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credence to the warnings of Doctor Arieta Fox. And

- yet..."

"Sure," Barton said. "If we do, and we're all wrong, where are we? Even if I can stop those ships without any- body getting killed, we're all traitors until proven differ- ent." He slumped, straightened, and tried to shrug tensions out of his shoulders. "And the other thing is, then where could we get to?"

"Chaleen," said Limila. "The Tilaran world where lives my eldest son, mine and Tevann's. On the charts I can locate it, well enough for computer guidance." She pushed her wig's long black hair away from her face. "If we do not spend too much more fuel in slowing, we have sufficient to reach Chaleen."

In a way, Barton wished she hadn't offered him the option. It would be simpler to dive into one situation and hack it out, win or lose, than to have to choose between so many alternatives.

He thought about it. Should he have Myra call Ship Sixty-five again, to see if he could get any clues from what Fatty or Skinny said? He didn't think there'd be much.

Should he try to get through to the second fleet down on Tilara, and maybe talk with the admiral his very own self? No; that wouldn't work, because normal ships' com- munications wouldn't reach out this far, through atmo- sphere, except for fancy channel arrangements he didn't have. Doctor Fox had to be using special, more powerful, ground-based gear. So. be couldn't do any of that, very weU.

Barton made up his mind. He didn't ask anybody's advice-not again, he didn't-he simply made his de- cision. "We'll go with these ships," he said, "and when we get down on Tilara, we'll see."

Nobody seemed to like the idea any better than Barton did himself, but nobody squawked, either. When Barton

'and Limila got away to Compartment One, he said,

: "What do you think?"

, She shook her head. "I do not want to think. You have done that."

So maybe he was right and maybe he was wrong. Now

, was a different time. Undressed and in bed, he tried to forget about everybody else, and Limila seemed to feel

^the same way. One thing: the small transplant-breasts might grow or might not, but sure as hell their tips were connected to the hot line. Limila rejoiced early, and after

347.

a white Barton caught up with her, they laughed to- gether. "-. - Then she turned to him. "Barton. There is danger.

No?"

"Sure. You knew that. Didn't you?"

Her hand stroked his chest, her hand that was missing two fingers the Demu had cut away. "Always, .Barton, since the Demu took me, there is danger. But you took me back, and made me alive again. And so I trust you."

She sighed. "Tell me of the danger."

Barton didn't know why he felt embarrassed, He said, To you, there shouldn't be any; I can't say, for certain.

We're setting down on your home world and you should be in. free and clear." He moved to put a kiss where he wanted to; a wriggle rewarded him. But the question still stood. He said, "Arlie-Arleta Fox-says I'm in trouble with the big cheese. I don't know why, yet. But I expect HI find out pretty soon. One thing, Limila-I don't trust anyone named ap Fenn, as far as I can throw him."

Limila settled for that answer, and they snuggled in to sleep.

The three escort ships, next day, would have been sit- ting ducks for any attack Barton might have wanted to make. He didn't think much of the second fleet's orienta- tion toward combat training. But like a good little sheep, Barton kept Ship One in the middle of his escort-formation, approaching Tilara.

Limila, on the comm, detected no coherent signals from the planet-not even in scramble, which presumably the admiral would use in talking with Barton's escort.

Boredom with jitters was the worst kind. Too full of coffee, tired of pacing, not ready for a slug of bourbon so early in his day. Barton asked Limila for a channel to Ship Sixty-five.

Almost immediately, as if someone on that ship had been poised and waiting for a call, the answer came. On the screen, the skinny blond man appeared. "Light- commander Vannick here. Can I help you?" Huh? Oh, sure; now Barton remembered. Short for lieutenant, of the colonel or commander persuasion.

He leaned over toward the screen. "Barton here, Vannick. Feeling like a chat, is all. News from Earth, maybe. And how did it go with the second fleet, on the way out?"

348.

Vannick looked wispy, but his voice wasn't. "About the same as any new group, I suppose. Some problems; noth- ing too serious." The news from Earth dealt mostly with political and entertainment figures that meant nothing to Barton; in his last sojourn on Earth, less than a year, after nearly eight years of Demu captivity, he hadn't both- ered to plug himself into the media versions of current events. He nodded through the recital, hoping he man- aged to look polite, until he found a hook to ask about the fleet again. General stuff...

Now that Vannick was warmed up a little, he talked more freely. The second fleet was Ships Forty-one through One-hundred, divided into five squadrons. The admiral had wanted to re-number everything from scratch so he could have the number One, but the Space r Agency wouldn't go for it, so he took One-hundred in- stead. "The Big Hundred, he insists we call it, though of course, it's the same size as all the rest."

''What's the admiral like. to work for?" Barton thought he knew already, but a few sidelights couldn't hurt.

Vannick's mouth twitched. He looked back over his shoulder and then, maybe without meaning to, shook his ?head. "Just fine. A little demanding, but that's the way a fleet commander should be." Uh-huh; sure. Letting the matter pass. Barton asked who was running the five squad- , rons. He recognized only two of the names; Jones was an- i other of the original four he'd framed on the Demu ship,

and when Vannick came to Dupree's name, he paused, '^T. forgot. Dupree was insubordinate and got busted.

Grounded, in fact Kaczca, his exec, got the promotion."

Over the screen came the sound of a door closing.

Vannick looked behind him again as the tubby man came f forward. "What the hell's going on, Vannick? Who told "' you to chat it up with these people?" He looked into the * screen. "Sony, Barton. But we do have our orders."

' I'll bet you do. "I set up the call," he said. "It's not Vannick's fault, uh-?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Gellatly," said the fat man. "Captain GeUatfy." With a hard "g," and accent on the second syllable. Now Gel- >latly frowned. "By the way, Barton, what's your rank? So ~. we can do these things right, from now on."

Barton was a long time out of the Army, and he hadn't cared for it all that much the first time. He shook his head. "Tarleton's fleet doesn't use military ranks. Just job titles."

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The other mm grinned. "Things change. We have to be able to fit you into the T/0 or the admiral won't like it."

"Your admiral. I still work for Tarieton." He shouldn't argue. Barton knew, but Gellatly really raised his stub- borns for him.

"And Tarieton works for Admiral ap Fenn. That's in the orders he brought; he read us the non-secret parts."

Gellatly squinted, then made a nod. "You have your own ship. Barton, so I guess that makes you a captain. For now, anyway." Carefully, Barton tried to show no reaction to some implications of the last phrase. Gellatly raised a finger. "I outrank you, though, because my rank dates back to Earth, and yours is just being assigned. So now-"

He grinned again. "We know where we stand, don't we?"

"I doubt it." Barton waited until the grin went away.

**If we're talking rank, what's a squadron commander?

Or fleet exec? Because in the first fleet, I'm both of those.'* He thought back, trying to remember the jargon.

"On detached service, at the moment."

"Now wait a minutel" Barton did so. Gellatly bit his lip. "Well, commodores command the squadrons. And there isn't exactly any exec, with us, so-"

"There is with us'. Arbitrarily, I'd say that in your fleet's terms, I'm a vice-admiral." Navy rank wasn't h?s spe- cialty, but it sounded good, Barton thought. "Which means that until further notice, I outrank everybody here, except the admiral."

Gellatly reached for his comm panel; the screen went silent, and as the picture faded to blankness. Barton saw the two men gesturing at each other.