Defense was out of the question. Moving more quickly than he had for years, Morgan headed for his apartment, to find Connie standing round-eyed with worry, Robert beside her. Pointing at Morgan, Robert laughed. "You wet your pants!"

Morgan looked down where the water from the vase had spilled on him. "Well, I'll be darned," he said. "Look at that." Then he stepped to the phone and keyed base security. That line was working. The speaker was on, and Connie and Robert listened.

"Prieto," a voice answered.

"Have we got visitors yet, Leon?"

"They just landed. They will be knocking at our door in a few minutes. Our monitor eyes are all inop, but I have men peeking over the rubble blocking the work port." Prieto laughed. "Maglie says they are the centaurs from hell. Then he said no, they are centaurs from the Jurassic." Leon paused, then continued: "I think they will blast their way in."

"Look, Leon," Morgan said, "if you think it's best, surrender to them. I'm giving you full authority. Meanwhile I need to get Robert out of their reach. One way or another."

"Got it, boss."

Morgan switched off. "Robert, Connie, let's go." They followed without questions. Nearby was a dead-end corridor. As they approached it, he took the remote from his pocket, and aiming it at what appeared to be solid rock; he touched the switch. Groaning, the rock slid aside about five feet, a steel panel with rock slab veneer. He gestured Connie and Robert through the gap ahead of him. "Hurry!" he said, and even Robert hurried. Then he pointed the remote again, and the gap closed.

The tunnel on the other side was narrow, crudely finished, and unlit. It smelled moist and fusty, as if not serviced by the base's ventilation system. Morgan pressed a second switch, and the remote became a flashlight. Turning, he directed the beam down the tunnel. Blackness swallowed it a hundred feet ahead.

"Morgan," Robert said, "I'm scared." His voice was a little boy's now, despite its tenor pitch.

"It's okay to be scared, but you'll be all right. I'm your brother; I take care of you." Gently he rumpled Robert's close-cut hair. "We're going to a secret place. The bad guys don't know about it. No one does except us three."

Then he led off along the tunnel.

It went farther than Connie had expected. Half a mile at least, she decided, and except for the first hundred yards or so, it climbed. Not steeply, but enough that Robert got a bit querulous. "You'll make it, brother," Morgan told him. "You're doing great. Our father used to climb mountains, and we inherited his legs, you and I."

"Really? What mountains?"

"He used to climb Mount Snowden every chance he had. When I was little, back in Wales. A couple of times he even went to Scotland to climb; he climbed Ben Nevis there, and Ben Macdhui. Once, after we moved to Nebraska, he took Mother and me to Colorado, where there were even bigger mountains. He climbed one of them, too. I wanted to go with him, but I was too…"

A faint tremor shivered the rock beneath their feet, interrupting Morgan's recitation. He didn't get back to it, simply walked faster.

Connie's knowledge of Terran geography pretty much ended with what was taught in middle school, and in high school in connection with history. It didn't go much beyond the more important places and historical events. Her mind couldn't create an image of Wales on the map, but she was pretty sure it was part of Great Britain. Scotland she could image. On the map it looked like the profile of a dowager, with a feathered hat from some far-back time-the 20th or 21st century. Before "the Troubles." As for Colorado-she'd heard of it. It was in North America.

She wondered if Henry was telling Robert the truth. She'd never known him to kid his brother, but over the years she'd learned he could lie when it suited him.

After what might have been twenty minutes, the flashlight picked up a steel door ahead, with what looked like a wheel on it. Like much else in the base, it was from a waylaid ship-the security vault door of a luxury cruise ship. It wasn't locked; Henry simply spun the wheel and pulled, then ushered them in and closed it after them.

He didn't take time to show them around. Leaving them in the dark, he disappeared through another door. Half a minute later she could hear humming from wherever the machinery resided that provided the utilities-a small geogravitic power converter, water pump, sump pump, air circulation… Lights turned on. Seconds later she heard water running.

After Henry returned, the rock shuddered again, this time more strongly than in the tunnel, though nothing like they'd felt in the apartment. He went back into the machinery room, and while he was gone, the shudder repeated strongly enough to worry her.

They made love that night for the first time in a week. Afterward, over brandy-short drinks; they needed to be frugal with it-Henry told her more about what had happened. Including the tremor in the tunnel, and those they'd felt since then. The first, he believed, was the intruders blasting their way into the base. The second was the use of concussion to kill everyone inside. "And the third-" He exhaled gustily through pursed lips. "If the alien charges didn't collapse the base, I wouldn't want them to find this place. And years ago I had charges set to bring down the corridor leading here."

He reached, and patted her hand. "There's a way out though, and enough food to keep the three of us for a couple of years if need be. Meanwhile I'll be doing things, finding things out, and you and Robert can help me communicate what I learn to Terra." Though what it might be, he told himself, or what good it might do them, God only knows. Sixteen thousand, for godssake!

Chang Lung-Chi and

Foster Peixoto

President Chang Lung-Chi's chauffeur had let him off three hundred yards from the palace. Three hundred esthetic yards, pregnant with history. A long, initially turbulent history. After the Troubles, the Commonwealth of Worlds had undertaken to recognize and honor its diverse roots. And for Chang, walking through Peace Garden was to celebrate those roots. He strode briskly between vivid red and white flowerbeds, past the tall, crystalline Fountain of the Heroes, then across Unity Square, to mount the broad, low marble stairs of the Palace of Worlds. There he entered through the Portal of Admiral Gavril Apraxin.

The president was a man of less-than-ordinary height; without exception his bodyguards were taller. They didn't march, didn't even keep to any particular configuration. They could almost have been walking together by chance. And if you watched them, not knowing who they were, it would be Chang Lung-Chi your eyes would follow. His somewhat portly sixty-year-old form was straight-backed, and he had presence.

The vast lobby was busy, though the senate and assembly would not be called to order for two more hours. Staff members bustled on errands. Bureaucrats and members of parliament sauntered in conversation. Families and other early sightseers circulated, examining displays and memorials, or gazing at the shafts of colored light from reflectors overhead.

Security was inconspicuous but excellent. Concealed surveillance cameras recorded everything. They were not sapient, of course, but they were programmed to notice-and correlate-face and form, bearing and demeanor, clues subtle as well as overt. And to inform as appropriate.

The president passed the broad corridor that led to both senate and assembly, proceeding instead to a secure express tube to the next-to-top floor, where his offices and apartment were. When he stepped out into the eighty-sixth floor's east elevator bay, the prime minister was waiting for him; the surveillance system had more than just security functions.