-as you are of knowledge-a Tilaran can be many things to another, only one can be most needful."

"Many peoples are of that feeling." Still, Barton waited for the other shoe to drop.

"When, on viewscreen, I saw and heard Limila, I was of shock."

"Yeh-the Enoch Arden bit." Tevann looked a ques- tion; Barton shook his head and signed for the other to continue.

"Then when she spoke of you-that you are her most needful person-Barton, my mind was of peace. Then I could be with her-we could be of ioy!"

The pause, Barton felt, deserved a little silent wine- sipping-so he did, greatly relieved to know what the problem was. "That you have told me these things, Tevann, is of good. I am of thanks to you."

The Tilaran smiled, touched Barton's hand, and turned away. Barton stood a moment, wondering if he had lost anything in the translation. No-it made sense- and he was pleased to find that Limila's former most- needful person was someone he liked thoroughly.

Again" drifting through the crowd, Barton felt de- tached. He was not drunk; his mind was clear. Limila was right, he thought-no one could handle the impact of too many alien concepts all at once-there was a dis- orienting effect. Okay, he told himself-simmer down, now....

His .glass was empty and he was thirsty. Ahead, in a dim comer, he saw a group gathered around a table. Ap- proaching, he nodded to persons half-seen in the dimness and filled his glass. The wine was cool and tart; he rolled the first sip on his tongue before swallowing.

Turning away, he was met; someone pressed against him. "I ask of pardon," he said, and sought to move.

The person was shorter than he, so not Tilaran surely.

'Try English, Barton." He bent to look more closely;

thick, springy hair brushed his cheek.

216.

"Alene?" he said. "You get lost, or something?"

"No, Barton." And under his robe, he felt her hand move.

"Hey, now ..."

"Tilara grows on one, don't you find?" Her voice was soft.

"Yeh-sure. But you and Tarleton . . . ?"

"On the ship, yes. But at a Tilaran party? The customs of the country, Barton-I have carte blanche. Do you?"

"I guess so ... yes-sure. But why me?"

"I want to know you. Barton- When we were first on the ship, before Tarleton and I were together, I told him I wanted to know the man who started all this-and he knew what I meant. He thought about it a minute, as though I'd asked a question, and then said yes, it was all right."

Barton laughed. "You mean, be gave you permis- sion?"

"Not exactly. He was worried it might hurt one of us, and then decided it wouldn't. He was concerned. Barton."

"Good of him. But then, he's a good man."

"Yes. You see that little door, over there? Is that a place where we could-?

They went, and they did. And for all her brash exterior, Barton found great sweetness to Alene Grover.

From outside the quieth little room came unquiet sounds. Barton raised his head; for a moment he listened.

He kissed Alene fiercely, in lieu of taking longer about it, and got them both robed before opening the door. Out- side, the sounds were clearer. No doubt about it, he thought-it's a hassle somewhere. What the hell could be going on? He pointed his senses toward trying to find out, gripping one of Alene's hands to keep her with him.

He pushed through milling groups that seemed, them- selves, to have no purpose of action. Ahead, the crowd parted momentarily; he saw Tarleton moving through a large doorway to the left

"Come on, Alene," he said, and tried to move faster.^ Then he saw she was hobbling, her feet only half into her shoes. He bent, pulied the shoes off, and banded them to her. "Now come on!"

Several Tilarans, doing nothing in particular but blocking Barton's way, were bunched against the door.

217.

He needed both hands, and released Alene'S. "Follow as close as you can."

"Yes, Barton, I'll be all right. This doesn't look dan- gerous."

"Of pardon, of passage, of need to progress! Gangwayl Party through! Lady with a baby!" One language was as good as another, as Barton bulled his way through the clutter and reached the door. Inside, he paused to get his bearings.

At the near side of a milling group, Tarieton was argu- ing with Vertan; he gripped the Tilaran by the shoulders and pushed him away. Turning, he saw Barton, and said, "If he won't help, the hell with him!"

"What's needed?"

"A doctor. It's bad. He-"

"Squawkbox over there, isn't it? Alene! Holler for Max Cummings, will you? And now, Tarieton-what's the goddamn problem?"

"Ap Fenn."

"But he's on the ship!"

"He was. He isn't. He's over there bleeding to death."

"Oh, shit!" Barton took a deep breath. "All right- what did that silly sonofabitch do now? And what's he do- ing here?"

Tarieton gestured toward a comer; a Tilaran woman huddled there, crying. Her heavy, pointed fingernails were smeared with blood.

"She did it?" Tarieton nodded, and Barton moved to- ward her.

"Aren't you going to have a look at ap Fenn?"

Barton turned. "If you think first aid has priority, you do it. Two races are more important than any one man."

He went to the woman and crouched to speak with her.

After a time, she answered. "It was not of purpose," she said, **not of purpose. . . ."

It took a while to get it straight; Barton tried to be pa- tient, and eventually she became more coherent.

"As you know, we touch, of question to be with the other. When the Earthani touched me, the touch was not of my liking, and I answered that I was not of that wish.

You must know-"