Technicians sat at their consoles scattered on the large expanse of the floor; observers, environmental monitors, armigers, assessors, predictors. Their faces were touched by the illumination from their instruments, the telltales and registers and dials. Other light came from the huge screens flanking the walls and depicting the universe outside. A glitter of countless stars interspersed and overlaid with sheets and curtains of luminescence, the ebon blotches of clouds of interstellar dust, the fuzz of distant nebulae.

"Earl!" Althea came toward him, face pale against the copper sheen of her hair. She caught his arm as he stepped to where Volodya stood at the main console. "They're coming, Earl. Just as you said they would."

"How many?"

"Seven." Volodya spoke without turning to look at Dumarest. "All heading on a direct collision course with Zabul."

"Seven?"

"Approaching from two different directions."

"Are you sure as to the number?" Dumarest snarled his impatience as Volodya nodded. "Look at me, damn you! Has there been contact?"

"As yet only visual." Volodya touched a control on the bank before him and, on a screen, a familiar object appeared in blurred magnification. "This is approaching from the west and north." The image shrank a little to reveal three other shapes trailing the first. "A group of four. The others are coming from the east and south." The screen flickered, steadying to illustrate the other vessels. They were near-twins of the others.

Ships at which Dumarest stared before he said, "None are under drive. When did you spot them?"

"Just before I sounded the alarm."

Then the ships had dropped from plus-C velocity and could be identified for what they were. Their numbers alone would have jarred Volodya and made him sound the Red Alert. But seven?

Dumarest looked closer at the images on the screen. None of the vessels approaching from the south were wrapped in the blue shimmer of the Erhaft field, which meant they were coasting on gained momentum. At his order Volodya put the other group on a second screen.

"Not one of them is under drive," said Dumarest. "And no contact as yet?"

"No."

"Try again. Use wide-dispersal and include the code used to contact your regular suppliers. Demand a response and don't be polite."

"Right, Commander." A technician didn't wait for Volodya to relay the order. He added, "Captain Medwin reports the Corps is in position."

"Thanks. Can you patch me into a communication circuit?"

"It's done, Commander. Just relay through me."

An unexpected ally and Dumarest wondered if he had others in Command. An armiger gave him a part of the answer, lifting a hand in salute from where he sat at his console. The salute was repeated by an environmental engineer.

To Volodya Dumarest said, "A divided command is the surest recipe for failure. You rule Zabul, but I suggest you allow me to conduct this present operation."

"And if I refuse?" Volodya saw the answer in Dumarest's eyes. "You'd put it to the test, right?"

"It needn't come to that."

"But you'd threaten Zabul if I refuse. What gives you the conviction you can handle this better than I can?"

"You play good chess," said Dumarest. "But you're hopeless at poker. You just can't recognize a bluff."

"I don't understand."

"Look at those ships. Put them on the screens, matched images, full magnification." He waited as Volodya obeyed. Gave the man time to study what he saw. "Well?"

"Ships," said Volodya. "Armed, by the look of them. They could destroy Zabul."

"Decoys," snapped Dumarest. "Use your eyes, man! The lead vessel is real enough but those following are drogues. Inflated bladders bearing metallic paint and equipped with a small guidance device inside. They look real enough and will register on your scanners but they're only balloons."

"Then why use them?"

"Bluff. They can frighten and each one will take an expensive torpedo to destroy. It's a mercenary's trick." Lifting his voice he said, "Any response as yet to our demand for contact?"

"None, Commander."

"Sound battle-alert. All unessential Terridae to take to their caskets. All combat personnel to be suited against exposure to the void. Total closure of all seals."

"At once, Commander!" The environmental engineer busied himself with his console.

"Communications?"

"Commander!"

"Send a final demand for contact. Warn that unless they respond immediately we open fire. Armiger! Aim missiles at both lead ships with contact and remote-controlled warheads. Aim others at the decoys. Have them loaded with thermite flares. Fire them on order." Dumarest waited, counting seconds. "Any response as yet?"

"Just static, Commander."

"Fire at the decoys. Loose!"

"God, man, no! You'll-" Volodya broke off, conscious that he was too late. Conscious too of what could happen should Dumarest be wrong and the ships, untouched by the flares if real, should fire back. Dumarest calmed his fears. "They won't fire back."

"How can you be sure?"

"Just take my word for it."

A bald explanation but all he intended to give. The ships must have been sent by the Cyclan and the last thing the organization wanted was for him to be killed. Later, after they had won his secret, they would dispose of him but, until that time, he was too valuable to be risked. "Three seconds," said the armiger. "Two. One-now!" A flood of burning white radiance flowered in the void, dimming the light of the stars with the fury of a miniature man-made nova. The searing, expanding cloud touched the following vessels and destroyed them, while leaving the leading ships unharmed.

"Repeat the warning," snapped Dumarest. "And remind them the next torpedoes are for real."

Again a time of waiting and then, "They're gone!" The communication engineer yelled from his seat as he stared at the screens. "By, God, they've run!"

Vanishing into space as, wrapped in the blue cocoon of their Erhaft fields, the two vessels disappeared from sight.

Dumarest looked at where they had been, frowning, assessing their actions. To appear from two different directions at the same time accompanied by facsimile ships designed to frighten and intimidate. To ignore all attempts at contact and so, by silence, to enhance the terror of their menacing approach. Then, when their bluff had been called, simply to vanish and leave the guardians of Zabul staring wonderingly at where they had been. Why?

Volodya had no doubts. "They've left," he said. "They came and tried to frighten us and when they found we had teeth decided to quit. A bluff, Earl, as you said."

A confidence Dumarest didn't share. To the technicians at the monitors he said, "Alter your scan. I want a thorough check of the surface." Then, as the screens changed to show the bizarre exterior of the artificial world and the tiny, antlike figures moving over it he said, "Not a bluff, Volodya, but a diversion. Now they're trying to break in."

The suit was tight, the flow of air a reassuring whisper in his ears, the surface of Zabul a firm solidity beneath hands and knees. Rising, he would be a clear target against the background of stars if anyone was watching from the shadows. To spring upward would be to break free of the gravity zone embracing Zabul. Drifting in space, even with guidance devices, he would be an even more helpless target.

All this he had tried to drive home to the members of the Corps before leaving the air-lock.

Some would remember, others, those trained for normal surface maintenance, would have no trouble, the rest, if they lived, would be lucky.

"In position, Commander." Medwin's voice vibrated from the speakers. "All units ready to go."

Their scrambled communication would be nothing more than a blur of static to outsiders. Dumarest checked his suit monitors, seeing air, temperature, humidity and ion level in the green. A precaution he'd tried to emphasize-too many new to suits had died for lack of automatic checking. Time became distorted when in an unaccustomed environment and changes in temperature and ion levels could alter normal perspective.