Closed System

He lay on a narrow ledge, the stone cushionedonly by a rough homespun blanket. An old man inthe tunic and skirt which was Dorchlunt's cos­tume lay on another ledge across the small room.

"Ah, young man, you are awake?"

"I think so," Pat said.

"Just in time. They will feed us soon."

Food was the last thing on Pat's mind. He strug­gled and finally was able to push himself into asitting position, feet on the stone floor. "What isthis place?"

"The waiting place," the old man said. He, too,sat up, ran his fingers through his graying hair. Helooked at Pat with a little smile. "You are tooyoung to be sent to Zede."

"Zede?"

"I am not complaining, mind you," the old mansaid, "but there are laws. One must work andproduce the required number of years before earn­ing the reward."

"So you are here, in the waiting place, havingearned your reward?" Pat asked.

"Yes." The old man mused. "Well, perhaps you did some great unusual service which merits early reward. Is that true?"

"Yes, it is true," Pat said. He was feeling a bitbetter. He was no longer happy, however, and hefelt no friendliness at all toward the man who hadinjected him with an illegal mind-dominance drug.It was no consolation to him to know that he was not the first man to have been fooled and betrayedby a woman. And yet there was something insidehim which could not accept Corinne as evil, asbeing a willing participant in whatever the hell it was that was going on on a planet where the popu­lation was beautiful, healthy, and living in primi­tive conditions next door to a "temple" where somewell-shielded power source produced electricity. Perhaps it was hopelessly romantic of him, he wasthinking, but he chose to cast Corinne in the roleof victim, too. There could have been no faking thesincerity of that kiss there in the throne room, and even as she was drugging him again, she'd beenkissing him with a fierce possessiveness which said to him, love, love.

"So perhaps we will go to Zede together," theold man said.

"You're looking forward to it, then?" Pat asked.

The old man looked at him strangely. "To beforever alive on the golden fields of Zede? To haveall of one's desires, and be united with all thosewho have gone before us? Why do we work? Whydo we observe the laws?"

"To live forever amid the splendors of the heav­enly fields of Zede," Pat said, and the old mannodded.

"My friend," Pat said, "I will make a confessionto you, since we are going to travel to Zede to­gether. My service was in the field of the mind."He didn't know exactly how far to go with the lie."I worked with the priests to delve into the depthsof the mind. Do you understand?"

The old man was looking at him with interest."How fortunate you are," he said. "And did youpartake of the joy magic?"

Pat nodded. "There is one complication," he said."Having experienced such joy, the mind is dulled,and the memory is blunted."

"Yes, yes, I have seen those who have experi­enced the joy magic."

"Since I am going to Zede," Pat said, "I wouldhave my mind clear, my memories intact, lest Icommit some sin of omission. Can you help me?"

"I will try."

"Tell me of the sacred books."

"Alas," the old man said. "I was not chosen tobe a scholar. I know little of the sacred books of Fonforster."

"If you will tell me the little you know I will begrateful," Pat said.

"Well, then, when we came from theforfarvelts,fleeing the fury of the Beast, and the wings failed, there was left to us only the Fonforster. Even thenthe sacred books were ancient, printed upon pa­per, bound with leather to last the ages, unlike the wisdom which was lost with the angel wings. Theyare with us still, the ancient and sacred books ofFonforster, our sacred guide to living a life of mean­ing, and the wise ones, who interpret, who areentrusted with keeping the lights of Fonforster glow­ing, feed their souls upon the sacred writings andinform us, the people."

"Everyone goes to Zede?" Pat asked, just tryingto prime the old man to keep talking.

"In his own time. You see, all the gods promise it.Even if it is not, as I have been told, spelled out inthe sacred books, it was revealed, in the ancientdays, to the priests. When the time is come oneenters the place of waiting, and is given time topurify his soul in thought before undertaking the journey. I am told that it is a beautiful sleep, withsecret-revealing dreams, and that after a little sleepwe awake with the gods and those who have gonebefore. There food grows under the soft, sweetrains, and the gods themselves harvest and dis­tribute it and are one with us. There we will walk hand in hand with the great Jove, and noble Osiris,and the great Jesus."

"My friend, my mind is truly in a muddle. Iseem to be unable to remember the names of thegods."

The old man laughed. "You are not alone, brother.Only the wisest can remember all of them, forthere are hundreds, thousands, including those who,coming first to this place of redemption and cleans­ing labor, become gods."

"I know Jesus," Pat said.

"Yes, a god among gods," the old man said. Hesmiled. "Although I am now enlightened, therewas a time in my youth when I fear that I camealmost to agree with the heretics, who—" Hepaused, and looked around nervously.

"Yes?" Pat asked.

The old man crossed himself and then performedseveral more movements of sacred import. "They,the heretics, said that Jesus and his father werethe One God."

After a long pause, Pat asked, "How is the jour­ney to Zede accomplished, friend?"

"On the invisible and all-powerful wings of theangels."

"As we are?"

"No, no. We have no need for this gross body. We are, in eternity, not creatures of the flesh, butof the spirit."

"Ah," Pat said. "A little sleep, and then thesoul is winged off to Zede on the wings of an­gels?"

The old man nodded. "And thus," he said, "isthe sacred number preserved."

"The sacred number?"

"The number of the people. There can never bemore than twoscore past five thousand."

Pat felt a chill. Another question was answered.There was no evidence of an expanding populationon Dorchlunt. His overflight had shown the areaaround the temple to be the only area of habita­tion on the planet. To keep the population stable must require rigid birth control, and the "sendingto Zede" of older people. Looking back, he realizedthat all of the men he'd seen seemed to be of an age between late teens and no more than forty,with the single exception of the Elder, AdrianKleeper.

"The ancestor worlds," Pat asked, when he hadrecovered from the chilling shock of realization."Is there a name for them?"

"The sacred names," the old man breathed, and,in a sing song, began to chant off the names of a half-dozen Zedeian planets. Of the six he named,five had been destroyed in the Zedeian war by theUP planet reducers.

The old man clasped his hands as if in prayer,looked upward. "And the father world, the worldof Fonforster, from whence came the sacred andancient books, the treasure of the world, the trea­sure of Zede, the sacred writings and the god listsand the stories of their triumphs and acts."

Pat had more questions ready. He was forestalledby a sound of the door opening. A priest stoodthere, smiling at the old man. "Father," the priestsaid, "you may come with me."

A smile lit the old man's face. "It is time, then?"

"It is time," the priest said.

"My friend," the old man said, coming to Pat'scot to take his hand, "my journey begins. I'm sorry you're not going with me. Since your memory hasbeen blunted, I'm sure the good priests will re­fresh it, so that you may prepare for your ownjourney."

Pat felt cold. He wished for his weapons, for anyweapon. The old man was going to his death witha smile on his face, gladness in his heart. He rose,still a bit weak, paced the small cell. He had nodoubt in his mind that he'd be next, and there seemed to be nothing he could do about it. Helooked around for a weapon. There were only thetwo homespun blankets on the rock ledges whichserved as cots. Otherwise the room was bare. Hewas dressed in shirt, beltless pants, underwear,and the soft, comfortable slip-on shoes he favored.A shoe was not heavy enough to make a weapon.He had only his hands. He resolved to use them when they came for him. He would not submitcalmly, without a struggle, to the injection, or whatever they used, to send a man into a littlesleep and then on that "journey to Zede."

When the door opened he was standing with his back against the wall next to it. The door opened outward and he held his breath, waiting for apriest to step inside.

"Pat?" That soft, throaty voice, and then she steppedinto the cell, Corinne. She'd changed from the longpurple gown into a neat coverall singlet, belted atthe waist. He lowered his hands. She saw him,turned to him and smiled.

"I told them to bring you to me immediatelywhen they had finished," she said. She shivered. "Idid not

intend to have them put youhere." She knew, and she accepted it. What kind ofwoman was she? He was looking at her with new eyes. "There was an old man here. He was being sent to Zede."

She looked down, and her face saddened. "Soon,such measures will no longer be necessary. Wewill be able to educate them out of their super­stitions."

"Corinne, just who is 'we'?" "Not here," she said. She turned and left thecell, and he followed. There were no guards, nopriests. They came out into a stone corridor, madea turn, and were back at the apartment whereshe'd stabbed the syringe into his neck. Inside, shesat down. He stood facing her.

"I won't offer you a drink," she said, with afunny little grin. "I don't think I could stand another of yourdrinks." "Pat, it was necessary. We're so close now. Wehad to know what chance there was of your being

followed here, and, knowing you, I don't thinkwe'd have gotten the whole truth without the drugs.There's no lasting ill effect." "As there was with the dexiapherzede?" "I didn't know that the side effects were so terri­ble. I swear that to you." "And yet you kept me pumped full of it for sevenand a half days." She looked down.

"Why didn't you just tell me you wanted tocome here to Dorchlunt?" "I wasn't sure of you, Pat. And it was so vitalthat I get the diamond here. I couldn't go back toZede II with you with the diamond aboard. They would have—" She paused.

"The diamond is here?" She nodded. "Who are they, and what would they have donewith the diamond?"

She sighed again. "Pat, it's a long story. Perhapswe had better have that drink."

"I'll do it, and I'll stay carefully beyond yourreach," he said, moving to the bar to pour thatvery good Taratwo brandy. He sat on the arm ofthe sofa. She was curled into a chair, legs partiallyunder her.

"When my brother was fifteen he went to ZedeII on a government scholarship to continue hisstudy of ancient history. He did his thesis on theZedeian war of a thousand years ago. He was quitethe young prodigy, astounding the learned profes­sors with his skill in writing, and with his ability to retain knowledge, so they opened the archives to him, gave him free run. He discovered a govern­ment file tucked away in crates of documents whichhad once been classified top secret, but were thenso old that secrecy didn't matter. Most of themwere just dry statistics—the accounts of interestabout the war had long since been removed andfiled elsewhere—but my brother was, and is, avery thorough man. He found one encoded docu­ment and spent weeks with the computers break­ing the code."

Pat eased himself down onto the sofa. Appar­ently she was going to take a long time getting up to present-day events.

"You know the background of the Zedeian war?"

"In summary, yes."

"There's more tradition still alive on the Zedeworlds than in the rest of the UP," she said. "Theirlegends are more explicit, for example. I've readthe books of Zedeian myths and legends. They refer, not too specifically, and sometimes in fanci­ful, symbolic language, to the original world, tothe Old Earth."

"Yes, I've heard of some of those myths. Seriousscholars discount them, because, after all, the Zede worlds were settled by the same people who set­tled the original UP planets."

"But the Zedeians, at least the traditionalists,insist that the Zede worlds were settled separately,and only later, after thousands of years, mergedwith the growing UP."

"Well, whatever," Pat said.

"The Zedeian myths state that before the nu­clear war on Old Earth, Earth was split by rivalrybetween two philosophies, or beliefs, or forms ofgovernment—that part is not quite clear. TheZedeians, even back in the dark beginnings of theirhistory, had a tradition of militarism. They saythat they are the descendants of the greatest raceof warriors ever produced on Old Earth, and thatwas the feeling that led, in part, to the war."

"Makes sense," Pat said. "Delusions of grandeur."

"Ah?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "They hadfought the vastly more populous UP to a standstillbefore the UP used planet reducers."

"OK, I'll concede that they're fighters," Pat said.

"And more scientific advancesstill come fromthe Zede worlds than from the rest put together,"she said.

"I'd have to see figures on that."

"No matter. Before the UP began to use planetreducers the Zedeians had been working on a new,very

powerful weapon. When it became apparentthat they would have to surrender they loaded allthe scientists and technicians who had been work­ing on that weapon onto a colonization ship—"

"Ah, ha," Pat said.

"Yes. It's still there. Up there." She glanced up­ward. "Their mission was to lose themselves inspace. They traveled, however, in a predetermineddirection, the direction least likely to attract pur­suit. Toward the core. That way, if, somehow, theZedeians averted total defeat, ships could look forthem, and find them. They were ordered to con­tinue to work on the weapon, and they were very close to having it perfected. If they ironed out thelast flaws in it, they were to arm the six ship'slaunches—"

"Six launches against the UP battle fleets?"

"—and return to rescue the Zede Empire."

"Let me do some guessing," Pat said. "Theyfound only this one poor, barren planet. They werenot too excited about it, but they'd gone just aboutas far toward the core as they could go. They putthe ship in orbit and continued to work on theweapon, and one of the experiments, or something,went wrong, disabling the ship, leaving them no choice but to land on the planet and make the bestof it."

Corinne nodded. "You've seen this world. It doesnot have the capacity to support a normal popula­tion, and the Zedeian scientists had few resources. It takes numbers, large numbers, to build a tech­nological civilization. The planet would not sup­port such numbers, so the scientists set up a systemwhich has lasted for a thousand years. They limitedpopulation growth by birth control, at first, andthen—and believe me, Pat, this is none of ourdoing—they had to resort to euthanasia of the old."

"Justifying it as sending the individual to hishard-earned reward, heaven on Zede. How did the priests, or the scientists, get such a hold on them?"

"All of the ship's information, all data, books,tapes, everything, was destroyed in the explosionand fire. There was left only one set of books,books on the superstitions and religions of OldEarth. There are twelve volumes, and even the present-day priests believe them to be the originalvolumes brought out from Old Earth. We've datedthe material, however, and it's obvious that thebooks have been reproduced several times, becausethe existing ones are less than two thousand years old. However, the material seems to be authentic. My brother was ecstatic. He said they were, to his knowledge, the only surviving bit of printed material from Old Earth."

"If that's true, the scholars of the galaxy deserveto be able to study them," Pat said.

"Soon," she said. "Very soon."

"Tell me about the books."

"They were written in the language spoken by the people of Dorchlunt. There are dates. They're meaningless to us, even when we compare themwith the oral records of the mutated Earthlings.The books were first published in a year measuredby predestruction Earth calendars as 1896."

"We know from our efforts on Old Earth thatseveral calendars were used before the destruction."

"Yes, but the books are predestruction, very old,and very interesting. The author, a—I'll have tospell this—Klaus von Forster—" "Funforster," Pat said.

"Yes. The author tells of hundreds of deities. It seems that every small segment of the human raceon Old Earth had its own gods. Funforster madeno judgments. He, apparently, believed in no god.He simply recorded the works and the word andthe sacred writings of the various gods. The scien­tists used the books to create a code of laws andbehavior. The books gave them sacred authority,for why else had

they been saved from burning onthe ship?"

"May I see the books?"

"Yes, of course. Later. There is much more totell."

"Before you begin, I'd like to know the source ofthis power." He indicated the lights.

"It comes from a nuclear reactor," she said.

Pat's eyes narrowed. "My God," he said.

"Didn't you know that the excuse the UP usedfor destroying planets was that the Zedeians wereusing

nuclear weapons?" "I've probably read it, yes." A thought came tohim. "Your brother—did he also discover direc­tions on

how to make nuclear weapons? And hassomeone tested nuclear weapons within the past decade or so?"

"We have no need of nuclear weapons," she said."The Zedeian weapon is far more final in results."

"So is a planet reducer."

"A planet reducer will be useless against ourweapon."

Pat whistled. "Tell me about the weapon."

"Not just yet," she said. "You asked about the power source here. The colonization ship had anuclear reactor aboard, a very advanced one whichcreated more fuel than it burned. They had not, inthose days, perfected the techniques of drawingship's power from the blink generator."

"But not all ships had nuclear reactors. Theyused solar power."

"The reactor was more efficient, and had theadvantage of being transferable to a planet, if a planet was found."

"You're telling me that the Zedeians built a re­actor which would last a thousand years?"

"Yes, with alterations and repairs, of course.The scientists, upon landing here, began immedi­ately to transcribe the scientific knowledge neces­sary to keep the reactor in operation, and tocontinue work on the weapon. With all other knowl­edge lost, or irrelevant to the main mission, andwith resources scant, all aspects of life except tech­nical skills were allowed to revert to a mode whichsuited the environment. You have a curious mix­ture in the average Dorchlunt man. All those strongyoung men in the villages know how to chop woodand plant crops and harvest them by hand, butput a set of test instruments and tools in theirhands and they become superb technicians. Quitea few of them can recite the most complex

func­tions of physical law by heart, yet they can't write."

"Who is furnishing them with modern food sup­plements and preventive-medicine tablets?"

"That's a new thing. It's merely a precaution.When my brother found this planet, they were ashealthy and sturdy as they are now. But just incase we had brought a few disease organismswith us, we began to distribute what they call theprayer tablets."

"So your brother found the ship and the planet?"

"He had trouble organizing the expedition. We weren't rich. In fact, we were poor. Our father wasa hard-scrabble miner—"

"On Taratwo?"

"Yes. It was my brother's scholastic accomplish­ments which finally convinced the government thatthere was great potential gain in finding that old Zedeian ship."

"I can't resist anticipating what happened," Patsaid.

She smiled and held up one hand, asking forpatience. "I'm almost finished."

"Go on, then," Pat said.

"When my brother arrived here the prieststhought that he was from Zede, and that he'dcome to deliver them from their long exile. He wastreated as a god, and he immediately saw thepotential of his status. He was shown the weapon,and saw that it was powerful, but that it hadweaknesses. The triggering mechanism for the mo­lecular reaction inside the weapon had come fromthe resonance of excited carbon molecules. The sci­entists here had used a form of pressed carbon,and it took a huge mass of it to do the job. Thatmade the mass of the weapon too large to bemounted on anything smaller than a battlecruiser. My brother grasped the theory and realized thatthe weapon could be made small and, moreover,more effective, by using—"

"A diamond, set to resonating by, maybe, a la­ser," Pat said. "Murphy's Stone."

"A diamond," Corinne said, "but my brotherhad no way of smuggling out enough diamonds of the proper size to provide one exciter per weapon. A bit of experimentation proved that the larger thediamond, the greater the forces generated, andthat the excitation impulses could be broadcastfrom a central point. Murphy's Stone happened to be just the right size to be used on my brother's flagship to provide the triggering impulse for the entire fleet."

"So the Zede worlds," Pat said, "have never forgotten the lost war, are going to conquer thegalaxy with a weapon better than a planet reducer?"

"No," she said, shaking her head, "not the ZedeWorlds."

"Who, then?"

"The Brendens. Taratwo."

He didn't catch that use of the name Brenden inthe plural at that moment. He was stunned by the ambition of the Man, of that tinpot dictator of apissant world far out in the periphery of the galaxy.

"But why all the cloak-and-dagger to get the bigdiamond off Taratwo?" he asked.

"The agents of Zede are everywhere on our planet," she said. "We have identified many ofthem, and allow them to continue to spy on us,being very careful not to allow them to learn any­thing important. It has been necessary for us tocooperate with the Zedeians in order to obtaincredit for the fleet we need. We had to hint atmany things to get their interest—a new and all-powerful weapon, for example. That secret wassafe, being known only here on this world. A spy,however, somehow learned that a sizable diamondhad been found on Taratwo. The Zedeians de­manded it as part payment on our debt, and, as you recall, we just barely escaped with it."

"Let's get back to the weapon. Tell me about it."

"Not yet, not just now." She rose and came tostand before him, reaching for his hands. "Pat, I'vetold my brother that I'm in love with you. I'vepromised him that you'll choose to join us. We cancertainly use you. We're short of experienced space­men. I've misused you, and I've lied to you, butI'm not lying now. It will be wonderful when we'vefreed the entire populated galaxy, when we've elim­inated all need, and hunger, and government tyr­anny. Be with me, please, Pat?"

His mind was whirling. "Corinne, there's no hun­ger in this galaxy. We draw on the resources and industry and agriculture of over five thousand plan­ets. No one goes hungry. There's more work than there are workers. Oh, you have those few whowon't work, under any circumstances, but eventhey are fed, and housed, and given good medicaltreatment."

"There is hunger and need on Taratwo," shesaid, her lips compressing.

"It is Taratwo that chooses to be independent.As a part of the UP—"

"We'd give up our freedom," she said, her voiceno longer soft. "We'd bow down to those who tellus what we can and cannot do, how we can liveand how we cannot live, where we can go andwhere we cannot go."

"Honey, there have to be rules in any civilizedsociety. I don't find the UP repressive."

"Fool," she spat, whirling away. "And I prom­ised the Brenden."

It registered then. He rose, went to her. She didnot respond when he put his hands on her armsfrom behind. "The Brenden is your brother?"

"Of course," she said.

"And together you're going to wipe out the fleetsof the UP, the Zedeian worlds included?"

She jerked away and faced him, eyes blazing. "Itwas the Zedeians who almost killed us when wewere leaving Taratwo," she said.

"Why?"

"Because, dammit, we'd been infiltrated. There were traitors in the space service, too, enough toseize two cruisers and try to kill us, to seize thediamond before I could bring it here."

Pat had to take time to think. He turned, pickedup his drink. "Corinne, I take it that the time isnear. That fleet, the one that sent down the tug topick up theSkimmer, that's the Taratwo battlefleet, isn't it? And you're almost ready."

"Yes." Her mood changed, and she came to him,looked up into his eyes. "Be with me, Pat. TheBrenden has said we can be married." She put herarms around him and spoke with great intensity."You can help make it a better galaxy, darling.You can be my prince, my king if my brother dies before you. We can wipe out all the wrongs, giveevery man his share, his due."

It was Pat's turn to lie. Perhaps she and herbrother were both mad. It was difficult to believe that the people of the original colony ship haddeveloped a weapon which would allow Taratwo'stiny fleet to best the combined fleets of the UP. Before he made any decision, he had to see thatweapon, had to know its true potential.

"Honey," he said, drawing her close, "I'm half­way convinced. I don't think things are bad enoughin the UP to warrant such actions as you and yourbrother are contemplating, but I know this. I want to be with you, regardless."

She kissed him, quickly. "Wonderful. I'm so happy, Pat. So happy."

Suddenly, she was all business again. "My brotherwill be here within the week. In the meantime, Ithink you'll want to look over our plans, give meyour opinion on the readiness of the fleet. You canbe so much help, Pat, and we'll be together."

He was almost convinced, and then he remem­bered his brief time on Taratwo. People there had been afraid to speak of the dictator, much less tospeak ill of him. The security police had had nocompunction in gunning down an old miner. Ifthat was a sample of the enlightened freedom whichCorinne and her brother planned to bring to the galaxy, he wanted no part of it.

"One more question, honey," he said. "Why wereyou working on Zede II?"

She smiled. "You thought, at first, that I was anagent of Zede II, didn't you? You thought that Ihad been sent to Taratwo to get something from Brenden. Well, so didthey, so did the Zedeians.They thought I was their agent, and what theywanted was the Brenden's jewels. Pat, Taratwo is the richest diamond planet in the galaxy. We haveenough diamonds stored to decorate every fancylady on every world. And the Zedeians had heardrumors. They wanted diamonds. What they didn'tknow was that I was a Brenden, that I was onZede to influence them into trade, into tradingships and weapons for emeralds and rubies."

"Smart," Pat said, with a little feeling of unease.

"How'd you keep it quiet that there were dia­monds on Taratwo?"

"The government monopoly controlled all of thegood diamond sources. We developed a surefireway of locating such areas. Now and then an inde­pendent would find a few diamonds, but they wereusually purchased by the monopoly. Those few that slipped past went unnoticed."

"And Murphy's Stone?"

"I told you the truth about that. The old mancame to me, thinking that my greed would influ­ence me into

helping him get the diamond off theplanet."

"And you knew he was going to be killed. Thesecurity police didn't have detection instrumentsto see Murphy in the ashfall—you told them hewas going to be there."

"Pat, he had to die. The secret of such a dia­mond could not be allowed to get back to Zede.They had the power. We owe them billions. TheUP would not have raised a hand had the Zedeianssent a fleet to collect the debt, to take over."

Well, old Murphy, Pat was thinking, so yourdeath wasn't just an unlucky accident after all.Rest in peace.

Can a man ever know a woman? This one. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. God help him, he was still in love with her, and she'dcalled for the death of an old boonie rat as if byroutine, all in the name of the cause. Goddam all people with a cause, he was thinking. For twentycenturies the populated galaxy had_been advanc­ing, always pushing outward, just as if, as somethought, man's purpose was to dominate all of it, the entire universe, first the Milky Way and then the other numberless galaxies which stretched outward into the unknown. For a thousand years thatmass madness of humanity, war, had been undercontrol, and now this slight, beautiful, shapely,desirable, deadly girl was going to bring back the madness.

She saw his expression change, and mistook hisintent.

"Youare with me," she whispered, smilinghappily.

"All the way," he said.

Before she, herself, broke off the heated kisseswhich almost led to other things, he had begun towonder if, after all, she wouldn't be worth it. Withher in his arms he had all he wanted out of theuniverse, but if she came with power, riches, andall the goodies, wouldn't that be permissible?

NINE

Corinne was busy. Doing what, Pat didn't ask. Hehad the freedom of the temple. His first stop was a shielded, armored room in which rested one mu­seum case with a set of ancient, leather-coveredbooks, real books, enclosed in climate-controlledglass and resting on velvet. A priest went through a complicated ritual before opening the case. Pathad no hope of being able to read all the books,all the thick volumes. He picked up the first.

The language was German, ponderous, careful,exacting.

"From the beginning," Klaus von Forster hadwritten, far away and back into the dimness oftime, "man, at the mercy of the elements and the mysteries of the world, sought reassurance, some­thing to prove that his life was no mere accident,that his existence had meaning beyond meetingthe day to day needs of his body. It was, perhaps,the elements themselves which first awoke in manthe need to recognize a power greater than himself."

Pat put the book down. Such thinking was stillcurrent at the coffee table of undergraduates atXanthos U. "In the beginning," the young onessaid, "man created God." And one not quite sodaring might say, "If there were no God, manwould have had to invent him."

Pat picked passages at random from the various volumes. Interesting, very, very interesting. Thescholars at the university would bury themselvesin these books for decades, for in the ponderouswords of von Forster, in the history of religion onOld Earth, were hints of information which was new and dazzling. If von Forster could be trusted,Earth had had a rich and long history before thedestruction, with fragmented and isolated segmentsof the population reaching for modern civilizationat different times, in different areas.

Von Forster would be a feast for the scholar, andthere was no doubt in Pat's mind that the informa­tion which the man had written to explain thesocial basis for the various religions and cults andgods and goddesses would give man his deepestlook into his forgotten past.

But that could, perhaps, come later.

He had Corinne's permission to go anywherewithin the temple complex. It was just a matter of exploration. The word had obviously been passedto the priests who presided over the functions ofthe temple, for he was never stopped, never ques­tioned. When he discovered an elevator which onlywent down, he felt tendrils of excitement. He pushedthe button. The car came up, the door opened, andgoing into the car, he saw that there was but onefloor below ground level. The elevator opened intoa cavernous chamber, crowded with equipment,test benches, people.

He wandered around idly, being nodded to by the "priests" working at various tasks. To him, a lot of the work going on looked like humbug, forsome of the priests were working with native pro­duce and vegetation, testing various chemical re­actions. His opinion was confirmed when one busypriest told him that for twenty years he'd beenworking with a particularly hardy native thornbush, feeding it variously treated extracts of po­tato pulp in order to influence it to produce edible fruit.

But behind a shielded door, deep under the earth,white-smocked young men monitored the hundredsof instruments of the nuclear reactor, and they, atleast, knew what they were doing.

He saw no odd, deadly weapon. He did not get his first hint of it until he discovered an almosthidden doorway and went through a sound lockinto the bedlam of excited young voices and anodd hissing of power followed by low claps ofthunder. He rounded another baffle and saw adozen young men seated in command chairs, some­thing very much like his own fire-control helmeton their heads. At the far end of the chamber therewas swift movement and he saw a small, perfectlyoutlined UP battle cruiser flash across the wall, quickly realized that it was a holo image, saw it shudder as a great shout went up from the youngmen.

The next target, for target practice it was, wasmarked with the autonomous flag of the Zede sys­tems, and that cruiser was blasted—the low thun­der was artificial and came from speakers mounted near the target area—by his young friend Gorben,occupying the command chair closest to him. Hewalked over to stand behind Gorben.

"Honored One," Gorben said, "we are indeedblessed that you come to watch our schooling."

"Carry on," Pat said.

"I shall blast an enemy ship especially for you,Honored One," Gorben said.

A UP destroyer zoomed toward them out of thedistance, and with incredible swiftness and dex­terity Gorben brought the snout of his weapon tobear and caught the destroyer in a looping evasiveturn. The low thunder came as the image of the destroyer glowed.

"And thus perish all followers of the Anti-Christ,"Gorben said.

"You're pretty good with that thing," Pat said.

"Honored One, I am the cadet leader, thus hon­ored for my studious concentration and my luckwith the Devil Destroyer."

"Congratulations," Pat said. "Keep up the good work, Gorben."

They were all good, all the young men. And thefire-direction controls were the latest available.All Gorben had to do was direct his eyes and histhoughts to the target and the odd-looking short- snouted weapon swiveled with a hum of gears, thesnout moving almost faster than the eye couldfollow. Pat suspected that the entire setup wasnothing more than a simulator. If the weaponshad been putting out any kind of beam, or charge,the solid stone wall behind the target area would have been affected, possibly reflecting the force back toward the men behind the weapons. How­ever, it was a highly effective simulator, with the target ships being in scale to the distances at whicha battle in space would be fought at laser range.

Pat watched until a priest called a halt to thefiring practice, dismissed one group of young men,and while they stood around, chattering excitedlyabout the exercise, seated another group behindthe weapons. Pat walked toward the exit withGorben.

"Will you be with us, Honored One?" Gorbenasked.

"I'm not sure yet," Pat said.

"You shouldn't miss it, Honored One. What aglorious moment it will be when we destroy allthe minions of the evil satans and demons and are, ourselves, returned to power and the glory whichwas once ours, through our godly ancestors."

"You are expert with the weapon," Pat said,fishing for information. "Do you know how itfunctions?"

"Honored One," Gorben said, "I can take theDevil Destroyer apart piece by piece and reassem­ble it with my eyes hidden."

"Good, very good. Can you also repair and main­tain the power source?" He was still fishing. Obvi­ously, such a weapon had to have a power source.

"I am not schooled in that phase," Gorben said."I know, however, that the power source camewith our godly ancestors, and that the secret iscontained within the shell in the form of minutemagic writings on thin wafers of magic. It is whathappens within the Devil Destroyer itself which is in my field of schooling."

The other young men in Gorben's group hadhurried on, eager to be outside in the pleasantclimate of Dorchlunt. Pat and Gorben walked downa long corridor toward the exit alone.

"Let's test your schooling, young man," Pat said."Recite to me your lessons regarding the Devil Destroyer."

"Sir," Gorben said briskly, coming to a halt, standing at attention. He began to rattle off sub­atomic data, most of which was beyond Pat's understanding. He knew enough of the theory to be amazed that the scientists of Zede had been soadvanced in the field over a thousand years ago.

"Very good," Pat said, wishing that he'd beenable to record Gorben's recitation. "Now here's another exercise, Gorben. As you know, we willsoon be going back to the glory of Zede, where wewill encounter people not so advanced as we. Let'simagine that we have been returned to our glory,and that a new ally, a new friend who does notunderstand your learning, asks you just how the Devil Destroyer works. What would you tell him,in nontechnical language?"

"This imagined friend does not know the magicwords?"

"No. He is unschooled in the magic."

"Ah," Gorben said. "That is difficult."

"We will imagine that I am that person, and Iwill ask you questions. First, what is the source of the Devil Destroyer's power?'

"Sir," Gorben said, "the final emission of devil-destroying purity originates from two sources ofpower. One, the primary power source, can bedriven in several ways, by solar heat, by electricitygenerated by a nuclear reactor, or by the auxiliarypower systems of a ship. The primary power source provides accelerated-particle energy to tap the sec­ondary power source, which is mounted in theDevil Destroyer itself. Calling the power source inthe Devil Destroyer secondary is somewhat mis­leading, since it is there, in the closed system, thatthe particles are accelerated to multiples of the speed of light—"

"Whoa," Pat said. "Can you explain that to me?"

"Honored One, I thought I was explaining."

"Yes, but I'm that imagined man who knowsnothing about—what was it you said, the closedsystem?"

"Sir, the magic bullets which make up the atom are caught and held, ever accelerating, in a closed system—" He paused, and his brow wrinkled inconcentration. "As if going around in circles, un­able to escape until released by the discharge ofthe Devil Destroyer—" He paused again. He knewhis lessons well, but to put them into nonscientificlanguage was beyond his ability.

"How is it possible to have both the power andthe space to accelerate subatomic particles in so confined

an area?" Pat asked.

"Ah, Honored One, that is the magic of the godSargoff, who first tapped the binding energy of the

copper molecule."

Ah, now he was getting somewhere. Ever sinceX&A's one risky venture into intergalactic space had resulted in the discovery of the dead Artuneecivilization and the one relic, a book in the Artuneelanguage, UP scientists had been wrestling unsuc­cessfully with a theory of a new power source of such potential destructiveness that it made a planetreducer look like a child's toy. The Artunee, or sothe book said, had discovered how to release the binding energy of the copper molecule.

He obviously needed more information. If theZede scientists had actually solved the Artuneesecret a few hundred years before X&A evenbrought back the manuscript from the collidinggalaxies in Cygnus, he'd need to get a warning, somehow, back to a UP planet.

Further questioning of Gorben produced no moreresults. The boy simply had no way of expressing himself outside the rote of his schooling. However,Pat did learn one tidbit of doubtful utility. Grasping at straws, Pat had asked, "But why are themen of Dorchlunt the only operators of the Devil Destroyers?"

Gorben beamed proudly. "It is our schooling,sir. We are schooled on the Devil Destroyers from childhood, as were our fathers and their fathersbefore them. Only we have the necessary skills,sir."

"What skills are required?" Pat asked.

Gorben searched for words. "It is difficult to explain, sir. Only we can smell the exact momentof full potential."

Pat was at a loss. "You smell with your nosewhen the weapon is ready to be fired?"

"Not with the nose, sir, with all the senses. Wesmell it with our hands, our bellies, our—"

"Do you feel something, some charge, some indi­cation of power?"

"You can say that, sir. Yes, we smell, feel, sense,I can't explain."

"And why is this important?"

Gorben's face was serious. "Should the closedsystem be allowed to accelerate beyond capacity,sir, the

results would be disastrous."

"Explosion?"

"The Devil Destroyer would overflow and re­lease its purity in the immediate area of the Devil Destroyer

itself, and we would feel its purity in­stead of the satans."

Pat had more questions, but two priests camewalking casually toward them, looking at Gorben questioningly.

"Honored One," Gorben said, "I am supposed toleave the temple immediately upon the comple­tion of my schooling."

"Go, then," Pat said. "Keep up the good work."

Pat wished for a good book on theoretical phys­ics, or the use ofSkimmer's library for an hour. Onthe surface of it, the weapon Gorben called theDevil Destroyer was just another beam weapon.Perhaps it was more powerful, but it didn't makesense that any beam weapon would be overwhelm­ing enough to justify Corinne's sincere belief thatthe Brenden's small fleet could take on and de­stroy the UP.

He started back toward Corinne's private apart­ment, took a corridor that he had not walked be­fore, discovered a golden door. The door was locked.As he tried to open it a priest came around the corner of the corridor and nodded, then halted.

"Sir," the priest said, "that is the private sanc­tuary of the adepts. Respectfully, sir, I must tellyou that no one other than those who have takenthe sacred oath are allowed inside."

"Thank you," Pat said.

"I was seeking you, sir," the priest said. "Thegoddess requires your presence in the rear garden."

The priest led Pat to an exit at the rear of the temple. TheSkimmer, grand old squatting, squar­ish space tug that she was, sat in an open areapast the flowering garden. Corinne stood beside it,waiting.

"I thought you'd be more comfortable on your own ship," she said.

"Where are we going?"

"There is a test I think you should witness," shesaid.

Once aboard, she gave him coordinates for ashort blink, which he executed after taking theship up a few thousand feet on thrusters.

Brenden's fleet, two thousand ships strong, layin close formation in open space, Dorchlunt's sunon the left flank of the formation. Corinne estab­lished contact, spoke softly into the communica­tor, then directed Pat to putSkimmer below andsunward of the fleet.

"The old cruiser, there at the front of the forma­tion, is unmanned," Corinne said. "There are onlytest animals aboard."

As she spoke, the cruiser's flux engines came tolife, sending a glow from the thrusters. The ship accelerated quickly away from the vanguard of thefleet.

"Only the flagship will fire," Corinne said. Theflagship, on the point, was a sleek new dreadnaught.

The target ship was getting almost beyond visi­bility and nothing had happened, and then, forone brief moment, the old cruiser seemed to glow.The glow disappeared and nothing was changed.The cruiser sped on, detectable now only by ship'sinstruments.

"Cory," said a voice onSkimmer's communica­tor, "let's see if that man of yours can fly. Go latchon to that cruiser and stop it and wait until I get there."

"Will do," Corinne said. She nodded to Pat. HeputSkimmer into motion. She hadn't done a tugjob in a long time, but the program was still therein the computer. It didn't take long to catch up with the cruiser, utilizing one quick blink, andthen the old man eased theSkimmer alongside the ship until the hulls were almost touching, enclosed the cruiser inSkimmer's powerful field, and decel­erated. The flagship emerged quite close, using the mass of the two ships as a target for a close blink,and two men in space gear emerged from a lock.

Pat stayed on the bridge, keeping an eye onthings, using the time to scan the cruiser. The shipgave no more indication of life, or of activatedmachinery, than had the long-abandoned colonyship which swam its eternal orbit around Dorchlunt.

A mountain of a man with hair the same color as Corinne's came onto the bridge first, havingshed his space gear. He was resplendent in a uni­form which was very similar to that of an X&AAdmiral. Another man in uniform followed him.

The red-haired giant studied Pat for a moment."By God, Cory," he said, "you found yourself ahandsome one, but is he a fighter?"

"He handled those two renegade cruisers," Co­rinnesaid.

Pat felt as if someone were talking about him in his absence. But then Corinne looked at him andwinked. "Pat, this is my very big brother, the Brenden."

Do you shake hands with a dictator? Pat won­dered. Brenden solved the problem, lumbering for­ward, hand outthrust, and there was no childishsqueezing contest, just firm contact, with Brenden'sgreen eyes boring into his.

"Pat, is it?" Pat nodded. "I hope you soon bedthis wench, Pat. It'll damn well take some of thesharp edges off her tongue."

"Brenden," Corinne said, blushing.

"By God," Brenden roared, laughing, "if sheweren't my sister and I didn't know her I wouldn'tbelieve she's been living on Zede all these years,movie star and all, and virginity still intact. But Ido know her, and I remember how even when shewas a little girl she was always saying that shewas never going to love a man until she found theright one, if you know what I mean."

"He knows what you mean, loudmouth," Co­rinne said.

Brenden laughed, then sobered. "Well, Pat, I un­derstand you're with us. You've had fleet expe­rience?"

"No," Pat said. Do you say "sir" to a dictatorwho has ambitions to rule the galaxy?

"Too bad," Brenden said, "but we'll find a place for you. You can fly, I saw that." He grinned. "AndI reckon you've already scanned the target ship?"

"She's dead in space," Pat said.

"Yep. Let's suit up and go take a look," Brendensaid, turning with an agility surprising in one solarge.

In the corridors of the cruiser there was an odd smell, a rank, hot smell. "Pat," Brenden said over his

shoulder, as he led the way, "winning the bat­tle is just the beginning. I don't think we'll have tokill all of them. I think they'll see the light afterthe first two or three engagements, and then there'llbe just a few of us to run one helluva big empire.I'm gonna need good men. I trust Cory's judgment,because when I first started to claw my way upfrom that hard-scrabble mining claim in the boon­ieson Taratwo she was right there beside me,clawing and scratching right along with me. Onlyperson in the world who can hold her own withme in a fair fight, boy. Don't ever get her riled.She'll use all them ancient trick things on you and kick you in the balls, too."

"I haven't seen that side of her," Pat said, grin­ning at Corinne.

"See that you don't," Brenden said. "Yep, she'sa fighter. No fear at all, and willing to do what ittakes. Made no fuss at all when I said she'd be ofthe most service to us under a name other thanBrenden out there on that Zede planet snowingthe big dogs. Way I got it figured, Pat, Cory's mypartner, and half of everything I have is hers, andthat's a chunk, or will be very soon. You're herman—" He halted, turned. "Cory, why in hell didn'tyou marry him down there on Dorchlunt? Godknows you had enough priests and a few hundredgods to swear to." He roared with laughter.

Brenden was still chuckling when they reacheda squadroom. In cages lay dead animals, pigs, goats,a dog.

The other man in uniform, who had not spokena word, pulled testing instruments from his bagand opened the cage of the dog, did some check­ing, and then looked up. "Dead," he said.

"Not a mark on 'em," Brenden said. "The UPeggheads will have fun trying to figure out whathit 'em."

There was a feeling of lifelessness about thecruiser. The air was beginning to stale, with thecirculators off, and that rank, heavy smell was everywhere. On the bridge all the little clicking,moving, purring things had been stilled.

Brenden ripped a panel off with his hands, jerk­ing screws loose, to expose a fused tangle of wir­ing. That seemed to be the source of the heavy smell. "You'll find every piece of active wiringlooks the same as this, Pat," Brenden said. "Andthere'd be something almost as messy inside thenerve sheaths of the animals."

"Heat?" Pat asked, very much impressed, im­pressed to the point of being sick to his stomach tothink of that weapon being aimed at a ship with afull crew of men.

"Naw," Brenden said, "fancier than that. I callit the disrupter. Dunno why. Ain't very scientific,that name."

"Brenden, why must you try to sound like aboonie rat?" Corinne asked.

Brenden grinned. "See what I mean by sharpedges on her tongue?" He made a mock bow to hissister. "The name "disrupter"isn't scientific, butit is descriptive. When the beam hits it stops theflow of electrons instantly in any electronic equip­ment. Then it sort of beats them together, and this is what happens. Since there's a minute electricalcurrent flowing in the human body, zap. The heart,the brain, all of it stops at once."

Pat was silent. Corinne was looking at him mus­ingly. Brenden saw the look and misinterpreted it. "By God," he yelled, "let's go down to the templeand have us a wedding."

"The wedding will be on Taratwo," Corinne said,with a soft smile, her eyes locked on Pat's "and itwill be

after it's all over."

"Well, it's your wedding," Brenden said. He puthis hand on Corinne's shoulder. "We're ready, lit­tle sister. It's time to get your blond supermen allpainted up in their warpaint and hold us one bigpractice drill and then go off to kick us a littlesand."

TEN

Since the Brenden preferred the comfort of hisflagship, Pat and Corinne tookSkimmer back to Dorchlunt. Corinne was beaming. The test had gone beautifully. The man she'd chosen to love was with her. She was full of dreams, and she expounded on them during the short trip. They would choose oneof the more beautiful UP planets for their ownprivate kingdom. Pat would be her coregent.

"Our people will adore us," she said. "People dolove pomp and splendor."

"I thought the idea was to bring freedom andequality to all," Pat said, with a little smile.

"Oh, of course," she said, "but there must be anauthority figure. The masses must have a leader,or anarchy is the result."

Beautiful as she was, she could not have heldher own in a freshman political discussion at the university. She paid lip service to the rights of the masses, and could weep tears for the hungry anddowntrodden that she imagined to be everywhere in the UP system, basing her opinion, obviously, on conditions under the Man's dictatorship onTaratwo, but underneath it was simple ambition.

Like most revolutionaries recorded by history, shehad great plans for tearing down a working sys­tem, almost none for improving it, assuming that once she and her brother were in power all thingswould automatically be better.

He was pleased to see that he had, apparently,gained her full trust. He landedSkimmer in theback garden and went with her to her apartment.The ship was still there as he looked over hisshoulder upon entering the temple. He began tothink of ways he could get aboard and blink to hellout of there to warn the UP to keep all ships faraway from the Brenden's fleet until someone couldcome up with a countermeasure for the disrupter.With all of the Taratwo fleet close in to the planet,he didn't think much of his chances of doing that,but he had to try something.

At the door of her apartment, she kissed him."Darling, I have so much to do. We'll be togetherforever soon, but now you'll have to excuse me."

"I'd like to useSkimmer's library," he said. "OK?"

She looked at him piercingly. "I don't want tolose you."

He laughed. "I won't try to run through thewhole fleet. Two cruisers, maybe, but not the en­tire fleet."

"I know I can trust you," she said.

"There's one other thing. There's a golden door.A priest told me that it was for adepts only, that Iwas barred."

"Not worth consideration," she said. "It's justthe shrine to the admiral who was in command of the colonization ship. There's a statue of him. The priests worship him, keep his uniform clean andreplace it as it decays, because he was the one who began the priesthood. He figured out the theocracywhich has kept these poor creatures docile for so long." She laughed. "It's one of those arcane littlesecrets that religious people love. Since all of theoriginal priests were sworn to secrecy as to the purpose of the theocracy, they've extended thatsecrecy to silly length." She leaned close, whis­pering. "The name of the fleet admiral is so sa­cred, so secret, that only the priesthood knows it, and it can only be pronounced within the confinesof the shrine."

"Well, I guess I can live without seeing theshrine," he said. "When will you be finished withyour work?"

"Give me at least three hours, darling. Thencome to me and we'll dine together." She stood ontiptoe to kiss him again. "Are you going to try topuzzle out all the secrets of the weapon by con­sulting your library?"

"Well, I'm curious, of course."

"When I have the time I'll tell you all about it,"she said. "Those old Zedeians were ingenious men.Isn't it delightful that we're going to beat themwith their own weapon?" Her face went grim. "And,oh, how I do yearn to see the faces of those menwho treated me as if I were a child, ordering meabout, forcing me to act in vehicles which I hated."

"Three hours, then," he said.

"I'll miss you," she said, starting to close thedoor.

"By the way, I think I've got the general idea ofall of it now, except for one thing. Why do youhave to depend on the Dorchlunters to fire theweapons?"

She cast an impatient glance at her timepiece,then looked into his eyes. "That's the only flaw leftin the weapon," she said. "It can be quite dangerous, turning on itself and the ship which carries it, if an attempt is made to release the energy prema­turely or if one waits too long. Given time, wecould computerize the controls, but we don't have time. The Zedeians were getting extremely both­ersome and suspicious. My brother knew that wecould not risk waiting any longer. But there's no need to be concerned. These people have lived fora thousand years under rigid discipline. The youngmen are taught from childhood to feel the momentof proper charge. It's not magic, it's simply a mat­ter of day-after-day, year-after-year training to develop the awareness of the field which forms arounda disrupter. There has never been an accident witha charged weapon."

"That's good to know," he said, and then shewas gone.

It felt good to be back aboardSkimmer. He drewcoffee, seated himself at the computer console."How

have you been, old man?" he asked.

"Please repeat the instruction," the computersaid.

The old man was having trouble with his hear­ing again.

"Now don't sulk just because I've left you alone,"Pat said. "I want material regarding the molecular bonding energy of copper."

"Please repeat the instruction," the computersaid. Pat typed it in instead of repeating it orally.The computer gave the equivalent of a sigh, along, purring sound, and began to search its entirememory bank. Pat stopped it, gave more specificinstructions. After ten minutes he realized that theold man was in a bad way, that the ionization inhis memory chambers was worse. He checked afew individual references under atomic theory, molecular energy, just about every heading he couldthink of, and drew only blanks.

He remembered, then, that he had the Artuneemanuscript in both original and translated formin the library. He soon had it on the screen, and ittook only a few minutes to locate the referencesand cross-references to the material included inthe story of a dead alien race. He found what hewanted in a thesis written by one Alaxender ofTrojan.

"It is a fundamental law that an electron at rest,in copper, exerts a force on every other electron atrest, repelling its fellows in inverse proportion to thesquare of the distance between them. This force is measurable, being 8.038 X 10-26pounds."

The force, minute in regard to a single electron,is balanced by a counterforce, respresented by aproton. If the repulsion of the protons were notexactly balanced by that of the electrons, energywould be released. Alaxender of Trojan had calcu­lated the force represented by the binding energiesin two tenth-of-an-inch cubes of copper placed oneinch from each other at over six hundred billiontons. If, somehow, the balance could be destroyed,releasing that energy in a controlled stream, as itwas apparently released by the disrupter—

Not much work had been done in the field sincethe flurry of interest following the translation ofthe Artunee manuscript. The blink drive, the ulti­mate power source, fulfilled all needs. Man did notneed the power of Bertt, the Artunee. Nor did heneed another weapon of destruction, so interesthad lagged.

It was odd, and it was shaping up to be tragic,that some forgotten Zedeian scientist, possibly onenamed Sargoff, a name mentioned by young Gorben, had discovered Bertt's force quite indepen­dently, and centuries before the Cygnus expedition.

The disrupter worked. And he'd seen the speedand accuracy with which the young men of Dorch­lunt manned the weapons. A UP fleet, massed forfirepower, could be swept with half a dozen of the disrupters within seconds and each ship wouldthen be dead in space, with all the men inside asdead as the ship's systems.

There was no questioning the real danger to allof UP civilization. By chance, a young scholar had rediscovered a thousand-year-old Zedeian secret.By chance, he'd found the colonization ship andthe descendants of the original scientists. And bychance, a small man with a big body, an engaging laugh, and savage, unrelenting purpose was in a position to become ruler of the entire populatedgalaxy.

"Hey, Pat," a boisterous voice said fromSkim­mer'scommunicator. "You there, boy?" "I'm here, sir," Pat answered. For a while hewouldsay sir to a dictator.

"You might wanta see this," the Brenden said."I've got all my young studs assembling on theparade ground. Gonna give 'em one big pep talk."

"I'll be there, sir," Pat said.

The young men of Dorchlunt were marching incompany-size units on a flat, hard-packed area tothe north of the temple. The Brenden had comedown in a launch and was seated under a sun­shade on a wooden platform. Pat joined him there.

The ranks of young men marched in perfect uni­son, the troops arranged by height to give perfect symmetry to each file. Pat recognized one of theofficers bellowing out orders as his friend Gorben.

With over two thousand young men standing atrigid attention, the Brenden used a hailer, in order to be heard, and spoke to them of duty, honor, and a return to their rightful glory. When he was fin­ished a mighty cheer went up. The dictator baskedin it, smiled, laughed, waved his hands, and thenstood at attention and saluted as the men marchedoff the parade ground.

"Magnificent," the Brenden said. "God, boy, whatan army. Makes me almost wish that I'd lived inhistoric times when men fought each other toe totoe and tooth to tooth, right, boy?"

"I'm more the lover type," Pat said, and that gota huge laugh.

Brenden waved the others, all uniformed, off theplatform. "Pat," he said, "I guess by this timeyou've got it all figured out, and I'll bet you caneven give me a layman's explanation of the dis­rupter."

"I have a very general idea," Pat said. "Has todo, somehow, with unbalancing the forces thatbind molecules in copper."

"Hell, that's all I understand aboutit,"Brendensaid. "You've got the idea. What I need to know,Pat, is just how you feel about the whole deal." Hepinned Pat with that green-eyed gaze, so like Co­rinne's, and waited.

Pat measured his words for a moment. "Corinnewants to take over the galaxy to feed the hungry. Idon't think that's your motivation."

Brenden roared. "She always was a bleedingheart. Hell, Pat, I'm taking over because Ican.Because I got kicked around as a kid. Iwas hungry a couple of times, not for long, because I damnedwell went out and stole enough to eat. I'm takingover because I had the guts to claw my way upand take over one planet and if you can take overone you can take over as many as there are. I'mtaking over because I want to make a few Zedebastards crawl, and because I think that I'm just alittle smarter than some and can straighten out a few things that have always bothered me." Hegrinned at Pat. "And because I just don't like beingforced to play second fiddle toany man."

"Good reasons," Pat said. "You want to know ifI'm with you?"

"Cory's got her heart set on you, boy."

"I know. That's why I'm here. I'll have to admit,sir—"

"Hell, boy, you're gonna be my brother-in-law,just call me Brenden."

"Thanks. I'll have to admit, Brenden, that I'mnot wild about killing. I don't get all excited aboutblasting poor guys in UP ships."

"Neither do I, neither do I. We're gonna startslow. We'll kill only enough to make believers ofthe others, and of the UP politicians. Hell, Pat, I ain't no murderer, but sometimes events are big­ger than individual men, you know that."

No. Pat didn't know that. He knew that the un­derlying philosophy of the more enlightened peo­ple in the UP confederation was just the opposite,that the rights of the individual were more impor­tant than any event, or any theory, or any belief,or any government, and the UP had been workingtoward total individual freedom, under a few nec­essary laws, for the last few thousand years.

But he nodded in agreement to Brenden's state­ment.

"You love my sister, don't you?"

"Yes," he said truthfully, for in spite of every­thing he went soft inside when he thought ofCorinne.

"Well, then?"

"I'm with you, Brenden," he said, because, aboveall, he had to retain his freedom of movement sothat he could seize whatever chance came along totry to avert the catastrophe which Brenden wasplanning.

"Here's my hand on it," Brenden said. And still holding Pat's hand in a firm clasp, he said, "I wantyou with Cory tomorrow."

"What's happening tomorrow?" Pat asked, a feel­ing of dread inside. Was it to be so soon?

"She hasn't given you the timetable." He laughed."Guess you two have been too busy to talk busi­ness. Well, here's the plan. Tomorrow we have asort of dress rehearsal. We'll split the fleet, and betargets for each other with uncharged weapons. That'll give the gunners some live onboard prac­tice. Cory'll be in command of the second wing,me the first wing. You go with Cory. She's not too hot about being in command, and if you think youcan learn enough to cut it, we'll see. I need some­one I can trust."

"You can't trust the men who've been with youall along?"

"Hell, boy, we've only had a fleet on Taratwo fora few years. Haven't had time to train good navymen. I got a few I can trust with my life, but notwith the command of a wing. They're good men,but they lack experience. And anyhow, my brother-in-law has to be a big part of it, doesn't he?"

"I appreciate it," Pat said.

"After the fleet exercise in space we'll have onemore of these parade shindigs. I like that. And it'll be good for the boys. Keep them alert and ready.Listen, these kids are the key to it, you know. Iguess you've dug up how sensitive and criticalthat damned weapon is."

"Yes, and that scares hell out of me," Pat said. "What if in the heat of battle one of the boys loses his nerve, or gets excited? Can you shut off theexcitation impulses generated by Murphy's Stone?"

Brenden shook his head negatively. "Once that big rock is at temperature it stays that way for a while."

He laughed.

"That's a chance we have to take, but nothing'sgoing to happen. These kids have been in trainingall their lives. I've run psychological tests on doz­ens of them. They don't get nervous looking oldman death right in the teeth, because they've beentold all their lives that they're going to that heaven on Zede when they die. They welcome death, but,on the other hand, they don't seek it."

"When do we sally for UP territory?" Pat asked.

"OK. I didn't finish, did I? The exercise tomor­row, then a day off except for the parade for theboys,

and one more final test run in space. Soon asthat's over we don't even come back down, we justlight out for Zede territory."

"Going to start with Zedeians, huh?"

Brenden grinned wolfishly. "You bet your ass. Iwanta hear those bastards beg for mercy."

"So three days from now the final exercise in space and then we're off?" Pat asked.

"That's it."

The last of the marching units were leaving theparade ground. Brenden went to his launch. Patfollowed the marching men, saw the last unit halt, come to attention, then he heard Gorben's voicedismissing them. The young men went off at therun for their villages, cheering and laughing. Gorbenwas walking toward Pat.

"Very impressive, Gorben," Pat said, when theywere face to face. "I suppose you're ready for the big exercise tomorrow?"

"Yes, Honored One."

"What is your battle station?"

"I have the honor to be gunner on the flagship,Honored One."

"So you're at the master control, then?"

"That is my honor, sir."

Pat was searching desperately for an idea. Ifonly he had some way of reaching Gorben, of con­vincing him that he had been misled. But Gorben and all the others were strong in their faith, a faith which had been built by a lifetime of indoctrina­tion. No Dorchlunter would willingly disobey anorder, or go against the plan of the redhead whowas the leader of the angels of the gods who hadcome to lead Dorchlunt back to glory.

Pat was just one man against a fleet of over twothousand ships, each with a complement of Taratwomen

aboard, plus these impressive young warriors of Dorchlunt.

"I saw you in the reviewing stand today, Hon­ored One," Gorben said. "I was pleased that youwere there."

"Thank you," Pat said. "Your respect for us honors us," Gorben said. "Iwould that all the others had the good fortune toknow

you and to speak with you as I have." A faint hope came to Pat, an impossible plan. "Well, we all serve the gods, Gorben." Gorben crossed himself devoutly. "And I serve one god in particular," Pat said. "Iserve the god whose name cannot be voiced." Gorben turned toward the temple, bowed hishead quickly once, twice, three times. When heturned his

eyes were wide. "I knew, Honored One,that you were of divine importance." Pat wasn't quite sure where he was headed, didn'thave it all worked out. All the odds were againsthim,

but there was a faint, glimmering hope, thathope reinforced by Gorben's devout reaction to the mention of the god of the priesthood, the Zedeianadmiral who had established the theocracy onDorchlunt. "Soon, my friend," he told Gorben, "we will allbe able to speak the sacred name." Gorben's eyes were wide."He will be with us?" Pat shrugged. "Who can fortell the will of thegods?"

ELEVEN

When Corinne admitted Pat to her apartment shewas dressed in the misty, flowing creation of aZedeian fashion designer. A priest served table asthey ate. The conversation at table was carried byCorinne, as she asked questions to delve into Pat'spast. She had to hear all about his youth onXanthos, teasingly demanding to know if he'd fallenin love with cute little girls in first school. Lovers' talk. She had a great need to knowall about him.She talked a little about herself, at Pat's insis­tence. There were a few things he hadn't been ableto put together, for example how it was possiblefor her to visit Taratwo as a guest holostar without people knowing she was the Brenden's sister. It was easily explained. As a young girl, she'd beenfarmed out as a half servant, half ward, to a well-to-do family. She'd attended school not as Corinne Brenden, but as Corinne Tower, and it had been as Corinne Tower that she rose to provincial stardom on Taratwo, and was "discovered" by a Zedeianfilmmaker. But all along she and her brother cor­responded, visited when they could, and whenBrenden latched on to a right-wing movement,rose to leadership, and, eventually, accomplisheda swift coup which made him supreme power onTaratwo, she

had begun to act as his agent onZede II. Mostly, however, during that meal and after­ward, when they danced, just the two of themalone in her apartment, she refused to talk aboutherself, or about coming events. "I want this to be our night, Pat," she whis­pered. "Something to remember, something which I will have

if anything should go wrong." "What could go wrong?" he asked. "You don't seriously think that we'll accomplish our goal without losses?" Now and then her greeneyes

could harden to a point where it seemed thatthey could cut glass. "I haven't allowed myself to think about it," hesaid. "You could remain here." She laughed. "No. My place is with my brother." "He says I'm to be with you," Pat said. "Thatmakes me feel as if I'm just extra baggage. I thinkI'd like to

have a ship, Corinne. At least I'd beperforming a useful function." "So you want to be useful? Then kiss me," shesaid. For a long time Pat did not think of the very real danger to the UP. Man's love for woman, and Pat's

need for this particular woman, must have been,he thought wryly, the original mind-dominancedrug, for

with his lips on hers nothing else mattered. She lay on her back on a large, soft couch. Heleaned over her, torso to torso, mouth to mouth.She trembled, clung, seemed to be trying to pressherself so closely to him that she became weldedto his body.

When she spoke, her voice was husky and un­steady. "I don't want to wait," she whispered. Neither did he. "It doesn't really matter, does it?" Her eyes were wide, and there was a touching look of desire, and

perhaps just a little innocent fear, on her face.Somewhere deep down in Pat a touch of his old cynicism surfaced. Either she was the most skillfulactress he'd ever known, or she was, as her brotherhad stated, totally inexperienced in love.

Within minutes, he realized, he would know moreaboutthat, for his need was great, and there wasthe chance thatsomething might happen, because even with an overwhelming weapon the Taratwofleet would not escape without losses. The sheernumber of UP ships assured that. Was she think­ing the same thing? Did she want to seize whatthey had, rather than risk dying without havinganything?

"It matters to you," he told her, kissing her softlips with little pecking attacks. "It is you thatmatters." "Then make love to me, Pat." Her voice broke,and she closed her eyes. He wanted to make love to her. He let his hands begin to know the smooth curves of her, thoughtsmugly

that he, old Audrey Patricia Howe, loved and was loved by the most beautiful girl in thepopulated galaxy.

And he almost, almost, did. Giving up Corinne Tower was the hardest thing he'd ever done. The thought process, running as an undercurrent to the wildness of his need for her, was not a logical process from A to B to C. Histhoughts were chaotic. He remembered that firstnight aboardSkimmer when he saw her in theZede film, and the dream in which she'd come tohim, and he remembered how she'd looked so beau­tiful even while he was drinking the drugged li­quor which put him through seven and a half daysof hell, and the love in her eyes even as she stabbedhis neck with a syringe.

But that woman wasn't Corinne Tower, thatwoman was Corinne Brenden. The two are the same. They're one. They're inseparable. She's the most desirable woman I've ever known. She has the political morality of a spider. She trusts you, Pat. She trusts you. She's willingto send those naive young Dorchlunt men off tokill

millions of people, but she trustsyou, and sheloves you. He went so far as to see that her breasts wereperfection. Her reaction to his kiss there was wide-eyed amazement and clinging.

For a moment, then, she was calm and self-possessed. She pushed his head away, looked athim, those green eyes piercing. "One thing is im­portant to me," she said. "Yes?" "I can never prove, without your trust, that youare the first man ever to see me like this." "I believe," he whispered. "When you know that you are the first to haveme, will you believe that no man has ever seenme?" Well, itwas possible. Not probable, especiallyconsidering that she'd worked in the film industry, but it

waspossible. "Yes," he said. Her intake of breath, her wide eyes, her tremblings, which could have been fear, touched him—and then

he was talking to himself again. She trusts you, Pat, and you're just waiting for achance to stop this criminal thing she believes in.And

even if she's willing to kill millions, and per­haps tear down civilization as you know it, rightnow she's just a girl, just a young woman wholoves you and trusts you. "Corinne, let's talk for a minute," he said, pull­ing the silken material of her gown up to coverher. "Talk?" she asked."Talk?"

"I do believe you," he said truthfully. No woman could be that accomplished of an actress. "Brendensaid you had always been romantic, that you hadalways looked forward to loving one man."

She giggled. "Someday when we have hours andhours, I'll tell you how damned difficult that was,the ruses I had to use."

"It was that important to you, wasn't it?"

"Of course," she said, beginning to look a bit puzzled.

"Then it's important to me to help you keep thatresolution, Corinne." He rose, pulling away fromher clutching hands. "Honey, you've waited this long. We can wait a little longer."

Because, although his conscience ordered him tobetray her, to do all he could to stop the Taratwofleet, he could not betray her on a personal level. If he accepted her offer of herself, then he'd be boundto her, for having accepted something which she had valued so much, he could never, then, betrayher in any way.

"Damn," she whispered. "I told you how I feel.This could be, I pray that it won't be, but it could be our last time alone together before we fight."

"I know

"I know, honey, I know. You think about it,though. See if I'm not right. It will be much betterthis way. We'll take the oldSkimmer after we'remarried and get lost in space somewhere for weeksand weeks."

She came into his arms, weeping. Her kiss relitthe flames in him, but then she was pulling away,talking through tears. "I do love you so much,"she sobbed, "and to think that you value me thatmuch, are so considerate of my feelings, that makesme love you even more."

He spent the night on theSkimmer. Corinne joinedhim there early in the morning, in a neat blueuniform, all business, and they lifted up to join thefleet. Corinne's flagship was a gleaming new heavycruiser. It had come out of a Zedeian shipyard lessthan one year past, and represented the latest innaval technology.

The ship's disrupter installation was topside for­ward. The weapon was manned by a young Dorch­luntercut from the same pattern as all the others,a serious, handsome boy of not more than eigh­teen. Fleet communications was handled by anofficer from the Brenden's home planet, a brisk,efficient man who, under Corinne's orders, soonhad her half of the fleet in formation to attack theother half of the fleet under the Brenden's command.

The last time ships of war had opened the dou­ble fail-safe locks on weapons was when a smallUP fleet wiped out the pirates who had made theHogg Moons their hideway. And yet, with UP X&Aships opening new blink routes constantly, withthe knowledge that at one time there'd been akiller race in the galaxy, ships of war and their crews needed training, just in case. The fleets ofthe UP were always having war games. It wasstandard practice for all ships, including those builtfor Taratwo by the Zedeians, to have a way ofkeeping score accurately in those war games. Eachweapon was equipped with a harmless beam pro­jector, and the ship's sensors were tuned to detectthe light beam's impact, should a ship be hit. Thusthere were two records, one on the ship whichfired the weapon, and one on the ship which was hit. Central fire control gathered the computer dataand, in a war game in space, sent out the word tovictim and victor when a ship was hit.

It had been, Corinne said, fairly simple to inte­grate the disrupters into the system. By activatingonly the primary power source of a disrupter, a stream of harmless electrons bypassed the closedsystem of the secondary power stage and regis­tered as a hit on the target ship.

UP naval tactics were well recorded, in hun­dreds of books. Since the Zedeian war, theorieshad not changed. A fleet was most effective whenin formation, bringing massed firepower to bear. Anaval engagement, then, would become a struggleof endurance, shield against laser, AMM againstmissile. UP tactics were perfect for the Brenden,for, unlike the UP ships, his ships had to makeonly one hit, on any portion of a ship, to be of deadly effect. Laser weapons, missiles, projectileweapons—all had to make multiple hits on ashielded ship to do significant damage.

Corinne chose a modified V formation. Fromthat formation, firepower of all ships could beconcentrated. The Brenden came with stackedranks, the screen images showing a square madeup of little dots, the ships stacked line on lineabove each other, but with the ranks falling awayat staggered distances to make for differences in range for the opposing fleet.

Taratwo men manned the conventional weap­ons. Missiles would not be used. They were too expensive, and too easily countered with AMMs. Ina real action, the main purpose of using missileswas to divert the enemy's attention, to keep aportion of his computer capacity engaged, and tokeep men busy. In an exercise, missiles were simu­lated by computer, and the men at the AMM sta­tions would be engaged in sending out not actualkiller missiles but little electronic blips on a com­puter screen.

Two exercises were running simultaneously. Eachhalf of the fleet was doing its best to make enoughlaser and missile and projectile hits on the other half to keep from being tagged with the electronstream from a disrupter.

The results were overkill.

Pat had gone to stand near the young Dorch­lunter. Laser range and disrupter range were al­most equal, so that even as Pat saw the blinkings from the Brenden's fleet, the disrupter gunner wasspraying simulated death, taking out ship aftership in a display of swiftness and efficiency whichwas awesome. Only scattered laser hits registeredon Corinne's fleet, not enough to strain the screens.The swarm of simulated missiles were engaged bya swarm of simulated AMMs from Corinne's firecontrol; projectile weapons were never used, forthere was not time before multiple disrupter hitshad left the Brenden's fleet dead in space.

The action lasted less than five minutes. It took a quarter hour for the computers to gather and tabulate. Not one ship in either fleet had beenseriously damaged by conventional weapons.Everyship, in each fleet, had been killed, and killed againand again by the deadly, swift, emotionless gun­ners behind the disrupters.

The Brenden joined them on Corinne's flagship."Makes me almost feel sorry for the poor bas­tards," the Brenden gloated. "I'd say it'll take just about three engagements to have them yelling fornegotiations, and maybe two more after that forunconditional surrender."

"What if they change tactics?" Corinne asked.

The Brenden laughed. "Military thinking wasfrozen in place a thousand years ago."

"Still," Corinne said.

The big man mused. "All right, the day is young.Let's have another go at it. This time you changeto any tactic you care to use."

"I'm not very imaginative in that way," she said.She smiled, brightened. "And besides, you know me too well, so well you'd be able to figure outwhat I was going to do in advance. Let Pat direct the fleet."

"How about it, future brother-in-law?" the Bren­den asked.

Pat had been trying to think up some way oflessening the effectiveness of the disrupters. "Fine,"he said. "I have got a couple of ideas I want to tryout. The situation is that there have been at leasttwo engagements, in which all UP ships were de­stroyed without loss to...us." He started to say"you," amended it just in time.

"How much time do you need?" the Brendenasked.

"Give us an hour after we withdraw to maxi­mum detection distance," Pat said.

Pat gave his orders to the fleet communicationscontroller. Corinne's ships formed, started awayfrom Dorchlunt's sun.

"How good are your pilots?" Pat asked Corinne.

"Not as quick as you, but well trained. They canfollow orders," she said.

"Get me Brenden," Pat told the communicator,and when he heard the big, rowdy voice, "Brenden,I'm going to give orders to my boys on intershipchannel nine, in the open because we don't want to take the time to set up scramblers. Tell yourships to stay off that channel."

"Right," Brenden said.

"And no cheating," Corinne said, over Pat'sshoulder.

Brenden laughed. "If I cheated that would de­stroy the effectiveness of the exercise," he said.

Pat went to work, giving orders to the computer operator, and to the control officer. The Brenden'sfleet was just at detection distance, a distance whichcould be measured down to an accuracy of a fewfeet. He had already scouted that area of space, forBrenden had not moved from the site of the for­mer exercise, so it was perfectly safe to blink hisfleet.

It took a while to program all computers oneach individual ship, to set blink coordinates, to brief the pilots and crews on what Pat expected.

On the Brenden's flagship, men were tense, not knowing exactly what to expect. The dictator was pleased, because there was a feeling of real emer­gency in the air, just as there would have been hadthat fleet out there been UP. He figured he wasgetting a pretty smart brother-in-law, after all,and then suddenly alarms began to clang and theship's shield sizzled with multiple laser hits andthe computers began to sing out warnings of anincoming swarm of missiles from 360 degrees.

Brenden roared with pleasure. Pat had blinkedhis fleet, positioning his ships in a containingsphere, and Brenden's half of the fleet was beingattacked from all directions, the attacking ships so carefully positioned that misses did not strike afriendly ship but sizzled harmlessly through gaps in Pat's formation.

Brenden lost twenty ships before his cool, effi­cient gunners decimated Pat's fleet, leaving lessthan four hundred ships to blink, after an initialflurry of fire, back to safety. Brenden's fleet washit again, and again, by the waves of simulated missiles which were still registering on his com­puter screens, and then, with his losses at justunder one hundred ships, he sighed with relief andstarted to get on the communicator to congratu­late Pat. He didn't have a chance to speak.

They came back, the survivors, the flagship with Pat and Corinne aboard, in a wild melee of cork­screwing, hot-dog, individual attack, the pilots yell­ing in delight, experiencing a freedom of actionthey'd never known before, slamming into the midst of the Brenden's ships and taking a toll.

Gorben, at the disrupter aboard Brenden's flag­ship, also acting as coordinator for the fleet gun­ners, was giving calm, swift orders as he jerked hisweapon from target to target, taking out ship aftership, knowing that his own ship was disabled by enemy laser fire, but still alive and fighting, andthen there was quiet, all ships in the attackingfleet tagged by the disrupter beams, all their men dead.

"My God, boy," Brenden roared, when he was,once more, back aboard Corinne's flagship, "where'd you get such ideas? You took out almost two hun­dred of my ships. Some of them can be repaired,but the computer estimates that we lost over ahundred and fifty for good, along with about fif­teen hundred men."

"I just put myself in the position of a UP fleetcommander," Pat said, "and wondered what I'ddo if I'd lost a couple of fleets without doing anyreturn damage. They're not stupid, Brenden. They'lladapt."

"Well, thanks to you, we'll be more ready for surprises when the real thing starts," Corinne said.

"Pat," Brenden said, "I hereby appoint you, butonly temporarily, the official enemy. I want you tospend the time between now and day after tomor­row putting yourself in UP shoes. Think up somemore surprises for us."

"I'll do my best," Pat said.

"Well, let's gather up the scattered chicks andhead for home," Brenden said. "Oh, I want you onthe reviewing stand tomorrow with us, Pat." Pat nodded.

"You did well, darling," Corinne said, when theywere alone, back aboard theSkimmer on the padbehind the temple. He had told her that he didn'tthink it was a good idea for him to go to herapartment with her, that he wasn't sure his will­power would be strong enough a second time.

"Coward," she'd said.

"You bet," he had told her.

She was tired. She admitted that the strain ofbeing in command of half the fleet drained her.She told him she was pleased that he'd be in com­mand during the final training exercise. She was,he thought wryly, willing to give him all the battleglory, so long as she had her throne, her worlds,with him beside her.

He walked her to her apartment, kissed her, justonce, and pushed her inside. Then, back on the Skimmer,he searched among the spare parts andtools stored in the mate's cabin until he found asmall hand-held cutting tool. Time was runningout, and the only plan he'd been able to come up with was a far-fetched, hare-brained one which, ifit succeeded, would have some drastic effects thathe didn't even want to think about. He didn't thinkhe'd have to worry about it working, however,because it depended upon his setting the scene properly and then getting a chance to speak privately with Gorben, and if he was lucky with a fewof the other Dorchlunters.

He didn't know exactly how he'd be able tomanage that, but there was a step which had to becompleted before he'd be in a position to talk withGorben and the others anyhow, and if he gotthrough that one alive he'd worry about the restlater.

TWELVE

Pat set a wake-up alarm for three a.m. He'd thoughthe'd have difficulty falling asleep, but he didn'teven finish his drink before his eyes became heavy,and then the soft bell of the wake-up was in hisears and he was dressing.

The temple doors were never locked. He went inthrough the back door and made his way towardthe interior. The corridors were well lit, but allwas quiet. Within five minutes he stood in frontof the golden door to the priests' inner sanctuary,the most secret of places, the sanctuary of the god whose name was so sacred it could not be spoken,except within the confines of the sanctuary itself.

The door had an old-fashioned lock which re­quired a mechanical key. He used a more modernkey, the small cutter he'd brought from theSkim­mer,slicing the bolt neatly as he played the cut­ting beam into the small crack between door andjamb.

The priests had done all right for themselves.The sanctuary was a storehouse of treasures, of artand gold and incongruous mechanical items fromthe old colony ship. What he was looking for stoodon a dais at the far end of the room.

There must have been, he thought, some pretty good artists aboard that old ship, for the statues inthe main entry to the temple were realistic andvery well done, and the statue of the god whosename couldn't be spoken aloud was still morerealistic.

He stood there as if alive, in the gaudy uniformof a Zede admiral of the fleet. His name was en­graved in stone on the pedestal on which he stood,Admiral Torga Bluntz.

Luck was with Pat. There were no priests in thesanctuary, no warning sensors. Strict, theocrati­cally applied discipline had, for a thousand years,made good citizens of the Dorchlunters. There wasno need to set guards, except for ceremony, asguards were used in front of the temple. His luckcontinued as he climbed onto the dais. The statueof the fleet admiral was life-size, and was within ahalf inch of Pat's height. Torga Bluntz had been aman of personal discipline, too, for, although hisface, painted in lifelike color, showed the wrinklesof age, he had kept himself in condition.

The uniform in which the statue was dressedhad, evidently, been renewed in the recent past.Although the material was the homespun of Dorch­lunt, the insignia were of ancient metal. Thecoat and high-necked shirt came off the statueeasily. The trousers were another matter. The statuewas carved from native stone. There was no wayto slip the trousers off the statue's feet. However, abit of study showed Pat how the trousers had beenput on. The back seams of the legs and pants of thetrousers were basted loosely together. Pat took hisfingernail trimmer and cut the threads, and then,the uniform folded neatly, made his way back totheSkimmer.

A bachelor is forced to develop some odd skills.Pat could handle an automatic hand-held stitcher.The seams may not have been exactly straightwhen he finished, but the trousers were in onepiece, the legs sewn into tubes, and the flat of the seat closed, and they fit him fairly well. The high-necked shirt was a bit tight, but the coat fit com­fortably. The ornate gold-braided cap fit after he put some folds of cloth at the back to make it a bitsmaller. He examined himself in the mirror in hiscabin and was satisfied.

He locked the uniform in his personal locker andwent to sleep. The final parade of the gunners was scheduled for midday. He wouldn't have any op­portunity to talk to Gorben, or any of the Dorchlunter gunners, until after the dress review. Hedidn't know exactly how he'd accomplish itafter the review, other than by going into the villages toseek Gorben out. He'd have to find an excuse forthat, without arousing Corinne's suspicions. He hoped that she'd be busy with whatever last-minutepreparations a woman makes before going out to conquer a galaxy.

He was awakened by the ship's communicator.It sent a persistent melodic summons which, thetimer told him, had been sounding for almost halfa minute. He'd have to be a bit more alert thanthat if he ever got back into space.

The Brenden was on. "I thought maybe I'd calledthe wrong place," Brenden said with a chuckle. "Iwas just going to call Cory's apartment."

"I was sleeping in," Pat said.

"Pat, have Cory find you a uniform. You two aregoing to have to review the troops today. I justhad a ship come in from home, and there are somedetails I have to handle. I should be finished byearly evening. We'll all get together for a celebra­tion before the big day."

He was gone. When he was dealing with busi­ness, the Brenden could be curt.

Pat thought about that. It was good that Brendenwasn't going to be planetside. Now all he'd haveto do was sneak away from Corinne.

The review would begin in two hours. Pat had aquick snack for breakfast, then went into the tem­ple. The priests were going about their duties, what­ever they were, calmly. Apparently they had not discovered that the lock on the door of the admi­ral's sanctuary had been cut open and then fused back together.

He was near the corridor which led to the prac­tice range for gunners. He wondered if any of themwere there. Probably not, but he went through theworking area, where priests were still trying to dowonders like make a thorn vine bear potatoes. Thepractice range was dark and inactive. On the wayback through the work area he saw a priest pack­aging the tablets he recognized as the food supple­ments and preventive medicine given to the Dorch­lunters. He paused to watch a moment.

"Good morning, sir," the priest said. He was oneof the oldest Dorchlunters Pat had seen, perhapsover fifty.

"How's it going?" Pat asked.

"Well, well. The young men must have their prayer tablets when they soar away to glory."

"And is it your job to dispense the prayertablets?"

"I have the honor to be the temple healer," thepriest said.

A sneaky idea came to Pat. That the idea wasnot original to him made for a certain sense ofjustice.

"Healer," he said, "you are fortunately met." The Old Earth language made for a formality of phrase. "As

it happens, I have difficulty sleeping. Perhapsyou have something to help?"

"My pleasure, sir," the healer said. He walked toa cabinet and came back with a small box. "Thereis a measuring spoon inside, sir. For a man ofyour size and weight, I recommend one scoop. Ifthat is not

enough, try two, and by no meansshould you ever ingest more than five scoops inone night."

"Is the powder quick-acting?"

"Very quick-acting sir." He chuckled. "It mightbe best if you are prepared for bed before you takethe

powder."

Corinne was waiting for him. She was already inuniform, although there was still plenty of time towait before going to the parade grounds. Pat sug­gested that there was, indeed, time for a littletaste of

something to give them energy for the longceremony. He went to the bar and mixed.

"I'd just as soon call off the review," she said.

"No, I think the gunners are looking forward toit," he said.

"Yes, I'm sure you're right." She seemed slightlyagitated. When he remarked on it she said, "I was

thinking of what happened yesterday. You're right,Pat, they won't give up easily."

"We'll come through all right," he said. "Drinkup. It'll make you feel better."

"I am so sleepy all of a sudden," she said, notten minutes later, as she cuddled in his arms on thesofa. He

smoothed her glorious auburn hair.

"Take a little nap," he said. "I'll wake you whenit's time."

"Don't know why I'm so . . ." she said. Then,after a long pause, she tried to say "sleepy," man­aged only

"sleeee . .."

He carried her to her bed, covered her with alight sheet, looked down into that beautiful facewhich seemed so innocent. "I hope it won't giveyou as bad a hangover as I had the first time," he said.

He experimented with trying to wake her. Noth­ing, not even lifting her and shaking her, would dothe job. He had just under thirty minutes before the first of the troops would begin to form on theparade ground. He went back to theSkimmer tomake his preparations, walked around the temple,wearing a long greatcoat which was much too warm for the climate, took his place on the review stand,standing quite alone and straight, the greatcoatcovering the uniform of Fleet Admiral Torga Bluntz. He would not have to find a way to sneak into thevillages to talk with Gorben and a few of the others.He would have them all assembled before him within a half hour.

The handsome, well-formed, blond young menof Dorchlunt marched in company-size formationsonto the field, feet moving in perfect unison, eyessnapping right as they passed the review stand,where, to their initial puzzlement, one man in agreatcoat stood to watch them. Gorben and a few of the others recognized Pat, and for Gorben it wasa special thrill to know that his friend had the sole honor of the final review before glory.

The voices of the officers and the drill sergeants rang out in the still, warm air. The sound of feet inunison thudded on hard-packed ground. And thenthey stood before him, two thousand strong, asfine a group of young men as Pat had ever seen.For a moment, terrible doubt came to him, but heforced himself to picture a massive UP fleet dying, and then the march of the Brenden's form of gov­ernment, with its hard-eyed security police, acrossthe populated galaxy.

The gunners stood at attention. Pat had beenstanding with his hands behind his back. He raisedone hand, placed the. admiral's cap on his head,shrugged out of the greatcoat and let it fall, andtook two steps forward.

A gasping moan of surprise came from two thou­sand young throats. Military stance forgotten, the gunners made three quick bows, some of them soconfused by the sight of the god in the flesh thatthey at first tried to turn to face the temple andthe god's shrine.

"Stand at ease," Pat roared.

Discipline returned. Feet moved in unison. Armsshot behind backs.

The God Fleet Admiral Torga Bluntz, Gorbenrealized with a thrill of pride, had been among them for some time, and had actually favored him,Gorben, with his friendship. He stood at ease, hisyoung chest thrust forward, his eyes adoringly upon the resplendent figure on the stand. The God Bluntzhad returned, just as he had promised he would,and was there to lead them back to their rightful place in Zede and in glory. And the god had oncetold him, had he not, that soon all would be ableto speak his name openly.

"Warriors of Zede," Pat said, using a hailer so that his voice carried to the last man in the rear ranks and reverberated into the distance. "I com­mend you on your work, and on your readiness."

The God Bluntz had more to say, much more,and when he had finished the young gunners stood,stunned with surprise and happiness. Then, as from one throat, their voices rose to the skies in a thunderous cheer. The God Bluntz raised his hands.

"I will speak, here, with Gunner Gorben," hesaid.

Gorben felt that he would burst with pride as hemarched to the stand.

"My friend," Pat said, moved almost to tears by the look of pride and happiness on Gorben's face, "call here the gunner who will be with me on theflagship of the goddess."

"Sir," Gorben barked. He made a precise about-face. "Gunner Werner, front and center."

A tall young man broke from the ranks anddouble-timed forward.

"Tell the officers," Pat said, "to move the troopsand dismiss them. You two come up here withme."

The God Bluntz had special instructions for thegunners Gorben and Werner. His instructions tothe troops had fired the hearts of all with glad­ness. His words to the two on the stand—whiledrill sergeants and officers bawled orders and thetroops marched off—had a different effect, althoughboth young men tried to hide it.

Pat was not proud of himself. He knew that hewould always remember the almost hysterical cheerof sheer joy which two thousand young men had given him.

Nor was he proud of his actions with Corinne.When he returned to her apartment, after stowingthe admiral's uniform inSkimmer, she was stillsleeping. When she awoke, well past eleven that night—Brenden had sent word that he would not,after all, be able to join them for dinner—she was astounded to learn that she'd slept the day away.

"I don't know why," she said. "I just don't know."

"Reaction, I guess," Pat said. "Now that the end is so near all the work and tension is catching upwith you."

"Don't leave me, Pat. Not tonight."

He didn't. She fell asleep again, and he sat therebeside her bed, dozing now and then, until wellafter dawn.

THIRTEEN

The Taratwo fleet, the most devastating instrumentof destruction ever assembled, blinked as a unit to the area of operations. Aboard Corinne's flagship,Pat was in command. He had suggested to theBrenden that the first engagement should be ac­cording to existing naval strategy, based on the massed firepower of huge fleets. Later, he wouldtry to come up with some variations to entertainthe gunners of the Brenden's half of the fleet.

Everyone knew in advance the outcome of thefirst engagement. The previous exercises had proved beyond doubt that the disrupters could score atleast one deadly hit on each enemy ship before conventional weapons began to take a toll.

Corinne seemed to be thinking of other things asPat positioned his fleet in a traditional grid. Fromthat formation the central-fire-control computerwould direct the fire of small groups of ships onindividual targets, the massed power of the laserscutting through the shield of the targeted shipwithin less than two minutes. Ordinarily, it wouldhave been a deadly strategy, for the fleet of overtwo thousand ships, firing in units of ten, wouldtake out two hundred enemy ships in the first twominutes. The Brenden, seeing Pat's formation onthe screens, arrayed his fleet in a long, thin bankwhich, as the range closed, began to adjust into ahalf crescent, so that the ships on the flanks couldencircle Pat's formation and rake enfilading fire down the straight ranks of ships.

Pat walked forward to stand beside the gunner, Werner. Although Pat was dressed in the uniformof the Taratwo navy, Werner bowed his headquickly three times and looked at him adoringly.

"All is well?" Pat asked.

"Yes, Holiness," Werner said. Pat put his hand on the ugly yet graceful snout of the disrupter tofeel its warmth. The secondary power was on. Theweapon was alive, and the beam of power whichcame from the snout would not be that harmlessstream of electrons which had been used previouslyin the exercises to allow the target ship's computerto register a hit.

"Your reward, Gunner Werner, will be great,"he said, feeling his stomach turn at his own du­plicity. Those beautiful young men were so eager,so easily influenced. When this was all over themind scientists of the UP would spend years, dec­ades, writing papers about the effects of repres­sion of knowledge and specialized training in aclosed society.

The small, controlled community on Dorchluntwas much like the weapon that the long-dead Zede scientists had developed. A series of impulses wasinjected into each, and those forces continued, around, and around, and around, until, in the caseof the disrupter, the force was near the point ofloss of control and came bursting out in the formof a burst of sheer energy of overwhelming power.

The human brain, being quite adaptable, couldhave, in the case of the closed system on Dorchluntwhose components were flesh and blood, contin­ued to accept the forces enclosed for an unpredict­able period. However, Pat felt, sooner or later that closed system, too, would have had to find releaseof its energies. Perhaps, given time, some youngman like Gorben would have begun to questionthe thousand-year-old doctrine, or would have comeup with some simple invention which would havebeen a minor but growing disruptive influence tothe rule of the priests.

Now there would be no chance of that. Dorchluntwould not be the same after today.

The fleets closed, moving at a fraction of light speed on their flux drives. It would begin withinminutes. Pat's stomach was acting up. He swal­lowed the desire to run for a sanitary cabinet tovomit up the fear and regret that had seemed tocollect in his belly.

"Mr. Kelly," he said to the Taratwo fire control officer who would direct the fleet's conventional weapons, "you may fire when you are withinrange."

There were only three men, other than Pat andCorinne, on the bridge of the flagship. The trend inbuilding ships of war had been, in the past decade,toward more computer control and smaller crews.The entire compliment of the flagship was just tenmen.

Pat saw the flickering from afar, the small wink­ing of the Brenden's lasers beginning, and heardhis own conventional weapons open up at extremerange. The screens of his own ships were not evenstrained, and he knew the same was true for thoseof the Brenden.

He had to give no further orders to Werner, who, as flagship gunner, was coordinating the fire of the gunners throughout Pat's half of the fleet. He heldhis breath. Now the screens began to sizzle and indicators began to blink estimates of loss of screenpower as the laser weapons began to take their toll—simulated, of course, for this was, after all,just a war game between elements of the samefleet.

Pat had to breathe. He looked doubtfully towardWerner's position. The disrupter installation couldnot be seen from the bridge. He checked the range.Why were the disrupters not firing? Damage wasbeing done by the lasers.

A feeling of mixed relief and dulled acceptancecame to him. The gunners were not going to obeythe orders of the God Fleet Admiral Torga Bluntz,after all.

He looked at Corinne. Well, history would be hisjudge. Perhaps, in some distant day of sanity, they'd look back and write about the trailer Audrey Pa­tricia Howe, who joined the forces of the dictatorwho threw the populated galaxy into a new DarkAge. And those future historians wouldn't even know that he'd tried, wouldn't know that at oneparticular moment in time, when it seemed thathis desperate plan had failed, he felt relief andlooked at a woman, the dictator's sister, with ahunger which, being projected into her own greeneyes, set her face flushing and caused her to makea tentative movement toward him.

And then they fired.

With a clicking rush the counters began to tell ofdisrupter hits on the ships of the Brenden's fleet,and the flagship's computer began to go crazywith alarms and warnings even while indicatingthat the ranks of Pat's grid were being reducedwith the same deadly efficiency that had been themark of the disrupter gunners in previous exercises.

And in the midst of it, in the clicking rush ofcounters and the grim closing movement of thefleets, the Brenden's voice roaring, "Cease fire, Ceasefire."

Corinne had leaped to her feet. Her face waswhite; one hand was at her throat. Kelly, the fire-control officer, and the other crew members atpositions on the bridge had their own jobs andwere not aware that the hits being registered werenot made by harmless beams of electrons from theprimary power source.

On both sides of the battle line men and shipswere dying.

For a few seconds, before the fully armed dis­rupters began to fire, before the amazingly swiftgunners began to play the game in earnest, Pathad thought that the closed system which wasDorchlunt had become too engorged with supersti­tion and blind obedience. He had feared that theyoung men of Dorchlunt had decided to break outof the circle, to disobey the orders of the God FleetAdmiral Torga Bluntz, who, as they stood at easeon the parade ground on the previous day, hadexplained carefully that the time had come forthem to return to glory, to go to Zede not weak inthe flesh, but powerful in the spirit so as to accom­plish the desired return of all to their past posi­tions of power and glory.

The God Fleet Admiral Torga Bluntz had spoken in the way of the priests of Dorchlunt, using the centuries of tradition and discipline to order thecream of the young men of Dorchlunt to kill eachother in the name of that perverted and polytheistic system of belief which had been originally in­stituted by Torga Bluntz.

But Pat Howe, impersonating the God Fleet Ad­miral Torga Bluntz, stood with his eyes full oftears as men died and hysterical voices screamedon the fleet's communication frequency and theodd ship or two zapped out of formation, andthe glow of direct disrupter hits left the new andexpensive toys of the

dictator Brenden lifeless hulksin space, all electronics fused, all life gone.

And Pat Howe prayed. He hadn't prayed in awe and fear and pain in a long, long time, not since hehad been a child, but now he prayed to the oneGod who had created it all, saying, "Let there belight." He prayed for forgiveness. He prayed thathe had been right. He prayed that the lives ofthose young Dorchlunters had not been sacrificed in vain.

It began with the minute hand of the bridgechronometer at seven minutes past the hour. Atnine minutes thirty seconds past the hour the twofleets fell silent. The initial exchange of disrupterfire had killed almost two thousand ships, andthose few left alive continued to fire. The gunnershad no way of knowing, short of seeing the glowof a hit, which ships were alive or dead, and sothose who survived kept spraying the disrupters up and down lines and ranks and then began topick off the few ships trying to break formation, and one by one the survivors died, until there wereonly two disrupters firing, and those two sweptthe blasted ships again and again until Pat picked up the communicator and said, "Gorben, Werner,enough."

Corinne had a look of horror on her face, a lookwhich came nearer to not being beautiful than Patcould ever have imagined. The fire-control officer, Kelly, was half crouched over his console, lookingfirst toward Pat, then toward the computer read­out on the screen.

The gunner, Werner, appeared on the bridge.And at that moment Kelly yelled something to­tally incomprehensible and reached for his side-arm. He did not have time to clear it from theholster before Werner's hand beam left a smokinghole in his uniform. The other crew members onthe bridge, stunned, not knowing exactly what had happened, were dead before Pat could say, again,"Enough, Werner."

"I will see to the others, Holiness," Werner said.

"Don't kill them," Pat said. "Take their weaponsand lock them up."

"Sir," Werner barked, and was gone.

Corinne's eyes were unbelievably wide. Shelooked at Pat. One hand was up, two fingers pressedagainst her upper lip. She screamed once, and alook of agony was there as she ran to the com­municator.

"Brenden, Brenden," she cried, her voice strained."Brendennnnnn," she wailed, and fell limply into the chair.

"Admiral," said a young, tense voice on thecommunicator.

Pat stood across the console from Corinne. Shedidn't look up at him.

"Admiral Bluntz here, Gorben. You may report."

"I have taken the ship, Holiness."

"Very well," Pat said.

"Brenden," Corinne whispered.

"And the Brenden?" Pat asked.

"He is here, Holiness."

"Let him speak," Pat said. He handed the com­municator to Corinne. "Brenden?" she whispered. "I'm here, Cory." The voice was not the ebul­lient one of old. "Oh, Brenden," Corrinne sobbed. "Yes, you can sure pick'em, little sister," Brendensaid. "Pat, you there?" "I'm here," Pat said. "What now?" the Brenden asked. "I want Gorben off your ship," Pat said. "Then me, huh?" Brenden said, his meaning clear. "Then you're free to go," Pat said. "Go? Go where?" "Back to Taratwo," Pat said. "And what about you, little sister?" Brendenasked. "Were you with him?" "No, no," Corinne sobbed. "Does she go with me?" Brenden asked. "That's up to her," Pat said. He looked at her.He felt a great sense of loss, for her eyes blazedwith hate. Her sobs ceased. "You—you—do you actuallythink . . ." "I can only hope," Pat said. "But I guess love isn't that powerful, is it?" Before she could answer, Werner was back, asmile on his face. "The crew is neutralized, Holi­ness," he

said proudly, snapping into a salute. It was in that position that he died. He died with alaser beam cutting

a hole directly into the bridgeof his nose and into his brain. He died swiftly. Corinne turned the weapon on Pat so quicklythat he had no time to reach for his own. Indeed,he had no

desire to reach for a weapon to be usedagainst Corinne. He stood facing her, sadnesswelling up in him

for Werner, and for all the thou­sands of Werner's counterparts who had died onthe other ships, and for

the loss of the womanwhose emerald eyes blazed fire at him down thebarrel of a handbeam.

"I'm sorry," Pat said. "I am truly sorry, honey."

Her head began to move back and forth, and asound of agony came from her lips. He saw herfingers

tighten, her hand go white on the weapon.And then she stopped trembling.

"I can't kill you," she whispered. "I can't." "Thank you," Pat said. "But why, Pat?" she asked. "Why?" He shrugged. "I don't think you could under­stand if I told you, honey. Look. It's over. I wishyou'd

come with me, but I suspect you can't. Whydon't you get into gear and we'll transfer you overto the other ship. The two of you can handle her totake her back to Taratwo." "To wait for the forces of the UP to come andpunish us?" she asked.

"I'm afraid they'll at least want to be sure thereare no disrupters on the planet," Pat said. A tear grew and rolled down her cheek. "We had it all, Pat," she whispered. "We had it all and you threw it away."

"Admiral," came Gorben's voice. "Yes, Gorben," Pat said. "I have, in compliance with your orders, totallydestroyed the disrupter aboard this ship, and I amready

to join you, Holiness." "Very well, Gorben," Pat said. "Carry on." Corinne had holstered her weapon. He helpedher get into space gear. She was grimly silent. Andthen,

just before he lifted the helmet onto herhead, she said, "Kiss me, Pat." He kissed her lightly, and for a moment hopecame to him. Maybe, someday— Gorben and Corinne passed in space, and thenGorben was aboard Pat's ship and Pat had watchedthe

hatch close on Brenden's ship. Gorben lookedat Werner's body without emotion. "I'm sorry about Werner," Pat said. "He has gone to Zede, to his glory," Gorbensaid. "I envy him. I regret only, Holiness, that I am not with

the others." "In time," Pat said sadly, for it happened to allin time, and to some too soon. He sat down in the command chair. The thrusters on Brenden's shipwere beginning to glow. Nothing to do now but go back

and get the good oldSkimmer and gohome. "Your orders, Admiral?" Gorben asked, stand­ing tall. "We'll go back to Dorchlunt in a few minutes,Gorben," Pat said. "I'm going to leave you in chargethere

until I come back, with others." "And then to Zede?"

"Or better," Pat said, wondering what X&A and the eggheads would make of Dorchlunt, and what

they'd do to integrate the remaining Dorchlunters into the UP. "It's all going to work out, Gorben.Trust me."

"Of course, Holiness," Gorben said.

Brenden's ship was moving. Pat felt a tightnessin his throat. He would gladly have traded thegalaxy and all its treasures for one small, curvy,auburn-haired girl.

Brenden's ship was moving across his bow, com­ing broadside.

"Holiness," Gorben said, "he is going to passdangerously near."

"It's all right, Gorben," Pat said.

He couldn't take his eyes off the ship, for tworeasons, the most painful being that she was on it.He held his finger poised over a certain button. He glanced over his shoulder. Gorben was gone. Hereached for the communicator button to tell Gorbenthat everything was under control, but his finger never reached it, for at that moment all the weap­ons on Brenden's ship, obviously under central control, opened up. A swarm of missiles shot out,and the projectile weapons fired intelligent shells, and the deadly beams reached for Pat's ship, siz­ zling the shield even as he reversed the movement of his hand and his finger shot toward the buttonwhich would take the ship away from the missiles,projectiles, beams on a blink which he'd pro­grammed into the navigation computer for justthis eventuality.

The screen went with an electrical distortionwhich caused his hair to stand up, and then hewas screaming as his finger hit the button and theship slid into that nowhere which is a blink, for inthat last instant before there was empty, clearspace in front of his screens as he reemerged hehad seen Brenden's ship glow.

He had screamed, "No, Gorben, no!"

Within minutes he was back, blinking his shipto within half a mile of the pride of the Taratwofleet, the Brenden's flagship. The ship was as dead,as empty of any mechanical, electronic, or life-form impulse, as was the ancient colony ship whichcircled Dorchlunt. Gorben had been trained toowell. In those few seconds he'd reached the disrupter,and in that split second between the firing ofBrenden's weapons and the blink, his superb reac­tiontime had allowed the beam of his disrupter tostrike Brenden's flagship amidships.

FOURTEEN

The ways of the gods, Gorben thought, are verystrange. They are not, however, to be questioned,even when a god does something as odd as intertwo human bodies encased in boxes in the earth. He had the honor of being on the detail whichhelped the God Fleet Admiral Torga Bluntz re­move the bodies of the red-headed ones from thedead ship, encase them in metal boxes fabricatedin the shops from valuable, ancient material, andthen bury them under six feet of the red earth ofDorchlunt.

Nor did Gorben question or doubt when the god used the weapons of his own little ship to destroy the last surviving Taratwo cruiser, with the last ofthe disrupters aboard.

"Admiral Bluntz," Gorben said, for, as the godhad said, now everyone could speak the sacredname openly, much to the chagrin of the priest­hood, "if I may be so bold, sir, will you return, inmy own lifetime, or is your return, with thoseothers of whom you speak, to be a matter of pa­tience and generations as was the period of yourfirst return?"

"In your lifetime, Gorben. A matter of weeks, atmost. Greet those who come with friendship,Gorben. They will bring odd and wonderful things,and the life-style of the Dorchlunters will be al­tered forever."

"I await eagerly my ascent to glory," Gorbensaid.

The computer aboard theSkimmer was next touseless. Pat had to stay alert on the long trip home,as the ship blinked and blinked and then pausedto charge. During the charge periods he slept withthe aid of an intake of alcohol far beyond his cus­tomary habits. He did not drink the last two daysbefore reaching Xanthos so that his head would beclear for his report. He asked specifically for Jeanny Thompson, needing, wanting, a friendly face as hetold his incredible story.

A crusty X&A admiral, called in for the secondtelling of Pat's tale, grunted and said, "Has thisman been given a psychological evaluation?" Thatwas his way of saying he didn't believe. Pat didn'tgive a damn.

"Sir," he said, "I'll pass on the psychologicalevaluation. Just follow the blink route I've givenJeanny and you'll have your proof."

Almost five thousand ships dead in space was ample proof.

At last he was finished. He kept himself togetherlong enough to lift theSkimmer to the shipyardand leave orders for that long-delayed overhaul. Then he tried his damnedest to disappear into a bottle.

When Jeanny Thompson finally found him she used her handbeam to cut the lock which he yelledout to her that he would not open.

"God, what a slob," she said, when she saw him.

She walked to the holo projector and stood behindit. A beautiful auburn-haired girl in period cos­tume was frozen in time and space, standing atthe head of a long, sweeping staircase.

"So that's Corinne," Jeanny said.

Then she took the cassette from the projector and opened a window and threw it out. It shat­tered into a thousand pieces on the pavement fourstories below. Pat bellowed and charged at her drunkenly, and she clipped him neatly on the side of the neck and caught him before he fell.

When he awoke he was clean, his three-week-beard had been shaved, not too gently, and theapartment no longer reeked of stale sweat andbooze. His head was clear.

"I used detox on you," Jeanny said.

"I don't thank you for it," Pat said. She had diedwithin half a mile of him, that beautiful woman.She had died and—

"Hungry?" Jeanny asked. "No," he said. "Eat anyhow," Jeanny ordered, putting food infront of him. In spite of himself, the smell of it caused his

stomach to growl. "OK, Audrey," Jeanny said. "Don't call me Audrey," he said, around a bite ofdelicious meat. "You've spent a month feeling sorry for yourself.So you've lost your great love, the love of yourlife—" The food turned to straw in his mouth. And hislook caused Jeanny to hold up one hand quickly. "Sorry," she said. "I won't do that again." He chewed and swallowed. "Pat, an X&A ship just got back from your planet.They found everything there just as you said itwould

be." Pat nodded. "There's a little difficulty with the natives, Pat. After all, they've had their beliefs for a thousandyears.

They're going to be in for a severe dose ofculture shock." "Can't be helped," Pat said. "It can be eased," she said. "I'm sure you people can handleit,"Pat said. "There's a young man named Gorben out therewho says he won't obey any order against the oldways

unless it comes directly from Fleet AdmiralTorga Bluntz." She leaned forward. "Pat, I can'tpretend that I know how you feel. Apparently I'venever loved anyone like that, but I can imaginethat you're still sore in your heart from having tolet those beautiful blond young men kill each other."

"I am," Pat said. "There are a few of them left," she said. "Theyneed your help, Pat. Think of the things they'regoing to be

hit with. They're going to learn that athousand years of tradition have all been in vain, that Zede lost the war, that there's going to be noreturn to glory, no heaven in Zede." "Any decent planet will seem like heaven afterDorchlunt," Pat said. "Pat," she said accusingly. "All right, dammit, what can I do? Haven't Idone enough to them already?"

"You can go back, as Admiral Bluntz, and easethe blow a bit for them, help them make thetransition."

"Alone?"

"No. X&A will have people swarming all overthe place. That's a pretty mean weapon out there,Pat. They'll want to be sure that the secret doesn'tget off Dorchlunt, and that there are no more work­ing

models in existence."

"I won't be a part of the service," Pat said. "Iwon't go out there on an X&A ship."

"I can sign a charter agreement for theSkim­mer,"she said. "It won't be at your usual exorbi­tant rates."

"I'll think it over," Pat said.

"Pat, the service can't force you to go. But youmight find it a little rough to get clearances thenext time

you try to go into space. You might havea little trouble with your licenses."

"Blackmail," Pat said, but he was thinking ofGorben. The kid deserved better than he hadcoming.

"Call it what you will."

"OK. Draw me a charter. I'll go out onSkimmerand talk to them."

"Since this is an official mission, there'll have tobe an X&A officer with you."

Pat shook his head, thinking of weeks in spacewith some brass-bound service egghead. "No deal. The

deal is off. I will not have some hardass X&Ajoker onSkimmer."

"That's odd," Jeanny said. "I thought my asswas pretty soft."

"You?" he asked.

"That's my assignment."

Well, that wouldn't be bad. Jeanny was a decentsort. He'd rather be alone, but if it had to be anyone,

better Jeanny than anyone else.

He put her in the mate's cabin. TheSkimmergleamed. The old man, the computer, was as sharpas new. Jeanny didn't push herself on him. Shealternated watches with him, although it wasn'treally necessary, and she spoke only when spoken to. He found himself comparing her with Corinne.Corinne was more beautiful, but Jeanny wasn'tbad, not bad at all, and she was an old friend andshe'd gone on the line for him a couple of times. No reason to take it out on her.

One night as they waited for the generator tocharge he found himself talking to her about Co­rinne. She made little sympathetic sounds.

She cleaned up the mate's cabin. It wasn't allthat bad having her aboard. She was neat, and shedidn't talk all the time. One day, halfway toDorchlunt, she made him laugh.

They blinked out near the planet Dorchlunt inwhat was, for Pat, an unfortunate position. Bren­den's flagship, dead in space, had been left in anorbit just slightly higher than that of the old col­ony ship, and as it happened both ships were insight whenSkimmer emerged. Pat felt a twist of his heart. It was night in the villages. Pat sug­gested they get a good sleep before going down at dawn. He dreamed of that last moment when herealized that Gorben had made his way to the disrupter and, thinking that he was defending hisgod, had turned the disrupter on the ship which contained Brenden and Corinne. He awoke, and there was a soft hand on his forehead, and a soft voice saying, "Hey, take it easy, old buddy."

"Corinne?"

"No, just me," Jeanny said.

"Ah, God," he said, his voice choking, and whenshe clasped her arms around his head and pulledhis cheek down to her bare, hot breasts, he did notprotest, but let the nightmare continue, and thenthere were tears in his eyes and then worse. He wept.

When he had expended himself Jeanny still held him. "My boy," she said, "I don't know whether tobe glad or sorry that you never loved me thatmuch. It would be flattering, in a way, and a hugeburden in another, you know?"

He pulled away, kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks,Jeanny," he said.

"Want company the rest of the night?" she asked.

He didn't say anything. She crawled into thebed beside him, put her arms around him. Hedidn't move, but he didn't try to push her away.She was warm and soft against him, but he felt no desire for her. His desire had died with that sleek ship which orbited the planet above the old relic.Jeanny, concerned for him, said, "Hey, if there'sanything at all that I can do—"

He was touched, but he said, "I'm dead inside."

"Want me to go back to my own bunk?" sheasked. "I'm not especially trying to seduce you,Audrey, I just thought that, well, a little compan­ionship, a little something. Maybe just a holding, ahugging, a touching. It's a damned big galaxy outthere, Audrey, and it dwarfs hell out of us some­times, doesn't it? Sometimes I think we need tohave someone close, someone just to touch, or holdon to. What do you think?"

"I don't know," Pat said in a dead voice.

She took her arms from around him, sat on the side of the bed. "Audrey," she whispered.

"Don't—" He didn't finish. That was three timesshe'd called him Audrey and he couldn't even makea comeback. He was, she knew, hurting like hell.

"Audrey," she said, "I'd like to know just onething. I know those new Zede-built cruisers. One man, unless he's very, very fast and has four arms, would have a difficult time flying a ship and man­ning the arms-control console at the same time.Am I right?"

The sound he made was not a word.

She couldn't decide, for a moment, whether itwas best to pursue that line of thinking or to leavehim to his pain. She decided on the radical incision,the thrust to his heart.

"Pat, who was sitting at arms control when you boarded the ship?" She held her breath, fearing aviolent reaction from him. He answered her ques­tion in an indirect way. His hand closed over her wrist and pulled, and his grip was strong, almostpainful. She let him pull her down beside him,and as his arms closed around her, as she adjustedher warmth to his body, she knew.

"I'm going to say it, Pat," she whispered. "Iknow it hurts, but it has to be said. It was Corinnewho was on fire control, wasn't it? Pat, her last living act was to try to kill you."

He felt all twisted inside, felt as if somethingquite physical and terribly wrong was eating him.He clung to the soft warmth of another humanbeing, felt her breath in his face.

She knew that he was not deliberately trying to hurt her, but he held her so tightly that she had difficulty breathing. Then, after a long, long time, he relaxed his grip on her a bit, and she snuggledinto a more comfortable position. "All right?" sheasked him.

"Thanks, friend," he said.

He held her until she went to sleep, her breathsoft in his face, and he held her as if the woman'swarmth of her was all that kept him from slidingdown into a blackness deeper and more lonelythan the space around him.

EPILOGUE

As Jeanny had promised, X&A technicians andsocial scientists swarmed over the lonely Dorchlunt.A ship's tailor shop had outfitted Pat with severalcopies of the ancient Zede uniform which he'dtaken from the statue of Admiral Bluntz, and Patwas a busy man for weeks. Gorben was at his sideconstantly, and the young man surprised Pat by adapting to the totally different circumstances in which he found himself with a stoic acceptance.

A few of the older Dorchlunters, faced with cultural shock which negated all their beliefs, chosesuicide, clinging to one last hope of going to Zede.Pat sat in on the conference where it was deter­mined that it would be best for the Dorchluntsurvivors to be settled on a thinly populated agri­cultural planet at several parsecs distance. Pat, inhis pose as the admiral, had the not too pleasantjob of telling Gorben and the others that theywould be moved away from the only planet they'dever known.

He was in his quarters alone that night whenGorben knocked politely and came in to stand atattention until Pat ordered him to sit.

"Sir," Gorben said, "we are sad."

"It's going to be Fine," Pat said. "You'll be livingon a fine world. There'll be rich soil. You will havean island to yourselves. You will be taught by thepeople of X&A to live in modern society."

"If you are there, perhaps we can cope," Gorben said.

Pat cleared his throat. He'd been on Dorchlunttoo long. He was constantly reminded of Corinne.The dead fleet still lay in near space, the bodiesstill aboard, for it would require a major effort toprovide burials, and it was more important at themoment to help the living. He felt guilty becausehe had not planned to accompany the Dorchluntersto the new planet, and he was the one who hadgiven the orders which resulted in the death ofmost of Dorchlunt's young men.

It was going to be a very difficult transition.X&A would provide tools and the basic living necessities, but the work ethic was still very muchalive in UP society. There'd be no free ride for theDorchlunters. There was nothing he could do.

Or was there?

He picked up the communicator. Jeanny was inconference with other X&A brass. "Jeanny," hesaid, "I need a little time to myself. I'm going totakeSkimmer and take a look around the area. I'llbe back in a few days." He closed the communica­tor before Jeanny could protest. "Come along, son,"he told Gorben; "let's take a little ride."

He found the Brenden's flagship quickly. The coordinates of that last battle were burned into hisbrain. He told Gorben to stay on theSkimmer,suited up, made the transfer to the dead ship.

Murphy's Stone sat in airless solitude in thecase which had been made for it, powerless lasersnout almost touching it. In Pat's light it sparkled inextravagant splendor.

It took three days to make the right contactsonceSkimmer had landed on Zede. He escorted Gorben for the boy's first glimpse of what wassupposed to be heaven, and Gorben was more thanready to leave once the transaction had beenconcluded.

"Will there be as many people in our new home?"Gorben asked, whenSkimmer was back in space.

"No. You'll have privacy."

And they'd have many other things. They'd havea corps of agricultural experts to teach them. They'd have the most advanced farming equipment, goodhomes, and as they learned the ways of modern society they'd have any of the luxuries that they wanted.

The old man who had found the huge diamond was dead, the first victim of the Brendens' ambi­tion. The Brendens were dead. A peacekeeping forcewas occupying Taratwo. No one owned Murphy'sStone, and Pat, although he'd dreamed a fewdreams of what he could do with the money it hadbrought on Zede, didn't know of a better use forthe money than to assure a future for Gorben and the others.

There would be times, later, after he and Jeanny had made a leisurely and enjoyable trip home and he'd almost immediately accepted a new commis­sion, that he'd kick himself. And there would betimes when he felt that he'd tried to buy off hisconscience by setting up the trust for the Dorch­lunterswith the proceeds of the sale of Murphy'sStone; but the old man was as crisp and sharp as ayoung computer, the Skimmer had enjoyed a total overhaul, and there were new films in the library. He knew that there was a price to pay for every­thing, and he felt good about himself.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ZACH HUGHES is the pen-name of HughZachary, who, with his wife Elizabeth, runs a book factory in North Carolina. Hugh quit a timeclock job in 1963 andturned to writing full-time. He is theauthor of a number of well-received sci­ence fiction novels, and together with Elizabeth, he has turned out many fine historical romances, as well as books inhalf a dozen other fields.

Hugh Zachary has worked in radio andtv broadcasting and as a newspaper feature writer. He has also been a carpen­ter, run a charter fishing boat, donecommercial fishing, and served as a mateon an anchor-handling tugboat in theNorth Sea oil fields.

Hugh's science fiction novelsThe Dark-side, Sundrinker,andGold Star are available in Signet editions.