She was suddenly seized with a tremor. A wild raging impulse surged through her. Blindly and without thought, she ran, heedless of bushes, briars and stones. She didn't stop until she reached the dormitory. She fell face down on her bed and dug her nails into her cheeks and into the flesh about her eyes to make it contract. Darth Brady was just past twenty, she knew.... Night brought a full silvery moon. She could see it from the window as it came above the wood, bright and giving no hint of the ships and activity on its scorched airless surface. Sleep was out of the question. Slipping into her clothes and with shoes in hand, she swung across the windowsill and lowered herself to the ground. Like a wraith she moved among the cedars and on across the vale and into the wood. The sound of the machinery in the factory behind her faded. The night was quiet but lustrous with tinted moonlight. It seemed that peace had come, that nowhere in the universe could there be strife. But as she looked at the stars and imagined the rings of blue and white dots, she knew. Beyond the wood the water in the lake was amber in color, and as she approached, it flashed an image of the heavens and took on a darker hue, almost blood red. She stood on an outcropping and listened to the sounds of crickets and frogs and thought she heard long sighs like breathing. She thought she saw something white flash on the surface, then dismissed it, tilted her head back and breathed deep of the clean night air. It seemed that she was alone on a tiny planet which brushed against a bejeweled velvet curtain. She indulged the dream, and when reality began to force itself upon her again she quickly slipped out of her clothes and judged the distance to the water below. For a moment she stood there, arms raised, body poised, the moon painting her figure a rose pink. Then she dived. The water was warm, caressing. She came up, tossed her head back to get the shoulder-length dark hair out of her eyes. And then she was certain she heard an exclamation. * * * * * Panic ran through her as it had earlier in the vale. She twisted and turned to look in every direction. Then a head bobbed up in front of her. "A beautiful dive," he said. It was Al Wilson. "I was about to warn you and then I couldn't bear to spoil it." She was treading water, confused, not knowing what to do. "Do you come here often?" he asked. "No. But you knew I would come soon. I was thinking about it when we flew over, and you knew." "Is it so bad?" "No. But having you read my thoughts--" She turned swiftly and swam hard and strong. The panic was in her again. She felt that he was looking right inside her, noting the quickening of her heart that he himself brought. It was impossible to escape. Like all men trained at the Center, he was superbly muscled and seemed tireless. With ease he kept pace with her, ignored her confusion, talked on.