“William?”

“Who else?” ArDell drank. “But what would he be going with Project Blaine?” ArDell shook his head. “There’s a man. And a scientist. Make two of any of the rest of us. Can’t see him leading Blaine around by the nose — but still …”

“Unfortunately,” said Donal, “we are all tied to the business end of our existence by the red tape in our contracts. And it’s in business William shines.”

“But he doesn’t make sense!” ArDell twisted the glass in his hands. “Take me. Why would he want to ruin me? But he does.” He chuckled suddenly. “I’ve got him scared now.”

“You have?” asked Donal. “How?”

ArDell tapped the bottle with one forefinger.

“This. He’s afraid I may kill myself. Evidently he doesn’t want that.”

“Will you?” asked Donal, bluntly.

ArDell shook his head.

“I don’t know. Could I come out of it, now? It’s been five years. I started it deliberately to spite him — didn’t even like the stuff, like you. Now, I wonder. I’ll tell you” — he leaned forward over the table — “they can cure me, of course. But would I be any good now, if they did? Math — it’s a beautiful thing. Beautiful like art. That’s the way I remember it; but I’m not sure. Not sure at all any more.” He shook his head again. “When the time comes to dump this,” he pointed again at the bottle, “you need something that means more to you. I don’t know if work does, any more.”

“How about William?” asked Donal.

“Yes,” said ArDell slowly, “there is him. That would do it. One of these days I’m going to find out why he did this to me. Then—”

“What does he seem to be after?” asked Donal. “I mean, in general?”

“Who knows?” ArDell threw up his hands. “Business. More business. Contracts — more contracts. Agreements with every government, a finger in every honey-pot. That’s our William.”

“Yes,” said Donal. He pushed back his float and stood up.

“Sit down,” said ArDell. “Stop and talk. You never sit still for more than a second or two. For the love of peace, you’re the only man between the stars I can talk to, and you won’t sit still.”

“I’m sorry,” Donal said. “But there’re things I have to do. A day’ll come, maybe, when we can sit down and talk.”

“I doubt it,” muttered ArDell. “I doubt it very much.”

Donal left him there, staring at his bottle.

He went in search of the marshal; but it was Anea he encountered first, standing upon a small balcony, deserted except for herself; and gazing out over the hall, directly below, with an expression at the same time so tired and so longing that he was suddenly and deeply moved by the sight of it.

He approached her, and she turned at the sound of his footsteps. At the sight of him, her expression changed.

“You again,” she said, in no particularly welcome tone.

“Yes,” said Donal, brusquely. “I meant to search you out later, but this is too good a chance to pass up.”

“Too good.”

“I mean you’re alone… I mean I can talk to you privately,” said Donal, impatiently.

She shook her head.

“We’ve got nothing to talk about,” she said.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” said Donal. “Of course we have — unless you’ve given over your campaign against William.”

“Well!” The word leaped from her lips and her eyes flashed their green fire at him. “Who do you think you are!” she cried furiously. “Who ever gave you the right to have any say about what I do?”

“I’m part Maran through both my grandmothers,” he said. “Maybe that’s why I feel a sense of responsibility to you.”

“I don’t believe it!” she snapped. “About you being part Maran, that is. You couldn’t be part Maran, someone like you, a—” she checked, fumbling for words.

“Well?” He smiled a little grimly at her. “A what?”

“A… mercenary!” she cried triumphantly, finding at last the word that would hurt him the most, in her misinterpretation of it.

He was hurt, and angered; but he managed to conceal it. This girl had the ability to get through his defenses on the most childish level, where a man like William could not.

“Never mind that,” he said. “My question was about you and William. I told you not to try intriguing against him the last time I saw you. Have you followed that advice?”

“Well, I certainly don’t have to answer that question,” she blazed directly at him. “And I won’t.”

“Then,” he said, finding suddenly an insight into her that was possibly a natural compensation for her unusual perceptiveness where he was concerned. “You have. I’m glad to know that.” He turned to go. “I’ll leave you now.”

“Wait a minute,” she cried. He turned back to her. “I didn’t do it because of you!”

“Didn’t you?”

Surprisingly, her eyes wavered and fell.

“All right!” she said. “It just happened your ideas coincided with mine.”

“Or, that what I said was common sense,” he retorted, “and being the person you are, you couldn’t help seeing it.”

She looked fiercely up at him again.

“So he just goes on… and I’m chained to him for another ten years with options—”

“Leave that part to me,” said Donal.

Her mouth opened.

“You!” she said; and her astonishment was so great that the word came out in a tone of honest weakness.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“You!” she cried. And the word was entirely different this time. “You put yourself in opposition to a man like William—” she broke off suddenly, turning away. “Oh!” she said angrily, “I don’t know why I keep listening to you as if you were actually telling the truth — when I know what kind of person you are.”

“You don’t know anything at all about what kind . of a person I am!” he snapped, nettled again. “I’ve done a few things since you first saw me.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, “you’ve had a man shot, and pretended to bomb a planet.”

“Good-by,” he said, wearily, turning away. He went out through the little balcony entrance, abruptly leaving her standing there; and unaware that he had left her, not filled with the glow of righteous indignation and triumph she had expected, but oddly disconcerted and dismayed.

He searched throughout the rest of the mansion and finally located the marshal back in his office, and alone.

“May I come in, sir?” he said from the doorway.

“Of course, of course—” Galt looked up from his desk. “Lock the door behind you. I’ve had nothing but people drifting in, thinking this was an extra lounge. Why’d they think I had it set up without any comfortable floats or cushions in the first place?”

Donal locked the door behind him and came across the wide floor to the desk.

“What is it, boy?” asked the marshal. He raised his heavy head and regarded Donal intently. “Something up?”

“A number of things,” agreed Donal. He took the bare float beside the desk that Galt motioned him into. “May I ask if William came here tonight with the intention of transacting any business with you?”

“You may ask,” answered Galt, putting both his massive forearms on the desk, “but I don’t know why I should answer you.”

“Of course you needn’t,” said Donal. “Assuming he did, however, I’d like to say that in my opinion it would be exceedingly unwise to do any business with Ceta at this time — and particularly William of Ceta.”

“And what causes this to be your opinion?” asked Galt, with a noticeable trace of irony. Donal hesitated.

“Sir,” he said, after a second. “I’d like to remind you that I was right on Harmony, and right about Newton; and that I may be right here, as well.”

It was a large pill of impertinence for the marshal to swallow; since, in effect, it pointed out that if Donal had twice been right, Galt had been twice wrong — first about his assessment of Hugh Killien as a responsible officer, and second about his assessment of the reasons behind the Newtonian move on Oriente. But if he was Dorsai enough to be touchy about his pride, he was also Dorsai enough to be honest when he had to.