Agent of Change by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Page B

attack, a trained opponent, growing deadlier by the instant—

    "Miri." His voice cracked and he swallowed air; he raised a hand to push the hair from his forehead and exercised will to banish the Loop from consciousness . . . . "Miri, please. I would—like—to tell you the truth. It is my intention to tell you the truth."

    He saw her make the effort, saw the fighting tension drain out of shoulders and legs as she straightened and grinned shakily.

    "But I shouldn't push my luck, right?"

    "Something very like," he agreed, pushing the hair on his forehead up again. It fell back immediately.

    "You really do need a haircut."

    The adrenal rush had left him drained, a little shaky, but curiously at ease. He flashed a quick grin. "I find that suggestion hard to take seriously from someone whose own hair falls well below her waist."

    "I like it long."

    "And you a soldier!"

    "Yeah, but, you see, my commander told me never to cut it. Just following orders!"

    He laughed and found within himself an urge to talk, to explain—to justify.

    "Orders can be difficult, can they not?" he said, sitting down again before the 'chora. "I came to this world because there was a man who was a great danger to many, many people of different sizes and shapes. A man who thought anyone whose heartbeat and blood failed to match his own was a geek—worthless—and who killed and tortured the hopeless.

    "I was ordered here, but having seen the man act, I believe that I did what was proper. The reason I was ordered here, I think, is that a vendetta claim would have been sufficient to stop an investigation of my further motives, had something gone awry." He paused, then went on more slowly.

    "After all, spy or Scout, I am a volunteer, am I not? I have already agreed to go first, to make the universe safe. A Scout or a spy—it is the same thing. I am an agent of change in either case. Expendable—too useful a tool not to use.

    "Sometimes," he continued softly, "tools are programmed to protect themselves. This 'chora, for example, can be moved about within the hyatt with no difficulty. Yet, if we attempted to move it off the grounds, it would start howling, or perhaps it would simply not function all." He looked at her carefully. "The 'chora may not even know what it will do when the boundary is crossed—some circuits are beyond its access. Tools are like that, sometimes."

    Miri nodded warily. "But people—" she began and chopped off her words as the door cycled to admit Handler and Sheather.

    "It has been arranged," Handler told them, "that we shall all six dine in the so-called Grotto located belowstairs in this establishment. There is said to be music, which our elder brother will find pleasing, and there is also dancing, which we thought might be pleasing to our human friends. And," he said, voice dropping to what Miri thought must be intended as a whisper, "the form of the Grotto may be pleasing to all of us, since it is a likeness of a cavern system found elsewhere on this planet. We have bespoken the table for eight of the clock, and we hope that there will be sufficient time before the celebration for you to refresh yourselves, adorn yourselves, and be ready. We would not wish the event to begin with unseemly haste."

    The humans exchanged a glance, and Val Con bowed.

    "We thank you for your thoughtfulness. Six hours is more than adequate for our preparations. We shall be ready in the fullness of time."

    "That is very well, then," Handler said. "If you will excuse us, we shall take our leave so that we may make analyses and also prepare for the evening. It does bode to be a time of some discussion."

    The humans bowed their thanks and acknowledgements, Miri attempting to copy Val Con's fluid style and finding it much harder than it looked. The Clutch adjourned to their own quarters.

    Miri sighed. "Well, I don't know how much adornment I'll be doing, though the refreshment part don't sound too bad. Maybe I can order a fancy new