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ships of our entire combined fleets, but no Mil landed on our three planets.”
    “Well, who do you think is the traitor?”
    “My second-in-command, a fellow by the name of Gorlot.” Harlan’s eyes narrowed speculatively. “I’m not sure. It couldn’t be that . . . No. They know we’re not ready to go after the Mil yet unless that new weapon . . .” and he trailed off tantalizingly. “This Gorlot’s a throwback. Uncivilized. He lives only for battle and he’s a master strategist. Pulled off some extraordinary maneuvers three Eclipses ago. That’s why I seconded his appointment when Gartly retired. But he’s no good as a peacetime officer and the Perimeter has been very peaceful. He belongs back in the days of the first Harlan with the Seventeen Sons when it was all we could do to find caves deep enough to escape the Mil. He’d be the proper man to send out to the Mil but . . . That hothead forgets that no Lotharian has the guts,” he threw in, “besides himself, because he did it one day on a wager, to walk into a Mil ship until it’s been completely decontaminated. The smell of those things is enough to set a tough squadron leader raving. Until the Alliance with Ertoi and Glan, we had to wait until the Mil decomposed inside their ships before we could refit them. Fortunately, the Ertoi and Glan aren’t hampered by such childish terrors.
    “I wonder,” and Harlan drew back into his thoughts for a long time. His conclusions did not settle his mind, for he growled with impatience and resumed his pacing, cursing Gorlot, cursing his own stupidity for falling into the trap of the asylum.
    “I’ve got to get out of here and back to Lothara,” he cried in a groan, clenching and unclenching his fists behind his back as he paced.

 
    CHAPTER FOUR
    S LEEP THAT NIGHT WAS NOT restful. It was peopled with formless obscenities and charged with fear and anger, frustration and hopelessness. I was alone in the bed when I awoke. Startled I turned in panic and saw with relief that Harlan was up and pacing, his face black with worry and fatigue.
    At breakfast there were none of the pleasant pantomimes we affected about the division and consumption of our scanty ration. Harlan ate quickly, glowering.
    The walk in the garden that morning was sheer relief. The four bare walls of the cottage had grown smaller with every passing minute. Harlan had draped his jacket loosely on him so that a strong outward pressure would free him. We had agreed to delay returning to our cottage until the guard was forced to round us up. This assured us of a chance of overcoming him once we got to the cottage. So we dawdled at the far end of the grounds on the outside paths following the line of the force screen. We were at the high end, midway between two posts when it happened.
    One of the patients went berserk. He threw himself at the screen, dragging his unwilling companion with him. Together they went up into a torch of blue flame, burning fast and hotly with only the echo of screams of unutterable agony to mark their death.
    Even as I stared with paralyzed horror at these human torches, Harlan had reacted to the opportunity. Flinging off the jacket, he grabbed me by the shoulder and together we hurtled into the faltering screen. I thought I, too, would be consumed in flame. The pain and shock that coursed through my body was too intense for me even to scream a protest. Then, once past the weakened barrier, only an endurable ache and burning sensation remained. The burning was quite legitimate because our clothing had been reduced in an instant to scorched tatters. Even the heavily padded jacket was singed brown. Harlan, however, gave me no time to pause and take stock. Grabbing my hand, he pulled me through the land moat around the force screen and into the grain field with its high waving grasses.
    “Have you no idea, Sara, where this asylum is?”
    “None,” I cried, feeling the pull of the sharp grass tendrils against my