Emil looked shyly around. Humans and Tahirians seldom visited each other's quarters, and en had never been in Cleland's cabin before. The permanent pictures — his mother, the planetologist who had been his mentor, the camp at Valles Marineris on Mars, where he did his first real work — and the screenings — currently a female nude and an abstract pattern — were as foreign to en as the chairs or the bottle of cognac or the laundry tossed into a corner.

"(I daresay you and I feel equally restless, frustrated, unfulfilled,)" Cleland said, approximately, through his parleur.

"(You have your illusions to occupy your mind,)" the guest replied. "(That is not a Tahirian invention. I wish it were, or that your equipment for it were usable by us.)"

"(It soon becomes unsatisfying. Reality is best, and remembered reality second best. That is why I invited you here. I thought we might enjoy talking about what we have experienced, screening images, sharing memories.)"

"(Conversation between us is very limited.)"

Yes, Cleland thought, from a Tahirian viewpoint Cambiante was an impoverished language. Also from a human viewpoint. The richness of an evolutionary history was lacking, instincts, tastes, drives; and of one's civilization, the countless factors both huge and subtle that had formed one's self; and of the other, the individual, appearance, ways, tones, gestures — how Jean cocked her head and glanced aside when something she heard roused a thought, the wide white grin, the archaic dialect she revived now and then, mainly for merriment's sake, but in her it wasn't an affectation —

"(However, this should at least be an interesting diversion,)" Emil continued. "(Yes, let us begin with recalling our mutual expedition to the pulsar.)" The small form folded legs and lay expectant on the carpet.

Cleland sat down there, too. He would have preferred a chair, but being at more or less the same level would make discourse easier and thus perhaps prolong it.

Inwardly he prepared himself for pain. He didn't want to dwell on memories of being with Jean; and today they'd be retrieving views of her, and of her and him together, from the database. He did that only when he was alone and had had several drinks. But if this was how Emil chose to start, he must endure. En couldn't read on his face or hear in his voice what it was costing him.

Simon was working with Sundaram, toward comprehension of the alien sendings and construction of return messages. They would doubtless be occupied for hours. Cleland's part was to keep Emil busy, so that Brent could meet with the three Tahirians who wanted an end of all voyaging.

They had not outfitted their common room like the humans'. For one thing, the wheel's capacity being limited, it had to double as their gymnasium. Exercise machines of exotic design stood about, including a sort of long treadmill on which two persons could gallop for hours. Live turf from home, moist and springy, covered the deck, and shrubs grew in planters. Their odors mingled spicily with those that bodies gave off. Visual screenings decorated the bulkheads and provided entertainment on demand, but what they showed meant essentially nothing to humans, untrained in the artistic conventions and blind to many of the colors.

Standing before Ivan, Leo, and Peter, Brent told them: "(Our purpose is the same, to terminate this bad state of affairs, soon and decisively.)"

"(It is leading to fundamental new knowledge,)" said the biologist Peter.

Ens mates registered . . . disapproval? The three conferred, or argued, in their own language. Manes made wave patterns, fingers undulated sinuous, stances shifted, tones twittered and shrilled, smells gusted rank or sweet or sharp. Brent waited, sweating.

Ivan addressed him. "(The science is a minor consideration. We simply need to clarify our consensus,)" in the usual Tahirian style.

"(You need not depart forever,)" Brent reminded them. "(Your people live ten times nearer the black hole than mine do. Should they wish to, they can readily come back and resume the research.)"

"(That is still a long journey, a long time to be gone from society,)" Leo said.

Probably their dialogue in Cambiante was meant for an explanation to the man, reciting the obvious as so often before to make certain that it really was obvious. "(A stable society must think far ahead,)" Ivan declared. "(Best will it be if we return to Tahir immediately and you then proceed to your home. If our people are to assimilate basic new information, they should first further strengthen their institutions.)"

"I doubt they'll ever elect to go after the new information, if we don't bring them more than we have right now," Brent muttered. "They'll stay put forever. Your breed isn't really venturesome." On the parleur: "(Then we four agree, this expedition shall end in the near future.)"

"(How can we bring that about?)" puzzled Peter.

Leo's mane quivered. Ens middle eyes glowed at Brent. "(You have a plan,)" en said. "(I have come to know you.)"

Brent nodded — from habit, though they had learned what it meant. "(I do. It requires your resolute help. You shall have to obey instructions without questioning or hesitation.)"

Ivan seemed to grow dubious. "(This is like something out of the distant, primitive past)" — when Tahir, like Earth, spawned occasional abnormal cultures, incompatible with the innate nature of the species, and horror followed.

"(We will have need for forcefulness, yes,)" Brent admitted. "(And we must catch the opposition unprepared, as carnivores ambush prey.)"

"(Simon and Emil are of that opposition,)" Ivan said. A rustling sigh went among the three. Regret? Apprehension? When did their race last know serious conflict?

"(Correct,)" Brent said. "(They might well reveal the plan to Nansen. Therefore we will keep them ignorant of it until the thing is done.)"

Dismay? The Tahirians parleyed again, almost frantically.

Yet, shocking though the thought was, it could not have been altogether unawaited. These beings must have disputed among each other, politely but with a bitterness underneath that perhaps grew as great as in any human.

They steadied and turned back to Brent. "(How can we avoid their sensing that something is afoot?)" Ivan asked. "(They will inquire what it is. If we three are less than candid, or refuse outright, they will become suspicious, and report their misgivings to the Nansen group.)"

Brent shivered with a momentary thrill. "(I have considered this,)" he replied. "(Let me convey to them your request that they avoid you for a number of daycycles while you develop a stronger argument than hitherto in favor of aborting the mission.)"

Over the years he had learned enough Tahirian psychology to know that that would not appear unreasonable. The mere presence of an opponent was an emotional and semantic distraction: if nothing else, by involuntary scent emissions, which had the effect of loud heckling or even of interference that distorted the meaning of an utterance. It could rouse anger that might in time go out of control. No wonder the culture set such a high value on consensus.

"(I can arrange new, separate quarters for them, if all five of you tell Nansen you desire it,)" Brent went on. "(Simon is busy with Sundaram, and Cleland, our ally, will keep Emil engaged, so neither ought to feel offended or deprived. Nansen cannot forbid you to think and speak freely under the conditions that best suit you.)" Besides, that idea wouldn't likely occur to the captain.

Ivan made a sound and gesture that apparently corresponded to a human "Hmm." En stood for a while, thoughtful, before saying, with a possible touch of humor, "(Furthermore, settled together apart from the rest of us, they may well develop a mating urge, which would keep them still more preoccupied.)"

Peter expressed an objection in Cambiante. "(No young should be born out here.)"

"(Absolutely not,)" Leo agreed. "(All the more reason to hasten our return.)"

Ivan moved a pace closer to Brent. "(Tell us your proposal,)" en said.

With Sundaram and Simon already there, Dayan and Nansen crowded the workroom. Ventilation overburdened, the air quickly grew thick and hot. Necks craned, eyes squinted at the enigmas on the screen. But the physicist needed to see as well as be told, and she had insisted that the captain deserved to share the revelation. As it burst upon them, discomfort fled from their awareness.

"Yes, you are not merely welcome on this team, Hanny, you are vital," Sundaram assured her. "Communication has been progressing incredibly fast. We have reached a point where the computer programs are no longer adequate to deduce meanings. I believe you alone can modify them, as well as make a unique personal contribution."

Pressed against Nansen, she trembled. "I've gathered you're starting to ... hear . . . what the beings are?" she asked rather than said.

"Yes. I do apologize for not keeping everyone au courant, but we are overwhelmed with input and  —  I have sufficient physics background to see that what is being described to us is not molecular, atomic, or — I think — nuclear, not any kind of material configuration, but sets of quantum states. Beyond that, Simon and I are lost."

"Quantum states of what?" wondered Nansen. "The plasma in the accretion disk?"

"That doesn't sound likely," Dayan replied. "Unless it has more structure, more complexity, than I expect is possible. If only Colin were here! Two ways of looking at reality, two different concepts of it —"

His hand touched hers. "Don't underrate yourself, Hanny."

Gazing at the symbols, sight sinking into the depths of the screen, she murmured, "I have speculated a little lately, since you dropped a few hints, Ajit. Quantum states in the vacuum, the sea of virtual particles . . . under the conditions of convoluted, changeable space-time near the black hole.... A quantum state can hold and carry information as well as matter can. Maybe better. . . . What is life if not information?. . . But how strange are we to them?"

"Perhaps not entirely strange." Nansen's voice shook. "Perhaps we will discover not just what they are, but what we are. Dios mio, what this could mean! Surely now everyone aboard will want to see it through."

The machine shop was spacious but well filled; its equipment, mostly robotic, some nanotechnic, might have to make a variety of things. An area offside was reserved for handwork. Brent sat on a stool at a bench, fitting together items that had been produced for him. Electronic parts from stock lay waiting. A computer displayed the diagram that guided his hands.

Chancing to have an errand there, Yu spied light beyond the big shapes. She wove her way between lathe, drill press, and drop hammer to see what it meant. Brent heard her and looked around.

"Good daywatch," she greeted. "What are you doing?"

He smiled the smile of his that charmed. "Occupying my time. Usefully, I hope."

She glanced at the bench. A cylindrical frame, about three centimeters by fifty, rested half assembled. It was clear that after the circuitry and powerpack were installed, the frame would be completed, an organometallic skin attached, and a stock with a grip fitted. "What is this, if I may ask?"

"Well, I didn't plan to say anything till it was ready, but no reason not to tell you. It's nothing startling. The computer easily designed it to my specs. Check the program if you like. I'm cobbling together a prototype to test how the hardware behaves in practice. It's a short-range radionic override for simple cybernetic systems — for instance, doors, locks, cooling fans, gas filters, conveyors."

"You want to be able to take over control of them? Why?" she asked, nonplussed.

He laughed. "Not I! But the station —" He laid down a spot catalyzer, turned toward her, and spoke earnestly. "The black hole's thrown a lot of surprises at us. They cost us several probes, a boat, and two lives. What's next? What might it derange in the station, given that close orbit? A small but critical item could suddenly go wild or inoperable. Something like a stuck flowgate, maybe. Under the wrong circumstances, that could bring on a disaster."

She frowned in skepticism. "The station's well-built for homeostasis and self-repair, you know."

"Oh, yes. But what harm in one more emergency backup? If this thing seems practical, we can transmit the plans and have the machines there make a few for the maintenance robots to use if it's ever necessary."

"If."

"It gives me something to do," he said.

Sympathy answered: "I understand, Al. Yes, carry on."

"Not makework, either. Not quite. It could prove helpful. Unlikely, but it could. Having gotten the idea, I'd feel remiss if I didn't develop it."

She regarded him. "That is good of you."

He smiled again. "Considering that I'd rather we go straight home? Well, since the decision went against me, I'll do my best for the ship and the mission." In a near whisper: "Jean and Colin's mission."

Her tone softened further. "We have misunderstood you, Al."

He shrugged. "Or maybe I've misunderstood me. Anyhow, call this a gesture, if nothing else." He paused. "Please don't tell anybody. I'd like to spring it as a surprise."

"When we are all together," she proposed. "In the wardroom. Turning a mess meal into a feast of reconciliation."

"Aw, that's too fancy a word."

"I'll help you arrange your surprise," she offered.

The medical center consisted of an office and, behind a door, a sick bay as well equipped as most hospitals had been on Earth. Mokoena found Cleland there. He rose.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Tim," she said. "Hanny caught me, and I couldn't break away. It was too important. Too fascinating, to be honest. You'd told me your problem isn't urgent."

"N-no harm done. What was the, uh, distraction? Something to do with the aliens?"

"What else?" Ardor radiated from her. "Quantum life  —  She wants me to list whatever analogies I can with organic biology. No, not analogies. Correspondences? Basic principles? Oh, Tim, we're at the dawn of a revolution like nothing since they identified DNA!"

"We can't stay here forever," he groaned.

"No, no. Just long enough to —" She stopped and looked more closely at him. He stood clean and properly clad, in his careless fashion. But the face was haggard, with a tic in the right cheek, and the hands shook slightly. "Never mind," she said. "Here, sit down." He resumed the edge of his chair. She settled behind her desk. "What is your trouble, dear?"

"I'm feeling worse and worse. Jitters, insomnia, nightmares when I do sleep."

"It shows. I've been more and more worried about you. And you're off alone with Emil so much of the time. Nothing wrong with that, but you hardly have a word for your fellow humans."

"I feel trapped."

She nodded. "I know. Listen. Selim Zeyd has accepted the situation. He's adjusting to it, making the best of it. Al Brent seems to be doing likewise. You are whipping yourself to pieces. Tim, you must change your attitude."

"Easier said than done."

"Well," she told him briskly, "you did have the sense to consult me be-fore I hounded you into it. We'll do a physical examination today. If your ills are psychosomatic, as I expect, I'll put you on a euthymic. And we can talk, of course, anytime you wish."

He tried to meet her eyes. "I think, uh, I think it'd help if you explain to the others — I'm not being unfriendly, I simply can't handle sociability."

"Withdrawing into your shell is no medicine."

"Why not? Till I, uh, get my thoughts sorted out. Actually, I'm, uh, fairly at ease with Al."

"M-m, yes, you two always have been close. Complementary personalities? Well, if he's adapting, maybe he can teach you something." Mokoena rose. "Come, let's start that examination."

In this wise Cleland got the excuse he wanted, to be absent from mess or other gatherings whenever he chose, to shun conversation and evade questions, to prefer the company of Brent or a Tahirian, without arousing suspicion.

Nightwatch; Stillness in empty passageways. Brent stood with Ivan, Leo, and Peter before the arms locker.

His device unsecured the door. It slid aside, the alarm silenced. Light fell in on racked, darkly gleaming barrels. Boxes and powerpacks filled shelves, like hunched beasts.

His companions were tensed. A smell of fear blew from them. "(These are not for us,)" Ivan spelled.

"(They should not be for anyone,)" Brent said. "(I have explained that we brought weapons in case of unforeseeable dangers. Nuclear missiles for the ship; small arms against ferocious wild animals or something equivalent. We here must make sure they are not used on sentient beings.)"

Peter's mane bristles stiff. "(Could they be?)"

"(Yes.)"

"(How innately violent and irrational is your species?)"

"(Some of us are, some are not. For most, it depends on upbringing and circumstances. Once Tahir, too, knew bloodshed)" — though never on the scale that Earth did, again and again and again. "(Now let us work fast. Quietly but fast.)"

Brent stepped into the locker and passed the weapons out. His fingers lovingly stroked the first several. The Tahirians loaded them onto a cart.

Having closed the door, he would conduct them to the shuttle docked on this side of the gap, and they would conceal their booty inside it. Come mornwatch, the Tahirians would do what they had arranged with Nansen, cross over to the hull. Ostensibly it would be to fetch biotechnic gear of their own stowed there, they having decided to run experiments on terrestrial bacteria for the sake of science and to pass the time. They would indeed bring the stuff back. But first they would have carried the weapons to a hiding place Brent had shown them on a display of the ship's plan.

It was probably needless, but a strategist should provide for all contingencies he could imagine. The hour might come when he was glad the Tahirians, too, had no ready access to an arsenal.

They saw him emerge from the gun-empty locker with a twin-load machine pistol and a box each of disabling and killing cartridges. "(What do you want those for?)" Ivan demanded.

"(To make certain,)" Brent said, tucking them under his cloak.

Certain that he would have the sole firearm.

Daywatch and evenwatch followed.

Cleland led Emil and Simon to the Tahirian section. He had sought them out earlier and asked them to meet him at this time. He would accompany them back to their fellows, he said, and act as human representative while the new arguments for termination were presented to them.

It was pathetically easy to deceive Tahirians. They had such vague notions of deliberate falsehood; and they could not read any nuances of human expressions, intonations, body language, only the most stereotyped attitudes and the bald Cambiante.

Ivan, Leo, and Peter promptly surrounded them. Cleland stood by to help in case they resisted. It trumpeted in him: he was no longer passive, a victim; he was taking action.

Illumination fell gentle over white napery and shining tableware. Yellow, lavender, and purple clustered in a centerpiece of chrysanthemums from one of the gardens. Bottles stood open, cabernet sauvignon breathing, to go with the roast whose fragrance drifted out of the galley — synthetic, made by the nanos, but identical with the original, and no creature had had to die. It was Nansen's turn to select background music, and Vivaldi's "Concerto in G Major" danced for whoever cared to listen.

At this hour the captain felt its lightheartedness was no mockery. Since the tremendous news of quantum-level intelligence broke, moods had soared. Mostly.

His glance went down the table. No garb quite matched the formality of his blue dress uniform, but everybody was in good clothes. On his right, Ruszek chatted with Mokoena and with Zeyd beside her — not exactly cheerfully, yet it was more than the mate had done for a number of daycycles. On his left Yu and Sundaram glowed in their mild way. He wished Dayan, beyond them, were at his side; she had thrown off her own depression and talked enthusiastically whenever she got an opening, about the research and everything else that came to mind.

Maybe she and Ruszek would repair their relationship, maybe not. Nansen didn't know just what had gone amiss, and recoiled from prying. What mattered immediately was that she was herself again, and Ruszek in the course of becoming himself. Though he kept stealing looks at her. . . .

Empty chairs. He had ordered Kilbirnie's put in storage. "Where is Mr. Brent?" he asked. "Does anybody know?"

"He told me he had something to show us," Yu said. "He must be preparing it. I am sure he will come in a few minutes."

"And Dr. Cleland called me with word he is indisposed and will stay in his cabin. A shame." But we are better off without his gloomy presence, confessed that which Nansen kept imprisoned, rebellion against having to be always the captain.

"Too bad." Ruszek reached for a bottle. "Let's pour."

Nansen offered him a smile. "Impatient?"

"Thirsty, damn it." The mate filled his goblet, drank barbarically deep, but then spoke across the table in civilized style. "Any more wonderful discoveries today, Ajit?"

"No, unless they lie somewhere in the flood of input," Sundaram replied. "We have been composing our own next messages. Communication is — a two-way street, do the Americans say? But it isn't easy."

"Describing our kind of life, matter life," Mokoena added. She nodded to her right. "We are going to need you, Selim, very much."

"And I, poor lorn physicist, struggling to see how any of this can possibly be." Dayan was joking; blood beat high under the fair skin.

"You will," Nansen called low.

"Drink to that." Ruszek raised his goblet. Others moved to charge theirs.

Zeyd, who had acute hearing, turned his face toward the entrance. "Footsteps," he said. "Al is here." He laughed. "Excellent. I am starved. Bring in the soup."

The second engineer trod quickstep into sight. He carried an object somewhat like a small, clumsy rifle. And — Nansen stared, narrowed his eyes — was that a pistol at his hip?

From the passageway, Brent pointed the device. It buzzed. The door, which was the single exit from the wardroom, galley, and sanitor complex, drew shut.

Nansen sprang to his feet. "Open!" he shouted. Already he knew it would not, and the manual control was frozen.

Ruszek bellowed. His chair clattered to the deck behind him. He plunged, shoulder foremost. Impact thudded. He lurched back, pale, and sagged to the deck.

"That was unwise," Nansen said flatly. "You only gave yourself a bruise, if not a dislocation. Dr. Mokoena, see to him. Hold back, everyone else. Quiet, quiet. Stand by till we know what is happening."