Barton still played his cards close, though, sticking to what he*d learned on the ship itself, near as he could keep track. Because his own ideas differed a little, from every- body else's.

He was in Szabo's quarters, the two of them talking while Barton sampled a kind of wine from Blame's Mistake, that bad a faint tinge of pepper to it, when Ferenc Szabo said something about feeling sorry for the two women he'd helped impregnate, recently, during the

rush.

And without meaning to, hearing his mouth work with- out benefit of brain. Barton said, "Must have been a nice change, though."

And saw Szabo, catlike, lean forward. Face taut, not menacing, but certainly feral. "You know. Who told

you?"

Barton's nape prickled, but he shrugged, and said, "Coming out here on this mission, wouldn't you expect I'd get a scan on the records?" Always nice, he thought.

to avoid an outright lie.

"Oh." Even letting the air out of himself, Szabo looked graceful. His smile looked forced, but Barton gave him points for trying. "With people I know, I'm not seif- conscious about it now. But you're largely a stranger, so you gave me a jolt."

"Then let's quit being strangers." Barton had the initia- tive, he knew. To hold it, he poured himself more wine, and then some for Szabo. Taking a slice of the host role couldn't hurt. And now Barton did the leaning-forward bit, and waited.

Until Szabo said, "What it's like. That's what they all wanted to know, the medics and psycho-techs and such.

The truth is that at the time I couldn't tell them; I didn't know." He shook his head. "It's a subtle matter. Barton.

Something that isn't felt at all unless there's something to compare with, and sensory memory fades so soon! But change!-when the Others made me right, when they %^ned me back off, then restored me-change can't be mistaken." Pausing, Szabo seemed bewildered. "Have I answered you?"

Barton nodded. "Yeh. Yeh, I think" you have. And, hey-Ferenc, I'm damn glad for you. man."

Then, talking about nothing at all personal, they drank

473.

the rest of the Blame wine before Barton left. He still wasn't sure he'd cleared the air all the way, but for now it was the best he could do.

As the ship neared Opal again-"that beautiful trap,**

as Bearpaw put it-Barton watched everybody begin to tighten up around the edges. He saw Ferenc Szabo, push- ing for group support of the directive from Base, leaning on everybody at officers' meetings with the full force of his personality. Which, Barton admitted to himself, was plenty. The tight policy of need-to-know had long since been junked; meeting proceedings were screened to ail the ship except the Other-controlled nursery. Like it or not, all the crew knew the score. Some, Barton gathered, didn't like it too much.

But when there aren't any good answers, he thought, you have to take the best you can get.

Nobody had to guess about the point when the ship came close enough to Opal for the Others there to exert influence; the pressure hit like a great wave. Barton, walking into quarters, staggered and almost fell. When he caught his balance he found that he had turned and was heading for the control area, so that he could change course and take the ship to Opal.

''No!" He grabbed a door handle, closed his eyes, and forced himself to stand still while he fought his mind back to purpose. When he had a stalemate-he couldn't get rid of the pressure entirely, but he could withstand it-he hurried up to Control, anyway. But now, to make sure nobody else did what he'd wanted to do, only minutes

before.

Before he got there he could hear the nohie, and he ran in to find maybe half a dozen people in a free-for-all wrestling match. Two others were down already, and as Barton tried to guess who was on which side, another fell.

Leaning over someone in the chief pilot's seat was "Ferenc Szabo; he pulled the man up and out, and hit him once;

the man dropped. Szabo leaned over the controls and did something Barton couldn't see. , ^

A woman screamed, "Opal! Opal!," and came at Barton; he gave her a jab of stiffened fingers in the solar plexus and doubled her over. He ducked a man's hay- maker swing and chopped the side of his hand a^ asf the neck. r

neck.

474.

Except for Szabo, the rest were thrashing around to- gether on the deck; Barton ignored them and approached the acting captain. "Stop right there, Bartoni"

"Sure." Barton stopped. "Just one thing, though."

Barton breathed deeply; if he bad to tackle this man, he needed all the oxygen he could get. "I hope we're still on

course. Are we?'*

And Szabo relaxed. "We are now. Jessup had started to turn us, but I set it right again." His sweating face grinned. "In fact, I think I managed to overcontrol a little, being a bit shaky, you understand, so we'll pass wider

from Opal now."

For those who had succumbed to the Others' sudden onslaught, there was no talk of punishment; once their directed actions were stopped, they came back to normal, fighting the nagging pressures as well as anyone. Barton was surprised at how quickly the group spirit was restored -and at how much it seemed to help him personally.

The way Bearpaw put it was, "We built unity on the determination that no woman would bear Children again if we could help it. Add fear to unity, on top of the basic sex urge, and it's an act that's hard to beat." The Others were still trying, though. Barton could feel it all the way

through, and it hurt, .

Next time he saw Bearpaw, the man was heading from

-Comm to captain's quarters, carrying a flimsy. He said, "Base figured out that they forgot to tie the other shoe;

now they're trying to fix it, too late. This is the first non- routine message we've had since the crucial directive. Top Priority, which is why I have to deliver it in person."

The Comm-man sounded a little rattled; Barton got in step with him and asked, "What's it say? Or am I sup- posed to know?"

"Here; read it." Barton took the paper, skipped past

the usual gibberish that tells who's saying what to whonii and read:

TOP PRIORITY. Change course immediately to avoid vicinity of planet called Opal. This urgent; re- peat, urgent. Change course, avoid planet Opal. If this is impossible, destruct ship at once. Repeat, de- struct ship at once. End, TOP PRIORITY.

He handed the message back, and said only, "Destruct, 475.

huh? How did that silly word get into the jargon? Destroy says the same thing; why not use it?"

"Let's hope we don't have to do either one.**

At his quarters, Ferenc Szabo invited them in. As he read the message, Barton saw strain grow in his face, ridging muscles. 'Too late. Why are they always too late?" If he wasn't close to breaking point. Barton had never seen anyone who was. He tried to think what to say, that might help, but came up blank.

Bearpaw spoke. "We're making it, Ferenc. You're mak- ing it. We're almost as near Opal as we're going to be, and nobody's cracking. We're taking all they can .throw, and still holding."

The man shook his head. "The Children, they're not in it yet. Can we take that?"

"They're not developed enough, Gyril says, to influence us, except for direct self-defense. I think he's right. Be- cause, do you think the Others would be holding anything back now?"

"No," said Ferenc, "they wouldn't. And they're not."

He nodded toward the door. It opened; two Others en- tered, and be said, "I was expecting you."