Soong stared. Uncertainties stirred in his belly like a nest of snakes wakening from hibernation. "Do you know his thoughts?" he asked.

"His thoughts belong to his personality, not his essence. My level of merging is not so strong that I sense them explicitly. But in a general sense I am aware of his fears, his hopes, his desires. Call it empathy in the fullest sense. The admiral is, of course, a product of his people-his culture and class-and I now understand him, and them, much more deeply than before. In fact, through him I have attained a degree of empathy with them as well."

Charley's answer did not assure the admiral. "Well then-" Soong found himself reluctant to ask the question, but reluctance seldom ruled him in matters of duty. "Can you influence him?"

"I have, Admiral, I have. Not to do some particular act, or assume some particular point of view. At the essence level, that is impossible. But he is influenced by the contact, and to an extent enabled by it."

"Enabled." Soong spoke the word cautiously. "Will he be more dangerous then?"

"Not dangerous. But he may break free of old acculturation and self-protective mechanisms. And do things he previously could not."

Soong looked troubled. After a moment Charley added, "Perhaps more to the point, I have a better sense of our joint vectors."

"Ah!" With relief. "So what you've done is beneficial to our cause. Our defense."

"Definitely, Admiral; definitely beneficial. This will be a costly battle, as you well know, but the vectors appear… not unpropitious."

Not unpropitious. From Charley, Soong would have preferred something more positive. "Good," he replied. "We need all the advantages we can have."

For a minute or so then, they spoke of trivia, until Soong was walking to the door. Then Charley added: "And, Alvaro. Do not worry if I seem changed. During my studies, I have changed. For the better. I discovered and dropped certain features of my personality that I am better off without."

As the admiral walked back to his quarters, his discomfort persisted. And not just because of possible troubles growing out of Charley's "integration" with the Wyzhnyny admiral. If it was real. Soong wondered if Charley might be less than sane, perhaps deluded by some experience in trance.

Meanwhile, he realized what the change had been in Charley's personality. Previously it had included a subtle sense of ingratiation that Soong assumed grew out of living under constant threats since infancy. Threats of equipment failure, a moment's carelessness by a caregiver… even gossip or rumor. Being bottled, Charley's very existence had been illegal. And if the Institute had been shut down, what would have become of him? His only defense had lain in being liked and thought harmless. Yet today that ingratiation had been entirely absent. Remarkable, after so many years of conditioning by fear.

He'd talk about it with Kennah someday, he decided.

Meanwhile, there was one thing he did not doubt: Without Charley Gordon, the coming battle could not end well.

Admiral Axel Tisza had spoken with Soong previously since his arrival, their exchanges strictly business. Before supper, he called again.

"I was impressed with your battle master," said the Ax. "God! A damned tragedy he hasn't been cloned. One damned salvo of torpedos and he could be-gone! There might never be another like him."

The comment annoyed Soong. Cloning humans had become common in the 21st century, and again in the 23rd. More than enough to establish that much of what made a human valuable-beyond athletics and potential intelligence-the members of a clone were more or less different. Sometimes very different.

"Cloned?" he said. "You don't know what sort of body he had, or what he went through while he wore it."

Tisza examined his old roommate, and nodded. "I suppose. My savant reminds me of a frog. But he's worth his weight in anything you'd care to name, even if he's not a Charley Gordon." He shrugged. "Did Fedor appoint me your backup? Or did you?"

"Fedor. Conditionally."

"What condition?"

"That I agreed." What the hell good is a conversation like this? Soong thought. He was too old now to play power games.

"If he'd given you your choice, who would you have selected?"

"You. We were always neck and neck. You were always more hair-triggered than I was, and more abrasive when you felt the urge." Or charming if you wanted to be. He wished he had some of Tisza's charm. "But if the Altai gets cooked, or blown apart, and there's no more Charley Gordon and no more Alvaro Soong, this fleet might still have a chance, with you in command."

Tisza nodded slowly, thoughtful now. "I'd thought you might have chosen Carmen. She's had battle experience."

"I probably would have, if you were still at a desk in Kunming." He paused. "Ax, I've got some things to take care of before we generate hyperspace. Is there anything else we need to talk about?"

He'd put just a little emphasis on need.

"No, there isn't." It was Tisza's turn to pause. "Thanks, Spanish. But I do want to say I think Fedor appointed the right fleet admiral when he gave you the job. And it's assuring to know you approved me as your backup. Fedor thinks a lot of you. And while you may not know it, I do too. Always did. Ever since we were plebes."

And with that he disconnected, leaving Soong staring at his screen, wondering if he'd been petty.

Tisza too sat with his eyes on the now-blue screen. Alvaro should have transfered his flag to one of the new battleships, with their two-layered shields, he thought. For the sake of Charley Gordon, if nothing else. But it was late for that. And it might affect morale poorly, to trade the more vulnerable Altai, with its single-layer shield, for one of the better-protected new ships.

The Commo fleet didn't get to the Aasen System. The armada had reached Maitreya's World earlier than expected, and might arrive at Aasen before the Commos were ready. Which would put the fleet at a needless and severe disadvantage. En route in hyperspace, simdrills would groove them all on Charley's revised program. But officers, crews, and Charley himself needed to follow the simdrills with adequate steel drills. So the Commos emerged in the fringe of the Shakti System. And there they waited, drilling until the Commos were fully confident of their skills, and even their fleet admiral was reasonably satisfied with their performance.

If my Commos had half-even a third-of the Wyzhnyny firepower, Soong thought, we'd win. Unfortunately they had nowhere near that. But then, he reminded himself, they didn't need to win if they did well enough, then escaped with losses that weren't too severe.

When the klaxons sounded, and shipsvoice called, "Battle stations! Battle stations! Battle stations!" the tension generated was more anticipation than fear. Alvaro Soong had already suppressed his misgivings, and his fleet was as ready as it could be. The Tao would favor him or not.

Aboard the Meadowlands, the alarm was a six-second blast of raucous horns, scant seconds after emergence. This time the grand admiral was on the bridge, not in bed. A human fleet lay in the same octant of the local system as his own, but an hour's warp jump insystem. An hour.

This time, he told himself, the humans would not strike him by surprise. His warfleet had re-formed its formations only 11.38 hyperspace hours outsystem; they could be tightened quickly. "Shipsmind," he said calmly, "order all battle wings to generate warpspace on my count. We will move outsystem far enough to satisfy the parameters of Plan 1.3, then initiate Phase A. One minute and counting: ninety… eighty…"