The Summer Queen

ONDINEE: Tuo Ne’el

“There it is,” Kedalion said, pointing ahead over the blasted heath of the Land of Death as the citadel became visible. He called up enhancement, and a segment of the displays leaped into magnification, showing them more detail.

“By’r Lady …” Sparks murmured, beside him. “It’s huge. It must be bigger than Carbuncle.”

“They’re entire self-contained city-states,” Kedalion said, remembering the citadel’s labyrinthine streets and levels with sudden vividness. A part of him was still casually amused by Sparks Dawntreader’s tireless wonder, even while another, ^separate part of his brain felt sick with dread as he watched their final destination fill I the screens.

It had been difficult to believe Dawntreader had never been offworld, when they were back in Carbuncle. He belonged to the same secret organization that Reede belonged to, and his single-minded obsession with getting to Ondinee made his confidence seem utterly unshakable. He even had a fair amount of knowledge about starships and how their systems worked; but it was all textbook knowledge. He had never set foot on an actual ship, and on board the Prajna he had been like a dumbstruck boy. It had reminded Kedalion of Ananke’s first transit; but Dawntreader was at least his own age.

Dawntreader had asked them endless questions about their past lives and home worlds, and how they had come to be here, in these bizarre circumstances. He had not even complained about the cramped quarters—which had been designed to suit Kedalion’s size requirements, and not those of his passengers or crew. Dawntreader had tried everything, learned every task, no matter how tedious or unpleasant, aboard the ship; and for the most part, he had done them well. “I’ve waited my entire life for this,” he said once, when Ananke had asked him why he wanted so badly to scrub down the control room floor. There had been a desperate passion in his eyes when he said it; but the emotion had turned to ashes, as he remembered what had finally driven him to break the chains that had bound him to his home world.

Now Kedalion watched Dawntreader’s amazement slowly change, darkening, as he realized that this was the stronghold of the enemy, the place he had to bring his daughter out of. “Lady and all the gods. …” Dawntreader murmured, and Kedalion read the rest of the thought in his eyes: How—?

“Nobody told you it would be easy,” Kedalion said, expressionless. “You want to go to Razuma starport, instead? The citadel might still let us turn around …” He gestured at the image on the screen.

Dawntreader glanced over at him, and frowned. “No,” he said.

“Just asking.” Kedalion shrugged. He looked over his shoulder at Ananke, sitting in the back, brooding in silence with his arms folded across his chest. He looked naked somehow, without the quoll; seemed to feel naked, from the way he held himself. Every time Kedalion looked at him, the quoll’s absence was like a shout, reminding him of what they were planning to do here, shouting at him that they were insane, and going to die. Or maybe it was only his own common sense that he heard screaming. He sighed, and began the approach codes; listening to the answering signal burst tell him that he was doomed, they were all doomed now… .

The citadel beckoned them into its waiting mouth, on down its throat into the designated docking bay. They climbed out as their craft locked down, and were met by a reception committee of armed men.

“We were only expecting two of you,” the leader, a man named Samir, said, holding his stun rifle at roughly Kedalion’s eye level.

Kedalion felt sweat burn unpleasantly down his back, as he began the speech he had rehearsed in his mind a thousand times over on the way from Tiamat. “TerFauw ordered us to bring this man with us, because he has important data for Kullervo. He’s been cleared. Show him your hand,” he said, nudging Dawntreader.

Dawntreader held up his palm. He had learned to speak Trade on the way here, using an enhancer, practicing it on them. He showed off the eye he had burned into his own flesh, a reasonable facsimile of the Source’s mark; or at least Kedalion hoped so .

Samir stared at the brand, frowned. “Nobody told me about that,” he said flatly.

“How could they?” Kedalion answered, his tension giving it the snap of impatience. “I’m telling you now. Kullervo needs to see this man, he’s got special information, he’s a local expert on the mers. If Kullervo doesn’t get to see him, somebody’s going to be real pissed off.”

Samir looked at the scar. He looked back at Kedalion, his stare long and hard. At last he shrugged, and nodded. “All right,” he said, and waved them on.

They made their way through the maze of tunnels that led into the heart of the citadel complex, where transportation waited that would take them to Reede Kedalion pushed his hands into his coat pockets, feeling for his huskball; hating the prospect of being a passenger and not a pilot, especially now, when he felt so powerless. The huskball was not much more than a rough nub in a nest of loose shavings now; he had nearly worn it out, with years of nervous fiddling. He wished “he knew where to find another one; even though he knew a new one would never be the same, would be like encountering a stranger in his pocket. “Well, here we are,” he said, with relentless banality, as they reached a transport stop.

“That was great, Kedalion,” Ananke said suddenly, glancing over his shoulder. “The way you— Gods, I thought I was going to puke when Samir stuck his gun in ^your face. Reede couldn’t have backed him down better.”

“Actually,” Kedalion said, with a slow smile, “I was thinking how Gundhalinu f would have done it, back on Four. Gods, he was slick.”

Sparks looked at him with a sudden frown, as if he had unintentionally hit a nerve.

“Sorry,” Kedalion murmured, realizing what lay behind the look. “I was also thinking about when I was a kid, and we used to go drafting, off the cliffs. If you didn ‘t keep your glider in balance, you ‘d kill yourself. You knew if you failed you’d die. So you didn’t fail.” His smile faded. “Actually, I’m still thinking about that.”

“Yeah,” Ananke muttered, as they sat down on a metal bench to wait for |transportation; he tugged at his leather-gloved foot as he looked out over the scene. Dawntreader leaned back in his seat, silent, staring straight ahead.

“Reede—?”

Reede pushed back in his seat as Ariele’s voice reached him from the entrance | to his lab. He shook his head, shaking off his stupor of fatigue. He had been resting I here with his head on his arms for what seemed like hours, sleepless, while she still [ slept on in their bed, escaping reality a while longer. He wondered what her dreams had been like. Not like his own, he hoped.

“Reede? Where are you?” He heard panic starting in her voice.

“Here.” He got up from his seat, moving through the maze of equipment and imagers to find her, to reassure her. He did not want her to see him as he had been, wallowing in useless self-loathing, unable to work, or even to think. He should have killed her, should have killed himself, when he had the chance. But something incomprehensible had stopped him; had made him choose to live, when the only sane choice had been to die. Lunatic. Coward. Masochist. The litany repeated again in his mind, as it had been repeating ever since he had regained consciousness, and found himself back in the Source’s hands. He looked down at his own hands, still clumsy with bandages.

But the water of death was alive inside him again, invading and controlling every cell in his body, healing him with a vengeance. He did not really need the bandages anymore, but they were an excuse for stalling his research work that much longer. Because it was not his hands that he couldn’t control; it was his mind. He couldn’t even pretend anymore that he could do what was required of him, do the Source’s dirty work. He could only think about the mers, and the mystery of their existence. The patterns of the mersong, and the profound secrets he had discovered hidden within it, haunted him day and night: so alien, and yet so familiar. He could not think of the mers only as receptacles for the water of life: to think of them that way was an obscenity, to think of the water of life at all was futility, it was—

He met Ariele, felt her trembling through the layered silken cloth of her Ondinean-style robe as she came into his arms. “What’s wrong?”

“I couldn’t find you… . Reede—” She looked up at him, with terror echoing in the depths of her eyes. “Am I all right? Do I look … changed I don’t feel well. …”

He caught her arms with his bandaged hands, shook her, insistently. “You’re all right. You’re fine.” He touched her cheek, keeping his touch gentle although he could barely feel her flesh. He turned her so that she could see herself in the reflective surface of a cabinet. “Look. Look at yourself… . See?”

She shut her eyes; opened them, stared at her reflection. Slowly she nodded, her body going soft and yielding in his arms.

“You feel fine,” he went on, with calm reassurance. “So do I.”

“I had a dream—” Her voice was unsteady.

“It was only a dream. You have hours to go still before you even have to think about the next dose.”

She looked back at him suddenly.

“I have it,” he murmured. “I have it here already. Don’t worry.” He stroked her hair.

She clung to him, sighing. “I don’t feel bad. I feel good … I’ve never felt better. It’s true. You’re so good and strong and wise. I love you, Reede. I love you. I love you….”

He put his arms around her again, feeling bile rise in his throat. He controlled the tremor that ran through his body, kept her from feeling it pass through her own She was the one thing that could drive the mers from his mind; but seeing her, being with her, only filled him with suicidal guilt, as he watched her moods swing from euphoria to terror, and back again. He had been too sick for them to force him to commit the act—but he had been forced to watch, as they made her drink the water of death, starting the irreversible process of her dependency, not simply on the drug, but on him. He was to blame, and yet she did not cower or rage at him. She did this to him—she loved him.

And so he had tried his best, as soon as he was able, to make it up to her; to give her stability and courage and reassurance. They were strengths he had not known existed in him, but he had found them somewhere, somehow, for her sake. But he was not certain how much longer he would be able to go on this way, barely holding their lives together, day after day.

And even if he was able to stay sane, keep them both sane, the gods only knew what would become of them. If he didn’t produce fast enough to please the Source, then Jaakola could cut off her supply, use her against him, make her suffer for it, causing him pain but keeping him intact… . Even if he did produce, Jaakola could hurt her anyway, do anything he wanted to her, any time he felt like it, simply on a whim. Jaakola enjoyed keeping him on a short drug supply, stringing him out just to let him know how powerless he really was. Now that he had Ariele to be afraid for too, whole new dimensions of potential cruelty opened like bloody jaws, waiting. Whatever happened to Jaakola’s plans to force secrets out of the Summer Queen and Gundhalinu, he was sure they’d never get their daughter back alive… . Even if they did, it would only be to watch her die. And there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing.

He let go of her, fumbling in his pockets. His sense-deadened fingers barely recognized what they had been searching for when they found it. He pulled it out: his ring, the mate to the one he had given Mundilfoere. He had worn it all these years alone. He took hold of her hand and slipped the ring over her thumb. Her hands were large for a woman’s, long-fingered, but her fingers were slim, and the ring rested precariously against her translucent skin. She closed her hand over it. Looking up at him, she took his hand in hers, and kissed his bandaged, open palm.

He led her wordlessly back through the lab, into his apartment—their apartment, now, at least for a time. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “Do you want some breakfast? Maybe some music—?”

She nodded, opening her mouth to speak; turned, startled, as the apartment door suddenly opened.

Reede froze; went weak with relief as he saw Niburu come through it, followed by Ananke. He stared at them, suddenly feeling the way a man who had been lost at sea would feel, sighting land. “What took you so long to get here?” he snapped, frowning.

Niburu shook his head. His mouth formed a quirky, uncertain smile. “You forgot to leave a forwarding address, boss.” He shrugged. “So, you missed us?”

It was Reede’s turn to look at him oddly. “Missed you?” he repeated. Something like a laugh caught in his throat; something like a piece of glass, so that for a moment he could not speak. “Yeah,” he muttered, finally. “I can’t figure out how to use the fucking kitchen system.”

Niburu’s smile stabilized. “Right, boss,” he said, with an expression that looked strangely like contentment. “TerFauw sent us back. He said … said you needed us.” He glanced abruptly at Reede’s bandaged hands; Reede saw the discomfort in his eyes as he looked up again. Reede turned away from it, keeping his rictus hold on Ariele.

“We brought somebody with us,” Niburu said, suddenly uneasy again. He gestured toward the open doorway behind him. A third man entered the room. Reede stopped in disbelief.

“Da—!” Ariele cried, starting forward.

“Shh.” Reede caught her arm, pulling her up short; his eyes warned Dawn treader to stay where he was. “What’s he doing here?” He asked the obvious question, letting Niburu and the others read the one he could not speak aloud in the burning-glass of his stare.

Niburu hesitated, knowing as well as he did that the walls had eyes and ears. “He… has important data for you. About the mers—”

“Oh?” Reede glanced at Dawntreader, trying to keep his response neutral. Dawntreader was staring at Ariele; Ariele was trembling in his grip. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep either one of them silent with nothing but willpower. “Let me have a look at what you brought. In there—” He jerked his head toward the waiting lab; led them through its doorway and sealed the door behind them with a brusque command.

He let go of Ariele. “All right. Now we can talk.” Niburu shot him a surprised glance; he nodded. “I control the systems here,” he said, with bitter satisfaction. It was the one place where he was given free access to enough sophisticated hardware and software that he actually had the power to manipulate his environment.

Ariele ran to Dawntreader. He met her halfway, held her in his arms; and if he wasn’t really her father, Reede couldn’t tell the difference in that moment. “You’re all right,” Dawntreader kept repeating, mindlessly, while she murmured, “You came for me…” over and over.

“No she’s not,” Reede snapped. “You’re too late. She’s taken the water of death.”

Dawntreader looked up, and a knowledge of horror that he should not have possessed was suddenly in his eyes. He looked back at Ariele, at Reede again. “Then maybe I came here to kill you, instead of save you—”

“Kill me?” Reede sneered, waving his bandaged hands. “I’m already dead. Save me? Don’t be an ass. If you try to take either of us away from here, you’ll only kill us both. You might as well pick up a gun and do it cleanly. Or else give up now, and admit you’ve walked empty-handed into hell, and you’ll never get out alive. Become a brand for the Source. Then we can all be one big happy family—” His hand slammed down painfully on the counter surface beside him.

Dawntreader winced. He tore his gaze from Ariele’s pale, despairing face to look at Reede again. Slowly his gaze cooled. “All right,” he murmured. “I was prepared for this… . You’ll have to forgive me if it’s still hard to take. But hear me out before you tell me I’m an ass. I know about the water of death, and everything else … so do Moon and Gundhalinu, by now. Gundhalinu can recreate the drug for you, he can protect you, and he’ll be willing to do it, if only for Ariele’s sake.” He glanced at her again, missing Reede’s sudden ironic smile. “I’m taking my daughter out of here. Will you come with us?”

Reede remembered Gundhalinu’s desperate attempt to haul his unwilling cooperation into the Golden Mean’s net. He thought about being Gundhalinu’s drug-dependent lackey, instead of the Source’s. He thought about the mers. He frowned, refusing to listen with more than half an ear; refusing to hope. “You’re missing the point. We’d still be dead before we even got back to Tiamat. It takes too long—”

“Do you have a sample of the drug we can take with us?”

“Yes.” Reede shrugged. “So what?”

“Then we can keep you both suspended in stasis until we have a safe supply.”

“How the fuck are you going to do that?” Reede felt his anger rise as Dawntreader kept attacking his defenses.

“We came down in an LB from the ship, boss,” Niburu said. “We can use the emergency pods to put you in stass.”

Reede turned to look at him. “Gods …” he murmured. The emergency units for injured passengers on a ship’s lifeboats had a limited suspension cycle, but it might be enough.

“You don’t have to be there at all, until Gundhalinu has what you need, once we get out of here,” Dawntreader said. “That’s fucking brilliant,” Reede muttered, with a grudging shake of his head.

“Niburu thought of the lifeboats,” Dawntreader said.

Reede glanced back at Niburu, who shrugged selfconsciously. It struck him then what Niburu and Ananke had risked, were risking, even to have smuggled Dawntreader in here. He realized at last that they had not done it for Ariele’s sake, or out of loyalty to the Hegemony, or simply because Dawntreader had asked them to. And that left only one reason, that he could think of. “You must all be crazy,” he said thickly.

Niburu burst into unexpected laughter. “A man doesn’t have to be crazy to work for you; but it helps,” he said. “What do you say, boss? Will you do it? We could get free of this place, forever—”

“Gundhalinu will help us if we can just get back to Tiamat,” Dawntreader repeated. He looked at Reede expectantly, with Ariele at his side.

“You really intend to do this, don’t you? You’ve got it all worked out.” Reede looked at them, his mouth twisting. “Except for how we’re going to cover that first few hundred meters through the citadel’s security to get ourselves out of here.” He watched the rest of them look at each other. “That’s what I thought,” he said sourly. And then he smiled. “All right,” he murmured. “That’s the kind of odds I like—suicidal.” They all looked at him, now, their expressions turning even grimmer.

“And I have something I’ve been working on for a long time, a little private exercise. I’ve been waiting for the right moment to try it out.” He turned away, striding back to the closest terminal. He sat down, stripping the bandage material from his hands with his teeth. He murmured a sequence of keycodes as his fingers passed over the touchboard. The sensation of the tingling board against the barely healed skin of his hands was exquisitely intense, like his mood was suddenly, as the buried datafile emerged from his secret storage and appeared before him in all its virulent perfection. “Go,” he whispered to it, “and destroy.” He spread his fingers and flattened his branded palm across the touchboard. The image vanished again, leaving the screen empty.

He turned in his seat, to see the others gathered around him in silent incomprehension.

“What did you do?” Dawntreader asked.

Reede let his smile spread. “I released a computer virus I designed into the citadel’s central operating system. Soon everything will start to slow down. In a matter of hours the entire citadel will be completely defenseless. When the rest of Tuo Ne’el discovers that, they’ll do to this place what the Source did to Humbaba.” He saw Niburu and Ananke start. “That might give us the chance we need to get clear. At least it’ll take us all out together, cleanly, if we don’t make it…. Either way, it’s for the best. And it’s already done,” he finished, ending their protests before they could begin.

“Thank you, Gundhalinu-eshkrad….” He leaned against the desktop, his finger caressing the touchboard like a lover’s skin. “One night,” he murmured, “when we were back on Four, Gundhalinu walked out through that research complex’s security system with a container of stardrive, like he was taking out the garbage. The system would let him do anything, because he’d programmed it himself. The man is a fucking genius, and he doesn’t even know it. And you know why? It’s not because he’s brilliant—he’s smart enough, but his real strength is that he’s got common sense. He sees the point of things. The parallax view, the practical application; when to push, and when to pull back … the human fuckup factor. Gods, I envied him that night; I wanted to have his mind, instead of mine—” He broke off, glancing down. “I’ve been trying to think like that ever since. It’s not generally something I’m good at.”

“Neither am I,” Dawntreader murmured. “Maybe that’s why I’m here, and he’s with my wife.”

Reede looked up at him. “And you still trust him to take care of us if we get back there?”

Dawntreader sighed. “Completely,” he said.

“You know him that well?” Reede asked, skeptical.

Dawntreader looked at Ariele, squeezed her shoulder gently, before he looked back at Reede. “I don’t know him at all,” he said. “I don’t want to.”

Reede nodded, and glanced away. “Tell me, did you really have data for me about the mers?”

Dawntreader looked surprised by the change of subject, but he nodded. “I thought it would be a good idea, in case anybody asked for proof.”

“You brought your work on mersong and fugue theory,” Reede said, and knew from Dawntreader’s face that he was right. “That took real vision. You have a gift, Dawntreader.”

Sparks frowned, ignoring the compliment. “How did you get that? I didn’t give you that.”

Reede smiled. “I knew you were at least smart enough that you wouldn’t trust the Source completely when he ordered you to give us your data. So I raided your files. That’s something Gundhalinu taught me too …if you want it done right, you have to do it yourself.” He laughed humorlessly, glancing at the terminal. “He showed me that if you control the system, you become a god. Well, I’m the Render now, I’m the God of Death—” He wove his fingers together, and squeezed.

“You’ve had that all along?” Niburu asked, in something like disbelief. “You could have used it?”

“No… .”Reede shook his head. “It took a long time to learn the system, find its weaknesses, perfect my approach. … I had to find the perfect moment for my revenge. And now it’s here.” He got up from his seat, moving restlessly past them. They stepped out of his way, as if they saw something in his eyes, as if they believed in his godhood, his powers of destruction.

He went to the system that contained his work on the water of life, the sample he had been going through the motions with since before his last meeting with Gundhalinu. He toyed with the structure of the three-dimensional data model he called up into the screen. He altered it slightly, here and there; implementing the changes that he had tried over and over in his mind, frustrated by their perversity until his conversation with Gundhalinu had given him his sudden, terrible insight. He finished his alterations; ordered the system to copy them and produce a sample.

The others waited uncertainly as he retrieved the maintenance doses of the water of death already waiting in one of the sealed cabinets. The Source had been unusually prompt in releasing his supply while he had been recuperating from his ordeal.

He handed the combined dose to Dawntreader, explaining tersely about what il was. “Don’t lose this, for gods’ sakes, whatever you do.” Dawntreader nodded, putting the small container into his belt pouch.

“All right,” Reede said. “Niburu, I want you to take everybody on a little tour of the citadel. Lose yourselves.” Niburu stared at him. “End up back near the entrance to the docking bays, and wait. Wait for the confusion to start, and pick your moment to ride it. I’ll meet you there.”

“What the hell are you going to be doing?” Niburu demanded.

Reede looked away. “I have unfinished business. … I have something the Source wants. I’m going to let him have it.”

“Reede, no—” Ariele said, pulling away from Dawntreader and coming to his side.

“Boss, you can’t—” Niburu protested.

“By the Lady and all the gods!” Dawntreader said. “If you’ve really set this entire citadel up to be destroyed, you’ll get all the revenge you need against the Source, for whatever he’s done to you. That’s enough.”

“No,” Reede whispered. “It isn’t enough.” He jerked his head toward the way out. “You think they won’t check up on your unexpected arrival, Dawntreader? You think they’re not asking a lot of questions about you right now? Jaakola’s not stupid—he knows who you are. I’ve got to give him something else to think about for the next couple of hours, or we’ll never make it out of here alive. I said I’ll meet you later. Get out.” He took a step toward them, and they retreated—all of them except Ariele. Dawntreader took hold of her arms, gently but firmly, and forced her away from him. She followed her father out, looking back over her shoulder as he led her away. Reede saw fear for him in her eyes—and, suddenly, a red hunger for vengeance that matched his own.

“The LB’s in Docking Bay Three, boss. On the lower level,” Niburu called. “Just in case you’re late—”

“Hurry—” Ariele cried.

He nodded, watching her go, watching them disappear one by one through the doorway and back into the outer world. He listened until they were gone. And then, moving as if there were all the time in the world, he sent a message to the Source to expect him soon. “Tell him I have what he wants,” he said, and cut contact.

He went back, alone, through the echoing lab to check the displays on the molecular cookers. He settled onto a stool, sat motionless watching the progress of his program. At last the screen went blank, replacing its run of data sequences with two luminous words: SEQUENCE COMPLETED. Reede smiled. He got up again, and went to the place where his weapon waited for him. He picked up the clear vial, studying its contents—the heavy, silver fluid that moved like memory within its walls.

He took the vial and left the lab, made his way through the sprawling citadel complex, observing its workings, its inhabitants, its perfect, hermetic universe with an odd detachment. He noticed with satisfaction the unusual number of cursing, confused workers of all kinds who were suddenly having difficulties with their operating systems.

It took him longer to reach his destination than he had expected, because he was delayed for nearly half an hour when a shuttle was unexpectedly rerouted. His satisfaction at the error was tinged with unease by the time he finally arrived at the outer perimeter of the Source’s private sector and requested his audience with the Master. The virus seemed to be spreading through the system even faster than he had anticipated. He prayed the others would be watching the signs, or they’d never time their return to the docks right. He had to trust them to play their part; just as they had to trust him to do this….

Reede forced himself to stop looking everywhere, stop twitching, frowning, tapping his foot as the guard cursed and repeated his unanswered request for a fourth time, and then a fifth. A desperate voice inside of him tried to tell him that what he was doing was insane; that he was taking an insane risk coming here. But he had to do this, he had to keep the Source looking only at him, thinking about him, or the others would never escape. He would only get out of here alive if they did. He needed to do this. … He had to trust himself.

“Goddammit—” the guard said.

The Source’s voice answered them abruptly, a shower of words falling out of the air, completely unintelligible.

The guard looked up, frowning. “What did he say—?”

“He said, ‘Come on up,’” Reede snapped. He pushed through the yielding barrier of the security shieldwall, and when it did not stop him, the guard didn’t either. “Go on,” the guard said, resigned. “You know the way.”

He knew the way. The lift took a very long time getting there. He thought about how often, since his first, forced, visit to the Source, he had had nightmares of being trapped in one of these fucking things. Almost as often as he had dreamed about drowning… .

The lift let him out at last, in the deceptively ordinary reception area before the unmarked doors that opened on darkness. He glanced at his watch, checking the time again as he crossed the open space. He had to make this take long enough, just long enough… . The guards, human and electronic, let him pass without comment; the doors welcomed him.

Reede stopped just inside, as the doors sealed shut behind him; feeling his heart miss a beat. His sweating hands tightened around the precious vial of silver fluid. I am the god of death…. “Master,” he said, straining in the blackness for an almost undetectable glimmer of red. “I have it.”

“Kullervo,” the Source’s voice whispered, perfectly clear to him now. Yes. He saw it now, the faint glow of ember-light. “The water of life? Bring it to me. Bring it here.…”

He started forward, shuffling his feet, moving cautiously despite the eagerness in the Source’s voice. He reached the seat in which he was always forced to sit, finding it abruptly in the darkness. He began to grope his way around it.

“Come here,” the Source said. “Come closer. Give it to me—”

Reede obeyed, moving like a man working his way through a minefield as he approached the dim, indefinable silhouette. He had never been permitted to approach this closely before. For all he knew, this could be another illusion, another projection—for all he knew, he could be here alone. But he thought not.

He collided with the impenetrable edge of something that abruptly stopped his forward momentum. He fumbled in front of him with his hands, finding a flat, cold surface that stung the hypersensitive skin of his fingers. “Here it is, Master.” He set the vial down on it, working by touch, and began to back away.

“Stop,” the Source said. “Come forward again.”

Reede unlocked his muscles and moved forward again, until he encountered the hard edge of the obstacle between them. He folded his fingers over the edge, clung to it, grateful that it was still there, separating them.

A sudden beam of blue-violet light struck him, falling on him from above, bathing him in blinding brilliance. He shut his eyes against the glare, his shirt fluorescing like a strange flower in the darkness. For you, Mundilfoere… . He let his hands drop to his sides, letting her memory form a sublime and exalted space within him, an adhani of perfect calm in which he endured whatever perverse scrutiny was being inflicted on his body and his soul. The light went out again, abruptly. He waited, motionless.

“So, you’ve actually done it …” the Source whispered. “You’ve synthesized a form of the water of life which we can reproduce, and sell—”

“Yes. Master.”

“You told Gundhalinu it was impossible.”

“I said I lied about that.”

“But you wouldn’t lie to me,” the Source whispered. “Would you—?”

“No, Master,” he said.

“You told me it would take a long time to find the answer. But you’ve found it already?”

“I had a lot of time to think, while I was recovering.” Somehow he kept the words uninflected.

“I’m sure you did. I hope you have given a lot of thought to humility, and futility.”

“Yes, Master.”

“And if I take this, I will find it to be as good as the original.”

“Better,” Reede said softly. “It’s better.”

There was a moment of silence. “In what way?” the Source asked.

“It’s stable. Just what you asked for. I found a way to extend its life outside of the mer’s body. Makes it easier to produce, and ship, and sell—”

A beam of blinding light struck the invisible surface in front of him like a sword, focused on the vial he had set there. He shut his eyes again against the brilliance; he could see its line of brightness through his closed lids.

And then, as suddenly, there was only darkness again. He opened his dazzled eyes, blinking uselessly.

“Well?” the Source demanded suddenly, his voice disintegrating with impatience. “What is it?”

“What—?” Reede broke off, as he realized the Source was not speaking to him now, but instead demanding an answer from the hidden data system that had just run an analysis on the contents of his vial.

He heard a sudden rustling in the darkness, as if something had moved abruptly, and a guttural noise that might have been a curse. He waited; invisible, implacable.

“Congratulations, Reede …” the Source’s voice murmured at last. “Or should 1 congratulate Vanamoinen? It is what you say it is … perfect. Better than before. You truly are a genius—” Something in his voice made Reede freeze with the sudden fear that his usefulness had ended, and he was about to die. But the Source chuckled unexpectedly, and muttered, “Who knows what new worlds you will conquer for me?”

Reede did not answer. Drink it, he thought. Come on, take it, you putrescent bastard. Drink it, “The first dose is yours, Master,” he said finally, trying to keep the urgent need out of his voice. “That’s why I brought it straight to you. So you could be the first.”

“What?” the Source said, with faint mockery. “You didn’t try it first on yourself, like you did with the water of death?”

“What’s the point?” Reede said harshly. “It wouldn’t do me any good. It’s yours, Master …” adding just the right note of bitterness, “just like I am.”

“Yes,” the Source murmured. “Yes, that’s fitting.”

Reede heard another rustling sound, as if someone had shifted his weight. He stared at the spot where he imagined he had set down the vial on the surface that separated them, stared so intently that he almost thought he could really make it out, limned with a faint corona of red; that he could really see a dark, shapeless form come down on it, covering it, faking it away. There was more rustling; he was sure now that the glow was brighter, that he could see clearly the misshapen lump that pretended to be a human form somewhere in front of him, when before he had not even been sure of that. It was happening, even here.

He heard a sigh of satisfaction. “At last,” the Source whispered. “It feels right…. Yes—it feels the way I remember it.”

Elation sang through him. At last … And there was still enough time: he had enough time to twist the knife. “There’s something I forgot to tell you,” he said. “Something else about the water of life. It isn’t just stable outside the body of a mer. It’s stable in the host.”

“What do you mean?” the Source rasped. “Stable for how long—?”

“Decades, at least. I’m not really sure. It’s working right now, taking the measure of your DNA, preserving every system and function in your body just the way it finds them at this exact moment. Nothing will change, everything will remain the same from now on… .”

“Then no one will need it more than once over decades,” the Source snarled. “There’s no profit in that—”

“I suppose not,” Reede murmured. “But that’s not the real problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“The real problem is what it does to you.”

“What—?” the Source breathed.

“The water of life was designed to produce longevity in mers, not human beings. The mers were bioengineered—their genetic makeup is far simpler than ours, far more streamlined. Our bodies were designed by trial and error; we’re a crude, inefficient mess by comparison.” Reede let a smile start; let the Source feel it grow, cancerous. “The water of life has a very narrow definition of ‘normal function’ for any given biological system. The only reason that human beings were able to use it to slow their own aging was because it was always breaking down. It never imposed limits on a human body for more than a day without interruption. It allowed the body the freedom it needed to change … to vary its natural cycles, its rhythms, its randomness. Chaos—” he said savagely, “versus Order.”

He pressed forward, on the cutting-edge of darkness. He could see a silhouette clearly now, as the space before him flickered, momentarily brightening. He could not tell what it was the silhouette of; but he was beyond caring. “Pretty soon your short-term memory is going to start failing. Pretty soon you’ll be living in isolation, because your immune system won’t be able to respond to an attack… . Pretty soon you’ll be perfection. The Old Empire thought they’d found perfection. That’s what destroyed them. They say perfection makes the gods jealous… .” He pushed away from the hard edge of the night, laughing as he heard the Source swear again, a guttural, viscous sound. He realized that he could see the shadow outlines of his own hands, his body, now.

“I don’t believe you,” the Source snarled, and he heard fear in it. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Reede’s mouth twisted. “‘Things change.’ Do you remember when you said that to me? I do. Now the power is in my hands. You told me Mundilfoere took a long time to die… . How long do you think you’ll take—?”

“Why is it so bright in here?” the Source shouted in sudden fury, into the air. “It’s too bright in here!”

“Blame me,” Reede said. “It’s my fault. It’s my doing, Jaakola. My virals are taking over your body and they’re taking over your entire citadel too. Soon you’ll have no defenses at all.”

“It isn’t possible—”

“Then why is it happening?” Reede whispered. Only silence answered him. ”Would you like me to stop it? What if I could still stop it, would you give me “anything I wanted? Everything? How much do you really control, how long is your reach? What secrets do you know… what’s enough to buy back your life?”

“What do you want?” the Source grated, the words like chains dragging. “What—?”

“I want you to beg. You made me beg for Mundilfoere’s life, you stinking, sadistic bastard … I want you to beg me for yours.”

“Stop it.…”

“What?”

“Stop it! Stop, stop it, by the Unspoken Name, I’ll give you anything you want, you lunatic, everything, name anything you want, just tell me there’s a way to stop it!”

Reede began to laugh. “You can’t stop it—there isn’t any way.”

He heard a strangled sound of disbelief, or rage. “You braindead puppet! You madman!” Something lunged at him across the barrier between them; he danced backward, still laughing, untouched. “You’re killing yourself too!” the Source bellowed. “You fucking lunatic, you’ll kill us all!”

“That’s the idea,” Reede said softly. “That’s what I’m here for.” He began to back away. “Your enemies are coming, Jaakola. I’d run, if I was you. I’d hide… . Not that it’ll do you any good.” He turned, moving toward the doors, able to see them now, a faint outline in darker gray.

“Kullervo!” The ruined voice shrieked obscenities somewhere behind him. The room brightened, graying like fog at sunrise, revealing the featureless wall, the doors, growing closer with every step. If he turned back, he knew he would be able to see it now—the face of his nightmares, still screaming impotently. He did not look back.

He reached the doors, and flung himself against them with all his strength. They gave way, dissolving under his impact, so that he sprawled through into the daylight beyond.

Jaakola was screaming at the guards now, screaming for them to cut him down. Reede scrambled up and lunged into the closest of them, catching him in the stomach, knocking him flat. He grabbed the man’s fallen stun rifle; even as he rolled for it seeing the other guard raise his own gun, knowing that it would be too late.

A wall of white fire blotted out the blue expanse of sky, as the meter-thick ceramic of the window behind the guard blew inward with a blinding roar. Reede flung up his arms, covering his head as a hurricane of transparent shrapnel hurtled through the space around him. He was slammed back against the wall beside the guard he had sent down, lacerated in a dozen places at once as the fragments kept falling, as time itself seemed to go into slow motion. Already—the citadel’s defenses were failing already, and somehow everybody already knew it. Gods—it was happening too fast.

He staggered to his feet, bleeding, deafened. He saw the eyes of the man who lay beside him staring up at him, wide and unblinking; saw the dagger of shattered ceralloy protruding from his skull. There was no sign at all of the other guard; as his vision cleared he saw a spray of red splattered across the far wall like graffiti. He heard more explosions in the distance, dimly; felt them through the floor as the entire structure shuddered. There was no more shouting, no screaming, no sound at all now coming from the room he had just escaped. It was dark again in there, as he looked through the doorway.

He turned back in stunned disbelief to the gaping breach in the wall, the blue vastness of the sky beyond it; saw smoke tendriling upward as the thorn forest caught fire below. Smoke stung his eyes and throat as he stooped down to pick up the guard’s rifle. He turned away again, stumbling toward the lift. He beat his fist on the callplate; laughed incredulously as the doors opened to him and he found the lift waiting.

He gave it an override command, preventing it from stopping until he had reached his destination. He slumped against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor as the lift dropped him level after level, its velocity varying from sluggish to precipitous. He stared at his bloody, stupefied reflection gaping back at him from the polished metal, wondering whether Niburu and the others were still waiting, or had gotten clear and gone up already.

If they weren’t crazy they’d gone, they’d saved themselves. If they hadn’t, he cursed them for fools; if they had he cursed them for abandoning him when he suddenly wanted so badly to live … wanted to live, had to live, to get back to Tiamat—because he had unfinished business there. What he had left undone there was more important than life itself, even his own life—

And he knew all at once that he would not die here like this—would not, could not. That if he had to murder and maim and crawl over broken glass, he would do it, because this was not his destiny; his destiny lay on Tiamat and he had to go home… .

The lift car slammed to a stop, jarring every bone in his body; its doors opened halfway, jammed. He squeezed through, cursing, into a bedlam of panic-stricken workers, soldiers bellowing futile orders, falling masonry and the stench of burning plastic. He saw a mob off to one side; saw that they were fighting over a hovercraft. He sprayed them with the stun rifle, clearing a path to it; dodged over helpless fallen bodies and squeezed into its cab.

He sent it spiraling up through the vast inner column, like a leaf caught in an updraft; through the access canyons toward the docking bay where Niburu and the others would be waiting for him, had to be, had to be crazy if they were still there, had to be still there… .

He landed on a loading platform, seeing barricades ahead. He fought his way out through the instant mob that formed around the hovercraft, wondering where the hell anybody thought they were going to go in it. Just away from where they were, maybe— He staggered as the citadel shuddered around him; ran on toward the barricade, with his heart in his throat. The guards blockading the access swung their weapons toward him.

He slowed, and dropped his own weapon. “I’m Kullervo!” he shouted. “I’ve got clearance, I’ve got to get through, they need me inside!”

They hesitated, staring at him. “Something came through about Kullervo—” the man in charge said.

“Couldn’t make it out, sergeant,” someone said. “Garbled, like everything else—”

The sergeant frowned, then gestured. “Go on,” he said. The other guard shouted, and the sergeant ducked aside as something smashed down between them. “What the fuck is happening here?” he bellowed.

Reede ran on, not sure the question was meant for him; certain that he didn’t nt to answer it.

The access corridor to Docking Bay Three was filled with acrid smoke and ” armed men. Reede shoved his way through them, half afraid that by the time he -reached the end there would be nothing left to find. At last he emerged inside the bay’s lower level, seeing the vast chamber still intact, its docks rising and falling away for stories on all sides.

There was motion everywhere, noise and smoke, the looming hulls of freighters cutting off his view, until it was impossible to make sense of anything his eyes and ears fed to his brain. He swore, looking left and right, up and down. All the citadel’s systems must be choked with the poison of his virus program by now; there would be no way he could call up the LB’s location or communicate with its onboard systems—no way to find out whether they were even still here.

He found a ladder, began to climb the scaffolding, hoping it might give him a better line of sight.

“Kullervo!” A voice called his name as he pulled himself up onto the platform. He turned, saw Sparks Dawntreader pushing toward him through the mass of semi-rational human bodies that lay between them. Dawntreader gestured frantically. “This way!”

He shouted in acknowledgment and relief, began to run toward the half-visible beacon of Dawntreader’s red hair, dodging workers and soldiers.

“Kullervo!” Someone else shouted his name, behind him; a hand clamped over his arm, jerking him around. He was face to face with the sergeant from the barricade. The sergeant’s eyes were black with fury. A gunbutt came at him out of nowhere, struck him in the side of the head, clubbing him to his knees. “The Master wants you back, you miserable fuck.” The guard’s fist closed over the front of his shirt, dragging him to his feet. “They said you did this! I ought to kill you myself—”

Reede swayed, his hands pressing the side of his face; he was knocked reeling into the metal wall of the bay as someone else slammed between them.

Dawntreader. Sparks collided with the guard, knocking him off-balance. The guard pitched backward down the ladder-well with a strangled cry, and disappeared from sight.

“Are you all right?” Dawntreader was beside him now, supporting him with an arm around his waist.

“Yeah,” Reede muttered, wiping blood from his eye. “Come on—” Dawntreader led him on along the echoing platform through what seemed to be an endless game of human carom. Reede thought he heard shouting behind them, someone calling his name again. “How far—?” he gasped, as they started out across the scaffolding between two looming transport hulls.

“Other side,” Dawntreader panted, gesturing ahead. “See it, right there—?”

Reede wiped his eye again, nodded. “Are they all—?” Something shook the catwalk like a giant’s fist, jerking it out from under him. He went down, with Dawntreader sprawling on top of him, as gouts of fire exploded through the wall of the bay high above. He watched helplessly as enormous chunks of twisted metal came hurtling out of the sky, falling toward them like deadly leaves. “Hang on—!” He shut his eyes, sinking his fingers into the grillwork beneath him.

A sheet of metal larger than both their bodies slammed down on the catwalk half a meter behind his foot, shearing away the alloy as if it were cardboard; the metal platform under his body shrieked and bucked. More falling metal roared past him, and on top of him Dawntreader screamed once, a brief, raw paincry.

Reede swore, shaking his head as he pushed himself up at last, trying to lever himself out from under the dead weight of Dawntreader’s unresponsive body without dislodging either of them from the broken platform. He heard shouting again, behind him; sure this time that the voices called his name. He looked back across the sudden chasm, saw the line of armed men barely visible beyond the still-intact hull of a cargo freighter, inching their way out onto the ruined scaffolding, trying to reach a point where they could get a clear shot.

Reede struggled to his knees, pulling at Dawntreader’s arm. Blood matted Dawntreader’s hair, red on red. He couldn’t tell anything about the wound or how bad it was. “Come on,” he shouted, barely aware that he was shouting uselessly. “Come on, damn it, get up, get up—!”

Dawntreader’s body shifted, slid; he saw Dawntreader’s legs go over the side of the catwalk, felt the other man’s body try to follow. He caught the back of Dawntreader’s tunic with both hands, digging in his heels, stopping their slide. But his own exhausted body refused to give him anything more. He swore, watching the progress of his pursuers toward them.

Suddenly someone was behind him, beside him; he caught a glimpse of midnight skin and hair. “Here, boss—”

” Ananke—” he gasped, “get him!”

Ananke slid past, going out over the edge of the twisted walkway as if it were flat on the ground, not a hundred meters in the air. Ananke clung with an acrobat’s skill to the broken superstructure, levering Dawntreader’s unresponding limbs back onto the grid as Reede hauled with all his remaining strength. Something gave, and Dawntreader’s body slid forward suddenly. Reede pulled him onto the catwalk with a final heave.

“Boss—!” Ananke shouted, pointing down. Reede followed his pointing hand, seeing Dawntreader’s belt, the thing that had tangled in the grid and trapped him until it had come apart. It hung from a claw of twisted metal below the catwalk; the pouch dangling from it was the pouch in which Dawntreader had carried the water of death.

Reede flung himself down with a curse, pushing precariously over the edge, his hand flailing. But the pouch was impossibly beyond reach. Ananke crouched beside him, steadying him, until he came up again, white-faced, shaking his head.

Ananke looked down through the grid, and up at him. Suddenly he disappeared over the edge, swinging out and down until only his feet showed. Reede watched through the grid as he pulled himself underneath the platform. In a moment he was back on top again, grinning, as if there were no gravity. He held something in his hands, held it out … the belt and pouch.

Reede pushed up onto his knees, staring in speechless gratitude. He slung the belt around his neck as Ananke passed it to him, and moved to help him lift Dawntreader’s body.

“We’ve got to hurry, boss—”

“Kullervo!”

Ananke straightened, looking back; screamed, falling, as the blinding beam of an energy weapon licked him.

Reede grabbed him, pulled him close with furious desperation. “Move!” he shouted, willing sense back into Ananke’s shock-glazed eyes, willing Ananke’s brain to ignite with the urge for survival. “Run, crawl, get to the LB, goddammit!” He pushed Ananke forward, propelling him as he dragged Dawntreader’s body along behind.

They made it to the far end of the catwalk, sheltered by the hulls of the big transports. He saw the LB lying like a toy in their shadow, heard more explosions echo through the bay, and more screams.

Ariele was waiting, her voice lost in the cacophony, her face frantic. She ran forward to help him get the two men to the ship and drag them inside. Niburu was in the pilot’s seat, his face shining with an intensity of relief that should have been laughable. “Go!” Reede shouted, dumping Dawntreader into an acceleration couch, as Ariele pushed Ananke into a seat behind him.

“Ananke, get up here!” Niburu called.

Reede fell into the copilot’s seat, as Ariele dropped into the couch beside her father’s. “Ananke’s hit. He’s out of it.”

Niburu turned, looking over his shoulder. “How bad?”

“Don’t know.” Reede shook his head. “Won’t matter, if you don’t get us the hell out of here. Go. Go!” Niburu took them up before he had finished the words, the LB shooting down the length of the bay and out into the open sky like a beam of light.

Beams of light slashed the air all around them, licking the crippled citadel from every direction including the top of the sky; taking it down millimeter by millimeter. The LB shuddered as raw energy glanced off its shields; Niburu swore. “Gods, shit, I can’t handle this alone. We’ll never make it through this crossfire—”

He broke off, as the view ahead of them suddenly cleared of lightning; the images on the LB’s screens showed them a column of inviolate air, their trajectory rising out of the atmosphere, toward the Prajna’s orbit. Their way lay open, and as they arced toward the sky, behind them the citadel’s shattered spire immolated like a star gone nova.

They flew on in utter silence, as if even a spoken word might break the spell and destroy them; their arc steepened, acceleration pressed Reede into his seat with a heavy hand. There was no pursuit, and no more random energy pulses struck their shields. Reede watched the sky, me only thing he could do; watched its serene blue slowly deepening toward black, watched the sun rise, a vast scintillating jewel, radiant against the starry night as they left Ondinee’s atmosphere behind. Reede wiped blood out of his eye again, and sighed.

“Clear.” Niburu cut their acceleration. The LB’s momentum ceased, and Reede felt himself begin to drift up from his seat, weightless, beyond the reach even of the planet’s gravity. He caught the seat’s restraining straps, laughing out loud as he pulled himself down again, and locked himself into place.

“Copy. Free and clear,” a voice said, suddenly and unexpectedly from the comm speaker on the panel. “Congratulations, survivors. Good luck.” And then silence.

“That was Sandhi!” Niburu looked at him, stupefied. “What just happened?” he said.

Reede felt a weary smile pull up the corners of his mouth. “I think we met some strangers far from home.”

Niburu shook his head, looking out at the empty sky, at the curve of Ondinee’s surface far below, its atmosphere limned by sunlight. He murmured commands to the LB’s computer as his hands touched the instruments almost absently. Reede felt himself settle back into his seat, regaining substantiality as the LB’s drive kicked in again. “We’ll intersect the Prajna’s orbit in about six hours,” Niburu said. “The medical supplies are down there.” He pointed.

Reede nodded, already rising from his seat, moving cautiously as he got a feel for what kind of gravity they were functioning in now. He pulled the supply box from its stash.

Ariele was on her feet beside Dawntreader, mopping blood from his ashen face with the sleeve of her robe. “Da …” she murmured. “Da—?”

Reede edged her aside, gently, as Niburu pushed past them to see to Ananke. “Let me look.” He used his own shirtsleeve to wipe away more blood, seeing the deep gash in the side of Dawntreader’s head. Scalp wounds bled like hell, his own blood was still getting in his eyes. The blood didn’t mean anything; he only had to get it stopped. But a blow that hard probably meant a fractured skull, could mean something worse; he had no way of telling. He pushed back Dawntreader’s eyelids; one pupil was wide open, the other narrowed reflexively as the light hit it. “Shit …”he breathed.

Ariele passed him coagulant and a compression bandage from the medical supplies as he asked for them; he got the bleeding stopped and the wound bandaged. Dawntreader did not stir or make a sound all the while; his breathing was shallow and not quite regular. But as Reede finished working on him, he moaned, and his eyes opened, staring glassily. He mumbled something; Reede couldn’t make out the slurring words.

“What—?” Reede leaned closer as Dawntreader repeated them, with painful effort, reaching up to catch the front of Reede’s shirt in a spasmodic grip.

“… Promise me,” he whispered. “Promise it.”

“Yeah. All right,” Reede said softly. “I will. I promise it.”

Dawntreader released him; his hand fell away, lay motionless across his chest. His eyes closed.

“Is he going to be all right?” Ariele asked anxiously, as Reede straightened away from Dawntreader’s limp body.

“Can’t tell,” he muttered, blocking her view. He touched the activator on the arm of Dawntreader’s seat, and the translucent gray shield suspended above it began to lower. “This will suspend his body functions until we can reach Tiamat, and get real medical treatment,” he said quickly, seeing her face begin to fall apart. “His condition won’t change. It’s the best we can do.” He took hold of her arms, drawing her away as they watched the stasis unit seal. He checked the readouts. “Okay,” he said softly. “That’s as safe as anyone gets.” He turned, looking into her eyes. “You’re next. And then me. We’ll all sleep, suspended, until Niburu gets us to Tiamat.”

Her mouth trembled; she pressed it together. “A magic nap,” she whispered. “Da used to say, when I was little, ‘It’s such a long way, Ari … why don’t you take a magic nap? When you wake up, you’ll be home… .’” Her voice disappeared.

“Yeah,” he murmured, holding her, “we’ll be home.” He kissed her hair, looked up again as Niburu came forward to get something from the medical kit

“How is he?” Reede jerked his head toward the seat where Ananke lay, half-hidden from his view.

“He’s—” Niburu broke off, with a strange expression on his face. “He’ll be all right. A bad burn, but it’s superficial. I can treat it with what’s here.”

Reede nodded, relieved, wiping the blood from his own face with a leftover strip of bandage. He tied the bandage around his head and stuck on a painkiller patch, feeling his wounds as he finally had time to think about them. Dawntreader’s belt and pouch were still slung around his neck. He pulled them down, opened the pouch and looked at the vial of the water of death. He sealed it shut again, and fastened the belt around his waist. He glanced at Ananke, able to see nothing but his face, eyes shut, mouth slack, and part of his shoulder.

Reede turned back, drawing Ariele toward her seat again. He kissed her as she settled in; she put her arms around his neck, keeping his mouth on hers a last long, sweet moment before she let him go. He reached down to activate the controls.

“Is it like suffocation?” she whispered. “Is it like freezing—?”

“No,” he said, and smiled. “It’s like peace.” He watched the dome come down; she held his hand until the last moment. He let her go, the unit sealed. He could still see her face through the translucent shield; knew that she could see his. He saw the apprehension in her eyes, watched it fade. She smiled. Her eyes closed, and she slept.

He checked the readouts, and then made his way silently to the final seat, which lay waiting for him. He settled into it. He felt no painful pressure anywhere along his battered body; it was as if he were lying down on clouds. He looked over as Niburu approached him, face to face with his pilot for once.

“I can handle it from here, boss,” Niburu said, answering his unspoken question. “The hard part’s done.”

Reede grimaced. “Don’t say that. Gods, don’t ever say that!” But he smiled again, faintly; touched Niburu’s arm. “What the hell would I do without you, Niburu?”

Niburu grinned. “Stay in one place for a while, maybe.”

Reede laughed. “They can put that on my grave. …” He reached down, triggering the shield that hung above his head. It began to descend. “Wake me up as soon as we reach Tiamat. I need to talk to Gundhalinu.”

Niburu nodded, as the shield’s smoky gray came down like fog between them. Reede felt a moment’s panic, the same panic he had seen in Ariele’s eyes, as the shield sealed in place. His eyes clung to the dim image of Niburu’s face as he struggled to keep his body under control. But a cool, tingling vapor was already filling the air, and as he breathed it in his apprehension faded, along with his vision. He smelled fresh wind and sunlight and exotic spices, pleasure and release… silence… peace….

Kedalion watched Reede’s eyes close, saw his blood-streaked face become young again as his consciousness slipped away.

Kedalion checked the readouts, satisfying himself that the unit was functioning properly. He turned away in the sudden, clicking silence, back to where Ananke lay passed out in the other seat. He pushed aside the charred cloth of Ananke’s coveralls, that he had cut open for better access to the livid burn that ran from shoulder to hip down his side. He saw the stretch of blistered flesh again, and grimaced. And then he pushed the ruined cloth farther aside on Ananke’s chest, slowly, almost reluctantly, needing to confirm to himself that he had not imagined what he had glimpsed in one harried, distracted moment in the middle of chaos.

He pushed the cloth aside. He stared, for a long moment, at what lay revealed beneath it: the smooth, gentle curve of a young woman’s breast.

Carefully he drew the cloth down over Ananke’s breast again, hiding her secret, covering her painful vulnerability. And then, as calmly as he could, he treated her burns, sealed them with a protective film of bandageskin, and applied a line of anesthetic patches up the length of her spine, to deaden the pain when she woke again.

At last he went forward to the pilot’s seat, climbed up into it; leaned back, staring out at the stars. Reaction caught him then, finally, overwhelming him with an exhaustion that was both physical and mental. He felt his eyes closing, against his will. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he had felt safe enough, certain enough, to sleep for long, and he no longer had the strength to fight it. The LB was synchronizing orbits on autopilot; it would wake him when they eventually caught up with the Prajna. He could let himself sleep now, finally, for a few hours, if he wanted to … he could sleep…

“Kedalion…?”

Kedalion opened his eyes, groggy and uncertain even of what had wakened him. Ananke stood beside him; he started in surprise. “What—?” he said, not meaning to say anything.

“Sorry to wake you up. I …” Ananke settled into the copilot’s seat with elaborate care, tightlipped, wincing. “Sorry.”

“S’all right.” Kedalion straightened up in his own seat, shaking himself out, abruptly wide awake. He glanced at the displays, out at the night, habitually reassuring himself that everything was still going according to plan. He looked back at Ananke—the same face, the same eyes, the same body he had seen every day for years—trying to detect a difference in what he saw; perversely trying not to. “What is it? You all right? You need anything?”

“I’m all right.” Ananke shook his—her—head, gazing at him out of blue-black, slightly dazed eyes. “Did you … did you dress my wound?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Probably makes you feel like hell right now. But it’ll heal fine.”

She nodded, glancing away, biting her lip. “Hurts some, even with the pain stuff. Thanks, Kedalion, for—”

“No thanks needed.” He smiled, shaking his head.

She looked back at him, and he knew she was trying to guess what he’d seen, if he’d seen—if she dared to ask him…

“Yeah,” he said, ending her suspense. “I know. I saw … I couldn’t help it Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were a woman?” Half a hundred small anomalies over the years suddenly fell into place in his mind, making perfect sense in hindsight. The pathological shyness, the sidelong looks whenever he’d mentioned sex . . “Why?”

“Because you’re a man,” she said, as if that explained everything. Her arms rose unsteadily, one bandaged, one safely hidden by heavy clothing, to cover her breasts, as if they were exposed again, simply by his knowing they were there.

“Anyway,” she looked away from him again, “you would never have hired me on if you’d known. Would you?” Her voice turned accusing.

“Well … I don’t know,” he said frankly.

“And Reede would never have let me stay.”

“Maybe not … not then. Now—” He shrugged.

She looked back at him, stiffening. “Does he know?”

“No,” Kedalion murmured. He shook his head. “Nobody knows but me. And you.”

She sank back into her seat, her body trembling visibly with the effort of having held herself upright. “Hallowed Calavre …” she whispered, her hands clenching and unclenching on the cloth of her coveralls. “Why did this have to happen?”

“Why did you do it in the first place?” he asked. “Did you hate it that much, being a woman on Ondinee?”

Her eyes opened again, black with memory. “Yes,” she muttered, looking down at her body. Her voice took on the faintly singsong Ondinean accent that he had not heard in her speech in years, as she slid deeper into memory. “On Ondinee, men are everything, and women are nothing—like animals in the marketplace, bought and traded. Some, the rich ones, are lucky enough to be like pampered pets, dressed in jewels and fine cloth, taught to read, so that they have the illusion that they are human.” Her head came up again. “We weren’t rich. My father was a day laborer. My mother had been a dancer once, she taught me a little how to dance… . But my father wanted money, he wanted to sell me to the priests to be used in the temple rites. My brother … my brother was always trying to get me alone, touching me, and making me touch him—he told me what happens in the rites, how all the men can come and use you after … what the priests do, how they mutilate you, so that you can’t even feel any pleasure, because women are not even allowed that—” Her voice rose, and broke; tears poured down her face, blurring it with wetness, reflecting the instrument lights in alien traceries of color.

She was not looking at him, not seeing even the night, blind with tears of rage and betrayal. “And he laughed at my tears, and he pushed me down, calling me a whore, and he tried—tried to rape me. But I took his knife and I stabbed him! And I stole his clothes and I ran away. And I went as a boy after that, just so I could live, so I could work, so I could be human. … I thought someday, somewhere, I would be able to stop, but I can’t stop, because nowhere is safe, and whenever I look at a man and remember that I am a woman I’m always afraid. …” She wiped her face fiercely on her sleeve; a small sound, a sob or a noise of pain, escaped her.

Kedalion shut his eyes. He opened them again, looking over at her. He put out his hand, offering it tentatively, in comfort.

“Don’t,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Don’t touch me. Please, Kedalion.”

He withdrew his hand, sat looking at it for another moment that seemed endless. “When I was a boy, on Samathe, we used to go drafting off the cliffs, with a glidewing—it was like a big kite. You could fly for hours, if you were good, riding the updrafts like a bird. The stilts—the tall ones—from the other villages used to come and try it; but we were the best at it, because we were small. Some of them hated that. It didn’t matter that they could run faster or jump farther or make our lives miserable on the ground … they hated seeing us in the air.”

He looked out at the stars. “One day when I was drafting, a stilt started shooting at me with his pellet gun. The son of a bitch shot holes in my wing; it ripped, and I went down. It scared the hell out of me, I thought I was going to die. But I was lucky, I just landed hard, cuts and bruises, broke a couple of fingers… . But some of my friends saw it, they went after the stilt and they got him. They put my wing on him and pushed him off the cliff. He fell … he broke half the bones in his body. They just left him there. I called the rescue service… . After that day I swore I was getting out of that place, if it was the last thing I ever did.” He shook his head. “One thing that you find out when you leave somewhere is which of your problems belong to where you are, and which of them belong to what you are. …” He sighed, looking back at her at last.

“Why did you call the rescue service?” she said faintly.

He glanced away. “Because I saw my friends’ faces when they pushed him over the edge. And I was afraid the same look was on my face.”

She sat staring at him for a long time, without saying anything. She looked down at her body again, still silent.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said at last. “You do your job. You do it right, and you don’t complain. You can go on doing it, like you always have, if you want to. I don’t care what you do with your private life. It’s none of my business, as far as I can see.”

She lifted her head slowly. “What about Reede?”

He shrugged. “If you do your job, it’s none of his business either.”

She went on staring at him, her eyes clouded, her face clenched.

“Look,” he said, “after all this time, I think I know you. I know I can trust you. Does that mean anything to you? Can you trust me that much, enough to go on working for me now that I know the truth?”

She smiled, in an acknowledgment as uncertain as the offer of his hand had been. And then, slowly, painfully, she offered her hand to him.