"Firsts.p.a.cer Lors reporting, sir," he said, as Zark got up from the chair and came toward him.

"Lors, Lors, my son! How are you?"

They grabbed each other by the shoulders and laughed like children.

Lors, despite his love for Beth Danson and the trouble that was undoubtedly coming up, was happy as a Terran child at Christmas to see the older man.

"Lors! Let me look at you! It's been eons since Thista! Jela's fair dying to get her hands on you again." He winked at Lors. "And I imagine you are, too."

"She's here?" A ray of panic touched him and he hoped that it didn't show.

"Not that I know of, unless a ship came in. The last I heard, she was waiting for a ship to take her off the base on Mars. She swears she'll get you this time, or she's going back home to find an old mushsh.e.l.l gatherer."

Lors laughed with Zark, who released him to pull a flask of wine from his desk. As he poured two tumblers of the milk-white wine, he winked at the young s.p.a.cer.

"From the home planet," he grinned. "Mallowine. I'll wager you haven't tasted it in a long time."

"Not since Thista," Lors a.s.sured him, accepting the tumbler. He held up the gla.s.s for a toast. "To you, sir, and your daughter. May she be saved from marrying a mushsh.e.l.l gatherer."

Commander Zark chuckled and they drank, the soft, mellow taste of the wine lingering fondly in their mouths long after the drink had found its way into their stomachs.

"Now then, Lors. Tell me what that fool of an Imry did to you."

He told the Commander everything, watching the older man nod his head from time to time, the stubby fingers of his hands forming a pyramid before his lips as he slumped in his chair. Lors left nothing out, except his love for Beth Danson. He couldn't bring himself to tell about that. When he had finished, Commander Zark's eyes were hot with angry indignation.

"I'll see that Imry cannot get a command on a planet with a pure ammonia atmosphere for this trick! I'll see him tortured by Thistians!" The old man stopped his tirade as quickly as he had begun it. "You know what this means, Lors?"

"I'm afraid to guess."

"The wrecked scout ship can be covered up easily enough because of the Terran politics; they always arrange it so that one branch of government has no idea of what the other branches are doing. We'll have some of our men in Washington mumble in their beards about experimental aircraft until everyone is taken from the scene except our people. Then we'll have the ship taken somewhere, ostensibly to be studied, and they'll all forget it.

"But these Terrans are another matter. If they can get their people to listen to them, we're in trouble..."

"Perhaps," Lors said softly, "if they were believed, it would speed up our relations with the Terran governments."

Zark shook his grey head. "No. They aren't ready yet. They're still in such a fluctuating state that half the population believes in witchcraft and superst.i.tion, while the other half understands science and looks toward the future.

"Besides, Lors, others have tried those same tactics and were not believed. To tell the truth, I'm not quite sure _what_ to do."

"We could continue the bluff."

The Commander's brows lifted. "You mean you continue as our agent down there?"

"Yes, sir. The way it worked out, with the crash, it merely supported the story I was to tell Danson's wife. I really did have temporary amnesia. No one knows anything, except about the ship. Brice found Danson's watch at the crash site, but we could work a little mental trick on him and make him forget everything he knows, couldn't we?"

"It would be risky. You never know if that process will work until it is tried. As much as I hate the thought, it would be best to kill both of them and send you back to the Terran woman. After we had tried to bluff out Imry's plan for a month, or so, we could arrange an accident for you in which it would appear that you were dead - perhaps utilizing the real Danson for the accident. Does the woman suspect anything?"

"I don't think so," Lors told him. "She seems too happy in having me back, at the moment."

Zark smiled at him and clamped a hand to his shoulder. "You're tired, my boy. Get some rest and we'll talk about this thing later. You can use Firsts.p.a.cer Thesa's quarters. Danson is in yours."

"And Brice?"

"Unconscious. In the hospital. The shock of what took place down there has him recalling every old wives' tale about witches that he has ever heard."

"All right, sir," Lors said smiling. "I'll get to my quarters, then.

Thank you."

"I'll send Jela to you, if she comes in."

"Thank you," Lors said, but felt shaken at the thought.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Outside, in the corridor, Lors nodded to the guards and began walking toward Thesa's quarters. In his mind, now that he again _had_ a whole mind, was the feeling of being trapped, the feeling of being caught in a mesh-like web that was about to strangle him.

Perhaps they could patch things up on Terra, but the two Terrans would have to die, or at least one - merely to gain him another month, or two, with Beth. Was it worth it? In the long run, was it practical? Perhaps he didn't really love the Terran woman - maybe it was just infatuation, or grat.i.tude, or even the result of long abstinence. If that was the case, it would be brutal for them to kill the one man who could make her happy.

Then, on the other hand, suppose his love was genuine. If he really loved her, the coming accident which he was to stage would never come to pa.s.s. He knew himself too well to believe that. He would take Beth and run, get away into another country, change his name, his features...

He smiled to himself and remembered his training on Mars, and the ability of the s.p.a.cemen to reach out with a long arm to stop anything.

Anything! _We are the G.o.ds, he remembered. We are the G.o.ds who move with lightning and speak in thunder. The Terrans are like so many cows that need a watchful eye upon them at all times..._

G.o.ds. Yes, in a manner of speaking, he decided that they were G.o.ds ...

but what did the book say about one of the minor G.o.ds being caught up in a crazy thing like this? It had never happened before.

Without actually realizing it, he found himself standing at the door to his own quarters. A single guard, armed with an auto-rifle stopped him when he approached the door.

"I'm sorry, sir," the s.p.a.cer said. "You cannot enter here."

Danson was on the other side, he knew. Nicholas Danson, the artist, the man with whom he had traded places. Suddenly he wanted to speak with the man, find out about him. All at once, Danson was not just another Terran - he was a man, with feelings, emotion...

"I'm Firsts.p.a.cer Lors," he heard his voice rumble with authority. "I'd like to speak with the Terran."

The guard stiffened. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know who you were."

"You will open the door, s.p.a.cer?"

"Yes, sir, but you'd best leave your sidearm with me."

Lors nodded and pulled his auto-pistol from the black leather holster and handed it to the guard who stuffed it into his belt. He reached back and unlocked the door. As it swung open, Lors stepped inside.

The room was not large; it couldn't be very big on a starship, but it was serviceable. There was a dresser and locker for uniforms, as well as a visi-screen, a couch and a small bed. The Terran was lying on the bed, reading.

Lors smiled at him. They could have been twins of the same mother, were it not for the fact that Terran's disposition was different. He hadn't shaved in a few days, and his black hair was tangled. Even the fatigue uniform he wore was rumpled badly.