Sarela's gaze hardened as she took a step nearer. "And who isthe Praetor?" she asked pointedly. "Who is the man that hides behind a hooded robe? Has anyone ever seen him?" Without waiting for a response, she continued. "And those few who haveseen him—his personal slaves and advisers—never leave his service. If they attempt to do so, they are dead before they reach the palace gates. You say that the Praetor's shipis en route here; of that I am certain. But how will you know that the man who boards this vessel is reallythe Praetor at all? How can you be certain that the man who comes here is not some impostor employed by the Praetor to lure the Ravoninto a suicidal mission? How, Tazol?" she demanded. "How can you know these things? If the Praetor is as wise as you claim, he will not endanger his own life on nothing more than a computerized hypothesis!"

Tazol's face darkened with tangible rage which twisted his features into an animalistic snarl. "You willbe silent!" he commanded. "I shall not tolerate this blasphemy against the Empire!"

Sarela laughed gently, almost admonishingly. "Yes you will," she corrected. "For you do not possess the courage to silence me!" She met his eyes, testing his conviction, testing her own ground. "The Praetor would not be so foolish as to board this vessel in an attempt to avoid the paradoxes of time. He would sit back—safe within the walls of the Empireal palace—and wait for his fleet to do his bidding. And then— onlythen—would he step in to partake of the rewards. And Tazol," she said with a very gentle smile, "if there are no rewards, he will say that we acted alone—in a scheme to overthrow his authority and bring power to ourselves." She shook her head, lips growing tighter with anger. "We will be executed," she added matter-of-factly. "Not only you and I, but all who serve aboard the Ravonwill die. Your Praetor would not allow us to live long enough to make it publicly known that anotherof his 'can't-fail' schemes had failed!"

A stray moment of horror which seemed to be circling the bridge found its way to Tazol's face. All heads were turned now, all eyes on him; and he suddenly realized that this fiery female couldbe correct. And something warned him that the crew of the Ravonmight not support him in a critical situation which involved Sarela. She had been on the ship too long, had too many friends in anonymous places. He tasted indecision, fear, rage. "You will follow my orders, Sarela," he said at last. "I serve the Praetor! And the mere fact that you are my wife does not exempt you from that same duty!"

Sarela felt flame rise in her own eyes, but made no effort to disguise it. "And the fact that I am your wife does not automatically mark me as a fool either, Tazol!" she responded. "Our marriage was the mistaken bribe of my father!" She threw the computerized readouts into the vacant command chair. "These speculations are meaningless!" she spat out. "They are merely hypotheses based on the possible successof our agents in Earth's past. There are no provisions for error.No alternative plans have been formulated in the event that the operatives should fail—or if they are simply unable to alter the course of Terran history sufficiently. Not enough research has been done to know howthe time flow will be affected. And as a scientist yourself, even youshould realize that time alteration is never a certainty. There are too many variables, too many paradoxes—and any discrepancy spells failure!"

Striding back to the main computer console, she activated the controls which changed the viewscreen once again. "These are examples of a few of the mistakes your Praetor has made before, Tazol. Look at them—study them very carefully!

"Six seasons ago, we attempted to alter a single planet's history in the hopes of establishing a new form of government there which would be susceptible to the Praetor's rule. As a result of our tampering, the entire planet was laid to waste, the resources destroyed, and the people obliterated. No sheep to rule, Tazol," Sarela said quietly. "When our operatives created a flaw in the governmental system of that world's past history, they overlooked the fact that the newgovernment was based solely on survival. Wars were the outcome. Disease. Ruin." She pointed at the top of the display, eyes hot with accusation.

"And when we attempted to change our own physical nature to render a stronger individual, we time-tampered with the genes of our ancestors! Again," she stressed with a frustrated gesture of her hands, "the results should be painfully obvious, Tazol. Nearly half the population of Romulus died as a direct result. Of course, the Praetor could claimthat it worked; the Warriors who survived were indeed physically stronger. But as a whole, the experiment was nothing less than disastrous. By altering the genetic structure of our ancestors, the 'brilliant' scientists failed to take into account certain diseases to which our species alreadypossessed an immunity. Once the genetic code was altered, that immunity no longer existed." She laughed bitterly, flipping the long, black hair back from her slender face. "No, Tazol. No experiment can everbe a complete success. For as long as there are uncharted variables, there will always be errors."

Tazol stared blankly at the screen. The implications were too frightening, too deadly … too obvious. "It will not happen this time!" he persisted, not knowing what else in the universe to say. "It cannothappen! We have learned from our errors—"

"Are you such a puppet that the suicidal tendencies of our species elude your comprehension?" Sarela interrupted. "You have stated that we were once a conquering race. Yes!" she agreed, indicating the viewscreen with a nod of her head as she moved to stand in front of the stunned commander. "And if you are not blinded by customs so ancient as to be oblique, you can see where that has gotten us. Greed, Tazol. Greed is the only motivating force behind any conquering race—and the Praetor is surely the most greedy man in the Empire. How many times has he sent entire starships to die on a whim, on a quest for some pretty trinket to adorn the palace walls?"

Tazol's face darkened as several members of the bridge crew murmured in agreement. "Your blasphemy against the Empire will not go unpunished, Sarela," he promised, wondering if it was a threat he could uphold. "I follow my orders; I honor my duty—even if that duty means death!"

But Sarela only laughed sarcastically. "A true son of the Praetor," she observed. "But keep in mind that I am not the only person aboard this vessel who does not wish to die in an insane attempt to rule a galaxy. History is on myside, Tazol—not the Praetor's. Whenever we have attempted to alter the time-flow in any manner, the results have never been as predicted. Or are you so intimidated by the Praetor that you would lay down your life on his whim alone? Would you fall obediently onto your sword to amuse him if he demanded it?

"Fear does not make a good commander, Tazol," she continued. "Especially if that fear is so deeply rooted that it blinds you to logical alternatives. It is easier to die a hero of the Empire than to live as one who opposes the Praetor's views—that is true. So go ahead," she entreated, indicating the viewscreen with one hand. "Go ahead and become another hero. Have your name added to the list of failures. It will make little difference in a thousand years—and you willdie a hero, of that I assure you." She paused, lowering her voice to a deceptively gentle tone. "And neither your Praetor nor your wife shall mourn your passing, Tazol. You will be nothing more than a bad memory in the atoms of the galaxy."