But wait a minute-was this interpretation for real, or a fantasy of Hishtoo's? "Eeshta, is this the first you've heard of that war? And if so, how come?"

"I have been-am-too young to be told fully of Demu glory. So Hishtoo says. It would be at an older time. But now he tells me, so you will know." Mentally, Barton shrugged off his Gestapo uniform; without it, he felt a lot better.

"There's more to it, Eeshta, isn't there?"

"So much more; your speech does not hold it all. But I will try." She looked up and to one side; she began to sway rhythmically. Her voice became a chant....

"The Demu come from far- The Demu come, and live- The eggs grow, the worlds know the Demu.

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Others know the Demu-

The animals who had this place,

Who now make space for Demu."

Her voice was thick; Barton had never heard it so.

-And what happened, Eeshta?" In a hushed tone, be asked it

"The ships that come-they soy, Proud Demu, be you gone- In our space is no place for Demu.^ Others came before you- Now none remain to call us foe, And so shall go the Demul"

Barton muttered to himself, "I'll bet that went over like a lead kite!" Eeshta stiffened; the swaying became more rapid, and her voice raised in pitch:

"The others went, the Demu stay- The Great Race dead, or gone away- Its heritage is Demu.

Never go the Demul"

Eeshta's eyes closed tightly.

"The war will be, the Demu know, And worlds will go, for animals May not command the Demu.

The Demu rise-the eggs must grow, The worlds must know the Demu.

Though worlds are gone, the Demu stay- Ever grow the Demu- Ever . . . grow the . .."

". . . Demu." Barton whispered it Eeshta shuddered and crumpled forward, hands covering her face. Barton moved quickly to put his arms around the small creature.

"Are you all right?"

After a moment, a nod. "Yes, Barton. But it is a strong thing that Hishtoo tells. Real, or not real."

"How real do you think it is?"

'To him, I think, all. And to me, almost, in the telling of it. The true danger I do not know. But it is for you to be very careful Barton, because I do not know."

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"Yeh. Thanks-I'll keep it in mind." What to do with her, now? She shouldn't go back to her quarters just yet, and maybe catch another load from Hishtoo; she wasn't up to it. "Hey," he said, "how'd you like to take a tour at the comm-board? Myra Hake's on watch-she says you're coming along really well. Want to sit in with her for a while?"

"Yes, Barton. A change of thought is good."

"Okay, fine." Then a phrase from Eeshta's chant caught his attention. "Wait a minute-what was it?-that part about the Great Race. Do you know what that means?"

"No, Barton." Shaking of head. "When it was said, I asked, but Hishtoo would say no more. He was startled, I think, by what he spoke. For to him there could be no Great Race-no people, even-other than the Demu.

There is a children's rhyme, but-no, I do not remem- ber."

He had to leave it at that.

Entering the control room, he turned Eeshta over to Myra Hake. "See you later," he said impartially to both, and left for bis own quarters. He was thinking he'd damned well better take some lessons from Eeshta- Demu language lessons.

He found Limila napping but not difficult to wake.

She was hungry, too.

Tarleton's meal had also been delayed; the three ate together. The big man looked gloomy, so Barton didn't mention his own new bag of troubles. Instead, guessing that he was due to get another one unloaded on him, he ate silently-preferring to enjoy the meat and ease diges- tion. Hishtoo's thing could wait-whatever it was, it wouldn't erupt until they approached Demu territory.

What did bother him was that for a time, listening to Eeshta's chant, he had caught himself wishing he were oo their side.

Could that be the real weapon?

Finally, over coffee, Tarleton told them what was on his mind. "It's ap Fenn-he has it up for Myra again and won't take no for an answer. And she's quite happy with your pilot-what's his name?"

"Cheng," said Barton. "Cheng Ai. But who's ap Fenn with now? And why can't he be satisfied with Jier for a while?" He considered what he knew of Terike ap Fenn- a large, lowering bruiser who was the ship's best weapons-

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man as well as its best cook. Why couldn't competent people carry their competence over into their personal lives? Wryly, be conceded that the question might some- times apply to himself.

"The past couple of weeks," Tarleton said, "he's been with that little matcbstick blonde-Helaise Renzel. One thing he doesn't like is that with both of them in Weapons, they're on different watch schedules. But I nosed around a little, and found that he's the one who's initiated all the recent cabin changes. If ap Fenn isn't a problem, he's cer- tainly working on it."

"You mean his grass is always greener on the other side?"

"Something like that-and he's making waves. Barton, can you do something about it before we have ourselves some real trouble?"

Barton felt his stubborn streak rise. "What's wrong with you doing it? You're the admiral, with the scrambled eggs on your hat." Looking sheepish, Tarleton spluttered.

Limila put her hand on Barton's arm. "No, Barton.

This is for you to do." He looked at her. "Tarleton is a fine man," she said, "but he might not in your place have succeeded in bringing the Demu ship and all of us to Earth." She turned now to Tarleton. "You must under- stand, I mean no offense. But you are one who looks long at all parts of a question. And sometimes only one side allows survival. Barton of all people understands this, in instinct. He-"

"-Sometimes does it the hard way," Barton finished.

**AU right; I'll talk to ap Fenn." He looked at Tarleton, but the other man stared silently down at his coffee. "I can't guarantee he'll wind up fit for duty. Do we have any problem about that?" Without looking up, Tarleton shook his head.

By forethought, Barton gave his dinner time to settle before looking in on ap Fenn. He found the man at home in Compartment Three, on pouting terms with his room- mate. Barton felt that Tarleton's term "matchstick blonde"

was unfair; Helaise Renzel was slim, but delicately curved and-to Barton-attractive. __

Nonetheless his request for her to leave was brusque and only marginally courteous. Barton wasn't looking for- ward to the encounter; he wanted the side issues out of

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the way. But his move allowed ap Fenn to take the offen- sive.

The man had remained seated. "What the hell are you butting in here for. Barton? I know you're the big cheese, but these are my quarters."