largest of the caves to construct it. Work began almost imme-
diately, but when Morgan asked what it was that was being
assembled, Chandos was unwilling to talk about it.
“You’ll see it when it’s completed, Highlander,” he re-
sponded gruffly. “Leave it at that.”
Morgan did, but only because he hadn’t any other choice. At
something of a loss as to what to do with himself, he drifted
over to where Steff had been taken by Teel and found his friend
wrapped in blankets and feverish. Teel watched suspiciously as
the Highlander felt Steff’s forehead, a watchdog that no longer
trusted anyone. Morgan could hardly blame her. He spoke qui-
etly with Steff for a few moments, but the Dwarf was barely
conscious. It seemed better to let him sleep. The Highlander
stood up, glanced a final time at the unresponsive Teel, and
walked away.
He spent the remainder of the day passing back and forth
between the fortifications and the caves, checking on the Fed-
eration army and the secret weapon and on Padishar Creel and
Steff. He didn’t accomplish much, and the hours of the late
morning and then the afternoon passed slowly. Morgan found
himself wondering once again what good he was doing anyone,
trapped at the Jut with these outlaws, resistance fighters or no,
far from Par and Coil and what really mattered. How would he
ever find the Valemen again, now that they had been separated?
Certainly they would not attempt to come into the Parma Key,
not while a Federation army had them under siege. Damson
Rhee would never permit it.
Or would she? It suddenly occurred to Morgan that she might,
if she thought there was a safe way to do so. That made him
think. What if there was more than one way into the Jut? Didn’t
there have to be, he asked himself? Even with the defenses as
strong as they were, Padishar Creel would never take the chance
that they might somehow be breached, leaving the outlaws
trapped against the rocks. He would have an escape route, an-
other way out. Or in.
He decided to find out. It was almost dusk, however, before
he got his chance. Padishar was awake again by then, and Mor-
gan found him sitting on the edge of his bed, heavily bandaged,
streaks of blood showing vividly against his weathered skin,
studying a set of crudely sketched drawings with Chandos. An-
other man would still be sleeping, trying to regain his strength;
Padishar looked ready to fight. The men glanced up as he ap-
proached, and Padishar tucked the drawings out of sight. Mor-
gan hesitated.
“Highlander,” the other greeted. “Come sit with me.”
Surprised, Morgan came over, taking a seat on a packing
crate filled with metal fittings. Chandos nodded, got up without
a word, and walked out.
“And how is our friend the Dwarf?” Padishar asked, rather
too casually. “Better, now?”
Morgan studied the other man. “No. Something is very wrong
with him, but I don’t know what it is.” He paused. “You don’t
trust anyone, do you? Not even me.”
“Especially not you.” Padishar waited a moment, grinned
disarmingly, and then made the smile disappear in the quickness
of an eye’s blink. “I can’t afford to trust anyone anymore. Too
much has happened to suggest that I shouldn’t.” He shifted his
weight and grimaced with the pain it caused.’ ‘So tell me. What
brings you to visit? Have you seen something you think I should
know about?”
The truth was that with the excitement of the events of that
morning, Morgan had forgotten about the charge that Padishar
had given him to try to find out who it was that had betrayed
them. He didn’t say so, however, he simply shook his head.
“I have a question,” he said. “About Par and Coil Ohms-
ford. Do you think that Damson Rhee might still try to bring
them here? Is there another way into the Jut that she might use?”
The look that Padishar Creel gave him was at once indeci-
pherable and filled with meaning. There was a long silence, and
Morgan felt himself grow suddenly cold as he realized how it