"I'm afraid not. Nothing of discourtesy, I hope."

Corval curved his lips in a way that could mean noth- ing but delight. "It said, 'May I help to produce your next egg?' Not that such is possible. . . ."

Oh, Christ! What to say? "You're not-you don't produce eggs, yourself?"

"No. But even if so, one -of your race could not assist -no more than the Filjar or Tilari. Our seed does not mix and act But I say this-even without your knowing, your face said a thing of kindness. Be us friends now, Barton."

"Yes." Either humanoids took naturally to handshak- ing or Corval had run into the custom before-Barton reached out instinctively, and there was no delay. These egg-laying characters, he decided, were impressive-he could like them.

Now the Filjar came forward-taller than Barton but not so tall as the Tilari, they loomed huge in sheer breadth. He reminded himself that the appearance of bulk was illusory. And from the colored harnesses-

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leather?-no two alike, depended pouches and imple- ments.

The Filjar, too, shook hands. Firmly but not painfully, heavy, blunt claws pressed Barton's skin. The last of the delegation-Kimchuk, if Barton had the name right- stayed by him.

"Pleased to be with you, to find Demu at last." The Filjar spoke in a slow. tenor monotone. Tarieton had been right; no expression showed through the sleek, dark- brown fur. Except for the eyes-Tarieton hadn't men- tioned those. They were large and deep-not bearlike at all. Barton thought-more like deer.

"And we are pleased to have you," he said. "Tilari tell us, Filjar are worthy friends."

Momentarily, Kimchuk inclined its head to one side.

"Tilari tell the same of Earthani." Earthani? As good a name as any, thought Barton. Kimchuk spoke again.

"You are Barton? Taker of ship from Demu?" Barton nodded. "Our songs will tell of you, of that taking."

"I had much fortune, Kimchuk." Barton was em- barrassed; he could never be comfortable in a hero suit.

"Tell of that, too."

Kimchuk made a high-pitched snort and clapped a hand to Barton's shoulder. Startled, Barton decided the sound had to be laughter.

"Fortune that prevails against Demu is fortune made of purpose. But our songs w&l be of Barton who is, not of some storied god who treads stars."

"Then one day I hope to hear your songs." He had struck the right note; Kimchuk clasped his shoulder again.

The assembly was preparing to settle down to business;

the two moved to join it. First was SIobodna's report- the verdict was in, on the three major weapons systems.

Barton listened with interest. Slobodna spoke in English, pausing for Tamirov to translate into the common lan- guage, Tilaran.

"First, the Tilaran twin-ion beam-it punches through the Shield and is effective after penetration. Traverse, to follow a moving target, is rapid enough for our needs, and-at close range-so is propagation speed. Against the Shield, effective range is roughly three hundred kilo- meters. Beyond that distance, the Shield produces in- stability in the beam and shorts it out. On unshielded objects the range is three to four times as great"

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There was a pause while Tamirov ran conversions of number systems and units of measurement.

"Range varies," Slobodna continued, "as the square root of applied power. We can get some advantage by beefing up the power source, but not much-well run into space and weight limitations."

Tarleton stood. "Okay, let's take a breather while the specialists make a horseback guess-keeping time limits in mind-of the optimum power increase we should go for. AU right?"

"Just a minute," said Barton. "Slowboat, what's the range of the handgun model?"

Slobodna conferred with Vertan, then said, "It hasn't been tested in space, or against the Shield. In atmosphere it breaks down at about a hundred meters." ^

"Then we need the hand lasers, and we need them bad." Tarleton nodded, and the two men sought refresh- ments.

Coffee and its alien equivalents were served; the racial groups tasted each others' beverages with differing reac- tions. Earthmen and Tilarans had previously traded sam- ples-largely with appreciation-of coffee and the tart, bubbling Tilaran klieta. Now Barton tried a cup, given to him by Corval, of a pale, lukewarm liquid that seemed to have no taste while he sipped it, but afterward pro- duced in his mouth a warm, tangy glow. Corval's reac- tion to coffee seemed noncommittal; he did not ask for seconds.

Kimchuk started to offer Barton a shallow dish filled with a thick gray substance that looked like mud soup, but seeing the Larka-Te beverage in his hand, said, "No, wait another time. The two are not well together." Bar- ton took a rain check-it was time to get back to the agenda, anyway.

As they sat down, he said to Tarleton, "I just thought of something. Remind me to bring it up when Slowboat's finished,"

"Next," said Slobodna, as cups were cleared away, "we tried the Filjar plasma-ball projector. Within its limits, it can't be stopped-it not only penetrates the Shield; it destroys it and keeps going. But it's slow- much slower than ship speeds. And once launched, there's no way to alter its course.

"So we recommend that the plasma-gun be installed on all ships, but reserved for use at close quarters."

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"How about a land-going, portable model?" asked Barton.

"It won't work in atmosphere. The instant the plasma emerged, it would blow."

Slobodna's conference with the FUjar was brief, deal- ing only with the mechanics of installing the weapon on Earth ships.

"The Larka-Te high-drive torpedo," he next began, "cracks the Shield ooly within a certain range of rela- tive velocities. Too fast or too slow, and it blows harm- lessly. But within a considerable range"-he read off the numbers and waited while Tamirov converted them-"the torps penetrate, and smash whatever is in- side. To get those results, we used up all four of our clay pigeons and two more that we haywired from spare parts. But by tomorrow we'll have a couple more ready, to check out the other systems.

"We're not entirely sure why the velocity hangup, but we think it's the way the torp itself blows, from front to back. So at some speeds the reaction front stays in coo- tact longer, with the Shield interface, and breaks it down.

"But we know how to make best use of this weapon.

Add limiting circuits to the spotter and firing equipment, * so that the torp won't go if the relative speeds aren't right. It won't be difficult; Scalsa was running computer simulations on it, this morning." Then, to Tarleton, "Anything else I should cover?"

"You hit all the bases just fine. But Barton has some- thing he wants to bring up."

Slobodna stepped down and Barton took the floor, signing for Tamirov to interpret. "One thing I'm not sure is clear to everybody. It just struck me a few min- utes ago. That is, you've all lost ships to the Demu, so we can expect they have all these weapons also. Which means we have to plan offensive and defensive tactics based on the properties of the ion beam, the plasma-gun, and the torps. Our one edge is the laser-and that's only true until the Demu capture one and have time to copy it."

The nods that answered Barton were thoughtful and sober.

Lunch-break came. Slobodna's team conferred with the Larka-Te; elsewhere Barton heard discussion of his own latest point.

Barton found Tilaran food sufficiently different from Earth's to be intriguing, yet similar enough to make his digestion feel at home. Four sat together. Tarleton and

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Corval spoke slowly, making heavy weather of Tarle- ton's accented Tilaran- Barton and Kimchuk ate in si- lence, which was fine with Barton; he felt pooped.

Kimchuk excused himself for a few moments and re- turned with two dishes; he offered one to Barton. Un- fortunately, the stuff not only looked like mud soup-it also tasted like it. But under the attentive gaze of large Filjar eyes. Barton dutifully ate the thick mess. What the hell-it wouldn't kill him!

And then he felt a slow relaxation, a welling of re- serve energies. The knots in his mind untied themselves -he was at peace, yet alert. In his thought patterns, nagging discrepancies fitted themselves together, in har- mony.

It wasn't, he thought, like the hit from a drink or a joint His bead hadn't speeded up, slowed down, nor lost itself in contemplation. Except for the removal of a lot of niggling, extraneous pressures, he was exactly the same Barton he had been five minutes earlier. He-turned to face Kimchuk directly.