Donal went out and up to Suite 1890. The doorbot let him in. Anea was waiting for him, slim and rigid in one of her high-collared, long dresses of blue.

“Well?” she said. Donal considered her almost sorrowfully.

“You really hate me, don’t you?” he said.

“You killed him!” she blazed.

“Oh, of course.” In spite of himself, the exasperation she was always so capable of tapping in him, rose to the surface. “I had to—for your own good.”

“For my good!”

He reached into his tunic pocket and withdrew a small telltale. But it was unlighted. For a wonder this apartment was unbugged. And then he thought—of course, I keep forgetting who she is.

“Listen to me,” he said. “You’ve been beautifully equipped by gene selection and training to be a Select—but not to be anything else. Why can’t you understand that interstellar intrigue isn’t your dish?”

“Interstellar . . . what’re you talking about?” she demanded.

“Oh, climb down for a moment,” he said wearily—and more youngly than he had said anything since leaving home. “William is your enemy. You understand that much; but you don’t understand why or how, although you think you do. And neither do I,” he confessed, “although I’ve got a notion. But the way for you to confound William isn’t by playing his game. Play your own. Be the Select of Kultis. As the Select, you’re untouchable.”

“If,” she said, “you’ve nothing more to say than that—”

“All right,” he took a step toward her. “Listen, then. William was making an attempt to compromise you. Killien was his tool—”

“How dare you?” she erupted. “How dare I?” he echoed wearily. “Is there anyone in this interstellar community of madmen and madwomen who doesn’t know that phrase and use it to me on sight? I dare because it’s the truth.”

“Hugh,” she stormed at him, “was a fine, honest man. A soldier and a gentleman! Not a . . . a—”

“Mercenary?” he inquired. “But he was.”

“He was a career officer,” she replied haughtily. “There’s a difference.”

“No difference.” He shook his head. “But you wouldn’t understand that. Mercenary isn’t necessarily the dirty word somebody taught you it is. Never mind. Hugh Killien was worse than any name you might be mistaken enough to call me. He was a fool.”

“Oh!” she whirled about.

He took her by one elbow and turned her around. She came about in shocked surprise. Somehow, it had never occurred to her to imagine how strong he was. Now, the sudden realization of her physical helplessness in his hands shocked her into abrupt and unusual silence.