He knelt, picked up a trowel (carefully-it was a bladed instrument!), and resumed his task. When he had worked long enough, and hard enough, sometimes he lost himself in the rhythm of the task and forgot to think.

Thinking was the root of his problems. Thinking about impregnable hulls that weren't quite. About how to manufacture neutronium without exploding a star into a supernova. About the great sealed drives purchased from the Outsiders that moved whole worlds, and the all-but-complete mystery of the drives' operation, and of the stupendous energies involved, and- No!

With grim determination, Baedeker refocused on gathering weeds to add to his pile. After a while, when not a single weed remained within his reach, he stood, joints cracking, to shuffle to a new spot. The sky was nearly dark now. He would have to stop soon.

The breeze hesitated, then returned from a new direction. He caught a whiff of something foul. The wind stiffened: a sea breeze.

His nostrils wrinkled at the stench. The coastal ecology had all but vanished, killed by the lack of tides.

As Nature Preserve Four, as a part of the Fleet, this world had been one of six worlds...o...b..ting about their common center of ma.s.s. It had experienced ten tides a day. As New Terra, this world traveled alone. It had no tides.

Imminent nightfall and the reek of long-dead ... whatever... that had drifted ash.o.r.e to rot. Baedeker sighed, with undertunes plaintive in his throats. He would get no more relief from thought this day.

His examinations of an Outsider drive had not been entirely in vain. The mechanism somehow accessed the zero-point energy of the vacuum. Tapping the energy asymmetrically was inherently propulsive, enough so to move whole worlds. What if, he mused, one somehow superimposed the slightest of vibrations into the propulsive fields, applied a bit of a torque? Perhaps waves could be induced in the oceans, sloshing back and forth, to simulate tides.

And then? The force would not limit its effects to the oceans. A bit too much stress might topple buildings. And more than a bit too much? The strain could unleash seismic faults. An unintended resonance might build the surges higher and higher, until tsunamis crashed across the continents and washed away entire cities.

Baedeker trembled with the mad hubris his years of exile had yet to purge.

Perhaps, in these modern and perilous times, cowardice was overrated. When danger is everywhere, you cannot escape it. Except- Quivering in shock and fear, Baedeker collapsed to the ground. His heads darted between his front legs, beneath his belly, into a Citizen's refuge of last resort: a tightly curled wall of his own flesh.

BAEDEKER COWERED IN HIS APARTMENT, picking disinterestedly at a bowl of grain mush and mixed gra.s.ses, still shaking from his latest panic attack. A holo played in the background, the ballet troupe surrogates for the companionship he craved but remained too shattered to handle. He would eat first, and comb the tangles and burrs from his mane, and bathe, and sleep. Then, perhaps, he would be fit to see and be seen.

From the pocket with his comm unit, a glissando sounded, cycling up and down the scale. He ignored the music until it stopped. Moments later a fanfare rang out, louder and more insistent, denoting a higher priority call. He ignored that, too. Before it could interrupt a third time, he dipped a head into the pocket and powered off the unit, averting his eye from the display. He did not want to know who had called. The matter could wait, or it was beyond his present ability to cope.

More tones, harsh and discordant, and from a new source: an emergencyoverride alert from his in-home stepping disc. Who? Why? Baedeker sidled away in fear. tones, harsh and discordant, and from a new source: an emergencyoverride alert from his in-home stepping disc. Who? Why? Baedeker sidled away in fear.

A human stepped off, short and thickset with a round face. He was entirely unimposing-until those dark, intense eyes impaled you. Baedeker knew those eyes. He dreaded those eyes. He flinched and looked away.

It was Sigmund Ausfaller!

"Don't be alarmed," Ausfaller said.

Baedeker backed off farther, ready to bolt in any direction. Instinctively, he spread his heads warily, one high, one low.

"Do you know who I am?" Ausfaller asked.

It had been years since they last spoke, but of course course Baedeker knew the human. Even if they had never met, he would have known. Ausfaller was the planet's lone Earthman, and the minister of defense. Baedeker knew the human. Even if they had never met, he would have known. Ausfaller was the planet's lone Earthman, and the minister of defense.

The question made Baedeker wonder: How deranged do I look? He dared a sideways glance, and the mirror disclosed a slumped and disheveled figure. Despite himself, he plucked at his tangled mane. "Yes-s. Why have you come?"

Ausfaller looked for a place to sit, and settled for a mound of overstuffed pillows. If he had hoped to make himself seem less threatening, he had failed. "Baedeker, I need your help."

"You don't." Baedeker shivered. "I am a simple gardener."

Ausfaller leaned forward. "I know, and I'm sorry. You were once much more than that, a brilliant engineer. I need you to be one again."

Because who shares their best technology with their servants? Only fools, and Citizens were anything but.

Baedeker looked himself in the eyes. He remembered the c.o.c.ky engineer he had been-and cringed at the memory. "I'm sorry. I can't do that."

Lips pressed thin, Ausfaller considered. "There is a serious danger... ."

Once again, one of Baedeker's heads had plunged itself deep into his mane. He pulled it out to fix the human with a frank, two-headed stare. "The old Baedeker you seek? He He is a serious danger. It is for the best-for everyone-that no one sees him again." is a serious danger. It is for the best-for everyone-that no one sees him again."

"And if a whole world is at risk? Perhaps many worlds? What then?"

His necks shook from the struggle not to plunge between his legs. Cowardice was overrated, he thought. All he said was, "Perhaps, Sigmund, you should tell me more."

Ausfaller shook his head. "Join a crucial, off-world mission or return to Hearth." When Baedeker said nothing, the human added, "Sanctuary is a privilege, not a right."

Many worlds at risk? That was no choice at all.

7.

Hurtling through s.p.a.ce on parallel courses a thousand miles apart, two ships prepared to swap crews. Cargoes had already been exchanged. Fuel had been transferred.

"Ready on this end," Kirsten Quinn-Kovacs called over an encrypted radio link from Don Quixote Don Quixote.

"After you, Eric." Sigmund gestured at the stepping disc inset on the relax-room floor. He was sweating. The ship-to-ship jump scared the c.r.a.p out of him.

A stepping disc could absorb only so much kinetic energy. The velocity match had to be all but exact: within two hundred feet per second. That limit wasn't a problem when the velocity differences arose from planetary rotation. Then it was straightforward geometry to calculate the velocity difference between start and end discs. As necessary, the system relayed you through intervening discs.

The void held no intervening discs.

As a safeguard, send and receive discs were built to suppress transmission if they sensed a velocity mismatch approaching the threshold. The odds were all but infinitesimal that his two ships would cross the mismatch threshold during the light-speed-limited, under-a-millisecond interval between send and receive.

Maybe if Sigmund had trained as a physicist rather than an accountant he would have been rea.s.sured. He settled for the simple truth that the bigger risk was delay. To rendezvous and dock would take time they might not have.

"On my way," Eric replied. He stepped forward and disappeared. "Nothing to it," he radioed back.

Sigmund's mouth was dry. He cleared his throat. "Send them from your end, Kirsten."

One of Don Quixote Don Quixote's crew popped over, and then a second. Both did double takes at seeing Sigmund. "Minister," one began.

Sigmund returned a too-slow, self-conscious salute. "You didn't see me. Captain Tanaka-Singh is on the bridge. He'll explain." Omar would keep these two hidden until Don Quixote Don Quixote returned from its upcoming, unannounced mission. returned from its upcoming, unannounced mission.

"Yes, sir," they chorused.

Alert clicks came over the comm link, then Eric's voice. "Sigmund, are you coming?"

"In a minute." Sigmund waited for the footsteps to fade. He muted the inter-ship link before connecting the intercom to Baedeker's cabin. "It's time."

Silence.

"Now, tanj it!" Sigmund said.

Finally: "Acknowledged, Sigmund."

However grudging, the answer was delivered in a breathy contralto. Puppeteers always spoke thus to humans. Given that a Puppeteer could imitate most musical instruments-and whole orchestras when he wished-the s.e.xy voice had to be a conscious, manipulative choice.

A moment later hooves clattered on the metal deck of the corridor. Baedeker hesitated in the doorway, ready to run in either direction.

"Baedeker," Sigmund coaxed. The Puppeteer edged into the relax room. "Baedeker, it's your turn to cross."

With a bit less cajoling than Sigmund had expected, Baedeker sidled onto the disc and vanished. Sigmund allowed Baedeker a moment to vacate the receive disc before stepping to Don Quixote Don Quixote- Where Eric was red in the face. Baedeker had backed away. His heads were swiveling about in panic, searching for somewhere to bolt. He found refuge behind the crates of weapons and battle armor Sigmund had transferred before the crew exchange.

"You!" Eric hissed. "How dare you-"

"He's with me," Sigmund snapped. "Eric, back off. That's an order."

Kirsten was listening over the intercom. "Who? Is everything okay?"

"Fine, Kirsten," Sigmund said. "Radio the shuttle. Tell Omar, 'Well done, and have a safe trip home.' "

Eric's hands were fists, white-knuckled, as he kept moving toward Baedeker. "Do you know who this is, Sigmund? What he tried to do?"

"Eric! Who is it?" Kirsten asked.

"It's Baedeker!" Eric shouted back. "Baedeker!"

Sigmund chose his words carefully. "He did what seemed best to protect his people and his home. As you and I do."

"He hid explosives aboard my ship!"

The late, lamented Explorer Explorer. "The ship you stole, Eric."

"That's not the point!"

It was precisely the point. In another life, on another world, Sigmund had hidden a bomb in another ship, and for the same reason: lest the vessel be stolen. Sigmund had done it first, and-unlike Baedeker-deterred a theft.

Not that Sigmund was proud of what he'd had to do. "Baedeker was doing his job. Eric, do yours."

Eric winced. "I always have."

Sigmund permitted Eric the last word to lessen the sting of the rebuke. "All right, Kirsten." Sigmund recited a set of coordinates. "Whenever you're ready."

Kirsten knew how Sigmund felt about s.p.a.ceships and she allowed him no time to get cold feet. That, or she recognized their destination. "Dropping to hypers.p.a.ce in five seconds ... four ... three ..."

HYPERs.p.a.cE!.

It was a place (dimension? abstraction? shared delusion?) that defied description. Whatever hypers.p.a.ce was, or wasn't, when you were in it a hyperdrive shunt carried you along at a prodigious clip: roughly a light-year of Einstein s.p.a.ce every three days.

Leave a view port uncovered in hypers.p.a.ce and-if you were lucky-the walls seemed to converge in denial of the nothingness. If you were unlucky, your mind simply got lost. Whatever hypers.p.a.ce was, or wasn't, the mind refused to acknowledge it. Hypers.p.a.ce had driven many minds mad.

And so, ships sped through hypers.p.a.ce with their view ports painted over, or hidden behind curtains, or powered down-and their crews, all the while, brooded on the oblivion that lurked just outside the hull. They dropped back to normal s.p.a.ce, more and more frequently as a trip continued, just to know that something besides the ship still existed. And they found themselves, again and again, unable to stay away, on the bridge staring obsessively at the ma.s.s pointer. For whatever hypers.p.a.ce was, or wasn't, the hyperdrive did something strange if it came too near to a large ma.s.s. Approach a star or a planet too closely while in hypers.p.a.ce and- Well, Sigmund didn't know what. No one did. Perhaps the ship ceased to exist. Perhaps it was hurled into another dimension, or a deeper level of hypers.p.a.ce, or far across the universe. The math was ambiguous.

What Sigmund did did know was that he feared hypers.p.a.ce and that he wasn't alone. Nor was an aversion to hypers.p.a.ce merely a human frailty. Before New Terra, Sigmund had known many s.p.a.cefaring species. He remembered every one, just not how to find them. They all recoiled, in one manner or another, from hypers.p.a.ce. Puppeteers exhibited one of the most extreme reactions. Most-Baedeker was among the exceptions-would not, under any circ.u.mstances, travel by hyperdrive. know was that he feared hypers.p.a.ce and that he wasn't alone. Nor was an aversion to hypers.p.a.ce merely a human frailty. Before New Terra, Sigmund had known many s.p.a.cefaring species. He remembered every one, just not how to find them. They all recoiled, in one manner or another, from hypers.p.a.ce. Puppeteers exhibited one of the most extreme reactions. Most-Baedeker was among the exceptions-would not, under any circ.u.mstances, travel by hyperdrive.

The Fleet of Worlds would be a long time in its flight.

With a shudder, Sigmund pulled himself together. He pressed his cabin's intercom b.u.t.ton. "Everyone, join me in the relax room. It's time for a mission briefing."

A VID PLAYED above the relax-room table. Sigmund's crew watched the holo. Sigmund watched them.

Kirsten stared, her eyes shining, her fingers drumming absentmindedly on the tabletop, at the final, frozen scene of the vid. She was trim and athletic, fair-skinned with delicate features and high cheekbones. Her auburn hair was cropped short.

Eric and Kirsten-husband and wife, reunited-sat together on a long side of the table. Baedeker occupied the parallel side, closest to the hatch the better to flee.

(Or perhaps Baedeker merely maximized his distance from the pointy corners. Puppeteer design shunned edges and corners. To Sigmund their furniture looked half melted, like the Y-shaped overstuffed seat on which Baedeker sat astraddle. The chair was a small part of the mission supplies that had been teleported aboard.) Sigmund had taken the chair at the head of the table, the better to preside-and to separate Baedeker and Eric. The table end opposite Sigmund was flush with the bulkhead. When not in use, the table folded up against the wall.

"The Gw'oth," Kirsten said in wonder. "They mastered interplanetary travel."

Baedeker stared, too, but in horror. Like Kirsten, he was seeing this recording for the first time. "Another s.p.a.cefaring race?" he said. "And you know of them? Explain."

Kirsten couldn't take her eyes off the image. "It was our first mission away from the Fleet. Eric and I, and Omar, and Nessus."

Baedeker bleated something two-throated and discordant. He didn't translate and he didn't need to. No love was lost between him and Nessus.

Kirsten frowned at the noise, then continued. "Unexpected radio broadcasts had just reached the Fleet. We backtracked, found these guys, tapped their communications. We learned a lot about them, without-at Nessus' insistence-ever making contact. They call themselves the Gw'oth. Individually, a Gw'o. They're from the ocean beneath the crust of an ice moon. We're heading to their solar system."

Baedeker pawed nervously at the deck. "And you left these Gw'oth a hyperwave radio beacon? Why?"

Eric and Kirsten exchanged unhappy looks. "It's complicated," Kirsten finally offered.

In other words, they didn't want to tell Baedeker. Tanj it, Sigmund thought, I need to build some trust among my crew. Distrusting Puppeteers is my my job. "We have time," he prompted. job. "We have time," he prompted.

"We were testing the little guys," Eric offered. "We fried one of their primitive comsats with a laser to see how they'd react. The Gw'oth launched a replacement very quickly. That got Nessus wondering about the extent of their sky watching. The Fleet would've been pa.s.sing by in about seventy years, moving at three-tenths light speed by then. If there was any possibility the Gw'oth could lob something stealthy into the Fleet's path..."

Sigmund shuddered, even though the back story wasn't new to him. You didn't have to be a Puppeteer to find kinetic-kill weapons frightening. "Go on."

Eric stalled for a few seconds with a bulb of hot coffee. "Nessus ordered us to rig a cometary-belt object with a thruster. The idea was to temporarily modify the s...o...b..ll's...o...b..t enough to seem a threat to the Gw'oth. He wanted to see if and how they reacted."

Baedeker's forepaw sc.r.a.ped the deck. "And did they?"

Kirsten shook her head. "We never did alter the s...o...b..ll's...o...b..t. Explorer Explorer was recalled to the Fleet first. Nessus was needed on Hearth. He never explained. And of course the Fleet has altered course to avoid the Gw'oth." was recalled to the Fleet first. Nessus was needed on Hearth. He never explained. And of course the Fleet has altered course to avoid the Gw'oth."

Mention of Explorer Explorer brought sad reminiscence to Kirsten's face and a flash of anger to Eric's. Baedeker intoned something deep in both throats. brought sad reminiscence to Kirsten's face and a flash of anger to Eric's. Baedeker intoned something deep in both throats.