But apparently he was not suited for that either. He could still feel the shock at his father's words, the roughening of his skin and the shrinking of his testicles. "We can't do a thing for you, Lyle. And we certainly won't support you-no wastrels in this family. I think your only option is Federation Service-not the military side, obviously-too many possibilities for conflicts of interest that might embarrass the company. Belfontaine Industries has to come first, of course. I know you'll understand. But there should be something you can find, some post or other. That's all-I have a holoconference in thirty seconds."

Numb, he had taken his dismissal without a word, and walked out of the office. Federation Service! That was for people who couldn't succeed anywhere else-who were incompetent. He had been raised to regard the Service with contempt, and now he was being ordered to apply for it. He longed to turn around and go back, to smash Augustine Belfontaine's smooth, life-extended features into a pulp. But his father was tall and strong, and Lyle was not. He had never seen the man again, and had tried to assuage his injured feelings with plots to make them all sorry for treating him so badly.

Oddly, the Service had actually suited him rather well, after he got over his initial humiliation. He discovered he had a certain skill for administration-so much for the value of the psychprobes. He had risen rapidly through the ranks, until he made his stupid mistake on Lein III. He never should have tried to unseat a planetary ruler, especially not with explosives that could be traced to his offices. And the false reports he had sent to Alpha had been revealed for the fabrications that they were. He had been lucky to get Cottman IV. If he had been less well-connected, he might have ended up running a penal colony, or worse, inhabiting one.

He was smarter now, and with his background in Information Technologies and Propaganda, he knew what he could have done on Cottman with even one media screen and the right sort of entertainment. He could have had the occupants of Thendara in a fury in less than a month, he was certain, and probably ready to storm Comyn Castle with pitchforks and truncheons. He had switched over to the security arm that administered outposts like this, after the incident on Lein III, and found it much to his liking. True, he had never used a weapon, although occasionally he fantasized about what he might do with a blaster. He would have liked to flame his father, still running Belfontaine Industries in his nineties, and Lew Alton, and a few other people. But he despised soldiers almost as much as he loathed hereditary rulers like Regis Hastur. They were just disposable men and women, like the workers in the factories of Belfontaine Industries. And he was aware, in moments of rare self-examination, that there was some flaw in this attitude, and occasionally wondered if the corporate psychprobes had known this about him, and that was why he had been denied his rightful place in the company.

But it was not his fault! It was people like Lewis Alton, who wanted to preserve their own power, who were keeping the Federation from achieving its destiny, to rule all the planets with an iron hand. That was just how things were supposed to be. But no-they insisted that their own customs suited them just fine, and they could not see that they were only delaying the inevitable. How could one small, backward planet stand up to the Terrans, in the long run? And he, Lyle Belfontaine, wanted to be the man who destroyed Cottman's Protected status and brought them into the Federation, where their rightful masters would make them toe the line!

It troubled him deeply that they had managed to resist thus far, for it flew in the face of what little he really believed in. These were simple things-duty, loyalty and obedience-and beyond that, Belfontaine knew that the destiny of the Federation was to control completely the lives of several trillion people spread over hundreds of planets. Anything less was unacceptable and virtually unthinkable. The Federation was the best structure to keep things running smoothly and efficiently, which to him meant that the huge corporations, like Belfontaine Industries, could do as they wished, to survive and show a profit. He had learned that almost as soon as he could walk, and nothing had ever dislodged the idea from his mind.

He was aware that sometimes this caused pain and suffering. But, in the larger view, it did not matter to him if a few million backward, ignorant people starved to feed those trillions on more developed and enlightened planets. People were a disposable commodity, after all. Not, he felt, people like himself, who were born to make important decisions and shape the future. It was the farmers and merchants and soldiers-the faceless masses-who were unimportant. Even local bigwigs like Regis Hastur were disposable. If he could just get rid of that self-important little man, he could probably take out the rest of them pretty easily.

Lyle sighed. As delightful as the idea of placing an explosive device under Comyn Castle and blowing it into well-deserved smithereens was, he knew better than to attempt it. Even in its present state of disarray, the Federation was not so disordered that questions would not be asked, a Board of Inquiry seated, and probably disgrace to follow, if such an event took place. It would be impossible to blame the thing on the locals themselves-their technology was not up to the job. No one would believe that one of the natives had gotten into HQ, stolen a shaped charge and timer, and gained the knowledge to use it properly. There were a couple of them, like Captain Rafael Scott, who had had a free run of HQ for decades before he resigned, who might, but even he could not imagine anyone believing that Scott would do such a thing. He had taken that route once, and learned his lesson. There had to be another way. He just hadn't thought of it yet.

The chime on the door rang softly, and he looked up, annoyed by the interruption. "Enter," he snapped.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stood in the doorway, leathers gleaming. He came in with an easy grace that Belfontaine envied, and his six foot frame never failed to remind him of how short he himself was. It was Miles Granfell, his second in Information, and his principal agent in fomenting discord on Cottman. He was shrewd and capable, but rather too ambitious for comfort, and Lyle did not entirely trust him. Still, he managed to smile brightly for the sake of appearances.

"So, what is going on?" Granfell was never one for chitchat and pleasantries, a trait that Belfontaine appreciated. It was a waste of time to ask how one was. And, very likely, he already knew the contents of the crumpled official communication, but wanted to pretend to ignorance for his own reasons.

"Unless we can convince Hastur to come into the Federation as a full member, we have thirty days to pull out of here."

"Is it worth trying?"

"I don't think so, but I will summon Lewis Alton tomorrow or the next day and give it one last attempt. I wish I could get to Hastur directly, but that seems to be impossible. And since the Federation is tied up with other problems, we can't get much support right now."

"Tied up?"

"It seems that the dissolution of the legislature has not been received well, and some of the member worlds are showing signs of revolt. This whole thing was ill-planned, and I can't help wonder if Premier Nagy knows what she is doing. That's what comes of putting a woman in charge! They are far too emotional for the job of governing."

Granfell nodded. "If only we had been able to get a new lease on the port lands before this happened, our position here would be much better."

"Well, we didn't. And this iceball is hardly worth the effort. They have never really traded with the Federation, and Hastur's resistance to accepting our technologies has not helped a bit. If someone else were in control of their Council-someone more in tune with the Federation-we might have a chance. But not this way." That fool, Damon Aldaran, had made a lot of vague promises, but so far he had failed to deliver on them, and now he would never have the chance. Belfontaine had never really believed the old drunk anyhow.

"The problem is not that these stupid people are anti-Federation, Belfontaine, but that they insist on being pro-Cottman. They don't give a damn about other planets, except for a few individuals, and even those still seem to love this place. I've been here ten years, and I have never, understood the attraction. It is hellishly cold and its people are backward-most of them can't even read! Hardly worth the effort, in my opinion, except that it sets a bad precedent to allow any inhabited planet to be outside the control of the Federation."

Belfontaine chuckled. "Cottman is hardly going to start building Big Ships-they don't have the resources-and challenging us. But I hate to withdraw. It feels like a failure, and I hate that."

"You said something about some of the other worlds rebelling."

"It has not come to that-yet. And frankly, I can't get much out of the head office." Odd, how the language of his corporate upbringing lingered in his speech. "But I think that there is a very real chance that a few admirals are looking at this as an opportunity to set themselves up in power, to oppose the Federation now that things are in transition. And I have managed to find out that there are huge riots on some of the worlds with Liberal representation. It won't be long before that is put down, of course, but it is troubling. We might find ourselves lifting off with nowhere to go."

"Or worse-we might not be able to leave. Have you thought of that?"

"What do you mean, Miles?" He studied the larger man suspiciously, wondering if Granfell knew something that he did not. Was it possible that Granfell had his own sources of information within HQ, or worse, some contact outside that he did not know of? The idea made him uneasy, but it bore thinking about.

"If the Federation Security Forces are busy putting down riots and rebellions, they might not be able to send ships to lift us off. We could be abandoned here for several years." Granfell spoke simply, as if the notion were a familiar one to him.

Lyle stared at the other man, aghast. He had not even considered that scenario. And it was not impossible either. In the recent past, the Federation had shown itself willing to withdraw from a few marginal planets when it could not get its way by any other means. The idea of having to remain on Cottman was distasteful, and the other was even worse. He could find himself sacrificed-unthinkable as it was! There must be some way to turn it to his advantage.

If the Federation left them behind, what would he do? He knew the answer to that almost before the thought formed in his mind. He would take out Cottman's ruling families in short order, and declare himself Governor. Without the fear of a Board of Inquiry, he could do as he pleased. It was so tempting that he almost wished, for just a moment, to be abandoned. Not that Cottman was any prize, but he could endure that-if he had the power to run things as he wished.

Granfell was looking at him oddly, so Belfontaine schooled his narrow face to look concerned, knowing well that sometimes his avidity betrayed him. "I doubt it will come to that."

"Did you know that Hermes Aldaran returned and got through customs sometime yesterday?"

"Yes, I heard about it. What does that matter?"

"Don't you think it is a little odd, him returning just now? I mean, he left Terra before the announcement was made."

Belfontaine shrugged. "He was probably lucky, that's all. If he came through the port now, we could arrest him. But it's too late. And the port is closed until we leave, so that's that." The germ of an idea began to play in the back of his mind, but Granfell's words sent it flying.

"If we can leave. I would not put too much dependence on the Federation at the moment, myself. I was on Comus during the evac, Lyle, and it is not a pleasant memory. Just keep in mind that you and I are disposable, unless we can think of some way to turn this situation around."

Lyle gaped at him for a second. Granfell might think himself disposable, but he refused to! Then he recovered his composure. "Do you have something specific in mind, or are you just being wishful?"

"Nothing yet, but I have been listening in the streets, and so have my agents. Something is going on. Damn. Do you know, I think that Comyn Castle is probably the only seat of government in the galaxy where we don't have eyes and ears. We've tried everything, but the people are either too stupid to be bribed, or too loyal to the Comyn. I'll try to find out more. We have a month, after all, and a lot can happen in that time."

"A pity we can't just take out . . ."

"I know. But there are no more than three hundred Marines on the whole damn planet, and even with our superior armament, that is not enough."

"True. Perhaps I'll see if I can get some reinforcements." He knew it was a vain hope.

"You do that, and I'll try to contact Vancof. It's a shame that our efforts to cause a rebellion have been so spectacularly unsuccessful, isn't it?"

"It is hard to make people who think they are content unhappy, Miles. And, frankly, these people are just too ignorant to know how much better off they would be with good technology. I thought I would bring them to their knees when I put the Medical Center off limits, but it did not work. They just don't know enough to care."

"Incredible, isn't it? Half of them are illiterate, have never seen a vidram, and they look down on us as if we were . . . barbarians, I suppose."

"Arrogant bastards! I want to bring them down!" His control left him suddenly, and his fist crashed down on the desk, startling both Belfontaine and his companion. "They don't know what is good for them!"

"True enough," Granfell replied mildly, as if he were amused at his superior's outburst. "But I am not ready to try storming Comyn Castle with the men I have at my disposal-not until I have exhausted all the other possibilities. I am going to make another try to get someone into the place-not that I have much hope of succeeding. The pile appears to be entry-proof. Sometimes I think that old rumor about there being mindreaders on Cottman has more truth in it than we have believed."

He glared at Granfell for several seconds. Where had he gotten the idea that he had the right to storm the castle? Was his second pursuing his own ambitions, or trying to usurp his authority? No, he must just be speaking generally. Unless he was up to some scheme of his own. That was a disquieting thought, much worse than imaginary telepaths or magicians.

Belfontaine shook his head, suppressing a shudder. "That is impossible. Project Telepath was a complete bust, and a waste of money. Oh, yes, there are a few mutants around, but nothing to worry about. I just think that, for primitives, the Cottman have excellent security." He smiled grimly, knowing that it infuriated Granfell that he had never been able to penetrate the castle. Still, he could not shake off the way Miles had spoken, as if he were in command of the Marines, not Belfontaine. He would have to keep an eye on Granfell during the coming weeks-the man was too ambitious and too clever.

"We'll see. Dirck Vancof has been almost useless, but maybe he can get us the information we need. I'll talk to you later."

After Granfell left, Lyle sat at the desk, staring at the empty blotter, and feeling a churning in his guts. The idea that had come into his mind returned after a few minutes, and he turned it over. Hermes Aldaran could now be considered an enemy of the Federation. Could he use that as an excuse to force Hastur to do something rash, and then bring in a Task Force?

It was unfortunate that Lew Alton knew Federation law as well as he did, but it would not hurt to demand that Aldaran be turned over, would it? It Might upset old Lord Aldaran, but he had already proved himself to be a useless ally. His son Robert, the older one, was no better. A dull fellow without an ounce of imagination. There was the sister, who lived in Comyn Castle, but she hadn't been nearly as useful as he had hoped at first. Besides, women were not to be trusted. There had to be a way to topple the Hasturs-he just needed to find it!

5.

When Mikhail escorted Marguerida and his children into the smaller dining room the following evening, he was pleasantly surprised to discover that he felt almost human. There was an ache in him that was not physical, which he recognized as grief. He had experienced it long ago, when his nephew Domenic Alar had died, and later again over Emun Elhalyn and Emun's mother, Priscilla. He had felt it again ten years before when Diotima Ridenow, Lew's wife, had died. Neither rest nor food would banish it, only time. And Regis would have expected him to go on, to keep things going smoothly. He only wished it were easier.

At the same time, he was looking forward to seeing Hermes Aldaran again, after so many years, and to meeting his wife and children. Lew had been right to send him to bed the previous day, and to insist on keeping him secluded for a time, but he still felt a bit guilty that he had not gone to the old Storn suite and greeted them personally. He had seen no one except his wife and children, and that had been hard enough.

Domenic, his firstborn and heir, seemed deeply affected, and somehow angry. That was puzzling, but he did not have the energy to puzzle it out right now. He knew better than to ask Nico, who had been a very quiet child, and was now an extremely private young man. Rory, his second child, insisted on making really dreadful jokes, as if he could not bear the general gloom that had settled over Comyn Castle. He had managed to annoy everyone, provoking his sister Yllana, his foster-sister Alanna, and Ida Davidson, who was usually impervious to the behavior of adolescents. Even Marguerida, who ordinarily found Rory's antics amusing, was ready, she said, to send the thirteen-year-old to Nevarsin, where the cristoforo monks would teach him some manners. Rory just grinned, completely unafraid of this threat, as he was of almost anything. It was a shame he was not quite old enough for the Cadet Guards yet, because even Mikhail admitted his middle child was sorely lacking in discipline.

Alanna Alar was already present in the dining room, her auburn hair burnished like pure copper, her green eyes taking in everything. She had been a fretful baby, an anxious child, and now had bloomed into a vigilant and restless adolescent. He glanced at her, standing on the far side of the room and gave her a smile. To his pleasure, she returned it. Mikhail was fond of her, but he had to admit he found his niece rather eerie. He was relieved to see her in a good mood. Yllana had been completely disconsolate at Regis' death, but Alanna behaved with something closer to indifference, which was peculiar, since she had been close to her great-uncle. He suspected that she was numb with shock, and that when this condition finally wore off, she would make up for her present calm with a double helping of the hysteria for which she was well known in Comyn Castle. There seemed, to his mind, little question that she had inherited some of the instability that blighted so many of the Elhalyn line, and he could only be grateful that she seemed merely high-strung, instead of clearly mad, as some of her cousins had been. And time might cure that. Mikhail hoped so, for he was genuinely fond of the girl.

She really was a beautiful young woman, and aware of it as well. She had just completed the first part of her training at Arilinn, where her powerful and remarkable laran was being disciplined, he sincerely hoped, into something manageable. She was already both a teleport and a firestarter, a combination that was potentially deadly, and one which was so rare that it was difficult to limit. She had a hot temper, as well, which made her extremely dangerous. He worried more about his niece than he ever did about his own children, for her quicksilver disposition reminded him rather too much of some of the Elhalyn children, Vincent in particular. She had some of the same egotism, but none of the bullying tendencies of that now deceased man.

Mikhail watched Nico smile at Alanna, brightening as he always did around his difficult cousin and foster-sister. Eight months separated them in age, and she had lived in Comyn Castle since she was five. They were, together, more like twins than otherwise, and had an uncanny ability to either cheer one another up, or send each other into foul moods that no one else could understand. Tonight she seemed to be on her best behavior, despite the general air of sorrow that was everywhere. He thanked the gods for that favor, and turned toward the doorway of the dining room.

Herm and his family came into the room, and Mikhail put everything else out of his mind. Behind him, Donal came to attention, alert in every muscle, examining the newcomers with a very jaundiced eye, much too suspicious for such a young man. Mikhail held back a sigh, for like himself, Donal had never really had a childhood. He knew he had made the right decision for himself, taking his young relative for paxman, but he was not as sure that he had made the best choice for Donal.

Mikhail studied Hermes Aldaran, trying to fit the image of the man before him with his memories of a much younger person he had known briefly over twenty years before. He had much less hair on the top of his head, and a softness above his belt that spoke of little physical activity. There were interesting wrinkles around his eyes, and the mouth almost hidden in his curling beard was generous, made for laughter. But there was no merriment in his face now, just a sort of tension, as if he were uncertain of his welcome.

Beside him stood a very attractive woman, with black hair and, as Lew had mentioned, a square and stubborn jaw. Two children stood next to her. The boy, who looked about thirteen, had gray eyes that went immediately to Alanna with interest and admiration, and the girl, who might be nine or ten, seemed a little bashful in the presence of so many strangers. Lew was right-the girl looked like an Aldaran and could have easily been mistaken for a child of either Marguerida's or Gisela's.

They were dressed in Federation garb, which looked outre and exotic to Mikhail. The girl, Terese, wore a brief skirt of some shiny stuff, and her still gawky limbs were covered in stockings of a woven material with a vivid pattern in it. Her mother wore a close-fitting gown of dark red velvet, cut low over the shoulders, and clinging across her bosom. The lower portion of the dress dropped from knee length in the front to floor length at the back, showing off elegant calves and feet clad in shiny shoes. Her obviously long black hair was elaborately braided and coiled behind her head, decently concealing her nape, and long metal earrings dangled beside her graceful throat. Herm and the boy wore jackets that ended abruptly at the waist, over pleated shirts and narrow trousers that looked rather uncomfortable to Mikhail. All in all, it was a bizarre presentation, and he had to school himself not to stare at Katherine's legs.

Katherine glanced at Marguerida, then at Alanna and Yllana. Her face clouded with dismay for a moment, and when he saw Gisela and his brother Rafael come through the door behind her, he realized that his ever mischievous sister-in-law had been up to one of her tricks. She had probably told Katherine to wear these clothes. Still, as he watched, he saw the woman's face become composed, her spine stiffening a little in the lovely but unsuitable gown. She had been a Senator's wife for over a decade now, and could probably handle herself in situations he could not even imagine.

Oh, dear-she is upset, Mik.

Anyone can see that, caria.

Gisela offered to look after her, and I just assumed she would tell Katherine what sort of dress was appropriate. I was so tired that 1 could not think straight! I know it doesn't matter to you, but we women take these matters very seriously. Damn!!

My darling optimist! After all these years, you should know better than to trust Giz. Katherine has very nice legs, don't you think?

Should I be jealous?

Never, my dearest, never.

Herm cleared his throat. "Hello, Mikhail. It has been a long time, hasn't it? I would like to present my wife, Katherine Korniel Aldaran, and our children, Amaury and Terese."

"Welcome to Comyn Castle. I only wish your arrival had been a little less hectic, and I apologize for not coming to meet you earlier. I was sent to bed, frankly, although thankfully not without my supper." Mikhail exerted himself to be friendly, hoping to ease the awkwardness away.

"Korniel? Are you by chance related to the composer of that name?" Marguerida wondered.

"He was my great-uncle," Katherine answered.

Marguerida repressed her lively interest, her eyes almost sparkling, and stepped forward with both her mitted hands outstretched in greeting. "Where are my manners! How are you, after your long journey?" She paused for a moment, waited for Herm to speak, then when he did not, went on. "Domna Katherine, this is my husband, Mikhail Hastur, and my children, Domenic, Rory, and Yllana. Yllana, why don't you take Terese and get her a glass of berry juice? Or watered wine, if you do not mind, Katherine?"

"I think a little watered wine would not be a bad thing-not too much, Terese," Katherine answered in a deep alto voice that was heavy with tension.

Over her shoulder, Mikhail could read the faint disappointment in Gisela's expression. She was plumper now than when she had been a girl, her waist thickened with child-bearing as Marguerida's had failed to do, and her face had lost some of its earlier winsomeness. He gave her a stern look, and she had the grace to redden a little. Katherine caught his expression, and her eyes widened in surprise, apparently thinking he was glaring at her. Then she looked quickly over her shoulder, saw Gisela's blush, and turned back toward him with a splendid smile.

Yllana's pale blue eyes twinkled, and she gave the other girl a quick grin. Terese answered with a relieved smile, as if she were very glad to remove herself from the orbit of her parents, and to be in the company of someone her own age. The two girls slipped across the room as if they had known each other for days instead of moments, and Mikhail sensed that Yllana was pleased to be out of earshot of any adults.

Roderick made a decent bow in front of Katherine, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Come on, Amaury-the grown-ups don't need us underfoot. Nico and I will be glad to answer your questions, and I'll wager you have a lot of them."

Amaury glanced at his parents, then started to follow Rory toward the fireplace. "I have one-who is that girl watching us from over there?" Mikhail heard him ask.

"Oh, that's just Alanna," Roderick replied. "She is our cousin and our foster-sister." Then he passed out of earshot, and Mikhail glanced over his shoulder at his foster-daughter. She should have been beside them, to be introduced. Oh, well, the children would make their own way. Then Mikhail turned back to Herm and Katherine. There was an awkward silence for a moment.

"Have you begun to recover from your journey?" Mikhail asked.

"We have caught up on our sleep, and enjoyed eating real food." Katherine spoke in casta easily, but her accent was unfamiliar. She rounded the vowel sounds more than was normal, and in her mouth, the language sounded unusually musical. "We offer our condolences, Dom Mikhail, on the death of your uncle."

"Thank you, domna. It has been a great shock and a terrible loss for all of us." He paused, feeling this formal response was a bit cold. "I cannot really believe it, yet. It all seems like a nightmare from which I cannot manage to awaken."

"Of course it is! If I understand what Gisela told me, there was no warning, no signs of illness or anything."

"Nothing whatever," he answered, moved by her immediate understanding.

"That makes it all the harder to bear."

A silence fell heavily among the four of them then, as if no one could think of what to say. Finally Marguerida stepped into the breach. "I am sorry that that I could not greet you upon your arrival, but things are in such a state. And I am sincerely happy that you are here, and hope that you find Darkover to your liking." She paused and the shadow of a smile graced her lips. "It might take some getting used to for you," she continued, as a servant appeared with a tray of wineglasses. She took one and offered it to Katherine, who gave her a speculative look, as if she suspected there might be some hidden meaning in the last words. Donal picked one up and handed it to Mikhail. Herm helped himself, looking more at ease now. "I can remember my own difficulties, when I came back sixteen years ago," she added, smiling and shaking her head at the vivid memories at the same time.

Gisela and Rafael moved forward, and from the petulant expression on her face, Mikhail suspected that his brother was giving her a telepathic lecture that she was not enjoying. He had a stab of guilt, that Rafael had ended up with this difficult woman, but he knew that his steady, older sibling genuinely cared for her. At the same time, he was sincerely glad he had not been shackled to Gisela, because he was certain he would have strangled her long since. He could only admire his brother's patience in silence, resisting any impulse to eavesdrop even a little.

"Herm tried to explain things to me," Katherine was saying to Marguerida, "and so did Gisela, but I still feel quite disoriented." She gave Herm a stern look, then favored Gisela with one that was openly hostile.

Mikhail could just imagine what sort of nonsense Giz had offered, and admired Katherine's firm control on her temper. "My husband has been keeping secrets from me for years, and I am only now discovering them." She moved restlessly and brushed her free hand across her brow, as if she was afraid of something.

"I have tried to reassure her that her thoughts are safe, but Katherine is a very stubborn woman," Herm commented dryly. "She will probably forgive me in a few decades."

Marguerida nodded and gave a soft laugh. "If you are fortunate, Dom Hermes. Domna, trust me. No one is going to invade your privacy." She's very frightened, Mik, but I must say she is concealing at very well.

"Would I know if they did?" Katherine asked with candor. Mikhail could sense her heart beating a little faster, and felt his liking for the woman increase further.

"No, you would not," Marguerida admitted calmly. "And your uppermost thoughts are audible to me, if I focus my attention on you. Still, you are worrying yourself for no good reason. Darkovans are most scrupulous in these matters."

"I suppose they must be, or else everyone would be quite mad." Katherine sighed and drank off half her glass with a nervous gesture. "I will be all right as soon as I can get back to work."

"Work?" Mikhail looked at her, watching the wine begin to ease her discomfort.

"Katherine is a very fine painter, and she left much of her clothing behind so she could bring along her paints and brushes." Herm smiled fondly at his wife. "I met her when she was doing a portrait." Damn Gisela for setting us wrong-I should have known she was up to something. I don't care ahout my clothing, but I think my Kate will take my sister's eyes out the first chance she gets. I had almost forgotten how spiteful she could be, for no good reason.

"An artist. How wonderful. Then we must give you a room in which to work," Marguerida insisted. "Let me think. Ah, yes. There is a pleasant chamber on the second floor, with decent north light. It is very quiet, so you will not be disturbed. Will you need an easel? I don't suppose you brought one, what with the restrictions on baggage."

"You are right-I didn't." Katherine looked at Marguerida with relief. "Herm did not tell me what was going on-he could not have risked it, really-just told me to pack, and we were at the spaceport before I knew what was happening. It is a very good thing I trust my husband, for if I had not, we would probably not be here now. But it was very . . . unsettling."

"I am sure it was," Marguerida said with sympathy. Better than anyone in the room, she knew what it meant to be uprooted, to be dragged out of bed in the middle of the night without explanation. Her memories of the Sharra Rebellion were vague, for she had only been a child at the time, but they remained disturbing, even after so many years.