A Deepness in the Sky

ONE

The Qeng Ho fleet was first to arrive at the OnOff star. That might not matter. For the last fifty years of their voyage, they had watched the torch-plumes of the Emergent fleet as it decelerated toward the same destination.

They were strangers, meeting far from either side’s home territory. That was nothing new to the traders of the Qeng Ho—though normally the meetings were not so unwelcome, and there was the possibility of trade. Here, well, there was treasure but it did not belong to either side. It lay frozen, waiting to be looted or exploited or developed, depending on one’s nature. So far from friends, so far from a social context… so far from witnesses. This was a situation where treachery might be rewarded, and both sides knew it. Qeng Ho and Emergents, the two expeditions, had danced around each other for days, probing for intent and firepower. Agreements were drawn and redrawn, plans were made for joint landings. Yet the Traders had learned precious little of true Emergent intent. And so the Emergents’ invitation to dinner was greeted with relief by some and with a silent grinding of teeth by others.

Trixia Bonsol leaned her shoulder against his, cocked her head so that only he could hear: “So, Ezr. The food tastes okay. Maybe they’re not trying to poison us.”

“It’s bland enough,” he murmured back, and tried not to be distracted by her touch. Trixia Bonsol was planet-born, one of the specialist crew. Like most of the Trilanders, she had a streak of overtrustfulness in her makeup; she liked to tease Ezr about his “Trader paranoia.”

Ezr’s gaze flicked across the tables. Fleet Captain Park had brought one hundred to the banquet, but very few armsmen. The Qeng Ho were seated among nearly as many Emergents. He and Trixia were far from the captain’s table. Ezr Vinh, apprentice Trader, and Trixia Bonsol, linguistics postdoc. He assumed the Emergents down here were equally low-ranking. The best Qeng Ho estimate was that the Emergents were strict authoritarians, but Ezr saw no overt marks of rank. Some of the strangers were talkative, and their Nese was easily understandable, scarcely different from the broadcast standard. The pale, heavyset fellow on his left had maintained nonstop chitchat throughout the meal. Ritser Brughel seemed to be a Programmer-at-Arms, though he hadn’t recognized the term when Ezr used it. He was full of the schemes they could use in coming years.

“Tas been done often enough afore, dontcha know? Get ’em when they don’t know technology—or haven’t yet rebuilt it,” said Brughel, concentrating most of his efforts away from Ezr, on old Pham Trinli. Brughel seemed to think that apparent age conferred some special authority, not realizing that any older guy down among the juniors must truly be a loser. Ezr didn’t mind the being ignored; it gave him an opportunity to observe without distraction. Pham Trinli seemed to enjoy the attention. As one Programmer-at-Arms to another, Trinli tried to top everything the pale, blond fellow said, in the process yielding confidences that made Ezr squirm.

One thing about these Emergents, they were technically competent. They had ramships that traveled fast between the stars; that put them at the top in technical savvy. And this didn’t seem to be decadent knowledge. Their signal and computer abilities were as good as the Qeng Ho’s—and that, Vinh knew, made Captain Park’s security people more nervous than mere Emergent secrecy. The Qeng Ho had culled the golden ages of a hundred civilizations. In other circumstances, the Emergents’ competence would have been cause for honest mercantile glee.

Competent, and hardworking too. Ezr looked beyond the tables. Not to ogle, but this place was impressive. The “living quarters” on ramscoop ships were generally laughable. Such ships must have substantial shielding and moderate strength of construction. Even at fractional lightspeed, an interstellar voyage took years, and crew and passengers spent most of that time as corpsicles. Yet the Emergents had thawed many of their people before living space was in place. They had built this habitat and spun it up in less than eight days—even while final orbit corrections were being done. The structure was more than two hundred meters across, a partial ring, and it was all made from materials that had been lugged across twenty light-years.

Inside, there was the beginning of opulence. The overall effect was classicist in some low degree, like early Solar habitats before life-support systems were well understood. The Emergents were masters of fabric and ceramics, though Ezr guessed that bio-arts were nonexistent. The drapes and furniture contrived to disguise the curvature in the floor. The ventilator breeze was soundless and just strong enough to give the impression of limitless airy space. There were no windows, not even spin-corrected views. Where the walls were visible, they were covered with intricate manual artwork (oil paintings?). Their bright colors gleamed even in the half-light. He knew Trixia wanted a closer look at those. Even more than language, she claimed that native art showed the inner heart of a culture.

Vinh looked back at Trixia, gave her a smile. She would see through it, but maybe it fooled the Emergents. Ezr would have given anything to possess the apparent cordiality of Captain Park, up there at the head table, carrying on such an affable conversation with the Emergents’ Tomas Nau. You’d think the two were old school buddies. Vinh settled back, listening not for sense but for attitude.

Not all the Emergents were smiling, talkative types. The redhead at the front table, just a few places down from Tomas Nau: She’d been introduced, but Vinh couldn’t remember the name. Except for the glint of a silver necklace, the woman was plainly—severely—dressed. She was slender, of indeterminate age. Her red hair might have been a style for the evening, but her unpigmented skin would have been harder to fake. She was exotically beautiful, except for the awkwardness in her bearing, the hard set of her mouth. Her gaze ranged up and down the tables, yet she might as well have been alone. Vinh noticed that their hosts hadn’t placed any guest beside her. Trixia of ten teased Vinh that he was a great womanizer if only in his head. Well, this weird-looking lady would have figured more in Ezr Vinh’s nightmares than in any happy fantasy.

Over at the front table, Tomas Nau had come to his feet. The servers stepped back from the tables. A hush fell upon the seated Emergents and all but the most self-absorbed Traders.

“Time for some toasts to friendship between the stars,” Ezr muttered. Bonsol elbowed him, her attention pointedly directed at the front table. He felt her stifle a laugh when the Emergent leader actually began with:

“Friends, we are all a long way from home.” He swept his arm in a gesture that seemed to take in the spaces beyond the walls of the banquet room. “We’ve both made potentially serious mistakes. We knew this star system is bizarre.” Imagine a star so drastically variable that it nearly turns itself off for 215 years out of every 250. “Over the millennia, astrophysicists of more than one civilization tried to convince their rulers to send an expedition here ways.” He stopped, smiled. “Of course, till our era, tas expensively far beyond the Human Realm. Yet now it is the simultaneous object of two human expeditions.” There were smiles all around, and the thoughtWhat wretched luck . “Of course, there is a reason that made the coincidence likely. Years aback there was no driving need for such an expedition. Now we all have a reason: The race you call the Spiders. Only the third nonhuman intelligence ever found.” And in a planetary system as bleak as this, such life was unlikely to have arisen naturally. The Spiders themselves must be the descendants of starfaring nonhumans—something Humankind had never encountered. It could be the greatest treasure the Qeng Ho had ever found, all the more so because the present Spider civilization had only recently rediscovered radio. They should be as safe and tractable as any fallen human civilization.

Nau gave a self-deprecating chuckle and glanced at Captain Park. “Till recently, I had not realized how perfectly our strengths and weaknesses, our mistakes and insights, complemented each other. You came from much farther away, but in very fast ships already built. We came from nearer, but took the time to bring much more. We both figured most things correctly.” Telescope arrays had watched the OnOff star for as long as Humankind had been in space. It had been known for centuries that an Earth-sized planet with life-signature chemistry orbited the star. If OnOff had been a normal star, the planet might have been quite pleasant, not the frozen snowball it was most of the time. There were no other planetary bodies in the OnOff system, and ancient astronomers had confirmed the moonlessness of the single world in the system. No other terrestrial planets, no gas giants, no asteroids… and no cometary cloud. The space around the OnOff star was swept clean. Such would not be surprising near a catastrophic variable, and certainly the OnOff star might have been explosive in the past—but then how did the one world survive? It was one of the mysteries about the place.

All that was known, and planned for. Captain Park’s fleet had spent its brief time here in a frantic survey of the system, and in dredging a few kilotonnes of volatiles from the frozen world. In fact, they had found four rocks in the system—asteroids, you might call them, if you were in a generous mood. They were strange things, the largest about two kilometers long. They were solid diamond. The Trilander scientists nearly had fistfights trying to explain that.

But you can’t eat diamonds, not raw anyway. Without the usual mix of native volatiles and ores, fleet life would be very uncomfortable indeed. The damn Emergents were both late and lucky. Apparently, they had fewer science and academic specialists, slower starships… but lots and lots of hardware.

The Emergent boss gave a benign smile and continued: “There really is only one place in all the OnOff system where volatiles exist in any quantity—and that is on the Spider world itself.” He looked back and forth across his audience, his gaze lingering on the visitors. “I know it’s something that some of you had hoped to postpone till after the Spiders were active again…. But there are limits to the value of lurking, and my fleet includes heavy lifters. Director Reynolt”—aha, that was the redhead’s name!—“agrees with your scientists that the locals never did progress beyond their primitive radios. All the ‘Spiders’ are frozen deep underground and will remain so till the OnOff star relights.” In about a year. The cause of OnOff’s cycle was a mystery, but the transition from dark to bright repeated with a period that had drifted little in eight thousand years.

Next to him at the front table, S. J. Park was smiling, too, probably with as much sincerity as Tomas Nau. Fleet Captain Park had not been popular with the Triland Forestry Department; that was partly because he cut their pre-Flight time to the bone, even when there had been no evidence of a second fleet. Park had all but fried his ramjets in a delayed deceleration, coming in just ahead of the Emergents. He had a valid claim to first arrival, and precious little else: the diamond rocks, a small cache of volatiles. Until their first landings, they hadn’t even known what the aliens really looked like. Those landings, poking around monuments, stealing a little from garbage dumps had revealed a lot—which now must be bargained away.

“It’s time to begin working together,” Nau continued. “I don’t know how much you all have heard about our discussions of the last two days. Surely there have been rumors. You’ll have details very soon, but Captain Park, your Trading Committee, and I thought that now is a good occasion to show our united purpose. We are planning a joint landing of considerable size. The main goal will be to raise at least a million tonnes of water and similar quantities of metallic ores. We have heavy lifters that can accomplish this with relative ease. As secondary goals, we’ll leave some unobtrusive sensors and undertake a small amount of cultural sampling. These results and resources will be split equally between our two expeditions. In space, our two groups will use the local rocks to create a cover for our habitats, hopefully within a few light-seconds of the Spiders.” Nau glanced again at Captain Park. So some things were still under discussion.

Nau raised his glass. “So a toast. To an end of mistakes, and to our common undertaking. May there be a greater focus in the future.”

“Hey, my dear,I’m supposed to be the paranoid one, remember? I thought you’d be beating me up for my nasty Trader suspicions.”

Trixia smiled a little weakly but didn’t answer right away. She’d been unusually quiet all the way back from the Emergent banquet. They were back in her quarters in the Traders’ temp. Here she was normally her most outspoken and delightful self. “Their habitat was certainly nice,” she finally said.

“Compared to our temp it is.” Ezr patted the plastic wall. “For something made from parts they shipped in, it was a great job.” The Qeng Ho temp was scarcely more than a giant, partitioned balloon. The gym and meeting rooms were good-sized, but the place was not exactly elegant. The Traders saved elegance for larger structures they could make with local materials. Trixia had just two connected rooms, a bit over one hundred cubic meters total. The walls were plain, but Trixia had worked hard on the consensus imagery: her parents and sisters, a panorama from some great Triland forest. Much of her desk area was filled with historical flats from Old Earth before the Space Age. There were pictures from the first London and the first Berlin, pictures of horses and aeroplanes and commissars. In fact, those cultures were bland compared with the extremes played out in the histories of later worlds. But in the Dawn Age, everything was being discovered for the first time. There had never been a time of higher dreams or greater naïveté. That time was Ezr’s specialty, to the horror of his parents and the puzzlement of most of his friends. And yet Trixia understood. The Dawn Age was only a hobby for her, maybe, but she loved to talk about the old, old first times. He knew he would never find another like her.

“Look, Trixia, what’s got you down? Surely there’s nothing suspicious about the Emergents having nice quarters. Most of the evening you were your usual softheaded self”—she didn’t rise to the insult—“but then something happened. What did you notice?” He pushed off the ceiling to float closer to where she was seated against a wall divan.

“It… it was several little things, and—” She reached out to catch his hand. “You know I have an ear for languages.” Another quick smile. “Their dialect of Nese is so close to your broadcast standard that it’s clear they’ve bootstrapped off the Qeng Ho Net.”

“Sure. That all fits with their claims. They’re a young culture, crawling back from a bad fall.” Will I end up having to defend them? The Emergent offer had been reasonable, almost generous. It was the sort of thing that made any good Trader a little cautious. But Trixia had seen something else to worry about.

“Yes, but having a common language makes a lot of things difficult to disguise. I heard a dozen authoritarian turns of speech—and they didn’t seem to be fossil usages. The Emergents are accustomed to owning people, Ezr.”

“You mean slaves? This is a high-tech civilization, Trixia. Technical people don’t make good slaves. Without their wholehearted cooperation, things fall apart.”

She squeezed his hand abruptly, not angry, not playful, but intense in a way he’d never seen with her before. “Yes, yes. But we don’t know all their kinks. We do know they play rough. I had a whole evening of listening to that reddish-blond fellow sitting beside you, and the pair that were on my right. The word ‘trade’ does not come easily to them. Exploitation is the only relationship they can imagine with the Spiders.”

“Hmm.” Trixia was like this. Things that slipped past him could make such a difference to her. Sometimes they seemed trivial even after she explained them. But sometimes her explanation was like a bright light revealing things he had never guessed. “…I don’t know, Trixia. You know we Qeng Ho can sound pretty, um, arrogant when the customers are out of earshot.”

Trixia looked away from him for a second, stared out at strange quaint rooms that had been her family’s home on Triland. “Qeng Ho arrogance turned my world upside down, Ezr. Your Captain Park busted open the school system, opened up the Forestry…. And it was just a side effect.”

“We didn’t force anyone—”

“I know. You didn’t force anyone. The Forestry wanted a stake in this mission, and delivering certain products was your price of admission.” She was smiling oddly. “I’m not complaining, Ezr. Without Qeng Ho arrogance I would never have been allowed into the Forestry’s screening program. I wouldn’t have my doctorate, and I wouldn’t be here. You Qeng Hoare gougers, but you are also one of the nicer things that has happened to my world.”

Ezr had been in coldsleep till the last year at Triland. The Customer details weren’t that clear to him, and before tonight Trixia had not been especially talkative about them. Hmm. Only one marriage proposal per Msec; he had promised her no more, but… He opened his mouth to say—

“Wait, you! I’m not done. The reason for saying all this now is that I have to convince you: There is arrogance and arrogance, and I can tell the difference. The people at that dinner sounded more like tyrants than traders.”

“What about the servers? Did they look like downtrodden serfs?”

“…No… more like employees. I know that doesn’t fit. But we aren’t seeing all the Emergents’ people. Maybe the victims are elsewhere. But either through confidence or blindness, Tomas Nau left their pain posted all over the walls.” She glared at his questioning look. “The paintings, damn it!”

Trixia had made a slow stroll of leaving the banquet hall, admiring each painting in turn. They were beautiful landscapes, either of groundside locations or very large habitats. Every one was surreal in lighting and geometry, but precise down to the detail of individual threads of grass. “Normal, happy people didn’t make those pictures.”

Ezr shrugged. “It looked to me like they were all done by the same person. They’re so good, I’ll bet they’re reproductions of classics, like Deng’s Canberran castlescapes.” A manic-depressive contemplating his barren future. “Great artists are often crazy and unhappy.”

“Spoken like a true Trader!”

He put his other hand across hers. “Trixia, I’m not trying to argue with you. Until this banquet, I was the untrusting one.”

“And you still are, aren’t you?” The question was intense, with no sign of playful intent.

“Yes,” though not as much as Trixia, and not for the same reasons. “It’s just a little too reasonable of the Emergents to share half the haul from their heavy lifters.” There must have been some hard bargaining behind that. In theory, the academic brainpower that the Qeng Ho had brought was worth as much as a few heavy lifters, but the equation was subtle and difficult to argue. “I’m just trying to understand what you saw, and what I missed….Okay, suppose things are as dangerous as you see them. Don’t you think Captain Park and the Committee are on to that?”

“So what do they think now? Watching your fleet officers on the return taxi, I got the feeling people are pretty mellow about the Emergents now.”

“They’re just happy we got a deal. I don’t know what the people on the Trading Committee think.”

“You could find out, Ezr. If this banquet has fooled them, you could demand some backbone. I know, I know: You’re an apprentice; there are rules and customs and blah blah blah. But your Familyowns this expedition!”

Ezr hunched forward. “Just a part of it.” This was also the first time she’d ever made anything of the fact. Until now both of them—Ezr, at least—had been afraid of acknowledging that difference in status. They shared the deep-down fear that each might simply be taking advantage of the other. Ezr Vinh’s parents and his two aunts owned about one-third of the expedition: two ramscoops and three landing craft. As a whole, the Vinh.23 Family owned thirty ships scattered across a dozen enterprises. The voyage to Triland had been a side investment, meriting only a token Family member. A century or three down the line he would be back with his family. By then, Ezr Vinh would be ten or fifteen years older. He looked forward to that reunion, to showing his parents that their boy had made good. In the meantime, he was years short of being able to throw his weight around. “Trixia, there’s a difference between owning and managing, especially in my case. If my parents were on this expedition, yes, they would have a lot of clout. But they’ve been ‘There and Back Again.’ I am far more an apprentice than an owner.” And he had the humiliations to prove it. One thing about a proper Qeng Ho expedition, there wasn’t much nepotism; sometimes just the opposite.

Trixia was silent for a long moment, her eyes searching back and forth across Ezr’s face. What next? Vinh remembered well Aunt Filipa’s grim advice about women who attach themselves to rich young Traders, who draw them in and then think to run their lives—and worse, run the Family’s proper business. Ezr was nineteen, Trixia Bonsol twenty-five. She might think she could simply make demands.Oh Trixia, please no.

Finally she smiled, a gentler, smaller smile than usual. “Okay, Ezr. Do what you must… but a favor? Think on what I’ve said.” She turned, reaching up to touch his face and gently stroke it. Her kiss was soft, tentative.

TWO

The Brat was waiting in ambush outside Ezr’s quarters.

“Hey, Ezr, I watched you last night.” That almost stopped him. She’s talking about the banquet. The Trading Committee had piped it back to the fleet.

“Sure, Qiwi, you saw me on the vid. Now you’re seeing me in person.” He opened his door, stepped inside. Somehow the Brat stuck so close behind that now she was inside too. “So what are you doing here?”

Qiwi was a genius at taking questions the way she wanted them: “We got the same scut-work shift starting in two thousand seconds. I thought we could go down to the bactry together, trade gossip.”

Vinh dived into the back room, this time shutting her out. He changed into work fatigues. Of course, the Brat was still waiting when he emerged.

He sighed. “I don’t have any gossip.” Damned if I’ll repeat what Trixiasaid.

Qiwi grinned triumphantly. “Well, I do. C’mon.” She opened the room’s outer door and gave him an elegant zero-gee bow out into the public corridor. “I wanna compare notes with you about what you saw, but really, I bet I got a lot more. The Committee had three povs, including at the entrance—better views than you had.” She bounced down the hall with him, explaining how often she had reviewed the videos, and telling of all the people she had gossiped with since.

Vinh had first met Qiwi Lin Lisolet back in pre-Flight, in Trilander space. She’d been an eight-year-old bundle of raw obnoxiousness. And for some reason she’d chosen him as the target of her attention. After a meal or training session, she’d rush up behind him and slug him in the shoulder—and the angrier he got, the more she seemed to like it. One good punch returned would have changed her whole outlook. But you can’t slug an eight-year-old. She was nine years short of the mandatory crew minimum. The place for children was before voyages and after—not in crews, especially crews bound for desolate space. But Qiwi’s mother owned twenty percent of the expedition….The Lisolet.17 Family was truly matriarchal, originally from Strentmann, far away across Qeng Ho space. They were strange in both appearance and custom. A lot of rules must have been broken, but little Qiwi had ended up on the crew. She had spent more years of the voyage awake than any but the Watch crew. A large part of her childhood had passed between the stars, with just a few adults around, often not even her own parents. Just thinking of that was enough to cool a lot of Vinh’s irritation. The poor little girl. And not so little anymore. Qiwi must be fourteen years old. And now her physical attacks had been mostly replaced by verbal ones—a good thing considering the Strentmannian high-grav physique.

Now the two were descending through the main axis of the temp. “Hey Raji, how’s business?” Qiwi waved and grinned at every second passerby. In the Msecs before the Emergents’ arrival, Captain Park had unfrozen almost half of the fleet crew, enough to manage all vehicles and weapons, with hot backups. Fifteen hundred people wouldn’t be more than a large party in his parents’ temp. Here, it was a crowd, even if many were away on shipboard during duty time. With this many people, you really noticed that the quarters were temporary, new partitions being inflated for this crew and that. The main axis was nothing but the meeting corners of four very large balloons. The surfaces rippled occasionally when four or five people had to slip by at once.

“I don’t trust the Emergents, Ezr. After all the generous talk, they’ll slit our throats.”

Vinh gave an irritated grunt. “So how come you’re smiling so much?”

They floated past a clear section of fabric—a real window, not wallpaper. Beyond was the temp’s park. It was barely more than a large bonsai, actually, but probably held more open space and living things than were in all the Emergents’ sterile habitat. Qiwi’s head twisted around and for a short moment she was quiet. Living plants and animals were about the only things that could do that to her. Her father was Fleet Life-Support Officer—and a bonsai artist known across all of near Qeng Ho space.

Then she seemed to startle back to the present. Her smile returned, supercilious. “Because we’re the Qeng Ho, if we only stop to remember the fact! We’ve got thousands of years of sneakiness on these newcomers. ‘Emergents’ my big toe! They’re where they are now from listening to the public part of the Qeng Ho Net. Without the Net, they’d still be squatting in their own ruins.”

The passage narrowed, curving down into a cusp. Behind and above them, the sounds of crew were muted by the swell of wall fabric. This was the innermost bladder of the temp. Besides the spar and power pile, it was the only part that was absolutely necessary: the bactry pit.

The duty here was scut work, about as low as things could get, cleaning the bacterial filters below the hydro ponds. Down here, the plants didn’t smell so nice. In fact, robust good health was signaled by a perfectly rotting stench. Most of the work could be done by machines, but there were judgment calls that eluded the best automation, and that no one had ever bothered to make remotes for. In a way, it was a responsible position. Make a dumb mistake and a bacterial strain might get across the membrane into the upper tanks. The food would taste like vomit, and the smell could pass into the ventilator system. But even the most terrible error probably wouldn’t kill anyone—there were still the bactries on the ramscoops, all kept in isolation from one another.

So this was a place to learn, ideal by the standards of harsh teachers: It was tricky; it was physically uncomfortable; and a mistake could cause embarrassment that would be very hard to live down.

Qiwi signed up for extra duty here. She claimed to love the place. “My papa says you gotta start with the smallest living things, before you can handle the big ones.” She was a walking encyclopedia about bacteria, the entwined metabolic pathways, the sewage-like bouquets that corresponded to different combinations, the characteristics of the strains that would be damaged by any human contact (the blessed ones whose stink they need never smell).

Ezr came close to making two mistakes in the first Ksec. He caught them, of course, but Qiwi noticed. Normally she would have ragged him endlessly about the errors. But today Qiwi was caught up in scheming about the Emergents. “You know why we didn’t bring any heavy lifters?”

Their two largest landers could hoist a thousand tonnes from surface to orbit. Given time, they would have had all the volatiles and ore they needed. Of course, time was what the Emergent arrival had taken from them. Ezr shrugged, and kept his eyes on the sample he was drawing. “I know the rumors.”

“Ha. You don’t need rumors. You’d know the truth with a little arithmetic. Fleet Captain Park guessed we might have company. He brought the minimum of landers and habs. And he brought lots and lots of guns and nukes.”

“Maybe.” Certainly.

“The trouble is, the damn Emergents are so close, they brought a whole lot more—and still arrived on our heels.”

Ezr made no reply, but that didn’t matter.

“Anyway. I’ve been tracking gossip. We’ve got to be really, really careful.” And she was off into military tactics and speculations about the Emergents’ weapons systems. Qiwi’s mother was Deputy Fleet Captain, but she was an armsman, too. AStrentmannian armsman. Most of the Brat’s time in transit had been spent on math and trajectories and engineering. The bactry and the bonsai were her father’s influence. She could oscillate between bloodthirsty armsman, wily trader, and bonsai artist—all in the space of a few seconds. How had her parents ever thought to marry? And what a lonely, messed-up kid they produced. “So we could beat the Emergents in a straight-out fight,” said Qiwi. “And they know that. That’s why they’re being so nice. The thing to do is play along with them; we need their heavy lifters. Afterwards, if they live up to the agreement, they may be rich but we’ll be much richer. Those jokers couldn’t sell air to a tankless temp.If things stay square, we’ll come out of this operation with effective control.”

Ezr finished a sequence and took another sample. “Well,” he said, “Trixia thinks they don’t see this as a trade interaction at all.”

“Um.” Funny how Qiwi insulted almost everything about Vinh—except Trixia. Mostly she just seemed to ignore Trixia. Qiwi was uncharacteristically silent. For almost a second. “I think your friend has it right. Look, Vinh, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but there’s quite a split on the Trading Committee.” Unless her own mother had blabbed, this had to be fantasy. “My guess is, there are some idiots on the Committee who think this is purely a business negotiation, each side bringing their best to a common effort—and as usual, our side being the cleverest negotiator. They don’t understand that if we get murdered, it doesn’t matter that the other side has a net loss. We’ve got to play this tough, be ready for an ambush.”

In her own bloodthirsty way, Qiwi sounded like Trixia. “Mama hasn’t said so straight out, but they may be deadlocked.” She looked at him sideways, a child pretending to conspiracy. “You’re an owner, Ezr. You could talk to—”

“Qiwi!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything!”

She let him be for a hundred seconds or so, then started on her schemes for making profit off the Emergents, “if we live through the next few Msecs.” If the Spider world and the OnOff star hadn’t existed, the Emergents would have been the find of the century in this end of Qeng Ho space. From watching their fleet operations, it was clear that they had some special cleverness with automation and systems planning. At the same time, their starships were less than half as fast as the Qeng Ho’s, and their bioscience was just bad. Qiwi had a hundred plans for turning all that to profit.

Ezr let the words wash over him, barely heard. Another time, he might have lost himself in concentration on the work at hand. No chance on this shift. Plans that spanned two centuries were all coming down to a few critical Ksecs now, and for the first time he wondered about his fleet’s management. Trixia was an outsider, but brilliant and with a different viewpoint from lifelong Traders. The Brat was smart, but normally her opinions were worthless. This time… maybe “Mama” had put her up to this. Kira Pen Lisolet’s outlook had been formed very far away, about as far as you could get and still be in the Qeng Ho realm; maybe she thought a teenage apprentice could affect things just because he was from an owner’s Family. Damn…

The shift passed without further insight. He’d be off in fifteen hundred seconds. If he skipped lunch, he had time to change clothes… time to ask for an appointment with Captain Park. In the two years subjective that he’d been with the expedition, he had never presumed on his Family connections.And what good can I really do now? Could I really break a stalemate? He dithered around that worry through the end of the shift. He was still dithering as he chucked his bactry coveralls… and… called the Captain’s Audience Secretary.

Qiwi’s grin was as insolent as ever. “Tell ’em straight, Vinh. This has to be an armsman operation.”

He waved her silent, then noticed that his call hadn’t gone through. Blocked? For an instant, Ezr felt a pang of relief, then saw he was preempted by an incoming order… from Captain Park’s office. “To appear at 5.20.00 at the Fleet Captain’s planning room…” What was the ancient curse about getting one’s wish? Ezr Vinh’s thoughts were distinctly muddled as he climbed to the temp’s taxi locks.

Qiwi Lin Lisolet was no longer in evidence; what a wise little girl.

The meeting was not with some staff officer. Ezr showed up at the Fleet Captain’s planning room on the QHSPham Nuwen, and there was the Fleet Captain… and the expedition’s Trading Committee. They did not look happy. Vinh got only a quick glimpse before coming to attention at the bracing pole. Out of the corner of his eyes he did a quick count. Yes, every one of them was here. They hung around the room’s conference table, and their gaze did not seem friendly.

Park acknowledged Ezr’s brace with a brusque wave of his hand. “At ease, Apprentice.” Three hundred years ago, when Ezr had been five, Captain Park had visited the Vinh Family temp in Canberra space. His parents had treated the fellow royally, even though he wasn’t a senior ship’s master. But Ezr remembered more the parkland gifts from what seemed a genuinely friendly fellow.

At their next encounter, Vinh was a seventeen-year-old would-be apprentice and Park was outfitting a fleet to Triland. What a difference. They had spoken perhaps a hundred words since, and then only at formal expedition occasions. Ezr had been just as glad for the anonymity; what he wouldn’t give for a return to it now.

Captain Park looked as though he had swallowed something sour. He glanced around at the members of the Trading Committee, and Vinh suddenly wondered just whom he was angry at. “Young V—Apprentice Vinh. We have an… unusual… situation here. You know the delicacy of our situation now that the Emergents have arrived.” The Captain didn’t seem to be looking for an acknowledgment, and Ezr’s “yessir” died before it reached his lips. “At this point we have several courses of action possible.” Again a glance at the Committee members.

And Ezr realized that Qiwi Lisolet hadn’t been spouting complete nonsense. A Fleet Captain had absolute authority in tactical situations, and normally a veto vote on strategic issues. But for major changes in expedition goals, he was at the mercy of his Trading Committee. And something had gone wrong with the process. Not an ordinary tie; Fleet Captains had a deciding vote in cases such as that. No, this must be a deadlock verging on a mutiny of the management class. It was a situation the teachers always mumbled about in school, but if it ever happened, then just maybe a junior owner would become a factor in the decision process. Sort of a sacrificial goat.

“First possibility,” continued Park, oblivious of the unhappy conclusions rattling around in Vinh’s head. “We play the game the Emergents propose. Joint operations. Joint control of all vehicles in this upcoming groundside mission.”

Ezr took in the appearance of the Committee members. Kira Pen Lisolet sat next to the Fleet Captain. She was dressed in the Lisolet-green uniform her Family affected. The woman was almost as small as Qiwi, her features sober and attentive. But there was an impression of raw physical strength. The Strentmannian body type was extreme even by Qeng Ho standards of diversity. Some Traders prided themselves on their masked demeanor. Not Kira Pen Lisolet. Kira Lisolet loathed Park’s first “possibility” as much as Qiwi claimed.

Ezr’s attention slid to another familiar face. Sum Dotran. Management committees were an elite. There were a few active owners, but the majority were professional planners, working their way up to a stake that would allow them to own their ships. And there was a minority of very old men. Most of the old guys were consummate experts, truly preferring management over any form of ownership. Sum Dotran was such. At one time he had worked for the Vinh Family. Ezr guessed that he opposed Park’s first “possibility,” too.

“Second possibility: Separate control structures, no jointly crewed landers. As soon as practicable, we reveal ourselves directly to the Spiders”—and let the Lord of Trade sort the greater winners from the lesser. Once there were three players, the advantage to simple treachery should be diminished. In a few years their relationship with the Emergents could become a relatively normal, competitive one. Of course, the Emergents might regard unilateral contact as a kind of betrayal in itself. Too bad. It seemed to Vinh that at least half the Committee supported this path—butnot Sum Dotran.The old man jerked his head slightly at Vinh, making the message obvious.

“Third possibility: We pack up our temps and head back to Triland.”

Vinh’s stunned look must have been obvious. Sum Dotran elaborated. “Young Vinh, what the Captain means is that we are outnumbered and possibly outgunned. None of us trust these Emergents, and if they turn on us, there would be no recourse. It’s just too risky to—”

Kira Pen Lisolet slapped the table. “I object! This meeting was absurd to begin with. And worse, now we see Sum Dotran is simply using it to force his own views.” So much for the theory that Qiwi had been operating at her mother’s direction.

“You are both out of order!” Captain Park paused a moment, staring at the Committee. Then, “Fourth possibility: We undertake a preemptive attack against the Emergent fleet, and secure the system for ourselves.”

“Attempt to secure it,” corrected Dotran.

“Iobject !” Kira Pen Lisolet again. She waved to bring up consensual imagery. “A preemptive attack is the only sure course.”

Lisolet’s imagery was not a starscape or a telescopic view of the Spider world. It was not the org or timeline charts that often consumed the attention of planners. No, these were vaguely like planetary nav diagrams, showing the position and velocity vectors of the two fleets in relation to each other, the Spider’s world, and the OnOff star. Traces graphed future positions in the pertinent coordinate systems. The diamond rocks were labeled, too. There were other markers, tactical military symbols, the notation for giga-tonnes and rocket bombs and electronic countermeasures.

Ezr stared at the displays and tried to remember his military-science classes. The rumors about Captain Park’s secret cargo were true. The Qeng Ho expedition had teeth—longer, sharper teeth than any normal trading fleet. And the Qeng Ho armsmen had had some time for preparation; clearly they had used it, even if the OnOff system was barren beyond belief, with no good place to hide ambushes or reserves.

The Emergents, on the other hand: The military symbols clustered around their ships were hazy assessment probabilities. The Emergents’ automation was strange, possibly superior to the Qeng Ho’s. The Emergents had brought twice the gross tonnage, and the best guesses were that they carried proportionately more weapons.

Ezr’s attention came back to the meeting table. Who besides Kira Lisolet favored a sneak attack? Ezr had spent much of his childhood studying the Strategies, but the great treacheries were things he’d always been taught were the domain of insanity and evil, not something a self-repecting Qeng Ho need ever or should ever undertake. To see a Trading Committee considering murder, that was a sight that would… stay with him awhile.

The silence grew unnaturally long. Were they waiting for him to say something? Finally Captain Park said, “You’ve probably guessed we have an impasse here, Apprentice Vinh. You have no vote, no experience, and no detailed knowledge of the situation. Without meaning to offendyou, I must say that I am embarrassed to have you at this meeting at all. But you are the only crewmember owner for two of our ships. If you have any advice to give with regard to our options, we would be… happy… to hear it.”

Apprentice Ezr Vinh might be a small playing piece, but he was the center of attention just now, and what did he have to say for himself? A million questions swirled up in his mind. At school they had practiced quick decisions, but even there he had been given more backgrounding than this. Of course, these people weren’t much interested in real analysis from him. The thought nettled, almost broke him out of his frozen panic. “F-four possibilities, Fleet Captain? Are there a-any lesser ones that didn’t make it to this briefing?”

“None that had any support from myself or the Committee.”

“Um. You have spoken with the Emergents more than anyone. What do you think of their leader, this Tomas Nau?” It was just the sort of question he and Trixia had wondered about. Ezr never imagined that he would be asking the Fleet Captain himself.

Park’s lips tightened, and for an instant Ezr thought he would blow up. Then he nodded. “He’s bright. His technical background appears weak compared to a Qeng Ho Fleet Captain’s. He’s a deep student of the Strategies, though not necessarily the same ones we know….The rest is guess and intuition, though I think most Committee members agree: I would not trust Tomas Nau with any mercantile agreement. I think he would commit a great treachery if it would make him even a small profit. He is very smooth, a consummate liar who puts not the faintest value on return business.” All in all, that was about the most damning statement a Qeng Ho could make about another living being. Ezr suddenly guessed that Captain Park must be one of the supporters of sneak attack. He looked at Sum Dotran and then back to Park. The two he would trust the most were off the end of the map, in opposite directions!Lord, don’t you people know I’m just an apprentice!

Ezr stepped on the internal whine. He hesitated for seconds, truly thinking on the issue. Then, “Given your assessment, sir, I certainly oppose the first possibility, joint operations. But… I also oppose the idea of a sneak attack since—”

“Excellent decision, my boy,” interrupted Sum Dotran.

“—since that is something we Qeng Ho have little practice in, no matter how much we’ve studied it.”

That left two possibilities: cut and run—or stay, cooperate minimally with the Emergents, and tip off the Spiders at the first opportunity. Even if objectively justified, retreat would mark their expedition an abject failure. Considering their fuel state, it would also be extraordinarily slow.

Just over a million kilometers away was the greatest mystery-possible-treasure known to this part of Human Space. They had come across fifty light-years to get this tantalizingly close. Great risks, great treasure. “Sir, it would be giving up too much to leave now. But we must all be like armsmen now, until things are clearly safe.” After all, the Qeng Ho had its own warrior legends: Pham Nuwen had won his share of battles. “I-I recommend that we stay.”

Silence. Ezr thought he saw relief on most faces. Deputy Fleet Captain Lisolet just looked grim. Sum Dotran was not so reserved: “My boy,please. Reconsider. Your Family has two starships at risk here. It is no disgrace to fall back before the likely loss of all. Instead, it is wisdom. The Emergents are simply too dangerous to—”

Park drifted up from his place at the table, his beefy hand reaching out. The hand descended gently on Sum Dotran’s shoulder, and Park’s voice was soft. “I’m sorry, Sum. You did all you could. You even got us to listen to a junior owner. Now it’s time… for all of us… to agree and proceed.”

Dotran’s face contorted in a look of frustration or fear. He held it for a moment of quivering concentration, then let his breath whistle out of his mouth. He suddenly seemed very old and tired. “Quite so, Captain.”

Park slipped back to his place at the table and gave Ezr an impassive look. “Thank you for your advice, Apprentice Vinh. I expect you to honor the confidentiality of this meeting.”

“Yessir.” Ezr braced.

“Dismissed.”

The door opened behind him. Ezr pushed off the bracing pole. As he glided through the doorway, Captain Park was already talking to the Committee. “Kira, think about putting ordnance on all the pinnaces. Perhaps we can tip the Emergents that cooperating vessels will be very dangerous to hijack. I—”

The door slid shut over the rest. Ezr was overcome with relief and the shakes all at the same time. Maybe forty years ahead of his time, he had actually participated in a fleet decision. It had not been fun.

THREE

The Spider world—Arachna, some were calling it now—was twelve thousand kilometers in diameter, with 0.95-gee surface gravity. The planet had a stony, undifferentiated interior, but the surface was swaddled with enough volatiles for oceans and a friendly atmosphere. Only one thing prevented this from being an Earth-like Eden of a world: the absence of sunlight.

It was more than two hundred years since the OnOff star, this world’s sun, had entered its “Off” state. For more than two hundred years, its light upon Arachna had been scarcely brighter than that from the far stars.

Ezr’s landing craft arced down across what would be a major archipelago during warmer times. The main event was on the other side of the world, where the heavy-lifter crews were carving and raising a few million tonnes of seamount and frozen ocean. No matter; Ezr had seen large-scale engineering before. This smaller landing could be the history maker….

The consensus imagery on the passenger deck was a natural view. The lands streaming silently past below were shades of gray, patches of white sometimes faintly glistening. Maybe it was just a trick of the imagination, but Ezr thought he could see faint shadows cast by OnOff. They conjured a topography of crags and mountain peaks, whiteness sliding off into dark pits. He thought he could see concentric arcs outlining some of the farther peaks: pressure ridges where the ocean froze around the rock?

“Hey, at least put an altimeter grid on it.” Benny Wen’s voice came from over his shoulder, and a faint reddish mesh overlaid the landscape. The grid pretty much matched his intuition about shadows and snow.

Ezr waved away the red tracery. “When the star is On, there’s millions of Spiders down there. You’d think there’d be some sign of civilization.”

Benny snickered. “What do you expect to see with a natural view? Most of what is sticking up is mountaintops. And farther down is covered by meters of oxy-nitrogen snow.” A full terrestrial atmosphere froze down to about ten meters of airsnow—if it was evenly distributed. Many of the most likely city sites—harbors, river joins—were under dozens of meters of the cold stuff. All their previous landings had been relatively high up, in what were probably mining towns or primitive settlements. It wasn’t until just before the Emergents arrived that their current destination had been properly understood.

The dark lands marched on below. There were even things like glacier streams. Ezr wondered how they had time to form. Maybe they were air-ice glaciers?

“Lord of All Trade, will you look at that!” Benny pointed off to the left: a reddish glow near the horizon. Benny did a zoom. The light was still small, sliding quickly out of their field of view. It really did look like a fire, though it changed shape rather slowly. Something was blocking the view now, and Ezr had the brief impression of opacity rising skyward from the light. “I’ve got a better view from high orbit,” came a voice from farther down the aisle, Crewleader Diem. He did not forward the picture. “It’s a volcano. It just lit off.”

Ezr followed the image as it fell behind their point of view. The rising darkness, that must be a geyser of lava—or perhaps just air and water—spewing into the spaces above it. “That’s a first,” said Ezr. The planet’s core was cold and dead, though there were several magma melts in what passed for a mantle. “Everyone seems so sure that the Spiders are all in corpsicle state; what if some of them are actually keeping warm near things like that?”

“Not likely. We’ve done really detailed IR surveys. We could spot any settlements around a hot spot. Besides, the Spiders just inventedradio before this latest dark. They’re in no position to be crawling around out-of-doors just yet.”

This conclusion was based on a few Msecs of recon and some plausible life-chemistry assumptions. “I guess.” He watched the reddish glow until it slipped beyond the horizon. Then there were more exciting things directly below and ahead. Their landing ellipse carried them smoothly downward, still weightless. This was a full-sized world, but there would be no flying around in atmosphere. They were moving at eight thousand meters per second, just a couple of thousand meters above the ground. He had an impression of mountains climbing toward them, reaching out. Ridgeline after ridgeline whipped past, nearer and nearer. Behind him, Benny was making little uncomfortable noises, his usual chitchat temporarily interrupted. Ezr gasped as the last ridgeline flashed by them, so close he wondered it didn’t clip the lander’s dorsum.Talk about the transfer ellipse tohell.

Then the main jet flared ahead of them.

It took them almost 30Ksec to climb down from the point that Jimmy Diem had selected for the lander. The inconvenience was not frivolous. Their perch was partway up a mountainside but quite free of ice and airsnow. Their goal was at the bottom of a narrow valley. By rights, the valley floor should have been under a hundred meters of airsnow. By some unexpected fluke of topography and climate, there was less than half a meter. And almost hidden beneath the overhang of the valley walls was the largest collection of intact buildings they had found so far. Chances were good that this was an entrance to one of the Spiders’ largest hibernation caves, and perhaps a city during OnOff’s warm time. Whatever was learned here should be important. Under the joint agreement, it was all being piped back to the Emergents….

Ezr hadn’t heard anything about the outcome of the Trading Committee meeting. Diem seemed to be doing everything possible to disguise this visit from the locals, just as the Emergents should expect. Their landing point would be covered with an avalanche shortly after they departed. Even their footprints were to be carefully erased (though that should scarcely be necessary).

By coincidence OnOff was hanging near the zenith when they reached the valley floor. In the “sunny season” this would be high noon. Now, well, the OnOff star looked like some dim reddish moon, half a degree across. The surface was mottled, like oil on a drop of water. Without display amplification, OnOff’s light was just bright enough to show their surroundings.

The landing party walked down some kind of central avenue, five suited figures and one come-along walking machine. Tiny puffs of vapor sputtered around their boots when they walked through drifts of airsnow and the volatiles came in contact with the less well insulated fabric of their coveralls. When they stopped for long, it was important not to be in deep snow, else they were quickly surrounded by sublimation mist. Every ten meters, they set down a seismo sensor or a thumper. When they got the whole pattern in place, they would have a good picture of any nearby caverns. More important for this landing, they would have a good idea what lay inside these buildings. Their big goal: written materials, pictures. Finding a children’s illustrated reader would mean certain promotion for Diem.

Shades of reddish grays on black. Ezr reveled in the unenhanced imagery. It was beautiful, eerie. This was a place where the Spiders hadlived . On either side of their path, the shadows climbed up the walls of Spider buildings. Most were only two or three stories, but even in the dim red light, even with their outline blurred by the snows and the darkness, they could not have been confused with something built by humans. The smallest doorways were generously wide, yet most were less than 150 centimeters high. The windows (carefully shuttered; this place had been abandoned in the methodical way of owners who intended to return) were similarly wide and low.

The windows were like hundreds of slitted eyes looking down on the party of five and their come-along walker. Vinh wondered what would happen if a light came on behind those windows, a crack of light showing between the shutters. His imagination ran with the possibility for a moment. What if their feelings of smug superiority were in error? These werealiens. It was very unlikely life could have originated on a world so bizarre as this; once upon a time they must have had interstellar flight. Qeng Ho’s trading territory was four hundred light-years across; they had maintained a continuous technological presence for thousands of years. The Qeng Ho had radio traces of nonhuman civilizations that were thousands—in most cases, millions—of light-years away, forever beyond direct contact or even conversation. The Spiders were only the third nonhuman intelligent race ever physically encountered: three in the eight thousand years of human space travel. One of those had been extinct for millions of years; the other had not achieved machine technology, much less spaceflight.

The five humans, walking between the shadowy buildings with slitted windows, were as close to making human history as Vinh could imagine. Armstrong on Luna, Pham Nuwen at Brisgo Gap—and now Vinh and Wen and Patil and Do and Diem pacing down this street of Spiders.

There was a pause in the background radio traffic, and for a moment the loudest sounds were the creak of his coveralls and his own breathing. Then the tiny voices resumed, directing them across an open space, toward the far end of the valley. Apparently, the analysts thought that narrow cleft might be the entrance to caves, where the local Spiders were presumedly holed up.

“That’s odd,” came an anonymous voice from on high. “Seismo heard something—is hearing something—from the building next on your right.”

Vinh’s head snapped up and he peered into the gloom. Maybe not a light, but asound.

“The walker?”—Diem.

“Maybe it’s just the building settling?”—Benny.

“No, no. This was impulsive, like a click. Now we’re getting a regular beat, some damping. Frequency analysis… sounds like mechanical equipment, moving parts and such…. Okay, it’s mainly stopped, just some residual ringing. Crewleader Diem, we’ve got a very good position on this racket. It was on the far corner, four meters up from street level. Here’s a guide marker.”

Vinh and the others moved forward thirty meters, following the marker glyph that floated in their head-up displays. It was almost funny, the furtiveness of their movements now, even though they would be in plain sight of anyone in the building.

The marker took them around the corner.

“The building doesn’t look special,” said Diem. Like the others, this appeared to be mortarless stonework, the higher floors slightly outset from the lower. “Wait, I see where you’re pointing. There’s some kind of… a ceramic box bolted to the second overhang. Vinh, you’re closest. Climb up there and take a look.”

Ezr started toward the building, then noticed that someone had helpfully killed the marker. “Where?” All he could see were shadows and the grays of stonework.

“Vinh,” Diem’s voice carried more than its usual snap. “Wake up, huh?”

“Sorry.” Ezr felt himself blushing; he got into this sort of trouble far too often. He enabled multispec imagery, and his view burst into color, a composite of what the suit was seeing across several spectral regions. Where there had been a pit of shadow, he now saw the box Diem was talking about. It was mounted a couple of meters above his head. “Just a second; I’ll get closer.” He walked over to the wall. Like most of the buildings, this one was festooned with wide, stony slats. The analysts thought they were steps. They suited Vinh’s purpose, though he used them more like a ladder than like stairs. In a few seconds he was right next to the gadget.

And it was a machine; there were rivets on the sides, like something out of a medieval romance. He pulled a sensor baton from his coveralls and held it near the box. “Do you want me to touch it?”

Diem didn’t reply. This was really a question for those higher up. Vinh heard several voices conferring. “Pan around a little. Aren’t there markings on the side of that box?” Trixia! He knew she would be one of the watchers, but it was a very pleasant surprise to hear her voice. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and swept the baton back and forth across the box. There was something along the sides; he couldn’t tell whether it was writing or an artifact of overly tricky multiscan algorithms. If it was writing, this would be a minor coup.

“Okay, you can fasten the baton to the box now”—another voice, the acoustics fellow. Ezr did as he was told.

Some seconds passed. The Spider stairs were so steep he had to lean back against the risers. Airsnow haze streamed out from the steps, and downward; he could feel his jacket heaters compensating for the chill of the steps’ edges.

Then, “That’s interesting. This thing is a sensor right out of the dark ages.”

“Electrical? Is it reporting to a remote site?” Vinh started. The last words were spoken by a woman with an Emergent accent.

“Ah, Director Reynolt, hello. No, that’s the extraordinary thing about this device. It is self-contained. The ‘power source’ appears to be an array of metal springs. A mechanical clock mechanism—are you familiar with the idea?—provides both timing and motive power. Actually, I suppose this is about the only unsophisticated method that would work over long periods of cold.”

“So what all is it observing?” That was Diem, and a good question. Vinh’s imagination took off again. Maybe the Spiders were a lot more clever than anyone thought. Maybe his own hooded figure would show up intheir recon reports. For that matter, what if this box was hooked up to some kind of weapon?

“We don’t see any camera equipment, Crewleader. We have a pretty good image of the box’s interior now. A gear mechanism drags a stripchart under four recording styluses.” The terms were straight out of a Fallen Civ text. “My guess is, every day or so it advances the strip a little and notes the temperature, pressure… and two other scalars I’m not sure of yet.” Every day for more than two hundred years. Human primitives would have had a hard time making a moving-parts mechanism that could work so long, much less do it at low temperatures. “It was our good luck to be walking by when it went off.”

There followed a technical dispute about just how sophisticated such recorders might be. Diem had Benny and the others ping the area with picosecond light flashes. Nothing glinted back; no lensed optics were in a line of sight.

Meanwhile, Vinh remained leaning against the stair ramp. The cold was beginning to seep past his jacket and through his full-pressure coveralls. The gear was not designed for extended contact with such a heat sink. He shifted about awkwardly on the narrow steps. In a one-gee field, this sort of acrobatics got old fast…. But his new position gave him a view around the corner of the building. And on this side, some of the covering panels had fallen from the windows. Vinh leaned precariously out from the stairs, trying to make sense of what he saw within the room. Everything was covered with a patina of airsnow. Waist-high racks or cabinets were set in long rows. Above them were a metal framework and still more cabinets. Spider stairs connected one level to the other. Of course, to a Spider those cabinets would not be “waist-high.” Hmm. There were loose objects piled on top, each a collection of flat plates hinged at one end. Some were folded all together, others were carelessly spread out, like vanity fans.

His sudden understanding was like an electric shock, and he spoke on the public sequency without thinking. “Excuse me, Crewleader Diem?”

The conversation with those above came to a surprised halt.

“What is it, Vinh?” said Diem.

“Take a look through my pov. I think we’ve found a library.”

Somebody up above yelped with pleasure. It really sounded like Trixia.

Thumper analysis would have brought them to the library eventually, but Ezr’s find was a significant shortcut.

There was a large door in back; getting the walker in was easy. The walker contained a high-speed scanning manipulator. It took a while for it to adapt to the strange shape of these “books,” but now the robot was moving at breakneck speed down the shelves—one or two centimeters per second—two of Diem’s crew feeding a steady stream of books into its maw. There was a polite argument audible from on high. This landing was part of the joint plan, all on a negotiated schedule that was to end in just under 100Ksec. In that time they might not be done with this library, much less with the other buildings and the cave entrance. The Emergents didn’t want to make an exception for this one landing. Instead, they suggested bringing one of their larger vehicles right to the valley floor and scooping up artifacts en masse.

“And still a lurking strategy can be maintained,” came a male Emergent voice. “We can blow out the valley walls, make it look like massive rockfalls destroyed the village at the bottom.”

“Hey, these fellows really have the light touch,” Benny Wen’s voice came into his ear on their private channel. Ezr didn’t reply. The Emergent suggestion wasn’t exactly irrational, just… foreign. The Qeng Hotraded. The more sadistic of them might enjoy pauperizing the competition, but almost all wanted customers who would look forward to the next fleecing. Simply wrecking or stealing was… gross. And why do it when they could come back again to probe around?

High above, the Emergent proposal was politely rejected and a follow-on mission to this glorious valley was put at the head of the list for future joint adventures.

Diem sent Benny and Ezr Vinh to scout out the shelves. This library might hold one hundred thousand volumes, only a few hundred gigabytes, but that was far too much for the time remaining. Ultimately, they might have to pick and choose, hopefully finding the holy grail of such an operation—a children’s illustrated reader.

As the Ksecs passed, Diem rotated his crewmembers between feeding the scanner, bringing books down from the upper stories to be read, and returning books to their original places.

By the time Vinh’s meal break came, the OnOff star had swung down from its position near the zenith. Now it hung just above the crags at the far end of the valley and cast shadows from the buildings down the length of the street. He found a snow-free patch of ground, dropped an insulating blanket on it, and took the weight off his feet. Oh, that felt good. Diem had given him fifteen hundred seconds for this break. He fiddled with his feeder, and munched slowly on a couple of fruit bars. He could hear Trixia, but she was very busy. There was still no “children’s illustrated reader,” but they had found the next best thing, a bunch of physics and chemistry texts. Trixia seemed to think that this was a technical library of some sort. Right now they were debating about speeding up the scan. Trixia thought she had a correct graphemic analysis on the writing, and so now they could switch to smarter reading.

Ezr had known from the moment he’d met Trixia that she was smart. But she was just a Customer specializing in linguistics, a field that Qeng Ho academics excelled in. What could she really contribute? Now… well, he could hear the conversation above. Trixia was constantly deferred to by the other language specialists. Maybe that was not so surprising. The entire Trilander civilization had competed for the limited number of berths on the expedition. Out of five hundred million people, if you chose the best in some specialty… those chosen would be pretty damn good indeed. Vinh’s pride in knowing her faltered for an instant: in fact, it washe who was overreaching his station in life by wanting her. Yes, Ezr was a major heir of the Vinh.23 Family, but he himself… wasn’t all that bright. Worse, he seemed to spend all his time dreaming about other places and other times.

This discouraging line of thought turned in a familiar direction: Maybe here he would prove that he wasn’t so impractical. The Spiders might be a long time from their original civilization. Their present era could be a lot like the Dawn Age. Maybe he would have some insight that would make the fleet’s treasure—and earn him Trixia Bonsol. His mind slid off into happy possibilities, never quite descending to gritty detail….

Vinh glanced at his chron. Aha, he still had five hundred seconds! He stood, looked throught he lengthening shadows to where the avenue climbed into the side of the mountain. All day, they had concentrated so much on mission priorities that they’d never really gotten to sightsee. In fact, they had stopped just short of a widening in the road, almost a plaza.

During the bright time, there had been plenty of vegetation. The hills were covered with the twisted remains of things that might have been trees. Down here, nature had been carefully trimmed; at regular intervals along the avenue there was the organic rubble of some ornamental plant. A dozen such mounds edged the plaza.

Four hundred seconds. He had time. He walked quickly to the edge of the plaza, then started round it. In the middle of the circle was a little hill, the snow covering odd shapes. When he reached the far side he was looking into the light. The work in the library had heated the place up so much that a fog of temporary, local atmosphere seeped out of the building. It flowed across the street, condensing and settling back to the ground. The light of OnOff shone through it in reddish shafts. Leaving the color aside, it might almost have been ground fog on the main floor of his parents’ temp on a summer night. And the valley walls might have been temp partitions. For an instant Vinh was overcome by the image, that a place so alien could suddenly seem familiar, so peaceful.

His attention came back to the center of the plaza. This side was almost free of snow. There were odd shapes ahead, half-hidden by the darkness. Scarcely thinking, he walked toward them. The ground was clear of snow, and it crunched like frozen moss. He stopped, sucked in a breath. The dark things at the center—they were statues. Of Spiders! A few more seconds and he’d report the find, but for the moment he wondered at the scene alone and in silence. Of course, they already knew the natives’ approximate form; there had been some crude pictures found by the earlier landings. But—Vinh stepped up the image scan—these were lifelike statues, molded in exquisite detail out of some dark metal. There were three of the creatures, life-sized he guessed. The word “spider” is common language, the sort of term that dissolves to near uselessness in the light of specific examination. In the temps of Ezr’s childhood there had been several types of critter called “spiders.” Some had six legs, some eight, some ten or twelve. Some were fat and hairy. Some were slender, black, and venomous. These creatures looked a lot like the slender, ten-legged kind. But either they were wearing clothes, or they were spinier than their tiny namesakes. Their legs were wrapped around each other, all reaching for something hidden beneath them. Making war, making love, what? Even Vinh’s imagination floundered.

What had it been like here, when last the sun shone bright?

FOUR

It is an edged cliché that the world is most pleasant in the years of a Waning Sun. It is true that the weather is not so driven, that everywhere there is a sense of slowing down, and most places experience a few years where the summers do not burn and the winters are not yet overly fierce. It is the classic time of romance. It’s a time that seductively beckons higher creatures to relax, postpone. It’s the last chance to prepare for the end of the world.

By blind good fortune, Sherkaner Underhill chose the most beautiful days in the years of the Waning for his first trip to Lands Command. He soon realized his good luck was doubled: The winding coastal roads had not been designed for automobiles, and Sherkaner was not nearly so skilled an automobilist as he had thought. More than once he came careening into a hairpin turn with the auto’s drive belt improperly applied, and nothing but steering and brakes to keep him from flying into the misty blue of the Great Sea (though no doubt he’d fall short, to the forest below, but still with deadly effect).

Sherkaner loved it. Inside of a few hours he had gotten the hang of operating the machine. Now when he tipped up on two wheels it was almost on purpose. It was a beautiful drive. The locals called this route the Pride of Accord, and the Royal Family had never dared complain. This was the height of a summer. The forest was fully thirty years old, about as old as trees could ever get. They reached straight and high and green, and grew right up to the edge of the highway. The scent of flowers and forest resin drifted cool past his perch on the auto.

He didn’t see many other civilian autos. There were plenty of osprechs pulling carts, some trucks, and an inconvenient number of army convoys. The reactions he got from the civilians were a wonderful mix: irritated, amused, envious. Even more than around Princeton, he saw wenches who looked pregnant and guys with dozens of baby welts on their backs. Some of their waves seemed envious of more than Sherk’s automobile.And sometimes I’m a little envious of them. For a while, he played with the thought, not trying to rationalize it. Instinct was such a fascinating thing, especially when you saw it from the inside.

The miles passed by. While his body and senses reveled in the drive, the back of Sherkaner’s mind was ticking away: grad school, how to sell Lands Command on his scheme, the truly multitudinous ways this auto-mobile could be improved. He pulled into a little forest town late the first afternoon. NIGH’T’DEEPNESS, the antique sign said; Sherkaner wasn’t sure if that was a place name or a simple description.

He stopped at the local blacksmith’s. The smith had the same odd smile as some of the people on the road. “Nice auto-mobile you have there, mister.” Actually itwas a very nice and expensive automobile, a brand-new Relmeitch. It was totally beyond the means of the average college student. Sherkaner had won it at an off-campus casino two days earlier. That had been a chancy thing. Sherkaner’s aspect was well known at all the gambling houses around Princeton. The owners’ guild had told him they’d break every one of his arms if they ever caught him gambling in the city again. Still, he’d been ready to leave Princeton anyway—and he really wanted to experiment with automobiles. The smith sidled around the automobile, pretending to admire the silver trim and the three rotating power cylinders. “So. Kinda far from home, ain’tcha? Whatcha going to do when it stops working?”

“Buy some kerosene?”

“Aha, we got that. Some farm machinery needs it. No, I mean, what about when your contraption breaks? They all do, you know. They’re kinda fragile things, not like draft animals.”

Sherkaner grinned. He could see the shells of several autos in the forest behind the smith’s. This was the right place. “That could be a problem. But you see, I have some ideas. It’s leather and metal work that might interest you.” He sketched out two of the ideas he’d had that afternoon, things that should be easy to do. The smith was agreeable; always happy to do business with madmen. But Sherkaner had to pay him up front; fortunately, Bank of Princeton currency was acceptable.

Afterward, Underhill drove through the little town, looking for an inn. At first glance this was a peaceful, timeless place to live. There was a traditionalist church of the Dark, as plain and weathered as it should be in these years. The newspapers on sale by the post office were three days old. The headlines might be large and red, shrieking of war and invasion, but even when a convoy for Lands Command rumbled through, it got no special attention.

It turned out Nigh’t’Deepness was too small for inns. The owner of the post office gave him directions to a couple of bed-and-breakfast homes. As the sun slid down toward the ocean, Sherkaner tooled around the countryside, lost and exploring. The forest was beautiful, but it didn’t leave much room for farming. The locals made some of their living by outside trade, but they worked hard on their mountain garden… and they had at most three years of good growing seasons before the frosts would become deadly. The local harvest yards looked full, and there was a steady stream of carts shuttling back and forth into the hills. The parish deepness was up that way about fifteen miles. It wasn’t a large deepness, but it served most of the outback folk. If these people didn’t save enough now, they would surely starve in the first, hard years of the Great Dark; even in a modern civilization, there was precious little charity for able-bodied persons who didn’t provide for those years.

Sunset caught him on a promontory overlooking the ocean. The ground dipped away on three sides, on the south into a little, tree-covered valley. On the crest beyond the dell was a house that looked like the one the postmaster had described. But Sherk still wasn’t in a hurry. This was the most beautiful view of the day. He watched the plaids shade into limited colors, the sun’s trace fading from the far horizon.

Then he turned his automobile and started down the steep dirt road into the dell. The canopy of the forest closed in above him… and he was into the trickiest driving of the day, even though he was moving slower than a cobber could walk. The auto dipped and slid in foot-deep ruts. Gravity and luck were the main things that kept him from getting stuck. By the time he reached the creek bed at the bottom, Sherkaner was seriously wondering if he would be leaving his shining new machine down here. He stared ahead and to the sides. The road was not abandoned; those cart ruts were fresh.

The slow evening breeze brought the stench of offal and rotting garbage. A dump? Strange to think of such a thing in the wilderness. There were piles of indeterminate refuse. But there was also a ramshackle house half-hidden by the trees. Its walls were bent, as if the timbers had never been cured. Its roof sagged. Holes were stuffed with wattle-bush. The ground cover between the road and the house had been chewed down. Maybe that accounted for the offal: a couple of osprechs were hobbled near the creek, just upstream of the house.

Sherkaner stopped. The ruts of the road disappeared into the creek just twenty feet ahead. For a moment he just stared, overwhelmed. These must be genuine backwoods folk, as alien as anything city-bred Sherkaner Underhill had ever seen. He started to get out of the auto. The viewpoints they would have! The things he might learn. Then it occurred to him that if their viewpoint was alienenough, these strangers might be less than pleased by his presence.

Besides… Sherkaner eased back onto his perch and took careful hold of the steering wheel, throttle, and brakes. Not just the osprechs were watching him. He looked out in all directions, his eyes fully adapted to the twilight. There were two of them. They lurked in the shadows on either side of him. Not animals, not people.Children? Maybe five and ten years old. The smaller one still had its baby eyes. Yet their gaze was animal, predatory. They edged closer to the auto.

Sherkaner revved his engine and bolted forward. Just before he reached the little creek, he noticed a third form—a larger one—hiding in the trees above the water. Children they might be, but this was a serious game of lurk-and-pounce. Sherkaner twisted the wheel hard right, bouncing out of the ruts. He was off the road—or was he? There were faint, scraped-down grooves ahead: the real fording point!

He entered the stream, the water spraying high in both directions. The big one in the trees pounced. One long arm scratched down the side of the auto, but the creature landed to the side of Sherkaner’s path. And then Underhill had reached the far bank, and was rocketing upslope. A real ambush would end in a cul-de-sac here. But the road continued on and somehow his hurtling progress did not carry him off to the side. There was a final scary moment as he emerged from the forest canopy. The road steepened and his Relmeitch tipped back for a second, rotating on its rear tires. Sherkaner threw himself forward from his perch, and the auto slammed down, and scooted up over the hillcrest.

He ended up under stars and twilit sky, parked beside the home he had seen from the far side of the dell.

He killed the engine and sat for a moment, catching his breath and listening to the blood pounding in his chest. It was that quiet. He watched behind him; no one pursued. And thinking back… it was strange. The last he had seen, the big one was climbing slowly out of the creek. The other two had turned away, as if uninterested.

He was by the house he had seen from the other side. Lights came on in the front. A door opened, and an old lady came out on the porch. “Who’s there?” The voice was sturdy.

“Lady Enclearre?” Sherk’s voice came out in kind of a squeak. “The postmaster gave me your address. He said you had an overnight room to rent.”

She came round to the driver’s side and looked him over. “That I do. But you’re too late for dinner. You’ll have to settle for cold sucks.”

“Ah. That’s all right, quite all right.”

“Okay. Bring yourself on in.” She chuckled and waved a little hand toward the valley Sherkaner had just escaped. “You sure did come the long way, sonny.”

Despite her words, Lady Enclearre fed Sherkaner a good meal. Afterward they sat in her front parlor and chatted. The place was clean, but worn. The sagging floor was unrepaired, the paint peeling here and there. It was a house at the end of its time. But the pale glimmer lamps revealed a bookcase set between the screened windows. There were about a hundred titles, mostly children’s primers. The old lady (and she was really old, born two generations earlier than Sherk) was a retired parish teacher. Her husband hadn’t made it through the last Dark, but she had grown children—old cobbers themselves now—living all through these hills.

Lady Enclearre was like no city schoolteacher. “Oh, I’ve been around. When I was younger ’n you, I sailed the western sea. “A sailor! Sherkaner listened with undisguised awe to her stories of hurricanes and grizzards and iceberg eruptions. Not many people were crazy enough to be sailors, even in the Waning Years. Lady Enclearre had been lucky to live long enough to have children. Maybe that was why, during the next generation, she settled down to schoolteaching and helping her husband raise the cobblies. Each year, she had studied the texts for the next grade, staying one year ahead of the parish children, all the way to adulthood.

In this Brightness, she had taught the new generation. When they were grown, she was truly getting on in years. A lot of cobbers make it into a third generation; few live the length of it. Lady Enclearre was much too frail to prepare for the coming Dark by herself. But she had her church and the help of her own children; she would have her chance to see a fourth Bright Time. Meanwhile she kept up with her gossip, and her reading. She was even interested in the war—but as an avid spectator. “Give those bleeding Tiefers a tunnel up their rear, I say. I have two grandnieces at the Front, and I’m very proud of them.”

As Sherkaner listened, he stared out through Lady Enclearre’s broad, fine-screened windows. The stars were so bright up here in the mountains, a thousand different colors, dimly lighting the forest’s broad leaves and the hills beyond. Tiny woodsfairiestick ed incessantly at the screens, and from the trees all around, he could hear their stridling song.

Abruptly a drum started beating. It was loud, the vibrations coming through the tips of his feet and chest as much as through his ears. A second banging started, drifting in and out of synch with the first.

Lady Enclearre stopped talking. She listened sourly to the racket. “This could go on for hours, I’m afraid.”

“Your neighbors?” Sherkaner gestured toward the north, the little valley. It was interesting that, except for her one comment about his coming the “long way round,” she hadn’t said a thing about those strange people in the dell.

…And maybe she wouldn’t now. Lady Enclearre scrunched down on her perch, silent for the first significant period since he’d arrived. Then: “You know the story of the Lazy Woodsfairies?”

“Sure.”

“I made it a big part of the catechism, ’specially for the five- and six-year-olds. They relate to the attercops cuz they look like little people. We studied how they grow wings, and I’d tell them about the ones that do not prepare for the Dark, the ones who play on and on till it’s too late. I could make it a scary story.” She hissed angrily into her eating hands. “We’re dirt poor hereabouts. That’s why I left for the sea, and also why I eventually came back, to try and help out. Some years, all the pay I got for my teaching was in farmers’ co-op notes. But I want you to know, young fellow, we’re good people…. Except, here and there, there are cobbers whochoose to be vermin. Just a few, and mostly farther up in the hills.”

Sherkaner described the ambush at the bottom of the dell.

Lady Enclearre nodded. “I figured it was something like that. You came up here like your rear end was on fire. You were lucky you got out with your auto, but you weren’t in great danger. I mean, if you held still for them, they might kick you to death, but basically they’re too lazy to be much of a threat.”

Wow.Real perverts. Sherkaner tried not to look too interested. “So the noise is—?”

Enclearre waved dismissively. “Music, maybe. I figure they got a load of drugged fizzspit a while back. But that’s just a symptom—even if it does keep me awake at night. No. You know what really makes them vermin? They don’t plan for the Dark… and they damn their own children. That pair down in the dell, they’re hill folk who couldn’t stomach farming. Off and on they’ve done smithing, going from farm to farm and working only when they couldn’t steal. Life is easy in the middle years of the sun. And all the time they’re fornicating away, making a steady dribble of little ones….

“You’re young, Mister Underhill, maybe a bit sheltered. I don’t know if you realize how tedious it is to get a woman pregnant before the Waning Years. One or two little welts are all that ever come—and any decent lady will pinch them off. But the vermin down in the dell, they’re whacking each other all the time. The guy is always carrying around one or two welts on his back. Thank goodness, those almost always die. But once in a while they grow into the baby stage. A few make it to childhood, but by then they’ve been treated like animals foryears. Most are sullen cretins.”

Sherkaner remembered the predatory stares. Those little ones were so different from what he remembered of childhood. “But surely some escape? Some grow into adults?”

“A few do. Those are the dangerous ones, the ones who see what they’ve missed. Off and on, things have been nasty here. I used to raise minitarants—you know, for companionship and to make a little money. Every one of them ended up stolen, or a sucked-out carcass on my front steps.” She was silent for a time, remembering pain.

“Shiny things catch the cretins’ fancy. For a while, there was a gang of them that figured out how to break into my place. They’d steal candysucks mostly. Then one day they stole all the pictures in the house, even in my books. I locked the indoors good after that. Somehow they broke in a third time—and took the rest of my books! I was still teaching then. I needed those books! The parish constable rousted the vermin over that, but of course she didn’t find the books. I had to buy new teacher texts for the last two years of school.” She waved at the top rows of her bookshelves, at worn copies of a dozen texts. The ones on the lower shelves looked like primers too, for all the way back to babyhood; but they were crisp and new and untouched. Strange.

The double drumbeat had lost its synchrony, dribbled slowly back into silence. “So yes, Mister Underhill, some of the out-of-phase cobblies live to be adults. They might almost pass for current-generation cobbers. In a sense, they are the next generation of vermin. Things will get ugly in a couple of years. Like the Lazy Woodsfairies, these people will begin to feel the cold. Very few will get into the parish deepness. The rest will be out in the hills. There are caves everywhere, little better than animal deepnesses. That’s where our poorest farmers spend the Dark. That’s where the out-of-phase vermin are really deadly.”

The old lady noticed his look. She gave him a jagged little grin. “I doubt I’ll see another Brightness of the sun. That’s okay. My children will have this land. There’s a view; they might build a little inn here. But if I survive the Dark, I’ll build a little cabin here and put up a big sign proclaiming me the oldest cobber living in the parish….And I’ll look down into the dell. I hope it’s washed clean. If the vermin are back, most likely it’ll be because they murdered some poor farmer family and took their deepness.”

After that, Lady Enclearre turned the conversation to other things, asking about life in Princeton and Sherk’s own childhood. She said that now she had revealed her parish’s dark secrets, he should reveal what he was up to driving an automobile down to Lands Command.

“Well, I was thinking about enlisting.” Actually, Sherkaner intended that the Command enlist inhis schemes rather than the other way around. It was an attitude that had driven the University Professoriate nuts.

“Hmm-hmm. ’Tis a long way to come when you could enlist in a minute back in Princeton. I noticed the luggage end of your auto is almost as big as a farmer’s cart.” She waggled her eating hands in curiosity.

Sherkaner just smiled back. “My friends warned me to carry lots of spare parts if I wanted to tour the Pride of Accord by automobile.”

“Shu, I’ll bet.” She stood up with some difficulty, supporting herself on both midhands and feet. “Well, this old lady needs her sleep, even on a nice summer’s evening in such good company. Breakfast will be around sunup.”

She took him to his room, insisting on climbing the stairs to show him how to open the windows and fold out the sleeping perch. It was an airy little room, its wallpaper peeling with age. At one time, it must have been for her children.

“…and the privy is on the outside rear of the house. No city luxury here, Mister Underhill.”

“It will be fine, my lady.”

“Good night then.”

She was already starting down the stairs when he thought of one more question. There was always one more question. He stuck his head out the bedroom door. “You have so many books now, Lady Enclearre. Did the parish finally buy you the rest?”

She stopped her careful progress down the stairs, and gave a little laugh. “Yes, years later. And that’s a story too. It was the new parish priest, even if the dear cobber won’t admit it; he must have used his own money. But one day, there was this postal shipment on my doorstep, direct from the publishers in Princeton, new copies of the teachers’ books for every grade.” She waved a hand. “The silly fellow. But all the books will go to the deepness with me. I’ll see they get to whoever teaches the next generation of parish children.” And she continued down the stairs.

Sherkaner settled onto the sleeping perch, scrunched around until its knobby stuffing felt comfortable. He was very tired, but sleep did not come. The room’s tiny windows overlooked the dell. Starlight reflected the color of burned wood from a tiny thread of smoke. The smoke had its own far-red light, but there were no flecks of living fire in it.I guess even pervertssleep.

From the trees all around came the sound of the woodsfairies, tiny critters mating and hoarding. Sherkaner wished he had some time for entomology. The critters’ buzzing scaled up and down. When he was little there had been the story of the Lazy Woodsfairies, but he also remembered the silly poems they used to put to the fairies’ music. “So high, so low, so many things to know.” The funny little song seemed to hide behind the stridling sound.

The words and the endless song lulled him finally into sleep.

FIVE

Sherkaner made it to Lands Command in two more days. It might have taken longer, except that his redesign of the auto’s drive belt made it safer to run the downhill curves fast. It might have taken less time, except that three times he had mechanical failures, one a cracked cylinder. It had been an evasion rather than a lie to tell Lady Enclearre that his cargo was spare parts. In fact, he had taken a few, the things he figured he couldn’t build himself at a backcountry smith’s.

It was late afternoon when he came round the last bend and caught his first glimpse of the long valley that housed Lands Command. It cut for miles, straight back into the mountains, the valley walls so high that parts of the floor were already in twilight. The far end was blued with distance; Royal Falls descended in slow-motion majesty from the peaks above. This was about as close as tourists ever got. The Royal Family held tight to this land and the deepness beneath the mountain, had held it since they were nothing more than an upstart dukedom forty Darks ago.

Sherkaner ate a good meal at the last little inn, fueled up his auto, and headed into the Royal reservation. The letter from his cousin got him through the outer checkpoints. The swingpole barricades were raised, bored troopers in drab green uniforms waved him through. There were barracks, parade grounds, and—sunk behind massive berms—ammo dumps. But Lands Command had never been an ordinary military installation. During the early days of the Accord, it had been mostly a playground for the Royals. Then, generation after generation, the affairs of government had become more settled and rational and unromantic. Lands Command fulfilled its name, became the hidey-hole for the Accord’s supreme headquarters. Finally, it became something more: the site of the Accord’s most advanced military research.

That was what most interested Sherkaner Underhill. He didn’t slow down to gawk; the police-soldiers had been very definite that he proceed directly to his official destination. But there was nothing to prevent him from looking in all directions, swaying slightly on his perch as he did so. The only identification on the buildings was discreet little numerical signs, but some were pretty obvious. Wireless telegraphy: a long barracks sprouting the weirdest radio masts. Heh, if things were orderly and efficient, the building beside it would be the crypto academy. On the other side of the road lay a field of asphalt wider and smoother than any road. It was no surprise that two low-wing monoplanes sat on the far end. Sherkaner would have given a lot to see what was behind them, under tarpaulins. Farther on, a huge digger snout stuck steeply out of the lawn in front of one building. The digger’s impossible angle gave an impression of speed and violence to what was the slowest conceivable way of getting from here to there.

He was nearing the end of the valley. Royal Falls towered above. A rainbow of a thousand colors floated in its spray. He passed what was probably a library, drove around a parking circle featuring the royal colors and the usual Reaching-for-Accord thing. The stone buildings around the circle were a special part of the mystique of Lands Command. By some fluke of shade and shelter, they survived each New Sun with little damage; not even their contents burned.

BUILDING 5007, the sign said. Office of Materials Research, it said on the directions the sentry had handed him. A good omen that it was right at the center of everything. He parked between two other autos that were already pulled over at the side of the street. Better not be conspicuous.

As he climbed the steps, he could see that the sun was setting almost directly down the path he had come. It was already below the highest cliffs. At the center of the traffic circle, the statues Reaching for Accord cast long shadows across the lawn. Somehow he suspected that the average military base was not quite this beautiful.

The sergeant held Sherkaner’s letter with obvious distaste. “So who is this Captain Underhill—”

“Oh, no relation, Sergeant. He—”

“—and why should his wishes count for squat with us?”

“Ah, if you will read on further, you’ll see that he is adjutant to Colonel A. G. Castleworth, Royal Perch QM.”

The sergeant mumbled something that sounded like “Dumb-ass gate security.” He settled his considerable bulk into a resigned crouch. “Very well, Mr. Underhill, just what is your proposed contribution to the war effort?” Something about the fellow was skewed. Then Sherkaner noticed that the sergeant wore medical casts on all his left legs. He was talking to a veteran of real combat.

This was going to be a hard sell. Even with a sympathetic audience, Sherkaner knew he didn’t cut a very imposing figure: young, too thin to be handsome, sort of a gawky know-it-all. He had been hoping to get to an engineering officer. “Well, Sergeant, for at least the last three generations, you military people have been trying to get some advantage by working longer into the Dark. First it was just for a few hundred days, long enough to lay unexpected mines or strengthen fortifications. Then it was a year, two, long enough to move large numbers of troops into position for attack at the next New Sun.”

The sergeant—HRUNKNER UNNERBY, his name tag said—just stared.

“It’s common knowledge that both sides on the Eastern Front have massive tunneling efforts going, that we may end up with huge battles fought up to ten years into the coming Dark.”

Unnerby was struck by a happy thought and his scowl deepened. “If that’s what you think, you should be talking to the Diggers. This is Materials Research here, Mr. Underhill.”

“Oh, I know that. But without materials research we have no chance of penetrating through to the really cold times. And also… my plans don’t have anything to do with digging.” He said the last in a kind of rush.

“Then what?”

“I-I propose that we select appropriate Tiefstadt targets, wake ourselves in the Deepest Dark, walk overland to the targets, and destroy them.” Now, that piled all the impossibilities into one concise statement. He held up forestalling hands. “I’ve thought about each of the difficulties, Sergeant. I have solutions, or a start on solutions—”

Unnerby’s voice was almost soft as he interrupted. “In the Deepest Dark, you say? And you are a researcher at Kingschool in Princeton?” That’s how Sherkaner’s cousin had put it in the letter.

“Yes, in math and—”

“Shut up. Do you have any idea how many millions the Crown spends on military research at places like Kingschool? Do you have any idea how closely we watch the serious work that they do? God, how I hate you Westerling snots. The most you have to worry about is preparing for the Dark, and you’re barely up to that. If you had any stiffness in your shell, you’d be enlisting. There are peopledying now in the East, cobber. There are thousands more who will die unprepared for the Dark, more who will die in the tunnels, and many more who may die when the New Sun lights and there is nothing to eat. And here you sit, spouting fantasy what-ifs.”

Unnerby paused, seemed to tuck his temper away. “Ah, but I’ll tell you a funny story before I boot your ass back to Princeton. You see, I’m a bit unbalanced.” He waggled his left legs. “An argument with a shredder. Until I get well, I help filter the crank notions that people like you keep sending our way. Fortunately, most of the crap comes in the mail. About once in ten days, some cobber warns us about the low-temperature allotrope of tin—

Oops, maybe Iamtalking to an engineer!

“—and that we shouldn’t ought to use it in solder. At least they have their facts right; they’re just wasting our time. But then there are the ones who have just read about radium and figure we ought to make super digger heads out of the stuff. We have a little contest among ourselves about who gets the biggest idiots. Well, Mr. Underhill, I think you’ve made me a winner. You figure on waking yourself in the middle of the Dark, and then traveling overland in temperatures lower than you’ll find in any commercial lab and in vacuum harder than even we can create.” Unnerby paused, taken aback at having given away a morsel of classified information? Then Sherkaner realized that the sergeant was looking at something in Sherkaner’s blind spot.

“Lieutenant Smith! Good afternoon, ma’am.” The sergeant almost came to attention.

“Good afternoon, Hrunkner.” The speaker moved into view. She was… beautiful. Her legs were slender, hard, curving, and every motion had an understated grace. Her uniform was a black black that Sherkaner didn’t recognize. The only insignia were her deep-red rank pips and name tag. Victory Smith. She looked impossibly young. Born out-of-phase? Maybe so, and the noncom’s exaggerated show of respect was a kind of taunt.

Lieutenant Smith turned her attention on Sherkaner. Her aspect seemed friendly in a distant, almost amused way. “So, Mr. Underhill, you are a researcher in the Kingschool Mathematics Department.”

“Well, more a graduate student actually….” Her silent gaze seemed to call for a more forthcoming answer. “Um, math is really just the specialization listed on my official program. I’ve done a lot of course work in the Medical School and in Mechanical Engineering.” He half-expected Unnerby to make some rude comment, but the sergeant was suddenly very quiet.

“Then you understand the nature of the Deepest Dark, the ultralow temperatures, the hard vacuum.”

“Yes, ma’am. And I’ve given these problems considerable thought.” Almost half a year, but better not say that. “I have lots of ideas, some preliminary designs. Some of the solutions are biological and there’s not much to show you yet. But I did bring prototypes for some of the mechanical aspects of the project. They’re out in my automobile.”

“Ah, yes. Parked between the cars of Generals Greenval and Downing. Perhaps we should take a look—and move your auto to a safer place.”

The full realization was years away, but in that moment Sherkaner Underhill had his first glimmering. Of all the people at Lands Command—of all the people in the wide world—he could not have found a more appropriate listener than Lieutenant Victory Smith.

SIX

In the last years of a Waning Sun there are storms, often fierce ones. But these are not the steaming, explosive agony of the storms of a New Sun. The winds and blizzards of the coming Dark are more as though the world is someone mortally stabbed, flailing weakly as life’s blood leaks out. For the warmth of the world is its lifeblood, and as that soaks into the Dark, the dying world is less and less able to protest.

There comes a time when a hundred stars can be seen in the same sky as the noonday sun. And then a thousand stars, and finally the sun gets no dimmer… and the Dark has truly arrived. The larger plants have long since died, the powder of their spores is hidden deep beneath the snows. The lower animals have passed the same way. Scum mottles the lee of snowbanks, and an occasional glow flows around exposed carcasses: the spirits of the dead, classical observers wrote; a last bacterial scavenging, scientists of later eras discovered. Yet there are still living people on the surface. Some are the massacred, prevented by stronger tribes (or stronger nations) from entering deep sanctuary. Others are the victims of floods or earthquakes, whose ancestral deepnesses have been destroyed. In olden times, there was only one way to learn what the Dark might really be: stranded topside, you might attain tenuous immortality by writing what you saw and saving the story so securely that it survived the fires of the New Sun. And occasionally one of these topsiders survived more than a year or two into the Dark, either by extraordinary circumstance or by clever planning and the desire to see into the heart of the Dark. One philosopher survived so long that his last scrawl was taken for insanity or metaphor by those who found his words cut into stone above their deepness: “and the dry air is turning to frost.”

On one thing the propagandists of both Crown and Tiefstadt agreed. This Dark would be different from all that had gone before. This Dark was the first to be directly assaulted by science in the service of war. While their millions of citizens retreated to the still pools of a thousand deepnesses, the armies of both sides continued to fight. Often the fighting was in open trenches, warmed by steamer fires. But the great differences were underground, in the digging of tunnels that swept deep beneath the front lines of either side. Where these intersected, fierce battles of machine guns and poison gas were fought. Where intersection did not occur, the tunnels continued through the chalky rock of the Eastern Front, yard by yard, days on days, long after all fighting on the surface had ended.

Five years after the Dark began, only a technical elite, perhaps ten thousand on the Crown side, still prosecuted the campaign below the East. Even at their depths, the temperatures were far below freezing. Fresh air was circulated through the occupied tunnels, by foram-burning fans. The last of the air holes would ice over soon.

“We haven’t heard any Tiefstadter activity for nearly ten days. Digger Command hasn’t stopped congratulating itself.” General Greenval popped an aromatique into his maw and crunched loudly; the chief of Accord Intelligence had never been known for great diplomacy, and he had become perceptibly more crotchety over the last days. He was an old cobber, and though the conditions at Lands Command might be the most benign left anywhere in the world, even they were entering an extreme phase. In the bunkers next to the Royal Deepness, perhaps fifty people were still conscious. Every hour, the air seemed to become a little more stale. Greenval had given up his stately library more than a year ago. Now his office consisted of a twenty-by-ten-by-four-foot slot in the dead space above the dormitory. The walls of the little room were covered with maps, the table with reams of teletype reports from landlines. Wireless communication had reached final failure some seventy days earlier. During the year before that the Crown’s radiomen had experimented with more and more powerful transmitters, and there had been some hope that they would have wireless right up to the end. But no, all that was left was telegraphy and line-of-sight radio. Greenval looked at his visitor, certainly the last to Lands Command for more than two hundred years. “So, Colonel Smith, you just got back from the East. Why don’t I hear any huzzahs from yourself? We’ve outlasted the enemy.”

Victory Smith’s attention had been caught by the General’s periscope. It was the reason Greenval had stuck his cubbyhole up here—a last view upon the world. Royal Falls had stilled more than two years ago. She could see all the way up the valley. A dark land, covered now with an eldritch frost that formed endlessly on rock and ice alike. Carbon dioxide, leaching out of the atmosphere.But Sherkaner will see a world far colder than this.

“Colonel?”

Smith stepped back from the periscope. “Sorry, sir…. I admire the Diggers with all my heart.” At least the troops who are actually doing thedigging. She had been in their field deepnesses. “But it’s been days since they could reach any enemy positions. Less than half will be in fighting form after the Dark. I’m afraid that Digger Command guessed the stand-down point wrong.”

“Yeah,” grumpily. “Digger Command makes the record book for longest sustained operations, but the Tiefers gained by quitting just when they did.” He sighed and said something that might have gotten him cashiered in other circumstances, but when you’re five years past the end of the world, there aren’t a lot of people to hear. “You know, the Tiefers aren’t such a bad sort. Take the long view and you’ll see nastier types in some of our own allies, waiting for Crown and Tiefstadt to beat each other into a bloody pulp. That’s the place where we should be doing our planning, for the next baddies that are going to come after us. We’re going to win this war, but if we have to win it with the tunnels and the Diggers, we’ll still be fighting for years into the New Sun.”

He gave his aromatique an emphatic crunch and jabbed a forehand at Smith. “Your project is our only chance to bring this to a clean end.”

Smith’s reply was abrupt. “And the chances would have been still better if you had let me stay with the Team.”

Greenval seemed to ignore the complaint. “Victory, you’ve been with this project for seven years now. Do you really think it can work?”

Maybe it was the stale air, making them all daft. Indecision was totally alien to the public image of Strut Greenval. She had known him for nine years. Among his closest confidants, Greenval was an open-minded person—up to the point where final decisions had to be made. Then he was the man without doubt, facing down ranks of generals and even the King’s political advisors. Never had she heard such a sad, lost question coming from him. Now she saw an old, old man who in a few hours would surrender to the Dark, perhaps for the last time. The realization was like leaning against a familiar railing and feeling it begin to give way. “S-sir, we have selected our targets well. If they are destroyed, Tiefstadt’s surrender should follow almost immediately. Underhill’s Team is in a lake less than two miles from the targets.” And that was an enormous achievement in itself. The lake was near Tiefstadt’s most important supply center, a hundred miles deep in Tiefer territory.

“Unnerby and Underhill and the others need only walk a short distance, sir. We tested their suits and the exotherms for much longer periods in conditions almost as—”

Greenval smiled weakly. “Yes, I know. I jammed the numbers down the craw of the General Staff often enough. But now we’re really going to do it. Think what that means. Over the last few generations, we military types have done our little desecrations around the edges of the Dark. But Unnerby’s team will see the center of the Deepest Dark. What can that really be like? Yes, we think we know: the frozen air, the vacuum. But that’s all guesses. I’m not religious, Colonel Smith, but… I wonder at what they may find.”

Religious or not, all the ancient superstitions of snow-trolls and earth-angels seemed to hover just behind the general’s words. Even the most rational quailed before the thought of a Dark so intense that in a sense the world did not exist. With an effort, Victory ignored the emotions that Greenval’s words conjured. “Yes, sir, there could be surprises. And I’d rate this scheme as a likely failure, except for one thing: Sherkaner Underhill.”

“Our pet screwball.”

“Yes, a screwball of a most extraordinary sort. I’ve known him for seven years—ever since that afternoon he showed up with a car full of half-made prototypes and a head full of crazy schemes. Lucky for us I was having a slow afternoon. I had time to listen and be amused. The average academic type comes up with maybe twenty ideas in a lifetime. Underhill has twenty an hour; it’s almost like a palsy with him. But I’ve known people almost as extreme in Intelligence school. The difference is that Underhill’s ideas are feasible about one percent of the time—and he can tell the good ones from the bad with some accuracy. Maybe someone else would have thought of using swamp sludge to breed the exotherms. Certainly someone else could have had his ideas about airsuits. But he has the ideas and he brings them together, and they work.

“But that’s only part of it. Without Sherkaner, we could not have come close to implementing all we have in these last seven years. He has the magic ability to rope bright people into his schemes.” She remembered Hrunkner Unnerby’s angry contempt that first afternoon, how it had changed over a period of days until Hrunkner’s engineering imagination was totally swept up by the ideas Sherkaner was spewing at him. “In a sense, Underhill has no patience for details, but that doesn’t matter. He generates an entourage whichdoes. He’s just… remarkable.”

This was all old news to both of them; Greenval had argued similarly to his own bosses over the years. But it was the best reassurance Victory could give the old cobber now. Greenval smiled and his look was strange. “So why didn’t you marry him, Colonel?”

Smith hadn’t meant that to come up, but hell, they were alone, and at the end of the world: “I intend to, sir. But there’s a war on, and you know I’m… not much for tradition; we’ll marry after the Dark.” It had taken Victory Smith just one afternoon to realize that Underhill was the strangest person she had ever met. It had taken her another couple of days to realize he was a genius who could be used like a dynamo, could be used to literally change the course of a world war. Within fifty days she had had Strut Greenval convinced of the same, and Underhill was tucked away in his own lab, with labs growing up around him to handle the peripheral needs of the project. Between her own missions, Victory had schemed on how she might claim the Underhill phenomenon—that was how she thought of him, how the Intelligence Staff thought of him—as her permanent advantage. Marriage was the obvious move. A traditional Marriage-in-the-Waning would have suited her career path. It all would have been perfect, except for Sherkaner Underhill himself. Sherk was a person with his own plans. Ultimately he had become her best friend, as much someone to scheme with as to scheme about. Sherk had plans for after the Dark, things that Victory had never repeated to anyone. Her few other friends—even Hrunkner Unnerby—liked her despite her being out-of-phase. Sherkaner Underhill actually liked the idea of out-of-phase children. It was the first time in her life that Victory had met with more than mere acceptance. So for now they fought a war. If they both survived, there was another world of plans and a life together, after the Dark.

And Strut Greenval was clever enough to figure out a lot of this. Abruptly, she glared at her boss. “You already knew, didn’t you? That’s why you wouldn’t let me stay with the Team. You figure it’s a suicide mission, and my judgment would be warped…. Well it is dangerous, but you don’t understand Sherkaner Underhill; self-sacrifice is not on his agenda. By our standards he’s rather a coward. He’s not especially taken by most of the things you and I hold dear. He’s risking his life out of simple curiosity—but he’s very, very careful when it comes to his own safety. I think the Team will succeedand survive. The odds would only have been improved if you’d let me stay with them! Sir.”

Her last words were punctuated by the dramatic dimming of the room’s single lamp. “Hah,” said Greenval, “we’ve been without fuel oil for twelve hours, did you know that, Colonel? Now the lead acid batteries have about run down. In a couple of minutes Captain Diredr will be here with the Last Word from maintenance: ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but the last pools will freeze momentarily. Engineering begs that you join them for final shutdown.’ “ He mimicked his aide’s high-pitched voice.

Greenval stood, leaned across the desk. His doubts were hidden once more, and the old snap was back in his manner. “In that time, I want to clear up a few things about your orders and your future. Yes, I brought you back because I don’t want to risk you on this mission. Your Sergeant Unnerby and I have had some long talks. We’ve had nine years to put you through almost limitless risk, and to watch how your mind works when thousands of lives depend on the right answers. It’s time to take you off the front lines of special operations. You are one of the youngest colonels in modern times; after this Dark, you’ll be the youngest general.”

“Only if the Underhill mission succeeds.”

“Don’t interrupt. However the Underhill affair goes, the King’s advisors know how good you are. Whether or not I survive this Dark, you’ll be sitting in my job within a few years of the starting of the New Sun—and your days of personal risk-taking must be over. If your Mr. Underhill survives, marry him, breed him, I couldn’t care less. But never ever again are you to put yourself at risk.” He waved his pointed hand at her head, a mock threat with an edge. “If you do, I swear I’ll come back from the grave and crack your thick shell.”

There was the sound of footsteps in the narrow hallway. Hands scratched at the heavy curtain that was the room’s only door. It was Captain Diredr. “Excuse me, General. Engineering is absolutely insistent, sir. We have thirty minutes of electrical power, at the outside. They are begging, sir—”

Greenval spat that last aromatique into a stained cuspidor. “Very good, Captain. We are coming down instanter.” He sidled around the Colonel, and pulled back the curtain. When Smith hesitated to go before him, he waved her through the doorway. “In this case, senior means last, my dear. I’ve never liked this business of cheating on the Dark, but if we have to do it,I’m the one who gets to turn out the lights!”

SEVEN

By rights Pham Trinli should not have been on the Fleet Captain’s bridge, certainly not during a serious operation. The old man sat at one of the duplicate comm posts, but he really didn’t do anything with it. Trinli was Programmer-at-Arms 3rd, though no one had ever seen him behave productively, even at that low rank. He seemed to come and go at his own pleasure, and spent most of his time down in the employees’ dayroom. Fleet Captain Park was known to be a little irrational when it came to “respect for age.” Apparently, as long as Pham Trinli did no harm, he could stay on the payroll.

Just now, Trinli sat half-turned away from his post. He listened dyspeptically to the quiet conversations, the flow of check and response. He looked past the techs and armsmen at the common displays.

The landings of Qeng Ho and Emergent vessels had been a dance of caution. Mistrust for the Emergents extended from top to bottom among Captain Park’s people. Thus there were no combined crews, and the comm nets were fully duplicated. Captain Park had positioned his capital vessels in three groups, each responsible for a third of the planetary operations. Every Emergent ship, every lander, every free-flying crewman was monitored for evidence of treachery.

The bridge’s consensus imagery showed most of this. Relayed from the “eastern” cluster, Trinli could see a trio of Emergent heavy lifters coming off the frozen surface of the ocean, towing between them a quarter-million-tonne block of ice. That was the sixth lift in this op. The surface was brightly lit by the rocket glare. Trinli could see a hole hundreds of meters deep. Steaming froth masked the gouge in the seafloor. Soundings showed there were plenty of heavy metals in this section of continental shelf, and they were mining it with the same brute force that they employed when they carved the ice.

Nothing really suspicious there, though things may change when itcomes time to divvy up the loot.

He studied at the comm status windows. Both sides had agreed to broadcast intership communications in the clear; a number of Emergent specialists were in constant conference comm with corresponding Qeng Ho officers; the other side was sucking in everything they could about Diem’s discoveries in the dry valley. Interesting how the Emergents suggested simply grabbing the native artifacts. Very un-Qeng-Ho-like.More like something I might do.

Park had dumped most of his fleet’s microsats into near-planetary space just before the Emergents arrived. There were tens of thousands of the fist-sized gadgets out there now. Subtly maneuvering, they came between the Emergents’ vehicles far more often than simple chance would predict. And they reported back to the electronic intelligence window here on the bridge. They reported that there was far too much line-of-sight talk between the Emergent vessels. It might be innocent automation. More likely it was cover for encrypted military coordination, sly preparation on the part of the enemy. (And Pham Trinli had never thought of the Emergents as anything but an enemy.)

Park’s staff recognized the signs, of course. In their prissy way, these Qeng Ho armsmen were very sharp. Trinli watched three of them argue about the broadcast patterns that washed across the fleet from Emergent emitters. One of the junior armsmen thought they might be seeing a mix of physical-layer and software probing—all in an orchestrated tangle. But if that were true, it was more sophisticated than the Qeng Ho’s own best e-measures… and that was unbelievable. The senior armsman just frowned at the junior, as if the suggestion were a king-sized headache.Even theones who have been in combat don’t get the point. For a moment, Trinli’s expression got even more sour.

A voice sounded privately in his ear. “What do you think, Pham?”

Trinli sighed. He mumbled back into his comm, his lips barely moving, “It stinks, Sammy. You know that.”

“I’d feel better if you were at an alternate control center.” ThePhamNuwen ’s “bridge” had this official location, but in fact there were control centers distributed throughout the ship’s livable spaces. More than half the staff visible on the bridge were really elsewhere. In theory, it made the starship a tougher kill. In theory.

“I can do better than that. I’ve hacked one of the taxis for remote command.” The old man floated off his saddle. He drifted silently behind the ranks of the bridge technicians, past the view on the heavy lifters, the view of Diem’s crew preparing to lift off from the dry valley, the images of oh-so-intent Emergent faces… past the ominous e-measures displays. No one really noticed his passage, except that as he slid through the bridge entranceway, Sammy Park glanced at him. Trinli gave the Fleet Captain a little nod.

Spineless wretches, nearly every one.Only Sammy and Kira Pen Lisolet had understood the need to strike first. And they had not persuaded a single member of the Trading Committee. Even after meeting the Emergents face-to-face, the committee couldn’t recognize the other side’s certain treachery. Instead, they asked a Vinh to decide for them. AVinh !

Trinli coasted down empty corridors, slowed to a stop by the taxi lock, and popped the hatch on the one he had specially prepared.I could askLisolet to mutiny. The Deputy Fleet Captain had her own command, the QHSInvisible Hand . A mutiny was physically possible, and once she started shooting, Sammy and the others would surely have to join her.

He slipped into the taxi, started the lock pumps.No, I wash my handsof all of them. Somewhere at the back of his skull, a little headache was growing. Tension didn’t usually affect him this way. He shook his head. Okay, the truth was, he wasn’t asking Lisolet to mutiny, because she was one of those very rare people who had honor. So, he would do the best with what he had. Sammyhad brought weapons. Trinli grinned, anticipating the time ahead.Even if the other side strikes first, I wager we’re the last menstanding. As his taxi drifted out from the Qeng Ho flagship, Trinli studied the threat updates, planning. What would the other side try? If they waited long enough, he might yet figure out Sammy’s weapons locks… and be his own one-man mutiny.

There were plenty of signs of the treachery abuilding, but even Pham Trinli missed the most blatant. You had to guess the method of attack to recognize that one.

Ezr Vinh was quite ignorant of military developments overhead. The Ksecs spent on the surface had been hard, fascinating work, work that didn’t leave much time to pursue suspicions. In all his life, he had spent only a few dozen Msecs walking around on the surface of planets. Despite exercise and Qeng Ho medicine, he was feeling the strain. The first Ksecs had seemed relatively easy, but now every muscle ached. Fortunately, he wasn’t the only wimp. The whole crew seemed to be dragging. Final cleanup was an eternity of careful checking that they had left no garbage, that any signs of their presence would be lost in the effects of OnOff’s relighting. Crewleader Diem twisted his ankle on the climb back to the lander. Without the freight winch on the lander, the rest of the climb would have been impossible. When they finally got aboard, even stripping off and stowing their thermal jackets was a pain.

“Lord.” Benny collapsed on the rack next to Vinh. There were groans from all along the aisle as the lander boosted them skyward. Still, Vinh felt a quiet glow of satisfaction; the fleet had learned far more from their one landing than anyone expected. Theirs was a righteous fatigue.

There was little chitchat among Diem’s crewmembers now. The sound of the lander’s torch was an almost subsonic drone that seemed to originate in their bones and grow outward. Vinh could still hear public conversations from on high, but Trixia was out of it. No one was talking to Diem’s people now. Correction: Qiwi was trying to talk to him, but Ezr was just too tired to humor the Brat.

Over the curve of the world, the heavy lifting was behind schedule. Clean nukes had broken up several million tonnes of frozen ocean, but steam above the extraction site was complicating the remainder of the job. The Emergent, Brughel, was complaining that they had lost contact with one of their lifters.

“I think it’s your angle of view, sir,” came the voice of a Qeng Ho tech. “We can see all of them. Three are still at the surface; one is heavily obscured by the local haze, but it looks well positioned. Three more are in ascent, clean lifts, well separated…. One moment….” Seconds passed. On a more “distant” channel, a voice was talking about some sort of medical problem; apparently someone had committed a zero-gee barf. Then the flight controller was back: “That’s strange. We’ve lost our view of the East Coast operation.”

Brughel, his voice sharpening: “Surely you have secondaries?”

The Qeng Ho tech did not reply.

A third voice: “We just got an EM pulse. I thought you people were done with your surface blasting?”

“We are!” Brughel was indignant.

“Well we just got three more pulses. I—Yessir!”

EM pulses? Vinh struggled to sit up, but the acceleration was too much, and suddenly his head hurt even more than ever.Say something more, damnit! But the fellow who just said “yessir”—a Qeng Ho armsman by the sound of him—was off the air, or more likely had changed mode and encrypted himself.

The Emergent’s voice was clipped and angry: “I want to talk to someone in authority.Now. We know targeting lasers when they shine on us! Turn them off or we’ll all regret it.”

Ezr’s head-up display went clear, and he was looking at the lander’s bulkheads. The wallpaper backup flickered on, but the video was some random emergency-procedures sequence.

“Shit!” It was Jimmy Diem. At the front of the cabin, the crewleader was pounding on a command console. Somewhere behind Vinh there was the sound of vomiting. It was like one of those nightmares where everything goes nuts at once.

At that instant, the lander reached end-of-burn. In the space of three seconds, the terrible pressure eased off Vinh’s chest and there was the comforting familiarity of zero gee. He pulled on his couch release and coasted forward to Diem.

From the ceiling it was easy to stand with his head by Diem’s and see the emergency displays, without getting in the crewleader’s way. “We’re really shooting at them?” Lord, but my head hurts! When he tried to read Diem’s command console, the glyphs swam before his eyes.

Diem turned his head a fraction to look at Ezr. Agony was clear in his face; he could barely move. “I don’t know what we’re doing. I’ve lost consensual imaging. Tie yourself down….” He leaned forward as though to focus on the display. “The fleet net has gone hard crypto, and we’re stuck at the least secure level,” which meant that they would get little information beyond direct commands from Park’s armsmen.

The ceiling gave Vinh a solid whack on the butt, and he started to slide toward the back of the cabin. The lander was turning, some kind of emergency override—the autopilot had given no warning. Most likely, fleet command was prepping them for another burn. He tied down behind Diem, just as the lander’s main torch lit off at about a tenth of a gee. “They’re moving us to a lower orbit… but I don’t see anything coming to rendezvous,” said Diem. He poked awkwardly at the password field beneath the display. “Okay, I’m doing my own snooping…. I hope Park isn’t too pissed….”

Behind them, there was the sound of more vomiting. Diem started to turn his head, winced. “You’re the mobile one, Vinh. Take care of that.”

Ezr slid down the aisle’s ladderline, letting the one-tenth-gee load do the moving for him. Qeng Ho lived their lives under varying accelerations. Medicine and good breeding made orientation sickness a rare thing among them. But Tsufe Do and Pham Patil had both upchucked, and Benny Wen was curled up as far as his ties would permit. He held the sides of his head and swayed in apparent agony. “The pressure, the pressure…”

Vinh eased next to Patil and Do, gently vac’d the goo that was dribbling down their coveralls. Tsufe looked up at him, embarrassment in her eyes. “Never barfed in my life.”

“It’s not you,” said Vinh, and tried to think past the pain that squeezed harder and harder.Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could it take so long tounderstand? It was not the Qeng Ho that was attacking the Emergents; somehow it was quite the reverse.

Suddenly he could see outside again. “I got local consensus,” Diem’s voice came in his earphones. The crewleader’s words came in short, tortured bursts. “Five high-gee bombs from Emergent positions…. Target: Park’s flag….”

Vinh leaned across the row of couches and looked out. The missiles’ jets were pointing away from the lander’s viewpoint; the five were faint stars moving faster and faster across the sky, closing on the QHSPham Nuwen. Yet their paths were not smooth arcs. There were sharp bends and wobbles.

“We must be lasing at them. They’re jinking.”

One of the tiny lights vanished. “We got one! We—”

Four points of light blazed in the sky. The brightness grew and grew, a thousand times brighter than the faded disk of the sun.

Then the view was gone again. The cabin lights died, winked back on, died again. The bottommost emergency system came online. There was a faint network of reddish lines, outlining equipment bays, airlock, the emergency console. The system was rad-hardened but very simpleminded and low-powered. There wasn’t even backup video.

“What about Park’s flagship, Crewleader?” asked Vinh. Four close-set detonations, so terribly bright—the corners of a regular tetrahedron, clasping its victim. The view was gone but it would burn in his memory forever. “Jimmy!” Vinh screamed at the front of the cabin. “What about thePhamNuwen?” The red emergency lights seemed to sway around him; the shouting brought him close to blacking out.

Then Diem’s voice came hoarse and loud. “I… I think it’s g-gone.” Fried, vaped, none of the masking words were easy anymore. “I don’t have anything now, but the four nukes… Lord, they were right on top of him!”

Several other voices interrupted, but they were even weaker than Jimmy Diem’s. As Vinh started back up the line toward him, the one-tenth-gee burn ended. Without light or brains, what was the lander but a dark coffin? For the first time in his life, Ezr Vinh felt the groundsider’s disorienting terror: zero gee could mean they had reached designated orbit, or that they were falling in a ballistic arc that intersected the planet’s surface….

Vinh clamped down on his terror and coasted forward. They could use the emergency console. They could listen for word. They could use the local autopilot to fly to the surviving Qeng Ho forces. The pain in his head grew beyond anything Ezr Vinh had ever known. The little red emergency lights seemed to get dimmer and dimmer. He felt his consciousness squeezing down, and the panic rose and choked him. There was nothing he could do.

And just before things all went away, fate showed him one kindness, a memory: Trixia Bonsol had not been aboard the Pham Nuwen.

EIGHT

For more than two hundred years, the clock mechanism beneath the frozen lake had faithfully advanced itself, exhausting the tension of spring coil after spring coil. The mechanism ticked reliably down through the last spring… and jammed on a fleck of airsnow in the final trigger. There it might have hung until the coming of the new sun, if not for certain other unforeseen events: On the seventh day of the two-hundred-and-ninth year, a series of sharp earthquakes spread outward from the frozen sea, jolting loose the final trigger. A piston slid a froth of organic sludge into a tank of frozen air. Nothing happened for several minutes. Then a glow spread through the organics, temperatures rose past the vapor points of oxygen and nitrogen, and even carbon dioxide. The exhalation of a trillion budding exotherms melted the ice above the little vehicle. The ascent to the surface had begun.

Coming awake from the Dark was not like waking from an ordinary sleep. A thousand poets had written about the moment and—in recent eras—ten thousand academics had studied it. This was the second time that Sherkaner Underhill had experienced it (but the first time didn’t really count, since that memory was mixed with the vague memories of babyhood, of clinging to his father’s back in the pools of the Mountroyal Deepness).

Coming awake from the Dark was done in pieces. Vision, touch, hearing. Memory, recognition, thought. Did they happen first one and then another and another? Or did they happen all at once, but with the parts not communicating? Where did “mind” begin from all the pieces? The questions would rattle around in Sherkaner’s imagination for all of his life, the basis for his ultimate quest…. But in those moments of fragmented consciousness, they coexisted with things that seemed much more important: bringing self together; remembering who he was, why he was here, and what had to be done right now to survive. The instincts of a million years were in the driver’s perch.

Time passed and thought coalesced and Sherkaner Underhill looked out his vessel’s cracked window into the darkness. There was motion—roiling steam? No, more like a veil of crystals swirling in the dim light they floated on.

Someone was bumping his right shoulders, calling his name again and again. Sherkaner pieced together memories. “Yes, Sergeant, I’m away… I mean, awake.”

“Excellent.” Unnerby’s voice was tinny. “Are you injured? You know the drill.”

Sherkaner dutifully wiggled his legs. They all hurt; that was a good start. Midhands, forehands, eating hands. “Not sure I can feel my right mid and fore. Maybe they’re stuck together.”

“Yeah. Probably still frozen.”

“How are Gil and Amber?”

“I’m talking to them on the other cables. You’re the last one to get his head together, but they’ve got bigger hunks of body still frozen.”

“Gimme the cable head.” Unnerby passed him the sound-conducting gear, and Sherkaner talked directly to the other Team members. The body can tolerate a lot of differential thawing, but if the process doesn’t complete, rot sets in. The problem here was that the bags of exotherm and fuel had shifted around as the boat melted its way to the surface. Sherkaner reset the bags and started sludge and air flowing through them. The green glow within their tiny hull brightened, and Sherkaner took advantage of the light to check for punctures in their breathing tubes. The exotherms were essential for heat, but if the Team had to compete with them for oxygen the Team would be the dead loser.

A half hour passed, the warmth enveloping them, freeing their limbs. The only frost damage was at the tips of Gil Haven’s midhands. That was a better safety record than most deepnesses. A broad smile spread across Sherkaner’s aspect. They had made it, wakenedthemselves in the Deep of the Dark.

The four rested a while longer, monitoring the airflow, exercising Sherkaner’s scheme for controlling the exotherms. Unnerby and Amberdon Nizhnimor went through the detailed checklist, passing suspicious and broken items across to Sherkaner. Nizhnimor, Haven, and Unnerby were very bright people, a chemist and two engineers. But they were also combat professionals. Sherkaner found fascinating the change that came over them when they moved out of the lab and into the field. Unnerby especially was such a layering: hardbitten soldier atop imaginative engineer, hiding a traditional, straitlaced morality. Sherkaner had known the sergeant for seven years now. The fellow’s initial contempt for Underhill schemes was long past; they had been close friends. But when their Team finally moved to the Eastern Front, his manner had become distant. He had begun to address Underhill as “sir,” and sometimes his respectfulness was edged with impatience.

He’d asked Victory about that. It had been the last time they were alone together, in a cold burrow-barracks beneath the last operating aerodrome on the Eastern Front. She had laughed at the question. “Ah, dear soft one, what do you expect? Hrunk will have operational command once the Team leaves friendly territory.You are the civilian advisor with no military training, who must somehow be tucked into the chain of command. He needs your instant obedience, but also your imagination and flexibility.” She laughed softly; only a curtain separated their conversation from the main hall of the narrow barracks. “If you were an ordinary recruit, Unnerby would have fried your shell half a dozen times by now. The poor cobber is so afraid that when seconds count, your genius will be caught on something completely irrelevant—astronomy, whatever.”

“Um.” Actually, he had wondered how the stars might look without the atmosphere to dim their colors. “I see what you mean. Put that way, I’m surprised he let Greenval put me on the Team.”

“Are you kidding? Hrunk demanded you be on it. He knows there’ll be surprises that only you can figure out. As I said; he’s a cobber with a problem.”

It wasn’t often that Sherkaner Underhill felt taken aback, but this was one of those times. “Well, I’ll be good.”

“Yes, I know you will. I just wanted you to know what Hrunk is up against…. Hey, you can look on it as a behavioral mystery: How can such radically crazy people cooperate and survive where no one has ever lived before?” Maybe she meant it as a joke, but itwas an interesting question.

Without doubt, their vehicle was the strangest in all history: part submarine, part portable deepness, part sludge bucket. Now the fifteen-foot shell rested in a shallow pool of glowing green and tepid-red. The water was in a vacuum boil, gases swirling up from it, chilling into tiny crystals, and falling back. Unnerby pushed open the hatch, and the team formed a chain, handing equipment and exotherm tanks from one to the next to the next, until the ground just beyond the pool was piled with the gear they would carry.

They strung audio cable between themselves, Underhill to Unnerby to Haven to Nizhnimor. Sherkaner had been hoping for portable radios almost until the end, but such gear was still too bulky and no one was sure how it would operate under these conditions. So they each could talk to just one other team member. Still, they needed safety lines in any case, so the cable was no extra inconvenience.

Sherkaner led the way back to the lakeshore, with Unnerby behind him, and Nizhnimor and Haven pulling the sled. Away from their submarine, the darkness closed in. There were still glimmers of heat-red light, where exotherms had sprayed across the ground; the sub had burned tons of fuel in melting its way to the surface. The rest of the mission must be powered by just the exotherms they could carry and what fuels they could find beneath the snow.

More than anything else, the exotherms were the trick that made this walk in the Dark possible. Before the invention of the microscope, the “great thinkers” claimed that what separated the higher animals from the rest of life was their ability to survive as individuals through the Great Dark. Plants and simpler animals died; it was only their encysted eggs that survived. Nowadays, it was known that many single-celled animals survived freezing just fine, and without having to retreat to deepnesses. Even stranger, and this had been discovered by biologists at Kingschool while Sherkaner was an undergraduate, there were forms of Lesser Bacteria that lived in volcanoes and stayed active right through the Dark. Sherkaner had been very taken by these microscopic creatures. The professors assumed that such creatures must suspend or sporulate when a volcano went cold, but he wondered if there might be varieties that could live through freezes by making their own heat. After all, even in the Dark, there was still plenty of oxygen—and in most places there was a layer of organic ruin beneath the airsnow. If there were some catalyst for starting oxidation at super-low temperatures, maybe the little bugs could just “burn” vegetation between volcanic surges. Such bacteria would be the best adapted of all to live after Dark.

In retrospect, it was mainly Sherkaner’s ignorance that permitted him to entertain the idea. The two life strategies required entirely different chemistries. The external oxidation effect was very weak, and in warm environments nonexistent. In many situations, the trick was a serious disability to the little bugs; the two metabolisms were generally poisonous to each other. In the Dark, they would gain a very slight advantage if they were near a periodic volcanic hot spot. It would never have been noticed if Sherkaner hadn’t gone looking for it. He had turned an undergraduate biology lab into a frozen swamp and gotten himself (temporarily) kicked out of school, but there they were: his exotherms.

After seven years of selective breeding by the Materials Research Department, the bacteria had a pure, high-velocity oxidizing metabolism. So when Sherkaner slopped exotherm sludge into the airsnow, there was a burst of vapor, and then a tiny glow that faded as the still-liquid droplet sank and cooled. A second would pass and if you looked very carefully (and if the exotherms in that droplet had been lucky) you would see a faint light from beneath the snow, feeding across the surface of whatever buried organics there might be.

The glow was sprouting brighter now on his left. The airsnow shivered and slumped and some kind of steam curled out of it. Sherkaner tugged on the cable to Unnerby, guiding the team toward denser fuel. However clever the idea, using exotherms was still a form of firemaking. Airsnow was everywhere, but the combustibles were hidden. It was only the work of trillions of Lesser Bacteria that made it possible to find and use the fuel. For a while, even Materials Research had been intimidated by their creation. Like the mat algae on the Southern Banks, these tiny creatures were in a sense social. They moved and reproduced as fast as any mat that crawled the Banks. What if this excursion set the world on fire? But in fact the high-velocity metabolism was bacterial suicide. Underhill and company had at most fifteen hours before the last of their exotherms would all die.

Soon they were off the lake, and walking across a level field that had been the Base Commander’s bowling green in the Waning Years. Fuel was plentiful here; at one point the exotherms got into a fallen mound of vegetation, the remains of a traumtree. The pile glowed more and more warmly, until a brilliant emerald light exploded through the snow. For a few moments, the field and the buildings beyond were clearly visible. Then the green light faded, and there was just the heat-red glow.

They had come perhaps one hundred yards from the sub. If there were no obstacles, they had more than four thousand yards to go. The team settled into a painful routine: walk a few dozen yards, stop and spread exotherms. While Nizhnimor and Haven rested, Unnerby and Underhill would look about for where the exotherms had found the richest fuel. From those spots, they would top off everyone’s sludge panniers. Sometimes, there wasn’t much fuel to be found (walking across a wide cement slab), and about all they had to shovel was airsnow. They needed that, too; they needed to breathe. But without fuel for the exotherms, the cold quickly became numbing, spreading in from the joints in the suits and up from their footpads. Then success depended on Sherkaner successfully guessing where to go next.

Actually, Sherkaner found that pretty easy. He’d gotten his bearings by the light of the burning tree, and by now the patterns of airsnow that concealed vegetation were obvious. Things were okay; he wasn’t refreezing. The pain at the tips of his hands and feet was sharp, and every joint seemed to be a ring of fire, the pain of pressure-swelling, cold, and suit-chafe. Interesting problem, pain. So helpful, so obnoxious. Even the likes of Hrunkner Unnerby couldn’t entirely ignore it; he could hear Unnerby’s hoarse breath over the cable.

Stop, refill the panniers, top off the air, and then on again. Over and over. Gil Haven’s frostbite seemed to be getting worse. They stopped, tried to rearrange the cobber’s suit. Unnerby swapped places with Haven, to help Nizhnimor with the sled. “No problem, it’s only the midhands,” said Gil. But his labored breathing sounded much worse than Unnerby’s.

Even so, they were still doing better than Sherk had expected. They trudged on through the Dark, and their routine soon became almost automatic. All that was left was the pain… and the wonder. Sherkaner looked out through the tiny portholes of his helmet. Beyond the swirl of mist and the exotherms’ glow… there were gentle hills. It was not totally dark. Sometimes when his head was angled just right, he caught a glimpse of a reddish disk low in the western sky. He was seeing the sun of the Deepest Dark.

And through the tiny roof porthole, Sherkaner could see the stars.Weare here at last. The first to ever look upon the Deepest Dark. It was a world that some ancient philosophers had denied existence—for how can somethingbe, that can never be observed? But now it was seen. It did exist, centuries of cold and stillness… and stars everywhere. Even through the heavy glass of the porthole, even with only his topside eyes, he could see colors there that had never been seen in the stars before. If he would just stop for a while and angle all his eyes to watch, what more might he see? Most theorists figured the auroral patches would be gone without sunlight to drive them; others thought the aurora was somehow powered by the volcanoes that lived beneath them. There might be other lights here besides the stars….

A jerk on the cable brought him back to earth. “Keep moving, gotta keep moving.” Gil’s voice was gasping. No doubt he was relaying from Unnerby. Underhill started to apologize, then realized that it was Amberdon Nizhnimor, back by the sled, who had paused.

“What is it?” Sherkaner asked.

“…Amber saw… light in the east…. Keep moving.”

East. To the right. The glass on that side of his helmet was fogged. He had a vague impression of a near ridgeline. Their operation was within four miles of the coast. Over that ridge they’d have a clear view of the horizon. Either the light was quite close or very far away. Yes! There was a light, a pale glow that spread sideways and up. Aurora? Sherkaner clamped down on his curiosity, kept putting one foot in front of another. But God below, how he wished he could climb that ridge and look across the frozen sea!

Sherkaner was a good little trouper right up to the next sludge stop. He was shoveling a glowing mix of exotherms, fuel, and airsnow into Haven’s panniers when it happened. Five tiny lights raced into the western sky, leaving little corners here and there like some kind of slow lightning. One of the five faded to nothing, but the others drew quickly together and—lightblazed, so bright that Underhill’s upward vision blurred in pain. But out to the sides, he could still see. The brightness grew and grew, a thousand times brighter than the faded disk of the sun. Multiple shadows showed stark around them. Still brighter and brighter grew the four lights, till Sherkaner could feel the heat soaking through the shell-cover of his suit. The airsnow all across the field burst upward in misty white-out brilliance. The warmth increased a moment more, almost scalding now—and then faded, leaving his back with the warm feeling you have when you walk into the shade on a Middle Years summer day.

The mists swirled around them, making the first perceptible wind they had experienced since leaving the sub. Suddenly it was very cold, the mists sucking warmth from their suits; only their boots were designed for immersion. The light was fading now, the air and water cooling to crystal and falling back to earth. Underhill risked focusing his upward eyes: The fierce points of light had spread into glowing disks, fading even as he watched. Where they overlapped, he saw a wavering and a folding, aurora-like; so they were localized in range as well as angle. Four, close set—the corners of a regular tetrahedron? So beautiful…. But what was the range? Was this some kind of ball lightning, just a few hundred yards above the field?

In another few minutes they would be too faint to see. But there were other lights now, bright flashes beyond the eastern ridgeline. In the west, pinpricks of light slid faster and faster toward the zenith. A shimmering veil of light spread behind them.

The four Team members stood motionless. For an instant, Unnerby’s soldier persona was blown away, and all that was left was awe. He stumbled away from the sled, and laid one hand on Sherkaner’s back. His voice came faintly across the poor connection: “What is it, Sherkaner?”

“Don’t know.” He could feel Unnerby’s arm trembling. “But someday we’ll understand…. Let’s keep moving, Sergeant.”

Like spring-driven marionettes suddenly kicked into motion, the Team finished loading up, and continued on their path. The show continued overhead, and though there was nothing like the four searing suns, the lights were more beautiful and extensive than any aurora ever known. Two moving stars slid faster and faster across the sky. The ghostly curtains of their passing spread all the way down to the west. Now high in the eastern sky, they flared incandescent, miniature versions of the first burning lights. As they dimmed and spread, legs of light crept down from their point of vanishment, brightening wherever they passed through the earlier glows.

The most spectacular movements were past now, but the slow wraithlike movement of light continued. If it was hundreds of miles up, like a true aurora, there was some immense energy source here. If it was just above their heads, maybe they were seeing the Deep Dark analogue of summer lightning. Either way, the show was worth all the risks of this adventure.

At last they reached the edge of Tiefer cantonment. The strange aurora was still visible as they started down the entrance ramp.

There had never been much question about the targets. They were the ones Underhill had originally imagined, the ones that Victory Smith came up with that first afternoon at Lands Command. If somehow they could reach the Deepest Dark, four soldiers and some explosives could do various damage to fuel dumps, to the shallow deepnesses of surface troops, perhaps even to Tiefstadt’s general staff. Even these targets could not justify the research investment that Underhill was demanding.

Yet there was an obvious choke point. Just as the modern military machine endeavored to gain advantage at the beginning of the Dark by fighting longer to outmaneuver a sleeping enemy, so at the beginning of the New Sun, the first armies that were effectively back in the field would win a decisive advantage.

Both sides had built large stockpiles for that time, but with a strategy quite different from that of the Waning Years and the beginning of the Dark. As far as science could determine, the New Sun grew to its immense brightness in a space of days, perhaps of hours. For a few days it was a searing monster, more than a hundred times brighter than during the Middle and Waning Years. It was that explosion of brightness—not the cold of the Dark—that destroyed all but the sturdiest structures of each generation.

This ramp led to a Tiefer outreach depot. There were others along the front, but this was the rear-echelon depot that would support their maneuver force. Without it, the best of the Tiefer troops would be compelled to stay out of combat. Tiefer forward elements at the point of the Crown’s advance would have no backup. Lands Command figured that destroying the depot would force a favorable armistice, or a string of easy victories for the Crown’s armies. Four soldiers and some subtle vandalism might just be enough to do it.

…If they didn’t freeze trying to get down this ramp. There were wisps of airsnow on the steps, and an occasional shred of brush that had grown between the flags, but that was all. Now when they stopped, it was to pass forward pails of sludge from the sled that Nizhnimor and Unnerby were pulling. The darkness closed in tight around them, lit only by an occasional gleam of spilled exotherm. Intelligence reports claimed the ramp extended less than two hundred yards….

Up ahead glowed an oval of light. The end of the tunnel. The Team staggered off the ramp onto a field that had been open once, but that was now shielded from the sky by silvery sunblinds. A forest of tent poles stretched off all around them. In places the fall of airsnow had torn the structure, but most of it was intact. In the dim, slatted patches of light, they could see the forms of steam locomotives, rail layers, machine-gun cars, and armored automobiles. Even in the dimness, there was a glint of silver paint in the airsnow. When the New Sun lit, this gear would be ready. While ice steamed and melted, and flowed torrents down the channels that webbed this field, Tiefer combateers would come out of the nearby deepnesses and run for the safety of their vehicles. The waters would be diverted into holding tanks, and the cooling sprays started. There would be a few hours of frantic checking of inventories and mechanical status, a few hours more to repair the failures of two centuries of Dark and the hours of new heat. And then they would be off on whichever rail path their commanders thought led to victory. This was the culmination of generations of scientific research into the nature of the Dark and the New Sun. Intelligence estimated that in many ways it was more advanced than the Crown’s own quartermaster science.

Hrunkner gathered them together, so they could all hear him. “I’ll bet they’ll have forward guards out here within an hour of First Sunlight, but now it’s just ours for the taking…. Okay, we top off our panniers and split up per plan. Gil, are you up to this?”

Gil Haven had weaved his way down the steps like a drunkard with broken feet. It looked to Sherkaner that his suit failure had extended back to his walking feet. But he straightened at Unnerby’s words, and his voice seemed almost normal. “Sergeant, I didn’t come all this way to sit an’ watch you cobbers. I can handle my part.”

And so they had come to the point of it all. They disconnected their audio cables, and each gathered up his appointed explosives and dye-black. They had practiced this often enough. If they double-timed between each action point, if they didn’t fall into a drainage ditch and break some legs, if the maps they had memorized were accurate, there would be time to do it all and still not freeze. They moved off in four directions. The explosives they set beneath the sunblinds were scarcely more than hand grenades. They made silent flashes as they went off—and collapsed strategic sections of the canopy. The dye-black mortars followed, completely unimpressive, but working just as all the Materials Research work had predicted they would. The length and breadth of the outreach depot lay in mottled black, awaiting the kiss of the New Sun.

Three hours later they were almost a mile north of the depot. Unnerby had pushed them hard after they left the depot, pushed them to accomplish a final, ancillary goal: survival.

They had almost made it. Almost. Gil Haven was delirious and strangely frantic when they finished at the depot. He tried to leave the depot on his own. “Gotta find a place to dig.” He said the words again and again, struggling against Nizhnimor and Unnerby as they tied him back into the row of safety lines.

“That’s where we’re going now, Gil. Hang on.” Unnerby released Haven to Amber, and for a moment Hrunkner and Sherk could hear only each other.

“He’s got more spirit than before,” said Sherkaner. Haven was bouncing around like a cobber on wooden legs.

“I don’t think he can feel the pain anymore.” Hrunk’s reply was faint but clear. “That’s not what worries me. I think he’s sliding into Wanderdeep.”

Rapture of the Dark. It was the mad panic that took cobbers when the inner core of their minds realized that they were trapped outside. The animal mind took over, driving the victim to find some place, any place, that might serve as a deepness.

“Damn.” The word was muffled, chopped as Unnerby broke contact and tried to get them all moving. They were only hours from probable safety. And yet… watching Gil Haven struggle woke primeval reflexes in all of them. Instinct was such a marvelous thing—but if they gave in to it now, it would surely lead them to death.

After two hours, they had barely reached the hills beyond the depot. Twice, Gil had broken free, each time more frantic, to run toward the false promise of the steep defiles alongside their path. Each time, Amber had dragged him back, tried to reason with him. But Gil didn’t know where he was anymore, and his thrashing had torn his suit in several places. Parts of him were stiff and frozen.

The end had come when they reached the first of the hard climbs. They had to leave the sled behind; the rest of the way would be with just the air and exotherms they could carry in their panniers. A third time, Gil ripped free of the safety line. He fled with a strange, bounding stagger. Nizhnimor took off after him. Amber was a large woman, and until now she’d had little trouble handling Gil Haven. This time was different. Gil had reached the final desperation of Wanderdeep. As she pulled him back from the edge, he turned on her, stabbing with the points of his hands. Amber staggered back, releasing him. Hrunk and Sherkaner were right behind her, but it was too late. Haven’s arms flailed in all directions and he tumbled off the path into the shadows below.

The three of them stood in stupefied paralysis for a moment; then Amber began to sidle over the edge, her legs feeling down through the airsnow for some purchase on the rocks beneath. Unnerby and Underhill grabbed her, pulled her back.

“No, let me go! Frozen he has a chance. We just have to carry him with us.”

Underhill leaned over the drop-off, took a long look below. Gil had hit naked rocks on his way down. The body lay still. If he wasn’t already dead, desiccation and partial freezing would kill him before they could even get the body back to the path.

Hrunkner must have seen it too. “He’s gone, Amber,” he said gently. Then his sergeant’s voice returned. “And we still have a mission.”

After a moment, Amber’s free hands curled in assent, but Sherk could not hear that she said a word. She climbed back to the path and helped to refasten their safety lines and audio.

The three of them continued up the climb, moving faster now.

They had only a few quarts of living exotherms by the time they reached their goal. Before the Dark, these hills had been a lush traumtree forest, part of a Tiefer nobleman’s estate, a game preserve. Behind them was a cleft in the rocks, the entrance to a natural deepness. In any wilderness with big game, there would have to be animal deepnesses. In settled lands, such were normally taken over and expanded for the use of people—or they fell into disuse. Sherkaner couldn’t imagine how Accord Intelligence knew about this one unless some Tiefers on this estate were Accord agents. But this was no prepped safe-hole; it looked as wild and real as anything in Far Brunlargo.

Nizhnimor was the only real hunter on the Team. She and Unnerby cut through three spitsilk barriers and climbed all the way down. Sherkaner hung above them, feeding warmth and light downward. “I see five pools… two adult tarants. Give us a little more light.”

Sherkaner swung lower, putting most of his weight on the spitsilk. The light in his lowest hands shone all the way to the back of the cave. Now he could see two of the pools. They were almost clear of airsnow. The ice was typical of a hibernating pool—clear of all bubbles. Beneath the ice, he had a glimpse of the creature, its frozen eyes gleaming in the light. God, it was big! Even so, it must be a male; it was covered with dozens of baby welts.

“The other pools are all food stash. Fresh kills like you’d expect.” In the first year of the New Sun, such a tarant pair would stay in their deepness, sucking off the fluids of their stash, the babies growing to a size where they could learn to hunt when the fires and storms gentled. Tarants were pure carnivores and not nearly as bright as thracts, but they looked very much like real people. Killing them and stealing their food was necessary, but it seemed more like deepness-murder than hunting.

The work took another hour, and used almost all the remaining exotherms. They climbed back to the surface one last time, to reanchor the spitsilk barrier as best they could. Underhill was numb in several shoulder joints, and he couldn’t feel the tips of his left hands. Their suits had been through a lot the last few hours, been punctured and patched. Some of the wrist joints in Amber’s suit had burned away, victims of too much contact with airsnow and exotherms. They’d been forced to let the limbs freeze. She would likely lose some hands. Nevertheless, all three of them stood a moment more.

Finally Amber said, “This counts as triumph, doesn’t it?”

Unnerby’s voice was strong. “Yes. And you know damn well that Gil would agree.”

They reached together in a somber clasp, almost a perfect replay of Gokna’s Reaching for Accord; there was even a Missing Companion.

Amberdon Nizhnimor retreated through the cleft in the rocks. Green-glowing mist spurted from the spitsilk as she passed through; down below, she would mix the exotherms into pools. The water would be cold slush, but they could burrow in it. If they opened their suits wide, hopefully they could get a uniform freeze. Against this last great peril, there was little more they could do.

“Take a last look, Sherkaner. Your handiwork.” The certainty was gone from Unnerby’s voice. Amber Nizhnimor was a soldier; Unnerby had done his duty by her. Now he seemed to be out of combat mode, and so tired that he barely held his belly clear of the airsnow.

Underhill looked out. They were standing a couple of hundred feet above the level of the Tiefer depot. The aurora had faded; the moving points of light, the sky flashes—all were long gone. In that faded light, the depot was a field of splotchy black amid the starlit gray. But the black wasn’t shadow. It was the powdered dye they had blasted all across the installation.

“Such a small thing,” said Unnerby, “a few hundred pounds of dye-black. You really think it’ll work?”

“Oh yes. The first hours of the New Sun are something out of hell. That powder black will make their gear hotter than any design tolerance. You know what happens in that kind of a flash.” In fact, Sergeant Unnerby had managed those tests himself. A hundred times the light of a middle-Brightness sun shining on dye-black on metal: In minutes, metal contact points were spot-welded, bearings to sleeves, pistons to cylinders, wheels to rails. The enemy troops would have to retreat underground, their most important outreach depot on the front effectively a loss.

“This is the first and last time your trick will ever work, Sherkaner. A few barriers, a few mines, and we would have been stopped dead.”

“Sure. But other things will change, too. This is the last Dark that Spiderkind will ever sleep through. Next time, it won’t be just four cobbers in airsuits. All civilization will stay awake. We’re going to colonize the Dark, Hrunkner.”

Unnerby laughed, obviously disbelieving. He waved Underhill toward the cleft in the rock, and the deepness below. Tired as he was, the sergeant would be the last one down, the setter-of-final-barriers.

Sherkaner had one last glimpse of the gray lands, and the curtains of impossible aurora hanging above.So high, so low, so many things toknow.

NINE

Ezr Vinh’s childhood had generally been a protected and safe one. Only one time had his life been in real jeopardy, and that had been a criminally silly accident.

Even by Qeng Ho standards, the Vinh.23 Family was a very extended one. There were branches of the Family that hadn’t touched hands for thousands of years. Vinh.23.4 and Vinh.23.4.1 had been halfway across Human Space for much of that time, making their own fortunes, evolving their own mores. Perhaps it would have been a better thing not to attempt a synch after all that time—except that blessed chance had brought so many of all three branches together at Old Kielle, and all at the same time. So they tarried some years, built temps that most sessile civilizations would call palace-habitats, and tried to figure out what had become of their common background. Vinh.23.4.1 was a consensual demarchy. That didn’t affect their trading relations, but Aunt Filipa had been scandalized. “No one’s going to votemy property rights away,” little Ezr remembered her saying. Vinh.23.4 seemed much closer to the branches Ezr’s parents knew, though their dialect of Nese was almost unintelligible. The 23.4 Family hadn’t bothered to track the broadcast standards faithfully. But the standards—even more than the blacklists—were important things. On a picnic, one checked the children’s suits, and one’s automation double-checked them; but one didn’t expect that “atmosphere-seconds” meant something different for your cousins’ air than for your own. Ezr had climbed around a small rock that orbited the picnic asteroid; he was charmed by the way he could make his own little world move under his hands and feet, rather than the other way around. But when his air ran out, his playmates had already found their own worlds in the rock cloud. The picnic monitor ignored his suit’s cries for help until the child within was nearly flatlined.

Ezr only remembered waking in a new, specially made nursery. He had been treated like a king for uncounted Ksecs afterward.

So Ezr Vinh had always come out of coldsleep in a happy mood. He suffered the usual disorientation, the usual physical discomfort, but childhood memories assured him that wherever he was things would be good.

At first, this time was no different, except perhaps gentler than usual. He was lying in near zero gee, snug in a warm bed. He had the impression of space, a high ceiling. There was a painting on the wall beyond the bed… so meticulously rendered; it might have been a photo.Trixia loathedthose pictures. The thought popped up, fixed some context on this waking. Trixia. Triland. The mission to the OnOff star. And this was not the first waking there. There had been some very bad times, the Emergent ambush. How had they won over that? The very last memories before this sleep, what were they?Floating through darkness in a crippled lander. Park’s flagship destroyed. Trixia…

“I think that brought him out of it, Podmaster.” A woman’s voice.

Almost unwillingly, he turned his head toward the voice. Anne Reynolt sat at his bedside, and next to her was Tomas Nau.

“Ah, Apprentice Vinh. I am pleased to see you back among the living.” Nau’s smile was concerned and solemn.

It took Ezr a couple of tries to gargle up something intelligible: “Wha’s… What’s happening? Where am I?”

“You’re aboard my principal residence. It’s about eight days since your fleet attempted to destroy mine.”

“Guh?” We attacked you?

Nau cocked his head quizzically at Vinh’s incoherence. “I wanted to be here when we woke you. Director Reynolt will fill you in on the details, but I just wanted to assure you of my support. I’m appointing you Fleet Manager of what’s left of the Qeng Ho expedition.” He stood, patted Vinh gently on the shoulder. Vinh’s gaze followed the Emergent out of the room.Fleet Manager?

Reynolt brought Vinh a book of windows with more hard facts than he could easily absorb. They could not all be lies…. Fourteen hundred Qeng Ho had died, almost half the fleet’s complement. Four of the seven Qeng Ho starships had been destroyed. The ramscoops on the rest were disabled. Most of the smaller vehicles had been destroyed or seriously damaged. Nau’s people were busy cleaning up the orbital flotsam of the firefights. They quite intended to continue the “joint operation.” The volatiles and ores that had been lifted from Arachna would support habitats the Emergents were building at the L1 point of the sun/planet system.

And she let him see the crew lists. ThePham Nuwen had been lost with all hands. Captain Park and several members of the Trading Committee were dead. Most people on the surviving ships still lived, but the senior ones were being held in coldsleep.

The killing headache of his last few moments on the lander was gone. Ezr had been cured of the “unfortunate contagion,” Reynolt said. But only an engineered disease could have such a convenient and universal time of onset. The Emergent lies were scarcely more than an excuse for civility. They had planned the ambush from the beginning, and down to the last second.

At least Anne Reynolt did not smile when she spoke the lies. In fact, she rarely smiled at all. Director of Human Resources Reynolt. Funny that not even Trixia had picked up on what that title might imply. At first, Ezr thought Reynolt was fighting a proper sense of shame: she hardly ever looked him directly in the eye. But gradually he realized that looking at his face was no more interesting to her than studying a bulkhead. She didn’t see him as a person; she didn’t care a jot for the dead.

Ezr read the reports quietly, not sneering, not crying out when he saw that Sum Dotran was gone.Trixia’s name was nowhere on the list of thedead. Finally he came to the lists of the waking survivors and their present disposition. Almost three hundred were aboard the Qeng Ho temp, also moved to the L1 point. Ezr scanned the names, memorizing: junior people, and virtually no Trilanders or academics. No Trixia Bonsol. He paged further… another list.Trixia! Her name was there, and she was even listed under “Linguistics Department.”

Ezr looked up from the book of windows, tried to sound casual. “What, um, what’s the meaning of this glyph beside some of the names?” BesideTrixia’s name.

“‘Focused’.”

“And what does that mean?” There was an edge, unwanted, in his voice.

“They’re still under medical treatment. Not everyone recovered as easily as you.” Her stare was hard and impassive.

The next day, Nau showed up again.

“Time to introduce you to your new subordinates,” he said. They coasted through a long, straight corridor to a vehicular airlock. This habitat wasn’t the banquet place. There was the faintest drift of gravity, as though it were set on a small asteroid. The taxi beyond the airlock was larger than any the Qeng Ho had brought. It was luxurious in a baroque, primitive way. There were low tables and a bar that served in all directions. Wide, natural-looking windows surrounded them. Nau gave him a moment to look out:

The taxi was rising through the strutwork of a grounded habitat. The thing was incomplete but it looked as big as a Qeng Ho legation temp. Now they were above the strutwork. The ground curved away into a jumble of gray leviathans. These were the diamond mountains, all collected together. The blocks were strangely uncratered, but as somberly dull as common asteroids. Here and there the frail sunlight picked out where the surface graphite had been nicked away, and there was a rainbow glitter. Nestled between two of the mountains he saw pale fields of snow, a blocky tumble of freshly cut rock and ice; these must be the fragments of ocean and seamount they’d lifted from Arachna. The taxi rose further. Around the corner of the mountains, the forms of starships climbed into view. The ships were more than six hundred meters long, but dwarfed by the rockpile. They were moored tightly together, the way salvage is bundled in a junkyard; Ezr counted quickly, estimated what he could not see directly. “So you’ve brought everything here—to L1? You really intend a lurking strategy?”

Nau gave a nod. “I’m afraid so. It’s best to be frank about this. Our fighting has put us all near the edge. We have sufficient resources to return home, but empty-handed. Instead, if we can just cooperate… well, from here at L1 we can watch the Spiders. If they are indeed entering the Information Age, we can eventually use their resources to refit. In either case, we may get much of what we came for.”

Hm. An extended lurk, waiting for your customers to mature. It was a strategy the Qeng Ho had followed on a few occasions. Sometimes it even worked. “It will be difficult.”

From behind Ezr, a voice said, “For you perhaps. But Emergents live well, little man. Best you learn that now.” It was a voice that Vinh recognized, the voice that had protested of Qeng Ho ambush even as the killing began. Ritser Brughel. Ezr turned. The big, blond fellow was grinning at him. No subtle nuance here. “And we also play to win. The Spiders will learn that too.” Not too long ago, Ezr Vinh had spent an evening sitting next to this fellow, listening to him lecture Pham Trinli. The blond was a boor and a bully, but it hadn’t mattered then. Vinh’s gaze flickered across the carpeted walls to Anne Reynolt. She was watching the conversation intently. Physically, she and Brughel could have been sister and brother. There was even a tinge of red in the guy’s blond hair. But there the similarity ended. Obnoxious as he was, Brughel’s emotions were clear things, and intense. The only affect that Vinh had seen in Anne Reynolt was impatience. She watched the present conversation as one might watch insects in garden soil.

“But don’t worry, Peddler boy. Your quarters are properly inconspicuous.” Brughel pointed out the forward window. There was a greenish speck, barely showing a disk. It was the Qeng Ho temp. “We have it parked in an eight-day orbit of the main jumble.”

Tomas Nau raised his hand politely, almost as if asking for the floor, and Brughel shut up. “We have only a moment, Mr. Vinh. I know that Anne Reynolt has given you an overview, but I want to make sure you understand your new responsibilities.” He did something with his cuff, and the image of the Qeng Ho temp swelled. Vinh swallowed; funny, it was just an ordinary field temp, barely one hundred meters on a side. His eyes searched the lumpy, quilted hull. He had lived in there less than 2Msec, cursed its squat economies a thousand times. But now, it was the closest thing to home that still existed; inside were many of Ezr’s surviving friends. A field temp is so easy to destroy. Yet all the cells looked fully inflated and there was no patchwork. Captain Park had set this one far from his ships, and Nau had spared it. “…so your new position is an important one. As my Fleet Manager, you have responsibilities comparable to the late Captain Park’s. You will have my consistent support; I will make sure that my people understand this.” A glance at Ritser Brughel. “But please remember: Our success—even our survival—now depends on our cooperation.”

TEN

When it came to personnel management, Ezr knew he was a little slow. What Nau was up to should have been instantly obvious. Vinh had even studied such things in school. When they reached the temp, Nau gave an unctuous little speech, introducing Vinh as the new “Qeng Ho Fleet Manager.” Nau made a special point of the fact that Ezr Vinh was the most senior member of a ship-owning Family present. The two Vinh starships had survived the recent ambush relatively undamaged. If there was any legitimate master for the Qeng Ho ships, it was Ezr Vinh. And if everyone cooperated with legitimate authority, there would yet be wealth for all. Then Ezr was pushed forward to mumble a few words about how glad he was to be back among friends, and how he hoped for their help.

In the days that followed, he came to understand the wedge that Nau had slipped between duty and loyalty. Ezr was home and yet he was not. Every day, he saw familiar faces. Benny Wen and Jimmy Diem had both survived. Ezr had known Benny since they were six years old; now he was like a stranger, a cooperative stranger.

And then one day, more by luck than planning, Ezr ran into Benny near the temp’s taxi locks. Ezr was alone. More and more, his Emergent assistants did not dog his moves. They trusted him? They had him bugged? They couldn’t imagine him doing harm? All the possibilities were obnoxious, but it was good to be free of them.

Benny was with a small crew of Qeng Ho right under the outermost balloon wall. Being near the locks, there was no exterior quilting here; every so often the lights of a passing taxi sent a moving glow across the fabric. Benny’s crew was spread out across the wall, working at the nodes of the approach automation. Their Emergent gang boss was at the far end of the open space.

Ezr glided out of the radial tunnel, saw Benny Wen, and bounced easily across the wall toward him.

Wen looked up from his work and nodded courteously. “Fleet Manager.” The formality was familiar now—and still as painful as a kick in the face.

“Hi, Benny. H-how are things going?”

Wen looked briefly down the length of the volume at the Emergent gang boss. That guy really stuck out, his work clothes gray and stark against the rampant individualism of most Qeng Ho. He was talking loudly to three of the work crew, but at this distance his words were muffled by the balloon fabric. Benny looked back at Ezr and shrugged. “Oh, just fine. You know what we’re doing here?”

“Replacing the comm inputs.” One of the Emergents’ first moves had been to confiscate all head-up displays. The huds and their associated input electronics were the classic tools of freedom.

Wen laughed softly, his eyes still on the gang boss. “Right the first time, Ezr old pal. You see, our new… employers… have a problem. They need our ships. They need our equipment. But none of that will work without the automation. And how can they trust that?” All effective machinery had embedded controllers. And of course the controllers were networked, with the invisible glue of their fleet’s local net that made everything work consistently.

The software for that system had been developed over millennia, refined by the Qeng Ho over centuries. Destroy it and the fleet would be barely more than scrap metal. But how could any conqueror trust what all those centuries had built in? In most such situations, the losers’ gear was simply destroyed. But as Tomas Nau admitted, no one could afford to lose any more resources.

“Their own work gangs are going through every node, you know. Not just here, but on all our surviving ships. Bit by bit they are rehosting them.”

“There’s no way they can replace everything.” I hope. The worst tyrannies were the ones where a government required its own logic on every embedded node.

“You’d be surprised what they are replacing. I’ve seen them work. Their computer techs are… strange. They’ve dug up stuff in the system that I never suspected.” Benny shrugged. “But you’re right, they aren’t touching the lowest-level embedded stuff. It’s mainly the I/O logic that gets jerked. In return, we get brand-new interfaces.” Benny’s face twisted in a little smile. He pulled a black plastic oblong from his belt. Some kind of keyboard. “This is the only thing we’ll be using for a while.”

“Lord, that looks ancient.”

“Simple, not ancient. I think these are just backups the Emergents had floating around.” Benny sent another look in the direction of the gang boss. “The important thing is, the comm gear in these boxes is known to the Emergents. Tamper with it, and there’ll be alarms up the local net. In principle they can filter everything we do.” Benny looked down at the box, hefted it. Benny was just another apprentice, like Ezr. He wasn’t much sharper about technical things than Ezr, but he always had a nose for clever deals. “Strange. What I’ve seen of Emergent technology looks pretty dull. Yet these guys really intend to dredge and monitor everything. There’s something about their automation that we don’t understand.” He was almost talking to himself.

On the wall behind him a light grew and grew, shifted slowly sideways. A taxi was approaching the docking bay. The light slid around the curve of the wall, and a second later there was a mutedkchunk. Shallow ripples chased out across the fabric from the docking cylinder. The lock pumps kicked in. Here, their whine was louder than at the dock entrance itself. Ezr hesitated. The noise was enough to mask their conversation from the gang boss.Sure, and any surveillance bugs could hear through the racketbetter than our own ears. So when he spoke, it was not a conspiratorial murmur, but loud against the racket of the pumps. “Benny, lots has happened. I just want you to know I haven’t changed. I’m not—“I’m not atraitor, damn it!

For a moment, Benny’s expression was opaque… and then he suddenly smiled. “I know, Ezr. I know.”

Benny led him along the wall in the general direction of the rest of his work crew. “Let me show you the other things that we are up to.” Ezr followed as the other pointed to this and that, described the changes the Emergents were making in the dock protocols. And suddenly he understood a little more of the game.The enemy needs us, expects to be working us foryears. There’s lots we can say to each other. They won’t kill us for exchanginginformation to get their jobs done. They won’t kill us for speculating aboutwhat’s going on.

The whine of the pumps died. Somewhere beyond the plastic of the docking cylinder, people and cargo would be debarking.

Wen swung close to the open hatch of a utility duct. “They’re bringing in lots of their own people, I hear.”

“Yes, four hundred soon, maybe more.” This temp was just some balloons, inflated a few Msecs earlier, upon the fleet’s arrival. But it was large enough for all the crews that had been packed as corpsicles for the fifty-light-year transit from Triland. That had been three thousand people. Now it held only three hundred.

Benny raised an eyebrow. “I thought they had their own temp, and better than this.”

“I—” The gang boss was almost within earshot.But this isn’t conspiracy. Lord of Trade, we have to be able to talk about our jobs. “I think they lost more than they’re letting on.” I think we came within centimeters of winning, even though we were ambushed, even though they had knocked usdown with their war disease.

Benny nodded, and Ezr guessed that he already knew. But did he know this: “That will still leave a lot of space. Tomas Nau is thinking of bringing more of us out of coldsleep, maybe some officers.” Sure, the senior people would be more of a risk to the Emergents, but if Nau really wanted effective cooperation… Unfortunately, the Podmaster was much less forthcoming about the “Focused.” Trixia.

“Oh?” Benny’s voice was noncommittal, but his gaze was suddenly sharp. He looked away. “That would make a big difference, especially to some of us… like the little lady I have working in this duct.” He stuck his head partway through the hatch and shouted. “Hey, Qiwi, are you done in there yet?”

The Brat? Ezr had only seen her two or three times since the ambush, enough to know she wasn’t injured and not a hostage. But more than most, she had spent time outside of the temp and with the Emergents. Maybe she just seemed too young to be a threat. A moment passed; a tiny figure in a screwball harlequin outfit slipped out of the duct.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m all done. I strung the tamperproof all—” She saw Ezr. “Hi, Ezr!” For once, the little girl did not swarm on him. She just nodded and kind of smiled. Maybe she was growing up. If so, this was the hard way to do it. “I strung it all the way past the locks, no problem. You gotta wonder why these guys don’t just use encryption, though.” She was smiling, but there were dark shadows around her eyes. It was a face Ezr would expect in someone older. Qiwi stood in the relaxed crouch of zero gee, with one checkered boot slipped under a wall stop. But she held her arms close at her sides, her hands clasping her elbows. The expansive, grabbing and punching little monster of before the ambush was gone. Qiwi’s father was one of the still-infected, like Trixia. Like Trixia, he might never come back. And Kira Pen Lisolet was a senior armsman.

The little girl continued talking about the setup inside the duct. She was well qualified. Other children might have toys and games and playmates; Qiwi’s home had been a near-empty ramship, out between the stars. That long alone-time had left her on the verge of being several kinds of specialist.

She had several ideas for how they might save time with the cable-pulling the Emergents required. Benny was nodding, taking notes.

Then Qiwi was on a different topic. “I hear we’re gonna have new people in the temp.”

“Yes—”

“Who? Who?”

“Emergents. Then some of our own people, I think.”

Her smile blazed for an instant, and then she forced her enthusiasm down with a visible effort. “I—I was over at Hammerfest. Podmaster Nau wanted me to check out the coldsleep gear before they move it to Far Treasure. I… I saw Mama, Ezr. I could see her face through the transp. I could see her slow-breathe.”

Benny said, “Don’t worry, kid. We’ll… Things will be okay for both your mom and pop.”

“I know. That’s what Podmaster Nau told me, too.”

He could see the hope in her eyes. So Nau was making vague promises to her, becoming poor Qiwi’s lifeline. And some of the promises might even be true. Maybe they would finally cure her father of their damn war disease. But armsmen like Kira Pen Lisolet would be terribly dangerous to any tyrant. Short of a counterambush, Kira Lisolet might sleep for a long, long time… Short of a counterambush.His glance flickered across to Benny. His friend’s stare was completely blank, a return to the earlier opacity. And suddenly Ezr knew that there really was a conspiracy. In a few Msecs at most, some among the Qeng Ho would act.

I can help; I know I can.The official coordination of all Emergent orders passed through Ezr Vinh. If he were on the inside… But he was also the most closely watched of all, even if Tomas Nau had no real respect for him. For a moment, fury rose in Ezr. Benny knew he wasn’t a traitor—but there was no way he could help without giving the conspiracy away.

The Qeng Ho temp had escaped the ambush without a scratch. There had not even been pulse damage; before they maimed the local net, the Emergents had a great time mining the databases there.

What was left worked well enough for routine ops. Every few days, a few more people were added to the temp’s population. Most were Emergents, but some were low-rank Qeng Ho released from coldsleep detention. Emergents and Qeng Ho, they all looked like refugees from disaster. There was no disguising the damage the Emergents had suffered, the equipment they had lost.And maybe Trixia is dead. The “Focused” were kept in the Emergents’ new habitat, Hammerfest. But no one had seen any of them.

Meantime, conditions in the Qeng Ho temp slowly got worse. They were at less than one-third the temp’s design population, yet systems were failing. Part of it was the maimed automation. Part of it—and this was a subtle effect—was that people weren’t doing their jobs properly. Between the damaged automation and the Emergents’ clumsiness with life-systems, the other side hadn’t caught on. Fortunately for the conspirators, Qiwi spent most of her time off the temp. Ezr knew she could have detected the scam instantly. Ezr’s contribution to the conspiracy was silence, simply not noticing what was going on. He moved from petty emergency to petty emergency, doing the obvious—and wondering what his friends were really up to.

The temp was actually beginning to stink. Ezr and his Emergent assistants took a trip down to the bactry pools at the innermost core of the temp, the place where Apprentice Vinh had spent so many Ksecs… before. He would give anything to be an apprentice forever down here, if only it would bring back Captain Park and the others.

The stench in the bactry was worse than Ezr had known outside of a failed school exercise. The walls behind the bio-weirs were covered with soft black goo. It swayed like old flesh in the breeze of the ventilators. Ciret and Marli retched, one barfing inside his respirator. Marli gasped out, “Pus! I’m not putting up with this. We’ll be just outside when you’re done.”

They splashed and spattered their way out, and the door sealed. And Ezr was alone with the smells. He stood for a moment, suddenly realizing that if he ever wanted to be completely alone, this was the place!

As he started to survey the contamination, a figure in goo-spattered waterproofs and a respirator drifted out from the filth. It raised one hand for silence, and passed a signals unit across Vinh’s body. “Mmph. You’re clean,” came a muffled voice. “Or maybe they just trust you.”

It was Jimmy Diem. Ezr almost hugged him, bactry shit and all. Against all odds, the conspiracy had found a way to talk to him. But there was no happy relief in Diem’s voice. His eyes were invisible behind goggles, but tension coiled in his posture. “Why are you toadying, Vinh?”

“I’m not! I’m just playing for time.”

“That’s what… some of us think. But Nau has laid so many perks on you, and you’re the guy we have to clear every little thing with. Do you really think you own what’s left of us?”

That was the line that Nau pushed even now. “No!Maybe they think they’ve bought me, but… Lord of Trade, sir, wasn’t I a solid crewmember?”

A muffled chuckle, and some of the tension seemed to leave Diem’s shoulders. “Yeah. You were a daydreamer who could never quite keep his eye on the ball”—words from familiar critiques, but spoken almost fondly—“but you’re not stupid and you never traded on your Family connections…. Okay, Apprentice, welcome aboard.”

It was the most joyful promotion Ezr Vinh had ever received. He stifled a hundred questions that percolated up; most had answers that he shouldn’t be told. But still, just one, about Trixia—

Diem was already talking. “I’ve got some code schemes for you to memorize, but we may have to meet face-to-face again. So the stink will get better, but it’s going to continue to be a problem; you’ll have plenty of excuse to visit. A couple of general things for now: We need to get outdoors.”

Vinh thought of theFar Treasure and the Qeng Ho armsmen in cold-sleep there. Or maybe there were weapons caches in secret places aboard the surviving Qeng Hoships. “Hm. There are several outside repair projects where we’re the experts.”

“I know. The main thing is to get the right people on the crews, and in the right job slots. We’ll get you some names.”

“Right.”

“Another thing: We need to know about the ‘Focused ones.’ Where exactly are they being held? Can they be moved fast?”

“I’m trying to learn about them,” more than you may know, Crewleader. “Reynolt says they’re alive, that they’ve stopped the progression of the disease.” The mindrot. That chilling term was not from Reynolt, but the slip of tongue he’d heard from an ordinary Emergent. “I’m trying to get permission to see—”

“Yeah. Trixia Bonsol, right?” Goo-sticky fingers patted Vinh’s arm sympathetically. “Hmm. You’ve got a solid motive to keep after them on this. Be a good boy in every other way, but pushhard on this. You know, like it’s the big favor that will keep you in line, if only they’ll grant it…. Okay. Get yourself out of here.”

Diem faded into the shrouds of odiferous glop. Vinh smeared out the fingerprint traces on his sleeve. As he turned back to the hatch, he was scarcely conscious of the smell anymore. He was working with his friends again. And they had a chance.

Just as the remains of the Qeng Ho expedition had its mock “Fleet Manager,” Ezr Vinh, so Tomas Nau also appointed a “Fleet Management Committee” to advise and aid in its operation. It was typical of Nau’s strategy, coopting innocent people into apparent treason. Their once-per-Msec meetings would have been torture for Vinh, except for one thing: Jimmy Diem was one of the committee members.

Ezr watched the ten troop into his conference room. Nau had furnished the room with polished wood and high-quality windows; everyone in the temp knew about the cushy treatment given the Fleet Manager and his committee. Except for Qiwi, all ten realized how they were being used. Most of them realized that it would be years, if ever, before Tomas Nau released all the surviving Qeng Ho from coldsleep detention. Some, like Jimmy, guessed that in fact the senior officers might occasionally be brought out, secretly, for interrogations and brief service. It was an unending villainy that would give the Emergents the permanent upper hand.

So, there were no traitors here. They were a discouraging sight nevertheless: five apprentices, three junior officers, a fourteen-year-old, and one doddering incompetent. Okay, to be honest, Pham Trinli didn’t dodder, not physically; for an old man, he was in pretty good shape. Most likely, he’d always been a goofball. It was a testament to his record that he was not being held in coldsleep. Trinli was the only Qeng Ho military man left awake.

And all this rather makes me the Clown of Clowns.Fleet Manager Vinh called the meeting to order. You’d think that being fraudulent toadies would at least make these meetings quick. But no, they often dragged on for many Ksecs, dribbling off into pickle-headed assignments for individual members.I hope you enjoy eavesdropping on this, Nau scum.

The first order of business was the putrefaction in the bactry. That was under control. The widespread stench should be flushed by their next meeting time. There remained some out-of-control gene lines in the bactry itself (good!) but they posed no danger to the temp. Vinh avoided looking at Jimmy Diem as he listened to the report. He’d met Diem in the bactry three times now. The conversations had been brief and one-sided. The things Vinh was most curious to know were just what he absolutely must not know: How many Qeng Ho were in on Diem’s operation? Who? Was there any concrete plan to smash the Emergents, to rescue the hostages?

The second item was more contentious. The Emergents wanted their own time units used in all fleet work. “I don’t understand,” Vinh said to the unhappy looks. “The Emergent second is the same as ours—and for local operations, the rest is just calendar frippery. Our software deals with Customer calendars all the time.” Certainly, there was little problem in casual conversation. The Balacrean day wasn’t far off the 100Ksec shift “day” the Qeng Ho used. And their year was close enough to 30Msec that most of the year-stem words caused no confusion.

“Sure, we can handle weird calendars, but that’s in front-end applications.” Arlo Dinh had been an apprentice programmer; now he was in charge of software mods. “Our new, um, employers are using Qeng Ho internal tools. ‘There will be side effects’.” Arlo intoned the mantra ominously.

“Okay, okay. I’ll take—” Ezr paused, experiencing a burst of administrative insight. “Arlo, why don’t you take this up with Reynolt? Explain the problems to her.”

Ezr looked down at his agenda, avoiding Arlo’s annoyed gaze. “Next item. We’re getting more new tenants. The Podmaster says to expect at least another three hundred Emergents, and after that another fifty Qeng Ho. It looks like life-support can tolerate this. What about our other systems? Gonle?”

When their ranks had been real, Gonle Fong had been a junior quartermaster on theInvisible Hand. Fong’s mind still hadn’t caught up with the changes. She was of indeterminate age, and if not for the ambush she might have lived out her life a junior quartermaster. Maybe she was one of those people whose career paths had stopped at just the right place, where their abilities precisely matched what was asked of them. But now…

Fong nodded at his question. “Yeah, I have some numbers to show you.” She plinked away at the Emergent keyboard in front of her, made some mistakes, tried to correct. On the window across the room, various error messages reported on her flailings. “How do you turn those off?” Fong muttered, swearing to herself. She made another typo and her rage became very public. “Goddamn it to hell, I can’t stand these fucking things!” She grabbed the keyboard and smashed it down onto the polished wood table. The wood veneer cracked, but the keyboard was unharmed. She smashed it again; the error display across the room shimmered in iridescent protest and vanished. Fong half rose from her seat and waved the oddly bent keyboard in Ezr’s face. “Those Emergent fuckers have taken away all the I/O that works. I can’t use voice, I can’t use head-up displays. All we have are windows and these mother-damned things!” She threw the keyboard at the table. It bounced up, spinning into the ceiling.

There was a chorus of agreement, though not quite so manic. “You can’t do everything through a keyboard. We need huds…. We’re crippled even when the underlying systems are okay.”

Ezr held up his hands, waiting for the mutiny to die down. “You all know the reason for this. The Emergents simply don’t trust our systems; they feel they need to control the periphery.”

“Sure! They want spies on every interaction. I wouldn’t trust captured automation either. But this is impossible! I’ll use their I/O, but make ’em give us head-up displays and eye-pointers and—”

“I’ll tell you, there are some people who are just going on using their old gear,” said Gonle Fong.

“Stop!” This was the part of being a toady that hurt the most. Ezr did his best to glare at Fong. “Understand what you are saying, Miss Fong. Yes. This is a major inconvenience, but Podmaster Nau regards disobedience on this point as treason. It’s something the Emergents see as a direct threat.” So keep your old I/O gear but understand the risk. He didn’t say that out loud.

Fong was hunched down over the table. She looked up at him and nodded grimly.

“Look,” Ezr continued, “I’ve asked Nau and Reynolt for other devices. We may get a few. But remember, we’re stuck light-years from the nearest industrial civilization. Any new gadgets have to be made with just what the Emergents have here at L1.” Ezr doubted that very much would be forthcoming. “It is deadly important for you to make the I/O ban clear to your people. For their own safety.”

He looked from face to face. Almost everyone glared back at him. But Vinh saw their secret sense of relief. When they went back to their friends, the committee members would have Ezr Vinh to point at as the spineless fellow who was ramrodding the Emergent demands—and their own unpopular position would be a little easier.

Ezr sat silent a moment more, feeling impotent.Please let this be whatCrewleader Diem wants of me. But Jimmy’s eyes were as blank and hard as the others. Outside of the bactry, he played his role well. Finally, Ezr leaned forward and said quietly to Fong, “You were going to tell me about the newcomers. What are the problems?”

Fong grunted, remembering what they’d been discussing before she blew up. But surprisingly, she said, “Ah, forget the numbers. The short answer is, we can handle more people. Hell, if we could control our automation properly we could house three thousand in this balloon. As for the people themselves?” She shrugged, but without any great anger. “They’re typical Chumps. The sort I’ve seen in a lot of tyrannies. They call themselves ‘managers,’ but they’re peons. The fact is, behind some bluster they’re kind of nervous aboutus. “ A sneaky smile spread across her heavy features. “We got people who know how to handle Customers like these. Some of us are making friends. There’s lots they’re not supposed to talk about—like how bad this ‘mindrot’ crap really is. But I’ll tell you, if their big bosses don’t come clean soon, we’ll find out for ourselves.”

Ezr didn’t smile back.Are you listening, Podmaster Nau? Whateveryour desires, soon we will know the truth. And what they discovered, Jimmy Diem could use. Coming in to this meeting, Ezr had been totally wrapped up in one item, the last on the agenda. Now he was beginning to see that everything fit together. And maybe he wasn’t doing such a bad job after all.

That last agenda item was the upcoming explosion of the sun. And Jimmy had a fool—surely an unknowing fool—to front for them on this: Pham Trinli. The armsman made a big show of moving to the front of the table. “Yes, yes,” he said. “I’ve got the pictures here. Just a second.” A dozen engineering graphics appeared on the windows around the room. Trinli launched himself to the podium, and lectured them on Lagrange stability points. Funny, the man actually had a voice and style that bespoke command, but the ideas that came out were tendentious commonplaces.

Vinh let him ramble for a hundred seconds. Then, “I believe your agenda item is ‘Preparations for Relight,’ Mr. Trinli. What is it the Emergents are asking us to do?”

The old man fixed Ezr with a stare as intimidating as any crewleader’s: “That’s Armsman Trinli, if you please, Fleet Manager.” The stare continued a second longer. “Very well, to the heart of the matter. Here we have some five billion tonnes of diamond.” A red pointer lit on the window behind him, pointing at the slowly turning pile of rocks, all the loose material that Captain Park had found in this solar system. The ice and ore that had been lifted from Arachna were smaller mountains wedged in the corners and creases of the asteroidal blocks. “The rocks are in a classic contact jumble. At the present time, our fleets are moored to this jumble or in orbit around it. Now, as I was trying to explain a few seconds ago, the Emergents want us to emplace and manage a system of electric jets on the core blocks of the jumble.”

Diem: “Before the Relight?”

“Indeed.”

“They want to maintain contact stability during the Relight?”

“That’s exactly right.”

Uneasy looks passed around the table. Stationkeeping was a common and ancient practice. If done properly, an orbit about L1 cost very little fuel. They would be less than a million and a half kilometers from Arachna, and almost directly between the planet and its sun. In the coming bright years, they would be effectively hidden in its glare. But the Emergents didn’t think small; they already had built various structures, including their “Hammerfest,” down on the rockpile. So now they wanted the stationkeeping jets in place before Relight. OnOff would shine at fifty to one hundred sols before it settled down. The Chumps wanted to use the stationkeeping jets to keep the big rocks from shifting around during that time. It was dangerous foolishness, but the Emergents were boss.And this will giveJimmy access to the out-of-doors.

“Actually, I don’t think there will be serious problems.” Qiwi Lisolet rose from her seat. She coasted over to Pham Trinli’s maps, preempting whatever more Trinli had to say. “I did a number of exercises like this while we were in transit. My mother wants me to be an engineer and she thought stationkeeping might be an important part of this mission.” Qiwi sounded more adultly serious than usual. This was also the first time he’d seen her dressed in Lisolet-greens. She floated in front of the windows for a moment, reading the details. Her ladylike dignity faltered. “Lord, they are asking a lot! That rockpile is so loose. Even if we get the math right, there’s no way we can know all the stresses inside the pile. And if the volatiles get into sunlight, there’ll be a whole new problem.” She whistled, and her smile was one of childlike relish. “We may have to move the jets during the Relight. I—”

Pham Trinli glowered at the girl. No doubt she had just trashed a thousand seconds of his presentation. “Yes, it will be quite a job. We have only a hundred electric jets for the whole thing. We’ll need crews down on the jumble the whole time.”

“No, no, that’s not true. About the jets, I mean. We have lots more ejets over on theBrisgo Gap. This job isn’t more than a hundred times bigger than ones I practiced—” Qiwi was wholely caught up in her enthusiasm, and for once it wasn’t Ezr Vinh who was on the other side of her arguing.

Not everyone accepted the situation quietly. The junior officers, including Diem, demanded that the rockpile be dispersed during the Relight, the volatiles piled on the shadowside of the biggest diamond. Nau be damned, this was just too risky. Trinli bristled, shouted back that he had already made these points to the Emergents.

Ezr slapped the table, then again, louder. “Order please. This is the job we’ve been assigned. The best way we can help our people is by behaving responsibly with what we’ve got. I think we can get added help from the Emergents on this, but we have to approach them properly.”

The argument rolled on around him.How many of them are in on theconspiracy, he wondered. Surely not Qiwi? After some seconds of further argument, they were left where they began: with no choice but to truckle. Jimmy Diem shifted back, and sighed. “All right, we do as we’re told. But at least we know they need us. Let’s put the squeeze on Nau, get him to release some senior specialists.”

There was mumbled agreement. Vinh’s gaze locked with Jimmy’s, and then he looked away. Maybe they could get some hostages released for this; more likely not. But suddenly Ezr knew when the conspiracy would strike.

ELEVEN

The OnOff star might better have been called “old faithful.” Its catastrophic variability had first been noticed by the Dawn Age astronomers of Old Earth. In less than eight hundred seconds, a star catalogued as “singleton brown dwarf [peculiar]” had gone from magnitude 26 to magnitude 4. Over a span of thirty-five years the object had faded back to virtual invisibility—and generated dozens of graduate research degrees in the process. Since then the star had been watched carefully, and the mystery had become grander. The initial spike varied by as much as thirty percent, but as a whole the light curve was incredibly regular. On, off, on, off… a cycle some 250 years long, with onset predictable to within one second.

In the millennia since the Dawn, human civilizations had spread steadily outward from Earth’s solar system. The observations of OnOff became ever more accurate, and from smaller and smaller distances.

And finally, humans stood within the OnOff system, and watched the seconds tick down toward a new Relighting.

Tomas Nau gave a little speech, ending with: “It will be an interesting show.” They were using the temp’s largest meeting room to watch the Relight. Just now it was crowded, sagging in the microgravity at the rockpile’s surface. Over in Hammerfest, Emergent specialists were overseeing the operation. There were also skeleton crews aboard the starships. But Ezr knew that most of the Qeng Ho and all of the off-duty Emergents were here. The two sides were almost sociable, almost friendly. It was forty days since the ambush. Rumors were that Emergent security would ease up significantly after the Relight.

Ezr had latched on to a spot near the ceiling. Without huds, the only view was through the room’s wallpaper. Hanging from here, he could see the three most interesting windows—at least when other people weren’t coasting across his line of sight. One was a full-disk view of the OnOff star. Another window looked out from one of the microsats in low orbit around the OnOff star. Even from five hundred kilometers, the star’s surface did not look threatening. The view might have been from an aircraft flying over a glowing cloud deck. If it weren’t for the surface gravity, humans could almost have landed on it. The “clouds” slid slowly past the microsat’s view, glimmers of glowing red showing up between them. It was the sullen red of a brown dwarf, a black-body redness. There was no sign of the cataclysm that was due to arrive in another… six hundred seconds.

Nau and his senior flight technician came up to join Ezr. Brughel was nowhere to be seen. You could always tell when Nau wanted mellow feelings—just check for the absence of Ritser Brughel. The Podmaster grabbed a spot next to Vinh. He was smiling like some Customer politician. “Well, Fleet Manager, are you still nervous about this operation?”

Vinh nodded. “You know my committee’s recommendation. For this Relight, we should have moved the volatiles behind a single rock and taken it further out. We should be in the outer system for this.” The ships of both fleets and all the habitats were moored to one side of the largest diamond rock. They would be shielded from the Relight, but if things started shifting…

Nau’s technician shook his head. “We’ve got too much on the ground here. Besides, we’re running on empty; we’d have to use a lot of our volatiles to go flying around the system.” The tech, Jau Xin, looked almost as young as Ezr. Xin was pleasant enough, but did not have quite the edge of competence that Ezr was used to in senior Qeng Ho. “I’ve been very impressed by your engineers.” Xin nodded at the other windows. “They’re much better than we would be at handling the rockpile. It’s hard to see how they could be this sharp without zip…” His voice trailed off. There were still secrets; that might change sooner than the Emergents expected.

Nau smoothly filled the pause in Xin’s speech. “Your people are good, Ezr. Really, I think that’s why they complained about this plan so much; they aim for perfection.” He looked out the window on the OnOff star. “Think of all the history that comes together here.”

Around and below them, the crowd was clustered into groups of Emergents and Qeng Ho, but discussion was going on in all directions. The window on the far wall looked out onto the exposed surface of the rockpile. Jimmy Diem’s work crew was spreading a silvery canopy over the tops of icy boulders. Nau frowned.

“That’s to cover the water ice and airsnow, sir,” said Vinh. “The tops are in line of sight of OnOff. The curtains should cut down on boil-off.”

“Ah.” Nau nodded.

There were more than a dozen figures out there on the surface. Some were tethered, others maneuvered free. Surface gravity was virtually non-existent. They sailed the ties over the tops of the icy mountains with the ease of a lifetime of outside operations—and millennia of Qeng Ho experience beyond that. He watched the figures, trying to guess who was who. But they wore thermal jackets over their coveralls, and all Vinh could see were identical forms dancing above the dark landscape. Ezr didn’t know the details of what the conspiracy planned, but Jimmy had set him certain errands and Ezr had his guesses. They might never have an opportunity this good again: They had access to the ejets aboard theBrisgo Gap. They had almost unlimited access to the outside, in places free of Emergent observers. In the seconds following the Relighting, some chaos was to be expected—and with Qeng Ho in charge of the stationkeeping operation, they could fine-tune that chaos to support the conspiracy.But all I can dois stand here with Tomas Nau… and be a good actor.

Ezr smiled at the Podmaster.

Qiwi Lisolet flounced out of the airlock in a rage. “Damn! Damn and fuck damn and—” She swore up and down as she ripped off her thermal jacket and pants. Somewhere in the back of her mind she made a note to spend more time with Gonle Fong. Surely there must be more offensive things she could say when things got this messed up. She threw the thermals into a locker and dived down the axis tunnel without taking off her coveralls and hood.

Lord of Trade, how could they do this to her? She’d been kicked indoors to stand around with her finger up her nose, while the workshe should be doing was taken over by Jimmy Diem!

Pham Trinli floated thirty meters above the insulation canopy they were tying across the iceberg. Trinli was official head of stationkeeping operations, though he made sure that any orders he gave were blustery generalities. It was Jimmy Diem who made most things happen. And surprisingly, it was little Qiwi Lisolet who had the best ideas about where to place the electric thrusters and how to run the stationkeeping programs. If they had followed all her recommendations, the Relight might go without a hitch.

And that would not be a good thing at all.

Pham Trinli was a member of the “great conspiracy.” A very minor member, and not to be trusted with any critical part of the plan. All that was fine with Pham Trinli. He tipped around so that now his back was to the moonlike glow of the OnOff star, and the rockpile hung almost over his head. In the deep shadows of the rockpile, there was a further jumble: the lashed-down ships and temps and volatiles refineries, hiding against the light that would soon storm out of the sky. One of the habitats, Hammerfest, was a rooted design; it would have had a certain bizarre grace if not for all the gear around it. The Trader temp just looked like a big balloon tied to the surface. Inside it were all the waking Qeng Ho and a big hunk of the Emergent population.

Beyond the habitats, partly hidden by the shoulder of Diamond One, were the moored ramscoops. A grim sight indeed. Starships should not be tied together like that, and never so close to a jumble of loose rocks. A memory floated up: piles of dead whales rotting in a sexual embrace. This was no way to run a shipyard. But then this was more a junkyard than anything else. The Emergents had paid dearly for their ambush. After Sammy’s flagship was destroyed, Pham had drifted for most of a day in a wrecked taxi—but plugged into all the remaining battle automation. Presumably Podmaster Nau never figured out who was coordinating the battle. If he had, Pham would have ended up dead, or in frozen sleep with the other surviving armsmen on theFar Treasure.

Even ambushed, the Qeng Ho had come close to victory.We wouldhave won if the damn Emergent mindrot hadn’t wiped us all. It was enough to teach a body caution. An expensive victory had been turned into something close to mutual suicide: There were perhaps two starships that were still capable of ramscoop flight; a couple more might be repaired by scavenging the other wrecks. From the looks of the volatiles distillery, it would be a long time before they had enough hydrogen to boost even one vehicle up to ram speed.

Less than five hundred seconds till Relight. Pham drifted slowly upward toward the rocks, until the junkyard was blocked from view by the insulation canopy. Across the surface of the rockpile, his people—Diem and Do and Patil, now that they had sent Qiwi indoors—were supposedly doing final checks on the ejet arrays. Jimmy Diem’s voice came calmly over the work-crew channel, but Pham knew that was a recording. Behind the canopy, Diem and others had disappeared around the far side of the rockpile. All three were armed now; it was amazing what you could do with an electric jet, especially a Qeng Ho model.

And so Pham Trinli was left behind. No doubt, Jimmy was just as happy to be rid of him. He was trusted, but only for simple parts of the plan, such as maintaining the appearance of a functioning work crew. Trinli moved in and out of view of Hammerfest and the temp, responding to the cues in Jimmy Diem’s soundtrack.

Three hundred seconds to Relight. Trinli drifted under the canopy. From here you could see jagged ice and carefully settled airsnow. The shadowed pile dwindled off beyond the canopy, finally met the bare surface of the diamond mountain.

Diamond. Where Pham Trinli had been a child, diamonds were an ultimate form of wealth. A single gram of gem-grade diamond could finance the murder of a prince. To the average Qeng Ho, diamond was simply another allotrope of carbon, cheaply made in tonne lots. But even the Qeng Ho had been a little intimidated by these boulders. Asteroids like this didn’t exist outside of theory. And although these rocks weren’t single gems, there was a vast, crystalline order to them. The cores of gas giants, planets blown away in some long-ago detonation? They were just another mystery of the OnOff system.

Since work began on the rockpile, Trinli had studied the terrain, but not for the same reasons as Qiwi Lisolet, or even Jimmy Diem. There was a cleft where the ice and airsnow filled the space between Diamond One and Diamond Two. That was significant to Qiwi and Jimmy, but only in connection with rockpile maintenance. For Pham Trinli… with a little digging, that cleft was a path from their main work site to Hammerfest, a path that was out of sight of ships and habitats. He hadn’t mentioned it to Diem; the conspirators’ plan was for Hammerfest to be taken after they grabbed theFar Treasure.

Trinli crawled along the -shaped cleft, closer and closer to the Emergent habitat. It would have surprised Diem and the others to know it, but Pham Trinli was not a born spacer. And sometimes when he climbed around like this, he got the vertigo that afflicted Chump groundlings. If he let his imagination go… he wasn’t crawling hand-by-hand along a narrow ditch, but instead he was rock-climbing up a mountain chimney, a chimney that bent farther and farther back on him, till he must surely fall.

Trinli paused a second, holding his place with one hand while his whole body quivered with the need for crampons and ropes, and pitons driven solid into the walls around him.Lord. It had been a long time since his groundsider orientation had come back this strongly. He moved forward. Forward. Not up.

By his count of arm paces, he was just outside Hammerfest now, near its communications array. Odds were very high some camera could image him if he popped out. Of course, the odds were fairly good that no one and no program would be monitoring such a view in time to change things. Nevertheless, Trinli stayed hunkered down. If necessary, he would move closer, but for now he just wanted to snoop. He lay back in the cleft, his feet against the ice and his back against the diamond wall. He reeled out his little antenna probe. The Emergents had played smiling tyrant since the ambush. The one thing they made ugly threats about was possession of non-approved I/O devices. Pham knew that Diem and the core of the conspiracy had Qeng Ho huds, and had used black crypto across the local net. Most of the planning had been done right under the Emergents’ noses. Some communication avoided automation altogether; many of these youngsters knew a variation on the old dots-and-dashes game, blinkertalk.

As a peripheral member of the conspiracy, Pham Trinli knew its secrets only because he was filthy with forbidden electronics. This little antenna reel would have been a sign of sneaky intent even in peaceful times.

The thread he spun out was transparent to almost anything that might shine on it here. At the tip, a tiny sensor sniffed at the electromagnetic spectrum. His main goal was a comm array on the Emergent habitat that had a line of sight on the Qeng Ho temp. Trinli moved his arms like a fisherman repositioning his cast. The slender thread had a stiffness that was very effective in a micrograv environment.There. The sensor hung in the beam between Hammerfest and the temp. Pham eased a directional element over the edge of the cleft, aimed it at an unused port on the Qeng Ho temp. From there he was hooked directly into the fleet’s local net, and around all the Emergent security. This was exactly what Nau and the others were so afraid of and the reason for their death-penalty threats. Jimmy Diem wisely had not taken chances like this. Pham Trinli had some advantages. He knew the old,old tricks that were hidden in Qeng Ho gear…. Even so, he would not have risked it if Jimmy and his conspirators hadn’t bet so much on their takeover scheme.

Maybe he should have talked to Jimmy Diem straight out. There were too many critical things they didn’t know about the Emergents. What made some of their automation so good? In the firefights at the ambush, they’d been clearly inferior in high-level tactics, but their target queuing had been better than any system Pham Trinli had ever fought.

Trinli had the ugly feeling that comes when you’ve been maneuvered into a corner. The conspirators figured that this might be both their best and last chance to knock over the Emergents. Maybe. But the whole thing was just too pat, too perfect.

So make the best of it.

Pham looked at the display windows inside his hood. He was intercepting Emergent telemetry and some of the video they were transmitting to the temp. Some of that he could decrypt. The Emergent bastards just trusted their line-of-sight link a little bit too much. It was time to do some real snooping.

“Fifty seconds to Relight.” The voice had been counting off in a flat monotone for the last two hundred seconds. In the auditorium, almost everyone was watching the windows in silence.

“Forty seconds to Relight.”

Ezr took a quick look around the room. The flight tech, Xin, was looking from display to display. He was visibly nervous. Tomas Nau was watching the view that came from low above OnOff’s surface. His intentness seemed to hold more curiosity than fear or suspicion.

Qiwi Lisolet glared at the window that showed the insulation canopy and Jimmy Diem’s work crew. Her look had been dark and scowly ever since she flew into the auditorium. Ezr could guess what had happened… and he was relieved. Jimmy had used an innocent fourteen-year-old as camouflage for the plot. But Jimmy had never been an absolute hardass. He had taken a chance to get the girl out of harm’s way.But I bet Qiwiwon’t forgive him, even when she knows the truth.

“Wave front to arrive in ten seconds.”

Stillno change in the view from the microsat. Only a mild red glow peeked between the sliding clouds. Either “old faithful” had played a cosmic joke on them, or this was an absolute knife-edge of an effect.

“Relight.”

In the full-disk view, a point of brilliance burned in the exact center of the disk, spread outward, and in less than two seconds filled the disk. The low-altitude view had vanished sometime during that spread. The light got brighter and brighter andbrighter. A soft, awed sigh spread around the room. The light cast shadows on the opposite wall before the wallpaper damped its output.

“Five seconds after Relight.” The voice must be automatic. “We’re up to seven kilowatts per square meter.” This was a different tech, speaking in a flat Trilander accent.Not an Emergent? The question flickered past Ezr’s attention, swamped for the moment by the rest of the action.

“Ten seconds after Relight.” At the side of the room was a smaller window, a view of the Spider world. It had been dark and dim as ever, but now the light was coming back from it and the planetary disk glowed with its own brightness as ice and air woke to a sun that was already five times as bright as Sol standard. And still brightening:

“Twenty kilowatts per square meter.” A strip graph was playing out below the image of the new sun, comparing its output with the historical record. This Relight looked as powerful as any before.

“Neutron flux is still below detectable limits.”

Nau and Vinh exchanged relieved looks, for once sincere on both sides.That was the sort of danger that couldn’t be detected from interstellar distances, and one of the oldentimes fly-throughs had failed at about this point. At least they wouldn’t fry in radiation that no one had seen from afar.

“Thirty seconds after Relight.”

“Fifty kilowatts per square meter.”

Outside, the mountainside that shielded them from the sun was beginning toglow.

Pham Trinli had the public audio channel playing. Even without it, Relight would have been obvious. But for the moment he held those events in a small part of his mind and concentrated on what was going over the private links out of Hammerfest. It was at moments like this, when technicians were overwhelmed by externalities, that security was most likely to slip. If Diem was on schedule, he and his crew were now at the mooring point of theFar Treasure.

Trinli’s eyes flickered across the half-dozen displays that now filled most of his hood’s view space. His fleet net programs were doing a good job with the telemetry.Ha. You can’t beat old trapdoors. Now that they needed lots of computing power, the Emergents were using more and more Qeng Ho automation, and Trinli’s snooping was correspondingly more effective.

The signal strength faded. Alignment drift? Trinli cleared several display windows and looked at the world around him. The OnOff star was hidden behind the mountains, but its light glared off the hills that stuck up into its view. Where ice or airsnow was exposed, vapor steamed out. For the moment, Jimmy’s silver canopy was holding, but the fabric slowly swayed and flapped. There was an almost bluish color to the sky now, the mists of thousands of tonnes of water and air boiling up, turning the rockpile into a comet.

And screwing up his line of sight on Hammerfest. Trinli wiggled his antenna. Losing the link couldn’t have been the mists alone. Something had shifted.There. He was picking up Hammerfest’s traffic again. After a second his crypto resynchronized and he was back in business. But now he kept an eye on the storm around him. The new sun was even more of a show than they had expected.

Trinli’s network feelers were inside Hammerfest now. Every program had its exceptional circumstances, the situations that the designers assumed were outside the scope of their responsibility. There were loopholes that the present extremities had shaken open….

Strange. There seemed to be dozens of users logged into system internals. And there were big sections of the Emergent system that he didn’t recognize, that weren’t built on the common foundations. But the Emergents were supposed to be ordinary Chumps, recently returned to high technology with the help of the Qeng Ho broadcast net. There was just too much strange stuff here. He dipped into the voice traffic. The Emergent Nese was understandable but clipped and full of jargon. “…Diem… around front of rocks… according to plan.”

According to plan?

Trinli scanned related data streams, saw graphics that showed just what weapons Jimmy’s crew would carry, that showed the entrance he intended to use to sneak aboard theFar Treasure. There were tables of names… of the conspirators. Pham Trinli was listed as a minor accomplice. More tables.Jimmy Diem’s black crypto. The first version was only partially accurate; later files converged on precisely what Jimmy and the others were using. Somehow, they had been watching closely enough to see through all the tricks. There had been no traitors, just an inhuman attention to detail.

Pham jerked down his equipment and crawled a little farther. He popped up, pointing his directional at a slanted overhang of Hammerfest’s roof. From here the angle should be right. He could bounce a beam down atFar Treasure ’s moorage point.

“Jimmy, Jimmy! Can you hear me?” It was Qeng Ho encrypted, but if any enemy heard, both ends of the link would be nailed.

All Jimmy Diem had ever wanted was to be a crewleader good enough to make management track. Then he and Tsufe could get married, all perfectly timed for when the voyage to the OnOff star began to pay off. Of course, that had been before the Emergents arrived and before the ambush. Now? Now he was leading a conspiracy, betting everything on a few moments of hellish risk. Well, at least they were finally acting….

In less than forty seconds, they had run four thousand meters, all the way around the sunside of the jumble. That would have been a good piece of free space rappelling even if the sun had not been blowing up, even if they hadn’t been wrapped in silver foil. They’d almost lost Pham Patil. A fast rappel depended on knowing exactly where to put your next ground spike, exactly how much force the piton could take when you accelerated out from the surface along your cable. But their surveys of the pile had all been done for placing the stationkeeping jets. There just hadn’t been an excuse to test the rappel points. Patil had been swinging out at nearly half a gee when his ground spike slipped free. He’d have floated out forever if Tsufe and Jimmy hadn’t been securely tied down. A few seconds more and the direct sunlight would have fried them right through their makeshift shields.

But it worked!They were on the opposite side of the starships from where the bastards would expect visitors. While everyone’s eyes had been on the sun, and blinded by that, they had gotten in position.

They hunkered down just short of theTreasure ’s mooring point. The ship towered six hundred meters above them, so close that all they could see was part of the throat and the forward primer tanks. But from all their careful spying, they knew this was the least damaged of all the Qeng Ho ships. And inside was equipment—and more important,people —who could take back freedom.

All was in shadow, but now the coma of gases had spread high. Reflected light softened the dark. Jimmy and the others shed their silver covers and thermal outerwear. It felt suddenly chill wearing just full-pressure coveralls and hood. They slipped from hiding place to hiding place, dragging their tools and improvised guns, and trying to keep it all out of the light from the glowing sky.It can’t get any brighter, can it? But his time display said that less than one hundred seconds had passed since Relight. They were perhaps another hundred seconds short of maximum brightness.

The three floated up the moorage pilings, the maw ofTreasure ’s throat growing huge above them. One nice thing about sneaking aboard something as massive as a ramscoop, there wasn’t much worry that their movement would bob the vehicle around. There would be a maintenance crew aboard theTreasure. But would they expect armed visitors in the middle of all this? They had thought and thought on those risks, and there was no way to make them better. But if they took the ship, they would have one of the best remaining pieces of equipment, real weapons, and the surviving Qeng Ho armsmen. They would have a chance of ending the nightmare.

Now there was sunlight coming through the raw face of the diamond rock! Jimmy paused for an instant to stare, bug-eyed. Even this high up, there were at least three hundred meters of solid diamond between them and the naked light of OnOff. Yet that was not enough. Scattered off a million fracture planes, bounced and diminished and diffused and diffracted, some of OnOff’s light made it through. The light was a glitter of rainbows, a thousand tiny sun-disks glowing from everywhere across the face of the rock. And every second it grew brighter, until he could see structure within the mountain, could see fracture and cleavage planes that extended hundreds of meters into diamond. And still the light got brighter.

So much for slipping by in the dark.Jimmy shut down his imagination and dashed upward. From the ground, the rim hatch was a tiny pucker at the edge of the ramscoop’s maw, but as he ascended it became larger and larger, and centered over his head. He waved Do and Patil to either side of the hatch. The Emergents had reprogrammed the hatch, of course, but they hadn’t replaced the physical mechanism as they had aboard the temp. Tsufe had snooped the passcode with binoculars, and their own gloves would be accepted as matching keys. How many guards would they face?We can take them. I know we can. He reached up to tap on the hatch control, and—

Someone pinged him.

“Jimmy, Jimmy! Can you hear me?” The voice was tiny in his ear. A telltale claimed it was the decryption of a laser burst from the roof of the Emergent hab. But the voice was Pham Trinli’s.

Jimmy froze. Worst case: the enemy was toying with him. Best case: Pham Trinli had guessed they were going after theFar Treasure and now was screwing up worse than anyone could have imagined.Ignore the fool,and if you live, beat the crap out of him. Jimmy glanced at the sky above Hammerfest. The coma was pale violet, slowly roiling in the light of OnOff. In space, a laser link is very hard to detect. But this was no longer ordinary space. It was more like a cometary surface at close passage. If the Emergents knew where to look they could probablysee Trinli’s link.

Jimmy’s reply was a millisecond compression flung back in the direction of the other’s beam. “Turn that off, you old shit. Now!”

“Soon. First: They know about the plan. They saw through your black crypto.” It was Trinli, and yet different. And Trinli had never been told about the crypto. “This is a setup, Jimmy. But they don’t know everything. Back off. Whatever they’ve got planned inside theTreasure will only make things worse.”

Lord.For a moment, Jimmy just froze. Thoughts of failure and death had haunted his every sleep since the ambush. To get this far, they had taken a thousand deadly risks. He had accepted that they might be discovered. But never had he thought it would happen like this. What the old fool had found might be important; it might be worthless. And backing down now would be nearly a worst-case outcome.It’s just too late.

Jimmy forced his mouth to open, his lips to speak. “I said, close down the link!” He turned back to theTreasure ’s hull and tapped the Emergent passcode on the hatch. A second passed—and then the clamshells parted. Do and Patil dove upward into the dimness of the airlock. Diem paused just a second, slapped a small gadget onto the hull beside the door, and followed them up.

TWELVE

Pham Trinli shut down the link. He flipped and climbed rapidly back along the cleft.So we were suckered. Tomas Nau was too clever by half, and he had some strange kind of edge. Trinli had seen a hundred ops, some smaller than this, some that lasted for centuries. But he had never seen the sort of precise fanatical attention to detail that he had seen in those snoop logs the Emergents kept on the black crypto. Nau had either magic software or teams of monomaniacs. In the back of his mind, the planner in him was wondering what it could be and how Pham Trinli might someday take advantage of it.

For now, survival was the only issue. If Diem would only back off from theTreasure, the trap Nau planned might not close or might not be so deadly.

The sheer diamond face on his left was sparkling now, the largest gemstone of all time shining sunlight all round him. Ahead, the light was almost as brilliant, a dazzling nimbus where icy peaks stood in OnOff’s light. The silver sunshield was billowing high, tied down in only three places.

Abruptly, Pham’s hands and knees were kicked out from under him. He spun out from the path, caught himself by one hand. And through that hand he could hear the mountains groan. Mist spewed out from the cleft all along its length—and the diamond mountain moved. It was less than a centimeter per second, stately, but it moved. Pham could see light all along the opening. He had seen the crew’s rock maps. Diamonds One and Two abutted each other along a common plane. The Emergent engineers had used the valley above as a convenient placement anchor for part of the ice and snow from Arachna. All very sensible… and not well enough modeled. Some of the volatiles had slipped between the two mountains. The light reflecting back and forth between One and Two had found that ice and air. Now the boil-off was pushing Diamonds One and Two apart. What had been hundreds of meters of shielding was now a jagged break, a million mirrors. The light shining through was a rainbow from hell.

“One hundred forty-five kilowatts per square meter.”

“That’s the top of the spike,” someone said. OnOff was shining more than a hundred times as bright as standard solar. It was following the track of its previous lightings, though this was brighter than most. OnOff would stay this bright for another ten thousand seconds, then drop back steeply to just over two solars, where it would stay for some years.

There was no triumphant shouting. The last few hundred seconds, the crowd in the temp had been almost silent. At first, Qiwi had been totally involved with her own anger at being kicked indoors. But she had quieted as one and then another of the silver canopy’s ties had broken, and the ice had been touched by direct sunlight. “I told Jimmy that wouldn’t hold.” But she didn’t sound angry anymore. The light show was beautiful, but the damage was far more than they had planned. Outgassing streamers were visible on all sides—and there was no way their pitiful electric jets could counter that. It would be Msecs before they got the rockpile gentled down again.

Then, at four hundred seconds into the Relight, the canopy tore free. It lifted slowly, twisting in the violet sky. There was no sign of the crewfolk who should have been sheltering under it. Worried murmuring grew. Nau did something with his cuff, and his voice was suddenly loud enough to be heard across the room. “Don’t worry. They had several hundred seconds to see the canopy was going, plenty of time to move down into the shadow.”

Qiwi nodded, but she said quietly to Ezr. “If they didn’t fall off. I don’t know why they were up there in the first place.” If they had fallen off, drifted out into the sunlight… Even with thermal jackets, they’d just cook.

He felt a small hand slip into his.Does the Brat even know she didthat? But after a second he squeezed her hand gently. Qiwi was staring out at the main work site. “I should be out there.” It was the same thing Qiwi had been saying since she came indoors, but now her tone was quite different.

Then the outside views jittered, as if something had hit all the cameras at once. The light leaking through the naked face of Diamond Two brightened into a jagged line. And now there wassound, a moan that grew louder and louder, its pitch scaling first up and then down.

“Podmaster!” The voice was loud and insistent, not the robotlike reporting of the Emergent techs. It was Ritser Brughel. “Diamond Two is shifting, lifting off—” And now it was obvious. The whole mountain was tilting. Billions of tonnes, loose.

And the moaning sound that still filled the auditorium must be the moorage webbing, twisting beneath the temp. “We’re not in its way, sir.” Ezr could see that now. The immensity was moving slowly, slowly, but its slide was away from the temp and Hammerfest and the moored starships. The view outside had slowly rotated, now was turning back. Everyone in the auditorium was scrambling for tie-downs.

Hammerfest was built into Diamond One. The big rock looked unchanged, unmoved. The starships beyond… They were minnows beside the bulk of the Diamonds, but each ship was over six hundred meters long, a million tonnes unfueled. And the ships were swaying slowly at the end of their mooring points on Diamond One. It was a dance of leviathans, and a dance that would totally wreck them if it continued.

“Podmaster!” Brughel again. “I’m getting audio from the crewleader, Diem.”

“Well put him on!”

It was dark above the airlock. The lights did not come on, and there was no atmosphere. Diem and the others floated up the tunnel from the lock, their hood lights flickering this way and that. They looked out from the tunnels into empty rooms, into rooms with partitions blasted away, gutted fifty meters deep. This was supposed to be theundamaged ship. A coldness grew inside Diem. The enemy had come in after the battle and sucked it dry, left a dead hulk.

Behind him, Tsufe said, “Jimmy, theTreasure is moving.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a solid contact with the wall here. Sounds like it’s twisting on its mooring point.”

Diem reached out from the ladderline and pressed his hood against the wall. Yes. If there had been atmosphere, the place would be full of the sounds of ringing destruction. So the Relight was causing more shifting than anyone had guessed. A day ago that knowledge would have terrorized. Now… “I don’t think it matters, Tsufe. Come on.” He led Do and Patil still faster up the ladderline. So Pham Trinli had been right, and the plan was doomed. But one way or another, he was going to discover what had been done to them. And just maybe he could get the truth out to the others.

The interior locks had been ripped out and vacuum extended to every room. They floated up past what should have been repair bays and workshops, past deep holes that should have held the ram’s startup injectors.

High abaft, in the shielded heart of theFar Treasure that was where the sickbay had been, that was where there should be coldsleep tanks. Now… Jimmy and the others moved sideways through the shielding. When their hands touched the walls, they could hear the creaking of the hull, feel its slow motion. So far, the close-tethered starships had not collided-though Jimmy wasn’t sure if they could really know that. The ships were so large, so massive, if they collided at a few centimeters per second the hulls would just slide into each other with scarcely a jolt.

They had reached the entrance to the sickbay. Where the Emergents claimed to hold the surviving armsmen.

More emptiness? Another lie?

Jimmy slipped through the door. Their head lamps flickered around the room.

Tsufe Do cried out.

Not empty. Bodies. He swept his light about, and everywhere… the coldsleep boxes had been removed, but the room was… filled with corpses. Diem pulled the lamp from his head and stuck it to an open patch of wall. Their shadows still danced and twisted, but now he could see it all.

“Th-they’re all dead, aren’t they?” Pham Patil’s voice was dreamy, the question simply an expression of horror.

Diem moved among the dead. They were neatly stacked. Hundreds, but in a small volume. He recognized some armsmen. Qiwi’s mom. Only a few showed violent decompression damage.When did the rest die? Some of the faces were peaceful, but others—He stopped, frozen by a pair of glittering dead eyes that stared out at him. The face was emaciated; there were frozen bruises across the forehead. This one had lived some time after the ambush. And Jimmy recognized the face.

Tsufe came across the room, her shadow skittering across the horror. “That’s one of the Trilanders, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. One of the geologists, I think.” One of the academics supposedly being held on Hammerfest. Diem moved back toward the light he had set on the wall. How many were here? The bodies stretched off into the dimness beyond where once there had been walls.Did they kill everyone? Nausea clawed its way up his throat.

Patil had floated motionless since that first inane question. But Tsufe was shaking, her voice going from dullness to a giddy wavering. “We thought they had so many hostages. And all the time they had nothing but deaders.” She laughed, high-pitched. “But it didn’t matter, did it? We believed, and that served them as well as the truth.”

“Maybe not.” And suddenly the nausea was gone. The trap had been sprung. No doubt, he and Tsufe and Patil would die very soon. But if they lived even seconds, perhaps the monsters could be unmasked. He pulled an audio box from his coveralls, found a clean piece of wall to make contact.Another banned I/O device. Death is the penalty for possession. Yeah. Yeah. But now he could talk the length of theTreasure, to the broadcaster he had left at the rim airlock. The nearside of the temp would be bathed in his message. Embedded utilities would detect it. Surely some would respond to its priority, would squirt the message to where Qeng Ho would hear it.

And Jimmy began talking. “Qeng Ho! Listen! I’m aboard theFar Treasure. It’s gutted. They’ve killed everyone we thought was here….”

Ezr—everyone in the temp’s auditorium—waited a silent second as Ritser Brughel set up the connection. Then Jimmy began talking:

“Qeng Ho! Listen! I’m—”

“Crewleader!” Tomas Nau interrupted. “Are you all right? We can’t see you outside.”

Jimmy laughed. “That’s because I’m aboard theFar Treasure. “

The look on Nau’s face was puzzled. “I don’t understand. The Treasure’s crew hasn’t reported—”

“Of course they haven’t.” Ezr could almost hear the smile behind Jimmy’s words. “You see, Far Treasure is a Qeng Ho vessel and now we’ve taken it back!”

Shock and joy spread across the faces Ezr could see. So that was the plan! A working starship, perhaps with its original weapons. The main Emergent sickbay, the armsmen and senior crew who survived the ambush.We have a chance now!

Tomas Nau seemed to realize the same. His puzzled expression changed to an angry, frightened scowl. “Brughel?” He said to the air.

“Podmaster, I think he’s telling the truth. He’s on theTreasure ’s maintenance channel, and I can’t raise anyone else there.”

The power graph in the main window hovered just under 145kW/m?² The light reflected between One and Two was beginning to boil snow and ice in the shadows. Thousand- and hundred-thousand-tonne boulders of ore and ice were shifting in the clefts between the great diamonds. The motion was almost imperceptible, a few centimeters per second. But some of the boulders were now floating free. However slow-moving, they could destroy whatever human work they collided with.

Nau stared out the window for a couple of seconds. When he spoke his voice seemed more intense than commanding: “Look, Diem. It can’t work. The Relight is causing a lot more damage than anyone could have known—”

A harsh laugh came from the other end of the connection. “Anyone? Not really. We retuned the stationkeeping network to shake things up a bit. Whatever instabilities there were, we gave them an extra nudge.”

Qiwi’s hand tightened on Ezr’s. The girl’s eyes were wide with surprise. And Ezr felt a little sick. The stationkeeping grid couldn’t have done much one way or another, but why make thingsworse ?

Around them, people with full-press coveralls and hoods were zipping up; others were diving out the doors of the auditorium. A huge ore boulder floated just a hundred meters off. It was rising slowly, its top dazzling in direct sunlight. It would just miss the top of the temp.

“But, but—” For a moment the glib Podmaster seemed speechless. “Your own people could die! And we’ve taken the weapons off theTreasure. It’s our hospital ship, for God’s sake!”

There was no answer for a moment, just the sound of mumbled argument. Ezr noticed that the Emergent flight technician, Xin, hadn’t said a word. He watched his Podmaster with a wide-eyed, stricken look.

Then Jimmy was back on the link: “Damnyou. So you gutted the weapons systems. But it doesn’t matter, little man. We’ve prepared four kilos of S7. You never guessed we had access to explosives, did you? Lots of things were in with those electric jets that you never guessed.”

“No, no.” Nau was shaking his head almost aimlessly.

“As you say, Podmaster, this is your hospital ship. There are your own people here besides our armsmen in coldsleep. Even without the ship’s guns, I’d say we have some negotiating leverage.”

Nau glanced beseechingly at Ezr and Qiwi. “A truce. Until we’ve settled the rockpile.”

“No!” shouted Jimmy. “You’ll wriggle out soon as events don’t have you by the throat.”

“Damn it, man, it’s your own people aboard theTreasure. “

“If they were out of coldsleep, they’d agree with me, Podmaster. It’s showdown time. We’ve got twenty-three ofyour people in the sickbay plus the five in your maintenance crew. We know how to play the hostage game, too. I want you and Brughel over here. You can use your taxis, all nice and safe. You have one thousand seconds.”

Nau had always seemed a very calculating type to Ezr Vinh. And already, he seemed recovered from his shock. Nau raised his chin dramatically and glared at the sound of Jimmy’s voice. “And if we don’t?”

“We lose, but so do you. To start with, your people here die. Then we’ll use the S7 to blow theTreasure free of its moorings. We’ll ram it into your damn Hammerfest.”

Qiwi had listened with pale, wide-eyed shock. Now suddenly she was bawling. She launched herself toward the sound of Jimmy’s voice. “No! No! Jimmy! Please don’t!”

For a few seconds every eye was on Qiwi. Even the frantic closing of hoods and gloves ceased, and there was only the loud moaning of the temp’s mooring web as it twisted slowly about. Qiwi’s mother was aboard theFarTreasure; her father was on Hammerfest with all the mindrot victims. In coldsleep or “Focus,” most of the survivors of the Qeng Ho expedition were in one place or the other. Trixia.This is too much, Jimmy. Slow down! But the words died in Ezr’s throat. He had trusted everything to Jimmy. If this deadly talk convinced Ezr Vinh, maybe it would convince Tomas Nau.

When Jimmy spoke again, he ignored Qiwi’s cry. “You have only nine hundred seventy-five seconds, Podmaster. I advise you and Brughel to get your butts over here.”

That would have been hard to do even if Nau had bolted out of the temp. He turned to Xin and the two argued in low voices.

“Yes, I can get you there. It’s dangerous, but the loose stuff is moving at less than a meter per second. We can avoid it.”

Nau nodded. “Then let’s go. I want—” He fastened his full-press jacket and hood, and his voice became inaudible.

The crowd of Qeng Ho and Emergents melted away from the two as they headed toward the exit.

From the speaker link, there was a loud thump, cut off abruptly. In the auditorium someone shouted, pointing at the main window. Something flickered from the side of theFar Treasure, something small and moving fast. A fragment of hull.

Nau had stopped at the auditorium doors. He looked back at theFarTreasure. “System status says theFar Treasure has been breached,” said Brughel. “Multiple explosions in aft radial deck fifteen.”

That was coldsleep storage and sickbay. Ezr couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. The hull of theTreasure puckered out in two more places. Pale light flickered briefly from the holes. It was insignificant compared to the storm of the Relight. To an untrained eye, theTreasure might have looked undamaged. The hull holes were only a couple of meters across. But S7 was the Qeng Ho’s most powerful chemical explosive, and it looked as if all four kilograms had gone up. Radial deck fifteen was behind four bulkheads, twenty meters below the outer hull. Extending inward, the blast had most likely crushed theFar Treasure ’s ramscoop throat. One more starship had died.

Qiwi floated motionless in the middle of the room, beyond the reach of comforting hands.

THIRTEEN

Ksecs passed, busier than any time in Ezr’s life. The horror of Jimmy’s failure hung in the back of his mind. There wasn’t room for it to leak out. They were all too busy simply trying to save what they could from the human and natural catastrophes.

The next day, Tomas Nau addressed the survivors on the temp and at Hammerfest. The Tomas Nau that looked out of the window at them was visibly tired and lacked his usual smoothness.

“Ladies and gentlemen, congratulations. We’ve survived the second harshest Relight in the recorded history of OnOff. We did this despite the most terrible treachery.” He moved closer to the pov, as if looking at the exhausted Emergents and Qeng Ho huddled in the auditorium. “Damage survey and reclamation attempts will be our most important jobs over the next Msecs… but I must be frank with you. The initial battle between the Qeng Ho and Emergent fleets was immensely destructive of the Qeng Ho; I regret to say that tas nearly as bad for the Emergent side. We tried to disguise some of that damage. We had plenty of equipment spares, medical facilities, and the raw materials we brought up from Arachna. We would have had the expertise of hundreds of senior Qeng Ho available once the security issues were resolved. Nevertheless, we were operating near the edge of safety. After the events of yesterday, all safety margins have vanished. At this moment, we do not have a single functioning ramscoop—and it’s not clear if we will be able to scavenge one from the wreckage.”

Only two of the starships had collided. But apparently theFar Treasure had been the most functional—and after Jimmy’s action, its drive and most of its life-support system were junk.

“Many of you have risked your lives over the last Ksecs trying to save some of the volatiles. That part of the disaster appears to be no one’s fault. None of us had counted on the violence of this Relighting, or the effect that ice trapped between the diamonds might have. As you know, we’ve recaptured most of the large blocks. Only three remain loose.” Benny Wen and Jau Xin were working together to try to bring back those and several smaller ones. They were only thirty kilometers away, but the big ones massed one hundred thousand tonnes each—and all they had for hauling equipment were taxis and one crippled lifter.

“OnOff’s flux is down to two point five kilowatts per square meter. Our vehicles can operate in that light. Properly suited crew can work briefly in it. But the airsnow that drifted out is lost, and we fear that much of the water ice is gone too.”

Nau spread his hands, and sighed. “This is like so many of the histories you Qeng Ho have told us of. We fought and fought, and in the end we’ve nearly made ourselves extinct. With what we have, we can’t go home—to either of our homes. We can only guess how long we can survive on what we salvage here. Five years? One hundred years? The old truths still hold: without a sustaining civilization, no isolated collection of ships and humans can rebuild the core of technology.”

A wan smile came briefly to his face. “And yet there is hope. In a way, these disasters have forced us to concentrate all our attention on what our missions were initially dedicated to. It is no longer a matter of academic curiosity, or even Qeng Ho selling to customers—now our very survival depends on the sophonts of Arachna. They are on the verge of the Information Age. From everything we can tell, they will attain a competent industrial ecology during the current bright time. If we can last a few more decades, the Spiders will have the industry that we need. Our two missions will have succeeded, even if at far greater human cost than any of us ever imagined.

“Can we last three to five more decades? Maybe. We can scavenge, we can conserve…. The real question is, can we cooperate? So far, our history here is not good. Whether in offense or defense, all our hands are drenched in blood. You all know about Jimmy Diem. There were at least three involved in his conspiracy. There may be more—but a security pogrom would just diminish our overall chances for survival. So I appeal to all of you among the Qeng Ho who may have been part of this plot, even peripherally: Remember what Jimmy Diem and Tsufe Do and Pham Patil did and tried to do. They were willing to destroy all the ships and crush Hammerfest. Instead, their own explosives destroyed them, destroyed the Qeng Ho that we were holding in coldsleep, and destroyed a sickbay full of Emergents and Qeng Ho.

“So. This will be our Exile. An Exile we have brought upon ourselves. I will continue to do my best to lead, but without your help we will surely fail. We must bury what differences and hatred there may be. We Emergents know much about you Qeng Ho; we have listened to your public network for hundreds of years. Your information made a critical difference to us as we regained technology.” That tired smile again. “I know you did it to make more good customers; we are grateful nevertheless. But what we Emergents have become is not what you expect. I believe we bring something new and wonderful and powerful to the human universe: Focus. It is something that will be strange to you at first. I beg you to give time a chance here. Learn our ways, as we have yours.

“With everyone’s willing support, we can survive. In the end, we can prosper.”

Nau’s face vanished from the display, leaving a view out on the rear-ranged surface of the rockpile. Around the room, Qeng Ho looked at one another, talked quietly. Traders had enormous pride, especially when they compared themselves with Customers. To them, even the grandest Customer civilizations, even Namqem and Canberra, were like brilliant flowers, doomed by their beauty and fixed position to fade and wither. This was the first time that Ezr had seen shame on the faces of so many Qeng Ho.Iworked with Jimmy. I helped him. Even the ones who didn’t must have gloried in Jimmy’s first words from theFar Treasure.

How could something go so wrong?

Ciret and Marli came for him. “Some questions related to the investigation.” The Emergent guards took him inward and up, but not to the taxi dock. Nau was in Vinh’s own “Fleet Manager’s” office. The Podmaster sat with Ritser Brughel and Anne Reynolt.

“Have a seat… Fleet Manager,” Nau said quietly, waving at Ezr’s place at the middle of the table.

Vinh approached it slowly, sat down. It was hard to look Tomas Nau in the eye. The others… Anne Reynolt seemed as impatient and irritable as ever. There was no trouble avoiding her gaze, since she never looked directly into his eyes anyway. Ritser Brughel seemed as tired as the Podmaster, but he had an odd smile that flickered on and off. The man was staring hard at him; Vinh suddenly realized that Brughel was brimming with unspoken triumph. All the deaths—on both sides—were nothing to this sadist.

“Fleet Manager.” Nau’s quiet voice brought Vinh’s head around. “About J.Y. Diem’s conspiracy—”

“I knew, Podmaster.” The words were somewhere between defiance and confession. “I—”

Nau held up a hand. “I know. But you were a minor participant. We’ve identified several others. The old man, Pham Trinli. He provided them with protective coloration—and almost died for his trouble.”

Brughel chuckled. “Yeah, he got half poached. Bet he’s whimpering even yet.”

Nau turned to look at Brughel. He didn’t say anything, just stared. After a second, Ritser nodded and his demeanor became a sullen imitation of Nau’s.

The Podmaster turned back to Vinh. “None of us can afford rage or triumph in this. Now we need everyone, even Pham Trinli.” He looked at Vinh meaningfully, and Ezr fully met his gaze.

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“We’ll debrief you later about the plot, Fleet Manager. We do want to identify all those who need special watching. For now, there are much more important things than raking over the past.”

“Even after this, you want me to be Fleet Manager?” He had hated that job so much. Now he hated it even more, for entirely different reasons.

But the Podmaster nodded. “You were the proper person before, and you still are. Furthermore, we need continuity. If you visibly and wholeheartedly accept my leadership, the community as a whole has a better chance.”

“Yes, sir.” Sometimes it was possible to atone for guilt. That was more than Jimmy and Tsufe and Pham Patil could ever do.

“Good. As I understand it, our physical situation has stabilized. There are no ongoing emergencies. What about Xin and Wen? Are they going to be able rescue those ice blocks they’re chasing? Getting them more fuel is a priority.”

“We have the distillery online, sir. We’ll begin feeding it in a few Ksecs.” And could refuel the taxis. “I’m hoping we’ll have the last ice blocks grounded and in the shade within forty Ksec.”

Nau glanced at Anne Reynolt.

“The estimate is reasonable, Podmaster. All other problems are under control.”

“Then we have time for the important, human issues. Mr. Vinh, we’ll be putting out several announcements later today. I want you to understand them. Both you and Qiwi Lin Lisolet will be thanked for your help in tracking down what is left of the conspiracy.”

“But—”

“Yes, I know that there’s an element of fabrication there. But Qiwi was never in on the conspiracy, and she has given us solid help.” Nau paused. “The poor girl was ripped apart by this. There’s a lot of rage in her. For her sake, and for the sake of the whole community, I want you to play along with the story. I need it emphasized that there are plenty of Qeng Ho who are not irrational, who have pledged to work with me.”

He paused. “And now the most important thing. You heard my speech, the part about learning Emergent ways?”

“About… Focus?” About what had they had really done to Trixia.

Behind Nau, the sadistic smirk flickered once again across Ritser Brughel’s face.

“That’s the main thing,” said Nau. “Perhaps we should have been open about it, but the training period wasn’t complete. Focus can make the difference between life and death in the present circumstances. Ezr, I want Anne to take you over to Hammerfest and explain it all to you. You’ll be the first. I want you to understand, to make your peace with it. When you have, I want you to explain Focus to your people, and do it so they can accept it, so what is left of our missions can survive.”

And so the secret Vinh had pushed to know, the secret that had driven every dream for Msecs, was now to be revealed to him. Ezr followed Reynolt up the central corridor to the taxi lock. Every meter was a battle for him. Focus. The infection they could not cure. The mindrot. There had been rumors, nightmares, and now he would know.

Reynolt waved him into the taxi. “Sit over there, Vinh.” In a paradoxical way, he preferred dealing with Anne Reynolt. She didn’t disguise her contempt, and she had none of the sadistic triumph that oozed from Ritser Brughel.

The taxi sealed up and pushed off. The Qeng Ho temp was still tied down to the rockpile. The sunlight was still too bright to allow it to be released. The purple sky had faded back to black, but there were a half-dozen comet tails streaking the stars—sundry blocks of ice that now floated some kilometers away. Wen and Xin were out there somewhere.

Hammerfest was less than five hundred meters from the temp, an easy free jump if Reynolt had wished it. Instead they floated across the space in shirtsleeve comfort. If you hadn’t seen it all before the Relight, you might not guess the disaster that had happened. The monster rocks had long since stopped moving. Loose ice and snow had been redistributed across the shadow, larger chunks and smaller and smaller and smaller, a fractal pile. Only now there was less ice, and much less airsnow. Now the shadowed side of the jumble was lit as by a bright moon—the light reflected from Arachna. The taxi passed fifty meters above crews working to reemplace the electric jets. Last time he had checked, Qiwi Lisolet was down there, more or less running the operation.

Reynolt had strapped down across from him. “The successfully Focused are all on Hammerfest. You can talk to almost anyone you please.”

Hammerfest looked like an elegant personal estate. It was the luxurious heart of the Emergent operation. That had been some comfort to Ezr. He’d told himself that Trixia and the others would be treated decently there. They might be held like the hostages of Qeng Ho history, like the One Hundred at Far Pyorya. But no sensible Trader would ever build a habitat rooted in a rubble pile. The taxi coasted over towers of eerie beauty, a fey castle spiring up from the crystal plane. In a short time, he would know what the castle hid…. Reynolt’s phrasing finally took hold of his attention. “Successfully Focused?”

Reynolt shrugged. “Focus is mindrot on a leash. We lost thirty percent in the initial conversions; we may lose more in the coming years. We had moved the sickest ones over to theFar Treasure .”

“But what—”

“Be quiet and let me tell you.” Her attention flicked to something beyond Vinh’s shoulder, and she was quiet for several seconds. “You remember becoming sick at the time of the ambush. You’ve guessed that was a disease of our design; its incubation time was an important part of our planning. What you don’t know is that the microbe’s military use is of secondary importance.” The mindrot was viral. Its original, natural, form had killed millions in the Emergents’ home solar system, had crashed their civilization… and set the stage for the present era of expansion. For the original strains of the bug had a novel property: they were a treasure house of neurotoxins.

“In the centuries since the Plague Time, the Emergency has gentled the mindrot and turned it to the service of civilization. Its present form needs special help to break through the blood-brain barrier, and spreads throughout the brain in a nearly harmless way, infecting about ninety percent of the glial cells. And now we can control the release of neuroactives.”

The taxi slowed and turned precisely to match Hammerfest’s lock. Arachna slid across the sky, a full “moon” nearly a half-degree across. The planet gleamed white and featureless, cloud decks hiding its furious rebirth.

Ezr scarcely noticed. His imagination was trapped in the vision that lurked behind Anne Reynolt’s dry jargon: the Emergents’ pet virus, penetrating the brain, breeding by the tens of billions, dripping poison into a still-living brain. He remembered the killing pressure in his head as their lander had climbed up from Arachna. That had been the disease banging on the portals of his mind. Ezr Vinh and all the others on the Qeng Ho temp had fought off that assault—or maybe their brains were still infected, and the disease was quiescent. But Trixia Bonsol and the people with the “Focus” glyph by their names had been given special treatment. Instead of a cure, Reynolt’s people had grown the disease in the victims’ brains like mold in the flesh of a fruit. If there had been even the slightest gravity in the taxi, Ezr would have vomited. “Butwhy ?”

Reynolt ignored him. She opened the lock hatch and led him into Hammerfest. When she spoke again, there was something close to enthusiasm in her flat tones. “Focusing ennobles. It is the key to Emergent success, and a much more subtle thing than you imagine. It’s not just that we’ve created a pyschoactive microbe. This is one whose growth within the brain can be controlled with millimeter precision—and once in place, the ensemble can be guided in its actions with the same precision.”

Vinh’s response was so blank that it penetrated even Reynolt’s attention. “Don’t you see? We can improve the attention-focusing aspects of consciousness: we can take humans and turn them into analytical engines.” She spelled it out in wretched detail. On the Emergent worlds, the Focusing process was spread over the last years of a specialist’s schooling, intensifying the graduate-school experience to produce genius. For Trixia and the others, the process had been necessarily more abrupt. For many days, Reynolt and her technicians had tweaked the virus, triggering genetic expression that precisely released the chemicals of thought—all guided by Emergent medical computers that gathered feedback from conventional brain diagnostics….

“And now the training is complete. The survivors are ready to pursue their researches as they never could have before.”

Reynolt led him through rooms with plush furniture and carpeted walls. They followed corridors that became narrower and narrower until they were in tunnels barely one meter across. It was a capillary architecture he had seen in histories… pictures from the heart of an urban tyranny. And finally they stood before a simple door. Like the others behind them, it bore a number and speciality. This one said: F 042 EXPLORATORY LINGUISTICS.

Reynolt paused. “One last thing. Podmaster Nau believes you may be upset by what you see here. I know outlanders behave in extreme ways when they first encounter Focus.” She cocked her head as though debating Ezr Vinh’s rationality. “So. The Podmaster has asked me to emphasize: Focus is normally reversible, at least to a great extent.” She shrugged, as though delivering a rote speech.

“Open the door.” Ezr’s voice cracked on the words.

The roomlet was tiny, lit dimly by the glow from a dozen active windows. The light formed a halo around the head of the person within: short hair, slender form in simple fatigues.

“Trixia?” he said softly. He reached across the room to touch her shoulder. She didn’t turn her head. Vinh swallowed his terror and pulled himself around to look into her face. “Trixia?”

For an instant she seemed to look directly into his eyes. Then she twisted away from his touch and tried to peer around him, at the windows. “You’re blocking my view. I can’t see!” Her tone was nervous, edging into panic.

Ezr ducked his head, turned to see what was so important in the windows. The walls around Trixia were filled with structure and generation diagrams. One whole section appeared to be vocabulary options. There were Nese words in n-to-one match with fragments of unpronounceable nonsense. It was a typical language-analysis environment, though with more active windows than a reasonable person would use. Trixia’s gaze flickered from point to point, her fingers tapping choices. Occasionally she would mutter a command. Her face was filled with a look of total concentration. It was not an alien look, and not by itself horrifying; he had seen it before, when she was totally fascinated by some language problem.

Once he moved out of her way, he was gone from her mind. She was more… focused… than he had ever seen her before.

And Ezr Vinh began to understand.

He watched her for some seconds, watched the patterns expand in the windows, watched choices made, structures change. Finally, he asked in a quiet, almost disinterested voice, “So how is it going, Trixia?”

“Fine.” The answer was immediate, the tone exactly that of the old Trixia in a distracted mood. “The books from the Spider library, they’re marvelous. I have a handle on their graphemics now. No one’s ever seen anything like this, ever done anything like this. The Spiders don’t see the way we do; visual fusion is entirely different with them. If it hadn’t been for the physics books, I’d never have imagined the notion of split graphemes.” Her voice was distant, a little excited. She didn’t turn to look at him as she spoke, and her fingers continued to tap. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the dim light, he could see small, frightening things. Her fatigues were fresh but there were syrupy stains down the front. Her hair, even cut short, looked tangled and greasy. A fleck of something—food? snot?—clung to the curve of her face just above her lips.

Can she even bathe herself?Vinh glanced downward, at the doorway. The place wasn’t big enough for three, but Reynolt had stuck her head and shoulders through the opening. She floated easily on her elbows. She was staring up at Ezr and Trixia with intense interest. “Dr. Bonsol has done well, even better than our own linguists, and they’ve been Focused since graduate school. Because of her, we’ll have a reading knowledge of their language even before the Spiders come back to life.”

Ezr touched Trixia’s shoulder again. Again, she twitched away. It wasn’t a gesture of anger or fear; it was as if she were shrugging off a pesky fly. “Do you remember me, Trixia?” No answer, but he was sure she did—it simply wasn’t important enough to comment on. She was an ensorcelled princess, and only the evil witches might waken her. But this ensorcellment might never have happened if he had listened more to the princess’s fears, if he had agreed with Sum Dotran. “I’m so sorry, Trixia.”

Reynolt said, “Enough for this visit, Fleet Manager.” She gestured him out of the roomlet.

Vinh slid back. Trixia’s eyes never left her work. Something like that intentness had originally attracted him to her. She was a Trilander, one of the few who had shipped on the Qeng Ho expedition without close friends or even a little family. Trixia had dreamed of learning the truly alien, learning things no human had ever known. She had held the dream as fiercely as the most daring Qeng Ho. And now she had what she had sacrificed for… and nothing else.

Halfway through the door, he stopped and looked across the room at the back of her head. “Are you happy?” he said in a small voice, not really expecting an answer.

She didn’t turn, but her fingers ceased their tapping. Where his face and touch had made no impression, thewords of a silly question stopped her. Somewhere in that beloved head, the question filtered past layers of Focus, was considered briefly. “Yes, very.” And the sound of her tapping resumed.

Vinh had no recollection of the trip back to the temp, and after that, little more than confused fragments of memory. He saw Benny Wen in the docking area.

Benny wanted to talk. “We’re back earlier that I’d ever guessed. You can’t imagine how slick Xin’s pilots are.” His voice dropped. “One of them was Ai Sun. You know, from theInvisible Hand. She was in Navigation.One of our own people, Ezr. But it’s like she’s dead inside, just like his other pilots and the Emergent programmers. Xin said she was Focused. He said you could explain. Ezr, you know my pop is over on Hammerfest. What—”

And that was all Ezr remembered. Maybe he screamed at Benny, maybe he just pushed past him.Explain Focus to your people, and do it so theycan accept it, so what is left of our missions can survive.

When reason returned…

Vinh was alone in the temp’s central park, without any recollection of having wandered there. The park spread out around him, the leafy treetops reaching across to touch him from five sides. There was an old saying: Without a bactry, a habitat cannot support its tenants; without a park, the tenants lose their souls. Even on ramships deep between the stars, there was still the Captain’s bonsai. In the larger temps, the thousand-year habitats at Canberra and Namqem, the park was the largest space within the structure, kilometer on kilometer of nature. But even the smallest park had all the millennia of Qeng Ho ingenuity behind its design. This one gave the impression of forest depth, of creatures great and small waiting just behind the nearest trees. Keeping the balance of life in a park this small was probably the most difficult project in the temp.

The park was in deepening twilight, darkest in the direction of down. To his right the last glimmer of skylike blue shone beyond the trees. Vinh reached out, pulled himself hand over hand to the ground. It was a short trip; all together, the park was less than twelve meters across. Vinh hugged himself into the deep moss by a tree trunk and listened to the sounds of the cooling forest evening. A bat flickered against the sky, and somewhere a nest of butterflies muttered musically to itself. The bat was likely fake. A park this small could not stock large animals or scamperers, but the butterflies would be real.

For a blessed space of time, all thought fled…

…and returned with knives resharpened. Jimmy was dead. And Tsufe, and Pham Patil. In dying, they had killed hundreds of others, including the people who might know what to do now.Yet I still live.

Even half a day ago, knowing what had happened to Trixia would have put him in a rage beyond reason. Now that rage choked on his shame. Ezr Vinh had had a hand in the deaths aboard theFar Treasure. If Jimmy had been a little more “successful,” all those on Hammerfest might be dead too. Was being foolish, and supporting foolish, violent people—was that as evil as committing a treacherous ambush?No, no, no! And yet, in the end, Jimmy had killed a good fraction of those who had survived the ambush.And I must make amends. Now I must somehow explain Focus to my people,and do it so they can accept it, so what is left of our mission can survive.

Ezr choked on a sob. He was supposed to convince others to accept what he would have died to prevent. In all his schooling, all his reading, all his nineteen years of life, he had never imagined there could be anything so difficult.

A tiny light swung through the middle distance. Branches shuffled aside. Someone had entered the park, was bumbling nearer the central glade. The light flashed briefly in Vinh’s face, then went out.

“Aha. I figured you might go to ground.” It was Pham Trinli. The old man grabbed a low-growing branch and settled on the moss near Vinh. “Brace up, young fellow. Diem’s heart was in the right place. I helped him out as best I could, but he was a careless hothead—remember how he sounded? I never thought he was that foolish, and now a lot of people got killed. Well, shit happens.”

Vinh turned toward the sound of the words; the other’s face was a grayish blob in the twilight. For a moment, Vinh teetered on the edge of violence. It would feel sogood to pulp that face. Instead, he settled a little deeper in the dark and let his breath steady. “Yeah. It happens.” Andmaybe some will happen to you. Surely Nau had the park bugged.

“Courage. I like that.” In the darkness, Vinh couldn’t tell whether the other was smiling or if the fatuous compliment was meant seriously. Trinli slid a little closer and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t take it so hard. Sometimes you have to go along to get along. And I think I can manipulate that Nau fellow. The speech he gave—did you notice? After all the death Jimmy caused, Nau wasaccommodating. I swear, he cribbed his talk from something in our own history.”

So even in hell, there are clowns. Pham Trinli, the aging martinet, whose idea of subtle conspiracy was a whispered chat in a temp’s central park. Trinli was so totally clueless. Worse, he had so many things backwards….

They sat in the near-total darkness for some seconds, and Pham Trinli remained mercifully silent. The guy’s stupidity was like a load of rock dumped into the pool of Vinh’s despair. It stirred things up. The absurdities gave him something to hit on besides himself. Nau’s speech… accommodating? In a sense. Nau was the injured party in this. But they were all injured parties. Cooperation was the only way out now. He thought back over Nau’s words.Huh. Some of the phrases really were borrowed, from Pham Nuwen’s speech at Brisgo Gap. Brisgo Gap was a shining high point in the history of the Qeng Ho, where the Traders had saved a high civilization and billions of lives. As much as something so large could be tied to a single point in space-time, Brisgo Gap was the origin of the modern Qeng Ho. The similarities with the present situation were about nil… except that there, too, people from all over had cooperated, had prevailed in the face of terrible treachery.

Pham Nuwen’s speech had been ’cast across Human Space many times during the last two thousand years. It wasn’t surprising Tomas Nau would know it. So he’d spliced in a phrase here and there, sought a common background… except that Tomas Nau’s notion of “cooperation” meant accepting Focus and what had been done to Trixia Bonsol. Vinh realized that some part of his mind had felt the similarities, had been moved by them. But seeing the cribbing laid out cold made things different. It was all so pat, and it ended with Ezr Vinh having to accept… Focus.

Shame and guilt lay so heavily on the last two days. Now Ezr wondered. Jimmy Diem had never been afriend of Ezr’s. The other had been a few years older, and since they first met, Diem had been his crewleader, his most constant disciplinarian. Ezr tried to think back on Jimmy, think of him from the outside. Ezr Vinh was no prize himself, but he had grown up near the pinnacle of Vinh.23. His aunts and uncles and cousins included some of the most successful Traders in this end of Human Space. Ezr had listened to them and played with them since his nursery days… and Jimmy Diem was just not in their league. Jimmy was hardworking, but he didn’t have that much imagination. His goals had been modest, which was fortunate since even working as hard as he did, Jimmy was scarcely able to manage a single work crew.Huh. I never thought about him that way. It was a sad surprise that suddenly made Jimmy the hardnosed crewleader much more likable, someone who could have been a friend.

And just as suddenly, he realized how much Jimmy must have hated playing the game of high-stakes threats with Tomas Nau. He didn’t have the scheming talent for such things, and in the end he had simply miscalculated. All the guy really wanted to do was marry Tsufe Do and get into middle management.It doesn’t make sense. Vinh was suddenly aware of the darkness around him, the sounds of butterflies sleeping in the trees. The damp of the moss was chill through his shirt and pants. He tried to remember exactly what he’d heard over the auditorium speakers. The voice was Jimmy’s, no doubt. The accent was precisely his Diem-family Nese. But the tone, the choice of words, those had been so confident, so arrogant, so… almost joyful. Jimmy Diem could never have faked that enthusiasm. And Jimmy would never have felt such enthusiasm, either.

And that left only one conclusion. Faking Jimmy’s voice and accent would have been difficult, but somehow they had done it. And so what else had been a lie?Jimmy didn’t kill anyone. The senior Qeng Ho had been murdered before Jimmy and Tsufe and Pham Patil ever went aboard theFar Treasure. Tomas Nau had committed murders on top of murders to claim his moral high ground.Explain Focus to your people, and do it sothey can accept it, so what is left of our missions can survive.

Vinh stared up into the last light in the sky. Stars glinted here and there between the branches, a fake heaven from a sky light-years away. He heard Pham Trinli shift. He patted Ezr awkwardly on the shoulder, and his lanky form floated off the ground. “Good, you’re not bawling anymore. I figured you just needed a little backbone. Just remember, you gotta go along to get along. Nau is basically a softy; we can handle him.”

Ezr was trembling, a growl of rage climbing up his throat. He caught the growl, made it a sobbing sound, made his trembling anger an exhausted quavering. “Y-yes. We’ve got to go along.”

“Good man.” Trinli patted him on the shoulder again, then turned to find his way back through the treetops. Ezr remembered Ritser Brughel’s description of Trinli after the Relight. The old man was immune to Tomas Nau’s moral manipulation. But that didn’t matter, because Trinli was also a self-deceiving coward.You gotta go along to get along.

One Jimmy Diem was worth any number of Pham Trinlis.

Tomas Nau had maneuvered them all so cleverly. He had stolen the minds of Trixia and hundreds of others. He had murdered all those who might have made a difference. And he hadused those murders to make the rest of them into his willing tools.

Ezr stared up at the false stars, at the tree branches that curved like claws across the sky.Maybe it’s possible to push someone too far, to breakhim so he can’t bea tool anymore. Staring up at the dark claws all around him, Vinh felt his mind spin off in separate directions. One part watched passively, marveling that such disintegration could happen to Ezr Vinh. Another part drew in on itself, drowned in pools of sorrow; Sum Dotran would never return, nor S.J. Park, and any promise of reversing Trixia’s Focus must surely be a lie. But there was a third fragment, cool and analytical and murderous:

For both Qeng Ho and Emergents, the Exile would last for decades. Much of that time would be spent off-Watch, in coldsleep… but they still had years stretching before them. And Tomas Nau needed all the survivors. For now, the Qeng Ho were beaten down, raped, and—so Tomas Nau must be led to think—deceived. The cool one within him, the one who could kill, looked out upon that future with grim intent. This was not the life that Ezr Vinh had ever dreamed would be his. There would be no friends he could safely confide in. There would be enemies and fools all around. He watched Trinli’s light vanish at the entrance to the park. Fools like Pham Trinli could be used. As long as it didn’t implicate competent Qeng Ho, Trinli was a sacrifice piece in the game. Tomas Nau had set him a role for life, and his greatest reward might be nothing more than revenge. (But maybe a chance, the original watcher tried to say, maybe a chance that Reynolt wasn’t lying about Trixia and the reversability of Focus.)

The cool one took a last long look down the years of patient work that lay ahead… and then for the moment, it retired. Surely there were cameras watching. Better not to seem too calm after all that had happened. Vinh curled in upon himself and surrendered to the one who could weep.