More or less meant more. Bomb Earth civilization back to the stone age, and trust there'd be enough humans left for breeding stock. They only needed enough wild genes to temper the corps of Slave soldiers. Enough to improve the breed of Janissaries…

"What does the Navy think of this?" Les demanded. "Or your service?"

"The opinions of Slaves do not matter-"

"Come off it."

"But certainly the Navy has divided opinions," Agzaral said smoothly. "It is likely that some ships would refuse to take part in the necessary operations. But-enough would obey the orders."

"We can't let that happen!"

Agzaral spread his hands. "How do we prevent it? But I agree, it would be regrettable. And there is the third alternative."

Sure, Les thought. Human membership in the Confederation. Forced membership, imposed now while Earth was helpless. A junior membership, with Earth controlled by the High Commission. Peace, unity, and-stagnation. A static society. Stasis for a thousand years. Still, it had to be preferable to bombardment and destruction…

"The balance of the Ader'at'eel would bring Earth into the Confederacy now," Agzaral said. "But enough of this. Your report. Will they be able to grow sunnomaz?"

"Possibly," Les said. "Of course there will be the mutiny. It will be settled by now."

"Yes. With what outcome?"

"Either of the mercenary leaders should be competent with those weapons against that population."

"Ah. So the survey ship will not be wasted."

"I think not. And the soldiers will want resupply. Ammunition, soap, penicillin-"

"You understand their needs," Agzaral said. "I will send you to Earth to procure for them. I recall that you enjoy that work."

"I'll do it, but I want to pilot the ship that goes back to Tran."

"To what purpose?" Agzaral asked.

"Why do you ask? I'm a pilot. I know Tran exists. Not too many pilots do. I'd think you'd want me to."

"It's reasonable," Agzaral said. "You will not be able to take the first ship, however. One leaves immediately. Piloted by Shalnuksis. Tran is not too far off their course, and they want to see for themselves how Tran has revived since their last series of visits."

"Last time they went there, they bombed out half the civilization. What will they do this time?"

"On this journey, nothing-"

"That's not what I meant," Les said.

"I know. But I have no better answer."

Les nodded in submission. "Is their first ship carrying supplies?"

"A few. Whatever we had. The mercenary leader Galloway had made suggestions before they departed, you may recall. We used his list. Some of what they wanted was easily obtained. For the rest-your task, now."

"All right. Provided I get to go back myself."

"Why are you so anxious to go back?"

"Does it matter?"

"It might." Agzaral was silent, obviously waiting for Les to speak, but Les said nothing. "Very well. I took the trouble to look up your ancestry," Agzaral said finally. "Rather a lot of wild human strain." He paused. "They'll never allow the child to live if they learn of it."

"How will they learn?" Les demanded.

"Gently." Agzaral glanced at a timer on his desk. "We do not have much longer to speak freely. Let us not waste these minutes. They will not learn from me. But I must know what you intend." He pointed to the Earth. "You have lived long among wild humans. In some ways you act like them. Many wild humans mate for life. This seems unnatural to me, but I know they do it. Is this your intent?"

Les didn't answer.

"I must know."

"I don't know," Les said. "I've thought of it. Live on Tran, with Gwen and my children. Doesn't that tempt you?"

"Earth would tempt me more. But it is not so attractive that I would forsake what I have. Consider. The girl and the child may both be dead."

"You think that hasn't haunted me ever since I let her go planetside?"

"Yet she seemed competent enough," Agzaral mused. "I expect she has survived. She may, however, have found another mate."

"Yeah. I thought of that, too."

"What will you do in that case?"

"I don't know that, either."

Agzaral nodded in sympathy. "Certainly your interest in Tran would be much abated?"

"Yes. But I have to find out."

Agzaral looked at the hologram for long enough that Les saw movement in Earth's clouds. Then he spoke decisively. "You will have that chance," Agzaral said. "I hope the knowledge pleases you."

Autumn had come. Despite his charcoal brazier Apelles felt the chill damp of the stone chamber high in the tower of Castle Armagh. The Firestealer crept toward the True Sun, and now both were in the sky together; the days grew short. Evening came and lamps had to be lit, but still there was work to be done.

Armagh was three hundred stadia east of Castle Dravan, and nowhere near as comfortable; once again Apelles marvelled that Lord Rick would move so much of his household to this godless place. Truly there was no accounting for the ways of the starmen! Even so, Apelles was content, now that he was a consecrated priest of Yatar. The room's present discomforts were small compared to those he'd endured as an acolyte. He was more concerned about his pen, which was made of soft iron and had a blunt point that scratched the paper.

Despite the scratchy pen, Apelles worked steadily. He was careful not to make a blot. A blotted sheet had to go back to the pulp vats, and there was never enough paper no matter how hard the acolytes labored. It took time to pound logs to pulp, shred rags, then soak and stir and matt the resulting brew until it yielded thick sheets to be rolled out on sieves. It took even more time for the paper to dry satisfactorily. Then it had to be coated with a wash of clay and dried again. Making paper was no easy work; Apelles knew, because it had not been long since he had done it- until he had learned to read and write.

He had learned his new work from Roman scribes, and he was proud of his knowledge. Work carefully, record everything; that was the way to control a nation. The power that he held was great, real power, power easily abused had he been so inclined; but he was a sworn priest of Yatar, a shepherd, not a wolf.

He wrote steadily, and finally his desk was clear. He leaned back in his chair and smiled in satisfaction at his files. Truly they held power! Here, the manpower lists; names and locations of officers of the Army of Drantos, those on active duty and on leave, fit for service and on the invalid list, Over there were duties and taxes owed and paid; equipment issued; every detail. Some day he'd have the entire Army in his files, and then let the bheromen try to shirk their sworn service to the crown!

He nodded soberly at that thought. Yatar save the Wanax! Some bheromen and knights resented young Ganton's stay at the University, but Apelles knew the value of education, which gave even young swine-herds the power of writing…

In another file were the names of every field in the Cumac region of County Cheim. Who owned them. Who worked them, and whether villein or free, and for what service or rent. What was planted, and what seed, and what fertilizer for what yield. Endless rows of words and numbers, carefully arranged.

And in yet another file, the names of all the acolytes and deacons and priests and archpriests, those who would be promoted and those who would serve out their lives as laborers in Yatar's fields and caves and monasteries…

The caves were not in his files. Their locations, and what stores they held, and how thick the ice and ice plant; these were state secrets, and those files were kept by Archpriest Yanulf himself. Apelles had seen them, once; he'd have to be content with that.