on any of a hundred planets. In any event, al-Buraq
isn't staying here long. You will transfer to my command. What were your
shipboard duties?"
"Only those concerned with the biology laboratory."
"It's only routine and ridiculous in these circumstances," he said.
"But regulations require that your I.D. be checked."
He lifted up her left hand with his. With his right hand he pulled from
his jacket pocket a round piece of glasslike material rimmed with metal.
Holding it over his right eye, he looked through it at the hand. He could
see the pale violet symbols invisible to the naked eye.
"Branwen Sacajawea Davis," he read aloud.
Born A.D. 2238/1616 A.H. in the Cymric division of the Northwest European
Department.
He looked down at the upturned, dark, lovely face. Her green eyes were wide
and bright. Too bright.
He dropped her hand and said, "I'll send for a guard to conduct you to ship.
By the way, your hand feels very warm. Do you have a fever?"
"I feel a little feverish. But I didn't, as far as I know, come into contact
with any sick native. Of course, you never know."
He phoned ship via his skinceiver. After he'd signed off, he said,
"You realize you'll be court-martialed?"
Davis paled but said nothing.
"It's just more routine. Any time loss of naval property is involved,
a court martial is automatic. I'm sure that you weren't negligent.
Don't worry about it."
A few minutes later, the marines appeared. Davis picked up her bag,
saluted him, and marched off. Ramstan watched the long, slim legs and
swaying hips, and he sighed. He went up a movable staircase and crawled
into a bed half the size of a basketball court.
Halfway through a dream about some shadowy sinister whispering thing,
he awoke. His door was shaking under furious knocks, and the skinceiver
was shrilling. He put his wrist near his mouth and said, sleepily,
"Alif Rho Gimel. What is it, Hermes?"
"CL Waw reported in with an urgent message. She wants to speak to you."
"I think she's here," Ramstan said. "Hold a minute."
He rolled out of bed and dropped off without using the staircase. He looked
through the keyhole and unlocked the door. Toyce reeled in, causing Ramstan
for a moment to think that she was hurt. But she was only near-falling-down
stoned.
"CL Waw's here," Ramstan said. "Out, Hermes."
Toyce fell into the chair that Davis had used. "I need a drink, Hűd."
"Of water," Ramstan said. "What's the trouble?"
"You know that barmaid I was interested in. Well, she told me the Tenolt
had come into her place. They were asking about you and getting, as usual,
indirect answers to direct questions. Thima, that's the barmaid, said one
of the Tenolt was either drunk or about to have a nervous breakdown.
He suddenly started babbling about the Klakgokl, and . . ."
"The Klakgold?"
"Yeah. It's some kind of monster in Tolt eschatology. It will appear
near the end of time and wreck the world, eat up all life. That sort of
nonsense. Anyway, he hadn't spoken more than a few sentences about it
when his companions dragged him away. The barmaid knows some of their
lingo, just enough to understand that something terrible had happened on
Tolt. She also caught some references to you when the Tolt was carried
off screaming. She didn't know what was said exactly. But she got the
impression that the crazy Tolt was swearing vengeance."
"Anything else?"
"No. But whatever it was, it played hell with my plans for Thima. I had to
bring you the news, whatever it means."
Ramstan spoke quickly but calmly into the skinceiver.
"Alif Rho Gimel. Come in, Hermes."
"Hermes here."
"Burning Troy! Repeat, Burning Troy!"
There was a pause, and then Hermes said, "Acknowledge! Burning Troy, sir!"
Before they got to ship, Ramstan received a
isn't staying here long. You will transfer to my command. What were your
shipboard duties?"
"Only those concerned with the biology laboratory."
"It's only routine and ridiculous in these circumstances," he said.
"But regulations require that your I.D. be checked."
He lifted up her left hand with his. With his right hand he pulled from
his jacket pocket a round piece of glasslike material rimmed with metal.
Holding it over his right eye, he looked through it at the hand. He could
see the pale violet symbols invisible to the naked eye.
"Branwen Sacajawea Davis," he read aloud.
Born A.D. 2238/1616 A.H. in the Cymric division of the Northwest European
Department.
He looked down at the upturned, dark, lovely face. Her green eyes were wide
and bright. Too bright.
He dropped her hand and said, "I'll send for a guard to conduct you to ship.
By the way, your hand feels very warm. Do you have a fever?"
"I feel a little feverish. But I didn't, as far as I know, come into contact
with any sick native. Of course, you never know."
He phoned ship via his skinceiver. After he'd signed off, he said,
"You realize you'll be court-martialed?"
Davis paled but said nothing.
"It's just more routine. Any time loss of naval property is involved,
a court martial is automatic. I'm sure that you weren't negligent.
Don't worry about it."
A few minutes later, the marines appeared. Davis picked up her bag,
saluted him, and marched off. Ramstan watched the long, slim legs and
swaying hips, and he sighed. He went up a movable staircase and crawled
into a bed half the size of a basketball court.
Halfway through a dream about some shadowy sinister whispering thing,
he awoke. His door was shaking under furious knocks, and the skinceiver
was shrilling. He put his wrist near his mouth and said, sleepily,
"Alif Rho Gimel. What is it, Hermes?"
"CL Waw reported in with an urgent message. She wants to speak to you."
"I think she's here," Ramstan said. "Hold a minute."
He rolled out of bed and dropped off without using the staircase. He looked
through the keyhole and unlocked the door. Toyce reeled in, causing Ramstan
for a moment to think that she was hurt. But she was only near-falling-down
stoned.
"CL Waw's here," Ramstan said. "Out, Hermes."
Toyce fell into the chair that Davis had used. "I need a drink, Hűd."
"Of water," Ramstan said. "What's the trouble?"
"You know that barmaid I was interested in. Well, she told me the Tenolt
had come into her place. They were asking about you and getting, as usual,
indirect answers to direct questions. Thima, that's the barmaid, said one
of the Tenolt was either drunk or about to have a nervous breakdown.
He suddenly started babbling about the Klakgokl, and . . ."
"The Klakgold?"
"Yeah. It's some kind of monster in Tolt eschatology. It will appear
near the end of time and wreck the world, eat up all life. That sort of
nonsense. Anyway, he hadn't spoken more than a few sentences about it
when his companions dragged him away. The barmaid knows some of their
lingo, just enough to understand that something terrible had happened on
Tolt. She also caught some references to you when the Tolt was carried
off screaming. She didn't know what was said exactly. But she got the
impression that the crazy Tolt was swearing vengeance."
"Anything else?"
"No. But whatever it was, it played hell with my plans for Thima. I had to
bring you the news, whatever it means."
Ramstan spoke quickly but calmly into the skinceiver.
"Alif Rho Gimel. Come in, Hermes."
"Hermes here."
"Burning Troy! Repeat, Burning Troy!"
There was a pause, and then Hermes said, "Acknowledge! Burning Troy, sir!"
Before they got to ship, Ramstan received a
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