“Maybe it just wasn’t politically expedient to kill you in front H’lim-who, after all, ended up defending you as well as defying you. If it comes to a choice between Abbot or H’lim, I’ll Pick H’lim. He’s a better man than Abbot, even though he may not have a human cell in his body. So just because you have luren in you, that doesn’t mean you’re worthless as a person.” “And what if everything H’lim has told us is a lie?”
“In his place, would you tell the truth and die for it?”
“More likely I’d edit heavily and grit my teeth.”
“H’lim, unlike Abbot, has a conscience, and his teeth are gritted to nubbins. If I have to choose, I pick H’lim.”
“So you’ll let Colby send H’lim’s message.” “
“Yes, but not Abbot. You were right. He’d cheat.” “And what of Mirelle?”
“I’ll slip her as many of these as I can-tell her they’re for headaches. She’s always cadging headache pills.”
“One at a time. Don’t let her take any home.”
“Why would it bother Abbot? We’re helping him!”
“Technically, it’s an infraction. She wears his Mark. I should give him the pills.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“He’d never remember to give them to her, even if he thought it was a good idea. It’s not a Tourist habit to care for stringers any more than you’d try to refill a pen. They’re disposable.”
“Ugh!”
“Besides, though he might not object to the pills making Mirelle last longer, he’d be furious at the risk of leaving them around where the human medics might find them. He’d class that as endangering Earth’s luren-which would be true. So be careful with them.”
She shook the vial. “I’m holding your life in my hand.”
“You have for weeks and weeks now. Nothing’s changed.”
“I love you, Darrell. I always have and always will.” He bent to kiss her, but she recoiled. “Brush your teeth first.”
He laid his cheek against hers and drank the sweetness into his soul. “And I want you to eat first.”
The next morning, Titus collected all the reports from his department, hastily assimilated the mountain of material and rearranged his list of possible target stars, stared at the data, then called H’lim. “Is your home star a binary?”
“Of course not! Binaries don’t have inhabited planets!”
“I thought you didn’t know anything about astronomy.”
“I don’t. Everyone knows that, though.”
Titus would have given his right arm and two gallons of blood for what “everyone knew” out there. “Are there two gas giants in the home system?”
“No, only one. I’ve told you what I know.”
“Yeah.” He’d told them of the space stations and domed colonies, of tourist attractions and discount fare structures, but little that was of real use from here. “See you at the meeting.”
He rearranged his list again, combed his hair, polished his shoes and went to the conference room.
Colby was late. They had the war news up on the big screen, bits and pieces compiled at Luna Station. As developments in different regions were covered, people in the room took sides, defending their homelands or attacking the enemies of their regions.
The moment Colby entered, though, silence fell. She looked as if she hadn’t slept, but she was impeccably groomed. In dark tones, she announced that World Sovereignties official policy was now to run supplies through the blockade, with the first shipment due in a few days. It would be mostly parts for the probe, which was to be finished and launched in stripped form. Earth’s and H’lim’s message were to go as planned.
“If the probe penetrates the blockade, the secessionists will have lost their main point and their movement will die. The need then will be to unite Earth and prepare for contact. We will be Earth’s first priority and no longer in danger.”
Colby called for reports from all departments, finishing with Titus, who could only offer them a 60 percent chance of success. “From Wild Goose we got not only a better fix on the craft’s approach trajectory, but also half a dozen new possible stars that can’t be seen from here. We’re building a house of cards out of untested theories.”
“If it’s your best,” replied Colby, “we go with it.”
“Accuracy isn’t important,” supplied H’lim. “Anyone who hears it will relay the signal.”
“So you’ve said before, and we’re counting on it.” Colby turned to Abbot. “We have to tap the blockaders’ communications. Can you build a device to do that?”
“If I can have access to the Eighth Array to capture their bursts, I can build a decoder-maybe even a transmitter-so-we can jam or decoy them. I heard the com-techs talking this morning. I think we already know what frequencies they’re on, and I can probably find a way to track them when they change frequencies.”
“How soon?”
“I’ll give you an estimate tomorrow.”
The Eighth Array! But he can’t send H’lim’s message openly! He wished he’d tapped Abbot’s ground link. What was he up to? He hadn’t Influenced Colby, that was clear.
Then H’lim gave his first department report, revealing how very alien his thought processes were. All the required data was there, displaying a spectacular virtuosity and competence, but the organization was so bizarre not a single person at the table– except perhaps Abbot-followed a word of it. Colby assigned him a ghostwriter as well as a secretary, both men drawn from the Cognitive Sciences staff and eager to study the alien.
The meeting broke up and they returned to work with a sense of tackling a gigantic but possible task. A few days later, the first W.S. blockade runners were destroyed by secessionist ships directly over the station. Debris rained down, holing one of the domes, but no one was hurt.
The tight surveillance continued on H’lim despite Biomed’s excitement about what they were learning from him. It seemed he had considerable experience translating his science from one system to another. Nothing fazed him. That, perhaps more than anything, contributed to the distrust but he never Influenced the humans where they’d notice.
Watching Mirelle, Titus saw her condition improve and not just from the occasional supplement Inea got into her. Abbot became haggard, gaunt-faced, and snappish. He was rationing himself hard. Inea’s spy devices revealed how much time he spent at the Biomed computers. It was a struggle now to falsify Mirelle’s tests, not to mention his own and Titus’s.
Titus ached inside for his father, counting the hours until Mihelich’s cloned orl blood became available. He was in his office watching Inea and Abbot out in the observatory, bent over the console that controlled the Eighth Array, when the call came from H’lim.
“Stop by my apartment as soon as you can, and bring Abbot. I have something to show you both.”
The blood!
Chapter nineteen
The black and white austerity of H’lim’s apartment had been broken up by the makeshift mesh cages Abbot had installed around all the electrical devices and draped over partitions that contained power cables. H’lim had pronounced the measures acceptable in the wan tones of a teacher giving an E for Effort and then proclaimed the place his home.
Now, when Abbot strolled in unperturbed, Titus had to pause at the threshold for invitation. Never had he felt such a strong barrier. Its surface stung his whole body.
H’lim reached out to him, pulling Titus and Inea through while saying in the luren tongue, “Thank you for honoring my threshold.” He added, “Your manners do you credit, since the threshold is merely symbolic.”
“Symbolic?” repeated Titus dazedly.
“Perhaps,” added H’lim wistfully, “when I’ve regained my strength, I will again have a real home.”
Titus looked back at the now closed door, understanding anew the gulf between Earth’s luren and genuine luren. He switched to English for Inea’s sake. “I hope you don’t mind that Inea came along? I can.”