Yeah, Ram thought. Then you’d have both Alpha and Beta, the orcs would still have four of us, and we’d have nothing to bargain, or even land, with. Instead he answered, “We can’t do that. First of all we don’t know where the Alpha is. We reconnoitered first thing this morning and couldn’t find a trace of her. They’ve either got her under cover in the city or they keep her somewhere well outside it. And second, if they’re as bad as you say-and it fits what Chan and Anne thought-they might retaliate against the hostages if we try to get Alpha back that way.”

Nikko reached out and Nils handed her the microphone.

“What do you have in mind then, Ram?”

“Nothing. I hate to say it, but not a damned thing. We’ll just have to wait and see what develops, and take advantage of any opportunities.”

She looked at Nils but his face told her nothing.

“Are you sure you won’t come back up?” Ram asked. “We’d feel better if you were here, and you’d know at once if we hear anything.”

“You won’t,” she answered softly. “Nothing good. Nothing good will happen unless we make it happen.”

Five hundred and ten kilometers above her, Ram’s expression was dismal.

“No, I’ll stay here,” she continued. “I’ll be doing what we came here to do. Up there all I could do would be wait and imagine and feel sick and afraid. But thanks, Ram. And I know if there’s anything you can do, you will. Nikko over and out.”

“Accepted. Phaeacia out.”

Ram stared at the colored image in the big screen, a broad span of Eurasia tan and white, the Black Sea’s cobalt blue, unmarked by clouds. “Welcome home,” he said bitterly. “Welcome back to Earth.”

Nils sat on a fallen tree in the forest, head bowed, thick forearms resting on powerful thighs. He wore a loin cloth like a horse barbarian. Sten Vannaren stood over him intently, razor in hand, now and then hissing slightly between his teeth.

Nils had made a decision. The probability of full success was not high, but he saw no real alternative.

The orcs had a pinnace, with weapons and a supply of ammunition. Nils had gathered a substantial picture of what could be done with them. And with a combination of questioning, telepathy, psychology and pain, the orcs would soon know how to use them. Then they’d be able to: (1) attack and harass the People; (2) prevent effective cattle raids; and (3) scatter the herds the People had already gathered. They could force the clans to disperse and leave the country. Furthermore, if they could coerce the star people to provide additional ammunition, which was likely, they might well try again to seize Europe, using extortion, war, and potential allies among short-sighted, opportunistic feudal lords.

The best chance of preventing this, perhaps the only chance, was to get control of the Beta. If they could recapture Alpha with it, success would be almost assured. But just getting Beta would improve the odds. When the time came they’d attempt it by holding Nikko hostage. The star people seemed psychologically unable to retaliate by harming Ilse. He had advised Kniv, and Axel Stornave, not to give the star woman up if she decided after all to go back to the ship.

Now he would try to find where Alpha was kept.

Sten stepped back and grinned at Nils’s newly bald head. “There! It’s done. And without drawing too much blood. It’ll be a long time before it grows out enough to braid again.” He folded the razor and put it in his pouch. “Are you sure you don’t want a man or two beside you in this? That crazy Trollsverd would cut his hair for the chance, maybe even his throat. And if you talked hard enough you might get me to go.”

Nils grinned back at him. “Fighting isn’t the purpose of this trip, and one Northman is hard enough to conceal among foreigners. Two or three would be impossible. Besides, you speak Anglic; I want you to keep Nikko happy. Answer her questions, talk freely, tell her your travels. She’ll be learning, which is her purpose, and more content to stay, which means the star people will be less angry at us when the time comes. Talk to Ulf about having her take meals with your family. Once they know her, Signe and Hild won’t be jealous when you spend time with her, especially if it’s with them by their own fire.”

The two warriors shook hands then, untied their reins from the hazel bushes, and swung onto their horses. Sten turned back toward the encampment. Nils rode south.

Psionicists regard Ilse as the human cornerstone of psionics in the new renaissance. Her students remember and revere her as the calm, charismatic, and knowing listener who helped them find new dimensions within and outside themselves. Sean O’Niall insists that, in other times and circumstances, a new religion would have grown up around her memory, and indeed one might wonder if one hasn’t. Increasingly, philosophers recognize her as a major cultural transmuter, one whose unique insights and influence are moving mankind a step farther toward what we will become.

It is interesting to consider that she was a very primitive young woman on a primitive and often violent world. The neoviking composer of the Jarnhann Saga, in one of the occasional departures from his usual meter that provide a parenthetical quality, gives us a sharp clear image of the young Ilse in action while describing her capture by horse barbarians in Germany. He may well have exercised his culturally conditioned imagination, but the characterization seems basically correct. Here is the original, for those who can read it, along with Professor Kumalo’s faithful translation.

D’ dojtsa haxen kaste ned bojen, napte bagen uppa spennte senan, onar stadi, pilan vjentanne ma faadi dojn.

[The German seeress threw aside her bucket, quickly took her bow and drew the string taut, cool eyes steady, arrow waiting then with ready death.]

From ROOTS OF THE NEW MOVEMENT, by Mei-Ti Lomasetewa

Dr. Celia Uithoudt stepped into the little cabin.

“Ram?”

“What?” He responded without looking away from the tape screen.

She looked at her husband thoughtfully before continuing. “Did you read my mind just now?”

“You know I can’t do that at will.” He turned to her. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you sound grumpy-like a refusal waiting for a request. I thought maybe you knew I was going to ask you to do something.”

“I guess maybe I did. Do what?”

“Talk to Ilse.”

“What point is there in that?”

“Courtesy, if nothing else.” For those four words her tone had sharpened. Now it softened again, but the words were candid. “Ram, you should know what the point is without being told. With Matt gone, you’ve undertaken to direct the off-ship activities as well as the ship itself. And Alex is willing to let you, even though he was Matt’s second, because he’s not the command type and doesn’t feel up to the circumstances. And because you’re willing and he has respect for your… ”

“And you don’t like the way I’m handling things,” Ram interrupted roughly. “Maybe you ought to try it.”

“Let me finish talking, you sarcastic bully!” Her burst of open anger startled Ram, even shocked him. She seldom argued, rarely criticized bluntly, and he’d never seen her blow up before. He respected and appreciated her patience even more than her intelligence. To have broken that patience alerted him to how badly the situation had affected his frame of mind.

At a deeper level she had jabbed a hidden sore of self-distaste. He sometimes did use sarcasm to bully her, and despised this trait of his.