"Barton?" she said, when again it was time for talk. His hand cupped the back of her head; she reached and pulled it in an involuntary caress over her scalp, free of the Tilaran-styled wig that lay to one side. "I could have had that girl's hair, too-or the skin that would grow it.

Should I have?"

"Huh?" The caress ceased to be involuntary.

"It was offered. It is in preservation, should we return here and I choose. But I wished to know your feelings, and could not reach you, so I said no, for this time. Was I wrong?"

"Hell, I don't know. But you shouldn't have waited on me, Limila. Do what you want to do."

"Perhaps I did." Starting at the bridge of the nose she ran her own fingertips up her forehead and, without pause, over the smoothness of her head. "I would choose your wish. Barton, because I am of two minds. Some- times, in this matter, I have felt bereft-more so, even, than of breasts. But at other times it is of much enjoyment that I may clean my hair but not have it wet on me for so long, so inconvenient."

249.

Barton laughed. "Well-as long as you're satisfied, for now! We'll be back here, you know." He suppressed the thought that the Demu might have something to say about that. "You can make up your mind then-okay?"

"Yes, Barton. And now I see you look again at your wrist; you must go. Once more kiss?" They did. "If I am not to the ship tomorrow, then my message, saying the reason, will be." ^

"All right. Good night, Limila."

He went outside; the car was waiting. Somehow, a great load was off his mind-and he hadn't even managed to tell Liroila about Alene and himself. Well, he knew she wouldn't get fashed . ..

Riding back to the ship he was more relaxed-mind and body-than he had been for a long time.

She is good for me, he thought-very good for me.

Back at the ship, he found Tarleton in the galley. Had the man ever left it in the past few hours? Barton decided not to ask.

With the big man was a bigger one, a stranger, who rose and introduced himself before Tarleton could do so.

"Mister Barton, I think? I am Abdul Muhammed, perhaps to join your ship. I am trained as a pilot, and in weaponry." The man stood more than two meters tall;

Barton estimated that he grossed perhaps 120 kilograms.

His handclasp, obviously restrained, was still stronger than most.

"Glad to know you. Barton's all you need, though."

"How is that?" A half-smile showed white teeth against his blue-black skin.

"I mean, you can skip the 'Mister,' "

"Ah. yes-I understand. You do not need titles. I will remember."

"Abdul is the top weapons man in Squadron Three,"

said Tarleton. "When I asked for him, Tamirov practically sang the 'Volga Boatman' with string accompaniment."

Abdul laughed. "If you are not Joking, please let me continue to believe that you are. Tamirov is a fine com- mander-but I have heard him sing."

I like this guy already, thought Barton. "Hey, sit down, everybody," he said. "I need a beer. Anybody else?"

Abdul held up a finger; Tarleton pointed to his perpetual coffee cup. Barton did the honors, and sat with them.

"How's Limila?" Tarleton asked.

250.

"Fine." Barton grinned. "Some new developments- tell you later-but she's okay to go with the strike force."

Abdul spoke. "Limila-she is the Tilaran woman, the former Demu prisoner?"

"Yes," said Barton, "and now my most needful per- son." Deliberately, he used the Tilaran phrase.

"I see." For a moment the black man was silent. "The Greater Central African Republic saw fit to put only men into space. My own most needful person, as you put it, tends our two children in a pleasant house amid a grove of fruit trees. I hope to meet her there again. But even more, Barton, I hope she is spared what came to your woman. That is why I am here."

Barton made up his mind, "Glad to have you, Abdul- you just signed on." The handshake wasn't so bad, he found, once he was braced for it.

As the three exchanged information, and Barton and his boss confirmed plans, the shank of the evening went fast. Everything was on the money except the personal Shields; their readiness was still up for grabs.

Barton excused himself and went to bed early- Limila's absence did not haunt him now; instead be felt her past and future presence.

Next morning he found Tarleton in the galley ahead of him. "You live here?" Barton asked. "Or do you go home to sleep?" ,.

"Both, maybe. Barton, I've made up my mind-this is your ship, for the strike force. There are only four of us left on here, who aren't going, and the other ships are carrying ten each with two spare bunks. So I'm taking over Ship Two-it's one of several that carry command- type comm-gear-by bumping' a couple of its people to other ships. We'll be riding full, in Two."

"Okay-fine. How's my side gun coming?"

"It'll be ready-on all three ships."

"Even better. You picked the other two, then?"

"Yes. One of Slowboat's and one of Estelle's. The com- manders will be at the conference today."

"Sounds good." Barton moved to where Eeshta was running a miniature food-production line. "Morning, , Eeshta. Got a couple batches of scrambled? I'm hungry.

And maybe a little toast and some sausages."

"Of course. Barton. The sausage is not quite prepared, but soon."

251.

"Fine," he said. "How's Helaise doing?"

"Her arm heals and its fever lowers. But now her mind fevers, I think-and she will not say what disturbs it Though I have asked." She filled a plate to his order and handed it to him.

"Okay, thanks-I'll check on it." Back at the table/he relayed the conversation to Tarieton. "Should I follow

this up?" 'f-

"No; I'll do it. Today is strike-force day at the confer- ence building-it's more your potato than mine. I'll give you my notes from yesterday. Try to remember to write down any important developments-all right?"

"Sure." Barton ate silently. Then, dabbing up the last morsel, he said, "You picked me a good one, in Abdul Muhammed. I'd trust that man to back me up, no matter

what."