"Relax," said Shergan. "You worry too much."

"And some of us don't worry enough," snapped back the other man. "We're responsible for the whole of Technos, or have you forgotten? If we overlook a thing like this what will happen next?"

"Murder, violence and sudden death," said a new voice. Alica had joined them. She smiled greetings and accepted a drink. "Are you still beating that old drum, Gill? Do you still look under your bed at night for fear of saboteurs?"

"You can laugh, Alica, but you can't tell me they don't exist. That failure, for example. It could have been an accident but we wouldn't have accidents if the technicians knew their jobs. I-" He broke off, shrugging. "Well, never mind that now. Let's enjoy our dinner."

It was a fine meal but wasted Mada thought later as she headed back to the capital. Leaning back against the cushions of her flier, the pilot a vague shape beyond the dividing glass, she pondered the events of that evening.

Krell was a loss. Marmot had a real concern but was inclined to gnaw too long at details. Shergan was more promising; like Alica he used words as a mask for his real thoughts and both he and the woman would be potential allies to back her in a vote of impeachment. Not that she intended to put any such proposal to the council. In fact it would be better if she took steps to disengage herself from any possible intrigues. Better and safer. And yet could she feel really safe alone?

For diversion she looked through the transparent canopy forming a roof over the cabin. The snow had ceased, the fallen whiteness giving the night a strange, luminous quality. Far to one side, falling from the sky in a haze of blue, a ship settled down the landing field. A vessel from Cest probably, or one from Loame; another contingent was due from that planet. It could not be a casual arrival, for such ships were banned from landing at night.

A streak of brilliance from below caught her eye. A monorail traveling high above the snow, the line of illuminated cars looking at this distance like a bright and flexible snake. It swung in a wide curve as it followed the line of a ridge, and she watched it, remembering, feeling an unaccustomed touch of nostalgia.

As a girl she had loved to ride on the monorail, sitting beside a window, the inevitable book in her lap, merging her studies with glimpses of the coast, the restless sea, the soaring mountains and wooded hills. The soft hiss of the train had allowed her to concentrate and, as a student, she had traveled at reduced fare. And sometimes she had met interesting people. That young man, for example, who had been obviously attracted and who had worked in a subterranean power installation. He had been very keen and very disappointed when she had firmly told him that study came first, thoughts of romance a long way behind. He must be married now, with grandchildren probably, or dead, which was more likely.

It had been a long time ago.

She blinked, annoyed with herself at the sudden sentiment, reminding herself that she had achieved her ambition, that she was a member of the Supreme Council and that all the study and work had been worthwhile. Even love had come later, or a facsimile of it; the quieting of her bodily needs in a succession of barren affairs. She was rich and powerful, respected and admired. Why then did she feel sad?

The night, she decided. The touch of nostalgia. The sight of a train which had wakened old memories.

But it was just a train, a string of cars humming along a single rail. She looked at it again, staring beyond her reflected image into the luminous expanse of the night. The cars would be warm and comfortable, the seats soft, the metal fabric of the car vibrating with a restful hum. And there would be people and the sound of talk and laughter.

Abruptly she yielded to impulse.

"Take me to the monorail station," she ordered the pilot. "One not too close to the capital, and one in which a train is shortly due."

"Madam?" His voice held surprise. Against the partition his face was a featureless blur as he looked back from the controls.

"You heard me," she snapped. "Obey!"

She smiled as the flier wheeled, circling to follow the rail below, conscious of the pilot's rigid disapproval. Well, if he didn't like it that was just too bad. It was a long time since she had indulged herself in a foolish whim and it would be good to ride in a monotrain again.

* * *

A group of soldiers at the far end of the car were having themselves a ball, passing bottles back and forth, singing, making the most of what remained of their leave. A woman sat crying, tears running down her cheeks, thin hands clasping a worn hand bag. Two old men snored in the third row, and a pair of lovers were lost to the world.

Dumarest watched them, dispassionately, sitting hunched in his coat and fighting a mounting fatigue. It had been a hard night. The journey to Farbein had been as he'd expected: the cars jammed with commuters; businessmen leaving the base; parents returning after visiting their sons. At the junction he'd had to wait for an hour to catch a connection which took him well along the coast before returning to the capital in a wide circle. As the hours passed so the train had shortened, cars being dropped as the number of passengers had diminished, the passengers themselves changing in character.

He shifted to ease the ache in his bones. The upholstery was worn and the springs unkind. He'd managed to buy some confection from a machine at Farbein and had managed to quench his thirst with a handful of snow but aside from that had had nothing. One of the derelicts woke, gasping, staring about with rheumy eyes. To Dumarest the sight was reassuring. They had ridden with him all the way, probably buying a ticket to the next station and riding the loop all through the night. Like himself it was the only place they could find warmth and a measure of comfort. Their presence meant that the train was badly checked and he should be safe from questioning guards.

But for how long?

Not much longer, he decided. If Keon was any good at his trade he would anticipate what the fugitive would do. With the hotels blocked and the roads watched the monorail was the only thing left. His only hope was that he would reach the capital before the guards had been fully alerted.

He tensed as the train checked to a halt. The crying woman rose and left the car. The lovers parted for a moment, checked the station and returned to each other. One of the soldiers whistled as a woman entered the carriage and walked to where Dumarest sat. She ignored the whistle and sat across from him, her face muffled in the collar of a heavy coat.

Already Mada was beginning to regret her romantic impulse.

The train had been late and not as large as she remembered but then, she reminded herself, she had never traveled so late before. She had picked the last car for sentimental reasons. She had always chosen that car in the past, but it was not as she recalled. Surely the seats hadn't been so worn, the paint so dull? And the smooth hum of gliding progress, what had happened to that?

Time, she thought, the magic of distance. Foods lost their flavor, colors their brightness and the trifling details of annoyance became swallowed in a nostalgic glow. But that could not be the whole answer. Maintenance standards had fallen, and work that should have been done had been neglected. The wars, the drain of men and money to hold down the rebellious populations of Cest and Hardish must be the cause. How long must it continue?

It would be wise for the members of the council to mix more with the ordinary people. It was too easy to become detached. She made a mental note to raise the matter at the next meeting, then relaxed, looking around, determined to make the best of her illogical whim.

The soldiers she ignored; men trying too hard to convince themselves they were having a good time. The lovers created a sudden stab of envy, startling because unexpected. Yet how wonderful it must be to lose yourself in anothers arms. The derelicts-another matter she should bring to the attention of the council. The man opposite?