"Then I don't understand what we have to complain about. He'll return to normal. He's had a traumatic experience—and a mysterious one. We can't expect it not to change him some."

Annenkovsky frowned and shook his head. "I disagree that he's negotiated well for us. He's made many concessions he shouldn't have."

"And he's gained concessions very useful to us," Pletnev said. "I know. Because of the agreements, we may be able to move into the cities soon."

"He is no longer in his right mind!" Annenkovsky said heatedly. "He talks about not being the same person—he does not have the. . . the touch a commanding general should have!"

Pletnev looked between the two majors and then glanced up at the plasma tube, squinting. "What would Vielgorsky and Yazykov and Belozersky have done for us? Nothing. Made things worse. Killed all three of us, more than likely. I say, do not trade the devil you know for the devil you don't. Mirsky's a mild sort of devil."

"He's a lamb, not a devil," Garabedian said dubiously. "I regard him as a friend, but. . .”

Pletnev raised his eyebrow in query.

"Well, in a crisis, I do not know how he would behave."

"I think the crises are over," Pletnev said. "Now forget this talk. Go. Do not rock the boat. Let me build my cabin in peace."

Garabedian nodded, stuck his hands in his pockets and turned to walk away. Annenkovsky stayed for a moment, watching Pletnev trim a notch in a log.

"We were thinking of making you our leader," Annenkovsky said quietly. "We would not harm General Mirsky."

"I do not accept," Pletnev said without looking up.

"What if he goes completely crazy?"

"He won't," Pletnev said.

"Where are you?" Mirsky shouted for the dozenth time.

He stood in the middle of the array of library seats and data pillars, fists raised in the air. His cheeks were red and wet and his neck was ribbed with anger and frustration.

"Are you dead, like me? Did they execute you?"

Still no answer.

"You murdered me!"

He clenched his jaw and struggled to control his breathing. He knew if he tried to say anything more, the words would come out in mangled fragments. The little signal in his mind—a brief, explanatory warning, You are now using material not native to your personality, was about to drive him over the edge. So much of what he thought and did was punctuated by this message. He had explored those boundaries thoroughly—lying in his sling at night, trying to sleep, realizing he did not need to sleep.

He had the sensation that much of what he remembered about his life consisted of logical reconstructions. The entire left side of his body felt fresh and new, had a different odor, as it were. He realized it wasn't the body that was new, but the corresponding section of his head.