With the

CAT

under his control, Horza was able to switch off the computer’s identity circuits. He didn’t have to fool the Free Company,

either; so, as the days passed, he Changed slowly to resemble his old self a little more. That was for Yalson and the other

members of the Free

Company. He was really striking two thirds of a compromise between Kraiklyn and the self he had been on

the

CAT

before it had reached

Vavatch. There was another third in there which he let grow and show itself on his face for nobody

on board, but for a red-haired Changer girl

called Kierachell. He hoped she would recognize that part of his appearance when

they met again, on Schar’s World.

“Why did you think we’d be angry." Yalson asked him in the

CAT

’s hangar one day. They had set up a target screen at one end and put their

lasers onto practice. The screen’s built-in projector

flashed images for them to shoot at. Horza looked at the woman.

“He was your leader."

Yalson laughed. “He was a manager; how many of them are liked by their staff. This is a business, Horza, and not even a successful

one.

Kraiklyn managed to get most of us retired prematurely. Shit! The only person you needed to fool was the ship."

“There was that," Horza said, aiming at a human figure darting across the distant screen. The laser spot was invisible, but

the screen

sensed it and flashed white light where it hit. The human figure, hit in the leg, stumbled but did not fall: half

marks. “I did need to fool the ship. But

I didn’t want to risk somebody being loyal to Kraiklyn."

It was Yalson’s turn, but she was looking at Horza, not the screen.

The ship’s fidelities had been bypassed, and now all that was needed to command it was a numeric code, which only Horza knew,

and the

small ring he wore, which had been Kraiklyn’s. He had promised that when they got to Schar’s World, if there was no

other way off the planet,

he would set the

CAT

’s computer to free itself of all fidelity limitations after a given time, so that if he didn’t come back out of the tunnels

of the

Command System the Free Company would not be stranded. “You would have told us," Yalson said, “wouldn’t you, Horza.

I mean you would

have let us know eventually."

Horza knew she meant, would he have told

her.

He put his gun down and looked her in the eyes. “Once I was sure," he said, “sure about the

people, sure about the ship."

It was the honest answer, but he wasn’t certain it was the best one. He wanted Yalson, wanted not just her warmth in the ship’s

red night, but

her trust, her care. But she was still distant.

Balveda lived; perhaps she wouldn’t still be alive if Horza hadn’t wanted Yalson’s regard. He knew that, and it was a bitter

thought, making

him feel cheap and cruel. Even knowing that it was a definite thing would have been better than being uncertain.

He couldn’t say for sure

whether the cold logic of this game dictated that the Culture woman should die or be left alive,

or even if, the former being comfortably obvious,

he could have killed her in cold blood. He had thought it through and still

he didn’t know. He only hoped that neither woman had guessed that

any of this had gone through his mind.

Kierachell was another worry. It was absurd, he knew, to be concerned about his own affairs at such a time, but he couldn’t

stop thinking

about the Changer woman; the closer they came to Schar’s World, the more he remembered of her, the more real

his memories became. He

tried not to build it up too much, tried to recall the boredom of the Changers’ lonely outpost on

the planet and the restlessness he had felt there

even with Kierachell’s company, but he dreamed about her slow smile and

recalled her low voice in all its fluid grace with some of the

heartache of a youth’s first love. Occasionally he thought

Yalson might sense that, too, and something inside him seemed to shrink with shame.

Yalson shrugged, hoisted her gun to her shoulder and fired at a four-legged shadow on the practice screen. It stopped in its

tracks and

dropped, seeming to dissolve into the line of shady ground at the bottom of the screen.

Horza gave talks.

It made him feel like some visiting lecturer at a college, but that’s what he did. He felt he had to explain to the others

why he was doing what

he was, why the Changers supported the Idirans, why he believed in what they were fighting for. He called

them briefings, and ostensibly they

were about Schar’s World and the Command System, its history, geography and so on, but

he always (quite intentionally) ended up talking

about the war in general, or about totally different aspects of it unrelated

to the planet they were approaching.

The briefing cover gave him a good excuse to keep Balveda confined to her cabin while he paced up and down on the deck of

the mess

talking to the members of the Free Company; he didn’t want his talks turning into a debate.

Perosteck Balveda had been no trouble. Her suit and a few items of harmless-looking jewelry and other bits and pieces had

been

jettisoned from a vactube. She had been scanned with every item the

CAT

’s limited sick-bay equipment could provide and had come up clean,

and she seemed quite happy to be a well-behaved prisoner,

confined to the ship as they all were and, apart from at night, locked in her cabin

only occasionally. Horza didn’t let her

near the bridge, just in case, but Balveda showed no signs of trying to get to know the ship especially well

—the way he had

done when he came on board. She didn’t even try to argue any of the mercenaries round to her way of thinking about the war

and the Culture.

Horza wondered how secure she felt. Balveda was pleasant and seemed unworried; but he looked at her sometimes and thought

he saw,

briefly, a glimpse of inner tension, even despair. It relieved him in one way, but in another it gave him that same

bad, cruel feeling he

experienced when he thought about exactly why the Culture agent was still alive. Sometimes he was simply

afraid of getting to Schar’s World,

but increasingly as the voyage dragged on he came to relish the prospect of some action

and an end to thought.

He called Balveda to his cabin one day, after they had all eaten in the mess. The woman came in and sat down on the same small

seat he had

sat in when Kraiklyn had summoned him just after he had joined the ship.

Balveda’s face was calm. She sat elegantly in the small seat, her long frame at once relaxed and poised. Her deep dark eyes

gazed out at

Horza from the thin, smoothly shaped head, and her red hair—now turning black—shone in the lights of the cabin.

“Captain Horza." she smiled, crossing her long-fingered hands on her lap. She wore a long blue gown, the plainest thing she

had been able

to find on the ship: something that had once belonged to the woman Gow.

“Hello, Balveda," Horza said. He sat back on the bed. He wore a loose gown. For the first couple of days he had stayed in

his suit, but while

it stayed commendably comfortable, it was bulky and awkward in the confines of the

Clear Air Turbulence,

so he had discarded it for the

voyage.

He was about to offer Balveda something to drink, but somehow, because that was what Kraiklyn had done with him, it didn’t

seem the right

thing to do.

“What was it, Horza." Balveda said.

“I just wanted to… see how you were," he said. He had tried to rehearse what he would say; assure her she was in no danger,

that he liked

her and that he was sure that this time the worst that would happen to her really would be internment somewhere,

and maybe a swap, but the

words would not come.

“I’m fine," she said, smoothing her hand over her hair, her eyes glancing around the cabin briefly. “I’m trying to be a model

captive so you

won’t have an excuse for ditching me." She smiled, but again he thought he sensed an edge to the gesture. Yet

he was relieved.