quote s are not easily inspired. They do  not have the burning enthusiasm that you and other Tellu-rians, especially Kinnison, can develop. If you can inspire them, I will be much pleased and I will help you in every way to make your work 
meaningful, too.\'94 \'93What shall I prepare for?\'94 Cloudd asked. He had heard rumors of what the Z-Academy was like from the Tellurian cadets, but he knew he could not believe any of the stories.
\par \'93Let me show you,\'94 Nadreck said. \'93Relax and follow my thoughts.\'94
\par Cloudd was suddenly in an utterly dark place. \'93You are underground in Palain VII,\'94 Nadreck explained. \'93Look with your eyes and feel with your senses so you can understand, but I will have to help you a bit.\'94 In Cloudd\rquote s mind\rquote 
s eye, the scene grew bright with lights. \'93We have no lights, of course, but for you it will seem we have.\'94 The classrooms were interlocking, randomly joined boxes, like a mass of square-shaped soap bubbles. \'93They are solid on 
three sides, but for you they will seem transparent.\'94 In the cells, sitting, moving, sometimes upside down or spread out on walls, were the cadets. Occasionallv one would flow down 
from one half open side into another cell or would attenuate itself upward into a cell above.  Everywhere there was equipment in strange designs, all transparent, and seeming to be as multidimensional as the Z-cadets themselves. \'93
The machinery is not that way, really, but I have made it easier for you to see.\'94
\par Cloudd could recognize the instructors by the silvery harnesses that passed around and in and out of their bodies. Most of the entities looked alike, varying only slightly in size, much 
like Nadreck, obviously Palainians. But there were other monstrosities there, too. They were more strange and more grotesque than any entity Cloudd had ever encountered. The variety of Z-life impressed him. \'93
They are only a few of the billions from thousands of Z-types, I must humbly confess,\'94 Nadreck said. \'93We are lucky to get even a minimum for our recruiting purposes for our standards are high and the personal motivation is not at all 
as natural as it is with you Tellurians.\'94
\par Through Nadreck\rquote s mind; Cloudd moved rapidly around the warren of rooms and came, for the first time, to a corridor that had separate doors. Behind the walls were a half dozen or so other lifeforms in their own environments, a couple of A\rquote 
s, Q\rquote s, T\rquote s, and a VWZY and other mixed types. \'93Yes, they are \lquote cages,\rquote  as you immediately think, but they do get out in pressure suits, and they do have recreational leaves when needed, and, please note, there 
are already two Tellurians temporarily on the staff, so you will have companionship. One is of the female sex, so you may find a mate, who knows?\'94
\par \'93Fascinating,\'94 Cloudd said. \'93I\rquote m not interested in a wife.\'94 He thought of the bride he had almost had who had died because of the zwilnik pirates. \'93Besides, she\rquote s probably 
interested in the other Tellurian considering the circumstances,\'94 Cloudd added, drily.  \'93That is true,\'94 Nadreck said. \'93I was only suggesting that a new combination might make 
new possibilities. Do you really find this picture I have shown you so depressing?\'94 \'93Well, let\rquote s say, it\rquote s an acceptable starting point. It will be new, it will be different, and it will lead to our renewed chase of the datadrones, won
\rquote t it, Nadreck?\'94
\par }\pard \s21\ql \fi340\li0\ri0\widctlpar\aspalpha\aspnum\faauto\adjustright\rin0\lin0\itap0 {Cloudd, now brightening at the prospect of adventure, took less than a day to wrap up all his loose ends.
\par }\pard \s21\ql \fi340\li0\ri0\widctlpar\aspalpha\aspnum\faauto\adjustright\rin0\lin0\itap0 {When evening had come, just after the final supper hour when the graduating class had sung their traditional songs in the mess hall, Cloudd went t
o his quarters for his last minute preparations and an early bedtime. The following day would be a full one for him. There would be the graduation. ceremonies in the morning and in the afternoon he would be 
boarding the shuttle run to Palain VII, the last one for a month.
\par He was relaxed, his feet up on a cushion, listening to the life of the Academy, when he got the call to go to The Circus. His door had been open and the off-duty sounds from The Shaft came sharply to his ears. Five hundred feet up, from a 
wing of the topmost, ninetieth floor, came the jubilant sounds of the noble Five-Year Men, those who would be graduating on the morrow. The Shaft was twenty feet square, with ninety balconies without railings, the 
hollow core of the magnificent, dazzling chromium and glass tower of Wentworth Hall. The Shaft was filled with floating students in jump belts going and coming along its passageway, \lquote 
but there was no noise from them, for the graduating cadets were ruling this week. Only they were allowed to be heard, and the joyous laughter and shouts and occasional, spontaneous renderings of \'93Our Patrol\'94 were as thrilling to the underclassmen, 
who anticipated the day when they would be up in \lquote the Eyrie.
\par Cloudd felt the moment keenly. He hadn\rquote t been in the Hall for even one, short semester, but e had been caught up in its traditions. There was gnawing within him the desire to come 
here and earn the Lens, but he knew that he could never, space-bitten veteran as he was, ever share in the youthful enthusiasm of these exceptional young men. He would never \'93drop free\'94
 on commencement day. He would never, no never, as much as he dreamed it, step from the top floor for that glorious free-fall to the ground. The dizzying, breathtakingplunge like a human stone was a thousand feet straight down. Only a 
graduating classman could take it timed to an exquisite finish with heels a fraction of an inch above the marble floor as inertia was snapped back on by the steady hand at the uniform belt.
\par \'93Lieutenant Cloudd,\'94 the \'93message had come. \'93Your presence is wanted in the visitor\rquote s lounge.\'94
\par When Cloudd walked down the steps of the amphitheater, through the staff section, he found the two glass doors leading into the Hub were wide open. Inside the Hub there were two dozen people, all Tell
urians, but when he raised his head and glanced at the enclosed sections, he saw that one was occupied. Through the reddish-blue, frozen haze of Ring-One he saw Nadreck. Nadreck! The Palainian should have been gone two days ago!  \'93I\rquote 
ve been waiting for you, Cloudd. You are not going to get much sleep tonight. You will be meeting with your friends now, but shortly we will be having a conference.\'94
\par Cloudd pressed -courteously through the outer line of people in service uniforms milling around and caught sight of the aging form of the most powerful man in Civilization, Port Admiral Hayes, the president of the Galactic Council!
\par Next to him was the chaplain general of the Patrol, Chon, in a black civilian suit! Who was that he was talking to? It was! The slim figure with the silver face was the robotoid woman 
Lensman, Lalla Kallatra! A flush of mixed irritation and pleasure burned through him. That bizarre and disturbing Lalla Kallatra!
\par A greater shock, however, came from the recognition of the sturdy, broad-shouldered figure behind her. Impeccably dressed and groomed, his dark hair sweeping across his 
broad forehead and his jutting chin thrusting from a stiff collar that glittered with braid and badges, it had to be. : . The ruggedly handsome face, stern and humorous at the same 
time, turned toward him. Their eyes met. The man raised his hand in casual greeting. This was the person Cloudd most admired, the hero of the galaxies, Kimball Kinnison! Kimball Kinnison, himself!
\par Cloudd opened his mouth to speak a welcome, but the Galactic Coordinator had turned away to talk to someone else.
\par What in the devil was Kinnison doing here? Why was Nadreck still here? Wasn\rquote t that-?
\par Yes! That was LaForge, admiral of the Grand Fleet! Why all the notables?
\par \'93Hello, Lieutenant Cloudd,\'94 said a soft, but powerful voice.
\par Cloudd turned. The small, iron-gray beard and the florid face belonged to Chaplain General Chon, and Cloudd stammered out a greeting. The first thing Cloudd said, impulsively and to his embarrassment, was, \'93What is Kimball Kinnison doing here?\'94 \'93
He\rquote s come to see his son, Christopher. You know about the baby\rquote s training, of course?\'94 \'93Yes ... That is, I believe ... infans vitae ...
\par \'93That\rquote s how it\rquote s formally known, through most human cultures, that is. More popularly, it\rquote s the Better Baby Course that\rquote s what we call it. You ever had any experience with children, sons 
or daughters, I mean, nieces or nephews, perhaps?\'94
\par \'93No,\'94 Cloudd said. All the pain of his past life with Lucille surged up to choke him. He had had his dreams with her-marriage and children. Almost on the eve of their marriage the 
pirates had killed her. Nearly three thousand entities had died when the space liner had been cut to pieces by the Spawn raider. There had been one survivor: ironically it was the owner, the
 man whom the vindictive outlaws had really wanted to destroy-D. D. Cloudd.  The wonder of it came to him again, and the torture-why was it that he lived and that such a pretty, sweet, innocent girl as Lucille had died? His subsequent wild career as an 
adventurer along the spaceways, in and out of the Patrol, had healed the wound, but left a tender scar. \'93Lucille and I would have followed the Better Baby practice, of course.\'94 \'93I am sorry, Benson,\'94
 Chon said, his cheeks even more flushed with distress. \'93I phrased that awkwardly. Forgive me. I know how much you loved her.\'94
\par \'93No, no,\'94 Cloudd said. \'93I\rquote m the culprit. It was all the recent excitement over Christopher Kinnison\rquote s birth that raised the old ghosts. I\rquote m known as the perennial bachelor, so what you said,
 knowing what you know about me, released those deep down feelings I\rquote ve built up. Actually, I appreciate your understanding. Anyhow,.-about the Better Baby Course, I\rquote m 
not a hundred percent sold on the idea that all geniuses are made, not born. But I\rquote m highly in favor of planned stimulation right from birth. Lucille felt no effort should be spared during 
the first few months. In fact, she felt that planning before and during her pregnant period was also vital. We had things well thought out, as you can guess. Anyhow, heredity is important, too.\'94 \'93Certainly. That\rquote 
s still a hot controversy. I take the middle view, of course.  Naturally I feel that God still gives us our potential and it\rquote s up to us to make the best of it. I go along with the computer analogy up
 to a point, but someone has to build the computer, for good or for bad, and there are certain preprogrammed things put in the organism--instincts, animating essences, or, if you will, the soul.\'94
\par Cloudd\rquote s mind was drifting off the subject. His thoughts were on Lalla Kallatra. What had she been doing for the past six months since he had briefly seen her when Nadreck and he had skipped through Ultra Prime, the Patrol base on Kinnison\rquote 
s planet, Klovia, the center of the hustle and bustle prevalent now in the  Second Galaxy?
\par \'93What\rquote s Lalla Kallatra doing here, sir?\'94 Cloudd said, feeling that Chon would not resent the prying of a lowly lieutenant. \'93Is she still doing psychical research? Have there been any developments about Eichwoor?\'94
\par \'93Lalla is here as Mrs. Kinnison\rquote s companion.\'94
\par \'93Mrs. Kinnison?The Red Lensman is here?\'94 Cloudd swivelled his head back and forth, his dark eyes searching the room, anxious to catch a glimpse of Clarrissa May MacDougall Kinnison, the fabulous first woman Lensman. The expectation he now
 had of meeting her thrilled him. The fact that Lalla Kallatra was a woman Lensman, too--to his knowledge the only other one in two galaxies, and someone he had worked with-didn\rquote t diminish the allure 
of the Red. Lensman one particle. Kallatra was a robotoid-yes, a freak, just a young kid with enormous talent and an unlucky life-but Clarrissa MacDougall was the undisputed beautiful heroine of two galaxies, the female of the legendary matched pair.

\par \'93Well, actually,\'94 said Chon, \'93she\rquote s at the Institute of Advanced Pediatrics. Visiting Christopher, you know. He\rquote s been here for a number of weeks and obviously she\rquote s missed him. He\rquote s been away from her longer than she
\rquote d had him. But now she\rquote ll begin her training along with him, and I dare say, knowing the abilities of Mrs. Kinnison and suspecting the abilities of her child, they\rquote ll both be returning to Klovia in a few months. I expect she\rquote 
ll come by to see us all before this little social gathering breaks up. You haven\rquote t met her yet? You\rquote ve a real treat in store for you. And incidentally, Benson, I don\rquote t believe I\rquote ve had a chance to 
say how glad I am to see you. You look fine. Do you like lecturing? Don\rquote t you wish you were back out there in deep space chasing those things you were after? I wish I were younger.  I\rquote d have chosen a few years of wild adventure. There
\rquote s so much going on, so many things to do, and I\rquote m afraid I\rquote ll never have the chance. You know, these high level visits get awfully dull sometimes.\'94
\par Cloudd was a bit taken aback by Chon\rquote s frank selfrevelation. Yet it wasn\rquote t so remarkable.  Cloudd had a high degree of intuitiveness; he was very sensitive to the personalities and 
reactions of people despite his strong attempts to tone down if not ignore this softness in his nature--and Chaplain General Chon had impressed him as being forthright from that very first day in Kinnison\rquote s office at Ultra Prime on Klovia.
\par \'93In fact,\'94 Chon added, \'93she\rquote s here now.\'94
\par Cloudd caught a glimpse of the famous red hair, but before he could move closer, there was a shifting of the group in her direction, she was swallowed up in the uniforms, and then she and her husband were moving out the far doorway.
\par Cloudd turned away, disappointed, and almost knocked down Lalla Kallatra.
\par Her reaction was swift. Instead of a stiff-legged movement away from him, she apparently activated the wheels under the soles of her knee-high boots and skated a few inches 
backward out of danger. Their faces had come close to touching and, for an interminably long split-second, her wide eyes had gazed into his. Were those electrifying, bluish-gray 
orbs of hers real? He had wondered that once before. Surely such deep eyes had to be living cells to affect him so?
\par \'93Hello, Cloudd.\'94 Her polished metal face, a Lens imbedded in the middle of her shining forehead, could give no expression. From under her cloth skullcap there peeked curls of 
brown hair. This was something different from how she appeared last time. Vanity, Cloudd thought. The android is typically female. That touch, however, made her seem more human and his feelings warmed toward her.
\par }\pard \s21\ql \fi340\li0\ri0\widctlpar\aspalpha\aspnum\faauto\adjustright\rin0\lin0\itap0 {\'93Hello; Kallatra. Welcome to the Milky Way.\'94 He extended his hand. \'93How have you been?  
General Chon tells me you came with Mrs. Kinnison. Will you stay with her while she\rquote s here? It\rquote s good to see you.\'94 He really meant it.
\par }\pard \s21\ql \fi340\li0\ri0\widctlpar\aspalpha\aspnum\faauto\adjustright\rin0\lin0\itap0 {\'93I\rquote m fine. I hope you have been, too.\'94 She made no effort to take his hand in hers. He 
remembered the cool, hard feel of those metal fingers the last time. \'93Please excuse me, Cloudd,\'94 she said. \'93Cris has left and I must be with her. I expect to stay a few days, perhaps we\rquote ll find a chance to visit.\'94 She began\rquote 
. to stalk around him.
\par Cloudd suddenly felt angry. She was snubbing him and no machine was going to do that to him.
\par He grasped her left-shoulder, gently. It was the first time he had touched her, except for their hands, and he was shocked at his audacity. She stopped but didn\rquote t turn her head.  \'93Don\rquote t go away mad, Kallatra,\'94
 he said. He tried to sound lighthearted.
\par \'93I\rquote m sorry, Cloudd,\'94 she said. \'93I really do have a lot on my mind. Please believe me. I do hope we meet again. Call the Institute tomorrow. Please excuse me. I must go.\'94
\par And she left.
\par Cloudd watched her leaving the room, moving stiffly in her standard tunic-and-pantaloon uniform.
\par \'93Well, I\rquote ll be damned,\'94 Cloudd said under his breath, his mind in confusion.
\par \'93Go along, Cloudd,\'94 a voice said within his head. It was Nadreck. \'93Go along with them.\'94 Cloudd looked up at the compartment Nadreck was in. The monster seemed to be waving his tentacles or arms.
\par \'93 I\rquote m not invited, Nadreck,\'94 Cloudd said. \'93That\rquote s the entrance to the private reception hall.
\par Nobody goes there without an invitation.\'94
\par \'93You are invited. I invited you. You will be my representative,\'94 Nadreck said. \'93Don\rquote t waste time. Go!\'94 \'93You?\'94 Cloudd said, startled. \'93You invited me? But they have to invite me---don\rquote t you understand?\'94
\par \'93 I understand. It\rquote s been arranged. The conference is to take place now. I\rquote ll be there by my sense of perception. You must be there physically. There are documents to look at. What\rquote s the matter with you-don\rquote 
t I make myself clear?\'94
\par \'93Oh, yes, Nadreck. You do. I\rquote m sorry.\'94 Cloudd shook his head as though to clear it. The whole past half hour had been bewildering. But Nadreck was a Second Stage Lensman, and Nadreck knew what he was doing.
\par Cloudd went into the room at the end of the long corridor. The reception hall was just large enough to hold the dozen people comfortably. It was luxuriously furnished in ancient earthly 
style, with thick carpets, upholstered furniture, pictures in gilt frames on the paneled walls. It was a room strictly for Tellurians and their kin, with one wall of full-length wooden folding doors suggesting it could be made larger.
\par Almost everyone was seated on the soft couches and in the easy chairs when Cloudd came in. Kallatra stood at the far right. Kinnison stood in the center, holding a sheaf of 
papers in his hand. When Kinnison saw Cloudd enter, he gave him a cheery wave of his hand and a big smile. Then he became serious again.
\par \'93We have received these reports since we\rquote ve been in The Circus,\'94 Kinnison said, waving the sheaf of papers to emphasize his point, \'93and they are all garbled. We have done our 
social duties in the past hour. We have just the graduation ceremonies, tomorrow. I think we can all attend. I believe there is no suspicion as to our real purpose for being here. You 
have all been convincing in your reasons for coming to Wentworth Hall. Let\rquote s keep it this way.\'94
\par Kinnison leaned against the edge of the heavy table and rested informally in his favorite lecturing pose. \'93The garbled reports are proof, if we needed any more. Our machines are playing funny tricks. Patrol communications are in a shambles. We\rquote 
ve got interference and aberrations in all. our equipment.\'94
\par Kinnison tossed the paprs down next to him and put his hands on his thighs, bending over in that betweenyou-and-me posture, massive head tilted up, dark eyes under his frowning eyebrows peering at each person individually.
\par \lquote Friends, we\rquote ve lost contact with ten percent of our forces on the other side of this galaxy. I concur with the majority of you. This galaxy is about to be invaded by some, as yet, undetectable enemy.\'94
\par \page 
\par }\pard\plain \s1\qc \li0\ri0\sb240\sa60\keepn\widctlpar\aspalpha\aspnum\faauto\outlinelevel0\adjustright\rin0\lin0\itap0 \b\f1\fs32\lang1033\langfe4105\kerning32\cgrid\langnp1033\langfenp4105 {\b0\fs36 {\*\bkmkstart _Toc32934274}6 Raiders from Nowhere
{\*\bkmkend _Toc32934274}
\par }\pard\plain \s21\ql \fi340\li0\ri0\widctlpar\aspalpha\aspnum\faauto\adjustright\rin0\lin0\itap0 \fs24\lang1033\langfe4105\cgrid\langnp1033\langfenp4105 {
\par The electronic noise began as an inaudible hum and rapidly rose in frequency and amplitude to a skullshattering scream. The entire spaceship quivered under the vibrations, with relays and cutoffs popping open as danger points were reached. One by one, the
 mixed crew of non-Oxos writhed to the decks and lost consciousness.
\par }\pard \s21\ql \fi340\li0\ri0\widctlpar\aspalpha\aspnum\faauto\adjustright\rin0\lin0\itap0 {Lensman Dick Armstrong, the only one aboard who was A-Oxo, being a Tellurian oxygen br
eather, was in his pressure suit on his way to the navigation room when the trouble began. As the only one isolated from the environment, the rest of the crew breathing their, 
to Armstrong, poisonous air and working without clothes, he was among those least affected. By the time he reached the chart room, only. the tough old Onlonian navigator, Noc, was still on his loose-jointed legs. Armstrong couldn\rquote 
t speak Onlonian, although he could read and write it, but his Lens sorted out the frantic messages passing between Noc and Finndha, the Palainian captain of the freighter Palai-kai.
\par \'93Bad trouble, Cap\rquote n!\'94 Noc was not only strongly projecting his concern, he was literally shouting his agitation above. the piercing din, blasting messages through the communication pipes. \'93No collision reported.
\par We ain\rquote t hit nothing. All outside readings are normal. The breakdown\rquote s inside. My monitors show disruption of the Bergenholm chips. What\rquote s Praast say?\'94 Praast was the engineering officer.
\par }\pard \s21\ql \fi340\li0\ri0\widctlpar\aspalpha\aspnum\faauto\adjustright\rin0\lin0\itap0 {\'93Praast went into the boxes at the first sign that we had a problem and he hasn\rquote t come out,\'94 the captain replied. \lquote 
And none of his staff are answering either.\'94
\par }\pard \s21\ql \fi340\li0\ri0\widctlpar\aspalpha\aspnum\faauto\adjustright\rin0\lin0\itap0 {Noc had his upper appendages wrapped around his head and didn\rquote t see Armstrong, but he sensed his presence. \'93Do something for us, Lensman! Use your Lens!
\'94
\par The situation didn\rquote t appear \lquote critical, although Noc obviously was in a panic, and there was nothing that Armstrong could do about it anyhow. He had no job as part of the crew. He was simply a Patrolman on rim patrol, autonomous and u
nfamiliar with the ship\rquote s routine, most especially this ship, which he had never been on before.
\par \'93It\rquote s the damned drive,\'94 Noc said. \'93I told ya and I told Praast the. thing would give out one of these days when were in top free flight. So it\rquote s finally happened. Even I can tell that.\'94 \'93Don\rquote t overheat yourself, Noc,
\'94 the captain said. \'93We got two hundred passengers on board,\'94 Noc yelled. And we got another hundred fifty raw, ignorant menials. This scow\rquote s a freighter, not a passenger shipand I\rquote m a navigator, not a pampering chief steward.  
Whattamuh gonna do when they run riot?\'94
\par That explains a lot, Armstrong thought to himself as he heard Noc\rquote s complaint. They had insisted on a human for the rim Patrolman to avoid \'93psychological intimidation of the pleasure-seeking passengers\'94
 when actually they were relying-on his human ignorance to avoid criticism of their substandard accommodations for their living cargo. Noc was probably right; a serious panic was a distinct possibility.
\par \'93Shut  up, Noc!\'94 the captain ordered. \'93\rquote Watch your instruments. I\rquote ve pulled the plug. We\rquote re going inert.\'94 This \'93,\lquote rim patrol\'94 was supposed to be simple and utterly boring. It was a 
Galactic Patrol surveillance assignment established around the edge of the Milky Way, carried on most intently on the side toward the Second Galaxy, as an early warning system.  
With Boskonia so potent in the Second Galaxy, invasion from that direction had been a constant threat before the Patrol had launched its own invasion, fought the Battle of Klovia, and subdue
d the Second. Now that the level of danger had been substantially reduced, with only small fleets of pirates anticipated, a rim patrol assignment was certain to be dull.  The duty was not made any more bearable by the use of nonscheduled, independent, 
tramp cargo ships to carry the Lensman.
\par The deep-space freighters, irregularly coming and going over obscure routes, were ideal observation posts for the occasional, unpredictable Patrol surveillance assignments. The vessels, usually small and unobtrusive, cur
ved around the flattened side of the disk of the Milky Way en route from one side to the other, free of the complexities of intragalactic navigation.
\par Armstrong considered himself lucky to be given even this dull chore. He saw it as a unique opportunity for study and experience to further his forthcoming civilian ambitions to be a 
consultant in racial psychology for a big transportation company. Nadreck had arranged the special duty for him at his request, still appreciative of the help Armstrong had given h
im not so long ago on Palainian Research Laboratory Five. That taste of real adventure had made it possible for him to emotionally accept this task, so different and lonely, especially with Z-types.
\par \'93Nothing\rquote s happening!\'94 Noc said. \'93My readings\rquote re still crazy!\'94
\par No sooner had Noc complained than the ship gave a lurch. Noc bounced against his chart table, while Armstrong banged into the wall. Armstrong was shaken but unhurt because of the cushioning of his suit.
\par \'93The ship\rquote s slipping out,\'94 Captain Finndha said. Armstrong rightly took that to mean that the freighter was losing its inertialess mode in an erratic manner, which could end in an atomic explosion. \'93By Klono, I\rquote m switching back in!
\'94
\par Buffeting started as the ship wavered between the two states. Under Bergenholm drive, theoretically only the tenuous matter in space prevented the ship from reaching infinite 
speed. Making top speed, so important for profitable tramp freighter operations, was why this ship and so many like it circled on the outside of the galaxy instead of going through it.  Bergenholm \'93free\'94
 speed was in inverse ratio to the density, of matter in space. Going around or over, the galaxy produced the fastest speeds and the least chance for any surprises. Rim patrol was a quick trip through empty space, at the fastest practical speed, 
fit for only semiretired, retired, and reserve Patrolmen. Once in a long, long while, however, somebody never came back. The buffeting stopped.
\par \'93We\rquote re back into free,\'94 the captain said, his voice coming out of all tubes and electric speakers throughout the entire ship. \'93Check for damage.\'94
\par The response came back quickly. from the regular crew. There were a few minor injuries, but nothing serious.
\par The report from the hospitality crew, on the other hand, was rather unsettling. \'93Chief Steward\'94 Noc was told that a couple of crew members were dead or dying and that among the passengers \'93even worse\'94 had taken place.
\par Noc pulled an assistant up from the table he had crumpled over, shoved him in front of his control board, and left in a great hurry to straighten out the mess below. The scene on the monitoring screen for the passengers\rquote 
 lounge was distressing even to Armstrong, who under ordinary circumstances had difficulty judging the health or condition of a Z-entity. This freighter had once been primarily a passenger carrier; later, the main lounge had been 
converted into cargo space; recently, because of the increase in personal travel after the reduction of the Boskonian piracy menace, the cargo hold had been reconverted back into a passengers\rquote 
 salon. The decorations were new but cheap, the furniture was chosen more for durability than beauty, and the floor plan was awkward and led to overcrowding. The result, even to Armstrong, was obvious chaos: grotesque passengers collapsed on chairs 
and floor, having pulled down the decorations trying to retain their balance, and the lightweight furniture shoved around in a hazardous fashion.
\par Armstrong was suddenly conscious of something far more remarkable on the exterior monitoring screens. Space wasn\rquote t empty!
\par Spaceships seemed to be everywhere!
\par \'93Noc! Betzman! Riam! Get back to your posts!\'94 The captain\rquote s face was on the command viewing screen, his face uglier than ever to Armstrong, undoubtedly distorted by strong emotion. An alarm began to whistle and clang. \'93
Defensive positions! Unidentified mechware!\'94
\par Crewmen were crowding into the navigation room, including Noc. There was much excitement, with flashing lights and dozens of glowing visualizations on all the screens.  Armstrong was roughly shoved into a corner and ignored while he kept probing the minds
 around him with his Lens, trying to find out what was happening. He had the clear and universal impression that whatever was happening was unexplainable and frighteningly mysterious. The Lensman projected his telepathic feelers out into \lquote 
space in search of any other sentient beings, but he felt no response. He checked his Ordovik crystal detector; the reading was negative-no hyperspatial tube nearby.
\par \'93Stand by!\'94 Captain Finndha said. \'93Stand by for inert!\'94 The captain was bringing. the freighter out of free flight into inertia. Like everyone else, Armstrong braced for the expected jolt when the shift took place.
\par Again there was a shock that unpleasantly shook the ship. Armstrong could imagine the additional pandemonium and injury among the terrified passengers.
\par \'93Curses of Klono!\'94 the captain exclaimed. \'93The damned things have dropped down along with us! We\rquote re headed upstream into the thick of them! Deflector screens full on! Collision course! Prepare for deflections! Prepare for collisions!\'94

\par Noc had all the screens focused outside, from visible light frequencies on down to supraetheric. Moving swiftly past the freighter were objects of assorted sizes and various shades of silver. They vaguely
 resembled torpedoshaped spaceships. No identification markings were visible.
\par \lquote All gravity fields reverse! Check! All engines reverse!\'94 Armstrong had barely time to grab a handhold before the artificial gravitation began fighting the inertia of the deceleration 
process. He felt as if his arms were going to be dragged. from their sockets. Captain Finndha was slamming on full emergency stop, trusting that the gravity field reversal would be working properly to prevent every loose object within the ship from b
eing squashed flat against the forward bulkheads. Good God! Armstrong thought, if the fields weren\rquote t operating properly in the passengers\rquote  quarters, they would have their already shapeless 
masses mashed into puddles of jelly. The captain was shutting down to zero forward motion, jockeying from side to side to avoid the objects that seemed to be on a direct line with him, obviously afraid to make a sweeping turn, which would expose the ship 
broadside. The silvery projectiles now seemed to number in the hundreds.
\par Armstrong felt the deck turning under him. The captain was executing a pinwheel turn, rotating the ship on its own axis. This was a fancy maneuver expected from a warship, not from an ancient  passenger-cargo vessel!
\par \'93Full ahead!\'94 the captain shouted.
\par The Tellurian Lensman again felt the deck pressing up against him, his body straining to resist the compression. A full pinwheel turn and a jumping acceleration on a one hundred eighty degree reversal! Some trick! Oh, the poor passengers and their staff!

\par }\pard \s21\ql \fi340\li0\ri0\widctlpar\aspalpha\aspnum\faauto\adjustright\rin0\lin0\itap0 {\'93Prepare for inertialess drive!\'94 The captain sounded calmer now, although Armstrong

KATE WILHELM

THE HAPPIEST DAY OF HER LIFE

THE DAY BEFORE THE HAPPIEST day of her life did not have an auspicious start for
Reba Cameron. She heard her bedroom door open and opened her eyes enough to see
a dim light coming in from the hall; she closed her eyes again. Her mother had
slipped into the room; she could smell her. Still dark outside and Sonya was
already doused with perfume, and, no doubt, had all her makeup perfectly in
place. Reba did not stir as she tracked her mother's soft steps around the room;
she would finger something or other, put it down, straighten something, move
something else, pause at the mirror to smile at her reflection, move on.... When
the door closed again, Reba looked at the clock. Six-thirty.

She groaned and pulled the blanket up over her head, desperate for at least one
more hour of sleep, but now she could hear her mother's voice in the hall
outside her door.

"Of course, I didn't wake her up. She's sleeping like a baby.... "Reba drifted
as the voice faded, then it sounded closer again. "I have a right to look at my
child, for heaven's sake!...trying to sneak in her wedding without letting me
know a thing about it." She was walking back and forth in the hall, apparently,
the sound of her voice rising and falling as she neared the door, then drew
away. Talking to Aunt Rebecca? Someone whose voice was too low to carry into the
room, through the blanket.

Reba put her fingers in her ears.

"...ages ago! How was I supposed to know she'd still be engaged after such a
long time?"

Reba had written to her four months ago, announcing her engagement, the date,
everything, and in return had received a postcard with her mother's scrawl:
Darling, I am so excited...(illegible) Me, too. Mr. Wonderful... (illegible)...
(illegible). Sonya. Yesterday Sonya had called, and last night she had arrived
with Mr. Wonderful, the New Guy. They were always the New Guy, this was number
five. Maybe six. It didn't matter. He was the New Guy.

"I know we were all just a little excited last night, but it's perfectly clear
that Bob should give her away. After all, he's her stepfather, and he brought
his tuxedo...."

This time Sonya's voice faded away and didn't return. Maybe Aunt Rebecca had
dragged her downstairs. Pushed her down the stairs? Reba shook her head. No such
luck. Reluctantly she sat up, well aware that she would not go back to sleep
that morning. She added items to the mental list of things she had to get done
that day, and headed the list with the number one in importance. Tell her mother
to butt out; the wedding was planned down to the last detail, and not a single
thing would be changed. Uncle Walt, the only father she had ever known, her
mother's brother, would walk her down the aisle, not the New Guy, whose name
Reba couldn't even remember.

During her entire life she had lived with her mother for a total of six years
off and on; the first two years she and her mother had lived here in Aunt
Rebecca's house. After that she had been shipped off to Aunt Rebecca now and
then while her mother and the current New Guy tried to work things out, or while
her mother was in pursuit of a new New Guy, or for some other reason. When she
was twelve she had come to stay.

According to Sonya, Reba's father had been a prince, a beautiful young man who
had swept her off her feet, loved her passionately, and then mysteriously
disappeared without realizing she was pregnant. She didn't know his last name.
Just Cary. Like Cary Grant, only much, much better looking. Sonya, of course,
had been a lovely naive girl, ready to be swept up, one who, Reba suspected, had
always exuded clouds of pheromones. She never had any trouble landing a New Guy,
and, pretty as she always had been and still was, never kept any of her catches
more than a few years. Throwaway fish who didn't measure up to the Prince.

The problem was that the New Guys too often seemed to be intent on getting Reba
killed. The first one, Harvey Wilson, had died in a stupid wreck that threw Reba
out of the car into a shallow pond with a nice cushiony mud bottom. A different
New Guy had fallen asleep on the couch and dropped a cigarette; a neighbor had
dragged him out, but neither of them had remembered there was a child sleeping
in the house. Reba had crawled out a dog door, following the poodle to safety. A
miracle, everyone had declared. How had she managed to fit through? Later, a new
New Guy had gone skiing with Sonya and Reba; the gondola lift had jerked; he had
lurched forward and managed to push Reba over the side down to where she should
have been killed on jutting basalt boulders. Instead, she had landed in a deep
new-powder drift between rocks.

Reba continued to sit on the side of her bed, brooding about her mother, and her
new New Guy. An omen, she thought bleakly. She had avoided her mother's New Guys
for years, purposely had never paid them a visit. There had been a number of
parental visits over the years, when Sonya would appear by herself, rearrange
things for a few days, buy Reba some clothes or trinkets, try to curl her hair,
give her advice about how to walk, how to sit, how to eat, what to eat; then she
would leave, and Reba and Aunt Rebecca, sharing quiet relief, would restore
order and get on with their lives.

And now there was a new New Guy in the house, an evil omen, certain to doom her
wedding, doom her in all likelihood.

By the time Reba dragged herself into the shower, dressed and went downstairs,
she had a grade-A headache. She stifled a groan when she saw that her mother was
making a list....

"Darling, good morning!" Sonya cried. "Are you ill? Just nervous? You shouldn't
drink coffee, if you're nervous. And it's perfectly normal to feel a bit
jittery, but believe me, sweetheart, tomorrow will be the happiest day of your
life. Your wedding day is always the happiest day of your life."

"The voice of experience," Aunt Rebecca said, pouring coffee for Reba. "I was
just about to scramble eggs. Walt will be down in a minute."

"None for me," Reba said. "Just coffee. I'll get a bite later. Mother, the
wedding is all taken care of. There's not a thing for you to do except take it
easy, relax. Okay?"

"Darling, you wouldn't believe how much I have to do! What I thought we'd do is
shop a little. I can't wear a violet dress if Rebecca insists on wearing blue.
And the wedding gift, of course. What pattern of silver do you have? But that's
so boring, isn't it? I want something memorable for you. Then, I thought we'd
meet and have lunch, just you and I, and Bob, of course. Or maybe not with Bob.
A mother and daughter should have lunch alone on this occasion. Yes, definitely,
just the two of us --"

"Mother! I'm sorry. I'm tied up all day, people at work planned lunch already
--"

"She's so much like her father," Sonya said to Rebecca. "It took my breath away
looking at her sleeping; she looks so much like him, and talks like him." Then
she turned to Reba and said, "Darling, I don't want to upset any plans you
already have, of course, but it does seem that on the last day of your life as a
single girl you could take a little time out for the only mother you'll ever
have."

The last day of her life! "Mother! I'm not a girl. I'm twenty-nine years old.
I'm really happy you came in time for the wedding, but I have to work today, and
I have a million things I have to take care of. I'll see you tonight." She put
down her coffee cup, snatched up her purse and jacket, and headed for the front
door.

Aunt Rebecca walked out with her to the porch. "Don't worry about her," she
said, patting Reba's arm. "I won't let her near your room."

"Or the Gilfords, or the church, or the hotel," Reba muttered. "I'll call the
hotel and tell them to add two more to the dinner party."

Sonya was coming toward them. "Darling, I hope you made an appointment to have
your hair done..."

Reba fled.

It was downhill for the rest of the morning. Traffic crossing the bridge from
Vancouver, Washington, into Portland, Oregon, was bumper to bumper with long
inexplicable pauses between small incremental forward movements. Once she
reached the hospital where she worked in the Records Department she found a
message from the woman she had been training to replace her; she was ill, and
would try to make it back by Monday. No one knew where she had put the
mammograms from the previous week. A woman in Akron, Ohio, called demanding her
complete records from twelve years ago. Two insurance companies were sending
representatives to present the new requirements for their bookkeeping
department. Reba was expected to drop everything else and see to the needs of
the insurance companies....

Her office was the size of a small closet, and now, with a second chair for her
replacement, there was so little space that when the door opened, it banged into
the second chair. The only bright spot so far that morning had been a bouquet on
her desk with a big number one on a stick poking out from a dozen yellow roses.
Michael had started the countdown at day ten, and now there was one day left
before the happiest day of her life. The phrase from her mother's lips made her
own lips tighten. She called Aunt Rebecca to find out the name of the New Guy
for his place card at the dinner party.

After that she phoned the special events coordinator at the New Columbian Hotel,
only to be told that he was in conference, and would be available for a short
period between twelve and twelve-thirty.

"I have to make a couple of changes for a dinner party tonight," Reba said. "Can
I just leave him a message?"

"Hold on, I'll see if I can find his assistant."

Reba held the phone and tapped her fingers on the desk, knowing that the way
things were shaping up, this call was doomed. Still holding the phone, she
walked around her desk, out to the wide hall where people were scurrying around
carrying X-ray films, stacks of medical records, someone pushing a cart of
medical files, a lab technician with his blood-sucking gear walking her way. She
spotted her friend Zelda and waved her over, then, holding her hand on the
mouthpiece of the phone, she said she would not be able to make it for lunch.
She had lied about the office party luncheon; she and Zelda had planned a very
quiet lunch with just the two of them.

She was explaining when the phone squawked in her ear, and at the same time the
lab technician said, "Ms. Cameron?" Another cart of records was moving toward
them; she waved the technician into the office, and said into the phone, "I'm
here, still waiting."

"I can't find Mr. Warner's assistant. She must have stepped out or something.
Maybe you'd better come around and tell him what you want."

Reba looked at her watch, twenty minutes before twelve. "I'll be right over,"
she said, and shoved her office door open to reenter.

The technician apparently had been standing by the second chair in the cramped
space and the opening door hit his arm, sent his equipment flying; glass vials
shattered on the desk, on the wall, on the floor.

"Oh, God!" he moaned. He looked as if he might cry.

Reba stared at the mess, as near tears as he seemed to be. "Good heavens! I'm
sorry. I'll tell someone to send for maintenance. I'm terribly sorry." She went
around her desk, hung up the phone, and got her purse from a drawer. He stood
like a statue, as if hypnotized by the scattered equipment, the shards of glass.
"Hey," she said, more sharply, "I said I'm sorry. It's not the end of the world.
Shit happens. What did you want, anyway?"

"Just to draw some blood from you. I'll get some clean stuff. Will you wait a
minute or two?" He looked at her with a despairing expression.

"I can't. What's it for? Who told you to draw blood from me?" She paused at the
door.

"Dr. Bressler," he mumbled. "It's a...a new test or something. He said to get
yours first since you'll be leaving."

"I don't know a Dr. Bressler," she said coldly. "I don't participate in new
tests that I know nothing about, and I have to leave like this very second." She
left him standing there with an agonized look on his face.

THE NEW COLUMBIAN Hotel was a vast complex, hotel, conference center, convention
hall, private party rooms.... It had not been the Cameron group's choice for the
dinner party, too expensive for them, but Michael's mother had prevailed, and
Reba had seen little point in getting into a fight over it. Now, when she
stepped from the revolving door into the lobby, she came to a dead stop, gaping.

The lobby was immense, on several levels, part of the floor purple and green
marble, part of it grape-colored plush carpet. There were many crystal
chandeliers, dozens of arrangements of green and gold sofas and chairs, black
marble table tops, black marble counters... And scurrying about were several
dozen men in funny hats, some wearing striped engineers' overalls, some carrying
oil cans, some carrying parts of train sets, others laying track. Half of the
lobby was roped off with gold velvet ropes and behind the barrier the men were
laying out miniature railroads.

The revolving door revolved and someone bumped Reba from behind; she began to
walk toward the information counter. She paused at the bulletin board announcing
current events. A rather fat bald man moved a little to one side to make room
for her. A convention of train buffs, she realized, was happening this weekend.
Also a conference of scientists and computer people. A golden wedding
anniversary party dance, other events. Near the bottom of the list the
announcement of her wedding party, to be held in the Blue Heron Room. At least
that part was okay, she decided, and continued toward the information counter.

The clerk at the counter called Mr. Warner, who would be out in just a minute.
Leaning against the counter, waiting, she watched the railroad buffs setting up
a maze of tracks complete with tunnels, bridges, switching yards. A lot of
onlookers were calling out encouragement,, giving advice, heckling.... And up on
the mezzanine another group of spectators was laughing, pointing, nudging one
another. The computer people, she thought; their meeting rooms were all on the
mezzanine level. They looked very young for the most part, dressed in jeans,
sweatshirts, with too-long hair.... Stereotypes all, she mocked herself. Then
she noticed that one of the upper-level spectators was gazing fixedly at
something other than the trains, something that held him with rapt attention,
apparently. She turned to see what it was and was shocked to see the lab
technician whose day she had ruined talking to the old bald man near the
bulletin board.

The older man was red-faced, furious looking; the other man more abject, more
miserable than before, his head ducked, hands twitching at his sides, not saying
a word. Abruptly the bald man turned and stalked away; the young man followed,
keeping a few steps behind him.

Reba looked again at the mezzanine, but now the rail was just packed with the
young jeans-clad men. The one who had been watching the little scene at the
bulletin board was out of sight.

Then Mr. Warner appeared from his office and he held her hand with both of his
and called her my dear. Of course, it was no problem to seat two additional
people, he reassured her. She gave him the names to put on the new place cards,
Sonya and Robert Zucker, and if she had left it at that, she would have been
done with it in five minutes, but she added that Mrs. Zucker was her mother.

"Oh dear! We'll have to rearrange the entire seating plan!"

"No, we won't, lust put Mother down at Dr. Gilford's right, and Mr. Zucker at
her side, and leave the rest alone."

"No, no, my dear. It's customary to have the mother of the bride-to-be at one
end of the table, and the father of the groom-to-be at the other end. And of
course the happy couple side by side in the center with the bride-to-be closer
to her mother."

Very carefully she said, "I don't want my mother to take my aunt's place at the
head of the table. I don't care what is customary." The wedding party was for
the immediate families, the attendants, and, of course, the bride and groom,
twenty-two in all now. She wanted the New Guy as far away from her as possible.

"But the arrangements, the flowers, the little special things that make it so
very unique. Think of the photographs, your keepsakes.... Think how it would
look if you didn't honor your mother by letting her have her proper place."

She told him again how she wanted the seating arrangement, and he explained
again what was customary, and how bad it would look. People would think he
didn't know any better, and she said, "Mr. Warner, think how it would look if I
didn't pay for this dinner party!" But she knew she would have to arrive before
anyone else did, and make certain the place cards were where she intended them
to be.

She was cursing under her breath when she left him, her lunch hour blown. The
lobby was more crowded than before; more railroaders, more observers, more
people arriving with suitcases. People were clustered at the bulletin board.
Trying to ignore them all, she was heading for the revolving door when she
paused and looked at the group studying the current events. Among them was the
man she had seen on the mezzanine, the one who had been fascinated by the bald
man and the lab technician. Only she no longer believed he was a legitimate lab
technician.

The man she had been watching left the group, came to a halt and smacked himself
on the forehead. She distinctly heard him say, "Wow! Dummy! Of course!" He ran
toward the entrance of the hotel, didn't bother with the revolving door, but
pushed the heavy glass door open and ran out.

He didn't look crazy, she thought. He was nice looking, dark hair, not long
enough to be a computer guy, although he looked young enough to be one of them.
The clincher was that he was dressed in a sports coat and slacks, shirt open at
the neck, and real shoes, not in the computer nerd uniform of jeans, sweatshirt
and court shoes. He didn't look old enough to be a mad scientist, but maybe he
was working at it.

She shook her head, a mistake; her headache was back.

That afternoon was even more hectic than the morning had been, since there had
been yet another interruption when she had to arrange for maintenance to come
clean up broken glass. Her aunt called at three.

"Honey, I asked Jack to drop off a few things from the grocery for me. Can he
bring anything back there for you?"

Jack, her cousin, who was more like a brother to Reba, lived in Portland. For
him to go shopping for his mother, drive over the bridge and back again could
only mean that Sonya and the New Guy were hanging around; Aunt Rebecca didn't
dare go off and leave the house to them.

"Aren't they going out to shop or something?"

"In and out, in and out," Aunt Rebecca said lightly.

Within earshot, Reba guessed. She made up her mind quickly and told her aunt
about the place cards. "I have to get over there by six-thirty to make sure that
creep got the message. If you could slip away and put my dress and shoes and
stuff in a bag and ask Jack to bring it all over here to the hospital, I won't
even try to drive home, dress, and get back over that early. I'll go straight to
the hotel and dress there."

"No trouble, not at all," Aunt Rebecca said. "See you later."

People began to drift in to tell her goodbye, wish her bon voyage, congratulate
her, express envy, and she knew there would be no more work done that day. She
began to straighten out her desk, tried to call Michael again, and got his
machine again. He had called while she was out, naturally, and they had missed
each other throughout the day. He had worked that morning, post-op patients, he
had said with a sigh. He was an ophthalmologist, like his father, and worked in
the same clinic where his father played God as head of it all, and he had put in
a full week, just as she had done. Even if he had as much to do as she did, he
could have called, she thought angrily; she had been in the office all
afternoon. He didn't even know yet that her mother had turned up.

Two more co-workers came by and chatted a few minutes, left again. She regarded
a half-eaten sandwich on her desk with disgust and tossed it into the
wastebasket where shards of glass glinted. It was really Michael's fault, she
thought suddenly. This had been one of the worst days of her life and he was to
blame. When her lease expired in July she had suggested that she might move in
with him instead of going through the hassle of trying to find a new apartment,
moving; it would have to be on a monthly basis, not yearly as her old apartment
had been. She might be kicked out again any month. But he had shaken his head
and said gravely, "Darling, you don't realize the high regard my folks have for
you, how much it means to me that they are so crazy about you. But if we started
living together before the wedding.... Well, I don't think we should."

His father, she had thought bitterly, would not approve. Then, at her aunt and
uncle's urging, she had moved back to their house, back home. It would save her
a lot of money, and God knew she needed it. But if she were living in Michael's
apartment, just a few blocks from the New Columbian Hotel, she wouldn't be
waiting for Jack to sneak clothes to her, making her feel like a fugitive; there
would be a good safe distance between her and the new New Guy, time now to go
take a shower, relax a few minutes.

Jack appeared with a garment bag and a carry-on flight bag. He gave her a
conspiratory wink, and left again just as Zelda appeared in the doorway to bid
Reba a tearful goodbye.

The hotel lobby was a crush of people, four deep around the gold rope keeping
spectators away from the whizzing trains. A whistle sounded, and a bell....
Groups of people were standing around with drinks in their hands; it appeared
that most of the chairs were occupied, waiters were rushing around with
trays.... It was Happy Hour. Reba pushed her way through to the corridor that
led to the Blue Heron Room, and found the double doors closed and locked. She
went to the front desk jammed with people who evidently had just arrived.

The bell captain was busy directing traffic; the woman at the information
counter was swamped. Finally Reba stepped in front of a hurrying waiter. "I need
to get in the Blue Heron Room. Who can open the door for me?"

"Not until after six-thirty," he said, side-stepping around her. "Private party,
can't have people wandering in and out." He scurried away.

Resignedly she started to make her way back to the corridor. She saw the bald
man who had been in the lobby earlier and was startled when he detached himself
from a group, keeping his gaze fixed on her. She hurried out of the lobby to
find a women's room where she could change her clothes.

By the time she was changed, had found a cloakroom and checked her things, it
was past six-thirty; she had to push her way through the lobby once more, and
again she saw the bald man, this time talking to a young woman with frizzy blond
hair and a lot of makeup; both of them were watching her. They turned away
swiftly. What was he? Security or something? Did he think she was a jewel thief?
A pickpocket? Angrily, she continued to her own party room, and this time found
the doors unlocked. Two waitresses were fussing around the table when she
approached. She nodded to them, and began to pick up the place cards, more
furious than ever. That sneaky little bastard had arranged them to suit himself,
Sonya at one end of the table, Dr. Gilford at the other.

"You're not supposed to be in here yet, Miss," one of the waitresses said
timidly. "You can't move things around."

"I damn well can. It's my party!" She picked up two orchid corsages and moved
them to their proper places. She glared at the two women. "If you touch them or
tell anyone, I'll find you and wring your necks!"

The other waitress shrugged and said, "Fine with me."

Reba sat down to wait for her party to begin. Drinks at seven, dinner at eight,
out by eleven, she had promised Mr. Warner, and she only hoped out by eleven
would happen. After eleven quite a few of the guests would go up to the lounge
where there was live music, a dance floor, even a floor show on weekends. But
out by eleven would be more her speed, she thought tiredly.

A few minutes before eight there were twenty-two people in the room, immediate
family and wedding attendants, all talking at once. Sonya was charming the two
doctors, senior and junior, and Reba was carefully dodging the New Guy, keeping
out of his reach. She mouthed, "Powder room," to her aunt, slipped out, and
headed for the nearest women's room. A few minutes later, at the sink, she
reached up with both hands to smooth down her hair. Dr. Gilford always tousled
it as if she were a small child.

The door flew open and Sonya cried, "Darling, he's gorgeous! What a catch!"

At the same moment another voice said, "Hold still, there's something crawling
in your hair."

Reba whirled around to glare at her mother, and her elbow caught the other woman
in the face. She screamed piercingly.

Sonya cried, "She was attacking you!"

Reba stared at the woman, the frizzy-haired blond, who had her hand clapped to
her eye.

"I'm hurt! You hit me in the eye!"

"Mother, go get Michael." Sonya hurried out. Reba put her arm around the other
woman's shoulder and said, "Let's go out to a chair. Let you sit down. A
doctor's coming. I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry. I didn't even see you." She took the
woman out to a small alcove with several chairs and seated her there, then stood
patting her, trying to soothe her, or at least stop her from screaming again.

Michael came rushing down the corridor and he knelt on one knee before the
injured woman and gently took her hand away from her eye. She had smeared
mascara all over her face. "Let's have a look," he said. "See, the eye is a
marvelous invention. When something gets too near, it just automatically closes
down, shuts tight. You don't think about it; it just happens. A reflex." He
talked as he examined her eye, then he turned and said to someone behind Reba,
"Maybe you could go find some crushed ice and a plastic bag, and a couple of
small towels. Nothing serious here, just a little bump."

Reba turned to see the bald man staring at the woman, then at Reba. He looked
frightened. The woman saw him, too, and she yelled, "I quit! You can keep your
stinking work! I'm through!"

The man hurried away as Sonya and Aunt Rebecca appeared and Michael said in his
reassuring doctor's voice, "Go on back and tell the folks that it's a little
mishap, nothing serious. I won't be very long." He held up his hands with a
rueful expression. His fingers were black with mascara.

"I'll be there in a minute," Reba said and ducked back into the women's room.
She was shaking all over. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she was
deathly pale, like a person in shock. "I should have seen her," she said under
her breath. If the woman had come from the side, from behind, from anywhere at
all, Reba should have seen her reflection in the mirror, but she had seen
nothing. "I'm losing my mind," she whispered. She doused her face with cold
water, got a drink from a tiny cup, and gradually her shaking eased, some color
returned to her cheeks.

When she returned to the alcove, Michael was doing something with a plastic bag
of ice and the towel. He waved her away. "A few more minutes," he said.

She walked down the corridor again, then hesitated. Ahead, leaning against the
wall with his arms folded across his chest was the other man, the one she
thought of as the watcher, and he had a wide idiotic grin on his face. He gave
her a thumbs up sign and she felt her cheeks flare with heat. She hurried inside
the Blue Heron Room and was immediately surrounded by the party guests wanting
to know what happened.

"She was attacked by this perfectly strange woman and she defended herself
heroically!" Sonya cried. "I saw the whole thing. I'll be your witness when she
sues."

Someone put a glass of champagne in Reba's hand, and although she rarely drank
anything, she gulped it down. Sonya was going on about the attack, what she had
seen with her own eyes. "I think she had a knife, or maybe just scissors, or a
scalpel. Have there been serial murders in the area recently?"

Reba had a second glass of champagne, and since she had decided she was losing
her mind, she realized that although it seemed too long a time for Michael to be
gone, that could well be one of her symptoms, a time distortion of some sort.

Finally Michael reappeared. He took her in his arms and kissed her; there was
applause. Then he held up her hand and declared, "The winner! And still champ!
The loser has a shiner. Can we eat now?" There was more applause, and they began
to sort themselves out at the table.

The most miserable dinner of her life, Reba thought gloomily, waiting for
overcooked salmon to be removed, something else to be placed before her. Sonya,
at the senior Dr. Gilford's right, was working on him, and he was lapping it up
happily. Mrs. Gilford was not happy. The New Guy kept leaning forward to tell
Dr. Gilford about a mysterious recurring pain in his lower back. Michael kept
reassuring Reba in an undertone that she had not done any damage to the woman,
who, he said, was a graduate student Dr. Bressler had encouraged to attend the
scientific conference. Dr. Bressler didn't have any idea about what she had
meant by what she said. He was baffled, bewildered, at a loss. Michael went on
and on, and Reba caught a hastily erased expression of concern, or even pity, on
Aunt Rebecca's face. Her aunt had not been as happy as her mother was about this
engagement, the wedding tomorrow.

"Isn't it the most romantic place of all for a honeymoon!" Sonya was saying.
"Hawaii, the palm trees, warm water...."

"See, it just comes on without any warning. I'm fine, then whammo, right in the
lower back. Like a toothache."

"We told the baby sitter we'd be back before twelve."

"And then just the tiniest movement, a finger twitch or something, and it hits
you. The baby is there, it's moving."

"You wouldn't believe the estimates we've been getting for one lousy roof, not
even a whole roof, a section. All over the map...."

She smiled and smiled until her face hurt. When she raised her glass she used
elaborate caution. No more accidents. The third one would be fatal, that's how
it worked. The dessert of flaming cherries jubilee filled her with dread. She
might start a fire, burn down the hotel and everyone in it. How had she managed
to get through a tiny dog door? The last day of her life. The toasts started and
she sneaked a glance at her watch. It was eleven-thirty. Mr. Warner would charge
a bundle for going overtime. The happiest day of her life would start in half an
hour. They would have a house in the country, where the kids could have ponies.
Two or even three children, that's what Michael wanted, and for them to start a
family right away, and she had agreed, but right away? He was thirty-six, it was
time, he had said. As soon as his father knew he was really settled down he
planned to retire, let Michael run the whole shebang. But right away? His father
had been afraid Michael was gay, he had hinted; he had to prove something.

"Let's go up to the cafe and have a few quiet minutes after this is over,"
Michael said softly. "I'll take you home later."

"I have my car here."

"But you're in no shape to drive it," he said with a grin. "I've never seen you
drink before, or look so happy before, either."

She smiled and smiled. But he was right; she couldn't drive, and she was
terrified of getting in a car with the new New Guy. She nodded. And finally it
was over, and Michael told her mother and Aunt Rebecca that he would bring Reba
home later.

"I'll wait up for you, darling," Sonya said. "Don't be too late. You need a
little rest before. You know."

The New Guy was singing "Get Me to the Church on Time"; there were hugs and
kisses and gradually the room emptied. Michael took her hand and they walked out
to the corridor, to the lobby and the elevators, to go to the cafe on the third
floor.

Some of the wedding guests were going up also, heading for the lounge and the
floor show, also on the third floor. They tried to talk Michael and Reba into
joining them, but he shook his head. "Quiet time," he said, holding her, and she
simply leaned against him, too tired to add a word.

They walked past the lounge; music followed them down the hallway around the
corner and to the door of the cafe. Inside, the room was quiet, with a low hum
of voices, and it was dimly lighted. Michael started to lead her toward a
high-backed booth, but she pulled away and pointed to the tables by the wide
windows, where she could look out and see the city lights and the reflections of
lights on the river. She sank into her chair and breathed out a long sigh.

The waiter appeared instantly. "Double espresso," she said.

"Two," Michael said. "Decaf."

"Not mine. I need a shot of caffeine or I'll fall asleep sitting up with my eyes
open."

The waiter left.

"Tough day?"

She nodded.

"Me too. You know that woman you slugged?"

"I didn't slug her. It was an accident."

"Oh, right. Well, the fellow I was talking to, her mentor, is pretty
interesting. He's a famous scientist, overdue for the Nobel for work in
genetics. We chatted a couple of minutes."

She yawned widely.

"I've read about him for years, and his articles turn up all the time in
journals. Reba, are you hearing a word?"

She had been watching how the reflections broke when invisible boats passed
through them. "Sorry," she said. "I'm listening. Oh, good, the coffee."

The waiter put slender clear-glass cups down and withdrew; the cups reflected
candlelight that turned the coffee deep red.

She lifted her cup and sipped; the coffee was too hot to drink yet, but she
liked the way the candlelight shone through it.

"Reba, he asked me to help him with his work," Michael said. "Can you believe
it! It's like Einstein asking someone for help with his equation. Actually, he
wants both of us to help him."

Very carefully she set down her cup. She felt tingling all over, as if that one
sip of espresso had revitalized every nerve in her body. "What do you mean?"

"He'll even credit me for assistance. You can remain anonymous, of course; no
one wants to invade your privacy."

"What does he want?"

"Just a drop or two of blood, so he can examine the DNA, find a certain gene
he's --"

"No."

"It won't be more than a pinprick. You've stuck yourself more pruning roses.
I'll swab off the tip of your finger --"

"No!"

He pulled a thin plastic package from his pocket, unzipped it, and drew out
another slim package and as he started to unroll it, she could see instruments
gleaming. A test tube, slides. "It won't take a minute, then a kiss to make it
well."

"Michael, I said no. Put that stuff away. No!"

"Reba, be reasonable. It's not a big deal, just one little pinprick. Think what
it would mean for me. I'm tired of walking in my father's shadow; this could be
important for me."

He reached across the table for her hand, and she jerked away, upsetting her
coffee that had looked like blood, but was simply a spreading brown puddle on
the white tablecloth. In a continuous motion with the reflexive jerk of her
hand, she jumped to her feet and started toward the door. Suddenly she stopped,
and, feeling almost like a somnambulist, she returned to the table where Michael
was hurriedly stuffing everything back in his pocket. He took his wallet out,
fumbled for a bill. Wordlessly she pulled off her diamond ring and laid it in
the pool of coffee, and then walked out fast.

"Reba! Wait up! Hold it! Forget the whole thing."

She kept walking fast, out the door, down the corridor to the turn. Some train
buffs were coming from the lounge, regrouping in the corridor, talking,
laughing, carrying drinks. She did not slow down.

"Reba, for God's sake, stop! Let me explain."

She plowed straight through the group at the lounge. One of the men yelped and
spilled his drink. She kept walking.

"Reba! Stop acting like a child! Stop this nons --"

There was a crashing sound and someone yelled, a woman screamed. Now Reba
stopped and turned to look. Michael was sprawled on the floor. She shook from
head to toe; she had done it again. Another accident. The third one, the fatal
one. Slowly now she began to walk back toward the group. One of the men was
kneeling at Michael's side; someone else said in a loud voice, "He slipped on
the ice." Then a cat leaped out of the lounge and pushed its way through to
Michael. Reba blinked hard. A woman in a body suit with leopard spots. The woman
pushed the man away from Michael and cried, "Mikey! Get an ambulance! Call nine
one one. Someone do something! Mikey! Baby, open your eyes!"

Reba took another step.

Michael stirred and groaned. He tried to push himself up from the floor and
groaned again, louder. "I think my leg's broken." He looked around dazedly, then
said, "Crystal!"

She pulled his head to her breast and held him, crooning softly. "You'll be all
right. An ambulance is on the way. Don't try to move, baby." He closed his eyes
and didn't try to move.

Reba took one more step. Then she saw the bald man, the scientist, and he held
up both hands before him, as if to ward her off, to defend himself. He backed up
a step or two, turned and ran. The other one, the watcher, was leaning against
the wall, laughing.

She turned around and walked again until she came to a wide staircase and
followed it down until it ended on the mezzanine. There were only a few people
there now watching the trains that continued to whiz around, up and over
trestles that crossed streams, through tunnels, blowing whistles, ringing bells.
She leaned against the rail and watched the trains.

"I'd choose that blue and silver one with the smokestack," someone said.

"Me, too. A nice slow train to nowhere in particular. Why have you been
following me?" She glanced at him then.

"Not you. I've been keeping an eye on Bressler, and he's been watching you, so
there I was, too. Her name's Crystal Spring. She's a dancer."

"Ah."

"And you're Rebecca Cameron."

"I know."

"And your aunt is also Rebecca Cameron. That's what had me confused."

"Is this a guessing game? Am I supposed to try to guess what your name is ?"

"No. I'm Tony Manetti."

"With the computer gang?"

"Not really. I work for a journal that covers meetings like this for a monthly
feature. I'm on assignment."

They became silent as a siren sounded closer and closer, then abruptly stopped.

"He isn't hurt bad. Just a broken leg," Tony Manetti said. "I don't think it
will slow him down much."

"I think you're right."

"What did he try to do?"

"Get a drop of blood, or maybe two. That's all."

"A drop today, a pint tomorrow. Who knows where it would end? Are you hungry?
Want a hamburger? There's a pretty good place down the street about a block."

She glanced down at her party dress. "I have to get my jacket."

"Here," he said, pulling off his sport coat. "It's not very far." Holding it,
she said, "You know what this is all about, don't you?" "Yes. Tell you the whole
story over a hamburger and a shake. Deal?" She put on his coat. "Deal."

THE HAMBURGER joint was busy; a lot of the computer nerds were there, talking
and eating, drawing diagrams or something on napkins .... Several of them waved
to Tony when he and Reba entered. A couple of them motioned to Tony to join
them. He waved back and kept walking.

"You understand what they're talking about? You go to their panels, all that?"
Reba slid into a booth and he sat opposite her.

"Not a single one. How it works is they give me copies of their papers, their
presentations, and I read them in the privacy of my own home, write my
summation, and I'm done for the month."

They ordered hamburgers with everything, fries, and chocolate shakes, and then
she said, "So tell me about that crazy man, the bald mad scientist."

"You up for a dose of genetics?" She rolled her eyes and he grinned. "I'll try
to keep it short. Bressler has done a lot of important work in the field, but a
few years ago he came up with a theory he's been obsessed with ever since. He
believes that certain people have genetic material, one or more genes that act
as guardians. The carriers of those genes have what look like miraculous escapes
from death or at least serious injury. If genes themselves are immortal, as is
generally accepted now, this particular genetic string has endured through the
ages, and continues to get passed on, and he's hot on the trail of some people
he's identified as having the right characteristics to qualify as carriers. Like
girls who crawl out of a burning house through a doorway too small for them to
fit through. He's trying to get DNA material from those people so he can
identify the gene or genes, isolate them, and go on from there."

She was shaking her head in disbelief. "He thinks I'm a carrier?"

"He's certain of it."

"That's insane. A lot of people have lucky escapes from danger. You read about
them all the time. Just plain ordinary people who got lucky."

"He narrowed his field of research to those who have had at least three such
escapes. Under three he's willing to concede that it's coincidence, or luck, or
guardian angel, or whatever. But three or more? He wants to have a look at their
DNA."

Their food came and she was starved, and apparently so was he. They ate in
silence; she kept trying to make sense of what he had told her, and could find
no sense in any of it. Then, with most of the hamburger gone, and only a few
fries remaining, she said, "Why doesn't he just go to those people and ask for a
sample of blood or something? Most people cooperate if they know it's for a good
purpose, good research. People volunteer all the time; I see them at work every
day, trying out new drugs, being tested for this or that."

"Not these people," Tony said. He was grinning. "It seems that every time he
sends out one of his graduate students to get a sample, an accident happens. The
genes don't want to be collected."

"Oh, God," she said with a groan. "Crazier and crazier. Okay, so he believes
that, but he's mad. What do you believe? And how do you know so much about it?
Did he tell you? Have you written about it?"

"One question at a time," Tony protested. "Last summer at a conference like this
one he handed me a stack of his research papers. He wanted me to help get a DNA
sample, and he told me a little about his project. The next day he yanked the
papers back and said more or less to forget it. But I had copied all the papers,
and I read them. That's how I know about it. Over the summer I visited a few of
his subjects, talked to them, and they all fit the profile. Only children.
Miraculous escapes. Never really sick. Never gain too much weight, or lose it.
None of them would volunteer for any testing, or donate blood. And curious
accidents happen to anyone who tries to sneak a sample." He laughed. "I
witnessed part of your day. Was there anything else?"

She told him about the phony lab technician, and the accident in the women's
room, and he laughed louder. "But wait a minute," she said. "If you know people
are going to have accidents if they get near me, why aren't you afraid?"

"Because I'm not after your blood. The genes aren't afraid of me."

She shook her head. "You keep saying things like that. The genes cause
accidents? They're aware of danger? Come on! Give me a break."

"You tell me something," Tony said seriously then. "Why did you come out with me
tonight? The middle of the night, a strange man, and you didn't even hesitate.
Why did you even notice Bressler today? That lobby was crawling with fat bald
men. Why did you notice me? I look like dozens of guys who come and go in a mob
scene like that hotel." She realized she couldn't tell him. She didn't know why.

"I fell out of a barn loft and walked away from it," he said. "Lightning hit a
boat I was in and two guys were killed. I swam to shore. I was shot twice;
either one would have been fatal if I hadn't moved at exactly the right second.
They were just grazes instead."

She stared at him. "Why isn't he after your blood?"

"He doesn't know about me. I didn't make the newspapers the way you did."

Slowly then she said, "Let's understand one thing. I don't believe a word of
this. I think it's insane. But if you do believe it, and if you know he's
legitimate, that he's doing real research into something that could be
important, why don't you just go to him and volunteer your DNA?"

"Why didn't you let your ex-fiance get a drop of blood tonight?"

"I don't know," she said.

"Neither do I. I don't think we can volunteer. The genes don't want to be
discovered."

She stared at him as a shiver raised goose bumps on her arms. "Why not?" she
asked in a low voice.

"I don't know."

"Eventually he'll find a way to get a sample," she said after a moment. "There
has to be a way, even if he has to use force. Or bribery, like with Michael. If
he hadn't tried to get the drop of blood then and there .... He probably would
have succeeded after we were married. Then what?"

"I don't know. But I don't think you would have been allowed to marry him after
he became a threat. Why did you say yes in the first place?"

She didn't even remember how she had answered that question when her aunt asked.
Slowly she said, "I kept waiting and waiting for something. I didn't know what
it was. Then I thought you could wait all your life, but nothing ever happens.
He asked and I said yes."

"I never dated an eligible girl or woman in my life," Tony said softly.

"Apparently I didn't either."

His hand was on the table, palm up. With fascination she watched her own hand
move, not because she was willing it to, or had even thought of moving it, but
it reached out and came to rest in his hand, the first time they had touched
each other. She closed her eyes hard and swallowed hard. His grip tightened and
when she opened her eyes she saw that he had paled and his eyes were closed. He
swallowed hard and opened his eyes.

"Sometimes," he said huskily, "something happens."

It was three o'clock in the morning of the happiest day of her life.