"The war could be resolved before then." When Inea sees Mirelle fading, what will she do?

As H'lim worked, they discussed the war. The luren understood that W. S. might not win, but in that event, he intimated, the Tourists had a plan for smuggling his dormant body to Earth. H'lim did not believe he was revealing any secrets when he told t.i.tus that the Tourists had infiltrated the blockaders, and could just about guarantee his safety regardless of who won, provided he could manage to die with his spine and brain intact.

Either Abbot's lying through his teeth, or he's got his communications working again. Outwardly, t.i.tus just nodded as if it were old news. "The secessionists want this station dead and kept quarantined. If they win, it'll be a long dormancy for you."

"I doubt that. You mustn't underestimate your father."

Really? Watching H'lim putter about, he was certain the luren had no idea of what he'd just revealed.

Noticing how Inea's log showed Abbot's attention focused around the observatory and the Eighth Antenna Array's console, t.i.tus had searched the console and all connecting installations clear to the edge of the station looking for any way Abbot had of getting the Eighth to transmit his message. It had never before been a top priority because the Eighth hadn't had a window into the volume of s.p.a.ce H'lim had come from. But now, with his old theory returning to haunt him, and with just such a window coming up, t.i.tus went through the hardware again, found nothing, and rechecked all the software.

They had used the Eighth to communicate, via relays, with Wild Goose as well as several other experimental stations. It had been built to serve the manned exploration program, which had been abandoned for lack of funds again. But the Eighth was still equipped to be linked to its seven other counterparts around the moon, providing global coverage of the entire firmament.

A good deal of t.i.tus's department's computing power had been designed to link the Eight Arrays with the satellites and mobile observatories, forming what might have to become Earth's first global defense network communications system.

It had never been used, or even tested. The nearest they'd come was Abbot's being ordered to use the Eighth to break into the blockaders' communications. To date, he had reported only sporadic successes, with recordings that had revealed little. He hadn't even been able to give warning of the attack on the probe. Did Abbot know and just not say anything? Is that why he wasn't concerned about the humans finding his transmitter? Would he have knowingly sacrificed the device? Or maybe, since t.i.tus hadn't heard of the increased use of anti-hypnotic conditioning and rechecking of work, perhaps Abbot hadn't heard either? Perhaps he hadn't known how close his transmitter had been to being discovered. Or if he had known, perhaps he wanted the probe destroyed in the attack.

Fruitless speculation, t.i.tus told himself. But one thing seemed obvious. Abbot must have been using the Eighth to communicate with Tourists among the blockaders to set up H'lim's escape. He might even be able to communicate with his control back on Earth, Connie's opposite number. In any case, when the window opened, he'd be ready to send the Tourists' message to the stars.

If he was planning to have such a stunt go unnoticed, then ne must have a way to prevent Maintenance from noticing the power drain. Ah, but that's Abbot's department. He could gimmick all the monitors and n.o.body would ever know.

Renewing his study of the Eighth's console, t.i.tus figured a way to configure his black box to use the Eighth's transmission capability to contact Earth. It was an absurd use of an Array, like swatting flies with a baseball bat, but it could be done. Since it was possible, if not feasible, Abbot had probably done it. But t.i.tus couldn't see how to hide his transmission without an official transmission from Colby to hide it under.

What little official traffic went in and out of the station now went via moving ships in s.p.a.ce. Their news came audio-only, or with black and white video at the most. Personal mail was totally cut off. And in the attack on the probe, they'd lost one of their last transmission masts. Though a crew was working on reconstructing it from the debris, there was little hope it would last long. The land line to Luna Station had been cut and repaired, debugged and retapped so many times n.o.body trusted it.

During one of the interminable committee meetings on the subject, t.i.tus brought up one of his earliest suggestions. "We could use the Eighth to guide an unmanned supply ship in to a hard landing out on the mare, then go out and truck the supplies back. It's dangerous, but it could be done."

They kicked the idea around, and in the end decided that though it was technically feasible, the military types wouldn't go for it because of the danger of interception. "The blockaders need supplies, too. They've been getting most of theirs by stealing ours. If they heard us pulling a supply vessel in, they'd just outshout us and bring the supplies to their doorstep. Or if we kept control and landed it, they'd be there first. It'd be hand-to-hand combat for possession. Are we ready for that?"

Colby decided they weren't and tabled the idea. But it was only two days later when she called t.i.tus into her office, wrapped the place in security shielding, and told him, "This is for your ears only, a job for your hands only. You were chosen out of your whole department because you're the only one whose background check shows no ties with secessionist countries. Do I have your word you won't confide in a soul?"

Mystified, he nodded. Background check!? Oh, Connie, sometimes you're too thorough. "Darrell Raaj" had relatives in every one of the seceding nations. t.i.tus kept his lips from twisting at the irony. "I take security seriously."

"The secessionists have G.o.ddard. They destroyed, captured, or crippled the other installations that can do these computations. Your computer is the last fully operational, wholly trustworthy, completely secure facility we have capable of this kind of precision."

"What do you want me to calculate? Shimon-"

"No! You must do this with your own hands and wipe out all trace of its having been done. You must say not one word to anyone. All our lives may depend on it." t.i.tus saw the circles under her eyes, the aching fatigue dragging her down. "Besides, the whole thing was your idea to begin with."

"My idea? I don't understand."

"When our first supply ships were hit by the blockade, you suggested unmanned ships, and you've been pushing for it ever since. I pa.s.sed your idea on, but I thought it had been discarded. Only it hasn't." She wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist and ironed the frown off her face. "World Sovereignties is losing this war, t.i.tus. We've lost so many computers we can't fly orbital missions properly, which is why the blockade is nearly impenetrable. We can't threaten them with the probe anymore. H'lim is doing all he can to supply us with proof of his value, but it will all be for nothing if the station dies.

"We need supplies, t.i.tus. I haven't let people know just how desperate we are, but I'm telling you. This is our last chance. This consignment must arrive or we'll all die out here. And everything depends on you."

"I don't understand."

"Cargotainers, not ships-unmanned missiles, launched from Earth's surface and aimed at us. If they hit us, they'll act like bombs and will destroy the station. If they land close, but not on us, the W. S. will win the war because the secessionists are at the end of their resources, despite their victories. You can do it, t.i.tus. It's an elementary ballistics problem. The "tainers will have simple correction jets for use in s.p.a.ce, to compensate for unpredictable atmospheric effects on launch. They'll be controlled from here by the Eighth Array."

It was a simple problem. He had the programs. "I'll need data-ma.s.s."

She clapped a ca.s.sette onto the desk before her. "It's all here. The timing-everything."

He took it, hand trembling as he realized Connie would probably have blood aboard for him. By now, she had to be inside their security. He had been vomiting up the orl blood so violently, he'd begun to think seriously of accepting Inea's offer of blood, which she repeated every time he had trouble. He gripped the data ca.s.sette in both hands and told Colby, "I'll let you know when it's done."

"There's one other thing." She checked the bank of meters and alarms in front of her, then raised her eyes somberly. "They're protecting the supply missiles with a decoy. The missiles will be sitting ducks if spotted, so the plan is to keep the secessionists busy-" She broke off and leaned forward urgently, sweat showing at her hairline. "t.i.tus, three men died bringing this information across the surface from Luna Station, on foot, because they didn't dare broadcast it or attract attention with vehicles. We've got a leak on this station. If you breathe a word."

A traitor. He wasn't surprised. Between the rescues of crashed secessionists and now some W.S. messengers there could even be another a.s.sa.s.sin on the station. "I won't say anything. Do I have to know about the decoy?"

"Yes. For the timing. It's all there for you, but not the reasons why it has to be so precise. A surface convoy just like what they've been trying to get through to us will be timed to draw enemy fire just before the "tainers are to arrive. The decoy will be loaded with explosives. The 'tainers must arrive on time and on target. If they hit the station, we're dead. If they hit too near the decoy which will be set to blow, we lose the supplies, the war, and our lives. The blockaders need supplies, too. They'll be on that decoy to capture, not just destroy. This is a gigantic, tightly planned, high-precision operation. You can't improvise. You can't create or embroider. You must do precisely what you are instructed, exactly as demanded.

"Do you understand this, t.i.tus? It all depends on you."

"I can see that."

"Good. Let me know when you're ready to transmit the data. And don't forget the time lag."

He just looked at her.

Embarra.s.sed, she grimaced. "Yes, well, everybody else forgets the time lag."

He went to work on it immediately, and it wasn't nearly as difficult as it sounded. The W.S. planners had in fact thought of everything, even the problems caused by computing on the moon and launching from Earth. They must have been planning this since I first suggested it. But he was also sure that the suggestion had been so obvious that others must have thought of it before he did.

Inea was curious about his activities, but he told her truthfully he was reopening communications with the Resident operatives who could ship him blood. Shimon hung over his shoulder until he convinced the Israeli that he was going over Wild Goose's data again, just for the h.e.l.l of it.

Then Abbot caught t.i.tus dismantling the Eighth's console in the observatory, getting ready to connect his black box. "t.i.tus, what are you doing?" he demanded.

"Spying on you, what else?"

Abbot hunkered down to peer into the mechanism, hands dangling over his knees. "You don't seem to have done any damage. Listen, whatever you do, don't use the Eighth to send any sort of signal. I'm only getting fragments of messages because I haven't been aiming the antennas, but I'm convinced that the blockaders believe the Eighth is dead. If anything moves out there, they'll bomb it. If they pick up any kind of signal from it, they'll bomb it. It's too valuable to lose, t.i.tus. Don't risk it."

"Do you really think they'd destroy something so valuable? I don't believe they think it's dead. They've decided to spare it because it's the last operational one."

Abbot studied t.i.tus for a moment, then edged closer. "All right, listen. My-friends-among the blockaders have reported that the Eighth is dead, and so it's being overlooked. After their triumphant destruction of the probe, the secessionists feel they are winning, t.i.tus, and they are! If they take over, there will be no money for rebuilding your orbital observatories or Arrays or anything. We've got to save what we can, so don't energize or aim the Array."

"I understand the situation," said t.i.tus.

Two hours later, he had connected the Eighth console to his black box, slaved to the special channel they'd use to communicate with Earth.

At the first opportunity, t.i.tus reported to Colby that Abbot believed the blockaders considered the Eighth dead. "I'm not so sure we should go ahead with this. We'll have to aim and energize the Array twice, once to send the launch data, and once to correct the orbit. If Abbot's right, it could cost us the Array and our only way of intercepting blockaders' communications."

"Abbot's project didn't save the probe, and the Array isn't really the right tool for signaling Earth. If we lose it, science loses a lot but our strategic position won't be that much worse. The other antenna mast is almost finished and might be powerful enough to reach Earth without a relay." Colby couldn't ask Earth for a decision, so she paced around her desk like a caged animal several times before she finally told t.i.tus, "We've got ta risk the Array. With the diversions planned, it's possible they'll never notice."

As the sun rose over the station, t.i.tus's vitality sank, and he forced himself to check and recheck everything for fatigue errors. But a few days later, he had the tabulations ready for transmission with every eventuality covered. He also had a test message ready for Connie, with a full report set to dump if she returned the code signal. It was a risk. If ground control at the ballistic launch site caught the interference their computers were filtering out of t.i.tus's signal and realized that it, itself, was a signal, it could blow the entire operation because they'd think it was the secessionists breaching security. The resulting tightening of security could ruin all of Connie's plans.

Just before the transmission time, Colby cordoned off t.i.tus's lab, filling it with Brink's auditors, claiming that they had to keep up with their paperwork. This attracted no attention because the auditors had been working constantly, all over the station, and since the blockade, Colby had been using them to keep people too busy to brood.

With that security in place, t.i.tus wanted to make sure his black box was functioning properly, so he pulled the console apart to go over all the connections. It was only then that he found one board he couldn't account for. At first he thought fatigue was dulling his mind, but when he couldn't find that board on any circuit diagram, he realized he'd found Abbot's alternative transmitter-or, at the very least, his means of communicating with the Tourists.

"Something wrong, Dr. Shiddehara?" asked a guard.

"Uh, no, just have to replace this. Intermittent short." He wasn't challenged as he deposited the board in his office and brought forth another, wholly meaningless, one which he inserted without connecting it to anything.

On Colby's command, t.i.tus sent his calculations, tying in local weather predictions at the launch site and known orbital movements of the blockade ships. The media had surmised that the blockaders were preparing to take Luna Station, the last bastion of World Sovereignties on the moon's surface.

As planned, t.i.tus got no acknowledgment that his data had been received, only the computer's tedious, digit by digit handshake with groundside. The data went somewhere, but he had no way of knowing who got it.

As they waited for the launch hour, and the moment when t.i.tus would have the chance to correct errors in the orbit, t.i.tus went into his office to pocket Abbot's device. He didn't expect to be searched on the way out, but if so, he'd just say he was taking lr to the shop to get the short fixed. Checking the console, he round that Connie had solicited his report with her proper code, and in return his black box had captured a brief note from her.

"Next caravan from Luna Station has supply for you. Stay on ton of A. We're doing our best."

Heart pounding, he began to enter a warning to divert her efforts to the "tainers, and then realized that the 'tainers were already b.u.t.toned up, and no doubt the decoy caravan was now loading at Luna Station. It's too late. Whatever miracles had been pulled off, whatever sacrifices had bought those miracles the blood would be destroyed when the convoy blew up in the blockaders' faces.

It was with heavy but shaking hands that he brought up the Eighth Array, grabbed the orbital data, recomputed the orbit, and nudged the "tainers back on target, a circle a hundred fifty yards wide not half a mile from the station. It would be a "hard" landing, and there would be some loss, especially since the target area could not be cleared of all rocks. But it had been leveled and smoothed at one time, for use as a staging area when the station had been built. Most of the supplies would survive impact.

When t.i.tus emerged, he found Abbot talking to a guard. He cut his conversation off and followed t.i.tus. "You had the Array up, didn't you? Colby wouldn't let me in. t.i.tus-"

He didn't break stride, the stolen board stiff and heavy in his lab coat pocket. "If you want to know what the auditors found, talk to Colby."

"t.i.tus, you don't know what you're doing-"

"-and right now, I'm too tired to learn." t.i.tus. .h.i.t the lift call b.u.t.ton and was shocked when a door opened before "his nose. He slipped in and hit the door-close before Abbot could follow. He left his father sputtering. I can't believe I've got his transmitter and he never knew! But t.i.tus didn't even feel a sense of triumph. Abbot had seemed so haggard.

By the time the doors opened again, t.i.tus felt the letdown ot tension. Nothing would happen now for days with the "tainers in freefall orbit.

He returned to his room, weary from the weight of the daylight outside and the cold knowledge that there would be no blood for him after all. Even Inea's squeal of delight as he showed her his plunder didn't raise his spirits.

Together, with a kind of solemn ceremony, they broke the board in a dozen pieces and stuffed some of them down the disposal. t.i.tus felt like a traitor not telling her that he had the other transmitter intact, hidden in H'lim's room.

That night, despite everything Inea could do, not one drop of orl blood would stay down. Covered with cold sweat, t.i.tus curled around his aching middle and huddled in one corner of the bed, struggling to breathe gently enough not to set off the perpetual dry heaves.

I could live. If I develop a string. He'd accepted this job with the knowledge it might become necessary, but the idea had never been real to him before. I'm taking ectoplasm from Inea, and in this condition, I can't help her replace it. I can't go on like this.

He hugged himself tighter and tried not to think. In a few moments, he'd get up and rig his wires around the bed so he could sleep. Presently, trickles of a seductive aroma invaded his sinuses. His throat melted open and surrounded the sweetness as if to swallow the nourishment.

No. Inea! Before he could move, she thrust a hard rim against his mouth and tilted it so the blood ran down his throat and he was forced to swallow. Fresh human blood. Her blood, still warm from her body, replete with her life, aching with her love. Shaking with the need for it, he tried to thrust it away, knowing there was no end to what he would do for more.

She pushed the gla.s.s back at his mouth, and he saw the tourniquet still around her arm, the clumsy mark where the needle had gone into the vein. "Drink, t.i.tus, or it will go to waste."

He did. He couldn't help it. After a bit, he found himself sitting crosslegged, cradling the gla.s.s he'd licked clean and inhaling the aroma. It hadn't been enough. Would any amount be enough? "Abbot put you up to this."

"No. It was my own idea. H'lim told me it probably wouldn't be as addictive if I gave it to you in a gla.s.s."

"H'lim said that?" His eyes fixed on the tourniquet and he battled to release it.

"You can have more," she said, proffering the arm. She registered surprise, and maybe disappointment, when he only removed the tourniquet. "H'lim said maybe human blood would settle your digestion so you could accept some orl blood."

He coiled the tourniquet expertly around his hand and tied it. "Inea, you shouldn't have done it. One human can't support one of us, and I don't dare start with anyone else."

"Very soon, H'lim will have his booster ready."

"If that's no more successful than the orl blood, it will be worse than useless."

"The blockade can't last much longer, then your own supplies will be coming through."

"You don't understand. If you think my reaction to the orl blood is bad, wait until you see what the reconst.i.tuted blood will do to me after this." He gestured with the gla.s.s. On the other hand, he felt much better.

"H'lim said it wouldn't be as bad as if taken directly."

"He doesn't understand. It'll be bad enough."

Finally hurt by his rejection, she pulled away. "If I wanted gloom and doom I'd turn on a newscast."

"Then why don't you!" he snapped and instantly regretted it.

She whirled away and poked at the vidcom controls.

He set the gla.s.s aside, went up behind her and put his arms around her, pulling her suddenly pliant body against him. "I'm sorry. It helped. Obviously, it helped. H'lim's right, it does make a difference. The heart's electrical, you know. The impulses are perceptible in arterial blood. There's nothing quite like it, and nothing at all like the strength it gives-or the mad desire for more. I love you more than life itself, and I'd have drunk from you until you'd died if you'd forced that on me just then. You hit a reflex, Inea. Now that you know what power you have over me, I hope you'll exercise it with restraint."

She kept her eyes on the screen where the reporter was reading lists of battle casualties. "H'lim says the orl have a kind or power over the luren, too, but they're just animals and doru know how to use it. t.i.tus, I'm not an animal. I won't hurt you-And I know despite what you think, that you won't hurt me. You're afraid you would, but I can't let that fear kill you-for nothing."

"I'm a long way from dying of hunger." The feeding frenzy would come first. No, I can't chance that. I'll have to take drastic action long before that. Since bodies would not be shipped back to Earth due to the quarantine, what he was contemplating meant a final death.

She twisted in his arms, locking her fingers behind his neck. "t.i.tus, you didn't see yourself on that bed a few minutes ago. When I came over there, I thought you had died, that I'd lost you even though we finally defeated Abbot!"

He couldn't disillusion her about Abbot's defeat. "I understand why you did what you did, but I don't want you to do anything like that again. Inea, it could be dangerous for you. And-mutilated corpses are difficult to explain."

His brutal phrasing finally got through to her, but before she could answer, the ground shook with an ominous rumble that rolled through the complex. The screen sizzled and went dark. The lights flickered, then steadied, and in the distance there was a brief shrieking of a decompression alarm.

She clamped herself to him with a whimper as he reached to shift the screen's controls. Colby was on an internal channel, and the news was not good. ". land lines that control the Eighth Array have been cut, though the Array itself has not been damaged."

Colby betrayed none of the hope that the supplies would come in on target, that the decoy would deplete the blockaders' equipment when it blew up, and that W.S. would come out on top. She'd rather face despair on the station than risk a premature leak to the blockaders.

Courage. Human courage. Watching her, t.i.tus felt his own courage revive and felt the line of kinship with humans that was so meaningful to Resident philosophy. "I think maybe you might be right, Inea, maybe-just maybe-I wouldn't hurt you. I don't want to try it, you understand, because it's too risky, but-" me.

"Just don't you dare try it with anyone else without telling.

"I don't intend to try it at all. I just want you to know how much I love you, before I ask for more orl blood."

Chapter twenty-one.