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direct than to announce their presence with a knock. It must be somebody else.
    "Who's there?" Dirisha said.
    "A friend of the matadors," came a male voice.
    Everyone glanced quickly at Sleel. Red said, "I thought you said we were covered better than a singularity explorer."
    Sleel shrugged.
    Dirisha moved toward the door; the others spread out, taking positions so their field of fire wouldn't cross on each other. Bork and Mayli took the left, Sleel and Geneva the right, while Red watched the windows.
    Dirisha, her right spetsdöd held ready, thumbed the door control with her left hand. The door slid back to reveal—
    Pen!
    For a moment nobody spoke or moved. Then the shrouded figure nodded once and stepped into the room.
    Dirisha regarded the man in the costume of the Siblings of the Shroud. It wasn't Khadaji of course. This man was shorter, older, to judge from his hands, and his eyes were green, not blue. He didn't seem the least worried that twelve spetsdöds were pointed at him.
    "Who are you, Deuce?"
    Beneath the cover of the robe, Dirisha thought she detected the motions of a smile. "I am called... Pen," he said matter-of-factly.
    Dirisha felt the tension in the room relax, as the others came out of their combat poses. A Pavlovian response to the name? No, it was something else; there was a kind of peace about this man. He was, Dirisha felt, not a threat; more, he was what he had said through the door—a friend.
    "Pen," Dirisha said. "Any relation to the Pen we all knew?"
    "I was Pen before; for a time, I was known by another name. When Emile no longer needed the identity, I resumed it."
    "Jesus," Sleel said, "you're that Pen? His teacher?"
    The robed man bowed. "The same."
    Dirisha felt a sense of awe, and with it, a spate of questions. Was this really Pen? What was he doing here? How had he found them? Chang, Pen , the real Pen! How? Why?
    Pen saved them the trouble of asking. "I'm here because of what you plan to do," he said. "Emile is due to be transferred from Renault to Earth in two days."
    "We figured it'd be quick," Dirisha said. "But Renault is only a few hours away by direct Bender. We have time—"
    "You mistake me," Pen said. "I am here to tell you that you should not attempt to free him on Renault."
    "What!" Geneva stepped forward. "We won't have a chance once he gets here! Even a hundred matadors couldn't get through the net they'll have over him!"
    "I understand that."
    "Then you're telling us we shouldn't try to break him out at all?" That from Bork.
    "Yes."
    "Why?" That from Dirisha, Red, and Sleel together.
    Pen stood silently for a moment. "I cannot tell you. Not yet. Emile knows you will try, and it is his wish that you do not."
    "You've communicated with him?"
    "Not for some years."
    "Then how can you know what he wants?" Dirisha said. "You were his teacher a long time ago, but he was our teacher only a few months past. We owe him."
    Pen shrugged. "I can only convey what I know to be true. You should not risk yourselves. Yet."
    Dirisha turned to look at the others. She saw skepticism on their faces, and it mirrored her own. Even if this was Pen, they didn't buy his message. She certainly didn't.
    "Listen, Pen, or whoever you are, I'm sorry. We're set to leave. If you are on our side, you can come along. Or stay here—as long as we can be sure you won't screw up our plans."
    Pen laughed.
    "Something funny here I'm missing?" Sleel said. His voice was soft, what Dirisha knew as his dangerous tone.
    "Only my amazement at how farsighted Emile has always been. I searched for years for the Cosmic Flash, and because I wanted it so much, I never found it. I learned a lot, but never that great truth. He knew what you would say." Pen paused, and looked around the room. "I won't betray you. Do what you must, but remember what I have said. We'll meet again, perhaps."
    Bork edged forward a hair, just enough so Dirisha caught the movement.
    His movement was an unspoken question: Do we wrap this guy up,