Halian could feel Ross's eyes on him. "I suppose you're right. Iris, seal all routes between decks C and H. Are there any security personnel above H-deck?"

"There are four, all currently on E-deck."

"Alert them, and have them start moving toward F-9. They're to try and box him in there-" he hesitated a fraction of a second-"or on G-deck if he gets that far. They're to use minimal force."

Scharn leaned toward the clip-on. "And warn them he's not dangerous so much as he is terrified," she added.

"Right," Halian agreed. "If they can avoid contact until we get there, so much the better."

"Acknowledged. Security forces are on their way."

Halian took a deep breath, let it out as inconspicuously as possible. Stay calm, he told himself. Just stay calm. "The direct-access elevator's right up here," he said, pointing.

They were pa.s.sing K-deck when the first security report came in: One of the guards had spotted Tomo in corridor G-9, forcing him to move into cross-corridor G-19B.

"Have the guard move just inside G-19B and wait there," Halian instructed Iris carefully. "Order the other three to approach from opposite directions along G- 19, see if they can keep him from coming out there." He looked at Ross. "Ross...

when we hit G-deck, I want you and Dr. Scharn to go down G-29, try to intercept him if he gets to one of the other cross-corridors. I'll go up G-19B and try to cut him off there."

Ross's face was a sweat-plated mask as he gave a silent nod; but fortunately Scharn didn't seem to notice as she dug a hypo tube from her belt pouch. "In case you do," she said, handing the tube to Halian, "here's a sedative-you can inject it anywhere. It's already set for Tomo's weight."

A moment later, they arrived at G-deck.The corridor they stepped out into was deserted and, aside from normal mechanical noises, silent. Ross pa.s.sed up the final accusing gaze Halian had half- expected from him, taking Scharn's arm instead and heading away without a backward glance. Halian watched until they turned a corner, then permitted himself the luxury of a sigh. The die was now cast; Tomo's fate was in the hands of the universe. The thorascrine leak area was just one turn from the cross-corridor Tomo had entered. If Halian had guessed the mainters probable movements correctly he would soon be in the proper position to send the other "accidentally"

through the center of the contaminated region. If the universe had other plans for Tomo, it would have to guide the mainter elsewhere, and under such circ.u.mstances Halian would have no choice but to accept its ruling. The director was several generations beyond the s.p.a.cers who had built Maigre Station, but he still possessed a little of their traditional belief in fate... except that he knew the strong and the clever could build their fate as they chose.

Halian believed in fate. He did not necessarily believe in justice.

Turning, he hurried down the corridor. Tomo would be coming by very soon.

Leaning against the wall, Tomo wiped the sweat off his forehead and tried to catch his breath. Safe again... but only for the moment. They were closing in on him now; drawing the walls of their box closer and closer- "They won't hurt me," he whispered aloud. "I don't need to be afraid of them. I don't."

It was so much wasted breath. He was afraid of them, and there was no way he could pretend otherwise. The thought of their approaching him, maybe even touching him... he shifted his shoulders uncomfortably beneath the sweat-soaked coverall. If he could only get back to his quarters before anyone reached him... but he might as well wish himself a child again.

From the corridor ahead and to his left came the sound of footsteps. Tomo tensed; but even as he pushed away from the wall something within him accepted the inevitable. Standing rigidly, legs trembling with their mindless urge to run, he waited as the other came into sight and stopped.

"Tomo?" Director Halian called gently. "I've come to take you back."

Tomo remained where he was, not acknowledging Halian's words but not running off, either. Licking his lips, the director lowered his voice. "Iris? Secure from surveillance mode. I have Tomo in sight."

"Acknowledged. Sector/level monitor disengaged."

Halian flicked the device off... and he and Tomo were alone. "Don't be afraid," the director told the mainter, aware of the irony of his words. "I'm Director Halian-remember? Let me show you the way back to your quarters. You don't have to come close, just follow me at a distance. You can do that, can't you?"Tomo's mouth worked once, but no words came out. Eyes unblinkingly on Halian, he nodded.

"Good. Come on, then." Walking carefully, Halian backed into the corridor he'd emerged from. A moment later, Tomo followed. Step by step they went, separated by the ten meters or so Tomo seemed to find comfortable.

Halfway down the corridor, still walking backwards, Halian stepped over the fuzzy line onto the thorascrine-stained part of the carpet.

A few more steps, Halian told himself, his eyes on Tomo. Once on the stain, his feet kicking up minute bits of the heavy dust, there would be no turning back.

Whether enough remained to kill him or merely make him sick, the important result would be the same: The Goldenrod would leave for Canaan Under Vega without the risk of an insane man aboard. After that... Tomo's fate would be in the universe's hands.

And midway through a step, Halian abruptly stopped.

Tomo stopped, too, five meters from the edge of the thorascrine stain, his face rigid with wary tension at the directors unexpected move. Halian stared at him for a long, painful second... and slowly a new truth dawned on him.

It was one thing to discuss death as a necessary and even humane action. It was another thing entirely to face the person involved and personally carry out the proposal.

He couldn't do it. And he hated himself for his weakness.

He took a step toward Tomo... and another... and with the third, Tomo's look of stunned disbelief changed to terror. "No!" he yelled as he spun and disappeared back into the other corridor.

Halian made no effort to chase him. His knees were weak with reaction, frustration and anger a bitter and debilitating taste in his mouth. He started to turn back, to recross the thorascrine and lose himself in the maze of corridors until the others could make the capture... but he'd taken only a couple of steps in that direction when the most chilling scream he'd ever heard jerked him around again.

A dozen quick strides took him around the corner- A hundred meters away Tomo was thrashing like a fish in the grip of two security guards.

Halian got to the scene in record time; but even so, Scharn and Ross managed to beat him. Tomo's whimpering rose to a final scream as Scharn reached between the guards with her hypo, a terrified shriek that left a ringing in Halians ears even after it faded into silence. A moment later the mainter's last twitchings ceased.

Scharn said something Halian didn't catch, and the guards lifted the limp form and carried him toward the elevators."Well?" a soft voice asked at Halians side.

The director jumped; he hadn't really noticed Ross come over. "No," he murmured bitterly. "I lost my nerve."

Ross said nothing, but gripped Halians arm briefly before hurrying to catch up with the others. Halian followed more slowly. All right, Doctor, he thought at Scharn's receding back. You've got your chance now. And you'd d.a.m.n well better not mess it up like I did.

It was a long way up from the starless pit of unconsciousness, but there was something soothing in the darkness that removed any possible terror from the disorientation. Tomo had plenty of time to think and remember; and when he finally opened his eyes it was with total lack of surprise that he found himself lying in the lounge chair in his portside quarters. Attached to his right upper arm was a wide band, and he puzzled over it a moment before deciding it must be some sort of biosensory telemeter.

"h.e.l.lo, Tomo."

He jerked at the quiet voice... but Scharn was only present via the viewer on his desk. "h.e.l.lo, Doctor," he said, relaxing again.

"Sorry if I startled you," she apologized. "I wanted to talk to you and thought this would be the best way. How are you feeling?"

Tomo sighed. "Tired, mostly." He locked eyes with her image. "It's true, isn't it, what Max said. I've been conditioned to be afraid of people."

Scharn's lip twitched minutely. "More or less. That part wasn't done on purpose, but I don't suppose that's any comfort."

"Not really." Tomo closed his eyes, feeling almost relieved that it was over.

No uncertainties remained; only cold, hard truth. "So that's it, then. I'll never be able to be with other people."

"Does that bother you?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. How can I miss something I've never experienced? It's just-" Something seemed to catch in his throat. "It's just that I know now that there's something normal people can do that I can't. It makes me...

something less than human."

He opened his eyes in time to see Scharn catch her lower lip between her teeth. "There are a lot of things in this universe that some people can do that others can't," she said gently. "I could never spend years at a time alone on a starship- and even if I could, I wouldn't know the first thing about maintaining it. You can do both of those. It doesn't mean either of us is better or worse than the other; it just means we're different."

"Maybe." Tomo paused, steeling himself for the crucial question. "Are you going to let me go back to the Goldenrod?"

He saw her eyes shift left, and knew she was checking some of his physiological readouts: reading from his body's reactions the state of his mind. The thought of being laid open like that before her didn't bother him; briefly, he wondered if it should. "I don't think that'll be a problem," she said after a moment.

"If it's what you want, of course."

"It is," he said. "It's where I belong. The only place I ever will belong."

"Some people spend all their lives trying to figure out where they belong,"

she pointed out softly. "At least you've got that much."

Tomo looked at her... and slowly it dawned on him that the gentleness in her voice was perhaps less professional technique than it was simply pity. "You don't need to feel sorry for me, Doctor," he told her. "I really do enjoy being in s.p.a.ce...

being who I am. It's just-well, I'd like to be able to face other people. Even if I never do it. You understand what I'm trying to say?"

"I think so," she nodded. "You're trying to expand the edges of your life, to push yourself as far as you can go."

He grimaced. "Looks like I'm already there, doesn't it?"

"Nonsense!" Scharn snorted with a vehemence that surprised him. "You're a human being, Tomo. No human being yet has ever found his own limits."

Echoes of his own words to Max, Tomo thought. He'd believed them then; now he wasn't so sure. "Um," he grunted noncommittally.

"I mean it. There'll always be new challenges for you-you'll see." Again her eyes shifted to the bio readouts, and when she spoke again her voice was back to its earlier quiet control. "I'm going to let you sleep now; give your body time to throw off the rest of the sedative. If you want to talk again later, I'll be available. If not, that's fine, too."

Fatigue was indeed tugging at Tomo's eyelids, but with an effort he forced them open again. There was one question he still wanted to ask. "Dr. Scharn?

Would you tell me what it's like being dirtside?"

He caught just the briefest half-smile before his eyes closed again. "Mostly,"

Scharn said from the bottom of a long stairway, "it's very, very noisy."

Somehow, the answer seemed profound... but before Tomo could think about it, he was asleep.

-Scharn turned off the viewer with a sigh, letting the professional calm evaporate from her face as the ache she really felt flooded in to take its place. Yes, Tomo would be able to return to his ship; a couple more days of biochemical a.n.a.lysis on him would conclusively prove what she already knew, that he wasn't drifting into psychosis. A small spurt of growth in his personality-true, in an unexpected direction-was really all that had happened, and in the controlled environment of starship travel there would be no stimuli to encourage further development. Like a teenager's grandiose dreams of his future, Tomo's thoughts of mingling with humanity would quietly fade and die. The mainter would be content with his world again; the company that owned him would be pleased and would return to business as usual.

Owned him. Owned him.

And something in Scharn snapped.

She thought about it for a long minute, and then traced a curve on the control ball. "Yes?" Iris answered.

"This is Dr. Scharn," the psychiatrist said firmly. "Get me the Goldenrod's computer. I'd like to leave a private message for Tomo."

The Goldenrod launched on schedule, driving slightly out of the ecliptic plane and incidentally giving a grand view of Maigre in the rear viewer. "Well, that's it, Max," Tomo said, the deck feeling good beneath his feet. "Next stop, Canaan Under Vega. Docking equipment all secured?"

"Secured and shut down," the computer replied. "I'm running a check on deep-s.p.a.ce functions, but so far everything registers normal."

"Good." Tomo watched the view of Maigre a moment longer, then picked up the ca.s.sette he'd earlier pulled out and placed by the control ball. He toyed with it, wondering if he really wanted to do this.

Max might have been reading his mind. "You don't have to try it yet, you know. Dr. Scharn made it clear this was to be strictly voluntary."

"I know," Tomo snapped, feeling the tension of this brand-new uncertainty and wishing Scharn had left things as they were. Almost wishing it, anyway...

Abruptly, he jammed the ca.s.sette into the player and dropped into his lounge chair, "All right," he told Max, bracing himself. "Let's give it a try."

And suddenly there was someone else in the room with him.

Tomo stiffened as the stranger nodded pleasantly. "h.e.l.lo, Tomo," he said...

and from behind him a second man appeared... and a woman... and another man...

They vanished as abruptly as they'd appeared, and Tomo slumped in his chair. He could feel the sweat on his forehead, and even over the roar of the drive his heartbeat was audible. "I think," he said when his breathing was finally back to normal, "that those are the most realistic holograms I've ever seen. Uh... how'd I do?"

"Quite well," Max said. "Six point eight seconds. I'm sure you could have managed another few seconds, but the programmed cutoffs are very specific."

"Six point eight, eh?" Tomo repeated, trying hard not to let his disappointment show. "Well, I suppose I have to start somewhere. You think there's a chance I'll be ready by the time we reach Canaan Under Vega?"

"I really don't know," was Max's diplomatic reply. "But we have ten point four years to find out."

Tomo smiled and resettled himself in the seat. "We sure do. Okay; let's try it again."

The dirtsiders at Canaan Under Vega were going to be very surprised.

Afterword.

"Return to the Fold" (one of my least favorite t.i.tles, by the way) started life as a script for some friends who wanted to make an SF movie. We actually took the project pretty far-for amateurs with no budget to speak of, anyway-even testing some potential actors at the local cable-TV facility. But we were eventually put on indefinite hold by a lack of hallways and offices that could be dressed up (cheaply) to look like those aboard a ship and s.p.a.ce station. With a script already in hand, I decided I might as well go ahead and turn it into a story. The story sold, was published, and even went on to become a Hugo nominee, which is certainly all one can expect from a humble little novelette. Still, sometimes I wish...

Anybody out there have a futuristic home you'd like to lend out for, say, about a week?

The Shadows of Evening

The late-afternoon sun was sending fingers of chilly darkness across the landscape as Turek topped the last hill and came within sight of the village of Akkad. He stood silently for a moment, looking down with mixed feelings at the sprawl of adobe huts. The villages growth in the years since he'd last been here was good, in a way; a sign that Man's foothold on this uniquely hostile world was increasing. But on the other hand, the more people in an area, the more trouble there generally was with Shadows. Not only were man-made objects in greater abundance to begin with, but there was always an idiot or two in a large village who simply wouldn't learn-and such, Turek suspected, was the case here.

Tugging almost savagely on his blue cloak to resettle it on his shoulders, he headed down the hill.

The crowd around the jewelers shop was something of a surprise to him when he arrived there. The messages had said the Shadow was a large one, but even large Shadows weren't usually worth any particular attention by the general populace. Pushing forward-no difficult task; the crowd parted like the Red Sea for him-he came to the inner edge of the ring and saw what they were looking at.

Sitting on the ground, gray face screwed up with pain and nausea, was a middle-aged man in a jeweler's ap.r.o.n. A plump woman knelt beside him, alternately fussing over him and scolding him for some action she clearly considered stupid. In front of him lay a rock-wood slab and a tray of tiny tools, some of which had spilled from their slots onto the dusty ground. On a cloth nearby lay a neat pile of delicate gold chains and sparkling gems.

Turek stood there silently for several seconds before the man noticed him and, gasping with the exertion, scrambled to his feet. Leaning on the woman, who'd also risen, he gave a shallow bow.