"So they raid and take captives-and when an 'animal'

learns their language, they do their best to make it look like a Demu. With knives, they do that. Most of you have seen pictures of the results, I think,

"And that," said Barton, "is what we plan to bring to a screeching halt!" Return-volume on the screen was turned low, but the sound of cheering was clear enough. Barton waited for quiet

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"They can be taught better." he said. "They can learn.

Eeshta, for instance, has already come around to our way of thinking, on that point. Egg-daddy there is another story-to Hishtoo we're still animals, and uppity types at that.

"The Demu aren't going to change their minds easily.

Before we can get them to listen to us-well, we're prob- ably going to have to whip their hard-shelled butts." He turned to Tarleton, but the big man waved for him to con- tinue.

"We can't do it alone," Barton said. "They're too many for us. That's why we're going after some help first." He i beckoned Limila into the field of view. "This woman is of the Tilari, the first race we seek as allies. And if she's at all typical, they'll be damned good ones.

"The Demu worked her over-as I said, you've seen the pictures. One fine plastic surgeon is the reason you wouldn't recognize her from them."

Limila smiled. The restored curve of her lips parted to reveal teeth fashioned in a dental laboratory. No one would know by looking, thought Barton, that her nose ;. owed its shape to a cartilage graft-or that the ears were ^ soft-plastic prostheses.

i? She wore her Tilari-fashioned wig with its high ^- Elizabeth-I hairline showing smooth scalp forward of. her ears. The long black hair was swept up and displayed f how Tilari are hirsute solidly to the base of the neck, be- ll hind.

it Barton didn't feel like mentioning the breasts the Demu ^ , had taken from her, nor that the Earth-style plastic sub- H stitutes under her dress sat more than ten centimeters higher, on her rib cage, than the TUaraa norm.

1 "I am glad of being here," she said. "Tilara will give you welcome, as Earth gave to me."

H "Limila's people," said Barton, "have suffered Demu If raids for a very long time. Because of the sleep-gun there H could be no detection or defense. But several hundred 1' years ago, a Demu scout ship crashed. The crew was killed, and the Tilari had a quick chance to get a little in- formation. Not much-the Demu came in and got the ship-and most of the study group, too.

"But the survivors had some good pictures. Limila has seen copies, and she confirms that the Demu ship we took is almost identical to the crashed scout." Barton's smile was grim. "We took pains to make our ships look a little

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different... so that the Tilari don't try to blow us out of their sky before we have a chance to get acquainted."

He turned to Tarleton. "Anything else, for this go- round?"

"Just the slide show; 111 take that."

"Jeez-and I was trying not to be long-winded!"

*'you did fine." With relief, Barton moved aside, hug- ging Umila with one arm and briefly squeezing Eeshta's shoulder. Hishtoo stood woodenly; without ceremony, Bar- ton grabbed a handful of robe and jerked the Demu off- stage.

Tarleton pushed buttons. On the screen appeared a stellar map-a spiral arm Joining the edge of the galaxy's main body. He moved forward, until be could reach the screen with a pointer.

"Here's Earth," he began. "A long way out, you notice.

Now our first stop is here-about a hundred and sixty light-years down the Arm, and close to the middle of it, laterally. We can't see the Tilari stars from Earth-too much other stuff in the way. Other people we want to see are roughly here, and here.

"Here is the Derou research station, where Barton and Limila were. Close to three hundred light-years, and to- ward the outside edge of the Arm. The major Demu plan- ets are about here-down a bit more, and back toward the middle again. All of this is transposed from the Demu charts;-it should be fairly accurate. We had a little trou- ble finding some of the reference points, but nothing to worry about."

"No worry," said Barton. "When we ring the doorbell, they'll answer."

With a brief grin, Tarleton stepped back from the screen and laid the pointer down. "Keep in mind," he said, "that while to us these distances are vast, they cover onty a segment of our spiral Arm. Compared to the gal- axy itself, they are insignificant I think we need that per- spective.

"One more thing. Beyond the Demu suns, toward the galaxy proper, lies a volume of space entirely devoid of habitable planets. The charts end there. I don't know any- thing more about it, except that we won't have to worry about any neighbors on the other side of the Demu.

"I think that's all for now. Maintain acceleration at half-max, Go ahead with ship and squadron training

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programs, and if you have any questions, ask." He cut the screen circuits.

"You did okay yourself," said Barton. "But are you sure they have translators on the Russian ships, and the Chinese-?"

"And the French, and German, and Japanese and Central African. Hell yes, Barton."

Impatient with himself. Barton shook his head. "It's just-all this got put together in such a fucking hurry. A lot of it, I wasn't in on; I keep worrying maybe we forgot something. Okay-that's your department and you're good at it; ni try to quit jogging your elbow.

"So now we have a minute," he said, "let's go over it again-how we handle this command routine."

The discussion was short ....

The way it worked in practice was that Barton ran the fleet. Tarleton rarely gave orders; when be did, it was Bar- ton who relayed them. With the three "hats" he wore- ship commander, senior squadron commander, and the fleet's El Segundo-it all seemed reasonable enough.

Especially to Barton.

The first time be took the bit in his teeth was when he found a list, taped alongside the comm-board, of the names of the forty ships and their commanders. He took it to Tarleton.

"Look-we can't use this 'tting. If we're ever in a hurry we won't have time to look up names-and damned if I'm going to try to memorize the lot Half of them I can't pro- nounce anyway."

"You have a better idea?" Tarieton's voice was mild.

When the fleet was nearing completion he had been tense, harried; once in space, he had again become the easy- going, bearlike man that Barton had first known.

"The ships are numbered-what more do we need?

And the commanders know who they are; we don't have to tell them. When I call a ship or a squadron I'm talking to the guy in charge, no matter who answers the phone.

Okay?"

"That's fine with me. But when you announce the pro- cedure, could you put it a little more tactfully? Some of the national contingents-particularly the smaller ones -are sort of proud of their ships' names."

Barton thought it over and nodded. All ten ships of his squadron were U.S.-built-and seven of "Slowboat's"

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command, which also included three from West Germany.

Tamirov, the Russian, had seven of his own, two Central African and one French. Estelle Cummings commanded her three British ships, two each from Japan, China, and Australia, plus the second French vessel. The French hadn't wanted their forces split, but neither had anyone else-the decision had been made by drawing lots. Cer- tainly, Barton realized, national prides could be touchy.

When he went on the screen he stated, truly, that his procedures were designed for fast tactical operation. "But so that we all get used to it," he said, "let's stick to just the numbers for all our official communications." As far as he could tell, no one objected to the simplification.

As the ship-days passed. Barton handed on further in- formation when he happened to think of it It was not that he took his responsibilities casually, but merely that he had had no time, previously, to organize what he knew.