the worst of the trouble in the hall of the Temple of Light, and, although it had still

taken some heavy fire pulses, it was hardly marked, let alone

damaged.

Neisin had said he’d never liked lasers anyway and wouldn’t use one again; he had a perfectly good rapid-firing light projectile

rifle, and lots

of ammunition. He would carry that in future when he wasn’t using the Microhowitzer.

Horza and Yalson had started sleeping together every night in what was now their cabin, the one the two women had occupied.

During the

long days of the voyage they had grown closer but spoken comparatively little, for new lovers. Both seemed to want

it that way. Horza’s body

had completed its regeneration after its impersonation of the Gerontocrat, and there was no longer

any trace or sign of that role left on him. But

while he told the Company that he was now the way he had always looked, he

had in fact molded his body to look like that of Kraiklyn. Horza

was a little taller and fuller-chested than his neutral normal,

and his hair was darker and thicker. His face, of course, he could not yet afford to

Change, but under its light-brown surface

it was ready. A short trance and he could pass for the captain of the

Clear Air Turbulence;

perhaps

Vavatch would give him the opportunity he needed.

He had thought long and hard about what to do now that he was part of the Company, and relatively safe, but cut off from his

Idiran

employers. He could always just go on his own way, but that would let down Xoralundra, whether the old Idiran was alive

or dead. It would also

be running away from the war, from the Culture and the part he had chosen to play against it. In addition,

at first, there was the idea Horza had

been toying with anyway, even before he had heard that his next task was to involve

going to Schar’s World, and that was the idea of returning

to an old love.

Her name was Sro Kierachell Zorant. She was what they called a dormant Changer, one who had no training in and no desire to

practice

Changing, and had accepted the post on Schar’s World partly as a relief from the increasingly warlike atmosphere

in the Changers’ home

asteroid of Heibohre. That had been seven years before, when Heibohre was already within what was generally

recognized as being Idiran

space, and when many Changers were already employed by the Idirans.

Horza was sent to Schar’s World partly because he was being punished and partly for his own protection. A group of Changers

had plotted

to fire up the ancient asteroid’s power-plants and take it out of Idiran space, make their home and their species

neutral again in the war they

could see was becoming inevitable. Horza had discovered the plot and killed two of the conspirators.

The court of the Academy of Military Arts

on Heibohre—its ruling body in all but name—had compromised between popular feeling

on the asteroid, which wanted Horza punished for

taking other Changers’ lives, and the gratitude it felt toward Horza. The

court had a delicate task, considering the not wholehearted support the

majority of Changers gave to staying where they were

and therefore within the Idiran sphere of influence. By sending Horza to Schar’s World

with instructions to stay there for

several years—but not punishing him otherwise—the court hoped to make all concerned feel their own

particular view had carried

the day. To the extent that there was no revolt, that the Academy remained the ruling force in the asteroid, and that

the

services of Changers were in demand as never before since the formation of their unique species, the court had succeeded.

In some ways, Horza had been lucky. He was without friends or influence; his parents were dead; his clan was all but defunct

save for him.

Family ties meant a lot in the Changer society, and with no influential relatives or friends to speak for him

Horza had perhaps escaped more

lightly than he had a right to expect.

Horza cooled his heels on Schar’s World’s snows for less than a year before leaving to join the Idirans in their fight against

the Culture, both

before and after it was officially termed a war. During that time he had started a relationship with one

of the four other Changers there: the

woman Changer Kierachell, who disagreed with almost everything Horza believed, but had

loved him, body and mind, despite it all. When he

left, he knew it had hurt her much more than it had hurt him. He had been

glad of the companionship and he liked her, but he hadn’t felt anything

like what humans were supposed to feel when they talked

of love, and by the time he left he was starting, just starting, to grow bored. He told

himself at the time that that was

the way life was, that he would only hurt her more in the end by staying, that it was partly for her sake he was

leaving.

But the expression in her eyes the last time he’d looked into them had not been something he enjoyed thinking about, for a

long time.

He had heard she was still there, and he thought of her and had fond memories; and the more he had risked his life and the

more time had

elapsed, the more he wanted to see her again; the more a quieter, less dangerous sort of existence appealed

to him. He had imagined the

scene, imagined the look in her eyes when he came back to her…. Maybe she would have forgotten

about him, or even be committed to some

relationship with the other Changers at the base on Schar’s World, but Horza didn’t

really think so; he thought of such things only as a sort of

insurance.

Yalson made things a little difficult, perhaps, but he was trying not to build too much into their friendship and coupling,

even though he was

fairly sure it was only those two things to her as well.

So he would impersonate Kraiklyn if he could, or at least kill him and just take over, and hope he could get round the comparatively

crude

identity fidelities built into the

CAT

’s computer, or get somebody else to do so. Then he would take the

Clear Air Turbulence

to Schar’s World,

rendezvous with the Idirans if he could, but go in anyway, assuming Mr. Adequate—the pet name the Changers

on the Schar’s World base had

for the Dra’Azon being which guarded the planet—would allow him through the Quiet Barrier after

the Idirans’ botched attempt to fool it with a

hollowed-out chuy-hirtsi. He would, if at all possible, give the rest of the

Company the chance to back out.

One problem was knowing when to strike at Kraiklyn. Horza was hoping that an opportunity would arise on Vavatch, but it was

hard to make

definite plans because Kraiklyn didn’t seem to have any of his own. He had simply talked of “opportunities" on

the Orbital, which were “bound to

arise" due to its impending destruction, whenever he had been asked during the journey.

“That lying bastard," Yalson said, one night when they were about halfway to Vavatch from Marjoin. They were lying together

in what was

now their cabin, in the darkness of the ship night, in about a half-G on the cramped bedspace.

“What." Horza said. “Don’t you think he’s going to Vavatch after all."

“Oh, he’s going there all right, but not because there are unknown possibilities for a successful job. He’s going for the

Damage game."

“What Damage game." Horza asked, turning to her in the darkness where her naked shoulders lay on his arm. He could feel their

soft down

against his skin. “You mean a big game. A real one."

“Yeah. The Ring itself. Last I heard it was only a rumor, but it makes more sense every time I think about it. Vavatch is

a certainty, provided

they can get a quorum together."

“The Players on the Eve of Destruction." Horza laughed gently. “You think Kraiklyn means to watch or play."

“He’ll try to play, I suppose; if he’s as good as he says he is, they might even let him, as long as he can raise the stake.

That’s supposed to

be how he won the

CAT

—not off anybody in a Ring game, but it must have been pretty heavy company if they were gambling ships. But I guess

he’d

be prepared to watch if it came to it. I bet that’s why we’re all going on this little holiday. He might try and come up with

some sort of

excuse, or fabricate some op, but that’s the real reason: Damage. Either he’s heard something or he’s making

an intelligent guess, but it’s so

fucking obvious…." Her voice died away, and Horza felt her head shake on his arm.

“Isn’t one of the Ring regulars—." he said.

“Ghalssel." Now Horza could feel the light, short-haired head nod against the skin of his arm. “Yeah, he’ll be there, if he

possibly can be.

He’d burn out the motors on the

Leading Edge

to get to a major Damage game, and the way things have been hotting up in this neck of the

woods recently, presenting all

those wonderful easy-in, easyout opportunities, I can’t imagine him being far away." Yalson’s voice sounded

bitter. “Myself,

I think Ghalssel’s the subject of Kraiklyn’s wet dreams. Thinks the guy’s a fucking hero. Shit."