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The Francesians

Book three in the Green Comet trilogy

by

Jim Bowering

© 2017 by Jim Bowering

Published under Creative Commons

Attribution and Share-Alike

CC-BY-SA 2017

greencomet.org

arjaybe@greencomet.org

For Sanura

ISBN 978-0-9919532-7-1 (epub)

ISBN 978-0-9919532-8-8 (pdf)

Contents

1. Elgin Wakes Up

2. Coming Home

3. This Was Plub

4. Lesser Cuttings

5. Fertile Soil

6. Going Back

7. Power and Politics

8. A Lot to Take in

9. Patterns and Reflections

10. The Bazaar

11. One Bad Apple

12. Goodbye to the Prime

13. No Failures Allowed

14. Flipping the Sail

15. Return to Green Comet

16. Salvage

17. What’s that Smell?

18. Was it Something I Said?

19. Perfectly Wrong

20. The Grand Court

21. They Get Dressed

22. Story Time

23. Free Alterations

24. Division of Labor

25. The Bees

26. Scarface

27. The Blue Square

28. Working Alone

29. Too Tacky

30. Rudely Awakened

31. Elgin Wakes Up Again

32. That’s What Friends are For

33. The Right Thing to Do

34. The Singer

35. This Was Nana

36. There’s No Song for That

37. A Song for Going

38. Green, Blue and Indigo

39. Saving Frances

40. The Balcony

Epilogue

How it Happened

Chapter One – Elgin Wakes Up

Elgin saw the gray light, and he knew they must be waking him up. It was hard, in this plain white place, to measure time. Especially alone. And that was the point, he thought. To be forced to spend time alone in hibernation. To contemplate life without her. Without Frances. To wonder what was happening to her while he wasn't there to defend her.

Not knowing how long he was down here was more than an inconvenience. It was frustrating to the point of pain. Not knowing magnified his pain like a lens on sunlight. He was anxious to get up there, to see her and find out how she was. But he was also afraid. What had they done to her while he was gone? Was she still in that ghastly prison? Was she even alive? If he'd had a physical body, his jaw would have been bulging as he ground his teeth.

Her jailers were deluded. That was obvious to anyone who wasn't a believer. But it didn't help. If anything, it made them more dangerous. While Elgin could almost see how they would make Frances a saint in their theology, he knew they were fools and liars when they made him one, too. It wasn't long before he made them regret that mistake, and they'd been regretting it ever since. He even told them that they should have waited until their saints were dead, so they couldn't contradict them. Now he was worried that they might decide to rectify that error.

For the thousandth time he wondered if they could have done it differently.

Chapter Two – Coming Home

“Now let's look at the eyes.” The Doctor was at the window giving an anatomy lesson on the Makers. Counting the people on the Ball, Tainui, the comets and the lighthouses, he had a sizable audience. Everyone was still interested in the Makers, the people who sent the Visitor. Now the Ball and Tainui were on their way back from visiting their home world, and the Doctor was making his report on the trip. He'd just been explaining their twenty-five brains, and now he was on to their compound eyes.

“They appear to have had eight eyes in the past,” he said. “From their current state of integration – you can still see the seams between the pupils and the retinas – and from what we've been able to learn about their genetics, I estimate that the final fusion took place between two and three million years ago.” He took a deep breath and had a sip of water, looking a little sheepish. He knew he was running on, but it was so fascinating.

He put a drawing on the window. “As you can see,” he said, “the optic nerves connect directly to the three brains in each arm, as well as to the main brain behind the eyes. My hypothesis ...” He stopped, self-conscious, and ran his hand back over his bald head. He looked at his friends, gathered for support, and Fran nodded her encouragement. Emboldened, he went on. It was his hypothesis after all. “My hypothesis is that there used to be one eye associated with each limb, before they migrated to this bifocal arrangement.” He stopped and looked directly at the window, taking in his whole audience. “This adds yet another level to the punishment in their cuttings. When they amputate a limb, not only do they lose the use of it, they also lose the intelligence in its brains, and they are partially blinded.” He paused again, letting that sink in, while he had another sip of water.

Again he marveled at the amount of anatomy he'd been able to do without making one cut himself. Shortly after they arrived, after their initial introduction to the Makers, complete with subterfuge and aggression, they were witness to a Great Cutting. It turned out this was a regular thing with the Makers. They would act in a civilized way for a while, and then something would set them off and they'd have a cataclysmic war. A Great Cutting. It was at the beginning of this one that their friend Plub hacked up most of his fellow Makers on a space station. He did such a thorough job that the Doctor had everything he needed for an exhaustive anatomical study. He shook his head, marveling.

“Okay,” he said, wrapping up. “That's enough for today. Tomorrow we'll look at the lung and the sonar apparatus.”

The Makers weren't as scary as they might have been. The people who sent the Visitor, the insane von Neumann machine that destroyed the comet people's world, could have been diabolically evil. Instead they were just crude, primitive and violently unstable. There was more to fear from their greed and vanity than from any malicious plotting.

When Elgin and Frances and their friends hitched a ride with the Prime, the Visitor's hundred kilometer long cargo ship, they didn't know what they'd find. The Prime, bereft of leadership after the Visitor was destroyed, looked as if it might be heading back to its makers. Naturally the comet people tagged along. They wouldn't miss such an opportunity to learn and understand. When they met the Makers it was both a disappointment and a relief.

Now they were headed back home. On the way they were taking little side trips, swinging through the two star systems between the Maker world and their own. It was somewhere in there that the Visitor changed from a tiny craft of exploration to a murderous behemoth. Maybe they could find some clues. At least they could learn something about those two systems. Had there been life there? Possibly intelligent life. Checking seemed the least they could do, since they were passing anyway.

While the Prime cut the corner, arcing onto its new trajectory without entering the system, the Ball plunged into it. They took a ballistic path, swinging around on the star's gravity, and rejoining the Prime and Tainui on the other side. As always it was challenging, possibly dangerous, and as natural as breathing for these intrepid comet dwellers.

The first star was a red dwarf, like the Makers' star. It had a few small gas giants orbiting it really close in, and those planets had some moons. They found no liquid water, no oxygen atmospheres and no signs of life. Nor was there any indication that there ever had been life there. They took comfort in the knowledge that, here at least, the Visitor hadn't killed anything.

Things were different at the second star. It was an orange dwarf, and it had a more varied collection of planets. On more distant orbits were three medium-sized gas giants. Inside those, on orbits closer to the star, were three rocky worlds. Two of these were at a distance from the star where liquid water could exist on their surfaces, and it did. There were also several moons orbiting the gas giants that had liquid water under their frozen surfaces. This star offered prime habitat for life, and they did detect signs of it. It was weak and patchy, obviously trying to recover from a system-wide catastrophe.

Something must have happened here, they thought. This must be where the Visitor's programming had its glitch, and the little spacecraft went insane. If not here, then somewhere between the last star and here. They hadn't seen any signs of destruction at the red dwarf, and here it was plain as day.

“Maybe it's something to do with life,” said Fran.

“What do you mean?” asked Stanton. “What difference would that make to a machine?” He was her oldest friend, but the engineer in him made him pragmatic and sceptical.

“I'm not sure,” she said, “but the Makers are ambitious and suspicious. Maybe that somehow got into the Visitor.” She shrugged. “Maybe the presence of life somehow threatened its mission.”

Stanton shook his head at her. “That's quite a leap,” he said. “Unless you think there was an advanced species here that tried to destroy it?”

She shrugged again. “I don't know,” she said. “Maybe. Remember how violently it reacted to radio transmissions when it got to our system? Maybe it first encountered them here.”

Stanton shook his head again, but Elgin was nodding his. When they looked at him he said, “I don't know, but it sounds right,” His sense of right, the most prominent of his synesthetic traits, was sure. It all lined up. “Something happened and it triggered its instinct for self-preservation.” He grimaced and shook his head. “No, that's not it.”

“If not self-preservation,” said Fran, “then maybe the safety of its mission?”

“Yes!” he said. “The importance of its mission. They must have emphasized that in its programming, and that's its point of failure.”

Elgin and Fran both looked at Stanton. His shoulders rose and he turned his palms up. “It's possible,” he said, “but I still think it's quite a leap.”

“I agree,” said Fran, “but it makes sense. Remember, by this time the Makers have had their Great Cutting and their civilization has collapsed. The Visitor has been cut off from its masters and left to rely completely on its programming.” She nodded as the story came together. “So it visits that first system and does what it's supposed to do. It explores. It finds resources. It builds itself up.”

“That's right,” said Elgin. “And that meant it needed more processing power. Plenty of opportunity there to build in errors.”

Stanton nodded, not very enthusiastically. “I suppose,” he said. “We could use it as a working hypothesis, anyway.”

“That's enough,” said Fran. “We might never know for sure. A good guess might be the best we can do.” She chuckled. “We went right to the source, and even they couldn't give us the answer.”

Elgin laughed. “That was funny, wasn't it? We followed the Prime all that way because we thought it might be taking its cargo home, and they didn't even remember sending it.”

Stanton snorted. “What a waste.”

“No!” said Fran. “Don't say that. It wasn't a waste.” She looked at Elgin, who gave her a firm nod. She said, “We found out where the Visitor came from. And we had a grand adventure.” She grinned at the memory. “And we discovered life. Intelligent life at that.”

Stanton snorted again. “I wouldn't go that far,” he said. “Calling the Makers intelligent might be overstating your case.”

She gave him a little shove. “Oh, come on, Stanton,” she said. “They're not that bad.”

“No? Killing each other all over the place? Threatening us? I don't call that very intelligent.”

“Okay,” she said, “maybe they were a little violent.” Another snort. “But they had the technology to get into space. And we were able to communicate with them. I'd call that intelligent, wouldn't you?”

He smiled at her. “That depends on your definition of intelligent, doesn't it?”

“You're right,” she said. “I guess we could say they're technically intelligent, but maybe not as intelligent as they could be.”

Now Stanton laughed. “You are generous to a fault, Fran.” He nodded. “Okay. I admit they meet the criteria for intelligent life. Language. Technology. Meta-consciousness. And so on. Unfortunately, it just makes them intelligent enough to be dangerous.”

Now it was Fran's turn to nod. She said, “And I'll admit that they might not be intelligent enough. Their social skills certainly leave something to be desired.” They all laughed, remembering. “But in spite of all that, I still have hope for them. Plub showed me that.”

They were quiet for a moment, thinking about their departed friend, the humble negotiator who was their first contact with the Makers. He changed to become an Exalted one and killed most of the Makers on the space station, then went on to lead millions to their deaths in a Great Cutting. He continued to be their prime liaison with the Makers for the rest of their stay there.

Chapter Three – This Was Plub

After Plub ended the Great Cutting he became a legend. No one had ever done that before, to the best of their knowledge. The normal trajectory of a Great Cutting ended with the collapse of Maker civilization and a similar collapse in their population. Usually they were able to recover in decades, centuries at the most, but occasionally it took them millennia to come back. It depended on how many survived to rebuild, and on how much knowledge they retained. Plub's cutting was unique. By ending it before it ran its course, he saved countless lives and precious knowledge. That, and the presence of the comet people, meant that their largely intact civilization could rebuild quickly.

This unusual situation, with most of them still there afterward, and much of their infrastructure still functioning, meant that their collective memory carried on without a gap. Everyone remembered what Plub did and he became a living legend. He was a hero. As the saying went: he never had to pay for another fish for the rest of his life.

Riding a groundswell of sentiment, Plub became the people's politician. He had plenipotentiary power and extraterritorial influence. He used his power and influence to cajole people and remind them that they could only achieve their dream of going to the stars if they overcame their primitive and violent nature. With the help of the comet people, he inspired his people to repair their world and regain their previous heights of accomplishment. Once again there was food and shelter and work for all who wanted it. And by not wasting resources on endless fighting, they were soon able to return to space.

That's how Plub's legend was born and how it grew to eclipse everyone who came before. Maker society was healthy and rich. All its people had at least the chance of making good lives for themselves. They had the opportunity and the freedom to pursue their own interests. To use their talents and see where their dreams might take them, including to the stars.

This all made for a large pool of wealth and power, and that was an irresistible temptation for those among them who were drawn to wealth and power. For some there is no point in the existence of such things if they can't accumulate as much of it for themselves as possible. Once the prize was available, the rebirth of the Acquisitors was inevitable. But as Elgin had told Plub when they were sharing a prison cell, they always came in a different form. Each time you overcame them and repaired the harm they did, they came back in another form suited to the new situation. In this case, they sought to become mandarins in the new civil order.

“It's just like you said, Ellie,” said Plub. “They always come back.”

Plub was getting old. You could see the senescence in his skin, and in how he moved. They'd been wondering about the normal lifespan of Makers. It was hard to calculate because the odds of a Maker avoiding death by violence were so low. But not so with Plub the legend. He was venerated and cherished. Even his enemies were hesitant to kill him, so he was left to live out his full life. The only confounding factor was his exaltedness. Had his time in that feral state taken a toll on his health? Would it shorten his life? Or would it have somehow enhanced his longevity? They had no way of testing that, much to the Doctor's disappointment. They were left with Plub's age when they met him – about twenty-five years – plus the thirty years since. So their best estimate for Maker lifespan, with all kinds of caveats and margin for error, was fifty-five years plus however much longer Plub lived. They didn't think it would be long.

“No matter what we do,” said Plub, his growling, hissing, bubbling voice much weaker than it used to be, “they always find a way to come back.”

Elgin nodded. “It was the same for us, Plub,” he said. “I remember we talked about this.”

“Yes,” said Plub. “I remember it very much too. It is one of my biggest memories.” He looked down at his lower arm, fully regrown after his personal cutting. “I remember being in prison with you. How we talked. What you told me.” He looked up, his breathing holes flapping lightly in a Maker chuckle. “On that day I received wisdom from a star person.”

Elgin chuckled too. “You make it sound so grand,” he said.

“It was grand,” said Plub. “Maybe to you it was just telling stories to your primitive cellmate, but to me it was a revelation.”

Elgin didn't protest Plub's self-deprecation. It was true. Makers were primitive and everyone knew it. That self-knowledge was one of the things that gave hope for their future. He said, “Thank you, Plub. I'm flattered.”

“You're welcome,” said Plub. “You deserve it. If we've learned nothing else from you, that makes it all worth it. You told me that it doesn't matter if they keep coming back. It doesn't matter what happened last time. The only thing that matters is what we do this time.”

“That's right,” said Elgin. “So,” he said with a grin, “what are you going to do this time?”

Plub's breathing holes flapped softly again. “I won't be doing much,” he said. “I think I'm past all that.”

“Surely not,” said Fran. “The people still love you.”

Plub turned to her and reached out a hand to touch her arm. “Thank you, Fannie,” he said. “You're always so kind.”

“I'm not just being kind,” she said. “It's still true. After all these years, they still love you.”

He bowed a Maker bow, curling the upright part of his body forward. “I know they do,” he said. “Almost too much, in fact. They tried to make me a saint, like you, remember?”

“I certainly do,” she said. “That was a close thing.”

“I still don't really understand what was wrong with it,” said Plub, “but as I get older, I think I'm beginning to see.”

“Trust me,” she said. “It's far better if your saints are dead.”

“I do,” said Plub. “I do trust you. And soon enough I will be dead, and then they can do what they want.”

“Not for many years I hope,” said Fran.

“No,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “Of course not. In the meantime, I'm just this nice old Maker that everybody is supposed to love. But nobody has to listen to me any more.”

“You're exaggerating, Plub. I've seen your speeches. The people still listen to you.”

“The people do, yes. But the people can't do anything. And the people who can do things don't listen to me.” He hunched his upper arms in a Maker shrug. “The Acquisitors of this age, the mandarins, just ignore me and do whatever suits them best.”

“But,” said Elgin, “you've got safeguards in place, don't you? So they can't get too much power?”

Plub turned his upper body back and forth, emulating a shaken head. “Yes, we do have safeguards, but so far they haven't been necessary. So far, no cabal has lasted long enough to do any serious damage. But like you told me a long time ago, it never stays done. We're going to have to constantly adapt to their sneaky ways.” Plub shrugged again. “Anyway,” he said, “that's all in the past for me now.”

“No, Plub,” said Fran. “It can't be. It's too important to just give up. And you're too important to your people to walk away from them.”

Plub chuckled again. “I'm less important all the time,” he said. “Now I'm just that funny old Maker. The oldest most people have ever seen. The people are nice to me. Polite. Because I'm a hero and a legend. But not someone to take seriously any more.”

Fran was wounded. “Don't say that, Plub. You still have plenty to give.”

“No, Fannie,” he said gently. “That's all for me.” He looked directly into her eyes, not bothered at all by their incessant jiggling. “You know why I've come out here this one last time.”

She did. She couldn't help it. It was her talent to see the meaning in things, and she knew almost as soon as Plub told them he was coming out that he was coming out to die. She stopped protesting and bowed her head. Elgin moved in and put his arm around her, and Plub took her hand in his. “I know,” she said. “I know, Plub.”

Plub said, “Of course you do. You're Fannie, the wise star person.”

She laughed, with tears floating away from her eyes. “I don't feel very wise right now,” she said. “I just feel sad.”

“Don't be sad,” said Plub. “You should be happy for me. I've had a long life. Longer than anyone else I know. And it's been a good life. I've seen and done things that no Maker has ever seen or done.”

“I know,” she said. “And I am happy for you. It's myself I'm sad for.”

“Of course,” he said. “I know that.” Age and experience had brought him a sort of wisdom. Something that never happened to Makers in their normally short, brutal lives. That it could happen was another reason to feel optimistic for their future.

“Well,” she said, briskly brushing the tears away, “this is not about me, is it? You've come out here to ... to die, and we should be making your last days as pleasant as we can.”

“Thank you,” he said. “You've already done that.” He released her hand and folded all four of his. “Now I must tell you this officially.” He looked out through the ice shell of the Ball, at his red star and its faintly banded planet, Air. “You mustn't feel bad about not using your hibernation technology to try to extend my life. I understand that my biology is too different. And besides, you can't risk giving such a thing to us while we're still so primitive and violent.” This was something else Plub learned during his long association with the comet people. Before, he would have been irritated and impatient when they made a long speech. And he certainly would never have made one himself. Now, not only was he able to accept their withholding technology, he did it using more words than were strictly necessary. It seemed that Makers didn't have to be selfish, short-sighted literalists.

Fran didn't argue with him. She said, “Sadly, you're right, Plub. The prospect of Makers showing up at the comets is just as bad as the idea of being in the same room with you when you were exalted.”

“I understand,” he said. “I didn't then, but I do now.”

“I know you do, Plub,” she said. “I hope you know how happy that makes me.”

It turned out that Plub's anticipation of his death was a little premature. He lived for another year and more. It was a happy and fruitful time for him, spent shuttling back and forth between the laser station and the Prime. Scarface, one of the Prime's service robots, was re-programmed and assigned to caretaker duties. As Plub slowly weakened and became more frail, his faithful servant was always by his side, making his life that little bit easier.

He made weekly broadcasts back to the Maker moon. Ostensibly they were about great affairs of state and the state of interstellar negotiations. He summarized the political events of the week, and kept people abreast of their relations with the star people. This included discussions on the disposition of the Prime's cargo. How much should the comet people leave behind, and how much should they take with them when they went? That's what his broadcasts were about, certainly, but they were really about keeping the people in touch with their beloved Plub.

On the matter of the Prime's cargo, Plub was the chief negotiator on the Maker side. Naturally Fran was the spokesperson for the comet people, just as it was at first contact. They were backed up by support staff who did all the detail work, but Plub and Fran were the ones who acted it out for the record.

In the end it was a simple formula. One third of the cargo would remain with the Makers, and two thirds of it would go back with the comet people. None of it actually belonged to the Makers, but they had built the Visitor, which started the whole thing. Some thought they should be punished for that rather than rewarded, but Fran insisted that they should encourage this generation of Makers, rather than punish them for the mistake of their ancestors. Of the two thirds going back, half of it was meant to go to the two star systems in between, should they have life in them that could make use of it. The remainder would go with the comet people back to their own system.

They began offloading cargo during Plub's last year. They concentrated on the things the Makers particularly needed, especially those metals least available to them here. The assays of their system, done both before and after the arrival of the comet people, showed some useful minerals on the few other moons of the gas giant, Air. And there were some resources to be found out here at the system's L1 lagrangian point. But looked at objectively, the system was resource-poor, especially for the needs of a technological species like the Makers. This supplementary boost was gratefully welcomed.

They built a crew of smashers, the five-meter exoskeletons used for heavy work, adapting the plans to the Prime's fabrication facilities. For transport of the cargo they built a fleet of simple ice spheres. They would be parked out here in the gravitationally stable lagrangian, available whenever needed. This project of unloading the Prime was just the beginning. Once begun, it was natural to continue working out here where the resources were, rather than hauling them back to their moon. By the time the comet people left, a thriving city was growing around the laser station.

Plub spent as much time at the Prime, accompanied by Scarface, his mechanical valet, as he did in his quarters on the station. He claimed to be very happy, and Fran was able to confirm it with her senses. He loved to see the industry of his fellow Makers, busily building their future. He loved the cooperation of their two species, working together instead of against each other. He was proud of his part in it, and satisfied with the legacy he was leaving behind.

On what he was sure would be his last visit to the Prime, he asked Elgin to fly him once around it before going to the Ball. Elgin circumnavigated the one hundred kilometer vessel, staying well back to avoid interfering with the workers. Many of the big cargo hatches were open, smashers moving around as they filled up the hollow spheres of ice near the openings. Plub looked up, still impressed by the size of the light sail as they passed under it. In front of that, toward the prow of the mighty vessel, the Prime's fleet of scouts and modules. All fourteen of each were there now, unlike when he first had this tour. He chuckled softly at the memory.

“What is it, Plub?” asked Fran.

He looked at her, then back at the twenty-eight attack vessels. He said, “I was just remembering when you lied to me.”

Fran recalled the tactical deception, when they pretended that the Prime was controlling its own fleet. “I'm sorry, Plub,” she said, “but it was necessary.”

He raised a hand to stop her. “Don't,” he said. “I know. It was an excellent tactic that probably saved many useless deaths.”

“Not least our own,” admitted Fran.

“Especially your own,” said Plub. “There are millions of Makers and only a few of you. Your lives are much more important than ours.”

Fran smiled at him and shook her head. “There are certainly many more of you than there are of us,” she said. “But remember, there's only one of each of us.”

He bowed again. “I do remember,” he said, “but I keep forgetting. Such respect for life is not natural to us, as you know.”

“I know, Plub, but I think it can become natural to you. I think you just need to train yourselves. And as more of you grow old enough to become wise, it will get easier.”

He turned. “But how can we become wise if you're gone?” He was going to ask her to stay again. Just a little longer. Just until the Makers were ready to do it on their own. But he stopped himself. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I know you have to go. You can't stay forever, even if we need you to.”

She put her hand on one of his arms. “No we can't,” she said. “I think we've stayed as long as we could.”

If she was completely honest she would admit that part of the reason for going now was purely pragmatic. Makers were unstable. Inherently, practically genetically unstable. They wanted to leave now while the leaving was good. They wanted to be sure that the laser array would remain functional long enough for them to get to the next one. Maker society was quasi-stable now, and they didn't want to waste the opportunity. Fran preferred to be honest, but she knew that they couldn't risk honesty with Makers. She was sure that Plub knew that, and that he could see the conflict in her, but he didn't mention it.

When Plub died he was in his rooms on the laser station. He was surrounded by his friends and closest associates. Most of his friends were comet people, Elgin and Frances in particular. The paradox of his people's love for him was that it made him too great, too distant to be a mere friend. The Makers there were the ones closest to him, but only as assistants or acolytes or disciples. And of course Scarface was there, but he wasn't a friend or a disciple. He was just a robot.

Fran was holding Plub's hand when he took his last breath. She felt the life go out of his body, and saw it go out of his eyes. “Good-bye my friend,” she whispered. She couldn't close his eyes because he didn't have any eyelids, so she covered them with his arms, in the Maker custom.

She was crying and the other comet people were plainly choked up, but the Makers didn't display their grief very openly, if they felt it at all. Except for two of Plub's closest aides, they drifted out of the room almost immediately. And the two who stayed only seemed to be interested in making arrangements for the disposal of the body. They were relieved when Fran said she'd take care of it, and they left too.

Fran didn't want to use the Makers' customary methods. She'd asked Plub when they were discussing his final wishes, and his answer didn't inspire her. Their most common way of disposing of the remains was to chop the body up and throw it in the sea. It was pragmatic. The mats were not ideal for burial, and it satisfied any spiritual questions too. They were returning to the eternal source of life, and they could feel that they were replenishing that source. The ceremonies were always well attended by marine scavengers, prominent among them Maker young. Even if it didn't involve transporting the body all the way back there, she wouldn't have wanted to do it.

She asked Plub if he wanted his body to be sent to Air, the gas giant that filled his world's sky and its mythology, but he said no. He didn't believe the Maker myth that their souls rose up to Air once released from their bodies in the sea. The prospect of plunging into the atmosphere of the planet did nothing for him. Meeting star people had made him see how narrow their beliefs were. He wanted this to be indicative of his new, broader vision.

Fran thought about that, then she smiled. “I think I know just what to do,” she said.

“What?” he said, his body tense with curiosity and anticipation. When she told him, he smoothed right out. It was perfect.

The procession consisted of two pods, two scouts and two modules. The pods, excursion craft from the balls, carried the people who were closest to Plub. They were mostly comet people, along with a few Makers who wanted to be seen there. One of the pods had Plub's body secured to it. Elgin flew that one, while Nigel flew the other. Buzzard flew a thirty meter scout, with the other one slaved to it, and Maria flew the pair of hundred meter modules. Scarface was on the outside of the pod, accompanying Plub's body.

The body was encased in a block of ice, three meters by three meters by three. Plub was arranged in a standing pose, gazing at something in the distance, one arm slightly raised as if about to reach for it. He was dressed in simple white clothing, completely unlike the ostentatious clothing worn by the Makers in the procession. He showed the humility and wonder that had come with the wisdom of his later years.

Their destination was the largest body among the debris trapped in the lagrangian area. It was an irregular chunk of rock and ice, twelve kilometers on its longest axis. Its gravity, feeble as it was, would hold the block in place. Its size would make it the object least likely to be ejected from this area of gravitational stability. It would give Plub's final resting place the best chance at eternity in their power.

When they arrived, Scarface took the block and flew down to the surface. He went to the high point they'd chosen and embedded Plub's block in it, giving him a clear view of the stars he longed for.

Fran gave the eulogy. It wasn't something that Makers normally did. They couldn't see the point in talking about someone when they were dead. But Fran couldn't imagine leaving without saying a few words about someone who had come to mean so much to her. So, with Plub's image transmitted by Scarface, she spoke for her friend.

“This was Plub,” she said, looking at the image they were sending back to his world. “Plub was the first Maker I spoke to when we arrived here. And I was the last person he spoke to when he died.” She smiled, remembering the early days. “He wasn't sure what to make of us at first. We were so unlike anything he was used to. But he overcame the strangeness and did his job as a negotiator, in spite of how the Acquisitors treated him.” She paused to think about their capricious punishments.

“Then there was the Change, when Plub became an Exalted one and led you into a Great Cutting.” She paused again. “That might have been the end. You might have destroyed yourselves and sunk into chaos, but Plub wouldn't allow it. He ended the Great Cutting – something never done before – and led you back to order and civilization.” She took a long pause, to allow them to think about the significance of that.

“Plub told me that the reason he stopped the Great Cutting was so he could lead you, his people, to the stars. He saw a future for you beyond Acquisitors and cuttings, and he wanted to show that you were ready for it.” She let a little sadness into her voice. “Regretfully, he wasn't able to realize his dream. His life was too short. And now his body will be here for all time, looking at the stars he dreamt of.” Her voice firmed up with resolve. “The last thing he said to me before he died was a message for you. He wants you to know that, just as wisdom came to him when he lived long enough to allow it, so it can come to the Maker people if you allow it. If you can learn to avoid destroying yourselves long enough, then your civilization can and will reach for the stars. This was Plub's dream, and now it can be yours.”

She stopped there, but they continued to send the image of Plub gazing out upon the universe. With any luck, this could be one of the things that would eventually lift the Makers out of their primitive, violent past.

Chapter Four – Lesser Cuttings

They weren't surprised when the laser beam cut out twenty years into their flight. They wouldn't have been surprised if it had happened earlier. Communication with the Makers became sporadic, then sometimes antagonistic, before stopping altogether. Not long after that they lost their laser beam.

With no propulsion they had no more acceleration. They hadn't reached their normal cruising speed of one tenth of the speed of light, and they never would on this leg of their journey. But they had reached a good percentage of it, so the time they'd lose was only decades rather than centuries or more. It would only add one or two more sleep cycles, and then they would pick up the beam at the next star. It was considered such a minor problem that the duty crew didn't even wake up Elgin and Frances and the others. They only had another five years before they were due to come on shift anyway.

They knew this could happen. The less optimistic among them expected it to happen and made sure that no one else would forget about it. Fortunately, twenty years was long enough that any gloating was muted. When the five thousand kilometer sail went dark, there was very little fuss. Those who were more optimistic even remarked that it was a good thing they'd given so much of the Prime's cargo to the Makers before they left. Less mass meant they'd accelerated more quickly.

“We'll be going up soon,” said Fran, her face becoming clear. “Then we can find out who won the bet.” They were almost a minute into their hibernation time. Almost twenty years of real time.

“You never should have given me so much time,” said Stanton. “You're going to lose for sure.”

“Not necessarily,” said Elgin. He could see both of their faces in the white light. “You might be a little too pessimistic you know, Stanton.”

“There's no such thing as too pessimistic for my Stanton,” said Galatea. “Low expectations mean less disappointment.”

“Oh, that is just too cynical,” said Fran. “Even for you two.”

“Be realistic, Fran,” said Stanton. “Twenty-five years is more than a generation for Makers. Plenty of time to forget any good intentions.”

“But maybe things are different now,” said Elgin. “Maybe this is the time that separates the Makers' future from their history.”

Stanton looked at him with pity. “How can you say that as an engineer? Surely the facts, the numbers, the data, must carry more weight than wishful thinking.”

Elgin didn't get a chance to answer because the white light turned to gray. They were going up.

“I win,” said Stanton.

“Told you so,” said Galatea.

“Yes you did,” said Fran. “I guess I was just too optimistic. But they almost made it. They kept the beam up for twenty years. Just five more and I'd have won the bet.”

“Close,” said Galatea, “but no cigar.”

“That's right,” said Stanton. “A miss is as good as a mile.”

Fran took the ribbing well, passing around some muffins to go with the tea. Elgin was smiling too, as he chewed. They were all friends enjoying their first post hibernation get-together. But Maria looked at Buzzard, who shrugged, so she asked everyone, “What's a cigar?” She looked at Galatea.

Galatea shrugged and said, “I don't know what a cigar is. It's just an old saying.”

“It sounds like some kind of prize, or trophy,” said Elgin. “From context.”

“It's not,” said the Doctor. When they looked at him he said, “It's a tube of rolled up leaves.”

Maria said, “And they gave it to someone when they won something?”

“No,” said the Doctor. “They lit it on fire.”

“Oh,” said Maria, “then they waved it around in celebration.”

“No,” said the Doctor. “They sucked on it and inhaled the smoke.” He grimaced. “Thank goodness we don't do that any more.”

No one knew what to say to that, so the Doctor went on. “It was a drug delivery system. Back before we knew how to synthesize and refine chemicals, people had to ingest them somehow. They could eat them, or make an infusion and drink it.” He held up his cup. “Like this tea. Or they could burn it and inhale the smoke.” He looked at their faces. “I know it sounds crude, but that's what they had to work with.”

Maria said, “What did they treat by inhaling cigar smoke?”

“Nothing,” said the Doctor. “In fact, it made them sick and shortened their lives. And it was addictive.”

“But why did they even do it, then? Why did they even start?”

The Doctor shrugged, palms turned up. “I don't know,” he said. “Those were different times. If I had to guess, I'd say it must have been something psychological.”

Maria shook her head. “I guess there's no way to know what was going on in their heads. They'd be almost as different from us as the Makers are, wouldn't they?”

“Just about,” said the Doctor.

“Yes,” said Maria. “But a tube of rolled up leaves?” She looked at Galatea. “How is that even a prize?”

“Well, I don't know,” said Galatea, looking around. “It's just a saying.” She crossed her arms. “I'm sorry I said anything.”

They laughed at her, and she scowled like a chastised child. But she couldn't completely hide the little smile. As Stanton knew, there was usually a grain of humor in her grumpiness.

They were surprised five years later when the beam came back on. They were playing a last game of flashball before going down for hibernation when the light changed. Suddenly it was a little brighter as the sail reflected laser light. They quit the game and rushed to the control area. As they got there, a message arrived from the Makers.

“Fannie and Ellie and all comet people,” it said. “We are returning your laser beam to you. We apologize for the fools who took it away, but they're dead now, so we're giving it back.

“We had some trouble. Some bad people took over power, and they didn't like the new ways. They wanted to return to the old days, before the arrival of you star people ruined it for them. But we had a Cutting and they're gone now.

“It wasn't a Great Cutting. We followed the example of Plub, the star seer, and stopped it before it went too far. Thanks to Plub and you wise star people, we won't have any more Great Cuttings. We now live in an age of Lesser Cuttings.

“Safe journey, Fannie and Ellie and all star people. Remember us kindly on your great voyages, and watch for us to join you one day.”

They acknowledged the message and thanked the Makers for restoring the beam. This would cut decades off their trip. At a little more than a light year out, it would be over two years before a reply.

Fran smiled at Stanton and said, “I win.”

“No you don't,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Two reasons,” he said. “First, we initially lost the beam within twenty-five years, and that was the original bet. Second, you still haven't made it to twenty-five years. Who knows how long the beam will stay up this time?”

“Okay,” she said. “That's all very logical, and I concede that you won the first phase of the bet.”

“First phase? Oh, no you don't.”

“Oh, yes I do,” she said. “In five more years I win the second phase.”

Galatea laughed at him. “She got you, Stanton,” she said.

He looked at her open-mouthed. “Now the women are conspiring together, I see,” he said.

They all joined Galatea in laughter. Even Stanton.

Naturally, they had to stay up. Rather than keep to the normal schedule of five years up and twenty-five down, they stayed up to see what would happen. Fran got her five years and more, so she won the second phase of the bet. Then Stanton declared a third phase when the beam went out again, and claimed that he'd won the best two out of three.

By this time they were almost two light years out and had reached a good percentage of their normal cruising speed. It was still going to take longer than it had to, but it was much better than it could have been. This time there was no warning. Communications were normal and there was no sign of trouble right up until the beam cut out.

Next time it came back on, it was incomplete. It was only at about sixty percent of its full power. The accompanying message explained that the enemy had gone beyond simply turning it off and had tried to destroy it. The Makers apologized and regretted that this was making their species look bad. It turned out that having all those resources from the Prime just sitting there, ripe for the picking, was too much temptation for the worst among them. They hoped that the comet people would make allowances and try to see beyond this temporary setback.

“Not likely,” said Stanton.

“Why not?” said Fran. “At least they're trying. We should give them the benefit of the doubt.”

“We've already done that,” he said. “Repeatedly. Now I think it's time to admit that it's beyond all doubt.”

Fran wanted to argue with him, but she didn't. Even she was losing faith in the ability of the Makers to overcome their nature. The evidence seemed to be showing conclusively that they were still too primitive and unstable to be relied upon.

This time they weren't even able to keep the beam on for five years, although they did build it up during that time. When it went down for good, it was up to eighty percent of its full power.

“Best three out of five,” said Stanton with a smirk.

“All right,” said Fran. “You win. In spite of my best hopes and their best intentions, I admit that Makers are just not ready.”

Stanton didn't gloat. He was a better man than that. In spite of betting on their failure, which he thought was a sure thing, he had been hoping that the Makers would prove him wrong. He was just as disappointed as Fran was that they hadn't been able to.

They'd already stayed up longer than they should have, and it was time to get back on their hibernation cycle. They still held out hope that the beam would come back on again one more time while they were sleeping. When it hadn't by the time they got up for the maneuver to catch the next beam, they were disappointed, but not surprised.

Chapter Five – Fertile Soil

The Prime flipped and caught the beam from the next star. If a twenty-four hour rotation can be called a flip. The one hundred kilometer long cargo vessel took a day to turn around and point the other way, stopping just short of a full one hundred eighty degrees. Right on cue, the beam arrived, and the Prime began to curve onto its new trajectory. The one that would take it on the second leg of a long journey.

The beam was not entirely aimed at the Prime's big sail. Some of it was redirected at the Ball's small, ten kilometer sail. Just as the Prime used the braking power to set a new course, so did the Ball. They would use the beam to turn the two hundred meter sphere of water glass toward the star. While the Prime turned away, heading outward, the Ball headed inward. Elgin and Fran and the others wanted to explore this system, to see if there was any life there that could make use of the resources the Prime was carrying. If there was, then the Prime could be sent back later to deliver them.

They also wanted to see what damage the Visitor had done. In their own system it had sought out and destroyed their whole species. They decided it saw them as competition, or at least corrosion. A threat to the resources it considered its own. So they wanted to see if there had been any similar carnage in this, the first system it encountered since being sent on its mission of discovery by the Makers.

They had to use the beam to slow down enough so the star's gravity could swing them around and send them after the Prime. Once on the main beam again, they would slowly overtake the big ship, then stay with it until the next system. During their ballistic, comet-like pass, they would have plenty of time to study and analyze this one.

They didn't find much. There were no planets in the star's habitable zone. That is, none where liquid water could exist on their surface. There were a few gas giants orbiting inside that zone, closer to the star and searingly hot. It's possible that life could have existed on some of their moons, but highly unlikely. All their volatiles would have been blown away long ago, not to mention the extreme temperature swings as they orbited in and out of their planets' shadows.

There were some minor bodies farther out, and they could see signs of plunder on them. It seemed the Visitor had carried out its mission of discovering and securing resources. It was easy to imagine that this was the beginning. This is where its mission got perverted and it began down its insane path of growth and destruction. Still, although this system had signs of plunder, obvious signs of the Visitor's presence, it didn't have any signs of the manic destruction that took place in their own system many years later. It might have begun here, but it was only the beginning.

They decided there was no need to send the Prime back here. It would be a wasted trip. They saw no sign of life, nor that there had ever been any. They felt comfortable leaving it behind, a small red star, not unlike the Makers' own red dwarf. Maybe if its planets hadn't been so close to it, they might have provided the same kind of habitat as the Makers' own water-covered moon. The Makers might have discovered alien worlds that they could one day visit. Maybe even alien creatures living on worlds much like their own.

The comet people took pleasure in that kind of speculation. What might have been. What could have been. Of course, it could only go so far before Stanton started pulling back on the reins. After all, it was a sterile system even before the Visitor arrived. And the Makers had apparently already self-destructed, and if not, were soon about to. Even if there were life here, even intelligent life, they would never have learned about it.

So the Ball sped out of that system, sailing on a laser beam. Its inhabitants went methodically through their duty cycles, working for five years and sleeping for twenty-five. They caught up with the Prime and Tainui, their twin ball from Orange Comet, and settled in for the trip to the next star.

This one was an orange dwarf, a little bigger than the red dwarfs behind them. They knew from their trip out, when they followed the Prime to see where it was going, that this system had many more planets, and they were much better organized. There were three medium-sized gas giants out on distant orbits, giving the system a stately stability. Closer in were three small, rocky planets, two of them on orbits where liquid water could exist on their surfaces. They knew from experience that at least some of the giants' moons were likely to have liquid water under their frozen surfaces, kept warm by gravitational kneading.

When they separated from the Prime and plunged into the system, they discovered that it was just as good as they thought it might be. Several of the moons in the outer system did have water, some of them demonstrating that with geysers spraying it into space. Life could theoretically have taken hold here.

On the two habitable rocky planets in the inner system, life definitely had taken hold. From a distance they could detect free oxygen and methane in their atmospheres. When they got closer the signs of life got more obvious. Their rich blues and greens were a treat for the eyes after all the barren monochrome that came before. Closer, they could see brilliant white clouds, with the star's light glinting off large oceans. These were living worlds, no doubt.

But they were damaged. There was life, yes. But where there should have been rich fecundity, it was thin, almost patchy.

Fran sighed. “I guess we knew it would have to be this way,” she said, “but it's still a disappointment.”

“That's right,” said Stanton. “We knew how bad the Visitor was by the time it reached us. It had to have been bad here too,” The logic was solid, but that didn't stop his face from settling into a deep scowl.

“I know,” said Fran. “I can't help hoping, though.”

“Of course you can't,” he said. “And we wouldn't want you to.”

“Oh!” Elgin was at a monitor, analyzing the data from their scans. He looked up at them and excitedly waved them over. “I've got something here,” he said.

He re-ran the data and let them see for themselves. Fran was the first to see it and she said, “Oh!” She looked at Elgin, then at Stanton.

It only took him a second longer, but he soon saw it. He said, “So, it's worse than we thought.”

The monitor was showing images from their ground-penetrating radar. While their telescopes revealed the surfaces of the two planets, covered in somewhat sparse vegetation, the radar showed something hidden underneath it. There were straight lines and right angles. While nature can make straight lines, and even the occasional right angle, it never made this many. They were showing up everywhere they ran their scans.

Every continent had at least some plainly artificial features. And in many places, especially on the coasts, there were clusters of them. These were surely settlements, and some of them were quite large.

“And it's not just on the one planet,” said Elgin, showing them both worlds. “Both planets were fully populated,”

Stanton said, “They look the same.”

Elgin and Frances nodded.

“No,” said Stanton. “I mean, they look the same.”

Elgin stopped nodding and looked at the monitor, but Fran said, “You're right! They look as if they were made by the same people.”

“That's right,” said Elgin. “It's right.” The lines smoothed out and the picture fell together with a soft clunk. “This is one continuous civilization across two worlds.”

Fran stared, her mouth open, but she couldn't speak.

Stanton could, though. “This must be what set the Visitor off. If these people could maintain their civilization on two planets, then they must have had quite sophisticated space technology.” He nodded, his mouth a grim line. “They would have been a threat to the Visitor's mission.”

“So it annihilated them,” said Fran, her voice barely a whisper. She turned away, the pain of empathy too much.

Elgin would have gone to her, but she turned and waved him back. “No,” she said, “stay there.” When he'd settled back in, she asked, “Is there any ... Can you tell if any of them survived?”

He turned back to the display. “I don't know,” he said. “There aren't any structures on either planet anywhere nearly as big as these old ones.”

Stanton said, “And of course, we've picked up no radio. There's no unusual electromagnetic activity at all.”

“The atmosphere appears normal,” said Elgin. “On both planets. Maybe the carbon dioxide is a little high, which it might be if people were burning wood for fires. But it's just as likely wildfires. Normal.”

“And other than that,” said Fran, “there's nothing in the atmosphere? Nothing to indicate any kind of technology?”

“No,” said Elgin. “Nor the oceans, as far as we can tell. And there's nothing on the land that stands out. We're too far away to resolve anything as small as a house, much less people or other animals, so they might be there. But they can't be there in any significant numbers, and they're not using any kind of detectable technology.”

“I think,” said Stanton, “that we have to admit that the Visitor wiped them out.”

“Unless ...” said Fran.

“Unless what?” said Elgin.

Fran looked a little abashed, but she still said it. “Unless they're hiding.”

Stanton laughed. “Hiding? What are the odds of that?”

“I don't know,” said Fran. She looked at Buzzard, their math genius, but he gave a large, exaggerated shrug. There was not enough data to even make a first approximation on that. Fran shrugged too. “After what happened to them, isn't it at least somewhat plausible that they would hide? If they survived.”

“Somewhat plausible,” said Stanton. “Sure. Highly unlikely, certainly. But not entirely implausible.”

“Actually,” said Elgin, “if they survived, I think it's highly likely that they are hiding. If their experience was anything like ours, then they must have figured out that it was their technology that made the Visitor attack. Especially radio. That would be a good incentive to eschew technology, or at least to hide it.”

“Yes,” said Fran, looking at Stanton. “You have to admit that there's at least a chance that they weren't completely wiped out.”

“Okay,” said Stanton grudgingly. “There's a chance that some of them survived and that they're still there now. But it's a small chance.”

“That's okay,” said Fran. “A chance is all we need.”

“You know,” said Buzzard, one long finger raised, “there's a good chance that they weren't wiped out. Wiped out.”

Stanton said, “What do you mean, Buzzard?”

“Time,” said Buzzard. “Progression. Growth.”

“Okay,” said Stanton.

Buzzard flexed his hands in frustration. He always had trouble with words when he got excited. “Growth,” he said. “Over time.”

Elgin jumped in, much to Buzzard's relief. “I think I know what you mean, Buzzard. You're saying that the visitor wasn't that big when it got here, right?”

“Yes,” said Buzzard. “Not that big.”

“Certainly not as big as it was when it got to our system,” said Elgin. Buzzard shook his head emphatically. “So,” Elgin said, “it might have built itself up a bit in the first system, but it wasn't big enough when it got here to carry on a major war, right?”

“Right,” said Buzzard.

“So it did most of its growing here. And it learned how to wage war here, too.” Elgin nodded. “It eventually won the war, but it took time. The people here were defeated, their interplanetary civilization destroyed, but they weren't surprised and overwhelmed like we were. It is most probable that some of them survived and went into hiding. Right Buzzard?”

“Right,” said Buzzard enthusiastically. “Elgin's right. Elgin knows. Hiding, not wiped out.”

Fran had a big smile and Stanton was nodding thoughtfully. He said, “That makes sense, Buzzard. I'm ready to admit that these people might still be here, but they're hiding.”

Buzzard grinned one of his big happy grins and exchanged nods with Elgin. Fran, still smiling, slipped her arm through Elgin's and said, “So, we leave some cargo here then. Right?”

Stanton laughed out loud. “Right,” he said. “We'll send half of our cargo back here.”

So, their rough guess was right. One third for the Makers, one third for the comet people, and one third for someone in between, if there happened to be anyone there. If there hadn't been anyone in between, then two thirds would have been fair for the comet people, with all they'd suffered. All told, it was a very satisfactory result. They just wished they could tell the Makers how it turned out, but they hadn't heard from them since their last breakdown.

Fran sighed. She said, “So now it's just a matter of catching the Prime, and we're on our way home.”

Chapter Six – Going Back

“Today we're going to look at the lung and the sonar apparatus, as I promised yesterday.” The Doctor was in front of the window, continuing his lecture series on Maker anatomy. He had his usual good audience back on the comets, Green and Orange, and on Pharos and Scintilla, the lighthouses. On the window was a schematic of a Maker body, with the dome at the top highlighted. Below the dome were the big, staring eyes. “You'll remember that yesterday we talked about the compound eyes. How Makers used to have eight eyes that migrated over time to become two.” He opened the dome to show the lung. “The lung is almost the opposite. It only ever was one. They didn't have multiple lungs that evolved into one. And, more interesting to me, the lung didn't bifurcate. The lung, like the heart, doesn't follow the trend to bilateral symmetry seen in much of the rest of the body.”

Continuing his lecture, the Doctor could see his audience in the window. They were in the squares on the comets and at the windows in the common areas of the lighthouses, and on Tainui with their own little section of the window. He could also see through the window to his local audience. After demonstrating where Makers showed bilateral symmetry, he highlighted the lung. “This started out as a swim bladder many eons ago. It was used to control buoyancy in the water.” He pointed at the breathing holes at the side, the image rotating slightly to show them. “These breathing holes, used today for breathing and speaking, were gills back then, before Makers came out of the ocean onto the mats. You can imagine how the gas exchange tissue spread into the lung over time. Now they can breathe quite comfortably in both the water and the air.”

Above the lung, rounding out the dome, was the area that produced the sounds used in their sonar. It was tempting to call it an organ, since it was a specific body part used for a specific function. But it didn't really qualify because it didn't actually do anything itself. It was just a mass of specialized fatty tissue that focused and amplified sounds, the clicks and buzzes and chirps that were produced by the air and tissues in the lung. These sounds were used both in the water and in the air. In the water it served as a localizing sense, helping them perceive their surroundings, and for communication. In the air it was part of their vocalization, and it contributed in a rudimentary way to their perceptions.

The Doctor closed up the image in the window, leaving it slowly rotating as he wound up the lecture. “That's it for my series on Maker anatomy,” he said. “Thank you for doing me the honor of paying attention. Now it's off to the Hibernarium for me. See you in twenty-five years.” He got a nice round of applause.

“Did anyone else notice something strange about the Square?” The Doctor's face appeared as he spoke, and stayed for a while before starting to fade.

Fran asked, “Strange how?” That was enough to show her golden eyes and her mouth, which began to go right away.

“I'm not sure,” said the Doctor, “but it was right next to Orange Comet's square and they looked different. Usually they look the same. Or similar, at least.”

“The Doctor's right,” said Nigel. “I can't say I noticed it at the time, but when I think about it, he's right. Something was a little off on Green Comet.”

“Yes,” said the Doctor. “Thank you, Nigel. Something is just a little off.”

Stanton spoke up. “Now that you mention it, I did notice something. I just thought it was a trick of the light or something.”

“Or you were afraid that you were seeing things, more likely,” said Galatea. “Afraid your mind was starting to slip in your old age.”

They all laughed, and all eight of their faces showed in the featureless white light. Elgin, Buzzard and Maria were there, in addition to the five who'd already showed themselves by speaking. The eight liked to take advantage of the ability to share their hibernation, even if twenty-five years only gave them a minute and a quarter together there.

By the time this big sleep was over, the Ball would have caught up to the Prime. They'd work a five year shift, have another twenty-five in the Hibernarium, and when they got up they'd almost be home. Home in the sense of their old star system, anyway. The place the Prime started out from when it turned around and headed back to its makers. They would offload their share of the resources and send the rest back to the system with the two-world civilization. They planned to have the Prime park itself in the outer planet's L1 lagrangian, so it could wait for the re-emergence of the space-faring species. If they did re-emerge, then they would be sure to notice the big cargo vessel in its stable orbit between their worlds.

Stanton was still smiling at Galatea's joke, but his smile was fading faster than his face. The truth is, he was concerned about his mind and its stability. They all were. They, along with psychologists on both comets, were concerned about the increasing prevalence of psychoses as people's personalities tried to maintain continuity across the millennia and many hibernations. These concerns lent extra weight to little things like Green Comet seeming a little off during the Doctor's lecture. Stanton's smile faded, and so did the rest of them.

He said, “As usual, Gay, wisdom in a wisecrack,”

“Shut up,” she said, but you could tell she was pleased.

“So, anyway,” said the Doctor, “we'll be home soon. Then we'll find out if there's anything off, or if our minds are going.”

His timing was perfect. The white light turned to gray.

When they got up, the Ball was lashed firmly to the stern of the Prime, and they were in straightaway acceleration mode. At a tenth of the speed of light, it wouldn't be long before they'd be flipping and catching the braking laser from home. The flip would take place during this waking, then after their last big sleep, arrival would be in their next.

The flight was routine. They held a small ceremony to mark the little excursion they had on the outbound trip. Tainui was coming from Orange Comet, which was further away, and they hadn't caught up yet when the Prime surprised them by flipping early. They'd estimated the time by the distance to the star the Prime was heading for, then it flipped early and cut the corner for another star. That left Tainui on the dark side of the Prime's sail, and gaining quickly with no way to slow down. Rather than let Tainui tear through the sail, they neatly cut it and resealed it. That was when they learned that they had nothing to fear from the Prime and began the next phase of their relationship with it. They soon realized that they could be masters of it, that it expected to be in service of a master, as it had been of the Visitor. That was an important moment, and they marked it with a ceremony.

When they made the flip, their home star was still just another star among many. When they rose from their final hibernation, it was the biggest, brightest star they could see. As they got closer the details came out. They were able to find the familiar planets in their predicted orbits. Soon they were able to see the shadows they cast in the dust that still filled the system. It seemed odd that it should still be there when they felt as if they'd been away for so long. Of course they knew it would take millennia to clear out the dust of the Visitor's violence. Their little jaunt was nothing compared to that. It still felt strange to see it apparently unchanged.

The laser beam stayed on until the Prime came to a complete stop, the last of the momentum killed by its huge ion drives and thrusters. There was the moon that served as the base for the beam. And there were the pods and shuttles coming out to greet them. They were back.

Chapter Seven – Power and Politics

As it had done with the laser station at the Maker world, the Prime parked a hundred kilometers away from this one. One ship's length. The pods coming across took an hour to do so, giving them plenty of time to chat. Even so, when they arrived they still made a formal request. The station's current governor, Fenwick, made the call.

“Ball, this is Prime Light, pod One, over.”

“Pod One, this is the Ball,” said Stanton. “Go ahead.”

“Ball, pod One,” said Fenwick. “Permission to come aboard.”

“Permission granted,” said Stanton.

Since all of the Ball's pod berths were occupied, they had to debark from their pod and fly across. It was not a problem. The two people in pressure suits looked completely comfortable, and the crossing was done quickly and efficiently. When Fran commented on that, Stanton said, “That makes sense. Out here, they probably spend half their time in those suits.”

“Mm,” said Fran, who'd noticed something. “What's that?” she said. “On their legs.”

Stanton squinted and leaned forward. “I don't know,” he said. “A tool belt maybe?”

“Maybe,” said Fran.

Elgin said, “They're probably in the habit of carrying tools everywhere, out here.”

While Fran and Stanton and the rest nodded, Buzzard said, “It looks like a gun. A gun.”

Fran gasped. “You're right,” she said. “It does.” She shook her head and looked at Elgin. “But surely not,” she said.

He shrugged. “It sure looks like it, now that Buzzard pointed it out.” He looked at her. “We'll know soon enough,” he said.

Their two visitors cycled through the airlock, and they could see that they did appear to be wearing guns. It didn't seem to make them self-conscious, and they went through the introductions as if everything were normal.

Fenwick said, “This is Dempster, my number two on the station, and the real brains behind the operation.” Dempster smiled and nodded, blushing a little. They both were looking around, trying to take it all in. It was no different from any other ball they'd been on -- the design was almost unchanged, even after all these centuries -- but this was the Ball. The original. And it was just back from a long interstellar journey. “I know who you are,” he said. “You're Elgin and Frances, right? And Stanton.” He looked at Buzzard, hanging there all long and loose and lanky. “And this has got to be Bussard.”

“Buzzard,” said Buzzard and Maria simultaneously.

“What?” said Fenwick.

“It's Buzzard,” said Maria. “He prefers it.”

“Buzzard,” said Buzzard. “I prefer it.”

“Oh, sorry,” said Fenwick. “Buzzard it is, then.”

Buzzard and Maria nodded.

“Okay,” said Fran. “Now that that's settled, why are you wearing weapons?”

Fenwick and Dempster were surprised. They reflexively looked down at their guns, then they looked at each other. It was obvious that they'd forgotten they were wearing them. That told Fran that it was an old habit. Fenwick finally found his voice. “I'm sorry. We should have thought. We shouldn't have come aboard like this.” He looked imploringly at Dempster.

Dempster ran his hand through his hair, his helmet folded back against the top of his service pack. “We should apologize for this. It's insulting for us to come onto your vessel armed.” He looked at Fran. “I'm sorry,” he said. He indicated Fenwick. “We're sorry. You have every right to send us away.” He turned to leave. “We'll go back and wait for you to invite us to return, should you decide to do so.”

Fran stopped them. She looked at Stanton, who nodded. “Please stay. We're not insulted. Just curious.”

They turned back. Fenwick began to remove his pistol. “You're very kind. At least we can turn over our weapons while we're here.” He held it out to her.

She waved it off. “Keep it,” she said. “We wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable. It seems to be an integral part of your equipment.” She watched him re-attach it to his thigh. “We're just curious how that came to be.”

Fenwick and Dempster looked at each other again. They both shrugged. Fenwick said, “There's no specific reason. It's just a habit.”

“But all habits start somewhere,” said Fran. “Was there some trouble out here on the frontier?”

“No,” said Fenwick. “All officers were issued sidearms at the beginning of the mission.”

“Officers?” said Fran, surprised.

Stanton said, “They have weapons on Green Comet?”

“Yes,” said Fenwick, looking back and forth between them. “Only the police are allowed to carry weapons, though.”

“Police?” said Stanton.

Fran said, “You have a hierarchy on this station?”

Fenwick's head kept swiveling, and he laughed. “I'm sorry,” he said. “It looks like you have some catching up to do. This station isn't the only place with a hierarchy.”

Between them, Fenwick and Dempster tried to explain the changes that had taken place on Green Comet.

“No, it was before that,” said Dempster.

“Are you sure?” said Fenwick. “I always thought it happened just after we completed the hexamer.”

“That's when it really took off,” said Dempster, “but it started when they took over the planning committee.”

“Well, technically, sure,” said Fenwick. “But you could say the same thing about the schools. They were controlling education before they took over the committee.”

“That's true,” said Dempster. “But then it's a case of how far back you want to go. Where do you draw the line?”

“I know,” said Fenwick. “That's why I go with the hexamer. When they started forming governments.”

Stanton looked at Fran and Elgin, and they were just as surprised as he was. “Hold on,” he said. “Governments? Green Comet has governments?”

“Yes,” said Fenwick. “Ever since the hexamer. And the first thing they did was divide it up into provinces. One for each of the six comets. Well, the five completed ones, anyway”

“Divided?” Stanton frowned. Soon it deepened into a ferocious scowl. “They took over Green Comet, and then they divided it up?”

“That's right,” said Fenwick. “Each comet is a principality, run by one man. And there are checkpoints leaving and entering each comet.”

Stanton's eyes widened. “How ...” he said. “How did ...” He couldn't finish. He turned away.

“It wasn't us,” said Fenwick to Stanton's retreating back. “It wasn't what we wanted.” Stanton kept going, and Fenwick turned to Elgin and Fran. “You've got to believe us.”

Dempster said, “We didn't see it coming. Maybe we should have, but we didn't. It happened slowly, bit by bit, and then one day, there it was.” He spread his hands.

Fran watched Stanton moving away, her mind whirling. She looked at Elgin, and took strength from his bedrock support. Turning to their two visitors, she said, “Let me get this straight. The Francesians took over the schools, then they took over the planning committee, then they took over Green Comet. And no one tried to stop them. Is that right?”

They looked guiltily at each other, then Fenwick said, “It sounds bad when you put it like that.” He dropped his eyes to the floor. “You're right, though. That's just what happened.”

“And now Green Comet is a police state,” said Fran. “No freedom.”

“They've still got freedom,” said Dempster. “Quite a lot of freedom, really. And they still get to vote.”

Fenwick snorted. “For any Francesian they want,” he said.

“Still ...” said Dempster.

“Freedom?” Fran's chin came up. “Between the checkpoints, you mean?”

Dempster nodded, looking away.

“That's right,” said Fenwick. “And I heard they're thinking of ruling that only Francesians can vote, too.”

Fran's brow came down. “They would do that?”

“Sure,” said Dempster. He looked at her. “We don't blame you, Frances,” he said.

She gaped at him. “Blame me?”

Elgin blurted, “That's crazy.”

Stanton came storming back. “You'd better not blame her. She's got nothing to do with it,” he bellowed. Galatea and everyone else within earshot backed him up with a chorus of shouts.

Dempster and Fenwick backed up. “We don't,” said Dempster. “I just said we don't.”

“That's good,” said Stanton, “because we've been trying to straighten those idiots out for a long time. Frances never wanted to be their saint, but they wouldn't listen.”

Elgin said, “And she would never condone the kind of repression you're talking about.” He moved close and put his arm around her waist.

“We believe you,” Dempster said. “The trouble is, half of the people on Green Comet believe them.”

“But you don't?” said Elgin.

“No,” said Dempster. “Any rational person would believe someone if they say they're not a saint. She should know better than they do, right?”

Elgin relaxed a little, his face smoothing out. He felt Fran relax beside him. “That sounds reasonable,” he said. “Why can't everyone see that?”

“Because some people are born to be followers, that's why,” said Stanton. “Some people need to be told what to believe.” He looked as if he had something bitter in his mouth. “They found someone to follow, and they're probably happy where they ended up.”

“That's about right,” said Fenwick. “Every time there were new rules, there were a lot of people saying how good they were. How much we needed them.”

“But not you,” said Stanton, glaring.

“No, not us. That's why we left. Why we came out here.” He glanced at the laser station. “And why we didn't let any Francesians come along.”

“Did they want to?” asked Stanton. “Did any Francesians want to come with you?”

“A few,” said Fenwick. “I got the impression they were under orders, though. Like they were being sent, rather than wanting to come themselves.”

“Why didn't they come, then?” insisted Stanton. “If they're as powerful as you say they are, why didn't they just force you to take them?”

“We got out just under the wire,” said Fenwick. “It was just before they were able to openly use their power. I guess they were afraid of a backlash if they showed their hand too early.”

“Okay,” said Stanton, nodding. “That makes sense.”

“Yes it does,” said Fran, taking Elgin's arm. “Now enough of this talk. Our guests haven't even had tea and biscuits, and here we are interrogating them.” She led them deeper into the Ball. “And then we're going to want a tour of Prime Light, too.”

“Why didn't Winston and Minder say something?” Fran was serving tea for the eight. Before their tour of Prime Light, they had a lot to talk about.

The Doctor said, “Maybe this explains why they're not up now. They always made sure to be up when we were, but this time they're still in hibernation.”

Fran said, “Do you think that's on purpose?”

“Well,” said the Doctor, “I can't say for certain of course, but it seems a likely explanation, doesn't it?”

“Yes, it does,” she said. “So the Francesians force them to stay in hibernation. But why? Punishment? Politics?”

“Plausible,” said the Doctor. “I can't imagine Winston or Minder allowing a hostile takeover without resisting.” Everyone nodded and voiced their agreement. There were grim smiles as they imagined their friends standing up to the Francesians. “But it might also be so they couldn't warn us.”

“Warn us?” said Fran. “Why would they care if we were warned? What can we do?”

“And anyway,” said Stanton, “we were bound to find out when we got here.”

“That could be why they wanted their people here,” said the Doctor. “To control this place, too.”

Fran shook her head. “Really? Do you think they could really be that devious and paranoid?”

“That's usually the nature of the beast, isn't it?”

“I guess you're right,” she said.

“Unfortunately,” he said.

They all sipped and nibbled for a while, thinking about that. Green Comet, the last refuge of their people, the shining beacon of their stand against annihilation, now succumbing to the paranoia of power-seekers. The very pettiness shown by the primitive Makers and their Acquisitors, now ascendant in their own world. Elgin had told Plub that the Acquisitors would be back. Had told him that the same thing happened on their own world, and that the Makers would have to be prepared to deal with Acquisitors, or their analogues, over and again.

Plub was shocked that it could be a problem for them. That people so grand that they traveled to the stars could be troubled by something so mundane. But Elgin assured him that it was so. Even comet people had this problem, so Makers should take heart and be optimistic about their own future. The only reason comet people weren't afflicted with this problem now, he said, was because of shared danger and hardship. Now that seemed to have ended. Now, the last refuge appeared to be found by predators.

Elgin's head came up. They weren't the last refuge. Not really. “Orange Comet,” he said. “We need to find out what's happening on Orange Comet.”

Fran looked at him. “Oh no,” she said.

Stanton said, “Let's get Archie.”

“What are you thinking?” asked Archie. “That the Francesians have taken over Orange Comet, too?”

“No,” said Buzzard. “Well, maybe. But probably not. But it could be.” He forcibly stopped himself.

Stanton said, “We don't know what to think. Anything's possible, right? As Buzzard says.” He winked at Buzzard, who grinned gratefully. “We just need to find out, and we thought you'd be best able to tell.”

Archie went completely still, thinking, and they waited. In less than a minute he said, “Okay. But remember, I've been away from Orange Comet longer than you've been away from Green Comet.”

“That's right,” said Buzzard. “Tainui left Orange Comet before the Ball left Green Comet.”

“We know,” said Stanton, “but you're still our best bet.”

Archie gave a crisp nod. “You're right,” he said. “What do you want me to ask them?”

Stanton shrugged, looking around. “We're not sure. We won't really know what to say until we know more. We want to learn as much as possible while giving away as little as possible.” He shrugged again. “We were hoping that you could play it by ear.”

That would be difficult for Archie. Dissembling wasn't his metier. He was happier with directness. He gave another crisp nod. “Okay,” he said. “I'll do it.”

“Good,” said Stanton. “We just want to find out if the Francesians are running things there, too.”

“The Francesians!” That didn't take long at all. Archie just started talking to his friend on Orange Comet, and already they had their answer. All he did was mention that they'd heard there was some trouble on Green Comet, and his friend went straight to the heart of it. And he didn't seem reluctant to speak openly about it.

“So, you know about it,” said Archie.

“Know about it?” Archie's friend's name was Hardwicke. He was among the two thousand who emigrated from Green Comet to Orange Comet during the original diaspora after the arrival of the Visitor. He still felt a strong attachment to his old home. “Did we know about it? We saw it coming. We tried to warn them. But they cared more about their precious democracy. They played right into the hands of the Francesians, who weren't troubled by such niceties.”

“You couldn't help them,” said Archie.

“We tried, but they didn't want our help,” said Hardwicke. “By the time they woke up to the danger, it was too late.”

“How about Orange Comet?” asked Archie.

“What about it?” asked Hardwicke.

“When you came over,” said Archie, “there were some Francesians with you. Are they causing any trouble there?”

“No,” said Hardwicke. “Oh, they tried. They wanted to get on the school board and the planning committee here, too. But we nipped that in the bud.”

“Nipped it in the bud?”

“Yes. We saw what they were up to, and we stopped them before they could get started.”

“How?” said Archie. “What did you do?”

Hardwicke saw the doubtful look on Archie's face, and was quick to mollify him. “Nothing violent,” he said. “All we did was bar them from holding critical positions. We're just keeping them away from the power they want.”

“So, you took away their rights.”

“Not all of them,” said Hardwicke. “Just enough to avoid the trouble they're having on Green Comet.” Archie was still looking at him, so he said, “Isn't that better than letting them take away everybody else's rights? Because that's what they would have done.”

“I suppose,” said Archie.

“There's no supposing about it,” said Hardwicke. “It needed to be done. You weren't here, so you don't know.”

Chapter Eight – A Lot to Take in

It took an hour to fly from the Prime to the station. Plenty of time for sightseeing. The main thing was the laser array. A collection of clusters of lasers, forming a disk shape five thousand kilometers across. It matched the Prime's sail and was almost perfectly aligned with it. Their destination was at the bottom of the array, where Fenwick and his people had their habitat. Knowing the configuration of the Prime, with the Ball and Tainui on the big vessel below its sail, they located their habitat to match. They had a larger habitat on the moon itself, a five hundred kilometer sphere behind the center of the array.

The habitat itself consisted of the ball they'd come in, when they made the journey from Green Comet, and another smaller ball. The crew lived in the big ball, and worked out of the small one. They were charged with the maintenance of the laser array in this quadrant, while the main base on the moon was responsible for the rest. In reality, maintenance was handled by service robots, much like their own Scarface. There was one at each cluster of lasers, and they handled routine maintenance and repairs. The comet people were redundant. They were really here at the edge of the works to meet the returning Prime and its occupants.

The Ball's pod was not the only traffic in the area. Two more pods had been authorized for deployment. That allowed some of the Ball's crew to take an excursion, while leaving enough crew and pods for the safe operation of the Ball. Similarly, three pods had left Tainui. They were out for some sightseeing, and for a little shore leave. None of the other five pods was going to Prime Light. There was little interest in seeing another ball. Instead, they were heading for the moon, Prime One, passing by a laser cluster on the way.

This activity was replicated in the other direction. There was just as much interest in exploring the new arrivals as there was the other way. The main difference was that there was an interest in the Ball and Tainui. They might have been just another pair of balls, but these ones had been to the stars and back. The main interest, though, was in the Prime. It was their first chance to see the alien vessel up close. They had images and memories of the hated Visitor. And they were intimately familiar with the laser array and its technology. But this was their first chance to see a ship up close. They flew its length, slowing to stare at the twenty-eight scouts and modules. They stopped at the bow and flew down to go inside, through the same hatch first used by Buzzard and Maria.

The pods heading for the moon were able to fly there directly. They didn't have to fly around the laser array, they were able to fly through it. The lasers were grouped in clusters, with space in between. The object of the array was to give the Prime's sail full coverage, to take full advantage of it. Just as they wouldn't want the beam to be too wide, wasting light around the edges, so they wouldn't want it to be too narrow, wasting sail. That was how it worked out, but that wasn't how it came to be.

The Visitor and the Prime didn't start out big. Originally the Visitor was a tiny craft, with a relatively small sail. It only started to grow after it reached its first star. Having lost contact with its makers, it was on its own and having to adapt its existing technology to the new situation. Rather than invent a new solution, it simply scaled things up on the old template. If the sails were now bigger, the Visitor didn't just build one big light. It divided the new sail size by the old sail size, and built that many lights. So each cluster in the new array was the size of the original, and they were simply added as needed. The spacing between clusters reflected the amount of natural divergence there would be in the beams at the light year distances involved.

The pods were able to fly directly to the moon, passing between the clusters on the way, but it didn't save them that much time. They had to go twenty-five hundred kilometers, give or take, and cutting that corner didn't save much in comparison. The pods weren't built for speed, but they had enough thrust to get going pretty fast, given enough time. The only constraint was the amount of fuel they'd use. Whatever speed they built up, they'd have to dump to stop at their destination. Then again on the return trip. All things considered, it was feasible and safe to go a thousand kilometers per hour. That made for two and a half hours each way. Closer to three, all in. You might think, given the distances they'd traveled and the time they'd spent doing it, that they'd be immune to boredom. But it's different when you can see your goal right there, and it seems to take forever to get closer.

Elgin and Frances and the rest of the eight, nine counting Archie, didn't fly directly to the moon. Their destination was the habitat only a hundred kilometers away at the edge of the array. But it still took an hour. At that distance, the safe speed was a hundred kilometers per hour. So that gave them plenty of time for sightseeing, and plenty of time to talk.

“This is a lot to take in, isn't it?” said Fran.

“It sure is,” said Elgin.

“I take it you're not just talking about the view,” said Stanton.

“No, you're right,” said Fran. “I mean weapons and hierarchy and some kind of police state back on Green Comet.”

“And don't forget Orange Comet,” said Archie. “They're being repressive there, too.”

“At least they're doing it in a good cause,” said Stanton.

Fran looked at him. “No!” she said. “Don't say that. Repression is never in a good cause.”

“You're right,” said Archie. “I can't believe they did that.”

Stanton said, “Would it be better if the Francesians did it?”

“No,” said Archie, “but it feels like they might as well have.”

“Repression is repression,” said Fran, “no matter who's doing it.”

“But this – what Orange Comet is doing – is precautionary,” said Stanton. “To prevent worse repression.”

Fran looked at him. “Or so they say, anyway.”

“But they were trying to do the same thing,” said Stanton. “Archie's friend ...”

“Hardwicke,” said Archie.

“Hardwicke,” said Stanton. “Hardwicke said they were trying to get into positions of power. Just like they did on Green Comet.”

“That's the nature of democracy,” said Fran. “Everyone is free to participate. In fact, it's expected.”

“I'm not against democracy,” said Stanton. “I'm saying it needs to be protected.” He waved an arm in the general direction of Green Comet. “They already destroyed it on our comet. We shouldn't let them do it on Archie's.”

In a small voice, Archie said, “It looks like they already have.”

Stanton threw his hands up. “It's not the same,” he said.

“You're right,” said Fran. “It's not the same. On one comet they've taken away the rights of everyone who isn't a Francesian. On the other, everyone who is.”

Stanton glowered at her. “You're oversimplifying,” he said. “On one comet they failed to stop it. On the other, they're trying.”

Fran nodded. “I agree they had to do something. I just think they could have tried something else.”

“Like what?” said Stanton. “They were set to take over, just like they did on Green Comet.”

“Is that a fact?” Fran crossed her arms. “Is there any evidence that they were planning the same thing? Were they in cahoots with the Francesians on Green Comet? Or under their orders, maybe?”

“Well, it stands to reason,” said Stanton. He looked at Archie. “Did Hardwicke say anything?”

Archie shook his head. “All he said was that they nipped it in the bud.”

Fran said, “Nothing to indicate that they were planning anything?”

“No,” said Archie.

“And no indication that they weren't, either,” said Stanton. “Right, Archie?”

Archie was getting nervous. The last thing he wanted was to be in the middle of an argument between two of his friends. He looked around, and caught Buzzard's eye. Of all the people he had known, Buzzard understood him best. They were very different physically. Buzzard long and supple, Archie compact and contained. Also, while Buzzard openly displayed his feelings, Archie's were subdued. But their inner selves were much the same. They were both brilliant and they understood each other, often without speaking. And they shared a certain difficulty understanding irrational behavior. Now Archie was feeling uneasy in the face of an argument he didn't understand, and Buzzard got it.

“Archie doesn't know,” Buzzard said. “He wasn't there. He wasn't there, so he doesn't know.” Archie's minimalist expression showed his gratitude.

Fran was abashed. “Of course he doesn't,” she said. She looked at Stanton.

He lowered his eyes and his shoulders. “You're right,” he said. He looked at Buzzard and said, “Thank you.”

In the awkward silence, the Doctor said, “We don't know enough about Orange Comet's situation to judge. We have to trust that they made the best decision, for them.”

“The Doctor's right,” said Fran. “Until we know more, this is all speculation.”

Elgin nodded. That felt right. “We can be pretty certain about Green Comet, though. Not much speculation required there.”

“No,” said Fran. “But we need more information. We need to know exactly what happened, and how. And we need to know exactly what the situation is there now.” Her face set in its familiar determined lines. “We need to know just what we're in for when we get back there.”

“Hold on,” said Stanton. “Are you still planning on going back there?”

“Of course,” she said. “Our mission is complete, and now we head back as planned.”

“I think we should consider changing our plans, in light of what's happened.”

“Not go home? How can we not go home?”

Archie said quietly, “I'm not going home.”

Buzzard stared, open-mouthed. “How can you not go home?” he said. Like Fran, the idea never occurred to him.

“It doesn't feel like home any more,” said Archie. “It feels like some strange place.” He looked around. “This feels more like home.”

“What will you do, then?” asked Buzzard. “Where will you go?”

“I don't know,” said Archie. He was looking at the habitat as they approached it. “Maybe I'll stay here. They can probably use another hand. Or maybe there will be another lighthouse crew heading out. I could go with them.”

“Or Green Comet?” said Buzzard. “You could come to Green Comet.”

Archie gave his head a fractional shake. “Too much like Orange Comet,” he said. “Been around too long. Getting tunnel-vision.” He turned around to look at the Prime. “I need something new. Something useful.” He nodded minutely. “Maybe the Prime.”

Buzzard looked at the Prime, then Archie, then Fran, his head swiveling as he desperately searched for a hopeful sign. “But you can't,” he said. “You can't do that.”

“Why not?” asked Archie.

“Because,” said Buzzard. “Because it's not coming back. You can't go with the Prime because you couldn't come back.” He looked around, grinning. Archie couldn't argue with that.

“I hadn't thought of going with it, but maybe I should,” said Archie. “Maybe we could set up a lighthouse there. Call it Prime Two.” His cheeks dimpled at Buzzard, who couldn't help laughing at their private joke. “And the people there. Maybe we can help them. Fix some of the damage. Do something useful.”

“But you can do something useful here,” said Buzzard. “Help us save Green Comet. And we can help you fix Orange Comet.” He tried, but he couldn't keep up the enthusiasm. He could tell that Archie was serious.

Archie turned back around. “Maybe you're right,” he said. “Maybe I'm just disappointed now. Maybe I'll get over it.” But he didn't sound like it.

Buzzard wasn't the only one affected by Archie's mood. It had them all thinking, and it was a very somber pod that eased up and docked on the habitat's ball.

Chapter Nine – Patterns and Reflections

They didn't stay long at the habitat. After all, it was just another ball much like their own. They took the tour, as good guests would, and it was interesting in a way. Even though it was laid out the same as the Ball and Tainui, and every other ball made, it had its own individual features. There was the flashball court at the front, and housekeeping at the back. In the middle was the control center, for communications, command and control, and the window. They would have had no trouble living in and operating this ball, with minimal adjustment.

There were two main differences. They couldn't help noticing that it looked worn. Corners, edges, surfaces all had a used look that they weren't accustomed to. Their attention to detail and maintenance on the Ball and Tainui was impeccable. Other than a comfortable degree of looking lived in, they were almost like new. Compared to that, this place was almost grungy. They didn't say anything about it though. Maybe this was just the nature of frontier life.

The other big difference was the use of fabric to partition the interior. They were using a lot more of it here. On the Ball they used fabric to mark off different areas, like work and eating and sleeping. And of course everyone had their own little private space. Other than that it was pretty open. In places, a person could fly almost the full width of the ball without running into anything. Here, though, you couldn't see from one side to the other. The most open space was the flashball court and a small viewing area around it. Everywhere else it was chopped up by fabric walls and corridors. You couldn't just fly from one place to another. You had to traverse fabric tunnels.

Elgin looked at Fran and saw that she was feeling it. It was subtle, and he didn't think anyone else would see it, but she seemed to be drawn in on herself. He knew what it was. He could feel it himself. It was a mild case of claustrophobia. They were used to their open plan back on the Ball, and this felt like it was closing in on them. He put his arm around her waist, and she did likewise.

Dempster noticed. Fenwick was too involved in the tour and the duties of being a host, but Dempster was more attuned to the subtleties. “What is it?” he said quietly. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” said Elgin. “It's just not what we're used to. It's broken up here. More closed in.”

“Ah,” said Dempster. “I know what you mean.” He smiled. “In fact, I felt something similar in your ball, only it was too open. I felt vaguely nervous. Exposed, or something.”

Fran nodded. “Of course,” she said. She looked around, unconsciously seeking some way to see out. On the Ball, from almost anywhere, you could find a way to see out through the shell. In here it always stopped at another piece of fabric. “If it's not too rude,” she said, “how did it come to this? Why did you decide on this closed format?”

Dempster raised his shoulders. “We didn't make any decisions really,” he said. “It just happened. People started putting up fabric, and they didn't stop.”

“It's still going on?” asked Elgin. “People are still putting up more fabric walls?”

“Yes,” said Dempster. “Although it's more rearranging them than putting up new ones now.”

“I see,” said Elgin, his gaze roaming the busy patterns of intersecting planes.

Fran was still curious. She asked, “How do you think it started? Do you ever wonder?”

Dempster's shoulders went up again. “I don't know,” he said. “Maybe people just like their privacy.”

“Privacy,” said Fran. “Privacy is important.”

“Yes,” said Dempster. “We think so.”

The tour was nearing its end and they were flying along one of the main corridors, back toward the control center. Fran slowed down and took a good look at the patterns woven into the fabric. “These are all different, aren't they?” she said. “I've been noticing different designs in different places.”

“That's right,” said Dempster. “Whenever someone puts up a new piece, they put a design into it. It's become a kind of tradition.”

“So they're all different,” said Fran.

“Almost,” said Dempster. “When you do it, you can choose to do your own design, or use one of the built-ins.”

“Ah,” said Fran.

“That's it,” said Elgin, returning from his reverie. “I thought I saw something. Some of these designs look more standard than others.”

“You're probably seeing the difference between the built-ins and the custom ones.” He gestured at the corridor wall. “This is one of the standard patterns, since this is more of a public area. The more private areas tend to have the more personal designs.”

“So they would become associated with the people who live there. The people who made them. Kind of like totems.” Elgin was nodding as it came together.

“Yes,” said Dempster, “sort of. But not everyone takes it that seriously. A lot of people just let the fabricator pick a random design. Or they just use the last one that was put in there.”

“They use someone else's design? Does that ever cause problems? People can get pretty fussy about that kind of thing.”

“Yes they can,” said Dempster. “Not always, though. Some people are happy to let others use their work. It makes them feel good to see it up there. But not everyone feels that way. Some people are more possessive about it. Very serious.”

“How serious?”

“Pretty serious,” said Dempster. “There have been fights. People coming to blows right out there in the corridor.”

“That sounds like a problem,” said Elgin. “For the whole station, I mean. It can't be easy running this place with that going on.”

“No. Although that's more Fenwick's area. I'm just an adviser.” He looked at Fenwick, who was busy talking. “It is a problem though. Fortunately no one's been killed yet, but that's more good luck than good management.”

“How do you arbitrate the disputes? I mean, once the dust has settled, you must have some way to resolve it.”

“Yes we do,” said Dempster. “The design belongs to the original creator. They have the right to say how it will be used.”

Elgin nodded. “That makes sense,” he said. “If they're going to fight over ownership, then you need some way to establish ownership.”

“Exactly,” said Dempster. “Our first piece of property law.”

“Oh,” said Elgin, looking at Fran.

“Oh,” she said. “Property.”

“I know,” said Dempster. “But we had a problem to solve, and so far it's working.”

“It didn't stop there though, did it?” said Fran.

“No,” said Dempster. “Once that became property, it spread to other things. It seems like we have to decide about something new every week.”

“So, designs,” said Fran. “And if someone can own a design, can they own other ideas like, say, techniques?”

Dempster nodded wearily. “A few of those snuck in before we got up to speed. Now there are a few ways of doing things, like handling ice during construction, that we can't use without running into ownership problems.”

Fran nodded sympathetically. “But you're getting a better grip on it now.”

“Yes,” he said. “We clamped down, declared a moratorium and drafted a legal framework, trying to anticipate everything.”

“How's it working?”

“Okay. Of course it's impossible to anticipate everything. But we locked down the important stuff.”

“Such as?”

“Communal property, mostly. No one can own part of this habitat. They can partition it off for their use, but they never own it.” He gestured in the general direction of the laser array and the moon. “And nobody can own our resources. They are essential to our well-being as a community, so they belong to all of us.”

“And everyone's happy with that?” Fran's smile was knowing, but kind.

Dempster shook his head with a wry smile. “No,” he said. “Some think we should allow it. It's still a minority, but it's a noticeable minority.”

“What's their reasoning?” asked Fran. “How do they justify it?”

“That's just it,” said Dempster. “They seem to feel very strongly about it, but when you ask them, they're not strong on specifics.” He raised his eyebrows and his shoulders at her. “But they all agree on one thing. They say that private ownership would be more efficient.”

“More efficient,” said Fran. “Do they say how?”

“No,” said Dempster. “When you ask them, they can make a list of the ways they think we're doing it wrong. But when you press them for how they'd do it better, you get vague generalities like more efficient.”

Fran nodded. “Be careful,” she said. “People who feel strongly about things they can't explain can be dangerous. I speak from experience.”

He nodded. “You're talking about the Makers.”

“Yes,” she said, looking into his eyes. “Among others.”

He hesitated, then, “Oh, you mean the Francesians.”

After their tour of the habitat, they went on to the main base on the moon. Prime One had shuttles specifically for that. The crew at the habitat was continually swapped out, so they had a well-developed transit system for getting people back and forth. The shuttles could also be used for taking maintenance crews to the clusters in the laser array, but usually they used smaller ones for that.

This bigger shuttle could easily carry thirty-five passengers, enough to replace half the crew on the ball. So there was more than enough room for the nine of them, along with Fenwick and Dempster and a handful of their staff. They had straps to hang onto while under acceleration, but were free to move about during the coasting phase. The interior of the shuttle was spacious and pressurized.

They hadn't been at Prime Light long enough to remove their pressure suits, but they did so here. With their suits being serviced and replenished, they took advantage of the opportunity to stretch their wings in the generous cabin. It had viewports on all six sides, screens attached to cameras on the outside. These were lightweight craft, meant to be quick and nimble, so they were made of ordinary metal. Their hulls were simple thin sheets, cheap and opaque. To keep it simple, they didn't complicate the construction with transparent windows that would compromise the integrity. But the screens were so good that it looked as if they had.

On the way to the moon they took a detour by one of the clusters so they could have a close look at it. When they got close they realized the size of it. It dwarfed their shuttle as they took one loop around it, skimming over the generators at the back and the massive crystals at the front. Elgin and the others were used to the Prime and had become accustomed to its size. It was much bigger than this one cluster of lasers, but they realized that this one represented thousands of others spread out across five thousand kilometers of space. All together they were bigger than the Prime.

Elgin's brain was automatically doing rough size and mass calculations when Fenwick spoke to him. He reeled himself in and said, “Pardon me?”

“I said, it's pretty impressive up close, isn't it?” said Fenwick.

“Oh,” said Elgin, “yes.” He laughed. “I thought I was used to big, after spending all that time with the Prime, but this is on another scale altogether.”

“That's funny,” said Fenwick. “We're used to this, and we think the Prime is impressive.” he laughed. “I guess it depends on what you're used to, doesn't it?”

“I guess so,” said Elgin. “But it still takes a while to get used to it. You should have seen us at first, when we didn't know what to expect.”

“I know what you mean,” said Fenwick. “When we first got here this thing looked so big, and covered so much space, that we thought we'd never be able to handle it. But now it's all routine, and we can make it do whatever we want.”

“Whatever you want. So you're using it for other things?”

“Sure,” said Fenwick. “We use it like a regular lighthouse. Regular runs between here and Green Comet, for instance.” He frowned. “Until recently anyway.” He shook his head, then his brow cleared. “And we've got one en route to Orange Comet, and another coming this way.” He smiled. “And we've just sent another pair of balls off to establish another lighthouse.”

Elgin nodded. “You are keeping busy.” He looked at the huge cluster of lasers out the viewscreen. “So you can use these individually.”

“Yes,” said Fenwick. “We can even take just a few lasers out of a cluster and use them separately. We do that for short local trips, within this system.”

“Oh,” said Elgin, his interest piqued. “How's that going? Are you getting pretty well established here? Has anyone been to our old planet yet?”

“No,” said Fenwick. “Well, yes,” he corrected himself. “No one has actually been to it, but they were pretty close when they were in the inner system working on the Visitor's old solar collectors.”

“How's it looking?” asked Elgin, suddenly subdued.

“Pretty good, considering,” said Fenwick.

“Of course,” said Elgin, thinking of what they were taking into consideration.

“There's plenty of life,” said Fenwick. “It looks as if it's almost back in balance, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes,” said Elgin. “You can tell, can't you?”

“That's right,” said Fenwick. “It just looks wrong when it's out of balance, doesn't it? Like that place you saw. The one you saved from the Visitor.”

“Yes. You could just tell that something was wrong.”

“It was hit by a big comet, wasn't it?”

“Or part of the Visitor. We never settled that.”

“That's right,” said Fenwick. “I remember that now. We used to have big arguments about that. Big debates.”

“Did you ever settle it? Any final conclusions?”

“No. There was never enough definitive data. Knowing what we knew, you could never say for sure either way.” Fenwick grinned. “It was perfect.”

Elgin laughed. “Perfect for an eternal debate, you mean.”

“Yes,” said Fenwick. “You never had to worry about having nothing to say. It was always open for discussion.” He looked at Elgin. “Well except for the Francesians.”

“What about them?”

“They have officially decided. It was the Visitor. And because Frances was there, because she was responsible for the destruction of the Visitor, causing it to hit that planet, it must have been ordained.”

Elgin's brow began to pull down. “They're blaming it on Fran?”

“Not blaming so much. More like attributing. To them it's a good thing. It must be, because it was ordained and Frances was the instrument through which it was carried out.”

Elgin couldn't speak. The airtight circularity of it was too stunning. Finally he said, “They just keep getting worse, don't they?”

“That's why I left,” said Fenwick. “I couldn't take it any more.” His eyes widened. “I just realized. If I can't stand it, how bad must it be for you and her.” He looked at her, where she was standing talking to Dempster. “For Frances.”

Elgin looked, and his face softened. “She handles it really well,” he said, “but I can tell it's wearing on her.”

“I hardly know her,” said Fenwick, “but I can tell she's a remarkable woman.”

“She is,” said Elgin. “And she was an important part of destroying the Visitor. It deserved it, after what happened here. But they can't blame her for what happened to that planet.”

“No,” said Fenwick quietly. “The Visitor got what was coming to it, after what it did here. And the good news is that our old planet is recovering. Coming back into balance.”

“That is good news,” said Elgin.

“And it's not just the small things, either. It's not just moss and algae and insects. It's actual forests. And we can see evidence of larger animals, especially in the ocean.”

“But no people?”

“No. At least, no sign of civilization. No roads or big buildings. They could be living at subsistence level, I suppose. Just another animal.”

“That doesn't seem likely,” said Elgin. “Not after thousands of years.”

“No, you're right,” said Fenwick. “Wishful thinking, I guess.”

Something caught the corner of Elgin's eye, and he turned in the direction of the Prime's big sail. It was reflecting the stars, of course, so it was hard to see it against the rest of the star field. He moved close to the screen, craning to see the top, where he knew it was almost touching the laser array. But he was too close to the array and his view was obscured by five thousand kilometers of clusters. He gave up trying to find the edge and went back to what had caught his eye: the Sun. It was being reflected in the sail, and it was close enough that it was clearly larger and brighter than any other star. He looked out the other side and saw the real Sun, to his eye identical to its reflection in the sail. “That's interesting.” he said.

“Yes,” said Fenwick, looking back and forth. It was the first time he'd seen it, too. He'd moved out to the habitat well before they arrived, at the edge and at the wrong angle to see this. And they were also lucky that the sail happened to be pointing at the Sun. The Prime entered the system aiming at the array, not the Sun. On any other part of the array's orbit around the Sun, they would not have had this alignment.

Elgin had a thought and his brain started doing calculations. He soon shook his head. The moon they were headed for would not eclipse the Sun at any point on their route. Not directly and not in the reflection. “Oh well,” he said, “you can't ask for too much, I guess.” When Fenwick looked at him, he just grinned and shook his head.

Chapter Ten – The Bazaar

Prime One had a square. Not some perfunctory replica of a square, but a real, full-sized one, the equal of the squares on Green Comet and Orange Comet. It was two hundred meters on each side and a hundred twenty-five meters high, and it was the center of life on Prime One.

“The moon is like a big comet with a rocky core,” said Fenwick. “We didn't have to think long about how we would go about things here.”

“Meaning you burrowed,” said Elgin. “Tunneled out rooms and corridors.”

“Yes,” said Fenwick. “Just like back on Green Comet.”

They were in the square, just inside one of the eight entrances, and that's where the similarities petered out. Unlike in the original, the four sides of this square didn't display the colors of the four comets, red, orange, yellow and green. The columns flanking the entrances were clear, uncolored ice. The friezes above them, where they existed, didn't have a common theme. Instead they appeared to have an idiosyncratic association with the structures below them.

Those structures, mostly fabric with some ice, metal and plastic, looked like nothing so much as stalls in a bazaar. And like a bazaar, there were people apparently haggling over wares. Elgin could see some of his own people among the shoppers. In addition to the stalls, there were other structures, obviously purpose-built for something, but not all immediately obvious to Elgin. He asked Fenwick, “Is this more private property?”

“Not really,” said Fenwick. “They don't own the space. They have a license to use it.”

Elgin nodded, looking around at the colorful activity. “What for?” he asked. “What are they licensed to do?”

“A variety of things,” said Fenwick. “There are stalls like these ones where people can buy things.”

“Such as?”

Fenwick shrugged expressively. “Well, you know,” he said, “things they don't want to make or do for themselves. Bits of clothing. Laundering. Specialty items, like arts and crafts. Snacks.”

“Clothing?” said Elgin, looking around. Come to think of it, he was seeing a lot of clothing.

“Yes,” said Fenwick. “You haven't had a chance to see it yet, because we don't wear much of it on the job. In and out of those pressure suits all day long, clothes are too much trouble.”

“That makes sense.”

“But here we can go for weeks without having to put on a suit. Here, people can indulge themselves and dress up.”

Elgin nodded, taking in the variety of dress. He looked at the shops again. “And it gives these people something to do. Making and cleaning and mending.”

“That's right,” said Fenwick. “Nothing builds community like interdependence.”

“That's true,” said Elgin, looking around. It was messy. It was noisy and somewhat chaotic. But it seemed to be working. They were near the center of the square now, and he could take it all in. He could see that what friezes there were, ten meters off the floor at the height of the tops of the columns, seemed to be associated with larger, more permanent looking places. “Tell me more about these places.” He pointed at one below a frieze that looked like a stylized image of a bed. “What's that one?”

Fenwick glanced at it. “That's one of the sleepers,” he said. At Elgin's blank look, he explained. “A lot of the people who work out at the array sleep in places like this when they're here. They can't be bothered to keep a place of their own here when they're away so much, so they use the sleepers. There are a few of them around the square.”

“Okay,” said Elgin. He spotted a frieze that looked like a coffee cup. “I think I can guess what that is.”

Fenwick's eyes lit up. “Ah, yes,” he said. “It's been a while since I had a good cup of coffee. Would you care to join me?”

“Sure,” said Elgin. He looked around to see where everyone was. He spotted Fran first, in focused conversation with Dempster. And there were Stanton and Galatea and the rest, in a group with their guides. Except Buzzard and Maria. He found them up high, taking advantage of all the space to do some proper flying. Buzzard was even doing some of his trademark swoops to express his joy in the open spaces. Elgin said, “Sure,” again and headed for the nearest coffee shop.

Fenwick took his arm. “This way,” he said. “My favorite café is over here.”

“There's a difference?” said Elgin. “Don't they all serve the same coffee made from the same algae?”

“You might think so,” said Fenwick, “but some of them make it better than others. Then there's the ambience, and the service.” He was waving his hands now. “It's just better.”

Fran saw Elgin heading across the square with Fenwick, and it pleased her to see him enjoying himself. Apparently Fenwick knew how to be a good host. Dempster seemed to be more interested in talking than in being a tour guide, but that was okay with her. She enjoyed learning about the political and social facets of this place as much as the physical mechanics. Maybe more so. And her host was proving to have much the same inclination.

Now he was explaining the details behind the licensing. “If they've followed the rules,” he was saying, “and they've met the criteria by the end of their probationary period, they get the license.”

“What kind of criteria?”

“They need to provide real value,” said Dempster. “Their offerings have to be something that people want and need. And they can't have a negative impact on the people or the other vendors or on the square in general.”

“That sounds pretty subjective.”

“It can be.”

“What do you use as a point of reference? How do you decide if someone's impact is positive or negative?”

“I try to refer to our values as a community. And then we interview people and ask them.”

“I get it,” said Fran. “You really have to use your judgement.”

“Yes,” said Dempster, “but only for the subjective criteria. We do have the concrete tests too. How much trade do they do and so on. And the final test is that their presence mustn't seriously harm an incumbent vendor.”

“Hm,” said Fran. “Plenty of opportunities for pitfalls, aren't there? Why couldn't you allow open competition? Let the people decide who they're going to support.”

“That's how it started out, and it worked at first. There was plenty of room and stalls could come and go naturally. But once we ran out of room for new stalls, then we started having problems.” He looked around the square. “As you can see, every spot is full. Before we had regulations, when a vendor was failing they'd sometimes just stay there. They'd live in their stall, taking up space that could be used by someone else.”

“I see,” said Fran. “You couldn't have your square turn into a squatters' camp.”

“No. We have to maintain a basic level of order and civility, or we might end up encouraging degeneracy.”

“Of course,” said Fran. “You couldn't have that.”

“I knew you would understand. So, having told you all this, with your fresh eyes, do you have any suggestions?”

“No,” said Fran. “That's not my place. This is your world and you should decide for yourselves.”

“Of course. I understand,” said Dempster. “But as a favor. With your experience. Does anything stand out?”

“Okay,” said Fran. “But I want you to know that I'm not criticizing the way you're doing things. You're system seems to be evolving quite well on its own.”

“Understood. Anything you have to offer will be taken in that light.”

“All right then.” Fran gathered her thoughts for a moment, then said, “Okay. Here it is, for what it's worth. I understand and agree with most of what you're doing. You have good reasons for your regulations. Just two things stand out.” She looked in his eyes, and he nodded. “First is the subjectiveness. I don't think it's a problem now but it will be eventually, no matter how you try to avoid it. You might have the best intentions, but it's inevitable someone will come along who will see it as an opportunity to further their own ends. Then you will have corruption.”

Dempster looked grim. “You don't pull your punches, do you?”

“I didn't think you wanted me to.”

“No,” he said. He took a deep breath. “And the second thing?”

“Competition,” she said. “Natural selection. I understand your instinct to keep things orderly, and to protect the vendors who are already providing good, reliable service. It's working and who wouldn't want to hang onto something that's working?”

“That's the idea,” he said.

“And that's why I hesitate to suggest this, but it's not going to work forever. In spite of everyone's best intentions, you're going to come to a point where your incumbents feel as if they're entitled to your protection. Once that happens, it's only going to go from bad to worse.”

“But we're trying to provide stability,” said Dempster. “Trying to prevent chaos.”

“I know,” said Fran. “It's a good motivation, but it can lead to inflexibility, and that can lead to stagnation or worse. Your incumbents have less reason to make the effort to provide good service, because they don't have to. And their potential competitors can end up despairing, or becoming resentful. That sets the stage for a lot of unhappiness amongst everybody. And that's going to be a bigger problem for you than a little chaos.”

Dempster looked thoughtful, even a little sceptical, but he said, “I can't deny the plausibility of what you say. We had some of the same ideas while we were planning this. Ultimately we chose certainty over uncertainty, but what you say has me thinking again.” He looked around the square, with its shops and sleepers and restaurants, and all the tidy stalls. “It looks good now,” he said, “but I can see the logic in your forecast.” He looked back at her. “Do you have a recommendation?”

“It's not my place to recommend,” she said. “However, I can offer a suggestion for your consideration.”

“Okay,” he said. “I will take it as such.”

“Competition,” she said. Now she looked around the square. “Let's take restaurants. If your analysis shows that the optimal number of restaurants is twenty, then license twenty-one or twenty-two. Keep your incumbents uncomfortable, and give hope to your outsiders.”

Dempster nodded slowly. “That could work,” he said.

“It could. All things being equal, it would be a five or ten percent reduction in revenue for your established restaurants. But all things wouldn't be equal. Some would lose little or nothing while others lost a lot. The worst of them would fail and the best of the newcomers would take their place.”

“Like you said. Competition.” He looked away, scanning the square. “Natural selection.”

“A little bit of chaos,” she said, “to keep things dynamic.”

He looked at her and smiled. “Frances's chaos theory, eh?”

She laughed out loud, turning heads, among them those of her friends. Stanton and the Doctor at a stall displaying medical equipment. Nigel and Galatea looking at cleaning supplies. Maria and Buzzard still exploring the heights. Archie in the middle of the square, turning slowly and trying to absorb all the sounds and activity. It's possible even Elgin heard her from inside the café, since the walls were only fabric.

“Thank you for the tour, Dempster. It's been enjoyable and informative.” Fran looked around and made eye contact with her friends, and they began to move in her direction, with the exception of Buzzard and Maria, who stayed aloft. “Now if I can just find Elgin ...”

Dempster glanced across the square, and she followed his eyes to a coffee cup sign. He said, “He's with Fenwick, so the chances are good that he's being treated to a cup of coffee.”

“Maybe we should join him,” said Fran. “If there's a good cup of coffee to be had, then I know a few people who'd probably like to check it out.”

“You can count me in,” said Stanton, gliding up to them.

“Me too,” said Galatea, hooking her arm through his,

“I'll show you the way,” said Dempster, leading them toward the café. “I'm sure Fenwick will enjoy the company. He's always happy to introduce people to what he calls the best coffee on Prime One.”

He led them there, then said his goodbyes at the entrance. “Fenwick will take care of you,” he said. “I have some things that I need to tend to. Clerical stuff.” He shrugged apologetically.

“We understand,” said Fran. “We've kept you from your duties long enough. Thank you again for the tour.”

“My pleasure,” he said. “And thank you for your suggestions. I'm sure they will prove to be just what we need.”

He turned and flew away, heading toward one of the exits in the wall with the window. What would be the orange wall back on Green Comet. They turned and entered the café, so they didn't see him veer away from the exit and toward the window. They didn't see him make a call to someone on Green Comet. Didn't see the intense, focused conversation that went on for several minutes. They didn't, but Buzzard and Maria did.

Chapter Eleven – One Bad Apple

Elgin was facing the opening when Buzzard and Maria came into the café. Buzzard gave a small nod and Elgin nodded back. He looked at Fran, and he could see that she'd got it.

Fran had been complimenting Fenwick on the coffee. “It's almost as good as what Elgin makes at home,” she said.

Fenwick looked at Elgin, impressed. “I didn't realize,” he said. “I hope this isn't too disappointing.”

“Not at all,” said Elgin. “This is good coffee.”

“Just not as good as what you're used to.”

“No, it's fine,” said Elgin. “Really.” He took a sip. “I know good coffee when I taste it, and this is good.”

Fran asked, “Do you come here often, Fenwick?”

Buzzard and Maria arrived at the table, and they went through the hubbub of getting them seated and served. Then Fenwick said, “Do I come here every day? Yes, when I can. Twice, sometimes. I guess it's my little vice.”

“Well, if this is it,” said Fran, “then I don't think you have anything to worry about.”

Fenwick ducked his head. “I'm afraid this is it,” he said. “I don't lead a very exciting life.”

“I don't know about that,” said Fran. “You're running a lighthouse, using captured alien technology. You're helping to send out more lighthouses, to broaden your people's presence in this part of the galaxy. And you're entertaining people who have just come back from meeting the aliens who sent this technology. That sounds pretty exciting to me.”

Fenwick sat up a little straighter. “I never thought of it like that,” he said. “I'm used to thinking of myself as more or less of a clerk. Just keeping things organized and running efficiently.” He looked around. “Now that you mention it, I guess there's more to it than that, isn't there?”

“Of course there is,” said Fran, while everyone nodded their assent. “You do a lot here.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Of course, it's not just me. I wouldn't be able to do it without Dempster.”

“No, I can tell you rely on him.”

“Yes,” said Fenwick. “Sometimes I think he knows more about this place than I do.”

“He must be invaluable.”

“He is. He takes care of all the little things. He never bothers me with the details.”

“It must be nice to have someone so dependable,” said Fran. “Someone you can trust so much.”

“It is,” said Fenwick. He looked thoughtful. “I do trust him,” he said. “I have to.”

“It looks as if Dempster has made himself indispensable,” said Fran. “Irreplaceable.”

Fenwick peered at her, but saw only a sincere smile. “Yes he has,” he said quietly. Then, sucking a sharp breath through his nose, he looked at everyone's cups. “Does anyone want more coffee?” he asked. When they declined he said, “Then let's go finish the tour.”

There wasn't much left to see. Most of Prime One was in its square. Other than the flashball court, everything outside the square was either for services or administration. So far, anyway. That would change as they grew. The corridors would expand, and new areas would open up. Maybe even new squares. There was certainly enough room for it on this big, snow-covered ball.

Now, though, they were treated to a flashball game. It was an exhibition game put on for their benefit, featuring teams comprising the best players on the moon. They played a friendly match, displaying their skills and highlighting the beauty of the sport. They finished up with a variation on Elgin's Fractal, a pattern used by Elgin's team, the Harriers, a long time ago. He graciously acknowledged this tribute to a long gone time, before they even knew what the Visitor was, or what it would do to them.

Their hosts put them up in one of the sleepers. Fenwick assured them that it was the best Prime One had to offer. He said, “Or so Dempster tells me, and he'd be the one to know.”

“I guess he would,” said Elgin. “I get the impression that he knows everything, and everybody.”

“He sure does,” said Fenwick. “He got you guys the best suites.” He winked. “Says the manager owed him a favor.”

They were laughing as they split up to go to their four separate suites. There was one for each couple, and the fourth one would be shared by Nigel, the Doctor and Archie. Once they got settled in and checked out the amenities, they all went and gathered in Elgin and Fran's room. As all the suites did, it had a big window with a great view of the square.

As they stood looking out, Elgin said to Buzzard, “You saw what we thought you might?”

“Yes,” said Buzzard. “At the window.”

Elgin cautioned him with a glance. If what they suspected was true, then it was likely that there was surveillance in their rooms. He forced a chuckle. “I told you so,” he said. “I win the bet.”

Buzzard, who couldn't force anything false, just tried to stick to the script. “You were right,” he said. “It's just like back on Green Comet.”

“Right down to the point?” Elgin asked, surreptitiously touching his hairline.

“Yes,” said Buzzard. “We were pretty far away, and we didn't want to stare, but it definitely came to a point.”

“Okay you two,” said Fran. “You can discuss engineering and design later.” She pointed out the window with her chin. “Interesting, isn't it?” she said. “How this works, I mean.”

Everyone agreed with her, but Stanton said, “It'll never last, though.”

Elgin nodded. “That's right,” he said.

“Why not?” asked Fran, though she felt the same way.

Stanton said, “I expect Elgin will say that the lines don't flow.” They all laughed, then he went on. “But to me it's something like engineering, where this is like a machine. But instead of concentrating on the function of the machine, they're focused on its operation and its parts.”

Fran nodded. “Like the political and economic philosophy, instead of the practical outcome.”

“Exactly,” said Stanton. “Made them more important than the finished product.”

“The concepts of property and ownership are more important,” said Fran

“Right. And in abstracting those principles – property and ownership – they've made it more likely that they will become more valuable than the whole machine. People who seek power and wealth will find them hanging there in concentrated form. They won't be able to resist.”

“Resistance will not even occur to them,” said Fran. “Accumulating power and wealth is its own justification.”

“Right,” said Elgin. “That's right. It sounds right.”

Buzzard looked worried. “We should tell them,” he said, his brow wrinkling. “We should warn them.”

Stanton put his hand on Buzzard's shoulder. “It wouldn't do any good, Buzzard. They wouldn't listen to us. We're outsiders. What do we know?”

“But Elgin said,” said Buzzard. “Elgin knows.”

“We know that,” said Stanton.

“Everyone knows that,” insisted Buzzard. “It's a legend.”

“Right,” said Stanton. “And to most people, that's all it is. They wouldn't think it would apply to their actual situation.”

“But, that's crazy,” said Buzzard. “How can they not see what's true? How can they not see what's right?”

Stanton shook his head. “I'm sorry, Buzzard, but people are very good at ignoring the truth when the alternative is to change their behavior.”

Buzzard was shaking his head, unable to think of anything to say. Fran put her hand on his arm and said, “It's not our place to make them change. I gave Dempster a couple of suggestions that might help, if they follow them. But whatever they do is up to them.”

“Up to them,” said Buzzard. “Up to them.”

Fenwick accompanied them back to the Prime Light habitat, where they took the pod back to the Prime, and the Ball. That hour gave them a chance to talk, the first time they felt free to do so since their suspicions were aroused.

Elgin asked Fran, “When did you first become suspicious?”

“Do you remember when they were telling us about how the Francesians took over Green Comet?” When he nodded, she said, “He was making excuses for them. Saying it wasn't as bad as it looked.”

“That's it? It doesn't seem like much.”

“That was enough to put me on my guard. Then I was able to watch for subtle clues.”

“Such as?”

“Shadings of language. People find it difficult to speak against their beliefs, so when they try they often end up using less definite language.”

Elgin smiled at her and raised his eyebrows. “Subtle is right. I'd never notice that.”

“Not casually, no,” she said. “But you could if you had to. And anyway, I've seen the way Francesians look at me. Even though he was trying to hide it, I could catch glimpses of it.”

“Now that you mention it ...” said Elgin. He had seen enough Francesians looking at her to know what she meant.

“Fran.” It was Nigel. “Everybody.” When he had their attention he said, “I've found three listening devices.”

Stanton looked shocked and outraged, but before he could speak, Fran said, “I thought you might. Where are they? Are they still functioning?”

“Not this one,” said Nigel, holding out something barely visible in the palm of his hand. “I've disabled it. But the two on the outside of the hull are still working.”

“The outside?” said Fran. “What would they expect to hear out there?”

“It's not as good as having it in here,” said Nigel, “but they can pick up vibrations in the hull when we talk.” He flipped up his helmet, which stiffened, and sealed it. “I'm going out to get them now.”

Elgin went to help him with the airlock, his mind going back to when Nigel spent fourteen years searching the surface of Green Comet for the Visitor's spies. “Be careful,” he said, “and don't take so long this time, eh?”

Nigel looked blank, then he got it. “After what happened last time,” he said, “with all those cancers, I don't think the Doc would allow it.”

While Nigel was outside scouring the hull, Fran asked Elgin, “Do you think Fenwick knows? You spent the most time with him.”

Elgin shook his head. Then his eyes unfocused as he thought about it. Then he shook his head again. “I don't think so,” he said. “I think he's just what he seems. A man devoted to his duty. It probably hasn't occurred to him that his most valuable assistant could be any less devoted.”

“That's what I thought,” said Fran, to nods and agreement all around. “Fenwick doesn't know that he has a Francesian spy in the heart of Prime One.”

“We have to warn him,” growled Stanton, his outrage still simmering.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” said Fran. “At least, not right now.”

Elgin agreed with her. “Having people he barely knows accuse the person he knows and trusts best wouldn't solve much.”

Stanton knew that was true, but he didn't like it. “We still need to do something,” he said. “We can't leave him at the mercy of a traitor.”

“We might have already done something,” said Elgin.

“Like what?” said Stanton. “We've done nothing.”

“It might not seem like much, but think about when we were in the café and Fran was talking to Fenwick.”

“Okay.”

“When she was telling him how lucky he was to have someone he could trust to do such important work, she made him think, didn't she?”

Stanton nodded, his mind's eye back in the café. “Yes,” he said. “He did seem to think about it.”

“So,” said Elgin, “a word to the wise, without him even knowing about it.” He looked at Fran, a proud smile stretching his face.

“I'll be,” said Stanton, also looking at her. “Still the smartest woman I know.”

“Hey!” said Galatea, punching him on the shoulder. But she wasn't vain about that, and she laughed along with the rest of them.

Now Fran was blushing. “Okay you guys,” she said. “That's enough of that. It's not as if I had this big plan or anything.”

“No,” said Elgin. “You just instinctively did exactly the right thing.” He winked at Stanton. “Nothing special.”

If Nigel had come back in right then, he'd have seen Fran, flustered but smiling, awash in warm laughter.

Buzzard and Archie were in the flashball court, throwing the ball around and talking. When the pod got back to the Ball, everybody went their separate ways. They needed to rest and take care of personal business, and they needed to come to terms with what they'd learned on their excursion. Even before they went, they found out that Green Comet had become a police state and theocratic dictatorship. Then Archie discovered that his home, Orange Comet, had become just as repressive in reaction when it threatened to happen to them. Finally, Prime One was infiltrated by a fifth column, agents of the Francesians, who had gone so far as to put listening devices in and on their pod. Archie and Buzzard had chosen the flashball court as their place to think about all that.

Buzzard said, “I wonder what we're going to do.” He threw the ball. “When it's time. To do something.”

Archie, moving efficiently, caught the ball and threw it back. “Me too,” he said.

“I wonder if we're going to go back to Green Comet,” said Buzzard, fluidly snagging Archie's throw. “Back to Green Comet.”

“Probably not me,” said Archie.

Buzzard caught himself in mid-throw, but he didn't say anything. He couldn't think of anything, so he just threw the ball.

“It's not my home,” said Archie, catching it. “There's no reason for me to go there.” He threw it back.

Buzzard absently caught the ball. “But you said you can't go back to Orange Comet. Can't go back.” He didn't even throw it this time.

“I know,” said Archie. “I can't live in such a repressive place. Not when it was so free and open when I left. And your comet wouldn't be any better.” He clapped his hands. “Come on. Throw the ball.”

Buzzard tossed it slowly. It hardly lighted up at all. “But what will you do? Where will you go? Will you stay here?”

Archie gave his head an economical shake. “I doubt if I will stay here.” He caught the ball. “Spies? Guns?” He flung it hard. “This might be even worse.”

It slapped into Buzzard's palm, and he raised his eyebrows. It hadn't flashed white, but it was hard enough to glow bright yellow. “That doesn't leave much,” he said. “Lighthouse? A lighthouse?”

Archie shrugged. “Maybe.” He looked out at the looming shape of the Prime, distorted by two shells of ice. “Maybe I'll just stay with the Prime,” he said.

“Oh,” said Buzzard, noticing the ball in his hand. He threw it. “Sure. You could be in charge of the unloading. In charge.”

“Yes,” said Archie. “That would give me something to do while I think about it.”

“But then what?” asked Buzzard. “After the unloading is finished, then what would you do?”

“I don't know,” said Archie. “Maybe I'll go back with the Prime.”

“Go back? With the Prime? Go back with the Prime?”

“Maybe,” said Archie. “It's an option. It's no worse than the others.” He threw the ball back to Buzzard.

Chapter Twelve – Goodbye to the Prime

The pod was hanging above the prow of the Prime, waiting for some of its passengers to return. They were down inside the ship, having a last look. Buzzard and Maria, Elgin and Frances, and Scarface, the Prime's service robot, went in by the hatch near the centerline. The same hatch they used when they first entered the Prime, and when they first met Scarface.

“I still get shivers sometimes, when I think about that,” said Fran. “Watching you guys disappear down here. Not knowing what you were going to find.” She shook her shoulders.

“Yeah,” said Elgin. “I remember crouching down and watching your feet as you went up the corridor. Then you turned the corner and it was just your voices, and flickers of your lights.”

“It was kind of scary,” said Maria, “but by then we were pretty sure that the Prime was harmless, weren't we?”

“No,” said Fran. “All we knew was that it hadn't reacted to our presence yet. We had no idea what it might do when we penetrated inside it.”

“Okay,” said Maria. “We weren't sure. But it hadn't done anything yet, so the odds were that it wouldn't.”

Fran knew that they were nowhere near that certainty, but she also knew that Maria and Buzzard had never needed that level of assurances before they acted. Sometimes they made her feel timid and stodgy. She laughed. “And that was good enough for you, wasn't it?”

“Of course,” said Maria, grinning at Buzzard.

“Of course,” he said. “Good enough for us. Good enough.”

They entered the alcove where they first met Scarface. Where Buzzard pulled out the drawer of components, setting off a flashing green light. It must have triggered an alarm because within minutes they were joined by an eight limbed service robot. That's when they first saw Scarface, and when he had the mishap that earned him his name.

They looked at him, hovering quietly, awaiting instructions. In addition to the scar across his face, he had a vee-shaped dent near the top of his dome. He got the scar when Nigel was experimenting with controlling him. He was a little more sensitive to inputs than Nigel thought, and he lashed himself across the face before settling down. The dent came from Plub's machete in a moment of exalted rage.

Buzzard drifted over to the drawer and gave it a tug. It popped out a couple of centimeters, and the green light began flashing. They looked at Scarface, but he didn't react at all. He was no longer programmed to service this part of the Prime, so he did nothing. In a couple of minutes though, another robot entered the alcove, crossed the room, checked the equipment, reset the alarm and closed the drawer. Then it turned and looked at them.

“This is where it got interesting the first time,” said Maria.

Buzzard laughed, remembering Scarface's arm flailing as Nigel tried to learn how to control it. He said, “And funny, too.”

Then, the robot was surprised to find them there, and it checked them out with its sensors. This time there was no surprise. The Prime's robots were accustomed to working with them and taking instruction from them. That's what it was doing now. It was waiting in case they had any instructions for it. They didn't, so Maria sent it on its way, using verbal commands.

“Thank you,” she said. “That's all for now. You can go back to your station.”

It turned and left immediately, and they rushed to the door to watch it go. In the microgravity, with no atmosphere, the robots used to rely on magnetic feet to get around. They had retrofitted them with setae, so they weren't dependent on metal surfaces, but their means of locomotion were the same. It reached far out in front of itself with a leg, and pulled itself forward. Repeating, alternating side to side, it quickly built up to an appreciable speed. They watched it cover the hundred meters to the centerline in a few seconds, then turn left, disappearing.

“I love watching that,” said Maria.

“Me too,” said Buzzard.

“It looks so languid,” said Fran, “but then they go so fast.”

“It's very efficient,” said Elgin. “There should be some way we can use that.”

Fran looked at him. “Any ideas?”

“I don't know,” said Elgin. “Not really.” He looked at Maria. “Maybe the smashers, somehow?”

“The smashers!” she said. Operating smashers was one of her favorite things. She loved to slip into a five meter exoskeleton and go out and reshape the surface of a comet. “Do you think we could?”

“Maybe,” said Elgin. “I don't see why not.” He looked down the hallway, where the robot had gone. “We'd have to change the legs, of course. They couldn't walk like that with the legs they have now.”

“Right,” said Maria. “How about four? Do you think we could give the smashers four legs, like Scarface and the other robots?”

“I don't see why not,” said Elgin. “That's just a matter of engineering.” He shook his head. “The problem would be trying to adapt your bipedal gait to four legs.”

“Oh yeah,” said Maria. She laughed. “That could get complicated.”

Elgin agreed, and they became so engrossed in the details that they didn't notice they were being herded out of the alcove, back up the corridors to the hatch.

Back in the pod, cruising down the length of the Prime toward the balls on the stern, the nine were in an emotional conversation. Stanton and Galatea, the Doctor and Nigel had stayed aboard while the other four went inside. With them was Archie, the center of their attention. The pod was reaching its limits with nine passengers. Ten, if you counted Scarface.

Fran was saying, “By now we know you're serious about this, Archie, so no more questions about that.”

In what for him was broad humor, Archie wiped his brow. “Thank goodness,” he said.

Laughing with the rest of them, Fran said, “Okay, I admit I might have dwelt on it a bit, but it's such a big decision.”

Stanton looked at Galatea. “She might have dwelt on it a bit.”

“A bit,” said Galatea, distractedly. She was closely examining Scarface, checking to see that he was okay after his excursion. He was her favorite worker, after all. Always did the work exactly as instructed, and never complained.

“Okay,” said Fran, “maybe more than a bit. I'm not going to apologize for caring. I've gotten to know Archie, and I've come to care about him. Now he's planning to go away and we might never see him again. You can't blame me for wanting to be sure. For wanting to know that he's sure.” She was talking about Archie, but she was looking right at him.

“I'm sure,” he said. “And I don't mind, really. It just shows me that you care.”

“Well I do,” she said. “But this isn't about that. We know you're going and we know you've thought it through. So now I just want to know if there are enough people who want to go with you.”

“I think so,” he said, nodding slightly. “We found with the balls that thirty-five is a good number to have awake, and there are about a hundred people who want to go.”

“That's enough for three shifts,” said Elgin.

“Yes,” said Archie. “Five years up for each ten in hibernation. It's not ideal, but it's doable.”

“At that rate it would only be about four shifts to get there,” said Elgin. “You can handle that.”

“No problem,” said Archie. “And so far most of them are from the Ball and Tainui. We haven't tried very hard with Prime One, yet.”

Stanton frowned. “You don't think they'll mind you poaching their people?”

“They shouldn't mind,” said Archie. “They don't have a shortage of personnel.”

“There's not a big surplus either,” said Stanton. “It's not as if they're overpopulated. And they sent that lighthouse recently. That took away about four hundred people.”

“I know,” said Archie. “But they can still spare a few.”

“Of course they can,” said Fran.

Elgin said, “There was no shortage of people for unloading the Prime. If anything, we had more volunteers than we needed. I don't think you're going to have any trouble finding people for your expedition.”

“That's right,” said Archie. “I have a few in mind already. I worked with them transferring the resources, and I got to know them.”

“Me too,” said Maria.

“Me too,” said Buzzard. “Got to know them.”

Archie gave one of his economical nods. “A lot of them are getting tired of this place. They say it's losing its simplicity. They like it when there's a job to be done, and people to do it with.” He looked at the moon in the distance. “They say this place is getting too political.”

“Too political,” echoed Buzzard.

The Doctor cleared his throat. “Be careful,” he said. “When you're choosing people, be careful of their motives. If they're running away from this place, how will it be on the Prime, with fewer people, more restrictions and the inability to run?”

“I know,” said Archie. “I know I have to be careful.” He looked worried. A tiny crease had formed on his smooth brow. “But I can't tell. I can't tell what people are thinking.” He looked at the Doctor. “You know.”

“Yes I do,” said the Doctor. “Reading people is not one of your many skills.” He pursed his lips, then nodded. “Reading people is one of my skills. A requirement in my profession. If you like, I could help you in the vetting process.”

Archie's crease went away. “I would really appreciate that, Doctor.”

“Consider it done, then.” The Doctor nodded sharply, the cabin lights catching his pate.

They hadn't had to fabricate ice spheres for transport and storage of the resources they removed from the Prime. It was necessary back at the Makers' world, because they were just leaving the stuff floating in space at the lagrangian point. Here they could dump it onto the surface of Prime One. At five hundred kilometers wide, the moon didn't have much gravity, but it had some. Enough to hold the stuff down once they put it there. It wasn't as if it was going to blow away. Or get rained on.

So they stuffed it into big bladders, hauled it over there, and dumped it. It was quick and efficient, and ended with conical piles dotting the surface of Prime One. You could practically tell by the color which piles were what.

It was so easy that they had it done in less than a year. Now it was time to send the Prime back to the double world, and Archie could get serious about it.

When they got back to the balls they found they had company. There were two shuttles standing off just fifteen meters away, inside normal safety limits, and well inside the boundaries of etiquette. It was normally not only rude, but disrespectful to intrude so far into your host's space. Unless you were specifically invited in, this kind of intrusion could only mean that something was wrong. That there was an emergency, or worse.

“What do they think they're doing?” growled Stanton.

“Yeah,” said Galatea, moving to his side. “What's going on?”

Elgin frowned. “If there's something going on, why didn't anybody call us?”

Fran chose moderation. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” she said. “Maybe there's a good reason for this.”

Stanton and Galatea snorted in synchrony. Stanton said, “I'm having trouble thinking of any.”

Elgin said, “Why wouldn't they call us, if there's a good reason?”

“I don't know,” said Fran. “Maybe Fenwick planned a surprise to celebrate finishing the unloading. Maybe anything. The point is, we don't know, so we shouldn't assume.”

Stanton and Galatea snorted again, but Elgin's frown loosened up and he said, “Fran's right. We should find out what's going on, and not jump to conclusions.”

Nigel, who was flying the pod, got on the radio as he set final course for its dock. “Ball, this is Pod One, over.”

There was a delay before the reply finally came, and then it was not very informative. “Pod One, this is the Ball. Go ahead.”

“Ball, Pod One on final approach for docking. Requesting clearance.”

Another short delay, then, “Pod One cleared to dock. Ball out.”

They looked at each other, open speculation on their faces. Nigel finally shrugged and began the docking sequence. They weren't going to learn anything out here.

It took only a few minutes to get securely docked, and a couple more to go in through the airlock. They made their way through a silent ball directly to the control center. There they found an anxious radio operator, and their guests.

It wasn't Fenwick after all, but Dempster, along with six others. They all had guns attached to their thighs, of course, and two of Dempster's companions had larger weapons in their hands.

Fran felt Stanton bristling, and Elgin was projecting what she felt as distant thunder. She spoke quickly, to deflect the coming storm. “Dempster,” she said. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this surprise visit?”

“Frances,” he said. “It's a pleasure and an honor to see you again. Please excuse the way things appear. I'm hoping it proves to be nothing but a formality.”

“Things do appear strange,” she said, looking pointedly at the armed men. “I hope you can explain.”

Chapter Thirteen – No Failures Allowed

“There's really no explanation necessary,” said Dempster, glancing at his six companions. “We've just come to take possession of the Prime, and our resources.”

Fran heard shocked gasps, and the quiet Ball became quieter still. Some of her companions were shocked, but Fran had anticipated something like this. Coming here armed and apparently ready to do violence was audacious, and thinking they had the right to take the Prime was presumptuous, but it didn't surprise her. She expected something like this from the Francesians. Maybe not this extreme, but she had expected them to put a claim on the Prime. Given this turn of events, she said the only thing she could say. “The Prime doesn't belong to you.”

“Not me personally, of course,” said Dempster. “I'm making this claim on behalf of Green Comet.”

“Oh,” said Fran, “how noble.” She smiled with satisfaction at his offended reaction. While he struggled to regain his poise, she looked at the radio operator, who nodded. She turned back to Dempster. “What you really mean is you're seizing these resources for your Francesian masters. Isn't that right?”

“They are the duly elected representatives of Green Comet,” he said. “Whatever they do is in the name of Green Comet.” He was flushed. His shoulders were up. This was obviously not going as expected.

“Did you really think you could just come in here with your guns and take what you wanted?”

That was exactly what he thought, but he didn't want to admit that now. What was wrong with these people? Why weren't they afraid? “This is not about what I think, or what you think,” he said. “These resources clearly belong here. They were taken from here, and now they're back where they belong. Prime One has its share, and now we're going to take the rest to Green Comet.”

“It's true that some of them belong here,” said Fran, “and that share has been delivered to Prime One. Now the rest is going back where it belongs.”

“There's no one there who can use those resources. You said so yourself.”

“Not at present, true,” said Fran. “But when they are ready, it will be there.”

“If you wanted them to have it, then you shouldn't have given their share to the Makers. They certainly didn't deserve it.” Dempster drew himself up and looked around for approval.

“You people have covered all the angles, haven't you?” said Fran. “You've really convinced yourselves that your greed is justified.”

“It's not greed!” Dempster shouted, flustered and embarrassed by his outburst. “It's ...” He stopped and put his hand to his ear. “What?” His eyes widened and turned to the Ball's shell, searching for something.

“What is it, Dempster?” asked Fran.

He stared at her. “What did you do?” He looked at the radio operator. “Get away from there,” he said, his hand near the pistol on his thigh.

The radio operator looked at Fran.

“Get away! Move!” said Dempster, hand on the butt of his weapon.

Fran nodded, and the woman fluttered away a few meters, joining a small group of other crew members. Fran turned back to Dempster, who was glancing repeatedly at the stern of the Prime towering above them. She said, “What's troubling you, Dempster?”

“You know full well what it is,” he said. “You've launched two vessels, and they're coming back here.”

“Yes, of course,” said Fran. “The scouts.” She opened her palms and said, “That's automatic. When we put the Prime on alert, it will do that when it senses danger.”

“You put the Prime on alert?” Dempster's hand went slack and fell away from his gun.

“Yes,” she said.

“But why?” he said. “Are you saying you knew this was going to happen?”

“Not exactly like this, no. But we saw the signs and it seemed likely that something like this might happen.”

“Signs? What signs?”

“Nothing overt,” she said, hastening to reassure him. “We saw you calling your masters.” When she saw his shocked response, she said, “Oh yes. We knew right away that you're a Francesian. Even without the funny hairdo, we've seen enough of you to know.”

Dempster's shoulders slumped. When the scouts cleared the end of the Prime and flew over the Ball, he hardly looked at them.

“Then there was your interest in the offloading of the Prime.”

He looked at her, his mouth open. “Of course I was interested. Everyone was,” he protested.

“Yes, they were,” she said, “but your interest was of a more focused nature. We've just experienced similar greed and ambition with the Makers, so it wasn't hard to recognize.”

“The Makers? You can't possibly be comparing us to those primitives.” Now he looked offended.

She raised her hands, placating. “Not all of them,” she said, “but there are certain similarities to the Acquisitors.”

“The Acquisitors?” He was dumbfounded that she would compare his people to them. They were the epitome of avarice.

“Yes,” she said, “but other than that, you're quite different. Their theology, for instance, is much more reasonable than yours.”

“Reasonable?” Dempster had forgotten all about his gun. “They think their souls go to a brown dwarf when they die.”

“Some of them do,” said Fran. “That's true.”

“Well, then?” said Dempster. “Or maybe you're thinking of your pet Maker, who believed that his god created the universe, and then left it alone. A god that never intervenes. Really?”

“Plub was by no means my pet,” said Fran. “And that is certainly more reasonable than having saints who disagree with you, isn't it?”

That stopped him. Now he looked nervous and embarrassed. But he managed to say, “No, it isn't.”

Fran glanced aft where, distorted through the flashball court, she could see the scouts deftly inserting themselves into the fifteen meter gap between the Ball and Dempster's vessels. Dempster was looking, too, but she got his attention by asking, “Why isn't it?”

Struggling with his embarrassment, he said, “We are admonished by our spiritual leaders to cling to the truth that brought you to sainthood, and to overlook the errors in your mortal lives since then.”

“I see,” said Fran, amusement lighting up her face. “That's convenient, isn't it?”

Dempster blushed, like a child being teased by an adult. Scowling, he said, “It's not just convenient. It's the truth, as revealed by God's mortal representatives. His saints, who were temporarily given divine wisdom to show us the way.”

Looking at him standing there, proud and defiant, Fran shook her head. “I can see that I won't be changing your minds,” she said, “so give us your weapons and stand down.”

Dempster's hand went back to the butt of his gun. “No,” he said. “The Prime belongs to Green Comet and we will have it.”

“How are you going to do that? There are seven of you here. Your vessels are cut off, and can't help you. And how do you propose to get Prime One to send you home? Or have you taken over the moon as well?”

Now he looked sly. “Prime One will not be a problem,” he said. “It should be under our control by now.”

Fran nodded. “Your plan to destabilize the place worked, then.”

He was startled. “How do you know about that?”

“By simple reasoning,” she said. “You had the ability to make the place work better, but you chose not to. That, along with other indications, told me that you wanted it unstable. The only reason you would want that would be to make a coup easier. Everything went as you planned, and here you are.”

If he was disappointed that she figured him out, he didn't let it show. “That's right,” he said. “It all worked perfectly, and here we are. And soon more of my people will be here, and we will have the Prime. It is ordained.”

“Ordained.” Fran sighed and looked at Elgin. “Here we go again,” she said.

It wasn't clear to Elgin what she meant by that. Was it yet another tiresome example of the theology built around her? Or was it a reference to the entitled attitude they'd seen in the Acquisitors? No matter. It might just as well be both, because here it was happening all over again. “Never mind,” he said. “It will be over soon.”

Dempster didn't like that. He thought they should be worried. Not only were they not worried, they seemed to be thinking about something else altogether. “Hey,” he said, “stop that. Let's get back to the matter at hand.”

“Of course,” said Fran. “Is there something more you wanted to say?”

“No,” he said. “It's all been said. Now we'll have the Prime.”

“Why don't you just take it?” she asked. “It's right there. You have the guns.”

His smirk was almost a contemptuous leer. “Do you expect us to fall for that?”

“Fall for what?”

“Such an obvious trap. Something as valuable as the Prime's resources would never go unguarded. And you've had plenty of time to set any number of traps.”

“Traps? You suspect us of setting traps on the Prime?”

“Of course. You'd be fools not to. It's what any rational person would do. It's what I'd do.”

She bit her tongue and didn't point out the obvious contradiction between what a rational person would do and what he was doing now. Besides, for a specific narrow set of examples, she supposed that this would count as rational behavior. “What kind of traps would you lay?” she asked.

“Any number of things,” he said. “You could program hatches to open and close. Or those eight hundred robots. They could be programmed to protect the resources.”

“Do you really think we'd program a robot to hurt a person? Just to protect resources?” She shook her head again.

That gave him pause, but he rallied. “What about those scouts?” he said. “You programmed them to attack.” He pointed out through the front of the Ball at the offending vessels.

“Technically, they're there to defend.”

“Semantics,” he said with an angry sweep of his hand. “In the end, they will attack people to defend resources.”

“Actually they won't attack people. They're there to defend people from attack. All they ever do is destroy any weapon that is fired. As they did in this same situation involving the Acquisitors.”

“You can't compare us to those primitive Makers!”

“Perhaps only in your actions,” she conceded. “At any rate, if your people are planning on firing any weapons, they should ensure their pressure suits are on and sealed. I don't think those shuttles are armored, are they? A shot that takes out a weapon could easily breach the hull, couldn't it?”

Dempster got a panicky look on his face, and Fran guessed that he had an open connection with the shuttles. He confirmed that when he put his hand up to his ear and turned away, talking. When he turned back she asked, “Did you warn them against shooting?”

“No,” he said. “They will shoot if they have to. They are brave and loyal to the cause.” His body betrayed his words, and she could see his uncertainty, but he pressed on. “Besides, they don't have to do any shooting out there.” He glared meaningfully.

“I understand,” she said. “They can come and shoot us in here, and the scouts won't be able to do anything, right?” When he didn't reply she said, “You are prepared to shoot us, aren't you? I can't see how far your plan can go if you aren't.”

Dempster didn't look sure, but one of his guards moved forward and said, “I'll do it, sir. I'm ready. You can count on me.”

The shock on Dempster's face told her everything she needed to know. “There you go,” she said. “You just have to say the word.”

He was still trying to find his voice when another guard said, “They're here. The other vessels are arriving. I can see them.”

He looked out and saw that it was true, and that lifted his spirits, renewing his resolve. Once more he was in control, filled with certainty. He said, “There will be no need to shoot anyone. We will simply take what is rightly ours, and there's nothing to stop us.” He re-opened the connection that he had just closed, and said, “Right on time. Good. Come to the airlock as planned, and we'll let you in.”

The reply extinguished his triumphant smirk like flipping a switch. It came on the Ball's radio, on loudspeaker, and it said, “Dempster. What do you think you're doing?”

After a stunned pause, Dempster said, “Fenwick? What are you doing here?”

Fenwick said, “When Frances told me you were planning this little party, I couldn't believe you forgot to invite me. So I invited myself.”

Dempster gaped at Fran. “You knew?” he muttered.

Fran demurred. “It's a little much to say we knew,” she said. “Let's just say we were prepared. We guessed that you might try something like this, and it looks like we guessed right.”

Dempster looked around and his plan must have suddenly looked tawdry and small. He was speechless, but his eager guard said, “Do you want me to shoot them? Should I shoot them now?”

Fenwick could hear this on the open relay, and it alarmed him. “Dempster?” he said. “Don't go too far. You can stop this now, before anyone gets hurt.”

Dempster didn't respond, but the guard brought his weapon up and aimed it at Fran.

“What's happening, Dempster?” said Fenwick. “Stand down. Stand down now.”

The guard said, “Say the word. We can still do this.” When Dempster hesitated he said, “We have to do this. They're expecting us to bring the resources.”

Elgin moved in closer to Fran and cupped her back with his wing. The gunman moved his rifle to point at him. Then Galatea and Stanton moved in on Fran's other side, and the rifle had to swing back and forth to take them all in. Nigel moved in front of them, and the Doctor joined him, his bag in one hand.

The gunman was getting nervous and, as the rest of the crew in the control center bunched up behind their crewmates, he looked at his mate, the other one with a rifle. He needed help to cover this many people, but the man refused. He wouldn't point his gun at them, at least not without an order from Dempster. Realizing he was on his own, he turned his weapon on the Doctor. “What's that?” he demanded. “What's in the bag?”

The Doctor held it up. “It's my bag,” he said. “My medical bag. I'll be needing it soon, I think.” He held it toward the man. “Do you want to see?”

Fran assessed the situation. While Dempster dithered and his excitable henchman threatened, the rest of the armed men were doing nothing. The other rifleman was relaxed, with his weapon pointing at no one, while the other four tried their best to look at ease. She looked at Stanton, and he nodded.

“Buzzard is all set,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” shouted the guard. “No talking.” He tried to look even more threatening.

Fran smiled sadly at him. “I'm sorry,” she said, but she didn't look as if she was apologizing for talking out of turn. She turned to Dempster and said, “Are you ready to stand down and end this?”

He didn't answer, but his guard said, “Never! The only way this ends is with us taking the Prime back to Green Comet.”

Fran nodded. Her golden eyes shone with compassion as she slowly raised her hand. “I'm sorry,” she said again as she closed her fist.

There was a crack, and the gunman looked as if he'd been struck by lightning. He was curled up, his mouth open in a silent scream. His rifle drifted away, unnoticed.

The Doctor moved forward with his bag. He pushed the rifle toward his people, then pulled the pistol off the man's thigh and sent it after. Then he turned his patient so he was looking right in his face. “This is what happened to Fran. Burned by the Scout's radar when she was saving Green Comet. Do you remember the stories?” When the man stared at him, too stunned by pain to respond, he shook him. “I asked you a question,” he said.

Gasping, the man nodded rigidly, and whispered, “Yes. Yes.”

“Good,” said the Doctor. “This is why you couldn't frighten her. You, with your little gun and your big plans. Do you understand?” The response was quicker this time, so he opened his bag. “I have something here for your pain, and with proper treatment in hibernation, you should come out of this as good as new.” The eager look on his patient's face was pathetic, then panicky when the bag closed again. “On the other hand, Fran had to wait for thirty-six hours before she got treatment. Maybe you'd like to do the same. To emulate your saint.”

“No.” With his face full of agony, the man reached out a hand. “Please,” he said. “Please.”

The Doctor relented and opened his bag. While administering a powerful analgesic, he said, “Frances was much braver than you.” Watching his face to measure the effect, he saw relief, gratitude and resentment. He shook his head and sighed, then looked at the other rifleman, still holding his weapon.

“It was the Prime,” said the Doctor, closing his bag. “It doesn't like weapons.”

The man looked at his rifle, then at his injured mate, and the Doctor could see his thoughts in his face. While he was thinking, two of the other guards quickly removed the pistols from their thighs and pushed them away, while the other two looked back and forth between the injured man and Dempster. The Doctor turned and looked at Fran.

She nodded and spoke to Dempster. “It's over now, Dempster,” she said. “Let's end this now before anyone else gets hurt.”

He stared at her, then finally spoke. “I can't,” he said. “If I go back without the Prime ...”

“Are you afraid of what they'll do to you if you go back there empty-handed?”

“Yes,” he said. “They have expectations, and they expect them to be met.” He glanced at his men, and they looked nervously at each other.

“Then don't go back there,” said Fran. “Stay here where you'll be safe. Or go on the next lighthouse mission.”

Dempster shook his head. “You don't get it. There's nowhere we can go that will be safe. They have people everywhere.”

“You must be exaggerating,” she said. “Surely it can't be that bad.”

“Yes, it can,” he said. He nodded at his men and reached for the gun on his leg.

“Be careful,” said Fran. “The Prime can shoot four people at once, if it has to.”

“It's all right,” he said, as he slowly peeled off the weapon and pushed it across to her. The others followed suit, the second rifleman last, and most reluctantly.

After he had given them his rifle and his pistol, he spoke to Dempster. “I want it on record that I disagree with your decision,” he said. “I was prepared to fight and die for the cause, and I'm not going to be punished for your cowardice.”

“Of course,” said Dempster. He looked at all of his men and said, “I will take full responsibility for this failure. I will make sure that they know that you are not to blame.”

Fran said, “Well said, Dempster.” She took a deep breath, suddenly aware that she'd been holding it. “Well,” she said, “I think we'd better let Fenwick's people in.”

“All of them?” asked Fran.

“All of them,” confirmed Fenwick. “Even the one who disagreed with Dempster's decision.”

“The one who didn't want to be punished for Dempster's 'cowardice,'” said Fran. “So they weren't punished for betrayal, but for failure.”

“That's pretty harsh,” said Fenwick.

“Did they all have their throats cut?” asked Fran.

“Yes,” said Fenwick, “and all in the same way. It looks like the handiwork of one person. Or else it's a standard method that they teach to all their assassins.”

“Oh, surely not,” said Fran. “Trained assassins? That's a bit much, don't you think?”

“I don't know, but I wouldn't doubt it. The more I learn about these people, the less I like them.” He sighed. “I thought we'd left them behind, but they sent their spies along. Right under our noses.”

“Are you going to be able to find who killed them?”

“I don't know. There's not much evidence, but I wondered if we could get Buzzard and Archie to look at it.” He looked at the two of them, standing with the rest at the hotel window, overlooking Prime One's square. “I know it's not your usual line of work, but maybe you'll spot something.”

They looked at each other and Buzzard said, “Okay. Maybe we'll spot something. Spot something.” Archie nodded microscopically.

They were having one last visit before they parted ways. The Prime was ready to go, to take its remaining resources back to the double world. The Ball was set to make its journey back to Green Comet. Even Tainui was returning to Orange Comet, though only with about half of its crew. The other half had chosen other adventures. Some were staying at Prime One, and some were going to go with the next lighthouse. But the majority wanted to stay with the Prime. It was the same with the Ball's crew. Only about half of them would be returning to Green Comet. So Archie had his crew, and then some. It would have been too many people for a ball, but they weren't taking a ball anyway. There was plenty of room inside the Prime for living quarters. And they would have the scouts and modules for excursion craft.

Buzzard and Archie would have identified the murderer. He had left enough clues in his chosen locations and times and methods. Prime One was a closed system and only a very small number of its people had the opportunity to commit all the crimes. They would have caught the killer, even if he hadn't tried to kill them.

Their security detail, in place at the insistence of Fenwick, did its job at the cost of their lives. Two innocent men died, but they didn't go quietly, so Archie and Buzzard were alerted just enough. Fortunately, Buzzard was drinking a cup of coffee when the assassin went for Archie. On instinct, he rared back and the threw the cup at the intruder's head. Had it been a flashball, it would have flashed white. This time, there definitely was a crack.

Chapter Fourteen – Flipping the Sail

Green Comet was considerably above the ecliptic, so their best bet was to point the laser up there and go. But they wanted to visit their planet, so they had to first head in toward the Sun on the ecliptic. It made for some complicated maneuvering, and it would add time to their voyage, but they were determined to do it this way.

The first time they came back here, after destroying the Visitor and before discovering the Prime, it was to visit their planet. They wanted to come and see what had happened to it, see how it was doing. But then they spotted the Prime out on a more distant orbit and they had to change their plans. They had to go and see what it was up to, and postpone seeing their planet. Then they went on to explore the system they'd saved by destroying the Visitor, and by the time they got back from that the Prime was on the move. It was leaving their system and heading back the way it came, and they had no choice but to go after it.

Now they finally had the time and the opportunity to do it, and they weren't going to waste it. So the laser would drive them inward, where they would swing around the Sun, going around about two hundred seventy degrees. On the way around they would nearly match their planet's orbit for a while, cutting between it and its star. They would rapidly overtake it, but would still be close enough long enough to get a good look at it. Then, once they'd come around and were heading in roughly the right direction, they'd pick up the beam again. Using an angled sail, they would gradually change course until they were pointed at Green Comet, and then it would be a straight shot home.

Fenwick had something to say before they left. “I know we've talked about this before. And I know your minds are made up. But I wish you'd reconsider. I wish ...” He stopped, and his shoulders slumped.

Fran put a hand on his arm. “We know, Fenwick.”

He said, “I hate to see you throw everything away on a lost cause. That's all. There's so much more you could do.”

“We know,” she said. “There must be many other things we could do. And maybe we'll get time to do them afterward. Green Comet might be a lost cause, but it's our lost cause and we're going to fight for it.”

He nodded. “I know,” he said. “And like you said, I'd probably do the same thing if it was Prime One. But I had to try. I knew what you'd say, but I had to try.”

“And we thank you for it,” she said. “It's what a friend would do.”

“I hope you think of me as a friend,” he said. “I haven't known you for very long, but I'd like to count you among my friends.” He laughed. “Who am I kidding? I obviously don't have a clue about picking friends.”

“Don't you worry about that,” said Stanton. He gripped Fenwick's shoulder. “Dempster was no friend of yours. He targeted you, deceived you and manipulated you. He took advantage of your better nature. That's what people like him do.”

“Well he sure found an easy mark in me,” said Fenwick. “I can't let that happen again.” He got a worried look on his face. “Does this mean I can never trust anyone again? Is that the end of my 'better nature?'”

“It doesn't have to be,” said Fran. “Really. You have to be more cautious, maybe a little less trusting. But you don't have to lose the better parts of you. Like the part that worries about your friends heading into trouble.” She smiled at him.

His chin came up. He grinned back at her. “That's right,” he said. “Dempster took away a lot from me. His betrayal took away a lot. But he didn't take away that, did he?”

“Nope,” said Fran, with Stanton nodding his agreement.

“He and his type can pull their dirty tricks all they want, but in the end they're only hurting themselves, right?”

“Right.”

Fenwick was filled with renewed vigor. “That's right,” he said. “The bad they do doesn't diminish the good we do. Does it?”

“Absolutely not,” said Fran. “Good deeds and true friendship are always important, no matter how futile they might look.”

“Yes,” said Fenwick. “And that's a good note to part on, isn't it?” He winked. “But I still wish you wouldn't go.”

Of course they went. They had to. It was Green Comet, and they couldn't leave it to its fate. Besides, they still had friends there, foremost among them Winston and Minder. Winston was head of the planning committee when the Visitor arrived, and his decisive action saved Green Comet before they knew they were in danger. And Minder was Elgin's minder when he most needed taking care of. Normally the two of them maintained the same hibernation cycle as their adventuring friends, to keep up with their exploits and to be their constant contact with home. But this time they weren't there. There was no explanation for that, no reason given. It was worrisome and even if there were no other reasons to go back to Green Comet, they would still want to find out about their friends.

“What do you think happened to them?” asked Buzzard. He was outside the Ball with Maria and Elgin. They were flipping the sail, so the reflective side would be facing the Sun when they made the close pass of their planet.

“I don't know,” said Elgin, “but it must be something serious. They wouldn't miss our up time together if they could help it.” The propulsion laser back at Prime One was off, and they were in the ballistic phase of their flight, letting the Sun's gravity swing them around. The sail was mostly retracted, the six hawsers shortened from ten kilometers down to a few hundred meters. They had disconnected the sail at three points and flown it across, reconnecting it there. Now they were flying the other three points back across, flipping the sail so the reflective side faced away from the Ball, rather than back toward the laser source. The idea was to cut the glare from the Sun while they were in close.

“You don't think they're dead, do you?” said Maria as she pulled a hawser's coupler toward her mounting point.

Elgin and Buzzard were shocked and they both protested the possibility.

“Don't get me wrong,” said Maria. “I hope they're not. I don't even want to think about it.” Her connectors slid together and she pulled down the first of the locks. “But I think we have to think about it.” Her second lock snapped down. “After all, those Francesians are clearly crazy. I mean, spies? And assassins? I don't think we can put anything past them.”

Buzzard looked at Elgin and back at Maria. “You don't think they're dead really, do you? Not really?” He looked back and forth, his open face showing his feelings.

“Of course not,” said Elgin. “They're probably just in hibernation.” He glanced at Maria. “We'll find out when we get there.”

Maria looked at him, then at Buzzard. “Of course there's no way for us to know,” she told him. “Maybe they were forced into hibernation for some reason.” Her face and voice got sterner. “But maybe not. We have to face the possibility that it's worse. We can't go in there all trusting and naive.”

Buzzard dropped his eyes to his work and said nothing while he snapped down his last two locks. He remained silent while each of them checked the work of the other two. Only when they were finished did he look back up, his face showing acceptance and resolve. “I guess you're right,” he said. “We have to be prepared for anything.” He looked at Elgin, then straight into Maria's eyes. “I still don't like it, though.”

She smiled at him, blinking at a pricking in her eyes. “Of course you don't,” she said. “And I'm glad you don't.”

Their planet was just as reported by Fenwick. It was lush with life again, both in the ocean and on the continents. It looked just as it had when they left, aside from any sign of their technology or their civilization. But that wasn't entirely true. There were signs of their civilization, if you looked hard enough, and everyone did. They all took their turn with the telescopes and, without exception, looked for their old home towns. In most cases it was hard to locate the exact area with any certainty, since the structures were gone and overgrown. If the natural landmarks were unchanged, coastlines or rivers exactly where they used to be, then it was possible to do it by eye and memory. But often even those had been altered during the thousands of years of their absence, so they had to rely on the equipment to show them where they used to live. It was gratifying to have this look, but also frustrating and heartbreaking. It brought back memories of what they used to have and who they used to be. And it reminded them of the terror and loss. Everyone on the Ball was up for this, and it was several days of memories and tears. It was a painful, happy time, with a lot of tears shed through trembling smiles. Everyone agreed that they were glad they did it, and they would recommend it to anyone.

Once by the planet and speeding away from the Sun, they flipped the sail back over and seventy of them went back into hibernation. Half of the crew had opted to return to Green Comet in the end. They would have gone simply if they were asked, but they didn't wait to be asked. They all acted as if there was no question what they would do. It was Green Comet. It was their home. If it was lost and in trouble, then their place was there, helping it find its way back.

So they turned their backs on their old world. Turned their backs on their new friends at Prime One. On their adventures with the Prime. They turned their backs on all that and set sail for home, their faces turned firmly toward Green Comet.

Chapter Fifteen – Return to Green Comet

Once they reached the halfway point and picked up the beam from Green Comet, it became a different trip. All those thoughts and worries that they'd been putting off now became more real. Yes, they knew they were real before. They weren't living in a dreamy world of self deception. They knew that their home was run by a hierarchical dictatorship that indulged in espionage and assassination. But until now it was far away in space and time. They hadn't been home for centuries. Many wakings. They'd been light years away and beginning to feel the separation and alienation. They were beginning to wonder if they still belonged there. If they were even the same people who used to live there.

Now they were inbound to Green Comet, and it was all very real once again. On this final leg of what now seemed to be a stupendously long journey, they began to feel as if they were coming home at last. And that meant that all the bad things that were happening, were happening to their home. Sure, they'd always said it was home, and that they were bound to defend it. Something that almost went without saying. But now, this close to finally being there again, now they could feel it.

It wasn't that straightforward, though. They reached the midway point, flipped over and deployed their sail in the opposite direction, but the beam from Green Comet didn't appear. When they called to ask why, they found themselves caught up in a bureaucratic mess. They hadn't completed the correct procedures. They hadn't provided proper credentials, nor adequate declarations of intent.

When they asked what the proper procedures were, what kind of credentials were required, what was meant by declarations of intent, they were told that all those things were available before they left Prime One, and that it was their responsibility to know that. “You should have prepared properly before you set out,” said the functionary, her smirk faint but intentional.

Stanton's scowl deepened. It had begun when what should have been a routine flip maneuver turned into this … whatever it was. Seeing the scowl, the woman on his display widened her smirk. His voice deepened by anger, he said, “We did prepare. We made all the normal preparations. We had no reason to expect this nonsense.” He let his contempt show.

“If you think the laws of Green Comet are nonsense, then maybe you shouldn't come here,” she said with the smug superiority of a weak person with power.

Stanton was about to let her know what he thought about that, when Fran put her hand on his shoulder and whispered, “Don't give her the satisfaction.” He took a moment to reel himself in, then nodded and gave up his position.

Fran looked at the clerk, basking in her self-importance, and said, “Hello there. I'm Fran. What's your name, dear?”

The smile faltered momentarily, then returned, less genuine, more practised. “I don't have to give you my name,” she said, returning to her training.

“Of course you don't, dear,” said Fran, “but that doesn't mean you can't tell me, does it?”

The smirk came back, fully renewed, only this time colored by contempt and exclusivity. “We don't tell our names to non-believers. Everyone knows that.”

Fran did know that. She learned it from Frank, the Francesian who tried to horn in on their diplomatic efforts with the Makers. He wouldn't tell them his name, so Stanton christened him Frank. She said, “Of course. How silly of me to forget.” Her smile told the young woman that here was a sweet old woman who could no longer trust her memory. “Please forgive me,” she said.

The smirk faded and the uniformed young woman said, “It's not up to me to forgive people.” Now her face had a sheen of condescension. “It's up to you to remember and follow the rules.” After an obviously practised stern stare, she relented and said, “But since you've been away for such a long time, we've been instructed to overlook your transgression this time.” She moved to break the connection, pausing to say, “You can expect the beam within the hour.”

“Wait,” said Fran, stopping her. When she had her attention again she said, “Thank you for overlooking our shortcomings. We will try to do better in the future.” She had to stop herself from laughing as Stanton rolled his eyes off screen. “Without the beam from Green Comet, we'd have to ask Pharos to turn theirs on.” The woman's eyes showed her displeasure and told Fran everything she needed to know about the independence of Pharos, the lighthouse established in the system they saved from the Visitor. “We could use their beam,” she said, “but we'd have to wait several years for it to get here. Not to mention all the planning and calculating.” She fluttered her hands. “This is so much more convenient. Thank you.”

That re-established the woman's smugness. She tugged her jacket straight, showing its markings to best effect. It had designs on it that probably had some hierarchical significance. “Yes, well,” she said, enjoying herself, “try to be more careful in future.” She moved for the switch again, pausing again when Fran spoke.

“Thank you dear,” she said, “we will. I promise.” She added, “I still don't know your name. I know you don't tell your Francesian names to people like me, but what about your original name? The one your parents gave you.”

“I've only ever had one name,” she said stiffly. “My parents gave me my Francesian name.”

Fran let her face show her disbelief. “They chose your name? They decided for you?”

“Yes, of course. And I'm grateful.”

“But shouldn't that be your choice? We all choose our own names. They took that away from you.”

“All they took from me was years of despair. Years outside the fold. It's the greatest gift a parent can give a child.”

“I see,” said Fran, watching her face. “Thank you, dear. I won't keep you from your work any longer. Unless there was something else?”

“No, there's nothing else. You're free to go. Just be sure to pay better attention to the rules in the future.”

“Yes ma'am, we will,” said Fran, the model of sincerity.

“Dear?” Stanton was looking at her, a sceptical smile on his face.

“What?” she said. “Don't you like the sweet little old lady?”

“Sweet little old lady? Right. Sweet like a trapdoor spider.”

“I, for one, love the sweet little old lady,” said Elgin.

Fran put her hand on his arm. “Thank you, dear,” she said, to a hearty round of laughter. When it settled, she said, “I think we learned a few things, didn't we?”

“I did,” said Elgin. “Her jacket looked awful. I hope we don't have to wear stuff like that when we get back.”

“I know what you mean,” said Fran. “That – I guess you'd call it a uniform – was not attractive. Or flattering, the poor girl. What do you think those stripes and things meant?”

“Rank?” ventured Elgin. “Status? Position? I would guess the more stripes and things you have, the more important you are in the hierarchy.”

“Probably,” said Fran. “And our nameless officer had quite a lot of decoration, so she must be quite important.” She looked around, her eyebrows up. “Should we be flattered?”

“Maybe,” muttered Stanton, his eyes narrowed. “But more than anything, I think we should be suspicious. I mean, what's the idea of pretending the beam was off when it was on all the time?”

“Yes,” said Elgin. “We're still way over a light year out, and she said it would get here in an hour. Obviously it's been on all along.”

“Demonstrating their power,” said Fran. “They just wanted us to know that they have that to hold over us. It's simple posturing, that's all. We expected that.”

Elgin said, “That was a good one. Letting her know that we could use Pharos. Did you see her face?”

“Yes,” she said. “We learned that Pharos is still independent. I don't think they would have wanted to admit that.”

Elgin looked glum. Something else had occurred to him. “I don't think they respect you as much any more.” He was looking into Fran's eyes. “She didn't show any sign of it. I think she saw you just the way you wanted her to. A harmless old lady.”

“I think you're right,” she said. “But that makes sense, doesn't it? Given what Dempster said about us not being divine any more.”

“I suppose,” said Elgin. “But I still think you're divine.”

She kissed him on the furry cheek. “Thank you, dear,” she said.

Final approach and arrival went normally, except for the detention and search. They weren't allowed to proceed directly to the big hatch to dock the Ball on the comet. Instead, they had to come to a complete stop ten kilometers off and then wait for the boarding party.

“Boarding party?” Stanton was steaming, his voice not much more than a hoarse whisper. “They're sending a boarding party?”

“Just relax, Stanton,” said Fran. “Don't let them see that it bothers you.”

“Bothers me?” He looked at her with smouldering eyes. “What makes you think it bothers me?”

She laughed. “Nothing, I guess,” she said, looking around. All one hundred crew members were up and about, out of hibernation for the homecoming. They were milling around, in and near the control center, frustrated by this anticlimax. If they were left like this, with the frustration building while they waited, then the boarding could lead to a confrontation. She found Elgin and Buzzard in the crowd and beckoned them over.

“What's up?” asked Elgin when they arrived.

“We have a problem,” she said, “and I'm pretty sure it's part of their plan.” She indicated the restive crowd. “If they can provoke a reaction, especially if it turns violent, then they'll be able to use it against us.”

Elgin nodded, waiting for more, but Buzzard looked confused and apprehensive. He looked at Fran and Stanton, his face a great big open question.

Fran explained. “This is a ploy, Buzzard. They could have told us about it long ago and given us time to prepare, but they chose to spring it on us. They seem to want us off-balance and anxious, and that can only be because they want to manipulate us.”

Buzzard looked at all three of them, and finally asked Stanton, his mentor and surrogate father, “Why would they?” He looked out through the Ball's shell at the hexamer of comets ten kilometers away. “Why would they?”

Stanton put his hand on Buzzard's shoulder. “It's what people like that do,” he said. “To them, everyone is a potential adversary, so they are in a constant power struggle. Little ploys like this become second nature.”

Buzzard nodded, not really getting it, but at least having something to think about. Fran looked at Stanton, eyebrows raised, and he said, “I've been doing some reading on dictatorships, I thought it might come in handy.” He smiled.

She smiled back. “Then you know we can't allow them to provoke us.” His nod was stiff, but good enough for her. She turned her attention back to Buzzard and Elgin and said, “We need something for people to do. So they're not just waiting around getting frustrated and angry. Something to focus their minds and their energy.”

Elgin and Buzzard looked at each other, then they looked at the flashball court. They looked at each other again, then back at Fran, and Elgin said, “We've got enough people for a real game.”

“Enough people,” said Buzzard. “Thirty-two people. Plus three officials. We can have an official game.”

That would be a nice change. Under normal operations, with most of them in hibernation and only thirty-five active, they could never play a real game. There were enough people for two full teams plus officials, but they couldn't all be playing flashball. Some of them had to be on duty running the Ball, and some of them needed to be sleeping at any given time. They might forego sleep for a flashball game, but never duty, so this was a real opportunity.

They grasped it enthusiastically, drawing straws for who would start, and drawing up a schedule for substitutions so everyone would get a chance to play. Everyone who wasn't inside the court playing was outside it watching, so everyone was fully involved. The Ball was alive. The shouts of the players, the cheers, applause and laughter of the spectators, filled the place with a happy noise not heard for a long time. It was more than diverting. More than simply something to occupy them and burn off their pent up energy. By the time the boarding party finally arrived, the anticipation and anxiety were forgotten.

Elgin and Buzzard were both playing when they arrived, and Elgin was momentarily distracted. Just as Buzzard passed the ball, Elgin glanced at the newcomers. Fortunately, Buzzard didn't throw it hard enough to crack white this time, so it didn't leave much of a mark when it smacked into Elgin's chest. His startled reaction and the incongruity of a very rare error were enough to provoke a burst of surprised laughter.

Fran and Stanton had pulled themselves away from the game to greet their guests. With them were the Doctor and Nigel, Galatea and Maria. Fran's expression was welcoming, while Stanton's was strained neutrality. The Doctor and Nigel presented a very studied formality, while Galatea didn't bother trying to hide her feelings. Maria wasn't even paying attention. She was overtly watching Buzzard play flashball.

“Hello,” said Fran, “and welcome to the Ball. My name is Fran.” She was looking at the man who appeared to be in charge. She guessed he was by how the others positioned themselves relative to him, and by the fact that his jacket had the most symbols on it. She hoped she was leaving him a good opening to give them his name.

He did give them a name of sorts, although it was more of a title or a designation. He stopped, facing Fran. He pulled himself up straight and said, “Good day, Frances. You may call me Commander.”

Unfortunately, that's when everyone laughed. The Commander's face tracked his reaction. At first he was surprised, even shocked. It was easy to see that this was the first time his arrival had ever been greeted with laughter. He didn't know what to do. Then his pride kicked in. He'd already turned his head toward the noise, and now his face drew down into a frown. He took a breath and was about to say something, when he visibly got hold of himself. You could see his rational mind regain control as he realized that the laughter likely had nothing to do with him. Still, he showed his need to demonstrate his authority when he said, “We will be searching your vessel and interviewing your crew. Please have them make themselves available.”

“Certainly,” said Fran, glancing at Stanton. His neutral expression hadn't changed. He was expecting this and had prepared for it. As had the Doctor and Nigel, who maintained their formal postures. Galatea's faint sneer had turned into a contemptuous smirk, as if her low expectations had already been met. Maria glanced at the Commander, rolled her eyes at Fran, and went back to watching Buzzard. “We will naturally comply with whatever rules you have in place for returning explorers. You and your people are free to look anywhere you want, and our people will answer any questions you have.”

“Very good,” said the Commander. He pointed with his chin. “Now have them stop playing and come out here.”

“Commander,” said Fran, favoring him with a smile, “as you only have ...” she paused to count, “… twelve men here, and some of them will have to stand guard anyway, and you have a hundred people to interview, why don't you start with the people already out here and let them finish their game.”

The Commander spoke sharply, and his men stiffened, gripping their weapons. “That was not a request, Frances. Order your people out here now.”

“Okay,” she said, holding up placating palms and giving him an openly appraising look. “I will ask them to come out, but I don't give orders to anyone.”

“Whatever you call it,” he said, “you're obviously in charge, so make them comply.”

She was about to signal Elgin and the others in the flashball court, but now she turned back to the Commander. “Comply?” she said. “We don't make people comply. That's not how the Ball operates. These people work together out of duty and common respect. Not because of an arbitrary hierarchy.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “You need a firm command structure. That communal sentiment might be nice for a while, but it will break down in the real world.”

“You might be right in theory,” said Fran, still smiling, “but in practise we made it to the Maker world and back without going to pieces.”

The Commander looked as if he wanted to argue. After all, he had a vested interest in his belief in a rigid hierarchical command structure. But then he looked around and his rational side must have seen that she was right. The Ball had been out there for a long time and it seemed to be all right. On the other hand, everyone knew they were following Frances, whether she admitted it or not. Her and that Stanton. And Elgin, of course. He gave his head a shake, and said, “Very well, then, would you please ask your people to come out here.”

“Of course,” she said, turning to signal Elgin.

So the players quit their game and came out of the flashball court and joined the rest of the crowd milling around the Commander and his twelve armed men. Now he could put the plan into action at last. The first thing they did was get the people to form a queue. Then they processed them four at a time, each one being interviewed by two officials, while the other four stood guard, weapons at the ready. It took five hours in all.

Not that the first ones through were any luckier than the last ones. Once they were processed they had to gather on the other side and wait there until everyone else was done. What it amounted to, what was apparently the point, was a demonstration that these minor functionaries had the power to make them endure this indignity, all for the purpose of gathering pointless data.

They did endure it, and with grace. Taking their cue from Fran as always, they waited quietly, even serenely. They also had Stanton for a model. He was not known for having much patience with pettifoggery, so when they saw how calmly he put up with this, they steadfastly did the same. In spite of the attempts to upset them and make them angry, they maintained their tempers and their dignity. The supercilious smirks of their questioners, the same inane questions asked in countless ways, all the practised methods of irritating and angering their victims, fell flat in the face of stoical patience. By the end it was the men in uniform who were upset and red in the face.

The Commander watched it unfold. At first he had a small satisfied smile. Things were finally going as planned. Now they would show these people who was in charge. But the smile faded as he watched all their efforts go for naught. The sly manipulations, the subtle goading, were having almost no effect at all. Even when they escalated the abuse to a more physical level, pushing and harassing the people in the queues, they didn't react as expected. He put a stop to that right away. He was surprised by the feeling of shame he experienced from Fran's look of admonishment.

By the time they were done he was no longer looking at these people with suspicion and contempt. Now it was with the beginnings of respect, even admiration. And now he understood the legend of Frances. Now he knew why these people followed her.

Elgin and Buzzard went back to their flashball game. When it began it was meant to be a way to pass some idle time and burn off some pent up energy. Now it was a game interrupted. Something that needed to be finished.

While the teams tossed the ball around, warming up, Fran and Stanton escorted the Commander and his men to the airlock and their shuttle. He said, “You are free to dock now. A pilot will come aboard and bring you in. You will be entering Green Comet. The original. The one you were living in before you left. He looked sternly at them. “For the time being you are restricted to this comet. Do not try to leave it.”

As Stanton glared, Fran said, “Of course. We understand. You can't be too careful.” The look on her face said that these peculiar precautions were perfectly natural.

He hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, as if he wanted to explain, but he shook his head and left it unsaid. In the airlock he turned and said, “It has been a pleasure meeting you,” as the door closed and sealed. It was the first thing he'd said since arriving that wasn't somehow bent to the service of his job.

Fran looked at Stanton, smiling, brows up. “That was nice. Maybe things aren't so bad here after all.”

He shrugged, unconvinced. “It looks like you've got another fan, anyway.”

Chapter Sixteen - Salvage

The eight were the last to leave the Ball. Like the rest of the crew, they took one last slow circuit of it before going. It wasn't anything special, just another ball, almost identical to all the others. From the utility area at the back end, which held their living quarters along with the rest of the mundane functions, up to the flashball court up front, it was just another interstellar vessel. There was nothing unique about it, in the purely physical sense anyway. But it was special to them. They felt an attachment to it that they wouldn't feel to any other ball. It had been their home for several centuries, after all, and it was thoroughly impregnated with memories.

It was this ball that traveled beyond Green Comet to the star that they saved from the Visitor. With them went Pharos, their first lighthouse. When they returned from that trip they had to take off after the Prime, which seemed to be heading back where it came from. They met the Makers, who built and sent the Visitor, setting in motion the calamitous events that turned them into comet people. They saw the two-world system, which the Visitor destroyed before getting to theirs. They were with Tainui, the ball sent by Orange Comet, on that trip. Now the Ball had made the final leg of its long journey, back to Green Comet, and they were having trouble leaving and ending it.

They gathered in the control center, just aft of the flashball court, the sphere within a sphere. They were silent, lost in their own memories as their eyes tried to fix them in their minds. Surprisingly, even Galatea had nothing to say. No trenchant comment to break the mood and move them on. It took something else to do that.

Sounds intruded on their reverie, quiet at first but quickly getting louder. They were coming from aft, the housekeeping end, where the Ball was docked to the big hatch on the comet's surface. As they watched, people appeared, talking loudly as they flew into the open area of the Ball. They looked to be a motley bunch, a rabble even. They were unkempt and undisciplined, unlike the Commander and his men. About two dozen of them appeared, clustered in an untidy group, apparently arguing. Then one of them noticed the eight in the center of the Ball, and they went quiet. They hovered there, staring.

Fran moved immediately, flying toward them, a welcoming smile on her face. Elgin reacted instantly and was soon by her side. Stanton was next, Galatea joining him, and the other four weren't far behind. As they approached the people, who more and more resembled a mob, they saw them take on an aggressive posture. When they got closer they could see their expressions, which ranged from uncertain to openly hostile.

Fran didn't let that stop her. She pretended she didn't notice their surliness and flew right up to them. “Hello,” she said. “Welcome to the Ball. Can we help you?” She gestured. “Maybe you'd like a tour.”

She caught them off guard and most of them lost their frowns, with some even beginning tentative smiles, their mirror neurons responding to her expression. Most of them, but not all of them. There was one man whose face didn't change at all. It was expressionless when they arrived, and remained so when he said, “Yes, you can help us. You can get out of here and let us get on with our work.” He indicated the passageway leading back the way they came.

“Your work?” said Fran, still smiling.

“Yes, our work,” he said, still pointing.

“What work is that?” asked Fran.

He stared at her, as if he couldn't believe she was still there. When he didn't speak, the woman next to him, wearing the same flat expression, said, “Our work is none of your business. Get out of here now.”

Elgin didn't like to see anyone treat Fran that way, and his own face began to change. The corners of his jaw began to get blockier and his brow became heavier. People who saw this face, who had it looking at them, didn't look back on it with fond memories. But Fran felt the storm brewing and put a stop to it before it could amount to anything. With her hand gentle on his arm, she said to the woman, “Of course, dear. We were just leaving anyway. We were just taking a last look around.”

That made the man think. Maybe this wasn't what it looked like. He was about to ask when the woman said, “So you've had your look around, dear, now get moving. This is our salvage.”

For Fran's sake, Elgin didn't react to her tone. Stanton was also good, his forbearance carrying over from their dealings with the Commander. It looked as if they might get out of there without any trouble, until Galatea spoke up. “Oh yeah?” she said. “Says who?”

Anger sparked in the woman's eyes as she glared at Galatea. She moved forward, her body radiating aggression. “What's it to you?” she said, shoulders up, chin out.

If it was supposed to intimidate Galatea, it wasn't working. She moved up, confronting the woman chin to chin. “Am I supposed to be scared?” she asked. “Well, I'm not.” She disdainfully looked her up and down. “You probably don't even know how to polish the shell of this ball.” Her look was dismissive, as if the whole confrontation was beneath her.

No one spoke for a while. No one knew what to say. They couldn't figure out what she meant. Stanton was biting his tongue, trying to look serious. Finally the woman said, “What's that supposed to mean?”

“What's it supposed to mean?” said Galatea. “What do you think it's supposed to mean?”

The man tried to calm the woman, but she shook him off, glaring at Galatea. Fran, and then Stanton, tried to talk to Galatea, but she only had eyes for the woman. It looked as if there was only one way that this could go. The two women would escalate their argument until it became physical. Others would feel compelled to intervene if one of them looked to be in danger, and it would quickly become a brawl. The eight were outnumbered three to one, so the outcome wasn't hard to imagine. Elgin could see it all unfolding, so he got close to Fran to protect her. They might be overwhelmed but some of them would be sorry if they came after her.

But then, just as it was about to explode, the man looked at Elgin and Fran. He was next to her with one wing cupped protectively on her back. It triggered a memory in the man and he shouted, “Stop!” He reached out and took the woman's arm again, and this time when she shook him off he grabbed her arm and yanked her roughly to his side. “I said stop,” he said.

“Let go of me,” she said, tugging at her arm. “Let go. Did you hear what she said?” She struggled but couldn't break his grip.

“Slow down,” he said, shaking her. “Take a breath. Get a grip.” She didn't want to. The heat was still on. But he held her until she looked at him, then he told her, “Look at them.” He was pointing at Elgin and Fran. “Take a good look. What do you see?”

She looked, humoring him, but with no intention of seeing anything. She wanted to get back to the fight. But he held her and made her look, and you could see the change when it happened. Her eyes widened, her mouth opened and all the anger in her face was replaced by surprise. The surprise turned to realization and the realization to shame. Before her, in the very pose held by their statues that had once stood in the Square, were Elgin and Frances. She wanted to speak, but she couldn't. She looked at Galatea, whose face was still angry, but now also accusatory. She looked around at all the people who were on the brink of violence because of her. Timidly, hesitantly, she looked at Fran. She would have expected a scowl of condemnation, and she would have accepted it as her due, but what she saw was a gentle smile of acceptance and forgiveness. Only years of hard living kept her eyes dry. This time, when she gently moved her arm, the man let it go. She went straight to Fran and Galatea and apologized. Fran forgave her immediately. Galatea took a little longer.

The man's name was Parrow and the woman's was Barker. They explained that they and their people controlled most of Green Comet Principality, under the aegis of Verdi, whose principality it was. They could do what they wanted, as long as they paid tribute to him.

“So the Ball belongs to you?” guessed Stanton, looking at the small mob.

“In principle, everything belongs to Verdi,” said Parrow, “but in practise it belongs to whoever claims it.”

“Whoever's the strongest,” said Stanton.

“That's right,” said Parrow. “And right now, that's us.”

Stanton was curious how that was decided, but he was also pretty sure he didn't want to know. “So, what happens now?” he asked instead.

Parrow looked around. “Now we start salvaging stuff. All that fabric will be worth something.” He indicated their partitions. “Then there's the equipment. Tools. You name it.”

“And it's all yours.”

Parrow laughed. “Not exactly,” he said. “We salvage it. Itemize and catalog it. Then Verdi looks it over and takes what he wants. We get what's left.”

“Ah,” said Stanton. “The tribute.”

“Yes, the tribute.”

“How much does it amount to? What percentage does he take?”

“He doesn't take a percentage as such. Nothing so formalized.” Parrow's mouth pinched. “It's nothing you can count on. He just takes what he wants and leaves you the rest.” He chuckled wryly, and said, “The trick is to not let him see what you want. If it looks like there's something you especially want, he'll make sure to take it.”

“I see,” said Stanton.

“Yes,” said Parrow. “He's a sadistic old bastard.”

Stanton nodded. “Of course, one thing comes immediately to mind. I mean, if he always takes what you want.”

“You mean try to fool him?” Parrow nodded too. “Yes, we do that all the time. We ignore some things and try to look like we're interested in others. But I think he enjoys that, the old dog.”

“Enjoys it?”

“Yes. He treats it like a game. It's like he knows what we're doing and tries to outguess us.” He shook his head. “He's good at it, too. He looks in your eyes and he knows what you're thinking.”

“Bluffs? Double bluffs? Triple bluffs?”

“That's right,” said Parrow. “He loves it. The more convoluted the better.”

Stanton shook his head. “All the comets are like this?”

“No.” said Parrow dismissively. “There's just the three of us.” He counted on his fingers. “There's us. Then there's two of the bottom four.” Meaning the bottom square of the six-comet hexamer. “One of the other two on the bottom is completely isolated and the other one's not even complete.”

“We noticed that on approach,” said Stanton. “Why was it never completed?”

“The Francesians.”

Stanton could tell that Parrow didn't want to talk about it, but he insisted. “What about them? What did they do?”

Now Parrow looked around nervously, then said in a near whisper, “They decided we had enough. Nobody was living on it anyway, so why waste the effort? Besides, they said it was a distraction from our more important religious observations.”

Now Stanton winked. “Like plundering returning balls.”

That made Parrow really nervous and he harshly hushed Stanton. “Quiet! Don't say stuff like that. It's too dangerous.”

“Why? It was just an observation.”

“Well, don't. It could be worth my life to even listen to you.”

“Your life? Someone would kill you for that?”

“Keep your voice down.” Parrow looked around to make sure all his people were out of earshot. “The Francesians take it all very seriously. You're either with them completely, or you're a heretic and an enemy of the comets.”

“An enemy of the comets,” mused Stanton. “More like an enemy of the Francesians, eh?”

Parrow's face contorted with fear and anger, but he still took the time to say, “Don't ever let anyone hear you say that. Ever. Just don't, if you value your life.”

Stanton's face showed his disbelief. “You can't mean that. It can't be that bad, can it?”

“No? I don't know why you'd think that. Wasn't there some trouble just before you left Prime One? Some deaths?”

The memory stopped Stanton cold. Those assassinations were carried out with cold efficiency, one after the other. It was only by good fortune that they hadn't included Buzzard and Archie. Looking across the Ball at his longtime friend and surrogate son, he decided he should take the threat very seriously. “Okay,” he said to Parrow. “You've convinced me.”

They visited with the salvage crew for a little longer, then left the Ball for good. They went through housekeeping and into the cargo bay behind the big hatch. They crossed the big bay, heading toward the exit on the other side. No one looked over their shoulder.

Once in the airlock they turned around, and before the door closed they could see the shell of the Ball bulging into the cargo bay, snugly compressing the gasket it rested on. Then the door closed and they turned away, facing the door that would let them into the comet proper.

The Doctor said, “This reminds me of that time we came up here in our pressure suits, and I couldn't make myself go outside.”

“I remember, Doc,” said Nigel. “And I remember you did go outside, scared as you were.”

The inner door opened with little delay, since there was no equalizing of air pressure to do. The pressure was the same in the Ball, through the bay and into the comet. As they moved into the hallway the Doctor said, “Yes I did, and I wouldn't have been able to do it without you.”

“I was glad to help, Doc,” said Nigel. “I'd been through it often enough myself.” Nigel had spent fourteen years out on the surface of Green Comet, searching for the spy drones sent by the Visitor's scout. He said he had to overcome his fear every time he went out. So, when they woke to find Green Comet apparently abandoned and their investigation led them outside, Nigel was able to help the Doctor overcome his fear.

“I remember that,” said Elgin. “We were trying to figure out what Laika had done.”

“Yes, Laika,” said Fran, and they were all quiet while they thought about the woman who'd sacrificed herself to save the comet.

So, as they returned to Green Comet after centuries away, they were thinking about a woman who died millennia earlier. A brave, strong woman who deserved the statue erected in her honor in the Square. As they flew down the corridor, and joined a larger corridor heading to the Square, they savored the anticipation of homecoming.

Chapter Seventeen – What's That Smell?

This corridor brought back memories for Elgin. For some reason it had him thinking about Minder, and the time long ago when they were flying down this big passageway together. Fran was still in hibernation, but they'd woken Elgin for some reason, and Minder was his minder. Elgin remembered looking at the corridor and seeing that it was well made and well taken care of. The good work and the good lines made him feel good. He felt as if his bones were sitting comfortably, in perfect alignment. It reassured him that the comet was in good hands.

That wasn't the case now. He felt uncomfortable. His bones weren't sitting right. He looked around, concentrating, knowing that something was wrong, and it didn't take long to find it. There was something wrong with the corridor itself. The perfect lines of the orbital were still there, curving down in front of them, disappearing a few hundred meters ahead. Nothing could change the mathematical precision of a curve meant to circle the comet and meet up with itself. The basic structure of the corridor was still intact, still true to its original design. It was the superficial appearance of it that jarred his sensibilities. It looked rundown. It looked shabby and uncared for. And now, not only was his synesthesia offended in its proprioceptive sense, now it was coming out in his sense of smell. What he was seeing, the wrongness of it, was being reinterpreted as a bad smell. That had never happened before. He was about to tell Fran about it when Stanton spoke.

“What's that smell?” said Stanton, nose up, sniffing the air, his face wrinkled in disgust.

Elgin was surprised. “You can smell it too?” he said.

“No kidding,” said Stanton. “It's hard to miss.”

“So it's real,” said Elgin. “I thought it was my synesthesia acting up.”

“I wish it was,” said Stanton, “because it's vile.”

Everyone was sniffing now, their noses wrinkling and their lips curling. They all smelled it, and they all knew instinctively what it was.

The Doctor cleared his throat and they all looked at him. He was nodding when he said, “I think we all know what this smell is, don't we?” They nodded with him. “Our sense of smell is primitive. It bypasses our conscious minds and goes straight to our emotions and instincts. Good smells attract us and bad smells repel us, before we even begin to think about it. Some smells disgust us. Our faces take on archetypal expressions that everyone instantly understands.” He looked around, and they all had it. “Some smells instinctively warn us of danger, like putrefaction and excrement. Something bad might have happened. Something that could kill us or make us sick, so smell tries to warn us.” He looked down the corridor toward their destination. He said, “This is excrement.”

“Well,” said Elgin, “I'm glad it's real.” When they looked at him he said, “If it was my synesthesia, then I'd have to smell this every time I saw shoddy workmanship or poor maintenance.”

Stanton said, “At least it would only be you. This way, we all have to suffer.”

“Sure,” said Elgin, “but at least this is temporary.”

“Oh, really?” said Stanton. “How do you know that?”

“Well, it has to be,” said Elgin. “It's obvious. No one would put up with this for very long, would they?”

“Again,” said Stanton, “how do you know?”

Elgin's certainty stumbled. It might have been obvious to him, but he had to admit that he couldn't say with certainty that it was true in this particular case. But he rallied anyway. Maybe he had to concede the point philosophically, but surely that didn't apply here. Not on Green Comet. “Maybe I don't know for sure,” he said, “but it stands to reason. We wouldn't put up with it, so why would they?” He shook his head. “No. It's got to be a temporary problem.”

Stanton said, “I hope you're right. Otherwise, things are a lot worse here than we thought they were.”

They were all thinking about that when they came to the tee intersection, where they could go right for the flashball court or left for the Square.

They were deciding which way to go. Did they want to have a look at the flashball court, or go directly to the Square? There wasn't really any doubt about it. They knew they'd be going to the Square. They wanted to find out what was going on, and the Square was the place to go for that. Elgin was saying that to Stanton when he noticed his friend was looking at the blank wall on the other side of the intersection. “Stanton?” he said.

Stanton looked at him. “Sorry,” he said. “I was just remembering something.”

“What?” asked Elgin.

Stanton pointed at the blank wall. “Weren't they planning to finish the orbital?”

Elgin looked. He remembered that, too. The plan was to push this corridor all the way around the comet. That meant they should have punched through this intersection to do that. This blank wall clearly showed they hadn't. He shrugged. “Maybe they just haven't got around to it yet.”

“Are you kidding?” said Stanton. “They've had plenty of time.” He looked at Elgin. “We were gone a long time. More than enough for them to finish a simple job like this.”

Not all that simple, Elgin knew, but he knew what he meant. It's a good challenge to build a corridor like that, with a constant curve, and that long. Not to mention meeting up accurately at completion. But it's not the sort of thing that should take centuries. Whatever stopped them from completing it, it wasn't the challenge. He agreed with Stanton. He said, “They've been slacking off, haven't they?”

“Yes they have,” said Stanton, offended not only as an engineer, once Green Comet's chief engineer, but also as a man with a healthy work ethic. He frowned and turned toward the Square. “Come on,” he said, “someone's got some explaining to do.”

They hurried down the corridor. There was something strange about the air, other than the odor. Elgin couldn't identify it at first, but it was unlike other times he'd approached the Square. It was the hub of activity on the comet and the approach always meant anticipation. You knew when you got there you'd be greeted by a bustle of activity and energy. But not today. Now the air was dead. No echo of voices. No tremors of life. Elgin began to worry. To really worry for the first time. He looked at Fran, and she was looking at him, her golden eyes troubled. Of course she would feel it too. Probably more than him, and sooner too.

Fran said, “I think we need to prepare ourselves for the worst. This is more than shoddy maintenance and unfinished tunnels.”

They'd all felt it, but now that she said it, they knew it was real. They were a quiet bunch when they emerged into the Square, gliding out between two red pillars and stopping just inside, near the orange wall.

There was so much wrong with the place that they didn't take it in at first. Naturally, the first place they looked was straight across the Square to the yellow end. Down there, right up against the darkened orange wall, was Elgin and Fran's apartment. What used to be their apartment, anyway. The first one built in the yellow end, because before then people had been hesitant, out of deference to Yellow Comet, the one lost to terrorism. Their example freed the people and many more apartments were soon under construction.

Now, though, it wasn't theirs any more. Now it was a Francesian shrine, taken over by the church of Frances. Several centuries after she and the rest of the Five saved Green Comet from the Visitor, they made her a saint and built a theology around her. It seemed safe to do so, since she was in protective hibernation, the only way to keep her from dying. When she was finally able to come back to life, they discovered how embarrassing it can be to have a saint who isn't dead. Especially when she disagrees with you. They had also, in the euphoria of the moment, made Elgin a saint too. Because of their legendary love, it had seemed a reasonable and safe thing to do. He had repeatedly made them regret their impulsive decision.

Now their home was a home no longer. Their sanctuary was now a Francesian shrine. And they were no longer saints. The Francesians solved the conundrum of having saints who disagreed with them by de-sanctifying their saints. While they had been divine at first, they had since lost their way. That's how easy it was to defend the institution against the very thing it was based on.

This shrine to conditional devotion was the most prominent thing in the Square. It was illuminated by bright lights and festooned with gaudy colorful banners. On the wall above the windows, twice the size of the apartment itself, was the Francesian symbol of two joined comets. The whole area was littered with smaller items too. The overall effect was garish. It looked like a cheap carnival attraction.

Elgin put his arm around Fran, and the others murmured comfort. She said, “Never mind. It hasn't been our apartment for a long time, anyway.”

They looked around the rest of the Square, its four walls each two hundred meters long and a hundred twenty-five high, and pierced by two entrances. The doorways were ten meters high and flanked by two huge colored columns. Yellow on the far side. Orange down their left. Green far away on the right. And red on the side they came out of. Each wall had friezes of the same color running its full length just above the doorways. The friezes were designed to depict important things and events in their history, and in the history of their erstwhile planet. When constructed, the effect of the columns and friezes was beautiful and inspiring. Now there was something wrong.

It was night, comet time. The bureaucratic delays on arrival had ensured that they would get here in the middle of the night. Whether that was intentional they couldn't say, but it did seem to serve the purpose of muting any excitement their arrival might have generated. Another effect, whether intended or not, was that they could see that many of the lights in the columns and friezes were defective. Some were flickering, and others were dark, presumably burnt out. It gave the whole Square a sad, shabby appearance.

They'd drifted out into the Square a ways, so they could take in the whole thing. The tacky shrine and the defective lighting. One of the pillars on the very entrance they'd used was flickering. A random flashing of red light, which somehow seemed to encapsulate the whole situation. More significant, though, was the orange wall. They'd noticed earlier that it seemed darkened, but now they could see that it was really completely dark. None of the four columns bracketing the doorways, and none of the friezes above them was lighted. More alarming though was the window. The means of instant two-way communication with Orange Comet. The big screen five meters high running between the doorways was completely black.

Elgin flew past the nearest doorway and up to the window, his seven friends not far behind. The sixty meter long rectangle looked like a hole in the wall. A dark slot leading into a lightless unknown behind the ice. The effect was strong because the last time he saw the window, it appeared to open into a bright and lively space. The illusion was that it was a portal into the square on Orange Comet. People on both sides could come up to the window and chat across light years. Or, with a simple adjustment, a section of the window could be used to communicate with any other place that had a similar window. The lighthouses, Pharos and Scintilla and others. Any of the balls. In fact, while they were away visiting the Maker world, they used to call home and talk to Winston and Minder. They might have been right here, where he was now.

At Prime One they were told that Winston and Minder were in hibernation, and that's why they hadn't heard from them. From the looks of this window, they probably wouldn't have heard from them anyway. Elgin put his hand on the inert surface, as if he might feel if there was any life in it. It felt cold. He looked at Stanton and asked, “Can you tell what's wrong with it?”

Stanton shook his head. “Not without instruments. Or access to the equipment and the monitors.” He looked at the blackened window. “The odds are, if it was going to fail, it wouldn't all fail at once. A small section would go out here or there.” He looked over his shoulder at the Square. “Judging from all this, either it broke down bit by bit, and no one bothered to fix it, or someone has shut the whole thing down.”

“Shut it down? Why would someone do that?” Elgin looked at his friend, eyebrows up, eyes wide.

“I don't know,” said Stanton. “But then, why would anyone hold us up for five hours, searching and interrogating? Why would a gang board the Ball before we even got out of it, looking for salvage and plunder?” He indicated the darkened Square, with its patchy night lighting. “Why would they allow the Square to deteriorate like this?”

Elgin looked around, nodding. “Not to mention the shoddy maintenance we saw on the way here.” He glanced at Stanton. “Maybe they're lazy? Or incompetent?” He shook his head. “No,” he said. “Not the people of Green Comet. Not our people.”

“No,” said Stanton. “Not the people we know.”

“Then what?”

“There's another possibility,” said Stanton, his face hard. “They could be doing this on purpose.”

“On purpose? That would be crazy.”

“Yes,” said Stanton, “crazy. You'd have to be crazy to deliberately make things worse, especially out here where we're so vulnerable.”

“Then why? Why would anyone do that?”

“Whenever anyone has done it in the past, according to the reading I've been doing, it was to weaken people's cherished institutions so they could be replaced by new ones.”

“Reading?”

“Yes,” said Stanton. “On dictatorships, and other totalitarian governments. Remember when I told Buzzard about it? Just after the flip.”

“Oh, right. I do remember that now.” Elgin looked at the black window. “I guess I must have thought it was all theoretical, though. Not like something that could really happen. This makes it a little more real, doesn't it?”

Stanton nodded. “Although, I'm still hoping for the best.”

“Oh?” said Elgin.

“Yes. I'm hoping it's just incompetence. Amateur foolishness. Rather than an effective dictatorship.”

“What difference would that make?” asked Elgin. “The place is still a stinking mess.”

“I know,” said Stanton. “The difference would be when we start cleaning it up.”

Elgin nodded. Of course they were going to fix the place up. First thing tomorrow, after a good night's sleep. But his eyes told Stanton that he still didn't get it.

“It's pretty simple,” said Stanton. “If this deterioration is due to incompetence, then there won't be very much resistance when we start working on it. But if it's intentional, then they'll have to try to stop us.”

“Do you really think they'll try to stop us?”

“I hope not, of course,” said Stanton. “But from what I've seen so far, I don't have much hope.”

Elgin was more inclined to be hopeful. He wanted to hope for the best. It was in his nature. But he'd heard what Stanton said, and he knew it was right. He wished he didn't, but there was no controlling his sense of right. Given the information they had so far, the evidence they'd seen, he was sure that Stanton's more pessimistic assessment was the right one. He was morosely pondering the consequences of that when Maria shouted.

“Hey!” she said. “Where are the statues?”

They all spun and looked at the center of the Square, where there should have been five statues. Five people whose selfless heroism had saved Green Comet were honored by having their statues displayed on the floor in the middle of this grand space. Fran, who was the inspirational leader who gave them the courage and strength they needed. Elgin, her champion and her greatest supporter. Nigel, who'd spent fourteen years out on the surface of the comet hunting down the Visitor's spies. Buzzard, who had taunted and baited the Visitor's scout into wasting its energy reserves, so it didn't have enough to destroy them. And Laika, who had singlehandedly saved Green Comet from a deadly plague. Once they had stood clustered there, and now they were gone.

Maria, who was looking for the statue of her beloved Buzzard, said, “Where did they go?”

Elgin glanced at Stanton and, as one, they headed that way, quickly followed by the rest. Half a dozen quick strokes and a few seconds of gliding got them there, where a few cupping backstrokes stopped them. They had to look around, orienting themselves relative to the walls, to locate the center of the Square. There was no mistaking it when they did. Whoever removed the statues hadn't erased the marks that showed where they were attached to the floor. In his mind's eye, Elgin could still see where the statues once stood. Fran here with him next to her, one wing protectively around her back. Nigel over there. Buzzard on the other side. And Laika back a ways, with the hummingbird on her shoulder.

Elgin said to Stanton, “It looks like your theory is correct.”

“Hypothesis,” said Stanton. “Not even that.” He looked up from the marks on the floor, glancing into Elgin's eyes. Then he looked around the dim Square, with its burnt out lights and general air of disrepair. He looked at Elgin's old apartment, now a tacky shrine. Finally the window, once a lively, vital connection with Orange Comet, but now dark and empty. Putting it all together with the pettifogging bureaucracy, the paranoid, antagonistic security they faced on arriving, and the blatant criminality of the gang of salvagers, he had to agree with Elgin. “You're right, though. Green Comet's democracy has definitely been replaced by something else.”

“A totalitarian dictatorship, like you thought?”

“Something like that,” said Stanton, “but something else, too. Something about what Fenwick said. Do you remember? About principalities. Each of the comets being given to someone as a principality.”

“I remember,” said Elgin. “Like what Parrow and Barker told us about their boss, Verdi. He owns Green Comet.”

“Right,” said Stanton. “And that's like something older. From before people even thought of things like dictators and democracy.”

“Like the olden days?” said Elgin. “With kings and stuff?”

“Yes,” said Stanton. “But there's a name for that era. I'm trying to think of the name.”

The Doctor had drifted up to them, interested in their conversation. Now he cleared his throat. When they looked at him he said, “Feudalism. I think you're thinking of feudalism.”

“That's right!” said Stanton. “Thank you, Doctor. I knew I'd seen it somewhere in my reading, but it just wouldn't come to me.” He looked around, nodding with satisfaction. “That's what this place reminds me of. Those old feudalistic societies. One primary power, maybe, and a bunch of lesser powers owing allegiance to it.”

Elgin nodded sharply. It sounded right. He had enough information for his sense of right to activate. “I think that's it,” he said. “And the central power must be the Francesians. They dole out these principalities to buy allies. To make people indebted to them. Right?”

“Right,” said Stanton, while the Doctor nodded his agreement.

Elgin nodded absently, while looking around. “I don't get it,” he said. “Why is Verdi here? Why aren't the Francesians here?”

“Yes,” said the Doctor. “You'd think the central power would reside here, on Green Comet. The original. Wouldn't it be the most prestigious?”

“You'd think so,” said Stanton. Then they all stood quietly, trying to understand. After a moment, Fran broke their reverie to remind them that they had more chores.

“Nigel and I are going to see what's happening with the planning committee. We're going to check out the meeting room. Then we have to think about where we're going to sleep.” She looked at Elgin.

He said, “That's right. Stanton and I will check out the shop. And the Doctor was going to the hospital. Right, Doc?”

“Yes,” said the Doctor, and he started to move away.

“Hold on,” said Stanton. “You're not going alone. Until we get this figured out, nobody goes anywhere alone.”

They took a few minutes to work it out. Fran and Nigel were fine. So were Elgin and Stanton. But then Buzzard wanted to check out the shop, too. He used to work there, after all. Maria wanted to stay with Buzzard, of course. And Galatea wanted to be with Stanton. That left no one to go with the Doctor. If everyone did what they wanted to do, then they couldn't do what they needed to do. Faced with an impasse, Stanton drew a breath, prepared to start giving orders. But Buzzard spoke, saving him from the unpleasant task.

“I'll go with the Doctor,” said Buzzard. “I'll go. With the Doctor.” He drifted over until he was next to him. “It's logical,” he said. “The most logical.” He looked nervous and self-conscious, until Maria came over and hooked her arm through his. Then he grinned, his long, lanky, limber body flowing loosely again. Maria looked into his big happy face, her dark eyes shining. The Doctor passed a hand over his pate, smoothing his nonexistent hair. There was enough light to make his bald head glimmer, and to show his little smile.

As they split up to go to their three separate destinations, Stanton called out, “I hope you didn't take that personally, Doctor.”

The Doctor looked back, his smile bigger now. He looked as if he was going to say something, but then he just waved Stanton away and flew on.

“This reminds me of the time we did this before. When we were trying to figure out why Green Comet was evacuated.”

Elgin and Stanton and Galatea were crossing the Square toward the green side, heading for the opening on the left. Fran and Nigel were taking the one on the right. The Doctor, Buzzard and Maria went the opposite way, toward the orange side. They were headed for the opening on their right, closest to the shrine. It was very much like that time, only Galatea, Buzzard and Maria weren't there then. Other than that, the same people were going to the same places.

“Me too,” said Stanton, “other than the fact that there was no air that time, and we were wearing our pressure suits, and it was pitch black in here.”

Elgin laughed as they glided out through the opening. “Other than that, of course.”

They only had to go a short way up the hallway to reach the doorway to their shop. This also reminded Elgin of the very first time he came here. Brought here by Stanton that time too, to begin his probation period as an engineer. It was the first time he met Buzzard. The beginning of a long friendship. He remembered Stanton opening the door, and seeing Buzzard working at the big table. This time though, the door was ajar.

They stopped and looked at each other, Galatea unconsciously getting closer to Stanton. He reached out cautiously and pushed the door, letting it swing inward. They released their breath when they saw that the big room was empty. In the same moment they saw that it was trashed.

With a cry of disgust, Galatea rushed into the room. Her expression rapidly evolved from disgust to outrage as she saw the extent of the damage. Every drawer was removed from the table and smashed. The table top was cracked and gouged, as if it had been attacked with an ax. The galley was so badly damaged that it looked as if it had never been there. Galatea didn't know it, but she was making a noise like a cross between a growl and a moan as she headed for Stanton's office. When they caught up to her she was stopped in the doorway, her body rigid and trembling.

“How could they do this?” she was saying. “How could they?”

When Elgin saw what she was looking at, he was shocked. The outer office was bad enough, but it had only been trashed. In here it was worse. This room had been defiled. Of course, the furniture was broken and destroyed, but that wasn't the worst of it. In here, the vandals had got personal. They'd left a message, written in paint and what looked like excrement. The least graphic of the inscriptions said things like, “HERETIC” and “BLASPHEMER.”

Galatea looked at Stanton, the rage on her face only made more terrible by the tears. Her voice shaking, she said, “If I ever find out who did this ...”

Stanton took a quick look, cycling from shock through fear to outrage and finally calm acceptance in a matter of seconds. He put a hand on Galatea's shoulder and said, “It's not important, Gay.” Turning her, he said, “Let's get out of here.”

He had to drag her out of there, talking to her the whole way. He knew she was hurt and angry, and he knew it was for him. She might tease him and give him a hard time, but he knew that it was from a place of fierce and protective love. She tried to hide it behind her gruff mannerisms, but it was clear to anyone who knew her. And that would have been reason enough why he had to drag her away. But Stanton knew it was more than that. He knew that she would want to stay to clean the place up. She hated dirt and disorder, and this place had both in quantity. There were stains that needed cleaning out. Smudges that need polishing. He knew that if he let her get started that she wouldn't leave until it was finished. He took her shoulders in both hands and steered her toward the door. “Come on, Gay,” he said. “We can come back and do this later. I promise. But right now we've got to get back to the others.”

She let him guide her out of there and back down the hallway. Elgin followed them out and latched the door firmly behind them. She said, “Promise?” When he promised again, she nodded, accepting. But all the way down the hall, she kept looking over her shoulder. The mess untidied, the cleaning undone, pulled at her, and it was hard to turn away from it. Her synesthesia took external imperfections like these and turned them into physical discomfort inside. So it was hard, but once they were past the green pillars and back into the Square, she was able to shake him off and manage on her own. “Okay,” she said gruffly. “You don't have to lead me around like a child, you know.”

“Of course not,” he said. “Sorry.”

Straightening her fur, she said, “Well, all right, then.”

Hiding a little relieved smile, Elgin set off to their left. “Come on,” he said. “Let's see how Fran and Nigel are doing.”

They caught up with him, Galatea trying to look as if nothing had happened, and Stanton apparently deeply interested in something on the other side of the Square. They were just approaching the other set of green pillars when Fran and Nigel came out, engrossed in whispered conversation. They jumped when they saw their friends.

Elgin said, “What is it? What's wrong?” He looked back up their hallway, the way they'd come. “Is someone there?”

Fran glanced back, then at Nigel. “No,” she said. “There's no one there. It's just ...”

Elgin thought he knew. “A big mess. Graffiti?”

Fran got it right away, in part because of the deep scowl on Galatea's face. “Yes,” she said. “You too?”

Elgin nodded. “They seem to think Stanton is a blasphemer,” he said, punctuated by Stanton's snort.

“It's much the same in the meeting room,” said Fran. “Winston and Minder are also called names.”

“Blasphemers?” said Elgin.

“Yes,” she said, “but they're also accused of sedition and treason.”

“Winston and Minder? Treason?” Elgin was shocked. “Are you sure it was aimed at them? They're not the only ones to use that room.”

“Yes,” said Fran. “They were mentioned by name.”

Stanton snorted again, and muttered, “It's like they're following a script.”

Fran looked at him. “Like the reading you've been doing?”

He nodded. “In the books, they all follow the same path. Use the same tactics. They eliminate the people most dangerous to them.”

Elgin said, “I guess if they want to be dictators, it makes sense to get rid of the biggest democrats.”

“That's right,” said Stanton. “And if they follow the formula, anyone who tried to defend them, too. Then, depending on how far gone they are, anyone associated with their defenders.”

Fran shook her head, smiling. “Surely not. That would be insane.”

“Yes,” said Stanton. “And paranoid. And highly effective.”

That clicked with Elgin. “People would be afraid. If the punishment appeared capricious and extreme, they would be afraid to do anything to bring attention to themselves.”

“That's right,” said Stanton. “And some would be so frightened that they would betray other people to try to save themselves.”

While Elgin nodded, Fran said, “No. That can't be right. Not here, Not the people of Green Comet.” She looked at Elgin. “Not our people.” But he could only look away. He couldn't reassure her because he knew that what Stanton said was right.

Looking grim and angry, Stanton said, “These aren't our people any more, Fran.” The look on her face wounded him, but he had to continue. “Once they start they can't stop. Once they hurt people, they make enemies, so they have to keep going. They know that if they let up, then the people might find their courage again and come after them. Their victims aren't the only ones who are afraid.”

Fran looked at Elgin again, and saw that it was true. Her face trembled and fell, but then he saw the strength come back into it. Lifting her chin she said, “If they're afraid, then let's give them something to be afraid of. We can't let them do this.”

Stanton was nodding before she was finished. “I expect they already are afraid of us. That means that we are likely their next targets. And they've already begun, haven't they? They've de-sanctified you two.” Then he turned and very deliberately scanned the deserted Square. “And where is everybody?” He turned to face her. “More specifically, where is our crew?”

She followed his gaze around the Square. “Maybe they're exploring,” she said. “We've been away a long time. They must be curious.”

He smiled at her, shaking his head. “Okay,” he said, “let's say they're exploring. What are the odds that, out of a hundred people, none of them is exploring the Square?”

“Pretty small,” she said, conceding his point. “Where do you think they are, then?”

He looked grim. “The only reasonable explanation I can come up with is that they've been detained by something.”

“Detained?” said Fran. “Where? Why? By who?”

Stanton shrugged. “I don't know. From the looks of things though, the Square at night doesn't seem to be the place to be.” They all looked at the dim, unkempt place, with its missing statues and its dark window. “Come on,” he said, “let's go see how the Doctor's doing.”

They traversed the Square catercorner, to the exit closest to the shrine, then up the hallway to the hospital. They found their three friends right away in the main admitting area. Buzzard and Maria were standing looking at the Doctor, who was standing with his fists on his hips, surveying an untidy mess. He was in a loud running monologue that included words like “dereliction” and “unprofessional,” and he was listing the things he would do to whoever was in charge of this “travesty.” The place was messy and even dirty, with used medical supplies haphazardly discarded, but they noticed right away that there was no graffiti. It looked as if the hospital was still being used, however badly, unlike the shop and the committee room.

When they finally got his attention and told him what they'd found, he calmed down and re-appraised his situation. He said, “This place might be in a terrible state, but at least it's still functioning. I guess I should be grateful for that.”

“That's right, Doc,” said Nigel. “This is nothing. We can get this fixed up in no time.”

“And disinfected,” said the Doctor. “And I have to check the supplies. Who knows if there's enough of anything.”

“You've got it,” said Nigel. “Whatever you need.”

Once that was settled, Fran said, “I suppose we should be thinking about where we're going to spend the night.” She looked at Elgin. “We obviously have nowhere to stay, and there are no sleepers here, like there were at Prime One.”

“Why don't you stay here?” asked the Doctor. “There are plenty of rooms, and no patients at the moment.”

Fran looked around, nodding. “That sounds like a good idea, Doctor. In fact, I think we should all stay here tonight.”

There was a brief discussion and, even though Galatea said she wanted to go and see their apartment, they soon decided that it would be best to stay together. Stanton told her they could go to their apartment tomorrow, in the light of day.

So they found some rooms and settled on the ones that had functioning water and power. Still, they stayed up for a couple more hours, exhaustion mounting while sleep was held back by anxiety and curiosity. They talked in the hallway until the silences got too long, then they went to their rooms to lie awake a little longer. They all got at least a little sleep before morning.

Chapter Eighteen – Was it Something I Said?

They spent the first part of the day at the hospital, getting it tidied up. They concentrated on the admissions area and a few of the rooms that were in better shape. The Doctor wanted it to be ready for anyone who showed up with a problem, so they could be treated and taken care of. He said once that was done, then he could get on with the rest of it at his own pace. He wanted to disinfect the whole place, get all the rooms up to standard, check out all the equipment and get the laboratories up and running. It was going to be a big job and he expected it would keep him busy for months, possibly years.

“And I'll need to find some staff,” he said. “We're going to need people to keep this place running. And doctors. I'm going to want to talk to the doctors.”

“That's for sure, Doc,” said Nigel. “This is too much to run all on your own.”

“That's not all I want to talk to them about,” said the Doctor, his eyes roaming over the neglected hospital. “I want them to tell me how they let this happen. Someone has got some explaining to do.”

“You bet they do, Doc,” said Nigel. “This would never have happened if you had been here. No real doctor would have let this happen, if they could help it.”

“Yes,” said the Doctor. “So that means that there are either no real doctors left on Green Comet, or if there are, then there's something stopping them from acting like it.”

Nigel was shaking his head. “I know we've been gone a long time,” he said, “but it's hard to imagine that there are no good doctors left here. You worked with them, and you never said a bad word against them.”

“That's right,” said the Doctor. “Good people, most of them. Good scientists. Even the least inspired of them were at least competent technicians. It's just not possible that they all would have let this happen through simple negligence.”

“So, what's the alternative, then? Something must have happened here.” Nigel stopped as a thought hit him. “Wait a minute. If something happened that made all the doctors let this place go to ruin, then what's to stop the same thing happening to you, Doc?”

The Doctor looked at him. “What indeed.” But he lifted his chin and looked around. He was pleased with what they'd done so far, and he had ambitious plans for the rest of it. He clapped his hands together and gave them a brisk rub. “Well,” he said, “if something's going to happen, then it might as well happen while we're doing something. Come on. Let's get to work.”

“Are you sure you guys will be all right on your own?” asked Elgin. “We don't all have to go, if you think you could use any more help.”

“No, no,” said the Doctor. “You all go ahead and explore. We can manage here for now. Later, if this place gets busy, we will need more help. For now, though, we're fine.”

“Okay,” said Elgin with a smile. “Don't say we didn't ask.” With the Doctor waving him away, he joined his other five companions and headed down the corridor for the Square.

Slipping in beside him, Fran said, “That is a point, isn't it? They never would have let their hospital deteriorate like this if they could have helped it, would they?”

“What are you thinking, then?” asked Elgin. “That someone made this happen on purpose?”

“I'm not sure,” she said. “It's not vandalized like the other places. It just seems abandoned.”

“So, someone made the doctors and other medical staff abandon their hospital. What could do that?”

“It would have to be something significant. This is a hospital, after all. And they are doctors.”

“Then something scared them off,” said Elgin. “Or they were threatened. Or they were physically removed.”

“You mean they might have been arrested and taken away?” That troubled Fran, partly because it seemed plausible. “They wouldn't have let themselves be frightened away. Not all of them. Not for long, anyway. The Doctor speaks highly of his colleagues.”

“Even if they were threatened?”

“Maybe it's a little more likely then,” she said. “Not everyone is physically brave in the face of threats. But even so, some of them would have been.”

“And yet none of them is here,” said Elgin.

“Yes,” said Fran. “Which seems to increase the likelihood that they've been deliberately removed.”

That was on their minds as they emerged through the orange columns into the Square. Unlike last night, where the air was dead when they arrived, today it was alive with sounds and vital currents. Not a lot of sounds and not very energetic currents, but as least they were there. Until the six of them emerged, anyway.

As soon as they appeared, all conversation and all activity stopped. As the echoes faded and the air currents died down, everyone in the Square turned to stare at them. There were several clusters of a few people, huddled in widely separated groups, and a few others crossing the vast space, and they all stopped what they were doing to stare at Elgin and Fran and the others.

They stared back for a while. The six of them were stopped just outside the doorway, and they hung there staring, until Fran lifted a hand and called out a tentative, “Hello.”

Most people turned away from them and went back to their business. But there was a lone man who didn't look away. He was all alone in the middle of the Square, near where their statues used to be. He didn't move when they began to fly in his direction. He continued watching them, even as everyone else in the Square subtly moved away, maintaining a maximum gap. A few of them slipped out of there altogether. One hundred meters must have been too close for them.

As they neared, Fran called out, “Hello. Good morning to you.”

“Quiet!” he hissed. “Keep your voice down.” He looked nervously around.

“Sorry,” she said, lowering her voice.

Peevishly, he said, “If I had known you were going to be so careless, I wouldn't have let you come out here.”

“Sorry,” she said again. “We didn't realize.”

“Obviously not,” he said. “You're not going to survive long if you keep acting like ignorant tourists.” He looked around again, then beckoned them in close. “They've got spies everywhere. You can't trust anybody.”

Stanton spoke up. “Even you?” he asked.

“Yes!” said the man. “Good. Keep that attitude and you just might make it.” He sneered. “Not the rest of these amateurs, though. Flocking around like a bunch of pigeons.”

Stanton carried on. He looked over his shoulder, then leaned in close. “You know we're new here, right?” he said in a low voice. “Can you fill us in? What are we supposed to be afraid of?”

The man gave an exasperated sigh. “Isn't is obvious?” he asked. When Stanton shrugged, he said, “The spies, of course.”

“What spies?”

“Them,” said the man, his eyes sliding sideways. “No, don't look.” He shook his head. “You have a lot to learn.”

“Them?” asked Stanton. “Which them?”

“All of them, you fool. I told you. You can't trust any of them.” He looked around again, grinning slyly. “That's why I stay out here in the middle. Because no one's got any business coming out here, so if they do, then I know they're spying on me. And then there's the cameras and the microphones. Out here, away from the walls, it's the farthest you can get away from them. Anywhere.”

“Anywhere? That's a little hard to believe.”

“Well, you better believe it.” The man was agitated. “Take the hospital, for instance. You stayed there last night, didn't you?”

“Yes,” said Stanton. “Are you saying there are cameras there?”

“Of course there are. And microphones. They're all over the place. Did you even look?”

“No, of course not. Why would we think of looking?”

“See? That's why you haven't got a chance. You're too trusting.” He waved Stanton in closer and lowered his voice further. “See the window over there? It's full of cameras, isn't it?”

“Sure,” said Stanton, looking at the long black rectangle that used to connect them with Orange Comet. “It has to be to transmit images. All the pixels can emit or absorb light. But it's not working, is it?”

“That's what you think,” said the man. “But just because it's dark doesn't mean it's completely off, does it?” He grinned triumphantly when he saw that register. “That's right. The whole thing could be one big camera and microphone, and you'd never know.” Then his face fell. “I've got to go,” he said, looking over Stanton's shoulder. “I can't be seen talking to you.” When Stanton turned his head to look, he said, “Don't look! How many times do I have to tell you?” Then he flew off in a rush, shaking his head and muttering.

Watching his retreating back, Stanton said, “Crazy.” Then he had a good look over his shoulder, but didn't see anything alarming. In fact, swiveling his head, he didn't see anyone in the Square at all. Apparently, while they were talking to their paranoid informant, everyone else had left. “Now what?” he said.

“Everyone's gone,” said Elgin.

“Yes,” said Stanton, thinking. Then he said, “Can you remember what we talked about yesterday? After we got here. When we were over beside the window.”

Elgin looked at him, surprised. “You believe that guy?”

“I don't know yet,” said Stanton. “But something is going on here. Something strange. Maybe that guy is crazy, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's wrong. So, do you remember what we talked about?”

“Let me see,” said Elgin. “We talked about what a stinking mess this place is, and fixing it up.”

“And whether we'd be allowed to,” said Stanton.

Buzzard interrupted. “We talked about the interrogation and the salvage crew. We talked about shoddy maintenance and whether the people of Green Comet were lazy or incompetent. And Stanton, you talked about whether a dictatorship was deliberately running this place down, or if they were just inept.” Buzzard looked at Elgin. “And then about the stinking mess and cleaning it up.”

Elgin and Stanton looked at each other. “That sounds about right,” said Elgin.

“Yes,” said Stanton. “And if someone was listening, then we sure gave them an earful, didn't we?”

They left the Square then. There was nothing to keep them there. No people. No signs of activity. There weren't even any of the old landmarks they were used to. The café that they used to like to go to, for instance. Just a fabric enclosure extending out from the wall. Nothing special, but it had become important to them. Not there now. Worse than that, all the shops that occupied the ground level of the four walls were gone. Where there used to be the bustle of people engaged in lively exchange, both commercial and social, now it was blank and dark.

It looked as if the Square was no longer the heart of Green Comet. It was a sad thing to realize, but also bewildering. If people didn't come to the Square to interact with each other, then where did they go? Because surely they needed some place to meet. They couldn't imagine life on Green Comet without a center of vigorous intercourse. What would be the point?

“What would be the point?” asked Fran.

“What?” said Elgin. “The point of what?”

Fran laughed. “Sorry,” she said. “Did I say that out loud?” She sobered. “I was just thinking about how no one seems to be using the Square, and I was wondering why. This place used to be the heart of the comet. Almost everything happened here. People came here to see and be seen. A lot of the time they just came here to be here. Now, other than a few people we saw skulking, and that one crazy guy, it looks as if nothing happens here any more. And I thought, without the Square, what would be the point?”

“I see what you mean,” said Elgin. “That makes me wonder, too.”

“Any ideas?” asked Fran.

“Not really,” he said.

They left the Square to go have a look at their apartments. Stanton and Galatea, Buzzard and Maria didn't have theirs in the Square. They had to go back out through the right hand red door to the major corridor that went past the water reclamation plant. Before it got that far, though, it came to a residential area, where Stanton and Buzzard had their apartments. They'd been living there since they first arrived on Green Comet, before it even left their solar system, and well before anyone knew the Visitor existed. They were both still single then, and Stanton was more than Buzzard's boss. He had become somewhat of a surrogate father to him. Buzzard was smart. Brilliant, really. But he was not as precocious on the social side of things, and he was not blessed with a childhood well-suited to that. His parents, especially his father, could only see his shortcomings, and they failed to nurture his gifts. They didn't object when he signed up to go on Green Comet alone, and that was the last he saw of them. Luckily for him, Stanton did recognize his gifts, and he was perceptive enough to offer him the support he needed, including the tacit support of being a close neighbor.

Once they got into the corridor, the stench magnified considerably. They realized, to their surprise, that they must have been getting used to it. At least enough to forget about it momentarily. Now it hit them again, forcefully reminding them of its presence.

Elgin said, “Once we're done here, that is my first priority. I don't know how these people can put up with this, but I know I'm not going to.”

“I'll help you,” said Fran.

“Are you sure?” he said. “It's going to be pretty vile in there, judging by how bad it is here.”

“I'm sure,” she said. “I've heard the stories about how you did that job while I was stuck in hibernation. Now here's my chance to find out for myself.”

He grinned at her. “Okay,” he said. “But I have to warn you that it's not very romantic.”

“I know,” she said. “That's what makes what you did so special. And part of what makes you so special to me.”

“Okay,” said Galatea, “we've all heard this before. Can we get a move on now? I'd like to see my place some time today.” She bustled on ahead, muttering.

“Gay!” said Stanton, looking an apology at Fran before hurrying after her.

Fran just laughed. She knew Galatea. The woman just had no patience for the “mushy stuff.” She hurried to catch up, along with Elgin and Buzzard and Maria, all of them grinning.

The grins didn't last long. They soon arrived at their apartments and saw what had been done to them. Like the shop and the meeting room, they'd been vandalized. There were the same epithets scrawled on the walls, including the addition of “ATHIEST” in Stanton's place. Elgin was watching his friend, and he saw the anger begin. It grew worse when Stanton saw what it did to Galatea. She was in shock. As well as an attack on their home, this was an assault on her sense of order. But she was tough. This might upset her, but she could handle it. What really hurt Stanton was how it affected Buzzard.

When they went into his place, Buzzard stopped moving. He hovered just inside the door. With wide eyes he looked around at the mess, his face showing hurt and confusion. When Maria came close and squeezed his arm, he looked at her. Then he looked at Stanton. When he could finally speak, it was with the small voice of a child. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked them.

“No!” said Maria sternly. “Of course you didn't.”

“Buzzard,” said Stanton, “listen to me. They didn't do this because you did anything wrong. They did it because they knew it would hurt you.”

“But why?” asked Buzzard. “Why do they want to hurt me?”

“I don't know,” said Stanton, his voice a husky growl, “but I will find out.”

Chapter Nineteen – Perfectly Wrong

Any sense of adventure or exploration that they might have had about this was gone. Everything they'd seen so far was a disappointment, or worse, and they didn't have any optimism left for the rest. So, without delaying any longer, they decided to get right down to business. It was time to start fixing this place up.

There was a lot to do, and it would have been easy to get discouraged. Everywhere they'd been was a mess, and everything they'd seen needed fixing in some way. From the burned out lights in the Square to the wear and tear in the corridors, it would take a long time to bring everything up to their standards, especially if it was only them working on it. And, from the look of it so far, it would be only them. The people they'd seen so far didn't seem like the type to help. From the mercenaries on the Ball, to the crazy paranoid in the Square, they weren't likely to be interested in repair and maintenance.

So that left the eight of them, and any of their crewmates from the Ball that they could find. And, come to think of it, that was something else they needed to do. They needed to solve the mystery of where their crew had gone. It was possible to imagine that they were off somewhere, doing something, but it was improbable that they hadn't seen even one of them since they left the Ball. That was something they needed to figure out, on top of everything else.

It looked like a big job, and the way to handle that was to break it down into smaller jobs. They'd already made a start on that at the hospital, and now it was time to tackle the next most important task. Arguably even more important. In a closed system like Green Comet, the most important elements were the ones that contributed most directly to survival. Air, water, food. The air seemed okay. Nothing immediately dangerous about it, anyway. The water was adequate. It was one of the things the Doctor made sure of at the hospital. They hadn't seen any evidence of a problem with the food. Everyone they'd met so far seemed to be well nourished. The obvious next step was the sewage treatment plant, as their noses had been telling them since their arrival.

So the six of them headed for the plant. The smell got worse the closer they got, and by the time they got there it was like a palpable force pushing them away. It was almost impossible to enter the place. The primal revulsion included the feeling that they were being poisoned. Their instinct was to hold their breath and flee, but they overcame that and carried on.

Elgin headed for the controls, with Fran at his shoulder. What he saw made him groan out loud. The gauges monitoring the effluent were mostly in the red, or close to it, and the controls themselves were set all wrong. He immediately began adjusting them, explaining to Fran as he went.

“It's about balance, isn't it?” she said.

“Hm?” He was fine tuning the oxygen, and it wasn't working, so he checked the oxygen reservoir.

“Getting this working right is a matter of balance,” she said.

He glanced at her, distracted. “That's right,” he said. “If it's not balanced properly then performance suffers badly. Like now, with the oxygen.” He found the oxygen reservoir empty, and shook his head in disgust. He looked around for Buzzard and called him over. Maria came with him, but Stanton stayed with Galatea, who was immobilized with shock. This must be hard for her, thought Elgin.

“Do you guys need a hand?” asked Buzzard as they glided up.

“Yes,” said Elgin. “This oxygen tank is empty. I need you to figure out why.” He tapped a couple of connections. “It comes in here, and it's tapped off here. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Buzzard. “Find out where it's leaking. Or why it's not filling. Where it's leaking or why it's not filling.” He trailed off as his mind bore down on its focus. Maria stayed with him, shoulder to shoulder, a second brain and a second set of hands and eyes.

Elgin forgot about the oxygen problem. It was solved. Or as good as, anyway. Buzzard would find it, and he would know how to fix it. The only variable was the time. With that taken care of, he and Fran were free to carry on with their inspection. They continued to find problem after problem. Every system they looked at seemed to have something wrong with it. Every setting was just a little bit off. Soon a pattern began to emerge, but Elgin wouldn't believe it. At last he just stood back, fists on hips, staring at the whole thing.

“What is it?” asked Fran.

Elgin shook his head. “It can't be,” he said. “It's crazy.”

“What's crazy? Tell me. Maybe it will make sense to me.”

“I doubt it,” he said, “but I might as well.” He shook his head again, then said, “It looks as if this was done deliberately.”

Fran looked concerned. “You mean sabotage? You're right. That would be crazy.”

“Not exactly,” said Elgin. “I mean it looks as if someone has deliberately set the system to run like this. As if someone wants it to function at this level of inefficiency.”

Fran stared at him. “Now that would be really crazy. Why would someone want that?”

“I don't know,” he said, and went back to adjusting the controls. He was fine tuning the rate of flow when they were startled by a shout.

“What do you think you're doing?” someone bellowed from the entrance.

They all spun to see an angry looking man rushing toward them, waving them away from the equipment.

“Get away from there,” he said. “Leave those controls alone.” He was across the room in a few strokes, pushing them away.

Elgin and Fran backed away. “Okay,” said Elgin. “Sorry. We were just trying to help.”

“Help? Look what you've done. Do you have any idea how long it took me to get this just right?”

“Just right?” asked Elgin. “There's nothing right about it. Everything is set just wrong.”

“Exactly,” said the man. He spun to glare at Stanton, who was edging closer from the other direction. “You back off too!” he said. “I see what you're doing.” Stanton stopped and backed up a little.

“Exactly?” said Elgin. “Do you mean to say that you wanted to do this?”

“Of course,” shouted the man, busily making adjustments. “Do you think I'd let this happen if I didn't want it?” He glared at Elgin. “I am an engineer you know,” he said.

“Well, no,” said Elgin. “I mean, of course you are. I mean ...” He stopped himself and got a grip. He tried again. “What I mean is, we had no idea. We thought there was something wrong, and we were tying to fix it.”

“Well, there's nothing wrong. Everything is just the way it's supposed to be.” He peevishly twisted a knob. “At least it was, before you meddling fools came along.”

“We didn't think we were meddling,” said Elgin. “We thought we were helping.”

“Is that right? Well, meddlers usually do, don't they?”

Fran saw that Elgin was beginning to get frustrated, so she jumped in. “It was just a misunderstanding,” she said. Then, “We haven't been introduced, have we? I'm Frances and this is Elgin …”

“I know who you are,” he said. “You're the returning heroes. Went and got our resources back, and then left them behind.”

“We didn't exactly leave them behind ...”

“You didn't bring them with you, did you?”

“Well, no ...”

“Then you left them behind, didn't you?”

She let her shoulders slump. “Okay. Technically, we did.”

“Okay,” he said, stepping back to look at his work.

“Anyway,” she said, “you know who we are. What do you call yourself?”

He looked at her. “Norton,” he said. “I call myself Norton. And you two are Frances and Elgin. The one trying to sneak up on me is Stanton, and there's Galatea. It was Buzzard poking around the oxygen reservoir, and his lady Maria. And back at the hospital, Nigel and the Doctor.”

“That's right,” said Fran. “You seem to know a lot about us, Norton.”

“Everyone does,” said Norton. “We've all been fully informed about your misdeeds.”

“Informed? Misdeeds?”

“Yes.” He pushed past her to get at some more controls. “Your misappropriation of our resources. Your willful disregard of our wishes.”

“We didn't misappropriate anything,” said Stanton loudly. “Those resources went right where they belonged.” He pushed up close to Norton, so he could look him in the eyes. He said, “When did your wishes become so important?”

Norton looked him up and down. “They said you were the pushy one. Looks like they were right.”

Galatea jumped in, eyes flashing. “Pushy?” she said. “You want to see pushy?”

Norton laughed. “And here's your plucky sidekick.” He looked and found Buzzard. “And your trained monkey.”

Now Maria's eyes flashed, but before she could get to Norton, both Fran and Elgin intervened. Fran said, “Where are you getting all this slander?” She thought of what they'd learned from the salvage crew on the Ball. “Are you getting it from Verdi?”

“Do you mean His Excellency Verdi, Prince of Green Comet? Sure we're getting it from him. But only because he's getting it from higher up.”

“Higher up?” asked Fran. “From where? Who?”

Norton laughed again. “I think you'll be finding out soon enough.” He faced them, making shooing motions. “Now get out of here. Thanks to you, I have a lot of work to do to get this place running right again.”

Elgin, who knew what had to be done to get it running right, said, “When you say running right, you mean running wrong in a very specific way, don't you?”

“Smart man,” said Norton. “But then, you ran this place yourself for a while, didn't you?” He peered at a gauge, gave it a couple of taps, and nudged a dial. With a satisfied nod, he said, “I have to admit, the improvements you made have made my job a lot easier.”

“Your job being to make it run badly in a very particular way, right?” said Elgin. “If I had to guess I'd say you're trying to maximize the smell without affecting the overall efficiency.”

“Of course,” said Norton. “We live in a closed system here. We have to treat the effluent and the water seriously.”

“And the smell?”

Norton shrugged. “The powers that be want their subjects to know how lucky they are.”

“Lucky?” said Elgin. “Lucky to live in a stinking pit?”

Norton looked at him. “Yes,” he said. “Lucky it's not worse.” He shooed them again. “Now get out of here,” he said. “I don't want to end up like old Snowy.”

“Snowy?”

“That guy you were talking to in the Square.” He was herding them out the door. “Lord Snowden, he likes to call himself.”

“The paranoid guy?” asked Elgin. “The one who thinks there are cameras and microphones everywhere?”

“You can be paranoid and still be right,” said Norton. “Now get out of here before the same thing happens to me.”

“You mean there really are cameras and microphones?” asked Elgin, but Norton had turned away.

“What did happen to him?” asked Stanton. “To Snowy.”

Over his shoulder, Norton said, “They took him,” and flew on.

“Who took him?” asked Stanton. “Where?” he insisted. But Norton ignored him, as if he hadn't heard. “Hey,” said Stanton. “I asked you a question.”

Elgin took his arm. “Come on,” he said. “Let's leave it.” He looked at Norton's retreating back. “We don't want to get him in trouble.”

Stanton grudgingly allowed himself to be pulled away. “I wish someone would tell us what's going on here,” he said.

“I think they might be too scared,” said Elgin. “If Norton is right, then Snowy got taken away just for talking to us. And he was afraid the same thing might happen to him.” They were idling along, not headed anywhere. They were just headed away from Norton and the reclamation plant. “Come on,” he said, giving his wings a decisive flap. “There doesn't seem to be much we can do out here. We might as well go back to the hospital and help them.”

They saw no one in the corridors and they heard nothing either. As they flew in silence, Elgin got thinking about other times he'd flown here. And he remembered one time flying with Fran and Stanton, coming down from inspecting the Ball before they set out on their great voyage. He remembered what they heard then, in the still of the night. “Hey you guys,” he said. “Fran? Do you remember when we heard the Singer?”

Yes,” she said, a smile brightening her pensive face. “I do remember that.”

“I remember too,” said Stanton. “We were in one of the orbitals. In the middle of the night.”

“That's right,” said Elgin. “I wonder if she's still around. Still singing.”

“If I recall,” said Stanton, “they were getting pretty close to tracking her down. She's probably been outed by now.”

Elgin's mouth turned down. “I hope not,” he said. “I much prefer the mystery.”

“Odds are, though,” said Stanton, also glum.

“I wouldn't be too sure,” said Fran. “I think she probably had a trick or two up her sleeve.”

“I hope you're right,” said Elgin, and they all agreed with him. “The way this place is now, it really needs her, or something like her.”

With those thoughts in mind, they entered the Square, which was deserted. In their day that would have been unheard of, particularly at this time of day. In the late afternoon there would be people just beginning to get off work, while others would be preparing for the evening shift. Then there were the shoppers picking up the makings of their evening meal, and those who would be having that meal here to begin their evening's entertainment. The place would have been alive with activity, but now it was like a mausoleum. Even Snowy's post in the center was empty, and that reminded them of what Norton said. The crazy old man was taken away, supposedly for talking to them. If that was true, then it was no wonder that the Square would be empty if people knew they were on their way.

“The question is why,” said Elgin, “Why would they take people away just for talking to us?”

“They're afraid of us,” said Galatea. When they looked at her she said, “They're scared. They don't know what to make of people like us. They're used to dealing with a bunch of timid rabbits, and we might change that.”

After a short silence, Stanton said, “I think she might be right.”

“I am right,” said Galatea. “They've done everything to make us look bad. To turn people against us. And when that doesn't work, they make people disappear. They're afraid we might rub off on them.”

Stanton was nodding. “I think that's it, Gay,” he said as they left the Square and flew up the right hand orange passage.

“I wonder how the Doctor and Nigel are getting on,” said Elgin. “They should have a good piece of the hospital usable by now.”

“And we can pitch in and help them,” said Fran. “I have quite a bit of pent up fixing up inside me, since Norton put a stop to our work back there.”

“Me too,” said Elgin. “I really wanted to get it cleaned up, and now I feel frustrated.”

“We'll soon take care of that,” said Fran as they flew into the hospital. “Doctor,” she called. “Nigel. We're back.” When they didn't see them in the admitting area, she raised her voice. “Doctor! Nigel! We're here and we're itching to pitch in.” But there was still no answer.

As the frightened look spread on Fran's face, Elgin began to search the rooms, calling their names as he went. It didn't take long. They didn't appear to have done much more cleaning, but they did find a piece of equipment that had been partially disassembled.

Stanton said, “They must have been working on that when ...”

“When they left?” asked Fran. “But left for where?” She looked on the counter and on the walls. “It doesn't look as if they left a note, does it?” She looked around on the floor, in case it might have fallen down somehow.

“No, it doesn't,” said Elgin, but he was looking at the piece of equipment, with its parts strewn on the counter. “Nigel is pretty good at working with this stuff. And the Doctor is pretty particular. I don't think either of them would just wander off and leave this like this.”

“No, they wouldn't,” said Fran.

“Well, we can't leave it like this,” said Stanton. He looked at Buzzard. “Do you think you could put it back together?”

“Back together,” said Buzzard, moving toward the counter, his eyes darting over the scattered parts. “I think I could. Put it back together.” His voice slowed and got lower the nearer he got. “Yes, I could,” he murmured as he put his face inside it. Then he pulled out and spent ten minutes just looking at the parts and where they came from.

Fran said, “Why do you think they left?” Her voice sounded as if she already knew.

“It's possible they were called away to a medical emergency,” said Elgin.

Fran smiled at her optimistic lover. “Yes,” she said. “Maybe that's it.”

Stanton snorted, and Galatea said, “Fat chance.”

Fran's smile faded. She shrugged and looked at Elgin.

He said, “She's right.” He bowed his head. “It sounds right.”

“Of course I'm right,” said Galatea. “They were taken. Same as Snowy, the crazy guy. And probably Norton by now, too.” She threw her arms wide. “And I bet the crew was taken, too.”

“Okay, Gay,” said Stanton. “No need to get carried away.”

“Carried away?” said Galatea. “It's perfectly logical. It explains everything.”

Before Stanton could say anything, Elgin said, “It is. It does. They wouldn't have left things like this voluntarily.”

They were all quiet because they knew he was right.

At the five minute mark, Buzzard said, “I've never worked on one of these before.” Then, moving only to position one or another of the parts, he stared at it for another five minutes. Then he began to put it together, his hands moving rapidly and without hesitation. In five more minutes he was snugging down the cover.

“That was quick,” said Stanton.

“Not really,” said Buzzard. “Not really quick. I had to learn how it worked first.” He pushed a switch and the machine turned on.

“It's working,” said Stanton. “If it was working, then why did they take it apart?”

“It wasn't working,” said Buzzard. “It was broken.” He adjusted some dials, watching the readouts. “Wasn't working.”

“So you fixed it, too?” said Stanton. Then he laughed. “I'm not surprised,” he said. “But you said you'd never worked on one of these before. How did you know how to fix it?”

“I didn't,” said Buzzard. “Didn't know how to fix it. I just looked at it until I could see what must be wrong.”

Stanton nodded. “Of course you did,” he said. “So, what does it do?”

Buzzard raised his shoulders and turned his palms up. “I don't know,” he said. “Don't know what it does.”

Stanton's reply was interrupted by the arrival of five men. He instinctively moved in front of Galatea. Elgin did the same with Fran, and Maria did the same with Buzzard. As Galatea slapped Stanton's shoulder and moved up beside him, the men stopped, forming a straight line across the entrance.

They were all colorfully dressed, with ornate decorations on their clothing. Four of them were holding pikes that had green pennants on them. The pennants were all embossed in gold with a large letter “V”. The fifth man moved forward, their ranks closing behind him, and unrolled a scroll.

“A scroll?” asked Stanton. “Really?” Galatea snorted.

The man read from the scroll in portentous tones. “You are summoned,” he intoned, “by His Excellency Verdi, Prince of Green Comet, to an audience tomorrow in the Grand Court, where he will hear the tale of your quest.” He rolled up the scroll and turned to go.

“Wait,” said Fran. She waited until he turned back. “What time tomorrow, and where is this Grand Court?”

The man was appalled. “You will be there when His Excellency arrives.” He turned to go again.

“Excuse me,” said Fran, “but when does he usually arrive?”

As if speaking to a recalcitrant child, the man said, “His Excellency arrives when he pleases. You will ensure that you are there when he does.” Once again he would have left.

“Okay,” said Fran, “we will try to be there on time. Now, if you could just tell us where.” She smiled nicely.

The man rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows where the Grand Court is.”

“I'm sure they do,” said Fran, “but we've been away.”

Understanding flickered in the man's eyes. “Of course,” he said. “You might remember it as the flashball arena.” He paused. “Is there anything else?”

“No,” said Fran. “That's fine. We know the way.”

The men flew away, looking like a stately procession.

After a minute of stunned silence, Stanton said again, “A scroll?”

“Really,” said Fran. “At least it looks like our schedule for tomorrow is set.”

Into the silence that followed, Buzzard said, “Maybe we'll find out what happened to the Doctor and Nigel. Find out.”

Chapter Twenty – The Grand Court

They made it to the Grand Court bright and early the next day. Out the red end, through the opening with the flickering column, and up the corridor to the tee intersection. They went straight through, with just a glance up the orbital on the way by. It wasn't far after that to the flashball court.

They knew they'd be taking that orbital again in the near future. They wanted to explore the other comets that made up the hexamer, and this orbital was their access to the bottom two on this end. The big corridor went on beyond the big hatch and then split off into two, one going to each of the comets. They knew they had to go and have a look, especially after hearing about the feudalistic competition between comets.

For now, though, they were just going to the flashball court, or rather the Grand Court, to see this Verdi, and to try to find out what happened to Nigel and the Doctor. And maybe the rest of their crew while they were at it. They didn't know what to expect, but they thought they'd just jump right in and play it by ear. It had always worked for them in the past.

So the six of them came out of the corridor and into the cavern with their eyes wide open and their minds prepared for anything. Or so they thought. Afterward, they wondered if anything could have prepared them.

The first thing they saw was the flashball court itself. A hollow sphere of ice a hundred meters across. But it wasn't that. It was what was inside it. Their crew. It looked as if all one hundred of their crew were there, all shut up in this big ice ball. And it looked as if they were playing flashball. Or some parody of it, at least. They were flapping listlessly, flying slowly, and when a player threw the ball, it drifted across the court, hardly glowing at all.

Fran reacted first, with Elgin right beside her, and Stanton not far behind. A few strokes and a few seconds took them to the curving ice shell, where they tried to get the attention of someone inside. The players looked as if they were playing in their sleep. Their movements were sluggish and their eyes were half closed.

Stanton slapped the shell, then they were all pounding and shouting, until finally someone noticed them. It took a moment for recognition to break through the lethargy. Then there was a flash of hope, quickly displaced by fear.

She was their radio operator. The one who was so calm and brave while they were under threat from Dempster. Now she looked drawn and exhausted. And frightened. She pushed at them with her hands, trying to make them go away, all the while her eyes darting around the gallery.

“What is it?” asked Stanton. “What's happening? Why are you in there?”

She couldn't hear him, of course, any more than they could hear her through the thick ice. But they could read her lips. They knew she was saying, “Get away. Go away. Please,” while she desperately pushed at them with her hands. Then her eyes widened, and she scurried back into the middle of the court.

“Hey!” They heard a shout and they turned to see four men rushing toward them from the access tube. “Get away from there! What do you think you're doing?”

They were startled and momentarily frozen, then Stanton flew toward them. “What's the meaning of this?” he demanded. “Why are these people in there?”

Elgin was behind him, along with Galatea and Maria. They were about five meters back when Stanton reached the men, and that was long enough for him to receive three or four blows from what looked like heavy rubber truncheons before they were close enough to intervene. “Here now!” said Elgin, grabbing one of them from behind. His two friends picked one assailant apiece, and that left Stanton with only one to deal with.

Elgin's man was stronger than him. In fact, they all looked big and strong. However, even though his man threw him off, the situation was now more even. At four to four instead of four on one, and with Fran and Buzzard for backup, it became more or less of a standoff. Elgin looked at Stanton, who seemed to be all right. He would probably have some bruises, but he didn't look to be bleeding anywhere.

He looked at the men and picked the one who seemed to be in charge. He had slightly more complicated clothing, and a slightly more arrogant attitude. “All right, you,” said Elgin, “what's going on here?” He had his fists on his hips and his face was beginning to set.

In answer, the man whacked the shell of ice, causing the players to flinch. “What's it to you?” he said, sneering broadly.

Elgin didn't answer right away, so Galatea pushed forward. “What's it to us?” she said. “I'll show you what's it to us.”

The man raised his truncheon, a smile of anticipation on his face. Stanton held Galatea back, wincing slightly as the jostling hurt his injuries. Galatea was saying, “Let me go. I'll show him. I'll polish the ice with his stupid face.”

The man's sneer fell into a slack-lipped expression of rage. He advanced, weapon raised. Stanton was turning, prepared to shelter her with his already bruised body, when they heard a shout.

“Stand down!” it said. When the man didn't lower his weapon, they heard, “Stand down, soldier, or you'll be spending the next month on surface duty.”

That got the man's attention and he backed up, putting his truncheon through a loop at his waist. Stanton was able to pull Galatea back, although she didn't miss the opportunity to smirk smugly at her opponent.

The origin of the new voice was a man approaching from the direction of the flashball court's access tube. The tube also provided access to the dressing rooms behind the gallery wall. They assumed these guards or soldiers or whatever they were must be housed there. The new man had slightly more ornate clothing and an air of authority. He was obviously in charge. He said, “Where are your manners, men? These people were invited. They're guests of His Excellency.”

His four soldiers looked shocked, admonished, frightened even. The one who faced off against Galatea looked down, up, sideways. Anywhere but at her. She smirked harder. Hard enough to be called a leer.

The new man moved forward and stopped, facing Elgin and Fran. “My apologies,” he said, “and welcome to the Grand Court. You may address me as Captain. On behalf of Verdi, I welcome you.”

Elgin said, “Thank you. Pleased to meet you.” But Fran wasn't paying attention. She was looking at the action inside the shell, where their crew was painfully going through the motions of a flashball game. She was concentrating, her lips moving slightly.

“My lady,” said the Captain. “My lady Frances.”

She finally turned to look at him, her attention focusing. She said, “There are three missing. Where are the other three?”

He glanced at the players. “Is it three? I didn't realize.” He smiled. “They must be out of the game,” he said. Some of his men smirked.

“Out of the game?” said Fran. “What do you mean? Where are they? Can we see them?”

“See them? That will be up to His Excellency.” He looked toward the back of the gallery.

“When will he be here?”

“He will be here when he gets here. Now move along. This way.” He gestured with his arm. “Let's go.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the waiting area. Come along.”

“All right,” said Fran, glancing over her shoulder as they went. “But while we're waiting, do you suppose our people could take a rest? They're exhausted.”

“A rest?” said the Captain. “That will be up to His Excellency.” He looked at her. “Don't worry,” he said. “They will get to rest soon.” Some of his men snickered.

Suspicious, Fran asked, “What do you mean, soon? Why will they get to rest soon?”

“Never mind,” he said. “You'll find out soon enough. Now wait here.” He ushered them into an area bounded by velvet ropes. Clipping the rope back onto its stanchion, he said, “I'm sure you won't have to wait long.”

The Captain left. He went back to the access tube, which connected the hundred meter sphere to the wall of the cavern, and used it to exit, presumably to go to the rooms back there. That left them alone with the four guards, who posted themselves at the four corners of the roped off area.

Elgin looked around. The gallery they were in was enormous. To begin with, it had to house the one hundred meter flashball court. It did that with room to spare. But in addition there was enough space left over to fit in another whole flashball court if they wanted. It wasn't as big as the Square, but it was close.

The large empty space was apparently where Verdi held court. Besides their little waiting area, the place was empty except for one large structure over against the back wall. It was an elaborate structure, and it was surmounted by something that looked like nothing more than a large throne.

“I guess that's where Verdi sits,” said Elgin.

“It looks important,” said Fran.

Stanton and Galatea snorted in perfect unison.

Other than the throne and the velvet ropes, and of course the flashball court, there was nothing else in the gallery. The Grand Court. And other than themselves and the guards at the corners of the waiting area, and of course the prisoners inside the flashball court, there was no one there. Elgin looked at their crew struggling to keep playing, and he shook his head. They had to play until they could play no more, and then they were removed from the game? Or was there some other criterion? Score so many points? Execute a particularly good pattern? How would anyone know if they had? It didn't look as if anyone was watching them overnight. There was certainly no one here when they arrived. Elgin sighed. What would be the point of all this, anyway?

He couldn't do this. He couldn't hang around in this ridiculous velvet square, waiting for what was undoubtedly an equally ridiculous man, while his crew suffered. With six sharp strokes of his wings, he crossed the distance to the access tube and entered through its lenticular opening. In a second he was at the door, which he wrenched open.

He called to the people to come, to get out of there, but they ignored him. They wouldn't look at him, turning their backs and continuing to throw the ball. He flew inside, trying to get their attention, but even when he got close enough to touch them, they pulled away and kept on playing. He was hanging there confused when the truncheon went across his throat and he was dragged out of there. He was choking and couldn't cry out when he saw the other guards wading in and beating people indiscriminately. The one choking him hissed in his ear. “We might not be allowed to hurt you,” he said, “but there's nothing to stop us from hurting them.”

Elgin stopped struggling and allowed himself to be taken back to the waiting area. He saw the Captain enter the big ice sphere and put a stop to the beatings. He seemed to take his time about it. Elgin was pushed roughly behind the rope and told to behave. “Or some of your friends might be leaving the game sooner than they thought.”

“What do you mean, sooner than they thought?” asked Elgin, his voice rasping. But the guard just turned and flew away.

Fran grabbed him and pulled him around. She lifted his chin and examined his throat, while he craned, still trying to talk to the guard. “Hold still,” she said. After peering closely, she said, “It doesn't seem to be too bad. How does it feel?” She gave it a tender kiss.

While they looked at their people laboring inside the big icy sphere, wondering what the guard had meant, they were surprised by Buzzard's voice. He and Maria hadn't said anything since they entered the Grand Court, but now he said, “We're supposed to stay inside the ropes, right?”

Stanton said, “It looks like it.”

Buzzard nodded, his big head bobbing on his long neck. “So, inside, but not how high?”

“How high?”

“Yes. They didn't say we had to stay down here, did they? Down here?”

“No,” said Stanton, beginning to smile.

“So we can go up if we want. Go up.” He looked up at the ceiling, more than a hundred meters up there.

Grinning now, Stanton said, “I don't see why not.

“Well then,” said Buzzard, looking at Maria and giving his wings a flap.

She laughed and flapped too, rising up with him. Side by side they ascended straight up and touched the ceiling. Then they dropped down and began to fly around within the top half of the area bounded by the ropes. They almost did a synchronized routine, flying patterns together, Buzzard doing an occasional swoop. It looked like aerial ballet, without the costumes.

The other four were watching, unconsciously drifting upward themselves, unaware when people began to arrive. They didn't notice until one of them tittered and all the newcomers began to talk and point. Elgin and Fran saw them and drifted to a stop. Stanton and Galatea followed suit, and soon Buzzard and Maria did too, hanging up there high above their heads.

The new arrivals were very colorful, wearing bright clothing, and even bits of other decoration. They huddled and milled in small groups, staring unabashedly, their mouths open even when they weren't talking. They and the six looked at each other with open fascination.

They could see the cliques form as people came in, and they watched the power structures form within. Then they noticed that there was a difference in the clothing and decoration worn by the people in the different groups. Each clique contained only people who had the same kind of adornment. They might have been involved in power struggles and pecking orders, but only among their own kind, as denoted by their attire. Another distinction seemed to be how close each group was to the big structure with the throne on it. The more elaborate the clothing, the closer they were.

Other than glancing regularly back toward the entrance, presumably to see who would be the next to come in, they spent most of their time looking at Elgin and Fran and the rest. They looked as if they were gossiping, and they were always hiding giggles behind their hands. The less well-dressed were, anyway. The higher-ups probably had too much gravitas for that.

They kept arriving until there were about thirty of them, then there was a brief dead spell. It soon became obvious that they must be awaiting the arrival of Verdi himself. Elgin and his friends prepared for a long wait, given what they had been told about the man. They had the impression that he kept his own timetable, regardless of whether it inconvenienced anyone, so they went back to what they'd been doing. Buzzard and Maria began a slow dance, and their friends alternately watched them and observed the tribal practises of the colorfully dressed courtiers.

For a while nothing changed. They kept gossiping, some giggling and others looking important. The six continued to wait, Buzzard and Maria staying up high. Their crew kept playing flashball, while their guards tried to not look bored. But the people in the groups still kept glancing at the entrance behind the throne. Elgin guessed they must be anticipating the arrival of Verdi, now.

He guessed correctly. After not too long – sooner than they expected, given what had been implied about Verdi's appearances – the man himself flew into the room, instantly killing the buzz of conversation. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at him, even the flashball players. Everyone knew that from now on everything that happened would be through his sufferance.

Elgin had assumed that Verdi would be a man of substance. Big, possibly fat, and lavishly dressed to outdo his most extravagant courtiers. So he was surprised to see a slim man, slight of stature. He could even be described as lean, or wiry. And his clothing was understated. Simple, close-fitting, and quite plain. Green with gold trim. But he carried himself with such confidence that he made everyone else look as if they were overdoing it. He made their attempts at grandeur look like the vanity they were.

Verdi acknowledged his more important courtiers. Then he looked at the prisoners in the flashball court, and they immediately, if painfully, began playing again. His gaze passed over the guards as if they weren't there, then fell at last on his guests. His eyes widened with shock, especially when he noticed two of them flying high above him.

He turned his face away, glaring at one of his attendants. He pointed at the four down by the ropes, and hissed, “They're naked!” Then he pointed at the two up high, and said, “They're above my throne!” Then he turned and left.

Chapter Twenty-One – They Get Dressed

Naked?

They looked at each other, then down at themselves. What naked? The fur was still there. Nothing was hanging out. Elgin heard a fluttering and looked up to see Buzzard and Maria spinning down in a tight double helix. He also saw the guards coming in from the corners of the waiting area. They were smirking condescendingly, glancing suggestively at the women's bodies.

Elgin saw Maria fold slightly in on herself, as if she could hide her body. He looked at Fran and saw that she was having to make an effort to not do the same. Not Galatea, though. She stood straight and proud and stared brazenly right back at them. He was gratified to see the other two follow her lead. Not with her level of confrontation, but enough to show that they wouldn't be cowed.

The guards started herding them away, toward the access tube connecting the flashball court to the wall. As they went by, the players were covertly staring, while continuing to play. Elgin noticed that none of them had any clothing on either, and he got a vague idea. He was just about to mention it to Fran when he saw a couple of guards in the tube who appeared to be dragging someone away. He rushed toward the lenticular opening to see what was going on, but he was held back by their guards. The ones in the tube went straight through the opening in the wall with their burden. It looked inert and lifeless. Elgin hoped his crewmate was just exhausted and was being taken away to recover, but his guards dashed that hope. One of them said, “That's four down.” And another replied, “And six to go.”

They were herded into the tube and on through the wall, the way the others had gone, but they didn't see anybody when they got there. Elgin recognized this place from his many flashball matches. A short corridor, with a door on either side leading to the teams' dressing rooms. Straight down the end of the corridor was another door leading to service areas, storage rooms and medical facilities. He assumed that was where his crewmate had been taken, and once again hope sprang up that he might be receiving medical attention at that moment. Something told him that it was probably a false hope.

Their guards took them to one of the dressing rooms and shoved them inside. “Wait here,” they said, and slammed the door.

“Naked?” Stanton looked around, then shook his head.

Fran said, “I think our Verdi is a bit of a prude.” She was smiling.

“I think maybe they all are,” said Elgin. When they looked at him he said, “I've been thinking back, and I think everyone we've met so far has been wearing clothes.”

They all stopped to think about it, then Stanton said, “I think you're right. The salvage crew. The people in the Square. The sewer guy ...”

“Norton,” said Elgin.

“Right, Norton,” said Stanton. “Even old Snowy had on that ratty old vest.”

“All the people in the Grand Court,” said Fran. She frowned. “Except our people in the flashball court. And us, of course.”

“Speaking of our people,” said Stanton, “I'm going to see if I can find out where they've taken him.” He tried the door and found it unlocked. With a quick look at Galatea, he eased it open and stuck his head out.

“Be careful,” said Fran. “They already beat you once.”

“Hardly hurts at all,” said Stanton. “And besides, what can they do? They're under orders not to hurt us.” He slipped out and pulled the door shut behind him.

Fran opened it and pulled it back a little, giving her a crack to peer through. She saw Stanton moving cautiously toward the door at the end of the short corridor. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned her head to see Galatea's face. “Oh, of course,” she said, making way for her friend and Stanton's lover.

Galatea watched for a while, not making any commentary. Then they saw her tense up, then partially relax. After a minute of this, Fran finally said, “Well, what's he doing?”

Tersely, Galatea said, “He's gone through the door.”

“Is that all?” asked Fran, trying to peer past Galatea's head.

“Yes,” said Galatea. Then she pulled the door open. “I'm going to look.”

“Wait,” said Fran, holding her arm.

Galatea looked at Fran's hand. “Let me go,” she said.

Fran said, “Just give him a few more minutes. I mean, what if you go there and open that door at just the wrong moment? You might just make things worse for him.”

Galatea scowled, thinking about it, then said, “Okay. Just a few more minutes.”

It was a tense few minutes. Galatea stood in the doorway, looking through a crack, while the rest of them tried to get into positions where they could see something. All they saw was another door down the hall. Nothing was moving out there, and they couldn't hear a sound. It didn't take very long for Galatea to lose her patience.

“That's it,” she said. “I'm going out there.”

“Are you sure?” said Fran. “Are you sure that's the best idea?”

“No,” said Galatea, “I'm not.” She looked Fran in the eye. “But what would you do if it was Elgin?”

Fran stepped back. “Just be careful,” she said.

So Galatea squeezed out the door and crept down the hall, the four of them watching her. She made her way slowly toward the door at the end, painfully aware that she was completely exposed out there. The hallway offered no cover at all. If anything happened, all she could do was fly back to the dressing room she'd just left. Or to the other one across the hall, and she had no idea what she'd find there.

With these thoughts jittering in her mind, she covered the last few meters and reached out for the door handle. Just as she was about to put her hand on it, it was snatched away as the door swung open and Stanton burst through. As he collided with Galatea, the four guards came through behind him, three of them carrying bundles of white fabric. The other one used the end of his truncheon to push Stanton again, and when he saw Galatea, he poked her too.

“You people,” he said. “You just don't know when to quit, do you?” He kept prodding them, driving them back toward the dressing room. “Come on,” he said, “let's just get some clothes on you so we can get this over with.”

“Quit pushing,” said Galatea, turning to face her assailant. She'd have gone right after him, but Stanton grabbed her and turned her back around.

“Not now, Gay,” he said. “Not right now.”

She wouldn't have listened to him, not with her back up like that, but then she saw his face. It was like nothing she'd seen before, and it scared her. There wasn't much that could do that to her, but the look on Stanton's face did it. So she went quiet and allowed herself to be herded back to the room, glancing nervously at Stanton as they went.

The clothing they were meant to put on consisted of a pair of loose trousers and a smock-like blouse. They were made of a light fabric that draped loosely on their bodies, the trousers cinched with a tie and the blouse pulled in at the waist by a kind of belt that was fastened with a knot. The blouse had slits in the back for their wings. The material was white and completely unadorned. They needed quite a bit of instruction from the guards to get it on and properly done up, simple though it was.

Galatea had been watching Stanton while they dressed, and he was obviously preoccupied by something. Probably, she guessed, by something he saw on the other side of that door. Finally, when they were all dressed and ready to go, she asked him.

He looked at her, unfocused, as if he were just waking from a deep sleep. When she asked him again, he nodded, but he still wasn't able to speak. His face, when he looked at her, showed an odd mixture. Shock, anger, disbelief, sadness. She was about to ask him again when the guards started chivvying them out the door. They clustered around Stanton as they flew down the hallway and out into the access tube. The sight of the flashball court seemed to breach the dam, and he said, “Flashball!”

“What?” said Galatea. “What about flashball?”

“The game,” said Stanton, heedless of the truncheon prodding him. “How they get out of the game.”

“How?” asked Galatea.

He looked at her, his face setting hard. “By dying. He was dead, Gay. That man they dragged out of there was dead. They still had him in that back room.”

She shook her head. “No,” she said.

“Yes he was, Gay. I saw him. He was certainly dead.”

“No, I mean what you said. That the only way to get out of the game is to die. That can't be true.”

“I think it is,” he said. “Remember those guards saying, 'Four down, six to go?'”

She did. She didn't say anything. They were crossing the Grand Court now, heading back to the roped off area over by the throne. The courtiers were staring and giggling again. They did it when they were “naked,” and again now that there were clothed. She couldn't figure out the contradiction, and she didn't bother trying. She just stared back at them, her lip curled contemptuously. If they would do what Stanton thought they were doing, then that's all they deserved.

When they were back in the waiting area, with four guards posted at the corners and two more above them, Fran turned to Stanton and said, “Do you really think he's making them play themselves to death?”

He said, “It's the only thing that makes sense.”

“But why?” she said. “What would be the point?”

“I don't know,” he said. “Maybe he's just crazy.”

Fran looked around. The Grand Court. The guards. The colorful courtiers. The endless flashball game. “You might be right,” she said.

“Hey!” said one of the guards. “You mind your mouth there.”

“Or what?” said Stanton, turning his battered body to face him.

“Yeah,” said Galatea, taking his arm. “Or what?”

The guard hefted his truncheon, but did nothing, remembering the threat of surface duty from the Captain.

“That's right,” said Galatea, “you stay there. You'll be safe there.” She laughed when the guard's eyes flashed.

“Okay, Gay,” said Stanton. “Don't embarrass him too much.”

Fran, straining to suppress her grin, said, “Take it easy on the poor man. He's just trying to do his job.”

“Some job,” said Galatea, with one last glance before turning her back.

Fran said, “Whether or not Verdi is crazy, this is a crazy situation.” She shook her head. “I don't know how we're going to be able to set this right.”

“Me neither,” said Stanton, glowering as he shrugged inside his blouse, trying to find a way to make it comfortable. Galatea reached over and straightened the material out for him, trying to get it to drape properly. “They make you wear clothing,” he grumbled, “and they can't even make it fit right.”

“Hm,” said Fran, looking down at her own clothing.

“What?” said Stanton, stopping wriggling.

“Well, I think you might have hit on the kernel of what's going on here.” When they focused on her she said, “I think they're so obsessed with the form of things here that they've lost sight of the function.”

“Like these clothes,” he said. He waved his arm. “And like this place. These silly twits fluttering around that throne like moths on a light. While the rest of the comet is falling to pieces.” He nodded, his eyes narrowed. “I've come across this kind of thing in my reading.”

“Like what?” asked Fran.

“It often happened toward the end of the reign of a particular power. It degenerated into displays of power and influence, spiraling toward increasing excess. They always lost sight of what made them great, while they concentrated on being great. Appearing great.”

Fran looked around, nodding with recognition.

“It's right,” said Elgin. “It feels right.”

Fran pointed at the flashball court. “What does that have to do with it?” she asked.

Stanton looked, and shrugged. “Power, I think. 'Look at me. I can make people play until they die.'” He looked as if he wanted to spit.

Fran shuddered, and Elgin's brow darkened. “If you have to show how powerful you are,” he said, “then you're obviously not powerful enough.”

“Exactly,” said Stanton. “There's something else here, too.”

“What?” said Elgin.

“When they would kill people like this. As a demonstration. They called it a decimation.”

“Decimation?”

“Yes. Killing one-tenth of them.” Stanton asked, “Do you remember the guard talking about six to go? That would make ten, and there were a hundred to begin with. One tenth. He's decimating them.”

Elgin's scowl deepened and his jaw began to bulge. “Killing them,” he growled, “for a demonstration.” He glared at the throne. “We have to stop these people.”

There was an excited ripple in the crowd and Verdi made his entrance again. Not looking at anyone, he flew to his throne and sat. When he finally looked at them, you could see that he was pleased that they were down low and covered by their humble clothing. But if he was expecting to see humility and adoration in their faces, as he was used to from his courtiers, then he was to be disappointed. Nor would he get the servitude that he got from his guards. Anything but. He saw pride and defiance. The first face that jumped out at him was the contemptuous sneer of Galatea. Next to her was the knowing look of Stanton. Then Elgin. He quickly looked away from that one. To the comfort of Fran's expression. Softer. More welcoming. And, oddly unsettling, understanding and compassion.

This was disturbing to Verdi. He was used to, and felt most comfortable with, adoration, awe and especially fear. Expressions that confirmed his preferred balance of power. But these people looked as if they thought they were his equals. At least. Even that long, skinny clownish one was looking at him as if he was examining him. And his dark-eyed mate. Was that challenge in her stare?

Well, he could remedy that. He could show them that he now owned what were once their most valuable possessions. He made a languid gesture and looked expectantly back at the entrance.

Everyone followed his eyes, and waited for whatever it was that he wanted to show them. Eventually something appeared, moving slowly and laboriously out into the court. Whoever it was, they must be important, because they were wearing the most elaborate clothing of anyone there. Also the most clothing. They seemed to be wearing several redundant layers of expensive cloth. So much extra cloth that it was impeding their progress.

Then there was a glint of light reflecting off a polished metallic dome. A dome with a vee-shaped dent in it. “Scarface!” exclaimed Fran, surging forward. Elgin held her arm to keep her inside the rope.

The eight-limbed robot saw her and began to struggle in her direction, cloth tangling its legs. It was a pathetic sight, even if Scarface was just a robot. They all knew that he didn't have any feelings, but they still felt sentimental toward him, and seeing him like this made them feel bad. The fancy clothing, rather than conferring the status that might be expected in this place, was serving as a mockery. Fran suspected that Verdi wasn't only mocking Scarface, either. She thought he was probably mocking the well-dressed courtiers who hovered around him, by dressing his new toy up to outdo them. She also suspected that he was taking a shot at her and her friends.

Scarface unknowingly thwarted that by turning his back on Verdi and heading for his long-time masters and companions. “Stop!” snapped Verdi, his narrow face showing panic under the haughty anger. Scarface kept coming, hitching and halting in his mess of fabric. “Stop!” shouted Verdi. “Stop at once and come back here.” He gestured sharply at his guards. “Stop it at once,” he said, and they advanced, pulling their truncheons.

Fran sighed. “Stop,” she said softly. Scarface stopped, waiting expectantly. Verdi looked at her. Even the guards hesitated. “Go back, Scarface,” she said. “Go back there and wait.” She pointed toward the throne, and Scarface turned to go back, stumbling and struggling in his confining clothes.

Verdi was incensed. His display of power had been deftly snatched away and thrown back in his face by this woman who was supposed to be his prisoner. He wanted to do something to reassert his superiority. To put her in her place. But if he reacted now he sensed it would only make things worse. Instead he smiled, and to most people it probably looked sincere, that's how adept he was at the courtly arts. It didn't fool Fran, of course, and she sighed again. She knew instinctively that someone would pay for Verdi's embarrassment, even if he had only brought it on himself. She smiled back, just as sincerely, and said, “You were going to say something, Verdi?”

He flinched, but hid it well enough that most people wouldn't have noticed. Fran did, of course, and she nodded when a man, who must have been one of Verdi's advisors or assistants, said, “The proper address is Your Excellency.”

She nodded again and said, “Of course. I apologize, Your Excellency.” She didn't laugh when Stanton snorted almost inaudibly. She just smiled and sternly kept all judgement out of her expression.

He seemed mollified and generously told her, “You're only recently arrived. Such ignorance is to be expected, and overlooked.” His expression told her that it wouldn't be overlooked again. He idly waved away his aide. “Now then,” he said, “I had you brought here so I could hear your tale of travel and adventure.” He spun a hand on a wrist. “Proceed.”

“Of course, Your Excellency,” she said. “We will be happy to tell our story.” She looked at her mates. “It's a long story and may take a while to tell, so we will have to take turns.” She waited, and when he graciously nodded, she said, “Before we begin, though, we're concerned about our friends. Can you tell us where Nigel and the Doctor are?”

He looked puzzled and his aide slid over and whispered in his ear. “Ah,” said Verdi, “yes. Them. They are no longer required. Carry on.”

“No longer required? What do you mean?”

He frowned and said crossly, “They're not needed. Supernumerary. Surplus to requirements. They were interfering with the functioning of the hospital.”

“Interfering?” said Fran. “They were improving it.”

“Exactly,” said Verdi as if it was obvious. “The hospital is functioning just as it should. They were going to spoil that.” He looked at her as if she must be especially dense.

“But it's functioning poorly,” she said. “They were just trying to make it better.”

“And that's what we couldn't allow,” he said, the exasperation beginning to show. “I can't have my subjects getting soft.”

“Soft,” said Fran. “I see. So, what did you do with them?”

“With whom?”

“Nigel and the Doctor. What did you do with Nigel and the Doctor?”

“I didn't do anything myself, of course. I have people for that sort of thing.” He softly rubbed his hands, as if he were washing them. “They were put in hibernation.”

“So they're all right,” she said.

“Yes, of course they are. Now, get on with your story.”

“Thank you,” she said. “That's a relief. We were quite worried.” She glanced over her shoulder at the game. “Now, there's just one more thing before we begin.”

“Yes,” he said impatiently, “what is it?”

“We'd like you to let our people go.”

“What?”

“Our people,” she said, indicating the players. “They've been playing long enough. It's time to let them out.”

Verdi stared at her in open-mouthed shock. “Are you telling me what to do?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Fran. “Well, strongly suggesting. Obviously it would be futile to try to tell you what to do.” She tipped her head to indicate the guards.

Verdi was gratified at the acknowledgement of his power, but chagrined at the implication that he needed it. “Well, you can forget about that,” he said. “They're not finished yet.”

Fran nodded. “You still have to kill six more of them, don't you?”

“Kill? I haven't killed anybody.”

“Who has, then? They're certainly dead, aren't they?”

“If they die, it's their own fault,” said Verdi, with a superior sneer. “If they were in better condition, then a little exercise wouldn't hurt them.” He smiled at her. “You should be thanking me,” he said. “I'm weeding out the weak. Making your crew stronger.”

Fran bit down her anger. She wanted to slap this foolish man, but she knew that would get them nowhere. “Isn't four enough?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “They have to be decimated, or it won't work.” He looked at his advisor and got a nod of confirmation, and he nodded briskly at her.

Fran couldn't speak. Won't work? What did that mean? Was there some kind of formula for how many people to kill? She was going to ask, when she was cut off by Stanton. He said, his voice low and dangerous, “So you have to kill six more.”

“Five,” said one of the guards. When everyone looked at him, he pointed at the tube, where another body was being dragged out.

Stanton looked back at Verdi, his eyes hard. “Five,” he said. “Now you've killed five. Isn't that enough for you?”

“I told you I haven't killed anyone!” shouted Verdi.

“You're the one in charge,” said Stanton. “They're dead because of you. That makes you a killer.”

Verdi's face turned red and seemed to swell up. His green costume with the gold trim looked as if it was too tight for him, and getting tighter. He looked as if he was going to scream at them. His advisor subtly backed away. His courtiers huddled in frightened clusters. Even his guards seemed to shrink in on themselves. But, other than Buzzard casting worried glances at Stanton and Maria, the six stood fast.

He didn't explode. He got a grip on himself and in less than a minute returned almost to normal. The tension sagged out of the place and Verdi cleared his throat to speak. He said, “In view of your ignorance of our ways, and your lack of experience in civilized society, I'm going to overlook your rude behavior.” He flicked his fingers at the guards. “As a further demonstration of my magnanimity, I'm going to end this game early. Your people will be released.”

Stanton and Galatea immediately flew off to join the guards as they got the people out of the big ball. Verdi bristled at their effrontery, and again when Buzzard and Maria went to join them, but he chose to ignore them. He turned to Fran and Elgin and said, “I hope this will help you to learn to accept my good will. I want you to be valued members of my court, and am making these unusual gestures to convince you of my sincerity.”

There were some gasps among the courtiers, and a buzz of conversation. Did he really mean to allow these people into his court? With them? In their peasants' clothing? And them so recently naked, too. But a glance, the merest sliding sideways of Verdi's eyes, put a stop to that.

Fran, in diplomatic mode, not wanting any capricious changing of his mind about letting their people go, said to Verdi, “Thank you for your generous gesture. We appreciate it.” She looked around at the splendidly dressed courtiers, then down at her own clothes. “Should we keep these clothes to put on if we decide to join?”

If? Nobody had ever taken one of his invitations as optional before. But he handled it smoothly. “Of course not. We'll get you something more befitting your status.”

“Speaking of status,” said Elgin, “I'm curious. Which has lower status: nakedness, or these clothes?”

Verdi leaned his head over and allowed his advisor to whisper in his ear. He straightened up and said, “Apparently, technically, nakedness has no status at all, so there can be no comparison. Of course, clothing is preferable.”

Elgin nodded, and Fran said, “It's time for us to go now and see to the well-being of our people.”

“No, no,” said Verdi. “I insist that you stay here and tell your tale, as you agreed. Your people will be well taken care of. I promise.”

“What will happen to them?” asked Fran.

“Hibernation,” said Verdi.

Fran thought that was better than decimation, so she didn't object. But she insisted, “They need to recover first, though. They can't go down in this condition.”

Chapter Twenty-Two – Story Time

They told stories until noon, Frances and Elgin swapping off the narration. Verdi appeared to be quite interested at first, but his interest was clearly flagging after two hours of listening. His courtiers were different. When Fran began the first story – from departing Green Comet to catching the Prime – they were at great pains to make their disinterest plain. Then, when they saw Verdi paying attention, they were at equally great pains to show how interested they were.

At noon, as Elgin was telling the last story of the day – ending as they picked up the first radio signals from the Makers' world – Verdi's attention was wandering and he was stifling a yawn. About half of his court emulated him, ostentatiously stifling yawns of their own. The other half were rapt, mouths open, hanging on every word, until he finished. Only then did they notice what was going on around them and adopt the correct attitude.

Fran saw her opportunity and said, “Your Excellency, I believe your people are getting tired of hearing us talk.” When he looked around at the signs of boredom and ennui, she said, “And we're getting a little tired of talking.” She coughed softly. “My throat is getting dry and a little sore. Perhaps we could take a break. Get some lunch. Then we could come back another time for more stories.” She looked at him, carefully blending respect and supplication in her expression. Beside her, Elgin stood in neutral deference.

That suited Verdi perfectly, as she knew it would. He said, “Of course. My court is fidgeting like children, and I am feeling a little hungry.” He turned to leave his throne. “You may go. You will be summoned when I need you.” And he flew out of the gallery.

Scarface didn't move. He was still looking at her. She shooed him out of there. “Go,” she said. “Go with him. Go on.”

He turned and headed for the exit, struggling with his burden of clothing. She knew he had no feelings, but he looked so pathetic that it broke her heart.

They found their friends in the dressing rooms with the rest of the crew, and a couple of guards. All of the players were exhausted and dehydrated, some of them unable to hold the water to their own mouths. It was crowded, there being about three times as many people in each room as they normally housed during a game. They went first to the same room they were put in when they were getting their clothes. Stanton was there.

“How does it look?” Fran asked him, looking around sadly. Some of the people tried to respond to her presence, while others didn't respond at all.

“Not good,” said Stanton. “Some of them are in really bad shape.” He shrugged, frustrated. “I don't know what I'm doing. We could use the Doctor.” He showed her the bottle in his hand. “The best we could do is this.”

She reached out and took it. “I can use some of that. I'm parched after all that talking.” She took a swig and was about to pass it to Elgin, when she stopped. “This tastes funny,” she said. She took another taste, then a longer drink, before passing it on. She smacked her lips. “It tastes funny, but good funny.”

Elgin took a drink, raised his eyebrows, and took another. “You're right,” he said. “It doesn't taste like you'd want to drink more, but you want to anyway.”

“Well, don't drink too much,” said Stanton, taking the bottle back. “It's got a ton of salt in it.”

“Oh, right,” said Fran, while Elgin grimaced lightly. “I can feel that, now. But it was masked by sweetness before.”

“It's also got a ton of sugar in it,” said Stanton. “You really don't want a lot of it, if you don't really need it.”

“No, I can see that,” said Fran. “In fact, now that my thirst is quenched, I wouldn't want any more.”

“Me neither,” said Elgin. “Where did you get the idea for this, anyway?”

“Sparky,” said Stanton. “The radio operator. She was working with the Doctor, remember? He was always trying to train people in first aid and basic care, and she's one of the ones who really took to it.” He pointed her out, trying to help people, though she seemed barely able to move herself. She must have felt them looking at her, because she looked over and smiled, with a weak wave, before going back to nursing sips of water into someone's mouth.

Fran felt a swelling in her throat and a pricking in her eyes. This made her even more glad that they'd fought to get their people released. It was worth it to prevent even one more of these good people dying. She swallowed and said, “How about the others? How are Buzzard and Maria doing?”

“Good,” he said. “I sent Gay over there to tell them about this water idea, and she's still with them.” He looked around at his fifty patients, some helping others, some hardly able to move. “It's hard to say, but maybe it's a little worse over there, if she hasn't come back.”

“Maybe,” said Fran.

“I'll go check,” said Elgin, heading for the door.

He went across the hall and entered the other dressing room. It looked much like the first one. Quiet. Not much movement. People helping other people. He spotted Buzzard, his length and fluidity making him visible, and flew over to join him. “How's it going?” he asked.

Buzzard looked at him, his face a mask of anguish. “It's awful, Elgin. It's awful.” He gave Elgin a bottle of the special water, and looked around, near panic. “They're so sick. And there's so many of them.” It was obvious that he wanted to help them all at once, and so was not able to help them one at a time. Normally Maria would get him through it. Shield him from the trauma and focus his mind. But she was busy and he was in danger of overloading.

Elgin patted Buzzard on the shoulder. “Think of this like a flashball game,” he said. “You don't do a whole pattern all at once. You do it one throw at a time. Right?”

Buzzard's eyes steadied and focused on Elgin. The anxiety drained out of his face and he began to smile. “Right,” he said. “Like the Elgin Fractal.”

Elgin suppressed a grimace. He said, “That's the Flying Fractal. The Harriers did that as a team. Not just me.”

“But you're the only one who calls it that,” said Buzzard, his great big grin coming back. “The rest of the team calls it the Elgin Fractal.”

Elgin sighed. “All right,” he said. “The Elgin Fractal.” He'd lost that argument long ago anyway. The flashball pattern had got attached to his name while he was a hero, and no amount of protesting on his part could shake it loose. Even when Buzzard used a similar pattern of rockets and laser beams to battle the Visitor's scout, the name stuck to Elgin. Some things you just have to learn to live with. He shrugged and said, “Come on. You're first throw.”

Buzzard nodded, his game face on. Without hesitation, he went straight to the nearest crew member and began coaxing him to drink. Elgin was doing the same when Maria caught his eye. Elgin felt her look of gratitude like a warm hug.

Nearly everyone recovered. There was only one more death. He was nearly comatose and unresponsive when they got to him, and he couldn't be made to drink. If they had been able to get fluids into him intravenously, they might have been able to save him. All they could do was watch him die while the guards ignored their pleas to get him to the hospital. This was the thing that crystallized their resolve to change things. They knew before that they couldn't allow things to go on like this. Now they knew that they wouldn't.

Their crew was sent down to the Hibernarium for an unspecified period of hibernation. It seemed to be the Francesians' preferred way of dealing with problems. It served as both a threat and a solution.

The six, especially Fran, reassured them that it wouldn't be for long. They'd get them back up and onto a regular schedule as soon as possible. They told them that they intended to rehabilitate Green Comet, and they would require all of their help to do so.

“I don't care,” said Elgin. “I'm going to fix the treatment plant. People can't live like this.”

“But what about Norton?” said Fran. She'd given up arguing about the greater consequences. About what Verdi and his people might do. Elgin said he wasn't worried about Norton.

“He can either help me, or he can get out of the way,” said Elgin.

Stanton said, “My sentiments exactly. I'll come along in case he gives you any trouble.”

Elgin nodded and looked around the table. Fran was looking a little worried, but not unhappy. Stanton looked determined and Galatea looked belligerent. Buzzard looked uncertain, but with Maria next to him, he looked ready. Elgin nodded again.

“Well, all right,” said Fran. “As long as we're cleaning up, I might as well pitch in.” She looked around the planning committee room, at the mess and graffiti. “And I might as well start here.”

“I'll help,” said Galatea, her hand unconsciously beginning to polish the table.

“Me too,” said Maria.

“And me,” said Buzzard.

“And after we're done here, then we'll do your shop,” Fran said to the men. “Then the apartments.”

“Yes!” said Galatea, her hand flexing.

“Yes,” said Maria, looking at Buzzard, wanting to take away the hurt she had seen in his face.

“And when we're finished with yours, we'll do ours.” Fran lifted her chin and stared a challenge at them all.

They all went silent. They were enthusiastic about the prospect of fixing Green Comet up, and challenging the status quo in the process. But they were a little more hesitant about directly challenging the Francesians at their shrine. Power and authority were one thing, but when you mixed in beliefs you were stepping into territory ruled by emotion. It gave them pause, but then Elgin's face showed the beginnings of a small, tight smile. That made Stanton smile. Then Galatea grinned. When Maria nodded, Buzzard nodded with bouncing enthusiasm.

Fran said, “We have to lead by example. People have been living this way for so long, they've learned to not expect anything else.”

“That's right,” said Elgin.

“That's how it works,” said Stanton.

“So, if we start to clean things up, maybe they'll start to get the idea.” She set her jaw. “And if we show them that you can challenge authority, then maybe they'll start looking for ways to do it themselves.”

“We have to remember, though,” said Stanton. “When we start to push on them, they're bound to start pushing back.”

Fran thought about that. Stanton was right. If they stirred up trouble, they might get more than they bargained for. And not just for themselves. She looked around the table at the faces of her friends, and she was reassured. They all looked back with calm determination, and Elgin's little smile brought it all together. She smiled and said, “Let them push.”

They hadn't forgotten what Snowy said about spies and cameras and microphones. And they didn't doubt him, either. They were sure a paranoid, despotic regime like the Francesians would have spies and monitoring equipment. They had no doubt that their actions were being monitored and their words recorded. They knew that and they didn't let it bother them.

It's just as well, because they were being watched. Had been since they arrived. The big window in the Square was, in fact, full of cameras and microphones. And every room, every hall and corridor, every space on the comet was infiltrated by surveillance devices. They were all ready and waiting, and could be activated as necessary. As the ones in the planning committee meeting room were now.

Up in the right angle where the walls met the ceiling, held in place by a weak electric field, were over a dozen devices. Each was a couple of millimeters in size and invisible to anything but a determined inspection. Each one was capable of capturing everything said and done in the room, and together they could render it in 3D, with immersive audio.

There was no point in worrying about being overheard. They might as well assume that the Francesians would be aware of everything they said and did.

Chapter Twenty-Three – Free Alterations

The cleanup began in the meeting room. The three women stayed there while the men headed for the sanitation plant. It felt like a natural division of labor, since Elgin wanted to go and Stanton was going to support him. Galatea was the clear choice for cleaning, since it was her specialty. Her compunction, to be honest. The only hesitation was Buzzard, who dithered, unsure whether he wanted to go with the guys, or stay with Maria.

She pushed him out the door. “Go on,” she said. “You guys are used to working together. We can handle this.”

Getting paint off walls made of ice wasn't difficult. A little water and a little wiping was all it took. Or, more accurately, some water, some wiping, and a few hours of buffing it up to perfection. They quickly developed a routine. Maria would spritz it and wash it, then Fran would wipe it and dry it, and finally Galatea would polish it to a high luster.

They enjoyed it. Working together, the teamwork, the conversation, the easy camaraderie, all put them into a state of calm satisfaction. They could talk or not, and be comfortable either way. Even when Maria and Fran finished, and Galatea was working alone, they all still felt as if they were doing it together.

Fran and Maria were sitting at the table, having tea and some old packaged muffins they'd found at the hospital. Galatea's tea was getting cold, because she was finishing up her work. The whole place shone, and now she was making sure that the joint between the wall and the ceiling was thoroughly cleaned out, sharp and smooth. But she was having trouble. Some specks that she was trying to wipe away weren't cooperating. Every time she wiped at them, they would go back where they were. They seemed to snap back with a soft elasticity.

“You guys,” she said. “You've got to see this.”

Fran and Maria joined her up there and watched as she demonstrated.

“What are they?” asked Fran.

“I don't know,” said Galatea. “It makes me think of static electricity, except it doesn't go away.”

Maria said, “We have to show this to the guys.”

“Why?” asked Fran. “What do you think it is?”

“I'm not sure,” said Maria. “They remind me of the elements used to make the window. Millitools. But we need to get a closer look at them. And we need to get the guys to look at them. Get their engineer brains on it.”

The men were also working together as a team. Elgin mostly had them watching the readouts as he made adjustments to the controls. They'd done all the simple changes, where he could move one dial and watch one meter to get the right setting. Now they were fine tuning, where he could make the adjustments while they watched several meters simultaneously. These were the fine tweaks Elgin made long ago when he worked here. Then, he had to do it incrementally, one small step at a time. Move a dial a hair. Go around and check all the readings. Move the dial again. Check again. It was slow, repetitive and tedious. Now, with help, it was going much more smoothly.

They had more help, too. Once they convinced Norton that they were serious, he seemed to put aside his previous attitude and he agreed to stay and help them. He said, “They're going to throw me in the Hibernarium anyway. It might as well be for something I did, instead of just something that I didn't stop you from doing.”

Snowden was there, too. He hadn't been sent down for talking to them after all. “I just disappeared for a while,” he said. “I felt their eyes on me, and decided that I needed to be invisible.”

“Where did you go?” asked Elgin.

Snowden glared at him and turned away. Norton chuckled and said, “Snowy can't tell you that. If he does, they'll hear, and then he won't have any place to hide.”

“Oh, of course,” said Elgin, tapping a meter. “I should have thought. I'm sorry, Snowden.”

He turned back. “Yes, you should have thought.” He straightened his ratty old vest, smoothing one of the pocket flaps. “I forgive you, since you're still ignorant.” He turned to Norton and said, “And for your information, I have more than one place. A secret hiding place wouldn't last long if it was the only one.”

“Of course, Snowy,” said Norton. “I didn't mean anything.”

“Okay then. I'm not a fool, you know.”

“Of course you're not. I never said you were.”

“Good, then.” He lifted his face and talked to the air. “You're not dealing with a fool here. You might think you're clever, with eyes and ears everywhere, but you're not as clever as you think you are.”

“You tell 'em, Snowy,” said Norton.

“You'll never take me, and you'll never catch the Underground.” He stopped, horrified, and clapped both hands over his mouth. Then he turned and fled.

“Underground?” asked Elgin, looking at the doorway just vacated by old Snowy.

“Fairy tales,” said Norton. “An imaginary resistance army that will one day free us from our oppressors.” He shrugged, a wry smile twisting his mouth.

“I see,” said Elgin.

Stanton joined the conversation. “It's not unusual for oppressed people to invent powerful saviors. An anodyne for the hopelessness.”

“That's right,” said Norton. “Stories to make themselves feel better.”

“That makes sense,” said Elgin. “It sounds right.”

That's when the women showed up. They had bright, eager looks on their faces. Galatea sniffed, her nose in the air. “Smells better,” she said. “Not perfect, but better. We actually noticed a decrease in the stench as we got closer.”

“Good,” said Elgin. “It's good to know it's working.”

Then, without further preamble, each of the women went to her man and gave him a hug and a kiss. The hug lasted long enough to whisper something in their ear, and then it was suddenly time to leave.

“We'll see you tomorrow, Norton,” said Elgin. “That's enough for today. Let's let it settle overnight and see how it looks tomorrow.” And with that, they were gone, leaving Norton to wonder why the women all suddenly needed their men.

Out in the hallway Fran continued to whisper in Elgin's ear, looking as if she was nuzzling him flirtatiously. They stopped to pick up some tools, and flew on to the apartments, where they stopped outside Stanton and Galatea's. Stanton turned on a device and said, “Show me.”

Galatea pulled him in and up to where the wall joined the ceiling and said, “This is where they were in the meeting room.”

“Ah,” said Stanton, “I see what you mean.” He made room for Elgin and Buzzard, and they all looked, conferring in low voices.

“Well?” said Galatea. “Were we right?” Had she been standing on the floor under gravity, she would have been tapping her foot.

Stanton nodded at her. “It looks like it, Gay. Good catch.”

Elgin confirmed it. “They do look like the elements in the window. I expect with minor modifications.” He put a magnifier back up to his eye and continued his inspection.

“Are they turned off?” asked Fran. “Did that thing work?”

“Yes,” said Stanton. “Not really turned off, though. Just stuck on the last thing they saw.”

“So you can do that to them any time, anywhere?”

“Yes,” said Stanton. “With one of these, you can go anywhere and not be seen or heard.” He thought about that. “Well, there would be the matter of other moving objects freezing momentarily. It wouldn't work like actual invisibility.”

“No, of course not,” said Fran. “But it could be useful in some circumstances.”

“Yes.”

Elgin said, “I think I know another way we can use these millitools.” His voice was quiet. Thinking out loud.

“How?” asked Fran.

“Well,” said Elgin, looking at Buzzard and Stanton, “these are moved and positioned using an electric field, right? You shape the field and alter its characteristics to move these things around. They can obviously be made to change their polarity.” He trailed off.

“Obviously,” prompted Fran.

“Right,” said Elgin, snapping back. “So, theoretically, you could move them into whatever configuration you want. Providing you had control of the electric field.”

“What sort of configuration did you have in mind?” she asked, but she'd lost him. He and Buzzard were into it now, focused, speaking in rapid, partial sentences.

Stanton chuckled. “Looks like that's that for now,” he said.

They laughed with him. Then Galatea said, “As long as we're waiting, we might as well start cleaning up.” She briskly rubbed her hands and rolled up her sleeves. They'd discovered that clothing was inconvenient in more ways than one. When they were cleaning the meeting room, they found their sleeves always getting in the way. Getting wet and picking up stains.

Elgin and Buzzard came up with something. They said you could call together any number of the window elements, the millitools, and use them to construct a device. Asked what kind of device, Elgin said, “The first thing that comes to mind is communication. These millitools are designed to transmit light and sound, so you could make a little handheld device to use to communicate.”

“Sounds plausible,” said Stanton.

“It's early stages yet,” said Elgin.

Buzzard nodded and said, “Early stages. Early stages.”

“But it looks doable,” said Stanton.

“Yes,” said Elgin, with Buzzard nodding vigorously.

“Good,” said Stanton. “How are you planning to call them together? Do you have to carry something to remotely control them?”

“We thought of that,” said Elgin, “but decided against it.” He looked at Buzzard, who grinned. He went on. “We figured these communication devices would be something we'd want to keep to ourselves. Something we could use clandestinely. So we don't want to be carrying something that will give them away.”

“Makes sense,” said Stanton. “So, what did you decide?”

Elgin and Buzzard grinned at each other again, then Elgin said, “Whistling.”

“Whistling?”

“Yes,” said Elgin, still grinning. “You whistle one thing and the bees come together to form a device.” He looked at Buzzard, who demonstrated with one high note and two shorter, lower ones.

“I see,” said Stanton. “Bees?”

“Oh, right,” said Elgin. “That's what we've been calling them. They'll zip around, kind of like bees.”

Fran said, “I love it. I love the name, and I love the whistling.”

“So do we,” said Elgin, Buzzard nodding happily.

Fran imitated the three note whistle. “That's not quite it,” she said, and tried again.

“That's good enough,” said Elgin. “It doesn't have to be perfect, just close. The bees will adapt to each individual.”

“Oh, good.” said Fran, trying again. Soon she found a comfortable one and blew it a few times. The rest of them were doing the same thing, and the hospital dining room sounded briefly like an aviary. Fortunately, they all could whistle.

Stanton said, “So that brings them together. What sends them back?”

Elgin looked at Buzzard, who demonstrated a rising two note whistle, and they all tried that for a while. Then both of them. Soon the air was cacophonous again as they concentrated on perfecting their whistles. Then they made the mistake of looking at each other, their lips pursed and their faces concentrating seriously, and the laughing began.

They discovered that you can't whistle and laugh at the same time, and their attempts made them laugh harder. It turned into a full laughing jag, and by the time they were done they all had sore stomachs and tears in their eyes. It felt great.

There was one more thing: their clothes. If they were going to have to wear them, then they had to be better than these baggy white things. The basic design was okay, as far as clothes went, but in practise the details were not well executed.

First there was the matter of the sleeves, which tended to get in the way when they were trying to do something. They'd discovered that when they were cleaning, having to roll them up to get them out of the way. It was a nuisance and just plain inefficient.

The sleeves were too long and too baggy, and Galatea, who worked with her hands a lot, especially didn't like them. The obvious solution was to shorten them and make them snugger. That led to the idea that the legs could also be made shorter, and everything could be made snugger. That pleased Buzzard and Maria, who found that all that baggy fabric affected their flying.

“It's not aerodynamic enough,” she said. “Too much drag.”

“Too much drag,” he said. “Drag.”

They found a sewing machine, with Norton's help. “It's probably the very one that made the clothes you're wearing now,” he said. “There aren't that many of them.”

“Why not?” asked Fran. “You'd think that with everyone wearing clothes there'd be a big demand for sewing machines.”

Norton snorted. “It's like everything else. They make you do things, but don't give you the means to do them.”

Fran shook her head. “I'm getting the impression that they spend a lot of their time thinking up ways to demonstrate their power.”

“Exactly,” said Norton. “That's exactly right. But also, they have their clothes hand made. It's got more status than machine made. So there's not as much call for these machines.”

“I see,” said Fran. “Well, I guess that's good for us, isn't it?”

Norton smiled at her. “You know how to look on the bright side, don't you?”

“Of course,” said Fran, smiling back at him. “Now, let's see how this thing works.”

They were done in a couple of hours. They let the machine take their measurements, then they gave it their clothing and instructions. One at a time, it took their clothes apart, trimmed the pieces to the right size, and sewed them back together to the new specifications.

One by one, as they came out of the machine, the outfits went on their owners. The results were just as they intended. Their new clothes were fully form fitting. The sleeves of the smocks came part way down the forearm, stopping well before their wrists. The trouser legs did the same thing on their calves. The smocks hugged their torsos, and were fastened with setae, rather than the original knotted belt. They fit perfectly, felt great and, incidentally, looked great too.

There was one question that could only be answered in practise, and Buzzard and Maria were the ones who answered it. Since the clothes now fit so snugly, would they restrict motion and hamper their mobility? This called for a test flight.

They went to the Square and Buzzard and Maria put their new clothes to the test. They did some laps around the perimeter of the Square, gradually increasing their speed. The hard turns at the corners gave them no problems. They tried variations on everything you'd encounter in normal flight. Again, no problems. Finally, the ultimate test. Buzzard did a few of his trademark swoops, and Maria her maneuver. Judging from the looks on their faces, their new clothes were passing this test, too.

They came back to their friends, breathing hard, their faces shining with delight. Maria said, “They're good. No binding. And no drag.”

“No drag,” said Buzzard. “No drag.”

Chapter Twenty-Four – Division of Labor

Breakfast was iceberry tea and more packaged muffins. The hospital might have seemed like a strange place to live, but it did have that going for it. They wouldn't run out of food for a while. That was important because they hadn't yet figured out how people were feeding themselves. There must be something, they knew, but until they found it they at least had this.

The first thing after ablutions this morning, even before scrounging breakfast, they got dressed in their new clothes. When Elgin and Fran came out of their room, tugging and shrugging them straight, they saw the others doing the same. It made them all oddly uncomfortable. How had they acquiesced so readily?

Stanton frowned and said, “I only got dressed because I'd have had to eventually anyway. Might as well do it while I was right there.”

“Yeah,” said Galatea, straightening his tunic for him. “Saves the trouble of going back later.”

Elgin nodded and said, “Same for us.” He winked at Fran. “We didn't feel naked or anything, did we?”

“No,” said Fran, working her right wing more comfortably into its slit. “Not at all.”

“Well, we did,” said Maria. “At bedtime last night. Didn't anyone else notice when you took your clothes off to go to bed?”

Buzzard didn't say anything, just ducked his head. But you could see the beginnings of his blush.

“Well, now that you mention it,” said Fran. “It was kind of ...”

“Yeah,” said Galatea with a leer. “Kind of ...”

“I thought so,” said Maria. “I didn't think it could be just me.” She looked at Buzzard, and mused, “Especially when he was taking his off. Did you guys happen to notice that?”

“Yes,” said Fran, looking at Elgin. “Now that you mention it.”

“Yeah,” said Galatea. “There was something about watching him slide his tunic off his wings. Do you know what I mean?”

When the women pulled closer, obviously intending to continue this train of thought, Stanton said, “All right, you. We're right here, you know.”

“I know,” said Galatea. “In those tight trousers, too.”

“Now Gay,” said Stanton, beginning to look flustered.

When Fran laughed, so did the other two, while their men fidgeted self-consciously. Then she sobered and said, “Isn't it funny how adding clothes emphasizes the nakedness without them?”

Elgin said, “That's right. That is strange. Ironic?”

“I think so,” said Stanton, “but you know how much I know about that. I'm never sure what irony is.”

“I think this qualifies,” said Fran. “When you'd expect one thing, and then it's the opposite.”

They thought about that for a minute, then Buzzard said, “One thing about clothes.” When they looked at him he said. “Pockets.” He patted the blank expanses of his tunic. “If I had a few pockets, I could carry a lot of stuff around.”

“What kind of stuff?” asked Maria.

“I don't know,” said Buzzard. “Stuff.” He shook his head, raising his shoulders. “You know. Stuff.”

“Like tools, maybe?” suggested Fran. Buzzard nodded eagerly. “Or snacks?”

Stanton said, “It might be handy at that. As it is, when we want to bring something along, we just carry it.”

“Or put it in a bag,” said Galatea, “and carry it over our shoulder.” She was thinking of how convenient it would be to have some things with her all the time. Like cleaning and buffing cloths. She couldn't count how many times she'd seen a smudge and not had anything with her to take care of it.

“Right,” said Elgin. “Pockets. That would be handy. It would keep our hands free.”

“Hands free,” said Buzzard. “Hands free.”

They would definitely be going back to the sewing machine to design version three of their clothing, complete with pockets. But first they had some chores to take care of, like checking on the sanitation plant, and a lot more cleaning.

They were just tidying up after breakfast and preparing to leave when five men arrived. Four of them had pikes and one of them stepped forward unrolling a scroll.

“Again?” said Stanton. “Another scroll?”

The man looked at him, a trifle embarrassed at his own silliness. He didn't let it stop him, though. He held up the scroll and proclaimed, “His Excellency Verdi requires your presence in the Grand Court immediately.” Then he turned and left, followed by the other four.

“Hmph!” said Stanton. “I wonder what his excellency wants this time.”

“Maybe he wants to hear some more of our story,” said Fran.

“Yes,” said Elgin. “He seemed pretty interested the last time.”

“Well, if that's what it is,” said Stanton, “then he doesn't need me. You two can go, and we'll get back to work.”

“I don't know if that's a good idea,” said Fran. “He seemed to be asking for all of us.”

“Well,” said Stanton, “if he wants me, he can send someone with a scroll to get me.”

“Me too,” said Galatea. “I'm coming with you.”

“Okay,” said Stanton. “Us, then.”

Buzzard looked back and forth between Fran and Stanton. Then he looked at Maria. “What about us? What should we do?”

“That's up to you, Buzzard,” said Stanton. “If you want to stay out of trouble, go with them. If you want to get some work done, come with us.”

Maria took Buzzard's hand. “It's not that simple,” she said. “We don't know what kind of trouble it would be. And we can always get back to work tomorrow, or even this afternoon, depending.”

“Like I said, that's up to you,” said Stanton. He reached out and took Galatea's hand. “We're going to start at sanitation, in case you want to know where we are.” They flew off, hand in hand.

While Buzzard got more agitated, Maria got more sure. “We're staying,” she said. “I mean, we're going to the Grand Court with Fran and Elgin.” Still holding Buzzard's hand, she nodded firmly. “There's plenty of time for work. We'll just do this, then get back to it.” Buzzard's face cleared, and his shoulders relaxed. He squeezed her hand and nodded.

“Plenty of time,” he said. “Plenty of time.”

“Where are the other two?” demanded Verdi.

“They're working,” said Fran. “We didn't think it would take all of us to tell a few stories.” She looked around and noticed that everyone was glaring at her. “Oh!” she said. “Uh, Your Excellency.”

“I sent for all of you and I expected all of you here.”

“We'll keep that in mind for next time,” she said. “Meanwhile, no harm done.”

He peered closely at her. “I don't think you're taking this seriously,” he said.

“On the contrary, Your Excellency,” she said. “You may rest assured that we take it very seriously.”

He took that suspiciously, too. He didn't like these people. They were too … relaxed. He liked people to be nervous, even frightened. That way he knew they were taking him seriously. But these people weren't nervous. Far from it. They acted as if they had nothing to be nervous about. Except that long, gangly one. He always looked a little uncomfortable. But then the dark-eyed one always calmed him down. Speaking of which, she was quite attractive. Those eyes. And something about the way her clothes fit her. Come to think of it, there was something about all of their clothing. Even on the men. And that Frances, the de-sanctified saint, was looking pretty good, too.

She cleared her throat. “Your Excellency?”

His eyes snapped up to see her smiling at him. Was that a knowing smile? Recovering, he snapped, “What have you done to your clothing?”

“We modified it,” she said, turning to let him see how well it fit her. While her back was turned, she winked at Maria, who got it immediately and began her own show. Elgin and Buzzard also demonstrated how their clothes fit, but hardly anyone was looking at them. When she completed her circle, Fran caught Verdi's eyes darting between her and Maria before he managed to drag them back up to her face. “What do you think?” she asked, her hip cocked.

Flustered, he stammered, “Who told you you could do that?” He pointed. “Change your clothes like that.”

“No one,” she said. “They were poorly made and inconvenient, so we took the initiative and made some alterations.”

“What was wrong with them?” he asked, apparently offended.

“They were too baggy. They got in the way when we tried to work. And they interfered with flying,” she said. “So we made some improvements. Next we're planning on adding some pockets. That was Buzzard's idea.”

“Pockets,” said Buzzard, patting the front of his smock. “For stuff.”

Verdi looked sternly at them. “What makes you think you can do what you want with them?” He pulled up straighter. “That clothing belongs to me, you know.”

“Oh,” said Fran, reaching for the setae seal on her smock. “Would you like them back? We'd just as soon do without, anyway.”

“Except the pockets,” said Buzzard.

“Right. Except the pockets,” said Fran, beginning to open the seal.

“Stop!” said Verdi. “Do what you want with them. It's better than having you naked.”

“It is, isn't it?” she said, turning to let him see the curve of her hip. Maria subtly mirrored her move, to double the effect.

“Yes. No. That's not what I meant.” He let out an exasperated breath and gestured impatiently. “Just get on with your story,” he said.

They told stories until nearly noon. This time it wasn't only Elgin and Fran. Maria and Buzzard also tried their hands at it. Maria turned out to be a good storyteller. She had a natural sense of drama and timing, a good voice and an engaging delivery. At times, Verdi appeared to forget entirely about her tight trousers as he raptly watched her face.

Buzzard was a different story. He had a tendency to get wrapped up in the details, and lose sight of the larger story. But he told it with such enthusiasm, with such large movements of his long, supple body, that his listeners were on his side. They forgave him his faults and filled in the story in their minds.

Elgin was a competent storyteller. Like Maria, he had good timing and a good voice. He knew which details to emphasize and which long passages to condense. His audience paid attention, and they were duly rewarded.

The best was Fran. Like Elgin and Maria, she had the natural gift. Like Buzzard, she could make the audience love her. What gave her the advantage was her synesthetic talent: the ability to know what her audience was feeling. She knew just what they needed to hear next to make the story perfect. She could make them feel as if they were there. They knew what it felt like to be alone out in the middle of vast, empty, cold space. They knew what it felt like to face violent, dangerous, exalted Makers. Listening to her, they were often caught holding their breath as she revealed the climax of a story.

She finished their stories that morning by telling of the offloading of resources from the Prime, of the death of a Maker, their friend Plub, and of the loss of communication with the Maker world as they were heading back home. There was silence for a while as everyone thought about the implications. Were the Makers lost, or would they bounce back again? If they did, would they be able to keep from killing each other long enough to make serious forays into space? And if they did that, could they make their way here and be a danger to the people of Green Comet? It was Verdi who broke the silence.

He said, “You should have destroyed them when you had the chance.”

“We might have been able to do that,” said Fran. “We chose not to.”

“Well, you chose wrong,” said Verdi. “They're violent animals. They're a danger to us. It was your duty to prevent them from coming here and attacking us.”

“Perhaps if you had been there, we'd have done things differently,” said Fran. “Your Excellency.”

“You certainly would have,” he said. “I'd have overruled your softness and you'd have done the right thing. You can't show any sentimentality with your inferiors.”

“Yes,” she said. “I can imagine how it would have gone.”

“Yes,” he said, apparently missing her tone. “And another thing. We certainly wouldn't have given away two thirds of our resources. We would have brought them all back home.”

Fran didn't ask how he would have convinced the Makers to provide them with the laser power for their sail without giving them some of the resources in return. And she didn't talk about the fairness of sending resources back to the double worlds. This wasn't about being reasonable or fair. It was about Verdi demonstrating his greatness. So she simply said, “Of course you would.”

“At least you brought some of them back,” he said, apparently relenting. Then he added, “But you should have brought them all the way back, instead of leaving them at that outpost.”

“But that's where they came from,” protested Fran.

“And that's where we came from, isn't it? So the resources should have come here, where the people are.”

“But there are people there.”

“Bah!” said Verdi, sweeping it away with his hand. “Colonists. They don't have the sense to run their own affairs, much less manage our resources.”

“Is that why you try to run their affairs for them, from here?” When he looked at her blankly, she said, “Your spies.”

“We don't employ spies,” he said haughtily.

“Well someone does. They attempted a coup. Then, when we stopped that, your assassin went to work.”

“Assassin? We most certainly do not use assassins!”

“Again, someone does.” She looked at him, assessing. “Maybe your superiors don't tell you everything.”

“My superiors? What makes you think I have superiors? Do you see anyone fitting that description here?” He tipped his head at his courtiers.

“Not here,” she said, “but it's obvious that this isn't the top of the Francesian hierarchy. You've been granted this principality, and you take your orders from somewhere else.”

“No one gives me orders!” snapped Verdi, his face red and his body taut. “They give me spiritual guidance only. All matters of governance are my domain.”

“Things like the daily running of Green Comet,” suggested Fran.

“Yes. And dealings with the other comets, and so on.”

“And athletics,” she said, looking at the flashball court, then back at him. “And entertainment.”

His gaze broke, then reasserted itself. “Yes,” he said defiantly.

“So they give you that in return for keeping the people here in line. Ceding you limited authority, and keeping the ultimate power for themselves.”

“I have full authority!” he shouted. “I can do whatever I want.”

“You do seem to be the ultimate authority on this comet,” she admitted. “You can make the place stink. You can arbitrarily condemn people to the Hibernarium. And you can kill people in the flashball court.” She nodded. “That does have the appearance of full authority.”

“That's right,” said Verdi. “Green Comet is mine.” He slapped his green-clad chest. “Mine!”

“I can see that,” she said. “And that's enough for you. You don't concern yourself with what the higher powers do. Nor with the decisions they keep from you.”

“As I said, spiritual matters.”

“Spiritual matters like coups and assassinations.” Fran tilted her head sympathetically and said, “Don't worry about it. According to Stanton it's normal for paranoid dictatorships to hoard information as a matter of habit. And he says as they degenerate it gets worse. Eventually, everyone is suspicious of everyone else all the time.” She saw the light of recognition in his eyes. “If I were you, I wouldn't take it personally.”

His expression and his body language, and hence his aura, showed that he certainly did take it personally. A man of his character couldn't take it any other way. He stared at her, his eyes flat. “Stanton,” he muttered.

They went directly from the Grand Court back to the hospital to eat. As they had their packaged food, Fran said, “We've got to find a way to prepare proper meals.”

“Definitely,” agreed Maria, and they both looked at the men.

They looked at each other and shrugged. Elgin said, “I guess,” and took a bite of his muffin. With his mouth full he added, “This is all right for now, though.”

“All right for now,” agreed Buzzard. “For now.”

Maria rolled her eyes and both women shook their heads. Fran said, “It will have to do for now. We have too much to do.”

“Right,” said Maria. “Let's go get Stanton and Galatea and get to work.” She dropped her cup and wrappers into the recycling bin and dusted her hands.

On the way to the water reclamation plant, Maria said to Fran, “You sure didn't take it easy on Verdi back there, did you?”

Fran smiled at her. “I was just giving him a little gift,” she said. “I'm pretty sure he doesn't get to hear people being frank with him very often.”

“Frank?” said Elgin. “You were brutal.”

“No,” said Fran, “not brutal. I prefer to think of it as candid.”

Elgin laughed. “You were candid all right. You made it clear that he takes orders from his superiors. I guess you just wanted him to face facts.”

Fran nodded. “He needed to know, if he was ever going to be at peace.”

“At peace? You were worried whether he's at peace?”

“Yes,” said Fran, “of course. He was conflicted. In a hierarchy, some people are content to be princes, filling a lesser role like his. Some only want to be king.”

“So?” said Elgin. “Are you saying Verdi wants to be king?”

“Yes,” said Fran. “But he's stifling those feelings. Hiding from them. I just wanted to help him face them, so he can resolve the confliction.”

“And if it happens to foment unrest?”

She smiled at him. “I'm just trying to help,” she said innocently.

They knew there was something wrong as soon as they entered the water plant. Norton was there, and so was Lord Snowden, but they didn't see Stanton or Galatea.

“Where are they?” asked Elgin.

Norton and Snowy looked at each other, then everywhere but at Elgin.

Elgin's face began to harden. “What happened?” he asked. “Where are they?”

Snowy looked as if he wanted to run, but Norton showed his mettle. He swallowed and met Elgin's penetrating eyes. “They were taken,” he said.

“Taken? When? Where?”

“Not long before you got here. About a half hour ago.”

“Where?” barked Elgin, advancing on Norton. He only stopped when Fran put her hand on his arm.

“To the Hibernarium,” said Norton, forcibly keeping himself from backing up.

“And you just let them?”

Norton turned his palms up. “There was nothing we could do.”

“Nothing you could do?” Elgin felt Fran's grip tighten on his arm, and realized he was moving forward again.

She said, “They would have had weapons. I'm sure there really was nothing Norton and Lord Snowden could do.”

Elgin felt himself relax, his shoulders loosening and his face softening. He saw some of the apprehension go out of Norton's face, and he felt bad. “I'm sorry,” he said. “It's not your fault.”

Norton let out his breath. “Don't worry,” he said. “I'd be the same way.” He laughed nervously. “I don't know if I could be quite that scary, though.”

Elgin looked at Fran and she nodded. He still didn't really believe that his face changed like that, or if it did, that it could be that bad, but he'd heard it from people he trusted and he took their word for it. “I'm sorry,” he said again.

“It's okay,” said Norton. “Now if you don't mind, we've got to get back to work.”

“Still fine-tuning?” Elgin asked.

“Actually,” said Norton, looking ashamed, “we have to make it stink again.”

Elgin wanted to say something, but was afraid he'd get angry again, so he said, “Come on. Let's go find them.”

The entrance to the Hibernarium was guarded by two armed men. They had the usual truncheons, as well as handguns stuck to their thighs. When the four approached they barred the door, their truncheons in their hands.

This time Fran did the talking. She said, “We're here to visit Stanton and Galatea.” To their stony stares she said, “They were just brought in. You probably saw them.” She looked at their flat eyes. “Actually, we'd like to see Nigel and the Doctor as well.” She moved to get around them, followed by the other three.

The guards blocked the way, truncheons raised. One of them said, “No visitors.”

Fran pulled back. “No visitors? Why not?”

The guard looked into the middle distance. “No visitors.”

“But how are people supposed to see their friends and family?” She tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn't let her.

Suddenly, surprising everyone, Buzzard burst forward. “I want to see Stanton,” he shouted. “See Stanton.”

Maria grabbed the back of his smock, slowing him down, but he got close enough that one of the guards cocked his arm back, ready to strike, while the other put his hand on the pistol on his thigh.

Buzzard was still advancing, pulling Maria with him, when Elgin swung in front of him. He craned around his friend, oblivious to the danger, shouting, “Stanton! See Stanton!”

Elgin grabbed his shoulders and said, “Buzzard.” He held him and repeated his name, while Maria hugged him from behind and did the same. Eventually Buzzard's eyes cleared and he started to listen to them. He calmed down and they were able to pull him out of reach of the guard's club. The other guard's hand moved away from his thigh.

“Come on,” said Elgin, his arm around Buzzard's shoulders. “There's nothing we can do here. There's no point in making things worse.”

Maria was on the other side of him, her arm around his waist. “We'll figure this out,” she said. “We'll find another way.”

Buzzard craned his neck, looking over his shoulder. His eyes were worried, his face a mask of apprehension. He whispered, “Stanton?”

Chapter Twenty-Five – The Bees

They could have gone back to cleaning. There was certainly enough of that to do. Or they could have gone back to the water reclamation plant and forcibly taken over again. It would have been satisfying to defy Verdi. To let him know that they wouldn't be intimidated by his thuggish tactics. It might have been just the thing to give direction to Buzzard's fear and anger. But Elgin had a better idea.

“Back to the hospital,” he said.

“But we've got to do something,” said Maria, her arm still around Buzzard's waist, guiding him in his blind flight. “We've got to do something for Stanton.”

“We will,” said Elgin. “I promise.”

“But what?” asked Maria. “What can we do there?”

“That's where Buzzard can do something for Stanton. Something that only he can do.” He looked at Buzzard's face then back at her. “Something that he really needs to do right now.”

Maria saw it in Elgin's face, and she knew she could trust him. She nodded and squeezed Buzzard's waist, and flapped her right wing. He automatically flapped his left wing and, as they had many times during their long love affair, they flew as one,

Elgin took Buzzard to one of the hospital's terminals and said, “Do you remember the back doors Stanton showed you?” While his friend began to focus, he said, “It's time to work on the bees. We want to be able to call them any time, anywhere.”

So they got to work, diving into the details together until they were lost to the two women. An hour later, when they brought them coffee, Buzzard just nodded absently, but Elgin looked up and saw Maria. The love and gratitude in her face did much more than the coffee to re-energize him.

They were at it all afternoon, took a short break for food, and worked on into the night. Finally, shortly after midnight, Elgin said, “Let's try it.”

The honors went to Buzzard and he whistled, one short note followed by two lower ones. The response was immediate, and within two seconds a few hundred of the millimeter-sized bees came together and formed a simple device. In what should not have been a surprise, but was, it formed right at Buzzard's lips, where he had just puckered them to whistle.

He jerked his head back, and they laughed out loud. The women looked over to see them doubled over, holding their stomachs. Elgin straightened up, then jerked his head back with a comically alarmed expression, and they laughed some more.

“Well,” said Fran, with an indulgent smile, “I guess they got it.”

“Good,” said Maria, turning back to their cooking. “Now if we can just get this.” She looked over. “It should be a nice surprise.”

“I think we did pretty well,” said Fran, “considering the ingredients we were able to find.” She frowned. “I still can't believe we couldn't find any iceberries.”

“Even that patch by your old place was gone,” said Maria.

“Oh well,” said Fran. “This will do fine, whenever they're ready.”

Elgin and Buzzard were back at it, their heads bent over their work. Elgin said, “It should be easy enough to get it to form away a little.”

Buzzard said, “That gave me an idea.” He made some adjustments, rewrote a little code, and tried again. This time the device didn't try to form in his mouth. Instead, it came together in his ear. “Since this version is an aural communication device … aural comms … aural … Anyway, I thought why not plug it right in.”

“That's brilliant, Buzzard,” said Elgin.

“And hands free,” said Buzzard, holding up his hands. “Hands free.” He whistled two ascending notes and the device disassembled and scattered back up where it came from. He pointed at Maria. “You try it,” he said.

“Me? Okay,” she said, and whistled the three note descending pattern. It sounded quite different from Buzzard's, but the bees came anyway. Maria jumped when the device formed in her ear. “That was surprising,” she said. “But it feels okay. It fits fine.” She whistled and jumped again when it took off. “I guess it'll take some getting used to.”

“Yes,” said Buzzard. “Getting used to.” He pointed at Fran and said, “You try.”

She did. She was prepared, having watched Maria, but she still jumped a little when it entered her ear. But she said, “It's a perfect fit.” She shook her head vigorously. “It feels solid.” She blew the up whistle.

While Elgin was whistling it down for his turn, Maria said, “Can we test them?” Then her eyes widened. “Can they hear us when we use them? Can they tell when we're moving them around like this?” She looked around, her eyes raking the joint between the wall and ceiling. “Are they watching us right now?”

“Yes,” said Buzzard. “And no. And no. And no.” He looked at the ceiling while he reviewed her questions, then nodded when he was sure he'd answered them all.

Elgin saw that she was about to ask for a clarification, so he whistled the device away and volunteered. He said, “We can test them right away, tonight. They won't be able to hear us because we isolate the ones we're using from the rest of the system. That's also the reason why they can't tell what we're doing. And as far as right now, they think we're asleep with the lights out.”

“Oh,” said Maria. “Good. Let's test them. I'll go down further. Down where you found Laika. Then we can give it a try.” She took off, and Buzzard took off after her.

Elgin and Fran whistled some bees down and waited. Fran said, “That was good, what you did.”

“Hm?” he said.

“For Buzzard,” she said. “It was good to give him something to do, to take his mind off Stanton.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “He needed something.”

“Yes,” she said, “and you knew the perfect thing.”

He was beginning to get uncomfortable, and so was grateful to hear Buzzard say, “Testing. Testing. One, two, three.”

He replied, “Reading you loud and clear, Buzzard. Do you read me?”

“Loud and clear,” said Buzzard. “Loud and clear.”

Maria said, “The fidelity is great. And it's full duplex. None of that 'over and out' stuff.”

Elgin and Buzzard both tried to confirm that at the same time, and while their transmissions collided and overlapped, they didn't obscure each other. They did interfere, though. It wasn't like being right with someone, where there were lots of other clues. They were going to have to develop a feel for it, especially if there were more than two people involved.

“Anyway,” said Maria, “it works really well.” Then she said, “It's kind of spooky down here.”

“Spooky?” said Fran.

“Yes,” said Maria. “There's the isolation chamber where you found Laika, and … I know it's silly, but it feels spooky.”

“Laika,” said Fran. “She was so brave. What she did all by herself. Then preserving her own body so we could find the pathogen.” Fran remembered the pain of hearing her die on the recording. “When this is over, we are definitely putting her statue back in the Square.”

“Definitely,” said Elgin, and everyone agreed. Then he said, “Okay, they seem to be working. Now let's get some sleep. I've got an idea how to really test them tomorrow.”

They were at a tee intersection. Not the one that went to the Square and the flashball court. Or the Grand Court, as it was now. This tee intersection was halfway around the comet. They'd flown the orbital first thing in the morning, before Verdi could decide he wanted them again. The beauty of an orbital is that you can travel in freefall. Once you get up to orbital velocity, you can glide indefinitely, with only occasional flaps required to overcome the drag of air.

Now they were at the bottom of the comet, with the bottom being defined by where four of the six comets in the hexamer were. Those four formed a square, held in place by the kilometer-long tubes joining them. The top of the hexamer consisted of two comets: the original Green Comet, and the one commandeered by the Francesians. Those two were joined by a tube, and each was joined to two of the bottom four. The bottom tubes were so close to the bottom of the comet that the engineers decided to make the intersection right at the bottom. The legs of the tee were short orbitals curving up to the tubes.

And that's where they were. They were about to separate and fly a few kilometers up their respective corridors to the gates. Just a few more minutes and they would know what the frontier looked like. And they would also get to give their new communication devices a good field test.

“Remember,” said Elgin, “keep in touch. And don't take any unnecessary chances.”

“Keep in touch. No unnecessary chances,” said Buzzard earnestly, while Maria barely kept from rolling her eyes.

“This is serious, Maria. We don't know what we'll be dealing with here.”

“Okay,” she said. “Don't worry. I can be serious.”

Fran giggled and he realized that he might be overdoing it. “Okay,” he said, chuckling. “Just, if there's any trouble, yell, and we'll meet back here.”

“Yes sir,” said Maria, smirking as she saluted. Buzzard mimicked her, with a much more expressive salute.

Elgin sighed, but he couldn't help smiling. “All right,” he said. “Meet back here in one hour.”

They all whistled down their comms, and set off.

The bee comms were just as good as they hoped. In spite of the increasing distance, the fidelity remained excellent. Since they were tapped into the electromagnetic field that controlled the bees, they had reason to expect that would remain true all over Green Comet, possibly all over the hexamer. It was still nice to get confirmation.

They kept chatting for most of the journey, though circumspectly, cognizant of the whispering gallery effect in these curved tunnels. They expected there would be guards at the gates, and they didn't want to rouse their suspicions.

“We can see the guards now,” said Maria. “They've spotted us.”

“Ours are just coming into view now,” said Elgin. “I see two of them.”

“That's what we have here, too,” said Maria. “They have weapons. It's too far to tell for sure, but it looks like the standard truncheons. And there's a bulge on their legs. Probably a pistol.”

“It's the same here,” said Elgin. He turned his head so it looked as if he was talking to Fran. “They're starting to look at us funny. It might be time to remove the bee comms.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Maria said. “See you in an hour.”

“In an hour,” said Elgin.

“In an hour,” said Buzzard. “An hour.”

“Be careful,” said Fran. “See you soon.”

“You too,” said Maria. They heard the rising whistles and she was gone. Then they heard Buzzard whistle his two rising notes, and he was gone.

Elgin and Fran looked at each other, and whistled their bees away. Then they gave their full attention to the guards at the gate. The guards were watching them with at least equal intensity.

They were standing in front of the massive pressure door that was currently rolled in place, sealing the entrance to the tube. Their truncheons were held across their chests, at the ready. Their faces were hard, expressionless, the eyes darting about, doubtless looking for weapons, or threats of any kind.

“Halt!” said one of them. “Don't come any closer.”

Elgin and Fran stopped. They could see that the guard who'd spoken had a slightly less plain uniform. It looked as if the hierarchy held, even out here. The guard said, “What do you want here? State your business.”

“Wait,” said Fran. “I know you. Don't you recognize us?”

He peered at her, concentrating on her face now. His eyebrows went up, and he looked at Elgin, then back at her. “Frances?” he said. “Frances and Elgin? I didn't recognize you with those clothes on.”

She turned back and forth, showing them off. “It wasn't our idea,” she said. “Verdi didn't like us naked.”

“Yeah, he's funny that way.” The other guard looked at him, alarmed. He waved him off. “Don't worry. I know these people.”

Fran said, “Parrow, isn't it? Where's Barker? And what are you doing here?”

Parrow laughed. A cynical snort. “I told you His Excellency plays a tough game, didn't I? So, after we got him your ball, he decided me and Barker were getting too cozy with each other. Then, I guess because we were too friendly with you while we were taking your stuff, he decided to teach us a lesson.” He spread his arms to indicate his current situation.

“Too friendly?” said Fran. “That doesn't sound right. I didn't think you were particularly friendly.”

“I know,” said Parrow. “But he's got his own ideas, and here we are.”

“That's so unfair,” said Fran. “Where did he send Barker? Was she punished as much as you?”

“As far as I know, she's at one of the other gates. And I think our whole crew was punished. At least, that's what I hear.”

“Do you think she could be at the other gate down here? Because that's where Buzzard and Maria went.”

“Could be,” said Parrow. “That's a lot more likely than the top gate, anyway.”

“Why's that?”

“That one's more prestigious, so it's reserved for the most … deserving, let's say.”

“Because it connects to the other top comet?”

“That's right,” said Parrow. “The Francesians' comet. You've got to be a good little Francesian to get that one.”

Fran laughed. “I thought you had to be a good little Francesian to stay out of the Hibernarium.”

“Just about,” said Parrow. “You have to be one to get anywhere, so everyone claims to be one.” He looked at his partner. “It doesn't always help, though.” The man blushed and looked down at his feet.

Fran said to him, “What's your story? What happened?” When he didn't look up, she said, “Start with your name.”

Parrow scoffed. “Real Francesians don't give their names to us commoners.” He poked him with his truncheon. “Do they, Frank?”

Elgin's mind had begun to wander, but it snapped back now. “Is that your name? Frank?”

Without looking up, the man said, “Yes. Not my Francesian name. My comet name.”

Elgin hadn't recognized him, but hearing his voice did it. “Given to you by Stanton, right?”

Frank looked up. “That's right. When I was arrogant and so sure of the truth, Stanton showed me how shallow my pride really was.”

“It was when we were at the Maker world, and you kept wanting us to ask them about their religion,” said Elgin. “When the window was still working.”

“Yes,” said Frank. “I thought you were fools to waste time on diplomacy, on just getting to know the Makers, while ignoring that most important question.” His eyes were shining now. “Stanton, the most wise of men, showed me that I was the fool.”

“Steady now,” said Elgin. “Don't start another religion.” He glanced at Fran. “You've probably heard by now how unhappy Frances is with hers. Well, Stanton would be even worse.”

“But you are truly blessed,” said Frank to Fran. “They should never have de-sanctified you. That's when I knew they'd gone astray.”

“More to the point,” said Fran, “they never should have sanctified us in the first place.” She saw the shock and protest in Frank's face, but she continued. “Their whole edifice is built on a false premise, and now they have to keep lying to shore it up.” She smiled at Elgin and said, “They should have listened when they were told to wait until their saints were dead, so they couldn't disagree with them.”

Frank looked stricken, and Elgin said, “You're just getting out from under one case of false idolatry, now don't run to another one.”

Fran saw Frank's pain and confusion, and spoke softly. “Stanton is a wise man, and you are wise to listen to him. But if he was here, he'd be the first to scold you for putting him on a pedestal.” She spoke directly to him, as if they were the only people there. “He would tell you to take him down from that pedestal and talk to him as one man to another.”

Frank didn't speak. They could see the conflict in his eyes. He was being told by someone he adored, to stop adoring her. Or anyone, in fact. To be his own man. When he'd been taught all his life that his whole purpose was to adore someone. To subsume his self to theirs. His mind was in chaos.

“Okay,” said Parrow, “enough of that.” He pointed at Elgin and Fran with his truncheon. “What brings you down here, anyway?”

Elgin said, “We wanted to see it.” He pointed at the gate with his chin. “To see the rest of it. We've seen Green Comet, and it's bad. Now we want to see the rest of it.” He looked at Fran and grinned. “And we wanted to get out and do some fast flying, too. We were cooped up in the Ball for a long time.”

Parrow grinned back at them. “There's nothing like stretching it out in an orbital, is there? Feeling the wind in your face.”

“Yes,” said Elgin. “Feeling your nictitating membranes closing when the speed gets up there.”

“Right,” said Parrow. “I forgot all about that. Taking it for granted, I guess. But you wouldn't have had much opportunity for that to happen for the last few centuries, would you?”

“Not much,” said Elgin. “A bit in the flashball court. Occasionally when traversing the Ball. But never for long. Never for sustained flight, like in an orbital.”

Parrow nodded. “So, did you feel it in your muscles after all that time?”

Elgin shook his head. “I thought I might,” he said, “but most of the flight was gliding, once we got up to speed.”

“That's right,” said Parrow. “You get more of a workout in the shorter corridors, don't you? Changing your momentum all the time.”

Elgin nodded, and they were quiet for a while. It was a comfortable silence, but eventually Elgin broke it. He said, “So, how about it? Are you going to let us through so we can explore?”

Now Parrow shook his head, while Frank looked worried. “Sorry,” said Parrow. “We can't do that.”

“Why not?” asked Elgin, looking at the distorted image of the tube through the thick ice. “All you have to do is roll the gate back for us.”

Parrow continued to shake his head. “If it was just that, then it'd be no problem. I'd let you go through and worry about the consequences later.”

“So, what is the problem?”

“The problem is that it's too dangerous. If I let you through, the chances are we'd never see you again. We haven't known each other for very long, but I find I like you, and I don't want to let that happen to you.” He gave a small, rueful smile. “Then there would be the matter of explaining it to His Excellency.”

“He'd be upset if we disappeared?”

“Just a little, yes. You must have some idea by now of what he's like. And when it comes to what he thinks belongs to him ...”

“He thinks he can own people?”

“He doesn't have to think about it.”

Elgin nodded. “You're right. We have seen some evidence of this.” He nodded sharply. “We certainly don't want to get you in trouble with Verdi, so we won't insist. But you also said it's dangerous. Tell us about that.”

“Okay,” said Parrow, “simple. The prince of Red Comet, Rufus, is crazy.”

“Red Comet? They called themselves Red Comet? But there already was a Red Comet.”

“That's right,” said Parrow, “and originally this was meant to be a tribute to them. But like I told you, Rufus is crazy.”

“Crazy how?”

“Well,” said Parrow, thinking. “Okay. You know how you haven't seen any armfuls around?”

“We haven't, as a matter of fact. Why is that?”

“The Francesians have decreed that they are an abomination, so they've been forced into hibernation to have the procedure reversed. Lower arms removed. Legs put back. Same thing with bioluminescence. You haven't seen any bioglow either, have you?”

“No. But how does this make Rufus crazy?”

Parrow frowned. “On Red Comet, they were hunted. They didn't get a chance to go into hibernation. Rufus gave the order that they be hunted down and eliminated.”

Fran gasped and turned away. Her hands covered her mouth, and her shoulders curled in. Elgin moved close and put his hand on her back. He said to Parrow, “Is this true? It's not just rumors and lies you tell about an enemy?”

“It's true,” said Parrow, and Frank nodded in solemn agreement.

Somehow, Frank's concurrence it made more real for Elgin. He nodded as he stroked Fran's shaking back. “I guess we don't want to go there, then.” His eyes widened and he asked sharply, “What about the other side? The other comet. Where our friends went.”

“Winter,” said Parrow, with a glance at Frank.

“Winter? What about it?” asked Elgin. “And why isn't it a color?”

“It was a color, originally. They were calling themselves Blue. But then the Francesians took it away from them. Said blue was the holiest color, so it rightfully belonged to them. So, Winter it was.”

“Okay, but what about them? What are they like?”

Parrow glanced at Frank again. “It's hard to say,” he said. “They're pretty secretive. But, pretty bad, I think.”

Fran spun back around. “We have to go,” she said.

Elgin nodded and turned to Parrow and Frank. “Thank you,” he said. “It was nice to see you again.” He and Fran were already moving off. “We hope to see you again.” Then he turned away and they both flapped hard for speed.

They whistled down their bee comms as soon as they felt they were far enough away. They were flying hard, exceeding orbital velocity, so they had to constantly correct downward to stay on course. Their nictitating membranes were firmly in place. They called repeatedly, but couldn't raise Buzzard and Maria.

“They're probably still talking to whoever's guarding that gate,” said Elgin. “It hasn't been that long, really.”

“Of course,” said Fran. “We'd still be talking to Parrow and Frank if we hadn't got worried.”

“That's right. They'll probably be surprised to see us so soon.”

Fran didn't answer. They both knew that was the most probable case, but neither of them believed it.

They whistled their comms up when the gate rolled up into view. They were hoping to see at least four people, but could see only two, and they both had the profile of guards, with the bulge on one thigh. Neither of them looked like a woman, so it was unlikely that Barker would be here. There was no one with Buzzard's unique shape.

As they neared, the guards raised their truncheons to chest height, and dropped their other hands to their thighs. “Stop!” said one of them. “Don't come any closer.” When they stopped, he said, “State your business.”

“We're looking for our friends,” said Fran. “A man and a woman. They came down here.” She was unconsciously drifting forward.

“Stay back!” said the Guard.

Fran stopped herself. “Please,” she said. “Our friends. Have you seen them?”

The guard said, “Are they the ones called Buzzard and Marie?”

“Maria,” corrected Fran. “Yes. Were they here?”

“Yes,” said the guard. “They've gone.”

“Gone? Where? We didn't pass them on the way here.”

The guard tipped his head toward the gate. “They've gone to Winter, as guests of His Excellency Lavender.”

Chapter Twenty-Six - Scarface

“You must let us through,” said Fran. “We have to find our friends.”

“No passage,” said the guard.

“But we have to help them. They need us,” she said. “We'll take full responsibility. Please let us through.”

“No passage,” said the guard. Then he relented. “Even if we let you through at this end, they wouldn't let you in at their end. And even if they did, you wouldn't want to be there.”

“Why not?”

“I've never been there myself, so I can't tell you from personal experience, but I've heard rumors.” He looked at the other guard. “We all have.”

“What kind of rumors?”

He shrugged. “I hear that Lavender is … a little bent. He likes to use people in his sick little games.” He shrugged again, while his partner looked around nervously. “At least, that's what I hear.”

Fran was quiet, so Elgin asked, “But it's just rumors, right? Do you know anyone who's witnessed it and come back to tell?”

“Yes,” said the guard. “Well, not personally, but my friend knows someone.”

Elgin nodded. “Thank you,” he said, taking Fran's arm and turning them back the way they came. “We'll take your advice and try to find another way.”

“Okay,” said the guard. “I'm sorry we couldn't help you.” He looked right at Fran. “You know, some of us still believe in you.”

That brought her back from her terrible contemplations. She looked at him and said, “Thank you. But be careful. Don't let it get you in trouble.”

“We won't,” he said. “Good luck.”

As soon as they were covered by the curve of the corridor, they whistled down their bees. No sooner had they formed in their ears than they heard Maria whispering.

“Fran. Elgin. Do you copy?”

“Maria!” said Fran. “You're all right.”

“We're okay,” she began.

“Where are you?” asked Fran.

“I don't have much time,” said Maria. “They'll be coming back to get us soon, so just listen, okay?”

Fran was bursting with questions, but she bit them back. “Okay,” she said. “Go ahead.”

“Good,” said Maria. “They're taking us to the Hibernarium. They've left us in this little room while they go get the official Francesian guards to take us there.”

“And you're okay? You and Buzzard? What about Lavender?”

“We haven't seen Lavender, but we've heard a lot about him. He sounds like a very odd man.”

“Then why ...”

“He must be afraid of the Francesians.”

“So you're going to be all right?”

“Other than being put in hibernation, it looks like it.”

“Good,” said Fran. “We were so worried.”

“Hold on,” said Maria. “They're coming back. I'll have to stop talking, but I'll leave the bee comm in for now. I think my hair will cover it.”

“Okay, Maria,” said Fran. “Don't take any chances. We'll find a way to get you out of there.”

They heard some muted background noises, but nothing they could make out clearly. It was obvious, though, that they were being taken out of the room, and none too gently, judging from Maria's response. She told them to take it easy and stop shoving. Fran and Elgin smiled when they realized that she was doing it in a way that would convey maximum information to them.

“We'll get you out of there, Maria,” said Elgin. “You and Buzzard. We'll get you all out of there. Somehow.” He swallowed. “We'll get you out and then we'll all fix this place together.”

Fran squeezed his hand as they flew. She said, “Elgin's right, Maria. We'll all be out here working together again. Making Green Comet great again.”

Maria said, “It's okay. Don't be ashamed. You're just doing your job.” Talking to her escort, they assumed. “When we get out, we're not going to come looking for revenge.”

They heard a muffled reply, but they couldn't make it out.

“Of course we'll get out,” said Maria. “Our friends will get us out.”

Another muffled reply.

“What do you mean?” asked Maria. “If you were planning on locking them up anyway, why haven't you?”

A longer reply.

“Oh,” said Maria. “Your fearless leader wants to talk to them first. When might that be?”

A short, sharp reply.

“When she's good and ready? Why the delay? What's she afraid of?”

A loud reply. Even though they couldn't understand it, they could tell it sounded threatening. After that, Maria didn't talk again, and the last thing they heard was her whistling her bees away.

By this time they were past the intersection and in the main orbital, on their way back to the Square and the hospital. They were flying at orbital speed, fast enough that their nictitating membranes were closed, but slow enough that they could glide for long periods without having to make corrections. It made for easy conversation.

“They're going to be all right, aren't they?” said Fran.

“Of course,” said Elgin. “They'll just be in hibernation. If they'd wanted to hurt them, they could have done it before now.”

“Of course,” said Fran. “I wonder who they were referring to. Someone who wants to talk to us.”

“It sounds like it's a woman,” said Elgin. “And the way they were talking, I'd guess it's the leader of the Francesians.”

Fran nodded. “It felt that way to me too.”

Elgin said, “It looks like we can look forward to an invitation from Blue Comet sometime soon.”

“I don't know if it's something to look forward to,” said Fran. “We thought Verdi was bad, and he was, but then we found out about Rufus and Lavender. They make Verdi look good.” She shook her head. “But they're all afraid of her, whoever she is. The leader of the Francesians.”

“On the other hand,” said Elgin, “I've got the impression that we've been under her protection. That we've been safe from these princes because of her.”

“That's right,” said Fran. “I've felt that, too.”

“Buzzard and Maria were taken right through Lavender's principality unharmed, and he might be the worst of them, if the rumors are true.”

“Yes,” said Fran. “She locks up our friends. Our whole crew, except for the ones Verdi killed. She keeps us for last. Saving us for herself, for some reason.”

“It doesn't seem like she means us any harm,” said Elgin.

“No,” said Fran. “At least, not so far.”

“Maybe she doesn't dare,” said Elgin. “Maybe there are still too many people who admire you. Maybe she can't hurt you without risking an uprising.”

“Maybe,” said Fran, unconvinced. “But she could just put dissenters in hibernation. She doesn't have to fear them.”

“You're right,” said Elgin. He shrugged. “Oh well. We'll find out soon enough. Meanwhile, we need a plan. I don't want to just sit around waiting for a call.”

“Me neither,” said Fran. “I think we should continue with the cleaning. There's still plenty to do around the hospital.”

“And we might as well check on the shop and the meeting room,” said Elgin. “Even though there's no one left to use them.”

“We might as well have them ready for when there is someone to use them,” said Fran. “As a reminder of the greater good.”

Elgin smiled at her. “You're right of course. And as a sign to everyone. A reminder of how it used to be, and how it could be again.”

“Yes. People need hope.”

That's when they got their first whiff of the water treatment plant. Elgin said, “There's something else that needs fixing.”

“But every time you fix it, Norton sets it back again.”

“I think I'm due for a serious talk with Norton.” Elgin was frowning, his lips pressed together.

“How serious?” asked Fran. “I mean, it's not his fault.”

“Serious enough that he understands,” said Elgin. “He doesn't have to make it as bad as he has. I think we could get away with less stinky.”

“So, you're not going to try to make it perfect.”

“No. Just a little less bad. Then, after a while, maybe a little less.”

“Enough so the Francesians, or Verdi, or whoever it is, still believes that it's miserable enough. So they won't worry that their subjects are getting 'soft.'”

“Exactly. Maybe we can find that magic balance.”

So they stopped at the water plant before getting back to the Square, but Norton wasn't there. No one was there. There was no one for Elgin to tell his plan to, so he made the first adjustments himself, with Fran's help. He thought about leaving a note to explain things to Norton, but he thought that the changes he'd made would be obvious to him. And he was sure Norton would be able to figure out what he was doing.

“It's not all the way,” he explained to Fran as they were leaving, “so he'll know I wasn't trying to get it right. That should make it obvious that I was only trying to adjust it a little.”

“Norton's pretty smart,” said Fran. “And I don't think he's very happy with his job. Maybe he won't set it back. Maybe he'll see your plan and try to help it along.”

“Maybe,” said Elgin. “We can hope.”

They carried on to the Square, where they entered at the red end, up against the orange wall. Turning right, they headed over to the green side, where they popped up the hallway to the meeting room. They half expected the graffiti and vandalism to be back, but it wasn't. That was a pleasant surprise, and it made them want to immediately check out the shop.

Back down the hallway and out between the green columns into the Square, where they went to their right, to the second opening in the green wall. A short jaunt up the hallway brought them to the shop door, which they tentatively opened. They were surprised again to find it just as they'd left it. They looked at each other and smiled.

Fran said, “Maybe it's working already.”

“Yes,” said Elgin. “Maybe the people aren't as far gone as we thought. Maybe they just needed a good example.”

“Then we have to keep setting it,” said Fran.

Elgin nodded as they headed back to the Square. “We can do that,” he said.

Even with everything that had happened, they were feeling pretty good as they flew across the Square to the orange side, and the hospital. Their mood was dampened by the presence of the shrine in and around their old apartment. It was low on the yellow wall to their right, at the far end where it joined the orange wall. Fortunately, the opening they were headed for was sixty meters away from the yellow wall, but the shrine was so gaudy that, even with their eyes averted, it was impossible to not see it.

They were relieved to enter the corridor and pass the Doctor's old medical office just inside the entrance. But then, that reminder turned them back to sadder thoughts. The Doctor was gone, along with Nigel. And Stanton and Galatea. And now Buzzard and Maria. All they had left now was each other, and with the way things were going, they couldn't be sure how long that would last.

Fran said, “We've got to figure this out, and soon.”

“We will,” said Elgin. “We always do.”

Just then they entered the hospital, and got another pleasant surprise. It was just as they'd left it. Whatever had prompted the initial vandalism seemed to be no longer active. Maybe there had been a period of zealous animosity some time ago that had worn off. Maybe things were more stable now, having settled down to the simple routines of survival. Maybe the people were more like Norton and Snowy, just keeping their heads down and trying to get by.

They smiled at each other and headed for the pantry. It had been a long day and they'd had a lot of exercise, and now they were hungry. They'd barely sat down to eat when five men intruded on their privacy. Four of them had pikes and one of them had a scroll.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” said Elgin. “What now?”

The man unfurled his scroll and said, “His Excellency Verdi requires your immediate presence.” He rolled it back up and stood waiting with his four attendants. To their credit, most of them looked as if they knew how silly they looked.

Elgin took a bite of his muffin and said, “Okay, you've told us. You can go now.”

The scroll man said, “Your presence is required immediately. We will accompany you.”

“But we're eating,” said Elgin, still chewing.

“No matter. You must come now. It is late and His Excellency wants to go to his dinner.”

Elgin had a sharp retort for that, but Fran quietly interrupted him. “It's okay,” she said. “We can eat on the way.” She picked up her tea and muffin and moved toward the exit. Elgin scowled at the men and picked up his own dinner to follow her.

The messenger led the way, followed by Elgin and Fran, surrounded by the four pike bearers. They flew down the hallway, past the Doctor's office, and out into the Square, where they picked up speed. At least, the leader picked up speed, and the escort tried to, but Elgin and Fran maintained their leisurely pace, slowing everyone down.

“Come,” said the messenger. “You must hurry.”

“But we're eating,” said Elgin. “Hurrying would be bad for our digestion.”

“But His Excellency ...”

“His Excellency needs to learn to take it easy.” Elgin chomped a big bite to make his point. Then he felt a point in his back. He looked over his shoulder and saw that one of the escorts was jabbing him with his pike. When the point swung over toward Fran, Elgin's brow clouded and his jaw bulged. He moved toward the man, and the pike swung back to his belly. Elgin didn't stop. He continued moving forward until his stomach was pushing on the point of the weapon. The man realized his predicament immediately. He could either give way, or risk injuring Elgin. He began to back up.

Elgin growled at him. “You know you're not allowed to hurt us, so why don't you just put that silly thing away.”

The struggle that showed in the man's face was brief, and he quickly withdrew the pike. Now his face showed frustration and humiliation and resentment. He knew that he was helpless against whatever degradation Elgin wanted to heap on him, and he was surprised when Elgin turned away without another word. But he was not spared the contempt on the faces of the other pike bearers, nor the disappointment from their leader. That was only slightly ameliorated by Fran's compassionate look.

Elgin drifted over beside her and raised his iceberry muffin. They bumped muffins and took a synchronized bite, which they chewed thoroughly before swallowing. Then they had a sip of tea. Elgin said, “There's nothing like a sip of iceberry tea after an iceberry muffin, is there?”

“No,” she said. “Nothing like it.”

With one last look at the pike poker, Elgin turned to the messenger and nodded. The man nodded back and led them onward, this time at a stately pace suitable for muffins and tea.

“What took you so long?” Verdi was glaring at his emissary, who was looking uncomfortable. Four pike bearers were standing erect, staring into the indefinite distance. One of them was smirking.

“We were eating,” said Elgin. “I'm afraid we slowed them down.”

“I wasn't talking to you,” snapped Verdi. “I was talking to him.”

“Well, I'm answering,” said Elgin. “The holdup was our fault, not theirs, so you can direct your anger at us.”

“I don't get angry,” said Verdi, “I get results.”

“That's a trite motto, if you don't mind my saying. A man in your position could do better.” Elgin waited a beat. “Your Excellency.”

Now Verdi was angry. His eyes were narrowed, his shoulders tense. He struggled visibly with it for a few seconds, then abruptly let it go. His face smoothed and his body relaxed. “So,” he said, “you're late because you were eating.”

“Yes,” said Elgin, reaching into his pockets and bringing out his tea cup and muffin wrapper. “We hadn't eaten all day, you see.”

“And you thought that eating was more important than me?”

“Not as such,” said Elgin. “Obviously any individual is more important than one dinner. But in this case, eating was more important than getting here five minutes earlier.”

Verdi's eyes were hard as marbles. He didn't think that anyone's meal was more important than five minutes of his time. But he brushed it all aside with an abrupt sweep of his hand. “That is all irrelevant,” he said. “I've brought you here to give you an important message from the Central Council.” He nodded at the messenger, who removed a scroll from his belt. Whereas the scrolls from Verdi were decorated with green and gold, this one had pure royal blue. He unrolled it reverently, and read.

“The Francesian Central Council,” he intoned, “on behalf of Her Grace, most high representative of God, does hereby summon the persons Frances and Elgin to an audience in the Supreme Square tomorrow, at a time convenient to Her Grace.”

The Grand Court was filled with an awed silence, as the people basked in the power and glamor represented by the message. Even Verdi looked suitably impressed. It all collapsed as Elgin spoke. “Is that it?” he asked. “You didn't have to drag us over here for that. You could have had the message delivered to us at the hospital, and we wouldn't even have had to interrupt our dinner.”

Verdi recovered quickly. “You think you're clever, don't you? You think you're being funny.” He sat back and crossed his arms. “You think you're too important to be afraid. Well, I'm warning you. You're about to find out just how important you are tomorrow.” He was about to leave when Fran stopped him.

“Your Excellency,” she said. “Thank you for your concern. There's just one thing I'd like to know before we go.”

“What is it?” he asked tightly.

“It's about Scarface,” she said. “Can you tell us where he is?”

“That useless thing? What do you want it for?”

“Useless? Don't you like Scarface?”

“I thought it might be amusing,” said Verdi. “I thought it might do things to entertain us.” He sneered. “It can't do anything on its own. You have to tell it what to do.”

“That doesn't sound very useful,” said Fran. “What does he do, then? What work have you put him to?”

“'Him?'” Verdi smirked. “Why do you call it 'him?' It's nothing but a machine.”

“You're right,” said Fran. “It's silly. But we worked with him for so long and, well, he became kind of like a pet.”

“That's ridiculous.”

“I know,” said Fran, “but that's how it is. And I'd really like to know what he's up to.”

“He's … it's not up to anything. It was so useless that I had it put in a storage locker so I wouldn't have to look at it.”

“Oh my,” said Fran. “That's pretty useless.” She looked at Elgin and back at Verdi. She nodded. “Why don't we take him off your hands? I'm sure we can find something for him to do.”

“Like what?”

“Well, we have a lot of cleaning and repairs that he could help with.”

Verdi snorted. “I have people for that. They don't have to be told what to do all the time, and if they're defective, then they're easily replaced.”

“Then you won't mind giving us Scarface. We can make proper use of him, and he'll be out of your hair.”

He thought about it, the process plain on his face. When he couldn't come up with a good reason to deny them, he said, “Why not? It's useless anyway. And taking up space. It's a useless waste of space.” He flipped a hand and one of his attendants ran off to get the robot.

“Thank you, Your Excellency. I think this is best all around.”

Within minutes the attendant was back, dragging the robot behind him. He was pulling him by a length of the fabric he was draped in, in too much of a hurry to wait as he laboriously tried to walk.

Scarface saw them immediately, and had he not been a mere machine, they would have said his expression was hopeful. Verdi nodded and the attendant dragged Scarface over to Fran and Elgin.

“Thank you, Your Excellency,” said Fran again. “Until we meet again, then.”

As they were turning to leave, Verdi said, “Yes, you're free to go. Dismissed.” If anyone thought it wasn't his idea that they should go right then, they weren't saying.

Chapter Twenty-Seven – The Blue Square

They got up early next morning and went immediately to see what the sewing machine had produced overnight. They'd given it all of Scarface's fabric and told it to get to work on the patterns it had, to turn the useless material into more clothes for them. This was fancy fabric, draped on Scarface in great swaths by Verdi to show up his courtiers. Now it would serve as form-fitting outfits for them, with pockets, in case they needed a change of clothing.

They stored the sets made for Stanton and Galatea, Buzzard and Maria, for when they would need them, and kept their own out. There were none for the Doctor and Nigel because the machine didn't have their measurements. Now, with all that taken care of, they had to decide whether or not to wear the new clothes to this morning's meeting.

“Maybe we should wear something fancy,” said Elgin. “She's the big cheese, after all.”

“Maybe,” said Fran, nibbling at a muffin while she looked at their outfits arranged in front of them.

“It's bound to be a fancy place,” he said. “It might help if we try to fit in.”

“Mm,” she said, chewing thoughtfully.

“On the other hand, maybe plain is better,” said Elgin. “After all, we do prefer nothing, and plain is closer to nothing.”

“Right,” said Fran.

“Plain might suit us better, too,” he said. “We've never been much for putting on airs, have we?”

“No,” she said. She nodded and turned her attention back to her breakfast.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked.

“Oh, I agree,” she said. “For the reasons you said.”

“Agree with what?” he said. “I said a lot of things.”

“Plain,” she said. “Plain suits us better, doesn't it?”

He nodded, its rightness plain as soon as she said it. “Yes,” he said, “it does.” He raised his teacup. “Plain it is then.”

She touched his cup with hers. “Plain it is.”

Within the hour they were at the blue gate, dressed in their plain white blouses and trousers, with Scarface in tow, seeking admission to the tube leading to Blue Comet. As with the other gates leading to Red and Winter, this gate was guarded. The difference was that there were more guards here. Six that they could see. And these weren't locals grumbling about their crummy assignment. They could tell by the color of the decorations on the uniforms that these guards were from Blue Comet itself. They barred the way, their faces impassive.

Fran approached and said, “We've been summoned to appear in the Supreme Square this morning. We need to use this tube.” She nodded at the massive disk of ice blocking it.

The guards didn't move. One of them, the one with the slightly more ornate decorations on his uniform, said, “No passage.”

“You don't understand,” said Fran, smiling. “We're on our way to see your boss. You have to let us through.”

“No passage,” said the guard, unmoved.

“I understand,” said Fran. “You're doing your job. No one told you we were coming. I just hope they don't blame you for the delay.”

His eyes betrayed his uncertainty, but he stoutly stuck to his duty. “No passage,” he said.

Fran nodded sadly and they turned to go, but they were stopped by another man coming out of an alcove. They could see that he was more important than the guards because his uniform had more blue on it, and a much more stylish cut. “Well done, soldier,” he said to the guard. “I'll take it from here.”

Fran looked at him and recognized him from the boarding party that came aboard the Ball when they first arrived back home. “Commander,” she said. “We meet again.”

“Yes,” he said, glancing discretely at her outfit. “How things have changed in just a few days, eh?”

“Has it been only a few days?” she asked. “It feels much longer.”

“I can imagine,” said the Commander. He nodded at the guard, who went to open the gate. As it rolled back from the opening, he said to Fran and Elgin, “Come. I'm to accompany you to the Supreme Square.”

They entered the kilometer long tube of ice, Scarface following behind them, and emerged into a vast space lighted only by the stars of the galaxy, and the portals at the ends of the tube. The bulge of Blue Comet ahead of them curved away quickly, its horizon quite close, and getting closer as they flew. The tube was big enough that they could fly three abreast, with Scarface loping along behind them, and they flew quietly until they reached the midpoint, where Fran stopped.

“If you don't mind,” she said. “One last look before going in.”

“Of course,” said the Commander.

“What do you mean,” asked Elgin, “one last look?”

Fran didn't look at him. “Nothing,” she said, her eyes on the icy fire of the galaxy. “Just a figure of speech.”

Elgin looked past her at the Commander, who quickly looked away. “No it's not,” he said. “It's not nothing. What do you know?”

She turned to him and looked into his eyes. All there. All his. “I don't know anything,” she said. “It's just that everything feels as if it's been leading up to this. So I guess it feels kind of final, or something.”

That didn't sound quite right to Elgin. He looked at the Commander, who still wouldn't meet his eyes, then back at Fran, who did. “It's just a feeling?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, shrugging. “You know me.”

He did, and that's what made him worry. Her feelings were usually correct. So much so that they had relied on them in the past to get them through some dicey situations. Now it just made Elgin worry, and there was nothing that he could do about it. His shoulders sagged, and he sighed.

The Commander seized the moment and said, “Come on. We should go.” So they turned and flew the rest of the way, the big gate rolling aside as they approached it.

Fran stopped and looked back at Green Comet, then took Elgin's arm and entered Blue Comet without another backward glance.

Blue Comet didn't look any different from Green Comet at first. They flew a long way in a big orbital, the first part nothing but a large, curving corridor, its floor rolling under them as they flew. Eventually they began to pass openings to side passages and more signs of occupation. They went by an exit that Elgin knew led to the water treatment plant, and that made him notice the smell, or rather the lack of one.

He nudged Fran. “Smell that?” he said.

She sniffed. “No.”

“Right,” he said, scowling.

Eventually they came to a tee intersection, where they could imagine a flashball court to the right and a square to the left. They hesitated, unsure which way they would go. Verdi had his court in the flashball gallery, so should they go to the right? But the Commander didn't hesitate. He banked and turned left without breaking speed.

“Of course,” said Fran as she and Elgin flapped to catch up. “It's the Supreme Square, not Court.”

“Right,” said Elgin as they fell in alongside the Commander once again. Scarface scuttled along behind them.

Soon they heard, or felt, vibrations coming out of the Square and up the hallway. The air was carrying the vibrancy of a living square, something that Green Comet once had, but no longer. That made Elgin's scowl deepen.

They flew out into the Square through what would have been the red end on Green Comet, but here the pillars were blue. It was a deep, royal blue, and it was repeated all the way around the Square. All sixteen columns, bracketing all eight openings, were blue. As were the friezes running all around the Square above them. Elgin only glanced at the friezes, but he could see that they seemed to be telling some kind of story. He assumed it would be about the glories of Francesianism.

Then he noticed Fran looking at them, her expression disappointed but resigned. When he looked again he saw what could have been a depiction of her during the debates. Before they knew how dangerous the Visitor was, and they were deciding whether or not to run and hide. He heard her moan softly and saw that now she was looking at a picture of herself as she came so near death during their confrontation with the Scout. Nearby was another figure that had to be himself, shown at half the size of her, and striking a heroic pose in her defence. There were three other characters, half the size of his, that had to be Stanton, the Doctor and Nigel. Now he moaned with her. A quick glance told him that the theme continued in bas-relief all the way around.

The Commander said, “Is everything all right?”

Elgin turned his deepening scowl on him, but Fran saw the flicker of alarm in his eyes and quickly said, “Yes. Everything's fine. We just weren't expecting the … artwork.”

“Oh yes,” he said. “It's quite grand, isn't it?”

Fran glanced at Elgin, her hand lightly touching his arm. “Yes, quite,” she said. He got it and reeled in his growing ire.

Apparently oblivious, the Commander carried on. “This was all done quite recently. When Her Grace learned that you were returning, she ordered the friezes all be redone in your honor. She was deeply involved in the design, too.”

“I see,” said Fran.

Elgin managed a non-committal grunt.

The Commander was quite animated now as he led them across the Square toward what would have been the yellow end. “We can wait up here,” he said, “until Her Grace arrives.” He was leading them toward the middle of the wall where there were a dozen people in fancy dress milling around a big table. “There's food and refreshments while we wait.”

To the left of the table, in front of what would have been their apartment on Green Comet, stood a huge dais. On top of it was a big ornate chair, which they assumed would be Her Grace's throne. It put Verdi's pretension to shame.

As they approached the table, the others backed deferentially out of the way, and waited at a respectful distance. Several of them hurriedly swallowed and surreptitiously wiped their mouths. The Commander muttered, “At the trough already, I see.”

Fran said, “Maybe they haven't had breakfast.”

He looked at her and his gaze softened. “Of course, my lady.” he said.

“Oh, come now,” she said. “Don't be so formal. You can call me Fran.” She saw the doubt in his eyes, and amended, “Or Frances, if that's too informal.”

“Thank you … Frances,” he said. “I would like that.” He looked up toward the throne. “But not here. In any public or official setting, it's best to keep it formal.”

“I see,” she said. “You could get in trouble.”

He was going to deny it and try to explain, but he saw the understanding in her eyes, and he nodded.

“That's all right,” she said. “Let's follow the rules for the sake of appearances. There's no point getting you in trouble.”

“Thank you … my lady Frances,” he said. He would have said more, but was interrupted by a commotion behind the throne. People were streaming out of the apartment there and arranging themselves around the big chair. The people who had been clustered around the breakfast table hustled out into the Square to gather in front. Even the Commander reacted, composing his face into a practised look of respect and attention. “Come,” he said to Fran and Elgin. “Her Grace is coming out.” He led them to join the others, Scarface trailing behind.

Once everyone was in position, and the commotion had settled down, one of the attendants bracketing the throne said in a loud voice, “Prepare to honor Her Grace, most high representative of God, holy vessel of the Word, and the one true spiritual descendant of Frances.”

In the hush of anticipation, Elgin whispered to Fran, “Reminds me of the Makers. The more important the person, the longer the name.”

Fran stifled a giggle and jabbed him with an elbow. The Commander stiffened and struggled to maintain his expression. That was when Her Grace swept out of her apartment and was guided by the hands of her attendants to the seat of her throne. It was very grand and impressive, and belied only by the look on her face. The suspicion in the hard little eyes darting between the Commander and her guests took away whatever dignity had been invested in this ceremony. The eyes barely flickered over Scarface.

“Do you find something amusing, Commander?” she snapped.

“No, Your Grace,” he said quickly. “May I present Frances and Elgin, here as commanded by Your Grace.” He indicated them with his hands while subtly backing off an arm's length.

She stared at him for a few seconds. “We'll deal with you later,” she said, before turning to Fran and Elgin. “How about you?” she said. “Does something amuse you?”

Fran and Elgin looked at each other, then he said, “I guess you could call it amusing. But it was more of an observation, really.”

“Really,” she said, her small eyes boring into him. “What observation was that?”

“Just that when you were being introduced, it reminded me of the Makers.”

“The Makers?” Her eyes flashed and her brows met. “How do We remind you of them?”

“You don't, per se,” he said. “It was your name. Or your title. Or whatever that was.”

“Our title,” she told him. “What about it?”

“Your title?” he said, frowning in thought. Then, “Oh! You refer to yourself in the first person plural. I see.” He nodded to himself.

“Yes, We do,” she said coldly. “Now what was so funny?”

“Well, as I said,” said Elgin, “it wasn't that funny. Just an observation. I think it just caught everyone off guard.” He saw her fuming, and raised his hands calmingly. “It just struck me that, as with the Makers, it seems like the more important a person is here, the longer their title is, too.”

“Are you comparing Us to those primitives?” she asked, her voice dangerously quiet.

“Only in that one, small thing,” said Elgin. “Other than that, you're quite unalike.”

“We should hope so,” she said. “You will be forgiven for that, but you must learn how to properly address Us.”

“Address you?”

She glanced at the man who had introduced her, and he told Elgin, “The proper form of address is Your Grace. You mustn't forget to use it.”

“My Grace?” said Elgin, his brow creased.

The whole place suffered an arrested spasm of shock and surprised laughter. “Your Grace!” said the man loudly. “Not My Grace!”

“Oh, of course,” said Elgin. “I'm sorry, Your Grace.”

“You think you're funny, don't you?” she barked.

“No, Your Grace. I'm just not used to all this stuff.”

She glared at him. “Verdi told Us you were insolent,” she said.

“Not insolent,” he said. “Just ignorant. Your Grace.”

She frowned a little longer, then visibly shook it off. “This is not why We brought you here,” she said. She sat up straight and flexed her wings, which were oversized and decorated with bold stripes.

Fran said, “Oh, they're beautiful!” She flew toward the throne. “May I see, Your Grace?”

Four of the attendants immediately barred the way, threatening scowls on their faces, and the Commander grabbed Fran's arm, pulling her back. But what Fran really noticed was the alarm and fear in the face of her “one true spiritual descendant.” She allowed herself to be pulled back, and said, “Forgive me, Your Grace. I didn't mean to cause a fuss.” She patted the Commander's hand, and he automatically let go of her arm, then self-consciously took hold of it again. “I only meant to have a look at your lovely wings. When did you have it done?”

After nearly everyone present gasped again, their demigod said, “We didn't 'have it done,' as you say. God did it during Our last hibernation to show that We are destined for Our role as His, and your, representative.” Her eyes raked over her subjects, looking for confirmation of their belief. She got it, except with Fran and Elgin, who weren't practised in such deception.

“I see,” said Fran. “Do you think I could have a look? It really is quite lovely.”

Her Grace thought about it, her eyes narrowed. Then she nodded and her protectors parted in front of her. The Commander released Fran's arm, and she flew up to the throne, followed by Elgin. The guards bristled at his approach, but their boss waved them off. “Let them both approach,” she said.

Fran flew up and hovered right beside the throne, where she could get a good look at the enhanced wings. That's when she noticed the mane of dark hair tumbling halfway down the woman's back. “You have beautiful hair, too,” she said. “Did God do that, too?” She reached out as if to touch it, and Her Grace flinched away.

“You're not to touch Us without Our blessing,” she hissed.

“Once again, I'm sorry, Your Grace,” said Fran. “I'm just not used to all these formalities.” She straightened up and formally asked, “May I have permission to touch you, Your Grace?”

She received a curt nod. “Permission granted.”

Fran reached out and tentatively stroked one of her wings, and was a little surprised when the bold stripes felt just like ordinary fur. She pulled the wing up and looked at the underside. Like an ordinary wing, it was furred more thinly there, and the stripes were less bold and more suggestive. She tucked the wing back down and reached for the hair. “This is beautiful,” she repeated. “Do you ever do anything with it?”

“Do anything?”

“Yes,” said Fran. “Like put it up, or braid it.”

“No,” snapped Her Grace. “We have no time for such vanity.”

“Oh,” said Fran. “That's a shame. You could do so much with it.” She released the lock of hair she was holding and patted it back into place.

The woman unconsciously preened. Her eyes, so dark as to be almost black, glimmered with deep red-amber lights, and a light flush came to her cheeks. “Well,” she said, “since you bring it up, perhaps We could give it a try. We would only be enhancing God's gifts, after all, wouldn't We?”

“Of course,” said Fran. “It would almost be churlish to not appreciate those gifts, wouldn't it?”

“Yes. Yes it would.” The red lights glimmered in her eyes.

“Now, Your Grace,” said Fran, “there's something else.”

“Yes?” she asked, her suspicion momentarily forgotten.

“Since we got back, we haven't seen anyone with four arms. Or anyone with bioglow, for that matter.”

The red-amber lights dimmed. “No, of course you haven't,” she said, her body tensing up.

“Why is that, Your Grace?”

“They were an abomination. A perversion of God's plan. We gave them the opportunity to do the right thing.”

“To change back,” said Fran.

“Yes. To return to God's image, as shown by His saints.”

“You mean us?”

“Yes, of course. You never had either of those things done to your bodies, did you?” Her Grace showed the subtle beginnings of a smirk. This was her shutdown argument.

“No,” said Fran. “It never appealed to me.”

“Right. So why should they?”

“Their choice, I thought. Their right.”

“Rights.” said Her Grace with a sneer. “People make such a fuss about their rights. What about doing the right thing?”

“Yes,” said Fran. “I agree with you about doing the right thing. How can we expect to exercise our rights if we can't make the effort to do the right thing?”

“Exactly!” The red-amber lights flashed, then the eyes narrowed. Was there some implication beneath Frances's words? She checked her face. Then Elgin's. Then the Commander's. “Exactly,” she said again. “And the right thing is whatever We say it is.” She watched their faces.

“As the vessel of the Word,” said Fran.

“Yes!”

“And my true spiritual descendant.”

The woman frowned at her.

“One more thing,” said Fran. “While we were gone, we thought the population of hypersynesthetes had grown considerably. Only, we haven't seen any since we got back, and we were looking forward to it.”

“You won't,” said Her Grace. “They're all in hibernation.”

“Why?” asked Fran. “What did they do?”

“They were fomenting trouble. Causing unrest. Creating dissatisfaction. We couldn't allow them to upset the true citizens.”

“True citizens?” Fran shook her head. “So you threw them all in hibernation.”

“Yes, except the ones who ran to Cloud City.”

“Cloud City?” Fran remembered calling this place Cloud City when they prepared it to intercept and destroy the Visitor.

“Yes. The mining community on the comets. Our influence is not what it could be there, so fugitives sometimes run there to escape justice.” She compressed her lips. “Not for long, though.”

“You mean the collection of comets we used against the Visitor. The ones that were struck by the debris.”

“That's right. The ones that weren't already used to build this place up. We've been mining them ever since.”

“And the name Cloud City has since become specific to them. Just as Green Comet is generalized to this whole hexamer.” Fran nodded thoughtfully. “Interesting.”

An irritated rustling of striped wings. “You may find it interesting, but to Us it is a problem that must be solved. And it will be. Soon they will be in hibernation where they belong, along with the rest of them.”

“Excuse me, Your Grace,” said Fran. “Isn't that just delaying the problem? Won't they still be a problem when they get out? If you ever intend to let them out, that is.”

“We'll let them out eventually.” Hard little points of red in her eyes. “When they've been brought back to normal.”

“Back to normal?” Fran gasped. “You're going to … what? You're going to try to change their brains? You're going to try to take away some of their synesthesia?”

”Why not? It's no different from the freaks. We're just returning them to the way God intended.”

Fran was momentarily speechless. She looked around the Square. All the blue columns and friezes. The attentive retinue. The Commander. And finally Elgin, where she stopped and absorbed the strength in those brown eyes. She looked back at the supreme leader of the Francesians, whose eyes flinched ever so slightly, and said, “The hypersynesthesia wasn't made in hibernation like the second arms and bioglow. It's natural. How do you expect to reverse it?”

“It's not natural. It's unnatural. They're not like everyone else. They're different. They think they're better.” She stopped suddenly, as if she realized she'd said too much. It was confirmed when she saw Fran's eyebrows go up a fraction.

Fran looked at her for a moment. At the large, exorbitant wings and the long, luxurious hair. The speculation left her face, to be replaced by understanding and compassion. She remembered the alarm and fright when she tried to approach the throne. And now all this fear of difference. “Your Grace,” she said, “when did you become so frightened?”

The red-amber lights disappeared completely, leaving behind hard, shining marbles. “I'm … We're not frightened. We have nothing to be frightened about. No one would dare.” She looked at Elgin, who was staring at her as if he'd almost remembered something, but couldn't put his finger on what. She smirked at him. “You don't remember Us, do you?”

And suddenly he did. “The Square,” he said. “With Minder. You accosted us.” He nodded. “I recognize those eyes.”

“Yes,” she said. “We wanted to honor you, in the name of Frances, and you were quite rude.”

“I was rude? You attacked my friend, Minder. Then you presumed to know Fran better than I did.” He let his eyes take in her vanities. “And now you claim to know what God intends. You haven't changed a bit, have you?”

“We know what God intends better than you do,” she snapped. “You don't even believe in God. You've made that clear. One of his own saints.” She shook her head.

“I didn't ask to be a saint,” snarled Elgin. “That was you people.”

“Yes,” she said. “An obvious mistake, which has been rectified.” She looked him up and down. “Can't even get the simple things right. Letting our resources get away like that. To those primitive Makers. And some other people who might not even exist.”

“I did more than that,” he said. “I helped them get away.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she looked at them. Elgin was glaring at her, and Fran's face was sympathetic. She didn't like either one, because neither one admitted that she was entitled to more. She looked at her chief attendant, the one who'd spoken for her before, and sent him off with a negligent toss of her head. Then she looked back at them, her eyes glittering as she smiled.

In a few moments the man came back, accompanied by two more who were bringing a large, oblong, transparent box. It looked big enough to hold a person, and it had a lot of tubes and wires inside it. Trailing behind was a bundle of them, ending in a complicated looking fitting.

Fran, in a voice that said she knew, asked, “What's that for?”

The glittering eyes fell on her. “It's for you.” said Her Grace. “You're going to get into it, and then you're going into hibernation right here, where everyone can come and pay their respects.”

Elgin surged forward, but Fran's hand on his arm stopped him. She said to him, “Be strong. You know what we must do.” Then she flew to the ice sarcophagus and climbed in. Her eyes locked on Elgin's as the lid closed and the box was moved over by the wall where it was plugged in. The tubes and wires moved and crawled over her body, finding their own way. Her eyes never left Elgin's until they gently closed.

Elgin turned to see the head Francesian's triumphant smile. But then she saw his face and the smile faltered. His brow was somehow heavier and his jaw blockier, and she felt an unexpected frisson of fear. Then he tilted his head and looked at her as if he were her disappointed grandfather.

Chapter Twenty-eight – Working Alone

Her Grace didn’t like that. She sent Elgin away immediately, with much imperious shouting and gesturing. The Commander grabbed his arm and pulled him out of there. All the way across the blue square and out the door at the other end, Elgin allowed himself to be towed along, while he stared at the diminishing image of the woman who took Fran from him.

It wasn’t the first time he’d lost her. After she was injured by the Visitor’s scout, he had spent centuries in a gray world, unsure if she would ever come back to him. The patience and hard work and sacrifice of his friends made it happen then, but now his friends were all gone. They were all in the prison of hibernation, just as she was. There was no one to help him this time. He would have to rescue her from that grotesque box on his own.

He considered and rejected ideas as he was hauled back to Green Comet. Raid the Hibernarium and rescue his friends? Attack Blue Comet and rescue Fran? Seek out and form alliances with Red and Indigo comets and start an all-out war? None of his ideas seemed viable, and by the time the Commander deposited him at the entrance to the hospital, Elgin was discouraged and his face had set in a deep frown.

“Are you going to be all right here?” asked the Commander. “I can stay with you for a while if you want.”

Elgin came out of his gray fog long enough to register the question. “No,” he said. “No. I’ll be fine.” He turned to enter the hospital.

“Are you sure?” asked the Commander. “It’s no trouble. I don’t have anything else on my agenda for today.”

“Yes I’m sure,” said Elgin. “You’d better go. You don’t want to get in trouble for abetting an enemy of the state.”

The Commander looked down, stung. His face reddened and he said hoarsely, “If you’re sure.”

“Yes,” said Elgin, softening slightly. “You go ahead. I’ll be okay here.”

The Commander looked into his face, then nodded. “Okay then.” he said. “I’ll leave you alone. But if there’s anything you need, get in touch with me and I’ll see what I can do.”

Elgin looked right into his eyes and said, “You can’t get me what I need, Commander, but thank you anyway.”

The Commander’s gaze broke again, and he turned and left, his shoulders sagging.

Elgin had a moment of regret for his harshness, and he almost called out to soften it. He didn’t though, partly because of the torpor of his mood, and partly because he instinctively knew that the man deserved it. He’d made his choices along the way, and he’d traded principle for privilege. That wouldn’t be set right by a little belated regret, or by a safe and essentially pointless gesture.

So he turned away from the rounded, retreating back and went into the hospital, the most recent place he’d called home. Now, though, it was just another cold, empty place, one among many. The place where he’d shared meals with his friends, now silent. The room where he’d shared a bed with Fran, now dark. With a sigh, Elgin went further down the hall to an empty room. One they hadn’t used before. One that didn’t have any memories in it. He shut the door and wept in the dark where no one could see him.

When Elgin woke up he knew what he had to do. He put on his plain white clothes, ate a quick breakfast and headed out. His talent for knowing when something is right could work just as well in his sleep as it could in the daytime, and he knew with his usual certainty that this was the right thing to do. When Fran told him that he knew what he had to do, she was right. She just happened to know it before he did. His job would be to carry on what they’d started, to do what was best for Green Comet, and to set a good example. With any luck, maybe a few people would follow him.

No one would want to follow him this day, though. No one would want to get near him. He had his face on, and it was set like stone. He didn’t see anyone in the Square, nor in the corridor out the flickering red doorway. At the tee intersection he glanced down the hall toward the Grand Court, and turned right, taking the orbital. The Grand Court would be for another day. Today he planned to take care of another stench.

He encountered no one on the flight to the water reclamation plant, but there was someone inside when he got there. Both Norton and Snowden were there, though they didn’t appear to be doing anything as far as he could tell. As if this was nothing more than a place to hang out.

They looked up when he came in, and Norton said, “Elgin! Nice to ...” before he really saw his face.

Elgin ignored him and went directly to the controls.

Norton said, “We were sorry to hear about Frances, Elgin. Let us know if there’s anything we can do.”

Elgin continued to ignore him, putting in the settings that he was beginning to know by heart. He brushed past them on his way to a set of ancillary controls.

“Really, Elgin,” said Norton.

Snowden said, “It’s awful what she did to you. We’d really like to help.”

Elgin stopped and turned his face on them, noting the flinch in their eyes when he did. “If you really want to help,” he said, his voice nothing more than a growl, “then you can shut up and get to work. Or you can get out of here and let me work in peace.”

Harsh words, and you couldn’t blame them if they took them badly. But they didn’t. They looked at each other and nodded, and got to work. They knew the legend of Elgin and Frances, and they’d seen enough to know there was some truth to it. Enough to know that losing her again would be more than enough justification for a little rude behavior. So they shut up and got to work. Norton almost patted Elgin on the shoulder as he passed, but he wisely refrained.

They worked the rest of the day in silence, speaking only to give or acknowledge instructions, and they got the system working near peak efficiency. It would only require someone to come in for the next few days to make some final adjustments, then a normal program of maintenance to keep it functioning properly. Elgin took one last look around, then apparently satisfied, nodded to them and left without another word. Norton and Snowy looked at each other and shrugged.

“I guess that’s that,” said Norton.

“I guess so,” said Snowy, adjusting his ratty vest.

Elgin slept soundly and awoke refreshed. He had a breakfast of old packaged iceberry muffins and tea while he planned his day. Looking around him, he decided he would make a start on the hospital itself. A start on finishing it, that is. Finishing what the Doctor and Nigel started before they were taken away.

That thought made Elgin frown, but it didn’t take away his feeling of resolve, or its comfort. He knew it was terror tactics that were supposed to break him down. Decimating the crew. Disappearing his friends. And finally doing that to Fran. He knew it was supposed to break him down and make him useful to the Francesians in some way. Probably for propaganda. Show the people that he could be broken so they’d lose hope. But before going into that box, Fran had told him that he knew what to do, and he did. She said it and he knew it was true. So they might be able to make him angry, they might be able to break his heart, but they wouldn’t break him. He would clean Green Comet up one piece at a time. If he inspired others to chip in and help, then good. If not, then he’d do it himself.

So, yesterday the water treatment plant, and today the hospital. Well, beginning today, anyway. This was certainly going to take more than a day. He’d start with the rooms. He could get them cleaned up and fit for occupation. That didn’t take any special knowledge, just a willingness to work. The admitting room was also pretty straightforward. Any equipment and procedures there had to be pretty simple. He could get that functioning at least adequately without too much trouble. The examination rooms and their equipment were going to take more time and study, but so what? What else was he going to do? By the time he got to the treatment rooms and the specialized equipment, he hoped he would be joined by someone with more knowledge and expertise. That was his hope. But if it didn’t happen, then he’d just have to study up on it and do it himself.

He was on his third room when the man with the scroll arrived. He continued working, lending half an ear as the man read the message.

“His Excellency Verdi requires your immediate presence in the Grand Court,” he intoned, then allowed the scroll to roll itself back up.

Elgin kept working, putting fresh sheets on the bed.

The fancy-dressed messenger said, “Excuse me. Did you hear me?”

“Mm-hm,” said Elgin, tucking in the corners.

“Well, come along then. You know His Excellency doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Elgin surveyed his work and gave a nod of satisfaction. Then he looked at his visitor and the four pike bearers he had with him. “Please send my regrets,” he said. “Tell Verdi I’m too busy for social calls.”

All five of them were shocked and they gave no resistance when he brushed past them on his way to the next room. He softly rubbed his hands as he surveyed the work ahead of him, then he plunged in.

“That’s His Excellency to you,” the messenger said at last, “and I’m not about to let you keep him waiting.” He crossed his arms and glanced at his armed escort.

“Is that right?” asked Elgin without interrupting his work.

“Yes, that’s right!” said the man, his voice rising.

Elgin looked at him. “Then quit dithering,” he said, “and do something about it.”

The man’s mouth opened in shock, but nothing came out. He looked at the pike bearers, who wouldn’t return it, then back at Elgin, who was picking up trash. Finally he found his voice and said, “Seize him!” He immediately blushed, possibly at the realization of how silly that sounded. That just made him more angry, so he shouted, “Now! If he won’t come peacefully, then we’ll have to take him. But he’s coming with us.”

The guards moved, two of them seizing Elgin’s arms while the other two pointed their pikes at him. They dragged him out of there, past the messenger and into the hallway. As they proceeded out of the hospital and down the corridor toward the Square, the messenger flew past them to be in the lead. As he went by, Elgin said, “That’s better. It’s time you showed some initiative.”

The scroll man didn’t answer, but his body was rigid with indignation.

“Don’t worry,” said Elgin to his stiff back. “I know it must be hard when you’re so used to being servile.”

The man wheeled on him, his cheeks shaking with rage, but got control of himself again and the threat subsided.

“That’s right,” said Elgin. “You can’t actually do anything, can you? I’m still under the protection of the Big F.” Even as the man turned away, Elgin could see the question in his face, so he said, “That’s what I call her. Or refer to her as. At least to myself. To her I say, ‘Your Grace.’ It’s important to her that people show respect, even if she hasn’t earned it.”

His companions were visibly uncomfortable. They unconsciously pulled away from him, looking around to see if he’d been overheard.

To their dismay, Elgin continued. “For expediency’s sake, and especially for Fran’s sake, I feigned respect. To smooth things over, you know?” The chiding lightness went out of his voice. “But after what she did to Fran, there was no point any more.”

His audience became even more uncomfortable.

“You know what she did to her, don’t you? She put her in a transparent case, like some kind of trophy.” He sighed. “That’s who you’re working for,” he said. “You’re here in that ridiculous outfit because you’re afraid of that little twat, Verdi. He acts like a big man, but he’s afraid of the Big F. And here’s something you probably didn’t know. She’s afraid of everyone.”

The messenger spun around, his eyes wide. “Be quiet,” he said. “Don’t say any more.” His eyes darted to the great black window running along the orange side of the Square.

“I don’t care who hears me,” said Elgin.

“Maybe you don’t, but I do. You’re not the only one here, you know.”

Elgin looked more closely at him. “Oh,” he said. “They would punish you for what I say?” He gave the wall a long, appraising look. “Things are even worse than I thought.” As they cleared the end of the window and headed for the flickering red entrance, he said, “Well I’m sorry, but I’m done making it easy for everybody. You chose your path. You chose to wear those clothes and work for those people. You’ve been taking the easy way. Now you might have to find out the cost of that.”

“The easy way? You think this is easy?” The messenger looked down at his clothes. “You’re right. I look ridiculous. And these scrolls.” He looked at the scroll tucked under his belt. “Scrolls? I feel like a participant in some re-enactment or something.”

“Be careful,” warned Elgin. “Someone might overhear you.”

“I don’t care. I just don’t care any more. I’m tired of this. Whatever they do can’t be any worse than doing this for the rest of my life.”

“Are you sure?” asked Elgin. “It looks like you’ve got a pretty comfortable life right now. Have you seen what it’s like for other people?”

That made him hesitate, but he said, “I can adapt. I’ll be fine.”

“What about hibernation, then? It seems to be what they do to people who cross them.”

The man relaxed. Elgin could see that he’d thought of this before. “Hibernation,” he said with a sigh. “I’ve got over ten years left before I’m due to go down again. Ten years.” He got a longing look on his face. “I don’t think I’d mind hibernation. Maybe when I wake up, this will all be over.”

“You’d like to escape,” said Elgin.

There was a pause, then, “I don’t think any of us will ever escape. I think this will just go on getting worse.”

Elgin laughed. “Nothing goes on forever. Everything eventually ends. It’s just a matter of how long it lasts before it’s finally over.”

“What are you telling me?”

“I’m telling you that one day you’ll wake up and this will all be changed. If you’re lucky, it will be for the better.”

“If I’m lucky? You’re saying it could be worse?”

Elgin looked at him. “That might be up to you,” he said.

The man’s face showed surprise, shock and the beginnings of fear. “Up to me?” he said. “It can’t be up to me.”

Elgin smiled at him. He would have patted his shoulder had his arms not been held by the guards as they hustled him along. Smiling, he said, “Then it won’t be.”

The fear gave way to relief, but that was quickly modified by realization. “Just a minute,” he said. “Wait. What do you mean by that?” He tried to stop Elgin, stop the guards who held him, but it was too late. They were entering the Grand Court.

The guards pulled Elgin right over to the roped off area and deposited him there. Then they posted themselves at the four corners of it. Their leader, the messenger, took up a position just outside of it, and they waited.

Elgin looked around. In addition to the six of them, there were about thirty courtiers clustered in their cliques and bunches. Everyone was waiting for Verdi. By their expressions and body language he could see that they were well accustomed to waiting on their master. Other than these, the place was empty of people.

He looked at the flashball court, empty and quiet, and his lip curled. He looked again at the courtiers, the messenger, the guards, and said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, “What was the hurry? You dragged me here so we could wait for that twat again?”

Everyone was too shocked to answer, although one of the guards snickered, and there were some nervous giggles among the courtiers. Those overdressed sycophants unconsciously drifted away from him, while emphasizing their hierarchical positioning relative to the throne. Meanwhile, the waiting continued.

“No one has anything to say?” said Elgin. “Well, I don’t blame you, really. There are few things more dangerous than a frightened, cornered rodent.”

That elicited a spate of excited chatter, and a further widening of the gap between him and them. The courtiers milled in their pods, casting frightened glances at the back of the gallery. They also looked at him with the beginnings of open hatred.

“Oh, come now,” he chided. “Surely you can’t be afraid of being punished for simply hearing something. It’s not as if you said it yourself, or even listened to it, is it?” He looked at them and saw them shrinking and cowering. “I mean, he’d have to be crazy to punish you for that, wouldn’t he?” His grin was hard, even cruel, as he stared a challenge at them all.

Then one of the courtiers glanced to the rear and pushed himself forward. He haughtily glared at Elgin, peeking furtively over his shoulder to ensure his audience had arrived, and said, “You will not speak that way of His Excellency. You are in his court. Show some respect.” He turned triumphantly for the praise he expected from Verdi.

Verdi dismissed him with a contemptuous glance, and focused his attention on Elgin. His voice an icy threat, he said, “So, you think I’m an insane rodent, do you?”

Elgin shook his head. “In retrospect, no,” he said. “If you were insane, then you couldn’t be held responsible for your actions. Also, it would be an insult to rodents.” He glared levelly at Verdi, smiling when he saw the barb hit home.

Verdi was so enraged that he shook, and his eyes were hard, black marbles that reminded Elgin of something. Verdi said, “You speak quite freely for someone who has no power. Aren’t you afraid of the consequences?”

“You mean afraid of you, right?” said Elgin. “Because that’s important to you. Just like power.” He paused to contemplate those eyes, a memory tickling him just behind his nose. “Unlike you, though,” he said, “I don’t need power.” His grin was challenging as he watched Verdi struggle.

The courtier shouted, “You will address His Excellency correctly!”

Simultaneously, Verdi and Elgin said, “Shut up!” and he quailed and shrank away.

Verdi was as shocked as everybody else that Elgin would presume to give orders here, but as usual, he recovered quickly. “You don’t need power,” he said. “Unlike me, you say.”

“That’s right. I know who I am, and I stand on my own.” Elgin looked around. “You’d be nothing if you weren’t propped up by all this.” Watching Verdi’s eyes, the memory tickled again.

Verdi was fully under control now and didn’t react. “That’s your opinion,” he said.

“And everyone’s entitled to their opinion, right?”

“Actually no, they’re not. I decide what opinions people may have. I decide what they can do.” Verdi began to grow more confident again. He sat straighter and looked bigger. “I decide everything, and I had you brought here today to remind you of that.” He looked down on Elgin as if from on high. “You’re to stop what you’re doing.”

“Stop what I’m doing?”

“Yes. At the water place and the hospital. Stop interfering.”

“Stop making improvements, you mean.”

“Whatever you call it, you’re to stop.”

“And if I don’t?” asked Elgin. “I don’t need to remind you that the Big F has plans for me, do I?”

Verdi’s face darkened and his eyes became hard as stone. “Are you referring to Her Grace? You will not show such disrespect to Her Grace.”

Now Elgin had it. He knew where he’d seen those eyes before. He smiled. “She’s your sister. The Big F is your sister, isn’t she?”

“You will stop calling her that. She is the most high representative of God.”

“Right,” said Elgin. “And a couple of other things. A vessel?”

“The holy vessel of the Word!”

“Right. And I remember the last one because it was so obviously wrong. That woman is certainly not the spiritual descendant of Frances. Not by a long shot.”

“You’d better watch what you say,” said Verdi. “You might think you’re untouchable, but you’re not.”

“Not by you, though,” taunted Elgin. “If by anyone, it will be your sister, won’t it? Because she’s the boss of you, isn’t she?” He laughed. “Has it always been that way?”

Verdi scowled at him, deep resentment in his eyes. “Get him out of here,” he said. “Take him away. I don’t want to see him any more.” He left the throne and angrily headed for his rooms.

Elgin looked at the guards and cocked his arms for handles to drag him away. “You heard him,” he said.

Chapter Twenty-nine – Too Tacky

“You’re braver than I am.”

“You think I’m brave?”

“Of course you are,” said the messenger. “What you did.”

“That’s not bravery,” said Elgin. “That’s just being fed up with the whole thing.”

“Plenty of people are fed up. They don’t do what you did.”

“They’re not protected by the Big F,” said Elgin.

“But still ...”

“And more importantly, they haven’t had their beloved locked up in a box for all to see.”

“Ah, of course,” said the messenger.

They broke out of the corridor into the Square. Ahead on the left was the black window, and straight ahead across the Square was the shrine in their erstwhile apartment.

“Do you ever go there?” asked Elgin.

“Where?”

“There,” said Elgin, pointing across the Square with his chin.

“Oh,” said the messenger. “No.” He quickly added, “Not that I don’t respect lady Frances. I do. It’s just ...” He faltered.

“It’s okay,” said Elgin.

“I mean, I would go, but ...”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, it’s so tacky.” He looked at Elgin, worried that he was being insulting.

“I agree,” said Elgin. “Very tacky.”

“Yes,” said the messenger, relieved. “And besides, they don’t let just anybody in.”

“They?”

“The Francesians.”

“I thought you were all Francesians.”

The messenger blushed. “Yes, of course. You have to be to get anywhere here. I mean the real Francesians.” He gasped. “Not that I don’t really worship lady Frances, because I do.” He faltered again, his worried eyes on Elgin’s face.

“It’s okay,” said Elgin. “She wouldn’t thank you for it anyway.”

“But …”

Elgin held his eye. “”We didn’t ask to be saints, and we’ve told them so before. They never listen, though. Their theology has become bigger than the person it’s based on.”

“Not to me,” the messenger insisted earnestly.

Elgin sighed and shook his head. “Anyway, they couldn’t have their saints disagreeing with them, so we’re not saints any more.”

“You are to me,” declared the messenger faithfully.

Elgin glowered at him sternly. “Haven’t you been listening? We never wanted to be saints in the first place.”

“But ...”

“No buts about it.” Elgin softened. “Look. If you want to honor Fran, honor her wishes. Respect her as a real woman, not as some magical being. She didn’t do what she did by magic. She did it by facing the danger as an ordinary woman.”

“Not ordinary,” objected the messenger. “Not ordinary.”

“Okay,” said Elgin. “I agree with that. Fran is certainly not ordinary.”

The messenger nodded emphatically. “Anyway,” he said, “the real Francesians don’t let us commoners use the shrine.”

They left him at the hospital, where he went back to work. Back to the soothing rhythms of cleaning and tidying and making things right. He would have been tempted to settle into it, but he was hit by a sudden impatience. Now it was no longer soothing. Now the small, simple tasks had become annoying. He began to feel frustrated at the size of the task and the slowness of his progress. His exasperation at the people began to boil over. The timidity and complacency of them in the face of this criminal subversion of their world. And the arrogance and vanity of their masters. Elgin threw down his cleaning rag and flew out of there.

He was entering the Square when he realized he didn’t know where he was going. He looked around and saw nobody, just the dark window, the faulty lighting and the tacky shrine. He blocked it out and flew straight across the Square to the opposite entrance, one with green columns. He went through and up to the shop. It looked just as they’d left it. It was clean and tidy and looking as if it was waiting for them to come back to work.

He let his mind go back to working at that big table, opposite Buzzard, whose long body was curled over the paper he was checking. Buzzard straightening up with that great big grin on his face, saying, “All done. All five. All good.”

Elgin’s throat tightened up. He spun around and flew out of there. He went down to the Square, turned left, and over to the other green entrance. He took it and went up to the planning committee room, which was also just as they’d left it. The vandalism appeared to be a thing of the past, and his mind went back to a much deeper past. This was the room where he first met Fran. He still blushed at his comical awkwardness. He smiled in gratitude for her generosity. He thought he’d be wasting her time, and he still marveled that she had chosen him.

He had tears in his eyes when he flew out of there. He quickly flew to the flickering red exit and headed for the orbital. He had no destination in mind, but he ended up at the apartments of Buzzard and Stanton. Everything was fine there, too. When he found himself in the doorway of Stanton’s rooms, awash in memories of his friend and mentor, he sighed and turned away once again. He shrugged and headed for the water treatment plant.

He found it empty, and was half relieved and half disappointed. He wouldn’t have minded a little company. He realized that he probably needed a little genuine contact with people. Not an argument with a pompous fool like Verdi. Nor a quasi-conversation with a conflicted functionary like the messenger. Just some ordinary give and take with regular people. Norton and Lord Snowden were the closest thing he had to that right now, and he wouldn’t have minded if they were there. But he was just as glad that they weren’t. That half of him was aware of the exposed sensitivity of his feelings, and was just as glad that there was no one there to see them.

He occupied himself with checking the settings, and was soon lost in the comforting familiarity. He was pleased to find that the settings were not exactly as he left them. They’d been tweaked to get even better performance out of the system. Elgin smiled. Maybe he was getting through to someone after all.

“Well, look who’s here.”

Elgin’s head snapped around and he was looking at the doorway almost before he realized he’d heard anything. The effects of his reverie drained away and he saw two people entering the room. “Norton,” he said. “Snowy. What brings you here?”

“Good question,” said Norton. “We actually weren’t going to come in today. Thought we’d take a day off and let it settle in.” He looked around and took a big breath of fresh air. “Not bad.” Turning back to Elgin, he said, “Then we heard you were here, so we thought we’d come and see what’s going on.”

“Heard I was here?”

“That’s right.” Norton smiled at him. “People are interested in you, you know. They like to keep track of you. Follow your exploits.” He laughed. “You sure have a knack for stirring things up, don’t you?”

“Stir things up?” said Elgin. “Me?”

They laughed, Snowy stifling his and glancing furtively over his shoulder. In a low voice he said, “Everyone knows how you stuck it to Verdi. They’re pulling for you.”

“Betting on you, too,” said Norton.

“Betting?”

“Yes. How long before they throw you in the Hibernarium? Who will do it, His Excellency or Her Grace? Or someone else entirely?”

“I see,” said Elgin. “If I were you I’d put my money on the Big F. Her brother Verdi wouldn’t dare without her permission.”

Norton shook his head. “I don’t gamble,” he said. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t gamble on that.” They looked at Snowy, who had been nodding since Elgin spoke, but who stopped as Norton finished.

“Snowy?” said Norton. “Did you bet on this? How could you?”

Snowy started vigorously shaking his head, but soon stopped and shrugged. “Easy money,” he said. “If fools want to give away their money, who am I to stop them?”

Norton said, “You’re betting on Her Grace, aren’t you?”

“The Big F,” said Elgin.

“Sh!” said Snowy. “Not so loud.”

“What are you worried about?” asked Elgin. “You bet on her, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” said Snowden, “but it’s not going to do me any good if I’m in hibernation, is it?”

Elgin laughed. “I suppose not.” He searched their faces. “If everyone’s so interested,” he said, “maybe some of them would like to help me rescue Fran.”

They leaned back, looking uncomfortable.

“Well?” asked Elgin. “What do you think?”

Norton shook his head while looking at the floor, and Snowy kept his eye on the doorway. Norton said, “No one’s that brave.”

“Or that stupid,” said Snowden. “I mean, say you do rescue her. Say you get her out of there. Where are you going to take her?”

Elgin turned his face away from them. He knew Snowden was right. He knew there would be more to saving Fran than just getting her out of that box. That was why he hadn’t even begun to make plans to do it. That’s why he was just fixing up Green Comet and trying to set a good example. He hoped he was laying the groundwork for long-term change that would eventually see her released someday. He knew it wouldn’t seem that long to her.

The problem was not her, it was him. He didn’t know if he had the patience for this any more. He had no idea how long it would take. The entire culture of Green Comet, of the hexamer, needed to be changed. The Francesians needed to be removed from power, and democracy needed to be restored. But it wasn’t just the Francesians on Blue Comet. He also had to break the power of the princes, like Verdi and Rufus and the others. And he had to break down the culture of fear and obedience that had the people thoroughly in its grip. He saw all that, and he saw how small he was in the face of it, and he began to despair.

Snowden was still talking. “And don’t think you can take her to any of the other comets, either,” he said. “Rufus and Lavender would eat you alive. Literally. Especially Lavender.”

Norton could see how it was affecting Elgin, and he said, “Come on, Snowy. It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” said Snowden. “Not that bad? No, it’s not that bad. If anything it’s worse.”

Norton reached out and cuffed Snowden on the back of the head. When Snowden looked at him in open-mouthed shock, he said, “No, not that bad.” He looked pointedly at Elgin’s downcast face. “Right?”

“Oh,” said Snowden. “Oh, right. It’s not that bad, Elgin. I just got carried away again. You know me. It’s really not that bad.”

“That’s right,” said Norton. “It might look like a big problem, but we just have to break it down into smaller chunks. And there are still plenty of people who’ll help you, when they can.”

Elgin lifted his head and turned to face them. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay. It’s just that I’ve done this before, and I don’t know if I can do it again.”

They knew the story. Everyone did. Elgin had lost Frances and didn’t know if he’d ever get her back. He’d gone through a long, dark time, only relieved long after he’d given up hope of ever seeing her again. She was trapped in hibernation then as now, and Norton seized on that. “Sure you can,” he said. “You did it then, and you can do it now. That was serious. This is just a bit of dirty politics”

“Politics,” said Snowy. “Dirty politics. That’s all.”

Elgin had to smile. Things might be bad. People might be bad. But you could still find good ones, even so. “Thanks,” he said. “Thanks, you guys. This is just what I needed.” He took a deep breath, filling his lungs to the very bottom. “It’s the same answer as it always is, isn’t it? All you can do is your best. That’s what Fran would tell us if she were here.” He took another bracing breath and turned back to the knobs and dials. “Come on,” he said, “let’s make it better.”

Norton and Lord Snowden weren’t bad company once you got to know them, Elgin thought. They kept him company for the rest of the day, while he buried himself in the comforting complexities of the work. By the time he left that evening, they had the plant working at peak efficiency, and they had the solid beginnings of a very good friendship. That’s what made the next day harder than it had to be.

He got home to the hospital fairly late in the evening, with just enough time for a quick meal before bed. His sleep was deep, with only brief snippets of dreams that slipped away when he woke up. He was sitting at a table having a muffin with tea, trying to remember some of the snippets when the Commander showed up.

“Well, there he is,” said Elgin. “Right on cue.”

“Right on cue?” said the Commander.

“Yes,” said Elgin. “I was just trying to work out who that was in my dream. I never got a good look at them, but their presence was foreboding.” Elgin took a bite and spoke around it. “Or was it just annoying?”

A spot of color came to the Commander’s cheeks. “I’m sorry to interrupt your breakfast,” he said. “She wants to see you.”

“For crying out loud,” said Elgin. “Don’t these people have anything useful to do?”

The Commander shrugged. “Ours is not to reason why,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Elgin popped the last of his muffin in his mouth and got up. He dusted his hands and wiped them on his white trousers, then picked up his tea and finished it off. He wiped the table and tossed his trash in the recycler. “Lead on,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

Flying side by side with the Commander, surrounded by four guards, or as the Commander said, their escort, they flew through the Square and out the red end, past the intersection and around the orbital to the tube.

Out there between the comets, the Commander asked, “Do you want to stop again and look at the view?”

Elgin didn’t even glance sideways, keeping his eyes on the other end of the tube instead. “No,” he said. “Let’s just find out what the Big F wants so I can get back to work.”

If they were shocked none of them showed it. “As you wish,” said the Commander.

They repeated their route in reverse. The orbital, the tee intersection and the blue square. As they crossed the vast blue space, Elgin noticed another significant difference from Green Comet’s square. This one didn’t have a big window to his left, not even a blacked out one. He thought that meant that the Francesians must have taken over this comet very early on, before the finishing touches were added.

“Commander,” he said, “how long have the Francesians owned Blue Comet?”

“Just about from its very beginning, I think. Why?”

“Hm,” said Elgin. “They’re really playing the long game, aren’t they?”

“Long game?”

“Never mind, Commander,” said Elgin, pulling away a little. “Time to look official. You wouldn’t want them to think you’ve befriended me.”

The Commander scoffed. “Do you really think it’s that bad?”

“No,” said Elgin. “I’m sure it’s worse. Every time I think I know how bad it is, it gets worse. So I’m sure it’s worse than I think.”

“That’s cynical isn’t it?” said the Commander. “Pessimistic.”

“Actually I’m naturally optimistic,” said Elgin, “but these people are wearing me down. They’re frightened and paranoid, both with very good reason, and it’s making them do crazy things.” He caught the Commander’s eye. “You watch today and see if you don’t agree.”

By this time they were almost across the square, and the Commander and his men headed for the table. But Elgin stopped before getting there. He stopped right where he’d been standing last time, and got a grip on the floor with the setae on the soles of his feet. He finally looked at Fran’s sarcophagus, and her frozen body inside it. The sight of it twisted his heart, and he looked away as the tears pricked his eyes. The others came back, the Commander to stand beside him, discretely not looking at his tears, and the four guards to surround them. The people who’d backed away from the table as they approached went back to foraging for breakfast.

“How long do you think she’ll keep us waiting this time?” asked Elgin.

“I’m sure she’ll be here in good time,” said the Commander.

“A nice vague answer,” said Elgin.

“She’s an important woman,” huffed the Commander. “I’m sure she’s very busy.”

“Important,” said Elgin. “And this is one way to prove it.”

“Keep your voice down. Someone might be listening.”

“I’m sure someone is listening. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the Big F herself.” Elgin looked around. “There are probably cameras trained on us, too. I told you, she’s paranoid.”

The Commander looked around in spite of his best efforts to control the impulse. “I wish you would watch what you say,” he said.

“Commander,” said Elgin, “it doesn’t matter what I say. Can’t you see that this is all part of a plan in that feverish little brain of hers?”

The Commander shook his head and drew himself into a pose of professional detachment. If he couldn’t get Elgin to protect himself, then at least he could ensure that he didn’t get caught in the ensuing firestorm.

They stood like that for another ten minutes, Elgin calmly taking in his surroundings, the Commander and his men staring stoically into the middle distance. Then there was an upwelling of anticipation, and Her Grace was carried out and deposited on her throne. She settled her big, striped wings and gazed down upon them with a practised regal countenance. As the silence stretched out, it built the tension and the import of what she was going to say.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” said Elgin. “Do you think we could get on with it? I have a lot to do today.”

Her smug certainty gave way to a momentary dark rage at the effrontery, but she quickly quelled it. She was getting used to him. To reassert control, she glanced at Fran’s sarcophagus and said, “As you can see, We’re taking good care of her.”

Elgin was ready for that and he controlled his face, but not well enough to fool her penetrating eye. When he saw her small triumphant smirk, he felt his anger flare. But he thought of his beloved and what he would tell her when they were together again. The return of peace to his face was accompanied by vexation in hers. He allowed a hint of a smirk to show and said, “Did your brother come crying to you?”

“That is of no concern to you,” she said. “The affairs of state are beyond the likes of you.”

“I’ll take that to mean he did,” said Elgin, nodding with satisfaction. “He might be pompous, but he’s petty, too.”

“You can’t talk about him like that,” she said, insulted for both her brother and herself.

“But I just did,” said Elgin, “and the longer I’m here, the more likely I am to say more things just like it.”

She knew his ways by now, so she got a grip on her emotions and brought the conversation back to the point. “You might be interested to know that your friends have been taken to the Hibernarium,” she said, watching for a reaction.

“What friends?” said Elgin. “You already took all my friends.”

“Your new friends,” she said. “You worked with them yesterday. We believe they’re called Norton and Snowman.” One of her attendants whispered in her ear. “Snowden?” she asked. When her aide nodded, she said, “Snowden then. Lord Snowden.”

Elgin was surprised by how it affected him, and he was sure it showed in his face. He hardly knew those two, and yet after working with them for a day he seemed to care about their fate. “Why would you do that?” he asked. “What did they do to deserve to be punished?”

“They were interfering with the operation of Verdi’s water plant. After you had been repeatedly told to leave it alone.”

“Oh,” said Elgin, “another request from your sad little brother.”

She frowned, then said, “And just as importantly, for helping you.”

“For helping me? Are you saying that you punished them to get at me?”

“I’m saying that they’re in hibernation now because of you.”

“Oh,” said Elgin. “You want to make it my fault now.” He nodded. “That’s typical of your type. It can never be your fault, can it?”

“Our type?” she snapped. “We don’t have a type. We’re unique.” She flexed her big wings and tossed her styled hair.

“Sure you do. You and your brother. Like two peas in a pod.” He could see immediately that he’d guessed right. She couldn’t bear the thought that she was like Verdi, but feared she was.

“That’s a lie! We’re nothing alike.” She looked around at her grand surroundings and her attentive subjects. “We’re here and he’s there, in the comet We gave him. He’d be nothing without Us.”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Elgin. “You never let him forget it, do you? Doesn’t he resent it?”

With a contemptuous smile, she said, “What if he does? What’s he going to do about it?”

“Nothing, I guess,” said Elgin.

“Exactly,” said Her Grace.

“As long as you’re here and he’s there, he wouldn’t dare, would he?”

“No, he wouldn’t.”

“Of course not.” Elgin appeared to think about it, then he said, “And you always make sure that he goes down to the Hibernarium first, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, stony-eyed.

“Well, that has to be a cause of some concern to you. What happens while you’re hibernating, I mean.”

“Our people take care of things for Us. Nothing changes while We’re gone. It’s all preserved for Our next incarnation.”

“Incarnation,” mused Elgin. “Interesting. So, you make sure that Verdi is sleeping at the same time.”

“No,” she said. “He’s one of the people who keep things going while We’re gone.” Her voice was less forceful.

“Oh,” said Elgin. “So, even though you despise him, and he knows it, you don’t worry about him resenting it. Maybe doing something while you’re helpless to stop him.”

“No,” she said, forcing certainty back into her voice. “We don’t worry because he wouldn’t dare.”

“Good,” said Elgin. “That must be reassuring.” He nodded again. “So, if that’s all, I’ll get going. I really do have a lot of work to do.”

“We will decide when this audience is over,” she said. So she kept him there a while longer to prove her point. And she told him that he didn’t have any work to do because he wasn’t going to be allowed to interfere any more. Then she sent him away.

He looked longingly at Fran’s tomb as they left, and swore again that he’d make her proud.

They could smell it in the orbital. Not long after they came out of the tube, while they were flying toward the Square, they were assaulted by the smell of the water treatment plant. They didn’t have to stop off to check. Elgin knew exactly what was wrong.

No one spoke the entire way. Elgin was not feeling talkative, and the Commander was too embarrassed. Once again his masters were shown to be unworthy of his service, and once again he served them in their petty endeavors. He didn’t feel entitled to talk to someone as admirable as Elgin, and anyway, he just wanted to get it over with and get away without having to look him in the eye.

They delivered him directly to the hospital, which they found trashed. Things were strewn about. The beds were torn apart. The machine that Buzzard fixed was smashed. Three of the guards leered, gloating, while he took in the destruction. The other guard and the Commander looked away. Elgin turned his back and ignored them. The leering guards taunted him, laughing nastily at his distress, until a sharp order from the Commander took them out of there.

Elgin found the room he and Fran shared and tidied it up enough to use. Then he sat on the bed staring at the floor, for he didn’t know how long. Finally he decided he should go and check the other projects – the shop, the meeting room, the apartments – so he took himself out of there and across the Square.

There were lights and movements in the shrine, and he diverted his eyes as he went by. But anger flickered in his solar plexus, and some of it leaked upward, toward his dull, gray mind. It built when he found the shop in a mess again. As were the meeting room and the apartments. Vandals, or people in the employ of the Francesians had undone all their good work. The only difference seemed to be in the graffiti which, though liberally applied, wasn’t as vituperative as the original.

He carried on to the water plant fully expecting more of the same, and he wasn’t wrong. Even though he knew they wouldn’t be there, he half expected to find Norton and Snowy working and joking, but it was just four guards. He tried to get close enough to see some of the readings, but the guards wouldn’t let him. He was worried that it might have been set beyond smelly, to unsafe, but that was going to have to be someone else’s problem.

He left the plant and headed back to the hospital. He didn’t have a plan, and he didn’t know what he was going to do when he got there. He couldn’t work, so he had nothing to do. He didn’t know anyone, so he couldn’t visit. At least, he didn’t know anyone who was up. All his friends were in hibernation, and he wasn’t in the mood to make new friends. He wouldn’t want to anyway. They’d probably just end up in the Hibernarium, and it would be his fault. So much for trying to set a good example, he thought.

When he entered the Square, the first thing he looked at was the shrine. Their apartment, really. He immediately turned his face away. It hurt too much to see it like this, remembering how it used to be their sanctuary of happiness. He was facing the darkened window, and he thought about that loss, too. He thought about how the Francesians had cut them off from Orange Comet, and how the window was now just a glorified spying device. They might be watching him now, he thought. Were they enjoying his helplessness? With that he turned away from the window and back to the shrine. If they wanted to watch him, let them watch him watching them. So he stared at the shrine, their apartment, all the way across the Square.

It made him feel a little better, but not much. He couldn’t see much detail, just the lights and occasional movements as people passed in front of the openings. He was beginning to feel the futility of his gesture as he approached the passageway to the hospital, and he just wanted to get there and go to his room. He had no purpose beyond that. No plan for what to do. Sleep maybe, if he was lucky. He was just entering the doorway when he heard someone laugh in the shrine.

He stopped and turned. He knew they weren’t laughing at him. They probably didn’t even know he was out here. It would be something completely innocent, having to do with something else entirely. That’s what bothered him. They were up there enjoying themselves, completely oblivious to the feelings of the people whose space they were enjoying. Laughing while their erstwhile saint languished in a see-through box.

He didn’t feel it, but his face began to set and he found himself moving in their direction. As he got closer he could see people inside. It looked as if they were all watching one man who appeared to be holding something up while he talked. The way he held the object and the way the rest of them looked at it, he guessed it must be important to them. Maybe some kind of holy artifact. He snorted. If they had waited until their saints were dead, it might have been their bones.

He stopped, hovering just off the balcony, and watched the ceremony. His face set harder. This was the cause of all their problems. A simple desire to honor Frances for her part in saving Green Comet, perverted into a system of rules and rituals. Now the object of their veneration was a prisoner, and here they were blindly engaged in their meaningless rites.

He moved forward and seized the nearest piece of tacky decoration, and pulled. It came away from the wall with a satisfying tearing sound, so he changed his grip and pulled again. It came away completely, so he flung it into the Square and grabbed another piece. People were coming out of the apartment now, but he ignored them and kept pulling. Another piece came free and he flung it away.

“Stop,” said one of the worshipers. “Stop that.”

Elgin didn’t look, just grabbed the next piece and ripped savagely. Two good pulls and it was behind him, sailing across the Square, and he was halfway up one side, working his way toward the top.

“Stop I said.” The man flew toward Elgin. “You’re defiling the holy shrine.” He put his hand on Elgin’s shoulder, and found himself sailing out into the Square.

The leader of the ceremony came forward holding the artifact, and now Elgin could see that it was the double comet icon, the symbol of the Francesians’ faith. Before he could speak, he was sailing after the other one, and Elgin was back to ripping. They could see his face now and it scared them. Some of them flew away and some sought refuge inside. Elgin ignored them and continued removing the decorations, the symbols of the forces that took his beloved away from him. Soon the Square was littered with tacky fragments curling and drifting away, and Elgin headed inside.

There were half a dozen people in there, most of them shrinking away from him and his terrible face. One brave one stood fast, protecting their things, and he was soon out the doorway and tumbling away. When Elgin turned on the others, they couldn’t get out of there quickly enough, and he was alone.

While the rage was upon him, he stormed about the apartment finding and rooting out every vestige of the Francesians’ presence. Once he was satisfied with that, he stopped and let himself calm down. Now that he could think again, his first thought was of Fran, and what she would think of this. Would it make her proud, or would she be disappointed in him? That thought filled his mind as his mad energy drained away.

When a pack of guards came for him, they found him sleeping peacefully on the bed he once shared with Fran. As they were taking him to the Hibernarium, the Commander told him, “All you had to do was help her bring Cloud City to heel.”

Chapter Thirty – Rudely Awakened

Elgin saw the gray light, and he knew they must be waking him up. It was hard, in this plain white place, to measure time. Especially alone. And that was the point, he thought. To be forced to spend time alone in hibernation. To contemplate life without her. Without Frances. To wonder what was happening to her while he wasn't there to defend her.

Not knowing how long he was down here was more than an inconvenience. It was frustrating to the point of pain. Not knowing magnified his pain like a lens on sunlight. He was anxious to get up there, to see her and find out how she was. But he was also afraid. What had they done to her while he was gone? Was she still in that ghastly prison? Was she even alive? If he'd had a physical body, his jaw would have been bulging as he ground his teeth.

The gray light ended with a blink of blankness, and was replaced by silent explosions of color and light. His other senses also began to stir as they were reactivated. Bursts of sound and smell and taste. And disorienting twitches of touch, unable to tell where on or in his body they were. And then the vertigo. His body, desperate to locate itself in space, assaulted his mind with impossible positions.

But something was wrong. The vertigo and disorientation were worse than usual. Much worse. Not since the early days, before they learned how to do it better, was reanimation this bad. Elgin let out a voiceless groan. This must be another punishment. Another way for the Francesians to demonstrate their power over him.

Well, Elgin knew how to deal with that. Don't let them get away with it. Don't let them see that it's working. Don't give them the satisfaction. He pulled himself in to his hard core. Thinking of Frances, he bore these indignities and prepared to face down his tormenters, and wondered yet again if they could have handled their homecoming better.

Chapter Thirty-one – Elgin Wakes Up Again

“Elgin?”

The voice. Flaring in the midst of the sensory chaos was a voice. It was familiar. Could it be? “Rannie?” he said. Or he would have if his voice wasn’t a croaking gargle.

“It’s no use,” said the voice. “He’s not ready yet.”

Another voice spoke, but not in any language that Elgin understood.

“I know you’re in a hurry,” the first voice said, “but it takes time for the senses to come back together.”

The other voice spoke shortly.

“I know what you want,” said the first voice. “You’ve made that very clear. I’m just telling you that you can’t always get what you want.”

The other voice spoke loudly and Elgin’s already chaotic world shattered completely, and he sank into blankness.

“Elgin?”

He woke up and opened his eyes, which he immediately slammed shut again. He felt as if the vertigo was going to whirl him right out of bed, and he hung on with desperate strength. But the rest of him was okay. He could separately identify all of his other senses, and if things progressed normally, the vertigo would settle down in a few hours, especially if he could spend some time on a bike. But the important thing was, he recognized the voice now. Without opening his eyes, he croaked, “Stanton?”

“Yes,” said Stanton.

“Fran?” asked Elgin. He vigorously cleared his throat and repeated it. “Fran?”

“No,” said Stanton.

“Oh,” said Elgin, sinking back.

“Stay with me,” said Stanton, putting his hand lightly on Elgin’s shoulder. “You’re needed here.”

“Here?” asked Elgin, flinching at the shower of sensations triggered by Stanton’s hand.

“Under ground,” said Stanton.

“The Underground? So Snowy was right,” said Elgin.

“Yes,” said Stanton. “And literally under ground. Speaking of Snowden, he and Norton are down here too. They can’t wait to talk to you.”

“They’re here?” asked Elgin. “But they were put in hibernation. And so were you.” Elgin’s heart sank. “Are we still there?”

“You tell me,” said Stanton. “When have you ever felt like this in hibernation?”

Noting how bad he felt, Elgin’s spirits rose again. “So we’re really out?”

“Yes,” said Stanton. “All of us.” Seeing hope and confusion in Elgin’s face, he corrected that. “Except Fran,” he said. “She’s too well guarded, so she’s going to have to wait.”

Elgin was tripping over his own thoughts. “Everyone? Buzzard? The Doctor?” His mind jumped. “Wait? Wait for what?”

“Yes,” said Stanton. “Buzzard and the Doctor. And Nigel and Maria. And Gay. We’re all here.”

Elgin grinned, then it went out like a light. “Except Fran,” he said.

“Yes,” said Stanton sadly. But he brightened up when he said, “But the whole crew is here.”

“All of them?” asked Elgin. “How?”

“That’s a long story,” said Stanton. “There will be time to tell it over the next few days.” He saw Elgin crack a huge yawn. “For now, you need to get a little more rest.” He shook his head when he saw his friend struggle against sleep. “Get some sleep.”

“But I want to know,” said Elgin, his eyes heavy. “I want to know what’s happening. How you did it.”

“Later,” said Stanton. “I’ll tell you this for now, though. It all began with the Singer.”

“Singer?” asked Elgin as he dropped off.

The corridor was dim with night lighting. In the distance, far beyond where it curved out of sight, he could hear the faint sound of someone singing. He realized he was flying in that direction, even though he wasn’t using his wings. Didn’t have wings. He couldn’t feel his wings. Panicking, he twisted his head to look, and there he saw a wing top behind his shoulder. Relieved, he flexed the wing, reassuring himself that it was still there and still working. Then he realized that he couldn’t hear the singing any more, and snapped his head back to the front.

Something was there. Just coming up over the curve was something made of ice. His heart squeezed when he saw that it looked like an oblong box. Like Fran’s sarcophagus. Her display case. His breath shallow in a tight throat, he hurried forward. There was a body in the box. A woman. He clutched at the case, his hands slipping on the ice as if they had no setae, and pulled his face close. He could see her face. Her dark hair. The eyes opened – black marbles with red lights. The lips split in a leering grin.

Elgin was snatched from sleep, lurching upright in his bed. There were people there with him, but they were obscured by the remnants of the dream. He sat, trying to blink the images away.

“Elgin?” It was Stanton’s voice. “Are you all right?”

He slowed his breathing, and felt his heart begin to slow as well. His vision cleared and he could see his friend standing by his bed. “Yes,” he said. “I’m okay. It was just a dream.”

“Good,” said Stanton, “because we have some work to do.” He held up an apparatus that resembled the bikes they used for exercise when coming out of hibernation. “Not the real thing,” he said, “but sometimes we have to make do down here.” He took Elgin by the arm. “Come on. You get started and we can talk while you work.”

Elgin was struck by a rush of dizziness, and he closed his eyes. But he reached out for the bike and fitted it to his hands and feet, and started the isometric routine. “It was awful,” he said. “It was Fran’s coffin, but it was the big F in it.”

“That does sound awful,” said Stanton. He laughed. “I bet the Doctor would have something to say about that, eh?”

Elgin laughed too, but it set off his vestibular system, so he stopped. “Where is he?” he asked. “The Doctor. You said he’s out, so why isn’t he here?” The dizziness passed quickly, so he was able to hold Stanton’s eye, pushing and pulling on the bike.

“He’s busy,” said Stanton, looking at Elgin’s vital signs. “We have a lot of work to do down here.”

“So you said,” said Elgin. “Where exactly is here, anyway?”

“Inside Green Comet,” said Stanton. “Come on. Step it up. You want to get the blood pumping.”

Elgin increased his pace. “I got that,” he said. “But where?”

“That’s good. Keep going like that.” Stanton took his eye off the instruments and looked at Elgin. He said, “Do you remember the network of cracks and fissures we mapped out? The ones you used to get Fran to the Hibernarium after the Scout attack.”

“Sure. We followed fluorescent markers.”

“That’s right,” said Stanton. “We’re using them to conduct our business.”

“But everyone knows about those. The Francesians must have them all mapped out.”

“They know about some of them, and that’s just what we want,” said Stanton. “That’s where the Singer comes in.”

“The Singer again,” said Elgin. “What’s she ...”

A man appeared behind Stanton’s shoulder and Elgin broke stride. “Keep pedaling,” said Stanton. “Never mind him.”

The man spoke, short and peremptory. Elgin recognized the words, but he still didn’t understand what was being said.

“I told you I’d let you know when he’s ready,” said Stanton, putting himself between the man and Elgin.

The man pushed past him and thrust a piece of permapaper at Elgin, saying, “Yes-no?”

Elgin couldn’t take the paper without letting go of the bike, and Stanton said, “Keep working,” so he didn’t.

The man pushed closer and snapped the paper open right in front of his face, and repeated, “Yes-no?”

Elgin tried to read the paper but the words swam in front of his eyes, so he closed them and looked away. The man grabbed his jaw and tried to make him look, but Stanton barked, “Leave him alone!” and pulled him away. “I told you I’d let you know when it’s time,” he said, and pushed the man right out of the room.

He turned back to Elgin’s quizzical look and said, “Step it up. We’ll never get there if you keep dawdling.”

Elgin ramped it up again. Then he asked, “What was that about?”

Stanton looked at him, assessing, then nodded. “You might not be quite ready to go to work yet, but I think you’re ready to hear about it.” He instinctively lowered his voice. “We’re planning an assault. We’re going to take back Green Comet.”

“Good,” said Elgin. “How? Just Green Comet?” He was pedaling faster.

“I mean Green Comet in the sense of the whole hexamer,” said Stanton. “As for how, that’s kind of why you’re here.”

“Me? Why? I don’t know how to plan a war.”

“No,” said Stanton, “but you’d know when a plan is right.”

Elgin slowed down. “You’ve got a plan? Where is it? Let me have a look at it.”

“You just did.”

Elgin glanced at the door, slowing even more. “You mean that man who was just here? That paper was the plan?”

“Pick it up,” said Stanton, then watched until Elgin got back up to speed. “Yes, that was the plan. How did it look?”

“I don’t know,” said Elgin. “I couldn’t focus on it.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” said Stanton. “I told them that, but we have a bit of a communication problem.”

“Is it because of his speech impediment?”

“Speech impediment?” asked Stanton. Then he laughed. “No,” he said. “That wasn’t a speech impediment. That’s just the way they talk to us.”

“They? What do you mean?”

“The hypersynesthetes,” said Stanton. “Remember how we heard about a younger cohort that had more and better developed synesthesia?”

“Yes,” said Elgin, pedaling steadily now. “We speculated about what might happen, but decided they were pretty normal.”

“That’s right,” said Stanton. “I remember we wondered how they would think of us, given that their brains would be processing many more sensations than ours. Well, now we know.” He looked out the door, where he’d pushed the intruder and sent him away. He looked back at Elgin. “They tolerate us,” he said. “At best, they’re condescending.”

“Are they?” Elgin pedaled a little harder. “They think they’re better than us, do they?”

“No,” said Stanton. “It’s not something they think about. It’s just the way things are.”

“Are you saying they are better than us?”

“It’s not a matter of better or worse,” said Stanton. “They’re certainly different. And they think at a level, and in concepts, that we can only imagine.”

“And that gives them the right to condescend?”

“It’s not like that, Elgin. They don’t lord it over us or anything. We’re all treated as equals. It’s just that when they talk to us they have to slow down. Almost as if you were talking to a baby.”

“That was baby talk? ‘Yes-no? Yes-no?’”

“Yes. If he’d tried to use their language, you wouldn’t have understood a thing.”

“They have a different language? Completely different?”

“Not completely different,” said Stanton. “They still use many of the same words, and some of the syntax, but it comes out as a different language.”

“Then why can’t they use that language and we could use a translator for it?”

“Their language, as they use it among themselves, seems richer than the words they use. Or more distilled.” Stanton made a face. “Okay,” he said. “Here’s how Nigel described it after he tried to do just that. Use a translator. He said their language has about ten times the idea density of ours.”

“Idea density,” said Elgin. “That’s an interesting concept.”

“I think Nigel made that up,” said Stanton.

Elgin looked over Stanton’s shoulder. “Well, look who’s here,” he said. “We were just talking about you.”

Nigel came in, followed by the Doctor. “All good I hope,” he said.

“Stanton was just telling me about your idea density, uh, idea.”

“Oh, that’s not mine,” said Nigel. “The Doctor came up with that.”

“Now, that’s not entirely true,” said the Doctor. “Nigel was explaining it to me and I just helped him find the right words.”

“The right words for what? Right words.” Now Buzzard was coming in, along with Maria and Galatea, and there was another round of explaining what they were talking about.

Galatea said, “Fighting over who’s the most modest again, eh?”

Stanton frowned at her, but everyone else laughed, including Nigel and the Doctor. Nigel said, “Right on the mark as always.”

Elgin was still pedaling, but he started to slow down, looking at Stanton. “Is that enough for now?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, sure,” said Stanton. “We can do more later. How do you feel?”

“Pretty good,” said Elgin, “as long as I don’t move my head too fast.”

“Yes,” said the Doctor. “The vestibular system. Primitive and powerful.”

“Harrumph!” All heads swiveled to the doorway and there was Winston, his big, wide mouth spread in a smile. Beside him was Minder.

“Minder!” said Elgin, reaching his hand out to his one-time minder. “And Winston. I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again. How have you been? What happened?”

They came in for hugs and handshakes, and everyone was milling around him in a dull roar of conversation when Elgin’s world began to spin. Minder and Stanton noticed simultaneously, and his two minders got him into bed and cleared the room. He wasn’t quite ready yet.

“You rest,” said Stanton, giving him a little chemical help. “We’ll talk more when you wake up. I’ll tell you all about the plan. All about everything.”

Elgin, eyes closed tightly, murmured, “Everything,” as he floated away.

Chapter Thirty-two – That’s What Friends are For

This time when he woke up, Elgin was almost back to normal. He sat up and reached for the bike beside the bed. While he was fitting himself into it, Stanton came into the room accompanied by Buzzard.

“Up and at ‘em, I see,” said Stanton. “How do you feel?”

“I feel good,” said Elgin, pumping away. “Where’s that guy? I want to see the plan.”

Stanton laughed. “You are feeling better,” he said. “That guy’s name is Rama, and I’ve arranged to meet with him later. That was depending on how you felt, but I guess that’s no longer an issue.”

“Nope,” said Elgin, pumping hard. “Why can’t we see him now?”

“What’s the rush?” asked Stanton. “A couple of hours won’t make much difference, will it?”

“The longer we wait, the longer they keep Fran in that box.”

“Ah,” said Stanton, “of course. But Elgin, she’s not going to notice, is she? At twenty years to the minute, a few hours here won’t even register.”

“Maybe not for her,” said Elgin, his breath beginning to labor, “but for me it will. And besides, the longer they have her, the longer they have to hurt her.” He didn’t know it, but his face was changing.

“Right,” said Stanton. “Okay. I understand. But the meeting is planned. All their lead strategists will be there. Our people will be there. Everyone’s making preparations.”

“So tell them to come early. Let’s get this over with so we can get going.”

“That’s not going to happen, Elgin. This is the most important meeting of the whole campaign. They’re not going to change everything because you’re suddenly getting impatient.”

Elgin glowered and pedaled. “They’re as bad as the Francesians,” he grumbled.

“I don’t think you believe that,” said Stanton. When Elgin just kept scowling and pedaling, he added, “Besides, I want to fill you in on everything. Get you up to speed before we go in there.” More sullen frowns, but the face was softening. “Good,” said Stanton. “The first thing you should know is that Buzzard has already seen the plan.”

Elgin’s head came up. “You’ve seen it? What did you think?”

“Seen it,” said Buzzard. “Yes. Seen the plan.”

“Well, what about it?” asked Elgin. “Is it any good?”

“Yes,” said Buzzard, with a slight hesitation. “All ten. All good.”

“Then what’s the problem? Why haven’t they started?” His pedaling was slacking off. “If you’ve gone through it ten times, then what are they waiting for?”

“Not the same,” said Buzzard, glancing uncertainly at Stanton. “Not the same as an engineering paper. Not the same.”

“Why? What’s so hard about it?” Elgin’s scowl was coming back, along with his impatience.

“Not hard,” said Buzzard. “Not hard. It’s not hard.” Now he was looking at Stanton with hurt and pleading on his face.

“Elgin!” Stanton said, his voice admonishing.

“What?” snapped Elgin, his eyes hot.

Stanton tipped his head toward Buzzard. “Take it easy,” he said.

Elgin looked, his eyes still hot, then his face fell. He slowed his pedaling and spoke as he stopped. “I’m sorry, Buzzard. I ...” He couldn’t look at him.

Buzzard said, “It’s okay. Okay.”

“No, it’s not okay,” said Elgin. “You’re my friend and you didn’t deserve me acting like that.” He looked into his friend’s big worried face, and he could tell that Buzzard was worried for him now, rather than himself. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m just ...” His throat closed up on him.

“I’m not hurt,” said Buzzard. “You’re my friend. Not hurt.”

Elgin was about to speak when Stanton said, “I think what Buzzard’s trying to say is that sometimes that’s what friends are for.” He looked at Buzzard, who nodded vigorously, his head bobbing emphatically on his long neck.

Buzzard said, “Friends, Elgin. Not hurt. Friends.” He tipped his head. “You’re just worried about Frances. Worried.”

Tears pricked Elgin’s eyes and his throat clenched painfully. He nodded and said, “Yes,” a hoarse whisper the best he could do.

Stanton patted him on the shoulder, and Buzzard fidgeted, not knowing what to do with his hands. Brushing tears from his eyes, Elgin went back to pedaling. It just felt good to have something to do.

“Hard at work I see,” came a voice from the doorway. There were two people there waiting to be invited in.

“Norton,” said Stanton. “And Lord Snowden. Come in. We were just about to let Elgin know what he’s getting into.”

“I asked you to call me Snowy,” said Snowden. “Or at least Snowden. I think we’ve worked together long enough to drop the formalities.”

Norton said, “It’s good to see you up and about, Elgin.” Then he noticed his eyes and sensed the mood. “Are we interrupting something?” he asked, stopping just inside.

Elgin looked away, pedaling, and Buzzard clasped his hands together to settle them down. Stanton said, “Not at all. Come in. We’re just trying to get the electrolytes balanced.”

“Ah, the electrolytes,” said Norton, nodding. “They can be tricky, can’t they?”

“Yes,” said Stanton, “especially if you haven’t got the hormones just right.” They discussed the intricacies of being a minder while Elgin and Buzzard regained their equilibrium.

“You were working for the Underground?” Elgin stared at Snowden, who was standing there in his ratty vest, grinning at him. “The whole time?”

“Yes,” said Snowden. “Working undercover for the Underground.” He winked.

“I just thought you were this crazy old guy in a vest,” said Elgin.

Snowden looked left and right. “Not so loud,” he hissed. He grinned while everyone laughed.

“What a great disguise,” said Elgin.

While Snowden preened, Norton said, “Who said it was a disguise? He always acts that way.”

Snowden shook his finger at him, but laughed along with everyone else. “Actually,” he said, “it’s a perfect disguise. Nobody pays any attention to the crazy guy.” He pointed at Norton. “He had the hard job. He had to pretend he believed in what the Francesians were doing.”

Elgin gave Norton an appraising look. “That would be hard,” he said. His eyes widened. “I got you guys thrown in hibernation,” he said. “My blundering around took you from your important work.”

They shook their heads and Norton said, “Don’t worry about it. It was just about time to pull us in anyway.”

“Pull you in?”

“Yes. There are ways to get here other than through hibernation.” He pointed his thumb at Snowden. “He was back and forth all the time.”

Realization lighted Elgin’s face. Nodding, he said, “When you were supposedly hiding, you were actually coming here.”

“That’s right,” said Snowden. “I had to report on your arrival. And on your attitude.”

“My attitude?”

“That’s right. You. Frances. The whole crew. We needed to know whether you’d be a problem, or a possible asset.”

“I see,” said Elgin. He looked around, reassessing everything. “Then you ended up bringing all of us here, so I guess we all passed.”

“With flying colors,” said Snowden. “It didn’t take long before it was obvious that none of you were ever going to sympathize with the Francesians.”

“Not much chance of that,” said Elgin, remembering the big F and her little brother, Verdi, and the things they’d done. “By the way,” he said, “how do you get people out of hibernation?”

Snowden grinned again. “Good question,” he said. “We have a hidden entrance in the Hibernarium, and we get there in our system of hidden passages.”

“But you didn’t wake me up there. You woke me up here.”

“That’s right. We swapped out your cell with a dummy cell that shows fake readings. Then we brought you here to wake you up.”

Elgin shook his head. “That sounds dangerous. You’re doing it right under their noses.”

Snowden snorted. “It’s not that bad. Their security is lousy and the guards are lazy.” He pulled his vest askew and got a wild look in his eyes. “Sometimes I would create a diversion. Like one of my rants. Or maybe a paranoid delusion.” He straightened his vest and laughed.

Norton said, “As you know, he’s very convincing.”

Elgin nodded, and then he frowned. “This all makes sense,” he said. “You have this place where you can bring people when you rescue them. But what about the first time? How did you do it before there was anyone here? Or even a here to come to?”

Norton smiled and said, “You ask good questions, don’t you?” He glanced over at Stanton and Buzzard. “I guess it’s okay to tell you. I don’t see why not.”

“Tell me what?” asked Elgin.

“About the Singer,” said Norton. “This all began with the Singer. She’s the one who rescued the first one.”

“Stanton said something about that,” said Elgin.

Stanton heard his name and came over, Buzzard close behind. “Someone taking my name in vain?” he asked.

“No,” said Elgin. “Norton was just telling me about the Singer, and I mentioned that you’d said something.”

“I see,” said Stanton. He looked at Norton. “You go ahead,” he said. “You know more about it than I do.”

As Norton told it, the legend of the Singer grew over the long years, with always a few people hearing her but no one ever seeing her. When Elgin said he’d heard her once late at night, with Fran and Stanton, Norton was envious. Until he met her here, he had never been so lucky. Like most people, he’d had to make do with rumors and second-hand reports from those who claimed to hear her haunting, far-away voice echoing down an orbital.

The claims weren’t always true. Sometimes people would say they’d heard her just for the momentary notoriety it gave them. Others honestly believed they had heard her when they hadn’t. Either they imagined it through psychosis or wishful thinking, or they thought they heard a voice amongst the white noise and susurrations in the big whispering gallery. There were times when they did hear singing, but it was one of the many practical jokers who imitated her to fool their friends. All the false reports confounded the evidence and made it much more difficult to track her down.

“We were worried about that,” said Elgin. “We thought it was just a matter of time.”

“That worried you?” asked Norton.

“Yes,” said Elgin. “We decided we preferred the mystery.”

“You and most other people,” said Norton. “It got so the searchers weren’t very popular, which also delayed discovery.”

It continued to be a harmless game of hide and seek, and her legend continued to grow. But that’s all it was and all it would have been if the Francesians had been able to restrain themselves. If they had been satisfied with a reasonable level of influence in the affairs of the comet, she wouldn’t have done anything. But they weren’t. They wanted control, and when they had it they wanted to make use of it. What’s the good of power if you don’t exert it?

When they divided the hexamer up into principalities and allowed them to degenerate into feudalistic enclaves, the Singer had to respond. For one thing, it interfered with her freedom of movement. Then the Francesians began persecuting people and condemning them to the Hibernarium. It was when they started to experiment on the hypersynesthetes, trying to reverse their evolution and make them conform, that she decided to act. That’s when she rescued her first sleeper.

“Who was it?”

“No one you’d know.” Norton scowled. “Unfortunately it was too late for him. The brain damage was irreversible.”

“Are you sure?” asked Elgin. “Maybe the Doctor should take a look at him.”

“He already has,” said Norton. “It’s hopeless. You can see for yourself when you meet him later.”

“He’s here?”

“Yes. Everyone she’s rescued is here.”

Her many years of singing and hiding gave her intimate knowledge of the comets. She knew every nook and forgotten passageway on them. That wasn’t enough, though. She knew that she and her rescuees couldn’t remain hidden forever if there was ever a serious search. Fortunately she was also familiar with the rest of Green Comet too. That part that hadn’t been constructed by people. The intricate system of natural cracks and fissures within the comet.

She began with the one that everyone knew about. She first explored the route taken by Elgin and the Doctor when they took Fran from the outpost to the Hibernarium, after she was seriously injured by the Scout’s radar. It was a simple matter of following the route from one splash of fluorescent paint to the next.

From there she branched out and established a complex network of passages connecting many scattered galleries acting as nodes in the network. As she rescued people, her workforce grew and the Underground gradually became established. Now it functioned as a self-contained community independent of the one above ground.

Elgin was snagged by one apparent inconsistency. He said, “You called it ‘her workforce.’ Aren’t the hypers, as you call them, contemptuous of us normals? Or have I misread that?”

“No you haven’t misread it, but it’s not that bad. They don’t really despise us, although there is a kind of unquestioned sense of superiority.” Norton shrugged. “It’s completely justified, though. They do think in breadths and depths that we can only imagine.”

“That’s what I mean,” said Elgin. “Given that, how can they imagine working for a mere normal like her?”

Norton chuckled. “That’s one of the mysteries that make it all worthwhile. In spite of everything, they still look up to her. Maybe it’s some kind of gratitude for rescuing them. Maybe it’s spillover from her legend as the Singer. Or maybe it’s something in her that just commands respect. Whatever it is, they all defer to her.” He raised his eyebrows at Elgin and smiled broadly. He said, “They call her Mother.”

Chapter Thirty-Three – The Right Thing to Do

The main gallery was large. Like Elgin’s recovery room, it was irregularly shaped. There wasn’t a right angle anywhere. For the most part, they’d taken it just as it came and sealed it off to keep the air in. Not even the floor was flat. Since they flew and it was microgravity anyway, they didn’t need something level to stand on.

There were over a hundred people there, including what looked like the entire crew of the Ball. They were standing, or hovering, in a group on the other side of the room, and they burst into cheering when he appeared. After a momentary startle, he crossed the room to see them, accompanied by his friends. It was a hearty reunion. They seemed exceptionally glad to see him, and he asked Stanton why.

“They were worried Elgin. They heard what happened to Fran, and they didn’t know what would happen to you.”

“That’s nice,” said Elgin, distracted. He’d just realized that the crew, which he’d been thinking of as lost, was actually down here the whole time, waiting. “I really appreciate their concern, but why would it matter particularly what happened to me?”

“You’re special, of course,” said Stanton. “You and Fran. And besides, they knew that we weren’t going to start until you got here.”

“Start what?”

“The revolution, of course. They weren’t going to do anything until you saw the plan and said whether it was right or not.”

Elgin nodded because that made sense. Everyone knew about his ability to tell when something was right, so it was logical that they’d wait for him before starting. Then he shook his head and asked, “But couldn’t they just go ahead without them? The hypers I mean. Why do they need our crew?”

Stanton’s mouth twisted. “No they couldn’t,” he said.

“Why not? Aren’t there enough of them for whatever it is that they want to do?”

“That’s not it. There are enough of them. They just don’t want to take the risk.”

Elgin was baffled. “Isn’t the risk the same for everyone?”

“Yes,” said Stanton, his mouth severely pulled down, “but not everyone is as important.”

“Not as important?” Elgin couldn’t process it. “Everyone’s just as important.” He started to get angry. “Who do they ...”

Stanton held up his hands. “Don’t get started,” he said, “or you might get me started.”

“But ...”

“I know,” said Stanton. “It’s not right.” He looked around and saw the people he knew. Remembered the things they’d gone through together. Important things. Things that had saved Green Comet in some cases. These people were important, and not only to him. But he also knew the hypersynesthetes, and he knew that they were very important. The changes in their brains due to the synergies of their burgeoning synesthesias made them different. When he thought about it, he thought that they were almost a new species, and if not, then at least they were a big step in the evolution of this one. So while no one was more or less important than anyone else, the hypersynesthetes were important as a phenomenon, and worth protecting. Even if it meant that the rest of them would face increased risk to do so. “It’s not right,” he repeated, “but it’s the right thing to do.”

Elgin was prevented from replying by the arrival of someone he recognized. It was the man who’d come to his room earlier and stuck a piece of permapaper in his face. The plan. He didn’t have the paper this time, but he came right up to Elgin. He said, “Up. Good?”

Elgin looked at Stanton for help and Stanton said, “He’s glad to see that you’re up and about, and he wants to know how you’re feeling.”

“You could tell all that?”

“Sort of,” said Stanton. “I’m getting so I can read their auras a little bit, and some I could infer from context. A lot of it is still guesswork though.” He glanced at the man, who was waiting patiently. “The one who can really understand them is Buzzard. He took to it right away.”

Buzzard heard his name and came over. He nodded at the man, who nodded back and looked at Elgin. Buzzard turned to Elgin and said, “Rama wants to apologize for earlier. Too impatient. Impatient.” He looked at Rama and back again. “So he apologizes and says whenever you’re ready you can look at the plan. When you’re ready. The plan.”

Elgin looked at Buzzard and at Rama. First the hypersynesthete used a look to say something to Buzzard, then Buzzard used many words to interpret it. More words than normal for him. Elgin laughed and asked, “You got all that from a look?”

Buzzard nodded enthusiastically, then shook his head. Then nodded. Then tried to shake and nod at the same time. Finally he hunched his shoulders and clamped his jaw, and his head stopped moving. “Yes and no,” he said. “Yes and no. I understand them, but Rama asked me before to apologize. Before.”

“I get it,” said Elgin. He thought for a moment, then said, “Do you think you’re like them? I mean, since you understand them so well, do you think you’re a hypersynesthete? Born before your time maybe?”

“Maybe,” said Buzzard. “Maybe. Always different.” His face got pensive as he remembered growing up.

“You never fitted in, even with other synesthetes, did you?”

Buzzard shook his head, looking sad, then his face split in a great big grin. “Until Stanton,” he said. “Boss Stanton. And Frances. And you.” He nodded with certainty. “Elgin knows,” he said. “And Frances.” But his eyes were on Stanton.

Now Elgin shook his head. “If only you hadn’t been alone,” he said. “If only your father had known.”

Buzzard shrugged. “Then maybe it would have been all right, and maybe I wouldn’t have gone on Green Comet. Wouldn’t have gone.”

Elgin nodded. “Maybe you’d have been happy, but then we’d never have met.” His eyes went far away as he contemplated the contingencies that brought them all together. Then he looked at Buzzard and at Rama. “Do you think you’ll ever become enough like them to fit in? They might really understand you.”

“I fit in here. With you,” said Buzzard. “Fit in with you.”

“Of course you do,” said Elgin. “It’s just ...”

Rama chose that moment to join in. He and Buzzard shared a look which must have meant something to them because they both turned to Elgin. Rama stopped in front of him and said, “Rama.” Elgin thought he could see a little smile there, so he smiled back and returned the greeting by saying his name. Rama kept smiling, but he turned to look at Buzzard for help.

Buzzard said, “There was a little more to it than that, Elgin. A little more.” He thought about it, then said, “Rama got what you were saying, but he knows you didn’t get him.”

“Get him?” asked Elgin. “I thought we were just exchanging names.”

“I know,” said Buzzard. “It took me a while to get it too.”

“Well, I still don’t get it. All I said was my name, and I didn’t mean anything by it. He said his name and I said my name, and that’s all.”

“Are you sure? Sure?”

Elgin stopped and thought about it and realized that there was more to it. He had seen Rama smile. He’d noted it at the time and had smiled back. But that wasn’t all. He’d also noted the posture. The way the limbs were held. The tilt of the head. And he’d heard the voice. The inflections. The lack of tremor. All of this and more he’d picked up and turned into Rama’s aura, and he’d done it completely automatically. “No,” he said to Buzzard, “you’re right. There was a lot more. But it was only feelings. Shadings. All it did was add nuance to the meaning. There wasn’t any more actual information. Still just his name.”

“That’s right,” said Buzzard. “For you. For you that’s right.”

“But for him there’s more?”

“Yes. I can’t get it all yet. Can’t get it. But I know that he could tell that you were saying that you didn’t like him.” When Elgin began to protest, Buzzard gave him a look and he dropped it. He couldn’t deny it. “And you don’t like all of them. Any of them. You don’t like the hypers.”

“That’s going too far,” said Elgin. “How can I dislike them all when I’ve only met this one? I just woke up. I haven’t had time to learn to dislike them all.” He crossed his arms.

“It’s true though,” said Buzzard. True enough that he didn’t bother to say any more about it. “He also knows that you care more about saving Fran than you do about their plan.”

“Oh, does he?” said Elgin. “How is he supposed to know that? I haven’t even seen his precious plan.”

Buzzard looked abashed and Stanton said sharply, “Elgin! Get a grip.”

Elgin had already done that. He said, “Sorry Buzzard.” Then he turned to look at Rama. He caught the face changing from the neutral expression of an impartial observer back to the small smile he’d seen before. He said, “I apologize for my rudeness, Rama. It’s not a very good way to start out.”

Rama continued smiling and shook his head, but he didn’t say anything, so Elgin took a good long look at his aura. It was good. Calm. He didn’t see anything to indicate that the man was upset with him, nor did he see any sign of deceit. Now that he was looking at it closely though, he could see that it was different from the ones he was used to. Subtly different. Of course, all auras are different, and each person’s aura changes over time, but Rama’s aura was different from all of them. His had the colors they had, and the shapes and varying intensities that they exhibited. There were even parts that had Fran’s clear light, the first time he’d seen that in anyone else. Rama’s aura was different in that it had all these pieces combined in a subtle complexity that went beyond what Elgin had come to accept as normal. The glimpses he was getting of these complexities were fleeting, though. More like hints and promises that slipped away as soon as he tried to focus on them. He stopped trying and said, “Does smiling and shaking your head mean apology accepted?”

Rama nodded his head, still smiling, but the smile changed slightly and so did the aura.

Elgin could tell that he was only half right, and Buzzard could see that, so he interpreted for his friend. “He’s saying that he accepts your apology, but also that it’s not necessary. Not necessary.”

“You could tell that from his aura? He didn’t even say anything.”

“I’ve had practise,” said Buzzard. “But I still can’t see everything.”

Elgin asked Rama, “Is that why you can communicate with so few words?”

Rama nodded, but there was a slight darkening of his aura. It lasted less than a second.

“Do you mean I’m partly right?”

Rama’s smile broadened and he gave a small, sharp nod. “More. Less,” he said.

“More or less?” asked Elgin.

Rama shook his head and looked to Buzzard for help.

“He means more and less,” said Buzzard, looking apologetic.

“You’ll have to explain,” said Elgin.

“Okay,” said Buzzard. “He means he can see more in your aura than we can. More. But our auras have less in them than theirs do. Less. But he can see enough to know that you don’t need to apologize. He can see.”

“So they can tell what we mean just by looking?”

“Not quite,” said Buzzard. “They can never understand us as well as they can each other, because our auras are simpler. They don’t say as much as theirs do.”

“I can see that,” said Elgin. “I can see that his aura is more complex. And more subtle.”

“More and less,” said Buzzard. “More and less. Also their auras show more than we can see. We can see less than there is. Less.” He looked at Elgin to see if he understood.

He did. He mused out loud. “So, our auras are simpler than theirs, and they can see more in them than we can. And their auras are more subtle and complex, but we can see less in them than they can.” He looked at Rama, realization blooming. “We’ll never be able to communicate fully, will we?” And something else. “Do they think of us as, what, primitive throwbacks?”

“No!” Rama startled them. His smile was gone and he was frowning. His aura was very dark. “No!” he repeated.

Stanton took over for Buzzard, who was getting nervous and uncomfortable. “No, Elgin,” he said. “They might have good reason to look down on us like that, but they don’t. They honor us. They even seem to cherish us.” He smiled wryly. “They’re impressed that we have accomplished so much in spite of our limitations.”

“In spite of our limitations?” said Elgin. “This is honoring us?”

“I know how it sounds,” said Stanton. “Even they know how it sounds. But it’s sincere.”

Elgin frowned in thought, and it deepened into a scowl as he worked through it. Then he thought of what he must look like to Rama, straining to understand, and his brow smoothed. He tried to look casual and unconcerned, but that just made him feel self-conscious. Finally he mentally threw up his hands and said, “That’s going to take some thought.” He realized that Rama had probably followed his whole thought process in his aura, and he felt the heat rising in his cheeks.

“Never mind,” said Stanton. “We’ve all been there.”

That didn’t help much, but it did help a little. Elgin shared Stanton’s wry smile. “Always one more thing, eh?” he said, and they both nodded with the wisdom of long experience. He looked at Rama, matched his smile and said, “Let’s have a look at that plan.”

Chapter Thirty-Four – The Singer

The plan was fine. Not right, just fine. There was a crimp in the lines at one place that caught Elgin’s eye and wouldn’t let it go. It wasn’t the sort of thing that would show up in Buzzard’s deep analysis because everything hung together. All the parts were good and they all fit together, but for Elgin there was that crimp. He went looking for Rama and found him in a quiet corner of the main room with two other hypersynesthetes. There didn’t appear to be much going on. Not many words were being spoken and they were standing quite still, but Elgin could tell that they were deep in conversation, so he stopped and waited.

Rama caught his eye and gave him a minimal nod and smile, then went back to his discussion. The other two didn’t even look at him, and Elgin briefly considered taking offence. He didn’t, though. He was already getting used to it and knew by then that there was no offence intended. The question of whether they should concern themselves with unintended offences wasn’t worth pursuing. Maybe when all this was over and they had time to get to know each other, maybe then they could work on the finer points of social etiquette. For now it was better to quell his sensitive feelings and take care of business.

After a very short wait they were done and Rama’s two friends left, but not before giving Elgin a polite nod. He nodded back, thinking how efficient it made things when you didn’t worry too much about people’s feelings. More to the point, when you didn’t have to. If everyone could assume that no one was getting their nose out of joint, think of the time you could save. And now when he looked at Rama and saw the small smile, a completely different smile from the last one, he knew that Rama knew what he’d figured out. He grinned back at him and passed him the plan.

“Right?” asked Rama, but he didn’t look as if he believed it.

“No,” said Elgin. “Good but not right.” He pointed out the crimp and explained that it didn’t have the same level of redundancy as the rest of the plan. “There’s no out,” he said, “in case anything goes wrong.”

Rama nodded, but said, “Risk.”

“I know,” said Elgin. “I understand risk.” He could see that Rama knew that, and that he’d simply been referring to knowledge that they shared. Once again Elgin adjusted his expectations. He was learning to assume that Rama could be counted on to have thought of the nuances. “Okay,” he said. “The problem is that the lack of an out threatens not only the people involved, but the whole plan.”

Rama’s eyes sharpened and went back to the plan. In a few seconds he looked up and even Elgin could tell that he was deeply pleased and gratified. Even grateful, he thought. The effort of rescuing Elgin and waiting for his analysis had paid off. Rama smiled and nodded and he even reached out and patted Elgin’s shoulder. As Elgin was reassuring himself that it was nothing like a pat on the head, Rama said, “Stay,” and flew off clutching the plan. With a great effort of willpower, he obeyed.

Elgin was speechless. He’d never seen anything like it. Told to stay, he’d waited, and this was why. Someone had come to see him and there she stood in front of him. He thought that she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, until he remembered Fran. So this had to be the second most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. And it was a close second. When she spoke to him he completely missed it. She didn’t seem put out when she had to repeat herself.

“Elgin?” she said again, and held out her hand.

He roused himself and looked at her hand. He didn’t know if he was supposed to kiss it or bow down and touch his forehead to it. After what could have been an embarrassing pause if she hadn’t handled it so well, he finally closed his slack mouth and shook the proffered hand. He mumbled something.

She didn’t seem bothered when he forgot to let go of her hand for far too long. She just smiled and said, “My name is Nana. You’re going to be with me for the next while.”

He noticed her hand and dropped it, then immediately regretted the wrong impression that would create. It was too late to take it back, so he simply said, “With you?” That didn’t make him feel any more clever, but he wisely left it there.

“That’s right,” she said. “I’ll be teaching you the songs.”

“The songs?” His repartee was not improving.

“Yes,” she said. “You might know me as the Singer.” She looked down, obviously uncomfortable with a pretentious name.

“The Singer!” he said. “But she wasn’t … I mean, I didn’t know you were … I thought you were normal.”

She smiled indulgently while the color rose all the way to Elgin’s hairline. “I am,” she said, “completely normal.”

“But,” he said, and stopped. His vision, partially blinded by the glow of glamor, was returning to normal. Now he could begin to see that her aura, though still unique, was less complex and subtle than a hypersynesthete’s. She was normal. Special but normal. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“No need to be sorry,” she said. “I caught you off guard, and with you so recently out of hibernation. Not to mention the Singer silliness.”

“It’s not silly,” said Elgin. “The Singer is a legend. You’re a legend. Important to people.”

“Like you,” she said. “You and Fran.”

He was going to protest. He wanted to make the usual disclaimers about his legendary status, and how it was blown up out of proportion. How being a legend wasn’t what it was cracked up to be. Then he saw her smile, and he said, “Yes. Like Fran and me.” He knew how alike they were now. He said, “You have to meet Fran. I think you’d really like her. I know she’d like you.”

“Yes,” she said, turning her face away to look around the room. Some darkness flitted across her face and through her aura.

With her head turned, Elgin really noticed Nana’s hair for the first time. It was pulled straight back and bound in a casual ponytail, and it was white. Pure white. He’d never seen anything like it. Not since leaving home and going to Green Comet, anyway. Ever since they’d discovered that hibernation rejuvenated their bodies and seemed to extend their lives almost indefinitely, no one had aged enough to turn their hair white. They were aging, though. No one was staying eternally young. At present they were mostly physiologically in their fifties or sixties. Physically they had the attributes of someone that age, including some gray hair. Stanton referred to his as shots of silver, and Galatea said it made him look distinguished. But no one had gone white like Nana.

Her hair was snow white, as was her facial fur, and on down her neck and across her shoulders. Below that the rest of her brown fur was patterned with white. The overall effect was striking, and Elgin got the feeling that at least part of the effect she had on him – the slack-mouthed adoration he’d exhibited earlier – was due to her unique pelt. Now she turned back to him though, and he knew it was also in her face. It had such quiet, serene strength that it was the perfect setting for her cool, chalk-blue eyes. And now he noticed the lines around those eyes, and the network of fine wrinkles peeking out from behind the white fur.

His shock must have showed on his face because her sad smile showed that she knew. She said, “Yes. I’m getting old.”

Elgin wanted to say no. He wanted to tell her that she looked fine, hardly old at all. He wanted to tell her a white lie, but he knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t insult her. He nodded and said, “After this is over you can have a nice long sleep. As long as it takes to wind it back, at least part way.”

She smiled and put a soft hand on his arm. “That’s what they say, too,” she said. She saw the question in his eyes and said, “My children.” She said it only partly ironically. She knew it was a vanity, but it was also true in the most important ways. She cared for them as if they were her children, and in a sense they were since she had delivered them from their sleeping prison. It was true enough that they called her Mother with no irony at all.

“Well then,” he said, “that’s what you can do.”

She shook her head and glanced around to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard. “I haven’t told them this,” she said, “but I must tell you. After all, we have much to do while we have the time.”

Elgin’s mind started after three different things. What had she not told her children? What did they have to do? And what about the time? After a couple of false starts, he settled on, “What?”

Nana compressed her mouth and looked into Elgin’s face. She nodded and said, “Once you stay up too long, you start to age at an accelerating pace. I barely have enough time to teach you what you need to know. There won’t be time to do the work and get me into hibernation.”

“Of course there will,” he said. “There must be.” He spoke without thinking about it. He couldn’t accept it. It couldn’t be the end for the Singer. Not for someone so beautiful. Especially not when he’d just met her. If she died now, then Fran would never get to meet her. “Surely the Doctor can do something.”

“He already has,” she said. “I’ve asked him to speak to you, but after I spoke to you first. I know how you value his opinion.” She saw the stubborn hope in his face. “He’ll tell you the same thing.”

Elgin tried to hang onto his hope, but decided to do it privately. He nodded and asked, “What work are you talking about? What is it you need to teach me?” Maybe if he learned quickly enough they could get her into hibernation and save her life.

Elgin had a fine tenor voice. It surprised him. He had no idea he could sing, and it wouldn’t have occurred to him to try. This was what Nana had to teach him. He had to learn all the songs, and he had less than two weeks to do it.

They were in one of Green Comet’s many cracks and fissures, deep inside the comet. They were flying in their pressure suits, coasting at a carefully calibrated speed, while he sang the song for this segment of this route. With Nana flying silently beside him, they rounded a familiar broken formation of snow and spotted a daub of fluorescent paint marking the entrance to another passageway. They ignored it and flew on while he sang the coda. He finished just as they came abreast of another marked opening, but they didn’t go in. As they continued on to yet another daub of paint nearly hidden beside another opening, he said, “I always do that. I always finish too soon.”

“You sang the coda too quickly,” she said patiently.

“I know,” he said, his voice trembling with frustration.

“It’s because you’re in a hurry, Elgin. You want to hurry up and get it done. I know why and I’m grateful, but you’re not doing me any favors. This will take as long as it takes. There are no shortcuts.” Her voice softened and she said as kindly as possible, “You have to get this right, Elgin. We don’t have much time left.” She pointed at the correct opening. “Get in there and lead us back home. When you get to the second junction, use route number one.” She put her hand lightly on his shoulder. “Control your pace this time, all the way to the end.”

He took a couple of deep, shaking breaths, and started out. At precisely the right moment he began to sing, his voice clear and strong. It was a new song for this route, as it was for every one. The right song sung at the right pace would get them home. Anything else would get them hopelessly lost and they would die in some anonymous hole, strangling as they ran out of air.

They would if Nana wasn’t there, that is. On this practise run he could make all the mistakes there were to make, and she would get them home safely. But soon, much sooner than he liked to think about, she wouldn’t be here to save him from his own foolishness. Already in the short time he’d known her he could see that she’d aged. She was right about it being accelerated. The lines on her face were deeper and more numerous. More of her fur was turning white. Her hands were thinner and beginning to shake. And her beautiful singing voice was weakening, its range diminishing. While Elgin originally was inclined to hurry so they could get Nana to the Hibernarium in time to reverse the damage, now he realized it was so they could finish in time. He was hurrying because he was worried that he wouldn’t learn all the songs well enough to take over before she was too weak to carry on.

He was holding her arm as they entered the big room. He’d managed to follow her instructions without getting them lost this time, and now they were back, another long day of training over.

“Take me to my room, Elgin,” she said. Her suit’s helmet was collapsed back around her neck, showing her pure white ponytail. Her chalk-blue eyes were laughing as she said, “Get me out of this pressure suit and put me to bed.”

He laughed at their private joke and did as she asked. He gently removed her pressure suit and stowed it. Then he brushed her thinning fur, wanting to weep as more of it ended up in the brush. She brushed away the tears that leaked from his eyes as he put her in her bed and pulled the sheet up. He gave her what they both knew was a false smile as he turned to go, but she grabbed his wrist with her weak, bony hand.

“Stay,” she said. “Stay and talk.”

“Yes Nana,” he said, and stuck his feet to the floor beside her bed.

“Thank you Elgin,” she said, then she went quiet, looking at something far away. Certainly much farther than the walls of her room.

Elgin was happy to wait, and he waited quietly as her eyes slowly closed. Maybe she thought she wanted to talk but all she really wanted was some company while she fell asleep. When her eyes were fully shut and her breathing was slow and even, he quietly unstuck his feet and turned to go. She snatched his wrist again.

“Don’t go,” she said. She took a deep breath and gathered herself up on the bed. “I need to tell you something.” Once again she paused, but only briefly before she riveted him with her blue eyes. She said, “Your training is over, Elgin. You’re on your own now.” She released his wrist.

“No,” he said reflexively. “I’m not ready.” Even he didn’t know whether that meant ready to work on his own, or to let her go.

“Yes you are,” she said. “You know all the songs, and you know all the routes. You know everything you need to know.”

“But I don’t,” he said. “What about today? If you hadn’t been there, we’d have been lost.” He frowned. “I mean, I’d have been lost.”

She laughed. A sound encouraging for its hopefulness, and heartbreaking for its weakness. “I know what you mean,” she said. She patted his hand. “In these past two weeks you’ve learned everything I taught you, and you never made a mistake more than once. The one you made today, you’ll never make again. Your sense of right won’t let you.” She had to pause and catch her breath. He tried to tell her to stop and rest, but she ignored him. “That’s why I chose you to replace me. I knew your sense of right would tell you if anything was wrong. Now you know everything you need to know to lead our people where they need to go. And when visitors come, to lead them where they need to go.” She stopped, panting for air.

“That’s enough now,” he said, stroking her dear, white head.

“Yes it is,” she said. “You go now. When you see him, send Rama in.” She closed her eyes, and as he turned to leave she whispered, “You’ll be fine, Elgin.”

He nodded, and because her eyes were closed, said aloud, “Yes I will. You say it and I know it’s right.” He knew he would never forget that smile. He was looking at it as he closed the door, so he was surprised when he turned and almost bumped into Rama and two other hypers.

One glance at him and their faces fell. They nodded at each other, then at him as they went by to enter Nana’s room. Their faces and their auras held the usual politeness that was always there when they dealt with normals, but Elgin thought he saw something else. He saw compassion. And he also saw respect. As they went into the room, he realized that they were acknowledging his special relationship with Nana. With the Singer. With their Mother. And he also realized that they were going in there to be with her as she died. He hadn’t known it, but his body had, and they had seen it as soon as they saw him. His impulse was to go back in and say goodbye properly, but he knew that was their place and not his. So he swallowed a hard, painful sob, and turned away.

Chapter Thirty-five – This Was Nana

Elgin was leading the mourners as they took Nana’s body to its final resting place. They were all in pressure suits, with him at the front, followed by Rama and one other of Nana’s children carrying her, and then the rest off them stretched out behind in ones and twos and threes. Rama had told him where to go. Nana told Rama, and he told Elgin, and now they were flying there.

Elgin recalled that conversation, still impressed by how much information could be transmitted in so few words. Rama told him, in one and two word bursts, the location of what was to be her crypt, the route he needed to follow to get them there, and the songs he would need to sing to do it. He also told him what she had said about Elgin’s ability to do the job. How he was ready to take over from her. She also reminded him about Elgin’s character, and of his dedication to Frances. How they must do whatever they could to rescue her and bring her to safety. As much as her children loved her, she told Rama, the normals loved Frances just as much.

The similarities between the two women were not especially remarkable. In appearance they were quite different, with Fran’s golden-blonde hair and golden eyes contrasting with Nana’s dark brown fur and chalk-blue eyes. Fran was more extraverted, more inclined to do her work with and among people, while Nana had built her legend largely without revealing her identity. She’d only come out, partially at least, to save the hypers from the Francesians’ murderous experimentation. She’d left the safety and comfort of anonymity to prevent the wholesale destruction of her children’s brains. She refused to retreat to hibernation while they needed her, and continued to devote herself to them while accelerated aging worked on her body.

That’s where she was similar to Fran, who had been prepared to sacrifice herself after she was so severely injured. She wouldn’t let them take her to the Hibernarium until the Scout left, and by then she was almost dead. As different as they were, these two women were the same. They gave themselves completely to the service of their people, and their people loved them unconditionally for it.

Elgin had tried to tell Nana that. In his inadequate way, he had tried to tell her how similar they were.

“You remind me of Fran,” he’d said.

“Oh, I’m no Frances,” she’d said, “as much as I might have tried.”

“What do you mean?”

She’d laughed and said, “Everything I know about how to be, about how to act, I learned from watching her.”

“You watched her?”

“I watched both of you. I watched you fall in love.”

Elgin’s mind went back there, to the time when he and Fran were falling in love, but he couldn’t pick out who she might have been. “It seemed like everybody was watching us.”

She laughed again. “They were,” she said. “It was a very special time for everyone.” Here she’d gripped his upper arm and held his eyes. “You have a special woman there, Elgin.”

He knew that and he told her so. He also told her that she was a special woman, too. He told her that she was just as important to Green Comet as Fran was, and he knew that Fran would agree. He knew that he wasn’t betraying his loyalty to her by the comparison.

She had tried to deny it because she simply couldn’t think of herself that way. She couldn’t compare herself to the woman she’d adored and idolized for so long. Elgin didn’t let her get away with it, though.

“It’s true, Nana,” he’d told her. “No matter how much you protest, it’s true. In fact, when this is over and things are back to normal, I’m going to see to it that we get another statue in the Square. You can join Fran and Laika and the rest of them.”

“The rest of you, you mean,” she’d said. “There was a statue of you there, too.”

Now it was Elgin’s turn to be embarrassed. He said, “My statue was just there because of Fran’s. All the rest of them did something, but all I did was be with her.”

She smiled at him. It was kind of sad and kind of motherly. Something about it and something about the way she looked, with her white hair and the lines in her face, made him feel like a child. He remembered looking up from under his brow and smiling shyly.

At that moment his song ended and his mind came back to the present. After an instant’s panic he saw that they were exactly where they were supposed to be, so he turned and led the cortège into the final passageway. It was a short one and twisty, and it let out into a small gallery. Small by the comet’s standards, anyway. It stretched upwards, disappearing into shadows almost a hundred meters up. It continued in front of them for about fifty meters before ending abruptly in a wall of snow. In width it varied from not much more than the width of the cleft that brought them here, to as much as twenty meters where a large alcove opened up to one side. Their destination was in that alcove. Resting there, gleaming in their lights, was a box made of ice, with its lid off and leaning on it.

Rama and his partner took Nana’s body and placed it gently in the box. After carefully straightening the simple white smock and trousers she was wearing, they picked up the lid and fitted it securely over the opening. A crewman made a few quick spot welds for good measure. Lying there, with her hands resting peacefully on her abdomen, she looked as if she was asleep. You could almost imagine that she might wake up after a little rest.

After looking silently at her body for a moment, Rama turned to face the gathering. There were about fifty people there, roughly half of them hypersynesthetes and half from the crew of the Ball. That was everyone who could be spared from their preparations for revolution, and from the necessary maintenance and protection of their underground sanctuary. Rama looked at them and said, “This was Nana.”

Their auras were obscured by their pressure suits so it was hard to see what people were feeling, but Elgin thought he could see a few people blinking away tears behind their faceplates. It seemed to be affecting hypers and normals equally, but Elgin couldn’t be sure because he was blinking away tears of his own.

Rama said, “Mother is dead,” then he bowed his head. It looked as if he might be crying too. Everyone was quiet as they assimilated the experience, and Rama’s words. There were six words, and that was a long speech for them, but only fitting for the eulogy of someone so important to them. After a moment, Rama lifted his head and flew slowly out of the alcove, heading for the passageway. Everyone turned to follow him, Elgin included. He stopped at the entrance to the passageway, and Elgin stopped beside him. They hovered side by side looking back at Nana in her ice box. Elgin didn’t know what Rama was thinking, but his own thoughts were a bit of a turmoil. He wanted to get back and get to work, the sooner to rescue Fran, but he was reluctant to leave Nana while she was sleeping so peacefully there. What if she woke up and they were all gone?

Chapter Thirty-six – There’s No Song for That

Elgin was flying too fast for the song. He was going to get lost now, and there would be no way of finding his way back. Against all his training, and against his instincts, he stopped singing. There was no point anyway, and he had to concentrate on following them.

They were up ahead, just going around that corner. He had to hurry so he wouldn’t lose them. He used full thrusters on his pressure suit to get there, and full thrusters again to slow down and make the turn. He got there just in time to see them disappearing into a side passage. Once again he flew full speed to get there, nipped into the opening and hurtled along a winding passage, bouncing off the walls to make the turns.

He burst out into a large gallery, and there they were. Two oblong boxes apparently made of ice. In the more ornate one was a beautiful woman with golden fur, and in the simpler one another beautiful woman with snow-white hair. They were both lying on their backs with their eyes closed, and yet they seemed to be looking at him, their eyes wide with terror and pleading. He had to catch them and save them. He didn’t know how he would save them or what he would save them from, he just knew he had to hurry and catch them.

The boxes disappeared into a crevice, the women motionless and frantic with fear. Elgin tore across the space, not slowing down until the last second. He hit the edge of the opening hard, knocking his wind out and dazing him. He darted into the passageway, his head spinning and his diaphragm seized. By the time he was able to breathe again there were stars in his vision. He spotted the boxes before they went through another opening, this one filled with a frightening blackness.

He rushed along, the blackness getting larger, and then he flew out into the void. He panicked and back-thrust hard, coming to a stop within a few meters. Even so, he knew without looking that the comet was no longer behind him. In front of him he could see the two boxes of ice holding the two women who mattered most to him racing away on diverging paths. He couldn’t tell which was which at this distance, but he could feel their terror and disappointment as they dwindled.

When he was snatched out of sleep, Elgin was sure he could hear his scream echoing in his small room.

Chapter Thirty-seven – A Song for Going

It was the final meeting before deployment. Rama was giving them their final instructions, reviewing their assignments and offering encouragement. It didn’t take long.

The team leaders expanded on it, particularly for the normals. They used about ten times as many words, and then some. Not that it was necessary. Not strictly, anyway. They all knew what they had to do, and they were anxious to get started. They still listened intently, though. Nobody wanted to get it wrong and be the one to blow it for everybody. This was also the last time they would all be together before going out. They wanted to feel that to its fullest.

There were three tube teams, as they were called. Their job was to take out the three tubes connecting Blue Comet to the rest of the hexamer. That would isolate the majority of the Francesians and their armed soldiers. A larger team would do the more dangerous job of landing on Blue Comet and neutralizing its big hatch. That’s where the soldiers and whatever vessels they used would have to come out, once the tubes were out of commission. Once that was done, Blue Comet would be cut off.

When Blue Comet was isolated and neutralized, then came the job of ridding Green Comet of whatever Francesian soldiers and guards were on it at the time. They would have to be actively taken out because they couldn’t be allowed to take the remaining inhabitants hostage. Victory would have to be swift and complete, with no possibility of entrenchment by the Francesians.

Beside Rama for the sendoff was Leonardo, another hypersynesthete. Leo was the first hyper to undergo the therapy that the Francesians were experimenting with. The therapy that they hoped to use to “re-normalize” the brains of the hypersynesthetes and make them more like everyone else. The Francesians didn’t like the way things were going. They didn’t like that they didn’t understand the hypers. They didn’t like that they seemed to be smarter than normals. Most of all, they didn’t like the way the hypersynesthetes seemed to be increasingly immune to the blandishments of Francesians. None of the tried and true indoctrination techniques seemed to have any effect on them, so the Francesians had to try to remedy that. For their own good, of course. They couldn’t allow them to suffer the painful absence of God’s grace.

The therapy hadn’t worked with Leo. Or maybe it had. He certainly wasn’t any smarter than the Francesians now. There was no way he could resist their teachings, or anything else. He would follow anyone anywhere and do what he was told, to the best of his ability. And he would do it smiling. And smiling and smiling and smiling. Everything was really simple for Leo now.

When they saw the results, the Francesians were first inclined to cover it up. They didn’t want people to see their failure, or to begin to speculate on their fallibility. Was not God’s rule supposed to be perfect? But then they realized the propaganda value of it. It could be a constant reminder to the people of their vulnerability. Leo could be a symbol of the power that the Francesians had over them. Were their changing brains giving them perspectives and insights that normals couldn’t even imagine? Well, look what we can do about that.

The hypersynesthetes and everyone who sympathized with them – pretty well everyone who wasn’t a true Francesian – hoped that they would be able to help Leonardo when this was all over. They hoped that with enough time in hibernation, and with proper brain conditioning, they would be able to restore him to his former self. They didn’t have much hope, though. His brain was too damaged. They didn’t think they would be able to bring him back even to the level of a normal.

Leo could serve as an inspiration, though. He inspired the Singer to begin rescuing other hypers, and them to rescue the rest. And now he would inspire them to win this war and ensure that it couldn’t happen to anyone else.

Nine people had their own final meeting. There were seven of the original gang of eight, missing Fran, with the addition of Snowy and Norton. They were sharing information that they mostly already knew, since they were all privy to all the major facets of the operation. They were telling each other things that they already knew, but nobody minded. This wasn’t about learning something new, it was about sharing this really important moment with your closest friends. Saying it out loud to them and by doing so making it real.

Nigel and the Doctor weren’t going out. They’d been told that they would be more useful here. It would be best to have the Doctor at a known location and bring any injuries to him, rather than out there trying to be everywhere at once. Not to mention putting himself at risk. Nigel’s proven abilities at organization and communication, and at methodically assessing a situation and finding solutions, made him an obvious choice to stay back at the command center.

Stanton, Buzzard, Galatea and Maria were assigned to modified smashers and would be taking out the intercometary tubes. The third tube team would be two hypersynesthetes. The three tube teams had met for their own final briefing earlier, but beyond the facts and details, not much was shared between hypers and normals.

The smashers had been modified so they had Maker-style legs in place of the regular ones. They’d considered going with four legs like the real Makers, and like Scarface and the other Maker robots, but decided that two would be enough and easier as well. By stretching out and pulling, rather than clomping along for locomotion, the smashers could move more quietly. It was also a much faster way to move. With regular legs they could bound great distances on the surface of a comet, but in the weak gravity it took a long time to come down. That was time better spent reaching and pulling and covering a lot more ground. It turned out that setae worked fine on the feet.

The best way to blend in on a dark comet is to be just as dark, so the smashers were matte black. They were also designed to avoid reflecting radar. If they were in danger of being discovered, they could hunker down and become one dark shadow among many.

The smashers also had small thrusters with enough propellant to complete the mission, plus a small reserve. They would be traveling great distances, in some cases hundreds of kilometers, so it made sense to do as much of it as possible by the quickest means they had: flying.

Once at their targets the tube teams had the supplies they needed to do their jobs. They had enough air, water and fuel to do the work and get home safely. Being lean made them efficient.

Stanton and Buzzard would make one team, and their target was the tube connecting Blue Comet to Indigo. Maria and Galatea were the other and they would be rounding Green Comet to take out its link to Blue. The hyper team would take the tube connecting Blue Comet to the unnamed, unfinished one. They would coordinate through Nigel to act simultaneously for maximum surprise and effect.

Snowy was reluctant to talk. He didn’t have a mission and it bothered him. “Hold down the fort, they said,” he grumbled. “Hold down the fort. Right.” He barked a laugh. “Actually they said ‘Stay.’ Can you believe that?”

“That is the way they talk, Snowy,” said Elgin. “You can’t fault them for that.”

“I know,” said Snowy. “I know. What they were really saying was that I should stay here and stay out of the way.” He snorted and looked away. “Keep the crazy old guy out of the way where he can’t cause any trouble.” His bony shoulders slumped, the ratty old vest sagging with its lumpy pockets.

Norton patted his friend’s shoulder. “Never mind,” he said.

Elgin said, “What about you, Norton? What have they got you doing?”

Norton looked embarrassed. “I can’t really tell you,” he said. “It’s all hush-hush.” He glanced toward the door of the room they were using. “I can tell you I’ll be going up to the surface, though. Or close to it.” His eyes flickered and his mouth clamped shut. As much as he might have wanted to join in the sharing, you could tell he would go no further.

“Never mind,” said Elgin. “You can tell us when it’s all over.”

Everyone made noises of agreement and then they all had the abrupt realization that the meeting was over. They began to drift away, their minds focusing on what they would be doing in the next few hours.

Elgin’s job meant that he was the first to go. Being the new singer, he had to guide all the others to their egress points. For the ones going to Blue Comet and beyond, this meant leading them to the far side of the comet, where the weapon and all the sensors had been aimed at the Scout during the long ago standoff. From there they would fly out around Red and Winter comets and on to Blue’s two farther tubes, or to its hatch.

The long trip gave Elgin plenty of time to think. There were a lot of segments and a lot of songs, and he couldn’t talk to anyone because it might disrupt his rhythm. One mistake in here and they could all be lost. In reality he could probably back up to the last known point and start that song over again, but he didn’t want to do that. It would waste time, it would undermine everyone’s confidence, and it would be embarrassing. So he concentrated on maintaining the correct pace, both flying and singing, and that allowed his mind a little freedom to work on some old memories. It was a bit like meditation in that way.

Because of where they were going, they passed within less than a kilometer of the operations center, where the Five had stood their vigil in the confrontation with the Visitor’s scout. He had spent many long, beautiful months alone with Frances, and he still thought of it as the most special time in their lives. Then she was injured by the Scout’s radar, and she almost died because she wouldn’t allow them to take her to the Hibernarium until the situation was resolved. That was the incident that got statues of Frances and Elgin and Nigel erected in the Square. It also resulted in the formation of the Francesians a few centuries later, and ultimately in the situation they were facing today. Elgin had long ago come to terms with the irony of a threat to Green Comet resulting from thwarting an earlier threat.

Stanton had once boiled it down to the old cliché that no good deed goes unpunished. Elgin was chuckling wryly at that when they arrived at their destination.

After his charges filed out through a small crack in the surface – no need for an airlock here, since they’d already been flying in a vacuum – Elgin had to sing his way back to the control center and pick up his next customers. On the way he mused about the way everyone had filed past him on their way out. They’d all paused and looked into his eyes, nodding or reaching out to touch him before they went. It was more than thanking him for leading them safely through the comet. It was as if they were assuring him that they would carry out their missions, not just because they were important, but for him, personally. For him and for Fran.

It was understandable coming from Stanton and Buzzard, who formed one of the tube teams. He was also used to this kind of loyalty and dedication from the crew of the Ball, many of whom were there. But he got the same from the hypersynesthetes, and they had no particular reason to feel that way, did they? It occupied his mind all the way back. Had they transferred their admiration for the Singer in some small way to him? Or to Fran? Maybe they were just as susceptible as everyone else to the glamor of their legend. Or maybe he had misinterpreted. Maybe it was something purely of the moment. Maybe it was just one of those little rituals that form of their own accord in situations like these.

He tentatively settled on that explanation as he arrived, but decided that he would have to wait until he could talk to Fran about it. She’d be able to explain it to him.

Chapter Thirty-eight – Green, Blue and Indigo

Maria was flying over the dark surface of Green Comet. She and Galatea were rounding the big comet, heading for the tube connecting it to Blue Comet. It was just a few minutes since they’d left Elgin where he dropped them off, and their whole flight time was estimated to be just under an hour. Their starting point was a lot closer than the one Stanton and Buzzard started from, because they didn’t have to go out and around the other comets to get where they were going. They began within a quarter of the comet’s circumference, so the flight portion of their journey wouldn’t be long at all.

Their speed would be nowhere near that of Buzzard and Stanton either. They were hugging close to the surface and not going very far. Their men, and the others with them, were flying around the outside of the whole big collection of comets. They had long stretches where they could coast at high speed, so that’s how they did it, while the women’s route was shorter and slower.

Maria was enjoying this. It was a long time since she’d operated a smasher out on the surface, and now here she was at last. The machine fit her body like a glove, and it responded as if it really was the extension of her body that it was meant to be. She’d had to get used to the new legs, whose function was quite different from what she was used to. Instead of rigid sections connected by joints – hip, knee, ankle – they were unjointed, long and flexible. Right now while she was flying they were stretched out, trailing behind her. Once she was on the ground again she would reach out, grip with the setae and pull herself along. It had taken a couple of hours of simulation, but she’d taken to the new form of locomotion right away. She preferred it to the original and planned to convert many more of their smashers when this was over.

Buzzard was cruising the length of the tube connecting Red Comet to Indigo Comet. After leaving Green Comet, he and Stanton flew down and around Red and headed for Indigo. Once there they would skim the surface of Indigo, much as Maria and Galatea were doing on Green, to its tube connecting it to Blue Comet. Those last kilometers spent exposed on the surface, in plain view of Blue, were probably the most dangerous. Second most dangerous would be crossing the gap between Red and Indigo. In truth, neither one was that dangerous because someone would have had to be out there looking at the right place at the right time. Their black smashers were almost invisible against the dark surface of a comet, and they could avoid the areas that were white after being exposed by construction activity. In keeping with the principle of practising an abundance of caution, they made use of the meager shelter provided by the tube while crossing between comets.

Their counterparts, the two hypers tasked with taking out the third tube, would be doing the same thing on the other side of the hexamer. They’d be crossing behind the tube joining Winter Comet and the unnamed one, and then they’d be parting company with the team that was headed for Blue Comet to intercept and neutralize any excursion force that tried to come out.

Stanton was waiting on the other side for Buzzard to join him on the last leg. This was another of the little details they used to improve the odds of the mission. Never expose both of them at once. It was the same when they flew over the surface. They kept a separation of at least a hundred meters. Better to make two small targets rather than one large one. That was the whole point of having two of them in the first place. The redundancy made one of them expendable.

When Buzzard was nearly across they had a brief opportunity for eye contact and a quick nod, then they split up and headed for their target.

The main team was crossing the gap between the unnamed comet and Blue Comet. They were doing it far from the tube and at a point out of sight of all the places where someone might reasonably see them. After swinging out around Winter and flying across behind the tube to the unnamed comet, they traversed the surface with the tube team. At a dark, isolated point they parted ways and began their covert transit to Blue Comet. They crossed one and two at a time, always well separated, and when they got there they began their solitary journeys to Blue Comet’s hatch.

Some of the team were in simple pressure suits, while some were in smashers, the better to carry the gear they would need. They were carrying a bunch of tubes that appeared to have the nose cones of small rockets sticking out of them. Others had bundles of what looked like fine netting. Most of the people not in smashers were carrying projectile rifles, and they all had a projectile pistol stuck to their thigh. If things degenerated into chaotic skirmishes, they wanted to be able to defend themselves. They moved in complete silence across the dark landscape. They’d said everything they needed to say before they left, and there would be plenty of time to talk when this was over.

Rama stood behind Nigel, who was monitoring the communications array. The Doctor was over to one side checking his medical equipment one more time. Lord Snowden was assisting him.

Rama said, “Frances.”

Nigel said, “I know. I worry about her too.”

Rama didn’t say anything, and Nigel couldn’t see his face, but something told him what he was thinking.

Nigel said, “You’re right. We had to do it this way. We had to secure the exterior like this. It would have been impossible to go storming into Blue Comet and rescue her.” He turned and looked into Rama’s face in time to see a small nod of agreement.

The Doctor and Snowy came over. The Doctor told Rama, “We did the right thing. Fran wouldn’t want us to risk lives, or the plan, on a foolish rescue mission.” He’d been watching these hypersynesthetes long enough to know that they weren’t as aloof as they might seem. It might look as if they were so far above everything that it could never affect them, but he’d seen the way they adored their Nana, and he’d seen how her death hurt them, in spite of Rama’s very brief eulogy. So he knew that the concern for Fran was real, as was the regret and worry that the plan couldn’t protect her. He even suspected that there was some uncertainty about it.

Snowy said, “The Doc’s right, Rama. You did the right thing. There was no other way.”

They saw Rama’s face relax, then his body, and that caused his aura to smooth out. He took the time to look each of them in the eyes, and to let them see his gratitude. Then he said, “Elgin.”

They all nodded and Nigel glanced toward the darkness where Elgin would emerge when he returned. “He’ll be all right,” he said. “Well, if it goes wrong somehow and we lose her, then he won’t be all right. But he agreed with the plan partly because he knew she would. Remember what he told us? What she said when she climbed into that box?” Nigel nodded firmly. “Don’t worry, Rama. Elgin isn’t going to blame anybody for anything.”

Rama nodded and looked toward the darkness. He sighed.

Snowy sighed too. “If only there was something we could have done.” He scowled. “If we could have had somebody on the inside, we might have got her out of there.”

Rama looked at him and shook his head.

“I know,” said Snowy. “Wishful thinking. We don’t have anybody on the inside.”

Nigel smiled and flipped a switch on his console. “Actually,” he said, “we do.”

Maria and Galatea were approaching the tube connecting Green Comet and Blue Comet. The transparent tube made of ice, five meters in diameter and a kilometer long, looked frail and fragile between the two massive comets. It looked as if the slightest thing would snap it. But she remembered Stanton explaining how it was stronger than the comets. The water glass it was made of had more structural integrity than the comet material it was embedded in. Combined with the branching network of corridors it connected to, it was almost as if it was the foundation and the comets were added on to it. It was even enough to convince the Doctor, who had a pathological phobia about being exposed to the bottomless void. They were able to convince him to take the tube across, providing he was able to wear his pressure suit.

That toughness of the water glass was the problem they had to solve. Even in their smashers they wouldn’t be able to break it with a hammer. Not even one of the big ones designed for the smashers. Rather, they would be able to, but it would take too long. Before they could even make a good start on it, the guards would be alerted and would come out and stop them. They needed something that could sever the tube before the Francesians became aware that anything was happening.

They considered lasers, but that meant bright lights and a big piece of equipment. They almost went with a hot wire. It was quiet and elegant, and could be done fairly quickly. Unfortunately the simulations showed that they couldn’t count on the severed segments not simply re-freezing together behind the wire. In the end they went with explosives. Crude, noisy and decidedly inelegant, but simple, quick and effective.

Maria activated the bees in her ear and spoke to the command center. She said, “Unit one in position.”

Buzzard and Stanton approached the Indigo end of their tube from opposite sides. When they were about a hundred meters from it, they stopped. That was the protocol they had settled on in their planning sessions. They would be widely separated to lessen the chance of both of them being discovered, and they would settle down for a period of observation before moving in to complete their mission. No one thought it would really be necessary to be that cautious. They didn’t think anyone would be expecting this. They especially didn’t think anyone would be outside keeping watch. This was the plan, though, and this is what they would do.

As they remained still and their breathing slowed down, along with their blood and their minds, the world seemed to get quiet. Then details began to come out of the black on black landscape. Illuminated only by the stars, they were still able to see gradations in the darkness. It was so dim though, that they could see better with their peripheral vision than with their central vision. If something caught the corner of their eye, it disappeared when they tried to look at it. If they wanted to examine something then they had to look past it to see it. It made for uncertainty. If they had been suggestible, then they might have begun to see all sorts of things creeping about.

Stanton activated his bees and reported in. “Team two in position,” he said. They’d heard Maria announce her position a few minutes ago, and in a few more they heard the third tube team check in on the unnamed comet. Now they all had to wait for the main team setting up on Blue Comet itself, and that might be a while because theirs was the most complex operation. That meant waiting, with nothing to do but think and watch shadows.

Buzzard was the first to speak. “Stanton?” he said.

Stanton roused from a semi-meditative state. “Yes, Buzzard?” he said. Officially they were meant to maintain strict radio silence except when required by their mission, but he didn’t think the Francesians knew about the bees, and Buzzard was on their low power, short range channel anyway.

Buzzard hesitated, then said, “Nothing.”

“It was so something,” said Stanton. “Tell me.”

Buzzard hesitated a little longer, then said, “Do you think there’s anyone out here?”

“Only us,” said Stanton. “Why?”

Sounding reluctant, Buzzard said, “I keep thinking I’m seeing something moving.”

“Where?”

“Over there,” said Buzzard, pointing. Realizing his mistake, he said, “To the left of where I think you are. To your right, if you’re facing me.”

Stanton looked in that direction, and of course saw nothing. “There’s nothing there, Buzzard. It’s probably your imagination. You know how our minds play tricks on themselves.”

“Yes,” said Buzzard, unenthusiastically.

“You’re looking really hard for something, but there’s nothing to see. There’s not enough information to give you a good picture, so your mind is trying to fill in the blanks.”

Buzzard nodded, then said, “You’re right. That’s probably it.” He settled down to wait, scanning the comet’s shadows.

At the big hatch the main team was just finishing setting up. The rocket tubes were embedded in the ground and the netting was strung between them. The team members were dispersed around the hatch and now they were all reporting their readiness to the team leader. Anyone looking at the scene would see nothing unusual. The rockets, the netting, the smashers and their suits were all dark and non-reflective. The gear was hidden in cracks and crannies, and where necessary, covered with a skiff of dark snow. The people, in their suits and smashers, were all hunkered down in the shadows. What shadows there were in starlight.

They weren’t too concerned about being discovered. They were sure the Francesians weren’t in the habit of making very many surface patrols. Observation had shown that they were making fewer patrols all the time, no doubt due to a combination of hubris in the leadership and low morale and laziness among the troops. Things had been going their way for so long, with so little resistance, that precautions had become rote and discipline simulated. The revolutionaries weren’t worried about being discovered, but their precautions were earnest and their discipline honest.

They were in position now and all they had to do was wait. They expected, when the other teams severed the three tubes connecting Blue Comet to the rest of the hexamer, that the Francesians would send soldiers out through the big hatch to begin a counterattack. There would be men in pressure suits and military smashers, and possibly some light vessels as well. They couldn’t be allowed to disperse and become a threat, so they had to be stopped here. They would be at their most vulnerable as they were emerging, and that’s when the team would strike.

The team leader activated her bees. “Main team in position,” she said.

Rama asked, “Scarface?”

“Yes,” said Nigel. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that a robot can’t be smart enough to sneak her out of there. Right?”

Rama nodded.

“And anyway, won’t the place be full of Francesians and their guards and soldiers?”

Rama nodded again.

Nigel nodded. “I thought so,” he said. “Maybe he’s not smart enough, but I am. I’ve used him like this before and he’s done fine.” He looked at Rama’s face, but it was neutral, so he carried on. “As for the Francesians, I think that once the excitement starts they’ll leave the square and retreat to more secure areas, along with their guards. And the soldiers will go to the critical areas to defend them. I’m hoping that the square will be empty.”

Rama didn’t quite nod. He looked sceptical.

“I agree,” said Nigel. “It might be wishful thinking. But I think we should prepare for it, just in case it works out.” He waited.

Rama thought about it, weighing the possibility of rescuing Fran against the potential for damaging the overall plan. In a few seconds he came to a conclusion. He looked at Nigel and smiled. “Scarface,” he said.

Maria went first, while Galatea hung back in the shadows. They both had an explosive device, each capable of taking out the tube on its own. This was another example of the redundancy built into the plan. If one of them was stopped, the other one still had a chance of completing the mission.

No one stopped her. She walked out onto the tube and stuck her device to it about ten meters out. They wanted to break the tube while minimizing any damage to Green Comet’s pressure door. She noted that the door was closed and appeared to be sealed. She walked back to her position a hundred meters away and hunkered down in the shadows to wait. She used the bees to call in their status.

Team three on the unnamed comet called in next. Their bomb was in place and ready to be detonated. Now they were only waiting for Buzzard’s team to report their readiness, then they’d be able to set the plan in motion.

While they waited they sent out the assault teams that would take care of any Francesian soldiers who thought they could use the breached tubes to get out and cause trouble. The stealth phase was over now so they could head for their destinations at full speed without worrying about the consequences of being detected. Once Stanton called in there would be no more need for that.

Stanton was too busy to call in. He was being pursued. He didn’t know who they were, but he was sure there were at least two of them. He hadn’t been able to identify them in the brief glimpse he got before turning and fleeing. They didn’t have any insignia on their pressure suits or their service packs, and he was sure Francesian soldiers would. He didn’t spend any time worrying about who they were, though. He had seen the rifles they were carrying and they had already been bringing them to bear on him. He couldn’t hear them shooting at him, of course, but he had seen at least one puff of a bullet striking the comet ahead of him. His back crawled as he concentrated on leading them as far away from the tube and Buzzard as possible. “Buzzard,” he said, the pitch of his voice surprising him, “they’ve seen me.”

“Stanton?” said Buzzard.

“They’re chasing me. They have rifles. I’m leading them away. It’s up to you.” It sounded like he grunted on the last word.

“Stanton? Stanton?”

Stanton was panting when he said, “It’s up to you, Buzzard. Do it. Do it.”

Buzzard heard no more. His mind spun with fear and concern for Stanton. His boss. His mentor. The closest thing he had to a father. He didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t know if Stanton was all right, or if he had just sacrificed himself. That’s what snapped him out of it. If Stanton had sacrificed himself, then he couldn’t waste it. He had to complete the mission.

He set out for the tube, forsaking any thoughts of stealth or caution. He got out his device and, after some thought, set it to detonate in one minute. He could cross the hundred meters to the tube in a few seconds, with a few seconds more to place the bomb. That would give him time to get out of range before it went off. More importantly, it would go off whether or not he was incapacitated.

He was just stepping out onto the tube when his faceplate filled with cracks. He clapped a hand over it to keep it in place as he felt the impact of more bullets. He kept his service pack and the bulk of the smasher in the way as he stuck the bomb to the tube and activated his bees. “Unit two to command,” he said. “Device in place and set to explode in thirty-seven seconds.” He felt more impacts. “Under attack by unknown force. Stanton gone. I think he’s ...” He sobbed. The last thing he said was, “Detonation in twenty seconds. Buzzard out.”

“Buzzard?” Nigel was stunned. He tried again. “Buzzard?”

“Nigel,” said Rama.

That brought him back to his console, and its clock. Less than ten seconds. “Units one and three prepare to detonate in five seconds.” When they acknowledged, he counted the last two seconds and all three charges exploded almost simultaneously. “Units one through three report,” he ordered.

“Unit one successful,” said Maria’s voice. “Tube severed.”

She was followed by silence as they waited for Stanton to report for unit two. After a few seconds unit three reported. “Unit three successful,” they heard. A remarkably long speech for a hypersynesthete, but they’d all agreed to the need for clarity. “Tube severed.”

“Roger units one and three,” said Nigel. “Unit two report.” He waited a couple of seconds, thought it was longer. “Unit two? Buzzard? Stanton?”

“Nigel, what’s happening?” It was Maria.

Nigel swallowed and said, “I don’t know, Maria. I can’t raise them.”

Galatea cut in, her voice harsh. “Try again,” she demanded. “Try again.”

“Of course,” said Nigel. “Unit two, this is the command center. Report.” Pause. “Unit two, report. Stanton. Buzzard.” He got nothing in return except silence. Finally he said, “Maria. Galatea. I can’t raise them. Buzzard reported that someone was shooting at them, so he set their bomb on a timer. We haven’t heard from them since.”

“Who was shooting at them?” asked Galatea. “Was it the Francesians?” Anyone who heard her would not want to let on if they were a Francesian.

“We don’t know, Gay,” said Nigel. “You know as much as we do now. You’d better come in. Team three, you come in too. Your job is done out there and the armed squads are on their way to lock it down.”

Tube team three acknowledged and headed back, but Maria and Galatea said nothing.

“Team one, report,” said Nigel. “Maria? Galatea? Come back in now.” Silence. Not even any indication that the connection was open, nor that their bees were even on. “Come on you two. Come back in now.” Stubborn silence. “You guys, the armed squad is on its way and they’ll take care of things.” He knew what they were doing. “Look,” he said, “whoever’s out there, they have guns and you don’t. And they know the territory and you don’t. There’s nothing you can do.” He knew he wasn’t getting through to them, but he tried one more time. “You’re just going to make it harder for our people. They won’t know whether you’re in their line of fire.”

That got a response. “Tell them not to worry,” said Maria. “We’re not going to get too close. We just have to see what’s going on.”

Nigel’s throat filled up with arguments and pleading, but he understood what his friends needed to do. “All right,” he said. “But you guys be careful. And call in once in a while. Let us know how you are.”

“We will, Nigel,” said Maria, and signed off.

Nigel straightened up and took a deep breath. He hadn’t realized he’d been hunched over, and he stretched his back and neck to relieve the tension. He was reviewing what happened when Rama spoke again.

“Nigel,” he said.

“Right,” said Nigel, refocusing on his console. “Main team,” he said, “tubes one and three confirmed destroyed, and tube two presumed destroyed. Prepare for action at the hatch.”

“Control center, this is main team,” came the reply. “In position and all set.”

“Roger that,” said Nigel. “Squads one, two and three, be advised tubes destroyed. Proceed with all haste at your discretion.” When they confirmed that he said, “Squad two. Be advised that unit two was met with armed resistance. We don’t know the status of our people, but they are presumed to be captured, injured or dead.” He had to take a moment to get his voice back, but no one interrupted. “We don’t know the identity of their attackers, or their number, but we do know that they are armed and will shoot without warning. Proceed with due caution.”

Unit two responded firmly, all business, and Nigel knew that situation was in good hands. He looked at Rama, who nodded calmly, then at the Doctor and Snowy. Lord Snowden’s face was knotted with worry, and he kept tugging at his ratty old vest, trying to cover his bony chest. The Doctor looked grim and determined while he absently turned a medical instrument in his hands.

Nigel looked past them into the darkness, and he remembered Elgin. Shouldn’t he be here by now? His stomach clenched when he thought of what he had to tell him, and he opened the channel.

Chapter Thirty-nine – Saving Frances

Nigel tried to raise Elgin, but he got no reply. “He must be singing a route,” he told the others. “He’ll call when he gets a chance.” He thought it was odd, though. Elgin should have been back now, or at least close. Why would he still be on a route that needed singing?

Elgin wasn’t close. He was running for his life. He was being chased by about twenty men. He assumed they were Francesian guards, a suspicion supported by the fact that they had shot at him. It was only the once, and just a few shots, but it had been enough to interfere with the calm concentration needed to properly navigate. He didn’t know why they stopped shooting at him, but he thought he knew how they got here.

Just before the shots someone said, “We can hear you singing, Elgin.” The voice was taunting and familiar. Elgin scowled at the betrayal, which was at least as bad for his concentration as the shots were. He had thought that he and Norton had become friends. At least as confounding as that was the fact that Rama and the hypers had accepted him. They had entrusted him with a secret mission and now here he was leading the enemy into their stronghold.

Elgin scowled, his face setting into the glowering mask that had frightened more than a few, friend and foe alike. He deactivated his bees, realizing when he did so that this must mean that Norton had told the Francesians about them, too. What did that mean for the security of their communications? Were the other missions flying into traps? The glower grew deeper, and Elgin began to plan a new route. If they wanted to follow him, fine, but he wasn’t going to lead them back to his friends. His real friends.

He took the first marked passage and began its song. He locked his mind down, locked it onto the correct tempo, and set his flying speed. This was going to take all his skill and training. He was going to have to use everything that Nana had taught him. The Singer. If only she could be here with him. He needed her knowledge and experience now.

Elgin set his jaw so hard that he ground his teeth. He had to stop this. Nana was gone. He was the Singer now. She wouldn’t hesitate to remind him of that if she were here, but she was gone and now there was only him. If this was going to work, it would be because of what she taught him, and how well he learned it. And one more thing. Something she hadn’t taught him. He glanced back and saw that the men were gaining on him. They would catch him before he could reach the point where he could make his plan work. He had to change the variables.

He made the next marked turn, and they were close enough to see where he went. He increased his thrust enough to exactly double his speed, and he set his mental metronome to match. At least he hoped it would match. He was going to cover the distance in half the time, so he needed to sing the song at twice the rate. This had to work the first time or they would all be lost. No time for practise. No one had even thought of doing this before, much less tried it, but he had to keep ahead of his pursuers. There were no other options.

They couldn’t get through to Elgin, so Nigel checked on everyone else. Tube team three was on its way back and hadn’t encountered anyone yet. Team one was on its way from their tube to team two’s tube. Maria and Galatea needed to find out what happened to Buzzard and Stanton, but they hadn’t seen anything yet either. The main team was still waiting for the hatch to open. They’d heard activity in the big bay below the hatch, and they heard the pump come on to depressurize it, so they were expecting something soon. Squad one had reached the tube that connected Green Comet to Blue, but they weren’t seeing any activity. The other two armed squads were due to reach their tubes soon. Squad two was in communication with Maria and Galatea and expected to overtake them any minute.

With nothing going on, Nigel decided to check on Scarface and see what was happening in Blue square.

In a dim corner of the big blue square, a small form stirred. It probed the vast space with its senses: sight, hearing, radio, infrared. When it was sure it was alone, it began to move. It didn’t wonder why it had been left alone, nor why the creatures who kept it here had all gone away. It just began to follow the instructions it was receiving as it always had. It looked around for the oblong box made of ice, and found it against the wall where it had always been. Scarface stretched out his legs and moved in that direction.

Once there he closely examined the box and its fittings and connections. He soon seemed satisfied and began detaching the box from its station. That done, he immediately began hauling it toward the nearest exit. Then he stopped and paused, before turning and heading for another exit.

Scarface wasn’t thinking about it when he stopped. That was Nigel and Rama and the Doctor and Lord Snowden. They didn’t just have to get Fran out of the square, they had to get her off the comet. They wouldn’t be able to use the tubes, which were out of commission. They couldn’t use the big hatch, which would presumably be crawling with Francesian soldiers. There were no other obvious ways of getting out, so Nigel came up with something less obvious.

Scarface headed into the corridors and put some distance between himself and the blue square. Eventually he began working his way toward the surface, the corridors getting progressively smaller as they went.

Elgin finally put some distance between himself and Norton. He smiled with satisfaction at besting the traitor, then almost lost his place for thinking about him. He forced his mind back onto the job and chastised himself for letting his emotions interfere. There would be plenty of time for gloating if this worked. Until then the only thing that mattered was getting the job done.

He arrived at the next marked turn right on time, then flew on for a few more meters while he finished the coda. He nodded when he saw the correct patch of reflective paint. When they laid out these routes, they planned for the possibility that they would have intruders. In case the unwanted guests thought they could simply follow the blazes of paint, they included some dummy markers to throw them off. The false trails led to dead ends, or simply came around in circles. The detours would delay and frustrate any invaders at least. Even better, it would leave them unsure of how to continue. They’d realize that they couldn’t count on anything. In some cases they could end up irretrievably lost. They might wander for a couple of days until their suits could no longer sustain them, and they’d die in an anonymous crack in the belly of the comet.

Of course Norton knew this, so they would be watching for it. He couldn’t be counted on to turn at the first marker. He would probably have the men look around and it wouldn’t take long to find the second one. The ruse would only slightly slow them down at best. That’s why Elgin’s plan had another layer.

The hatch slowly began to open, and the main team’s focus intensified. The cover swung up on its hinges, letting light out of the bay. When it reached the vertical, the team launched the first set of rockets as planned. It was just in time as it turned out, because the net caught the first vessel just as it rose above the opening. The rockets arced over and plunged into the ground, pinning the corners of the netting. The net struck the open face of the hatch and slid down to form a tight seal on the hinge. The center of the net bulged with the rising vessel, then rebounded back down.

At the four corners of the open hatch, surveillance cameras snaked up and peered over into the bay, giving the team a comprehensive view of what was happening in there. It was havoc. It looked as if another vessel must have been following the first one out and they collided. There were two of them careening about, both still under power, and another half dozen sitting on the deck, ready to go. Men were boiling out of those six and joining the others in pressure suits desperately looking for any kind of cover.

One of the two moving vessels flew upward, striking the netting at an angle, and rebounding with an added vigorous spin. Its pilot should be commended because he finally managed to cut the power, as did his comrade in the other one moments later. Now it was just a matter of bouncing around until they bled off their kinetic energy. Eventually they would slow down and their momentum would be low enough that they could be safely captured and secured. Until then, their passengers remained inside and the rest of the soldiers remained in hiding.

Maria and Galatea were within a kilometer of the Indigo tube. They’d flown from the Green tube down to Red Comet and around to the tube connecting Red to Indigo. That’s where they met up with squad two, which escorted them around Indigo to the tube connecting it to Blue. They were approaching very slowly now, the squad fanned out ahead of them, expecting the shadows to start shooting at them any moment.

The squad consisted of twelve people, six in smashers and six just in pressure suits. The ones in suits carried rifles and had pistols stuck to their thighs. The ones in smashers had pistols too, but they also had heavier projectile weapons attached to their exoskeletons. A couple of the women in suits offered Maria and Galatea their pistols. For personal protection, they said, in case things got crazy. Maria declined. She reasoned that she would be safer if the pistol was in the hand of someone who had trained to use it. Galatea took hers and let the woman give her a quick lesson in its use. She showed her how to attach it to her thigh and how to disengage the safety, and Galatea told her that was all she needed to know. “It’s just point and shoot, isn’t it?” she said.

Maria looked at her friend, but it was nearly impossible to read someone when they were in a suit and smasher. “Gay?” she said.

“What?”

Maria was startled by the brusqueness. “What’s the plan?” she asked.

“Protection,” said Galatea. “Like they said. In case it gets crazy.” She patted the pistol and moved off to re-establish their hundred meter separation.

“Okay,” said Maria, unconvinced. She moved, rejoining the advance. As she slid from shadow to shadow, she hoped her friend wasn’t planning anything dangerous.

Team three arrived back at their entry point, but there was no one there to guide them back to the control center. They called and Nigel told them he hadn’t heard from Elgin in a while. He advised them to stand by and he tried again to raise Elgin on the general channel. Once again there was no reply. Nigel was getting genuinely worried.

Elgin didn’t have time to worry. He had gained on his pursuers, but he could already see the light that preceded them. He didn’t have long, so he got right to work. The first thing he did was take a single bee and send it up high on the wall. Then he punched the snow at the corner leading to the marked opening. He nodded at the effect, snow twinkling in his light as it sifted over the opening, then crossed the cleft to a small, dark opening on the other side. Being careful not to let his suit touch anything, he eased his way into the hole. Carefully, resisting the growing urge to hurry, fearing that they would arrive any second and see his feet, he wormed his way forward.

He was able to watch them arrive, using the small monitor in his helmet to display the information being sent by the bee he’d left out there. He’d set it on a different channel from the one Norton was on, hoping they wouldn’t be able to guess it.

So far all he could see was their lights as they appeared to stop at the first mark. He thought he was far enough in now to be hidden, but he kept going for a few more meters anyway. It didn’t cost him anything to do so, and it couldn’t hurt to be that little bit better hidden. Still he felt oddly exposed, not being able to see behind him. He knew it was irrational, but his feet felt as big as suitcases back there, and he badly wanted to turn around so he could be facing the danger. He told himself to stop being foolish and watched his enemies on the monitor.

They seemed to make a decision and he saw them come into sight, and then mill around when they discovered the second mark. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, of course, nor see their faces very well, but he got the sense that they were indecisive. From the way they held their bodies and moved their limbs, he could tell that they must be unsure about which route to take. Eventually he saw them all focus on the two men who were closest to the opening.

Elgin didn’t know why, but he assumed that one of the two was Norton. He looked more closely at the other one and noticed that there were markings on his suit. Insignia. He gave a little gasp of recognition when he realized he’d seen those insignia before. They were worn by someone who met them when they arrived at Green Comet on the Ball. Someone who accompanied them on their visits to Blue Comet to see the Big F. It was the Commander. That gave him a chill. If he was here then this wasn’t some ad hoc pursuit. This was an important mission, and one that had been planned.

How far back did Norton’s deceit go? Had he been a spy since they first met him? Was meeting them all part of a long term plan? Elgin got another chill as he realized how out of their depth they were when dealing with these people. He looked at them now in a new light. They didn’t represent an adversary in an honorable conflict. They were dangerous. Lethally so. And it would be foolish to treat them as anything else. Elgin’s lips curled back from his teeth and he muttered, “Come on. Make up your minds.”

The careening vessels in the bay under the hatch finally slowed down enough that a few brave men ventured out to try to catch them. It quickly became a game of dodging and weaving around, avoiding being struck while at the same time arranging to hit one of them in such a way that it lost some of its momentum. They got quite good at it and watching them became enjoyable, somewhat like watching a flashball game. They didn’t become so engrossed in watching, though, that they didn’t notice the man with the cutters. He crept up the side of the bay then, under cover of the overhang, reached up and began snipping at the net. Once they saw him they soon picked out the other three at the other sides of the opening. At the rate they were cutting, it looked as if the net would be free in less than fifteen minutes.

They were ready for this. They released some bees and guided them to the four targets, then ordered them into linear chains which then wrapped around the cutters’ hands, securing them to the netting. When the hypersynesthetes learned of Elgin’s and Buzzard’s invention, they liked it so much that they improved on it. While Elgin and Buzzard were focused on communication, the hypers realized that if the bees could come together for that, then they could come together for other things.

With four of their men hanging helplessly above them, the men back down on the floor raised their heads and began scanning the rim of the opening. They must have realized that they were being watched, and were looking for the watchers. At only a couple of millimeters across, the bee cameras were not likely to be spotted at that distance. They sent men to search, beginning at the corners. As the men loomed large, the team pulled the bees back, losing their surveillance.

They couldn’t have that. They needed to see what was going on. After a brief consultation, they sent the bees up high, where they could peer into the bay from a safe distance. They got into their new positions just in time.

The Francesian soldiers finally managed to get the rogue flyers under control, and now they were aiming lasers upward. They turned them on and began cutting the net, disregarding the men trapped up there. They cut through the net all the way around, severing four men’s hands. When it was free, they sent up one vessel into the middle of it, dragging it up and away. As soon as it began to open up, they launched four more flyers in a bid to escape.

The team was ready for this, too. As soon as the old net was high enough they launched two more rockets, which pulled another net across the opening. Once again it was a close thing, but they managed to capture three of the vessels. One of them escaped, though, and flew away at high speed.

Team three was still waiting on the far side of Green Comet for Elgin to come and guide them in. Squad three, guarding the tube they destroyed, was still reporting no activity. Squad one was also reporting no activity at the Green Comet tube. Team one was with squad two, closing carefully on the Indigo tube. Team two was still missing and they were increasingly sure that they were dead. No one said anything like that to Maria and Galatea, though. Especially Galatea. Especially anyone who got close enough to see her eyes.

You can’t hear when you’re being shot at in a vacuum. You only find out when the bullet hits you or, if you’re lucky, you see it hit something else. Rarely, if you happen to be looking in the right direction at the right time, you might see a muzzle flash. The woman in the smasher on point saw the flash and felt the bullet strike her. She would later say that she had no memory of returning fire, but her compatriots said the first indication they had of something going on was when her big weapons flared to life and obliterated a little hillock of snow about a hundred meters out. Seconds later they saw a pressure-suited body tumble slowly away.

One of her mates went to her aid, while others covered them, taking the occasional shot to keep any other shooters from getting too bold. She was beginning to get woozy by this time. Pain, shock, fear and the first signs of blood loss were setting in. Her friend found the wound right away. It was in her right thigh, and it looked bad. He could see chunks of frozen blood drifting away from the hole torn through her suit. He could also see that the suit was snugging down hard around the wound. There would be no more air or blood lost, so she was safe on that account, but it caused another problem. They had to get her back to the Doctor before the lack of blood began to cause necrosis in her lower leg.

The team leader told him to take her and go. Forget about stealth and hugging the surface or hiding behind tubes. Take the shortest route back to the point where they emerged from Green Comet and have Elgin, the Singer, lead them back to the control center. They took off without any further discussion, and everyone turned back to the job at hand. They were just in time to see Galatea halfway across neutral ground, flying at full speed with her pistol extended in front of her.

Elgin watched Norton and the Commander talk, trying to tell what they were saying by their posture and the way they were moving their arms. He couldn’t tell much. The way they were positioned, the Commander was facing more or less back the way they came, while Norton was looking at the second opening. He guessed they were trying to decide which way to go, and he knew it couldn’t be easy. They could have split up and gone both ways. Because they hadn’t he guessed that they didn’t want to do that. Maybe Norton warned them how easy it would be to get lost. Maybe the Commander wanted to maintain strength in numbers.

He saw them stop talking, or at least they were no longer waving their arms. The Commander turned to look where Norton was looking, and they moved in that direction, Norton pointing. They stopped and closely examined the opening, then the Commander went back to the corner and looked. He waved Norton over and pointed out where there was some snow knocked off.

Elgin smiled. “Good for you,” he said. “You found it.”

The Commander moved out into the open and gesticulated urgently. Apparently he’d been on the radio too, because his men rushed up to join him. He pointed at the opening and waved them in. After a final look around, he and Norton followed them.

Elgin waited five minutes, staring at an empty scene, then began to back out of the hole. Once out he contemplated retrieving the bee, but decided to leave it where it was. It could act as their sentinel in case the Francesian soldiers came back this way.

He crept forward to the corner and peeked around it. After a good long look, he decided they hadn’t left anyone behind. He flew ahead to the first opening and carefully peeked in, just in case. Again there was no one there. He took two deep breaths, calibrated his internal metronome, and took off, flying and singing at double speed.

Only when he had completed that route and the next, and he was back where he’d first encountered the soldiers, did he begin to feel safe. That’s when he re-activated his bees, switched channels and called the control center.

“Thank goodness you called,” said Nigel, his voice laden with relief. “Where have you been? We’ve got an emergency going on here.”

“I had a bit of an emergency of my own,” said Elgin. “What’s going on?”

Nigel hesitated. “First I have some bad news, Elgin,” he said.

Elgin’s heart clenched. “What?” he said. “Is it Fran?”

“No,” said Nigel. “Fran’s okay. We’re working on getting her out of there.” He paused. “It’s Stanton and Buzzard.”

“What about them?” Elgin’s brief relief turned to dread.

Nigel didn’t draw it out. “They were attacked. They’re missing and presumed dead.”

Elgin was silent for a long time. It wouldn’t register. It couldn’t be true. He’d just seen them a few hours ago. He shook his head and said through his rigid jaw, “Is that the emergency?”

“No,” said Nigel, grateful that Elgin wasn’t making it any more difficult. “A member of squad two has been seriously injured and she’s being brought back to their exit point. We need you to meet them and bring her back in for immediate medical attention.”

Elgin’s mind became all business. “Roger that,” he said. “What’s their ETA?”

Once they had that all sorted – flying at double speed he could get there just before they did – Elgin told Nigel about Norton and the Commander and the soldiers, and Nigel told Elgin about Maria and Galatea joining squad two. Elgin shook his head, his heart breaking for his friends. Then he shook it again more firmly and got to work. Wallowing in grief wasn’t going to get the injured woman the help she needed.

Scarface stopped at a small door, gently parking Frances’s sarcophagus. He hadn’t seen anyone on his way here, although once he did hear someone coming and had to duck into a side passage until they went by. Now he waited quietly, listening, to make sure there was nobody on the other side of the door. When he was sure, he carefully opened it and looked inside.

Actually it looked more like outside in there, with nothing to see except stars and blackness. He reached back and pulled Fran in, then shut the door and jammed the mechanism. Had Scarface been capable of awe, he would have been mesmerized by the view. It was as if they had emerged onto the surface of Blue Comet, with an unobstructed view of the cosmos. The ice shell between them and the void was of pristine clarity and it really did create the illusion of not being there. But he wasn’t capable of awe or any other emotion, so he ignored the view and got to work.

He stowed his package to one side and attached a cutting tool to the end of one of his arms. He selected a spot at top dead-center and began cutting. The hole would be rectangular and slightly larger than the cross section of Fran’s box. It would be about a half-hour of constant cutting before they would break through. Scarface didn’t hum while he worked. He didn’t even think. If he had been thinking, he might have been thinking about where they were, and how close they were to the hatch.

The version of Stanton’s bubble on Blue Comet, just as the original on Green Comet, was only a kilometer away from the hatch. While he was here with Fran, calmly cutting a hole in this fifteen meter hollow sphere embedded in the comet, a battle was being fought only a kilometer away. Scarface didn’t think about that, he just kept cutting. Other than the practical matter of the possible complications such proximity might bring, it had no significance. Not to him, anyway.

Maria took off after Galatea, then the squad leader took off after her. The two flankers advanced at high speed, laying down withering cover fire, while the rest of the squad tried to get into positions where they could join in without shooting their own people. Galatea reached the blasted hummock first and went directly to the body, which was still slowly tumbling. She stepped on it to get it to stop, then turned it so she could see the face. She was pointing her pistol at it when Maria caught up to her and put her hand on her arm.

“He’s dead, Gay,” she said. “You can see that.”

The squad leader arrived and waited at a respectful distance. He told the flankers to stand guard and brought the rest of the squad up to search. There was every indication that Stanton and Buzzard were attacked by more than one person, so they had to account for the others. They also had to find their point of egress – how they got out onto the surface – and that had to be secured. Then there was the important matter of confirming that the tube was severed, and completing the job if it wasn’t. Finally they had to find their friends, alive or dead, and bring them home. The squad quietly and efficiently executed their orders.

“Gay?” said Maria. “Come on.” She tugged her arm. “Let’s help them look.”

Galatea looked at her friend, then gently shook off her hand. “Okay,” she said, and made as if to go. Then she turned back and calmly shot the dead man in the face. She stuck the pistol on her thigh and said, “Okay. Let’s go.”

The vessel that escaped from the hatch was coincidentally flying in the direction of the bubble. The main team was ready for that, too. This contingency was covered by the people posted on the perimeter, about a hundred meters out from the hatch. Unfortunately, the vessel passed almost equidistant from two postings, and consequently near the limits of their effectiveness. They both launched their nets simultaneously and they both hit the target. One slipped off with little effect, but the other managed to snag it. Since the net was tethered, it swung the flyer down and smacked it onto the surface.

The impact jolted it free of the net and sent it tumbling away, damaged but still intact. The pilot was good. He recovered from the severe jolt and fought the vessel under control. Once stabilized they were free and flying away. The pilot was beginning to relax, the laughter of released tension bubbling in his throat, when they were struck out of nowhere by something small and hard.

The viewport filled with a pair of big, staring eyes, a face marred by a big scar and the gleaming dome of a head sporting a vee-shaped dent. Then a hand came up, holding a spinning cutting tool.

The searchers reported that the tube was successfully cut. In addition, the ends of the cut were already misaligned. With its three tubes detached, Blue Comet was already drifting away from the rest of the hexamer. That part of the plan was working. If the Francesians decided that they didn’t want to play nicely, then they could go off and play on their own. They took a page from the book of Plub, when he cut a section of the mat free on the Maker world and let his enemies drift away. It was not as dramatic as a big battle, but it was efficient and prevented a great many needless deaths. Plub made Maker history with that, and gave them hope for the future of the Maker people. It didn’t last long, of course. They soon reverted to their violent, irrational ways. It was nice for a while, though, and a good precedent for the current situation.

Not long after confirming separation, they found Stanton’s body. It was caught against an outcropping, and they could imagine him fleeing and being shot, then drifting until he ran into this bit of a protrusion. It was also easy to imagine that if he hadn’t stopped here he might have drifted indefinitely, breaking free of the comet’s weak gravitational pull. From the estimated trajectory, they couldn’t say for sure whether he would have struck one of the other comets or drifted away into the void.

Galatea pushed her way to the body, not caring whom she bumped or jostled. She gently took Stanton’s helmet and turned it so she could see his face. She had to blink furiously at the tears, but she could see his expression. It had pain and fear, of course, but she could also see peace and something that she could only call satisfaction. He must have had time to realize that his diversion was successful and Buzzard had destroyed the tube. Galatea saw the bullet holes and she put her hands over them, rubbing, trying to erase them. Then she stopped, forcing her hands to stop trying to fix what couldn’t be mended. She seized Stanton’s exoskeleton and began dragging it away, struggling in the direction of Green Comet. Taking her Stanton home. The squad leader gave an order and two people in pressure suits joined her, to escort her safely there. After a few tens of meters she stopped and looked back at Maria, asking a silent question. She would stay if her friend wanted her to, but Maria waved her on and said, “Go, Gay. Take him home. I’ll be all right.”

They never found Buzzard’s body. Their best guess was that it was blown away into space by the force of the explosion. Maria never had to suffer Galatea’s pain of seeing the horrible wounds on her lover’s body, but she also didn’t have anything to take home. That would leave her with an unresolved sense of loss for the rest of her life.

The main team subdued all resistance at the hatch and took control of the soldiers and their remaining vessels. Most of the small craft had some degree of damage from all the careening around they’d done in there. Of the four men who’d had their hands cut off in the effort to free the net, two survived. Their suits clamped down and kept them alive long enough to get the medical attention they needed. Morale was poor among the soldiers, and no one had much respect left for the chain of command.

Scarface cut the thrusters off his captured flyer and pushed it back in the direction of the hatch. Then he went back and got Fran and began towing her serenely toward Green Comet.

Elgin got to the meeting point before the wounded squad member and her escort. They waited for Galatea and her escort with Stanton’s body – it didn’t seem right with all that had happened, but they were only a few minutes behind – then Elgin led all of them back to the control center.

After that he sang his way to the far side of the comet and brought team three back in.

Finally he met Scarface and the two of them took Fran directly to the Hibernarium, where they hooked her up. Once it was confirmed that she was stabilized and would be all right, they would wake her up.

Chapter Forty – The Balcony

Fran came out of the apartment carrying a tray of iceberry tea and muffins. She glanced to the left of the balcony and smiled at the sight of the new iceberry patch started there. On the balcony she began with Rama, who was with Nigel, Lord Snowden and the Doctor. It was the first time here for Snowy and Rama, and she was glad they were with someone familiar. Next was Galatea, who was with Maria. They were both staring at a pair of men whose heads were shaved and covered in tattoos. Those men tried to look tough as they refused the offered tea, but they kept glancing nervously at Galatea. Finally she came to Norton and the Commander, who accepted graciously, while keeping a cautious eye on the bald men.

After giving Elgin his, and having him hold hers, Fran took the tray over to the edge of the balcony and handed it to Scarface to hold. The balcony was quite crowded feeling with twelve people, so Scarface was hovering just off of it, one setaed foot attached to keep him close. The tray he was holding had four teas and four muffins, two refused by their guests, and two served for the two men who couldn’t be here.

Fran joined Elgin and took the tea he held out to her. She turned to Maria and Galatea and raised her cup. “To missing friends,” she said.

Everyone there, except for the two strangers, raised their cups and said, “To missing friends.” Most of them were looking at Maria and Galatea when they did it, but those two were still looking at the two men, whose bald, tattooed heads gleamed with an oily sheen.

They had refused to give their names, saying that the state had no right to know them. They wouldn’t be bound by slave names and only used them in the sovereign state of Indigo, where men were free.

“Women too?” Fran had asked. When they stared at her stupidly she said, “Are women free in the sovereign state of Indigo?”

They both smiled, though they were more like knowing, sneering smirks, and one of them said, “They’re free to do as they’re told.” His eyes slid sideways as he felt Galatea’s eyes scorching the side of his head. “Make her stop,” he said. “Make her stop staring at us.”

Fran smiled at him and said, “She’s a free woman. She can stare at you if she wants.” She looked at Galatea and nodded, then back at the men. “You understand that, don’t you? You understand freedom.”

They scowled, not used to being treated this way, particularly by women. “We didn’t do anything wrong,” said the man. “We were defending ourselves. We were defending our sovereign territory.” They both straightened up with that, chins up, shoulders back.

“Yes you were,” said Fran, “and that’s the only reason you’re here as our guests rather than as our prisoners.”

They bridled, their eyes flashing and their hands reaching instinctively to rest on the butts of their weapons. They found nothing and tried to look as if it hadn’t happened.

“That’s right,” said Fran. “We took your weapons away. I’m sorry if it makes you feel naked.” She watched them try to regain their haughty confidence, and fail. “Given your lack of discipline in their use, we thought it best.”

They stared at her in shock and anger. “Discipline?” said the spokesman. “You talk to us about discipline? We’re the only ones with the discipline to remain free. The rest of you are soft and dependent on authority.” They stood there, trying to stare everyone down from their pedestal of superiority, but they couldn’t stop their eyes from sliding sideways.

The two women were still staring at them. Maria’s face was mostly sad, maybe even a little empathetic. It wasn’t threatening. Galatea’s face was another matter. There was no empathy there at all. The eyes were as hard as stones and the little smile was nasty and cruel. Her hand rested on the butt of the pistol that she had been wearing ever since that day. The men’s hands once again reached unconsciously for their weapons, and found nothing.

“Yes,” said Fran. “Discipline. How else do you explain killing two unarmed men without warning? If you had any discipline, why would you shoot at people before you even found out why they were there?”

“We don’t need an excuse to defend our sovereign territory against the illegitimate state.”

“But those two men didn’t represent the state, did they? Something you could have found out if you’d exercised a little discipline.” Fran stopped talking and turned away, a hard lump painfully blocking her throat.

“How were we supposed to know that?” The man moved toward her. “Hey! I’m talking to you.”

“Shut up.” Galatea’s voice was soft and low. “Back up. She’s done talking to you.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.” He turned on her, perhaps thinking that here was a woman who needed to learn her place. Then he saw the eager anticipation on her face, and he knew then that the pistol wasn’t just for show. He allowed his partner to pull him back, saving what face he could.

Galatea resisted Maria’s hand at first. She didn’t want it to be over. She wanted the man to try something. She wanted an excuse to shoot him. She would shoot his friend too, if they would give her the least reason. As far as she knew, these were the ones who had killed her Stanton, a better man than both of them put together. They deserved to die. But they wouldn’t give her the opening. They wouldn’t even look at her now, the cowards. Finally she let Maria pull her back, and she let her hand draw away from the pistol grip.

“Rabbits.” All eyes turned to look at Rama, who was looking at the tattooed men.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” barked the man, his face reddening.

Lord Snowden chose to interpret for him. “After you ambushed squad two, who were there to stop any Francesians from using the broken tube, they searched for you. All they found was your bolt hole. Your rabbit hole.”

That infuriated them. They were accustomed to thinking of themselves as predators, like hawks and wolves. “You watch what you say,” said the man, pointing a shaking finger.

“Truce,” said Rama.

“That’s right,” said Nigel. “You came here under a truce. You’re hoping to negotiate an arrangement with us, now that we’ve removed your old enemy for you.” He saw the man’s face shift. “Only they weren’t exactly the enemy, were they? You’ve been doing business with them all along, haven’t you?”

They looked as if they wanted to deny it, but they knew they couldn’t.

“You’re not quite as independent as you make out to be, are you?” Nigel bored right in. “You depended on them for certain essential goods that you can’t produce yourselves.” He let them think about that.

Rama looked around at everyone, then right at the Indigoans. “Treaty,” he said.

Their pride almost got the better of them. They looked as if they were ready to leave and turn their back on the rest of the hexamer again. Nigel stopped them.

“You’re hoping to negotiate a treaty with us now, to replace your source,” he said. “We’re willing to do business with you, but only openly. We’re not prepared to do business with people we can’t trust. People who hide in their rabbit holes and snipe at anyone who goes by.”

“So?” said the man. “What are you going to do about it?” He just wanted to get back home where people listened to him and didn’t try to make him look bad.

“We will do the same thing we did to the Francesians. We will cut Indigo Comet loose, just as we did Blue Comet, and you can have all the independence you want.”

They were speechless. They looked around at everyone and saw a unity of calm resolution, and they had no doubt that it would happen. They left without another word, their backs stiff as they flew across the Square, almost as if they might be anticipating a bullet between the shoulder blades.

The people on the balcony watched in silence until the two men passed through the red exit and out of sight. The first one to speak was Elgin. He said, “I know what Stanton would have said. He’d have said, ‘Good riddance. I hope they choose independence.’”

During a small round of agreeable laughter Galatea said, “That’s right. That’s exactly what he’d say.” She took her hand off the pistol and picked up her muffin. While her jaws powerfully ground it, she picked up her tea for a big slurp. “Exactly.” She took another bite, still staring at the red exit.

Fran’s eye had wandered to the orange wall where crowds of people were clustered around the working parts of the window. She smiled and said, “That is good to see.”

Elgin looked and said, “Yes. One of the worst things was being cut off from Orange Comet.”

They all agreed with that, then Norton said, “One of the worst, for sure. Maybe not the worst.” When they looked at him he put his nose in the air and sniffed. That brought a gale of laughter and a spate of stories about how bad the stink used to be. He looked at Elgin and said, “Once we got at it, it didn’t take long at all, did it?”

“No,” said Elgin. “But then, with you breaking it and me fixing it all those times, we got plenty of practise.”

“That’s right,” said Norton, then he looked at the apartment. “Not that you spent all of your time fixing things though, eh?”

Elgin looked and recalled his little confrontation with the Francesians in their shrine. He chuckled when he remembered the things and the people he’d flung out into the Square. With a wink at Norton and a look at Fran, he said, “I don’t know. I thought of that as tidying up.”

Fran was still laughing when she said, “Tell me again how you got lost, Norton.” She shrugged and added, “I seem to sleep through all the good stuff.”

Norton looked at the Commander apologetically, and the Commander narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m sorry, Commander,” he said. “It was my mission.”

The Commander held the stare a little longer, then clapped Norton on the shoulder and said, “Well played, my friend. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m glad you did it, and glad it worked.”

Norton let his breath out. “Thank you. You’re a good man and I feel bad for tricking you.” He smiled. “Not that I wouldn’t do it again, of course.”

“Of course,” said the Commander. “I would expect nothing less. Go on with the story.”

“Okay,” said Norton. “So, it was my secret mission to pretend to be a traitor and bring a bunch of soldiers down there. It was just an added bonus that the Commander was one of them.”

“Lucky me,” said the Commander.

Elgin said, “It was a really good secret, Norton. I hated you for betraying us.”

“Thank you,” said Norton. “Anyway, I knew where you would be, so I led them there. I knew that you would lead us away from the control center, so I gave you that warning and a head start.”

“That was a warning? I thought you were taunting me. Especially when you started shooting.”

Norton looked abashed and the Commander said, “Sorry about that. Some of them are more excitable than smart.”

Norton said, “That was not part of the plan, believe me.”

“I believe you,” said Elgin. “Carry on.”

“Okay. So I practised how I would follow you and keep just the right distance, and then you just about lost us by going faster. We had to scramble to keep up.”

“Sorry,” said Elgin with a grin.

“Yeah, well, I figured it out and it worked out perfectly. When I saw the evidence you left at that corner, the snow, I had to pretend to notice it at about the same time as the Commander. And it was a real struggle to not look around and try to see where you might be hiding.”

“You knew I hadn’t gone that way?”

“I had a pretty good idea,” said Norton. “It would work either way, though. With the time we spent there, we couldn’t be sure that you hadn’t eluded us. Then it was just a matter of a wrong turn or two, and twenty soldiers were out of it.”

“And you,” said Fran. “You could have died there.”

“He almost did,” said the Commander. “After the first day, I had some trouble controlling the men. They wanted to blame someone, and Norton was the obvious target.”

“Did you suspect him?” asked Fran.

“Yes. I was pretty sure I knew what he’d done.”

“Then why did you spare him?”

“Why not? It would have been pointless revenge.”

Fran’s smile warmed him through. “I knew I saw a good man in that uniform, Commander. I would be pleased if you would stay when the Francesians leave.”

The Commander was quiet. He sipped his tea and looked out over the Square, which was brightly lighted and vibrant with activity. At that moment another couple of meters of the window came to life and the people down there cheered and rushed over to use it. The Square was looking good and getting better as people worked on it. It would be good to stay here and be part of the rebuilding. The enthusiasm and optimism were attractive. These people were the kind of people he would like to spend some time with. But he finished his tea and shook his head. He said, “Thank you for the offer, but I have to get back.”

Fran’s face fell. “Of course you do,” she said. “You have to tell her the conditions if they want to stay here.”

He nodded. “She won’t accept them. In her mind, Francesianism can’t be subordinate to anything. Particularly secular governance.”

“It’s non-negotiable I’m afraid,” said Fran.

“I know,” he said. “I think you’re right. I think they’re going to go.”

“To that small world?”

“In the asteroid belt in the system we saved from the Visitor. I think two balls should take everyone who wants to go.”

“We’ll have to build one,” said Elgin. “There’s the Ball ...” Saying that made it real. That was Stanton’s Ball. The original. It had been their home for many adventures. “Maybe we’ll have to build two,” he said.

He heard a little hiccup and turned to see Maria crying. It was a surprise because she’d been so strong since Buzzard died, taking care of Galatea in her grief and anger. Now for some reason her fortifications gave way and she began to cry inconsolably. Was it something to do with the Ball? Did the conversation trigger some little memory of Buzzard? Maybe it was just that the bald-headed men were gone and Galatea didn’t need her so much. Whatever it was, she let it go and sobbed with her whole body. Now Galatea put her left arm around her, so as not to bump the pistol on her right thigh, and led her into the apartment, murmuring gently.

The rest of them looked at each other, most of them brushing away tears of their own. The Doctor was smiling through his tears, nodding his head at Fran. She also smiled as she shook away her tears. They had shared their concerns as Maria went day after day suppressing her grief, so this was a relief.

Fran turned back to the Commander. She cleared the tears out of her throat and said, “It will take a few months to prepare two balls. Blue Comet will have to remain unattached for that time. The Francesians have chosen to no longer be a part of us, so they will remain apart. You, of course, are free to come and go. Maybe one of those times we’ll be able to convince you to stay for good.”

“Maybe,” he said. “That’s a risk I’ll have to take. But I don’t think I’ll change my mind.” His face firmed up. “For all their faults, they’re my people and it’s my job to protect them. You tempt me, but my duty calls me.” He tugged his tunic, straightening it.

Fran had a sad smile. “Of course it does,” she said. “And you will answer because you’re too good a man not to.” She flew up close and hugged him. She squeezed him hard and said, “Our loss is their gain. Take care of your people Commander.”

He didn’t trust his voice so he just looked at everyone, nodded, and flew away across the Square.

Just about the time the Commander went out the red exit, two figures entered by the far opening in the green wall on their left. The only thing of any note up that hallway was the planning committee meeting room.

“It’s them,” Nigel said. “The meeting must be over at last.”

They were coming this way and it soon became clear that Nigel was right. Winston was recognizable first. His size and shape and generous features were unique and easily seen. They had to come closer before Minder could be identified, but they were sure it was him anyway.

When they got close enough Minder called out, “Sorry we’re late. The meeting dragged on and we couldn’t leave.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” said Fran. “The chair and his special adviser have to stay until the end.” She went and got the tray from Scarface and offered them tea and muffins as they landed on the balcony. “The Indigo delegation didn’t want any, so you can have theirs.” She gave the tray and its two remaining servings back to the little robot.

As soon as Minder and Winston had their first sips, Rama asked, “Comets?”

They looked at Nigel and he interpreted. “How did the talks with Cloud City go?” The comets assembled to destroy the Visitor ended up being struck by a lot of its debris, and now there were permanent communities out there mining the resources. They refused to kowtow to the Francesians and had cut off contact with the hexamer.

Winston opened his wide mouth, and his deep voice croaked up out of his chest. “They are open to our proposal. They agree that it is in everyone’s interest to re-unite with us.” His chuckle was a deep rumble. “They just want to wait a while and make sure that we’ve really got things settled.”

“Smart,” said Rama. He didn’t need Nigel to interpret that.

“Yes,” said Elgin. “I don’t blame them at all.” He glanced toward the red exit, where the Commander had gone to return to Blue Comet. “Maybe they will feel safe after the Francesians have left.”

Winston nodded. “That’s the impression I got,” he said. “They don’t trust the Francesians, and I don’t think they fully trust us to handle them.” Minder nodded his agreement, little glimmers of light in his cheeks.

“I think that’s wise, given their situation,” said Elgin. “They’re vulnerable out there, and they can’t really be sure of anything they hear.” He looked at Fran.

She nodded and said, “That’s right. I’m sure we’d do the same thing, wouldn’t we? They’ll come when they’re ready. There’s no rush.” She looked at her empty cup. “Does anyone want more tea? Muffins? There’s plenty.”

They did, and when she went inside she found Maria and Galatea puffy-eyed and sniffling, but ready to help. This time there were two trays, one holding six servings, the other seven, one carried by Maria and the other by Galatea. After everyone was served, they each gave Scarface a tray holding one tea and one muffin, for their missing loves. It helped.

After they’d all had a taste, Rama spoke again. He said, “Bees.”

Nigel said, “That’s right. Rama wanted to be sure to thank you, Elgin, and Buzzard, of course” – he looked at Maria, concerned, but she just nodded and smiled through fresh tears – “to thank you for the idea of using the bees to make communication devices. It turned out to be very useful.” He looked at Rama.

Rama nodded and looked at Elgin, then Norton. “Soldiers,” he said.

“The Underground,” Nigel continued, “was able to adapt the idea to make other things, like restraints. When you and Norton led those soldiers into a trap, that left few enough up here that they could be captured and restrained by strings made of bees.”

“Bee strings,” quipped Snowy, to a round of groans. He grinned and smoothed down the pocket flaps on his brand new vest. Other than the Commander, he was the only one still wearing clothes. He was used to his vest. It was part of him.

“That wasn’t all though, was it?” said Fran. “You used them to incapacitate the soldiers who were trying to cut the net on the hatch.” She frowned when she remembered what happened to them – two dead and two needing to regrow a hand. Elgin noticed and put his arm around her shoulders.

“Elgin,” said Rama.

“And Elgin used one to keep an eye on Norton and the Commander,” said Nigel. “The bees might have been made by the Francesians for their purposes, but they’re turning out to be useful in ways they never thought of. And I think we’ve only just begun.”

Now Rama looked right at Fran and addressed her directly. “Brains,” he said.

“Yes,” said Fran. Then, including everyone, she said, “Rama and I talked yesterday, along with his medical experts, and the Doctor of course.” She looked at the Doctor and he acknowledged the attention. “They think that we will be able to replicate hypersynesthesia with brain conditioning during hibernation.” That stimulated a burst of talking which she allowed to run. When it slacked off she said, “That will go a long way toward helping communication between normals and hypers. It will be good if we can talk normally with each other without the need for interpretation.”

Elgin was frowning. Just a thoughtful frown, not one of his scowls. He said, “What we talked about before. How the hypers are born with it and grow up adapting to it. Will there always be a difference?”

Fran looked at the Doctor, and he said, “Probably. Of course we don’t know because this has never been done before. So time will tell and we’ll have to see how it goes, especially over the course of many hibernations. Then there’s the matter of increasing the clock speed in our brains to match theirs. That’s never been done either.” The Doctor realized he was beginning to pile on the qualification, and he laughed at himself. “At any rate I suspect we’ll be able to get close, the more practise, the closer. But I have a feeling that there will always be a little difference due to the fact that their brains got that way naturally.”

While Elgin nodded, still frowning as he tried to figure out what it meant, Fran said, “Of course the similarities will far outweigh the differences.”

That brightened everyone up. Elgin lost his frown. Rama even smiled when he said, “Similarities.”

Elgin was still nearby Fran so she put her arm around his waist and pulled him in tight. He put his arm back around her shoulders and they stood side by side looking out on the Square. They liked what they saw. There were people still repairing and cleaning. There were others at the window, talking to Orange Comet and Prime One. Talking to the lighthouses, Pharos and Scintilla and the newer ones. They gave another happy cheer when another block of the window activated. It was a scene of energy and hope, and of great anticipation for the future.

Elgin squeezed Fran’s shoulder and said, “Are you ready, Rannie?”

Epilogue

Cloud City did renew convivial relations with Green Comet. Once the Francesians were well on their way, past the ring of comets where they lived and worked, the miners were glad to associate themselves with the hexamer once again. They knew that Elgin and Fran and the rest wouldn’t treat them like indentured colonials, as the Francesians had tried to do. They opened up their windows and opened up their lives, and even began to come home for visits again. The converse was also true. They opened up their communities to visits from the hexamer. People who were curious, or who just wanted a little adventure, could go out there and satisfy the urge. It was especially popular among young people. Some would go at the end of their birth waking, before they were twenty years old. Others would go at the beginning of their second waking, which was generally thought of as their first adult waking. This was the source of many of the migrants who ended up staying out there to live. With them, and others who had their own reasons for the change, the population of the ring comets remained stable, and even grew, in spite of the balancing flow of people the other way, people who wanted the greater population and sophistication of the hexamer. Mostly young people once again, who wanted something different from what they had grown up with. The free movement of people revitalized the relationship, and brought renewed life and vigor to both places.

While this was going on, the people of Indigo Comet were debating whether to remain independent or to rejoin the rest of the hexamer. It was a vigorous debate involving shouted arguments and fights that often ended in injury or even death. The ones in favor of continued independence were of the ilk of those who had visited the balcony of Elgin and Frances. The men had shaved heads illuminated by tattoos, some of which emulated the tonsured widow’s peaks of the ruling Francesians. They were quite happy in their positions of authority over the rest, who were either enthralled or intimidated. The women who belonged to those men weren’t allowed to shave their heads or to have tattoos. Those honors belonged to the men, who were jealous of their privilege.

The ones in favor of opening up and rejoining the greater society were largely the ones without power in the current arrangement. People whose lives were spent in submission, either being used by the most powerful as pawns and cat’s paws, or completely outside the power structure in complete subjugation. They were suffering at the hands of the few exactly what the few said they would suffer at the hands of the Francesian overlords. They were being told that enslavement was the price of freedom.

Maybe their tattooed masters suffered from the same hubris as the Francesians had, or maybe they simply underestimated the fury of their victims. Whatever it was, the revolution was short, shockingly violent, and successful. The forces in favor of openness won, and the next delegation to grace the balcony was larger and mixed, with women being in the majority. Galatea found some kindred spirits there.

Winter Comet also chose to open up and rejoin the hexamer. Their only reason for cutting themselves off before was the obnoxious degree of interference that the Francesians wanted to have in their affairs. Life on Winter wasn’t as terrible as it was made out to be. It just got distorted by speculation and prejudice after they became so secretive. No one knew what went on there, so it must have been bad. But it wasn’t so bad. It was just that they were tolerant of ways of living that the Francesians wouldn’t tolerate, because the Francesians believed that there was one best way to be. No one was forced to stay on Winter. Anyone could leave any time they wanted.

That wasn’t the case with Red Comet. No one could leave this second iteration of that color, just as no one was allowed to visit. Like Winter, Red was secretive, but unlike its neighbor, Red was also bad. Their leader, Rufus, was a sadistic psychopath. He was also paranoid and a textbook narcissist. To him, people were either resources to be used or threats to be eliminated, often in that order. Red Comet could not be allowed to join with the rest of them as long as he was in power. The simplest solution would have been to cut them off. To break the three tubes connecting them to the hexamer and send them on their way. But they couldn’t do that while there were innocent people trapped there. They were going to have to figure out a way of liberating the comet and freeing its people, either by negotiation or revolution.

The sixth comet got some attention right away. They immediately set to work finishing it, harvesting small comets and packing them on until it was as big as the rest. They put some thought into how they would use it. Some people thought it would be a perfect place for hypersynesthetes. A new home for new people, they said. There was a lot of sympathy for that idea. Many people were still uncomfortable with them. They didn’t know how to relate to them. They couldn’t understand them and it was easy to resent what seemed like an obvious assumption of superiority. In truth, some of the hypers got exasperated with the difficulties of communication, too.

It might have gone that way if not for Fran and Rama. They knew that this was not the time for dividing people. There might have been big differences among them, but with time and brain conditioning, they knew the differences would shrink and the similarities would grow. They convinced people that the new comet should be a heterogeneous one, as Green Comet already was, and as Blue Comet would become. They knew that the best way to keep the hexamer healthy was to keep it open and well blended. They demonstrated that intention when they christened the completed comet Prism.

The Five statues from the Square hadn’t been destroyed, merely hidden. They were found and returned to their rightful places in the center of that vast space. There was Fran, standing as if she were giving one of her great speeches during the debates. That was Elgin a little behind one of her shoulders, with a wing cupped behind her back. He was her rock, looking at her with love. Back a little more and off to one side was Nigel, looking at them. He’d spent fourteen years out on the surface of Green Comet hunting down some of the Visitor’s spies. He’d endured that and the subsequent cancers to protect his home and people, it was said. He’d done it for her, really. For Fran.

On the other side was Buzzard, looking just like himself. His face was full of joy and anticipation, and he was poised to take off and fly. He had laid a trap for the Visitor’s scout and then risked being lost in the cold void forever, trusting his friend Elgin to find him. In back of him was Laika, who had sacrificed herself to save Green Comet from a deadly infection. On her shoulder was the little hummingbird that had given its life to protect its nest.

Now there was a sixth statue standing behind them all, its feet planted firmly and its arms crossed on its chest as it looked at the rest of them. It was actually looking specifically at one of them, Buzzard. Its expression would brook no nonsense, but its lips betrayed a little smile as it watched the closest thing it had to a son. Standing next to the sixth statue was a seventh, as Elgin had promised. She had a ponytail and her smile spread a web of wrinkles across her face. Stanton and Nana had joined the heroes of Green Comet.

The Francesians left in two balls. That was all it took to carry the six hundred or so who chose to go. As with most totalitarian societies, those who professed to be true believers and those who really were proved to be two different things when people were free to be honest. The six hundred chosen ones paraded through the big cargo bays and into their balls, their heads held high in dignified martyrdom. They knew that they were leaving behind the darkness of iniquity and heading toward the light of their god’s grace.

Her Grace led the way into one of the balls. It had been selected and blessed and sanctified and declared to be the more holy ball, and thus worthy of her presence. So she led the way with her beautiful hair and her glorious wings, and she was followed by the best of the best Francesians. They were the ones who were allowed to wear the most elaborate tonsures. They were the elite of the elite. The ones going into the other ball had more modest tonsures. They were deemed holy enough to wear one, but not as holy as the ones going on the first ball, now named Blue Ball.

They had a grand mission ahead of them. They were not merely being exiled, they had embraced it and turned it into a holy cause. They would go to the system that Green Comet had saved from the Visitor, to the asteroid belt between the fourth small, rocky planet and the first large gas planet, and find the largest asteroid. It was almost a thousand kilometers in diameter and would be sure to have all the resources they would need to establish themselves. Surely it would be as good as a hundred comets of the kind they were leaving behind.

Once established there, they would send people to the inner system to survey the third planet. That was the one where Elgin and Fran and their friends had seen signs of life recovering from a planetary disaster. Now the Francesians would evaluate that life and see if it was worthy of their attentions. If it was, then they would send volunteers down on a one way trip to select some forms of it to remake in their own image. Of course, that meant forming them in their god’s image.

Meanwhile, in the other direction, Archie and his crew on the Prime arrived safely at the double planet. They parked at L1 of the outer of the two planets, the lagrangian point between the planet and its star. That way they had one planet in view all the time, and the other most of the time. Since their plan was to observe the planets and their people, that gave them a good platform from which to do it. If the people of either planet ever recovered enough to turn their eyes and telescopes back to space, and especially if they ever returned to space again, Archie and his people would be ready. They would be there to explain and to give them back their stolen resources.

They had no intention of simply sitting and waiting, though. They had the Prime and its collection of scouts and modules, and they planned to make good use of them exploring the system. First there was the matter of the planets themselves. They were over a million kilometers away from the closer one, and tens of millions away from the other, and their telescopes could only tell them so much. If they were going to keep close track of these people, then they had to get close, so they would periodically visit them in scouts and modules.

Archie had another idea as well. He wished he could talk it over with Buzzard at the window, but that wasn’t possible. He did talk with Elgin though, and he realized that Buzzard was right. Elgin did know. He got it. Even though Elgin didn’t give him the answer straight out, talking with him made the answer clear to Archie. They would begin a program of dropping artifacts onto the planets that would give the people who found them hints of what had happened to them. Hints of the existence of the Prime. At least they would give the possibility of that if the people found them, and if they figured them out. Of course there was always the chance that they wouldn’t be found. Or, if they were found, the people might just be afraid of them and shun them all together. Or, if it turned out that they had a religion instinct, the artifacts could get spun into something else. They might end up perverting the whole intention of the exercise. That was one of the things that worried Archie, and one of the reasons he needed to talk to Elgin. The answer to that one actually came from Fran. She told him that if people were inclined to let their beliefs deceive them, then they would do it no matter what you did. She could speak from experience on that, so Archie put his worries aside. They would try to show the people the truth, and let things unfold as they would.

The brain therapy worked. Normals caught up to hypers and were able to relate to them eye to eye. The brain conditioning, especially when refined over several hibernations, almost perfectly replicated the changes seen in hypersynesthesia. It was true that there would always be a slight difference attributable to the fact that the hypers were born that way, and their brains matured under the demands of their heightened perceptions. That didn’t have any practical effect on their daily intercourse, though, and if it engendered classist thoughts in anyone, it seems they kept them to themselves. One thing that they were all hopeful for was not to be. They had hoped that they would be able to use what they learned to help Leonardo recover, but some of the things done to him by the Francesians were irreversible. When they blundered into his brain in their clumsy attempt to “re-normalize” him, they damaged it too badly to ever fix. Now the only consolation was that he appeared to be happy, if you could go by how much he smiled.

For Elgin and Fran and their friends, this change to their brains and their perceptions was yet another reason to think about their identities. They had talked about it before and had come to the conclusion that they were probably not the same people who started this journey. Even though they woke up each morning feeling like the same person who went to sleep the night before, they knew they weren’t the same person they were millennia ago. They weren’t the only people thinking about it, either. Green Comet had begun to debate the issue, too. They were beginning to think about how to deal with the consequences of evolving identities before the Francesians took over and put a stop to that. With them gone it was time to open up the issue once again. Eventually they came up with a formula whereby, after meeting certain conditions of the number of years lived and the number of hibernations taken, people could petition to adopt a new identity. They could officially become a different person.

Elgin and Fran stayed up for a while during the rebuilding. They weren’t strictly needed because there were plenty of people with plenty of motivation to get it done, but that was part of the reason they stayed up. People were motivated not only by the desire to see Green Comet rebuild and return to its open ways, but in some cases by anger and resentment and desire for revenge. They needed Elgin, and especially Fran, to remind them that Green Comet also stood for compassion and forgiveness. With their guidance and example they kept the Francesians from the harm that might otherwise have come to them. The worst that happened was that a few of them were waylaid and had their widow’s peaks shaved off. Of course the Francesians decried this as the worst sort of persecution, and used it to strengthen their resolve.

Once the Francesians were finally gone and things had a chance to settle down, Elgin and Fran took the time to bask in the satisfaction of good works and good friendships. Many hours were spent in repairing the myriad things the Francesians had allowed to deteriorate, and many more on the balcony admiring the results of their handiwork. It was a good time. The best kind of time they could imagine, full of good work and good friends. It was the best time to go down for their hibernation, to replenish their bodies and their minds, and to begin the transformation to a new way of being. When they woke up they would see the world in a new way, with more depth and more detail. They would finally experience the new level of understanding that could never be adequately explained, and which they would immediately see had always been there waiting for them. Everything was familiar, but completely new. Everything they knew was waiting for them to discover as if for the first time. Most importantly, they discovered each other. With only a few words, but with the rich complexities of every other way of communicating, they found each other and fell in love for the first time all over again.

Lying together in their apartment, their auras fully entangled, they looked up at the lights from the Square glowing in their bedroom ceiling. The red, orange, yellow and green suffused the room with their soft radiance, and Elgin saw them glimmering in Fran’s eyes. As they looked at each other they smiled because they both knew. In the morning they would tell the others. Maria and Galatea, the Doctor and Nigel, and whoever else was interested. It was time to go. There was a lot of galaxy out there, and it wasn’t going to explore itself.

How it happened

Green Comet began in 1994. It also began before then and after then. I’m sure most books are the same. They’re impossible to pin down to a specific date, depending on what you use for criteria. But let’s use 1994, since that’s the year the Shoemaker-Levy 9 comet smacked into Jupiter. At that time I was active in the Science conference, one of the Usenet newsgroups. Another member posted, asking for ideas he could use for a disaster story. I suggested some non-ecliptic comets on a dangerous orbit. I wonder if it was a coincidence that the movies Armageddon and Deep Impact appeared in 1998. Probably.-)

The idea began simmering in my mind, and I even wrote a couple of short stories to explore the concept of living on comets, but it was mostly conceptual until about 2004. I decided then to think about it seriously. Since I had a menial job at the time I could spend the whole day thinking about it, and jot down notes after work. I knew I had a story when Elgin and Frances showed up. In 2009 I finished with that job and that’s when I put pen to paper with the aim of getting the story written. Three years later it was ready to publish. Three more years for the sequel, Parasite Puppeteers, and two more for The Francesians, to complete the Green Comet trilogy.

I won’t be writing any more books about Green Comet, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t. That’s the point of publishing it with a Creative Commons license. You’re free to take the characters and other story elements and expand on them. Providing you adhere to the principles of Creative Commons, no one is going to come after you waving their copyright club. So, write a story, draw a comic or animate a video, or do whatever creative thing you do with it. I only want Green Comet and its characters to continue to live, free and open. Meanwhile, I’ll be getting on with the next story. I can already see bits of it, and it looks like fun.

About Jim

Jim has fought forest fires and controlled traffic in the air and on the sea. Now he writes stories. He lives in the Okanagan Valley with his wife, Carolyn.

Connect with Jim

The Green Comet blog: https://greencomet.org/

Contact me: https://greencomet.org/contact/

This book is published under a CC BY-SA license, which means that you can copy, redistribute, remix, transform, and build upon the content for any purpose, even commercially, as long as you give appropriate credit, provide a link to the license, and indicate if changes were made. If you remix, transform, or build upon the material, you must distribute your contributions under the same license as the original. License details: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/

Cover image from a photograph by NASA – public domain

Table of Contents

- The Francesians

- Chapter One – Elgin Wakes Up

- Chapter Two – Coming Home

- Chapter Three – This Was Plub

- Chapter Four – Lesser Cuttings

- Chapter Five – Fertile Soil

- Chapter Six – Going Back

- Chapter Seven – Power and Politics

- Chapter Eight – A Lot to Take in

- Chapter Nine – Patterns and Reflections

- Chapter Ten – The Bazaar

- Chapter Eleven – One Bad Apple

- Chapter Twelve – Goodbye to the Prime

- Chapter Thirteen – No Failures Allowed

- Chapter Fourteen – Flipping the Sail

- Chapter Fifteen – Return to Green Comet

- Chapter Sixteen - Salvage

- Chapter Seventeen – What's That Smell?

- Chapter Eighteen – Was it Something I Said?

- Chapter Nineteen – Perfectly Wrong

- Chapter Twenty – The Grand Court

- Chapter Twenty-One – They Get Dressed

- Chapter Twenty-Two – Story Time

- Chapter Twenty-Three – Free Alterations

- Chapter Twenty-Four – Division of Labor

- Chapter Twenty-Five – The Bees

- Chapter Twenty-Six - Scarface

- Chapter Twenty-Seven – The Blue Square

- Chapter Twenty-eight – Working Alone

- Chapter Twenty-nine – Too Tacky

- Chapter Thirty – Rudely Awakened

- Chapter Thirty-one – Elgin Wakes Up Again

- Chapter Thirty-two – That’s What Friends are For

- Chapter Thirty-Three – The Right Thing to Do

- Chapter Thirty-Four – The Singer

- Chapter Thirty-five – This Was Nana

- Chapter Thirty-six – There’s No Song for That

- Chapter Thirty-seven – A Song for Going

- Chapter Thirty-eight – Green, Blue and Indigo

- Chapter Thirty-nine – Saving Frances

- Chapter Forty – The Balcony

- Epilogue

- How it happened