Abbot! Abbot's done something! With quick, grim strokes, t.i.tus opened channel and answered, "This is Dr. Shiddehara. What's this about my computer?"

"Oh, Doctor! I'm Shimon-in charge of operations for you. Carol, uh, Dr. Colby told us you were counting on the computer being up and ready to meet the new deadline. And it was but about an hour ago it began throwing strange error messagesa" that aren't even in this unit! I know they aren't in this unit-"

"I trust you," t.i.tus a.s.sured him. "Your degree is from the Technion, right? They told me you were the best."

"I am, but Doctor, I think you should come look at this. I don't think it's salvageable with less than three weeks of work. And Carol said-"

"Three weeks! All right, I'll be right there." He started to switch off. "Wait! Shimon. Where is there? I mean, how do I get there from here?"

"They should have given you a map." Shimon gave him a room number in another dome, on an upper floor. "Shouldn't take more than ten minutes to get here from almost anywhere else."

"I'll be there in twenty."

Fifteen minutes and five wrong turns later, t.i.tus swung through the door to Lab 290, paused at the top of the three shallow steps that led down to the floor, and stared into chaos. Ten or fifteen people in white overalls were shouting and gesticulating as if working to patch an air leak. A large one.

Some of them had access panels off the walls exposing circuit boards. One wheeled an oscilloscope cart over to a pair who were gutting one of the many consoles. Another pair argued in j.a.panese. Someone swore in Russian and was answered luridly in a thick, incomprehensible Aussie dialect.

Far in the back of the room, gla.s.s walls set off the observatory area. It was tied to the antenna mast he had seen on the way in, and to the antenna arrays, thus to all the observatories in orbit around Earth and around the sun. His observatory could direct or debrief most of the instruments in the solar system, even some of the farthest probes, and cross-correlate any new data with all archived data from the last several decades. A slender, somewhat feminine figure shrouded in white bent intensely over a screen in that gla.s.sed-in area, ignoring everything going on outside.

t.i.tus drew a deep breath, and bellowed, "Silence!"

In the ensuing breathless quiet, something crackled and suddenly sparks jumped and smoke rose from several different locations. Agonized comments popped along with the sparks. "Oh, s.h.i.t!" "Ditto." "Randall!"

The Aussie muttered, "Told you those fuses weren't enough."

A fire extinguisher whooshed.

"That's done it. Somebody turn up the air circulators."

This last was Shimon Ben Zvi, rising from the cloud of vapor, coughing. Out of that same cloud, appearing like an apparition from a horror movie, came Abbot Nandoha, his white coveralls accentuating the pallor of his face.

"I knew it," groaned t.i.tus.

Innocently, Abbot raised one eyebrow. Cloaking his words in Influence, the older vampire explained, "All I did was insert a little glitch in the operating system. Their frantic chasing of it did all the rest. Oh well, I did play some tricks with the voltage too, of course." He smiled. "That should give me time to build a new targeting device."

Through gritted teeth, not cloaking his words, t.i.tus said, "This is my lab. Get out and don't come back."

Still cloaking his words, Abbot said, "I see your meal wasn't very satisfying. Mind your temper, t.i.tus. I've always said your temper was your worst flaw." He sidled around t.i.tus and sauntered out the door.

Clean air began to dissipate the fog. People gathered in small groups staring at the mess. Even the person from the gla.s.s-enclosed observatory emerged to join them.

Shimon looked up from the ruin. "At least four weeks, Dr. Shiddehara." At this, everyone turned toward t.i.tus. The woman from the back squeezed through the group and squinted up at him through the haze. A frown gathered on her face as she mouthed his name, Shiddehara.

But even through the frown, t.i.tus recognized her. Her hair was cut differently, and she was nearly twenty years older. The planes of her face, honed down to emphasize the nose and cheekbones of the British aristocracy, were oddly coupled to the sensuous mouth and dimpled chin he had loved to kiss. His heart paused then skittered into a panic rhythm, spurred by joy and terror.

A puzzled wonder replaced her frown as she moved up to him, staring fixedly at his face. To her, he was dead, mangled in a car crash and buried. Yet certainty grew in her as she approached, a certainty born of shock and not yet tempered by embarra.s.sment at the mistaken ident.i.ty.

If he spoke, she'd recognize his voice. She'd blurt out his ident.i.ty. No matter what he did, somebody would check. Project Security was vicious. All the luren on Earth could be in danger from this one human. t.i.tus knew he ought to use Influence to blur her perception of him until she got used to it and decided it was just a haunting similarity.

But he could not.

He had always hated Influencing humans. They were defenseless against such treatment. For this mission, he'd resigned himself to the necessity, but he couldn't use it on Inea. She was sacred in his memory and in his heart.

Chapter four.

They stood frozen, the others watching as her shock turned to love and then to disbelief overlaid with unshakeable conviction. At last she whispered, under the rush of the air conditioning. "Darrell?"

He couldn't deny his born name.

"Darrell Raaj," she a.s.serted so softly only he could hear. Her eyes burned with awe and fear.

The fear finally broke through his paralysis. Unable to summon Influence to mask his words, he answered in the same almost inaudible tone, "Inea, don't betray me. Please. I beg you. Don't. By everything we've ever meant to each other, don't."

She blanched, barely mouthing, "It is you!"

For a moment, he thought she'd faint, and he could catch her and sweep her away to get some fresh air. But no, she was made of sterner stuff. He should have known that.

Recovering, she glanced about at everyone then buried her face in her hands as if embarra.s.sed, saying aloud, "I'm so sorry, Dr. Shiddehara. You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago. Perhaps he was a relative of yours?"

It was t.i.tus's turn to fight off a swoop of lowered blood pressure. Even in this gravity, his knees sagged. Until this moment, he had not realized how very much he loved Inea Cellura. He found his voice at last. "Later, we can discuss the resemblance in detail. But right now"-his voice broke, and he coughed to cover his emotion-"right now, I think we'd better get to cleaning this up. Shimon, I'll want to see you in my office. Uh"-he glanced around in a feeble attempt at humor-"I do have one, don't I?"

Everyone laughed, and it broke the tension.

"This way, t.i.tus," said Shimon, leading him to a corner where part.i.tions made of two sheets of flexcite with levelors sandwiched between them created an office around an executive desk and two chairs. The levelors were open, making the part.i.tions transparent. There were empty shelves and files in dreary government-issue tan, and a Cobra desk terminal.

t.i.tus collapsed into his chair, which had a back higher than his head. He concealed his shaking hands from Shimon and glanced out through the part.i.tion. Inea leaned heavily against a desk, watching him with big, round eyes. Then she shook her head and turned away to help clean up.

t.i.tus gestured, "Close the levelors, would you Shimon?"

The Israeli stroked the control and the walls opaqued.

"Shimon, I have to report to Carol, so I have to know exactly what's happened and how it affects our goals." He rummaged in the drawers but found no paper, and turned on the Cobra link. "Does this thing have a word processor?"

"Inea shook you up, didn't she?"

"Inea." Still dazed, he answered automatically, as if reciting a lesson. "Is that her name?" Since his death, such dissembling had become an ingrained habit.

"Inea Cellura. Her degree's in astronomy. Worked at Arecibo. She's supposed to be your a.s.sistant, but she's been running the observatory station all by herself for weeks now. I wonder who she mistook you for?"

"Would you expect me to know?" She'd always scorned his pa.s.sion for astronomy because his fascination with the possibility of other life forms in the galaxy disturbed her. Obviously, she'd changed. A knot of apprehension which he hadn't even known was there unraveled and he wiped a sheen of cold sweat from his upper lip and pulled the Cobra toward him.

"If I were you," mused Shimon, "I'd like to be the one she mistook you for. She's maybe not so pretty, but with the pretty ones who get you physically, it fades fast. With her kind, it gets better each time."

Not pretty? How could anyone say she wasn't pretty? "You've slept with her?" I've no right to be jealous!

"Not yet. But if you want her don't worry about me. She's not Jewish and maybe not even available." He glanced at the shut blinds. "Except maybe to you."

Shimon will be a good source of contacts if it ever comes to that. As revolting as the idea was, the thought gratified t.i.tus, for it signaled that he was still able to think defensively. He couldn't afford a careless move now.

t.i.tus's fingering produced the Cobra's standard word processing prompt under a Quill trademark which faded to the seal of Brink's Security and the request, "Please enter your security clearance, personal code, and pa.s.swords."

Irked, t.i.tus. .h.i.t ESCAPE but the thing bleeped at him.

"Yeah," commiserated Shimon, "you must secure everything-even grocery lists."

t.i.tus complied and began taking notes. "The first thing I need to know-my memory, the one I shipped up here that contains my special star catalogue-is it intact?"

"The catalogue and our copy were erased while we were backing it up. I must order a new board before I can reprogram from your backup-after I discover why it did that."

t.i.tus sagged. The backup had been in his flight bag. "I don't have a backup with me. Make a list of the hardware we need. I'll obtain a copy of my catalogue. As you've guessed, it's customized just such a hunt as we're about to stage. Now, give me a rundown on what happened."

t.i.tus listened, mentally tracing the damage, for there was question he couldn't ask. Built into the system, there had been a black box Shimon had been instructed under Influence not to tamper with. It was t.i.tus's link to Connie on Earth. He had no idea if it could be replaced.

It had been designed for this project, and could send and receive messages hidden in the checksums that ensured the accuracy of all telecommunications. The two computers repeated sequences back and forth and filtered out the data from the noise. t.i.tus's black box simply preempted several of the repet.i.tions to send t.i.tus's message, which the computer on the other end discarded as noise but the black box on Earth captured and decoded for Connie's operatives.

Now it appeared that Abbot's sabotage had destroyed the device. How could he tell Connie what had happened? How could he get her to resupply him with blood? How could he get her to send someone else to deal with Abbot?

He spent some time berating himself for not predicting Abbot's swift move. Abbot had, after all, spent the voyage resting and refreshing himself with his new human. He had not arrived hungry and exhausted, but- t.i.tus's mind leaped. Abbot had learned something from Mirelle-something about the clandestine project with Project Hail. That had made it necessary for him to gain some time. Rebuilding the device t.i.tus had destroyed was only an excuse. He'd never have taken such a risk for that. But then why did he do it?

t.i.tus had no time to pursue that question. The rest of the day went into a.s.sessing the damage and scouring the station for hardware. His computer system was a complex of interlinked units designed to accept, store, and digest the input from all Earth's observatories, to create and continually update detailed, multi-dimensional maps of s.p.a.ce.

Their one small lab room contained more computing power than had existed on all of Earth a decade before. It was designed to become the astrogation and command center of Earth's interstellar exploration fleet-or battle fleet.

Within four hours, t.i.tus realized they were racing Abbot from storeroom to storeroom, gleaning the dregs he left them. Grimly, t.i.tus began to antic.i.p.ate Abbot's moves, and garnered two or three hauls that would chisel days off the repairs. He listed the items he suspected Abbot had swiped out from under them by deleting them from inventory or by misfiling them on the shelves. Later, he'd find them himself.

By the time he left the lab, t.i.tus had requisitioned everything that had to be ordered from Luna Station or Earth. He had a thorough report entered into his Bell 990. And he had an appointment with Carol Colby.

He had spent hours framing his report in such a way that he would not appear, to the humans, to be blaming Abbot for what had occurred but that would signal to any Resident who saw it that he couldn't handle Abbot.

With Colby, he used all his persuasion augmented only by a touch of Influence. She a.s.signed him a priority level that would override Abbot's. Whatever equipment his father had not used or altered, t.i.tus just might get back. And to do that, he was prepared to break into storerooms and scour the shelves in person.

As he left the Director's office, t.i.tus was convinced that this Colby, as she'd boasted, didn't crumble. She'd set a deadline of two weeks to get t.i.tus's system up, and she'd put in a direct call to Earth for his supplies. t.i.tus couldn't begin to estimate the monetary cost of saving two weeks downtime, but an idle crew also ate money like crazy, so the expense of the call was, no doubt, justified.

Turning toward the nearest elevators, t.i.tus knew he had to go out to the alien craft, investigate the medical dome and discover what Abbot had learned from Mirelle. But he was tired, his coordination off so much that his newly learned walking technique deserted him every few steps.

He hadn't slept since the night before departure. Yet if he did not move swiftly, Abbot would again have the jump on him. Un the other hand, like any human, he could make ghastly mistakes from fatigue. He hated to admit it, but Abbot was right, powdered blood was not as good a restorative as freshly cloned blood, and neither could compete with a human. As he pondered, the elevator doors, one pair opened and Inea strode out.

She stopped short, and stared up at his face, weighing, a.s.sessing, and finally admitting again, "Darrell."

"t.i.tus," he corrected gently. His eyes feasted on her. All the love was still there, but with something stronger added. He'd never felt like this for a human before.

The lengthy silence was finally broken by the arrival of another elevator, full of office workers arriving for the next shift. t.i.tus had no idea what time of day it was supposed to be. He didn't even know what shift he was supposed to work.

"t.i.tus, then," she granted. "We've got to talk."

He blinked hard. "I'm not ready for this."

"Me neither. I've been up for twenty-four hours, and though my feet don't hurt, I'm exhausted. But I won't be able to sleep until I get an explanation. You owe me that-don't you think?"

He wanted to scoop her into his arms and never let her go. "I owe you everything. Where can we talk?"

"My place isn't far."

"Invite me in," he warned, "and you'll never keep me out." It's that way with those of my blood.

"Is that a threat, Da-uh, t.i.tus?"

"In a way. You might change your mind about me." The terror of that thought choked him. Then he told himself he was not the first of his blood to face this kind of ordeal. There were rules for handling this particular interview.

She searched his face again, gnawing her lower lip. In a very quiet voice, she said, "Just tell me one thing. Did you murder that boy they buried in your place?"

His heart thuttered and he checked the corridor for microphones and cameras. In fact, he wasn't even certain personal quarters were exempt from surveillance. Brink's was known for thoroughness, and the laws here were ambiguous to say the least. But if the situation was that bad, he was lost already.

"Inea, I swear to you, I did not."

"Then I won't change my mind. Come on."

She led the way to another bank of elevators, then down into a residence complex. The doors here were closer together than the ones in t.i.tus's hall, and when she threw open her door, he saw how luxurious his quarters were.

Here, the floor was bare save for two scatter rugs, and the hall window was masked only by blinds. There was no kitchenette. The small desk took up most of the room, even with the bed folded away. One comfortable chair faced a tiny vidcom screen. A cartridge labeled Guggenheim Tour protruded from the recorder slot. But there were a few intensely personal touches. On one shelf, there was an arrangement of moon rocks around a small, artificial bonsai. At the bedside, a macrame hanging made from discarded packing was used to hold the vidcom remote control, a red-handled hairbrush, and an array of framed snapshots.

Noticing his expression, she explained, "I don't spend very much time here. The required exercise in the gym soaks up hours, and I eat at the refectory around the corner. Just down the hall, there's a solarium with really comfortable reading chairs. The rest of the time, I'm at work."

"Actually, you've got a lovely place. Invite me in?" The psychic potential that filled the boundaries of the room was at once enticing and an absolute barrier to t.i.tus.

She tilted her head. "What's the matter with you?"

Abbot would have thought nothing of Influencing the invitation from her. "Invite me in and I'll explain."

Exasperated, she burst out, "Will you get your b.u.t.t in here, before I-"

t.i.tus stepped smoothly across the threshold and closed the door, palming the lock. "Thank you," he said, sincerely. The atmosphere sent ripples of pleasure through him.

Hands on hips, she shook her head at him in wonderment. "All right, you're in. Now explain."

He thrust aside the delight of just being here, and dropped into the desk chair. "Let me think how to say this." But the first thing the guidelines required was to bring her under Influence so she'd never repeat any of it. I can't!

"If you didn't kill anyone, what are you afraid of telling me?"

"Inea, please believe me; you have to believe. I wouldn't kill a human being. Ever. Can you accept that?"

"Why would I disbelieve it?" She perched on the edge of the easy chair. "Whoever was in your coffin-"