Those of my blood

Titus listened, mentally tracing the damage, for there was question he couldn’t ask. Built into the system, there had been a black box Shimon had been instructed under Influence not to tamper with. It was Titus’s link to Co

It had been designed for this project, and could send and receive messages hidden in the checksums that ensured the accuracy of all telecommunications. The two computers repeated sequences back and forth and filtered out the data from the noise. Titus’s black box simply preempted several of the repetitions to send Titus’s message, which the computer on the other end discarded as noise but the black box on Earth captured and decoded for Co

Now it appeared that Abbot’s sabotage had destroyed the device. How could he tell Co

He spent some time berating himself for not predicting Abbot’s swift move. Abbot had, after all, spent the voyage resting and refreshing himself with his new human. He had not arrived hungry and exhausted, but-

Titus’s mind leaped. Abbot had learned something from Mirelle-something about the clandestine project with Project Hail. That had made it necessary for him to gain some time. Rebuilding the device Titus had destroyed was only an excuse. He’d never have taken such a risk for that. But then why did he do it?

Titus had no time to pursue that question. The rest of the day went into assessing the damage and scouring the station for hardware. His computer system was a complex of interlinked units designed to accept, store, and digest the input from all Earth’s observatories, to create and continually update detailed, multi-dimensional maps of space.

Their one small lab room contained more computing power than had existed on all of Earth a decade before. It was designed to become the astrogation and command center of Earth’s interstellar exploration fleet-or battle fleet.

Within four hours, Titus realized they were racing Abbot from storeroom to storeroom, gleaning the dregs he left them. Grimly, Titus began to anticipate Abbot’s moves, and garnered two or three hauls that would chisel days off the repairs. He listed the items he suspected Abbot had swiped out from under them by deleting them from inventory or by misfiling them on the shelves. Later, he’d find them himself.

By the time he left the lab, Titus had requisitioned everything that had to be ordered from Luna Station or Earth. He had a thorough report entered into his Bell 990. And he had an appointment with Carol Colby.

He had spent hours framing his report in such a way that he would not appear, to the humans, to be blaming Abbot for what had occurred but that would signal to any Resident who saw it that he couldn’t handle Abbot.

With Colby, he used all his persuasion augmented only by a touch of Influence. She assigned him a priority level that would override Abbot’s. Whatever equipment his father had not used or altered, Titus just might get back. And to do that, he was prepared to break into storerooms and scour the shelves in person.

As he left the Director’s office, Titus was convinced that this Colby, as she’d boasted, didn’t crumble. She’d set a deadline of two weeks to get Titus’s system up, and she’d put in a direct call to Earth for his supplies. Titus couldn’t begin to estimate the monetary cost of saving two weeks downtime, but an idle crew also ate money like crazy, so the expense of the call was, no doubt, justified.

Turning toward the nearest elevators, Titus knew he had to go out to the alien craft, investigate the medical dome and discover what Abbot had learned from Mirelle. But he was tired, his coordination off so much that his newly learned walking technique deserted him every few steps.

He hadn’t slept since the night before departure. Yet if he did not move swiftly, Abbot would again have the jump on him. Un the other hand, like any human, he could make ghastly mistakes from fatigue. He hated to admit it, but Abbot was right, powdered blood was not as good a restorative as freshly cloned blood, and neither could compete with a human. As he pondered, the elevator doors, one pair opened and Inea strode out.

She stopped short, and stared up at his face, weighing, assessing, and finally admitting again, “Darrell.”

“Titus,” he corrected gently. His eyes feasted on her. All the love was still there, but with something stronger added. He’d never felt like this for a human before.

The lengthy silence was finally broken by the arrival of another elevator, full of office workers arriving for the next shift. Titus had no idea what time of day it was supposed to be. He didn’t even know what shift he was supposed to work.

“Titus, then,” she granted. “We’ve got to talk.”

He blinked hard. “I’m not ready for this.”

“Me neither. I’ve been up for twenty-four hours, and though my feet don’t hurt, I’m exhausted. But I won’t be able to sleep until I get an explanation. You owe me that-don’t you think?”

He wanted to scoop her into his arms and never let her go. “I owe you everything. Where can we talk?”

“My place isn’t far.”

“Invite me in,” he warned, “and you’ll never keep me out.” It’s that way with those of my blood.

“Is that a threat, Da-uh, Titus?”

“In a way. You might change your mind about me.” The terror of that thought choked him. Then he told himself he was not the first of his blood to face this kind of ordeal. There were rules for handling this particular interview.

She searched his face again, gnawing her lower lip. In a very quiet voice, she said, “Just tell me one thing. Did you murder that boy they buried in your place?”

His heart thuttered and he checked the corridor for microphones and cameras. In fact, he wasn’t even certain personal quarters were exempt from surveillance. Brink’s was known for thoroughness, and the laws here were ambiguous to say the least. But if the situation was that bad, he was lost already.

“Inea, I swear to you, I did not.”

“Then I won’t change my mind. Come on.”

She led the way to another bank of elevators, then down into a residence complex. The doors here were closer together than the ones in Titus’s hall, and when she threw open her door, he saw how luxurious his quarters were.

Here, the floor was bare save for two scatter rugs, and the hall window was masked only by blinds. There was no kitchenette. The small desk took up most of the room, even with the bed folded away. One comfortable chair faced a tiny vidcom screen. A cartridge labeled Guggenheim Tour protruded from the recorder slot. But there were a few intensely personal touches. On one shelf, there was an arrangement of moon rocks around a small, artificial bonsai. At the bedside, a macrame hanging made from discarded packing was used to hold the vidcom remote control, a red-handled hairbrush, and an array of framed snapshots.

Noticing his expression, she explained, “I don’t spend very much time here. The required exercise in the gym soaks up hours, and I eat at the refectory around the corner. Just down the hall, there’s a solarium with really comfortable reading chairs. The rest of the time, I’m at work.”

“Actually, you’ve got a lovely place. Invite me in?” The psychic potential that filled the boundaries of the room was at once enticing and an absolute barrier to Titus.

She tilted her head. “What’s the matter with you?”

Abbot would have thought nothing of Influencing the invitation from her. “Invite me in and I’ll explain.”

Exasperated, she burst out, “Will you get your butt in here, before I-”

Titus stepped smoothly across the threshold and closed the door, palming the lock. “Thank you,” he said, sincerely. The atmosphere sent ripples of pleasure through him.