"Oh, yes. What's more, I recognize their mental signatures. They were part of the group that probed me just after I arrived."

"Merde! They did? Why didn't you tell us?"

"It didn't hurt. They were just checking me out. They installed a memory block, but I was able to override it. It was really interesting, hearing them discuss my mental a.s.say. Do you know that there's another kid who has mindpowers almost as enormous as mine? A girl on the planet Caledonia. Her name's Dorothea Macdonald. She's still not completely operant, but the Lylmik said she would be someday. I wish I could go to Caledonia and meet her."

"Maybe if you learn how to behave yourself and stay out of trouble, Grandmere and Grandpere will take you."

"I was good at the party," Jack protested. "I didn't even go for the pot of gold, even though I knew where it was hidden almost as soon as the game started. To hog the single prize because of my superior metafaculties would have been vainglorious and contemptible. It was different with the horse races where others had a chance to win, too."

Rogi gave a snort of laughter, then patted Jack's shoulder. "Well done, Ti-Jean. You're learning."

Not many guests were inclined to leave the party early. Among the spa.r.s.e group of pa.s.sengers waiting in the tube station were Marc's four friends Alex, Pete, Shig, and Boom-Boom.

"Don't tell me you guys are packing it in already!" the bookseller said.

"I get to stay at Fred and Minnie's tonight with you and Uncle Rogi," Jack piped up.

Alex Manion said, "We're not exactly heading back to the tree-house just yet." His mind-screen, like those of his companions, was fully arrayed. "There's another party we want to drop in on. A smaller one."

"Adults only. We'll see you later," said Boom-Boom, winking. "We got heavy dates. You know?" The quartet boarded a capsule destined for the human enclaves.

When they were gone, Jack said quietly, "They're going to Marc's. But I promised Luc not to tell anybody why."

"A conspiracy, eh? I suppose the gang of 'em are plotting to turn Rebel."

"Oh, no," said the child. "That's not it at all. Please don't do any more guessing, Uncle Rogi. I really can't tell you and it would be a sin for me to lie."

"Perish the thought that I'd lead you into temptation," Rogi said huffily. "Toi, t'es un vrai p't.i.t Saint Jean le Desincarne!"

The capsule that would carry them to Fred and Minnie's house pulled into the station and they got in and sped away.

Paul Remillard bowed formally over the withered hand of Tamara Sakhvadze. She was 105 years old and wore a chic suit of dark worsted with a high-necked white blouse and a fine cameo. Thick-lensed old-fashioned spectacles perched on the end of her b.u.t.ton nose and her snowy hair was cut short. Throughout the evening she had held court beneath the statue of St. Patrick, seated in a motorized chair, attended by her grandchildren Gael and Alan Sakhvadze and lionized by Rebels and Milieu loyalists alike.

Operant etiquette made it unnecessary for Paul to introduce himself after the old lady extended her hand and invited him telepathically to approach. He simply opened his mind, revealing his ident.i.ty in the unlikely event that she had not recognized him, and said: "It's a great honor to meet you in person at last, Madame Sakhvadze. I hope you have enjoyed your visit to Concilium Orb."

"Please, First Magnate," she protested in heavily accented Standard English. "You must call me Tamara and I will call you Paul. It is my first-and probably my last!-visit to this astonishing place. I have been both impressed and bewildered by your marvelous interspecific legislature."

Paul laughed. "It's not nearly as disorderly as it seems."

Tamara shook her head slowly in disbelief. "That humanity and five exotic races can actually cooperate in a galactic government still amazes me. I remember, you see, the spectacular failure of my own late Soviet Union, which attempted to unite a mult.i.tude of different human ethnic groups through imposing an idealistic philosophy. It never worked. The weaknesses of human nature prevailed and not even the emergence of higher mindpowers was able to save us from civil war. From what I have heard during my visit, I fear that something similar may lurk in the future of your Galactic Milieu."

"Nonsense, Mamenka," said Davy MacGregor. "The two situations are quite different." The lanky, dark-haired Dirigent of Earth wore the spectacular Highland dress of his clan. His sister Katharine, in a long Regency ballgown with a shoulder sash of the MacGregor tartan, had married Tamara's son Ilya. Their progeny included not only Gael and Alan but also Masha MacGregor-Gawrys. Both Davy and Katharine, tragically deprived of their own mother years before the Intervention, had accorded maternal honors to Tamara for years.

Davy MacGregor spoke now with a voice full of hearty optimism. "The misunderstandings about Unity are bound to be resolved before humanity reaches its Coadunate Number and a final vote must be taken by the population. We've got at least twenty years to study the matter and put any feelings of misgiving to rest."

The little old lady c.o.c.ked her head and peered up at Paul with an earnest expression. "And what do you think? Will it be so easy?'

It was a long moment before the First Magnate replied. "I hope Davy is right. The great majority of human magnates and others of our race having metapsychic powers believe that Unity would be wholly beneficial to our mental evolution. A fair number of nonoperants fear that it would compromise the mental integrity of the individual and make operants less human in their thinking. The so-called Rebel faction of metas is also opposed to Unity, and their numbers have been slowly growing. I personally think we Milieu loyalists have our work cut out for us disproving the Rebel thesis, but I'm confident we'll prevail in the end. The notion of divorcing the Human Polity from the rest of the Milieu is unthinkable."

Tamara turned to the little Poltroyan pair in their droll Irish fancy dress. The smiles had left the kindly faces of Fred and Minnie and their ruby eyes had clouded. "Both of you are exemplars of Unity," Tamara said. "If the situation came to this-this Bill of Divorcement, would the Milieu let humanity go its way alone?"

Minnie temporized. "The Concilium has never actually debated the contingency."

"There was considerable opposition to admitting humankind to the Milieu in the first place," Fred said somberly. "Your race has a long way to go before reaching the level of psychological and social maturity already achieved by the coadunate peoples. It's true that the Simbiari are also imperfectly Unified, but their race has never been exceptionally aggressive-merely insensitive-and their minds continue to coadunate smoothly into the Whole. With humanity, there has always been the danger of fundamental incompatibility."

"We Poltroyans faced rather a similar situation when we were initiated," Minnie said. "Like you humans, we have a predatory past which we overcame only with great mental effort. This is doubtless why we feel such sympathy for you."

Patricia Castellane, the recently appointed Dirigent of Okanagon, spoke up sharply. "But your friendship doesn't extend to the point of being able to show us exactly what Unity entails!"

Fred and Minnie's distress was obvious. The Poltroyan female said, "Unity cannot be demonstrated, Patricia. It can only be experienced. It can be compared somewhat to the way s.e.xual beings fall in love. No description can adequately portray its reality. Persons may yearn for it, be indifferent to it, or even fear it. But when it happens, its effects are inexplicably transfiguring."

"That," said Alan Sakhvadze, an admitted member of the Rebel faction, "is what we're afraid of: being transfigured to the point of losing our ident.i.ty."

"One's ego remains intact," Fred said, "but egocentricity becomes impossible within Unity, as does the potential for hostile action toward one's fellow beings. One is not coerced into abandoning these att.i.tudes, you understand. They simply become inconceivable."

"And what," Tamara inquired, "might a Unified operant human do if confronted by a life-threatening unUnified human?"

"Resolve the situation peacefully," said Paul Remillard.

"Or die?"

The First Magnate inclined his head. "The ethic is not unfamiliar to the human race."

The old lady's hands, clasped in her lap, were trembling slightly, but her shuttered mind and immobile face betrayed nothing of her emotions. "Long years ago, when human operants were forced to conceal their mindpowers for fear of hostile normals, my dear late husband Yuri and I were lectured on that very point by a Tibetan lama. He told us that aggression- especially the aggressive use of metapsychic faculties-is never morally acceptable. To the day that he died, Yuri refused to accept this teaching. He had seen too much evil that could not be conquered except by extirpation. I did believe in the philosophy of nonviolence for a while-until we operants of the Soviet Union were given the choice of fighting for our lives or bowing to martyrdom." She shrugged. "We fought. We lived. Was it wrong?"

Paul searched her fathomless dark eyes. There was no coercion in Tamara Sakhvadze, no defiance, only stone-hard endurance.

"Tamara, our world has changed. The horrors you faced have vanished forever. The Galactic Milieu is far from perfect, but most forms of injustice, oppression, and want are extinct. Human beings-operant and non-are free to fulfill their potential, to live happy and productive lives-"

"So long as their choice falls within the parameters of Milieu Statutes!" said Alan Sakhvadze, interrupting without apology. "But human reproduction is still licensed, certain religions and certain traditional lifestyles are banned, and migration to the colonial planets is hedged with onerous restrictions. Operant human beings have their liberty even more severely restricted. We're required to develop our mindpowers to the fullest extent whether we want to or not. We can also be compelled to pursue an occupation or profession that's deemed most beneficial to the Milieu-even if we have strong personal inclinations in other directions."

"Humans have always been willing to accept limitations on freedom for good and sufficient reason," Paul said. "The more complex the society, the more often the individual human ego must bow to the requirements of the common welfare. Ethics and morality must evolve along with society."

"And you know all about ethics and morality, don't you, boyo."

For the first time since Paul had joined the group, Rory Muldowney spoke. The voice of the "Irish" planet's Dirigent was mild and lilting for all that his features were deeply flushed and his eyes ablaze with some well-m.u.f.fled pa.s.sion. He lifted his gla.s.s high.

"Then here's to you, First Magnate! Paul Remillard-leader of the polity ... guardian of humanity's best interests ... font of swift justice ... troubleshooter extraordinaire. Slainte to you, Number One! You'll see the lot of us safely wrapped in Unity whether we want it or not, won't you, you darlin' n.o.ble man! All the human planets and good old Earth to boot." He emptied the half-full gla.s.s in a single heroic belt, set it carefully at the feet of St. Patrick, and stood there swaying in his green formal wear with his head lowered between his shoulders like a befuddled bull. His bloodshot gaze never left the First Magnate.

Paul chuckled uneasily. "Rory, you're p.i.s.sed as a newt. Let me give you a shot of redaction so you can carry on with your guest-of-honor duties in proper style."

Wagging his head in firm refusal, Muldowney surveyed the group with an expression of lugubrious rue. "Yes, by G.o.d, I am by drink taken! How else can I find the b.a.l.l.s to speak the truth about humanity's distinguished First Magnate?" He raised his voice to a ringing shout. "Listen, everyone! Let me tell you about Paul Remillard's great devotion to our race ... especially to the sweet females of the species."

Patricia Castellane took a step toward him, her face gone pale with alarm. She seemed to collide with an invisible barrier surrounding the Irishman and staggered back in pained dismay. Davy MacGregor steadied her but made no attempt to intervene. A tiny sardonic smile quirked the corners of the Scotsman's mouth. Tamara Sakhvadze uttered a feeble sound of protest. A few of the others also halfheartedly voiced disapproval at the same time that they strengthened their mind-screens to the maximum so their own thoughts would remain imperceptible.

Rory Muldowney ignored them, flinging his arms wide in a grandiose tragic gesture. He continued his oration at the top of his lungs and with all the might of his declamatory farspeech. Around him, the noisy throngs of revelers were falling into dismayed silence.

"Let me tell you," Rory said, "about the way our First Magnate enticed a good woman away from her man and her children with his fine coercive ways! Bewitching her and then breaking her heart so all she could do was long to die. She was a Grand Master Creator, was my poor wife Laura Tremblay. So when Paul Remillard cast her away she went to a high green hill on our Hibernian world and bade every drop of blood within her to turn to solid ice."

He projected a hideous image into the minds of his audience. The luckless Laura had not caused her body to freeze instantaneously; her body fluids had congealed more slowly once she had irrevocably commanded the fatal process to begin, expanding as they solidified. There were cries of horror and revulsion and many of the hypersensitive Gi uttered faint wails and fell unconscious.

"And thus I found her," Rory said, canceling the ghastly vision, "deformed and lifeless, all beauty fled along with her tormented soul. Our First Magnate said he was so very sorry. He sent lovely flowers."

Slow tears trickled down the Dirigent's florid face. "No one was to blame at all. That's what they said. The storms of love come and go among us human beings, and nary a one can command them-not me, not my Laura, and certainly not the grand First Magnate of the Human Polity. Still, I want you all to know what happened. Remember it when Paul Remillard speaks of ethics and morals and the greater good. I will, and so will the children Laura gave me. And now I've said what I had to say. Beannachta? na Feile Padraig daoibh! A happy Saint Patrick's Day to you all."

After a beat of utter stillness the party guests began to murmur. Some were frankly weeping. Paul, his face gone livid, took a step toward the Irishman.

"Rory, for the sweet love of G.o.d-"

Paul never finished. The Dirigent of Hibernia c.o.c.ked his right arm and delivered a short uppercut to the jaw with blinding swiftness, knocking the First Magnate of the Human Polity of the Galactic Milieu out cold.

"I presume that was it," said Asymptotic Essence.

"Indubitably," said h.o.m.ologous Trend.

"One will have to spend some time appreciating the nuances of the event," sighed Eupathic Impulse. "A nodality exists, as Atoning Unifex implied; but one is justifiably suspicious of jumping to the most obvious conclusion."

12.

SECTOR 15: STAR 15-000-001 [TELONLS].

PLANET 1 [CONCILIUM ORB].

GALACTIC YEAR: LA PRIME 1-382-693.

[18 MARCH 2063].

He was there alone, just as the Hydra had planned it, sitting by the fire with a cup of hot b.u.t.tered rum and a magazine-plaque programmed with back issues of some flyfishing publication. His four friends were long gone. The units of the multiplex monster watched him from a darkened snowmobile parked in a lane of Alpenland Enclave a hundred meters or so from the little A-frame hut. The snowdrifts were silvered by a small, chill, illusory moon. Most of the nearby dwellings were dark.

I'm ready. Whatdoyouthink Quint?

He's relaxed and as susceptible as he ever will be. The equipment has already been packed for the trip back to Earth tomorrow but he can easily set it up again if you're persuasive enough.

Just watch me! I know I can do it he won't suspect a thing to him I'm just one more casualfemaleacquaintance the selfcenteredarrogants.h.i.t- Ooo! He's really your kindaguy allright Maddy!

[Petulance.] I could handle him better. I'm s.e.xier. I don't see why Madeleine has to have all the fun.

You? Cope with a paramount? Not b.l.o.o.d.y likely Celine he'd squash you like a roach if you went exconcert Sweetcakes.

w.i.l.l.yOU2SHUTUP?.

-is wellsoftened after our DREAMTHERAPY what a marvelousidea of Fury's it never occurred to me/US that he ofallpeople would be vulnerable through that particular limbicpath.

He likes you Maddy. The consanguineal affinity is extremely powerful. There was already a softening of resolve even before I/WE worked on him ... and males are so much more vulnerable than females in this respect. Even a unique male like Marc can't completely control his hormones like the GreatEnemy can. If this ploy fulfills Fury's expectations the effect on Marc's psychological stability should be devastating. It's going to take a lot to soften up the b.a.s.t.a.r.d but this will be a useful start. The rest of us will join you in metaconcert afterward to delete every trace of the invasion.

Until the day IWE refresh his memory.

And finish him once&forall!

If I'm not successful if he recognizes me or even realizes what I'm trying to do he may kill me. He could probably fry me to a cinder with his unaugmented creativity alone.

Yes. It would probably be inadvertent but the remote possibility is there if he feels himself integrally threatened he must not perceive any danger until it's too late. Use the utmost caution.

[Apprehension.] Maddy Quint's right be careful if IWE lost you the most powerful Hydraunit then Fury's great scheme would suffer a terrible setback.

Don't worry Parni I know what I'm doing just keep a good hold on Celine when the going gets hot I can't have her crashing in halfc.o.c.ked- I'd never do that d.a.m.nYOU!

No? You nearly f.u.c.ked our snuffjob of the old Okanagon-Dirigent losing control from sheerlifeforcegluttony and we had to blow the ship to kingdomcome instead of doing the switch&feeding.

That was an accident ...

WE WON'T HAVE ANY MORE ACCIDENTS LIKE THAT.

No ...

No!

NO!.

Understand: In the physical sphere Fury depends upon Hydra. I/WE depend on Fury for our life and fulfillment. Hydra must never forget that! Now open the cabdoor Quint. It's time for me to go.

She felt his seekersense flick over her as soon as she stepped onto the walk leading to his hut, but the convenances governing polite behavior between nonintimate operants forbade that he take any notice of her arrival until she actually tapped on the door of the A-frame.

There was an Escheresque snowman in Marc's front yard, a fantastic Strange Loop creation of dizzying entwined spiral limbs and multiple faces. No hands could have carved it: it had been fashioned by an operant mind. Marc's?

The area around the sculpture's base had been trampled by small feet. The Great Enemy had been here, visiting his elder brother. She repressed a shudder.

Making certain that her mental shield was strengthened to the utmost, she forced a smile and reached for the bra.s.s knocker.

Marc opened the door. His expression was cordial and his aura benign. "h.e.l.lo, Lynelle. Not celebrating St. Patrick's Day with our little purple friends?"

"The party's over. And not with a whimper, but with a considerable bang! I think I'd better let your family tell you about the paddywhacking, though ... The real reason I came by was to wish you bon voyage. Meeting you was one of the more memorable events of my first trip to Orb."