What was this curse upon him? She had not been lying — she was not capable of doing so successfully. She had really heard his explanation and — it had meant nothing to her. It was all so obvious, so plain — the machinations of William, the stupidity of Killien. And she had not seen it when Donal pointed it out to her. She, of all people, a Select of Kultis!

Why? Why? Why?

Scourged by the devils of self-doubt and loneliness, Donal moved off down the corridor, back in the direction of Galt’s hotel.

They met in the office of Marshal Galt, in his Freiland home; and the enormous expanse of floor and the high vaulted ceiling dwarfed them as they stood three men around a bare desk.

“Captain Lludrow, this is my Aide, Commandant Donal Graeme,” said Galt, brusquely. “Donal, this is Russ Lludrow, Patrol Chief of my Blue Patrol.”

“Honored, sir,” said Donal, inclining his head.

“Pleased to meet you, Graeme,” answered Lludrow. He was a fairly short, compact man in his early forties, very dark of skin and eye.

“You’ll trust Donal with all staff information,” said Galt. “Now, what’s your reconnaissance and intelligence picture?”

“There’s no doubt about it, they’re planning an expeditionary landing on Oriente.” Lludrow turned toward the desk and pressed buttons on the map keyboard. The top of the desk cleared to transparency and they looked through at a non-scale map of the Sir-ian system. “Here we are,” he said, stabbing his finger at roe world of Freiland, “here’s New Earth” — his finger moved to Freiland’s sister planet — “and here’s Oriente” — his finger skipped to a smaller world inward toward me sun — “in the positions they’ll be in, relative to one another twelve days from now. You see, we’ll have the sun between the two of us and also almost between each of our worlds and Oriente. They couldn’t have picked a more favorable tactical position.”

Galt grunted, examining the map. Donal was watching Lludrow with quiet curiosity. The man’s accent betrayed him for a New Earthman, but here he was high up on the Staff of Freiland’s fighting forces. Of course, the two Sirian worlds were natural allies, being on the same side as Old Earth against the Venus-Newton-Cassida group; but simply because they were so close, there was a natural rivalry in some things, and a career officer from one of them usually did best on his home world.

“Don’t like it,” said Galt, finally. “It’s a fool stunt from what I can see. The men they land will have to wear respirators; and what the devil do they expect to do with their beachhead when they establish it? Oriente’s too close to the sun for terraforming, or we would have done it from here long ago.”

“It’s possible,” said Lludrow, calmly, “they could intend to mount an offensive from there against our two planets here.”

“No, no,” Galt’s voice was harsh and almost irritable. His heavy face loomed above the map. “That’s as wild a notion as terraforming Orients. They couldn’t keep a base there supplied, let alone using it to attack two large planets with fully established population and industry. Besides, you don’t conquer civilized worlds. That’s a maxim.”

“Maxims can become worn out, though,” put in Donal.

“What?” demanded Galt, looking up. “Oh — Donal. Don’t interrupt us now. From the looks of it,” he went on to Lludrow, “it strikes me as nothing so much as a live exercise — you know what I mean.”

Lludrow nodded — as did Donal unconsciously. Live exercises were something that no planetary Chief of Staff admitted to, but every military man recognized. They were actual small battles provoked with a handy enemy either for the purpose of putting a final edge on troops in training, or to keep that edge on troops that had been too long on a standby basis. Galt, almost alone among the Planetary Commanders of his time, was firmly set against this action, not only in theory, but in practice. He believed it more honest to hire his troops out, as in the recent situation on Harmony, when they showed signs of going stale. Donal privately agreed with him; although mere was always the danger that when you hired troops out, they lost the sense of belonging to you, in particular, and were sometimes spoiled through mismanagement.

“What do you think?” Galt was asking his Patrol chief.

“I don’t know, sir,” Lludrow answered. “It seems the only sensible interpretation.”

“The thing,” interrupted Donal, again, “would be to go over some of the non-sensible interpretations as well, to see if one of them doesn’t constitute a possible danger. And from that—”

“Donal,” broke in Galt, dryly, “you are my aide, not my Battle Op.”

“Still—” Donal was persisting, when the marshal cut him off in a tone of definite command.

“That will be all!”

“Yes, sir,” said Donal, subsiding.

“Then,” said Galt, turning back to Lludrow, “we’ll regard this as a heaven-sent opportunity to cut an arm or two off the fighting strength of the Newton Cassidan fleet and field force. Go back to your Patrol. I’ll send orders.”

Lludrow inclined his head and was just about to turn and go when there was an interruption — the faint swish of air from one of the big office doors sliding back, and the tap of feminine heels approaching over the polished floor. They turned to see a tall, dazzlingly beautiful woman with red hair coming at them across the office.

“Elvine!” said Galt.

“Not interrupting anything, am I?” she called, even before she came up to them. “Didn’t know you had a visitor.”

“Russ,” said Galt. “You know my sister-in-law’s daughter, The Elvine Rhy? Elvine, this is my Blue Patrol Chief, Russ Lludrow.”

“Very deeply honored,” said Lludrow, bowing.

“Oh, we’ve met — or at least I’ve seen you before.” She gave him her hand briefly, then turned to Donai. “Donal, come fishing with me.”

“I’m sorry,” said Donal. “I’m on duty.”

“No, no,” Galt waved him off with a large hand. “There’s nothing more at the moment. Run along, if you want.”

“At your service, then,” said Donal.

“But what a cold acceptance!” she turned on Lludrow. “I’m sure the Patrol chief wouldn’t have hesitated like that.”

Lludrow bowed again.

“I’d never hesitate where the Rhy was concerned.”

“There!” she said. “There’s your model, Donal. You should practice manners — and speeches like that”

“If you suggest it,” said Donal.

“Oh, Donal.” She tossed her head. “You’re hopeless. But come along, anyway.” She turned and left; and he followed her.

They crossed the great central hall and emerged into the garden terrace above the blue-green bay of the shallow, inland sea that touched the edges of Galt’s home. He expected her to continue down to the docks, but instead she whirled about in a small arbor, and stood facing him.

“Why do you treat me like this?” she threw at him. “Why?”

“Treat you?” He looked down at her.

“Oh, you wooden man!” Her lips skinned back over her perfect teeth. “What’re you afraid of — that I’ll eat you up?”

“Wouldn’t you?” he asked her quite seriously — and she checked at his answer.

“Come on. Let’s go fishing!” she cried, and whirled about and ran down toward the dock.

So, they went fishing. But even slicing through the water in pursuit of a twisting fish at sixty fathoms depth, Donal’s mind was not on the sport. He let the small jet unit on his shoulders push him whither the chase led him; and, in the privacy of his helmet, condemned himself darkly for his own ignorance. For it was this crime of ignorance which he abhorred above all else — in this case his ignorance of the ways of women — that had led him to believe he could allow himself the luxury of a casual and friendly acquaintanceship with a woman who wanted him badly, but whom he, himself, did not want at all.