“Why do you love me? You’re obviously much more intelligent.”

“They really restricted your education to a few designated areas, didn’t they? Intelligence is a poor measure of humanity.”

She leaned over to kiss him without obstructing his vision. “When you say that I don’t feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, Lisa. You’ve just been undereducated, and deliberately so. Ready … step through.”

“We’ve all been undereducated, compared to you,” Jeeter told him. “Not that I envy you your manner of education.” He glanced toward the team guarding the airlock, received a wave by way of reply.

“Still quiet, but they’re bound to try something again soon.”

“Another twenty hours and it won’t matter what they try,” Eric reminded him.

“That’s true.” He sounded wistful. “It’s going to feel funny being truly independent of Earth. We’ll be the first group of humans in history to break the bonds for real. We’ll be freer than any settlers have ever been. I wonder what Paradise is really like?”

“We’ll all know soon enough. I expect Paradise to be like paradise. For everyone’s sake. If not, I expect to face a lynch mob twenty-five-thousand strong.”

Jeeter looked around the busy, quiet room and made shushing motions with his hands. “Don’t talk like that. You’ve got everyone convinced that you know what you’re talking about. This isn’t the time to sow uncertainty.”

“The universe is a maelstrom of uncertainty, Jeeter. I’m ninety-five percent sure of the references I drew upon from the Syrax catalog. I considered the five percent deviation acceptable when I made this proposal.”

“Five percent,” Jeeter murmured. “How come you never mentioned that before?”

“Because it would have sowed uncertainty,” Eric reminded him without a glimmer of a smile.

Jeeter shook his head slowly. “It’s a good thing the Syrax didn’t program you for a career in show business.”

“I believe those aspects of human existence are a mystery to them. I never was the life of the party.”

“You’re sure making up for lost time. You are the party now, Eric.” He let his gaze wander back to the undisturbed airlock. “I wonder what they’ll try first?”

Dr. Dhurapati Ponnani was pondering the same question as she stood watching Commander Rasmusson give orders in City Security Central. As it developed, they had less time to reach a decision than they knew.

The young officer who approached Rasmusson was out of breath from running. He saluted quickly and interposed himself between the commander and his subofficers. Ponnani moved closer.

“Whal the devil’s wrong with you, mister?” Rasmusson growled. “I didn’t ask you to join this discussion.”

“Sorry, sir,” the young officer said apologetically, panting hard. “I’ll accept any reprimand, but I considered it vital to deliver this message personally.”

“What message? Why didn’t you call it through?”

“Sir, recalling your general directive about maintaining media silence concerning the difficulty at hand, I—”

“Never mind. Say what you came to say.”

“I’ve just come up from Traffic, sir. There’s a very large ship approaching the city. It's half a luna out and coming in damn fast. It’s Syrax, sir.”

Rasmusson looked grim. “Then this is all a part of their plan.” He looked to his left. “Ovimbi, tell communications to try to raise the Syrax, and fast.” Then he turned to the watching Ponnani. “I’m sorry, Doctor, but this takes things out of my hands. I have my orders. We may have to blow the Station.”

She sighed. “I am expecting suggestions from Colligatarch Authority any time now as to how to proceed with Eric Abbott.”

“Tell it to the Syrax. I’ll delay as long as I can and no longer.”

“I understand. I disagree, and I’ll lodge a formal protest, but I understand.”

“That’s all I expect you to do.” There was a frantic wave from Ovimbi, the communications officer, and Rasmusson stalked over to a wide, curving console. Speakers crackled as communication was established.

The voice that filled the room was gentle but metallic and stilted. The Syrax made use of mechanical translating devices whenever they felt it necessary to speak to human beings. The surprise was that video was provided, and the large opto screen above communications immediately became the focus of attention throughout Security Central.

As always, the sight of the Syrax was disconcerting, though less so on opto than in person. Beyond it, shapes could be seen drifting through thick fog. The Syrax who spoke stood before the alien pickup. No one had ever known a Syrax to sit.

“You are the commander of the orbiting station.”

“I am in charge of its security, yes.” Rasmusson beckoned Ponnani forward until she was standing alongside him. “This is Dr. Ponnani, who is in charge of the scientific complement here.”

“Good life to you also, Doctor.”

“Thank you.” Ponnani eyed the limber, cartilaginous shape with fascination.

“In your language I am called Limpid.” That was all. No surname, no title. “We believe that Eric Abbott has discovered the secret of reversing the polarity of the GATE field, and in concert with an undetermined number of human beings has taken control of it.” Rasmusson did not comment.

“We have sources of information,” the Syrax added.

“Traitors,” the commander muttered darkly, unaware that he’d said it loud enough for the pickup to detect.

“Traitors. You would be interested perhaps to know that the term sounds somewhat similar in our language. That is of no moment now. Eric Abbott is utilizing the GATE for transpositional purposes, yet you have not moved to prevent him.”

“We can’t,” said Ponnani. Rasmusson made as if to quiet her but she shook him off. “I’m within my authority in speaking to matters involving the GATE, Commander. Besides, I see little harm in confirming what they already know.” She looked back to the screen. “You know what rebuilding the GATE would entail.”

“You suggest its destruction. Why would you consider such a thing?”

“To prevent you from obtaining that which you set Eric Abbott to do: steal the secret of GATE technology and operation.”

“Eric Abbott was a failure. A complex, interesting, but overengineered failure.”

Ponnani noted that the Syrax did not bother to try to deny the purpose behind Abbott’s construction. “Why contact us now?” she inquired.

“We disliked failure. To learn why we failed we need to study our failure.”

“Why? So you can build a better thief next time?” Rasmusson snapped at the alien.

“Not sensible. Having been made aware of this method, you would naturally guard carefully against its reuse in the future. I repeat: we dislike failure. An independent tool is a contradiction in terms. There will be no more Eric Abbotts.”

“You say we’d be on guard against it. How do we know you couldn’t build a person who could outwit our safeguards?”

“Because we will help you to design the necessary methods of detection. Methods which your own scientists can confirm.”

“That’s unusually generous of you,” said Ponnani. “Why should you help us guard against your own inventions?”