Starwatcher extended a tiny hand in greeting. ' "That what all Greensuit Hagga call you," he said. "Must be your front name. Is so?"

O'Bannon knew full well that the men of the First Battalion referred to him as "Cobra-Eyes," behind his back. As a matter of fact, he took a good deal of secret pride in it, but for morale purposes he had to pretend offense when someone let the term slip in his presence. As a matter of fact, the nickname was spreading. Spies informed him that Colonel Tom McGraw, the commander of the Marine brigade stationed on Xerxes-and his immediate superior-so identified him with such regularity that it was becoming common for officers on Alex Napier's staff to routinely refer to him as "old Cobra-Eyes."

"It's not a front name," O'Bannon said. "It's a nickname."

Starwatcher wrinkled his nose. "Nich-name?" he said, his vocal machinery clicking a bit over the unfamiliar word.

"Right," O'Bannon said, "except they all think I don't know about it."

Starwatcher's face brightened. "Oh," he said. "Is same as Unka Vida' so-say other Greensuit Hagga be 'S.O.B.' Is so?"

O'Bannon suppressed the desire to laugh. "Yes," he said soberly. "Is so."

Starwatcher nodded decisively. "I know, you know; but I not supposed to act so you know." He shrugged. "Hagga do many-many that make no sense to Fuzzies.

Many-many things for Fuzzies to learn. Now," he said, pointing at the shirt with his shoppo-diggo, "what make do?"

"Changing clothes," O'Bannon said, as he shucked on the field-green shirt and buttoned it. "I'm going on a trip. Would you like to come along?"

"Tip?" Starwatcher said. "What mean- 't'ip?' "

"Well, you just take a trip down to Investigations and straighten them out, if there's no one in the division who can handle the job." Victor Grego ground out his cigarette with just the proper display of irritation to drive the point home.

Chief Steefer's image in the communication screen looked uncomfortable. "Mr.

Grego," he said, "do you know how long it would take to run security verification on every employee in the Company, even if I had everyone in the Detective Division drop the work at hand and start immediately?"

"Nonsense," Grego snapped. "Every cop we have has waived veridication privacy as a condition of employment. We'll start with you and me-and make damned sure everyone in the Company knows about it. Then, you veridi-cate all yourcaptains and lieutenants, and they-well, so on down the line. Once that's done, you ask for voluntary compliance from everyone else. I'll back you on it."

"Mr. Grego!" Steefer protested. "It will still take better than six months!"

Good. Harry wasn't using first names. That meant he took this all seriously.

And it meant that Victor Grego was in complete control of the conversation.

"Nonsense, again, Harry," Grego said. "By the time we've done all the senior people and you've put a detective task force on the rest of the job, our security leak will flush from cover and take wing. There might be a half-dozen people involved. You won't have to veridicate more than- say-a couple hundred people before someone starts to crack."

Steefer had his own cop's idea of the problem. Never should have let Grego talk him into bending the rules about that Stone woman. Grego was developing a bad blind spot about her lately. No point in bringing that up, but it couldn't hurt to put a tail on her-strictly on the quiet. Stubby Butler would be the man to trust for that job.

"Isn't this pretty extreme?" Steefer asked. "Just because someone beat us to the punch on a land deal doesn't mean the Company is riddled with spies."

"Oh, faugh!" Grego said. ' The land deal isn 't the important point, Harry.

The point is that no one knew we had decided to aquire that parcel and develop it. Eton Duncan and I had finalized the project plans that afternoon in my office. Next morning, someone had opened an escrow on it." "It could be co-incidence," Steefer ventured. Grego drew his mouth into a tight line. "Like the coincidence of the Navy knowing everything that was said in my office when Henry Stenson had it bugged-with a bug no one could find." Steefer winced.

Looks like I hit a nerve with that one, Grego thought. "It's not your fault, Harry," he said. "No one could have found that bug. The land deal, though, is still not the point." He lighted a cigarette while he waited for Steefer to see the obvious. Steefer didn't. "Look at it this way," Grego said.

"Do you recall the file you brought over and showed me several days ago?"

"Yes," Steefer said. "Yes, I do." He remembered how pleased Grego had been when told that the Company Police had finally infiltrated an undercover man into the ZNPF on Beta.

"If this little land deal can find its way out of a confidential conversation through some leak in the Company, then the contents of that file can escape through the same hole, no matter how tiny it might be."

Recognition flooded across Steefer's face. "Ghu!" he exclaimed. "I never thought of that. lapologize-profusely. I'll get on it immediately."

"Good, "Grego said. "Keep me posted. I'11 make myself available for veridication at your convenience. Might have a better impact if we both did it at the same time."

"That's right," O 'Bannon said to his private communication screen. "We haven't been able to find anything wrong with them, but I want you to put them in quarantine as soon as we arrive on Xerxes. Run a complete psychophysical profile on all six. How long will that take?"

The image of Lieutenant Joseph diCenzo smiled back at O'Bannon from thescreen. "About three standard weeks, Jim," he said. "What if I don't find anything unusual? Stamp 'em 'fit for duty' and ship them back to the unit?"

O'Bannon looked irritated. "No, Joe," he said. "If you don't find anything wrong with them, check back with me. I may want you to repeat the tests."

Joe diCenzo shook his head. "Oh, Jim," he said, and made that clucking sound of disapproval that doctors love to make. "Using the Chief Psychologist as a jailer to buy time in a security isolation situation. Shame on you."

"That's not what I'm doing-" O'Bannon said stiffly. "-exactly."

"It's all right," diCenzo said. "Really it is. Take my word for it; this sort of thing is done all the time."

"We're all agreed, then," Gerd said to Jack. "Ruth says she 'd rather go on up there this evening and get a good night's sleep in the airboat before the Ranger picks us all up in the morning."

"Suits me," Jack agreed, "even though I haven't spent a hand of nights at home since this thing in Fuzzy Valley started. Not that it would make much difference, anyway; we'd have to start out well before dawn if we left in the morning."

"When do you want to jump off, then?" Gerd asked.

"Any time you want," Jack said. "I can't even begin to put a dent in the work that's piled up here-not today, at least. I'm at your disposal, Dr.

Fuzzyologist."

Gerd mused. "Let's see. I can get things cleaned up here and lay out enough work for a week or so by, say, 1630. We could be in the air by 1730."

"That would put us at the camp before 2300," Jack said. "Sounds okay to me."

"I'll have Ruth pack a lunch," Gerd suggested. "We won't want to take time to sit down to dinner."

"If you like," Jack said. "No need, really, though. I know the Headquarters Company Mess Sergeant. We could have a hot snack of some kind when we get in."

"Hmmmm," Gerd said. "Beltran is a treasure that way. We should take along some tosh-ki waji, in that case. But, will he be up that late?"

Jack laughed. "As far as I can tell, he never sleeps."

"I'll see you, then, after I break away here," Gerd said.

"Fine," Jack repli ed. "I'll get all packed up and meet you at your bungalow at 1630."

"1630 it is," Gerd said, and blanked the screen.

"No, I can't wait for him," Ben Rainsford said to his communication screen.

"I'm leaving here not later than 1630."

O'Bannon rubbed the first two fingers of his right hand across his forehead.

"I must have your signature on these authorizations. Will you be in quarters after you leave your office?""No," Rainsford replied, rather testily, "I will not. I'm going straight to Justice Pendarvis' home for a very crucial reception-something essentially political, rather than social. If your man misses me here, have him bring the stuff over there. I'd like to have the Judge look it over, anyway. My secretary will give you the address. Anything else, Colonel?"

"No," O'Bannon replied. "That will be fine, sir. Thank you very much, Governor."

"No trouble at all," Rainsford said, as he pressed the key that would bring the receptionist back on the channel. "Glad to be of help."

After Miss Werner took over the call and blanked Rainsford's pickup, he chuffed furiously on his pipe for a moment. "Confound the Navy," he said to his empty office. "Confound everybody," he said to the stack of papers on his desk. "And especially confound everybody who makes these damned scientific discoveries when I'm stuck here trying to hold the government together with spit and glue. Only the greatest set of artifacts discovered this century-maybe any century-and I'm not out there in the thick of it where I belong. Damn it all to Nifflheim, anyway!"

Gwen dropped two full lines of lyrics from "Senchant Star" when she saw Diehl and Spelvin come into the smoky main room of The Bitter End. The musicians bridged it over nicely, and no one else noticed. The Friday night after-work crowd was already starting to build up. It would drop off a bit as the office workers and tradespeople drifted away to home or dinner, but by 2100 or so the joint would be packed and people would be standing three-deep around the tables in the casino room.

She discreetly returned Jim Spelvin's wave in her direction as he and Everett Diehl hurried toward the bar across the back of the main room. Ghu! Why doesn 't he get hold of himself? He could amount to something if he'd quit making a life's work out of being a Marine bum. They're all alike. Damned Marines!

Healthy and dumb. Always dead broke by the end of payday liberty.

She watched-only half paying attention to the rest of the song-as the two of them elbowed through the crowd at the bar, then said something to the bartender. Soon there was a whispered conversation with Raul Laporte, who had abruptly come from the gambling room, then all three of them headed toward Laporte's office.. Now, that was strange. Laporte did not often invite anyone into his office-certainly not a couple of Marines whose main worthiness involved being in debt to him.

O'Bannon rubbed the first two fingers of his right hand across his forehead as he flipped open the folio and began going over the paperwork inside.

Inventory and certification; in order. He thumbed the page back. Receipt for his copy of inventory, signed by Commissioner Holloway; in order. Form DRO-10 for removal of "artifacts of unknown or unestablished origin" from the planetary surface, signed by Commissioner Holloway, and with signature blocks for Governor Rainsford and himself.

O'Bannon smiled as he signed the copies in the space provided for himself.

Below his space-as Officer-In-Charge-was another for NCO-In-Charge. It bore the name and signature of Philip Helton, Master Gunnery Sergeant of Fleet Marines. "Sergeant-Major Miller will be glad to hear that," he said to himself. He initialed the attachments of authentication, which cited the Federation Constitution and TFN Regulations governing such matters under Priority One.He moved his attention to the papers in the left wing of the folio-those of a purely military nature. Travel authorization, with names of involved vessels, roster of personnel, travel itinerary-all in order. He signed in the appropriate places, then looked up at Helton. "NCOIC, you say?" he said.

Helton shrugged. "Only of the dig. That's specified on the DRO-10. Besides, I out-rank Miller."

"I know you do," O'Bannon said. "I talked to Governor Rainsford while you were bringing this stuff over. If you should miss him at his office-he's leaving there early- you'll be able to get him at Judge Pendarvis' home." He handed Helton a slip with the information. "What time do you think you'll be back?"

"It's right there on the itinerary, Colonel," Helton said.

O'Bannon gave him a dead pan look. "Officers have an itinerary," he said flatly. "You have a schedule."

"I see your point," Helton said.

"Hmmmmm," O'Bannon replied.

Helton turned to leave.

"Phil," O'Bannon said quickly.

Helton turned back toward him, hitching the folio under his left arm. He expected mild disapproval of his not departing formally, but wasn't in the mood for it, "Yes, sir?"

"I'll stay up until Holloway and his party get here-make sure they're settled-that sort of thing. No reason for you to bother with that. You'll be tired after the trip, I imagine." O'Bannon spoke slowly, as though choosing his words.

"That will be fine, sir," Helton said. "Anything else?"

"Yes," O'Bannon said. "Take my command car. Bushmeyer will be quite rested, as usual. And, I want you to take a couple of men with you for security. I don't like the noises I've been hearing from Mallorysport lately. There's trouble brewing up over there. I can smell it-even from here."

"You mean more civil disorder?" Helton asked.

"Something like that," O'Bannon said. "If it goes to Martial Law again, I hope they send in the Second Battalion this time; they haven't been kissed yet."

Helton nodded.

"Watch yourself, Phil," O'Bannon said. "And let me know when you're back-even if I've gone to bed."

Chapter 36.

"Do you think you can persuade Starwatcher to come to Xerxes with us?"

Holloway asked.

Little Fuzzy threw out his chest and pointed at it with his own thumb. "Sure, Pappy Jack," he said. "Easy make do. Me Numba'-One Fuzzy."

Orangish light from the afternoon sun shifted in patterns through the interiorof the airboat as Gerd brought it up to altitude and set his course for Fuzzy Valley.

"What do you think, Little Fuzzy?" Ruth asked. "Do you have any ideas about the ship and the dead Fuzzies we found in it and in the cave?"

Little Fuzzy shrugged. "Me no know," he said. "Star-watcher say his people have story that Fuzzies come from someplace else-someday go back that place.

Many things yet for Little Fuzzy to learn."

Jack nodded. "Many-many things for Hagga to leam," he said. "The Fuzzy remains in the ship aren't woods Fuzzies and they aren't Upland Fuzzies. Do these new Fuzzies have anything to do with the remains we found, or do they just occupy the same geography? What does the Fuzzyologist say, Gerd?"

Gerd grimaced. "Damned questions. Every time we find the answer to one question, it brings up two more questions. We're getting nowhere at hyperspeed-even though we know an enormously larger amount of information about Fuzzies than we did a year ago."

"We know that the decomposing titanium ship hull caused the soil in Fuzzy Valley to become richer in several different kinds of titanium compounds,"

Ruth said. "Oxides and nitrates of titanium, sodium tritanate, titanic acids-that sort of thing-not to mention other nitrate compounds from rainwater leaching down into the valley. That's why the Fuzzies cultivated plants there-until the drought dried up the vegetable patch. The plants picked up titanium from the soil."

Jack thoughtfully packed tobacco into his pipe. Little Fuzzy promptly dug into hisshodda-bag and began doing the same. "Then why," Jack said, "when the woods Fuzzies began their southward volkerwanderung, following the land-prawns, did the Upland Fuzzies stay? They knew it was going to be a hard life."

Gerd shrugged. "Maybe they thought the rain would come back and things would pick up again. After all, they had no way of knowing that the Company's draining Big Blackwater was causing a permanent climate change."

Jack held his index finger in the air. "Let us," he said, "ask a definitive eyewitness source. How about it, Little Fuzzy? Why did one group stay and the other group migrate?"

Little Fuzzy delayed his answer until he had finished lighting his pipe. He blew out a plume of smoke. "They- what you call Up'end Fuzzies are the Haigunsha. We, you so-say woods Fuzzies, are Kampushi-sha. We, both us, Gashta. No fight; not good. Make friend, make help, have fun." He screwed up his tiny face for a moment, forming the words for the concept. "We just-not same-even though same-Gashta." He shrugged. "We go-they stay."

"Does anyone know about that, Little Fuzzy?" Gerd asked.