«There is no compelling reason for doing so at the moment,» his memorandum read. «The loyalty of the African units has not been seriously impaired. We are more likely to impair that loyalty by making Case 28 a martyr than by leaving him alone.»

Blade hoped that recommendation would do some good. He wondered, though. The fact that he was allowed to handle files and make recommendations might mean that no one in Special Operations suspected a thing about his origins. But he had no way of knowing how many levels there were between him and the real decision makers. He didn't know if he was actually functioning in isolation, continuously watched for some revealing slip. He didn't know a great many things, and while he was resigned to this situation, he still didn't like it.

One thing he knew was that the more background he got, the less likely he was to make slips. So he read files the six hours a day his duties required, and another six or eight hours each day on his own. He could only hope this would look like conscientiousness, rather than a desperate effort to learn things he should have known as well as he knew his own name.

One evening he was sitting in the Senior Lounge, a glass of beer on the floor beside his armchair and a file on Russland electronic countermeasures spread out on his lap. He became aware of someone passing in front of him and looked up in time to see a young woman sit down in the armchair on the opposite side of the little alcove. For a moment Blade pretended to be looking at the painting hanging on the wall over the woman's chair-what looked like a vintage 1900 battleship at sea, pouring out great clouds of smoke and firing her guns furiously in all directions. Then he saw that the woman was looking directly at him, stopped pretending to ignore her, and returned her gaze.

He recognized the woman as someone from the Headquarters staff, but this was his first good look at her. Short, but carrying herself so well that she looked a good deal taller. Excellent figure, shown off to advantage in a gray tweed skirt and a maroon blouse, and very good legs. Hair cut in a neat pageboy bob, so blonde that it seemed to shimmer against the-dreary wallpaper and even drearier upholstery of her chair. Large, intensely blue eyes, and a wide mouth that began to curve upward into a gentle smile as Blade watched.

«Good evening,» she said. «I've seen you around here a few times, but we've never really been introduced. My name's Elva Thompson.»

Blade smiled, acknowledging her polite frankness. «I could say very much the same thing.»

Her smile extended itself to her eyes. «Does that mean that your name is Elva Thompson, too?»

Blade laughed. «No. It means that I've seen you here several times too, but- Anyway, my name is Richard Blade.»

«Oh yes, you're the newest of the Independents, aren't you?»

Blade spent a moment considering how she might have discovered that fact. He did this more by reflex than because of any real suspicion. Here in the headquarters, where practically everyone had a Grade One or Two security classification, there were few secrets about who was doing what. When, where, and how were another matter.

«Yes,» said Blade. «You're on the staff here, somewhere.»

She nodded. «I'm Assignment Coordinator for Staff Personnel.»

Blade was impressed. Elva couldn't have been more than thirty, but her position was the second most important one for the day-to-day running of the headquarters. It was her job to keep track of staff assignments and shift people from one to another as circumstances demanded. That meant a Grade One classification, since she had to know a good deal about at least the planning end of every major Special Operations job.

Elva's eyes fell on the files spread out across Blade's lap and on the rug beside his chair. «Am I interrupting something important?»

«Not really,» said Blade. «I was beginning to think of tidying this up and tidying myself off to bed.» He looked at his watch. «It's getting toward eleven, and I'm doing refresher jump training tomorrow. The alarm will be going off about five.»

«You're going to jump in on your next mission?»

Blade shook his head. That might be a perfectly normal and innocent question. He was still glad that he could give a perfectly polite answer that revealed very little.

«Not necessarily. You know the way we Independents get pushed around. Forty-eight hours' notice, all of it spent getting briefed. Then off we go, to some place whose name we may not even know until we get there. That means we've got to keep up every skill that we might possibly need.»

«I see.» She seemed to be hesitating, even a little nervous for a moment. Then she continued. «Do you suppose you could get me on one of the jump-training flights?»

«To jump?»

«Yes. I've got my own gear.»

«Are you planning to apply for a place among the Independents?» said Blade.

Elva laughed. «Oh no. I know my limits. I'm competent enough, but not that athletic. I'm also too sociable to spend my working hours perched on top of some frozen mountain in Russland, with nothing more intelligent than a sheep for fifty miles. It's just that skydiving used to be a hobby of mine. Now the fuel allocation for civilian flying has been cut down so far that it's hard to get someone to take me up.»

Blade knew what Elva meant. Bit by bit, the Imperial government was forcing the people of Englor to tighten their belts. Food, fuel, all sorts of consumer goods were slowly being restricted. Full-scale rationing was at most a few months away.

«I don't think I can do anything for you this week,» said Blade: «There's too heavy a training schedule. Next week, on the other hand-well, I'll see what I can do.»

«I can't ask for more than that,» said Elva, with a smile that seemed to light up the alcove. «Except perhaps if you would care to buy me a drink?»

Blade looked at his watch. It was now past eleven, and he'd been awake and on the go since well before six. On the other hand, he no longer felt tired or sleepy. Perhaps it was the effects of Elva's company? In any case, a drink with her suddenly seemed like a very good idea.

«I'd be delighted,» said Blade, and rose from his chair to take Elva's arm.

They had to wait a week, but then there was no problem about slipping Elva onto the flight schedule for three jumps. Blade said only that Elva was «considering» applying for field training. «Considering» was a noncommittal word-she could always say afterward that she'd changed her mind, if any bureaucrat seemed likely to make a fuss. Probably none would. Special Operations was run with a refreshing lack of red tape. R knew perfectly well that the kind of people the Division needed for its work couldn't be treated like infantry recruits.

So Blade and Elva spent an entire day of the next week on the jump range. The weather was gray and drizzly in the morning, but in the afternoon the sun came out and made the last two jumps of the day pure pleasure. Blade loved skydiving and warmed to anyone like Elva, who so obviously loved it also.

She not only loved it, she was really good at it. She was in excellent condition, skilled and even graceful in all the movements of leaving the jump plane, guiding herself down through five thousand feet of empty air, and landing safely on the green grass of the drop field. She not only landed safely, she landed as accurately as Blade.

As they were repacking their parachutes after the last jump, a thought struck Blade.

«Why don't we requisition a car and go into town for dinner? I don't know about you, but I haven't been outside the Security Area since I joined Special Operations.»

«Except for that mission to Nordsbergen,» she said quietly.

Blade nodded. «True. But that hardly counts as relaxation. The food was poor, the entertainment worse, and I couldn't say much for the company either.»