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He had a horse, a tall bay stallion, in the north stable, called the Lord's Stable, close by the salley gate that Lord Agelmar used when he went riding. Neither the Lord of Fal Dara nor any of his family would be riding today, though, and the stable might be empty except for the stableboys. There were two ways to reach the Lord's Stable from Rand's room. One would take him all the way around the keep, behind Lord Agelmar's private garden, then down the far side and through the farrier's smithy, likewise certainly empty now, to the stableyard. Time enough that way for orders to be given, for a search to start, before he reached his horse. The other was far shorter; first across the outer courtyard, where even now the Amyrlin Seat was arriving with another dozen or more Aes Sedai.His skin prickled at the thought; he had had more than enough of Aes Sedai for any sane lifetime. One was too many. All the stories said it, and he knew it for fact. But he was not surprised when his feet took him toward the outer courtyard. He would never see legendary Tar Valon - he could not afford that risk, now or ever - but he might catch a glimpse of the Amyrlin Seat before he left. That would be as much as seeing a queen. There can't he anything dangerous in just looking, from a distance. I'll keep moving and he gone before she ever knows I was there.He opened a heavy, iron-strapped door onto the outer courtyard and stepped out into silence. People forested the guardwalk atop every wall, top-knotted soldiers, and liveried servants, and menials still in their muck, all pressed together cheek by jowl, with children sitting on shoulders to look over their elders' heads or squeezing in to peer around waists and knees. Every archers' balcony was packed like a barrel of apples, and faces even showed in the narrow arrowslits in the walls. A thick mass of people bordered the courtyard like another wall. And all of them watched and waited in silence.He pushed his way along the wall, in front of the smithies and fletchers' stalls that lined the court - Fal Dara was a fortress, not a palace, despite its size and grim grandeur, and everything about it served that end - apologizing quietly to the people he jostled. Some looked around with a frown, and a few gave a second stare to his saddlebags and bundles, but none broke the silence. Most did not even bother to look at who had bumped past them.He could easily see over the heads of most of them, enough to make out clearly what was going on in the courtyard. Just inside the main gate, a line of men stood beside their horses, sixteen of them. No two wore the same kind of armor or carried the same sort of sword, and none looked like Lan, but Rand did not doubt they were Warders. Round faces, square faces, long faces, narrow faces, they all had the look, as if they saw things other men did not see, heard things other men did not hear. Standing at their ease, they looked as deadly as a pack of wolves. Only one other thing about them was alike. One and all they wore the color-shifting cloak ,he had first seen on Lan, the cloak that often seemed to fade into whatever was behind it. It did not make for easy watching or a still stomach, so many men in those cloaks.

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The wardrobe had three wide doors carved in the simple Shienaran manner, suggesting more than showing a series of waterfalls and rocky pools. Pulling open the center door, he stared for a moment at what had replaced the few garments he had brought with him. A dozen high-collared coats of the finest wool and as well cut as any he had ever seen on a merchant's back or a lord's, most embroidered like feastday clothes. A dozen! Three shirts for every coat, both linen and silk, with wide sleeves and tight cuffs. Two cloaks. Two, when he had made do with one at a time all his life. One cloak was plain, stout wool and dark green, the other deep blue with a stiff standing collar embroidered in gold with herons . . . and high on the left breast, where a lord would wear his sign . . . .His hand drifted to the cloak of its own accord. As if uncertain what they would feel, his fingers brushed the stitching of a serpent curled almost into a circle, but a serpent with four legs and a lion's golden mane, scaled in crimson and gold, its feet each tipped with five golden claws. His hand jerked back as if burned. Light help me! Was it Amalisa had this made, or Moiraine? How many .raw it? How many know what it is, what it means? Even one is too many. Burn me, she's trying to get me killed. Bloody Moiraine won't even talk to me, but now she's given me bloody fine new clothes to die in!A rap at the door sent him leaping half out of his skin."Are you done?" came Elansu's voice. "Every stitch, now. Perhaps I had better . . . " A creak as if she were trying the knob.With a start Rand realized he was still naked. "I'm done," he shouted. "Peace! Don't come in!" Hurriedly he gathered up what he had been wearing, boots and all. "I'll bring them!" Hiding behind the door, he opened it just wide enough to shove the bundle into the arms of the ahatayan. "That's everything."She tried to peer through the gap. "Are you sure? Moiraine Sedai said everything. Perhaps I had better just look - ""It's everything," he growled. "On my honor!" He shouldered the door shut in her face, and heard laughter from the other side.Muttering under his breath, he dressed hurriedly. He would not put it past any of them to find some excuse to come bulling in anyway. The gray breeches were snugger than he was used to, but still comfortable, and the shirt, with its billowy sleeves, was white enough to satisfy any goodwife in Emond's Field on laundry day. The knee-high boots fit as if he had worn them a year. He hoped it was just a good cobbler, and not more Aes Sedai work.All of these clothes would make a pack as big as he was. Yet, he had grown used to the comfort of clean shirts again, of not wearing the same breeches day after day until sweat and dirt made them as stiff as his boots, then wearing them still. He took his saddlebags from his chest and stuffed what he could into them, then reluctantly spread the fancy cloak out on the bed and piled a few more shirts and breeches on that. Folded with the dangerous sigil inside and tied with a cord looped so it could be slung on a shoulder, it looked not much different from the packs he had seen carried by other young men on the road.

The three other women already in the room turned, but they made no effort to approach Moiraine, only looked at her. One, a slender woman of the Yellow Ajah, she did not know; she spent too little time in Tar Valon to know all the Aes Sedai, although their numbers were no longer very great. She was acquainted with the two remaining, however. Carlinya was as pale of skin and cold of manner as the white fringe on her shawl, the exact opposite in every way of dark, fiery Alanna Mosvani, of the Green, but they both stood and stared at her without speaking, without expression. Alanna sharply snugged her shawl around her, but Carlinya made no move at all. The slender Yellow sister turned away with an air of regret."The Light illumine you all, Sisters," Moiraine said. No one answered.She was not sure Serafelle or Verin had even heard. Where are the others? There was no need for them all to be there-most would be resting in their rooms, freshing from the journey-but she was on edge now, all the questions she could not ask running through her head. None of it showed on her face.The inner door opened, and Leane appeared, without her gilt-flamed staff. The Keeper of the Chronicles was as tall as most men, willowy and graceful, still beautiful, with coppery skin and short, dark hair. She wore a blue stole, a hand wide, instead of a shawl, for she sat in the Hall of the Tower, though as Keeper, not to represent her Ajah."There you are," she said briskly to Moiraine, and gestured to the door behind her. "Come, Sister. The Amyrlin Seat is waiting." She spoke naturally in a clipped, quick way that never changed, whether she was angry or joyful or excited. As Moiraine followed Leane in, she wondered what emotion the Keeper was feeling now. Leane pulled the door to behind them; it banged shut with something of the sound of a cell door closing.The Amyrlin Seat herself sat behind a broad table in the middle of the carpet, and on the table rested a flattened cube of gold, the size of a travel chest and ornately worked with silver. The table was heavily built, its legs stout, but it seemed to squat under a weight two strong men would have had trouble lifting.At the sight of the golden cube Moiraine had difficulty keeping her face unruffled. The last she had seen of it, it had been safely locked in Agelmar's strongroom. On learning of the Amyrlin Seat's arrival she had meant to tell her of it herself. That it was already in the Amyrlin's possession was a trifle, but a worrisome trifle. Events could be outpacing her.

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You must know that the Great Hunt of the Horn has been called in Illian, the first time in four hundred years. The Illianers say the Last Battle is coming" - Anaiya gave a little shiver, as well she might, but went on without a pause - "and the Horn of Valere must be found before the final battle against the Shadow. Men from every land are already gathering, all eager to be part of the legend, eager to find the Horn. Murandy and Altara are on their toes, of course, thinking it's all a mask for a move against one of them. That is probably why the Murandians caught their false Dragon so quickly. In any case, there will be a new lot of stories for the bards and gleemen to add to the cycle. The Light send it is only new stories.""Perhaps not the stories they expect," Moiraine said. Liandrin looked at her sharply, and she kept her face still."I suppose not," Anaiya said placidly. "The stories they least expect will be exactly the ones they will add to the cycle. Beyond that, I have only rumor to offer. The Sea Folk are agitated, their ships flying from port to port with barely a pause. Sisters from the islands say the Coramoor, their Chosen One, is coming, but they won't say more. You know how closemouthed the Atha'an Miere are with outsiders about the Coramoor, and in this our sisters seem to think more as Sea Folk than Aes Sedai. The Aiel appear to be stirring, too, but no one knows why. No one ever knows with the Aiel. At least there is no evidence they mean to cross the Spine of the World again, thank the Light." She sighed and shook her head. "What I would not give for even one sister from among the Aiel. Just one. We know too little of them."Moiraine laughed. "Sometimes I think you belong in the Brown Ajah, Anaiya.""Almoth Plain," Liandrin said, and looked surprised that she had spoken.Now that truly a rumor, Sister," Anaiya said. "A few whispers heard as we were leaving Tar Valon. There may be fighting on Almoth Plain, and perhaps Toman Head, as well. I say, may be. The whispers were faint. Rumors of rumors. We left before we could hear more.""It would have to be Tarabon and Arad Doman," Moiraine said, and shook her head. "They have squabbled over Almoth Plain for nearly three hundred years, but it has never come to open blows." She looked at Liandrin; Aes Sedai were supposed to throw off all their old loyalties to lands and rulers, but few did so completely. It was hard not to care for the land of your birth. "Why would they now - ?""Enough of idle talk," the honey-haired woman broke in angrily. "For you, Moiraine, the Amyrlin waits." She took three quick strides ahead of the others and threw open one of a pair of tall doors. "For you, the Amyrlin will have no idle talk."Unconsciously touching the pouch at her waist, Moiraine went past Liandrin through the doorway, with a nod as if the other woman were holding the door for her. She did not even smile at the white flash of anger on Liandrin's face. What is the wretched girl up to?Brightly colored carpets covered the anteroom floor in layers, and the room was pleasantly furnished with chairs and cushioned benches and small tables, the wood simply worked or just polished. Brocaded curtains sided the tall arrowslits to make them seem more like windows. No fires burned in the fireplaces; the day was warm, and the Shienaran chill would not come until nightfall.Fewer than half a dozen of the Aes Sedai who had accompanied the Amyrlin were there. Verin Mathwin and Serafelle, of the Brown Ajah, did not look up at Moiraine's entrance. Serafelle was intently reading an old book with a worn, faded leather cover, handling its tattered pages carefully, while plump Verin, sitting cross-legged beneath an arrowslit, held a small blossom up to the light and made notes and sketches in a precise hand in a book balanced on her knee. She had an open inkpot on the floor beside her, and a small pile of flowers on her lap. The Brown sisters concerned themselves with little beside seeking knowledge. Moiraine sometimes wondered if they were really aware of what was going on in the world, or even immediately around them.

The halls of Fal Dara keep, their smooth stone walls sparsely decorated with elegantly simple tapestries and painted screens, bustled with news of the Amyrlin Seat's imminent arrival. Servants in black-and-gold darted about their tasks, running to prepare rooms or carry orders to the kitchens, moaning that they could not have everything ready for so great a personage when they had had no warning. Dark-eyed warriors, their heads shaven except for a topknot bound with a leather cord, did not run, but haste filled their steps and their faces shone with an excitement normally reserved for battle. Some of the men spoke as Rand hurried past."Ah, there you are, Rand al'Thor. Peace favor your sword. On your way to clean up? You'll want to look your best when you are presented to the Amyrlin Seat. She'll want to see you and your two friends as well as the women, you can count on it."He trotted toward the broad stairs, wide enough for twenty men abreast, that led up to the men's apartments."The Amyrlin herself, come with no more warning than a pack peddler. Must be because of Moiraine Sedai and you southerners, eh? What else?"The wide, iron-bound doors of the men's apartments stood open, and half jammed with top-knotted men buzzing with the Amyrlin's arrival."Ho, southlander! The Amyrlin's here. Come for you and your friends, I suppose. Peace, what honor for you! She seldom leaves Tar Valon, and she's never come to the Borderlands in my memory. "He fended them all off with a few words. He had to wash. Find a clean shirt. No time to talk. They thought they understood, and let him go. Not a one of them knew a thing except that he and his friends traveled in company with an Aes Sedai, that two of his friends were women who were going to Tar Valon to train as Aes Sedai, but their words stabbed at him as if they knew everything. She's come for me.He dashed through the men's apartments, darted into the room he shared with Mat and Perrin . . . and froze, his jaw dropping in astonishment. The room was filled with women wearing the black-and-gold, all working purposefully. It was not a big room, and its windows, a pair of tall, narrow arrowslits looking down on one of the inner courtyards, did nothing to make it seem larger. Three beds on black-and-white tiled platforms, each with a chest at the foot, three plain chairs, a washstand by the door, and a tall, wide wardrobe crowded the room. The eight women in there seemed like fish in a basket.

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Alone in her rooms in the women's apartments, Moiraine adjusted the shawl, embroidered with curling ivy and grapevines, on her shoulders and studied the effect in the tall frame mirror standing in a corner. Her large, dark eyes could appear as sharp as a hawk's when she was angry. They seemed to pierce the silvered glass, now. It was only happenstance that she had had the shawl in her saddlebags when she came to Fal Dara. With the blazing white Flame of Tar Valon centered on the wearer's back and long fringe colored to show her Ajah - Moiraine's was as blue as a morning sky - the shawls were seldom worn outside Tar Valon, and even there usually only inside the White Tower. Little in Tar Valon besides a meeting of the Hall of the Tower called for the formality of the shawls, and beyond the Shining Walls a sight of the Flame would send too many people running, to hide or perhaps to fetch the Children of the Light. A Whitecloak's arrow was as fatal to an Aes Sedai as to anyone else, and the Children were too wily to let an Aes Sedai see the bowman before the arrow struck, while she still might do something about it. Moiraine had certainly never expected to wear the shawl in Fal Dara. But for an audience with the Amyrlin, there were proprieties to observe.She was slender and not at all tall, and smooth-cheeked Aes Sedai agelessness often made her appear younger than she was, but Moiraine had a commanding grace and calm presence that could dominate any gathering. A manner ingrained growing up in the Royal Palace of Cairhien had been heightened, not submerged, by still more years as an Aes Sedai. She knew she might need every bit of it today. Yet much of the calm was on the surface, today. There must be trouble, or she would not have come herself, she thought for at least the tenth time. But beyond that lay a thousand questions more. What trouble, and who did she choose to accompany her? Why here? Why now? It cannot be allowed to go wrong now.The Great Serpent ring on her right hand caught the light dully as she touched the delicate golden chain fastened in her dark hair, which hung in waves to her shoulders. A small, clear blue stone dangled from the chain, in the middle of her forehead. Many in the White Tower knew of the tricks she could do using that stone as a focus. It was only a polished bit of blue crystal, just something a young girl had used in her first learning, with no one to guide her. That girl had remembered tales of angreal and even more powerful sa'angreal - those fabled remnants of the Age of Legends that allowed Aes Sedai to channel more of the One Power than any could safely handle unaided-remembered and thought some such focus was required to channel at all. Her sisters in the White Tower knew a few of her tricks, and suspected others, including some that did not exist, some that had shocked her when she learned of them. The things she did with the stone were simple and small, if occasionally useful; the kind a child would imagine. But if the wrong women had - accompanied the Amyrlin, the crystal might put them off balance, because of the tales.A rapid, insistent knocking came at the chamber door. No Shienaran would knock that way, not at anyone's door, but least of all hers. She remained looking into the mirror until her eyes stared back serenely, all thought hidden in their dark depths. She checked the soft leather pouch hanging at her belt. Whatever troubles brought her out of Tar Valon, she will forget them when I lay this trouble before her. A second thumping, even more vigorous than the first, sounded before she crossed the room and opened the door with a calm smile for the two women who had come for her.She recognized them both. Dark-haired Anaiya in her blue-fringed shawl, and fair-haired Liandrin in her red. Liandrin, not only young-seeming but young and pretty, with a doll's face and a small, petulant mouth, had her hand raised to pound again. Her dark brows and darker eyes were a sharp contrast to the multitude of pale honey braids brushing her shoulders, but the combination was not uncommon in Tarabon. Both women were taller than Moiraine, though Liandrin by less than a hand.

There had been nights of late when he had wished for a carpet on the cold stone floor of his room, but in Shienar men's rooms were always bare and stark. The walls here had two tapestries, mountain scenes with waterfalls, and flower-embroidered curtains alongside the arrowslits. Cut flowers, white morningstars, stood in a flat, round vase on the table by the bed, and more nodded in glazed white sconces on the walls. A tall mirror stood in a corner, and another hung over the washstand; with its blue-striped pitcher and bowl. He wondered why Egwene needed two mirrors; there was none in his room, and he did not miss it. There was only one lamp lit, but four more stood around the room, which was nearly as large as the one he shared with Mat and Perrin. Egwene had it alone.Without looking up, Nynaeve said, "If you sleep in the afternoon, you can't expect to sleep at night."He frowned, though she could not see it. At least, he thought she could not. She was only a few years older than he, but being Wisdom added fifty years of authority. "I needed a place to hide, and I was tired," he said, then quickly added, "I didn't just come here. Egwene invited me into the women's apartments."Nynaeve lowered her knitting and gave him an amused smile. She was a pretty woman. That was something he would never have noticed back home; one just did not think of. a Wisdom that way. "The Light help me, Rand, you are becoming more Shienaran every day. Invited into the women's apartments, indeed." She sniffed. "Any day now, you'll start talking about your honor, and asking peace to favor your sword." He colored, and hoped she did not notice in the dim light. She eyed his sword, its hilt sticking out of the long bundle beside him on the floor. He knew she did not approve of the sword, of any sword, but she said nothing about it for once. "Egwene told me why you need a place to hide. Don't worry. We will keep you hidden from the Amyrlin, or from any other Aes Sedai, if that is what you want."She met his eyes and jerked hers away, but not before he saw her uneasiness. Her doubt. That's right, I can channel the Power. A man wielding the One Power! You ought to be helping the Aes Sedai hunt me down and gentle me.Scowling, he straightened the leather jerkin Egwene had found for him and twisted around so he could lean back against the wall. "As soon as I can, I will hide in a cart, or sneak out. You won't have to hide me long." Nynaeve did not say anything; she fixed on her knitting, making an angry sound when she dropped a stitch. "Where is Egwene?"She let the knitting fall onto her lap. "I don't know why I am even trying tonight. I can't keep track of my stitches for some reason. She has gone down to see Padan Fain. She thinks seeing faces he knows might help him.""Mine certainly did not. She ought to stay away from him. He's dangerous. ""She wants to help him," Nynaeve said calmly. "Remember, she was training to be my assistant, and being a Wisdom is not all predicting the weather. Healing is part of it, too. Egwene has the desire to heal, the need to. And if Padan Fain is so dangerous, Moiraine would have said something - "He barked a laugh. "You didn't ask her. Egwene admitted it, and I can just see you asking permission for anything." Her raised eyebrow wiped the laugh off his face. He refused to apologize, though. They were a long way from home, and he did not see how she could go on being Wisdom of Emond's Field if she was going to Tar Valon. "Have they started to search for me, yet? Egwene is not sure they will, but Lan says the Amyrlin Seat is here because of me, and I think I'll take his opinion over hers."

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With an exasperated grunt, she caught his shoulders and made him face her. She glared up at him. "If you don't start talking sense, Rand al'Thor, I swear I will box your ears.""Now you sound like Nynaeve." He laughed. As he looked down at her, though, his laughter faded. "I suppose - I suppose I'll never see you again. I know you have to go to Tar Valon. I know that. And you'll become an Aes Sedai. I am done with Aes Sedai, Egwene. I won't be a puppet for them, not for Moiraine, or any of them."He looked so lost she wanted to put his head on her shoulder, and so stubborn she really did want to box his ears. "Listen to me, you great ox. I am going to be an Aes Sedai, and I'll find a way to help you. I will.""The next time you see me, you will likely want to gentle me."She looked around hastily; they were alone in their stretch of the hall. "If you don't watch your tongue, I will not be able to help you. Do you want everyone to know?""Too many know already," he said. "Egwene, I wish things were different, but they aren't. I wish. . . . Take care of yourself. And promise me you won't choose the Red Ajah."Tears blurred her vision as she threw her arms around him. "You take care of yourself," she said fiercely into his chest. "If you don't, I'll - I'll . . . ." She thought she heard him murmur, "I love you," and then he was firmly unwrapping her arms, gently moving her away from him. He turned and strode away from her, almost running.She jumped when Nisura touched her arm. "He looks as if you set him a task he won't enjoy. But you mustn't let him see you cry over it. That negates the purpose. Come. Nynaeve wants you."Scrubbing her cheeks, Egwene followed the other woman. Take care of yourself, you wool-headed lummox. Light, take care of him.The farmhouse door shook under furious blows from outside; the heavy bar across the door jumped in its brackets. Beyond the window next to the door moved the heavy-muzzled silhouette of a Trolloc. There were windows everywhere, and more shadowy shapes outside. Not shadowy enough, though. Rand could still make them out.he windows, he thought desperately. He backed away from the door, clutching his sword before him in both hands. Even if the door holds, they can break in the windows. Why aren't they trying the windowsWith a deafening metallic screech, one of the brackets pulled partly away from the doorframe, hanging loose on nails ripped a finger's width out of the wood. The bar quivered from another blow, and the nails squealed again."We have to stop them!" Rand shouted. Only we can't. We can't stop them. He looked around for a way to run, but there was only the one door. The room was a box. Only one door, and so many windows. "We have to do something. Something!""It's too late," Mat said. "Don't you understand?" His grin looked odd on a bloodless pale face, and the hilt of a dagger stood out from his chest, the ruby that capped it blazing as if it held fire. The gem had more life than his face. "It's too late for us to change anything.""I've finally gotten rid of them," Perrin said, laughing. Blood streamed down his face like a flood of tears from his empty sockets. He held out red hands, trying to make Rand look at what he held. "I'm free, now. It's over. ""It's never over, al'Thor," Padan Fain cried, capering in the middle of the floor. "The battle's never done."The door exploded in splinters, and Rand ducked away from the flying shards of wood. Two red-clad Aes Sedai stepped through, bowing their master in. A mask the color of dried blood covered Ba'alzamon's face, but Rand could see the flames of his eyes through the eyeslits; he could hear the roaring fires of Ba'alzamon's mouth."It is not yet done between us, al'Thor," Ba'alzamon said, and he and Fain spoke together as one, "For you, the battle is never done."With a strangled gasp Rand sat up on the floor, clawing his way awake. It seemed he could still hear Fain's voice, as sharp as if the peddler were standing beside him. It's never over. The battle's never done.Bleary-eyed, he looked around to convince himself that he was still hidden away where Egwene had left him, bedded down on a pallet in a corner of her room. The dim light of a single lamp suffused the room, and he was surprised to see Nynaeve, knitting in a rocking chair on the other side of the lone bed, its covers still in place. It was night outside.Dark-eyed and slender, Nynaeve wore her hair in a fat braid, pulled over one shoulder and hanging almost to her waist. She had not given up on home. Her face was calm, and she seemed aware of nothing except her knitting as she rocked gently. The steady click-click of her knitting needles was the only sound. The rug silenced the rocking chair.

As organized by Jubal HarshaW, landed on the flat of theExecutive Palace shortly before ten o’clock the next morning. Theunpretentious pretender to the Martian throne, Mike Smith, had not worriedabout the purpose of the trip; he had simply enjoyed every minute of theshort flight south, with utter and innocent delight.The trip was made in a chartered Flying Greyhound, and Mike sat up in theastrodome above the driver, with Jill on one side and Dorcas on his other,and stared and stared in awed wonderment as the girls pointed out sights tohim and chattered in his ears. The seat, being intended for two people, wasvery crowded, but Mike did not mind, as a warming degree of growing closernecessarilY resulted. He sat with an arm around each, and looked andlistened and tried to grok and could not have been happier if he had been tenfeet under water.It was, in fact, his first view of Terran civilization He had seen nothing at all inbeing removed from the Champion to suite K-12 at Bethesda Center; he hadindeed spent a few minutes in a taxi ten days earlier going from the hospitalto Ben’s apartment but at the time he had grokked none of it. Since that timehis world had been bounded by a house and a swimming pool, plus5urroundiflg garden and grass and trees-he had not been as far as Jubal’sgate.But now he was enormously more sophisticated than he had been ten daysago. He understood windows, realized that the bubble surrounding him was awindow and meant for looking out of and that the changing sights he sawwere indeed the cities of these people. He understood maps and could pickout, with the help of the girls, where they were and what they were seeing onthe map flowing across the lap board in front of them. But of course he hadalways known about maps; he simply had not known until recently thathumans knew about maps. It had given him a twinge of happy homesicknessthe first time he had grokked a human map. Sure, it was static and deadcompared with the maps used by his people-but it was a map. Mike was notdisposed by nature and certainly not by training to invidious comparisonseven human maps were very Martian in essence -he liked them.Now he saw almost two hundred miles of countryside, much of it sprawlingworld metropolis, and savored every inch of it, tried to grok it. He was startledby the enormous size of human cities and by their bustling activity visibleeven from the air, so very different from the slow motion, monestary-gardenpace of cities of his own people. It seemed to him that a human city mustwear out almost at once, becoming so choked with living experience that onlythe strongest of the Old Ones could bear to visit its deserted streets and grokin contemplation the events and emotions piled layer on endless Layer in it.

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Such was not the case with Jubal, despite his years of pickling; stayingsociable with Mike during the experiment dulled the edge of his wits. So,when he attempted to ask Mike what he had done, Mike thought that he wasinquiring about the events during the raid by the S.S.-concerfling which Mikestill felt latent guilt. He tried to explain and, if needed, receive Jubal’s pardon.Jubal interrupted when at last he figured out what the boy was talking about.Son, I don’t want to know what you did, nor how you did it. What you did wasjust what was needed-perfect, just perfect. But-. He blinked owlishly. .-don’ttell me about it. Don’t ever tell anybody about it.“.Not?“.’Not.’ It was the damnedest thing I’ve seen since my uncle with the twoheads debated free silver and triumphantly refuted himself. An explanationwould spoil it.“.I do not grok rightly?“.Nor do I. So let’s not worry and have another drink.“Reporters and other newsmen started arriving while the party was stillclimbing. Jubal received each of them with courteous dignity, invited them toeat, drink, and relax-but to refrain from badgering himself or the Man fromMars.Those who failed to heed his injunction were tossed into the pool.At first Jubal kept Larry and Duke at flank to administer the baptism asnecessary. But, while some of the unfortunate importunates became angryand threatened various things which did not interest Jubal (other than tocaution Mike not to take any steps), others relaxed to the inevitable andadded themselves to the dousing squad on a volunteer basis, with the fanaticenthusiasm of proselytes-Jubal had to stop them from ducking the doyenlippmann of the New York Times for a third time.During the evening Dorcas came out of the house, sought out Jubal andwhispered in his ear: .Telephone, Boss. For you.“.Take a message.“.You must answer it, Boss.“.I’ll answer it with an ax! Duke, get me an ax. I’ve been intending to get rid ofthat Iron Maiden for some time-and tonight I’m in the mood for it.“.Boss ... you want to answer this one. It’s the man you spoke to for quite along time this afternoon.“.Oh. Why didn’t you say so?“ Jubal lumbered upstairs, made sure his studydoor was bolted behind him, went to the phone. Another of Douglas’ sleekacolytes was on the screen but was replaced quickly by Douglas. .It took youlong enough to answer your phone.“.It’s my phone, Mr. Secretary. Sometimes I don’t answer it at all.“.So it would seem. Why didn’t you tell me that this Caxton fellow is analcoholic?“.Is he?“.He certainly is! He isn’t missing-not in the usual sense. He’s been off on oneof his periodic benders. He was located, sleeping it off, in a fleabag inSonora.“.I’m glad to hear that he has been found. Thank you, sir.“.He’s been picked up on a technical charge of .vagrancy.’ The charge won’tbe pressed-instead we are releasing him to you.“.I am very much in your debt, sir.“.Oh, it’s not entirely a favor! I’m having him delivered to you in the state inwhich he was found-filthy, unshaven, and, I understand, smelling like abrewery. I want you to see for yourself what sort of a tramp he is.“.Very well, sir. When may I expect him?“.Almost at once, I fancy. A courier arrow left Nogales some time ago. AtMach three or better it should be overhead soon. The pilot has instructions todeliver him to you and get a receipt.“.He shall have it.“.Now, Counsellor ... having delivered him, I wash my hands of it. I shallexpect you, and your client, to appear for talks whether you fetch along thatdrunken libeller or not.“.Agreed. When?“.Shall we say tomorrow at ten? Here.“.’Twere best done quickly.’ Agreed.“Jubal went back downstairs and paused at his broken door. .Jill! Comehere, child.“.Yes, Jubal.“ She trotted toward him, a reporter in close formation with her.Jubal waved the man back. .Private,“ he said firmly. .Family matter. Gohave a drink.“.Whose family?“.A death in yours, if you insist. Scat!“ The newsman grinned and accepted it.

I know. You’ve probably never encountered complete honesty before -Iknow I hadn’t. Innocence. Mike has never tasted the fruit of the Tree ofKnowledge of Good and Evil . . . so we, who have, don’t understand whatmakes him tick. Well, on your own head be it. I hope you never regret it.“Jubal looked up. .Oh, there you are! I thought you had stopped to distill thestuff.“Larry answered, .Couldn’t find a cork screw, at first.“.Machinery again. Why didn’t you bite the neck off? Duke, you’ll find someglasses stashed behind The Anatomy of Melancholy up there-.I know where you hide them.“.-and we’ll all have a quick one, neat, before we get down to seriousdrinking.“ Duke got the glasses; Jubal poured and held up his own. .Thegolden sunshine of Italy congealed into tears. Here’s to alcoholic brotherhood. . . much more suited to the frail human soul, if any, than any other sort.“.Health.“.Cheers.“Jubal poured his slowly down his throat. .Ah~“ he said happily, and belched.Offer some of that to Mike, afterwards, Duke, and let him learn how good itis to be human. Makes me feel creative. Front! Why are those girls neveraround when I need them? Ftvnt!!“.I’m still .Front,’ . Miriam answered, at the door, .but-.I know. And I was saying: .-to what strange, bittersweet fate my tomboyambition-.“.But I finished that story while you were chatting on the telephone with theSecretary General.“.Then you are no longer .Front.’ Send it off.“.Don’t you want to read it first? Anyhow, I’ve got to revise it- kissing Mikegave me a new insight on it.“Jubal shuddered. .Read it?’ Good God, no! It’s bad enough to write such athing. And don’t even consider revising it, certainly not to fit the facts. Mychild, a true-confession story should never be tarnished by any taint of truth.“.Okay, Boss. And Anne says if you want to come down to the pool and havea bite before you eat, come on.“.I can’t think of a better time. Shall we adjourn to the terrace, gentlemen’?“At the pool the party progressed liquidly with bits of fish and otherScandinavian high-caloric comestibles added to taste. At Jubal’s invitationMike tried brandy, somewhat cut with water. Mike found the resultingsensation extremely disquieting, so he analysed his trouble, added oxygen tothe ethanol in an inner process of reversed fermentation and converted it toglucose and water, which gave him no trouble.Jubal had been observing with interest the effect of his first drink of liquor onthe Man from Mars-saw him become drunk almost at once, saw him sober upeven more quickly. In an attempt to understand what had happened, Jubalurged more brandy on Mike-which he readily accepted since his waterbrother offered it. Mike sopped up an extravagant quantity of fine importedliquor before Jubal was willing to concede that it was impossible to get himdrunk.

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The interview was finished with inanities, Jubal fielding any questions Mikefailed to understand; Mackenzie signed off with a promise to the public that acolor & depth special interview with the Man from Mars would follow in thirtyminutes. .Stay synched with this station!“ He stayed on the phone and waitedfor his technicians to report.Which the crew boss did, almost at once: .Nothing wrong with thattransceiver, Mr. Mackenzie, nor with any part of this field setup.“.Then what was wrong with it before?“The technician glanced at Larry and Duke, then grinned. .Nothing. But ithelps quite a bit to put power through it. The breaker was open at the board.“Harshaw intervened to stop a wrangle between Larry and Duke, one whichseemed concerned with the relative merits of various sorts of idiocy morethan with the question of whether Duke had, or had not, told Larry that acertain tripped circuit breaker must be reset if it was anticipated that theboirowed equipment was going to be used. The showman’s aspect of Jubal’spersonality regretted that the .finest unrehearsed spectacular since Elijahbested the Priests of Baal“ had been missed by the cameras. But the politicalfinagler in him was relieved that mischance had kept Mike’s curious talentsstill a close secret-Jubal anticipated that he still might need them, as a secretweapon . . . not to mention the undesirability of trying to explain to skepticalstrangers the present whereabouts of certain policemen plus two squad cars.As for the rest, it merely confirmed his own conviction that science andinvention had reached its peak with the Model-T Ford and had been growingsteadily more decadent ever since. And besides, Mackenzie wanted to get onwith the depth & color interview- They got through that with a minimum ofrehearsing, Jubal simply making sure that no question would be asked whichcould upset the public fiction that the Man from Mars had just returned fromSouth America. Mike sent greetings to his friends and brothers of theChampion, including one to Dr. Mahmoud delivered in croaking, throatrasping Martian Jubal decided that Mackenzie had his money’s worthAt last the household could quiet down. Jubal set the telephone for two hoursrefusal, stood up, stretched, sighed, and felt a great weariness, wondered ifhe were getting old. .Where’s dinner? Which one of you wenches wassupposed to get dinner tonight? And why didn’t you? Gad, this household isfalling to wrack and ruin!“.It was my turn to get dinner tonight,“ Jill answered, .but-.Excuses, always excuses.“.Boss,“ Anne interrupted sharply, .how do you expect anyone to cook whenyou’ve kept every single one of us penned up here in your study allafternoon?“.That’s the moose’s problem,“ Jubal said dourly. .I want it clearly understoodthat, even if Armageddon is held on these premises I expect meals to be hotand on time right up to the ultimate trump. Furthermore-.Furthermore,“ Anne completed, .it is now only seven-forty and plenty of timeto have dinner by eight. So quit yelping, Boss, until you have something toyelp about. Cry-baby.“.Is it really only twenty minutes of eight? Seems like a week since lunch.Anyhow ~OU haven’t left me a civilized amount of time to have a pre-dinnerdrink.“.Poor you?’Somebody get me a drink. Get everybody a drink. On second thought let’sskip a formal dinner tonight and drink our dinners; I feel like getting as tightas a tent rope on a rainy day. Anne, how are we fixed for smorgasbord?“.Plenty.“.Then why not thaw out eighteen or nineteen kinds and spread .em aroundand let anybody eat what he feels like when he feels like it? What’s all theargument about?“.Right away,“ agreed Jill.Anne stopped to kiss him on his bald spot. .Boss, you’ve done nobly. We’llfeed you and get you drunk and put you to bed. Wait, Jill, I’m going to help.“.I may to help, too?“ Smith said eagerly.Sure, Mike. You can carry trays. Boss, dinner will be by the pool. It’s ahot night.“.How else?“ When they had left, Jubal said to Duke, .Where the hellhave you been all day?“.Thinking.“.Doesn’t pay to. Just makes you discontented with what you seearound you. Any results?“.Yes,“ said Duke, .I’ve decided that what Mike eats, or doesn’t eat, isno business of mine.“.Congratulations. A desire not to butt into other people’s business is at leasteighty percent of all human .wisdom . . . and the other twenty percent isn’tvery important.“.You butt into other people’s business. All the time.“.Who said I was Wise? I’m a professional bad example. You can learn a lotby watching me. Or listening to me. Either one.“.Jubal, if I walked up to Mike and offered him a glass of water, do yousuppose he would go through that lodge routine?“.I feel certain that he would. Duke, almost the only human characteristic Mikeseems to possess is an 0verwhelming desire to be liked. But I want to makesure that you know how Serious it is to him. Much more serious than gettingmarried. I myself accepted water brotherhood with Mike before I understoodit-and I’ve become more and more deeply entangled with its responsibilitiesthe more I’ve grokked it. You’ll be committing yourself never to lie to him,never to mislead or deceive him in any way, to stick by him come what maybecausethat is just what he will do with you. Better think about it.“.I have been thinking about it, all day. Jubal, there’s something about Mikethat makes you want to take care of him.