Barton poked a gentle fist at the man's arm. "You did your best, Slowboat-we'll ride with that."

Leaving Slobodna to his work, Barton talked with Vertan for a time. The Tilaran seemed in need of re-

26G.

assurance-Barton gave it, with confidence that he had to manufacture for the occasion.

He spoke with Corval and with Knnchuk, gravely ex- changing pledges of trust and friendship. He meant every word, but no word rang true to him.

Vertan drew him aside. "The Ormtban is here, and would be of speech with you!" And in a curtained alcove at one side of the building. Barton again met the pink egg with the head on it.

"Barton of Earth."

"None other, Ormthol. Would you wish me well?"

"All of that-and victory. But what of afterward? For the Demu?"

"As with you, Ormthol-live and let live. // we win.

But I hope we can have contact with them, afterward."

"For what purpose?"

"You've heard of the young Demu with us? From that one, we think the race can learn to outgrow its ways."

"I have heard, yes, Barton-and have been greatly interested. If you did not require that one for the meeting with its elders, I would ask that you lend me its-company.

For the Demu are an unsolved puzzle, and always I would learn."

"Yeh. Well-later, maybe, with luck. Anything else on your mind?"

The Ormthan vibrated, shook. Laughter, thought i Barton. Probably. "Your pardon-it is the question. On my mind, you ask, is there anything else? Much and always. Barton. It is a racial trait, a major one-our preoccupation with the joy of learning."

"Yes-all right. Now-a question, maybe?"

"Whether or not I may answer, you are free to ask."

"On Sisshain-the Demu thing of importance. You said something like, one who sees it cannot fail to recog- nize its importance."

"You remember well my saying."

"Okay. Now-can it be recognized from a distance?"

"You will know it from afar, I am told."

"How?"

"I was not told that."

It was time, Barton felt, to get the hell out. He said the formalities-including thanks-and left, with the nagging thought that anyone with good sense would have asked better questions.

Before leaving the building he went through the rig- 267.

marole with Vertan also. Marking time before departure, nothing seemed entirely real to him.

At the ship it was the same. Tarleton, Helaise, Vito, and Liese-all characters in a play. Only when they left did he turn to Limila and find a thread of credence.

"When do we lift?" he asked.

"Not long now. Barton. The others have grouped to the control room. Shall we Join them?" ^

Alene Grover sat in the master pilot's seat "Do you want to take it, Barton?"

"No, you go ahead-I'll sit here." Beside Limila.

"All right. I'll lift with the signal."

She did. The strike force was on its way.

For eight days the ships drove, not toward Sisshain but toward the line that put Sisshain and its dust cloud between them and the major Demu sector. Optimum angle of approach to that line, for least time to Sisshain, had been computed by Vito Scalsa.

Once in space, Barton found himself free of his pre- departure disorientation-everything was real again.

Getting himself into gear, he checked the angle-approach problem with "Chin"-Miss Chindra, on Shin Thirty- four-and was not surprised that she checked Scalsa within one second of arc. He told her so.

"His calculations," she said, "were from Tilara. Mine had to consider distance already traveled, and the course change to avoid incoming ships as we left the Tilaran system."

"Thank you." Barton matched the gravity of her speech and face.

The first day, Barton and Limila moved into Cabin One. The change had nothing to do with status-One had command-comm facilities and Two did not. The omission had sometimes been inconvenient, and Barton was glad to be rid of it.

Alene Grover took Compartment Two. Cheng and Myra retained Four, and Eeshta stayed in Six-but now without benefit of the outside lock. Abdul Muhammed was in Fiv&-the tube of Barton's side gun crossed Three at a height that made that room unusable even for Eeshta, let alone Abdul. Barton was surprised at how soon Three became filled with everyone's excess belong- ings.

268.

As the strike force accelerated, ship-to-shore com- munications suffered-the time lag grew, and signals weakened. Long before light speed was reached, the three ships would be cut off from Tilara. When Tarleton called, late in the second day, it was obvious that there could be no further contact.

"I guess this is it, for now," the man said. "Barton- how does it look?"

"I think we have a winning combo on here. No weak links." Immediately, Barton regretted the implicit slap at Helaise. Nothing to do about it, though-anything he said would make it worse. He waited through the trans- mission lag.

"Yes-good,*' Tarleton said. "Well, the fleet will fol- low, on schedule. Looks as if the number of slowpokes, the second wave, will just about match the original fudge factor."

"Before you doubled it, you mean-not bad, not bad at all. Well, after rendezvous, just be on the lookout for any of us heading back from Sisshain like a bat outa hell-in case we run into something we hadn't figured on."

Another wait. "I know. We've set up a think-tank to brainstorm possibilities we may have missed. Well, Bar- ton, you know the priorities-that helps our guessing a lot, and"-a noise surge smoldered the next few words-1- "very likely, with luck."

"We're losing signal," said Barton. "So long-see you, some place."

At first he thought the circuit was dead. Then came "-Hear much of-too far, I-and good-" There was nothing more. Barton cut the screen.

Well, now he was on his own, for sure. The feeling was not unpleasant.

Once, only, Barton checked Abdul Muhammed through piloting and weapons drills-the man was su- perbly proficient in both; he displayed an intuitive talent for predicting the variations of Barton's simulated prob- lems. Suspecting a touch of E.S.P-which would be of no help in real battle at spatial distances-Barton tested the man against computer-generated situations. The re- sults were equally good; E.S.P. was not a factor. Abdul, Barton decided, was simply one hell of a good man at the controls of ship or weapons.