"Do you think the rebellion world found out that little fact? Did you tell them?"

"I didn't tell them. I had no chance. I wasn't there long enough. Conscious, that is. But I don't know how long I was unconscious and what they managed to find out for themselves."

Biron stared at the visiplate. Judging from the rigidity of the picture it presented, the ship they were on might have been nailed in space. The Remorseless was traveling at the rate of ten thousand miles an hour, but what was that to the immense distances of space. The stars were hard, bright, and motionless. They had a hypnotic quality about them.

He said, "Then where are we going? I take it you still don't know where the rebellion world is?"

"I don't. But I have an idea who would. I am almost sure I know." Gillbret was eager about it.

"Who?"

"The Autarch of Lingane."

"Lingane?" Biron frowned. He had heard the name some time back, it seemed to him, but he had forgotten the connection. "Why he?"

"Lingane was the last Kingdom captured by the Tyranni. It is not, shall we say, as pacified as the rest. Doesn't that make sense?"

"As far as it goes. But how far is that?"

"If you want another reason, there is your father."

"My father?" For a moment Biron forgot that his father was dead. He saw him standing before his mind's eye, large and alive, but then he remembered and there was that same cold wrench inside him. "How does my father come into this?"

"He was at court six months ago. I gained certain notions as to what he wanted. Some of his talks with my cousin, Hinrik, I overheard."

"Oh, Uncle," said Artemisia impatiently.

"My dear?"

"You had no right to eavesdrop on Father's private discussions."

Gillbret shrugged. "Of course not, but it was amusing, and useful as well. "

Biron interrupted, "Now, wait. You say it was six months ago that my father was at Rhodia?" He felt excitement mount.

"Yes."

"Tell me. While there, did he have access to the Director's collection of Primitivism? You told me once that the Director had a large library of matters concerning Earth. "

"I imagine so. The library is quite famous and it is usually made available to distinguished visitors, if they're interested. They usually aren't, but your father was. Yes, I remember that very well. He spent nearly a day there."

That checked. It had been half a year ago that his father had first asked his help. Biron said, "You yourself know the library well, I imagine."

"Of course."

"Is there anything in the library that would suggest that there. exists a document on Earth of great military value?"

Gillbret was blank of face and, obviously, blank of mind.

Biron said, "Somewhere in the last centuries of prehistoric

Earth there must have been such a document. I can only tell you that my father thought it to be the most valuable single item in the Galaxy, and the deadliest. I was to have gotten it for him, but I left Earth too soon, and in any case"-his voice faltered-"he died too soon."

But Gillbret was still blank. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't understand. My father mentioned it to me first six months ago. He must have learned of it in the library on Rhodia. If you've been through it yourself, can't you tell me what it was he must have learned?"

But Gillbret could only shake his head.

Biron said, "Well, continue with your story."

Gillbret said, "They spoke of the Autarch of Lingane, your father and my cousin. Despite your father's cautious phraseology, Biron, it was obvious that the Autarch was the fount and head of the conspiracy.

"And then"-he hesitated-"there was a mission from Lingane and the Autarch himself was at its head. I-I told him of the rebellion world."

"You said a while ago you told nobody," said Biron.

"Except the Autarch. I had to know the truth."

"What did he tell you?"

"Practically nothing. But then, he had to be cautious too. Could he trust me? I might have been working for the Tyranni. How could he know? But he didn't close the door altogether. It's our only lead."

"Is it?" Biron said. "Then we'll go to Lingane. One place, I suppose, is like another."

Mention of his father had depressed him, and, for the moment, nothing mattered much. Let it be Lingane.

Let it be Lingane! That was easy to say. But how does one go about pointing the ship. at a tiny speck of light thirty-five light-years away. Two hundred trillion miles. A two with fourteen zeros after it. At ten thousand miles an hour (current cruising speed of the Remorseless) it would take well over two million years to get there.

Biron leafed through the Standard Galactic Ephemeris with something like despair. Tens of thousands of stars were listed in detail, with their positions crammed into three iigures. There were hundreds of pages of these figures, symbolized by the Greek letters? (rho),? (theta), and f (phi). ? was the distance from the Galactic Center in parsecs;?, the angular separation, along the plane of the Galactic Lens from the Standard Galactic Baseline (the line, that is, which connects the Galactic Center and the sun of the planet, Earth); f the angular separation from the Baseline in the plane perpendicular to that of the Galactic Lens, the two latter measurements being expressed in radians. Given those three figures, one could locate any star accurately in all the vast immensity of space.

That is, on a given date. In addition to the star's position on the standard day for which all the data were calculated, one had to know the star's proper motion, both speed and direction. It was a small correction. comparatively, but necessary. A million miles is virtually nothing compared with stellar distances, but it is a long way with a ship.

There was, of course, the question of the ship's own position. One could calculate the distance from Rhodia by the reading of the massometer, or, more correctly, the distance from Rhodia's sun, since this far out in space the sun's gravitational field drowned out that of any of its planets. The direction they were traveling with reference to the Galactic Baseline was more difficult to determine. Biron had to locate two known stars other than Rhodia's sun. From their apparent positions and the known distance from Rhodia's sun, he could plot their actual position.

It was roughly done but, he felt sure, accurately enough. Knowing his own position and that of Lingane's sun, he had only to adjust the controls for the proper direction and strength of the hyperatornic thrust.

Biron felt lonely and tense. Not frightened! He rejected the word. But tense, definitely. He was deliberately calculating the elements of the Jump for a time six hours later. He wanted plenty of time to check his figures. And perhaps there might be the chance for a nap. He had dragged the bed makings out of the cabin and it was ready for him now.

The other two were, presumably, sleeping in the cabin. He told himself that that was a good thing and that he wanted nobody around bothering him, yet when he heard the small sound of bare feet outside, he looked up with a certain eagerness.

"Hello," he said, "why aren't you sleeping?"

Artemisia stood in the doorway, hesitating. She said, in a small voice, "Do you mind if I come in? Will I be bothering you?"

"It depends on what you do."

"I'll try to do the right things."

She seemed too humble, Biron thought suspiciously, and then the reason for it came out.

"I'm awfully frightened," she said. "Aren't you?"

He wanted to say no, not at all, but it didn't come out that way. He smiled sheepishly, and said, "Sort of."

Oddly enough, that comforted her. She knelt down on the floor beside him and looked at the thick volumes opened before him and at the sheets of calculations.

"They had all these books here?"