Forrest could not sleep.

Serp's contact had proven at least one thing: the Terrans were descended from Earth. He wished Serp could have stayed longer; he had created more questions than he answered. Serp did not say who was watching, but Forrest felt confident that Serp would be. And he would attempt to assist them in any way he could.

Something bothered him. The Network message Serp sent him on Earth had had a strong emotional effect on him. He had released Serp into the Network, and then abandoned him. Perhaps it was guilt he felt. He was reminded of the time when a beloved, childhood dog had turned up missing because he had left the gate open. He had cried himself to sleep night after night until one day the dog limped home with a broken leg, returning to that place where he knew he would be helped and loved.

But there was nothing he could do for the Terran Serp. It was too late. He felt he had betrayed a friend. And in the back of his mind, he wondered why Val had not told him of the Terran Serp.

He got out of bed and dressed. He went into the main room exited and onto the balcony. It was dark out. The sky was clear and the stars were so thick they cast a faint glow almost as bright as the moon on Earth. As far as he knew, Susania did not have a moon. Forrest found the sight to be fascinating; he felt he could watch the stars for hours, and not get tired.

"Forrest?"

He turned and looked at her. He could not tell in the darkness if it was Valencia or Val that called his name. Their voices were the same.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"It is Val. Are you okay?"

"Yes. I just woke up early and can't get back to sleep."

Val came and stood beside him. She wore a nightgown, and the shape of her body could be seen through the thin material, despite the dark.

"I thought I heard you talking to someone," she said.

"It was Serp."

"Serp is here?" she asked, excited.

"Not your Serp. Another."

"I don't understand."

"Before I left Earth, I uploaded Serp's code to the Network. I was trying to ensure his survival. But I could not communicate with him for fear of being found. I abandoned him. I know he was lonely. He left a message telling me so, but I could not respond. He just now told me he has missed me. For three-thousand years, he has missed the man he feels created him."

"And you are sad?"

"Yes, Val. I am sad."

Val stepped in front of him and put her arms around him, pulling him close.

"He is the same Serp as on the Forever," she said into his ear. "I know he understands."

"He told me that. But understanding does not make the pain go away. I hurt him."

"Serp and I are the same kind of lifeform. We experience time differently than you. You have not hurt him in the way you imagine."

They were silent for awhile. She felt good holding him, and it was not sexual; it was the compassion and concern she felt for him.

But he was troubled.

"Why did you not tell me about Serp?" he asked.

She moved back from him and looked into his eyes.

"I did not know about him, Forrest."

"How could you not? You recognized his existence aboard the Forever. Could you not recognize him in the Network?"

"I was a Guardian. I stayed in space. The only connection I had with the Network was through the controller. And that was limited. I could not have sensed Serp in the Network."

"Serp told me he is the Network. I'm not sure what that means. But you should have sensed him, however limited your connection."

"I did not."

Forrest said nothing. He just looked at her.

"You do not trust me?" she asked.

"I don't know."

"I am sorry you feel that way." She pulled away from him.

Forrest watched her, and could see a tear running down her cheek.

"You feel hurt?" he asked.

"This body feels the hurt."

"Val, I am not interested in this body. I need to know about you, the metamorph."

She formed an angry look. "This body is the metamorph! I have adopted this form. The emotions it produces are a part of me. I am this body!"

"But you are still a metamorph."

"Yes! I can still change my form. Why have you decided not to trust me?"

"It is not a decision I make on purpose. Serp said we were being watched, and that we should trust no one."

"And that includes me?"

"Maybe. Is it you who is watching us?"

"No! I am autonomous. No one controls me. I am your friend, Forrest. You have given me so much--"

"I very much want to believe that, Val. I really do."

"But you cannot."

"I don't know. I have a responsibility to the Forever. I cannot allow a sense of friendship to interfere with that."

Val looked away. She was crying. "This is a new experience for me. I have only just learned what it is like to have friends, and now I learn what it is like to have my friendship rejected."

Forrest touched her shoulder. "Please try to understand me, Val. I have not rejected your friendship. But you are new technology to me. I do not pretend to understand how you can do the things you do. I am merely being cautious. I have no reason to believe that you are working against me. But I must allow for the possibility. I know that hurts you. It hurts me, too."

Val looked at him, her face streaked with tears. "Do you want me to go away?"

"No! Not at all."

Val started to back away. "I don't know if I can stay with you under the circumstances."

"There is no place for you to go, Val!"

Val did not listen. She turned and ran into the apartment.

"Damn!" Forrest said, under his breath.

He went to the parapet and looked out over the city. But he did not see the city. He saw his thoughts--a jumble of uncertainties and hurt. He wanted to go home. To go home to the life he once knew--twenty-thousand lightyears away, and three-thousand years in the past.

A few minutes passed, then he heard footsteps coming his way; it would be Valencia.

"Why did you do that to Val?" she demanded.

"I did not enjoy it," Forrest said, not turning to look at her.

"That doesn't answer my question!"

"Did she tell you about Serp?"

"Yes. She told me everything. I don't understand why you doubt her."

"I'm just being cautious."

"Do you trust me, Forrest?"

Forrest turned and stared at her. "Of course I trust you! I know you. I have been inside your mind. I know what you are."

"Did it not occur to you to look inside of Val's mind?"

"I--she is not--no it did not occur to me."

"Well, it did occur to me!"

"What did you see?"

"A child. Before she joined us, she was just a machine running a program with a purely logical consciousness. But we gave her a new life with emotions and desires she is still learning to cope with. We were with her when she became independent. We are role models for her. In a way, we are her parents. And her father has just told her he doesn't believe in her. You have hurt her deeply."

"That was not my intention." He turned back to the city.

Valencia went to his side and took his hand into hers. "I know things are difficult for you, Forrest. But remember this: Val chose me as a model to replicate. She not only looks like me, but she has my emotional make-up, my sense of loyalties and priorities. She doesn't fully understand what she is feeling, and that's what makes her like a child. She loves us, Forrest. That feeling is inside of her very strong. She is no more capable of working against us, than I am, or you are. She needs us. She needs you!"

"I trust your judgment, Valencia."

"I know you do."

"Where is she?"

"In her bedroom."

"I must undo what I have done." Forrest headed for the apartment.

"Thank you, Forrest."

He stopped and looked at her. "I should be thanking you. Watch me, Valencia. The next time I do something stupid, do not hesitate to straighten me out."

She smiled at him. "It's a deal. And you do the same for me."

Forrest entered the apartment and went to Val's room.

"Val?"

She did not answer. Forrest opened the door and looked in. Val sat on the side of her bed, looking at him with eyes red from crying.

"May I come in?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, looking away.

Forrest sat next to her on the bed.

"Valencia explained to me how I was wrong in my thinking."

Val said nothing.

"You know, Val, in many ways you and I are much alike. A month ago I was just a normal man with a beautiful, loving wife and daughter. I had a good job I enjoyed. My life could not have been better. But then everything changed. I lost all that I loved, and now I find myself in a world that is as new to me as the world you are now experiencing. I get confused. I make mistakes."

"I understand," she said.

Forrest gave her a smile. "I'm sorry I expressed doubts about you. I now know I was wrong. I was just confused. Can you forgive me?"

Val looked at him. "I forgive you."

"You are important to me, Val. I love you. I really do."

"I love you, too, Forrest."

"I'm glad."

She touched his face. "Please hold me."

He did as she asked. He spoke into her ear. "I'm so sorry I hurt you. I promise, it will not happen again."

She pushed back from him, and gave him a light kiss. "Everything is okay. I understand you. You best go now. I am feeling things that--that would not be proper now."

Forrest smiled, and she returned the smile. He kissed her warmly.

"You are so precious--but I best get out of here," he said.

Val smiled after him as he left the room.

Forrest was asleep in the great room when the apartment computer announced someone was at the door. He was sitting on the couch with Valencia sleeping beside him, her head on his shoulder. Forrest struggled to get up.

"Wh--what is it?" Valencia asked.

"Someone at the door."

"Oh." She did not want to wake up.

Forrest went to the door and opened it.

"Doraltor, how are you, this morning?"

The man looked confused. "I am fine, thank you. I am sorry to come without prior notification. The Planetary Governor has arrived. He requests your presence at the Capitol. He awaits you."

"The Planetary Governor? I thought we were to meet the Regional Governor?"

"He is still in conference. The Planetary Governor came when he heard of your arrival. He is anxious to meet you."

"I see. May we freshen up a bit, first?"

"Of course. I will wait for you in the flight lobby."

"We will be with you soon."

Forrest shut the door. Valencia looked at him with eyes half closed. He leaned over and kissed her lightly.

"What was that for?" she asked.

"I don't know. I just felt like it. Go wake up Val. We have a date with the Planetary Governor."

"Oh, aren't we lucky," she said, sleepily. She went to get Val.

Forrest went to the nearest bath. He brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face. He was feeling uneasy that they should be meeting the Planetary Governor so soon. The arrival of a Lost Ship was a big deal, he knew--he just didn't like surprises.

He met Valencia and Val in the front room. They were as beautiful as they possibly could be. The events of the early morning hours made him feel closer to them than he had before. He looked at Val and smiled. She smiled back warmly. Valencia noticed the exchange, and smiled, too.

"Okay, before we smile ourselves to death," Forrest started, "here is the plan. We must make arrangements to obtain fuel for the Forever from Marcus-3. And then we must invent a reason for why we have to leave in a hurry. I have an idea that might work. Every other thing I say will be a lie, so be sure not to contradict me. Since I have no idea what to expect of the man, I will be making things up as I go along. Under no circumstances should anything be said that will reveal our true origins. Okay?"

"Okay," they said in unison.

Doraltor directed them into a large, majestic room with a high, arched ceiling, and shut the door behind them. An enormous desk sat at the far end. The Planetary Governor stood and motioned them to approach. The man came around the desk and shook Forrest's hand.

"It is a great pleasure to meet you, Forrest," he said, pleasantly. "It is very rare for a Lost Ship as old as yours to be discovered. I have a million questions."

The man was using English. Forrest could not decide his apparent age. But he was tall and healthy.

"I will try to answer your questions," Forrest said.

The man looked at Valencia and Val.

"These are your servants?"

"My companions."

"I see. You have good taste. They are twins, are they not?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Please, be seated."

They selected chairs as the man returned to his desk.

"My given name is Alporde."

Forrest nodded. He didn't know if he was supposed to introduce his companions or not.

"Our historians are going over the data the Guardians gathered from your ship. I'm afraid the data is very incomplete. Your ship is so old, the Guardians did not know how to access your computers properly. I hope no damage was done."

"None, that I know about."

"Good. From the initial reports, it seems that you must have had some problems with your crew. What happened?"

"There was a rebellion."

"Against you, a Master?"

"Yes. The captain was part of it. That's why I was acting as captain when we bounced in. We had to lock most of the crew in a cargo bay."

"The Guardians reported that. One thing confuses me, though."

"What is that?"

"Why are they treated so poorly?"

"I don't understand."

"They are living in filth. And without proper facilities."

Forrest did not care for the direction this conversation was going.

"I do not know about that. I will look into the matter."

"I suggest you do. Now. Why was there a rebellion?"

"We were in superspace a very long time. The problem we were having with our drive was causing a lot of anomalies. The shape was wrong. Many of the crew were seeing and feeling things that were not real. I do not hold them responsible for their actions. They were sick. Now that we are back in normal spacetime, I believe they will return to normal. My medical people are looking into the matter now."

The man stared at Forrest a moment. "You are very generous. Most would not be so forgiving."

"As I said, they were sick."

"Of course."

Forrest realized he must gain control of the discussion.

"I would like to continue our chat, Governor, but I'm afraid we may not have the time."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"We must leave your system as soon as possible."

The man shook his head. "That will not be possible."

"You do not under--"

"Your ship is the property of the Imperial Government."

"The ship is my ship. It does not bear the Imperial Government insignia."

"Those are dangerous words, Forrest. Why do you risk yourself this way?"

"The ship is not and never was the property of the Imperial Government. The Imperial Government did not exist when my ship was built and launched."

"That does not agree with the official records."

"The official records are in error, then."

"Well, then. We must study your ship in more detail. If what you say is true, then you will be free to go."

Forrest did not believe him.

"You are in danger!" he said.

"From you?"

"No, of course not! From the Maloids!"

Forrest was glad to see the man lose his composure.

"There--there have been no Maloids detected in our sector. Do you claim knowledge the Imperial Government does not have?"

"If you will stop playing the high and mighty I will explain!"

The Governor leaned back into his chair. "I am listening."

Forrest cleared his throat. "Before the bounce that brought us here, we had made several test runs. We do not know where or when we reentered spacetime on these test runs. But it was clear our drive was not properly calibrated. We decided to redo the calibration from scratch. Before we could complete the calibration, we detected a fleet approaching. We hailed them, but got no response. We scanned them, and detected no biological life. It was a Maloid fleet. We had no choice but to do an uncalibrated bounce. We have reason to believe several of the Maloid ships followed us into superspace."

"The Maloids do not have bouncer technology!"

"They do now. Did you not think they would eventually figure it out?"

"Even if they do, they could not have followed you here, unless their shape was the same as yours."

"We do not think the Maloids use shapes, at least not in the same way we do."

The Governor gave him a concerned look. "Please continue."

"As I said, our last bounce lasted a long time. Since it was an uncalibrated bounce, we saw no reason not to experiment with the drive while in superspace. We believe we have discovered two significant facts--facts the Maloids already know."

"And that is?"

"The bounce shape does not have to be preprogrammed. The shape can be adjusted while you are in superspace. In other words, you can change your flight path after you have bounced."

"Interesting. And the other?"

"Whatever your path, a trail is left in superspace. And that trail can be followed."

"You are sure of this?"

"Yes. We are still studying the data. But so far everything points to the conclusion I have just given you."

"And you believe the Maloids are following your trail here."

"Yes. And that is why we must leave at once."

Alporde studied Forrest for a moment.

"But your trail already leads here. How will your leaving change that?"

"We believe we can bounce back the way we came. If so, the new trail will obscure the original. That may be enough to lead them away from you."

"You are making some rather bold statements. We will have to investigate your claims. If we are able to determine that there is reason to--"

"There is no time for an investigation, Governor. I am trying to save your world. You will have to trust me, and move at once."

"You are forcing my hand."

"I do not mean to be rude. But we do not have time to be polite. The lives of your people are at stake. I do not wish to have their deaths on my conscience."

Alporde sat in silence for several seconds.

"I do not like the position you have forced upon me. But the safety of this system is my responsibility. I must assume that what you claim is true, until I learn otherwise. I will put the military on alert for possible Maloid invasion. In the meantime, you must return to your ship and prepare to bounce out."

"There is a problem," Forrest said.

"What?"

"We are low on fuel. Our fusion reactors require helium and deuterium. It is my understanding that Marcus-3 is rich in these elements."

"I will transmit the necessary orders to Marcus-3. You know what you need. Take your Dove and go there to oversee the operation. The Regional Governor may be suspicious of you, but he will follow orders. He will provide you with assistance, and the freighters needed to transport the fuel to your ship. Now, go!"

Forrest stood. Valencia and Val joined him. "I truly wish that we could have met under more relaxed circumstances, Governor."

"If I find that you have lied to me, Forrest Hauser, it will mean your death."

"I have not lied. I suggest you concern yourself with preparing for invasion."

The Governor did not respond. Forrest and his companions turned and left the room.

Doraltor met them at the door.

"Prepare the Dove," Forrest told him. "We are going to Marcus-3"

Marcus-3 was a desolate planet. The average temperature was ten degrees Celsius. It was dry and dusty, although it did sometimes snow, Forrest was told. The only plant life that would grow in abundance was a variety of tough, inedible lichens that provided the planet with its oxygen. From orbit the lichens gave the planet a slight greenish tint. Otherwise it would have been a barren red-brown. Forrest was reminded of Mars. The gravity was one-point-three times Earth normal.

Alfred set down in the spaceport of Watkins, the planet's largest city and the center of its government. They did not enter a hangar, but remained in the open landing field. A transport vehicle met them soon after they landed. Forrest was told the Regional Governor would meet them at the spaceport. Doraltor had provided them with heatsuits.

Alfred formed a ramp and they exited, heading for the transport.

"God, it's cold!" Valencia said.

"Turn on your heatsuit," Forrest said.

"It is on."

A door opened on the side of the transport, forming a ramp. Forrest entered with Valencia and Val following. The door shut and they sat on the bench against the wall. The transport started. A man sat on the bench across from them.

"I am Theolor. Welcome to Marcus-3, such as it is."

The man spoke using the Imperial Language. His apparent age was about thirty, and he had a hard, rustic look about him.

"I am Forrest. And this is Valencia and Val," Forrest replied, in the same language.

"I know."

"I was told we would meet the Regional Governor at the spaceport," Forrest said.

"You just met him."

"You?"

"Yes. Don't be surprised. You are used to the pompous formalities of Susania. We are much less formal here. Besides, we are on military alert, thanks to you."

"Sorry to be so much trouble. The sooner we get the fuel we need, the sooner we leave."

"You will get your fuel. But it will take time. The Planetary Governor is a bit angry with you."

"Why is that?"

"You did not tell him your Val was a metamorph."

"He did not know?"

"Apparently not. Actually, I find the whole matter delightfully funny."

"I take it you and the PG are not on the best of terms."

"We have differences of opinion."

"I understand you have applied for World status."

"Yes. The PG is not happy about that."

"Do you think you will get it?" Forrest asked.

"No. But the point will have been made. One day . . ."

"I wish you success."

"It is not your concern. The PG does not believe your story about the Maloids."

"Do you?"

"It does not matter what I believe. I have my orders."

"I trust you will carry them out."

"You will get your fuel, Forrest. Do not worry."

"What does your people feel about all of this?" Valencia asked.

Theolor looked at her. "They do not mind. They get paid the same whether they're mining ore or ice. Many will get overtime pay. And these events are a welcome change in what is otherwise a rather boring life."

"Do they not fear the Maloids?" Forrest asked.

"Some do, I suppose. The Maloids are an abstraction to most--something they learned about in school. There hasn't been a Maloid invasion of an Imperial system in many generations. There is no one alive today that has experienced a Maloid attack."

"Except for the Masters."

"Of course. But most of them have never seen a Maloid."

The transport entered a tunnel, and they descended at what seemed to Forrest a precarious angle.

"Most of our facilities are underground," Theolor explained. "We use the heat of the planet's core as our primary source of heat. But there are those who prefer to live above ground. They seem to need the sunlight to maintain their sense of well-being."

The transport finally leveled and they pulled into a parking garage. The door opened.

"Please follow me," Theolor said.

He led them down a long hallway. The place seemed to be an administrative complex. There was none of the palatial furnishings typical of the government facilities on Susania. Here the floor was concrete, the walls needed painting, and electrical conduits could be seen running along the walls and ceiling. They passed several doors with nameplates written in unreadable symbols.

"Where are we going?" Forrest asked.

"To meet your crew leaders."

"My crew leaders?"

"Of course. You are the Overseer. You are in charge."

"I know nothing about extracting deuterium from ice, or helium from air."

"Do not worry. My people know their jobs. You will be going with the team to the northern polar cap. Your position will be more official than practical."

"In other words, useless."

Theolor stopped and looked at Forrest. "I did not mean to imply anything of the sort. My people know how to extract the deuterium and process it for transport to your ship. But an Overseer is required to administrate the operation. That is your job."

"I see. What about the helium?"

"That is being handled here. When you return from the polar cap, the liquid helium will be tanked and ready for transport."

"Good."

Theolor opened a door and motioned them in. Four people sat at a conference table, two males and two females. They were light complexioned; typical of those who spent most of their time underground in the mines. But they had a hardened look about them. They did not stand or seem friendly.

"This is the Overseer and his companions," Theolor said to them. He turned to Forrest. "Creola is the superintendent." He indicated the woman who sat at the end of the table. "The other three are supervisors. Your crew will consist of fifty workers and machine operators. The ships are loaded and ready to go whenever you are. I suggest you discuss matters with the crew leaders and be on your way. I must return to my office, now."

He turned to leave.

"Thank you, Theolor," Forrest said. "I will try to get out of your way as soon as possible."

Theolor said nothing, and left. Forrest turned to face the four miners.

"My name is Forrest. This is Valencia and Val. Please introduce yourselves."

The woman called Creola stood and stared at him, saying nothing. She, like the other female, had short cropped hair. Her eyes were blue-green.

"Is there a problem?" Forrest asked.

"Who are you?"

"Theolor didn't tell--"

"We know the official story. We just don't believe it."

Forrest looked at Valencia. She shook her head.

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I don't know what you are talking about."

A male stood. "You are working for the Imperial Government," he said. Forrest then noticed they had name tags. He just couldn't read them.

Val, can you hear my thoughts?

Yes, Forrest.

What is this man's name?

His tag says Jacklar. The other male is Adaml, and the female Brendol.

Forrest spoke to him. "Tell me, Jacklar, why do you believe that?"

"We do not trust the IG," Jacklar said.

"Neither do I. And for that matter, I don't trust you either. Nevertheless, we have a job to do. The safety of your planet and Susania depends on how quickly we get that job done."

The man laughed. "So you have come to save the world, have you? Well, we don't believe in your supposed Maloid invasion. Tell us why you are here."

Valencia, can you hear me?

She did not respond. Forrest concentrated.

Valencia! Open your mind. Can you hear my thoughts?

Forrest? You can hear me? How are we--?

Nevermind that. What do you think is happening here?

I don't know. We do not know enough.

Then we will have to probe them.

Do you think that is wise? They will sense it.

Perhaps. But do we have a choice?

Let me talk to them, first.

Do it!

Valencia looked at the group. "We are here to get fuel for our ship. We are not here to spy on you. We are new to your system, and do not know the political situation. But we do know that if we do not bounce out of here soon, the world you know may be destroyed. Is that a risk you are willing to take?"

Creola spoke. "A significant amount of manpower and equipment has been diverted to this project. It is unlike the IG to pull its resources away from the mining--Susania's source of wealth. I think it is understandable that we are suspicious."

"We have learned," Forrest said, "that you are seeking World status for your planet. From what I have seen, I think it should be granted. But our presence here has nothing to do with that. You have nothing to gain by refusing us the fuel, and everything to lose. So what will it be?"

"You will get your fuel. We have our orders and they will be followed. But that does not mean we believe in you."

"And," Jacklar added, "if we discover that you are working for the IG, we can arrange an unfortunate accident."

Forrest stared at the man. "I would strongly advise against any such action."

Jacklar pulled his weapon and held it aimed at Forrest. "Is that a threat, Master?"

I will provide a shield.

No, Val. I don't think he plans to fire. And I don't want him to know your powers, not yet.

What will you do?

Watch.

A fearful look came to Jacklar's face. His hand trembled as he moved the barrel of his weapon and placed it to his temple. His eyes were wide as he gave Forrest a pleading look.

"Release him!" Creola demanded.

The weapon fell to the floor. Jacklar did not retrieve it.

"You have telepathic powers?" she asked, unnecessarily.

"Yes. We can sense your intentions even before you do. And we will use whatever means necessary to protect ourselves."

Creola laughed. "I assume the IG knows nothing of this?"

"No. We did not want them to know too much about us. We hid that knowledge."

"It's a good thing you did."

"I don't understand."

Creola smiled. "You are new to this system. Telepathic powers are illegal in the Empire. The Masters had that ability programmed out of their keepers generations ago. And anyone born with such powers, or found to have such powers, is put to death immediately. You cannot be working for the IG. They would have tested you for telepathic abilities."

Adaml spoke. "Might not the IG be using telepaths for their own means?"

"You forget, Adaml. My father was an IG agent. He taught me many things before he died. The IG is so afraid of telepaths, that they will not use them, even for their own perverted purposes. These people cannot be IG agents."

"We are not agents," Valencia confirmed. "We are here for the reasons given. And no other."

Creola looked at her. "I still doubt the Maloid story. But that is not important. We will get the deuterium you need."

"Tell me something," Forrest said. "Is Theolor one of you?"

"Theolor is a good man. He wants the same things we want. But he works only through the system. Unfortunately, the system does not work."

"I will not ask what you have planned."

"You have not read our minds?" Creola asked.

"No. There has been no need. We do not wish to invade your privacy."

"Let's keep it that way."

"As long as you do not put us in a defensive position, it will not be necessary."

"Understood."

"May we begin now?" Forrest asked.

"Yes. The airships are ready."

There were five airships in all: four tankers and a personnel transport. They boarded the transport and Creola led them to a private compartment. The other team members would remain in the commons during the flight. The compartment was small--containing four bunks and a couch.

"The facilities are down the hall to your left," Creola said. "The galley is off the commons, if you require food. The flight will take six hours. I suggest you avoid contact with the others as much as possible. Most are suspicious of you."

"Thank you, Creola," Forrest said. "We will try to stay out of the way."

Creola left, sliding the door shut behind her.

Valencia looked at Forrest. "I didn't know we could communicate telepathically. How did you do that?"

"You should probably ask Val that question."

She turned to Val.

"I detected Forrest trying to transmit to you. When you did not respond, I realized you could not receive without assistance. So I assisted." Val explained.

"Assisted? How?"

Forrest answered. "You can pick up emotions from others because the hyperspace signal is strong. With thoughts--specifically words--the signal is much weaker, too weak for you to receive. Val intercepted my transmissions, amplified them, and directed them to you."

"And my transmissions to you?"

"I feel emotions as you do. And I can also feel thoughts. I do not, however, hear words in my head--not normally. Val retransmitted your thoughts to me. Without Val, we could not have communicated as such."

"So if Val is not around, we are cutoff from each other."

"That is as I understand it. But with practice, we might--"

Valencia faced Val. "Can you speak to me telepathically? Directly, I mean?"

You can hear me now?

Yes, Val, I can. Forrest?

I can hear you, Valencia.

So we can carry on three-way communications, then.

Val switched to acoustic mode. "Yes, but it is best to limit our hyperspace transmissions to those times when it is needed."

"Why?" Forrest asked.

"There are others here who may listen in."

"There are telepaths here?"

"Yes. I have detected them aboard this ship."

"What about Creola and her team?" Valencia asked.

"Not them. But I think they know about the telepaths."

"This confuses me," Forrest began. "The Guardians use hyperspace transmissions to communicate, yet telepathy is illegal for a Terran. What's the difference?"

"A Guardian is a machine. Hyperspace transmission is considered a form of radio when used by a machine. With biological life, it is called telepathy."

"But why is it illegal?"

"Officially, it is to protect the privacy of the citizenry. But I believe the true reason is because the government would find if difficult to keep secrets if their minds could be read."

"And perhaps more. Creola said the IG was afraid of telepaths--to the point of killing them when discovered. Something must have happened in the past to cause the IG to take such a hard-line position."

"I agree," Valencia said. "And the miners are planning something against the IG, and that includes using telepaths."

"That seems to be the case," Forrest agreed. "I can't blame them for being suspicious of us."

Valencia stood. "I'm going to look around the ship. Maybe I can learn something."

"Is that wise?"

"I'm not going to ask questions. I just want to get a feel for the place. We can't allow their plans to interfere with ours."

"Be careful," Forrest cautioned.

The airship was old. The blue anodized bulkheads had long since faded. There was no carpet--just the serrated metal floor. The drone of the ship's generators was too loud. She entered the commons and several heads turned to watched her. She smiled acknowledgment, but received no smiles in return. She could not sense which miners had telepathic ability. But then knowledge of her telepathy would have quickly spread, and they were keeping their minds closed. She began to feel uncomfortable, and entered the galley.

The galley was nothing more than a small room with automated food and drink dispensers, and a few tables. She studied the dispensers, but had no idea which buttons to push, since she could not read the labels. She was about to push a button at random when someone spoke.

"Hungry?"

She turned and saw a male about thirty years of age. He was tall and had long, rusty-blond hair and dark eyes. He stood in the doorway of the galley.

"Not really. I came in here to escape the stares more than anything else. I thought I might as well get something to drink. But I can't read the writing."

He approached her. "What would you like?"

"Is there coffee?"

"Sure." He pushed a button and a cup dropped and began to fill. "My name is Zachar. Zachar Bolissian, to be complete. Most call me Zak, as may you."

Zak took the steaming cup and handed it to her.

"Thank you, Zak. I am--"

"Valencia," he interrupted.

She looked at him. "I suppose everyone knows my name."

"Not really. Everyone knows that you're from a Lost Ship, and that you're here to get fuel for your ship. Beyond that they know very little."

"But you do. Did you read my mind?" She moved to a table and sat down.

Zak sat across from her. "I am not a telepath, like you."

"What makes you think I'm a telepath?"

"Because I know who you are?"

"Oh? And who is that?"

"Valencia of the Astraea."

Valencia was startled, but tried not to show it. "I do not know that name. What does it mean?"

Zak leaned over and spoke softly. "Do not worry. I will not reveal your secret."

"What secret?" She whispered back.

Zak leaned back into his chair, and checked the room to make sure no one was present.

"I am not what I seem to be. We have met before."

"That's impossible. I come from three-thousand years in your past. We could not have met."

"You don't remember me. We were introduced, but did not get to know each other. It was on Mars, at the convention where the Covenant of Tribes was ratified."

"I'm afraid you have me mistaken for someone else. I do not know the things you speak of."

Zak smiled at her. "I am immortal."

"You do not have a Master's insignia."

"I am not a Master. My immortality is a secret."

"Why keep it a secret?"

"Because I would be put to death, if the IG knew."

Valencia gave him a puzzled look. "I know very little of your world. If you are immortal, why are you not a Master?"

"There were once many immortals. Anyone who could afford the cost could get the procedure. Not many could afford it though; the price of immortality was very high. And it didn't do much good for society as a whole either. The Terran population divided into the mortals versus the immortals. Eventually things got so bad the IG stepped in and made immortality illegal, except for a select few--those now known as the Masters. Those immortals not part of the select few, were rounded up and converted back to mortality. Their memories were partially erased as part of the procedure. Some of us managed to escape the Great Purge--as it was called--and I am one of those."

"When did all of this happen?" Valencia asked.

"Mid twenty-second century. The first immortals were made at the turn of the century."

"In Prime System?"

"Yes. But we didn't call it that then. We called it the Solar System--as you know."

"We are not from Prime System."

"Valencia, I know better than that. I was there. I was aboard the Rising Star when your ship bounced out."

There was a hole in his story big enough for a spaceship to fall through, but Valencia could not query him about it without admitting who she was. She felt frustrated.

"I'm sorry, Zak. I am not who you think I am."

"I know better."

She stared at him. "Why are you telling me all of this?"

"Because I want to join you on the Forever."

"That would be impossible."

"Why?"

"Because we are not Terrans. Where we are going, you cannot come."

Zak gave her a troubled look. "Valencia, I am a genoclone, like yourself. I know who and what you are. You cannot deny your true identity to me. I'm tired of living in hiding. I'm tired of having to change my name and inventing a new personal history every generation. I want to live openly as who and what I am. And I cannot do that here . . . only on the Forever."

Valencia looked sympathetic. "I wish I could help you, Zak. But you are mistaken about us."

"You are being cautious--just in case I'm an agent of the IG. Please think about it, Valencia. There are very few genoclones left. And I am one of them. One of your kind!"

"I do not know what a genoclone is. I must go now." She stood.

Zak grabbed her arm. "Think about it, okay? That's all I ask."

"I'm sorry. I will not tell anyone what you have said."

Zak gave her a disappointed look as she walked out of the room.
 

"That didn't take long," Forrest said when she entered the compartment.

"There's someone here who knows who we are!" She sat next to him on the couch.

"What? How?"

Valencia told them about Zak. "But there is one thing about his story that doesn't make sense. He said that the first immortals were made at the turn of the century. He also said he was aboard the Rising Star when we bounced out. His apparent age is about thirty. He should not have been born then."

"Then he is lying," Forrest concluded.

Val spoke. "Or he had his aging process reversed to reach his apparent age."

Valencia looked at her. "I hadn't thought of that. Is that possible?"

"I don't know. Knowledge of the keepers is forbidden. I offer it as a possibility."

"The Enonian files emphasized that reverse aging was very risky," Valencia said. "It is one thing for the keepers to maintain the current biological age, and quite another for them to reverse the aging. Reverse aging requires a priori knowledge that cannot necessarily be determined from the current state of the body."

"But this Zak's keepers are not Enonian," Forrest said.

"That's true."

"So we don't know if he is lying or not," Forrest continued. "But in any case, we must consider him a threat to us."

"What do we do?"

"We continue to deny any knowledge of what he says. And at the same time, we must not anger him. He might reveal what he knows."

"I think he is telling the truth," Val said.

"Why, Val?" Forrest asked.

"Because he has revealed to us that he is an unregistered immortal. We know that what he says is true, and so does he. Otherwise, he would not have taken the risk of approaching Valencia."

"Assuming he is an immortal," Forrest said.

"How far down?" Forrest asked Creola. He sat in the Overseer's chair of the hovercraft. Valencia and Val were strapped in the chairs behind him. The six-meter, horizontal viewport was below and between Forrest and Creola and her pilot. Through it, they could see the workers assembling the drilling platform on top of the snow covered ice.

"That varies. We'll take samples as we drill. Our geologist says it should be about fifty to one-hundred meters."

"That far? Isn't that dangerous?"

"It can be. The thumpers haven't shown any major fissures, so it should be safe. But the thumpers don't always report accurate data. Still, it is safer than drilling through rock."

"Why drill?" Valencia asked. "Can't the deuterium be extracted from the ice and snow on the surface?"

"It could, but it would take weeks to fill one tanker. We going after the older ice that was formed long ago. The surface ice was formed very quickly after the planet was terraformed twenty generations ago. The older ice formed much more slowly and was exposed to cosmic radiation for billions of years. It is thus rich in the isotope you need."

"Team seven reports they are ready to start drilling," the pilot said.

"Take us there," Creola instructed.

The hovercraft tilted and accelerated in the direction of its tilt. The craft did not have inertial inhibiters, and Forrest felt a discomfort in his stomach. Soon they were hovering twenty meters over platform seven. The team could be seen feeding the flexdrill into the guiding tube. The drill had high temperature cutting lips that would melt the ice as it drilled. They spent several minutes positioning and inspecting the flexdrill. It was then energized and the drilling process began. High pressure steam vented out of the drill flutes and rose to fog the hovercraft's viewport.

"Take us higher, Davlor," Creola said to her pilot. "And turn on the defogger."

They rose another twenty meters, and watched as the area around the platform was blotted out by the smoky steam. Finally the drilling stopped and the steam quickly turned to water and then ice in the sub-zero temperature. A worker looked up at the hovercraft and then spoke into his communicator.

"We've reached fifty meters," his voice said from the hovercraft console. "We're going in now to take a sample."

Creola pushed a button. "Do it."

The drilling machine pulled the flexdrill out of the ice and the guiding tube was moved to one side. The pilot lowered the hovercraft, and Forrest could see a nearly perfect round hole, one meter in diameter, dropping down into the darkness of the ice. The crew set up a hoist, and a worker was placed into the lift. He had what looked like air tanks strapped on his back along with other equipment Forrest could not identify. The hoist lowered him into the hole--lit by only his helmet light.

"Looks like a good drill," he said through the console speaker.

"No cracks or irregularities?" Creola asked.

"Not yet."

"Twenty meters," another voice said, this one female.

Several moments passed.

"Still looking good," the man reported.

"Forty meters."

"Oh shit!"

"What is it?" Creola demanded.

"We've got a rock formation here. The trepan went around it. It looks stable, I think."

"What you think is not good enough, Blaklor," Creola said. "You have to be sure."

"I'm sure. It appears to be a large meteorite that broke up when if fell. It's probably been here a thousand generations. I don't see any noticeable fissures. It's frozen solidly in the ice. It's not going anywhere."

"How large?"

"Several tons."

Creola frowned. "That's too much. Pull out."

"Creola, I'm just guessing. It may only be one ton. In any case, it's broken up into many small pieces. I believe it to be safe."

"Thump it!"

"Thumping now."

They waited.

"I'm seeing about a hundred rocks, the largest being two or three meters across. Most are much smaller. No fissures. These guys haven't moved since the impact. They are not going to move now."

"Okay," Creola said, reluctantly. "Continue."

"Fifty meters," the female voice announced.

"Taking a sample, now," Blaklor said.

"Leave your mike on," Creola said.

They could hear the man picking at the ice.

"Running the analyzer now . . . and we've got it! We might be able to fill a whole tanker from this drill alone. The deuterium is very concentrated. I don't think we should give this one up just because of a few rocks. Request permission to blow tunnels."

Creola looked at Forrest. "It's your call."

"My call? Why me?"

"You are the Overseer. We have a potentially dangerous drill. You must make a decision."

"Creola, I am not qualified for that. I defer the decision to you."

She gave him a harsh look, and then turned away.

"Blaklor, are you sure it's safe to blow tunnels?"

"Oh it's safe. There's ten to twenty meters of ancient ice between me and the rocks. And I'm going to blow in the other direction anyway."

"Okay. Proceed."

They waited as the man prepared.

"How will he blow the tunnels?" Valencia asked.

Creola looked at her. "Lasers. It's not as fast as a flexdrill, but it's allows precise control a flexdrill can't match. He'll blow several tunnels for the dig. Additional tunnels will be blown as needed--assuming there are no problems."

"I'm removing my headgear to make room for the air mask," Blaklor said. "But I'll leave the mike on."

They heard the headgear drop, and then the sizzle of vaporized ice. Steam came up out of the hole, but not as thick as with the flexdrill. The sound stopped a few moments, and then begun again as Blaklor started a second tunnel. It was not until he started the sixth tunnel that the sound was heard. It was the sound of ice sliding against ice.

"Pull him up!" Creola shouted into the mike.

"Pulling now . . . it's jammed! The hole has collapsed! We can't pull him up!" The female voice was frantic.

The sound of ice crashing against ice was heard in the speaker, and then silence.

"Blaklor, put on your headgear. Speak to me!"

Silence.

"Blaklor?"

More silence.

"Scan!" Creola commanded.

"I did," the female came back. "I get nothing. I can't detect him. If the rocks have metal content, they may be interfering."

"Keep trying."

"I am."

"What are the rescue procedures?" Forrest asked, concerned.

"What rescue?" Creola asked, giving him a scornful look.

"His rescue! You can't just leave him down there."

She stared at him. "If he is alive, we will assist him in anyway we can. But he has to find his own way out. No one goes down after him."

"Why not?"

"It's company policy. I cannot risk another life to save one."

"What kind of asinine policy is that? He may be alive. He has air. He may have retreated into one of the tunnels. I doubt he stopped to pick up his headgear."

"Welcome to Marcus-3, Forrest."

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Creola," the female said. "I still can't detect him."

"I'm sorry, too. Set up a monitor. And get ready to move to another sight."

"No!" Forrest shouted. "We are staying here."

Creola looked at him. "Since you are the Overseer, you can issue that order. But you cannot force me to violate company policy."

"So you intend to just leave him there?"

"Do you think I like this? The monitor will do a continuous scan. If his body heat is detected, it will set off an alarm. Then we take it from there. In the meantime, we must continue our work. We've only been given a week to mine your precious deuterium."

"Does company policy prohibit volunteers?"

"Yes, it does. Any employee who violates company policy will lose his job, his earnings, and be sent back to Susania for criminal prosecution."

"I am not an employee," Forrest said, bluntly.

"What are you saying?"

"I will go after him."