Esmay, you fool! was her last thought as she closed her door and ran down the upper passage to the stairs.

The Vicarios family had gone back to their city house by midnight. At this third of the formal meetings (alternating from one family's home to the other's), the parents had been pleasantly relaxed. The exchange of gifts, the ritual speeches, the contrived-but still effective-"unexpected" visit of the priest who put her hand in Philip's, and tied a silk scarf around the pair of them-all had gone without a hitch. Luci and Philip had a few minutes alone in the rose garden as their elders watched from the lighted doorway; he kissed her respectfully on the brow, and murmured her name.

Philip went with his parents when they left, of course. From now on, no more stolen moments, let alone hours, in which to discover each other . . . from now on, they were formally betrothed, and that betrothal had its own rules. Maddening, perhaps intentionally so. Luci filched another stuffed date from the tray a sleepy maidservant was carrying back to the kitchen, and followed her father into the library. Her uncle and grandfather, already relaxed in chairs by the fireplace, looked up as she came in.

"Luci, you should be in bed."

"Papa, I'm not sleepy." He raised his eyebrows at her, but she didn't move. "Papa, I had a message cube from Esmay today."

Her uncle Casimir sighed. "Esmay . . . now there's another problem. Berthold, did you get anywhere in the Landsmen's Guild?"

"Nowhere. Oh, Vicarios won't oppose us, but that's because of Luci, and his support is half- hearted. It would be different if she hadn't left so young, I think. They don't really remember her, and even though they awarded her the Starmount, and consider her a hero, they do not want a Landbride-any Landbride but especially our Landbride-connected to an outlander family. Cosca told me frankly that even if she moved here, and also her husband, he would oppose it. Nothing good ever came from the stars, he insisted."

"And the votes?"

"Enough for a challenge, Casi, I'm sure of it. No, the only way out of this is for Esmaya to come and talk to them herself."

"Or resign."

"Or resign, but-will she?"

Luci spoke up. "She mentioned that in her cube."

"What-resigning? Why?"

"Her precious Fleet seems to think about us the way the Landsmen's Guild thinks about them. She

says they have some kind of regulation forbidding officers to marry Landbrides."

Her father snorted. "Do they have one forbidding officers to be Landbrides? How ridiculous!"

"Are you serious?" Casimir asked. "They have something specific about Landbrides? How would they

know?"

"I don't know," Luci said. "That's just what she said. And she said why didn't we take in all those women brought back from Our Texas-she was sure they'd fit in."

A stunned silence, satisfying by its depth and length.

"She what?" Casimir said finally. "Aren't those women-"

"Free-birthers and religious cultists," Luci said, with satisfaction. "Exactly."

"But-but the priests will object," Berthold said.

"Not as badly as the Landsmen's Guild, if they hear of it. Dear God, I thought she had more sense

than that!"

"She is in love," Luci pointed out, willing now to be magnaminous. "Apparently Fleet is taking

Barin's salary to pay for their upkeep-at least some of it-and Esmay's trying to help him out.

Nineteen of them, after all, and all those children."

"At our expense." Casimir shook his head. "Well, that settles it. She'll have to resign, as soon

as I can get word to her. The Trustees will certainly not approve this, if I were willing to let

it be known." He gave Luci a hard look. "You didn't tell Philip, I hope."

"Of course not." Luci glared at her uncle. Esmay might not have any sense, but she knew what the family honor required.

"I hope she does name you Landbride, Luci," Casimir said. "You'll be a good one."

Luci had a sudden spasm of doubt. Was she being fair to Esmay, who after all had had so many bad

things happen to her? But underneath the doubt, the same exultation she had felt when Esmay gave her the brown mare . . . mine, it's mine, I can take care of it, nobody can hurt it. . . .

"I wonder if we could place an ansible call," Casimir said.

"Surely it's not that urgent," Berthold said.

"What if she just packs them up and ships them to us? Better safe than sorry."

"She won't," Luci said. "I'm sure she won't." She didn't know how she knew, but she knew-probably

by now Esmay had figured out for herself why it was a bad idea, and the next mail would bring apologies.

"I hope not," her father said. He yawned. "Oh, do go to bed, Luci! I'm exhausted."

Luci gave him a kiss and went up to bed, sure she would not sleep for the warring emotions inside her. She undressed quickly, hung her clothes up, and slipped naked between the sheets, taking great lungfuls of the fragrant night air. She hoped Esmay felt this way about her Barin . . . if her poor cousin couldn't be Landbride, she at least deserved a great love.

R.S.S. SHRIKE.

Esmay came onto the bridge to find Captain Solis scowling. Now what had she done or left undone?

"I was afraid I'd lose you," the captain said.

"Lose me?"

"New orders. They're sending me a new exec, and you over to line ships again. I knew they would eventually. Even though we can always use someone with your talents in SAR, they consider it a waste."

He handed over the message cube. "It's all in there; we'll be dropping you off at Topaz."

"Topaz-" A civilian station.

"In transit between ships is a good time to use a few days' leave, Lieutenant. Assuming you have a use for it."

Barin. Her heart hammered. Now if she could only figure out how . . .

"Navarino is in Sector Six. Gyrfalcon, I hear, is going to be detached from picket duty and sent back to Castle Rock, and thence to Sector One-" Solis did not crack a smile, but she did. She knew the regulations: all she had to do was show up at the right time. The route she chose from Topaz to Sector Six HQ was her own choice. There was at least a chance that she could meet Barin at some intermediate station. If she could get word to him. If she could get leave.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

BENIGNITY OF THE COMPASSIONATE HAND.

NUOVO VENITZA, SANTA LUZIA.

Hostite Fieddi, Swordmaster and troupe leader, bowed to the Chairman's box, then to either end of the Grande, where the notable guests of state and industry were seated, and finally, that cold chill down the spine which this required movement always brought, turned his back on the most dangerous man in his universe to salute the mortal representative of that Holy One who was even more dangerous, having dominion over all universes.

Protocol, he thought sourly, was invented by the devil, for the ensnaring of innocent hearts. Not that his was innocent; he had been debriefed by his superior in the Order, and had still to face confession. In between . . .

Trumpets blared, the old curled rams' horn trumpets, and from the corner of his eye, Hostite saw the doors open in each corner, dark mouths. In each, a gleaming figure poised in one of the Attitudes. A low drumroll . . . the first figure in each doorway stalked forward, and behind it a second.

Eight now, each demonstrating one of the Attitudes, a Full Square. The drums shifted to a subtle beat, step and step; the figures moved forward, in toward the open space where Hostite waited.

Four were female, four were male. Four belonged to the Sun: pure gold, copper-red, rich bronze, and brass. Four belonged to the Moon: silver, steel, lead, platinum. And he, the dance's Shadow, gleamed obsidian in the light.

Sabre dancing had its roots in ancient days, long before the first men left Earth. More than one sword-bearing culture had its sword and knife dances, and more than one had used them as training.

More than one had also the spectacle, where the rich and powerful watched as their servants danced and bled for their amusement. There had always been, for some, the heady linkage of lust and danger.