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“And now,” he whispered, still unable to believe that the thing had really happened, “will you ... dispose of everyone on Damorlant?”

She smiled and threw herself into a chair, her body limp and tired and contented-looking. “Come, Clarey, we’re not that ruthless. Some kind of quarantine will probably be worked out. We just made the whole thing sound more drastic to appeal to your patriotism.”

The general beamed. “So everything has worked out all right, after all? I knew it would. I always had the utmost confidence in you, Clarey.”

She was busily planning. “We’ll arrange some kind of heroic accident.... I have it! You died saving your aunt from the flames.”

“What flames?”

“The flames of the fire that burned down her house. She died of the local equivalent of shock. Embelsira will be rich, so she’ll want to believe the story. She’ll be able to find herself another husband; she’ll have children. She’ll be better off, Clarey.”

He looked at her, his misery welling out of his eyes.

“Oh, I don’t mean it that way, man! All I meant was that you’re a human being; she’s not. I’m not saying one is better than the other. I’m saying they’re different.”