Actually, Titus enjoyed the changes. His body had to work harder, but afterwards he always felt better, especially when he spent some time sweating and straining on H’lim’s bicycle while H’lim jogged around the track.

The one great advantage about time spent in the centrifuge was that it was utterly private, so they could talk as they wished. The noise was great enough so that H’lim, working out on the opposite side of the drum, couldn’t hear Abbot and Titus, who were riding side by side on the ordinary bicycles, unless they shouted.

“Abbot, I’m sure of it,” Titus insisted in low, urgent tones. “He’s not telling all he knows. When you ask him anything truly important, he pours out data on other intriguing but irrelevant topics. He’s a master of the snow job.”

“Would have to be,” grunted Abbot, peddling hard, “to be a successful merchant in intragalactic trade.”

“Maybe,” conceded Titus. “Have you ever dealt with an Arab? They don’t cheat-not by their code-so they always come across as honest because they are satisfied that their honor is spotless. But there are certain things they don’t feel obligated to disclose, even if you ask. It’s your fault if you’re so naive as to believe what you want to believe.”

“H’lim is just protecting himself,” countered Abbot. “He explained that when he gets home, they’ll have ways of checking to see if he’s broken any laws. He’s not allowed to tell us everything. That’s for others, later.”

“Maybe, but I’m sure he’s withholding something crucial. If we knew it, we might not be so eager to send his message.”

“Oh, so that’s it. You’re still trying to convert me. Well, I might be willing to listen if you can show me another way for our people to survive. I don’t know why you keep losing sight of that single fact. We’re battling for our lives, and it’s now or never. Doesn’t the secession tell you anything about human attitudes?”

“What that message brings down on us may be worse than all the panicked humans on Earth. And I think H’lim knows it will be worse. Abbot, I like him, but I don’t trust him.”

Suddenly, his father turned to him with a most peculiar expression. After a bit, he observed, “That’s exactly how I felt about you a week after I revived you.”

Their eyes met. A momentary rapport flowed along Titus’s nerves like honey. He suddenly realized that part of his chronic hunger, the part Inea could never fulfill, was the deep need for his father’s approval. H’lim had said something about that, once. I’ve read that humans have no instincts. If this is true, it’s a point on which human and luren differ, for luren do have some important vestigial instincts. The parental power is one such. The gratification can sometimes be worth dying a final death.“

In that moment, Titus could believe it. When Abbot murmured, “I still like you, Titus,” he could see in his mind the contrast between this lined, haggard, and worn Abbot and the young, zestful, and immortal Abbot. It took all he had to dismount his bicycle and begin his job. He was able to regain his perspective only when he recalled, in gory detail, just how that young Abbot had taught him to feed. But the perspective decided to slip whenever his concentration did.

Five days later, Colby came to H’lim’s lab for the broadcast to Earth of a demonstration of his progress against Alzheimer’s Disease. The vaccine introduced decades ago on Earth had recently proven only partially effective, and now H’lim was close to being able to reverse the progress of the disease without wiping the patient’s brain clean of memory.

“Life in the galaxy,” lectured Dr. Sa’ar in a perfect Harvard accent, which he had not acquired from Titus, “has followed certain broad patterns. Earth belongs to one of those patterns, and so solving its problems does not require so very much original work as one might expect. This is one reason the Earth has nothing to fear from the infectious diseases of the galaxy. Most are analogous enough that your existing defenses are sufficient. The rest, you would encounter only if you travel widely, and in that case you will be properly immunized first.”

He was about to key up a computer model of the relevant molecules when the monitor screen that was showing what Project Station was sending to Earth went blank, flickered, sizzled, and then cleared to a stock view of the lunar landscape. A news announcer was saying, “We regret that we have lost Project Station’s signal. Please stand by.”

“We’re getting them, how come they’re not getting us? asked a tech by the pile of broadcast equipment.

Colby answered, “That’s what you’re paid to know.”

Blushing, the tech fiddled with connections as Abbot knelt over a digital circuit probe. H’lim drifted toward them. He was wearing the contact lenses Biomed had made for the broadcast, so people could see his whole face. Circling Abbot, he announced, “The fault is not in your equipment.”

“I wouldn’t expect so,” muttered Abbot. “Blockaders are jamming us, of course.”

Unless there’s a traitor on the staff here, thought Titus. He knew that no new assassins had been brought onto the station, because nobody had been allowed onto the station-nobody at all. However, that didn’t prevent factions from developing among the station personnel. It was mostly among the workers, but Titus had seen it at the highest levels. Still, people on the station tended to see themselves as a third faction in the war, a faction dedicated to galactic exploration yet unwilling to sacrifice their lives just yet.

As he listened to the bursts of static produced by the technician, Titus wondered how much longer they all could endure. He glanced at Abbot. When will desperation create heroes and martyrs?

Abbot raised his brows in silent query.

Then the screen flicked to stars, the Earth cutting across one corner of the shot. “. view from Central Pacific Stationary, the only satellite that can see the battle.” The news announcer’s voice wavered under bursts of static. “High Changjin, the satellite that was relaying Project Station’s signal, has been destroyed with all aboard, some five hundred souls. Secessionist forces continue to fire on the unarmed supply ship. We have no confirmation yet that this ship was indeed heading for Project Station with parts for the probe vehicle, as the rebels claim. There are three men and two women aboard that unarmed ship.”

As everywhere on the station and on Earth, the group in the lab remained glued to the screen for the next several hours. Only after the flash of destruction and the burst of particles arrived at the lunar detectors did the tension break to be replaced by despair.

Grimly determined to keep up morale, Colby had them record H’lim’s presentation, and a few days later got it through to karth piecemeal despite the jamming. Computer reconstructed, it went over very well in W.S. territory and shored up W.S. determination to launch the probe, which meant W. S. had to get a supply ship through the blockade.

Titus, still unable to communicate directly with Connie, focused his efforts on keeping track of Abbot. He was still not certain Abbot’s message had to be stopped, but he was even more skeptical of H’lim’s honesty. He could only pray he’d know what to do when the time came, and that he’d be ready to do it.

To that end, he was at his desk at home, using Inea’s bugs to watch Abbot puttering about H’lim’s lab, when Inea arrived with Mirelle in tow. As the door closed behind them, Mirelle wavered, and then collapsed. Inea draped the limp form over her shoulders in a fireman’s carry and deposited her on the bed. She turned, hands on hips, eyes blazing, and spat, “Well? Now, what are you going to do? This is all your fault, you know!”

Stunned, Titus bent over Mirelle. He could sense the wispy character of her aura before he found the weak, thready pulse under the sheen of cold sweat. The crook of her elbow showed recent needle marks, and from the look of it he knew it was Abbot’s doing. Over his shoulder he said, “There are extra blankets in the closet. I think there’s a heating pad in there, too. Get it.”