stopped her. "You're too pregnant for combat, and that's

that."

"Combat, yes," she said, "but not for target practice.

And basically that is what a sniper does." Now Barton,

trying to speak, was the one overridden. "In your plan-

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ring, you will include that possibility. If only for a diver- sion, to aid the primary assailant."

While Barton was trying to think of an answer, Abdul Muhammed spoke. "Before the Central African Republic was formed, a part of it was a separate country called Uganda." Sure; Barton knew of it. He nodded. "For a time it was ruled by a madman; he killed at random and by whim. A plot was formed against him; one of my uncles, in that country for business reasons, became a part of it. His role was as Limila has said, to create a diversion-in his case, at the crucial moment to appear to run amok with a machete." Abdul's smile was wry.

"Amok is not indigenous to that area, but the conspirators felt the simulation would be effective, nonetheless." "

Myra Hake gasped. "But what happened?"

Abdul shrugged. "The plot failed; the tyrant survived and the plotters did not. But none of this was my uncle's fault; he did his part, I am told, to perfection. And took six guards with him, into death."

Barton frowned. "You're saying something. But'what?"

"That in case of need, I like to think I would w as good a man as my uncle was."

Barton' wouldn't go for the idea; he was adamant "We're not going to have any sacrifice Jiitters, any kami- kazes. If we can't exterminate ap Fenn without unaccept- able risk to our people, we won't try it at all. Nobody takes any worse chances than III take for myself-and that's final."

Limila brushed a hand at her new hair, still too short to make use of a comb. "And how far do you intend to risk yourself?"

Barton looked at her. He'd always been honest with this woman, and this was no time to stop. "To tell you the truth, I haven't quite figured that out yet. Except that when I try to guess the odds, I'll never put ap Penn's death ahead of my own life, if I can help it."

Now Umila's expression relaxed. "So that you do not lose sight of that criterion, Barton, I am satisfied."

Nothing was settled, but Barton needed an sfta^unch nap, anyway. He wasn't sleeping too well at night, not in long stretches, so he eked his rest out with brief daytime dozes and the change seemed to work pretty welUfor him.

He was getting up, putting on his exercise clothes for an

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afternoon workout, when Limila came in and said there was a call for him. "It is Arieta Fox."

When he went to the terminal, he found he had sound but no picture, incoming. He touched the switch that would delete his own image at the distant end, then de- cided the hell with that.

"Barton here. Who's calling?" Would LimUa know the doctor's voice?

A quick laugh came. "It's your little bulldog friend, Barton. Arlie, speaking. I have someone who wants to get in touch with you."

Barton considered. Well, nothing to do but ask. "Like who?"

"Annand Dupree. And perhaps I need a hidey-hole, too. If I do, is there one available?"

He thought about it. Well, Tevann had been willing to put up Gerain and livajj, if they'd needed it. "Yes, I think so. But what's up, makes you think you're in that kind of a jam?"

Pause; then he beard the faint sound of a sigh. "Have you heard that Karsen ap Fenn had one of our own ships blown to dust? One of Tarleton's, I mean?"

"I've heard, yes." For now, that's all he wanted to say.

"The captain of that ship was a good friend of Annand Dupree. Armand made a plan, a risky one, to try to kill the admiral. I wouldn't say that Annand was totally stable when he heard about what happened to Ship Thirty-four."

"Which speaks well of him," said Barton. "What hap- pened, though?" He listened, while she told it the long way. It wasn't that Fox was a sloppy thinker. Barton thought. Not hardly. But the teller of a story always puts in stuff that's important to him or her, that doesn't mean doodly to the hearer, who wants the bones of it.

What it boiled down to was that Armand Dupree had sent word asking ap Fenn for a review of his case, and bad been admitted to the admiral's presence under all sorts of supposed -mutual safeguards. It sounded pretty kamikaze to Barton, but he shut up and listened.

He wasn't clear, the way she said it, how Dupree man- aged to smuggle the gun in. But he did, somehow, and ap Fenn moved too fast and got away alive, and then Dupree shot his own way out of the trap planned for him. The part that made Barton laugh was that ap Fenn wouldn't be sitting down comfortably for a time, except on one

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side. That Dupree had killed some flunkies, getting away, Barton didn't find funny at all.

Not much to say, really. "Ariie. You think you're on a secure line now?"

"It's a bootleg. Ap Fenn tapped my residence phone, so I haven't been using it for anything important."

"You know this, how?" In a few words, she convinced him, so he said, "You know you have to get here without a tail on you, or not at all. Can you do it?"

"I think so." He heard her clear her throat "No, I'm sure I can. It may take a day or two. All right?"

"Sure. And-Dupree comes with you, you say?"

"I won't seek shelter for myself, without him."

"Right We'll expect you both, then." Barton cur the circuit Sure enough, he was beginning to collect the right kind of people.

Two days, it took; then Fox and Dupree arrived. Bar- ton recalled this one of his first four pilot trainees on the original Demu ship as a slim, dapper man who looked alert and wore a hairline mustache. The dapper part still fit, and the alertness and the mustache, but the short man had gone podgy since Barton last saw him. He moved well, though, Jumping down from the groundcar and stalk- ing over to shake Barton's hand. He said, "This is your base? I thank you for offering shelter. We must compare plans; I have several."

Barton didn't ask, plans for what because hcrknew.

He said, "I hope you have better ones than I do. But in case nothing fast works, we do have a slow one going."

For Abdul Muhammed's scheme, to add "inhibitor" to the fuel tanks of ap Fenn's fleet, was proceeding. Trouble was. Barton kept in mind, that the results wouldn't hap- pen in any kind of hurry. For now, he said no more, and escorted the two guests indoors.

It was mid-afternoon and he should have been exercis- ing, by his own self-set schedule, but it seemed to be conference time, so Barton went along with that. fie sat as chairman by habit and because no one else ever seemed to want the job. After all the introductions.^and explanations back and forth. Barton cut in. ^

"I think the question before the house is the termina- tion of Karsen ap Fenn. The chair is open to suggestions."

The trouble was, nobody had any good ones. Armand 392.

Dupree had used up one of the best ideas-the apostate pleading for a new hearing and forgiveness-without success. "No," Barton said. "He wouldn't bite on that again, or anything like it."

Tevann, not at all bloodthirsty on his own account, but sympathetic to his friends' grievances, suggested some kind of public celebration. "Of the most deplorable, to pervert festivities so, but if such is the only way to bring the monster from hiding ..."

Doctor Fox reminded Tevann that ap Fenn scorned Tilara and its people and all its works. "He wouldn't bother to attend."

Barton thought back. "He might, if we worked it right."

Everybody was looking at him, so he continued. "What pissed him off around here, I think, was a Tilaran woman telling him to get lost. And making it stick." He said, "Suppose part of me services is a beauty contest, sort of, and ap Fenn is the prime judge, and he gets the winner he picks."