Fingers trembling, he sat down and tapped his message buffer. Sure enough, there was word from Connie, but it cut off in mid-sentence as communications were disrupted. With only minutes’ warning of the attack on Barnaby Peter, she had managed to send a brief admonition to stop Abbot at all costs and sit tight until she could resupply him.

He wrapped his arms around himself and let the shock course through him. Going to starve on the moon after all. I should listen to my intuition! After a while, he began to think and plan again.

If the blockade worked despite W. S. determination, it would change everything. They wouldn’t be able to finish building the probe, they couldn’t launch it, and so they wouldn’t need any messages or targeting data. There was no way to defend the station, the probe hangar, or the launch pad from direct attack. I he residences might be safe from low-yield explosives, but the surface installations would go-even the solar collectors and antennae. Despite everything W. S. could do, the blockade might w, and then what would the Tourists-more specifically, Abbot-do?

Titus had given up trying to tap Abbot’s communications the ground-based Tourists. He could only guess what Abbot’s orders were. He pulled up his note file and listed his questions. What had Abbot been building after he discovered his transmitter’s power source was missing? How much damage had he done to H’lim’s attitude toward humans? Titus thought he’d scored more points with H’lim than Abbot had, but he couldn’t be sure. How did Abbot intend to survive now that the use of Influence on his stringers was so dangerous?

Clearly, whatever Abbot intended, he would be working against a nearer deadline than he’d ever expected. Would haste drive Abbot to make errors, take chances? Titus put himself into Abbot’s shoes, looked at the entire situation again, and suddenly knew.

The secessionists would seize all the lunar facilities Project Hail was using, including the antenna Arrays. W.S. had rejected the idea of sending the message from here in order to prevent possibly hostile galactics from getting a directional fix on the beam and following it right to Earth.

But their decision didn’t bind the Tourists, and if the probe didn’t go-or perhaps even if it did-they would not hesitate to use the Arrays. They wanted the luren to know Earth’s location and come here as quickly as possible.

Thinking about it, Titus wondered if the Tourists had known of the blockade in advance and had sent Abbot orders to shift to the use of the Arrays on the assumption that the probe would never go. Abbot could have been building a second transmitter designed to use the Arrays. And Connie knew, which explained her admonition to stop Abbot. Her other operatives would be trying to stop the Tourists, who were no doubt infiltrating the secessionist forces on the moon to use them to get at a broadcast antenna Array.

Titus’s fingers flew over the keyboard, bringing up a list of the seceding nations as he strove to recall everything Connie had told him of the Tourists’ deployment around the globe. They can do it! By damn, they can! But can Connie stop them? How ironic. The secessionists, the very humans most opposed to summoning aliens, would actually facilitate that call. Abbot would find that delicious.

Meanwhile, as long as there was hope, the Tourists’ main objective would still be focused on the launch of the probe. Either way, probe or ground-based, they needed H’lim’s text, and that would be Abbot’s job. After H’lim’s mere presence had triggered armed rebellion, Abbot wouldn’t expect W.S. to include H’lim’s text in the probe’s official message.

Titus bounded out of his chair and was halfway across the lab when Shimon and a group of others accosted him. “Dr. Shiddehara, what are your orders?”

The question was more a challenge of authority than a simple request for directions. These people were scared. He adopted a calm, positive tone and supported his words with a faint Influence. “Dr. Colby expects to receive supplies to finish and launch the probe immediately, even without the full load of instruments and experiments.

“Given this whole new situation, this department will be called upon to deliver a final decision about the target within a matter of days. Therefore, I’m going to hold a department meeting tomorrow morning, and I’ll want written reports from each of you on the status of your work. I want summaries of the data from Wild Goose and of the new physiological data on the alien. I’ll want verbal summations from each of you. Consider yourselves on overtime.” He went to the door, then turned back with a calculated, “Oh, and there will be bonuses if we pull this one off.”

He left while their stunned silence held.

He found H’lim in Biomed, off an underground corridor, surveying the empty room that was to become his own lab. The four guards were posted outside the door. Inside, Inea was scuffing about in a far corner where equipment had been ripped out. Near her, a door stood open revealing a small lavatory. Abbot stood next to H’lim, taking notes on a requisition pad. “I think we have some variable temperature incubators still in stock-new and perfectly sterile. About this high and this wide.” Abbot gestured against a wall. “You’ve seen them-with movable shelves?”

“Yes. I know the kind you mean. But I will also need running water, and-”

“No problem-comes with the wet benches.” Abbot pointed out several plumbing clumps sticking up from the floor. “Now the centrifuges-we had three in for repair last week, and I think we can-oh, Titus, we wondered where you’d gone.”

“I’m glad you’re getting H’lim’s lab organized,” Titus commented obliquely as he surveyed the room for cameras.

Following his gaze, H’lim said, “Dr. Colby has graciously allowed the removal of the cameras, and Abbot has offered to build magnetic shielding around everything else. It should be possible to work here.”

Inea came toward them, greeting Titus, and saying to H’lim, “I think the computers can fit in that corner. Do you want to face the wall or the room?”

“I don’t care as long as I can use the data files I’ve already built, and I don’t have to contend with these lights.” He adjusted his goggles and eyed the closed door behind Titus. Lowering his voice, he said, “Give me ten, maybe fifteen days after I have your tissue samples analyzed, and I’ll have a batch of my booster ready to test.”

Abbot cautioned, “You may be overestimating what our equipment can do.”

“Maybe. But if Andre comes through with the orl blood as promised-”

“His first batch was a failure,” observed Abbot.

“I found what he’d done wrong,” argued H’lim. “It is my field, you know.” His tone was flat, but there was no mistaking the challenge. “I believe there’ll be just enough for all three of us. When my booster is ready-”

“You mustn’t forget,” said Titus, “that you’ll have to spend most of your time on producing something for Colby to pass on to Earth, something innocuous but commercially viable. If we show you’re a valuable resource, not just a liability, the blockade won’t last long.”

Apologetically, Abbot said, “My son is an idealist, and somewhat naive about human politics, but he’s right. Your highest priority must be to produce for Colby, and you have a lot to learn before you can be effective.”

“My background is sufficient. No, the time problem lies mostly in concealing my real work from those familiar with the field who will want to learn what I’m doing. That’s why I need access to the notes I’ve been making. I have to devise something I can say I’m doing when I’m really tailoring the booster. When will all this be ready?” He gestured at the empty room.

Abbot glanced at the requisition pad. “Tonight.”

“I can have your computer installed in about three hours,” offered Inea. “And I’ve requisitioned a direct tap for your room, when you get one, so you can work from there, too. I’ll get started now.” She turned to the door.