You don't dare divest until we confirm her excursion.

That's why they're bringing Manion you fool!

THE GENES. O G.o.d THE GENES.

d.a.m.n genes!

The children!

GathenDalembertWarshawVanWyk STAY Everybodyelse GO.

Must know children can't push me out d.a.m.n Marc d.a.m.n genes d.a.m.n all of you ...

Steinbrenner when you get Manion out docilator put Helayne IN.

Affirm.

Oblivious, Alexis Manion pottered among the orchids. And there came big Jeff Steinbrenner, archquack and babykiller, all reeking with adrenalin overload! And pretty Pat Castellane, her steel eyes weeping! Amazing. Manion sang out: If you wish in the world to advance, Your merits you're bound to enhance.

You must stir it and stump it, And blow your own trumpet.

Or trust me, you haven't a chance!

The two of them pounced on Manion and tore off the docilator headpiece. He staggered, convulsing, as the Florida landscape melted into concentric expanding sh.e.l.ls of colour. They held him while his muscles bucked and spasmed. Pat's redactive douche calmed while Jeff's numbed the recollection of anguish; and at last his brain settled into its normal rhythm and he could stand alone.

Trembling, with blood trickling down his chin from his bitten tongue, he forced their hands away with his psychokinesis. The social aspect of his mind was so tattered that he was unable to contain the malicious satisfaction that welled up as he discovered why they had come.

"Felice nailed him?" Manion began to laugh. Steinbrenner's coercion lashed out to no effect. Docilated, Manion had been barely biddable; free, he was a rock of intransigence. "Let the b.a.s.t.a.r.d boil in his own devil-rig!"

"Alex, it's not just Marc!" Patricia cried. She took one of Manion's hands. Her skin was icy in spite of the June heat.

"We're all in danger. And the children. The metaconcert operation-we don't know what's happened. Owen Blanchard is dead, and Ragnar Gathen's son and G.o.d knows how many others in Europe. We don't know about Felice. Marc's data input to the computer cut off at the moment of the d-jump-"

In spite of himself, Manion found his interest aroused. "Her mind generated a real upsilon-field? Barebrained?"

"We think so. She seemed to appear right there in the observatory and ... attack Marc in some way through the cerebroenergetic equipment."

Manion chuckled. "Well, well. What a nasty surprise."

Patricia was drawing him along the white pathway toward the observatory entrance. Some twenty of the veteran Rebels were standing about exuding an emotional farrago to chill the blood.

Steinbrenner's thought was thunderous.

Go to the lodge!

Go to your homes! Anywhere away from here. He's alive and we'll have him safe in the regen tank as soon as Diarmid & Dierdre get here with transport. NOW GET OUT.

With much mental murmuring, the people began to disperse.

Manion was lost in his own thoughts, animosity vanished in the face of an intriguing problem. "A d-jump! Now when was the last time we tried to confirm one at the IDFS? 2067? Yes ... an adolescent from one of the black worlds. Engong, was it? But he only translated across two kilometres and we-"

Patricia interrupted. "You're going to have to confirm the event with a retrospective dynamic-field a.n.a.lysis. Kramer can't hack it and we must confirm Felice's excursion. Listen to me, Alex!" Her anxiety flamed out at him. Her mind displayed the terrible possibility. "We think Marc's still alive inside the CE rig. But the scanner's nearly burnt out and we have no conscious communication from him. We don't dare open the armour-"

Manion nodded. His smile was gone. "Until you confirm that the person inside is Marc Remillard. Yes. An interesting point."

They entered the observatory at the same time that Peter Dalembert and Ragnar Gathen were hustling Helayne Strangford out. Steinbrenner handed over the docilator.

Helayne's powerful, crazed mind latched onto Manion.

"Don't help them, Alex! Let Marc die in that d.a.m.ned cerebroenergetic enhancer of his! Then we'll be sure that the children aren't-"

The voice fell abruptly silent. Patricia urged Manion inside.

It was dark with the dome closed, the temperature at least ten degrees cooler. Only a handful of the senior Rebels remained.

In the centre of the chamber was the hydraulic lift cylinder with the recliner carriage lowered. On it, gleaming under a small spotlight but opaque to the mind's eye, was a ma.s.s of black cerametal armour. Alexis Manion shrugged free of Castellane and approached the sinister form.

"So you miscalculated again, did you?"

The display screen and the loudspeaker that normally provided communication with the hidden CE operator remained mute. Manion strolled to the vital-signs monitor and studied the readouts, then looked over the offerings of the crippled brainscanner. There was no identifiable pattern to the subperceptual emanations coming from the bulky ma.s.s of armour, only the a.s.surance that inside, someone or something was alive.

"Are you Marc Remillard in there?" Manion inquired archly.

"Or little Felice?"

"That's what you're going to find out for us, Alex," said Jordan Kramer. He stood at the main console of the computer with Van Wyk dithering behind him. The Keoghs had finally arrived with the first-aid unit. Warshaw helped them to position it next to the carriage.

"You'd trust me?" Manion swept the minds of his fellow magnates with a mocking fillip. "Marc didn't. That's why he zombied me."

Gerrit Van Wyk said, "We have to trust you, Alex. a.n.a.lysing this d.a.m.n event is beyond my competence, or Jordy's. Only you can tell us whether Felice jumped back to Europe after she zapped Marc. If she's still here-if she subsumed Marc and we open that rig and let her out-she could wipe out Ocala!"

Manion hummed "Here's a How-De-Do." He frowned as he examined a screenful of dubious probability graphics prominently labelled: EVENT UNCONFIRMED.

"Whoever is inside that armour," Patricia said, "is gravely injured. If you force us to let Marc die, then I'm going to kill you, too, Alex."

"Perhaps I'd be grateful, Pat."

Kramer held out the command mouthpiece. "We know you care deeply about the children, Alex. Marc wants to save them, but we don't know what his plans are. Without him, we have only one option to prevent the reopening of the time-gate. An ugly one."

Suppose I lie to you about the a.n.a.lysis?" Manion retorted.

"Let Felice cook our collective goose if she's in there? Then I'd be certain that the kids get their chance."

The frustration and fury of the other ex-conspirators impinged on the mental screen of the dynamic-field specialist. Uselessly.

Van Wyk's control, always precarious, began to falter. His mind cried out: He might lie he might! He did before we never twigged when he & kids planned d.a.m.ned Feliceploy firstplaceSuddenly weary, Manion said, "Oh, shut up, Gerry." He took the computer microphone from Kramer's hand and began to speak rapidly.

The others fell back. Psychic tension drained away, leaving dullness leavened by faint hope. As the multicoloured probability edifices formed and reformed smoothly on the visual display, Manion whistled "I Am the Captain of the Pinafore" through his teeth. Finally he froze an elaborate construct and simultaneously shot a blast of mathematical esoterica at the minds of Kramer and Van Wyk.