"British Canada has not; British Canadians have. Or many thousands of us. The gates are locked and it's nobody's business. Do you want to try the big bed? If you get sleepy, you can crawl off to your own room-a major reason I planned this suite the way I did. Well, dear?"

"Ub... yes. But I may be self-conscious about it."

"You'll get over it. Let's-"

She was interrupted by a jangly bell at the terminal.

Janet said, "Oh, damn, damn! That almost certainly means that they want Ian at the port-even though he's just back from a high lift." She stepped to the terminal, switched it on.

"-cause for alarm. Our border with the Chicago Imperium has been sealed off and refugees are being rounded up. The attack by

Québec is more serious but may be an error by a local commander; there has been no declaration of war. State of emergency is now in effect, so stay off the streets, keep calm, and listen on this wavelength for official news and instructions."

Red Thursday had started.

I suppose everybody has more or less the same picture in mind of Red Thursday and what followed. But to explain me (to me, if that be possible!) I must tell how I saw it, including the bumbling confusion and doubts.

We four did wind up in Janet's big bed but for company and mutual comfort, not sex. We all had our ears bent for news, our eyes on the terminal's screen. More or less the same news was repeated again and again-aborted attack from Québec, Chairman of the Chicago Imperium killed in his bed, the border with the Imperium closed, unverified sabotage reports, stay off the streets, remain calm-but no matter how often it was repeated we always all shut up and listened, waiting for some item that would cause the other news items to make sense.

Instead things got worse all night long. By four in the morning we knew that killings and sabotage were all over the globe; by daylight unverified reports were coming in of trouble at Ell-Four, at Tycho Base, at Stationary Station, and (broken-off message) on Ceres. There was no way to guess whether or not the trouble extended as far as Alpha Centauri or Tau Ceti... but an official voice on the terminal did guess by loudly refusing to guess and by telling the rest of us not to engage in harmful speculation.

About four, Janet, with some help from me, made sandwiches and served coffee.

I woke up at nine because Georges moved. I found that I was sleeping with my head on his chest and my upper arm clinging to him. Ian was across the bed, lying-sitting propped up against pillows with his eyes still on the screen-but his eyes were closed. Janet was missing-she had gone to my room, crawled into what was nominally my bed.

I found that, by moving very slowly, I could untangle myself and get out of bed without waking Georges. I did so, and slid into the bathroom, where I got rid of used coffee and felt better. I glanced into "my" room, saw my missing hostess. She was awake, waggled her fingers at me, then motioned for me to come in. She moved over and I crawled in with her. She kissed me. "How are the boys?"

"Both still asleep. Or were three minutes ago."

"Good. They need sleep. Both of them are worriers; I am not. I decided that there was no point in attending Armageddon with my eyes bloodshot, so I came in here. You were asleep, I think."

"Could have been. I don't know when I fell asleep. It seemed to me that I heard the same bad news a thousand times. Then I woke up.

"You haven't missed anything. I've kept the sound turned down but I've kept the streamers on screen-they've been spelling out the same old sad story. Marjorie, the boys are waiting for the bombs to drop. I don't think there will be any bombs."

"I hope you're right. But why not?"

"Who drops H-bombs on whom? Who is the enemy? All the major power blocs are in trouble, as near as I can tell from the news. But, aside from what seems to have been a stupid mistake by some Québecois general, no military forces have been involved anywhere. Assassinations, fires, explosions, all sorts of sabotage, riots, terrorism of all kinds-but no pattern. It's not East against West, or Marxists against fascists, or blacks against whites. Marjorie, if anyone sets off missiles, it will mean that the whole world has gone crazy."

"Doesn't it look that way now?"

"I don't think so. The pattern of this is that it has no pattern. The target is everybody. It seems to be aimed at all governments equally."

"Anarchists?" I suggested.

"Nihilists, maybe."

Ian came in wearing circles under his eyes, a day's beard, a worried look, and an old bathrobe too short for him. His knees were knobby. "Janet, I can't reach Betty or Freddie."

"Were they going back to Sydney?"

"It's not that. I can't get through to either Sydney or Auckland. All I get is that damned synthetic computer voice: 'A-circuit-is-notavailable-at-this-moment. Please-try-later-thank-you-for-your-patience.' You know."

"Ouch. More sabotage, maybe?"

"Could be. But maybe worse. After that kark, I called traffic control at the port and asked whatinhell was wrong with WinnipegAuckland satellite bounce? By pulling rank I eventually got the supervisor. He told me to forget about calls that didn't get through because they had real trouble. All SBs grounded-because two were sabotaged in space. Winnipeg-Buenos Aires Lift Twenty-nine and Vancouver-London One-oh-one."

"Ian!"

"Total loss, both. No survivors. Pressure fuses, no doubt, as each one blew on leaving atmosphere. Jan, the next time I lift, I'm going to inspect everything myself. Stop the countdown on the most trivial excuse." He added, "But I can't guess when that will be. You can't lift an SB when your comm circuits to reentry port are broken, and the supervisor admitted that they had lost all bounce circuits." Janet got out of bed, stood up, kissed him. "Now stop worrying! Stop. At once. Of course you will check everything yourself until they catch the saboteurs. But right now you'll put it out of your mind because you won't be called to lift until the comm circuits are restored. So declare a holiday. As for Betty and Freddie, it's a shame we can't talk to them but they can take care of themselves and you know it. No doubt they are worrying about us and they shouldn't, either. I'm just glad it happened while you are at home-instead of halfway around the globe. You're here and you're safe and that's all I care about. We'll just sit here, snug and happy, until this nonsense is over."

"I've got to go to Vancouver."

"Man o' mine, you don't 'got' to do anything, save pay taxes and die. They won't be putting artifacts into the ships when no ships are lifting."

"Artifacts," I blurted and regretted it.

Ian seemed to see me for the first time. "Hi, Marj-morning. Nothing you need fret about-and I'm sorry about this hoop-te-do while you're our guest. The artifacts Jan mentioned aren't gadgets; they're alive. Management has this wild notion that a living artifact designed for piloting can do a better job than a man can do. I'm shop steward for the Winnipeg Section so I've got to go fight it. Management-Guild meeting in Vancouver tomorrow."

"Ian," Jan said, "phone the General Secretary. It's silly to go to Vancouver without checking first."

"Okay, okay."

"But don't just ask. Urge the SecGen to pressure management to postpone the meeting until the emergency is over. I want you to stay right here and keep me safe from harm."

"Or vice versa."

"Or vice versa," she agreed. "But I'll faint in your arms if necessary. What would you like for breakfast? Don't make it too complex or I'll invoke your standing commitment."

I wasn't really listening as the word artifact had triggered me. I had been thinking of Ian-of all of them, really, here and Down Under-as being so civilized and sophisticated that they would regard my sort as just as good as humans.