d the Officer punctiliously.

"At ease, sir." Artomenes returned the salute. "You were called here for
a word from the Faros. Sir, I present Captain Phryges."

"Not orders, son ... no." Ariponides' right hand rested in greeting upon
the captain's left shoulder, wise old eyes probed deeply into
gold-flecked, tawny eyes of youth; the Faros saw, without really
noticing, a flaming thatch of red-bronze-auburn hair. "I asked you here
to wish you well; not only for myself, but for all our nation and
perhaps for our entire race. While everything in my being rebels against
an unprovoked and unannounced assault, we may be compelled to choose
between our Officer's plan of campaign and the destruction of
Civilization. Since you already know the vital importance of your
mission, I need not enlarge upon it. But I want you to know fully,
Captain Phryges, that all Atlantis flies with you this night."

"Th ... thank you, sir." Phryges gulped twice to steady his voice. "I'll
do my best, sir."

And later, in a wingless craft flying toward the airfield, young Phryges
broke a long silence. "So _that_ is the Faros ... I like him, Officer
... I have never seen him close up before ... there's something about
him.... He isn't like my father, much, but it seems as though I have
known him for a thousand years!"

"Hm ... m ... m. Peculiar. You two are a lot alike, at that, even though
you don't look anything like each other. ... Can't put a finger on
exactly what it is, but it's there." Although Artomenes nor any other of
his time could place it, the resemblance was indeed there. It was in and
back of the eyes; it was the "look of eagles" which was long later to
become associated with the wearers of Arisia's Lens. "But here we are,
and your ship's ready. Luck, son."

"Thanks, sir. But one more thing. If it should--if I don't get
back--will you see that my wife and the baby are...?"

"I will, son. They will leave for North Maya tomorrow morning. They will
live, whether you and I do or not. Anything else?"

"No, sir. Thanks. Goodbye."

The ship was a tremendous flying wing. A standard commercial job.
Empty--passengers, even crewmen, were never subjected to the brutal
accelerations regularly used by unmanned carriers. Phryges scanned the
panel. Tiny motors were pulling tapes through the controllers. Every
light showed green. Everything was set. Donning a water-proof coverall,
he slid through a flexible valve into his acceleration-tank and w