Barton was glad Szabo hadn't told him that until they'd done h.

The only times Barton had ever worked outship in a suit had been in drills while the first fleet drove from Earth to Tilara. He remembered well enough to'do a fair share of work, but. expert wasn't the word for his per- formance. Well, he didn't see too many others doing much better. All available personnel, he gathered, or as many as there were suits for, were sweating on this job.

Even with the power equipment on both ships, 'it took a lot of muscle. Soon he was all over aches and pains and blisters, and once a crate dropped on his foot but didn't break anything. One man, he heard, had a heart attack, but not fatal. And he saw Ferenc Szabo, during a galley break, wearing a splint on a smashed thumb. He saw Bearpaw, too, but had no chance to talk with the man.

Then, finally, it was over, and Barton and Limila gathered their meager gear, to take to the other ship.

She hadn't tried to work in transshipment because she'd never worn a suit: Barton helped her into one and towed her across the gap between ships. And then Szabo, controlling the other Shield over a wideband circuit, cut both Shields for a moment and the derelict dropped away. Barton saw him restore his own ship's Shield, and felt acceleration resume.

Well, he'd bought this situation. Barton had. Now he was stuck with it, for sure.

Whether somebody had been moved to give htf^ and Limila quarters, Barton didn't know. But from m wwy on the other ship, he knew they were in officers' wv> try.

He felt like sleeping for a week, but one day and &>,!ht

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brought him around, a little stiff and sore, otherwise feeling not too bad at all.

As soon as he was alert enough to think to do so. Bar- ton began checking his own reactions to see if anything- Others, or maybe Children-was messing with his mind and feelings. If so, he couldn't spot it. Well, he'd keep checking....

Limila was out prowling the ship, getting acquainted.

They'd decided she might as well, while Barton was rest- ing up after ail that work, and that it might be interesting if at first she pretended very little grasp of human lan- guage. She hadn't detected any sign of fiddling with her own mind, but maybe Tilarans were immune.

So when the door chime sounded, Barton was in his nakeds, standing by the coffee-maker and wondering why it didn't work right. He hesitated, then decided to answer the door. And to take no chances that this out- fit might be touchy about nudity, he grabbed his shut and pants, and got them on and padded barefoot to the door.

Renton Bearpaw stood there. Barton said, "C'mon in," and went back to the coffee gadget. He heard the door shut, and Bearpaw's steps following him. "I'd offer coffee if I could make this thing cough it up. Or maybe you'd rather have a drink. I think we got some."

"Coffee's fine." The man ntoved to touch a switch Bar- ton had overlooked, and the machine operated just as it had, earlier, for Limila. So Barton poured for both of them, and they sat, and Barton waited. Until Bearpaw said, "We have to talk. There's a lot, on this ship, that you probably don't know about. That you need to know, and it wasn't in the official reports."

Barton took a deep breath. This man's cooperation had been one of the big question marks. Now Barton said, "Some of it, I do know. I've heard your tapes, Bearpaw."

Word-for-word recall wasn't one of Barton's strong points, so it took a few minutes to clarify how much he knew, and how much not. Finally the younger man nodded. "You have most of it, I think. Maybe you'd better ask the questions; it might be faster."

Barton thought back. "You never mentioned how your Lisa came out. Or the little blonde, either." If you want people to be on your side, he figured, you should show

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a little interest. And as a matter of fact, Bearpaw's story had got him concerned.

Looking surprised, the man said, "Yes, you'd know about them, wouldn't you?" His expression relaxed.

"Well, Lisa did fine. Elys had a bad time, but she's ral- lied pretty well. You'll have to meet them soon, and Mark Gyril. Because you and the Tilaran woman need some intensive coaching, in how to keep the Others off your mental backs."

Barton nodded. But his next question was: What kind of stuff had been coming in from Base, lately? ' .

Not much, was the answer; Comm wasn't busy, these days. During the transfer of supplies, the whole place had been held down by a sixty-five-year-old woman and a man with one leg, working alternate twelve-hour shifts and sleeping a lot. What the ship received was routine announcements that went to everybody. "Maybe some- body just forgot to cut us off the distribution Ust. Lisa says not; she thinks Base wants to keep us feeling part of the team. A way of reinforcing our drive to follow orders and get lost." Bearpaw shrugged. **I don't argue; she's the psychologist."

The statement didn't seem to call for comment. While Barton was trying to think what to ask next, the inter- com came on. Announcement: officers and ratings to meet in galley. Bearpaw stood. "That's Ferenc's idea.

Get us together and hammer on our group-purpose but- ton a little, every so often. You're included, I'd imagine.

If you want to come."

"Sure," said Barton. "Let's go." He put shoes on first.

Sitting beside Renton Bearpaw, watching Szabo get up front to start talking. Barton tried to settle his impres- sions of the man. Somehow the deepset blue eyes, the high cheekbones, and gaunt jaw gave Barton an odd feel- ing. Like a picture he'd seen once, of an avenging saint with a flaming sword. But that was silly.

One thing wasn't, though. Barton had never considered himself a combative type, but on the other hapd there had been damn few men he'd back down from. Looking at this one, the way he moved and the implicit surett" 'f him. Barton knew that against Ferenc Szabo he wi y stand no chance at all. And the man was a crowfc^;

given his history, he'd have to be that. Well, Barton B^ 1

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set up a good start. Maybe with luck he could keep it that way.

Now Szabo began talking; belatedly. Barton tuned his ears in. "... have to stay on our guard, against the Others' influence, for a considerable time. Nearly a year, we estimate, before our fuel supply is down to the no- return point for re-crossing the dead belt and reaching an inhabited world. Which we must not do,"

He hesitated, and from the way it looked on him. Bar- ton decided he didn't do it very often. "I'm afraid Base made an error," he said, "in ordering us to return exactly the way we had come. For this puts us passing near Opal again, while we still have fuel enough to undo all our endeavors. I don't look forward to being within range, at that point, of the Others' massed influence."

"Why not change course?" Barton didn't see who asked it.

Smiling in no happy fashion at all, Szabo said, "Yes;

obviously, that would be the ideal solution. The only difficulty is that I can't seem to manage to do it."

His further explanation was clear enough. Concentrat- ing on following Base's "get lost" order exactly was hard enough. Making changes on it was impossible, because such a move laid minds open to the Others' manipula- tion. Szabo bad tried, and barely stopped himself from turning the ship back toward Earth. No smile, now.

" "If anyone here is capable of deviating from the letter of our orders, changing course to avoid Opal, without los- ing the purpose to carry out the spirit of those orders, I will turn command over to that person."

A few hands went up, wavered, and were withdrawn.

Barton's wasn't one of them; he didn't want command, and he had no idea whether he could resist a mental pressure he'd never felt.

The meeting ended with the whole group reciting Base's "get lost" directive. Barton gathered that this had become a ritual, and looking at the faces of those around him, it seemed to help.

Bearpaw, standing with another man and two women, beckoned to Barton and Limila. Barton wasn't sur- prised to be introduced to Lisa Teragni, Elys Rounds, and Mark Gyril; they all fit the descriptions Bearpaw had given in the tape, except that words didn't do justice to the bold modeling of Teragni's features. And Bearpaw

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hadn't mentioned the way her coarse black hair frizzed out, as if electrostatically charged. She shook hands like a lumberjack, and said, "We're heading for a confer- ence. Consider yourselves invited."

They went to Gyril's office, and the slim man offered brandy, and said, "Ren, you were filling them in, and you know how far you got with it. Care to continue?"

So, starting from where the tapes had ended, Bearpaw began bringing things up to date. Dabil and Tiriis, the two Others, kept to themselves in the nursery at the far reach of the quarters space. With them, helping out, were several non-pregnable women who had volunteered for the work. Szabo had arranged a buffer zone of va- cant, sealed compartments between the nursery and the crew's living space. "The feeling of insulation may be purely in our heads," said Bearpaw, "but ifs more com- forting than you might think. Maybe not all that com- forting to the volunteers, though."

Impatient, Barton said, "Okay, so that's the quo of it. Any plans, though? And any results?"

Bearpaw shrugged. "Lots of ideas that haven't panned out. I still like one of mine. To fake an order from Base, up in Comm-with confirmation, if necessary-Ao change course and miss Opal."

"It wouldn't work," said Lisa Teragni. "Ferenc would see through it in two shakes. That man couldn't let bun- self be fooled, even if he wanted to in the worst way."

She turned to GyriL "Mark, tell them how you're fighting the Others' veto on your research.'*

Barton liked the man's smile. "They can't stop the empirical approach, because they can't know where it's going next And they've never managed to bollix every- thing I try to do. I think they spot-check ua and stop whatever might be close to working."