Myra Hake slammed a fist against her thigh. "I have

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to agree, and I didn't think I even believed in evil, as such. But that man-"

Abdul Muhammed made as if to speak, then looked at Barton, and didn't. Barton said, "I don't like him pretty much, either. And he's one hell of a threat to us all. But let's skip evil." They looked at him, and he said, "Is a five-year-old child evil?"

"That one," said Abdul, "is by no means a child."

"The hell he isn't." Barton slammed bis own fist down, too hard against the edge of the comm-panel, making him wince. "He and his nephew both. They act like itty- bitty kids. They want what they want, right now, and if they don't get it, they raise hell with everybody.

Tantrums." Trying to think what to say next. Barton felt his face contorting, and made an effort to relax it "No. The only thing evil about this whole pile of crap is that childish people are able to get into positions of power." He shrugged. "And that's politics, and always has been and always will be."

When nobody answered. Barton said, "I was hoping we wouldn't all have to run. If it turns out we can run.

But I'm not leaving anybody on here to take the brunt of that idiot's frustration, in case the rest of us made it away. And to hide out right, a little disguise is in order.

So let's get to work."

Myra Hake said, '^You mean it's Halloween, Barton?"

"That's right. Once we land, there wouldn't be time to get all duded up, except for last-minute makeup work.

And even that part we could experiment with a little, now."

With something to work on. Barton felt more good than not. He said, "Okay. Let's start putting some cos- tumes together, and do the stuff with the razors and the hair dye, and see what the makeup will do and what it won't." His smile felt more relaxed than he would have expected. "Once we do this stuff, though, our viewscreen picture is out of order, on the transmit side. Keep that in mind."

Barton didn't have much of a suntan these days, but still it took quite a bit of Myra's makeup to match the shaved forward patch of his scalp to his forehead and the rest of his face. He wasn't the only one who had problems; Myra had it easy, going to Tilaran appear- ance herself, but trying to use makeup so that Cheng's

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eyes would look other than Oriental, she cussed a lot And no matter what kind of stuff Limila used to try to cover Abdul's ebon complexion, he never came out look- ing much better than boiled potato. And that, Barton reflected, was one of the good efforts.

Finally he called a halt. "Good as we're going to get, I think. And let's not use all the gunk up now; tomorrow is when we need it." He looked at the robes Gerain and livajj had put together. "Those'H do, I think. Cheng and I, we have to wear lift-shoes for tall. Abdul, anytime we're in public as a group, you stay in the middle and hunch down a lot with your knees bent. I know it won't

be comfortable. ..."

"From practicing," Abdul said, "I am assured, of that.

But I will manage." He shrugged. "If not, I assume we

shall be armed."

If they got caught, the tall man meant. Barton said,

"Let's not think that way. If we expect trouble-"

"Barton," said Limila, "you are one who always ex- pects trouble. Which, I feel, is the reason you generally

surmount it."

She had him, there. Barton said, "Maybe. This time,

though, our best chance is to keep our heads down. So let's do that. Now pack up everything you'd want to carry along, and set it out handy."

Nobody argued. Barton scrubbed up and left the group. He had time for a nap, when his own brief pack- ing was finished, and before he faced the situation on TUara, be figured he could use one.

Limila woke him. For a moment he thought she might have something better in mind, and reached to her. But she smiled and brushed his hand aside. "No, Barton;

there is not time. Ap Fenn is shouting into the control room. And does be not resemble, a great deal, his nephew Terike? In appearance, as well as in mind,"

Barton hadn't thought about it, or noticed, much, when he'd first seen the admiral. Now while he washed up, crapped fast, and dressed, be put a think on it. Asking Limua to bring along some fruit juice and coffee from the galley, he headed up the ship and reached the control area. He pointed to himself and to the screen; Cheng signed "Out at first!" to him and he knew no picture was leaving Ship One. So, looking critically at the screen's

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image of Karsen ap Fenn, Barton sat down to the comm panel.

"Ahoy, Admiral. Barton here." Just for the hell of it, that "ahoy."

"How do I know that?" Big scowl from the admiral.

"Put your picture through; I'm not in the habit of talking to a blank screen."

"We got a systems failure," said Barton. "Or so I'm told. So no pie, from here. You need to keep things even, I suppose you could turn yours off." While he watched ap Fenn, now seeing how the jutting brow ridges matched those of dead Terike, how the heavy jaw lay mufiied by this man's jowls. And bow the petulant mouth sat much the same. Limila was right; uncle and nephew were cer- tainly cut from the one loaf. But now it was time to listen, so he did.

"Malfunctions are the fault of personnel." said the ad- miral. "You don't seem to be too expert in personnel management. But let that go; I called about something else. My instructions to you."

"Of course," said Barton. Well, maybe he could learn something. "Details, you mean?"

Details it was. After the first sentence or two. Barton didnt listen closely because he wasn't planning to follow ap Fenn's directions, anyway. They were all about how and when and where Barton would present himself and his entire shipload of friends'- to trial by ap Fenn. That wasn't going to happen; win or lose, it wouldn't. So why listen? What he -did, then, was wait for a noticeable pause.

When it came. Barton said, "This trial you're calling- I guess you're doing it without lawyers and all that. Which makes sense, maybe. But one thing. Admiral. Somebody has to be able to say what really happened, and looks to me as if the main witness you have on hand is me. So who is it that's saying I helped kill Terike?"

The only way Barton could describe ap Fenn's grin, then, was skunky. The man gestured to someone behind him, out of the screen's range. He said, "My nephew's widow will testify. That should suffice."

And sure as hell, the slim blonde who walked into pic- ture range and looked into a blank screen at that end was Helaise Renzel.

All right. Barton tried to make his brains move fast.

Helaise had had bad times. Beat up now and then by

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Terike ap Fenn when they were roomies, savaged by Hishtoo the Demu when he made his escape to Sisshain, taken on by Tarleton when she worked on his sympathy, and then-well. Barton didn't know how it had happened that Helaise had been left behind when Tarleton took the first fleet down the galactic Arm, to meet Bartoti at Sis- shain. He didn't know, and in the ordinary case he couldn't afford to care. But now-he said, carefully, "Hi, Helaise. You're looking good. How you feeling?"

He remembered her queen-bee look, that she'd de- veloped when she latched onto Tarleton, and that's the one she gave him now. "Oh, quite well, thank you. Bar- ton. And how do you feel?"

"Confused, you want to know." Exasperated; Barton tried to let his breath come out without making a lot of noise about it "I mean, what's this shit about me killing Terike? You know damn well I had nothing to do with it Nobody else on this ship, either." Breathing in, he didn't do so well at quiet, any better than out "Helaise-what do you think you're trying to pull?"

Her composure began to slip; Barton knew her well enough to note the signs. But he saw her brace herself be- fore he could say more, and he knew he'd lost the joust.

"You're only talking about what you did and what you didn't. Barton. There are moral responsibilities, too.

You never allowed Terike to learn Tilaran customs at first hand. So he went out unprepared-"

"The silly son-of-a-bitch went out AWOL and you know ill" And tried to rape a Tilaran woman, and she went ape and killed him for it Not on purpose, she didn't,.

but it happened. "He-"