“No way,” he said. “It’s our ship, remember. We want this thing intact.”

The chittering came back, the wailing thing passed, as it had passed before. He refused to wince, refused even to acknowledge it.

When we get out of here.

Then, in a blink, Paul was lying a dozen feet beyond them.

Jillan moved, scrambled to Paul’s side with a soft, frightened oath.

Rafe moved up and knelt again, cautious of such gifts. “Paul,” he said.

Paul opened his eyes to pale slits, shuddered and came suddenly wide-eyed, lurching up on his arm.

“Where are we?” Paul asked. “O God, where are we? Jillan—?” He sat upright, looked down at his own body, at theirs—panicked, darting glances. “What is this place?”

“The same as it’s ever been,” Rafe said.

“What do you mean, the same?” Paul’s voice rode close to breaking. “Where are we? Where’s the ship?”

“He doesn’t remember,” Rafe said, at Jillan’s frightened glance his way. “He’s lost it all.”

“Lost what?” asked Paul. “ Whatdon’t I remember?”

Rafe put out a hand and held it on his shoulder. “This place—you’ve lost a little time, Paul. Just take it easy. We’re all right. Take it easy. We’ll fill you in.”

Paul was scared again, mortally scared. So was Jillan; he could read it in that thin-lipped calm.

“It’s all right,” Jillan said. “It’s all right, we’ve got you back. We lost you for a while. You scared us; Paul.”

<> listened for a time. <> had debated with <>self, how much interference was wise, whether to restore Paul to the set at all. And then it occurred to <> that a different waking experience might change the Paul-mind to some advantage.

So <> had restored him to the others, this copy fresh from its death experience.

</> would know that, of course. There remained the very strong likelihood </> would attempt a substitution the moment </> had a chance.

But <> took the risk. Perhaps Jillan or Rafe-mind had left its influence on <>. <> was not sure. Many entities had tried; but their desire to keep that set intact was strong.

There was also, native to <>self and them—curiosity.

<> took up the Rafe-image again and visited the corridor, finding Rafe asleep.

<> squatted there, just watching, running through the feelings Rafe-mind had about himself and his living original. Then:

“Wake up,” Rafe heard. “Wake up, Rafe.”

He opened his eyes, knowing the voice, braced himself back on his hands in a scramble for the wall, for it was close, until he had gotten his thoughts together.

“Which one are you?”

His own face smiled back at him, answering that question. Rafe Two would have been puzzled at the least.

“Stay back,” Rafe said.

“You know I can’t touch you.”

He let go his breath, still pressed as close against the wall as he could get. “Like hell. You promised me the others back. Where are they?”

“Plotting together. They want to take the ship.”

“Good for them.”

The alien grinned, squatted there with his elbows on naked knees, went sober once again. “It’s not too likely a threat.”

“I want to see them.”

“Ship’s important to you, isn’t it? I think about this star where I found you; this mind doesn’t care. I think of others. But when I think of ship, it reacts. Like love. Like need. It feels strong as sex-drive. Stronger, maybe. But Lindy’s finished, I’m afraid. It was, you’ll pardon me, not much of a ship to start with.”

“Shut up.”

“On the other hand,” the doppelganger said, “—I love that idea, you know? The other hand. I understand a number of things: you’d want to be dropped as far away from Endeavor as you could get. They’d ask questions there at Endeavor, years of questions. There and at Cyteen. I could drop you, oh, say, Paradise. There’d be questions there, too; but maybe less anxiety. Less chance of your being—confined. Wouldn’t you say?”

He sat and listened to this prattle, roused out of sleep to listen, tucked up against the wall. He ignored most of it, let it drift through his mind and out again, refusing to let it stick. “Stop playing this game. I don’t care where you drop me.”

“I want to prepare a canister for you. This takes a little time. I won’t stay long at all at Paradise, not to make a stir.”

“What’s your name?”

“My name?”

“You’ve got a name of your own the way I presume you’ve got a shape. What is it?”

It seemed to think a moment. “Kepta, if you like.”

“Kepta. What are you really up to?”

“Right now,” the doppelganger. said, “I’m merely clearing decks. I’ll take another impression before I turn you out; this will put me up to date with all you’ve gotten here. I’ve put that off; it is stressful. But that’s the only thing I want of you.”

“The others. What will happen to them?”

“I won’t turn them off, if that’s what you mean. That’s the last thing I’d do.”

“Meaning what?”

“They’re mine,” Kepta said.

“What do you mean, yours? You mean you’re taking them somewhere?”

“They can hardly leave the ship with you—can they? No, there’s nothing really to worry about at all. I could put some of this business off; but on the other hand—I’d like to get you to the lab, just to make sure, well, of having that copy. It’s my only condition.” The image got to its feet, held out a hand. “Come on, get up. I’d like you to walk there.”

“Meaning there are other choices?”

“There are other ways.”

Rafe thought that over, staring up into his own face, hating the mock-regretful look on it. He put his hands on the gossamer-carpeted floor and shoved himself up, straightened and glared at the image eye to eye, but it refused the confrontation, walked off a way and held out its hand, beckoning.

“Come on.”

“Why should I believe this, when you haven’t come through with the other promise? I want to see the others, hear?”

“Afterward. I promise. Come on, now, Rafe. Let’s not be difficult.”

“Let’s,” he echoed sourly. “What is my choice?”

“I really don’t want to do that.”

“What?”

“I could send something in here to bring you. I’d have it carry you and spare you the long walk; but walking makes it your choice, that’s why I want you to do it. I really think that’s valuable.”

“You know, I never noticed it; I don’t like the way I talk.”

“Humor?”

Rafe said nothing, but started walking; looked back again, at home, at Lindy’s jumbled fragments, then fell in beside Kepta’s light-dim shape. “I need anything?”

“No. Not really.”

He walked farther; the image walked, with smooth efficiency: sequencing projectors,he had decided once. Projected from what? Fibers in the rug?“This going to hurt much?” he asked finally.

“Yes,” Kepta said.

They walked along, down the snaking corridor of gossamer-green humps and hillocks. The lights were all on, showing him the way.

“Haven’t felt any push on this ship,” he said. “We’re inertial, aren’t we?”

“Some ways off Endeavor, plus one plus thirty plus ten, one-tenth C. Make you feel better, knowing where you are?”

He nodded, relationships and directions flashing into shape. He felt familiar stars about him again. Home space. He drew a shuddering, long breath, pretended nonchalance. “Big nothing out here.”

“It’s a vacant spot. Where we’re not disturbed.”

VI

They walked side by side, he and Kepta, into that vast empty node where many halls converged—silent: his footfalls on the padded floor made no great sound. Rafe heard only the whisper of his clothing, his own deepened breaths. Kepta made no sound at all, except to talk to him from time to time down the winding hall:

“Tired?” Kepta asked.

“Does that matter? You pushed me along this way once, with the lights. What were you after, then?”