e in
a smashing arc. Reinhart sailed against the wall, struck with ringing
force and then slid slowly to the floor.

The Government troops threw their grapples quickly around him and
jerked him to his feet. His body was frozen rigid. Blood dripped from
his mouth. He spat bits of tooth, his eyes glazed over. Dixon stood
dazed, mouth open, uncomprehending, as the grapples closed around his
arms and legs.

Reinhart's gun skidded to the floor as he was yanked toward the door.
One of the elderly Council members picked the gun up and examined it
curiously. He laid it carefully on the table. "Fully loaded," he
murmured. "Ready to fire."

Reinhart's battered face was dark with hate. "I should have killed all
of you. _All_ of you!" An ugly sneer twisted across his shredded lips.
"If I could get my hands loose--"

"You won't," Margaret Duffe said. "You might as well not even bother
to think about it." She signalled to the troops and they pulled
Reinhart and Dixon roughly out of the room, two dazed figures,
snarling and resentful.

For a moment the room was silent. Then the Council members shuffled
nervously in their seats, beginning to breathe again.

Sherikov came over and put his big paw on Margaret Duffe's shoulder.
"Are you all right, Margaret?"

She smiled faintly. "I'm fine. Thanks...."

Sherikov touched her soft hair briefly. Then he broke away and began
to pack up his briefcase busily. "I have to go. I'll get in touch with
you later."

"Where are you going?" she asked hesitantly. "Can't you stay and--"

"I have to get back to the Urals." Sherikov grinned at her over his
bushy black beard as he headed out of the room. "Some very important
business to attend to."

* * * * *

Thomas Cole was sitting up in bed when Sherikov came to the door. Most
of his awkward, hunched-over body was sealed in a thin envelope of
transparent airproof plastic. Two robot attendants whirred ceaselessly
at his side, their leads contacting his pulse, blood-pressure,
respiration, body temperature.

Cole turned a little as the huge Pole tossed down his briefcase and
seated himself on the window ledge.

"How are you feeling?" Sherikov asked him.

"Better."

"You see we've quite advanced therapy. Your burns should be healed in
a few months."

"How is the war coming?"

"The war is over."

Cole's lips moved. "Icarus--"

"Icarus went as expected. As _you_ expected." Sherikov leaned toward
the be