“Titus, look over there. That reporter-the one in the red hat-is photographing us!” She waved sunnily, posing beside Titus, then she dragged him toward the press box, and in that instant, he knew.

She was a susceptible. She’d already been Influenced heavily, but not marked to warn off others of his blood. She was being used-certainly without her knowledge. He could hardly control the disgust that twisted his lips at this abuse. All thought of his own safety was wiped from his mind as he focused all his strength to free her of that control.

She smiled and chattered brightly, grabbing Titus’s hand and towing him toward the reporter-who now slipped under the rope barricade, pointing his video unit at them.

As he came closer, Titus felt the unmistakable throb of Influence and knew the reporter was controlling Mirelle. Older, more powerful than Titus, he was mockingly declaring himself an enemy, a member of the Tourist faction who didn’t consider themselves of Earth at all.

Titus focused on one of the W. S. guards, an older man with a ruddy complexion and beefy jowls, and attracted his attention. The man took out his phonelink.

Sensing the use of Influence on the guard, the Tourist grinned knowingly at Titus and played his role to the hilt, calling out. “Doctors, do you think it friendly to ”hail“ an alien civilization from a false location?”

All of earth had been debating that ever since the Project Hail compromise had been announced-to send an instrument package out of the solar system to a remote point from which it would signal the aliens and wait for a reply in order to establish contact without revealing Earth’s location.

“Don’t answer him, Mirelle,” commanded Titus, with Influence. “Look at the press pass in his hat band. You don’t want to be quoted in that .”

It almost worked. The Tourist chuckled and said, his words so veiled in Influence that to nearby humans they were inaudible, “Titus, you and all of Connie’s Residents can’t stop us. So you may as well save yourself the ordeal of starving on the moon.”

It wasn’t the words so much as the friendly tone that got to Titus. The man believed Titus couldn’t stop the Tourists’ agent from sending their SOS out with the humans’ message, an SOS that would reveal Earth’s location and ask for rescue. To underscore Titus’s helplessness, the Tourist reporter wrenched control of Mirelle from Titus and she replied to the reporter’s question, speaking right toward the Tourist’s microphone. “It’s a terrible duplicity, and when the aliens discover what we’ve done, they may never trust us.”

Infuriated, Titus blasted a shaft of Influence at the guard, summoning the man as if there were a riot brewing.

The guard ran, a hand on his sidearm holster. To Titus’s surprise, the Tourist didn’t try for control of the guard. The guard barked at the reporter, “The last press conference was this morning! Get back or I’ll have your pass lifted!” Then he added courteously to the scientists, “Look there! You’re about ready to board now.”

Titus, still trying to break through the superior Influence controlling Mirelle, gasped as it cut off. With a grin, the Tourist turned back to the press box and became lost in the crowd, saying to Titus alone, “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting in out of this sun before it fries me.”

Mirelle yielded to Titus’s guiding hand. He plucked up his bag from beside hers and Gold’s, still shaking.

A people-mover had pulled up to the scientists and a Project transport officer stood beside it with an electronic clipboard and a bullhorn. “Compartments one through ten, rear cabin, now boarding. When you arrive at the skybus, please step to the inspection station. This will be your last formal inspection, folks, so please be patient with us.”

People consulted their boarding cards, while some translated the barely intelligible, amplified words for those who hadn’t understood. The flight bags were heaped on the rear deck of the vehicle. Titus gingerly placed his in a side nook, and then sat where he could keep an eye on it.

They rolled smoothly out across the tarmac to where the gantry still surrounded their skybus. The bright light glancing off the brilliant hull nearly blinded him. His skin, even under layers of clothing, felt singed. He yearned for the shade around the skybus.

The bus would lift them to the Luna shuttle. In a few days, they’d be on the moon and working at Project Station, the lab built around the crashed starship. In a few moments, he’d be beyond the reach of his friends, beyond his supply lines. He still hadn’t identified his adversary, the Tourist who would try to send that SOS to the home planet of his kind.

As they filed out of the people-mover, Titus edged to the front of the line, stopping only when two others glared at him. Mustn’t be conspicuous. He took a place just behind Mirelle and braced against more exposure to the sun.

Titus wondered if his adversary was an Influenced human. A suggestion to plant the Tourists’ device in the humans’ instrument package could lie dormant in a human mind until the right moment. He could not control a shiver of disgust at the idea of using a human to destroy human civilization. When the Residents had called on him, he’d pledged to die rather than allow the Tourists’ SOS to be beamcast, but perhaps his life wouldn’t be enough. He couldn’t get the reporter’s pitying certainty out of his mind.

The line filed along a bright red carpet that led through a sensor arch, past a long white counter, then on to the gantry’s elevator. A smartly uniformed Sovereignties space marine guarded the elevator. The official photographer stood by to take pictures as each of them entered the lift.

Titus had no time to savor the moment when the first of his blood would go back into space at last. The final challenge was upon him. He had to concentrate.

Behind the counters two men and two women stood at computer terminals ready to process the scientists. Security was tight because of threats from humans opposing Project Hail. Titus watched carefully as Mirelle went under the arch and paused on the weighing platform.

One attendant took Mirelle’s flight bag and jacket to pass it under the scope, while another inserted her boarding card into the reader. No problem. Titus’s card would program the computers to register his special supplies as ground coffee and tobacco-old-fashioned vices common at his social level, and permissible cargo.

Then they checked her fingerprints and retina pattern. The prints were no problem. Titus’s had never been altered, but all the computer records from before his “death” had been switched to “Shiddehara,” so his new identity was firm. The retina scan was the danger.

He prepared to use Influence on the scanner clerk, so he would not notice the nonhuman anomalies. The computers had already been programmed to identify his retina pattern as Dr. Titus Shiddehara, and he was in fact that person.

Mirelle passed through the check without a bleep and went toward the elevator.

Titus tendered his boarding card, and watched while it was inserted in the reader. Then he handed over his flight bag and jacket, and sauntered through the arch, concentrating on the retina scan technician. He presented his fingers to the plate on the counter while he probed for a contact-and met a blank wall. An immune? The bogeyman to all Titus’s kind was a human immune to the Influence.

As he was passed to the retina scan technician, he remembered the reporter and knew, Not immune, Influenced!

“Ed, come look at this,” called the man on the flight bag scanner. “Looks like contraband. Drugs.”

The retina technician glanced at the scanner plate. “Would you mind opening the bag for us, Doctor?”

“No, of course not,” replied Titus as he edged along the counter to see the plate and fumbled at his keys. “I have the key here.” Both men were Influenced, but the reading was genuine-drugs. So that’s what the Tourist meant! While he held my attention, they switched bags! And they had someone reprogram the computer so my card doesn’t force the scanner to show coffee. An image of Gold left guarding the bags while Mirelle pulled Titus away flashed through his mind. There had been uniformed transport officers moving through the crowd carrying things. Idiot! Amateur!