CHAPTER 14

Contrary to his own expectations, Bleys slept heavily and awoke early. Toni was not with him, and he wondered whether she might have chosen to sleep in another room; there were plenty available.

He lay in bed, half awake at best, cocooned in the force field that made up the sleeping surface. He had not turned on a light, but simply continued to lie there watching the simulated night sky to which the room's ceiling had been set. Turning his head to the right would have put his eyes on the time display that glowed in midair on that side of the bed, but he did not do that.

Part of him would have welcomed a longer time in the depths of unconsciousness, but he felt vaguely that further sleep would elude him. He would only drowse, tossing and turning; until, finally, he would rise to start his day feeling achey and unwell, his head thick and his emotional state depressed.

But he was also reluctant to start his day right away; and so he lay there in the darkness, probing lazily at the back of his own mind and waiting for something—anything—to happen. As far as he could tell, he had not dreamed. He was disappointed about that.

The star display on his ceiling was familiar, he realized idly; it was the night sky he had gazed at as a youth on Henry's farm—except there were more stars: this ceiling was showing him many of the faint stars not generally visible through Association's atmosphere. He speculated listlessly on whether this artificial sky included such faint stars in order to make the display more aesthetic ... it did not really seem very gaudy.

Night skies were almost identical on all the human worlds, he knew. The worlds inhabited by the human race were not far enough apart for the differences in their locations to make for major changes

in their starscapes, beyond the presence or absence of those worlds' own stars.

But there were differences nonetheless. He was able to pick out, in this instance, the bright light that was Association's sister planet, Harmony, as well as another, even brighter light that was—that represented, he corrected himself—Archangel, the great gas giant that shared Association's system, farther out from the star.

In every system in which he had ever watched the stars, the sky presented information that told just which system it was—and, often, evidences of the human presence ... artificial satellite, spacecraft. . . . Only when he watched the stars from a starship in transit had his view been unobstructed, clean and clear and pure.

Was this a standard starscape entered in the ship's settings, to be seen by anyone who might use this room—the notion came to him out of nowhere—or had this view been specifically set for his eyes?

It would make sense for a ship based in the port of Association's capital city to reproduce the night sky from that viewpoint, but it might well be that a variety of skies—of viewpoints—were available for the programming.

—Was someone programming his sky?

His eyes closed, involuntarily, and he sat up in the darkness he had created with his eyelids. His hands clawed at the controls in the panel next to the bed, but he was fumbling, unable to manipulate them in his haste and with his lids clenched shut. He stood up, still self-blinded, and stumbled to the small bathroom, throwing himself into the shower in the darkness, not bothering to take off the shorts he always slept in.

After a while, the feeling of sickness passed; until at last he was able to open his eyes and stop the water beating down on him. It was water of the planet, piped on board from the port's facilities, and it was inadequate to its task: he still felt soiled, dirty.

Dried, he returned to his bed and experimented with the ceiling display. He had never paid much notice to the ceiling settings during his previous trips in this ship, perhaps because on real trips he could look out of the ship, at the real starscape between planetary systems, whenever he wanted ... he was only interested in artificial skies when stuck on a planetary surface....

Besides, he usually had other things on his mind.

He felt better, now, to learn that only the single display was available. He lay there and watched it, wondering if it would rotate to imitate Association's movement, as the displays in other rooms he had slept in had done. In time he drifted into a light, restless sleep.

When he awoke again, he could feel a small, lurking presence in his head, a hint of a headache waiting to be born. It made him uneasy; headaches were often precursors of his blackouts—signals, his medician had warned him, of the bad effects of some stressful situation.

To take his mind off the threat, he tried to force it into consideration of the problems he had been working on before going to sleep ... and he began to realize there was a layer of irritation underlying his self-concern. Irritation over all the problems obstructing his course, irritation that his own mind and body should distract him from his task—even irritation that his unconscious mind had not, as he had hoped, solved any of his problems while he slept.

Recognizing his lack of focus, he dipped into his past training, and engaged in his breathing exercises; he had been introduced to them in Dahno's training program, and his workouts with Toni had reinforced that training. Within a short time he had turned himself around: the irritation, although not banished, had been embraced, used to get himself up and moving.

There was no food service in the ship, so Bleys made his way to the kitchen to find himself something to eat.

Ashore, he mused, moving down the corridor. He wondered how many people, these days, recognized that the term derived from the ancient days of ocean travel on Old Earth. Most of the Younger Worlds had their own oceans, but still. . . Nonetheless, it was clear that the mother planet's influence remained even in the language of her most distant children.

He was also one of few, he reflected as he entered the kitchen, who knew that such a room on an Old Earth ocean vessel had often been called a galley. Why had that term not been taken into space, when ashore had? It seemed haphazard, almost untidy, that some terms had emigrated while others had not... the person who guided a spaceship was not called a pilot anymore, he knew; to his mind the presently used term for that functionary, driver, was wildly inappropriate.

He put that train of thought aside to examine his choices in foodstuffs; and decided to settle for making himself a plate of toasted bread, cold chicken, cheese and fruit.

In a way, it made him feel more cheerful that he was getting his own breakfast. He had not had to do anything like that for a long time—where were the knives? Ah!

As his involvement with the Others' movement began to grow, back when he and Dahno still shared an apartment in Ecumeny, he had spent more and more of his time working with others, eating with others ... and even when he was alone, his time had been too precious to be wasted on domestic chores.

But in this particular time and place, he felt good about fending for himself, as if somehow he was contributing to solving the race's problems—and at that moment the knife he had been laboriously pushing through a hard block of cheese seemed to jump in his hand as the resistance of the dense foodstuff ended abruptly; and the severed end of cheese skidded off the plate to fall to the floor.

And that, he thought, had not happened to him since sometime during those years when he lived with Henry and his sons on their farm.

"Oops," he heard Toni say, behind him. He turned to look at her.

"There you are," he said. "I thought maybe you were still asleep in some other room."

"What were you thinking, just now?" she asked, ignoring his comment. "You had such a distant look."

"I was remembering the first meal I ate when I came to live with Henry," he said. "Goat cheese, bread and a stew that was mostly vegetables, with a little bit of rabbit meat."

"A lot of people believe plain food is blessed in the eyes of the Lord," she said.

"It was all the farm could provide," he said, not intending any irony.

"It's that way for a lot of people on Association, even today," she said. "On Harmony, too. And these arc good days, compared to those early years after the planets were first settled."

"On some of the other Younger Worlds, too," he said. He shook his head. "A lot of people have already suffered because of the decision to leave Old Earth."

He was conscious of her eyes on him, but he avoided looking directly into her gaze, and bent to pick up the cheese he had dropped. She got a treated cleaning cloth and wiped the floor surface; and then watched as, after starting to throw the fallen cheese away, he turned to the sink to rinse it off, before putting it on his plate.

"There are a lot of people who'd love to have that cheese," he said. "Even dirty."

"Something to drink?" she asked.

Back in the lounge that had been converted into an office for him, he put his plate and glass on his desk and pulled over a large, but light, float chair of the kind Others' ships always kept available for him. His finger reached out for the control that would give him access to the databanks, but then hesitated.

He was sitting in the same position, a distant frown on his face, when Toni walked into the room, carrying her own plate and glass. When she saw his face she walked across the room to her own desk, and put her plate down; and began to eat while catching up on the communications that had come in overnight.

Some minutes later, she pressed the HUSH control on her console, and opened an interior comm channel.

"Bridge here. What can I do for you, Antonia Lu?"

"Why, Captain—I didn't expect you\ I thought you were out of the ship?"

"I came aboard last night," the deep female voice replied. "I couldn't stand it. And who else would be answering your call? The ship's nearly empty, since it's normal procedure for most of the crew to go ashore when repairs are in progress, which is the story we've given out."

"I know that's true," Toni said, "but it still surprised me to hear your voice."

"Someone has to do it, after all, and the First Officer is, I hope, sleeping—he was on watch for nearly twenty hours, since the few crew members left on board are working on the repairs and remodeling."

"They're actually repairing something? I thought that was only a story?"

"Well, it is," the captain said. "But the story won't look realistic if this ship doesn't send out discarded materials every now and then. We even have Cetan personnel coming aboard every day to do some of the work; but our crew is responsible for keeping them away from the areas where you and the First Elder might be seen. Now what can I do for you?"

"I'm afraid this puts me in an awkward position, Captain. I was hoping I could get a few bodies in here to help me move some furniture."

"Move furniture?"

"I'm afraid so. It's a matter of putting this lounge into a—a configuration that will facilitate our work." Toni knew it would be easier to explain what she wanted when she could simply point at things.

"Right now?" the captain asked.

"As soon as possible, at any rate, if it can be arranged."

"Give me a couple of minutes, please."

After the captain keyed off, Toni set the lounge's main door to stay open. In a few minutes the tall, stocky form of Captain Anita Broadus appeared in the doorway, followed by three crew members—two men and a woman; two of them appeared rumpled, as if they had just awakened, and one of the men was trying to stifle a yawn.

Upon seeing Bleys still apparently deep in thought, the captain turned her attention to Toni, who had walked across to meet her.

"Are we going to disturb the First Elder?" the captain asked— she was trying to whisper, Toni realized, but she was a large woman with a personality to match, and one used to command; even her whisper came out with a booming quality.

"No need to whisper, Captain," Toni said, using a normal tone of voice. "The First Elder is thinking, but we'd have to work pretty hard to disturb him."

The captain's nod seemed contrary to the skeptical look on her face.

"I appreciate your coming," Toni continued. "But I only meant for you to send someone—who's watching the bridge?"

"Oh, I woke the First Officer," the Captain said.

"Oh, no—I didn't mean for anything like that!" Toni said, her eyes widening. As she began to apologize, the captain interrupted her.

"Don't fret yourself over it," she said, her dark face lighting up with a broad smile. "That's what first officers are for! And John knows better than anyone we're down to a skeleton complement. Now tell me what you need."

Deciding that the best way to end everyone's inconvenience would be to put her project into action, Toni quickly explained her idea; within moments the tables and chairs not already being used by Bleys and Toni were being pushed aside, the entertainment consoles disconnected and unbolted from the floor—even the long bar was detached and pushed as far against the opposite wall of the lounge as it would go.

In less than fifteen minutes they had cleared an elongated open space down the longest axis of the lounge, its sides made up of two rows of easy chairs that faced the cleared space, as if awaiting an audience.

"Is this about what you had in mind, Antonia Lu?" the captain asked, handing a power wrench back to one of her crew. She had moved at least as much furniture as any of them.

"Yes it is, Captain," Toni said. "Thank you so much."

"Yes, thank you, Captain," Bleys said, his voice startling Toni as he moved quietly up behind them.

"I'm so sorry, First Elder—" the captain began; but Bleys stopped her with a raised hand and a smile.

"Please, Captain, don't be," he said. "I should be apologizing to you—I know our situation has created a lot of problems for you—" This time it was the captain's turn to interrupt.

"That's nonsense, sir," she said. "I think you know the crew of Favored of God is proud to do whatever it can to help you in your work." Her eyes were gleaming in her broad face, and her cheeks were bunched up in a great smile that showed large, gleaming white teeth.

Bleys was silent for a moment; then he spoke, more softly. "And you do it very well, too."

The captain gave a nod, a kind of sideways dip of her head. There was silence for a moment, before she turned back to Toni.

"And is there anything else we can do?"

"No, Captain—thank you so much!" Toni said.

The captain waved one hand vaguely toward her head, as if faking a salute; and then put on her professionalism again, gathering her people and striding out the door.

"I'm sorry we disturbed you," Toni said to Bleys. "I hoped you were so deep in thought you wouldn't notice, and I was guessing you'd work better if you had a walkway like the one you use back home."

"It's a good idea," Bleys said. "I'm certain I'll be using it—I'd thought about walking in the corridor, but.. ."

"You seemed to be thinking hard," Toni said. "Is there anything I can help with?"

"Well, I can't answer that yet," he replied. "It's just that a bell seemed to ring inside me, while we were speaking about the cheese; and so far I'm having trouble pinning down whatever my mind's trying to tell me."

"The cheese?"

"I'll explain when I know," he said; and he shrugged and returned to the chair he had been sitting in. "You never ate," she said, following him.

"I forgot," he said. He sat down and started in on his breakfast. In a moment, he looked back up at her. "Thank you," he said.

Within fifteen minutes he was pacing rapidly up and down the length of the cleared space, one hand lightly slapping the surface of the bar each time he reached the far end of the room and made his turn.

Toni sat at her desk, keeping an eye on the occasional communication being silently fed to her screen.

The silence stretched out, punctuated only by the light slap of hand on bar.

As noon approached, Toni was starting to contemplate the idea of interrupting Bleys in his pacing. She had had to do so in the past, and she hated it—she thought of his walking as a form of meditation, and believed it was good for him.

On this occasion, however, the word meditation did not really seem to fit the exercise; there was something more driven, more keyed-up, about this particular session.

In any case, Bleys soon broke off on his own accord, immediately after making one of his turns at the bar; and stopped, looking down the length of the lounge at her.

"How long have I been at this?" he asked finally, breaking the silence.

"Just over four hours," she said. "Are you all right?"

"I'm all right," he said. He took a step toward her; then stopped. His face bore a strange look—on other people, she thought, it might have been shame, perhaps mixed with chagrin.

"I really am all right," he went on. "My headache is gone and my head feels clear. But it appears my physical conditioning has suffered since we came to this planet."

"Hardly unexpected, considering what we've been through," she said. She surprised herself by giving out a sort of throaty snort, and grinned. "I was going to suggest we get back to our exercises, but thought it best to take another day of rest."

"You were right," he said. He looked around. "Do you think we could work out in this space?"

"Easily," she replied. "Your control is more than adequate to keep you from falling over the furniture." She cocked her head slightly, looking at him sharply.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I think I gave myself blisters."

"That shouldn't have happened," she said, frowning. She rose from her desk and walked toward him. "What are you doing differently?"

"Nothing—that I know of," he said.

"No, of course not," she said. "If you knew what you were doing wrong, you wouldn't do it. Can I assume you're wearing your normal footgear?"

"Yes."

"Sit down in that closest chair, and I'll call Kaj to come up."

"It's not that bad—" he began, but she interrupted him.

"There's no point in trying to tough it out," she said, looking stern. "Trying to do that will cause you to make unconscious adjustments, and your whole body will end up out of balance. You know that."

"I know," he said, holding up a hand to stop her. "I know. I meant it's not necessary to call Kaj here—I can go to the infirmary."

"It'd be best," she said, nodding. "The equipment there can take care of your feet better than handheld tools down here ... are you really up to it?"

"It's only a few blisters," he said.

"I didn't mean it that way," she said. "What I meant was, are you up to dealing with Kaj? You've been pretty short with him from the start, but..." She trailed off.

"I know," he said. "I think I'm past that now."

She looked at him silently for a moment.

"There's more going on here than I realized," she said finally. "But I can't believe you put in all that thought on your relationship with Kaj; so I think that's only a—a side effect."

"You're right," he said. "But let's not talk about it now. Call Kaj and see if he's free to see me."

"He will be," she said. "He doesn't let anything get in the way of his vocation."

"I know," Bleys said. "It's one of the things I've realized—that he's more like me than I knew."

She returned to her desk, a thoughtful look on her face, and made the call.

CHAPTER 15

When Bleys got back to the lounge an hour later, Toni was all business, giving him details on the results of the search for researchers. The list of candidates, although the joint project of the Soldiers here in the ship and the staff still locked up in the consulate, had, Bleys knew, been led and guided by Toni.

There was speculation in her expression now, as she looked at him across the space between their desks, but he was sure she would not try to probe into his thinking unless she believed he needed that, somehow.

"No one has made an approach to any of these researchers," she said. "So it's possible some of them can't, or won't, take on whatever project you have in mind. But we can pay well."

"We don't want to offer so much more than the market as to attract attention," he warned. "In any event, we won't need all of them, so there's plenty of leeway for refusals. I'm more concerned about their locations—I mean, I want to use people who are scattered about the planet, rather than concentrated in one place, such as here in Ceta City."

"I suppose you mean if they're dispersed, they're less likely to gossip with each other—people in a specialized field often know each other, after all—and perhaps get an idea of the extent of the project?"

"That, yes," he said. "But it would also increase the chances that each will have access to peculiarly local information not available in other parts of the planet."

He saw her visibly make an effort to stifle her questions as she returned to her briefing.

"I assume you have no intention of either bringing researchers

here to the ship, or going out to see them," she said; "so we'll have to instruct our people outside to make the initial approaches to the researchers."

"That's right," he said. "We'll put together a prospectus for our people—by the way, they should be very clear that this is an undercover operation: they can't let the researchers know who they're working for... in fact, the researchers themselves would be wise not to let anyone know what project they're working on."

"We'll have to give some thought to which of our people to give this job to," Toni said. "Most of the staff aren't really geared up for—what did you call it?—'undercover' work."

"Run this through Henry," Bleys said. "He'll probably suggest using some of the Soldiers who were raised on this planet; they'll be more likely to have the right accents and mannerisms to be accepted as normal Cetans; with a suitable cover story, they'll raise less suspicion."

"You're worried that if the researchers talk about what they're doing, it may draw interest from the wrong quarter?"

"Certainly," he said. "But I also don't want the researchers to get themselves killed before they complete their work for us."

There was a short silence in the room, before Toni continued.

"So what is it you want researched?"

"Actually, you have one more data-sort to do," he said. "I want you to separate out researchers who seem to have familiarity with something like image alteration or image recognition software."

"That kind of information ought to be in their resumes."

"Then go through our files on the organization's personnel here on Ceta," Bleys said. "I mean the files we brought along with us, rather than those in the local offices. Copy the photos of every staffer over forty-five years of age. Give those photos to about a half dozen of the imaging-qualified researchers, scattered around the planet. Those researchers should not be given any other information—not even the names we have for those subjects. We want the researchers trying to identify the photos with no preconceptions—understood?"

"I see what you're saying," Toni said. "Could I suggest the researchers be told to think of the subjects as they were about twenty-five years ago?"

"You're proceeding on the assumption that those staff people would have been most active in whatever they've been up to, when they were in their thirties or so?" Bleys said, nodding. "I was coming to that, but don't let the researchers overlook checking on the current faces."

"I understand," Toni said. "And the other group of researchers?"

"Again, give them nothing to base a preconception on," he said. "Simply tell them to dig up any information they can on any secret, semi-secret, or underground organization on this planet during the period between fifteen and forty years ago—particularly focusing on the areas of finance and crime."

"That's a pretty broad mandate," she said. "It'll likely take weeks to get full results back."

"True," he said. "I don't think we have that much time, but we don't necessarily need the full details, either; I'll be satisfied with sketchy reports if they come quickly."

"Let me see if I can come up with some way to include in the package a requirement that the researchers report to the person who hired them once a day—it'll mean our people have to be reachable, somehow, which Henry won't like."

"Maybe the researchers ought to make themselves reachable at designated times each day," Bleys suggested. "Most of the good research facilities have excellent communications equipment, and I'm sure Ceta won't lag in that respect."

"Staggering the report times will make it possible for a single one of our people to deal with more than one researcher," she pointed out. "But would reports twice a day be better?"

"Yes," he said. "The researchers can be told their reports back will help narrow the field of the research—I mean, that with their reports we'll be able to send back suggestions on where to focus their efforts."

"All right," she said, nodding in her turn. "Anything more?"

"No."

"Then I'll get started."

"Cheese?" Her voice came out of the starlit darkness of the bedroom they were sharing.

"I wasn't really thinking about cheese''' he said, turning his head in her direction. He could see a pale shadow that was her body, faintly lit by the artificial starlight.

"I knew that she said. "But if it's not too nosy, I'd like to know how that led you to—whatever it led you to."

"I don't mind," he said. "But it's going to sound silly—maybe flimsy."

"But you went somewhere with it, didn't you?"

"I just started from there," he said. "The thought of how hard life has been, for so many on the Younger Worlds, reminded me that life is much better—even luxurious—for me now. And for the Others we've been leading."

"I guess you could say you've raised the Others to an elite position," she said. "Is that bad?"

"It might be."

"You're saying we've been spoiled?"

"I know I've gotten too used to the good life." He raised himself on an elbow, turning his upper body slightly sideways to face her.

"That's not so—you work harder than anyone I know!"

"That's kind of you," he said. "And it may be true—but in any case, that's not exactly what I meant."

They were in a force bed, so he did not feel any movement when she sat up, but he could see her pale form rise a little, and loom closer. He rolled onto his back again.

"Then you have to explain what you mean," she said, settling down while leaning against his side. He had automatically raised his arm as she moved toward him, and now he brought it down behind her back as she raised her head to accommodate his shoulder.

"Life has been going well for us—for our Others," he explained. "It may have led us into a sort of spiritual contentment—which, I guess, can look like simple laziness in some contexts."

"How can you say that? The Others here on Ceta do work hard— they're always on the go!"

"Yes, they are," he said. "At least, it certainly looks like it, on the surface. But what if they've gotten complacent, too?"

"You mean, they've only been going through the motions?"

"Well, as I said, the cheese reminded me that life has gotten much better for us—at least in the ways most people measure that kind of thing. Two things are responsible for that: we Others learned to work together for a common end, and people who might have opposed us forgot how to do that... oddly enough, I was speaking to Dahno about something akin to this just a couple of weeks ago; but at the time I never thought to relate that discussion to me, to us."

"Us?"

"Look," he said, "I started this expedition to try to figure out why our Others on this planet had not reported on the unknown group— I dislike that term, the 'secret people'—on this planet. Whoever they are. I was assuming that either our people were working dependably but the unknowns were amazingly good at keeping their doings secret, or some, at least, of our Others had been brought over to helping them."

"Yes," she said. "I remember that the biggest obstacle to believing in the existence of these 'unknowns,' when you deduced it, was the fact it was so unlikely that a group that powerful could be so well hidden."

"Occam's razor," he said. "A simpler explanation is more likely to be correct—or, at least, useful as a starting point: that our people— and everyone else on the planet, for that matter—did a less than great job of observation."

"Hence the researchers you've commissioned."

"Yes," he said. "And until I get some feedback from them, I'm only able to make estimates on what's been happening, and on what it means for us."

She shifted position, rolling over to rest on his chest.

"Sorry," she said. "My arm was going to sleep. But can you give me some idea of what your 'estimates' are?"

"You mean you want my best guess."

"All right, yes," she said. "Disclaimer noted. Now what do you suspect?"

"Well, first," he said, "I think the Cetan organization—I mean our Others here—has been infiltrated. Not just manipulated from the outside, but infiltrated."

"Some of the staff people," she said.

"Why are you asking me what my guesses are?" he said. "You seem to be doing just as well as I am."

"Don't be coy. That much was fairly obvious from the Soldiers' observations."

"Which reminds me," he said: "the Soldiers have been very useful, working undercover, but I suspect they're limited in their abilities to carry out some kinds of tasks—we have to look into setting up some sort of independent group to handle such matters for us in the future."

"A kind of—what did they call it in the histories?—'intelligence service'?—no, 'counter-intelligence,' it was! That term made me laugh, I remember."

"I haven't thought this out enough to be able to say what we'll want such a group for," he said. "Just remind me, please, to think about it. Because I believe we're in a war—so far, just a sort of undercover war, perhaps, but we have to be as ready for this kind of war as for a more normal war of soldiers and ships ... it's just that this kind of war starts earlier than the shooting war."

"All right. But back to the infiltration."

"Just knowing that our organization here has been infiltrated is not enough," he said. "We have to find a way to determine who's working for the unknowns, and who's only misled and manipulated."

"Particularly among the Others," she said. "But you know, some of the staff are likely innocent, as well."

"You told me earlier that that staff person Pallas Salvador provided—Sandra Rossoy—had been unable to find the nine missing Others."

"Yes, she reported on that even before we left Ceta City." "I know she did. But what did you think of her?" "Do you mean, do I think she's working for the unknowns? I do not."

"Why not?"

"She's much younger than the staff people we've had reason to suspect," she answered. "That's not—"

"I know, I know, that's not much by way of proof. But it's corroborated by my reading of her character."

"That was unfair of me," he said. "I only asked what you thought of her, and you could hardly be expected to provide proof of anything, at this point. But I think you liked her."

"I did," Toni said. "She's a young mother who's put aside her career—or at least taken a step down—for her family, and she showed no bitterness at all. In fact, in the brief time we worked together I found her to be almost idealistic. I think she firmly believes in the Others, and is proud to be associated with us. I think it was only shyness, and maybe a sense of reserve, or dignity, that kept her from bubbling over about having met you."

"I have another reason to believe in her loyalty," Bleys said.

"What's that?"

"Remember what Pallas Salvador said? That Sandra had been her most valuable assistant until she had to move when her husband was transferred?"

"Yes, I remember."

"Her husband's transfer opened up the place for Gelica Constanza to take over as Pallas Salvador's assistant, didn't it?"

Toni was silent for a long moment.

"I see," she said at last. "That's a little frightening."

"It might be that," Bleys said. "It shouldn't surprise us, though, to find that these unknowns have the power to get Sandra's husband transferred; they've already shown they have a lot of power on this planet—but at the same time, that deduction gives us one more piece of information to use in filling out the picture of who those people might be."

She was silent for another long moment.

"The vanished Others are probably dead, aren't they?" she said at last.

"It's likely," he said. "I think they're the only ones among the Others here that we can know remained loyal. It probably killed them."

"That's sad," she said. "It's as if there's been a war going on, and we never even knew it. Some of our people died, and we never knew it until we stumbled on it by accident."

"Well, there is a war going on," Bleys said. "There has been for a long time now, I think."

Toni was silent for a long moment.

"You're not talking about these people here on Ceta, are you?" she said at last.

"No," he said. He sighed, feeling, suddenly, immensely weary.

"War is a conflict of opposing forces," he went on. "I believe we're caught in the conflict of historical forces—a conflict that's been going on for a long, long time."

"You've mentioned these historical forces before," she said. "It makes me feel as if you think we're slaves to some—some invisible thing we can't even see. Do you feel that way?"

"Do you feel as if you're a helpless slave to gravity?" he asked.

She took a moment to think that over; and then pushed herself up, to lean over him, propped on one arm.

"Or the laws of physics or chemistry?" she said. "Or even time?"

"I hadn't thought of time," he said. "That may be a very good analogy."

Her elbow moved sideways, leaving her to fall on him, her chin thumping into his chest.

"Sorry!" she said; but her apology was ruined by a giggle. "It's that gravity thing again!"

He put the edge of his hand under her chin, and lifted it; and she lifted her face to meet his.