"The matter of his death?" I asked carefully. "Or the matter of the images he'd been working on?"

Tressalian's smile returned. "The two are one, Doctor--surely you've guessed that much. Your death, however, would have caused an inconvenient public stir--still, had you persisted they would almost certainly have found a way to eliminate you quietly."

"But why?" I asked voluntarily. "What the hell is going on--"

I was cut off by the man seated at the piloting console, who spoke in a steady yet forbidding tone, "Larissa's preparing to engage--they're within range, and she's routed helm control to the turret station."

Tressalian sighed, though his concern did not appear deep. "Well, Colonel, since that leaves you with nothing to do for the moment, come and meet Dr. Wolfe."

The man at the now usurped guidance panel stood up, and even before he had turned, I could see that he had a military bearing, one that was complemented by a high-collared suit of clothes that was really more of an unembellished uniform. When he did turn, it was in a quick, wheeling motion, and what I saw next caused me to take in a quick and rather rude gasp of air.

Heavy brows loomed low over penetrating dark eyes amid the deep brown skin, and the jaw, had it been any more set, might well have shattered: but what prompted my extreme reaction was the sight of one of the more horrific scars I'd ever encountered, running the length of the right side of the head, tugging at one eye and pulling a corner of the mouth down into a perpetual frown. A streak of snow white followed the line of the scar up into the otherwise jet-black hair.

"Dr. Wolfe," Tressalian said, "this is Colonel Justus Slayton."

"Retired," the colonel added in that low, almost ominous voice that made it plain I'd be well advised to tread carefully during any contact with him.

I did. "The same Colonel Slayton," I asked, offering a hand, "who almost changed the course of the Taiwan campaign?" That seemed to take just a bit of the steel out of the man's demeanor, and he actually accepted my hand, encasing it in his own with a force that was impressive.

"No one could have changed the course of that campaign," Slayton answered. "My men and I were a token resistance--sacrificial animals, nothing more."

"Offered on the altar of expanded trade with the commu-capitalists in Beijing," I agreed with a nod. "Still, you put up a hell of a fight."

"Excellent again, Doctor," Tressalian said. "Not many people understand the facts of that campaign. What you may not know about the colonel, however, is that after being wounded on Taiwan, he became one of the Pentagon's top men in weapons development. That, of course, was before I persuaded him to--"

"Malcolm," Colonel Slayton interrupted. "Before we go any further, there's the matter of the doctor's DNA disc."

Tressalian became slightly embarrassed. "Oh. Yes, exactly right, Colonel. I must apologize once again, Doctor. But recent events have forced us to become a little more circumspect in our dealings. Do you mind?"

"Oh--no, of course not," I said, going for my wallet, removing my DNA identification disc and handing it over. "Hell, during the past few days, I wouldn't have been able to swear that I was me."

"Thank you," Tressalian said. He and I watched as Slayton produced a handheld DNA reader (much like the one Max had carried nearly everywhere he went), then popped the disc in. After a few seconds he took it out again, nodding as he handed it back to me. "Ah, good, that nuisance is out of the way," Tressalian said, heading for the metal stairs that led up to the observation dome. "Now, Doctor, I'll be happy to answer any questions you have--though I think you might enjoy watching Larissa in action while we talk."

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