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“I’ll manage,” said Kim quickly. “I can go for a week without sleep.”

“I know. Me too. But I don’t see the need right now.”

Paying no more attention to Kim, he tossed off his robe and stretched out under the blanket. Watched the girl put on the neuro-shunt headband.

Damn it, what should he do?

What was this mess he had gotten himself into?

Just a few random suspicions that were impossible to prove or disprove. Circumstantial evidence, to use a legal term. And a gnawing sense of deception…

Kim jolted. Her body stretched out and then lay still. Her skinny legs stuck out funny, the right foot dangling in the air, not reaching the floor.

Kim, what have you gotten yourself into?

Edgar was right. Alex was bound hand and foot by the invisible biochemical fetters that made him protect all those close to him. He was incapable of love, but could anyone tell from his actions? Pilots were ideal captains, after all. Their power rested not in strength or authority, but in the love of their crew. And that was right. He was glad to have ancient moral principles embedded in him, the principles that had been learned through thousands of years of human suffering. These fetters were also a gift. No need to strive to become better—it had all been given to him in advance.

He couldn’t betray Kim.

He couldn’t let himself resolve his vague doubts the simplest and most obvious way—by ripping the gel-crystal out of its nest and handing it over to the security officers at Gamma Snakebearer.

All he could do now was wait… and hope that all his suspicions were groundless, that all the coincidences were random. And that the crystal harbored a frightened young man who dreamed of gaining a human body.

Alex closed his eyes and went to sleep. He would sleep for exactly two hours. It was certainly less than recommended, but quite enough for a modified nervous system.

Gamma Snakebearer had no planets suitable for life. One planet, a charred hunk of rock, orbited very close to the star itself. Another, a luminary never born, just a cold clot of gases, patrolled the very edges of the system. But the space channel located there was very convenient—twenty-eight exits led out to populated worlds, most of them human, and a few to alien territories. So the Empire had built a gigantic transport station at the channel’s mouth and stationed several ancient battleships there to milk the new and lucrative junction for all it was worth. The absence of any planets actually proved to be a bonus; it was much easier for the Imperial government to control a space station than a planetary colony. This way, the profits didn’t have to be shared with any local presidents, kings, tsars, khans, or shahs.

Mirror didn’t need to stop for fuel or rest. The ship dove out of the exit point, turned around to trace a gigantic arc around the one-eyed cylinder of the space station, and then got in line for another entry. The magic mirror of the hyper-channel floated among the stars, indifferent to the many ships diving in and out.

Most of the crew were off duty. The engineer appeared, idled a while, got bored, and departed, leaving the engine running at minimum capacity. Generalov dropped in for a second. With the generosity of a magician, he spread out several routes and went off again. There was still an hour remaining before re-entry into the channel. Janet never appeared at all, and Kim was bored at her battle station, entertaining herself by calculating possible attack routes. Seeing this, Alex blocked off her weapons systems, just in case.

Only Morrison was utterly thrilled to be flying. He enjoyed every tiny maneuver, every little piloting show-off trick invisible to the untrained eye. Seeing who could perform the most graceful turn, using the gravitational field of the channel. Or who would be the one to give the most elegant salutation to his colleagues by a barely detectable movement of the ship.

Now that Alex had become a captain, he regarded Morrison from a slightly different point of view. Not with condescension, but with a certain smiling indulgence. The way a gray-haired father might regard his young son’s academic feats in college.

“Captain?”

“I’m listening, Xang.”

“Who is to perform the entry into the channel?”

“You—go ahead, Morrison.”

“Thank you.”

There was a momentary pause. And then Xang asked:

“What’s it like—being a captain?”

“It’s a very good feeling, Morrison. You’ve never been in charge of a ship?”

“Only back at the academy. But that was an ancient Heron, with no crew. Just me and the instructor.”

“Same here. Seems like retired Herons are used for training everywhere you go.”

“Back at Serengeti, we also had a Flamingo.”

“Not bad,” said Alex, sincerely impressed. And so they chatted away the hour. Ships came and went. A magnificent and monstrous Tai’i cruiser crawled out of the channel. It looked like a rough-hewn asteroid, its surface enveloped in blood-red flame. The cruiser was making its usual patrol rounds, and a small battleship escorted it through Imperial territory. The giant cruiser of a once-great civilization floated on among the stars as if not even noticing the tiny convoy ship, which could destroy it with one blast.

All is vanity among the stars.

The ancient Tai’i civilization, dying from its strange internal problems, clutching desperately at the last dozen stars left to it, still patrolled the ancient borders of its former realm. As if the Tai’i didn’t realize that their once-mighty ships wouldn’t survive any serious skirmish these days, and that they owed the very existence of their kingdom to the mercy of the races they once ruled….

Alex transmitted a full report of the recent incident to the pilot’s union, sending a copy to the Imperial administration and the government of Quicksilver Pit. Generalov had done a great job preparing the report, carefully detailing all the potential consequences of the collision, briefly noting the shocking negligence of the channel’s guard stations, and hinting at the possibility of a premeditated act of sabotage. The only thing Alex had to add was an “unofficial and off-the-record opinion” that the root of the trouble should be looked for in the commercial rivalry of competing tourist firms.

Then they downloaded the latest news from the station. There turned out to be nothing exciting, except, perhaps, the contents of the society pages. The gala celebration of the Emperor’s seventh birthday. A tired child, blinking sleepily, sat on the high throne, the actual seat of power that his ancestors had used to rule the Empire many generations ago. The child was receiving countless greetings from various ambassadors—and sometimes the representatives of the ambassadors—from various colonial worlds and alien races. Only the Zzygou, following their own peculiar customs, had sent the highest-ranking dignitaries and potentates to the official ceremony.

All is vanity among the stars. All but traditions.

Soon it was their turn to make another hyper-jump. And Morrison, expertly performing the graceful “Ionesco Loop,” ran the ship into the mouth of the channel. Their route now lay toward New Ukraine.

“Take a break, Morrison,” Alex suggested.

“Is that an order, sir?” the co-pilot rejoined quickly. The murky grayness of the channel flowed around the ship. This was a short jump—two hours and forty-three minutes.

“You’re not tired?” asked Alex simply.

Morrison laughed.

“I’ve just spent two weeks sitting on a planet, Captain. Can you imagine? No piloting. And broke, besides. Couldn’t even rent a glider.”

“Very well, Xang. Happy piloting!”

“Thank you, sir,” said the co-pilot with deep gratitude. “Alex… I won’t forget your kindness.”