on.

The party marched along through the cool forest, delighting in the freshness of the air

and the pleasantness of the breeze. The natural scents of plants and animals

commingled in the atmosphere, producing a euphoric bouyancy in the spirits of the

group, which bad still been a bit low from the mishap of the day before.

The forest was full of game of all sizes, up to and including panna-cats, the fastest and

most feared predators of the planet. To make the event more sporting, all the

participants were issued old-fashioned projectile weapons rather than stunners, which

were too easy to hit the target with. Projectile weapons required much more skill and

accuracy to handle properly.

A point system had been set up based on the size of the animal, its speed, and how

many shots were needed to kill it. By courtesy, the spotter was always granted the right

of the first shot; after that, the kill was open to anyone who could make it.

After only two hours they had bagged a fair amount of game. Almost all of it was little

rabbitlike creatures called bobbers. What they lacked in size they made up for in speed,

and they were deceptively hard targets to hit. Edna herself had gotten three of them, as

opposed to two each for Jules, Borov, and Symond, and one by nearly every one of the

other candidates. In addition, the Princess had felled a whiteneck-a small herbivore

that, at full growth, was the size of an Earthly fawn. Whiteneck meat was considered a

delicacy by Ansegria's gourmets, and Edna was justly congratulated on her prowess at

the hunt.

Most of the morning was spent quietly, with no one bothering to say much-ostensibly to

avoid frightening the game. Only the sounds of occasional gunshots disturbed the

general silence-and at each sound, the two d'Alemberts and the two Roumeniers

cringed and looked first to the Princess. But none of the shots were aimed at her. Edna,

oblivious to their concern, had immersed herself totally in the excitement of the hunt.

Her face was aglow with energy, her muscles were taut with expectation. Most of the

time she walked beside Paul Symond, and even though the two of them did not speak

much there was a communication between them on an extremely basic level. Symond

obviously enjoyed this pastime as much as she did; the same hunter's gleam could be

detected in his eyes, the same enthusiastic spring livened his steps. When he smiled, it

was a smile of warmth, and an unspoken conversation flowed between their eyes when

they looked at one another.

When they stopped for lunch in a small clearing, Edna commented to Choyen Liu that

he alone of the candidates had not managed to shoot anything. "That," he replied

solemnly, "is because I do not believe in killing creatures for sport."

"But you're not a vegetarian, I've seen you eat meat." "It's a question of destiny. Food

animals are raised by human beings for the express purpose of being killed for their

substance. For me to deny that would be closing my eyes to their destiny-in essence,

refusing to take my place in the chain of life.

"But these animals here in the forest have their own destinies, independent of us. To

hunt them down at random on our own whims is to interfere with their destinies-to

interfere in a business which should not concern us."

Edna was starting to pick up the hang of Liu's little philosophical games. He was

verbally sparring with her, and in a strange way she found it exhilarating. It was as

though he were asking something more of her than she'd ever thought of giving before.

Rising to his challenge, she countered, "But couldn't it be the creature's destiny to be

killed by your gun?"

Liu smiled, pleased that Edna had entered the game. "Not if I don't pull the trigger," he

said and, bowing, walked off to eat lunch by himself-leaving in his wake a very puzzled

crown princess wondering exactly what was going on inside his mind.

"Don't worry about him," Borov said. "He's been making those mystic pronouncements

of his ever since he arrived here. Nobody listens anymore."

"I listen," Edna said coldly. "There's probably more meaning in the sighing of the wind

than in the screeching of a peacock." She didn't realize until after she'd said it how

close her phraseology was to the Anarian's style of proverb. Blinking with amazement at

her own profundity, she walked away and left Borov standing angrily in the center of the

clearing.

"I think I'm becoming as mystical as Choyen Liu," the Princess said to Yvette as she sat

down with her to eat her lunch. "I'm starting to talk like he does . . . and he's starting to

make a little sense!"

When lunch was over, the group started out again, hoping to run into slightly bigger

game than they'd encountered in the morning. Borov hung to the back, staying well

clear of Liu. The pain in his ribs and the Princess's icy remark had worn a thin edge on

his temper, and the resulting vehemence came out directed at Liu. Every so often he

would make a caustic remark about how the Anarian was trying to cover up his lack of

skill by saying he was ethically opposed to hunting. His comments became increasingly

louder, until there was no way the Anarian could have avoided hearing them; but still

Liu paid no notice of the insults and walked along the ground with his rifle dangling

casually over his arm.

This lack of response annoyed Borov worse than if Liu had returned the insults in kind.

He felt he was being ignored, one of the worst possible fates imaginable to a show-off

like himself. Finally he lost his temper altogether. "Liu!" he called out loudly. "Turn

around and look at me, you cowardly pligworm. Let me see if you can face anything like

a man."

Edna, who had been doing her diplomatic best to also ignore Borov's taunts all

afternoon, whirled angrily, about to chastise the man. But she found Liu already facing

Borov, a look of serenity engraved on his imperturbable features. "What seems to be

your problem?" the Anarian asked in even tones.

Borov was somewhat unnerved by this casual acceptance of his challenge, but he was

too far into this confrontation to back out now without loss of face. Stubbornly he

continued. "I don't think you deserve to be along on this Progress. Edna needs a man

to mate with, not a burrowing nightcrawler like you."

Without warning, Liu raised his rifle in Borov's direction and fired. The bullet whizzed

just past the Kolokovnik's head, startling the daylights out of him and stoking the fires of

his anger still further. "You murderous cretin!" he bellowed. "I'll kill you."

In the heat of his anger he dropped his gun and charged straight at the Anarian like an

enraged bull at a matador's cape. He never got there, though; both Jules and Symond

were in positions between the two men, and both sprang instantly into action to prevent

a worse fight. Symond was closer to Borov than Jules was, and consequently bore the

brunt of the attack. Borov's fists pummeled his body with blind fury, and Symond was

hard-pressed to defend himself. Instead, he retreated strategically, giving ground before

the other's onslaught and allowing Jules to get into position. It took only one hard punch

from the DesPlainian's powerful fist to knock Borov to the ground where he lay for a

minute, still conscious but quite stunned.

Edna stalked over to him and stood beside his body as it was sprawled out on the

ground. "Gospodin Borov," she said in a chilled voice as soon as she was sure the

words would register, "this is the most disgraceful exhibition I've ever watched. I know I

told you not to treat me like a princess; but this irascible, egotistical, unmanly conduct

would not be fitting in front of even my lowliest serving maid. You are dishonored,

tovarishch, and as such you can be no fit company for us. You are to return to

Rockhold, pack your belongings, and leave at once. I never want to see you again."

"But what about him?" Borov exploded, pointing at Liu. "He took a shot at me. Doesn't

he get punished?" "Look behind you, Borov," Jules said quietly.

Borov turned his head scornfully, looked on the grass about three meters behind where

he'd been standing, and suddenly gasped. Lying there stretched out its full two-and-

a-half-meter length was the body of a panna-cat. The slight breeze ruffled its short coat

of yellow-green fur, and its powerful paws twitched spasmodically, as it was still in its

death throes. There was only a small spot of blood staining that magnificent

creature-right between the eyes, where Liu's single shot had hit true to its mark and

buried itself in the animal's brain.

"In another second," Jules said, "it would have leaped at you. I saw it about the same

time Liu did, but he was already facing in the right direction, so he got off the only shot

possible in time-a perfect one, I might add. So much for your thinking he's a weakling or

a coward." He reached down a hand and yanked Borov roughly to his feet. "Now, you

heard Edna-get out of our sight."

There was still lightning behind Borov's eyes. "171 get you for this, Dallum," he warned.

"And you, Symond. And particularly you, Liu. We've got a score to settle, you and L"

"So help me," Edna said with barely restrained fury, "if I or anyone on this Progress

catches you around this area trying to make trouble, you'll be sent to Gastonia for

treason without benefit of trial. Without benefit of a spaceship, either, if I have my way.

Now go!"

There could be no questioning the imperial tone of her voice. If there had been any

doubt at all in the minds of anyone present, it was now banished for good. This

relatively plain-looking young woman was born to rule the Empire of Earth. Every

inflection, every gesture commanded instant obedience.

Borov slunk off the scene like the whipped dog he was, figurative tail between his legs.

But Jules could not help noticing the glare of resentment still held deep within those

eves.

Without Borov along, the afternoon passed quite easily and uneventfully. Both Jules

and Yvette, while admitting that Edna had had no other choice but to banish Borov,

were unhappy it had come to that. He was still a suspect as the bomber, and now they

would no longer be able to keep an eye on his activities. Then too, if he hadn't been

planning on killing Edna before, the new set of circumstances might make that idea

seem acceptable to him. As Jules put it when he found a moment to talk to the Princess

privately, "When your life's already in danger, it doesn't make much sense to

antagonize people or make new enemies."

"I appreciate your concern," Edna answered, "but what else was I to do? Order had to

be maintained or the entire Progress would have fallen apart. And a person in

command can't help but make enemies-I've learned that lesson well enough at Court by

this time. Borov's no threat to me, though I am a little worried that he might take after

you or Symond or Liu."

"Don't worry," said Jacques Roumenier, butting into the conversation. "I'll alert the

guards and see to it that he doesn't bother any of us again."

By the time they were finished with the hunt, Symond had won the honors as best

hunter by obtaining the most points. Edna was second, only two points behind him.

Jules was fifth-but then, he had not been trying very hard.

Back at Rockhold, dinner was served in people's rooms. This was done so that they

would have more time to prepare for the evening's entertainment, which was to be a

formal ball. Though, to be perfectly honest, none of the Progress's participants was in a

festive mood. The events of the last two days weighed heavily on everyone.

Nevertheless, they were all dressed in their most scintillating array when they arrived in

the ballroom at the appointed hour. Princess Edna, of course, looked the most

resplendent of the group. The bodice of her gown was of a rich oyster white brocade

and was trimmed with gold and emeralds; the dress consisted of wide strips of that

same brocade gathered together at the waist and flowing free to the floor. As she

moved, the strips would rustle and part to reveal a petticoat of emerald green satin. The

gown's large puffed sleeves were slit, and undersleeves of the same green satin

showed through. Edna wore her hair in braids piled high atop her head and, instead of

a tiara, she wore an heirloom necklace of gold filigree and emeralds displayed across

her forehead as a pendant. Tiny pearl earrings were the only other jewelry she wore-but

then, she was the Crown Princess and didn't have to show off.

Edna was not the only well-dressed person in the hall, however. Her ladies-in-waiting all

had their own High Court gowns, and even the bodyguards looked impressive in their

formal black and red uniforms. And the clothes of the different candidates had been

bought by the dukes of their respective planets; no expense had been spared to make

them look as dashing and handsome as could be. Each candidate was dressed

according to the latest fashion on his home world, representing a breathtaking array of

styles and fabrics. Velvet robes, brocade vests, satin tunics with tights, fur-lined capes,

glittering jewelry-all were in evidence within the large ballroom. The complete spectrum

of colors was presented in a kaleidoscopic pattern as the ball's participants swirled

gracefully around the floor.

Even Choyen Liu, normally the most conservative dresser of the lot, looked impressive.

The tight gold lame pants clung to every curve of his leg, and his dark brown shirt was

hand embroidered with gold thread and intricate, almost hypnotic, patterns and spirals.

As host and hostess, Baron Piers and Baroness Ximena led off the first dance, moving

with an astonishing grace that belied their years. The rest of the party applauded as

they finished their turn, then moved onto the dance floor in pairs to commence their

own dancing. Edna chose Paul Symond as her first partner. Theoretically, that choice

was meaningless, since she would have to dance at least once during the evening with

each of the candidates. But the fact that she had chosen this one man did not go

unnoticed by the rest. Already, the trend could be seen that she was tending to prefer

Symond's smooth, easy style to all the others, and none of them was particularly happy

about it, outside, a pair of sinister eyes watched from a tree limb through a window as

events transpired in the ballroom. Anton Borov had been feeling entirely too angry at

being evicted from the Progress to let his disgrace go unavenged. He had been spoiled

rotten all his life; he had always won at whatever he attempted. And to fail so miserably

in this endeavor was too strong a blow to his pride to be ignored.

The guards around the grounds were extra alert because of his threats that afternoon,

but even so he had little difficulty slipping past them and into the garden that overlooked

the wing of the castle where the ballroom was located. Rockhold Castle had never been

intended as a fortress, and had not been built with an eye for security. Even with his

ribs searing fire through the right side of his body, Borov was still in good enough shape

to get past the guards and hide in a tree in the garden, biding his time until he could

make his move.

He watched dance after dance take place inside that ballroom, and he kept wishing he

were there. He was such a superb dancer that the Princess could not have helped

being taken with his charms and skills if she'd only had one dance with him. Finally

there was a break in the dancing, and people came out into the garden for some fresh

air, singly or in pairs. Borov saw one of his quarry go off by himself to one of the more

secluded portions of the garden. He smiled. That corner of the grounds was hidden

from the main house by a stand of small trees and bushes. No one would be able to

see him there.

He slipped silently down out of the tree and glided along the path after his victim, a

sinister shadow in the night. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his weapon,

enjoying the smooth, hard feel of the stun-gun in his hand. It brought vitality back into

his being. It would be his means of avenging himself of these other men who had

disgraced him and his planet so severely.

He and the man he was pursuing were out of sight now, the perfect time for an ambush.

With such an opportunity for a clear shot, Borov dared not waste it. The distance

between them was less than five meters. Raising his stunner, Borov fired its ray directly

into the back of his quarry.

The other man stopped, and Borov's jaw dropped in surprise. His stun-gun had been

set on eight; the victim should have instantly fallen to the ground and been paralyzed

for days-possibly permanently crippled. Instead, the stunner beam had seemed to have

no effect whatsoever on the man, except that its low buzzing sound had told him that

someone was shooting at him.

Borov was too stunned to move. He could only continue firing his stunner uselessly as

the other figure turned and, with a demonic smile on his face, began advancing

relentlessly on his erstwhile attacker.

The dancing had started up again inside the ballroom. It was Jules's turn to dance with

Edna, and the two of them were quietly enjoying each other's company. They

exchanged the smiles of two people who shared a secret that others around them didn't

know. For Edna, this was also a chance to relax; Jules was not really a candidate for

her hand, so she didn't have to put on a show for his benefit, nor did she have to be

constantly sizing him up as prospective matrimonial material. She could be herself with

him, and that feeling was immensely satisfying.

Suddenly a loud cry of alarm sounded from outside. "Somebody, come quickly!" called

a voice that the DesPlainians recognized as belonging to Jacques.

Immediately the hall began emptying as everyone rushed to see what had happened.

Edna's first impulse was to rush outside also, but Jules squeezed her hand gently. "It

could be a diversion," he warned.

Yvette and Yvonne came running up to the two of them; their first duty was the

Princess's safety. "Vonnie, ma cherie, you stay with Edna. Don't let her do anything

stupid like running outside and getting her head blown off. Come on, Evie, let's take a

look."

There was a crowd gathered around the bottom of a hill in the garden by the time they

arrived. Pushing through the mob, they made their way to the front where Yvonne's

brother Jacques was waiting for them. He didn't say a word, nor did he have to. The

scene at his feet was startling enough.

There, stretched out on the ground, was the body of Anton Borov, quite dead. His

mouth was open and an expression of horror was frozen on his features. And lying

across his body, which was oozing blood, was the entire trunk of a large banabol tree.

Chapter 8

Invasion Force

Duke Etienne d'Alembert and his brother Marcel spent most of the day after their return

from Rimskor Castle in conference together. They had, after all, a great deal to discuss.

Both of them agreed that Duke Fyodor, while outwardly polite and sensible, was

standing right on the borderline of insanity. His obsession with the mechanical, the

precise, the straight but slightly askew, was an indication of incipient mental imbalance.

They also agreed that he was potentially dangerous, and that he was quite capable of

formulating a plot to destroy the Crown Princess though what his motive could be, they

had not the faintest idea.

They talked about Rimskor Castle and about its defenses. Neither could ever recall

seeing a stronghold so ingeniously designed to keep out intruders-a place whose very

construction seemed to make forcible secret entry an impossibility. Not only was there

but one way into the castle, but the road leading up to it was booby-trapped and under

constant surveillance. Inside were enough alarms to make a bank security officer

jealous. Only the most foolhardy, the most desperate, or the most capable of operatives

would even seriously consider an assault on such a fortress.

Etienne and Marcel were not foolhardy or, at this stage of the game, particularly

desperate. But they were two of the most capable tactical planners the Service of the

Empire had ever known; and they knew that whatever tactics they planned would be

carried out by members of the Family d'Alembert, the most capable, most talented

single group of human beings alive.

They first ruled themselves out of further participation in the raid, for several reasons.

For one thing, they were getting a little too old for such adventures, and both of them

were smart enough to realize that. While each was still capable of taking on several

people his own size or better, this particular raid would require the swiftness and sure

handedness of youth. Their own contribution-experience-could be performed

beforehand on the sidelines.

For another thing, they were already known inside Rimskor Castle. If, by some chance,

they should be caught, the entire cover identity of the Circus as SOTE's right arm would

be blown. Never in all the history of the Service had the Circus's true role been

compromised. References to it were never written down, nor had its members ever

even been listed on SOTE's computer files, lest some clever criminal someday tap into

the computer memory. Thus, only the Imperial Family, the Head, and his daughter/

factotum Helena knew the full story of the Circus's involvement in galactic security. If

that involvement were to continue at its efficient level, no one else could be allowed to

know. So Rimskor Castle would have to be invaded by people who were totally

unknown there.

Once the two brothers had their plans mapped out, they decided on the personnel who

would carry out the raid. With nearly a thousand members of the family to choose from,

the selection of the assault team could have taken hours; but fortunately there were

some specific talents they were looking for, and they were able to pick the appropriate

people quite quickly. After the final show of the evening, Etienne and Marcel assembled

the four chosen members in the manager's office for their briefing. The people were.

Rick d'Alembert, the leader of the wrestling team, who had already proven himself as

being both durable and agile on many past assignments. His large, supermuscled form

would give the team all the strength it would need.

Claude d'Alembert, a third-nephew of the Duke's, and one of the first-string members of

the aerialist team that was the premiere act of the show. Like most DesPlainians,

Claude was short and solidly built, yet even so there appeared to be a wiry quality to

him. The speed of his reflexes was second to none in the Galaxy, and he could perform

feats that ordinary mortals would consider impossible.

Jeanne d'Alembert, a second-niece to both Etienne and Marcel. At only age seventeen

she was considered the Galaxy's most able animal tamer. Her complexion was quite

pale and-for a DesPlainian-she was actually quite fragile, standing but one and a half

meters tall and massing fifty-five kilograms. But despite the fact that physically she was

the slightest of the Circus's personnel, her talents for handling animals would more than

make up for her deficiencies.

And, finally, there was Luise deForrest, who had done such a capable job of leading the

investigation that had led to the discovery of Duke Fyodor's involvement in the plot

against the Princess. Duke Etienne was counting on her leadership abilities and quick,

incisive mind to take charge and coordinate this mission-and hopefully find the

evidence the family would need to smash Duke Fyodor's plans wide open.

The four members of the assault team stood rigidly alert in the Circus manager's office.

All were dressed, at the Duke's insistence, in silver lame jumpsuits; that color, he felt,

would make them more inconspicuous while invading a place like Rimskor. On their feet

they wore silver suregrip athletic shoes, which would give them a maximum amount of

traction yet make a minimum amount of noise. All of them had belts with utility pouches

for holding their specialized equipment-as well as blasters and stunners. In addition,

Jeanne had, tucked within the bosom of her jumpsuit, one of her pets, who would make

a fifth member of their team when the proper moment came.

"Part of our problem," Etienne was explaining, "is that we don't know exactly what we're

looking for. We need some evidence of treason, obviously. If you can find a description

of the time bomb-or where it's going to be set, or when, or by whom-that would be ideal,

but don't bold out for that. Even the word 'bomb' on a scrap of paper would be enough

to justify our intervention. The instant you find anything, send out a call on the bleeper.

We'll rush in with blasters blazing. Give us the proof and we'll do the rest."

Then he and Marcel outlined the plan they had devised for the four invaders to break

into Rimskor Castle., They sketched out what traps they were likely to encounter and

how to circumvent them. Marcel provided them with a map of the castle, which they all

memorized in a few minutes. "Eh bien," Luise remarked when there was nothing more

to be said, "let's get moving. Sitting here won't catch us a traitor."

They took one of the Circus's cars and drove through the night to the artificial mountain

that was the castle. Actually, they drove right past it, and continued past for half a

kilometer, where they parked their vehicle and doubled back on foot. That car could

only have gotten in by going through the front gate-and they had not been invited.

The only way they could avoid being seen was to stay away from the road that led up to

the entrance. Fortunately, Duke Fyodor had provided a ready way for them to do that.

The entire outside of the "mountain" had been landscaped in metal and plastic as an

artificial model of a real one. Rocks, outcroppings, and metallic trees abounded, making

it easy for the d'Alemberts to form a mountain climbing expedition.

Claude led them off. As the acrobat, he was the most agile of the quartet. Using the

grappler hooks, ropes, and pulleys from his pouch as only a professional could, he

made his way up the mountainside as easily as a mosquito up a pane of glass. This

being the back side of the mountain, away from the entrance, there were no alarms.

Why should there be, when the only way into the castle was still through an electrified,

barred gate and two live guards?

Once Claude had gotten into a secure position, he helped pull the others up. Rick came

next, then Jeanne, with Luise, the leader, holding up the rear in case of trouble. Having

gotten this far, they proceeded to work their way around the mountainside to the front.

They learned to avoid the metal trees, whose leaves were quite sharp and painful. Their

path involved climbing around or over boulders and sometimes having to use the

grapplers and ropes again to climb higher on the slope in order to maneuver around

one particular area.

On one such occasion, Claude was pulling himself upward along the rope when he ran

afoul of one of the mechanical "mountain goats" that dwelled in this terrain. The goat,

which had been programmed to be as cross as its natural counterpart, took exception

to this intrusion on its exclusive territory, and proceeded to try to remedy the situation.

Its major method of attack was to butt Claude with its head while the acrobat was

hanging free on his rope. Claude could only hang on and swing out into empty air-and a

possible thirty-meter fall-as the robot animal battered his body again and again.

Seeing what was happening, Rick drew his blaster to destroy the creature that was

impeding their progress. "No," Luise whispered, putting her hand on his to stop him.

"Blasting one of those things might just set off an alarm-or at least make someone

curious enough to come out here and look. We've got to do it another way. Throw a

rock at it."

Rick at first thought she was joking, but then realized she meant it. Looking around, he

found a loose boulder that appeared adequate. It turned out to be lighter than it looked,

being of an aluminum alloy, so it was no effort at all for his superbly trained body to lift

the boulder and fling it at the goat. The missile was right on target, and hit the

mechanical beast squarely in its midsection. The goat was startled at this unexpected

assault, gave a tinny bleat, and wandered off along the mountainside, its pride more

wounded than its body. With that obstacle surmounted, Claude began to climb once

more.

"Everything all right?" Luise whispered up to him. "Smooth. The ribs hurt a little, but I'll

manage. Just keep the mosquitos away next time, eh?"

On they went, without further interruption, until they reached a projecting ledge just

above the front gate. Below them they could see the searchlights that illuminated the

narrow road leading up to the castle's entrance, and directly beneath the overhang

would be the barred, electrified gate they would have to pass through to enter the

castle-a gate covered with alarms, and whose bars were only twenty-five centimeters

apart.

It was at this point that Jeanne's expertise came into play. From out of the bosom of her

silver lame jumpsuit she pulled Bur-Bur, a small brown ticklemouse from the planet

Corian. Bur-Bur was a little ball of fluff fifteen centimeters long and only twenty wide.

When tucked inside Jeanne's clothing, all soft and warm and cuddly, he had just been a

small ball of fur, lying quite still. When active, he would scamper around on his six tiny

legs and look up at a person with those big black eyes that seemed three sizes too

huge for his body. The ticklemice were considered vermin on their native world, but

Corian had largely solved that problem now by exporting the cute creatures to other

planets as pets.

It was not Bur-Bur's cuddliness, though, that had induced Jeanne to bring him along,

but rather the fact that, despite his small size, the ticklemouse was an exceedingly

intelligent creature-as smart or smarter than a terrestrial house cat, and infinitely more

trainable.

As the other three members of the assault team waited, Jeanne "talked" to Bur-Bur.

The conversation was mostly silent, with Jeanne cooing to the small animal, staring into

his large eyes with her own and building the psychic bond between herself and him that

was necessary for her own peculiar brand of magic to work. No one-least of all

Jeanne-could ever explain how she had developed such a fantastic rapport with all

kinds of animals; all her family knew was that it worked.

When she felt Bur-Bur was ready, she took out of her pouch a small mechanical device

and strapped it on his back like a tiny saddle. Then, putting him down on the ground,

she watched him scurry away to perform his assignment. The clever little beast picked

his way carefully but quickly down the mountain slope alongside the gate. As they

watched, the four d'Alemberts donned the gas masks they'd brought along and waited

for developments to occur.

Bur-Bur reached the ground and, after standing up on his hindmost legs and sniffing the

air, dashed rapidly forward inside the gate. Luise waited just a second to make sure he

was inside, then pressed a button on a remote control device at her belt. The box on

Bur-Bur's back flew open and emitted the characteristic sweet fumes of tirascaline, one

of the strongest sleeping gases known to man. It would not affect the ticklemouse's

nervous system at all, but the gas would knock out any human being in a matter of

seconds and keep him unconscious for hours.

The invasion group didn't even wait for the effects to occur before starting down from

their perch. It took them all of ten seconds to scramble to the ground, and by that time

the two guards were completely oblivious to the world around them. Luise peered inside

the gate just to make sure there were no other people-or robots-around, then began the

next phase of the invasion.

Taking from her utility pouch the electronically coded plastic card that Marcel had

duplicated, she inserted it into the slot beside the gate. Sure enough, the gate slid open

to admit the party and the four of them raced inside. Jeanne picked up Bur-Bur, who

was standing around after his mission was completed, wondering what to do next. She

tucked him into the bosom of her jumpsuit and zipped it up to the top. Reassured that

he had performed well, the ticklemouse curled up and went back to sleep in his warm,

pleasant surroundings.

The first stage of their plan had worked. They were actually inside Rimskor Castle.

Stage Two, however, would be the harder part. Now that they were inside, time was of

the essence. They had no way of knowing whether or not Security Central bad a

system of checking with the guards at the gate every so often. If the head of Rimskor's

security system did check them, he'd find them unconscious-at which point, the general

alarm would be sounded all over the mountain. Speed, therefore, was the d'Alemberts'

watchword.

Stun-guns at the ready and set on five, the invaders raced through the underground

parking lot toward the elevator tube that was their destination. Instead of going to the

first level, however, which included the ballroom and the main hall, they went up to the

fourth level. According to Marcel's map, this was a level of auxiliary bedrooms and

guest quarters. It was expected to be practically deserted at this time of night with no

official functions going on in the castle, so the assault party would not have to worry

about accidentally running into anyone who could sound the alarm. Plus, Marcel

thought he had seen an entrance to the "forbidden area" on this level.

The hallway was dark, but that was only a minor inconvenience. Removing their gas

masks, the team donned instead sets of infrared goggles and lights, so that they could

make their way through the darkness. The special flashlights gave the entire corridor an

eerie glow that accented the highly spartan decor; the place seemed even more bizarre

than it did in normal light.

The floor was of highly polished metal, but even so the quartet of invaders made no

noise at all as they moved quickly across it. Their special soft-soled sure-grip shoes

muffled the sounds of their steps as they hurried across the floor. Their jumpsuits clung

tightly to their bodies and didn't even rustle when they moved. They dared not make

any sound that would alert the fortress's security patrol.

They found the desired doorway down the third hallway, right where Marcel had

promised it would be. This area was as dark as the rest, and Luise knew she would

never be able to work as efficiently as possible on the alarms while using only the

infrared. Therefore, she switched on a small wheatgrain bulb of regular light and took

off her goggles. Her comrades fanned out around her, keeping their goggles on and

watching for any sign that might indicate the approach of a guard.

Taking out a handful of electronic sensors, Luise studied the alarm system built into this

door. As Etienne had indicated, it was a fairly standard system; Duke Fyodor was

obviously counting on the fact that it would be next to impossible for anyone to get this

far. But of course, he didn't know about the d'Alemberts.

Luise had done a lot of studying in the field of electronics, and bypassing this alarm

circuit was almost too easy. Once that was done, she picked the lock on the door and

turned off her wheatgrain bulb, switching back to the infrared. Slowly she opened the

door and led the way into the darkness beyond, with the other three following her.

She found herself standing on a narrow staircase leading downward. Her portable

sensors scanned the steps carefully but found no sign of any alarms or

pressure-sensitive plates that would alert the castle's forces to the presence of the

intruders. She moved down the stairs as quickly as she could, always cautious of the

way before her. She estimated she'd gone down two levels before she reached a

landing and found a door on her left that would lead into the hidden portion of the

castle.

A quick check showed that this door was not booby trapped in any way; obviously this

far into the inner sanctum the Duke was not concerned with oversecurity. He couldn't

have his own people inadvertently setting off the alarms every time they opened a door.

Luise relaxed. Except for one or two specially controlled areas, they wouldn't have to

worry about tripping any warning devices.

Of course, it was just those specially controlled areas that they had to find; not much

would be learned from an area where no secrets were kept.

The assault team went through the door and found themselves in a laboratory of some

sort. After ascertaining that the place was empty except for themselves, they searched

for and found the light switch. Instantly their eyes were dazzled by the brilliance after so

long a period in darkness and the eerie glow of infrared, and it was almost a full minute

before they were able to see again.

The workroom here was small-it was obviously a place for assembling microelectronic

circuitry. The tools on the workbench-microscopes, jeweler's equipment, printboard for

microcircuitry-were evidence of intent. Over to the side of the room, a glass wall

separated this room from the next. A set of waldo controls manipulated a series of

intricate devices on the other side. There was a metal slab that reminded Luise of

nothing so much as an operating table, but it was bare at the moment, and there was

no indication of what had been constructed on it.

Luise and her party combed the room quickly and thoroughly. There were a couple of

scraps of notepaper on the desk top with long formulae and cryptic notations on them.

The writing made no sense to Luise, but she slipped them into her pouch anyway; they

might be significant to someone else.

When they had scoured the place completely and could find nothing else of value, they

turned out the light and moved on through a door to the room beyond. This one was

also small, empty, and dark-and much more disappointing. When they turned the light

on, all they found was a couple of well-upholstered, comfortable chairs and a telecom

machine on whose screen no messages were currently displayed. This room was even

less informative than the first, so, with regret, the team moved on still further.

The next chamber they found held a surprise for them: pieces of skin lay scattered all

over the floor, amid opened packing crates and small scraps of metal. On closer

examination, though, the "skin" turned out to be a material called plastiderm-a

substance widely used in the manufacture of prosthetics. All the d'Alemberts were

familiar with it because the Duke's right hand was made from the substance. It looked

and felt exactly like real skin when heated up to the proper temperature; at room

temperature, though, it tended to be a bit stiffer and more brittle.

"From what I'm told," Luise whispered, "Duke Fyodor is a walking junkyard. He may

need a lot of prosthetics to keep him going. This whole area may be nothing more than

the area where his doctor works to keep him alive." Nevertheless, having no better

leads, they decided to press onward.

The next room seemed to confirm Luise's guess. It was a comfortable study, with a

desk and several padded chairs, plus three walls full of bookreels. Looking at titles at

random, Luise could see that they were on biomechanics, prosthetics, organ

transplants, artificial intelligence, and computer programming. Those last two puzzled

her a little. She could understand that those first subjects would be needed to keep

Duke Fyodor's body alive; but what would a surgeon need to know about artificial

intelligence and computer programming? Surely the Duke had a brain of his own. Or

could he be suffering from a disease that gradually destroyed the brain as well as the

body, and was his doctor augmenting his mind with electronic aids? The situation did

not make a whole lot of sense to her at the time, so she just filed the information away

for later use.

There was no other way out of this study, and no other doors had been apparent in the

chain of rooms that they'd gone through. They had come to the end of the line. There

might well be more rooms in this hidden section of Rimskor Castle, but they would have

to go out and find another way in if they were to reach them. Feeling very discouraged

at their inability to learn anything incriminating against Duke Fyodor, Luise began

leading her troops back out the way they'd come.

Suddenly the world exploded with alarm bells, and all the d'Alemberts were instantly

ready for action. As far as Luise knew, they hadn't tripped any alarms, so the security

forces wouldn't know precisely where in the castle they were. But perhaps the

unconscious guards had been found at the front gate, or some other sign of the

intrusion had been detected.

One thing, at any rate, was clear: they were going to have one hell of a time' fighting

their way out of this place-and they had not yet learned a single important fact!

Chapter 9

Encounter in the Dark

Borov's death, coming in such a manner, produced an instant chill throughout the

members of the Progress. The rest of the ball was instantly canceled, and the fate of

the next day's activities was in doubt as well. No one knew quite what to think; a million

unanswered questions were floating around in everyone's mind, and no solutions were

forthcoming. Jules and Jacques lifted the tree off Borov, and the body was taken off to

the local hospital to have an autopsy performed. Yvette spent some time just staring at

the tree, then wandered around the garden for a bit, her keen eyes observing

everything in minute detail. Then most people went up to their rooms and prepared for

bed.

Yvette went back to Edna and filled her in on what had happened. Then she and

Yvonne took the Princess upstairs to her room, checked it out to make certain that no

bombs had been placed there while they were out, and put the heiress to the Throne to

bed with assurances that everything would be taken care of. Edna didn't believe the

assurances any more than they did, but she pretended to so that the two women could

get back to their real job-finding the traitor.

The four DesPlainians met secretly in Jules's room. It was the first opportunity they'd all

had to talk together since coming to Cambria, but all of them were stunned by the

events of the night and at first their air was so thick with worry that they found it hard to

talk. Even the first kiss between Jules and Yvonne, who had been working so hard at

not knowing each other for these past few days, was less than the passionate affair it

normally would have been. Each was weighed down with preoccupation over the

mystery of what had occurred.

Jacques and Yvette watched awkwardly as the two lovers kissed. Yvette knew that

Jacques harbored an infatuation for her, one which she really did not return. They had

been close friends since childhood, but that was all they ever could be as far as she

was concerned. She could feel his pain as he watched his sister caress her brother and

then as he turned his gaze to her. She could feel sorry for him-but pity was not love.

When Jules and Yvonne finished their embrace, Yvonne sat down on the edge of the

bed, with Yvette beside her. Jacques sat on a chair in one corner. Jules, as was his

wont, paced the room nervously. He always claimed to think better when he was on his

feet and moving around.

By unspoken consent, Jules became the chairman of their meeting. "This is something

none of us expected," he began with an understatement. "Something is happening here

beyond our calculations, and we have to figure out what-and fast. Anyone care to offer

a gut reaction?"

"Mine isn't very nice, I'm afraid," Yvette said, "but I'm not the slightest bit sorry that

Borov is dead."

"He was a loud-mouthed bastard," Jacques agreed. "But he was also our prime

suspect," Jules said. "He came from Kolokov, where we got our initial lead about the

time bomb. He was the one most determined to cause trouble for everyone else. With

him out of the picture, everyone else is an equal suspect, and we're right back at word

one."

"Maybe he was the traitor after all." That suggestion came from Vonnie. "Maybe he was

coming back into the castle to plant the bomb when that tree fell on him."

Yvette shook her head. "Trees just don't fall over like that in a garden as well tended as

this one is. Borov was murdered."

"Are you sure of that?" Jules asked.

"Positive. I looked that tree over pretty thoroughly.

There's not a trace of rot in it anywhere, nothing that would make it fall over on its own

accord. The root system seemed sound and healthy. I saw the hole that tree came out

of; it seemed to have been uprooted in one massive heave, because dirt was sprayed

around the hole for a good distance around."

"Uprooted?" Jules knitted his brow in perplexity.

"You heard me right. My first thought was that someone must have chopped that tree

down, or beamed it with a blaster-but there are no axe marks or bum marks on it

anywhere and the entire trunk, from top to roots, is intact. It was pulled up out of its

hole."

"But. . ." Jacques's voice trailed off as he contemplated that possibility. "But nobody's

that strong. Didn't you see, it took Jules and me together to lift that tree off the body.

Two DesPlainians, and that was only to shove the trunk over to one side. It would have

taken a crane to lift that tree out of the ground and hit Borov with it."

"Maybe they had a crane," Yvonne suggested. "Or a team of men," Yvette chimed in.

"Absolutely impossible. Remember, I had ordered the rest of the bodyguards and

myself to be extra alert so that Borov wouldn't sneak in. We failed at that, obviously, but

even so we couldn't have missed the sound of a crane or of three or four men working

together crashing through the underbrush."

"We're getting a little far afield," Jules said, trying to soothe Jacques's ruffled feathers.

"I agree with Jacques; there's no way a crane could have been brought in without

alerting every guard on the estate. And as for the team hypothesis-I don't think there

would be any group of men who, when they see they outnumber their opponent three or

more to one, would think of uprooting a tree and dropping it on him. There are plenty of

easier, faster, and more efficient ways of killing someone."

"We're getting away from our prime question," Yvette said. "We know there's been a

murder. For the moment we're stumped on how the murderer did it, so let's turn our

attention to the principal topic: who did it?"

Jules looked around the room at his friends' faces as the silence descended. "Well, it

seems there are no clear-cut suspects that jump instantly to mind. Nobody really liked

Borov very much, so they all have an equal motivation.

Except that there were three people whom Borov threatened to kill-me, Symond, and

Liu."

"I think we can rule you out for the time being," Yvette smiled at her brother.

"Mercil That leaves us with two people having slightly stronger grounds that anyone

else."

"But Borov threatened them, not the other way around," Jacques protested. "That

doesn't seem to make sense." "But suppose," Vonnie said, "that Borov sneaked back

onto the grounds with the intent of killing someone. Instead, his intended victim got him

first."

"But then why go to all the trouble with the tree?" Jacques asked. "If Borov really had

tried to kill him, it was a pure case of self-defense. There were plenty of witnesses to

Borov's threat; no prosecutor in the Galaxy would bring a case like that to trial, under

the circumstances."

"But Borov was unarmed-at least when we found him," Yvonne persisted. "If he did

have any weapon, his killer took it away from him. It doesn't make a good case for

self-defense if the person you're defending yourself against is unarmed."

It was Yvette's turn to comment. "But perhaps the killer is also our traitor. If that's true,

then even if this were a legitimate case of self-defense he wouldn't want to get involved.

The spotlight would be focused on him, questions would be asked. He couldn't afford

that kind of notoriety. As far as he knows, no one is aware that he's here for a

treasonous purpose. He doesn't know his mission has already been compromised. And

he'd work like hell to keep anyone from even suspecting."

There was silence for a long minute. Then Jules said slowly, "Tu as raison, as always,

sis." He had learned from long experience that Yvette's most casual hunches were

usually more perceptive than most people's carefully thought out theories, and he

always listened to them. "If nothing else, this incident has shown us one thing. Before

now, we couldn't even be certain that there was a traitor here. We were operating on a

very faint clue and a probability. Now we know. Someone in this castle is a murderer,

and is using that murder to cover up some darker secret."

He paced some more across the floor before continuing. "We need a few more details.

When exactly did this murder take place?" He looked over in Jacques's direction.

"It couldn't have been before the ball started," said the male member of the Roumenier

team. "My crew of bodyguards searched the grounds thoroughly. There was no sign of

any uprooted tree or dead body."

His sister nodded confirmation. "That's right, we would have spotted anything as

obviously out of place as that." "Bien," Jules said with a thoughtful nod. "That gives us

about a two-hour time span between the start of the ball and the moment when the

body was discovered. We'll have to check people's stories and see whose movements

can't be accounted for during that time."

"And in the meantime," said Yvette, "we keep up our own covers, even if it means that

we become suspects ourselves."

"Absolutely," her brother agreed. "Right now, the traitor still thinks no one's on to him.

We can't let him suspect that we know anything, or he may panic and do something

rash. It never pays to upset a man holding a live bomb."

The police came the next day to question everybody about the events of the previous

evening. Also, because of the fact that the Crown Princess and a baron and baroness

were involved, several representatives from the local office of the Service of the Empire

were also present.

The coroner's report had brought to light at least one astonishing fact. Though the tree

had done a considerable amount of damage to the body-and, in fact, had made it

difficult for the team of specialists to learn much of anything-the coroner was able to

determine that the cause of death had been a sharp blow to the neck that had

completely shattered the spinal column and the bottom portion of the skull. It was not

until after the deceased's death that the tree had fallen on the body.

To everyone except the d'Alemberts and the Roumeniers this came as a considerable

shock-and even the four DesPlainians pretended to be as startled as the rest. No

longer could anyone think of this as merely a bizarre and unfortunate accident; it was a

clear-cut case of murder.

The police did not dwell on the peculiar aspects of the case-and the obvious strength of

the killer in lifting and wielding the tree against Borov-and instead chose to question the

members of the Progress, particularly as to their whereabouts during the evening. They

had determined the time of death to within half an hour-and it happened to be the

half-hour that included the formal break in the ball's activity. Suddenly everyone was

trying to remember what they did during that break, and not everyone was entirely

successful.

Yvette had been talking to Edna during much of the break, and Jules had been

discreetly carrying on a friendly conversation with Yvonne. Most of the candidates had

gone outside into the garden with some of Edna's ladies-in-waiting, and so had built-in

alibis for the crucial interval. Only three of the men did not have such alibis-Paul

Symond, Choyen Liu, and a fellow named Sean Mulvaney from the planet Arcta.

Mulvaney said that he had been visiting the fresher then, and had no witnesses to his

activity. Symond said he had gone up to his room to get a couple of pieces of jewelry he

had forgotten to bring down to the ball with him originally. Liu admitted that he had gone

out into the garden by himself to meditate.

The police zeroed in on him. The fact that he had no alibi for the time in question, that

he admitted being in the garden at that time, and that Borov had threatened him earlier

in the day made him a prime suspect. Liu accepted that suspicion quietly, saying very

little except to answer every question the police put to him. He stated politely but firmly

that he did not murder Borov and that he did not know who did. Neither the operatives

from SOTE nor the police detectives could make a dent in that story.

Finally, they had to give up. There was not yet enough evidence to make an arrest, or

even to take any one person down to the police station for more detailed questioning.

Since all the suspects were here for the Progress, which was to last for another week

and a half, the police left them alone and went out instead to look over the garden and

search for more clues. After a while, they departed completely, with the warning that no

one in the Progress party was to leave the planet without checking with them first.

All the rest of the day the topic of conversation centered around the murder. Symond,

Mulvaney, and Liu were made unofficial outcasts, with very few people bothering to talk

to them or ask their opinions. Liu took this all with the same quiet acceptance he

affected toward everything; the other two were a bit more annoyed that their integrity

should be so questioned, but they tried to exhibit good humor despite their awkward

positions.

Midway through the day, Jules found an opportunity to take his sister aside and talk

with her privately. "the thought has occurred to me," he said, "that we may have the

number of the enemy figured all wrong. What if there are two traitors here--one to plant

the bomb and the other to act as his backup? If there are more than one of them here,

it might let those three off the hook; the killer would say he was elsewhere and his

confederate would back his story.

Yvette mulled that over for a second. "You may be right," she said at last. "There simply

aren't enough data to go by. Having only one infiltrator in this group would be simpler;

remember how hard it is to qualify. But I suppose there could be more than one."

"We'll just have to generate more data, then," Jules said resolutely. "And I think I know

how to do it. I'll drop a little bomb of my own."

He waited until dinnertime to do it, though. While everyone was seated around the large

banquet table-talking about the murder, naturally-Jules suddenly dropped into the

conversation the fact that he had a pretty good idea who the murderer was. Edna gave

him a strange glance, wondering what sort of game he was playing, but, like the

intelligent woman she was, she said nothing. Instead she left it to the others to ask

questions that had formed in her mind as well.

There was no dearth of questioners. "Who is it?" asked Hans Gudding.

Jules shook his head. "I don't really want to say yet except that it isn't me. But this is a

serious charge, and I wouldn't want to slander anyone on just what evidence I have. If I

turned out to be wrong, I would never forgive myself for calling an innocent man a

killer."

"Shouldn't you tell the police about your suspicions?" Paul Symond asked.

"I probably should, once I get them firmed up a bit. Tomorrow morning, first thing, I'll

give them a call and explain my theory."

"What exactly do you have?" Mulvaney asked. "There've been several things that

happened over the few days we've all been together. The person I suspect has done a

couple of things that struck me at the time as being most peculiar. There are one or two

facts I want to check on out in the garden." As he had by now finished eating, he

pushed his chair away from the table. "Please excuse me, all of you, but this could be

important."

He left the room, much to everyone's surprise, and went outside to roam around the

garden. He spent two hours alone out there, wandering the paths and occasionally

bending over to examine something under the dim light of Ansegria's only moon. He

spent a lot of time around the site where the body had been discovered, turning up

rocks and walking around in circles. Occasionally people inside the house would stare

out at him through the windows, wondering what he expected to find, but they preferred

not to know. They let him wander by himself.

That suited Jules just perfectly, for what he was hoping to find would not be in the

garden at all.

Finally, when the hour was getting quite late, Jules decided to return to the castle. Most

of the people, he discovered, had already retired for the evening; though they had done

very little today compared to the other days, the psychological toll the murder had taken

on all of them was enormous. Finding almost no one to talk to, Jules decided to head

up to his own room as well.

As Jules turned into the hallway that led to his own room, he noticed that the light was

out, leaving the entire corridor in pitch blackness. The instant that fact registered in his

mind, he leaped into action-literally. Pushing off with his powerful leg muscles, he dived

forward and to his right, curling himself into a tight ball and rolling until he bumped into

the wall on that side.

His action was well taken. Even as he jumped, the low buzzing sound of a stun-gun

carried through the air. Its beam passed just centimeters to the side of where he was,

although he had no way of knowing just how close it came. All he had known was that,

standing in the light in front of a darkened area, he made the perfect target silhouette

for anyone wanting to shoot at him, and he had taken the appropriate action to

neutralize that.

Now that he was in motion he stood a much better chance of surviving. The odds

against him would be determined by the skill and reflexes of his attacker-unknown

factors, but Jules was not too worried. His DesPlainian reflexes were sure to be better

than those of a normal human. The movement of his roll against the wall brought him to

his feet in a low crouch. Without pausing as much as a split second, he leaped

again-mostly forward this time and only slightly to his left. He was pretty certain he knew

where his attacker would be positioned-at the very back of the darkened corridor, where

he could see Jules's silhouette approaching all the time ... and where Jules would not

be able to see him. By constantly moving toward his enemy, Jules would be narrowing

the distance between them as well as shortening the man's reaction time. All he had to

do was avoid making his leaps in any consistent pattern and he should be all right.

Again, the buzzing sound of the stunner beam was heard, at shorter and shorter

intervals. A stun-gun could not be set on continuous fire as could a blaster, and needed

a fraction of a second between bursts for it to recharge. That was what Jules was

counting on most; if his opponent had been using a blaster, Jules would have had to

retreat, since he couldn't have reached his quarry before the deadly beam sliced a hole

through his DesPlainian body.

Using a series of leap, roll, leap again motions, Jules made his way down the blacked

out corridor toward his foe. The buzzing of the stunner took on an almost desperate

whine as the traitor fired repeatedly to rid himself of this upstart who was unexpectedly

fast. Jules, too, was a little surprised at how close together the shots were; his

opponent must have lightning quick reflexes himself, and that was a sobering thought.

He hadn't supposed any of the other members of the Progress were quite that good.

But there was no time to ponder that; all he could do was file it in his memory for future

use. At present, he was too busy with the problem of staying alive.

He knew the length of the hallway and could estimate his leaps pretty well. In three

more jumps he was near the end, and should be within range of his opponent. They

were both theoretically at a disadvantage now, since both were in equal darkness and

neither could see the other's silhouette. Jules flailed out in the most likely direction

where his antagonist would be, expecting the other's blows to be just as uncertain.

Instead, a powerful fist came flying through the air at him, catching him squarely under

the jaw. Had he really been, as he claimed, from the mythical planet Julea with its

standard one-gee gravity, the blow would undoubtedly have knocked him unconscious

and possibly broken his jaw as well. But Jules was from DesPlaines, with a gravity three

times Earth's normal, and his family had lived on that tough, rockbound world for over

four centuries. They had adapted to life under such harsh conditions; their bones were

heavier, their muscles tighter, their reflexes faster than those of people from more

reasonable planets. Added to that heritage was Jules's circus training and superb

physical conditioning. He and his sister were, to quote the Head of the Service, "the two

most capable people alive."

Consequently, the blow was not as disabling as it was intended to be. Jules was caught

by surprise at its accuracy and knocked downward, but he possessed both the mental

and physical agility to roll with the punch. As he fell backward, he brought one foot up

and delivered a vicious blow to the spot where his enemy's ribcage would have to be.

He could feel the blow connect solidly, could feel his foot driving into the other man's

chest. That kick should have shattered the opponent's ribs, possibly puncturing the

heart or a lung. At the very least, it should have doubled his antagonist over with pain

and left him gasping for breath, helpless against any further action Jules cared to take.

It did none of those things. Instead, all it did was push him backwards and keep him

slightly off balance for a couple of seconds.

They were a crucial couple of seconds, though, for Jules had to regain his own balance;

had the blow not been delivered the SOTE agent would have been an open target for

the other man's stun-gun. As it was, Jules's head was ringing from the force of the

traitor's punch. He fell, rolled, and staggered to his feet slower than he optimally would

have. The strength of the other's blow and the ineffectiveness of his own stunned him.

His only hope lay in keeping himself in motion, keeping his superbody pounding out an

attack against this mysterious assailant. Don't give him time to get off a shot was the

rule of the moment; at such short range the man could hardly miss.

Fortunately, the hallway was not too wide. Jules knew the man would have moved

slightly out of his previous position, but he wouldn't have been able to move far if he

wanted to keep Jules between himself and the light at the other end of the corridor.

Jules lunged at a spot where he guessed the man would be, and felt his own hand

connect solidly with the other's flesh. At the same time, though, he felt a strong

chopping blow to his own side. The traitor seemed to know exactly where to aim,

whereas Jules was literally stabbing in the dark.

Suddenly the air was filled with the sound of a familiar voice calling, "Rube!" The

abbreviated circus cry of danger had survived to this present day, and could be coming

from only one other person on this entire planet-his sister, Yvette. Even as the pain in

his side made him double over, Jules felt a slight cheering in his soul. Together, the two

DesPlainians made a team that no one in the Universe could stop.

Yvette, even though her eyes were not accustomed to the darkness, could tell where

the fighting was by the sounds of the action. Like a fury on wheels, she waded into the

battle with both hands whirling like the vanes of a windmill. She had charged straight

into combat without having to dodge stunner beams, and so hers was a much more

frontal assault. As fast as she moved, though, the traitor seemed to know, despite the

darkness, where she was going to swing and was able to block each blow with the

appropriate countermeasure.

Although none of Yvette's punches landed solidly, they did keep the enemy busy

fending them off. Meanwhile, Jules had recovered his breath from the blow to his ribs

and was beginning to enter the fray again on his own. He had to be careful in the

darkness not to hit his sister instead of their common enemy; but even so, they bad

worked together as a team for so long that their reactions and their timing were almost

instinctive. As Yvette's hand would be drawing back to deliver another blow, Jules's fist

would be striking out at their opponent; and vice versa, of course. The two d'Alemberts

had worked for years in a circus act where their very lives depended on the precise

timing of their cooperation, and such training was hard to lose.

No mortal man could ever have survived such an onslaught of power and fury-yet, the

traitor was at least able to hold his own in this ferocious battle. While he was no longer

able to assume the offensive, he could still manage to block every single one of their

blows with speed of reflex that rivaled-or even surpassed-their own.

Finally, though, the antagonist realized how futile this fighting was. His whole strategy

had been to do this deed quickly and then get away, before anyone could discover him.

The trio of fighters could now well be deadlocked for another five minutes, the way this

battle was going-by which time, other people were bound to come along and discover

him. He dared not let his anonymity be stripped from him, even at the cost of letting

these two people live.

Thus, with one gargantuan effort, he reached through the defenses of the two

d'Alemberts and grabbed each of them by the front of their shirts. Before even their

superfast reflexes could react, he had picked them both up bodily and flung them

against the corridor's left-hand wall. Both agents bad the wind knocked out of them as

they bounced against the wall and each other and rebounded onto the floor. They

recovered their senses and looked around, but it was too late. They could hear the

sound of the traitor's footsteps racing down the hallway, at a speed equal to at least

anything they could do. They caught a quick glimpse of a male figure silhouetted

against the light at the far end of the corridor, and then that vanished as their foe turned

the corner and fled into other sections of the castle. By the time they had righted

themselves on their feet, they knew there would be no chance of catching up with their

elusive antagonist.

Yvette reached out to steady her brother, who seemed a bit more wobbly on his feet

than she was. "All smooth?" she asked.

"I think so. I'm sure glad you happened along."

"Well, you baited the trap so nicely, I just thought I'd drop by to see what you caught. As

you suspected, whoever it was wanted to silence you before you could talk to the

police."

Jules shook his head ruefully. "Yeah. It almost worked too well."

He was considerably worried. This fight in the hallway bad shown them a number of

startling facts about their opponent. He had amazingly quick reflexes. He could move

with a speed that made even them look like slowpokes. He could see in the dark. He

could absorb blows that would kill or cripple any ordinary human being.

And, as had already been shown, he could uproot a tree and drop it on someone-a tree

that it took two DesPlainians just to lift.

What sort of man was it they were fighting?

Chapter 10

The Dumbwaiter Express

When the alarms went off all over Rimskor Castle, the four d'Alembert intruders, who

had already been moving fast, became a blur of activity. To hesitate even the slightest

now would mean certain capture and possible death.

Luise was in charge, and she thought with lightning speed. They were in the blocked-off

area, which had turned out to be a cul-de-sac. They could not allow themselves to be

discovered here, or they'd be easily trapped. Leading the way, she raced out of the

medical office, through the supply room, the teletype room, and the laboratory. With her

three relatives behind her, she bounded up the stairs six at a time, and did not hesitate

until she reached the top. Even then she paused only long enough to draw her stunner

before bursting out the door into the hallway.

They were in luck-the hall was still deserted. How long that luck would last was another

matter, however, because there were certain to be servants, security guards, or robots

checking up on this floor any second. And all the elevator tubes would now be guarded,

so they could not be used to go between floors.

To make matters worse, Luise knew they could not leave. The front gate-and only way

out of the castle would now be so heavily guarded that even four top-notch agents like

these d'Alemberts could not fight their way out. To even attempt to leave without having

learned anything would be an admission of failure-a fate truly worse than death to these

members of the Galaxy's most talented clan.

Luise raced down the darkened corridor toward a place that Marcel had tentatively

marked on his map as a stairway. It, too, would be guarded, of course-but less so, and

her team would have more room for maneuvering on a stairway than in an elevator

tube.

Just as she reached the stairway, the door to it opened in her face and a robot guard

started to come through. It was hard to say who was more startled, Luise or the robot,

but it is a fact that Luise reacted first. She automatically fired the stunner point blank

into the creature, even as her mind was telling her reflexes that a stun-gun would have

no effect on a robot.

The machine was an upright cylinder, only a meter and a half high, with a dozen metal

tentacles ringed around its body to act as limbs. One of those tentacles currently held a

stun-gun of its own, and was bringing it quickly into a firing position. While Luise's

stunner would not affect the robot, its stunner would affect her-unless she took steps to

avoid it immediately.

Reaching out with her left hand, Luise grabbed the robot by the tentacle that held the

gun and pulled it toward her. The machine massed close to a hundred kilograms, but

even so the strength of her tug pulled it off its balance. With the power of a person born

on a three-gee world, and the expertise that only a d'Alembert could achieve, she

whipped the bulky contrivance around her and spun it further into the hallway.

Rick took up where she left off. As the robot came past him, he grabbed it and lifted it

bodily off the ground. The big wrestler hefted it as though it were a feather pillow,

holding it high above his head for a second and then flinging it against the nearest wall.

The robot hit with a crash that threatened to shatter their eardrums and fell to the floor,

a pile of useless scrap metal. A few sparks hissed and fizzed inside its cylindrical body,

but it was incapable of further action.

The problem was that Luise couldn't be sure whether the robot was acting on its own or

whether it was linked via some control circuit to a master console. If the latter were the

case, they had just given their position completely away; even now an army of similar

robots might be descending on them from all the other levels of the castle.

She went into the stairwell from which the robot had come and looked up and down.

The lower levels of the castle would be the more heavily guarded, since any intruders

would have to go that way eventually to get out, and that was the direction in which any

sensible person would head. Luise's first thought, then, was to go upward, to play for

time and position, to make the game last as long as possible and hope to take

advantage of some break in her favor. She and her team did start upward, but they only

got up one flight before they heard the sounds of a whole legion of metal feet on the

stairs above them. She did not want to face a squad of killer robots if she could possibly

help it.

Reluctantly, then, she turned her team around and started them back down the stairs.

They moved at top speed, easily outdistancing the machines behind them. There was

no opposition as they continued to descend, until finally the stairs came to an end at the

ground level and they faced another door opening outward. With the army of robots

behind them, they bad no choice but to go out that door and risk whatever might be

facing them. Before they did that, though, they put away their stunguns and took out

their blasters instead. From everything Etienne had told them about Duke Fyodor, the

lord of Rimskor Castle had a much greater fondness for machines than for people, and

the great majority of his security force was likely to be robots. Stunners would be worse

than useless against such antagonists.

The stairs entered out into a long hallway, one much fancier than the upstairs bedroom

corridor. This one was decorated with metal sculptures both realistic and surrealistic.

Platinum gargoyles up in the comers of the ceiling leered down at them, and the

smooth floor could provide treacherous footing.

The scene in the hallway was pandemonium. Humans and robots alike were scurrying

back and forth in confusion at the mere thought of an unprecedented break-in to this

stronghold. The sudden appearance of four silverclad furies only added to their

confusion-and Luise was only too glad to take advantage of that fact.

Four blaster beams rayed out at once, slicing down everyone-human or robot-in the

corridor. Luise glanced both ways down the hall and saw no one else coming

immediately. Her trouble was that she was as lost as anyone, now. The running around,

the flights up and down stairs, had disoriented a mind even as sharp as hers was. She

had no idea where this corridor was in relation to the map Marcel had shown her, and

until she could find some familiar territory they would just have to take their chances

and wander aimlessly.

Which was not to say slowly. Although she didn't know herself where she was going,

Luise didn't hesitate to run to her right, with the other three still following behind her.

They came to what had to be the kitchen, and she could regain her bearings now-and

curse her luck. She had chosen the wrong direction, and they were in the back of the

house. They would now have to fight their way all the way to the front of the castle if

they wanted to have any chance at all of escaping. Yet such a fight-through the entire

line of Duke Fyodor's guards-would be tantamount to suicide.

Luise looked wildly around for another alternative, and her eyes fell on the dumbwaiter

system. According to what Etienne had told her, this series of mechanized tubeways

ran all through the castle, with exits to virtually every room. The tunnels were small and

cramped but, with the exception of Rick, all the d'Alemberts were relatively small

themselves. If the invaders could squeeze themselves through this system, they would

be like mice in the walls, going where they wanted at will.

The only problem was that the Duke's defenders could track them to this kitchen, and

from there it would be a simple matter to deduce where the intruders had gone. Luise

was faced with a hard executive decision-but she did not shirk it. "Rick," she said, "we

have to go through the dumbwaiter. It's our only way. But they'll know we've gone in

there and can flush us out unless at least one of us is left outside causing them

confusion."

"Don't worry," Rick said, eyeing the dumbwaiter entrance. "It looks a little small for me,

anyway. I'll give them so much hell they'll think all four of us are still on the loose."

Luise flashed her relative a quick smile. The d'Alembert family loyalty was such that any

of them would have done the same for the others had the situation warranted. Rick was

the logical choice in this situation.

Then, without wasting any more time, Luise ran over to the entrance and lay down on

the conveyor belt that fed into the hole in the wall. The belt was not turned on at the

present time, which meant she had to crawl forward-but she was still safe from

discovery for the moment. Behind her, Jeanne and Claude also inched their way into

the tubes.

Thus began more than an hour of nightmare for the Circus trio as they crawled through

the very foundations of Rimskor Castle itself. Luise tried to keep them headed in the

general direction of the front of the building, though the tubeway took so many

right-angle turns that it was hard to keep the direction straight. Twice they had to

change levels, climbing with difficulty up a series of grippers in the walls that were

designed for holding packages. They passed occasional doors, but a peek out of them

showed Luise that those rooms were well guarded and that to leave the dumbwaiter

would be to invite certain death.

Occasionally, too, they could hear the sounds of fighting coming through the walls. True

to his word, Rick d'Alembert was giving the defenders a hard time. Fighting against truly

overwhelming odds, he was making his presence felt throughout the castle and keeping

attention from being focused on the tubes where his comrades were installed. How he

stayed alive, none of the other three could guess; but they all prayed that his luck would

continue and trusted to his special skills as a d'Alembert.

Finally the trio came to another door that opened out into a room beyond. Sliding the

door open just a tiny crack, Luise ventured a peek inside. There were only two robot

guards in the room-the lowest number of any she had yet seen. There was one human,

unarmed, and another thing that at first she took to be a tall machine until it turned and

she could see that it was really Duke Fyodor, firmly enmeshed in the mechanical cradle

that kept him alive. A board of flashing lights across the room gave some evidence that

this might be the central nerve point for all the castle's security operations-in which case

she had reached an unintended but quite welcome destination.

She whispered the news most quietly to her two companions and explained her plans.

Then, scrunching herself up as best she could in the narrow tunnel, she prepared for

action. When she was absolutely ready, she slid the door all the way open and kicked

off against the back wall of the tube. Her beautiful, agile body sprang outward and

sailed through the air into the security office, completely startling the four occupants.

Before anyone had a chance to react, Luise had hit the ground, rolled, and come up

with her blaster at the ready. The two robot guards were just a fraction of a second too

slow as the SOTE agent's beam cut each of them in two. As the other d'Alemberts

began scrambling out of the dumbwaiter, Luise trained her weapon on the two humans.

"Don't try anything," she warned-superfluously, for the Duke and his associate were not

about to make any foolish moves while staring down the muzzle of a blaster.

As soon as Jeanne and Claude were both safely inside the room, Luise turned her

thoughts to Rick, possibly still out there fighting for his life. "I want you to call your

guards and tell them to stop fighting at once. One of my friends is still out there."

"He's already been stunned down," the Duke said morosely. "We were just about to go

question him when you arrived." He paused to regather his strength and assume an air

of outraged dignity. "I hope you realize that, whoever you are and whatever you think

you're accomplishing by this raid, it will never work. I am duke of this entire planet, and I

won't rest until you're tracked down and destroyed."

Luise paid no attention to his bravado. Instead, she waited until both Claude and

Jeanne had drawn their own stunners, then tucked her weapon inside her belt.

Reaching into her utility pouch, she pulled out a small hyposprayer filled with a colorless

liquid. "This," she said without emotion, "is nitrobarb. You've heard of it, of course, and

you know what it can do. You have a few answers that I need, and I intend to get them."

The Duke had indeed heard of nitrobarb. He knew that it had a 50 percent mortality rate

on healthy people, and he knew that, if he survived the drug itself, he would never

survive the repercussions of the answers he would reveal under its influence. "This is

highly illegal," he protested.

Luise stared at him coldly. "So is treason, Your Grace, and that's what we're talking

about, isn't it?"

As Luise took a step toward the ruler of Kolokov, the other prisoner in the room spoke

up. "Please, don't give him that injection. The Duke is a very weak man, his system

couldn't tolerate it. As his doctor, I can tell you he'd be dead in minutes and you

wouldn't learn a thing.

Luise turned to look at him. "You must be Doctor Rustin, then." She paused to consider

his words. It was well known that Duke Fyodor had lived on the edge of death since

childhood. The very fact that his body was only kept alive by carting around such an

incredible contraption testified to its frailty. Nitrobarb was very strong, and what the

doctor said could very well be true. She could be murdering a duke to absolutely no

gain.

But what choice had she? Her mission here was a failure unless she could discover

some more about the time bomb that was to be used against the Princess. No other

questioning would be effective, either, for the Duke could lie under less strenuous

procedures.

She had to follow through on her bluff and hope to crack something. "Well, doctor," she

continued, "the penalty for high treason is death, anyway. What does it matter whether

it comes sooner or later?" She took another step toward the Duke.

Duke Fyodor's skin was normally quite pale, and his system would not let him sweat.

But if those two conditions had not been true, he would have been ashen and

perspiring. He had lived close to death as long as he could remember. His earliest

recollections were of hospitals and sickrooms and doctors with funereal expressions. It

had scared him, that thought of crossing into the unknown, and he had fought back with

everything at his disposal. And he had won. He had fought death and conquered it;

even if it made him look like a freak, even if he were despised, he had won and he had

lived. And he was not going to let someone kill him now, even if it meant betraying his

best friend.

"Him!" he shouted, pointing at Dr. Rustin. "Do it to him. He knows as much as I do, he

was in on all of it. He made it work."

Luise stopped, rather bemused that her bluff had paid off. Dr. Rustin was well known as

the Duke's constant companion. It did make sense that he would have been his partner

in treachery as well. "I suppose it's worth a try," she said aloud. "But if I don't get any

answers from him, I can still try you next."

Dr. Rustin cowered as she came near him. He was, after all, an older man and the

nitrobarb could well kill him, too, though he was in good health for his age. But he had

no choice and in only a few minutes he was in a stupor that would last for twenty

minutes-the first stage of the drug's effects.

During that interval, the room was as quiet as a graveyard at midnight. Duke Fyodor,

still in fright at this threat to his continued existence, sat limply in one corner and

wondered where he had gone wrong. The three d'Alemberts did not converse among

themselves; the situation was too critical, and they did not want to make any slip-ups

that might give away their identities.

Finally, Dr. Rustin began showing signs of coming around. His eyes opened, but were

glazed over in an expression that showed the extent of his drugged state. Luise sat

down opposite him and questioned him firmly.

"You and Duke Fyodor have plotted treason against the Empire, haven't you?" she

asked sternly.

"Yes," was the slow, stupefied answer.

Despite herself, Luise let out a sigh of relief. All this while there had been the nagging

fear in the back of her mind that perhaps she and her family were wrong, that they were

taking all this hostile action against innocent parties. Now that fear was banished

forever, and she could continue on with her interrogation. "Did you hire Rawl Winsted to

help you?"

"Yes."

"Why did you need his help?"

"He was good at working with the small parts of the robot."

Robot? Luise knit her brow in perplexity. "I thought you were making a time bomb."

A low, droning sound came out of Rustin's mouth. Luise had made a statement, not a

direct question, and his drugged mind could not completely cope with it. She mentally

cursed herself for sloppy technique and rephrased her last utterance.

"What sort of a robot were you making?"

"One that looked and acted exactly like a human being" Where is all this leading? she

wondered. What was the connection between a time bomb and a robot? "Did you ever

use the phrase "time bomb' in Winsted's presence?"

"Yes."

"What was the context?" Luise was getting frustrated by the short, pointed answers.

That was the main problem with interrogation by nitrobarb-it left the interviewee totally

without will and not capable of involved thought.

"I said that the robot would be a time bomb against the Princess and the Imperial

Family."

"What made you think that?"

"Because it was going to marry Princess Edna and would be her husband while she

was on the Throne." Pieces suddenly began falling into place. A robot that looked and

acted exactly like a human being. It would go on the Progress and the Princess would

meet it. "But how could you be so sure the Princess would want to marry it?" "It was

programmed to like everything she liked and to conform to her ideals of the perfect

husband."

A chill went down Luise's spine. This was the most insidious plan she had ever heard

of. It sounded crazy; no one could have so much information about the Princess as to

design her perfect mate for her. And yet, there were computer mating services that did

have astonishing success records. And if this were true, it would have far more impact

on the fate of the Empire than a mere bomb. There were, after all, other legitimate, if

indirect, heirs in the Succession if anything should happen to Edna; but having a

husband who was privy to all the secrets of the Empire and who could advise in ways

that might lead to her eventual downfall would have much more far-reaching and

potentially dangerous consequences for the fate of the Galaxy.

"How can you be so sure that this robot wouldn't be spotted as a fraud at once?"

"None of the others has."

If the previous answer gave Luise a chill, this one froze her completely. "Do you mean

that you've made other robots who are masquerading as human beings?"

"Yes."

"Were they all supposed to marry the Princess?" "No, they bad a variety of missions."

"How many of them are there, what are their names, what are their purposes, how long

have they been in existence, have any of them been successful?"

Luise was so flabbergasted by this revelation that she could not stop the questions from

gushing forth. This could be one of the most important-and unexpected breakthroughs

SOTS had ever made. For the security of the Galaxy, those questions had to be

answered.

Dr. Rustin's jaws moved, but no intelligible sounds came forth. His drugged mind could

only work on one item at a time, and Luise had bombarded him with so many things

that he didn't know where to begin. He sat staring fixedly ahead, his poor confused

mind running in circles.

While all eyes in the room had been on the doctor, Duke Fyodor saw an opportunity to

make his move. He had edged closer to the control board, where he kept a stungun

under the console. Now, when the attention of everyone else in the room was hanging

on Rustin's words, he acted.

Reaching quickly under the table, he pulled out his gun and fired. The weapon was set

on ten-instantly lethal, and his target fell to the floor, dead. Dr. Rustin would betray no

more of the secrets on which he and the Duke had worked for so many years.

Claude spotted the Duke's motion and fired his own stunner, but just an instant too late

to prevent Rustin's death. As the ray hit Duke Fyodor, his entire body went through a

series of convulsions like a full epileptic seizure. He thrashed wildly about, and fell with

a heavy crash into the control console. There was an eruption of sparks and the Duke

screamed, then lay very still.

Luise ran over to him, but she was too late. The man who had ruled Kolokov was dead.

"What setting was your stunner on?" she demanded of Claude. She had wanted the

Duke kept alive, if possible.

"I'd reset it for three," he said, bewildered. "It should only have knocked him out for half

an hour."

"He was unnatural anyway," said Jeanne, who had not volunteered her opinion since

this mission began. "There was a wrongness in him. It reacted badly to the beam, I

think."

Luise looked at Jeanne and could see the girl trembling. This entire experience had

been a bad one for her, though she had home it without complaint because it was her

duty. The animal trainer was a sensitive, and in tune with living things; being

surrounded by so many mechanical menaces was playing hell on her nerves.

"Well, whatever the case, we have enough information for SOTS to act on."

"If we can get it out of here," Claude said.

Luise took a small metal box out of her pouch. It was a radio bleeper, and the signal it

sent out would inform Duke Etienne that they had gotten what they needed. The Circus

manager would be stationed near Rimskor Castle with an army of SOTE agents,

waiting for that signal to invade in force. Luise pressed the button and a red light went

on, indicating that the bleeper was sending out its signal.

She waited a minute for the green light beside the red one to light up as well, an

acknowledgement that the Duke had received her signal. The green light did not go on.

"What's the matter?" Claude asked, reading the puzzled expression on her face.

"Our signal's not getting out. We can't reach them" Luise looked over at the control

board. "Maybe it can't get through the metal sides of the mountain. Or maybe there's

something jamming outbound transmission."

"What do we do, then?"

What indeed? They were a long way from the gate, and the castle was still crawling

with guards and booby traps. Their number was already reduced by one, as Rick lay

somewhere either stunned or in captivity-or dead. The only two men who could have

neutralized the defenses had both been killed-and now Luise, Claude, and Jeanne

were the only three people living who knew this information. They would have been

willing, before, to die for their cause. Now they had to live to get the information to

SOTS.

But how?

Chapter 11

Bur-Bur to the Rescue

"You don't suppose," Luise said slowly to her comrades, "that Duke Fyodor would have

left his communicator lines open?"

"Not if he's gone to all the trouble to blank out internal radio communication," Claude

said. "At least, I wouldn't. I'd want to make sure that if anyone did manage to get in,

they wouldn't get out again-nor would any information that they had learned. Once my

security network was in place, I'd see to it that nothing got out until I wanted it to."

Luise grimaced. "That's what I was afraid of." She went over to the security control

board and studied it for a few seconds; but nothing on it was labeled, and she could

make no sense of it. "No way to figure out how to turn the alarms off or send out an

all-clear," she sighed. "I'd be afraid of pushing the wrong button and blowing us all up.

We're just going to have to fight our way out."

There were two alternatives open. The three of them could split up and each try to find

his way out separately, thus tripling the chances that at least one of them would make it

outside alive with-the vital information. Or, they could stay together to form a cohesive

unit. They would all be grouped in one place, and one lucky strike could get them all;

but a tightly knit band of d'Alemberts made an awfully invincible force. The opposition

had been further weakened since their last run-in with them-Rick had done that much,

although now he was out of action. Luise decided on the latter alternative, to keep them

all together. Picking her blaster out of her belt once more, she said "Eh bien, let's got"

The trio went storming out of the security room into the hallway. There were only two

robot guards there, and neither had expected an attack to come from that direction.

Both went down quickly under the d'Alemberts' beams, without having the slightest

chance to sound the alarm.

There were only two other doorways in the corridor for them to try. Luise headed for the

nearer one, flung the door open and darted through it ... only to find herself standing on

one of the ramps in the Chamber of Angles that Etienne had described. The ceiling

vaulted high above her head, the crazy mobiles gleamed as they reflected the room's

bright light, and the subsonic vibrations drilled into her bone and nerve tissues in a

pattern designed to drive even the calmest of people to distraction. And in this situation,

Luise was not the calmest of people.

Still, there were no defenders in the room at this moment and the ramp was a way for

them to get down to the ground level. Luise started forward, her acrobatic shoes making

almost no noise on the polished metal flooring. Behind her, she could tell that the

room's craziness was affecting Jeanne even worse than it did her-but then, the

teenager was the most sensitive member of the group. The poor girl was trembling like

a leaf in a high wind as she was forced to traverse the coldly mechanical horror of this

chamber-but again, she did it without complaint, because she was a d'Alembert.

They only made it halfway down the ramp before a party of robots wandered through

the room and spotted them. The d'Alemberts' blasters fired quickly again, but not before

one of the robots had managed to send out a high, piercing whistle that would bring an

army of other guards running into the area.

The trio of invaders took cover behind the solid metal bannister of the ramp and waited

for the attack on them to begin. It did not take long. Seemingly dozens of robots

appeared in various doorway entrances to this chamber, all firing up at the intruders.

Luise cautioned her companions not to waste their fire; the charge packs in their own

blasters were getting low. They could only afford to fire when they had a sure shot.

Luise noticed out of the corner of her eye that Jeanne's shots were becoming more and

more erratic as the eeriness of the room took its toll on her, and finally the young animal

trainer stopped firing completely and curled up into a whimpering ball. Luise regretted

having to take someone so young and inexperienced along on a mission like this, but

her special talents had been deemed necessary to help them get through the outer

gate.

Inside Jeanne's jumpsuit, Luise could see a stirring motion, indicating that Bur-Bur the

ticklemouse was awake and restless. The subsonics were probably affecting him just as

badly as they were hitting his mistress. Luise felt a twinge of pity for the helpless

creature-then shut that feeling off abruptly as an idea occurred to her. Telling Claude to

keep up the covering fire for all of them, she knelt down beside Jeanne and spoke

rapidly.

"Can you still control Bur-Bur?" she asked.

It took a second for the question to sink into Jeanne's consciousness. The younger girl

looked up and said, "I ... I don't know. I think so, if it's nothing too complicated. Why?

Luise reached into her pocket and pulled out the little transmitter. "He has more chance

of getting past the guards and out of here than we do. We can strap this around his

waist like we did with the tirascaline canister, and as soon as he runs outside the gate it

should start transmitting. Can you get him to do that?"

Jeanne nodded. "Oui. All his natural instincts are telling him to run now, anyway. I

would only have to make sure he runs in the proper direction."

So saying, the animal trainer reached inside the front of her jumpsuit and took out her

little pet. The animal was clearly skittish, and Jeanne had to take several seconds

looking it straight in the eyes and cooing to it gently while blasterfire was raging all

around them-to calm it down. Luise noted with Relief that this effort was good therapy

for Jeanne, too; with some definite goal in mind, she was snapping out of the panic that

had so recently enveloped her.

Taking the bleeper now from Luise, Jeanne attached it to the saddle that was around

Bur-Bur's middle. She spoke to the ticklemouse in low tones and in pseudowords that

Louise couldn't begin to understand. It was fascinating to watch, even though they were

in so much danger at the moment. Jeanne was able to put aside reality to reach down

to the creature's level; she actually seemed to become a ticklemouse herself as she

communicated her desires to Bur-Bur.

Finally she straightened up again. "He's ready," she said. "But there's so much shooting

going on in here right now, I don't know if he'll even be able to get out of the room."

From over at the edge of the ramp, Claude spoke up. "Hand him to me," he said. "I'll

take care of it." Obediently, Jeanne handed the still nervous pet to her comrade, who

took it and tucked it gently inside his own jumpsuit. Then, with a simple "Cover me," he

leaped, literally, into action.

Taking off from a crouched position, he used his powerful legs-born to a gravity three

times as strong as this to propel him upward over the banister into the air. With one arm

outstretched, he reached for and grabbed the support strut of one of the multitudinous

mobiles that were hanging throughout the room. Pushing off against that, he began a

downward curve toward the door that led to the front of the castle. As he descended,

his body twisted and spun so rapidly that it presented a very bad target to the

defenders.

While he was in the air, Luise followed his last orders. The robot guards were not

expecting a move like this, and momentarily were at a loss for what to do. When they

finally decided to take aim, they concentrated solely on Claude and forgot all about the

other two intruders. As they stepped out of their doorways to get a better shot at the

acrobat, beams from Luise's and Jeanne's blasters cut them down, decimating their

ranks. Most of the robots retreated in confusion.

Claude hit the floor with his knees bent under him. Like two enormous springs, they

absorbed most of the jolt of the impact, and he rolled forward in a somersault to take

care of the rest of his momentum. He started to run toward the door, firing off his

blaster at the robots who stood in his way. For an instant it looked as though he might

make it out, but then a blaster beam from across the room hit him squarely in the back.

With a scream of pain, he fell over forward onto the polished metal floor.

Luise and Jeanne watched the death of their relative with horror. They had all known

there was a chance they'd be killed on this mission, but this brought that possibility into

hideous reality. At first, they were afraid that the blaster bolt might have gone straight

through his body and killed Bur-Bur too; but then they saw the little brown. furred

creature climbing out of the front of Claude's jumpsuit, apparently none the worse for

the incident. It stood up on its hind legs for one second, gauging direction with difficulty,

then dashed off at top speed out the correct door and into the hallway beyond. "Now

let's just hope he finds his way out in time." Luise said grimly.

"If anyone can find their way out, it's a ticklemouse," Jeanne told her. "Besides, the

robots won't be looking for anything that size, so they wouldn't even try to stop him.

They'll be too busy shooting at us."

The robots in the doorways were increasing their numbers by the minute. As the word

got around the castle that the last two invaders were trapped in the Chamber of Angles,

reinforcements kept arriving. For every machine the two women incapacitated, another

two seemed to take its place.

Slowly, playing for time now, the SOTE agents backed up the ramp. They gave no

thought to getting out of the castle now; all their hopes in that direction were riding on

the back of a frightened ticklemouse. All they were trying to do at the moment was stay

alive until Duke Etienne and the forces of SOTE could come to their rescue.

The door through which they had originally come opened up and another robot

appeared behind them. Jeanne sensed it and shouted a warning, giving Luise the

opportunity to whirl and fire in this new direction. Her beam struck true and blasted a

hole in the robot-but not before a bolt from the other's gun grazed the side of her right

calf. The leg gave, out under her and she stumbled. Were it not for Jeanne's quick

action, she would have fallen to the ground with pain, but the Circus's animal trainer

managed to swoop in and lend her shoulder as support. Luise leaned on her gratefully.

"I think we'd better go back out here," Jeanne said, leading Luise toward the open door

at the top of the ramp. "I think there was only that one robot up there-though more will

be coming soon."

As they had hoped, the upper corridor was still clear. The robots behind them were now

racing up the ramp after them as Luise and Jeanne staggered across the hall back into

the security room. The dead bodies of Duke Fyodor and Dr. Rustin were lying where

they'd fallen, still untouched. Jeanne closed the room's door behind them as they

entered and slipped the bolt shut.

"That won't keep them out," Luise gasped through her pain. "They'll blast away at it until

they knock it in, then they'll be coming for us. We'd better try getting back into the

dumbwaiter-we might have some chance there."

But before they could carry through on that action, they felt the entire castle shake from

the force of an explosion. There was more noise and confusion out in the hall, and

suddenly there were no robots trying to get in at them. They had all gone off to guard

against a new menace.

"I think," Luise said, tired and hurt, "the rest of our troops have finally landed."

That was, indeed, the case. Immediately upon hearing the signal of Luise's bleeper-now

outside the castle walls -Duke Etienne d'Alembert had mobilized his troops. The waiting

period had been abnormally long, and he'd been beginning to fear the worst. Now the

time had come for action, and a d'Alembert never passed up such an opportunity.

The Duke had used his authority to order a small army of personnel and equipment

from the local branch of SOTE. Now, at his command, they all swung into action. First

came the copters, five of them, each one armed with lasers and carrying a small bomb.

In one synchronized swoop, they dived at the front entrance to Rimskor Castle and

cracked open the gate with their simultaneously timed blasts.

Before the castle's beleaguered defenders could turn around and face the menace from

this new direction, an army of fighting SOTE operatives came charging down the road

toward the now opened gateway. The heavy-duty blasters that had been mounted over

the doorway were dead, and the guards inside were either dead or too stunned to

activate the minefield along the road bed. The Duke's legions went through the ranks of

the defenders almost as if the latter weren't there. In desperation, the robot guards

radioed up to the security control room for instructions, hoping to get some coordination

of their efforts. But they received no answer; the only two people alive inside that

control room could not work the console, and would not have helped the defenders

even if they could.

Without any strategy or coordinated effort, the outnumbered robots of the late Duke

Fyodor put up hardly any fight worthy of that name. Within fifteen minutes after Duke

Etienne gave the order for his troops to move in, the guards surrendered to his superior

forces.

As the Circus manager strode triumphantly through the corridors, he came across the

body of his third-nephew Claude. He let tears fall unabashedly from his eyes at the loss

of so good a man.

Luise and Jeanne appeared on the ramp above him, also looking down at Claude's

charred corpse. "He died a good death," Luise said hoarsely. "If any death can be

described as good. If it weren't for him, none of us would be alive now-and the

information we have would be totally lost."

They walked down the ramp to him, with Luise leaning heavily on Jeanne's shoulder. As

they reached the bottom, they both embraced him passionately, letting all the

accumulated tension drain out of them. Etienne held onto them as long as they needed

him, and then the three of them set out in search of Rick.

They found the wrestler still unconscious from a stungun beam and lying on a table in

one of the secondary dining rooms. He probably would be all right once the initial stun

wore off.

As they walked back outside, Luise briefed Etienne on what they had learned from

Duke Fyodor and his physician. The head of the d'Alembert clan swore furiously under

his breath when he learned that they had been aiming at the wrong goal all this time,

and he was just as frustrated as Luise at not having learned more details about the

other robots that were apparently on the loose throughout the Galaxy. This was a threat

that had never before been suspected, and one that the Head should be apprised of

immediately.

The Duke left Rimskor at once to return to the Circus, but Jeanne and Luise stayed

behind for a while. As Luise watched, Jeanne went outside the castle and stood in the

middle of the now darkened roadway. The young animal trainer remained rigidly

motionless in the chilly night air for five minutes, then began trilling softly in an almost

birdlike call. She continued on for another ten minutes, then suddenly knelt and picked

something up. As she returned to Luise's side, the leader of the assault team could see

that she held Bur-Bur cuddled securely in both hands. The ticklemouse's nose was

twitching actively; it had come through the campaign with nary a scratch.

The instant he returned to his office at the Circus, Duke Etienne sat down at his desk

and composed two coded messages. One of them was quite long, explaining in detail

everything that had taken place during their operations on Kolokov and warning of the

possibility of other humanoid robots elsewhere in the Empire; that message would be

beamed to the Head on a Class Nine Priority basis-information vital to the continued

security of the Galaxy.

The second message was shorter. It said, in effect, "Stop looking for time bombs and

start looking for robots." It, too, was given a Class Nine priority and was sent out at

once to the planet Ansegria.

When that message was received, its high-priority rating -the highest ever received on

that particular world-got it delivered immediately to the planetary chief. But that worthy

did not read it; the particular coding on it told him that the contents were not meant for

his eyes and instructed him to forward it, instead, to Crown Princess Edna herself,

staying with the Baron and Baroness of Cambria.

The chief delivered the message personally to Rockhold Castle. The Princess greeted

him properly, though her manner was somewhat aloof; things had not been going well,

and her nerves were near the fraying point. She took the message from him and

dismissed him with her deepest thanks. Then, when she was sure she was alone, she

summoned Jules and Yvette to her rooms. Together, they would read this important

message aloud-and perhaps it would unravel some of the mystery that had overtaken

the Progress.

Chapter 12

A Traitor Unmasked

"A robot!" Yvette exclaimed. "No wonder all our investigations were looking so

pointless-we were going after the wrong thing. We could have been chasing time

bombs from here to Doomsday while, unbeknownst to us, a machine would have been

waltzing off with Edna."

The Crown Princess shuddered. "Whichever one it is must be awfully convincing," she

said. "They all look like real people to me."

"Borov was, at least," Yvette said grimly. "He proved that the hard way."

"This explains a lot of mysterious things," Jules put in, pacing about the room. "It

explains the fight we had in the corridor-that kick to the chest I gave him should have

killed an ordinary man. And his reflexes were as quick as ours because they were

mechanical and computer-assisted. And he acted as though he could see in the dark

because he probably could; I know if I were making a robot traitor, I'd build a few extra

features like that into it."

"Like superstrength?" Yvette gave him a wan smile. "Exactly. That machine must be

incredibly strong. That's how it uprooted the tree and clobbered poor Borov with it Borov

must have come upon it unexpectedly and learned its secret; it had to kill him to protect

its identity" "But which one of our little friends is it?º' Yvette mused. "Luise wasn't able to

find that out for us, unfortunately." "So we have to use our own brains," her brother

said, pacing some more. "Choyen Liu looks to me like the most logical choice. There's

always something cold and emotionless about him, like a machine. He didn't sunburn

like the rest of us did after that first day at the beach. And remember how good he was

with that rifle on the hunt bringing down a panna-cat like that with one shot is a pretty

incredible feat."

"But remember how he calmed the dorvats when they were panicking?" Yvette

countered. "I don't think a robot would be able to get so attuned to animals. And Liu

wasn't the only one who didn't burn-the sun left Paul Symond untouched as well."

Crown Princess Edna felt left out of this brainstorming session as she watched the two

superagents tossing their ideas back and forth. Clearing her throat, she dared to

interrupt with an idea of her own. "Why don't you simply X-ray everybody and find out,

instead of playing detective games?"

The two d'Alemberts stared at her. Jules stopped his pacing and smacked his forehead

with his palm. "Mon Dieul I must have left my brains back on DesPlaines. Edna, you are

a genius, and you'll make the best Empress we've ever had." He grabbed her by both

shoulders and delivered a passionate kiss to her imperial lips.

Edna was startled, but not complaining at all. When Jules had finished she blinked a

little and said, "Thank you, but I'm not sure I deserve the praise. It was a simple,

perfectly obvious move."

"It sometimes takes a genius to see the obvious and the simple," Yvette said solemnly.

"We could both have played Sherlock Holmes all day without getting anywhere. Hm.

X-raying isn't quite the answer; the machinery needed is too bulky and our robot may

get suspicious as to why we need it. He knows that sort of thing would give him away in

a second. He's already scared because events aren't going according to his plan; if he

gets any more anxious, he may do something unpredictable. We have to avoid that."

"We've still got our own bomb detectors," Jules pointed out. "They're so small that

nobody yet has noticed us using them. They should be able to detect whether a person

is flesh and bone or gear and cog. We just never thought to use them on people

before."

"True," Yvette nodded. "We could do that this after noon. But we'd better plan ahead.

What'll we do when we find out who it is?"

The question was harder to answer than it sounded. This robot had already proved

itself to be capable and resourceful. It was not above using murder to cover its tracks,

and it was already dedicated to a treasonous cause. Once its identity was revealed, it

would stop at nothing to cause as much damage as it could. It had only ceased its fight

with them in the corridor because it was afraid its identity might be discovered if it

lingered there much longer; once that threat was no longer valid, the two agents knew

just how hard a time they would have overcoming it.

"One thing is certain," Jules said. "Edna had better be far away from here when it

happens."

"Absolutely," his sister agreed. "She's been sticking around so far because we had to

allay our traitor's suspicions. Now that we know what his game is, there's no sense

puting her in further danger. Edna, you talk to the Baron and find some way of getting

out of here without anyone noticing you're gone. If anything comes up, you'll be officially

sick and resting in your room."

Edna smiled at her two bodyguards. "Normally I might resent having to take orders

instead of give them," she said, "but I know you two too well. Anything you say "Good,"

Jules said. "Now, to plan the trap itself." Most of the candidates were assembled in the

day room of Rockhold Castle, much as they had been on the day Jules had arrived.

Jules mingled among them, and Jacques Roumenier stood guard beside the outer

door. Though his stance appeared casual, his right hand just happened to be resting

only a centimeter or so from the handle of his blaster, which he could draw and fire in

the meagerest fraction of a second. Jules and Yvette had decided to use blasters if

needed, since a stunner would be of no use whatsoever against a robot.

Yvette and Yvonne were waiting out of sight in the next room. Both ladies had their

weapons already drawn, and were prepared to use them the instant it became

necessary. The Roumeniers had been briefed on the seriousness of the threat, and

would do whatever was needed to stop the robot's schemes.

Neither Symond nor Liu were in the room yet, so Jules took the opportunity to run a

routine scan on the rest of the possibilities. As he and Yvette had suspected, they

checked out to be clean and certifiably human-which left the two prime suspects

unaccounted for.

Liu came in through one door at almost the same instant that Symond came in from

another. They went to opposite corners of the room; Liu to meditate as always and

Symond to chat with Sean Mulvaney.

Jules decided to try Liu first. Going over to the man, he said in a quiet voice that only

the two of them could hear, "Something's been puzzling me about you."

"Oh?" The Anarian looked up at him, an expressionless expression on his face.

"Yes. When I first met you I mentioned that you had a very strong grip for such a

frail-looking person as yourself, and you answered by saying that the Universe was full

of illusion and that no one is ever quite what he seems. What did you mean by that?"

As he spoke, Jules used his sensors to try to probe the Anarian's body. One sensor

was in his ring, the other in his belt buckle. Both were reading normal. Liu was not a

robot.

"There are as many levels to reality as there are to illusion," the Anarian answered. "I

have the humble ability to see past certain illusions, though sometimes the entire reality

eludes me. I know, for instance, that you are not what you pretend to be."

Jules was shaken. "How do you know that?"

"Your physique, your bone structure when I shook your hand-they are not characteristic

of one who comes from a normal gravity world, such as you purport to. Also, I am quite

familiar with galactography and current politics, and I know there is no such planet

named Julea."

"If you knew that was so, why didn't you unmask me as a fraud?"

"Illusion serves its part in reality. To destroy illusion without understanding its reason for

being is to act unwisely."

"Is there anyone else here who is also an illusion?" Jules asked. He wanted to test Liu's

powers of observation to see whether the Anarian had come to the same conclusion as

himself.

"Yes," Liu answered calmly. "We all are, even me. In a situation of pressure like this, we

all project an idealized version of ourselves, a composite of our dreams and our ideals,

our aspirations and. our fears." He paused. "There is, however, one who is more illusion

than the rest."

"Who is it, and in what way?" Jules prodded.

Choyen Liu looked at him with eyes whose depths Jules could not begin to plumb.

"Must you ask me to tell you what you already know? You should not ask a teacher to

be a parrot."

Jules bowed his head in acknowledgement of the point. Despite the oddness of the

man, he was beginning to like Choyen Liu. Somehow, the Anarian knew more than he

could possibly see, and told even less than he saw. "You're right," he said. "Forgive

me."

But if Choyen Liu was not the robot, that meant it had to be Paul Symond. Symond, the

handsome, friendly, outgoing young man whom everybody liked. Symond, the

personable chap who made such pleasant conversation and such a trustworthy

confidant. Symond, the traitor.

Who better to snare a princess? Jules thought bitterly. Still, he had to make absolutely

certain of his hypothesis before condemning Symond to death-or whatever the

equivalent of death was for a machine. Walking with forced casualness over to the

other side of the room, he stood for a moment beside Symond as the candidate was

talking to Mulvaney. The sensors he was wearing showed no doubt at all,

though--Symond was a machine in human form. Jules gave a slight nod of his head to

indicate to Jacques that this was the one they wanted.

The problem now was to get Symond away from the rest of the candidates; Jules didn't

want anyone else hurt if it could be avoided. "Paul," he said quietly, "I wonder if I could

talk to you privately for a moment."

Maybe it was something in the tone of Jules's voice, or the particular posture in which

he was standing. Maybe Jacques made his move a trifle too soon toward his blaster, or

looked at Symond with a little too much anxiety. Maybe it was a combination of any or

all of those factors. But whatever it was, something alerted the robot to the fact that his

identity was now known. His brain assimilated that information in a flash and knew that

he would never have a chance to accomplish his mission now-and with that realization,

the second overwhelming drive of his being took over: survival. Survival at all costs.

Without giving the slightest warning, he lashed out with both hands at both Jules and

Mulvaney. The latter was knocked halfway across the room and lost consciousness as

his head banged roughly against the wall; but Jules was a little harder to get rid of.

The blow, coming as unexpectedly as it did, stunned him and pushed him backward a

few awkward steps. But he did not lose his balance, nor did he bump into anything. All

the blow really accomplished was to gain Symond a few vital seconds.

At the same instant the robot lashed out at the two men around him, he started running.

As quick as Jacques was at drawing his blaster, by the time he had it out of its holster

and ready to fire the treacherous machine was halfway across the room and on the

other side of a knot of other candidates. Those men, too confused by this sudden

activity, just stood dumbstruck in the middle of the room, effectively blocking Jacques's

aim. The SOTS agent's reverence for innocent human life made him hesitate one

instant before pressing the trigger on his gun -and in that instant, Symond was out the

door into the adjoining room.

Yvette and Yvonne had been waiting in this room for something to happen, blasters

drawn and at the ready. But so quickly did Symond come bursting through the door,

with no warning whatsoever, that they barely had time to react. It would be hard to say

who was the more surprised at this confrontation-Symond at finding two more armed

people waiting for him or the SOTS agents at having him appear so unexpectedly. But

Symond, with his computer fast reflexes, recovered first.

He now knew that he was in the most crucial fight of his short existence, and was not

about to pull any punches as he'd done in the corridor battle. Yvette was standing

nearest him, on his left, and he lashed out with the flat of his left hand aimed directly at

her throat. It was a blow of killing ferocity, and so quickly did it come that Yvette was not

able to duck. Her DesPlainian reflexes were quick enough, however, to cause her to fall

backwards even as the blow was being delivered. Symond's hand, therefore, caught

her with slightly less than its intended impact; it did not break her neck, and the

toughened muscles in her throat prevented the blow from shattering her windpipe. But

she was knocked, senseless, to the floor and lay still for several minutes before

regaining consciousness.

That left Vonnie to deal with. The attack on Yvette had given her a precious second in

which to bring her blaster into play. It was not just because she was his fianc6e that

Jules had picked her for this assignment; on the 1,000point test by which all SOTE

agents were measured-a test of both mental and physical agility-she had scored a

highly respectable 989. There were perhaps only two dozen other people in the Galaxy

with a higher rating than that.

But no one could have predicted just how quickly Symond could act. No living being

had a right to move so fast and so effectively, not even a DesPlainian-but, of course,

Symond was not a living being. His computerized brain could assess a situation and

react to it more quickly than could a human one. His body parts were purely

mechanical, and were not subject to haphazard impulses, as were human tissue. When

he moved, there was no hesitation, no infinitesimal delay between thought and deed.

Even to Yvonne's well-trained eyes, Symond came at her as a mere blur of motion.

She had time to fire just one shot, which passed through the space right behind the

quick-moving robot. Then Symond had reached her. One of his powerful fists pounded

brutally into her stomach and, as she doubled over involuntarily, his other came down

with savage force on the back of her neck. Yvonne fell to the floor, unconscious.

All the while-unhampered by emotions, adrenalin, or any of the other distractions that

would overtake a living being in similar circumstances--Symond's computer brain was

evaluating his chances for survival. Success lay in flight, but even that course was

fraught with peril. There were no copters on the premises, and trying to escape on the

back of a dorvat would be ludicrous. That left a car as the only logical alternative. But in

a car he would be alone and unable to fight back; they could spot him from the air and

simply drop a bomb on him, and that would be the end of everything. He could not allow

that to happen.

There was one other tack he could try. If he took a hostage with him, they might not

bomb him. It might make them think twice before destroying him. A hostage would be

his leverage to pry loose his continued safety. He could only take one, because two

might be hard to manage if he had to fight, and he was limited to what was at hand-but

women always did make exceptionally good hostages. Humans seemed to have a

built-in bias to protect them at all costs.

All these thoughts were flashing through his mind even as he was approaching Yvonne.

Consequently, he held back a trifle and his blows merely knocked her out rather than

kill her. Before her body could slump completely to the floor, he had swooped her up in

one arm and hoisted her over his shoulder. Without the slightest slackening in his

speed, he flashed through the room and carried his unconscious bundle into the

hallway beyond and out the front door of Rockhold Castle.

It was only a second or so later that Jules raced into the room where the two women

had been waiting. His eyes surveyed the scene and instantly spotted the stricken body

of his sister. Kneeling beside her, he checked quickly for a pulse, and emitted a grateful

sigh of relief to find that it was still there. With that fear allayed, he looked around the

room for some sign of his fiancée, just as Jacques rushed through the door.

"Look after Evie," Jules snapped to his friend. There was no clue to Vonnie's

whereabouts, which could only mean one thing-Symond had taken her with him. And

that meant Jules's girl friend was either unconscious or dead, because Jules knew that,

were she conscious, she would have been struggling too hard for even the robot to

handle.

Leaving his sister to Jacques's able care, Jules ran through the castle to the courtyard

where the cars were parked just in time to see Symond driving off through the front gate

with a body slumped in the seat beside him-a body that could only be Yvonne

Roumenier.

Chapter 13

The Chase in Space

Though his soul was in agony over Vonnie's possible fate, Jules was not the sort to

stop and moan about the situation. He was a creature of action, and every cell in his

body called out for him to take steps to remedy the situation. Without wasting a single

tear, he bounded down the front steps to where his own car was parked. It was the

work of but a second to hop in the front seat and start the engine, and then he was

zooming down the road and out the front gate himself, in hot pursuit of the traitor's car.

Jules's own vehicle was something special in the way of ground cars. While it looked to

the casual observer like a late sports model Frascati, it was actually a Mark Forty-One

Service Special. It was ever so slightly longer, wider, and rounder than a car of its class

should be-and it was considerably heavier. For its size it was the most efficient and

deadly vehicle ever built. At the touch of a button, those too-round sides would open

and a transparent, airtight, beamproof canopy would slide into place around the car. It

could fly through the air or even short distances into space and accelerate up, forward,

back, or sideways at better than four gees. Its communication gear was complete in

every respect, and it was fully armed with heavy-duty blasters and a variety of bombs.

But all that expensive and elaborate equipment did Jules no good at all in the present

circumstances; he still dared not use it against the car ahead of him. Not while Vonnie

was in it.

Symond drove his car at the limit on manual, relying on his own super-reflexes to keep

him safely on the road. Jules's reflexes were certainly not much worse, and he was able

to keep up the chase without mishap. He could have, if he chose, taken off and flown

above the escaping vehicle, but that might have been tipping his hand a bit

prematurely-plus, there would be complications on landing once the other vehicle

stopped. For the moment, Jules preferred to stay on the road and take his chances in

the traffic.

But that is not to say he was idle during the drive. Even as he steered his ground car

along the highway in pursuit of his quarry, he was on the radio to Service Headquarters

for Ansegria. Using a top-level code, he identified himself as Agent Wombat-and did

that name ever produce results! Agents Wombat and Periwinkle (Yvette) were almost

legendary in Service annals, and a request from either was like a direct order from the

Head himself. So when Jules asked for a tracer placed on Symond's fleeing ground car

plus an escort of copiers to make sure it didn't get away, he got exactly that-and fast.

No attempt was made to disguise the surveillance forces being used against the

renegade robot, but if Symond noticed the copiers at all he paid them no attention. He

was positive they would take no direct action against him while he still had his hostage;

his problem was still the same as it had been all along-to escape from the planet. Once

he was in space, he would have a much better chance of eluding pursuit and finding a

safe haven.

It soon became evident to all the pursuers that Symond's ground car was headed via

back-country roads to Canyonville, where the local spaceport was located. The idea of

placing roadblocks in his path was suggested, but Jules vetoed it out of hand. As long

as Symond was no direct threat to the Princess, he felt they should let the traitor have

some leeway in the hope that he would slip and give them a chance to rescue Yvonne

unhurt. Once his fiancee was out of danger, Jules didn't care what happened to the

traitor.

As predicted, Symond's car drove up to the spaceport and did a quick circle of the field

while the robot scouted the possibilities. Finally, spotting a small mail ship sitting on its

fins in one corner of the field, the robot drove his ground car in a beeline straight for it.

He stopped alongside the untended ship and got out of his car. Carrying the still

unconscious Yvonne over -his shoulder, he began climbing the ladder to the ship's crew

section.

Jules felt a moment of frustration as his own car raced over to the mail ship. For just an

instant, Symond was visible and vulnerable; yet the blasters in Jules's car were

heavy-duty ones that would destroy everything in the area they hit. He would not be

able to shoot the robot without hitting Vonnie as well. He cautioned the pilots of the

copters not to try any sniping with their hand weapons, either; the copiers made an

unreliable shooting base, and there was the chance they might hit the wrong target.

Besides, hitting Symond once he had started up the ladder meant he would have

dropped Vonnie to the ground in his fall and that could be fatal.

The SOTE forces could only watch, helpless, as Symond reached the top of the ladder

with his captive and disappeared inside the airlock, closing it behind him. Jules wasn't

sure whether there were any crewmembers or not inside that ship, but it wouldn't make

too much difference. A vessel that small could be handled easily enough by one person

who knew what he was doing, which Symond probably did.

Jules checked with the Service officers about the possibility of getting Navy or police

ships to head Symond off. But Ansegria was a small and quiet planet that had never

had much trouble it couldn't handle itself; its police didn't have anything more advanced

than atmospheric jets. The Navy occasionally sent a fleet ship over on holidays or

special occasions, but in general the nearest base was over a parsec away. If Symond

ever did get off the ground, both the Service and the local police would have an

impossible time trying to catch him.

Which meant that everything lay on Jules's shoulders. Gunning his car at maximum

acceleration, he zoomed across the spaceport field to his and Yvette's own vessel, La

Comete Cuivre. The burnished metal of the sleek two person ship glowed almost red in

the late afternoon sunlight. At the touch of one special button on his car's control panel,

a section of the Comet's hull opened downward, forming a ramp that the car could drive

straight up. The Mark Forty-One Service Special snugged perfectly into the hold of the

ship and the ramp closed up behind it, sealing it airtight.

Even before the hull had completely closed, though, Jules had leaped out of the driver's

seat of his car and begun climbing the ladder up to the forward section of the ship.

Within seconds he was in the familiar control cabin of his own ship, seated before the

console. The Comet was in a powered-down configuration, as he had not been

expecting to use it during the course of this mission; consequently, he had to work

furiously, flipping switches and turning dials in an effort to get the vessel ready for a

leap into space.

Slowly, the atomic reactors that powered the Comet began to glow as life returned to

the ship. The drive circuits heated up nicely to the point where they could be called

upon when needed. Jules gave all the indicators a check with an experienced eye, and

everything read perfect. The Comet was ready to fly whenever he gave the order.

Jules radioed SOTE and had them inform the tower that his wishes were to supersede

all other normal business. He then issued the order that regular departures and arrivals

were to be held until this matter concerning the hijacked mail ship was settled. If

Symond and he had to take off on short notice, he didn't want either of them colliding

with another ship in midair.

The robot obviously had not found too much opposition inside the mail ship, for it

suddenly lifted off the launch field with a blaze of acceleration that made most

onlookers gasp. No normal human would have taken off so hard; he wouldn't have

been able to work the delicate controls for very long under such heavy gee forces, and

might have passed out, which would have been fatal. Jules set his lower jaw and

tracked the stolen ship on his radar screen. It was leaving the surface of Ansegria at a

rate of about six gravities; well, that would not be too bad. To someone from a

three-gee world, six gees would be little more than an inconvenience.

As the mail ship blasted its way through Ansegria's sky, Jules's ship followed right after

it, matching speed for speed. Jules wondered whether Symond speculated on what sort

of pilot could be withstanding that great an acceleration for so long, but then realized

that the robot must al ready have some measure of his worth-that fight in the corridor

had taught the robot as much about Jules as it had taught Jules about the robot. Each

knew fairly well the capabilities of his adversary.

The acceleration didn't slacken at all as the two ships left Ansegria's atmosphere

behind them. Symond apparently didn't want to waste an instant reaching a distance far

enough from Ansegria's gravitational field to turn on his subether drive and escape to

some other system. Jules was just as determined not to give him that opportunity.

Upping his own acceleration to eight gees, Jules closed the gap between the two ships.

When they were but half a kilometer apart, the SOTE agent brought his weapons to

bear on the other's vessel. Jules had been waiting for Symond to make his mistake,

and now the robot bad made two of them-he had trapped himself in a vehicle that could

be effectively disabled without being destroyed, and he had hijacked one that was

unarmed. That combination would-Jules prayed fervently-prove the traitor's undoing.

Taking careful aim, Jules fired the Comet's blasters full strength at the tail of the

fugitive's ship. These were not hand blasters, whose beams could be stopped by a

tough enough metal alloy; these were high-powers, and there was little that could

withstand their full fury. The rear end of Symond's ship began heating up; it glowed first

a cherry red, then graduated to white hot. With a suddenness that only seemed to

happen in space, the back part of the fleeing vessel burst apart in a silent explosion,

scattering bits of debris into orbit around Ansegria. At the same time, the ship's

acceleration stopped abruptly and the rocket began coasting through space at the

steady speed it had had at the moment just before its engines blew.

Jules noted quickly that he had acted in time; the ship would not reach subether

distance from Ansegria for another two hours. That allowed him plenty of time; the

matter would be settled between Symond and himself, one way or another, long before

that point was reached.

For the next few minutes, though, he was very busy decelerating, making sure that his

own ship didn't overshoot his quarry. Matching velocities was considered a routine

procedure, and was something that every pilot-in-training was required to master before

obtaining his license; nevertheless, it was detailed and it took a good deal of time

before Jules could adjust his speed and direction to exactly parallel that of the disabled

ship.

With that accomplished, Jules set grimly about his task of putting on a suit of space

armor. Matching velocities with the mail ship may have been a laborious and tedious

procedure, but it was a much preferable pastime to boarding a disabled ship with a

berserk robot loose on it.

Jules left the airlock of the Comet and floated across the void to the stricken ship. The

airlock would not open at his command, but he had expected that; Symond was not

about to open the door for him, as it were. Nevertheless, there were ways to get around

that difficulty.

Jules looked around for a second until he found the emergency manual controls, which

could override instructions from the bridge. Symond had intentionally left the airlock's

inner door open, so Jules's first order of business was to close that before he could

open the outer door. The manual crank did not want to turn at first Jules surmised that

the robot had propped the inner door open with something-but, using all his strength,

Jules forced it to start its work. In a matter of seconds he had closed it and begun the

pumping procedure for emptying the air out of the chamber. The mail ship's failsafe

system would not let the inner door open again until Jules was ready to let it.

When all the air was out of the lock, Jules opened the outer door and stepped inside

the ship. Closing the hatch behind him, he began the tedious procedure for letting the

air back into the lock. Even when there was an atmosphere around him, though, he did

not remove his space armor. Although Symond's chest expanded and contracted at

regular intervals, Jules doubted very much whether the robot really needed to breathe.

As a last resort, the creature could always knock a hole in the airlock door to let the air

out of the ship, and if Jules were not encased in his own suit it would be a quick way to

end the opposition. Jules would not give Symond such an easy way out.

As the inner door opened, Jules noted that all the lights inside the ship had been turned

off. That, too, was as he had anticipated. The robot had already demonstrated his

ability to see in the dark; it would be to his advantage to keep Jules as far off balance

as he could. The SOTS agent calmly reached up to the top of his helmet and switched

on its high-intensity searchlight beam. If Symond insisted on playing games like this,

Jules would top him; anyone now coming face to face with him would be staring directly

into that dazzling"light, and Jules doubted whether even the robot could see through

that much glare.

Jules found himself in a corridor that ran fore to aft along the axis of the ship. The most

likely place for the robot to be was in the front of the vessel, in the control room were he

could monitor and control what happened inside the hijacked rocket. With grim

determination he began swimming through the hallway toward the bridge.

The beam of his searchlight gave a harsh effect to the interior of the darkened vessel.

Objects directly in front of him reflected strongly, while deep shadows and blackness

ringed the periphery of his vision. Jules knew he was an exposed target as he swam

down the center of the corridor in free-fall, but the thought didn't bother him too much.

Symond had used a stun-gun against him in the corridor of Rockhold Castle the other

night, but such a weapon would be useless against him when he was encased in space

armor. There was no indication that the robot had any armament more powerful than

that; and, even if he had, Jules's armor could withstand the full fury of most hand-held

weapons except for the highest powered blasters. And Jules's own blaster was in his

hand and at the ready for instant use should he catch sight of his quarry.

The door to the front compartment was closed, meaning that some surprise was

obviously awaiting him in there. The door could be opened by sliding it upward into the

top of the doorsill. Floating up to the very top, Jules reached over to press the button

that would open the door, fully expecting Symond to have it locked. To his surprise, it

slid open easily, and he gazed in to see what was inside.

He had only a brief glimpse. Vonnie was floating toward the front of the cabin, still

unconscious. Several lights on the control panel were quietly shining, and one red light

was flickering on and off most urgently-obviously the automatic monitor from the aft

compartment telling the captain that the engines were blown and that the drive chamber

was open to the vacuum of space. Symond was not in the room.

Before Jules had more than the merest flash of that sight, however, a massive object hit

him hard along the side of his helmet. The battle armor was sturdy and was little more

than dented by the blow-but even so, the impact was so great that it drove him forward

against the bulkhead. His helmet banged hard against the metal wall, setting up a

ringing in his ears. Even though stunned, Jules's rapid DesPlainian reflexes enabled

him to twist his body around to see where the attack had come from.

Symond had been waiting in the back of the corridor all along, figuring that Jules would

head straight for the control room. He had sneaked up soundlessly behind the SOTE

operative, waiting for the perfect moment to attack. When Jules's attention had been

focused on the interior of the bridge, Symond had picked up some massive metallic

object and hurled it, with all his superhuman strength, at his adversary. Then, not

bothering to wait to see how much damage that would do, he launched himself directly

after it.

Jules struggled valiantly to fight off the stunning effects of the blow on the head as he

saw Symond's body come hurtling through the air at him. He brought up his right arm to

fire his blaster but, fast as he was, he was still a fraction of a second too late. The

robot's body banged solidly into his, bumping him once more against the bulkhead.

Symond's hand gripped that of Jules and squeezed with unbelievable power. The

blaster, a sturdy amalgam of plastic and steel, crumbled as though it had been made of

cardboard. The situation, then, seemed to resolve itself down to basics-a DesPlainian

human of supernormal capabilities and a humanoid robot of mechanical perfection.

Symond had the initial advantage and intended to press it for all it was worth. With his

right hand he pounded Jules again and again in the stomach; the blows reached the

agent's midsection as though delivered by a pile driver. His body armor was well

constructed to withstand a large variety of abuses, but it could not outlast such

punishing treatment for long without breaking apart. Jules would have to do something

to keep Symond's hands too busy to continue that work.

Fighting in free-fall is almost entirely a matter of leverage; sheer physical strength is of

secondary consequence when every action produces an equal and opposite reaction

and there is no firm place to stand. As long as Jules remained pressed up against the

bulkhead, Symond's punches would have a telling effect; if he were free in midair, the

blows would not be nearly so bad.

With his right leg, he lashed out sideways and kicked against the wall. His kick was

strong enough to break him free of the robot's grasp and send him sailing down the

corridor. He would probably have sailed all the way to the back of the ship if he'd let

himself, but that would not have done any good. Instead, he reached out to grab a

doorsill as he passed it, and stopped his motion. As his head cleared from the initial

attack, he began to feel some of his energy being renewed.

Pushing himself off from this door, he headed back toward his foe. Symond saw him

coming and braced himself against the frame of the doorway, but there was little he

could do against the inertia of Jules's hundred-kilo body hitting him squarely in the

midsection. The two antagonists tumbled over and over through the air into the center

of the control room.

Jules looked beyond his opponent for a second. Yvonne appeared to be coming to from

the blow Symond had given her. The thought of having her as his ally against the

treacherous humanoid machine sent a little spark of hope through his body. He and

Vonnie made almost as unbeatable a team as he and Yvette.

But Yvonne was not fully conscious yet, and Jules would have to keep Symond from

realizing that she was snapping out of her coma. The robot had already proved that he

could fight effectively against two opponents at once; only if he was unaware of

Yvonne's presence would she be a true asset.

Jules began raining random blows down upon the robot's head, forcing him to go on the

defensive and making sure his eyes stayed focused on Jules. The SOTE agent tried

not to look over to his fianc6e too often, for his eyes would give her away. He

concentrated instead on being a nuisance to Symond.

Yvonne, meanwhile, came around slowly. Being in free fall tended to confuse her,

adding the sinking stomach sensation to the confusion normally attendant on returning

to consciousness from a blow on the head. Everything around her was dark except for

one light bobbing around in front of her. Her brain was swimming in dizziness, and she

tried to focus on the light to clear it. After a moment, she succeeded.

The light was on the top of a suit of space armor, and she recognized it instantly as

Jules's. No one else had a body shape like that, or moved in quite that way. Yvonne

had made herself an expert on the subject of Jules d'Alembert, and could recognize

him instantly in any disguise he chose.

He was fighting-very poorly, for him-a dark, shadowy figure whom she could only see

from the back. It took just an instant for the recognition to click in her mind, and then

she knew it was Symond. But where were they? Why were they in the control room of a

spaceship? How had they gotten out into space at all? Where were Yvette and

Jacques?

She shoved those and a host of other questions to the back of her mind. This was a

time for action, not for riddles. Jules was fighting a very dangerous traitor, and he

needed her help.

As she watched, she could see that Jules was doing a very bad job of attacking.

Although he was engaged in many furious motions, the waste of effort was incredible.

Then she realized what his intention was-he was keeping Symond's back to her, not

letting the robot know she was now an active force. She would have the advantage of

surprise-but how best to use it?

Hitting Symond would do little good; the creature was close to indestructible. What

would stop it? Her brain raced in feverish circles for fifteen seconds before the obvious

answer occurred to her, and it took another couple of instants to figure out how to carry

out her plan quickly and quietly. The instant she reasoned it out, however, she carried

through.

She knew something about the way control panels were constructed. There were

always plenty of backup systems in case something should go wrong. And, although

most of the electronic circuits were printed on circuit board, there would be auxiliary

power lines fed into the board by cables. Floating slowly, so that Symond's peripheral

vision wouldn't spot her motion, she made her way down to the panel. The pair of

cables were there, as she expected, soldered tightly into place. There was no gentle

means of disconnecting them, and she didn't have time for such methods anyhow.

Using brute, DesPlainian strength, she pulled the cables free of their moorings and held

them by the insulation. Then, judging her direction very carefully, she leaped at

Symond.

The robot saw her coming out of the comer of his eye, but there was little he could

do-Jules had coordinated his attack to what he saw Yvonne doing, and Symond was

already in midmotion to block one of Jules's punches. As he twisted away, he ran right

into the two outstretched tips of cable that Yvonne was poking at him.

There was a loud crackling sound and sparks filled the room. Just as Yvonne had

thought, electrocution was the perfect method for dealing with this robot. The power

flowing through the ship's cables had overwhelmed the creature's own circuitry, burning

it out. The robot's carcass twitched spasmodically until Yvonne removed the cables and

pushed them to one side; then it lay still, floating lifeless in midair.

Through Jules's helmet she could just make out an enormous smile of relief on his face.

He swam over to her, put his arms around her not-so-frail body, and began to hug her

passionately.

"Darling," she cried out, "I enjoy hugging you, too-but please remove your armor first!

It's no fun at all this way!"

Chapter 14

The Iceberg's Tip

Ideally, all the d'Alemberts would have preferred to have their funerals on their native

planet, DesPlaines; but that was impossible. The Circus of the Galaxy was too big and

too complex to be able to shut down whenever one of its members was killed in the line

of duty. Besides, it had a cover identity to protect. It could not even officially admit that

anyone had died, lest too many questions be asked about how and why the death had

occurred.

Consequently, the funerals for the four family members who had died on Kolokov-three

in the raid on Evekian and Claude d'Alembert in Rimskor Castle-were almost furtive

affairs. The bodies were cremated, and the ashes were sent back to DesPlaines; the

services themselves were held under the big top after all the customers had departed

from the last show of the evening.

Jules and Yvette, Jacques and Yvonne-their mission on Ansegria now over-had joined

the Circus on Kolokov so that they could take part in the sad ceremony. They knew

that, had the circumstances been a little different, the funeral could have been for them,

and they felt a deep sense of personal loss over their dead kinsmen. But even so, they

knew it was occasions like this that bonded the family ever stronger and closer

together; the d'Alemberts would go on as long as the Empire lasted, and this renewed

faith helped them face future missions ever more eagerly.

Etienne, as was his duty as head of the family, delivered the funeral oration. As often as

he had performed this sad chore, it was a new weight on his shoulders each time. He

spoke quietly and with dignity, always bearing in mind the faces of the four he would-be

seeing no more; and when he finished, there was nothing else to be said.

He spoke to more than just the family members who were present in the room, too, for

the Head himself grand Duke Zander von Wilmenhorst-had decided to "attend" via

interstellar trivid patch-in. Although he couldn't spare the time to leave Earth, his image

was projected, at great expense, all the way across the countless parsecs to a booth on

Kolokov that was set out of the way so that most of the family couldn't detect his

identity; and he listened most intently and reverently to the Duke's words about the

departed relatives.

Afterward the trivid booth was moved into the Duke's private office, where Etienne,

Jules, Yvette, and the Head could discuss the case among themselves. The Head first

congratulated the three d'Alemberts on another successful mission, but Jules and

Yvette demurred. It was their relatives, they pointed out, who actually broke the secret

behind the plot, and it was Yvonne who actually destroyed the robot.

The Head nodded slowly. "I'm not belittling their roles in the slightest, and they'll all get

a verbal pat on the head That's all I can do; because of the ultrasecret nature of the

Circus's real mission, I can't put their commendations in writing. But the three of you

were in charge of the operation--and a succesful mission is a reflection on its planners.

There was a threat to the Empire; I put you in charge and now that threat is gone. Ergo,

you handled it well and deserve my thanks ... and the Princess's."

"The logic still seems a bit strained," Jules said, "but on behalf of all those who worked

with us, I thank you for your kind words."

"Unfortunately, though," Yvette intoned, "the threat is not gone. If what Luise learned is

truce--and Doctor Rustin was under nitrobarb, so it must be--then there are more robots

like Symond wandering around. I figure a minimum of three, because Rustin said 'none

of the others' rather than 'neither of the others.' There could be many more than that.

This one was only the latest-and since there haven't been any signs of any of the

others, they must be infiltrating well enough to pass inspection. Who knows where they

could be by now?"

The Head's face clouded over. It was clear that this was a problem to which he had

devoted a great deal of his personal attention over these past few days. "Yes," he

sighed. "But we know now that these robots are not invincible-or even undetectable.

Our first concern, of course, is that some of them may have slipped into positions of

trust near the Imperial Family. The next most serious point would be if any of them were

in the military or impersonating Service personnel.

"There is an easy enough way of checking, however. At my request, the Emperor will

order all Court employees and all Service personnel and ranking military officers-to

undergo frequent health check-ups . . . including X rays. It would be easy enough to

justify such an order, and it wouldn't arouse the suspicions of any robots working in

those areas. It would be enough to scare them into action, though, because they know

such a check-up would expose them. Either they'll panic and flee, or they'll try to

perform their missions prematurely; in either case, we stand a good chance of spoiling

their plans."

"But," said Duke Etienne grimly, "what if these robots aren't in any position where we

can check on them directly? Statistically speaking, that's a more likely prospect."

The Head sighed again. "Yes, old friend, I know that only too well. The total population

of the Empire runs into the trillions, out of which we have to pick a few select traitors.

The odds are stacked improbably high against us. What if one of the robots is a janitor

in some building, just awaiting his appointed hour to strike? How could we possibly spot

something like that?"

"The same way we spotted this one," Yvette said, trying to project more optimism than

she felt. "If they're going to do anything, they have to make a move sometime. We'll be

keeping our eyes open even wider now that we know the threat exists. The Service of

the Empire is the finest organization of its kind ever assembled, and our people are the

sharpest and most loyal subjects the Emperor could have." I have confidence in us that

we'll be able to move in time."

"Funny-Bill said the same thing in almost the same words," the Head told them,

referring to the Emperor. "I respect his judgment, and I hope he's right. There is, you

know, one other factor to consider. Duke Fyodor and Doctor Rustin were only parts in

what had to be a widespread conspiracy."

Jules knit his brow in perplexity. "Exactly how do you figure that, sir?"

The Head looked to his friend Etienne, who shrugged his massive shoulders and spoke

to his son. "Fyodor Paskoi was Duke of Kolokov. As such, he had a great deal of power

on this one planet-but, theoretically, none anywhere else. Paul Symond-the original

one----came from Lateesta, a different planet entirely. There had to be someone on

Lateesta who knew in advance that Symond would be chosen as that world's

representative to the Progress. There had to be someone who could gather the data on

him so that he could be duplicated in robot form."

"Nor is that all of it," added Zander von Wilmenhorst. "There also had to be someone

relatively close to the Imperial Family to be able to predict what Edna's tastes would be

like, so that the robot could be designed to match them. As far as this case goes, I'm

afraid, we've only seen the tip of the iceberg. We'll have to do a lot more diving beneath

the surface before we can map out the entire structure of this hazard. I hope the two of

you won't mind a lot more hard work in the future."

"We thrive on it!" Jules promised.

"And on the subject of Edna's tastes," Yvette said thoughtfully, "I think whoever

designed the Symond robot doesn't know the way women think very well. Symond had

all the obvious qualities-good looks, charming personality, sparkling wit-the whole

supposedly ideal package. Edna even admitted to me she was interested in him. He's

the kind of guy that most girls, including myself, would love to go on dates with . . . but I

think Edna would have been too smart to marry him. You can't marry perfection. If you

ask me, I think Edna's eyes are aimed in an entirely different direction."

"Where?" Jules asked.

"Choyen Liu," his sister replied without hesitation. As Jules raised his eyebrows in

amazement, she went on, "I know he's not the standard romantic picture, but marriage

will dissolve the ideal very quickly. Symond was all surface. Choyen Liu has no surface

to speak of, but there's a depth there that would take a lifetime to plumb. Edna's looking

for someone to spend her lifetime with, and there's one thing I can guarantee-Choyen

Liu won't be boring. I really believe she may end up marrying him."

The Head listened to Yvette, and considered the message that Edna had sent her

parents earlier that very day that there was someone she'd met on the Progress whom

she was seriously considering, and she would like to talk the matter over with them

when she returned home. He himself would not have thought this fellow Choyen

Liuwhom he knew only through his files-would be the sort of man the Princess would

pick. But then, he was not in the matchmaking business.

He smiled as the conversation continued to revolve around the Princess and her

possible husband. It was not really the basic concern of any of them-Liu's file indicated

that he was a good and loyal servant of the Crown, and that was what mattered as far

as the Service was concerned. But his top agents needed to relax their minds before

starting out again on the uphill fight against entropy. He knew beyond doubt that they

would soon be risking their lives once more to maintain the ideal of Empire. In the

meantime, let them enjoy some idle speculation for a bit.