It keeps right on hurting, he thought as he stalked along the passageway. She won't even try to understand.

After relaying Amy's decision, he went looking for his partner.

He found Mouse in the wardroom, staring mindlessly into a holovision cube. He sat, "What's the matter, old buddy? Want to talk?"

Reluctantly, Mouse killed the holoshow. "Not yet, Tommy. I'm not ready."

"All right. You noticed that little blonde Lieutenant from Weapons? Tanni Something."

"From B Missiles? Primo stuff. Looks like she'd turn a man every way but loose. There's something about the little ones... "

"They say she's a Scorpio."

Mouse laughed. "You didn't fix me up, did you?" Mouse had been known to opine that Scorpio women were the hottest in the known universe. McClennon could not get him to elucidate the workings of a geocentric astrology transferred to Outworlds skies.

"Not exactly. I asked a few questions. I figured the answers might pique your interest."

"I'm interested. That little bomb is ready to go off. You can tell just by the way she moves. Blow in her ear and you're liable to start something five guys couldn't handle. But I'm also not interested. If you know what I mean."

"No. I don't. You've been celibate for a month. I thought I'd see entropy shift into reverse first."

"I got things to work out, Tommy, Can we drop it?"

"If you want. We're heading for Stars' End." As if to back him up, the ship's hyper alarm sounded

"I heard they finally gave in."

"Now all we've got to do is impress Gruber."

"The Old Man will find a way."

"He always does, doesn't he?"

"Tommy, what do you think our chances are?"

"What?"

"Our chances of coming through this thing with these centerward creatures."

"We'll never know, Mouse. It's going to go on for a long time. Our great-grandchildren's great-grandchildren are going to be fighting this war. And it's a sad thing."

"Sad? How so?"

"It may destroy us. As a race. I don't mean destroy like wipe us out. I mean put an end to what makes us what we are. I've been thinking about it a lot. You know how I get."

"You think too much." Mouse smiled.

"The human race is crazy, see. No two of us are alike. And when we form up in mobs, no two mobs are alike. We're always flying off in a skillion different directions. Everybody doing their own thing. Every culture, too. And that's a survival trait, I think. There's almost a Darwinian thing with cultures. Some die out, and others come to life. There're always some on the way out and some on the way in. The thing is, there're always a lot of different ones around. When one goes down, there's always another there to take its place."

"I'm not following you," Mouse said in a slightly amused tone. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Look, this centerward race... To fight it we're going to have to pull together. Generation after generation. Like an anthill. We're going to turn into a warfare race. Our whole focus will be the struggle. Kids will be born to a system that will turn them into the best soldiers possible. If they're survivors, they'll work their way up and get old in harness. They'll have kids of their own, who will follow in their footsteps. After a few generations nobody will know there's any other way of life. And then, in a way, we'll be just like the things we're fighting. The diversity will be gone. And we'll be trapped in a dead end. Because every culture is a dead end eventually. I mean, what does a warfare society do after it polishes off its last enemy? Turn on itself?"

Mouse looked at him askance. "You do worry yourself about some strange things, my friend."

"I think it's a valid concern. I think we should start taking the long view now and try to retain all the diversity we can."

"So write a report suggesting a study."

"I think I will."

"It won't matter much when they wipe us out, Tommy. And from where I sit, that looks inevitable. All we can do is delay it. That'll be like trying to keep the river from getting to the sea by bailing it with a teacup."

"Maybe. Maybe."

The ship shuddered. It seemed to twist away around them. Marathon was on her way to Stars' End, that legendary, inviolable, virgin goddess of a fortress world that had intrigued a half dozen races for countless centuries.

Twenty-two: 3050 AD

The Main Sequence

Marathon dropped hyper ten days after departing Three Sky. She cruised norm thirty hours before being joined by the heavy squadrons from The Broken Wings. Beckhart was afraid Gruber might still need convincing.

"There're a hundred harvestships there," Amy protested. "You know how big they are, Moyshe. Plus all the service ships. What makes anybody think a few dozen Navy ships could whip them? The whole Sangaree raidfleet couldn't."

"I hope you don't have to find out."

Mouse explained, "These ships were built for that kind of thing, Amy. All they can do is destroy. Especially the Empire Class. Other ships. Orbital fortresses. Cities on the ground. They were built to chew them up. What you Starfishers have is a bunch of ships built to do other things. Their guns were hung on them as an afterthought. Your harvestships were put together in jumbles, just growing, never designed for any special purpose."

"I still think you're all overconfident."

Both Thomas and Mouse shrugged. McClennon said, "You could be right. We're supposed to believe we're invincible." He glanced at Mouse. "Maybe that's why this centerward thing is so oppressive. It shakes our faith."

They were in Marathon's wardroom. Most of the science team were there too. The countdown to hyper drop had declined past the ten-minute mark. People with no duty assignment had gathered to look at what McClennon called a thirty-first-century war god.

An untouchable world. A dead metal machine voice that shrieked against the big night, threatening anyone who came near. Stars' End. The arsenal of yesterday, more securely defended than the virtue of any medieval virgin.

"You don't need to worry," McClennon said. "If there were any chance of trouble, we wouldn't be sitting around here. We'd be on battle stations."

"The Weapons people aren't on alert," Mouse said. He was staring at a small blonde woman wearing Weapons insignia over her Lieutenant's stripes. "Watch how she moves, Tommy."

McClennon smiled. "I think he's coming around. The tomcat is coming through."

Mouse reddened slightly.

"Jesus," McClennon said softly. "You? Embarrassed?"

"I don't know, Tommy. It seems like I've changed a little. I don't understand myself."

"One minute to hyper drop," a remote voice announced. It drowned in the chatter of the wardroom.

Beckhart and the chiefs of the science team stalked in and took seats near the holo globe that had been set up at the compartment's center.

"Looks smug, don't he?" McClennon said.

The wardroom fell silent, Marathon dropped hyper. In moments a featureless ball filled the holo globe. Surrounding details appeared as the ship's sensors picked them up. First came the escort vessels, then the harvestfleets, then vistas of lifeless wreckage left by the fighting with Sangaree and McGraws. The planet, though, showed no changes.

McClennon had seen it before. He was not amazed. The builder race had removed any topography Stars' End may have had. It was a world machined smooth.

"Like a big-ass cue ball," Mouse murmured.

"It doesn't look so friendly when it opens up," Thomas said. He shuddered, remembering. "It gets what looks like a sudden case of acne... "

Someone sat down beside him. At the same moment he saw a Communications messenger whisper to Beckhart and pass a flimsy. What was it? he wondered.

"Commander McClennon?"