"I'm very happy to have you here, S'ria--ah--"--he looked at the visa suspiciously--"S'ria Lyn. Do sit down. But, as I was just remarking to S'ria Gerek, here"--he nodded to the other woman, who smiled back--"I wish the field officers would make up their august minds as to whether they want you or don't want you. Just why did they transfer you to H.Q.?" She thought quickly. This pompous little ass would have to be given some answer that would keep him from checking with the inquisitor. It would have to be something personal. She looked at the false black in his eyebrows and sideburns, and the artificial way in which he had combed hair over his bald spot. She crossed her knees slowly, ignoring the narrowing eyes of S'ria Gerek, and smoothed the back of her braided yellow hair. He was studying her covertly. "The men in the fighting zones are uncouth, S'ria Gorph," she said simply. "I was told that _you_, that is, I mean--" "Yes?" he was the soul of graciousness. S'ria Gerek began to dictate loudly into her mechanical transcriber. Evelyn cleared her throat, averted her eyes, and with some effort, managed a delicate flush. "I meant to say, I thought I would be happier working for--working here. So I asked for a transfer." S'ria Gorph beamed. "Splendid. But the occupation isn't over, yet, you know. There'll be hard work here for several weeks yet, before we cut loose from the enemy globe. But you do your work well"--winking artfully--"and I'll see that--" He stopped, and his face took on a hunted look of mingled fear and anxiety. He appeared to listen. Evelyn tensed her mind to receive and deceive a mental probe. She was certain now that the Zone Commandant was high-born and telepathic. The chances were only fifty-fifty that she could delude him for any length of time if he became interested in her. He must be avoided if at all possible. It should not be too difficult. He undoubtedly had a dozen personal secretaries and/or concubines and would take small interest in the lowly employees that amused Gorph. Gorph looked at her uncertainly. "Perat, Viscount of the Tharn Suns, sends you his compliments and wishes to see you on the balcony." He pointed to a hallway. "All the way through there, across to the other wing." As she left, she heard all sound in the room stop. The transcribing and calculating machines trailed off into a watchful silence, and she could feel the eyes of the men and women on her back. She noticed then that the Faeg had ceased firing. * * * * * Her heart was beating faster as she walked down the hall. She felt a very strong probe flooding over her brain casually, palping with mild interest the artificial memories she supplied: Escapades with officers in the combat areas. Reprimands. Demotion and transfer. Her deception of Gorph. Her anticipation of meeting a real Viscount and hoping he would let her dance for him.