"Not so bad," said Barton, turning away. "For the mo- ment, not bad at all."

Others had come in unnoticed while he was concen- trating on the screen. Now Abdul Muhammed nodded.

"Yes, you have stymied the Gellatly person. But you realize. Barton, that your new rank lasts only until Ad- miral ap Fenn thinks to take it away."

"Sure I do." Barton smiled. "But he can't do that, while I'm still in duty status, without a court-martial. Which needs the presence of the accused. I'm not planning on showing vp."

"But that's desertion, isn't it?" said Myra Hake. "And how-?"

"The how part," Barton said, "I don't know yet, and

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I admit it needs some thought. But the point is that this rank business keeps Gellatly off my back until we land. And if we do get loose, I don't give two hoots in hell what Karsen ap Fenn calls it."

"Barton?" Limila spoke. "Are you making tunes in darkness?"

"Whistling in the dark, you mean? Maybe; it could be.

But there's still a lot of facts we don't have, which leaves room for some of them to be on our side." He wasn't really feeling all that confident, but he knew that if he shared his misgivings, his crew would be more likely to freeze up in the idea department. And he needed all the good ideas he could get.

UmHa still thought they should zap the escort service and head for the world Chaleen; Barton had checked the coordinates she gave him, and Ship One had enough fuel to ground there safely. The trouble was that even if a surprise attack worked, and got them away clean, the odds were that somebody would get killed. The new, larger ships were bu'-lt to carry up to twenty people, as com- pared to twelve for the first fleet; Barton remembered the plans, from Earth. "Maybe sixty on those three ships, if they're riding full." It wasn't that Barton wouldn't kill if he had to, he explained to a group that knew that much already, but rather that he didrft see the need, just yet. "And most of the men and wcmen on those ships are Just doing their jobs, nothing more. The admiral is their boss and they don't know me from Adam's off ox. So-"

The discussion went a time more, before Limila shrugged and ceded the point, saying that she hoped Barton would not have to regret his forbearance.

"Right," he said. "I'll have a slice of that, too."

"And what," she said, "will you do to obtain it?"

"Try to call Arlie Fox, for starters. She's our window to what's happening on Tilara, and maybe by now I have enough info to ask: better questions."

But when Myra Hake got through on the channel Doctor Fox had specified, it was the Tilaran, Vertan, who an- swered.

"Barton! To see you again is of good. These new Earthani who come-in particular, their person of com- mand-to deal with them is not of pleasure. But now that you are again of presence-" Vertan rattled on; Barton hadn't used the Tilaran language in conversation for so

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long that he kept missing things and having to ask for repeats, but after a while he caught on again. And when Vertan seemed to have unwound sufficiently for the time being. Barton asked after Arieta Fox.

She wasn't there; she'd gone to an eating place near the spaceport, to meet with her major contact in the fleet Barton gathered that the contact wasn't sure of security on the channels be used in talking from his ship. And that contact turned out to be Commodore Jones, the first of Barton's pilot trainees back on Earth. Barton hadn't seen the man since, but working with Fox, he had to be one of the good guys in the white hats.

Tilaran was still mixing him up a little, so Barton switched to English for his next questions. Vertan an- swered, "This man Jones, his position is shaky. He ques- tioned the admiral's landing order, and carried his protest too far, perhaps." The Tilaran's extended forehead wrin- kled above the eyebrows. "This Admiral ap Fenn-he is kin to the ap Fenn who-?"

Barton nodded. "Worse than that. He's the mush-head who got Terike ap Fenn into the space service and onto my ship. But what's it about Jones and the admiral's landing orders?" It could matter.

And when Vertan explained. Barton decided that it did matter. He asked two more questions. Had ap Fenn done anything at all about interchange of technologies and equipment on Tilara? And could a spare ground car or two be left at the edge of the spaceport, on the side nearest the building where Earthani and Tilarans had first held conferences?

Barton liked both answers. As he and Vertan ex- changed signoffs and ended the call, for the first time he thought he might have an angle on the situation. Not much, but maybe a little.

Hungry now. Barton' headed for the galley. Cheng and Myra had the watch; the others followed Barton and asked questions. But until he was fed, he stayed contrary and wouldn't answer. Well, it was more than that; before he said anything. Barton wanted to be sure he knew what he was talking about. Meanwhile, after the first minutes, everybody shut up and let him eat. It was no gourmet treat;

Ship One was mostly down to reconstituted rations.

There was still real coffee, though; now Barton sipped it. He looked around at all the group and said, "1 think

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we're going to be all right // Vertan knows what he's talking about."

He still wouldn't answer questions. "About the gim- mick, well have to wait and see; either it works or it doesn't. I want everybody thinking ahead."

"And to what. Barton?" Limila said. "Unless you tell us-"

He hitched upright in his seat "Okay; this part's more for you, anyway. And for Gerain and livajj." He looked at the other two Tilarans, "Suppose it comes down to if we're on the ground and we run for it. I'm not sure that's how it'll have to go, but let's say, for now. All right- how do we keep hid out, best?"

Answers differed. The three Tilarans, in a city of their own people, could easily disappear beyond the ability of^-ap Fenn's people to discover them. For the others, there were problems.

With the front quarter of her hair shaved off and the rest darkened, wearing a loose robe that hid how high her breasts rode on her torso, Myra Hake could pass for Tilaran. No native of the planet was as short and stocky as Barton, but maybe ap Fenn's people wouldn't know that. Surely, though, they'd know that Cheng Ai and Abdul Mohammed couldn't possibly be Tilaran, n0 matter what cosmetic disguises they might try.

Myra frowned. "Barton, I don't see why you think all this may be necessary-to try. The admiral hasn't done anything yet.'*

Barton didn't see, either; he just felt. "You want to trust an ap Fenn again? I don't want to have to." He gestured. "Yeh-I know we don't have real evidence.

But Arieta Fox said to stay loose from Karsen ap Fenn, and when that little bulldog gets a hunch, I don't scoff.

Maybe I'm borrowing trouble. If I am, it'll be easy enough to scrub the precautions." He leaned forward.

"So now let's get down to the nuts and bolts."

The next day, called out of bed to the control room and stuck with a cup of stale coffee from the bottom of an old pot, Barton had misgivings. On the * screen, the image suffering a little from relay through Ship Sixty-five, he got his first look at Admiral Karsen ap Fenn. A loud- talking man, the admiral was. "You're Barton; is that right?" It was, so Barton nodded. He wasn't enough awake to talk much; he sipped more of the lousy coffee,

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and tried to get his brains together enough to cope, here.

"Well, then. You will land. as ordered, and surrender yourself for trial."

Even half-awake. Barton thought, he'd know better than to spring a line like that on somebody who still had command of an armed ship. But all he said was, *Trial? For what?"

"For complicity in the murder of my nephew, Terike ap Fenn." While Barton was trying to absorb mat one, the admiral continued. "You, and all aboard with you, wffi answer for that crime."

Barton shook his head. No point in trying to argue the dubious merits of the case, as such; ap Fenn had made up his alleged mind, and that was that. But the others with him on Ship One-he said, "This isn't the same crew that was on board when your nephew . . ."-he didn't say, your stupid -nephew- ". . . got himself killed.

And the killing didn't happen on this ship, and the Tilarao woman who did it got a local verdict of self- defense. So-"

"I know a whitewash when I see one!" If the colors on the screen were anything like true, ap Fenn's face went purple. "And I won't put up with it. You, and all those with you, will report to me for trial. Soon as pos- sible after you've landed."

"Under what jurisdiction? Who's to be the judge?" He already knew the answer to that one. Barton thought, but he asked, anyway.

And he was right. "I am!" said Admiral Karsen ap Fenn. "And don't give me a lot of bosh as to who's guilty and who isn't You all were. And mat included Tarleton.

When I get my hands on that man-and I will, once these infernally slow natives manage to refuel the fleet-'

Barton's own hand was on the switch, reaching to cut the circuit and end mis insane dialogue. But -before he did so, he said, "I believe I understand your position, Admiral. And your orders. When we meet in person we can talk it over, more."

He hit the switch; the screen went dark.

"He is evil. Barton. Evil" Limila's silver-irised eyes were wide; her mouth moved as though to spit something out.