Then he remembered that H’lim had claimed the higher loyalty to his First Father. If Abbot’s message went out, his First Father would be in danger. He’ll kill Abbot before we even get there!

Without conscious decision, he found himself adding his weight to the luren’s, supplying energy for that stupendous field. His lips peeled away from his clenched teeth as if he were making a physical effort.

From the helmets stowed on the instrument hump between him and Inea, H’lim’s voice erupted in a karate yell. All the gathered energy exploded outward. Titus felt it connect, felt Abbot recoil, and then abruptly, everything cut off. For a moment, he thought he’d gone blind and deaf, too, but then realized that only the luren senses had been paralyzed.

“I got him!” shouted H’lim. “Did you hear me? Titus? Inea? Are you all right?”

“Is he dead?” asked Titus, oddly bereft and frightened.

“No. I am merely a co-mortal, not a god to work miracles. I distracted him, and something happened to his vehicle. I believe the terrain was the real victor.”

Ashamed yet relieved, Titus answered, “It may be enough.” His whole body was ringing and aching, and all he could do was put a gloved hand over Inea’s clad knee and try to convey confidence. She didn’t look well.

A nerve-racking and tedious time later, H’lim announced that a large number of humans were converging on a point off to their right. “Shall I divert them?”

“No! Must be blockaders after the decoy caravan,” said Titus. “Inea, get a fix on them. This thing must have radar. Read the labels. That’s how I found the ignition.”

“This is all Cobra stuff, just like the observatory.” A screen lit with an overhead radar scan. “I make it seven ships at two-o’clock-those converted two-seaters the blockaders use as bombers.” She checked the readout. “I’m guessing, but I think they’re over the decoy caravan. Whatever it is, it’s heading toward the quarantine dock they built outside the station perimeter, but going cross-country, not on a path. It’ll pass within two klicks of us.”

“Got to be the caravan, then.” Titus fought with the controls.

“Titus, it’s changing course! It’ll intercept us-somewhere over that big sharp hill ahead, the one with the spike sticking out the top.”

“What?” He checked his odometer and her readouts. “That spike is the radio mast of the Eighth. The decoy caravan is heading into the Array basin!” Clumsy in his vacuum suit, he hitched himself out of his seat pulling Inea around him. “Quick, you drive.” He squirmed over the instrument hump and reached for the scanner controls.

“Titus! I can’t drive this thing!”

“Nothing to it. Just follow the frowns to the spike,” he said while he fumbled at the scanner controls. They hit something and bounced, causing H’lim to cry out as the loose equipment shifted. “You okay?” he asked H’lim.

“Yes. The suit’s not punctured.”

The speaker rattled to life. “Got it!” As Titus had feared,4tf was the screech of computers handshaking on the decoy’s remote command frequency, where there should have been silence. Frantically keying instructions and swearing over error messages, Titus coaxed the little Cobra to identify the sources, one of which was high above the other. The higher one had been stripped of its legally required I.D. response and the other transmitted only a request for a security code.

“Blockaders! They’ve seized control of the convoy-must have discovered it’s unmanned.” It was nothing more than had been planned, yet nobody had anticipated they’d take it into the Eighth. But of course they would. It’s got the nearest landing field! And when it blows. .“

Titus gnawed his lips, unable to remember seeing any of the communications protocols for the convoy. He couldn’t redirect it. He didn’t dare warn the blockaders, assuming he could get through to them on any frequency his equipment could transmit. Inea had just gained control of the Toyota when the screech of computer chatter resumed, one signal overriding the other. The blip on the ground ponderously changed course again, and Titus fought the computer until it yielded a map of the ground. Should have thought of this before. Of course there are maps aboard!

Picking out the decoy’s new cross-country course, Titus found where it intersected their path and went on toward the Sixth Collector. Then he knew. “It’s Abbot. He’s at the Array and using its mast and the Array’s power to command the decoy’s guidance computer! He’s going to blow up the Collector! If he’s solved the code.”

“He’s solved the code,” predicted H’lim. “But he won’t blow up his power source until after he’s sent his message. What would he do to buy time? What could he do while working to attach his transmitter to the Array?”

“Talk,” said Inea. “He always talks when he’s breadboard-ing. Titus, scan the other frequencies.”

As they rumbled up the last steep grade toward the mast, he got voices-one of them Abbot’s.

“. friend, repeat, friend. Do not approach the Convoy. It’s packed with explosives. Repeat, packed with explosives. Do you copy?” Abbot paused for the reply.

“Who are you that we should believe that?” a voice asked, directed at Abbot, but louder. Echoing as if far from the mike, a female voice commented, “Wonderful way to make us keep our hands off the supplies we need.” A third voice yelled, “Holy shit! The Array’s moving-all of it!”

Abbot’s signal came back, broke up into hash, then steadied, louder than the blockaders“. ”. told you I have rerouted the convoy. If you stay clear, it will blow up Project Station’s Collector Six, the large one that makes them independent of their landlines. You’ll have total control of the station’s power supply. Do you copy?“

“We copy. Who are you? Where are you? Why should we believe you? You got a code name? A password?”

“Never mind, just check this out. In a descending orbit heading down on the far side of Project Station is a string of cargotainers. They contain the supplies you think are in the convoy. The landing field is beyond the quarantine limits, the stationers aren’t armed to speak of, and the W.S. defense forces are busy elsewhere-as you well know. You want supplies-go get them, but leave that convoy alone.”

Inea spat, eyes sparking at Titus, “He’s a traitor!”

She had the knack of steering the Toyota now, easily keeping them on the track, pushing into the hard climb. The entire forward view consisted of crushed rock passing into the black shade of their shadow. Black and white. Was anything ever so simple?

“No, Inea,” Titus said. “Abbot’s completely loyal. To the Tourists. Not to the secessionists, Inea, to the Tourists.”

“I don’t know how you dare defend him! He’s framed his grandson for a murder he himself committed, he’s sending death to the station and all the humans on it, he’s ruthlessly used and slaughtered Mirelle, and he doesn’t give a damn if he kills all the humans on Earth if his vicious Tourists survive! The only reason he’s ever helped you is to further his own plans! Titus, don’t let him get away with it!”

“Watch out!” yelled Titus, lunging for the controls.

But Inea jerked around, saw they were cresting the rise heading directly into a boulder that jutted skyward, blocking the straight path. She yanked the sticks over left, steering servos whining as the threads bit into the sharp turn then ran off the path that curved around the obstruction. The right side scraped rock.

Titus’s hands closed over hers. It took all their combined strength to veer back onto the path. Then the ground disappeared from under their treads.

The front end of the Toyota fell abruptly while the rear end rose, sending H’lim’s barricade tumbling toward them. Titus fended off a First Aid kit, stopped an air cylinder with his foot, and suddenly found H’lim in his lap, arms and legs flailing, spitting luren epithets. Then they were grinding down the inside lip of the crater into dark shade, the Eighth Array spread before them in dazzling sunlight.