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this fight, Number One," said P'Qal as they followed K'Raoda through the blast hole and onto a walkway that circled the bridge.
    They stood looking out over a great round room, consoles everywhere, rimmed by armor glass with a view of the bleak surface of the battleglobe and Repulse, nestled between those massive fusion batteries. About fifty crew manned the consoles, P'Qal guessed. He leaned over the railing for a better look.
    "Wouldn't do that if I were you, Captain," said a new voice. "It's pretty weak in places."
    P'Qal stepped back and turned toward the speaker. Wiry-framed, about forty-five, with a receding hairline and dark, intelligent eyes, a man wearing the insignia of a colonel of Fleet Counterintelligence stepped down from the access ladder to the left of the doorway. "Welcome to Devastator, Captain, Commander. My name's R'Gal."
    P'Qal's communicator beeped. "Yes?" he said, rising from his chair and moving back a few meters.
    "There's a Fleet omega-class shuttle coming toward you from Terra," reported Captain S'Yatan. "IDs as Embassy craft."
    "We're expecting it," said P'Qal. "Perhaps we can have a real conversation when it gets here—we've been sipping t'ata and listening to Colonel R'Gal's anecdotes since we arrived." He glanced at R'Gal, chatting quietly with S'Tat. High and musical, the laugh rang faintly from the steel walls of R'Gal's quarters.
    "Everything all right?" said S'Yatan.
    "Knives at our throats and tinglers on our gonads," said P'Qal.
    "Very well. Will check back as arranged."
    P'Qal pocketed his communicator and returned to his chair. "Shuttle coming in from Terra," he said as R'Gal and S'Tat looked at him. "Maybe then you'll tell us what you're doing here. If not..."
    R'Gal held up a hand. "I know. You'll have to arrest us all and take our vessel in tow." He said it straight-faced. "Be assured, Captain, we're not here to see Ginza at night.
    "More t'ata, Commander?"
    Designed and built by AIs, the only facilities for humans on board Devastator were as prisoners, eighteen levels beneath the operations tower. The sleeping quarters were small and the bathrooms smaller. The lavatory sinks had no plugs and gave only reluctantly of a small flow of tepid water, something John cursed each time he tried to shave, as he was doing now.
    "Pssst. Harrison."
    But for the invention of the safety razor, John would probably have slit his own throat. The appearance of a six-foot, four legged green insectoid behind one in the bathroom tends to evoke a violent response. As it was, the Terran shrieked and whirled, razor en garde.
    "You look absurd," said Guan-Sharick. "A hairy, towel-clad primate threatening a teleki-netic lifeform with a foam-tipped shaver." The insectoid's form shimmered and vanished, replaced by that of a jumpsuit-clad blonde, seated on the toilet. "That better?" said Guan-Sharick.
    John glared at the transmute. "I thought you went with Implacable when we parted, back in the Ghost Quadrant."
    "Guess again," said the blonde.
    "And why the green bug display? I thought it was finally resolved that you were human?"
    "I don't think it was ever said that I was human," said Guan-Sharick. "What was was that I'm not a biofab."
    The Terran gestured imperiously with the razor. "Out."
    They stepped into the living quarters. Cutting torches and some clever use of available materials had converted five small cells into a reasonably commodious, sparsely furnished two-room suite.
    "The lovely Zahava not at home?" said the transmute, peering through the doorway into the living room.
    "No," said John, reaching for his pants. "Do you mind?"
    "Idiocy," said the blonde, turning away from him.
    "Okay," said Harrison after a moment, tucking in his shirt. "What do you want?"
    The blonde turned. "You know we've entered the Terran system?"
    "So? We're not landing."
    "R'Gal needs the cooperation of the insystem commander to access the portal to the AI universe."
    John nodded.
    "I'm confident he'll get it, one way or the