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that test. I also couldn’t tell when the next intravenous injection would be administered. With it, I would have to start all over again, denying Harlan the drugged food, waiting for his return to sanity.
    Whatever qualms or fears I might have normally entertained were overruled. Harlan’s anxiety and frustration intensified my own desire to be out of this mad place. And, too, not once did Harlan intimate he felt he had a better chance of escaping by himself although I was sure he did. He had included my release in his calculations and brushed aside my one half-hearted attempt at sacrifice.
    Every day Harlan’s recovery had been jeopardized by the random appearances of the guard. This one day, when we were nervously primed for our escape, he was conspicuous by his absence. Harlan had to exert a tremendous control over his impatience and I was constantly forced to remind him during the exercise period to stop charging up the paths, to school his expression into the proper witlessness. He endured these corrections far better than I should have. All in all, by evening both our tempers were frayed by the unrewarded waiting.
    As soon as the lights were out, Harlan, releasing some of his frustration in the action, rammed the pillow against the speaker and began to pace around the room in a frenzied way.
    His pacing grew as unendurable to me as a fingernail scraped across slate.
    “Last night,” I began hesitantly, not knowing what I wanted to say but knowing that any conversation was better than this taut silence, “last night, I told you who I was and how I got here. Who are you besides Harlan and how did you get in here? Who drugged you? Why?”
    He paused in mid-stride, frowning as my questions brought him out of his thoughts. He gave a sort of snort, smiled and, after another moment’s silence, began to talk. He had a pleasant voice when he kept it low, but it had the burr of the military bark and a metallic quality. Gradually, as he talked, he stopped pacing and then sat down, watching me as he spoke with a disconcerting attention.
    “You certainly do deserve some explanations, if only for all the meals you gave up,” he said, gripping my shoulder as a gesture of his continued gratitude.
    “Before I came here, I was Regent of this planet for my eldest brother’s son, Ferrill.”
    “I thought the guard had called you Regent, but it didn’t make any sense then.”
    Harlan grimaced. “That guard . . . It’s the custom here on Lothar for the Commander of the Perimeter Patrol to assume the duties of Regent if the heir to the Warlordship is underage when he becomes a candidate.”
    “Why couldn’t you be Warlord if you were brother to the . . .”
    “No, that doesn’t follow,” Harlan replied blandly. “I should say, Fathor was my half-brother. We had the same father, but Fathor’s mother was the first wife and his progeny inherit. Besides, I’ve other plans for my time once Ferrill is of age. Like finding your planet. I like finding new planets. I like exploring.” A boyish grin lit his features. “I’ve had luck in that direction already. Found two new ones, fraternal planets around the star we call Tane, my fourth year on Patrol.”
    I gathered this involved more than just searching a section of space until you found stars with satellites. I murmured proper things, only he frowned.
    “They’ve been more trouble than they’re worth . . . almost,” he continued. “The inhabitants are humanoid, but the gentlest, dumbest people imaginable. They make some of our associates here look like Council members. They’ve got two of the most beautiful planets, crawling with game animals; Lothar doesn’t have too many anymore. Their oceans are full of edible fish; their lands, which the Tanes don’t even bother to cultivate, would support millions of us. They’ve got mineral resources that make the mind swim when you think how many ships, instruments and fuel it means in terms of our fight against the