Tarleton seldom used the viewscreen circuits except in his special capacity of expert on the ship's weaponry. It was he who explained the alarms that integrated incident energy, time and distance to warn if a vessel's Shield were seriously threatened by a Demu sleep-gun. He demon- strated flie adjustments for obtaining optimum rise curves in pulsing the mammoth lasers that occupied each ship's central axis. And especially, he was a stickler in his insis- tence that every Shield be kept in perfect balance at all times.

Barton was glad to be spared these chores. For one thing, he wanted more time with Limila than he could usually manage.

It was not merely that they were lovers, though they were-and had been, since the restoring of Limila's face.

But also they spent much time in talk-exchanging the questions and answers for which there had been no op- portunity on Earth-

And Barton was learning the Tilaran language. Others were, too, of course-but he wanted to know it in depth, with all the nuances he could absorb. It was a musical tongue, rich in intonations that conveyed the subtleties.

Barton made progress, but slowly.

Back on Earth, when Tarleton showed him the Space Agency's assignments of ship's quarters. Barton had r&.

acted violently. "Hishtoo and Eesbta," Tarleton said, "will be in Six, which locks from the outside. Eeshta doesn't need locking up, of course, but we don't want

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Hishtoo getting into any "mischief." Barton nodded. "Cabin One, directly behind the control room, is yours and mine.

Limila can room with Myra Hake, my assistant comm- tech, and two of the other women can-"

"What in hell do you think you're talking about?" Bar- ton demanded. "What kind of silly-ass game is this?

Limila rooms with me, and you know ill"

Tarleton laughed. He hadn't laughed for a long time, probably-now it rolled out of him, loud growling belly laughter, until he sat wheezing. "All right, Barton," he said, finally, "I'm sorry-but I couldn't resist that." He waved a band to fend off Barton's indignation. "This, I should have said, is the Agency's official assignment of quarters."

Barton had to grin. "You're a sadistic bastard, you know that?'*

"Sure I am." Tarleton wiped his eyes. "But look- why do you think the ships have double compartments, when a pair of dormitories would have been cheaper?

Because we do have mixed crews, and I don't have any silly-ass ideas-as you put it-that they're all monks and nuns. So I said to myself, why not make things comfort- able and congenial, for whoever wants them that way?"

He looked squarely at Barton. "All right?"

Barton nodded, and left. As he had intended all along, he moved his and Limila's gear into Compartment Two.

At first, the living arrangements of the rest of the crew were monastic, but soon Tarleton was sharing Number One with Myra Hake, a tall, sandy-haired woman of con- siderable energy and competence. A few days later. Bar- ton noticed that Myra had been replaced by one of his copilots, a short, sturdy brunette named Alene Grover.

Other cabin exchanges occurred; Barton didn't keep track-it was none of his business. Eventually it struck him that with five men and five women sharing five com- partments, the Agency had had to be kidding. Or else Tarleton had been. Barton decided not to ask which ....

He did ask, one day, whether the other crews were evenly divided by gender.

"No," said Tarleton. "For our own ships, I tried to swing that, but somebody got into the aptitude-rating files and went over my head with some last-minute reassign- ments. So we have a few six-four combinations, both ways."

Barton frowned. "Six-four? Oh. yeh-I forgot. We're

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the only ship running full; the others only carry ten each.**

He laughed. "Well, it gives them room for a little incom- patibility."

'That's true. Anyway-for the rest, the British have one seven-to-three imbalance; I don't know why. The French and Germans are balanced but I don't have infor- mation about the Russians-their rosters list only last names and initials. And I can't make heads or tails of the African and Chinese names."

"Ignorant Yankee I" Barton grinned as he said it "Me, too. But-bow do you figure a seven-to-three setup is going to work out?"

"Flexibly, I hope. I gave one order on the subject- verbally-to the effect that individual morale is top pri- ority. Because we may be out here a long time."

"Yeh. Well, Tarleton, I hope it works. We have enough to worry about, without personal problems."

"Yeah. Just keep your fingers crossed."

The pressure of trammg kept most personnel too busy to worry overmuch about their libidos. The crash program on Earth had been limited to the bare bones of necessary knowledge; these now needed fleshing out in practice.

Piloting and navigation, communications, weaponry and ship maintenance-there was always plenty of work.

And only in space were airiock-and-suit drills meaningful.

The captured Demu ship had had no suits or airlock, but it was assumed that their raiding and fighting ships would be so equipped.

The logistics of shipboard life could not be neglected- for instance, somebody had to cook. Ship One was lucky -or perhaps. Barton thought, Tarleton had stacked the deck-three competent cooks were aboard. Terike ap Fenn, the big weaponsman, was the best of the lot, though Limila ran him a close second. Barton, who could boH water without burning it if he read the directions care- fully, was properly grateful.

He was not merely grateful for Limila's other achieve- ments; he was thoroughly impressed. He had expected her to pull her weight on the conun-board, and perhaps do standby duty at Weapons. She had become not merely adequate but expert at both specialties and was well on her way to becoming a middling-fair pilot. And Barton had already known she could cook ....

It struck him that if she were representative of the TUari, the hoped-for alliance might wind up with Earth

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playing second fiddle. The idea didn't bother him much- he didn't care who led the parade, so long as someone did a good job of it. But it was a damned good thing. Barton thought, that there were no politicians along on this junketl *.

They were-five weeks out, about a third of the way to Tilara, when the first rabbit came out of the hat Myra Hake, now sharing Cabin Number Four with one of the pilots, had a problem. Tarleton was catching some over- due sleep, so she posed it to Barton and Limila, who had the duty in Control.

"I've missed my damned period, is what!" she said.

"And with ten months to go on a one-year contraceptive implant, that should be impossible."

Barton had no answers, so he kept silent. Limila sat quietly for a moment, looking thoughtful, then said, "I have an idea. Can you spare me here. Barton, for the rest of this watch?" He nodded. "Myra, come to our compart- ment. please. I must ask questions, that I may seek a valid solution."

Barton wanted to ask a couple of questions himself, but this wasn't the time for it; he had his own routine to follow. But after he had drilled Vito Scalsa in ship ma- neuvers and Terike ap Fenn in weapons control, his watch was done. He joined Limila in Compartment Two.

"So what's with Myra? Did you find out?"

"I can't yet be sure, Bartons-But I think that in your women this cycle is related to the lunar tide of Earth. Not so rigid as clockwork, but somewhat akin. Here, our ar- tificial gravity is constant-with the clock absent, the re- sponse may fail. Or so I think it."

"If you're right, what can be done about it?"

"I have done it, Barton. There must be time, before we see if the problem is solved. I must ask if others are in like case.

"But, with help from an expert computer person-a Miss Chindra of Ship Thirty-four-I have set our gravity fields to pretend the variations from your sun and moon.

Not entirely accurate-I chose the phases as they have progressed since our departure, the best that Chindra and I could remember. It will have to do; we will see if this corrects."

Suddenly, Barton realized he might have a problem of his own. Well, partly his own .... He wondered how to

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ask, because no matter what he said at this late date, he was going to sound pretty stupid.

"Look, Limila-maybe I was locked up too long, away from everything-because it only struck me, just now. But I mean-you never have, since we ... I mean, are you pregnant? Or did the Demu . . . ? You can't be past it . . . are you?"