The gym was the largest open area on the station. World Sovereignties had spent lavishly to make it attractive so that people would spend time there. Real plants adorned the dividers separating working areas. Clever engineering controlled noise. Anthropologists had designed a space that many nationalities would find conducive to socializing. Titus surveyed the largest area, where a dozen women were working out on rowing machines while watching a popular adventure show. One of them, who worked in his lab, waved to him.

He waved back, contrasting the cozy feeling the gym created with the crawling discomfort he’d felt at first on Kylyd. Here the walls were a neutral light shade, difficult to name. The floors were of a shock-absorbing composition. The ceiling was high, and artwork concealed gym riggings when they were pulled up and stored.

In one place, trellises supported arching vines. In another, rough-cut wooden beams crisscrossed beneath the lights. Beyond that, there was a ceiling that made you think you were looking up into the ocean from a dome on a sunken coral reef. Farther away, there was frescoed vaulting. With dividing hedges and trellises, hanging plants and some trees, there was a sense of privacy without the enclosed feeling of the tiny efficiency apartments.

Off the main room, a glass wall enclosed the swimming pool. Water behaved so differently under lunar gravity that one needed special training to be allowed to swim. Titus had not taken the training. Water altered magnetic currents in disconcerting ways. So he hoped his quarry wasn’t a swimmer.

He checked the log of the centrifuge for Langton but finally discovered her working out in the martial arts studio-a huge area divided by colored mats and padded walls. Six different styles were being practiced or taught, modified for lunar gravity. But in a far corner, a green mat was occupied by two Brink’s women, one of them Suzy Langton. They were sparring free-style, shifting from one stance to another, from one style to another with smooth efficiency.

Titus threaded his way between the mats, protected only by elastic ropes from which vanquished contestants rebounded gently-or in the case of one young man, not so gently. That youth bounced, grabbed futilely at his instructor, then soared into the padded wall. On the rebound, he caught the ropes and held on, oscillating ludicrously.

Uproarious laughter met this performance, and Titus, seeing the youngster was hamming it up, laughed too. The instructor let his group break ranks and engage in random horseplay. Titus decided this was not just a class in martial disciplines but in mental health and social integration.

If he had time, it might be a good thing for him to participate in. It could keep suspicions at bay-if he could hide his strength.

Suzy Langton, on the other hand, was engaged in a more serious match. She was short, with the shoulders of a circus aerialist and the calves of a ballet dancer, and moved like a world-class gymnast. Her opponent was large and heavier, but they both wore black belts with lunar-gravity knots. Titus swayed, wanting to coach Langton. Kick! But Langton spun, squatted, thrust out one foot and swept the other off her feet. Behind Titus, someone applauded. Turning, he found a group of women in brown belts, -with aromatic sweat from their own class. Among them stood Mirelle.

Abbot’s Mark fairly glowed over her forehead, though Titus was the only one aware of it. She didn’t see him at first, but surged forward, yelling, “Suzy, watch out!”

Turning, Titus saw that Suzy’s opponent had used the light gravity to twist so she landed on her hands and used her legs to grab Langton’s neck, forcing her to the mat.

With a grunt, Suzy arched, lunged, and brought her opponent down, where they both grappled for wrestling holds.

Several men had now quit their own mats to join the audience. One called encouragement, “Get her, Kitten!”

Another answered, “That’s no kitten. That there’s one full-grown panther!”

Titus was inclined to agree. If it came down to it, he wouldn’t care to fight either of these women fair. He’d have to use Influence. Normally he’d Influence a violent human to prevent them pitting their strength against his and getting hurt. With trained fighters like these, however, he’d have to combat skill with Influence or get creamed.

“Titus!” At last Mirelle recognized him.

He tore his eyes from the spectacle. “Mirelle. It’s good to see you again. Is Abbot around?”

“Should he be?”

“You two seemed to hit it off fairly well.”

“Jealous?”

“I was.” It occurred to him that if he hadn’t found Inea, he would be hurting for Mirelle still.

“Such flattery!” She raked him up and down with her eyes. “I could almost wish Abbot did not want me.”

Titus felt his polite smile slip. Given her susceptibility and Abbot’s methods, she shouldn’t have been able to think such a thing, let alone say it to him. Her feelings must have been much stronger than Abbot had suspected.

“Now that’s flattering,” he responded. But he narrowed his attention, searching for what had been done to her.

She moved closer. “I could wish to see more of you.”

“Our work keeps us in separate worlds.”

“I don’t work all the time.”

“What exactly are you doing?” He felt Abbot’s Influence surface, but it was a bare whisper of what it might be.

Titus realized, as she fabricated a generality, that Abbot had kept his interference to a minimum so as not to impair her professional acuity or limit her curiosity. He hadn’t needed to inhibit her from talking to Titus because Titus lacked the top security clearance and she knew it.

By leaving her able to come on to him, Abbot had found a subtle way to torment both Titus and Mirelle. The Mark on her forehead put her beyond Titus’s reach no matter what.

He stepped back, locking his hands behind him. “Do me a favor, Mirelle. Tell Abbot I play by the rules.”

She cocked her head to one side. “What do you mean?”

“He’ll know what I mean.” She’d report every nuance of his behavior to Abbot the moment she saw him again. She was an open channel through which Abbot spied on anything and everything she encountered.

It suddenly struck Titus that Abbot’s uncanny ability to know everything must be due to his having Marked and opened a number of humans. It was a standard survival technique which Abbot had taught Titus, but which Titus had forgotten. Even if he’s busy, it might not be safe to go to Inea.

Her expression changed. “Well, mon cheri, you don’t have to look at me as if I were half a worm you found in an apple you just bit into.” She brushed a finger over his lips and kissed it wistfully. He couldn’t help himself. He caught the fingers and kissed them formally, as she continued, “I will deliver your cryptic message, but do not think I would be faithful to Abbot if you gave me a choice.” She turned toward the women’s locker room.

If Abbot had been there at that moment, Titus would have cheerfully killed his father. He forced his attention back to the match, relieved that Mirelle had left, for he couldn’t approach Langton with Mirelle watching and reporting to Abbot.

In a flurry of kicks and punches, Langton downed her opponent again, but this time blood sprang from a cut over Langton’s right eye. Negligently, she dashed it aside, sending droplets flying onto the mat at Titus’s feet.

He clamped his lips together, but his indrawn breath carried the scent to him above the aroma of human sweat. His eyes fastened hungrily on the haze of ectoplasm dissipating from the tiny drops. He couldn’t afford to react in public. He closed his eyes and turned away from the ring, abandoning his quarry until her cut had been closed.

He was about to plunge to the back of the crowd, when his eyes locked with Inea’s. She wore a terry robe over a wet bathing suit of azure and pink, her hair plastered to her skull, slick and shiny. Her feet were bare.