Titus probed for the Influencer who had a grip on these men. It wasn’t the reporter. He was too far away. Then his eyes flew to the last technician in line, the woman who handed back boarding cards and flight bags. Another Tourist! She’d been standing right there all the time, and he’d never even seen her. She was there to keep him from Influencing the technicians to let him through.

With a furious strength born of outrage, Titus struck-and found himself in a pitched battle for control of the two humans hovering over the bag scanner. To any onlooker it must seem as if everyone were considering a minor problem. Titus threw his whole strength into the battle. The Tourist was obviously more experienced at jousting for control of humans, but Titus held and pushed, closing his eyes, ignoring the sweat of fear that coated him, ignoring the constant pain from the light, ignoring the terror of True Hunger that gripped him. But he had never done this before. He had never developed strength and skill for it.

Titus’s grip weakened. The Tourist’s lips twisted in a smug grin. Mirelle’s melodious voice cut across everything. “Titus? Shall I wait for you?” Suddenly, Titus found a new strength. You won’t use them to destroy their own kind!

The Tourist’s grip snapped and Titus had the humans. He could feel their bewilderment as the screen now appeared to register coffee and tobacco, candy, clothing, and reading matter. Eyes locked to the Tourist’s, Titus answered, “I’ll be right there! It’s just a scanner glitch. They’ve fixed it now.” He put Influence behind the words.

“Yeah, it’s fixed,” agreed the retina technician. “Knew it couldn’t be right. Go on through.”

Titus reached over and claimed his card from the slot in front of the Tourist. Never taking his eyes from her nor letting up his hold, he retrieved his jacket from the hopper, hooked it over one shoulder and escorted Mirelle back to the elevator. When they were far enough away, he cut his grip on the two human technicians and abandoned the Tourist to her own devices. He’d scored a victory, but perhaps in winning, he had lost. He had to find out what was really in his bag.

In the elevator, Mirelle said, “What happened? I was so worried they might stop you from boarding.”

There was no shred of Influence operating on her now. She meant it. “Government computers-obsolete junk. I hope they’ve equipped Project Station better than that!”

“I don’t know about computers except how to use them, but I don’t want to spend a year on the moon without you.”

If she wanted, of her own free will, to flirt, Titus was willing. He could use a friend, especially a delectable, human one. “Nor would I wish to be on Earth while you were on the moon.”

The skybus was compartmentalized in case of pressure failure, with five seats to the compartment. The red and gray plush, gimballed seats swiveled to face each other around a tiny table, big enough to play cards.

Mirelle and Titus were ushered to the same compartment, where Titus was given the seat near the porthole. Placing his bag between his feet, he began to crank the shutter across the port to cut the horrible light. As it was closing, he glanced out and noticed a runabout pulling up to the check station, where a long line still waited. The Tourist agent was called over and someone else sent to her work station.

Squinting, Titus recognized the replacement as one of Connie’s operatives. She had countered the move against Titus ten minutes too late. I should have gone to the end of the line, and damn the sun.

The Tourist agent had to retire, leaving Titus’s opponent to the same kind of trial Titus had faced. Despite his burning eyes, he wanted to watch his unknown adversary attempt to board. If he hasn’t already.

“What’s so interesting?” Mirelle leaned over him pushing her face to the porthole.

He brushed his lips against her neck, and she shivered, innocently unaware why her response was so strong, and obviously no longer playing her games. Titus, concentration disrupted, closed the shutter and murmured, “Perhaps the year won’t be lonely-for either of us.”

He reminded himself sternly that he wasn’t the least bit hungry. Despite that, their mutual response was intense. Mirelle might be a problem. She was obviously one of those humans who were both susceptible and deeply attracted to his kind. Restraining himself by force, he set about winning her true friendship in the usual, agonizingly slow, fashion.

When Abner Gold was shown to their compartment, Titus excused himself and went to the lavatory, taking his bag with him. When he got the bag open, his heart froze. His packets of powdered blood, his vital supply not just for the trip but for emergencies, had been replaced with plain white packets-half a million in street drugs, no doubt. Getting me out of jail would have kept Connie too busy to send a replacement.

He flushed it all down the toilet, hoping it wouldn’t be noticed when the collector was cleaned. Now he knew what the reporter had meant about starving on the moon. He clamped his teeth over the chattering fear. He would survive on the supply to come in his luggage-if it arrived. He would not let the Tourists know they’d scored.

When he returned to his seat, Mirelle wouldn’t let him stare out the window pretending to brood while he watched the check-in line. She coaxed him into the conversation even though Gold preferred to monopolize her.

Gold was just past middle age, while Mirelle might have passed for almost forty. Titus, however, appeared to be in his twenties instead of his actual thirty-eight. Gold was suffering the normal responses of an older man watching a mature woman flirting with a much younger man. He felt compelled to best Titus at something in front of Mirelle, and Titus knew he had to let him or surely make an enemy.

At this point, the fourth passenger in their compartment joined them. White-haired, with a receding hairline and a middle-aged paunch, he moved as if he’d been commuting to orbit for years and could stow his things and strap himself in blindfolded. He dismissed the attendant with a wave and settled down to read as if there was nobody else there.

Titus found a deck of cards inside his chair’s arm rest. “Anyone like to play cards?”

Gold shrugged. “Let’s see if our fifth plays bridge. We’ll have plenty of time before docking at Goddard.”

All the passengers had boarded, and still their fifth did not show. An awful suspicion began to creep over him. If this was the only seat left, and someone was late, chances were good it would be his adversary. The Tourists would want their agent to watch Titus, and Connie would want Titus to watch the Tourist. Not that there’s anything either of us could do at the moment.

He felt and heard the distant clanging shudder and adjustment in air pressure as the hatch was finally closed. There’s no one coming. Connie’s blocked them!

Then he felt a powerful presence nearing, a palpable Influence he was very afraid he recognized.

“Strap in quickly, Doctor,” advised the attendant who ushered the tall gentleman in. To Titus she said, “You can take out the cards again when we’re in free-fall. They’ll adhere to the table, or you may keep them on their holders. You’ll find the holders in the chair arms.”

Titus barely heard her.

The adversary stood with his back to them, as he doffed hat and jacket. “Sorry to be late.” His too familiar voice was cultured, his accent indefinable. “I was detained in traffic in Lima.” He appeared middle-aged, but stick-figure thin, as were all of their kind. He turned to face Titus.

Father!

“You seem surprised to see me, Titus,” he answered, aware of the humans listening. “I admit, I hadn’t expected you’d be here.” He added with genuine concern, “Are you sure you can withstand the rigors of this job?”

This was the man who’d dug Titus out of a premature grave and wakened him to his current life by giving of his own blood, the man who had resurrected Titus to the life of a vampire.