He had always been able to determine if a result seemed Plausible, but he had grown up relying on calculators. To him, a number was just a number and he'd even been known to confuse a number with its own inverse.

So he worked painfully and carefully through the Taurus region star systems described in his catalogue, searching for any anomalies, such as a planet at an incorrect distance from its sun, or a planet that was too large for its position. Laboriously, he wrote a program to compare the two sets of data, and soon had derived a third data set which he considered better than 70 percent reliable.

As he worked, the stellar systems he was intimately familiar with revived in his memory. During meetings, he would peck at his Bell, people thought he was checking every claim made by the speakers. In fact, as his mind leaped from one insight to another, he often missed whole hours of the ponderous speeches designed more to fend off blame than to inform.

However, he didn't miss the departure of the reporters. Colby had t.i.tus speak at the send-off ceremony. But she scripted the whole thing, allowing the reporters to read prescreened questions, to which t.i.tus read prepared answers.

He told them how the loss of his home was also the loss of his life's work, but that he intended to recoup his loss by reconstructing the original catalogue, and implied that success was a certainty, given just a short time. When the reporters departed, the whole station breathed a sigh of relief.

The situation on Earth, however, did not improve. Colby and Nagel had not convinced everyone that the Project was not planning an illegal cloning. Several countries mounted unilateral investigations into the Project, and though such wheels moved very slowly, they were a source of anxiety.

Carol Colby, seeming drawn and much thinner despite the low-gravity plumping of her face, ordered an increase in the working pace, convincing them all that the Project could well be sc.r.a.pped unless it showed results very quickly.

The construction of the probe had been going smoothly, but was still the limiting factor in the race against time. The workers accepted the new schedule, but the feverish pace caused an increased number of accidents and lost man hours.

Meanwhile, Engineering finally kindled the ship's light fixture. Standing under it, t.i.tus felt a pinched pain behind his eyes. He wished mightily he could take his contacts out and see what the light was really like.

The spectrum was only one datum among many. After all, most tungsten or fluorescent lamps didn't exactly mirror the sun's spectrum. They were just a handy way to make light, and people endured them as best they could.

On the other hand, Biomed held that light had various other health effects on the body, as it did on plants. They were delighted that both species of alien had eyes well suited to the spectrum produced by their lamps, and concluded that the ship was probably made by those crewing it. Others argued that a leased vehicle would have been altered to suit the clients, so the data proved nothing. The aliens may have bought their s.p.a.ce technology from a more advanced species.

But that argument was nothing compared to the bombsh.e.l.l dropped into an otherwise dull meeting by one of the bright young men working under Dr. Andre Mihelich. "The alien's skin probably functions as a sort of third eye," he declared.

When the uproar subsided, he cited research that had allowed blind humans to learn to "see" with the skin of the face using instruments that fed the data to the optic centers of the brain. "It seems to me," he announced, "both these alien species would experience pain and possibly severe injury upon exposure to Earth's sun."

t.i.tus kept his face expressionless. He was glad that crossbreeding with humanity had blunted his sensitivity to the sun, but how much of a disadvantage would that be if they went home, as Abbot wanted? Would Earth's luren be blind on their ancestors' planet?

On the other hand, Earth's furious rejection of the cloning of the alien made it obvious that his kind would never be welcome among humans. Abbot's determination to signal the home world seemed more and more reasonable.

t.i.tus fought the louring depression his disloyal thoughts evoked by throwing himself into his calculations. It was more 3othing than a night's sleep, more nourishing than the dead blood he choked down, and more intriguing than anything he'd ever done before.

He and Inea customized a program written by a student at U.C. Berkeley to predict surface conditions on hypothetical planets. They a.s.sumed the atmosphere of the luren homeworld filtered out most of the ultraviolet, which accounted for their optical and skin sensitivity, then used the customized program to concoct a model of the atmosphere for the luren Womeworld, deduce the planet's gravity, and guess its size. This produced a model of the luren solar system and a very vague guestimate about characteristics of the sun itself.

He had to guess the planet's magnetic characteristics which would, combined with the solar irradiation figures, predict the amounts of heavier atoms, such as oxygen, that the planet would lose from the ionosphere. But using Earth's known loss of oxygen from the polar regions due to solar wind funneled in by the converging magnetic lines, he worked up a range of plausible a.s.sumptions.

At every turn, he relied heavily on the legends and traits of the purest blooded luren known.

Many times during those long sessions, he was acutely conscious of Inea beside him, as caught up in the job as he was. Knowing where he was getting his a.s.sumptions, she didn't challenge him, but became as eager as he was to locate the home star of his species.

Contrasted with the tedium of his first three weeks on the station when he could not do astronomy or physics, this was a time of daily satisfaction. Sharing it with Inea, a willing partner, gave him a sense of boundless energy and limitless capacity. Yet, after the day's work, from the time he left her, aj.d in his rare moments of solitude, t.i.tus could not keep his thoughts out of a groove that wore ever deeper.

What if he did identify the home star? Should he give it to Earth? Would he? Could he? Should that probe be sent out at all? And should Abbot's SOS be on it?

The only way to answer such a question was to waken the luren, just as Abbot planned.

Preparing for that, he worked with the linguists' files. Some of the material he had been stealing was now open to him, but he still needed the Brink's codes for the rest.

Even though he was attending the higher level meetings, and could follow Abbot's official work, he still couldn't divine how Abbot planned to get around security, wake the luren, and then keep him from killing. The few bugs t.i.tus had planted, and the few glimpses of Abbot he caught via the security cameras gave him no clue, but they did provide ammunition to keep Abbot guessing about how much t.i.tus actually knew and where he was getting his information.

Two hours before anyone else knew about it, he told Abbot, "Nagel's sending up World Sovereignties inspectors to make sure nothing is done with the "corpse.""

Clearly surprised, Abbot replied, "Does that worry you?"

"Should it?"

"Depends on your priorities. If you'll excuse me?" And Abbot left the conference room with a jaunty stride.

Later, t.i.tus told Inea, "I scored. He's stymied, but doesn't want me to know it."

"Good. That's progress. By keeping him distracted, we'll beat him yet. Here, I've got three more bugs ready."

"You must have been up all night."

"Not quite. Put them where they'll do the most good."

Where? Abbot was everywhere, helping so many diverse departments that n.o.body questioned his movements anymore. It was Abbot's way of reducing the amount of Influence he had to use. The best way to be inconspicuous is to be ubiquitous, but that also made him impossible to track.

Five days after the reporters left, t.i.tus was at a conference of department heads, watching Abbot crowding Colby into okaying the warming of the alien "corpse." It wasn't working. Colby had her orders. Abbot dared not use Influence against that, and without Influence, Abbot could not handle humans. t.i.tus tingled with anxiety, knowing he should help Abbot and yet reluctant to make the move which would be his first traitorous act. Or would it?

He was saved from decision by a messenger who tiptoed over to Colby and whispered in her ear. She paled, then said to the man, "Show her in. Everyone should hear this."

It was Sisi Mintraub, looking grim. Abbot rose to offer her his seat, but she said anxiously, "Dr. Nandoha, I couldn't find you, so I came for Dr. Colby, but-" She broke off, shook her head, then faced Colby. "I don't know how it happened. G.o.d, I'm sorry, Carol, but the alien specimen-the cryogenic chamber has been leaking for days. Maybe since the explosion. And n.o.body noticed." She looked up at Abbot. "Not even you, Doctor."

Dismayed, Abbot asked, "What do you mean, leaking? I checked it myself two days ago."

"Dozens of tiny leaks at some of the inner seals and gaskets, very slow leaks, but we've lost temperature control. Several gauges were off, and an intermittent short in one of the controlling boards masked the errors until just now."

Abbot faced Colby. "Then it's quite clear, Dr. Colby, we must warm the corpse, or risk losing it."

"Warm the corpse! Is that all you can think of?" asked Kaschmore, the head of Medical. "What of contamination?" She rose and turned to Colby. "I told you we never should have brought the thing in from the ship. I'm declaring the station under quarantine. At least we haven't received a supply caravan since the bombing, and those reporters never got into Biomed. Earth should be safe from us for the moment."

Before anyone could react, she was out the door. Mihelich started after her, but Colby said, "No, let her go. She's right."

Mihelich shook his head. "Contamination is not the issue. I doubt the aliens have any bizarre diseases our immune systems can't already handle. It is amazing-perhaps even horrifying-how similar their microlife is to our own."

One of the first jobs of those opening Project Station had been to collect specimens, then sterilize the craft. Mihelich had unraveled the genetics of all those specimens.

"Dr. Colby," said Mihelich, "Dr. Nandoha is correct. If that leak has altered the temperature, then it's imperative that we warm the corpse and complete the autopsy before deterioration sets in."

"No, you don't understand," interrupted Mintraub. "It's been room temperature in there for hours, and there's no deterioration at all! They said the wound had-"

Abbot seized her by the shoulders. "How long?" he demanded. "Exactly how long?"

"Uh, at least six hours."

"And it's night outside!" Abbot dropped her and ran out the door. It was the first public slip t.i.tus had ever seen Abbot make. He didn't know of the leak! I've rattled him.

Pandemonium erupted. In a small voice, Mintraub finished, "-begun to heal." She was white and shaking, but t.i.tus didn't stop to comfort her. He jostled his way through the press of bodies and took off after Abbot. Six hours at night, and the alien could be recovered already.

His palm print got him through the barricades and he caught up with Abbot as he sidled between the two Brink's guards inside the cryo-lab door. In the sterilizing shower, t.i.tus whispered, "You don't think the sleeper will-"

"Oh, yes I do," said Abbot. "This isn't how I planned it." The door opened and t.i.tus crowded through behind Abbot, watching the scene beyond the plastic wall of the dressing room through a small window.

The cryogenic bubble had been opened, the body lying on the top of the pedestal as if it were an operating table. Dr. Kaschmore spat emphatic orders at the half dozen nurses and physicians who cl.u.s.tered about the body. Mirelle, on the far side of the pedestal, was leaning over the body, and the woman t.i.tus thought of as Diving Belle was flexing the sleeper's fingers and dictating notes.

As t.i.tus donned his mask, the shower behind him started up again. In front of him, Abbot charged out the door into the lab.

This is like a scene out of a bad science fiction movie!" he roared. They fell silent, turning toward him. "If that thing wakes up it could kill you before it knows you're not enemies!"

His Influence carried a vibrant shame. Everyone backed away from the body as Abbot and t.i.tus approached. A sterile sheet had been draped over the legs, but the chest wound was exposed. It had nearly healed.

"There are too many people in here," declared Kaschmore. She singled out the Diving Belle, Abbot, and t.i.tus, "You have no reason to be here. Out. Now. How can we-"

Abbot cut her off. "I may be of a.s.sistance to Mintraub with the equipment." He went to the wall panel controlling the ambient environment. "If the explosion-"

At that point, Colby and Mintraub emerged from the shower room, Colby saying, "I gave explicit orders that the cryo-bubble was not to be opened for any reason. I-"

"He's breathing!" exclaimed the Diving Belle who was behind Mirelle, on the other side of the pedestal.

Abbot doused the lights, and the room filled with dismayed human voices. Dimly, t.i.tus heard the outer door open and shut. Eyes still straining to adjust, t.i.tus felt rather than saw Abbot streak by him, headed for the luren, moving by dead reckoning. Then he saw the dim blot of warmth that was Mirelle, Abbot's Mark glowing on her forehead, collide with someone and stumble toward the luren. Colby got in Abbot's way. Abbot tripped and Colby yelped.

t.i.tus saw the luren hand go for Mirelle's throat. The luren body was room temperature, and the limb appeared only as a shadow against Mirelle's warmth. Without thinking, t.i.tus dove through the air, flung his body across the luren's and shoved Mirelle away.

The luren emitted a formless grunt as t.i.tus's weight came down on him, then steel fingers closed over t.i.tus's ears,, and cold wet lips searched his throat. A strange paralyzing hum penetrated t.i.tus's bones, turning his will to mist. He hardly felt the teeth cutting into his vein, but he knew it when the luren began to feed.

He felt it in the soles of his feet, in his groin, in his belly, and in his heart, a rhythmic pulling, that grew stronger, more intense, more insistent, until he was pushing with it, helping it devour him, wanting to pour himself into the other, needing to become one with it.

Around him, the paralyzing hum rose to fill the room, but he knew only the great demanding rhythm of his pumping heart, and the hot tendrils of thought piercing his brain, demanding more of him than he had to give, pulling him inside out. It was not unpleasant. It was like a good, long hard stretch, or a delicious yawn.

He melted into relaxation, nothing left in him that wanted to guard himself. Gradually, he became aware of the hunger he was feeding with his substance, and he could feel it abating with each pulse that rippled through his body. His pleasure was the luren's pleasure, the desire to live, the need to live, the demand to live.

And it was life that they shared, life and the glory of living. The pulsing rhythm of life and the love of life wove between them, and t.i.tus wanted that life, to cherish it and let it kindle him forever. At some point, the luren's demand succ.u.mbed to t.i.tus's overflowing insistence. The pleasure was now t.i.tus's, and the luren shared it with him.

Their heartbeats slowed, the distant pulsing hum weakened, and the urgency abated, leaving them floating in darkness. Distantly, t.i.tus felt the luren's tongue stroking the skin of his throat. His whole body burned with the aftermath of pleasure too intense to recall.

A breath whispered in his ear, "Enough, my father. I would not take your life."

Warm hands pushed up on his chest. The words had been in the luren language, and the spell was broken. I've fathered the sleeper!

Stunned, he pushed his weight up, and then the emergency lights came on, Mintraub crying out triumphantly, "I got it!"

The alien gasped.

Abbot, with Kaschmore's help, was trying to untangle himself from Colby. Mirelle lay supine, the Diving Belle kneeling beside her. Mintraub was at the power control panel, Lifting off the coverplate. Mihelich stood in the door from the dressing room, mouth agape. The blackout couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds, but t.i.tus would have sworn it was at least a year.

The alien screamed, an ululating shriek of pain and terror carried on a blast of paralyzing Influence such as t.i.tus had never felt before.

Every human in the room froze, eyes blank.

t.i.tus's hands went to the luren's face, needing to soothe the shuddering fear away. Their eyes locked.

"Wh-what are you?" choked the alien.

"Luren, of a sort," answered t.i.tus.

"What sort?" His slitted eyes traversed the room. "Where am I?"

"On an airless satellite, in a building constructed around Kylyd. It crashed. You went dormant."

The alien focused on Mirelle and a cl.u.s.ter of medics. "What manner of people are they? They are people? Not orl?"

"Human," answered t.i.tus in English. "Not orl."

The man's gaze locked again with t.i.tus's eyes. "Your accent. I've never heard anything like it."

t.i.tus himself was guessing at the luren's words. "I first spoke their language."

The alien's eyes went back to the cl.u.s.ter of humans around Mirelle. Then suddenly, t.i.tus found his own eyes drawn to the alien man's and that profound Influence focused inside him. For a moment, the rapport of their sharing flashed into being, and the hot tendrils of a probing mind crawled through his brain. He flinched, and hard, bony fingers bit into his shoulders. He threw every bit of his training and skill into deflecting that raking, tearing probe, sure his sanity hung in the balance.

Without warning, everything went white, and the next thing he knew he was on the floor beside the pedestal, some bare feet dangling over his face and Abbot bending over him sealing his disposable suit's collar over a sore spot.

"Don't let anyone see that wound for an hour or so," he whispered and rose to meet the alien's eyes.

The man said, "Halfbreeds?" in English.

He s.n.a.t.c.hed the language right out of my brain!

"You could have killed him," Abbot said to the alien in the luren tongue. "There are very few of us, and the humans don't know we're here or that we breed on them as well as feed on them because no orl survived here. You must release them before it becomes impossible to explain, then leave them to me."

Straining over Abbot's accent, the alien asked in uncertain English, "I am your. prisoner?"

"No," countered Abbot, also in English. "Their prisoner. We'll get you out of this, but they mustn't learn what we are."

"Trapped in a herd of orl. A horror story."

"Don't stampede the herd," said Abbot, "and we'll all be safe."

The man fixed on t.i.tus. "I did not mean to hurt."

Abbot asked, "He fought your orientation probe?" then repeated it using an unfamiliar luren term.

"He has not the capacity. I could not complete."

t.i.tus said, "I didn't understand. You should have warned me; I wouldn't have fought you. I'm sorry."

"You must release the humans to me," repeated Abbot.

"I understand. Halfbreeds and intelligent orl."