“I get it. Maybe he will crack. I dunno, though, mistress. These slant-eyed towheads are mean animals—begging your pardon! Go right on in. Holler if he gets rough or, or anything.”

The door was unlocked for her. Elva went on through, into a hemicylindrical room so low that she must stoop. A lighting tube switched on, showing a pallet laid across the floor.

Captain Ivalo was gray at the temples, but still tough and supple. His face had gone haggard, sunken eyes and a stubble of beard; his garments were torn and filthy. When he looked up, coming awake, he was too exhausted to show much surprise. “What now?” he said in dull Chertkoian. “What are you going to try next?”

Elva answered in Vaynamoan (oh, God, it was a year and a half, her own time, nearly seventeen years cosmic time, since she had uttered a word to anyone from her planet): “Be quiet. I beg you. We mustn’t be suspected.”

He sat up. “Who are you?” he snapped. His own Vaynamoan accent was faintly pedantic; he must be a teacher or scientist in that peacetime life which now seemed so distant. “A collaborator? I understand there are some. Every barrel must hold a few rotten apples, I suppose.”

She sat down on the floor near him, hugged her knees and stared at the curving wall. “I don’t know what to call myself,” she said tonelessly. “I’m with them, yes. But they captured me the last time.”

He whistled, a soft note. One hand reached out, not altogether steady, and stopped short of touching her. “I was young then,” he said. “But I remember. Do I know your family?”

“Maybe. I’m Elva, daughter of Byarmo, the Magnate of Ruuyalka. My husband was Karlavi, the Freeholder of Tervola.” Suddenly she couldn’t stay controlled. She grasped his arm so hard that her nails drew blood. “Do you know what became of my son? His name was Hauki. I got him away, in care of an Alfa servant. Hauki, Karlavi’s son, Freeholder of Tervola. Do you know?”

He disengaged himself as gently as possible and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’ve heard of both places, but only as names. I’m from the Aakinen Islands myself.”

Her head drooped.

“Ivalo is my name,” he said clumsily.

“I know.”

“What?”

“Listen.” She raised her eyes to him. They were quite dry. “I’ve been told you have important information.”

He bridled. “If you think—”

“No. Please listen. Here.” She fumbled in a pocket of her gown. At last her fingers closed on the vial. She held it out to him. “An antiseptic. But the label says it’s very poisonous if taken internally. I brought it for you.”

He stared at her for a long while.

“It’s all I can do,” she mumbled, looking away again.

He took the bottle and turned it over and over in his hands. The night grew silent around them.

Finally he asked, “Won’t you suffer for this?”

“Not too much.”