."
 
I stirred uncomfortably, as if at an accusation. "We'd provoked him, and he was 
too young to deal with it"
 
"He'll revere you now." A bleak smile. "You've mellowed, sir. Kindness comes 
easily to you."
 
"Preposterous." I frowned at the porthole, while we droned over billowy clouds.
 
"Those joeys who come to stare at your compound wall— why do you think they do 
it?"
 
"They're deluded."
 
"You offer them a hope. Of what they might be."
 
"Bah. All this from not making Speke turn himself in?"
 
"Of course not It's your honesty, your refusal to dodge blame ... I've tried to 
raise my Mikhael in that mold." Alexi sighed. "I've work to do yet"
 
"Problems?"
 
"He's fifteen. Should I have brought him on Melbourne! I wanted him to have a 
normal life. After my last cruise, Moira and I agreed to raise the joeykids at 
home." His eyes were moody. "I don't mink it worked."
 
"If there's anything I—"
 
"It's my problem." But he brightened. "There, you see, sir? You're SecGen, the 
busiest man in the world, and without thinking, you offer yourself."
 
"It's only words." There was nothing I could do for his son, and I knew it. 
People made too much of polite phrases. Then, before I had time to stop myself, 
"Alexi, why don't you bring the family to Washington? Stay with us awhile." What 
was I doing? He needed time alone with them, to rebuild relations. "You could 
stay in the cottage, if you prefer."
 
He brightened. "I'll ask Moira." Then, after a pause, "For
all these years I've treasured you as a friend, more than you can ever know. But 
I'll continue to call you 'sir.'"
 
I stared out the porthole. Slowly, as if by its own volition, my hand stole 
across and settled on his arm.
 
"I thought you were going home to Moira." We clumped along the walkway, in the 
shadows of the U.N. towers.
 
"After you meet with Bishop Saythor."
 
"I've Jerence, Carlotti, and Witrek, here—a whole bloody squadron. Look at 
them!" Behind us, ahead, alongside, some twenty-five aides, security joeys, and 
flunkies hurried to keep pace.
 
Charlie said brightly, "I could have stayed home, sir. You wanted me along to—"
 
"I was wrong." My tone was gentle.
 
Alexi's face closed into a stubborn mask. "I'll see you through your meeting."
 
I nodded, knowing what outcome he feared. It would, no doubt, be a short 
conclave. This time, I'd have no choice but to face the baying pack of media 
gathered on the front steps. My disavowal by the Patriarchs would be world news. 
Many in my own Supranationalist Party, I suspected, would be glad. Too long, I'd 
barred the way to their ambition.
 
We negotiated the steps. Perhaps I should let the doctors have at my knee. Old 
age would soon be upon me. There was no reason to go through it in pain. I 
nodded grimly at the mediamen.
 
"Sir?" Alexi paused, to let me go first through the massive doors Charlie held. 
We strode down the ornate hall. "You could buy time, you know."
 
I stopped, leaned against a marble column. "I won't prevaricate." And if I found 
Elder Saythor in my seat, I'd evict him. By force, if necessary. I gripped my 
cane.
 
"Consider a strategic retreat." Alexi spoke with urgency. "Tell them you'll look 
favorably ... hell, you know the words better than I. Tell them you'll—"
 
Whump!
 
Alexi receded toward the far wall, as if seen through a zoom lens in reverse. A 
thump shook my chest. I sought bream, found none. The room tilted. I slammed 
into a lamp, crashed to the floor, skidded to the wall. My head slammed into a 
panel. The day dimmed
 
Pandemonium.
 
It was time to get up. I had chores to do, and Father would be annoyed. I 
reached for my shoes.
 
"Don't try to move, sir." The voice was far distant
 
My arms flailed as I struggled to get out of bed. Pain lanced my side. I tried 
to wiggle my toes. My legs were asleep.
 
Blood dripped onto my forehead. "DON'T MOVE, MR. SECGEN!" Why was Mark Tilnitz 
in Father's house? Why was he bleeding? I wiped my brow.
 
"Where's the fucking ambulance?"
 
I strained to hear. My ears were clogged.
 
"It's landing on the lawn." Jerence Branstead, weeping.
 
"Shape up, Cadet." My growl was barely audible.
 
"Stand back, all of you! Give him room! Karen, how many dead?"
 
I blinked, trying to bring the room into focus. Gingerly, my fingers probed my 
side, came away red.
 
"Four, so far."
 
"The SecGen gets the first ambulance.**
 
"The med helis hold three—"
 
"You heard me. Where in God's name is a gumey?"
 
They'll have their own. Easy, Mr. Tilnitz."
 
"Easy, hell! If I'd shielded him as I was supposed to.. .**
 
"Mark..." I struggled for breath. "What happened?"
 
"You're hurt, sir. A bomb."
 
I laughed, and coughed up salty blood. "And they missed? Incompetent idiots."
 
The clatter of running footsteps.
 
"The column blocked the blast. Please, sir, don't try to talk."
 
"Why not? It may be my last chance."
 
"Don't say that!" His tone was agonized. "You, this way! It's the SecGen!"
 
Strangers bent over me. "His side, any foreign objects protruding? Bind it. Sir, 
can you feel this?"
 
I gasped. "Christ, yes!" Sorry, Lord, but it hurt so.
 
"Move your fingers, if you would."
 
I did.
 
"And your toes."
 
I did.
 
"Try again." A pause. "Don't lift him. Slip the stretcher underneath. Careful, 
an inch at a time. Sir, you've lost blood, we're starting an IV."
 
'Tell Arlene I ..." It seemed too much trouble. Anyway, she knew. I closed my 
eyes, let black claim me.
 
CHAPTER 5
 
My mind was clouded. Joeys leaned over me to ask incomprehensible questions. I 
slept, woke again. Arlene sat alongside me, holding my hand. Sharp pain. I 
groaned. Someone adjusted a tube. I slept.
 
I drifted back from a far place.
 
"Where am I?" My throat was so dry I could barely make a sound. I licked my 
lips.
 
A white-clad nurse turned from the holovid that helped pass her vigil. "At 
Boland Memorial, sir." She held a cup so I could drink from a straw. Never had 
water tasted so good.
 
I struggled for memory. "A bomb went off." A sudden panic. "Mark Tilnitz?"
 
"Outside. He's taken over the floor. We all have special passes." She showed me 
hers, pinned to her tunic.
 
"How long have I..."
 
"Four days."
 
"Lord God above." I tried to throw off the covers. Something stabbed at my side. 
"I have work waiting."
 
"Lie back, Mr. SecGen." She spoke urgently into a caller.
 
"Where's Branstead? What's on my schedule?" Tubes snaked from under the covers. 
Others were attached to my veins. "Unhook me."
 
"Wait, sir. I've called the doctor."
 
I tried to swing my legs out of bed, but couldn't "Am I tied? Help me up."
 
The door burst open. "He's awake? Good. Sir, I'm Dr. Rains." He wore the white 
coat that was the uniform of his profession.
 
"Hello. Let me out of here."
 
"Sit back, Mr. Seafort." It was a command, sharp enough to give me pause. Gently 
but firmly, he helped me ease back onto my pillows. "You've been hurt."
 
"How badly?"
 
"Your forehead is only bruised, and your concussion is fading. You've regained 
most of your hearing. The hole in your side is repaired with skintape. Two 
broken ribs, but we've applied the bone growth stimulator every morning."
 
"So, then." I had no patience with his recital.
 
He flung off my covers, revealing my nakedness and the catheters invading my 
body. I flinched. "Mr. SecGen ..." His voice was unexpectedly gentle. "Move your 
right foot."
 
"What is this nons—" I couldn't. I tried again.
 
"Your left."
 
I grunted with the effort.
 
He tapped my ankle. "Feel this?"
 
"No." Suddenly, I was clammy with sweat.
 
"There's been, uh, spinal damage. We operated to stabilize you, to fuse the 
cracked vertebrae that—"
 
"How long 'til it heals?"
 
"It won't heal," said Dr. Rains.
 
I gagged. Nothing but spittle came up; I hadn't eaten for days. I fought back 
terror.
 
"Mr. Seafort, there may be hope. We've procedures that—"
 
"Get out!"
 
"Neurosurgery has come a long way."
 
"I don't want to hear." I twisted wildly, trying to move my legs.
 
"We can help you adjust—"
 
I pulled myself to a sitting position, pounded my knees. No sensation. I was 
numb nearly to the hips.
 
Dr. Rains caught my hand. "You'll do yourself damage."
 
"Let me go!"
 
"Nurse, twenty cc's of Almonel, stat"
 
"What's that?" Desperately, I tried to twist free.
 
"A calmative."
 
"No!" I struck at his wrist "Don't put me to sleep!"
 
He grabbed my forearm, held me still, brought the hypo to bear.
 
"Mark! MARK, HELP!"
 
The door crashed open. My security chief skidded in, laser ready. "Get away from 
him!"
 
"He needs a sedative."
 
"For God's sake, don't let him do it!" I scrabbled to twist free.
 
"GET AWAY!" Mark's face was like death. Gaunt unshaven, a jagged scab crossed 
his forehead. He knelt aimed two-handed.
 
Hastily, Dr. Rains stood clear. In the hall, running steps.
 
"Put that down." Tilnitz slammed the door in the startled faces of a pair of 
orderlies.
 
"He needs—"
 
"Now!"
 
Carefully, Dr. Rains set down the hypo. This man is my patient**
 
"He was going to..." I tried to bring my voice under control. "Get him out!"
 
"Do you need a sedative, sir?"
 
With more effort than anyone would ever know, I made my tone calm. "No, I need 
to be left alone."
 
"You've got it Mr. SecGen." He herded Dr. Rains and the nurse toward the door. 
"I'll be outside."
 
Before the door closed I called him back. "How long have you been on duty?"
 
"Four days."
 
"I thought as much."
 
"When I go to the bathroom Karen and Tommy take over. The security zone is two 
floors below, two above. You're safe."
 
"Thank you." My tone was tremulous. "Get some sleep. Call Alexi, he'll sit with 
me."
 
Mark came to the bed, knelt by my side, as if a child seeking his father's 
blessing. His eyes sought mine, fled quickly to the distance. Nonetheless, his 
tone was resolute, "Captain Tamarov is dead."
 
An awful cry, that echoed from the cold unforgiving walls. After a time, I 
realized the wail was mine. "How ... when—"
 
"The bomb, sir. He felt no pain."
 
I feel it. My eyes darted to the door. He took the hint, patted my shoulder, and 
left.
 
Over and again I pounded the mattress. Let it have been me. Lord, He deserved to 
live,
 
I stifled a moan. Lord God still toyed with me. Bereft of my truest friend, 
helpless, bedridden, with no reprieve in sight A pitiful old man. In the open 
closet, near what was left of my clothes, lay my silver-tipped cane. I'd not 
need it again. I retched. Come, night. Take me to your bosom.
 
I don't know how long I lay, lost in misery. Across the room, the holovid 
chattered softly. It was set to a newsnet.
 
"—according to the latest bulletin from Boland Memorial"
 
"Any word on when he'll be up and around?''
 
"A highly placed source says within days, despite the rumor of serious injuries 
that would keep the SecGen bedridden for months. Phil Bansel, reporting live 
from Boland Memorial Hospital. Back to you, Dan."
 
"Meanwhile, Acting SecGen Valero confirms that little progress has been made in 
identifying the Eco Action League, which claims it carried out this third 
terrorist attack on the—"
 
A soft knock. Arlene peered through the half-open door. "You're back with us." 
She came to the bed.
 
I tried to turn away, but only the upper half of my body moved.
 
"Nick..." She rested her hand on mine. I flinched, and her eyes widened. "What 
is it, love?"
 
I pulled my hand free. "I can't abide pity."
 
"What on earth..." She sat, a tired expression flitting across her lined face.
 
"It's just... I..." I tried to turn away. "Not now, Ariene. Please." I prayed 
she would leave, before I lost control.
 
"Nick, whatever happens, we'll get through this. I'll be with you."
 
"Can't you see I—" My voice was ragged "Arlene, if you love me, leave me alone! 
For the sake of Lord God!"
 
When at last I looked up, she was gone.
 
For days I lay abed, mindlessly staring at the holovid. I left most of my food 
uneaten. Dully, I answered doctors* questions, tried to move my limbs on their 
demand, allowed them to manhandle me into a wheelchair to change the bed.
 
Jerence Branstead came to sit with me, tried to talk business of state, but I 
paid no mind. "It doesn't matter, Jcr. I'm done,"
 
"With whatr
 
"Office, Life," Wearily, I shut my eyes.
 
**Oh, you've come a long way." His voice held something that might have been 
contempt
 
"From?" I wouldn't let him goad me.
 
"From Wcforio, you sad son of a bitch,** From the fast-ship, on which we'd sped 
home from Hope Nation, decades past
 
I gaped. "How dare—**
 
"Yes, how dare I! I know all your lines." Jerence flung his holovid to the bed, 
barely missing my legs.
 
"Get out!"
 
"Gladly." He stalked to the door.
 
"And take your bloody holovid!"
 
He strode back, snatched it from the sheets. I grabbed his wrist, stayed him. 
"What did you mean about Victoria?'
 
"It wasn't for the Navy that I gave up juice. It was for you."
 
I reddened. "I know." In all the years, we'd never spoken of the mighty effort 
by which he'd mastered his craving,
 
"I yearned to be like you. You never quit. Whatever cards life dealt, you played 
on." His gaze found mine. "You always have."
 
Thank you." My tone was gruff.
 
" Til now."
 
"I have nothing to live for.**
 
"That's how I felt" He'd drowned himself in juice, careless of his own 
destruction.
 
"You were a boy, your whole life ahead—"
 
"Coward!" His eyes blazed. He jerked his thumb at the window. "If only they 
knew,**
 
"Who?"
 
His brow wrinkled, "No one told you?**
 
'Told me what, damn you?** An offense to Lord God, but I was beyond caring.
 
He strode to the door, flung it open. "Mark, Karen, give me a hand" He fished in 
the bedside drawer, "Comb your hair."
 
"Why?"
 
"Do it!*'
 
Meekly, I complied. This was a Jerence I'd never seen.
 
"Help hoist him." He rolled a huge, heavy wheelchair to the bedside.
 
"Where are we taking him?*' Tilnitz positioned himself at my arm.
 
"To the window.** Together, they manhandled me into the chair.
 
Jerence flung open the shades. "Look outside, you selfish bastard."
 
"Easy, there." Mark's tone was cold
 
"Shut up. Look, damn you."
 
I peered down. My room was on the fifth floor of the hospital, in what had once 
been a miserable transpop slum. Twelve years ago, Earthport's lasers had 
crumbled buildings, buckled streets, sent untold thousands in the district 
fleeing to their deaths. Now it was a mixed area, and business and middle-class 
immigrants were slowly taking hold, a harbinger of the city's rebirth.
 
I caught my breath. Streetside, outside the hospital gates, 
hundreds—thousands—of joeys had gathered. Some wore the colorful costumes of the 
Sub or Mid tribes, others were in casual jumpsuits. Many carried signs that were 
too distant to read.
 
Someone pointed. The word spread. In moments they were all gazing upward. A 
clamor swelled to a roar.
 
"Wave."
 
"Take me back."
 
"Wave. You owe them that."
 
I did. "How long have they been.. .**
 
"All week. More each day."
 
I waved again, pretending cheer, while my soul lay charred and lifeless. "Put me 
in bed."
 
"Sir, it's time you thought about—"
 
"NOW* My tone brooked no refusal.
 
It was as if air had gone out of a balloon. Defeated, Jerence pushed the chair 
to my bedside. I clawed at the mattress. Mark helped lift me in.
 
I grabbed my leg, hauled it on top of the other so I could face the other way, 
"Good-bye."
 
I didn't hear them leave.
 
After a time, the nurse brought dinner. I left it untouched Slowly, the room 
darkened,
 
A soft knock at the door.
 
'Take it away. I'm not hungry."
 
"It's me, Path." Philip shut the door behind him, pulled up a chair.
 
I said nothing.
 
"I hear you've been difficult." His tone was light. He waited, got no answer. 
"I'll be staying awhile. Shall I read to youT'
 
"I'm in no mood for visitors."
 
"So I hear."
 
"Please leave."
 
"No, sir."
 
I grasped his arm, hauled him close, transferred my grip to his collar. "Do as I 
tell you."
 
"Not today." Without rancor, he loosened my fingers. "Before I forget, I 
apologize for leaving after the awards banquet. I was... upset."
 
"Thank you." I tried to make my voice cold.
 
He regarded me. "You've lost weight. Have some soup."
 
"Damn it, Philip, get out or I'll have Tilnitz throw you out."
 
"Do it." His tone matched mine. "He'll nave to hurt me."
 
"Mark!"
 
After a moment the door opened,
 
P.T. said, "My father wants you to eject me, sir, I'm going to resist." He 
peeled off his jacket, took the defensive stance his mother had taught him, 
years past,
 
"Mr. SecGen?" Tilnitz looked helplessly between us.
 
I pounded the bed. This was absurd. "Enough, both of you."
 
Mark asked, "Do you want me to..."
 
"No." I lay back, defeated, "Let him stay." Why did my heart beat faster, more 
eagerly? Tilnitz left, shaking his head.
 
"Eat your soup." Philip held a spoon to my mourn.
 
"I'm no child."
 
"I know, sir. Stop acting like one."
 
Grumbling, I ate, surprised at how hungry I felt
 
Afterward, P.T. read from Holoworld, then Newsnet. I lay back on my pillow, 
drowsing. After a time I said, "Wherc's your mother?"
 
"Home, in the compound." He looked to the floor.
 
"I hurt her."
 
"Oh, yes."
 
Tm sorry."
 
His hand rested on mine, "I think she understands."
 
"It's just that,,, Philip, do you remember when Mr. Chang was dying?" We'd all 
assumed it would be his heart that took the old transpop, but it was a stroke 
that felled him. "He lay in that forlorn bed, unable to move, only his eyes 
showing his misery."
 
"You're not in mat condition. Path."
 
"Close enough." How could I explain what I dreaded more than anything else in 
the world? If Dr. Rains wanted to subdue me, he had but to grab my arm. I 
couldn't flee, couldn't fight. "Philip, I'm ready for the end." I could face 
death, and my long delayed reckoning with Lord God, but helplessness...
 
"Goofjuice. No, that's not strong enough. Bullshit."
 
"P.T.!" I grimaced. "You never used such language,**
 
He grinned. "Jared taught me,**
 
"Ah, Jared." I tried not to flinch at tite mention of his lover. After a moment, 
"How is he?** Hormone rebalancing was losing some of its stigma, but the thought 
of Jared's treatments still made me uncomfortable. On the other hand, in his 
case they'd been utterly necessary.
 
P.T. misunderstood the source of my discomfort. "Fain. I'm omni, not gay." His 
last attachment had been with an earnest ait student, who was as fascinated with 
Rodin as he. She'd been determinedly pleasant, but I'd never warmed to her.
 
"I know, son,** My hand crept over his, I was ashamed of what I'd let him feel.
 
"I know you don't like him."
 
Jarcd had caused all sorts of havoc with the nets in the Transpop Rebellion. His 
lawlessness had led to the death of his father, my aide and friend. Only Robbie 
Boland's influence had saved Jared from a prison colony, even at fifteen.
 
"I never said ... It's just..." I sighed. "Tell him I said hello."
 
"You could do that yourself. He's downstairs." P.T. said nothing more, but his 
eyes watched, waiting.
 
"Arghhh." What had I gotten myself into? "Not like this." I wouldn't have 
Philip's mate see me flat on my back, helpless. "You'll have to get me out of 
bed,"
 
"If you wish, Path."
 
I frowned. He made it sound my idea.
 
"Where's Charlie Witrek? He'll help,"
 
Philip's mouth tightened.
 
I hadn't seen Charlie since the blast "He isn't dead!" It was a plea, to Philip, 
or Lord God.
 
"No. Blinded." He wheeled the chair alongside.
 
"Oh, Charlie!" For a moment, I forgot about my useless legs. "Where's his room? 
Take me there."
 
"They flew him to Johns Hopkins." P.T.'s tone was gentle. "Lean toward the edge 
of the bed. We'll see him another day."
 
Karen and Mark helped prop me in the chair. Someone gave me a mirror, and 1 
agreed I looked like hell, A nurse fussed at helping me shave. I ordered Philip 
to fetch a shirt to replace the hospital gown. Someone handed me a tie. 
Mechanically, I knotted it, tugged it tight
 
While P.T. went to get Jared, I smoothed a blanket over my legs. "How do I 
look?"
 
"Like yourself again." Mark Tilnite stifled a yawn.
 
"Is my hair smoothed? I'm not an idiot, by the way. I know I've been 
manipulated."
 
"Not by me, sir." He opened the door. "Do you want Tenere on the permanent 
access list?"
 
It was of no consequence; I didn't expect to be in office long. "When he's with 
Philip." A silence. "Where's Branstead?"
 
"At the Rotunda."
 
"At this hour?"
 
"He said there was work to be done. Is there anything else?"
 
"Call him." Abruptly, my voice was husky. "Ask him to forgive me."
 
Hie door opened. "Hello, sir." Jared Tenere sounded nervous, as well he ought
 
I thrust out a hand. "Good to see you." If I spoke too heartily, no one seemed 
to notice.
 
P.T.'s eyes met mine. They glowed with gratitude.
 
I said reluctantly, "All right, I'm ready for Dr. Rains," I sat in the motorized 
chair, propped with pillows so my hands were free. I'd never known, until a few 
days past, how essential one's leg and thigh muscles were in sitting upright I 
had a great deal to learn, most of it insufferable.
 
P.T. went out, spoke to the nurse. He had stayed in New York, camping out at 
Robbie Boland's apartment, since the night of his visit. My suggestion that he 
resume his own life fell on deaf ears, and I couldn't reveal how pleased I was,
 
Ariene remained in Washington, Over me caller she was cordial, but said she'd 
wait to see me at home. Time and sincerity, I knew, would earn her forgiveness. 
I resolved to do whatever it took. I began by sending her a note of apology, of 
which I meant every word.
 
I fidgeted, but it was only a few moments before Dr. Rains appeared. With him 
were three other doctors, one of whom I'd already met.
 
Rains introduced his colleagues: a radiologist, another neurologist, and Dr. 
Knorr, an expert in space medicine. Rains regarded me warily.
 
"WeU?" My tone was frosty. "What news do you have?*'
 
He cleared his throat "Mr. SecGen, you have a partial spinal cord transsection 
at the T-12, L-l level, resulting in paralysis of the lower extremities, but—**
 
"Is there any good news?"
 
"Quite a bit, actually. First, as you're aware, your paralysis is from the 
thighs down. A portion of the bomb casing hit you like a piece of shrapnel, but 
didn't quite sever the cord. There's partial sparing of sensation in groin and 
hips. That's one reason you aren't incontinent"
 
If I were, I would be facing Lord God's judgment My life was not worth 
preserving if it meant that indignity.
 
"Nor are you impotent"
 
"Get on with it**
 
"Listen, Path."
 
"It hasn't left you—"
 
'Tell me what it has done!" I ignored P.T.'s silent rebuke. I wasn't about to 
answer to a child I'd raised.
 
"You have no feeling in your legs. You can't walk."
 
"I know that. Will there be any improvement?" I tried to sound casual, but 
betrayed myself by holding my breath.
 
"No. The nerves are too crushed to heal. I can show you just where." He flipped 
on a holovid, dialed up my chart "Here, just below your rib cage. Look where—"
 
"I believe you," Lord God, damn those enviro terrorists to Your ultimate Hell,
 
His colleague Dr. Knorr pulled up a chair, leaned forward. "Mr. SecGen, you 
won't heal, but there is some hope. Not much, I'll grant you, but have you heard 
of the Ghenili procedure? No? Well, occasionally nerve tissue can be replicated. 
In some cases it's possible to insert replacement nerve tissue and, ah, 
reestablish the connection."
 
My heart leaped, "Some cases?'*
 
"Yours might be one,"
 
"Do it" Anything to be out of mis hated chair,
 
"It's not that simple. First, we have to wait for the trauma to dissipate. 
Then—"
 
"How long?"
 
"Months." He saw my despair. "A few weeks, at any rate. Tissues are swollen, the 
nerve ends are still dying. When that's settled, as it were ..."
 
They'd examine me again. If the gap wasn't too wide, they would operate. In most 
operative cases, over time, the subject would regain sensation and motor 
function. The procedure had been discovered by researchers in Lunapolis trying 
to aid survivors of the fish war. When the warrens had been bombed, the result 
was similar to the collapse of coal mines. Spinal injuries were common. Loath to 
transport paraplegics groundside by shuttle, the medical community treated many 
survivors locally.
 
Dr. Ghenili and his team tried their new procedure on hopeless cases, and found 
encouraging results. They'd refined their techniques, studied how the nerve 
tissues slowly reknit Eventually they'd devised protocols to determine which 
patients were suitable candidates.
 
"And I might be one of them?" Despite myself, my pulse quickened.
 
"There's a possibility. We have no way to tell. But there's a catch."
 
I shot P T. a glance of dismay. There was always a catch.
 
Ghenili's achievement galvanized the neurological profession. Eagerly, surgeons 
all over Earth tried to replicate his results. And failed.
 
Yet, on Lunapolis, he continued to have success. They finally discovered the 
cause. Nerves reknit only in zero to one-third Terran gravity. At one gee. Earth 
normal, the inserts slowly died,
 
"What about after? Can the patients go homeT1
 
"After full recovery, yes."
 
Dr. Rains intervened, "We're way ahead of ourselves, you understand; you may not 
be a candidate at all. If you are, the period after the operation is critical. 
You'd be bedridden for weeks. Then very limited movement. Any strain..." He 
shook his head.
 
"That's fine." I'd soon be done with public life, and if they'd operate, I'd be 
free to devote myself to recovery. "How soon can I leave the hospital?"
 
''You've been resisting physical therapy. We need to—"
 
"Answer my father's question." P.T. spoke softly, but in a tone edged with 
steel. I'd known a drill sergeant to speak so to cadets. They'd leaped to obey.
 
"In a few days. He needs to bond with his chair, to learn the mechanics of 
daily—"
 
"Very well." I waved it away. I would undergo Ghenili's operation, or kill 
myself and go to Hell. "Bring in the therapists."
 
I passed two days in a haze of impatience. I learned to hoist myself from chair 
to bed, bed to chair. I found out why the motorized chair was so massive, so 
heavy. Fitted with Valdez permabatteries under the seat, visual sensors fore and 
aft, it had a speaker in one arm, a pickup in the other. The chair's frame 
itself incorporated the cybernetic brain. It would take me where I told it to 
go. The contraption was more puter than chair.
 
Not as versatile as a ship's puter, it had to learn to understand me. Naturally, 
it had a program for that. "Say a few sentences, please."
 
"Whatr
 
"Anything."
 
"My name is Nick Seafort.**
 
"More."
 
"I was born in—this is bloody nonsense!"
 
"Referent not understood. Say a few sentences, please."
 
I swore. "What can I—all right. I, Nicholas Ewing Seafoft, do swear upon my 
immortal soul to preserve and protect the Charter of the General Assembly of the 
United Nations, to give loyalty and obedience for the term of my
enlistment to the Naval Service of the United Nations and to obey all its lawful 
orders and regulations, so help me Lord God Almighty."
 
A pause. "Syntax integrated. Linguistic idiosyncracies assimilated."
 
"Whatever the hell that means."
 
"It means I understand you. Waiting for input"
 
I practiced dressing, hygiene, all the tricks that the normal world was unaware 
paraplegics had to master. At night, I had unbearable dreams of loping through 
the wind, though my knee hadn't allowed me more than a steady, painful walk for 
years.
 
Yet, slowly, 1 began to accept that life would go on. I called Baltimore, got 
through to Charlie Witrek's room. Over the phone he was determinedly cheerful, 
though Lord God knew what it cost him. Transplants might be possible, he said. 
They were waiting for a match.
 
After a time, I found myself looking forward to going home. I called Moira 
Tamarov, asked if there was any way I might help ease her loss. There wasn't 
Impulsively, I invited her to bring the family to Washington, as I'd invited 
Alexi. Listlessly, she accepted, but we left the date unsettled.
 
When I'd been in the hospital some three weeks, and was thoroughly restless, I 
summoned my staff for a long overdue conference to wrap up our Administration. 
Branstead, Tilnitz, Philip, Karen Bums, and General Donncr, the U.N.A.F. 
security specialist, met with me in a secluded room.
 
I asked, "Have the Patriarchs made their announcement?" Ample time had passed 
since my defiance of Lord God's authority on Earth. I assumed Mark and Branstead 
were conspiring to shield me from the details.
 
Jerence said gravely, "I have some bad news." He glanced at Mark.
 
"Did Saythor call for excommunication?" Arlene would
stand by me, if no one else, though I wasn't sure I'd let her risk her immortal 
soul.
 
"Not quite." He handed me a Holoworld chip.
 
I fitted it to my holovid. "Good Lord!"
 
The Elder had expressed, on behalf of the Patriarchs, outrage at the Rotunda 
bombing, and full confidence in my Administration. His praise was more than 
perfunctory, it was effusive. "What's this about?"
 
"Renouncing you now would endorse terrorism. Besides, Saythor's seen the polls." 
Branstead's tone was sardonic.
 
"I—what?"
 
"It's not just the crowds outside, you know. We're overwhelmed with letters. I 
put Warren to answer the E-mail, else it would have taken months." Warren was 
our chief puter, who had something of a literary gift. "It started with the Von 
Walthers banquet, and since the bombing... your approval ratings have never been 
so high." A grin wiped the exhaustion from his eyes.
 
I slammed my fist on the table. "Alexi died, and three good souls with him. Six 
more gravely hurt, to attain the esteem of fools. Don't mock the dead! It's 
obscene!"
 
Across the table, Branstead got to his feet, loomed over me, his fingers spread 
on the gleaming wood. "Don't call them fools, Mr. SecGen! I won't have it. They 
respect you. Some even love you. The least you can do is respect their 
intelligence."
 
Taken aback, I swallowed. "Well. Urn."
 
No one spoke.
 
So, I would continue my labors. From a Lunapolis hospital bed, perhaps. My mind 
whirled. If I was to stay in office we had work to do. 1 asked Tilnitz, "What 
have we learned about the ecos?"
 
"Still no sign of Academy's Sergeant Booker. And clues in the bombing are 
scarce."
 
"Mark, it's the Rotunda." How could terrorists manage to plant a bomb in so 
heavily guarded a place?
 
"I know, sir. We interrogated the staff and got nowhere. Valera wants to declare 
a state of emergency, to suspend defendants' rights."
 
That would allow P and D questioning, without evidence of guilt. I pursed my 
lips. Why not? Killing cadets was horrible enough, but when the enviros bombed 
the U.N. enclave itself...
 
"Don't, sir." Branstead.
 
I raised an eyebrow.
 
"When terrorists force Government to curtail civil rights, they win."
 
"You know so much about the subject?" My tone was sour. For generations, since 
the Rebellious Ages had given way to the Era of Law, civil disobedience, to say 
nothing of terrorism, had been almost unheard of.
 
"Hope Nation had its dissidents, when I was a boy."
 
I flushed. In his distant colony, I had set civil liberties aside without cavil, 
to put down the colonial rebellion. "What information do we have?"
 
General Donner stirred. "The bomb was old-fashioned plastique. We're trying to 
trace its chemical signature. It's in my report."
 
"Which I haven't read. Was I the target?"
 
"According to their communique^ yes."
 
"Why so small a bomb, then? For that matter, why not a missile, or a..." I 
trailed off. I'd been about to say "a nuke," but one had to watch one's 
language. Since the days of the Belfast nuke, even to suggest the use of nuclear 
weapons in home system was treason.
 
"Lack of access, I assume."
 
"General Donner?" Philip looked apologetic. "If Father goes home..."
 
"Yes?"
 
"Can you protect him?"
 
I growled, "Now wait a minute—"
 
"Of course." Donner.
 
Mark Tilnitz rapped the table. "That's our responsibility."
 
"You failed. He's lucky he wasn't—"
 
"We didn't fail!" Karen Burns overrode the two of them. "But we're lucky you 
survived, Mr. SecGen. It's time you cracked down. Go with Valera's declaration. 
Have Donner arrest the leaders of the enviro fringe. Only by showing the world 
we won't knuckle under can we—"
 
"Nonsense!" Branstead.
 
"You can't just—"
 
"The law doesn't allow—"
 
I raised my voice. "Enough!" They subsided. "Karen, I won't let the ecos push me 
into repression. That would play into their hands."
 
"But—"
 
"Subject closed."
 
"I never got an answer." P.T. sounded apologetic. "Can you protect Father? The 
ecos have struck both times in your presence."
 
"Actually, sir..." Mark Tilnitz looked abashed. "It's easier now that you're 
less mobile. You have—had—a habit of darting off unexpectedly."
 
I fought an icy rage. P.T. clasped my hand, but I pulled loose. Mark saw my 
paralysis as an advantage, did he? I'd break him. I'd have him pounding a beat 
in Senegal. No, Er-itrea was more remote.
 
Somehow, before I ruined another companionship, I restrained myself. "Get me a 
coffee."
 
Philip jumped to comply.
 
"Thank you." But my annoyance flared anew. "Now Charlie's gone, I need a middy. 
He should be doing this."
 
Branstead said, "I meant to ask Admiralty for a replacement, but I've had a lot 
to deal with."
 
I flushed. My sulky refusal to deal with matters of state had added to his 
burdens.
 
"I don't mind, Path." My son headed for the door.
 
"I do. Jerence, get me our list of candidates. No, by
heaven, let mat bloody enviro cadet fetch and carry for a while. Show him what 
havoc his politics cause."
 
"Sir?" Jerence looked blank.
 
"The cadet, don't you—oh, you weren't there. Bivan, or whatever. Bevin, that's 
it, from Academy. Tell Hazen I want him seconded for special duty."
 
"Mr. SecGen, are you sure—"
 
"Quite." I allowed myself a small smile of satisfaction. The boy would learn the 
hard way the effect of his enviro fantasies.
 
Mark asked, "When will the hospital release you, sir?"
 
'Tomorrow." I would wait no longer. Arlene hadn't replied to my note.
 
CHAPTER 6
 
you sure you want to do this, Path?" From the wings, Philip cast a dubious eye 
on the mediamen gathered in the hospital auditorium.
 
"No, but I must" I knotted my tie, smoothed my jacket.
 
Facing the mediamen would be, as always, a nightmare. Branstead had suggested 
they sneak me out in an ambulance, and announce the fact afterward. The public 
should be introduced to my handicap slowly, so they wouldn't see me as a 
cripple.
 
But I was crippled. To suggest otherwise was a lie. Disabled, handicapped, 
differently abled, impaired, minimally limbed, maimed, physically glitched... 
all the weasel words of the past two centuries wouldn't lift me out of this 
hated chair. I yearned for the day I might be free of it.
 
"I'm ready." At my own insistence I would wheel myself onto the stage alone, 
without the help of the puterized chair. Crippled didn't have to mean dependent. 
I caught a glimpse of my security chief's disapproval. "You inspected their 
gear, Mark."
 
"And we'll be standing in front, between you and them. It's not enough."
 
"Shoot the lot of them, then. It's fine with me." On that
note I rolled myself onstage, maneuvered myself to the center of the battery of 
mikes and speakers.
 
A blaze of lights, the whir of holocams, as the world got its first view of the 
new, improved SecGen. For a stunned moment there was silence. Then, cacophony.
 
"Mr. Seafort, do you—"
 
"Mr. SecGen!"
 
"Will you be able to walkr
 
"Have you located the—"
 
"MR. SECGEN!"
 
They were always like that. I simply waited. When at long last the din abated, I 
pointed to the second row. "Ms. Sear-lesr
 
"Sir, do you have a comment about the Eco Action League?"
 
"The terrorists known as the Eco Action League will be caught and tried. I 
presume execution will follow." As was fitting, the law provided no lesser 
penalty.
 
I pointed elsewhere.
 
"Does the government know who they are?"
 
General Donner wanted me to claim we did, but that was nonsense. The killers 
knew otherwise. "Not yet"
 
"Sir, there's a rumor you'll declare martial law. Is that—"
 
"We will not" My voice was a lash,
 
"Mr. Valera said yesterday a martial law bill was being drafted"
 
My Deputy SecGen had always been impetuous. I said firmly, "The bill will not be 
introduced." A shocked murmur, I'd publicly cut the legs from under him. He—and 
the party—would be outraged. It served mem right for not getting my approval.
 
"Does this indicate a rift within the SupranationalistsT
 
I hesitated. "No, it indicates that I'm still SecGen."
 
A wave of mirth swirled around die hall. Suddenly, I had them, and the tone of 
the questioning changed.
 
"When will you leave the hospital?**
 
*Today." I nodded to the correspondent for Holoworld,
 
"Sir, when will you resume work at the Rotunda?"
 
"When there's a meeting I can't avoid. I prefer to work from home."
 
"Mr. SecGen, will you ever walk again?"
 
I tried to look at all the holocams at once. "I don't know." Offstage, Branstead 
flinched. Well, too bad. He'd become too political. Best he remember he was a 
Navy man. With reluctance, I turned to an old adversary from Newsnet. "Mr, 
Canlo?" He, too, was entitled to a question.
 
"Sir, what do you say to charges that you were negligent in the deaths of your 
aides?" From elsewhere, a sharp intake of breath.
 
I'd learned over time that answering his questions directly got me nowhere. "I 
haven't heard any such charges. Have you?"
 
"Yes."
 
"From other reporters in a bar?'
 
Nervous laughter, here and there through the hall.
 
Canlo held his ground. "Will you answer the question, sir?"
 
"Detail your charges. How am I responsible?*'
 
"A bomb was placed in the Rotunda, Isn't the Secretary-General responsible for 
the U.N, complex?"
 
"I'm responsible for the entire United Nations." I paused, to rein in my 
disgust. Lord, I hated press conferences. "That doesn't let you sue me 
personally if you trip in the General Assembly."
 
Gales of laughter. Was I turning political at this late date? Heaven forbid. I 
added, "I take seriously the deaths of Press Secretary Carlotti and Security 
Officer Bailes, as well as my great friend Captain Tamarov and communications 
aide VanderVort I don't hold myself responsible." Or was I? Had the ecos not 
gone after me, Alexi would be home with Moira and me joeykids. And Charlie would 
be on his coveted star-ship. Quickly, I found another hand "Ms. Gier?"
 
Canlo stayed on his feet. "What do you say to calls for your resignation?"
 
Til resign when the public so demands." Or the Patriarchs. Under my jacket, I 
was sweating. I glanced to the wing, where P.T., unseen, was earnestly giving 
the media a sustained finger. Abruptly, my equanimity was restored. "Ms. Gierr
 
"What measures are you taking to find the terrorists?"
 
"We're analyzing their writings, sifting the rabble for clues, determining who 
had access to the Rotunda, questioning witnesses. We've sought the cooperation 
of—I tried not to let my lip curl—"legitimate enviro groups, to identify who 
among the fanatic fringe might have committed these despicable acts.** As far as 
I was concerned, they were all the fanatic fringe, but I wouldn't say that Not 
now,
 
"Mr. SecGen, do you—"
 
"I'm not finished. I appeal to every citizen, wherever located, to come to our 
aid. To attack the United Nations, the Government of Lord God, is an assault on 
Lord God Himself." My voice trembled. "It is worse than treason. It is 
abominable beyond words. 'The powers that be are ordained of God, Whosoever 
resistfth the power, msisteth the ordinance of God: and they shall receive to 
themselves damnation,' Any of you who have useful information, I beg your 
assistance. In the holy name of the Lord Almighty, as you cherish your immortal 
soul, I beseech you to come forward, to escape the fires of Hell.'* Throughout 
the hall, absolute silence, "Good day." I turned my chair, wheeled slowly off 
the stage.
 
P.T. met me in the wing, his eyes glistening. Without a word, he bent and kissed 
my cheek,
 
"Son, take me home."
 
"Wait, sir. Another few minutes." Mark Tilnitz held up a placating hand,
 
"Now what?" My chair was parked just inside the hospital door.
 
"Joeys are swarming out there. It's not safe. Karen has jerries setting 
barriers."
 
"What do they want?"
 
P.T. patted my shoulder. 'To see you."
 
"Why?" A foolish question. Crowds haunted me everywhere. It was the reason my 
compound needed walls. Ever since I'd sailed Hibernia home ... I'd spent my life 
trying to escape them.
 
And look where it got me. I snapped, "Open the door." Mark shook his head. "Not 
yet."
 
"Now." I rolled to the entry. "Let them have me." "Path?"
 
^ft's all right, Phittp. Onward, chair." Before they could stop me, I pushed 
open the door, rolled into the dusk.
 
Karen and her detail raced across the lawn. "Mr. Sec-Gen—"
 
They'd strung police barriers from the door to the lot in which my heli waited.
 
A muted roar. The throng surged forward, broke through the barricades. My 
security joeys formed a circle around my chair, faced outward with lasers drawn.
 
I clawed at Karen. "Don't fire! Hold!" Desperately, I slammed my chair through 
the wall of my guards. "On, chair. To the street" I risked a glance back. With 
looks of horror, Karen and Mark scrambled after me, the rest of the detail 
trailing behind.
 
I rolled to a stop. A blizzard of frantic hands. Someone held out his arms, made 
a barrier. "Give him air!"
 
I clutched at fingers. "It's all right Thank you for coming."
 
"Mr. SecGen—"
 
"We're praying for— "
 
"I waited all day—" His hand darted out, back again. I offered mine, and he 
seized it 
 
Tin all right Thank you."
 
"I'm so sorry, what they did—"
 
"Go with God." I squeezed a wrist. An elderly man blinked back tears.
 
Mark cannoned into a stocky joey looming over me, shoved him aside.
 
"NO!" Somehow I made myself heard. "Surround me if you must, but leave a space 
open. Let them through a few at a time." I adjusted the blanket over my useless 
knees. "Thank you. I'm all right." I grasped eager hands with both of mine. 
"Thanks for coming, joey."
 
Slowly, with curses, with rage, my security organized the chaos into an 
impromptu reception. The word was passed
 
(i>wn a /me of aweJ wefl-wisners, and' a fine formed, impatient at first, but 
calmer, as it became known I would remain.
 
Two full hours and then some, I sat in the misty lot until the last hand was 
clasped, the last shoulder squeezed with silent reassurance.
 
Wearily, I flexed my fingers.
 
P.T. stared down at me with respect, and something more.
 
"What is it, son?"
 
"It's as if... You've heard of the king's touch?"
 
"I didn't heal these poor joeys."
 
"Perhaps inwardly."
 
Mark said heavily, "As SecGen you have no business exposing yourself."
 
I thought a moment "As SecGen I have no business not."
 
In the compound, all was familiar, yet strange. Simple tasks such as getting me 
upstairs to my bedroom had become immensely complicated. I bore it determined I 
wouldn't be forced to live out my life in the cursed chair.
 
Still, bit by bit, I learned to get around, to maneuver through doorways. 
Sometimes I let the chair do the work, other times, stubbornly, I insisted on 
navigating myself. We rearranged furniture to ease my passage. My body seemed
healed, except within. Lower back pain made me irritable, and I tried not to 
lash out. It would fade in a while, they'd told me, and in the meantime I had 
pills, though I'd vowed not to use them.
 
Arlene was stiff at first. "You recall denying you built a wall I couldn't 
penetrate?"
 
"You said that at Derek's reception." I paused. "Hon, in the hospital, when I 
found I was paralyzed, I was beside myself. I'm truly sorry."
 
"I tried to give you space. You needed to lick your wounds in solitude." A 
pause. "And I was hurt. You thrust me away, when I wanted to give you ease."
 
"Can you forgive me?*'
 
At length, her hand crept to mine.
 
Over time, the calm she offered was her greatest gift. I let myself go, 
muttering and wincing at the wearisome pain, until I saw her rubbing her own 
spine in unconscious sympathy. From that moment on, I tried to hide my 
discomfort, and hers seemed to ease.
 
My relief at returning home faded, I longed for recovery, and worked dutifully 
with the two therapists who made daily visits. Mark Tilnitz scrutinized their 
security files, and refused to leave the room when they were present. I made a 
note to give him my special thanks, and asked Arlene to find a suitable gift 
Since I'd been rushed to the hospital, he'd devoted himself to me utterly. These 
days dark circles lined his eyes, and he bore a haunted look.
 
I wrote to Moira Tamarov, repeating my invitation.
 
Philip visited the compound almost daily, from his flat in Maryland. Slowly, 
finally, we began to grow at ease with each other, as once we'd been. From time 
to time he stayed for dinner.
 
"No, Path, it was the year you hurt your knee." We were in a bright-lit nook in 
the kitchen, just the three of us. Arlene had chased out the servants, and in 
unaccustomed intimacy we dined on lasagna we'd prepared ourselves. Confined to 
my chair, I was graciously allowed to cut and mix a salad.
 
"Hon, when did you teach him to shoot? Wasn't it earlier?"
 
"If P.T. says he was fifteen..." She shrugged. Philip had an uncanny accuracy 
with numbers, with data of any kind. His mental gymnastics no longer surprised 
me.
 
"You came home when I was thirteen, Mom." Philip glanced between us. Arlene and 
I had separated, briefly, after the Transpop Rebellion.
 
She raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't I have?"
 
Dutifully, he gave her a hug.
 
She released him, pushed him gently toward Ms seat. "Twenty-four, a grown man... 
where did the time go?"
 
"Would you rather I was still a child?"
 
"No, but..." She looked thoughtful. "Parenting was fun, damn it And now you 
don't need me."
 
"Of course I do." He tried to look injured. "Don't I caU you from work? Don't I 
ask your advice—"
 
**Yes, love. But you don't need it"
 
*Tm sorry. I'll try to be more dependent." He held the lasagna for me to scoop. 
"If you don't like my growing up, have another child."
 
I snorted. At least Philip was young enough to be thoroughly unrealistic.
 
I threw myself into long-neglected affairs of state. I was working on the hefty 
U.N.A.F, budget when mere came a knock on my study door. With i sigh, I set down 
the file, massaged my back. "Yes?"
 
A red-haired midshipman marched in, came to attention, a gray-clad cadet 
following suit "Midshipman Thadeug Anselm reporting, sir!" He snapped a salute.
 
"At ease."
 
Smartly, he assumed the at-ease position, hands clasped behind him.
 
"Who's your... ahh. Mr. Bivan."
 
"Danil Bevin, sir." The boy's voice still hadn't settled entirely into the lower 
registers.
 
I ignored the cadet. "What brings you here, Mr. Anselm?"
 
"I'm the cadet's escort, sir!"
 
"Very well, consider him escorted.**
 
"Yes, sir." The middy hesitated. "Am I dismissed?"
 
I unbent. "What are your orders?**
 
'To return to Devon base when released, sir.'*
 
If he was like every middy Fd ever known—like myself, at his age—he'd cherish 
leave in a foreign town. "Very well, you're not dismissed just yet. Have you an 
overnight travel allowance?"
 
"No, sir." Hazen had been stingy with his budget, it appeared.
 
Well, it was my own fault, for meddling. I buzzed security. "Show the midshipman 
a guest room. Mr. Anselm, I require your presence over the next few days, in 
case"—I glowered—"the cadet needs rebuke.** If Bevin had any sense, he wouldn't 
take me seriously; cadets should expect a modicum of verbal hazing. "However, 
you'll not be needed until midnight each day. You need not stay on the 
grounds.**
 
Anselm's face lit "Yes, sir!"
 
"That's all."
 
With Academy precision, the middy about-faced and marched out.
 
"Chair, go around—oh, never mind.*' I wheeled from behind my desk, faced Bevin. 
"See what your enviro friends did to me?"
 
"They're not my friends!"
 
I rasped, "Are you looking to be caned?"
 
"Not again, sir."
 
Then watch your mouth." I paused. "Again?**
 
He flushed. "After you left, Sarge wrote me up."
 
"For?"
 
"Arguing with—with my betters." The words came reluctantly.
 
"It's not what you say, Bevin." I had to admit the boy had courage. "It's how 
you say it." No need to chew him out, at our first meeting. "So. Tell me about 
yourself. You're English?"
 
"From Manchester." A shy smile.
 
"I was a Cardiff boy." But of course he knew that. Everyone did. "A Naval 
family?" Many of our officers were third generation, or more.
 
"Why, no." He looked puzzled.
 
"What's your father's occupation, then? Or is it your mother?"
 
He said tentatively, "Are you teasing me, sir?"
 
"No." I glowered. "If you don't want to tell me—"
 
"My father is Andrus Bevin, of the Enviro Council. He's Mr. Winstead's deputy."
 
I recoiled. "He's that Bevin?" I knew the name had sounded familiar.
 
"Yes, sir."
 
"Why didn't you tell me? Sneaking into my house without—"
 
"I never asked to be posted here!" His face was hot. "Besides, I told you the 
first time we met"
 
Dimly, I tried to recall. I'm enviro, the boy had said. And so's my father. I 
cursed under my breath. I would send him home to Devon, of course; I couldn't 
have a spy underfoot.
 
I colored. Do you want my resignation, Hazen had asked. He, too, had enviro 
sympathies. Not every enviro supporter was glitched.
 
"He's what, Winstead's assistant?" Perhaps if I kept Bevin from sensitive 
data...
 
The boy's head shot up proudly. "First vice president of the Enviro Council."
 
"Vice president"
 
"Yes, sir. He's your son Philip's boss."
 
If I dismissed the cadet, surely it would cause repercussions for Philip. 
Dismayed, I searched for a solution. Let the boy go, with orders not to tell 
anyone that... Call Win-stead, explain that the posting had nothing to do with 
...
 
No. I would have to make the best of it. I took a deep breath. "Did Haz— Did the 
Commandant explain why you were sent here?"
 
"No, sir. Sarge said you wanted to keep an eye on me."
 
I smiled. "Not quite." I explained my custom of young Naval aides. "I won't keep 
you more than a few months. You'll graduate with your bunkies." Some of them, at 
least. Academy had no set graduation day; cadets were released when deemed 
ready.
 
Bevin opened his mouth, shut it again. A cadet didn't question his officers.
 
I sighed. I really should have selected a middy; look where pique got me. "While 
you're here, you may speak before being spoken to. There'll be no penalties."
 
"Thank you, sir. If you didn't know my background, may I ask why you picked me?"
 
"I knew you were enviro. I meant to show you what your enviro cohorts did." I 
grimaced. That wasn't the only reason. "Because you stood up to me in barracks. 
I loathe yes-men."
 
He regarded me quizzically. "You chose me for what Sarge caned me for?"
 
"Life's like that."
 
"After I'm done here, sir..."
 
"Yes?" Impatiently, I tapped the desk.
 
"Do you think— If I do well, could I be posted to Galactic when I make middy?"
 
"Of all the gall!" Was there no end to his effrontery? Galactic was the prize 
posting of the Navy; it had the finest accommodations, the most modern 
instruments, the most powerful lasers, the best-equipped bridge. No doubt 
seasoned middies from every ship in home system were vying
for a berth on her. I growled, "Have Security show you your quarters. 
Dismissed."
 
He saluted smartly.
 
"Bevin!"
 
He paused at the door.
 
"Don't ah... it would be better... Perhaps you shouldn't tell anyone here you're 
related to the Andrus Bevin. Some of the joeys I work with might not 
understand." Why was I perspiring?
 
"Aye aye, sir." He left.
 
*To the veranda, chair." The motor purred, I struggled with the door, managed 
finally to help the chair maneuver outside.
 
My back throbbed. I'd been hoping to find Arlene, tell her of my fiasco, but she 
was nowhere in sight I went back to my office, buried myself in chipfiles.
 
Later, I wandered to the living room. Arlene lay curled on the couch, reading a 
holovid. Newsnet, it was,
 
I tried to negotiate the narrow path between settee and chair. Muttering, I 
tried to haul the settee out of the way and nearly dislodged myself from my 
seat, I swore under my breath. "Hon?" I gestured at the obstacle,
 
Arlene purred, "Yes, Nicky?"
 
She knew bloody well what 1 wanted. Nonetheless, I said humbly, "I need your 
help,"
 
"Very well." She moved me chair.
 
"Thank you." I rolled past "Do I get points for asking?" My tone was hopeful. 
"You know I hate to be dependent"
 
The corners of her mouth turned up. "Is that another apology?"
 
"Yes, if it's needed,"
 
She kissed the fading scar on my forehead.
 
After a moment I asked, "What's in NewsnetT
 
"Your political obituary." She scrolled to the head of the article. "They say 
you'll resign within a month."
 
"Wishful thinking."
 
"Nick ..." Suddenly she was serious. "How long will you stay in office?"
 
"Until..." I ground to a stop. How long, indeed? I'd been sure each term would 
be my last, but my second Administration had been in office twelve years, 
through three elections. Despite my contempt for the political process— Jerence 
claimed it was because of it—the electorate kept my Supranationalists in power, 
and the party wasn't about to abandon me. I wasn't sure why. All too often, for 
their taste, I appointed Indies or Terries to vacant posts.
 
If Bishop Saythor had carried out his threat, the question would be moot
 
"I don't know. Every day, a small, quiet part of me still yearns to quit. 
Especially now I'm paralyzed.** I paused. "But as I told you once, I've grown to 
like power. Isn't that despicable?"
 
"Have you used it well?"
 
"Yes, of cour—no, not really, I appoint my friends to office, bully the Navy, 
squelch the Earth Firsters every chance I get"
 
"What's the despicable part?"
 
"I ignore the wants of my party, I'm rude to the Senate."
 
"I'm still waiting,"
 
"I break the rules when it suits me."
 
"Not for your own benefit. For the public good."
 
"Who am I to decide that?"
 
"Who else should?"
 
"The public. That's what a democracy is about."
 
"The public is—ore—fools."
 
I smiled sourly, "Jerence tells me to respect them for loving me. You tell me 
they're fools."
 
Her smile was lighter than mine. "We might both be right"
 
I leaned forward to kiss her, lost my balance, ended up sprawled on her bosom.
 
"Is this an advance, sailor?" Her tone was wry.
 
I was helpless, and it enraged me. How else might I find myself incompetent? 
"God damn—" I caught myself, but my mood was shattered. I hauled my legs back 
onto the footpads, spun the cursed wheelchair.
 
"Nick, what..."
 
"Out chair." I fled to my office.
 
CHAPTER 7
 
A hilip moved back home. He spent two energetic hours hauling his belongings 
upstairs to his old room, and rushed back to work. Subdued, I realized that in 
the years he'd been with the Enviro Council, I'd never visited his office, or 
even asked his duties. How must he see my indifference? Was I truly so cruel? I 
slipped into the den, closed the door to be alone with my turmoil.
 
I'd named P.T. after Philip Tyre, a heroic young middy I'd known.
 
We'd been so close, when he was young.
 
One day, when my son was five or so, I had him on my lap, showing him holos of 
Father and the run-down Cardiff farm on which I was raised. In those far gone 
days, P.T. had called me "Daddy." Solemnly, in his babyish voice, he asked if 
I'd like him to call me "Father," as I had my own parent. "If you'd like," I'd 
said.
 
Thereafter, I was "Path." "Father," when he wanted to be formal.
 
With wonder and delight, I'd watched him grow toward adolescence. His goodwill 
was boundless, his intelligence awesome.
 
He was Lord God's undeserved gift.
 
The Transpop Rebellion scarred him, in some way I never
fully understood. We didn't quite grow apart, but he became ever more moody. In 
his teens he adopted the enviro cause with dismaying fervor, and finally left my 
home in a swirl of mutual recriminations. I was heartsick over his invasion of 
my files. If there was anything I'd hoped to teach him, it was inflexible 
honesty, and the honor I'd tried to espouse before my fall.
 
I'd hoped that he'd be better than I.
 
My joy at his return was tempered somewhat in that he brought Jared Tenere home. 
I couldn't well refuse; it would jeopardize our reconciliation.
 
Well, perhaps hormone rebalancing had stabilized the Tenere boy. Time would 
tell. At least, he'd lost the unbearable cockiness he'd flaunted as a youth.
 
What with the newcomers and other changes, my home life had developed an 
outlandish aspect. Each night, to my infinite disgust, security joeys hauled my 
weighty wheel-chair up the stairs a step at a time, while I prayed fervently 
that nobody slipped. I was even tempted to install an elevator. Pride was one 
thing, a broken neck quite another.
 
Danil Bevin quickly learned his way around the house, and tried to make himself 
useful, in his less-than-timid fashion.
 
His second night with us, Thadeus Anselm, the middy, came staggering home past 
midnight, crooning a ribald ballad as he negotiated the stairs. Aiiene merely 
giggled and went back to sleep, but if it hadn't been too much trouble I'd have 
hauled myself out of bed and given him a piece of my mind. I resolved to do so 
in the morning, but his pale and shaken countenance dissuaded me. Some lessons 
were self-taught.
 
Besides, his conduct wasn't my concern. Another day or so and I'd send him home 
to Devon.
 
Meanwhile, crowds gathered each day outside the walls. I didn't know what they 
sought. No doubt they came because
I was a public figure, and my injury unsettled them as a private person's would 
not
 
Confined to my relentlessly helpful chair, restless and irritable, I buried 
myself in work. Luckily, there was plenty of that. I pored over budgets, 
arbitrated colonial disputes, struggled with the Dutch relief situation.
 
The overriding problem was where to settle the refugees, now that most of 
Holland was reclaimed by the sea. Pakistan had taken in most of the 
Bangladeshis, but the Netherlands had no ethnic sister, and Belgium's patience 
was wearing thin; she'd absorbed as many as her local economy would handle.
 
Across the globe, lowlands were swamped as never before in human memory.
 
The Dutch could be absorbed; even teeming Earth could find room for its 
refugees. But dispersal would cost the Dutch their national identity, and their 
leaders strenuously fought for other solutions.
 
I'd already authorized putting the Hollanders at the top of the list for 
emigration to Constantine, the newest of our colonies. But I didn't see how we 
could ship more than fifty thousand refugees over the next few years, and though 
that would make Constantine thoroughly Dutch, it wouldn't make a dent in the 
refugee problem. Besides, the Colonial Affairs office argued vehemently against 
allowing ethnic concentrations in our colonies.
 
A knock. "Cadet Bevin reporting for duty, sir."
 
"As you were. I'm a civilian, so we'll relax military courtesies."
 
"SirT
 
"Don't come to attention each time you come into my bloody office!"
 
"Aye aye, sir."
 
"Take these chips, file them in the case next to the hotovid, where—"
 
The caller buzzed. General Donner, of U.N.A.F. Security.
 
I left the desk speaker on. If I couldn't trust my aide's discretion, I'd best 
find out now.
 
"Mr. SecGen, we may have a break in the Academy matter."
 
"Goon."
 
"We've had that Sergeant Hooker's family under intense surveillance. Sisters, 
cousins, the works."
 
"And?"
 
"His father's niece Sara had a couple of odd calls. Nothing overtly 
incriminating, but the conversation was out of focus, as if it was in code. 
Discussing groceries for no reason, for example."
 
"You traced?"
 
"Public callers. The first in London, the second in Manchester."
 
"So he's in England."
 
"Sorry, sir, the voice wasn't Booker's."
 
"How would you know?"
 
"We ran the recording past your Commandant. He's under surveillance too, by the 
way."
 
I reared up in my chair. "That's an outrage!"
 
"You think so, Mr. SecGen? Who'd be better placed to arrange an accident?"
 
I spluttered. "I would. Is my caller tapped too?"
 
"Of course not." The General chuckled, unconvincingly.
 
If the Navy heard that its rival, U.N.A.F., had one of its officers under 
surveillance, there'd be hell to pay. "The Commandant was shocked when we heard 
about the murdered cadets. I was with him, and it was no act." I'd stake my life 
on it. I hesitated. Or would I? What if... no, I was becoming as paranoid as 
Donner. "Remove Hazen from your suspect list. We won't spy on the Navy."
 
"Sir, if he's involved in any way, even in covering up the—"
 
"I'll take responsibility."
 
His voice fell. "Yes, sir. About the cousin ... we're going for P and D."
 
"You have an order?"
 
"This evening. We have a tame judge."
 
I opened my mouth to object, thought better of it The less I knew of our 
investigative techniques, the better. Sometimes these things had to be done, and 
no one would really be hurt. I had the rights of our cadets to consider, as well 
as Hooker's cousin. "Very well. Proceed." I rang off.
 
Bevin turned from the holovid. "We all want the murderers caught, but how can 
you send joeys to P and D with no evidence?"
 
"Mind your business."
 
"A tame judge? Is that honorable?"
 
I'd had enough. "You're asking for a caning."
 
"Fine, if it would get me home to Academy." His cheeks were flushed. "I thought, 
whatever else you are, you're an honest man."
 
"Whatever else I—you impudent young joeykid! What's that supposed to mean?" I 
wheeled around the desk, planted my chair inches from his legs.
 
"You're a— I'm sorry, sir. I'd better keep quiet**
 
"Far too late. Finish the thought I'm a what?"
 
"A bigot. You hate your political enemies. You hate all enviros, without 
thought"
 
I was more scandalized man offended "Bevin, don't you see that working with the 
SecGen is an honor? Well? Don't just gape, answer!"
 
"Is that why you hauled me from Academy? To watch you play favorites, trample 
public rights, bully your staff—"
 
"ENOUGH!" I turned to the desk, clawed for my caller, thumbed it to the upstairs 
speakers. "Anselm! Get down here!" I waited, seething.
 
The thud of racing footsteps. A knock, and the door crashed open. "Sir, 
Midshipman Ansehn repor—"
 
"Take this lout and thrash him! I want him to remember—
 
Now, Middy!" If I'd had the use of my legs, I'd do it myself, with joy.
 
Bevin shot me a look of contempt. "Truth is no defense?"
 
"Not for an insolent, cocky—what do you mean?" Ansehn had the cadet nearly to 
the door. I raised a hand to stay him.
 
Bevin rubbed his pinched forearm. "You canceled surveillance on Mr. Hazen 
because he was Navy, but you didn't on Sara because she was a civilian, and 
Booker's cousin. That's playing favorites. You're sending a girl to P and D for 
talking about groceries. They're bastards, whoever killed Santini and the 
others, but they have rights too. You couldn't get away with that with an honest 
judge."
 
"Go on." My voice was ominously low.
 
"I'm staff, and you bully me. My thoughts are my private affair, but you order 
me to tell them to you. Then you punish me because you don't like them."
 
"You were insolent beforehand,"
 
"Yes, I was."
 
"Whyr
 
His eyes teared. "Because I wanted to believe better of the SecGen!"
 
A long time passed,
 
I said, "Anselm, let him go." I wheeled to my desk, got myself behind it
 
Now what?
 
You're the SecGen, come up with answers.
 
Sighing, I picked up the caller. "Get me General Donaer." I waited. "This is 
Seafort, Cancel the P and D on Booker's relatives until you have more evidence. 
No, you heard me." I listened to his protest, repeated my instructions, and rang 
off,
 
"Middy, get me a coffee, if you'd please."
 
Anselm left.
 
"Are you satisfied. Cadet?"
 
"That's not for me to say."
 
"Modesty, at this stage?"
 
He opened his mouth, thought better of it, bit his lip. "How should I answer? 
I'm in trouble if I keep silent, and in trouble if I speak."
 
"Arghh." There was a certain justice in that. I asked, "How is it you're not 
afraid of me?"
 
"I am!" He squirmed. "Do you think I like a caning? It hurts!"
 
"I know.*' I too had been a cadet. "Yet you don't hesitate to reprimand my 
conduct"
 
"I'm sorry." His face was red. "But... isn't that why you chose meT
 
We eyed each other warily.
 
Anselm returned, beating coffee, I sipped from the steaming cup. To Bevin, "I'm 
several times your age, and SecGen. Don't you think it inappropriate to admonish 
me?"
 
"Yes, sir. Please send me home." His eyes beseeched me.
 
"Very well, if that's what—"
 
Again, the caller buzzed.
 
"Branstead here." His voice was tense.
 
"Not now, I'm in the middle of—"
 
"There's been an incident in London. They attacked the Victoria and Albeit 
Museum."
 
"Christ Almighty." I didn't know I said it, until Anselm's eyes widened. "Amen," 
I added quickly.
 
"They weren't well armed, thank the Lord. Still, eleven casualties, and they 
managed to set the place on fire. The en-viros left two of their own among the 
dead."
 
"The London garrison—"
 
"Details are still sketchy. It seems U.N.A.F. was caught off guard."
 
"Typical. Keep me informed." I rang off, keyed the caller to Mark Tilnitz, told 
him the news. "Ready my plane. I'm off to Britain this afternoon."
 
"The hell you are." His voice sharpened. "Mr. SecGen, you're not mobile. You 
can't fly into a war zone when-—"
 
"Yes, I can. We'd better show the flag, and I need a firsthand look at this 
mess." I set down the caller. "Anselm, find Arlene, help her get me packed. 
Bevin, gather your gear."
 
The two scurried off. I began putting away my holochips.
 
Mark met me at the helipad. His voice was maddeningly reasonable, as if dealing 
with a small child. "We can't arrange secure travel on short notice. The plane 
has to be fueled and propped, we have to run security sweeps, arrange logistical 
support for forty people—"
 
"And make hotel reservations, gather my far-flung staff. I know." Suddenly I was 
fed up. For twelve years I'd traveled trailing a flock of joeys I didn't need, 
or even Uke. Some, I barely knew. Now mat I was paralyzed, perhaps for life, I 
would do as I wished. "Skip the lot of it."
 
**What nonsense are you—"
 
This heli," I jabbed at the fuselage. "It's got Valdez per-mabatteries, right? 
It could fly to London, or around the world.**
 
*So? We couldn't all fit—"
 
**We won't need to." I cast caution to the winds. "Darius of Persia didn't 
travel with as huge a retinue as mine. No more, do you hear? I'm done with it" I 
forced myself to stop pounding the chair arm. I wouldn't get his help by 
sounding a spoiled child.
 
His voice was scornful. "Whom will yon leave behind? The press crew? Security? 
Your therapists?**
 
He'd goaded me beyond endurance. "All of them! Help Anselm and Bevin lift me 
into the heli. I'll take die two boys to help with my chair. You can pilot. 
That's it"
 
"You're out of your mind." Mark folded his arms.
 
Again, I pounded the chair. "Put me in the heli! Middy, take one end. Jump when 
I give an order!"
 
"Aye aye, sir." Anselm struggled with the chair.
 
"Wait, slide me in first b'ft the chair after. Mark, help me, or find another 
job!"
 
Abashed, Bevin stood aside, trying to make himself small.
 
"You're asking for my resignation?" Mark withstood my glare. "Damn it, I'm 
responsible for your safety."
 
"A fat lot of good you've done." Immediately I was sorry, but it couldn't be 
helped. "When we sally out in force, in a huge jet swollen with staff, the whole 
world knows. We'll be just as safe traveling incognito. Who's to know I'm in 
this helir
 
"It's a breach of protocol. Go abroad with only one security man? Donner would 
fire me, and he'd have cause."
 
"I suspend the protocol. We'll put it in writing to protect you."
 
"You're risking more man your life!" His face was red, "If you're assassinated, 
there'll be chaos."
 
"Let it be so. Mark, you know me. I tell you, I'm going, and I won't let you 
persuade me otherwise. Will you help or not?"
 
He wavered, but convincing him wasn't that easy. It took nearly an hour before 
he strapped me in. Even then, he passed our first hundred kilometers trying to 
persuade me to turn back to Potomac Shuttleport.
 
Anselm sat beside me during the long sullen ride.
 
I sniffed. "What's that I smell? Alcohol?"
 
The middy flushed. "I... had a drink," Seeing my look he blurted, "I was off 
duty, sir. You told me last night..."
 
"Very well." I folded my arms, I had more on my mind than a miscreant middy. The 
Eco League's attacks were escalating at an alarming rate. First cadets at 
Academy, then a bold attack on my plane that failed, then a bomb that nearly 
killed me. Now an outrage on civilians, in broad daylight What next?
 
It also troubled me how well organized the ecos seemed. We'd run into a wall, 
tracking them. How could such a well-knit organization have formed under our 
very noses? Where did they get their arms? Rifles and lasers weren't readily
available; mere possession of an unlicensed laser warranted the death sentence.
 
We droned on over the Atlantic. From time to time Mark made calls over the 
secure line. Lord God knew what sort of fit Security was throwing.
 
T)o we return tonight, sir?" At least, Mark's tone was civil.
 
"It depends what we find." I wasn't sure why I had to visit the bomb site, but I 
knew it was so. If Londoners had endured their first taste of war in over a 
century, my presence would be reassuring. Or perhaps not; the sight of my chair 
wheeling itself through the nibble of a national monument might give them pause.
 
"Sir?** Bevin sounded timid,
 
Anselm's voice was sharp, "Don't bother him.**
 
A boy who drank in daylight, presuming to tell the cadet his place? I'd have 
none of it "What, Danil?**
 
"We'll be so near Devon.,, while we're there, could you post me back to 
Academy?**
 
*Tm fretting about terrorists, and you whine to go back to Academy? Joeys 
died!** I grabbed his collar, hauled him close. "I need your help to get about. 
Not another word or—** I shook him.
 
"Aye aye, sir! No, sir!" Almost, he raised his hand to mine, but he came to his 
senses. "I'm sorry, sir!**
 
"Four demerits,** As a civilian, I wasn't sure I had authority to log them, but 
he wouldn't contest the matter.
 
"I'm sorry." Bevin's voice was small. He stared at his lap. I stole a glance; he 
was near tears. It served me right for snatching a callow youngster out of 
school. In my desk I'd had a list of perfectly suitable middies.
 
We let the heli guide itself to Kensington, I'd have preferred navigating my way 
via the Thames, but I sensed Mark Tilnitz was at the limit of his endurance.
 
I'd intended to set down at the V & A's imposing entry on
 
Exhibition Road, but the street was filled with military and emergency vehicles. 
We circled.
 
I'd expected more damage than was visible. A section of wall was shattered, a 
number of windows were in shards, and the east facade was badly smoke-stained. 
But the building still stood.
 
"Set down there, on Cromwell."
 
"And then what? Wheel up and announce you're the Sec-Genr
 
"Why not?"
 
Mark seemed, but did as he was told.
 
A uniformed jerry bustled over while Mark and the boys manhandled my chair to 
the pavement. "Move that machine, mate! You're in a security zone!"
 
"Help me out" I clutched Anselm's shoulder, slid myself from the seat of the 
heli. "You there, name and rank!"
 
The jerry blinked. "By what authority?"
 
"Take a good look. I'm SecGen Seafort. Chair, back up." I wrapped an arm around 
each boy's shoulder, together they dragged me to the waiting chair. "Careful, 
Bevin!" They eased me down. "Name and rank, I said."
 
"I—Sergeant Rourke, uniformed division. Are you really the Sec—let me see some 
ID."
 
Mark bristled.
 
"No, it's a reasonable request" I leaned to one side, managed to extricate my 
wallet, flashed him my chipcard. "Satisfied? Chair, to the front door, that's to 
my right. Find a ramp and take me in." We rolled forward. "Come along, Sergeant 
You'll help explain."
 
Tilnitz loped alongside. "Sir, mis is insane. How can I watch for—"
 
"Don't bother. You think assassins are standing by, in case I show up? Go lock 
the heli; I don't want my suitcase stolen. I have the boys if I need any—whoof!" 
The chair lurched over a chunk of debris. I hung on. "While you're at it, 
reserve three rooms at a decent hotel."
 
"Government House is—"
 
'The atmosphere's like a tomb. A good hotel, I said. Chair, halt Mark, we're 
doing this my way. Glare again and I will accept your resignation. On, chair."
 
"On what?"
 
"On. Forward. Continue."
 
"I think I bent a wheel." The chair's tone was plaintive.
 
We wobbled on our way.
 
The bodies were gone, but the inside remained a scene of carnage. When my wheels 
skidded in a sticky pool of drying blood, Anselm turned green. I swallowed bile 
over and again, battling not to disgrace myself and dishonor the dead.
 
The survivors among the staff clutched at the reassurance of my visit Over and 
again they repeated their ghastly tale.
 
Five joeys, hooded and armed, had burst through the front gate. They'd cut down 
the guards with lasers, set off an incendiary bomb in the principal exhibit, 
Colonial Dress Through the Ages from India to Belladonna. Sprinklers went off 
and alarms clanged.
 
Perhaps the din unnerved die invaders, or perhaps they'd intended a bloodbath 
all along. For whatever reason, they barred the front lobby and fired 
indiscriminately at fleeing visitors and staff. Among the slaughtered were a 
five-year-old boy and three nuns from Lahore,
 
When the first sirens wailed in the distance, their leader blew a whistle. They 
escaped to me street, where mey met the heroine of me day.
 
Her name was Indira Raj. A museum guard, she'd crouched behind a parked lorry, 
waiting for reinforcements. When the gunmen raced down the steps, she'd come to 
her feet, coolly opened fire. She downed two terrorists, winged another before 
their comrades snuffed out her life. They fled to a waiting car, drove off.
 
I heard out the grisly recital. By now the lobby was full. The Lord Mayor had 
arrived, along with several MPs and the local U.N. Assemblyman.
 
I rolled to the waiting mediamen, gave a grim statement sent live over the nets, 
while Mark Tilnitz, despairing of my safety, had quiet paroxysms. I understood 
his misgivings; there was no point in arriving incognito, then announcing my 
presence to the world. On the other hand, there was no way to show my support if 
I didn't let Londoners know of it.
 
When we emerged, young Bevin was pale and shaken. I felt a moment's regret at 
exposing a cadet to such a scene. But still, he was an officer in training, and 
Naval life had its perils. Sooner or later he'd have to face death. The sight of 
a sailor exposed to vacuum was every bit as horrific as the carnage in the 
museum.
 
Mark had taken me at my word when I'd said "a good hotel"; he'd booked us into 
the New Dorchester. We landed on the rooftop heliport and rode down to the 
lobby. As a security precaution he'd used his own name for all three rooms, but 
I was recognized immediately.
 
There was a brief delay, no doubt to assign us better rooms, while the awestruck 
middy and cadet peered about at the immaculately uniformed bellmen, the brass 
rails salvaged a century ago from the old edifice, the paneled and dadoed walls. 
Then we were ushered to a three-bedroom, four-bath suite strewn with fruit and 
flower baskets. Jaded as I'd become, it took my breath away.
 
Well, I was on U.N. business. Hie government would cover the bill.
 
For two hours I lay on my bed, making calls. There was the family of the slain 
guard; I made sure they'd be well provided for, I conferred with Metropolitan 
Police; their investigation would need coordination with ours, but U.N.A.F. had 
a way of brushing aside local constabularies that left bad feelings.
 
I called Moira Tamarov, for the third time since Alexi's death. I urged her to 
bring their son and daughter to Washington the next day, to stay a week at our 
compound. I'd hardly known Alexi's wife, but perhaps Arlene and I, together, 
could offer solace.
 
The moment I rang off, Jerence Branstead was on the line. "Are you glitched, Mr. 
SecGen? A private heli? No staff?"
 
"Not you too."
 
"A public hoteir
 
As usual, I had visuals off, but I could picture his expression. "Stop 
spluttering."
 
"Sir, your erratic behavior plays right into the hands of Valera. One of these 
days the Deputy SecGen will engineer a vote of no-confidence."
 
"Let him. Is mis why you called?"
 
"No. Bishop Saythor wants a meeting."
 
I groaned. "The Patriarchs, again? So soon?"
 
"Just the two of you, private and unofficial. And promptly."
 
Interesting, but I had no idea why. "I'll be home tomorrow,"
 
"I'll set it up at the Rotunda."
 
"No." I shook my head, forgetting he couldn't see.
 
"You prefer the Cathedral?"
 
"If he's so anxious, let him come to my compound.**
 
"Sir, he's the Elder."
 
"And I'm the SecGen. Good night, Jerence." I rang off,
 
I glared hatefully at my overnight bag, across the room. It seemed too much 
trouble to work myself into the chair to retrieve it. For a moment I was tempted 
to let myself sleep as I was, fully dressed, atop the covers.
 
Well, why had I brought along the middy and cadet? I struggled to a sitting 
position, rang their room. "Anselm? Come over, I need you."
 
In a moment he popped through the connecting door. His collar was awry, as if 
he'd adjusted it in haste, "Yessir?"
 
"My bag."
 
"What about it?"
 
I pointed angrily to the dresser. "Get it"
 
"Aye aye, sir." He strode across the room, stumbled, caught himself. Face 
flushed, he dropped my gear on the bed. "Anything else?"
 
"Would you hang my jacket, please?" I tried to shrug loose an arm.
 
"While you're wearing it?" He giggled.
 
I peered suspiciously. "Let me smell—you're drinking!"
 
**I am," he said with dignity, "off duty." A belch. He clutched his stomach, 
folded slowly, vomited on my shoes.
 
"Anselm!" I tried to spin away, could not; my lower limbs were encased in 
cement. The middy fell against me, moaning. Desperately, I held him off. "Danil, 
get in here, flank! Bevin!" I could have been heard in the lobby, twenty floors 
above.
 
The cadet dashed in, wearing only shorts and T-shirt. He stopped short "Cadet 
Bevin repor— oh, my God!"
 
"Take this—this person out of here! Don't let—hold him!" Too late. Anselm 
sagged, upsetting my precarious balance. He flopped atop me, pulling Bevin onto 
the pile.
 
Beside myself, 1 flailed at any available limbs. In a moment Bevin recovered his 
balance, dragged Anselm off die bed. He thrust out his hand; I seized it, hauled 
myself upright. "Get that joey out of my room!" The cadet struggled, to no 
avail. "Don't you see he can't walk? Drag him!" With a mighty effort, Bevin 
complied.
 
My shoes and cuffs were soaked with vomit The stench was vile. I bit back a sob. 
Please, Lord, don't let this be my life. I'm covered with a middy's puke, unable 
to clean myself,
 
Bevin poked his head through the door. "Shall I—do you want help?"
 
I screamed, "Put your clothes on!" He disappeared. In moments he was back, 
hopping from foot to foot as he slipped into his carefully polished shoes.
 
By then I had my pants unbuckled. Straining, I lifted my
buttocks off the bed. "Pull them down—help me get— Jesus, Lord Christr I was 
shaking.
 
"Sir, it's all right." His voice was soothing. "It's only— here, let me do 
that." He worked my pants to my ankles, got them off. He ran to the bathroom, 
returned with towels, covered the mess on the rug. "We'll get you into the 
chair, sir. It'll only be a moment." He spoke in the same tones I'd used to 
Philip, when he revved.
 
A few minutes later, I emerged cleaned and calmed from the lavatory. Danil sat 
calmly, watching a hotel servitor clean and dry the rug. "I hope you don't mind 
my calling them, sir."
 
"No, I—thank you." I found it difficult to meet his eyes. While I'd thrown a 
tantrum, he'd taken care of my needs.
 
When the houseman had gone, I rolled my chair close, I spoke quietly. "How long 
has this been going on?" I gestured to Ansehn's room,
 
"I've only known Mr. Anselm a short time," he said carefully. "Since he brought 
me to Washington."
 
I flushed; I'd asked him to betray a mate, no, worse, a superior officer. In the 
Navy mat was not done. "Sorry, Mr, Bev—Danil. I wish ..." I patted his knee, as 
if to give him comfort "It's difficult"
 
"What is, sir?"
 
"Being paralyzed." Being SecGen, Growing old and impatient Living apart from 
Lord God.
 
He waited.
 
"Danil, help me out of the chair. No, not to me bed." I pointed to the floor, 
near enough to lean on the mattress. Else, I would topple.
 
"What are you going to do, sir?"
 
"Pray."
 
"On your knees?"
 
"I don't think Lord God hears me any other way." As a joeykid, Father had made 
me pray on my knees. These days.it was out of fashion, and 1 felt self-conscious 
before the boy, but I was determined.
 
I had no muscle control at all; I wasn't really kneeling, but sitting on my 
legs. It would do. I leaned forward, made a tent of my fingers.
 
To my utter astonishment, Danil Bevin slipped down, knelt by my side. He bowed 
his head. "I thought you enviros were freethinkers.'* "Well, I'm not." He 
sounded defiant It had been too long. I'm sorry, Lord, Sorry for what I've done, 
and who I am. But You know that If You hear me—if You listen despite my 
abominations—I beg You to help me. I thought of asking to walk again, blushed at 
the effrontery. Help me to be just, to deal wisely with those in my care, to 
catch the mad eco anarchists who would lead Your people astray. Bless Indira 
Raj, who died doing her duty, andAlexi, who died for no reason I can discern. 
And bless this passionate young joey at my side, with whom I've been so 
impatient. And if, somehow. You could grant me—I don't deserve it, but I long 
for it so—a little peace...
 
"Amen." I didn't realize I'd spoken aloud. I blinked away a sting.
 
Bevin helped me to the bed, took a nearby chair. I sat quietly, eyes on the 
floor. It had been a long day,
 
A knock. Midshipman Anselm, his face red. "I'm terribly sorry."
 
"Danil, go to your room. This is between us alone."
 
"Aye aye, sir,"
 
"And thank you. For everything."
 
A shy smile. He disappeared.
 
I pointed sternly to the chair. Meekly, Anselm sat.
 
"Did you know you're an alcoholic?" My voice was cold,
 
"I'm not, sir, I just—"
 
"Did you bring the wet stuff with you?" Normally, a boy his age couldn't order a 
drink, without risking a penal colony both for himself and the server. But, by 
act of the General Assembly, a midshipman was a gentleman and an adult He could 
vote, drink, and bring his life to ruin.
 
"Yes—no, I... no, sir."
 
"Which is it?" The comparison between him and Bevin was odious. The cadet, 
impetuous though he was, had a good heart and a sense of decency. This drunken 
lout was a disgrace to the Navy.
 
He squirmed. "Both, I had some in my gear, but it was— I ordered it from the 
hotel,"
 
"And you claim you're not alcoholic?"
 
"I didn't break the law." His tone was sullen. "And I wait 'til I'm off duty."
 
I was relentless. "Since you came to Washington, has there been a day you didn't 
drink?"
 
He stared into the middle distance. His eyes seemed troubled, "I guess not. It's 
just mat... with a couple of drinks, the world seems brighter."
 
"I imagine you worked hard to make middy."
 
He gulped. "Oh, God, you're cashiering me."
 
"Only your commander can do that." As a civilian I couldn't do much about him, 
other than send him home to Devon.
 
I signed. At Academy, Ansel m would be fortunate to escape with a caning; Hazen 
would be more likely to dismiss him from the Service, as the boy feared. Why 
should that trouble me? It was what he deserved. Not only had he been drunk, 
he'd sullied the Navy's cherished relationship with the SecGen. And if word ever 
got out that he'd vomited on me ... I'd never hold up my head.
 
"Sir, I..." Abruptly, he began to weep. "I'm so ashamed."
 
"You should be."
 
"Your shoes"—a sob—*T11 pay for them. If there's anything 1 can do, any way to 
,.," He raised a tear-streaked face, "You're the SecGen, and once you were our 
Commandant I was so proud to meet you. And I threw up on you." He began to rock, 
hugging himself. "Oh, God, dear God."
 
If he thought his performance would move me, he was sadly mistaken. I had no 
sympathy for a stupid young jackanapes who ... dimly, I recalled a horribly sick 
young middy, on his first leave, hugging a toilet in a bar in Lu-napolis.
 
I cleared my throat. 'To start with, you're not to drink again, for six months. 
Not a drop."
 
He paled, but said only, "Aye aye, sir."
 
"You've dishonored the Navy."
 
He looked to the floor, and blushed anew. "Yes, sir."
 
"Call Mr. Tilnitz. He's in the next room."
 
In a few moments, Mark stood in the doorway, arms folded.
 
"Mr. Anselm, you'll be caned." I leaned forward, steadying myself with one hand. 
With the other, I raised the boy's chin. "I'd do it myself, if I could."
 
His eyes pleaded, but he said only, "Yes, sir."
 
"As a civilian, I'm not sure I have the authority. If you contest it, I'll 
deliver you to Commandant Hazen with a note of explanation."
 
"Oh, no, sir!"
 
"Very well. Mark, you'll do the honors. We have no barrel and no cane, so use 
your belt. Go, boy, and consider yourself lucky."
 
Anselm stood unsteadily, brought himself to attention. With reluctant resolve, 
he marched to Mark's bedroom.
 
I lay back in bed, turned off the light, and listened to the middy's anguished 
yelps.
 
CHAPTER 8
 
I yawned; the day had started early, I'd had a long transatlantic trip with a 
sleepy cadet and a subdued middy. Then, brunch with Arlene, Philip, and Jared 
Tenere. I'd had to make small talk, which I found difficult in their presence, 
all the more so because my mind still swam with images of blood and destruction. 
It didn't improve my mood that Jared's manner was inoffensive, almost 
deferential.
 
Afterward, in my office, I glowered at the caller. I hated holoconfercncing. 
Karen Bums was at my side, Branstead at the Rotunda, and General Donner in 
Paris.
 
"You call that progress? Bah." I glared into Ae screen. On top of my other 
troubles, my back ached.
 
Donner drummed his fingers, causing his image to flutter, "We've identified both 
their museum casualties. That's a breakthrough."
 
"The one was already dead,**
 
"Obviously not I said he'd been reported dead, four years ago."
 
Karen listened to our byplay, silent
 
Branstead rapped his desk for attention, "What disturbs me even more man the 
attack..." He rubbed his eyes, "The terrorists are too well organized. They can 
smuggle a bomb into the Rotunda, gather weapons, track the SecGen's move-
ments, provide false identities for their cohorts. How big a group does that 
imply?"
 
"Huge." Karen leaned forward. 'Too large to let them continue flaunting us. 
Crack down, Mr. SecGen. With P and D we'll break them."
 
I said, "If they're so many ..." Why had we found no trace of them?
 
Branstead cleared his throat "The public won't support this sort of thing; it's 
right out of the Rebellious Ages. It takes just one loose mouth in a bar. One 
braggart, and someone calls us with an anonymous tip. A dozen joeys would be 
their secure limit, I'd guess. So why haven't we gotten so much as a hint?"
 
We traded glances, each hoping another would speak.
 
I mused aloud. "We're looking for the wrong sort of group." It brought stares of 
surprise. "I mean ... what if they aren't as many as we think?"
 
Jerence said, "So many separate attacks—"
 
"I was in London last night, and I'm back home today. We can move; why can't 
they? No, hear me out, Jerence. How many of these joeys do we actually know 
about? One in the airport; he's dead now. Sergeant Booker at Academy. Someone to 
smuggle a bomb into the Rotunda. Five in the museum, but they lost two. They 
could be as few as half a dozen." I shifted, trying to ease my spine.
 
"The false identities, the canister of nerve gas?"
 
"Think how much easier to hide two or three men than a large force. Assume 
Booker smuggled out a canister and his Mends filled it"
 
"How'd they get the toxin?"
 
"How'd they build a bomb?" Karen Burns.
 
"How'd they get it in?**
 
I said, "What if we're making this too complicated? We know how the nerve gas 
got to Academy: Sergeant Booker. The airport was easy; they drove up to the 
gate. Concentrate on the bomb. List every joey who in the three days before
the bombing had, or could have had, access to the Rotunda. One of them is our 
terrorist"
 
"There's hundreds," said Donner. "Senators, Assemblymen, their staffs..."
 
Karen looked grim. "P and D would tell us." I said, "Not again, Karen. We 
haven't the authority." "You would under martial law."
 
I felt a chill. "Out of the question." She was outraged at the bombing, no 
doubt, but even so, her urge to crack down seemed almost vindictive. "How many 
more would you see die?** "That's not—" A knock at the door. "Yes?** Midshipman 
Anselm, his uniform immaculate, his hair brushed, his face scrubbed. A crisp 
salute. "Pardon, sir, but Bishop Saythor's arrived. Two helis on the pad." "Why 
are you telling me? You have no duties here." "Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I had 
Cadet Bevin stay to greet them. I thought you'd want to know right away." "Very 
well. Who's with him?" "I don't know, but three of the joeys had guns." Karen 
keyed her caller, "Amie? Who's out there. Church security? Can you disarm them? 
Well, keep them out of the house. No, that's final. I'll be right along." She 
strode to the door.
 
"Middy, show the Elder inside. Try not to vomit on him." Anselm flushed beet 
red. "Aye aye, sir," From the screen Branstead asked, "What was that about?** 
"Last night something came up. Never mind." "Mr. SecGen..." Jerence hesitated. 
"Last time I argued against P and D, but after the museum ... I agree with 
Karen."
 
"I won't declare martial law. Whatever I'm remembered for, it won't be that." I 
scowled at Donner. "Any more conversations about groceries?" "No." The General 
made no effort to hide his distaste.
 
"We're alert to trace calls. I stationed rapid response teams throughout 
England."
 
Despite myself, I giggled. "You'll swoop down on the greengrocer at the first 
mention of cabbage?"
 
"It's not funny, Mr. SecGen. You of all people should know that" His screen went 
dead.
 
"That wasn't necessary, Mr. Seafort." Jerence sounded annoyed. "He's frustrated 
beyond bearing."
 
I sighed. "I'll make it up to him. That's all for now."
 
"Be diplomatic with Saythor, would you?"
 
"I'm always diplomatic." I gave him no chance to respond. "Out, chair. Tb the 
living room."
 
Bishop Saythor sat placidly on my favorite sofa. Around him stood and sat three 
aides. Across the room, Bevin had assumed the at-easc stance.
 
"Hold, chair. Is this to be a private conversation?'*
 
"Why ask me? My job is transport."
 
"Be silent, chair. I was speaking to the Elder." My back twinged.
 
"These gentlemen have my confidence,** Saythor's tone was pious.
 
He'd demanded a private conference, and now this, I was in no mood for games. 
"As do Karen Bums and my cadet And my wife. I'll call them."
 
'That won't be necessary. Your point is taken." He gestured, and his joeys moved 
to the door.
 
"Can 1 be of help, sir?" Bevin.
 
"Yes. Take a position outside the door. See we're not disturbed." See that 
Saythor's aides don't listen at the keyhole, but I couldn't say that. I ought 
not even think it, but a sore backbone shortened my temper.
 
The Elder regarded me skeptically.
 
I waited,
 
"I pray you're recovering from your dreadful injuries."
 
"Yes." He didn't give Lord God's damn whether I was well; of that I was certain.
 
"Mr. Seafort, what I have to say is difficult. You've been ill, and you're still 
not your old self."
 
True, but soon they would evaluate me for the Ghenili procedure. It was my 
lifeline.
 
"The bombing shook public confidence in all our institutions. Many influential 
citizens are upset at your policies."
 
My face was stony.
 
"Let me not beat around the bush. Mr. SecGen, I want you to resign.**
 
"Very well.**
 
"Very well, you'll resign?"
 
"Very well, you want me to resign.**
 
"Will youf
 
"No."
 
"Whynot?"
 
A good question. He did, after all, represent the power and authority of Mother 
Church,
 
No, he did not. The Patriarchs did, in conclave.
 
"Well, Mr. Seafortr
 
I hated to be pushed. If he weren't so arrogant, he'd know that. I leaned 
forward, clutching the armrests so as not to fall out of my chair. "Bishop 
Saythor, what in hell gave you the idea you could meddle in politics?**
 
He gasped.  ,
 
I hurtled on, "You demand I resign, but surely you don't speak for the Church, 
The Patriarchs have every confidence in my Administration; I know so from your 
statement to Holoworld,^ He flushed. "But even if you gather your colleagues in 
conclave, you haven't the right to order me to re-
 
"We represent Lord God's will!"
 
What in His name was I doing? I thought to rein myself in, but Saythor's sneer 
unraveled my intentions. "You may disavow me, excommunicate me if it comes to 
that. No more. Hie Assembly may dismiss me by a vote of no-eonfidence, or the 
electorate by voting for my opponent at a general election. That is how a 
government is removed."
 
"It comes to the same thing. If we declare we've lost confidence—"
 
"Do so. Reverse yourselves publicly. I'll have no quarrel."
 
Then why be so obstinate?"
 
"Because, sir, you overstep yourself!" My eyes blazed. "The Eco Action League 
would crumble our Government, reduce our system to chaos. There are paths, 
legitimate ones, for them to express their views. They ignore the proper means, 
proclaim themselves with bombs. They thwart the will of Lord God, whose 
Government I head."
 
"But—"
 
"And you do likewise! Where does the U.N. Charter give an Elder the right to 
dismiss His Government? Where does Church doctrine allow the Patriarchs to ally 
themselves with a particular party?"
 
"Listen here—"
 
"No, sir, you listen." I spun the wheels of my chair, lurched forward. "I will 
do the work of Lord God, as He gives me to see that task. Ask the Assembly to 
dismiss me, if that is your mind. Perhaps they would." No doubt they would. 
Especially if they heard me speaking so to His representative on Earth.
 
Saythor rose, white of face. "You skirt blasphemy!"
 
Then excommunication is your remedy." Obdurate, I faced his wrath. "Until you're 
prepared to use it, I'll hear no more apostasy."
 
"Apostasy?" He was nearly apoplectic,
 
"What else? You attempt to subvert our Charter and Church doctrine to bring down 
His Government!"
 
His eyes bulged
 
"Out of love for His Church, sir, I will say nothing of what transpired here. 
Feel free to make any public statement you wish." I gestured to the door. 
"Anselm! MIDDY!"
 
The door crashed open. "Midshipman Anselm reporting—"
 
"Our conference is concluded. Show Bishop Saythor to his heli, if he will not 
partake of refreshments."
 
I waited, alone in the room, for my heart to steady, for my breath to calm. I 
leaned back. A stab of warning, from my spine. I groaned.
 
After a time, a knock.
 
"Nowwhat?"
 
Danil Bevin shut the door behind him, marched across the carpet, came to 
attention, threw a parade-ground salute.
 
"Yes, Cadet?"
 
His eyes shone. "You were... magnificent, sir!"
 
I reared up, or tried to, "You spied? Despicable." I pounded the chair. Til have 
you caned. No, dismissed from Academy. If you haven't the honor—"
 
"You ordered me to stand outside the door!"
 
My mouth worked. How dare this insolent, impudent child defend anything so 
contemptible as eavesdropping? What effrontery. What—
 
I had told him to stand outside the door, to stop Sayihor's aides from doing 
precisely what he'd done.
 
"Hmpff." It was all I could say.
 
"May I speak?" His tone was pleading, I nodded. "Sarge used to tell us stories 
about your days in Academy. How you and Admiral Thorne went on secret missions 
raiding the coolers. How later you stood up alone to the fish. Sir, I,,," He 
squirmed. "Sometimes I didn't believe everything they—but today you were 
wonderful. The Elder was out of line, and you faced him down without a qualm. 
Now I see how it could all be true."
 
"Goofjuice. I've never heard such nonsense."
 
"Yes, sir. Thank you so much for assigning me. It's— I'm--M
 
"Yesterday you begged to go home,**
 
It was as if I'd knocked the wind from his sails. He deflated "Yes, sir. I'm..." 
He bit his lip. "Shit."
 
"Bevin!" I'd have said more, but his eyes were damp. "It's all right, boy. 
Come." I grasped his hand. "We'll say no more about it."
 
"Thank you, sir." It was barely a whisper.
 
"Help me awhile in my office." I rolled to the hall, basking in the gleam of his 
approval.
 
For two hours, Danil and I worked diligently, making significant inroads on my 
stack of paperwork. To my surprise, I found the cadet a willing and cheerful 
worker, toiling without complaint at whatever task I gave him. When he came upon 
the Boland report concerning the Volgograd gravitron works, he scanned it 
quickly, posed a series of acute questions that had me thinking. Yes, we needed 
its production, but was it absolutely necessary mat it spew so many metal" lie 
by-products? I scrawled a series of queries.
 
Moira Tamarov arrived at midday. She'd brought the children by Hitrans train 
from New York, and by taxi from the station. The gate guards confirmed their 
authorization on their list, admitted them past the guardhouse. Why she hadn't 
come by heli, I didn't know. Certainly, with Alexi's pension, she could afford 
it, I made a note to ask.
 
Arlene greeted the Tamarovs while I extricated myself from my office. I joined 
the women in the kitchen, over tea. My wife perched on the counter, smiling down 
at Moira in the breakfast nook.
 
"Mr. Seafort." Moira came to her feet. Her dark hair was tied behind her neck. 
Her oriental eyes were dull and lifeless, much changed from the last time I'd 
seen her, a decade Past.
 
"It's Nick, please.'* I rolled forward, gave her an awkward embrace. "I'm so 
sorry about Alexi."
 
"I know."
 
"I was sedated when they held his funeral." Perhaps I
might have begged his forgiveness. "Where are the children?"
 
"Outside, I think, with your middy." She seemed uneasy.
 
"Is there something wrong?" Of course there was, you idiot. Her husband had been 
blown to pieces a month before.
 
"I hope, while we're here... I warned them."
 
"Who?"
 
"Carla and Mikhael. They're... it's mostly him, but she goes along."
 
"With whatr
 
A commotion, at the door. "Excuse me, could we have—** lad Anselm, two teeners 
in tow. He glanced among us. "Oops. I'm intruding."
 
"Nick, you've met our joeys, have you not?**
 
The girl was about twelve, awkward, with the promise of grace.
 
'This is Carla, and... Mikhael, don't hide in the hall. Come say hello."
 
"Good to meet..." I ground to a halt, sucked in breath, "Akxi?" It couldn't be 
so. The room spun. "But you're—** I covered my face.
 
"It's all right, Nick." Arlene slipped from the counter, hugged me from behind,
 
I wept
 
The boy was his father, as I'd met him many years ago, on HibernuL To the life. 
His face, his height, his slim form, his hair. Every aspect but the sullen look 
he wore.
 
"What's the mutter with him?"
 
"Mikhael!" His mother was aghast
 
I mumbled, "How old is her
 
"Fifteen, and don't talk past me."
 
I wiped my eyes. "Sorry. You gave me a start."
 
"Ask me if I give a fuck." Mikhael thrust through our stunned tableau to die 
hall. A moment later, the slam of the veranda door.
 
With a grimace, Anselm backed out of the room.
 
Moira's hands fluttered. "I'm so sorry. He's been wild and angry ever since 
Alexi left on Melbourne. Disobedient, and .. .** She seemed oblivious of Carla's 
contempt. "It's /Utff we ga, PAaik n
 
"Stop that." I tried to smile. "I'm glad you're here; we'll work it out"
 
Caria snorted.
 
I wheeled on her. uAre you angry too?"
 
"Not especially."
 
"Is your brother usually like this?"
 
"When there's reason."
 
•What's the cause?"
 
"If you don't know, there's no point discussing it."
 
Moira threw up her hands. "I can't deal with them, and they know it We lost 
Alexi so suddenly, he's not there to reassure them, and ..." Her eyes filled.
 
I rolled to the door.
 
"Nick, where are you going?" Arlene's voice was soft
 
"TofindMikhael."
 
"Be... understanding."
 
"As always. I'll join you at dinner. Chair, outside, and this time don't scrape 
the wall."
 
"I didn't—"
 
"Be silent" I was in no mood for argument
 
The sun beat down. I glanced up, debating. Should I carry a sunshield? I hadn't 
heard the day's ozone report. Well, I wouldn't be out long.
 
"To the gate." I beckoned the guard. "Have you seen the Tamarov boy?"
 
"No, sir."
 
"Chair, circle the house." Thank heaven the ground was dry; I could imagine the 
chair backing and filling its way out of soft mud. Well, I wouldn't wander the 
lawn often, and I wouldn't live in the chair long. Death was infinitely 
preferable.
 
We bounced over the lawn, to no avail. I tried the sheds, the helipad, the 
guardhouse at the rear wall.
 
I found Mikhael at the bungalow that once belonged to
 
though occasionally, when the house was full, the cottage served to accommodate 
guests.
 
Hie boy was sprawled on a chaise lounge in the shaded patio, where Adam had 
liked to sit
 
"May I join you?"
 
He gave no response; I took it for assent rolled past the hedge.
 
"It's hot." No answer. I had to do better than that and knew it "Mikhael, why 
are you angry?"
 
He folded his arms, looked away.
 
"Is it about your father?"
 
"I didn't need him. I'm almost grown."
 
"I'm sorry you lost him."
 
"What's it to you?" His tone was scornful.
 
If I'd dared speak so to Father, Lord knew what ... a strapping, at best. Where 
did this sullen joey find the gall to sneer at the Secretary-General of the 
U.N.?
 
"You done glaring?" He spat the words.
 
"Well, your dad wouldn't fault your courage."
 
"Don't speak of him!"
 
I owed Alexi the effort but the boy was unreachable. Defeated, I resettled in 
the chair to ease my aching back.
 
Steps, behind me. "Oh. I didn't realize . . ."
 
I twisted. "Jared."
 
"I'll leave you." Philip's partner shifted awkwardly.
 
"No, stay."
 
With a look of distaste Mikhael uncoiled his lanky form, brushed past Jared to 
the path.
 
"Get back here!" I spoke without thought
 
The boy turned, hands on hips.
 
"This instant r If he ignored me, I was helpless.
 
Slowly, Mikhael returned to the patio.
 
"Plant yourself in that chair! How dare you walk off without excusing yourself!"
 
"You're not my—"
 
"Father? No, but I'm adult and you're a child. You'll show me courtesy, or..."
 
"Yes?"
 
"Try me." My tone was level. After a moment his eyes dropped. "You'll stay put 
until we're done." Still annoyed, I looked to Jared,
 
Tenere said hesitantly, "T didn't mean to intrude.**
 
"Jared, this is Mikhael Tamarov, son of my old friend Alexi. Mikhael, take his 
hand or... take it!" I'd had enough.
 
Jared blushed. "If that's how you'd dealt with me when I was a boy, I'd,,." His 
voice trailed off.
 
I studied him. He was what, now? Twenty-seven? Three years older man Philip. Had 
we ever spoken in depth, in the dozen years since he'd fled our compound? From 
time to time I'd met Jared in his guardian Rob Boland's company, and he'd 
murmured something polite. On my part, I'd had little desire to speak to him.
 
"You'd whatr I sounded testy,
 
"I'd have been better off." Again, he colored. "Perhaps I shouldn't bring it 
up."
 
**Why not?' I was barely civil. How could I extricate myself? I'd thoroughly 
alienated me boy I'd wanted to engage, and found myself in a conversation with a 
joey I wished to see as little as possible.
 
He glanced uneasily at Mikhael, plunged ahead. "Mr. Seafort, there's something 
I've wanted to say for years."
 
"Get it said, men." In a moment I'd order the chair inside. Somehow, we would 
all make it through the week,
 
"I was horrible as a teener, I see that now. I resent—I hated you," His gaze was 
almost defiant, "Because you gave P.T. what I never had,"
 
"Love?" His father had literally died for him. If he didn't understand the depth 
of Adam's love, I had no sympathy.
 
"More. A sense of ... order. Of P.T. knowing his place in the family, and your 
limits. Of knowing he had to behave."
 
I wasn't having it. "The difference is that he wanted to."
 
"Yes, sir." His glance was shy. "I used to sneer at P.T. for calling you 'sir.' 
"
 
From Mikhael, a snort of contempt
 
"And now?"
 
Abruptly his composure wavered. "I wish I could undo so much! If Dad had thrown 
my puter out that window"— he jabbed at the bungalow — "and if you — that night 
you caught me on the roof . . ." He'd been spying on Rob Boland and his father, 
in our guest room, "If you had put an end to it , , ,"
 
Had I possibly ... I shied from the thought. Could it be that I'd misjudged him? 
"Adam wanted me to discipline you," My tone was gruff. "He didn't know how,"
 
Abruptly, Jared seemed to change the subject, "You know, I love—"
 
"I'm going inside." Mikhael, truculent.
 
I turned, wheeled my chair to his seat. Deliberately, I slapped his face.
 
"God damn you!" He clawed at my eyes.
 
Somehow I caught his fingers, his wrist, managed to twist his arm behind his 
back. Struggling, he fell across my chair. I raised his wrist ever higher 
between his shoulders, until he squealed.
 
"You'll sit until I tell you." No answer. "Right?"
 
"Okay!"
 
"Yes, sir!"
 
"I won't — stop twisting— yes,
 
I let go, Mikhael fell back, nursing his arm. Breaming heavily, I turned back to 
Jared, thankful for my incredible luck. The boy could easily have pulled me from 
my chair, left me flopping helpless on the ground,
 
"You were saying?"
 
"I love Philip." Perhaps my savagery had unnerved nun; his tone held a 
challenge.
 
"I'm aware."
 
"He doesn't speak much of you. He doesn't want to hurt me, you see. He's dom, 
even though I'm older. He knows so much more, and..." Blessedly, he left it at 
that
 
"What do you want of me?"
 
"I don't want you between us! Oh, God, that's not how I meant it. I know I was 
awful. Only Uncle Robbie saved me from prison. And Dad.., what I did was 
terrible, but I love P,T. so, and we..." He broke off. "I want to crawl into mat 
cottage, and be fifteen again, and come out right, not glitched like I've been. 
If only you knew how I dream of it"
 
A long silence, broken only by Mikhael's breathing.
 
My voice was soft, "I do, son." More than Jared knew.
 
"Mr. Seafort, could you possibly forgive me?"
 
Slowly, shyly, I offered my hand.
 
Minutes later I watched him go, warmed by I knew not what.
 
Time to cope with the disaster I'd caused. I turned to Mikhael, my face grim. 
How could I explain this fiasco to Moira? I had no more right to touch her son 
than,,, man... I rolled myself toward him, He recoiled, flung up an arm to cover 
his cheek, *! came to get you to stop hating me. Now I don't care. Hate me all 
you like." I glowered. "You're not to show it in my presence." A subdued nod.
 
"Now, before we go in, I want... no, mat's not fair. I'm asking you, not 
ordering. Would you please tell me why you're so angry at me? What did I do?** 
"You know goddamn,.." He swallowed, "It's all right. Tell me in anger, if that's 
the only way." He studied my face, to see if I meant it Apparently reassured, he 
said bitterly, "You killed him."
 
"Nonsense."
 
"You might as well have. You dragged him to the U.N., knowing they'd already 
tried to assassinate you."
 
I cried, "Wild horses couldn't have stopped him!" He stared in surprise. "Son 
... Mikhael... you didn't know your father very well, did you?"
 
"Dad's last cruise to New China... it was a year and a half. I begged to go, but 
he and Mother decided I should stay in school. When he brought Melbourne home he 
arranged six months' extra leave, so we'd get to know each other again. Only, 
before he could..." His voice caught
 
I spoke to the hedge. "Once upon a time, your dad was a middy with me, on 
Hiternia He was... how can I make you see him? Conscientious, of course. 
Handsome, as you are. Poised. In fact he looked so like you I thought I saw a 
ghost today."
 
I waited for his scorn, but none came.
 
"We lost several officers, so we were shorthandcd. Captain Malstrom appointed 
him to defend a sailor at his court-martial. No defense was possible, and the 
man was condemned to death."
 
"So?"
 
"I found Alexi on his bunk in tile wardroom, crying." How could I make him 
understand? "The sailor set up a still to and sell illegal drugs He clubbed a 
petty officer. He deserved conviction, but your dad tied his best to him. He was 
heartbroken he couldn't That's the sort of man he was,"
 
I stole a glance; Mikhael contemplated his fingers.
 
"1 comforted him. I wasn't good at it but I stroked him, tried to give him 
peace,"
 
A sniffle.
 
"Of course he went wim me to the Rotunda, ton. I was to be dismissed by the 
Patriarchs mat day, and he couldn't let me face it alone."
 
The boy's eyes rose, tormented
 
y voice strained. "If you pray to Lord God that we switch places, he and I, I'll 
pray it with you."
 
We sat in silence.
 
"I'm going to give you a special present. If you don't want it, don't reject it 
in scorn. That's all I ask. Treat it with respect.**
 
"What is itr
 
"A surprise. After I have your promise."
 
A long while passed. "I promise."
 
"I promise, sir"
 
A pause I thought would last forever. "I promise, sir."
 
CHAPTER 9
 
Safe at last in the privacy of my study, I called my Rotunda office. "Where's 
Derek Carr?"
 
"In Singapore, arranging wheat contracts. He's due back Monday next."
 
I frowned; Derek lost no chance to subvert our colonial policy. Now he was 
bypassing the Import Bureau. "Put me through to him."
 
In ten minutes the caller buzzed. I said softly, "Derek, old friend, I need you. 
Will you come?"
 
"Whenr
 
"As soon as you can."
 
"I've negotiations in progress ..." A sigh. "I suppose I can move some of them 
to Washington, and do others by holo. Tomorrow morning. I'll wrap up a meeting 
tonight and catch a suborbital."
 
We rang off. Thank Lord God for Derek. Knowing I wouldn't summon him lightly, he 
didn't ask my cause. Fifty years of trust will do that.
 
I did my best to bring cheer to dinner, but nothing could salvage the day. 
There'd been too much emotion, and we were all tired. Afterward, I apologized to 
Moira for striking her son. To my astonishment, she threw her arms around me.
 
Late in the evening, I retreated to my study, where Midshipman Anselm found me.
 
He hemmed and hawed, before at last he came out with it "I want a drink."
 
"I told you—"
 
"Yes, sir. I spent the afternoon thinking of going out. I could jump the wall, 
if I had to. But I don't; I found every kind of liquor in your cabinet."
 
"You sneaking little—two demerits! Four!"
 
"I didn't say I drank it." His shoulders slumped. "I was stupid to come here. I 
thought perhaps you'd help." It could have been contempt, and insolence. Or 
desperation.
 
I shifted, to ease my back. "Why me?"
 
"Who else, sir? You're my commanding officer."
 
Why did every bloody joey I knew toss his problems in my lap? I had too many of 
my own, and no more strength. "Very well, my order is rescinded. Drink all you 
want."
 
He blinked. His fists clenched, relaxed, clenched again.
 
"Anything else, Anselm?"
 
He sagged, as if defeated "No, sir." He trudged to the door.
 
Let him sink or swim. He hadn't been bom an alcoholic, he'd become one. He'd 
made his bed, now he could sleep in it
 
It was always day somewhere. When the Americas were in moonlight, functionaries 
in other parts of the world were toiling at their desks. I took as many calls as 
I could, but in an hour I was yawning uncontrollably. Giving up, I rang 
Security, wheeled myself to the stairs. In a few moments, three burly guards 
gripped my chair.
 
I sighed. "Not yet." I wheeled myself to the living room.
 
Anselm sat before the liquor cabinet, staring moodily.
 
"How much have you had?" My voice dripped scorn.
 
"None yet"
 
"Why not?"
 
"God, you're a cruel son of a bitch." He swallowed a sob. "I suppose you'll 
cashier me, but I don't think I care."
 
Lord Christ, what had I done? I maneuvered into the room, swung shut the door. 
"Anselm ..."
 
He drew himself up. "I apologize, Mr. SecGen. On duty or not, I'm way out of 
line."
 
"Not when you tell the truth. I am cruel. I've never been able to help it." I 
patted the couch. "It's I who apologize. Come sit near." He did. "You're how 
old, seventeen?"
 
"Well... in two months."
 
"When did you start drinking?"
 
"Three years ago."
 
"Devon has ample opportunity." Half a dozen pubs within walking distance of the 
gate. Still, he'd have been only a cadet, then. Someone risked the law's wrath. 
I wondered why.
 
"It's zarky. They don't even ask ID; my uniform is enough."
 
"On your honor, Midshipman. Do you ever drink on duty?"
 
He bristled. "Never. Not once."
 
"But you report back to base soused?"
 
"Not exactly." A grin flickered. "Anyway, I wouldn't be the only one."
 
I didn't rise to the bait. Servicemen were the same, all over the world. "Do you 
get leave all that often?"
 
"Almost every week. Commandant Hazen is ... kind?" He colored. "Generous is a 
better word."
 
"Foolish" was more apt. As Commandant, I'd allowed my middies occasional leave, 
but not so often as to make them sots.
 
'Too much leave," I mused aloud. "And you're on holiday even now. That was a 
mistake."
 
"You're sending me back." For some reason, he sounded crestfallen.
 
That would be putting the fox in the henhouse. He had littie self-control, this 
lad, and to place him unsupervised among the brewhouses ...
 
"No, Tad. I'll have orders cut. You'll be posted with us." Though Danil Bevin 
was willing and good-natured, it was too much to expect the cadet to cope alone 
with a cantankerous SecGen. I needed a middy, and Anselm might as well be he. I 
owed him something for my cruelty.
 
His expression was that of a boy who found an Arcvid console in his Christmas 
stocking. He gulped, unsure it was real. "Working for you, sir?" His voice was 
tremulous. "You approve, Mr. Anselm?" "Yes. Oh, yes."
 
I grunted, glad of my decision. "You've had all the leave you'll see for a 
while. No drinking, on or off duty. You're not to leave the grounds without 
permission from me or Mr. Branstead."
 
"Aye aye, sir. Anything else?"
 
"Yes. It's unthinkable to disobey a direct order, but if you do—that is, if you 
have so much as a sip of liquor, you're to put yourself on report immediately." 
"Aye aye, sir."
 
"And, I might add, Til have you caned within an inch of your life. Perhaps the 
threat will help."
 
He looked wistfully at the cabinet. "You'd trust me around all these bottles, 
and to tell you afterward?"
 
"I hope you understand honor, boy. Else the Navy has no place for you." It was 
no more than was asked of any middy: to log the strenuous exercise that worked 
off a demerit, for example. Nobody ever checked. To lie about such things was 
unimaginable.
 
"Yes, sir. What are my duties?"
 
Til try to keep you busy. Start by leading Bevin in his calisthenics each 
morning. I don't want you two getting soft."
 
I could have sworn I heard a snort of derision.
 
After breakfast, Philip caught me on the way to my office. "Why was Jared in 
tears last night?"
 
I stopped short. "I have no idea,"
 
"You had a talk with him, did you not?"
 
"Rather the reverse. I don't recall being harsh." I hesitated. "Did you ask?"
 
"He wouldn't tell me, except he was glad to be home at last" Philip grimaced. "I 
hope it isn't mood swings. He'll be devastated if he needs more treatment."
 
I patted his arm. "You've always looked after him, haven't you?" At twelve, he'd 
followed Jared to the urban jungle of Lower New York in a frantic attempt to 
rescue him.
 
"I tried. Path, we need to talk."
 
"In my study." I led the way.
 
"You look grim. Is something wrong?"
 
"No, it's ..." I shook my head. "They called from Johns Hopkins. Charlie 
Witrek's transplants failed. They'll have to try again." I made an effort to put 
it behind me. "What is it, son?"
 
P.T. pulled up a hassock, sat at my knees, as he had as a boy. "In the old days, 
a man could ask the king a boon."
 
I snorted. "I'm no king."
 
"Merely an autocrat." He smiled, to take the sting from his words. "How 
difficult was your trip to England?"
 
'Terrible. Blood was everywhere. I called some of the families. And the water 
damage ... The exhibits were ruined. They'll be ages cleaning—"
 
"I meant, how difficult for you to travel?"
 
I wanted no pity. "I'm fine. Well, obviously, I'm less mobile than before. 
Otherwise, have no concern." I ought not be so short with him. His motives were 
only the best.
 
"In that case, I ask a favor."
 
His formality startled me. I made a noncommittal sound.
 
"A few days of your time."
 
"I know I've been busy since you came home. I'll try to
do better." Lunch, just the two of us. And after dinner, I could squeeze—
 
"I want to take you on a trip."
 
"Where?"
 
"I'd rather show you."
 
"Son, I have a huge staff. The advance team, security ... I can't just take 
off—"
 
Mischievously he raised an eyebrow. "What about Lon-donr
 
"That was different."
 
"Please, sir. If there's anything you want in return. Til do it." His tone was 
quiet, his manner calm, as if he'd found some inner peace.
 
"Give up your enviro politics?" I was only half joking.
 
A long pause. "If that's the cost,"
 
After a moment I looked away. "I won't ask that" Not if I had a shred of 
decency.
 
"Path, I need you. Will you come?"
 
My breath hissed. How could he know I'd summoned Derck with the exact words?
 
I had no idea into what marsh I was casting myself. "Yes, son. How soon?"
 
We negotiated, settled on five days hence. It would give me time to clear my 
schedule, and I wouldn't abandon the Tamarovs.
 
I sent my chair racing to the pad the moment I heard the drone of Derek's heli. 
Bevin sprinted desperately to keep up; we'd been in the study, working on 
Admiralty dispatches.
 
At the pad, we waited for the blades to slow. Danil panted, That wasn't fair. 
You kept telling it to go faster."
 
"Only once."
 
"'Flank, chair, flank!'" He bent, hands on his knees.
 
"All right, twice. Ah, Derek. Thanks so much."
 
He took my hand. "No fire? No one's ill?"
 
"No, but I needed—"
 
"I could actually have had a night's sleep? Why is the cadet's face red?"
 
"He's out of shape. Danil, find Mikhael Tamarov, tell him I have his present. 
We'll be in my office."
 
Derek and I settled over iced drinks. I waved at a waiting stack of chips, all 
classified too highly to send over the nets. "It never ends."
 
"Delegate," he said.
 
"I try, but..." I slipped one into the holovid. "Here's an example. Admiral 
Dubrovik's been injured in a fall. The Board of Admiralty wants to appoint his 
aide Simovich as Acting. If the old man doesn't recover, he'll be named to the 
post. Should I—"
 
"What post?"
 
"Lunapolis Command. Should I involve myself, or let them do their job? Yes, 
phrasing it mat way answers the question. But sometimes they appoint idiots, and 
it's hell removing them."
 
"Do you know Simovich?**
 
"No, but he can't be worse man Admiral Dubrovik," At Galactic'& dedication, to 
my embarrassment, he'd lauded me beyond reason.
 
The door swung open. "You wanted me?" Mikhael. Hii tone wasn't combative. Not 
quite. At breakfast his manner had wavered between belligerence and civility.
 
"This is my office. Knock before you enter."
 
We glared.
 
"Go out and do it properly. I'm waiting."
 
He didn't quite slam the door. After a long moment, a knock.
 
"Come in, Mikhael." I waved to a sett. "This is Mr, Can, from Hope Nation. He 
served with your father on Hibernia and Portia, He's going to sit with you for 
an hour and tell you stories."
 
'This is why you called me from Singapore?" Derek's tone was plaintive.
 
"I'll explain later."
 
"That's your present?" The boy snorted. "I have your promise, Mikhael: no scorn. 
Reject my gift if you wish, and I'll send Derek home with my apology." I waited, 
holding my breath. He was silent "Go on, you two." I shepherded them out.
 
Nervous as a cat, I rolled from window to door and back. I'd never realized how 
much I needed to pace. In a chair it wasn't the same.
 
What in the Lord's name was I doing? I'd summoned Derek from work he deemed 
important—for which he'd endured the nine-month journey from his home—to help a 
sulky, spoiled joeykid who didn't esteem the gift of his company. And all for 
what? The boy wasn't mine to raise. If he were, I'd have long since wiped the 
petulance from his manner, Alexi had erred, leaving him home with Moira. A ship 
was a healthy environment: no drugs, no Arcvid, middies to set an example of 
discipline. And of course, Mikhael would have been under the stern eyes of his 
father.
 
I thumbed the caller, dialed Anselm. Another boy who couldn't be left alone for 
long. Perhaps I should mark my liquor bottles. "Middy? Report to my office," I 
rang off.
 
In a moment, the thunder of footsteps racing down the stairs. "Midshipman Anselm 
reporting!"
 
"As you were. Where's Danil?"
 
"Ms. Seafort offered him lunch."
 
"I suppose you're hungry too?"
 
"Not really." He made a face. "My stomach hurts."
 
"Withdrawal pains?"
 
"Sir, even if I'm an alcoholic like you say, it's not gone that far."
 
"Pray it hasn't. Help me file. Those chips on the desk are sorted by—now look 
what you've done!" With clumsy enthusiasm he'd knocked a dozen chips to the 
floor. "You're just begging for demerits, aren't you?"
 
His voice was small. "No, sir, I'm not" He gathered them up.
 
"No matter." I tried to hide my contrition. "It's my backache." And worry over 
Derek and Mikhael. "Put each in the holovid, check the header, file them—now 
what?"
 
My caller buzzed. The private line that few knew.
 
"Mr. Seafort? Jerence Branstead. I'm at the Assembly." He seemed grim. 'The 
Territorials pulled a surprise vote to kill the Greenhouse Gases Act"
 
"Can't you stop them?"
 
"They're calling the roll."
 
Over fifteen hundred members to poll. An arduous process, but if the Terries had 
organized themselves and we hadn't, the result was inevitable, I'd planned to 
persuade our waverers, rally the doubtful. I said, "We'll ^introduce next 
session.**
 
"It's not just the one bill. They'll claim they defeated us on a major package, 
that it's a vote of no-confidence."
 
"Goofjuice." The vote was a tactical surprise, and we'd had no opportunity to 
gather our forces. Assembly rules al-lowed no proxy votes, no call-ins or puter 
tallies. Members had to vote in person; the Terries must have worked hard to 
spring this on us. Why the sudden lunge for power?
 
"You and I think so, but that's not how the media will play it. Sir, we'll look 
hopelessly inept The Government could even fall."
 
'That bad?" If I retired, I wanted to hand over my Government to a Supra, even a 
ditherer like Cisno Valera. Our opposition, the Territorials, were too 
heavy-handed, both with the colonies and our own joeys at home. It was they 
who'd sent U.N.A.F. heavy brigades into hapless transpop neighborhoods, they who 
had aimed Lunapolis's lasers at New York, I'd tried to strike a balance between 
the enviro fringe and legitimate business needs, but the Terries would sell home 
system for a short-term profit
 
"There's no way to stop the vote?" My fingers ached, from gripping the chair 
arm.
 
"None. In three hours we're done."
 
Three hours. That was the key. "Jerence, get to the floor.
 
Stall."
 
"How? Why?" "Have our joeys switch their votes, call points of order.
 
I'm on my way."
 
"You're whatr
 
"Meet me at the Assembly entrance. I'll be there in... two hours or so. As long 
as the vote's still in progress, we have a chance. In the meantime, stay on your 
caller; round up every Supra you can find, pressure the Indie caucus.
 
We—" "You can't be here in time. Mark has to secure the site—"
 
"Get to work." I spun my chair. "ANSELM!" He jumped. "Jesus, I'm right here! You 
scared the life—" "Find Derek, tell him we're borrowing his heli, meet me at the 
pad. Run!" I thumbed the caller. "Cadet, to the hallway, flank speed! Mark, 
report to the helipad. Chair, to the veranda." I flung open the door, cannoned 
into a pair of legs.
 
"Ow!"
 
"Get off of—sorry, Jared. Hold the outside door, will you? Bevin, where in 
blazes—ahh, there you are. Put down the sandwich, we're in a hurry."
 
'To where, sir?"
 
"New York. Chair, I could crawl faster than you—haie!" I clung desperately to 
the armrests. "Not that fast."
 
In moments we were at the pad. Anselm galloped to meet us. Jared Tenere 
followed, slowly at first, then breaking into a trot
 
"Get me in there." I pointed to the fuselage. "Danil, Tad, lift me." I tried to 
help. "Where's Tilnitz?"
 
"Did he come back?" Bevin. "He went out the gate about an hour—"
 
"Jared, give a hand, will you? I'm too heavy for them." Damn. I was counting on 
Mark to drive the heli. "I don't suppose any of you can pilot? I would, but my 
legs ..."
 
My three assistants flung me into the heli.
 
Anselm said tentatively, "I've had lessons, sir." Learning to pilot was one of 
the joys of Academy. Ironically, many of our cadets could fly long before they 
could drive a ground-car.
 
"How many? Did you qualify?"
 
"Only a few, but—"
 
Jared Tenere said with quiet confidence, "I have my license. I'll fly you 
there."
 
"Did Derek leave the keys? Good. Get us started Put that chair in the back." 
With effort 1 hauled myself into a seat, brushed off my jacket "Call Philip and 
tell him you won't be home for dinner."
 
In a moment Jared had our blades turning. I jabbed at the caller. "Arlene, I'm 
off to the Rotunda. Tell Mark, when you see him. We'll be back tonight"
 
"Nick, be careful."
 
"Of course."
 
"Who's with you?"
 
'The boys and Jared."
 
"I mean, for security."
 
"The boys and Jared. I'll be all right" I devoutly hoped it was true.
 
"Fly northeast." I gave Jared the coordinates. "Let the autopilot handle it 
Ignore the speed limit I'm in a hurry."
 
We hurtled across the landscape. I called Branstead. "Clear a flight path. 
They're a bit trigger-happy at the Rotunda these days; make sure we're not shot 
down. Jared, what's our transponder?" I fed Branstead the code. "We'll set down 
in an hour and a half, if mis youngster doesn't dawdle."
 
Abruptly the engine roared. Satisfied, I sat back.
 
We put down on the browning grass in front of the General Assembly, where no 
heli was allowed to land. Instantly my excited crew flung open the door, threw 
my chair to the ground, hauled me after. I glanced about; thank heaven, the only 
mediamen present had their view blocked by the heli. Else I could imagine the 
zincs' lead: SecGen Seafort dragged protesting across the lawn.
 
They bundled me into my chair. I ordered it up the ramp. Branstead swung open 
the door. "Where's Mark? Get in, before someone takes a shot at you. They're 
almost through the roll. I couldn't slow them much. We'll be down a hundred 
eleven. I met with seven of the Indies—"
 
"Jerence, take a breath."
 
**—and they won't agree—"
 
"A deep breath. Now." I rolled along the marble corridor, toward the Assembly. 
"Call Perrel out, and Bosconi." I stopped. The SecGen never entered the Assembly 
chamber during a session; it just wasn't done. On the other hand, I knew of no 
rule that codified the custom. "Never mind. Straight ahead, chair. Boys, come 
with me."
 
"You're not—" Branstead seemed to read my mind.
 
"Watch me." A uniformed officer stood by the entry. "Mr. SecGen? There's a 
session in—" He flung open the door to save it from collision damage.
 
"Where's Assemblyman Perrel?" I peered at astonished faces. "Ahh. Make way." I 
rolled down the aisle. Perrel was a weak man. Venal, but weak. If I could break 
him, I'd make a start.
 
The President of the Assembly looked up. A flicker of surprise. She nodded to 
the clerk, who droned on.
 
"Jared, find Denlow; he's the fattest man here and has a walrus mustache. Bring 
him here." As the young man rushed off I swung to Perrel. "You're voting against 
us, Howard?"
 
Perrel had the grace to blush. "Sorry, but—"
 
"No time for reasons. You're ready to see a change of Government?"
 
"It doesn't have to come to that."
 
"Of course it does."
 
"If you'd given in on the mining bill..."
 
"Never mind. How many did you carry along?"
 
He shrugged "A few."
 
"Thirty?"
 
"Thirty-seven, I figure." He sounded proud.
 
"Get busy. Reverse their votes."
 
"Why? You can't threaten me. I have an understanding with the Terries. Once you 
go down—"
 
"Minister of what? Resources?"
 
He flushed. "That's none of your concern."
 
"Resources?"
 
"Yes."
 
"Very well." I backed the chair, to turn. "Cadet, have Mr. Branstead round up 
the Indie caucus."
 
"What are you going to do?" Perrel.
 
"Hold a news conference, the moment the vote's done."
 
'To say what?"
 
I smiled. "Why, Howard, nothing but the truth. That you made a deal with the 
Terries, that you brought them thirty-seven votes in exchange for a ministry, 
that I find such sordid dealing despicable and wonder if the electorate will 
stomach it. That's all." I rolled a few paces, said over my shoulder, "The 
voters probably won't throw you out of office. But the Terries won't touch you 
with a ten-foot pole. Say good-bye to a ministry. And who'd trust you, after?"
 
He licked his lips.
 
"Bring back your thirty-seven votes, and I'll send Rob Boland to talk about the 
mining bill. No promises." I strained to see over a bulky figure. "Where are the 
Indies?"
 
With some I cajoled, with others, pleaded. As the President finished the roll, 
one by one, members of Perrel's cohort rose reluctantly to switch their votes. 
It all took time, which I badly needed. I promised the Indies support on 
education funding that I'd already intended to give. Sixteen votes; two refused 
to go along. I wheeled about the chamber, forcing down my gorge, buttonholing 
politicians. While Branstead snapped hushed orders into his caller, Jared Tenere 
raced from one aisle to another, summoning those I wished to browbeat
 
They might not have liked me, but still I was SecGen; they came at my call.
 
As the vote narrowed, Branstead and his staff fanned out through the hall, 
luring others into the fold. With each vote we gained, the remainder became 
easier. And my chief of staff had made a heroic effort; absent Supras rushed 
into the chamber, recalled by suborbitaJ from their far-flung destinations.
 
I careened around the Assembly chamber.
 
When it was done we'd won by three.
 
"Relieved?" Derek sat comfortably, legs crossed, nursing his evening drink.
 
"I suppose." I mused. "It's ironic; we nearly fell, over an enviro bill I don't 
really support. That's not how I'd care to go out of office."
 
"Why'dyou—"
 
"We have to give the enviros something." The Greenhouse Gases Act was all I'd 
concede, though. It would play havoc with our economy, and I wasn't at all sure 
it was necessary. Yet a surprising number of Assemblymen supported it
 
I hated the compromise of politics. Richard Boland, Rob's father, had tried to 
teach me his love of dealmaking, but I couldn't abide it
 
Across the room, Moira Tamarov drowsed in the sofa. Carla played listlessly at a 
video. It reminded me of unfinished business. "How was your talk with Mikhael?"
 
"I reminisced. At first he was surly."
 
"And then?"
 
"He liked the part about Alexi and the Admiral. When I told him about Portia, he 
had to wipe his eyes. Nick, what's this about?"
 
"You'll see." I keyed the caller. "Mr. Anselm, join us downstairs, and bring 
Mikhael, if you would."
 
In a moment the boys appeared.
 
"Mr. Anselm, you were to begin exercises with the cadet Did you?"
 
"Not yet, sir. This morning, we—"
 
"One demerit. You'll start tomorrow." I turned to Mikhael. "Did you like my 
present?"
 
"I guess." He perched on the arm of a chair.
 
"If that's all, go back upstairs."
 
He stayed put "All right, I liked it"
 
"Very well." My tone was frosty. "You'll be here five more days. Every morning, 
Mr. Can* will tell you about your father." I paused. "An hour of stories for 
every hour you exercise with the middy and cadet."
 
"Forget it!"
 
"It's forgotten. Go to bed."
 
He stalked to the door. Footsteps pounded upstairs.
 
"Sorry, Derek." I made a face. "It didn't work."
 
"He's not an easy one. Unpleasant snotty—"
 
"Like you, at his age."
 
Derek colored. "Yes, you knocked some sense into me. But he's a civilian; you 
have no authority over him."
 
"I have to try."
 
Derek said gently, "Nick, I had urgent business in Singapore. For you, I don't 
mind rearranging my schedule, though it's not as efficient But for him..."
 
"Make allowances. He lost his father."
 
Derek's tone was sharp. "I lost mine." Randolph Carr had been killed in the 
explosion of Hibernians launch. "It didn't turn me into a..." He paused, 
reflective. "Still, for months, I was in shock. If you hadn't befriended me..."
 
I sat moodily, drifting through old times. "Nick, you have so much on your 
plate; why discommode yourself for him?"
 
"Not for him, for an old shipmate. I owe Alexi that."
 
"He was my first friend, after you." Derek stared into his glass. "In the 
wardroom, Vax Holser was ... difficult Alexi helped me through."
 
'Tell him. The boy."
 
"It's hard to speak of. But we were good friends. And later, after you left for 
Challenger, it was grim. I was afraid Alexi would get himself beached for his 
open contempt of the Admiral."
 
"He never told me."
 
"There's a lot he never told you." Derek was moody. "Ah, well. Days long past. 
Do you think you can salvage the boyr
 
"Unlikely. You were his only chance."
 
"Why make me work?" Mikhael, from the doorway.
 
I said without turning, "Why, sir"
 
"Why, sir?" He spat the words.
 
"Because you're spoiled and sullen, and I don't like you. Because you'll never 
see Mr. Carr after he goes home; you have a once in a lifetime opportunity you 
don't appreciate. Because ..." I threw up my hands.
 
Derek asked, "Why me? You served with Alexi, too."
 
"He'll believe you. He'll never be sure I'm not lying."
 
"I never said that." Mikhael was petulant.
 
"You didn't have to."
 
"I don't want to exercise."
 
"Then don't, joey. Middy, what time will you start?"
 
"Eight-thirty, sir."
 
"Be mere or not, as you choose. Say good night civilly, before you go."
 
Fuming, Mikhael did as I bade.
 
"Derek, if your negotiations suffer, I'll make it up to you.
 
We'll fiddle with the transport rates, or—" My caller
chirped. With resignation, I keyed it. "Yes?" "Branstead, here. What do you 
think?" "Of the vote? About all we could have—" The message on your puter. 
Didn't you see it?** "No."
 
"Read it. You pushed him too far. I'll talk to you after." He rang off.
 
"Chair, to my office." I was too weary to roll myself. The message was on my 
opening screen.
 
Mr. SecGen Seafort:
 
It is with regret that, for personal reasons, I resign as Director of Security 
for the Secretary-General. I wish you the best of fortune.
 
Mark H. Tilnitz
 
"Damn." My cavalier jaunt to New York had pushed him over the edge.
 
"Problems, sir?" Anselm, from the doorway.
 
I didn't know I'd spoken aloud. "No. Yes. Come in and be quiet." I keyed my 
night secretary, in New York. "Can you reach TilnitzT*
 
"Just a moment, sir."
 
A click. Another. "Karen Bums."
 
"I asked for Mark."
 
"I understand he's left the detail." Her voice was cool. "And I believe he went 
on leave."
 
"Very well."
 
"I'll be in Washington in three hours. Do you travel tomorrow?"
 
"There's nothing planned."
 
"I knew that, Mr. SecGen."
 
So. Bums, too, was annoyed at my impetuosity. Perhaps it would mean mass 
resignations, but I wouldn't allow myself to be a prisoner of my security 
detail. In mutual hostility, we rang off. I punched in Branstead's code. "Can we 
get him back?"
 
"Will you accept protection?" I debated. "Jerence, security drives me crazy." "A 
short drive." It was little over a whisper. I whirled. The middy studied the 
ceiling. "I heard that. Fifty push-ups."
 
"Aye aye, sir." He loosened his tie. "What's going on?" Branstcad.
 
"A minor mutiny." Was it my wheelchair? The relaxed atmosphere of home? 
Something in the air? Not only Anselm, but Bevin and, for that matter, Mikhael, 
felt free to say whatever came into their heads.
 
Intolerable. Why, then, did I feel like grinning? Why did I bear the midshipman 
no animosity? Why did it remind me of Philip's younger days? "Jerence, can you 
work a compromise with Mark?"
 
"So he'll only protect you from the waist up? Oh, I make jokes, but it's not 
funny. None of us want you killed." The middy grunted, halfway through his 
labors. "Mr. SecGen, I'll try, but I'm with Mark on this." "I know, Jerence."
 
"By the way, you not only won the vote, you won me zines. 'SecGen Races to Save 
Administration.' 'Surprise Visit Turns Vote.* 'Seafort Saves Enviro Cause,'" I 
snorted. "I'm done, sir."
 
"Thirty more. Take off your jacket." Let the boy twit me if he must. He'd learn 
that all things came at a cost. Then, "Give yourself a rest if you need one." My 
tone was gruff.
 
"We have messages of support pouring in. It's not just Winstead's crowd. 
Suddenly everyone's behind me greenhouse bill. The Paki Prime Minister, the 
FHipinos, Tomorrow's Calcutta Times calls it the most important legislation of 
the decade. Andrus Bevin of the Enviro Council lauds
your staunch leadership. You know, the Terries lated badly."
 
"Hmpph." So had we, if I'd unleashed a new flood of en^ viro fervor.
 
"It's a groundswell," said Branstead, as if to irritate me further. "Mothers For 
a Sane Tomorrow, the Swedish Better Government League, the Small Business 
Council—"
 
"All right, Jerence." I threw up my hands. "Send me a summary."
 
"Will do, sir. Congratulations,"
 
After we rang off, I had Anselm get himself a softie, "Have a seat. If you're as 
insolent as you are, no need to stand on formality,"
 
He blushed, "You weren't supposed to hear mat."
 
"Are you sure?"
 
His eyes danced, "Well.., not quite, sir."
 
Abruptly, his mischief recalled Alexi, as a boy. Saddened, I asked, "Do you know 
what's wrong with Mikhael Tamarov?"
 
"Didn't he just lose his fattier?"
 
"Beyond that"
 
His tone was bleak. "Is mere anything beyond mat?"
 
I fell silent. I'd never seen the middy's file, never thought to ask. "Tell me,"
 
"Three years ago. I was at Academy, The Berlin subor-bital."
 
I winced. A corroded engine cowling; me shuttle had been based near the 
Volgograd plant. Some blamed pollution. Whatever the cause, the fiery crash had 
left three hundred dead. We were lucky at that; the craft was only half full 
"I'm sorry."
 
"It's just..." He sought me last of his drink, "It doesn't matter,"
 
I rolled myself close, "Tell me."
 
He shook his head. Just as I decided to let him be, the words spewed out "He was 
on his way to visit me. My first leave. We were going ... going to ..." His 
shoulders shook in a silent spasm.
 
Lord Christ, why couldn't I have left well enough alone?
 
"Mr. Hazen called me in. He tried to be kind." A sniffle. "When I saw his face, 
a blade twisted in my gut. I started to cry before I heard a word."
 
Helpless, I squeezed his shoulder.
 
"My mother had died years before, alii had was a distant pair of aunts. I spent 
my two weeks* leave at Devon, in a daze." His smile was bitter. "Evenings, a 
middy took me out"
 
A window opened. "That's when you began to drink."
 
"We found a barkeep who didn't notice I wore gray."
 
"Oh, Tad."
 
"I'd been ... I couldn't wait for Pa to arrive. My ratings, my reports were 
decent. More than that. He'd have glanced at them, smiled in mat way he had, 
looked at me with such pride." His eyes were wet. "But that's not how it was,"
 
I yearned to hug him, but I was stuck in a bloody chair, and it wouldn't be 
right. Not if I was SecGen and his C.O. to boot.
 
"And now, to whom do you show your ratings?"
 
A shrug. "No one. It doesn't matter." His tone was elaborately casual.
 
We'd both lost fathers at Academy. His had vanished in fire, mine simply strode 
away. Would he ever recover?
 
Would I?
 
"Come here, lad." I tugged him nearer the chair. To his astonishment, I pulled 
him to my chest.
 
After a time, my jacket was damp.
 
CHAPTER 10
 
1 wo dreary days passed. Branstead toiled in New York with the aftershocks of 
the failed Territorial coup. I sought Mark Tilnitz, but he made himself 
unavailable. Meanwhile, the Victoria and Albeit investigation made slow 
progress. We now knew a great deal more about the terrorist dead, their 
families, their friends, their work. But nothing about their living cohorts.
 
Seething, Mikhael Tamarov joined Anselm and the cadet at exercises. He stalked 
off after forty minutes; I gave him forty minutes with Derek.
 
The next day, he worked an hour and a half.
 
Outside my home, throngs gathered each day; tourists, me curious, the desperate. 
Word of my sojourn outside me hospital had spread. On a whim, I made Karen open 
the gate, let the seekers in a few at a time, while I sat in the courtyard.
 
In the afternoons I struggled through paperwork with Bevin and the middy. In 
three days* time I would leave with Philip for whatever mysterious journey he 
had in mind. I had to clear my desk.
 
I had an appointment with the neurologists; to keep peace I let Karen Bums 
arrange the outing. Arlene insisted on going as well. With reluctance, I 
acquiesced. If the news were bad, I wasn't sure I wanted her to hear. I'd
have arrangements to make, preparatory to my end, that she might want to block.
 
I'd considered making a life of it in the chair. If that was what Lord God 
wanted for me ...
 
But I'd defied Him so often it was becoming a habit. There was no way I could 
earn his Hell more than I already had. So I would kill myself, rather than 
struggle to hoist myself on the toilet, toil to dress myself, roll about my 
compound dependent on aides to lift me up the stairs.
 
Life wasn't so precious as that. Not when I'd sailed to the stars.
 
"May I come in, please?" Mikhael. His wiry hair was neatly brushed, his shirt 
pressed.
 
I gestured to a seat.
 
"I want more ,.." He reined himself in, started over. "There's just so much 
calisthenics I can handle. What if 1 want more time with Mr. Carr?"
 
"Cadets exercise two hours a day."
 
"I'm no frazzing cadet!"
 
"Certainly not; there's no way they'd have you."
 
"That's not fair."
 
1 couldn't abide his sullenness. "Get out,"
 
His running steps faded up the stairs.
 
I toyed with my holovid, furious at him. At myself. I wheeled out, to the foot 
of the stairs, opened my mouth to call him down.
 
A faint sound. Was it a sob?
 
Bevin and Anselm were nowhere in sight. Who would lift me? With a muttered 
epithet I hoisted myself to the bottom step, sat facing downward. One stair at a 
time, I dragged my lower body upward. Halfway up I stopped, worked my way out of 
my jacket so as not to roast. Then I labored on my way.
 
At the top I met Carla Tamarov. She'd been watching. "Go down, please. Find 
someone to help with my chair."
 
"You made him cry."
 
"Yes. I do that."
 
She trotted down the stairs. Sitting, I dragged myself toward Mikhael's room. I 
knocked, reached up, swung the door open.
 
"Get—" His eyes widened. Disheveled, perspiring, I was a sight.
 
I hauled myself toward his bed. "Alexi would give you comfort. I don't know 
how."
 
"I don't need you." His tone was scornful.
 
"You do." I was bitter. 'There's no one else,"
 
'To do what?"
 
"Help me up. 1*11 show you,**
 
Puzzled, he helped hoist me onto the bed. I pulled my legs straight, paused for 
breath. I took his chin, held it so his eyes faced mine. "I'm sorry I chased you 
out. I loved your father. If I were dead, he'd have cared for my son too."
 
He jerked from my grasp, spun to the wall,
 
"Your mother is ... overwhelmed."
 
"I know," His voice was muffled.
 
"Shall I ask her if you can stay awhile?" What was I saying? I hadn't time 
enough for my daily holochips, to say nothing of the middy, Arlene. P.T..,,
 
"We wouldn't get along a minute,"
 
He was right. Thank heavens one of us had sense to know it.
 
"Don't discredit what you wen to me. And still are,* Alexi, in my Lunapolis 
suite,
 
I considered,
 
Mikhael looked away. "You're scowling.**
 
"If your father saw how you behaved in my house, what would he say?"
 
"I have no idea."
 
"Tell me!" I gripped his wrist,
 
He shrugged, but I held him tightly. "He'd... I don't—*1
 
Suddenly his voice became Alexi's. "Straighten out, joey, and I mean RIGHT NOW!" 
He reddened.
 
I turned his face to mine. I said slowly, levelly, "Straighten out, joey, and I 
mean right now."
 
"What do ... he's gone and you can't—"
 
"I did. I'll ask your mother."
 
"Ask me what?" Moira stood at the door, her daughter watching from behind.
 
"If Mikhael can stay a couple of months. He needs .. ." I wasn't sure what.
 
"It's up to him." Softly, she brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. "Or you can 
go with us to Kiev,"
 
We waited.
 
"I'm spoiled and sullen, remember? And you don't like me."
 
"Can we be alone a moment?" I waited until the door shut. "You're all that I 
said, joey. And I despise your behavior."
 
He bridled.
 
"As Alexi would." I let go his chin. "You need kindness. More than I'm used to 
giving. But that's not all of it,"
 
His voice was subdued. "I've been upset."
 
"Cry for Alexi. I'll respect that. But act to make him proud. And yourself." It 
was all I knew of life.
 
"I miss him so!" A cry from the heart.
 
"As do I. Are you staying?"
 
•Til think about it."
 
"Decide now." My back throbbed abominably, I was near tears, and I needed an end 
to it.
 
"You'll be rough on me.**
 
"When you deserve it."
 
"I'm almost grown. I don't need someone trying to be my father."
 
"Then leave with Moira. Or go off on your own." I raised my voice. "Moira, is my 
chair upstairs?"
 
He pounded a pillow. "All right, God damn it, I'll stay!"
 
"No dinner tonight," I shot back. "I won't tolerate blasphemy." Straining, I 
managed to reach the doorknob. Bevin and Arlene waited with my chair. "Roll it 
in, would you?"
 
"And if I say it again?"
 
'Til have you strapped. On the other hand, two hours with Anselm tomorrow and 
you get as much with Mr. Carr. And more time with me. I'll try to think of 
stories he doesn't know. Cadets manage two hours. You can."
 
"I'm going to hate this." His wave took in the room, the house, me.
 
I smiled. "But it's good for you."
 
In the morning, when Bevin and I came in to work, a hand-scrawled note was 
propped on my holovid. "Sir, I'm placing myself on report as ordered. Midshipman 
Thadeus Anselm."
 
I groaned. "Where's our middy?**
 
"In his room, I think."
 
"Get him."
 
Bevin glanced at the caller.
 
"Run upstairs and fetch him. I expect him here in the next minute." I was barely 
civil.
 
"Aye aye, sir!" He dashed out.
 
When they raced in Anselm was still thrusting his shirt into his pants. 
"Midshipman Anselm reporting!"
 
"Stand at attention. Danil, wait outside." Holding his note, I regarded him 
balefully. "You disobeyed?"
 
His eyes were locked front. "Yes, sir."
 
"Give me specifics."
 
"I had—" He took a deep breath. "Yesterday afternoon, sir, while you were with 
Mikhael, I went to your liquor cabinet, helped myself to some bourbon,"
 
I roared, "You won't get away with it!" My fist crashed on the desk, sent the 
holovid flying.
 
He made no response.
 
"Well?" I knew that was unfair. I hadn't asked a question, and held at 
attention, he wasn't free to speak.
 
"Yes, sir, I won't get away with it. I knew that when I put myself on report." 
His forehead had a faint sheen. "How much?" "Bourbon? A few slugs."
 
Thanks to my dead legs I couldn't launch myself from my chair. I pounded the 
arm. "Contemptible. Disgraceful."
 
"Yes, sir, it is." His voice quavered. I eyed him sourly. His stomach was sucked 
tight, hands pressed to his sides. Sighing, I reached for my official 
letterhead. It didn't take long to write my note.
 
"Finish dressing. Go at once to the Potomac Naval Station, give this to the duty 
officer. This time you'll be put across a real barrel." "Aye aye, sir," He took 
the note. "On your return, stop at a liquor store and replace my bottle of 
bourbon from your own funds." "Aye aye, sir."
 
"Report to me afterward, Mr. Anselm. We'll talk. Dismissed."
 
With proper precision he saluted, wheeled, and marched out.
 
Whatever work we dealt with that morning, I barely knew. It was just before 
lunch when Anselm knocked dejectedly at my door.
 
"Midshipman Anselm reporting discipline, sir," He had no need to tell me. It was 
evident in his gait and the misery in his countenance.
 
"Very well. That's all for now, Danil. Tad, stand or sit, as you prefer."
 
Gingerly, Anselm put himself in a chair, twisted so he rested on his side. "I 
wish it hadn't been necessary to cane you. I admire your courage in placing 
yourself on report. You acted honorably."
 
"It was an order."
 
"So was not drinking."
 
"I couldn't..." His eyes misted. "I couldn't help that."
 
My tone was gentle. "Help me understand why."
 
"Must I?"
 
I relented. "No." I could punish his acts, but not invade his thoughts,
 
For a long time there was only the sound of his breathing. Then, "You ever have 
a dream that came back?"
 
"When I was younger." I would wake sweating, with the image of Father striding 
from Academy's gate. No doubt Father loved me, after his fashion, though he 
rarely showed it.
 
"I have one. It's ... sir, I know I've no right to ask, especially today, 
but..." He swallowed. "Don't laugh at me. I couldn't stand it."
 
"I won't."
 
"I've had it about a dozen times. I'm in a train station, the HiTrans terminal, 
I think. I'm on the platform. I'm with my father, and a train is about to 
leave."
 
Silent, I rolled from behind the desk.
 
"We board the train. Only, he's inside, and I'm not. I don't know why, I try to 
get on, but the doors are shut And then the—the ... the ..." He fought for 
control. "The train starts out of the station. Slowly at first. Pa is standing 
by the door, looking sadly through the glass. I'm running alongside, trying to 
get in, to go with him. The train moves faster, until I can't keep up. He's 
looking back at me through the glass as the train pulls out. Leaving me alone."
 
I didn't dare speak.
 
"And then I wake. Usually I'm crying."
 
"God in heaven."
 
"I dreamed it again yesterday,**
 
"And so you had my bourbon."
 
"Yes, sir. I did."
 
"Very well. I know your rump smarts; take the afternoon off."
 
"Aye aye, sir. Thank you."
 
"If you drink again, you'll be caned again. It's that sim-pie."
 
"Yes, sir."
 
I hesitated, decided to throw caution to the winds. "A standing order: if you 
have the dream again, you're to wake me immediately. Acknowledge."
 
"Orders received and understood, sir. If I have the dream again, I'm to wake 
you.**
 
"Dismissed."
 
In a bright-lit examining room at Boland Memorial, I buttoned my shirt. "So?"
 
Dr. Knorr said brightly, "It's going as well as can be expected."
 
Arlene tapped her foot. "Which means?"
 
"The incision is healed, there's no infection."
 
"He has horrid stabbing pains. Sometimes, at night—"
 
I squirmed. It was my body, my decision whether to complain.
 
"It's a good sign, actually. The connections aren't entirely severed." Knorr's 
hands spread in an apologetic gesture. "And now you're using muscles you never 
used. Imagine an old house that's stood for years. You replace half the basement 
beams. It will creak a bit, as it settles." "That's the silliest—" "Nick." Her 
warning tone. "Well, it is. Can't any of you speak plainly?" "What do you want 
me to say, Mr. SecGen?" I took a deep breath, and another. "The operation to 
restore my legs?"
 
"It looks promising, especially as you still have some feeling at groin level. 
I'll want you to see Ghenili."
 
"How soon can he be here?"
 
"You'll have to go to Lunapolis."
 
I bristled. "I'm paraplegic and I have work waiting. Call him here."
 
"That won't be possible." He raised a hand to forestall my objection. "All his 
diagnostic equipment is at his clinic. He can't relocate his practice for one 
patient.**
 
I struggled from the table to my chair. "Good day."
 
"Nick, let him—"
 
"Out, chair. To the helipad." We lurched to the door.
 
My wife sighed, followed to the hall. Karen Burns and her detail fell into step.
 
Arlene asked, "What did that accomplish?"
 
"The arrogance of him. That snide, supercilious, pompous—"
 
"Hold, chair." Her tone was a command. Surprisingly, the machine obeyed. "What 
did you achieve, Nick? A call aloft, and Ghenili could refuse to see you."
 
"I'll break him. I'll call challenge. I'll have him--'*
 
She bent to put both hands on the arms of my chair, faced me eye to eye. 
"Enough."
 
I swallowed. "Am I that out of line?"
 
"Yes.**
 
"Arggh. It's just... I hate doctors." The image flashed of Dr. Uburu, on 
Hibernia, whose gentle decency succored me more than once. Of Dr. Bros on 
Portia, who'd delivered my first child. "Well, most of them."
 
She regarded me a moment, kissed me gravely on the nose.
 
"Arrange it for me, will you, hon? I don't want to speak to Knorr again."
 
"All right."
 
"Let's go home."
 
"In a bit. I've arranged a surprise."
 
"Karen doesn't like surprises." We'd achieved a truce, of a sort
 
"She knows."
 
The heli lifted off as soon as we were strapped in. It set down, a few minutes 
later, on a rooftop. "Which tower—"
 
"Franjee Four." It was one of the many towers that had sprung out of the rubble 
of Lower New York, in the horrid ruin of the Transpop Rebellion. After the 
devastation of the lasers, it had been all I could do to preserve their culture. 
For every tower, I'd seen that blocks of neighborhood were rebuilt.
 
"Robbie Boland?"
 
She nodded. "Dinner."
 
Perhaps he wanted to toast our defeat of the Terries in the Assembly. I wouldn't 
begrudge his celebration.
 
We crowded into the elevator. As always, Karen sent security joeys ahead. Lord 
knew how many residents of the tower were barred from their lifts, so I could 
descend in safety.
 
Hands at their guns, Security took us to his apartment. I insisted they wait in 
the hall. Only Karen accompanied us within.
 
"Welcome, sir." Robbie stood aside.
 
In the living room two handsome young men waited to greet me. Jared Tenere, and 
my Philip.
 
"Hallo, boys." I held out a hand. Jared shook with me. P.T. hugged me. I patted 
his back.
 
We started with cocktails. "What did the doctors say, Fathr
 
I grimaced. "Don't remind me."
 
"Are you well enough to travel?"
 
"If I don't have to dance." Why did my load seem lighter for P.T.'s presence?
 
How could I have let our estrangement drag on for
years? Over dinner and wine, we chatted amiably about poli-
tics, sport, the Navy. For almost the first time, I observed my son with Jared, 
outside my home. Now and then Jared rested a hand on his. I wondered if they 
would adopt, as Philip suggested. If he was omni, as he'd said, would I ever see 
grandchildren of my blood?
 
Moodily, I refilled my wineglass.
 
He was my only child. There was Nate, of course, long dead. And perhaps I could 
call sons the many youngsters who'd followed me to their doom. Even now, I held 
innocent lives in my hands. Danil Bevin, fearless in the passion of truth. 
Anselm, accepting even my harsh guidance to save himself. Young Mikhael, 
desperate for a father forever lost.
 
If only I could offer more. All I had was myself, flawed, choleric, helpless.
 
"Path, why are you weeping?" Philip rose, hurried around the table.
 
"Because I'm becoming an old man. Because I'm drunk. Because I love you." I fell 
into his embrace.
 
Wisely, they gave me little more wine. Over time, my head cleared. After 
dessert, we adjourned to a huge room whose balcony and picture windows 
overlooked the reclaimed park, a view only the very wealthy could afford. When 
I'd been a young officer, I'd visited apartments such as these, and felt only 
contempt for the occupants.
 
They said time brings wisdom.
 
Our mood was mellow. I reminisced about my better days in the Navy. Karen sat 
quietly in the corner.
 
Jared perched cross-legged on the floor, near his guardian. "Have you seen 
Galactic, Uncle Rob?"
 
"Not yet. I keep meaning to go aloft." As Senator, and confidant of the SecGen, 
Boland would have no difficulty gaining entry.
 
"We could have toured her with Father, if we'd stayed at Earthport." Philip.
 
"And Mother." Arlene's tone was tart. "You always speak as if Nick was the only 
officer in the family."
 
"Oops. Sorry, ma'am." Philip smiled weakly. Even in the depths of his 
adolescence, he'd been unstinting in his courtesy. "You were aboard. Tell us 
what we missed."
 
"A floating palace. I'm not sure I approve."
 
"I'm appalled," I said. "Rob, how did we let the Navy go so wrong?"
 
"Admiralty has a mind of its own. We can't micro-manage every detail."
 
The devil," Jared said, "is in the details." I eyed him suspiciously, not sure 
whether he was blasphemous.
 
He blushed. "I read that somewhere." Rob patted him absently. "Sir, have you met 
with the Board of Admiralty lately?"
 
"Not all of them," I said, "but I intend to." There's a clique of officers who 
aren't shy about expressing their views. Their politics are ... outdated." "I've 
met a few."
 
"They're a danger. We can't start a war to reclaim the colonies; anyone with 
sense knows that, but these joeys would devote our whole budget to Naval 
expansion. I'd like to know Admiralty has a grasp of the situation." Rob was 
blunt. "The sooner you weed them out, the better." I waved it away. "A long 
cruise or two will settle them." "Do it soon, then." Boland sounded uneasy. 
"What with the eco-terrorists, your disability, the hotheads in the Assembly—"
 
"Rob, don't be alarmist. I'll look into it." No matter what, we could count on 
the Navy. The Naval Service was our lifeline to the colonies; it carried the 
cargoes that nourished our world. And the Navy knew it. Her officers were 
steeped in honor and proud of their myriad responsibilities.
 
I drowsed on the ride back to Washington, glad for once that we flew in a huge 
jet instead of the clattering heli. I dialed my light low, stretched out in my 
seat, dozed contentedly.
 
Home at last, I got myself ready for bed, remembering just before I climbed out 
of the chair to say good night to Mikhael. He was half-asleep, and if he 
resented my intrusion, he gave no sign.
 
Gratefully, I dragged myself into bed. I snuggled next to Arlene, reveled in her 
warmth, fell into sleep.
 
The Venturas were stunning. Their bristling peaks dominated Hope Nation's 
uninhabited western continent. Derek sweated happily as we scrambled through 
scrub and brush to the far side of the valley. We caught glimpses of the icy 
pool that was our goal.
 
"Race you, sir? "
 
I was Captain and he a mere middy, but on our glorious furlough we'd relaxed the 
rules. "Don't be silly. What's that?" I pointed up the MIL
 
As soon as his head turned I charged ahead, branches whipping at my face.
 
"Hey! Wait!" He came crashing after.
 
I thundered down the slope, pulling my shirt from my pants, fumbling at the 
buttons. I risked a glance back. The middy was gaining.
 
My legs pumped. My chest heaved. God, it was fine to be young.
 
"Nick?"
 
/ would just beat him. It would be close. I thudded through tall grasses, 
panting. A low-hanging branch loomed; I scrambled through the gap.
 
"Nicky?"
 
"Got you, Middy!" I could barely gasp the words. "Last one in is a—"
 
"Nick!"
 
I came awake, heart pounding.
 
"Hon, you were thrashing about. Was it a nightmare?"
 
No.
 
The nightmare was in waking. I clutched her like a drowning man a liferaft, my 
head pressed to her breast.
 
Wretched hours later, soothed at last by the soft steady stroke of her palm, I 
slept.
 
PART II
 
September, in the Year 
of our Lord 2241
 
CHAPTER 11
 
1 ou'll behave?"
 
Mikhael looked uncomfortable. "Yes, sir."
 
"What do I expect?" I rolled from behind my desk.
 
He rolled his eyes. "You know I won't think of everything."
 
"I'll give you a start. Courtesy to Arlene, while I'm gone. Calisthenics with 
Mr. Anselm. A bath every day."
 
"Why are you down on me? I'm trying not to give you trouble."
 
"You've done well the past few days. I'm proud of you."
 
"When you get back, Mr. Carr will be gone."
 
"He has to go back to work. We'll see him again." Derek's ship wouldn't leave 
for a month.
 
"Why can't I go with you?"
 
"P.T. needs me alone. I don't know why. I'll call every day."
 
"Yeah."
 
I waited.
 
"Yes, sir." It still came hard. After each day of Derek's stories, Mikhael came 
farther out of his shell, made a greater effort to please me.
 
I'd asked Derek why. "Not all of my stories are of Alexi," was all he said. 
"Some are of you." Incomprehensible.
 
"Tell Philip I'm ready." I keyed the caller. "Danil?" In seconds, the cadet 
appeared with his duffel. He must have been waiting on the stair. "Where's my 
gear?"
 
"In the heli, sir." Bevin grinned from ear to ear, like a foolish puppy. As 
instructed, he was in civilian garb so as not to call attention to me.
 
"What's your problem?' I tried to sound severe.
 
"Nothing, sir. I'm just happy."
 
At the helipad, Karen Burns intercepted my chair. Her tone was cold. "Mr. 
SecGen, again I protest."
 
"Noted. I'll check in at least once a day, and I'll call in an emergency." As if 
that would be any use.
 
"We'll monitor your transponder."
 
"Very well."
 
P.T. and Jared Tenere strolled to the heli, carrying their gear. Arlene walked 
with Philip, arm in arm.
 
"Hon, do you know where they're taking me?"
 
"Don't ask.**
 
That means you do."
 
"Philip and I had a chat." She gave him a casual hug. "Take care of your 
father."
 
"I will. Mom." He busied himself helping Jared load the duffels.
 
"I didn't know what to bring." My tone had a hint of reproach,
 
Arlene was firm. "It's Philip's show."
 
I growled, "It's my heli."
 
"Look again, love." I did. The machine was smaller than my usual craft, and 
showed more wear,
 
P.T. said, "I rented it"
 
"Where'd you get the coinT* I doubted his work with the Enviro Council paid 
much; they were always strapped for funds.
 
"The money Grandma Sanders left me." He seemed untroubled. "I told you it was 
important, Path."
 
We said our good-byes and lifted off.
 
Strapped into the front seat, my chair stowed between Jared and the cadet, I 
tried to let myself relax. P.T. was a competent pilot; I'd taught him myself.
 
I peered at the compass. "Now, will you tell me?"
 
"Soon, Path." We were heading west. "I thought you'd end up taking her."
 
"Mom? Oh, you mean Karen." I shrugged. "You can't blame her for trying to do her 
job." I thought a moment. "That reminds me." I reached to the dash, keyed off 
the transponder.
 
P,T, raised an eyebrow.
 
"Otherwise they'll track us. I presume you want privacy." If Karen traced our 
transponder, next would come overflights, then open surveillance.
 
"Why provoke them?"
 
"Adolescent rebellion." It made no sense, but it quieted him awhile.
 
In the back seat, Jared chatted animatedly with Danil, about puters, Arcvid, and 
nets. The cadet was polite at first, as he was required to be with civilians. 
Soon he warmed to Jared's enthusiasm, and the two were deep in discourse,
 
I dozed.
 
"Path, we're here," The engine was silent.
 
"That was fast,"
 
"You've been snoring three hours,"
 
I peered about, "Where are we?"
 
"South of Lawrence, Kansas." He jumped out, came around, swung open my door. To 
Jared, "Help with the chair, love." The boys manhandled the machine to the dusty 
ground. Philip made me comfortable, gave me a reassuring pat. Did I seem that 
old, that doddering?
 
"Now what?"
 
He hauled out the sunshields, inserted an umbrella in the receptacle in my 
chair, handed the others around, "lake a look. Path."
 
At what? The remains of a swaybacked farmhouse sagged
in tired defeat. Rusty barbed fencing still stood for most of its length, but 
behind them acreage was gone to weed. Past the house, the lower half of a silo 
jutted angrily at a lowering sky.
 
Philip had brought me here for a reason. It was my job to figure out why, but I 
could not. "Son, it's just an abandoned farm." The American countryside was 
littered with them.
 
"Let's sit on the porch." He strolled ahead. I was forced to follow, Bevin and 
Jared flanking my chair. P.T. perched on the floor under the splintered rail, 
his feet dangling. I rolled as far as the broken steps.
 
I shivered. "It's cold."
 
"The wind will be up soon. It's early afternoon. I'll have to get you under 
cover."
 
I glanced up at the sunshield. It would do. "I'm not afraid of a little wind."
 
He smiled, sat peaceably. Somewhat bored, I looked about, while the cadet 
scuffed his feet in the dust
 
The house had once been painted soft green, faded now to gray. An animal 
skittered under the porch.
 
"The last owners were the Wattersons. Janice and Tom. They bought it from her 
father, in 2199."
 
Forty-two years ago. I shrugged. "So?"
 
"The place had been in her family for two and a half centuries, Path."
 
"Philip, don't be cryptic. If you've something to—"
 
"When did you stop trusting me?" His voice was sharp.
 
Why had I agreed to this jaunt if I had no faith in my son? "I'm sorry."
 
They grew sorghum, wheat, corn. Sometimes they'd put in beans. Janice's father 
was named Roland. Roland Kitner. His friends all called him Rollo. He fanned 
here with his own father. The high school he attended is three miles down that 
road." He pointed.
 
Dutifully, I peered, saw nothing.
 
"Janice died a few years ago. She was a widow by then. Jared, roll Path's chair 
so he can see the bam."
 
I suppressed my annoyance, let the boy move me, scowled at the cowshed.
 
"She became a widow in 2212, when Tom Watterson blew his brains out in that 
barn. Their joeykids were seven and nine. The older girl—"
 
Enough. "Son, why are you telling me this?" Wind ruffled my hair.
 
"I'm personalizing, so you'll understand. With you, it's the only way."
 
I snarled, "Don't patronize me!"
 
"Be quiet and listen!"
 
I gawped.
 
"I've staked everything I have on this expedition! You owe me my chance."
 
"I'll pay for the heli."
 
"You will not!"
 
We glared in mutual fury.
 
Jared cleared his throat. "Please..." He looked from one to the other of us.
 
I said heavily, "Go on, Philip."
 
"First National Bank of Irvington held a crop mortgage, Fanner's Bank the 
second. Wheat prices were sky-high, but for some reason the Wattersons couldn't 
keep a crop. The first year—2208—was a fluke. Everyone said so."
 
"And they lost the farm. Get on with it."
 
"Not the first year. Not until July 2212, after they tried every damn crop they 
could plant, one after another!" Viciously, he tore a blade of grass that poked 
through the floor.
 
"I'm sorry for them, but that was twenty-nine years ago."
 
"Aye." It startled me to hear him use the old speech. It recalled Father, in 
Cardiff. "It wasn't just the Wattersons, sir. How many American farms went under 
in 2212?"
 
A gust swirled dirt in a small dust devil.
 
I said, "I've no idea."
 
"Six thousand two hundred twelve, according to census." "How do you know all 
this?" My wave took in the house, the barn, the fields.
 
"I've studied." Philip sounded bitter. "How many were abandoned last year?" "Ask 
my agri minister."
 
"Eleven hundred fourteen. Not many, except as a percentage. There are so few 
left to abandon. Did you know America was once the breadbasket of the world?"
 
Yes, I knew. But that was what our colonies were for. I glanced upward at the 
darkening sky. "Times have changed."
 
"Yes!" Abruptly, he stood. "We'd better get you in the heli." Without leave, he 
turned my chair, rolled me along the walk.
 
hi a few moments I was glad he did. The wind had come up sharply. Clouds scudded 
overhead. Dust swirled.
 
"Help me cover the intakes!" Philip had to shout to be heard. Danil scrambled to 
help. Agile as a monkey, he climbed atop our craft, helped P.T. adjust tarps.
 
"Please, Lord." Jared spoke softly, almost in my ear. "No tornadoes. Not today." 
He rocked. "Are you frightened, son?"
 
"No. Yes." His hand sought mine. "I'm supposed to avoid anxiety. It throws me 
out of balance." "We'll be all right." My tone was gruff. A sudden roar, as the 
door was yanked open. P.T. and Danil jumped into the heli. The cadet was panting 
happily. "What a zark!" Jared smiled weakly.
 
"This would be a dust bowl," Philip shouted, "except for the daily rain." As if 
on cue, a few drops splattered the windshield. "Nothing but weeds would grow for 
Janice and Tom, you see. Any crop that grew high enough, the wind got. But 
rainfall was up by thirty-two inches a year. It washed out the
seed. The fields were a sea of mud and weeds. If you'd like, in an hour I'll 
show you. I'll have to carry you, I think."
 
"We have to stay here an hour?"
 
"I can't fly in this, Path." Around us, wind howled and battered at the windows. 
Our blades swung wildly, disengaged.
 
Jared moaned.
 
Outside, the drumming crash of hail.
 
I said harshly, "Let Danil sit in front with me." Startled, P.T. gave way, moved 
to the rear with Jared. I hoped it would help.
 
Late in the afternoon, the weather calm, we lifted off from a soggy field. 
Philip spoke loudly, over the engine's whine. "Notice the landscape, Path. This 
was once the most productive land in the world." Obligingly, he tilted to 
provide a view of the lacerated land.
 
I hung tight
 
"Now where?" It was getting late.
 
"I've booked us rooms in Florida."
 
"Zarky!" Bevin bounced in his seat
 
"Cadet!"
 
He subsided. Grumbling, I tightened my strap.
 
"Where the hell have you been, Mr. SecGen?" Karen's voice was tight.
 
I grimaced at the caller. I'd intended to be apologetic, but her manner irked 
me. "Out," I said coolly.
 
"I have you at the Searest in Tampa." She was showing off.
 
"Very well, next time I won't call."
 
"If you're spotted..."
 
"There'll be a nuisance. Autograph seekers, who knows what." I made no effort to 
hide my sarcasm. We'd checked into the hotel without a problem. Of course, I'd 
sat in the heli while Philip made the arrangements.
 
"I see why Tilnitz resigned."
 
That's quite enough." I broke the connection. I'd promised to call, not to put 
up with her presumption. Were they my detail, or I theirs?
 
Fuming, I punched in Arlene's code, waited. "Hi, hon."
 
"All's well. How goes it?"
 
"Lord knows what Philip hopes to accomplish. If he expects me to go mushy and 
tearful at a rotting farmhouse..."
 
Her tone was dry. "I think he knows you better than that."
 
"Hmpff." I changed the subject. "Is the middy behaving himselfr
 
"I suppose. I don't take inventory."
 
**I left him chores. See that he's kept busy, would you?"
 
"I'll have him to dinner tonight."
 
"No need to spoil him. How was Mikhael?"
 
**A bit sullen, after you left I put him to work in the sheds."
 
"He didn't mind?"
 
"Yes, he rather did." Her tone was cool.
 
I grinned. An old salt like Arlene, used to handling middies shipboard, wouldn't 
take guff from a teenager. Mikhael would have to learn.
 
"Moira doesn't object?"
 
"She asked me to do the same with Carla. Nick, some joeys just shouldn't be 
parents."
 
"Don't bring that up." During the Kahn Administration, the licensing bill had 
almost wrecked the Terrie Party. It failed, but Arlene and I had differed 
sharply on its provisions.
 
"I almost wish P.T. were young again," she said wistfully.
 
"He'd set Mikhael an example."
 
"He was a good lad," I said. Then, grudgingly, "Still is."
 
Her mind was still on Moira Tamarov. "It was no accident," she said. "We made 
him so."
 
We chatted a bit longer, and rang off.
 
In the morning, the boys and I had breakfast in the hotel restaurant I ignored 
odd looks and whispers. One joey actually peered at me and told his wife, "He 
looks just like the SecGen." Of course, they knew it was out of the question for 
the head of Government to spend the night in such a seedy, run-down inn; my 
resemblance to the SecGen was mere coincidence. I found I was actually enjoying 
myself.
 
On the way to the heli, Bevin picked up a handful of pebbles, skipped them one 
by one across the lot
 
"Cadet..." It was a warning growl,
 
P.T. said, "Why not let him play?"
 
"Because..." I searched for a reason, gave it up. "Carry on, Danil." My own 
fault dragooning a joeykid out of Academy. He hadn't even the maturity of a 
middy. I snorted. The maturity of a middy like Anselm. I asked Bevin suddenly, 
"Have you ever tasted liquor?"
 
Danil's eyes widened. "No, sir. It's illegal.**
 
Our gear packed, we lifted off. Squinting into the unrelenting glare of the sun, 
I asked, "Where to?"
 
"A few miles south."
 
Below, an incomplete causeway stretched across a spacious bay. Philip slowed, 
banked to give me a view.
 
"All right I've seen it Where are we headed?"
 
"This is it" We swooped down. When the blades came to a stop he flung open the 
door.
 
The air was a soggy brick: hot heavy, unyielding. I wore no tie, but I felt like 
whipping off my shirt "People live in mis climate?"
 
"It's worse than it used to be."
 
I rolled my eyes at the lecture I'd no doubt triggered. "Do tell."
 
"We're on the run-up to the Tampa Bay bridge. The causeway began as an American 
interstate connecting Tampa to St Petersburg. Let's get you in the chair." Danil 
jumped out tugged at my transport tongue in his teeth.
 
"Easy, joey." Jared worked the other end. Between them, they lowered the machine 
to the ground. "Let me help you, sir." With surprising gentleness, Jared guided 
me to the chair. Abruptly he pulled a handkerchief, wiped my brow. "You'll need 
your umbrella." He raised it. RT. looked on, a smile in his eyes.
 
I asked my son, "What do you want me to do?**
 
"Ride along the roadway."
 
Til be ran down."
 
That's not possible." He sounded sad. "It's been closed twenty years."
 
"Whyr
 
"Tell your chair to go south."
 
In for a pence... "South, chair. Along the roadway."
 
The concrete roadbed was cracked and broken. We veered around huge potholes, 
past piles of driftwood. Philip trotted to keep pace. 'Tides, Path. They're 
up..."
 
'Two point seven feet." The zines parroted the figure, over and again.
 
"No, sir, that's only the last four decades." He drew breath. "The bridge is a 
hundred seventy years old. Add another foot and a half."
 
"Slow, chair." If I weren't careful I'd give RT. heatstroke. "Surely they built 
five feet over water level?"
 
"More than that; they weren't idiots in the twentieth. It's storm surges, Path."
 
"Hold, chair." He leaned on the arm; I patted his hand to forestall his speech. 
"Get your breath. I'm sorry." I waited.
 
"A hundred years ago, high tides began to wash over the roadway. The road people 
repaired the damage."
 
"Get under my shade."
 
"Yes, sir. After a time, water again undercut the roadway. We rebuilt. That is, 
the old American Government; they were still independent then. Two billion of 
their dollars. Fifteen years later, water was again lapping over the road. No 
one knew tides would rise so fast. See over there? It was a fishing pier. Joeys 
would drive out to the bridge, park, fish any time of day or night."
 
"Why don't they still?"
 
He looked at me strangely. "Path, they can't get here. The road's washed out in 
thirteen places."
 
"Oh." I felt a fool.
 
"Look at the bridge."
 
"I did."
 
"No, really look."
 
I studied the mighty span that soared into the distance. Elegant, slim supports 
soared to the clouds. The causeway ran many miles, hugging the waterline, until 
it reached the bridge. "It's beautiful."
 
"And horribly expensive."
 
I shrugged. "A pity." I wiped my face. At least the heli was air-conditioned.
 
"Care to see it up close?"
 
"Yes."
 
"We can't reach it The bridge is isolated. I suppose in a stunt heli it might be 
possible to land between the pillars."
 
Huge cables, mighty pylons, a few gulls. Other than ourselves, not a soul was in 
sight
 
"At its peak, this roadway served ninety million vehicles a year. SecGen Von 
Walthers authorized vast sums for dredging the bay. See those rocks? They were a 
breakwater."
 
"Are we done?"
 
"Path, don't you care?"
 
"Yes, it was a stupid waste of resources. I don't mink I've let money be spent 
so foolishly on my watch."
 
"Path, ninety million vehicles. Even discounting multiples, that means millions 
of citizens who can't cross the bay."
 
"Isn't there a new bridge?"
 
"Yes, but the feeder routes..." He made a face.
 
The sun was broiling me. "Anything else, son?"
 
"I guess not" He sounded disconsolate. "We'll talk over lunch."
 
A few minutes later we lifted off. I basked in the blessed cool.
 
We headed north. Somewhere in the Carolines, he set us down. The restaurant was 
pleasant enough. Philip fished in his pocket, gave Jared and Danil coin. "I need 
to speak with Father alone." The two settled at another table.
 
Philip waited for me to dig into soyburger and rice. "Path, do you see a theme?"
 
The world's going to hell." There was nothing I could do about it
 
"Anything else?"
 
"You've been brainwashed by your lunatic friends."
 
His fingers tightened on his glass. "Is that all?"
 
"What do you want me to say?"
 
"Excuse me." A woman, tawdry in a purple jumpsuit and matching shades. "Are you 
by any chance the SecGen?"
 
I rolled my eyes. "Of course." My voice dripped with sarcasm.
 
"Well!" She went off in a huff.
 
Philip grinned. "You have the damnedest way of not Lying."
 
"Don't blaspheme." But it had dissipated the strain between us. I took a fork of 
rice. "P.T., I'm not an idiot. You're showing me enviro disasters. I don't know 
why. Are you looking for a change of heart?"
 
"A change of policy. Radical, extreme, fundamental. We haven't much time."
 
"Before what?"
 
"Before we make the planet vmsurvivable."
 
The planet will survive." I made my tone light. "If it gets too rough, there's 
always emigration. We'll board a liferaft"
 
He gripped my arm with an iron hand. "Be serious. For once in your life, don't 
evade me on the issue."
 
I tried to twist loose, found I could not. "Let go my wrist!" My voice was ice.
 
"Do as I ask!"
 
"Let go.r' At last, I clawed free. That's it, laddie. I'm
 
going home." I spun my chair.
 
"You gave me three days."
 
I wheeled out of the restaurant. "Not anymore." He'd laid hand on me. Were I 
younger... no, were I not tied to this bloody God-cursed chair...
 
He caught me at the door. "I'm sorry."
 
"Out of my way!"
 
He stood aside. I barreled past. I'd find an air taxi, or call Karen Burns. I 
wasn't dependent on him. Not yet.
 
He found me in the lot. "Sir, I apologize. Truly." He dropped to one knee, to my 
level. "I'll never hold you again."
 
I was shaking. "If you were a boy I'd..."
 
"I'll let you beat me now, if you'll forgive me after."
 
It was like a splash of ice water. I closed my eyes, willed my heart to slow. 
"Oh, Philip."
 
"I'm going to rev in a moment Hold me."
 
I did. I could feel him tremble.
 
When we were calm, I gave him an awkward pat.
 
"Fath, there's two more places I want to take you."
 
I sighed. "All right" I'd nave to hold my temper.
 
"But if you respect me as much as I do you, you owe me an answer. Why do you 
reject enviro policies out of hand? Why won't you even discuss it?"
 
"Son, I—"
 
He held up a hand. "No. The truth or nothing."
 
I'd raised a formidable child.
 
In the sweltering parking lot I sat and mused. Enviros were all fundamentally 
glitched, wanting to reverse Lord God's changes to our world. But there was 
something more. I wasn't sure why I was loath to discuss it; there was no cause 
for shame.
 
"Philip, do you believe in Him?"
 
"Yes, sir. Not quite the way you do."
 
I wasn't sure what that meant but let it pass. "He is the center of my life, no 
matter how badly I act."
 
"I know."
 
"He made the world in seven days. I'm not sure how, or how long were the days. I 
also accept physics and geology." I smiled "And paleontology." Father had taught 
me there was much we would not know. He accepted it, and therefore, so did I. 
"This is His world. I believe that with all my soul. But... soon or not, it will 
end."
 
"You speak of the Apocalypse?"
 
"What else? For the Lord Himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with 
the voice of the archangel Philip, don't you see how presumptuous it would be, 
to try to alter His world?"
 
"We've already altered it"
 
"But not as a deliberate act, for the purpose of change. It suggests we're here 
to stay, that His promise is false. That we have to safeguard the world for 
infinite generations."
 
"But we do!"
 
"That's His role, not ours. To say otherwise is impertinent"
 
"We're stewards of His—"
 
"No, we're inheritors and possessors. Lord God gave us this Harm to do with as 
we wished." My voice was hot "Ye shall inherit their land, and I will give it 
unto you to possess it, a land thatfloweth with milk and honey. And that's what
we've done." He leaned over my chair. "Path, you'd let the Earth go to
 
hell for some half-baked theology?^ "I ought to slap your face." My voice was 
tight Philip nodded, unmoving. I turned away, or tried to. "If you don't 
understand, I can't make you." His voice was dull. "We'll go on as I planned. 
Perhaps..."
 
"Yesr
 
"You asked if I believed Tonight Til get on my knees, as we did when I was 
young. I'll pray for a miracle."
 
"Don't blaspheme." But my heart wasn't in it
 
"Near Ravensburg."
 
I stretched, feeling every one of my years.
 
"A valley in southern Bavaria, below the Alps. Tourists used to come from all 
over the world."
 
"And now the tides—"
 
"Please don't joke. Those peaks"—he pointed past rolling hills—"they're over 
twelve thousand feet high." In the distant heights, lightning flashed.
 
Gloomy fields, brown grass, a lush fetid odor. A road, curving into a valley.
 
"That chairlift. It was for skiing. There's still snow occasionally, but not 
enough to make the business profitable."
 
"I know the climate's warmed; it's true everywhere. Hauling me around the world 
won't—"
 
"That's not why we're here. Do you smell it?"
 
"Yes, it's sort of a rich ..." I sniffed "Like a marsh."
 
"Rotting wood. Come." He turned my chair. "Jared, care to hike with us? You too, 
Danil. Bring the masks."
 
I asked, "What for?"
 
"It gets worse." We started down the road.
 
It was a pleasant afternoon, though the sights would be gloriously enhanced if 
the sun broke through the sullen clouds. We left the solar umbrellas behind. We 
wouldn't be out all that long, and the weather report said gamma counts were 
down.
 
The road had been paved, but hadn't seen traffic for years; eager stalks of 
grass sprang from cracks and fissures.
 
P.T. strode at my side. 'This town was inhabited for two thousand years. The 
earliest tourists were Roman."
 
Danil squinted at the hills. "There's no trees."
 
"Very few."
 
I said, "Global warming doesn't kill trees."
 
"No, Path. Acid rain does, and chemical pollutants."
 
"That's under control. We've reduced emissions by thirty—"
 
"No, we haven't We've reduced their rate of increase. It's by no means the same. 
The trees started dying in earnest seventy years ago. Manfred Rolf was 
burgermeister then. He lived by the stream, in a... never mind, you'll see it in
a moment."
 
The air was humid, but tolerable. Altitude had its advantages. I let myself 
relax, while Philip wheeled me along, past ancient dwellings with picturesque 
mansard roofs. No one was in sight. Was the town abandoned?
 
"Old Manfred was a difficult man. Big bushy eyebrows, a hot temper. His house 
belonged to his grandfather, and his grandfather's grandfather before him. It 
was built after the Last War."
 
"Did he shoot himself in the barn?"
 
"Please, Path. I'm really begging you. No more."
 
"I'm sorry." Too late, I was contrite.
 
I jounced past scraggly bushes, sodden fields, the ruins of what might have been 
a store.
 
"He died in bed, as a man should. When he wasn't mayor, he was a puter 
technician. Quite good at it, for his day."
 
I held my peace. Philip would come to the point
 
"Town business didn't take much of his time. The only industry was tourism, and 
that consisted merely of the hotels and restaurants that fanned out from the 
square."
 
Danil stooped to pick up pebbles. Ahead, the road turned.
 
"You can hear the stream. We'll see it in a moment All these villages started 
out as mill towns. Water ground the grain."
 
Near the stream, the cement roadway gave way to gravel A crude, temporary metal 
footbridge had been thrown over a brisk stream whose channel was lined with 
large rounded rocks. Beyond was the center of town. P.T. jounced and rocked my 
chair across. "There's Manfred's house."
 
"Wherer
 
"Those foundations. The flood of '99 was the highest in
memory. By then all the lower houses had gone; folk retreated to the hills."
 
I stared balefully at the jagged stones. Roods had been with us a long time. 
Ever since Noah.
 
The road curved sharply. P.T. strode at a brisk pace, pushing my chair.
 
We turned the bend. "The last burgermeister was Hermann Rolf. Manfred's 
grandson, as it happens. He lived with his wife—"
 
I caught my breath.
 
It was a scene of appalling devastation. Windows, doors, walls lay strewn about 
Downed trees had been buried this way and that.
 
"Hurricanes? Tornadoes?"
 
"No, Path. Floods. You see, those hills used to be covered with trees. The 
pollutants killed them, and vegetation holds water. Each year, the floods get 
worse."
 
"So, one town—"
 
"It isn't one town, Path. The wind blows from central Europe."
 
I stirred, for once on sure ground. "The Balkans are catching up at last. 
Finally their economies are strong enough to compete." Coal production was up, 
iron was being gouged from the earth at a prodigious rate. And manufactories 
like the state-of-the-art chip works at Dresden were a symbol of Europe's brave 
new times.
 
He said, "Lung cancer deaths are up thirty-seven percent Despite anticars."
 
I protested, 'That's worldwide." Aghast, I realized what I'd said. Rivulets of 
doubt trickled through the stones of my certainty.
 
As if understanding, P.T. patted my shoulder.
 
We picked our way through rubble. A few raindrops splashed.
 
"Hermann Rolf lived there, above the stream. He was
sixty when he married; she was nineteen. They were deeply
in love." 
 
"Brake, chair." I looked over my shoulder. "Son, how do
you know these things?"
 
He knelt by my side. "That's what I do, Path." His tone was sober. "It's my 
project, when I'm not analyzing Win-stead's stats. I do research for the Enviro 
Council, to put a human face on the disaster. Some of their P.R. joeys make it 
up. All my stories are accurate."
 
He was so solemn I yearned to hug him. Of course they were accurate. This was 
P.T., the boy I cherished.
 
"I speak to survivors, to descendants. I find pictures, read old records. It's 
much more interesting than stat analysis." "You can do anything you set your 
hand at" The rain picked up. I wrapped my jacket tighter. "Mostly." He was free 
of false modesty. "Her name— Frau Rolf—was Marlena. She played piano like an 
angel. Had taken lessons since she was five. No children, but they kept hoping, 
despite the difference in their age." I steeled myself. "What happened to him?" 
"They had six years together. The spring of 2219, Burgermeister Rolf attended a 
party conference in Berlin. It was a bad season for rain. Most of Europe was 
drenched." He glanced at the grim sky, the brooding peaks, above which ominous 
lightning flashed. "In fact, we should get going." "Finish." After my derision, 
I owed him that. "What's to say? A terrible storm swept the hills. The callers 
were out, he hurried home. Three days later when they dug out the house, they 
found Marlena wedged under the bed clutching a bisque doll. She'd drowned in 
mud." "Lord Christ."
 
"Amen. It broke him. He's still alive, at a nursing home in Munich. I'll take 
you to see him if you like." "No. Please, no."
 
Surreptitiously, Bevin ran a sleeve across his eyes. As if by chance, Jared's 
arm fell across his shoulder.
 
A slow roll of kettledrums in the distant hills.
 
"They didn't need a mayor after 2219. No one wanted to rebuild. Path, it was the 
trees. Tall leafless stalks line those ridges mile upon mile, like ghostly 
sentries of His creation. Saplings struggle, and fall half-grown. When the wind 
is right..." His voice was ragged. "I wish I could show you. Today we don't need 
a mask."
 
"I believe you." I could barely hear myself.
 
"I collected cards, pictures, holos. I couldn't stop. Bavaria was so beautiful, 
Path. This was Eden." He tried to speak, fell silent
 
Jared took his arm, led him to a secluded pile of brush. I huddled within my 
coat, watching raindrops strike the gravel.
 
After a time Danil said, "Do something, Mr. SecGen."
 
"What, boy? Send cadets to replant the mountainside? Close the Dresden plants? 
Ruin Eastern Europe?"
 
"We already did that" His tone was bitter. "My father thinks the only way to 
save—"
 
"Don't start I warn you."
 
"Sir, I— Aye aye, sir. May I speak my mind?"
 
"No." I could abide Philip's passion; he was my son. But not an enviroist 
lecture from the cadet Not today.
 
Footsteps.
 
"Sorry, Path." P.T.'s tone was brisk. "You're soaked. Let's get moving." He 
turned my chair. Danil, impatient, ran ahead.
 
My legs were sopping, but I couldn't feel them. I'd have to be careful to avoid 
colds. Any injury, for that matter. Without sensation, I risked—no, it wouldn't 
come to that In two weeks' time I was to see Ghenili. Surgery would follow 
within days. If it went wrong, I'd make an end.
 
'The whole valley's abandoned?"
 
"Mostly. A few farmers eke out—"
 
Danil's shrill voice rose. "Hurry!" He dashed our way.
 
"Sir, the creek..." He skidded to a halt. "The water's much higher. Louder too. 
I don't like it." "Shit!" RT. pushed harder. "Jared, ran ahead." "I stay with 
you."
 
I snapped, "Are you all glitched? No one stays. Chair, faster. Across the 
bridge. Don't throw me out." "I can't judge—"
 
"Stop if you hear me yell from the ditch." "I'm not programmed to comply with 
distant commands. Only when you're sitting—"
 
We jounced over a rut. "Reprogram, then." All my life, puters had plagued me. I 
hated them.
 
Bevin had been right. The burble of the brook was definitely louder. We neared 
the metal bridge. Under it, torrents swirled and eddied. The rocky walls of the 
channel were submerged. White froth licked at the bridge supports. "Holy Christ, 
it's moving!" Jared licked his lips. "No." I ordered the chair to slow, 
approached cautiously. "Just vibrating. Help me across. This bucket of chips may 
miscalculate."
 
"My guidance systems—" "Stow it, chair."
 
Water frothed and churned, barely a foot under the decking. Philip was calm. 
"Path, I'll run across and get the heli. I can reland here."
 
"No need. Boys, on three. One ... two ..." I spun my wheels.
 
They raced me onto the bridge. A wheel caught; my chair lurched. I pitched to 
the deck, struck my head.
 
Thunder rattled. I lay dazed. Water splashed my chin.
 
"It's moving!"
 
A plate shivered under my ear. The bridge lurched. I rolled, caught myself at 
the edge.
 
"Hold him!"
 
I clawed at the rail. Philip snagged one arm, Jared the other. They dragged me 
from the edge.
 
"I'm all right"
 
The bridge wasn't. Wavelets splashed on the flooring. "What's—"
 
"It's rained hard in the hills." Philip.
 
"Put me in the chair!"
 
"No time. Pull, Jared!" Together they half dragged, half carried me to the bank. 
Dam'1 danced helpless around us.
 
I called, "Chair, roll! Now!" Without a passenger, the chair careened off the 
bridge, sank itself in mud. Bevin ran to dislodge it, worked it free. Water 
dripped in my eyes.
 
The bridge groaned.
 
"We need high ground!" P.T. spun, looked about.
 
"Put me down!" They still held me; I was helpless. I tried to wriggle myself 
free. As one, they let me go. I flopped in the mud, knocked my head yet again. 
"P.T, start the god— the heli. Did you hear me. Move! Jared, put me in the 
bloody chair!"
 
Philip sprinted.
 
"Cadet, I lost a shoe. Do you see it?"
 
To my horror, Danil darted onto the bridge, scooped it up. I was a fool. He 
raced to safety.
 
Granting, Jared dragged me to the chair, heaved me in.
 
I flopped in my seat, squishing, mud-soaked. I wiped water from my forehead; my 
hand came away red.
 
Angry white swirls chewed the banks of the creek.
 
"Chair, to the heli!" We reeled down the road to the higher ground on which we'd 
landed the heli.
 
Philip jumped out, threw open the door. "You're injured?"
 
"No."
 
The chair said reproachfully, "If you'd let me guide myself, I wouldn't have 
overturned—"
 
"Shut the fuck up!" Philip gave it a mighty kick that dented a wheel.
 
I caught his hand. "I'm not hurt, son. Truly."
 
He stifled a sound.
 
They worked me into the heli, like a sodden sack. Danil pawed through my gear, 
emerged with fresh trousers. Minutes later, the engine running, I sat shivering 
before the heat vent, holding a handkerchief to the cut on my scalp.
 
Philip strapped himself in.
 
I muttered, "I could use a drink."
 
"So could I.** Danil.
 
I raised an eyebrow. "You said you didn't"
 
"Today I'd start." His gaze was defiant.
 
When we lifted off, the bridge still stood, engulfed in turbulent eddies.
 
CHAPTER 12
 
We've got them." General Donner sounded triumphant
 
I stared at my caller, biting my lip. "How can you be sure?" I lay on my bed in 
a posh Munich hotel. A warm bam had done wonders, though getting myself out of 
the tub unaided had been a battle. Afterward, I'd flopped on the bath-mat like a 
beached fish.
 
"We monitored every call every joey made, who had anything to do with the dead 
terrorists, or Booker's family. The puters watched for patterns."
 
I asked, "Only seven?"
 
"There have to be more. That's why we haven't picked them up."
 
"It's a risk."
 
"To a degree, Mr. SecGen. But they can't sneeze without our knowing. We've 
parabolic mikes, sensors above and beneath their flats, wires in their cars, 
agents following everywhere."
 
"One of your joeys will let himself be seen. They'll catch on."
 
"And we take them in custody. It's under control, Mr. SecGen."
 
"Have you found Booker?"
 
"Not yet. P and D will reveal his whereabouts. One of them has to know." "And if 
not?" He sounded patient. "We keep looking.**
 
"Be careful, Donner. If they escape I'll..." No need to threaten. He knew. "Keep 
it under wraps."
 
"No one knows we found them but Ms. Burns from Naval Intelligence, and three of 
my own U,N. Security aides. I didn't even tell the jerries."
 
"Very well." We rang off.
 
I'd see that P and D was authorized for the lot of them. This time we had the 
evidence, and no rational judge could object. Our cadets would be avenged. And 
Alexi. I sat brooding, until the caller woke me from a doze.
 
"It's Mikhael, Ms. Seafort said I could call."
 
"How are you?"
 
"Let me go home." A silence, which I did nothing to break. "It's a mistake, 
staying with you."
 
"Your mother said two months."
 
"She won't mind."
 
"I will." The gash in my forehead throbbed. I would have a lump. Lord God knew 
what the mediamen would make of it
 
"1 hate it here. I'm calling Mom."
 
"Be silent!" I spoke as to a middy,
 
"She'll send a frazzing ticket I'm out of here."
 
I choked the caller, wishing it were he. "For the moment I'm your guardian. 
You'll-"
 
"So?"
 
I roared* "Put Arlene on the line! Do it now!"
 
"Aillsaid—*
 
This instant!"
 
Long moments passed.
 
Her tone was cautious. "I hear you're on the warpath?"
 
"Give him calisthenics 'til his tongue hangs out Put him
to work, and ground him to his room otherwise. I'll be back day after tomorrow. 
He's not to use the caller."
 
"He irked your
 
"I won't put up with—" Distant, impotent, I fumed. "I've caned middies for 
less!"
 
"No doubt."
 
I gathered the shreds of my calm. "He wanted to go home. Why?"
 
"He told a few tasteless jokes. I was a bit short with him."
 
"Such as?"
 
"What do you call a Hollander with a life vest? Bob. What's a Hollander doing in 
a boat? Camping out"
 
"Ugh."
 
"N icky, those joeys have been through hell since the polders flooded. I wish 
you'd been here to greet them, that day you stayed at Academy. I wasn't that 
hard on him, after all he's an adolescent, but—"
 
"Alexi would be disgusted." I was sure of it Once, he'd heard our middies make 
jokes about the transpops, and... I brought myself back to the present 'The 
jokes were obnoxious, but more important Mikhael was rude to me. Deal with him, 
hon. You have a knack with joeykids."
 
"Easy for you to say, from across the globe." Her tone turned serious. "Love, I 
spoke with Philip. He's rather upset."
 
It took me aback. "Why?"
 
"He says he hurt you. And that you mock him."
 
"Hon, it's ..." I couldn't explain; it was too complicated. "I'm all right And I 
won't mock. Now, as to Mikhael—"
 
"I'll set him straight" Her tone was grim. Almost I pitied the boy. Arlene was 
quite capable of enforcing her will. Even P.T. had learned that in Ms teen 
years.
 
A knock. I rolled to the door.
 
Jared Tenere, shifting from foot to foot like an errant
Schoolboy. "May I come in?" He squeezed past "P.T. thinks
 
I'm out for a walk."
 
"Whyr
 
He sat. "Mr. Seafort, I haven't known you long enough to... I mean, since our 
talk..."
 
"It's all right"
 
He studied the carpet "I came to explain him."
 
I snorted. "There's no need,"
 
"You're wrong." His quiet assurance startled me. "You think he's... impulsive, 
as he was as a boy,"
 
I smiled. "You were more so."
 
"I was glitched," A calm acceptance, that earned my approval. "But he's planned 
mis trip for months. Years."
 
I swallowed.
 
"My Philip..." He came off the chair, settled on the floor at my feet, crossed 
his legs. "He's the most passionate joey I ever met." A sudden blush. "I don't 
mean that way, though even there..." A shy smile. "He'd give his life for his 
beliefs. He's so intense he frightens me."
 
I said, "A fanatic."
 
"Not at all. He listens; fanatics don't You can convince him he's wrong, but 
that's seldom,"
 
"I wish I could,"
 
"He wants desperately to persuade you, Mr. Seafort. I don't know what he'll do 
if he fails."
 
"There are other politicians."
 
"We've lived together... how long now, five years? I love him. But you're still 
the focus of his life. He reveres you. When he saw your blood... tonight I held 
him for over an hour. He couldn't stop revving. He held it off all afternoon; he 
couldn't let you see."
 
"Why not?*
 
"He was afraid you'd commit to help him, from pity,"
 
Oh, Philip.
 
He whispered, "You've so much power to hurt him,"
 
That's not fair."
 
"It's not that you try." He groped for words. "But you won't truly listen. You 
won't open your heart to him. And you know, is it so terrible what he wants? To 
bring the world back from ruin?"
 
"It's not so simple."
 
"It is, if you do it." His hand darted to my knee, for a fleeting moment "If you 
simply do it."
 
I sat silent a long while. "Rob Boland did a good job with you." My tone was 
gruff.
 
"Uncle Robbie saved my life." A tentative smile. That's all I came to say."
 
I leaned forward, kissed him softly on the brow. 'Take careof my son."
 
Just past midnight, the caller buzzed. Groggily, I switched it on. "Yes?"
 
"Mr. Seafort? Cisno Valera."
 
I tried to sit up, realized I'd have to haul my legs into position, gave it up. 
"Something's gone wrong?"
 
"I do wish you'd turn on visuals," My Deputy SecGen sounded peevish. "It's so 
much easier, seeing who you're talking to."
 
I hated visuals, and he knew it. Everyone knew, who'd ever called me. But no 
point alienating Cisno* I'd embarrassed him enough in my hospital press 
conference. I tried not to sigh aloud, "Just a moment."
 
With an effort, I dragged my legs into position, sat up, propped pillows behind 
my back, brushed back my hair. I flicked the visuals switch, waited for the 
intellilens to find me, lock in its focus,
 
"Yes?"
 
Valera's sallow face loomed. "Oh, sorry, I didn't realize you'd gone to bed. 
You're going too far, with the enviro bills. The natives are restless,"
 
"What natives?"
 
"The Senate is up in arms," He spoke from his Rotunda
office. He was staying late. No, it wasn't that late in North America. "For one 
thing, why haven't you cracked down on the enviro fringe?"
 
I raised an eyebrow. "You demand my explanation?" "Not I." His tone was 
unctuous. "The Senate does. We have to show those eco loonies we won't dream of 
caving in. Instead, you push enviro legislation, and let the Eco League go 
unpunished. You haven't—" "We're searching for—"
 
"—a state of emergency would let us use P and D—" "—any sign of them. And 
until—" 44—you've gone soft!" His words rang in the sudden silence. Valera 
cleared his throat, spoke with less vehemence. "Look, you can sway the Assembly 
with foolish enviro sentiment, but Senators tend to ally themselves with 
business interests, regardless of party. You know that's so." "Cisno, what's the 
crisis that provoked your call?" "The Senate won't go along with your Greenhouse 
Gases Act." Did I detect a hint of satisfaction? "I had word today from Rob 
Boland. Such a massive reduction in emissions—"
 
"Five percent is a pittance!" Now I sounded like Cadet Bevin, or worse, his 
father. Forgetting I had visuals, I rolled my eyes.
 
"Interstellar Ltd. doesn't think so, or Boeing Airbus, or—"
 
"Spare me the list" I rubbed my face. "You support the
Administration on this?" "I always support your Administration." His voice was
silky.
 
"Mine, or ours?"
 
"You're the SecGen. It's your policy."
 
"And if we fail in the Senate..." The Government wouldn't fall; only an Assembly 
vote could unseat us. But a defeat on legislation that had so caught the public 
eye would bring calls for my resignation, some from my own party. Valera, of 
course, would be waiting quietly in the wings. I could almost sense his glee.
 
"So, now." I savored the moment. "How shall we handle this? Dissolve the 
Assembly and Senate and call new elections?"
 
"Mr. SecGen!" That would be the last solution he sought: my bringing the battle 
to them, on my own terms. The game of politics was truly dreadful. I quelled my 
distaste.
 
"Or perhaps I ought to reshuffle the Cabinet," I mused. "Give you that Colonial 
Affairs post you always wanted. Bring Robbie Boland in as Deputy SecGen."
 
I'd resign before I put Colonial Affairs in Valera's hands, but he needn't know 
that. He would be aghast at my proposal; what he'd hoped for was the colonial 
ministry in addition to his post as deputy, not in place of it.
 
As I expected, he launched a flurry of protest I let him persuade me to leave 
things as they were.
 
Regardless, he'd heard my unspoken message; I considered him expendable, and 
would throw him overboard if I heard a hint of disloyalty. He'd still work 
against me, perhaps, but with much more caution.
 
One of these days, I would have to squeeze him out of Government. He had worked 
assiduously to cultivate the party, and many were beholden to him. But if I 
pitted my approval against his, he would lose.
 
For now.
 
Breakfast, in my suite, was a miserable affair. I hadn't slept an iota. In the 
small hours, I'd crawled out of bed, done my best to kneel, spent an hour in 
unanswered prayer.
 
Now, I was tired, irritable, and sore.
 
"Path?" Philip's hand covered mine. "One more favor?"
 
"Whatever it is, all right."
 
He looked startled. "You mean it?"
 
"Yes." Did he doubt me?
 
"When we get in the heli, I want..." He looked uncomfortable. "I'd like you to 
sit on the floor." I roared, "Whatr "So you won't see where we're going. It 
won't take long."
 
"Absolutely not! Out of the question." Was he twitting me? Of all the 
disrespect...
 
"Very well, sir." He said no more.
 
Bevin looked reproachful. Almost, I slapped him. "One demerit. Change your 
demeanor."
 
"Aye aye, sir." He threw down his napkin. "May I leave the tabler
 
"Make it two."
 
I gulped my lukewarm coffee, poured more. Maybe it would help.
 
While Philip loaded the heli, I called the desk, asked to pay our bill. Philip 
already had. 1 told them to change it to my name. They refused; he'd left 
instructions not to allow it. I slammed down the caller.
 
Danil held the doors for my chair. At the heli, I sat in the doorway, useless 
legs dangling, while they loaded my battered machine. Jared threw in the 
duffels.
 
I eyed him sourly. "Sit in front, with Philip."
 
"And you, Mr. Seafort?"
 
"Back here." I tried to make myself comfortable on the hell's deck. "Give me a 
cushion." Philip shot me a look of such gratitude it was almost worth the 
discomfort
 
With the sun behind clouds, I had no clue as to our heading. The engine droned. 
I dozed. Bevin sat, arms folded, staring out the window. I debated canceling his 
demerits; if he'd looked at me even once, I would have.
 
An acrid odor woke me. I raised my voice over the motor. "How much longer?"
 
"Soon, Path."
 
"I ache."
 
"This is our last stop." His voice was sad.       x
 
Home. A decent bed. Ariene's warm embrace.
 
A while later we swooped down. In moments the blades came to a halt Wearily, I 
stretched. Danil threw open the door. A stench assaulted my nose, my throat My 
eyes burned.
 
"We'll need these today.** Philip handed out masks. I slipped mine on. After a 
moment my breathing eased. The heli's filters had done well; the pollution 
hadn't been a problem until we landed.
 
"Where are we, Volgograd?" The pollution from heavy metals outside the sprawling 
gravitron plant was infamous.
 
Philip made no answer. From the deck of the heli, all I could see was a roadway, 
barren dead trees beyond.
 
P.T. said, "Danil, help Jared with the chair." He climbed in, sat beside me. 
"Let me tell you about the joeys—"
 
"Don't personalize it Not again." An effective tactic, until one grew weary.
 
"—who lived here last. Three generations." His voice was muffled in the mask. 
"Farmers, two of them. The son went off to the Service. Later, he brought his 
wife home, to stay. By then, the land was no longer fanned. They divorced. She 
lived on awhile, with her second husband. They sold out"
 
"No one died? No flood?" I'd promised not to mock, but the night had unraveled 
my intent
 
"No, they just left. Hie neighbor who bought it hoped to add it to his farm. But 
that wasn't possible."
 
"Because of the smell. Show me what you came for. It must be exceptional, if you 
saved it for last"
 
He grasped me around the shoulders, slipped his hand under my arm. With strength 
I didn't know he had, he moved me to the doorway. Together, he and Jared lifted 
me to the chair.
 
"Behind us."
 
The heli blocked my view. For a moment in our bulky masks, we were huge ungainly 
flies come to survey a win-dowsill.
 
"Chair, around the heli." Obediently, it rolled. "Philip, what am I looking 
for?" He couldn't hear me. I tore off the mask. "P.T.!" Sulphur gagged me. I 
coughed, spluttered, wheezed. Hastily I donned the mask.
 
I blinked to clear my streaming eyes. I'd rub them, but the mask interfered. 
Placidly, Philip rushed my chair along a walk, down a slope toward a dimly seen 
house.
 
"I don't need to see, son. You've made your point."
 
He squeezed my shoulder, turned, and walked away.
 
Danil took his place. "Sir, where are we?"
 
"Some godforsaken hellhole. No doubt he picked the worst place on the planet, to 
impress me/' I blinked; my vision began to clear. Brown, unhealthy grass. A 
neglected fence. A few scraggly trees, struggling against impossible odds.
 
"It's just a farm," said Danil. "A ratty old place, if you ask me. Mr. Winstead 
could show you a thousand—"
 
A cry of despair.
 
He leaped, as if galvanized.
 
"No. Not here. NO!"
 
"Sir, what—"
 
'Take me away!" My fists beat a tattoo on the chair.
 
He drew back, stared at me hi shock.
 
Father's farm, the home of my boyhood.
 
Cardiff.
 
The remains of blistered paint hung from sagging siding.
 
A quarter century, since I'd last been home. Not since my wife Annie... I'd left 
her here with Eddie Boss, and fled to the monastery. Eventually she divorced me. 
The farm was a last gift. I hadn't wanted to see it, see her, recall life's 
promise I'd squandered.
 
The gate I'd oft vowed to fix lay rotted across the walk.
 
The hill behind, down which I'd run, arms spread wide to catch the wind, was 
gray and dead.
 
In my mask, I began to weep.
 
Danil's hand flicked to my shoulder, darted away as if burned.
 
"Philip!" It was a plea.
 
"Yes, Path." His breath rasped in his mask.
 
"Why?"
 
"I had to personalize it" His tone was gentle. "So you'd understand."
 
It undid me.
 
When he thought I could hear, he said, 'Tart of it is the reopened mills." He 
gestured toward Bridgend road, and Cardiff.
 
"We have pollution laws—"
 
"After the fish bombed us, the regs were waived. We needed every iota of 
production. But the worst of it isn't ours. It blows across from the continent"
 
"It's unspeakable!"
 
"I tried to tell you."
 
I clutched him. 'Take me away."
 
"Not just yet, Path. You mustn't forget" Then, softer, "We must none of us 
forget"
 
"What happened to... them?"
 
"Annie died, a few years ago. Eddie lives in Prague."
 
"Would he let me see him?" Why did I ask?
 
"I imagine so, sir."
 
"You said they sold it" My wave took in the house, the land, my past
 
"To Garth." The neighbor, whose straying cows so maddened Father. "He gave it 
up."
 
"Who owns it now?"
 
"I do, sir." He met my gaze. "Uncle Rob lent me the money. I pay him each 
month."
 
I surveyed the abandoned house, the useless land My tone was bitter. "It 
couldn't have been much."
 
"Enough."
 
I stared at the rotted gate. Abruptly I whipped off my mask, leaned over the 
side of the chair, retched
 
"Easy, sir. You'll be all right"
 
"Oh, no. I'll never be that." I fumbled with the mask. "Forgive me."
 
Was it Philip, or Lord God, to whom I spoke?
 
Neither answered.
 
After a time I said, "Why did you buy it?"
 
"I hope to live here before I die."
 
A long time passed.
 
"You will." My grip on his arm was iron. "I swear so, Philip. You will."
 
We sat in the heli, drained. Jared produced a flask; eagerly I swallowed the 
stinging liquor. I handed it back; he drank deep, offered it again. I poured a 
small amount into a tiny cup, gave it to Danil. "None of you see me." SecGen or 
not, it could land me in gaol. The boy likewise.
 
Manfully he downed it, and spluttered until his face was red.
 
Philip started the engine. "The hotel?"
 
"Where is it?"
 
"I booked us in Devon." He tried to sound casual, know-big I'd be pleased.
 
"Not quite yet. Can you find the cemetery?"
 
"From the air."
 
Again we set down. I visited Father's grave. Those around it were untended and 
forlorn, but his plot was neatly mowed. A few flowers drooped. I raised an 
eyebrow within my mask.
 
Philip shrugged. "It doesn't cost much."
 
Thank you." It was my task, unfulfilled. Forgive me, Father.
 
"Shall we go?"
 
"In a moment." I tried to wheel my chair up the hill. Breathing heavily through 
his mask, Danil came behind to push."Over there, to the left. Two rows back." I 
could find the place in my sleep.
 
Oftentimes, I had.
 
"That granite marker. The brown one." We stopped. "Help me out of the chair." I 
hadn't knelt for Father, but I would here.
 
He lowered me to the ground. "Who is it, sir?"
 
"My best friend, Jason. He was just your age." As I had been, in the distant 
past
 
I bowed my head Presently, I became aware of a small form, kneeling at my side.
 
Somehow, it gave me solace.
 
A few minutes later, I struggled into my chair. The demerits are canceled."
 
Thank you."
 
"I'm sorry I'm cruel."
 
"I'm sorry I provoke you. I'll try to do it less." A wise young joey. He didn't 
promise the impossible complete reversal." Jerence Branstead looked stunned.
 
Til do what I can to help." I dmmmed my desktop. It was an immense relief to be 
home. Outside the complex, a crowd had once more gathered. Perhaps I ought to 
make time to see them, but shaking each outthnist hand could fill my day, if not 
my life. I sighed. With what I had planned, I'd probably not be in office long. 
Perhaps somehow they sensed that, and were saying their farewells.
 
Tm not sure who'll stay faithful," he said. "It'll split the party."
 
"Yes." So be it I'd spent a sleepless night debating my course. "Jerence..." 
Automatically, I looked about to make sure no one heard except Philip, sitting 
quietly in the comer. "About a third of the Terries are closet enviros. If we 
hold half our Supras, and pull in the Enviros and the Indies, we'll have just 
enough votes."
 
"Form a new coalition? Sir, on an issue this big, there's no going back. The 
parties will realign." He seemed awed.
 
"Perhaps that's for the best" The Terries and the Supras had traded Governments 
between them long enough.
 
"But... scrap the Greenhouse Gases Act, after we barely saved it?"
 
"I won't pretend that a five percent reduction is enough."
 
"Last week it was too much for you."
 
I closed my eyes, recalling our long deliberation at Devon. During the course of 
the evening P.T. had overwhelmed me with figures, with charts he called up on my 
puter, with frightening statistics. He gave me his word they were not 
exaggerated, and Philip's word was rock.
 
Why, during all my years, had I not seen?
 
I'd been occupied with the fish wars. Busy restoring our desperately injured 
economy. Busy halting the extermination of the transpops, the spoliation of our 
cities.
 
It was fundamentally wrong to interfere with His plan; nothing Philip showed me 
changed my belief. But we had interfered. Surely, Lord God couldn't have meant 
us to befoul Father's homestead. Or reduce Bavaria to a sodden ruin. Or 
devastate Volgograd, or Amsterdam, or Louisiana...
 
I'm sorry.
 
When You send me to Hell, You will hear me bleat, as always, "I'm sorry."
 
I said, "We need a full sixteen percent reduction."
 
"Unachievable, politically."
 
We'd see.
 
"That's only the start," I warned. "Of course we'll work on cleaning up the 
filth we spew—that goes without saying—but atmospheric warming is our biggest 
problem. Every time we burn a fossil fuel, we're releasing the energy of 
sunlight stored millions of years ago. That, in addition to our normal 
complement of sunlight today. We simply put out too much energy."
 
"I've seen the briefings."
 
"We can reduce the energy we expend, or the energy mat reaches us. A top 
priority will be the Solar Umbrella." As I spoke, P.T. watched with approval 
that was almost parental
 
Branstead folded his arms. "Not that wild scheme again."
 
"It's been around almost two hundred years. Set a shield between us and the 
sun—"
 
"It would be two thousand kilometers across! Mr. Sec-Gen, no matter what we make 
it of, we can't lift that much mass from our gravity well."
 
"We don't have to. We'll buy ore from the asteroid mines.'*
 
"The Navy won't be amused." The vast majority of asteroid production was 
earmarked for Naval hulls, years in advance.
 
"The Navy will do what it's told."
 
Jerence sighed. "Give me a few days to break it to our joeys." He shook his 
head. "A shake-up this big... You'll have to lead. Actively."
 
"Very well. I'll work the caller, and make speeches."
 
"Deals, also. Not every pol is a visionary."
 
I'd known it would be necessary. "That too." I smiled, thinly. "What shall we 
call ourselves?"
 
Philip cleared his throat. "The Born Again Ecos?"
 
My smile vanished. "That's not funny." We would birth a political party, not a 
religious revolution. To suggest otherwise, even in jest, skirted heresy.
 
"And then there's the Eco League." Branstead looked grim. "It'll look like 
you're caving in, no matter how we phrase it."
 
"Not after they're captured." Even Jerence didn't know the extent of Dormer's 
surveillance.
 
Our meeting drew to a close. Jerence shook hands gravely, wandered off with P.T. 
to find Arlene. I rolled to the door. "Is our cadet up? Oh. You." I frowned.
 
Mikhael stood quickly. "May I see you?"
 
"Very well."
 
He shut the door, leaned against it. "I apologize. I won't do it again, sir. I'm 
here for two months and I won't give you any more goofjuice about it"
 
I regarded him. He was sweating. "Getting along with Arlene?" My tone held a 
gentle malice.
 
"She's—" Whatever he intended to say, he thought better of it
 
"Not to be trifled with," I finished.
 
"No, sir."
 
"Take a seat" Promptly, he did so. Perhaps mat was the solution to all my 
problems: pass them to Arlene. "Did she hit you?"
 
"No, she—" He swallowed. "Almost"
 
"Anything else she told you to say?"
 
He flushed deep red. "I'm to call you 'sir,' agree with you or keep my opinions 
to myself, and that it's decent of you to take me in."
 
"She went a bit too far." I permitted myself a wintry smile. "You're that afraid 
of her?"
 
"Not afraid, exactly. It's... sir, the next time you take a trip, could I come 
along?"
 
My smile widened I'd have to ask her technique. On the other hand, perhaps I 
didn't want to know. "Easy, joey. I want you civilized, not terrorized."
 
"Thank you." He hesitated. "Would you tell her I spoke to you?"
 
"Ann." I made a tent of my fingers. "What was her deadline?"
 
"One o'clock sir. Would she really ..." He squirmed. "May I be excused?"
 
"Yes." As he stood, I said, "No, stay awhile." I liked the new Mikhael much 
better. On the other hand, fear wasn't respect; I still had to reach him. "I'll 
be going on a speaking tour. Would you like to come?"
 
"Yes, please." His response was instant Then, "Does it have to do with your 
closed door meetings? All the calls?"
 
"It's none of your— Yes." I shouldn't tell him; he had no discretion. But he was 
Alexi's son, and in my care.
 
"We're planning a major change in policy," I said.
 
"Enviro policy.**
 
If I could, I'd have bolted to my feet. "How'd you know?**
 
"I'm not stupid.** Seeing my face, he added hastily, "Bevin, sir. The cadet's 
had a goofy smile on his face ever since you got home. He's enviro, isn't he? 
Told me his father worked for the Enviro League.'*
 
"Council. The Eco League is an entirely ... the Enviro
Council." "Whatever. So, if it made him so happy .. .** Mikhael
shrugged.
 
For an instant I hesitated, then thrust my future in his hands. "We're going all 
out for enviro restoration.**
 
"Why?** It wasn't a challenge, just curiosity.
 
"Don't you think we need it?**
 
"Who cares what I think?" His tone was bitter.
 
-I do.**
 
"I suppose. The sea levels are.. .** His face twisted. '1 didn't mean anything 
by that Dutch joke, sir!** "I know, Mikhael.** My tone was gentle. "She made me 
feel like I drowned them myself. It wasn'tfair."
 
"We don't laugh at people in pain.** I told him of the visit from the Dutch 
relief committee, described the appalling devastation of Bangladesh I'd seen on 
my overflights. "Ar-lene was with me. She cried." Mikhael scuffed his foot. "I'm 
sorry.** "She'll be glad to know."
 
"But Holland is nothing new. What changed your mind?" "Philip. Though it was 
there for me to see." He studied me, as if weighing my answer. I said, "In 
Academy nowadays, they don't let cadets outdoors when gamma radiation is high, 
and it happens more and more often. We've had spills, spews, horrid floods, 
fires, an upsurge in cancers for the first time in a century. Food production is 
in chaos; we're utterly dependent on the colonies. It's all eco-related."
 
"It's not your fault"
 
"I made myself blind!" I rested head in hands. "How many died while I was 
obstinate?"
 
"Dad told me, don't take on the cares of the world."
 
"Father taught me otherwise. The joey who shot at me... his family lost their 
fishing boat in the Pacific die-off. That sergeant who killed those cadets: his 
family died of toxic contamination. The Eco Action League is wrong, and 
irresponsible, but I ignored their pleas, goaded them until..." I cut it off, 
appalled.
 
"Yes?"
 
I couldn't say it
 
No. Let it be part of my punishment.
 
I whispered, "You were right I killed your father. If I'd seen reason, the Eco 
League wouldn't have set off the bomb."
 
"Oh, Mr. Seafort!" His eyes glistened. "I want so much to hate you." A long 
pause. "But Mr. Carr told me all about you and Dad. I know why he wanted to go 
to the Rotunda."
 
I swallowed. "I'm sorry, Mikhael."
 
"I miss him so damn much." He hugged himself. "But I won't blame it on you."
 
A silence, in which we found a sort of peace. Eventually, I cleared my throat 
"Let's sit on the veranda. I'll pretend I'm Derek, and tell you stories."
 
"Yes, sir." He jumped to his feet still anxious to show his good behavior.
 
I gestured to him to open the double doors.
 
It was one of those increasing rarities, a cool summer day. A few years ago I'd 
had alumalloy awnings installed to block the sun. Unconsciously, I now realized, 
I'd made my accommodations to the growing enviro calamity.
 
I patted a nearby seat "I met Derek—I mean, Mr. Carr— when he was about your 
age."
 
"You enlisted him. He told me."
 
"As a cadet, first I couldn't make him middy directly.**
 
"My dad thought it was a stupid idea. He told Mr. Carr— I'm sorry!" Mikhael 
jumped to his feet. "Sir, I didn't mean
 
that!"
 
This had gone far enough. "Sit" I waited for him to comply. "I'll tell Ariene 
you're my responsibility, except when you irritate her. I'll handle the rest."
 
"I feel like a fool/' He stared at his shoes. "I'm being so careful, I stumble 
over my tongue,"
 
"You need not be quite so afraid of me. Or her, for that matter. Til allow you 
an occasional lapse. Now, go change your shirt, you've sweated through it. And 
then I'll tell you about your dad and Mr. Carr."
 
Three days passed, in relative calm. As far as I knew, Anselm stayed out of my 
liquor. He helped me in the office, and during his off-hours coached Bevin at 
his studies. The fact that the cadet was off campus didn't excuse him from his 
learning. Or, for that matter, from physical labors. From time to time, of the 
mornings, I took a break and wheeled myself to the lawn, where the middy led two 
perspiring youngsters at calisthenics.
 
Bevin exercised without complaint, as was fitting. Cadets were worked hard, and 
thrived on it Wistfully, I remembered my own Academy days, the slow filling out 
of my form, the gradual growth of pride and confidence.
 
Mikhael was another matter. Though trim and relatively fit, he hated the 
exercises with a passion, particularly in that Anselm led them. He decided to 
test me; I was adamant in refusing him reminiscences until he earned them with 
calisthenics. He responded with a volley of curses, and was made to spend a day 
in his room. Next time I'd be harder on him. The next morning he joined Anselm 
and Bevin for their full two hours. I was lavish in my praise, and wracked my 
brain for tales of my youth.
 
Toward the end of the week I began to prepare my tout For a major campaign I 
would rely heavily on my official
staff; the sat-relays between Washington and the Rotunda crackled with our 
conferences.
 
We would announce our enviro proposals two days hence, at a session of the 
Assembly. I'd follow with a whirlwind of interviews and appearances. I busied 
myself dragooning local officials into joining me on bandstands. As more and 
more joeys were taken into our confidence, rumors began to swirl. I did my best 
to keep Cisno Valera in the dark, sure that he'd trumpet the news of our 
reversal if he saw advantage in it.
 
Nonetheless, my speech, which I wrote myself, was kept totally under wraps, 
except from Jerence Branstead. No speechwriter, no staffer, not even Karen Burns 
was allowed to see it.
 
At last the time came to pack. It would be many days before I was home. Eagerly, 
Mikhael readied his own gear, helped me with mine. He was crestfallen when he 
learned Ariene would accompany us, but made a manful effort to contain himself, 
no doubt fearful I'd tell her.
 
He was more disconcerted when she went through his suitcase, smoothing and 
repacking Ms dress clothes. That she did the same for Anselm mollified him to a 
degree. Though Mikhael and Bavin got along well, there was a rivalry between 
Tamarov and the middy that threatened to flare into something more contentious.
 
It was late in the evening; we were to leave in the mom-ing. I sat in my office, 
reviewing chipnotes. Danil Bevin looked in.
 
"Yesn frowned.
 
"Sorry, sir." He turned to go. Then, "What will you tell them?"
 
"The Assembly?" A momentary annoyance, that a mere cadet had the gall even to 
ask. "That we're doing an about-face."
 
"Will they understand?" Unbidden, he took his customary workseat.
 
A wintry smile. "I certainly hope so."
 
"You ought to tell them about our trip."
 
"Don't be ridiculous." I'd marshaled my logic, worked endlessly to get the facts 
straight and in proper order.
 
"But the places he took you make it interesting. Poor Philip." He chewed a 
fingernail. "He must have been terrified he wouldn't convince you."
 
"Ohr
 
Danil blushed. "Sorry, it's none of my ... sir, I have to
 
say it. Thank you so much."
 
I raised an eyebrow. "For?"
 
"For doing what you're about to. For taking me along so I could see how it 
happened. I think... I'm watching history in the making. I know our work's 
confidential, but do you know how much I want to call my father, make sure he'll 
be at the holovid?"
 
"Have no fear." My tone was sour. There'd been rumors aplenty; every enviro on 
the planet would be glued to the
 
nets.
 
"I cried, that night."
 
"When?'
 
"In Munich, after the flood. The joeys in mat town... lives, generations drowned 
in mud." His eyes glistened. "If Philip—Mr, Seafort—if he hadn't—"
 
"Easy, boy. You're overwrought."
 
He nodded, ran a hand over his eyes. "May I see your speech?"
 
"No."
 
A sigh. "I'm sorry."
 
"It's all right" Almost, I showed it to him, but there were limits. "Your 
father's enviro work is that important to you?'
 
"He's how I got interested, but... is it true you used to be able to go out 
whenever you wanted? Play ball in the sun?"
 
"You still can, if you're careful." I leaned back. "When Jason and I were 
joeykids..." No. I wouldn't follow mat thought, or I'd become as emotional as 
he. "Someday,
Danil, when you're grown, it will be that way again. If we can get the ozone 
layer reseeded ..." It was our biggest unsolved problem. "You deserve a time in 
the sun."
 
"Will they understand, Mr. Seafortr* A whisper.
 
I tapped a copy of my carefully reasoned speech. "We'll make them understand."
 
My staff, my family, and I left for New York in full panoply. The news zincs 
covered our departure, having for days trumpeted the rumors, now grown to near 
certainty, that the Seafort Administration would either resign or turn itself 
inside out.
 
We took a suite for my family at the Skytel Sheraton, completely rebuilt after 
the invasion of the Transpop Rebellion. If the accommodations made Jared Tenere 
uncomfortable, he gave no sign. P.T. seemed troubled, and wheeled me to the 
stairwell that once we'd climbed to escape smoke and flames.
 
To ease his mind I asked, 'Have you heard from Pook?** The young Mid transpop 
had been sent to an Uppie tower school.
 
"Not since Mr. Chang died. Path, you're doing the right thing."
 
"I know." Day by day, I grew more comfortable witti my conversion.
 
"They may crucify you for it"
 
"I hope not literally."
 
My humor failed in its goal. Philip slumped on a concrete stair. "It's vital 
that we cleanse the planet. But I don't want to sacrifice you to it." His 
fingers toyed with his shirt
 
"Philip... no, look at me. Into my eyes. Do you recall mat day in the launch?* 
We'd sailed almost into Earthport's lasers, to end the transpop war.
 
"Yes, sir." His voice quavered.
 
"We were prepared that day for a greater sacrifice. If I'm
made to retire, I'll still have you. We lost each other for a while. Now I have 
you back, little else matters."
 
Something in his eyes seemed to calm. Slowly, his fingers stilled.
 
I sat at the well of the Rotunda, resplendent in my best clothes. I'd instructed 
my chair to wheel itself in, and then, in full view of holocams and the 
Assembly, had Philip and Mikhael transfer me to an armless chair. I wanted no 
mechanical curiosity to distract from my theme. Poor Mikhael, in his best 
crisply ironed jumpsuit and neckerchief, was so nervous he almost dropped me, 
but I didn't think anyone noticed. It was important that he understand the 
extent of my
 
trust
 
I stared at the expectant Assembly. In die front row, Ar-lene and Philip glowed 
with pride. The boys had retreated upstairs, in the galleries. Seats below were 
unavailable. Branstead had heard they were being resold, at scalpers' prices. 
Many wanted to witness the fall of the perpetual Seafort Administration. Row 
after row was filled with prosperous politicians, their hair perfectly coifed, 
their suits the
 
latest style.
 
At various levels of the hall, holocams pulsed. No address since my fervent plea 
to the world during the Transpop Rebellion, a dozen years prior, had been beamed 
to so wide an audience. My words would be simultaneously translated into more 
than fifty languages.
 
The hall quieted. I cleared my throat, looked down at die expectant faces.
 
Ml have come to confess my error. An error you share," My hands lay still in my 
lap. "For years—for decades—our gaze has been turned outward. To die produce of 
our colonies, to die exploits of our magnificent Navy, to warding off, and then 
repairing, die depredations of die fish."
 
My voice was flinty. "And now we must pay die price. One which would have been 
lower, had we acted sooner.
 
One which will strain our purse, but which can and must be paid."
 
An uneasy stir.
 
And then I laid before diem my grand strategy. A massive reestablishment of 
agriculture, corresponding cutbacks in industry. An end to die filth that poured 
into our air, and to die particles that devastated our ozone layer.
 
All die wild-eyed schemes for which I'd belittled die En-viro Council over die 
years.
 
As I spoke, my tone was serene, but I saw I was losing my audience. There was 
dial look of calculation, while Assemblymen contemplated which industries in 
their districts might falter, which wealthy contributors would shut off die tap 
of their munificence,
 
I had to persuade die fifteen hundred men and women in die room, else my 
aspirations would miscarry. The joeys in die fine leather chairs before me were 
die world's only hope.
 
My speech slowed.
 
No. It wasn't so.
 
They were only die delegates of my true audience. It was die joeys of die world 
I dared not lose, not these self-satisfied politicos stuffed into dieir 
well-padded seats.
 
I would have to sell die world my ideas. Or failing that, sell myself. Above 
all, die people trusted me. For years I'd scorned diem for it. Now I would call 
upon that oust.
 
But, how to reach diem?
 
Danil Bevin's earnest face floated before me. You ought to tell them about our 
trip,..
 
I abandoned my memorized text.
 
"Perhaps some of you, in your cities, your villages, your towns, saw how I 
traveled tonight, to reach diis Assembly. A heli from my compound, a jet from 
Potomac Shuttleport to New York, a fleet of helis to carry my staff to die 
Rotunda,**
 
Mediamen held up tiny recorders, aghast that I'd departed from die speech 
Branstead had just distributed. Now they'd actually have to think.
 
"I don't always travel that way. Sometimes I jounce around in a motorized chair, 
a cumbersome contraption with a mind of its own." As I'd hoped, titters loosened 
the mood of the hall.
 
"And then there's the trip my security joeys hope 1 won't reveal. A few days 
ago, I hopped into a heli—well, hop isn't quite the right word." I grinned. 
Chuckles, that broadened into guffaws. "It was an old battered heli, a rental. 1 
won't tell you which company supplied it." Laughter. "And once we were aloft, 1 
switched off my transponder. No doubt I had U.N. Security climbing the walls." 1 
had them now, every ear.
 
"And we went on a holiday of sorts, my son and I, and two aides. The joeys who 
saw us dismissed out of hand my resemblance to the SecGen. After all, even 
Seafoit wouldn't be such a fool as to travel alone." A roar of mirth.
 
I told them of the woman who'd accosted me at (he Carolina restaurant. My 
evasion evoked gales of laughter. I spoke of the Kansas hail, the Bavarian 
floods, the bisque (toll in the drowned hausfrau's hand. Of the broken highway 
in Florida that symbolized America's dream,
 
Casually, I mentioned every town we'd overflown, every motel at which we'd 
slept, every restaurant in which we'd eaten, 1 strove to make my audience see me 
not as a remote authority, but a fellow voyager roaming the same world as they. 
1 told them how Philip dented the chair mat had the effrontery to fling me to 
the mud,
 
My tone was gentle, cheerful, in fact, very much like the manner in which I'd 
spoken to Mikhael about Alexi, after his daily exercises. Just old friends, 
enjoying a quiet chat
 
I told them what I'd seen on my journey, and the horror it evoked, and my 
resolve mat while I remained in office, I would not allow it to continue. I laid 
out our plans that would reverse the worst of our depredations in a very few
years. Moving so fast would cause greater turmoil, I said, but it had the 
incomparable advantage of producing results quickly enough to persuade citizens 
that their sacrifices were not in vain.
 
I spoke of the vast combination of interests that would oppose our design, that 
included many of the joeys in this very chamber. An uneasy rustle.
 
MIt is up to you," I said. "AH of you across the world, who hear me today. We 
cannot allow politics to prevail. We cannot let economic self-interest threaten 
the continuance of our very race,**
 
I paused, gazed solemnly into the holocams. "If the Assembly and Senate of the 
United Nations support us, weU and good. But those members who don't, 1 ask you 
to remove. If our bills are amended without my consent, I will dissolve the 
Senate and Assembly—**
 
A murmur of protest. But from more than a few, willing applause.
 
"—and call new elections. Fellow citizens, we have edged our way to imminent 
disaster. It is time to reverse course. The need is great, the goal achievable, 
and the reward infinite. For yourselves, your children, and me honor of Lord 
God, I ask your support and your trust. Thank you, and may He bless us all,**
 
At first, silence. My face impassive, I stared back at mem, daring their 
hostility.
 
The applause began slowly, uncertainly. Then, like swell ing thunder heralding 
an approaching storm, it rolled in great waves across the hall. Whistles. Calls. 
The gallery rose in enthusiastic ovation, followed, shortly, by much of the 
Assembly itself. But there were those few, Terries and Supras among them, who 
remained seated, arms folded.
 
Through it all, engulfed in adulation, I sat unmoving, trembling beneath my 
calm, It was the greatest performance of my life, and the most
dishonest. I'd spoken to the holocams as to a friend. I'd offered a version of 
myself I knew to be untrue: a friendly, cheerful soul revealing himself to the 
public for the first time. An Everyman, a neighborhood joey who happened to hold 
a special office, a...
 
Enough. What I'd done was for Philip, and for Father. Over many years I'd done 
worse, and for less.
 
I would abide the cost.
 
CHAPTER 14
 
Interviews with HoloworUL Newsnet, and Holoweek, from the Skytel Sheraton. A 
much publicized visit to die New York Seawall, where I scowled at the Hudson 
esmary lapping at its massive algae-stained blocks. Then a subor-bital to 
Brazil, and a tour of the wasteland of worked-out farms that generations ago had 
been rain forest.
 
Vehement speeches in Rio, Sao Paulo, and Brasilia. Then on to Buenos Aires and 
La Plata, Montevideo, Mexico City.
 
Our days fell into a wearisome routine. Mikhael, Tad Anselm, and Bevin helped me 
get in and out of my chair, ran errands, took charge of our gear. When mere was 
time, I let mem out to explore,
 
Arlene reviewed drafts of my speeches, amending mem to keep me on point and 
lucid.
 
Jerence Branstead orchestrated quiet meetings with local leaders, in which I 
tried to win them to our program, I soon became adept at emphasizing the new 
manufactories that our enviro crusade would call forth.
 
Still, persistent questions dogged us. Why had I submitted to Eco League 
extortion? Would a covey of anonymous terrorists dictate enviro policy? I tried 
my best to keep my temper.
 
Over dinner, Arlene soothed me. "It's part of the process. Every political 
leader has gone through it."
 
"Oenghis Khan didn't."
 
Anselm snorted. Mikhael repressed a grin.
 
"Be patient, Nick. You're succeeding." The polls showed us holding our support. 
Our foes in the Assembly would take note. Few dared oppose us openly; I'd 
crafted a weighty coalition. Instead, they would kill our plans with hearings, 
with studies, with helpful amendments.
 
I called Cisno Valera. "Tell them it won't work. The package goes to the floor 
in three weeks, or I dissolve the Assembly."
 
"They can't move so fast."
 
"They'd better." I would make the issue their political
survival.
 
"Mr. Seafort..," He sounded uncomfortable. "As Deputy SecQen I can't support 
what amounts to a coup against the legislative process."
 
"Is this a parting of the ways, Cisno?"
 
He backpedaled. 'The Senate has rules, procedures, customs ..."
 
"Hurry them along. Three weeks.** I was too tired to be
diplomatic.
 
The next morning we were hi Ireland. I spoke at the Naval training station, near 
the site of the Belfast nuke, "There are those who would counsel delay. Perhaps 
they mean well. Meanwhile the tides rise two inches a year. We can afford no 
caution. We need action, strength, and resolve."
 
That night Anselm failed to come home to the hotel. Karen Burns woke me at 
three: he'd been arrested in a drunken brawl at a Navy bar. Did I want him 
released? "No." I went back to sleep.
 
In the morning, groggy and disgusted, I reversed myself, sent an aide to arrange 
bail. When the middy appeared, I sent him for a caning, with instructions not to 
go easy. Mikhael saw his demeanor afterward, and laughed outright
Trouble, but no time to deal with it; we were on to South Africa. Forty-seven 
U.N. Senators announced they would block my legislation after the Assembly was 
through with it Jerence Branstead scrambled for a key to their conversion.
 
Finally, after fifteen exhausting days, we flew home. A conference with the 
Patriarchs awaited.
 
Anselm sat next to me on the suborbital. I'd barely spoken to him in the days 
since his lapse. "I've decided to send you back to Devon."
 
He flinched. "Yes, sir." Then, "You don't know why I was fight—"
 
"I don't care."
 
'They called you a traitor to the Navy!**
 
"Who?"
 
"Lieutenants and middies, on leave from Seville. They said—"
 
"I don't want to hear it"
 
"That you sold out. That you went over to the ecos!"
 
"Bah. Idle talk, by drunken louts. And you were one of them."
 
He flushed. "I—yes."
 
"Why'd you drink? The dream again?"
 
"No," He squared his shoulders. "I was feeling sorry for myself."
 
"You imagine you did me honor, standing up for me? I despise it,"
 
His voice was tremulous. "So do I» now Tm sober. But when I heard them—"
 
"Perhaps you'll do better in your next posting."
 
"Yes, sir." His tone was forlorn. A last appeal. "I don't think I'll do it 
again."
 
"Too late."
 
"I'm ready to swear—**
 
"You already swore to obey all lawful orders. Your word is worthless," Brutal, 
but I no longer cared. The Senators
were inflexible. I had too many burdens, and a miscreant middy was more than I 
could deal with. He cried, "Help me rather than ruin me!" 'Tad, you're not the 
center of my life." He put his head in his hands. After a moment I asked 
gruffly, "How?" A glance, as if hoping against hope. "Keep me busy. Give me 
extra duties. Those letters you wanted, to the Norwegian legislators. Til draft 
them. You said you'd like to have Charlie Witrek visit. I'll arrange it. 
Anything you say, I'll do. Just let me talk..." He blushed furiously. "Let me 
talk with you and Ms. Seafort sometimes. I get so lonely."
 
On base, or aboard ship, middies were among their own kind. They had the 
wardroom, their mates, for companionship and solace. While I mused, he fidgeted. 
"Sir, I won't drink. I can't
 
stand it anymore." "Being drunkr The caning. You don't know what it's like."
 
"Of course I do."
 
"I'm seventeen next week. That's supposed to be too old for—I'm sorry, no 
criticism, sir. But I'm not a joeykid. To be bent across a barrel, and have some 
lieutenant beat me, his knowing that I disgraced myself, that I was slobbering 
drunk..." He bit back a sob. "It hurts so. And then to come home to Mikhael's 
laughter, and your contempt, that's the worst part." His eyes were damp. "Sir, 
it won't—I don't know how I'll stop myself, but I will."
 
If I didn't send him home to Devon, I'd be responsible for the consequences. And 
yet... "A caning every time you drink: that won't change." "Yes, sir." "And if 
you fail to inform me, you're dismissed from the
 
Service." Honor was everything. "I know, sir." "Tell Mr. Branstead you're to 
help with my appointments
list Evenings, you can help Warren sort my mail." I rarely spoke with my puter 
in the Rotunda, preferring to let him handle routine inquiries. He sounded more 
like me than I did myself.
 
"Sir, I thank you with all my heart." An old-fashioned phrase, that moved me 
unduly.
 
We broke out of the clouds, into the smog of the Northeast.
 
"Most unwise." Bishop Saythor glowered. His colleagues seemed to agree; their 
expressions were unfavorable, some downright unfriendly. All the Patriarchs save 
one were assembled in Council, at the magnificent, soaring Reunification 
Cathedral in Chicago. I sat alone, facing them, nervously tapping the arms of my 
chair.
 
I said, "It must be done."
 
"Just as our economy was starting to rebound—"
 
"Sir, is this about wealth?"
 
The President of the Latter-day Saints wagged a finger. "Not wealth, but what it 
represents. The power of Lord God made manifest, His embodiment on Earth—"
 
I was still jet-lagged, and resented being summoned so abruptly. "Was Jesus not 
that?"
 
The Bishop of Rome bristled. "You dare argue theology with us?"
 
"No, sir, I apologize. I was wrong." Inwardly, I cursed my folly. Theirs was to 
speak on matters ecclesiastical, mine to obey.
 
"By shattering the wealth of nations, you threaten Mother Church herself." 
Saythor was stern. "It's vital that we advance the good name of the Church at 
home and in the colonies."
 
"What would you have me do?"
 
"Scale back your ambitions. Accomplish what you may without wreaking havoc."
 
"You wouldn't have me forsake enviroism altogether?"
 
"You spoke publicly, for die Government You mustn't be seen to reverse 
yourself." But I had reversed myself, in my speech to the Assembly. Abruptly I'd 
revoked a decades-old policy of benign neglect. What the Patriarchs meant was 
that my proposals had gained too much popular support to be
abandoned utterly.
 
Bishop Saythor said, "As much as we dislike the thought, the Church must be run 
as a business. Destabilizing change, one that leaves our parishioners in 
poverty, impacts inevitably on Church finances and on its work,"
 
I watched curiously. Would Lord God strike him dead? Surely He would not allow 
such thoughts to be uttered in the name of His Church.
 
But He was silent
 
So was I.
 
"Well, Mr. SecGenr
 
"I'll think on it" Why did I temporize?
 
"We need more than that"
 
"We've had this conversation before, sir." I held his gaze.
 
He flushed "Yes, we can disavow you. We've discussed
 
it"
 
"Andr
 
"The time isn't opportune," They'd read the polls. I'm sorry, Lord. I apologize 
for Your vicars.
 
Later, I called Arlene. "I still hold office."
 
"Shall I say it's a relief r
 
"Not for you, I know." My tone was gentle. "It won't be long now. I have a 
sense."
 
"Before I forget, Mark Tilnitz called. He's most anxious
 
to see you."
 
"What about?"
 
"He wouldn't say. Nicky, something's wrong; I think he's gone glitched. Be 
careful. Talk to him by caller."
 
"I'm not afraid of Mark. If he wants his job back I'd be delight—"
 
'Twice he asked me who else was on the line. Security's a horrible job; the 
pressure may have been too much—"
 
"Mark's as stable as they come." I shrugged, forgetting Arlene couldn't see. 
"Call him back, have him to the house tonight." A few hours wouldn't matter.
 
On the way to Daley Shuttleport a priority call from General Dormer. "We have a 
lead on Broker!"
 
"Praise God." The murderer of my cadets would be brought to justice. "How? 
When?"
 
"Our phone taps. He finally called the cousin. He's in Barcelona."
 
"We've waited long enough. Round them up."
 
"I concur. This evening, in a coordinated sweep."
 
In the plane, I was exultant. The terrorists were broken. I called in Karen 
Bums, shared a toast "They'll hang, every one of them,"
 
"Naturally."
 
"P and D will tell the whole story." I wondered why we'd waited. Still, better 
safe than sorry.
 
"Congratulations, sir."
 
I exulted, "Now, the enviro bills will sail through the Assembly. A lot of die 
Terries hesitated because they feared I was giving in to blackmail."
 
"It must be a great relief,** She'd been present, I recalled, at the Rotunda 
bombing. To have her principal injured on her watch must be a nightmare.
 
I poured more champagne. "Mark wants to see me. Does he want back on the 
detail?**
 
"I wouldn't know." She sounded cool. "You haven't spoken to him?"
 
"This evening. He's coming to the compound."
 
Home at last, I let them help me from the hcli to the chair. Karen excused 
herself to make some calls. I summoned Danil, During my long trip, a mountain of 
paperwork had accumulated.
 
The cadet slipped into my office.
 
"Start with the summaries of the zincs. File them by— good heavens* let me see 
that"
 
Reluctantly, he came close. A mouse, under his right eye. "How'd that happen?"
 
He shuffled his feel. "1, uh, ran into something, sir." It served me right, 
asking him to criticize a superior. He'd never betray his midshipman, not if he 
wanted my respect
 
Unlike middies, cadets were considered children, subject to the discipline of 
their betters. But I'd never allowed a middy to punish a cadet, not once in my 
career. It too easily led to abuse. The gall of Anselm, after my own leniency. 
"Why did he do itr
 
Danil shuffled his feet "We had a fight" I went off like a skyrocket. "ANSELM, 
GET DOWN HERE!" I slammed down the caller. "Get some ice, boy."
 
"Sir, he—"
 
"Don't argue! Put ice on that bruise, this very moment"
 
"Aye aye, sir." He rushed off.
 
"Midshipman Anselm reporting, sir!"
 
"Take that jacket off! Fifty push-ups. Move!"
 
"Aye aye, sir!" He dropped to the ground.
 
I fumed, rolling my chair from side to side, as if to pace, "Faster! If you mink 
you can get away with—"
 
"Is mis good enough, sir?" Bevin, with a cloth full of ice. He held it to his 
cheek.
 
"Why'd he hit you? None of that guff about not telling
 
me. I won't—" "Sir, I—"
 
"Middy, be silent Thirty more push-ups. Well, Cadet?" "It wasn't Mr. Anselm, 
sir. I tried to tell you!" At my feet, Anselm labored. His breath came hard. 
"Who, then?" "Mr. Tamarov, sir."
 
I gaped. Then, at last "As you were, Anselm." Gratefully, the middy let himself 
sag.
 
"I'm, er, sorry." I grimaced at the panting boy. "How many demerits have you 
accumulated?"
 
"Three, sir."
 
"One is canceled." It was the least I could do.
 
"Thank you." Anselm hesitated. "Could I do eighty more for another?" Amazingly, 
his eye held a twinkle.
 
"No. And don't twit me or—" Well, I couldn't always be an ogre. "Yes, you may."
 
With delight, he dropped to the floor. Canceling a demerit normally required two 
full hours of calisthenics.
 
"Danil, did you strike Mikhael first?"
 
"No, sir." Firm, no hesitation.
 
"Very well, file those zincs; you know where they go. Chair, out" I found 
Mikhael in the den, watching a holo. "You. Come along," I led him to the office. 
"Apologize to Mr. Bevin."
 
"Mister? He's a frazzing cadet!"
 
"Fair warning, Mikhael. You've gone too far." If he retracted his horns now, I'd 
let him be.
 
Fists bunched, he took a step toward Anselm, "Don't smirk, you fucking grode!"
 
"Danil, Tad, excuse us,** My tone was low, ominous. I whirled on Mikhael. "You 
have a foul mouth,"
 
"Who cares?"
 
What possessed a joeykid to speak so to an adult? Did he flunk we still lived in 
the Rebellious Ages? "Fetch a bar of soap,"
 
"You're out of your mind! Nobody's going to—"
 
"You'll do it yourself."
 
"The fuck I will!"
 
With great effort, I wheeled from behind the desk, skidded to the door, turned 
my chair. "That's it, Mikhael." I fumbled at my belt.
 
"You're not touching me."
 
I rolled toward him. He darted behind my desk. Laboriously, I rolled after.
Mikhael threw open the veranda doors, bolted into the dusk.
 
Cursing under my breath, I retraced my path, opened my door. "Come in, boys." I 
indicated chairs. "What was this about?' They exchanged glances. "None of that! 
Speak.'*
 
Bevin looked uncomfortable. "He was ragging Mr. Anselm again."
 
"Andr
 
"Instead of decking him, Mr. Anselm walked off. I told Mikhael what I thought of 
him," A sheepish grin. "And he smacked me."
 
"I would have too," I said sharply. Since when did a cadet berate a civilian, no 
matter what his age?
 
'It's my fault, sir." Anselm. "Danil should know better." As middy, he was in 
charge.
 
"Most certainly. Whatever is the matter between you? I won't tolerate it Go to 
your rooms."
 
"Sir, I'm—"
 
"Now."
 
They departed, I rolled from door to desk, muttering epithets.
 
The caller buzzed. "Wilkins, at the gate. Mark Tilnitz is
 
here, sir. He's no longer on the list."
 
"Let him in. Call Karen to escort him; she'll want to bring him up-to-date." I 
wiped my brow, resettled myself. It would be a difficult interview. I liked 
Mark, but I would no longer let security dictate my day. I'd go where I wished,
speak with—
 
The door flew open. Karen Burns, her laser drawn,
 
"What the devil—" I stared.
 
She hauled me out of my chair, clubbed me in the temple. Dazed, I tried to drag 
myself to safety.
 
"Come here, you prick." She whipped off my belt, lashed my hands behind my back, 
yanked off my tie, used it for a gag. She threw open a closet, dragged me 
inside. "I'll be
back. Then we'll go for a ride." Locking my hall door, she dashed to the 
veranda.
 
In the dark, I flopped about, to no avail. My hands were firmly bound.
 
Frantically, I chewed at my tie. I couldn't tear it, but I managed at last to 
thrust it to one side. "Hehp! Shecuhity!" My voice was muffled. "Ansem! Ahhene!"
 
Nothing. I couldn't be heard.
 
"HIDDY!" My voice held a note of terror,
 
I rolled from side to side in desperate frenzy, "Ahhene!" My mouth ached. I 
could barely articulate.
 
Lord God knew what madness possessed Karen. Arlene was in the house, as was my 
son. If Karen... a chill shivered my spine.
 
Karen had to be stopped, I struggled to free my hands.
 
I was helpless.
 
Not quite. "Chailu coe heah!"
 
The hum of a motor,
 
"Chaih, ahsweh he!'*
 
"I'm here,"
 
"Get hehp!"
 
"Reference not understood.**
 
"Get hehp, you vucking bucket ah ebJfs!"
 
"I'm assigned to Nicholas E. Seafort, U.N. SecGen. Outside commands not 
recognized."
 
Th no outsaideh, I'h Sehavoht!" I tore at my belt, but couldn't free my wrists. 
"Nicholas Sehavohl!"
 
"Please speak clearly. Commands must be entered in—**
 
"He silent!" I was beside myself. "I cah't talk. I heed you to caw fob hehp,**
 
"First, I need positive identification.**
 
"Nicholas Sheavoht, Hod damhh it, ghaph hy voice! Neveh hind the wohds!" I held 
my breath, hoping it would understand.
 
"Voiceprint graphed. Tentative ID as Nicholas Seafort**
 
"Fihd Ahhene, do you uhdehshandf*
 
"Command interpreted as 'Find Arlene, do you understand.'" "Thah's iht"
 
"I'm not programmed to comply with distant commands. I may respond only when 
you're sitting in my seat." "In Vavaria I tohd you to rephogham." "Response 
modified. I may obey a distant command." "Chaih, cahn you heave the ofvhiceT The 
door is shut." "Ham it. Dhive thew it!" "And then?" The chair sounded dubious. 
"Fihd Ahhene. Tehh huh I said dangeh. Kahen Vuhms has a laseh. Tehh huh I an 
tied in by ofvice closet. Confihm cowwand!"
 
"You want me to tell Arlene you said danger, Kahen Vuhrns has a laser. Tell her 
you are tied in your office closet."
 
It would do. "Huhhy, chaih!"
 
"You command me to destroy property, an office door?" "Yesh."
 
"This door belongs to you?" "Yesh!"
 
The whir of a motor. A crash. Another. Splintering wood. The motor, coming 
closer. A pause. A tremendous smash. Silence.
 
From the yard, shouts. A desperate shriek, that faded into a ghastly moan. 
Running feet. Silence. I waited, in an agony of suspense. "Nick, where are you?" 
"Ihheah!"
 
The door rattled. "The bitch took the key!" The whine of a laser. A crackle. 
Burning wood. A kick. The door gave way. Arlene, pistol in hand. She clawed at 
my gag, At last, my mouth was free. "Never mind me, get Philip to safety!" She 
flopped me on my stomach, worked loose the belt.
 
"Did you hear? Find P.T.!"
 
"I will. Chair, where the hell are you?"
 
"Here." It rolled through the door.
 
Grunting with effort, she dragged me toward the chair. I helped her haul me into 
it "Nick, where's your pistol?"
 
"In my desk." She threw open the drawer, checked the charge. "Watch for Karen. 
I'll roll you—"
 
"Back me to that wall; I can watch both doors. Save Philip."
 
A peck on my cheek. She shoved my chair toward the wall, peered cautiously out 
the door, dashed down the hallway.
 
I sat sweating. My arm trembled; the pistol wavered.
 
On the lawn, pounding feet I took aim with both hands.
 
Hie doors crashed open. Karen gaped at the sight of me, 1 fired. My bolt singed 
her hair as she dived outside, to safety,
 
"Seafort, put down the gun. Else I'll kill you,**
 
I waited, my hands steady now.
 
She flung herself past the doorway, firing. A bolt sizzled my desk, between us. 
I returned fire, but she was gone.
 
Shouts. She muttered something foul. Running steps, fading. The distant whine of 
a laser. A cry of pain,
 
"Chair," It was almost a whisper. 'To the veranda door."
 
Instantly the machine began to roll.
 
I braced myself with one hand, aimed. My legs would emerge first; there was no 
help for it. If she fired into menu at least I wouldn't feel it.
 
"Through the door, fast right turn,**
 
We did. Nobody was mere.
 
I lowered the gun. "Back inside,"
 
"Nick, what in hell are you doing?" Arlene hauled my chair backward. "You 
lunatic,"
 
"Where's ET.r
 
"With Jarcd, in their room, Anselm's guarding me stairs,"
 
"With what?"
 
"I gave him a rifle.'*
 
"We don't have a rifle."
 
The guard won't be needing it. P.T. wanted to fight. I
wouldn't let him." "Good." "He's furious." "Mr. SecGen?" A voice, from the yard 
As one, we raised our pistols. "Who goes?"
 
"Wilkins. Come out where I can see you." "No." Arlene. "Drop your pistol and 
show yourself with your hands raised."
 
"I can't How do I know you're not a prisoner?" "I'm not** No longer. "I'm coming 
in. I'll have my weapon.** "I'll kill anyone who enters this room armed,'* 
Arlene, with a note of finality.
 
"Enough, you two." I rolled to the door. "We can't have a standoff." I peered 
outside. Wilkins was alone. About twenty paces behind him, a guard knelt 
covering him with his rifle. "Where's Karen Burns?" "She escaped. Tilnitz is 
dead." "Oh, no!"
 
"It was his scream you heard." Wilkins waved to the other guard, "The SecOen's 
all right," Slowly, we sorted ourselves out.
 
If Karen was an enemy, who could I trust? Had Tilnitz been her accomplice? Why 
in Lord God's name did she assault me?
 
We had no answers. I called the Potomac Naval Station, had the duty officer 
rouse his commander, "Send me two squads of Marines, well armed, flank. They'll 
guard the perimeter."
 
We were groundside; I should have called U.N.A.E instead of Navy, To hell with 
the niceties.
 
I rolled across the lawn, halted at Mark's body.
 
The laser had caught him at close range, burned an arm entirely off. I tried not 
to retch.
 
Two gate guards were dead, one burned.
 
I rang Jerence Branstead in New York. Two hours later, he was on his way, with a 
company of reliable troops. General Dormer was hah0 an hour behind.
 
Anselm, flushed with tension, reluctantly surrendered his rifle. Bevin put down 
the bat with which he'd guarded the top of the stairwell. Jared and P.T. 
emerged. Philip was white-faced. "It was wrong, Mom. Dead wrong."
 
I left them to argue,
 
Mikhael Tamarov was nowhere to be found. I was frantic; after Alexi, his son's 
death would be unendurable. Someone thought to check the gate log. Mikhael had 
signed out just after he'd run from my office. Destination left blank. It was 
one vexation too many. I cursed long and fluently, felt slightly better.
 
Branstead landed on the pad, in a huge military craft filled with soldiers. 
"You're all right? Thank God." Fervently, he embraced me.
 
"We have to untangle ourselves. What in God's name—**
 
"Mark called me on his way to you, distraught He thought Karen was one of mem,"
 
"Of whom?"
 
'The Eco Leaguer
 
"Why the hell didn't you call? He died, two gate guards—"
 
"You don't think I uied? Your callers were down. Even your personal line was 
jammed"
 
"But..." I spluttered to a halt
 
"I went half out of my mind sir. No one could reach you."
 
"Why tonight Jerence? What was she up tof Then it hit me. "Lord God I'm 
responsible," I pounded my insensate knee.
 
"How?"
 
"1 told her, on the plane. That we'd caught the Eco League
and were founding them up tonight. She knew she was out
of time. I broke security and killed Mark."
 
"She killed Mark." His voice was firm.
 
"It was my stupidity.**
 
"Ours. We all share the blame. Donner, me, you... at least we know who planted 
the Rotunda bomb.**
 
"Who?" I puzzled it out. "Good Christ. Karen?"
 
"Opportunity, motive .. .**
 
Donner's craft landed. An hour later we met in the kitchen, a council of four. 
Arlene handed around coffee, sat grimly. They invaded my home."
 
"We'll get her, Ms. Seafort."
 
"My home!" She smashed the table. "She was one of
 
yours!"
 
I said, "That's not quite fair, hon. She—" "From now on, I personally approve 
every security file." Arlene's tone brooked no refusal.
 
"Done." The General seemed glad to comply, "We grabbed the suspects. Karen made 
a flurry of calls, no doubt to them, but your personal lines can't be traced. 
Four of the eco bastards were throwing clothes in their kit, one was out the 
door."
 
"You have them all?"
 
"All we know of, except Karen. And Hooker."
 
I swore. "You said you had him."
 
"I think we do. They're combing the streets. He called his cousin from the 
Barcelona Ramblas; they're watching—"
 
1 shook my head. The one I wanted most had escaped. Perhaps I should invoke 
martial law after all.
 
Jerence asked, "What shall we tell the mediamenT
 
The truth. We were attacked, and have three dead."
 
"And about the Eco Leaguer
 
That we have them in custody. Put Booker's picture on the holonets. Ten thousand 
Unies as reward. Twenty."
 
"Very well." We adjourned.
 
Late in the night, a call. Bishop Saythor, aghast. He offered me his sympathy, 
his prayers. He seemed sincere.
 
At last, holding Arlene, I slept.
 
In the morning the street was swarming with mediamen, their holocams surveying 
the gate. To General Donner's dismay, I ordered them invited in, allowed them to 
photograph the lawn, gave a terse statement.
 
I awaited the poly and drug examiners' report.
 
At noon, a call. "Sir, Edgar Tolliver here," My onetime aide, later a Captain, 
now retired and settled in Philadelphia.
 
"Edgar! Good of you to call. We're, urn, having a bad day."
 
"I imagine." His tone was Ay. "I have the Tamarov boy,"
 
"Good heavens. Why you?"
 
"His father and I were friends. Mikhael says he fled your compound and your 
custody. Shall I deliver him? I'm off to Lunapolis tomorrow night. Vacation,"
 
"Is he willing?"
 
"Not particularly. His attitude lacks a certain, ah, suavity. Do you want him?"
 
"Not unless he agrees." Not even then, but I owed it to Alexi to do what I 
could,
 
"You'll of course soothe and coddle him when he returns?"
 
Tolliver!"
 
"Just asking." I could hear his grin. He'd always taken pleasure in tweaking me, 
and for years I'd let him, "Mikhad's floundering, sir. He wants me to talk him 
into going back, but he's wary of your, ah, renowned kindness,"
 
"Don't bother."
 
"Why, Mr, SecGen, it's no trouble at all." Abruptly, he turned serious. "My 
condolences on the attack, sir. Is there anything I can do?"
 
"No, but thanks."
 
"My best to Ms. Seafort."
 
Take care, Edgar." We rang off.
 
Another terse conference with Branstead and Donner. "Cousin Sara implicated two 
more joeys, but they'd flown the coop. We'll catch them."
 
"What in God's name," Jerence asked, "possessed them to go on a killing spree? 
All those attacks ..."
 
Donner grimaced. "I'm not sure if they're political fanatics, or a form of cult 
Death didn't matter, they said, because our enviro neglect already killed so 
many."
 
Satan worked in mysterious and subtle ways. I shivered. Jerence said, "Karen 
Burns and that Booker joey are still loose. Mr. SecGen"—he tapped my appointment 
book— "you have to stay under guard. At least until they're caught." "Why, if my 
own guards are—"
 
"Karen must have meant to kidnap you, else she'd have burned you down. She may 
still—" "How do you know?" "She said she'd take you on a ride, right?" "But 
where?"
 
He shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine." "But why, damn it?" Silently, a 
small prayer of contrition. "The E.A.L. was desperate to alter your policies, 
despite your speech. They wanted even more change."
 
"Was I supposed to shut down our entire economy?"
 
"Apparently."
 
I shrugged. Lunatics. Like all glitched enviros, they—no, I'd switched sides. I 
must remember that
 
"Guard Arlene and Philip," I said. "I won't take a company of soldiers to the 
head to relieve myself."
 
Branstead and the General exchanged glances. "Now your speaking tour is wound 
down, we feel—"
 
"We?"
 
"Donner and I talked it over. Sir, you travel too much. Until we catch those 
bastards, stay here or at the Rotunda. There's no guarding you when you go 
gallivanting about"
 
"I will not be their prisoner!" I slammed the table.
 
"a- ;»»c r»nlv for a little—"
 
"No! I have appointments. Dr. Ghenili has me scheduled in four days: should I 
cancel? My future depends on it"
 
"There are committed terrorists roaming—"
 
I shouted, "I don't care!"
 
Arlene poked her head into my office. "Bellow more softly, love."
 
I waved her in. "These joeys want me to lock myself in the compound. Cancel all 
travel. Did you ever hear such goofjuice?"
 
"That reminds me, Donner," she said. "I want a laser license for P.T."
 
He frowned. "I can swing it, but public policy ..." Few were allowed to carry a 
laser pistol. I was licensed, of course, and Arlene.
 
"He shoots well; I taught him myself. And he has sense."
 
"Very well, I'll see to it But if you stay under wraps ..." Donner looked 
hopeful.
 
"How well do you know my Nick?" Arlene's tone was sardonic. "He won't agree, no 
matter the cost." She looked thoughtful. "On the other hand, I could disable his 
chair."
 
"On the other hand, I could crawl." I didn't see the humor. Yet, my stubbornness 
risked whoever traveled with me. And I'd have a hard time forcing P.T. and 
Arlene to stay at home, if I left the compound. "Look, what if..." I puzzled it 
through. "Jerence, what if I traveled in secret? Why announce that I'm going to 
Lunapolis to see GheniliT*
 
"The media watch your jet, your official heli."
 
"Smuggle me aloft in a military shuttle. Dock at the Naval wing in Earthport, 
transfer me to a private craft."
 
"Word will get out."
 
"Branstead, you're a born plotter. Look how you smuggled goofjuice onto 
Victoria. I have faith in you."
 
"You're bigger than a vial of—"
 
"We'll use this trip as a test. If it works, fine. Else we'll try something 
else. In the meantime, catch Karen and
Sergeant Booker. I'll expect to see their holos every hour on
the news. See to it"
 
"The nets don't always—"
 
"See to it"
 
Midafternoon. I took a break from a series of dreary political calls, sat on the 
veranda. Thadeus Anselm leaned in the doorway, hands in pockets. "May I join 
you?"
 
"If you'd like." I sounded ungracious, at best. I made an effort "Sit Get 
yourself a softie."
 
Shyly, he relaxed into a lounge chair.
 
I recalled he'd told me he was lonely. Awkwardly, I sought a topic of 
conversation. "What's between you and Mikhael,boyr
 
"I don't know, sir. Maybe it's the exercise."
 
"Arc you hard on him?'
 
"I can't be; I have no authority. I tell Bevin what to do, and Mikhael does it 
or not as he chooses. I've never complained."
 
"What then?"
 
For a moment he looked troubled. "I guess I'm not that
 
likable."
 
"You had friends, at Devon?"
 
"A few. Cadet Santini, but she ..."
 
"Was murdered. I'm sorry." I cleared my throat. "When you're not drinking, I 
find you likable."
 
"Thanks." He brooded. "Danil was crying last night"
 
"During the... commotion?"
 
"After."
 
"Understandable." I should have found the boy, comforted him. He was but 
fourteen. "Look after him, Tad."
 
"Aye aye, sir." It would be good practice, for when he was
 
first middy.
 
The caller rang. Senator Uzuki, stubborn as ever about our enviro package. 
Reluctantly, I went back to work.
 
By evening, alone in my office, I dared hope I was making progress. Using every 
pressure I knew, I'd gotten seven Senators to reconsider their opposition. Not 
much, but it was a start. I was confident I could carry the Assembly, but if the 
Senate dug in, our legislation was dead in the water.
 
A knock. Mikhael Tamarov, his jumpsuit rumpled, his hair awry. He eyed me 
uncertainly.
 
"You're here for your clothes?" My face was impassive.
 
"And to talk to you."
 
"That's not necessary."
 
Unbidden, he flopped into the chair across my desk. "I'm messed up, Mr. 
Seafort."
 
"I'm aware." My tone was flinty.
 
"I think I'm glitched, sometimes. I was waiting to talk to Dad. He understands 
these. .. understood." His fists clenched. "Understood."
 
He looked so much like Alexi, my heart ached. "And now he's gone. You'll never 
again have a talk with him. Never have his caring, the rest of your life." 
Brutal, but I saw no choice. "You're on your own."
 
"Am I?" His cheeks were wet.
 
"You sure are, joey." I took up my caller. "Shall I send the cadet to help you 
pack?"
 
He wept openly.
 
I waited him out.
 
"Where should I go?"
 
"Kiev, I suppose." I let the silence lengthen. "Unless you ask me to take you 
back."
 
"Would you?" It was a whisper.
 
"This time, only with a judge's custody order." With his consent and his 
mother's, it could be arranged.
 
"Why?"
 
How to make him understand? "We're a family. Arlene and I, P.T.... we treat each 
other a special way."
 
"I'm not part of it."
 
"You are, when you live with us."
 
Footsteps in the hall. Philip peered in. "Am I interrupting?"
 
"Yes, we're—no, wait. You can help." I waved him to a seat, wheeled myself from 
behind my desk to join them. "Remember when you were sixteen, and we had that 
talk?" He flushed. "Vividly."
 
"Mikhael needs to understand. Would you tell him?" "If I must." Philip crossed 
his legs, pursed his lips in thought. "I was giving Path a hard time that year. 
We fought, and he rarely let me have my way."
 
I opened my mouth to protest the unfairness of it, but subsided. I'd asked him 
to speak.
 
"Partly it's that I was certain 1 was right, which made courtesy unnecessary. I 
worked myself into a decision to leave. If you won't bother to look at me, why 
should I talk to you?"
 
Mikhael jumped as if shot. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean ..." He crossed his arms, 
hugged himself. "Go on." From time to time he threw Philip an anxious glance.
 
"Where was !?...! was ready to leave. I dared Fatfi to call the jerries. He said 
he wouldn't. I called him ,.." P.T. swallowed. "I called him a liar, told him he 
wouldn't really let me go.
 
"Til help you pack,' Path told me. Til give you food for your dinner, and escort 
you to the gate. Then you're on your own.*"
 
The room was hushed.
 
"He sat me down—right where you're sitting, in fact— and told me Mom and I were 
his reason for living. We had a bond, a family bond, that was sacred to him. 
There was absolutely nothing I could do—nothing—that would make him throw me out 
I could spit at him, steal his heli, scream curses at him all day long. I was 
still his son and I would share his home. He would endure any behavior at all 
because of our bond.
 
"But, Path added, he would respond to that behavior. With
discipline. And if I chose to break that bond by walking out, he would not take 
me back, ever. And, Mikhael... he meant it"
 
I said quietly, "Thank you, son."
 
Mikhael licked his lips. "What happened... after?"
 
"I got a strapping, for the second time in my life. And then we made up."
 
"He's not ever going to hit me."
 
"AH right Anything else, Path?"
 
"Did Mom talk to you about a pistol?"
 
"Yes, sir. It's a good idea." He stood, stretched. "Good night."
 
When we were alone, I busied myself witfi papers. "Make your decision, and be 
quick about it"
 
"Mr. Seafortr
 
I put down my holovid, tried not to sound impatient "Yesr
 
"What would Dad want me to do?"
 
I pondered. Alexi loved Moira, of mat I had no doubt Had he known she was a weak 
parent? Did it matter? "I'm not sure. If I'd died and Arlenc couldn't raise 
P.T., I'd hope Alexi would. Or Derek,"
 
"Why them?"
 
"They knew who I was, and what I wanted for my son,"
 
"I won't let you hit me." His tone was stubborn,
 
"Good, the decision's made. Get your clothes."
 
Instead, be sat hunched forward on his arms, staring at a scuffed shoe. Minutes 
stretched into a quarter hour.
 
I fussed at holochips, battling not to give in.
 
A sigh of resignation. "What do I have to do, sir?" His voice was subdued.
 
"I warn you, any more of yesterday's curses and I'll wash out your mouth. As for 
your conduct it's been unacceptable. Bend over the desk."
 
He made as if to speak, chose not to. With a grimace, he bent himself across the 
desk, rested head in hands.
 
I tugged off my belt, the same one Karen had tied me with Carefully, I 
maneuvered my chair. I gripped the side rail, raised my arm high, cracked the 
leather across his rump. "Straighten out, joey," 1 said. "And I mean right now.
 
CHAPTER 15
 
t our Devon guest quarters, I peered into the mirror. "Smooth your hair, Anselm. 
It's a matter of respect."
 
"Yes, sir."
 
"It's 'aye aye, sir.' Have you forgotten everything? Mikhael, we'll be back 
soon. Danil, are you ready?"
 
The cadet bounded into the room, his gray uniform neat and crisp. "Yes, sir!"
 
It was a memorial service for the five slain cadets. I'd put off Hazen's 
suggestion of a service until the capture of the ecos; somehow it seemed obscene 
to memorialize our joeys while their murderers ran free.
 
For the solemn ceremony, he'd assembled the entire Academy at Devon, even 
calling down his cadets stationed at Farside Base.
 
We met in the dining hall, the only Academy chamber large enough to hold the 
whole company. Soberly, Hazen eulogized our dead, whose blood-soaked bodies I'd 
found in the grass, that awful July day.
 
If I be bereaved of my children, I am bereaved.
 
When Hazen was done, I wheeled to the front of the hall to speak. I spoke of the 
hopes unfulfilled, the lives cut short, the friendships shattered.
 
"I have come out of respect for your fellows who died,
but also out of respect for you, and to address the wrong we did you." I forced 
myself to look into their eyes.
 
"The Service is honor and trust, and no more. You have the right, the absolute 
right, to trust your fellow cadets, the midshipmen, your instructors, your 
officers. As they have the right and obligation to trust you." Throughout the 
hall, not a sound.
 
"When the joeys of Krane Barracks passed through the suiting room, they were 
entitled, each and every one of them, to the certainty that no person in God's 
Navy would wish them ill. That no one, regardless of his politics, would betray 
the trust that binds our lives together. We each of us, as we sail the stars, 
depend on our mates for our very lives. At Devon Academy, that trust was shaken. 
I hope and pray that you will allow it to be rebuilt.
 
"On behalf of the United Nations, of the Government of Lord God, I humbly 
apologize to you all."
 
I took a long slow breath.
 
"Dismissed."
 
In his office, Hazen swirled the ice in his glass. "Well said. It's what we 
strive to teach them."
 
"Thank you." I noticed that he, or a predecessor, had replaced much of the 
furniture I'd removed as Commandant. I'd found it impossible to pace without 
barking a shin.
 
"I wish everyone felt that way." He spoke lightly, but with an undercurrent of 
tension. There was something he wanted to tell me. "Who doesn't?" "You've been 
around longer than I, sir. Has the Navy always been so political?"
 
I thought of Admiral Duhaney, in my youth, and his machinations with the Senate. 
"From time to time."
 
"These days there's a certain ... vehemence." Hazen hesitated. "That damned 
Galactic is a symbol. All my cadets want her. Three middies have put in for 
transfers." "How is that political?"
 
"I've had half a dozen calls from officers aghast at your—excuse me, our new 
enviro policy. They're afraid it will scuttle Olympiad and the three unbuilt 
sister ships. Do I have any influence with you, et cetera."
 
My eyes narrowed. "Who called?"
 
"You spoke, sir, of trust?"
 
I closed my eyes. Infuriating. If I ordered him outright, he'd likely tell me, 
but then he'd despise me. I should be grateful he was concerned enough to hint 
at all. I made another note to confer with Admiralty as soon as our bills passed 
the Senate. What with our vote-seeking and the savage attack on my home, that 
resolve had gotten lost in the shuffle.
 
"I think," he said, choosing his words carefully, "the Navy needs to hear that 
our emphasis on ecology won't disrupt shipbuilding, or ultimately weaken the 
Service."
 
And that was precisely what I couldn't promise. Our enviro measures would do so, 
beyond a doubt Should I tell him so? I hesitated, unsure of his divided loyalty.
 
Outside the window, cadets drilled at precision march in the fading light. I 
suspected he'd arranged the show for my benefit. "You'll send the Farside lot 
back aloft?"
 
"Soon. I may grant leave while they're groundside." At Farside Base, on the far 
side of the moon, our joeys were cut off from even routine contact with Earth. 
There were no public callers, no sat-relays except those operated by the Navy.
 
Parents would be grateful for the unscheduled leave. I pictured Bevin preparing 
eagerly for his father's visit, and sighed. "I suppose I should collect my joeys 
and move on."
 
"You've found the Bevin boy satisfactory?"
 
"Quite." Now that I'd become an enviro—a shift that still left me dizzy—I could 
hardly object to his politics. I
 
"AndAnselm?"      ••
 
Should I tell him his middy was a souse? No, it would
put a black marie on his record, one that I wasn't yet ready to chisel in stone. 
"A pity about his father."
 
"Eh? Oh, that. Yes." He stood. "I'll see you to your heli."
 
Two U.N.A.F. commandos accompanied us, on a nigged military heli. My trip to 
Devon had been unannounced, as was our return. Bevin and Anselm chattered above 
the whine of the engine. Near me, where I could keep an eye on him, was Mikhael. 
From time to time, miserable, he wiped his mouth with a handkerchief.
 
I frowned, crossed my arms. The boy was impossible, When we'd returned to guest 
quarters for our gear, he'd accosted me, laden with petulance. "Why couldn't I 
go?"
 
I'd tucked my coat into my duffel. **It was a private memorial, for Naval 
officers." The cadets deserved my apology, but it was unthinkable to wash the 
Navy's dirty linen in public. No one outside the Service, even family, ought to 
be present.
 
Mikhael had muttered something, turned away. Outraged, I caught his arm. "What 
was that?" He shrugged.
 
"I heard, 'Fucking nonsense."* He said nothing, but his stare was defiant, "Into 
the head." I pointed to the lavatory. "Whyr
 
"Movel" I followed him, half pushing. I grabbed the soap from the sink. "Use 
it." "You can't make me!"
 
'Two days ago, you promised me a new start." In my office, after his 
chastisement, a tearful reconciliation, pledges of good behavior. "I tried."
 
"I won't have your foul language. 'Whoso curseth his father and mother, his lamp 
shall be put out in obscure
darkness.'" Eyes blazing, I thrust out the soap. "Do as I say!"
 
Now, in the heli, grimacing, he spit a foul taste into his handkerchief. Perhaps 
he'd learn. There was ample soap, and I'd reached the end of my tolerance. My 
surprise was that his defiance had crumbled, that he'd meekly washed out his own 
mouth. Perhaps he sought a father after all. Certainly the Alexi I knew wouldn't 
have borne the boy's behavior. Not for a moment.
 
Casually, as if unaware, I threw an arm across his shoulder,
 
"We'll win in the Assembly. We've lost the Senate." Branstead looked glum.
 
"Robbie?" I turned to Senator Boland, down from New York for the day,
 
"He's right. I can't swing enough votes."
 
"Our campaign, my speeches .. .**
 
"It's helped. North American mail is running three to one in our favor, European 
mail two to one. But only a third of the Senate faces election next year, and—*'
 
"What can we offer we haven't already?" They stared. I could hardly blame them. 
For years I'd eschewed the give-and-take of compromise. "The emigration bill? 
Banking reform?"
 
"We'd gain ten, at best," Robbie said. "We're still nineteen short. I've 
scratched my head over and again, asking what tricks my father would have used. 
If there's a way, I can't find it,"
 
We were undone. Short of martial law, there was no way to override a veto by the 
United Nations Senate, "We can't persuade them?*'
 
"Sir, they're insulated from their constituencies by longer terms, and they 
resent the pressure you put on the Assembly. I've run out of arguments. Frankly, 
if the SeeGen were anyone else, I myself might be on the other side."
 
I said gently, "You'd vote for me, not the enviro package?"
 
"I trust you, sir. Despite your disclaimer at the Von Walthers banquet, your 
moral compass is truer than mine." We'd parted company over the transpops, years 
back, and he'd come to regret his failure of conscience.
 
"If somehow the Patriarchs would climb aboard ..." Jercnce eyed me hopefully.
 
"That's out." I wouldn't encourage them to meddle in politics, and in any event 
their sympathies lay with the opposition.
 
"What, thenr
 
"I don't know. Play it out," Sometimes, on ship, it was
 
all I'd known to do. At times, it had worked. But under the
 
circumstances, that was unlikely. How, if we failed, could
 
I face Philip? "Does Valera have a hand in—"
 
"Excuse me." Anselm was at the door. "May I join you?"
 
Had he no sense? "Senator Boland is the majority whip, Jerence is my chief of 
staff, our enviro package is failing, and you'd barge in for a chat?" "I'm 
sorty." "Out!"
 
He swung shut the door. Boland and Branstead exchanged glances, "ANSELM!" He 
reappeared.
 
I beckoned him in. "Sit." To Robbie, "Is Valera undercutting us?"
 
"Not actively, but you're destabilizing the party. He wants to hold the Supras 
together; he's heir apparent."
 
Idly, I toyed with my puter, keyed up an Arcvid simulation, turned the screen to 
the boy. He gaped. "Go on, show
 
He grasped the controls, braced himself, took a deep breath.
 
Boland asked, "Did you and Cisno have words? He's, ah, more cautious than 
usual."
 
My smile was bleak. "I didn't want him to bolt us."
 
"I'm glad I'm not in his shoes." A glance at his watch. "By the way, I'm taking 
Jared to dinner. Care to come along?"
 
"Thanks, no. You ought to have time to yourselves."
 
"Oh, I see him often enough. Join us. It's a new Ukrainian restaurant. Real 
meat."
 
I hesitated, reluctant to abandon Arlene. On the other hand, it would give her 
time alone with Philip. And if Ghe-nili accepted me as a patient, who knew how 
long I'd be away. Charlie Witrek was scheduled after dinner; a therapist from 
Johns Hopkins would drop him off at the compound. Still, I would enjoy a good 
meal out "All right." Security would go ballistic, but that was their problem.
 
Later, when Robbie had gone to change clothes, I asked Anselm, "What was that 
about?"
 
"I was bored, and wandering the house." He shrugged, "I found myself in the 
living room, staring at your liquor cabinet."
 
"So you came to me?"
 
"I shouldn't have interrupted, sir."
 
True, but I'd kept him on staff, knowing his disabilities. I said, "All 
remaining demerits are canceled. Well done. Mr. Anselm."
 
He broke into a pleased grin. "Thank you."
 
"Inspection tomorrow morning. Have your gear ready."
 
"Aye aye, sir, but Ms. Seafort told me."
 
I raised an eyebrow, 'Told you what?"
 
"About Lunapolis, What time do we leave?"
 
So much for secrets. "And you, of course, told Bevin." Who no doubt told a 
guard, who told Newsnet, who would tell the entire world.
 
He drew himself up. "I did not."
 
"Hmpff. The shuttle lifts at nine in the morning."
 
Til be ready. She said you're taking us all."
 
"Bevin may be useful. And it's not fair to leave Mikhael
 
behind. He's my foster son." The court had approved our
 
petition. Jerence Branstead, as usual, had worked with
 
smooth efficiency. "Five of us, counting Ms. Seafort." "You have some 
objection?" "Of course not. It's just... sir, Danil is no difficulty.
 
But if you're in the clinic, who's to look after Mr.
 
Tamarov?"
 
"Arlene."
 
"Won't she be with you?"
 
"Most of the time." It would be a problem. I added, "I think I have a solution."
 
We raced through blocked streets in an armor-plated groundcar, pulled up 
directly to the restaurant As quickly as they could manage, my guards hustled me 
inside. Thanks to my speaking tour, my chair and 1 were instantly recognized. I 
had time for a quick wave at a blur of astonished faces before I was rushed to a 
private room. Jared Tenerc and Robbie were already seated. Security checked the 
room, waited just outside.
 
We fussed over wine, ordered dishes of genuine meats
 
off the lavish menu. Jared raised his glass. "Thank you, sir. You're making
 
Philip very happy."
 
"It's still only words. The Senate ..."
 
Boland nodded glumly. "They're a problem." He brightened, patting Jared's knee. 
"My boy tells me you saw my... ah, investment."
 
I puzzled it out. "Cardiff, you mean? I'm embarrassed P.T. came to you for the 
mortgage."
 
"It was my idea," said Jared modestly. "I knew Uncle
Robbie would understand. And P.T.... once he saw the place, he had to have it."
 
I said without thinking, "You truly see yourselves living there?"
 
"When the air's breathable. In the meantime we could hermetically seal the 
house, but..."
 
I nodded agreement. Quite impractical. "Why outside Cardiff, of all places?"
 
His voice was quiet. "It's a good place to raise a child."
 
My wine spilled, and I dabbed ineffectually at the cloth until the waiter came.
 
"I'm sorry. Shouldn't I have said that?*'
 
"No, it's just..." I gave it up. "You startled me." P.T. and Jared were more 
serious than I'd known. I tried not to imagine myself as a grandparent. How 
could it be so? I'd barely finished raising my son.
 
Jared smiled. "P.T. will make a good father."
 
I said something polite.
 
Later in the meal Robbie Boland leaned close. "A word, if I might." To Jared, 
"This is private. You won't repeat it to anyone."
 
"Of course not, Uncle Rob."
 
I waited.
 
Boland kept his voice low. "That Burns woman. Are you sure she was the only bad 
apple on your staff?"
 
A stab of alarm. "We rechecked everyone. As far as we know ..."
 
"Sir, make absolutely sure."
 
He had my full attention. "Rob, what do you know?"
 
"Nothing." A grimace. "That's what's so frustrating. But I've rarely seen 
politics so unsettled. If the enviro bills go through, joeys stand to make 
fortunes, others to lose them. Someone else might have a go at you."
 
"There's not much I can do. Besides, it all comes back to the Senate. We're 
losing them."
 
"Yes." A frown.
 
Jared said softly, "I'm not in politics, but growing up around you and Uncle Rob 
..."
 
"Yes?" I hoped my voice didn't show my irritation.
 
"Why don't you just announce you have the votes?"
 
I stared.
 
He licked his lips. "I mean, you know how politicians are about getting on a 
bandwagon. Declare you have pledges from enough Senators to pass the bill. It'll 
bring others on board."
 
I said coldly, "That would be lying."
 
"Oh, goofjuice."
 
"Jared!" Robbie's eyes were sharp. "He's the SecGen."
 
"Yes, I'm sorry, but it's not lying, it's a ruse of war." His tone was defiant.
 
"I'm not at war, Jared."
 
"Of course you are. A war for their hearts and souls. A war to save the Earth 
from itself. And don't tell me it isn't done; candidates always claim polls show 
them ahead, even when they're behind."
 
"I never did."
 
Rob Boland's mouth twitched in a smile. "You never
had to." "And I wouldn't have. I'll speak truth, no matter what
the cost." "Well..." Jared toyed with his bread, "Would it be a lie,
if you make it true?"
 
*Tm sorry," Charlie clutched my shoulder as I rolled to the sofa. "I don't know 
the living room as well. In the office, I could find the chair blindfol—as I 
am." He feh for the upholstered armrest. "Ah. I have it now." Cautiously, he 
sat. "I don't mean to inconven—"
 
"Don't." It was a plea, "Charlie, don't apologize. We did mis to you."
 
"No you didn't." His voice was cheerful, "Those fucking eco bastards did. Oops, 
Sorry for the language."
 
"Nonsense." I waved it away, forgetting he couldn't see.
 
"Just one thing I beg of you. Catch them."
 
"We have most of them, and we'll get the others." I spoke with confidence I 
didn't feel. I poured him a softie from the waiting tray, placed it in his hand. 
"So. The doctors will try again?"
 
"In a week or two, they say." His fingers brushed through his hair. "This time 
it had better work."
 
"I feel responsible. If there's anything I can do ..."
 
"You're doing it." A wry smile. "I was thirsty." He made a show of tasting his 
drink.
 
"Charlie ,,,"
 
"I know." His voice was quiet. "It's ghastly, isn't it? Do you have scars?" His 
hand flitted to his ravaged face.
 
"No, son."
 
"They'll repair mine. They're waiting to know whether the eyes will be real, or 
cosmetic. But..." A long silence.
 
"Yes?"
 
"Even if the transplants take, I won't see well enough for the active list, I 
won't get a ship," A smile, that seemed forced, "If I see at all. Most likely, 
I'll be the youngest middy on the retired list"
 
I raised my head, to the heavens. Lord, if You have any mercy, any decency ...
 
"What will you do?"
 
"I wonder that, sometimes, at night" A laugh. His voice was bright. *There's a 
lot of night nowadays,"
 
My luxurious dinner sat congealed in my stomach, "Oh, Charlie," I wheeled myself 
to his side.
 
"Don't feel pity, Mr, SecGen," He shied away, 'These things happen. You're by 
far the worse off. I'm so sorry for what they did to you,"
 
"I'm managing." For now. Until Ghenili healed me, or I ended matters.
 
We sat quietly.
 
"Funny thing," he said at last. "When you have no eyes, you can't cry."
 
Late in the evening I sat in my living room, staring at my unexpected visitor. 
"Are you out of your mind?" "I don't believe so." Derek Carr's tone was cool.
 
"You already lost a week's negotiations when I called you for Mikhael. I'll be 
fine; even if Ghenili accepts me, he may not operate immediately."
 
"I'll set up holoconferences, and fly groundside next week for final 
negotiations. I'm going with you."
 
Mikhael watched the byplay, as did Arlene.
 
"Isn't that for me to say?"
 
"Only if you close all of Lunapolis." Derek folded his
 
arms. "I appreciate ..." I swallowed a lump in my throat.
 
"Truly, it's not necessary."
 
"Say then that I'm going in Alexi's place.*'
 
"He wouldn't have—"
 
"The hell he wouldn't!" For a moment, Derek's gaze was fierce. "I'll have no 
more of it. You insult me."
 
I stole a glance at Mikhael, His eyes were riveted on Derek.
 
"I suppose," I grumbled, "we can make a place for one more,"
 
The boy's mouth relaxed into a goofy smile. "I don't suppose you have any more 
stories?"
 
"A few."
 
"Not a one, if you hear anything from his mouth not fiT for a nunnery."
 
Derek's eyebrow shot up. "Mikhael, have you been giving him trouble?"
 
"No, sir. Not—I mean, not lately."
 
"Come along, joey. Let's take a walk." He uncoiled his lanky frame from the 
couch. "Did I ever tell you about the time Alexi got caned?"
 
That night, slowly, carefully, Arlene and I made love. We'd been sixteen, our 
first time, middies on our first leave. Then, I'd been ignorant, unsure, and 
she'd helped me along. She did so now. It was hell, having legs that wouldn't go 
where you sent them, muscles that failed to respond, nerves that sent only 
erratic sensations from my groin.
 
Afterward, content in the fullness of satiation, we lay drowsing.
 
"Nick, you know I've had eggs frozen."
 
"What?" I snapped awake.
 
"We're not too old. Having Mikhael.,, seems to make you whole."
 
"I'm doing it for Alexi."
 
"And for yourself. You take joeykids under your wing. Look at Danil and Tad."
 
"What are you saying?"
 
"That it's not too late to have another child."
 
"When he was grown I'd be ..." I was scandalized. "In my seventies!"
 
"So? If you'd start enzyme treatments ..,"
 
"I'd look younger, and still be seventy. It's not natural."
 
"Neither are tooth implants. You've had your share of those."
 
"That's different,"
 
"Or new lungs,**
 
I propped myself on an arm. "Hon, do you want a child?"
 
A long while passed. "I'm not sure." She nuzzled my chest. "But if so, it would 
have to be yours."
 
I tried not to cry. "God, I love you,**
 
Her hand crept lower. Presently, I murmured, "Quiet, love. We'll frighten the 
horses,"
 
They sneaked us out of the house in Branstead's heli, and in Derek's, just past 
dawn. We all of us were giddy as children, giggling at the subterfuge. Arlene 
and I sat together, entwined, on the deck of Derek's machine. The boys rode with 
Jerence. From time to time Arlene jabbed me, like cadets when Sarge wasn't 
looking. I tickled her beneath the neck, one of her few vulnerable spots.
 
DereJc tolerantly kept his eyes on the instruments, ignoring the guffaws from 
the back seat.
 
"I've decided," she said, "that I do."
 
I blinked. "Do what?"
 
"Don't claim senility on me, you old fool." She hushed my indignant protest with 
a kiss.
 
"You want a child?" My voice soared, almost to a squeak. "You're serious?"
 
She nodded.
 
Bemused, I lay silent, cuddling her all the way to the
 
shuttleport.
 
Potomac Naval Station had its own hangars, part of the shuttleport complex. To 
get to Lunapolis we had to transfer at Earthport Orbiting Station. Most shuttles 
to Earthport were run by U.NA.R, but the Navy jealously guarded its prerogative 
to maintain its own.
 
If I had to trust one unit over the other to maintain secrecy, I'd choose the 
Navy every time. My own prior service would help ensure their loyalty, but even 
more, the Navy's long tradition of honor was something the more prosaic U.N.A.F. 
lacked. For further security, only two people at Earthport had been told I would 
be aboard, and one of them was Admiral McKay.
 
We boarded the shuttle in a closed hangar, for secrecy. Jerence had gone 
directly to the shuttleport's commander, who sent a lieutenant to direct 
operations. At the sight of him, Anselm fidgeted, blushing. I raised an eyebrow. 
"He's the one who caned me," he whispered. The lieutenant introduced the Station 
medico. "Mr. SecGen, it's not often we send a paraplegic aloft. Understand, the 
seats are not designed to accommodate—"
 
I groaned. "Get on with it. I'll be all right."
 
"And in zero gravity, once the shuttle breaks free of Earth..."
 
"Arlene, tell him I'm no greenie."
 
"Hush, love."
 
I bore his anxious instructions with what grace I could muster. Afterward, I 
craned my head to Mikhael. "You've been aloft?"
 
"Dad took me. I'm used to it."
 
At last, liftoff. Strapped securely in my seat, I practiced relaxation, as Sarge 
had taught his eager cadets. I could still hear his chuckle. "Relax your chest 
muscles, Seafort. Feel it press you. Just like a woman lay atop you, but I guess 
you wouldn't know about that" At the time, I hadn't.
 
After an endless roar and interminable pressure, the red receded from the 
corners of my eyes. I sucked in air, loosened my straps, floated off the chair.
 
Behind me, Anselm happily undid his straps. Mikhael gulped, his face green.
 
I roared, "Don't even think about it! Sit up straight! Behave yourself!"
 
It worked. He was too startled to remember he felt sick.
 
More gently, I said, Take deep, slow breaths, son. You'll be fine. If not, 
there's the bag."
 
"Yessir." He clutched it like a security blanket.
 
"Danil, see if you and Mikhael can spot Earthport." Greenies tended to lose 
their breakfast in zero gee. A diversion would help.
 
Derek winked.
 
"How are you feeling, love?" Arlene floated overhead.
 
"Fine." My ribs were sore, but no need to mention them.
 
The cockpit door opened; the copilot swam back, from handhold to handhold. "Mr. 
SecGen, a priority message from your chief of staff."
 
"Very well." I took the scrawled note. "Admiral McKay killed in depressurization 
accident at Earthport. Whom do you want as replacement? Otherwise, Admiralty 
will appoint Hoi of BuPers."
 
Without thinking, I hauled myself upright. In zero gee, I realized, I had again 
the freedom for which I yearned. "I need to speak to Branstead. Have you a 
secure caller?"
 
"Of course, sir. In the cockpit."
 
He and the pilot would overhear my end of the conversation, but it couldn't be 
helped. "If you please."
 
"Nick?" Arlene looked between us.
 
'Trouble at Earthport. I'll be right back." Hand by hand, I hauled myself 
forward, my useless legs trailing.
 
I punched in codes. "Jerence?"
 
"That was fast." Branstead's voice crackled.
 
"How did it happen?"
 
"A freak accident. Exterior maintenance. Someone lost control of a tool carrier, 
and it smashed a porthole."
 
I swore. A tool carrier was halfway between a giant thrustersuit and a tiny gig. 
Just large enough to be ungainly, too big for fine control. I hated them, never 
used them on ship.
 
"You're sure it was an accident?"
 
"There'll be an inquiry, of course. But I imagine a seaman's attention wandered. 
McKay's dead, in any case."
 
"Right. What do we know about Hoi?"
 
"You met him on Earthport, didn't you?**
 
"Ah, yes." At Admiral McKay's conference, the one at which they'd lectured me 
about GaJact/c. A smaOishjoey, dapper, concerned about the Navy's colonial role. 
"Do we have a preferred candidate? Someone you recommend?" Jerence deserved a 
say in our appointments; pay couldn't adequately reimburse his loyalty.
 
"No one in particular. I could check the list, but Admiralty's collective nose 
would be bent out of joint."
 
"Then go with their man. And summon the Board of Admiralty to a conference, as 
soon as I'm back groundside. Reserve a whole day." I would warn them off of 
politics, and break the news about canceling Olympiad and her sisters. "And send 
the usual condolences to McKay's family." I hadn't known the man well.
 
"Done. Promise you'll call when you've seen Ghenili."
 
"I will."
 
"The very best of luck, sir.** He rang off.
 
I maneuvered myself back to my seat. Mikhael seemed better, and was talking 
earnestly with Derek. As I buckled myself in, Bevin pulled himself alongside. 
"Are you busy, sir?"
 
"Speak."
 
"I've been—Mr. Seafort told me details about our enviro bills. Your bills, I 
mean."
 
For a moment I was puzzled, until I realized he'd referred to Philip. "And?"
 
His face lit. "They're wonderful, sir. You should be proud."
 
"You're grading my policy, at fourteen?**
 
"Yes, sir, I'm out of line. But it's still wonderful.**
 
"Hmpff. Don't get your hopes up. The Senate is against us.'*
 
"You'll find a way. Like you did with the Assembly," He spoke with the misplaced 
confidence of youth.
 
"I doubt it. Besides, they were Philip's ideas, not mine,H
 
"No, sir, if you'll pardon me. It was his idea, but your doing."
 
Arlene, swinging back to her seat, ruffled his hair in passing; Danil grinned 
like a foolish puppy. Appalling. Next she'd have him on her lap. How were we 
supposed to train cadets to manhood, if she coddled them constantly? Sometimes 
Arlene had no sense.
 
As Earthport neared I squinted out the porthole, hoping to spot signs of the 
damage that had killed Admiral McKay. But I knew I wouldn't; Earthport was so 
vast that the accident site would be invisible. A shame he'd been in that 
particular compartment at the moment; one chance in ten thousand. But if it 
hadn't been he, it might have been someone else. Space travel was as safe as we 
could make it, which meant it was still dangerous. There was risk, albeit small, 
in bringing Mikhael aloft. As his guardian it was my job to fret about such 
things.
 
Arlene's suggestion that we have another child astounded me. Despite my own 
upbringing—I'd never seen my host mother—my wife and I were both rather 
old-fashioned about parenting. Could we count on being around and in good health 
long enough to raise him, or her?
 
I wasn't, truth be told, all that old for current times. There were Captains on 
the active list well past eighty; old Hoskins couldn't even walk without aid. 
Despite the overwrought popular holodramas, command was exercised by cool 
decisions from an experienced master, not by a wild-eyed young hero sporting 
matching platinum lasers.
 
Did I want another son? For that matter, should we choose the sex? Could I raise 
a daughter? Would I strangle the first young middy who eyed her?
 
I sat musing while we neared the Station, Our docking berth was on Level 7, amid 
the Naval cargo bays.
 
It was unusual, though not unheard ©f, to seal entry to a bay before unloading; 
some cargoes were military and classified. We emerged into a deserted bay, and 
were whisked directly to a lunar shuttle, Mikhael was bitterly disappointed; 
he'd hoped to go exploring. Derek took him aside and spoke rather sharply, 
before I could erupt. A fine father I'd be: I had no patience. Lord God only 
knew how P.T. had turned out so well.
 
A few hours later we were in Lunapolis.
 
Dr. Ghenili's clinic was near the terminus of a clean but seedy warren, three 
levels belowground. Half my face covered with a disguising bandage, we wheeled 
past indifferent throngs, past emergency corridor seals and the occasional shop, 
to the entry hatch.
 
The clinic installed me in a modest room. I'd have preferred a hotel, but it was 
out of the question if secrecy was to be maintained. Even if I bunked in a Naval 
warren, word would sooner or later escape. The clinic was better schooled in 
protecting the privacy of its patients. As it turned out, Ghenili himself was an 
avid enviro; he was delighted to accommodate me.
 
Arlene and Derek fussed to make me comfortable. I lacked only my motorized 
chair; it would have been a prodigious waste of fuel to haul it aloft, and to 
what purpose?
 
The three boys wandered my room, bored, touching everything, picking up 
instruments, sensors, my gear. I called them together. "Mr. Anselm, you and 
Danil may go on leave." A momentary twinge of doubt. "Not a drop, Tad. Agreed?"
 
"I will not drink." A formal resolve that startled me,
 
"Visit me daily, and the moment you feel the urge. Don't hesitate. Keep an eye 
on Danil, and report to the Hilton by midnight."
 
"Aye aye, sir,"
 
"What about me?" Mikhael,
 
"Watch holodramas at the hotel." It devastated him, as I knew it would. Before 
his protest burst forth I said, "Or you may go out with Mr, Anselm."
 
He shot the middy a dubious look.
 
"Under his supervision,"
 
"No!" Pure dismay,
 
"You're fifteen, and I know Lunapolis too well. You won't go out alone." The 
lowermost lunar warrens were famous for entertainments that would make a sailor 
blush.
 
"He's only a year—"
 
"But Mr. Anselm is a gentleman and an adult, by act of the General Assembly," It 
was so for all officers, even if
they were but sixteen. "Middy, you're in charge. Treat him civilly, but don't 
take any guff. He's a minor and I place him in your custody."
 
"Aye aye, sir." Anselm's tone was cool.
 
Mikhael said angrily, "I'll stay in the room."
 
"Boys, outside a moment." I held Mikhael back. "I know you don't like it, but 
it's good practice. You have to learn to control yourself. Any cadet would—"
 
"I'm no cadet."
 
"You interrupted me." My tone was cold.
 
He gulped. "Sorry, sir."
 
"Good lad. Mikhael, your father joined the Navy at thirteen. He learned the very 
discipline I'm trying to teach you. Give it a try for him, if not for me."
 
"I hate Anselm. I won't call him 'sir.'"
 
"It's not necessary. Be polite, and do what he tells you," He folded his arms. I 
added softly, "Please?"
 
After a moment he nodded his surrender. "Yes, sir."
 
Not knowing what else to do, I ruffled his hair.
 
"Yes."
 
My heart leaped.
 
"There's no guarantee of success," Ghenili added. "In fact, you have only about 
a forty percent—" That's good enough." "You understand there's a certain 
possibility you won't
 
survive the—"
 
"I know. Get on with it."
 
"Listen, love," Arlene squeezed my hand.
 
For two days they'd poked and prodded, probed and palpitated me until I was on 
the ragged edge of frustration,
 
"How soon?" This very moment, if it was possible.
 
"Friday."
 
Three days. It would suffice.
 
"Then at least a week before we can get you out of bed. You'll be immobilized,"
 
I know." They'd told me, over and again.
 
Time slowed to a relentless crawl. Hours became weeks. I climbed into an 
unmotored chair, rolled around the room, and into the hall beyond.
 
Arlene spent as much time with me as possible; from time to time we had to 
separate to save our marriage. Perhaps I was difficult.
 
When he wasn't making business calls from his hotel room, Derek spent hours 
stretched out on my bed, while I groused in the chair. At times he brought 
Mikhael, and together we gave the boy a double dose of reminiscences,
 
Anselm and Bevtn reported daily. They seemed to be enjoying themselves. Well, a 
young middy could certainly expand his horizons in lower Lunapolis. I hoped he 
was leaving Danil behind.
 
I watched holos, tuned in the news. The enviro battle dominated the newsnets; 
Senators and Assemblymen pontificated before the holocams as they maneuvered,
 
Branstead called me, using the best security circuits we could devise. He wanted 
to claim we had enough votes in both houses.
 
"This is your idea?" I favored him with a scowl,
 
"Well,,, no. Rob Boland thought of it, actually."
 
I suppressed a smile, "Did he, now?"
 
"I suppose you'll call it lying, Think of it as subterfuge." His voice jp'ew 
somber. "We don't have many other options,"
 
"I'll think on it." Decades past, I had spewed forth lies that sent innocent 
boys and girls to their death. Perhaps it was necessary, but nothing in Lord 
God's firmament would get me to do it again. I'd see the Earth crumble first. It 
was all that kept me sane.
 
"1*11 make the announcement, sir. You don't have to say a word."
 
I wasn't custodian of Branstead's morals, was I? Still, it left me uneasy. 
"Wait. I'll let you know."
 
Admiral McKay's funeral made the news, as did the strange death of a U.N.A.F. 
officer who'd been posted to Lunapolis, but was found in an abandoned New Jersey 
warehouse. I wouldn't have noticed, except that she reminded me of Karen Burns.
 
Burns eluded our net. Our investigation was leading nowhere; we hadn't even 
found out where she'd have taken me, or why. Sergeant Booker, too, remained at 
large. Donner should have blockaded Barcelona, the moment Booker *s call came 
through. If I'd been properly prepared, declared martial law on the instant...
 
I sighed. Von Rourke had begun his infamy before the Final War by declaring 
martial law; perhaps Hitler had as well. Booker would no doubt be caught. If so, 
I'd attend his execution, to rejoice. Thank Lord God executions were
public.
 
Jerence urged me to speak anew in favor of our program, in the hope of 
persuading a few Senators. He'd evolved a wild scheme to beam my broadcast home 
on a private sat-relay, and issue it from my compound as if I were speaking from 
there. He'd even have our puter Warren replace the white-walled background of 
the clinic with the familiar paneling of my office.
 
I refused, of course. Not only was it too close to lying outright, though the 
point was debatable, but I doubted one more speech would turn the tide.
 
"Hello, Path.** P.T. and Jared stood grinning in the clinic
doorway.
 
"What's this? Wherc'd you boys come from?"
 
"We caught a shuttle." Philip brandished a small holo-cam. "Before and after. 
This is the before." He aimed.
 
"No!" I threw my covers over my torso. "Not while I'm wearing mis ... this ..."
 
"All right, I'll stop." But he didn't "Mom says you've been charming, as usual."
 
"She can bring her complaints to me."
 
'To our autocrat?" At last, he stopped filming, bent close to kiss the top of my 
head. "Winstead asks after you. I didn't tell him you're here."
 
"Give him my"—it hurt to say it—"best."
 
"Andrus Bevin just learned you have his son on staff. He's ecstatic."
 
"I can imagine." A mole for the enviros, placed in—no, I was enviro too. I 
sighed. A year past, I couldn't have imagined being allied with the fanatics of 
the Enviro Council. "Jared, don't block die doorway; that nurse wants through."
 
"Sorry."
 
I bared my arm for the usual punctures. "Ms. Gow, the joey with the holocam is 
Philip Seafort, and the one fidgeting by the door is Jared, my son-in-law." It 
wasn't quite correct; they were paired, not married, but...
 
Jared broke into a pleased smile. Was it possible I'd never publicly 
acknowledged our relationship? Well, it was long since time. Gruffly, I patted 
the bed. "Sit awhile."
 
At least one day of my vigil passed quickly.
 
Friday, I sent last-minute messages to Rob Boland, and notes begging support 
from a pair of recalcitrant Senators who no doubt assumed I was safe in my 
compound.
 
Before the relaxants left me too groggy to concentrate, a final good-bye to 
Jerence Branstead. He rang off abruptly, almost in mid-word, just as I was 
telling how well I thought of him. A grave hug from Philip, another, to my 
infinite surprise, from Jared.
 
Derek's hand flitted across my brow. "I'll be here, sir, when you wake."
 
"I know." How could I deserve him?
 
He snorted. "Feel free to take me for granted."
 
"You were a fine boy. I was proud to ..."
 
"Was?"
 
"Am. Will be, if I come out of this. If not..." ,  "Damn." He blinked rapidly, 
disappeared from view.
 
I drifted in soft mist.
 
Mikhael's face loomed over my bed. "Sir—Mr. Seafort..." He was dressed in his 
est, and immaculately groomed.
 
"Can't call me that. Have to find something else." His father couldn't be a 
"mister."
 
"Yessir. I just wanted to say—" His glance shot back, to Arlcne. "Get well. 
Thank you for everything. I mean it. Get well, sir." To Arlene, a look of 
appeal. She nodded,
 
"Very good, Middy." Why did he seem puzzled? He'd been promoted ... when? Where 
was he posted? I'd recall in a moment. Right now it was too ... too ...
 
Black.
 
An endless expanse of white scrolled overhead. A bump; a sickening wave of pain.
 
Oblivion.
 
I drifted in and out, visiting with Father, chewed out Mikhael for his 
belligerence, watched P.T. grow. One day I could lift him on my shoulders, the 
next...
 
Hot. So hot.
 
Sleep.
 
**—fection is taking hold. I increased the antibi—"
 
"Nick? Squeeze my hand."
 
The bed jounced. Red waves of torment.
 
My mouth was dry and cracked,
 
"—been three days and he's not responding. If his kidneys shut down—"
 
White haze. Pain.
 
"Sir?" Derek. "Hold on, sir. Please."
 
"Farewell." I tried to clear my throat. "Old friend,"
 
"God damn you!" Arlene's voice was a nail on slate. "Don't die on me, you son of 
a bitch!"
 
"It's ... time."
 
"The hell it is!"
 
I drifted toward sleep.
 
"Breathe, Nick. Breathe deep." Fingers squeezed my shoulder. "Stay with me, 
sir." Derek's voice was tight. I tried.
 
Red faded to white. My breathing eased. The world faded.
 
I blinked. Derek, grizzled and gray, hunched in the corner.
 
"What time is it?" A voice from an ancient grave.
 
He jumped. "Lord Christ!"
 
"Don't blaspheme,"
 
"Thank God." He ran to the bed, fell on his knees. "On, thank God."
 
"Don't weep."
 
"I thought I'd lose you.**
 
"Where's your dignity? You're head of Government."
 
"You're ..." Resolutely, he raised his head. **... my head of Government,"
 
I drifted off.
 
When I woke, Arlene and the three boys were keeping vigil. I was ravenously 
hungry. They fed me pablum from a spoon.
 
"Give me real food."
 
"Dr, Ghenili says—"
 
"Where is her
 
"Right here," From the doorway, "Welcome back, Mr. SecGen."
 
"I was ... lost" Perhaps it was always so. I tried to wiggle my foot, could not, 
"It failed?"
 
"You're in a full body cast, Don't try to move."
 
"It itches,"
 
"Does it, now?" He regarded me gravely.
 
After a puzzled moment I cried out in joy. "I can feel!" Despite his warning I 
wiggled my toes frantically. Bcvin danced from foot to foot, Anselm's eyes 
glistened.
 
I looked to Arlene. "Where's Derek?"
 
"He's drunk. Mikhael's looking after him."
 
"Good Lord. Doctor, how long will I be laid up?" "Three more days, even with the 
growth stimulator. You
have to heal. Then restricted movement for a month. After
that, you should be well." My eyes slid to Arlene. "Long enough to raise a 
child?"
 
Her smile warmed my soul.
 
CHAPTER 16
 
Lf time passed slowly before my surgery, afterward it stopped entirely, I was 
even more helpless man before, serviced by tubes snaking under my sheets. If 1 
used the caller, the time lag from Lunapolis to New York and back would give 
away my location, so ! could do no politicking on behalf of our enviro bills,
 
I spoke to Brnnstead, who sounded glum. There was no hope in the Senate. He and 
Robbie were determined to claim victory, stoke all on a last throw of the dice. 
I acquiesced
 
Philip and Jared sat with me when Arlene was out
 
The second night. Tad Anselm didn't return to their hotel. Mikhacl told Arlene, 
perhaps out of spite. She went back to sleep, informed me the next day,
 
I was saddened, more man anything else, Despite intimations I should have 
heeded, I'd come to expect better of Anselm.
 
Derek came to visit, sat awhile. "I'm going groundside to wrap up my trade talks 
,.. Sometimes you have to be in me room, and watch their eyes,**
 
I smiled, "To learn what?*
 
"The last Unidollar they'll go. Nick, the gram tonnage we'll be sending ,.." He 
shook his head MIfs huge, and your delegates have no choice but to buy. Only the 
Navy's outlandish freight charges keep a semblance of a trade balance."
 
"Enjoy it while you can. In a few years our production—" "You've said that 
before. I hope this time it's true." "Why? You've got us where you want us." 
"Ultimately, our interest coincides with yours. Most of us know that." He 
glanced at his watch. "When do you leave?" 'This evening."
 
There was no reason to feel betrayed. None at all. "Very well." We'd had little 
enough time together over the years. "Mikhael will be sad."
 
"Nick, may I give you advice?** "Of course."
 
"You gave him a terrible scare."
 
"Me? What are you talking about?" I'd punished him, true, but he was hardly 
terrorized.
 
"He lost Alexi. You reached through his misery and made him trust you. Then you 
threatened to abandon him." "It was he who ran away, not—" "Nick, the way Alexi 
left him." I was silent. "I mean that much to him?" "He's moping about the 
hotel, fragile and weepy." "He needs rebalancing." "He needs you."
 
"I'm no psych. These things are—" "Midshipman Anselm reporting, sir." Thadeus, 
from the doorway. His tone was belligerent, his uniform disheveled and stained.
 
"How dare you show your face!" "Shall I go to the hotel?"
 
"Where were you?" Not that it mattered. He'd broken one rule too many.
 
"The lower warrens, mostly."
 
"Get out of my sight. I'll decide what to do with you."    • "Aye aye, sir." He 
was gone.
 
I asked Derek, "How would you handle him?"
 
He shrugged. "I never made it past middy."
 
"Still."
 
"He's not much different from Mikhael, really. Young, lonely, and in pain."
 
"We're all in pain, Derek. And he's not my son."
 
"Why did you take him on?"
 
I fell silent.
 
"In the old days, you saved them. Us."
 
"I've nothing left to give."
 
"You'll cashier him?"
 
"I don't see how to avoid it."
 
"Damn it, Nick, the Navy is more than calisthenics and canings." Derek was 
immensely proud of his five-year enlistment. "What about mercy?"
 
"They shouldn't have graduated Anselm. He's not ready."
 
"Don't destroy his life."
 
"He did that."
 
Derek had no reply.
 
I watched Jerence Branstead on Newsnet. He sounded utterly convincing. We'd won 
the Assembly, had six votes to spare in the Senate. Would that it were true.
 
They cut me out of my body cast. I could move, slowly, carefully, only in the 
moon's one-sixth gravity. Earth's one gee could shatter my healing spine.
 
Mikhael came to see me. "Don't dismiss him. Please."
 
"You made sure Arlene knew he was missing."
 
"Yeah." He slouched.
 
"Sorry you did?"
 
"Yeah." He stirred. "Mr. Carr talked to me."
 
"Why do you hate him so?"
 
"Because you like him so!" He scuffed the deck. "Whatever I do isn't good 
enough." His tone was bitter. "See, I'm not one of your frazzing cadets. I don't 
wear a godda—a uniform and stand stiff at attention. I don't shout 'aye aye.
sir' and jump at your every command. But Anselm does, so you respect him."
 
Because I like him so. I tasted the idea. Anselm disappointed me, infuriated me. 
A seasoned middy, he knew better than to fail to report to barracks. And it 
wasn't his first offense.
 
Yet...
 
I liked him so.
 
"Mikhael, I don't expect a middy's behavior from you. And I'm sorry I was so 
ill."
 
"What does that have ..." He ground to a halt, blinking
tears.
 
"Come take my hand." We sat awhile, peaceably. Then, "I like who you're 
becoming, Mikhael."
 
"You're all over me. Sit up. Get that tone out of your voice. Behave."
 
"Know how to make your children like themselves?"
 
He shook his head.
 
"Make them likable."
 
"Is mat what you're doing, Mr. Seafort?"
 
"I'm trying. And I told you not to call me mat." I'd asked for custody. This is 
what came of it.
 
"What should I call you? I have a dad."
 
"Pa. Father. Sir."
 
"You really take this seriously, don't you?"
 
I said wonderingly, "You don't?"
 
He sat for a moment. "May I tell the truth?" I nodded. "Yeah, I do. I'm lost, 
sometimes. Dad is gone, and I'm glad to have someone who understands. I'll call 
you anything you want, but not 'Dad.' Not ever. He'll always be that."
 
"I wouldn't have it any other way." I was proud of him.
 
"I'll try 'Pa,' but it's embarrassing. And, about the middy ... he was nice to 
me, when you had him in charge."
 
"It's my decision. I'll think on it"
 
"Yes, sir. Pa."
 
Arlene thought I should cashier Anselm. As always, she stated her opinion, but 
didn't try to impose it, aware I followed her advice more often than not. "He 
knew better," she said. "And did it anyway. What if he were on ship?"
 
"He wasn't." Restlessly, I wheeled myself about the clinic cubicle.
 
"It makes no difference."
 
Still, I was reluctant to do as I ought.
 
Derek was coming in the afternoon, to say good-bye. P.T. and Jared would be in 
tonight. I summoned the midshipman, to get our confrontation out of the way.
 
Anselm came to my clinic room, deep circles under his eyes.
 
I released him from attention. "You drank, of course?"
 
"I went from one bar to another. The warrens are full of them."
 
"I'm disgusted with—"
 
"But I didn't have a single drink."
 
"Nonetheless, you—"
 
"Not one."
 
I shouted, "Stop interrupting!"
 
"That's why I went. To drink myself unconscious."
 
"Are you glitched?" A Captain ought to be as God to a middy: august, remote, 
uninterruptible. And as SecGen I was so far above a Captain ... yet he overrode 
me at will.
 
"Yes, I think I am." His eyes met mine. "I didn't forget your orders. Midnight, 
you said. I chose to ignore them."
 
"You leave me little choice."
 
"I know, sir." He sounded regretful. "Get it over with."
 
"Very well, you're—" Cashiered, I was about to say. "Why didn't you drink?"
 
"I wanted to know I could stop myself. Just this once. At first I didn't intend 
to stay out all night. I wanted scotch, and it made me so bloody angry I 
couldn't have it, nothing else
mattered." He was bitter. "I'll have plenty of time for liquor,
after."
 
My tone was gentle. "Anselm, I can't risk leaving you in command of cadets, or a 
squad of sailors. You're not fit. As Commander in Chief of U.N. military forces, 
I withdraw your commission." Tin cashiered." "No, you're back to cadet." His jaw 
dropped.
 
It was the only alternative I saw. To let him off with any lesser rebuke would 
be an insult to his comrades. And he knew it Yet I wasn't ready to wash my hands 
of him. "You can do that?"
 
"I just did. And of course a caning. Report to the Naval quartermaster and 
indent for a set of grays. Then see Arlene for your punishment."
 
"Ms. Seafortr He blanched.
 
"I'd send you to the Lunapolis duty officer, but it would call attention to my 
presence. This way, I doubt you'll try this stunt again." Arlene would see to 
that. She'd been first lieutenant in Wellington, and had little tolerance for 
middies' nonsense. "Pull in your horns, Anselm. A cadet is treated as a child. 
You'll call everything that moves 'sir' or 'ma'am.' I won't hesitate to enforce 
cadet discipline." "Yes, sir!"
 
"This misbehavior is about missing your father?" "I don't know." His eyes were 
tormented. "You wanted to show him your ratings, eh? Very well, we'll do that 
Write him a letter." "What?"
 
"You heard me. A letter explaining what's happened since his death. Address it 
to him. Tell him how you act, how you feel about it Mention everything." "You 
can't make me do that." The caller buzzed, but I ignored it. Unsteadily, using 
the
two sturdy alumalloy canes they'd provided, I hoisted myself from the bed. "I 
can't, Cadet?" Lightly, I cuffed him.
 
It was a reminder of his status, and had the desired effect. He crumpled. "Aye 
aye, sir." A defeated whisper.
 
"Dismissed. Get your grays."
 
Derek stood aside for him in the hatchway. "Very interesting."
 
"How long were you listening?"
 
"Awhile. I assumed if you wanted privacy you'd shut the door." He shifted. 
"Nick, my shuttle leaves at eight. Two hours."
 
"I'll see you again?"
 
"I doubt it. My ship sails in a week, and I'm way behind in my negotiations."
 
"I'll miss you."
 
"And I you. Will you get to Hope Nation again?"
 
"Unlikely," I said. "I'm getting no younger."
 
Our eyes locked. "Is this really farewell?" His voice held a note of wonder.
 
"Oh, Derek."
 
The caller buzzed again.
 
"It's been ..." He couldn't finish.
 
Ms. Gow, the nurse, hurried into the room. "A Mr. Branstead says he's desperate 
to reach you. Are you ignoring your caller?"
 
"Wait a moment, Derek. Hello?"
 
'Turn on the news!" Branstead's voice was panicky.
 
I fumbled with the holovid, keyed in Newsnet.
 
"—missing and presumed dead in his Washington home, where he was recovering from 
injuries in the Rotunda bombing. "
 
I tried to sit bolt upright, gasped with pain.
 
"Rescue workers say due to the intensity of the laser attack there's no chance 
of finding bodies in the smoking ruins. SecGen Seafort was best known as the 
implacable
enemy of the alien race known as the fish. Born in Cardiff, Wales, in—"
 
"Lord Jesus Christ!"
 
A helicam floated over a mass of rubble. A few pieces of the outer wall 
remained. Of the house, nothing.
 
"Amen," said Branstead.
 
"Who? Why?'
 
"Lasers, from aloft. Defense puters say Earthport or Galactic. At the moment 
they're so close together—"
 
"Who's in charge on the Station?'
 
"Admiral Hoi. There's more, sir. Admiralty in London took a radio intercept. 
Just over an hour ago Galactic sent a launch full of sailors to Earthport. They 
stormed the civilian command center."
 
"Lord in heaven."
 
Iron fingers gripped my arm. "Where's your pistol?"
 
"Not now, Derek. What about the Naval Station?"
 
"WHERE IS IT?"
 
"In the drawer. Has Earthport Naval Command responded?"
 
"I can't get through to Admiral Hoi."
 
Derek crossed to the hatch, slapped it open, took up position outside, my laser 
charged and blinking. The safety was off.
 
The hatch slid closed.
 
Branstead said, ''Captain Stanger is apparently leading the coup. He beamed an 
ultimatum to the Rotunda, the Senate and Assembly, and U.N.A.F. Command. We're 
to abandon the enviro legislation at once. SecGen Valera's to meet him on 
Galactic no later than Wednesday, or their lasers will target as many cities as 
it takes to end resistance. He wants an answer in six hours. The first target is 
the Rotunda."
 
I asked, "What about Dubrovik in Lunapolis?' The Admiral ran our lunar Naval 
base, at the opposite end of the city from the clinic.
 
"He's on sick leave, you'll recall. Injured. Captain Simovich is Acting 
Commander. I can't reach him either,"
 
I said heavily, "Full-scale mutiny."
 
"If we're lucky, sir."
 
I exploded. "Lucky? What else would you call it?"
 
"Revolution."
 
The room spun. I marshaled my thoughts. "What ships have we?"
 
The few seconds lag was just enough to madden me. Finally Branstead's voice 
crackled. "In home system, nothing to speak of. Melbourne's gone to Titan, with 
a full load of tourists. New Orleans is docked at Earthport awaiting a refit You 
know the problem." These days, virtually all of home fleet had been pressed into 
service between colonies and the homeworld. We desperately needed more ships.
 
Captain Stanger's point exactly. The irony was that the ships he demanded, I'd 
use against him.
 
"You can't get through to Hoi?" I grasped at straws. "Is it possible he's still 
loyal?'
 
"McKay was killed. Probably to put Hoi in place."
 
I groaned. I'd had warning, and ignored it Warning too of the Navy's dismay at 
our policies. I'd ignored that Warning mat our officers were becoming 
politicized. I'd ignored mat as well.
 
My follies had destroyed us.
 
"Sir, now what?"
 
"You're at the Rotunda? Get out, before they level it"
 
"I have time yet Will you fight?"
 
The hatch opened.
 
I laughed, a hawking, bitter sound. "With what? We've no ships, no command, and 
a gun to our heads."
 
Ariene strode in, Bevin in tow. "U.NA.F. has ground defense lasers." Her mouth 
was grim. "Use them. Blast Galactic out of home system."
 
"You heard?'
 
"Their ultimatum is on the rids."
 
Jerence overheard. His voice was strained in the caller. "Mr. SecGen, be aware 
that Galactic was boarding passengers all this week. There's two thousand 
civilians already
 
aboard."
 
Aiiene grated, "Destroy his ship. He's mutinied." Never in history had the Navy 
faltered. Now, two hundred years of honor were forfeit. 1 said, "It's mass 
murder/' "I don't care." "We can't do it."
 
Hands on hips, she glared down at me, "What, men? Surrender?'
 
I didn't know. "Jerence, who's with us?** 1 can't tell yet. It all happened so 
fast,.." He took a long slow breath. "U.N.A.F. Command, most likely, once they 
hear you're alive. The Board of Admiralty, I hope. But they endorsed the changes 
in command that put Simovich and Hoi in position. It's dicey." "What's public 
opinion?*'
 
The public thinks you're dead. The news zincs are running retrospectives. De 
mortuis nil nisi bonum." "We'll have the colonials, the trenspops, the 
enviros,** "Right. No one with guns. They'll have the Senate, half the Assembly, 
and the Navy. The worst—** They do not!"
 
"They've got the Naval forces that count: Lunapolis and Earthport bases, and 
Galactic, the only major ship near Earth. They've got absolute laser 
superiority. Sir, we have to rally public support. Tell them you're in 
Lunapolis, taking charge; that will firm up U.N A.F,** "How? From a hospital 
bed?**
 
**We don't say you're at the clinic,** A pause, "You went aloft for a 
conference, and you've assumed personal control." "Lies." "Mr, SecGen, this is 
war,**
 
I cried, "No, it's not!** We couldn't do battle with our own Navy. It was 
abominable. My spine throbbed. "Let Valera handle it"
 
"You're not serious. He'd go over to them in a minute. He's an Earth Firster at 
heart"
 
I said, "ITien we'll talk to Stanger."
 
Ariene shook her head. "If you let him know you're alive, he'll launch a massive 
manhunt or, worse, a laser strike,"
 
"Wait" Jerence. "I'm getting something on the U.N. pub* lie info circuit" A long 
pause* "Valera explained Stanger's ultimatum. He says he's giving in, to save 
the U.N. complex." A pause. To save lives. Misguided enviro policies—"
 
"The son of a bitch!"
 
"Regrettable death of the SecGen, et cetera... you bastard!" Branstead's voice 
shook with rage, "As Acting Sec-Gen he's ordering U.N.A.F. and Admiralty to 
offer no resistance until the situation is clarified.**
 
"Clarified!"
 
A long string of oaths from Jerence. "Valera's been in touch with Stanger, 
Galactic will hold off blasting the Rotunda, He's calling a joint session of the 
Senate and Assembly at seventeen hundred hours to vote down the enviro package. 
He'll make a public statement just prior,**
 
I swung out of bed, ignoring a warning stab. "Arlene, my domes. Bevin, find a 
video caller in me clinic office. Set it up against a white wall; I don't want 
any clues where we are from the background. Move! Jerence, take over the nets 
for an emergency announcement**
 
"On whose authority? Valera will—"
 
"Special Rule three eighteen, you know the Mil. In mis confusion no one is 
likely to stop you, even if they mink it's Valem's call to make."
 
"For what timer
 
"Sixteen thirty Eastern.** I checked my watch. Two hours, "We'll feed to you. 
Rebroadeast from there." Perhaps mat would conceal die origin of my 
transmission.
 
"What are you—"
 
"I'll speak to the world. They will not take over my Government. They will not 
scuttle my legislation!" Feverishly, I threw on a fresh shirt. "From now on, go 
armed, Jerence. If we lose contact, call through Jeff Thome in London. He'll be 
with us no matter what."
 
"Yes, sir."
 
I rang off.
 
"Why are you out of bed?" Dr. Ghenili, from the doorway, peering past Derek.
 
"Leave us alone." My voice was tight.
 
"I told you, fifteen minutes a day. Any more and you'll injure yourself."
 
"We have a crisis."
 
"I don't care. You're due for a session with the growth stimulator. The 
orderlies will take you—"
 
"Out!" It was a snarl. "This instant!"
 
He retreated, shock and hurt mingling.
 
"Bevin, shut the door!" I worked my pants over my leg, as the hatch slid shut in 
my savior's face.
 
In a medical conference room, framed by a white drape, I rubbed my knee, glad of 
its familiar ache.
 
What in God's own Hell was keeping them? The circuit should be established by 
now. "JerenceT*
 
No answer. I rubbed my sweating palms.
 
Galactic, I tried to wipe its image from my mind. Our magnificent new ship, 
opulent corridors sparkling, passengers settling into their elegant staterooms. 
The vigilant purser and his mates, smoothing every concern. Courteous young 
middies, hurrying to their duties in that stride just short of a run that would 
earn them demerits. Laser turrets, bristling from the hull.
 
And on the gleaming bridge, a cancer had metastasized and was coursing through 
my beloved Navy.
 
And the worst of it was that I'd had warning. Robbie
 
Boland tried to tell me the Navy had gone awry. Hazen, too. Even Derek. Smug in 
my authority as SecGen, I'd ignored them all.
 
Under my nose, they'd replaced loyal Admirals with their own men. Dubrovik, 
injured and shunted aside. McKay. Idly, I'd even asked Branstead if it was an 
accident But I hadn't investigated.
 
Unwilling to deal with distasteful politics, I hadn't even confronted Admiralty. 
Not about politicized officers, or the folly of Galactic, or cancellation of the 
new fleet
 
I'd left them to their anxieties and fears.
 
My smug blindness had fomented rebellion.
 
If I abandoned the clinic, I risked lifelong paralysis. In no event could I 
return to Earth, direct my Government's response.
 
No matter, even were I mobile, what could I do?
 
Resign. Accept the consequences of my folly.
 
No. Not yet
 
I would play it out
 
I had no time to write a speech. I would speak off the cuff. I would ask the 
world's help, ask time to resolve the crisis. Ask their patience. It was all I 
could do.
 
Sixteen hundred thirty hours. A silent circuit to the Rotunda.
 
Across the conference room, out of holocam view, Ar-lene, Derek, Mikhael, two 
solemn boys in gray. Anselra was back from Lunapolis Base, properly dressed. If 
he resented his forced return to childhood, he gave no sign. Perhaps the coup 
had driven it from his mind. He said that indenting for his grays at the Naval 
base, he'd noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Interesting.
 
I glared at the holocam. I was one of the few in public life who hated visuals, 
and rarely used them.
 
Where in Lord God's name was Branstead? It was sixteen forty-five. If we waited 
much longer, Valera would be on the nets.
 
"Are you there, Mr. SecGen?"
 
I jumped. "Yes."
 
"Sorry, but the situation is... strained. Valera's men ... they demanded your 
office. I've been stalling. I don't see you. All we have is audio."
 
"Derek!"
 
He fiddled with the holocam.
 
"Here, let me, sir." Bevin, eager. Derek stood aside. The boy tapped the keys. 
In a moment we had full visuals.
 
"Sir, Valera's on the air!" Jercnce.
 
"Can we cut in?"
 
"I doubt the nets would let us."
 
I fumed. "The moment he's done!"
 
"Right."
 
Valera spoke solemnly of the tragedy of my death, and further tragedy to be 
averted. Of my misguided idealism.
 
He praised the patriotism of the Navy. I muttered curses without end, until 
Arlene reached across, took my hand.
 
The Senate and Assembly were in session even as Valera spoke. In moments, they 
would, by voice vote, permanently table the enviro bills. Afterward, he would 
speak again.
 
He'd left me no time. Before I could rally public opinion, the issue would be 
lost,
 
The screen went blank.
 
Hie whole purpose of my speech was confounded,
 
"Now, Mr. SecGen, You're on in three ,.. two.. ,**
 
I smoothed my hair, straightened my tie.
 
"One... go!"
 
MI am Secretary-General Seafort, I was not injured in the cowardly attack that 
destroyed my home, I speak to you today from an undisclosed location, where I 
rally loyal U.N, forces to suppress the rebellion led by Captain Ulysses Stanger 
of Galactic"
 
It wasn't enough, and I knew it. In moments, by repudiating our legislation, the 
Senate and Assembly would endorse Stanger's coup.
 
There was left only the unthinkable.
 
So be it
 
"By authority of the Charter of the United Nations, by the grace of Lord God, I 
now declare martial law The U N Charter is suspended throughout Earth, 
Lunapolis, Earthport Station, and all home system's colonies, ships, and 
stations."
 
My words rang out in the hushed clinic.
 
"The Senate and General Assembly of the United Nations are dissolved. All their 
edicts, proclamations, acts, and decrees issued henceforth, I declare void. Now 
do L Nicholas Ewing Seafort, assume personal government of the worlds *
 
PART III
 
October, in the Year 
of our Lord 2241
 
CHAPTER 17
 
v_Asno Valera was unreachable.
 
Derek took charge of the clinic. On the considerable authority of his steely 
personality, he had the administrator postpone or cancel appointments. The staff 
that didn't know of my presence—most of them—was sent home. He stationed Bevin 
and Anselm at the clinic's outer hatch, with my precious laser, one of our only 
two weapons. Arlene had the other.
 
It was a stopgap measure, I'd have to find More important, I had to find allies. 
Despite my brave words, I didn't dare show myself, and had no forces under my 
command.
 
Branstead reestablished contact an hour after my broadcast. "Sir, it's ... 
difficult. Squads of U.N.A.R roam the halls. No one's sure whom to mist. Or 
who's in command/'
 
"Where's Valeraf Seconds passed, while my words flew to Earth, and his sped 
back,
 
"At the Assembly. They've set up a headquarters."
 
"He's gone over?" I'd hoped my declaration would steady him.
 
"I don't know. Probably. When can you come ground-side?"
 
Not for weeks, according to Ghenili. If I subjected myself to a full one gee, I 
might lie on my back the rest of my life.
 
"Not yet, Jerence." I massaged my spine. The pain was worse. "Set up a relay to 
Stanger." I had still to hide my whereabouts, and communicating through the 
Rotunda would produce the expected lag.
 
"Very well, sir. Visuals?"
 
"No. Well, yes." I needed to see Stanger, to appraise his
 
state. In an hour, the Rotunda puter was ready. We made contact
 
with Galactic.
 
"Mr. SecGen." Stanger was haggard. He spoke from his bridge. "We need an end to 
this."
 
"I agree."
 
"Despite your speech, we still hold the cards. I don't want to cause deaths. 
Will you cooperater
 
"What, exactly, do you want?"
 
"Drop your enviro package. That includes the five percent greenhouse gas 
reduction you proposed earlier. Use the funds to speed construction of Olympiad 
and her sister hulls. A public pledge to expand the Navy to its full pre-war 
complement,"
 
"How do you know I'd follow through?"
 
He said simply, "You'll give me your word."
 
"It's better than your oath?"
 
He flushed "You left us no choice, I don't know how you corralled enough 
Senators to pass your insane enviro fantasies. We were sure they'd stand firm. 
Your plan would gut the Navy,"
 
"Not so. It would slow the growth—"
 
"Sir, ships are vital. The colonies are restless. We can't afford another Hope 
Nation,"
 
In the side of my vision, Derek frowned.
 
"So you mutinied."
 
"Against what, sir? The Government is of Lord God. We have His support"
 
"Presumptuous of you."
 
"Don't you believe the Patriarchs represent Him?"
 
"They've taken no stand." I spoke with an assurance I didn't feel.
 
"Not in public." He glanced aside. "Later, Mr. Speke." To me, "Sir, I've tried 
to show good faith. We could have blasted the Rotunda to ashes while you spoke. 
We didn't. Do you want me to open fire?"
 
"No."
 
'Then you haven't much choice. If a single groundside laser targets Galactic, 
we'll return fire with everything we have. So will Earthport and Lunapolis. Give 
us our ships, and put a halt to this enviro madness."
 
"Why, damn it? Why?"
 
"We need ships to hold the colonies, the colonies to safeguard our supply of 
grain and ores. Earth will remain strong, Mr. SecGen, despite your glitched 
enviro cohorts."
 
"And if I give you my word?" At that, Bevin grimaced in dismay.
 
"You'll put it in writing, of course, A treaty, or memorandum between the 
Government and the Navy, Then you're free to go,"
 
"Gor
 
"I want you aloft, aboard Galactic, No political aides, no troops, no Marines, 
Just you. We'll cement our understanding,"
 
"When?"
 
"Day after tomorrow, at the latest," Wednesday, "Sir, Admiral Hoi has an eye on 
incoming shuttles from Earth and Lunapolis, but I'll want your word you won't 
try anything. Don't try to storm Galactic, We've innocent civilians aboard, and 
besides, you don't want to damage the most powerful ship in your arsenal."
 
"MY arsenal?"
 
"It was, and will be again, sir," Stanger's voice wavered, "I hate what you're 
making us do. I want to be loyal." He
glanced away, at an officer off-camera. "Let me know in three hours, else we'll 
be forced to show our power.**
 
"How?"
 
"From Earthport, Lunapolis Base, and Galactic, we have our choice of targets. I 
want this over with, so we'll go for maximum effect Major cities. Paris, Madrid, 
Sydney. Caracas. The civilian warrens of Lunapolis. Don't look so shocked mat 
we're as ruthless as you." His blue eyes met mine, unflinching.
 
"You'll kill thousands. Millions.**
 
**If you make it necessary.*'
 
"Very well. Three hours." Fuming, I cut the connection.
 
"Branstead!" "Here, sir.** "Cut orders for U.N.A.P. installations with a clear 
line of
 
fife."
 
"They may not comply."
 
"But some will** If I was forced to give the order,
 
"I want to consult Robbie Boland and Senator McGhan."
 
"You'll do no such thing." I glared, but he couldn't see me; I'd rolled away 
from the intellilens. "They're removed from office with the rest of the Senate." 
I rang off.
 
"Well?" Derek raised an eyebrow. "How will you fight?"
 
"Do we know who's with us?" My question wasn't clear. "Has Lunapolis Base truly 
gone over to the rebels?*
 
"Captain Simovich is—"
 
"Yes, but what about his sailors? If 1 go to the warren, will they let me assume 
command?"
 
"You can't take the risk." Arlene.
 
It's my job,"
 
"If they capture you, who'd rally the Government?
 
Valera? Kahn7"
 
Tad Ansclm stirred. "I could go—'* "Be silent" She didn't even look at him. I 
needed all the help I could get "Go on, Tad"
 
"I could go back to the Naval warrens, wander around. Pretend I was delivering a 
message. See what the talk is."
 
"They'd tell you nothing. You're just a cadet"
 
He flushed. I hadn't meant it as criticism.
 
"No cadets are stationed at Lunapolis," I added gently. "You'd stand out like a 
sore thumb. And they just saw you dressed in middy blues. If I go, perhaps I can 
rally the Naval base."
 
"And start a civil war," said Arlene, "Simovich is their commander."
 
"If we get control of their lasers—"
 
"We can target Galactic, And she can target us. How many would die?"
 
In my mind, alarms shrieked. Airlock doors slammed shut, crushing the unlucky. 
Warrens crumbled in thick clouds of dust. Smoke, screams, the crush of rock. And 
then there was Galactic, its immense cost wasted. Hundreds writhing in the 
merciless laser light. For a fortunate few, vacuum.
 
The vision faded. "No," I agreed. "We won't provoke war."
 
Yet if we gave in, I'd foment enviro disaster. And the Naval dictatorship would 
inevitably grow, not wither.
 
I was helpless. I could call no Army, no Navy, no political allies.
 
There was nothing but resignation and disgrace.
 
"Nick," Derek rested his hands on my shoulders. 'There's nothing between war and 
surrender,"
 
I thought a very long while, My heart beat faster. "Isn't there?"
 
I set down the caller, Commandant Kazan's questions ringing in my ears. I'd 
finally snarled an acid remark about obeying orders, or giving over Academy to 
someone prepared to set a better example. Unfair, I'd only called him because ! 
was almost certain of his loyalty.
 
By now he should be on his way.
 
I waited impatiently for Branstead's call. Finally it came.
 
"Well?"
 
"Lincroft, Andersen, Polluck..." And four other Naval officers, all members of 
the Board of Admiralty.
 
"That's alir
 
"Bondell and Petrov refused. 'Personal reasons.' The rest are out of touch." 
Branstead sounded ironic.
 
Seven out of fifteen. I would convene a rump board.
 
"Dismiss Bondell and Petrov," I said. "Give the rest two hours to answer your 
call, then do the same. What have you told the seven?"
 
"That they're to meet in London this evening. Admiral Thorne's been summoned 
back to duty. He'll pass along your orders."
 
I could rely on Jeff Thome. For anything. "The shuttle's
 
ready?"
 
"Yes, sir. You're sure? It complicates matters,"
 
"It has to be face-to-face, and I can't go to them.'*
 
"Reconsider, sir. Let me come aloft too."
 
"No." Branstead was a civilian, and no longer young. I wanted him out of harm's 
way,
 
A sigh. "What's left to do?"
 
"Leave the Rotunda, Ue low." I cleared my throat "Jer-ence, when mis is done 
..."
 
"Don't say it,"
 
"Don't say what?"
 
"That you may not be coming back. This is another of your harebrained schemes, 
isn't it?"
 
"Nonsense." My tone was gruff.
 
"You forget, sir, I was with you on Trafalgar, And I saw you nuke Orbit Station. 
Whatever you have in mind, let someone younger, more agile, do it, Someone—"
 
"That's quite enough, Jerence." I had no one to carry out my hapless plan, and 
besides, I might be called on to make some small measure of atonement.
 
His tone was somber. "You'll call me?"
 
"Before dawn. Eastern."
 
"I'll be up. Godspeed."
 
When I rang off, Arlene massaged my shoulders. It helped. "Nicky, you're going 
to tell me."
 
"Yes."
 
"Now."
 
"No." She might still try to stop me. I temporized. "It's almost time to call 
Stanger." The slightest miscalculation on my part, and my slim hopes were 
dashed. With great difficulty, I persuaded her to go to the hotel to retrieve 
P.T. and Jared, If Stanger contemplated bombing Lunapolis, I wanted our party 
together.
 
I waited for me connection, reminding myself Stanger still thought I was on 
Earth. I would have to insert a small pause before each reply,
 
"Stanger.**
 
"I'll come to Galactic" Idly, I nibbed my aching knee.
 
A sigh, that might have been relief. "Very well."
 
"You want me mere Wednesday?"
 
"The longer we wait, the more chance some hothead will open fire,"
 
I agree, I'11 make shuttle arrangements. You have my that I'll be on Galactic 
Wednesday next'*
 
"No tricks. No weapons, no military forces. Just you."
 
"Captain Stanger, I swear to you by Lord God mat I will come to Galactic alone 
and unarmed, that I will bring aboard no Marines* U.N.A.F. troops, or Naval 
officers, Or sailors, for mat matter. Not even a London jerry."
 
A chuckle.
 
I asked, "Will you be prepared to negotiate'.?"
 
"Only to draft the memorandum we spoke of. No changes."
 
"I may try to persuade you otherwise." My tone was sardonic. "Anything else?" I 
held my breath.
 
"You swear all this without reservation? You will put nobody armed onto 
Galactic, including yourself?*'
 
"Yes. My solemn oath. Alone, unarmed, Wednesday."
 
"As an act of good faith, tell me your whereabouts."
 
"No."
 
"Why not?"
 
"There are others with me you might harm."
 
"You son of..." He left it unfinished.
 
"Stanger, how many of your crew are aware of what you've done?" He controlled 
his comm room; it was possible no one aboard Galactic save a few officers knew 
of his perfidy.
 
"I've told those who need to know. They'll be sailing with me. We're off to 
Constantine, you know, when we take on our remaining passengers. We're loading 
our last supplies even now."
 
The gall of the man. A minor mutiny, an overthrow of government, and then a 
routine cruise. I found myself trembling. "Good day, sir."
 
"Really, son, I'm fine now. There's no need for you to
 
stay."
 
"Path, why are you so grim?"
 
"I've a lot on my mind."
 
Philip regarded me. "Jared, please wait outside." In a moment, we were alone in 
my clinic room. "Sir, shall I start lying to you?"
 
"No."
 
"Then don't lie to me." He made himself comfortable in the side chair, as if 
prepared for a long chat.
 
"It wasn't a lie."
 
"Don't quibble. Between us, truth is more than a technicality."
 
He was right. "There's something I don't want you to know. Get some rest. In the 
morning, I'll—it will be clearer."
 
"You're agitated You're trying to send us off. All right, mere's a crisis. 
What's your scheme? Why are you evasive? Why is Derek furious with you?"
 
"Is her
 
"He's sitting with the cadets, like death incarnate. I wouldn't want to cross 
him."
 
"He's a tad miffed because I won't tell him." I sighed. "You're making it 
harder. You both are."
 
"Shall I call him, so we hear it together?"
 
I threw up my hands. "If you must"
 
I wheeled about the room, in a forlorn attempt to pace.
 
"Path, you can't do it There are courts, laws, the machinery of government Let 
them bring Stanger to justice."
 
At that even Derek shook his head.
 
I said, "When he spoke of loyalty, I almost laughed in his face. Power is 
seductive." I glanced from Derek to my son. "Believe me, I ought to know. You 
see..." I wheeled from wall to wall. "If we submit—if U.N.A.F. and the Assembly 
go along—it'll only get worse. They'll want a higher Naval budget, more ships, 
guaranteed autonomy, control of the colonies. One demand will lead to another. I 
know we risk innocent lives, but I see no choice."
 
Derek asked simply, "When do we go?"
 
"You don't Only the cadets."
 
"Why them?"
 
"They're available, they're trained, they're military and have accepted the 
risk,"
 
"I'm available, trained, and accept the risk."
 
"You're not even a citizen. What matter to you if my Government falls?"
 
"It's more personal man that."
 
"Sorry, Derek, but no."
 
His eyes blazed "Listen well, Nick. I was a boy when you refused me passage on 
Challenger. Never again. I choose to
go. Don't shake your head; refuse me and I'll tell Stanger
what you plan."
 
"You wouldn't."
 
"I swear to Lord God I will." He held my gaze until I had to turn away. "I won't 
abandon you twice."
 
I sagged, defeated. "Three of you, then."
 
"Four." Philip.
 
"I go with P.T." Jared.
 
"Then none of us go," Beyond words, I flung my cane across the room. It bounced 
off the hatch, just as it opened.
 
"I won't have it,"
 
"Hey," said Mikhael. He stooped for my cane. "Weren't you teaching me to hold my 
temper?"
 
"No lip from you!" I hobbled across the room, snatched the cane from his hands.
 
"Why's the middy wearing gray, Pa?"
 
"He's been demoted. Where's ArleneT'
 
"Here." She studied Derek, her son, then me. "Who won?"
 
My back throbbed, "It's a standoff."
 
"Your husband," said Derek icily, "is acting an ass,"
 
A sharp intake of breath, from Jared,
 
I debated hurling the cane at my old friend's head, restrained myself.
 
"It wouldn't be the first time," Arlene said sweetly. Smoldering, I contemplated 
a new target.
 
"Father's not the enemy," P.T. said quietly. "Stanger is."
 
"Thank you." By brute force, I quenched my ire. "Only: the cadets go with me."
 
"Go where, sir?" Bevin, from the hatch. Anselm peered
over his shoulder.
 
I surveyed the small room, suddenly so crowded. "Yes, where?" Dr. Ghenili, 
behind them all. "I'm checking out," "You mustn't leave." Ghenili stood on 
tiptoe, to look over
the crowd. "Nerves knit slowly. If the ganglia fail to heal..." He thrust Bevin 
aside, crossed to my bed
 
"I know."
 
"Mr. SecGen, God knows what damage you may do yourself. Paralysis, this time 
permanent. Or worse."
 
I disengaged his hand. "I understand," If that was the cost, I'd pay it I owed 
my people much. Perhaps I could atone to the countless millions whom my neglect, 
my stupidity, had betrayed.
 
Walking in my cumbersome suit was more difficult man I'd hoped. The throbbing in 
my spine had become a persistent ache, then a glowing ember. Perhaps it was the 
twisting, when I climbed into the suit Regardless of the pain, the helmet hid my 
face, for which I was immensely grateful. I'd sweated through my clothes during 
the long trudge through , the warrens, but I'd remained unnoticed. Perhaps the 
three " risterous youngsters running about and whooping, as I'd bade them, had 
distracted unwanted attention. I'd have to commend them, when all was done.
 
Most shuttles were operated by U,N.A,F. or the Navy. We
 
Vt dare show ourselves in an area under their control.
 
There were only a few public airlocki from the upper ins, One, of course, led to 
the famous light show. At rthis hour, nominal night the show was closed though 
we were in the long dark.
 
We dutifully signed out as a private party, in rented suits. Idiots were allowed 
to loll themselves on the surface, if they really cared to. No watchmen were 
posted, except when the light show was scheduled
 
We cycled through the lock.
 
Rope guides led toward the nearby crater where the show was held. Breath rasping 
in my suit I practiced the peculiar Lunar gait groundsiders found so hard to 
master: half jump, half tread.
 
Ahead, Bevin and Anselm played at long running leaps,
landing in slow motion in sprays of Lunar dust. The last time they'd been on the 
Lunar surface, it had been across the globe at Farside, under the strict 
tutelage of their sergeants. Mikhael clutched Arlene's hand as he took small, 
careful steps. No stranger to a pressure suit, he was nonetheless cautious and 
unsure. A healthy attitude.
 
Derek, an old hand, walked nonchalantly. P.T. and Jared were less acclimated, 
but managed well enough. I shook my head, marveling that I'd been weak enough to 
allow them all on my odyssey. On the other hand, I couldn't leave them at 
Lunapolis to face Simovich's wrath. I'd have to find some way to detach Arlene 
and P.T., at the very least. And Mikhael; he was too young to risk himself. My 
foster son was older than Bevin. Still. I owed him parental protection. P.T. 
touched helmets. "Now where, Path?" **A kilometer northeast of the crater." It 
was a long walk, even in Lunar gravity. It was made longer by my reliance on two 
canes. In a pinch, I could just manage with one, but after a few steps it was 
too painful, and my steps were wobbly and unsteady.
 
After a time I found Arlene's arm under mine, gently supporting my weight. 
Casually, Derek took up station on the
 
other side. The ember grew to a blowtorch. I grunted with each step.
 
"I need a rest." Derek.
 
"Don't patronize me." I spoke through gritted teeth.
 
"All right. You need a rest."
 
"It can't be much farther." I checked my readout. Two A.M. local. "Anytime now. 
Watch the horizon." Unlike the portrayals in holodramas, shuttles glided in at 
an angle, rather than straight down. Until final descent, that is. Then they 
braked and landed as any other VTOL. I peered through
My visor. "I see it!" Mikhael's shrill scream nearly burst my
eardrums. Too late, I dialed down my volume. He jumped up and down, in high, 
slow-motion leaps. "Over there!"
 
The tiny shuttle's engine glowed as braking propellent spewed. Slowly, it 
settled, a good half kilometer distant
 
I sighed, took hesitant steps.
 
At long last we were climbing the shuttle's ramp.
 
A suited figure met us at the lock. "Good morning, sir. I'm Pilot Van Peer."
 
The hatch closed; we cycled through. I checked the air gauge, unscrewed my 
helmet "We haven't met in years," I said. "Not since Portia."
 
His jaw dropped. "But you're... you're—Mr. SecGenT
 
"The very same." The Commandant had followed orders to the letter, his pilot had 
been told to pick up a party beyond the crater, but not whom to expect Well, the 
only way to keep the secret any longer would be to wear my sweltering suit all 
the way to Farside, and I wasn't in the mood. I wiped my damp forehead.
 
"Sir, it's ... I'm amazed." Van Peer had been quite a young man when I'd had UNS 
Portia. Casual, irrepressible, as interested in chess as I was. He'd aged 
gracefully, like Derek.
 
"Shall we?" I indicated the cockpit
 
"Aye aye, sir." Van Peer made preparations for takeoff.
 
As we strapped in, Mikhael took in every fixture, the oxy bottles secured to the 
bulkheads, the thirty-one seats normally occupied by cadets. "Care to sign up, 
son?" My tone was as jovial as my aching back permitted
 
"No way." He bent forward to get a better look at the cockpit "What's he 
doing?*'
 
"Preflight check." If the bloody puter would cooperate. I'd found shuttle puters 
notoriously stubborn.
 
I tried to find a tolerable position. We would be hours on board the tiny craft, 
and I was in considerable pain.
 
I was afraid liftoff would be a problem.
 
It wasn't I passed out
 
*       *       »
 
"Careful. Lift him gently."
 
"I'm all right." I thrust away helpful hands. "I'll walk."
 
"Let me help." Mikhael's voice was subdued. He offered a shoulder on which to 
lean.
 
"You've been crying?" I eased to my feet. Thank Lord God for the low gravity; 
Hazen had been told to turn the gravitrons down.
 
"No." Mikhael wiped reddened eyes.
 
Bevin made a word without sound. "Liar." I pretended not to notice, leaned more 
heavily on Mikhael than I might
 
have.
 
A burly figure came to attention just past the lock. "Commandant Hazen reporting 
as ordered, sir."
 
"Very good. Stand easy." The corridor was deserted, as I'd expected. I looked 
about. "Your staff?" "Most are groundside, with the cadets. The rest are—" 
"You've no cadets aloft?" I'd forgotten; he'd sent them all to Devon for the 
memorial. My plans were wrecked.
 
Seafort, you fool. All my schemes assumed I'd have use of his cadets. Now what?
 
"I'll get a chair." He disappeared. In a moment I found myself sitting, taking 
deep breaths of relief. "I've a barracks ready if you'd care to rest" "Yes." My 
head swam. Arlene said, "Call your med tech." I said, "Don't be ridiculous."
 
"At least he can block the pain. Commandant, call him. Nicky, it's an isolated 
base, and almost deserted. No one but the med tech will know you're here. Don't 
glower."
 
At times, Arlene had to have her way. I nodded. At snail's pace, I tottered to 
the dormitory.
 
"I put you in Thomas Keene," the Commandant said. "The new barracks." Fifteen 
years old, and still they called
it new. It was named after the brave boy I'd killed, one heartless afternoon in 
the training boats.
 
"Who knows we're here?"
 
"No one. They're aware I have special guests, of course." That couldn't be 
helped. In a small base such as Farside, the Commandant's mysterious 
preparations couldn't go unnoticed.
 
"When is Admiralty due?"
 
He checked his watch. "Six hours. Van Peer will meet them as arranged. Sir, it's 
all been done. You're pale as a ghost. Please, get off your feet."
 
"All right." I was too spent to argue.
 
I warned the med tech not to give me anything that would cloud my mind. Perhaps 
as a result, my back throbbed unbearably.
 
I woke to the murmur of the boys' voices. "I'd like another softie." An 
expectant pause.
 
"All right, Mr. Tamarov." Anselm. He crossed the dormitory to an improvised 
refreshment table, returned with a cold drink.
 
I opened one eye. Mikhael sat cross-legged on a bunk.
 
"You trained here, huh? Were you in this dorm?"
 
"No, sir." Anselm's tone was level.
 
"It must be for the smart ones."
 
"I don't know, sir."
 
'That's enough, Mikhael." Anselm, like all cadets, had routinely endured hazing 
far more intense than my foster son could mete out, but it wasn't for Mikhael to 
dispense. Carefully, I shifted. Nothing broke, but a wave of fire swept my 
spine.
 
1 wasn't doing anything, Pa."
 
"Come here." I gave him my sternest eye. "Twenty pushups. Right this moment"
 
He gulped, but complied. In the weak gravity, it wasn't hard.
 
"Put that chair at the foot of the bed. Stand on it You heard me. Now, what's 
the capital of Ireland?"
 
"Dublin."
 
"Argentina.**
 
"Brasiliar
 
"Wrong. Don't you ever study? Are you an idiot?"
 
"Pa, I—"
 
"Ten push-ups. Quick!"
 
He jumped off the chair. When he was done, I patted the bed. "That's hazing, 
son. Leave it to the experts."
 
"Yessir." Casually, he wiped an eye.
 
"And you aren't an idiot." My tone was gruff. Then, "Anselm, come here." I 
regarded him. 'Take this joey outside, and settle it between you. I don't care 
how."
 
"Aye aye, sir." With a polite gesture to Mikhael, he indicated the hatch.
 
I hadn't slept well in ages. 1 dozed anew.
 
I woke to a dull haze of pain, and the blare of a zinc. Idly, Danil played with 
the holovid receiver.
 
"—declared SecGen Seafort's claim illegal Valera will
 
command from— "
 
"Admiral Hoi pledged loyalty to the Valera-Stanger government as—"
 
"—imprisoned pending charges of treason. Branstead
 
was chief of staff to former SecGen—"
 
"—tomorrow's editions."
 
"LEAVE FT!" I struggled to sit
 
"What sir?"
 
"Put it back!"
 
"Jerence Branstead, a Hope Nation colonial, served despite the objection of 
traditionalists who felt only a citizen should be chief of staff. His capture by 
a U.N.A.F. patrol outside the Rotunda—"
 
"Oh, God." I hadn't heeded the warnings, and now this.
 
And a trial for treason ... they would execute him, out of sheer vindictiveness.
 
I stirred. I could move, but barely. Even if Hazen's cadets weren't groundside, 
I might not be able to carry out my forlorn plan. Without them, I faced almost 
certain failure, and death.
 
I thought a long while.
 
Very well. I deserved no less.
 
The hatch slid open. Jared Tenere.
 
I beckoned. 'Talk with me." He took a chair. "Jared, if Philip goes with me 
he'll be in considerable risk. Dissuade him."
 
His smile was a touch sad. "How might I do that, Mr. Seafoit? His mind's made 
up."
 
"You said he listens to reason."
 
"When he's wrong. Is he?"
 
"Of course. He may get himself killed."
 
Jared asked, "Would you allow him to go off and risk his life alone?"
 
"Of course not. I'm his father."
 
"He feels the same. He's your son." A pause. "I don't know what you plan, but I 
have to go too."
 
"I don't want that."
 
"Because I'm fragile?"
 
"Partly."
 
"I'm no wallflower, you know." Jared's tone was almost conversational. "I killed 
joeys in the trannie war. I can do it again. Especially to protect P.T."
 
A chill rolled down my spine. For a moment, there was something fierce about 
him, that I'd not previously seen.
 
"I don't want you to kill."
 
"I won't let Philip die." It was final, unarguable.
 
Derek peered in, saw I was awake. "Nick, the shuttle's here."
 
At last. 'Tell Mr. Hazen we'll use his office." I struggled out of bed.
 
"Pa—"
 
I was shaken by my long, grueling meeting, and had no patience. "You'll stay 
here." I'd have Hazen look after him. "Don't argue."
 
"But why?"
 
I was blunt "You could get killed."
 
Mikhael said, "Let me do something brave. Dad would have. It's time I learned. 
There's more to me than whining and running away." His eyes beseeched mine. 
"Please, Pa."
 
I pulled him into an embrace. "Not yet, son. But I'm proud of you."
 
He stamped his foot "I came to live with you like you asked. I'm doing what you 
tell me. I call you 'Pa' like you want I let you punish me like I'm your joey. 
Now, when it counts ..." His lip quivered.
 
Derek took me aside. "Are you trying to drive him to a rebalancing ward? You 
offered him a home. You can't abandon him now."
 
"Our home is blasted to rubble." "You 're his home!"
 
We were almost out of time. I struggled with my thruster-suit To Anselm and 
Bevin, "You're sure you understand?" "Yes, sir." Danil looked for reassurance to 
the older cadet "Sir?" Pilot Van Peer, from the hatchway. "If you want to make 
your deadline..."
 
As casually as I could, I said, "Arlene, keep an eye on Mikhael. P.T., I'll see 
you in a day or two. Derek, I won't
need—"
 
"You've been SecGen too long," Derek remarked. "You think the entire world 
follows your orders."
 
I rounded on him. "Don't start!"
 
He tightened his suit seals. "Accept the inevitable. I'm part of it"
 
1 order—"
 
Arlene kissed my lips to quiet me. "Hush, you foolish man. You don't decide our 
lives!"
 
"And Mikhael?"
 
"I agree, he stays."
 
"Ma'am, no!" Mikhael was so earnest, I could barely abide it "Let me go as far 
as I can. On the shuttle, at least If I have to say good-bye..." He hugged 
himself.
 
Derek said, "The shuttle itself won't be in danger. Van Peer can drop him at 
Earthport if we ..." He grimaced. "If he has to go to Kiev."
 
"Very well." It was a minor mercy, one of the few I could bestow. We trudged to 
the shuttle lock.
 
"Your extra tanks?"
 
"Full." I peered past Derek, trying to spot Earthport Station against the 
backdrop of stars.
 
Derek cleared his throat "Mr. Seafort—"
 
"I'm no longer 'Nick'?"
 
"Not at the moment." His tone was grave. "Sir, Godspeed."
 
"And to you." Awkwardly, dangling my alumalloy canes, I embraced him.
 
I turned to the others. "No weapons. For all of us, I gave my word."
 
"Agreed." Arlene looked cross. From the rest, nods.
 
"Good-bye, Mikhael. I'll see you soon." But I wouldn't He'd come to grips with 
his loss. He had Alexi in him.
 
I had to pry his fingers loose.
 
"All right, Pilot"
 
Van Peer took up the caller. "Academy Shuttle T-455 to Earthport Approach 
Control."
 
The speaker crackled. "Go ahead."
 
"We'll be docking at a Naval bay. We have a middy aboard whom Mr. Hazen wants 
drilled. Permission to maneuver before docking. I'd guess fifteen minutes."
 
"Outside two-kilometer docking zone, shuttle."
 
"Naturally. Changing course to 025,36,198."
 
I cycled the lock. "No radio. Nothing.*'
 
"Understood, sir." Van Peer's eyes never left his controls.
 
I switched off my radionics, stepped into the lock.
 
When the chamber was pumped to vacuum, I grasped a handhold, pulled myself out 
of the shuttle. The lock was nearly in zero gee, which helped immensely. If I 
could somehow live between planets, my spine would ache not at
 
all. I waited, searching among the uncaring stars until I saw
 
the blazing lights of Galactic.
 
There would come a moment in Van Peer's maneuvers when he was at rest relative 
to the great starship. In about fifteen minutes, if all went according to plan. 
I had merely to let go my handhold, drift far enough to be out of range of his 
maneuvering thrusters. I locked my gaze on the
 
ship.
 
When the time came I let go, floated dreamily into space. In a shuttle porthole, 
Arlene's anxious face. I waved, but she watched me recede, unblinking, as if to 
etch my form into her memory.
 
After a time, the shuttle was gone.
 
Carefully, so carefully, I nudged my thrusters.
 
The trick was to move hardly at all.
 
Galactic, like Earthport itself, had numerous external sensors. But, especially 
near an orbiting station, space was filled with abandoned tanks, lost tools, 
waste packets, and other slow-moving debris that drifted endlessly, until sucked 
into Earth's gravitational well. If I floated ever so slowly toward the 
starship, I wouldn't register.
 
At any rate, that was my hope.
 
My rate of speed was so slow it would take me eight
hours.
 
I'd reach Galactic at seventeen hundred.
 
On Tuesday. I'd promised Stanger I would be in Galactic on Wednesday.
 
I would be.
 
I meant to kill Stanger, if I could. That went without saying. I owed Lord God a 
life, Stanger's or mine.
 
Drifting, I struggled to stay awake. Sleep was deadly; I'd have to adjust my 
course with the most minute of corrections, rather than change direction when I 
was close to Galactic. The last thing I wanted was some alert middy noticing 
debris homing on his ship in a great arc.
 
From time to time I prayed. For Mikhael, for poor Anselm, for Jared. For those 
I'd misjudged.
 
After a time my boyhood friend Jason drifted with me in companionable silence. 
Then Vax Holser, my great enemy, then my friend. Vax was among the first I 
murdered.
 
I snapped awake. Watch your tank, Seafort. Still green, but you'll have to 
change it soon.
 
Where was I?
 
Nearer to Galactic, but still a good way off. I contemplated a quick burst from 
my thrusters. But I might as well activate a beacon. Or blast an announcement of 
my presence across all frequencies. I sighed.
 
Where was Van Peer's shuttle? His instructions had been to finish maneuvers, 
dock for four hours, then, on Wednesday, separate from the Station.
 
Again, I reviewed my plan. It had one overwhelming advantage: I need not survive 
to win. As long as Stanger was thwarted...
 
Arlene had spoken of having another child. A pity. Perhaps she'd use my stored 
DNA to build one. I'd be a better posthumous father than a living one. For years 
I'd alienated P.T., thanks to my stubborn refusal to countenance his en-viro 
pleas. And I'd beaten Mikhael, brutalized him. If he weren't so desperate for a 
model he wouldn't have allowed it.
 
My death was no great loss.
 
Laboriously, I made ready to switch tanks. It was an awkward maneuver, but not 
impossible. For a brief time I'd be
dependent on the air in my suit, but that would last minutes, and the switch 
would take seconds. I undamped the old tank, moved the nozzle to the new, 
secured the clamp.
 
There.
 
When had I last changed tanks Outside? I must have been Anselm's age, a middy. 
Poor Tad... a cadet again, at sixteen? In all Academy's history I knew of no 
similar demotion. A midshipman made his bed, and was expected to sleep in it If 
he couldn't cope with middy life, he washed out Though... I had to smile. Anselm 
had lost his legal majority. As a cadet he couldn't buy liquor. Perhaps I'd done 
him a favor after all.
 
Ahead, the hull loomed. Would I need a correction?
 
No.
 
My feet would hit first That wouldn't do; if I jarred my spine I'd probably pass 
out At the last moment I'd touch the rear thruster just so ...
 
Closer. I braced myself.
 
Switch on your hand magnets, you idiot! Do you want to
 
bounce?
 
Now nudge the thruster.
 
Softly, gently, contact
 
I clung to the huge hull, a barnacle on a whale. Where was I? Outside a disk, 
but which one? I was too close to tell; why hadn't I paid attention? Only the 
Level 1 or Level 2 lock
 
would do.
 
Don't panic. It'll be labeled. You wouldn't be the first sailor to go Outside 
and become disoriented.
 
Avoiding mounted sensors, I clambered from handhold to handhold. The hull 
stretched into the distance. It was longer than three football fields, and I had 
to pull myself along a vast section of it, my canes hanging from my back.
 
Normally, a sailor in a thrustersuit would jet off from the hull, propel himself 
to his goal, and reattach. But I was most anxious not to trigger any external 
sensors.
 
Only zero gee made my labors possible.
 
A good hour later, I clung to a handhold near the Level 2 airlock. Carefully, I 
pulled myself onto the hull, clumped step by step to the sensor mounted just 
above the lock. I took from my pouch the one tool I'd brought: a wrench. Careful 
not to float into the sensor's view, I unbolted the sensor's housing and yanked 
loose the data cable.
 
Now, the hardest part Waiting for some poor joey to come fix the sensor.
 
Just above the airlock, I hooked my arm through a handhold, and began my vigil. 
I might use all my air and asphyxiate before my plan came to fruition.
 
Seconds dragged into minutes, then into an hour. Two. I contemplated my last 
bottle of oxy. I'd have to change while my old one was well in the green, so my 
attention wouldn't be diverted at a critical moment.
 
Three hours.
 
What if I disconnected another sensor? Would it make them suspicious, or—
 
The outer lock indicator began to blink.
 
I opened my pouch.
 
I didn't dare crouch down to peer through the airlock porthole. I'd have to hope 
there were no more than two sailors.
 
The lock pumped to vacuum. The outer hatch slid open. A suited figure emerged, 
clinging to the handhold. I pressed myself against the hull, making myself 
smaller.
 
Spanner in hand, he hoisted himself over the lock, toward the sensor by which I 
crouched. I waited for his mate. No one emerged.
 
Could there possibly be only one?
 
He was almost on me. No more time. Clutching the handhold against recoil, I 
raised my wrench high over my head, smashed it into the helmet as hard as I 
could.
 
A puff of air. No time even for a scream. The figure jerked, clawed at a 
shattered helmet, twitched.
 
Forgive me, Lord. He was one of Your innocents. I call it duty, but in truth 
it's murder.
 
His suit was standard ship's issue, not a thrustersuit like my own. 
Thrustersuits were white, mag suits gray. That meant... I grabbed his 
already-stiffening arm, climbed down the handholds into the lock, trailing him 
like an ungainly balloon,
 
Hurry, before some bored rating peeks into the porthole. I slapped shut the 
outer hatch, re-aired the lock. First my own suit, a piece at a time. The 
helmet. The thruster pack. The torso and legs. It was harder now, under the 
influence of Galactic*$ gravitrons. A lance of pain; I'd twisted in the wrong 
direction.
 
Crouching below porthole level, I pulled the sailor's smashed helmet. A gasp. My 
own. Soft brown hair, unseeing eyes, a woman's face.
 
Gritting my teeth, I stripped off the rest of her suit. Would it have made a 
difference? Could I have killed a woman in cold blood?
 
I already had, in my foul past.
 
Thrusting the thought to some dark recess of my mind, I began to don her suit. I 
had trouble working my legs into the opening; the effort sent warning twinges 
down my spine. The exertion left my clothes drenched, but finally I was 
ensconced in the mag suit. Thank heaven helmets were interchangeable. But that 
was to be expected; if each fit only its own suit, in a crisis, disaster could 
result by snatching the wrong helmet,
 
I cycled to vacuum, dragged the body to the outer lock. When the hatch slid 
open, I shoved out the sailor's corpse, watched her tumble toward Earthport 
Station. In a moment my thrustersuit followed, not before I'd secured my alumal-
loy canes.
 
Close the outer hatch. Recycle. Open the inner hatch. Hopefully, if someone on 
the bridge noticed the lock cycling, they'd simply assume the woman repairing 
the sensor
had forgotten a tool. Perhaps they were calling her now. No, in that case I'd 
hear. I was wearing her suit
 
I'd chosen Level 2 for several reasons. First, it wasn't Level 1; I'd be less 
likely to meet an officer before I wanted to. Second, Stanger kept only Levels 1 
and 2 at reduced gravity. I'd be unable to walk if I emerged belowdecks. Last, 
according to Admiralty's specs, the berth of the master-at-anns was on Level 2.
 
Letting my canes support most of my weight, ungainly in my ill-fitting suit, I 
clumped down the carpeted corridor past curious passengers, past two ratings on 
cleanup detail, Where was the master-at-arms? To my right, a passenger lounge. 
Helpful plates above the hatch identified each compartment An exercise room. 
Purser's storage.
 
Sweat ran down my spine. At any moment I might be stopped, my subterfuge 
unveiled, as I strolled halfway around an opulent circumference corridor the 
length of a bloody jogging track. In a stolen suit a size too small, supported 
by a cripple's canes. If they caught me, would they take me to the cells or to a 
psych?
 
At last, the compartment I sought
 
I slapped open the hatch, hobbled in.
 
In any Naval ship the master-at-arms was a petty officer, and wore a sailor's 
blues. Short, muscular, swarthy, he put aside his holovid, turned from his 
console, rolled back his learner chair. "What do you want, Sailor?"
 
"Just a moment" Balancing on one cane, I undamped my helmet, took a welcome 
bream of ship's air. "Would you help with mis, please?" I unclasped the front of 
my thrustcr-suit
 
A Crown of annoyance as he helped peel off my suit
 
He froze, gaping. Perhaps it was the Admiral's dress whites I wore beneath.
 
CHAPTER 18
 
JL ou are ... T
 
"Admiral Seafort. Stand at attention."
 
Military discipline is automatic. He stiffened. 1 fished a chipcase from my 
pocket, slipped the chip Admiralty had given me into his console.
 
"United Nations Board of Admiralty to Nicholas Ewing Seafort, United Nations 
Naval Service," I read aloud. "Effective October 4, 2241, you are reinstated 
into the Naval Service with the rank of Admiral. You shall command a squadron 
consisting of UNS Galactic, a vessel moored alongside Earthport Station, and all 
other ships and boats now or hereafter sailing within home system. You are to 
direct the said squadron in the performance of its duties as may be determined 
by you, until relieved of your command ..." When done, I flipped the holovid for 
his inspection.
 
"Yes, sirT*
 
"Stand at ease. Your name?"
 
"Master-at-arms Yvgeni Tobrok."
 
"I trust you're familiar with Naval regs?" While most sailors relied on their 
officers' assumption of authority, a ship's jerry would know more of the law.
 
"Yes, sir."
 
"Listen carefully, Mr. Tobrok. First, I hereby take command of this squadron. 
Second, I relieve Ulysses Stanger as Captain of this vessel, and place him on 
the inactive list Third, I appoint myself in his place. Do you question either 
my identity or my authority?"
 
Beads of sweat lined his forehead. "No, sir."
 
"Acknowledge my command, please. I caution you that if you err in this matter 
you will in all likelihood be hanged." No doubt he already knew. An officer—or 
any sailor—owed unquestioned obedience to his lawful Captain. To relieve a 
Captain without authority was a hanging offense, and the penalty was almost 
always carried out.
 
To his credit, Tobrok hesitated. "Let me see the holovid again, please." He read 
it carefully. When he was done his uniform was almost as damp as mine. "Sir, I 
acknowledge your authority. By your declaration, you're Captain of this vessel. 
But we have to tell Captain Stanger."
 
"Do we, now?" I took his chair, grateful to be off my feet
 
It was a convoluted maneuver I'd performed.
 
A ship could have but one Captain, else its lines of authority would be muddled. 
By Naval regs, when two or more members of a ship's company held similar rank, 
seniority prevailed. The most senior was deemed of higher rank. I knew the 
provision well; I'd used it to steal a vessel to put an end to the Transpop 
Rebellion.
 
Captain Stanger, a seasoned hand, had far more seniority than I'd accumulated in 
my relatively brief Naval career. If I'd had Admiralty appoint me a mere Captain 
instead of Admiral, I'd have lacked authority to relieve him, were he to resist
 
As Admiral, I couldn't command directly, but I could dismiss Stanger. I could 
then appoint myself to the vacant Captaincy, as I had.
 
Why did 1 bother, instead of relying on the vast powers I'd assumed under 
martial law?
 
Because of the very threat of hanging, of which I'd
warned Master-at-anns Tobrok. Officers wouldn't chance my vague claim of 
authority against their Captain's, unless I dismissed him in proper Naval 
fashion.
 
They still might not. But now at least I had a chance.
 
"What weapons have you, Mr. Tobrok?"
 
"Sir, we have to log your change of command."
 
"We will."
 
"I can't go against Mr. Stanger merely on your word, sir."
 
"You acknowledged my command, did you not?" Unarmed, I had to secure this man's 
weapons, but he could physically overpower me with ease. It was vital he accept 
my authority.
 
"Yes, sir. But"—a sheen of sweat—"I shouldn't have. Mr. Stanger has to be 
informed, and your relieving him recorded in the Log."
 
Tobrok was right: assumption of command must be logged, but the problem was, my 
doing so would alert Stanger. The Captain would hardly allow me to take over his 
ship; he'd already committed mutiny, a hanging offense. What matter that he 
defied Admiralty as well?
 
I cursed under my breath. All had been going so well, until I came upon this sea 
lawyer. No, that wasn't fair. A conscientious petty officer, trying to do his 
duty. "In due time, Mr. Tobrok. The ship's safety—" "Regs require it." "I 
override the regs." "Aye aye, sir. I insist your override be in writing and
 
logged."
 
I regarded him. "Are you changing sides?'
 
"There are no sides." He sounded desperate. "There's Galactic, and the Naval 
Regulations and Code of Conduct."
 
Time was wasting, that I could ill afford. "If I find authority in the regs for 
not logging my assumption of command, will you be satisfied?"
 
"I'd have to be, sir." Almost, I felt sympathy. He was trying at all costs to 
avoid the threat of hanging.
"Very well. Let me mink." As a youngster, in hazing such as Mikhael had toyed 
with at Farside, the middies had set me on a chair in the wardroom to make me 
recite regs. I'd uncovered an unexpected talent in memorizing them, that had 
served me well over the years.
 
"Section 135, General Provisions. Any ship's officer may rely upon the apparent 
authority of a superior, in carrying out—no." That supported Stanger's apparent 
authority as Captain, not my own as interloper. "Disregard that"
 
He waited, while I wracked my brain.
 
"During General Quarters routine ship's functions may be disregarded or delayed. 
Section 50 something."
 
"Only the Captain can pipe General Quarters, sir. Are you Captain if you haven't 
logged it?"
 
"I bloody well am." But my mere assertion wouldn't convince him. "Somewhere in 
Section 12. Any lawful order is valid, written or otherwise."
 
"Sir, no disrespect, but the question is whether your order is lawful." He 
shifted from foot to foot, like a joeykid needing to use the head.
 
I'd run out of regs. "Your console. Can you access the ship's puter?"
 
"Yes, sir, but only the Captain—"
 
"What's his name?"
 
"Baron, sir."
 
I sniffed. "Pretentious." Puters thought they ran the Navy. "Call him up."
 
"How may I help you?" A slight note of impatience in the outer's tone.
 
I fed in my Admiralty chip, and my own new ID code. "Acknowledge.**
 
"Receipt of Admiralty orders acknowledged. Identity of Admiral SecGen Seafort 
confirmed through ID and voicerec."
 
"Very well." For Baron, I ran through the rigmarole I'd
onducted for Tobrok: I took command of my squadron, relieved the Captain, 
appointed myself.
 
"Assumption of authority acknowledged."
 
"Puter, can you make a copy of the Log?"
 
"Of course."
 
"Duplicate the Log as it existed prior to my assuming
 
command."
 
A millisecond's pause, "Done."
 
"Very well. Freeze the second copy of the Log in its current state. Provide that 
copy in response to any request from the bridge. Acknowledge."
 
"Orders received and acknowledged, Captain." I wiped my brow. "Now, Baron. Enter 
my orders relieving Captain Stanger and appointing myself Captain only in the 
original Log. Deem the original copy the official, current Log. Provide it upon 
request by Admiralty, or me." "Noted. Captain, mis is a most unusual—" "Do you 
claim it's a violation of your programming?' A most distinct hesitation. "No.** 
I glowered at Tobrok. "Satisfied?** "Yes, sir, that should do it.0 He saluted. 
"Master-at arms Yvgeni Tobrok reporting, Captain." Thank Lord God. "What weapons 
do you have?** "Two stunners, sir.**
 
My face showed my dismay. "That's all?** "Mr, Stanger keeps the rest locked in 
the armory.** "On Level 1?"
 
"Yes, sir.** He gave me an odd look. Armories were always on Level 1. "What arms 
does he keep on the bridge?** Immediately, I
 
knew it was a foolish question.
 
"I have no idea, sir." Stanger would have no reason to inform his master-at-arms 
of his weapons. No doubt he kept a laser pistol, if not more, in the bridge 
safe.
 
"Let's have the stunners.**
 
Reluctantly, he parted with them. I shoved one in my pants, the other in my 
jacket
 
"Who has the engine room?"
 
"Chief McAndrews."
 
"Have him—you're joking!" The stolid, reliable Chief Engineer of Hibernia, here 
on Galactic!
 
"I'm not, sir." Tobrok seemed puzzled.
 
"He'd be eighty, if he's a day."
 
"Oh, no, sir. Forty at most." A different man. My heart crept down to its usual 
place.
 
"His father was in the Navy too, I think."
 
An eager thump. "Let's go—no, I can't Call mm here."
 
"He's my superior, sir. I can't order him."
 
"Find an excuse. Get him here flank, but don't mention, uh, our doings."
 
"Aye aye, sir." Tobrok paused in thought He keyed the caller. "Engine Room, 
master-at-arms."
 
"Go ahead," The voice seemed almost familiar.
 
"Chief, I collared one of your joeys rummaging through a passenger's cabin. 
She's willing not to press charges, I thought perhaps you—"
 
"HI be right there." A click.
 
"Excellent, Mr. Tobrok. You're to be commended."
 
He flushed with pleasure.
 
After a time, the pounding of footsteps. The hatch was flung open. "Where Is 
he?" A broad-shouldered man, with the physique of a village blacksmith. He 
ignored my braid.
 
Helplessly, Tobrok looked to me.
 
I put the Chief at attention, identified myself, ordered him to read the Log.
 
When he was done I said, "Well?**
 
"Well what, sir?"
 
"Do you acknowledge my authority?"
 
His brow knitted in puzzlement. "Of course."
 
Tobrok reddened.
 
"I believe I knew your father."
 
The Chief's ruddy face broke into a slow grin. "Aye, sir. I grew up on tales of 
the old days. I've always hoped to meet you."
 
"Is he alive?"
 
"As of last mail. He retired to Vega. Has a new wife."
 
"Marvelous." We'd passed many evenings over the fumes of his antique smoking 
apparatus.
 
"Sir, this is about the envirosT
 
"No, it's about treason." Too late, I regretted my harsh tone. "What do you 
mean, the envirosT'
 
"The Captain told us the Navy was called in to put down an enviro insurrection. 
That you made your speech dissolving the Assembly because you were captive to a 
fanatic cult"
 
"You believed him?"
 
"Are you glitched? Of course not, after Pop's stories." A grin. "But I couldn't 
very well tell him so."
 
"Chief, Stanger has the bridge and I'm not sure how to dislodge him. Whatever 
happens, I don't want him to be able to Fuse, and we may need to cut power to 
the lasers."
 
"Fusion is no problem. I simply won't do it Laser power is another matter. I'd 
have to reroute buses from the mains. He'd know, of course. There's no way to 
disconnect the
 
safeties."
 
I pondered. "We have to lure him from the bridge." I glanced at my watch. "We 
only have an hour."
 
"What happens then, sir?" Tobrok.
 
Could 1 trust him? I hesitated. How could I not, after what he'd put me through? 
And Tobrok had summoned the Chief with a clever ruse. As for McAndrews, he was 
his father's son, and that would do.
 
"Reinforcements."
 
Tobrok's eyes widened. "Marines?"
 
"Unfortunately, no." I'd sworn not to put anyone armed Jfc the ship. I'd 
deliberately broken one oath in my life. BjiHljw.
 
was a matter that haunted me yet. Nothing in Lord God's creation could make me 
do it again.
 
"We need the comm room."
 
"I could call the comm room duty officer." Tobrok sounded dubious. "But he can't 
leave his post"
 
"What Level?"
 
"Three, sir."
 
Off-limits, unless I wanted to crawl; I couldn't walk in high gravity. "I can't 
manage it" A sudden thought. "Chief, you have the gravitrons?"
 
"Not the units themselves; each is at the center of its own vortex. But the 
controls, yes." He frowned. "Well, I have them, but can't adjust them unless the 
safeties are disconnected at the bridge console."
 
"Very well. Chief, back to your engine room. Stand by for my orders. Seal your 
corridor hatches."
 
His expression tightened. "Aye aye, sir."
 
"I don't suppose you keep weapons."
 
McAndrews paused in the hatchway. "Why, no, sir."
 
*Then we'll need cutting tools to breach the armory."
 
"No problem. I'll send a pair of my more reliable joeys." A salute, and he was 
gone.
 
I turned to Tobrok. "How many of your detail can you trust?"
 
"In this, sir? Let me ... Two or three, at best. The others may, uh, waver."
 
"Call them. Have them wait for us outside the comm room." When he was done I 
asked, "I don't suppose there's a wheelchair about?"
 
"In sickbay, I imagine."
 
"Get it."
 
Waiting, I toyed at the console. With a chair, I'd risk Level 3. If we took the 
comm room, we had a chance. The hatch slid open. "Did you find—"
 
"Who are you?" A sailor, rather unkempt
 
"Stand to!"
 
"You're not from the ship."
 
A desperate lunge that toppled me from the chair. On the way down I touched him 
with the tip of the stunner. He collapsed.
 
White jagged lightning, that threatened to cleave me
 
asunder. I lay groaning.
 
"I have the wheel—good Christ!" Tobrok knelt "What happened?"
 
"I fell."
 
"Did he—7" A glance at the sailor. If he'd touched me unbidden, it was a hanging 
offense. No crewman was allowed to touch the Captain.
 
"No." I held ou|a hand, an invitation. "Can you..."
 
Gently, he helped me to the wheelchair. "Now where,
 
sir?"
 
"Brig him. Then the comm room, and hurry." I clutched my canes, heavy, 
alumalloy, useless objects. Tobrok dragged the unconscious sailor through the 
inner hatchway, to the
 
brig.
 
Uneasy, glancing both ways, I followed him to the lift halfway around the 
corridor. Its hatch slid open. Two passengers made way, incurious, preoccupied 
with their conversation. I suspected they were unable to decipher one rank from 
another.
 
On the way below to Level 3 our weight altered. Even braced in the chair, I felt 
it as unbearable pressure. My face went pale and pasty.
 
With effort, I wheeled myself along in Tobrok's footsteps. The plush carpet 
eased my journey, but I held on to the armrests as if my life depended on it
 
Two grim-looking joeys with billy clubs waited outside the comm room. Tobrok 
introduced mem, quickly told them the situation. He rapped on the comm-room 
hatch. "Attention!" His bellow had the watch instantly on their feet
 
With the ship in a state of undeclared war, I expected to find the comm room 
fully manned, and it was. Five ratings
at their blinking consoles monitored Station traffic, watched the ship's many 
sensors.
 
"Mr. Tobrok, give them the news." Concisely, he did so. I had all three of them 
call up the revised Log, to verify our entries. "Who's in charge?"
 
Silence.
 
"Mr. Tobrok, throw the senior watch officer in the brig. The charge is 
insubordination."
 
"I guess I am, sir. Sorry." A beady-eyed joey, fingers clenching and 
unclenching. <(Comm Specialist Panner."
 
"Very well. Hold, Mr. Tobrok. Mr. Panner, ignore all further communication from 
the bridge. Acknowledge."
 
"Orders received and acknowledged, sir. Ignore the bridge." He was sweating. 
"What if the Captain—"
 
"The former Captain."
 
"Yes, sir." He fell silent.
 
"Disconnect the bridge. I don't want them to have access to Earthport Station or 
Earth."
 
"Aye aye, sir, I can't." He licked greasy lips. 'The bridge can't be cut off. 
The Captain can call out, or overhear anything sent from this compartment."
 
"What about other ship's stations?" I was afraid I already knew the answer.
 
'The bridge and the engine room can call anywhere. Maybe in complete powerdown 
they'd be cut off, but I doubt it."
 
"Very well. Put incoming communications on your speaker."
 
He tapped a few keys. The hiss of carriers, and an occasional bored instruction 
from Earthport's traffic control.
 
We waited. It was twenty-three fifty. Minutes passed at a glacial pace.
 
Twenty minutes later, a voice I knew. "Galactic, this is SecGen Seafort's 
shuttle." It was my shuttle. Had been.
 
Captain Stanger, his voice cold. "Identify yourself."
 
"Pilot Walter Van Peer, of Naval Academy Shuttle T-455."
"So that's where the son of a bitch was hiding. Who's
with you?" Van Peer's tone was laconic. "Sir, there's nobody else
aboard. You have my oath."
 
Good. He'd said it exactly as we'd rehearsed.
 
"Very well, approach the Level 4 lock. He can swing across." Stanger was playing 
it safe. Forward of the Level 2 lock I'd used was a cargo bay, with capture 
latches for mating airlocks. But the Captain wanted no suspicious vessel moored 
to his starship.
 
We watched the sensor screens as Van Peer maneuvered the shuttle close.
 
Tobrok whispered, "How many does he have aboard?"
 
"None. He gave his oath on my behalf."
 
The master-at-arms gave me a fixed stare.
 
Van Peer brought the shuttle to rest a few meters from the
airlock.
 
"Send Seafort through the Level 4 lock. Be warned, we have you targeted. Laser 
Room, prepare to fire."
 
Why had I taken over the cornm room instead of laser control? I felt clammy 
inside my unfamiliar uniform.
 
The speaker crackled. "Mr. Tobrok, call the bridge."
 
We exchanged glances. I nodded.
 
He keyed the caller. "Master-at-arms Tobrok reporting,
sir."
 
"lake a squad to the Level 4 lock. If Seafort is alone, let him in. Otherwise, 
defend the lock and report to me by caller."
 
I nodded.
 
He said, "Aye aye, sir."
 
I stirred. "Mr. Fanner, seal your hatch, open only for me or the master-at-arms. 
Tobrok, get me to the Level 4 lock. Bring your joeys."
 
He slapped open the hatch. Outside, a midshipman stood
poised to knock. His gaze flickered past Tobrok. "The Sec-Gen, here?" His tone 
was unbelieving.
 
"Grab him!"
 
He spun and bolted. One of Tobrok's men gave chase, but it was hopeless.
 
"Run!" Canes in my lap, I flailed at my wheels. "Level 4! Hurry!"
 
We tore down the corridor past a gaggle of startled passengers.
 
The lift was a quarter turn beyond the stairwell. Too far. "Carry me! No time!" 
Only Tobrok dared touch me, at first. "Pick me up, damn you. Down the stairs! 
You, carry the chair. CHRIST JESUS, DON'T JOUNCE!" Sorry, Lord, but that was a 
bad one.
 
Alarms shrieked. Stanger, on shipwide circuit. "Repel boarders, Level 4 airlock! 
All passengers, to your cabins!"
 
At the foot of the ladder they threw me into the chair. We raced toward the 
lock. Tobrok panted, "Why, sir? Who's coming aboard?"
 
"My reinforcements." Just six, but Lord God willing, it might be enough. I'd 
gained the comm room and the engine room, stopped Stanger from Fusing. And I had 
the master-at-arms.
 
"If they're not on the shuttle, how... T
 
On a cable, tethered a hundred meters abaft the shuttle. Far enough so the 
gentle spurts of the shuttle's thrusters wouldn't roast them. Near enough to 
haul themselves in quickly. Van Peer's delicate touch had brought the shuttle to 
rest without swinging them into the hull.
 
Behind the shuttle. Not aboard it. I'd told truth.
 
No time to explain. 'Trust me."
 
"Attention, ship's company!" Stanger's voice rasped in the corridor speakers. 
"The master-at-arms is aiding the boarders. Apprehend him. Mr Tobrok is relieved 
from his post. Speke, Wilkins, Tarnier, to the armory, flank!"
 
Stanger had reacted with commendable speed. From the
middy's skimpy repent, he'd pieced together enough to mobilize his defenses.
 
We skidded to a stop at the airlock, the first to arrive. I peered through the 
porthole, saw two suited figures. Then a third. The outer hatch gaped wide, held 
open by an alumal-loybar.
 
Hurry. I hammered at my armrest.
 
"Sir, the override!"
 
I glanced at the panel; the bridge override was flashing. Damn Stanger to hell. 
My party wouldn't be able to open the inner hatch. Neither would we, from the 
corridor. How could— "What's in merer*
 
"A suit locker, sir."
 
No help. I churned my brain. Aha. "Tobrok, the Chief left a cutting assembly in 
your berth. Get it, flank."
 
"Force the airlock?" He was incredulous. No sailor could easily contemplate 
damaging his ship.
 
"MOVE!"
 
I had both the stunners. I handed one to each of his joeys. "Give me the 
frazzing billy!** The startled sailor dropped the club in my lap. It wouldn't do 
much good, but it was better
 
than nothing.
 
"There!" Down the corridor, a handful of Galactic's sailors pointed at us, 
gathered their nerve for an attack.
 
"Charge them!** I prodded my crew.
 
Tobrok's two men took off, stunners aimed two-handed, stretched in front as they 
ran. They pounded along the carpet. The opposing sailors wavered. One turned, 
bolted. Abruptly, they all fled.
 
"Come back! Quick, to the lock!" Somehow, my joeys heard me above the rush of 
their adrenaline. They loped
 
back.
 
The airlock was filling. Four figures. Five. I caught sight of Derek, Who was 
missing? Where the hell was Tobrok
with the torch? Running steps. The master-at-arms trotted round the
 
bend, lugging a heavy cutting assembly. His face was red from exertion; I should 
have sent two men.
 
I snapped, "Check the far ladder. Yell warning if they attack." Not that it 
would do much good. And they could come at us by the elevator as well.
 
Tobrok dropped the torch at my feet, leaned against the lock, chest heaving.
 
"Quick, get it set up!" He and his mate scrambled to put together the assembly. 
A click. Another, and we had flame.
 
Around the corridor bend, voices. I shoved my billy club at Tobrok. 'Take your 
men, hold them off." I peered down the corridor. "Use those fire hoses!" Stanger 
could cut off the pressure, but it would gain us time. Especially if he first 
relayed his command through the engine room, where die ship's water was 
controlled. I snatched up the torch.
 
I pounded the airlock porthole. For Lord God's sake, hurry. There were six in 
the lock. Then, strangely, seven. Derek kicked free the bar. The outer hatch 
slid shut He secured it, slammed down the pressure lever.
 
As the lock pressurized I began to cut. I needed to shear the bolts that held 
the hatch shut; the airlock control panel was disabled from the bridge. The 
bolts were at midlevel of the hatch. From my chair, I worked at a spot of the 
alumal-loy, the torch assembly heavy on my lap. My canes were in die way; I 
tossed them to the deck.
 
Shouts of rage from the east. Tobrok's high pressure fire hose had found a 
target A pity about the fine new carpet I bent to my task. The alumalloy glowed, 
sagged. I jerked my feet away from the flow.
 
"Hurry, Captain!"
 
I grunted. To the west, Tobrok's man had pocketed his stunner and wrestled with 
a second fire hose. Clever. He could down more joeys with the icy water than the 
stunner, which had to be close enough to touch.
 
I had cut half through one of the two bolts. Stanger would have the water off 
any moment
 
A scream. I glanced up. The corridor bulkhead smoked from a distant laser bolt. 
Lord help us. Fire hoses were no match for lasers. Tobrok retreated farther 
around the bend,
 
toward me.
 
The first bolt was severed. I started the second. Was the bloody torch on full? 
Why hadn't I brought a torch of my own? Lasers? Or a nuke?
 
In excruciating slow motion, the second bolt glowed and
 
began to separate.
 
"Now, sir! Hurry!" Tobrok was almost upon me, retreating from the laser. The 
fire hose was stretched tight. Only the curve of the corridor protected him, and 
he could retreat no farther. One good shot, and he'd be a blistered corpse.
 
Half the bolt cut. Two-thirds.
 
I held the torch steady, risked a glance to each side. To the west, Tobrok's man 
stood waiting with another hose. To the east, soggy carpet, a steady torrent of 
water slapping the
 
bulkhead.
 
At the corridor curve a middy appeared, uniform immaculate and dry. Coolly, he 
aimed his laser pistol, I flinched. With a cry of rage Tobrok bounded forward, 
hose in hand, A bolt sizzled the bulkhead to his right. He charged the middy, 
dragging his hose. The middy aimed anew. Tobrok's burst caught him full in the 
chest, hurled him against the bulkhead. The laser went flying. The middy 
scrambled for it.
 
Pounding, on the hatch. I looked up. Christ, Seafort, you idiot. The bolt was 
cut, and still I played the flame at it. I twisted oft the torch, slapped the 
panel just as someone in the lock did the same.
 
The smoking hatch slid open, grating against its pocket. Half-suited figures 
poured out the lock. Arlene. Philip. Bevin. Others still in helmets.
 
I threw down the torch, grabbed my canes. "Tobrok! You men!" I beckoned 
frantically.
 
The master-at-arms abandoned his hose. It flopped
wildly, like a beached fish. He raced down the corridor toward us.
 
"This way!" I pointed west, away from the armed party with the laser.
 
Someone grabbed my chair handles. I lurched along the corridor, hanging on as 
best I could.
 
Pounding feet* the rasp of breath. We thudded down the corridor. Jared tore off 
his heavy helmet
 
Behind us, shouts.
 
"Faster!" I tried to spin the wheels. Where to God's own Hell was the ladder?
 
Three men lunged out of a cabin, brandishing billies. Derek ducked under one. 
Jared, with all his strength, swung his helmet in a vicious arc. It caught his 
attacker in the forehead, dropped him like a stone. We raced on.
 
Ahead, the ladder. As we neared, a dozen sailors charged down the steps from 
Level 3.
 
We were trapped. Someone hauled my chair backward. I pitched forward; a hand 
clutched my collar, hauled me into my seat as we retreated.
 
'This way!" Tobrok ran back the way we had come, "Fast!" That way lay the laser 
pistol, and death. "Hurry, sir!"
 
We had no choice. As one, we followed.
 
Twenty paces from the stairs, Tobrok dived to a hatch in the bulkhead. The lift.
 
He pounded the call button.
 
The hatch slid open. We piled in. We were too many. I grabbed someone onto my 
lap. Bevin. Derek, Anselm, and Jared swarmed into the packed lift like demented 
students in an electricar.
 
"Wherer
 
I gasped, "Two!" I had to get out of full gravity, no matter the cost
 
There they are!" Our pursuers charged the lift
 
Someone slapped the hatch panel. The door slid, A billy
flashed; Derek cried out. I waited for the inevitable laser
bolt that would end us all. None came.
 
The hatch closed. We started up.
 
"Bevin, hold still." My back was breaking. "Tobrok,
where to?"
 
"My berth."
 
"They know you've gone over to us."
 
"The dining hall, then. West." It had several entrances, I recalled, and was as 
good a goal as any.
 
My load lightened. We were passing into the vortex of the
 
bow gravitron. The hatch slid open. I braced for the thud of clubs, the
 
flash of lasers.
 
Nothing.
 
"Send the lift back down to six." It might throw them off.
 
"Quick!" Tobrok led us along the corridor past lounges, exercise rooms, cabins. 
At last, the dining-hall entry.
 
We dashed in.
 
Within, a deserted island of calm. Elegant crystalware.
 
Plush seats. "The galley, sir. It has hatches to the corridor,**
 
"Go."
 
In a moment we were there. Well past midnight, it was deserted. Tobrok flicked 
off the light. By the glow of the emergency bulbs, we huddled behind a row of 
freezers, taking
 
stock.
 
"Anyone hurt?" "No, sir." Bevin. "NotI."Anselm, I looked about. "Good, 
everyone's—Lord God damn it,
 
what are you doing here?" Mikhael squirmed. "I brought him." Derek's voice was 
calm.
 
"Why?"
 
"Because he's your son."
 
"1 told you—"
 
"He's your son. Is he not?"
 
"Yes." That was why I wanted him in safety.
 
"You allowed Philip."
 
I had to. At twenty-four, he was beyond my control.
 
Mikhael would never grasp the distinction.
 
I said deliberately, "You're right. Mikhael, I apologize. It was wrong to forbid 
you." His eyes glistened.
 
"Nick, we need guns.** Arlene paced, a tigress on the prowl.
 
"I couldn't get to them," I felt a fool. "All we have is two stunners."
 
"And knives." Derek fingered the kitehenwarc.
 
"Fire axes, if it comes to mat** Philip.
 
"Sir, they're my mates," said Tobrok. Til defend you, but don't ask me to take 
down my sailors with a fire ax."
 
"I understand.** I'd already asked more of the man man was decent.
 
While they caught their breath, I brought my allies up-to-date, Questions; I did 
my best to answer.
 
Philip said little. When we were done he knelt by my chair. "The engine room has 
a tool shop. We can arm ourselves,**
 
"No time to fabricate weapons,"
 
"They'd have torches. Metal for clubs. Acid, Oil for firebombs," His voice was 
so calm, it belied the bloodthirsty implication of bis words.
 
"Son, we're not looking for a bloodbath." I wanted to take the ship, not 
slaughter the crew.
 
"If we had lasers, we'd use them,**
 
"True,"
 
With great caution, I rose from my chair, grateful for the light gravity. My 
spine twinged, but I had full feeling, and my legs moved. With my canes, I 
paced. What we needed was to break into the bridge. Or the armory, if Stanger 
bad left any arms.
 
"Stanger's our goal. Capture him and resistance will collapse."
 
"Not necessarily, sir. Anyone who supported him faces hanging. They'll be 
desperate." "Only if they know I've relieved him." "Make a shipwide 
announcement." Arlene. "Put them all on notice, drive a wedge into his forces." 
Derek said, "For that we need the comm room."
 
"No. Just a caller." I looked about. "The comm room can switch us to shipwide 
circuit."
 
"Hold, sir." Tobrok. "If we call, the comm techs will know where we are."
 
Yes, but they'd acknowledged my command of Galactic. Would their loyalty revert 
to Stanger? Philip's and Arlene's lives were at stake. And Mikhael's.
 
Philip's voice was sharp. "Where's Jared?*'
 
"He was here a minute ago." Anselm looked about.
 
"Find him." Philip strode to the serving doors to the eating room.
 
I snapped. "Stay in the galley." I cane-walked across the deck. "If one of them 
looks in—"
 
"I've got to find him."
 
"Do as you're told." My voice was ice.
 
"Path—"
 
"This minute!"
 
"But I—" He sagged. "Yes, sir."
 
Jared was expendable. Any of us were. "Mr. Tobrok, send
a man—"
 
"Seafort, this is the Captain." His voice was hard. "Wr destroyed your shuttle. 
You have no way off the ship. Put down your arms and surrender. "
 
Arlene snorted. "What arms?"
 
"Shush."
 
14 If we must, we'll seek you out compartment by compart' ment, and my men will 
shoot to kill. Call the bridge to give yourselves up."
 
I waited, but there was no more. "Now what?" I looked about
 
"Make your announcement," said Arlene. "Before he rallies the crew against us."
 
'Tobrok, send a man to the comm room with a stunner. If we keep an eye on them, 
they won't betray—"
 
Outside, the murmur of voices. I put my finger to my lips. "The stunner!" It was 
barely a whisper. Arlene took up position by the door.
 
We'd barely come aboard, and already it was over. A futile, token resistance, 
and we'd be overwhelmed. I eased out of my chair, balanced on one cane, gripped 
my billy club.
 
Come on, you bastards.
 
"Move, God damn you!" A midshipman stumbled through the door, hands in air, his 
mouth set in a sneer. Behind him, a sailor. Another. To the rear, Jared, 
brandishing a laser. "Watch them, sir." Gingerly, he handed the laser to Derek.
 
Philip bounded across the galley. He slapped Jared hard, swept him into a fierce 
hug. "You idiot. You fool."
 
Derek smiled at the sailors. "Breathe funny. Try it" They stood perfectly stilL
 
I found my voice. "Jared, how in God's name did you—**
 
His words were muffled, from P.T.'s shoulder. "You needed guns."
 
"Where—why—"
 
"I slipped out the side entrance.**
 
"They might have killed you."
 
"I realized..." He raised his head, pulled clear of my son's embrace. "How many 
passengers have been ferried up? Two thousand? And they just boarded. Nobody 
would know me. So I was a frightened passenger looking for help. They're near my 
cabin, sir, come quick. The number? I don't know, but it's over—" His hand swept 
out, as if knocking a weapon from someone's grasp. "I didn't know what else to 
do, so I brought them here."
 
I turned to the middy. "You!" We'd met before.
 
"Edwin Speke."
 
"What Level were you on? What were your orders?"
 
"Edwin Speke, Midshipman. ID 76L542—"
 
"Answer!"
 
"Edwin Speke." His voice shook with hatred. "That grade asked for help! We were 
helping him when he attacked!" The unfairness overwhelmed him. "You goddamn 
frazzing—"
 
I raised a warning finger. There were limits.
 
He folded his arms. "That's all you'll get."
 
"I'm Nick Seafort. I've relieved your Captain, and appointed myself."
 
"I don't care."
 
What kind of middies was Academy sending us these days? "Care, boy. Your Me 
depends on it."
 
"You'd shoot me?" His contempt dripped.
 
"Admiralty will hang you. I'm Captain of Galactic, you're subject to my orders."
 
"Prove it"
 
I glanced about, saw no console, said lamely, "It's in the
 
Log."
 
"Show it to—"
 
"Sir, time's wasting." Derek.
 
"Tobrok, take your men and try to reach the comm room. Leave one of them to make 
sure they don't tell Stanger our location. Call here." I would broadcast my 
assumption of command to the ship.
 
"Aye aye, sir. And these two?" He indicated the sailors.
 
A problem. I couldn't brig more than a few of them; there was no room. That's 
assuming we could reach the brig, and that Stanger's forces didn't release them 
the moment we
 
left
 
The ship was simply too big, and with a crew of eight hundred, there were more 
on his side than on ours. I tried to puzzle it out
 
"Arlene." My face was impassive. With the stunner, she touched one of them in 
the ribs. His eyes rolled upward as he fell. She whirled to his companion, 
dropped him before he could protest
 
"You bastards!" The middy's fists clenched.
 
"Two demerits. Four."
 
"You can't issue me—"
 
"Five."
 
He fell silent
 
I said, "We need to break into the armory, unless Stanger's emptied it." But the 
armory, like the bridge, was built as a fortress. Cutting through its reinforced 
plates would be a major undertaking. "I left the torch at the airlock."
 
"Stanger's territory, by now."
 
"No doubt" I needed help. Balefully, I eyed the middy. "Joey, where's the 
nearest console?"
 
"I don't have to tell you. The Captain—"
 
"Derek, shoot him. I've had enough."
 
"No!" A cry of genuine fear.
 
Obligingly, Derek aimed between his eyes. I wondered if the boy saw the safety 
was still on.
 
"Please, sir!"
 
"You'lldoaslsayr
 
"Yes!" Reflexively, the middy ran fingers through his hair. His hand trembled.
 
"Go to the brig. It's a few hatchways past the bend. Sit at the console and call 
up the bloody Log!"
 
"Nick, he'll run to Stanger." Arlene.
 
"No, he won't. Not until he looks. Decide who's Captain, Mr. Speke. If it's me, 
enter your demerits. Hurry back." I glared. "Well?"
 
"Aye aye, sir."
 
"Don't let him go! We're all at risk."
 
"It's all right hon." Though he might not know it the
middy had acknowledged me when he lapsed silent at the threat of my demerits.
 
The boy slunk out
 
Stanger had been quiet a long while. What was he up to? Would he turn his wrath 
on a world held hostage? "We need the laser room."
 
Derek checked his pistol. "Probably enough charge to bum through the hatch. But 
if they're waiting inside..." A shootout, with Lord knew how many killed.
 
"We need more guns."
 
P.T. said, "I'll go out as Jared did. Have Mom and Derek bide in a cabin, and 
Til lead sailors into an ambush."
 
"You're too well known." As my son, his face had at times been in the holos.
 
"Not so well—"
 
Til go." Mikhael.
 
"Out of the question."
 
"Who else can you send? The cadets' uniforms would give them away. Jared's 
already been out Mr. Carr? He's in the holozines too. And I'm just a joeykid, 
who'd be afraid of
 
me?"
 
"Mikhael—** If I faced Alexi before Lord God, and had to explain I'd sent his 
son to slaughter...
 
"Please, Pa. Watch!" Mikhael jumped up and down excitedly. "Joeys with guns and 
stunners!" He pointed, "I was coming out of the lounge, and—"
 
I looked to Arlene.
 
She shrugged. "It might work.**
 
"I don't want him hurt"
 
"Please! Let me be brave!"
 
While I hesitated Arlene said, "Tell them you're in cabin two sixteen. Lead them 
past the exercise room, that's where we'll be. Now, we have only one pistol. I 
can take four, perhaps rive, with surprise. Don't lead a troop of fifteen to 
us."
 
"No, ma'am,"
 
"If they're too many, walk up to them and ask if it's all
right to be out of your cabin. They'll tell you to get lost. Derek, let's go. 
Nick, make your announcement You know where we'll be."
 
Knowing it was dangerous folly, I let them depart.
 
Waiting helplessly, I tried to plan. First, my announcement. Then the laser 
room. Somehow I'd disable Galactic'* lasers, if I had to burn their consoles 
into smoking puddles. If I could secure the ship, Stanger could have the bridge. 
He wasn't taking Galactic anywhere; Chief McAndrews wouldn't let him. I'd starve 
him out if necessary.
 
Hobbling, I paced. "Tobrok should have called by now,"
 
P.T. said, "If he ran into a patrol..."
 
"Shall I risk calling the cornm room?"
 
"No. Wait,"
 
I should have taken the master-at-arms to the laser room as soon as I'd boarded. 
With that disabled, I'd have had time to figure out the rest. But he'd disputed 
my authority, and there was the comm room to secure, and we had to cut through 
the lock, and... I sighed.
 
Distant shouts. A scream.
 
I sat. After a time, my nerves were stretched tight
 
Footsteps, in the dining hall.
 
P.T. pulled out his stunner, took position just inside the double door. He 
crouched, Anselm had a knife, Bevin an iron cooking pan with a long handle. They 
planted themselves in front of my chair.
 
"Micky, it's us." Arlene. I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding.
 
The door swung open. She dropped her booty on a counter: three pistols, an ugly 
laser rifle, even more accurate than a pistol. Derek, behind her, put his weapon 
on safety.
 
My voice was hoarse, "Where's Mikhael?"
 
"Outside. You'd better go to him."
 
Oh, Lord God. He was hurt. I leaned hard on my canes, practically launched 
myself in the light gravity.
 
I passed through the serving doors into the sumptuous
dining hall. Mikhael, his back to roe, sagged against a pillar, sobbing.
 
"What is it, son?"
 
His shoulders shook in a silent spasm. I put aside a cane, laid an arm across 
his shoulder. 'Tell me."
 
"Look what I did." Scarlet with mortification, he faced me, revealing his damp 
pants. "Like a... like a..." He wept "I wanted to be brave like Dad, and now 
this."
 
Relief swept through me. "Is that all?" I buried his head in my chest. "You must 
have been terrified."
 
"That middy, Speke. He saw me, and I thought he'd tell mem, and men Ms. Seafort 
she—"
 
It would have been grim, at close range. "I can't go in. I can't let them see." 
"I'll tell you a secret" I raised his chin, "It happened to me, once." An alien 
form skittered through the wreck of Tel-star, close enough to touch. Fuse, Vox. 
Fuse the ship. I shuddered.
 
"You're just saying that" Misery permeated his features.
 
"I want to die."
 
"It's true. I wet myself. What makes you mink you're immune to fear?"
 
"You and Mr, Carr, you're so brave. Homing frightens—'*
 
"Oh, son. Courage isn't living without fear. It's in what you do despite your 
fear."
 
It seemed, after a time, to calm him. Clinging to me like a bashful toddler, he 
allowed me to guide him to the galley,
 
I was desperate. We'd apparently lost Tobrok and his men. The middy Speke hadn't 
returned. Stanger would come for us at any moment I dared not call the comm 
room; it would give away our position. The laser room was on Level 1. We had the 
firepower to force its hatch, but the Captain almost certainly guarded the 
ladder wells, Even if, by some miracle, neither Speke nor Tobrok had told him 
our
whereabouts, he'd certainly know his Level 2 patrols weren't disappearing by 
accident
 
"I'm coming in." A voice from the darkened dining hall.
 
"Lord Jesus!" I tried to surge to my feet, and recoiled from a white-hot lance 
of pain.
 
"Don't shoot." Midshipman Speke poked his head into the galley.
 
Arlene grabbed him by the collar, slammed him against a cooler. "Where'd you 
go?" A shake, that rattled his teeth. "Answer!"
 
"Easy, hon,"
 
"Don't 'easy' me/' She drew her pistol. "If you betrayed us..."
 
"Ma'am—Captain, sir, I didn't!" He looked to me for succor. "I read the Log, and 
you're the lawful... You needed lasers, so I went to the bridge. Mr. Stanger—"
 
"Don't, Arlene!"
 
"I told Stanger I'd lost mine in a firefight that you were on Level 4, could I 
indent for another, and he said—" The boy blushed furiously. "If I lose another 
pistol he'll have me caned. I'm supposed to lead CPO Fahren's squad. They're 
assembled on Level 5, I have lasers and billies and stunners."
 
"WhereF
 
"Just inside the corridor hatch." I peered into the dining hall, saw weapons 
piled on a powered cart.
 
I glowered. "How many demerits have you?"
 
"Eight, sir. Including your five." He blushed furiously. "Midshipman Edwin Speke 
reporting for duty, sir."
 
"Very well." His exploits deserved more, I cleared my throat "Well done, Middy." 
I forced my thoughts to the problems we faced. We had arms, but needed more men. 
How ... Ah. "Mr. Speke, find CPO Fahren's squad. Bring them here,"
 
"But.., aye aye, sir."
 
"If you run into opposition, I trust you can talk your way out of it?"
 
He looked sheepish. "Probably."
 
He'd be in little danger. Our party was concealed in the mess hall, and to the 
enemy, Speke would appear to be carrying out Stanger's orders.
 
Ten minutes later, I surveyed my new command. Fahren's squad consisted of 
twenty-two sailors under the chief petty officer. Speke had assured them with 
calm confidence mat I was the lawful Captain, and seemed to be carrying the day. 
CPO Fahren nervously pledged his support.
 
Time to sally forth. The only reason we hadn't been discovered was that the 
dining hall was such an unlikely, useless place for us to hide.
 
Galactic was larger than any other vessel I'd known, but its structure was like 
all the Navy's starships: two stairwells crossed each level, east and west. If 
we held bom ladders, we could defend Level 2. Oops, I'd forgotten the lift Bom 
stairs and the elevator*
 
"No."
 
Derek and P,T. looked at me strangely; I hadn't realized I'd spoken aloud. We 
didn't want to defend Level 2; we needed to seize Level 1, Officers' quarters, 
the laser room, the bridge.
 
"Mr. Speke, reconnoiter the east ladder."
 
In a few moments he was back. "Guards at the foot, sir. Probably also at Level 
1, out I couldn't get close enough to see."
 
"Try the west*1 He did. It was the same.
 
"Midshipman, assemble your squad in the corridor. I want to mount a charge to 
the east stairs. You've how many lasers, ten? Laser carriers in front. Pick men 
who know how—"
 
"Nicky, let me lead."
 
"You're a civilian, hon." I frowned at Arlene. They can't follow your orders, 
even if they had a mind—"
 
"Enlist me."
 
"What?" I wanted to say more, but I was speechless.
 
"You heard me. Appoint me lieutenant."
 
P.T. watched, solemn.
 
"Hon, this is no time to..." I sought a valid argument. "Enlistment is for five 
years." I added hurriedly, "Of course there's always remission." As Admiral, I 
could remit the enlistment of any officer. We'd done so for the passengers I'd 
impressed on Challenger,
 
A ridiculous notion, hers. A wife a subordinate officer, subject to her 
husband's commands, yet equal within their cabin? True, there were officers who 
had married, but none had been Captain.
 
Yet, why had I consented to her joining my mission, if I wouldn't use her 
skills? I temporized. "Hon, if you enlist, whatever orders I give—"
 
"For Christ's sake, Nicky. I know."
 
"Very well." Twenty-five years after her discharge, she'd be a lieutenant once 
more, "Raise your right hand. I do—"
 
"I, Arlene Sanders Seafort, do swear upon my immortal soul to preserve and 
protect the Charter of the General Assembly of the United Nations, to give 
loyalty and obedience for the term of my enlistment to the Naval Service of the 
United Nations and to obey all its lawful orders and regulations, so help me 
Lord God Almighty," She spoke without hesitation.
 
With a tug at my jacket, a quick smoothing of my tie, I snapped her a formal 
salute. Crisply, she replied.
 
Lord God, I loved her. "Go to it. Lieutenant/'
 
"Aye aye, sir."
 
"You joeys heard: she's Navy now. Follow orders. Middy, detach three men from 
their squad, take my two cadets as well. Guard the rear of Fahren's squad. Take 
position between the dining hall and the west stairs."
 
Not to be outdone, Speke snapped an Academy salute. "Aye aye, sir," He strode 
off, Bevin and Anselm in tow.
 
"What about us?" Jared,
 
"You and P.T. will help me up the ladder, the moment it's safe." My tone was 
gruff. "Mikhael, the boys will need your help."
 
"Yes, sir." His gratitude was pathetic.
 
P.T. stirred. "Get in the chair, Path."
 
"I don't need it" Now that we were in light gravity, I'd be able to walk. I 
hoisted myself on my canes. In fact, if I was careful, I could do with just one.
 
P.T. said, "Jar, check the corridor near the stairs. We need to know when Mom 
attacks,"
 
Jared gave him a quick hug, left on his errand.
 
"Thanks, Path."
 
"For what?"
 
"Not sending him into danger."
 
"He's very protective of you."
 
"Odd, isn't it? It's I who should be protecting him."
 
We waited.
 
Derek was pensive. "Mr. Seafort, you might give me men to command."
 
"Not you too. The same objection applies."
 
"That I'm civilian? You know the remedy."
 
"You're too old for midshipman." He was graying.
 
"But not for lieutenant"
 
I waved it away, "Next you'll have me enlisting Mikhael, Or Jared"
 
"Very well sir," His tone was frosty. He turned to stare at the hatch.
 
I muttered something.
 
"What?"
 
"I said, 'Prima donnas.*"
 
A long moment, in which the temperature hovered around that of interstellar 
space.
 
I growled, "Raise your right hand,"
 
CHAPTER 19
 
Ms. Seafort says five minutes," Jared was breathless, "She wants a diversion at 
the west ladder,"
 
I grimaced. "She needs more men,"
 
"I suppose I just stand here, sir?" Derek's tone was dry.
 
"You're my reserve." I came to a sudden decision. "Did you see a caller in the 
exercise room?"
 
"It was rather bloody in there, I didn't notice."
 
"Go check. If you find one, call the comm room. Get an idea whose side mey're 
on." If my war party had to retreat to the galley, no point in alerting Stanger 
to our location by calling from it, "Hurry."
 
"Aye aye, sir," He strode out. Amazing how easily one reverted to the 
formalities of Naval life. I wondered if I could do the same, were I only to 
return as Captain. I dismissed the fancy,
 
Jared returned to his post, behind the attackers.
 
In a few moments Derek was back. "No answer, sir,"
 
"Impossible, The comm room's always manned,"
 
"You heard me." His tone was tart "I rang, and they didn't respond. Or wouldn't"
 
"Find Arlene, Help her."
 
He left. 1 wished I hadn't given all the lasers to our war party. We had nothing 
but a billy among us.
 
P.T. said, "Maybe the comm tech's playing it safe. If he—"
 
Jared burst in. "Now, Mr. Seafort!" I hobbled to the dining-hall exit. P.T. 
hesitated, ran back for the chair. "Will you for God's sake get in?"
 
"I don't—" I gave it up, handed him my canes, settled myself. Jared ran ahead to 
hold hatches; P.T. and Mikhael raced me to the corridor and the east ladder. 
Mikhael skidded to a stop. "Ukk." The carpet was stained and sticky. Bodies lay 
where they had fallen. A horrid stench of charred meat pervaded the corridor.
 
I lurched out of the wheelchair. P.T. and Jared each grabbed one of my arms, 
helped me up the ladder. Mikhael scrambled up with the chair.
 
On Level 1, Arlene loped around the distant corridor bend. Her jumpsuit was 
splashed with blood. She cupped her hands to her mouth. "The laser room's in 
section nine!" She spun, ran back the way she'd come.
 
I tried to orient myself. This level was sparse, utilitarian, like the ships I 
knew. But so large ... The bridge was west, the laser room east. Of course, 
ultimately it didn't matter; the circumference corridor was circular. But on a 
ship with disks so large, one didn't want to go the wrong way.
 
I hurried down the corridor on my canes. Where was the armory? We'd need that 
too.
 
"Attention, This is Captain Stanger " I froze,
 
"There's been some confusion." "Hurry, Path." "Listen." I limped on.
 
"In an act of desperation, former SecGen Seafort forced his way onto Galactic 
with an armed party of attackers, violating his oath. He's murdered some of our 
sailors, and is roaming Levels 1 and 2. He's made a false claim to be Cap*
tain o/Galactic. He is not, but even if he were so, I relieve him on the grounds 
that he is insane."
 
"The bastard."
 
"Quiet, I said."
 
"Crew to Battle Stations, flank. Corridor hatches will seal in one minute. If 
you encounter the invaders, contact the bridge immediately. Passengers, do not, 
repeat, do not venture into the corridors."
 
I dropped into the chair. "Move me!" Once the emergency corridor hatches sealed, 
only authorized codes or a signal from the bridge could open them. Piping Battle 
Stations was a move I'd expected Stanger to make, sooner or later. By dividing 
the ship into isolated segments, he denied us the freedom of movement we needed.
 
We raced to the end of section seven. Through to eight At a cabin, an officer 
emerged. He stopped dead in his tracks. We flashed by. He tugged at something 
black in his belt The skin of my spine crawled as I waited for the shot
 
"PA, IT'S CLOSING!" Mikhael scampered ahead.
 
P.T, thundered down the corridor, pushing my chair. Hatches flew past in a blur.
 
Corridor hatches were designed for decompression. When they shut, mey shut fast 
Philip raced toward me hatch, but too late. Abruptly realizing we were trapped, 
he let go my chair, spun back the way we'd come. I rolled onward, help-less 
against the momentum he'd achieved. Mikhael grabbed the handles, braced himself 
to slow me. The speeding chair yanked him off his feet; he fell with a mump.
 
Slowed, I crashed into the solid hatch. The impact almost threw me from my seat 
Half-dazed, I wrenched the wheel.
 
Philip galloped down the corridor. Jared followed, legs pumping madly. The 
officer we'd passed stood waiting, stunner aimed.
 
With a shout Philip launched himself. He struck die officer full in the chest, 
fell slack to the deck, rolled over twice.
 
Jared hurtled down the corridor. The officer aimed anew as Jared hit him. They 
went down, flailing.
 
Jared sprang to his feet. He kicked the officer's limp form once, twice, three 
times, ran to Philip, knelt.
 
Slowly, aching, I wheeled myself toward them. Mikhael, shamefaced, came 
alongside and helped push.
 
Jared cradled P.T.'s head.
 
I patted his shoulder. "It's just a stunner. He'll be all right
in an hour."
 
Jared's eyes were sorrowful. "He didn't warn me ..."
 
"I know son." I looked about. "We can't stay here." Any moment we'd be found.
 
"Where—r
 
We were locked in our section, until I devised a way out. "There." I picked a 
compartment at random. Anything was better than the middle of the corridor.
 
"I'll drag him." Jared got his arms under P.T.'s shoulders.
 
"Use the chair." I struggled to my feet, balanced on my canes. Any second now, 
someone would come. My back prickled.
 
Jared and Mikhael hauled my son into the chair. Insensate, he looked far younger 
than his twenty-four years. I swallowed, hobbled faster.
 
At the unlabeled compartment I slapped open the hatch. "In here." We hustled the 
chair inside, closed the hatch. I
looked around.
 
Six bunk beds, four abandoned in haste. Built-in dressers.
 
An inner room, with more beds.
 
The midshipmen's wardroom.
 
"Now what?" Jared.
 
"You and Mikhael put on middies' clothes."
 
His eyes widened. "You're enlisting us?"
 
"No, but you're too conspicuous in civvies." Was it possible Mikhael's look was 
disappointment?
 
"What about P.T.T'
 
"Yourselves first. Deal with him when he wakes."
 
Mikhael pawed through a drawer, found middy blues and a shirt. With obvious 
relief he stripped off his damp pants.
 
Jared would have more trouble; he'd filled out as an adult
 
"Mikhael, can you manage the tie?" Bloody anachronism; at times I wondered why 
the Navy bothered. On the other hand, tradition was everything.
 
"No, sir." He sounded subdued.
 
"Come here." I made a clumsy knot. Good for a demerit, but tonight it would do. 
"You look handsome." Heartbreak-ingly like Alexi.
 
"Thanks, Pa. Here, Jared, try these, they're bigger."
 
We were fit to venture out, but to what purpose? "Where's the caller? Ahh." I 
hobbled to it I'd try the comm room, or—
 
"All armed sailors on Level 1, to the laser room! Call the bridge to have 
corridor hatches opened. Lieutenant Percz, take charge outside the laser room."
 
"There's our chance." They stared, so I elaborated. "We go to the section nine 
hatch, call the bridge. In the confusion we'll get through." Lord God willing. 
"Leave P.T. here. We'll—"
 
The hatch slid open. A middy ran in. "What are you joeys—hey, you're not—"
 
As one, without my prompting, Jared and Mikhael tackled him. They rolled on the 
deck; Mikhael swarmed onto his chest I managed to skirt the fracas, reach the 
hatch control, slap it shut
 
The middy bucked and heaved. I prodded him with my cane. "That will do!"
 
At the sight of my uniform, momentary confusion. "You're ... SecGen Seafort"
 
"Yes. Mikhael, is he armed? No? Let him up."
 
"He'll—"
 
"This instant!" I was used to obedience from joeys in middy blues.
 
Jared hurtled down the corridor. The officer aimed anew as Jared hit him. They 
went down, flailing.
 
Jared sprang to his feet. He kicked the officer's limp form once, twice, three 
times, ran to Philip, knelt.
 
Slowly, aching, I wheeled myself toward them. Mikhael, shamefaced, came 
alongside and helped push.
 
Jared cradled P.T.'s head.
 
I patted his shoulder. "It's just a stunner. He'll be all right
 
in an hour."
 
Jared's eyes were sorrowful. "He didn't warn me ..."
 
"I know son." I looked about. "We can't stay here." Any moment we'd be found.
 
"Where—r
 
We were locked in our section, until I devised a way out "There." I picked a 
compartment at random. Anything was better than the middle of the corridor.
 
"I'll drag him." Jared got his arms under P.T.'s shoulders.
 
"Use the chair." I struggled to my feet, balanced on my canes. Any second now, 
someone would come. My back
 
prickled.
 
Jared and Mikhael hauled my son into the chair, Insensate, he looked far younger 
man his twenty-four years. I swallowed, hobbled faster.
 
At the unlabeled compartment I slapped open the hatch, "In here." We hustled the 
chair inside, closed die hatch. I looked around.
 
Six bunk beds, four abandoned in haste. Built-in dressers. An inner room, with 
more beds.
 
The midshipmen's wardroom,
 
"Now what?" Jared.
 
"You and Mikhael put on middies' clothes."
 
His eyes widened, "You're enlisting usT
 
"No, but you're too conspicuous in civvies." Was it possible MikhaeFs look was 
disappointment?
 
"What about P.T.T'
 
"Yourselves first. Deal with him when he wakes."
 
Mikhael pawed through a drawer, found middy blues and a shirt. With obvious 
relief he stripped off his damp pants.
 
Jared would have more trouble; he'd filled out as an adult
 
"Mikhael, can you manage the tie?" Bloody anachronism; at times I wondered why 
the Navy bothered. On the other hand, tradition was everything.
 
"No, sir." He sounded subdued.
 
"Come here." I made a clumsy knot Good for a demerit, but tonight it would do. 
"You look handsome." Heartbreak-ingly like Alexi.
 
"Thanks, Pa, Here, Jared, oy these, they're bigger,"
 
We were fit to venture out but to what purpose? "Where's the caller? Ahh." I 
hobbled to it I'd try the comm room, or—
 
"All armed sailors on Level 1, to the laser room! Call the bridge to have 
corridor hatches opened. Lieutenant Perez take charge outside the laser room,"
 
"There's our chance." They stared, so I elaborated. "We go to die section nine 
hatch, call the bridge. In the confusion we'll get through." Lord God willing, 
"Leave P.T. here. We'll—"
 
The hatch slid open, A middy ran in, "What are you joeys—hey, you're not—"
 
As one, without my prompting, Jared and Mikhael tackled him. They rolled on the 
deck; Mikhael swarmed onto his ehest I managed to skirt the fracas, reach me 
hatch control, slap it shut
 
The middy bucked and heaved. I prodded him with my cane. 'That will do!"
 
At the sight of my uniform, momentary confusion. "You're... SecGen Seafort"
 
"Yes, Mikhael, is he armed? No? Let him up."
 
"He'll—"
 
This instant!" I was used to obedience from joeys in middy blues.
 
Face flushed, Galactic'& middy scrambled to his feet. "What are you doing here?" 
"Come to attention.**
 
He hesitated. "How should I know whom to obey? Captain Stanger says you're 
relieved."
 
"By Admiralty directive, I relieved your Captain first. He's been placed 
inactive and has no authority to relieve me. And in any event I'm still SecGen."
 
"He says—" Whatever it was, he thought better of it. After a moment he drew 
himself up. Watching from the bulkhead, where he thought I couldn't see, Mikhael 
sucked in his chest, put his arms to his sides, died to stiffen. A passable 
imitation, for a civilian. To the middy, "Why are you here?" "For a permalight. 
The Captain's going to—" His lips tightened. "Go on."
 
"I won't betray my shipmates." "Betray? Have you any idea what he's done?* "He's 
saving the Navy,"
 
My face grew red. "Go/aeric's at Battle Stations, so in»     W subordination is 
punishable by death. Summary proceed'     * ings. What's Stanger up to?* "I'm 
not sure."
 
**Do you acknowledge my authority?' Along moment. "I guess so... yes, sir. 
Midshipman Pyle reporting. I'll work for you, but don't ask me to tell you what 
they're doing. It isn't right."
 
I hesitated. It was as good as I'd get, and his position had merit. "Very well. 
Mikhael, who's in the corridor?'
 
He slid open the hatch. "A few sailors. No officers that I—oh, there's one," He 
ducked back inside. "They'll know we're not from the ship, right?"
 
"The officers will." Our fraudulent middies' uniforms might pass muster with the 
crew—Galactic was a new ship.
and a huge one—but lieutenants would know their own midshipmen.
 
I had to use Pyle to pass through the corridor hatch, to reach the laser room in 
section nine. "Mr. Pyle, where were you expected to go?"
 
"Below to Level 4."
 
"Which stairs?'
 
"He didn't say, but.. .**
 
The east ladder was far closer, and it was the wrong way; to get to it Pyle 
should pass through to section seven, not nine. On the other hand, Stanger had a 
lot on his mind, and might not notice. "We'll try it."
 
Cautiously, I peered into the corridor. No officer in sight. "Lift Philip to 
that bunk. Let's go."
 
"Let me stay with him." Jared,
 
"No. He's as safe here as anywhere, and we need you."
 
He frowned, but gave a reluctant nod. "Your chair?"
 
"It's too obvious." As if my Admiral's uniform wasn't, or my pair of canes, I 
tried standing without them; it was just possible. If we were seen, I'd thrust 
them aside, hope somehow to brazen it out. Not a great plan, but from the start 
my attempt to Galactic had been an act of desperation, with little chance of 
success.
 
We went out to the corridor.
 
Pyle's eye searched for Mikhael's length of service pins, found none. "What 
ship?'
 
"Melbourne" Mikhael blushed. It had been his father's. Now Melbourne was off to 
Titan, on one of the tourist cruises that so annoyed interstellar Captains. 
Though this cruise, with the holo star Anton Bourse aboard, would be something 
special.
 
I hobbled to the sealed section hatch. At the panel, a caller waited. "Pyle, 
tell him—"
 
"Now hear this, Seafort, Ms is far you."
 
A voice tinged with fear. "Mr. Seafort? Cadet Bevin reporting. They say they'll 
execute us for piracy unless you—" The speaker clicked off.
 
"Pick up the caller, Seafort. Do it now."
 
I shoved Pyle. "Get us past the bloody hatch!"
 
He keyed the bridge. "Midshipman Pyle, sir. Please open the section nine hatch 
so I can go below." He listened. "Thank you."
 
The hatch slid open.
 
I growled, "Where's the laser room?"
 
"At the far end of the section." Just past the corridor bend. "Sir, who's with 
us? How many Marines do you—"
 
Pyle had helped us; I saw no reason to distrust him.
 
"None." He gaped. "But they attacked with lasers. Whom did you
bring?"
 
My smile was grim. "A few friends." In his ill-fitting
middy uniform, Jared flushed with pride.
 
"Two minutes, Seafort."
 
"Pyle, run ahead to the laser room. Report back."
 
"Aye aye, sir." He dashed off.
 
If we held the laser room, we had a chance. With the en-gine room to power the 
lasers, we could counteract the threat from Earthport and Lunapolis. As much as 
I dreaded civil war, I wouldn't allow civilians on Earth to be bombed.
 
In a moment Pyle was back. "We—I mean Captain Stanger—has the laser room 
blockaded. Lieutenant Garrow is in charge. There's no sign of your joeys. Are 
they inside?"
 
They must be, if Stanger had the compartment under
siege. 1 spotted a caller by a hatch panel, keyed it to the laser
room.
 
A cool voice. "Lieutenant Sanders."
 
"Hon?"
 
"Nick! I mean, Captain."
 
"Sanders?" It was no time to ask, but I wondered why she'd used her unmarried 
name.
 
"It's how I was known in the Service." Calm, but with a bite. She must think me 
glitched, for bringing it up at this juncture.
 
"Very well. Your situation?"
 
"Fifteen of us. We burned through the hatch. I had Fahren reseal the door by 
laser-welding it. It won't hold long."
 
"The laser techs?"
 
"Bound and under watch, sir."
 
"The rest of your squad?"
 
"Three killed. The others went with Bevin and Anselm as a rear guard."
 
"One minute left, Seafort. I have every right to execute them, and 1 will."
 
"And Derekr
 
She said, "He's with us."
 
'Target Earthport Naval Station and the Naval warrens in Lunapolis. Open fire if 
you don't hear from me within an hour." My words came fast. "Defend the laser 
room, but surrender before you're killed."
 
"Aye aye, sir." A hesitation. "I believe that decision belongs to the commander 
on the scene."
 
"Obey orders, Lieutenant." I wouldn't let her sacrifice herself for naught
 
"Aye aye, sir."
 
"Pyle, take these middies back to the wardroom, flank. Stay there until I call 
or come for you."
 
"But, sir—"
 
"Four demerits!" I was out of time. Deflated, Pyle led Jared and Mikhael back to 
the wardroom. As they ran off I keyed the caller. "Captain Seafort to bridge."
 
A voice I didn't know. "Just a moment, sir, for the Captain."
 
Stanger. "Ah, there you are. Your cadet was a tad worried."
 
"You are relieved."
 
"Goofjuice. I have the support of the Senate, of SecGen Valera, of the 
Patriarchy."
 
"I am head of Lord God's Government"
 
"It's debatable. Valera's nullified your proclamation. U.N.A.E's falling in 
line. You'll be impeached in a few hours. Just a moment Mr. Garrow, Seafort's at 
the section eight corridor hatch. Seize him."
 
Take warning! Harm my cadet and I'll hang you myself. I swear to Lord God!" I 
slammed down the caller.
 
No time. No place to run. The hatch behind me was closed. I blundered to the 
nearest compartment. It was locked. The next
 
It was the lift. I hammered at the call button. A light
bunked.
 
Around the bend, voices. Garrow's patrol was coming for
me. Slowly, the hatch slid open. I staggered in, slapped the
hatch panel.
 
The hatch began to slide. A shower of sparks, a searing burst of heat as someone 
fired a laser. Screaming, I lurched aside, slammed the first Level indicator I 
saw. The smoking hatch shut. The lift dropped.
 
Level 2. We plummeted downward. My eyes bulged. Level 3. Desperately, I hung on 
to my canes, as the full weight of Terra descended onto me.
 
Level 6. Somehow, I was still standing. Inch by inch, I dragged myself along the 
corridor. The pain was beyond belief. My legs were virtually useless; I doubted 
I could stand
 
unaided.
 
The engine room was at the end of section nine. I'd blocked the lift hatch with 
my jacket, all 1 could manage. Stanger's crew would have to use the ladder in 
section seven. It gained me a few moments.
 
I dragged myself toward the engine room.
 
The corridor speaker came to life. "Please, Mr. Seafort!
 
Oh, God, please answer/" Danil Bevin, near tears. "I'm begging you!"
 
I tried not to retch. Minutes passed into hours, into days. I felt a sickly 
pallor. Sweating, faint I moved at a snail's pace.
 
The engine-room hatch was ajar. I worked my way through. Two ratings stood by 
their panels.
 
"STAND AT ATTENTION!" I'd intended my tone to be harsh, but the haze of agony 
made it something more. They leaped to their feet "Where's Chief McAndrews?"
 
"In the brig, sir." One of the sailors broke position to wipe his brow. I didn't 
blame him; I wanted to do the same, but didn't dare let go of a cane.
 
"Where are the gravitron controls?"
 
"In the electronics compartment, sir."
 
"Show me."
 
Nervously, he led the way.
 
Three series of boxes, with cables snaking from one to another. Chief McAndrews 
had said he couldn't adjust the controls.
 
Very well.
 
"A torch! Move, damn you!" I made an effort to control my voice, but my spine 
wouldn't have it The rating ran to a locker, returned with a cutting unit "That 
panel. Melt through the lid."
 
"Sir, I can't damage a gravitron, the Captain will—"
 
I shrieked. "I'll hang you! Do it this very second! I'm in command!"
 
It was too much for him. He aimed the torch. In a moment, the panel glowed. 
Alarms wailed. Lights blinked urgently. At last, the cover melted through. I had 
him play the flame on the circuitry within. A shower of sparks. He flinched, but 
they subsided harmlessly.
 
"Now the next" One by one, I had him melt through the panels. The alarms 
redoubled.
 
Suddenly, the pressure on my spine lessened. In a moment, it was gone. I pushed 
down on my canes, floated off
the deck. Thank You, Lord. I couldn't have lasted much longer.
 
A horrid mess I'd left the Chief, but it could be repaired. If I'd damaged the 
gravitrons themselves, a lifetime of pay wouldn't reimburse the cost.
 
The engine-room console caught my eye. I pushed off from a bulkhead, snagged it. 
Wrapping an arm around the chair, I keyed in my ID code. "Baron!"
 
"Puter responding. Voicerec of Captain Seafort."
 
"Erase the frozen copy of the Log I told you to show the bridge. Substitute the 
real Log." Stanger knew I was aboard, and what I was up to. No need to hide it. 
"And while you're at it, disable bridge communication with—"
 
"There he is!" I glanced to the corridor. Hatches were open for as far as I 
could see. A squad of angry sailors worked their way from handhold to handhold 
toward the engine room.
 
"Bridge communication cannot be disabled. I'm hardwired to allow-—"
 
I pushed off with my canes toward the hatch. I made it through, ricocheted from 
bulkhead to deck to overhead, until I got the hang of it. Then I moved with 
surprising
 
speed.
 
Zero gee narrowed the odds. Now all I had to contend with was Stanger's vast 
numbers, against my one.
 
Section ten. I caromed off a bulkhead, straightened my course. The canes were 
actually rather an advantage; I didn't have to be close to a surface to make 
headway.
 
Section eleven.
 
One sailor was more adept at zero gee than the rest. Slowly he gained on me, 
brandishing a stunner.
 
Section twelve. The west ladder. Like a mutant spider, I kicked and clawed my 
way. The sailor was breathing down
 
my back.
 
He launched himself from a handhold. I stabbed with the cane, just touched a 
bulkhead, floated aside. As he passed I
elbowed him viciously in the face. He bounced off the bulkhead, floated 
unmoving. I tugged the stunner from his unresisting hand, set the safety, shoved 
it in my belt.
 
Pulling myself up the ladder rail, I worked my way up to Level 5. Passengers 
blocked the top of the stairs, drifting helplessly, calling for help. Why the 
devil weren't they in their cabins? Even Stanger had ordered them out of the 
way.
 
Ignoring their pleas, their questions, I shoved them aside in growing fury. When 
the way was clear I swam upward to Level 4.
 
Half a dozen sailors with billies clung to the top of the rail. I tucked my 
canes under my arm, launched myself at them, leading with my stunner. Two came 
at me; the rest scattered.
 
I caught one in the forehead. A galvanized flop, and he floated past, inert. I'd 
killed him. Stunners were meant for the body, not the brain.
 
The second joey swung his club in a whistling arc. Lack of gravity weakened the 
blow. The recoil drove him upward with the same force it drove me down.
 
It was enough to numb my shoulder. I flipped the stunner to my left hand, kicked 
off the bulkhead. In midair, he was unable to escape. I left him twitching.
 
My way was clear. Upward, to three. The pain was returning, despite zero gee, I 
tried not to use my feet to propel myself, but it made the going slower.
 
The rasp of breath, over the speakers. "Lieutenant Sanders to Captain Seafort, 
We've broken out."
 
Bless you, love. You saw a chance, and took it. The ship must be in chaos. 
Sailors were given zero-gee drills, but not that many. On the other hand, lasers 
Fired just as well regardless of gees. Clever of you to announce your move over 
the speaker. No doubt Stanger already knew you'd fought free, so you used the 
opportunity to tell me as well.
 
Where would she head?
 
The galley. Level 2. Just what I had in mind.
 
*       *       *
 
The dining hall was brightly lit. I kicked off with my canes, floated through 
the hatch.
 
"Get him!" Figures moved. I was pinned in a crossfire, if they chose to shoot
 
"BELAY THAT!" Arlene's voice was a scream. "Hold!" She showed herself from 
behind a pillar. "Captain!"
 
For her sake, I couldn't say what I yearned to. "Lieutenant" I tried to make my 
nod casual. "How many left?"
 
"Eleven, sir." Her eyes never left mine.
 
"Did you disable the lasers?"
 
"No, I thought you might need them against Earthport
 
Naval Base."
 
A terrible error, but no time to say so, "Send a squad to force the brig. It's 
around the corridor bend. They'll have it guarded. Free Chief McAndrews,"
 
"Aye aye, sir." No questions. Just an officer, doing her duty. "You, Tyrol. 
Bennett. Peng. Fall in." They couldn't do it literally, in zero gee, but they 
pushed forward, toward the hatch. All were armed with lasers.
 
She took mem outside, "We'll go handhold by handhold to mat cabin." She pointed. 
"Then we'll launch across the corridor to me far bulkhead. We'll have a view of 
the brig. Fire when you have a target. No sounds."
 
"Aye aye, ma'am."
 
Within the dining hall, we waited.
 
Shrieks, from the corridor. Hie crackle of lasers. Minutes later, Arlene kicked 
through the hatch. "Lieutenant Sanders reporting, sir. Two down." She sounded 
shaken. "We took the brig. They only had four guarding it They're dead."
 
Behind her, the bulky form of the Chief. His face was battered. "Sorry, sir. The 
engine room has too many hatches." He'd been overwhelmed.
 
"Arlene, you took three men."
 
"Peng is coming." Four sailors appeared in the hatch. One
was Peng, his laser aimed. 'These joeys say they're with you, sir."
 
"Mr. Tobrok." My face lit. Two ratings trailed the master-at-arms.
 
"We never had a chance. They were waiting at the comm room with lasers."
 
"I understand." For Comm Specialist Fanner, there'd be a reckoning. To Arlene, 
"Can we hold either the engine room or the laser room?"
 
"Not the laser room. The hatch is useless."
 
"Pardon, sir." McAndrews. "In my stores I have plates to reinforce the hatch, 
and all the tools you'd need. But I doubt we could get to them."
 
"Why not?"
 
His bruised face brightened. "You took out the gravitrons, didn't you? Stanger 
will want them on-line, flank. Lord knows how many joeys he's got working down 
there."
 
"He won't get them on-line from the engine room."
 
"That bad?"
 
I nodded.
 
"He'll bypass the controls, then. Activate the direct power lines. Still, I 
imagine he'll post guards at my hatches so we can't make more trouble."
 
"Arlene—Lieutenant Sanders can take them out"
 
"Not forever, sir." She looked glum. "I lose men each time, and we don't have 
many."
 
"Sir," Derek Carr.
 
I turned to him, "You're alive,"
 
"More or less." His knee was soaked with blood. "May I ask the plan?"
 
I closed my eyes, savoring the sour taste of defeat. "Evae* uation." Stanger was 
too strong, too organized.
 
"How?"
 
"We'll seize a launch." One of the four launch bays was reached from Level 1, 
where Jared, Philip, and Mikhael hid in the wardroom.
 
"Just a moment."
 
I bridled. Chief McAndrews knew better than to talk to a Captain so, even in a 
crisis. Especially in a crisis.
 
"You'll let him steal the ship?" He rubbed his swollen face. "And take my engine 
room?"
 
I said, "Have we a choice?"
 
"What's changed since you came aboard?"
 
Derek said quietly, "It was hopeless from the start Why give up now?"
 
"Be silent, Lieutenant." A gallant, futile charge was a noble idea, but I 
wouldn't see Philip killed to no purpose. Or my wife.
 
"Sir, may I speak?" Arlene.
 
"Yes."
 
"Galactic is the key. It's the only ship taking part in the rebellion. Her 
lasers can devastate North America and Europe, or mey could—"
 
"I know that"
 
"Pardon, please let me finish. Or they could be turned on Earthport and quell 
the mutiny. If we lose Galactic, we lose our U.N. Government, Stanger's ilk will 
take over. If they do, the enviro cause is finished. There'll be a Naval 
dictatorship, in fact if not in name. The Patriarchs will eliminate the last 
freedom of relig—"
 
"Sor
 
"Would you die to prevent it?"
 
I said, "Yes."
 
She took a deep breath. "So would I."
 
One can't pace in zero gee. I flailed at nothing, until I drifted up to the 
overhead, and deflected myself. "I'd give my life to defeat Stanger. But I don't 
want to die in a useless gesture. I'm out of ideas."
 
"Get me into my engine room." McAndrews. 'Til find you torches to cut through 
the bridge hatch. The big ones, with the power cables." "Four Levels down, then 
we'd have to fight our way back
up. And Stanger won't sit idly while we burn our way into the bridge."
 
Arlene glowered. "Damn it sir, it's better than nothing!"
 
"That's quite enough, Lieutenant Sanders!" She fell silent. At that moment I 
didn't think either of us remembered she was my wife.
 
Master-at-arms Tobrok said, "Captain, there's a way to— look out!" He hurled me 
aside. I sailed across the dining hall. So did he, the opposite direction. I 
fetched up against the far bulkhead.
 
"Thank God I found you." It was a hoarse whisper. Midshipman Edwin Spckc. "May I 
come in?" He pushed off from a bulkhead, snagged a chair, wrapped his legs 
around it
 
"Where the hell have you been?*' I was past niceties.
 
"Hiding." He blushed beet red. "It happened so fast Outside the laser room they 
came on us from the rear, and took the cadets and Jensen. Hickley was shot, and 
the other joey. I ducked into the purser's cabin before they saw me. They had 
lasers and I didn't" He took breath. "Then you were gone from the galley. I was 
afraid Captain Stanger knew I'd gone over to you, so I couldn't., .** A look of 
mute appeal. "I'm sorry,"
 
"Very well, you're back. Any weapons?"
 
"Just the billy club."
 
Before we raided the brig Arlene had eleven men, but she'd lost two. I'd joined 
her, and now the middy. And we had Tobrok's squad. Philip, Jared, and Mikhael 
made eighteen, if we could reach them. Nineteen, with Midshipman Pyle.
 
"Very well. The wardroom, to get P.T. and Jared, then we'll attack the engine 
room. Get organized."
 
"Sir?"
 
"Not now, Derek," A foray onto Level 1 would be risky. Should I send the whole 
party, or only a few. If—
 
"Sir!" Hands on hips, he floated just off the deck. His
blazing eyes scorched any humor from the situation. "You will listen!"
 
"What, then?" I'd deal with his insubordination later.
 
"Doesn't the wardroom have a caller?"
 
I opened my mouth to reply, found nothing to say. I gawped like a fish. "Well. 
Yes. Um." My ears burned. "Arlene, give them a call. Have whatshisname, the real 
middy... Pyle. Have him check the corridor. If it's safe, send them down. Meet 
them at the ladder."
 
"The real middy?"
 
"It's a long story. Go."
 
She kicked off to the galley caller.
 
The east ladder was unguarded. Stanger couldn't think of
 
everything.
 
Finally, we were together again. I embraced Philip, then Mikhael. Jared seemed a 
natural third. I drew the line at
 
Pyle. The middy looked about. "Pardon, sir, is this all of usT
 
"Yes."
 
He gazed from one to the other, "You attacked Galactic, half wrecked her, with 
,.. civilians?" He shook his head in wonder.
 
We girded ourselves to assault the engine room,
 
Arlene distributed our remaining lasers among us. We had few recharge packs, 
just those we'd salvaged from the enemy. Cautiously, we made our way along 
deserted corridors. The emergency corridor hatches were open; apparently zero 
gee and closed hatches were too difficult a combination for Stanger's untrained 
crew.
 
Galactic had a crew of eight hundred; where the devil were they hiding? Not at 
the east ladder. We pulled ourselves down. I worked mostly with my canes, that 
had become admirable zero-gee tools.
 
At Level 4 we met resistance. Tobrok and Derek took aim
with their lasers. They missed, but abruptly the stairwell was deserted. We 
hurried past the landing.
 
We worked our way down to Level 6. The engine room was in section nine. We 
advanced. Section seven. Then eight Mikhael had the most trouble moving in zero 
gee; I stayed near, gave him a hand when I could.
 
We were in the midst of eight, propelling ourselves to nine, when abruptly the 
hatches closed. The long-silent speakers came to life. "We have them trapped on 
Level 6, section eight! All sailors who *ve been issued arms, assemble outside 
the engine room!"
 
Instantly Arlene snatched a laser from Speke's hand, slapped it in mine.
 
"What are you—"
 
Gripping the handhold, she gave me a mighty shove toward the section seven 
hatch. She launched herself after. I braked myself with my canes, nearly tearing 
out my arm sockets. Arlene seized a handhold, aimed her pistol at the hatch seal 
from close range. Mikhael, in his stolen midshipman's uniform, hauled himself 
laboriously toward us. The rest of us dived into cabins, behind whatever cover 
they found handy. Philip shoved Jared behind him, aimed coolly at the hatch to 
section nine. He waited for the enemy to appear.
 
The section eight hatch seal smoked and sputtered in the relentless beam of 
Arlene's laser. "Come on, God damn you!"
 
I muttered, "Don't blaspheme." It was unthinking. She paid no heed
 
The seal gave way. Grunting with effort, she forced the hatch panels apart 
"Move, Nick!" She blocked a panel with a foot, used her freed hand to shove me 
through. With a cry of alarm, Mikhael thrust himself after.
 
"What wiU you—"
 
''Save yourself. Captain! I love you." She glanced at her
laser; it still had a charge. She kicked off to defend the entry to nine. 
Unimpeded, the corridor hatch slammed shut.
 
Mikhael clung to me. "Get us out of here!"
 
I shook him off. "Steady, son."
 
"Hurry!"
 
I was hurrying, but to where? My voice was dull. 'The laser room." As a last 
gesture, I would disable the lasers. I pulled myself along the handholds. 
"Mikhael, it's over. I'll put you in a cabin. When things quiet down, surrender. 
They won't harm you." I devoutly hoped it was true.
 
"I'm staying with you."
 
My heart was leaden. "No." Arlene was likely dead, and Philip. I would join 
them. But not by my own hand. I might, with great fortune, surprise the 
laser-room guards. And the hatch couldn't be defended.
 
We took the ladder to five. No one stopped us, I hammered on the first cabin 
hatch I came to. No response. I remembered the corridor panel, slapped the hatch 
open. "Mikhael, inside." I pushed him through. "Don't make a sound. Wait until—"
 
A wiry form swarmed atop him, flailed with fists and feet. A blow caught Mikhael 
in the forehead. Fingers clawed at his eyes. "Out of my cabin! Out!" The frantic 
passenger caromed off a bulkhead, launched himself anew. "You frazz-ing—" He 
slammed Mikhael into the bulkhead. "Get—"
 
I drew my pistol, fired, caught him square in the chest. A bubbling sound. Clots 
of blood spewed forth. I grabbed Mikhael by the scruff of the neck, threw him 
into the corridor. I slapped the hatch shut, and drifted, shaking from 
adrenaline.
 
Mikhael kicked desperately at the far bulkhead, shot back across the corridor. 
With a squeal of terror he wrapped himself around me. I tried to pull free. One 
of my canes went sailing off. I wrenched at his fingers. "Mikhael..." No use. He 
was a straitjacket. I bellowed, "LET GO THIS INSTANT! BEHAVE YOURSELF!"
 
"I'm scared, Pa!"
 
"STOP THAT SNIVELING!"
 
It shocked him into letting go. He recoiled. I snatched his arm before he could 
drift off. "Easy, son. I'll take care of you."
 
"Oh, God!"
 
"Fetch my cane." Carefully, I shoved him in the right direction. He snatched it 
as he sailed past, bounced off a bulkhead. With the cane as an oar, he managed 
to propel himself back to me. His face was ashen.
 
There was no time. But if nothing mattered, everything did. "Do you need a hug?"
 
"Yessir,"
 
I swept him into an embrace, squeezed as if to crush the life from him. After a 
long while, the tension oozed from his body. He rested a hand on my shoulder, 
buried his head under my chin. A sound, that might have been a sob.
 
After a time I held him away. "You all right now?"
 
Unable to meet my eyes, he nodded.
 
"Good lad. Let's go." I pushed off, a firm grip on his arm,
 
We worked our way upward toward the laser room.
 
"Sea/art, it's over. " Captain Stanger. "We have a few of your survivors, 
There's no one hose except you, Turn yourself in. "
 
"I'll see you in HelL" Had I spoken aloud? I wasn't sure. We labored up the 
ladder to Level 3.
 
"Pa?"
 
"Yes, son?"
 
"I'm so scared I can't mink."
 
"We all arc."
 
In the corridor, near the stairs, three sailors maneuvered a cart with 
electronic gear. I brandished my laser. They fled Their abandoned cart drifted 
idly in midair.
 
Level 2.
 
"I want-—" Mikhael's breath shuddered. "I want to say this while I can." He 
helped me around the landing, "I know
You're not really my father. But..." He squirmed with embarrassment. "I wish you 
were."
 
"Don't ever say that." Alexi's reproachful face floated beyond the bulkhead.
 
"I'm sorry for all the stupid things I did. I know I'd never mean to you what 
P.T. does, but that's all right." He clutched my arm. "That's what I wanted to 
say. It's all right."
 
I should reproach him, but I couldn't. Not after he'd unwrapped his soul. "Thank 
you." It was a whisper.
 
"You're going away." It was more statement than question.
 
"I'm going to die now, yes." Strangely, I felt peace.
 
"How can I—"
 
"There he is!"
 
I whipped up my laser, fired without aim. A yelp, a shower of sparks. With one 
cane I launched myself up the ladder. A shadow. I fired.
 
"Get him, Middy!"
 
They let off a shot that wasn't even close. The bulkhead blistered. I grasped 
the rail, hurled myself upward with a vigorous shove. I rocketed past the 
landing, firing as 1 slammed into the overhead. A screech. More shots.
 
Silence.
 
I'd lost most of my momentum. Helpless in midair, I waited for inertia, in slow 
motion, to carry me to a bulkhead,
 
Mikhael kicked off, caught me, transferring his inertia. Together we sailed into 
the stairwell landing. I snatched a handhold, propelled myself to the ladder.
 
One more Level.
 
"How can I help, Par
 
"You can't. I want to save you."
 
"No." His voice was tremulous. "I'll help."
 
Years past, I'd offered P.T. his death. Gladly he'd joined me in the launch to 
brave the lasers of Earthport.
 
It was my fate to annihilate the youngsters who laid their trust at my feet.
 
"You're sure, son?"
 
"Yes, sir." He looked down at his pants, and blushed.
 
Level 1. Here, the corridor hatches were sealed. Voices. Instinctively, I thrust 
Mikhael down the ladder.
 
"Got him!" A laser rifle, aimed unwaveringly at my chest "No, you frazzin' 
grode, push yourself up. Let go the laser!"
 
I'd be dead before I could raise my pistol. Bleakly, I did as he told. Three of 
them, all armed. But only one laser* the other joeys had stunners and billies.
 
"Stand at attention, all of you!" The voice was ice. A very young middy launched 
himself from the ladder.
 
One tried to stiffen, realized he couldn't in zero gee. The others gawked. "Who 
are you, sir?"
 
"Midshipman Tamarov. I'm new.** The voice was proud. "You caught him? Wonderful. 
Til take him to the Captain." He held out his hand. "Hand over the rifle."
 
"Sir, I'd better—'
 
'That was an order."
 
Discipline was a reflex. "Aye aye, sir," Edging away from me, the sailor handed 
Tamarov his rifle.
 
"Come here, you." The middy hauled me closer. "You joeys. Lieutenant Garrow 
needs help in the galley. Give him a hand"
 
"If this one gets away ..."
 
"1*11 be the one gets the caning,**
 
It brought nervous smiles. "Aye aye, sir," They retreated down the ladder.
 
When they were gone, Mikhael thrust the rifle into my arms. "I mink I'll be 
sick!H
 
"No, you won't" Casually, I squeezed his shoulder, gave him a reassuring pat, as 
if his courage were no more than I expected. "The laser room's in section nine. 
Let's go."
 
At the corridor hatch to eight, I aimed the rifle, fired into the seals. Alarms 
screamed. I fired again, higher. Mikhael forced open the panels, We squeezed 
through.
 
"Fast as you can!" One section to go, I shouldered the
rifle. Using my canes as ski poles, I bounced off bulkheads and deck.
 
The rifle still had charge. I raised it, began firing many meters from the 
section hatch. The seals smoked, melted. A panel buckled. Mikhael dived to grab 
it. "Careful, the metal's hot."
 
Cautiously, he forced open the corridor hatch. I pushed through, firing as I 
went. A face ducked behind a cabin hatch. Passenger or sailor? No matter, I 
couldn't take the chance, 1 fired into the bulkhead. From behind, a moan.
 
1 strained to reach a handhold, worked my way onward with desperate haste. 
Alarms shrieked. Stanger knew exactly where I was.
 
Outside the laser room, three guards. Only one faced my way. At the same 
instant, we fired. Heat kissed my boot; the deck under me smoked and sizzled. 
The guard dissolved in a burst of blood and flame. I yelped, kicked away from 
the heat. A warning beep. I fired again, caught a bulkhead. Fiery droplets 
splashed a sailor's face. He bounced screaming from bulkhead to deck. The third 
guard fled.
 
My rifle glowed empty. With a savage curse I hurled it along the corridor, 
pulled out my pistol. Thrusting Mikhael into a supply compartment, I launched 
myself at the ruined laser-room hatch.
 
Inside, frozen with fear, three techs.
 
I pushed off, sailed to a chair bolted to the deck. "GET OUT!"
 
They clawed at each other in their haste to reach the corridor.
 
Two rows of laser consoles, each with its simulscreen and radionics. In battle, 
every chair would be manned.
 
No time for subtlety. Steadying myself with my canes, I took aim at the first 
console, pressed die trigger. The console glowed, burst into flame. Alarms 
wailed.
 
The second. I would need a recharge, to disable them all.
 
The third
 
"Move and I'll kill you." A low voice, deadly. One I knew.
 
Slowly, I turned my head. It couldn't be. But it was.
 
Karen Burns.
 
I meant to swing my laser. I wanted to. Instead, turned to a pillar of salt, I 
gaped, uncomprehending.
 
"Don't even twitch, Seafort" Her pistol was aimed and ready, the charge light 
green and unwavering.
 
"What are—how did—my God!"
 
"Eloquent," Her pistol moved, in a suggestion. "Put the laser down."
 
"Why are you on ship?**
 
"You never had a clue, did you?" A harsh chuckle. "Bet you thought I was one of 
those Eco League loonies.**
 
"Aren't you?"
 
"Stanger's rather annoyed; you led us a merry chase. Set down the pistol, or Til 
blow your arm off. I'd just as soon kill you, but the Captain wants a public 
execution."
 
"Shoot."My laser remained at my side. I would have answers. "The Eco League was 
against supporting the Navy. If you're not with them, what were you doing?" My 
knuckles tightened on my canes.
 
"The ecos were too timid. They      prodding; I was glad to help. The Rotunda 
bomb got things moving. It was a win-win situation. Either you'd be dead, and 
we'd have Valera's support for the Navy, or you'd survive, and you'd have no 
choice but to crack down on the enviros/* A frown. "Only you didn't Somehow, you 
kept the lid on. Damned if I blow how, but you were doing it. We had to 
escalate."
 
"By kidnapping me? Why?"
 
"You were founding up sweet Sara and her joeys. Tliey didn't know my name, but 
they'd seen me. I was out of time, so we went after you. If I'd gotten you out 
of the compound, we had a groundcar waiting, and eventually a shuttle. We'd have 
brought you here. If I succeeded, we'd have the power
of your proclamations at our disposal. How the hell did you
 
get out of that closet? You can't walk." "1 teleported Why, Karen? What was the 
point?" "Ultimately, to restore the Navy. You knew mat For a
 
time, we even hoped you'd join us. Keep your hand quite
still."
 
I did. "So why bomb my compound?"
 
"Even you can figure that out You wouldn't work with us, and you were in the 
way."
 
They'd won. Utterly, completely, with finality. The United Nations would be no 
more. The Navy, in its arrogance, would rule the worlds.
 
"And Bookerr
 
"Dead. A weakling. Such pangs of remorse. He'd have
 
given us all away."
 
"Barcelona?"
 
"The call? Faked."
 
We'd been gulled, down the line. I steeled myself. There was nothing left. Only 
useless revenge. The safety was off; I had only to let go the cane, whirl, fire. 
If I took her with me ... To distract her, I asked, "How did you get here?'
 
"I found a woman who looked like me and borrowed her ID. She was U.N. A.F., but 
it got me to Earthport" Her smile was cruel. "And then I called Stanger."
 
Numbly, I reached for an ancient rite. Hail Mary, full of
 
grace...
 
Karen's eyes narrowed. Her pistol steady as a rock, she reached for a chair to 
steady herself.
 
Abruptly I felt it too. Slowly, the deck came up to meet me. Reflexively, I 
threw out my canes, caught myself. My laser skittered along the deck.
 
I began to grow heavy.
 
I was too far from a console to reach it. In seconds we were at a full gee, 
Terran standard, as the bow gravitrons came on-line. Beads of sweat popped from 
my skin. Desperately, I clung to my canes. Somehow, balanced, I re-
mained on my feet, but white fire clawed at my spine. I breathed in shallow 
gasps.
 
"Why, Mr. Seafort." Her voice was a purr. "You have difficulty standing? You've 
been to Dr. Ghenili?"
 
I gritted my teeth.
 
"All crew to the Level 2 dining hall. Machinist's mates, report only when you've 
restored midship and aft gravitrons. " Stanger.
 
Karen made as if to push me. I flinched, expecting to break in half.
 
A lithe form hurtled from the corridor. It leaped onto her back. She staggered. 
Fighting to stay erect, I could do no more than watch. Mikhael snaked a forearm 
around her throat, squeezed with all his might.
 
With a convulsive lunge, she threw him off, A paralyzing chop to the shoulder. A 
kick to his stomach; he squealed and clutched himself.
 
Coolly, Karen glanced to me, saw I was no threat She hauled Mikhael to his feet. 
Methodically, brutally, she began to beat him. Panting with exertion, she drove 
blows into his ribs, stomach, chest. Her fists hammered his face.
 
"Stop it!" My voice was hoarse.
 
A vicious blow to the gut; Mikhael's spittle flew. His face was deathly green.
 
I tried to take a step. Lightning surged along my spine. I gasped.
 
Mikhael sagged, semiconscious.
 
"Don't, I beg you! Let him be. I'll do whatever you want!"
 
"He jumped me." With a grip of iron she held him against the bulkhead, slamming 
her fist into his side, his stomach, his groin. "I don't like that"
 
"Karen, for God's sake—"
 
Blows to the face. A backhand across his mouth that was a rifle shot. Another.
At last, she let go. Mikhael slid senseless to the deck. His blood oozed.
 
She sucked air into her lungs, until her breathing eased. "Now, where were we?"
 
I dared say nothing. Only white-hot rage held off the all-consuming pain. If I 
opened my mouth it might all come rushing out, and engulf the laser room. With 
tremendous effort, I held myself erect.
 
She reached to a console, keyed the caller. "Bridge, Lieu-teaaatBurns/epofting 
rvegothim. Captain. He's he)p)ess; he can't walk m gravity. Where do you want 
him?"
 
A pause. Idly, she turned her back, covered one ear. Ignoring what passed beyond 
agony, I eased more weight onto my left foot
 
"Aye aye, sir. He's in bad shape; I might have to carry him. It'll be a few 
minutes."
 
She replaced the caller. "He'll let you witness the exec—"
 
I flipped my right-hand cane, caught it by the toe. As I fell, I whipped it 
around in a vicious arc. The handgrip slammed into her temple.
 
She toppled to the deck. I crashed nearby. Something wrenched. My legs drummed 
convulsively, I clenched my teem, desperate not to bite off my tongue. The pain 
was beyond horrid.
 
A ghastly sound. Mine.
 
Silence.
 
To my dismay, Karen struggled slowly to her knees; I hadn't hit her hard enough. 
I'd never get anomer chance, "You ... fucking ... son of a bitch." Her words 
were slurred. She groped for her pistol.
 
The safety was on. She clawed at it, shook her head, froze as if listening. A 
moan. She clutched her temples, rocked back and form. Tormented eyes met mine. 
Her hand came away from her ear, red and dripping. Slowly, as if in a dream, she 
pitched forward onto her face. Blood poured from both ears. Massive cerebral 
hemorrhage. A pity.
 
I tried to retreat from the spreading pool. A lance of fire. Somehow, I hunched 
onto my elbows, waited for the red haze to dissipate. I dragged myself toward 
the hatch. Mikhael slumped against the bulkhead, as if asleep. His breath was 
shallow and ragged. His face was pasty.
 
I inched toward Karen's pistol. There were consoles to burn. I clasped it in a 
deathly grip.
 
The speaker crackled. "Lieutenant Burns, bring him to the dining hall. We 're 
waiting,"
 
Why the dining hall? Executions were held in the engine room, were they not? Or 
was it just the way I'd done it as Captain? I lay dreaming.
 
I'm sorry, Lord God. You pushed me too far, I can do no more, and I don't think 
I care, I hate them, Stanger, Admiral Hoi, Karen. No, she's dead. Still I hate 
her. Perhaps I hate You,
 
A sob. I bit it back. Slowly, shuddering with each motion, I raised myself to my 
knees. Trying not to scream, I reached back, dragged one leg forward. Then the 
other.
 
I couldn't do this.
 
Crooning mindlessly, I hunched my way to the bulkhead, leaned against it. Try 
again. It was easier, marginally, if I gave of my weight to its panels. Pistol 
tucked into my belt, my shoulder rubbing the alumalloy, I worked my way on my 
knees to the hatch. My legs wouldn't lift; dragging one cane, I had to raise mem 
by hand.
 
Outside, Along the deserted corridor,
 
It took forever,
 
We have sinned, we have sinned grievously, we are a sinner, we repent our 
sins... You don't listen. Perhaps You never did. Why, then, do I do mis? Duty? 
Oh, Jesus, that hurt. Breathe. Hold a moment. What is duty without You? Well, 
perhaps You listen, now and then. But why don't You ever answer?
 
I'm sorry, I think. To tell truth, I'm not sure.
 
A head poked out of a cabin. A passenger. Her eyes fastened on mine, ducked 
away. The hatch slammed closed.
 
I inched past an exercise room. Scorched carpet, a stench mat made me gag. Foot 
by endless foot, I crawled, the bulkhead my constant friend. My hand ached from 
the effort of dragging my useless legs.
 
The brig. Tobrok was there, was he not? No, he was dead, with Arlene and Philip. 
Or awaiting execution. I'd bullied him into a fight that was not his.
 
On my endless journey, I crawled past the master-alarms' hatch.
 
Wait, Seafort. You're forgetting something.
 
Yes, you're forgetting it's hopeless. You've lost. You're crawling to see 
Arlene's purple tongue, your son's final twitch.
 
No. Something else.
 
Reaching cautiously with the cane, I punched the hatch panel, over my head. I 
didn't know what I sought. Inside, the console, where I'd met Tobrok. Beyond, 
cells. A chair. No more.
 
On my way again.
 
Wait. The chair. Unlike those at the laser consoles, it rolled.
 
This will hurt. Lord. Will You— No. You won't. I clutched the console with one 
hand, took a few breaths, let go the deck with the other. Hanging from the 
console, 1 raised myself slowly, as if trying to kneel.
 
I learned what Hell would be, so very soon. No worse than now.
 
Sweating from every pore, I inched toward the chair. My biceps strained. I drew 
myself up, bent over the console as if for a caning. My vision blurred.
 
Carefully, so cautiously, I inched backward. I wouldn't be able to do this more 
than once. In fact, I wasn't sure that even once—
 
The chair, at the edge of my slacks. Another inch. Another.
 
I hummed to myself, eyes squeezed shut. The brig was unbearably hot. After a 
time I blinked, tried to focus.
 
My shirt was soaked through.
 
But I sat in the chair.
 
With care, I reached down, grappled for my cane. If I pushed against the deck 
... no, from that angle, so. And again.
 
Like a deranged lover in an ancient canoe, I paddled my way down the corridor.
 
The carpet made it slow going.
 
"—to death for piracy and murder. The sentence will now be carried out."
 
Paddle, Seafort. Don't get your feet wet. Lord God won't like it. In a tippy 
canoe, with Saythor too...
 
I snapped awake. I was almost to the dining-hall hatch. A final lunge, that made 
me cough bile. I couldn't do that often.
 
I was in the hatchway. The dining-hall aisle was blocked by rows of sailors, 
lined in the at-ease position, hands clasped smartly behind their backs.
 
Before them, Arlene stood dazed, blood matting her auburn hair. Derek lay 
slumped over a starched linen tablecloth. Their hands were tied behind, their 
mouths taped.
 
A middy, the young one who'd taken my demerits. A sailor, one of Tobrok's. All 
bound.
 
Tad Anselm, his cadet gray stained a dull maroon, swayed as if asleep on his 
feet. His eyes were dull, unfocused.
 
I was sitting on my pistol. I tugged at it, fought a wave of torment.
 
Two sailors held Jared Tenere, standing, on a sturdy table. A noose was tight 
around his neck, secured to an overhead panel. He kicked, twisted against his 
ropes, struggled frantically to escape. I yanked at the pistol; my weight held 
it in my belt.
 
Jared squealed through the skintape. I could hear it across the hall. He wrapped 
a leg around the sailor's, worked the bonds tying his hands. Blood dripped from 
his torn wrists.
 
Below, two burly sailors grappled with Philip. Gagged by skintape, he kicked and 
lunged in a desperate frenzy to reach Jared. His pleading eyes were fastened on 
his friend.
 
I wrenched loose the laser, keyed off the safety. At Stanger's nod, the sailors 
shoved Jared from the table. He dropped like a stone.
 
I fired, downing a crewman. Another, who held P.T.'s arms. His blood gushed. 
Dangling, Jared convulsed and was still. Sailors dived to the deck. Screams and 
shouted commands. Stanger's eyes met mine. I aimed. He ducked behind a pillar. I 
sprayed a wide arc where he'd stood.
 
Someone, braver than the rest, lunged at my chair. A mighty kick missed me but 
sent the chair hurtling out the hatch. The hatch slammed shut.
 
I fetched up against the far bulkhead. My back arched in a spasm. I whipped the 
laser in front of my face. Two-handed, I fired without cease. The hatch smoked 
and sizzled. A beep. I was out of charge.
 
In blind fury, I lunged with my cane, rolled myself east I'd find another laser. 
I paddled past a section hatch.
 
"This is the Captain! Lieutenant Garrow, shut all corridor hatches. I'll use my 
override codes. Watch for me; I'll direct from the bridge. We'll execute the 
rebels when that maniac is dead,"
 
Behind me, the hiss of a hatch. I turned. The dining hall. A sailor emerged, 
braver than most, or maddened by the carnage. He brandished a laser. His wild 
eyes found mine. The corridor hatch slid shut He dived through, almost losing 
his legs. He scrambled to his feet.
 
My tone was like ice. "Drop it joey." I aimed my empty laser at his face.
 
His eyes darted to his pistol, at his side.
 
"Do it and you'll die. Let it go." My voice had a ragged edge mat frightened 
even me.
 
He swallowed. The laser fell to the deck.
 
"Turn around." He did. Laser in my lap, I paddled myself across the corridor. 
"Kneel, pick up the laser by the barrel, hand it behind you." I'd never be able 
to bend without passing out
 
I fingered the second laser, turned off the safety.
 
"Will you kill me?" His voice quavered.
 
"I think so."
 
Kneeling, he crossed himself, bowed his head.
 
I came to my senses. I took my discharged laser, rapped him sharply behind the 
ear. He slumped to the carpet
 
Section hatches were all shut Even if I burned the seals, I had no strength to 
force them open.
 
I rolled past the airlock I'd torched foolish years ago, to help my marauders 
aboard. Stanger's crew hadn't had time to repair it; warning tape plastered the 
entry.
 
In a moment Stanger would reach the bridge to organize his manhunt The crew 
would fan out with merciless intent
 
I had one goal left in life.
 
It was a long way to the end of section seven. How to force the Christ-damned 
corridor hatch? Meters away, I stared at it balefully.
 
No. There was another way.
 
Ignoring a blaze of pain, I paddled back the way I came.
 
To the damaged airlock. Only the outer hatch stood vigil against decompression.
 
Past it to the suit locker alongside. I aimed my laser, burst the flimsy latch. 
Straining, I hauled down a suit from a hook above my head.
 
Now for the impossible part. I wrestled with the torso. Anns would be no 
problem, but my legs... ?
 
Gritting my teeth, I bent forward, worked the stiff suit leg over my own. I had 
to stop, lean against the cool alumalloy
of the locker, wait for the pain to recede to a throb that threatened to suck 
the life from me.
 
Why hadn't they opened the corridor hatch to get at me? Were they waiting for 
Stanger to reach the safety of the bridge? For sailors to work their way around, 
attack me from both sides at once?
 
One leg. Now the other. When I was done, I would somehow have to stand, to seal 
the suit.
 
I mumbled curses under my breath, snatches of old songs, remnants of lessons 
Father had taught me years ago, over the worn Bible and the steaming pot of tea.
 
"Damn You, God, I can't do this alone."
 
The legs were on. I stretched into the torso. The helmet would wait, until I'd 
sealed the rest.
 
"Come up unto me, and help me, that we may smite
 
Gibeon!"
 
What was I muttering? I no longer knew, I paddled to the lock, keyed my pistol, 
fired into the porthole of the ruined inner hatch. The porthole dissolved. I 
took several breaths to steady myself, I hooked my arm through the opening, 
clenched my teeth, hauled myself up by sheer willpower. Oh, God. No. I can't 
stand it.
 
With my free hand I clawed desperately at the suit seals, clasped them tight,
 
Done, I eased myself back into the chair, tried not to black out. No time, 
Seatbrt. They're coming for you.
 
Back to the locker. Lift die helmet. Screw it on. The oxy bottle. Never mind its 
pouch; set it in your lap. Reach behind, tighten the clamps. Back to the lock.
 
I reached through die porthole, found the lever. My cutting torch had utterly 
destroyed the inner hatch; it slid easily. I rolled inside.
 
The outer hatch wouldn't open against air pressure, no matter what I did. And I 
had no way to seal the inner hatch. For a moment I hesitated, knowing of the 
passengers* lives that would be lost. But Stanger must be stopped, else his co-
terie would foment a dictatorship, crush the colonies, and imprison the billions 
trapped on Earth.
 
I aimed my laser at the porthole. It glowed, dripped. Alarms shrieked. Abruptly 
the porthole vanished. I bowed my head against the roar of escaping air.
 
All was silent, in the vacuum of the ship. Only my section was decompressed; 
Stanger had sealed all corridor hatches. Should I pray for the passengers I'd 
chosen to kill? No. It would be blasphemous.
 
There were few cabins near the dining hall. Perhaps their occupants had fled. 
Perhaps Stanger had relocated them, away from the danger of the lock. Perhaps 
...
 
I'd never know.
 
My breath rasped in my suit. I slapped open the outer hatch. With my cane, I 
pushed the chair far enough forward to grip a handhold. I launched myself 
outward.
 
The alloy hull negated the field of the gravitron; abruptly I was weightless. 
The pain in my spine diminished to a sullen volcano.
 
I switched on my hand magnets. My legs floating behind, 1 worked my way along 
the hull toward the bow, A hand at a time, trailing my cane* I inched forward.
 
Lord God knew what Stanger assumed at mis point, or planned. I was trying to 
escape; that much he'd figured. Would he pursue me? Would he be glad to see the 
last of me?
 
I didn't know.
 
I no longer cared.
 
CHAPTER 20
 
O lowly, laboriously, I passed from one huge disk to another. Alongside the 
Level 1 disk was one of Galactic** giant launch bays. Hand by hand, I crawled 
toward it.
 
A lifetime later, I floated in front of a vast hatch that opened the bay to its 
launch. There was no way I could
 
breach it.
 
But I had no need to. Alongside was a service hatch, for
 
crewmen working on the bay.
 
1 slapped the panel.
 
The hatch slid open.
 
Stanger hadn't thought of securing the bridge override. But then, why should he? 
For safety's sake, locks were left openable from Outside. What crewman would 
venture on a repair detail otherwise? To be abandoned in space, unable to gain 
entry ... despite my misery, 1 shuddered.
 
I knew enough to crawl into the hatch in a prone position. Immediately, gravity 
pinned me to the deck. 1 reached up with my cane, slapped shut the hatch, waited 
for the lock to cycle. Panel lights flashed, at the lock and on the bridge,
 
Now Stanger knows you're here. I jabbed at the inner hatch. It slid open, just 
as the override light began to flash.
 
Stifling a moan, I forced myself to crawl through.
 
My helmet was fogged. With a curse, I tore it off. My laser was in my pouch. I 
clawed it free.
 
Crawl, Seafort. Let It hurt. It won "t be for long.
 
The launch bay was immense, but I was near the safety lock that led to the Level 
1 corridor. I squirmed my way across the deck, pulling my legs with my hands.
 
I passed to a realm beyond hurt. It helped me crawl faster. If I remembered, I 
would save one charge to blast myself to Hell. Satan could inflict no worse than 
I now endured,
 
Behind me, the launch sat gleaming and silent. They would assume I intended to 
steal it.
 
As I expected, the airlock sensor between the bay and Level 1 began to flash. I 
lay on the launch bay deck, waiting, my beam set to high. The inner hatch slid 
open. I sprayed the lock. Screams, muffled by suits. My laser beeped. One charge 
left. I clicked the safety.
 
"This is the Captain. He s in the launch bay. Panner. Cosset, assemble a squad 
of twenty and meet me in section seven; we'll end this. If you see him first, 
shoot to kilL "
 
I crawled on, toward the lock. Into it.
 
Over a smoking body.
 
I jabbed the inner hatch. Both sides were pressurized; no need to cycle. The 
hatch opened.
 
The corridor.
 
I was near the bridge; that much I knew. But which direction was it?
 
West. It had to be west. I had no strength to be wrong.
 
The corridor was empty. That was to be expected; the crew had been sent to the 
dining hall. But someone would man the bridge, Garrow, Stanger had said. A 
lieutenant
 
I used the tried and true bulkhead method, lifting one leg at a time with my 
hand. Admiral SecGen Seafort, practicing his distinguished crawl. Singing to 
himself. Reeking of the sweat of torment,
 
A lump on the decking ahead No rime to look. Move, Seafort. You're about played 
out
 
 
I flopped the last few meters to the bridge.
 
Trembling, I lay on the deck plates, facing the sealed hatch.
 
To my right, a body, bombfy burned. J couJd barely discern thai the charted 
uniform was gray.
 
Sightless eyes, an unmarked face contorted in agony.
 
I made a sound.
 
My hand crept out, clasped the limp hand of my Danil Bevin.
 
Together, we lay in the corridor outside the bridge. From time to time I checked 
the safety of my laser, rechecked the charge.
 
I failed you so. I failed You. You were only a boy. I snatched you from Academy. 
I mocked You. I'm sorry, Danil. Or is it Lord? I'm very tired. Both of you.
 
You left him in my charge, and I destroyed him, as I destroy them all. Why 
didn't You stop me?
 
I patted Danil's cold wrist. All will be well, I'll get you a fresh set of 
grays. Tad will brush off the char.
 
Lord God, I hate You for not stopping me. Always, You could. You turned Your 
face from me, but why from him? He was one of Yours.
 
The corridor was silent and still.
 
My chin on the deck, I drowsed, a meter from the thick alloy bridge hatch. My 
pistol, in my right hand, aimed straight ahead. From time to time I toyed with 
the idea of turning it to my face, and joining Danil and Jason. If they'd have 
me.
 
Danil's voice piped. "Do you think*—if I do well, could I be posted to Galactic 
when I make middy?'
 
The nerve of him. Well, I'd shown him, I'd granted his wish. He'd never be 
posted anywhere else.
 
Some of us are Satan's instruments.
 
Cast forth lightning, and scatter them: shoot out thine arrows, and destroy 
them,
 
One shot left. My finger tightened.
 
Hot knives twisted in my spine.
 
Danil slid to his knees at Jason's grave, his small form brushing mine. Have you 
met, you two? Will you speak of me? Will you revile me, as you should?
 
Reassuringly, I squeezed Danil's hand. I would resist the temptation to live. 
Slowly, the barrel of the pistol turned. It crept toward my eager mouth.
 
The bridge hatch slid open.
 
A pair of gleaming boots.
 
My wrist turned. I squeezed the trigger. The boots dissolved in a flash of fire.
 
A thud. Captain Stanger's cheek hit the deck. His eyes bulged. He shrieked. 
Flopping on the deck, over and again, he shrieked.
 
Someone slapped (he panel. The hatch slid closed.
 
I lay on the throbbing deck, caressing Daml's hand.
 
"Captain Seafort?"
 
I made no answer.
 
"Sir, hold your fire. Please, sir."
 
I couldn't move. The torment in my back hod passed to another state. I was 
mercifully numb.
 
"I read the Log, sir, when 1 entered the Captain's death, I want to come out I'm 
unarmed That is. Til leave my pistol on the console. Do you hear me?"
 
I lay silent, my cheek on the cool deck. He could come out if he wished, My 
laser was discharged. All I could do was bite his toe.
 
The hatch slid open, I was eye to eye with Ulysses Stanger. His were dull, 
unmoving. Mine flinched.
 
From around the hatch, a head peeked, "Sir? Don't— Lieutenant Avrara Garrow 
reporting for duty." The bulk of his body was shielded by the bulkhead.
 
Something stirred, calling me back from a great distance. "You knew,"
 
"Knew what, sir?**
 
"What Stanger was up to." My laser sought him. "We all—not really. He was 
Captain. What could we doT The ready excuse the Navy—all of us—wore as a 
protective garment. Satan, get thee behind me. "Take responsibility. Relieve 
him." "He had Admiralty's blessing, didn't he? They'd have
 
hanged—"
 
"He had no such thing."
 
"May I come out? I saw the exchanges myself, sir. He was in touch with Admiralty 
in London."
 
Admiralty, or what was left of it, awaited my report at Farside Base. Stanger 
and his cohorts must have rounded up the members who refused my summons. Perhaps 
even a majority. "Send all sailors to their bunks. All officers to their cabins. 
Release my people."
 
"Aye aye, sir. Excuse me, I'll just go..," He backed toward the console, trod in 
blood. "Oh, Jesus Christ," He leaped aside, wiped his feet. He glanced to the 
console. "Just the caller, sir. Not the laser."
 
"Very well." Oarrow snatched the caller, issued a disordered jumble of commands.
 
Throughout Galactic, the nimble of corridor hatches sliding into their sockets, 
"Sir, may 1 help you up?" I shook my head. I might come apart. "You'd better 
know ..." He licked his lips. "I called £arttywt m. After Mr. Stanger died. To 
tell them." "That you'd take charge?"
 
"Only for the moment. They said they'd send someone. And..." He swallowed. 
"Before that, the Captain told them you blasted your way on board. Admiral Hoi 
offered to send Marines, but Stanger said they would only add to the confusion. 
That he could flush you out." It was as if Garrow was under compulsion to 
confess. "Bring me the caller," I keyed it to shipwide frequency. "Attention all 
crew and
passengers." My voice was a croak. "By order of the Board of Admiralty of the 
United Nations, I, Nicholas E. Seafort, hereby take command of UNS Galactic." 
There, it was done. A few lives late. "All officers and crew are to approach the 
bridge, as directed by their superiors, to acknowledge my command."
 
Behind me, in the corridor, footsteps pounded. Arlene, with Derek not far 
behind.
 
"Oh, Lord God. You there, get a stretcher. Get him to sickbay."
 
"No." My voice was muffled.
 
"Call the Ship's Doctor. Hurry!** Gently, she lifted my head.
 
"lake your hands off me!" My tone was glacial. "I am Captain!"
 
"Nick—"
 
"'5«r/'" If I let her beseech me, I'd be unable to resist
 
Her eyes were wet. "Sir, let me help you."
 
"I've got work to do." Admiral Hoi still controlled Earth-port; Simovich held 
Lunapolis Base. Their banks of lasers targeted our planet, My mind wandered; I 
forced myself back. "Philip?"
 
Thank Lord God,
 
"Sickbay. He's . . ."
 
I nodded. He would be, with Jared dead. "Send someone to the laser room. 
Mikhael's hurt."
 
"Aye aye, sir."
 
An officer raced down the corridor. "Who's injured? My God, the Captain!" 
Aghast, he brushed past me, stared down at the remains of Stanger.
 
With a growl Arlene spun the Doctor around, forced him to his knees before me. 
"Help him!"
 
"What do you need, sir?"
 
"He's had spinal surgery. He's badly injured."
 
"Get me to a motorized chair."
 
The Doctor looked from one to the other of us.
 
Tm Captain. Do it!"
 
They had to pry my fingers from Danil's.
 
Ten minutes later, I sat ashen in a wheelchair from sickbay, tight against the 
Captain's console. "Pain blocker. Give me one. Now." I specialized in short 
sentences. And desperate screams, if I opened my mouth farther.
 
"Aye aye, sir."
 
I caught my reflection in the screen. My eyes had a glassy sheen. My tie was 
undone, my shirt a filthy mess, my jacket gone. Meet Admiral Seafort, commanding 
the Galactic
 
squadron.
 
By twos and threes the ship's officers presented themselves to the bridge, came 
to attention, acknowledged me as their commander. Then the crew, a squad at a 
time, I sat as one carved in stone, my knuckles white on the armrests. The pain 
blocker wasn't working.
 
Tad Anselm was brought to the bridge. Dully, he saluted.
 
His face was slack. I bade him sit, in a watch officer's chair. "You were with
 
Daniir
 
"Yes, sir." A voice from a distant galaxy, I looked to Arlene, to Derek. "Leave 
ttie bridge.** From the console, I slapped shut the hatch, 1 studied the boy a 
long while. "What happened?* "I want to resign. To go home.** "Ml me," I said 
softly, "what you're afnid I'll hear,** Without warning, he began to weep. Then, 
after a time, "They brought us to the bridge. Me and Danil," He wiped his nose 
on a grimy gray sleeve. "Stanger told Danil to call you, to make you surrender. 
He showed Danil his laser, said he'd shoot him if you didn't give up." I put my 
head in my hands.
 
"Danil cried. Stanger slapped him, thrust the caller in his face. Danil made the 
call. You didn't surrender." His race
 
was bleak. "Stanger waited, opened the hatch. He took Danil to the corridor. 
Stanger had to drag him. Danil was beside himself. He gibbered and begged. 
Stanger put the pistol to his chest and fired. He left him there. A warning, he 
said, if you reached the bridge."
 
I bent to the side, vomited bile.
 
"And what I felt..." Tears coursed down Anselm's face. "In Washington, you told 
me to look after him. But 1 was so ... so... so g-g-lad, sir. That it wasn't me. 
I wanted it to be Danil." He was alone with his anguish. 'Tm going home,
 
I've got to." "Oh, son." I tried to gather him into my arms, but he was
 
a leaden weight.
 
"Where is he? Where did they take him?" "The sickbay has coolers."
 
"That's where I'll be." No salute, no wait for dismissal. He wandered to the 
hatch, slapped it open. He vanished into the corridor.
 
I called Arlene in. "Is the laser room manned?" "I don't know, sir,"
 
"See to it. Three consoles are down, but the rest,, .** By redistributing the 
laser cannon among available consoles, we'd restore our firepower. "Aye aye, 
sir."
 
"Get yourself a uniform. And Derek," I keyed the engine room, "Mr. Me Andrews. 
Have we power?" "Yes, sir," "Fusion drives?" "Unharmed," The gravitrons?"
 
"You made a mess of them. We'll work CM it." "Give me power to the thrusttrs." I 
keyed the caller, "Cornm Room."
 
Arlene watched impassively, standing at 'Tech Specialist Fanner reporting, sir," 
"You!" My lip curled. "Report to the brig; tell Tobrok
you're under anest" He had surrendered the comm room to Stanger, the moment we'd 
left
 
"Sir—aye aye, sir, but Mr. Tobrok's dead. The Captain hanged him."
 
I flinched. "Report to whoever's hi charge. Put your replacement on the line." I 
waited Then, "Set up a transmission on all available frequencies, Naval and 
civilian. Half an
 
hour."
 
Now, for what must be done. I could wait no longer. I closed the hatch, looked 
up at Lieutenant Sanders. "We're off duty."
 
"Are weT'
 
"Yes." I waited, hoping against hope.
 
Her hand brushed my shoulder.
 
1 seized it, pressed it to my lips. "Could you forgive mer
 
"There's nothing to forgive. You're Captain. ! accepted mat when I took the 
oath. No, Nick, I mean it Don't you know me at all?" She knelt "I love you. 
Don't cry, I can't stand it"
 
Her lips were soft, and sweet
 
"Let me get you to sickbay"
 
"After." There'd be plenty of time. "I'd like to see
 
Philip."
 
"He won't speak,"
 
"Bring him. Hon, find me a shirt and jacket Insignia, I have to make a broadcast 
from the bridge. Perhaps you'd help me dress."
 
"Are we on duty again?"
 
"In a moment"
 
Quickly, she bent and kissed me. "Don't be too stubborn, the said as she strode 
to the hatch. "Preserve yourself."
 
For what?
 
"Attention, UNS Galactic. Admiral Johanson aboard Earthport local shuttle Zebra 
12, I'm come to take command by Admiralty authority. We'll mate at your Level 2 
bay."
 
"Shall I refuse him, sir?" Lieutenant Garrow. Another of his persistent efforts 
to be helpful.
 
"By no means. He's welcome."
 
"Galactic, confirm please. Be advised that we'll enter armed and ready."
 
"Confirm, Lieutenant Ask how many. Get IDs."
 
He did. Nine. Three lieutenants, a handful of Marine sergeants, Deputy SecGen 
Valera's chief civilian aide.
 
"Mr. Carr to the bridge, flank!" Waiting, I drummed the console. What I was 
about to do was vile.
 
Derek Carr hurried in, distinguished in his crisp Naval uniform. A pity he'd let 
his enlistment run out, those many years ago. "Lieutenant Carr reporting, sir."
 
"These are the orders I ask you to volunteer to carry out If you refuse, I won't 
hold it against you."
 
Silent, he waited.
 
"Have the master-at-arms* men evacuate Level 2, section five. You'll have to 
move fast, but be certain to miss none of the passengers. Don a thnistersuil. 
Put a spanner and a fully charged laser in the pouch. Understood?**
 
"Aye aye, sir," His face showed nothing,
 
"In your suit, greet Admiral Johanson's party at the sec-don five lock on behalf 
of Captain Garrow. Treat him with courtesy and respect. Show him the suit 
lockers near the lock. Explain that you were on your way Outside to repair 
another faulty sensor. Galactic's been plagued by them. When his party has 
desuited, call the bridge and ask Mr. Garrow where the middy is who was to 
escort them. Then enter the lock,"
 
"Aye aye, sir."
 
"Cycle. When the outer hatch opens, block it with the spanner. Then take your 
laser from the pouch and bun through the inner lock porthole."
 
"Sir!"
 
1 waited, impassive.
 
"Mr, Seafort, that will..." He swallowed.
 
They're guilty of treason, Derek. They're armed. They'd kill or arrest me on 
sight"
 
"But..." He held up a hand, to forestall any further explanation. He perused the 
deck for several moments. Then, "Orders acknowledged and understood, sir. Will 
there be anything else?"
 
"As His representative aboard ship, I absolve you, now and after." It was but 
one of many abominations I'd committed in His name.
 
Thank you, sir. That won't be necessary,**
 
In fresh clothes, braced with a double dose of pain block-ers, I faced the 
simulscreen. Its holocam transmitted my haggard face, my grim visage around the 
world, and throughout home system. Offscreen, by the bulkhead, Ar-lene held 
Philip's hand.
 
Belowdecks, a machinist's detail worked to replace the section five porthole. 
When they were done section five would be re-aired.
 
This is Admiral and Secretary-General Seafort, acting under authority of martial 
law. UNS Galactic is again in Government hands. All forces, UMA.E and Naval, are 
to return to barracks and await instructions. The commandants of Earthport Naval 
Station and LunapoUs Base shall place themselves under arrest,"
 
I glowered. "Cisno Valera is removed as Deputy Secretary-General of the United 
Nations. He is summarily tried in absentia, found guilty of treason, and 
sentenced to death. The sentence is commuted provided that he surrenders himself 
to Potomac Naval Station forthwith. Beginning in four hours"—I checked my 
watch—"noon Eastern Standard Time, any Government officer, civil or military, 
who encounters Mr. Valera outside Potomac Naval Station is to carry out the 
sentence of death."
 
I looked sternly into the camera. Those Senators who convened in defiance of 
authority are unseated from office,,
and are barred from elective office for the remainder of their lives. I shall 
tolerate no act of rebellion, no disregard of edicts while this crisis 
continues.
 
"Other matters. Jerence Branstead is to be released forthwith, and to resume his 
duties as chief of staff.
 
The enviro package of bills, as submitted by my Administration, is deemed 
enacted as first submitted, the effective date one week from today. They will be 
known as the Jared Tenere Enviro Acts." Jared was no enviro fanatic, but Philip 
would be pleased, when he was again among us.
 
That is all." I keyed off the simulscreen.
 
I leaned back, savoring an exquisite torment in my spine.
 
"Nick. Captain." Arlene's voice was soft.
 
I turned. P.T.'s hands scrabbled at his shirt, at each oner. His fingers were 
red and raw. He stared unseeing past the console.
 
I rolled my chair as far as I could. "Philip."
 
Nothing. His lips moved whispering silent numbers,
 
"Son," I held his hands in mine, **We love you. You're all right. Try not to 
rev."
 
His hands jerked away. He made fists of them, thrust them beneath his arms. 
"Base twelve works. Leave me alone."
 
I cried, "I couldn't pull the pistol loose. It wouldn't budge,"
 
Dully, he looked from me to his mother, and back,
 
"I'm so sorry, Philip!** Stupidity, Incompetence, Worse, I'd held Jared's life 
in my hands, and thrown it away,
 
"He was terrified," P.T.'s tone was conversational, as if discussing the 
weather, "We all die. He would too,**
 
"Son, I—"
 
"But no one should die like that. No one.** He hugged himself,
 
"I could have rolled fatter. I should have had the laser—"
 
"I couldn't save him. I was there, and couldn't help. Couldn't comfort him. Even 
at the end. he looked to me."
 
No more. God, take me now. NO MORE.
 
"Sir." Lieutenant Garrow. "An urgent call."
 
"Later."
 
His voice was awed. "It's Bishop Saythor. The Patriarch."
 
"You understand, Path? / couldn ) help! "
 
I drew Philip to me.
 
He thrust me away. 'Take your call."
 
"It doesn't—"
 
"I'll be here. Take it"
 
From my console, I stared into the simulscreen, with sunken eyes.
 
The Elder's pudgy face glowered, "This is Bishop Saythor, on behalf of the 
Patriarchy."
 
"Very well."
 
"Retract, this instant Valera is not condemned. It wasn't an insurrection; the 
Senate has authorized—"
 
"No." Francis Saythor headed my Church. Our Church. The only true Church.
 
'The enviro legislation is madness. Cancel it before—"
 
"No!" He spoke for Lord God, in all matters ecclesiastic.
 
"Seafort, this isn't your Washington study. This time I speak from the 
Cathedral, for the Patriarchs of His Reunification Church. Your Government is in 
error and mortal sin, I order you—"
 
"NO/" My voice trembled. He was Lord God's representative on Earth.
 
"Else we'll disavow you this very day, A public statement, on the steps of the 
Cathedral. A drastic step, one we've rarely taken. Be warned, unless—"
 
I reared back in my seat, ignoring a blazing comet of pain. "Beware, lest I 
disavow you!"
 
His eyes narrowed, as if perplexed,
 
"Disavow you, Saymor!" My eyes were wild, "And your Patriarchy!" I felt 
something snap in my soul, as it had in my spine. My bond with Him was severed, 
utterly and irredeemably,
 
"You'll be burned. Heresy—"
 
"And disavow Mother Church!" Tears streamed down my face. "The Church, do you 
hear, Saythor? Will it be treason, if I declare my doubt that you could possibly 
be His instrument? If I wonder how we surrendered our conscience, our moral 
certitude, to an intolerant Church concerned of its prosperity more man our 
survival?"
 
"How dare you!"
 
"Likewise must the deacons be grave, not double-tongued, not given to much wine, 
not greedy of filthy lucre. What are my polls, Elder? Which of us will joeys 
follow, when they read the zines? Think it's worth the risk?"
 
He and I sat appalled.
 
I was excommunicate. I had threatened Lord God Himself, and spat upon His 
Church. Whether the Patriarch declared me so or not, I was barred forever from 
His community,
 
"Shall I disavow you. Bishop?" My unsteady hand hovered over the caller. "Shall 
I tell the world my mind?"
 
"You wouldn't besmirch—"
 
"By all that is holy, I swear that I will tell only truth. I'll speak of our 
meeting at the Rotunda, of your visit to my home. Of this call, which will be 
your last. Lift a finger to interfere, and it will come to pass," My voice could 
scratch glass, "As long as we live. Bishop, never speak to me again!" My fist 
slammed down on the keys, cutting the circuit,
 
I sat shaking, in awe of my ultimate folly.
 
Yet thou shall be brought down to Hell, to the sides of the pit,
 
I dared not pray. Not ever again, lest I be blasted from the Earth.
 
Yet how could I live without prayer?
 
How could I live?
 
There were only Arlene and Philip. Mikhael. And duty.
 
Prom her quiet    Arlene          at me with awe,
 
FT, picked  at his shirt
 
"Son, come to me." I held out my hands, pleading.
 
His eyes met mine, alone, tormented, sealed.
 
"I am bereft of Lord God, and have nothing save you!" My voice broke. "1 beg 
you, as you have mercy!" I could say no more, from weeping.
 
Slowly at first, as an automaton, he rose from his chair, padded across the 
deck. A gentle hug. He fell into my arms, onto my lap as a small child. Our 
tears merged, mine for myself, his for his forever-lost Jared.
 
"U.N.A.F. Washington command to UNS Galactic" I jerked awake. I'd been sleeping; 
I hoped the lieutenant sharing my watch hadn't noticed.
 
1 took up the caller. Unusual, for the Captain to answer directly, but I still 
didn't fully mist any of Stanger's officers. Td issued standing orders to the 
comm room that all communications be routed to the bridge. "Galactic, go ahead." 
"General Dormer reporting. I may not have much time. Sir, U.N.A.F. is going to 
sit it out." "What?"
 
"The ranking generals conferred over the net. They won't respond to either side. 
They'll wait for a winner. We're supposed to be shut down for off-planet calls, 
but I know a colonel in communications."
 
The fools. Neither side would trust mem, after. "It's treason, Donner."
 
"Technically. More realistically, caution." 1 grunted my disgust "ValeraT' "No 
sign of him, sir, I'd better make myself   after this call. Any orders?"
 
"Fly to London, Find Thorne." He knew Jeff; they'd worked together when Thome 
had served as chief of staff. "Have him call Galactic by sat-relay from Devon 
Academy, Tell him Farside is reliable, if he finds the other nets locked
out*
 
"Yes, sir.r
 
"And thank you." Lord God knew what he risked by alerting me.
 
I brought my ship to General Quarters, started the repair of the many damaged 
corridor hatch seals. I'd prefer going to Battle Stations, but if I put the crew 
at a high state of alert after a night of chaos, they'd soon be asleep on their 
feet
 
I dared not leave the bridge for long, and of my lieutenants, I trusted only 
Derek and Arlene. That meant I couldn't share a watch with them, else they'd be 
too fatigued to stand their own. I shared instead with men and women of whom I 
knew nothing, except that they'd failed to relieve Stanger, when their oaths 
demanded it
 
Reeling with exhaustion, I had Midshipman Speke wheel me to the sickbay.
 
Mikhael's face was puffy. He lay listlessly in a bunk, Hie Ship's Doctor recited 
his injuries. Among them, three broken ribs, a bruised spleen, swollen 
testicles. "The bone growth stimulator will reknit the ribs in a few days. But 
the lassitude... me beating took something out of him."
 
I wheeled to his bed. "Mikhacl..." I was at a loss. His eyes went elsewhere. 
"I'm sorry. Pa,"
 
"For what? You were magnificent"
 
"I thought I could stop her. Knock her town. But she—** His contorted.
 
"You're fifteen. You can't expect—"
 
"Captain to the bridge!" Alarms shrieked, "Battle Stations!"
 
"Lord Christ" I wheeled, "Middy!    We raced to the bridge.
 
Derek and Midshipman Pyle jumped to their feet "Sir, incoming lasers. Target 
acquisition mode."
 
"The Station?" For the moment Earth loomed between us and Lunapolis. Admiral Hoi 
would have tone better to wait for his ally,
 
"Yes, sir." Derek looked grim.
 
"What's our heading?" I peered at the simulscreen. At Earthport, defense lasers 
bristled from every aperture, a legacy of our defense against the marauding 
fish. "Acquire targets! Aim only at their lasers." The destruction of Earth-port 
would be a catastrophe; we'd have no way to transship the vast quantities of 
cargo that filled her warehouses. Perhaps Admiral Hoi counted on that fact.
 
What skill had Stanger drilled into his laser techs? No time to check his 
records.
 
"Laser Room, stand by to fire. Pilot to the bridge, flank. Chief Me Andrews!"
 
"Yes, sir?"
 
"Stand by to Fuse. Coordinates follow. Full power to the
 
thrusters."
 
"Aye aye, sir. Captain, we haven't achieved Fusion safety." If we Fused too 
close to a large mass, we'd destroy
 
ourselves.
 
"Not yet. Derek, calculate Fusion coordinates." "To where, sir?"
 
"Pilot Jasper Oren reporting." He sounded breathless. "Anywhere nearby. Ceres. 
Pilot, how far to Fusion
 
safety?'
 
"Just a moment, sir." He took in our coordinates. 'Two and a half hours, more or 
le—"
 
"Bloody hell." I savored the language. Admiralty wouldn't beach me, and the 
Patriarchs would be silent.
 
We faced the Station almost head-on. Our vast cargo bays at die bow offered 
extra shielding against incoming fire, but few of our own lasers would bear.
 
Fight, or flee?
 
"Pilot, bring the ship about. Port side to the Station, broadside to the Naval 
wing. One-half kilometer distance,"
 
"One-half T* Oren's tone was unbelieving.
 
At that range their powerful lasers would blast us to shreds, but our own fire 
would severely damage the Station,
 
"Now!'
 
"Aye aye, sir." His fingers flew at the thruster console.
 
Ponderously, we came about. It was a matter of inertia. Galactic had huge mass, 
many times that of a typical vessel. Our thrusters would move her, but we 
required an equal expenditure of propellent to halt our swing. Thank heaven we 
had a Pilot aboard. Turning a behemoth like Galactic was an exercise in nerve 
and patience.
 
"Galactic to Earthport Naval Station. Put on Admiral Hoi."
 
It took barely a moment Hoi must have been glued to his console, as was I. His 
pinched face loomed in my simulscreen. "Turn away, Seafort If I have to wreck 
you, I will,"
 
"Our lasers are trained on the Naval wing. You'll die."
 
"I'm not in me Naval wing."
 
"Very well, we'll retarget," It would be mass murder, of civilians, and I 
couldn't do it
 
He smiled, "We know you, Seafort. You'll do no such thing."
 
Inwardly, I cursed. "You know me not at all." I poised my finger on the console. 
"Activating fire controls. Laser Room, stand by."
 
"We have more firepower, Seafort! You'll be destroyed."
 
I shrugged. "I don't really care." That much was true.
 
"Why notr
 
"My body is ravaged, my Government a shambles, my Navy disgraced." My covenant 
with Lord God shattered beyond repair,
 
"Put on Johanson!"
 
"Why?"
 
"He'll negotiate us out of a standoff,"
 
"Not from my ship,"
 
"Send him here."
 
My tone was casual. "If you wish,"
 
"You'll speak to him after?"
 
"If he calls." "A truce until then?" "Six hours, no more." "Very well." He broke 
contact "Derek, go to sickbay. Have them load Johanson and the rest onto their 
launch." "You wouldn't." "I beg your pardon, Mr. CarrT "You heard me. Isn't that 
a touch macabre?" "Do h." I'd be damned if I'd give a traitor like Johanson a 
formal funeral. I keyed off, had Lieutenant Garrow assign a sailor to pilot the 
launch.
 
Six hours of truce. More than enough to reach Fusion safety. I could escape 
Earthport's lasers, but to where? I snorted; Galactic was set to cruise to 
Constantine. Her crew was functional, her stores nearly complete. We could 
repair our damage en route. It would serve them all right if I fled the madness 
into which we'd descended. With a sigh, I put aside my fantasies. How to retake 
Earthport? No troopship could run the gauntlet of the Station's powerful lasers. 
And in any event, what troops would respond to my call? Perhaps some isolated 
U.N.A.F. base would ignore the perfidy of its leaders and stand by the 
Government, but how would they board a shuttle unnoticed? And what would 
persuade Earthport to let
 
it dock?
 
In the meantime, my hundreds of passengers had to be tended. Perhaps Hoi would 
allow me to off-load them; tiwir presence foreclosed the option of battle. But 
he knew that; why would he let me?
 
I pondered. The two middies, Speke and Pyle, fidgeted
 
under my gaze.
 
Lunapolis Base was also a factor. It had free access to the Station; their 
commanders were allied. And its   were I devastating threat, both to me and 
Barm*
 
If 1 attacked LunapoUs from aloft, I might kill thou-
sands. Certainly there was no way to subdue it by ground attack. Any troops I 
sent would have to be transshipped through Earthport, which was impossible until 
Admiral Hoi was ousted. Worse, Earthport guarded Lunapolis, and Lunapolis 
Earthport, unless I could somehow time an assault for the hours when they were 
out of each other's sight.
 
I knew of but one way, and the risk was enormous.
 
Failure was death. Not so unwelcome.
 
Midshipman Speke blurted out, "What did I do?"
 
I raised an eyebrow.
 
"You—I thought you were angry. You were glaring like—**
 
"Two demerits." How dare he interrupt a Captain's thoughts?
 
A look of dismay. "Sir, that makes ten."
 
I drummed the console. "Very well. One. Go work it off,"
 
"Aye aye, sk," He made his escape.
 
Anthony Pyle stared carefully at his console.
 
A crackle, from the speaker. "Admiral Thome to Galactic"
 
I snatched the caller, "Jeff!"
 
A few seconds* pause, "Hello, sir."
 
"I need you."
 
A hesitation. "How?"
 
"You have doubts?" Better to face them now, though I was disappointed. I'd 
rallied Jeff from cynicism years past, and I'd hoped to count on his loyalty.
 
A pause. "Sir, it's the lag. I'm calling London to Devon to Farside to you."
 
"AhiL"
 
"The joey at Devon Academy didn't want to put me through. I had to drop names,"
 
"Whose?" I waited out the lag.
 
"Every Admiral I could think of. You. The Commandant."
 
Midshipman Pyle smiled, until he saw my scowl.
 
"Jeff, may I recall you to duty?" Under martial law I had
authority, even without his consent. But this was my mentor, my oldest living 
friend.
 
"Of course." He knew 1 wouldn't ask, if the need weien t
desperate.
 
I said, "There's risk."
 
"There's always risk. What are your ordetsr
 
1 told ram.
 
Pyle's eyes widened.
 
CHAPTET 21
 
.NA.F. Security Command to Galactic, Mr, Seafort, if you're there, for God's 
sake answer!"
 
I wheeled onto the bridge, breathing hard. General Don* ner's saturnine face 
filled the simulscreen. "Go ahead."
 
"Valera's marching on the Rotunda. He's got the Thirteenth Armored, the 
Fifty-first Auto—"
 
"U.N.A.F, would sit it out, you said."
 
"I was wrong," His voice had a touch of asperity. "Ibiera and Taubeck always 
were hotheads. It's only a few units, sir, but we have hardly anything to stop 
them. I've rounded up what I could, A few guard units. There's a store of old 
projectile rifles in storage; I outfitted the U,N. Military Band. They—"
 
"Ridiculous."
 
"They were handy and they're fully trained soldiers, sir. It's just they don't 
nonnally carry,,, we've taken up position inside the retaining wall/*
 
"Civil war is the last tiling we—"
 
"Sir, there's more. Valera preempted HoloworU and Newsnet for a six o'clock 
announcement. The other nets will no doubt follow—'*
 
"No!"
 
"I agree, but how will you stop him?"
 
"Where are you now?"
 
"Branstead's office." He flushed. "Don't take offense. Valera's people have him 
in custody, and his puter had links to everyone from—**
 
"Get me McFrcy from Holoworld"
 
The president? I'll try." His stubby fingers stabbed at
 
keys.
 
We got a machine, then a stubborn puter, men a secretary, By the time we worked 
our way up to McFrey's chief aide, I was fuming. I leaned into the simulscreen, 
my voice shaking. "Put her on this very moment This instant!"
 
The aide's face disappeared. A few seconds later, Belinda McFrey, the world's 
most powerful netizen, looked down on me from the screen. She said coolly, "You 
rang, Mr. Sec— ah, Seafort?"
 
"Valera gets no bandwidth," That's not for you to say,*' "But it is. Under 
martial law—" "Which the Senate has repealed." "Valera is engaged in treason, I 
won't allow him access—" "You don't control the nets," Her tone was smug. "Don't 
even try."
 
"As Secretary-General—** "You may not still be SecGen. That's debatable." 
Perhaps it was only that she interrupted my every sentence. Perhaps it was her 
smug superiority. Whatever the cause, I snapped, "Dormer, flash this call to 
Newsnet, live feed. In fact, transmit worldwide. Hank,"
 
"Just a moment." Clicks. A buzz, and silence, "Done," "Belinda McFrey has 
insisted on giving aid and comfort to those who would overthrow the ordained 
Government of Lord God, Now do I—" "I did not"
 
"—Nicholas Seafort, sole executive of His Government and plenipotentiary of the 
Patriarchs of His Reunified Church while martial law remains in effect—"
 
"You take on a lot, Seafort"
 
My eyes blazed. "—declare Belinda McFrey, former president of Holoworld, 
excommunicate of His Church and His people. We do, on behalf of Lord God 
Himself, turn from her aspect, reject her perfidy, and banish her from our 
midst!"
 
Her face was pale. "Now, look. You can't just—"
 
"GET THEE GONE, CREATURE OF SATAN!" With a slash of the hand, I cut her off my 
screen, "I do warn and adjure every citizen that to consort or do business with 
a person excommunicate is a capital offense, and merits excommunication of the 
offender,"
 
I glared at the screen and at the world. "Let all media take notice: Cisno 
Valera shall not be heard while he stands in opposition to Lord God. Trifle not 
with perdition!"
 
I snapped off the screen, sat trembling. What I had done was arguably legal. The 
authority panted under martial law was breathtakingly broad. I represented His 
Government in its every aspect, including that normally exercised by the 
Patriarchs.
 
Nonetheless, what I had done was a travesty. No, an obscenity, I had defied the 
Patriarchs outright, spurned and insulted them to their faces. Didn't I deserve 
excommunication far more than the frightened woman whose soul now teetered on 
the edge of damnation? Was I not already excommunicate, in His eyes, if not in 
the view of the cowardly Patriarchs? If I were to declare any traitor 
excommunicate, why choose a mediaman whose sole offense was to allow Valera a 
voice? Why not villainous Admiral Hoi, or Sirnovich, (town in Lunapolis? Was not 
their treason far more overt man hers?
 
No time for disgust "Cornm Room, connect me with the chief of staff's office in 
the Rotunda." I waited. "Donner? Evacuate your troops. No, you heard me. Why? 
Because they're not the enemy. Til fire on Lunapolis if I must And
on Earthport. But not on ground forces, however misguided. Oh? Perhaps you 
didn't understand: that was an order."
 
I bore out his protests. He was a brave man, and stubborn.
 
When at last he acquiesced I said, "You yourself may stay, if you care to give 
me a hand. Key into the outdoor public address system. Hurry, please. And aim 
your caller's vidlens out the window. I want to see the troops I'm talking to. 
Feed picture and sound live, to whatever nets will run it"
 
We had more time than I'd supposed; it was a full half hour before the first 
patrols of the Thirteenth Armored Cavalry moved through the undefended gate. 
They held their laser rifles at the ready, moved cautiously, eyes searching the 
many windows above.
 
I took a deep breath. These moments might be my last chance to brace my falling 
Government
 
"Soldiers of the Thirteenth!" Far below, my voice boomed over the Rotunda 
speakers, "1 am the Secretary-General. Go no farther. By entering the U.N. 
compound, you war on God!"
 
Three or four joeys exchanged nervous glances.
 
"General Ibiera and General Taubeck are relieved of command- Go no farther^ I 
say. You there! Sergeant, with your hand on the gate!" The man stopped as if 
struck, "As you value your soul, fall back! Through the gate, this instant!**
 
Uneasy, he took a few steps back,
 
"I have ordered General Donner's troops to stand down. We will not shoot you 
this day. We will not defend the Rotunda with bullets or beams. We will defend 
it with the righteous wrath of Lord God,**
 
For a moment all was still,
 
"The world watches your every move. Let the vengeance of humankind strike dead 
the first man to befoul these precincts. Shoot any officer who orders you 
through those gates. It is treason, and abominable in His eyes. Shoot any 
officer who bids you fire on your fellow troops within me compound.
 
"Soldiers of the United Nations, go to your homes. This revolt, this treason, is 
not of your making. It will collapse of its own weight You need not die, or 
kill, for traitors' greed.
 
"This is Secretary-General Nicholas Seafort, wishing you the blessing of Lord 
God."
 
I keyed off my caller, held my breath.
 
At the gates, no one moved.
 
"You vile son of a bitch!" Admiral Hoi was livid, "Lieutenant Tse was my nephew. 
You goddamn murderer!"
 
"They were armed rebels boarding a U.N, warship."
 
Arlene had summoned me to the bridge for Hoi's call. I was tired, disheveled, 
and cross.
 
"You're the—" He bit it off. "How can I send the boy home to my sister? He looks 
like... in two hours I open fire!" Our trace would be done.
 
I said, "We've passengers aboard."
 
"That didn't bother you before."
 
"Let me off-load them."
 
"No. I won't let you anywhere near the Station."
 
I glanced at Arlene, "Why not?"
 
"You're too devious, and besides .. .** He grimaced. "Tbo many of my officers 
know only your public image. They oust you, I won't risk subversion.**
 
Impasse,
 
"Mr, Hoi, surrender now and I'll spare your life."
 
"Goofjuice, I have the upper hand. Two hours." The screen went dark.
 
I keyed the caller. "Engine Room, flank speed. Pilot, all power to the 
thrusters. Get us to Fusion safety. Lieutenant Sanders!"
 
Arlene jumped, "Yes, sir? I wish you wouldn't do that**
 
"Sorry. Fusion coordinates for Titan, Have Mr, Pyle run calculations as well," 
On my ships, Fusion coordinates were checked and rechecked. "Baron, you too,"
 
Two hours, before we'd need their coordinates, I yearned
to pace, but even in light gravity, I dared not move. When Dr. Ghenili saw me 
again, he would not be pleased.
 
I'd told Jeff Thorne to make a very special call. I rolled my chair from one 
bulkhead to another, waiting for the response to come through. If I didn't hear 
back within two hours, my plan would be stillborn.
 
Anthony Pyle bent to his calculations, tongue between his lips. I smiled. Once, 
when I was a youngster, I'd been made to do the same.
 
This wasn't my watch; I was free to leave the bridge. But I was too keyed up to 
sleep, Besides, I'd have to be back when we Fused. No Captain would dream of 
letting subordinate officers Fuse on their own. If something went wrong, he'd be 
the one who had to explain.
 
Of course, if something went wrong, there'd be little to explain. The ship was 
unlikely to be found.
 
"Thome to Galactic."
 
Thank Lord God. Once we were Fused, he'd have been unable to reach us.
 
"He agreed, sir. But he said to tell you a personal invitation would have been 
more polite." Thorne's tone was disapproving.
 
I rolled my eyes. "That's like him. Pay no attention. Now, as to the rest?"
 
"In hand. A few hours. Best of luck, sir."
 
"And to you,H
 
Thorne had been circumspect, I approved. It was unlikely anyone was listening in 
to secure Naval frequencies, but one never knew.
 
Fifteen minutes later, I fed Fusion coordinates to our puter. "Bridge to Engine 
Room, prepare to Fuse."
 
"Prepare to Fuse, aye aye." A moment's pause. "Engine Room ready for Fuse, sir."
 
I ran my finger down the screen. The fusion drive kicked in. The stars shifted 
red, men blue. As the drive reached fuU strength they slowly faded to black. We 
were Fused, hurtling
past normal space at supraluminous velocity. Our external sensors were blind. 
Galactic was dependent entirely on her own resources, as was any Fused ship.
 
We'd be no more than a few hours. Hardly enough time to settle to sleep. At her 
console, Arlene yawned conspicuously, twice. She must be exhausted. We'd none of 
us caught up on our rest.
 
She yawned again.
 
"That's quite enough, Lieutenant." I glowered. "If you want me to go to bed, say 
so."
 
"I'd like you to go to bed, Captain."
 
Well, I'd asked for it. "Hmpff. Send a med tech to our cabin, to help me out of 
the chair." I rolled off.
 
When I'd first captained Hibernia, I'd been awed at the size of the Captain's 
quarters compared to the wardroom I'd known. Compared even to Hibernia, the 
Captain of Galactic slept in awesome luxury. The compartment was easily twice 
the size of our passenger cabins, which themselves were lavish. My cabin was 
fitted out in magnificent splendor. Wasteful. An outrage. Nonetheless, the head 
was a marvel of design and comfort, and the bed ...
 
I'd first seen the cabin a few houre earlier, when it still held Stanger's gear. 
I'd summoned the purser, brusquely ordered him to remove it, I needed no 
reminders of the man I'd murdered, No, executed. It was one death for which I 
felt no regret.
 
The med tech left me lying on my bunk, spine throbbing, waiting for a new dose 
of pain Mocker to take effect,
 
Still, I felt a strange of peace. My confrontation with Bishop Saythor had been 
so calamitous, so absolute, that I had nothing left to rue. Having rejected the 
God I loved, I was alone, in the forever of the universe.
 
Yet, that me for the present. I could nourish Philip, cherish my beloved Arlene, 
   Mikhael for what little time was left before I sank into the fires. And, for 
the moment, I had my ship.
 
I'd been raised to Lord God, and duty. Now there was only duty.
 
I lay staring at the overhead. There was no possible way I'd sleep, not with my 
pain and my anguish. I slept
 
Some hours later we Defused. Two hundred twelve thousand miles outside Titan's 
orbit, amazingly close for one jump. Fusion drives were inaccurate by about one 
percent of the distance traveled. I made a quick recalculation, and a corrective 
jump. We emerged so close mat Melbourne registered immediately in the sensors.
 
Atexi's old ship had left Earthport before the coup. An interstellar vessel 
performed many roles. One of mem, unfortunately, was to serve as tourist 
transport. The cruise to me Jovian satellites, for example, was famous. An 
intrasystem Fuse made the voyage a tolerable length, and the public approval 
gained by occasional tourist jaunts helped support the Navy.
 
The Titan cruise was another such waste of resources. Alexi had been wise to 
arrange his leave to coincide with the journey. The ship would be filled with a 
gaggle of politicians, celebrities, mediamen, and the like. No fit company for 
an honest sailor.
 
I had no idea where Captain Fenner's loyalties lay, but Alexi had spoken 
approvingly of him. It would have to suffice. In any event, I doubted he'd try 
to flee. Moored at Titan's Orbiting Station, he was too close to Saturn's 
satellite to Fuse, and in any event Galactic bristled with laser cannon.
 
I had Lieutenant Oarrow summon Melbourne's Captain aboard to receive dispatches 
from Admiralty. I rolled my chair back and forth, to the middies' growing 
annoyance, waiting to team if he'd comply. Certainly Fenner knew my visit to 
Titan was no routine matter, ships were spread so
thin that it was rare one encountered another outside home port
 
To my vast relief, his gig soon appeared in our simulscreens. Not long after, he 
was piped aboard.
 
Josh Fenner was a rather short joey, with a grave mien. We reviewed my orders 
from Admiralty, that gave me authority over his ship. "Very well, sir. What can 
I do for you?"
 
"I need to, ah, borrow Melbourne"
 
"You do." His eyes bored into mine.
 
"For a few days, no more. Anton Bourse is aboard, is he not?"
 
He gaped. Even such an eccentric as I wouldn't disrupt the schedules of two 
great liners merely to meet a holostar. Even if he was the world's premier 
entertainer. "You want to meet him?"
 
"No. I want him dead,"
 
Almost two days to wait. It nearly dissolved what was left of my sanity. I 
roamed the ship in my motorized chair, or at least those parts of it I could 
reach. I had the midships and aft gravitrons turned low for my visits, but the 
improvised controls were erratic at best; sudden gravitational surges left me 
breathless and gasping with pain,
 
Chief McAndrews supervised repair of the corridor hatches; the circuitry was 
complicated and difficult especially as to the bridge overrides,
 
I joined the passengers for the evening meal. They were immensely relieved that 
some form of routine had been reestablished, even if the Captain they'd known 
was a bloody mutilated corpse, and his replacement gaunt and silent.
 
Mikhael languished in sickbay. I visited every few hours, even when I should 
have been stretched in my bed, warding off me effects of exhaustion.
 
His eyes were red, bis body sore. His spirit deflated.
 
"Would you like to visit the bridge?" In other days, joeykids had been awed by 
its splendor.
 
He shook his head. "Not really."
 
I said brightly, "How about Melbourne's bridge? Alexi would have wanted you to 
see it."
 
"1 did, before his last cruise. I don't want to think about
it." 
 
"Him." He turned away, tucked his pillow under his head, left me contemplating 
the curve of his back. "Son.. r
 
"I'm nobody's son." His tone was sullen. "You're angry I couldn't save you from 
Karen?** "When I try to be brave I wet my pants or get beaten to a pulp. It's 
not fair. I can't be like you. Nobody can,"
 
"Don't ever try," I said through clenched teeth, "to be like me. You don't want 
to be that."
 
Something in my tone caused him to peer over his shoulder, and slowly, 
reluctantly mm. "Pa?** I nodded, not quite able to speak. "What is it? What's 
changed hi you?** "Nothing." I couldn't tell him Yd defied the Deity, and been 
broken. But "nothing" wasn't the truth. "I don't have much left in life, 
Mikhael. I'd truly like you to be my joeykid."
 
He lay listless, from time to time sniffling. Then, "Pa, am
1 glitched? Do I need rebalancing?** "No, son, you're a teener. You need love, 
and a bit of aging."
 
By now I could at least recognize my lieutenants, and was forming an impression 
of their abilities. Arlene, in our precious hours of privacy, broke tradition to 
discuss her observations with me. It was one of the few perks of the Captain's
wife. On a long cruise an officer in her position would be
lonely. No crewman would trust her. Whether or not she revealed their 
confidences, they would assume she had. But for now it didn't matter, we were 
only briefly posted to Galactic. When this was over, if I lived, I'd seek some 
quiet comer for retirement A place with low gravity. Lunapolis, perhaps. They 
were building new warrens there, with comfortable quarters.
 
"Nick..." We snuggled in bed. I'd tried lovemaking, but my spine wouldn't allow 
it. The movement was too much.
 
"Yes, hon?"
 
"That child.,. promise me we'll have it,**
 
"After all we've been through?**
 
"You changed your mind?" A tinge of sadness.
 
"No." I hoped it was truth, "I'm... lost inside, hon. How could I raise—"
 
Her palm covered my mouth. "Don't think about it Trust your instincts. You were 
as troubled then as now, and look at P.T."
 
"Yes, look at him." Grief-stricken, morose. Lethargic. And articulate as always, 
so the cause of his sorrow came easily to his lips. If I could add his misery to 
mine, gladly would I have done so.
 
"He'll survive," Her pity was less than I expected. "Wounds heal. He'll find 
another boy, or girl."
 
"A girl this time, I hope."
 
She giggled, "So do L" Tten, "Promise."
 
"I swear by Lord—" I couldn't do that. "I promise by everything 1 hold dear, we 
will make another child,"
 
'Thank you, love," Drowsily, we drifted in space.
 
"You're bloody right it's canceled! It brings him up to ten." I flung my holovid 
across the console. "Who told you to issue my demerits?"
 
"I'm first middy," Edwin Spoke's face was tense. "Anselm's  moping about the 
corridors. You should have how sloppily he came to attention when I—"
 
"Who told you to put him at attention? Mind your own affairs."
 
"If that's the way you want it, sir." I sat fuming. I'd assigned Tad no duties. 
I wasn't even sure he was a member of the ship's company. His darkness of the 
soul had enveloped him like a shroud. I'd have to spend time with him. Or better 
yet, put him with someone who could set an example. I tottered on the edge of 
despair. Yes, a cadet was subject to midshipmen's orders, and Anselm should have 
been more responsive. But he wasn't a member of Gatocfic's wardroom, and Speke 
needn't have
noticed him.
 
It was chance, pure seniority, mat made a first middy. As Jeff Thorne had known 
when I was a boy, no leader could ask a willingness, a spirit, he himself 
couldn't provide as example.
 
Later, I visited P.T. in the cabin they'd assigned him, struggled out of my 
chair in the light gravity, gave him a fierce hug. "I love you, son. Remember 
that always." "Path?" He searched my face. "You make it sound a
 
farewell"
 
"It is. 1 have to go.** "Where?" 1 told him.
 
When I was done, he stirred. "I'll—" "No," I spoke softly, but with a finality 
that brooked no argument, as in his youth. "Not this time. Perhaps I'll be back. 
With Lord God's—" I bit back the obscenity, "Perhaps."
 
Below, in the engine room, Chief McAndrews looked morose. "The corridor hatches 
will seal, but the bridge overrides—the wiring's fused, somewhere in the 
bulkheads. We'll find it, sooner or later." He scowled, "Make that later" "Keep 
at it." I glanced up to his panels. "And the gravi.
 
tronsT'
 
"Directly wired." He glowered at the mess I'd made of his
circuits. "It'll give me something to do on the way to Con-stantine. In the 
meantime ..." The grudging hint of a smile. "Hope you don't mind a drop to zero 
gee now and men."
 
"I'll survive." I'd do more than that; only light gravity made my injury 
tolerable. "But the passengers..."
 
"I know, sir." Groundsiders were notorious for their ineptitude in anything less 
than Terran gees.
 
I was wheeling myself back to the bridge. As I rounded the corridor, voices 
ahead, "... thrash you myself, do you hear?" Derek Carr. "The Captain canceled—"
 
"I don't care what Mr. Seafort said. His every move is agony, he's hanging on by 
a thread, and I won't have a whiny cadet adding to his worries!" I would turn my 
chair, go around. A long way, but... "I wasn't—"
 
"Stand at attention, Anselm! Did I release you?" "No, sir!"
 
"By God, mat does it! Now what, you're crying? What in hell is the matter with 
you?"
 
"I don't know," The boy's voice was tormented. "Cashier me. Beach me. Let me go 
home."
 
I braced myself for Derek's explosion. It never came. His tone was reflective, 
"I felt mat way once. I was just your age. Like you, too old to be a cadet," No 
response.
 
"I begged to be cashiered. I whined, just like you, I had snot running from my 
nose, just like you. Not on your sleeve, damn it!*' His voice softened, "Use 
this," "Thank you, sir," A whisper. "What happened?" "He took me into me 
corridor. He let me cry, and—I don't know how, but he sent me back to do my 
duty, and I was glad to. For him," A pause. "Is mis by any chance about Bevinr 
"Yessir." "Ahh, Did I ever tell you about my friend Sandy Wilsky?
 
A young middy on Hibernia. Come along, we'll find a softie. He was killed, on 
airlock watch I should have been standing. I blamed myself, of course. As you 
do."
 
"I prayed for it to be Danil!"
 
"God doesn't hear such prayers. He just understands. Don't cry again, I didn't 
mean... well, perhaps I did. Come along, joey. A part of me was grateful it was 
Sandy had the airlock, and for months I felt such contempt for myself..."
 
The voices faded.
 
Thank You, Lord God. For doing what I could not.
 
A tenuous peace held at the Rotunda. U.N.A.F. made no effort to enter the gates. 
Neither did they withdraw. The six o'clock hour came and went, with no broadcast 
by Valera.
 
From what we could gather from transmissions, both factions had paused, awaiting 
my capture or death, or the unlikely possibility that I'd oust Hoi and Simovich. 
The Assembly had supported my enviro package and was generally assumed to be 
with me; the Senate was firmly in opposition. It didn't matter; I'd dissolved 
both bodies.
 
U.N.A.F. Command remained neutral, with only a few isolated units committing 
themselves. One such patrol had captured Jerence, and still held him.
 
All depended on timing, I called Arlene, Derek, and Captain Fenner together for 
one last conference. Again, they assured me all was arranged.
 
I set the caller to shipwide frequency, "By order of Admiral Seafort, Lieutenant 
Arlene Sanders is granted the temporary rank of Captain."
 
Fenner returned to Melbourne.
 
We Fused,
 
The cadet asks to speak to you, sir." Midshipman Spckc was exceedingly stiff and 
formal. Escorted to the bridge, Anselm waited to be released.
 
Then, "I'm sorry, sir. I'll try to do better." He shifted. "That's all I 
had—that's all, sir."
 
'Thank you. Dismissed." As he turned to go, I blurted, "DaniFs death was my 
fault, not yours. Attacking Galactic was a suicide mission. I shouldn't have 
allowed—"
 
"Pardon, sir. But that's what we're for. Cadets and middies, I mean. We're 
military. We accept the risk."
 
"Did Daniir
 
He gulped. "Not of outright murder. He was terrified."
 
"So were you,"
 
"Yes." His eyes met mine. "Yes, I was."
 
"I couldn't imagine otherwise. Could I ask you a favor, one which no commander 
may require of an officer?"
 
"What, sir?**
 
"Would you pray for him wim me?"
 
"Oh." His eyes filled. "Oh, yes. I'd like that"
 
"Tonight, then. I'll call you to my quarters."
 
I watched him go. Something in his stride resembled the assured young middy I'd 
first met.
 
"They're bringing him out now, Ned, The casket is wrapped in poly, to protect it 
in handling. Level 7 portholes an lined with spectators. Few have dry eyes,"
 
The death of Anton Bourse shocked the public. It was per* haps the only event 
that could drive the attempted coup from the front pages, Melbourne's Captain, 
in a universally applauded gesture of respect, had suspended his cruise to 
return the beloved holostar's body to Earthport Station for transshipment and 
burial.
 
Even for Melbourne, Admiral Hoi would have been suspicious, had she proposed to 
dock at a bay. But Captain Fenner hove to alongside, in full view of the 
Station, and well within the range of her defense.
 
"The  of decompression are not for the squeamish. The will remain closed. Burial 
is slated In California for Wednesday,"
 
Restless, I flipped my suit radio from one frequency to another news zines, 
Earthport Traffic Control, even distant
 
Lunapolis.
 
Mediamen and their holocams lined Earthport Station's portholes as the joey 
who'd made millions weep was brought out of Melbourne's vacuum hold and floated 
into her launch. A sealed coffin, due to the tragic decompression accident that 
claimed him.
 
"Tomorrow, a special shuttle will carry Bourse ground-side, to his many 
admirers."
 
The launch sailed slowly into an Earthport bay, his grieving retinue aboard. 
Squads of armed sailors were vigilant, even now fearing a ruse. But only a 
handful of Bourse's young staff passed through the airlock. Many were in shock.
 
Melbourne would resume her itinerary, two days late. Two dozen of her passengers 
disembarked, and were ferried across to the Station. Perhaps they'd booked the 
cruise only to mingle with Bourse. Their places would be taken by others.
 
"Permission to disengage capture latches." Captain Fen*
 
ner, from his launch.
 
"Bay is cleared and decompressed. Disengage when
 
ready, Melbourne."
 
"—famous for his portrayal of William, last king of—" The launch released its 
hold on the Station, sailed back to
 
Melbourne.
 
"^-departure control, bearing 090, 64, 282, repeat—"
 
A tremendous crash. I groaned.
 
A distant voice, "Are you all right, sir?"
 
Scraping sounds, A wrench. Light.
 
"Help him with his helmet."
 
"Aye aye, sir."
 
"Careful, his spine is injured." Sergeant Oregon frowned at his anxious cadet. 
Together, gently, they lifted me from the coffin, set me in a wheeled chair. 
Laboriously, we stripped off the rest of my suit
 
"Where are we?"
 
"Level 4 overflow accommodations, sir." A crowded sparse gray cabin, one of 
several we'd been assigned.
 
"They didn't put you in a hotel?"
 
Sergeant Gregori looked pious as he stripped off his civilian shirt. "We 
insisted on staying with our idol's body. The Hilton refused."
 
"How many are we?" I knew the answer, but needed reassurance.
 
"Seven sergeants, two middies, eighteen cadets." With a grunt of satisfaction, 
Gregori donned his Academy blues.
 
"The laser pistols?**
 
"Passed through in Bourse's gear, sir."
 
I eyed him. "I've owed you an apology a long while, Sarge. Since the Hooker 
incident."
 
He held up a hand. "We were all rather upset, Mr. Sec-Gen."
 
I nodded acknowledgment. "The rest of it?**
 
"No word yet."
 
As expected. But I fretted nonetheless. If Jeff Theme's arrangements fell 
through, I'd have loosed a bloody fiasco.
 
Our intricate plans had left my nerves in shreds; every phase had to fall into 
place just so, But it was the only way I could see to free both Earthport and 
Lunapolis,
 
Our sleight of hand with Melbourne was one part of it Admiral Hoi would assume I 
remained on Galactic; no one (Mi the Station knew I'd transferred to Melbourne 
at Titan.
 
Jeff Thorne had flown to Devon, bearing Hazen's orders to send all Academy's Mil 
sergeants and three hundred advanced cadets aloft to Academy's Farside Base. To 
make sure, the Commandant said, mat they weren't caught up in civil war.
 
I couldn't risk interception of Hazen's orders from Far-side; I could oust only 
Thorne to deliver them.
 
Hie enthusiastic cadets, along with half a dozen midshipmen, were bused to 
London Shuttleport, their duffels neat-
acked, uniforms crisp, faces scrubbed. We were aware that Earthport Station's 
new masters vigilantly watched incoming shuttles from Earth, lest I smuggle 
troops aloft But Academy craft always bypassed the Station, sailed directly
 
to Farside.
 
In the silent, airless night the cadets left their shuttles and clambered across 
the dust to Farside's waiting locks. Within the Academy base, Hazen addressed 
them on my behalf. He asked those who'd scored best in riflery, athletics, and 
hand-to-hand combat to volunteer for a dangerous mission.
 
I'd been most explicit in my orders in mis regard. Once more, I would use cadets 
beyond their years. But this time, I'd tell truth. Our heroes would die 
undeceived.
 
They'd volunteered, to a man. But only a few were chosen for Earthport Station; 
an Academy shuttle lifted them aloft once more, where they'd waited for 
Melbourne to Defuse from Titan. Then they'd swung across to her waiting lock on 
a cable, to save the time of the two vessels mating. We had to Fuse again, and 
quickly, before the starship emerged from the far side of the moon to reveal our 
presence to Admiral Hot or Lunapolis.
 
We Fused back to Titan and confirmed to Ariene, Captain of Galactic in my 
absence, that we'd taken on our small expeditionary force, Were Titan's 
scientific station more spacious. I'd have off-loaded Melbourne's passengers, 
willing or no, so as not to put them at risk. I'd had no choice but to involve 
them in my schemes,
 
Melbourne had Fused once again, to Earthport, with die sad news of Anton 
Bourse's demise.
 
We'd concluded mat white Melbourne might off-load to Earthport a few of my 
middies and cadets disguised as Bourse's staff, if more man a handful 
disembarked. Admiral Hoi's suspicions would be raised, and we'd risk Captain 
Fenner's passengers to no avail.
 
Fenner had taken personal charge of his comm room, to make sure no unauthorized 
messages were tent In actuality,
none of Melbourne's passengers were allowed onto Earth-port, save our small 
fighting force.
 
Anton Bourse roamed Melbourne's corridors, his discomfiture soothed by the 
thought of untold millions in free publicity awaiting him. Meanwhile the 
starship cruised to Fusion safety. Shortly, it would Fuse to Titan once again, 
and continue its cruise.
 
I'd used Ariene as well. I could entrust Galactic to no one else; at all costs 
the vast, magnificent starship must not fall again into the rebels* hands. Derek 
was trustworthy, but until days past he'd never been more than a middy. Ariene, 
on the other hand, had served with distinction as a lieutenant But who was I to 
thrust such grim responsibility on her? When I apologized, she kissed me on the 
nose.
 
At Earthport it was now fourteen hundred hours. We would strike at nineteen 
hundred, to coordinate with Far-side's remaining cadets, who had their own 
mission.
 
Here on Earthport, our goals were Naval Headquarters, where the Station's laser 
defense control was located, and the civilian administrator's complex.
 
Eleven emergency corridor hatches were between our quarters and laser defense 
control. Sergeant Oregon assured me each cadet knew his target, I called up a 
Station map on my holovid, insisted that each youngster show me his assigned 
hatch.
 
"You have the barsr
 
"Yes, sir," Midshipman Speke, his cheeks flushed. He pointed to a stack in the 
closet "We're to take them as we tetve,"
 
"If someone tfies to stop you?"
 
"No warning. We shoot" His eyes were solemn, "Sir, you can count on me. I swear 
it" He'd come a long way, this lad who'd rolled his eyes with impatience, and so 
infuriated Alexi.
 
I smiled. "Who's in charge of my transport?"
 
"Until we seize a cart I am." Oregon.
 
Try not to throw me out**
 
He eyed the chair with distaste. "You won't wait here?**
 
"Of course not. Getting me there is half our goal."
 
I sweated out each minute, checking my laser pistol over
 
and again, making sure I had ample recharges in my pouch.
 
I slipped on my helmet, for its radionics. I keyed my stunner
 
on and off.
 
If necessary, we'd try to take Naval HQ by force, but I had lingering hopes that 
my presence might persuade some of the rebels to lay down their arms. Hoi had 
admitted to the same fears, and I couldn't see a reason for him to lie. Unless, 
of course, he'd meant to lure me to the Station, but he wasn't so devious as 
then to refuse me entry. Was he? Seventeen hundred hours. "Any news?" Oregon 
looked at me strangely. "No, sir." I flushed. We'd have no news, unless of a 
catastrophe. "UNS Galactic to Earthport Naval Base." Arlene, relayed from my 
suit radio. "We're returning to Station. Hold your fire." At this moment she'd 
be some two hours' cruise from Earthport, minimum Fusion safety.
 
It was a long while before the reply came. "This is Captain Landon, speaking for 
Admiral Hoi. Do not, repeat, do not approach the Station."
 
"Sir, 1 intend to off-load our passengers." Eighteen hundred hours.
 
"Earthport Traffic Control to Galactic. Take up station at coordinates 320, 31, 
108 until farther—"
 
"1 must disembark my passengers." Arlene's tone was cool. "/ will proceed to 
within one-third kilometer, opposite bays four through six." No response.
 
Eighteen thirty. A handful of Academy sergeants in civilian dress strolled out 
for a walk. I had Gregori help me into my cumbersome thrustersuit If we had to 
retreat from the Station, I'd be less of a burden already suited. At eighteen 
fifty, Edwin Speke handed out alloy bars.
 
Awaiting their send-off, cadets fidgeted, tapping bars against the deck, 
checking their pistols, shifting from foot to foot. It gave us opportunity to 
reprimand them sharply, and reduce our own unbearable tension. Eighteen 
fifty-five. "Go!"
 
With the energy of youth the cadets crowded through the hatch, raced off to 
secure the corridors.
 
"Lunapolis squad to Seafort." A voice I knew well. "Hang on, sir." Gregori spun 
my chair, whipped me through the hatch. He pounded down the corridor. An Academy 
sergeant took up position at each side.
 
I keyed my suit caller. "Go ahead, Tolliver." We'd finally decided on ordinary 
public comm channels, on the grounds that they were the least likely for a 
military force to use, and therefore the least likely to be watched. In 
Melbourne, I'd had my suit modified to receive them.
 
"They're cycling through, sir. Lieutenant LeBow has charge of the lock. No 
casualties as yet." As yet. My lips tightened.
 
Jeff Thorne had summoned my old aide Edgar Tolliver from his Lunapolis vacation. 
Shortly before zero hour, Tolliver had wandered to the Lunapolis airlock from 
which the crowds emerged to see the light show in the crater.
 
On his own, he'd overpowered the bored watchmen, who carried not even a stunner. 
At once, cadets had begun pouring in, fresh from debarkation from the Academy 
shuttles that had landed just past the crater, not far from where we ourselves 
had been picked up, on our own flight from Ghe-nili's clinic to Academy.
 
Eighteen fifty-eight In our Earthport corridor, an alarm clanged. Perhaps a 
midshipman had been spotted blocking a hatch. Perhaps some alert joey in the 
administrator's office noticed a stampeding herd of cadets on his screen.
 
We passed a hatch. The cadet guard fell in alongside, his laser drawn. I 
snarled, "Set the safety!" A stumble and he'd blow us out of the Station.
 
Nineteen hundred. The corridor hatch ahead slid out of its pocket, slammed 
toward closure, stopped with a jolt at the bar. Nearby a cadet danced with 
dread. "Hurry! Hurry, sir!"
 
"Hold tight, Mr. Seaf—" Oregon new at and over the blocking bar. For a moment I 
was airborne. We hit the deck with a thump. My spine exploded, but I gripped the 
armrests as if my life depended on them. Perhaps it did
 
The next hatch, and the next A corps of cadets panted to keep pace. It must be 
Oregon who led Devon's morning
 
runs.
 
"UNS Galactic to Earthport Naval Base. Approaching on
 
course 320, 31—"
 
"You are targeted, Galactic. Seafort begin braking immediately, or we'll—"
 
"Sir, Captain Seafort is not aboard."
 
Galactic'* role was ambiguous. Her presence, and the power of her lasers, added 
a factor to the situation that wouldn't be entirely to Earthport's liking. She 
might have to rescue us, she might simply be held in reserve. In any event, if 
I'd ordered Arlene to remain at Titan, I wasn't sure she'd have obeyed. I 
assumed Hoi wouldn't allow Arlene to offload passengers, but her reminders that 
they were aboard might stay him from firing his lasers, if she engaged in no 
overtly hostile acts.
 
Nineteen oh three. Ahead, the hatch to Naval HQ, blocked open. Outside, three 
guards, spread-eagled on the deck. Sergeant Oregon looked grim.
 
"Of course, Seafort's aboard. Abandon course before
 
I—"
 
"Lunapolis to Seafort. Our joeys are halfway to the Naval base. No alarm yet. 
Don't know why."
 
"Straight through!" I pounded the chair. "Hurry." I whipped off my helmet
 
"Where toT'
 
"Admiral Hoi's office. Second corridor. Third hatch, or fourth." Just past the 
corridor to the Naval shuttle bays.
 
He raced me through the hatch. "No prob—"
 
A withering blast of fire. Sergeant Oregon coughed, fell away. My chair careened 
forward on its own. A cadet threw up his arms, spewed thick gobbets of blood 
from a smoking cavern in his chest.
 
I screamed, "I'm Seafort! Hoi wants to see me!" I spun the wheels, avoiding a 
looming bulkhead. "Hold your fire!"
 
A face darted out from behind a hatch, ducked back. "Kill the son of a—"
 
Sergeant Smith's tone was low and urgent "Get Seafort out!"
 
"No, Sarge!" I spoke loudly, so all could hear. "Admiral Hoi will see me." 
Carefully I rolled my chair clear of the protective fire of my cadets. "Will he 
not?"
 
A laser pistol appeared, aimed at my chest For a moment it was touch and go. 
Then a pair of very nervous sailors dashed out, hauled my chair into the 
seclusion of their inner corridor. I slipped on my helmet. "Seafort to Lunapolis 
squad: proceed as planned. Seafort to Earthport squad: hold your positions. I'll 
be in touch. Galactic, hold your fire."
 
Pistols aimed, safeties off, the Lunapolis seamen wheeled me into Hoi's inner 
office, the one in which we'd once met. A huge simulscreen dominated his far 
bulkhead. Lights gleamed. Perhaps they were from Galactic, fast approaching the 
Station. There were few other ships in the vicinity, except local transports and 
vessels in the repair bays.
 
Admiral Hoi rose from behind his desk, haggard, drawn, eyes like coals. "I'll 
take that" He checked the laser's safety, pointed it at my forehead. "Anything 
to say before I execute you?"
 
"Yes. Out you two." My tone was peremptory, and to my astonishment, the sailors 
started to obey. Hoi drew in his breath with a hiss. They hesitated. Grimacing, 
he motioned to the hatch. They fled.
 
"Hoi, Simovich here. The bastards are in my warrens."
 
Hoi ignored the speaker. "Try anything and I'll kill you instantly." He regarded 
me. "Why did you come?*'
 
'To take your surrender."
 
"Why would I do that?"
 
I took in his unshaven face, the sunken eyes, the sneer in his tone. And 
suddenly I knew. I would tell truth. But given his agitation, it would likely 
result in my death.
 
"Because," I said, "you want to."
 
"Goofjuice."
 
I leaned forward. "Because you know what you've done
 
is wrong."
 
"Ah, the great moralist." His pistol didn't waver. "I thought you'd have better 
cards."
 
"Because you know mutiny is never the answer."
 
"So you burst into my office, killing my joeys."
 
"Because you know revolution is an affront to Lord God."
 
"You're hardly one to tell me—"
 
"Because you hate what you've done."
 
"I've done nothing that—"
 
"And what it's made you become."
 
"STOP THAT! " A hint of anguish. He sat on the edge of the desk, aimed the 
pistol with both hands. "For God's sake,
 
Seafort" "Yes. For His sake." My gaze was steady, never leaving
 
his.
 
"Mr. Seafort, we're at the Lunapolls Naval warrens. They've set up defenses. 
Heavy fighting,"
 
"Who in hell**—his eyes nirrowed""sre you to lecture me? You murdered my nephew. 
You burst Ws eyeballs! You boiled his blood so it burst through his skin! Did 
you give decompression warning, Seafort? Did you?**
 
"No." We all made our beds. Now 1 lay in mine,
 
"You vile creature."
 
"Hot, ore you ui control? They'll take my laser cannon in a few minutes. 
Answer!"
 
His eyes locked on mine, he groped for his caller. "Hoi here."
 
"/ need you to blow six of my warrens, surrounding the Navy wing."
 
"Simovich, I've got Seafort."
 
"Where?"
 
"In my office. A laser sighted between his eyes."
 
A sigh of relief. "Thank Lord God, I'll get out word. His itfefor their 
surrender,"
 
"It won't work." I looked apologetic. "TTieir orders were quite specific."
 
"There's a complication, Andre. Galactic's back,"
 
"What's her intent?"
 
"It's not clear. Seafort will tell me."
 
"Actually, I won't. I've a laser in my pouch. Push too hard and I'll reach for 
it"
 
'Til kill you."
 
"Precisely. You'll have no communication with Galactic, and no means to 
surrender."
 
Hoi frowned into the caller. "Simovich, tell your men we have Seafort I'll get 
back to you." Hoi set down the caller. "Now, as to the capitulation of your 
forces—**
 
"Your forces. You'll surrender."
 
"Why?"
 
"For the        of your soul,"
 
"Don't trouble yourself about my soul.**
 
I looked unflinching into the black emptiness of his eyes, "If I don't," I said, 
"who will?"
 
From his innermost depths, a strangled sob. Then, "Goodbye, Seafort"
 
I gazed into bis eyes.
 
He fired.
 
White fire parted my hair. Behind me, over my the bulkhead crackled. I sat like 
a stone,
 
"Do you want to die?"
 
“Perhaps I must, to end this." I hadn't answered him, but he didn't seem to 
notice.
 
"It made perfect sense," he said. 'The way they laid it out You're a traitor, of 
course."
 
"Yes." To Lord God, and to His vicar on Earth.
 
He spoke as if to overcome an objection. "In the ultimate sense, you are. Truly. 
Our survival depends on colonial imports. To secure them, a strong Navy is 
vital. And now, when it counts, you withdraw your support. We had to stop you."
 
"Not by threatening your people."
 
"MineT'
 
"Ours. The laser cannons aimed at Earth are an abomination we never should have 
allowed. We'll put an end to them." I stirred. "It's time, Admiral. Hand me the 
pistol, and call your sentries."
 
His tone was reflective. "It wouldn't be for you."
 
"No." My voice was soft. "For you."
 
"Show me Captain Seafort alive and well, or I'll blow the Station apart." 
Arlene, in a tone that brooked no argument In the screen, Galactic loomed ever 
larger. Her rear thrusters flickered out. In a moment she would begin to brake, 
from the bow thrusters.
 
"Mayir
 
Wearily, he nodded.
 
I slipped on my helmet. "Captain Sanders, I'm unhurt. Stand by for orders."
 
"But—"
 
"Captain."
 
"Aye aye, sir." Her smoldering voice promised a reckoning.
 
"Hoi, why are you letting him transmit? Does he have the
 
Station?" The Admiral's pistol wavered. Stolidly, I watched the
 
screen. "Not ycc." "These goddamn lunatics..." Simovich's voice broke.
 
"He sent cadets! He's making my joeys shoot children! I can't hold, unless you 
blast out their warrens." Abruptly, bis voice took on a chilling resolution. 
"I'm taking out Galactic."
 
Hoi lunged for the caller. "Wait we'll negotiate a—"
 
"Mr. Sarnaur, banks five through seven. Full fire!"
 
"NO!" I tried to lunge from my seat fell back gasping.
 
Light travels from the surface of the moon to Earthpoct Station in three 
seconds, no more.
 
It was a lifetime.
 
"Hoi, stop him!"
 
The invisible beam caught Galactic to starboard, well aft of the disks in which 
crew and passengers dwelt The hull glowed and melted. If that were all... if the 
relentless laser beam flickered out...
 
"Simovich, hold your fire!"
 
From Galactic"& innards, a flare. Fire spewed, was instantly extinguished by 
vacuum.
 
"What did he—" Hoi.
 
"Oh, God, no." I swallowed, "Propellant He hit tank storage."
 
Galactic, like any vessel, was driven by thrusters. In smaller ships, the 
propellant was wanned in a central tank, men pumped to thrusters as needed. 
Galactic, because she was so much larger, had several such tanks. A major one 
was in the aft cargo hold.
 
Powered by tens of thousands of pounds of igniting pro-peUant, Gotocric's stem 
began to swing to port
 
To compensate, Arlene fired port thrusters. The maneuver swung Galactic full on 
to Earthport. Propellant spewed from her forward thrusters as we\\; she was 
\rying to stem he* hurtling approach to the Station.
 
Her port thrusters began making headway against the relentless blast of fire 
from her starboard breach. Her course steadied.
 
The beam from Simovich's Lunapo/is lasers flicked anew.
 
A small section of the intricately curved alloy of Galactic's Fusion tube 
melted. The starship was too close to Earth to Fuse safely, but in desperation, 
Captains had been known to take the gamble. Some got away with it. Now, Arlene 
wouldn't have the chance.
 
"Shut down your lasers, Simovich! Cease fire or I'll bomb you myself!" Hoi's 
voice was wild. "Turn them off!" He stared at his simulscreen. Galactic grew 
larger. And larger.
 
Hoi stood frozen, like a rabbit in onrushing headlights. The starship grew 
inexorably. He shook himself, leaped for the caller. "Christ, she'll hit! 
Lasers, fire at will! Break her up!" Instantly, as if they'd been waiting for 
his order, tracking beams locked on the approaching behemoth.
 
I lunged my chair to Hoi's desk, tore the caller from his hand. "BELAY THAT! 
HOLD FIRE!"
 
Agonizing seconds passed, under the pitiless play of the laser beams. Galactic*s 
bow portside thruster burst into flame, sputtered out. The vessel could no 
longer brake.
 
The tracking beams faded.
 
Coolly, Arlene shut down her port thrusters, fired starboard thrusters at full 
power to slew the unstoppable ship away from the Station.
 
Alarm bells shrieked. "Decompression alert. All Station personnel abandon Levels 
4 through 6!"
 
Galactic's bow swung ponderously away from the Station's vast disks. The great 
starship loomed huge in Admiral Hoi's simulscreen. Paralyzed, I could only 
watch, desperate for a reprieve from the laws of physics.
 
"Captain Seafort, Edgar Tolliver reporting. They—I mean, we have the Lunapolis 
laser cannons. Simovich is—"
 
MStation's corridor hatches to shut in thirty seconds/"
 
"Come on, Arlene!"
 
Galactic filled the screen.
 
"Please please p\ease please." HoVs voice v*as a dull monotone. "Please."
 
Full emergency power to the thrusters, Arlene. Burn mem out if there's need. 
Turn. The bow is clear. The blast of fire from the wounded stern will swing her, 
sooner or—
 
Galactic struck.
 
In desperate, terrible slow motion, she scraped along the unyielding mass of the 
Station, opening jagged rents in her starboard side beginning a hundred meters 
from her bow. As her inertia dragged her past the Station the gash spread aft, 
into the ship's Level 1 disk. Into Level 2.1 groaned. Level 3.
 
"Earthport Level 5, sections three through six decompressed! Relief personnel 
report to emergency stations!"
 
A great gout of flame spewed from Galactic's forward hold. I clasped shut my 
helmet, automatically ran my hands down my suit seals.
 
"What have we done?" Hoi's voice was tormented. "Seafort, what have we done?"
 
The great starship scraped clear, momentum still rushing her onward. In a 
slow-motion spin, she drifted slowly past the Station's holocam, into the dark 
night.
 
"First Officer Reyins aboard UNS New Orleans. We're heavily damaged and 
decompressed at Earthport bay six. I'm trapped on the bridge, can anyone help?"
 
1 was on my feet, bearing my own weight and that of the heavy thrustersuit. How 
I'd gotten there I had no idea. Sweat poured off my frame.
 
"Now hear mis." Hoi's voice was hoarse. "I return Earth-port Station and all its 
facilities to Admiralty and to Secretary-General Seafort's government. Cease all 
resistance."
 
Grasping my canes I lurched to the hatch.
 
"Seafort." The Admiral's eyes were anguished. "You were right. I surrender." His 
right hand offered a ragged salute. His left raised the pistol to his temple.
 
Steaming blood splattered my suit, the side of my helmet I staggered through the 
hatch.
 
Walking with canes wasn't so bad, if one ignored the
white-hot lightning, the vicious stab, the blunt fork all
 
slowly sawing me in half.
 
"Mr. Seafort, are you all—"
 
"Out of my way!" I swung past the startled Midshipman Speke. If I locked my 
knees just so, I could swing past the upright position, launch into the new step 
without pause. And each one took me closer to the shuttle bays.
 
Twenty meters. Fifteen.
 
"UNS Galactic to all vessels and Earthport Station, Mayday. " Arlene's voice was 
calm. "Request immediate assistance from all boats to evacuate passengers and 
crew." Galactic had four launches. Each could hold thirty-six. And two gigs. 
Eight each.
 
"Sir, let me get the chair—"
 
"Damn the chair to hell." I'd never use it again. First I'd
 
die. Ten meters.
 
Beyond the shuttle bay lock, the bay's giant outer hatches were open to the 
night. I caught a glimpse of Earth, huge and splendid against a black velvet 
cloth. I stabbed the panel, lurched into the lock.
 
Midshipman Speke, unsuited, could only watch. "Where
 
are you going?"
 
'To my ship!" The launch bay hatch slid shut. In moments that lasted eons, the 
lock cycled.
 
Safe in their pressure suits, half a dozen service personnel stared from the 
open bay hatch as the blazing liner sailed
 
past.
 
Two hours of air in my tanks. Legs stiffened, I leaned against a bulkhead, 
stowed my canes. We were in vacuum, at near Terran gees. That meant I'd need 
nearly full power, until I was free of the Station's gravitrons.
 
I keyed my thrusters, launched myself.
 
"Galactic, we are mining vessel Anaconda III moored at Earthport. We're sending 
our launch. Stand by."
 
I'd miscalculated; I was too low. I keyed more lift, but I
was late. As I sailed out the hatch my foot caught a sailor's helmet I wondered 
if I shattered it
 
The problem wasn't in my overtaking Galactic, she'd made a mighty effort to 
brake her momentum. The problem was matching velocities, as she slowly rotated.
 
"Galactic advising we've lost most of our thrusters. Will attempt to stabilize 
spin—"
 
Her Level 2 launch bay was open. Suited figures milled about the bay. Braking, I 
drifted into the bay, waiting for the kick of the gravitrons to pull me down.
 
Nothing. Cursing, I reversed my lifters, touched the propulsion. Not too hard; 
my legs couldn't stand much of a jar.
 
"All passengers, don your suits. This is no drill Chief, can you stabilize the 
gravitrons?"
 
Passengers would be nearly helpless in zero gee. An officer—I couldn't recognize 
the face behind the fogged helmet—had one arm wrapped around the shuttle's hatch 
stanchion. With his free hand he swung one flailing passenger after another into 
the hatch.
 
I keyed my thrusters, floated toward the airlock that separated the shuttle bay 
from the Level 2 corridor. As I ducked inside, the lock hatch slid closed 
Leaning against the bulkhead to support myself, I waited impatiently for the 
lock to cycle. Finally the inner hatch opened. A horde of suited figures swarmed 
in from the corridor. They knocked me to the deck. Men and women clawed for 
handholds. Someone trod on my arm, pinning me. I prayed my helmet wouldn't 
crack.
 
The corridor hatch slid closed; the lock cycled. The frantic mob tumbled out 
into the launch bay, leaving me dazed, but breathing. My suit was unpunctured. I 
slapped closed the hatch, pulled my stunner from its pouch. Once again I cycled.
 
A dozen figures launched themselves at the lock, flailing at anything in sight
 
"All passengers should now be suited. We're in imminent danger of decompression. 
If you need help—"
 
A stunner would work through a suit, if pressed hard to the torso. Apparently 
the milling joeys knew that, even in their panic, and managed to avoid me. One 
frantic woman, however, clawed past me with desperate haste. "You can't go 
through—"
 
"Out of the way!" Her elbow caught my helmet, snapped back my head. For a moment 
I thought my neck was broken. I jabbed her with the stunner. She went limp. I 
pushed her from the lock.
 
She'd been unsuited.
 
"You there, break open the next suit rack!" Derek Carr, stunner in hand, held 
back a frenzied throng. A sailor rumbled at the panel.
 
"I've got it. Stand away." Tad Anselm's hair and uniform were awry, as if he'd 
been hi a fight. I gripped his arm. "Get suited." "Aye aye, sir. As soon as—** 
"You, before the rest." "Aye aye, sir." He opened the rack, grabbed a full-size
 
suit
 
This section of the corridor was aired. Regs absolutely prohibited use of 
thrustersuits in an aired environment. I thought of fumbling with my canes. 
Bloody hell. I glanced behind to make sure no one would be caught in my exhaust, 
lifted toward the next section, and the ladder.
 
The corridor hatch was sealed siait. Midshipman Anthony Pyle stood guard. "You 
can't—oh, it's you, Captain." A clumsy salute, to his helmet. "Vacuum on the 
other side, sir. I can't open for you, else this section will decompress."
 
"Get me to the bridge."
 
"A few minutes ago the west ladder was still open. I don't know." His eyes were 
troubled. "We're losing sections, sir. The heat melts—"
 
I was already gone. I fired my thrusters at full power, skimming over the heads 
of milling passengers and crew.
 
The west ladder was four sections away. None of the intervening hatches were 
shut. I sailed through, tilted myself to soar up the stairs.
 
"Slow down!" Panting, Derek pulled himself from one handhold to the next. His 
blue uniform was plastered to his wiry frame.
 
I snarled, "I told you to get suited."
 
"You told Anselm. Where are you off to?"
 
"Is Arlene all right?"
 
"Issuing orders from the bridge, a few moments ago."
 
I grabbed his wrist, let my thrusters push us along. "Mikhaeir
 
"On the first lifeboat, with the children. Crying but unhurt. I checked his suit 
tanks myself."
 
"Thank you."
 
"He's one scared joey. I'm going to kill whoever fired on us."
 
"That ass Simovich, down hi Lunapolis."
 
"Chief Engineer, water's gone on Level 5 and I need it NOW!" Arlene's tone was 
grim. "The fire's out of control. I can't put it out by decompressing sections 
where passengers—"
 
Derek said simply, "I'll call challenge." Dueling was legal, though frowned 
upon. Though, while Admiral Simovich held an active commission, he couldn't 
be... I thrust down the thought. It wasn't time for reprisals.
 
"Path!" P.T. launched himself from a handhold. "Mom's on the bridge. She won't 
leave. Galactic'& breaking up."
 
I snagged him, drew him close. "Get yourself suited!"
 
"The problem is our oxygen stores and hydrazine propel-lant. The hold's on fire, 
and so is launch bay one. The internal bulkheads aren't as strong as the hull, 
so—"
 
"PUT ON A PRESSURE SUIT!" I shook him like a puppy.
 
**—they collapse, and the fire spreads. We can't de-air
 
until—"
 
"Where's a suit rack?" I peered. Derek said, "Just past the corridor hatch. Back 
in a moment" He swung along the handholds with an agility that belied his years.
 
P.T.'s fingers picked at his tunic. "Path, only vacuum will quench the fire, and 
vacuum will kill passengers. Mom's got the engine room joeys working with hoses 
but—" Derek swam back, a suit over his arm. Again, I shook him. "Son, put on 
your suit!" "When Mom does, but she won't listen. Path, we're losing the ship. 
She won't let me on the bridge to—"
 
Derek raised an eyebrow. I nodded. He touched Philip's ribs with the tip of his 
stunner. Philip's back arched. His eyes rolled up and he went slack.
 
Together, Derek and I manhandled him into the suit. I checked and rechecked the 
seals, made sure the tanks were full. I gestured to the rack. "Now you, old 
friend."
 
That was the last one." He shrugged. "There's more below. Let's get him to a 
lifeboat** "How many are launched?"
 
"Two I know of. Probably three by now." Out of four. Thank Lord God Galactic 
foundered near Earthport, and not in the vast emptiness of interstellar space. 
Groundsiders sometimes asked why starships carried so few launches to serve as 
lifeboats. The answer was obvious: the ship itsetf was our lifeboat If she 
failed, what mercy was in off-loading passengers and crew to ill-equipped 
launches, light-years from rescue?
 
Between us, we guided Philip's limp form down the lad* der, in the direction of 
the launch bay,
 
"Purser Doom, call the bridge! AH purser's staff to Level 5, section eight. 
We've almost two hundred passengers trapped without suits in section nine." 
Ariene's voice was hoarse. "Empty the section seven and eight racks and stand
by. I'm sending the master-at-arms to blow the hatch to nine."
 
Two suited sailors stopped us. "Fire in section seven, sir, just beyond the 
bay!"
 
"The corridor hatch?"
 
"Holding."
 
"The lifeboat?"
 
"Launched, sir, but I hear there's another docking." Earth-port would send any 
boat it had, regardless of hostilities.
 
Clasping a handhold, Derek grunted as he pulled on the leg of P.T.'s suit. "I'm 
not sorry,"
 
"What?"
 
That I came. I want you to know that.**
 
"I am." It sounded too gruff, "If any harm comes to you, what of the Hope Nation 
Government?"
 
He snorted. "They'll manage. My grandson's been praying I'll step aside. He 
needs a bit of seasoning, but... here, I've got him." He steered Philip toward 
the bay airlock. "When we were boys, you wouldn't let me follow you to 
Challenger. All these years I've wondered what would have become of us. You've 
given me a chance to retrieve my youth, and ..."
 
"Yes?"
 
"I'm grateful. Haul him mrough the lock, 1*11 suit up."
 
Fewer passengers obstructed our path than when I'd arrived. Letting my thrustcrs 
do the work, I wrapped an arm around Philip's limp form, maneuvered toward the 
launch bay lock,
 
"Master-at-armst have you reached Level 5?" Arlene would be beside herself, 
pacing the bridge, piecing together scattered reports of disaster.
 
The airlock hatch was closed^ hammered on the panel. The hatch slid open. I 
hauled P,T. inside. A wide-eyed passenger grappled her way in, hauling another 
figure behind, A middle-aged man, heaving for breath within his helmet His face 
was purple.
 
The lock cycled. I snapped, "He's hyperventilating. Turn down his mix."
 
"Radwin, you hear him? Turn it down!"
 
The outer hatch opened.
 
The launch bay was empty, its hatch gaping. Scores of suited passengers milled 
about.
 
"Oh, God! Oh, Christ!" The woman's voice was shrill.
 
I growled, "Don't blaspheme." It was automatic.
 
From the Level 2 corridor we'd left a hollow boom. The vibration coursed through 
my boots, jarred my spine.
 
I said, "There are lifepods—" They, too, were gone from their rack. "You don't 
need a boat"
 
"Are you glitched? We can't stay here, the ship is—"
 
"Launch yourselves. Key your emergency beacon. Let the Station find you,"
 
"Easy for you to say, in a thrustersuit If they don't,, .** She shuddered. They 
would drift helpless. It was every sailor's nightmare.
 
"They'll find you. Every vessel in orbit will be looking."
 
"I can't!" She dragged her companion to me hatch. "Try another lock. There's got 
to be a boat—"
 
"This is my son, and I'm sending him." I keyed Philip's emergency transmitter, 
pressed my helmet to his, in what would have to pass for an embrace. "Go with 
God." I looked to the others, "If you stay together..."
 
"No!" She fled into the hatch.
 
"How?" An older man, whose limbs trembled.
 
"Use your utility ropes. Grasp each other, Here!" I hauled another figure close. 
"Tie yourselves together, like this. With all your beacons sounding as one, 
there's no way they'll miss you!" First a few, then more and more frightened 
passengers joined our subdued conga line. I keyed my suit mike. "A ship's 
officer to bay two, flank!" If they had someone to lead them... The last of my 
passengers clutched at me as 1 tied him to
the others. His eyes were wild. "Pray for us sinners in the hour of our—"
 
I made sure Philip's own rope was secure. "Step out. You'll float, just as 
you're doing here. It's the same zero gee. Hurry, joeys are behind you."
 
The lock cycled. A figure stumbled through. "Midshipman Aaron report—Jesus, what 
are you doing?"
 
'Two demerits. Mind your tongue. Tie yourself to the last of them. Be quick."
 
"Aye aye, sir." He brushed soot from his helmet. "There's fire in the corridor."
 
"Out the hatch! Aaron, transmit every five minutes on emergency channels. Tell 
them you have—count helmets, and tell them. They'll come for you, Keep your 
joeys calm."
 
"Aye aye, sir. What about you?"
 
"I have a thnistersuit. Kick off hard. Try to pull them clear of the ship." None 
of their suits were powered. If a gout of flame reached out... Lord God forbid.
 
Please, Sir. Philip is innocent of my sins. Send me to my punishment, if it 
saves my son. Please. Please.
 
Please. I pushed Philip's limp form after the others.
 
My child, my brave boy, drifted unconscious into ever' lasting night. Would he 
be cold? Perhaps he'd need a blanket, as I'd given my son Nate, when I pushed 
his casket out of... I swallowed.
 
"Seafort, this is Cisno Valera, You've been impeached by the Senate, Give me one 
good reason I shouldn V take the Ro* tunda,"
 
I keyed my mike. "Hang yourself, Valera. Save us the titsuble,"
 
I turned to the corridor airlock. The hatch was open. I bent forward, tapped my 
thmsters, sailed into the lock, 1 jabbed the panel. The lock cycled, The inner 
corridor hatch refused to budge. Cursing, I reached for the spanner in its 
emergency panel. Making sure the airlock hatch behind me was properly sealed, I 
manually spun open the hatch.
 
In the corridor, die overhead panels were scorched and blackened. A fine mist 
pervaded the air. Sprinklers don't work as intended in zero gee.
 
"Anyone here?" No bodies, thank heaven. I jetted toward the far hatch, sealed 
now.
 
In the suiting room, something moved. I slowed, reversed
 
course.
 
Amid the empty racks Derek sat on a bench, half-suited, an annoyed look on his 
face. His lips were stained with
 
blood.
 
I pulled myself down, hooked a leg around the bench.
 
"What—"
 
"1 think my ribs are stove." His voice was steady enough. The blast hurled me 
into the bulkhead. I was bending..." He tried to shrug, grimaced in pain.
 
I finished clasping his suit, "Where's your helmet?"
 
Derek pointed to a shattered visor. "Some joey borrowed it Left his."
 
"The bastard."
 
"1 wasn't in condition to object" His tone was wry.
 
I looked about; the racks were empty, "There's more suits in the next section. 
Or a passenger cabin; someone will have left one behind. Come."
 
"I'll wait"
 
"No." Gently, I put my arms around him. "I prefer your company," A gout of flame 
had blackened the corridor before the hatch slammed shut Lord God knew what lay 
beyond the section hatch. Vacuum, or perhaps the fires of Hell.
 
Keying my suit, I lifted him from the bench. Even in zero gee, the stress made 
him wince.
 
The first cabin we came to was locked. So was the second. Desperate, I pulled 
free my laser and blasted the lock* Inside, a swirl of belongings, but no suit
 
I tried a third, nearer to section seven, "There's got to
 
. -''I backed into the corridor. From the corridor hatch, a crackling.
 
Oh, Lord God.
 
I dived into the cabin.
 
Arlene was tense in the speakers. "Level 2 section seven hatch failing! 
Passenger alert, section inflames!"
 
A gout of fire roiled past the open hatch. A blast of heat. I slapped the cabin 
hatch panel, knowing it was no use; I'd lasered the lock. Derek clung weakly to 
my neck.
 
"Hang on, it's—" Abruptly, the flames receded. "There, you see?*'
 
"That was close." Derek's face was gray with pain.
 
From the far end of the corridor, a popping sound.
 
I blanched.
 
A rush of air.
 
"NO!"
 
Perhaps it was the defective launch bay hatch. Perhaps it was the hatch to five.
 
The cabin erupted in a cyclone.
 
Derek's arm tightened around my neck.
 
Our eyes met. In mine, horror. In his, resignation.
 
Section six decompressed.
 
Derek's eyes never left mine. His bloody lips formed the words, "Not sorry." 1 
launched myself at the section five hatch.
 
The hatch was sealed. I slammed the panel. My spine contorted in agony, 1 
slammed it again.
 
Nothing.
 
Derek stiffened, kicked. His hand scrabbled at my shoulder. Teeth clenched, I 
forced myself to watch the unbearable.
 
Hie friend in my arms grew still. But not before I saw what eyes were not meant 
to witness.
 
/ hate You, Lord God.
 
From the depths of my twisted soul, I        You,
 
W earily, I launched myself back to the launch bay airlock.
 
It was the launch bay hatch. The blast of fire had over-stressed the damaged 
seal. Setting down my precious burden I wrenched the useless hatch out of the 
way.
 
The bay was empty, deserted. Emergency lights pulsed in
 
the gloom. Breath rasping in my helmet, I bent forward, launched
 
myself at the gaping outer hatch.
 
From without, the ship seemed solid and indestructible, until one perused her 
more closely. A great rent in the cargo hold still spewed fire. Most of Levels 2 
through 4 were ablaze, except those sections in vacuum.
 
I checked my tanks. Half an hour. It would suffice.
 
The hatch to the Level 1 launch bay was sealed. With a puff of propellent I 
drifted to the service hatch, jabbed at the lock panel. I cycled through.
 
Pandemonium.
 
"Purser Doom, report! Damn it, has Doom abandoned ship? Anyone see him?" Arlene 
drew breath. "Now hear this. Any sailors left on Level 3 or 4, report to the 
suiting party on Level 5. The fire's nearing section nine, we've got to get the 
remaining passengers suited and out—"
 
At least a hundred figures clung to the packed launch. Some joeys were suited, 
some not
 
Half were sailors.
 
I set my suit mike to shipwide frequency. "Passengers only, on the launch!" I 
drew my stunner and, after an instant's reflection, my laser. "All crew off!"
 
Not a soul moved. If anything, they struggled more desperately to gain access.
 
There was no pilot
 
"You! Name and rankr
 
"Prong yourself, ya frazzin—**
 
I lunged with my stunner, caught him in the torso. He folded. Someone lunged at 
my arm; I twisted the barrel, stunned my attacker insensate. "Get those two off! 
You, name and rank!"
 
He was barely more than a child "Armando Flores, sir! Seaman first class." His 
eyes were wide.
 
"Off the launch. Give me a hand!"
 
For a moment he clung to his stanchion. Then, reluctantly, he kicked free.
 
Someone edged behind me. I whirled, menacing him with the stunner. Her. A woman, 
unsuited, mouth working in panic.
 
"Get away, joeygirl!"
 
She launched a vicious kick, forgetting she was in zero gee. Windmilling, she 
drifted off the deck, helpless.
 
"All sailors off!" I brandished my laser. "I'll count to three. One... two..."
 
Half a dozen sailors lunged to the hatch. Twice as many clung to seats, to 
stanchions, to the hull. I'd have to do it
 
Gritting my teeth, I fired.
 
A blast of flame and sparks. A figure jerked from a seat, floated twitching.
 
Screams. Curses.
 
Every sailor in the launch kicked toward the hatch. In a moment there were none 
but passengers aboard.
 
Ten in suits, thirty without. And 1 had seventeen unsuited sailors. "You, with 
suits! Take them off. You'll be safe in the launch."
 
No one moved.
 
"I'll count to three. One... two ..."
 
"Wait!" A woman tore at her clamps. "You bastard!**
 
"Be quick?"
 
In minutes ten sailors outside the launch eagerly donned suits. I motioned to 
the unsuited passengers. "Crowd into the launch. It's only for a few minutes; 
the air will last. Now, you sailors without suits."
 
The launch was packed beyond capacity.
 
"Anyone rated to pilot?"
 
A hand shot up, went down again. Armando Flores. Hesitantly, "Lieutenant Garrow 
is signing me off next week, sir."
 
It would do. "Get in; you'll drive. Take her out gently, do you hear? Drift free 
of the ship. The Station will guide you." I slapped shut the hatch.
 
"Chief McAndrews to bridge; the fire's almost on us. We're retreating to the 
emergency engine room airlock. Power may not hold—"
 
"What about us?" A suited sailor.
 
"Tie yourselves together. Launch yourselves toward the Station. Use your 
emergency beacons."
 
"Evacuate Level 5, sections three and four! Midshipman Pyle, report by caller!" 
Arlene sounded haggard.
 
"What if they don't work? What if—"
 
"If you prefer, stay here and die." I kicked off to the corridor airlock.
 
The Level 1 corridor was deserted. Emergency lights glowed gray in cold dim 
silence. No sign of fire.
 
"Lieutenant Mains, is there a frazzing lifeboat in bay three or not? These 
damned sensors—"
 
My suit readout flashed yellow; I was low on thrust. Best
save what I had. I hauled out my canes, propelled myself from bulkhead to deck 
to bulkhead.
 
As I neared the section hatch, it slid open. Hardly believing my fortune, I 
drifted through. It slammed shut behind.
 
I was in section four, wherein lay the bridge.
 
I propelled myself toward the corridor bend Ahead, a mud vibrated the bulkheads. 
Another. Light flickered rhythmically.
 
"Station, we need every launch you can muster at Level 5 launch bay. Attention 
rescue vehicles: we've two hundred passengers and no—"
 
I swam onward.
 
A hatch slid open. Inside, Arlene hung on to a console, awkward in her 
cumbersome suit "McAndrews, are you there? Don't abandon the power grid!" She 
keyed her caller. "Bay three!" She stabbed at the console. "Someone in the comm 
room, respond to bridge!"
 
The hatch slammed shut
 
I gaped. The bridge was a fortress; nothing short of a demolition team could 
force it
 
Abruptly the hatch opened.
 
"Arlene!" Through my suit radio, our words went ship-wide; I didn't care.
 
"Watch the hatch, Nicky, the damn puter's glitched. Must be the heat Fire in 
section four below."
 
"Get out! Abandon ship!"
 
"Passengers are trapped on five!"
 
The hatch slammed shut immediately opened again.
 
"You can't help them!"
 
A slim figure kicked along the handholds. Cadet Anselm. "Sir, what should I do 
next the—"
 
The hatch shut
 
I asked him, "Any lifepods left?"
 
"I don't think so."
 
The hatch slid open. Arlene said quickly, "If McAndrews feeds us power, we have 
the lift, I have corridor hatches. The
goddamn purser jumped ship; I have middies and sailors helping joeys into suits. 
We rounded up a hundred fifty suits, there's still—"
 
"Hon, we're out of time!"
 
"I can save them, Nicky. Five minutes." She slammed the console. "Goddamn 
readouts!" She keyed her caller. "Burns, round up more suits for Level 5, 
section eight! Pyle, how many? ... Sixteen, Bums!"
 
Alarms flashed. No doubt they screamed as well, but in vacuum we couldn't hear 
them. Arlene's thick-gloved fingers jabbed the console. The warning lights 
faded. Seconds later they flashed anew. The hatch slammed closed.
 
The deck under my feet lurched.
 
The hatch opened. "Arlene, right now!"
 
"Damn. All right." She thumbed the caller. "Away all boats! Middies, leave off 
your search and—**
 
The lights dimmed. Controlled by the crazed puter, the alloy-reinforced hatch 
began to drum open and shut with breathtaking speed.
 
"How the hell do I get out?" If the hatch caught her, it would crush her to 
pulp.
 
"Block it! A console chair!"
 
Or your cane, you idiot.
 
I lunged across the corridor.
 
The hatch shut, its frenzied flapping stilled.
 
I waited in a frenzy, to jam my cane into the opening.
 
WHOOMP!
 
The deck buckled. I shot into the air. Into the vacuum.
 
Anselm hauled me down.
 
The hatch slammed open.
 
Arlene's suit smoldered. Deck plates caromed off the bulkhead. A spinning 
fragment of plate slashed a jagged tear in her suit. The console burst into 
flame, instantly quenched. Tongues of fire licked greedily through the broken 
deck.
 
A last puff of air, from her suit.
 
The hatch slammed shut, and open.
 
Arlene whipped off her useless helmet, shot me a look of longing and regret so 
fierce my heart turned to ash.
 
The hatch slammed closed.
 
I lunged toward the bridge.
 
A hand hauled me back.
 
"Don't touch me! I'm Captain!"
 
"No, sir. She is."
 
A staggering blast. The bulkhead bulged The hatch burst from its panel. The 
bridge was a white river of fire.
 
"Abandon ship, sir! NOW!" Someone tugged at my suit "NOW!"
 
I broke free. "Arlene!"
 
"No! You can't!" Somehow, Anselm barred my way.
 
I yanked free my laser, aimed at his head. "MOVE!"
 
The boy recoiled. I brushed past, dived to the volcano of the bridge.
 
From behind, arms enveloped me, knocked the laser from my grasp.
 
Fighting, crying, screaming, I was dragged backward along the shattered 
corridor.
 
In my helmet, a cacophony of terror.
 
"Abandoning Galactic's engine room, send assistance! We're five holding on to a 
pod—"
 
"Help me! Help me! Someone help—"
 
"—Level 5 lock and it won't open! Can anyone hear! I'm trapped in—"
 
"—on fire and we 're burning, Christ we 're burning up the heat hurts—"
 
Level 2.1 had no recollection of the journey.
 
The ladder to three.
 
"Wait! Let me get Derekr
 
No response, just the relentless pull on my suit Dully, I struggled to break 
free. My legs wouldn't cooperate.
 
"Two minutes'air left. Is my beacon working? I can see the Station. The 
readout's flashing red, why don't you ans—"
 
"—Machinist's Mate Vinson in the gig. How do I steer this thing? Where the fuck 
are we?"
 
"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in—"
 
An airlock. Its hatch wouldn't respond.
 
A corridor drifted past. My breath rasped in my foggy helmet.
 
"Anaconda'5 launch unloading at the Station. We'll be back as soon as—"
 
Galactic'* lights flickered.
 
A corridor hatch, hanging crazily from one socket. The cadet pulled us through. 
"Almost there, sir."
 
"Christ I'm lost. I'm spinning, everything's a blur!"
 
"Let me go! I'll break you. I'll cashier you. I'll—"
 
"Mama!"
 
"Almost there." His voice was soothing.
 
A gaping hole in the hull. Anselm disappeared.
 
Free at last, I tried desperately to orient myself. Which way to the bridge?
 
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death—"
 
Where were my canes?
 
"No more air and I—"
 
The relentless cadet kicked his way from a passenger cabin, with a blanket. He 
draped it over the ragged gash in the hull. "Careful, sir. Don't touch where 
it's sharp."
 
Derek, old friend. Arlene, my love. I won't leave you. I promise. I swea—
 
"Now, sir!" He pushed me to the hole. Into the night. I flailed in unexpected 
terror, but his fingers were firm on my wrist. In a moment he slipped through 
after.
 
"—for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff—''
 
"Galactic, Earthport Control. Say again your condition. We are sending every 
possible—"
 
"Sir."
 
We drifted from the stricken ship.
 
"Sir!"
 
My voice came from far, far away. "What is it, Ansehn?"
 
"Key your beacon. Have you any propellant?"
 
"Some."
 
"I know you're in shock. Can you aim your thmsters?"
 
"—goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell 
in the house—"
 
"Yes." My voice was weary.
 
"—of the Lord—" Very softly, "forever."
 
My tank gauge blinked a warning. I sighed with regret Ten minutes: enough to 
reach Earthport Even oblivion was denied me.
 
I gathered the boy to my chest. He wrapped himself around me, hugging tight, his 
helmet in the crook of my shoulder. I sighted on the distant Station, keyed my 
rear thruster.
 
Silent, lost in our separate miseries, we watched the stricken ship diminish. 
From time to time a detonation wracked her bowels; a flare of light, that slowly 
faded.
 
She was so great an undertaking, so proud a vessel. So many hopes had ridden in 
her. So many lives.
 
Abruptly her lights flickered, and vanished.
 
Together, as one, Anselm and I sailed toward the Station.
 
A tremendous explosion, aft of the disks. Tongues of fire licked the night 
Galactic'* hull crumpled. Spewing a gout of propellant the aft third of the 
great ship broke away. It spiraled toward the blue sea of Earth,
 
Absently, 1 stroked the boy's shoulder. "It's all right lad." One of us wept I 
wasn't sure which.
 
Reluctantly, wearily, I turned my eyes to Earthport Station.
 
Epilogue
 
An honor to meet you, sir."
 
I acknowledged what was meant as a compliment. "So you'll be off to Constantine. 
What's your specialty?"
 
"Crop engineering. Now that Earth's doubled its agricultural imports..." A quick 
smile, at her husband. "Fallen is an A.I. psych. He'll be monitoring puters for 
psychoses.** She shifted. "Well, I don't want to take up your time."
 
"A pleasure to meet you." It was almost true. I grasped my canes, worked my way 
to my feet
 
In Lunapolis, Dr. Ghenili's eyes had been reproachful "Severe damage. I tried to 
warn you."
 
"What's my prognosis?" I'd endured two lengthy operations, to repair the trauma 
I'd caused. A month, flat on my back in a rigid body cast. A ceiling I'd come to 
know all too well
 
"You're incredibly fortunate. You'll walk, after a fashion."
 
"With canes?"
 
"Atfirst. Perhaps, with enough therapy..." He left the hope unstated. "But the 
matter of gravity..."
 
"The gravitron chamber hurt like hell."
 
"And that was only ten minutes. You'll never standJuU
Terran gees again. Oh, perhaps lying on your back, loaded with painkillers, 
but..."
 
"I understand."
 
"It's feasible, in an emergency. But once you went groundside, you'd have to 
remain, in unending misery. Your ganglia can't tolerate another liftoff."
 
I'd be permanently grounded. "How much gravity can I
 
take?"
 
"When the inflammation's subsided, I'd guess half a Tfcr-ran gee. Perhaps a 
touch more. Let the pain be your guide."
 
"It hurts even now. Will it ever stop?" Not that I deserved
 
relief.
 
"The truth? I'm not sure. I think the pain will lessen considerably. If it isn't 
tolerable, we increase the pain blockers. There's a good chance that in time..."
 
Did the man ever finish a sentence?
 
"I'm sorry, Mr. Seafort. You brought it on yourself."
 
"Aye, I did that." By my thrashing about, aboard Galactic. By my wiUful 
disregard of His wilL
 
"AriBmYuffef."
 
"You're Israelir
 
"Palestinian." His voice dripped with contempt
 
"You're seventeen. Where are your parents?"
 
"My father's at prayer."
 
"You've had schoolingT*
 
"Some, It's not mandatory."
 
"I'm aware. Have a pleasant voyage.**
 
With a disdainful toss of his head, the boy stalked off. Nineteen months to 
Constantine. Perhaps he'd learn—or be taught—manners.
 
An Admiralty Board of Inquiry had convened to assign blame far the loss of 
Galactic, with eleven hundred passengers and crew. As Anselm had reminded me in 
extremis, Arlene, not I, had been acting as Captain when the ship foundered.
 
Perhaps it was that Admiralty now consisted only of those members who'd flown to 
Farside in response to my summons. Or perhaps there was blame enough, without 
besmirching the name of my wife. Arlene had merely followed orders in returning 
her ship to Earthport. She'd fired no weapons, even when fired upon. Admiral Hoi 
was held responsible, and particularly Admiral Simovich.
 
For eleven days Boris Simovich had held out in the depths of his innermost 
warrens, while U.NA.F. troops and Navy cadets had waited patiently outside. Only 
after the food ran out did he emerge, shrunken and fearful, to submit to arrest.
 
His trial lasted three days. No political arguments were allowed, or heard. It 
was not at my behest that he was sentenced to hang at Lunapolis, where he'd been 
captured and tried. Hanging at one-sixth gee is a drawn-out affair. I was told 
he kicked and struggled for many minutes. A prisoner of Dr. Ghenili 's clinic, I 
did not attend. But General Donner, newly appointed Secretary of the U.N.A.F., 
did.
 
I turned to the attentive middy, "Why did you put in for Olympiad, Mr. Speke?"
 
"Same reason as Galactic" Perhaps he realized how curt he sounded; abruptly his 
tone became more congenial. "They're sister ships, sir, It's the same cruise,**
 
"But Captain Stanger chose you personally. Without him...**
 
"It will be different, yes, sir." He blushed. "1 know you've thought ill of me. 
That day we met,.."
 
I nodded. His impatience had irritated even Alexi.
 
"And my speech can be, ah, extravagant." When Jared had tricked him out of his 
weapon, he'd responded with a torrent of foul language.
 
"If you were a cadet.,,"
 
"Yes, sir. Mr. Stanger warned me about my temper. Once"—he blushed furiously—"he 
had me caned."
 
"On the other hand," I said, "you performed admirably when we retook Galactic. 
Well, no doubt the first middy will keep an eye on you." Speke wouldn't be 
senior, mis cruise. The middies had been chosen with great care.
 
From my clinic bed I'd worked overtime signing decrees, to embed our enviro 
policies before relinquishing martial powers.
 
Starting in three years, time enough to enter into con-tracts with the colonies, 
Earth would forgo virtually all harvest of its seas. It was hoped that a 
five-year fishing moratorium would allow the myriads of ocean dwellers to 
reestablish themselves. Virtually the entire resources of the Navy were 
consigned to ship home substitute protein. Much of it was soy-based, though on 
Pampas and Rolleo, beef was a prime export.
 
The sudden increase in demand would be a heavy economic strain; we'd be a far 
poorer system when we were done. Perhaps power would shift permanently to the 
colonies. I doubted it. Earth's resources were simply too stupendous, her 
resilience a matter of legend.
 
At the same time, we would end once and for all the indiscriminate pouring of 
waste into the seas. Numerous new sewage facilities were planned. Their 
construction would be given highest priority, along with air scrubbers for every 
manufactory on Earth, without exception.
 
A colossal undertaking? Of course. Expensive? That was hardly the word. The 
trick was to spread the contracts among so many industries, so many powerful 
corporations, that every one of them would avidly resist any lessening of our 
commitment. Branstead had taught me well, and Robbie Boland.
 
Jerence Branstead emerged from imprisonment shaken but unharmed. The rebel 
U.N.A.F. unit mat seized him had twice threatened him with summary execution.
 
Cisno Valera had disappeared entirely. He'd last been seen on the outskirts of 
the U.N. compound, where he'd been encamped with his troops ever since my 
broadcast. Some thought that as his U.N.A.F. units melted away he'd gone 
underground to foment new rebellion, others that he'd been shot by some joey 
loyal to the government
 
It mattered little; he'd become a joke, a figure of derision, for his 
vacillation. The streets surrounding the U.N. compound had once been held by the 
Easters and the Fdears, two of the more formidable transpop tribes. Perhaps he'd 
wandered too far from camp, and met a rough justice. In some quarters I was 
still known as the trannie SecGen.
 
Even while the remains of Galactic spun slowly into the wisps of Earth's outer 
atmosphere, the finishing touches were being put on Olympiad, her much vaunted 
sister ship. There'd been some hasty restructuring of cargo bays, to further 
separate—and reinforce—storage of hydrazine and bottled oxy.
 
A horrid waste of resources, Olympiad, but she was so far along in construction 
it was far less expensive to complete her than to abandon her. Scandalously 
opulent, even more so than Galactic, she held thirty-four hundred passengers, a 
crew of almost nine hundred. A city, more than a ship.
 
Galactic's seven hundred surviving passengers, and much of her crew, had been 
transferred to the gleaming new star-ship.
 
It was too late to eliminate separate dining halls and the more spacious cabins, 
but my intervention caused swift upgrading of the lower dining hall, to match 
the decor of the upper. And cabins were assigned by the number of occupants, not 
by social ranking. Those who didn't like it could wait a few years for another 
ship.
 
By the time I emerged from Ghenili's clinic, trying not to wobble while walking 
on one cane, Olympiad's loading was well under way.
 
Not many passengers refused boarding. In part, that was because Galactic'* 
tragic loss wasn't deemed a design flaw. All Naval ships had laser shields, but 
none were designed to stand up to the massive laser cannon of Earthport or 
Lu-napolis, the searing weapons that ravaged the streets of Lower New York in 
the Transpop Rebellion.
 
Built to break up asteroids thrown at Earth by the fish long years past, they no 
longer served legitimate need. I took advantage of my military and moral 
authority to dismantle them entirely. Marauding fish were less of a danger than 
was some General or Admiral facing too great a temptation. Earth must never 
again be held hostage.
 
There is a mood in public affairs that by some mystery becomes pervasive. In the 
case of the rebellion, it was to put the matter behind us as quickly and quietly 
as possible. Reluctantly, I acquiesced. The terrorists, including all of the Eco 
Action League, were hanged. So were five former mem" bers of Admiralty. In most 
other cases I allowed clemency.
 
However, / was determined not to Ue or evade the truth, especially as to my own 
responsibility. At the repeated entreaties of my chief of staff, I declined 
media demands for interviews. Jerence Branstead knew I wouldn't speak so lightly 
of politicians' misfeasance as public opinion would wish.
 
Nonetheless, those stories that leaked out tended to glorify my role. They 
ignored my stupidity in sacrificing the head of Hope Nation's Government, to no 
purpose. And my callous use of cadets, mere children, to bear the brunt of our 
fighting. The fact that many of them emerged as heroes was no excuse; there were 
those who died before their time,
 
The media knew nothing of how I brutally rejected Danil
Bevin's plea for life, when I might have surrendered to Stanger and perhaps 
talked him out of his treason. Or how I hesitated that fatal moment that killed 
Arlene. Had I thought to thrust my cane in the hatch a second earlier...
 
In all this, the Patriarchs were ominously silent.
 
To my infinite surprise, the Roman Catholic Bishop of Rome visited Lunapolis, 
and heard my confession according to his ancient Rite. After, he blessed me, and 
failed to rebuke my overt renunciation of Lord God. Bishop Saythor, he said, was 
impetuous, and my admonishment that my coin belonged to Caesar bore truth. The 
Church was no more than man's attempt to understand Lord God, he told me, and I 
shouldn't lay her failings at His doorstep. He kissed my dampened cheeks before 
he left.
 
Nonetheless, the Patriarchs must have found my presence as uncomfortable as I 
did theirs. Saythor had a number of choices: to renounce me, to ignore me, or to 
embrace my views. None were palatable; perhaps that was why they urged Admiralty 
to offer me a remarkable alternative to my Lunapolis retirement.
 
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
 
"Come in."
 
At my insistence, Charlie Wttrek wore an officer's blues, though Admiralty had 
placed him permanently on the disabled list.
 
He peered myopically across the bridge, ''Ah,** He faced me, saluted stiffly.
 
They hadn't done a bad job with nil features* though it was disconcerting to see 
him with brown eyes instead of blue.
 
**As you were," He relaxed; I regarded him gravely. "I'm so glad you came 
aloft." I'd written two long letters, finally prevailing on him to join 
Olympiad's cruise.
 
"Thank you, sir," His face relaxed into a familiar smile.
 
"You've settled in your cabin?"
 
"Yes, sir." A pause. "It's a bit awkward. Not," he added hurriedly, "that I'm 
complaining."
 
"What's the problem?"
 
"It's just... I dress like a middy, but don't sleep in the wardroom. I call you 
'sir,' as I should, but have no duties because I'm not on the active list and 
never will be. It's... strange. I'm sure I'll get used to it" A bright smile. He 
inn his fingers through his hair, tugged the knot on bis tie.
 
"Yes, I've been thinking about that" I leaned back. "I doubt mis will work out"
 
A momentary alarm. "Sir?"
 
"Admiralty, in its wisdom, has declared you disabled You couldn't possibly 
return to active duty."
 
"No, sir."
 
"Unless you were so ordered."
 
He frowned. "I don't... are you toying with me?"
 
"Why, yes, I am." I savored the moment "Charlie, when we set sail, I am the 
absolute authority aboard ship."
 
"Of course."
 
"As soon as we cast off, I'll recall you to active duty. I want you in the 
wardroom."
 
"Sir, 1 can't stand a watch. I don't see well enough to monitor the instru—"
 
"We have eleven middies; I don't need watchstanders. But some of mem are quite 
young; you'll be a good influence. And I need you elsewhere,"
 
He blinked. "Why?"
 
"Look at mis behemom." I waved past the bulkhead, to me entirety of me ship. 
"We've three thousand passengers. Charlie. Three thousand! And more crew 
than—Olympiad is more city than ship, and I have to keep it running smoothly. 
From day one mere' 11 be complaints, demands, delegations, disputes..."
 
His lips twitched. "Like the Rotunda."
 
"Only worse, because mere's no escape. Til need help managing." I'd thought it 
makework, when I'd dreamed up
his assignment but now I wasn't so sure. "You know my style, and how I operate; 
you're the ideal candidate. Help me." My voice grew soft "Please."
 
"I'd give anything to... but sir, are you doing this out of pity?"
 
"No." I realized it was true. "I need officers I trust absolutely."
 
A subtle tension seeped out of his frame. "Aye aye, sir, I'll report to the 
first middy. Who is he?"
 
"You, Charlie." I'd arranged it most carefully. The omer middies already knew, 
and were under orders to say nothing until I'd told Witrek.
 
A look of wonder, mat dissolved into joy. "You mean it? Really?"
 
"Yes."
 
"Lord God bless you." He couldn't contain himself, did a little dance on the 
bridge decking. "Nothing could thank you enough!"
 
"Keep an eye on Speke, by the way. He needs steadying."
 
"Aye aye, sir," He shook his head, still dazed. After a moment he dabbed at his 
eyes. "Look!" He laughed aloud. "Look what I can do!"
 
Why dtd / accept Olympiad.7
 
/don't know.
 
It was time I ceased to be SecGen, After martial law, the populace needed 
someone more... well, mom clement. From a brooding retirement I would dominate 
the Senates deliberations, the Assembly's every vote, whether I wanted to or 
not, (f / stayed in home system, I couldn't avoid the media forever, and sooner 
or later I'd be ashed a question that forced me to reveal my opinion of the 
cowards who pop* ulated our government.
 
And where could I go? Certainly not home*
 
I had no home. My Washington compound had been bombed out of existence. Cardiff 
was a fetid nightman, I
fervently hoped Philip would have his wish, to end his days there. Besides, 1 
couldn t go home to Earth again. I'd live in torment, unable to lift off to 
gentler climes.
 
Arlene had said it first, though it was the stuff of my dreams. The only 
contented days of my life had been on the bridge of a starship. Derek 
understood; that's what had drawn him to his death. Of the same mind, Arlene had 
resumed her uniform without a moment's hesitation, served happily, and 
sacrificed herself to save hundreds.
 
Even now, 1 dreamed of my lost youth. The physical exuberance, the unmitigated 
joy of being. The joy of a life unspoiled. But Arlene was dead, forever lost. My 
life would not, could not, ever hold jay. I felt empty within, scoured clean of 
passions. It brought a curious freedom,
 
1 couldn Y return to my youth, but some small part, I would reclaim.
 
"Sir, capture latches ready to disengage." Pilot Van Peer. To my astonishment, 
he'd survived the destruction of Academy's launch by the simple expedient of 
jettisoning himself the instant Stanger's first laser struck. He'd clung, in his 
thrustersuit to Galactic'* hull until he judged it safe to set out for the 
Station. He Uked chess, I recalled, as did I. Perhaps, during the long silent 
watches
 
"Very well." I keyed the caller, "Departure Control, Olympiad ready for 
breakaway."
 
"Proceed, Olympiad. Vector one five nine from Station. Godspeed"
 
"Pilot, take her out, and set course for Fusion safety."
 
My resignation as Secretary-General was transmitted to the Assembly, and would 
be effective the moment Olympiad Fused.
 
"Sir, Mr. and Mrs. Catharta and their children." Midshipman Rafael Delgado, 
sixteen, dapper and assured. Brilliant in nav and math, his file said. We'd see.
 
"Very well." I swiveled.
 
"A pleasure to meet you, Captain." Hector Catharta held out a callused hand.
 
I took it We chatted awhile, about his work as hydronicist and agrobiologist His 
wife was a lovely woman, a poet Their four children were unformed as yet, and 
squinny. I was glad when they left the bridge, though I couldn't fault their 
manners.
 
"Pa!" Mikhael Tamarov burst through the hatch, Cadet Anselm a step behind. 'The 
lounge has Arcvid!"
 
"Wonderful." My tone was sour. I ignored his breach of protocol; I'd opened the 
bridge to passengers this day. As for the cadet, he was off duty, and I would 
allow him almost anything. Except alcohol.
 
"It has a dual consoler MikhaeTs shut was damp from exertion. A stylish new 
tunic, one of several I'd selected for him, in the expensive Earthport shopping 
concourse. I smiled; we'd have ample time to encourage grooming. He exulted, 
"Tad plays too!"
 
"Very well. An hour of Arcvid for every hour of calisthenics,**
 
A squawk. That's not fair!"
 
"Such is life." If I didn't impose such a rule, he'd soon become a glaze-eyed, 
finger-clenched Arcvid addict
 
"You can't do that!" His eyes blazed,
 
I said nothing. After a time he fidgeted "I take it back. Pa,"
 
Still, I waited.
 
He wilted. "Sir, please. I apologize. An hour for an hour."
 
I tousled his hair, gave him a casual hug despite the undisguised curiosity of 
the lieutenant and Pilot on watch.
 
Mikhael had mounted an impressive campaign. An alarming number of costly 
vidcalls to Moira, in Kiev with her daughter. Tearful pleas, to me. Promises of 
good behavior. At last he'd secured our mutual consent
 
I was, frankly, glad to have him share my huge and luxurious cabin. He was a 
promise unkept a debt unpaid, and, to
boot, he was becoming a rather likable joey. A touch too casual about bathing, 
too quick with his temper, but... each day, Alexi's likeness was more 
pronounced. Several evenings, I'd made him sit and memorize a verse of the Old 
Testament, while I sipped at steaming tea. I wasn't sure why. Did we all become 
our fathers, in the end?
 
In any event, Mikhael didn't seem to mind. And his constant questions to Tad 
Anselm about a cadet's life ... Well, if it came to that, ship's stores included 
a set of grays.
 
And Anselm could use a companion, in the months I'd make him wait before I 
restored him to middy. Whatever Derek had said to him, in the intimacy of their 
private talk, his soul seemed refreshed. He went about his duties with renewed 
determination, yet, despite all, I caught an occasional wistful look, a silent 
plea for acknowledgment and praise that for once in my life I wasn't loath to 
give.
 
Perhaps I had mellowed.
 
Perhaps age had made me softheaded.
 
The next passenger entered, escorted as always by a middy. "Hello, sir."
 
"Edgar?" I shot up from my seat.
 
"Interesting place." He looked about, made a show of examining the consoles. 
'They call it a bridge?"
 
"Tolliver, what in hell—what in the dev—" I gave up. "What are you doing here?"
 
"You ruined one vacation." His tone was acerbic. "I'm not entitled to another?"
 
"Vacation? Nineteen months of—"
 
"I'm retired. My children are grown. What else should I—"
 
"Nonsense! Goofjuice!"
 
"All right, I knew you were aboard. I admit I rather enjoyed your brief summons 
to duty, at Lunapolis. And I thought in a quiet watch we could talk over old 
times."
 
"Passengers aren't allowed to visit the bridge."
 
"Odd, then, that I'm standing on it And surely even Captain Seafort is 
occasionally off watch."
 
I glowered. "Who put you up to mis?"
 
"Up to?" His eyes widened in innocent protest "You suppose I'm not capable of—"
 
"Edgar..." A warning in my tone.
 
"I gather I'm supposed to quake. I remind you I'm a civilian. Only Naval 
officers quiver in their boots."
 
I rolled my eyes. His goading knew no bounds; it would be a hellish voyage. "Who 
did this to me? Donner? Jeff Thorner*
 
"For you. Both of them."
 
"You gave up a normal life to—"
 
"Why, Captain, isn't your company tantamount to normal lifer
 
I glared.
 
Imperturbable, he met my gaze.
 
"Only as lieutenant" I finally growled, quelling a contentment I would never 
admit "A ship has but one Captain."
 
"Hmm. You assume I'll jump to reenlist Now, if you add my seniority as Captain 
to my years as lieutenant—"
 
"You'll be senior lieutenant. I know, I can read length of service pins." I'd 
make it up to Lieutenant Gather, one way or another.
 
"At least I'd have charge of the barrel. I'll be able to shield the middies from 
the worst of your tantrums."
 
"Tolliver!"
 
"Yes, sir?" He raised his eyebrows. After a moment "I suppose, if you insist, 
you'd better swear me in."
 
A few moments later he left, accompanying Lieutenant Gather to orchestrate a 
hasty rearrangement of Level 1 cabins. I sat bemused, while we thrust toward 
Fusion safety.
 
All was well belowdecks; I'd insisted on Chief McAn-drews in the engine room, 
and no other. Perhaps, somewhere, I'd find a tobaccoing apparatus such as his 
father had ignited in my distant past and teach him the odd habit
 
The ship's many passengers would, from time to time, have to abide an abrupt 
reduction of gravity, as I made my inspections. And those who preferred full 
Terran gees could dine on Level 5. I'd had the forward gravitron set to 
one-third Terran. At my orders, Chief McAndrews would raise it an imperceptible 
fraction each day. Nineteen months to Constantine, nineteen months back. Eleven 
hundred fifty days; I had time for patience. Perhaps, just perhaps, Dr. 
Ghenili's prognosis might be thwarted.
 
So. I stirred in my luxurious leather chair.
 
Does life come full circle? No, not really. But once in a while, if one is truly 
blessed...
 
My smile faded. I was hardly that Lord, I meant every word I said about hating 
You. I still do. You took Arlene and Derek, in a manner most contemptible. Don't 
tell me You couldn't have prevented it; I know better. I can't forgive that, and 
never will.
 
I know, having renounced You and Your Church, I'm not supposed to talk to You. 
Do I even believe in You? Perhaps not. I promised I'd never speak to You again. 
I certainly don't expect You to answer. I don't even expect You to listen; I 
know I'm utterly damned. But as You no doubt know, I'm too old to change my 
ways. So, I find myself talking to You, now and then, with wary, reluctant 
respect. It's all right You don't have to listen. I'll just talk.
 
"We're approaching Fusion safety, sir.** The Pilot
 
"Kristen, Fusion coordinates for Constantine, please."
 
"Aye aye, sir." The puter's response was prompt. She flashed the figures onto 
the simulscreen.
 
"Mr. Van Peer? You too, Rafael." Obediently, the Pilot and the duty midshipman 
ran their duplicate calculations.
 
"Figures agree, sir, to six decimals."
 
"Very well. Feed them to the puter."
 
"Coordinates received and understood, Captain." Kris-ten's tone was cheerful.
 
"Thank you." I thumbed the caller. "Engine Room, prepare to Fuse."
 
"Prepare to Fuse, aye aye."
 
I gazed with longing at Earth, receding in the screens.
 
Philip had visited, three days before launch.
 
He was more somber now, but with a hint of imdimin-ished pain in his eyes. I'd 
embraced him, kissed him gently on both cheeks. "I'm so sorry," I told him for 
the tenth time. "I could have saved her."
 
"No. You forget I attended every session of the Board of Inquiry. I have their 
report on download."
 
"If I'd only—"
 
"Path, Mom wasn't yours to save. She died doing what she thought right"
 
"And Jared—"
 
"Don't Please!" He waved off my unspoken thought "I'm not over that. I can't—" A 
deep breath. "Sorry. I get emotional. But don't imagine for a minute I think it 
was your fault** He took a few breaths for calm. "You got die package?"
 
"It's in cold storage." A most carefully packed, sealed container from the 
Fairfield Fertility Clinic, containing what remained of Arlene on this earth. 
Dr. Janson would soon perform the implant into the young, healthy, extremely 
well paid woman in a cabin on Level 5, who'd contracted to be host mother.
 
I'd made a vow, one I'd keep. We would make a child, Arlene and 1.1 hadn't yet 
chosen the sex, but I suspected we'd have a girl. She'd carry on for her mother. 
And in some small foolish way, I might atone. When she matured I might be past 
seventy, but so what? I examined my newly unwrin-kled face in the mirror. Damned 
if enzyme treatments didn't actually work. And for the first time in years, my 
knee didn't ache.
 
Still, hon, I'll miss you so. Now and forever:
 
"We're ready for Fuse, sir."
 
"In a moment"
 
In my cabin, Philip had smiled. "I have another gift. Open it when I've gone 
groundside." He handed me a small box, rather heavy.
 
"Thank you, son. You're sure you won't come along?"
 
*Tve work to do." His eyes turned serious. "Andrus Bevin has been distracted, 
since Danil..." He made a face. "And with your new legislation, we're 
overwhelmed. You have no idea. Path, what started out as your edict... enviro 
restoration's well and truly caught public imagination. New ideas keep popping 
up... Bernili has a plan for reseeding the ozone, one that will actually work. 
And the solar shield—even ski-lift stocks are rising! You did it, Path. You 
remade the Earth."
 
"You'll do it. I only ordered it"
 
His tone was sad. 'The man who saved the oceans, the air, the fields..." He 
stood, thrust hands in pockets, and said with anguish, "I'll show you holos, but 
it won't be the same. Why can't you be allowed to see it?"
 
"I don't deserve to."
 
"Thou shall see the land before thee; but thou shah not go thither unto the land 
which I give the children of Israel," His eyes glistened.
 
"Oh, son, I'm not Moses,"
 
"Aren't you?" He pulled me into a fierce hug. "Good-bye, Path, Come home 
safely."
 
Now, three days later, on the bridge, I unwrapped Philip's present
 
"Oh, no." I turned anguished eyes to Midshipman Speke.
 
"Not this."
 
"What, sir?"
 
Father's old, worn Bible. Hie one from which I'd learned my lessons, at our 
rickety Cardiff table. In the corner, the teapot hissed gently. Father watched 
with dour approval.
 
Where on Earth did P.T. find it? I'd given it, with all Father's things, to 
Annie, when I left her in Cardiff. She'd
since died. Philip must have traced Eddie Boss, her husband, and retrieved it 
from him. I wondered if Eddie had known it would go to me.
 
I slipped open the Book, glanced at a passage.
 
Whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be 
afraid?
 
Hah. We'll have to talk about that You and I.
 
In the meantime, mere was my ship. My boy Mikhael, and Tad. My daughter to be. 
My long exile, in a city in space.
 
And duty.
 
"Engine Room, are you ready?*
 
"Engine Room standing by."
 
A last, long, wistful look at Earth. I slid my finger down the screen.
 
"Fuse!"