"Yes," said Limila. Then she saw Eeshta, and Hishtoo.

"But-what has happened? How-?" She looked around the room, first casually and then intently. "Oh . . . ?

Yes-I think I see."

"I wouldn*t be surprised," said Barton. "But later, honey. Help me off with the headpiece, will you? The Keeper of the Heritage-Sholur, his name is-will be back here pretty soon. He and I have to talk for a spell,

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to iron out the peace treaty a little better. And then we all go back to Ship One."

When Sholur entered, his first words were: "It is that we leave this place and talk in another."

"Barton," said Limila, "do you think it is safe?"

"It is," Eeshta said. "The Demu do not break their word."

"But, Hishtoo . . . ?"

"No," said Barton, "Hishtoo never broke his word to us; he never gave it. He didn't pretend to be a Friendly;

he was an honest Hostile all the way. Let's go."

Barton and Gerain carried Hishtoo as the group fol- lowed Sholur first to the drop-shaft, then dowa eight levels-Barton almost missed the exit ring-and along another corridor to a yellow-lighted room, furnished with couch-sized cushions.

"It is that we eat," said Sholur, "and talk. It is also that you sleep here when that is your wish."

Two Demu brought food. The stuff resembled the "glop" Barton had eaten during his years of captivity. It was served in bowls that each had a serrated half-spout at one side, for Demu mouths to sip from. Barton tried it-it tasted better than he remembered from Ashura, but he wished that politeness would allow him to dig into his marching rations instead.

The talk afterward took longer than Barton had ex- pected. He found himself yawning-well, it had been a long, hard day.

"It is," said Sholur, "that now you wish to sleep. That which is left to say, we talk when you wake." The Keeper of the Heritage rose and left them.

Barton checked the door. "Well, ifs not locked," he said. "That's good, I guess." He relieved himself over the gray quarter-circle at one comer of the yellow floor. As in the Demu cage or on the Demu ship, the stream van- ished without splash or trace. Good thing, he thought, that no one present was overly burdened with modesty -Demu plumbing wasn't built to allow for it.

He reported again to Ship One-that all was well ... so far.

He found no way to dim the lighting-all right, he'd pull the hood over his head. The air was cooler than he liked; he snuggled close to Limila and soon dozed. When he half-woke to feel warmth against him on the other

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side, he opened his eyes long enough to see two more hooded figures huddled with them. He went back to sleep without bothering to ask which was which.

Two hours after breakfast. Barton and Sholur shook hands over a complete set of peace terms- If they weren't truly complete, Barton hoped he'd left the proper loop- holes for later changes. He was surprised, then, when Sholur offered him-alone-a guided tour of the great ship. Naturally he accepted.

From another corridor on the level of the place-of- becoming, they entered the control area-or rather, its bottom level-it occupied eight, and had its own pair of lift/drop-tubes.

At the top level the hull was transparent-from in- side, at least. It had the same refractive index as air- no distortion-but the film of dust on the outside gave Barton an estimate of its thickness: nearly five meters.

He counted sixteen control positions, similar to the one on the Demu ship he had captured but each larger and more complex. And this, he thought, was merely the top concentration of control-the lower levels were filled with lesser installations.

He sat at one position, and Sholur at another, beside him- The seat-panel configuration was out-of-scale for both of them; Barton had to stretch to reach a knob he guessed to be the focus control- for a monitor screen. His guess was right; the picture sharpened, and showed Ship One from above and at an angle. The range was close;

Barton, scanned the ship's surroundings and saw no "sleeping beauties." So the Demu had retreated when Adbul gave them the chance. Good ....

His seat was comfortable enough, though subtly wrong for his physique, but it extended to both sides of him with troughlike depressions angling steeply forward. He nodded-of course!

Sholur reached toward a switch and said, "It is that I make your ship again alive."

"Wait!" Barton got out his two-way radio. "Ship One!

Barton here! Come in, please'"

"Ship One-Abdul speaking Barton, is there trouble?"

"No trouble. It's just that we're about to take the damper off your drive, and I forgot to rescind the order to take off. But that's no longer necessary."

"I see." Barton nodded and Sholur moved a switch.

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ohir

"You should be live now, Abdul. How is it?"

"The drive is operative."

"Good enough. Stay tuned. Barton out."

Sholur turned to him. "It is that I show you, if you wish, the extent of what we visit next." Barton nodded, and on Sholur's screen appeared a line drawing, m silhouette and cross section, of a torpedo shape. Barton realized be was seeing a simplified schematic of the great ship.

When he had oriented himself, be saw that more than a third of the ship was dug into the mountainside-its total length was nearer to two kilometers than one.

Everything below the level at which he had entered was devoted to drive and power. And-weapons? He looked at the upper segment and saw empty spaces. And won- dered what had been removed, and when . . . how long ago?

"Why is it, Sholur, that you show me all this?"

"It is that one who takes power should know what he has taken."

"It is that I thank you, Sholur."

They left the control section, dropped into the vast sense-numbing space Barton had first entered, and then went below, among the looming hulks that were the great ship's drive.

The ship-as a ship-was dead all right. Here and there, at what Barton intuitively deduced were crucial points, rows of units were interrupted by gaps-empty spaces with nothing plugged into their exposed, compli- cated connectors.

He knew enough of the Demu drive, original or modi- fied, to see that single or duplexed components of those versions were here multiplexed into feedback systems.

From where he stood, he knew he could rough-out a de- sign that would jump Ship One's performance a magni- tude-maybe two. Not that Ship One's hull could contain the layout. . . .

He bad seen enough-all that he could handle in one bite. Bemused, he paused to translate, "Let's go back up- stairs now, Sholur," into Demu.

"It will be ail right, Barton," said Eeshta. They were in the yellow room, all Barton's group; Sbolur had left to arrange transport to Ship One. "I must stay and care for

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