"Pcharky knows something valuable he hopes to trade for his freedom."

"How'd you know?"

"It's obvious.  I'll tell you something else:  he came here of his own free will . . . for whatever purpose."

"You learn quickly, McKie."

She was laughing at him and he glared at her.

"All right!  I don't know that purpose, but it may be that you only think you know it."

For the briefest flicker, something dangerous glared from her eyes, then:

"Your jumpdoors have brought us many fools, but Pcharky is one of the biggest fools.  I know why he came.  There've been many like him.  Now . . . there is only one.  Broey, for all of his power, cannot search out his own Pcharky.  And Keila Jedrik is the one who frustrates him."

Too late, she realized that McKie had goaded her into this performance.  How had he done that?  He'd almost found out too much too soon.  It was dangerous to underestimate this naive intruder from beyond the God Wall.

Once more, she'd begun probing for things he had not yet revealed.  Time had protected him.  Aides had come urging an early inspection of the new weapons.  They were needed.

Afterward, they'd gone to the command post and then to breakfast in a Warren dining room.  All through breakfast, he'd plied her with questions about the fighting.  How extensive was it?  Could he see some of the prisoners?  Were they using the weapons built from the patterns in his kit?  Were they winning?

Sometimes she merely ignored his questions.  Most of her answers were short, distracted.  Yes.  No.  No.  Yes.  McKie realized she was answering in monosyllables to fend him off.  He was a distraction.  Something important had been communicated to her and he'd missed it.  Although this angered him, he tried to mask the emotion, striving to penetrate her wall of concern.  Oddly, she responded when he changed his line of questioning to the parents of the three children and the conversation there.

"You started to designate a particular place:  'Beyond the . . .'  Beyond what?"

"It's something Gar, thinks I don't know.  He thinks only his death fanatics have that kind of rapport with the Rim."

He stared at her, caught by a sudden thought.  By now, he knew much about Gar and Tria.  She answered his questions about them with candor, often using him openly to clarify her own thoughts.  But - death fanatics?

"Are these fanatics homosexual?"

She pounced.

"How'd you know?"

"A guess."

"What difference would it make?"

"Are they?"

"Yes."

McKie shuddered.

She was peremptory.

"Explain!"

"When Humans for any reason go terminal where survival of their species is concerned, it's relatively easy to push them the short step further into wanting to die."

"You speak from historical evidence?"

"Yes."

"Example."

"With rare exceptions, primitive Humans of the tribal eras reserved their homosexuals as the ultimate shock troops of desperation.  They were the troops of last resort, sent into battle as berserkers who expected, who wanted, to die."

She had to have the term berserkers explained, then showed by her manner that she believed him.  She considered this, then:

"What does your ConSentiency do about this susceptibility?"

"We take sophisticated care to guide all natural sexual variants into constructive, survival activities.  We protect them from the kinds of pressures which might tip them over into behavior destructive of the species."

Only later had McKie realized she had not answered his question:  beyond what?  She'd rushed him off to a conference room where more than twenty Humans were assembled, including the two parents who'd made the chart about Tria and Gar.  McKie realized he didn't even know their names.

It put him at a disadvantage not knowing as many of these people by sight and name as he should.  They, of course, had ready memories of everyone important around them and, when they used a name, often did it with such blurred movement into new subjects that he was seldom sure who had been named.  He saw the key to it, though.  Their memories were anchored in explicit references to relative abilities of those around them, relative dangers.  And it wasn't so much that they concealed their emotions as that they managed their emotions.  Nowhere in their memories could there be any emotive clouding such as thoughts of love or friendship.  Such things weakened you.  Everything operated on the strict basis of quid pro quo, and you'd better have the cash ready - whatever that cash might be. McKie, pressed all around by questions from the people in the conference room, knew he had only one real asset:  he was a key they might use to open the God Wall.  Very important asset, but unfortunately owned by an idiot.

Now, they wanted his information about death fanatics.  They milked him dry, then sent him away like a child who has performed for his elders but is sent to his room when important matters are brought up for discussion.

By the fourth morning of the battle for Chu, Tria was in a vile humor.  Her forces had established lines holding about one-eighth of the total Warren territory, mostly low buildings, except along Broey's corridor to the Rim.  She did not like the idea that Jedrik's people held an unobstructed view down onto most of the death fanatics' territory.  And most of those leaders who'd thrown in their lot with Tria were beginning to have second thoughts, especially since they'd come to realize that this enclave had insufficient food production facilities to maintain itself.  The population density she'd been forced to accept was frightening:  almost triple the Warren norm.

Thus far, neither Broey nor Jedrik had moved in force against her.  Tria had finally been brought to the inescapable conclusion that she and Gar were precisely where Jedrik wanted them.  They'd been cut out of Broey's control as neatly and cleanly as though by a knife.  There was no going back.  Broey would never accept Human help under present circumstance.  That, too, spoke of the exquisite care with which Jedrik had executed her plan.

Tria had moved her command post during the night to a high building which faced the canyon walls to the north.  Only the river, with a single gate under it, separated her from the Rim.  She'd slept badly, her mind full of worries.  Chief among her worries was the fact that none of the contact parties she'd sent out to the Rim had returned.  There'd been no fires on the Rim ledges during the night.  No word from any of her people out there.

Why?

Once more, she contemplated her position, seeking some advantage, any advantage.  One of her lines was anchored on Broey's corridor to the Rim, one line on the river wall with its single gate, and the rest of her perimeter meandered through a series of dangerous salients from the fifth wall to the river.

She could hear sounds of battle along the far side of Broey's corridor.  Jedrik's people used weapons which made a great deal of noise.  Occasionally, an explosive projectile landed in Tria's enclave.  These were rare, but she'd taken casualties and the effect on morale was destructive.  That was a major problem with fanatics:  they demanded to be used, to be wasted.

Tria stared down at the river, aware of the bodies drifting on its poison currents - both Human and Gowachin bodies, but more Gowachin than Human.  Presently, she turned away from the scene, padded into the next room, and roused Gar.

"We must contact Jedrik," she said.

He rubbed sleep from his eyes.

"No!  We must wait until we make contact with our people on the Rim.  Then we can . . ."