"That's enough, Barton," said Karsen ap Fenn, "I've recorded this little dialogue. At the trial, I think it will suf- fice."

Feeling the way his face roust look, for a moment Bar- ton wanted ap Fenn to see him. But that was silly. He said, still trying to avoid a total break with Earth's authority, "When I stand any kind of trial, Tarleton ought to be here.

He's been my boss, ever since I brought the Demu ship to Earth and got us into space at all. I think-"

"But what you think doesn't matter," said the admiral.

"I'm in charge. I'll make the decisions. Land, and report to me."

The two-word reply that came to mind. Barton swal- lowed. While he tried to think of something else, Helaise

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Renzel said, "I might be able to help you. Barton. I'll come visit you, when you're down here, and we can talk."

Come visit? Meaning, Barton would be in a cage, to be visited by people who weren't locked up. He looked at her supercilious smile. "Helaise?"

"Yes, Barton?"

"Why don't you go piss up a rope?" He cut the circuit.

Turning around to face his people, who blessedly hadn't tried to cut in and help him. Barton tried to put a smile on his sweaty face. "I know. I didn't work that too good. It may not matter."

Abdul Muhammed had switched the main screen to a downside view; now he racked it up toward high-mag, and said, "The port we near. Barton, where the fleet sat before-dayside approaches it, and we should land not long after local noon there. I am trying to get us a clear view, but cannot as yet obtain clear definition of the de- tails."

It was the port, all right, on the screen. And as Abdul said, there wasn't much to be seen yet. Barton said, "When the sun hits it, we'll get a good angle from visible light.

How soon?"

Abdul's answer gave Barton time to go have breakfast and some fresh coffee. Limila and Cheng joined him, but he didn't feel like talking. When they got back up to the control room. Barton carrying-a final cup of coffee, the screen showed dawn sunshine making needle-points of light across the port. "Just grazing the ships* noses," he said. "You get a count on them?"

"I make it fifty-three," said Cheng, squinting. "Barton -has the size of the landing area been increased?"

Gauging by the positions of two buildings he could rec- ognize, Barton shook his head. Looking puzzled, Cheng said, "Then except for that small space at the center of the landing formation, those ships are spaced about as tight as they could be set down safely-or lift off again. With the repulsion of the Shields, I don't see how-" Then his eyes widened.

But before he could speak, over the intership circuit came Gellatly's voice. "Are you there. Barton?"

Myra's grin was impish. "Vice-Admiral Barton will be with you in a moment. Picture's out, though; sorry." And she didn't bother to put Gellatly's picture on the aux screen, either.

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"Yon have downview, still, don't you?" The man sounded worried.

Setting his cup down, Barton leaned across to the conun-panel. "Barton here. Yes, our reception's okay.

Just a glitch in the transmit side. Easy to fix, probably, when there's time for it."

"Yes. When you're down, we'll see to it" That's nice.

Gellatly cleared his throat "Here are your landing in- structions. You will set down in the middle of the central open area, my other two ships to follow and land at each side of you. As you've probably noticed, it is necessary to land with Shields off. I will be leaving you in a few minutes, to put Sixty-five into synchronous orbit directly over the port. Do you understand the situation?"

Sure; Fm boxed. "Yes, I do. One change, though; your ships land just ahead of me, not behind." Over the man's protest. Barton said, "Your drive blasts, on those new ships, are bigger than mine. Takes more accuracy to avoid damage to the ships you land beside. I know my pilot; I don't know yours."

In the pause, it sounded like Vannick's voice in the background, arguing with his commander. Barton caught only 'a few words. Then Gellatly said, "Very well;

it makes no real difference. That's all, then. Gellatly. out"

"Roger dodger. Barton, likewise." Myra cut the cir- cuit. Barton turned to wave a hand against a flood of ques- tions. "Thing was, there, I wouldn't put it past ap Fenn to have those ships give us a bath in drive blast Save him a lot of trouble. Now, then-"

"But you're letting them put us in the middle of th.e whole fleet!" Standing now, hands on hips, Myra looked exasperated. "If we ducked over to the edge, at least we'd nave a chance to run."

"We're landing right where I want to be," Barton said.

"Abdul, have you done sitdowns with the Shield off?" The big man nodded. "That's good, because I haven't.

Well-" Remembering Sisshaio. "Not exactly. So you take us In; all right?"

"And what will you do, Barton?" Limila asked.

"Oh, ni just sit down out of the way, over at one of the weapons positions.'* He wasn't sure why he didn't tell them all, straight out, what he had in mind. Maybe a feel- ing that it would be bad luck to say it.

She kept looking at him. "I think I know what you are going to do,"

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Barton gazed at the woman he loved more than anyone he'd ever known. "I wouldn't be surprised."

His words seemed to quiet the others. For long minutes they sat, then, while Abdul Muhammed guided Ship One downward, between the paths of the two escort ships that now kept a slight lead. They hit air gently, without much buffeting. And then, carefully, precisely, only sec- onds after ap Fenn's ships touched down, Abdul landed the ship in the narrow space that Karsen ap Fenn had as- signed.

That's when Barton hit the sleep-gun switch.

When they all saw the indicator come on, there were gasps. Barton stood up, talking. "All right. The sleeper's on max power, hemispherical distribution. I'll set it to turn off about twenty minutes after we leave here; we really don't want the amnesia effect to make the whole second fleet into a pack of zombies." He raised his voice to override interruption. "Get the travel kits you packed and assemble at the airlock. The individual Shields are in the locker beside it. When everybody's there, buzz me here and I'll come a-running." They weren't moving. Well, there wasn't that much hurry, now, so he said, "Questions?

Fast ones."

The answers were easy. No, ap Fenn's people wouldn't have individual Shields of their own, due to the admiral's penchant for apartheid with the locals. "So there won't be anyone shooting at us." But what if some of the ships had their Shields on?

Limila laughed, then, so he nodded for her to answer.

"The closeness of these ships, at ap Fenn's orders. If they began activating their Shields, the repulsive forces-"

She brought her hands together, then spread her arms violently. "Poofl Like rows of dominoes, ships would fall."

That seemed to be it, for now. "Okay, we move it,"

Barton said. "Let's just hope Vertan left a groundcar where he said he would."

Sooner than Barton expected, Abdul called to give him the go-ahead. He set the timer on the sleep-gun, went to the airlock and shucked into his own portable Shield harness, and when the lock opened, waved the group down the ramp ahead of him. For a moment he paused, then decided that if he tried to leave Ship One sealed

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against ap Fenn's people, the admiral would have them blast their way in. He patted the hulL "Good luck, ol*

trooper." And he followed the rest down to Tilaran soiL

Spooky, it was, walking through a jungle of standing ships, with no sign or sound of life except the occasional man or woman sprawled unconscious where the sleep- field had found them. All Earth types, Barton noted: no Tilari, let alone Larka-Te or Filjari. Then, nearly to the edge of the port by now, another correlation came to mind. The men's insignia of rank varied a lot more than the women's. The latter seemed to be mostly noncoms or very junior officers. And they were greatly outnumbered, in the sample he was seeing. Barton frowned. In Tarle- ton's fleet, Estelle Cummings ran a damn good squadron.

In ap Penn's, he guessed, she probably wouldn't even rate her own ship.

Preoccupied, he started when Myra Hake nudged him; he glanced up to see what she wanted. They both looked pretty funny, he guessed, shaved frontally bald and plastered with makeup to hide the paleness, but her plain features still carried dignity. "We could do it differ- ently, Barton. Why not'just unload the carcasses off one of these ships, and take it? You or Abdul could fake past that Gellatly without much trouble, I expect."

He thought back. "I guess you weren't there, Myra.