Rain beat through dusk, cold and tasting of sky. When they came above the clouds, he and she turned east to get away from their chothmates who also sought exercise. Snowpeaks and glaciers thrust out of whiteness, into a blue-black where gleamed the early stars and a few moving sparks which were orbital fortresses.

They fared awhile in silence, until she said: “I’d like to join the guard.”

“Hm? Ah. Yes; welcome.”

“But not fly patrol. That’s essential, I know, and pleasant if the weather’s halfway good; but I don’t want a lot of pleasure. Look, see Camelot rising yonder. Vodan may be huddled inside a dead moon of it, waiting and waiting for a chance to hazard his life.”

“What would you prefer?” he asked.

Her wings beat more steadily than her voice. “You must be caught in a hurricane of work, which is bound to stiffen. Surely your staff’s too small, else why would you be so tired? Can’t I help?”

“M-m… well—”

“Your assistant, your fetch-and-carry lass, even your personal secretary? I can take an electro-cram in the knowledge and skills, and be ready to start inside a few days.”

“No. That’s rough.”

“I’ll survive. Try me. Fire me if I can’t grip the task, and we’ll stay friends. I believe I can, though. Maybe better than someone who hasn’t known you all these years, and who can be given another job. I’m bright and energetic. Am I not? And… Arinnian, I so much need to be with you, till this cripplewing time is outlived.”

She reached toward him. He caught her hand. “Very well, galemate.”

In the wan light she flew as beautiful as ever beneath sun or moon.

“Yes, I’ll call for a vote tomorrow,” Matthew Vickery said.

“How do you expect it’ll go?” Daniel Holm asked.

The President sighed. “How do you think? Oh, the war faction won’t bring in quite the majority of Parliament that it did of the Khruath; A few members will vote their convictions rather than their mail. But I’ve seen the analysis of that mail, and of the phone calls and — Yes, you’ll get your damned resolution to carry on. You’ll get your emergency powers, the virtual suspension of civilian government you’ve been-demanding. I do wish you’d read some of those letters or watch some of those tapes. The fanaticism might frighten you as it does me. I never imagined we had that much latent insanity in our midst.”

“It’s insane to fight for your home?”

Vickery bit his lip. “Yes, when nothing can be gained.”

“I’d say we gain quite a chunk. We kicked a sizable hole in the Terran armada. We’re tying up a still bigger part, that was originally supposed to be off to Ythri.”

“Do you actually believe the Domain can beat the Empire? Holm, the Empire can’t afford to compromise. Take its viewpoint for a minute if you can. The solitary keeper of the peace, among thousands of wildly diverse peoples; the solitary guardian of the borders against the barbarian and the civilized predatory alien, who carry nuclear weapons. The Empire has to be more than almighty. It must maintain credibility, universal belief that it’s irresistible, or hell’s kettle boils over.”

“My nose bleeds for the Empire,” Holm said, “but His Majesty will have to solve his problems at somebody else’s expense. He gets no free rides from us. Besides, you’ll note the Terrans didn’t keep throwing themselves at Avalon.”

“They had no need to,” Vickery replied. “If the need does arise, they’ll be back in force. Meanwhile we’re contained.” He filled his lungs. “I admit your gamble paid off extraordinarily—”

“Please. ‘Investment.’ And not mine. Ours.”

“But don’t you see, now there’s nothing further we can use it for except a bargaining counter? We can get excellent terms, and I’ve dealt with Governor Saracoglu, I know he’ll see to it that agreements are honored. Rationally considered, what’s so dreadful about coming under the Empire?”

“Well, we’d begin by breaking our oath to Ythri. Sorry, chum. Deathpride doesn’t allow.”

“You sit here mouthing obsolete words, but I tell you, the winds of change are blowing.”

“I understand that’s a mighty old phrase too,” Holm said. “Ferune had one still older that he liked to quote. How’d it go? ‘—their finest hour—’ ”

Tabitha Falkayn shoved off from the dock and hauled on two lines in quick succession. Jib and mainsail crackled, caught the breeze, and bellied taut. The light, open boat heeled till foam hissed along the starboard rail, and accelerated outward. Once past the breakwater, on open sea, she began to ride waves.

“We’re planing!” Philippe Rochefort cried.

“Of course,” Tabitha answered. “This is a hydrofoil. “Ware boom.” She put the helm down. The yard swung, the hull skipped onto the other tack.

“No keel? What do you do for lateral resistance?”

She gestured at the oddly curved boards which lifted above either rail, pivoting in response to vanes upon them. “Those. The design’s Ythrian. They know more about the ways of wind than men and men’s computers can imagine.”

Rochefort settled down to admire the view. It was superb. Billows marched as far as he could see, blue streaked with violet and green, strewn with sun-glitter, intricately white-foamed. They rumbled and whooshed. Fine spindrift blew off them, salty on the lips, spurring the blood where it struck bare skin. The air was cool, not cold, and singingly alive. Aft, the emerald heights of St. Li dwindled at an astonishing speed.

He had to admit the best part was the big, tawny girl who stood, pipe in teeth, hawklike pet on shoulder, bleached locks flying, at the tiller. She wore nothing but a kilt, which the wind molded to her loins, and — to be sure — her knife and blaster.

“How far did you say?” he asked.

“ ’Bout thirty-five kilometers. A couple of hours at this rate. We needn’t start back till sundown, plenty of starlight to steer by, so you’ll have time for poking around.”

“You’re too kind, Donna,” he said carefully.

She laughed. “No, I’m grateful for an excuse to take an outing. Especially since those patches of atlantis weed fascinate me. Entire ecologies, in areas that may get bigger’n the average island. And the fisher scout told me he’d seen a kraken grazing the fringes of this one. Hope we find him. They’re a rare sight. Peaceful, though we dare not come too near something that huge.”

“I meant more than this excursion,” Rochefort said. “You receive me, a prisoner of war, as your house guest.”

Tabitha shrugged. “Why not? We don’t bother stockading what few people we’ve taken. They aren’t going anywhere.” Her eyes rested candidly on him. “Besides, I want to know you.”

He wondered, with an inward thump, how well.

Somberness crossed her. “And,” she said, “I hope to… make up for what happened. You’ve got to see that Draun didn’t wantonly murder your friend. He’s, well, impetuous; and a gun was being pulled; and it is wartime.”

He ventured a smile. “Won’t always be, Donna.”

“Tabitha’s the name, Philippe; or Hrill when I talk Planha. You don’t, of course… That’s right. When you go home, I’d like you to realize we Ythrians aren’t monsters.”

“Ythrians? You?” He raised his brows.

“What else? Avalon belongs to the Domain.”

“It wont for much longer,” Rochefort said. In haste: “Against that day, I’ll do what I can to show you we Terrans aren’t monsters either.”

He could not understand how she was able to grin so lightheartedly. “If it amuses you to think that, you’re welcome. I’m afraid you’ll find amusement in rather short supply here. Swimming, fishing, boating, hiking… and, yes, reading; I’m addicted to mystery stories and have a hefty stack, some straight from Terra. But that’s just about the list. I’m the sole human permanently resident on St Li, and between them, my business and my duties as a home-guard officer will keep me away a lot.”

“I’ll manage,” he said.

“Sure, for a while,” she replied. “The true Ythrians aren’t hostile to you. They mostly look on war as an impersonal thing, like a famine where you might have to kill somebody to feed him to your young but don’t hate him on that account. They don’t go in for chitchat but if you play chess you’ll find several opponents.”