finger at the rearmost reach of Anda Bay.

"There," he said, in the Kali-Confederation mixture they found to be the shortest distance between two cultures. "Anchored there like marks on a sail. Feeling so safe in their home. Thinking we do not dare come after them. Grimnal rafts just waiting to go to the bottom."

"And the gliders?" Ward asked. "Are they returned? We have no information but the tales of two natives."

Tahn glanced at a water trickling, time-measuring device hanging from the overhead.

"Soon the gliders return, but...." He shrugged, somehow.

"And those are not rafts," Ward went on. "The natives said three, two and single gun rows. That means first and second-liners, frigates and probably corvettes. And they said 'many,' which means anywhere from fifty to two hundred."

Tahn coughed his agreement.

"But with Grimnal stupidity," he said, "they can do no more than run around in terror as we shell the city and fire their ships. We have this won."

Ward looked down at his bands, caught a deep breath, and continued.

"I have said before. We are not fighting just the Grimnal. We are fighting God Helpers too. Men like myself have come to help the Grimnal." He caught Tahn's flickering glance and added quickly, "Men who are probably better fighters than I am."

Tahn coughed and leaned his head sideways, fairly equivalent to a casual 'so what?'

"False Gods. False Helpers," he said.

Ward held his breath and swung back to face the port. Great, sizzling Hell! He wondered if his opposite with the Grimnal had such problems. Probably not. Problems weren't allowed in the United Peace Worlds. And with the Grimnal preference for island life over the sea, it apparently took little urging to make them want all the islands in the world.

"You realize," Ward said without turning, "that they have probably known of our coming for days."

"Good."

"And what would they still be doing at anchor?"

Cough, cough. Probably meaning how the hell should I know?

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