A blue star appeared at the whirlpool's center, and he watched it spiral outward, then fly like a stone from a sling, away.

"That ruined city of the Pei'ans is nothing but a quaint relic," he said, gesturing, "when you consider an entire planet in that shape."

Jackara stared at what remained of Manhattan.

"I've seen pictures," she said finally, "but ..."

He nodded.

"I'll take you over the Mississippi this afternoon. I will show you where California once was."

He activated the screens, one by one, and the recon satellites flashed pictures of the other broken places.

"They were thorough," he said.

Why the hell is he doing it? thought Morwin, from where he stood, pretending to study a crater. Wherever he found that girl, he is turning her into something like himself. The way she spoke at dinner last night ... Another year and she will be worse than he is. Maybe she is already. Is that what it takes to be a fleet commander? The power to bend other people's thinking until it is just like your own? None of my business, but she seems so young... Maybe it is me that needs bending, though. Maybe they are right. I have been getting fat since the war, while people like this have kept on fighting. What if it is not a lost cause? Supposing that somehow the Commander wins? There probably would not be much surface change. --The stuff of news items. Unreal ... Still ... Have I developed a sheep's mentality? Or played with dreamstuff too long? The girl must only barely remember the conflict, but she is with him. What does he intend for her?

"It is pretty awful," he found himself saying, shifting his eyes from the girl back to the screens. Then, after a time, "Commander, why your sudden interest in epidemics?"

Malacar studied him for half a minute; then, "It is a new hobby of mine," he said.

Morwin packed his pipe and lit it.

... Clearly out of order, he decided. What could they be planning, though? When I did that damned globe for him, it reminded me of things I had put aside years ago. What will become of the girl, I wonder? Will she get thrown to the wolves like all those others, to die praying for him and still believing he is correct? She ought to get out. She has too much life before her to waste it this way. Still, I envy that sort of dedication, whatever its object. How dangerous will his new tactic be, I wonder? Perhaps ... Somebody should watch out for the girl.

He puffed smoke. He stroked his long red beard.

Finally, "I am interested in epidemics too," he said.

The first living thing that he saw that morning was a young man, walking along a narrow and deserted roadway. When he was near, Heidel stepped out of the bushes and stood before him. He heard him exclaim, "Good Lord!" and then he pointed his swollen finger.

The power was there. He felt it move within him, then leap like a spark crossing a gap.

The man staggered, almost fell, recovered. He touched his hand to his forehead.

"Who are you?" he asked.

He did not reply, but took several steps toward the man.

Bolting, the man ran by him and disappeared up the road.

Only then did he allow himself the faintest of smiles. No need to go farther. She had been correct.

Turning toward the misty hills to the south, at the first of which and beyond which lay much life, he continued his pilgrimage. A rainbow hung before him.

At the end of an Earth week, he was still not certain whether Malacar would allow him as company. A decision of some sort was now in order, however. It had become obvious from the preparations being made that Malacar was readying himself for departure within a day or so. He wondered what piece of news might have stimulated this. He was still not privy to his former commander's secrets.

Jackara, on the other hand, obviously was. He felt a twitch of jealousy at this.

He had made his own wishes obvious during the previous week. Now it was up to Malacar. He was willing to accompany him in the name of renascent anger and more than a little guilt. In analyzing these feelings, he knew that they went back to that night on the couch and the thing he had wrought out of dream. No matter. The source was unimportant. He wanted to be trusted now, trusted as Jackara was. Perhaps there should be blood as there had been in the old days. He began to feel the old infection, the old hates.

Where could he be going, though? And for what purpose? Morwin had listened to news summaries religiously, but he had detected nothing that offered opportunity for one of Malacar's hit-and-run sabotage operations. Of course, it could have been information from a non-public source--such as Malacar's underground in the CL. Whatever the source, he became irritated as the Commander grew more and more preoccupied.

He smiled somewhat maliciously as he recalled how, on the previous day, he had upset the old man.

Malacar had come onto the observation deck unannounced, as he had stood there with Jackara, explaining his means of earning a livelihood.

The great silver Service vessel stood before them like an exotic candleholder, in the midst of the steam and the smoke. It stood in a place where no sane pilot would have set it, near to the rim of the crater itself. When Malacar saw it, he crossed the deck in a series of blurred strides and his hands darted like flames across the console. Morwin did not see from where they emerged, but he felt the aftershocks of the missiles. As he turned his head from the Commander to the scene below and back again, the vessel slowly faded from sight. He snickered and Jackara laughed.

"There is nothing there!" said Malacar, regarding his instruments.

"Uh-- No, sir," said Morwin. "I was just showing Jackara how I do dream-globes. I formed a picture out of the particles out there. That is--what you were shooting at."

Malacar snarled then, said, "Jackara, I want to talk with you," and the two of them departed. At dinner, Malacar had joked about the thing. By then Morwin was able to keep his laughter respectful.

_Mr. Morwin_ ...

_Yes, Shind?_

_The Commander is going to ask you to accompany us on a journey we will be undertaking tomorrow evening_.

_Where to?_

_It was a choice between two worids--Cleech and Summit. He chose Summit, for various reasons_.

_What are we to do there?_

_It is in the nature of a recruitment operation. He will tell you as much of it as he feels you should know_.

_If I am to go along, I ought to know everything. Please. This is not an invitation. I trust that he will never become aware of the fact that I have communicated with you_.

_What is it, then?_

_He requested my opinion as to whether you would be an asset to the expedition_.

... _And trustworthy, I daresay_.

... _And trustworthy, of course. My reply was in the afflrmative. I am not unaware of your resurgent sympathies_.

_Thanks for the good word_.

_It was not to preserve your feelings that I made the recommendation_.

_What, then?_

_I feel that this time the Commander will need all the assistance he can get. I wish to assure its presence_.

_What is wrong?_

_Call it a feeling and let it go at that_.

_All right. I will forget that we have spoken. Who else is coming?_

_Jackara. Myself_.

_I will go along, and be ready to help_.

_Good day, then_.

_Good day_.

He looked about. Shind was nowhere in sight. From where had the creature reached him? It was always a strange feeling to speak with Shind in this fashion. It occurred to him that Shind might have been in another part of the citadel, at Malacar's side perhaps, the entire time.

He paced and reflected.

All right, he decided, it is not a typical Malacar operation. There has been no hint of planned mayhem. Yet Shind seems to feel that it is something more dangerous. If I can't be a fop or a good artist, perhaps I can be a decent assistant agitator. Wouldn't it be amusing if a real Service ship put down right now and Malacar thought it was another illusion? I don't think I could operate that console ... --Would I, though? Would I actually fire and kill them, after all these years? In peacetime it is called murder. I wonder ... ? The Commander certainly seemed upset, though. I understand that on other occasions he has actually allowed them to land here and even spoken with them. This thing must be big if he is jumpy. --I probably would fire, and regret it afterward. --What is Jackara's part in this? Is she sleeping with the Commander? Is she a professional member of the network with an assigned role in something that is to come? Possibly both--or perhaps a relative. She could be his daughter, I guess. Wouldn't that be something? Typical too. He seldom speaks of his personal life, and I have never heard him mention relatives. Strange girl--too hard and too soft by turns, and you never know which turn is coming next. Pretty, though. It would be good to know her real status, to decide what I would like mine to be. I will ask her, later . .