ll. Thinking to escape from
the nightmare world, he had jolted himself insufficiently, and only
dreamed of waking. It was all right now. But no. There was something
wrong with the room. Though incredibly lifelike, it was not quite
square---the walls leaned and corners were uneven.

And then they were coming. Outside the dark window there was a sudden,
blinding flash. THEY'RE COMING. His wife ran through the wall and
disappeared. "Ara!"

COMING. The Americans. Nowhere to hide.....

His head shook violently. And finally, he was awake.

He lay on his back, his underclothes drenched with sweat. As if to
reassure himself, he rolled over to embrace his wife and drive away the
darkness. But she was not there: that much of the nightmare was real.

And then he remembered. He was not home on Athena II. Nor was he in
his quarters aboard the Mongoose, waiting sleeplessly for the approach
of the Alliance fleet. He was alone and on a Czech destroyer, one of
several, escorted by a Soviet cruiser. Heading into Belgian space. To
search for the prisoners, taken from the colonies. Dubcek was dead.

He cried softly, hugging his knees, hating himself for his weakness.
"God damn the Americans for ever helping them. I wish I was dead." He
pushed his forehead hard against his knees.

It will be all right, he told himself. The Alliance has gone too far
and now the Soviets will help us. The colonies will be retaken.
Schiller is gone, but Athena remains. My wife is alive. I will find
her and we can go home again. She is alive. She must be alive!

He got up and checked the passage of time. It was still an hour yet
before what men called dawn---little brackets put around life to give
it meaning and a mean understanding.

This was not what he wanted: four hours of sleep was not enough for
him now, and his mind was dark again. Battle could come any day
now---he was spoiling, and being eaten by the spoiling, for a fight.
And yet his energies continued to desert him. His strength grew less
each day: no sleep. Not enough sleep. No appetite. Anxiety. HE
MUST PRESERVE HIS MENTAL ENDURANCE! He was the second officer of the
first destroyer, and the man taken into the confidence of Soviet
Colonel Joyce, Commander of the Leningrad. Leningrad. He was the
go-between, the link between unlike and alien worlds, that now must
work together.

He lifted the picture of his wife from the bedstead, kissed the cold
gla